#you before your genetic disease does. WHATEVER

[nomaishuttle]

sometimes you watch a show from anytime before like 2016 and its like woo this is awesome and then somethjng happens in it and youre likenog thus is from before 2016.

[olderthannetfic]

Discussions about terminating pregnancies if the child is disabled are…dangerous, and OTNF might not want to open this can of worms, but I wanna say, leftist circles' insistence on the fact that "an autistic child" or "a deaf child" is In No Way Different than "a child that will live, at most, to five years old, and will spend every moment of said life in severe pain and distress" is infuriating to me. I know that the concepts "quality of life" and "suffering" are utilised to argue for eugenics a lot, but goddamn, quality of life MATTERS, and arguing that a persons' ONLY REASON for aborting a fetus if it's is going to live a life of extreme suffering is "they don't view a disabled life as worth living" is just ignorant. Like, I don't know that a lot of the people arguing "future suffering isn't a reason to abort a disabled fetus" are actually imagining the degree to which certain genetic diseases fucking ravage the body. They're imagining, like...being blind, or being born with DS, or without a limb. Not "you will be on life support from the moment you are born to the moment you die at whatever age the constant transfusions you need to live - which also have serious side effects - stop being effective." I believe some genetic diseases ARE worth eradicating, not because the people that are born with them don't deserve to live, but because I also believe like...arthritis is worth eradicating, even though I obviously don't believe people with arthritis don't deserve to live. I'm disabled, and obviously I don't believe I deserve to die because of it, but I also don't wanna be in pain 24/7! & When I'm old, or if I'm ever terminally ill, and I'm at a point where the rest of the life I have remaining is going to be spent in agonising pain, I want to have the option to die! Not because I believe I DESERVE to die for it, or that a life at that level of pain isn't WORTH living, but because I just do not want to be at that level of pain constantly. & some people might argue "well, YOU have the right to decide that, but you don't have the right to decide that for your future child" and like...a disabled fetus doesn't have any more of a right to life than a nondisabled fetus. You will NEED TO decide either way, because a fetus can't have an opinion! "You owe it to your future child to carry them to term and birth them" is not any more of a pro-choice argument even if the future child you're referring to is disabled. Additionally, arguing that aborting a disabled fetus (even if the disability WON'T cause extreme suffering) is JUST AS BAD as murdering a disabled person is also incompatible with being pro-choice, because...abortion is not and never will be morally on par with murder, and to argue it is, in any context, is incompatible with pro-choice argument. "But the REASONING is the same" does not render it morally on par with murder. Aborting a fetus because you can't afford to raise a child is not morally on par with murdering your born child because you can't afford to raise them, even if the reasoning is the same. "But aborting disabled fetuses SENDS THE MESSAGE that disabled lives aren't worth living!" First of all, if the person doesn't announce that they've aborted a disabled fetus, it sends no message. And even if they do, once again...if aborting because you can't afford to raise a child doesn't send the message that poor children don't deserve to live...it's not a moral argument against abortion. Like, conservatives use the line "aborting a baby because it's the result of rape sends the message to people born out of rape that they don't deserve to live" CONSTANTLY. And lastly, because this is the goddamn internet, before anyone says "but aborting because YOU can't afford a child is DIFFERENT than aborting because the CHILD will be disabled!" Yes, it's different, but the comparison isn't actually ABOUT the reasoning for abortion. It's about whether reasoning for abortion can be evenly applied after a child is born, which...no, it can't, in any circumstance. It's not a 1:1 comparison, it's an illustrative comparison.

--

We've had this discussion here before. It's a touchy subject, to be sure, but if people can feel confident that most of the others discussing things don't think they should have been aborted for being autistic or having only one hand or something, it's usually possible to talk about it.

Last time, the general trend of the discussion was "I have horrible chronic pain and of fucking course I wouldn't wish this on a child. Supporting the disabled people we already have is a good thing. It is a separate thing from which babies we should intentionally carry to term." And "For fuck sake, ableist shitheads raising a disabled child will make that life a living hell. Don't make them keep a baby they can't and don't want to care for."

Most of us around here take a dim view of inspiration porn... but also of not using paragraphs.

[unperceivable-future]

Narcissus [Pilot]

Hawks/Keigo Takami x Reader

Content warning: My own take on the Hanahaki Disease. English is not my best language. Foul language. Angst. May not feel like a Reader-insert considering that Reader has a given quirk and other parameters (except appearance) [I'll be updating the list as I go]

Synopsis: In a world where humans have further evolved into having redundant traits, you are simply trying to survive life while assisting the Winged Hero.

Note: This story concept smacked me on the head when I was having a sad girl moment.

0 1...

===============

"Don't forget your meeting with the chairwoman at 2 PM." You remind Hawks as you hand him a stack of papers for him to go through and sign.

"Yeah, yeah. Of course." Your boss grumbles as he goes through a casefile.

In a world where humans have further evolved into gaining superhuman abilities, meta abilities as they have first been coined, comes in a rather redundant trait.

You personally think that quirks are an interesting evolutionary trait. They vary and therefore cannot be pinpointed to selective pressures in nature. It is not akin to peppered moths darkening due to the soot that comes with the Industrial Revolution, quirks were random and have no basis.

So did the abilities of humans coughing up petals after petals when they feel strongly for another person.

You have worked with Hawks three months since he started his hero agency. Fresh out of college and simply through nepotism, maybe a little bit of genetic luck. Your quirk and your family ties were what links you to the Wing Hero.

"I'd appreciate it if you actually read through the reports since, you know, Madame Witch herself would like to know how your last mission went. In full detail." You add in annoyance.

You watched him start as a new hero, a new agency and simply a company you joined through the recommendations by your mother. A mysterious boy that came out of nowhere much like you did if anybody were to take tabs.

"When have I actually not?" Hawks retorts, he looks up to you with such a charmingly playful smile.

"Would you actually like me to list that out for you?" You huff out. It took a while for your relationship with your boss to stabilise.

You joined Hawks' hero agency a few months after the agency itself started. Hawks was anal at first, absolutely all over the place after just firing his fifth assistant in the three-month period his company was set up. He grilled you, put you through so many tasks with mind numbing filings and organising paperwork as his previous assitants simply could not keep up. He was intimidating and a bit pissy, already forecasted for you to fail and to be tossed away but you managed. In fact, you exceeded his expectations, having been able to be a step behind him and sometimes a step before.

When you hit your second month in the company, he actually became a bit nicer and more relaxed. Perhaps it is the fact that you were able to clean up the administrative mess that was caused by the start-up of his business plus the fact that you're coping quite well under the pressure of his ever growing popularity and high demands. And that you memorised his personal likes and dislikes.

And now four years later, your dynamic with your boss is much like you being the nagging mother, constantly reminding him of the mundane tasks of hero work while also picking up after him.

"What does next week look like?" He asks, still reading through whatever casefile the Hero Public Safety Commission handed him some time ago.

"No meetings but your new sidekicks are joining in so you're---"

"Training them, yeah, got it." He sighs, snapping the folder shut and shoots you a tired smile.

It is admirable how Hawks can withstand the pressure of being the number 3 hero despite his young age. He breaks records of being the youngest and fastest while looking so cool and effortless that spectators are under the assumption that he is an under challenged prodigy.

But he is not. He is simply human running on constant adrenaline and stress.

"I'll go grab you some coffee. You might wanna look alive for when the chairwoman shows up." You offer, turning your heels and making your way out of his office.

"Have I mentioned that you're such an angel?" He calls out and you can hear the grin in his voice.

"Many times." You retort like clockwork.

He always tries to make himself look like he has got his shit together despite his age. And honestly? That's definitely why a lot of the people in this country cough up sunflowers when they think of him.

[riftclaw]

I have not had the time to really keep up w social media lately but I did enter V into @sonic-oc-showdown so I’m throwing together a post about him for anyone who hasn’t seen him before. Sege linked me a list of questions for an ask game so I’m going to answer those under the cut.

He also has a toyhouse page, which is a little out of date, but very lightly touches some darker topics (some medical and medical experimentation themes, mentions of drug use, mentions of trauma, violence and mental illness). V is a long-time comfort character which also means he has suffered so much bc that’s how we roll sometimes.

Art credits: me, Tracey Yardley!, @werewolfri0t, @spiritsonic, @pidgeonspen, @forkthief, @sege-h, @finitevus, @fini-mun, @starlitskvader (Legitimately could not choose which pictures to include so I included a lot of them. sorry. I love them all so much. If you’re not following these wonderful artists already you should be!)

✨- How did you come up with the OC’s name? “Agent” bc he works for GUN, “VX” bc it’s the name of a nerve agent. It is also a subtle pun. You’re welcome.

🌼 - How old are they? (Or approximate age range) Current-day V is 35 years old, but as a riftclaw he’d fall into the 18-21 age group (adult, still kinda dumb and impulsive).

🌺- Do they have any love interest(s)? V is poly and is dating several people at once. He’s married to Caprice for legal reasons, but the whole of the polycule encompasses them and Curie, Valke and Luka, w V having a couple casual partners not involved in the main polycule (Atos [for now], Chad, Neura).

🍕 - What is their favorite food? V doesn’t really like to eat and kinda treats it as an unfortunate necessity of continuing to live.

💼 - What do they do for a living? V works for GUN in a weird in-between position; on paper he’s a field agent but he ends up doing multiple different jobs especially if there’s gaps that need filling. At the moment he’s acting medical examiner while they find someone qualified enough to handle the weirder cases that come through GUN’s HQ.

🎹 - Do they have any hobbies? He buries himself in work a good 95% of the time but he sure loves to play minecraft. He’s banned himself from videogames bc he knows if he plays more than one he’ll never get anything done again.

🎯 -What do they do best? V’s main strength is that he’s stubborn as hell and willing to smack his head against something repeatedly until he wins. His whole side goal is developing a cure for a genetic illness that’s present in his clan and despite this seeming impossible he has been pushing his way through an insane amount of study while also holding down his GUN job in order to eventually do that.

🥊 -What do they love to do? What do they hate to do? He loves learning about new horrible poisons and diseases, which is one of his favourite pastimes. He also loves spending time w his datemates/packmates (two different things). He hates being told what to do so anything he’s being commanded to do is something he hates in that moment. Hilarious.

❤️ - What is one of your OC’s best memories? The first time he got to hold his son again after giving him up for adoption shortly after he was born. That Muna’s new parents wanted him to still have some kind of relationship with him was an unexpected joy for him.

✂️ - What is one of your OC’s worst memories? There’s this whole 6-month period of his life where he was “working” for Glory he does not like to remember at all.

🧊 - Is their current design the first one? No but it’s still very close. The main changes were removing the spines on the tail and adding the big triangular eye markings.

🍀 - What originally inspired the OC? Thorny devil lizards + horrible poisons I was reading about as a teen. Then I watched Repo! The Genetic Opera and you can probably see where I got his outfit from if you know anything about it.

🌂 - What genre do they belong in? Whatever genre you’d assign an edgier sonic game like SA2 or ShTH.

💚 - What is your OC’s gender identity and sexuality? I call him genderfluid and alloaro (+ bi/pan) although he doesn’t really ID as either in-universe. His perception of his own gender tends to change a lot, and “he” is just the easiest pronoun to use when you work with humans a lot.

🙌 - How many sibling does your OC have? He was raised as an only child; he has a half-sister who lives in a different world and has adopted a few of his alternate selves + their siblings.

🍎 - What is the OC’s relationship w/their parents like? His relationships w his mum and grandpa (the parents who raised him) are quite positive; he visits them at least once a year during the big gathering the clan holds in June. His relationship with his father is terrible and he’s threatened to kill the guy at least twice.

🧠 - What do you like most about the OC? This one is difficult to answer bc I’ve been rotating him constantly in my mind for 10+ years now. I like drawing him and writing about him and also thinking about what’s going on in his mind. Also I project a lot on him. That’s fun.

✏️ - How often do you draw/write about the OC? Extremely but I never finish writing. I draw him more than anyone else atm.

💎 - Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC? No, bc it’s funny if the guy who doesn’t really wanna survive lives forever.

💀 - Does your OC have any phobias? He has a general fear of losing his control of his self, which is specifically triggered by Glory’s mind control powers but applies more broadly to having his autonomy restricted.

🍩 -Who is your OC’s arch-nemesis or rival? Glory is V’s biggest adversary and basically like, his end boss. He has a couple smaller opponents (couple guys in the UF military structure, Ossein) to go through first though.

🎓 - How long have you had the OC?/ ��� - What age were you when you created the OC? Since I was 17 or so, so about 16-17 years. We’re old!

[iamanathemadevice]

Losing weight

I just blocked a post that turned up in my timeline yelling about how losing weight was pointless and unnecessary and too difficult and harmful. It claimed you can be fat and healthy, that diets are dangerous and counter productive, all the usual fat-positive stuff.

The thing is, for some people, it's true. You can be fat and healthy. If you're young, active, genetically blessed, and lucky, you can indeed be very fat and still have all the right numbers. It's certainly true that fat !=ugly or unattractive or sexually inactive or anything else to do with appearance and desirability.

And if you're an old person, having a little extra padding is actually a good thing.

But if you're like me, a short person (158cm) who weighed over 110kg a couple of years ago, and who's been heavy almost all my adult life with the weight carried mainly on my gut, it's more likely that this level of overweight is doing you harm. You get into middle age, and your blood pressure starts to worry your GP. As does your blood cholesterol. Your knees start to hurt a lot, and you might even have already developed osteoarthritis.

And one day, after having metabolic syndrome for a long time (essentially, pre-diabetes) your yearly blood test tells your GP you are this close to full-blown diabetes, and she sends you to a diabetes educator who gives you a very serious talk about losing weight, cutting carbs, and other modifications to your life. Even if you are active.

After having watched a close friend die of diabetes just months before.

Let me tell you, uncontrolled diabetes II is a nasty, undignified way to die.

All the fat positivity in the world won't change this fact. Now, you have to choose. Life, or death with years and years of poor health before it.

You have to choose whether you do nothing about the adipose tissue in your abdomen which is making your pancreas dysfunctional, and hope that medications will somehow save you from all of the complications of diabetes; or you do whatever you can to either prevent tipping over into the full disease or winning yourself a remission.

You then have to cut carbs and cut calories, educate yourself properly about macronutrients, exercise more, and keep doing this until your blood sugar normalises, and then you have to keep doing this.

Once you get down to an actual healthy weight, you have to keep it off and it. is. hard. Your body is fighting you with higher levels of ghrelin to keep you hungry. Society is bombarding you nonstop with advertising all those yummy things that you can only eat in tiny amounts, if at all (and if you're like me, it's almost impossible to stop once you start with some of the nicest things). Your friends and family won't make it easy either, in all kinds of ways.

Your body, brain, society, social media, and your intimate circle are all arrayed against you in your battle to lose the dangerous weight and keep it off.

The only things on your side are your determination, and your doctor (hopefully). And it doesn't take much to disable these two supports in your battle.

Still. It's possible to win. It's definitely possible to try, fail, try again, and keep trying.

It's also possible to look at social media posts telling you that overweight is healthy blah blah, and ask yourself if you feel healthy in your body? Does your weight stop you living the life you want to life? Is your doctor happy? Have you had the blood tests, and are they all good? Then great! Go on with your chubby self and have the best life!

But if those things aren't true, or you're an older person, or you don't know what damage overweight could be doing to you, then please - don't take your advice from some shrieking Tumblr post. Do some cold, hard research of your own. Ask for help in understanding it if it's confusing or contradictory, because there is a mountain of misinformation out there.

I'm not here to tell you that being fat is bad or that you are bad for being fat. I'm here to tell you that serious overweight is linked to a lot of serious diseases, and if you're not lucky, young, and fit, it's worth finding out the real risks.

Then do what you've gotta do. Because you're worth it.

[rise-my-angel]

Thought this might give you some food for thought: I’m anti j*nrya and anti j*nsa on the grounds of incest but I like J*nerys. And here’s why. Our brains identify our relatives based on our lives experience with them, not actual blood shared. The material experience and lived relationships we have with other people are not changed by learning that there is blood shared or not shared. That’s why Jon still loved Dany when he found out they were related, even though he was uncomfortable with it. It didn’t dissolve the way his brain categorized her (as a non relative) based on experience. Likewise, Jon finding out that his siblings are actually his cousins isn’t going to make him suddenly able to be attracted to them because his whole life his brain has categorized them as relatives. When he meets and bonds with Dany, they have no idea. This is why it’s actually pretty uncommon for lifelong childhood friends raised side by side to end up together. Their experience is likely to have led their brains to classify each other as relatives. This all isn’t meant to change your mind or anything like that, but I’ve had people question how I can be against J*nsa, J*nrya, D*emyra, etc but like Jonerys

You have an interesting point of view, but I respectfully disagree entierly for a few reasons. First being, it scientifically is actually based off of blood. We are genetically hardwired to be sexually and romantically repulsed by our blood relatives, because it is a survival instinct against inbreeding.

It's why most long lost relatives are not accidentally attracted to family members before learning of their relation. We are genuinly hardwired in our DNA and genetic code to be repulsed by those who share within those sets of genetics. We can detect invisible markers that our conscious minds do not know about that indicate a similarity in blood relatives and will repulsed immediately. It's why incest is so abnormal, because it is biologically unnatural to be attracted to members of your family even if you don't know they are your blood relatives.

It's why the Targaryean incestual practices made them extinct, because it is unsustainable. We are biologically opposed to inbreeding because of the serious medical complications and issues of infertility. If I breed with my uncle, we share too many of the same genetic markers. Meaning that whatever rare syndromes or diseases we carry hereditary genes of, need to be matched with a partner that does not carry a hereditary ability to pass those rare conditions on. If I breed with my uncle we are too similar and it increases the chance a child would inherit those rare conditions because they did not have a second parent that could cancel out the hereditary genes. It's why we are almost never attracted to any blood relative, it is a survival instinct coded within our very dna.

Meaning it doesn't matter if Jon had no idea he was related to her, there is a 99% chance Jon naturally would not have any attraction to her because biology would already be warning him of the red flags his internal sensors are picking up of similar genetic traits. He also would likely be horrified because Dany is related to him in the exact way Jon thought he was related to Lyanna (meaning having sex with a woman who is his aunt likely would leave him traumatized since he just learned a woman he thought was aunt is actually his mother). She's his aunt in the exact way Benjen was his uncle, and he grew up both not raised to think incest is normal and he follows the old gods which strongly condemns it. He psychologically would have trauma learning he was related to her after having sex with her.

Also, being transparent, Dany being related to him is literally like one of the last reasons I have against them as a ship. My argument is Jon would oppose her as a human being because she stands for everything he finds monstrous, and their entire relationship is abuse and any subsequent sex is rape.

I outline a lot of this in this post and this post if you were curious.

I respect your choice to ship it but I fundamentally disagree with any argument of Jon ever being attracted to her for multiple reasons.

I think he would never be attracted to her, like her, or respect her. And I think their show relationship is gross and abusive, and rape.

The incest is just the icing on the 'no' cake.

[sanguinifex]

Ok but like, with current technology, we can actually change humanity. We have gene therapies now that can cure certain fatal illnesses like spinal muscular atrophy (SMA) a large percentage of the time (some people unfortunately have immune resistance to the therapy), which, even in its least severe form, usually leads to death from inability to breathe and associated infections in middle age. The most severe form, by contrast, kills the same way but in toddlers.

Most disabled people would like to see a world where many genetic diseases are typically fixed by gene therapies before or shortly after birth. There is no world where it’s a good thing for people to develop Tay-Sachs or type 1 diabetes or spondyloarthritis if they don’t have to. No reason not to edit out inherited cancers or ALS or Huntington’s disease if you can.

This does not mean that disability will stop existing. Many disabilities are polygenetic, meaning they arise from lots of genes interacting or aren’t strongly tied to any single or particular set of genes. For these, traditional pharmaceutical treatments for the symptoms are typically better. Examples include things like type 2 diabetes. Other diseases may be genetic, but mild enough that they’re easier to treat than cure, such as familial hypercholesteremia, which raises the risk of strokes but is easily treated with a very inexpensive daily pill. The lifetime cost of statin treatment would be far less than gene therapy, unless the affected person is getting personalized gene therapy for something else and the tech has advanced far enough that they can be like “while you’re here, we’ll also fix this,” which is unlikely to happen in this century because who on earth would develop a gene therapy for that when the retail, non-insurance cost of atorvastatin is like $10/month?

Also, accidents happen. Inevitably, people are going to get into car crashes and industrial accidents and something will prevent sewing the leg back on or regrowing it in at least some cases, ir maybe regrowth has too high a cancer risk, or whatever. Some people will have diseases so rare there aren’t enough cases to pin down which gene mutated in order to fix it. We still don’t really know how functional neurological disorders work, or what genes cause fibromyalgia or increase the risk of it. There will be underserved areas that don’t have access to the most advanced therapies, like how you can’t get an MRI if nowhere in your country/colony planet has an MRI machine, or people who refuse therapies because of religious reasons. There will probably always be wars. There will be people who just mysteriously don’t respond to therapies for whatever reason.

There are some disabilities that just make existing suck (or rapidly become impossible) simply by having them, and those we should make every effort to cure. There are others that are disabling mostly due to society’s lack of accommodation; these, we should accommodate. Others are a mix. Many people, like myself, have a mix; I want my ADHD accommodated, but I’d like my chronic pain to be banished to the 9th circle of hell.

Please learn the fucking difference.

Cheat code for writing disabled characters in sci-fi/fantasy without eliminating their disability:

Don't change humanity, change what's available to humanity.

i.e.: If your magic removes/fixes a defect or your sci-fi lets you select for traits at birth, that's changing humanity. That's altering a fundamental aspect that real humans live with, and distancing your fictional version of humanity from the real deal by cutting out a portion of it that your setting deems "undesirable."

If your magic/sci-fi aids a defect (like magic netting that acts as a brace, or a wheelchair with wheels that transform to fit the environment), then you're taking humanity as we know it and saying "wouldn't it be cool if we had these tools?"

Don't change what makes us human, change what humans can create.

Cheat Code 2: What kinds of aid to use to accommodate disability

Cheat Code 3: How to make your setting itself disability-friendly

[kidzonedental]

Kidzone Dental Is A Pediatric Dentist In Texas

Kidzone Dental is a pediatric dentist in Texas. We’re here to help kids of all ages who are experiencing oral health problems, such as cavities and toothaches. You can trust our team to provide the care that your child needs. Our practice is dedicated to providing quality pediatric dentistry for children from the moment they come into our office until they leave with their permanent teeth. If you’re looking for a pediatric dentist near me, then look no further than Kidzone Dental!

Kidzone Dental is the best dentist for kids near me around the area.

Our Doctors are great with kids! They have many years of experience and have a great staff to help you out with whatever you need. Plus, their location is top notch!

Kids are more likely to get cavities than adults.

You may be surprised to hear that kids are more likely to get cavities than adults. Teeth are not fully formed until age six, so their teeth are more susceptible to decay when they're forming. Cavities can cause pain and infection as well as tooth loss if left untreated. The best way to prevent cavities is by maintaining a healthy diet and regular visits with your dentist or hygienist every six months—especially during childhood!

The baby teeth serve an important function in chewing and eating food, speech development, and holding space for the permanent teeth that are developing beneath them.

Baby teeth are the "baby" in a baby's mouth. They serve an important function in chewing and eating food, speech development, and holding space for the permanent teeth that are developing beneath them.

The baby teeth come in three stages: primary (baby), secondary (early childhood) and molars. Primary teeth usually fall out by age 3 or 4 years old; however it is possible for them to remain longer if they continue to develop normally into adulthood. The duration of time that you have your first set of primary molars will vary depending on your child’s genetics but generally speaking most children complete this phase before graduating from high school!

A child with a mouth full of cavities is also susceptible to toothaches, gum disease, infections, and tooth loss.

Cavities are caused by bacteria in the mouth. They can cause pain, infection and tooth loss.

If a primary (baby) tooth is lost too early, the surrounding teeth may shift, causing problems with the permanent teeth as they try to come in.

If a primary (baby) tooth is lost too early, the surrounding teeth may shift, causing problems with the permanent teeth as they try to come in. This can cause a condition called "minor malocclusion" or "malocclusion." This means that your baby's jaw doesn't have enough space for its permanent teeth to grow into properly. In some cases, these small gaps between your child's upper and lower jaws can cause problems with his/her ability to chew properly.

You can help prevent cavities in your child’s teeth by supervising their brushing and flossing until about age 10.

As your child gets older and develops the ability to brush their teeth on their own, you can help prevent cavities by supervising their brushing and flossing until about age 10. Encourage your child to brush their teeth twice a day, making sure that they use a soft-bristled toothbrush with fluoride toothpaste. Make sure that your child also brushes all surfaces of his or her teeth, including the chewing surfaces at the back where bacteria reside.

Drinks other than water should be limited.

Some things to avoid while you're in the dentist's chair:

Avoid sugary drinks. Sugar can cause tooth decay, so it's best to avoid drinking anything with added sugar while at the dentist. Water is the best choice for hydration and hydrophilic agents such as citrus or mint are good choices if you do want something sweet (just make sure that there isn't too much sugar in it). You may also want to consider tea or coffee instead of soda because they don't contain as much caffeine as regular soda does.

Stay hydrated! Plaque forms when bacteria on your teeth feed off plaque that has been formed over time by eating sugary foods such as candy or ice cream (or even just having a habit of brushing too hard). This build-up causes irritation which leads to swelling around teeth where they meet each other inside your mouth—and this makes them look redder than normal since blood vessels running through them are exposed more easily due to being swollen up against each other."

Sugary snacks should also be limited to mealtimes only.

Sugary snacks should also be limited to mealtimes only. If you’re giving your child a sugary treat in between meals, that’s not the best idea. Sugary foods and drinks can cause cavities, bad breath and tooth decay—all of which can make your child feel self-conscious about smiling in public or eating with other people.

But how much sugar is too much? The American Academy of Pediatrics recommends limiting children's intake of added sugars (the kind usually found in treats) to 10 percent or less per day—which means no more than 25 grams per day for boys and 20 grams per day for girls under age 2 years old. For older kids ages 2-18 years old, the recommendation is lower at 6 teaspoons per day; 4 teaspoons if they're over 12 years old!

Kidzone Dental is considered one of the top pediatric dentists

Kidzone Dental is considered one of the top pediatric dentists. If you have a child and would like to find out more about our services, please contact us today.

Conclusion

If you have any questions about our services, please don’t hesitate to contact us. We look forward to hearing from you!

[play-now-my-lord]

"a pool with no bottom"

Somewhere inside of you, there is an elliptical pool with no bottom. This pool is full of opaque fluid with a hard surface. The miracle of being you is that despite having no bottom, the pool does not drain.

Some authorities insist it's because of some deep layer calcified by pressure. Others would insist that the pool, which is about two and a half feet wide on its longer side and about two feet wide on its shorter side, simply continues through your whole body, stem to stern, and then continues into the ground -- they insist, despite all evidence, that it continues into the earth, and through the Earth, and then into another living thing. That you are paired with some antipodean creature by internal geometry, that its experiences are directly or indirectly proportionate to yours - that is to say, its suffering is your suffering, or else its suffering is your joy, respectively.

Other authorities insist that the stillness of the pool is the work of God. They propose a creature perhaps fifty yards wide created the universe, and directs in whatever fashion your movements, your thoughts, your feelings. Your triumphs and failures are items in this massive animal's ledger. The pool, they explain, is part of its wider plan.

Some have seen inside their own, attempted even to breach the surface, an act said universally to be unwise. Consistently they dream afterwards of small metallic objects becoming lodged in their bodies, although the methods by which they are lodged and discovered differ. One would-be psychonaut refused to receive magnetic resonance imaging even as a tumor in their arm grew and grew, owing to an unshakeable terror that it would drive subtle nails through their cortex and mutilate their seat of thought. They had to be anesthesized and the operation performed under the false pretense of exploratory surgery. The attending physician noticed no metal in the machine, either before or after, but was said to report, of course off the record and on the condition of anonymity, that the room came to smell of blood, came to reek of it so strongly he nearly vomited into his mask. He reportedly drove home in his late-model Ford motorcar and found himself in another man's driveway, greeted by a strange woman with an air of familiarity. "I'm dead," he said, of course off the record and on the condition of anonymity, "I don't know if I died then or if I was never alive but I'm not alive now. You're looking at a corpse." For others the apparition of metal is a miraculous event representing the healing of long-injured limbs or the arrival of transcendent insight. Leading authorities suggest a Freudian dimension to these fantasias, with stainless steel representing a strict father figure, spring steel or copper alloys representing a permissive one. The psychonauts' insistence that the apparition of intangible metals within their bodies is connected with exploration of the inner pool is unsupported by evidence and has been thoroughly debunked by the latest research. The claims that the inner pool of some hapless unknown has been breached by scientists in the former USSR and recordings were made - that these recordings include the screaming of the damned, the roaring of fires, mysterious creaking and whispering, Doppler-pitched falling objects - cannot be substantiated by any serious investigation.

The pool with no bottom, the pool full of fluids, are believed to have unique variations in their countably infinite surface areas. It is likely that these either reflect or, by some accounts, drive criminal activity. In the future scientists will be able to determine many things about a person by investigating the pool with no bottom inside of them. They may be able to provide early warning of criminal difficulties, mental health, genetic disease, even sexual deviance. The field of legitimate scientific study of these pools is young but full of incredible promise, and experts propose that as little as a single new business or government grant to pool researchers may unlock secrets that have been hidden from the minds of man since the beginning of time.

[lizziedoesvetpath]

Please, pretty please, help me pass pathology. What are your top tips for veterinary pathology (if you want a more specific thing to focus on, cattle and sheep path but also accepting broad tips to help me pass my goddamn exams)? ❤️❤️❤️

Studying pathology can definitely seem overwhelming at times (trust me, I'm still overwhelmed at times too!). I've written a few posts before about how to study for pathology, but unfortunately the hellsite is currently hiding them from me. However, the common thread in all my recommendations is this:

Everything in pathology is a process. Find the pattern, and it will all come together.

But Lizzie, you say, what the hell does that mean?

Any disease that you need to learn about will have common points that you need to know. Different people will teach these in different ways, so sometimes you can't see this thread, but it's always there. At vet school, I would go through the notes I had for each condition I needed to know about (usually grouped by organ system and species affected) and note down these key points:

1. Aetiology: what causes this problem? 2. Source: how and where does the animal get the problem (for infectious causes, what is the route of transmission? Is it genetic? If it's nutritional, what are they eating?) 3: Process: how do we get from aetiology and source to the lesions and clinical signs? This part can and should be a flow chart (e.g: canine parvovirus infects crypt epithelium > necrosis > loss of villus epithelial coverage > fluid loss, hemorrhage, secondary infections > diarrhoea, sepsis). Add as much detail as you can or as much as your professor provides. 4: Clinical signs: why is the animal presenting? What signs are pathognomonic or particularly specific (those make good clues in exam questions). Include whether this you'll see sporadic disease or outbreaks, key signalment points. 5: Gross lesions: what will you see on physical exam and at necropsy? Look for specific changes as above 6: Clinical pathology: bloodwork, urinalysis, FNA etc. 7: Histologic lesions: what will you see under the microscope or what will the pathologist's report say? You may or may not be required to know this at vet school, check what your professor wants. 8: Outcome: do animals survive this disease? Can they survive this disease?

Those 8 points should cover just about everything you need to know about any given condition. You can tweak the structure as suits you, but I found that when I structured my notes like that I had all the answers to my exam questions, and having a consistent flow through my notes helped it all stick in my brain because I wasn't searching for things while studying and I didn't have to jump around. There is, unfortunately, a lot of memorization in pathology, so I recommend making use of whatever memory aids help (flashcards etc.). Find this info, plug it into the system you like, and don't lose hope.

Good luck!

[micahweissberg]

"right, impractical." maybe their tactless disregard for danger is a genetic thing— whether it's knives or living in a dark forest or gallivanting alone to coney island at 17 to meet strange men through the internet, their sense of self-preservation is alarmingly low, if there's any at all. and perhaps micah recognizes this in his mother, and she in him, that leaving the other alone would be like letting them succumb to this congenital disease of self-destruction. therefore he cannot be the one to give the lecture on safety or be the judge that admonishes them for finding the idea of frolicking around the forest more impractical than it is dangerous.

he traces the dirt around his shoes with the stick, carefully, enough to make a little pangea where he sits, a marker for where he should break off from the rest of the world should the ground choose to shatter in the next few minutes. the mention of his late grandfather, especially coming from his mother, still conjures an acute, concentrated kind of ache akin to a migraine of the heart. not just for himself, but for his mother and his uncles. they may talk lightly of it, and notwithstanding the piece of work that his own father is, but he counts himself lucky that he's never had to know the kind of grieving that both his parents have. his father, especially, considering how he'd lost his old man at such a young age, way younger than micah is now. "well, i don't think papa wanted it literally. everything's online now, anyway. texting, facetime... it's all still real-time. it's not like back then," in his usual spirit of speaking like he knows more than he does despite the lack of lived experience, a trait that he'd cultivated from his time on the high school debate team to his career on stage, "you didn't know when you'll get to see your family next. you could forget what they looked like. i wouldn't say it's anybody's fault." he shrugs. "it's a cultural thing, i think. like, ravi still sees his parents at least every other day. if he didn't, then it would be his fault." he remembers the time during college when he and his best friend went to jersey shore for a weekend without telling anyone because, well, did they really have to? and he was banned from the chakravarthy household for one week, though the ban would eventually be lifted because he was him and they couldn't stay mad at him for very long. that was because they hadn't seen ravi's face for two whole days. his household, on the other hand... severine was probably just glad she got his mother to herself for a weekend. "so, i think you've watched all the growing up i can do for a lifetime, ma."

if there was anything normal about the way terry lowenstein had raised a son all on their own, it's that there's sulking. and a lot of it. and it hasn't stopped, not even when that son is fast approaching his thirties. "but i did finish my education," micah reminds his mother sullenly. "wasn't this just the bonus round?" he'd decided to attend law school entirely on his own volition, on the condition that they would be on his own terms. which, just as most things that are asked of him, like house chores, or a little more patience sometimes, is something he becomes less interested in doing when it turns into a requirement. "nobody takes the bonus round seriously, ma." oh, if his father could hear them now. "well, look, i'm not arguing with you, but hypothetically, it's not like i'm gonna take over his firm when he's gone, anyway. his clients will just look for another lawyer and the office will go back to being a furniture warehouse or whatever it used to be before." he gives a perfunctory wave with the stick. perish the thought.

he leans exaggeratedly to the side at his mother's playful chiding, chuckling softly as he straightens up and fixes the hair on the back of his head. noticing how the wildflowers had captivated his mother's attention as they begin to fidget, he pokes at one near their feet, purposefully tearing a petal from its stem, releasing a light, citrusy scent at the breaking of fibers. "yeah, i get that," he says, working on impaling a petal with the branch, the stick thrashing around on the dirt. "it's just... sometimes i don't think he'll really care, is all. and we'll end up looking like idiots, as usual." he moves his gaze up to meet his mother's in earnest. "this kinda stuff just doesn't work when the other person doesn't give a shit."

Terry pressed themselves more firmly into the bark, shoulders relaxing at the tactile reassurance against their spine. The conversation was veering towards something weightier than either might have intended, sporadically but surely, like fire crackling over the hearth. They were grateful, then, that Micah likened them to some forest cryptid with a huff they’d come to register as him being particularly pleased with himself. “I’m not going to start hiking at night, if that’s what you’re thinking. It’s very impractical,” they followed it up with a small quip of their own, leaning back and sighing into the comfort of the forest.

Feeling an abrasive edge of the trunk jutting out just inches below their shoulder, Terry adjusted their position slightly so that its sharpness was rendered only as a dull ache. For a long while, there was only the noisy silence of the forest, the thrush’s lilting song replaced with the cicadas’ trills, piercing and abrasive, the song of summer.

And he isn’t wrong. Micah’s childhood had been anything but conventional. A family being split in two was a grief shared by half of the families in the country, to be sure, only—the hurt carried on, and on, and on, and soon they were also navigating the spoils of the fight. The great pain could only last so long. What came next were the tiny thousand pinpricks: the mortgage, the town taxes, the meager salary of an entry-level profession, the private grade school tuition, the credit card bills run up during the first few years of single parenthood. They could have asked for help from Saul in those days, but it had felt like a defeat. What the Lowensteins had lacked in capital they’d made up for in pride, and they were too much of their father’s daughter to beg for the crumbs of another’s family’s supposed kindness. And Micah? He’d taken into the role of an adult far too naturally, far too quickly, without having ever asked him.

He must’ve resented me, having to take care of me when we were still reeling.

“It’s what Papa would’ve wanted, I think.” So what business did they have to invoke family now? “It’s me and my siblings’ fault that we’ve grown so fractured. I doubt he’d have liked the family reunion to be when we sat shiva.” Deciding it was useless to put blame, they excised the thought. And, anyway, thinking about their family and the fractured units they had become over the decades exhausted them. Separation was only natural, she thought, and indeed, the only way to achieve growth. So why did it always feel like they were carrying a phantom limb? And Micah’s reference to Saul—of the hurting kind—cut the point further home, through muscle, through bone. “There’s no ‘we’ll see’, here, Doc. Just finish your education. And he is going to die earlier, believe me. With his sedentary lifestyle, drugs, and drinking? The math is very simple.”

They don’t mean to be morbid. Sometimes, it was just easier to picture Saul Weissberg gone. To drive to his graveyard somewhere in New England, to rake away the leaves built up from the mother and son’s last visit, to ask Micah to find the smoothest rocks he could find in a nearby shallow pond, and to place them above his tombstone. The grief of love lost would have been definable and heavy but final—and not a sharp edge that longed to pierce through them, like the tree bark perched over their shoulder.

Micah’s last quip brought them out of their musings, though, perhaps for the best. “Henry David Thoreau. Oy gutinu, Micah Weissberg, why do you even have an English degree…” They smacked the back of his head, the pressure light, but admonishing.

Amid the darkening sky, the great white trilliums appeared to float. It must have been here for a while. Wildflowers like these could live on for decades, but they withered anyway. Stones, though, they stood still.

“I think…” Terry exhaled, gaze drifting to the ground, and ran their fingers through the wildflowers. They recalled an earlier part of the conversation—I don’t want him to take me back. Maybe I just want him to know what it feels like. “…part of me did want to twist the knife a little bit, by coming here.” They sighed the confession into the air. “I think it’s a little selfish. But—” How would he like it, they thought, if he were delegated with the task of keeping the world together while keeping things the same? “—maybe I’d like to be.”

[sparklysung]

✨ADRENALINE RUSH – n.j.m.✨

© sparklysung – 2021. all rights reserved. no reposts, modifications and/or translations allowed.

pairing – na jaemin x female!reader

genre – smut, slight angst | non-idol!au, school!au

warnings – good boy!virgin!jaemin, bad girl!experienced!reader, corruption kink, unprotected sex (wrap it up guys), breeding kink, slight exhibitionism (library), creampie, marking, overstimulation

word count – 3.416 words

note – i got too much into it lol. it turned out so long, i’m sorry for that. i do hope you like it, i’ve been working on it for a few days now and it’s been rough. i’m hoping there aren’t too many errors, and if there are i apologize in advance, i know they are annoying. either way enjoy!

summary – as the local bad girl, your reputation was rather infamous. jaemin knew this and so he tried his best to stay away from you. but after getting paired up for a genetics project, he didn’t stand a chance against your desire to ruin his innocence.

taglist – @junguwuuu , @prvncejxon​, @carelessshootanonymous

part i ; part ii

you were mindlessly playing with your pen, doodling on the margins of your notebook, ignoring completely what your genetics professor was explaining on the board in the front of the classroom. 

that’s how class usually was for you; not paying attention to anything, just messing around with your highlighters, drawing more doodles to add to your collection or observing your classmates –not in a creepy way, though–. your professor wasn’t that clueless for you to nap until the end of the class, so you took advantage of whatever could keep you awake. 

when your hand started to cramp due to the constant movement, you started looking around the room with a bored expression, letting your thoughts go to anything and everything that seemed the tiniest bit interesting. that was until he caught your eye.

na jaemin. perfect na jaemin. excellent grades, the teacher’s pet, always so polite to everyone. the type of guy every parent would want their daughter to date and the perfect role model.

and you were the opposite. you never really cared about school; getting high scores was useless from your point of view, so you never took it seriously. you were used to sneaking out of your house to attend parties and going home drunk with a different guy each weekend –cause life is short and why not–. your lifestyle earned you a ‘bad girl’ reputation, as well as the protagonism of multiple not-so-nice rumours.

you two were so different from one another, belonged to completely different worlds.

that’s why you were so intrigued by him.

it’s not like this was the first time you notice him, you can’t just not notice him. he was gorgeous, to say the least; perfect face, flawless skin, sparkly round eyes adorned with long eyelashes, pink plush lips, fluffy hair with soft dark locks that fell beautifully on his forehead, framing the soft expression on his face. oh yeah, how could you forget that long neck of his, with a prominent adam’s apple that made your mouth water with the thought of marking it with purplish bites. you’ve wanted to ruin him since the first day you laid eyes on him, make him break under your touch and need you as much as he needs oxygen to breathe.

“so, before the class comes to an end, i’m going to assign you in pairs for the project i was talking to you about a few minutes ago.” groans of annoyance were heard from all around the room, finally making you pay attention.

as the professor began mentioning the pairs, your attention drifted once again towards jaemin. he looked genuinely interested in what was being said; eyebrows furrowed in concentration while waiting for his name to be called.

“kim sohee and lee donghyuck,” your eyes wandered down toward his broad shoulders, strong arms and slender fingers. your teeth nibbled with your bottom lip, nails sinking against the palm of your hand as you felt your panties grow damp by the sole idea of him fingering you. 

“na jaemin and y/l y/n,” your head snapped first in the direction of your professor, and then to his, who looked rather nervous sitting down a few desks in front of you, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. indeed, jaemin was nervous, so nervous that he felt like he was about to pass out. he could feel the looks full of pity his friends were throwing at him and it was making him feel even worse. he wasn’t too pleased either with the shot of excitement and anticipation he felt spreading across his body. you looked down at your hands, hair slightly covering your face as you tried to hide your devilish smirk.

you didn’t bother to listen to the rest of the pairs, being already too immersed in thoughts about every possible scenario that could take place while you two worked together on the project.

~.~.~.~

as soon as class ended, you threw your bag over your shoulder, making your way towards jaemin’s table and earning a couple of looks of disapproval from his friends. not letting that affect you, you approached him with a sweet smile plastered on your face. “hey,” his face shot up to look at you, hands still working on getting all his belongings inside his bag. straightening his back, he tried to look unaffected by your presence. he nodded his head shortly as a greeting and decided to get this over with as fast as he could.

“let’s work on the project at the library, right after class,” jaemin said, trying to sound confident, but you could see right through him; he was nervous. he figured that a place full of people was less risky rather than either of your houses, where you’d be alone and the possibility of something happening was a lot higher. you shrugged your shoulders, not really minding the location, “see you later, pretty boy.” you winked at him before making your way out of the room, leaving a flustered jaemin behind.

you were bad news, your name only coming up in conversations about breaking the rules, hookups during parties with lots of alcohol involved and other rumours. he knew he wasn’t supposed to feel like this, all about you screamed ‘danger, beware’. and his friends had warned him, always making sure to constantly remind him not to get closer than needed or he would be doomed. but he couldn’t stop the fast beating of his heart nor the butterflies that erupted in his stomach. 

jaemin was certain this wasn’t going to end well, at least not for him.

and he was right.

~.~.~.~

a few hours later, jaemin and you were sat side by side on a slightly secluded table. he decided against sitting close to the entrance, as the internet connexion wasn’t so good and you were required to do internet research. he felt on edge every time your thigh brushed lightly against his, though he wasn’t sure if you knew what you were doing or if you were completely oblivious to the small touches.

but you sure weren’t oblivious of the way his body reacted with each of them, fingers gripping tightly the edges of the book he had opened in front of him. you on the other hand pretended to not notice, intently reading the thesis you had found in google scholars about multifactorial and complex diseases.

at some point, you figured it was time to make your move and shoot your shot. it seemed like he liked your proximity and lingering touches, as he had never –in all the time you’ve spent in the library– made an attempt to pull away or make you stop. also, by the look of the prominent tent forming inside his school pants, he appeared to actually be really fond of it. smiling to yourself, you continued as if nothing happened.

jaemin was internally panicking, he was aware that eventually you were going to notice his little –not so little– problem. he wanted to either bury himself underground or lock himself inside his room and wait until he passed away from inanition, starvation or dehydration, whatever happened first. he tried thinking about disgusting things to make it go away, like strawberries or the time when he was dared to lick his friend donghyuck’s sweaty foot, but nothing seemed to work.

you could make out the outline of his hard dick from the inside of his pants, biting your lips to contain the smirk making its way to your face. your hand snaked up his thigh until it was close to where he most needed you, making him shudder and squirm nervously under your touch. “w-what are you doing?”, he managed to ask, swallowing the lump in his throat. this was the first time a hand that wasn’t his own was touching him. because, of course, he wasn’t that innocent. he had needs like every guy his age, hormones all over the place and making him painfully aware of the pretty girl sitting so close to him. your scent intoxicating and addictive, almost making him lean closer.

you didn’t even care to respond, too fascinated by the feeling of his clothed member against your hand, hot and heavy. “s-stop, this isn’t right, w-we can’t do this here.” the panic present on his voice made a chuckle fall from your lips, making jaemin shrink in his seat. 

“someone’s gonna hear us, w-we’ll get caught.” he didn’t know what else to tell you to make you stop, how could he convince you to stop when he didn’t want you to? you ignored his words and kept going, the idea of getting caught causing wetness to gather inside your panties. “then you’ll have to keep quiet,” the moan that slipped from his lips made you rub your thighs together to ease some of the tension.

you freed his member from the confines of his pants and briefs, pulling them down just enough for you to have easy access to it, but not so much to make it too obvious. he was big; thick enough to stretch you out nicely. you hummed in approval, spitting in the palm of your hand, going to grab ahold of his cock and slowly start to pump him. jaemin threw his head back, eyebrows furrowed, eyes closed shut and mouth agape in a silent moan. “does it feel good baby?” he hummed quietly, not trusting his voice. he leaned his body closer to yours, chest against your side while his head rested on your shoulder. “so needy”, you mumbled mockingly, to which his hips bucked slightly.

jaemin felt in cloud 9 having your soft hand wrapped tightly around his sensitive dick. he knew all of this was wrong, but it felt so good. he opened his eyes enough to be able to see you work on his shaft. your thumb flicked against his slit as it spread the leaking precum from the tip to the base. he was trying his best to avoid letting out any sound, afraid of drawing unwanted attention.

you could feel he was getting close by the stuttering of his hips, desperately thrusting back against your fist. and, as much as you wanted to see his face while cumming, you weren’t going to let him just yet. you needed him and you needed him now, your slick arousal starting to run down your inner thighs. you’ve had enough.

your hand stopped its ministrations, making him whine softly at the loss of friction. moving to straddle his thighs, you threw your leg over his until you were comfortably sitting on his lap, skirt riding up from your new position. your thin arms snaked around his neck, one going to tangle in his hair and the other to caress his jaw. his hands positioned themselves instantly in your hips, holding onto you for dear life. his eyes nervously wandered over your shoulder, making sure nobody was paying attention to what you both were doing.

you pulled his chin to get him to look at you, eyes hooded and filled with lust. you looked so hot, face flushed a pretty tone of red, eyes sparkling with mischief. he knew he would be jacking off to the thought of you for the rest of the year, if not for the rest of his life.

his thoughts were interrupted, heavy lids almost closing once again and mind going blank, as he felt you roll your hips against his hard cock, which was standing tall in between your bodies. biting your lip, you leaned in to kiss his, feeling for the first time his plump, soft pink lips against yours. a moan escaped your mouth at the sweet taste of his tongue, fighting against your desperately as if he would never be able to savour you again.

rising from his lap slightly, you used one of your hands to position the tip of his cock against your entrance and the other to push your panties aside. a soft groan left jaemin’s lips as he felt the wetness of your core. as you were about to lower yourself on him, he stopped you, fingers digging against your sides. “i-i have never done anything like this with anyone.” if you were being honest, you found his nervous stutter quite endearing. “then let me ruin you.” that was all it took for him to give in to you.

you pumped him a few more times, making sure to completely coat his shaft with both of your arousals. as you lowered yourself on him, you pulled him in for a heated kiss, swallowing his sounds of pleasure. when you had finally engulfed the entirety of his cock, you began moving your hips in circular motions, waiting for the both of you to get used to the feeling. the friction made him pull you closer, face buried in the crook of your neck while small whimpers left his lips, going straight to your core. your walls clenched around him tightly, drawing a loud groan from his chest, eyes rolling to the back of his head.

you kept kissing him, swallowing his groans and moans. he felt so good filling you up with his hard cock, he fit perfectly inside of you, as if he was made just for you; like a puzzle piece. “you feel so good, baby, stretching me out, so so good,” you praised him sweetly, hand running through his soft locks.

jaemin seemed to be unable to get enough of you. he didn’t want this to end, he wanted to stay with you –preferably inside of you–, be able to feel you so close and know he is the one who is making you feel so good.

“wait, fuck,” he gasped trying to catch his breath, “wait, i’m g-gonna cum if you keep going.” it hadn’t been long, but he was already worked up since you started touching him earlier. “is that so? remember we’re not using a condom, baby. if you cum inside me i could get pregnant.” you hummed, trying to get a reaction to your words out of him. and you got it as a higher pitched moan fell from his lips, feeling his grip on your waist tighten.

“you’d like that, wouldn’t you, huh?” you quirked an eyebrow, smirking to yourself when you felt him twitch inside of you. “yes”, he whimpered, vision blurred, the pleasure overpowering the fear of being caught. he found himself enjoying the thrill more than he should, almost embarrassed with how easily you could make him lose all his self-control. he knew you were playing with his mind, pushing him just enough to make him risk everything; his reputation, his image. exactly how you managed to get him to lose his innocence.

“what a filthy little boy, who would have guessed perfect student na jaemin was so much of a slut”, you whispered in his ear while raking your nails down his chest. jaemin could only buck his hips to meet yours, desperate to feel more, thighs burning from the effort. he was getting restless, unable to keep quiet as moans rolled off of his tongue with every roll of your hips. your mouth attached itself to his neck, biting harshly to leave pretty red marks that were soon to become purple. the sound of pages turning and typing on the library’s computers reminding you of where you were.

“please, i’m so close,” he didn’t even know what he was pleading for anymore, the only thing he knew was that he needed you, all of you, in every way possible; in every way you were willing to let him have you. “wanna cum inside my tight little pussy, baby? wanna fill me up with your hot cum and put your baby inside of me?” with glassy eyes and hot tears threatening to fall down his crimson cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure which was almost making him dizzy, he let out a string of ‘yes, yes, yes’. his hands clutched your hips to bring you closer, digging his nails on the flesh and leaving crescent moon shaped marks. a moan slipped from your lips, only increasing his desperation.

you picked up your pace, your naked thighs slapping lightly against his clothed ones. the both of you could hear the wet mewls your cunt made every time you lowered yourself on him until he was balls deep inside of you. his hips raised to meet yours, hitting your most sensitive spot with the tip of his cock, as he tried to match your fast rhythm.

jaemin didn’t know what to do with himself. he knew he had to be quiet or else someone was going to realize what was going on, but he physically couldn’t hold the sounds in. in fact, he could almost taste the faint taste of copper from biting too harshly on the flesh of his lips. on the other hand, you didn’t seem to have as much trouble to keep your cool, as only a couple of sighs of pleasure left your lips from time to time. little did jaemin know you were struggling to keep your mouth shut. every thrust of his hips causing him to hit deeper, the fucked out look in his face motivating you to go faster.

though you weren’t as close to cumming as he was, you knew this was his first time and it seemed like he was about to combust. it wouldn’t be so nice of you to make him wait longer, would it? “cum for me baby boy,” and that’s all it took for jaemin to reach his high, hips stuttering and hands trembling. feeling his seed paint your velvet walls, your hand went down your body to find your clit, starting to rub circles against your sensitive bud. a wave of pleasure shot through your body and made your hips jerk roughly against him. the sob jaemin let out went straight to your core making your climax approach faster than you would have thought.

taking advantage of the slippery mess he had made of the both of you, you slid up and down on him faster and with more strength. jaemin, seeing as you weren’t going to stop anytime soon, started growing impatient. “t-to much, p–ah, please, it’s too much”, but you didn’t stop, gripping his strong arms and grinding harder against him. “no, no, please, it hurts” he cried out desperately, begging you to stop bouncing on his oversensitive cock. you shook your head and pulled him closer by the collar of his shirt. you smacked your mouths together, diving in for another sloppy kiss that had jaemin weak on the knees and a moaning mess.

when you tore away from him, jaemin brought his fist to his face and bit it hard, trying equally as hard to control himself. his second orgasm of the day was coming closer and oh was it going to be strong. when it finally happened, his eyes rolled to the back, head dropping back. that was the last straw as you felt yourself coming, walls tightening and clenching around him to milk him dry, the movements of your hand becoming sloppy. he felt light-headed, slightly blacking out for a few seconds until he managed to recover his consciousness.

using his shoulders to help yourself off of him, you let him slip out of you. jaemin winced from the oversensitivity, hands quickly tucking himself inside his pants. as you fixed your ruined panties and messy hair, properly tidying up your clothes, you once again threw your bag over your shoulder. he eyed you with a disoriented look in his face, confused as to what you were doing.

he saw you turn around on your heels before walking out of the library, only your panties preventing his cum from running down your thighs. you left him there, without a single word, not even spared him a glance. you walked away from him as if you didn’t just fuck the life out of him, as if he hadn’t just gifted you his virginity, or more like as if you hadn’t just stolen it. as if all the kisses you shared and loving pet names you used on him meant nothing.

and the worst part of it all was the pang of hurt jaemin felt in his heart when realization fell down on him like a bucket of cold water.

to you, that moment meant nothing. because to you, he didn’t mean anything.

–lia:)

[junghelioseok]

covenant.

↳ your best friend’s engagement forces you to reevaluate your own feelings.

◇ hoseok x reader ◇ smut | angst | werewolf!au | f2l!au ◇ 16.4k [1/1]

⇢ arguably also an arranged marriage!au, ft. kinda sorta dumbasses to lovers? a very, very late bday fic for the most beautiful man in the universe and my favorite funky lil dancer. ♡

notes: i started this in my drafts well over three months ago and all it said was “this ain’t gonna be on time for hobi’s bday i can feel it” and damn if past!me wasn’t right on the money!!! this has undergone three edits, going from 14.6k to 16.4k somehow, and i am going to lose my whole damn mind if i don’t just post it so here it is! hope you enjoy!

warnings: dom!hobi, alpha!hobi, bit of dirty talk, oral (f receiving), some grinding against hobi’s thigh, knotting, hobi’s got a big dick idk, also he’s in heat!!! but things eventually get really soft bc i love him and am a Soft Bitch™ 🤷🏻‍♀️

It’s going to rain.

You can smell it in the air and feel the damp chill against your skin, permeating through every layer of your clothing. The surrounding forest and all its occupants seem to be collectively holding their breath, waiting for the first drops to come. Even your footsteps, soft as they are against the loamy earth, sound much too loud in the hush that’s fallen. Dark clouds gather overhead, looming like an omen, and you silently reach into your purse to check that the umbrella you’d stowed this morning is still there. Vaguely, you wonder if it’s big enough for two.

Around you, the trees slowly begin to dwindle, until there’s only open sky above your head and a wide grassy expanse beneath your feet. A certain heaviness lingers in the air here—a low thrum of energy, born from the ancient magic that sleeps in the gnarled roots of the tree that sits in the center of the clearing. You can feel it prickling along your skin, raising gooseflesh and igniting your veins, and the closer you get, the stronger the feeling becomes.

At the far end of the clearing, you spot a small crowd of people, all clad in black. Your best friend—and your entire reason for venturing out today—stands amongst them in a tailored suit, his black tie snug at his throat and laid atop a charcoal gray shirt. He’s chatting with his father and a few other family members, seemingly calm and collected, but you can tell from the sloppy knot of his tie and the way he fidgets with the hem of his jacket that he is anything but. After all your years of friendship, you can read Jung Hoseok like a book. His auburn hair is disheveled as if he’s been incessantly raking his fingers through it, and even at a distance, you can sense the turmoil in his aura, haloing him like the stormy clouds overhead.

Sensing your approach, Hoseok’s gaze flickers up to meet yours. He raises a hand in greeting and bids farewell to the people he’d been chatting with, picking his way over to you with a wan smile.

“Hey. You made it.”

“I wouldn’t miss this,” you reply, reaching out to take his hand. It’s warm and strong as always, but you don’t miss the slight tremor in his grip. “How are you holding up?”

He shrugs half-heartedly, a sigh escaping his lips and dissipating into mist in the wintry air. “As well as can be expected, I guess. It just… it all happened so fast.”

“I know,” you murmur, twining your fingers together in quiet reassurance. “I’m so sorry, Hobi.”

“Thanks.”

Slowly, his gaze flits to the center of the clearing where the ancient tree sits, traversing from the leafy canopy all the way down to where the gnarled roots disappear into the dirt. In its shadow sits a polished wooden casket, and you squeeze Hoseok’s hand gently as he walks closer, his eyes beginning to glisten.

“I still can’t believe he’s gone, you know,” he mumbles. “All these years of war, of negotiations and peace talks, finally seeing the Accords pass and the company flourish… and now he’s gone. Cancer. Just like that.”

His voice cracks on the last sentence, and you clasp his hand a little tighter. You know as well as he does that a healthy werewolf can live for well over a century, if not for the human genetics that remain susceptible to human weaknesses and disease. True immortality afflicts only the faeries and the vampires of your world—and even then, there are still ways that those folk can die.

“He lived a long life,” you say after a moment’s hesitation, grasping onto any semblance of comfort you can offer. Together, you and Hoseok come to a stop in the shadow of the tree, peering at the closed casket where his grandfather lays. “And it was a good, just life. Not all of us can say that.”

A lone, wet droplet falls onto the polished mahogany, and Hoseok hastily wipes his eyes, tilting his head skyward. “Not long enough,” he whispers. “He still had so much to do. I… I still have so much I wanted to do—to say. And now I’ll never be able to.”

You caress a thumb across his knuckles, the motion soft and tender. “I know. And I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do.”

Hoseok glances down at that, a glimmer of something manic and desperate swimming in his amber-flecked irises. “You could,” he says, grabbing both your hands and clutching them to his chest like a lifeline. “You could bring him back. You know how, don’t you?”

You shake your head sadly, hating the way his frown deepens as you free yourself from his grasp. “That’s forbidden magic, Hobi. That’s necromancy. You know I can’t do that.”

Hoseok’s entire body sags, his shoulders slumping as he lets out a heavy sigh. Instinctively, you step forward to wrap him in a hug, and he loops his arms around your waist automatically, pulling you flush against him. “I know,” he mumbles into your hair. Then he huffs out a dry chuckle, humorless and deprecating. “Fuck. I’m a mess, huh?”

You don’t answer. You don’t need to. Instead, you hold him a little tighter, rubbing his back soothingly in long, slow motions—the same way his mother used to do during bedtime. His heart thuds erratically in his chest, fast and frenzied like a caged bird, but lulls as you continue your ministrations, settling into an even rhythm once more.

“Thank you,” he murmurs after a few moments, his warm breath caressing your cheek. “For coming today. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

“You can do anything, Hobi,” you reassure, running a thumb along the sharp line of his jaw when he raises his head to look at you. “With or without me. But… you’re welcome, all the same.”

Your presence at this funeral is unusual, and both you and Hoseok know it. Werewolf packs tend to keep their rites and ceremonies private, and the Gwangju pack is no different. Led by Hoseok’s father, and his late grandfather before him, the werewolves of the city have rapidly risen to prominence and power, aided in large part by the founding of JungTech. The company, started by Hoseok’s grandfather, began as a small operation in a battered old warehouse, but quickly grew to become one of Gwangju’s biggest corporations after the signing of the Accords twenty years ago. The peace treaty marked the start of a tenuous coexistence between humankind and Shadowfolk, and, together with your fellow witches—along with the werewolves, vampires, and the few fair folk who decided to leave their homes deep in the forests—you migrated into cities all over the country to forge new lives.

It’s proven easier for some. While the wolves of the city have found tolerance—acceptance, even—you have not fared quite as well. Humans, you have found, tend to fear the ancient magic that runs through your veins. Though nothing you’ve faced comes remotely close to what your ancestors faced in centuries past, you remain wary of those who take a little too much interest in your abilities.

You’re a bit paranoid, your familiar, Bast, has remarked on more than one occasion. But it’s justified, so I suppose it’s all right.

As if sensing that your thoughts have turned to him, Bast stirs in the back of your mind. You feel him yawn and stretch lazily before there’s a tug on the soles of your feet, as if the force of gravity has suddenly, inexplicably doubled. Then he’s materializing—morphing out of the spot where your shadow would be if the sun were shining, taking the form of an inky black cat with sharp, golden eyes. Hoseok perks up when Bast loops between his ankles, and immediately squats down to scratch behind his ears, a small smile settling across his face as a low, content purr rumbles up from beneath his fingertips. From elsewhere in the clearing, a single howl rises up into the air, forlorn and wavering.

It’s starting, Bast says in your head. At the same time, Hoseok straightens to his full height, fiddling with the hem of his black jacket and looking over at you tentatively.

“Sounds like they’re getting started,” he says.

You nod. “I should go.”

Hoseok opens his mouth as if to protest—as if to say no, stay—but you know better and cut him off with a single raised finger.

“I’ll go,” you murmur. “This is a private rite, and I don’t want to break centuries of tradition by overstaying my welcome. Go join your pack, Hobi.”

“Will I see you later?”

“Without a doubt.”

Your parting gesture is to reach out and grab his hand, tucking a little drawstring bag into his palm and closing his fingers over it. “Valerian root and chamomile,” you tell him gently, taking in his rumpled collar and the dark bags beneath his eyes. “Make some tea tonight. It’ll help.”

Hoseok swallows and nods, his features softening as he gazes down at his hand cupped in your smaller ones. He looks like he wants to say something, but another howl interrupts, disrupting whatever thoughts he may have had. Instead, he nods again, murmuring a soft goodbye before turning on his heel to join the rest of the pack gathering around the raised casket. You turn as well, leaving behind the ancient clearing with Bast trotting by your side.

Up above, the heavens finally open, drenching the dirt path beneath your feet with rain. And behind you, the single howl is joined by dozens more, echoing mournfully up into the weeping sky.

///

You’re in the middle of straightening out a display of dittany when the kettle begins to boil, emitting three short, shrill whistles accompanied by a long stream of whirling steam. When silence falls over the shop once more, you wander over to where the kettle sits—atop a small wooden end table next to an old wardrobe. It’s an old relic that’s been passed down through generations of witches in your family, wrought out of silvery metal and suspended in an iron frame above a single lit candle. The flame is glowing pink, flickering in a nonexistent gust of wind, and you smile. Quietly, you grab two teacups from a nearby shelf.

Not two seconds later, the door of the old wardrobe creaks open, revealing the familiar face of Kim Seokjin behind it. A fellow witch and a good friend of yours, Jin has made a name for himself as a baker, running a café in Seoul that offers all sorts of confections—both with magical properties and without. His hair is dyed a muted dusty rose—a stark contrast to the casual black hoodie and jeans he’s wearing—and you reach out to push a stray lock back from his forehead in lieu of a greeting.

“Your hair’s pink again,” you remark. “I like it.”

Jin grins, his plush lips pulling back to reveal perfect teeth. “Thanks.” Carefully, he steps out of the wardrobe and shuts the door behind him. A beat of silence passes, and you take the opportunity to select a canister of tea leaves. You don’t miss the flicker of solemnity that settles into Jin’s features, though, listening as he clears his throat before voicing the question that is undoubtedly the reason behind his unexpected visit.

“So. How’s Hoseok holding up?”

Jin has never been one to mince his words. You suppose you appreciate that about him.

Quietly, you lift the kettle out of its stand and beckon for him to join you at the little wooden table at the front of your shop. It’s tucked neatly into the nook carved out by one of the two bay windows on either side of the front door, flanked by two well-worn, mismatched chairs. Atop it sits a pile of books—everything from ancient remedies to common household spells.

One book in particular always sits open—a detailed list of all the herbs and plants you carry in your shop, along with the various concoctions you’ve created with them. Hellebore, the spine of the book reads, and it’s the same word that graces your storefront in flowing, golden text. An apothecary of sorts, you spend your days dealing out potions and remedies to those in need, both human and Shadowfolk. You do your best to help, for all the times modern medicine has come up short and left someone wanting.

“Honestly? I don’t think he’s been sleeping.” You set the teacups down onto the table and fill them both before handing one over to Jin. “I saw him this morning, at the funeral. He looked exhausted.”

Jin’s brows disappear behind his pink hair. “You went to the funeral?”

“I didn’t stay,” you clarify, taking a sip of your tea. “Just wanted to drop by, say hello, and pay my respects.”

“Werewolves are a private bunch,” Jin remarks. “I’m surprised.”

You shrug. “Hoseok wanted me to be there. So I went.”

“I see.” He doesn’t say anything further, and neither do you, lapsing instead into a comfortable silence that’s broken only by the occasional sip of tea and the clinking of china. Your gaze wanders, drifting over to the front door of your shop, painted a cheerful green and set with a flowery stained glass window that throws kaleidoscopic rainbows across the cream walls and dark wooden floor. Sunlight streams through the wide bay windows, illuminating the interior in warm, hazy gold. On the other side of the room, Bast is curled up, fast asleep on his favorite plush bench beside the glass door that leads to the greenhouse, perfectly haloed by the sun.

“Must be nice being able to fall asleep anywhere,” you mutter, almost to yourself.

Jin hears you anyway, a chuckle escaping his lips. “You sound jealous.”

“Maybe I am,” you reply, laughing with him. “Speaking of which, where’s Adam? Did he stay home?”

Jin nods, jabbing his thumb in the direction of the wardrobe. “Yeah, he’s keeping an eye on the café. Told me to say hi to you for him, though.”

You giggle at the thought of Jin’s familiar, a long-haired sheepdog with a stubborn streak the size of the Nile and blatant disdain for following orders—especially those that come from Jin himself. “Keeping watch, or trashing the place?” you tease.

“With my luck, probably both,” Jin admits with a sigh. “I should probably get back there soon. He ate all the egg tarts last time.”

“Bring him with you next time,” you advise. “Bast will keep him entertained.”

He grins. “I don’t doubt it.”

Finishing off the last of his tea, he stands up and taps the rim of his cup, murmuring a soft cleaning spell under his breath. You smile gratefully as he replaces it back onto the shelf with the others, and stand to walk him back over to the wardrobe. Opening up the creaky door, you watch him clamber inside, standing amongst the hanging coats and the single pair of shoes on the bottom shelf.

“See you later,” you murmur. “Give Adam my best.”

Jin nods. “See you.”

He shuts the door, and you watch the flame of the candle once again turn a soft, roseate pink. It flickers briefly, dancing in an invisible breeze, before reverting back to the color of regular fire, signaling Jin’s departure. Quietly, you clean your own teacup and return it to the shelf.

The remainder of the afternoon passes with few customers, so you opt to close down early and head to your apartment, located up a short flight of stairs on the second floor of the shop. You’re rifling through the refrigerator for dinner ingredients and humming softly under your breath when your phone suddenly rings, Hoseok’s name lighting up the screen in bright white text. “Hey, Hobi,” you say, swiping across the glass to answer. “What’s up?”

On the other end of the line, Hoseok exhales shakily. “Can you come over?”

You blink, glancing at the darkening sky outside. “Now?”

“Yeah. Fuck, sorry. I know it’s late, but I really… I really need to talk to someone. I—” His voice cracks, and your heart sinks. “I need you.”

“Say no more.” Straightening up, you shut the refrigerator door and tug off your apron. “I’ll be there in half an hour. Have you eaten yet?”

Hoseok sighs. “No.”

“I’ll bring takeout,” you decide, already glancing around for your purse. “See you soon, okay?”

Bidding him farewell, you don your coat and head out the door, locking up behind you. Hoseok lives downtown in a sleek, modern penthouse that’s normally a twenty-minute walk away from Hellebore, but after stopping by the restaurant on the corner for food, you opt to catch the bus instead. Fifteen minutes after you hang up the phone, you are rapping the bronze knocker on Hoseok’s front door, a paper bag and a bottle of wine in hand.

Almost instantly, the door is flung open. Hoseok stands in the threshold as if he’s been waiting there, his auburn hair wild and his eyes even wilder. His aura is turbulent, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse. “Hey.”

“Hey.” You raise the bag. “I brought dinner.”

“You’re the best,” he sighs, stepping aside to let you in.

Hoseok’s apartment toes the line between modern and cozy in a way that only Hoseok’s apartment could—with lush green plants and plushy, earth-toned furniture to offset the cold impersonality of the floor-to-ceiling windows and the stainless steel kitchen. Flicking on the kitchen light, you set the food down on the granite countertop and grab two wine glasses out of the cabinet. Hoseok sidles over as you pour a generous helping into each glass, rifling through the silverware drawer for utensils.

“Smells good,” he murmurs, popping a box open. “I’m starving. Thanks for bringing dinner.”

You brush off his gratitude and hand him a glass, raising yours so you can clink it gently against his. Quietly, the two of you fall into a comfortable routine, with Hoseok grabbing the food and you grabbing the bottle of wine to bring into the living room. You help him clear off the coffee table and arrange the food, then settle onto the couch beside him, sipping your drink in silence and patiently waiting for him to gather his thoughts. Years of friendship have taught you that he’ll talk when he’s ready, and you’re content to wait as long as he needs.

Sighing, Hoseok tips the rest of his wine back into his mouth before setting the empty glass down with a soft plink. “So,” he begins, not quite looking you in the eye. “My dad and I had lunch today.”

You stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. He takes several more seconds to muster up the words, and when he finally finds them, they’re exhaled in a tumbling rush. “He told me that he’s pleased with how I’m running JungTech. It’s been over a year, and things are going well… so he wants to expedite my takeover of the pack. In two months, he wants me to take over as the alpha. And…” He swallows. “He wants me to settle down.”

Perturbed, you blink. “What?”

Hoseok finally looks at you, his expression frighteningly devoid of emotion. “He wants me to get married, {Name}.”

Comprehension doesn’t settle in right away. But when it does, your jaw drops to the floor, landing somewhere alongside the ornamental persian carpet and a stray sock that has no doubt jumped ship from Hoseok’s laundry.

“W-what?” you manage after a few long seconds of gaping at him. “Why? Why now? That’s so… that’s completely out of the blue.”

Hoseok shakes his head, a few shaggy strands of auburn hair falling across his forehead and into his eyes. “It’s not, actually. He’s been talking about it for a long time—trying to arrange something with one of the other pack families. It’s tradition, you know? Mating within the pack, keeping the bloodlines pure through marriage. The difference is that Pops always talked him out of it. Always said I was too young, that there was no rush, that I should wait for someone I love, my true mate...” He sighs, heavily. “But he’s gone now. And Dad’s decided that he’s done waiting.”

You shouldn’t ask. You shouldn’t, because you know it’ll hurt, but the question comes regardless—leaving your lips in a near whisper. “Who?”

Hoseok takes a deep breath, his shoulders slumping as he exhales. “Do you remember Im Nayeon?”

You do. You’ve known Nayeon almost as long as you’ve known Hoseok—the three of you having attended the same schools starting from elementary all the way up until Hoseok left to attend university in Seoul. Admittedly, you were never close—and if you were completely honest, you always found her to be a bit disingenuous for your tastes. Nevertheless, you often found yourself at the same events—parties and gatherings you attended at Hoseok’s request, and that she was privy to due to her family’s high-ranking status within the Gwangju pack.

“I remember,” you tell him, your bottom lip finding its way between your teeth. “Does… does she know yet? Have you met up with her?”

Hoseok nods. “She was there this morning, at the funeral. We talked a little bit and got coffee after, but… this is all happening so fast.” Slowly, he tilts his head back to stare at the ceiling, a sigh escaping his parted lips. “But there’s nothing I can do, right? It’s enough that Dad’s somehow talked Mom into the whole thing, but now he’s gotten the Council on board too. Did you know that Nayeon has an uncle on the Council? It’s insane, right?”

“Insane,” you agree in a whisper, doing your best to ignore the way your heart is splintering at the edges.

“You know, I always thought my Dad pressuring me was bad.” Hoseok buries his face in his hands, peering at you from between his splayed fingers when you hum in acknowledgment. “But this? The entire Council on my back? This is way worse.”

“I’m sorry.” You don’t know what else there is to say. Your ribcage feels like it’s been split open and filled with burning coals, weighing hot and heavy on your insides.

Hoseok has dated in the past, of course. You both have—chasing that elusive, fluttery feeling called love and never quite being able to catch it and hold on. Hoseok’s last relationship fizzled long before he graduated from university, having lasted only about six months. You distinctly remember meeting the girl during one of your frequent visits to Seoul, at a small party hosted by Hoseok and his friends. By your next visit, however, things had already ended. He never really told you why the breakup occurred either—only that the relationship never would have lasted in the long run.

Perhaps foolishly, you chose not to pry.

“Is there anything I can do?” you ask softly. Reaching out, you take ahold of his hand and tug it into your lap, threading your fingers into the gaps between his. The gesture is familiar and comforting, like cocoa in front of a lit fireplace, and you can’t even begin to fathom the idea of another person sitting here and holding his hand in your stead.

“Just talk to me,” Hoseok entreaties, squeezing your fingers. “Distract me. What’s going on with you?”

You hum, swallowing down the lump in your throat and letting your head fall onto his shoulder as you pick through the events of the past week for the most interesting tidbits. “Bast has been bringing me dead rats lately,” you finally say, nose scrunching at the memory. “You should see the size of them—they’re almost bigger than he is. And they smell like the sewers, because I’m ninety-nine percent sure that’s where he’s getting them from. It’s horrid.”

Hoseok huffs out a stilted laugh. “Sewer rats? Gross.”

“It’s not all bad, to be honest,” you tell him, nestling a little closer to the warmth of his body. Hoseok keeps his apartment chillier than you’re accustomed to, and you’re beyond grateful for the furnace-like heat he gives off naturally. “The bones are pretty useful. The tails too, provided you don’t tell people what they actually are.”

His laugh is much more genuine this time. “Tricky little minx,” he says, amusement lacing his tone. “I’ve always liked that about you.”

You ignore the uptick in your heart rate at his approval, grateful that he can’t see your face as a pulse of heat flushes your cheeks. Instead, you burrow into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent. Hoseok smells like the forest—fresh and woodsy, with a slight floral undercurrent from his fabric softener. It smells like home, and you smile when his arm comes up to wrap around your shoulders.

“Jin came by today,” you murmur.

“Yeah?” The monosyllabic response rumbles through his chest.

“Yeah. He asked about you, too. You should probably text him later.”

Hoseok hums a confirmation, and, satisfied, you cuddle a little closer to him. You pull at the afghan he keeps laid over the back of the couch, laying it comfortably over your lap as he rests his head gently atop yours, his ear pressed to your crown. Your eyes fall shut as you listen to the rhythmic thud of his pulse—solid and steady, backed by the soft hum of the refrigerator and distant traffic on the street far below.

It’s comfortable, sitting with him like this. Comfortable, stroking his arm with your fingertips, in time with the drumbeat of his heart. Ever so gradually, Hoseok’s breathing evens out, and you briefly think that you could stay like this—encapsulated in this delicate, iridescent bubble of contentment—for the rest of your life.

You know the thing about bubbles, though? Bast remarks dryly in your head. They burst.

I know, you sigh.

I know.

///

There’s something soothing about taking inventory—something calming in the repetition of walking down the aisles of Hellebore and restocking the shelves one by one. You’d woken this morning to an apologetic Hoseok making pancakes in the kitchen, his residual heat and woodsy scent lingering on the blanket tucked around your body. After a harried breakfast and a promise to text you later, Hoseok rushed off to the office.

You, in turn, returned to your shop, where you grabbed every ounce of cleaning supplies you possess and scrubbed the place from top to bottom, foregoing all of your usual dishwashing charms and dust-clearing jinxes. The physical labor is a welcome distraction from the events and revelations of last night, and you’ve thrown yourself wholeheartedly into all the chores you need to complete.

“Almost out of rosehip oil,” you mutter, eyeing the half-empty vial and making a note to extract more from one of several plants in your greenhouse. “Low on valerian too, hmm…”

The bell over the front door jingles merrily, diverting your attention away from your task. “{Name}?” a voice calls softly. A moment later, a familiar head of coppery red hair pops around the edge of the shelves, choppy bangs framing a soft, warm face. “Hey, there you are. You busy?”

You shake your head and shut your inventory book, setting it down on the nearest shelf. “Not terribly, no. What brings you here today, Lisa?”

Lisa’s answering smile is sheepish. “Got something to return,” she says, holding up a little glass jar full of lavender colored pills that you immediately recognize. “I’m guessing you’ve already heard the news. Looks like I won’t be needing these anymore, right?”

Your laugh sounds brittle, even to your own ears. “Right. Yeah. Not anymore.”

For just over ten years, Lisa has been the wolf assigned to help Hoseok through his heat. Between his family’s status and his longtime designation as the next alpha of the Gwangju pack, it’s imperative for Hoseok to avoid anything that might be perceived as scandalous. Torrid sex stories splashed across tabloid covers is the last thing a man like Hoseok needs, and that’s where Lisa comes in. Once a year, for three days, she goes to him, and no one is none the wiser. Her job is one that calls for the utmost discretion, and as the daughter of a high-ranking Council official, no one understood that better than she did. You’d only found out because of your role as one of the few witches in the country who makes and stocks the proper contraceptives for such wolves—the dosage much stronger than the human equivalent.

And when Lisa had first approached you to purchase the pills, you’d dropped two jars and nearly set fire to a third. Your stomach had fallen to somewhere around your toes, right alongside the shattered glass and little lavender tablets.

You’d chalked the accident up to surprise. Hoseok hadn’t mentioned anything to you, after all, and you’d known very little about the intricacies of werewolf heats back then, having just opened your shop at age eighteen. But surprise doesn’t explain the snaking jealousy that bubbles up in your tummy every time Lisa comes in to restock her supply of pills, nor does it explain the overwhelming sense of relief you feel now as she presses the unopened jar into your hands.

“I still can’t believe he’s going to be the most powerful man in Gwangju soon.” Lisa steps back, tucking her hair behind her ear and letting out a soft sigh. “And now he’s engaged, too. It’s pretty crazy, huh?”

“Crazy,” you agree tonelessly, turning to replace the jar onto the appropriate shelf.

Lisa, however, is nothing if not perceptive. A gentle hand lands on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “Hey,” she begins, soft and slow. “You know you can talk to me, right? Are you—?”

But the sound of the bell drowns out the rest of her question, metallic and bright in the quiet of your shop. “Hello? Anyone home?” a cheery voice asks.

“Be right there,” you say immediately, shrugging off Lisa’s hand and stepping out from amongst the shelves. There’s a young woman standing at the checkout counter, rifling through the collection of seeds on display, and you cringe as she replaces a few packets in the wrong spots. “How can I help you?”

At the sound of your voice, the woman turns gracefully on her heel, her expression a perfectly crafted amalgamation of surprise and delight. “{Name}!” she exclaims, stepping forward with an outstretched arm. “Long time no see!”

“N-Nayeon,” you stammer, the shock of seeing her face freezing you in place. “What… what brings you here?”

The dark-haired woman steps forward to pull you into a hug, enveloping you in her fruity perfume. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to catch up with an old friend?” she asks playfully.

We were never friends, you want to say. In your head, Bast lets out a derisive snort of agreement. Lisa, you notice, has conveniently melted away somewhere amidst the organized chaos of your shop, disappearing into the myriad shelves and knickknacks.

“Plus, I really wanted to look at some flowers,” Nayeon continues, betraying her true purpose at last. “You’ve heard, haven’t you? About my engagement? I’m sure Hoseok—I mean, my fiancé—has mentioned it to you, of all people. You are his best friend, after all.”

The inside of the shop is beginning to feel stifling. Perspiration trickles down your neck and you tug at your collar, loosening the material from where it’s plastered against your skin. “Sure,” you manage, once you feel like you can breathe again. “Right. Sure. The flowers are right this way, if you want to follow me.”

I’d forgotten how much I don’t like her, your familiar remarks dryly in your head.

Shut up, Bast.

Mercifully, he does. There’s a tug on your feet, and you glance down just in time to see him morph out of the shadow you cast against the sun-drenched floor. Ghostly and amorphous at first, he quickly solidifies into the feline figure you’ve grown accustomed to, and slinks protectively around your ankles before darting off to perch in the cushioned bay window seat.

Conveniently, that’s also where the flower display is. Colorful blooms and trailing leaves adorn the wooden shelves and tables in this particular corner of the shop, and you force yourself to shift back into professional mode as you come to a stop in front of an assortment of honeysuckle. “So, what kind of flowers are you looking for?” you ask, brushing your fingers along the pale yellow petals.

Nayeon hums thoughtfully and picks up a potted rosebush, examining it from all angles. “Roses, maybe. Are roses too clichéd now?” She brings the crimson buds closer and inhales, eyes fluttering shut. “No matter. I’ve always liked them.”

“They’re beautiful,” you agree, turning your attention to the selection of roses lining the topmost shelf. “Do you have a color preferen—?”

“Or maybe these would be better,” Nayeon interrupts, plucking up a pale pink calla lily from the bouquet you keep in a table display. “Or that one—what is it?”

You follow the trajectory of her gaze to a bunch of little white flowers with golden centers, stark against the dark dirt and surrounding green foliage. “That would be bloodroot,” you answer. “One of my personal favorites—it’s both ornamental and medicinal. It would look lovely in a bouquet.”

Nayeon pulls a face and shakes her head. “No, no—I don’t want anything with such a horrible name. What about these?” she asks, reaching up to take a closer look at a larger bloom. “Peonies, right?”

By the time Nayeon makes it back to the checkout counter with a few sample rose cuttings in hand, you’re fairly certain that several eternities have passed. “Is there anything else you need?” you ask as you ring her up and wrap the flowers neatly in paper.

“A discount for an old friend?” she queries, shooting you a playful wink. When you don’t answer right away, she giggles. “I’m kidding! Obviously, I’ll pay. It’s not like I’m pressed for money—I mean, you’ve seen who my fiancé is, right? Now gosh, where did I put my wallet?”

Your cheeks are beginning to feel far too hot. Nayeon is still rummaging in her purse, and you quickly duck beneath the counter under the pretense of looking for some ribbon to tie off the bouquet. Fanning your face, you take a few deep breaths, listening as she continues chattering away.

“We’re having dinner tonight, actually, Hoseok and I. It’ll be our second real date, and… wait!” She gasps, and you peer up just in time to see her slap a hand over her perfectly lacquered mouth. “You should come! Bring someone, if you can—it’ll be like a double date!”

If you can? Bast snipes. Curse her.

You sigh inwardly and straighten back up, ribbon in hand. Shut up, Bast.

If you won’t, I will.

You’ll do no such thing.

Mustering up your best, most earnest smile, you hand over the wrapped flowers along with her change. “That sounds like fun,” you tell her, ignoring the way your insides lurch at the lie. “When and where?”

Nayeon beams and rattles off the address of an unfamiliar restaurant. “Don’t be late!” she calls as she heads for the door. The bell jangles cheerily as she departs, and as soon as the door shuts behind her, Lisa pokes her head around a nearby bookshelf.

“Finally,” she sighs, walking over to join you. “I thought she’d never leave.”

Ordinarily, you wouldn’t dare speak ill of a customer, but you’re willing to make an exception today. “You and me both,” you reply, watching as Bast slinks over like a shadow and hops onto the counter beside you. He nuzzles his face into the crook of your elbow in silent solidarity, and you mindlessly begin scratching behind his ears as Lisa speaks again.

“Are you really going to go to that dinner tonight?”

You meet her gaze, shrugging. “I already said I would. Do I really have a choice?”

There isn’t much else to say, and both you and she know it. Pushing off from where she’s leaning against the countertop, Lisa flips her coppery hair over her shoulder and shoots you a look, brown eyes full of sympathy. “Good luck,” she says sincerely. You get the feeling that she wants to say something else, but decides against it at the last minute. Instead, she bids you goodbye and walks out with a wave and another chime of the bell. Silence settles over the shop once more, and you allow yourself a few moments to breathe—slow and deep, in and out—before picking up your phone and opening up the most recent text messages. It doesn’t take long to find the name you’re looking for, but you still pause, thumbs hovering over the keyboard, before you begin to type.

[4:21pm] You: how would you like to join me for a very awkward dinner date?

[4:21pm] Jin: consider me intrigued.

///

You and Jin arrive at the restaurant first. It’s an ornate, palatial place with tuxedoed waitstaff and a coat room, and despite giving the name ‘Jung’ at the door, you’re certain that Hoseok played no part in the venue selection. The host ushers you to a booth tucked in the back, the cushioned seats a velvety burgundy and a chandelier glittering overhead, throwing refracted, iridescent light across the veined marble table. All of a sudden, the simple black dress you’re wearing feels painfully inadequate. Glancing down at your feet, you wonder if you should have worn heels instead.

Beside you, Jin cuts a striking figure in a creamy silk shirt with ribbons that tie into a bow at his throat, the material loose and flowy up until where it tucks into fitted black slacks. His pink hair complements the elegant outfit perfectly, parted and swept off his forehead to reveal his dark brows.

As if reading your mind, he lays a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You look beautiful,” he says, before gesturing at the booth. “Now, do you want the inside or outside? Think you’ll need to make a quick getaway at some point?”

“Probably,” you sigh. Jin nods and sits down first, and you watch him slide across the seat cushion before settling in beside him. “I still can’t believe you volunteered to be here,” you murmur, plucking up one of the folded cloth napkins and fiddling with the crisp white edges. “You’re a saint, I swear.”

Jin chuckles and plucks the napkin from your clasped hands, laying it across your lap instead. “Not a saint,” he says, matching your soft tone. “Just someone who cares about you.”

Your cheeks warm at his sudden proximity. “Thank you,” you tell him, for what must be the umpteenth time. “I can’t even imagine what I’d do without you.”

“Good thing you don’t have to, then,” he replies with a grin. “Now, chin up. They just walked in.”

You can’t help the groan that escapes you. “Is it too late to run?”

“Afraid so,” he answers honestly.

And then Nayeon is slipping into the cushioned seat opposite you, syrupy smile in place on her berry lacquered lips. “Hi!” she chirps, laying a hand on Hoseok’s arm as he sits down beside her. “Sorry we’re late. We, um…” She pauses and shoots Hoseok a conspiratorial look, giggling. “... lost track of the time.”

Your magic flares, hot and bright in your veins, and you know Jin feels it too when he lays a cautionary hand on your knee beneath the table. “We weren’t waiting long,” he says, offering the two a genial smile. He’s perfectly polite as he and Nayeon exchange quick introductions, and gestures toward the assortment of menus on the table as soon as everyone has settled down. “Why don’t we order some wine to start?”

“Oh, that’s a splendid idea! Isn’t that a splendid idea, Hoseok?” Nayeon turns to the auburn-haired man beside her, and you do the same, gaze landing on Hoseok for the first time tonight. He’s in an all black ensemble, sharp jacket layered over a silky black shirt, the top buttons loosened to bare a tantalizing sliver of golden skin. His auburn hair is parted, a stray lock falling across his forehead, and you shiver when you realize he’s staring right back at you with dark, unreadable eyes.

At the sound of Nayeon’s voice, Hoseok seems to snap out of his trance, his expression smoothing out as he plasters on a smile. “Take a look at the menu,” he says, picking up the leather-bound book and offering it to her. “Dinner’s on me.”

You blink. “We can’t let you do that, Hobi.”

“Let me pick up at least part of the tab,” Jin adds, already reaching for his wallet. “I’m no corporate bigshot, but I do well enough for myself.”

“No need to be modest,” you chime in, nudging him playfully. “Weren’t you just telling me about your new restaurant opening on the way over? Next week, right?”

Jin’s ears redden as all the attention is turned onto him. “Next week, yeah.”

“That’s amazing!” Nayeon chirps, pressing closer to Hoseok. “We’ll have to check it out sometime. Maybe a date night, right, darling?”

Hoseok busies himself with rearranging his cutlery, swapping the knife and fork around. “Right—sure. If we ever make it up to Seoul, we’ll, uh… we’ll definitely stop by. Congratulations, man.”

The conversation continues. A server stops by to take your wine order, and Jin decides on a moderately priced bottle of cabernet sauvignon. Glasses are brought over, and wine is poured. Hoseok finishes his quickly and pours himself another, and though his wolf metabolism prevents him from getting drunk off of regular wine, you know that he’s a bit of a lightweight and tends to avoid drinking heavily no matter what the beverage. He’s drinking with a purpose tonight, and you’re beyond grateful when Jin pipes up with yet another story when the conversation lulls.

“And then I found out that the oven was on the whole time! Adam would probably let the entire apartment go up in flames just to spite me—I should watch my back.”

“Or, you know, just watch the oven more closely,” you tease. “I’ve seen your place, Jin—it’s a complete fire hazard. It’s a wonder it hasn’t burned to the ground already.”

Jin sniffs. “You’re exaggerating. Stop making me look bad.”

“You make yourself look bad,” you retort, laughing when his lower lip juts out into a pout.

Across the table, Hoseok clears his throat. “Speaking of fire hazards—did I ever tell you about the time {Name} set me on fire?”

“I did no such thing!” you protest, reaching over to slap his arm. “I mean, okay, maybe a little bit, but that was one time! And you were barely singed!”

Hoseok snorts out a laugh. “Barely singed? I couldn’t sit properly for a week.”

“Oh please, that’s a lie and you know it!”

Nayeon interrupts your conversation with a loud huff, setting her wineglass down with enough force to thud against the veined marble tabletop. “Do one of you maybe want to fill us in on the joke here?”

Abashed, you glance back at Hoseok, watching as his smile slowly fades back into the careful, neutral expression he’s worn all evening. “Sorry,” you murmur. “It’s an old story from when we were kids—when we first met, actually. We were seven years old, and it was the second day of school. I didn’t have a very good handle on my magic yet, and accidentally set Hoseok’s tail on fire during recess.”

“I preferred to run around in my wolf form back then,” Hoseok further elaborates. “There was a big field out behind the school—remember that, {Name}?”

You nod. “Of course. It went right up to the very edge of the woods. And if you kept going and went far enough, you reached the old wooden bridge.”

Hoseok is smiling again, soft and fond. “That thing was a death trap.”

“But the teachers could never keep us away,” you say, grinning at him.

“All right,” Nayeon interrupts again, sniffing disdainfully. “Enough about the old days—I think it’s time to talk about the present. And more importantly, the future.” She sighs happily and props her chin up in her palm, ensuring that the delicate golden band on her ring finger is on full display, the metal glimmering in the warm light. “You’re both invited to the wedding, of course. And I never did properly thank you for the flowers today, {Name}!”

Her words seem to come as a surprise to Hoseok, who straightens up in his seat. “Flowers? You visited Hellebore today?”

“Of course I did!” Nayeon hides a giggle behind a manicured hand. “I wouldn’t even think of trusting anyone else with my bouquet.”

Hoseok’s gaze skitters over to you, awash with concern and tinged with apology, but you ignore him in favor of forcing your expression into something that’s meant to be a smile. Yet no matter how much you strain your cheeks and stretch your lips, it feels—and looks, you’re sure—far more like a grimace.

“I’m happy to do it,” you lie, your teeth gritted and tight. “I don’t mind it one bit.”

///

“So. That was just as awkward as promised.”

You and Jin are walking back to Hellebore, leaving behind the bustling downtown area for the darker, quieter streets of your neighborhood. Your companion’s hair is tinged orange in the glow from the streetlamps, and you can only chuckle humorlessly when he turns to you and raises his eyebrows.

“Can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I was duly warned,” Jin agrees.

A car drives by, the headlights throwing Jin’s profile into stark relief. His expression is solemn but he doesn’t say anything else and neither do you. The remainder of the walk passes in silence, broken only by the occasional strain of conversation from passersby and the low drone of late night traffic. You reach Hellebore with no incidents, and you muffle a yawn as Jin steps into the wardrobe to go back to Seoul.

Just before he shuts the door behind him, he shoots you a meaningful glance over his shoulder. “You should tell him how you feel, you know. He deserves to know. And you… you deserve to be happy.”

He doesn’t elaborate, and you don’t need him to. Long after he’s gone, his remark echoes in your head, and no matter what, you simply cannot seem to shake it.

///

It’s been years since you’ve last gone to the old bridge, but after last night’s conversation you find yourself pulled back, lured by the promise of memories of a kinder time. The forest beyond the field hasn’t changed much since your school days, and neither, you realize, has the bridge itself. It still stands tall, proudly spanning the steep ravine that your teachers warned you about, the rickety wood splitting apart at the seams and overgrown with lichen and climbing ivy. Far below, the white-capped river rushes by on its long, turbulent journey to the sea.

Carefully, you step onto the bridge—first one foot, then the other. The energy in the air shifts as soon as your feet leave the loamy earth, finding traction instead on hewn wood, and you sigh as your fingertips brush against the railing. The magic here is an old magic—different from the ancient magic that dwells in places like the werewolves’ clearing and the realms of the fae. The low thrum of it fills the air and seeps into your veins, quickening your pulse and prickling your skin.

“I thought you might be here.” The voice comes from your left, barely audible over the rush of the river.

“You thought right,” you reply, stepping forward until you’re toeing the railing and leaning over to stare down into the swirling, eddying waters below.

Hoseok joins you at the edge. His profile is stark against the leafy green backdrop, and for a few moments, all is still. Then: “I’m really sorry about last night.”

The apology hangs in the silence for a few moments before fading into the sound of churning water and wind whistling through the trees. You suck in a deep breath, oxygen swelling your lungs until you can hold it in no longer, before letting it escape in a resigned sigh.

“You don’t have to apologize to me, Hoseok.”

“Maybe not. But I want to.” He shoots you a sidelong glance. “Will you let me make it up to you?”

You raise a brow. “Make it up to me? And how exactly do you plan on doing that?”

“Anything you want.” Hoseok smiles crookedly, but you can’t quell the tumult brewing in your belly.

“What do you want, Hobi?”

His smile fades. “I—” He stops and shakes his head, auburn hair flying. “It doesn’t matter what I want. This is about you.”

You gaze up at him, taking in the sharp cut of his jawline and the straight angle of his nose. Your eyes trail along the smooth slope of his rounded cheeks and the soft curve of his mouth, lingering on the little mole atop his upper lip.

And then you reach out and take his hand, savoring the way his fingers immediately, comfortably settle into the spaces between your own. “Why don’t we head down to the river?” you ask. “It’s been a long time since we’ve been, and I’ve missed it.”

Hoseok’s expression softens, a glimmer of something bright shining in his amber-flecked irises. Gently, he tugs on your hand, taking the lead as you leave the bridge behind and head north in search of the sloping path that will take you down and into the ravine that houses the riverbed. You chance a few glances over the treacherous edge, watching the water froth and tumble over the rocks.

“You know, this seems a lot more dangerous now than it did back then,” you muse. “I see why our teachers were always trying to keep us away.”

“We were kids back then,” Hoseok says, grinning. “We thought we were invincible. Nothing could touch us.”

“Simpler times,” you agree with a laugh. “I set your tail on fire, you cried—”

“—and then we became lifelong friends,” Hoseok finishes, joining in your mirth. “Easy-peasy.”

Together, you locate the path down to the ravine. The descent is easier than it was back then, your longer limbs extending your reach, but you’re grateful for Hoseok’s steadying hand all the same. He carefully guides you around the biggest rocks and tree roots, pulling you closer when you lose your footing near the bottom. His fingers remain twined with yours even after you’ve safely arrived at the riverbed, stepping across stones that have been worn smooth and warmed by the sun. You slip off your shoes, letting them dangle from your free hand, and Hoseok does the same.

Sunlight glitters off the water, throwing a thousand refractive diamonds across the surface, but when you dip your toes in you find that it’s cold as a mountain spring in autumn. That doesn’t stop Hoseok from bending down to splash you though, and you shriek in surprise before retaliating with a silent spell that sends icy water splattering across the faded denim of his jeans.

“That’s not fair!” he protests. “You can’t use magic!”

“I’m just using every resource available to me,” you reply with a sly grin, sending a swelling wave of water toward him with a lazy twist of your hand.

From beneath his drenched hair, Hoseok raises a challenging brow in your direction. “Oh yeah?”

Before you can even blink, he’s shrugging off his jacket and pulling his shirt over his head, baring a taut, honeyed abdomen and toned arms. Tossing the discarded clothes onto the bank, he unfastens his belt and lets that drop as well, fixing you with a crooked little smirk all the while. The muscles in his torso ripple.

And then he’s shifting—limbs elongating and reddish-brown fur sprouting from his skin. His remaining clothing rips under the strain of the transformation, floating downstream in tattered shreds, but you don’t pay them any mind. No matter how many times you’ve watched Hoseok shift, you’ll never quite get used to it. He hunches over, more beast than man at this point, his chest rumbling. And before you know it—before you can even pinpoint exactly when the transformation is complete—he’s standing before you as a massive russet wolf, baring ferociously sharp teeth that you know could easily tear a man limb from limb.

His eyes, however, remain the same—warm, molten brown flecked with amber and gold, a devilish twinkle lurking in their depths. You cock your head to the side in a silent challenge, and swear that the wolf in front of you grins before pouncing forward, landing in the river with an enormous splash that leaves you thoroughly drenched.

“Now we’re both soaked!” you cry in between giggles, watching as Hoseok emerges from the water, his fur dampened black and dripping. “How is this a win for you?”

Hoseok rears back and lets loose a triumphant howl, shaking himself out and further drenching you with the spray of water from his coat. You squeal and back up several steps, batting him away, but Hoseok just presses closer and nuzzles his wet face into the crook of your neck. His body heaves with every breath, flaring hot against your skin, and for a few long moments, you simply stand there, your arms coming up to wrap around his neck as icy water rushes past your ankles.

After what feels like an eternity, you step back, releasing Hoseok and staring up into his face. Even in his wolf form, he towers over you, and you reach up to stroke his muzzle tenderly before bopping him on the nose. “Come on,” you murmur. “Let’s dry off.”

Hoseok lets out a low rumble of agreement, and together, you make your way back to shore. You fold up his discarded clothing while he trots off to locate his shredded jeans, quickly finding them caught between some rocks and carrying the denim tatters back over to you in his teeth. Shaking your head, you add it to the growing pile and lay a hand atop it. Heat concentrates in your fingertips, mingling with the magic running through your veins. Stitch by stitch, his jeans repair themselves, drying in the process. Hoseok bumps your cheek with his nose in gratitude and darts off to change, and you dry your own clothes while you wait.

When Hoseok returns, he’s reverted to his human form, fully dressed and raking a hand through his damp hair. “Thanks for drying these off,” he says, flashing you a sheepish grin. “And for fixing my pants. Again.”

“Mending charms are easy,” you reply, and it’s the truth. Over the many years you’ve known Hoseok, you’ve mended his clothing countless times—from the accidental transformations in his early years, before he could control it, to the calculated ones as he got older. Hoseok doesn’t shift terribly often nowadays, but on occasion he still goes out to stretch his muscles and hunt with his pack. His grandfather, in particular, always made the time to take him hunting at least once a month. You wonder if he’s gone since he passed, but decide not to ask.

“Should we go see the Towers?” you ask instead.

“Lead the way,” he agrees, falling into step beside you as you head downstream. The ravine walls are higher here, decorated with gnarled roots and rocky outcrops that obscure the periwinkle sky and cast long shadows across the ground. Cairns begin to crop up on both sides of the river—each tower of stones carefully and deliberately stacked. They’re small and scattered at first, but gradually become taller and more frequent until you’re nearly surrounded by a forest of stone. The air grows noticeably heavier—the magic more potent. It almost feels as if electricity is dancing across your skin, the sparks sinking into your pores and melding with your soul.

Hoseok feels it too, if the look of awe in his eyes is any indication. “I can’t believe I’d nearly forgotten about this place,” he marvels, running a finger across one of the stacked stones. “Do you feel that? The magic?” Then he chuckles. “Wait, of course you do. What am I talking about?”

You smile softly, tracing the path his fingertips leave behind. “Yeah, Hobi. I feel it.”

The topmost stones are almost out of your reach now. Reaching into your pocket, you pull out a gray pebble about the size of your palm—a near perfect disc veined with white. Gently, you place it atop the cairn closest to you, watching it glint in the sunlight for a moment before turning to your companion.

“Well?”

Ancient legend dictates that as long as an offering is left, one may take a stone from the Towers. You and Hoseok have each acquired a rather sizable collection during your childhood years, lured by the promise that the stones will bring about good fortune and happiness.

“I forgot to bring something,” Hoseok admits, scratching the back of his head sheepishly. “But I can pick one out for you. Hang on…” He hums thoughtfully as he scans the towering pillars, tapping his chin until he alights on one in particular, plucking up a stone that’s been worn smooth, burnished orange and marbled with ivory and copper. “What do you think?”

“It’s beautiful,” you reply, admiring the way the marbled surface glitters in the sun.

Hoseok takes your hand and places the stone gently in your palm. “It’s yours.”

Then he’s off—stepping over a fallen log to admire another tower, brushing a curious finger across a moss-covered rock before glancing over his shoulder at you. “Coming?”

You nod, tucking his gift away safely in your pocket. Together, you carve out a path amongst the towering cairns, clambering over river rocks and brushing aside the dense undergrowth. The path opens up again gradually, revealing the burbling water to your left and the steep ravine wall to your right. The river is calmer here—clear enough to see all the way to the bottom where shimmering, silvery fish dart about. A low, flat rock juts out into the water a short ways away, and Hoseok strides over to plop atop it, gesturing for you to join him.

“This is nice,” he sighs once you’ve made yourself comfortable by his side. “The fresh air is doing me a world of good. I’ve been cooped up at the office for so long, I swear I almost forgot what trees smell like.”

“You’re more than welcome to sniff around the shop if you ever need a reminder,” you tell him, nudging his shoulder playfully. “Better yet, I’ll bring you a plant for your office. Spruce up the place a little bit.”

“That sounds great, actually,” he admits with a chuckle. “I don’t have your green thumb, though. I’ll probably end up accidentally killing it.”

“Something low maintenance, then,” you promise. “A succulent, maybe. When should I bring it by?”

Hoseok’s expression sombers. “You can always stop by tomorrow after the hearing.”

Your heart plummets into your stomach. The Ministry—the overarching government body that dictates all Shadowfolk affairs—summons every pack alpha for a confirmation hearing when they first come into power. “They’re holding the hearing? Already?”

He nods. “The Ministry’s summoned me for tomorrow morning. First item on their schedule, I’m pretty sure.” A resigned sigh escapes his lips, dissipating into mist on the air. “And there’s a party at JungTech HQ afterward. You know. So my dad can officially hand the reins over.”

“The most powerful man in Gwangju,” you murmur, thinking back to Lisa’s words.

Hoseok lets out a derisive snort. “Yeah, right. The most powerful man, beholden to his dad, the Council, and the entire fucking Ministry. It doesn’t matter what I want to do. Never has.”

It’s the second time he’s dismissed his feelings, and as much as you want to ask what it is he truly wants, you find that the words are stuck in your throat, your mouth suddenly as dry as the desert on a cloudless day. Instead, you lay a silent hand over his, feeling his warmth seep up into your palm.

“Hey.” Hoseok doesn’t tear his gaze away from the sky, watching a flock of birds fly overhead. “Yesterday, when Nayeon said she’d stopped by… did she say anything to you?”

The sound of her name leaving his lips leaves a sour taste on your tongue, but you swallow it down. “Not really,” you tell him. “She looked at some flowers and invited me to dinner. Simple as that.”

Hoseok nods slowly, lips pursed. “Was Jin already there when she came?”

You blink. “Jin? Oh, no—no, he wasn’t. I texted him after Nayeon left.”

“Ah.”

“I’m glad he was free, though.” You stare down into the water, where a curious fish swims in and out of the shadow you cast. “I’m honestly not sure who I could’ve invited if he hadn’t been available. Plus, it’s been ages since I’ve had dinner with him, and it’s been a few months since you’ve seen him too, right? I’m really happy it worked out.” You’re rambling now, but you can’t stop yourself. Hoseok has become eerily still, lost in introspection, and you feel obligated to fill the silence.

“You two make sense, you know.” Hoseok’s voice comes suddenly. “As a couple. Both witches—it makes a lot of sense.”

You peer over at him, eyes widening at his assumption. “We—we’re not actually together, Jin and I. We’re just friends.”

Hoseok straightens at that, his gaze flitting down to meet yours. “Really?”

“Really.”

A beat of silence. Hoseok looks like he wants to say something else, but a quiet buzz from his pocket stops him in his tracks. His mouth clamps shut as he checks his phone, teeth clicking together, and you can tell from the sudden tension in his jaw that it isn’t good news.

“Do you have to head back?”

He nods stiffly, silent apology written all over his face. “Work calls.”

You offer him a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry about me. Go on. I’ll see you tomorrow after your hearing.”

He nods again and turns to leave. Before he can take too many steps, though, you call him back, reaching into your pocket to pull out the stone he’d gifted you earlier.

“Take this,” you murmur, pressing it into his hands. “I’m pretty sure you need it more than I do right now.”

Hoseok’s fingers curl protectively around the stone, holding on like it’s his only remaining lifeline. “Thanks.”

///

Downtown Gwangju is a monochrome forest of towering glass and steel, clamorous and unchecked by nature, proudly defiant in the face of the earth mother herself. The sidewalks are awash with people rushing back from their lunch break, forcing you to dodge around several businessmen too absorbed in their phones. Just as you are finding your footing again, a hapless intern carrying a tray of coffee cups rushes past, nearly crashing into you.

“Oh, shi—sorry! Sorry, oh, jeez. Are you okay?”

You wave off his apology with a smile, taking in the ill fit of his suit and the messy knot of his tie. “Don’t worry about it,” you tell him, reaching out to help him steady the tray in his hands. A stabilizing spell—silently cast, the magic pulsing through your fingertips—should be enough to get him back to his office with no additional mishaps. You wonder if he’ll notice that his tray is suddenly more well-balanced, or that his hands have steadied.

But then again, you suppose it doesn’t really matter whether he does or not.

Somehow, someway, you make it to JungTech without running into anyone else. The receptionist recognizes you immediately and points you toward the elevator with a smile, and you thank her as you press the up button. It doesn’t take long to arrive, and you take a deep breath as you step inside, staring at your reflection in the mirrored walls.

All right? Bast queries, stirring awake in your mind.

You release the breath that you’d been holding in a long whoosh. Yeah. I’m all right.

The doors open on the top floor, and straight away, you are assailed by a cacophony of sounds. Scattered conversations and laughter intermingle with the clinking of champagne flutes. There are at least fifty people scattered around the open space that lies between the elevator and the glass-fronted CEO’s office at the very back—the office that bears Hoseok’s name on the door. There’s no sign of the man himself, but you have no doubt that he’s nearby. This entire party is a celebration for him, after all.

The elevator doors begin to close, and you quickly reach out to stop them, stepping out before it can protest at your dawdling. A young man in a pristine white shirt materializes on your right with a tray full of champagne flutes, and you pluck one off with a murmur of thanks. Sipping slowly, you wander around the perimeters of the party, listening to the lively chatter. Across the room, you spot Lisa, returning her friendly wave with one of your own.

“Hello, {Name}.”

The deep, familiar voice has you whirling around in an instant, head bowing in automatic deference. “Mr. Jung,” you murmur, not quite daring to look him in the eye. “It’s been a while.”

Hoseok’s father inclines his head in acknowledgment, salt-and-pepper hair gleaming beneath the fluorescent lights. No doubt he was a handsome man in his younger days, but the salt in his hair has steadily overtaken the pepper in the last few years, the stern lines around his mouth deepening.

“I didn’t know you would be joining us today,” he says cordially. “But then again, I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised after all these years. Have you been here long?”

“Not long. Five minutes, maybe.” Beneath his piercing gaze, you feel like a small child again. Quickly, you scramble for something else to say, gesturing around the sleek glass interior of the office. “This is a lovely party. You must be so proud.”

Another nod. “I wasn’t sure that Hoseok was going to step up,” he admits. “I had my reservations about whether or not he would accept his duties as a Jung, but he has, and I’m pleased that he did. It’s no easy feat, running this company and leading the city’s pack. But I’ve served my time, just as my father did before me.” His gaze flits down to meet yours suddenly, and you find that you can’t read the emotion swimming in them. “I believe I spotted you at his funeral the other day, did I not?”

You nod, resisting the urge to take a sip from your nearly empty champagne glass as your cheeks warm under the scrutiny. “I was, yes. I’m very grateful to have had the opportunity to pay my respects. He was a great man.”

“That, he was,” Mr. Jung agrees. “Hoseok takes after him in many ways. My father—as great as he was—always had a soft spot for the boy. Coddled him a bit too much.”

“With all due respect, Mr. Jung, I think that’s a grandfather’s job,” you reply with a smile.

That earns you a smile in return, the lines around his mouth easing. After exchanging a few more pleasantries, Hoseok’s father excuses himself to talk to the other guests, and you set off in search of Hoseok himself. You can feel his aura somewhere nearby, strong and steady, but the room is large enough that you cannot pinpoint his exact location. Not for the first time, you curse the fact that you don’t have a werewolf’s sharp sense of smell. No doubt it could easily be as cumbersome as it is helpful, but it would certainly help you right now.

Turning a corner, you are about to continue lamenting your average olfactory system when you suddenly catch a glimpse of familiar auburn hair, afloat in a sea of black suits. Dodging around a sharply dressed businesswoman and ducking beneath a waiter’s serving tray clears your path to Hoseok, and you’re milliseconds away from stepping forward to greet him when you feel it.

There’s an energy emanating from Hoseok, the likes of which you’ve never felt from him before. It’s heavy and commanding and so potent that the air is laden with it, and a cursory glance at the people surrounding him reveals that they feel it too—their gazes lowered, voices hushed and respectful. In his fitted black suit and emerald green shirt, he looks every bit the alpha he is, and you are quickly realizing that you’re not immune to the power radiating off of him. The Hoseok standing before you isn’t the same Hoseok whose tail you set on fire all those years ago. Far from it. The revelation is somehow simultaneously terrifying and thrilling, and your heart leaps into your throat when you notice that he’s waving you over.

As if compelled, you comply, striding forward until you’re standing before him. “Hi,” your murmur, suddenly feeling shy.

Hoseok’s face splits into a smile. “Hi yourself,” he says, and you would have laughed if your insides didn’t feel like they were about to burst.

“I, um. I brought you your succulent,” you tell him, reaching into your bag. There’s a tiny potted jade plant inside, packaged neatly into a box that you open up and present to him. “It’s jade. Easy to keep alive, and easy to propagate too, if you’re inclined.”

Hoseok accepts your gift, his smile growing as he admires the plump green leaves. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

You shrug and wave off his gratitude, fiddling to clasp your bag shut. “So,” you start, glancing around and gnawing on your bottom lip, completely missing the way Hoseok’s eyes darken as he follows the movement. “It looks like everything went well at the Ministry. Your dad is pleased.”

Hoseok hums, low in his throat. “You talked to him?”

“Yeah, just now.”

“I see.”

He looks like he wants to say something more, but he’s interrupted by a blur of motion and a shrill cry of his name. A moment later, Nayeon is at his side, latching onto his arm and batting her lashes, adorned in a form-fitting red dress and golden jewelry.

“Hoseok! There you are. I’ve been looking all over for you!” Then her gaze alights on you, eyes going wide as if she’s only just noticed your presence. “{Name}, oh my goodness. I almost didn’t see you there, hi!”

“Hello, Nayeon,” you grit out, unable to hide your scowl. You wonder if she spotted it before you hid it behind a large sip of champagne.

Luckily, she doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention refocuses onto a spot behind you, and you watch as her expression lights up, delight etching across her features. “Mr. Jung!” she exclaims. “There’s my favorite future father-in-law. Come and join us—it’s not a party without you.”

Hoseok’s father chuckles lightly, coming forward to stand beside you. “Long time no see,” he jokes, nodding in your direction. “And Nayeon—hello. How are you enjoying the party?”

“Oh, I’m having the loveliest time,” she chirps, simpering up at Hoseok. “How could I not be, when my fiancé is here with me?” Then she smiles—her lips painted the same shade of red as her dress. “But I’m sure I’m nowhere near as happy as you are. You must be beyond excited to spend some quality time with your wife after being busy for so long.”

“I am,” Mr. Jung admits. The severity in his features softens as he seeks out his wife, standing across the room surrounded by friends and extended family. “I’m a very lucky man to have a woman like her.”

Nayeon giggles. “And I’m a lucky woman to have a man like your son. Isn’t that right, darling?”

She tilts her head to look up at Hoseok, who blinks twice in rapid succession, his throat bobbing. “Right,” he says, his voice raspy. “The luckiest.”

And as you turn to engage Mr. Jung in conversation once more, you miss the way his gaze lingers on you.

///

Tuesdays at Hellebore are for brewing. You save bottling for Thursdays—giving your potions and other concoctions ample time to simmer and set—but today, you are hunched over the stove with all four burners turned to different temperature settings, watching over your pots so that they don’t boil over.

A cursory glance out the window tells you that it’s well into the afternoon, the pastel blue sky littered with trailing clouds lit hazy and golden in the sun. You’ve been in the kitchen since early morning, and, desperate for a breath of fresh air, you crack the window open and inhale deeply. Then you turn back to the stove, giving one pot a stir and adding a pinch of burdock root to another.

Wandering downstairs, you head to the greenhouse. The sunlight is brighter here, the air more humid. Inhaling deeply, you breathe in the scent of the hundreds of plants growing inside, before heading for the laburnum tree in the far corner. Carefully, you brush aside the cascading golden flowers, about to gather the dried ones that have fallen to the dirt when there’s a knock on the front door.

“I’m sorry, we’re close—” you say, stopping when you recognize the head of coppery red hair in the window. “Lisa?” Confused, you open the door and let her inside. “What brings you here today?”

“You need to go to Hoseok, now,” she says, foregoing any preambles. “He’s… well, you’ll see. Nayeon’s there right now, but she’s not helping the situation, and...” She sighs. “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one who can help him now.”

All at once, your stomach drops to your toes. “What’s wrong with Hoseok?” you demand. “Is he hurt?”

Lisa shakes her head, red hair flying. “No, he’s fine. I don’t know how much longer that’ll last, though.”

The cryptic response sends your heart into overdrive, pounding against your ribcage like a doomsday drum. Striding over to the bay window, you wake Bast from his nap in a slanted ray of sunlight, scratching behind his black ears and watching as his golden eyes flicker open, pupils going wide when he senses your turmoil.

What is it?

Hoseok, you reply shortly. Beneath your touch, Bast’s ears perk up.

What do you need?

You swallow, hard, and suck in a deep breath. I’m going to open a portal.

It’s a dangerous feat, and both you and Bast know it. Opening a portal requires an immense amount of energy, and maintaining one long enough to travel through is a risk to even the most experienced witches. You’ve heard horror stories of spliced limbs and paralysis, and in some cases, even death.

But for Hoseok, you’re willing to risk it all.

“Lisa,” you say, grabbing your purse and striding back to the front door of the shop. “Can you lock up once I’m gone?”

She nods nervously. “Of course.”

You incline your head in silent thanks. At your feet, Bast is slinking continuous figure-eights around your ankles, betraying his worry at the task ahead. Your own heart feels ready to spring out from your ribcage and onto the sun-drenched floor, but you swallow down your nerves and look down at your familiar once more. Ready? you ask.

Ready, Bast confirms. Be careful.

I will.

Closing your eyes, you begin to visualize Hoseok’s front door, focusing on every little detail you can remember. There’s the scuff in the black paint from when he first moved in and accidentally scraped a table leg against it. There’s the bronze knocker that always hangs slightly askew. The image builds slowly in your mind, coming together like the broken pieces of a puzzle.

The air around you is suddenly much warmer than before, an invisible force sapping away at your strength and weakening your legs. Bast’s energy melds with yours, but it’s barely enough to keep you on your feet. Exhaustion seeps into your bones and steals the oxygen from your lungs. You gasp, chest heaving.

I don’t think it’s going to work. Bast’s voice is a faint whisper in the back of your mind.

It will, you hiss. It has to.

The front door of your shop is beginning to glow white, becoming hazy and amorphous as the edges begin to blur. You spot a splash of black paint coming through the fog, followed by a bronze knocker. A matching handle appears a moment later, growing out of tendrils of mist and solidifying before your eyes.

Sucking in a deep breath, you reach forward to grab it. Slowly, you turn until you can turn no longer.

And then you step through.

The first thing you hear is a low, cavernous rumble—deep enough that you feel it reverberating through your very bones. Then your surroundings begin to come into focus. You’re in Hoseok’s entryway, all your limbs thankfully intact. The relief you feel at your success is quickly eclipsed by worry though, when you see Hoseok himself on the far side of the living room. The look in his brown eyes is nothing short of wild, his white shirt unbuttoned to nearly his navel and his auburn hair sweaty and disheveled.

“H-Hobi?” Your voice is no more than a breath, dissipating in the open air.

“Hoseok.” The new voice has you whirling. Nayeon is pressed against the wall opposite him, her expression harried. “Hoseok, please—“

“Get out,” Hoseok growls, his voice dangerously low. He’s bristling with the same energy as before, the same energy you felt back at JungTech—but this time it’s enough to fill the room and spill out the opened door and into the hallway. You can feel it pulsing against your skin, hot and electric, and know that Nayeon is even more affected from the way her shoulders slouch, her eyes dropping to the floor when he snarls. “Get out, now.”

She does. Nayeon turns on her heel and dashes out, slamming the door behind her and leaving you alone with Hoseok. His eyes are alight with something more wolf than man, his chest heaving with uneven breaths, and it’s all you can do not to shrink back when he turns his full attention onto you. Even from across the room, you can smell the liquor spilled across the coffee table in a dark ooze of fluid, cloying and bitter.

“What are you doing here?” Hoseok asks, his voice cracking on the last syllable. “You shouldn’t be here right now, {Name}.”

“Lisa told me to come,” you whisper. “You’ve been pushing yourself too much, Hoseok.”

Hoseok shakes his head and rakes a frazzled hand through his hair. “You need to leave,” he grunts. Shakily, he reaches out to right the overturned liquor bottle, the pad of his thumb skimming across the shattered edge.

“Let me do that,” you tell him, making to step forward, but Hoseok stops you with a raised hand and a low growl that stops you in your tracks.

“Don’t,” he hisses. “Don’t you dare come any closer to me.”

You shake your head. “Hobi, it’s obvious you’ve been drinking. Let me help you.”

“No!” he snarls, flinching back when you take a step forward. “You need to leave. It’s… it’s dangerous for you here.”

“Dangerous?” Your voice is reduced to a whisper at the severity of his reaction, the energy in the air intensifying until it’s almost unbearable. “Why?”

“Because I’m in heat!” Hoseok spits. He sucks in a deep breath, the air whistling between his teeth, before he lets out an agonized moan and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m in heat,” he repeats, reticence dripping from every syllable. “I can’t even fucking think straight, and I’m afraid I’m going to hurt you if you stay. So please, {Name}. Please go.”

“But Nayeon…” you begin, wavering when his eyes flash darkly at the mention of her name. “Or Lisa… I can call her, maybe—”

“No!”

You jump, startled at the volume of his shout.

“No,” Hoseok repeats, softer this time. “Don’t. I don’t want them. I’m—I’m fine.”

The sticky humidity and the pulsating energy flowing through the room tell you otherwise. “You’re clearly not,” you tell him gently, taking another step toward him. “Let me call Lisa. Or maybe one of the other girls in the pack, I’m sure someone can help y—”

“I don’t want Lisa.” Defeat suffuses his tone, his eyes fluttering shut. “I don’t want any of them. I want—fuck.” Hoseok groans and lets his head fall back against the wall, the dull thunk echoing in the stillness. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I want. You need to leave, {Name}. You’re only going to be in danger if you stay.”

For the second time that afternoon, only one word springs to mind. “Why?”

Hoseok groans again. “Because I’m weak,” he mutters hoarsely. “Because I’m weak, and I’m not thinking straight, and if you come any closer to me, I won’t be able to stop myself from pinning you against that wall right there and having my way with you.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. The rippling energy in the air is almost oppressive in its strength, and only grows when Hoseok’s gaze finally lands on you, his pupils blown out and blacker than the night.

“Go,” he entreaties, dragging a frazzled hand through his hair. “Please, {Name}.”

You suck in a deep breath, your lungs swelling and expanding with the newfound oxygen. Then, ever so slowly, you let your gaze flicker up to meet his. “What if I don’t want to?”

Hoseok freezes. Time comes to a standstill, and even the overwhelming energy emanating from him seems to falter. The room is near silent, broken only by your companion’s ragged breathing, his chest heaving beneath the thin white fabric of his shirt. Even from across the room, you can see the sheen of sweat coating his honeyed skin, shining in the light of the setting sun.

“You don’t mean that,” he says at last. “You can’t mean that.”

“I can,” you whisper. “And I do.”

For three agonizingly long seconds, Hoseok remains rooted firmly in place, his throat bobbing harshly. Then, before you can even blink, he’s striding forward—a blur of motion almost too quick for your eyes to follow. He comes to a stop a hair’s breadth from you, one hand reaching up to cup your face delicately, as if you’re made of glass.

“You,” he rasps, “have no idea what you’ve just done.” His thumb traces the swell of your cheek just below your eye, the motion surprisingly tender. Your heart stutters in your chest.

And then he leans down and crushes his mouth to yours.

The rest of the world falls away, dissolving into nothing. Your eyes flutter shut as Hoseok’s hands slide down your sides to curl around your hips, your body melting against his taut frame. He is all you can feel and all you can taste, and you keen helplessly when he grinds against you, his cock hot and hard against your stomach.

The sound seems to awaken something in Hoseok, a cavernous groan erupting from his throat. Pulling away from your mouth, he descends upon the delicate skin of your neck, teeth and tongue blossoming bruises in their wake. Shaky hands find the collar of your shirt, questioning eyes seeking out yours for permission that you happily give. He tugs the garment off almost delicately, his ravenous gaze roving across each bit of newly revealed flesh, and once it’s freed from your head he tosses it aside and sets about doing the same to the rest of your clothing.

Maybe it should feel odd, watching through lidded eyes as Hoseok drops to his knees to pull your jeans down and off your ankles. Maybe you should feel embarrassed, seeing your best friend bury his nose between your legs, delirious bliss etching across his features as he inhales, his strong fingers curling around your thighs to spread you wider. But instead, it feels completely and utterly natural—as if this was always meant to be.

“You smell divine,” Hoseok breathes, slotting himself between your spread thighs and running a fingertip along your lace-covered slit, collecting the considerable slick there and bringing it to his nose. “Fuck, {Name}. Just one whiff, and I can tell that you’re primed and ready for me.”

“Take me, then,” you breathe back shakily, rolling your hips when he slips past the lacy barrier of your panties to find your clit, circling around the sensitive nub until you’re gasping his name.

Hoseok’s gaze darkens to obsidian, his pupils swallowing up the amber-flecked brown of his irises. In one smooth motion, he’s on his feet again, straightening up to his full height as his hands find purchase on your hips. He twirls you around until you’re facing the wall, your palms pressed flat against the woven tapestry hanging there.

“Gorgeous.” A single word, laced with unmistakable awe. Then he’s fumbling with his belt buckle, the metallic clink and tug of a zipper reaching your ears, before he presses against you, clothed chest molding against your bare back. Even through the thin layer of fabric, you can feel the sweltering heat emanating from him, his sweat soaking through the cotton and sticking to your skin. His mouth finds its way to the junction of your neck and shoulder again—teasing at the flesh until you’re quivering—before he begins laying a trail of hot kisses down your spine.

“Wanna fuck you,” Hoseok rasps, tearing your panties away once his lips reach the waistband, the flimsy lace ripped to shreds in his desperate grip. “Want you on your front, want you on your back, want you on my tongue—” His voice drops, rumbling through his chest and sending shivers through your entire body. “Want you. Wanted you for so long.”

And as if to reinforce his words, the velvety head of his cock nestles against the cleft of your backside, hot and slick.

Wordlessly, you arch your back, presenting him with the tempting swell of your rear. A glance over your shoulder reveals the strained clench of his jaw and the bob of his throat, his biceps tensed and his gaze unwavering. His control is undoubtedly dangling by a single thread at this point—a delicate, gossamer thread that’s on the verge of snapping. The delirium of his heat is overtaking his senses, his grip tightening on your hips, and ever so slowly, he begins to press forward until the tip of his thick cock is just beginning to part your walls. Already, the fit borders on excruciating, and your body tenses at the intrusion, stretched to the limit around his thick girth.

Hoseok exhales shakily, his primal instincts warring with his desire to ensure your comfort. Soft lips drop kiss after kiss onto your bare shoulders, your back, your neck—wherever he can reach as he whispers tender praises into your skin. “Breathe, princess,” he encourages lowly. “You can take it—I know you can. You were made for me.”

Obediently, you inhale, focusing on the way your lungs expand and contract as you draw air into them. The pain ebbs away with each breath you take, until all that is left is a low throb of pleasure. Your hips rock back against him, and Hoseok takes it as a sign to push forward once more, parting your walls until he’s fully seated inside you, your body stretched to the limit as you mold around him.

There’s no pain now—only an aching desire for more, more, more. He’s deep enough to reach parts of you that you’ve never been able to explore before—either alone or with other partners—and you moan brokenly when he rolls his hips experimentally. “More, Hoseok,” you whimper. “Please.”

He obliges. One thrust leads into another, the punishing pace he sets fueled by his heady desperation for relief. The full, heavy weight of his cock dragging along your walls ignites every nerve ending in your body, sizzling electricity blazing through your veins. It’s all you can do to plant your palms flat against the tapestried wall, fingers twitching at the woven fabric as Hoseok grabs your hips with enough force to bruise and pulls you back against him in time with his thrusts.

“Look at you,” he says hoarsely. “Love the way you feel, clenching around me like that. My perfect, pretty girl, taking my cock so well. I always knew you were made for me.” He grunts, forehead falling against your back, damp hair matting against your skin as he continues rutting against you. “Always—fuck—knew you were my mate.”

The particularly harsh thrust that follows his raspy declaration sends all coherent thought flying out of your head, taking your surprise along with it. All you can manage is a shuddery whine that vaguely resembles his name, the sound intermingling with the obscene smack of flesh against flesh and the continuous stream of praises Hoseok whispers into your skin.

There’s something building inside you—a dull, throbbing pressure at the point where your body joins with his. He’s still rolling up into you, but each subsequent thrust grows more and more shallow. The realization dawns on your dazed mind all at once, as you feel the growing swell at the base of his cock. Hoseok is rendered near immobile as he finally reaches his high, the entirety of his length sheathed firmly inside your pussy as he spills ropes of white against your fluttering walls. The swelling continues, filling you until you feel fit to burst.

“H-Hoseok,” you gasp. “I can’t. I can’t—you’re going to rip me in half.”

Soothing hands smooth along your sides, warm lips littering kisses onto your bare shoulders. “You can,” he murmurs tenderly. “You were made for me, and I for you. You can take it, princess. I know you can.”

The gentle repetition of his fingertips trailing nonsensical patterns into your skin eases your labored panting somewhat. Beneath his touch, you slowly relax, the pressure in your abdomen abating as his knot begins to subside.

“You did so well.” His voice is no more than a mumble, almost lost in the sweat and slick coating your skin.

You sag against the wall, taking a few moments to catch your breath before slowly easing off of him, the sudden loss leaving your core empty and aching. Gingerly, you turn around to face him, acutely aware of the way your combined juices immediately begin dribbling down your thighs.

“You said I was your mate,” you whisper, almost afraid that the sentiment will disappear if voiced aloud. “Did… did you mean that?”

“Every word,” Hoseok replies, equally soft. “Is that okay?”

A smile blooms across your face. Rising up to your tiptoes, you kiss him again—a soft, reassuring peck that he immediately leans into, seeking out your touch like a flower in the sun. “More than okay,” you breathe, feeling the way his lips stretch upward against yours. “I’m glad, Hobi.”

Hoseok sighs into your mouth, a slow smile settling across his features. “Now it’s your turn,” he says, and in an instant, he’s swept you off your feet, one arm beneath your bent knees and the other around your back. “And I’m planning to take my time with you, princess. You’re not leaving here until I say so.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, crossing your hands at his nape. “Fine by me,” you tell him, earning yourself a wide grin. His lips seek out yours again as he carries you down the darkened hallway and into the shadowy depths of his bedroom, pausing only to nudge the lightswitch on with his elbow. Golden light suffuses the room as he steps forward to lay you on his bed, your back sinking into the plush mattress and dipping further when he joins you. He hovers over you with an arm on either side of your head, and you reach up to trace the vein that lines his biceps with a gentle fingertip, giggling when he gives your bottom lip a punishing nip.

The kiss deepens from there. Hoseok parts your lips and seeks out your tongue with his own, subduing it into compliance. By the time you pull apart, all the oxygen has left your lungs, leaving you flushed and gasping. Hoseok chortles breathlessly and trails down to press a kiss to your navel, before traveling downward until he’s reached your clit. Gently, he wraps his lips around the sensitive nub, rumbling with laughter when you buck against him.

“So needy,” he murmurs. To your displeasure, he straightens back up to kneel between your spread thighs, but your complaint quickly dissolves into thin air when he edges forward until his knee is pressed against your aching clit. Desperate for more friction, you grind against him, your wetness soaking through his jeans in a matter of seconds.

It doesn’t take long for pressure to build up in your belly again, winding tight as a coiled spring. Hoseok is staring down at you, transfixed, and his undivided attention only serves to bring you closer to the edge, teetering on the very brink.

“Look at you.” His voice could almost be described as a purr, if he weren’t so utterly canine in mannerisms and appearance. “Such a greedy little thing, all desperate to get off. You’re making a mess of my new jeans, princess.”

You’re too far gone to care about the teasing lilt that colors his tone. The edge is rapidly approaching, and one last roll of your hips is enough to send you over, your walls convulsing around nothing as you ride out your high.

Hoseok doesn’t wait. In an instant, he’s back between your legs, having moved so quickly you didn’t even see when he’d started or stopped. His tongue darts out to lave at your folds, a growl rumbling through his chest when your hips jump on instinct. Immediately, he tightens his grip, strong arms winding around your thighs and anchoring at your waist to render you helpless in his grasp, only able to take what he sees fit to give.

“How is it that you taste even better than you smell?” Hoseok muses as he leans down to suck your clit into his mouth, lips curling up into a pleased smirk when you gasp out his name. “Cute,” he says, releasing the nub in favor of descending to your drenched entrance instead, flicking his tongue shallowly inside before withdrawing with a chuckle.

“Hoseok—” you begin, only to dissolve into a moan when he sheaths two fingers inside you without any warning, curling them up and in until you’re shaking in his grasp.

“Come for me,” he commands softly. “Go on, let me hear you.”

And you do, chanting his name like a mantra as a wave of pleasure overtakes you. Hoseok’s thumb circles your clit in just the right way to prolong your orgasm, and it isn’t until you’re cringing from overstimulation that he finally relents, descending down to mold his mouth to yours in a searing kiss. His lips part yours, tongue dipping out to explore as he sheds his shirt and shucks off his ruined jeans. His skin, when he presses against you, burns hot as a furnace wherever it touches. Against your stomach, his cock stirs back to life.

He’s gentler this time. Every movement is slow and deliberate and tender as he breaches you, murmuring your name reverentially as he fills you again. Your body bows to his willingly, stretching to accommodate him, and the spike of pleasure that lances through you when he bottoms out is almost enough to send your oversensitive body over the edge again, your walls fluttering around him.

There’s an unmistakable shift in the air when Hoseok starts up a slow rhythm, leaning down to kiss you again. His lips move against yours, soft and tender, before moving past your jugular and down to the crook of your neck, elongated canines scraping against the delicate skin in a silent question. You wind your arms around his neck and nod, giving him his answer. There’s no need for words.

And then his teeth are sinking into the spot he’s so lovingly scoped out, breaking the skin. Your body collapses into a searing orgasm, and the pleasure intermingles with the pain of the bite until you are delirious, rendered boneless in his grasp. Hoseok’s hips stutter, his pace growing erratic as he soothes the wound over with his tongue.

You’re prepared for the swelling this time, but the fullness still manages to knock all the air out of your lungs, bordering on painful as his knot grows. Hoseok quells your whimpers with tender kisses, the instinct to comfort his mate paramount even as he paints your walls with ropes of creamy white. He traces a path from your lips down to where he’s marked and claimed you as his, imbuing your skin with a litany of praises that warm you from the inside out.

“My mate,” he murmurs, reverent. “Finally.”

You lean into his touch with a tired smile. “Finally? How long have you wanted this?”

His lips curl into a smile against your clavicle. “Ages. If I’m honest, I think I fell in love with you the day you set my tail on fire when we were kids. It’s always been you, {Name}. Only you.”

You can’t help it—you need to hear it from his mouth again. “You love me?”

Hoseok chuckles. “Of course I do. My tricky little minx—my perfect, pretty mate. I love you more than anything.” One hand reaches up to caress your cheek, running along the tender skin beneath your eye before cupping the back of your head so he can mold his mouth to yours. “Love you more than I can even explain,” he breathes, punctuating each word with a kiss. His hands blaze trails down the slopes of your body until he finally anchors below the crook of your legs. “So why don’t you let me show you instead?”

And he does. Over and over that night, and in the two days of his heat that follow, he shows you exactly how he feels. Propriety is forgotten, left by the wayside with his scorned fiancé and marriage. He is yours, and you are his.

Consequences be damned.

⇢ aftermath.

also set in this universe:

[myg]

[opbackgrounds]

So I know we’re far past Drum Island but your post theorizing about what, medically speaking, is wrong with Whitebeard made me wonder if you had any thoughts on Hiriluk’s illness? My theory is that Hiriluk had cancer that, for a time, went into spontaneous remission but returned later in life.

A lot of the tropes used with Hiliruk’s illness lean into the Victorian use of the Too Good For This Sinful Earth character, which would actually make me think it’s something closer to tuberculosis, which can be dormant in the body for many years before causing active infection. The only problem with that being, of course, tuberculosis is a contagious airborne disease when Hiliruk’s disease isn’t presented using any type of isolation precautions (to be fair, tb isn’t considered contagious after a few weeks of treatment, but if there was an effective treatment, Hiliruk probably wouldn’t be dying of tb).

Some sort of cancer, whether it be of the lung or a leukemia would be a good substitute, or any number of diseases or syndromes that lower platelet levels in the body, which could potentially cause someone to cough up blood more easily. If you wanted to go there you could say it’s something like HIV/AIDS. There are also a multitude of chronic lung issues that are a possibility, such as COPD, although in such cases you wouldn’t expect him to run around as well as he does. Hell, it could even be something genetic. As he often is with these sorts of things, Oda was vague enough that there’s a lot of room for head canon.

As for Hiliruk’s spontaneous recovery, while it’s possible his disease—whatever it was—fell into a natural dormant period, I think there’s more to it than that. There’s good research out there that proves that a good attitude and positive thinking does have a net benefit on health, whether it be mental or physical. I do not recommend anyone forgo their physician prescribed treatments in favor the power of positive thinking(tm) but something as small as smiling more often (even fake smiling) has shown to correlate to lower heart rate and blood pressure levels. Anecdotally, I knew a woman with breast cancer who refused all conventional medical treatment in favor of juicing and a good diet, and while it did eventually kill her, she lived way longer than she should have pretty much through sheer force of will. 

All this to say, to a certain extent mind over matter works, and in a series like One Piece where ambition is a literal super power I could see Hiliruk willing himself to live longer than his diagnosis said he should just to see his research through to the end.

[clannfearrunt]

Actually I wasn't expecting this to get rb'd around so I don't think I made some things clear enough so I wanna address some stuff!

#man that adds extra horror to all those infection aus too #they literally have no immune defenses #damn does this mean in any 'last surviving human' aus they'd all die out because of whatever pathogens the human would have (tags via @smithy-will-eat-your-babies)

Cephalopods (and other invertebrates) DO have a perfectly good innate immune system!! It's adaptive immunity that they don't have. Adaptive immunity is thought to have evolved in jawed fish approximately 500 million years ago, and also in jawless fish independently as well apparently. Things like idk a frog, human, a shark, the powerful lumpfish, we all have this awesome adaptation! In addition to our innate immune response, we also have the ability to adapt to new pathogens and remember them when we encounter them again.

So to explain the difference (as I understand it- if I make any mistakes pls feel free to chime in) and why I was horrified:

The innate immune system is like, the Default Defense you were born with. It's the part of your immune system that looks at a foreign invader and goes UNAUTHORIZED FUCKING THING. BLOW IT UP NOW. Most living things are gonna be pretty decent at this. You have to be, to keep on being a living thing on this Earth. The functions of the innate immune system are genetic, and it does not improve with experience. If you happen to meet a pathogen that has evolved to survive whatever default defenses you were born with, then well. That's that. There's also the risk of managing to fight off an infection, only to immediately be re-infected by the same fucking thing you just fought off, and you start the fight alllll over again the exact same way you just did, with no improvements, because your immune system cannot remember Who this intruder is and how to tailor its response to it specifically. An important thing to remember, though, that not everyone has the same genes, so Squid A might still have been born with a stronger immune system than Squid B, and survive an illness that Squid B might die from. Unless you have a population with very little genetic diversity, like, say, maybe if your country had a habit of cloning soldiers off of tentacle cuttings or something silly like that, then you're prooobably not just going to have everyone wiped out from One Disease. Also, innate immunity within a population can improve over time, but it'll be over the course of generations, not within an individual person.

The adaptive immune system is the part that can learn to identify invaders it's seen before. It's that system of target-tailored antibodies and other fancy shit that makes fighting an infection more efficient. You know how when a human child gets chicken pox once, and then once they recover from that they'll never get sick from chicken pox again? Or how you can get vaccinated against various terrible, deadly diseases, and it'll let your body know how to fight off a real infection without nearly killing yourself in the process? That's adaptive immunity in action. It lets the body remember enemies it's seen before, and respond efficiently. With this ability, you're not just stuck your whole life with whatever Default Stats you happened to be born with - your defenses will improve with experience. This is a big fucking deal!!!

Like. Consider how important the invention of vaccines have been to society. We've eradicated entire deadly diseases through vaccinations. And then to consider this whole society made up of a bunch of species that don't have that option? (Though maybe with gene editing tech they might be able to, idk but that's a pretty advanced tech compared to traditional vaccines) That's horrifying!! Also, the body not being able to adapt to shit it's fought off before also means that if you don't do a good enough job sterilizing your living space after getting sick you might get caught in a death loop of being re-infected over and over until your body just can't keep up the fight anymore. Imagine getting fucking spawncamped by idk the same strain of strep throat that's still hanging out on the toothbrush you forgot to throw out. Scary!

As far as the "Inklings meet a human" scenario goes most pathogens are specific to a host so unless the human just happened to be carrying something that knows how to infect cephalopods, they'll be fine. Given how terrestrial cephalopods weren't even a thing during humantimes I would think the likelihood of a human carrying any pathogen that would know what to do with an Inkling, let alone efficiently enough to cause a significant epidemic, would be fairly slim. You could certainly play with this slim chance though, just keep in mind they're not just inherently all fucked, they do stand a chance as a population. Also remember they have access to medicine and sterilization techniques and such let's be fair 2 them in our horrible pandemic scenarios

@mosspodge said:

dang so a single deady infectious disease could reasonably take out a large portion of if not all inkfish huh. interesting interesting ✍️✍️

I initially put this at top but I reread it and yeah you've got the spirit lol. Like I said, there's still going to be differences in immune response between individuals, so it probably won't wipe out everyone. But it can easily get really bad.

I've been mulling over what this might mean for how their society handles infectious diseases though. I'll probably make its own post, but one thing that's probably taken a lot more seriously than it is in some human societies not naming any names that start with U and end in A, would be quarantining sick individuals. That's probably the very first step they recommend taking, and I would hope they take it seriously enough to actually accommodate it! It won't help much for a disease that has a contagious stage before any symptoms appear, but it's something lol

U can look into sea cucumber toxins but watch out. You might shatter some crucial underlying assumptions you were making with regards to fantasy cephalopod society epidemiology

[bellatrixobsessed1]

The Rising Lady

Pair: Alcina/The Duke

Summary: Alcina, in the middle of her growth spurt, struggles to get used to her size and the gawking and commentary that comes with it. She finds common ground with The Duke who also seems to draw many stares. (AU Where Alcina knew the Duke before her mutation.)

AN: This is another experimental piece. Warning for fat shaming.

Sometimes she wishes that she could be more like The Duke. The way that he handles things with a jest and a hearty chuckle. He is hard to phase and words seem to roll right off of him. For it, he is a lucky man. 

Perhaps it is that he is used to the remarks and the stares. 

At best, Alcina finds them rude. At best she can offer them a scowl and comment on the impoliteness of their ogling. Mostly it makes her uncomfortable. Mostly she finds herself shifting and squirming in her chair. People never paid her much mind before, not after Miss D put down her microphone and retreated back into the shadows of her castle to endure her faulty genetics. 

She is a quiet woman and was perfectly content to be an unremarkable one to boot. Sometimes she thinks that it was a mistake to trade disease for…

She stares down the extended length of her body…

For whatever this is.

She is a large woman and sometimes she still feels growing pains. Every now and then they shoot up and down her spine, along her arms and legs. Her chest and rear ache with it and on occasions, her belly. And on the worst of days she can feel the tingling sensation of  the mutation in her face. On the most unbearable days it is an all over pain--on these days she grows most noticeably. 

On these days she is on the floor screaming, tears streaming down her face as she begs her body to settle. 

Sometimes she doesn’t think that she will stop growing. She doesn’t know what she will do when she is too tall to even duck under the doorways. She has to get new clothes, a new bed, new chairs…

And every time she does, she grows taller still. It isn’t becoming on her in the slightest. It is grotesque and sickening. 

And to delicately salt a rapidly widening wound, stretchmarks have begun to decorate her chest, thighs, and tummy. Perhaps when she was some two decades younger, she thought herself attractive. She thinks that her beauty has waned since then, it was bound to…

But this? This is stealing from her the last fragments of her youth and an unhealthy portion of her confidence. And this time she is finding it difficult to put on a bolder facade. Truth be told she is terrified. She doesn’t know what she is becoming.

She is too big for her own skin. Her body is too big for the mind locked within it. And these days if feels like one very spacious prison. 

She catches a glance of The Duke sitting on the other end of the ballroom. She wonders if the man had ever felt the same. She has known him for many years. She knew him when he was merely a boy. She knew him when he was much slimmer. Relatively speaking anyhow. She supposes that people always stared at him, have always had some comment to make about his size. 

And maybe this is exactly why it bothers him none. 

The village folk stare at him too. “How does that tiny cart hold up such a large man?” They ask. 

“That’s no man, that’s a…” cow, hippo, elephant, bull--Alcina wonders which they will pick this time. 

“I think even elephants ain’t that big.” Responds another man. “That thing could kill an elephant, I reckon.” 

And somehow, Alcina finds herself furious on his behalf. Furious where he only chuckles and says, “Just give me a chance and good footwear and I can wrestle a rhino with my bare hands!” 

Maybe this is why he is left well alone after the initial remark. Of she and her transformation they say more unpleasant things, crass and vile things. Things that she doesn’t like to repeat even privately to herself. 

She no longer feels right in her body, if she had ever felt secure in it at all. And sometimes she feels like an object. They make her feel like an object between their open stares, their routy whistling, and their constant remarks.

Somewhere down the lines she stopped being Miss D. And then she stopped being Alcina Dimitrescu. She is now, ‘the big lady’, ‘the tall lady’. 

Alcina burrows deeper into her coat, she tries to anyhow, only to find that she has grown even further. Alcina closes her eyes and very silently begs her coat to just fit, but she can’t seem to reach it across  her bosom, much less get it to button up. Perhaps she is, in her dismay, only imagining it, but her shoes feel tighter and when she looks down she can swear that her legs are longer still. Hadn’t her coat reached past her knees only moments before? 

She has gotten quite used to waking up to find herself less comfortable in her bed and night gown. But this? She hasn’t ever grown before her very eyes. 

And she feels nothing at all. 

She wishes that a soreness or a burning sensation would accompany her growth. At least then she would know for sure that her mind isn’t playing tricks on her. She hasn’t even that sort of reassurance. 

She has reached eight feet now. 

Eight dizzying, disorienting feet. 

“Look at the big lady!” The girl can’t be older than twelve. “She’s even bigger now!” She doesn’t draw her brother’s attention but also the attention of nearly the entire market square. Everyone should like to take a gander at the strange, big lady. 

At least now she knows that it isn’t her imagination. 

Her clothes suddenly feel much too tight for her, much less breathable. She isn’t sure if it is a physical sensation or the product of anxiety that grows at a rate faster than her body. She hugs her arms around her chest. She was a fool to trust Mother Miranda. 

Beautiful, youthful, and healthy Mother Miranda, who has swapped one of her torments for a new one. 

At least a blood disease is rather common. At least it is expected of a Dimitrescu woman. This...she clutches herself tighter…is unnatural. This is...

“Good evening m’lady.” The Duke greets. She feels the bench dip under the weight of him and frets that it will splinter under their combined weight. “Having a dreary evening?”

Alcina nods, “I can’t leave my castle without getting stared at.”

“Aye...of course they are staring, you are a beautiful lady, Miss D.” 

She clears her throat. “You are a charming man.” She notes. “But I don’t think that, that is why they’re staring at me.” 

He offers a sympathetic chuckle. “Yes, perhaps not.” He shifts from side to side, it takes her a moment to realize that he is feeling for a lighter in his side pockets. Upon finding it, he plucks a cigar from his chest pocket. “Fancy a smoke?”

“A drink would be more helpful.” She confesses. 

“You’ll make me waddle all the way back to my stall?” 

“If you’ll be so kind, Duke.” 

For only a moment, the time that it takes him to walk to his stall and back, attention is taken from her. Her heart aches for the man; he’s a strange one but a good natured one. Perhaps the only gentleman left in this damnable town. And they treat him with such disrespect and mockery. It isn’t enough to rudely gawk. No, they also have to mimic his wide gait and make attempts to shove him over. 

By God, were she him she would shove them down and crush them. He could be quite a punishing force were he a cureler man. She wonders how long it will take before the villagers make a game of trying to topple her. She wonders how long it will take before she grows sick of them and tests her own strength. She can’t imagine that this body is just for show. It isn’t as frail an delicate as the one she’d had before. 

“You gonna share with the lady or is that all for you?” She hears someone quip.

“If it was for me there’d be a lot more food than this!” He declares proudly. He comes back with a bottle of wine and a raspberry spongecake. 

“You spoil me, Duke.” She takes the treat. 

“You have been having a troubling week, Lady Dimitrescu. I thought that I would bake something special for you.” He takes a drag from his cigar. 

She could very much use special. It is nice to feel special and sometimes the Duke makes her feel just that. “How do you do it?” She inquiries. 

“Hmm?”

“How do you put up with all of the leering and commentary.” 

“Truth be told, m’lady, I’ve been hearing it my entire life. Remarks lose their impact when you’ve heard the worst of them incessantly.”

Incessant. That is a good word for what the remarks are. “At least they aren’t constantly salivating over your chest, Duke.”

“You would be surprised, m’lady. They might fancy my chest more than yours.” He wiggles his brows. 

“You disgusting oaf.” She grumbles. 

He only laughs louder, it is the deep and booming sort. “I jest.” He says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Honest, I just.” 

Alcina sighs, “you jest too much for you own good, I think.”

“Perhaps so.” He replies. His expression growing suddenly and uncharacteristically dim. “But if I didn’t jest, I don’t know that I’d be able to smile at all.”

“That’s how you do it.” She nods. “You make jokes so that they cannot.” 

“It’s a learned skill.” He confirms. “You won’t need comedy, Miss D. You have sophistication and a pretty face.”

She thinks that her pretty face may be part of the problem. A double edged sword that brings her a last scrap of confidence at the same time as it seems to attract the most dull of men. “My face isn’t what troubles me, Duke.” 

The man nods. “I can imagine. You have changed. And not slowly either. It must be difficult to adjust.” 

“Yes.”  She takes another dainty nibble of her cake and a less than refined swig of wine. 

“Well those simpletons would do well to respect you. I mean look at you…” she tries not to do that. “You can break any one of them.”

“Why haven’t you? Crushed one of them I mean.” 

“I could but then I’d be down a customer. They have a lot to say until I tell them that the shop’s closed and they’ll have to get their wears elsewhere. They’re all gentlefolk then. Hell, they’re even willing to pay double.”

“At least someone in this town has intellect.”

“And it’s all right here.” He chuckles with a sturdy pat to her knee. 

Her face flushes lightly, “it isn’t quite as lonely when you make your rounds, Duke.” She doesn’t feel quite so freakish when he is around. And maybe it is that they are very like each other. They are both big people. Perhaps the both of them have outgrown this loathsome village. If only fleetingly, she wonders what it would be like to escape it with him. To find a new place and live out the rest of her days in the man’s company. But then she comes back to herself and she knows that she cannot. She is an oddity in this village, a thing to marvel at in a place teeming with bizarre things and curiosities. To stray to another? Impossible. 

A silence falls between them. He watches smoke lazily drift up to the sky and she, for what must be the hundredth time, studies and scrutinizes her body. Tries to make herself comfortable in a chair that is meant for people several feet shorter. Tries to make herself comfortable in skin and bones that have stretched well beyond what they were supposed to. At curves that are too new and too pronounced for her comfort.

She steals a glance at the Duke. He leans back, one hand holds the cigar in place and the other rests upon his stomach. He looks quite relaxed. He looks cozy and self-assured.

Perhaps in due time she will learn to appreciate her supple curves and accept what she has become. 

Perhaps in due time she, like the Duke, will have a confidence to match with her size.