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call-me-mrs-winchester · 2 days

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𝐋𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐀 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐤 - 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Original Female Character

Summary: Will be in series masterlist

Chapter Warnings: Age-Gap. Pining. Teasing. Underaged flirting. Language. Violence. Gaslighting. Gun Play. Murder. Description of Death.

A/N: I've had this series replaying in my mind for over a year. I'm so happy to share with everyone and I hope you enjoy it as much as I do. I've got big plans for this story! Thank you all for your support, feedback (preferably good) is always appreciated!

Maricela's POV

I've known the Winchester brothers for four years now. I was fifteen when they visited Kenosha, Wisconsin, on a hunt for a Lamia. I remember hearing the roar of the Impala's engine pull into the gas station before it drove to the opposite side of the pump I was using. The motor's purr cuts just before the driver's side door creaks open, freeing a tall and handsome specimen. Once he reappeared from behind the pump, I did a double take. I couldn't help but stare at the man who wielded the most beautiful green eyes, trying to place where I'd seen them before. The longer I studied his chiseled face, the more familiar it seemed.

The man noticed my gaze and turned to look at me. He gave me a small smile, and I realized what I had been doing. I tear my attention away while my cheeks begin to heat, embarrassed.

"I'm sorry," I say, focusing on the ground. "You just look really familiar."

"Oh, I don't know about that," his deep voice responded. "I'm not from around here."

I nodded, taking in his words, but felt in my gut that he wasn't telling the entire truth. Instead of thinking too hard about it, I push it to the back of my brain and look at his sweet ride.

"Pretty nice car you got there." I compliment.

"Thanks," he says before flashing me a charming smile.

I was instantly mesmerized by him. I had no intention of ceasing our conversation in hopes of becoming closer to him while I had the chance. Who wouldn't do the same? Regardless of any age difference.

He looked away and stared into the distance, getting lost in his head. I clear my throat before speaking again.

"What year is it?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation alive.

"'67." He answers proudly.

I ask, genuinely curious, "What kind of engine does it have?"

A slow smile spreads across his face as if the question doesn't get asked often. He nods for me to follow him, and I smile as my plan succeeds. He pops the hood from inside the car before walking towards the front of the Impala. As I pass the driver's side door, the man sitting inside gives me a tight-lipped smile. I give him one in return, then turn my attention back to the gorgeous man as he props the hood.

"Impressive. Let me guess—this baby pushes out 460 hps." I comment, staring at the redone engine.

"461. How did you...?" He trails off. I catch him staring at me in my peripheral vision. I turn to the attractive man and can't help but smile even wider at the amazement shining bright in his eyes. He thrusts his hand out and says, "I'm Dean."

I take his hand and squeeze, giving him a firm handshake. "I'm Mari."

"Ma-dee...?" He repeats in question.

I giggle at his uncertainty and nod at the correct pronunciation of my Spanish name. "Yes, sir."

"What's a girl like you know about engines?" He smirks, leaning against his now-closed hood.

"I know a thing or two." I shrug nonchalantly. I heard the gas pump jerk, indicating that my tank was full. "I should get that."

I turn to walk back before his voice stops me.

"Hey, uh—you wouldn't happen to know where the nearest motel is, do you?"

"Wow, Dean, I'm flattered, but I like to be 'wined and dined' before we sixty-nine." I causally joke.

His eyes widen with shock as the blush rises to his cheeks, his jaw dropping slightly. I found it arduous to keep my smirk hidden after his overt reaction. His head shakes violently, his hands rising in defense before speaking.

"What? No, I didn't mean—I don't want to—Not that you're not—" His green eyes quickly skim every inch of my body. "I'm not saying you don't look good 'cause wow—but I just—"

This man, who exudes confidence, getting so flustered over my words was unexpected. I couldn't help but stop his self-torture with a laugh.

"I'm just fucking with you."

Relief washes over his features before letting out a large breath. After a chuckle, he says, "You're good, really had me going there."

"Well, if you're this easy to rile up with words, I can only imagine how well you'd respond to actions." I smile at the vulgar things I had in mind.

To say I surprised even myself with my comments is an understatement. I have never been confident enough to speak to any guy like this. Let alone one this jaw-droppingly sexy, but he definitely brought that side out of me.

A mischievous smirk plays on his lips as he gets closer. "You've got a dirty little mouth there, sweetheart."

"You going to clean it out for me?" I say seductively before sinking my teeth into my bottom lip.

Dean's eyes widen again, but he tries covering it with a huge grin. He opens his mouth to reply but gets cut off by the man in his car attempting to mask the words "jail bait" with a cough. I can't help but laugh; he wasn't wrong. The man standing in front of me turns red once more.

"Why don't I give you those directions?" I offer, hoping to ease the awkwardness.

He nods, giving me a shy smile. He thanked me after I gave him the information.

"No problem." I walk to my car and grab the nozzle from my gas tank. I put it back into its machine while he does the same. "I hope to see you around."

He winks before I slip into my front seat. I smile at his small but powerful gesture and pray the last words I spoke to him become true.

And they did, just not in the way I would've imagined. What I didn't expect was to see a monster—a real monster—attack someone important to me. Two FBI agents tracked me down in my hometown for an interview. And just my luck, the agents happened to be the gentlemen I met earlier. Their faces were just as surprised to see me as I was them.

A knock sounded on the front door. I pause my movie before surreptitiously peeking out of the living room window that faces the street. My eyes widen as I see a familiar classic car parked outside my house. My heart rate spiked, knowing that the Impala could only belong to the man I met just the other day. Panicking, I push myself off the couch and run to the bathroom.

I look in the mirror and see a nightmare staring back. My eyes were red and puffy, and my hair was in shambles. I heard another knock, but this time louder. With no time to run a brush through my bird's nest of hair, I groan in frustration. I drag myself out of the bathroom before the rapid pounding begins against the front door.

"Coming!" I yell while combing my fingers through my thickly tangled brunette curls.

I stand just before the door and take a moment to breathe. After straightening the sweats I chose to lounge in, I curse myself for not being presentable at a time like this. I suck in a breath before reaching for the door handle, bracing myself for the judgment and embarrassment that was guaranteed to come my way. In one quick motion, I swing open the wooden door to see the two familiar, tall, handsome men standing before me.

Their eyes became wide as they recognized who I was. I self-consciously sink into my hoodie, shy from their attention.

"Mari..." says Dean, just as surprised to see me.

"What are you guys doing here?" I ask, confused.

"We're uh, we're FBI agents. Just came to ask Maricela a few questions." The gentleman with long hair answers. "Is she home?"

"That's me," My eyebrows knit together. "Wait a minute, you're FBI agents?" I ask, not believing them as I eye up their suits.

"Yes." Dean and I locked eyes, and I could tell from his facial expression that he was hiding something.

"Let me see your badges." The words spilled out of my mouth.

They exchanged a look as if they didn't know what to do. They fumbled over their words before I cut them off.

"Well," I cross my arms. "Let's see it."

"Look, I don't think we need to—" Dean starts.

"Then you're not coming in. Plain and simple." I sass, standing my ground to the suspicious strangers.

Sighing in defeat, they pull their badges from their inner suit pockets. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose before taking their badges for a closer look. My eyes thoroughly examine their IDs, noticing an off detail, realizing why they were, or at least Dean was, hesitant about showing their badges. I hand them back before recrossing my arms.

"So... Jimmy, huh?" 'Dean' looks at me in confusion before the realization dawns upon his face. "I recalled you introducing yourself as 'Dean.'"

"Well, uh..." I see him struggle for an excuse. "I go by my middle name. Each time someone called for 'Jimmy,' my dad and I didn't know who they were referring to. So yeah, I—uh, I go by Dean."

I give him a 'you've got to be joking' look. He clears his throat and smiles, trying to play it cool.

"Right..." I stare at his face, hoping to magically remember where I knew him from—other than the day we met. Knowing my luck wasn't great, I brushed it off once again.

"May we come in?" Mr. Robert Plant asks.

With the faintest nod, I step aside to let them pass. Once they were in, I closed the door and led them to the living room. They settled on the couch and nervously smiled at me as I sat across from them.

"Are your parents home?" 'Dean' asks.

I shake my head. "No, they're not. But I'd rather get this done and over with, so please make this quick."

They nod before starting. "All right, tell us how you knew the victim. Then, walk us through what you saw last night."

I take a shaky breath, trying to steady my nerves. "Luke and I had been friends for a while. I had the biggest crush on him. I figured he only liked me as a friend, so when he asked me to dinner, how could I have said no? He wanted to drive down to Kenosha and try this new restaurant."

"So, it was a date?" 'Dean' questioned.

"I guess you could call it that. Everything was going great until I stepped away to use the restroom. When I came back... Luke was with another girl." I replay the awful memory. "She was all over him. I was furious! Why ask me out, then allow some random chick to finish our date? It just didn't make any sense. But I refused to stay and watch, so I left..."

My voice began to waver as the emotions I felt the night before came rushing back.

"I called my best friend to come pick me up. While I waited, I decided to go back and confront him, giving him a piece of my mind. That's when I found him..." I hesitate, fearing they wouldn't believe the truth of what I witnessed.

I didn't expect them to, especially since the local cops didn't. For two sole reasons: One. Who ever listens to the crazy person who says monsters are real? Two. I was a minor, and no one takes you seriously if you're under the age of 18—even then.

"Found him..?" 'Dean' asks, sitting at the edge of his seat. My eyes found his, and just for a moment, I felt safe in the comforting pools of green.

My lips part, contemplating what to say next. Hesitation got the best of me, so I settled on; "Dead."

They nod, taking in my statement. "You told the police you saw a monster kill Luke."

I give a dry laugh before nodding in agreement, my gaze wandering. "Yeah, I did."

"Is there anything more you can tell us about this so-called 'monster' you saw?" Robert questions.

"What's the point? You're not gonna believe me. No one else does." I shrug.

"Hey," 'Dean' made it a point for me to make eye contact with him before saying, "We just want to help. So, try us."

I bit the inside of my cheek while frantically searching his beautiful green irises for clarity. His brows furrowed, woven with hope yet silently pleading to trust him. So, with a deep breath, I confessed. "When I went back, he—uh, he was on the ground, and she was... eating him. She looked human, but her face—it changed."

"Changed? Changed how?" Robert eagerly inquired.

"I swear it warped into something snake-like."

The men exchanged glances before fixing their attention back on me. "How did she escape?"

"She heard other people coming near us and ran off. I tried running after her, but she turned a corner and was gone. I called the cops but not before seeing the huge gaping hole in Luke's chest." I numbly say as I stare off into thin air, as his lifeless and mutilated body flashes behind my eyes.

"All I know is whatever that thing is, ain't human. She's a monster, and I swear, she's gonna get what's coming to her." I seethe.

After persuading me to tell the truth, they tried convincing me what I witnessed, what that monster did to my friend, wasn't real.

"Look, Mari," 'Dean' started. "Forget what you think you saw, all right? Cause monsters aren't real. The sooner you realize that the sooner you can cope with your loss."

"My partner's right. It's easy to think that some—" Robert lifts his fingers to add air quotes. "—'monster' could be responsible for your boy friend's death, but the FBI can assure you, there's no such thing. In certain traumatic events, the witness can alter reality the more they try to remember what happened. It could just be that you have an overactive imagination. It happens all the time, especially in kids. I think that's what's going on here."

I glare at them in disbelief. How dare they come into my house and feed me lies—telling me I have an 'overactive imagination.' As natural as breathing, I begin expressing my anger.

"I don't care who you are—I know what I saw. This thing will continue to kill people until it's caught. So why don't you quit wasting your time selling me something I ain't buyin' and find the damn thing!" I say each and every word louder than the last, anger fueling the fire they only fanned higher.

Silence fell between us. It was evident that my outburst caught them off guard, but I couldn't care less. Time and energy were being wasted by trying to convince me otherwise. I take a deep breath and collect my thoughts before getting up from the couch to walk out of the living room.

"Now, if there's nothing else you need from me—" I say while opening the front door. The men take my hint and begin walking towards me. Robert delivers a stiff smile before walking out of the house, leaving me alone with 'Dean.'

"Thank you for your time." He mutters before exiting my home.

"Hey, Page," I called just after he walked down the porch steps. He pivots to meet my gaze. "If you don't find this thing, I will."

With a nod, he turns back around and heads for his car. As soon as they drove away, I threw myself into research. I couldn't shake the feeling that I knew these two from somewhere.

I soon found myself down a rabbit hole.

"Oh shit..." I murmur, finding what I was looking for but not what I expected. Then, it all dawned on me.

Sam and Dean Winchester.

Milwaukee, Wisconsin. That's where I knew them from. They came in January of 2007 and took hostages in a bank before escaping, dressed as SWAT agents. They were a huge story, especially since they were wanted for other heinous crimes. Those of which included—credit card fraud, breaking and entering, disturbing a crime scene, impersonation of law enforcement, assaulting an officer, breaking out of jail, mass murder, kidnapping, arson, grand theft auto, grave desecration, and lastly, desecration of corpses. I felt sick to my stomach, knowing I was alone with them. Yet, all I could think about was what they wanted and why they didn't hurt me if they had such a rap. My mind kept racing and racing until I made a plan.

After an hour, I had a theory on what kind of monster killed my friend. So, I decided to confront the mystery men and pray they really were here to help. After changing, I traveled down to the city where they stayed.

I pulled up to the motel and braved myself with a deep breath before exiting my car. I clutched the gun in my purse as I walked over to their room. With determination, I knocked on their door. My heart hammered against my rib cage, wondering if what I was doing was a mistake. Dean opened the door, and his eyes instantly widened. I brush past him and walk into the middle of the room while taking a quick scan, ensuring it was just us three before turning to face them. Without wasting a beat, I jump into business.

"I know who you are," I assert with as much confidence as my voice could muster. "Sam and Dean Winchester."

Their faces dropped at the mention of their real identities.

"Now," I begin. "I want the truth. Who are you."

"Well, if you know our names, you should already know who we are," says Sam.

"I read what the articles wrote about you, even what law enforcement officials have tried charging you with before you were 'killed.' Yet, here you are: alive." I take the loaded gun out of my purse and aim at the brothers. "So tell me, who are you."

The men raised their hands in surrender, no doubt startled to see me wield a deadly weapon. What'd they expect? That I'd walk into the lion's den unarmed? I might be foolish, but I'm not stupid.

"Woah, woah. Mari, put the gun away. It's not a toy." Dean said, taking a step closer.

"No shit, Sherlock." I steady my trembling hands. "Now, somebody better start talking, or I'll start using this thing."

"Okay! Okay!" Dean shouts after hearing the click of the safety release from the trigger. "We'll tell you. Just please, put it down."

I hesitate but lower the weapon at a 45-degree angle, not ready to put it away completely. "You're right. I'm Dean Winchester, this is my brother, Sam. But we're not what everyone says we are. We're... we're hunters."

My brows narrow in confusion. "Hunters?"

"We hunt monsters. We try to save as many people as we can. It's our family business."

I take a deep breath before saying, "I thought you said monsters weren't real."

The brothers seemed to relax when I put the safety back on before shoving the gun back into my purse.

"We had to. It was for your own good. You're too young to learn about the things that go bump in the night." Dean says before sitting at the table near the window, across from Sam.

"I appreciate it, but I can make that decision on my own."

"If you really want to know, it was a Lamia that killed Luke," Sam says, trying to ease the tension between his brother and me.

I nod. "Yeah, I know."

Sam furrowed his eyebrows. "You know?"

"Yeah," I pull out the folded paper I printed earlier. He gets up from his chair, walking closer so I can hand it to him. "I did some research and came across it. Figured it could be a possibility."

"So why did you come here?" Dean asked.

I shifted my eyes to meet his. "Because if those allegations were true, you would've killed me. And you didn't... You came to me, looking for clues to—to help. Bad guys don't do that."

I watch as his eyes soften. He gives me the tiniest smile before nodding.

"Now, how do we kill this thing?" I ask.

"No, no, no." Dean gets up from his chair and walks over.

"What? I'm going to help you kill it." I declare.

"I don't think so, sweetheart." He quickly towers over me. "Leave it to the adults."

"You don't scare me, Dean Winchester," I say confidently.

The truth is, I was—just a little. His lips parted as if he was going to say something back but he didn't.

"I think it's best if we take care of this," Sam interjects.

I fought with them long and hard until I finally wore them down. They agreed I could come with them as long as I stayed out of the way.

We ascended the steps of the church and pushed the heavy doors open. The men led the way before stopping in front of the altar. I gasped once I saw the priest's dead body lying on the floor with his throat cut open.

"Damn it!" Dean cursed. "She got to him first."

"What do we do?" I ask, frightened.

"Call Bobby," said Sam before the Lamia made her way from the back room.

Dean whipped out his phone and dialed whomever Sam referred to.

"What's another way to kill a Lamia?" he eagerly asks. He looks to the priest lying at his feet before saying, "It didn't pan out. What's Plan B?"

While Dean took instructions, the Lamia charged toward us. She dodged Sam's punch before grabbing his clothes and flinging him across the room. He hit the pillar before shouting for his brother. Ignoring me, she runs over with supernatural speed and snatches him away from the column that kept him upright. Dean sprints to the back room just before the Lamia throws the tall man to the floor like he was nothing.

She then straddles him, wrapping one hand around his neck before hissing. Her fangs and forked tongue were on display, just like they were the first time I saw her. Fear freezes me in place, trapping me in the memory of Luke's murder. She uses her unoccupied hand to press her fingertips against Sam's chest as if she were going to plunge it into his body. He tries prying her hands away with no luck. The monster begins to dig her quickly, growing claws into the man, forcing out a pained cry. The sound of his torture pierces through my comatose state, snapping me out of it.

Without second-guessing, I feel my body rush towards the monster, tackling her off the youngest Winchester. I quickly crawl over and grab the knife near Sam. I stand, holding the large blade in front of me. She pants heavily as a slow smile spreads across her face. The same one that burned in my memory that fateful day.

That was enough for me to lunge the large knife at her. She quickly dodged and tried attacking back, only for me to do the same. I finally land a strike on her arm, slicing her skin open. Yet, just as fast as it appeared, I watched her heal. The sudden realization that she couldn't be weakened easily had hit me like a truck. She took the opportunity to jump me, knocking the knife out of my hand. We wrestled on the floor before her strength dominated.

"I remember you." Her voice spoke. "You're the girlfriend."

"Shut up." I hiss while trying and failing to push her off of me. Her taunting laughs echo off the church's walls.

"I've got to say, your boy toy tasted amazing." She adds to the torment. A fresh set of tears fills my eyes. I turn my head and see the knife not too far away. I look at her again while I reach for the knife. "Don't worry, sweetie. He didn't suffer... that much."

My fingertips lightly grazed the edge of the handle. With one last stretch, I grasped onto it, and with one swift motion, I jammed the blade into the monster's throat.

"I said—" Her eyes widen in shock before I yank the knife out. "Shut up!"

She stumbled off, allowing me to get away. I push myself off the ground and run towards Sam, still lying on the floor.

"C'mon." I pull him up with all my strength before shifting some of his weight onto me.

We stumble to the back room where Dean was with the Lamia on our asses. Once we were in the kitchen, Dean tossed what seemed to be herbs out of the bowl he held at the evil creature. She flinched as if it had stung while Dean pulled the stove away from the wall. The monster fixed her eyes on the older Winchester, ready to pounce. I threw myself in her path before she—very easily— flung me out of the way. I groaned in pain as I tried to sit up. Sam followed my actions, only for him too to be cast aside.

"Fire in the hole!" Dean shouted before lighting the gas that seeped out of its line.

We watch as the Lamia burns to a crisp while listening to her violent shrieks. Once she was dead, Dean cut the gas, putting out the fire. My chest rises and falls, trying to calm down yet attempting to register everything that just happened. Dean walks in front of me and offers me a hand. I hesitantly accept before he pulls me off the floor.

"Are you all right?" he asks.

I nod with reassurance before Sam walks over to us. "I'm fine."

"It's over now." Dean rubs my back. "She can't hurt anybody else."

After the hunt, they took me out to dinner. It was less eating, at least for me, and more them giving me the talk about all that is dangerously real in the world. It goes without saying I became a hunter that day. Once I turned 18, I made it a full-time job. As much as Dean hated the fact that I fell into hunting and as much as he tried to stop me, I would help them on cases if we were near one another. After hunts, we always found time to hang out. They became my closest and most trusted friends, family even. We were always there for each other, especially at our lowest. Sam was the big brother I never had, while Dean was the crush I never seemed to get over.

Since the day I met him, my feelings for the older Winchester have only grown stronger. Each moment spent with him was bittersweet, knowing I was so close yet so far away from where I craved to be. But anything was better than nothing at all. Even with Sam's year-long encouragement, I refused to tell his brother how I felt in fear of rejection. The timing was another reason I hadn't confessed my undying love as each Big Bad became worse than the last. Things got a little more complicated when every angel fell from Heaven only to receive worse news when I called Dean to question 'The Global Meteor Shower.'

"Mari," Dean's hoarse voice spoke. "It's Sam... He's in the hospital."

Let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist here!

tags: @k-slla @jaredpadonlyyyy

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slyandthefamilybook · 6 hours

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Noah's Spring Jewish Book Review

this isn't gonna become a regular thing, don't worry. I just need to gush some about these books. I'm gonna keep the reviews short too because who's got that kind of time!

So far I've read 4 Jewish novels this spring and I'm working on a fifth. We'll go in chronological order

1. Thistlefoot by GennaRose Nethercott

~ Two estranged siblings, Isaac and Bellatine Yaga—the grandchildren of the famous Baba Yaga—inherit their ancestor's chicken-footed house. They travel the country putting on puppet shows and exploring their own mysterious abilities, all the while trying to escape from a threatening figure known only as the Longshadow Man, as well as their own pasts. History relives itself in a book filled with magic and mystery ~

This book was so damn good. Every other sentence is tattoo-worthy and hits you like a sack of bricks. The characters feel so real and raw while also managing to fill out their respective roles with a sense of poetry. The book has a supporting cast of memorable characters and a sense of real danger throughout. Every so often the house will interject in a way that reminds me so much of my bubbe (עליה השלום). I've read reviews that said it dragged on a bit in the second act but I was enraptured the entire way through. It's also pretty gay, which I always appreciate. 10/10

2. When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb

~ An angle and a demon—best friends for 200 years—set out from their tiny Pale shtetl to America in search of a girl who hasn't been heard from. They're accompanied by Rosie, a spunky and fire-spirited girl from their shtetl desperate to get away and have an adventure in the far-off West ~

No book has made me feel quite so seen as this one. As someone who grew up Orthodox there's virtually no representation for people like me. The majority of Orthodox characters in media are trying to get away. None of them love it quite so much as I do, as much as the characters in this book do. From Little Ash tucking his peyot behind his ears like my older brothers used to to the angel waking up to daven shacharit. Sacha Lamb takes the brave stance of "what if Jewish theology is real, actually" and it shines on every page. The writing effortlessly intertwines spirituality and reverence with a classic Yiddish folktale. It's also pretty gay. 10/10

3. From Dust, a Flame by Rebecca Podos

Hannah, the descendant of the famed Rabbi Yehuda Loew, wakes up one morning to find herself transformed, her eyes turning to yellow slits. Her mother seems to blame herself without explaining why, and soon after disappears. After receiving a mysterious letter, Hannah and her adopted brother Gabe travel to upstate New York to meet their mother's family, to learn the secrets of her past, and of their own lineage ~

I'll start off by saying I'm not sure if I was the target audience for this book. It was good, don't get me wrong, but the writing wasn't to my taste. It was a little... blatant, where I prefer prose to be a bit more subtle. Again, nothing wrong with it, just not my particular thing. I definitely relate to Hannah and Gabe a lot, each in their own way. A lot of the book felt very comforting and familiar to me. The book is equal parts supernatural action and intriguing mystery, and keeps you engrossed til the end. It's also Extremely Gay 7/10

4. The Way Out by Gavriel Savit

~ Yehuda Leib and Bluma set out from their tiny Pale shtetl, each on a mission of the utmost importance. Yehuda Leib is looking for his lost father, and Bluma is running from Death. Navigating the Far Country full of demons, goblins, and angels, the pair fight their way through history and mystery alike, and prepare to make war on Death himself ~

This book. Oh boy this book. Where do I start? This book made me cry several times, which hasn't happened in over 15 years. This book said everything about death I've been feeling since my bubbe passed away (עליה השלום). This book genuinely made me re-think how I view G-d? All that and more in less than 400 pages. This book harmonized with my soul. This book changed who I am as a person. This book made me crumble to dust and then built me back up from scratch. 10/10

#atlas entry #jew #jewish #judaism #jumblr #book review

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thecurioustale · 21 hours

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My New Book Is Out! | Tokens of Zeal

My new book is out!

Buy it! Buy it now!

That's right: In secret, on January 2 of this year I began writing a book of essays. Some of you may know that I have an online journal, which I created in the summer of 2003 when I was just 21 years old and have kept up with ever since. For my new book I went back to the journal and read through it, entry by entry, drawing out excerpts of interest that became conversation pieces for 81 various and sundry essays reflecting on my past life and past thoughts.

The essays are short, often very short. They are less challenging than my usual writing, I would say. My purpose was not to advance my personal frontier of philosophy and intellectual thought in 2024, or to reach a niche audience of deep thinkers, but instead to reflect sincerely on some things I've seen along the way and muse upon how my thoughts have changed and stayed the same over twenty years.

I mention this to you because I am a bit worried that anyone who reads this book might think there's not much to me as an author, and might be dissuaded from reading my works of fiction when those books eventually come out, so I'll lampshade that by adding that I wrote this book in two-and-a-half months. Make of that what you will. I told myself I wouldn't self-sabotage the book by needlessly saying negative things about it, and I am proud of it, not only the fact that I finished it at all, let alone so quickly, but of the actual contents too.

This book is "Volume 1" in a hypothetical series, as it doesn't cover the entire twenty years of the journal but only the first four months, from August to November of 2003—at which point the essays had reached "book length" (lol). So really this book is a snapshot of my life in the latter half of 2003. At that time, I was fading out of college due to financial hardship and other issues, and did not realize that I would never (as yet) return.

I have been wanting for years to go back and reread my journal, and writing a book out of it was the perfect impetus to finally do it. I think a few things stand out about the Josh of 2023:

First, my principles have remained remarkably consistent, but my awareness and understanding of the world has grown drastically, and so those same principles have led me over time to some different policy views and worldviews on some things.

Second, I was a 21-year-old arrogant block of cheese, full of hormones and self-conviction, and that definitely shows up at times in ways that I simultaneously am not proud of and yet which I admire for their sheer gall. There is something very magnetic about the old me which doesn't exist anymore.

Third, following up on that point, it was pretty inspiring and encouraging to revisit the old me, with all that native optimism and drive. I don't express those qualities anymore because life has worn me down and also because I have come to recognize that humanity's problems are a lot more stubborn and irremediable than I thought. By glimpsing into the past, I couldn't help but be cheered on by the old Josh's proud, utopian sense of human inevitability. It lifted my own spirits in the here and now!

I made the mistake of announcing the book on Patreon right after I finished writing it, i.e. back in mid-March. Then I had to wring my hands every week about how post-production was taking longer than expected. Between the irritating realities of formatting a book in software not properly equipped to format a book (never write a book in Google Docs), the complexities of my detail-oriented manner and strong vision regarding the cover design (and engaging for the first time ever with modern generative AI, and having to learn those ropes), and sustaining illnesses and other life priorities and so on, it would take me another two months in all to finally reach today, where I can now publicly declare:

The book is done! It is for sale right now. It is called:

Tokens of Zeal: Words from a Vanished Age

(Caption: Book front cover of Tokens of Zeal: Words from a Vanished Age, by Joshua Calars.)

You can buy it through Amazon in either paperback or e-book format. (I recommend the paperback version for aesthetics as it is much truer to my design vision for the book's layout and appearance, but my profit margin is actually a dollar bigger with the e-book version, so really just go with whichever version you prefer.) It is available in the US as well as in basically all the other countries that Amazon has expanded its publishing service into. If you need help finding a link to a particular version, give me a ping and I will point you there (if there is a "there" to be pointed to). This is my second published book, following Prelude to After The Hero in 2015, and the first book to be published in print.

If you do read it, first of all thank you! It's an honor that you would take the time. Second of all, I would love any feedback you care to offer. That's not a platitude either; feedback is hard to come by and I really would be interested in anything you have to say, good or bad. You can e-mail me, DM, reblog this, drop an ask, or tag me in an independent post. Whatever you like! Feedback will help me greatly when I eventually get around to writing Volume 2. And feel free to leave a review on Amazon, whether good or bad (though hopefully you enjoy the book); I am told it pleases The Algorithm. But most of all, if you enjoy the book, tell someone about it! Your word-of-mouth is currently 100 percent of my advertising budget, lol.

That's all. I wrote a book; it took four-and-a-half-months; it's done now; and it's the first time I've ever gotten to hold a book that I wrote in my hands as a physical thing, and that's pretty neat.

#Tokens of Zeal: Words from a Vanished Age #New books #Self-publishing #Shameless author self-promotion #Joshua Calars #I am trying on “Joshua Calars” as my new pen name with this book #“The Sinistral” that I used with the Prelude to ATH didn't quite sit right with me #“Calars” is a word in Relance that refers to sunset #They/he are my pronouns; “they” is what I prefer but I won't get mad at you for “he”

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sweetsinbaby-art · 1 month

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I started watching Bang Brave Bang Bravern because I kept seeing it on my dash and boy howdy i was not prepared for how gay this mech anime actually is. Y'all weren't joking, huh

#the robot is down bad for a guy #another guy is apparently down bad for the robot #who has now rejected him #y'all i'm on episode 3 #what is happening #bang brave bang bravern #listen i got home from work with no idea what to draw so i decided to watch anime instead of wallowing in choice paralysis #i've been doing that entirely too often this year

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polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup · 7 months

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I don't not mean this offensively at all but is blows my mind that you are a lawyer but also writing jjk fics bc I work at a law firm and cannot for the life of me imagine any of the lawyers that work there writing fanfiction LOL kudos to u seriously I know how busy schedues can get due to court dates haha

im working in like. big city criminal law stuff right now and have been told by people in my office that i come off as a very deadpan and straight-laced legal nerd so i don't think the people who know me from my attorney life are imagining me writing jjk fanfic in my free time either

#I've got a friend who's clerking for a federal judge rn who's also a big fandom person tho she doesn't write #the legal sphere in general really does try to consume your entire life and i sort of hate that part of the business #like i like being a lawyer but i don't like how aggressively it tries to occupy your whole life #it makes offices very cultish #i like having boundaries in life and i have plenty of friends in my office but like. i have a life outside of it too that i want to keep.#and lawyers are so up their own ass about professional reputation that fandom shit is almost never discussed in a legal environment #you could not waterboard it out of me that I write fanfic for fun at work oh my god #it's not that i'm ashamed of it to be clear i'm proud of my stories i just don't know any of them well enough to trust them yet #lawyers are assholes so often holy shit #like not all of us. some of the nicest people i have ever met are lawyers. but the culture breeds a lot of very big and fragile egos #probably more lawyers than you'd think are into fandom stuff but they absolutely do not bring that shit up #i'd like to think i'll be doing fanfic and fandom stuff for years. it's just a great community and i really really love doing it.#i'm also a kick ass lawyer tho so i'm probably gonna be doing some pretty serious shit at work and just also being a fanfic writer.#but yeah court is exhausting and chaotic and i've been in it every day for like two weeks now so feel free to shoot me

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dumbasswhatever · 1 year

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at the beginning of the trial for 4-2, the judge makes it pretty clear that he hasnt seen klavier in court since the trial of seven years ago, and he even says that he worried klavier might still be upset about it. but klavier doesnt actually confirm or deny any of this

this dialogue drives me so insane. did he really stay away from all legal matters for seven years? did he prosecute cases and just happened to deal with other judges? did he work on cases that he didnt prosecute (like how edgeworth worked on sl-9 without being the prosecutor)??? he didnt even start prosecuting cases right after kristoph was arrested, there were about two months between 4-1 and 4-2, so it seems like he really did just start standing in court again to see if apollo was a good lawyer or not. im losing my mind i need to see klavier gavin again i need to know if he really did stop working as a prosecutor entirely for seven years and if he really did suspect that kristoph manipulated him all along

#gripping the sides of my laptop so tightly i crush it. so i've been thinking about aa4 recently #this is all questions but generally i think that um. theres no way he gave up being a prosecutor entirely #i mean klavier said that daryan was the very first detective he ever worked with. and the case seven years ago had gumshoe instead #so we know that before that case klavier had probably been working on other cases and just wasnt like the prosecutor in charge of em #so he very much could have been doing that #also. if he did stop standing in court. did he really believe that kristoph manipulated him??? like listen #yes in 4-4 he says that hes been wondering about the truth of that case for seven years #but. he could have been lying. bc earlier when apollo suggests that kristoph is the killer in 4-4 #klavier says. and i quote. 'there's no way my bro could do a thing like that!'#and the judge is like yeah he was in jail he couldnt have done that. but the wording of that sounds much more like klavier believes that #his bro is not an evil person. (yes kristoph was already arrested for murder once at this point. but if klavier watched that trial then #i think theres a good chance he noticed that the bloody ace was suspicious as shit. i think he could have still believed kris to be innocen #............................................who knows maybe he believed kristoph not to be a murderer but a guy who gave him wrong info #why did i put this in the tags if i was gonna write a whole essay. whatever. i have to put klavier in my brain and microwave him every #so often. i know so many klavier lines its insane also i know that some of these lines probably were not meant to be thought about too much #but what are htey gonna do? put me in ace attorney jail??? let me see klavier and franziska and kay and sebastian? ok go ahead

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gender-euphowrya · 3 months

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ok ngl galaxy buds 2 kinda fucking rule

#thank god there was a sale ffjdjsksf #i'd been using cheaper earbuds because i'm not fucking jeff bezos but they've been breaking down too often #like. the ones i was using before sounded good and all but they were like 50ish bucks and just. didn't last #they were jabra elite 3s and my first pair of them one of the earbuds stopped working #and also sometimes when i put the buds back in the case it would struggle to connect them properly #so i'd like. put them in the case to sleep and wake up expecting them to be charged but Lol No #or i'd have to fiddle with them until they Did connect and then slooowly put them down because the slightest movement would disconnect them #Second pair of the same guys. same case disconnecting problem after just like... 2 months of using them.#and then one of the buds started sounding really weird ? like making static noises at random which was really distracting #and sometimes going silent until i jiggled it around a bit so it was near death basically #and i've only had this 2nd pair for like. maybe half a year or some shit #and God fuck it i decided to splurge and pay more but for something that'd hopefully last much longer #and since my phone is a galaxy and there was a sale on buds 2 i was like. Perfect. gimme the official guys #And GOD DAMN using them is so fun actually. do you want to know how i can lower/raise the volume with em #i flick my ears gkjfd flick the back of my left ear twice it lowers it do the same to my right ear it raises it #tap to pause 2 taps next song 3 taps prev song hold left ear activate ambient sound hold right ear start spotify #answer calls & everything. damn. feels like the entire phone is optional fkdjd #anyway sorry this is just a ''woagh technology so kewl'' moment #the amount of features they managed to put on these things when they don't have a single button on them #just by touching them in different ways or straight up Touching Me Ears.... ough fuck the fuchure......#listen i grew up with a shit mp3 player using wired earbuds as sturdy as spaghetti that sounded like asbestos This Is Magic To Me

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youngks-smile · 2 months

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What I Want You To Know About Long COVID

Well lads, I've been suffering from Long COVID for over a year now. My life is at a complete standstill. I'm 25 years old and I'm too sick to go back to school, I can't work, I had to move back in with my parents and I'm still stuck here.

Here are just a few things I wish people knew about Long COVID, including things I didn't know myself until I got it.

COVID destroys your immune system. Yes, even if you don't have Long COVID. Are you getting sick more often now? When you get sick, does it last longer? There are many studies showing that COVID causes t cell depletion, even in mild COVID cases! T cells are how your body remembers how to fight off infections you've had before so losing those cells? Bad news.

Your initial infection can be mild and you can still get Long COVID. Right from Yale Medicine, "Most people with Long COVID had mild acute COVID." (This is also a good link for a basic Long COVID overview).

There can be a gap of time between when you "get better" from the initial COVID infection to the onset of Long COVID symptoms. Some people get sick with an initial COVID infection and never get better. Some get better and then weeks or months later start developing Long COVID symptoms. Long COVID symptoms can even fluctuate over time, can go away for months and then suddenly come back.

So many people have Long COVID and don't realize it. Do you feel more tired lately but no matter how much you sleep, nothing helps? Is it harder to concentrate at work or school? Can you just not think like you used to? You could have Long COVID and not even know it. Even mild post-COVID symptoms are still Long COVID.

COVID can do anything to your body. Long COVID has over 200 recognized symptoms and can affect basically any part or system of your body. There is no one mechanism or cause of Long COVID which unfortunately also means there's no one cure either.

The effects of COVID are cumulative. Each COVID reinfection increases your chances of developing Long COVID. COVID is also affecting your body in other ways, yes, even if you're otherwise young and healthy! "Repeat COVID-19 infections increase risk of organ failure, death".

Once you have Long COVID, repeat COVID infections will make your symptoms worse. "80% [of Long COVID patients] saw their symptoms worsen [from reinfection]. In 60% of people who were in recovery or remission from Long COVID, reinfection caused a recurrence of Long COVID."

There is a lot more I want to say about Long COVID but I want to keep this post at least somewhat manageable to read. Like how when COVID is contracted during pregnancy, those COVID-exposed fetuses have a 6.3-fold increased risk of motor developmental delays, or that another study found 50% of babies exposed to COVID in utero had developmental delays.

You need to keep caring about COVID, for others around you and also for yourself even if you're "healthy". Everyone is at risk. And don't forget 40-60% of COVID infections are asymptomatic, which is why masking even if you feel fine is crucial. The only way right now to not get Long COVID is to not get COVID in the first place. It's not too late, if you've stopped masking it's never too late to start again! I know it's easy to get distracted by things in your life that seem more real than the possibility of getting sick some time in the future, and the peer pressure to not mask can be intense. But it only feels less real or less important until your entire life is having Long COVID. Trust me.

I know this is a complicated issue, many people can't afford to stay home when sick even if they want to because of their jobs, there are disgusting policies trying to ban wearing masks, but please if you can. Keep masking. Masking works, masking saves lives.

This post got a bit longer than I wanted so below the cut is a non-exhaustive list of my Long COVID symptoms and some of my experiences as one of the "healthy young people" who got "unlucky". cw brief mention of suicidal ideation.

Welcome to the Thunderdome that is my body with Long COVID. Keep in mind these are just my experiences and symptoms, Long COVID can cause any range of symptoms at varying severities.

Dysautonomia: Exercise intolerance, Post-Exertional Malaise (PEM), fatigue, and heat intolerance. What do those things mean? Here's some specific examples. Absolutely terrible circulation I am so cold all the time but also, if I get a little too warm I will pass out. Eating hot food makes my heart rate spike, I sweat, my body feels heavy. Blood pooling and pins and needles in my feet when I walk. Don't even think about exercising past walking, it's impossible. I used to work out an hour a day 4 times a week and now walking up one flight of stairs makes my heart pound and I can't breathe. Can't take even just warm showers anymore or I will pass out. Heat rashes from being in the sun for 10 minutes.

Digestive issues: Honestly too many to name but: constant bloating, extreme nausea, constipation, slow motility, lack of appetite, just so much cramping and pain. I lost 18 pounds from Long COVID, as someone who was already considered underweight their entire life, and almost had to get a shunt put into my chest to deliver nutrients because I was nearly completely unable to eat. For the first 6 months of Long COVID, if I could manage 600 calories a day, that was a good day.

Histamine intolerance: Oh boy. My worst symptoms, I don't even know where to start with it. If you know Mast Cell Activation Syndrome (MCAS) it's very similar. I can only eat 19 foods. If i eat a single bite of something not on that list, it's 48 hours of absolute hell. Coughing, migraines, itchy eyes, such extreme nausea I cannot even describe it, panic/feeling of doom, racing heart rate, derealization, rash, uncontrollable muscle tremors. I only learned about histamine intolerance 5 months into having Long COVID so before that, I was experiencing these symptoms nearly every single day. Terrifying isn't even a strong enough word to describe how it felt to experience all this and have no idea what it was, how to stop it, or if it would ever stop. Really dark times.

Neurological issues: More of that derealization. Inability to concentrate. Anxiety. OCD-like symptoms such as thoughts getting "stuck" in my head, repeating 24/7 completely unable to stop them, genuinely felt like my brain had cracked open and I had lost my mind. Constant dizziness like I'm on a boat.

Sleep issues: I sleep like garbage. I have insomnia, I wake up dozens of times every night and every single time I sleep I have intensely vivid dreams. I can't sleep longer than 7 hours total no matter how exhausted I am. It is exhausting. I'm exhausted, I'm so so tired.

And finally. Just. Really intense suicidal ideation. My body, my health, my entire life has been stolen from me because someone else decided my life was worth less to them than wearing a mask or staying home if they feel sick. Before I got Long COVID, I was preparing to go to South Korea to teach English, then on to a PhD in neurolinguistics, I was supposed to meet my long distance partner and had already booked plane tickets when I got sick. All of that has been destroyed.

Most of us with Long COVID are stuck in a cycle of being extremely sick, then if you're lucky you'll slowly get better over months, just to get reinfected and go right back where you started or worse. Honestly, I'm not scared of dying from COVID. I'm scared of living for a long time, suffering from Long COVID the entire time. This isn't living.

I don't know how to end this now. I'm still fighting, I'm trying experimental treatments, I'm not giving up yet. I hope everyone reading this stays healthy and well.

#long covid #covid 19 #covid isn't over #pandemic

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trivia-yandere · 6 months

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Hi!!!! Okay, first of all, I'm in love with your writing!!!!!! 💕💕💕💕And I was wondering (I've never done a story request so if it is horrible, please just ignore it 😅) but I was wondering if you could write a story of maybe yandereboyfriend/friend jungkook kinda forces older (not heaps but like 2-5 years older but shes just shy and confused when it comws to sex and intimacy) reader to loose her virginity to him and she likes it at the end?? If this is super uncomfortable, please don't even think about it 😅😶‍🌫️👉👈 or if you wanna do something completely different, I'd love your writing anyways!!!! 💕💕💕💕💕

hello! yes I can :) thank you for sending a request and being so patient! i feel like this yandere is more light than the usual lol

best friends!

jungkook doesn't like the idea of you wanting to loose your virginity to anyone that wasn't him. @momnomnom @sweetempathprunetree @darkuni63 @minshookie29 idol version

word count: 6.100

warning: naive/shy reader, mentions of watching porn, childhood friends jungkook + reader, smut scenes, coercion, masturbation, manipulation, light yandere tedancies, jealous jungkook, dub-con moments, dry humping, kissing, nipple sucking, oral sex, loss of virginity, rough sex, dacryphilia, fingering, unprotected sex, spitting,

“You’ll never be able to seduce a man, Noona.” Jungkook laughs boisterously, causing your face to heat up. “You’re just too shy.”

Jungkook’s eyes watch as your arms cross over your chest, any self-confidence you had slowly falling. He hums, turning over on his bed to face you. He then places a hand on your thigh. “Noona…”

“Stop calling me that, Jungkook.” you murmur. He knows that you prefer to be called by your name, but he’d often ignore you because of how much he enjoys teasing you, even after years of friendship.

“You’re upset with me.” says Jungkook.

“I’ve stopped calling you Kookie like you asked.”

Jungkook snorts. “That’s because the nickname doesn’t fit me anymore. I’m a man.” his hand squeezes your thigh. “Besides, I said stop calling me that in public. You and I are alone now.”

You and Jungkook have been friends since childhood, your father and his being great friends. The age difference never bothered you as much, and you’d often recall calling Jungkook your baby brother during his primary and middle school days - you having been homeschooled. It was when Jungkook grew in size and age and reached High School did he demand you stop calling him that but never gave a reason as to why.

Even now, as Jungkook and you are adults, the friendship remains. You went to him for whatever you thought you needed and he was there. Moving away from your father had been a big step and finding a job to support yourself was even bigger, but you were never truly alone because you had Jungkook - you and he living together.

Jungkook was the opposite of you. While your job consisted of you being home, he wasn’t. He made friends easily while you remained with a close knit circle. He was more social when needed and you often closed up around people you didn’t know. Most of your friends were Jungkook’s friends that he considered brothers - you recall asking him why he considered them family and not you. Jungkook didn’t give you any reason, stating that you’d never be a sister in his eyes, no matter if he knew you longer or not.

Now you and Jungkook lay in his bed, an action that he insisted on every so often, and watched tv. He’d often hold you, his breath tickling your ear with how close he was. A certain thought now laid on your mind and when you brought it up to Jungkook, his initial thought was to laugh at you.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Y/N.” Jungkook sighs. He pushes himself closer to you, the hand on your thigh firmly keeping you in place. “It’s just…you don’t go out much. You’ve been homeschooled your entire life and you don’t really have friends besides the ones I have.”

Jungkook continues. “You literally cried the first time I showed you porn.” he tries his hardest not to laugh at the memory of you and he, both in High School. You had come over to his home while his parents were working. Jungkook had asked you about it randomly, and when you insisted that you never watched something as normal as porn, he insisted that you and he watch together.

You’re flushed with heat at the embarrassing memory. “You…” you take a deep breath so your voice wouldn’t crack. “You told me it was just sex.”

“Is it not?” Jungkook knits his brows.

“They were crying!”

“In pleasure.” says Jungkook. “I should have started you off easy and not gone into bondage.” low, he begins to laugh. It’s a memory that he’s fond of. “But I don’t regret showing you either. It was the first time you came!”

A memory you wished Jungkook would forget - and stop bringing up. That same night he insisted on teaching you about masturbation, telling you that it was normal. You’ve never done so before, feeling weird about it all together, but Jungkook wouldn’t allow you to leave until you at least gave it a try.

“You even cried in pleasure.”

Jungkook closes his eyes, the scene flashing in his mind. How innocent you appeared, completely confused on what in the world you were doing. It was then did Jungkook tell you that he’d talk you through it. It took a half an hour of convincing, of course. Getting you out of your pants, then your underwear.

“Open your legs, Y/N.” Jungkook had said, grabbing your wrist. “Put your fingers right…there.” he places them onto your clit and you flinch at the feeling. “Then rub…” he murmured, his hand coaching you to rub until you got the hang of it.

Jungkook will never forget the sight and how hard he was at just watching you. Your breathing hitching, the low moans and the calls of his name. It’s a memory he cherishes with you - his best friend - and one of the main reasons as to why he’d never call you his sister; he had to dead that immediately afterwards.

“Who are you trying to seduce anyways?” Jungkook changes the subject and goes back to the original topic. “You found yourself a boyfriend?”

“No.” you quip. “I-I just want to have sex.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “Why?”

“You have sex all the time.” you retort. You didn’t like Jungkook’s question, nor the look in his eyes.

“I’m also not a virgin.” Jungkook fires back. “You can’t just have sex with anyone, Y/N. Don’t you think it has to be special?”

“Your first time wasn’t with anyone special.” you murmur. “Do you even talk to her anymore?”

Jungkook snickers. “Don’t remember her name.” he shrugs. “But you and I are different. Sex is different for women.” Jungkook says matter-of-factly. “You women create bonds with guys you give your body to. You can’t have that bond with just anyone.”

It was a conversation Jungkook and you had time and time again. As you got older, you were tired of being a virgin - and dating was never an option. Not because you couldn’t find a boyfriend - you could. You had men come up to you asking for your number and if you’d be interested in going on dates.

The problem was Jungkook. He lingered around you often, and you never minded. He was your best friend and each man that tried were always shot down by him, not you. “He’s ugly.” Jungkook said about one man. “He looks like he doesn’t even shower, Y/N. Why he thinks he can speak to you is beyond me.” was said about another. “Men only want one thing. They can tell that you’ve never been touched.”

“What about Hoseok?”

Jungkook is quiet for a moment, your question lingering in his mind.

Hoseok?

Hoseok.

Jung Hoseok as his friend - the man he calls his brother?

There’s a dark look in Jungkook’s eyes as he thinks about your question.

“Do you like him?”

“I love Hoseok.” you say calmly. “Like I love you.”

Jungkook doesn’t realize that his nails are digging into your skin until he hears you yelp. There was no way in Hell you love Hoseok the same as you loved him; the thought makes him want to gag.

“Why Hoseok?”

You aren’t sure how to respond. “I’ve known him for years.” was all you can think of. You and he were around the same age and he was nice, always smiling widely at you whenever he came around. “Maybe Namjoon?”

Jungkook swallows.

“You look at my friends often?”

There’s a change in Jungkook’s tone that has you cowering.

“I-I’m not sure what you mean.”

“Do you want to fuck my friends?”

You’re taken aback by the harshness in Jungkook’s tone.

“I…I don’t know anyone else but your friends.”

Jungkook snickers. He wasn’t going to allow you and Hoseok - or Namjoon, hell, anyone - to do anything. Hoseok is a man such as he is and the thought of his taking something precious from you was driving him wild. Wild because he knows that if you asked Hoseok, he would.

“No.” Jungkook shakes his head. “Hoseok has a girlfriend.”

A lie, but you’d never know that.

“Oh.” you appeared bummed. “Nam-”

“No.”

You swallow. “Jimin…?”

“Do you fantasize about them?”

You’ve know his friends as long as he has, and now he’s wondering when you had the thought of fucking them in your mind.

“I just want to have sex.” you sigh in defeat, not wanting to cause a fight with Jungkook.

“Why wouldn’t you ask me?”

Jungkook doesn’t care how unreasonably spoiled he may sound. You were his best friend, after all. He kept creeps away from you who wanted nothing but to wet their cocks. You were safe with him in the home you and he shared - he’d be damned if he’d allow a man to come in here and fuck you.

You’re silent, and Jungkook continues.

“You don’t love me.”

Your eyes widen when you feel Jungkook remove himself from you.

“I do.” you quip. “I-I just…I don’t have anyone else. I’m tired of not knowing what it feels like.” watching television with sexual scenes had you wondering if sex was truly as good as they made it seem. You recall hearing from Taehyung, another friend of Jungkook, that porn is often fake and not everything you see was real - but how could it not be when their eyes are rolling and they’re screaming with such passion?

“If you loved me, Y/N, you’d ask me.”

Your heart sinks when Jungkook lifts from his lying position. You hated arguing with him. He was someone you loved and trusted with your life - him being upset with you had your anxiety spiking.

“I thought you had someone you were seeing.” you admit. You recall seeing her a few times in the home. She never spoke, but then again neither did you. She would stroll past you to enter Jungkook’s bedroom and only ever gave you a small grin.

“Oh her.” Jungkook brushes past the statement. “I am. Somewhat.” he shrugs his shoulders. Her contemplated asking her out - she was decent looking and a good fuck. But he didn’t love her nor respect her enough to make her his girlfriend. He was just bored at the moment. “Why does that matter?”

The same way it matters that Hoseok had a girlfriend, you think. You want to say it, but you didn’t want to upset Jungkook anymore than he already was. “I don’t want to come between that.”

Jungkook wants to laugh. “I don’t love her. I love you.” Jungkook says, a tone in his voice that indicates that it should be obvious. “You are my best friend. You should be able to come to me when you need me. Not anyone else.”

You lift yourself up from the bed, as well, and you slowly nod your head. “Sorry.” you murmur.

Jungkook turns to face you, a full smile on his lips. “It’s okay. I’ll forgive you, Y/N.” Jungkook holds his hand out for you to grab.

You do, and Jungkook lightly tugs you closer. You and he are face to face now.

“Sex is more than just losing your virginity.” Jungkook’s thumb rubs your knuckles. “Sex should be pleasurable for both of us. Masturbation is a form of sex. You’ve done that already.”

You nod slowly, feeling hot.

“Tell me, Y/N.” Jungkook says. “When you masturbate, what makes you cum?”

You lick your lips, again embarrassed. You swallow while trying to find the words to answer Jungkook.

“When you watch porn, what do you like?” Jungkook changes the question up, and understands how shy you were - even with him.

Jungkook waits patiently for you to respond. “I-I…” you glance away from him. His eyes were always so piercing, like small black holes that can swallow anyone whole.

“Don’t be shy. We’re best friends, right?” Jungkook pulls you closer to him. “If you loved me, Y/N, you’ll tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t let me in.”

You nod. “Oral sex?” your words come out questioningly.

Jungkook nods. “Okay. That’s a start. Oral sex is a big part of sex. It’s a form of foreplay. Get things started.”

“I don’t think you should do that.” you’re horrified with Jungkook’s face being so close to your sex. Yes, he’s seen it before - years ago - but that was then. He was a man now and he’s had sex with countless women.

“Why not?” Jungkook tilts his head.

You’re silent, and Jungkook sighs. “You don’t trust me.”

“I do!”

“Then why don’t you trust me to pleasure you? You’d rather go to my friends than trust me, Y/N. How do you think that makes me feel?”

“I’m sorry.” you quip. “I just don’t think it…looks good?”

Jungkook blinks.

You swallow.

“Of course it looks good.” Jungkook then laughs. “I’ve already seen it.”

“That was years ago.” you murmur, casting your eyes away.

“True. But still. You trust and love me just like I trust and love you.” Jungkook places a hand on your cheek for you to look at him. “If we’re going to do this, you can’t hide your body from me. I’ll have to show you mine, too.”

You nod your head.

“We can start now.”

You inhale deeply. You don’t move, and when Jungkook notices he frowns.

“Y/N. What did I say?”

“Don’t hide from you.” you murmur.

“Exactly. Here. I’ll help you take your clothes off and you can do the same for me.”

Jungkook is slow when he puts his hands at the end of your shirt. He lifts it up and you stiffen, unsure of what to do next. The shirt comes over your head and Jungkook throws it aside.

“Okay?” asks Jungkook, his eyes glancing down to the bra you’re wearing. It’s red and basic, but it hugs your breast perfectly.

You only nod.

“Okay.” Jungkook then goes towards your leggings. They’re tight, but he manages to get his hands inside. He begins to tug and awkwardly, you lift yourself up so he can remove them. Your panties are black and cotton.

“Now you do the same to me.” Jungkook says. He understands you by now, knowing that you’d never take the first move. He grabs your wrists and walks you through it. “Go ahead.”

You’re trembling, you note, as you remove Jungkook’s shirt - an oversize black shirt. You often are reminded how much Jungkook has grown over the years, going from a boy to a man. He worked out often and was athletic. He had many tattoos that litter his skin - you had gone with him for a few of them and pondered how he could sit so calmly.

“I’ll get up to make it easier.” Jungkook lifts from his bed and waits for you to continue. You’re as slow as before, hands trembling more than before. You tug at the sweats he wore, watching as they fall to the ground. You try to hide the fact that you gawk at the bulge in his briefs, swallowing at the sight.

“Y/N.”

You blink up to look at Jungkook.

“You trust me, right?”

You nod your head.

“Okay.” Jungkook gives you a grin. “Come here.”

Jungkook leans down, his hand grasping your chin. He no longer hesitates or holds back, placing his lips upon yours.

You’re shocked, completely stiff, but Jungkook doesn’t mind. You’ll give into him eventually - it may take a few rounds, but you will.

You’re pushed backwards, back hitting the mattress. Jungkook hovers above you, his hands placing themselves onto your shoulders to keep you in place.

You gasp for air when Jungkook removes his lips from yours, but then they’re trailing down your jawline to your neck. You’re breathing heavily, unsure what to do.

“You can touch me.” says Jungkook, as if reading your mind. “Don’t just lay there.”

Jungkook continues to kiss at your neck, his left hand leaving your shoulder and grabs your hand. He places it upon his chest for you to take the lead. His hand then goes to your waist to pull you closer to him.

Your heart thumps that this is happening now - you and Jungkook. Goosebumps litter your skin, the hair standing straight up. But you do as you’re told, hand grabbing Jungkook’s bicep and squeezing it.

Jungkook forces your legs apart, wrapping them around his waist. You yelp when you feel him, his bulge grinding directly against you. There’s a deep groan from Jungkook that you hear coming from your neck.

“You have to engage.” Jungkook lifts slightly to look at your face. “Kiss me like I’m kissing you.”

You’re left stunned when Jungkook flips the both of you, his own back hitting the mattress and now you’re on top of him. He places his hands on your hips, a smirk on his lips. “It’ll be easier for you this way. I’ll let you take the lead.”

There’s a tension - one sided - when you lean down to his own neck.

“You’re still shy. It’s just me.” Jungkook sighs.

It was easier for him to say. He wasn’t the virgin - or the closed off one that has been homeschooled. The only friend she kept was Jungkook, and his friends, but mainly Jungkook. There was no one she could go to that was the same sex that she could vent to about her frustrations.

“Just let loose, Y/N. We’re friends. There’s nothing you can do that’ll make me view you differently.”

You try your best, even closing your eyes in hopes that’d be better. Your lips place themselves at the nape of Jungkook’s neck, and ever so gently did you kiss him. You allowed your hands to rub softly on his bare shoulders, kissing down his neck until you got to his collarbone.

Jungkook hums to himself, his cock twitching to be let loose from his underwear.

You were adjusting - only a bit - but you’d soon be fully accepting. Jungkook allows his hands to dip from your waist and he grabs your ass fully in his grasp.

You swallow, hiding back the surprised gasp. You don’t want Jungkook to think you don’t trust him - because you do. You don’t want to appear utterly shy and closed off. You were older than Jungkook and he had to be the one to show you what life was like, as sad as it was.

“Okay. Now kiss me.”

You nod your head. You want to avoid Jungkook’s gaze, but he doesn’t falter. “You’ll have to look at me eventually, Y/N.” Jungkook murmurs.

“I know.” you murmur back, and now meet his eyes. Jungkook smiles when you do, and his head lifts slightly.

Your head dips down to capture his lips in yours once more. There’s a fire running through you this time at the feeling - no longer hesitant or awkward to kiss him. It felt…normal; as if this is something the two of you always did.

Jungkook’s teeth catch your bottom lip and he lightly tugs. “Let loose.” he whispers, and then dives into your mouth again. This time, his tongue pushes past your teeth and meets your own, it’s warm and slimy, but it causes you to moan.

Jungkook’s hands grip your ass, keeping you firmly against his erection. He rubs up your sides for a moment, then on your back. His hands are now on your bra and he appears to be swift in unhooking it.

“Kookie…” you murmur against his lips.

“It’s okay.” Jungkook responds. “You trust me, remember?”

You nod, but trust doesn’t help with your self–consciousness.

Jungkook tugs at your bra until it’s fully off of you. He disgards it, bare hands now taking your breast entirely. He doesn't care how heavy he’s breathing, or how rough his hands squeeze your breast.

“My pretty girl.” Jungkook praises.

It’s weird hearing it - for you at least.

Jungkook rarely compliments you - not because he doesn’t think you are, but because he never really has a reason to. He sees you the same everyday - his best friend who he has breakfast, occasionally lunch and dinner with. You’re the same Y/N that he shares movie nights with where the two of you cuddle and laugh at whatever was on the screen.

Now, however, Jungkook has to compliment you. He has to let you know how beautiful you are now - a woman. You grew into your womanly curves over the years, hiding it behind loose clothing, but never truly hiding it. You never hid from him; occasionally wearing shorts that showed your legs and the roundness of your ass, or tank-tops that made your breast appear more plump.

You yelp when Jungkook pinches your nipple. He chuckles at your reaction. “So responsive.” he says, more to himself than to you.

“W-What-”

Jungkook’s tongue licks on your nipple, shuddering at feeling. He couldn’t help but to bring it entirely into his mouth, tongue twirling and suckling on it while his free hand pinches the other. There’s a euphoric feeling engulfing him right now. Yes, he did think about you sexually at times - he was a man and he couldn’t help it. But this was far better than any feeling, any thought or dream he’s ever had.

“Does it feel good?” Jungkook manages to say, popping your nipple from his mouth to just engulf the other one.

“Yes.”

You don’t intend to sound so soft and meek, moaning against Jungkook. But you couldn’t hide it any longer. You can feel the wetness between your legs, arousal pooling out - and Jungkook’s grinding didn’t make it any better.

“You can talk to me, Y/N. You can tell me how much you like it. How I make you feel.”

Jungkook kisses both of your nipples softly.

“I-I don’t know what to say.”

“Tell me how you feel.” Jungkook repeats. “Here,” his right hand drops your breast and without warning, he slaps your ass. The sound echoes, as does you shriek. “I love the way your ass feels.” he then squeezes it in the palm of his hands. “I love the sweet moans coming from those pretty lips of yours.” he continues.

You’re hot, Jungkook’s words cause a new sensation to run through you - nerves running through your body and meeting exactly between your legs.

“It feels good when you touch me.” you say, admitting even if you want nothing more than to hide.

“Yeah?” Jungkook lightly laughs. He squeezes your ass again. “What else?”

You huff, this time now hiding your face. Your head is between his shoulder and neck.

“It’s okay, pretty girl. Just tell me.” Jungkook encourages. “You trust me like I trust you.”

You sigh. Jungkook was going to be the death of you - you were going to die with embarrassment.

“I like the way you look.”

Jungkook, again, is swift with his movement. He’s once more on top of you. He’s now forcing you to look at him - as if you weren’t embarrassed enough.

You go to cover yourself, but that wasn’t something Jungkook was going to allow.

“Go on, Y/N.” Jungkook places a quick peck on your lips before he kisses down your neck to your collarbone.

Your breath is shaky - but it was all Jungkook. His hands rub along your sides as his lips send kisses between your breasts, going lower and lower. “You make me feel…different.”

Jungkook’s lips are now on your stomach. “What’s different?”

“Wet…?”

Jungkook groans. His fingers are hooked between your panties and he wants nothing more than to remove them and dive in, but he’d remain calm for now.

“Look at me, Y/N.”

You hesitated. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you’re unsure what Jungkook had in store for you.

You do, however, and Jungkook is now directly between your legs. Your thighs quiver at the sight.

“What do you want me to do?” Jungkook asks, and before you can answer, he places a single kiss upon your clothed clit.

Your throat tightens.

Jungkook wasn’t going to stop. He wanted to hear you speak - hear your thoughts, whatever moans you had in you. He didn’t want you to be shy - not with him. He wasn’t a stranger and who else should be the one to take your virginity than him?

Not Hoseok.

Not Namjoon.

Not Jimin - none of his friends.

Just Jungkook.

Dare he say he was entitled to it - you were his best friend. He was there for whatever you needed him to be; and this was one thing you didn’t come to him for (not at first). You wanted his assistance in finding you someone. The thought still upsets him.

“Kookie.” you sigh, hands crashing to your face.

“So shy.” Jungkook tsks. His hands grip your waist and he drags you to the edge of the bed, him falling to his knees before you. “I’ll take the lead.”

You feel your panties being tugged off. You’re unsure of what to do or say - you knew you had to keep breathing or you’d pass out. The coolness of the air hits you and now you fully accept that you’re naked for Jungkook, completely bare before his eyes to see.

You’re so wet, Jungkook notes, arousal coating your lips and thighs. The thought of how excited you’ve been and nothing has happened yet makes him groan, anticipating what's to come.

Your throat releases a gasp and instantly, your legs clench shut, caging Jungkook in.

“S-Sorry, i-”

“It’s okay, Y/N. Relax.” Jungkook laughs, a gleeful tone in his voice. He had done nothing but flick your clit with his tongue. “Watch me, okay?”

You nod your head.

Jungkook hooks his hands right on your thighs, holding them in a firm grip so you wouldn’t be easily reactive - not without him stopping you. He dips his head back between your legs, tongue dipping between your folds.

Your eyes flutter, unable to truly focus on Jungkook like he wants you to.

The sight alone is filthy - his head bobbing back and forth while his tongue assaults your clit. Occasionally, his eyes would dart up to capture your reaction, satisfied that you no longer hid your moans from him.

But the noises Jungkook made were another thing. He suckles on your clit, completely ravishing you as if it was the finest meal. He’s animalistic, not caring. He would draw his head back and spit, then continue his assault upon your clit.

“Kookie, I-I, you need to stop.” you try to get away from Jungkook, but he doesn’t allow it. If anything, Jungkook holds you even tighter. You were going to cum, of course, never truly experiencing a man going down on you. Your stomach churns and you feel like you are going to explode. “Kookie, please stop…”

Jungkook’s eyes flicker up at you. Your eyes are snapped shut and there’s a few droplets trailing down your cheeks. Jungkook grunts into your pussy. His fingernails dig into your naked flesh, his tongue laying flat against your clit. He continues to ravish you, not caring about your pleas - it was obvious you wanted more and was far too inexperienced to understand it.

Jungkook dives deeper and deeper, your cries only fueling him for more. Your arousal coats the bottom half of his face entirely.

There was another attempt to remove yourself, buckling your hips, but Jungkook only shoves you back down upon the bed. Your toes are curling and you’re unable to see straight. There’s a tightness in your stomach that’s utterly unfamiliar to you.

“I’m not going to stop.”

Jungkook’s voice is deeper - deepest you’ve ever heard it.

“Not until you cum.”

Jungkook’s right hand removes itself from holding your thigh, but that only means he’s holding the other tighter.

Your back arches when you feel his fingers at your entrance.

“I can’t-”

“You will.”

Jungkook doesn’t give a warning before entering his finger’s inside of you. You jump at the foreign feeling. You swallow back and shriek.

“So tight.” Jungkook murmurs to himself.

Two fingers is all you can handle for now. That doesn’t mean Jungkook goes easy on you. He pumps inside of you vigorously, your walls clenching around his digits. Each time he hits a deeper spot that has you jerking.

“I know it feels good, Y/N. My pretty girl.”

You can’t speak, but Jungkook doesn’t care. He pumps and pumps until you’re cumming all over him, arousal splashing onto the hardwood floors of his bedroom.

You’re a crying twitching mess, whimpering to yourself. Jungkook removes his fingers, satisfied with your appearance.

“I could fuck you right now. You’re so wet, Y/N.”

You exhale, eyes snapping open. “Kookie, I-”

“Don’t tell me you can’t take me.”

Jungkook pushes down his underwear and you freeze.

You’ve never seen Jungkook naked before, never going past witnessing him shirtless.

Now Jungkook is as nude as you, cock erect and hard. His tip is red and leaking with pre-cum, the shaft twitching in anticipation.

“I can’t.” you cry, now dwelling on the idea of having sex with the man.

Jungkook snickers. He grips his cock and slaps the tip against your wet clit. So wet, he thinks. Wet and warm, completely aroused because of him.

“You were willing to fuck my friends.”

Jungkook rubs the tip against your clit in slow circular motions. It makes a wet and sloppy sound as he does.

“They don’t love you, Y/N. Not like I do.”

You twitch at the feeling, overstimulated enough, even if it did feel good.

“Don’t you love me, Y/N?” Jungkook’s eyes don't leave your clit. He continues to tap and circle the tip of his cock against it, the sight beautiful.

“I do…”

“Then why do you keep denying me pleasure?”

Jungkook removes his hand from his cock to place it upon your hips, keeping you in place. He begins to thrust forward, sliding his entire cock against your clit.

“I allowed you to cum, haven’t i?” Jungkook grunts. “Milked my fingers like a little whore. But you won’t let me fuck you.”

Jungkook’s words cause you to gasp - that and the way his cock feels against your already stimulated clit.

Jungkook’s open’s his mouth, a trail of saliva dripping right onto your clit, not because you needed it - you were literally dripping - but just because he wanted to. In his eyes, spitting upon you was an act of marking his territory and after he fucked you - and he was going to regardless - he would assure that only he would be the one fucking you afterwards; always and forever.

Jungkook continues to rub, his pace quickening.

“Do you think another man would have given you the satisfaction?” Jungkook hisses. “They would’ve fucked you and left, Y/N. This is why I’m here. I love you, my pretty girl…” his tone softens. “...so wet and ready for me. You’ll let me have you, right, Y/N? You’ll let me be the one who takes your virginity?”

Slowly, you nod your head. Jungkook was someone you loved greatly. He was a man and understood how men think - you couldn’t be upset with him now. “Okay…”

Jungkook smiles wide, full set of teeth shining at you. “My pretty girl. You’re always so good for me. Give me your hand.”

You do as Jungkook tells you to do, and he guides your hand to touch his cock. It twitches in your grip.

“Tighten your grip.” Jungkook demands and groans when you do. “Okay, baby…now center it at your pussy.”

You’re being so obedient for him, Jungkook thinks. He watches as you do what he tells you, the tip of his cock at the entrance of your hole. “Good girl.” Jungkook mumbles.

“Don’t you need to wear a condom?”

Jungkook wants to laugh at your words. “Condoms are for people who have one night stands. Why would I wear a condom with you?” he asks, a tilt of his head. He had no intention of allowing you to fuck another man, so him not wearing a condom was alright.

You widen your eyes. “Pregnancy…?”

Again, Jungkook laughs. He doesn’t say anything for a moment, only stares into your wide eyes. He had no intention of impregnating you now, but if it happened, then it did. That only meant that it’s what the universe wanted.

“You know I love you, Y/N.” Jungkook says.

“I love you, too.” you respond.

Simpering, Jungkook nods. “I know.” he says, and then without warning, he enters you whole. There’s no warming upm Jungkook thinks, the faster he gets it over with, the faster pleasure will come for you.

When your mouth opens to shriek, Jungkook silences you with his lips. His hips snap inside of you, unable to stop. So tight, he thinks, fully milking his cock with your essence. It’s as though his cock fit perfectly inside of you; like a puzzle piece coming together to complete a set.

The pain is excruciating and you’re unable to pull away from Jungkook. His grip on you was intense, fingers bruising into your skin.

The sound of skin slapping is loud in the room, echoing off the walls.

“My pretty girl.” grumbles Jungkook when he releases your lips. “Thank you for trusting me, Y/N.”

The pain shoots throughout your body, but hearing those words from Jungkook was worth it to you. You blink away the tears so you can focus on his face.

“Soon the pain will go away, and you’ll love the way I fuck you.”

You nod. You trusted Jungkook.

It takes a while for the pleasure to come, but that doesn’t mean it didn’t. Jungkook hits your sweet spot, slamming you against his bed with each thrust. Your moans are loud for him, so sweet and melodic - he knew you had it in you to let loose.

“Feels good, pretty girl?” Jungkook questions, the question rhetorical. He knows by the way you clench around him that it does - that and your high pitched moans.

“Feels…so…good…” you grunt, panting along with each powerful thrust.

“Good.”

Jungkook removes himself just so he can turn you around, chest firmly against his mattress. He enters you once more, hitting even deeper than before.

Your eyes snap shut and your arms shoot out, gripping the bed sheets for support. Whatever you once imagined sex would be like didn’t give it any justice. Sex with Jungkook was a pleasurable feeling you’d never forget - you’re unsure how you’d ever be able to go back to masturbating once this was over.

Both of Jungkook’s hands place themselves on yours, entangling your hangers with his. His lips kiss your back, pounding inside of you with such passion.

There it was again, the churning feeling in your stomach.

“I feel you, baby.” Jungkook pants. It’s as if you never want him to stop, creaming his cock like your life depended on it. “Go ahead and cum for me, pretty girl.”

You groan, shaking your head at how good you felt.

“I love you, Kookie.” you murmur so low that it’s barely audible, but Jungkook hears it loud and clear.

It causes Jungkook to grind into you deeper and deeper, feeling himself come undone at just words. You told him those three words many times before, but now it felt different. Intimate. This was something he’s never heard during sex - and if there was a chance he did, he wouldn’t care.

You were who Jungkook loved; his best friend since childhood.

You were the one who Jungkook wanted to hear the words from.

Jungkook’s cumming, his heaving breaths ticking the skin of your back. He doesn't bother to pull out of you, instead he milks your walls completely with his seed, shuddering with complete bliss.

Jungkook won’t regret it - cumming inside of you felt right. It wasn’t as if anyone else would be.

“My pretty girl.” Jungkook coos, pulling out of you to tuck you further into his bed. He lays beside you, embracing you from behind. “You did so good for me.”

Your heart swells at the compliment, your eyes heavy with slumber.

Jungkook holds you tight as you drift to sleep, satisfied that you were here with him.

Not Hoseok or Namjoon or anyone else - but him.

After all, he was the only one who truly loved you for who you are and didn’t see you as just a hole to fill - he wasn’t like those other men out in the world. No, Jungkook was better than any man you could ever think about being with. He proceeds to place a kiss upon your temple, satisfied that you were his and his alone.

idol version

#best friends!#trivia-yandere #trivia-yandere masterlist #btswritingcafe #bangtan smut #btswriterscollective #yandere bts #bangtanwritershq #bangtanwriters net #jungkook smut #btswritersclub #bts smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bff jungkook #방탄소년단

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riverswater · 1 year

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Welcome to another episode of treating Tumblr like my diary instead of saying this to the therapist I'm currently paying

#Ed tw #<- starting strong #Nothing too wild just that I find insane and also interesting how I think that a relapse is a relapse only if I'm not eating #As if the only way to be 'proper' sick is that one.#Because I've realized yesterday that I've been binging like I haven't in years and I feel like shit #But I didn't even think it was something unhealthy because ''oh well as long as you eat!!'' well not really!!!#I feel gross I feel constantly nauseous I'm always tired my stomach hurts all the time #Isn't this being sick?#But it's so funny (not really) how we think that not eating equal to a serious problem and eating too much it's just gluttony #I'm fucked up in the eat in both cases #Though I understand that dying from malnutrition happens more often than dying from binging #Either way. I haven't said a single word about this to my therapist yet #I've tried and it's like my entire brain shuts down #I forget everything I forget who I am as a person I forget where I am and what I need to do #That sounds very healthy yes #Whatever. I need to sleep for 15 hours.#m

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vanessagillings · 2 months

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I’m posting the ever-so-rare photo of myself alongside one of my characters based on my childhood because today is World Autism Acceptance Day, and I wanted to show my little corner of the internet who this particular autistic person is:

I was officially diagnosed in February, at age 38 (I’m now 39). A lot of people thought I couldn’t be autistic. Some people who know me in real life still don’t. And until around 10 years ago, I didn’t think I could be either, because I was nothing like the stereotype media portrays. I was told that autistics lacked empathy (untrue), and never played make-believe (also often untrue) and only enjoyed STEM. I was — and am — an empathetic artist -- and make believe? I can spend days sketching finely bedecked bears brewing tea or carefully choosing the right words to weave tapestries of fiction — though perhaps my hyper focus was a bit of a red flag. Even so, how could autism describe me? I was a good student. I got straight A's. I didn’t act out in class. I can make eye contact…if I must. And lots of girls hate having their hair brushed with an unholy passion, right? Clearly I swim in sarcasm like a fish, so autism couldn't be why I was so anxious all the time, could it?

If someone had told me when I was younger what autism ACTUALLY is — instead of the nonsense I’d seen on screens — I would have seen myself in it. I didn’t hear that autistics have sensory issues until I was in my mid-twenties, which is when I first began to really research autism symptoms, and I had almost all of them: sensitivity to light, smells, fabrics, temperatures, textures, and certain touches, all of which make me feel anxious, I fidget (stim), I never know what the hell to do with my hands or where to look, I talk too little or too much, I have special interests, I have entire animated movies memorized shot-by-shot and can remember the first time and place I saw every movie I've ever seen but I often forget what I'm trying to say mid-sentence, I echo movies and tv shows (my husband and I have a whole repertoire of shared echolalias, making up about 20% of our conversations), I was in speech therapy as a kid, I have issues with dysnomia and verbal fluency, I toe-walk, I can't multitask to save my life, I like things just-so, I’m deeply introverted but not shy, I need to recover from all social interaction — even social interaction I enjoy — and I find stupid, every day things like grocery shopping, driving and making appointments overwhelming and intensely stressful, sometimes to the point where I struggle to speak. It turns out, I am definitely autistic. My results weren't borderline. Not even close. And while these aren’t all of my challenges, and not everyone with these symptoms is autistic, it’s definitely something to look into if you present with all of these things at once.

So why did it take me so long to get diagnosed? The same bias that exists in media threads through the medical community as well, and because I'm a woman who can discuss the weather while smiling on cue, few people thought I was worth looking into. Even after I was fairly certain I was autistic, receiving an official diagnosis in the US is unnecessarily difficult and expensive, and in my case, completely uncovered by my insurance. It cost me over $4000, and I could only afford it because my husband makes more money than I do as a freelance illustrator — a job I fell into largely because it didn’t require in-person work; like many autists, I have been chronically underemployed and underpaid, in part due to physical illness in my twenties, which is a topic for another day. But it shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t be so hard for adults to receive diagnoses and it shouldn’t be so hard for people to see themselves in this condition to begin with due to misinformation and stereotypes. Like many issues in America, these barriers are even higher for marginalized groups with multiple intersectionalities.

It’s commonly said that if you’ve met one autistic person, you’ve met one autistic person. This is why it’s called a spectrum, not because there’s a linear progression of severity (someone who appears to have low support needs like myself might need more than it seems, and vice versa), but because every autistic person has their own strengths and weaknesses, challenges and experiences, opinions and needs. No two people on the spectrum present in the same way. And that’s a good thing! No way of being autistic is inherently any better than any other, and even if someone on the spectrum struggles with things I don’t — or can do things I can’t — doesn’t make them more or less deserving of respect and human dignity.

But speaking solely for myself, the more I learn about autism, the happier I am to be autistic. I struggle to find words and exert fine motor control, but my deep passion and fixation has made me good at art and storytelling anyway. I find more joy watching dogs and studying leaf shapes on my walks than most people do in an entire day. More often than not, the barriers I’ve faced weren’t due to my autism directly, but due to society being overly rigid about what it considers a valid way of existing. My hope in writing this today is that maybe one person will realize that autism isn’t what they thought — and that being different is not the same as being less than. My hope with my fiction is to give autistic children mirrors with which to see themselves, and everyone else windows through which to see us as we actually are.

If you’re interested in learning more about autism or think you might be autistic, too, I recommend the Autism Self Advocacy Network autisticadvocacy.org and the following books:

What I Mean When I Say I’m Autistic by Annie Kotowicz

We're Not Broken by Eric Garcia

Knowing Why edited by Elizabeth Bartmess

Unmasking Autism by Devon Price, PhD

Loud Hands edited by Julia Bascom

Neurotribes by Steve Silberman

(trigger warning: the last two contain quite a lot of upsetting material involving institutionalized child abuse, but I think it’s important for people to know how often autistic children were — and are — abused simply for being neurodivergent).

Thanks for reading 💛

#autism acceptance day #actually autistic

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vinceaddams · 8 months

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Any tips on learning to make buttonholes? I've been putting it off for.... *checks notes* like three years.... but better late than never and all that. I don't have any fancy machines so I gotta do it by hand but that seems right up your alley.

Thanks!

It IS up my alley, yes, I do most of my buttonholes by hand!

I'm actually part way through filming an 18th century buttonhole tutorial, but I expect it'll be a few more weeks before I finish that and put it on the youtubes, so in the meantime here's the very very short version. (The long version is looking like it'll probably be about 40 minutes maybe, judging by how much script I've written compared to my last video?)

Mark your line, a bit longer than your button is wide. I usually use a graphite mechanical pencil on light fabrics, and a light coloured pencil crayon on dark ones. (I have fabric pencils too, but they're much softer and leave a thicker line.) You may want to baste the layers together around all the marked buttonholes if you're working on something big and the layers are shifty and slippery. I'm not basting here because this is just a pants placket.

Do a little running stitch (or perhaps a running backstitch) in fine thread around the line at the width you want the finished buttonhole to be. This holds the layers of fabric together and acts as a nice little guide for when you do the buttonhole stitches.

Cut along the marked line using a buttonhole cutter, or a woodworking chisel. Glossy magazines are the best surface to put underneath your work as you push down, and you can give it a little tap with a rubber mallet if it's not going through all the way.

I'm aware that there are some people who cut their buttonholes open using seam rippers, and if any of them are reading this please know that that is abhorrent behaviour and I need you to stop it immediately. Stop it.

Go get a buttonhole cutter for 10 bucks and your life will be better for it. Or go to the nearest hardware store and get a little woodworking chisel. This includes machine buttonholes, use the buttonhole cutter on them too. If you continue to cut open buttonholes with a seam ripper after reading this you are personally responsible for at least 3 of the grey hairs on my head.

Do a whipstitch around the cut edges, to help prevent fraying while you work and to keep all those threads out of the way. (For my everyday shirts I usually do a machine buttonhole instead of this step, and then just hand stitch over it, because it's a bit faster and a lot sturdier on the thin fabrics.)

I like to mark out my button locations at this point, because I can mark them through the holes without the buttonhole stitches getting in the way.

For the actual buttonhole stitches it's really nice if you have silk buttonhole twist, but I usually use those little balls of DMC cotton pearl/perle because it's cheap and a good weight. NOT stranded embroidery floss, no separate strands! It's got to be one smooth twisted thing!

Here's a comparison pic between silk buttonhole twist (left) and cotton pearl (right). Both can make nice looking buttonholes, but the silk is a bit nicer to work with and the knots line up more smoothly.

I've actually only used the silk for one garment ever, but am going to try to do it more often on my nicer things. I find the cotton holds up well enough to daily wear though, despite being not ideal. The buttonholes are never the first part of my garments to wear out.

I cut a piece of about one arm's length more or less, depending on the size of buttonhole. For any hole longer than about 4cm I use 2 threads, one to do each side, because the end gets very frayed and scruffy by the time you've put it through the fabric that many times.

I wax about 2cm of the tip (Not the entire thread. I wax the outlining/overcasting thread but not the buttonhole thread itself.) to make it stick in the fabric better when I start off the thread. I don't tend to tie it, I just do a couple of stabstitches or backstitches and it holds well. (I'm generally very thorough with tying off my threads when it comes to hand sewing, but a buttonhole is basically a long row of knots, so it's pretty sturdy.)

Put the needle through underneath, with the tip coming up right along that little outline you sewed earlier. And I personally like to take the ends that are already in my hand and wrap them around the tip of the needle like so, but a lot of people loop the other end up around the other way, so here's a link to a buttonhole video with that method. Try both and see which one you prefer, the resulting knot is the same either way.

Sometimes I can pull the thread from the end near the needle and have the stitch look nice, but often I grab it closer to the base and give it a little wiggle to nestle it into place. This is more necessary with the cotton than it is with the silk.

The knot should be on top of the cut edge of the fabric, not in front of it.

You can put your stitches further apart than I do if you want, they'll still work if they've got little gaps in between them.

Keep going up that edge and when you get to the end you can either flip immediately to the other side and start back down again, or you can do a bar tack. (You can also fan out the stitches around the end if you want, but I don't like to anymore because I think the rectangular ends look nicer.)

Here's a bar tack vs. no bar tack sample. They just make it look more sharp, and they reinforce the ends.

For a bar tack do a few long stitches across the entire end.

And then do buttonhole stitches on top of those long stitches. I also like to snag a tiny bit of the fabric underneath.

Then stick the needle down into the fabric right where you ended that last stitch on the corner of the bar tack, so you don't pull that corner out of shape, and then just go back to making buttonhole stitches down the other side.

Then do the second bar tack once you get back to the end.

To finish off my thread I make it sticky with a bit more beeswax, waxing it as close to the fabric as I can get, and then bring it through to the back and pull it underneath the stitches down one side and trim it off.

In my experience it stays put perfectly well this way without tying it off.

Voila! An beautiful buttonholes!

If you want keyhole ones you can clip or punch a little rounded bit at one end of the cut and fan your stitches out around that and only do the bar tack at one end, like I did on my 1830's dressing gown.

(I won't do that style in my video though, because they're not 18th century.)

Do samples before doing them on a garment! Do as many practice ones as you need to, it takes a while for them to get good! Mine did not look this nice 10 years ago.

Your first one will probably look pretty bad, but your hundredth will be much better!

Edit: Video finished!

youtube

And here's the blog post, which is mostly a slightly longer version of this post.

#ask #buttonholes #sewing #hand sewing #sewing tutorial #I've been procrastinating on the video this week #I want it done! I don't want to work on it I want new projects! I want to cut out more gloves!#currently forcing myself to do the last few buttonholes on these pants and then maybe I can cut out new gloves? as a treat?#but I hope I get some filming done tomorrow too

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hyunverse · 2 months

Text

wherever you are ☆ hwang hyunjin.

hyunjin x fem!reader. childhood best friends to lovers. slowburn, pining. fluff, angst. suggestive. a hyunjin birthday special.

wc: 12.9k words.

warnings: reader often referred to as "girl," suggestive. mentions of sex.

note: this fic is my baby. it might be one of my favourite things i've ever written so far, please treat it well <3 feedbacks are very much appreciated.

playlist.

Hyunjin promised you that he'll be wherever you are. What do you do when your best friend of years — the only person you've ever loved disappears without saying goodbye? Especially when you've spent your entire life with Hyunjin, you didn't know of life without him.

one.

“Happy Birthday, Hyunjin.”

It was Hyunjin’s 10th birthday.

Despite already singing him a happy birthday song, you muttered the wish once again in the comfort of his tree house. He sat adjacent to you, feet dangling over the platform, the large leaves hovering over the tree house’s roof providing shelter from the blinding sunlight.

He hummed in gratitude, eyes busy watching Kkami running around below the tree house. Afternoons with Hyunjin were often spent like this — hanging out in the tree house as Kkami played around on the grass, its barks mirroring its happiness. For years, you’ve spent enjoying the fact that your afternoons were spent like this — were spent with Hyunjin, in childish innocence.

After letting the silence take over for a while, Hyunjin turned his head towards you, a little surprised once he saw that you were already looking at him. He tried his best to not let his surprise show.

“Why did you want to come up here? I thought you were enjoying the party inside.”

Indeed, you were enjoying the birthday party, a little too much for Hyunjin’s liking. The boys from Hyunjin’s school came to the party, and you seemed to get along with them quickly, despite being the only girl at the party. Hyunjin hates to admit it but he was a little envious. He told himself that he’s jealous because he’s your number one best friend, so you should pay more attention to him. It was true, but only partially — he was jealous because they were all boys. Not that he would ever admit that to himself.

To Hyunjin’s question, you responded by extending your arms to him, revealing a white box in your palm. He took it, quickly recognizing it as a jewellery box. He’s received one of them after purchasing a Mother’s Day gift. Quietly, he examined the engravings on the box, and the pristine look of it. Honestly, he was impressed by how clean you have kept it. You had always been one to dirty your white clothes.

“What’s this?” he asked, answering his own enquiry by opening the box with you sitting close, peering over his hands.

Hyunjin’s heart skipped a beat.

In the box laid two necklaces, black strings with Lego pieces as pendants. They were matching necklaces. The Lego piece of each necklace formed a heart when joined together. His brown eyes widened, in disbelief of the gift. He’s never received something like this — something matching. It made his heart flutter — no, it beat faster than it does while playing soccer. Hyunjin turned to look into your eyes, and it was as though he had found a new revelation in yours. The more Hyunjin looked at you, the more the realization seeped in, until it overtook his senses.

You’re a girl.

You weren’t just the kid from next door, you weren’t like his other friends — you’re a girl. You like Disney princesses, you have a pretty face, you like Sanrio characters, you have soft hair, you like painting nails, you have pink lips from your strawberry lip balm, you like matching necklaces — you’re a girl.

A very pretty girl.

It felt like a revelation after having been friends with you for over five years. As though the necklaces in the box held some sort of power to snap one from a trance. Hyunjin realized that you were different from his other friends. For one, you have softer hands. Moreover, you’re someone he can develop a crush on — or whatever girls call it.

His finger traced the pendants, feeling the bumps of the Lego pieces. He smiled, one that reached his ears. You felt yourself releasing the breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

“I love it soooo much. Thank you.”

Unlike other boys (the stinky ones from your school), Hyunjin didn’t cringe at the gift. The way he gently examined the necklaces mirrored the appreciation he felt towards it. If he was any other boy, he would’ve probably laughed at the gift, then poked fun at you.

Then again, Hyunjin had never been like the other boys you knew.

He was different in the way he spoke softly to you (softer than he would to his guy friends), and how he would let you change the TV channel from Snoopy to Totally Spies. He had always been different, that being the reason why you were so fond of him.

“You like it? Really?” you queried, staring at him. You watched his expressions carefully, trying to sense for any lies.

“Really! Which one do you want?” he answered, absolutely no hesitations. He wasn’t lying.

Hyunjin panned the box towards you, prompting you to pick which necklace. One was in black, the other in white. As always, he gave in to you, letting you be the one to choose.

“White!”

The sun was setting when you both swayed your legs, wearing the matching necklaces. Hyunjin was genuinely happy, one of his hands wouldn’t stop fiddling with the pendant. The party was still lively inside, but he much preferred sitting with you — his one and only best friend.

“Yn,” your best friend’s voice broke you from your trance. “What do you want for your birthday?”

“Hm,” you pondered, tapping your pointer on your chin in a cartoonish manner.

He was looking at you, an expectant expression on his face. You pulled up your legs to cross them as you thought.

“I think…” your voice trailed, “I want to be the best ballerina in the world and move to Paris!”

Hyunjin rolled his eyes, “at least make it something I could give you!”

You pouted, “but that’s what I want!”

The boy sighed, laying back on the rough surface of the tree house. He looked up, observing the little glow-in-the-dark stars plastered onto the tree house ceiling. He recalled putting them up with you. You were impossible to deal with. Hyunjin desperately wanted to know your wish — something he could give you for your birthday. Your gift to him made him really happy, and he wished to return the favour.

“Then, I’ll be the best artist in the world and move to Paris with you.”

It was such an innocent, child-like answer — straight from a 10-year-old’s desire. Untainted by the boulevard of broken dreams. As if anything in the world was possible, and that the universe was kind all the time.

“Really?” you chirped, looking at him with disbelief in your eyes. You giggled in glee and plopped yourself down beside him. “Really really? You really really really mean it, Hyunnie?”

At that point, Hyunjin could only giggle and nod. “Of course! I’ll be wherever you are.”

The manner in which you hugged him expressed your excitement. You were practically suffocating him, wrapping your legs around his waist and squeezing tightly.

“You’re my best friend in the world!”

Hyunjin felt like he could die.

His heart continued beating rapidly, worsened by you nuzzling your face into his neck. Hyunjin knew, it was just you being your usual self. However, the revelation he experienced minutes earlier made the tips of his ears turn red.

“Hyunjin! Come down here! Your friends are about to leave!”

At that very moment, Hyunjin silently thanked his mother for saving him.

two.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

A question which had you staring into space — the walls of Hyunjin’s bedroom for a while. The blue walls were plastered with posters of numerous musicians and self-made artworks.

It wasn’t that you didn’t know the answer. You knew. Ballet had been a part of your life since small, it was your everything. It wasn’t that you were unsure if you wanted to do ballet, you were unsure if you should be doing ballet.

Uneasiness settled into your stomach, but you tried to keep them in. You were in no mood to be going through an identity crisis.

“Ballerina,” you stated, matter-of-factly. Your eyebrows furrowed when Hyunjin chuckled.

“What?”

“Your answer hasn’t changed,” Hyunjin laughed, but not in a humorous way. Rather, it was in an expectant way, as if he knew that’s what you would answer.

You straightened your posture and tilted your head. Hyunjin laughed even more, making a comment that you looked like Kkami.

“Have you asked me the same thing before?”

He nodded, “sort of? Kind of. On my tenth birthday, I asked you what you wanted.” Hyunjin cleared his throat and took a deep breath, mimicking the voice of younger you. “I want to be the best ballerina in the world and move to Paris!”

“Oh, shut up!” you rumbled, hitting him with his bolster repeatedly. “That’s not how I sounded like!”

“It so was!”

Truthfully, you couldn’t quite recall the memory. You didn’t doubt Hyunjin though, it did sound like something you would’ve said.

You queried again.

“What did you answer then?”

Hyunjin turned silent. He didn’t like where this was going, not fond of recalling the cheesy answer he gave you. As he looked away from your gaze, you pressed him further. Even threatened to dog-nap Kkami.

“Fine. I said… I said I’ll be the best artist in the world and move to Paris too…” his voice trailed, getting smaller, “said I’ll be wherever you are…”

Your eyebrows raised, scooting closer to him in mock confusion. “Sorry? Didn’t hear you.”

A pillow hit your head, and you burst out into peals of laughter. It was hilarious, the cheesy answer little Hyunjin gave, but what amused you even more was his face turning red.

Touches of laughter echoed in the room, and Hyunjin found himself praying the moment would last forever. The conversation quickly escalated into a pillow fight, ending up in Hyunjin leaning against his headboard, exhausted, and you laying on his lap.

You looked up at him, eyes fleeting to the stubble growing. Mindlessly, you grazed his cheek, feeling his sideburns prickling against your thumb.

He was growing, you realized it then. You were growing too. Neither of you were little kids anymore.

A fact you didn't want to accept.

It’s the softness of your fingers that froze Hyunjin in his tracks. He held his breath, as if you would stop if he moved. He didn’t want you to, wanted to let your fingers linger, to etch the sensation into his memories.

In a soft tone, you spoke, “Did you really mean it?”

“Hm?”

“Would you be wherever I am?”

Hyunjin’s breath hitched, a lump growing in his throat. If he spoke, he feared his feelings would become too real. For as long as he could, he wanted to bury his feelings deep down. Life was already risky as it is, he didn’t want to take any more.

It’s platonic. It’s platonic. It’s platonic.

They repeated in his brain like a mantra. Maybe if he chanted it, it’ll manifest to life.

“Yeah,” Hyunjin swallowed, “of course I will. You’re my best friend.”

Like magic, your worries about the future disappeared into thin air. Would it be foolish to trust Hyunjin so much, that you believed life would be fine as long as he was with you?

Dear universe, be good to me.

You smiled, one that Hyunjin swore could light up the entire sky. The stars must envy you, for the way you could brighten up darkness effortlessly.

“I’ll be wherever you are too.”

Yeah, Hyunjin would love it if time froze.

three.

Don’t be a coward.

Four words Hyunjin told his reflection as he got ready. He was dressed in a basic tee and a pair of jeans, hair slicked back like the one time you told him it looked good. He spritzed his cologne behind his ears, on his neck, and on his wrist before repeating the four words again. This time, he whispered it, letting it soak into his brain, in hopes his heart would have courage.

It’s been too long. The feelings he harboured for you piled overtime, the crush he once thought was temporary transforming into fondness. It was becoming too much for Hyunjin’s heart to bear, he needed to let it out. If he didn’t, he felt like his heart could burst. And if it did, it would be confetti-shaped memories of you.

Chatters echoed outside your ballet academy, Hyunjin watched through the lowered window for your face among the sea of people. He had a plan in mind — he’d open the door for you, put the seatbelt on for you, and tell you about his feelings. In front of your academy wasn’t the most ideal place for a confession, he knew, but God — he couldn’t bear sitting in silence with you as a storm raged in his head. He couldn’t do it. He wanted to say it as soon as he could.

Hyunjin’s eyes were still busy looking for you when suddenly, your face came in his peripheral vision, along with another face. The other person was lean, jet black hair with bangs and puppy-like eyes. The boy opened the door for you before Hyunjin could.

Okay, step number one failed.

“Hey, Hyunnie!” your voice chirped, getting into the car. Your hand moved to buckle your seatbelt before Hyunjin could. He was too busy analysing the stranger in front of the door.

“Hey,” Hyunjin replied nonchalantly, looking at the boy from head to toe. “And this is…?”

“Seungmin. And you?” the boy said, tilting his head. To Hyunjin, he was being challenged. Seungmin’s tone was more daring than he liked, so he felt an urge to one-up the guy.

“Hyunjin. Been friends with Yn since were in diapers.” he replied, the extra detail a pathetic attempt at one-upping Seungmin.

Seungmin furrowed his eyebrows, nodding as he shut your door, “Uh. Cool? Bye, Yn. And the friend since diapers.”

Oh, Hyunjin really didn’t like him.

“Wait, Seungminnie!” you called out just as Seungmin was walking away. He looked back at the car, raising an eyebrow. You turned to Hyunjin with puppy eyes. “Can you give Seungminnie a ride? He takes the bus and I think the next one’s in an hour.”

Hyunjin clenched his jaw, eyes fluttering from your pleading eyes to Seungmin’s figure outside the car. If it was all up to him, he would probably run the guy over. But God knew how much he cherished you, how he would rather cut his tongue than tell you “no,” so he agreed.

“Mm. Sure,” he replied, swallowing back a scoff.

Your eyes brightened, “Seungminnie! Come, we’ll give you a ride!” you yelled, tempting Hyunjin to mock the nickname you’d given him.

It was going to be a car ride straight out of hell.

Hyunjin’s knuckles were white against the steering as he pulled up to Seungmin’s residence complex. The building standing in front of him definitely belonged in a gated community, ritzy and luxurious. Somehow, that pissed Hyunjin off even more. He glanced at the unwanted guest sitting in the back seat through the rear-view mirror.

“Want me to drive you to the lobby, or what?”

Seungmin looked back into the mirror, peering at the reflection through his bangs. “Nah. They don’t let random cars in. Here’s just fine,” he mumbled, unbuckling the seatbelt. “Thanks, dude. Appreciate it.”

The car door closed behind Seungmin, leaving the two of you in the car. Hyunjin sighed, feeling the nerves creeping up him again. Now that it was only the two of you, it was time for Hyunjin to confess his feelings.

Before he could, you spoke, “Seungmin’s my friend in the academy. He’s really smart,” your eyes didn’t leave the crossroad before you, watching as Seungmin walked.

Hyunjin had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He tapped on your thigh, trying to gain your attention. It worked as you looked at him, batting your eyelashes. “Hm?”

He licked his lower lip, mustering all the courage in him. It was now, or never. “Look, I have something to tell you.”

“Yeah?”

You shuffled in your seat, tilting your body slightly towards his way. Now that you had your full attention on him, Hyunjin felt even more nervous. He scratched the skin around his thumb, tongue-tied as his brain tried to form coherent words. He’s never done this before, always made fun of his friends for struggling to express their feelings but now that he was in the same place, he wished he could take back all the insults. The brown eyes looking deeply (and anxiously) into yours were profusely blinking, as though he was at the brink of tears. You grew worried.

“Hyunjin, what’s up?”

He scratched at the back of his neck. Why did his tongue feel so numb? Why did his brain feel empty yet so full at the same time? His heartbeats were so fast, he couldn’t quite catch up. Hyunjin was on a rollercoaster — you were waiting at the end of the ride.

Finally, he managed to muster words. “Look, I’ve pondered over —”

Two knocks on the window at the back. They’re followed by the door opening, an exasperated Seungmin popping his head into the car. Immediately, you both looked back, utterly bewildered.

“Sorry. I left my bag. Thank God you’re still here,” Seungmin said, grabbing his messenger bag and slipping it onto his shoulder. “Thanks and sorry!”

The door closed, thus silence blanketed the atmosphere once again. This time, with unresolved tension. You looked back at Hyunjin, tilting your head in curiosity.

“You were saying?”

Dazed, the raven looked at you. His face was a mixture of exasperation and confusion. His head? There was a storm raging, along with curse words aimed at Seungmin.

“Um…” He licked his lower lip, racking his brain to find back the words he wanted to say. They were all lost. He was already at the end of the rollercoaster, the bumps along the way forgotten, and the thrill subsided. All that’s left was the remnants of anxiety. He couldn’t do it anymore, not when he’s forgotten the things he wanted to say, and the moment disturbed by your dear friend Seungmin.

So, he put the gear on to drive. He shook his head and made up a white lie.

“I think I want to try a new ice cream place today.”

four.

The taste of cookies and cream could not beat the bitterness on Hyunjin’s tongue.

It may be because the bitterness has seeped into his head.

“I’m going to your room,” you announced, swinging the front door of his house open. “Hi, Mrs Hwang!” you cheered, running up the stairs after.

“I’m going to talk to my mom a little bit,” Hyunjin said, hanging both your coats on the coat hanger.

Nothing could’ve prepared Hyunjin for what was to happen next.

Both his parents were crowding the kitchen countertop when he walked in, skimming through a piece of paper. They were beaming, eyes crinkled as they smiled. A reminder that Hyunjin resembled both his parents. He blinked in confusion as to why his parents looked so happy. He didn’t think he'd seen them this happy before.

“What’s going on?” he questioned, peering over their figures to look at the paper.

On the paper were words he’d only seen in his dreams. Never in a million years he would’ve thought it’d manifest to life. His heart skipped a beat as he read the words over, and over.

“You made it, sweetheart,” his mother’s soft voice spoke, confirming his suspicion. “You got accepted. Beaux-Arts de Paris.”

“Eomma,” he mumbled, as if he was pleading. Pleading for this dream to stop. Somebody’s got to wake him up from this nightmare of a day. “There’s no way.”

Hyunjin picked up the letter, inspecting it closer. As though if he looked any closer, the words on the pristine white paper would change. Reject him. Or maybe, the logo of the prestigious school would magically transform into a logo of a school in Seoul. Anything, anything, that would keep him here. In Seoul. With you.

“You did it, sweetheart. Your dreams are coming true,” his mother keenly said, pulling him into a side hug. “I’m so proud of you.”

His dream? It was his dream, and, yours. No, scratch that — it wasn’t truly his dream. It was yours. His dream had always been to be wherever you are.

He didn’t think he would be accepted. When you told him you were rejected from the Paris Ballet School, he told you that he was rejected, too. He didn’t tell you that he was waitlisted, under the impression that he was never getting out of the waitlist. What was he to tell you now?

Hyunjin hid his sadness, wanting to make his parents proud, “Yeah. I did it. I’m so happy, eomma, appa.”

A series of praises left his parents, and he allowed for them to engulf him in a hug.

“Don’t tell Yn, ‘kay?” he muttered, before excusing himself to go upstairs. The acceptance letter was neatly folded, tucked into his pocket.

When he swung his bedroom door open, you were standing in front of his full-length mirror. Clad in only his t-shirt, you inspected yourself.

“Hey, Hwang Hyunjin,” you muttered, turning your body. “Your clothes are bigger than me now. You used to be so small.”

You looked at him, mock dismay in your face. “I was so much taller than you before. You were a dwarf.”

How was he meant to tell you about Paris?

“I was never a dwarf. You were just too busy looking down on me.”

Giggles left both of you. Silently, he observed the way you were examining yourself. You had the mannerisms of a ballerina, each gesture as gracious as your dance. Hyunjin adored the curves of your body, but God knew he loved that of your smile even more.

Later, you were both laying on his bed, you in a starfish position. Hyunjin was at the edge of his bed, trying his best to not fall.

“Ballet was so hard today,” you sighed. You turned your body sideways, burying your face into Hyunjin’s chest. He could smell you in this closeness.

“Are you wearing my deodorant?” he queried, bowing to clasp his nose onto your shoulder. It felt like a kiss to him. “This is literally the smell of my deodorant.”

You shrugged. “Yeah? What about it? You should’ve gotten used to me taking your things by now, Hwang Hyunjin. I’ve been doing this our whole lives.”

Touché. The boy sighed, letting you fill in the silence with your babbles. Wordlessly, he listened to your words, letting it be the white noise to his thoughts.

His head was clearly not there. Unbeknownst to him, you knew of this. He’d been off all day. You’ve picked up on each signal, knowing him like the back of your hand. As much as you wanted to know what was wrong, you knew not to pry. You resorted to comfort instead.

Your fingertips met at the back of his neck, pulling him into a tight hug. He was never one for physical touch but sometimes, it helped. You leaned your head into his neck.

Gingerly, you whispered the words you thought he would need.

“You’re always here, around me. You don’t know how much that means to me.”

The exact words he did not need to hear that day.

How was he meant to tell you of his feelings now?

Especially when he was leaving — oceans away.

five.

Hyunjin had always loved soccer.

Whether it be being in the bleachers, or playing in the field. He loved doing both. There was something about the thrill of watching people play, and the adrenaline as he chased around the field.

Sitting in the bleachers, Hyunjin watched as his soccer team played. The sounds of his teammates laughing made the blazing sun a little more bearable. He lowered his cap to prevent the sunlight from getting in his eyes, chuckling when he saw Beomgyu falling face-first onto the grass.

He loved his soccer team. Every time he observed them play, Hyunjin’s heart always got overwhelmed with pride and joy. At that moment, he felt melancholy taking space too — the thought of not being able to play with them anymore hurting him more than he thought it would.

Hyunjin allowed for the melancholy to take space, allowed himself to feel — so much so that he didn’t feel Minho’s presence. Not until the older cleared his throat.

Minho sat beside him, “Why the long face, Hwang Hyunjin?”

“Huh?” startled, he looked up, face softening when he saw Minho. “Oh. Nothing. You’re not playing?”

“Nah,” Minho replied curtly. He silently analyzed the younger’s facial expressions before speaking up again. “For someone who’s going to Paris in two weeks, you sure don’t look too happy.”

Of course, Minho out of all people would notice the change in his mannerisms. Always the analyzing one, quick to notice changes in demeanour. There was no point in lying, not with Minho — so he let out the sigh he didn’t realize he was holding.

“It’s bittersweet, you know?” he mumbled, fiddling with his fingers.

“It’s Yn, isn’t it?”

“Huh?”

“You don’t want to part ways with her. It’s what’s holding you back.”

Right on. It was as though Minho was a mind-reader. A heavy weight pulled on Hyunjin’s heartstrings, made his heart even heavier than a few minutes prior.

“Yeah,” he didn’t lie, again. He looked at Minho, and the older could clearly see the uneasiness written all over his face. “If you were me… would you tell her about your feelings?”

“The fact that you like her?”

“Yeah.”

Minho fell silent. He pondered over the question, looking at the sight before him. The sun was setting, orange hues painting the sky. Hyunjin wondered if Paris sunsets would look the same.

“I think…” Minho turned towards the younger. He shook his head. “I wouldn’t tell her.”

“Why?”

“Won’t benefit you, I don’t think.” Hyunjin raised an eyebrow. “Listen. If you were to tell her, and she accepted, do you think you could get into a relationship with her?”

“I mean —”

Minho cut him, “Realistically, do you think the relationship would succeed? I mean, the time zone between Seoul and Paris is pretty big. The distance, too. I don’t think it would work out. And that’ll be bad, you know? You’ll both be left wondering what could have been.”

The truth hurt. The distance, the time — none of them were on Hyunjin’s side.

“And, if, God forbid, if she were to reject you… do you really want your last memory with her to be the hurt you’ll feel?”

Hyunjin shook his head. The other sighed, and patted him on the back.

“There are things better left unsaid. You should take her out. Spend your last time with her nicely.”

Despite Hyunjin’s stubbornness, he took Minho’s advice. It took him a lot of contemplating (and crying), but he followed it anyway. Whether he liked it or not, Minho’s advice had a lot of truth in it.

Bitter truths, but true regardless.

six.

“Where are we going?” you whined, trailing behind your dear friend. The sun was setting in two hours, orange hues were beginning to paint the sky. “Hyunnie, if you don’t tell me where we’re —”

“Please, stay patient. Will you?”

Hyunjin looked behind. He was wearing a blue knitted vest. In one hand, he held a picnic basket. The other, is your handbag. You never have to carry your own with him.

“But we’re literally in the middle of nowhere!”

“Please just trust me,” he pleaded. One hand was stretched towards you, a silent offer to hold his. “Come. If you’re too tired, I’ll give you a piggyback ride.”

Ever the opportunist, you took up on the offer. Alas, Hyunjin was left walking the remaining distance, you happily singing road trip songs while clinging onto his back. To butter him up, you told him that he must’ve been a blessing sent to you by God. Although he groaned at the remark, you couldn’t see the small smile on his face.

After a few minutes, you understood why Hyunjin was adamant about going out that day. Before you, green plains stretched as far as your eyes could see. Scattered across viridian shades were wildflowers. Some yellow, some pink.

Hyunjin had brought you to a flower field.

The picnic basket, and the Polaroid camera finally made sense.

Without any more words, you jumped off his back and ran into the field. The yellow sundress you wore matched that of the wildflowers. In Hyunjin’s eyes, you blended right in.

You were as pretty as the flowers.

“Careful, Yn! Don’t fall!” He called out, his voice echoing in the space. He watched you from afar. There was an urge to run among the flowers too, but he was much more content with watching you.

From a distance, in silence, he observed your every move. He couldn’t help the giggles that left his lips. The smile that lingered on his lips. He wanted this memory to last, to be ingrained in his brain forever. Soon, he wouldn’t be able to witness your happiness.

“Hyunnie, you need to come here! It’s so nice!”

Chuckling, he carefully placed the picnic basket on the ground. Hyunjin was done with setting up the picnic spot. He ran towards you, lifted you off the ground and twirled you around. You broke out into giggles and held onto his arms.

Among the flowers, two silhouettes danced with each other. Swaying to the same melody as the peonies. Despite being a ballerina, you kept stumbling onto Hyunjin’s feet, giggling each time he elicited an “ow.”

Like a scene from a movie.

Like he wasn’t going away soon.

Before the sun could set, Hyunjin convinced you to sit on the picnic blanket. He wished to dance with you longer, but alas, time awaits for no mortal.

“How do you want me to pose?” you asked. You were facing him, legs tucked sideways.

Hyunjin scooted closer to you, and wiped breadcrumbs off your lips. He commented on you eating messily. “You can pose however you want.”

You nodded, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Okay. Make sure you get my good angles, yeah?”

“You look good from any angle.”

Crimson crept up your face. You hadn’t expected that remark. You hoped he wouldn’t see you blush, you would just tell him it’s the sun then.

“Okay…”

Two clicks, then a flash went off. Your eyes widened, caught off-guard.

“You didn’t even count to three!”

Your whines were responded to with a giggle. The camera whirled, apprising you of a Polaroid developing. Hyunjin took it, fanning the Polaroid with a grin. He was excited to see it.

“I wasn’t ready!”

“Candid photos are better,” he sighed. “Don’t you know? Everything’s prettier when it’s genuine.”

“So you’re calling me pretty?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Have I ever said you’re ugly?”

Right. He has never.

You prayed to God the heat on your face was from the sun and not from blushing.

Once the Polaroid fully developed, Hyunjin made sure he was the first to see it. To your dismay, he held it close to his face, shielding it from you. His cheeks dimpled, illustrating his happiness. You looked so pretty, the sunlight on your face giving you an angelic glow. If he looked closer, he was sure he’d see a halo.

Hyunjin wanted to keep this forever.

If he couldn’t freeze the time, he figured he’d trap the memories in photographs.

“Let me see!” you whined. “It’s a picture of me! I have the right to see it.”

Scampering towards him, you waved your hands, trying to get the photograph off his hand. To no avail, Hyunjin had quick reflexes much thanks to his soccer experience.

“No! You can’t — it’s for my eyes only!”

“Ridiculous! That’s my face, Hyunnie!”

“It’s my camera film. So it’s mine!”

Neither one of you would let up, legs entangling against each other as you fought over the photograph. He was determined to not let you even see the picture. One of your palms pressed against the picnic blanket, the other reaching up towards his hand. Hyunjin used his free hand to push you gently but alas, he underestimated his own strength. In one swift move, you lost your balance, toppling over him.

“Ow,” he fell back and winced in pain. He looked up, and all the back pain was suddenly replaced by shyness. There you were, on his lap — face just as flushed as his.

Hyunjin didn’t know what to do now.

Pathetically, he just stared into your eyes, finding himself getting caught in them. He could feel your hitched breaths against his chest, he was very aware of your trembling fingers on his arms. There was a strong urge to kiss you as his eyes fell onto your lips. He wondered how they’d feel on his lips. He imagined it in his head — missing the way your eyes stared at his lips too.

If you were a flower, Hyunjin would be a bee. He desired you, eyes tracing the shape of your lips. Over, and over. If he kissed you, would your lips taste like honey?

He ought to find out. Hesitantly, he inched his head closer to yours. The warmth of your breath against his skin marked the closeness between you.

Numerous scenarios flashed in Hyunjin’s mind. Of him kissing you senseless, then whispering a love confession in your ear. Of your cold fingers pressing into his skin as he tells you each perk of yours that he loved endlessly. The more he imagined, the closer he was. You shut your eyes, waiting for his lips to finally press onto yours.

Paris. The one-way plane ticket to Paris.

Against his heart’s desire, his fingers cupped your chin instead. Subtly, he pulled back, eyes trailing back up to your eyes. He ignored the look of confusion in your eyes.

Reaching down, he pocketed the photograph. His heart clenched as he spoke, but he did anyway.

“I win.”

The two words pulled you from your trance — they tore off your heart like paper. You blinked, watching the playful smirk that graced Hyunjin’s porcelain face.

“Oh.”

The whole journey home, bitterness sat on Hyunjin’s tongue like the aftertaste of tangerine pulp. Did you want the kiss too, or had his libido fabricated things?

Nevertheless, he couldn’t kiss you. Not when he had suitcases packed for Beaux-Art de Paris. Not when it’s all his parents could talk about.

Minho’s words played in Hyunjin’s mind like a broken record. They served as a reminder of what could not be. For the sake of his heart, he told himself that it had all been a figment of his imagination.

Tension cloaked the front door of your house. Neither of you made a noise, save for the jingling keys in your carabiner. You observed Hyunjin, who was busy looking at his shoes. Once again, his mind wasn’t in his head. It had been that way for a few weeks.

“See you soon?” you mumbled.

Hyunjin looked up, nodding at your words. He pulled you into a hug, one that almost crushed your bones. Shakingly, he nuzzled his head into your neck, burying his face into the skin like you would dissolve if he didn't. It must’ve hurt his back but you made no comment, instead you wrapped your arms around his neck, in hopes it'll give him solace. By the front door you held him, so tight that it was as though the two of you were one, the curves of his fingers burning through your skin.

You didn’t know that it was a goodbye. It had to stay that way.

Once more, his heart clenched in his chest. Two hands cupped your cheeks, as gentle as he could be, like you would break. He engraved this version of you into his memory — kind eyes boring into his with a soft smile plastered across the face he'd grown to adore. He vowed to always remember this face.

Deeply, he inhaled his breath. Preparing the next words — lies to say to you, no matter how tight his chest felt.

“Yeah, see you soon.”

The last words Hwang Hyunjin muttered to you.

seven.

One day before your birthday.

It had been two days since Hyunjin brought you to the meadow. You hadn’t seen him much, just glimpses of him as he played around with Kkami in his backyard. You figured that he was busy.

“Hello, I’m home!” you said in a sing-song voice as you stepped into the Hwang household. Kkami who’d usually greet you wasn’t in his usual spot, so you trudged straight to the kitchen, where Hyunjin’s mother was sitting. “Hi, Mrs Hwang.”

She looked up, lips twitching into a smile, a cookie-cutter of Hyunjin’s. Under the kitchen light, you don’t miss the dried tears by her eyes. You pursed your lips, wondering if she was watching a sad drama. Hyunjin inherited his trait of easily crying from his mother, after all.

“Hi, sweet girl,” she looked at your outfit from head to toe. “Why are you all dressed up?”

“Oh,” you muttered, giving her a little twirl. “My birthday outfit! Is it pretty?”

“Of course.”

You smiled at her, fiddling with the hem of your blouse. Keenly, you looked around the kitchen for any traces of Hyunjin. You realized that the house seemed much quieter than usual, emptier than normal.

“Where’s Hyunjin?” you asked. The reason why you’d come over was to show your best friend your birthday outfit. Now that you were there, he was nowhere to be seen. “Is he home?”

Sympathy materialized in the mother’s old eyes. She tilted her head at you, lips pursing as she thought of the correct words to say.

“My girl, did he not tell you?”

Confusion would be an understatement. Hyunjin told you everything, everything — from pointless thoughts to his deepest, darkest secrets. You were his secret keeper, his companion — there was nothing he wouldn’t tell you.

Was there?

It had to be something unimportant, right? Perhaps he was off to an art workshop and forgot to tell you. But looking at his mother, it felt like something big. You grew anxious under her sympathetic gaze.

“Tell me what?” you questioned, letting out a nervous chuckle.

“We just came back from Incheon Airport. He’s on a plane to Paris,” the lady replied. She stood up, inching closer towards your trembling figure. “Did he not tell you, Yn? I thought he did.”

“Paris?” you asked, blinking. “Like. For a vacation?”

“No, sweetheart. Beaux-Arts de Paris. He got into the school.”

The words felt like bullets on skin, penetrating and chagrining you deeply. It felt unreal — a hoax.

You scoffed, “What? He wouldn’t go without telling me.” Your eyes searched for humour in his mother’s eyes. “Is this like, a birthday prank?”

Her eyes saddened even more. “No, sweetheart. He really went.”

Another betrayal came in the form of tears cascading down your eyes without warning. The emotions hit you faster than your brain could process things. Speechless, you took steps back from his mother, before running up the staircase to his room.

He had to be there. Sitting in his swivel chair and laughing at your face. He’ll tell you it was a prank and wipe away your tears.

Hyunjin was your best friend of a lifetime. He wouldn’t do this to you. He had to be there.

When the door to his room swung open, a sob was knocked out of your mouth.

All traces of life in the bedroom were gone, save for the soft purrs of Kkami sleeping on the bed. The bed was stripped of its bedsheets, and the towels hanging behind the door were gone. The laundry bag was empty.

All traces of Hyunjin were gone.

The realization hit harder than his mother’s words. If the words hurt like bullets on skin, the sight of Hyunjin’s lifeless room felt like a knife twisted in your gut. It felt like sanguine dripping from wounds, and Hyunjin’s holding the knife. It felt like a betrayal.

“Hyunjin,” his name slipped from your lips like a plea. “Hyunjin.”

More choked sobs escaped your windpipes as you searched around the room. First, it was his wardrobe. The oak material was practically empty, all that remained were a couple of sleep tees and the shirts you’ve left over the years. You rummaged through the hangers, finding that he had brought one of your sweatshirts along.

The confirmation of his departure was the emptiness of his study table. Each nook and cranny of his table used to feel like Hyunjin, from the stacks of sketchbooks to eraser dust. Everything was Hyunjin — but at that moment, there was nothing. There was only a void — that of his desk and your heart.

Your best friend was truly gone.

“Hyunjin,” the name wrestled its way past your lips again. This time, it was out of longing. “Hyunjin.”

The manner in which you walked to his bed echoed your feelings. Quivering, like a toddler’s first time walking. Your body fell onto the bed, earning a soft whine from Kkami. Gently, you held Kkami in your arms, letting a stream of tears cascade down your cheeks. For the first time in a while, you allowed yourself to cry, to feel, to mourn.

If someone were to tell you that Hyunjin out of all people would make you cry that much, you would’ve laughed. Never in a million years, you’d say. The only times he had made you cry were from laughter.

“Kkami,” you cried. The chihuahua nuzzled its head into your arms, as though it could feel your sorrow. Perhaps it could. “I miss Hyunjin.”

The dog whined. It looked up to you, placing its paw onto your arm. You cried even more.

“I wanted to tell him about how I feel today,” through sobs, you managed to speak. “How could he make me feel so many things in one day and disappear the other? He didn't even say goodbye.”

It felt like the chihuahua was mourning with you — the way it nudged its head onto your arm, letting out soft whimpers. As though it was telling you that things will be okay.

You weren’t sure that it would. You spent your whole life with Hyunjin by your side, you had never known life without him. Now that he was ripped from your grasp, you didn’t know how to go on. No — he voluntarily released himself from your grasp, without warning. It was worse.

Physical traces of Hyunjin in his room were gone. There was only his scent — the smell of his shampoo, and his cologne. It lingered in the room, mocking you.

In your melancholic state of mind, you could only weep.

eight.

“Coffee, or tea?”

A female voice broke Hyunjin from his trance. He looked up at the stewardess standing by his seat, the sweatshirt doused in your scent crumpling in his tight grip.

“I want to get off this plane,” sat on his tongue and dissolved. He took a deep breath.

“Um,” he looked at the cart, “Plain water, please?”

Coffee would only force Hyunjin to stay awake, forcing him to listen to his own brain’s torments for 14 hours straight. Tea reminded him too much of you, of the times when you were little and would make him play tea party with you. He’ll think about the times you’d cheekily kiss his cheek, an attempt to woo him into playing with you. It worked each time.

The stewardess nodded, handing him a water bottle branded with the aeroplane’s logo. He muttered a thank you, yet the stewardess still didn’t walk away. She looked nice, her eyes analyzing Hyunjin told him that he must’ve looked like the epitome of a wreck.

“First time flying?” she questioned. It wasn’t his first time, having gone on many vacations before yet he nodded. “I see. It’ll be fine, just sit back and relax.”

The woman, whose name tag said Chaewon flashed Hyunjin a hospitality smile — one he didn’t think he deserved — then walked away. Hyunjin pursed his lips, wishing that she hadn’t walked away. He didn’t want to be left alone with his thoughts, he didn’t want to be awake, he didn’t want to be in this plane — there were a lot of things he didn’t want to do, but had to do.

Hyunjin wanted to turn back.

Silently, he looked out the window, watching as the landscapes of Seoul grew smaller, slowly becoming covered with clouds. He desperately wished to get out, praying to God that the plane would miraculously turn back and the tableau of Seoul would become bigger. Had he told the stewardess named Chaewon he wanted to get off, would they have let him? Had he told his parents he didn’t want to go to Paris, would they have understood?

If he tells you he’s sorry, would you forgive him?

Regrets and memories clouded his mind, tears making their way down his cheeks. Each thought strangled his heart, and he could feel it physically aching. In a melancholic state of mind he sat, clinging onto your sweatshirt like it was his lifeline, allowing slumber to slowly take over.

The break from his own thoughts did not last long enough.

Seven hours later, Hyunjin woke up to dried tears on his cheeks. He straightened his posture and glanced at the window, feeling a wave of emotions at the change of landscapes. Hyunjin wasn’t sure in which city they were flying over, but he could say with certainty that it did not look like Seoul. It did not feel like home, it did not feel like you.

Unable to fall back to sleep, he couldn’t help the thoughts that poisoned his mind. Looking over the landscapes, he came to a realization much too painful for his heart to bear.

You and him — you were the Sun, and he was the Moon. Two people of different circumstances, who’ll never meet, ripped away from the merciless hands of time. For your timezones were different — horizons even more.

As a wave of new tears descended, Hyunjin wondered if he would ever forget about you.

The answer came to him one afternoon three years later, as he laid on the couch in his Parisian apartment.

No, he’d never forget about you. At least not in three years. Maybe not even in five.

Sunlight seeped in through the balcony, providing Hyunjin the warmth he wasn’t able to receive from a person. His roommate was a French guy who was always out and about, leaving Hyunjin to soak in his own company for hours on end. Sometimes, for days. Hyunjin loved and hated it at the same time.

His limbs stretched across the burgundy couch, a yawn eliciting past his lips. Brown eyes stared at the canvas in front of him, black and white hues scattered on white, forming a half-finished painting of you.

Years later, and you remained at the back of his mind — his muse.

Absence makes the heart grow fonder.

nine.

There are five stages of grief.

Denial, anger, bargaining, depression, then acceptance. Denial was the hardest for you, having spent your entire birthday staring at the front door of your house, praying Hyunjin would walk in. When your friends sang you a Happy Birthday, it sounded like a morose ballad playing from a broken record. Without Hyunjin, gloom sat at the centre of even the happiest things.

Then came a sixth stage — one that seemed to exist for you.

Motivation.

After coming to acceptance that your best friend had gone, without any farewell, you spent many hours a day in the ballet studio. Pirouette, arabesque, plié — you managed to polish each move with the amount of time you spent cooped up in the studio. You weren’t born with ballet feet, but the times spent in pointe shoes had somehow moulded you into having them.

Perhaps, it was distraction, disguised as motivation.

Nevertheless, the tireless hours of practice granted you a position in the Paris Ballet School.

Paris felt bittersweet when you first landed. It was the city of your dreams, but the reminiscence of the person it took from you made you loathe it.

Withal, life had to go on. To cope with the Parisian lifestyle, you managed to get a job at a cafe near your academy — Desir Cafe. You worked night shifts as a kitchen crew but if traffic was overwhelming in the afternoons, your shitty excuse of a boss would make you come in anyway.

Unfortunately for you, it was one of those days. Clinks and sizzles reverberated in the kitchen, the peg board overwhelmed with sticky notes of orders. You were everywhere in the kitchen, from piping icing on cupcakes to sprinkling chocolate rice on pastries.

“Yn,” the main baker yelled, “Tell Double C’s we can’t stock up on macarons! We’re out of almond flour!”

The Double C’s — Charlotte, and Colette. They were a duo who worked as waitresses, always gossiping. Birds of the same feather, attached by the hip.

Exasperated, you headed to the front, swinging the kitchen door open to see the duo gossiping. Charlotte was leaning in towards Colette, whispering into her ear, earning giggles from the other. You sighed, wondering what the topic was that afternoon. Curious as to who they were gossiping about, you looked towards the direction they were looking.

Seated alone at the corner of the cafe was a guy, blonde hair gleaming golden from the sunlight seeping through the big window. His utmost focus was on the sketchbook in front of him, frail fingers dancing across paper, entrancing any eyes which fell upon him. You couldn’t help but stare, your face gradually contorting into disbelief.

He resembled too much like Hyunjin — your Hyunjin.

Your gaze lingered on the man, analyzing each crease of his face, matching it with the one you had in mind. He looked just like Hyunjin, from the shape of his nose to the mole under his eye. The only difference was the hair. Hyunjin’s hair was raven black, but the person in the cafe had golden blonde hair. You felt your throat tighten. If the man sitting at the corner was him, then time had done good on him. He was beautiful, face sculptured beautifully by time’s gentle hands.

“Ooh, look who’s ogling!” a high-pitched voice interrupted you. You looked up to see the Double C’s looking at you, wiggling their eyebrows mischievously. Charlotte smirked, “Think the guy’s cute?”

“Huh? What guy?” you lied, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Colette rolled her eyes. “The dude over there! Don’t lie, you think he’s cute.” The brunette wiggled her eyebrows even more, subtly pointing at the man.

You didn’t say anything else, but your eyes travelled back to the familiar silhouette. The sense of familiarity tugged on fragile heartstrings the more you looked at him. Colette could sense your curiosity, so she parted her lips to speak.

“That’s Hyunjin. He’s a student in Beaux-Arts de Paris,” she muttered, unbeknownst to her the mixed emotions that dawned upon you. “He comes here almost every afternoon. Maybe that’s why you’ve never seen him before. He’s cute, isn’t he?”

Excitedly, Charlotte nodded her head. “A total heart-throb, honestly.”

“I mean…” your voice trailed, “He’s quite alright.”

How were you supposed to react to finally seeing the one who got away? Were you supposed to feel excited, or upset? It was like the moon had suddenly dropped down onto your lap.

You were confused.

Charlotte continued speaking, not realizing the mixture of emotions in your face. “Sometimes, the students have exhibitions about ten minutes from here. His artworks always make it to the exhibitions. I’ve seen them, and they’re really beautiful.”

You turned towards her, “Exhibitions?”

She nodded, still naive as to your shift in behaviour. “I think the school has an exhibition every three months or so.”

Unfaltering, your eyes bored holes in Hyunjin’s back. He was in his own little world, evidently absorbed in whatever piece he was working on. Just like that, the memories you spent years suppressing came rushing back.

It was unfair, the impact he had on you. There he was, lounging in a corner while your heart grappled in your chest. He looked older, better — and you were still the little girl in the tree house. Swaying your feet as they dangled, as though you had all the time in the world.

Charlotte and Colette exchanged looks as you stared at him. To them, you were simply developing a crush on a stranger. They wouldn’t understand the conflict brewing in you, they wouldn’t be able to comprehend the ache that stirred in the depths of your heart.

“What? You’re interested in him?” Charlotte spoke, breaking you off your trance. You looked at her, blinking. “Don’t even try. I’ve tried. I think he’s gay.”

Your eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“He’s not gay — oh my god, Lottie!” it was Colette’s turn to speak. Playfully, she smacked the other’s arm. “I asked that guy he’s always with, the songwriter — Felix. Cute guy, that one. Felix told me that he’s got a secret lover or something.”

“Secret lover?”

“Yeah. Apparently, he likes to draw this one girl. His sketchbook’s filled with her,” Colette murmured, glancing at Hyunjin. “Felix asked her who she was, and he said it’s a girl of his dreams.”

Your heart dropped. You weren’t sure to which news you should react first, either Charlotte hitting up on your Hyunjin, or that he has a secret lover. Either way, it made you pathetically jealous. Your heartstrings thrummed in anger as you imagined a beautiful French girl spread out on his bed, and Charlotte hitting up on your Hyunjin.

How could he go on with his life when you spent years mourning him?

Crimson tainted your lip as you bit on it hard, the taste of metal at the tip of your tongue.

Perhaps, you never made it past the anger stage of your grief.

ten.

You truly tried to be happy for Hyunjin.

For days, weeks — you spent convincing yourself that you had to be happy for him. Sure, he hurt you three years ago. Sure, you spent years in agony, regretting not telling him how you felt earlier, wondering what could’ve been. Sure, you hoped that you’d see him in Paris and he’d tell you that he’s in love with you and kiss you senseless — but those were just desperate prayers, weren’t they? Those were simply hopeful scenarios. You hadn’t expected them to come true, had you?

Hyunjin was your best friend of years. He deserved happiness, even when you didn’t feel happy. You had to let things go. You had to be happy for him.

Clearly, you failed at convincing yourself.

In front of a building you stood, the sound of people walking past becoming white noise. You stared at the banner standing in front of you, the words Autumn Exhibition displayed, with the logo of Beaux-Arts de Paris at the top. You swallowed the lump forming in your throat.

A week ago, Charlotte told you that the university would be holding another exhibition, and Hyunjin’s artworks most likely made it into the exhibition. You knew then, that you had to go. If you didn’t get to see him, then you at least wanted to see his pieces. To not be a part of his life was devastating, you wished to at least witness glimpses of it.

9:45 p.m. was displayed on your screen, people were beginning to leave the exhibition. There weren’t many people around, which was what you were hoping for. Visiting the exhibition in daylight meant potentially bumping into Hyunjin, and you weren’t sure if you were ready for that.

One day you ought to meet him, but not today. Not when the fragments of your heart have yet to be mended.

After taking a deep breath, you willed yourself to step into the exhibition. A gust of wind hit your face, and you shivered, clutching your coat tight. The art display seemed to be painting-themed, the way frames of canvases were scattered around the building. Baroque paintings were displayed all over, each piece as beautiful as skies at dusk.

The tapping of your heels against the ceramic tiles sounded as you walked, the romantic lighting of the room providing you with a sense of comfort. Wildly, your eyes observed each piece, letting your heart be swayed by the beauty.

They were all beautiful — but they didn’t feel like Hyunjin.

Until your eyes trailed to a certain piece.

It was the centrepiece, the piece — little bulbs of lights were installed above the frame, making the piece feel alive. The moment your gaze fell on the artwork, you couldn’t help but feel drawn in, taking hurried steps towards it. You stared, unable to take your eyes off the hues on the canvas.

There weren’t many hues, just black and white. It depicted two figures on swings. You couldn’t see the figures clearly but you could tell they looked happy. You could see through the strokes of paint that they were happy — though the artist not so. There was a certain sadness in the painting, one that screamed nostalgia.

The longer you looked at the piece, the more you realized.

It was a fragment of your memory.

Your breath hitched. In came a memory of you and Hyunjin — running around the park before playing on swings. It was a particularly memorable day, you could recall falling off the swing and Hyunjin kneeling in front of you, kissing the bruises on your knees with the tenderness of a feather. It was the first time you felt so protected, and so loved.

A rush of emotions overcame you, you wondered if that was how Hyunjin felt when he painted it. Had he thought of you, and wept by his easel? Had he stained his cheeks with charcoal as he wiped stray tears off his face?

You wondered, so much so that you failed to realize a silhouette entering the display.

Hyunjin didn’t enjoy art exhibitions in daylight. They felt pompous. The people who visited the exhibitions would usually walk around casually, and took photos. They didn’t harbour any sort of deep appreciation towards art, they didn’t sit and admire.

Therefore, Hyunjin loved revisiting exhibitions in the comfort of twilight. When the expositions were empty, he enjoyed revisiting them, taking his sweet time to admire each piece.

When he spotted a figure standing before his piece — his most vulnerable piece, he felt his heart drop. He watched from afar as this person observed the artwork, body as still as a mannequin. He had never witnessed someone admire a piece this intensely, especially with it being one of his pieces. He felt flattered, his heart swelling in pride and joy.

Silently, Hyunjin approached the figure. Usually, he was shy, not the type to approach people first but somehow, he felt the strong urge to this time. Fate was pulling him by his heartstrings.

“That’s my painting,” Hyunjin spoke, ensuring his voice was as soft as possible.

The sudden voice startled you. You whipped your head towards the source of the noise, eyes widened in shock. They widened even more at the sight before you.

Hyunjin’s breath hitched. His heartbeats escalated, taking in the figure standing in front of him. His fingers dug into the skin of his thumb, lips quivering. Brown doe eyes mirrored yours.

“Wh — what?” he spoke again, breathless. “Yn?”

A few steps were taken, inching closer towards you. His eyes scanned your face, lips quivering even more when he realized that it was you — you were real, and you were standing in front of him. You looked the same as you did three years ago, except more beautiful. How’d you get more beautiful? The passage of time had seemingly been good to you, the way it had carved your face into one Hyunjin could imagine himself filling his canvases with.

“Hyunjin,” you willed yourself to speak. You ignored the way your eyes watered. “It’s you.”

“It’s you, too. You’re here.”

Another few, brave steps were taken. You, on the other hand, didn’t move an inch.

“I hate you,” the words spilt past sanguine mouth before you could stop them, its venom contrasting the hushed tone of your voice. They crushed Hyunjin’s heart, though he knew he deserved them. “But I missed you.”

“I’m sorry,” was all that he could say. Hyunjin meant it. He really was sorry. He was sorry as he sent you back from the meadow, too cowardly to bid you goodbye. He was sorry when he packed his bags, stealing one of your sweatshirts for solace. He was sorry when he was on the plane, wishing he could turn back time. He was sorry when he painted numerous portraits of you. He was sorry as he stood before you, watching tears flow down your cheeks because it was the least he could do — a form of punishment for what he had done to you.

You shook your head, palms rushing towards your face to wipe away tears.

“It’s not enough, I know,” he mumbled, moving closer towards you to wipe your tears, like it was instinct, feeling his heart clench when you took steps back. “But I truly am sorry.”

“You didn’t even say goodbye,” you sobbed, vision blurry. “You didn’t even contact me.”

“I know, Yn, I know — I’m sorry. I wanted to call you, but I couldn’t,” he rambled, cupping your cheeks and rubbing on the skin. You allowed him to. “I swear, I wanted to write to you, but I was too embarrassed, and by the time I had enough courage it was already too late.”

Sobs wrestled their way past your lips, barely able to form coherent words. You kept shaking your head, blurting out the words you’ve kept for years.

“You just left me, Hyunjin — you left me. A day before my birthday,” your whimpers got louder, “I wanted to tell you I’m in love with you, on my birthday. Hell, three years later and I’m still in love with you.”

Hyunjin’s face paled. He had expected curses, and cries — but he hadn’t expected that. Anything, but that. His limbs moved before his brain could process things, lifting your chin to meet eyes. Your eyes were tinted with tears, but you were still beautiful. You’re always beautiful.

“What?” he squeezed your cheeks, “Yn, what?”

“You heard me. I’m not saying it again. It's fucking pathetic.”

“Fuck,” he exhaled. Hyunjin knew he was supposed to feel remorse, but God — his heart bloomed at the words you had whispered to him. You’re in love with him. You’re in love with him, the same way he was in love with you. “Fuck, Yn. You can't just say shit like that.”

Feather-like touches grazed your lips. There was a certain look in Hyunjin's eyes, one that you couldn't quite figure out — they were a look of longing. How could you know it was longing when you had never bear witness to them? You could feel his breath against your face, warm like his fingertips.

“You have no fucking idea how long I've been in love with you. You have no idea how much I missed you. Fuck, I think about you every fucking day,” he whispered, “You have no idea how much I regret getting on that plane.”

At that moment, all you could feel was Hyunjin. His deep, brown eyes staring into yours and his thumb pressing onto your lip.

“Kiss me,” you whispered back, “Kiss me, Hwang Hyunjin.”

And kiss you, he did. His lips crashed against yours with fervour, moving his lips to the same beat as his racing heart. You kissed back in the same manner, letting out the emotions you had bottled up.

I love you, I love you — each movement of his lips was a love confession, etching his adoration onto the curves of your lips. You caressed his cheeks akin to holding stars in your palms — careful, precious.

Finally, you pulled apart to catch your breaths, bodies heaving against each other.

“Please, give me a second chance.”

It’s odd the way human minds work, because at that very moment, you were reminded of Colette's words. Ones that mentioned a rumoured secret lover.

“But,” you felt silly for saying it, “Your secret lover?”

“My secret lover?” the boy's eyebrows furrowed. He then chuckled upon realization. The rumour must've spread to you. “Ah, that secret lover. It's you, idiot.”

He smiled. You didn’t think anyone could look as beautiful as he did.

“It's always been you.”

eleven.

“Careful — come on, get under here.”

Giggles echoed in the alleyways as two shadows lingered in the darkness of midnight. It was raining, the pavements darkening with wetness and the wind howling a sweet melody. At that particular hour, under the moonlight, Paris looked like the city of love.

You rushed out of the exposition hall, getting under Hyunjin’s leather jacket. He’d promised you the date of your lifetime that night, and he wasn’t one to break his promises.

Hyunjin’s back was damp from the rain, but it didn’t matter as long as not a droplet landed on your body. It only took a few minutes (and a lot of giggles in between) to reach Hyunjin’s so-called secret spot.

Streetlights shone on a bench, and clusters of flowers surrounded a little pond. The spot overlooked the city, you could see the city lights from all the way up here. You gasped in awe, it’s no wonder Hyunjin insisted on coming here.

“So beautiful,” you whispered. Hyunjin smiled softly, moving closer towards you on the bench and wrapped an arm around your waist.

While fondly looking at your visage, he muttered. “Yeah, it’s pretty.”

“How’d you find this place?”

“I found it while I was walking one night,” he explained, resting his head on yours. You could smell his shampoo in this closeness. “I was sad. This garden reminded me of the one we used to go to when we were kids.”

Your heart swelled at the confession.

“It does resemble that one a lot.”

The skies were still drizzling rain, but you were both a little sheltered much thanks to the oak tree above you. Only droplets dripped, falling onto your head but it was a nice sensation. Besides, you couldn’t feel the cold when you’re nuzzled in Hyunjin’s arm, blanketed in his familiar warmth. You allowed silence to third-wheel you, eyes busied with observing the sight. Silence was always comfortable with Hyunjin. The time spent apart hadn’t changed that.

He wouldn’t leave you alone, his skin constantly touching yours. It burned against you. You didn’t mind it. Instead, you basked in his love, listening to the sounds of his heartbeats as your head rested on his chest. He intertwined your fingers together, his thumb rubbing against yours. He wouldn’t let go of you, not even when he bent down to pluck a flower, slipping the daffodil onto your ear.

“I missed you,” he murmured. You weren’t sure how much he’d repeated that phrase but you liked it. “I truly did.”

For the thousandth time that night, you responded. “I missed you too.”

The conversation changed into one about your lives, catching up on each other’s shenanigans. It was comfortable, being with Hyunjin. Topics changed seamlessly. You didn’t have to put much effort into talking to him, you just had to be there.

Softly, his hands moved towards your feet, taking off one of your shoes. He held onto your ankle, tracing his pointer across your sole. You giggled, the feather-like touches tickled.

“You still have the feet of a ballerina.”

“Of course, silly,” you scoffed, “I am one after all.”

“I’m so glad that your dreams came true,” he whispered, putting your leg down. He cupped your cheek, showcasing a fond smile that stretched to his ears. “I’m really happy that you’re here.”

“Of course,” you repeated. “You told me you’d be wherever I am. It’s only fair I returned the favour.”

The words knocked out Hyunjin’s breath, and it filled his soul with so much adoration, he felt like he could burst. A pleading expression was written all over his porcelain visage, the way in which he squeezed your hand expressing his feelings even more.

“Please,” he pleaded. “I need to be yours.”

You kissed him, for the second time that night.

“I’m already yours, Hyunnie.”

twelve.

Things with Hyunjin had been going exceptionally well.

After the fated night, you carried on with so much happiness that you practically beamed everywhere you went. One time when you clocked into work, the Double C’s made kissy noises at you, and Charlotte had whispered, “You must’ve had crazy good sex last night.”

You couldn’t deny it, of course.

Date nights with Hyunjin happened thrice a week, with coffee runs in between classes. The Paris Ballet School and Beaux-Arts de Paris weren’t that far from each other, allowing you to sneak lunches together almost daily. Though you had to admit that even if the universities were far, Hyunjin definitely wouldn’t mind spending extra time just to see you. Sometimes, he’d watch you dance, and sometimes, you’d watch him paint.

It was like you were both making up for the lack of each other the past three years.

After just two weeks of your relationship, you were acquainted with the comfort of Hyunjin’s home. His roommate was barely home, so you felt comfortable with coming over often. Most weekends, you’d spend the night over.

Morning birds chirped a jolly ballad, waking you from your slumber. You stretched, feeling the heat of Hyunjin’s skin against yours. You couldn’t help the smile that grazed your face when you looked at him, fast asleep under the duvets beside you. Sleepily, you pressed a kiss onto his bare shoulder, then traced the memories of last night, tattooed on his skin in the form of bruises. It pulled a whine from him, moving under the duvet to press himself impossibly closer towards you.

“Flower,” he mumbled, morning voice husky, “I'm cold.”

“Then come cuddle.”

He did as told, wrapping strong arms around you. You felt his fingers ghost against your naked spine, sending heat straight to your core. You couldn't help the whimper that left you, earning a playful grin from your boyfriend.

“It's too early to get in the mood, no? Baby?”

Flushed, you smacked his arm. “Shut up.”

Hyunjin giggled, leaning towards you to press kisses onto your face. Mornings with him were often spent like this — limbs entangled, as if you were one.

“Need to shower, baby,” he sighed, “Have an exhibition today.”

To your dismay, he slowly pulled away from you, missing the warmth of his body.

“You coming to the exposition?”

“Of course,” you hummed. “Go shower. Can I borrow your laptop while you're in the shower?”

“Yeah, baby. The password's your birthday.”

He got up from the bed, and you flushed as you looked at his bare body. Unluckily for you, your boyfriend quickly noticed your flushed face, taking it as an opportunity to throw a pillow at you and call you a pervert. You rolled your eyes, watching him enter the bathroom before getting up, wrapping the duvet around your naked body.

You walked towards his study to retrieve his laptop, smiling at the artworks displayed on his peg board. One was of you — a painting of the Polaroid he took of you back in the meadow. The Polaroid itself sat at the back of his phone case. He had never taken it out since the first time he put it in back then.

Whilst humming to a melody, you kicked in the digits of your birthday. The laptop unlocked, showcasing the unclosed tabs.

Your eyes widened at the words written on the screen.

Congratulations, you've been chosen for a student exchange programme to Rome.

Your heart skipped a beat. Repeatedly, your eyes skimmed the words on the screen. You didn't mean to pry but you scrolled through the email, feeling your heart sink upon seeing the date it was sent.

Over a week ago.

Yet Hyunjin hadn't told you anything.

After all these years, he was still keeping secrets from you. You couldn't handle it, and so for the sake of your heart you exited the tab, and shut down the laptop. Careful as to not make much noise, you got dressed.

“Hyunjin,” you knocked on the bathroom door. “Need to be at the academy now. Bye.”

You needed to be away from him — you needed to clear your head.

thirteen.

You hadn't seen Hyunjin for a week.

The texts from him you didn't avoid, responding each time he sent a message. However, you'd been dodging his requests of meeting, under the guise of practice when in truth, you hadn’t gone for classes in a week. You spent your days moping in your apartment.

Perhaps it was a little childish of you to do, but you couldn't bear the thought of going through what you did before. You'd tasted a life without Hyunjin, and you were certain you didn't want to live through it again. This was your way of mentally preparing for that life again.

Your limbs lazily stretched across the cotton duvet as a vinyl played in the background. A melodramatic song played, matching the current tune of your heart. You weren't entirely sure what time it was, but the sound of the apartment bell ringing hinted that it was afternoon. It must be the takeout your roommate ordered.

“Reine,” a familiar voice reverberated in your apartment. “Where's Yn?”

“In her bedroom,” your roommate, Reine replied in her thick French accent. “She's been in there moping all week.”

Damn you, Reine.

Quickly, you buried yourself in your duvet, anticipating the footsteps which approached your room. Soon, your door swung open, and you could smell the white gardenia in his cologne.

“My flower,” his voice tempted you to look, “What’s going on, sweet girl?”

It didn’t help that each syllable that slipped past his lips felt like honey.

You felt his hands pull down your duvet before you came face to face with your boyfriend. He stood before you, hair slicked back and the white blouse he wore accentuated his shoulders. In his hands was a bouquet of flowers, patches of peonies and daffodils peeking from the wrapper.

You didn’t utter any words, simply looking at him with watery doe eyes. He didn’t miss the glint of tears, immediately setting the bouquet on your nightstand to get onto the bed. Tenderly, he pulled you onto his lap.

“You look so sad,” he mumbled, “Can my sweet girl please tell me why she’s so sad?”

Damn, him. How were you supposed to stand a chance when he was so ridiculously handsome and sweet?

Trembling, you parted your lips to speak.

“You’re hiding things from me.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What things, baby?”

Your eyes shot daggers at him, bottom lip forming into a pout. Hyunjin had to stop himself from leaning in and biting it.

“You got offered to an exchange student programme,” you finally bit the bullet. “You’re planning on keeping it a secret and just leaving me again, aren’t you?”

Ah.

Hyunjin’s eyes softened. He sighed, caressing your cheek in his hand. He shook his head as his free hand rested on your thigh, massaging the supple skin.

“No, I’m rejecting it,” he answered. “I didn’t tell you because I thought there was no point in telling you if I didn’t even want to go.”

“What?” you responded, voice a little higher than you intended it to be. Your eyes scanned his for any lies. “Hyunjin — it’s a good opportunity.”

“What, you don’t want me here anymore?” he joked, raising an eyebrow at you. “Baby, Paris is already enough for me. I don’t really want to move again.”

You nodded at his words. A huge part of you felt relieved — and you felt awful for feeling that way.

Love, sometimes, is about being selfish after all.

“Were you sad because you thought I was going?” your boyfriend queried, tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear.

You shrugged. “A little. I was more mad that you didn’t tell me.”

“Oh,” he nodded, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret, I just didn’t mention it because it felt insignificant.”

“I want you to tell me things,” you mumbled, wrapping your arms around his neck. It left goosebumps in its wake. “I want to know these things.”

“Okay," he mumbled. Something about his compliance made you feel fonder of him. "I'll start telling you these things."

A sigh of relief left your lips. You had known Hyunjin for years, but being with him was different. A good kind of difference. It would take you a while to adjust to these changes — but it was the kind of changes you'd want to adjust to.

Hyunjin's fingers trailed to your hips, ghosting over your skin until they reached your thighs. He traced the stretch marks there, leaving goosebumps in its wake. You couldn't help the whine that left your mouth, and the heat that arose, tainting the tips of your ears in crimson. Hyunjin enjoyed this — flustering you with his ministrations. He allowed you to nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck, whimpering as he felt your lips litter kisses on his most sensitive spots.

"I love you," he confessed, like honey dripping from lips. "Promise I'll be wherever you are."

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