#but train to busan was much better

[helianthus21]

Peninsula resorts to the usual Zombie Movie Message of Humans Are The Real Monsters (people are bad). which isn’t bad in itself, but it doesn’t directly tie in with Train To Busan where the message was We Need To Look After Each Other (people are good) which leaves something to be desired for me

#the military ppl literally were bad for no reason other than going crazy in an apocalyptic world i guess #it would've been nice to see the survivor's from the first movie #or even some of those who got turned into zombies! #as some kind of cameo #and fuck them for killing grandpa before he could see captain jane rescue his girls #props to the captain for reversing the car out of the ship to get all the greedy assholes killed tho #like it was good #but train to busan was much better #peninsula #*major jane sorry

[animangalover-writes]

Surprises In The Kitchen

And then, Jin-Hee burst out laughing, and Young-Gook grins wide and knowing.

"Didn't take you guys for swingers." He says, and that gets them to really move. Seok-Woo whips around looking for his shirt, hand flying up to his neck to cover a darkening hickey.

Or

Young-Gook and Jin-Hee catch Seok-Woo in a compromising position with a certain married couple. And what better way to show your support then to make fun of them endlessly?

Read on ao3

#train to busan #Seok-Woo #Sang-Wha #Seong-Kyeong #Seok-Woo x Sang-Wha x Seong-Kyeong #ot3 #idk if they even have a ship name but idc #with a side of Young-Gook x Jin-Hee #this is a mediocre fic btw #based on a much better fic credited in my AN on ao3 #ill shut up now #aml writes

[dwaekkilinos]

savior complex (pt. 1) | bang chan

summary: Your father had wielded you to become a machine; a weapon. And a machine you would become. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat. He taught you how to protect; specifically how to protect your family. But he never taught you how to survive with other groups, especially when their leader seems to have it out for you.

pairing: bang chan x fem!reader rating/genre: 18+ Minors DNI | strangers/enemies to lovers + zombie apocalypse au, angst, fluff, smut word count: 19.9K chapter summary: you'd always known the end, and it had always known you. you just didn't know the beginning would be waiting for you when your time finally came. warnings/notes: zombie apocalypse au so . . . blood, guts, gore, sad, sad, sad. beware. lots of inspo from every zombie thing i've literally ever seen (twd, tlou, train to busan, etc.), typos probably, parental death, actions of violence and murder, religious TRAUMA, religious undertones, reader does not believe in god but she's deeply influence by it bc of her childhood and it haunts her, reader comes from a small toen and it's not explicitly stated where she's from but hollows are mentioned, hunting, reader wishes for death multiple times, chan goes by chris, no smut in this chapter but there will be in every chapter after, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything, and enjoy! <3

chapter one: i know the end (and it knows me) ( series masterlist | next → )

Sometimes you felt like a ghost. It happened when the world was so silent that you could almost hear the beat of your unsteady heart pounding in your chest; when everyone else was asleep and you stayed up, eyes watchful and searching for threats. That was when you felt like the lost faces that haunted you.

It hadn't always been this way, at least not until the world ended. Most of the time you tried not to think about it. You tried not to think about much except survival these days.

Because that was smart. Surviving was smart. Anything else was stupid; anything else would get you killed.

Ironic, how you used to fear that very thing. Death. Now it was all you knew.

The apocalypse had come.

You knew how it sounded. Honestly, you didn't believe it when it first happened. You had been too afraid to admit it; too scared that if you did, you could never go back. There was no going back anyway. That was something you wished you had known back then. And as you sat on a log in the middle of those dark woods, overlooking your group who all slept silently while you stayed up, bloody knife in hand, and eyes watching for threats, it was hard to ignore the fact that this was your cruel reality.

Because the reality of it all was: you were living on borrowed time, trying your best to do right by your father and keep your family alive. You'd faltered that night, dotting the line between protection and predation.

And now . . . now you couldn't help but think about the beginning. How you would've never ended up like this if things had been different. But things hadn't been different. Things had happened exactly the way they had, and it'd left you with rot in your bloodstream and hate in your heart.

That was what made you clutch the knife closer, nearly cutting your own flesh. Because things hadn’t been different, but they also hadn’t always been this way. You hadn’t always been like . . . this.

You supposed it was because it was easy to kneel when you were just a girl. It was easy to ignore the ever-present scabs on your knees when you didn’t know any better. It was easy to tear yourself down the middle, pulling stitches from the back of your legs when you knew it’d all be re-sewn by morning. It was easy back then when the world hadn’t died.

From the moment you were brought into the world, barely kicking and silently screaming like it was a sin to voice your pain, you had been taught to be that girl; that easy, complacent girl with not so much as a rotten thought. From the moment you were born, you had been taught the foundation of the Church and its vocation, and it had carved its way into your rotten flesh even when the world was no more.

At age four, you were in the pews, listening to the words of God while creating imaginary friends in the statues. At age seven, communion. Then at age eight, you had begun to become an altar girl, fetching and carrying, ringing the altar bell, bringing up the gifts and the book, among other things—essentially being a servant to God. At age fourteen, confirmation. At fifteen, your mother doused you in holy water before your first date with a boy from school. Sixteen, heartbreak, praying to God and begging for him to help ease it all, only to be left with no response . . . even after all you had done for him.

Seventeen and the stitches down your legs remained undone, the scriptures now more of a question than a statement. Then . . . eighteen, the timer clicked into place, and you felt yourself begin to rot along with the world, forcing you to realize your entire life was just a cycle of kneeling before God, praying, and asking for forgiveness for your sins.

It had been easy to kneel when you were just a girl; when you didn’t know any better. And then it happened.

It.

Armageddon.

The Rapture.

The fucking apocalypse.

It didn’t matter what you called it. Doomsday was still doomsday even dressed up with fancy scriptures and sacred wine.

The apocalypse had come. Humans were deemed horrible creatures by some almighty who you didn't give a fuck to acknowledge. It didn't matter. Someone or something had deemed the human race unworthy.

The apocalypse had come, and you were deemed worthless. You were made to die. It was inevitable.

The apocalypse had come. There was talk that it had begun in the North. But much wasn’t known in your town. Now you realized they tried to keep it a secret. It was a way of controlling everyone, you supposed, but not like it mattered much now.

That was just how things were. Your mother refused to let you and your younger sister watch the news, refused to let you search anything about what was going on in the world, adamant that everything was lies and those lies would cloud your mind. A religious town bordering on a commune that resembled a cult perhaps just a tad too much. You realized all this now, of course, but back then your knees were still covered in scabs from kneeling before a God who would never come. Back then your mother kept you kneeling until the final bell tolled, her hand firmly clutching your shoulder to keep you in place.

You were only eighteen then. And while the outside world was torn apart month by month, its people haunted by death piled upon death, your town continued on as it always had. The whispers of a war that would end the world were just whispers, covered up by scriptures that the local preacher would sight every Sunday morning just after you’d collected the eggs from the chicken coop and put on your best dress like your mother had always taught you.

But it was different for you, even back then. Because while it had been easy to kneel when you were a girl, you had begun to grow. Eighteen then, but you had begun to see the flaws within the Church when you were sixteen. And by eighteen, you knew better.

By eighteen, you could see the sweat beading along the preacher’s forehead. By eighteen, you could hear wavering in your mother’s voice when she proclaimed that this was just a test. That this was meant to happen. That the Bible had always predicted this, and if you remained faithful, then you would be saved . . . spared.

But by eighteen, you knew better.

It took one quiet night and a hammering heart for you to sneak into your father’s study and head straight for this desktop. It took even less time to discover what had become of the world. One. Two. Three clicks and then . . .

You remembered the choking feeling bubbling up your chest as your eyes scanned the news articles. A virus. One so horrible and unforgiving that it could take a healthy vessel, and within twenty-four hours, the body would succumb to death. But, you’d seen stuff like this before, right? You knew there had been plenty of diseases and viruses and they all had cures. They all had to have cures. They had to.

That was just the thing: no matter how hard you looked, you couldn’t find any article that explained how this virus came about. It was unknown, deadly, spreading rapidly, and there was no way of telling when it’d reach your town. It was just . . . just . . . (It was the first time you truly felt helpless.)

You remembered staying up with the sun, looking for answers, only to come out empty-handed. And when your father discovered you in his study that morning, you nearly confessed right away, sobbing into his arms. But no shame was brought upon you that day.

Your father had been a good man. He had loved you so. He had loved his family, no matter the consequences or conditions.

This town, your town, was small. It consisted of around only three thousand people give or take, all of which were either Christian, secluded, or . . . your father. In all the years you had been alive, not once had your father stepped into the Church. You never asked. You never worried. Your mother just always told you your father was busy every single time, and you believed her because back then, you’d trusted her with all of you.

As you grew, your suspicions of him did, too, but you remained silent as you always had in life. And it was only until that morning when he wrapped you in his arms and let you cry into his shoulder, did you realize why he never entered the Church, why he never spoke the prayers your mother praised, why neighbors would talk of his name only in hushed conversations.

He didn’t believe.

No, he believed in something just not . . . this sacred word your town so desperately worshipped. And that morning, he told you the truth. From his childhood to how he ended up in a town like this. He told you it all, and then he told you the truth. He told you how your mother was scared (how she always had been) and how one day he hoped with enough trying, she’d see the world for what it was ( . . . she never did). And then he told you about the virus, and everything was so much clearer.

The town had everyone convinced this was some kind of test. There was no virus to them. This was the reaping. The scriptures were true to them. And so every Sunday, you were forced to acknowledge that Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death—the Four Horsemen of the apocalypse had come to earth with the power to destroy humanity.

That was how it had been explained to your town, and all its people believed. A sickness had struck the world, yes, they told that much truth, but they chalked it all up to being some kind of plot point in God’s plan. To top it off, it was said that if the townspeople all repented and did right by his name, then salvation would be given.

That was what was told, and that was what was believed.

You remembered the preacher’s voice even now.

Then I saw when the Lamb broke one of the seven seals, and I heard one of the four living creatures saying as with a voice of thunder, "Come." I looked, and behold, a white horse, and he who sat on it had a bow; and a crown was given to him, and he went out conquering and to conquer.

— Revelation 6:1–2

That scripture haunted you just as your father’s face did, but back then you hadn’t realized the detriment it would have on you. Back then, you played your part. Back then, you dressed as your mother advised, went to church, and listened, and then, when all was said and done and your mother had gone to her room, you snuck off to accompany your father on his hunts. And during those times, you’d learn the truth.

While the two of you hunkered down, waiting for deer to pass through your side of the woods, he told you about what was going on with the rest of the world. He explained how the CDC had claimed this thing; Pestilence (as your town believed) was some kind of virus, yes, only they wouldn't release the survival rate except for a few things that stated it was deadly, spread rapidly, and anyone could have it, but by the time symptoms had started to kick in, it would be too late.

As the weeks went by, as the more hunting extravaganzas you went on with your father piled up, his news became more worrisome. At first, the virus was contained in the North of the world, but as it took more lives and less information about it was being provided to the public . . . people began to panic. Hysteria spread throughout the world. Cases of this unknown virus peaked, and the government released statement after statement informing the public that face masks would be required to prevent the virus from spreading and travel restrictions would soon be put into place.

Only by that time, it was too late.

Carriers of this unknown virus had already traveled far and near, spreading the disease throughout the world. This so-called Pestilence might have only been given reign to a quarter of the world, but his disease had spread farther than his radius.

And while you had been young, you realized that this virus had only one purpose: to kill. There was no survival rate. No hope.

The world shut down soon after more and more people started dropping like flies, succumbing to the miserable disease that left them with boils and blisters covering their skin. Hospitals became overrun. Schools were wiped out with kids coming home with this deadly virus. Workplaces were abandoned, the people wishing to stay at home with their families, too afraid to step outside without any real knowledge of how this virus worked.

Your town remained oblivious, too, as the region shut down, gates being made so no one could enter or leave. It was safer that way they claimed. All of those who could be saved would be saved and helping those seeking a refuge was against the rules. It all felt like some kind of sick plan if you had anything to say about it.

By the time your father had taught you how to shoot your first deer without you sniffling in fear, Vaccines were finally attempted, but nothing worked; the disease only spread, and more people died.

Then . . . it all just stopped.

But your town continued to spread its lies.

The story remained the same even all these years later. You remembered how while you had learned the virus was supposedly coming to an end, your town still painted the picture of the Horsemen. Tales of Pestilence’s reign still remained.

They went on and on about how he rose from the depths of Hell. Pestilence had come. He, who sat on his white steed, had a bow, a crown that had been gifted to him by his gods had come, and when he had, he went out conquering. And so he did.

Until he was put to rest; until his conquering had come to an end. You listened with half a heart as the preacher went on and on about how his time had ended, yes, but this was not the end. All you had to do was keep praying, keep repenting, keep . . . kneeling, and you’d be saved.

But you knew better.

While others would attend midnight mass in addition to morning, you claimed you had to pray on your own, and when your mother had left with your sister on her hip, you snuck off with your father to learn of the world. You snuck off to better your shooting arm, to seek comfort in the only person who seemed to have their head screwed on right, to shoot ducks and geese and deer and everything in order to keep your town fed while everyone else prayed to a God that wasn’t doing half your work. And yet, every time, every kill, your father knelt beside the animal and prayed, until you had begun to do the same.

You weren’t sure why he did it. You had never asked. You never thought you needed to. (Now you would’ve done anything to know the answer.)

And so . . . life went on like that. Completely cut off from the world without the help of the internet your father provided for the two of you, life went on.

The virus no longer spread further, and many believed it was all just some hoax. News stations came to life again, but not much else was restored. That was how everyone found out the virus had concluded. Hell, even you remember being twenty-one years old, having your first legal shot with your father in the middle of the woods while the two of you watched news reporter after news reporter claim the virus had mutated and mutated so much to the point our bodies had accumulated a natural resistance to it.

But you couldn't believe it.

Three whole years of this deadly disease taking out population upon population, and then it all ceased. It felt almost too good to be true.

Of course, the town believed this too. Pestilence had conquered, and that was just the problem.

Every day, day in and day out, words spread throughout the hollow, the word in the Church mutated each week, even your mother who had spent the last three years praying to Jesus, Joseph, and Mary; your mother who had gone through rosary after rosary begging for God to have mercy on your family; your mother who had always forced you to attend those days at church on Sunday went around the house, boarding up the windows and hiding the special silverware in the basement, claiming that he would come next.

He has conquered, she had hissed over your shoulder when you and your father came back from one of your hunts.

Pestilence's reign had ended (according to your mother, who you were almost certain had a few screws loose). You didn’t believe it for a second, ignoring your mother's desperate ramblings.

War will come, she warned.

War will come.

But . . . you knew if something did come, it wouldn’t be this War.

And then . . . then he did.

The first sighting of the dead coming back was spotted just months after the virus that had plagued millions had ceased. And this time . . . the town allowed its folk to see the reports. Even your mother had brought the television from the basement to witness the dead rise . . . or rather . . . War. The news stations had captured a recording of these . . . people; people who had suffered from the virus coming back, and then with only their teeth, tearing any live thing apart. The recording was aired all across the world, fear, and hysteria spreading like wildfire.

The government was still up and running at this point with only one mission: to shoot down these seemingly reanimated corpses before they could cause more harm. People believed this to be a fluke, but your mother's words had stuck with you.

War will come.

It was all a little hazy now, but you remembered bits and pieces of the world back then. War had been quick, ruthless, and determined.

This was no man. This was War.

And it all became clear soon after.

While Pestilence had been silent, War had wanted an audience.

The things he could do; the people he could hurt . . . it was all so gutting. Those lost to the virus kept coming back, all with one purpose: destruction. With one bite, their victims would soon fall ill to that same virus, and then once it had taken their body, they’d come back, reanimated with the same gruesome purpose.

The government finally fell when the dead could no longer be stopped. Quarantines dropped, people ran, and everything just . . . stopped. These creatures tore through cities, sinking their teeth into civilians. And you watched it all on the television, until that, too fell, leaving the rest of the world in the dark.

That was when you realized just how real all of this was. That was when you realized the past three years of hunting with your father was not just something the two of you would look back on and laugh about one day when this virus was over. No . . . it seemed . . . it seemed you couldn’t quite see the end or maybe . . . maybe you could and that was the problem all along.

Your father, the man he was, tried to remind you that this was not War; that this was not the supposed God’s plan everyone was convinced of in your godforsaken hollow. And you tried to hear him, but for a while, you wished to be like everyone else in the town. You wished you could believe this was some greater plan. You wished you could believe that this was all because of some Horseman . . . but you knew better, and your father seemed to know this as well.

(And yet, when you thought back on it now, the stages in which the world ended still presented themselves as the Horsemen in your troubled mind.)

Because, well, you supposed that was truly when the world had ended—the day War came.

War will come, your mother had warned, and you knew that to be true the day the electricity stopped working. War had come, and he'd taken civilization with him. And while he reigned over the quarter of the world he'd been gifted, the rest of the world lay in the dark, trying to navigate throughout this new world.

From time to time you had heard talk of distant wars. You, however, had never seen one.

But War's ruthless hand still reached your town.

There was no news or contact with the outside world other than the people you could see with your own eyes. No transportation, no government, no nothing. It was said that cars had even been abandoned on highways as people tried to leave town to find their families. But they never got far; not with this newfound order bestowed upon the earth.

Because truly . . . War did not need to come to earth to corrupt it.

The government had fallen, the world had ended, the apocalypse had begun and that was all it took for chaos to ensue. People became their worst selves at the end of the world, you'd been told all your life through media upon media. But you had to disagree. You thought, perhaps, the end of the world brought out who people truly were deep inside. It allowed people to let go of civility.

And you discovered people really were perhaps even worse than this supposed War himself. Or rather a product of War and his righteous hand.

(Although, how righteous could he truly be?)

While War reigned, the rest of the world scavenged. Your family stood stagnant in your childhood home, holding up there for as long as you could. It was still warm when the second wave hit. You knew you'd need to find a different shelter when the time came.

The cold wasn't your only problem either. People were at their worst. When the news broke out in your town, the scriptures they held so dear began to fall apart. A lot left, some stayed, and others turned on each other, leaving houses with bloodstained splatters and a fear of thy neighbor. Your family stayed, however. Your mother read scriptures every day. Your father recited the truth. And they argued, while you sat by the window, terrified out of your mind as you watched the empty streets.

That was when you realized another truth about yourself. You were just about to turn twenty-two, the world had gone to shit, and you had never been so scared. Pestilence. War. Famine. Death. Their names raged on inside your head and it was as if you were still just a young girl, kneeling in church despite the scabs. Except now, you were a girl who could no longer kneel in church, and yet you were still so scared.

It felt cruel. Perhaps even unreal.

The scriptures had predicted this—the four harbingers coming down to scorn the earth. But you hadn't believed it. You were forced to now.

It was War’s reign back then. But Death would come one day. He had come to kill you all; to finish off everything his brothers hadn't touched, and one day he would.

It had been predicted. The words stuck in your head even now.

When the Lamb broke the fourth seal, I heard the voice of the fourth living creature saying, "Come." I looked, and behold, a pale horse; and he who sat on it had the name Death; and Hades was following with him. Authority was given to them over a fourth of the earth, to kill with sword and with famine and with pestilence and by the wild beasts of the earth.

— Revelation 6:7–8

Your mother told you long ago of these scriptures. When you were a child, you'd cover your head with your blankets, hiding from the mysteries of the night. Somewhere in your innocent mind, you'd convinced yourself the devil himself would find his way into your room, wrap his bony hand around your ankle, and drag you to the pits of Hell.

Back then you'd feared death. You'd done everything to steer far from its clutches.

She’s afraid of the world, your peers would hiss under their breath, not knowing you'd heard every word. And you knew they were right. You knew you had always been a scared kid, trying your hardest to keep the monsters at bay.

You wished you'd realized there had been no real monsters . . . yet. You would've lived more. Now you knew the consequences.

Now there was no more living, just surviving.

Still, sometimes you found yourself missing it; missing life. It was a bitter thought—what could've been had the world not ended all those years ago.

Back then—before the end—you'd feared death.

How far will this go? you remembered thinking back then when it was still War’s reign. How long until things are normal?

You didn't have the stomach back then to come to terms with the truth. You barely remembered it now.

But you did remember the day everything truly changed for you.

Up until that day, you'd been following your father's orders, huddling up in your home with your mother and little sister as the four of you survived day by day. Then . . . your house had been broken into, the intruder coming in through your window.

Back then you had feared death. You had thought you were going to die.

You'd thought this up until the very last scream ripped through your throat just as your father emerged from the shadows, a look on his face you’d never seen, moments before everything went red. You remembered that to this day. While everything else was blurry, that moment was clear. You could still feel the blood splatter on your face as you watched your father—the man who used to tie your shoes for you before you hopped on the school bus—kill a man before your very eyes, ripping out his jugular with his bare teeth.

Once a girl who could no longer kneel in church, became one painted with the blood from another. And you remembered a small part of you—the part that had once knelt so much her knees had turned to scabs—that this was all War’s fault.

You thought it until you watched the man pale, falling to your childhood bedroom floor with a thud. You remembered how his eyes stayed wide open, locked on you as he gurgled and choked on his blood, bleeding out onto your pink carpet. He didn't blink. Not once. Not even at all. They stayed cold and empty as your father breathed heavily above him.

And then you looked at him.

Your father was a good man. He was kind and just, despite the town. He believed in science and facts. He wanted the truth. But none of that mattered if his family was at stake.

Your father was a good man. He loved you, and he would’ve done anything for you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had ripped out another man’s jugular in front of you.

Your father was a good man.

Your father had killed someone.

This was the end. You knew it, and it knew you, too.

(It wasn’t talked about, and you never brought it up again. He simply embraced you in a tight hug and kissed your forehead, leaving a smudge of blood from the man in doing so, and whispered apologies that would never sink deeper than your skin.

(Now you wished you would’ve told him you understood. Now you would’ve looked at him and seen an image of yourself staring right back. Now you would’ve hugged him back.))

That was all it took before your father took it upon himself to gather your mother and little sister, put all necessities in the car, and collect enough portable gasoline as he could before the four of you set off down the road. Where you were going was undetermined. There was no knowing . . . because there was nowhere to go.

The world had ended. There was nothing left. You just had to go.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff, your father said to you that night on the road while your mother and little sister were fast asleep in the back of the car. One day I might not be here to protect you. You have to learn to protect yourself.

And you'd promised him you would. Because you had to. You had been old enough then, after all. You had been twenty-one . . . technically an adult.

(Now, however, you realized you had still been too young. Twenty-one wasn't old enough to face the end of the world.)

But . . . what happens when a scared young girl is forced to grow up too soon? She turns into a machine.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

Your father had borne that burden back then, when you first set off on the road. The car hadn't lasted long. Not that it mattered. The world was a wasteland anyway. Walking from town to town on the vacant streets and highways was nothing new now.

You just have to survive, he kept telling you. Survive long enough to keep them alive.

And you always knew what he meant. He was training you for the day when he would be no more. Because when that day came, you would be the one left in charge. He'd turned you into a machine because that was the world you lived in. You were the oldest. Your sister was barely five years old back then. And your mother . . . your mother who once believed this was all some greater plan, was now convinced that if she prayed hard enough it'd stop Famine from following after his ruthless brother.

It was your job to remember what your father had taught you when Pestilence first came to reign—how to hunt, how to shoot a shotgun, and now . . . how to survive.

And when Famine came; when you caught sight of the words Famine has risen spray painted on a billboard on the side of a highway, reminding you of your sick home. It was then you finally learned how to survive. You didn't realize how hard it would be until a year after Famine's birth, your father had passed because of you (because of a stupid decision that you had made which you still couldn't bring yourself to acknowledge).

Survival became all that you knew after that.

Your father was gone. It was just like he had warned. You were in charge now, and you had one purpose: keep your family alive.

The burden became yours to bear.

This was your purgatory and you'd do well to repent for what you'd done; for the man you'd sent out to die; for the father you'd lost.

Survive, survive, survive. It was all you knew.

And when the final Horseman rose, you knew what you had to do. It didn’t matter if it killed you, you couldn’t let your family die at the hands of one of those . . . creatures.

Death had risen. The entire world was a wasteland filled with undead and wars made by man.

If you crossed paths with one of those creatures and let them lay a finger on your family, your oath to your father would be broken. Death would kill you all.

So you kept going, trying to outrun the inevitable.

Because you had to. For him. For your father. For the ghosts that haunted you.

Your father had wielded you to become a machine. And a machine you would become.

Sleep with one eye open. Find food. Tread on until dark. Repeat.

The routine was ingrained in your brain, going on and on like a mantra. You couldn't escape that. Not that it mattered. Survival mattered. Keeping your group, your sister, your mother, and your family alive mattered. They were all that mattered. You would skip as many meals as your body would let you if it meant they'd stay fed.

Sometimes you found yourself laughing at how naive you had been in the past. At twenty-five now, you were equal parts machine and woman, still oozing blood when wounded despite your protests. You didn't tremble at the sight of blood now. You didn't fear death.

When you were a kid, death was your greatest fear. Now, you envied it. Envied the fact you had to walk the earth; the same earth the dead destroyed. Because you couldn't die. That was the harsh truth: you couldn't die.

You'd feared death for so long and now as you sat awake, keeping watch while your group slept, you yearned for the clutches of death to drag you into nothingness. It was almost laughable.

In a world where people now fought for their lives, trying to outrun the dead, you wished to succumb to death. You knew it was wrong, and you'd never speak it aloud, but you yearned for it. This world was shit. Complete and utter shit, and you wanted to give up. Everything in you wanted to just wait like some brainless sitting duck and let Death or disease or even those wretched beasts you heard groaning in the dead of night have their way with your hollow body.

But you couldn't . . . not when you promised your father you'd protect them. He'd died for you, and it was your duty to keep your family safe. Your duty.

You couldn't die, not when you had to keep them alive.

So you let yourself turn into a machine.

And a ruthless machine you had watched yourself become.

That night had been enough evidence of this. Because that night as you sat on a log, slowly dragging yourself out of the past and into the present, you realized one thing. A bloody knife sat in your hand while you watched over your sleeping group, eyes searching for any sign of the dead, and that was when it dawned on you that you had been right all those years ago—the end of the world brought out who people truly were.

You were a machine. You didn't feel. You couldn't.

Glancing down at the bloody knife in your hand, you realized you hadn't felt anything that night.

That night you'd done something you never thought you would. That night your group was attacked by a man with a gun; a man who wanted to harm; a man who had put his hands on your little sister. She was only eight going on nine, and she was your responsibility, and as soon as his hand clamped down over her shoulder while he held a gun to her head, threatening to pull the trigger unless you gave up all your food, you lost it.

Everything went black. You couldn't see. You couldn't breathe. You couldn't even think. You just felt this pure blinding rage.

When you finally regained your sight, you realized what you'd done—you'd killed the man.

No, killed was too vague.

Like the true machine you had become, you had slaughtered him; the bloody knife in your hand was evidence enough of that.

The man was dead, a chunk of his jugular ripped out while he clutched the many stab wounds piercing his stomach. And you . . . you stood above him, eyes wide, bloody knife in hand, and the bitter taste of blood on your tongue.

You'd never killed anyone before. You'd put people out of their misery, but you'd never taken another life like this. You'd never had to.

But you had that night.

And now you paid the consequences.

It had been hours since then. No one had spoken a word since. And your sister . . . your little sister had only looked at you once since then, and you could see the utter terror her round eyes held. Normally she would sleep by your side, but she'd curled up next to your mother that night.

She was afraid of you, and you couldn't blame her. You had once given your father the same look.

So you sat alone on that damned log, bloody knife in hand as you thought back on how you managed to end up in this Hell. Sometimes you felt like a ghost, and now you knew why.

Your brows pinched together. You couldn't help but think: is this what your father had intended?

How much of a machine had he meant for you to become? Were you supposed to clutch onto the part of yourself that was still human? Or had becoming a monster been part of the deal when you'd signed off your soul for machine parts?

You weren't sure. You weren't really sure of anything anymore.

Your sister had looked at you like you were one of the monsters that plagued your earth, slowly destroying it region by region.

Were you no better than the dead to her?

You swallowed hard.

Had you become a monster?

“You did what you had to do,” you heard a deep voice from behind you, perhaps answering your thoughts.

But you didn't jump as you turned to see Felix sit down on the log beside you, exhaustion weaving through his delicate features. You didn't speak a word, just stared at the side of his face for a second before you glanced back down at the bloody knife in your hand.

You did what you had to do.

You nearly laughed. It was just like him to say such things.

You see: Lee Felix had joined your group around the same time Famine took his reign, and ever since then he'd been following you around like your own personal shadow. That was three years ago now. Your father had saved him, offering him to join your family on the road. Perhaps your father had seen something in him. Or maybe he had just saved him simply because that was just who your father was: a hero.

Not that it mattered. You'd taken a liking to Felix, too. He was kind.

Kind had been rare back then. It still was.

And Felix stayed kind.

When your father passed, Felix stuck by you. Your mother had begun to look at you as if you were a stranger, and your little sister still had been too young to understand much. Felix had made life easier.

You'd taught him everything you knew partly because you needed to and partly because you liked being around him as if he were the younger brother you’d never had. Little bird, you called him . . . because you'd taught him everything. You'd taught him how to survive. And sometimes you thought maybe you would've been friends outside of this. If things were different, if you'd met in a world where the apocalypse hadn't happened . . . then you'd like to think you could have met; that your paths would've crossed.

But things weren't different. You weren't even sure if you could let him in entirely. Your friendship would surely put him in some sort of jeopardy. Because, really, it all came down to survival, and you needed him to live. You didn't care what happened to yourself. You just needed to stay alive long enough to make sure they'd all make it.

That still didn't stop the feeling of relief that washed over you as soon as you felt him lean into you, arm touching yours. He was trying to comfort you in the way that he knew, and you couldn't help but lean against him further.

He was still just as kind as the day you'd crossed paths.

But you?

Well . . .

“I ripped his throat out . . . " you heard yourself roughly mutter before you felt the words tumble from your tongue. You lifted a hand to your blood-stained lips and swallowed. “I ripped . . . throat . . . his . . . with my teeth.” You swallowed once again, harder this time as your eyes drifted to your little sister's sleeping figure. She had been so scared. You had done that. You had scared her. “She looks at me like I’m a monster.”

”You’re not."

“Lix."

“You’re not,” he reiterated, his voice as harsh as he could manage (which was not harsh at all) while he clutched your blood-stained hand and took it into his. “You did what you had to do.”

Your eyes flicked down to your hands. But you didn't look at him. You couldn't. You just kept thinking and thinking and seeing that look on your sister's face. And then . . . then you felt yourself say. ”She says all life is precious. She cries when we have to put down a squirrel for Christ’s sake. I should’ve known. I should’ve—”

”She’s just a kid."

“I didn’t have to kill him,” you continued. “There was a point where I could’ve knocked him out. I thought about it. And I still killed him.” Your eyes finally snapped to his then. “I wanted to kill him, Lix.”

A muscle in Felix’s jaw twitched. ”It’s people like him that make me wonder if this world got it all right,” he admitted after a second. “I’m glad he’s dead. I just wish I could’ve been the one to do it.”

Your breath hitched at his words, not because they'd shocked you . . . but rather because you found yourself agreeing. But that wasn't . . . right. Felix was kind. You were not. He was good, and you . . .

”You don’t mean that,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand. “You’re not . . . “

”Not what?” Felix countered, eyes searching yours. “Hmm? Not what?”

You blinked, your throat constricting. ”Too far gone,” you choked out.

His brows twitched, his expression softening. ”Neither are you."

His hand touched your face a second later, his thumb wiping the dried blood from your chin. You weren't a monster in his eyes. You were just his friend. He didn't fear you, but you knew he should've.

But for a second, you let yourself forget this. Instead, you closed your eyes, allowing him to clean your face of the man's spilled blood. And when he was done, your eyes fluttered open just in time to see him try to reach for the knife in your hand, probably to release it from your tight hold.

However, you shifted it out of his grasp. His eyes snapped to yours then, questioning.

You offered a weak smile—something you didn't do often, but would for him. ”Sleep,” you hummed, patting his shoulder. “We need your brute strength in the morning.”

”We need your brain more,” he countered, tapping a finger to your forehead.

”Sleep, little bird."

He rolled those round brown eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

Nevertheless, Felix listened to you. He shifted down onto the ground, resting his head on the log, crossing his arms over his chest as his eyes closed. And you watched him until you were sure he was resting soundly. Then, your eyes went back to watching, making sure to keep your promise to your father.

But just as you were sure it was just you and the silence of the night again, you heard Felix’s voice filter through your ears, ”You’re not too far gone."

You swallowed hard but said nothing.

You're not too far gone.

Oh, how wrong he had been.

As if like some sort of phantom, your knees had begun to itch like they used to after mass all those years ago. For the first few days, you tried to ignore it, writing it off as poison ivy or not bathing for a few weeks, but even when you’d scratch, the itch would remain. You came to realize that this wasn’t something you could write off; this wasn’t something that hadn’t been caused by anything other than . . . you.

A few nights ago, you’d killed a man. You’d ripped out his throat with his teeth, and for a second too long, you’d enjoyed it. Now . . . now you wondered just how deep your guilt ran. Now you wondered if given the chance, would you do it again?

But you already knew the answer.

Your knees had begun to itch once again . . .

And you tried to ignore it. Honest, you did, but his screams; how easy it was to bite into his flesh; the bitter taste of metallic blood on your tongue which oddly tasted too similar to honey; the life in his eyes quickly dissipating as you towered over him like a predator to its prey; all of it kept playing in your head over and over again. You couldn’t escape it, not even when night came and you were forced to close your eyes.

His face was always there.

Sometimes you wondered if any of it had actually happened. Sometimes you wondered if none of this was real or if you even were. Sometimes you wondered if this man had been Death; if the tales your town preached had been real and this was your test.

Sometimes you wondered if you had failed.

And you knew you had.

At night, you could hear your mother whispering prayers under her breath, pleading to the heavens that she and her daughter would be spared. And every time, you knew which daughter she meant. Every time you knew she was praying to be spared from you. Every time you knew it was you who she feared the most in this world. And every time you wondered if one day he’d finally answer her prayers.

You couldn’t even blame her, because a few nights ago you’d done the one thing you’d never thought you’d have to do—kill a man. You knew you were some kind of fucked for that alone.

Then, last night, you began to wonder if this was how your father had felt. You began to wonder if this was why he was dead and not you. You wondered if he’d done it to save you, and to put himself out of his own misery.

And then you began to pray, too. You’d stopped believing in God years ago, but it was an old habit that you sometimes indulged in for some sick kind of comfort. And this time, in the dead of night, you’d shut your eyes and beg for your father’s ghost to return to you. You begged for just one more minute. One more minute and he could tell you how to deal with this; how to survive this, too, just as he had taught you how to endure everything else.

But no ghost ever came, only the perpetual darkness galloped in, consuming you whole.

Your father was gone, and it was all your fault. Guilt was your ghost, not him.

He would still be here if you hadn't—

"Mom thinks you've been possessed by the devil," your little sister's voice brought you out of your mind.

You blinked once. Then, you glanced down at her, taking note of her skeptical eyes and furrowed brows. It was almost as if she were inspecting your face, trying to decipher if you, her older sister, really were possessed as your mother had claimed.

It had been the first time your sister had spoken to you in the past week. The four of you had been walking through the woods, steering clear of the main roads ever since you’d come into contact with that man—the man whose blood you could still taste on your tongue.

She’d taken to walking hand-in-hand with your mother, just a few feet behind you and Felix as the two of you led the way into the unknown. You didn’t know where you were going. You never did. That was the thing about the end of the world—the only thing that mattered was surviving day by day. There was no end-point.

But today while you led the group through the woods, eyes searching for any rodents or small animals to capture for food, your head stuck in the past, your sister had taken the chance to walk into step with you. And those . . . those had been her choice of words.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And now with the world a ghost of itself, you thought perhaps maybe your mother could be right. You’d changed. The world had changed you. The old taste of blood on your tongue was evidence enough of that.

You’d killed a man. You’d ripped out a chunk of his jugular with your teeth and plunged the very knife in your belt into his flesh over and over again until you were sure he couldn’t do more harm.

Kill or be killed, sure, but . . .

. . . You’d still killed a man.

You’d actually taken a life.

(You weren’t expecting it to haunt you this much. But it had. You could still see his face, hear his voice, smell him, feel him. He was still very much alive in your mind, haunting you like a ghost.

It didn’t matter if he was more monster than man . . . you had still killed him. You had still taken a life without a second thought. His evils didn’t matter . . . guilt still seeped in.)

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

And maybe you had been.

That would’ve been easier to fathom.

But instead of voicing these thoughts aloud, you adjusted your backpack on your shoulders, touched a finger to the knife tucked into your belt to make sure it was still there and tightened your grip on your father’s shotgun in your hand before you finally spoke.

"Mom's off her meds," was all you offered. It was all you could say. And it hadn’t been what your sister was searching for.

Your sister stepped back, allowing you to walk alone. You knew you were losing her. You knew she barely trusted you now just as your mother stopped considering you a daughter.

And you couldn’t blame them.

The end of the world brought out who people truly were, and you were someone not worth saving.

The sun had begun to set when you finally declared you’d be stopping for the night. It wasn’t a solid resting place, which meant another night of no sleep on your part, but that didn’t bother you much anymore. All that mattered was there were no signs of the dead, no low groans in the distance, no immediate danger, and the small creek running just a few meters from your camp would provide just enough for you to wet your face and clean any dried blood from your skin. That was what mattered—a temporary sanctuary.

Felix had taken to accompanying your little sister to the creek, while your mother gathered small twigs and broken branches to add to the fire you had just started. But your eyes never stopped watching your little sister, keeping an eye on her to ensure no danger would reach her or Felix while you were occupied.

That was your only concern. Your second was food. There had to be some crawfish lingering in the creek that you could fry up. That was your second concern right after the fire was steady enough to last until nightfall.

With a soft sigh, you forced yourself to tear your eyes from your sister’s smiling face. You tried to ignore how she smiled at Felix while he splashed water at her. You tried to ignore the soft laughter you could still hear as you stabbed at the fire with a branch. You tried to ignore the thought that she’d never look at you like that; never laugh like that with you; never trust you like that again.

You tried to ignore how you had become more of a loose end your family needed to tie off, than a daughter or an older sister.

But you couldn’t. The thought was always there. There it would remain, you were sure of it.

Clenching your jaw, you added the branch in your hand to the fire, watching it crackle under the embers. And for a moment, you wondered what it would feel like if you were to reach forward and let the flames lick your fingertips.

Had he felt like this, too?

Had your father had these thoughts before he died for you?

Did he ever wonder if—

“You’re just like him, you know?” your mother nearly whispered, tearing you from your mind as she set down the pile of branches she had collected.

You glanced at her once, then glared into the fire. “Is that supposed to hurt me?”

She shook her head only once. “It should scare you,” she clarified, standing to her feet so she could tower over you once again. “God’s plan—”

“God’s plan?” you immediately spat out with a humorous scoff, now standing to your feet as well. You were taller than her now, unlike when you were a kid; unlike when you used to do everything she told you; unlike when she still considered you her daughter. “What does God’s plan have to do with my father?”

A muscle in her jaw twitched. “He has protected us this far. He couldn’t save your father. I’m worried if you continue down this path, he won’t be able to save you either,” she muttered back as she clutched the cross around her neck as if she thought it would ward you off like you had become one of the evils she’d warn you about when you were just a girl.

But you were no longer small; you were no longer moldable by her hand, and now, you were only made of anger. “You think God’s the reason we’re alive?” you questioned her, eyes narrowing into slits.

Your mother remained silent but clutched her cross harder. And you knew what that meant.

Your eyes flicked from her hand to her face. Then, you took a step forward, chin jutted out. “Is it God who kills so we can eat? Is it God who got us here, to this point? Is it God who holds dad’s gun?” you bit out as you touched a hand to your chest. “God doesn’t have a fucking plan.” You drilled a finger into your chest, your angry eyes never leaving hers. “I do. And God couldn’t save dad because it was supposed to be—”

But your words halted in your throat. You couldn’t admit it to her. You couldn’t tell her you were the reason behind your father’s death. It didn’t matter if she already knew. You just . . . you just couldn’t admit it to her face.

“God doesn't fucking exist,” you muttered out instead, turning away from her. “And if he did, he’s sure as hell dead now.”

“Your father filled your head with lies.”

You turned back to her, eyes glaring into hers. “Bullshit,” you scoffed, shaking your head in disbelief. “He was the only one who ever told me the truth.”

Ignoring your words, she took a step away from you, her hand remaining on the cross around her neck. "Your father . . . I knew he was deeply flawed when I married him, but I just figured he’d change. I figured he’d see the way, instead he only got worse, but he knew when to control it. He knew right from wrong,” she went on, her voice steady, but her eyes had begun to water. And you knew tears would come, and when they did, you’d leave to kill the crawfish. "But, you, honey . . . I don't know where we went wrong with you. It's like you came out of the womb defective. You got all the bad traits of your father and nothing else. I look at you and I see this angry little girl. And, you know, sometimes I ask myself how in the world we managed to raise a daughter who is even more deeply flawed than her bastard father, but I never seem to know the answer."

There were the tears now.

But along with it came a knife in your chest that kept twisting and twisting the more she spoke.

Twist the knife, and she did.

"There's something wrong with you,” she whispered again after a moment’s silence, the tears starting to roll down her cheeks. “You frighten me.”

Twist the knife, and you refused to pull it out.

This was what you deserved.

Still, you didn’t cry, not for yourself. Never for yourself. Instead, you continued to stare at her with no emotion in your eyes as you muttered, “Talking ill of the dead is a sin, remember?” And then you began to turn.

But your mother’s hand landed firmly around your arm. “Don’t you turn your back on me, girl,” she warned, her words sharper than the knife she’d twisted into your chest.

Swallowing hard, you sucked on your teeth. “What else do you want me to say?” you questioned, but didn’t bother to turn and face her. “I have nothing else to give you, mom.”

She released your arm as if you’d burned her and hissed, “Don’t call me that.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion for a mere second before you realized what she meant; before you realized what you’d said; what you’d done. It was an honest mistake, as well. You hadn’t called her that in so long, and yet it still came out. You hadn’t meant to say it, but it still came out as if you were still small and thought the whole world was in her arms.

“Then what do you want me to call you?” you asked, your voice quieter now as you took a step back. “If not mom, then what should your daughter call you? Hmm? Or is the answer nothing? Is that what we are to each other now? Will that make God come down from the heavens and give us salvation? . . . If you abandon me?”

Your mother remained silent.

And you knew her answer.

Sucking on your teeth, you nodded in acceptance. “What?” you spoke in a whisper as you took another step back. “Am I not being loud enough for him?” You outstretched your hands at your sides, gesturing to the heavens. “Should I scream it? Will he finally fucking answer then?”

“Stupid girl—” your mother quickly scolded, grabbing you firmly by the arm— “don’t you dare put this family in danger,”

But you only tilted your head in question. “Does that include me?”

Her eyes fluttered, taken back. “What?”

“This family,” you reiterated. “Am I a part of this family?”

Once again, she remained silent.

But you knew the truth.

“God’s plan as long as I’m out of the picture, right?” you muttered under your breath, swallowing hard once again. “At least we finally agree.”

Then, you were tearing your arm out of her grasp, but you didn’t move, you didn’t even look away from her. Instead, you kept still. You kept your eyes locked with hers as if breaking that eye contact would sever the final string holding the two of you together. She didn’t speak either, and she refused to move. She wouldn’t move first. You knew that. She’d always been that way. So had you . . .

And when you were sure the world had begun to rot around you, you could have sworn her bottom lip quivered as if she were on the verge of saying something . . . anything. Only, when her lips parted a mere sliver, a shrill scream sounded from behind, and the perpetual darkness of your world crept back in through your peripheral vision.

Beat. Your heart shot to your throat.

It happened too quickly for you to think.

Beat. Beat.

You heard the scream and you knew your sister was in trouble.

Beat.

Without a second thought, you dropped everything and ran toward the scream; toward the creek; toward your sister. It wasn’t far, but it was far enough for you to catch sight of two of the dead. One Felix fought off, while trying to grab his knife from his belt. The other had found its way to your sister, pinning her to the forest floor as she thrashed and screamed, her weak limbs desperately trying to keep the thing from sinking its teeth into her flesh.

And you knew what to do.

For a brief second longer, there was screaming. Then the squelch of a knife being plunged through a skull. Then nothing.

The world faded away. No noise. No people. No nothing.

One. Two. Three seconds, then the world started to return.

Breathing heavily, you watched carefully as your mother rushed past you, tearing the dead corpse off your sister and holding her closer . . . closer than she’d ever held you. Your nose twitched for a mere second as your gaze shifted from your mother and sister staring at you in shock ((?) no, maybe it was horror) to the stilled corpse, and finally to the bloodied knife gripped tightly in your hand.

You’d killed that thing, yes. But you hadn’t even thought about it. You hadn’t stopped to think that this thing was once a person. You hadn’t even seen it as such, unlike your mother; unlike what the town had tried to drill into your head during Pestilence’s reign. And . . . you could see that realization in your mother’s eyes.

. . . You were getting worse.

Your legs had begun to weaken at the thought, but you quickly stabled yourself, afraid they’d see it as another sign to put you down like the violent dog you knew they saw you to be. Instead, you tore your gaze from the knife in your hand and met your mother’s eyes once again (but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet your sister’s tearful stare). “Tell me, mo—” you quickly stopped the word from tumbling from your tongue, then went on— “is this still what God’s plan looks like to you?”

But your mother didn’t reply, and you didn’t wait for her to. You could barely stand to hold her gaze for a second longer. Instead, you wiped the blood from your knife on your pants, shoved it back into your belt, and turned, walking back to the fire you had begun to make minutes before.

And as you walked, you took note of the silence which followed you. You took note of how even Felix hesitated slightly before he followed after you. You took note of how your mother and sister sat near that creek for a few minutes longer and didn’t bother to wander after you as if you were no longer their blood.

The final string tying your family together had begun to wear thinner. You wondered when it would finally snap. You wondered how long it would take for a violent dog to succumb to its instincts; how long it would take you to become the lost cause you knew you were destined to be.

Would they make the decision to put you down then?

Four days. Two sleepless nights. And one squirrel shared between the four of you. You felt a fever coming on a couple days ago. You saw the infected cuts from the fight with that man. You knew your body was weakening day by day.

If you didn’t stop soon, you’d sure become one of the dead.

But you tried your best to ignore it. You had to.

Your mother; however, remained hopeful (of course). You could hear her chattering on to your sister throughout the day while you watched the world.

According to her, no one really knew why the Horsemen came to earth. She claimed the world needed saving from certain people (what you were sure she was leaving out was the fact that she was convinced you were one of these people). So, she went on and on and on, and you quietly listened, too, because you were still a girl who used to kneel in church, after all; because you could still feel the bruises on your knees; because you could still see the scars left behind from the scabs.

So, you listened, but you did not believe.

The world was fucked and needed cleansing. People were inherently bad and God saw no other way for salvation (apparently) than to send his four loyal Horsemen to destroy Earth and its people. . . . Well . . . supposedly. You knew the truth; however. There were no Horsemen. There was just death. Something had gone wrong and no one really knew what, so they blamed it on some higher power.

Whatever.

(Supposedly) Pestilence had been a shadow. War had wanted an audience. The world fell before you could get a proper grasp on Famine. And now Death was here. He’d been walking the earth for two years now, and still no one knew why.

Just like the town, your mother had her theories. And while she believed this God was still on your side, still searching for the good in humanity, you thought him fucked up. The human race was just his playthings.

He’d made sure there was nothing left.

Hell, you knew there wasn’t even a god. The world was just fucked. The end.

Point blank: it didn’t matter. Nothing did anymore.

Survival was all that mattered.

Everything else was fucked.

And as you continued to lead the way into nothingness, listening to your mother’s ramblings about the Bible, all you could do was ignore how your knees had begun to itch once again, while you focused on one thought: survive, survive, survive. But . . . not for yourself . . . for them.

Survive long enough for them.

For your father.

For your sister.

For your mother.

For Felix.

For them.

By sundown, Felix managed to find an abandoned warehouse for the night. It wasn’t much, but it was better than sleeping out in the wild. Perhaps all of you could get some shuteye that night. Sure, luckily it was around Fall or maybe just before where it was still warm, but sleeping on logs wasn’t ideal. (Not that you could be picky. Not that you were.)

But, just your luck, sleep never found you.

Beside you, Felix softly snored, laying on his back with his arms crossed over his chest and his head resting in your lap. Your hand found its way to his dark waves, gently scratching his scalp as he slept. It brought you peace where you normally had none.

Sometimes you wondered when Felix would finally realize the monster you’d become. You wondered what it would take. How many more people would you kill for them in order for him to look at you as if you were a stranger?

You didn’t want to see that day come.

It’d already come for your mother the day your father died. Then for your sister when you’d butchered that man. You couldn’t bear living through Felix’s realization.

With a sigh, you glanced over your shoulder, eyes landing on your mother’s sleeping figure as your little sister curled up into her side, miles away in her dreams. You hoped it was better there; that her dreams were still pure and innocent despite the world.

You tore your eyes from them a second later, instead opting to glance out the large opening in the warehouse where a window used to be. The world was so bleak now. Even the sight of the empty lands before your eyes stirred nothing within you. It was just so . . . distant.

Nothing was left.

Truly.

Reluctantly, you shut your eyes, trying your hardest to drift off into sleep, but the pounding in your head and the scratch in your throat kept you up. You were getting worse. You squeezed your eyes tighter, hoping this fever would subside soon. The world was darker now, the nothingness intensifying. You weren’t even sure if you could sleep anymore. Had you been? You couldn’t remember.

But just when you were sure sleep wouldn’t greet you that night, forcing you to keep watch, you could’ve sworn you heard an inhuman howl echo throughout the darkness beyond.

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering.

No.

It couldn’t be.

Another howl echoed throughout the air. But this was no howl from a wolf or even a beast.

You’d heard stories from survivors in the towns you’d passed through in the two years Death had taken his reign over your lands. You’d heard the stories of Death and his steed. His steed, pale in color similar to a corpse, was rumored to have this cry.

The cry was no ordinary cry. Death’s steed cried similar to a wolf or rather a beast, hungry for blood. It was a war cry—a warning sign.

Of course, Death was not real and there was no horse with their cry. No, you knew what this was. You’d heard these cries in smaller amounts. You’d heard these cries as you plunged your knife into each undead’s brain, killing the parasite living within. And a howl like this only meant one thing—a hoard.

You swallowed hard.

Death was near.

You’d thought the undead didn’t hoard unless . . .

The man.

Your eyes widened.

The night the man had attacked your group, you had managed to hotwire a car. That had been your plan. You were going to use that car to get your group farther and safer. But because of that man . . . because of what you’d done to him, you’d accidentally popped one of the tires in the process, forcing your group to stay the night in those woods when you should’ve been on the road.

And his screams . . .

You’d slowed down and made yourself known, and now they were following the noise.

And . . . it was all your fault.

You exhaled a shaky breath.

Death was coming.

Immediately, you swung into action, quietly waking Felix up. His eyes questioned yours before he, too, heard the war cry.

Death was coming. Felix knew this now, too.

The two of you silently awoke your mother and sister, Felix informing them of the matter they had on your hands, while you gathered your father’s shotgun, crouching near the window for a better look. If they were near . . . how near?

You swallowed hard.

Maybe you could still run. You could still get everyone out if you ran. It could work—

But then you saw it.

In the distance, you caught sight of the undead as they cried, following each other.

You checked the gun’s chamber, removing and reloading the cartridges just to make sure they were in place in case you were forced to fire. Your grip tightened and loosened, and you could hear Felix whispering your name, but your eyes were transfixed on the hoard up ahead.

Death was here. So close. Too close.

They couldn’t see you now, couldn’t hear you, but . . . if you ran, they’d catch sight of you. They’d kill your family. They’d kill Felix. They’d kill you all.

There was no way you could outrun the hoard. Not when they were this close; not when they could smell you; hear your every breath.

Fuck.

You wanted to scream.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Your father had trusted you. They all had. And now you were going to let another person down all because you’d been stupid one night. You’d fucked all of you.

“Snap out of it,” Felix whispered, his hand on your shoulder. “Ideas?”

You could only shake your head.

Felix swore, running his hands through his hair. "There's no way," he nearly gasped at his words. "Fuck."

You swore you felt your heart drop as you slumped against the wall. They were going to die. Because of you.

There was no way out; no way any of you would make it past the hoard without them noticing. The moment they saw any of you, they’d follow you until they could get their teeth into your flesh. And while you had no care for your own life, you still had care for theirs—the people you'd sworn to protect.

Your father had died for all of you. He knew it wasn't safe, and he still went out. He'd traded his life for yours. He'd made you swear to protect your mother and your little sister, and along the way, you'd sworn to not only keep them safe but to keep Felix from harm. You'd sworn that, and you were not one to fall back on your word.

There was no way out together. But . . . there was one way out.

You knew what that meant.

This was what your father would've wanted. This was what he would've done; what he had done.

It was always going to turn out this way. You'd known that.

And in that moment, you accepted that. After all, you'd always been told you were your father's daughter.

This was how you made things right.

You nodded at your thoughts.

Then, you felt your eyes burn, your brows scrunching in confusion. Wetness slipped down your cheek and you briefly touched a finger to the tear, finding you were crying. You hadn’t cried in so long.

Angrily, you wiped the tears away. You didn’t get to cry.

This had been your fault in the first place. This was how you made it right. You didn’t get to cry. You didn’t.

So you sent one last glare at the hoard up ahead, then turned to Felix. Fuck. He would be the one in charge now. You trusted him, yes, but you knew how heavy that burden was. That was what you would regret the most—putting Felix through this agony, too.

Still: "Little bird," you whispered.

Fearful tears were already in his eyes. "I wish you'd stop calling me that."

"Can't help it. I taught you how to fly," you hummed, voice soft and unlike you.

You both knew what you meant. You'd taught Felix how to fire a gun, taught him how to gut a fish, you taught him how to survive—you taught him how to fly. But he didn't need any more teachings. Like a baby bird, he'd flown from the nest ages ago. He could fly without you. The thought brought a melancholic smile to your chapped lips as you fought back the burning in your eyes when they met his worried gaze once again.

"Makes me feel important." You touched a hand to his cheek. He felt soft under your calloused skin. "But . . . you don't need me anymore."

Felix exhaled with a strained choke, his eyes widening in realization. "No," he rushed out, shaking his head as his soft brown eyes searched yours. "No." His hand enclosed around the one you'd touched to his cheek. "Don't. Don't."

You knew what he meant. Don't be the hero.

But that wasn't his decision to make. You had debts to pay; people to protect.

Living had never been something you wanted in a world like this. Sometimes you felt like a ghost; when the world was quiet and your heart beat a little slower—you felt like one of the many corpses you'd passed by on the daily.

Years ago, you promised your father you'd take over his job and protect. You'd never wanted to live, but you had forced yourself. Back then, you made a promise to yourself—you had to stay alive, not for yourself, but for them; you had to stay alive for the one you had lost. And you'd upheld that promise, but now . . . in order to save them, you had to break it.

You knew this.

Felix did, too.

He rested his forehead against yours. "Please. Don't. It's supposed to be you and me."

Your eyes squeezed shut. "I'm the reason he's dead."

The two of you knew what you meant. This was how you repaid him; how you repaid your father.

"Then let me do it," Felix muttered, hand dropping from yours to grasp the shotgun in your other hand.

You were quick to rip it from his hold. "It was always going to turn out this way," was all you said, and he knew what you meant.

The sound of the cries coming closer made you spring back from him. Your head swiveled, taking in your surroundings as your hands found their rightful place on the shotgun. Your eyes briefly found your little sister's—her round eyes wide with fright, only furthering your decision. You knew doing this for them, for her.

"Fine," you heard Felix hiss in a quiet whisper. "But I'm coming with you."

Your head snapped to him. "Like hell you are."

"You don't get to die."

"Neither do you."

"Then I guess we have a predicament."

Your eyes softened. "Lix."

His brows pinched together. "You don't get to die."

And you almost felt yourself smile. "Little birds are meant to fly," you hummed. Little birds are meant to fly; they aren't meant to die.

He shook his head.

You swallowed hard.

The cries grew closer, and your heart raced. You were out of time. This was your last goodbye.

You gripped his hand. "Protect them."

He latched onto your shoulders. “No. No. I’m not ready. Don’t make me say goodbye to you.”

Against your will, your bottom lip trembled. “It’s not.”

But it was. You both knew that.

Felix could only shake his head. “Please.”

“See you later, little bird,” you hummed, weakly, kissing his forehead before you tore yourself from him. And he reached for you, begging you to stay.

But . . . no amount of pleas could change your mind. You were already moving before Felix could stop you. You didn’t have the heart to glance back at your sister or your mother. You never wanted to live in a world like this, but if you looked back, you feared you might’ve found salvation in their eyes. You couldn’t put them through that. You’d put them through enough.

You worked quickly. You had to. For them.

The quiet cries of the hoard approached, moving slowly. You kept your eyes on their figures, stealthily stepping down the creaky stairs to the bottom floor. From there, you moved to the woods surrounding the area. You quickly crouched down in the dark forest, clutching the shotgun even tighter. This was your father’s, now it was yours, and you were going to use it to save your family.

You weren’t naive enough to think that you could actually kill all of them. But that didn’t matter. You were solely supposed to be a distraction. You would fire that damned shotgun at those things over and over again, not caring if it even did any damage. You just needed to keep their attention long enough to get them to follow you in the opposite direction. That would allow your family to escape. That was all you intended to do.

You knew there was no surviving this. And you were fine with that.

Death didn’t scare you. Not yours, anyway.

So you hunkered down, hands clutched on the shotgun as you waited for the hoard to get near enough to strike.

You heard them before you saw them. The cries echoed throughout the dark night, making your heart pound faster. It became louder and louder, so loud you felt yourself start to tense, and then the first came into view.

It came to a gentle halt, almost as if it had been expecting you. But that couldn’t be. It hadn’t seen you. You were still in the clear.

Still, you watched, remembering the lessons on hunting that your father had taught you. This was how you hunted—quiet, hidden, and alert.

The creature tilted its head back, eyes closed as the moonlight cascaded across its pale face. Your brows scrunched in confusion as you watched it, tilting your head to the side. It was almost as if it were basking in the moonlight, soaking up the feeling of the satellite shining down on it. And then you realized what it was doing: sniffing you out.

Behind it, the world was bleak as the rest of those damned creatures sauntered forward. The trees seemed to sag, the grass stale, and it was quiet, so very quiet. Every step they took, decay followed.

And then they began to move . . . toward the warehouse where your family still resided.

Your jaw ticked as you raised the shotgun. Your father’s instructions rang through your ears and you lined up the barrel, aiming at one of the creature’s chests as it was perhaps the only part of it you had direct access to. You were certain the impact wouldn’t kill it, you were almost certain it wouldn’t even hurt it, but . . . it would distract it, and that was all you needed.

Last week, you killed a man. You ripped out his jugular with your teeth. You’d slaughtered him. So this, killing this entity shouldn’t have made your stomach churn, but it did.

Your world was gone. Death remained. And it was all his doing.

Still . . . still, your finger hesitated on the trigger.

You would die tonight . . . by its hand, no doubt. And perhaps that scared you. Perhaps a part of you truly didn’t want to die. But you dumbed down this hesitation to just pure fear.

Fear that those things would find your family after disposing of your body; fear they’d kill them; fear all of this would be for nothing.

You swallowed hard and adjusted your grip on the gun. You had to try. Your life for theirs. It was that or you all died tonight, and you wouldn’t have that, not after all you had done; all you had put them through.

All you had to do was pull the trigger. And yet . . . you still hesitated.

Fuck. You closed your eyes, clenching your jaw as your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

And as your eyes remained closed, you heard their voices then.

You're not too far gone.

Mom thinks you’ve been possessed by the devil.

There’s something wrong with you. You frighten me.

You have to grow up. No more kid stuff.

Your breath hitched. You have to grow up. And you had. Too quickly you now realized. It was always going to end up this way.

This was the only way to save them. The only way.

Your eyes snapped open, catching sight of the creatures still sniffing the air like they could just smell your terror. You sucked in a breath, then pulled the trigger. Exhale.

The ringing in your ears was almost immediate and the explosive sound echoed throughout the silent night. You barely even noticed the shotgun’s kickback, too focused on the creatures before you, watching with wide eyes as the pellets hit one of the things, knocking it entirely to the ground.

The others cried out, their noses no longer needing to be depended on as their eyes searched for the origin of the noise. And then you caught the eye of one, and you knew it was the end.

You faltered at the sight, stumbling backward as you tripped on a root, causing your body to hit the ground. A low groan escaped you before you could stop yourself.

Fuck.

Had that been too loud?

Heart pounding in your chest, you slowly glanced up, eyes landing on the creatures. More eyes stared back at you, hungry with . . . something as a few had begun to make their way toward you.

You swallowed hard.

Death itself had seen you.

Acting fast, you hastily grabbed the shotgun. You weren’t sure how long you could keep this up, but you needed to buy your family more time. You needed to end this.

And end it you would.

You clutched the shotgun tightly in your hand and sat up, groaning slightly when you felt a sharp pain in your ankle. But still, you went on.

Remembering your father’s teachings, you knew what a machine was good for at the end of its reign: making a lot of fucking noise.

And so with a heavy heart and angry tears pricking your eyes . . . you belted out a loud yell.

There was no hiding now. They had all heard you. And that was all that mattered to them.

“Come on, you fuckers!” you took it a step further as you yelled at them, clanking the butt of your gun on a tree to make as much noise as you could. And then, when you heard their cries echo with yours; when you saw one turn to two turn to ten following you into the woods, you knew it was time.

With a fleeting look at the warehouse where your family still resided, you fought back the urge to crawl into yourself and let that anger you’d been holding inside yourself for years now finally just . . . snap. You didn’t know if you fired the shotgun at one of the creature’s heads first or ran off further into the woods, still screaming. You didn’t know the present from the past, but you did know you couldn’t look back.

And so, you let yourself be loud, screaming for yourself, for the people you’d lost, for the people you’d never see again, for your father. You yelled and yelled, racing through the woods as they all quickly followed after you, releasing cries of their own.

The world fell behind you in those moments, time moving in slow motion as you weaved through the dark woods, your feet bounding off the ground as if you were in zero gravity. Sound evaded your senses, only the muffled noises of your rapid breathing could be heard echoing in your ears.

But you just kept running, letting the world escape you. Even when you’d trip over hidden roots, your knees buckling as you fell to the ground, surely bruising and cutting up your skin, you persisted each time. Like your father’s daughter, you pulled yourself to your feet each time, sparing a glance over your shoulder only to be met with the sight of the hoard getting nearer and nearer. And every time, you’d force yourself to swallow the bile crawling up your throat before you cocked your shotgun and fired into the hoard, taking off screaming for them to follow after you.

This was the end, and you planned to gather as much of them away from the warehouse and closer to you. You knew it would hurt, but you didn’t care. Their teeth ripping into your flesh would never be a match for the sins you’d committed in this lifetime. That was why you met every dead that got in your path with a lethal hit from the butt of your shotgun and a silent prayer that your damned soul could be traded for the safety of your family.

You were sure you would have continued running had your foot not slammed into a divot in the ground, twisting your ankle with such force that you hit the ground instantly, crying out in pain. And this time when you tried to stand to your feet, you realized the pain was too much to stand.

It hit you then.

Beat.

This really was the end.

You couldn’t run.

Beat.

The hoard was gaining on you.

This was the end.

Beat.

Swallowing hard, you clenched your jaw, shutting your eyes as you realized what you needed to do. Clutching your father’s shotgun close to your chest, so close it nearly touched your heart, your lips parted, and a scream bubbled up your throat, ripping through your vocal cords as it echoed throughout the dead of night.

But before you could inhale and breathe out another war cry of your own to match theirs, a hand slapped over your mouth, muffling your screams. Another hand was gripping your arm the next second, pulling you off the ground and shoving your back against the nearest tree.

Your eyes shot open, dropping your shotgun as your hands instinctively clasped around the wrist of the hand covering your mouth. Deep dark eyes stared back at you, a sense of urgency in them as you realized what was going on.

It happened so fast, too fast for you to process. But you quickly realized the eyes belonged to a man not much older than you. Dark eyes. Full lips. Sculpted nose. It was your first time seeing a man other than Felix . . . other than the one you’d gutted . . . in a long time.

What was he doing?

But you couldn’t ponder long as his eyes twisted to the scene behind you, and you could’ve sworn you felt his heart beat faster against your lips where his hand still lay. And at that sight, he kicked into action.

“You listen to me. We have a few seconds before those fuckers are at our throats,” he spoke in a hushed tone, his voice deep and controlled, but you could sense the fear on him. It was different from yours. “When I tell you, you run as fast as you fucking can in that direction and you don’t stop. You follow me and you don’t get lost or you’re dead.” His hand fell from your mouth as he began hastily digging through the pack over his shoulder. “Got it?”

You skipped a beat, not answering.

His eyes were on you instantly, expectantly.

But you only blinked.

You didn’t want to be saved.

No, he couldn’t do this. It was your time. This was your punishment. He couldn’t—

Your thoughts were cut short as he pulled something out of his pack, and you quickly realized a grenade now sat in his hand. Your eyes widened. He was going to—

“Run,” he bit out, an order.

And it all happened so fast.

You stayed put.

He turned from you, quickly pulling the pin and chucking the grenade as fast and hard as he could from your location. You watched the weapon soar, your heartbeat stilling in your throat as the seconds of anticipation crept upon you.

Beat.

Beat.

Be—

A loud explosion sounded in the distance, the ground shaking beneath your feet as ringing in your ears commenced. Only then did you realize your feet had been moving on their own, carrying you farther and farther away from the scene as you caught a glimpse of the hoard following after the explosion. But you wouldn’t do this. You had accepted your death. You wouldn’t—

Your feet weren’t moving of your own volition. The world had fallen away from you, you realized, but as you turned your head away from the hoard you realized it was the man who was dragging you away from the scene. You realized in your daze, that he must have locked his grip onto your arm and took off running, dragging you along with him despite your injured ankle and dormant mind.

And for some reason, despite the urge to fall to the ground and let yourself fade away, you allowed him to drag you further and further into the woods. You didn’t realize just how much land you had covered until the sound of the hoard was so far, that he’d begun to slow down ever so slightly. You didn’t realize until the woods turned into sparse grassland, until the sight of what appeared to be a latched roof to an underground bunker of some sort. You’d heard of shelters like these, but you’d never seen one. You always just assumed the military had covered it all up, leaving people to die while they sat safely under the barren earth.

Your mind raced with a million thoughts, but you could barely see straight let alone think right as you allowed this man to drag you to the entrance. Hell, you allowed him to shove you inside, as you crawled down the ladder in the tunnel. It was a subconscious action, honest. Otherwise, you would’ve begged him to leave you outside to die. But there was no breath for begging as he followed in after you, shutting the hatch and twisting it closed to ensure it was tightly locked.

And when your feet finally met the metal flooring of the inside, you stepped back in shock.

As you had predicted, this was a government bunker. A rather large one at that. You swallowed hard. Fuck.

And when you turned around, your eyes searching the area, you were met with the scene of a group of survivors staring back at you in confusion. People. And they were alive. You hadn’t seen so many people since before Famine.

What the fuck?

But before you could react, something hard cracked over the back of your head, throbbing pain followed. The darkness seeped in instantly, your mind losing control of your body as you smacked the ground, eyes fluttering as you faded in and out of consciousness.

There it was, you realized.

Your punishment.

You were going to die.

And you couldn’t help but allow yourself one last selfish look because maybe there was still a small part of you that wanted to be alive. But that part could only live if things were normal again, if things were the way they had been before the world died. Still, that part of you took over and you watched silently, your vision fading in and out as you caught a glimpse of those dark eyes that had saved you, just moments before the world faded into darkness.

The next time your eyes fluttered open, a metal ceiling stared back at you.

There was a throbbing in your head, searing through your thoughts, and your shotgun was nowhere to be found. You released a soft groan, trying to shift in your spot, but you were met with resistance. You tugged and tugged, but your body didn’t budge.

In confusion, you glanced around, finding yourself on a medical bed, your hands tied together with rope, attaching you to the bed. This didn’t make sense. You hadn’t seen a bed in months maybe a year now. This didn’t make sense. Where were you? How did you—

And then . . . then the memories all faded in.

The warehouse. The man. The shots. The hoard.

This was Death’s doing.

The town had warned you of this and you’d denied it. You still didn’t believe. You couldn’t. God was dead and the Horsemen were just a figment of fearmongering. But for a second, you wanted to believe. For that second you were strapped to that bed, you wanted to believe that this was your purgatory and Death was punishing you. That would be easier: if you believed.

Death was an entity; one you had no idea about. There was no knowing what exactly he could and couldn’t do. And this . . . being bound to a medical bed with not even a soul to be heard felt utterly ordinary if he did exist, considering what you did know about this dark being.

But . . . why were you still alive?

Slowly, you lifted your head, groaning at the pain that followed as you assessed the rest of your body. You were alive. Cuts and bruises everywhere, but you could still inhale, exhale, breathe. You could still hear the beat of your heart if you closed your eyes and focused. You were alive.

You were alive.

Your jaw twitched. “I’m alive,” you whispered to yourself, a bitter taste left on your tongue. “I”m . . . alive.”

And for a second, you truly allowed yourself to believe Death existed. You allowed yourself that he had done this to you; that the two years he’d reigned all led up to this very moment. You allowed yourself to believe that he had kept you alive because suffering was for the living.

Was this his way of being kind? Sparing you?

Swallowing hard, you glared up at the unfamiliar ceiling. If you prayed, would he give in? Would he end this suffering? Would he finally give you your punishment?

Your mind wasn’t allowed much longer to ponder as the sound of a door opening brought you out of your repenting. Wearily, you watched with stern eyes as a man stepped in, carrying a bowl in one hand and a washcloth in the other. You watched as he let himself in, still not looking up while he closed the door behind him with a heavy sigh and finally . . . glanced up, meeting your gaze.

Him.

The man.

Slowly, your face softened as confusion consumed you. Him. He had done this to you. He had been the one to lead you here. (He’d also been the one to save you . . . ) He had knocked you out cold. And now . . . now here he was.

You clenched your jaw hard.

The man just stared a minute longer at you, his gaze stern, cold, calculating. Then, he was walking toward you, resting the bowl on the bedside table beside your head before he reached forward and tapped a finger to your chin, tilting your head so he could analyze the wounds on your face.

And you let him, analyzing his actions, preparing for his next.

“You’re awake,” was all he simply said as he dropped your chin and diverted his attention to the bowl on the bedside table. “Sorry about the blow and the rope . . . it’s . . . protocol.”

But you remained silent, watching.

"Your stunt back there . . . could’ve cost us this entire place," he muttered, his voice calm and controlled but you knew he was seething inside. He remained quiet as he dipped the washcloth into the bowl of what seemed to be warm water before he turned to you once again, his eyes lethal. "Screaming only attracts more of them, don’t you know? If you wanted to die, you should’ve just stayed put.”

You swallowed thickly.

There was something terrifying about a quiet rage.

"There's always someone like you," he continued, his eyes racking up and down your body in a menacing glare before the warm touch of a washcloth to your cheek startled a quiet gasp out of your lips. "Someone who ends up surviving longer than they should have." A scoff left him. "Someone who doesn’t care who dies for them as long as they get out unscathed. Did you even think there might be other survivors around before you took off attracting all of those things? If there were children? Families? People who survive together and want to stay alive without running into someone like you?”

And you hadn’t.

You never thought yourself to be stupid or any of the sort. You hadn’t been thinking. There hadn’t been enough time. You just needed to do something so your family could make it out alive. You hadn’t thought that there could be others. You hadn’t thought that saving your family could damn another.

Had your mother been right about you?

Were you really just a stupid girl? A stupid girl playing hero?

The man pulled a chair from the corner of the room, and placed it beside your bed, sitting on it as he dragged the washcloth down your arms now. His touch was somehow gentle despite his glare. Perhaps it was because no one had touched you so gently in so long. Perhaps it was because you had given up, but you let him clean the wounds on your body as you rested your head back onto the pillow, your muscles relaxing ever-so-slightly.

"No?" he questioned, reiterating his accusation. “In my experience, people like you don’t find themselves in trouble like that unless they’re planning something.”

You remained expressionless as you watched him, taking in his words. He thought you’d lured the dead here, and for what? Looting? Or just plain insanity?

Had you really become that corrupt even a stranger could sense it on you?

Slowly, you blinked, wondering if your father had ever felt this way before his death. And as you wondered, the man beside you continued cleaning your wounds, but this time, remained silent. Maybe he realized you wouldn’t answer. Or maybe he already knew the truth about you and your damned soul.

And as the minutes of silence ticked on, you did your own inspection.

Now, under the light, the man sat beside you, his eyes fixed on meticulously cleaning each wound with care despite his lethal words. It had been so long since you’d seen another man like this; a man that had to be around your age; a man so young yet so riddled with age. His dark hair was slightly curly, more tangled and messy than anything as if he hadn’t slept in days. The dark circles under his equally dark eyes were enough to show his evident sleep deprivation. And yet, he seemed almost too alert: his full lips were hidden as his teeth worried his bottom lip while he continued to clean the blood from your skin.

(You’d be lying if you said he wasn’t beautiful; so beautiful it almost made you believe in God once more.)

And for a second, you let yourself wonder what else your mother had been right about. You let yourself believe once again. You let yourself be a girl who could finally kneel in church without bruises being left behind. For a moment, you let yourself believe that she and the town had been right; that this whole thing was God’s plan; that the Horsemen had come; that they could be saved, but you would be condemned.

Then . . . you began to wonder if you had already been. Maybe it was the blow to the head you’d taken or the fever raging through your body or maybe it was the truth, but you began to believe that perhaps this was your purgatory; perhaps you had died in that hoard and you’d been sent here; perhaps the beautiful man beside you was Death himself.

Was this it then? Were you always meant to see him at the end?

Oddly enough, he reminded you of this small dog your sister had found near one of the abandoned houses your family had stayed in over the years. This was during Famine’s rule—when food became sparse, when lands became stale and yellowed; when the dead had only just begun to migrate south. This tiny dog found your younger sister then, and she’d brought it home, leaving you no choice but to care for the little thing.

Your sister had named her Berry. (A few months later you had to put her down; it was what we had to do to survive, you’d told your sister back then. You were sure it was then she first started to hate you.)

And as you stared at Death, taking note of how his eyes were a particular shade of brown, you realized they were the same shade that the silly dog had.

You tilted your head. Death somehow had eyes that were kind; eyes that were warm; eyes that reminded you of Felix. Was that how they planned to transfix you? Was Death meant to be this beautiful; this familiar so you’d go willingly? Had God forgotten you’d already condemned yourself? Had he forgotten you didn’t need to be tricked? Had he forgotten where your prayers resided?

Only a moment later, when you felt his hands running over your torso, did you snap out of your exhaust-ridden daze. You realized quickly he was cleaning the last of your wounds which resided on your ribs. And when he was done, he tossed the washcloth into the bowl without another care before he slowly leaned back, arms crossed over his broad chest as he watched you with scrutinizing eyes.

Death narrowed his gaze, but it wasn’t menacing this time. Rather, he seemed almost perplexed. "Why aren’t you fighting?" he questioned. "You didn’t stop to run before. Why calm your fire now?"

Why aren’t you fighting?

The thing was: it was over. Your fight was over.

Sure, you were still trying to wrap your head around the fact that Death was painfully beautiful . . . but it went beyond that.

It was surely daylight by now.

Daylight had come, hours had passed, and Death had you in his hold.

By now, Felix had probably taken your mother and sister onto the road again. They’d escaped, and they were miles and miles away from you and Death. They were safe.

So . . . where was your fight?

You didn’t have one anymore. This was the end. Death would either kill you or make you suffer again and again and again, and your family would live. You’d once told yourself that you never wanted to live in a world like this, but you’d kept yourself alive to protect your family. Only now . . . you didn’t need to fight because there wasn’t anyone left for you to protect.

Your fight was over. Maybe you could rest now. Maybe he’d let you.

Death seemed to catch onto the shift in your demeanor as he narrowed his eyes. "Do you not speak?"

For a moment, you considered not replying. Until: "There's no point," you heard yourself say, voice dry and hoarse.

The look on Death’s face was unreadable as his eyes shifted across your face, his mouth slightly parted. "You smell of death," he muttered, gaze still searching your being.

And you almost laughed.

Because this was your end, and Death himself just told you that you smelled like shit or well . . . like him, you supposed . . . apparently.

It all felt a little unreal.

Death must not have liked your silence as he shot you one last glance before he pulled away and walked toward a table on the other side of the room. As he walked, you caught sight of the blood painting his body, his skin, him.

You swallowed hard. You’d brought that hoard to him. He’d fought his way out. You’d caused those wounds, and now he was more than likely going to do worse to you. He’d probably take that scythe you were told he carried and cut your head clean off.

But unlike what you thought, Death sifted through the miscellaneous items on the table before pausing and grabbing a small knife. Your brows furrowed in confusion as you watched him approach you, knife in hand.

There it was.

This was the end you were promised.

Was he going to slit your throat and leave you to bleed out? Or cut you open so you could see just how dark your heart had become? You wouldn’t put it past him. Hell, you might have even welcomed it. But as he approached you, your eyes closing in anticipation, he did not bring that knife down upon your body. No, instead, with a few quick motions and the sound of the rope being cut, you slowly opened your eyes just as your hands were released from the rope’s grip.

On instinct, you brought your hands close to your chest, rubbing your raw wrists. You couldn’t even speak, you just watched as he kept the knife in his hand but returned back to his position of leaning back against the chair with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyes on you.

"You're human," you found yourself uttering as you watched him watch you.

His brows twitched in confusion. "Of course I am.”

But Death couldn’t bleed. . . . Could he?

"You bleed,” you spoke your thoughts, dumbly.

His eyes met yours, but only briefly. "Am I not meant to?" he bit out before his gaze fell back on your hand rubbing your wrist. "Even the dead bleed."

Your confusion only spiraled. This was your end; your purgatory. This was Death, was he not? Your mother had been right. She had to have been right otherwise you were still alive; otherwise, you had managed to escape death once again without so much as a punishment. That wouldn’t be fair. That wouldn’t be right. That wouldn’t be just.

This had to be Death. You had to be dead or somewhere in between. It didn’t matter, this just had to be your end.

So, why hadn’t he condemned you yet?

Why—

"Why—” Death interrupted your thoughts, once you finally dropped your hand from your wrist— “did you think I couldn’t bleed?"

You glanced his way, finding his eyes already on you.

His stare only unnerved you more.

Why couldn’t he just kill you? You deserved it.

Your brows furrowed. "Hasn't anyone ever told you not to play with your food?" you found yourself spitting out, finally finding your voice despite his devasting beauty capturing your words. "I put your lives in danger. I lead them here like you said. I could be with anyone. Having me here could kill you all, so take your revenge. Kill me."

The crease between his brows deepened further. "I'm not letting you die," he simply said, his anger quiet and calm . . . still. “You put my group in harm's way. I won’t pardon you for that . . . but . . . we don’t kill the living.”

That only unnerved you further.

Was this truly Death?

Surely he had killed before.

Although . . . you supposed perhaps he’d only just ever waited. Was that his fault? Waiting for the dead to find him? Is that how he found you in those woods? Is that how he’d taken your arm and helped you crossover to the other side? But . . . if that were true . . . where was your father now? Surely, he would’ve come to see you. Surely, he would’ve been the first one knocking at your door. Surely, he’d be here.

As you briefly wet your lips, your eyes flicked up to meet his. “Where’s my dad?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

A look of deep confusion twisted onto Death’s face, and then he was leaning forward to feel your forehead with the back of his hand. “Fever,” he mumbled more to himself before he pushed himself to his feet, the chair screeching against the floor. “Get some rest. Someone will be in to bandage you up and . . . I’ll be back in a couple hours with medication.” His gaze dropped to the large gash on your arm from just a few nights ago. “When you’re healed, we’ll give you some supplies and then you’ll be on your way, understood?”

But you just stared at him, silently pleading. Pleading for what? You didn’t know. All you knew was if your father wasn’t here, you couldn’t be dead. And if you weren’t, you wanted to be. You’d be able to find him then, because although you were no longer a girl who could kneel in church, you could still feel the scabs on your knees from years ago; you could still remember what it was to believe so blindly; you could still feel that insistent desire for there to be something beyond this world . . . something after this world.

There just had to be. You had to see him again. You had to find him.

You could die now. You could find him now. You would find him.

“Great,” Death muttered under his breath, breaking you out of your own mind. And with one final glance at your exhausted body, he began to turn and head for the door.

Fear struck you then. You had to find your father. “Wait, please—” you hastily grabbed onto his arm, only being able to reach his hand enough to dig your nails into his skin to halt him— “I beg of you.”

His eyes snapped to yours, wide and cautious as if at any moment, one wrong move and he’d grant your wishes. And all you could do was hope.

“Kill me,” you weakly whispered, hopelessly searching his eyes.

His brows twitched, taken back.

“Death,” you begged in a whisper, your bottom lip trembling, “please.”

But Death only stared back at you with a perplexing look written across his face. It was as if he couldn’t believe your request. Had no one ever begged him to die?

A heavy beat of silence pounded in your ears.

Death only continued to stare, a world raging on behind his eyes as he took you in. His demeanor was still calm, still collected, but he seemed . . . perturbed by your request, by your presence, by you. And you watched as his eyes trickled across your face, searching for something until finally . . . his gaze zeroed in on your cheek, his brows furrowing.

Then . . . you felt it.

A tear had slowly begun to slip down your cheek as if your body knew it was a sin to cry. But you were . . . crying that was.

You nearly gasped.

Another tear trickled down your cheek. Guilt followed.

But just as you were about to angrily wipe it away, there was a sharp knock at the door, breaking both you and Death out of your spell. The door opened a second later, a man peaking his head in with a solemn look on his face.

The man didn’t spare you a glance, he only cleared his throat and said, “Chris?” His brows raised, a silent message passing between the two. “A minute.”

Death only nodded, and then the man was gone, the door shutting behind him. Silence followed, but Death stayed unmoving, his arm still in your tight grasp.

“You won’t run,” he slowly spoke, his words a statement, not an order, but he didn’t turn to look at you. He kept his eyes on the door. “I don’t kill the living. I won’t kill you.” He paused, audibly swallowing, and then his eyes were on you. “And I know you won’t kill us.”

And then he was gone before you could blink, quickly tearing his arm out of your grasp before he reached the door and closed it behind him. You were alone with yourself once again, your thoughts running wild as your hand remained outstretched, almost frozen in place.

I know you won’t kill us, he’d told you.

But how could you kill Death? How did he know you wouldn’t if he didn’t give you what you wanted? How could he be so sure that you weren’t a killer, when you so clearly were?

You had killed before, and if he didn’t take you to the other side, you’d surely kill again. That was who you had become. That was who you were. He should’ve known that.

And then as you slowly laid your head back onto the pillow and allowed the minutes to tick by, the throbbing in your head began to subside, and the world became a little clearer. You were no longer a girl who could kneel in church. You did not believe anymore. The world had gone to shit, and it wasn’t because of God’s plan. There were no Horsemen. Your family was gone. And that . . . that man had not been Death.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you swallowed thickly. What was happening to you?

It all hit you then.

These were a group of survivors. That man surely was their leader, and you had just led hundreds of the dead to their doorstep. They should’ve killed you for that alone. You would’ve. You wouldn’t even hesitate if this had been your family. You would’ve done everything to keep them safe, even if it meant killing others, and yet . . .

I won’t kill you.

But why? You deserved it. You could see it in his eyes that he knew.

These were good people. And you were their bad omen.

It wouldn’t be long before your presence brought misery upon them, too, just as it had to your family. And it’d be all your fault.

You’d live, only to see many die. You’d make it out unscathed just as you always had, while they’d suffer, just as he had said.

It was then you realized this was not your purgatory, it was your Hell.

taglist:

@amaranth-writing @binchanluvrr @dreamingsmile @eternalrajin

(i did post the teaser like a year ago, so if you want to be taken off, send me a lil message <3)

#bang chan fanfic #bang chan #bang chan fic #bang chan smut #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan x you #stray kids #skz #stray kids fic #stray kids fanfic #stray kids smut #skz fic #skz fanfic #skz smut #bang chan au #bang chan series #kpop #skz bang chan #stray kids bang chan #bang chan masterlist #skz masterlist #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #bang chan fic recs #bang chris #chris bang #chris bang smut #bang chris smut #chan smut

[soobnny]

imagine (a world like that) — yang jeongin.

trope. exes to not so lovers. bittersweet ending. a story of first loves. jeongin is an idol here.

synopsis. a trip back to busan on his break reunites jeongin with his first and only love — and it has him wondering, if one thing had been different, would everything be different today?

word count. 3k words

warnings. none, just on the angsty bittersweet side

note. been wanting to write a first love reunion fic for a while (the 1 cameo and a line inspired from everything everywhere all at once). thank u to yun for instigating my terrible thoughts my 4lyfer and to ten for the Beautiful header ur massive big brain talent

Yang Jeongin stands on the train platform, cheeks colored red from the gust of the winter wind that greets him at the station.

He pulls his scarf closer to his nose.

When he decided to travel home by train, he didn’t anticipate it would take three and a half hours to arrive. On normal days, the travel towards Busan from Seoul usually ranged from 2-3 hours, but it took longer than usual due to the snow.

Jeongin doesn’t spend a long time in the station, opting to blend in with the chatter of people around him as he swiftly makes his way to the streets of Sujeong-dong. It’s still snowing, but he doesn’t seem to mind the snowflakes littering his hair and eyelashes.

Instead, he looks up at the sky, trying to see where the snowfall is coming from.

It rarely snows in Busan as it’s located in the least snowy region of Korea, but Jeongin is grateful for the gentle drizzle of white and the cold that’s just enough to leave visible puffs of warm breath when he sighs.

In his pocket, his phone is buzzing with the screen flashing a picture of Chan, probably to ask if he arrived home safely as he hasn’t had the time to send a quick text to their group chat.

Pulling a glove off, he slips his hand in the pocket of his coat, swiping right on the phone call. And it seems his hypothesis is correct when concerned spews bounce off of his phone’s speakers, Chan speaking at an unusually fast pace you’d be convinced he was the main and lead rapper.

He smiles fondly at the obvious care dripping from Chan’s tone, immediately informing the eldest member he had arrived well and intact (with a little teasing) before hanging up the call shortly after.

Jeongin moves through his hometown slower than usual in contrast to his busy, bumbling schedule the past year. He concedes to time, grateful to just be able to slow down for a second and appreciate the gentle snow and the cold breeze without shifting his attention every second.

Knowing his family would arrive home a little later in the day, Jeongin doesn’t feel the pressure to reach a destination right away. Instead, he lets his feet and mind wander to where they felt like going.

He should’ve known himself better to not be surprised at where he’s landed himself in.

On a different day, a few years back, Jeongin could still remember the feeling of a hand gently intertwined with his and the sound of starry laughter on the exact same path.

The memory leaves a foreign feeling in his chest.

Walking up the stairs to occupy a seat on the second floor of the traditional teahouse, Jeongin feels a gust of wind knock straight into his sternum at the sight that greets him. He isn’t to blame. This is the first time he’s seeing you after your teary goodbye’s a few autumns ago, and you seem just as surprised to see him.

He still remembers you as you were when you ended things. Your eyes were strong, but grief persevered in your irises as you told him you understood. Besides, you had been there to hold his hand through every audition, and you knew more than anyone how much he wanted it and how hard he worked towards achieving it.

So, you learned to trade your love for his dreams.

That day, as leaves fell from the trees, so did both of your hearts.

“Jeongin?” Your lips pull into a short smile, although it grows wider the moment you’re able to discern that this moment was real and Yang Jeongin was actually standing a few feet away from you. You could recognize those eyes anywhere.

“Hi.” He remains unmoving as he drinks you in, everything about you down to your movements. Your hair’s a little shorter now, and you preferred a different shade of lipstick.

All he can think about at this moment is how you look so pretty smiling, and how your lips must be so cold from the winter.

“Your hair’s black again. It’s nice.”

His hair is back to its original color, after dyeing it multiple times for comebacks and events, and it falls just above his eyes (with some strands moving past). It’s longer, and he can’t find himself to dwell on your compliment at the thought that you knew his hair wasn’t black before he came home.

A small, shy laugh leaves his lips as he scratches the back of his head. “Figured it needs a little rest before the company decides to dye it again.”

You mirror his laughter — that same starry sound that held light whenever you laughed, the same one Jeongin fell in love with.

You find it humorous how most of your conversations in this teahouse had held frustrations over your highschool, but now he was talking about his company and his hair he never thought to dye years ago.

“Would you like to sit with me?” You’re looking at him with your thoughtful eyes as you gesture the space across from you. On normal simpler days, he would’ve simply made his way towards the seat next to yours — but now you’re considerate enough to ask if he was even allowed to be sitting with you. That maybe you’d be caught and his image would be ruined.

Jeongin’s rushed to decide whether to pass on your offer or pull you back into his life (even if it was just for a few minutes). He finds it isn’t much of a difficult decision as he makes his way to your table, sitting comfortably by the window. He plants himself on the same ground that had given him so many treasured memories with you and that had taught him of hard lessons when he had to let you go.

Jeongin scolds himself for allowing himself to fall right back into you, not that his feelings had ever left. The bitter taste of heartbreak has always sat at the back of his throat, but it has always been easy to hide behind his busy schedules.

Under the guise of time, he convinces himself he’s moved on. Besides, it’s been years since you both said goodbye.

Time is cruel, and it is also one of the biggest liars.

“How have you been?”

You’re well aware it’d only take a five second search to find out what he’s been doing and what his group was up to, but you were genuinely curious to know how he’s feeling about everything.

It’s not like life teaches you to handle fame and pressure at such a young age paired with the peering and judging eyes of strangers who seem to want you more than anyone before.

People were never meant to grow up in such a cruel manner.

Your question snaps him out of his self-pity, but the genuineness in how you ask him has his heart twisting in the most painful way possible. He doesn’t know if the feeling is of love or of grief.

Jeongin doesn’t know how to respond either. He feels the crack in his facade widen, and all he wants is to run in your arms and cry and tell you how difficult it’s been and how horrible it is to forget how your hug feels like.

Instead, he settles with a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He doesn’t think he has the right to hold you without your permission anymore.

“I’ve been good.”

His response is genuine. He couldn’t possibly wish for anything else — he was grateful for the opportunity to chase his dreams, for the 7 boys he crafted a family with, for the genuine love and support from so many people all around the world.

When he thinks back at the years, he feels eternally grateful, despite the exhaustion. It just sucked that the universe didn’t have a place for you in all that.

You push him to tell more stories, especially of his world tour, and he tells you how much more humid it is in the United States, or how lovely it is to walk around Japan, or how big the serving size of food is in Europe. He tells you of blue skies and loud screams and how fun it is to perform on stage.

What he doesn’t tell you is how much you would’ve loved to experience all that too. How much more fun it would’ve been if you were by his side.

He doesn’t allow himself to dwell on the thought too much. God knows how many nights he’s spent alone with the same questions of what if’s.

“And you? How have you been?”

“I’ve been good too. College feels a little repetitive, but somehow I’m grateful for that.” You hum, sipping at your tea before settling it back down neatly on the table.

An indefinable look flashes on Jeongin’s face when you mention college.

Within seconds, he looks everywhere in the room but you as he nods his head. He doesn’t tell you he doesn’t want to meet your eyes for the fear of seeing the life that could’ve been with you if he hadn’t forgone with his dream.

“You know… I’m so proud of you, Jeongin. I never had the chance to tell you before, but I’m so so proud. You’re so big now, I can’t even hug you anymore.”

His name sounds different falling from your mouth because it holds so much history.

I.N. is two letters he goes by now, but to you, he was still Yang Jeongin — the kid you grew up with, and the boy you end up falling in love with down the line. He wasn’t just a noun that followed a group’s name. He was much more than that.

He was your Yang Jeongin, the boy who defended you from towering bullies, the boy who hugged you as you cried on his shoulder, the boy who held your hand when you were afraid.

And maybe that, paired with the statement of you being proud, is the reason why his lungs twist and his eyes water a little. You’re tempted to reach out for his hand that’s resting on the table, but opt out of it.

“Greatness and success has always been waiting for you, and I’m so happy to see you’ve finally met it.”

There is nothing but truth behind your words. So many restless nights have led him to this moment, and you couldn’t be more happy. You’ve always known on the invisible string that tied Jeongin to success.

“I just wish you’d been there to meet it with me.”

His voice is just above a whisper as he stares down at his lap. You had always played a big role in his self-confidence. When he came to you in the form of a flightless bird, you taught him how to spread his wings so wide that he could finally fly.

“I’ve always been with you. Maybe not in the way you want, but I’ve always been there.” You break a smile, leaning forward against your will to finally tap his hand gently. “And I will always be there.”

His lips twitch, and he moves closer, craving for more of your touch — the touch he’s missed, the one his memory has so carelessly forgotten. You know by the way he stares at your hands that he got the message.

You both don’t say much after that. You simply enjoy your tea with each other’s presence, looking out at the pretty view from the window.

And this moment makes Jeongin so happy. Something as ordinary as sipping tea in the quiet with someone he’s fond of. Something as ordinary as the gentle snowfall in Busan, and the pretty view of the sun slowly starting to set beneath the mountains.

It’s new. But he likes the quiet, and he likes the peace, and he likes being home and having you as company.

He allows himself the time to recollect the moments he had with you in the same stout table with the same pillows on the wooden ground. It’s funny, looking back now, how the sound of your voice and the look in your eyes are no longer the ones with child-like wonder in them, but that of two people who had made it far down the line.

Jeongin’s trip back to Seoul in a few days will strip him of the chance to do ordinary things like this with you again, and the coming months and years will be one of loneliness again — despite being around people who loved him.

A part of him wishes you hadn’t asked him to sit down with him. Maybe then he wouldn’t have to relive the grief. He wouldn’t be left to wonder if your lips feel the same as a few autumn’s ago?

He doesn’t want this moment to feel like a distant memory in the years to come too. Will he forget the feeling of your hand gently tapping on his again?

“It was nice seeing you again, Jeongin.”

He lets his gaze drift back to your face, and in your transparent eyes, he sees the same grief persevering. “You’re leaving already?”

“I have classes tomorrow. I’m sorry.”

If you didn’t know him so much, you wouldn’t have noticed the way his eyes fall a little and how his smile grows a little stiff at the mention of you leaving.

You make your way to where he’s seated, and you ask if it’s okay to hug him, and he responds by gathering you in his arms like it’s the last time he’ll ever feel it again (because he knows it will be… at least for a long time).

He hugs you with the prospect of memorizing the feeling of your arms around his body and your fingers rubbing gentle circles on his back and your face that fits so perfectly on his neck. There’s a pained look on his face that wants to solicit tears but he doesn’t allow himself to.

He doesn’t want your last memory of him to be teary-eyes.

Jeongin pulls you in his lap and leans back against the window, burying his face deep in your hair and hoping his memory won’t betray him this time.

His back is pressed against the glass, and if anyone were to walk by right now, they’d see him and your silhouette bunched up in his arms but he doesn’t seem to care about any of that right now.

All he cares about is your warmth and how close you are to him right now.

When you move to pull back, he whispers “one more second” as he grabs you back by the arm and presses you against his chest one more time.

His throat itches to tell you he loves you, but doesn’t think he can bear the response he’ll hear from you — whether it was an ‘I love you’ back or not. Especially when he’s leaving again and living an entirely different life than what could’ve been.

In the background, he can make out the high-pitched whistle of the kettle making tea, and the footsteps of customers flooding the teahouse. But all he can focus on is your heartbeat flush against his.

If he closes his eyes, Jeongin can picture himself with his gray hoodie you love so much, and his messenger bag from high school — walking you back and forth to your classes. Maybe he’ll join a sports team in your college, maybe he’d be in the dance program. He can picture himself kissing you again and again so freely, and hugging you just like this.

On his side of the world is life filled with so much opportunity, and everyday is loud like fireworks and extravagant and he could get whatever he could’ve ever wanted, but he finds himself wanting to stay a little longer in your side — where it’s quiet, where he can do the ordinary, where he’s just Jeongin.

When you finally let go from your hug, there’s a stifling silence as you walk to where the stairs are. But before you can make it far, Jeongin’s voice cuts through the winter breeze.

“(Name)?”

“Hm?” You look back one more time.

He breathes in and out.

“In another life, I would’ve really liked going to college with you, just holding your hand and… doing ordinary things.” He confesses quietly, but no matter how soft and vulnerable and shaky his voice is, you can still hear him.

You smile at him, albeit bittersweet.

“I would’ve really liked that too.”

You hope you were able to tell him everything that you needed to, and he hopes you can see in his eyes that he still cares for you deeply, and he will always care for you this much.

There is a sharp feeling in his chest when you finally descend from the steps, and a cry is brewing at his throat waiting to erupt when you’re no longer able to hear him. There is only so much he can do when you’re walking out of his life again.

It has always been his fate to go after his dreams, and it has always been in your fate to let him go.

The teahouse gives him another hard lesson. Perhaps his grief and love was always meant to coexist. That Jeongin can love his life right now, but still grieve over the life he didn’t get to live with the people who are no longer traveling beside him. Maybe it was always meant to be like this.

But he knows, from the way you looked at him for the last time, that there will always be a place in the world that’s waiting for him — not Stray Kids I.N., but just Yang Jeongin. That even when he falls in exhaustion and is stripped off of everything that’s shaped him to be desired by the public, he would still be loved and wanted.

Someone from home will always be waiting for him.

Your distance grows, and all Jeongin can do is stare at you long enough so he can brand you in his memory.

He begs the universe to be a little kinder to the both of you in your next life.

#k-labels #stray kids x reader #jeongin x reader #yang jeongin x reader #stray kids angst #yang jeongin angst #jeongin angst #jeongin x you #jeongin x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids fic #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshot #stray kids jeongin #yang jeongin #skz jeongin #skz imagines #skz scenarios #i.n. #in x reader #i.n. x reader #jeongin fanfic

[mlmxreader]

Sickness | Kenshi Takahashi x gn!reader

『••✎••』

↳ ❝ Could you do prompts 1 and 9 with Kenshi? ❞

: ̗̀➛ Kenshi always worries about you, and although he'll never stop, he'll always be more worried when you're sick.

: ̗̀➛ sickness/illness, horror film mentions

•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•

It started out relatively small, a few little coughs here and there and a little bit of sluggish movements in the morning, but Kenshi just assumed that it was little more than the time of year.

That was until you stopped sleeping; he would hear you get out of the bed in the middle of the night and groan, coughing loudly as you headed downstairs.

He would hear you continue to cough and sniffle until you eventually returned to bed; he would feel the heat radiating off of your body despite the fact that you only ever wore boxers and socks to bed.

You were feverish, your temperature was through the roof. He was naturally worried. If there was one constant about your relationship with Kenshi, it was his constant and consistent worry.

His need to protect you from everything.

He did text Kung Lao about it, asking if Madam Bo had any recipes that he could use to help ease your sickly and ill demeanour.

You did seem mostly yourself, though, and as per usual, you snuggled up with him on the sofa during the dwindling hours of the evening; Kenshi didn't mind, if he got sick he trusted that you would look after him the way he was trying to do for you.

You put on one of your favourite films, watching it in silence as Kenshi slowly felt himself drop off to sleep; he could hear the screams and the squelches from the television, but took no notice.

He got used to the sounds of graphic and grim horror films a long time ago, if he was honest. He never took much of an interest, but you enjoyed them, so he didn't see any point in protesting.

He was sure that you never took any notice of or any interest in the rugby, but you never protested when he listened to the game on the radio.

But when you paused the film, getting up, Kenshi knew that something was wrong, and he frowned as he placed his hand on your forehead.

You were soaked in sweat, and boiling.

"Something about this doesn't feel right," he hummed, shaking his head. "Are you feeling alright?"

You swallowed thickly, leaning into him as you coughed softly. "Just tired... I figured I'd turn the telly off and sleep for a bit..."

That wasn't like you at all. Kenshi knew that, even though you tried to hide it from him, you would stay up all night to watch your films if they were on; he still remembered when he woke up to the noises of 'Train to Busan' at five in the morning because you forgot to turn the volume down.

He still remembered when you and Johnny sat down in the living room and watched all three Human Centipede films in one sitting, completely ignoring Kenshi for hours. You loved those films. It wasn't like you to ever turn them off.

"You're really not feeling well," he hummed softly, shaking his head. "Are you?"

You huffed, patting his chest gently as you shook your head. "I'm alright, I'll live."

"First thing in the morning," Kenshi started, "we're going to the shop, picking up everything on the list Kung Lao gave me, and we're getting you better."

"Kenshi-"

"You never turn off your films," he pointed out, maybe a little more forcefully and harshly than he meant to. "Something's wrong."

You wanted to smile, knowing that he knew you so well, better than anyone else in the world except maybe Johnny.

But that was only because you and Johnny had worked together since the start of his acting career, and you were content with being his agent-slash-best-friend.

You cleared your throat, grumbling as you snuggled up against him and sighed. You did feel like shit, but you didn't want him to worry even though you knew he always would. Kenshi would never stop worrying about you.

"Just relax," you told him gently. "I'll be fine. It's just a bit of a flu. Nothing too bad."

He huffed, not quite wanting to accept your answer but knowing that you could be stubborn when you really wanted to. He moved so that he could feel your head against his chest, your body pressed against his as he held you on top of him, swallowing thickly as he shook his head.

"Get some sleep," he told you, hoping you wouldn't hear the worry in his voice. "When you wake up, I'll make you something to eat."

You nodded against him, sighing heavily. "You always look after me the best, y'know."

#mlem writes #kenshi takahashi x reader #kenshi takahashi x you #kenshi takahashi imagine #kenshi takahashi #kenshi x reader #kenshi x you #kenshi imagine #kenshi #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat x you #mortal kombat x y/n #mortal kombat x yn #mortal kombat fanfiction #mortal kombat fanfic #mortal kombat fic #mortal kombat oneshot #mortal kombat one shot #mortal kombat imagine #mortal Kombat #mk x reader #mk x you #mk x y/n #mk x yn #mk imagine #mk fanfiction #mk fanfic #mk fic #mk oneshot #mk one shot

[rubyreduji]

[childhood best friends to lovers | woozi x gn!reader | 796 words]

You remember back in primary school a boy with a doughy face and a wide grin and shiny black hair cut into a mullet. He asked you to play tag during recess on the first day and when you eventually fell and scraped your knee he held your hand all the way to the nurse.

The next day he shared his snack with you and told you he thought your purple bandaid was cool. Later you two played trucks together and it was then set in stone you two would be best friends forever.

Lee Jihoon was his name.

You two were inseparable. You were always playing together and pairing up for projects and spending afternoons at one another’s houses. You’d sit and listen while Jihoon practiced his instruments and he would sit and watch you draw.

Even into middle school you two couldn’t be pried apart. It was a well known fact by everyone that it was always Y/N and Jihoon. Through thick and thin you two stood by each other. He was your ride or die and you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him.

That is, until you turned fifteen.

“Y/N.”

“Yeah, Ji?”

“I’m moving to Seoul.”

Everything freezes. Your heart twists. You don’t want to believe it. You can’t. Seoul is on the whole other end of South Korea. It’s almost a four hour drive. Why is Jihoon springing this on you right now?

When you don’t respond right away, Jihoon continues.

“I auditioned for a company to become a K-Pop idol, and I got accepted! Pledis Entertainment. I’m going to move to Seoul so I can train before I debut.”

You just stare at Jihoon incredulously.

You’ve always known Jihoon is incredibly talented with his singing, and you knew he had an interest in K-Pop, but you never knew he auditioned to become an idol. Now he’s moving across the country and you won’t be with your best friend anymore.

“That’s…far from Busan,” you finally say, your mouth dry.

“I know, but this is a dream of mine. I promise we’ll still talk, and I’ll come and visit you when I can.”

“I’m…I’m really happy for you Jihoon,” you tell him in a soft voice. “I’m just going to miss you so much.”

“I know, I’ll miss you too.” Jihoon pulls you into a hug. “We’re best friends forever though. Always remember that.”

After Jihoon moves away you see him sporadically and talk to him when he has the time, but as you grow older those times become few and far between until they stop all together. You don’t blame him. He’s become a very successful K-Pop idol and producer, but you can’t help but miss him. You don’t keep up much with his music, but you hear it on the radio sometimes and you’re happy he’s become so popular.

The first time you see Jihoon in person is not planned at all. You think it’s probably been around seven years since you last really interacted with him, around the time he was debuting. You’re a fashion designer and stylist now and when you were asked to help work on a project for a K-Pop idol you weren’t expecting the idol to be the one and only Woozi, aka, Lee Jihoon.

Words get caught up in your throat when you see him. He looks good. Very good. But you suppose that’s what happens when you become a K-Pop idol. A flood of emotions overtake you, as you look at your best friend after all these years.

Jihoon looks just as stunned to see you.

“I- hi, Jihoon.”

“Y/N. Hi. It’s…been a long time.”

“It has.”

“You look good.”

You laugh. “I think you look better.”

It’s easy for you two to pick up right where you left off with your friendship. That’s not surprising though, because as much as you two have changed, you’re still just Jihoon and Y/N. It’s always been easy with Jihoon. 

It’s not the exact same as it used to be. Of course it wouldn’t be, you two are adults now. That’s not the only reason though. There’s something else lingering in the air. Maybe it’s because of your comfort with each other, or because it’s been so long since you saw one another, but you swear Jihoon is flirting with you. Maybe you’re flirting back. 

Your suspicions are confirmed when Jihoon asks you out on a date. You agree of course. 

You two go and get coffee and when Jihoon reaches across the table and grabs your hand, it feels the exact same way it did all the years ago on the very first day you met Jihoon, and you know that this is how it’s meant to be.

#woozi #lee jihoon #woozi fanfic #woozi fluff #woozi drabble #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen drabble #woozi x reader #woozi x gn reader #gn reader #woozi scenario #woozi imagines #rru.writes #rru.minis #★ sfw

[mysblog]

I wish I could lose all my memories to watch these Movies/Dramas again for the first time.

1. Bloodhounds

2. Weak hero class 1

3. Blind

4. Save me

5. Young Adult matter (Movie)

6. Better days (Movie)

7. Extracurricular

8. Christmas Carol (Movie)

9. The Glory

10. Itaewon Class

11. Parasite (Movie)

12. Stranger from Hell

13. Nobody knows (2004 Japanese movie)

Dramas/Movies not to lose my memory for but definitely a good choice:

1. V.I.P. (Movie)

2. The Call (Movie)

3. Tunnel (Movie)

4. Seobok (Movie)

5. Train to Busan (Movie)

6. Midnight runners (Movie)

Not a must-watch but I watched it anyway and lowkey enjoyed it:

1. Connect

2. Duel

3. Gannibal (Japanese drama)

4. Secrets in the Hot Spring (Chinese Movie; horror and comedy: just extremely silly but kinda amusing)

5. Shadow Beauty

6. Mask Girl

7. Night has come

Watchlist:

○ Celebrity

○ Death's Game

○ A Killer Paradox (will be released 9th February)

○ Sinkhole

○ All of us are Dead

○ Class of lies

○ Swing Kids

○ Ròm

○ In cold Blood

○ 19th floor

○ Not a murder Story

I'm gonna post this List now but keep updating it.

If there are any recommendations: text me, I need to avoid Uni as much as possible before my procrastination fails me.

#kmovie #kdrama #the glory #extracurricular #bloodhounds #weak hero #weak hero class 1 #blind #young adult matter #better days #mask girl #parasite #itaewon class #watchlist #movie #stranger from hell #train to busan #death's game #night has come

[loobiino]

❛❛ THEY UNDERESTIMATE ME TO THE FULLEST, DESPITE THE COLD RIDICULE… ❜❜ ━ THE LEADER.

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ GENERAL .

FULL NAME › Baek Junho ❪ 뱥 준호 ❫

BIRTHDAY › October 13, 1996

BIRTH PLACE › Seoul, South Korea

ZODIAC SIGN › Libra

HOMETOWN › Seoul , South Korea

NATIONALITY › South Korean

HEIGHT › 1.78 cm ❪ 5’10 ❫

BODY MODIFICATIONS › lobe piercings, neck tattoos

MBTI › estj ❪ executive ❫

PERSONALITY TRAITS › reliable, trusting, judgmental, dedicated, empathic

IMMEDIATE FAMILY › mother, father, grandmother

SPOKEN LANGUAGES › korean, english, japanese

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ CAREER .

STAGE NAME › JUNO ❪ 주노 ❫

OCCUPATION › idol, producer, songwriter, endorser

COMPANY › dask records, starblock

GROUP › LOOBII ❪ 2016 — present ❫

DEBUT DATE › May 23, 2016

POSITION › leader, main rapper, sub vocalist

DISCOGRAPHY › 5 digital singles, 1 extended play

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ TRIVIAL FACTS :

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ JUNO is an only child, was raised by loving parents

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HE was trained to be a vocalist, but changed last minute his position, due the line-up being restricted in five and for the lack of rap positions.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ JUNO is the brand ambassador for BVLGARI, BURBERRY and many others.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ Although being the leader of the group, JUNHO is said to be act very childish around the members behind the cameras.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ JUNO made his much anticipated debut in March 2023 with the extended play “FADE”.

❛❛ IN THIS PLACE WHERE NOT A SINGLE WIND BLOWS… ❜❜ ━ THE COOL ONE .

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ GENERAL .

FULL NAME › Sato Hideyoshi ❪ さと ひでよし ❫

BIRTHDAY › April 26th, 1997

ZODIAC SIGN › Taurus

BIRTH PLACE › Fukuoka, Japan

HOMETOWN › Fukuoka, Japan

NATIONALITY › Japanese

HEIGHT › 181 cm ❪ 5’11 ❫

BODY MODIFICATIONS › none

MBTI › enfj ❪ protagonist ❫

PERSONALITY TRAITS › social, inspiring, charming, hardworking, kind, intuitive

IMMEDIATE FAMILY › mother, father, grandmother

SPOKEN LANGUAGES › japanese, korean

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ CAREER .

STAGE NAME › HIDEYOSHI ❪ 히데요시 ❫

OCCUPATION › idol, producer, songwriter, endorser

COMPANY › dask records, starblock

GROUP › LOOBII ❪ 2016 — present ❫

DEBUT DATE › May 23, 2016

POSITION › lead rapper, lead dancer

DISCOGRAPHY › 2 digital single, 1 extended play

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ TRIVIAL FACTS :

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ PRIOR his debut with LOOBII, HIDEYOSHI was an active freestyle dancer, he specialized in contemporary pop, participating in many competitions and successfully winning medals.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HIDEYOSHI loves doing and say funny things, even with people he doesn’t know very well or doesn’t really talks to. This is a part of him that most of his friends envy a lot.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HE is better at cooking Korean traditional dishes than Japanese and the members particularly love them.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ THOUGH he works as a full-time idol, in the main time he revealed that he likes to write poems and short novels.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HE is the second member to have a solo debut, in fact he released his first extended play “MORE OF U” in November 11.

❛❛ DON’T YOU REALLY THINK I'M THAT EASY… ❜❜ ━ THE ACTOR .

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ GENERAL .

FULL NAME › Park Seungyoon ❪ 밬 승훅 ❫

BIRTHDAY › June 4th, 1997

ZODIAC SIGN › Gemini

BIRTH PLACE › Busan, South Korea

HOMETOWN › Busan, South Korea

NATIONALITY › South Korean

HEIGHT › 180 cm ❪ 5’11 ❫

BODY MODIFICATIONS › none

MBTI › istj ❪ logistician ❫

PERSONALITY TRAITS › reflective, self-critical, spontaneous, mindful, responsible, humble

IMMEDIATE FAMILY › mother, father, younger twin sisters

SPOKEN LANGUAGES › korean

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ CAREER .

STAGE NAME › SAEM ❪ 샘 ❫

OCCUPATION › idol, actor, songwriter

COMPANY › dask records, leed company, starblock

GROUP › LOOBII ❪ 2016 — present ❫

DEBUT DATE › May 23, 2016

POSITION › lead vocalist, sub rapper, face of the group

DISCOGRAPHY › 7 digital singles

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ TRIVIAL FACTS :

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ SAEM initially auditioned as an actor, but at the time of the audition was asked to sing and eventually he signed a trainee contract. He would later debut as an actor in 2018

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HE’s considered the most “chill” member according to LOOBII’s fans and “innocence” for his cute-like face, but he hate when people call him cute.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ SEUNGYOON has a really bad allergy to peanuts, this resulted to him being hospitalized at just 7 years old and now he can’t even come near to them.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HIS most favorite animal are geckos and as of now he has three of them, which he takes care with his father.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ SAEM has the most credits in term of lyricism in the group and has also wrote some songs for other artists.

❛❛ IT WILL CAUSE A STIR AND TURN EVERYTHING UPSIDE DOWN… ❜❜ ━ THE VISUAL .

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ GENERAL .

FULL NAME › Kasemchai Wachirawit ❪ เกษมชัย วชิรวิชญ์ ❫

BIRTHDAY › June 17th, 1997

ZODIAC SIGN › Gemini

BIRTH PLACE › Las Vegas, United States

HOMETOWN › Bangkok, Thailand

NATIONALITY › Thai

HEIGHT › 1.77 cm ❪ 5’10 ❫

BODY MODIFICATIONS › lip piercing

MBTI › esfp ❪ entertainer ❫

PERSONALITY TRAITS › modest, vivacious, naive, balanced, directed, incisive

IMMEDIATE FAMILY › mother, father, older sister, older brother

SPOKEN LANGUAGES › thai, english, korean

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ CAREER .

STAGE NAME › ZYON ❪ 자이온 ❫

OCCUPATION › idol, producer, songwriter, endorser

COMPANY › dask records, starblock

GROUP › LOOBII ❪ 2016 — present ❫

DEBUT DATE › May 23, 2016

POSITION › main vocalist, lead dancer, visual

DISCOGRAPHY › 3 digital singles

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ TRIVIAL FACTS :

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ ZYON was born in Las Vegas, but soon moved in Bangkok due family issues at 10. He had many friends and for this reason, English has remained one of his first languages.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HIS stage name was going to be “ALCYON” but he changed last minute because he thought it was too “weird”.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HE is one of most followed idols on Instagram, even tho he’s not very active on the platform.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ INSIDE the group he’s considered the visual, but also the “mysterious” one, due his strange looks who can rude to other people.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ KASEMCHAI has claimed that he loves his given name, but he didn’t choose it as the stage name, because it sounded weird in the Korean language.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HE hates drinking water and acknowledged that it’s unusual for human being, so he had to force himself to drink an amount of it.

❛❛ THE COMPASS POINTS TOWARDS THE SHINING SUN, I KNOW, I'M A LITTLE WEIRDO… ❜❜ ━ THE PRODIGY .

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ GENERAL .

FULL NAME › Choi Hyungjae ❪ 최 흉재 ❫

BIRTHDAY › March 17th, 1999

ZODIAC SIGN › Pisces

BIRTH PLACE › Incheon, South

HOMETOWN › Incheon, South Korea

NATIONALITY › South Korean

HEIGHT › 1.75 cm ❪ 5’9 ❫

BODY MODIFICATIONS › left lobe piercing, neck and arm tattoos

MBTI › infj ❪ advocate ❫

PERSONALITY TRAITS › calm, cooperative, magnanimous, sensitive, passionate, creative, reserved

IMMEDIATE FAMILY › mother, father, younger brother

SPOKEN LANGUAGES › korean

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ CAREER .

STAGE NAME › JE ❪ 제 ❫

OCCUPATION › idol, songwriter, endorser

COMPANY › dask records, starblock

GROUP › LOOBII ❪ 2016 — present ❫

DEBUT DATE › May 23, 2016

POSITION › lead vocalist, main dancer

DISCOGRAPHY › 2 digital singles

⌕ ࣭ ͘ ⸰ 𓍼 ⸻ TRIVIAL FACTS :

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ JE had braces from thirteen until his first year of debut.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ DUE him being the last member to join the group, the others admitted they felt a little intimidated by the “little kid”, but tried to befriend with him either way.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HE is the one who debunks every weird rumor about him and the other members even before his own company.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ ACCORDING to JUNO he’s the calmest member, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t get into troubles.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ JE is considered the most “real” one of the group, he likes to do different things and doesn’t lose time to show his true colors every time something that makes him angry happens.

♡̷ ͘ ࣭ HIS fashion style mostly consist in black clothes and thick necklaces.

𓂄 feedbacks are very well appreciated!

#✶.˚ we shine as one ‎⸃ information. #✶.˚ we shine as one ‎⸃ profiles. #ficnetfairy #fictional community #fictional kpop idols #fake kpop group #idolverse #kpop fictional character #kpop oc boy group #kpop boy groups #kpop oc community #kpop fictional kpop group

[effortandmore]

caught looking: chapter 7 (knj x ksj)

summary: of course Seokjin has heard the rumors. most of them boil down to this: kim namjoon will get fired from the kiwoom heroes after this season is over. he’s the kbo’s youngest manager in history, one of korea’s darlings, always on every 30 under 30 list, and everyone is sure he’s about to tumble from the tower he’s built. or, namjoon is probably going to lose his job and seokjin is probably never going to make his dad proud, but they have a better shot at overcoming those two things together than they ever have alone.

pairing: seokjin x namjoon

rating: e for everyone for now but there is adult content in later chapters so no minors pls

genre: etl, fluff, eventual smut

au: baseball, specifically the kbo

warnings/tags: idk... swearing, drinking, and general sports things? some blackmail kind of and discussions of homophobia in sports. a drunk ex being drunk and pushy. eventual smut of the gay variety.

wc: chapter: ~4800

chapter summary: jeongguk has them all figured out, and seokjin finally figures out one very important thing

hello! here are chapters one two three four five and six if you'd like them. or the whole thing is on ao3 here . thank you!

***

Even before Seokjin officially started at Kiwoom, he thought bringing Jeongguk onto the team would be a good idea. Now that it’s a done deal, he knows without a doubt it was the right move. Sure, it’s not a seamless transition, nothing is, but even though he still has to look at the positioning card with every hitter, he’s fitting in faster than anyone could have expected. 

The team loves him, which is the most important thing (at least according to Namjoon, who seems to have forgotten that pitching is technically the most important thing).

Taehyung’s mood since Sangwon left has been vastly improved, and he takes it as his personal mission to spend as much time  as possible getting Jeongguk up to speed. Daily now, Seokjin sees them together everywhere: the locker room, the weight room, on the field, the training room. They’re practically inseparable, and it’s done wonders for the whole rotation. 

Jeongguk is slotted in second, and he’ll be starting once or twice a week. He still likes to pick up bullpen innings, but the pitching staff has cautioned against it, and Jimin agrees. They have to protect his elbow. Jeongguk is young, with a lot of potential, and overthrowing now will only lead to problems later on when he presumably will hit his peak. Namjoon explains this to him in hushed tones, and Jeongguk listens with wide eyes, like it’s the most interesting thing anyone’s ever said to him. Seokjin is sure this is one of the things people like about the kid immediately—it’s hard not to feel like you’re incredible and important when someone’s looking at you like that. 

And he always looks at Namjoon like that. 

Seokjin isn’t at all a little jealous, but only because he thinks that the way Jeongguk is so obvious about thinking Namjoon is incredible might make the way that Seokjin thinks so, too, a little less obvious. Or, he hopes it does, anyway. 

For a week after his arrival, Jeongguk watched every game from the dugout. Everyone could tell it was making him crazy to be so inactive—he spent them pacing around and muttering to himself when he wasn’t watching each batter intently, trying to memorize every small detail about them.

Today, though, is his first start. Seokjin and Namjoon have been talking through strategy with the coaching staff, holed up in Namjoon’s office. 

(When things are busy like this, and they’re focused on work, Seokjin almost forgets the unprofessional thoughts he sometimes has about Namjoon. Almost forgets laughing in a hotel room with him in Busan, almost forgets the way Namjoon sounded when he said, “I think you’re great, hyung,” in a low rasp.)

“Hyungs,” Jimin calls as he taps on the doorframe, “I think something’s wrong with Jeongguk, can you come?”

Namjoon shoots Seokjin a panicked look as they both rise and follow Jimin to the training room. There’s two hours before the game starts, about forty five minutes before they need to be on the field, and Jeongguk is sitting in an ice bath with his eyes closed and his headphones on, belting out an IU song that Seokjin hasn’t heard in years. 

“He won’t move,” Jimin says. “He shouldn’t be cold like this before he starts and I can’t get him out.” 

Leaning forward, Seokjin grabs one side of his headphones and pulls it away from the pitcher’s head before he lets go and it snaps back. Jeongguk’s eyes fly open and he scrambles to sit upright in the tub when he sees them all standing around him. 

“Hyungs?” he says curiously as he pulls his headphones off. “What’s wrong?”

“Are you hurt?” Namjoon asks, the words coming out quickly. He’s concerned, obviously. Players don’t just choose to sit on ice unless they’re injured and Jimin makes them. 

“No, I would’ve told you if I was, why?” 

The poor kid looks genuinely confused. 

“Most people don’t use the ice unless I make them,” Jimin says. “And you’ve been in there a long time.” He bends over and grabs one of the pitcher’s feet, hauling it up out of the water as evidence. “You’re getting wrinkly.” 

Jeongguk smiles brightly. “This is my pre-game ritual! Being in the ice bath sucks, right?” 

All three men around him just nod in agreement. Jimin and Namjoon look as bewildered as Seokjin feels. “It does,” he agrees. “So, why are you in there?”

“Because then, when things are hard during the game, I remind myself that I made it through the ice bath, so I can make it through anything.” 

It would be insane if he didn’t look and sound so completely genuine about it. 

Namjoon is the first to say something. “That actually… makes sense I guess.” Jeongguk nods happily. “But you should get out soon, okay? We need to get your arm warmed up.” 

“Yes, hyung. I promise.” 

Jimin still looks horrified, but something about how earnest Jeongguk is about the whole thing makes Seokjin think it will be okay. He steers Jimin away and leaves Namjoon and Jeongguk to talk through any last minute adjustments or ideas for the game. 

“He’s a weird kid,” Jimin says. It comes out slowly, like there’s more to the sentence that he doesn’t add. 

“Yeah, it seems like it.”

“I think I like him.”

“Me too, Jiminie.” 

***

Whether it’s because of the unusual pregame preparation, his talent, or something else, Jeongguk pitches a nearly flawless game. Seokjin and Yoongi watch from the box as he sails through seven innings in 92 pitches. It’s not perfect, but it’s about as close as anyone would have imagined. 

Yoongi is grinning like Seokjin hasn’t seen him do since university, and every once in a while, after a particularly well-delivered pitch, he slaps Seokjin’s thigh and bounces up and down in his seat a little, like an excited kid. 

“How’d you know he could do this?” Yoongi asks, pleased. 

“I didn’t.” Even Seokjin is surprised at the performance. “I knew he could keep the ball on the ground, but I didn’t realize he would get so many strikeouts, too. It wasn’t like that in Busan.”

“Taehyung’s influence?”

Seokjin shrugs. “Must be.” 

Winning with Jeongguk as the starting pitcher brings Seokjin the kind of pride he’s always chasing. That silent confirmation that he’s good at what he does, that he knows how players will work (or not) together. It’s a win for the players, of course, but it feels like a personal victory, too. He even gets a text from his father telling him it was a good call to bring over the kid. Praise from Minjun is always sparse and feels hard-won, so even though Seokjin stopped measuring his worth by his father’s approval a long time ago, it still feels good. 

By the time he makes it down to his office after the game, he’s in a great mood, ready to have a victory drink with Hoseok and play video games until he thinks he might have carpal tunnel syndrome. Yoongi told him to take the next day off, so he’s extra optimistic about how much progress he’ll be able to make in his game that night. It’s been a long time since he’s let himself indulge in foregoing sleep to play more, but he might allow himself that luxury tonight. 

He’s packing up his bag and thinking about what delivery to order when there’s a knock on the door.

“Hyung?” 

“Oh, hi Jeonggukie! You worked hard today, thank you.” 

Jeongguk smiles wide, his teeth on display. “Thank you, hyung! That’s why I’m here, actually. I wanted to, well, thank you for the opportunity. I know you convinced everyone that I belonged here, and I’m glad you did.” 

“Me too,” Seokjin agrees. He keeps packing, but Jeongguk makes no move to leave the doorway. “Is there something else?”

The pitcher nods quickly. “Yes. Some of us are going out to celebrate and I was hoping you would come, since I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.” 

“Oh, that’s nice of you to ask, but I’m kind of busy—” 

Suddenly, Namjoon appears next to Jeongguk in the doorway. “Are you coming with us?” He looks like he’s just gotten out of the shower and changed, his hair still damp and sticking to his forehead in places. 

Well, this changes things, even though it shouldn’t. 

“Yeah, of course. Just let me finish packing up.” 

Jeongguk looks between him and Namjoon and won’t wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. Seokjin knows he’s been caught, and he just hopes the kid has enough goodwill toward him to keep his mouth shut. 

Luckily for Seokjin, he does. Instead, as they walk to the subway, Jeongguk grabs his sleeve and pulls him to the back of the group, teasing him quietly. “I know your secret, hyung,” he whispers. This earns him a flick on the forehead which is enough to distract him from the way Seokjin flushes with embarrassment. Soon, the two of them are half-walking and half-wrestling all the way to the station, where they start getting looks from every passing adult, wondering why two grown men are tackling each other down the escalator. 

“Everything okay back there?” Jimin calls when he and everyone else make it to the bottom of the escalator well before Seokjin and Jeongguk. 

Jeongguk freezes and looks embarrassed. “Yeah!” he shouts back. “Hyung flicked my head.” 

“Hey! You tried to trip me!” 

“You took my hat!” 

“You deserved it!” 

They argue all the way to the train when Namjoon finally asks if he needs to separate them like they’re his children. 

“No!” They both practically yell at the same time, before turning to look at each other and then bursting into laughter. He can’t even remember what they were fighting about in the first place when, out of the corner of his eye, he catches Namjoon watching them double over with a fond look on his face.

They suck it up and behave for the train ride, just quietly kicking each other to see who can take it the hardest without flinching or making noise. By the time they make it to the same sort-of divey sports bar he’d met Yoongi and Namjoon at weeks ago, he’s sure his shins are bruised.

It’s loud in the bar, and thankfully, Jeongguk is distracted enough by everyone offering to buy him drinks that he finally leaves Seokjin alone for a while—long enough for him to find a booth to slide into and text Hoseok to see if he wants to meet up with them. Before long, a pink cocktail gets set right in front of him, and Namjoon takes the seat across the table. 

“What’s this?”

“Dunno,” Namjoon shrugs. “Told the bartender my friend liked disgustingly sweet things, and he sent me back with this.” 

Next to him, Yoongi snorts. “You’re a dick,” he tells Namjoon.

Yoongi’s right, but Seokjin takes a sip of the drink anyway. Unfortunately, it’s delicious. 

“You like it?” Namjoon asks. 

“Yeah, thank you.”

The three of them don’t even have time to start a conversation before Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk are pouring themselves into the booth, too. Jimin sits, of course, across from Yoongi, right next to Namjoon, and smiles at him sweetly before he whispers something in his ear. Seokjin feels a little sick, the now familiar combination of jealousy and guilt making a home in his stomach again. 

At the other end of the table, Taehyung and Jeongguk are rehashing the game excitedly. Even though he’s not really involved in either of the conversations, he’s glad he came. It’s not an all-night gaming marathon, but it’s just as nice (maybe better) to see Yoongi and Namjoon arguing the finer points of modern defensive strategy—Yoongi is surprisingly pro-shift and Namjoon thinks it ruins “the spirit of the game the way it was intended to be played”—while Jimin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk passionately debate who would be better at darts. 

“It’s obviously me,” Jeongguk says confidently, taking the opportunity to flex his bicep. 

“Sure, you’re good at throwing things, but darts is about finesse, and Jiminie is the most graceful person on the whole planet,” Taehyung retorts. 

Jeongguk rolls his eyes. “You haven’t seen me try to be graceful. I can be graceful! Plus, you’re biased.” 

Jimin laughs, clearly pleased with the attention. “You’re right, Jeonggukie, he’s my soulmate, after all. Also, he might win. He’s willing to cheat.” 

“Hey!” Taehyung protests, but it’s all a show. He winks at Jimin when Jeongguk isn’t paying attention, instead looking around the bar for an empty dartboard. 

When he spots one, the three of them scramble out of the booth to prove who’s the better player, but Seokjin just feels frozen listening to them. 

Yoongi and Namjoon don’t seem to have been paying them much attention, because they’re still talking about how any change to baseball ruins the sport (Namjoon), and modernization isn’t always evil (Yoongi). 

“Doesn’t that bother you?” Seokjin blurts, absolutely interrupting their conversation. 

“What?” Yoongi asks. 

“No, not you. You.” He points at Namjoon. “Doesn’t it bother you that Jimin calls Taehyung his soulmate?” 

At the question, Namjoon looks thoroughly confused. Maybe it’s some sort of open relationship thing? But that, from the apparently kind of traditional man who thinks the designated hitter would be some sort of death blow to the institution of baseball and everything it stands for, seems unlikely. 

“No,” he says carefully. “Why would that bother me?”

“Well,” Seokjin says, gesturing a little wildly, “because of— well, because of you know! You and Jimin!” 

Namjoon says nothing, just continues to look at Seokjin like he has two heads. Yoongi, for his part, smirks, looking like he’s about to burst, and asks, “What about Namjoon and Jimin?”

“I saw you!” Seokjin whispers loudly to Namjoon. “In Itaewon, remember?” 

Yoongi is in full-on hysterics now, laughing so hard he’s wheezing. Seokjin isn’t quite sure what the joke is. 

“You saw us…” Namjoon says slowly. “You saw us, and you thought we were… together?” 

“Obviously,” Seokjin replies. 

It’s no longer clear if Yoongi is even getting any oxygen, he’s flushing and has tears on his cheeks and every once in a while he just slaps the table. 

“Seokjin. Hyung.” Namjoon is amused now, a dimple poking out as he smiles at Seokjin and speaks softly. “You know that Jimin brought your roommate home that night, right?” 

“What?”

“While you and I were out, Jimin brought Hoseok home. And, if I’m not mistaken, he’s done it after that several times.” 

Seokjin feels dizzy. Logically, he knows the booth isn’t moving, but it seems like it is. He feels hot and dizzy and a little confused because Hoseok had been trying to tell him, and there may have been other signs—like Namjoon showing up to Seokjin’s hotel room in Busan, or falling asleep on his shoulder, or just the sheer amount of time Namjoon seems interested in spending with Seokjin and not Jimin. 

“So, you and Jimin…” he says weakly. 

“Are friends. From college. Like you and Yoongi.” 

“And Jimin and Taehyung?” 

“I’m pretty sure they share a brain cell, but they’re definitely not together. In fact…” Namjoon points to the high top where the three of them are playing darts. Jimin is giggling while Taehyung practically hangs off of Jeongguk, and he’s either whispering something to the pitcher or sucking on his neck, Seokjin can’t tell. “I think Jimin’s been trying to play wingman since Jeongguk got here.” 

Yoongi, finally not laughing anymore, chimes in. “Pretty sure that’s not the only match he’s been trying to make.” 

Namjoon hides his face and whines at Yoongi, “Can’t you go back to shutting up?” 

Seokjin can’t even process that, he’s still stuck on the fact that Jimin and Namjoon aren’t together. Which means that all this time… 

“You’re single?” Seokjin chokes out. It’s not any more embarrassing than anything else that’s happened in the last several minutes, but asking does make his neck hot and probably his ears turn pink. 

It also throws Yoongi back into hysterical fits of laughter. 

“Painfully single,” Namjoon confirms before taking a drink of his beer. 

“Oh.” 

“You know we have a no-dating policy on the team?” Yoongi reminds him for absolutely no reason because Seokjin is definitely not thinking very hard about what Namjoon looks like shirtless now that he’s decided he’s allowed to, since Namjoon is confirmed single. 

“I think you’d better remind Taehyung of that,” Namjoon says, tilting his beer toward the high top, where things are escalating past the limits of public decency. 

“You’re their boss,” Yoongi says quickly. “I’m not going near that. Actually, I don’t think I need to be here for any of this, but thanks for the entertainment.” He scoots out of the booth and pulls his coat on. “I’ll see you in a couple days. Don’t be stupid. Or, don’t be more stupid than you have been.” 

Seokijn and Namjoon give a coordinated eye roll at their boss and wave goodbye.

“So, do you want to talk to them?” Seokjin asks, nodding toward Taehyung and Jeongguk. Jimin looks positively gleeful watching Taehyung say something to Jeongguk that makes the pitcher choke on his beer. 

“No fucking way,” Namjoon says, shaking his head. “Once Taehyung decides he wants something, it’s futile to try and stop it.” 

“Try and stop what?” Jimin asks as he approaches the table. 

“Nothing,” Seokjin and Namjoon respond in unison. 

“Mmhmm… Well, have fun, hyungs. I have to go meet Hobi.” 

Seokjin squawks. “My Hoseokie?” 

“Oh, hyung. Cute. But I’m pretty sure he’s mine now,” Jimin says with a wink. 

“Should I…” Seokjin trails off, not sure how to ask. 

“Nope! You’re safe. He’s coming to mine. See you on Friday, hyungs! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.” 

Namjoon mutters something about the list being impossibly short, which makes Jimin cackle as he shrugs on a denim jacket and walks away. 

“I can’t believe you thought—”

“Shut up,” Seokjin interrupts. “Respect your hyung.” 

Namjoon is laughing, and he’s gorgeous, and Seokjin finally doesn’t feel guilty for thinking so. It makes him practically giddy. 

“I’ll respect you by buying you another drink?”

“Sure Namjoonie,” he says, placated, as Jeongguk and Taehyung approach the table. 

“You’re leaving, too?” Namjoon asks. 

Jeongguk has the decency to seem a little bit embarrassed, but Taehyung has no shame. “We sure are. Gonna go practice.” 

“Practice?” Seokjin repeats, an eyebrow lifted. 

“Yep! But I think Jeonggukie is doing the catching this time, if you know what I—”

Namjoon lets out a loud groan and drops his head to the table. “Stoooooop, please,” he whines, muffled. 

Thankfully, Taehyung and Jeongguk leave after that, and if Seokjin didn’t now know more about their potential sex life than he ever wanted to, it would be cute—they’re hand in hand, and Jeongguk looks absolutely smitten. 

“Well, it’s just us again,” Namjoon notes as he lifts his head back up. 

“Yeah,” Seokjin says, the atmosphere suddenly a little awkward. Or, at least he feels a little awkward. Now that he knows Namjoon is single, and he thinks maybe what he’s been feeling isn’t entirely one-sided, he doesn’t actually know what to do. They work together, which complicates things, and Seokjin hasn’t even tried with anyone since Seungwook (which didn’t really boost his confidence for obvious reasons), so he’s a little at a loss for what comes next. 

“Still want that next drink, hyung?”

Namjoon’s voice sounds a little wobbly and his knee is bouncing, like maybe he’s nervous. And when he smiles at Seokjin across the table, kind and sort of hopeful and a touch shy, Seokjin thinks maybe, for the first time since even before they met, they’re on the same page. 

He thinks back to the night they walked all over town, and how brave Namjoon was at the end to tell him about Sangwon, and Seokjin thinks maybe, this time, he can be the brave one. 

“Another drink sounds good. Want to come back to my place for it?” 

Seokjin can’t remember the last time he brought someone home. He tries to be respectful of Hoseok, and Seungwook wasn’t really into getting to know Seokjin that well, anyway, so it’s been a long time. So, the taxi ride to his is quiet—he looks out the window and tries desperately to remember how much dirty laundry is on his floor (thank god for Hoseok being a neat freak so Seokjin’s room is the only one he needs to be concerned about), and Namjoon is still bouncing his leg like he was at the bar, only now, Seokjin can tell he’s also occasionally sneaking glances when he thinks Seokjin won’t notice. It’s sweet. 

Once they’re inside, it starts to miraculously feel more normal between them pretty quickly. Namjoon busies himself looking at the photographs and figurines around the living room while Seokjin makes them drinks. Neither he nor Hoseok really drink beer, but he does have some whisky around from last time Yoongi came over, and Namjoon seems happy enough with that. 

“Did you want the tour?” he asks, handing Namjoon a rocks glass. 

“Sure! I like it already,” Namjoon says. “It’s so different from my place.” 

“Yeah?”

“You’ll have to see it sometime.” Right after he says it, he grins and covers his mouth with his free hand, like he can’t believe he said it. 

“Smooth,” Seokjin remarks, feeling a little more confident than he can remember feeling in… forever. 

“Was it?” 

“No, but you’re cute so I’ll allow it.” 

Namjoon laughs. “Cute? No one says I’m cute.” 

“Ah, well,” Seokjin shrugs. “It’s the dimples. Without them you’d be a five at best.” 

For a second, it’s like Namjoon isn’t quite sure if Seokjin is joking or not, but then they make eye contact and both burst into laughter. It helps to make Seokjin feel like the nervousness is leaving his body. It’s nice. 

“Tour?” Namjoon cocks his head toward the hallway when he catches his breath, and Seokjin leads the way. 

The apartment isn’t big, but there’s plenty of space for both him and Hoseok. They each have a bedroom, Seokjin explains that Hoseok has the master because Seokjin is a benevolent hyung who is always willing to make sacrifices (even though it’s really because Hoseok does most of the chores and keeps the place clean and it’s the least Seokjin can do). 

When they get to Seokjin’s bedroom, Namjoon pays more attention, asking him about his gaming computer and all the things that go with it, looking at his shelves carefully, like he’s cataloging little facts about Seokjin as he goes. For his part, Seokjin doesn’t think there’s anything that exciting about any of it, but it’s keeping Namjoon entertained, which is putting off anything awkward. 

He’d got Namjoon to his apartment, but now that they’re there, he’s nervous about everything (or nothing) that might come next. 

Finally, after answering Namjoon’s one hundred questions about MapleStory, it gets quiet. 

“It’s not that interesting,” Seokjin says as he sits on his bed. Namjoon’s spinning half circles in the gaming chair, complaining that it’s so much nicer than his office chair and that he should get one like it for work in between asking who all the characters in the game are. 

Namjoon sets his drink on the desk, and Seokjin tries not to cringe that there’s no coaster—at least it’s not in a room where Hoseok will notice. 

“Maybe I just like to hear you talk,” he says, planting his feet so the chair stops spinning and he’s facing Seokjin directly. 

There is a 100% guarantee that Seokjin’s ears are pink. “That’s a line, Kim Namjoon.” 

He gets a smirk in response. “Not if it’s true.” 

The air feels summer evening thick between them, despite the aircon running in the apartment. Seokjin swears he can practically feel it hanging there, the way that birds know before lightning strikes. He swallows, and even his throat feels syrupy slow. 

“What is this, Namjoonie?” he whispers, realizing that somehow, since Namjoon stopped spinning, they’ve been moving closer together, imperceptible movements compounded to the point that he can feel Namjoon’s breath on his lips. 

“I think this is me about to kiss you,” Namjoon replies, and all the teasing is gone from his voice. “If that’s something you want.” 

Seokjin nods. “Yes, pl—”

“Hyung! I’m hooooome!” 

Hoseok. 

Namjoon and Seokjin both drop their heads at the same time, and knock them together. Seokjin yelps and spills his drink all over himself and the bed, while Namjoon groans before he starts laughing.

Seconds later, Hoseok appears in the doorway. “Hi hyung… And Namjoon-ssi.” 

“Hey, Hobi,” Seokjin says. “I, uh,” he gestures to his whisky-covered shirt. “I should go clean this up and change.” 

Standing, Namjoon clears his throat before grabbing his glass and downing the rest of his drink. “I should go,” he says. “It’s pretty late.” 

The disappointment Seokjin feels is palpable, and apparently written on his face, because Hoseok looks apologetic, and Namjoon asks quietly, “Walk me to the door?” 

Luckily, Hoseok takes the hint and says goodbye to Namjoon, excusing himself to his room, and Namjoon uses the restroom, giving Seokjin the chance to change into something not covered in alcohol. Without thinking much about it, he pulls on an old hoodie that had been strewn across the back of his desk chair. It smells a little like Namjoon now, and he’ll never admit how much he likes that. 

“I had a good night, hyung,” Namjoon says, when they meet back in the living room. 

“Me too. Sorry about Hoseok,” he replies. 

Namjoon just laughs quietly and shakes his head. “Terrible timing.”

“The worst,” Seokjin agrees.

“Maybe we can try again, sometime.” 

“I’d like that.” 

Namjoon steps closer to him, pulling him into a hug. It’s nice—he’s warm and bigger than Seokjin, and it reminds him of hugging in Busan, except this time he’s able to let himself enjoy it more. It’s everything he can do not to just melt into it as he wraps his arms around Namjoon’s waist. “You know we have a no-dating policy on the team,” Namjoon teases in a whisper, mimicking Yoongi from earlier at the bar.

“Is there a no kissing policy, too?” Seokjin asks, lips brushing against Namjoon’s pulse, feeling his breath hitch. 

“I hope not,” Namjoon sighs. 

As they pull apart, Namjoon leaves a barely-there kiss on his temple. “I’ll call you,” he promises. 

Seokjin feels like his head is on fire in the spot Namjoon’s lips touched his skin. It’s incredibly distracting. Enough that it’s all he can think about, wants to touch the spot to see if it actually feels warm. He’s so busy thinking about it, that the reply he comes out with is, “Not if I call you first.” 

Namjoon laughs again—and Seokjin’s seen his laugh so many times for so many reasons, even just tonight it’s happened more times than he can count, but he’s pretty sure he’ll never stop wanting to be the cause of it. 

“You’re a dork,” Namjoon says. 

“I think it works for me,” Seokjin says, shoving his hands into the pocket of his hoodie. 

“I think so too.” It’s so fond, Seokjin wants to scream into a pillow like a teenager. “Goodnight, hyung.” 

Namjoon gives him a sweet smile as he leaves the apartment. It’s totally reasonable, Seokjin thinks, that he watches Namjoon as he leaves, watches him wait for the elevator and flushes when Namjoon gives him a wave before he gets on, and then peeks through to give him another before the doors slide closed. 

Back in the apartment, he slumps against the door with a sigh. He can’t believe he was so close to having Namjoon’s lips on his, can’t believe that he’d been so wrong this whole time, can’t believe that his crush seems to be just as into him. Everything he’s been thinking about the past couple of months is almost about to be his reality, and he’s thrumming with excitement. If only he’d been able to act on it. 

He hates waiting sometimes. Seems so unfair after all the time they’ve already wasted. Seokjin lets out another long sigh. He’s going to call Namjoon in the morning, but first, he’s going to kill his roommate.

#seokjin fic #namjoon fic #seokjin imagines #bts imagines #bts fanfction #kvanity #seokjin x namjoon #fic: cl

[mjohnso]

The Work of Auditions

S.E.S Bada’s recruitment story is the stuff of SM legend. Personally scouted in 1996 by Lee Soo-man after he saw her perform at her school’s annual festival, she did not then dream of debuting as a pop singer, let alone being in a girl group. By most accounts, she wanted to be a musical theater actor. But she agreed to Lee’s offer because it literally paid the bills. In exchange for joining the company, Lee paid her full university tuition and expenses, where she studied theater.

I begin with Bada’s origin story, not only because it is unique among SM audition stories but because of what it says about SM. Specifically, it demonstrates the company’s recognition early on that acquiring the best performers, regardless of cost, was integral to their survival and success. They would need talent to grow their stable of new acts and replace any new acts that disbanded. Furthermore, maintaining a pool of potential replacement talent was an insurance policy. Their mere existence would apply downward pressure on their already debuted idols, discouraging them from agitating for more (or any) money or better contract terms or material conditions lest they be replaced.

But first, SM had to find trainees, which they did so using a multi-pronged strategy. Street-casting, like the kind that found Bada, was part of their approach, as was their affiliation with the for-profit training academy Starlight Academy beginning in 2003. There was also their more formalized Audition process, which they started advertising on their official website in 2000. In the early aughts, versions of this Audition section of their website listed three language options (“Korean” “English” and “Chinese”), with different options for each. In particular, the Korean version listed six options:

Mail: An applicant could send via snail mail a letter or postcard listing their name, school grade, and contact information, along with two photos, to the attention of the Entertainment Audition Manager at a Gangnam PO Box.

Email: An applicant could send an email to the casting director with all the information they would include in a letter to the casting director if they were mailing their application and two scanned photos.

Franchise Store: Instead of mailing or emailing their information and photos, an applicant could drop off a letter with their information and two photos at one of the various music or record stores around Korea that SM listed on their site. If an applicant who utilized this method was selected for an in-person audition but lived outside of Seoul, SM would pay 100% of their transportation costs.

Recommend a friend: A person could send all of the same information of a friend or family member they believe is talented in a letter or email. If that friend or family member signed a contract with SM, the person who referred them would receive a scholarship of 1 million won.

Live Auditions: Every Saturday at 3pm, SM Entertainment held in-person auditions at their headquarters.

Live Auditions: Applicants could apply for an audition via directions obtained by calling a phone number. If an applicant passed the first round of screening, they would be invited to attend the in-person auditions held on Sunday at 3pm.

Today, SM has not radically changed these options other than revamping them to reflect technological changes and expanding their in-person auditions. They eliminated the snail mail and franchise store options in favor of digital options, including applying via the SM website or direct message. In-person auditions are still held weekly at the SM Entertainment building but are supplemented by audition tours. Earlier this year, they announced their 2024 Global Audition, which consists of stops in Daegu, Busan, Daejeon, Wonju, Gwangju, and Jeju, as well as Thailand, Japan, the United States, and Canada.

Much as their audition methods have not drastically changed, only expanded, the same could be said for the motivation behind their auditions. The need for new trainees, especially as the industry has become increasingly competitive, and the necessity of maintaining that power dynamic that I discussed above all still applies, but I would also add a third reason. That is much as trainees function as a way to apply pressure to acts on an agency’s roster, so does the audition, with all its spectacle, do for trainees. Between the multiple dates and increasing amount of locations, often announced with much fanfare, there is a dual impression. The auditions are extremely competitive, with participants going up against not only those at that audition but also highly desirable and affirming, as evidenced by the turnout.

Yet even though a trainee may have made it through the gauntlet of auditions and been selected as a member of an elite club, they cannot rest. On the contrary, as a trainee, they will have to work harder than other trainees whom they are competing with to maintain their spot and for one of the scant opportunities to debut. Moreover, they cannot complain about their training or the conditions of it or even negotiate for better contract terms, lest they get replaced by any one of those other people auditioning and vying for their spot.

It is no wonder SM Entertainment has not developed a more efficient way to audition potential new trainees. The current system is the perfect tool, conveniently downplaying their role outside the selection process. If a group of trainees encourages existing acts to stay silent even in the face of poor working conditions, that is not because SM has explicitly pushed them to but as a consequence of the system. Similarly, if trainees who acutely feel the precariousness of their situation overwork themselves, that is their decision. No matter that these are the results of a system created by SM's choices, and thus are not immutable. As far as the industry cares it works, so why would they fix it?

#sm entertainment #kpop #trainees

[kojandra]

✨dramas i watched in 2023 and my ratings for them✨

May contain spoilers and spoiler alert: It was a very very good kdrama year.

1. Business Proposal, SBS  ⭐⭐⭐⭐ idc y’all this broke my kdrama slump. SO GOOD even though I’m not usually into cheesy romcom. Great start to the year. Even tho this drama is from last yr.

2. Jung_E (do kmovies count? i’m making them count), Netflix  ⭐⭐⭐⭐ Good scifi! A lesson in ethics but the production focused on sentiments rather than action...if you’re into that. (Train to Busan’s director!) I did like it but at some times I wasn’t immersed- but I think for movies I should be completely immersed!! anyways. 

3. Somebody, Netflix  ⭐⭐⭐⭐.5 that was some fucked up psychological thriller shit. Excellent ending. Everything v good except that was some fucked UP shit. And I’m judging y’all if y’all simping over male mc -_-....................

4. The Good Detective 2, SBS. ⭐⭐ Bro I gave up on this drama because it was so boring. Season 1 was so much better. This one kinda dragged. I think I stopped watching at ep 10. Two stars for effort (and for oh ji hyuk <3)

5. The Glory part 2, Netflix ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️  fuck the ending tho it shoulda ended where she jumped off the building. It just got worse and worse (i think i gave up when i saw jae-jun’s ending). Absolutely loved the high while watching this, hated that they split it up into two parts bc i lost some of the hype at the beginning of season 2. Such good acting oooof

6. Crash course in romance, tvN ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️  Suuuccchhh a good romance high from watching this. The ending fell flat for me...like it was bland. Also. Huijae deserved better. Comedy is weightlifting fairy vibes (bc same writer). And jung kyung ho!!!!!

7. Taxi Driver Season 2, SBS  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ i aint even lying wit you this season was better than the first. nuff said. Forever heart eyes for kim dok gi. 100% would not be mad if SBS decided to renew for third season. I mean...Voice is thriving.

8. Queenmaker, Netflix  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ it’s giving....Miss Sloane (2016) (american movie....watch it hahaha). I was just riding the high until the end, honestly. We all need someone that believes in us this much. What i believe to be the slogan of this show: a win is a win.

9. Divorce Attorney Shin, JTBC  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ you know I love my lawyer shit 💖 love this one. It’s wholesome. It’s cozy. It feels like...the law version of hospital playlist. WATCH.

10. Dr. Cha, JTBC ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ every episode made me more and more angry. good shit. Good angry though I’m not even lying.

11. The Good Bad Mother, JTBC ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️  If you’re looking to feel things...this is for you. Anger, sadness, happiness, fluff, my favourite domestic couple....yeah I got all the feels. Revenge plot was a bit rushed so I wasn’t feeling it near the end.

12. Dr. Romantic 3, SBS ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ ooooouuu this was almost a five star but that one arc with nurse euntak and areum kinda ruined the flow for me. loveeed jang do hwa’s arc even though it took a while.

13. Agency, JTBC ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ EXCELLENT. Love my corporate dramas. TF team support all the way 😍 (ALSO giving Miss Sloane (2016)) Dunno why I dropped a star, it just didn’t FEEL like a five star to me. ngl this would have been a five if I hadn’t watched queenmaker first. Very similar (probably why I like both of them).

14. Numbers, MBC ⭐️⭐️⭐️ If i’m not mistaken, this is my first accounting drama (WHICH IS WHY I HAD REALLY HIGH HOPES FOR IT)? Love the characters, plot has potential, but it’s so hard to watch with the bad direction sorry man. I just feel like some parts could have been more smooth, or less cringey. It’s giving....2016 KBS dramas that are 70 episodes long. I did learn some cool things about accounting though. Spoiler but: i didnt feel satisfied by the revenge plot. 

15. The Revenant, SBS   ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5 So I hate ghosts and ghost stories. This didn’t feel cringey to me? Like I almost believed in ghosts natural? But also it has Kim Tae Ri, Oh Jung Se, and Kim Won Hae as leads sooo am I surprised? I SHOULDNT BE BUT I AM. This got me scared to go to sleep but worth it! I’m still so confused on some holes in the plot but I won’t dwell on them too much. So maybe this was a five star in disguise??

16. Not Others, ENA  ⭐️⭐️⭐️.5 It was cute haha. Soo Young can’t beat Tell Me What You Saw (imo) that one’s goat.

17. Shadow Detective, Disney+ ⭐️⭐️⭐️ Okay ngl it took me a while to get into it because it was so boring. I thought it would be more fast paced bc it’s only eight episodes. It got SUPER interesting at episode 6 and i loved 6, 7, 8. 8 was kinda anti climatic. I tried season 2 but I got so bored soo....we jus gonna leave it at the season 1 ending. (but if anyone else has watched this pls spoil it for me and tell me what happens hahhahha)

18. Celebrity, Netflix  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ This was highkey so satisfying (and a great binge watch). Jun Kyung best boi <3

19. A Time Called You, Netflix  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5 BIIIITCH THAT WAS GOOD (I cried maybe a bit) (and maybe I only watched it bc my bb ahn hyo seop). A story about destinies and fate. And time travel. Thoroughly enjoyed the group dynamic and all the characters had a purpose. Warning: hella time skips. 0.5 taken off because they did koo yeon jun’s og love line dirty. But the rest? A+. I would watch again. And for this one: I actually liked the ending. I didn’t watch the original Taiwanese drama (Someday or One Day) but this one was definitely giving Your Name by Makoto Shinkai.

20. My Lovely Liar, tvN   ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ y’all that was cute!!! It got really slow in the middle. I watched it as it came out but I think if I was bingeing I’d skip chunks haha. The murder plot was kinda boring after a bit. The plot twist was kinda...not necessary. Couple pairing tho???? A+. I want more.

21. The Killing Vote, SBS   ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5  I always seem to have problems with the ending right? This one was good. I was already satisfied..it didn’t feel rushed. Story was insane, everything was SO good. MUST BINGE WATCH. The energy definitely flows throughout the drama and ......it gives squid game. Only a bit. Good pacing too! 

22. Doctor Lawyer, MBC  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ SLOW. BURN. But damn was it good. Drama made me so mad like fuh this world is so corrupt. Props to main character for doing that bc that could never be me.

23. Twinkling Watermelon, tvN  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5 Everyone that needs a comfort youth fantasy drama gotta watch this. I cried a lot, I got angry, I lived with these characters. MUST WATCH. The only thing I have against this is the ending and epilogue. Ruined the vibes going for me. I wanted more insight to the characters at the end! It wasn’t enough!!!

24. Perfect Marriage Revenge, MBN  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ FOUR WORDS: KDRAMAS ARE SO BACK.

25. The Worst of Evil, Disney+   ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️.5 A good slow burn, in my opinion.

26. Strong Girl Nam Soon, JTBC  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ LOVE!

27. Daily Dose of Sunshine, Netflix  ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ Excellent excellent drama about mental health disorders and gave me very thoughtful insight into treatment and patient care. Especially loved the character arc of Jung Da-Eun and Min Deul-Re.

please recommend me dramas! what are we watching this year?

dramas i’d rewatch: crash course in romance, queenmaker, agency, twinkling watermelon, daily dose of sunshine

my yearly reviews starting from 2021: 2021 | 2022

#girl i watched so much shit this year damn #kdrama recommendations #kdrama #business proposal #sbs business proposal #jung_e #netflix jung_e #somebody #netflix somebody #the good detective 2 #sbs the good detective 2 #the glory #netflix the glory 2 #the glory 2 #crash course in romance #tvn crash course in romance #taxi driver 2 #sbs taxi driver 2 #queenmaker #netflix queenmaker #jtbc divorce attorney shin #divorce attorney shin #jtbc dr cha #dr cha #jtbc the good bad mother #sbs dr romantic 3 #dr romantic 3 #jtbc agency #agency #mcb numbers

[leverage-ot3]

What are your k drama recommendations??!? I need new ones

omg my time has come thank you anon for giving me the opportunity to ramble about shows

I ended up talking WAY too long so I'm putting everything after the first one under the cut

all of us are dead- show about high schoolers as a zombie apocalypse starts. very funny and relatable, literally they call the police and are like 'have you seen train to busan?' bffrrn. has a lot of social commentary and there are references to the sinking of mc sewol (a cruise that sunk where the captain deserted it and left a large amount of high schoolers to drown). commentary about how adults save themselves first/leave youth to fend for themselves. one of my comfort shows and although they didn't intend for more seasons, it was received so well that they have been renewed! I am also an ot4 truther and sometimes talk about them on my international shows sideblog: @nam-on-jo

sweet home- (disclaimer: I am not caught up and have not yet seen s2 which came out a little while ago) honestly I have no idea how to explain this so I'm gonna copy-paste the blurb: as humans turn into savage monsters, one troubled teenager and his neighbours fight to survive and to hold onto their humanity. basically people turn into monsters for [redacted] reasons and everyone in his large apartment building is stuck inside trying to fend for their lives.

my name- I'm just going to paste the blurbs going forward because it's easier: Following her father's murder, a revenge-driven woman puts her trust in a powerful crime boss -- and enters the force under his direction. bro some of these twists I expected but others caught me off guard. I love the main character and am a little gay for her but I think that's valid because she's a bamf. there was a plot point at the end of the second to last episode that I really didn't like and made me very upset. narratively I get why they did it but it made me sad so I'm still pissy. might get around to writing a fix-it fic one day when motivation strikes because my girl deserves better things.

the guest- a detective, a catholic priest, and a psychic join forces to fight crime caused by supernatural forces. not to say they are my ot3 but they kinda are. (other ppl interpret it is a lesbian and her two bi/gay bffs which I also accept but. ot3 tho). LOVED every twist and turn and how the three of them go from not trusting one another to being family. genuinely one of my favorites from all the kdramas I've watched over the years and I want to rewatch it again soon

happiness (tvn)- The residents of a high-rise apartment fight for their lives against a deadly infectious disease while Sae-bom and Yi-hyun try to find the person because of whom the virus spread. bro I adored this. some characters annoyed me (which means they were written effectively) but it has so much. fake dating/marriage (they wanted a better apartment lmao). annoyances to lovers. mean/rude woman soft for sunshine man. what you will do for the people you love. morals and humanity during a catastrophy. *smacks show* you can fit so much into this. no but seriously, I thought this was a really interesting take on the zombie virus! so some of the time you come off completely asymptomatic and 'normal', so people can get away with acting normal and hiding the disease around other people, so the paranoia and mystery is REALLY amped up. had me guessing a LOT. sae-bom and yi-hyun are both cops/detectives and you find out really early (ep 1/2?) that sae-bom is immune which gives a really interesting dynamic that leaves her (to yi-hyun's exasperation and heightened blood pressure levels) to be kinda reckless in the pursuit of truth and salvation. I'm rambling now because this is making me watch to rewatch but yeah as a zombie/dystopia/apocalypse lover this was a good watch. it's more story-focused than violence-heavy which was a cool and refreshing twist

alice in borderland- okay y'all I am aware people had mixed feelings about s2 but overall I did enjoy the series. 'Obsessed gamer Arisu suddenly finds himself in a strange, emptied-out version of Tokyo in which he and his friends must compete in dangerous games in order to survive.' what can I say, I love a dystopian-esque setting.

the silent sea- imma be real, I only watched it for loml bae doona from sense8. 'During a perilous 24-hour mission on the moon, space explorers try to retrieve samples from an abandoned research facility steeped in classified secrets.' basically earth is in severe crisis mode as they run out of water to drink. water has recently been found on the moon, and although there was a mysterious tragedy that happened previously to researchers looking for water in a base on the moon, they have reached a level of desperation where they have another mission to look for moon water. mystery, paranoia, a couple of good twists ensue. I thought it was pretty good even though I have some mixed feelings about the open ending.

semantic error- yes I am sliding a bl into this list. bitch you thought. of course my bl-loving self would mention this (I forgot about it until I looked up good kdramas to remind myself of stuff I have watched). 'A strict, rule-abiding computer science major must work together with an artist with a polar-opposite personality to his.' confident cool boy meets bitch boy. it's great.

and of course...

leverage con artists- I would be fired from running this blog if I didn't mention the beloved korean spinoff of leverage. 'The series follows the story of Lee Tae-joon, a former insurance investigator who forms a team of thieves and con artists to target the rich and wealthy. The team was also formed to avenge Tae-joon's son's death.' I've posted about it before so I won't go super into it but it's VERY camp, a good time, and the ot3 is alive and well. debatable more overt than their predecessor!

other mentionables:

I tried watching kingdom (again for bae doona) but couldn't really get into it. might try again later because it's critically acclaimed (I think) and has even gotten a spinoff series

my roommate really liked mr queen. I didn't really pay attention when we were in the same room and they were watching it but it's fruity

the island on amazon prime was good! interesting plot but not in my top 10 or anything. worth a watch if you're looking for a kdrama to watch in your spare time. features girlboss businesswoman being thrown into a world of the supernatural because [redacted]. supernatural black horse man keeps her safe while keeping a life-changing secret.

let's fight ghost was a thai show that I saw and loved that was adapted into a kdrama called bring it on ghost, but honestly I couldn't get through it because I liked the thai one better.

train to busan is technically a movie but it's iconic and well-known and I highly suggest watching it if you like zombie/apocalypse movies. disclaimer: kdramas do not have the slow 'walker' zombies. they are fucking fast and the stuff of my nightmares. would probably just jump off a bridge if this actually happened ngl

I did think that extraordinary attorney woo was cute. I never finished it and know that there are VERY valid criticisms about the perpetuation of media portraying people with autism in the stereotypical savant ways. however, I liked how the love interest accepted her for who she was, loved her because of who she was and made efforts to accommodate and learn how to comfort her in ways that would work for her

business proposal was pretty decent if you like lighthearted romance- I didn't finish it but would like to at some point

tale of the nine tailed was another one that my roommate and I started watching but never finished. it was alright! just lost interest

shows on my watchlist:

black knight (netflix)- 'In a dystopian future devastated by air pollution, the survival of humanity depends on a group of deliverymen known as the Black Knights who navigate the wastelands using unconventional means.'

copycat killer-

hellbound (netflix)-

shop for killers (hulu)- 'A nephew who lost his parents and grew up in the hands of an uncle who runs a shopping mall faces a new truth after his uncle's sudden death.'

the legend of the blue sea (viki + hulu)- 'A magistrate's plan to release mermaids into the ocean backfires when they're caught by fishermen.' (legit I just miss mermaid media)

gyeongseong creature (netflix)- 'In the city of Gyeongseong in 1945, a group of young people thinking only of their own survival encounter a monster born of human greed and ask themselves what humanity is.'

dark hole (viki)- 'A mysterious black fog from a petrochemical factory's sinkhole turns people into bizarre figures; people who are not infected try to survive in this middle of pandemonium.'

the cursed (multiple)- 'An enthusiastic social issues reporter, fighting against the evil hidden behind an IT conglomerate, meets a teen-age girl who is possessed by a spirit and has special abilities.'

blood (multiple)- 'Dr Park Ji Sang believes in the sanctity of human life, and struggles to treat terminally ill cancer patients and save lives while at the same time being a vampire.'

the ghost detective (viki)- 'In this horror thriller drama, a detective who catches ghosts tries to solve the case of his younger sibling's death with the help of his assistant.'

possessed (netflix)- 'A smart-mouthed detective and a reclusive psychic medium join together to get rid of the ghost of a murder who was executed 20 years ago.'

connect (hulu)- 'A man is kidnapped and one of his eyes removed by a gang of organ hunters; his eyes was transplanted into body of a serial killer; the unwilling donor now has terrible visions as he witnesses terrifying attacks on the residents of Seoul.'

and now just because so many of these only have het romances, I looked up k-dramas with lgbtq representation... (some of these recommendations were from articles from screenrant, movieweb, this subreddit, herzindagi (bl-focused), allkpop)

schoolgirl detectives (viki)- 'Five teenage girls join together to investigate mysterious incidents that occur at their school, as well as help classmate deal with bullying, depression and other crises.'

be melodramatic (netflix, viki)- 'Three 30-year-old best friends, Jinju, Eun-jung and Hanju each pursue different paths in both career and love. Despite life's difficulties, the three friends can always return home at the end of the day and support each other.'

lily fever (available w/subtitles on youtube)- 'The story revolves around the budding relationship between Kim Kyung Ju and Jang Se Rang who meet when Kyung Ju can't find her passport and has to go to her friend's house to try and find it.'

love alarm (netflix)- 'In a world in which an app alerts people if someone in the vicinity likes them, Kim Jojo experiences young love while coping with personal adversities.'

nevertheless (netflix)- 'The story of a romance between a man who is annoyed with relationships but likes to flirt and a woman who wants to date but does not believe in love.' (wlw side couple romance)

#i worked on this while the other half of the screen was zoom (i was just supervising don't worry) and this post is now WAY too long #so i'm stopping here #jackie talks #about me #mine #asks #answered asks #anon asks #kdrama #kdramas #international shows #my recommendations #other media #read more

[jihoonmk]

so, this is probably the latest i've ever been with an intro post (a week? i think....) anywho! it's just me, jiwoo's mun here with a 2nd (but not really a new muse, just bring life back to a muse who has actually lived a few times before and i have a special attachment to hehehe). meet kang jihoon, my sweet boy with quite a bit of trauma (which i won't get into here much + will make sure to use tw's as needed!).

he's my black bird manipulation baby who just wants to fit in and feel like he belongs somewhere. he can also do a bit of dream walking, but he's sort of afraid to use his minor ability due to the risks of it (listed on his profile).

anyway, i'll list below a few things to know about him for plotting purposes so if you'd like to plot with this boy here feel free to like this post and i'll slide into your dm's! (i will be getting to jiwoo's stuff tomorrow, i promise i haven't forgotten anyone. it's just been a really hectic week. ;;). of course i also have a discord but that's only available upon request if it's easier for you to plot there! ^^

things to know:

jihoon is from Melbourne, Australia where he previously lived with his mother and father (who was, and still is, completely unaware of this magical world that jihoon is a part of and he would very much like to keep it as a secret from the man for as long as he possibly can).

family death tw: his mother sadly passed away when he was 17 years old, leaving behind only jihoon and his father. her death took a major toll on not only jihoon, but his father as well (taking her death extremely hard to the point where he began to change after).

jihoon isn't exactly close to his father, even more so after everything that happened when it just became the two of them. it's part of the reason why he managed to 'train himself' to be 'invisible' in others' presences and learned to keep to himself when in rooms with other people.

abuse tw/alcohol tw/family death tw: after his mother's death, jihoon's father began drinking uncontrollably. it got so bad to the point that he began drunkenly taking his sorrow/anger out on jihoon, often beating him to make himself 'feel better' while dealing with the death of his wife. jihoon learned over time to just stay still and take the beatings that he received, knowing that if he tried to stop his father, run away, or even begged him to stop then the beatings would only get worse. eventually the man fled Australia and moved to busan in order to evade any of his wife's family, running out of excuses as to why they couldn't check up on jihoon and see how he was managing after his mother's passing.

the day that an elder visited jihoon, thankfully his father was too 'out of it' and passed out on the bedroom floor to even notice any visitors. this day was the one day that gave jihoon the slightest bit of hope of even having some sort of 'happiness' in his life. a life away from the not-so-perfect life that he has at home with his father.

it took quite a bit of convincing to finally get his father to agree and let him leave busan to go to 'seoul', telling the man that he would have a better 'job' opportunity there and that he'd be able to give the man even more money. thus giving jihoon the chance to get away from the man and more or less go into hiding where he could start a new life for himself in jeju.

it's only when jihoon arrives in jeju that he realizes he had never been on his own before, making him even more nervous and aware of his own surroundings. even after starting his studies, he mainly kept to himself and would be known as that one kid in the back of the class. the kid that was always so quiet and didn't have many friends, despite others actually trying to approach him to befriend him.

even now, in his junior year, jihoon has very few friends and mostly keeps to himself. he works in order to feed himself, is one of those students that always turns his work in on time, and can even be found gazing up at the starts most nights while lost in his own thoughts. no one really knows what's going on inside that head of his, and it seems that his only 'friend' is his companion (aside from the few that managed to break through those walls he had previously built up around himself).

#mk:intro #{ let's just pretend that this isn't 100 years late? c: }

[mlmxreader]

Homemade Meals and Films | Detective Loki x m!reader

@areyouwaiting asked: well here I am

Det. Loki x male reader

“You’re not eating that shit, I’ll make you something decent” as a prompt because that bitch doesn’t eat right

Thanks <33

summary: Loki has shit eating habits, but you've finally got an excuse to change that.

tws: swearing, mentions of smoking

Admittedly, when he was working, Loki ate like shit. He also slept like it. Black coffee and occasional snacks throughout the day weren't exactly any good for him, neither were cigarettes and cans of Red Bull. Sure, he could have easily gotten something a little better, or at least filling, at any of the fast food and takeaway places that were around, as they were open for a good chunk of the day and they were nice and cheap, but Loki rarely ever went there; usually, he found himself sat in the same cafe drinking the same shit as always. He never ate properly, never drank properly, he never slept properly; every day, he would come home to you in the exact same state. Hungry. Tired. Looking like a bag of shit that had been dragged through a bush backwards. In all the years you had known him, and in all the years since that you had been dating, you had always wanted to change that; you wanted to make sure that he was properly fed, that he wasn't just drinking black coffee and that he was actually getting some fucking sleep, but you had never gotten the chance.

Until tonight. Until he came home at quarter past two in the morning, when the air was cold and the wind was howling and the rain was on tap, when the streets were quiet and the biggest worry you had was making sure that the television would pause before 'Train to Busan' started on the film channel. You made sure that you had everything set up just right; the bedding changed and still warm from the tumble dryer, the scent of leather coating the air in the room, the lights turned off except for the little lamp that sat in the corner, the duvet chucked on the sofa as the television froze when you pressed the pause button. The film would start in half an hour. Pots and pans on the stove as you decided that you would make the thing that would be best for him: a good strong curry. Thankfully you had enough spices and herbs that it would actually taste of something and that it would actually have a kick to it instead of that mild bullshit people often had. A good strong curry; filling, good for the body, and good for the mind.

Loki came home just as you were pulling the vegetables out, laying them in order beside the wooden chopping board; he didn't think much of it, draping himself across your back and kissing your neck sweetly as he grumbled so softly. "What are you doing?"

"I know you went to the café," you started, grabbing a peeled onion and starting to chop it up. "And you're not eating that shit, I'll make you something decent - I'm gonna make you a curry."

He smiled, nuzzling into the back of your neck as he closed his eyes and grumbled again, ever so faint and ever so soft; he could smell the spices already, making his stomach growl as he did his best not to complain about it. The top buttons of his shirt were undone, and he could feel the slight shiver from the winter air begin to creep its way up, making him clench his jaw. "What kinda curry?"

"It's a veggie Phaal," you told him. "It'll be good for you, trust me."

"How?"

"It's filling," you started, "so it'll fill your stomach more than black coffee and fucking snacks. It's balanced and nutritious... and it's good for the mind."

Loki grumbled again. "How?"

"It tastes good," you chuckled softly. "And stuff that tastes good is always good for the mind... but don't worry - there's a horror film on tonight, so I figured, y'know, we could snuggle down after eating. Watch it together. I brought the duvet down, too."

He couldn't stop the smile that came to him as he turned around and looked at the sofa; the thick duvet smothering it, the frozen television screen, he recognised the lumps of pillows beneath the duvet, too. "Thank you."

"It's not a big deal," you scoffed. "I mean, I'm your boyfriend - isn't it part of the territory that I gotta look after you?"

"Well, yeah, but-"

"Then go sit down," you told him gently. "Get yourself comfortable, and we'll eat, watch a film, and then go to bed."

All Loki could do was nod as he dared to pull away from you, thinking to himself how lucky he was that he had such a caring boyfriend as he got himself comfortable amongst the duvet and the pillows; maybe one day, there would be a canopy in your future. Maybe one day, there would be a glass to step on. Maybe. If you put up with him long enough.

if you liked this fic, REBLOG IT - you SHOULD reblog it; spam likers WILL be blocked. as will blogs that refuse to reblog or to give feedback. if you don't wanna reblog, then you'll get blocked; reblogging is the BARE MINIMUM. don't just "like", REBLOG

#mlem writes #really fancy a phaal curry now ngl #detective loki x you #detective loki x reader #detective loki imagine #detective loki oneshot #detective loki #prisoners 2013 #prisoners imagine #prisoners movie #prisoners film #jake gyllenhaal imagine #jake gyllenhaal x reader #jake gyllenhaal x you #jake gyllenhaal

[inkystaar]

for the fun ask game- 3, 8, 19, 20? :D

hi jordan ✌️

3. 3 films you could watch for the rest of your life and not get bored?

OHHHH BOY. yes. ok. SO. first. Knives Out, directed by Rian Johnson, music composed by Nathan Johnson. i am in LOVE with this movie. everytime i watch it there’s more details to discover and look at and OUHHHH its so so so fucking good. not to mention the mood and the colours of the scenes…… much love for Knives Out

SECOND!!! Train to Busan, directed by Yeon Sang-ho. FUCKING BEAUTIFUL MOVIE. will make you cry your eyes out. i’m very certain ive talked about this one on the discord before but OHHHHH fuck. okay. it hurts me so much. it’s horrible. i love it. i will watch this forever and ever ( cough cough zombie apocalypse hyperfixation holding me in a chokehold ) this one has a shit ton of blood, so beware.

goddd also Minus One….. directed by Takashi Yamazaki. i know it was just recently released but holy shittttt. it’s a retelling of the original godzilla movie but oughhh i like Minus One so much better. this one has a lot of grief and death and world war II topics, so beware.

8. recurring dreams?

none, actually! i don’t dream often :] and i’ve never had a repeat dream!

19. favorite things about the day?

i love the sun. i love hanging out with my friends. i love when it rains and i love the smell of rain ( which is called petrichor — which is made up of the greek words “petra” meaning stone, and “ichor” relating the the golden fluid that flows through immortals in greek mythology ). i love picking out outfits and i love taking my dog on walks and i love doing my makeup

20. favorite things about the night?

i love documenting the moon phases. i love taking out my dad’s telescope and looking at the moon and stars in detail. i love when the night sky is clear and i love seeing the stars. i love playing overcooked with my parents and i love the inside jokes that come from it.

#i love a lot of my life if you couldn’t tell 🙏 #inky speaks

[soonyoungblr]

THIS IS A REPUBLISH OF LOVE AGAIN, WHICH WAS ORIGINALLY POSTED ON MY MAIN—SOFTFORQIANKUN. However, I didn’t finish it and discontinued it but I missed it SO MUCH I decided to repost it and finish it!! The first seventeen chapters were already out but I will repost these and continue the story. TAGLIST IS OPEN !!

sypnosis; y/n is a photographer who often DMs park sunghoon as she finds comfort in the lyrics he writes. one day, y/n experiences two heartbreaks for the first time and he can’t help but respond to her messages.

pairing; solo artist!park sunghoon x photographer!female reader

genre; angst, fluff, comedy, strangers to friends to lovers

warnings; swearing, drama, mentions of cheating, mentions of insecurity, mentions of neglect, reader’s parents are resentful about her career path.

starring; enhypen, itzy’s yuna ft a small part of txt’s taehyun & itzy’s ryujin

release date; originally 19/11. new date: 23/05 - tba

updates; every one to three days

permanent taglist: @staysstrays @soobin-chois @fylithia @enhacolor @ja4hyvn @maiverie @bambisgirl @byeolwonnie @yizhoutv

current taglist: @asahicore @its-madi @shawkneecaps @yogurteume @theskzvibe @shuaeunie @cyuuupid @dreamyeyes26 @youreverydayzebra @candidupped @sungookie @hiqhkey @junnniiieee07 @lilactangerine @starryyeonjun

a/n: as stated above, this is a republish. i had the first seventeen chapters out before i lost motivation and discontinued my work, and i really regretted it. i had all of my work saved so decided to GIVE IT THE ENDING IT DESERVES. I suppose this will be a bonus for the new people who haven't read it before as you're gonna get your updates every few hours/days until the eighteenth part.

DISCLAIMER; this is a work of fiction, none of these are an accurate representation of any of the idols included in this story.

profiles - y/n's protection squad

profiles - sunghoon's hella talented squad

one — shut up and get on the plane

two — i miss y/n more

three — no longer friends

four — i’m sorry ✏️

five — i’m worth more than this

six — maybe one day i will be enough

seven — ooh we’re subtweeting

eight — nothing beats a friends marathon

nine — y/n, you can’t sing

ten — track three broke me 💔

eleven — i’d rather simp for sunoo

twelve — you’re WHAT?

thirteen — just FINE???? ✏️

fourteen — stop embarrassing yourself on priv

fifteen — IT'S NOT A COMPETITION

sixteen — train to busan 🧟‍♂️

seventeen — mysterious text

eighteen — i wish you the best ♡

nineteen — you deserve better

twenty — #teamsunoo

twenty one — spoke too soon

twenty two — she's so pretty :((

twenty three — new friendz

twenty four...

twenty five...

more coming soon !

#enhypen social media au #enhypen sm au #enhypen fanfiction #enhypen fanfic #enhypen fic #enhypen fake texts #park sunghoon x female reader