#the saviour from the sky came friend-shaped;yeong boram

[mythvoiced]

-. @theimpalpable​ | continued ♥

---

The first thing he has to subdue is the urge to reach out.

From the moment he sees him standing in front of his door. He could almost smell him through it, or the first notes of his scent wafting shyly through what cracks the door may create where it hovers in such a minuscule way over the floor. His heart, already a bit less relaxed than what it could have been, at being woken at such an hour, suddenly - which is his least favourite way to be woken up - had skipped a beat far too revealing to really misinterpret the love songs written on top of it.

But then he’d opened the door and all else but that urge had stilled.

Back then, when all they knew was each other and hope within a hopeless situation, when Boram had been light in an otherwise pitch black perception, they’d both been worse off than what anyone would recommend, than what the Gods themselves probably intended. Back then being upset, shaking, breathing as if in a race had been the norm.

Now, though, now the norm is paperwork, banter they still don’t quite dare call flirting and magnolia berries. Now the norm is surprise visits, enjoying nature as it breaths around them, and hoping that that semi-innocent touch won’t break what is building between them.

This isn’t the norm Boram deserves. This isn’t what he calls a fair universe, one that forces Boram onto his couch with all of his self pulled taut, as if moments from losing to all that is within entirely. This isn’t a world he’s willing to care for if it allows Boram to spends any night, but even a mere second, like this. That’s a world he’ll bite the hand off, if it dares reaching out too soon or at all, towards his most precious, his most sacred, his most everything.

That is a world he’ll push aside, a world he’d set on any back burner, to side and protect and cherish and hold the one he’ll bleed for, the one he’ll melt into a mess of unshed dreams, concerns, and deep red fur, the one he has learnt to worship the rain for.

He’s the one who makes his heart race and his blood boil as it readies the heat required to defend all that he is and all that no one gets to tell him not to be... but he’s also the one he’ll snuff his own fire out for, in exchange for the free hand he wraps around Boram’s shoulders to pull him closer. He’s the one he’ll hold as close as he’d like, the one who’s hand fits so perfectly in his own, the one he’ll try to swallow his tears for, as he kisses the top of his head and tries to control all that his heart bursts into his veins at that line.

He’s the one he’ll wait for until he wakes up, with his own cheek resting against his head even as the sun shyly attempts to greet them through the pale curtains of his home, with his fingers still tightly intertwined with his.

#theimpalpable #the model;hyun #the saviour from the sky came friend-shaped;yeong boram #our history is stained with blood but we grew flowers on this hill and shielded each other from the storm;boram & hyun #trauma tw #sO I MAY HAVE?? SLIPPED A LIL AND REPLIED TO IT WITH AN ATTEMPT AT ENCOMPASSING all that Hyun is feeling #I HOPE THAT'S OKAY? OBVIOUSLY YOU DON'T HAVE TO REPLY TO IT IF YOU DON'T FEEL LIKE IT OR FOR WHATEVER REASON #I JUST!!!!!!!!!! mayhaps wanted to write Hyun holding him in turn--- THAT'S ALL LOVE YOU AND THEM #;queue

[mythvoiced]

The Case Study of Yeong Boram

🐲 & 🥢

1600 Words + 10 Drabbles = 1610 16.10.2021 HAPPY ALEX DAY~ | @theimpalpable / @jeoseungsaja

Imagine being stuck.

There are walls all around. Sometimes they’re real. Sometimes they’re shadow silhouettes, illusions of the true walls they’re recreating. Stuck nonetheless, because be they physical or be they imagined, they are equally as suffocating.

Stuck would mean an inability to move. Beyond a given area, beyond a given life. Stuck in the sense of forced into non-appreciated routines, ideas and tasks that don’t appeal, don’t stimulate, don’t give energy, but seem to claim only, along with perhaps a few fragments of soul here and there, while it’s at it.

Stuck in the sense that everything feels tight, far too tight. Can’t move, can’t properly breathe, can’t truly see beyond the edge of something, beyond what has been put there, to either represent a memory, to represent a falsehood, to represent a truth. Doesn’t really matter what it is, what it’s claiming to be, what it’s true nature is. What actually matters is that it’s there and it won’t move because stuck means not moving.

Stuck means not breathing.

Stuck means not free.

And now imagine the direct opposite of this.

And that’s Yeong Boram to you.

Yeong Boram is a dragon and claims ownership over the skies the same way a just king claims none over his country. At least that’s one of the lines given in response to the question as to who he is. The skies don’t belong to him because Yeong Boram lets the world be its own owner, because Yeong Boram is a presence in it with the intention to make something out of it. The world doesn’t belong to him, he lives in it, he breathes in it, he perhaps hopes to leave it better than he entered it, better than he experienced it, but you’d have to ask him directly to know what he truly wants.

These are, after all, merely statements taken from a bystander.

As close as the bystander may be, a bystander he still is.

Still, some of his statements seem to be profound. As if he’s spent far too much time thinking of them, thinking how much of it is fair to give away so freely, how much of it Yeong Boram can so readily give to the world without remaining withered and dry at the edges of it.

He’s surprised, he said. Keeps being surprised. Witnessing Yeong Boram continue to breathe and to fly and to run its course, like a gentle river speeding towards the rare salvation of the ocean.

How does one even begin to comprehend a reality of the likes far too great to even be of the likes someone like the bystander should be allowed to witness? It’s not… it’s not science. It’s not entirely incomprehensible, there’s nothing much one truly has to fight to understand.

But the questions remain, because whenever the attempt arises to simply take matters as they are, eyes cross again and heart lurch and the questions re-arise.

They are never doubts. Doubts don’t fit into the context and the language used to describe its frame and the many things blooming within it. There’s no doubt in the fox’s heart, there’s no doubt in his love, there is no doubt in anything the bystander feels when the dragon, when the one, the Yeong Boram, crosses the metaphorical skies of his very being.

But questions he still asks.

How does one…

How is he?

How is Yeong Boram, Yeong Boram?

And, actually, more importantly, how is he all that he is, in spite of all that he was made to be, against his will, against his core, against his self?

How can one keep giving when so much has already been taken?

And how does one become deserving, when one becomes the one love is given to?

He’s got plenty of space within him.

Which, in its own way, is also questionable.

He’s never been empty, he can’t claim that. No matter what shape his hands take, how lithe they become or if they’re hands at all, they’ve always had plenty to grab and stuff into him. Knowledge gathered from even the smallest stone turned, curiosities satisfied with the mere tilt of a head, a single question or a million with each an answer or perhaps only one for all of them.

There’s space in him because he makes it, because he needs it to put there the things he seeks, whatever they may be, whenever he will actually discover their nature by getting to wrap his fingers around them.

So he isn’t empty per se.

But is he quite full?

Often a tiny piece of void has been calling from within. A gentle reminder. A friendly reminder. Call it as you may. A letter, with one sentence upon its envelope, to whom it may concern. The letter, pale and wet at the corners. Drops build at the edges of the paper, feeling to the touch as if petals of lilies gliding softly along still waters. The drops curl and dance and roll down his fingers and pool around his wrists, healing the scars there, the scars not all can see, but he can always feel.

Much like Yeong Boram, really.

Or maybe Yeong Boram is those drops.

Maybe he is the lake his petals can so gently glide upon. Find the safety not so easily granted by existence. Longed for all the more, no?

Maybe he is the lilies too? Or maybe he’s a bit of everything?

Unclear. Although the answer seems apparent enough, the fox wouldn’t even consider a no. Not always would he have said yes all too readily. There was the idea of taking too much. Of taking even the slightest ounce of too much from Yeong Boram, be it in a gaze shot his way, a gaze of his held too jealously. Or perhaps his name on his lips. Or perhaps even the idea that perhaps, at one point or another, the dragon might have thought of the colour red and felt it whispered in his name.

Or maybe he’s the one whispering. Maybe he’s the one brushing his thumbs along the lilies because they remind him of him, because the lake reminds him of him, because the drops remind him of him, the rain, the clear sky, the green when it blooms because he feels like all it means to be alive, of the tranquility of air brushing against healed wounds, the brightness of being indoors when the freedom to leave is ever-present and never-challenged.

Maybe there is no actual space in him left and he’s been full all this time.

Because a part of him was designed to welcome novelties, hobbies and tasks and crafts and ideas and curiosities and the mere brushing of considerations, that perhaps something new could fit in as well, already claimed their spots, settling gladly in the core of a being who so readily welcomed opportunities to learn more, discover, become good, or even terribly bad, at something he’s never tried before.

And then the rest of him is simply Yeong Boram.

Maybe Yeong Boram is simply that part of him he can’t describe in metaphors and wishes and desires. Because all it does is sing in metaphors and wish and desire, because there’s no space, no intent to dedicate itself to speeches, when it is already so busy with them.

There’s no space in him to describe the space that is in there, no space to try and dissect the different parts of the fox when he’s everything at once and at the same time simply a being set upon this world to regard Yeong Boram with the same reverence the moon and the ocean love to exchange.

When he’s allowed to brush past Yeong Boram’s existence, and perhaps leave a mark, much like the reflection of the moon is at its fullest, its brightest, it’s least disturbed.

Maybe he’d change it all.

Maybe he’d rewrite the universe, figure out how it works and make his own, to use it as a reflection of that part of him that is actually Yeong Boram.

That part of him that looked to the skies and the stars. That part who seemed to still at the sight of rain and lilies and ponds and lakes and drops and letters and love and music and smiles and delight and laughter and warm eyes and fond voices and the desire to never harm to always protect to always caress with the love any being should be treated with, while simultaneously doubling down on just how much one singular individual dragon should give to so much of the world.

So imagine being stuck.

And then imagine Yeong Boram.

And you’ll have, at once, Ji Hyun’s past and future.

Ji Hyun, whom was stuck in the past. Physically and metaphorically by association. When the walls keeping him trapped were real because he couldn’t push past them but also imaginative, invisible and twice as tenacious, because of all the bindings they wrapped around his soul, keeping all that he was experiencing within the literal walls, tightly locked into his very core.

Metaphorically even after he was freed because it took a while to feel as though he wouldn’t see those physical walls again, if he accidentally shut his eyes too tightly.

Ji Hyun, who is so very free in the present. And will be in the future. Ji Hyun who is out to discover once more. Ji Hyun who’s future is the other half of his soul, the reason his soul feels as though it may breathe, Ji Hyun who sees Yeong Boram and never knows how to describe him.

Only knows how to love all the million things he does in reality see him as.

#theimpalpable #jeoseungsaja #our history is stained with blood but we grew flowers on this hill and shielded each other from the storm;boram & hyun #the saviour from the sky came friend shaped;yeong boram #this one started interestingly for the sole reason that i had no idea where it was going and how we ended here but I HOPE IT'S? SORT OF? #mayhaps intriguing?? :3 NO KIDDING WRITING about Boram/Hyun's adoration for Boram after such a long time was an absolute delight #IN FACT all of these drabbles were a delight to write for some of them i had to actually cap myself i'M- SKFGJFHJLK SORRY #fun fact: these are queued in the order i wrote them in so no real order KLDGFJLH #HAPPY BIRTHDAY~~~ #it's also an absolute DISRESPECT that i couldn't find an azure asian dragon in this emoji list #also hyun as chopsticks bc They Do Cook™ and because the fox belongs to Yeo >:3 #;queue

[mythvoiced]

@theimpalpable​ | 🍻+ "what are you thinking about, right now?" (Hyun and Boram, Boram wishing to acknowledge more about Hyun's trains of thought, also wishing to just hear him talk, whenever there's a chance? More likely than you think; are they even highly affected by alcohol, probably not, bUT) drunken confession.

---

He’s more fond of the taste of this particular drink than the notion of drinking alcohol. No, better yet, he’s mostly fondest of the company he gets to share than any colourful liquid swimming in his glass right now, as he brings it to his lips and regards Boram with the same look he’s done most of the evening, this fine balance between watching who’s talking and not possessing the self-awareness to realise how evidently he’s using that as an excuse to look at the dragon a little longer.

It’s cosy, that’s the most important part. He sets cross-legged on the floor of his current apartment, bare feet, pyjama shorts, some hoodie he found somewhere. He doesn’t have to be anything or anyone, doesn’t have to pretend to not be something, he can speak as he wishes, think even more so and yes, Hyun isn’t exactly the type to rob himself of these capabilities on a regular basis.

But even he, as he likes himself to be, sometimes makes statements with the knowledge he might need to prepare for instant backlash. He’s not dense to his own words - not too often, at least, and when he is, he’s only dense when impulsivity was the one to gently pluck them off his tongue - and he’s not blind to the features of others, so he knows when he’s moments from being dragged into something.

And then, of course, there’s his company. He’s silent as he finishes his sip on the homemade cocktail, silent as he lets the liquid wash over his tongue and coat the roof of his mouth and his inner cheeks with flavours he’s still trying to determine his opinion on. It’s not the easiest thing, to get seriously inebriated when possessing the abilities they do. But it’s not impossible. And at this stage, the warmth spread into his cheeks and adding that extra layer of colour to them, the sweetness of the drink running down his throat, and the ease settling into his mind, they’re still pleasant, still devoid of nonsense or intensified emotions, as his body reacts to the poisoning.

He just feels nice.

Because of his company.

Yes, that’s what he was assessing. He smiles, wide, opens eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed while swimming in his own thoughts. Because his company is nice, because his company makes him feel as though questions are posed in wonder and not demanding him to justify his thoughts, because his company smells of all that is healthy and airy in the world, like a spring in the mountain, and all the water that lands in the valley has made thousands of flowers bloom, because he keeps giving and because Hyun is the bee so eagerly settling on the azalea blooming near the riverbank.

He isn’t even sitting that far away - and it’s nice? It’s so stupidly nice and his chest keeps doing that thing, his heart, it keeps going and going and going at it, the way he can sit on the floor of his home and everywhere he walks and touches he leaves a little bit of his scent, and is it the alcohol, or has he always felt this deeply as a fox would, in regards to dens? But far enough that Hyun seems it suitable to stretch out one of his legs and poke Boram’s thigh with his toes, repeatedly, playfully, gently, with a snort he doesn’t notice bursting out of him ahead of time.

“You. And this cocktail,” he lifts his glass. He didn’t even have any suitable glasses, just these... normal ones. Whatever. “I’ve no idea if it turned out okay, because I don’t know what it’s supposed to taste like, but I like it,” he tears his gaze from the beverage, tilts his head until he’s almost resting it against his own shoulder and doesn’t know how he’s looking at Boram, doesn’t know what others can so evidently see, in the appreciative gaze, in the adoring smile, in the spark of like. “Thank you for trying it with me. Thank you for coming over at all, actually... And for coming back. And finding me.” He lifts the glass to his lips again, watching his own hand approach. “I’m thinking... about... mountains, and valley flowers. About... Would it sound weird, if I aske you to say the night? Not to do anything, just... to stay. Keep you to myself a little longer, maybe.”

#theimpalpable #the model;hyun #the saviour from the sky came friend-shaped;yeong boram #our history is stained with blood but we grew flowers on this hill and shielded each other from the storm;boram & hyun #I'M LOSING MY MIND OH GOD I reached the end of THIS AND ALMOST DIED #i just let Hyun do as Hyun wishes to do aND MAYBE they're not too affected but I think Hyun's getting there slowly aND I JUST I wanted #to just write whatever he'd end up muttering and OH GOD okay OKAY I HOPE THIS IS OKAY AND OH MAN #GOODNESS THANK YOU SO MUCH FOr sending this in AND FOr THE ADDED THUGHTS AND THANK YOU #oh my god please somebody hold my hand i'm a little out of it after this i pl E ASE #AND OFC ALWAYS let me know if you'd like and/or need me to change anything LIKE DEADASS? if you ever? #want to re-send an ask Or just generally send multiple ones of the same one bc idk you had something else in mind or multiple things YOU #- KNOW I'D LOVE ANYTHING OKAY AND WOULD ALWAYS find a way to figure it out and like i just love your brain so i'll vibe with anything #;queue

[mythvoiced]

@theimpalpable​ | ‘it’s okay. you’re safe.’ (from Boram to Hyun :3c) STRANGER THINGS SENTENCE MEME

---

Things like these don’t happen too often.

Sure, there are moments where he’ll round a corner while walking down an unassuming path and feel himself shift slightly off his own axis. One moment everything will be in order, the next he’ll feel as if he’s accidentally missed a step and made to lurch forward while the rest of his body failed to react accordingly. As if his conscious was being pulled in one direction, and the rest of him in the next, forced to watch as everything moved away from him, brighter than it should be, or harsher, or slower, or faster, while nothing actually changed, forced to experience these visuals simultaneously, as they overlapped mercilessly and his brain failed to set them apart.

Those would be moments. Perhaps a thought he hadn’t even been aware of had flown through his mind, maybe something familiar and feared had brushed his skin, often times he didn’t understand, and often times, he didn’t want to either. He preferred disappearing into the nearest crowd, into the nearest television, engaging in conversations he doesn’t have the focus to participate in, just to force himself to exist within the now, and not slip any further into the then.

And then, there are times where everything he’s ever taught himself in terms of strategies is nullified by his inability to execute them.

Times in which he just feels dizzy, but in a way that an actual drowsy spinning of the head wouldn’t be able to explain. Times in which his chest will move faster than it should, where his arms will look just a tad too long, just a bit too far away, Fingers spread to reveal palms with too many lines, familiar and yet foreign, as if he’s but a visitor in his own body, a body appearing steadily more deformed, more wrong.

And he doesn’t know what to do, then, how to make it stop.

“It’s okay, you’re safe.”

He can hear his own breath shake as he pulls it in and lifts his gaze from his hands, from the scars wrapped around his wrists that he doesn’t remember how to glamour, them too vivid like a memory, that seems to belong to someone else. He sees fabric stretched over someone’s chest, he sees their arms hanging at their sides, the width of their shoulders. Then there’s skin, starting from the collar, growing into a neck, jutting out into a chin, spreading into cheeks, encompassing lips, nose, and eyes.

He can’t look at them too long, can’t look into them for too long, without feeling too real too fast, but he realises that he knows them, and he realises that maybe, maybe he’s right. He can sense it in the simple essence of a presence directly before him that he associates with warmth and safety. He can smell him too, can associate it with all those moments in which he didn’t have to retract into himself to not come to harm, where self-preservation could be achieved while listening and responding to someone’s voice, bouncing off humid and stony walls. Bright eyes sparkling in dim light, the early beginnings of careful first conversations.

And more recent memories, arms wrapped around his shoulders, holding gently, palms on his cheeks, fingers on his knuckles, a bright smile and the urge to see it again and again and again and again.

Hyun blinks, closes his eyes actually, and breathes in again.

“It’s okay, I’m safe,” he repeats, more to himself, and while his voice still sounds too far away to be trustworthy, and while he feels that lump in his throat that comes whenever he fears how far he’s slipping, the shoulder he presses his forehead against feels solid, real, and... well... safe.

#theimpalpable #dissociation tw #depersonalisation tw #tw dissociation #tw depersonalisation #depersonalization tw #tw depersonalization #yknow different spelling american british #the model;hyun #the saviour from the sky came friend-shaped;yeong boram #our history is stained with blood but we grew flowers on this hill and shielded each other from the storm;boram & hyun #OKAY FIRST OF ALL this ask kicked my derriere so bad when i first read that that i haven't recovered from it yet and I JUST MIGHT never #SECONDLY I HOPE THIS ISN'T TOO MUCH PLEASE LET ME KNOW I HOPE I DIDN'T OVERDO IT #BUT ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR SENDING THIS IN #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BORAM THAT HE EXISTS AT ALL #THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR EXISTING YOURSELF #and thank you so much for giving this to Hyun both you and Boram for i'm just crying okay i'm just goNNA GO SIT DOWN NOW- #;queue