cheolism-archive - Tumblr blog

cheolism-archive · 3 months ago

Text

[ access the larger text, image free version of this post here ]

hi, all. i've already made a lengthy post explaining the reasons we should not support this upcoming seventeen album, which you can read here. it is far too long to delve into in any substance here considering this post will already have some serious length to it, however, it discusses the already ongoing boycott and the reasons behind it, as well as the reasons to boycott this album, which include their overwork and mistreatment, and more significantly, their continued collaboation with zionists in the past and on this album, as well as the involvement with a producer promoted his company's work with self professed n/azi kanye west in a highly antisemitic song. i strongly suggest you give it a read.

however, i would like to drive the point home with this post, and that is because both the members and their company continue to be willfully uneducated and ignorant of these matters, and further... unsavory things about their upcoming activities are coming out. they recently announced a 10th anniversary celebration in collaboration with airbnb. airbnb is a pressure target on the official bds boycott list. a pressure boycott per the bds website includes boycotting when there are reasonable alternatives to the company or product. (i don't know about you, but i've never been in a position where i am absolutely forced to use airbnb.)

airbnb is complicit in israeli occupation. settlers list hundreds of homes, apartments and villas for tourists to stay in, allowing both airbnb and illegal settlers to profit off land stolen from palestinian people. they quite literally allow war crimes to be used as tourism. this now makes 2 zionist or zionist adjacent collaborations linked to seventeen's anniversary celebrations, as well as one n/azi adjacent collaboration. i am encouraging you all to boycott more than ever.

there are carats in gaza fighting to survive every day and it is a slap in the face to them that you would sit down and put any money towards this album, even by offering seventeen and hybe so much as a cent of passive income through streams.

those of us wanting to boycott are unfortunately very much a minority but please don't allow that to discourage you. this is how you can use your voice. this is how you can make a difference. if you feel discouraged by the imbalance here, i encourage you to educate others and urge them to join the efforts.

○ this site can be used to watch youtube videos (the music video, the gose episode, etc) if you truly must as it will not give them any official views.

○ this is how you can still use streaming apps like spotify to listen to their music in just a few very simple steps

○ this drive contains a link to every release except spill the feels. you can dm me for stf files and i will reblog this with hbd files when available.

➥ reminder: seventeen are rich. this will not hurt them and this is not an act of hate against them. please consider expressing your love for them by urging them to show accountability, not buying into everything they do.

★ may 21, 2025 // going seventeen special episode: do not watch or engage with the special episode released on this date via any official sources. this means to avoid watching it on youtube/weverse, liking it, commenting it, or engaging in any official plybe posts regarding it.

☆ may 25, 2025 // special "hbd stage" in seoul: avoid official livestreams, official rewatches, and social media content related to this event. pirated content is fine.

★ may 26, 2025 // 'happy burstday' album release: do not stream or purchase the album in any format. do not use any promotional hashtags on social media. do not watch the music video via any official means, or engage with official uploads of it.

☆ june 2, 2025 // release of "nana bnb" show: do not purchase any official copies of the episodes or watch it on any official platforms. (keep in mind disney+, which is will be available to stream on at least in korea, is also a bds boycott target)

do not stream any content from seventeen in an official capacity. this includes title tracks, bsides, solo releases, mvs, and official interviews/performances, past or present. avoid platforms like spotify, apple music, youtube music, etc. do not save, like, or add these songs to playlists. utilize the links included above instead.

limit social media interaction. do not directly like, comment, repost, or share any promotional content.

do not directly buy albums, merch, or paid weverse content. secondhand and pirated content is ok. do not engage in any music show voting events.

do not use any trending tags associated with the comeback or activities. do not use sounds from the album in your tiktoks, edits, or reels.

➥ buy from fans, not from hybe! support ethical artists and creators and purchase their merchandise instead. ➥ donate to the carats for palestine campaign and other palestinian aid organizations. ➥ educate when you have the opportunity to. have tough conversations. loop others in. there are many who hold unfortunate positions regarding this but there are also many who are just unaware.

being a fan of something does not mean you cannot have criticisms or grievances, and it especially does not mean you cannot use your voice. you do not have to swallow your feelings about anything these artists do. you do not owe them anything and they are not entitled to your unwavering support. in fact, when it pertains to matters as disturbing as these, your support of them makes you entitled to speak up when they act in a disappointing fashion.

this is not hatred of seventeen. this is desire for them to better themselves and hope that they will remember their humanity before they act. i encourage you to remember yours, too. you are a human before you are a fan of something. think of your fellow humans, especially those suffering in gaza. act in their best interest, not seventeen's.

303 notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 5 months ago

Text

END.

Today I am announcing the official end of cheolism/ddeonghwa-s on Tumblr. This is coming from a plethora of reasons, none of which are particularly astounding.

Both of these blogs will remain open. I will not be deleting either of these blogs, so you will still be able to access these accounts.

I will be logging off of this Tumblr account for good. I will still be on discord if any moots wish to find me, but for now and for good:

Jupiter logging off x

46 notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 7 months ago

Text

another reminder that i am now writing and am active on a different blog!

good behavior .ᐟ.ᐟ

you're riding kim mingyu and find him absolutely beautiful and perfect. and so it's so easy for good boy to slip from your lips. little do you know that's all he needs to take full control so he can truly show you how much of a good boy he really is.

꒰୨୧꒱— kim mingyu x fem!reader

꒰୨୧꒱— wc is approx. 2.8k

꒰୨୧꒱— genre : smut (mdni)

꒰୨୧꒱— cw : switch!gyu and switch!reader with dom!gyu. penetrative sex, unprotected sex. gendered praise on both sides (good boy/good girl), pet names (reader: princess). descriptive dirty talk, both narratively and with dialogue itself. heavy praise kink!

꒰୨୧꒱— tw : overstimulation, dummification, crying during sex from pleasure n overstimulation. cumming inside, heavy (?) subspace.

꒰୨୧꒱— notes : pure smut! this fic is written very stylistically for smut lol

you don’t think you’ll ever get over the sounds your boyfriend makes.

kim mingyu is beautiful; this is no different even when he is beneath you.

your knees press into the mattress on either side of his hips. your arms are behind you, hands braced on his strong — thick — thighs. you can feel the clench of muscle underneath you with every gentle fuck of your hips, every sweet roll. your body is like the bow of a violin, his the instrument; with every soft grind of your body against his, the most beautiful, loud song sings, his thighs and abdomen clenching underneath you, his mouth parted wide.

your boyfriend’s pleasure is undeniable as you look down at him. your hips move in sweet figure eights that make his hands constantly shift from gripping at your thighs to the bedsheets, that makes his head tilt back and bare his golden throat to you.

and of course his voice.

mingyu is not quiet with his pleasure, body or sound. so while his body bends and shifts beneath yours, seeking and pushing from the pleasure of his dick in your cunt, his mouth sings.

“fuck,” he whines, dark brows furrowed together. he hisses, white canines glinting in the bedroom light as his jaw drops in his moan. you can see where his teeth are indenting his pinkish brown mouth, marking his lips while in his sexual trance.

“feels good,” you question, voice breathy as you continue to gently fuck down on him. it’s a trick question: you know he feels good. you feel so fucking powerful: mingyu, tall and broad and handsome and perfect mingyu, beneath you, his fat cock so deep inside your pussy you swear it’s in your cervix, gravity pushing you further and further down with every roll of your hips.

his fat dick is deep within you, his large hands digging into the flesh of your thighs, and he’s moaning, mingyu is moaning, lips curling with pleasure. this man, this absolute powerhouse of a man, is moaning and whimpering beneath you, and fuck if you don’t feel absolutely heady with that power.

when you fuck down on him you ensure his cock is sliding along that pleasure-spot in your pussy, sweetly stoking your own fires of passion. you can’t help but roll your head back at the slide of his dick, eyes falling shut prettily at the sensation.

mingyu’s hands slip over you. he’s touching without any particular aim, just wanting to feel. he slides his hands over your thighs, your knees. he brush his fingers along the outside of your legs before he grips at your hips. he nails, neatly trimmed and cleaned, dig into the flesh there.

he doesn’t use his grip to manipulate you in any way. mingyu just holds you like that, possessively marking your skin.

“feels so good,” he says, hands flexing against you. you can feel him shift beneath you, hips minutely tilting. “you feel so good, princess.”

you let out a little huff of laughter. sweat dots your hairline, your skin is discolored from his enthusiastic mouth and teeth, and your cunt is soaking from your arousal and his precum; yet you’re princess.

you move forward. you place your hands on mingyu’s abdomen. for a moment you just take in the feel of him beneath your hands. his soft skin, the way it rises and falls with every ragged breath he takes. you don’t think you’ll ever spend a moment not admiring mingyu; his heavy thighs and plush tits, his brown nipples and sweet mouth.

using your hands to give yourself leverage, you raise your hips off of mingyu. he lets out a shuttering hiss, voice cracking high on the tail-end of it.

when you drop back down on his cock, the flesh of your thighs meeting his with a sharp slap!, mingyu lets out a deep groan that seems to bubble out from deep within him.

you laugh again. “that’s it,” you say, still smiling as you raise yourself up off of his dick once more. “gotta be loud for me, sweetheart.”

mingyu lets out another little noise at the deceptively-soft nickname. “gonna kill me,” he whines. “you’re so —”

you drop back on his dick roughly. if you hadn’t spent so long riding him already, hadn’t already been thoroughly fucked open by his cock, the momentum would’ve absolutely torn you in half. as it is you feel breathless, as if the wind had been knocked out from you.

mingyu lets out a moan. “princess —”

“good boy,” you say, not quite aware of what words are escaping from between your lips, “such a good fucking boy.”

mingyu’s dark eyes open wide, his mouth parting. for a moment or two he just stares, just looks at you.

you raise your brows at him, hips shallowly fucking down on him, a silent challenge.

but then mingyu is flushing, blood rushing to color his golden skin. “say it again,” he properly whines, “say it again.”

you laugh at him, breathless. “taking me like a good boy,” you say. “you feel so fucking good inside of me, baby. stretching my tight little pussy so good like the good boy you are.”

mingyu groans again, and then he’s using his grip on your hips to tip you over onto the bed. his dick slips from your pussy as he moves the two of you, pressing your hot, sweaty body into the sheets and claiming your mouth with his.

mingyu kisses you with absolutely no finesse. it’s all tongue. he shoves his tongue into your mouth and sucks at yours in turn as he lines his dick back to your pussy.

he doesn’t fuck back into you immediately. mingyu holds his dick with one hand, sliding the tip of it along your folds. you’re absolutely soaking, and you can already feel fluid, a combination of your own juices and his precum, leaking down your cunt.

“say it again,” mingyu demands, eyes pleading. his curls stick to his forehead sweetly. altogether he paints a cute picture of desperation, of a man trapped in a place where the lines between want and need blur completely.

you laugh against his mouth. you wind your arms around his neck, bringing his mouth to yours once more. you suck at his lower lip, and for a moment he’s so distracted by your mouth that he forgets how he was taunting you with his dick, cock and the hand guiding it stilling.

“fuck me, mingyu,” you say against his chin. “fuck me like a good boy.”

mingyu lets out a groan, and then he’s fucking his fat cock back inside.

your cunt is, rather bluntly, gaping; there’s no pain from the stretch of his dick against your walls because there is no stretch. your pussy has so sweetly molded itself to the shape of him, allowing mingyu to seamlessly thrust back in.

immediately he’s pushing until his dick is perfectly nestled in, the root of his dick against you. mingyu tucks his head against your neck, letting out a shuddering breath.

you smile, one of your hands going to entangle with the sweaty curls at the base of his neck. “c’mon,” you gently taunt, “fuck me, baby.”

mingyu groans, a strangled noise, and then, ever obedient, he begins to fuck you.

the slide of his dick against your walls has you tightening your hold on him, knees squeezing at his hips and toes curling. mingyu can’t help but grunt a little as you constrict him. so he shifts, arms moving to loop underneath your legs and forcing them up, breaking your hold around his neck.

“gotta fuck you good,” he huffs. he uses the fold of your legs as leverage, slowly, maddingly, pulling his cock back from the hot heat of your pussy. “gonna fuck you so good, princess.”

his hands slip along the underside of your thighs, gripping them as mingyu moves to his knees. mingyu begins to fuck you properly, his thighs meeting your ass with sharp noises that seem to echo throughout the room; they do nothing, however, to hide the wet squelching noise of his cock thrusting in your pussy.

despite all the times you’ve fucked before, you never seem to be able to get over this. the feeling of his dick striking against your cunt walls, the slight burn of your legs from the position he has you in, the noise of your cunt squelching with every quick thrust.

because mingyu fucks you so eagerly. he’s chasing that high, chasing that hot pleasure that burns at his core. but he isn’t, of course, a greedy lover.

mingyu makes sure to grind his hips against you, makes sure to rub against your walls and make those electric bundles within you dance from the stimulation. and he talks as he does it, lisp becoming prominent, eyes bright with the fever of passion.

“feel so fucking good,” he says, and you almost can’t hear him over the sharp slap of his hips. “you’re so fucking hot and wet, princess — so fucking perfect, fucking made for me, made for my cock.

“perfect pussy — it’s mine, princess. you’re mine, fuck —” and when your cunt clenches down around his dick in response, mingyu can’t help but laugh breathessly, canines peaking. “like that, princess? like me telling you that you’re mine? you are. all fucking mine, no one else’s.

“no one else gets to see this,” he says, eyes darting over your body. he takes in the jiggle of your tits as he thrusts, the sweat that glistens on your skin. “no one gets to see you all fucked out ‘n pretty like this. no one else gets to see your pretty fucking tits, your cute little cunt.”

he lets out another laugh, and then he’s covering your body with his, hands sliding to the backside of your knees to force them lower and lower. you can’t help but groan a little at the pain of it, toes curling at the stretch.

and his dick — his dick seems to slide deeper in you, somehow forces itself further.

“tell me,” mingyu hisses, beginning to fuck you once more. “tell me i’m doing good, princess. gotta say it. say i’m fucking you good.”

you can’t speak for a moment. so much is going on. your pussy is clenching, gut tightening. you’re trying to pay attention to what he’s saying, but you can’t help but feel everything so acutely; the slap of skin against skin, the stretch of your legs, his fat cock going so deep inside —

“tell me.”

your mouth quivers for a moment. when you speak it’s all automatic, not a single actual thought running through your brain. “so good, gyu — so — you fuck me so — so good —”

finally, and inevitably, mingyu slips his hand down to your cunt. it’s an easy glide of his thick fingers, slippery with your precious juices. for a moment he feels at your hole, feels your little hole gape around his dick as he fucks in out, in out.

then mingyu’s hand continues on its journey, slipping up to frame your cute clit with his fingers. you’re already tensing up, pussy gripping his cock, in anticipation.

and then mingyu begins rubbing at the muscle on either side of your clit, sending electric desire sparking up your body. he doesn’t rub in rhythm with his thrusts; instead mingyu keeps his hips quick and rabid and his rubbing smooth, a constant wave. it’s so much, it’s verging on overstimulating.

you don’t know what to focus on — you can’t focus.

your hips are bucking up into his, trying to meet each thrust, trying to spear yourself on his fat cock. at the same time you’re trying to force his fingers against you, trying to seek them out, and it’s this horrible, delightful overstimulation where you just don’t know what to do.

it’s mind dumbing. you feel frantic; wantonly so. there’s no thought in your mind, no desire other than this.

you want and you’re not even sure what you want; his cock fucking you so good, drilling into your sopping wet pussy, or his fingers, coaxing around your clit.

you feel dumb with desire and overstimulation. you don’t know, you just don’t know.

and it’s inevitable, really: you burst into tears. they spring out from your eyes and your mouth opens in a sob, your head pressing back against the mattress. you want want want but you don’t know, you don’t know —

mingyu presses his body against yours, grounding you with his heavy bulk. he presses open-mouthed kisses to your shoulders and throat and chest, trailing his lips. “c’mon,” he says, “gotta cum for me, princess. cum on my cock, fuckin’ cum on it.”

and you want want want —

mingyu’s teeth are sharp as he bites down onto your shoulder, digging in. the pain is bright and furious as it slices through you. it’s so startling that your entire body just seems to snap, and then you’re cumming, cumming cumming.

it’s — you don’t even know what it is. all-consuming; electric; overpowering. it’s a cosmos bursting into everything and nothingness.

mingyu stops thrusting as you cum, instead focusing on rubbing at your clit to get you through the orgasm. the loss of sensation has you sobbing once more, fingers twisting into the sheets as you buck your hips.

you try to say something; fail. you try again. “p — please, please —”

mingyu lets out a loud groan. once he’s sure your orgasm has subsided, he withdraws from your cunt. you can’t help but cry at the loss, cry at how empty and gaping your pussy feels.

mingyu manhandles you, twisting your body so your chest is pressing against the mattress and your ass is in the air. he mounts you, cock thrusting inside of you in one swift, almost brutal, movement.

you press your face against the sheets, crying into them. so much is happening. your body is still ringing with the aftershocks of your orgasm, but mingyu is fucking you, and it’s so so so much and it’s so so so wonderful.

because you feel so utterly used. you’re just a hole for him at this point, just a pussy for him to fuck and get his full of.

and mingyu does.

mingyu fucks you. there’s no love in it other than the fact he’s fucking his girl, his princess; no love other than the fact you’re his. he fucks you purely to seek his end, to make that burning-hot fever within him snap, and it just so happens the hole he’s using belongs to you.

his hands are strong as they grip your hips, slapping you back onto his dick. he lets out soft pants, deep moans.

“good boy,” he hisses out, mostly air. “‘m your good boy, yeah? fuckin’ you so good, princess. say it. say i’m fucking you so good.”

you fight around the sobs that escape you, and when you speak your words are muffled by the mattress. “fuckin’ me good,” you sob, “my good — good boy, gyu —”

mingyu lets out a low noise, a growl, of satisfaction. he fucks your cunt a few more times, each thrust harsh and quick. the noises are crude, the sound of wet skin against skin, of his dick resisting against the wet suction of your pussy with every pull out.

and then mingyu’s cumming in you. his cum is hot and thick, and as soon as you feel it fill you there’s an overwhelming satisfaction that shoots through you.

you made him cum; he came from your cunt.

mingyu drapes himself over your back, ignoring how your body collapses beneath him. he’s still inside of your pussy, dick plugging your hole and keeping his white cum from dripping out.

he pushes your sweaty hair aside, presses his nose against the shell of your ear. when he speaks his breath is hot against your flesh. “good girl,” he groans, his hips giving a gentle buck into you. “what a good girl you are. you’re my good girl, aren’t you? my babygirl with the fucking perfect little cunt, perfect little pussy.”

you whine, nodding against the mattress. his words echo in your brain: good girl, good girl, good girl.

“say it.”

“‘m your good girl,” you whimper.

mingyu laughs against you, breathless. “yes, you are. and ‘cause you’re my good girl you’ll let me, let your good boy keep fucking your cunt, yeah? let me fill you up?”

your body is exhausted. your mind is exhausted. you can’t think, and you don’t know, quite frankly, how you’re even breathing. absolutely nothing is happening; even your blood seems to slow to a stillness within you, your body overwhelmed to a point of merely existing.

but still:

“my princess is a good girl,” he says, nipping at your ear lobe. “you’ll let me fill you up again, yeah?”

and you are. you are his good girl, are totally, completely his.

and so you say:

“yes.”

2K notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 7 months ago

Text

ANNOUNCEMENT: ARCHIVAL OF CHEOLISM

hi chatters! this has honestly been a long time coming! last week i changed my brand, after who knows how fucking long, from cheolism. i updated my theme; updated the style. i had thought this would itch whatever was irritated within me when it came to my blog.

spoilers: it didn't!

which is why i am announcing the official archival of cheolism.

my new blog, where you will be able to find me from now on, is @ddeonghwa-s.

you will still be able to find all of my old fics on cheolism. nothing will be deleted. my new blog will contain new works, some old works i'm particularly fond of, and some new updated versions of old works.

but you are probably wondering: why archive cheolism?

simple answer: i'm not happy with it.

the content and quality of my older fics, i feel, no longer represent me; they are immensely unsatisfying. as absolutely batshit as it sounds, sometime last year i felt the active switch of my frontal lobe growing, and something happened to me mentally; i matured. these fics no longer represent who i am as a person, and i don't like it.

it's suffocating.

a lot of you don't know this, but cheolism wasn't always cheolism. before it was dokcheol. before that it was a bts blog. this blog has been around since 2017. you can quite literally find the date i began stanning svt on here. i was in high school on this blog.

and so the blog feels cluttered and immature.

and i don't like it.

which is all the explanation i believe i need. i am a little scared, naturally. but sometimes you just have to yeet yourself all the edge of a cliff and let yourself fall.

xoxo jupiter

66 notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 7 months ago

Text

ANNOUNCEMENT: ARCHIVAL OF CHEOLISM

spoilers: it didn't!

which is why i am announcing the official archival of cheolism.

my new blog, where you will be able to find me from now on, is @ddeonghwa-s.

but you are probably wondering: why archive cheolism?

simple answer: i'm not happy with it.

it's suffocating.

and so the blog feels cluttered and immature.

and i don't like it.

which is all the explanation i believe i need. i am a little scared, naturally. but sometimes you just have to yeet yourself all the edge of a cliff and let yourself fall.

xoxo jupiter

66 notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 7 months ago

Text

ANNOUNCEMENT: ARCHIVAL OF CHEOLISM

spoilers: it didn't!

which is why i am announcing the official archival of cheolism.

my new blog, where you will be able to find me from now on, is @ddeonghwa-s.

but you are probably wondering: why archive cheolism?

simple answer: i'm not happy with it.

it's suffocating.

and so the blog feels cluttered and immature.

and i don't like it.

which is all the explanation i believe i need. i am a little scared, naturally. but sometimes you just have to yeet yourself all the edge of a cliff and let yourself fall.

xoxo jupiter

66 notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 7 months ago

Text

ANNOUNCEMENT: ARCHIVAL OF CHEOLISM

spoilers: it didn't!

which is why i am announcing the official archival of cheolism.

my new blog, where you will be able to find me from now on, is @ddeonghwa-s.

but you are probably wondering: why archive cheolism?

simple answer: i'm not happy with it.

it's suffocating.

and so the blog feels cluttered and immature.

and i don't like it.

which is all the explanation i believe i need. i am a little scared, naturally. but sometimes you just have to yeet yourself all the edge of a cliff and let yourself fall.

xoxo jupiter

66 notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 7 months ago

Text

ANNOUNCEMENT: ARCHIVAL OF CHEOLISM

spoilers: it didn't!

which is why i am announcing the official archival of cheolism.

my new blog, where you will be able to find me from now on, is @ddeonghwa-s.

but you are probably wondering: why archive cheolism?

simple answer: i'm not happy with it.

it's suffocating.

and so the blog feels cluttered and immature.

and i don't like it.

which is all the explanation i believe i need. i am a little scared, naturally. but sometimes you just have to yeet yourself all the edge of a cliff and let yourself fall.

xoxo jupiter

66 notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 7 months ago

Text

ANNOUNCEMENT: ARCHIVAL OF CHEOLISM

spoilers: it didn't!

which is why i am announcing the official archival of cheolism.

my new blog, where you will be able to find me from now on, is @ddeonghwa-s.

but you are probably wondering: why archive cheolism?

simple answer: i'm not happy with it.

it's suffocating.

and so the blog feels cluttered and immature.

and i don't like it.

which is all the explanation i believe i need. i am a little scared, naturally. but sometimes you just have to yeet yourself all the edge of a cliff and let yourself fall.

xoxo jupiter

66 notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 7 months ago

Text

ANNOUNCEMENT: ARCHIVAL OF CHEOLISM

spoilers: it didn't!

which is why i am announcing the official archival of cheolism.

my new blog, where you will be able to find me from now on, is @ddeonghwa-s.

but you are probably wondering: why archive cheolism?

simple answer: i'm not happy with it.

it's suffocating.

and so the blog feels cluttered and immature.

and i don't like it.

which is all the explanation i believe i need. i am a little scared, naturally. but sometimes you just have to yeet yourself all the edge of a cliff and let yourself fall.

xoxo jupiter

66 notes · View notes

cheolism-archive · 7 months ago

Text

reblogging this here to show ppl i’m NOT WRITING ON THIS BLOG ANYMORE

a moment between infinity .ᐟ.ᐟ

reuniting with your soulmate in the space between one life and the next.

꒰୨୧꒱— jeon wonwoo x reader

꒰୨୧꒱— wc is approx. 2.5k.

꒰୨୧꒱— genre : themes of love, romance; angst

꒰୨୧꒱— tropes : reincarnation, reuniting after life, soulmates

꒰୨୧꒱— cw : themes of life and death, discussion of physical separation, missing life events due to death, lives cut short.

꒰୨୧꒱— tw : for discussion of dying young/living life unfilled

꒰୨୧꒱— notes : thank you lexi @heechwe for beta reading! this sounds depressing but i swear there's tons of love in there!

you see wonwoo as soon as you step out from beneath the shade of a tree you don’t remember walking under. the sun, for a fleeting moment, is overly bright. it pierces your eyes with its light, horribly brilliant and blinding.

you don’t want to look away from wonwoo; don’t want to close your eyes for even a second.

the pain you feel from the sunlight is immense, and before you can comprehend the desire, the most rudimentary of all wants, so much so that it’s a need, you are blinking your eyes against the cruelty of the sun.

he’s still there when you open them.

(he wasn’t the last time you blinked at him.)

(a moment of stillness, of a deep breath taken before plunging into freezing waters; of the last gasp for clean air before being consumed by flame; of a desperate choke for life as death swings its decisive sword.)

(you remember this.)

(and yet you don’t.)

(it’s weird, you think between the pauses of forever, between one breath and the next, how everything and nothing exists so closely intertwined.)

wonwoo smiles. it isn’t that blinding smile of pure exhilaration you so distinctly remember the twelfth time as the two of you looked down from the bow of the ocean liner, waving down at the citizens of south hampton that had come to bid the ship farewell. instead it was his soft, slowly-growing smile that took you back to the second time, to that little ger on the eurasian steppe, holding your first ever son.

wonwoo opens his arms.

naturally you go into them.

the world is made up of pairs, you know, the wisdom of nothing and everything, of finity and infinity, surrounding you. north and south; up and down; sky and earth; you and wonwoo. two things, concepts, beings so closely intertwined that to force one from the other is to break the thin threads of the cosmos.

and so, like the sky embracing the earth, you go into wonwoo’s arms.

he’s wearing the outfit you saw him last. his auburn corduroy shirt jacket smells of gasoline still (for him the last sixty years were a mere handful of hours; for you, a lifetime. and so the scent of death still sticks to him as if no time had passed at all, despite.) and when he lifts his arms to wrap them around you, to envelope you into his body, you can see the turquoise scrunchie he had kept on his wrist for you peak out from his sleeve.

“i’m sorry,” he says. his voice is as deep as you remember. wonwoo presses his nose into your hair. you burrow your face into him, seeking out this natural scent, trying to bypass all the smells of death. “you said we didn’t need more tape, that it’d be fine.”

“i said we didn’t need tape,” you agreed. there had been moments you felt such overwhelming anger towards wonwoo for going despite you arguing otherwise. this, between nowhere and everywhere, was void of such feelings. instead you pressed your nose deeper and deeper, hands grabbing at his shirt.

“i wanted to make sure we could finish wrapping presents before your mother arrived,” wonwoo said. “i wanted everything to be perfect.”

they found a ring on him, after; a simple silver band and diamond.

“i know.”

you shifted.

wonwoo sighs into your hair. “i’m sorry. i wish – i have a thousand wishes. a thousand wishes for a thousand lifetimes. would you ever forgive me?”

you hum. you think of a land impossibly far, of a lifetime where you sobbed as wonwoo explained he had to leave, had to fight; how easy it was for you to resume that rage once he returned from the war, missing an arm and a chunk of his ear but still breathing and smiling.

(sometimes he didn’t return.)

(sometimes you didn’t return.)

(those times, you knew, were seldomly seen. your universes, your forevers, were large, ever-expanding tapestries sewn by the threads of your lives. more often than not, nearly always, the threads revealed a beautiful picture of life and love and contentment; of a small forever trapped within a shared lifetime.)

(seldomly did the threads show another picture.)

(you think back to that ocean liner. to how cold it was; to how he disappeared for a heavier jacket and never returned, to how you slipped and fell and were submerged in a cold unlike any other –)

“i forgive you each and every time,” you mumble into his shir.t. “just as you do me. i don’t think we’d have as many lifetimes together if we didn’t at least like one another.”

“ew,” he says, voice still gentle despite the teasing sentiment of his words, “you like me?”

as if you hadn’t fallin in love with wonwoo for fifteen generations in a row; as if your soul hadn’t sought his; as if you didn’t press yourself into his arms with every breath between lives, trying to memorize his scent and soul before the both of you take the plunge into the next life.

“you have to stay with me next time,” you say. you try to keep your voice from cracking; it doesn’t work. you’ve shed a million tears for a million lifetimes – fifteen, to be exact, but math isn’t the sort of thing one worries about in places like this, places where everything of the past exists and nothing of the future; where you bear the weight of fifteen lifetimes on your shoulders knowing none of it will matter.

“you can’t leave me,” you cry into his shirt. you can feel his chest heave underneath you, can feel the earth and not-earth shift beneath the two of you as wonwoo wraps you tighter in his arms. “you can’t leave me this time. not to fight a war that isn’t yours; to get a jacket; to pick up tape. you can’t leave me alone. i can’t handle another lifetime without you.”

wonwoo’s sob is the quiet, heart-wrenching of one that bubbles out despite all attempts to quell it. you can feel his body lurch against you from the force of it. his weeping is ugly, the sounds of his gasps in your ear loud and wholy unpleasant.

the two of you cry against one another, clutching at one another. you’ve lived more lives together than apart, have memorized the wrinkles that line the corners of his eyes the older he gets, have learned the breathing patterns of his sleep.

but still –

the thought of parting is one you never bear. perhaps if you were a stronger soul it would be easier; perhaps if your soul loved his less it would be easier.

you think back to the past sixty years. and then you think of your lives from the far past. only a few had forced either of you to live without the other, but the pain of them drowns out the happiness of any other. happiness, you have learned, is a golden thing that only seems to truly glow when the moment has long past, when you look back and think ah, that was an evening well spent.

pain, on the other hand, is brilliant and loud and sharp. it demands its victim to focus on it. and so despite the lives you and wonwoo have spent beside one another, growing to old, shriveled ages in contentment, the pain of loneliness, of the heartbreak of knowing you would lie without the other half of your small universe, of living without your moon or sk or true north, of the other half of your pair that made up the galaxies and cosmos; of knowing you would never be whole.

that is why the two of you cry.

“i won’t leave you,” wonwoo promises. neither of you mention how the promise is empty. he cannot and will not remember any word said in this infinite space, during this small and endless moment between infinity.

he won’t remember the press of your body against his. he won’t remember how you’re crying against him, how he vows to you, himself, and the universe he won’t leave you stranded in a lifetime again.

(you remember the first lifetime. you remember the tall grasses of your village, of how you and wonwoo would duck down into them to press full-mouthed kisses to one another’s skin, ignorant and naive and happy in your first life.

you force yourself not to remember how it felt when your uncle agreed to your marriage to a village that would take nearly a year for you to travel to. how it felt to know that despite the fact your love for wonwoo was greater than any force in the cosmos the two of you still answered to those on earth.

you had promised yourself you would never leave him again. that your second lifetime and all the ones after it would be spent at his side and no one else’s.

you promise yourself this once more.

the universe says nothing in reply.)

wonwoo leans back, sniffling. his nose is red. he raises his hands up to your face, shaking. when wonwoo kisses you it’s wet and there’s spit and snot, but you lean into it as if it were the sealing kiss of a wedding.

“tell me what you loved,” he begs. “you loved after me. tell me.”

you nod. heartbreak lasts forever, and so does love. love is not something that begins and ends with one person; it is everlasting and multifaceted, existing in the smallest, most inconsequential of things.

“jungkookie got me a puppy,” you say, voice still wet from crying. “i told him it was too much, that i didn’t have the energy for it. he said that was what i needed.”

wonwoo grinned at the mention of his brother. he leaned forward, tucking his forehead into your neck. “what was it’s name?”

“it was a mutt,” you say, “but i remembered how much you love that movie, the fox and the hound. so i named it copper.

“it was black,” you carry on, grinning at wonwoo’s chuckles that he presses into your skin. “jungkookie said it was a lab-shepherd mix. i couldn’t tell the difference.”

“copper the black pup,” wonwoo says. “what else?”

the sun is gentle in its caresses against your flesh, the breeze sweet in its dance. you and wonwoo settle against grass, curling into one another. you can’t raise your voice too much due to the close proximity, and so each word is a tender thing.

you tell wonwoo of the red forbidden palace jungkook’s son took you to see during a school trip and how, despite the fact you could hear cars honking, it felt as if you were transported hundreds of years into the past.

you tell wonwoo about the little bookstore that opened up next to his father’s dentist shop. of the tall, towering bookcases; of the cats that lived within; how as soon as you stepped inside you were met with the smell of real wood.

you tell wonwoo of a little stray kitten you found in your forties, of how you named it romeo for how clingy it was.

(“i still say we should’ve forced that bastard to write in an acknowledgement that it was our story he was writing,” wonwoo says, tracing the curve of your cheek. “he gets far too much recognition for his genius as it is.”)

he laughs when you tell him about seeing warwick castle for the first time in this lifetime, about the feeling of having been there despite not remembering. he teases you for it with memories of your tenth lifetime, of running down stone halls with you.

“we’ll go again,” he says. he presses his nose against yours. you grab his hand, lacing your fingers together. “we can get married there just like we did back then.”

you huff a laugh. “if it’s still there. you said that about persepolis.”

“how was i to know that damned macedonian prince would burn it to the ground,” wonwoo laughs. he grows somber, staring at you with deep brown eyes. “how much time do you think has passed?”

you shrug, thinking. time exists and it doesn’t. here, in this sunny pasture, it’s as if time doesn’t exist at all. that cannot be said for when you wake.

either a year has passed or two hundred; this cannot be said for sure.

you and wonwoo both were born within five years after the sinking of the titanic, of dying those horribly cold and wet deaths. you died, the two of you would later realize, thirty years before the destruction of persepolis and were reborn five hundred years later.

and so that is how time flows.

“well,” wonwoo says, “it’s not like it matters.”

“no?”

“as long as there’s still trees and air we’ll be okay.”

you gasp, having expected something horribly romantic. you’re not sure why you expected this. you gently shove his shoulder all the same, scolding wonwoo for his jest.

later, though neither of you can say how much time later, you stare up at the sky. the clouds move. the sun keeps at the same position.

“when do you think we’ll find one another?”

“you know we can’t decide that.”

“guess anyways,” you demand.

wonwoo wiggles against the dirt. “you’ll move schools in high school,” he announces, “and i’ll be utterly bewitched by the new girl. she’ll be beautiful and sweet, and i won’t say anything at all.”

“that’s not a very good love story.”

“but then we’ll meet again,” he carries on, eyes tracing the fluffy curves of a cloud. “and i’ll be older and more confident. it’ll be at a college bar. you’ll still be beautiful, of course. and i’ll go up to you and say ‘hey, i knew you in high school.’ you’ll smile at me despite not quite remembering. then we’ll meet again and again, and our lives will become intertwined.”

you look at the blue infinity above you as if it could reveal anything. you wanted to know the secrets of it; how to live for forever with wonwoo, how to meet him earlier and spare no time loving one another.

you want there to be a forever of this. of being by wonwoo’s side, of having him there beside you. you don’t know how many years you’ve spent without him in total; how many have been spent with him. whatever the answers are, you know it’s either too many or too few.

there’s somewhere, you want to believe, where you and wonwoo can spend eternity side by side without separation; without life or death pulling you from each other’s side. there’s somewhere, you have to believe, where you can spend every happy moment with wonwoo. where you don’t have to spend this small infinity telling him about the little joys you’ve encountered in the years since he’s passed.

you close your eyes. you can feel tears sting at the corners of them. the breeze muses your hair. all you want is to be with him, to have him at your side, to hold his hand every day and for the rest of the days.

where your promises if i won’t leave you mean something, where they do more than just shift the air around you.

you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with pure air.

and then

188 notes · View notes