#tiptoeing around cultural and other differences

[moonriizing]

Goodbye Summer | l.anton (18+)

Crazy what two years can do to a person. What do you mean the cutie pie, adorable ball of sunshine Chanyoung Lee, has turned into this tall, grumpy, and unfairly hot specimen who calls himself Anton?

Genre: childhood friends to lovers Pairing: Lee Chanyoung|Anton x afab!Reader Warnings: mature themes, explicit sexual content (18+) Notes: 19k words. Listening to Goodbye Summer by F(X) ft. D.O. Posted a little late because I got carried away, lol. Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know them personally, nor do I claim they would ever behave in real life like they were portrayed in this story. ALSO, if you see a similar story from a different blog for a different idol, that is me. xoxo, cal.

You rolled the car windows down, letting the salty air fill the car as you hummed along to the music playing through the speakers. It had been two years since you last made this drive, but every curve of the road was ingrained in your memory. You remembered how you used to count the palm trees as a kid, making up silly games to pass the time while your mom laughed at your endless energy. Back then, the beach house felt like the one constant in your summers, a place where time moved slower and the world outside didn’t matter.

Two years away felt like an eternity, but now, as the Lee family’s beach house came into view, it was like no time had passed at all.

Your mom stirred in the passenger seat, stretching as the car slowed down. “Did you sleep well?” you asked.

“I would’ve, if you hadn’t been singing off-key the entire time,” she replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

You gasped in mock offense. “Off-key? Excuse me, but that was a performance, mom. You’re just not cultured enough to appreciate my artistry.”

“Artistry, huh?” She laughed, shaking her head. “Is that what we're calling it now?”

You parked the car in front of the house, taking a moment to soak it in. The Lee family’s beach house looked exactly as it always had—whitewashed walls with a wide porch and tall windows that reflected the warm glow of the setting sun. For a second, it felt like you were stepping back in time, like the past two years hadn’t happened at all.

Aunt Hyejin was the first to greet you at the door, her arms wrapping tightly around you as she exclaimed, “Look at you! You’ve grown so much! You’ve gotten prettier too.”

You laughed, leaning into her embrace. “I could say the same about you, Auntie. You are glowing! What’s your secret?”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” she teased, brushing your hair back to study your face. She squeezed your cheeks lightly before kissing your forehead. “Come in, come in! Junyoung is dying to show off how tall he’s gotten.”

Junyoung was quick to make good on his mom’s words, bounding down the stairs with a grin. He too greeted you with a hug, crouching down to your smaller frame.

“Told you I’d be taller than you one day!” he declared, puffing out his chest.

“And I told you I’d deny it when it happened,” you shot back, ruffling his hair and gasping because you had to tiptoe to reach the top of his head. “Wow. You really did grow up.”

The house itself was almost exactly as you remembered it. The same yellow curtains fluttered in the breeze, and the faint smell of ocean air and Aunt Hyejin’s cooking permeated the halls. It was comforting, familiar.

But there was one thing—or rather, one person—who didn’t match your memories.

He was sitting on the sofa when you walked into the living room, one leg crossed over the other, a phone in hand, and not the slightest hint of acknowledgement on his face. His hair was darker, longer, falling into his eyes in a way that seemed deliberate. His clothes—a loose linen shirt and tailored shorts—looked like they belonged to someone who spent their summers at yacht clubs, not building sandcastles on the beach.

“Chanyoung, greet them properly!” Aunt Hyejin chided with both affection and exasperation in her tone.

The man on the sofa finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, you froze, searching for something familiar in the sharp line of his jaw and the effortless confidence in his posture.

“Welcome back,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, more measured.

You blinked, trying to reconcile the image in front of you with the boy you used to know. Before you could say anything, your mom appeared beside you, greeting Chanyoung with a hug. He rose to his feet, smiling genuinely as he let your mom embrace him.

“You’ve grown so much!”

While they were catching up, Junyoung approached you quietly, whispering in your ear. “I know what you’re thinking.”

You glanced sideways at him. “I’m sure you do,” you scoffed. “When did this happen?”

Junyoung shrugged. “Dunno. He went to college and came back like this. He’s called Anton now by the way.”

“Anton? He hates that name.”

“Right?” he agreed, chuckling. “Dude gained some muscles and turned into this emo cool kid.”

The rest of the day passed without a single meaningful interaction with Anton. Not for lack of trying on your part—you simply didn’t get the chance.

It was subtle, his avoidance. The kind of thing no one else would pick up on. Your mom, Aunt Hyejin, and Junyoung didn’t seem to notice anything, too caught up in catching up. But you? You noticed. Every time you entered a room, Anton was suddenly walking out. If you so much as glanced his way, he was already looking elsewhere, pretending to be engrossed in his phone or staring at some invisible point in the distance.

And then at lunch, he didn’t even sit down to eat with everyone. “I’m going out. Back before dinner.” he said nonchalantly, already halfway out the door.

“Probably off to the clubhouse to meet his friends,” Aunt Hyejin explained with a shrug, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You nodded along politely, but inside, you were itching with curiosity. What friends? Since when did Chanyoung—no, Anton—have a social life so demanding that he couldn’t sit down for a meal?

Eventually, the guessing—and the long drive—caught up with you. You slumped into your room, the familiar comfort of the bed almost tricking you into thinking nothing had changed in this place. But the moment your head hit the pillow, your eyes grew heavy, and the next thing you knew was waking up to the faint glow of moonlight and a dim bedroom.

You groaned, blinking at your phone. Dinnertime.

Throwing on a sweatshirt, you stepped into the hallway, still half-asleep and thinking only of food. You turned the corner—and walked straight into a wall.

Or, well, what felt like a wall.

“Ow,” you muttered, stumbling back and clutching your nose. You looked up to find Anton standing there, looking as unfazed as he had been since you got here.

“Oh, it’s you,” you said before you could stop yourself.

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t say a word. Without thinking, you blurted, “What did you do to your hair?”

Anton didn’t respond right away. Instead, he tilted his head, like he was deciding whether to entertain your question. Then, he reached out and rested his hand on top of your head.

“What are you—”

Before you could finish, he brought his hand down to his chest, his eyes flicking between the two points as if measuring your height.

You scowled. “Hah! Wow. I see you got a few inches taller. Congratulations,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Anton’s lips twitched, just barely, but he didn’t say anything.

“Ugh, whatever,” you huffed, spinning on your heel and stomping down the hallway toward the dining room.

Behind you, you didn’t see the way his lips curved into a small, teasing smile.

By the time you reached the dining room, the table was already set, laden with dishes that made your stomach growl on the spot. 

The dining table was a sight to behold, as always. Aunt Hyejin had gone all out—steamed crab, grilled shrimp, roasted vegetables, and enough side dishes to feed a small army. The familiar spread made you smile; some things never changed.

The family had already gathered when you arrived, and everyone greeted you with warm smiles. “Sweetie, can you go get Anton?” Aunt Hyejin asked, beaming at you as she placed bowls of rice on the table.

You turned your head just in time to see him walk in, his hair still damp from what must’ve been a shower. He wore a plain white t-shirt, its loose fit and sleeves doing nothing to hide his defined shoulders. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’d walked out of a magazine ad.

Anton glanced around the table before taking the empty seat next to his mom. “Where’s Dad?” he asked simply, reaching for the pitcher of water.

“His trip is getting extended for a few more days,” Aunt Hyejin explained, placing a rice bowl in front of Anton. “He’ll be back next Saturday.”

You made a point of sitting as far from Anton as possible. Not that you were being petty or anything. Okay, maybe you were a little petty.

“Dig in, everyone!” Aunt Hyejin said cheerfully as she sat down.

You didn’t need to be told twice. The meal was as delicious as you remembered, and for a while, the conversation was light—updates on Junyoung’s basketball team, your mom recounting a funny story from work, Aunt Hyejin asking about your classes.

Then, inevitably, the focus shifted to Anton.

“So, Anton,” your mom began, her tone warm and curious. “What have you been up to lately? Your mom tells me you’ve been very busy.”

Anton looked up from his plate, his expression polite but detached. “Just the usual,” he said. “School, work, hanging out with friends.”

“Oh, right! You’re working at that startup now, aren’t you?” Aunt Hyejin chimed in proudly. “He’s been so dedicated, working part-time while keeping his grades up.”

You tried to hide your surprise. The Chanyoung you remembered hated being busy. He used to complain about school work piling up, always looking for an excuse to go to the beach instead.

“Wow,” you said, before you could stop yourself. “Who knew Chanyoung Lee would turn into such a responsible adult?”

Anton’s eyes flicked to you, and for a moment, you thought he might actually smile. Instead, he just shrugged. “People change.”

The casual way he said it annoyed you more than it should have. “Clearly,” you muttered, stabbing a piece of shrimp with your fork.

If anyone noticed the tension, they didn’t comment on it. The conversation moved on, but you couldn’t help sneaking glances at Anton throughout the meal. He barely spoke, answering questions with short, polite responses and deflecting anything too personal. It was so unlike the boy who used to dominate every dinner table conversation with ridiculous stories and bad jokes.

At one point, Junyoung leaned over to whisper, “You’re staring.”

“I am not,” you whispered back, cheeks heating.

“You are,” he insisted with a grin. “What’s your deal?”

You glared at him. “What’s his deal? He’s acting so weird.”

“If you ask me, I think you’re the one acting weird,” he whispered back.

You were about to retort when Aunt Hyejin’s voice prompted the attention of the table. “So, Anton, are you spending time at the clubhouse tomorrow too?” she asked.

“Yeah. A few friends are back in town, so I’ll be there a lot,” he replied, his tone casual.

“Oh, the clubhouse,” you deadpanned, unable to resist. “Sounds very exclusive.”

Anton’s eyes flicked to yours, something unreadable passing through his gaze. “It’s just a place to hang out,” he said evenly.

“Hm. Fancy.” You stabbed at your food with a bit more force than necessary.

Junyoung snickered beside you, “She’s jealous.”

You elbowed him hard, making him yelp. Across the table, Anton’s lips twitched, but he didn’t say anything.

When dinner was over and the plates were being cleared, Anton finally turned to you, his tone deceptively casual. “You’ve got some rice on your face.”

“What?” You froze, quickly swiping at your cheek.

“No, other side.”

You wiped again, glaring at him when his expression didn’t change. “Is it gone?”

He shrugged, standing up and grabbing his plate. “Sure,” he said, walking off, and you could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle under his breath.

Beside you, Junyoung was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

The morning light filtered through the open window, and the cool breeze made the thin curtains sway gently. You stretched lazily, the familiar sound of waves crashing against the shore reminding you that you were in the Lee family’s beach house, finally back after two years. 

You got up and brushed your teeth, observing your face in the mirror for any changes. As you stepped out of your room, the smell of freshly brewed coffee and waffles made your tummy growl. You could hear your mom and Aunt Hyejin talking.

And by the time you made it to the kitchen, they were already preparing to leave. “Morning. You guys heading out?” you asked, helping yourself to the coffee machine.

“Good morning, honey!” Your mom turned to you with a smile. “We’ll be downtown all day to see the market and buy some things for the house.”

“What are your plans for today, sweetie?” Aunt Hyejin asked.

“I think I’ll go for a swim,” you replied, setting your mug down the table.

“That’s nice,” Aunt Hyejin beamed, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “I was thinking of asking Anton to show you around or take you to the clubhouse, but he went out for a jog early this morning.”

“Thanks, Auntie, but it’s okay,” you replied quickly, almost too quickly. “I don’t really feel like going anyway.”

Your mom raised an eyebrow at your tone, but she didn’t comment. Instead, she kissed your forehead before grabbing her purse. “Alright, have breakfast before you go out, and don’t forget your sunscreen!”

“Also, sweetheart,” Aunt Hyejin prompted, placing a hand on your shoulder. “Could you tell Anton when he gets back that I left a note for him? It’s on the fridge and tell him he needs to do it as soon as he’s back from his run.”

“Okay, Auntie. I’ll let him know.”

You walked them to the door, waving them off as they left, then headed upstairs to change. A swim sounded like the perfect way to spend your first real morning back—just you, the ocean, and some much-needed time to clear your head. Usually, Anton would wake you up early on your first day back and drag you to the beach for a swim, but you weren’t counting on it today.

When you made your way down to the beach, you weren’t expecting to find Junyoung and his friends there.

“Oh, it’s the old lady!” Junyoung called out to you as soon as he saw you, a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

“I’m not old, you brat,” you shot back, squinting at him. He’d gathered quite the group, and a few familiar faces smiled at you from where they sat on beach towels.

“Wow, you’re really here,” one of the girls, Hana, said with a laugh as she stood up to hug you. “It’s been ages!���

“It’s only been two years,” you chuckled, hugging her back. “But I can see that you’ve all grown up so much,” you added, marveling at how much they’d changed in two years. The boys were taller, the girls more polished, and there was an air of confidence about them that made you miss being a teenager a little.

“You sound like my grandma,” Hana teased, shaking her head.

“Don’t encourage her,” Junyoung interjected, smirking. “She’s ancient.”

You rolled your eyes, flicking sand at him playfully. “Whatever, I’m going for a swim. Enjoy roasting me while I’m gone.”

Junyoung laughed, holding up a hand as if in surrender. “Don’t drown, grandma!”

You flipped him off as you walked toward the water, grinning.

The water was cool and refreshing, lapping against your skin as you waded in deeper. From the corner of your eye, you noticed the beach slowly coming to life. Families were setting up umbrellas, kids were building sandcastles, and a couple was walking hand in hand along the shore. It was a scene you’d witnessed countless times over the years, but it never failed to make you smile.

Your thoughts drifted to the summers you’d spent here as a kid. Each year brought new faces—tourists you’d befriended for a few fleeting weeks, locals who became your seasonal playmates. You’d always been quick to mke friends and form bonds, though many of them faded as quickly as they’d formed.

And, of course, there were the crushes. The endless parade of cute boys who caught your eye. Some of them, you tried to shoot your shot. Most of them, you’d never had the courage to talk to. As usual, those feeling faded when the summer was over.

Well, except for one. Sungchan.

He’d been your longest-running crush, a boy from the neighborhood who was a few years older. Every summer, you’d spot him on the beach or at the local shops, always surrounded by friends, always smiling. You never got beyond the occasional shy wave or stolen glance, but that didn’t stop you from swooning over him every chance you got.

You smiled to yourself, wondering what he was up to these days. Was he still living here? Still as effortlessly cool as you remembered?

Your gaze drifted toward the lifeguard tower, the only unfamiliar fixture along the beachline. It wasn’t there last time you were here, but that wasn’t the reason you couldn’t keep your gaze away. Sitting there, casually surveying the beach, was none other than Sungchan. And he looked even better than you remembered.

His features had sharpened with age, his shoulders broader, his smile just as dazzling. He wore a red lifeguard tank top and sunglasses, looking relaxed and confident as he chatted with another lifeguard.

“Of course,” you muttered under your breath, treading water as you stared. “He’s still ridiculously handsome. Great.”

You shook your head, forcing yourself to look away. You weren’t that starstruck kid anymore, and you weren’t about to start crushing on him all over again.

Soon, the water started to lose its allure when the morning sun climbed higher and the heat started to prick your shoulder. With a content sigh, you decided to head back toward the shore. You ran your fingers through your wet hair, mentally noting how good the ocean always felt no matter how many summers you spent here.

But just as your feet hit the shallows, a sudden shout caught your attention.

“HEADS UP!”

Before you could react, something smacked into your forehead with a dull thunk. The world turned slightly as you stumbled backward, landing awkwardly in the sand.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry!” A boy hurried over, looking horrified as he grabbed the Frisbee floating on the water.

“It’s alright,” you muttered, waving him off as you pushed yourself up.

“Hey, are you okay?” another voice called out—calm, authoritative. You turned your head, and there he was, Sungchan, jogging toward you.

The boy with the Frisbee immediately began apologizing again, but Sungchan dismissed him with a quick, “It’s alright, just be more careful next time.” His focus shifted to you. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, trying to brush sand off your legs. “No. I’m fine.”

“Uh-huh,” Sungchan cut you off, gesturing at your forehead. “You’re bleeding.”

“What?” You blinked, reaching up to touch your temple. Sure enough, there was a faint smear of blood when you looked at your fingers.

“Just a small cut,” he said, helping you up. “Come on, let’s clean that up.”

You barely had time to protest before Sungchan was already leading you toward the lifeguard tower. You waited by the steps as he grabbed a first aid kit with urgency.

“Sit,” he said as he stepped down. You sat and watched Sungchan do his thing. “This’ll sting a little,” he warned, dabbing at your cut with an antiseptic wipe.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, feeling the heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. The proximity was overwhelming—he smelled like sunscreen and saltwater, his face far too close for comfort.

As he finished cleaning the cut, Sungchan grabbed a band-aid and carefully placed it over the small wound. His hand lingered for a second longer than necessary, his brow furrowing slightly.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked suddenly.

Of course, he didn’t remember you. “I guess,” you said, offering a small, nervous smile as you told him your name. “From a couple summers ago.”

Sungchan’s hands paused for a second, recognition lighting up his face. “Ah! Yes. I remember you now.” He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. “Wow. You’ve… changed.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you quipped, trying to ignore the butterflies fluttering in your stomach. “You’ve changed quite a bit too.”

He smiled and pointed at yout cut. “You’re lucky it was just a small scratch,” he said, eyes lingering on you. “Or else I might have had to go full lifeguard mode and perform some CPR.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning back on the lifeguard tower. “I’m pretty sure I’d survive without the dramatic rescue.”

Sungchan chuckled, his voice dropping just low enough for you to hear. “You sure? Because I don’t mind saving you each time you need me to.”

A small laugh escaped you, feeling more at ease now. “Why, thank you. But I think I can handle myself.”

“Oh I don’t doubt it,” he said, his tone shifting to something a little more teasing. “But I really wouldn’t mind seeing more of you.”

You raised an eyebrow, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk. “Is that so? Are you flirting with me, Sungchan?”

He shrugged, pretending to look innocent. “Would it be so bad if I was?” he asked back, gaze flicking at your lips for a split-second.

Before you could respond, you caught movement from the corner of your eye. When you glanced sideways, it was Anton. He stood just a few feet away, his expression dark and unreadable. His eyes moved from you to Sungchan, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

You waved at him. “Hey! You’re back!” you called out, remembering Aunt Hyejin’s instruction to remind him of a chore.

Anton didn’t respond, his eyes flicking over you briefly before he turned and jogged toward the house, his pace quick as if he had somewhere to be.

You frowned slightly, unable to dismiss the attitude. “I’ve gotta go,” you said, standing up quickly. “Thanks for this. And see you around, Sungchan.”

“Oh, you’re leaving?” Sungchan asked, his tone still light, but there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. He stood up too. “Will I see you at the party tonight? 8pm at the clubhouse?”

You didn’t give it much thought as you glanced at Anton’s retreating figure. “Yeah! See you there!” You flashed a smile, already jogging after Anton.

“Anton, wait up!” you called, sprinting after him on the sand. Your feet sank with every step, making it harder to keep up. He didn’t even glance back, his strides deliberate and fast, like he was on a mission to get as far away from you as possible.

“Seriously? Are you even listening?” you shouted, frustration lacing your voice.

Still nothing. By the time you made it to the house, your chest was heaving, partly from running and partly from annoyance. Anton was already in the kitchen, chugging down a glass of water.

“Your mom left a note for you on the fridge,” you said, your tone sharper than you intended.

He didn’t say a word, just set the glass down, turned the fridge door, yanked the note and held it up for you to see without a word.

“What? It’s for you, not me,” you blurted, crossing your arms.

Anton simply folded the note in half, shoved it into his pocket, and walked away. You stood there, fuming, watching his retreating figure disappear around the corner. What was his problem?

Something was definitely wrong. Leaning against the counter, you tried to make sense of what just happened. Was it something you said? Something you did? You wracked your brain, sifting through every interaction you’d had with him, wondering if you somehow did something to offend or anger him in any way.

The last time you’d seen him was at your high school graduation two years ago. He’d been his usual self then—kind, supportive, making jokes to ease your nerves before the ceremony. If something had happened between then and now, it would have to be major for him to act like this after two whole years. But try as you might, you couldn’t think of anything.

And maybe that was true, this wasn’t about what you did. Maybe nothing had happened at all. Maybe this was just him now—more distant, more mature. The kind of guy who had outgrown childhood friendships.

Your chest tightened as the realization slowly crept in. Anton has changed. He doesn’t even look like the Anton you knew anymore. The messy bangs that used to fall into his eyes were gone, replaced by a clean, swept-back look that showed off his sharp jawline and cheekbones. Back then, he had that cute, boy-next-door thing going on, but now? Now he looked like he’d stepped out of some posh fashion campaign.

Even his eyes were different. They were the same shade, sure, but the warmth was missing. Instead, they felt sharper, like he wasn’t just looking at you but sizing you up, as if he didn’t quite know what to make of you anymore.

It was weird. And upsetting. Because no matter how much you tried to shake it off, it felt like the guy you used to know was gone. And you weren’t sure if you should feel proud of the man he’d become or mourn the boy you’d lost.

The tinkling sound of the door chime signaled someone’s arrival, jolting you out of your thoughts. Your mom popped her head in from the main door, flashing you a quick smile. “Hi, hun. Can you come down and help with the groceries? We’ve got bags of stuff to unload.”

“Yeah, sure,” you said, grateful for the excuse to stop spiraling. “I’ll go change first.” You pushed off the counter and headed for the stairs, trying to leave thoughts of Anton behind.

Chatter filled the kitchen as you unpacked groceries with your mom and Aunt Hyejin. They worked efficiently and synchronously, the kind of rhythm that only came from years of friendship.

“I’m telling you, we did not run into a celebrity at the market,” Aunt Hyejin said, waving a carton of eggs for emphasis.

“Then why did he look exactly like Gong Yoo?” your mom shot back, her tone smug.

“Because you see Gong Yoo in every man with nice hair and a sharp jawline,” Aunt Hyejin retorted, placing the eggs on the counter.

“What about that one time at the airport…”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head as they continued their playful bickering. And just as your mood started to lighten, Anton walked into the kitchen. Without a word, he handed an envelope to Aunt Hyejin. His mom looked at it briefly and set it aside, mid-sentence with your mom.

Anton turned to leave, but then paused. “I’m heading to the clubhouse,” he said, his tone flat.

Aunt Hyejin looked up with a casual smile on her face. “Why don’t you take her with you?” she asked, nodding toward you. “I’m sure she’s bored hanging out with us.”

Anton’s eyes flicked to yours, holding your gaze for a moment longer than necessary. His expression was unreadable, but something in his stare made you shift uncomfortably.

You waved it off quickly. “It’s fine, Auntie. I’ll go next time.”

Anton tilted his head, lips curving into a faint smirk. “She doesn’t need me to take her there anyway,” he said, his voice laced with a condescension that set your teeth on edge. “She’s already got someone’s invitation to tonight’s party.”

The insinuation hit its mark, and for a second, you stared at him, trying to process the shade he’d just thrown. He didn’t wait for a response, though. Without another word, he turned on his heel and walked away, leaving you simmering in annoyance.

Your mom and Aunt Hyejin exchanged a look. “Did you two fight?” your mom asked, eyebrows raised in concern.

“I don’t know,” you muttered, slamming a box of cereal onto the counter. “He’s been grumpy since this morning. I don’t wanna deal with it. And seriously, what’s up with his hair?”

“I think it looks great on him,” your mom said, glancing at Aunt Hyejin. “He’s grown so much in just two years. I almost didn’t recognize him at first.”

Aunt Hyejin nodded, a fond smile softening her features. “Yeah. Junyoung kept saying he’s got a glow up. We’re a family of late bloomers, you see.”

Their conversation continued, shifting to reminiscing about childhood antics and growth spurts, but you weren’t paying attention anymore. Your hands moved automatically, storing away groceries, while your mind replayed Anton’s jab over and over. Annoyance bubbled to the surface, threatening to spill over.

By the time the last bag was unpacked, you were practically seething. If this was the new Anton, you weren’t sure how much of him you could take.

The clubhouse was already crowded when you arrived. It was the same lively scene you remembered from previous summers: groups of people chatting at small tables, others lounging by the bar, drinks and snacks being passed around, strobe lights, and noisy music.

“Hey, you made it!” Sungchan’s familiar voice rang out above the noise. He was by the pool table, his grin as easy as ever, as he waved you over.

You smiled and headed his way. “Barely,” you teased. “This place is packed.”

“Summer crowd,” he said with a shrug. “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

Sungchan was effortlessly charming, bringing you into conversations with people you’d only vaguely remembered from previous summers—or didn’t know at all. He had a way of making things feel casual, light, and fun, and it wasn’t long before you were laughing with his friends.

Somewhere in between introductions, Sungchan leaned closer, his voice dropping conspiratorially.  “Did you come here with Anton?”

Your smile faltered. “No. Why?”

He tilted his head toward the bar. “Because he’s been looking this way every five seconds since you walked in.”

You followed his gaze, and there he was—Anton, leaning casually against the bar, a drink in hand. His relaxed posture contradicted the sharpness in his eyes as they flicked in your direction. He was talking to a group of people you recognized as the self-proclaimed elites of the clubhouse—the rich kids, the ones he’d always found insufferable.

You blinked, momentarily thrown off. Since when had Anton started hanging out with them? He used to avoid this place altogether, grumbling about the kids who were too rich, too smug, and too full of themselves. And yet, there he was, laughing along with them, fitting in like he’d belonged there all along. 

Before you could dwell on it, a voice called out your name. You spun around to see Yejin, one of the friends you’d spent countless summer days with.

“There you are!” she called, waving from a nearby table. “Took you long enough!”

Grateful for the distraction, you turned away from Anton and made your way to Yejin, Hana, and Sohee, who greeted you with the kind of warmth and comfort that came from being with people you’d known for years. You got swept up in a hearty conversation—reminiscing, teasing, catching up on the details of two summers you’d missed. They bombarded you with questions, half-complaints about your absence, and enough inside jokes to make you laugh until your cheeks hurt.

“But seriously,” Sohee said, narrowing her eyes at you. “Where were you?”

“Life just got crazy, okay?” you explained, putting your hands up in mock surrender.

“Crazy? You ditched us for two whole years!” Hana chimed in, raising an eyebrow. “That’s two summers.”

“I know. So instead of holding me hostage for being gone, how about filling me in on what I missed?” you shot back, laughing.

Yejin leaned closer, her voice dripping with mischief. “We’ll fill you in, all right. But first—what’s going on with you and Sungchan?”

You opened your mouth to deny it, but before you could, Sungchan appeared beside you, an innocent smile plastered across his face.

“Am I the topic of conversation?” he asked, his elbow nudging yours as he stood beside you. “I see, you’re catching up with your friends.”

Yejin narrowed her eyes at Sungchan, feigning suspicion. “Mr. Jung Sungchan, what’s the meaning of this?”

Sungchan glanced briefly at you. “Nothing. Your cute friend just happened to be generous enough to spare some of her precious time for me.”

Your friends exchanged glances and burst out laughing. Sohee was uncannily loud. “Generous enough? Surely you knew she was head over—”

You lunged at him, covering his mouth before he could finish talking. “This party is amazing, isn’t it?”

Sungchan just chuckled. “It is. Like I said, summer crowd.”

The chat continued, most of the attention directed at you because obviously, they wanted to catch up with you.

“So, are you two like a thing now?” Yejin asked, her tone playful as she raised an eyebrow at you and Sungchan.

“Definitely not,” you replied, rolling your eyes.

Sungchan clutched his chest, feigning hurt. “Wow, didn’t even hesitate. And here I  was, thinking we had something special.”

“Dude, we only started talking like five hours ago,” you retorted. “You’ll live.”

The group erupted in laughter, and Sohee grinned. “I don’t know, man. You seem to have some competition.”

“Competition?” Sungchan repeated.

Before Sohee could elaborate, Anton appeared beside him, clapping a hand on his back. “Don’t mind him,” he said, his voice smooth but pointed. “Sohee thinks everything’s a competition. Remember last summer’s beach volleyball? He still claims he didn’t cheat.”

Sohee gasped, his hand to his chest. “I didn’t!”

“Sure,” Anton drawled, his gaze flicking briefly to you before shifting back to Sohee. “Just like you didn’t accidentally trip over Hana to block that shot.”

“Speaking of beach volleyball,” Sungchan slid back into the group seamlessly, his charm lighting up the conversation. He nudged your arm playfully. “Weren’t you a former MVP?”

You tilted your head, pretending to consider. “I used to be. That was three years ago, though. I think I’ve gotten rusty.”

“Don’t be modest,” Yejin teased, grinning at Sungchan. “She was a menace on the court. You’ve seen her, right? Our team was unbeatable because of her.”

Hana pointed at Sungchan. “Remember when we massacred Bay Area-3 four years ago? Must’ve sucked,” she added, shaking her head in exaggerated pity.

You hummed contentedly, leaning into the lightheartedness. “Too bad the season’s over. I would’ve loved to do it again.”

“Hey, I was on that team too,” Sohee interjected, pouting as if his contributions had been forgotten.

Sungchan’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “I think we need a rematch. Let me know when you’re ready to lose.”

Yejin scoffed. “You’re on.”

“I’ll referee,” Anton offered unexpectedly, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Someone’s gotta keep things fair, after all.”

“Oh, because you’re so unbiased?” you quipped before you could stop yourself.

Anton glanced at you, his gaze steady but unreadable. “I’m just saying, someone needs to make sure Sungchan doesn’t get away with calling fouls on every play.”

“Hey, I don’t do that!” Sungchan protested, laughing.

“You totally do,” Yejin chimed in, pointing a finger at him. “Remember last time? Every time you missed, suddenly it was, ‘The sun was in my eyes,’ or, ‘That wasn’t regulation height.’”

The group dissolved into laughter, and after some playful banter, a spontaneous agreement was made to hold a beach volleyball rematch in a few days. Sungchan excused himself first, saying he needed to spread the word to his Bay Area-3 team.

To you, he added, “You can find me back at the pool table later. Have fun catching up.”

As Sungchan walked away, you felt a prickle of awareness. Anton’s gaze was on you again. You met his eyes and raised an eyebrow. What? you mouthed, a silent challenge.

Predictably, he didn’t respond. His expression didn’t change, but he looked away, taking a slow sip from his drink. The moment passed as one of his new, polished friends called him over. He offered your group a brisk goodbye before heading back to their circle.

You exhaled, but your chest felt tight. It was weird seeing Anton blend so naturally with people he’d once disliked. You hadn’t realized how much it bothered you until now.

“Since when has he been hanging out with those people?” you asked, unable to keep the curiosity—and maybe the faintest trace of disbelief—out of your voice.

Hana leaned closer, lowering her tone conspiratorially. “He went to the same college as some of them. It’s actually kind of impressive, in a way. I didn’t think any of them were smart enough to get into a good university.”

You nodded absently, your thoughts tangled. “It’s just... weird seeing him with them when he used to complain about them all the time.”

“Well, people change,” Yejin said with a shrug, like it was the simplest thing in the world. “Maybe he likes them now.”

You didn’t respond. There was no point in sharing the discomfort curling in your stomach when no one else seemed fazed. Instead, you busied yourself with your drink as conversation shifted to lighter topics—new schools, old gossip, and what everyone had been up to since high school.

You smiled and laughed along, but your thoughts kept drifting. No matter how much you tried, they always found their way back to Anton.

The night was in full swing by the time you found yourself sitting at a round table with Yejin, Hana, and a few other familiar faces. Sungchan leaned back in his chair beside you, his easy grin practically lighting up the conversation.

“So,” one acquaintance said, raising an eyebrow as she swirled her drink, “how does it feel to be back after two years? Like nothing’s changed?”

You smiled, though the question struck a little too close to home. “It feels great, honestly. I didn’t realize how much I missed everyone until now.”

“You’re lucky we even let you back in,” another one teased, leaning forward with a mock stern look. “Two summers is basically an eternity.”

Yejin chimed in, pointing her straw at you. “I told you she’d just waltz back in like nothing happened.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but a new voice cut through the chatter. “That’s kind of her thing, isn’t it?”

Your head whipped toward Anton, who had been leaning casually against the wall nearby. His voice was calm, almost disinterested, but there was a sharpness to it that pricked at your skin.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you asked, forcing a laugh that felt a little too light.

Anton glanced at you briefly, his expression unreadable, before looking back at the group. “She’s good at jumping back into things like nothing ever happened.” Then to you, he said slowly and clearly, “That’s just how you’ve always been.”

The table went quiet for a few seconds too long. Sungchan shot you a look—half amused, half wary—while Yejin frowned, the corners of her mouth twitching as if unsure whether to laugh or intervene.

You felt your cheeks burn, but you refused to let it show. “Well, some of us don’t go through drastic changes in just two years,” you shot back, forcing a smile.

Anton’s gaze flicked to you for a moment, his lips curling in a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. “Guess not.”

The conversation resumed, though the tension lingered in the background. Yejin quickly steered the group onto lighter topics, and soon enough, the table was filled with laughter again.

But you couldn’t shake away Anton’s words. They sat in the back of your mind, nagging at you even as you tried to ignore them.

Sungchan leaned closer, his shoulder brushing yours. “You okay?” he asked softly.

“Fine.” You smiled at him, grateful, but the knot in your chest didn’t loosen. Instead, your eyes found Anton again, now standing by the bar with a drink in hand. He didn’t look your way, but you were swearing at him in your head, determined to get to the bottom of whatever his problem was as soon as you were alone.

The wait didn’t take long. While you were squeezed beside Sungchan on a plush couch, his arm draped over your shoulder, feeling more carefree after several drinks, Anton appeared before you with his brows furrowed.

“I’m going home,” he said flatly, his eyes flicking between you and Sungchan.

You scowled. “And? What does that have to do with me?”

He sighed, taking your drink away and placing it on the table with a pointed glance. “Your mom would kill me if I left without you. Come on.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up, bidding Sungchan a quick goodbye. He let you go with a soft kiss on your cheek, his voice warm as he said, “Text me when you’re home, okay?”

You nodded, though you knew you’d probably forget. Your focus was already on Anton, who was heading out the door without waiting for you.

You struggled to catch up with his long strides, but you didn’t complain, knowing he’d just ignore you if you did. The alcohol made your annoyance simmer louder, and in your head, you practiced the scathing words you’d unleash as soon as you were alone with him.

But Anton had other plans. The car stereo blasted as soon as the engine started, drowning out any attempt you made to speak. You knew he was doing it on purpose, and it made you angrier.

The ride felt like an eternity, tension crackling in the silence between the loud beats of the music. When the car finally pulled up in the garage, Anton got out without a word, leaving you to stumble after him. He was already halfway inside the house when you kicked off your heels and stormed in.

“You’re back early,” Aunt Hyejin greeted from the living room, where she and your mom sat in their pajamas watching a movie. “Oh, what’s wrong?”

“Hi, Auntie. Hi, Mom,” you said briskly, barely glancing their way as you followed Anton up the stairs.

“What happened?” your mom called after you, but you didn’t stop to answer.

The alcohol made it easier to ignore the logic telling you to let it go. You caught the door just as Anton was about to close it, your hand slamming against the wood.

“What’s your problem?” you snapped as you pushed your way into his bedroom, slamming the door behind you.

Anton didn’t even flinch. He casually walked over to his closet, rummaging through it for a fresh shirt. “What is it this time?” His tone was too monotonous, almost mocking.

“‘That’s just how you’ve always been.’” You gestured wildly, your voice rising with frustration as you mimicked his indifferent tone. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Anton?”

His brow twitched, and for a split second, you thought he might actually look sorry. But no. Instead, he leaned back against the wall, crossing his arms like he had all the time in the world to deal with your meltdown.

“It’s not that deep,” he said, his tone infuriatingly calm. “You’re overreacting.”

You let out a disbelieving laugh. “Overreacting? You’ve barely said two words to me since I got here, and when you finally do, it’s to throw some passive-aggressive jab about how I’ve ‘always been’ like that? What is it exactly? Too loud? Too much? Too—”

“Annoying,” he cut in, his voice low but sharp enough to slice through your tirade.

The word struck a nerve, silencing you. Your breath hitched, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him.

“Annoying?” you echoed, your voice shaking. “Wow. So that’s what you think of me now? Or have you always thought I was annoying?”

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if this conversation was physically exhausting him. “Why are you so hung up on this?”

“Am I?” You took a step closer, your pulse quickening as anger spiked through you. “Alright then, sue me for always being like this. I didn’t change like you did. I’m still annoying, and I’ve—” You made air quotes, your voice dripping with sarcasm, “—‘always been like this.’”

“Enough,” Anton sighed, exasperated.

“What other grievances do you have against me, Anton?” you shot back, your patience worn thin. “Come on. Let’s hear it.”

“That’s enough,” he said firmly, uttering your name warningly in a way that made your stomach flip—not with fear, but with something far more complicated.

But you weren’t about to back down. “No, I’m not done. You don’t get to act like you’re some untouchable, brooding—”

Before you could finish, he grabbed your wrist—not hard, but enough to make you freeze. His other hand settled on your waist, and in one swift motion, he pulled you closer. You opened your mouth to protest, but his lips crashed into yours before you could even make a sound.

Anton kissed you.

It wasn’t soft or tentative. It was messy and careless, born of frustration and something you couldn’t put a finger on. Your hands pressed against his chest instinctively, not enough to push him away but not quite pulling him closer either.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was warm against your cheek. His grip on your waist loosened, but he didn’t let go completely.

“See?” he muttered, smirking as he took a small step back. “Still annoying.”

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest, your mind a storm of confusion and something else you couldn’t quite name. Anton seemed completely unfazed, tugging his shirt off and changing right there in front of you. You were still frozen in place when he glanced back at you, flicking your forehead with an almost playful arrogance.

“Ow!” you groaned, snapped back to reality.

“It's just a kiss. Don’t obsess over it,” he teased, his eyes flicking to your lips for a moment before he turned, striding toward the door.

You stood there, the words echoing in your head—‘Just a kiss.’ He didn’t even look back as he walked out, leaving you standing in the middle of his room, heart still racing, mind still reeling.

You first met Anton when you were seven. It was the first of your many summers in their little hometown by the sea. Your mom had just finished unpacking your bags when Anton’s mother brought him over to say hello.

He didn’t say much, hiding behind her skirt and eyeing you like you were some strange creature he wasn’t sure he liked yet. But that didn’t last long. Later that afternoon, when the adults were chatting over iced tea on the porch, he shyly tugged at your sleeve and said, “Do you wanna see my pet turtle?”

You had gasped at the time, pleasantly surprised. “You have a turtle?”

“Yeah! It looks like a dinosaur!” he had responded with gleaming eyes.

That was all it took. One look at the tiny turtle swimming in a glass tank on his bedroom windowsill, and suddenly you weren’t just visiting strangers—you had a friend.

Summer after summer, the two of you grew closer. You didn’t get to spend Christmases together or birthdays, but summer break was sacred. Your families would get together at their beach house like a tradition, and that house quickly became a second home to you. Its wooden floors creaked under your bare feet, and the salty breeze always carried the sound of seagulls and laughter.

Anton was funny in a way that always caught you off guard, soft-spoken but bursting with energy when the mood struck. He had a wild streak too, like the time he dared you to jump off the pier into the ocean—even though you’d both been warned a hundred times not to. You ended up doing it, and you both got grounded for the rest of the week.

When you were eleven, he taught you how to ride a bike—well, tried to. He kept insisting he wasn’t laughing at you every time you tipped over, but you could see the way he bit his lip to hold back a grin. And when you finally managed to ride down the dirt path without falling, he cheered so loudly the neighbors peeked out their windows to see what all the fuss was about.

He wasn’t always the wild one, though. There were quieter moments too—like when the two of you built sandcastles on the beach and argued about whether a moat was necessary, or when you’d sit under the teepee in his room, eating popsicles and reading comic books.

For years, he was a head shorter than you, something you loved to tease him about relentlessly. “When are you gonna catch up, Anton?” you’d giggle, ruffling his hair.

“You’ll see,” he’d retort with a determined pout. “I’m gonna grow taller than you someday. Dad said it’s gonna happen soon.”

It became an annual joke, one he stubbornly refused to give up on even as the years passed and your height difference barely changed. Then, when you were sixteen, it finally happened. You came back that summer and found Anton waiting at the door, looking taller than he’d ever been. At first, you didn’t believe it, but the smug grin on his face told you he waited for you at the front door on purpose.

“You’re standing on something,” you accused, squinting at him.

“Nope,” he said, grinning wide as he tapped his bare feet against the porch. “I told you, didn’t I?”

By then, he wasn’t just taller; he was different in ways you couldn’t quite put into words. It was sometime after that same summer that you realized your feelings for Anton weren’t as simple as you thought.

You were teenagers, going through all the awkward, messy stages of puberty. He was becoming more handsome by the day, his boyish features sharpening in ways that made you notice things you hadn’t before. His smile seemed more charming, his laughter endearing, and you were left grappling with a new, inconvenient truth—you had a crush on your best friend.

It wasn’t like it was hard to fall for him. You’d never given it much thought before, but Anton had always been attentive to you. Having a crush on him made you see him in a different light, and his kind nature soon made your heart flutter. He teased you mercilessly, sure, but he always knew when to stop. If you were upset or sulking, he had this uncanny ability to bring you out of it without even trying.

He’d wait for you at the end of the dock whenever you hesitated to jump, his hand outstretched with a soft smile on his lips. If you got hurt—whether it was a scraped knee or a bruised ego—he was always the first to check on you. He never let you carry heavy things, always taking your bag without a word even when you protested. Sometimes you’d be shivering after a late swim, he would throw his towel over your shoulders and grin, saying you looked like a wet puppy.

He had this way of making you feel like you were the most important person in the world, even when he was teasing you. Like the summer he spent two hours untangling the kite you’d accidentally gotten stuck in a tree, refusing to let you help because “you’ll just make it worse.” Or the time he taught you how to skip stones on the water. He’d stood behind you, guiding your arm with his, his chest brushing your back as he whispered instructions, so close you could barely focus. 

For a while, you were convinced you were in love with him. But even then, you knew better than to say anything. What if it ruined everything? What if your confession turned your friendship into something awkward and strained? What would his parents—your second family—think if you jeopardized the bond your two families shared?

So, you buried it. Tucked away that silly, puppy love into the deepest corners of your mind, letting it stay there as a bittersweet secret. You told yourself it was fine. You didn’t need him to love you back. It was enough just to be around him, to laugh with him, to call him your best friend.

And it worked. For years, it worked.

He went back to being your platonic soulmate, the person who knew you better than anyone else. The crush faded into the background, becoming a harmless relic of your teenage years—something you could look back on with fondness but without longing. Anton was family. Almost like a brother, considering the way you’d grown up together.

Or so you thought..

Now, you lay in your dimly lit bedroom, staring at the ceiling with your hand pressed to your chest. You could still feel the sensation of his lips on yours, and the memory played on a loop in your mind. 

Anton had kissed you. On the lips. And you didn’t know how to feel about it.

No, that wasn’t entirely true. You did know.

The affection you’d convinced yourself was long gone—that you’d painstakingly buried under layers of denial—wasn’t gone at all. It had been lying dormant, quietly waiting for something to wake it up. And now, with one impulsive kiss, Anton had yanked it out of its slumber.

What made it worse was Anton himself. He didn’t seem the least bit affected. He’d walked out of the room as if the kiss meant nothing, leaving you to deal with the fallout alone. Did he even care? Did he even think about what it would do to you, kissing you like that and walking away?

You let out a frustrated sigh, pressing your palms to your eyes as if you could physically stop your thoughts from spiraling.

It was too much. Anton had been too much these days. And now, he’d managed to unravel years of carefully built denial with one impulsive, reckless kiss.

What are you supposed to do now?

The next few days were unbearable. You tried your best to pretend nothing had happened between you and Anton, but that had never been your strong suit. Pretending didn’t come naturally to you, and something as major as that kiss was impossible to ignore. And Anton? Oh, he must have been having the time of his life watching you squirm.

He didn’t ignore you anymore—not like before—but a big part of you wished he just stayed indifferent and mean. He’d sit beside you at breakfast, close enough for his knee to bump against yours under the table. He’d call your name just to ask something unimportant, so casually too like the kiss didn’t even happen. Then, every once in a while, he’d throw in a remark that made your stomach flip.

“Still thinking about it?” he asked once, leaning against the dock railing as you peered down at the clear water.

You’d nearly dropped your phone in the water. “About what?”

He raised an eyebrow, a sly smile pulling at his lips. “You know what.”

You wanted to strangle him.

And the worst part? He didn’t care if anyone else was around when he did it. Around family, he kept his teasing just vague enough that no one else would catch on, subtle enough not to raise suspicions. But his remarks were bold enough to set your heart racing and leave you panicking that someone might pick up on your little secret.

By the time a week had passed, you were on the brink of losing it.

Anton’s dad had arrived back from work, and to celebrate, the family decided on a big barbecue dinner. Naturally, you and Anton were tasked with picking up groceries. It was something you often did together, but that was before. Now you just wanted to be as far away from him as possible.

Still, you didn’t argue. Obviously you couldn’t risk drawing attention to yourself and raising questions. Since the kiss, you hadn’t yet been alone with him, and the thought of sitting in a car with just him was making your stomach churn.

When Anton leaned over to buckle your seatbelt—his hand brushing your arm in a way that felt entirely too intentional—you swatted him away.

“I can do it myself,” you snapped.

He smirked, leaning back into his seat as if you hadn’t just scolded him. “You’re welcome.”

At the grocery store, things were mercifully normal. The conversation stayed focused on the errand. You stuck to the list, pointing out items while Anton grabbed them, and for a moment, it felt like those times in the past when you did the same errand. But then, as you were scanning a shelf for the right brand of barbecue sauce, you saw a familiar face along the aisle.

“Sungchan!” you called out, waving a hand in the air and failing to notice Anton scowling behind you.

The sight of him brought a welcome distraction, and you walked over with a smile creeping onto your face. You exchanged pleasantries, and he introduced you to his mom, who seemed just as charming as he was. Over the past week, you’d been texting with him and had even gone on a few strolls along the beach. He was funny and easygoing, and things seemed to be going well—if only you could focus on this rather than having Anton occupy space in your head.

“Didn’t expect to run into you here,” he said, his gaze flickering briefly to Anton, who stood a few steps behind you, his hands shoved into his pockets.

“Small town,” you replied with a laugh.

You chatted for a few minutes before his mom gently reminded him about their errands. Before leaving, he leaned in to press a kiss to your cheek. It was quick and casual, but it made your cheeks burn nonetheless.

“See you soon,” Sungchan said, stepping back. “Volleyball match is on Tuesday. Don’t forget,” he added, glancing between you and Anton before walking away.

You turned back to Anton, hoping he hadn’t noticed your flushed cheeks, but of course, he had.

“You’re blushing,” he said, his voice teasing but sharper at the edges than usual.

“It’s hot,” you muttered, grabbing a random bottle of barbecue sauce and tossing it into the cart without even looking at the label.

Anton reached over, grabbed the bottle, and placed it back on the shelf. “This one’s for pasta. You’re a mess today.”

You glared at him. “Maybe I wouldn’t be if someone wasn’t constantly trying to mess with me.”

“Who, me?” Anton’s expression was pure mock innocence.

“Yes, you!” You snatched another bottle off the shelf, shoving it into the cart with unnecessary force before walking ahead.

He trailed behind, his voice light but carrying a certain edge. “So... you and Sungchan, huh?”

“What about us?” you said flatly, not bothering to look back.

“Oh, nothing,” Anton replied, leaning casually against the cart handle. “It’s just cute, that’s all. The way he looks at you like you’re a goddess or something. And that kiss on the cheek?” He let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “Real smooth.”

Your brows furrowed, genuinely wondering if he was being sarcastic. He looked at you and added, “Bet he writes poems about you in his free time.”

You scoffed. “Do you really think he’s that kind of guy? Have you seen him?”

Anton shrugged. “How would I know? I’m just making a guess since you’ve had the biggest crush on him for a long time and you once told me he looked like the kind of guy who writes poems for their girlfriend.”

You grimaced. “Ew. When did I say that?”

“When we were twelve,” he answered with a nonchalant shrug.

Your eyes widened slightly before you huffed. “Well, I was twelve. And I didn’t know what I was talking about.”

Anton scoffed mockingly. “No. He is that kind of guy. Romantic, spontaneous, and totally not like other guys who party till sunrise, chase after pretty girls and hookup for funsies,” he said sarcastically, smirking.

You turned to face him, your annoyance now outweighing your embarrassment. “What’s your problem?”

“No problem,” he said with a too-innocent shrug. “Just thought it was cute, that’s all. You’ve got a little admirer.”

You rolled your eyes, grabbing a pack of skewers and tossing it into the cart. “Whatever. It’s none of your business, anyway.”

“Nice, sure,” Anton drawled, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I do hope you don’t end up as another notch on his bedpost by the time summer ends.”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?” you shot back in frustration.

He straightened up, his smirk softening into something you couldn’t quite read. “What? I’m just looking out for you. Making sure you know what you’re getting into.”

“By mocking me?”

“By being honest,” he corrected, leaning slightly closer, his voice dropping low enough to send a shiver down your spine.

You huffed, staring right back at him with no intention to back down. “Whatever I do this summer, whoever I do it with, is none of your business, Anton. Just keep doing what you’ve been doing since I got here. Keep ignoring me and continue acting like a total prick, because I’m done trying to figure out what I did so wrong to deserve this treatment from you.”

Anton’s smirk faltered, replaced by something harder to read. His jaw tightened, but instead of snapping back, he turned away. Without another word, he pushed the cart down the aisle, leaving you standing there, fuming and wondering if it was possible to strangle someone with barbecue tongs. 

The silence that followed felt heavy, pressing against your chest, but you refused to dwell on it. Let him walk away if he wanted. Let him stew in whatever self-righteous attitude he’d decided to adopt this summer. You’re done walking on eggshells around him.

In the evening, you gathered in the backyard with your mom and the Lee family, everyone moving around busily to prepare dinner—setting up the table, checking the grill, and bringing out the salads and sides.

The sound of sizzling meat, the laughter and chatter, along with the faint echo of the waves lapping at the beach made you feel nostalgic. Barbecue nights like this had been a staple of your summers here. You hadn’t thought about them much in the two years you were away, but now that you were experiencing it again, you realized how much you’d missed it.

You focused on your tasks, determined to push away the tension from earlier at the store. The last thing you wanted was to let Anton get under your skin.

But Anton had other ideas. He was stuck to you like glue. Every time you moved to do something, he was right there, offering to help.

While you were helping Aunt Hyejin arrange side dishes, you were also trying to brush off the occasional bump of Anton’s shoulder as he reached for something nearby. It was hard to ignore the way he hovered close—not enough to draw attention, but enough to keep your nerves on edge.

“Need anything?” he asked as you washed the lettuce.

You glanced at him, your expression flat. “No, I’m good,” you said, shaking the excess water off the leaves.

He didn’t seem to take the hint. “You sure? I can—”

“No,” you cut him off, tugging the lettuce away when he reached for it. “I can do it myself.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly, but instead of arguing, he grabbed a tray of meat and started skewering it—purposefully working a little too close to where you were standing.

The family, oblivious to your silent war, carried on. Junyoung teased you about your time abroad, nudging you playfully. “Bet you missed this, huh?”

“Missed what?” you asked, playing along.

“This. You can’t get this kind of barbecue anywhere else.”

You laughed but didn’t answer because Anton spoke first. “Junyoung, didn’t Dad ask you to get the charcoal?”

“Oh, crap. Right.” Junyoung hurried off, leaving you and Anton alone at the counter.

Your eyes flicked toward Anton who seemed too immersed in his task. “Move. I need space for this,” you demanded, motioning to the tray in your hand.

His gaze shifted to you for a moment, before he returned to the meat and vegetables. “If you’re done with that, come help me with these,” he said flatly.

Scoffing, you picked up the tray of washed greens and headed outside.

Once everything was set up, you took a seat at the long table, intentionally placing yourself as far from Anton as possible. Plates were filled, glasses poured, and lively chatter filled the air. But just as you lifted your fork, Anton’s voice caught your attention.

“Junyoung, move over. I’m sitting there.”

Your eyes widened as Anton casually nudged his brother out of the way, sliding into the seat beside you without hesitation. Junyoung gave you a confused look, and you could only shrug.

Anton glanced at you as he settled in. “You don’t mind, right?” he asked, his tone almost too sweet, like he wasn’t giving you a choice.

You grimaced. “Do whatever you want. It’s your house.”

To your surprise, Anton became uncharacteristically attentive. He refilled your plate with meat, made wraps for you, and handed over dishes you couldn’t reach. You tried to focus on the conversation around you, but it was impossible to ignore the sincerity in his actions—or the way his gaze lingered a little too long.

It wasn’t long before Anton’s father spoke up, his deep voice cutting through the chatter. “Well, it’s nice to see you two getting along again,” he said, his gentle gaze flicking between you and Anton.

Anton raised an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a half-smile. “What do you mean?”

“The two of you,” his father replied, pointing at you and Anton. “I heard whispers about how you two weren’t speaking while I was gone. Did something happen?”

“You noticed that?” Anton asked.

Your mom chimed. “Oh, we all did. You’ve been inseparable since you were kids. Of course we’d notice if you suddenly act like strangers.”

“It’s good that you’ve made up. I thought we’d have to mediate some big falling out,” Aunt Hyejin added with a laugh, glancing between you and Anton.

Anton’s jaw tensed, but he didn’t say anything, focusing instead on the wrap he was making.

“It was weird,” your mom continued, clearly enjoying the opportunity to tease. “These two were like peas in a pod growing up. They’d even sneak out at night to stargaze on the beach together. Remember that?”

You groaned inwardly. “Mom, please.”

“Oh, don’t act embarrassed,” your aunt said, waving a hand. “It’s cute! We all thought it was adorable.”

Anton’s father narrowed his eyes playfully. “So, what happened? Did you fight?”

Before you could stammer out a reply, Anton finally spoke, his voice calm but firm. “Nothing happened. We’re fine.”

“That’s it?” his father pressed, clearly unsatisfied.

Anton glanced at you, his gaze lingering for a moment too long. “That’s it.”

The table erupted into laughter, with your mom and Aunt Hyejin exchanging knowing looks.

“Well, I guess all’s well that ends well,” your mom said, smiling. “You two were always quick to make up anyway.”

You tried to laugh it off, focusing on your plate and ignoring the way Anton’s arm brushed against yours under the table.

As the meal wrapped up and people began clearing plates, Anton stood abruptly. He didn’t announce anything to the table, just leaned down slightly toward you, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“Air?” he asked simply, gesturing toward the beach.

For a moment, you hesitated. Then, realizing the family’s focus was elsewhere, you pushed your chair back and followed him.

Anton led the way down the path toward the beach, hands in his pockets. You followed, keeping your eyes on the back of his head as your feet sank slightly into the cool sand. The sound of waves crashing on the shore stirred something in you—restlessness, maybe. Or nostalgia.

Then he stopped by the shoreline, where the water lapped softly, and sat down.

“Are you planning to stand there all night?” he asked, glancing up at you and tapping the space next to him.

You rolled your eyes and plopped down a few feet away, deliberately creating distance. The breeze tugged at your hair, and for a moment, neither of you spoke, letting the sound of the waves fill the silence.

“They think we’ve made up,” you said finally, breaking the stillness.

Anton huffed a quiet laugh. “They’ve got no idea, huh?”

“Not a clue,” you replied, smirking faintly. “I don’t even know why we were fighting. Or if it was even a fight in the first place. This is your fault.”

His brow quirked at that, but instead of biting back, he chuckled softly. “Maybe it was me. I’ll take the blame.”

“You’ve been sticking to me all night,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. “Acting all nice, making wraps for me at dinner… What’s that about?”

Anton tilted his head toward you, his expression unreadable. “Why? You don’t like it?”

You shot him a look. “No, it’s just weird. You’ve been a prick all week, and now suddenly you’re trying to play nice. What’s your deal?”

He leaned back on his hands, eyes drifting to the horizon. “Maybe I just felt bad,” he said finally. “For these past few days, I mean.”

You snorted, trying to hide the way his sincerity caught you off guard. “So, what? It took you this long to feel bad?”

His gaze slid back to yours, and this time, it lingered. The playful edge in his expression softened, replaced by something quieter, something heavier.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

The words hung between you, stirring up emotions you weren’t prepared to unpack. You wanted to brush it off, to throw a snarky remark his way and shift the mood back to something you could handle, but the look in his eyes kept you rooted in place.

You opened your mouth to say something—anything—but he beat you to it.

“I didn’t mean to treat you like that,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I didn’t mean to change… us.”

Your heart twisted, but you forced a scoff. “You didn’t mean it? Could’ve fooled me.”

Anton didn’t respond right away. He simply stared at you, his eyes tracing your features like he was seeing them for the first time. The ocean breeze carried the faint scent of the summer evening, and the sound of waves crashing filled the spaces his words left behind.

And for a moment, you thought he might close the distance. His shoulders shifted, his posture leaning ever so slightly toward you, his gaze dropping to your lips—so brief you almost thought you imagined it.

But just as quickly, he pulled back. His expression returned to the smirk you were all too familiar with.

“Welp, let’s not get too sentimental,” he said lightly, brushing sand off his hands as he stood up. “You might actually start thinking I’ve changed for the better.”

You blinked, caught somewhere between frustration and something softer, as he offered you a hand to help you up.

“I still haven’t decided if I like this version of you,” you muttered, brushing past him as you started back toward the house.

He chuckled, walking ahead of you and gently bumping your shoulder as he passed you. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

A part of you wondered if the conversation was done for the night. But as you glanced at the back of his head, you couldn’t resist one last question.

“Why did you do it?” you called out.

Anton slowed but didn’t stop, glancing at you over his shoulder. “Do what?”

You caught up, falling into step beside him. “Why’d you kiss me?”

He didn’t react right away, his gaze shifting back to the path ahead. “You’re asking me that now? Have you been thinking about it all week?” he asked with a teasing lilt in his voice.

“I’m serious. Come on,” you said, keeping your tone light but steady. “It’s not because you wanted to, right? I was just getting on your nerves, and there was no other way to shut me up. Right, Anton? Right?”

Your heart thudded in your chest as the silence stretched. Anton finally came to a stop, his hands slipping into his pockets as he turned to face you. The moonlight caught the faint curve of his smirk, but his eyes were unreadable.

“Wrong,” he said simply.

“What?” you blurted, waiting for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.

Anton turned and kept walking, leaving you standing there, staring after him as the word echoed in your mind.

The weekend at the beach house passed in a blur. After your conversation with Anton, things between you weren’t awkward anymore, but they weren’t exactly normal either. You talked like usual, bantered like usual, interacted like usual—everything was as usual. Except for when his eyes would focus on you every now and then—the kind of look that seemed to communicate something your mind couldn’t comprehend, but you knew they meant something.

Sometimes, when it was just the two of you—bringing drinks outside or crossing paths in the hallway—you found yourself running through a dozen different scenarios in your head. Ones where the air grew heavy, his hand brushed yours, and somehow, the silence ended in a feverish kiss. You weren’t sure where these thoughts were coming from, but they made you giddy and nervous at the same time, unsure how to handle the growing interest that crept quietly under your skin.

Soon, the day of the volleyball game rolled around, and you headed to the beach with your friends. Sungchan was easy to spot near the net, casually chatting with a group while fiddling with the ropes. When he caught sight of you, his smile stretched wide as he jogged toward you.

“You finally showed up,” he teased, hands on his hips.

You rolled your eyes at his dramatic tone. “I’m literally on time.”

“Late, early—it’s all relative.” He grinned, taking a step back and gesturing to the setup. “So, wanna be on my team? I’m giving you a chance to switch sides before we kick your team’s ass.”

You scoffed. “How generous. But I’ve already pictured your defeat in my head, so, no thank you.”

His laugh was easy, but you couldn’t ignore the way his gaze softened as it lingered on you. That familiar charm of his—it was almost effortless, but you knew what you had to say.

“By the way, I have something to tell you,” you said, glancing past the others before looking back at him.

“Sure,” he nodded, his smile dimming just slightly. “That look is making me nervous, but let’s hear it.”

You took a breath. “You’re a fun guy, you really are. You’re nice too. And to be honest, I had a crush on you since I was like—” you shrugged—“twelve? I think?”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, and I really enjoyed hanging out with you, but  I don’t think I want to be anything other than friends with you.”

For a second, you worried how he’d take it. But Sungchan just stared at you, then let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “I knew you’d break my heart eventually.”

“Sungchan—”

“I’m kidding,” he cut you off, flashing his usual grin. “It’s cool, really. You didn’t drag it out, so thanks for that.”

Relief washed over you. “I just didn’t want to keep you hanging.”

“I know. I really appreciate that,” he replied, his grin turning teasing again. “Gives me more time to get to know other people. Lots of pretty girls in town this summer, you know? They’d be thrilled to know I’m still available.”

You couldn’t help chuckling. “Did you really just say that out loud?”

“Why not?” he said, smirking. “We’re friends. There’s no need to filter my words around friends.”

“Unbelievable,” you muttered, but the laughter that followed between you both was easy and genuine.

The volleyball setup was simple but lively—teams were already strategizing, with Sungchan’s voice ringing out as he rallied his group together. You lingered near the sidelines, soaking in the warm sun and salty breeze, until a familiar figure stepped into your peripheral vision.

Anton.

His hair was a little tousled from the wind, and he had that usual air of nonchalance as he approached. You noticed the faint furrow in his brow as his gaze shifted from Sungchan back to you.

“Are you ready for this?” you asked, keeping your tone casual.

Anton ignored the question entirely. “What were you two talking about?”

“Sungchan?” you asked innocently, tilting your head. “Nothing much. Just clearing the air.”

Anton narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything, his jaw tightening slightly before he turned his attention to the players warming up.

“Didn’t think you’d actually referee,” you teased, eyeing his rashguard and short outfit.

“Someone has to keep things fair,” he replied, his tone dry as his eyes flicked to Sungchan, who was busy high-fiving his teammates.

You raised an eyebrow, catching his not-so-subtle focus. “What’s that look for?”

He shrugged, but his casual tone didn’t match the sharpness in his gaze. “Just wondering why you were all chummy with him.”

“What?” you said, rolling your eyes. “I told you. We were just talking. We’re friends. He’s nice.”

“Too nice, if you ask me,” Anton muttered under his breath, his jaw tightening. “You do remember that he’s older than us, right?”

You tilted your head, amusement tugging at your lips. “Is that jealousy I hear, Anton Lee?”

“Not jealousy,” he shot back quickly. “Concern. You shouldn’t be fraternizing with the enemy.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “Enemy? Aren’t referees supposed to be neutral and not pick sides.”

Anton’s lips twitched, but his expression remained guarded. “Not when it comes to him.”

“Sounds personal,” you teased.

Before he could reply, Sungchan’s voice called from across the net. “Hey, MVP! You ready to show us what you’ve got?”

A confident grin spread across your face as you turned to him. “Hope you’re ready to lose,” you shot back, adjusting your stance.

Anton muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “cocky,” but you ignored him, stepping onto the sand with the kind of ease that came from years of practice.

The game started fast, with energy running high as the teams gave their all to the game. You were quick on your feet, diving for saves and landing precise spikes that sent the ball flying past the other team’s defenses more than once.

“Still got it,” you muttered to yourself after a particularly clean shot, wiping sand off your knees.

“Nice!” Hana cheered, and you all huddled for a high-five.

Sungchan whistled, shaking his head as he retrieved the ball. “Alright, I’ll give you that one. But don’t think you’re getting another easy point.”

“Easy?” Hana echoed, smirking playfully. “Your team’s been missing half your serves. Why don’t you concede?”

“Less talking, more playing,” Yejin retorted, clapping her hands loudly.

The banter drew a laugh from the sidelines, where Anton stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. Still, you caught the slight twitch of his lips whenever you scored, even if he didn’t say a word.

During a quick break, Sungchan jogged over, tossing you a water bottle. “You’re making me work harder than I thought,” he said, flashing his signature grin.

“Good,” you replied, taking a sip and wiping your brow. “I’m just getting started.”

Sungchan stood there for a few seconds, watching you. Then, out of nowhere, he asked, “So, how are things with Anton?”

The water caught in your throat mid-sip, and you barely managed not to spit it out. Coughing, you waved him off as he laughed and patted your back. “What? Why would you even ask me that?”

“Has he told you about it yet?”

“About what?”

Sungchan raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Don’t make me spell it out. The guy’s practically wearing a neon sign over his head that says, ‘I’m in love with her.’”

You rolled your eyes, brushing off the warmth creeping up your neck. “You’re so dramatic. He doesn’t—”

“Sure, sure.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “But you’ve noticed, haven’t you? The way he gets all broody whenever we talk?”

“Broody?”

“You know, sulky. Jealous,” he grinned, casually draping an arm on your shoulder. “I didn’t think it would be so fun to tease him.”

Without thinking, you glanced over. Anton stood with his arms crossed, stealing glances at you and Sungchan. His face was unreadable, but the tight set of his jaw and the sharpness in his gaze gave him away.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, turning back to Sungchan, though your pulse quickened under Anton’s gaze.

Before he could respond, a sharp whistle broke through the conversation.

“Break’s over,” Anton called, his voice firm as he motioned for everyone to get back into position.

Sungchan glanced at him, then back at you, grinning like he’d just cracked a code. “See? Broody.” He threw you a wink before jogging back to his side of the net.

As the game resumed, you couldn’t help but notice Anton’s slightly biased officiating—whistling a little too loud when Sungchan’s team scored, or muttering under his breath whenever their team celebrated.

By the time the final point was scored—your team taking the win with a flawless spike—you caught Anton watching you again, his expression softening just slightly. But as quickly as it came, it was gone, replaced with his usual cool detachment as he blew the whistle to signal the end of the game.

The sound of cheers and laughter filled the air as your team huddled together, celebrating the win. Sohee slung an arm over your shoulder, grinning from ear to ear.

“Still the MVP, huh?” he teased, ruffling your hair playfully. “I don’t know why I thought this would go any other way.”

“Because you’re overconfident,” Hana chimed in, nudging Yejin with her elbow. “And we’re, you know, actually good at this.”

You smirked. “Don’t beat yourself up, though. You guys put up a good fight.”

“Good fight, my ass,” Sohee grumbled, flopping onto the sand dramatically. “We got obliterated. I’m never playing against you guys again.”

“Come on, Sohee,” you replied, tossing him a grin as you helped him up. “It’s just for fun. You didn’t do that bad.”

“He missed three serves in a row,” Hana deadpanned, earning a loud groan from Sohee.

“Okay, no need to rub it in!” Sohee huffed, dusting the sand off his hands.

Anton approached the group, his whistle still dangling from around his neck. “You all done patting yourselves on the back?” he asked, his tone neutral but his eyes briefly meeting yours.

“What exactly are we winning? Do we get a prize?” Yejin asked, looking around.

Sungchan shrugged. “Bragging rights?” he said with evident uncertainty in his tone and expression.

Your team groaned, unsatisfied. Sungchan stammered. “Hey, we didn’t decide on a prize when we talked about this game.”

Sohee raised a hand. “Okay, guys, since I’m basically responsible for our loss, ice cream’s on me for the winners. Losers can fend for themselves.”

“Wow, so generous,” Sungchan deadpanned, but he followed anyway, dragging his team along.

“It’s okay, dude,” Yejin said, clapping him on the back. “You’re rewarded enough. It’s not every day you get to play with an MVP.”

“You mean lose to an MVP,” Sungchan corrected, nodding toward you. “You’re a beast out there, seriously. Respect.”

“Respectfully defeated, you mean?” Hana teased, crossing her arms.

Sungchan shrugged, unfazed. “I’m not bitter. I’d rather lose to a skilled player than Sohee.”

“Okay, man. Low blow,” Sohee sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat.

Sungchan flashed you a knowing grin before his gaze flickered toward Anton. “Guess you’re proud of her too, huh, ref?”

Anton’s jaw tightened ever so slightly, but he only shrugged. “She’s decent.”

“Decent?” you echoed, narrowing your eyes at him. “Pretty sure I just carried my team to victory.”

“I’d rather not inflate your ego,” he retorted, smirking.

As the group headed toward the snack stand, you lingered for a moment, brushing sand off your legs. Anton hung back too, his gaze lingering on the horizon before he glanced at you.

“Decent, huh?” you said, crossing your arms as you turned to him.

His lips twitched. “You heard me.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “You could just admit you’re impressed.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he replied, turning toward the snack stand without waiting for a response.

Shaking your head, you followed, the playful energy from the game lingering in the air.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the group gathered around a bonfire on the beach. Drinks were passed around, the conversation flowing easily. More people arrived as the evening deepened, including some of Anton’s posh friends. They blended effortlessly into the group, their polished smiles and designer outfits standing out against the casual beachwear.

At some point, Sohee handed Anton a guitar with a knowing smirk. “Would you play something for us?”

Anton chuckled, adjusting the strap before strumming a few chords. The group around the fire cheered, and soon everyone was singing along, their voices blending beautifully with the melody Anton was playing.

You leaned back against the driftwood bench, watching him as his fingers glided over the strings with ease. There was something captivating about how relaxed he seemed—more confident, more self-assured. The shy boy you’d grown up with had always seemed happiest when he was off to the side, letting others take the spotlight. Now, he was in the center of it, getting attention without even trying.

In hindsight, this should’ve made you happy. Seeing him like this—more mature, more comfortable in his own skin—should’ve felt like a victory for the both of you. But you didn’t have time to process this because the joy of his transformation had been buried under your indignation, your frustration at being treated like a stranger.

You sighed and turned your gaze to the fire, trying to push the thoughts away.

Later, as the party stretched into the night, Sungchan plopped down beside you with a drink in hand.

“Long face at a party?” he teased, nudging your arm lightly.

You smiled faintly. “Just thinking about stuff.”

“Stuff like Anton?” he asked, raising a brow.

You gave him a side-eye, but his grin was disarming enough that you found yourself nodding. “Maybe.”

“Maybe?” he echoed, leaning closer like he was fishing for details. “Come on, you can tell me. I’m great at giving unsolicited advice.”

That earned a laugh out of you. “Why are you nosy?”

He shrugged. “This is the most interesting thing that happened here since summer break started. I’m a little too invested.”

“Fine,” you chuckled, shaking your head. “Get ready.”

And so, you told him everything—how you and Anton had grown up together, spending every summer side by side, how he used to be this sweet, shy boy you adored. You told him about your silly teenage crush on him, how you’d skipped the last two summers, and how things were so different now that you were back. Sungchan listened intently, nodding along as you spoke.

“And then he kissed me,” you admitted, your voice quieter now. “And now I’m… I don’t know. I can’t tell if I’m falling for him again or if I’m just confusing old feelings for something they’re not.”

Sungchan leaned back, letting out a low whistle. “That’s a lot to unpack,” he said, then smirked. “But hey, you’ve got options. If it’s real, great. If it’s not, at least you’ll know. Either way, you win.”

You rolled your eyes. “That’s not exactly helpful.”

“Look, all I’m saying is, maybe stop overthinking it. You’ll figure it out,” he replied. “But if you’re asking me? I think you’re not confusing old feelings. It’s just that the old feelings are stronger now that you’re older and wiser. Well, not so wise, but still wiser than when you were sixteen.”

Your laugh came out startled. “What makes you think so?”

“Just a hunch,” he said, winking.

Before you could respond, a shadow fell over the both of you. You looked up to see Anton standing there, his expression unreadable as he glanced between you and Sungchan.

“Time to go,” Anton said simply, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You frowned, leaning back against the bench. “It’s still early.”

Anton huffed, unfazed. “I’d hate to ruin your night, but I’m tired, so let’s just go.”

You groaned, glancing at Sungchan, who gave you an exaggerated pout. “Guess this is goodbye,” he said dramatically.

“Don’t be so dramatic,” you retorted, but you smiled as you stood. “Thanks for listening.”

He gave you a two-fingered salute as you turned to follow Anton.

As you walked up the beach, the sounds of the party fading behind you, you glanced at Anton. “Can’t you go home by yourself?”

“You think I’m dragging you along because I want to?” he asked back, glancing sideways at you. “Take it up to your two moms if you have a problem with it.”

You huffed. “I probably should. One can’t go home without the other? What are we, fifteen?”

Anton didn’t respond, but you caught the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he walked ahead.

The car ride was too quiet for your liking. Anton kept his grip tight on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched, and you couldn’t ignore the hint of annoyance on his expression. 

You’d been stealing glances over at him, but he didn’t meet your eyes. The way he was acting—the sudden coldness after the bonfire, the way he pulled away emotionally—it was all too confusing and infuriating. 

“Anton, you’re angry,” you said, your voice low but steady. “What’s going on? Another mood swing?”

He finally looked at you, his eyes dark, the frustration in them almost raw. “Can you mind your own business?”

“I can if you stop making me feel like this was my business too.”

Anton let out a sharp exhale, and with a swift turn of the steering wheel, he pulled over to the side of the road, stepping on the brakes so abruptly, you were jolted forward, the seatbelt digging into your chest.

“What the hell—”

“What do you want me to say?” he cut you off, his voice rough.

“What do I want you to say?” you echoed, heart pounding as anger rose in your chest. “Are you serious? You’ve been treating me like a stranger since I got here. You’ve barely talked to me, and when you do, it’s like I’m the last person you want to be around. What do I want you to say?”

You scoffed incredulously. “I want you to tell me what I did so wrong to deserve this.”

Anton’s hands tightened on the steering wheel, his jaw clenching so hard it was a wonder it didn’t crack. When he finally spoke, his voice was lower, quieter, but no less intense. “I missed you. So fucking much.”

For a second, his words knocked the wind out of you. But the anger came rushing back. “That doesn’t make any fucking sense. You missed me, so you’re treating me like crap? What the hell, Anton?”

“I don’t know!” he snapped, his voice breaking slightly. He groaned, leaning back in his seat and pressing his hands to his face. “I don’t know, alright? I just—I couldn’t reach you. I couldn’t talk to you. You were supposed to be here, and you weren’t. And now you’re back, and I’m—” He broke off, dragging his hands through his hair in frustration.

You blinked, caught off-guard by the vulnerability in his voice. You opened your mouth to speak, but you didn’t know what to say so you closed it again. At that moment, it was as if the only thing you could do was reach out your hand and place it on his arm, squeezing gently in hopes that it would somehow comfort him, that it would be enough to express what your words cannot.

His head turned toward you, and the look in his eyes made your breath hitch. His gaze flicked to your lips, and before you could process what was happening, his hand was on your arm, pulling you toward him. Then his lips crashed against yours, desperate and unrestrained, like he couldn’t stop himself anymore. 

And you couldn’t pull away—not that you wanted to. Everything you had been holding back, everything you’d been pretending not to feel, was suddenly pouring out in that kiss.

He tugged you closer, his other hand sliding to your waist as the kiss deepened, raw and messy, with a kind of desperation that matched your own. You could feel his heavy breathing against your lips as his body tensed beneath you, and it only made you want to close the distance even more.  You wrapped your arms around his neck, clutching a handful of his hair because you needed to hold on to something—anything—that was real.

Anton’s hands moved to your neck, his touch possessive, as if he was trying to assure himself that you were here, that you weren’t going anywhere. You pulled away for a breath, your chest rising and falling quickly as you stared at each other, both of you trying to catch your breath.

“Anton…” you whispered, your voice trembling.

He pressed his forehead to yours, his voice hoarse. “Don’t say it. Just—don’t say anything right now.” He kissed you again, one hand slipping under your shirt but you stopped him.

“No.” You pushed him away gently, your lips curving into a small smile. “Not here. Come on, dude. Not in the car. Let’s at least make this special.”

He leaned back, a short, dark laugh escaping him. “I just kissed you till you’re breathless, and you call me dude after?”

You laughed lightly, still breathless yourself. “Are you seriously gonna hold that against me instead of focusing on more pressing matters?” You glanced at the unmistakable bulge in his jeans.

Anton grunted, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he shifted the gear stick, suddenly looking more determined than ever as he stepped on the gas.

You couldn’t help grinning at the look on his face. You reached for his chin, pulling him close just enough to press a soft kiss on his cheek. As you sat back, Anton’s fingers brushed against yours, holding your hand with a light squeeze as the car sped down the highway.

The house was quiet when you and Anton arrived. It was past 1am, and the soft hum of the house was the only sound that filled the air as you both tiptoed down the dimly lit hallway. Your footsteps were almost inaudible on the hardwood floor, but your heart raced in your chest. When you passed by his parents’ room, you both paused for a moment, checking for any signs of movement, worried that someone might wake up and catch you sneaking.

When you reached the upper floor landing, Anton grabbed your hand, pulling you closer to him. His lips brushed the side of your neck as you walked down the hall. The thrill of the risk only heightened your need for each other, and you couldn’t keep the smile from tugging at your lips as his hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you against him for a second.

“You’re gonna get us caught,” you whispered, though the mischief in your voice gave  away the fact that you were enjoying this too.

He groaned impatiently. “Why is your bedroom so far away?”

“It’s not, you’re just dramatic,” you chided softly, pressing a soft kiss on his lips and slipping away when he moved to cage you in his arms.

The need for each other was overwhelming, but you couldn’t risk waking anyone up, couldn’t let anyone see this side of you two yet.

When you finally reached your bedroom door, you turned to face Anton, curling your fingers in his shirt. “Don’t you dare go in there without me,” you said, pulling him toward you for another kiss, the same fervent kiss he’d been giving you all night.

As you both stumbled into the room, the door clicking shut behind you, everything else disappeared—the house, the people, the secrets. The room was quiet except for the sound of your uneven breaths. He was so close, his familiar face somehow different now, his eyes tracing yours like he was seeing you for the first time.

“This is insane,” you whispered, a shaky laugh slipping out as you broke eye contact. “Are we really gonna do this?”

“Oh, it’s totally up to you,” he said softly, his voice dipping lower as he tucked a few strands of hair behind your ear. “But right now, I can’t stop thinking about you… like this,” he added, his fingers brushing on the sleeves of your shirt, tugging it off slowly.

You let him undress you as your stomach fluttered at his confession. Before you could talk yourself out of it, you leaned forward, your lips meeting his. It started soft, tentative, like you were afraid to push too far. But then his hand found the back of your neck, pulling you in, and suddenly it wasn’t soft anymore.

The kiss deepened, years of restraint unraveling all at once. He laid you back against the bed, his weight hovering over you. As his lips trailed down your neck with slow and careful kisses, your mind began to spiral with a sensation that was both new and unfamiliar.

When he got rid of your bra and revealed your bosoms before his eyes, he had to take a moment and look at you—really look at you, with a face of disbelief and amazement. That gaze made you shy, but you tried not to show it, hoping he liked what he was seeing. 

“This feels… a bit different,” he murmured, meeting your gaze. His voice trembled slightly, and it struck you that he was just as nervous as you were.

“Because it is,” you whispered back, your fingers brushing against his cheek. “But it’s still us.”

That seemed to settle something in him. He leaned down to kiss you again, only for a short while before abandoning your lips and moving to your neck. He licked and nipped at your skin, leaving a slight sting that sent shivers down your spine—a delightful balance of pain and pleasure. His lips trailed down to your collarbone, the center of your chest, and the soft hollow beneath your breast before moving to suck on your nipple.

The sudden jolt of pleasure made you arch your back, stifling a gasp that almost tore out of your lungs. Anton continued, eyes locked with yours, studying every expression you were making.

His hands grew bolder, fingertips traveling to your belly, down to your sex with curiosity and reverence. His motions were gentle at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But with each soft gasp or subtle shift of your body, his confidence grew. When his thumb brushed a spot that made you shiver, he paused, repeating the motion with a soft hum, like he’d just unlocked a secret meant only for him.

He already knew you so well—the way your eyes lit up when you were excited, the way your laugh sounded when you tried to muffle it, and the things that made you fold into yourself when you were upset. But this—this part of you—was new, uncharted territory neither of you had thought you’d ever explore.

“Didn’t know you could make that face,” he teased, tickling your ear.

A quiet laugh slipped out of you when his hand fumbled at an awkward angle. “You lost it,” you giggled and he let out a soft chuckle in return.

“Sorry. Where did it go?” he asked, grinning toothily. “Guess I’m not as smooth as I thought.”

You shook your head, still grinning, and cupped his jaw in your hand. “You’re doing fine.”

The laughter didn’t last long. It faded into urgency when you reached between his legs where his manhood was trapped in his tight jeans. Anton let out a pained grunt when your hand brushed it, murmuring “Fuck,” before backing away from you and stripping out of his clothes in a matter of seconds.

He dived back to your lips, crashing with intense fervor while his hand spread your legs wider. He held you tight as he positioned himself, shushing you gently as he slowly fitted himself inside. Every fiber in your body stood in attention, anticipating the delightful pain to shoot through you. And when it came, it was infinitely better than what you imagined.

Instinct took over as you clung to him, your pulse racing as he began to move at a languid pace, familiarizing before going at a steadier pace. The sheets twisted under your fingers, the soft rasp of his name escaping your lips as he pressed harder.

Every thrust ignited something inside you, every whispered murmur of your name leaving you more breathless than the last. You could no longer keep track of what was happening, too far gone to think clearly, but conscious enough to know you wanted more—more of him, more of this pleasure that was driving you insane in the best way possible.

After who knows how long, a throaty moan ripped out of you, your back arching as you let the high engulf you in waves. Anton kept his thrusts steady, riding through your high until your knees shook with too much stimulation. Then you fell back on the bed, limbs weak and your energy depleted.

When it was over, you lay tangled together, your pulse still racing as he held you in his arms. In the atmosphere was a quiet kind of understanding that didn’t need words. His heartbeat was steady beneath your ear, slowly pulling you out of the haze of desire.

You shifted slightly, looking up to find him already watching you. He was smiling, a little shy but undeniably happy. His hand slid up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face before letting his fingers linger on your jaw. 

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, taking a deep breath as you smiled. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

The next morning, you woke up with Anton’s arm still wrapped around you, his warmth enveloping you nicely. The sunlight poured into the room and for a moment, it felt like nothing else in the world mattered. Your body was still tingling from the night before, but you were content and happy.

Anton stirred beside you, his arm tightening instinctively around your waist. He buried his face in your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You awake?” he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly along your jaw.

You smiled faintly, glancing up at him. “Yeah. We need to talk.”

He nodded, exhaling deeply as he stretched, the movement shifting you slightly before he pulled you close again. “Figured you’d say that,” he said, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. But then his expression softened. “I know I’ve got a lot to answer for.”

The night had brought you closer, but it had also left things unanswered, things that neither of you could avoid any longer.

You stayed quiet, letting him speak.

“I was an idiot,” he began, his tone quieter now. “I shouldn’t have pushed you away when you came back. I just... I didn’t know how to handle it.”

You blinked at him, watching his face and saw the faint flicker of guilt and uncertainty in his eyes. This was a side of Anton you hadn’t seen in a while—the one who let his guard down, even if only for a moment.

“I thought I’d lost you for good,” he continued, his voice steady but low. “You didn’t come for two summers. No calls, no texts—it felt like you disappeared, and I couldn’t do anything about it.”

You frowned. “No one told you I was away for uni?” you asked sarcastically.

He huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, I knew. But…” He hesitated, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. We didn’t talk much in the last two years. Different time zones, schedules, and all. You were out there, living your life. I see your posts online. You were killing it in school, making new friends, living your life. Hell, you even had a boyfriend at one point.” He chuckled bitterly, the sound more self-deprecating than amused. Then he continued. “I guess I got insecure and thought you were content living a life without me in it.”

“Come on. That’s not true,” you defended, scowling.

“I know,” he said quickly, cutting you off. “I know that now. But back then, it just... I don’t know how else to say it—it messed me up. Like I said, I was insecure.”

“So I decided to live my life too, and it was good. I learned lots of new things, met lots of people, and discovered interests in fields I didn’t know I had interest in. It was great.” He paused, swallowing hard, then muttered, “Then mom said you were coming for summer this year and suddenly, I was thinking about you again. I realized that I wasn’t mad because I felt abandoned and forgotten. I was just… in love with you.”

You gasped softly, pulse racing at his confession. Anton smiled at you as he continued. “I didn’t know how to deal with that and I knew you’d leave eventually, so I thought if I acted like you were a stranger, it’d hurt less when you’re gone. Obviously it didn’t. It just made everything worse.”

You could feel the sincerity of his words, the honesty finally breaking through the wall he’d built.

“You didn’t have to go through all that,” you said gently, your hand cupping his cheek. “I never forgot about you, Anton. I could never, even if I try. You and me, we’re like, stuck with each other.”

A faint smile broke through his solemn expression. “You make it sound like a punishment.”

You chuckled softly, your fingers brushing through his hair. “I mean, for me, it kind of is.”

His eyes widened slightly, surprised. “For real?”

“No,” you replied quickly, grinning and wrapping your arm tighter around him.

Anton chuckled. “You’re annoying.”

“You’re one to talk,” you retorted, your voice gentle and light.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet between you filled with the soft hum of the morning. Then Anton sighed. “I don’t want to screw this up,” he said. “Not with you. Not again.”

“You won’t,” you promised, your head resting against his chest as his arms wrapped around you. “I’ll kill you if you do.”

Anton’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I’ll do my best. I love living my life, you see.”

You nodded, resting your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. There was no need for more words right now. You were finally on the same page, and for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

No one knew, and that was the beauty of it.

To the outside world, nothing had changed. You and Anton had always been close, always spent summers attached at the hip, so when you were together—laughing over shared inside jokes or disappearing for hours at a time—it wasn’t out of the ordinary. No one thought to question it. But for the two of you, everything was different.

You snuck out late at night, barefoot and giddy, to watch the stars from the beach. Anton would bring a blanket and a bottle of his dad’s wine he swiped from the kitchen, and the two of you would lie there for hours, trading stories and stolen kisses. Sometimes, you’d just sit in comfortable silence, your fingers intertwined, his lips occasionally pressing against your temple.

In the mornings, you’d meet for coffee at the little café down the street, pretending it was a casual thing when your families asked. But as soon as you were alone, Anton would squeeze himself beside you, smiling as he held your hand in his. 

“Think they’re catching on?” he’d tease, his thumb brushing over your knuckles.

“No idea,” you’d reply, grinning. “We’d probably get married and they’d think it’s just us being silly.”

Anton gasped, covering his mouth. “Are you asking me to marry you?”

You rolled your eyes, feigning exasperation. “Oh my god. Can you go back to being nonchalant? I don’t miss your old dramatic self.”

“Aw,” he said cutely, leaning his head on your shoulder. “Come on, baby. You don’t mean that.”

You revisited the places you’d loved as kids, seeing them through new eyes. The old treehouse near the playground became your hideout, where you’d sit together, legs tangled as you reminisced about summers past. 

“You used to boss me around so much here,” Anton would say, laughing when you nudged him. “Still do, actually.”

“You love it,” you’d shoot back, and he’d smirk before kissing you, his hand slipping beneath your shirt in a way that made you forget whatever you were about to say next.

There were days when you explored each other in ways that left you breathless—your skin tingling, your heart racing. Anton was patient and attentive, his touch both gentle and electrifying. He’d study you like he was learning a language, his lips tracing paths across your body as if trying to commit every inch of you to memory. You discovered parts of him, too—little things he liked, the way he shivered when you kissed just below his jaw, the way he whispered your name like a prayer whenever you gave him the ride of his life.

You got to know him in ways you never had before, and it made you fall harder. Behind his teasing and occasional grumpiness, there was a gentle boy, a vulnerability that he only ever let you see. And you held it close, cherishing every piece of him.

Together, you built a world of your own—one filled with secret smiles, lingering touches, and endless laughter. No one else was privy to it, and you liked it that way. The privacy made it feel more sacred, more yours.

You were looking for some cards in the drawers in Anton’s room when you spotted something familiar. Pulling it out, you found an old photo tucked between the pages of a dusty book. It was from one of those endless summers, taken when you and Anton were maybe sixteen. The two of you were sitting side by side on the wooden dock, feet dipped into the water. His grin was wide, his arm slung lazily over your shoulders, and your expression was somewhere between laughing and rolling your eyes.

“Hey, Anton,” you called out, walking into the living room where he was sprawled out on the couch. He glanced up lazily, but his eyes immediately sharpened when he saw what you were holding.

“Where’d you find that?” he asked, reaching for it.

“In your room. You didn’t think I’d find it tucked safely in your old guitar book?” you teased, holding the photo out of his reach.

He shook his head, smiling faintly. “Man, I looked so good back then.”

You snorted, flopping down beside him. “You’re ridiculous. You look the same, just taller and with more expensive haircuts.”

He raised a brow at you. “And you?”

You grinned. “I peaked at sixteen. Obviously.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You were annoying at sixteen.”

“Funny you say that,” you said, leaning back into the couch, the photo still clutched in your hand. “Because I had a crush on you back then.”

The confession rolled off your tongue casually, but the way Anton’s head snapped toward you was anything but casual.

“You what?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

You shrugged nonchalantly. “No big deal. It didn’t even last long.”

Anton stared at you for a second, his expression unreadable. Then, to your surprise, he crossed his arms and pouted, sulking like a child.

“That’s unfair,” he muttered.

You blinked, caught off guard. “What’s unfair?”

“That you stopped liking me,” he said, scowling. “Because I was in love with you around that time.”

Your mouth fell open. “No, you’re not.”

He grumbled something under his breath and refused to meet your eyes, but the tips of his ears were red.

“No, you’re not,” you repeated, half-laughing, half-shocked. You grabbed his arm and shook him playfully. “Come on, be serious. You’re lying, aren’t you?”

Anton just tutted and gave you a side-eye. Her mom walked in at that moment, struggling to hook her necklace.

“Sweetheart, come help me with this,” she asked, handing the jewelry to you. You quickly rose to help her. As you did, she narrowed her eyes at Anton and said, “Now, what’s going on? Are you guys fighting again?”

“Anton’s a liar,” you teased, glancing briefly at him. “He said he had a crush on me when we were sixteen.”

“Really?” Aunt Hyejin asked, tilting her head a little. She looked at you just as you finished locking her necklace. “You’re only finding out about it now?”

“Mom!” Anton interjected, standing up and dragging Aunt Hyejin away.

“What? I thought she knew the whole time,” Aunt Hyejin said, laughing as they disappeared into a corner.

You stood there dumbfounded and confused, though your heart was fluttering so much it made your cheeks burn.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing in front of a mirror. “Can you believe it?” you scoffed, turning toward Anton, who was buttoning up his shirt. “Me, going to Belle’s cocktail party?”

Anton, leaning against the doorframe as he adjusted his cufflinks. “If you hate it that much, we can just ditch.”

You rolled your eyes, smoothing out your skirt. “No. I’d love to see how you ended up being friends with those stuck-ups.” You paused, catching Anton’s gaze in the mirror. “Sorry, I forgot they’re your friends now.”

He smirked, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around your waist. “Well, they’re still stuck-ups. But they’re chill when you get to know them.”

You snorted. “We’ll see about that.”

Surprisingly, you did see. The cocktail party was better than you’d expected. The rich kids, despite their reputation, were easygoing and friendly once you got past their posh exteriors. Anton, fit right in as a rich kid himself, but his attention was never far from you.

At some point, someone mentioned Anton’s ‘first love’, and your ears perked up.

“He told us about her once, when he was drunk,” Belle said with a grin, sipping her drink. “ We’ve never seen Anton act and speak so cutely.”

You raised a brow, curious but playing it cool. “Really?”

Belle nodded, leaning in conspiratorially. “Yeah. Apparently, she used to tease him so much he wanted to strangle her half the time, but he also couldn’t imagine life without her.”

One guy added, “He even said she had this little laugh, you know, like a giggle that always got him. Man was a goner.”

“Yeah. He said she was his everything, but he was too scared to tell her. Isn’t that cute?”

Your heart skipped a beat as Anton avoided your gaze, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

Later, as you walked down the beach with Anton, your high heels dangling from one hand and your other hand holding onto his arm, you couldn’t stop thinking about it. The waves lapped at your feet, cool and soothing, as you glanced up at him.

“So,” you began, grinning, “I’m your everything, huh?”

Anton groaned, closing his eyes. “Don’t start.”

You laughed, leaning up to press a quick kiss to his jaw. “You’re so cute.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he muttered, but his hand tightened around yours.

You leaned against his chest, enjoying his warmth in the cool summer night.

“You were right,” you admitted, glancing up at him. “Your new friends aren’t so bad.”

“Told you,” he said smugly.

You rolled your eyes. “Don’t get cocky. I still think it’s hilarious you used to hate them and now you’re all buddy-buddy.”

Anton gave you a dry look. “Of course you do. I sometimes can’t believe it myself.”

You grinned mischievously. “Anton Lee, a social butterfly. Who would’ve thought?”

He chuckled softly. “Not me.”

The moonlight reflected off the water as you walked in comfortable silence, stealing kisses here and there. Your fingers were laced together, his thumb occasionally brushing against yours.

You glanced at him, the soft glow of the moonlight highlighting his features. It was hard to believe that this was the same boy you’d grown up with, the one who used to argue with you over who got the last piece of pizza or who could jump farther off the dock.

Being with him now, like this, felt surreal. But it also felt right.

“I still think you’re a loser, though,” you teased. Anton narrowed his eyes, and you saw the flicker of mischief in them a second too late.

“Take it back,” he said, his tone warning.

“Or what?” you taunted, stepping backward, a playful grin on your face.

He didn’t reply, already kicking off his shoes and rolling up his pants.

You shrieked, spinning around to run, the cool sand shifting under your bare feet. Anton’s laugh echoed behind you as he chased you down, his longer strides closing the distance easily.

“No!” you squealed, laughing so hard you could barely keep running.

It wasn’t long before he caught you, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifted you off the ground. He spun you around, your laughter and shrieks echoing in the air.

Romantic relationships between childhood friends weren’t without their risks. You knew that. There was always the fear of ruining what had been there for so long, of losing not just a lover but a best friend. But as you glanced down at your intertwined hands, you realized you weren’t afraid.

Because no matter where life took you, as long as you were with Anton, you’d figure it out together.

[fin]

[mintmatcha]

MALACHITE AND OBI!! How are my beautiful dragon boys doing, Minty? 🎤

When you awake, the room is cold. It's winter here, in the northern country, and snow has piled up by the windows. Without Obi next to you, the piles of blankets doesn't seem to be enough.

By the time you urge yourself up, your feet frigid against the floor, the sun is still down. There's no shine of fire coming from the hall, no candles to illuminate your way, just the shine of the moon against the ice covered land.

Obsidian is in his own room. Things are different here: generations of a family stay under one roof. Obsidian, his brothers, his mother, and soon his brother's children. You've been sectioned off in the guest room, smothered in blankets and furs.

You creek open your door. Down the hallway, doorway cracked, is Obi's room. The house is silent as you tiptoe in, shutting the door behind you with a click.

"My princess," Obi rises from his bed, clearly already awake. His voice rumbles low, but soft. He's completely undressed; no need to when his core temperature runs so hot. You suspect he polished his scales last night; the air smells of the orange oil he prefers to use and his black scales glint in the moonlight.

"My mother would be appalled to see you in my room like this." Despite what he says, Obsidian presses his "My brother as well."

That's another difference. Dragonborn culture is more conservative than you expected. 'Mating' is expected after marriage; you two aren't even supposed to share a room. If his family had any idea what the two of you did on nights on the road...

(Jasper's recreational activities would kill the family.)

Trimmed claws run up your sides, their smooth edges gliding across your silken nightgown. They go up and up, all the way until they run over the curve of your tit, flicking over your pebbled nipple. "They are already scandalized by these."

"It's cold without you in my bed," you whisper. You curve your chest into his touch and he follows your lead, caressing and squeezing and touching your breasts, exploring them for his pleasure and yours. Experience has made him a perfect lover for you, it's only a moment before his touch has you vocalizing, nothing more than an open mouthed hum-

"Shh," Obi whispers. "Quiet, my fawn. Malachite is up to watch the fire."

And yet he's hitching up your dress, gathering it above your tits so it stays in place. You're grabbing at his cock, helping guide it from it's sheath, admiring it's ridged size in your hands. Looping an arm around each leg, Obi picks you up from the ground and presses you back against the door.

"Imagine if they knew-" Together, you guide his cock inside you. No matter how many times you take it, the fit is tight. The tapered end of his cock makes taking it easy at first, but each bump and ridge slides into you and rubs against sensitive areas. "How often you are underneath me."

His strokes are slow. When he moves too quickly, the floor squeaks under foot, so it's all you can do to take every careful thrust. You hang from his horns and nudge your nose into his muzzle, over and over again. It's the way dragonborns kiss, an ode to his kind.

"How often I fill you with my seed." Obi's grasp gets tighter. His scales catch against your sensitive skin as he pulls his hips away from you.. "How terribly I love you."

This time, you kiss him the way humans do. Right on his mouth, licking into his teeth. His lips can't pucker the same way yours do, but he licks up into your mouth anyway, letting you suck on his tongue for a moment.

You continue like this for a while, secretly enjoying each other. By the time you come undone, he's right behind you, spilling deep inside your guts. You hold each other longer, enjoying the warmth trapped between your bodies.

"If they knew," he says wistfully, after a long period of silence. "We would have to get married."

"We would have to," you agree. "Then we've have to settle down, find a home. Have a couple babies with your pretty black scales."

"That's funny." Obi's nose scrunches as he smiles. "Whenever I picture our children, they look just like you."

[vulpixisananimal]

[A: 6 C: 95] - HOLE IN MY HEART

[Small feat of characters from @neoncityrain @lavender-tea-dragon and @fungal--wastes]

[BIG TW FOR: Graphic depictions of gore and violence. Eye strain. Ear straining noises.]

(Once upon a time, there was an island.)

(An island with people, culture, clothes, food, literature, history.)

(Until there wasn't.)

(You stumble through the town of Bambouche. Body weak, eyes wet, and throat bloody. Fire spreads through every limb, but you take step after step. You breathe in, and out, the warm white cloak shielding you from the cold.)

(You stand in front of the fence, you undo the latch to the gate, you walk up to the small shack.)

(A wish is a mix of willpower and ritual. You had the willpower, but a ritual. . ?)

(Once upon a time, there was a king.)

(A king who cried endlessly, who froze a country in time, who longed for a home that no longer existed.)

(Until there wasn't.)

(You open the door, slowly. You couldn't wake them up now, could you. You didn't want to disturb them. Sneaking around in the dead of night as you were, you'd cause a scene. You tiptoe, stepping around Nille, sleeping on the floor. Bonnie, wrapped in blankets. You walk past Mirabelle on the couch. You sneak past the door where behind Odile slept. You walk until you're at a door at the back of the house.)

(You pause at the door.)

(There’s folding cranes, there’s blowing into leaves, but. . . No. That won’t do.)

(Once upon a time, there was a couple.)

(A couple who loved each other. Who would die for each other. Who saved the other from a lifetime of decrepit narcissism. Who in turn saved the other from willful self destruction.)

(Until. There. Wasn't.)

(You open the door. A bedroom. Isabeau and Ramos, sleeping on the floor. And on the bed, your prize.)

(A fallen star, the brighter the better. The closer the better. The strongest, most impossible wishing ritual in history.)

(You grab the dagger on the side table. You loom over the sleeping rogue.)

(You needed a star, and, as luck would have it, you knew where to find one! You raise the knife, and-)

{What if you’re wrong.}

(. . . . . If. . . If you’re wrong? You hesitate. If you’re wrong, you’ll have killed them for nothing. Blood will be on your hands, and the only person who could have helped you would be dead. Permanently. There would be no time looping, there would be no second chances.)

(But, this is the only chance you have, and so what point is there to a second chance? No. This is your only option)

(Siffrins eye springs open as your hand clamps over their mouth. He's too slow. In a swift motion, you plunged the dagger into their chest, and your mind delved into theirs.)

(In a blink, you’re in that headspace. A tree looming above you, with endless stars beyond that. Below you, sitting at the base of the tree, was Siffrin with your sword through his chest. Hello, Siffrin. You yank your sword back out.)

(You cough up blood, w-what-- P-Perci?!? He’s, h-he’s standing in front of you, sword bloody. He looks different than before, his university uniform was in peak condition, not a wrinkle, not a hair out of place. The hundreds of scars on his body were bleeding, but he didn’t seem to have a care in the world! H-he was, smiling! Wh, w-what, why--)

(You have something I need. You step on their arm and lean down, putting a hand to their. . . . They. . . They. Don’t. Have. It. You don’t have it, then who has it.)

(W-wha, h-have, have what-!)

(LIAR!!! You kick them in the ribs. No, not a liar, oblivious. Then you’ll just have to tear this mind apart piece by piece to find it-)

[[S-STARDUST!!! You jump from your tree, aiming to land right on that stupid blinding invader, what did you DO!!!!]]

(There they are. You sidestep the attack easily, before riposting, striking the star in the arm. Tell me, Loop, do you have it?)

[[STARS- Have, have WHAT!!! You glare at him, clutching your shoulder.]]

[<BAD. DANGER. BAD!!! HEART LUNGS LIVER NERVES OUR HEART OUR HEART I-IT’S, IT’S-- >]

(The strange void of a bird was like an apparition around Loop. Subsystem. Kyros, how good to see you. So, do you know if YOU have it?)

[<N-NONONONO!!!>]

<You don’t hesitate and swing- PERCIVAL!!>

(Ah. Old friend. You block the sword swipe. You are looking quite well, you know. So, do YOU have it? You always have been privy to your own time, not the time of others.)

<You jump back and swipe again, whatever you want, we don’t have it.>

(You bend around the sword swipe like a snake, body contorting in ways it could never in the real world. Don’t be silly, Null, I’ll find out who does. You step forward into the waves of sea grass, then dash at him and strike.)

<Block, try and push him AWAY!>

{You strike, your movements a blurr.}

(You catch the blade with a sword and glare at the sadness. Haa, hahaaa. What about you, Mal? Do you have it?)

{You move past him, somethings wrong.}

<No TIME for that! You rush to the side, flank him, swipe!>

(Ha. You fall backwards into the sea grass.)

[[BLINDING-]]

(You strike the sadness from behind, and throw a hand of your inky craft at the soldier. Ametures.)

(G-get your heads stright!!! It’s, s-stars-)

<We’ve rarely truly fought in our own head. You shrug off the sting and keep low.>

+W-WHAT IN THE DEEPEST VOID IS GOING ON?!?!!+

(Aha! Memory keeper. You rush forward and reach out a hand.)

[(NO!!!! You take over, and dive into Rosmarinus. The blinding Historians blade cuts into your side, but the two of you tumble into the grass. S-stars-)]

(Annoying thing, you raise-)

|You slash at him with your claymore. He stumbles back, but shrugs off the blow like it was, was nothing!!!|

(Hello, King.)

|I AM NOT-|

{Die.}

(You twist your spine on the spot fast enough to catch the sadness at your back. You jump above Nulls strike next, and slash down at them both.)

{--!!}

<Gh- you stumble back, bastard!>

(Here you stand, in a field of grass. You breathe, as you always have, feeling the pulsing heart in your hand. Siffrin lay bleeding at the tree, Mal and Null both coming to your sides to strike. Asterion stands vigilant against you, protecting Saffron and Rosmarinus. HA! Even the cat crawled out of hiding! All scared and trying to look tough to scare you off.)

=G-GO AWAY!!!=

+Y-you try and keep Socks by your side, stop nya from attacking Perci. L-let them, fight, he’s, stars he’s dangerous!+

[(HE WILL NOT. HURT. YOU!!!)]

[<H-heart, lungs-- >]

(You can feel them collapsing already. Just give up, let me search for what I want.)

<Never. You dive at him and swipe as fast as your hand will allow. You won’t leave here in one piece!>

(No, I will. You block his sword swipe, and slash with your dark craft.)

<That’s nothing! You swing at. At. A-at.>

+N-NO!!!+

[(THAT’S FAKE, IDIOT!!!)]

|AH! NO!!|

(You slash him across the chest. Ha, it took a while, but you finally got through all that armor. . . Typical. Stupid idiotic heroes playing checkers while you play chess. Who knew that the thing to distract him and break his will was just a little girl.)

{You lunge.}

(Attacking me, are we? How very like you! You stand your ground, go on then!)

{You kill, you stab, you will kill him. You WILL!!!}

{. . .}

(Ha, it tingles.)

{Wh, what-}

(Blood, do I have to spell it out? You work on rules of the mind. And you are homesickness personified. What can you do against someone with no home to miss?)

{That’s, not-}

(You cut it in half.)

|NO!!!!!!!|

(M-mal--)

(You hear screams from the others as you step forward, dragging your swords through the sand as you approach Asterion. Silver. Didn't you know my swords have silver? Ha, no of course you don't. It never comes up in conversation, but silver banishes ghosts doesn't it? In tall tales at least.)

(Why. . . W-why, why are you doing this!?)

(. . .)

|He’s stopped moving towards you, but you don’t let your guard up.|

(. . . The mind tries to fill in the blanks, Siffrin. It tries to make things fit! If there’s a hole in reality, in logic, in what is to be, the mind will craft all sorts of fantasies to explain it away. It’ll spew reasons to why, that it never happened, that you were asleep, that you don’t know what you’re talking about. It will even try to make false memories just to make. Things. Fit.)

(And here I am! With a hole in my heart that cannot be filled by any fantasy my imagination could conceive! I can’t trust any guess I make, any action not imagined, any truth not clouded in ignorance!)

(All I know is that on my right ear I have an earring. I made this earring, a pair of this earring. I gave one away, and got one in turn; a bonding earring. I know I cannot remember what hangs from my left ear. All I know is that it’s lighter than my right. That it was given to me by someone I love. That I will never, ever take it off.)

(And I know, that no matter what I do. . . . . . . . . .)

(I. CAN’T. REMEMBER. THEIR. FACE!!!)

=!!!!!!!!!!!=

|SIFFRIN!!!!|

+WHWHAAHAA---+

(Ha. . . Ha. . . .)

(Finally. They finally stopped talking. You yank your sword back from inside Siffrins mouth and wipe it on your sleeve. Now. You turn to the remainder, surrender your mind, or die.)

|. . . . I, refuse.|

+A-Asterion. . .+

(You rush forward and clash your sword against his. You swing in with your second.)

|You block with your arm, and the shackle on your wrist keeps the blade from hitting your skin. You need to leave, Perci! T-there, there’s nothing in this place for you!|

(Ah King, still the villain pretending to be a hero. You’re trying to stop me, stop me from reaching someone lost to the wind! Give up, you lost once already.) 

|H-he swings again! Both swords in the same strike! You hold your sword in defiance--|

(It shatters under your weight. Give up.)

|N-no!!! You hold up your arms, I, I won’t let you-|

(You slice through the ‘armor’ of the metal cuffs. His face. . . It’s priceless.)

|. . . P-perci-|

(You slash at him again. . . He falls to his knees, then, to the floor.)

+N-nn-no--+

(His head follows a few seconds later. Now, are you ready to surrender?)

[(You get up. Y-you’re, NOT. GOING TO HURT THEM!!!)]

[[OUT!!!]]

[<N-NONONONONO!!!>]

+. . . . Saffron, stop. Please.+

[(NO!!! I can’t let him hurt you I can’t let him hurt you I CAN’T LET HIM!!!)]

+SAFFRON!!!+

[(. . .)]

+W-we’ve lost, okay? Just, j-just let him. I’ll, I’ll be okay and, and, you won’t get hurt.+

+. . . Right?+

(. . . . . . . .)

+. . . . . Okay. You, y-you hug Saffron, and, give them a kiss.+

[(!!!!?!?!?!!?!)]

(. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . You sigh.)

+Sorry. Just. . . T-take what you need.+

(You wordlessly reach out and grab them-)

+You’re standing in front of the favor tree. It’s finally over, two coins in your pocket, Loop is gone, but the star is there, laying on the ground. You kneel down, pick it up, put it to your mouth, and. . .+

(. . . Hah. You let her go and push her away. Of course. That’s where it is. You turn to Saffron.)

+W-wait, WAIT!!! NO!!! You, use [Memory Of-+

(You spin and slash across their chest.)

[(NOOOOOOOOOO!!!!! YOU LEAP AT HIM. MUST. KILL. HIM!!!)]

(You grab Saffron out of his sloppy leap by the throat. All that bravado gone in an instant. Haaaa. . . This explains so, so much about you. And yet, you don’t care. You don’t care at all. All you know is that- Oh?)

=A-ah-=

(Hello, Socks. The cat, standing on two legs and holding that child's toy of a dagger. Trying to act brave? Come on, I’ll skin you next.)

=. . . . . . .=

[S-so, sssoo,,c,,, cks,--,]

=. . . . Y-you, you. . . .=

[,,h,, ,a,-- hh,el, p----]

=. . . . . . . . . You ran away.=

(. . . Coward. COWARD!!! At least pretend to care about your friends! You throw Saffron to the side and start storming towards where the blooded feline went. Socks, soooooocks~)

=N-NONONO PLEASE NO PLEASE NO!!! You run through the sea grass, you, n-need to get away get away away away AWAY AWAY!!! PLEASE!!! Y-YOU’RE, P-PLEASE, SAFFRON I’M SORRY I, I-I-=

(Swish~)

=AH!!! A blade reaped through the grass right over your head! NONONO!!! Water, wet? O-on your head?!? T-that’s, that’sblood, that’sbloodthat’sbloodthat’sbloodthat’sblo=

(Swosh~)

=AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHITHURTSHURTS!!!!! B-BEHIND, SWORD, BEHIND YOU AND--- Y-YOUR, TAIL- N-NONONONONONONO!!!! P-PLEASE NO NO---=

=PL  -      E A    =

(You put the beast out of its misery.)

(Ha. . . . Ha. . . . . You get up, bloody, and walk back to your prize.)

{Was it worth it?}

(. . .)

{KIlling an innocent little thing. For catharsis? Was it worth it?}

(. . . Yes. It was. Your rage fueled your footsteps as you grabbed the star trying to crawl away. Because I know this is also entirely your fault.)

[. . . P-per. . .]

(I reached out. They reached out. You know they did, you know it in your heart just as much as I know I love them. And yet you spit in the face of the person I loved, then while trying to apologize you stabbed them in the back!)

[D-diddn’t. . . . Want. . .]

(To hurt me? Hurt us?!? Please, you just want to be a hero again. To be loved again. To be “useful”, and so you rather turn us into villains instead of opening up your heart. You’re less than human. You’re less than monsters, than sadness, then even those who gave me my scars. Even nothing has some good in it, because at least nothing doesn’t plot to slit your throat.)

(You’re. A fraud.)

[. . . . . .]

(You plunge your hand into their chest.)

(You rip the heart out of their chest without a drop of blood spilling onto the bed. It's still beating despite the damage. Ha, oh Kyros you really are a miracle worker~ Your nerves are ablaze as you push your craft into it in the act of keeping it alive. You had time, but not much. You grab the dagger and hold it to the heart. . .)

(. . . Please. . . . Please work. Please work. Please work. You carve into the heart.)

(As the blade pierces the main cavity, light fills the room. You were right, no, they were right. Whoever they were, they were right! They were RIGHT!!! For the first time that night, a true smile lights your face as you reach into the heart.)

“Wh. . . What’s, what’s going on? Siffrin?”

(Your own heart starts pumping faster. That defender, Isabeau, he’s getting up! You reach in, and grab the burning ball of light. Your hands, they’re on fire, THEY’RE- N-Not! Burning! HAHA! You feel fire, but no heat! You let the heart drop back into its place. This is it. This is your only chance. This is your lifeline.)

[lucky-stick]

Coyote facts for u silly coyote alterhumans

(I’m some form of coyote alterhuman)

- They used to only live in deserts but now they live everywhere in North American

- They expanded their range because of humans due to deforestation

- They adapt well to city life

- Their tail is held downwards even when running

- They are 15-56 pounds

- Coyotes are a natural pest control like rabbits and rodents

- Eastern coyotes are part wolf

- They are omnivores and opportunistic eaters

- They mate for life

- They are very fast around 35-43 mph they reach speeds of 70mph when hunting prey

- They make 11 different noises like howls yips and barks

- They parent together

- They can be dangerous

- There are 19 subspecies

- Coyote pups hunt insects

- their fur depends on where they live in colder climates they have lighter grey fur with dark patches in hotter they have light red fur with light patches

- The texture is also different in North America it’s longer and more dense in Central America have short bristle like fur

- They have a lot of folk lore surrounding them

- The ancient Teotihuacan culture associated the coyote with military might.

- The name coyote has Aztec origins

- A hybrid between coyotes and dogs exist known as coydogs despite coyotes usually being aggressive towards dogs

- Snow coyotes are a rare breed for coydogs

- Coyotes are as pack centres compared to wolves

- The pack is centred around the mother when the pups grow up the pack breaks then the mother and dad start a new family

- They are also less territorial than wolves

- They do not dig there own dens

- They have one of the widest vocal ranges

- Several predators prey on coyotes

- They are very prone to disease

- They prey on livestock so they are unwelcome in rural areas

- Coyotes don’t root in or eat trash

- Their fur didn’t start out with much value

- They have long life spans compared to other canines they can live up to 14 years and in captivity 20 years

- Coyotes can tiptoe

- They are not naturally nocturnal

- They are faster than road runners

- they aren’t good pets not because you can’t domesticate them it’s because of their shyness to strangers and their smell is different to dogs

- They are excellent swimmers

- You can tell all canines apart from the way they run

- Most predators avoid porcupines but coyotes hunt them they have a creative way to work around the spines

- The population is steadily growing

- They adapt very well to different natural environments

[sophswritingthings]

Omg imagine Mizus reaction to English!readers wedding dress like their cultures are so different and so beautiful in different ways aaa!!💕💕

pairing: mizu x fem!english!reader

warning(s): swearing

a/n: you having a beautiful ballgown wedding dress made for you with the patterns of flowers and cranes on it without mizu’s knowledge to combine your culture…. UGHHH

summary: it’s the day she’d been waiting; the day you were set to be her wife. she sees you in that stunning dress of yours; and she swears she feels her heart stop.

word count: 821 words / 4,420 characters

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“you promise me it’ll be done by the wedding?” you say the words, as if they were almost a plea. you were wearing glasses, much like mizu’s, and a hood over your head to conceal your face.

“it will be does, miss,” she glanced at you. “and you know you don’t have the wear those things around me; I won’t tell.”

she winked, smiling as she was fiddling with the sparkly tool.

“I am the one making you an english dress, aren’t I?” she cocked her head.

“I suppose you are,” you murmur, smiling a bit. “and I thank you for that. I just wanted something from home; since my parents won’t be here to see me married.”

“I understand that,” she smiled.

“thank you.” you sigh, “you really are great, you know?”

“I know,” she chuckled again. “am I ever going to get to meet the groom?”

“mmm.. well, he’s coming to find me after being out for a while—picking me up before we go home, I suppose,” you shrug. “if he decides not to be stubborn you may.”

“if who decides not to be stubborn?”

you whip your head up, seeing your fiancé standing there.

“you couldn’t possibly be talking about me,” mizu raised an eyebrow.

you giggle, walking over to mizu and standing on your tiptoes to kiss her cheek.

“couldn’t possibly be,” you whisper into her ear, feeling her twitch a little.

“as I thought.” she murmured.

“It’s nice to meet you, sir,” aiko smiled, bowing her head toward mizu.

“mm. you as well, miss,” she said in a low tone, trying to keep up her masculine appearance. “we best be going, then, yeah?”

you wrap your arm around hers, nodding to aiko, “yes, we best be. I’ll see you tomorrow then? to pick up the dress.”

mizu looks at you with a raised eyebrow. she hadn’t heard anything about a “dress”. she supposed you’d be wearing a white kimono, to.. blend in.

put the look on your face, combined with your words, told her you had other plans.

the couple slid out of the shop, smiling softly as the gentle snow fell onto the cobblestoned path. 

“so..” she whispers, “what’s this about a dress?”

you giggle, “I wanted something from home,” you murmur, your eyes fluttering as you attempted to clear them of the snow. “so.. I asked aiko to make me a traditional english dress. with a bit of a twist.”

she chuckled, “I see,” she mumbled. “you’ll look beautiful either way.”

you lean your head on her shoulder, “thank you.”

slowly rising out of bed, you snicker as you see mizu has already gone from bed. excited, was she?

well, it was the day of your wedding.

and though it may not be “legalized”, you didn’t care. just to call mizu your wife would be all you needed to keep yourself happy for the rest of your days.

ringo would conduct the ceremony—and you would only have a few people there. akemi, ringo, eiji, and a few of your friends you’d met along the way.

you didn’t need some big ceremony to be married. you just.. needed your love, and each other.

you had collected your dress, the weeks prior. you hadn’t let mizu see it, though, you wanted to surprise her. 

it was a beautifully constructed english dress, with the patterns of japanese cranes and flowers flowing down the rim of the skirt. it combined your cultures in all the good ways you could think of.

“I have never been so excited in my entire life,” you giggle, your accent seeping through your words as akemi does your hair. “I really haven’t.”

“well, good. you should be happy to be married,” akemi smiled softly, “especially to someone who really does love you.”

you blush a little, “I’m lucky.”

“you are,” she confirms. you knew what she’d been through, the ups and downs of her marriage status was a rollercoaster you never wished to ride.

“I know.” you whisper, “I love her.”

“hm, good,” she brushes a few strands of hair out of your face, tucking them behind your ears. “now, let’s get this makeup done so you can go and finally get your wife all to yourself.”

you stood at the alter, smiling as you waited for mizu to appear. 

and when she did, she looked absolutely stunned.

her eyes never left you. your beautiful complexion, the makeup that akemi had done suited you do well. and the way your hair was curled and pulled back..

and that dress.

a dress that was a beautiful blend of yours, and her, culture. the depictions of cranes and flowers scattered across the bottom of the dress, and the large silhouette she’d seen so many women wear—including you—back in england.

yet it seemed so different, the way the fabric shone against the sun.

she was so ready to call you her one and only.

her wife.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[transfemme-shelterdog]

hey i heard you were accepting personal stories from people who have experienced transandrophobia. i have some complicated experiences around my sexuality that intersect with TA while not exactly being TA so i hope it's okay to share those too. im horrible at being concise so my apologies for the essay 🥲

---

i have always known I was multisexual, but around 11-12, i learned that my attraction to everyone was actually queer (i thought it was the default and people just tended to pair up in m/f relationships to have kids. i was very lucky to avoid direct queerphobia as a child and form that viewpoint.) after learning this, i obviously became very invested in learning about my identity and other queer people and the struggles we face, and i immersed myself in the culture. i found the other queer kids in middle school, and spent a lot of time online learning about different identities.

it was wonderful to find people like me! but unfortunately, from the moment i stepped into these queer spaces as (someone who used to be a) woman, i was blasted with "all men are disgusting predators, wlw relationships are morally superior and lesbians are the most oppressed because they deny men access to their body, KAM lol, etc..." like, not even kidding, this shit was EVERYWHERE being blasted at top volume from the rooftops. I internalized it and repeated it because it felt cathartic- at the time i WAS a woman who liked women, so it included me, and felt great- like getting vengeance.

but i was still multisexual. i still liked men. i never really openly talked about my attraction to men- instead i did the usual "haha being bi/pan? attracted to every woman and two men amirite?" thing. but i discovered yaoi/mlm smut and got very into it in a non-cis way, the typical transmasc experience... but i convinced myself my attraction to men was purely sexual, and suppressed my romantic attraction to them. after all, in real life, "men are icky oppressive pigs! im pansexual, but i only feel romantic attraction to women! men are unlovable and only good for porn!"

i ended up dating a woman in high school. everyone assumed we were lesbians. we didn't often correct them. we were both pan, and talked about our attraction to men like cis men talk about women: objectifying them, commenting on their bodies, talking about how they were only good as fucktoys, and how they should learn their place and bottom for women (i was also really into femdom, tangentially related.)

then, i met actual trans people irl and online, and we became friends. they talked about how they felt about their gender and their dysphoria and i listened closely and.... oh no, that's relatable. the cracks in my egg started growing. but the last thing i could ever be was a man- "im a butch who likes queer femmes! not a nasty man who likes gender conforming feminine women!"

my journey out of the closet was severely stunted by the extremely prevalent hatred of men in queer spaces. i tiptoed out at a snails pace, terrified of my truth.

for a few years i said, "okay i can be a cistrans she/they nonbinary woman, and still be a butch that other wlw will feel safe around!"

another year goes by and.... "actually im just agender. i can reject the idea of manhood AND womanhood, im just a person. but but but! im deeefinitely a nonman i promise! you guys don't hate that i want to start testosterone right?" (they did.)

another year went by. "im nonbinary and transmasc but NOT a man, mayyybe a demiboy! i want HRT and top surgery but I would NEEEEVER want a penis! penises are disgusting weapons used to rape and hurt women, and i love women!"

it took me 5 fucking years of my transition to accept my binary manhood (alongside my nonbinary gender) because of this shit. and an additional few years to accept that I actually did want bottom surgery.

alongside that revelation and unpacking of my hatred of men came the realization that im not pansexual. i actually do have a slight sexual and romantic preference towards men, and i just like femmes of every gender. i started labeling myself as a bisexual faggot instead, and a label truly felt like home for the first time.

i also had to unpack the idea that loving women as a man isn't inherently oppressive. seeing representation of m/f love that isn't straight- or straight m/f that defies patriarchal heteronormativity- feels extremely affirming to the way i experience my queer attraction to women. (transmasc heterosexuals wya? i love you guys so much, and I feel so much solidarity with you ❤️)

throughout this entire painful journey towards my true self, so, so many queer women treated me like absolute shit. i had a cis lesbian friend who came onto me, and when i told her i wasn't a woman and wasn't interested, she responded, "what a waste. you make such a hot butch lesbian right now. why would you ruin yourself with T?"

multisexual women would shame me for not jumping into self-flagellation over my attraction to men. when i told them why, and the harm it caused me and how it made me mislabel myself for years, i was told that "it's better that you're bisexual instead of pansexual because you can have a preference for women! that's what we do!" when i told them i actually relabeled because i prefer men, and i am a trans man, i was told i'm not welcome in queer spaces because im "making our lesbian allies feel unsafe."

but then, even after being ostracized and forced out of queer spaces because im an "invader..." nonqueers would also harass and mock me. i get threats of corrective rape from misogynistic men to "fix me," and "turn me back into a normal pretty girl." when i express attraction towards men, they tell me that "i look like a man, and any guy that would fuck me is secretly a fag." when i express attraction towards women, im a "nasty predatory dyke trying to steal them away from men." surprise surprise, they don't actually see me as a woman or a man, but some freakish third thing that corrupts everyone around me.

i don't know how to end this. ever since coming to terms with my manhood, my desire to be masculine, and my love of men, i have been treated worse and worse by nearly everyone. i don't feel like i belong anywhere, both because of my transmasculinity and my bisexuality.

i am so much happier with myself of course, and i feel truly satisfied with my identity now.... but it's been really hard. idk what people are talking about with masculinity always being rewarded. my experiences have been the exact fucking opposite.

.

[corevibeself]

𝕄𝕪 𝕋𝕚𝕡𝕤 𝕒𝕤 𝕒𝕟 𝔼𝕔𝕝𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕔 𝕎𝕚𝕥𝕔𝕙

ᴀꜱ ᴀɴ ᴇᴄʟᴇᴄᴛɪᴄ ᴡɪᴛᴄʜ, ɪ'ᴍ ᴀᴛᴛʀᴀᴄᴛᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ᴀ ʙʟᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴅɪꜰꜰᴇʀᴇɴᴛ ᴘᴀᴛʜꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇꜱ, ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡɪɴɢ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴛʀᴜʟʏ ʀᴇꜱᴏɴᴀᴛᴇꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴍʏ ꜱᴏᴜʟ'ꜱ ʜɪɢʜᴇꜱᴛ ᴇxᴄɪᴛᴇᴍᴇɴᴛ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʜᴏɴᴏᴜʀɪɴɢ ᴄᴜʟᴛᴜʀᴀʟ ʙᴏᴜɴᴅᴀʀɪᴇꜱ. ɪ ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ɪɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪɴɢ ᴀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟ ᴄʀᴀꜰᴛ ʀᴏᴏᴛᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴀᴜᴛʜᴇɴᴛɪᴄɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴇᴄᴛ. ᴛᴀᴋɪɴɢ ɪɴꜱᴘɪʀᴀᴛɪᴏɴ ᴡʜɪʟᴇ ʙᴇɪɴɢ ᴍɪɴᴅꜰᴜʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜱᴏᴍᴇ ᴛʀᴀᴅɪᴛɪᴏɴꜱ ᴀʀᴇ ᴄʟᴏꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴᴅ ɴᴏᴛ ᴍɪɴᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴘʀᴀᴄᴛɪᴄᴇ. ɪᴛ'ꜱ ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ꜱᴛᴀʏɪɴɢ ᴀʟɪɢɴᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ɪɴᴛᴇɢʀɪᴛʏ ᴀɴᴅ ᴀᴡᴀʀᴇɴᴇꜱꜱ. ✨✨ - Corevibeself

Babes, let's be real. I fucking hate anything that takes so much goddamn energy. It may be because I'm a college student with limited time and money, but here are some of the creative ways I've brought magick into my life without the use of tools and simply by following my intuition and what felt right. (˶◕‿◕)ノ✿

♫♪♩·.¸¸.·♩♪♫ 𝗛𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗦𝗶𝗻𝗴𝗶𝗻𝗴 ♫♪♩·.¸¸.·♩♪♫

Did you guys know that cats heal themselves when they purr? Humans also experience noticeable changes when exposed to certain vibrations. Nikola Tesla: "If you want to find the secrets of the universe, think in terms of energy, frequency and vibration." What I'm getting at is that using your voice is extremely powerful, from the pitch to the tone to the intention. Ever think about what makes you feel good? What sounds, what melodies? I believe that humming or singing certain tunes that elicit emotions in you can serve as spells when cast with intention. Like how we sing lullabies to help a baby fall asleep. So do it whenever you want, in the shower, as the water cascades down your skin. Do it on your way to work, maybe you don't want to be late, what's a song that makes you feel fast? Mario cart coconut mall theme song? Hum it.

꙳¤٭⁎﹡꙳＊ 𝗦𝘁𝗼𝗽 𝗕𝗲𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗦𝗼 𝗦𝗲𝗿𝗶𝗼𝘂𝘀 ＊꙳﹡⁎٭¤꙳

I’ve always been drawn to working with deities, but for a long time, I held back—not because of the deities themselves, but because of the fear-based beliefs surrounding them. I don’t see deities as beings that get "offended" or punish people for mistakes. To me, they aren’t human; they don’t operate on ego or judgment. I believe they are energetic blueprints shaped by collective consciousness, making each interaction deeply personal. If someone sees them differently, that’s totally valid! But I personally don’t resonate with the idea that I need to tiptoe around them in fear.

I also don’t believe in evil in the way it’s often described. If everything in life reflects our vibration and beliefs, then any "negative" experience with the other side is shaped by our expectations. Fear invites that energy in. If I believe I am protected, then I am. That’s why I don’t personally use protection spells—I don’t feel the need for them. And I’ve noticed that witchcraft only works on those who hold space for it. If someone truly doesn’t believe in magic, spells won’t affect them. Even the tiniest bit of belief can shift everything.

With all that in mind, I just want to say—don’t let fear hold you back from practicing in a way that feels right to you. because as long as you're respecting the craft and steering away from closed practices that are cultural-based, then do whatever the fuck you want. Talk to whatever deity you feel drawn to, and don't act like they're better than you; they aren't. Deities don't have a superiority complex. Try out herbs and spices in a jar; no pressure; just have fun. To all witches out there, use children as an example of how we need to approach Magick. They're curious and open, and they use their imagination to do whatever they want because that is their tool. Belief and imagination.

◦•●❤♡ Colours Colours Colours ♡❤●•◦

Wear colours with intention and be aware of what shows up during the day. If you guys want, I could make a post with all the colours, and the energy they bring. This also applies to makeup, yall! Creativeness is such a strength in witchcraft. There are no limits to what is a spell; be creative, use your imagination and have fun. Don't doubt yourself or expect a spell to be something, where you have to be perfectly focused or have all the "right" materials. You are the tool, baby; Whatever else is just to help you ground the Intention.

_________________________________________________

These are my personal beliefs. I know they won't all resonate with everyone, that's perfectly fine. Let me know what you think!

[shallowseeker]

Yes, yes. We've talked about the futility of windmills and striving wind with regards to all hunters, workers, and soldiers.

But there are other things in this hotel that are SO CUTE.

Dean and Cas are very often twinned by their morals and values. You could say that they're very often tilting at the same "windmills." Struggling with many of the same things, albeit at different timelines.

There's also...flowers in the decor.

LOTS of flowers.

Prominent yellow flowers in the bedroom appear between them, symbolizing pesky, bubbling happiness between the two of them.

There's often this concept of "blooming" between Dean and Cas. Springtime. Hell, we can even point to Dean's dance number in s15, "Let's Misbehave," originally written for Irene Bordini.

(They say the Spring Means just one thing to little lovebirds // We're not above birds // Let's misbehave)

There's April Kelly, the reaper, and also the Leviathan blossom (that grows OUT of death). An association to Lily Sunder and her daughter May, born after spring, as Jack will be born in May.

Dean himself is like a valley of death, but ALSO a valley proper, with the capacity for growth and spring-green, and it is this that associates him to many of the Lily characters, like Lily Baker.

Anyhoo, this cute motel is mirroring the blossoming friendship. It's full of Netherlands motifs, including the windmills but also tulips and blooms. The low-lying land of the Netherlands is what makes tulips flourish there.

Later The Empty will "tiptoe through Cas's tulips" as it reads his mind (and his love).

As Dean is undergoing individuation, he too is blooming.

And wooden shoes.

There's an abundance of tulips flanking the bathroom, sprouting up alongside the Dean side, over near the couch. On what will become "the Cas side" of the domestic space... shoes.

Dean is trying not to feel things. Cas is trying not to feel things.

///

Anyway, when Cas asks for help, he gets in REEEEEALLY close again:

And Dean gets a little nervous again, shifts, slightly pouts his lips and then cracks a joke:

They've been so mean to each other. Hehe.

After all, Cas's immediate reaction to seeing Sam and Dean again was to lay into them about being failures and not worth the effort and rebellion he put into them, so Dean's cattiness is understandable here.

It's tense. Awkward.

They've been disagreeing with each other and telling each other how they've lost faith in one another and don't believe in each other's plans...which oddly is EXACTLY the sort of emotional honesty that will make their bond stronger.

They keep orbiting each other, walking around and around each other in circles, and moving into each other's spaces. Even without the dialogue, the body language is interesting.

Cas is trying to read him, to figure out the human rules of him not being allowed to move threateningly into Dean's space, but Dean being allowed to move into his ... plus Dean making off cultural references that involve HOLDING HANDS and sailing off cliffs.

Then brushing past him so closely, and what exactly ARE the rules for personal space? Also, we see the yellow flowers between them here.

Dean may be under the impression that Cas doesn't care about him that much. That he helped him on a moral whim and now he's stuck with him/them.

And they're very close to one another again. Dean is fishing for information. "I'm your strategical bait, huh? That's all?"

And Dean relents.

///

So anyway, the body language is legendary for a reason, but the flowers are such a nice backdrop. :DDD

Aside///

I love how Cas just marches in on the case and tries to be frank with everyone.

Poor Cas. Just a mere hundred or couple hundred years ago, this would've worked. He really COULD march in there and start talking angels and demons with some authority, might have even been able to tell them that he was an angel.

What we call the modern world is still so new. We as a species have believed in supernatural worlds for so much longer than we haven't.

And Dean just... can't help getting into Cas's personal space. I find that so cute about him. He establishes the norms of personal space and then he proceeds to fiddle with Cas's clothes. Meanwhile Cas is just like ????? wow human rules are so illogical.

*Dean fiddling*

Dean, honey. I promise you that if you'd handed Cas the badge, he would've grabbed it somewhat normally.

///

Dean *fiddling with his own badge and coat and steadfastly NOT looking at Cas's face*

*can't resist*

Aside/// I love so much that SPNwin poked fun at THIS in particular (as well as SPNwin's John making silly voices).

Sighting on main: Man with a nascent, burgeoning mega-crush tries to make rules about personal space and then winds up being even weirder about space than the person he was accusing of not adhering to normal human etiquette...

DEAN: *buttoning, buttoning, I know I'm taking a while to button this, pay it no mind. now imma fix your tie...*

[iniziare]

🔥

Credit to Ambie for salt inspiration. Here we go, vroom vroom, I can't believe that we're in 2025, and we still call it Sinday, and even proudly so. I just don't understand why people can't seem to comprehend that it truly frames NSFW content as inherently taboo or wrong, which is such a remnant of the old school internet culture where anything sexual had to be called 'bad' or 'naughty', instead of 'sexual'. It has such strong fandom purity culture undertones to it— I don't even think it's 'undertones' anymore at this point, all tones. Why are we treating adult discussions of sexuality among other adults, as something scandalous or shameful when it's just a normal part of character exploration? Not only that, but it also really reinforces this super outdated idea that any RP space of any sort needs to tiptoe around NSFW topics, like they need to be contained to a single day, as if it's a... /lowers voice to a whisper: dirty little secret. But sexuality, and sex, are just another facet of people, of characters, it's yet another layer to peel off and analyze. It's not something that needs to be sectioned away from everything else with some sort of a... I don't know, cutesy, guilt-ridden little label. I can't get over the fact that it feels oddly infantalizing, which makes me weirdly uncomfortable— and I'm not one to usually feel that way at all.

If you want to engage in NSFW meta, or writing, just do it, without wrapping it up in this 'ooh, it's a sinful thing' sort of branding. It's also how I feel about the NSFW sideblog trend, actually. I understand if people aren't as comfortable with NSFW content as others, but that's not up to the general fandom to 'cater to', it's up to them to curate. This sideblog thing also feels like it's actively this concept of quarantining topics like intimacy, and erotic content in general. Like I understand organizing, but I know those blogs aren't made to do that, they're just a separate space to post about sex, which makes it odd to me. You do the exact opposite of normalizing it as part of most of humans' behavior, but if you normalized it: you would make people feel less weird about it.

But to add to that, I also feel like it almost creates this odd underworld idea. The main blog is where the serious SFW wirting happens, but you want the dirty deeds? Go to this NSFW blog in this odd little shadowy corner that no one knows about unless the URL is giving out (please know I whisper the stuff out loud when it's italicized like that, Hannah, I hope you're laughing), where people are more comfortable about being open about attraction and sexuality. But why is it separate, you know? We're not making sideblogs to talk about violence, or angst, or loss— it's only sex that gets pushed to the side, and nothing else.

Are we in the Victorian era still? If I want to post a picture of a woman's ankle, should I soon make a NSFW blog for it so I can post it there? Come on guys, we're all adults, literally everyone who's involved around here is an adult. And fiction, of all things, is the place where you guys should feel most free to explore this stuff without any shame. Literally, please, can you all collectively shake off this old idea that writing and talking about sexuality is somehow inherently different from writing about anything else. And also, stop calling it Sinday, I swear to sanity on a chopstick five times over, you guys aren't fifteen years old.

Prompt: 🔥for an unpopular opinion. // @avernusfuries // Selectively accepting

[jfashion-confessions]

I don't understand the back and forth between Jirai. As a mentally ill adult with BPD as well as other illnesses. I don't understand trying to claim a slur I wouldn't be called as a western who lives IN the west. No one in the west randomly uses that SLUR because its japanese. English speakers still don't jot their english with random Japanese. English speaker would call me: Crazy, lunatic, unhinged, attention seeking, someone they gotta tiptoe around / walk on eggshells around, mental, a "amber heard", a danger like jodi arias. the list goes on and on... I've heard hurtful and dismissive comments about my mental health or even just heard this about others who are mentally ill, because not everyone knows my status. But my point is the "feed back" and dismissive and belittling comments are always in english. I just find when I see younger folks arguing its a slur they like or they wanna reclaim it doesn't sit right with me. We don't get called those things. We get called ENGLISH words. I've never heard it in my life until the subculture became more popular in the west in 2020/2021. And since probably 2023 I've seen it become more popular. But even still I don't *hear* the word enter normal peoples vocab. I also don't really like calling it a lifestyle, because mental health isn't a lifestyle. It's a condition. I don't want to glamorize mental health, it should be seen just like any other health condition. Just like allergies, or physical illness something else. The difference between education and awareness and glamorizing is awareness gives you better understanding of the disorder. Glamourising makes people wish they were disordered or don't want to seek treatment because thats their "thing". We all struggle and have bad days, some stuff will set us off, sometimes stuff is difficult. But thats not "jirai" to struggle. I like the term "dark girly" as someone who's got bpd and psychosis because it also removes my mental health from the fashion. Dark girly addresses the aesthetic, motifits and beautiful (dark and rich) colors I see. Jirai can't be divorced from its original context, or the sex trafficking or other aspects of its shady history and inevitable trauma it's created. I also don't like negative stereotypes being connected with mental health. I can recognise for japanese young women / women this slur has preduices and that culture is not as open with mental health. It's more judgemental, views it as a private affirm. (and yes, as a western I can see the relatable because I had parents who were in this same conservative mindset of we don't share bad things. Don't talk about your suffering, don't talk to a therapist. Stop! But, I'm an adult now & as a western I have more access to getting help, but also being able to openly speak about my issues and find spaces were I can do so without stigma or judgement. I'm not aware if japan has this so much. Culturally speaking I'm an outsider, so my awareness is ignorant.) For reclaiming the slur too, I find it really strange because the west has a lot of different cultures in it, and i'm sure all of them have their own slurs for mentally unwell people and society beliefs with mental health and how its shameful & yet I don't see westerns grabbing those slurs and being like 'you know what! I'm this too, I'm reclaiming all of this." I just feel like Jirai is being claimed by misguided youngsters. But I really wish the back and forth could stop and I realize I'm fueling the debate to. So I'm sorry.

.

[narcissisticpdcultureis]

npd culture is watching one of your friends retweet a tweet about "heartless people" and how "everyone else" is "different" from said "heartless people" because of their capacity to care about others... like I'd rather you just say fuck people without empathy and fuck pwnpd with your whole chest instead of tiptoeing around saying stuff, wow.... there are some real awful people in this world but it's not all people who have problems/lacking empathy.

.

[andsoforrain]

Currently having the worst mental breakdown I've had in a WHILE and I'm just leaving work now so I've got to hold it in for an hour on the bus home

And it's the same shit that always brings me down. I've just started a new job and another guy has just started as well. It was his first shift working today and all I can think about is how he was so much better than me and so much more liked he was than me and it was so glaringly obvious

And know, I fucking KNOW, that people don't have to like you to work with them, but it sure does fucking help

Like it was obvious as soon as he started. Second he came in, everyone's crowding around him, chatting and laughing. No one talks to me.

They ask how his training is going. He says he already completed everything. I haven't.

I made a few mistakes today. He made none, even though it was his first day.

He completed every single task faster than me despite having more work.

Lunchtime comes, they all sit around the table. They're all asking him about his wife, his plans for kids. He's promising to make them traditional food. They're offering me a chair, because they can see I'm taking food out of the fridge. I sit down and no one talks to me- they're all focused on him. I had to leave and eat lunch at my desk alone, like I've done ever since I started, and pretend I was 'enjoying the quiet' when anyone walking by asks what I'm doing there alone.

That afternoon, he's taking on other people's work because he's done everything. Everyone is congratulating him, calling him the man, praising him. They never did that to me.

I mean, I guess he has a lot more in common with him. They're all in their late 30s/40s, and they're all Indian, so they have a shared culture and background. I'm half-Asian and in my mid-20s.

And it's not helping the voice in my head that's always been there, the voice telling me that there's a reason why no one likes me/wants to befriend me. Because there's something broken inside me, because I'm autistic/adhd, that I'm different and worse from everyone else and it's so visible in the way I look and act that it drives people away. I'm never good enough, smart enough, sociable enough, likeable enough, normal enough. This is my punishment for not living up to the basic standard of 'person you would befriend' - to be alone, and shunned, and isolated, and tiptoed around and barely tolerated.

And. I. Deserve. Every. Ounce. Of. The. Shame. And. Guilt. I. Feel.

[pieces-of-roses]

I am tiptoeing around this tumblr for a few weeks now.

I do have ideas, but I am not quite sure, what I want to do with tumblr.

So I wanna ask you (those who do not know me yet 🤭)

I am a chaos witch. I practice candle, protection, death, deity, divination, sigil, etc, magic. If me fits, I sits. Gimme shiny magic stuff and I gonna try to learn it. Because it is new and interesting and I adopt everything, no matter whether I was interested in similar stuff before.

So if I gonna talk about magic mainly, this gonna be as chaotic as my path. But be assured, that I always gonna say how it should be done properly. 🤭

A big part of my path involves deity work at the moment. This includes clairsenses, channeling and getting knowledge - about me and my Deities.

I work with The Morrigan. About Her I have the most info in my brain. And I wanna deepen it even further. I wanna take other celtic Lore into my knowledge too. This also includes celtic religious culture and even celtic divination methods.

I work with Lucifer. He is just as close as The Morrigan, but I am less into His Lore. I do have knowledge, but it is not as in depth as with The Morrigan.

So if I gonna talk about my deity work, this gonna be a mix of learning together, sharing my knowledge, mixing VPG, UPG and SPG. It also gonna be a bit about my personal bonds with my Deities (as far as I am allowed to make it official - because the bonds we share are very personal.)

My main practice is divination. Gimme a new thing to learn and I am into it! This might be, because The Morrigan helps me with that. It also m I ght be, because with divination I can actually help other people - and I want to help with my practice. I barely do magic for my own good (I do it, ngl, but the motivation is far less as if I would do it for others xD)

If I gonna talk about divination, I gonna explain divination methods, personal experiences, maybe even share how I experience different decks.

Personal interests. I like crochet. I like reading. I like different new shiny atuff every now and then. So of you are interested in this, I might more or less go into total chaos mode with this tumblr xD

No matter what: I am curious, what this poll gonna give as a result! c:

Thanks to every single person, who gonna vote in here. I really appreciate your participation ♡

[ileniagennari]

Hey bestie! First time asker first time fan!

SO!

I have a mythical monster and creature question about Italy. See, I like making monsters and characters based on different Monsters and Mythology. (Ex: Wereanimals, Fairies, the Unicorn, Bigfoot/Sasquatch, Witches, Etc....) and sometimes, I will get inspired by characters/media that will make me design said creature (Susie from Summer Camp Island and James from Derry Girls for my Witches. Mean Girls for my Unicorn.) OTHER characters like that....

well THIS time. Because Tiktok has been showing me pics of Titanic and movie-related Titanic stuff. Then I got fixated on Danny Nuccis character of Fabrizio from the Movie. POINT is. I wanna make a character is more of a base italian character and go more in depth of italian culture and childhood (as I do for all of my characters). DO you have any refs or monsters/Mythology from Italy that is kinda like monsters and were-animals or creatures? And not like- ghosts from other real people or demons from hell and the underworld. Please and thanks!

YAYY questions about italian characters! Ok let me think... YES. But you have more choices. As you can see, Italy quite differs from north to south and both north and south had different influences. Northern regions were influenced by celtic, etruscan, ligurian and venetian folklore being homeland to many celtic tribes before (north Italy was called Cisalpine Gaul by romans) and lombard people (Germanic people from Scandinavia) after. South is instead very influenced by etruscan, roman, arabian and greek folklore! Sardinia aside being so isolated they actually have a super colorful and ancient folkloristic world. It's very hard to walk around demons, ghosts and so on, since christianity really changed our folklore for good, but I found something underneath:

Lupi Mannari

-We have a lot of werewolf stories in Italy, we call them Lupi Mannari. Two recent cases even in the legend: Pasquale Rossi, so called Werewolf from Villa Borghese. Or Iolanda Pascucci, called Wolf of Posillipo. The woman got married and they put her in a sanatorium. She ran away, hiding in Napoli, scared she might have passed the curse to her children.

-Very specific Werewolf from Basilicata:

Lu Lupi Minaro

Cursed to be transformed under a full moon, for being born on Christmas Eve, while the bells of Christmas were tolling. You can be cured if a brave man stings you and takes some blood drips from you.

L'Uomo Cervo (Gl'Cerv)

-From the ancient Etruscan and Celtic Folklore we have a Deer Man, L'Uomo Cervo (Gl'Cerv), from Castelnuovo al Volturno (Molise). Every year in this place they have a festival called DeerMan Carnival: a monstrous hybrid Deer-Man roams the city, hunting down people. But (as a symbol of rebirth and seasons changing) he gets defeated and dies. He will reborn the next year, he is the Winter and the Death, getting defeated so the season can change again and the new year come.

The influences are from Cernunnos, a god from celtic folklore, symbol of wild animals, natural force but also death and afterworld. Defeating the death you leave again space for new life, in Spring. (Maybe he's not literally a were-being but I think you can tiptoe around the concept. He is one and almighty tho, so I don't think you have MANY of these. It's like a god, a spirit, so you will have just one Were-Deer per sacrifice.)

-From Sardinia:

The Coga (or Bruxa)

Unaware people, born as Coga can transform into one at night. Imagine a mix between a witch and a vampire. Long hair, a little tail, long nails and a hairy cross on the back.

Even if you are born a male or a female, when a Coga you become an old ugly woman, which can transform herself into a dog, cat, snake or an insect. Revenge and anger feeling could bring people to actually become a Coga even if not born one, the wannabe Coga have to perform a ritual:

Must go to a graveyard and take away from a fresh c*rpse some body fat; mix it with virgin blood and holy oil. Then cover some body parts and the metamorphosis begins

Su Boe Erchitu

Instead of transform yourself into a wolf, you get transformed into a monstrous minotaur-thing, with two metallic horns and two candles on the tips. The only way to break the curse is to estinguish the two candles.

From Sicily:

Donas de fuera

Mostly women but not exclusive. Very beautiful, dressed in white, red or black. The feet can be cat-like, horse-like or strangely round feet. Roaming in groups, the man of the group plays liute or guitar while the others dance. Donas can transform into cats or Aydonos, an offensive version of themself, being able to kill. You don't offend a Dona. Do not disturb them or trick them to gain something. They can also transform into incorporeal mass.

Heavily inspired by nimphs and leprecauns from ancient greek, clearly, but with a nordic celtic influence. Very nice mixing.

This is everything I found so far, but keep in mind that Streghe, Masche, Bruxe, Janare etc etc can ALL transform into animals: cats, dogs, crows, owls, snakes. It's very common for witches to transform into animals. Hope I helped!

Sources:

[dogwithapog]

op is right on the mark with this one! klingons were initially made to resemble earth societies that seemed "alien" to americans (namely the chinese). they were based in stereotypes and racist caricatures that they grew beyond in later iterations. i think there is so much potential in exploring their society further! future trek media should totally expand on the non-warrior side of their culture.

i'd like to offer another analysis of klingons: they represent toxic masculinity.

being a klingon (or being a man) is a complicated matter of identity that you can't boil down to biology or simple behaviors. fully understanding klingon identity requires cultural and historical context. but a large part of it is performance, and some klingons (and men) become obsessive about this performance; obsessive to the point that they would stifle their own desires, put others down for how they live their life, or even cause dangerous situations.

this toxicity may lead outsiders to judge the group as a whole. it is easy to dismiss klingons as naturally brutal, predatory, unintelligent, unemotional. obviously, this isn't true, but social expectations reinforce these ideas inside and outside of klingon society, and worsen the problem.

take worf, for example. he was raised by humans on earth, but devoted much study to traditional klingon customs. he probably knows more about what it means to "be klingon" than many of his peers on Qo'noS. yet, when he interacts with other klingons, he stands out. at several points, he is mocked by klingons for his human/federation behaviors. In "Redemption" he briefly serves on a klingon ship, where he feels very separated from the rest of his species due to his different approaches to his work. his behaviors might not seem "normal" to some klingons, because he was not exposed to the same toxic expectations. he still puts a great deal of effort into performing klingonhood, but sometimes he has to make tough decisions about how "klingon" he actually wants to be. while this *is* his true self, his true identity, there are some toxic social side effects. he sees his fellow klingons fail (behave dishonorably!!!) in some areas due to the rigidity in their toxic masculine performance.

worf does not want to be ruthless and violent, as the klingons around him sometimes are. but he cares VERY deeply about his honor and status among his species, so much that he would rather die (s5e16 "Ethics") than be seen as "half a klingon." he struggles between his need for klingon identity, his need for respect from other klingons, and his knowledge that some of these customs are just... wrong.

and this is affected also by his place in the federation. he has to navigate maintaining his status as "one of the good klingons" in humanity's eyes. he has to tiptoe to appear less threatening. refusing to give in to klingon toxicity also means avoiding negative judgement from outsiders.

wow this post got long. my point is; you can't make a whole species, or any large group, seem simple, as klingon-focused stories in Star Trek sometimes do. it can create and reinforce all kinds of problems. i hope this made sense haha

the thing is that when you look deep enough, Klingons and Klingon society is actually pretty well developed by Star Trek standards. we know the ideals of their society and the way their ideals are corrupted by classism and archaic tradition. we see how "warrior" and "honor" are complex terms that involve more than just warfare and fighting. but we also see Klingon scientists and lawyers who are proud of their work but are pushed aside for not living up to their society's standards. we see how their political relations change over time and how strategic alliances are formed and dissolved. we know their marriage customs and holidays and mythology and history. we see a variety of Klingon characters with varying degrees of attachment to their species and culture. we see how they're stereotyped and discriminated against in the Federation for being "too alien" when the Federation is supposed to be accepting of differences. we have an entire real, usable language for Kahless's sake.

the thing is also that 90% of Klingon stories choose to ignore all this complexity in favor of bioessentialism and racist takes on "warrior society".

[thelemmallama]

"Ask culture for me, guess culture for thee"

Ask culture vs guess culture is the wrong question. It's like debating if it's better to have a clue if stabbing people or not stabbing people. (Cos ask culture is evidently superior to guess culture, don't @ me)

But just like stabbing, ask culture has perpetrators and victims. The people who jump down your throat for guessing incorrectly or being too direct are not, in general, the same people who walk on eggshells around everyone and drops hints because they know they'd be punished if they just spoke their mind.

Lumping then both as "ask culture" is like lumping a serial stabber and chronic stabbing victim as both "stabbing culture". You're papering over some HUGE differences there and treating them like they're on the "same side" when they're … really not

Then us enlightened folk of non-stabbing culture sneer at the stabbing victim for getting stabbed.

"Just ask", we say, as if it's that easy to go against years of pavlovian conditioning telling them to expect judgment for doing just that. "Stop expecting people to read your mind", we say, as if dropping hints and hoping someone cared enough to notice was the only way to get their needs met

I see ask culture as a rebellion against guess culture by those tired living under its boot, tired of being silenced and tiptoeing around everything in life. As a child, I often played dumb and ignored a certain parent's cues in the hopes they'd start being clear about their expectations. Though I mostly got "I shouldn't have to ask" in response

But it's been coopted by people who just want the right to ask for themselves and the excuse to ignore others' needs unless they "use their words", while still expecting others to swallow their needs and do the emotional labour of deducing their wants when they fail to communicate them clearly

That same parent who liked to say "I shouldn't have to ask"? Other times they'd go "just tell me what I want, you can talk to me" without a hint of self awareness. Imagine if I responded with the former when they said the latter. They'd lose their shit

And when you do use your words, they argue you're in denial, or you're overreacting, or your stated preferences are otherwise somehow invalid because you're ignorant and wrong about your own mind. Or your overstating things to manipulate the situation to your own benefit.

(Oddly enough, they rarely suspect you of understating things to manipulate the situation to their benefit, despite people pleasing being a common reason for people to falsify their preferences)

They'll happily listen to you when your started preferences are what they want to hear, because it suits them. But when it doesn't, instead of respecting your ask, they'd rather make a bad guess and treat it as canonical.

That does not make them principled adherents of ask culture.

(tl;dr -- the real enemy is double standards, and the power imbalances that enable them)