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For this project, I actually collaborated with d0gtoothjones to edit the pattern. When I input any given image into the program I use (stitch fiddle), it can take me anywhere between 30 mins and 6 hours to edit the pattern.
(Earlier draft of pattern for comparison)
Tried to take more update pics as I went for this project but I canât include all of them
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Qualityâ Free Actions
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
Kim Dokja sleeps. Shin Yoosung grows. Lee Gilyoung learns. The world doesnât stopâ but maybe, for just a moment, they can pretend itâs okay.
Kim Dokja hasnât moved in years.
The hospital room is warm and quiet, with soft light filtering through the window. The machines hum softly. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, as if nothing ever changed.
But the world has. The scenarios ended. The stars went quiet. Peace returned, if peace can ever truly return to people like them.
Shin Yoosung stands by the window, arms crossed, hair tangled from sleep. It brushes her shoulders now, too longâ too messy. She never used to care about her hair. She was a beast tamer, a fighter, a survivor. She had other things to worry about.
But lately, she keeps thinking about it.
She sees Yoo Mia one morning, laughing quietly while Yoo Joonghyuk braids her hair. Itâs something so small, so domestic. Something from a world that shouldn't belong to them. Something gentle.
She hates how it makes her feel.
So she lets her hair grow.
At first, she doesnât even realize sheâs doing it for him. Kim Dokja. The idiot. Their idiot. The one who used to fumble with his hands and brush her hair back awkwardly when it got in her eyes during battle. Who never said the right thing but always meant it anyway.
She brushes it herself now. She watches it grow in the mirror. She waits.
âIfâ No, when. When he wakes up,â she thinks, âhe can braid it again.â
One day, she visits him, and something breaks.
âYouâre still not back,â she whispers, voice shaking. âYou said you wouldnât leave. You said youâd always be watching.â
She cries, forehead against the side of his bed. Her hair spills over her shoulders like a curtain. It tangles in her fingers. The strands brushing against Kim Dokjaâs unmoving hand.
Lee Gilyoung stands in the doorway, silent.
âYouâre crying again,â he says.
âShut up,â she spits. âYou donât get it.â
But he does. And she knows.
He doesnât say anything more. He just leaves.
â
The next day, Lee Gilyoung shows up at Yoo Sangahâs doorstep.
âTeach me how to braid hair,â he mutters, awkward and stiff.
Yoo Sangah looks up from her tea, blinking behind her glasses. âOh. Is this⌠for Shin Yoosung?â
He doesnât answer, but the flush on his face says enough.
She smiles gently and sets her cup down. âCome in. Iâll show you. You know, I used to practice on my cousinsâ hair when we were little.â
As she demonstrates, she talks softly. âYoosungâs changed a lot, hasnât she? We all have. Itâs strangeâafter everything, we get quiet days like this. I never thought peace would feel so empty.â
Gilyoung doesnât say anything. His hands are clumsy as he mimics her movements, but she corrects him gently, never laughing, only guiding.
âYouâre doing this because you care. You donât have to say it.â She gives him a knowing look. âHeâd be proud, you know. Kim Dokja.â
He doesnât look up. But his hands pause, just for a second.
âYouâre doing this for Shin Yoosung, arenât you?â she asks gently.
He doesnât answer.
She doesnât press.
âI think itâs good,â she says instead. âDoing something kind. You know⌠Dokja-ssi once told me that small things matter more after the end. A braid. A cup of tea. A warm room.â
She watches him struggle and adjusts his grip. âPeace is made of things like this.â
â
Next, he finds Jung Heewon.
âYou want to braid hair?â she repeats, arms crossed.
âYes.â
âFor Yoosung?â
He shrugs. âNot your business.â
âEverythingâs my business when it comes to the companyâs kids,â she says flatly. âCome on, sit.â
She yanks over a chair and pulls out a hairbrush and a spare wig head.
As she braids, her fingers deft and quick, she says, âYou know, after the scenarios ended, I thought Iâd go back to being normal. But thereâs no ânormalâ left, is there?â
âNo.â
She chuckles. âYeah. You get it. Anyway, hairâs just like a sword technique. Get the tension right. Donât hesitate. Be gentle, but firm.â
Gilyoung follows, quietly focused.
âYouâll never say it to her, huh?â she asks after a beat.
âNo.â
She grins. âThatâs fine. She knows. You both do.â
He tries. The braid is ugly. Lumpy.
âDo you think Dokja would laugh at this?â he asks suddenly.
Heewon shrugs, but thereâs a flicker in her eyes. âHeâd probably say itâs good. Then try to fix it behind your back and pretend you did it right all along.â
She smirks, wipes sweat from her brow. âHe always did stuff like that. Quiet help. Too quiet.â
Gilyoung says, âI donât want it to be quiet anymore.â
She nods once. âThen make it loud. Make the braid perfect.â
â
Uriel sobs the moment he shows up.
âMy precious readerâs child is LEARNING DOMESTIC SKILLS?!â
âStop crying.â
âTELL ME NOTHING MORE! I ALREADY KNOW! LET ME BLESS YOUR FINGERS!â
âNo.â
He lets her do it anyway. She doesnât teach him muchâ mostly she cries and raves about how proud Kim Dokja would be, how he surely watches over them still, and how the braid will be a symbol of divine storytelling.
She conjures glowing strands of golden thread, each shining like starlight.
âEach thread represents something sacred. Protection. Care. Hope. You weave them together, and what do you get?â
Gilyoung answers flatly. âA braid.â
âA promise,â she corrects.
He weaves. Slowly. Carefully.
She watches with pride and a surprising solemnity.
âUrielâs voice softens. âJoonghyukâs way was quiet love. Dokjaâs way was quiet love. But your love? Itâs loud enough to shake the stars.â
Gilyoungâs hands still. âDo you think he knew how much we loved him back?â
Uriel looks away.
Somehow, Gilyoung leaves with sparkles on his hands.
He doesnât question it.
â
Lee Jihye greets him with a wide smirk.
âThis is rich. You, trying to braid hair?â
âShut up.â
âNah, I love this. Want me to teach you the combat braid?â
âNo.â
âWhat about the intimidation braid? The âdonât mess with me or Iâll stab youâ one?â
ââŚMaybe.â
She gives him a real lesson, surprisingly thorough. She talks while braidingâ about Dokja-hyung, about how the silence in the city feels like a hole too big to patch.
âHe used to do dumb little things like this, yâknow,â she says. âTake care of people when they werenât looking. You remind me of him, sometimes.â
He pretends he doesnât hear.
â
Finally, Persephone invites him into a quiet, candlelit room. Her lair is full of old tapestries and flowers that never wilt.
âMy darling boy,â she coos, cupping his face. âLearning the ancient art of careâŚ! How beautiful.â
âIâm not your grandson.â
âYou are now.â
She teaches him an intricate braid she claims comes from a line of queens who used to crown themselves with woven flowers. He listens, despite himself.
âIn ancient times,â she tells him, âa braid was a way to preserve a piece of someone. A prayer in each knot. An oath not to forget.â
He hesitates, voice quiet. âIâm afraid I will.â
She presses a warm hand to his shoulder. âThen tie your memory into every strand. And even if he never wakes, even if she never says thank you, the memory will be in your fingers.â
She has silken wigs of every color, and teaches him delicate lace braidsâintricate, precise.
âYou must braid with intention,â she says, voice low. âWith hope. Otherwise, itâll fall apart.â
âHope,â he repeats. âWhat for?â
âThat the world will keep going. That we will keep going.â
She cups his cheek one last time and whispers, âTell Yoosung he doesnât need to wake up to be proud of her.â
â
Even with all that, something still feels off. The tension of his fingers. The shape of it.
He grits his teeth and does what he swore he wouldnât.
The man answers with a frown. âWhat?â
âI need your help.â
âUnlikely.â
ââŚWith braiding hair.â
Joonghyuk stares.
âYou know,â Gilyoung says flatly, âfor someone with the emotional depth of a rock, you braid hair pretty well. I know you know how. Yoo Mia said you do it for her.â
A pause.
âWhy?â
âBecause Kim Dokja canât. And sheâs waiting.â
ââŚFine.â
He shows him once. Then twice. Then again, correcting the posture of his fingers, the pull of the strands.
They donât talk about Dokja.
They donât have to.
The silence is reverent.
Gilyoung copies. He makes mistakes. Joonghyuk corrects him with a nod, a brush of fingers.
They speak only once.
Joonghyuk says, âHe would have liked this.â
Gilyoung just nods once and walks away.
But his hands, this time, donât shake.
When Lee Gilyoung returns, he finds Yoosung on the roof, hair in a messy ponytail, swatting at mosquitoes.
âIâm cutting it,â she announces.
âNo, youâre not,â he cuts her off.
She glares. âOh, and why not?â
âBecause Iâm going to braid it.â
She blinks. Then laughs. âYou? Seriously?â
âSit down, or Iâm shaving your head.â
She sits.
Itâs quiet as he works. His fingers move carefully. She doesnât squirm.
âThis is weird,â she mutters.
âYouâre weird.â
He finishes without another word. Ties it off. Stands. Leaves.
She touches her hair, surprised by the neatness. The way it feels like something steady. Something kind.
Later, when she visits Kim Dokja again, she doesnât say much. Just sits beside him.
The braid rests over her shoulder.
âSee?â she murmurs. âYou donât have to worry.â
Outside, the world moves on.
Inside, in this room, something still waits.
And for now, thatâs enough.
[ written by: Calypso ReverieđĽ ]
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As much as I love Kim Dokja I will never forgive him for showing blatant favoritism towards Yoosung and the only reason he's thinking that way is because Lee Gilyoung reminds him of himself⌠I will not stand for this Lee Gilyoung erasure.