Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

It’s cold. Cold enough that the snow underneath his boots gives a satisfying crunch with every step he takes. Cold enough that every breath coming out of his mouth turns into vapour the moment it touches outside air. Cold enough that walking is a nuisance. 

Winter came early this year, the snow starting to pile up before they finished preparing for the season. The gods are angered, people say, and they’re punishing us with the harsh weather. Normally they’d get to see the two seasons wrestle, witness the way autumn tries to keep her rule over nature for longer like they’re two wolves competing for the same prey. 

This year though, there was no fight. Winter came suddenly, sinking its teeth into autumn’s neck with a quick snap of its jaw, bringing snowfall and cold alongside it. No build-up, no signs to signal its approach, leaving the village with nothing but prayers on their lips as they begged the gods for help. At least they still have one thing up their sleeve.

Said thing being Jisung, the moon-blessed child born twenty-five springs ago, when the moon shone bright and full on the sky without a single cloud to obstruct its light. The perfect gift. One made to be adored by the gods, so much that they forgive whatever transgressions the village has committed against them. 

It’s his duty, his calling — to serve as the sacrifice meant to bring prosperity to their community. As a bride, as they like to call it, beautiful and pure enough to bring the village back in the gods’ favour. They hope he’ll come out of it blessed, bearing a god’s child that would gain them the protection of the divine for years to come. 

He’s meant for it, they say, as he’s the closest a human could be to the divine. Not only moon-blessed, but also harboring the rugged spirit of a man trapped in the delicate body of a woman. Someone with the virginal beauty only a bride can bear, meant to entice and seduce one of the gods to plant their seed. Someone with a sharp mind, honed through years of learning and servitude, who can then convince the gods to let him go back to his community. To bring their blessing home. 

It’s a load of bullshit and Jisung knows it. They’re sending him over to die. Jisung was yet to be born the last time someone came back from the gods’ realm for good, but he’s heard the whispers of ancestors. About the gods, about how cruel they are, how the few people who came back from their realm ended up taking their own life soon after. Besides, why would they place all their eggs in the basket labeled ‘tricking a god’? Why would anyone think that the gods would allow it to happen? That a mere mortal could ever hope to outsmart the divine just because he’s a man? 

He keeps walking, his feet sinking in the thin layer of snow as he searches for the temple. It’s barely visible from where he is, yet unmistakable on the cold winter backdrop. A small structure, one colourful enough to stand out no matter the season with wooden decorations tinted red and green. The paint is fading, in need of a retouch as soon as the snow melts and it's easier to work here, so the gods stay satisfied.

There’s an altar made out of stone in front of the little building. It’s where they put their offerings for gods to receive, where they pray for their favour. Where Jisung has to kneel for hours at a time in preparation for the upcoming full moon as that’s where he will lay, dressed in the finest robes and wait for them to take him. 

No one quite knows what lies behind the little temple. They know there’s a palace of sorts, the only other building in the village that has a tiled roof. Jisung’s heard whispers about government officials living there before but he doesn’t quite believe those. Some think it’s where the mudang stayed, back when there were more of them than the couple who’s been preparing Jisung for his destiny. Personally, he trusts the spirits and they like to whisper that this is where the gods reside.

Perhaps he’ll see it, at least for a moment. Maybe the gods will take him inside before taking what’s theirs — be it his life or his innocence. He hopes he’ll get to look for long enough to remember in the afterlife, to whisper of what he saw to the rest of villagers. 

Secretly, Jisung hopes his end won’t be painful. That the gods will prove to be merciful and provide him a gift of a quick death, ideally right after seeing him at the altar. He hopes they won’t be tempted the way the village wishes they will be, that they won’t feel any desire towards his flesh, for if they will and leave him with another life growing inside, it would be fate worse than the most painful death. 

That fear he felt the day he realized the mudang’s plan is something he’s never put to words, at least not out loud. How could he when everyone thinks it’s the highest honour? The best thing that could ever happen to anyone? To be chosen by the moon and the stars and the divine as the bride?

It’s unfair. This whole thing, the fact that he was forced into it in the first place, that no one will listen to him even if he tries to tell them how badly he doesn’t want to go. That they don’t understand why he grew so distant from them, why his prayers no longer involve their wellbeing but rather a quick death for himself. 

It doesn’t matter, not to the villagers, not to his parents. Neither do the mudang care, nor the gods themselves. Nor will the animals who will bear witness to the ritual from the sky and the forest, or the songs that will be written in Jisung’s name. 

So he kneels in front of the altar and prays. Stays there for hours, until his knees grow ice-cold from the snow melting into his clothes and his nose feels like it will fall off the next time he sneezes. Perhaps he should wait and see if it happens, for it might make the gods more merciful if they find his antics amusing enough.

The road back feels even longer. They told him to take his horse, to make the trek easier, but how could he? His precious Almond Eye is pregnant and she needs to be pampered, not taken on journeys like this to be left alone in the cold for hours at a time. The last time a mare had gotten pregnant in the village her owners didn’t stop using her for labour and ended up losing both her and the foal she was carrying. 

They’ve been walking on eggshelf since they found out Almond Eye is with a foal at the beginning of winter. With her being their last adult mare, no one is willing to risk her life, knowing too well from the stories told by ancestors just how hard life can be when there are no horses around. 

So, he travels on foot. He won’t ask for someone else's horse, one of the two stallions they have in the village, since they’re needed for more important things than this pointless ritual Jisung’s forced to partake in. 

His breath fogs as he huffs before clenching his teeth at wasting yet another day by doing nothing but kneeling. He should be helping his parents continue to prepare kimchi for the winter instead of this. Or make sure that none of the roofs are leaking, that the one his old neighbor couple sleeps under won’t break under the snow that continues to pile on it.

People greet him once he makes his way back to the village. One of the mudang looks pleased when she sees him, nodding in his direction before walking off somewhere. The auntie who helped take care of him when he was a kid gives him a few dried fruits to eat. He scurries past a boy he used to fancy a few years back, now married to a girl from a nearby village and expecting their first child. Hopefully, she’ll give birth on a new moon. 

His parents are home when he enters, sitting down in the main room with a small tea pot sitting on the table between them. They both have steaming cups in their hands, though his mother puts hers down to go bring him one when she sees him. He offers some of the dried fruit to his dad as they wait for his mother to come back.

“You were gone for a long time today,” his father tells him when he stops chewing. “I’m glad you’re so diligent.” 

“I hope this won’t keep happening, I want to spend some more time with you before you need to go,” his mother says, her voice quivering a little as she places his cup in front of him and fills it up. She grabs a piece of fruit and chews it, grimacing a little at the sweetness. She’s always been more of a savory foods person. 

“Sorry, mother,” Jisung says, even if he’s not fully honest. “I’ll try to come back faster but it’s getting hard with all this snow.”

“I wish Almond Eye could’ve assisted you,” she tells him. “I’m glad she’s with a foal, but she really has terrible timing.”

“It’s fine, I can manage as long as she’s being taken care of.”

“She’s a good gift, a good mare,” his father says as he reaches to pour himself another cup of tea. He takes a long sip before sighing deeply. “Too bad the man who gave her was an idiot.”

“Was he?” Jisung can’t help but ask, words curt and cold as he remembers who they’re speaking of. Jooyeon was a fine man, a government official training to become a scribe passing through their village to get to the closest town with the goal of helping to conduct a census. Initially they weren’t supposed to partake in it, but the man ended up spending a few weeks in their village collecting and organising all the information after seeing Jisung for the first time. 

“Of course he was,” his father scoffed before putting the cup down with more force than necessary. The impact of ceramic on the wooden table makes Jisung jump in place and whip his head to face the man. A bit of the tea spilled on the surface and his mother’s quick to jump to her feet and fetch a cloth to wipe it. “He thought he could take you away.”

“He wasn’t trying to take me away,” Jisung snaps. Jooyeon was too sweet for that. Too caring. He told him stories of life beyond the village’s walls, of the mountains and vast plains, of towns with a view of the sea. He never demanded anything even while making his intentions clear every time they spoke, charming Jisung left and right with words and light touch. “He wanted to court me.” 

“Exactly,” his mother finally speaks up, voice as sharp as his father’s. They make a good pair, matching each other’s energy in a way Jisung doesn’t think would be possible between anyone else. “He’d court you and then take you away, at least to the town. If not to the capital!” 

“I’m sure he’d stay here if we negotiated things well.”

“Jisu-yah,” his father says, his voice filled with that saccharine sweetness he uses whenever he thinks Jisung’s acting like a naive child. “You can’t possibly think a government official would want, would be allowed to stay in a village like ours.” 

“Besides,” his mother interjects. “He wouldn’t treat you right. You’re such a beautiful flower, our little white lily, but he didn’t know that. That man would treat you like a weed plucked from the fields in the countryside. Like a cheap whore rather than a wife.” 

His father nods in agreement. “Not only that,”  he adds before taking another sip. “He wouldn’t even try treating you like a man.” 

Not like either of you do either, Jisung nearly says but manages to bite his tongue in time. If that was the case they wouldn’t call him Jisu. They’d let him mingle with other men his age without any supervision and fear they’d try to come onto him. As if anyone in the village would try, especially after they all rallied to run Jooyeon out once they realized what he’s hoping to achieve. 

There hasn’t been a day in Jisung’s life that this village made him feel like a man. They begrudgingly accepted his identity after he spent years convincing them, but still didn’t fully treat him as such. He’s moon-blessed, after all. The boundaries between man and woman don’t quite apply to him, even if they certainly treat him as one more than the other.

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The shortest day of the year marks the end of Jisung’s life as he knows it. 

Lately, he’s been feeling a whole lot of nothing when it comes to his fate. Especially since his menstruation started, lasting until two days ago with his mother performing a ritual right at the end of it. It’s something he’s learned about recently, something he’s heard the yangban women would often do, even if most of the villagers have yet to adapt it themselves. 

She came into the room with a clean piece of cotton cloth and handed it to him, eagerly awaiting him to use it. It took a moment of him glaring at her without moving for her to roll her eyes and finally look away, giving him at least a semblance of privacy for what he was about to do. 

With a deep sigh he parted his legs and inserted the cloth into his vagina. Not far, barely gracing the barrier he fractured on a desperate night with nothing but his own hand and fantasies of a possible future right after he realized Jooyeon’s intentions with him. Truly, he barely even pressed his finger past it before stopping. It didn’t even feel good, at least not as good as he’d been told the touch of a husband would. Or a god, in his case. 

The sensation of the cloth being pressed to his entrance was uncomfortable but he kept it there with only a small grimace. A moment passed before he took it out, not even sparing it a look before clearing his throat and presenting it to his mother. From the gleam in her eyes, he knew he’d see it coloured golden if he did.

“Perfect,” his mother said, looking between his barely covered body and the cloth in her hand. “If they take you on the day of the ritual, you’ll be sure to bear a son!”

He let the words wash over him, even if the small amount of disgust still lingers even two days later. Every whisper his mother lets out into another woman’s ear, followed by a giggle as they try to glance at him without noticing only adds wood to the small fire of revulsion licking at his insides. 

At least he’s already dressed in his wedding attire and back from his family’s shrine. The hanbok is heavy, uncomfortable and entirely too eye-catching with its red colour. The intricate golden decorations weaved into the fabric, while beautiful, only serve to bring even more attention in Jisung’s direction during the entire ceremony, which is already way more elaborate than any wedding this village has ever seen. For the gods to accept him, the ceremony must reflect those of the yangban, his parents decided.

If Jisung’s being completely honest, they could’ve skipped a lot of steps with this whole thing and still end up with the same results. What is the point of holding wedding rites when only one spouse is present? Most of them involve the groom and clearly, Jisung isn’t playing that role today. The whole second day of the usual ceremony had to be omitted during the planning, since while only one of the spouses is involved, it is not the bride. 

Instead, Jisung is led to a table just outside of his family home. It’s put under a tent so that the snow doesn’t fall anywhere near it. He’s alone, no spouse to help carry the weight of all the stares coming from his family and villagers who keep looking over the wall surrounding their house. 

He stands on the blue end of the table, facing the east and the red part of the arrangement. At one point of his life Jisung thought he’d see a man standing there, Jooyeon in particular, back when he still thought the courtship would be allowed. Instead there is nothing but the red candle, a little pine tree and food stored in gourd halves. Thankfully, no one tried to force a live hen and rooster onto the table, instead opting for the wood-carved sculptures. 

First, the helper — Miyeon, one of the girls he grew up with, assists him in washing his hands before stepping away so Jisung can bow. Even if there is no one to receive it, he bows twice, waits for what he thinks would be enough for the supposed groom he is allegedly marrying to respond with a bow of his own and then repeats the gesture again. 

Obviously, with no groom there is no way to exchange a cup of wine, so it was decided that this step will be omitted during the main ceremony. Instead, Jisung will drink after being brought to the altar and leave the rest of the wine for one of the gods to drink as they accept him as their bride. 

To finish off the ceremonial part, Jisung bows again. Three times to his parents, then to the ancestors and at last to all the guests gathered both inside their garden and outside of it. He moves to the smaller table, kneeling down in front of it and letting Miyeon help him wash his hands again before she hands him a small plate with a jujube on it. 

The dried fruit is dark red and sticky to touch as Jisung brings it to his mouth. The stickiness doesn’t vanish as he chews, but the sweet taste helps him not pay attention to the truly abhorrent texture. He manages to eat the whole thing without throwing up and everyone starts to whisper about their hopes for a quick pregnancy. 

Miyeon takes the plate and replaces it with a steaming bowl of patjuk. The porridge is sticky in his mouth as he tries to ignore the whispers around him. The taste of red beans coats his mouth, nearly making him gag with every spoonful he takes. It’s earthy, with a faint hint of sweetness peeking through. Not his favourite, it never was but he knows how important it is for him to eat it. He’d rather not deal with any evil spirits for the next months on top of handling several gods. 

Some of it will be taken with them during the procession to the temple, placed next to the altar as an offering. It’s to show the gods their goodwill, one of the mudang said when Jisung asked. Privately, he thinks they might take it as an insult to their abilities of warding off the spirits on their own.

Song and dance fill out the space as Jisung keeps eating the food he’s given. The sun is already on its way down, not leaving them much time before it’s time to start the procession to the temple if they want to catch at least a bit of daylight in the early part of the journey. 

The food has barely had any time to settle when he gets ushered to enter the palanquin. It’s made out of dark, sturdy wood with carved out ornaments on the outside. Four men stand around the palanquin, each one next to one of the horizontal poles, waiting to carry Jisung to the temple. 

The road is harsh. With the sun setting and snow piling up it takes the procession longer than Jisung’s usual time to get to the temple. By the time he gets out of the palanquin his legs have gone numb, making him stumble towards the altar. The moon shines between the trees with no cloud on the sky to cover it up, promising that the remaining part of the ceremony will go well. 

Miyeon places a mat in front of the altar for him to kneel on. With it and the several layers of his robes Jisung barely feels the snow underneath his knees. He bows twice and then Miyeon hands him a cup of wine to drink. 

It’s bitter despite the high quality of the bottle they managed to procure from a nearby village for a hefty price. Though Jisung doubts it’s the wine’s fault, as he’s always gained little enjoyment from alcoholic drinks. He hands off the cup after taking a sip and Miyeon places it on the small table that was set up in front of the altar,  a covered bowl of patjuk already waiting on it. 

She helps him stand while the mudang wipes off remaining snow from the altar. They lead him to it and help him lay down before stepping away to continue the ritual. It involves a lot of prayers that Jisung mostly tunes out, only catching murmurs promising his fertility and obedience as he nearly dozes off.

The snow keeps falling on him, his body heat melting it when the snowflakes touch his robes and making them seep into the fabric. It’s fine, there’s enough covering him that he won’t feel it for hours and, hopefully, the gods will arrive earlier than that. 

Then, everything goes quiet. The ceremony has ended, at least on their side. Now the only thing missing is for the groom to appear and take his bride. The whole entourage, which feels like half the damn village, waits with bated breath for the divine to come. 

But they don’t. An hour passes, then two, and there’s still no sign of anything supernatural. Not even a whisper of magic hangs in the air as the moon shines bright on Jisung’s figure, keeping him from falling asleep with its light. The melted snow is reaching further into his robes, though he can still largely ignore it. 

Soon, someone breaks the silence with an anxious voice. “Perhaps they want some privacy?” They ask and Jisung can hear the rustle of fabric as everyone turns to face them. “I’d imagine the gods don’t want an audience if they plan on taking her immediately.” 

“You might be right,” one of the mudang says. She takes a deep breath before continuing. “I have heard of gods who are rather elusive in nature and we haven’t seen any of ours in a long time. We’ll leave and visit in the morning to see what happened.” 

And so they go. Slowly, with his parents lagging behind as they whisper their prayers before scurrying off to catch up to the procession. It doesn’t take long for the noise of the villagers to fade off into the night, leaving Jisung truly and utterly alone as he lays on the altar. 

More and more snow melts into his robes, finally seeping through enough of the fabric for him to feel the cold wetness on his skin. He jolts at the first touch of it, panic seizing his insides as he realizes how long he’s been laying there with no sign of help coming. 

His heart beats erratically in his chest, feeling like it’s about to burst out and offer itself as a gift to the gods as the rest of his body bleeds out under the moonlight. Perhaps that would be fate less cruel than what is certainly awaiting him in just a few more hours spent outside in this weather.

He moves his fingers, clenches them and releases to produce any warmth. With every passing moment it gets harder to breathe, to think, to not fall into the deep slumber he’s unsure he’d ever wake up from. An owl hoots in the distance, making him sigh in relief that his last moments won’t be spent completely alone as he battles the cold.

The cold seeps so deep into his body Jisung swears he can feel it in his bones. Every second, every breath makes him succumb to the harsh weather just a little more. His lips must be blue at this point and his limbs don’t feel like they’re faring much better. The ceremonial hanbok he was forced into does nothing to stave off the cold, now that it’s sopping wet with melted snow. 

There’s no way of telling how much time has passed. The moon moves on the sky, yet Jisung’s brain refuses to think of where it started when he first laid there. Its light serves as his only companion now that the villagers and the owl have left, the gods nowhere to be seen. 

But there is something — someone, to be heard. At first, it’s faint. Murmurs that seem like they’re travelling through sludge before making their way to Jisung’s ears. Then, they come closer. Get louder. The noise starts to take shape, forming words that still make little sense to his tired mind. 

Warmth. Someone is standing close to him, their body contrasting against the cold winter night. He doesn’t fight the urge to get closer, even if his weakened body only lets him turn his head around to face the heat. 

“When will they learn?” He distantly hears a low, slightly scratchy voice. “The last time they gave someone in winter she didn’t even make it.” 

Someone tugs on his sleeve and his arm goes without any protest. “Oh my, why would they dress her in something this flimsy? Do they want to kill her?” 

“Perhaps they do,” yet another voice says. They sound a lot more airy, almost soothing Jisung’s worries with just their words. “Maybe she’s a criminal?” 

“She’s wearing wedding attire,” another voice pipes up, sounding a lot less interested than the others. “They sent us a bride.” 

“Ridiculous.”

“What good is a bride on the brink of death?” 

“We’ll nurse her back to health.” Whoever says it seems to be their leader, or at least hold some form of authority as everyone else seems to fall quiet and not argue with their order. “Perhaps we’ll get some use out of her.” 

If Jisung were of sound mind he’d try to fight off the hands that grip his body and move it around until he’s lifted off the altar. But they’re warm and soothing and he hasn’t felt either of those things in hours. How can he fight something that feels this good? 

He lets himself be taken, mind slipping away as he gets carried. Where are they going? Jisung doesn’t know. The only thing he registers in his exhausted state is the warm air that starts surrounding him at one point, making him shiver in contrast as the wet fabric continues to cling to his skin. 

More hands appear on his body, undressing him in a way so gentle it reminds him of his grandmother, back when he was still a child that needed assistance that she eagerly provided. They seem to have trouble with his attire, cursing and huffing as they try to figure out how to take it off him before the sound of ripping fabric reaches Jisung’s ears. 

They dry his naked body before placing it on soft bedding and tucking him under thick covers. Someone pets his head, softly carding his fingers through his hair as they murmur something he couldn’t possibly understand as he finally falls into slumber. 

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Jisung is rather slow to regain his consciousness. First, he registers the warmth enveloping him. The air that’s not biting what’s exposed of his skin, the blanket covering most of his body, the heat radiating from underneath him. It’s comforting, so much so it nearly lulls him back to sleep.

Then, he feels just how soft the blanket is. Fluffy in a way he’s never felt before, thick but not heavy enough to suffocate him under its weight. The bedding he’s laying on is just as soft, seemingly unused with how his body sinks down into it. 

The faint sound of bird song reaches his ears, muffled through the walls of wherever he’s in. Such a lovely, lively sound that makes him sigh deeply in contentment as he fights off the urge to burrow himself further under the covers to spend an eternity basking in their comfort. 

But that’s not what he’s meant to do, so instead he opens his eyes. Slowly, just cracking them open to let them see some of the light. He tears up and blinks rapidly, trying to get used to the brightness of the day. The ceiling is wooden, bare. Offers nothing to keep Jisung’s attention on it. 

Instead, he tries to sit up. Carefully as his body still feels sore, like it still hasn’t recovered from the cold. He’s naked under the covers, he notes as the blanket slips to reveal the soft bumps on his chest that he so desperately wishes were gone. His hands catch the duvet and bring it back up, covering his chest like it’s enough to get rid of them.

“I see that mortal women are still concerned with modesty,” someone says behind him. The sudden interruption makes him jump in place before spinning to see who it is. “Although you don’t seem very thorough with protecting it.” 

The man looks young, slightly taller than most men Jisung has seen in his life, though the difference is barely noticeable. The jeogori is dark green and well tailored, with the sleeves covering all of the man’s crossed arms. It doesn’t seem like he’s hiding a lot of muscle underneath it, nor under the brown pants engulfing his legs. 

Curiously, his hair is short. It barely reaches his sharp eyes instead of being kept long and tied in a top-knot like most men tend to wear their own. It adds a boyish charm to his figure, something that the calculating eyes focused on Jisung like he’s a pesky bug immediately contradict.

“Who are you?” Jisung asks, his voice cracking on the words as he finally realizes just how parched his throat is. He coughs a few times before the man comes closer and hands him a cup of tea. “Thank you.”

“To answer your question,” the man starts as he stands up, towering over Jisung’s fragile body. “My name is Seungmin, I am one of the deities residing in this palace.” 

So it worked. He’s been taken as a bride, perhaps of Seungmin specifically. Maybe the rest have also tried, only then deciding on who will become the groom. That would explain his current state, the nakedness and everything, although he doesn’t ache the way he’s been told he would after bedding a man for the first time. 

“I can see you thinking,” Seungmin tells him. “Ask away.”

“Did you–,” Jisung starts before snapping his mouth shut. It’s way too embarrassing to talk about this while he’s still naked. “Who else did, um…” He trails off, gesturing to his body in hopes of reaching an understanding. 

“No one did, me included.” That can’t be right. If Jisung wasn’t killed then sex is the only thing a god could ever want from him. That’s what he’d been prepared for, that’s what he’d been taught. “I know this might not be the norm amongst the divine, but at least we here enjoy our partners conscious and willing.” 

“So I wasn’t touched?”

“No, unless we count undressing you so you could get warmed up.” 

Suddenly, his chest feels lighter as relief crashes over him. “Please, tell me how I should repay your kindness, Seungmin-nim,” Jisung says before moving to bow, dragging the sheets along for even a semblance of coverage. 

“I’m sure we will find a way to make you useful, Han Jisu,” Seungmin tells him before moving to the exit. “But for now you should rest. An exhausted servant will do us no good.” 

Jisung doesn’t spare much time to wonder where the god has learned his name, the divine have their own ways that a mortal like him wouldn’t be able to comprehend either way. Something else catches his attention instead. 

Being a servant is not something he was prepared for and he’s honestly unsure how well he’ll manage to do in that role. They taught him how to seduce and manipulate, while mentally he prepared himself for death. Not for a life of servitude. 

It might be a blessing, though. Perhaps they will let him spend his remaining days in relative peace, not having to fear that soon they’ll take him and make him carry their child. He won’t be able to come back to the village this way, but does he even want that? 

He’d likely take his own life, if he’s being completely honest. Becoming a parent was never a dream for him, unlike for some of the girls in his village. He never held much affection for younger children, certainly nothing more than what you’d feel for a cousin you don’t particularly like. 

Most of his dreams revolved around freedom. Around being able to choose for himself. Around being able to live truthfully, not hiding who he is without fear of being cast out or shamed for being difficult. That people around him, his parents especially, would accept him as who he is. 

They’d do it without telling him using his actual name is too much work, that he expects too much of people by asking them to use it. That since it’s disrespectful to his parents to change it, even if he specifically picked one that sounds somewhat similar to avoid that. 

His grandmother and some of the girls around the village would shorten it to Ji, since the one time someone else tried to call him by his actual name he was punished for it by his parents. No one besides them and the mudang is supposed to know about his predicament, they told him. Others wouldn’t be able to understand the blessing he was bestowed with. 

It didn’t matter that his grandma didn’t care, or that the girls, while confused, were also quite open to the idea. Even his brother was ready to refer to him the right way, until his parents intervened to stop him. 

He doesn’t get a lot of time to sit with his thoughts on the matter before someone else enters the room. A different man, his features way more delicate than Seungmin’s, framed by long, light hair. Almost white, especially when the sunlight hits it directly. His clothing is similar to that of the other god, though the jeogori is blue in colour. 

“You’re awake,” the man says. His voice is deep, way deeper than what Jisung expected from looking at his face. He comes closer, carrying a tray with a bowl of steaming food in it. There are freckles on his face, Jisung notes as the man comes closer. “How are you feeling, Jisu? It looks like you’re recovering quite well, but do you feel any pain? Discomfort?” 

It’s that name again. Jisung’s fists clench where they hold the blanket over his chest, but he keeps his voice steady. “Just a little sore,” he tells the man as he lets his eyes sweep over his body before settling on his face. He’s pretty, delicate yet there’s still some masculinity to him and Jisung can’t help the jealousy bubbling underneath his skin. “What should I call you?” 

“Oh, I’m Yongbok! One of the gods residing in the village!” The man replies, sending a bright grin in Jisung’s direction. He places a bowl of juk in Jisung’s hands and motions him to start eating. “So, your parents said you’re to be our bride.” 

“My parents?”

Yongbok nods. “In their letters. Honestly, we didn’t get them until the night we found you. Most people around here are illiterate, so we usually don’t check.” 

“I had no idea they sent any,” Jisung mutters, his hand moving to swirl the porridge around without putting any inside his mouth. “Seungmin-nim said I’ll be your servant.” 

“That is the plan,” Yongbok confirms. “As breathtaking as your beauty is, not all of us enjoy women as romantic companions and we have an agreement between us. It’s all of us or none, so taking you in as a servant seems like a good compromise.” 

Jisung fights off the blush that threatens to show on his face at the compliment. “Compromise? How so?” He asks. After all, becoming a servant should be considered a massive downgrade in comparison to marrying a god. 

“The mudang in your village aren’t too subtle,” Yongbok replies with a solemn tone. “That, and the ancestral spirits don’t particularly like them, so they told us all about their plan right when we brought you here.” 

Oh, so he is doomed. Completely and utterly done. There is no coming back from this. “I am so sorry about them, Yongbok-nim,” he manages to utter before trying to move the bowl so he can bow again, but he is stopped by gentle hands holding onto his.

“Don’t worry, Jisu, the spirits seem to adore you. They begged us to spare your life and said that you were against the plan from the very beginning.” Yongbok’s voice is soothing and so are his hands, gently caressing Jisung’s. “We should punish you and the entire village, but we’ll see how well you’ll serve us instead. That seems quite fair, doesn’t it?” 

“Of course,” he breathes out. Yongbok’s gaze is unrelenting, like he’s looking straight into Jisung’s soul and he can’t help but squirm under its weight. His blanket slides down, uncovering his chest and he curls onto himself even more, desperately trying to hide the lumps of flesh. 

“There’s no need to hide,” Yongbok tells him, still not letting go of his hands. “I won’t look if you don’t want me to, but you should probably get used to people showing skin around here.” 

“I don’t want anyone to look at me like that,” Jisung mutters. His eyes sting even as he keeps them shut so he doesn’t have to see either his body, or Yongbok’s expression. “Especially myself.” 

“For what it’s worth, I think you look lovely, even if I haven’t seen much,” Yongbok says before taking the bowl from him. Jisung takes it as a chance to tug the blanket up, covering his chest as much as he can. “There are clothes for you on the desk near the wall. Wear them after you’ve finished eating.”

“Thank you, Yongbok-nim.” 

“Ah, there’s no need to thank me just yet,” the god waves Jisung off. “I’m sure you’ll express your gratitude in other ways besides empty words as we move forward.”

⋆❆˚｡₊⊹❅⋆

Yongbok was right. 

The moment Jisung recovered he was put to work, without even meeting all of the remaining gods. They put him in a basic, brown hanbok and told him to clean, cook and fetch whatever struck their fancy at any given moment. Most of them are nice, although some do get on Jisung’s nerves. 

For example Hyunjin, a god so useless he can’t even decide what flavour of tea he wants. 

Two sips. Two sips is all the god took before spitting the next one back into the cup and grimacing. “Jisu-yah, go prepare some sollip-cha instead, this one doesn’t fit the atmosphere. The pine will help a lot.” 

That’s fine. It’s not like this is the third pot of tea he’s going to prepare in the last two hours or so while the god continues to scribble something on a paper scroll. At least they have a decent amount of pine needles stored in the palace as Jisung’s seen while rummaging the storage for ingredients for a salve that Yongbok requested the other day. 

Still, it’s a pain to go there for the sake of preparing a pot of tea that likely won’t even be finished. He goes to fetch the jar of dried needles from the storage room, passing by another god, Minho, who completely ignores Jisung’s presence as he continues to play with the stray cats that like to hang out around the palace. 

When Jisung comes back to Hyunjin’s room, the god is still hunched over his scroll with a piece of charcoal in his hand. The skin on it is darkened and so is the sleeve of his previously pale pink jeogori. 

Jisung settles in front of a small table, close to the one Hyunjin is working at. He takes a small, clean tea pot and places a handful of pine needles inside before standing up to place it over the low heat of a flame to infuse. 

It’s not long before he’s able to take the tea pot back to Hyunjin’s table and pour him a cup. The man takes it, even if his eyes stay focused on the scroll in front of him and he nearly spills half of the tea all over it. “That’s perfect,” he says, snapping his lips a few times before taking another sip and setting the cup down. He waves Jisung off before continuing to scribble. 

Another hour passes like this, with Jisung diligently refilling the god’s cup with tea and putting the pot back over the flame every so often to keep it warm. The moment Hyunjin finishes drinking the last cup, he finally breaks the silence. “Alright, let’s go,” Hyunjin says before standing up and walking to the door. “Are you coming or not?” 

Jisung gapes at the man before scrambling up to follow. He doesn’t bother to put the used utensils away, not when the god keeps his eyes on him to hurry him up. “Where are we going, Hyunjin-nim?” He asks instead as he opens the door for Hyunjin to pass through. 

“The stable’s been leaking lately, my wife asked me to fix it,” Hyunjin replies. 

Hold on. “Wife?” That’s not what Yongbok said. They’re supposed to be all men, in some form of a relationship with each other. That’s why they couldn’t take Jisung as a bride. Unless Yongbok lied. 

“Changbin, I don’t know if you’ve met him yet,” Hyunjin answers without looking back. Why would a man let himself be called another man’s wife, Jisung has no clue. But he is also smart enough to not question the divine. “He takes care of the horses.” 

“You have horses?” Jisung perks up at that. He hasn’t seen Almond Eye in days, he can’t help but worry about her whenever he has any time to himself. Are they treating her well? Do they take her out for walks outside? Are they feeding her the way Jisung instructed them to?

“Of course we do?” Hyunjin replies, his voice tilting up as if Jisung’s question was so ridiculous he can’t believe he had to answer it. “Why wouldn’t we have them?” 

“Well, it’s not like you travel a lot,” Jisung mutters. If he’s being honest, he hasn’t seen any of the gods leave the palace in the time he’s spent there. He’s not even sure if they can. 

The god sighs. “True, but it would be quite cruel to house a god of horses and not give him any to take care of, wouldn’t it?” 

“Is it Changbin-nim?” 

“Yes, he spends most of his days there,” Hyunjin replies. “He started off by watching over the ones in your village as he was settling down here, but then they gave us a foal as a gift so he took it in as his own to care for.” 

“That’s quite sweet,” Jisung says. Most of the stories of gods that he’s heard involved them demanding a blood sacrifice, even of the things they supposedly protected. A god of virgins requiring the blood of one to ensure help, the god of cattle wanting a head of a bull. It’s a surprise the foal lived. 

“That’s just Changbin for you,” Hyunjin sighs. “He looks intimidating, so much so the villagers offered to kill a virgin for him the last time he visited, but he truly could never willingly hurt anyone.”

Sounds nice. Too bad the man never requested anything from him. “He sounds nice,” is what Jisung settles on. 

“He is, even when he goes on and on about whatever mare or stallion caught his eye in that decade,” the god tells him before they come to a stop in front of a small building. “We’re here.” 

It’s made out of light wood, with pillars supporting the thatched roof that goes further than the main structure. There’s a bit of land separated with a fence on the back of the stable, clearly meant for the horses to stroll around in. There’s no grass growing there and the ground is uneven, a sure sign of it being used well. Overall, it seems to be in good shape if you ignore a few rather big patches of missing straw on the roof. 

“Hyunjin-nim, what happened to the roof?” Jisung asks. It doesn’t seem like the kind of damage that happens naturally.

“No one wants to admit to anything,” Hyunjin starts after taking a deep sigh. “But I’m pretty sure someone completely unqualified tried to fix it when I was busy and made it even worse than it was before,” he finishes off with a huff before flipping his hair and walking over to the side of the stable.

This man is so dramatic. If Jisung had to bet he’d say he’s a god of theatrics or other form of performance. The tone of his voice, the gestures he makes with his, admittedly, beautiful body all point to it. So does his complaining about other members of this complicated relationship between all the gods residing here, and his demanding attitude towards Jisung, though that might be chalked up to Jisung’s social status in this place. 

Still, he follows without a word and sees Hyunjin climb a ladder leaning on the side of the stable. It wobbles for a second and the god flails his arms around to regain balance, but Jisung manages to jump in to stabilize him before he could fall. Another huff before Hyunjin fully climbs up.

“Hand me a yelm,” Hyunjin yells from where he’s perched on the roof. There are some placed close to the building, not well arranged as if someone was just using the straw before they arrived here. 

“Is this like a hobby of yours?” Jisung blurts out after climbing the ladder and handing off the dry material. 

Hyunjin snorts at his question, only to then look at him with a shocked expression. “Wait, you’re serious?” He asks, scandalized at Jisung’s audacity. “This is my domain!” 

Is this a joke? It has to be, Jisung refuses to believe he’s running around and catering to every whim of a god whose domain is, what? “Rooftops?” 

A moment passes in silence before either of them speaks again. “What? No!” Hyunjin yells, waving his arms around. “I am a god of keeping the warmth inside! Of making sure no water will leak inside of the house! You should be grateful for my work, otherwise you’d be dead before you turned five with the way your village does their roofs!” 

“That’s… oddly specific.” 

“All of us are,” Hyunjin scoffs. “I know you guys think we’re all super powerful gods but we’re actually minor ones, otherwise we’d be stationed somewhere more important than in the middle of nowhere.”

“So what do others do? Yongbok-nim’s probably related to medicine, right? Or taking care of those in need.” 

Hyunjin levels him with a look so unimpressed it nearly makes Jisung want to disappear in a stack of hay. “You’re about as off as a drunk man trying to sing along with a gisaeng,” he tells Jisung before turning back to arranging the straw the right way. “You’ll see him in action soon, considering that spring is coming.” 

“Is it sowing, then?” Jisung asks. 

“Close,” Hyunjin replies before gesturing for Jisung to pass him more straw. “He protects what’s planted so that animals don’t destroy the fields before anything even sprouts.” 

Not quite what he expected, but it still fits. Somewhat. Definitely more than Hyunjin being a god of something that actually requires doing things beyond sitting on his ass and demanding Jisung does all the actual work.

Despite Jisung’s doubts, the god is very skilled in what he does. At least Jisung thinks so, he can’t say he’s the most familiar with thatching. It’s a man’s job, and a somewhat dangerous one at that. There was no way in hell anyone in the village would’ve let him handle it. 

Hyunjin’s moves are confident, practiced. Like he’s been doing it for decades, centuries even. So long that it’s ingrained down to his very bones. It’s mesmerizing, to the point where Jisung gets lost in watching the god until he clears his throat. 

“We need to get moving to the other side,” Hyunjin says before standing up. “Take as much straw as you can, or you’ll have to run back for it later.”

Jisung doesn’t even have it in himself to complain or protest with the embarrassment travelling through his bloodstream at getting caught watching the god. So he listens, gathers as much straw as his lithe arms allow him to and runs in the same direction Hyunjin went off to. 

He tries to keep his eyes on the ground but his plan gets derailed when he hears a yelp above him. When he looks up he sees Hyunjin flailing his arms around, trying to regain his balance as his body wobbles around on the rooftop. The god slips, falling face first in the straw and sliding down, only holding himself above ground by gripping one of the spars. 

“Jisu-yah!” Hyunjin yells, voice way more panicked than Jisung’s ever heard him despite the fact that he’s only around two meters above ground. “Jisu-yah, save me!”

What the hell. Jisung stands rooted in his spot, staring at the panicking god above him. The spar makes a ripping noise, spurring him into action. “Shit,” Jisung mutters as he drops the straw to the ground and makes his way to where Hyunjin’s legs are hanging from. “Hyunjin-nim, you can let go!” He yells, raising his arms to prepare to catch the man.

“Let go!? Are you insane!?” Hyunjin yells back, kicking his feet hard enough he smacks Jisung’s left hand. “Oh heavens, I think I hit a spirit. They’ll curse me! Jeonginnie will make fun of me for years!”

“That was my hand!” Jisung yells back, cradling his arm between his thighs. That hurts like a bitch. 

“Oh, thank heavens,” Hyunjin mutters, though his legs still flail a little before Jisung grabs one of them by the ankle, causing the god to yelp. 

“I’ll send you straight to heaven if you don’t stop,” he mutters and then pulls. The spar rips even more and Hyunjin screams loud enough Jisung’s sure everyone on the palace grounds, from the gods, through ancestral spirits, to even the smallest of bugs have heard him. 

“What are you doing!?” The god whimpers. 

“Trying to get you down, Hyunjin-nim,” Jisung spits back before pulling again. Another ripping sound and yet another scream. At this rate Jisung won’t make it to the seollal with all his senses intact. He takes a deep breath and puts all his strength into the next pull. 

Jisung might have miscalculated, he thinks when Hyunjin’s body collides with his own and sends both of them straight to the ground. Thankfully, the straw scattered all over cushions most of the impact, but the weight of a grown man suddenly falling on Jisung’s chest knocks the breath out of him. 

“Oh heavens, I’m still alive,” Hyunjin mutters, his voice filled with awe. He sits up, putting the entirety of his weight on Jisung’s abdomen and making him cry out in pain. “Oh, shut up.” 

“It seems like you guys are getting quite cozy,” another voice says right above them, startling both the god and the mortal. Hyunjin jumps in place, landing, once again, on Jisung’s abdomen who can do nothing but wheeze under the weight before delivering a weak punch to the god’s side. 

“Seungmin!” Immediately, Hyunjin cheers up and is suddenly well enough to stand up and run into the other god’s arms, quite literally taking the weight off the mortal. Never before has Jisung been so thankful to witness vaguely homoerotic activities. “How have you been? It feels like I haven't seen you in ages!” 

“We ate together less than a week ago,” the man deadpans, seemingly displeased with Hyunjin’s affection even if Jisung can clearly see him leaning into the touch. Sneaky bastard. 

“It’s been too long,” Hyunjin mutters, hiding his face in Seungmin’s hair. “Come on, I want to cuddle in my room.”

And they leave. Jisung stays on the ground, covered in straw and dust, chest still heaving and these two little rats just leave him there. The sheer audacity, especially of Seungmin who even throws Jisung a smirk over his shoulder right before they enter the palace again. 

At least it’s somewhat warm, despite the fact that it’s still winter. The sun is shining, its heat strong enough to melt some of the snow that’s gathered on the courtyard. It certainly gives enough warmth for Jisung’s eyes to slip shut underneath it. He burrows deeper into the straw, like he’s a small rodent seeking warmth to combat the harsh weather. Sleeps pulls him under without notice, taking advantage of his lowered guard to attack him with slumber.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s back in his quarters. Once again stripped, this time only to his undergarments, and put under thick, fluffy covers. The door creaks and Jisung whips his head in its direction, only managing to catch a glimpse of a disappearing figure. 

It wasn’t anyone he’s familiar with. Their hair was light and long, but their figure was much more muscular than that of Yongbok. Jisung didn’t catch much else, not with his head still syrupy with sleepiness that threatens to overtake him yet again. He yawns, mind slipping away from the mysterious figure and back to the comfort and warmth he’s enveloped in. He’s sure he’ll meet whoever that was soon enough either way.

⋆❆˚｡₊⊹❅⋆

Overall, the life of servitude suits Jisung quite well. He doesn’t have to spend half his day kneeling and praying to the gods, instead that time is dedicated to running around doing whatever they want from him any given day. Sometimes he’s only needed to plate their food, the dishes just appearing in the kitchen before Jisung makes his way there instead of making him cook them every time. 

Other times they take up the entire day with their requests. Recently he had to help Hyunjin sample all the teas in their storage to see which ones went bad already. The other day he finally met Changbin, when the god asked for help with deep cleaning the stables. 

Despite the hard work or the way his muscles ached the next day, that might have been Jisung’s favourite day so far. Not only did he get to meet the two horses currently in Changbin’s care — Grass Wonder and Nice Nature, but he also spent the entire day in nice company. 

Because that’s what Changbin turned out to be — nice. Even when he put on the intimidating front when coming to fetch Jisung in the morning, standing in his doorway with his arms crossed over his chest in a way too tightly fit hanbok that made all the muscle underneath insanely prominent. Jisung saw right through the act. 

Immediately he knew that this god would not force him to do any work he didn’t want to do and he was right. If something was too hard for Jisung to do alone, Changbin was there with a helping hand. After a while it was the god doing most of the heavy lifting, as Jisung got so comfortable in his company he started whining about his limbs hurting. He didn’t get away scott free, not even close to it with how relentlessly Changbin teased him at every turn, but for once he didn’t feel the need to second guess the intent behind those words. 

Too bad Changbin doesn’t seem to need much help besides that. At most Jisung will pass the god while running errands for other gods, usually Hyunjin who still can’t seem to be able to do anything on his own, and he’ll get a cheerful greeting. Sort of how things are with Yongbok, though the blonde tends to call him at least once per week to ask if Jisung’s heard about any changes to the villager’s plans for spring or to have him make some tea.

It’s still better than Minho, who just keeps staring at Jisung from afar while rapidly blinking. Not a word has left the god’s mouth in Jisung’s presence so far, even if he sees Minho nearly every day. It’s unnerving. Sometimes he feels like Minho’s one of the stray cats the god likes to take care of, just waiting for a good chance to pounce on Jisung to sink his teeth into the mortal flesh.  

The thought sends a shiver down Jisung’s spine, making him whip his head around from where he’s crouching by a large bucket of warmed up water while doing his laundry. No one’s around, thankfully, so he goes right back to scrubbing his clothes clean from all the dirt. 

He zones out again, thoughts going back to the gods as they usually do when he has a bit of time to himself. Seungmin hasn’t asked for help in a while. The one time he did it was for Jisung to help him look for a scroll in their library. He was searching for some records about an emperor from centuries ago, and for some reason thought Jisung would be useful there despite only having the most basic knowledge when it comes to reading. 

Most of the time was spent with Jisung kneeling on the floor as he tried to find a scroll that he dropped. It rolled under one of the bookcases and somehow disappeared for nearly an hour. By the time he managed to find it, Seungmin had already left, but not without putting a small stack of easy to read books and a note for Jisung to take them on one of the tables. 

By now, Jisung’s almost managed to read through one of them in its entirety. A nice romance between a yangban woman and a manservant working in their estate, sneaking around behind the veil of the night away from the prying eyes. At first it felt a little scandalous, after all the woman is married, but he’s pretty sure her husband’s having an affair with one of the maids so he can’t feel bad for him anymore. 

“Jisu, right?” Someone says from behind and Jisung can’t shut his mouth fast enough to not let the squeaky sound he makes get out. “Are you busy?” 

He turns around and sees someone he hasn’t met before. He’s wearing a dark blue hanbok and has a smile on his face. It’s enough to make his cheeks bunch up and eyes close a little. Despite the black hair on his head, the man resembles a fox to an almost uncanny degree. 

“No, I’m almost finished,” Jisung replies. He’s been working for a while now and he doesn’t have that many clothes. “I just need to hang these up.” 

The smile on the man’s face widens, only serving to make him look even more like a fox. “Perfect,” he says. “We need some help setting up the Seollal celebrations.” 

“It’s Seollal already?” Jisung asks. He didn’t realize that much time had passed since he first came to this realm, since he nearly died at the altar when the people who swore to protect him from everything left him there to fend off the cold on his own. 

His heart is still bitter about it. They were completely wrong about the gods’ intentions or their character, painting them to be cruel tyrants rather than benevolent deities meant to help humans, yet they still gave him away so readily. Just because of when he was born, and that it was in the wrong body. 

“It’s today,” the man tells him with a few small nods of his head. 

“Already!?” Jisung shrieks in turn. Immediately he stands up, a basket filled with his clean clothes held by his hip before marching to where the clothing lines are. “What do you need my help with? Cooking? Cleaning?”

“No, everything’s cleaned already. Thanks to you, of course,” the man says with a chuckle. The sound is nice and deep, causing Jisung’s blood to rush straight to his cheeks. “And we get all our food for the feast from the villagers. It’s mostly about the ancestral rites.”

“Of course I’ll help,” Jisung tells him while straightening his clothes to hang them up. “I don’t know much about them, though. It was usually my brother participating instead of me.” 

“That’s fine,” the man assures him. “Besides, it will be different for us than it is for the villagers.”

The man, Jeongin, as he later introduces himself, doesn’t elaborate any further before leading Jisung to the exit. They don’t leave the palace through the main entrance, the one that leads to the temple. That way they would appear in the mortal plane of existence, making them visible to humans and that’s not something they need today as Jeongin tells him. 

Instead, Jeongin leads them to the wall surrounding the palace grounds. There’s a bunch of wooden boxes next to it, stacked in a way that makes them look like stairs. The man hops over the wall first before calling Jisung over. There’s nothing on the other side, but Jeongin helps him get down to the ground by holding him with gentle hands. 

He shouldn’t have touched that book. Now it’s like he’s back to the day when he first met Jooyeon, with his heart fluttering at every glance the handsome stranger throws his way. But it’s even worse in this scenario since he’s pretty sure Jeongin is another god, even if he hasn’t said so himself, and he already knows those are off-limits. Perhaps even more than Jooyeon was. 

By the time they make their way to the first house in the village, Jisung manages to get his heart to settle. There’s no room for any fantasies or anything else of the sort. He’s here as a servant, someone for the gods to go to for help with menial tasks. Not someone they could feasibly fall for or even desire, despite his family’s hopes.

Jeongin leads them to the shrine, a small one with only one bay. It belongs to a young couple, with one child already born and awaiting another. Jisung used to be friends with the woman when he was younger, though they drifted away when she got married. 

There’s a nice spread of offerings inside. A large bowl of tteokguk and a plate of jeon, alongside a few chestnuts. Jeongin leads them further inside, pops one of the chestnuts into his mouth and kneels on one of the mats spread on the floor. Jisung follows a step behind. 

“Hello, it’s Yang Jeongin, the god of ancestral spirits,” Jeongin starts before doing half a bow. Jisung follows with a full one, just to make sure he won’t offend anyone by not being respectful enough. “I’d like to invite you out to the feast.”

For a moment nothing happens. They just sit in silence, staring straight at the food placed in the shrine. After a while Jeongin looks back at him, as if to make sure Jisung’s still there. He sends Jisung a grin over his shoulder when they lock eyes, pretty enough to make Jisung’s breath catch in his chest before he sends a smile of his own back. 

Stupid. Don’t even think about it. The last time Jisung did he ended up heartbroken before two weeks even passed and that was already bad enough. There’s no way of telling how long he’ll spend with the gods, but he can’t imagine the potential heartbreak afterwards being any better if he lets himself develop any real feelings for Jeongin or any other god. 

His eyes are closed as he focuses on calming his heartbeat down. Breathe in and out. In and out. Slowly, carefully, calmly. It’s just a man, a gorgeous one, but still a man. A god but still a man. There is no need for his heart to act like he’s about to fight a bear. 

After a moment he opens his eyes and is met with a translucent face of an old lady squinting right at him. He blinks and she blinks right back before reaching out with her hand, destroying all the effort he put into calming his heart with one move. 

“Ah, Jisu-yah,” the woman says, her voice slightly distorted. “You’ve grown up so well. Are they treating you nicely? If not, me and my friends will teach them a lesson.” 

What the hell. Is he hallucinating? He vaguely remembers this woman from when he was a child, but all his memories of her are so blurry he can’t quite place her. Jisung tries to respond but despite his attempts only a small, strangled sound manages to leave his mouth.

“Halmeonim, I think you’re overwhelming her,” Jeongin says from behind her. His figure manages to peek through her translucent body and realizing it only serves to freak Jisung out even more. 

“I fear she’ll be afraid no matter what we do now,” the lady replies. Then, she looks back at Jisung, her face splitting in a wide grin as she reaches to grab his left cheek between her fingers. “Ah, you’re just as cute as you used to be! You always hid behind my skirt, you know?” 

It’s so weird Jisung almost starts to believe Jeongin snuck him some soju before they got there. The touch is there, right on Jisung’s skin, but it’s nowhere close to how the touch of another human feels. It’s cold and faint, more like a breeze caressing his skin than another being. 

“Halmeonim,” Jeongin repeats, voice stern despite the smile still adorning his face. “Please, take a seat.”

“Aish, always straight to the point with you.” She stands up, back bent a little and slowly makes her way to the spread. Her feet don’t touch the ground, yet she still moves them like she’s walking. A grunt leaves her mouth when she lowers herself to sit. 

“Well, do you need any help this year? With your blessings for the family?” Jeongin asks.

“Hm….” The granny hums, stroking her chin between her fingers. She sighs deeply before opening her mouth. “I think I can manage by myself this time around, they didn’t ask for much and when they did it wasn’t even for themselves. What I will ask of you is that you treat this little lady behind you well, or else I’ll make sure none of us cooperate for the next rites.”

Jeongin laughs at that. A full belly laugh, deep and rich, making Jisung’s fingertips tingle with a need to reach out. “Wouldn’t that harm the villagers more than me?”

The woman scoffs. “They did it to themselves,” she says coldly, though when her eyes travel to meet Jisung’s they’re filled with a weird sense of sadness. “We tried to stop them from sacrificing Jisu but they were too stubborn. Besides, we all died before we could do much about it. Then we tried to tell the mudang how cruel all of you are in hopes that would change their minds, but that didn’t work either.” 

That’s… nice to hear, actually. That someone was trying to help him back then. That someone had his back before he even knew how much he’d need it. That not everyone around him saw him as a tool to improve their own lives. 

“You’d think they’d be more concerned with the opinion of their elders with how much they worship their ancestors, huh?” Jeongin says, a little sarcastically. 

“It’s only us and our parents that really remember how bad the last sacrifice went. The others wouldn’t believe us over the stories of even older ancestors bragging about their success after giving someone over,” the lady replies, reaching out to take one of the jeon. She breaks it in her hands, ending up with three uneven pieces. She reaches out to the god with the largest one. “Especially the one about you.” 

She gives him another piece of the jeon, but right as he’s about to take a bite out of it she smacks his hand and gestures in Jisung’s direction. “Ah, thank you,” Jisung tells her with a small bow when Jeongin passes him the pancake. 

“Eat up, child. You’ll need it.” 

They don’t stay long afterwards, instead moving to another house. It’s more of the same there, a couple of spirits come out when Jeongin invites them to the feast, they mention how they remember Jisung from when he was a baby and then decide they’d appreciate a bit of help with giving their children a blessing. 

Because of that they wait until their children enter the shrine again to collect leftover food for their own feast. When they bow, Jeongin and the couple pass on their blessings as Jisung watches from behind them. He can’t say he quite gets it, but it’s still a good experience to have, he supposes. 

Not every house needs much help. Most of the spirits just appreciate having a quick chat with Jeongin with only a few of them actually requesting help from him. Some seem to be more familiar with him than the others, calling him affectionate names and pinching his cheeks the way that first halmeoni did to Jisung. 

“Ah, Jisu-yah!” One of the spirits calls out to him when she notices his presence. “I hoped that youngster would’ve taken you out of here, what’s his face…”

“Jooyeon?” Jisung supplies. This old lady is yet another person that he can’t recognize despite her seemingly knowing him way too well.

“Yes, Jooyeon!” She exclaims with a huge grin on her wrinkled face. “Such a good man, he could’ve taken you to the capital! Settle down somewhere other than here!” 

Jisung chuckles in response, not quite knowing how to answer the lady. She keeps going on about how nice of a couple they’d make, how Jisung would’ve made a good wife for Jooyeon, how good of a mother he’d be and Jisung can barely breathe through it all. 

The fact that he would’ve ended up as a wife and a mother had he ended up marrying Jooyeon wasn’t unknown to him. It was a trade he was willing to make at the time, in exchange for a little bit of freedom that comes with choosing who you’d dedicate your life to. Foolishly, he thought he’d be able to withstand what he now knows would be fate worse than death for him, just for that sliver of freedom. For a chance of getting away. 

“Halmeonim, we need to go,” Jeongin says after placing a steady hand on Jisung’s shoulder to lead him away. The spirit tries to protest, but Jeongin doesn’t stop. They start making their way back to the temple and a few minutes pass before he speaks again. “Was he your lover?” 

The question is enough to make Jisung stumble. “Oh, no,” he replies, voice quiet and soft against the winter air. “We never got that far. They ran him out once they realized he’s interested.” 

“Why? Was he a criminal or something?” 

Jisung can’t help the laugh that escapes his mouth. “Far from it. A government official, they said he’d take me away and they couldn’t accept that.” 

“That’s a little excessive,” Jeongin replies. When Jisung looks at him he sees his eyebrows furrowed as the god looks ahead. “I mean, with his position you’d think he’d be in a good place to support you and surely he’d help you visit your family.” 

“How could they promise me to another man when they already had plans to give me away to you?” 

That stops Jeongin in his tracks. There’s a frown on his face when he looks at Jisung, like he’s a puzzle the god can’t quite solve. Like he’s just been presented with a new piece that completely ruins his plan of action. 

“What do you mean by that?” The god asks. 

Jisung looks up at the sky, feeling a few snowflakes fall on his face as he closes his eyes. “I mean that they decided to sacrifice me to the gods the moment I was born. The moon chose me for this role, so they had to treat me accordingly. I had no choice.” 

For some reason Jeongin looks like he was just struck. Eyes wide, mouth slightly open and moving like he’s trying to say something but can’t find the right words. For a moment Jisung feels smug about rendering a god speechless, but there’s such a visible sadness in his eyes that the thought quickly fades away. Like it was never there to begin with. 

“So you lived all your life knowing how it will end?” the god asks. 

“Of course.” Jisung scoffs. “Sometimes I feel like that’s all I’ve ever been to my parents — a blessing from the moon they’re meant to give away.” 

Silence covers them just like the snowflakes falling from the sky. It stretches in the space between them, pulling harder and harder until it snaps. “I’m so sorry.” Jeongin says, his voice breathless. 

“Why?” 

“That you had to go through all this,” the god replies. “Because of us.”

There’s nothing you could’ve done, Jisung wants to say. It’s not your fault. You didn’t decide on this. You didn’t get a say. My parents are the ones at fault, not you. Not any of you. 

Jisung turns without a response. 

⋆❆˚｡₊⊹❅⋆

The silence stays awkward as they make their way back to the palace. 

Neither of them talk, even when Jeongin reaches out to help Jisung jump over the wall again. Nor when they walk through the palace grounds, with Jisung avoiding the god’s gaze so obviously it must be painful to see from the outside. 

Thankfully, they’re saved when they run into Seungmin who immediately steals Jisung away to help prepare for the evening feast. Changbin waits for them near the entrance and together they transfer the offerings from the mortal realm to the palace. 

The moment Jisung realizes this will be the first time he’ll get to see all the gods in one place, he stumbles. Nearly drops the bowl of japchae he is carrying, but a pair of strong arms manages to catch him just in time. 

“Easy there.” He hears a soft, steady voice right next to his ear as he gets put upright again. They stay close for a moment as he reorients himself, their presence warm and comforting next to his. When Jisung feels steady on his feet again, he finally turns to look at his saviour. 

It’s another man, wearing a purple ceremonial hanbok that does nothing to hide his well-built figure. His hair is long, reaching past his shoulder in light streaks, similar in colour to those of Yongbok. He seems calm, his face decorated by a small smile that shows off his dimples. Somehow, Jisung instantly realized he’s in charge of this place. 

“Hyung, shouldn’t you be in the dining room?” Changbin asks, his arms bulging under the weight of two big gourds of soju. 

“I felt like you’d need my help here,” the man replies, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks at Seungmin. Then, his features soften as he turns to Jisung. “I don’t think we’ve met yet. I’m Chan, the god of small miracles and fast reflexes.” 

“Jisu,” he answers, a little breathlessly before clearing his throat. “I’m glad to finally meet you, Chan-nim.” 

The man laughs and Jisung starts to realize that his heart is not well equipped to deal with all of this. Even knowing that literally nothing would ever come out of it considering his body. Still, the traitorous little bastard can’t help but speed up at the sound and urge all of Jisung’s blood to travel up to his cheeks. 

A snort coming from next to Jisung snaps him out of it. It’s Seungmin, looking between him and Chan with such a knowing look Jisung wishes the ground would open underneath him and swallow him whole. Never let him up. Personally, he thinks he’d do well amongst worms and other bugs living underground. He’s been told he looks like one. 

“Well, let’s go then,” Seungmin says before turning to continue walking forward. “The rest must be getting sick of waiting.”

In Jisung’s humble opinion, everyone seems to be doing fine. Or as fine as one might be doing when Hyunjin gets really into whatever monologue he’s currently spewing. Something about a yangban lady being divorced for having an affair with her maidservant, how unfair the concept of arranged marriages is and that it should be a crime to protest against love. 

It all goes in one ear and leaves the other. Jisung’s already heard about it when Hyunjin came to fetch him and asked about the book he’s been reading. What was supposed to be him setting up a bath for the god ended up with Jisung sitting on a stool right next to the tub while Hyunjin bathed himself and continued to go on and on about the woes of tragic love.

When Yongbok told him the gods are pretty casual about nudity, he didn’t expect them to care this little. Hyunjin didn’t even wait for Jisung to finish filling the tub with water and putting all of the scented oils in before shedding his clothes and getting in, leaving the pale skin of his bare bottoms as the first thing Jisung saw when he looked up 

As embarrassing as it is he nearly fell face first into the bathtub himself, for which he got relentlessly teased by the god. “Oh, little mouse also wants a bath?” Hyunjin said when he finally sat down, before pulling out one of his hands and flicking the water droplets straight at Jisung’s face. “There you go, if you stay nice I’ll let you bathe after me.” 

By the time the god was finished with his tirade, the water was cold and his fingertips were shriveled. There was no warning before Hyunjin stood up, the splash of water causing Jisung to look in his direction only to be met with a sight he’d rather not have seen at this point in his life. 

If you told Jisung that his first time seeing a penis in the flesh would lead to him bawling his eyes out into his pillows after running out of the room, he wouldn’t have believed you. Yet that’s exactly what happened. 

Not because he felt violated, unlike what Hyunjin thought when he appeared in his room later with a few sweets to apologize for his actions. Jisung could tell the god didn’t believe him, but for once he had enough decency not to pry. 

It was just a reminder. A bucket of cold water poured right over Jisung’s head. The harsh truth that no matter what, he’ll never look like a man should. Because that’s what he saw. Hyunjin’s manhood, the proof of who he is and his identity as a man that still holds true despite no longer being mortal. 

He will never have that. He will never have the bulge that’s sometimes visible underneath men’s clothes. He will never have a sturdy chest, honed with years of hard work. He’ll never have a voice deep enough to send shivers down someone’s spine. 

Instead he will sound like a woman does, voice soft and high that breaks whenever he tries to lower it. Instead he will look like a woman does, with soft, malleable mounds on his chest which shape can’t stay hidden under his robes for longer than a moment. Instead he will bleed like a woman does. Despite not being one. 

When Jisung comes back to the present mentally, Hyunjin is still going. Instead of trying to focus on the words, he moves to set up all the tables, putting the dishes and the cutlery the way he thinks they’re supposed to be put. He might be completely wrong, but at this point he’s pretty sure the gods won’t be offended by it. 

He places a bowl of tojangjochi on each table, as well as a bowl of rice to accompany the stew’s rich soy based taste. Then, he places two small dishes containing different kinds of kimchi, one made with cubed radish and the other with vegetables pickled in fish brine. Three small containers with fermented sauces are placed next to them. Lastly, each table gets a small cup filled with fresh scorched rice water. 

With how small the individual tables are, the remaining dishes are placed on the larger, circular table in the middle. There’s enough space for Jisung to move around freely, so he can fetch whatever any of the gods might crave without disturbing others. 

Jisung moves to the side, kneeling on the floor as he waits for the gods to settle down. They move one by one, continuing to talk as they go at it, slowly sitting in front of their tables. It’s all so casual, without any of the fanfare that Jisung expected when he first realized he’ll be spending seollal with them. 

They start to eat, not paying much attention to how they look. Jeongin stuffs his mouth full with every bite, opening it wider than Jisung thought was possible. Seungmin keeps on stealing bits of kimchi from Chan’s table whenever the man looks away, which happens quite often as he keeps nearly dropping his utensils or gets his attention stolen by someone else. 

The first time Jisung moves is to fill up Changbin’s cup again. He grabs the teapot and moves over, pouring the tea until just under the edge. Before he can move back to his place, the god grabs Jisung’s sleeve and pulls him slightly. 

“Why aren’t you eating?” Changbin asks, voice filled with concern. “There’s enough for you to join us.” 

Jisung blinks. Once, twice, not quite believing what he just heard. There’s no way the god is serious. Jisung doesn’t get to eat with any of them on a regular day, why would they let him join them on seollal? He turns his head around, half expecting to see the others laugh at him but instead he sees their faces mirror the worry he heard from Changbin. 

“You should sit down.” It’s the first time Jisung hears Minho’s voice and it’s nothing like he expected. It’s airy, light, travelling through the room like the sound of songbirds fills spring mornings. “Eat. You certainly need it with how scrawny you are.” 

Jisung’s instinct to fight back gets squashed when Changbin tugs on his sleeve again, this time harder and sending him down to the ground. Immediately there’s a bowl of rice placed in his hand and from the left Yongbok passes him a pair of clean chopsticks. A few pieces of the radish kimchi get placed on top of the rice before Changbin stands up. 

Jisung tries to turn his head around to see where Changbin is going, but a hand on his chin keeps him in place. “Eat up,” Yongbok tells him, pulling away before tapping the side of Jisung’s bowl. 

He listens. Who is he to protest an order from the gods after all? Changbin comes back with a bowl of stew and a new bowl filled with rice. The stew gets placed on the table, while the rice bowl is put on the floor, nearly causing Jisung to choke on the cubed radish he was trying to swallow. That's not right. Why would Changbin put his own food on the floor when he’s not only a god, but also a man?

A warm, steady hand rubs circles on his back as he continues to cough before someone replaces the rice in his hands with a cup of tea. He takes a big sip, likely too big to be polite but at this point he’s convinced he could take center stage in the middle of the table and perform an interpretative dance and the gods still wouldn’t say a thing about his manners. 

They’re a weird bunch. Nothing like what the villagers have warned him about. Even the ancestral spirits were off, though it seems like they weren’t going for accuracy in hopes of scaring the mudang away. Still, it’s weird enough that sometimes Jisung thinks he really died on that fateful night, right under the moonlight. Or that he fell into deep slumber, the way he’s heard some people do after being hurt severely. The kind of sleep you don’t wake up from for weeks, months even. Perhaps he is dreaming, though he’s not sure his brain would come up with a group of gods like the one surrounding him. A group so carefree, so cheerful. So loving towards each other. 

Their tender care for one another shows in little gestures. Like Hyunjin reaching out to place another jeon on Jeongin’s plate before the other can move to grab it himself. In the way Minho places a soothing hand on Chan’s nape as the god stares at his rapidly dwindling food. Or the way Seungmin relents and puts some japchae in one of the empty bowls on Chan’s table. 

Then, drinks start pouring and it seems like the gods can’t handle their liquor as well as Jisung would expect. They’re rowdy, but not in a way that makes him unsafe like the travellers who would stop for a drink at the inn in their village. They’re still warm, still filled with affection for each other that overflows through every touch, every embrace they pull each other in. 

Hell breaks loose the moment Minho reaches out to rub Yongbok’s chin before pulling him in for a quick kiss. It’s soft, barely there, yet filled with so much care it hits Jisung straight through his chest like an arrow that wedged itself between his ribs. Other gods shout, then whistle to try getting another kiss out of the pair, without much success, as Minho moves back to his food. 

But Yongbok seems determined. Determined enough that he faces Jisung, who immediately pales and widens his eyes in a way that surely makes him look like a deer who just ran into a hungry wolf in the middle of the woods. Or a mouse discovered by a feisty housecat, trembling in fear at what will happen to it when the feline’s claws sink into its flesh. 

Thankfully, the mouse’s life is spared as the cat motions it to move back a little. Jisung listens, because of course he does, and as a reward he gets to be in the front row seat of the filthiest, most erotic kiss his eyes ever got to witness. 

Jsung can’t quite tell where Yongbok’s tongue ends and where Changbin’s starts, despite the fact that they’re only a foot away from his own face. They’re so close he swears he can feel the hot breath fanning over his skin whenever they break their kiss before diving in again. There’s teeth, way more than Jisung thought were involved in any kind of kissing and so, so many sounds. 

The wet squelch of their tongues, heavy breaths, light moans as Changbin nips Yongbok’s bottom lip. Combined with the visuals right in front of him, Jisung can’t help but clench his thighs as he feels slick wetness seeping out of him. 

“Alright,” Chan’s voice snaps all three of them out of the trance they were put in. “At this rate you’re gonna traumatize her.” 

‘I don’t know, hyung,” Yongbok says, voice even lower than it usually is as he leans closer to Jisung’s face. His lips are red, swollen from all the kisses and slick with spit. He’s the most gorgeous sight Jisung’s ever seen. “I think she liked it.” 

“Yongbok,” Minho interrupts, stern in a way that makes Yongbok visibly shiver. The blonde pulls back, but not before sending an exaggerated wink in Jisung’s direction. “Don’t be rude.” 

“Sorry,” Yongbok says to the entire table, though Jisung can’t imagine any of them truly minded. Otherwise they’d have stopped them earlier, he’s sure. Then, the god turns to look straight at Jisung again, eyes just a little less intense than earlier. “I hope I didn’t make you uncomfortable.” 

“It’s fine,” Jisung squeaks, so unconvincingly the entire table laughs. Finally, he ducks his head to avoid looking at them, belatedly realizing he could’ve done that much sooner. 

“It’s time for some singing, don’t you think?” Hyunjin says after clapping his hands to get everyone’s attention. The rest of the table hums in agreement before Seungmin clears his throat and starts off the song. 

It’s joyful. Jisung’s belly hurts as he keeps laughing at the exaggerated voices Changbin and Jeongin keep singing with. As he claps along to the song, he realizes he doesn’t remember the last time he was this happy. 

They sing of winter, the cold that seeps through your body down to the bones. Of the snow that crunches beneath your feet as you walk outside. Of each breath that turns into a cloud when it meets outside air. 

They sing of the upcoming spring, the snow melting and turning into clear water that will seep into the ground. Of the plants sprouting from it, colouring the world green once again. Of the hard work that will come with longer days, the chirping of birds and the rays of the sun that will accompany it.  

Between laughter and song, winter ends.