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hi again, i'm bo ₍ᐢ. .ᐢ₎ and introduce to you okamoto kentaro! kentaro has a profile to check out, more scribbles about him below, pinboard, & reach me on discord @/baebo.

#建 / ooc #hd:intro #pls treat my 3rd kid well 🫶#👽

hdyeonseok

yeonseok agrees that he probably is a bit of a masochist. punishment and praise are both consequences he enjoys in equal measure, so long as the voice that delivers the verdict is dulcet, and the mouth that it falls from, sweet. okamoto kentaro seems sweet. yeonseok has never claimed to be immune to the appeal of him. he sighs, reluctantly. “i’m worried you underestimate the kinda shit i get up to when ‘m not being chaperoned. if the city’s tired of being watched, then… let it watch me. i don’t wanna be a tourist, hyung. i wanna bring this place its color. light. whatever it wants— ‘s why i’m here.”

his eyes flick down to regard the innocuous little tug at the cuff of his sleeve. i’m not going anywhere, kentaro says. and yeonseok knows he means the words right now, yet his traitorous mind still thinks it necessary to retaliate: but you will. ( sooner or later, everyone does. ) a streak of something ugly and possessive tears through him, then, and he reaches up to hook one of his fingers around kentaro’s, childishly. it’s almost comical, feeling like this, considering the fact that none of it is his to even begin with.

“… don’t be nice to anyone else, then,” he hears himself say, after a pause. his eyes dart up to kentaro’s again, and he finds them soft and yielding behind a dark curtain of hair. arresting. something warm spills over and across the expanse of yeonseok’s chest. “your secret ‘s safe with me, as long as it’s mine.”

after a brief moment of consideration, he takes a step backward— closer to the set of doors that lead back inside, and gingerly pulls kentaro along with him. “but hyung,” he starts again. he is going to freeze if he stays out here, but even after his companion’s acknowledgement of the fact, yeonseok still finds himself feeling hesitant to return. “if you’re mostly ice, that means there’s still a small part of you made of something else. right? …… what is it, then? show me.”

kenhd

"fine," he says like it costs him nothing and everything all at once, "the secret is yours."

honestly, kentaro's first instinct was to say something deflective. you know, a dry and half-serious humor that'll turn the moment sideways before it gets too close to anything living. some stupid comment about organ failure or freezer burn, but then he feels yeonseok hooked finger around his. it's such a small thing, yet kentaro feels it everywhere. his brain (ordinarily dim but agreeable swamp) abruptly lights up with horrible clarity. he stares at their hands for seconds too long, expression flattening from the effort of containing a grin from forming and his cheeks from heating up. dangerous, he thinks absently. still, he lets yeonseok pull him a step closer to the doors. closer to the music bleeding faintly through the walls like his very pulse. yeonseok isn't trying to win him over so much as gently pry him apart at the seams to see what's inside.

the terrible thing is? kentaro likes the thought of him doing so.

his laugh comes quiet, "you make it sound easy." he tilts his head back slightly, eyes half-lidding toward the snow-choked sky above them. "i dunno," honest enough to hurt a little. "mostly i just feel like a haunted apartment someone keeps renting out despite the very obvious problems." the corner of his mouth twitches. there and gone. this time, he closes his hand properly around yeonseok's and gives him a tug toward the doors. "c'mon, then," he says. another tug, gentler. "where are we going?"

he pushes the balcony door open with his shoulder, warm light and distant music spilling over them again. "if you're gonna show you anything," he mutters, already steering yeonseok down the quieter hallway instead of back toward the ballroom, 'we need to escape the world's most irritating rich people. trick is, you can't let go of my hand."

#建 / events #hd:yearend2k25 #hdyeonseok

angelc0quette222

#建 / face

hdyeonseok

little swan thrummed gently in yeonseong’s ears for a long, syrupy second— the rise and fall of its lilt sweet and honeyed— before it was punctuated suddenly by the panicked sound of his own heart, beating up and into the hollow of his throat. he’d made a terrible mistake. the stranger that now stood before him had been gifted a voice like silk gauze, soothing and soft to the ear, but unexpectedly heavy with the burden of tremendous reputation. authority. yeonseong could not imagine bearing even a fraction of the weight. he bent himself down at the waist, into a low, apologetic bow. “… forgive me, please, for the discourtesy.”

truthfully, he’d known something was wrong even before the unfamiliar voice had substantiated it. the attendants of the ryu family traditionally fulfilled their responsibilities with clinical efficiency. contact with them was meant to feel impersonal and coldly detached. but the grip yeonseong found himself caught in had felt, instead, … oddly secure. steady and strong. there was a warmth in it that lingered on the inside of his wrist, and yeonseong was so starved for touch that the heat of it crept up the length of his arm and began to sear through his skin in a mortifying glow. the color of his aura had once been described as mournful. the ever-present ache of a tender bruise, and yeonseong was flushed sick with it now— sick, also, with the shame of knowing he’d offer his hand again and again, if only someone would see fit to take it.

“you’ve shown a great kindness to me, even when i’ve been so ungracious to you. i will not take it for granted.” he did not lift his head. “i— am in your debt. and if you’ll allow me the opportunity to make things right, i will.”

kenhd

kento stepped deeper into the boy's space. he was a black hole eclipsing a supernova, his presence a dark orbit that seemed to pull at the very gravity of the corridor. his dark gaze traced the path of their aura—that bruised violet that now kento could feel against his own skin like a fever. it was a silent scream of want in a world that demanded only stillness, a messy, beautiful rebellion of the soul.

"most men in this city trade in promises and jade," kento murmured, a subterranean rumble. "i trade in truths. and the truth is written in that flush across your throat." he leaned in closer, the scent of sandalwood and cold mountain air clinging to him as his scarred cheek hovered a hair's breadth from the boy's unblemished skin. the veridian light of his aura began to snake around them both, a green cage that shut out the rest of the world, "if I allow you to make things right," kento breathed, "i shall ask for the sight of your color again. i shall ask for the honesty of your light when the doors are closed..." a ghost of a smile, dark and dangerously charming, flickered across kento's lips. he allowed his hand to drift, so he stood there, the beast he is poised at the iron gate of a secret garden, waiting to see if he would be let in or cast back into the night. "or you could, perhaps, begin by granting me a name? unless of course you intend to haunt me.

kento waited for the silence of the pavillion to grow. he was no longer the guest, nor the prince; he waited, his head tilted in an elegant slant, letting the tension pull taut between them like a bowstring. he would not move first; he would see if the swan had the courage to truly answer the wolf's call.

#建 / events #hd:au #hdyeonseok

hdyeonseok

lay yourself down again and again. for @kenhd 🌸

YEONSEONG ISN’T SURE HE’S REALLY MADE FOR SPRINGTIME. as with all children of the ryu family, he’s expected to meet each of the seasons with a certain composure and presence of mind. find solace in the cyclical nature of the rhythm: the avidity of summer. aching of autumn. frigidity of winter and romance of spring. — it’s the last of these he still cannot comprehend ( and, with a considerable sort of dread, he worries he never will ). tonight, he stands obediently in the corridor outside his sleeping quarters. having spent the better part of his day trying to wring the art of calligraphy into muscle memory, his fingers now are stained with ink. his attendant has just left to retrieve a washcloth and a basin of water, and his father is getting ready to receive yet another distinguished dinner guest: progeny of an imperial line, a romantic prospect for their youngest. yeonseong cannot afford to be late. he was raised to know, and do, better.

he perks up at the sound of returning footfalls. and— if he were not so preoccupied with his own trepidation, it would not have escaped his notice that the weight and bearing of them did not belong to those of his attendant. “you’re quick.” however. a smile of misplaced relief crosses his features instead, and he extends one of his hands up and outwards to offer it: pale skin and pitch ink. an error of ample consequence, to mistake a scion of royalty for a mere servant. “i am comforted to be in your care.”

kenhd

the corridor of the moving pavilion was a treacherous thing, gearing its geography with fickle cruelty. for kento, the silence of the rotating wood was usually a sanctuary, but tonight, the air tasted of impending rain. he had been navigating the labyrinth to avoid a scheduled tea with a matchmaker, his right side pressed into the shadows of the screens, when the hallway elongated, spitting him out into a wing that smelled of fresh pine and expensive ink.

then soft, expectant, and dangerously oblivious voice calls to him.

kento froze. his gaze fell first upon the hand extended toward him—pale, delicate, and marred by the dark kiss of calligraphy ink. slowly, kento stepped out of the gloom. he was the "wolf," the scorched heir, a man whose very face was a map of imperial violence. and he had just been mistaken for a boy fetching a washbasin. so, he did not speak. to speak was to let the rasp of his voice betray the gravity of his station. he reached out and closed his fingers around their hand. his grip was firm, the callouses of a swordsman meeting the soft skin of a scholar. guided by silence, kento led him a few paces down the hall to where a stone basin caught the runoff of a hidden mountain spring. ice-cold and crystalline. kento dipped a corner of his own sleeve into the water and with the wet silk, he began to scrub away the pitch-black ink, the dark stains swirling into clear waters.

he worked until the pale skin was clean, his thumb lingering for a second too long against the others pulse, before he released them... "there. you are restored to the pristine order the court expects. go to your dinner, little swan. i should hate to ruin your evening."

#建 / events #hdyeonseok #hd:au

hd-astrid

Lost and Insecure, I Found You:

written for @kenhd

it's always a strange time for astrid, whenever she's in korea for training. because it's a place she feels so connected to. but it's also the place that she feels so out of place. it's hard being the child of two different cultures that have blended together so well. because it seems that neither side fully accepts you. at least that has been astrid's experience thus far. she's heard all the ugly words whispered about her in korean. the equally rude words said by tourist in english. neither side realizing that she speaks both languages.

so by the time she actually gets to the hydra company building, she isn't paying attention. instead she's going through the latest insult in her head. what did they mean that korean's were supposed to be pretty and thin? and why does she care so much what two guys had to say about her? the laughter that came after was still ringing in her ears. she lets out a heavy sigh as she slams through the door that was in front of her

unfortunately for her, it seems that someone was directly on the other side of that door. at least, the amount of resistance on the door said that she had hit something. hard. "oh my god!" she exclaims in english before she quickly switches her language to korean. "I should have been paying attention. this is so my fault! are you okay? do you need anything? I can go get you some ice!" she rambles on for probably too long before she receives an answer.

kenhd

kentaro stumbled back a few steps, his combat boots scuffing the floor in a screech that felt like the perfect opening chord to a mid-90s grunge track. he blinked slowly, his expression frozen. "woah," he breathed, the word trailing off into a sigh. he look at the stranger, his head tilting slightly to the side, his dark hair obscuring half of his face like a protective shroud. he didn't interrupt; he just let the frantic energy of her words dissipate. "um, i'm fine, really," kentaro finally said, "the ice... it's all good, no worries."

he straightened his oversized shirt, "and honestly, the door hitting me was the most interesting thing that's happened in this building all day. it had substance." he didn't offer a name; names felt too permanent, too much like an anchor in a world he preferred to drift through. Instead, he just let the silence stretch out between them, heavy and expectant, like the pause between tracks on a vinyl record. "well..." he asked, a ghost of a smirk threatening to break through the gloom. "what's the next move?"

#建 / threads #hd-astrid

hdyeonseok

kentaro discredits himself with the scathing curve of his own mouth, and yeonseok watches him do it. he feels his temper flare willfully, because, from his point of view, everything regarding this cursory dismissal is caustic and untrue. for as little time as he’s spent with the company, yeonseok has monitored VARSITY with all the obstinacy of a bloodhound. he would review every practice, every performance, until his eyes were made red-rimmed and heavy— and it was in the proximity of kentaro, signed to the same label and closest to him in age, that he’d often find the most encouragement. now hearing anyone, even kentaro himself, take his contributions to pieces, yeonseok feels himself swallow the razored edge of his own displeasure.

“if that’s really what they’re going for, then they’re doing a shit job. alright?” he bends down to retrieve the neglected jacket again, then drapes it over the slope of kentaro’s shoulders. his own fingers stubbornly fist the fabric at the collar to keep the whole of it pulled taut and closed. tonight, he refuses to relent. “if you’re supposed to be some ‘cautionary tale’, then they made y’ into a lesson that’ll backfire. people will want to suffer the consequences you’re warning them against. i do. i could be doing so much worse, without you.” yeonseok’s eyes meander down to where one of his knuckles rests just under the jut of kentaro’s adam’s apple, and the sight of it there causes him to exhale something that might be taken for a laugh. sentiment is bleeding out of him, and it’s far more than what he can reckon with. he releases kentaro from his hold.

“… sorry,” he murmurs, after a beat. voice thin and uncertain. “i do— want to hear you talk about this shade of sky. never had snow like this back in ulsan; it’s new to me.” there’s a longer pause, then. yeonseok watches the wind caress kentaro’s hair and smiles against the ache. “can you just stay with me? … without. turning yourself into ice.”

kenhd

kentaro is used to people looking at him and seeing a deadline or a footnote or a really expensive haircut that doesn't look so expensive up close. riyan likes to boss him around for giggles, haru is the older cousin he never had, and seungho is a whole bully off screen (he's somewhat joking, he's just not used to frat-boy behavior), but yeonseok is looking at him like he's actually trying to memorize before the library burns down. it's a lot. it's too much. it makes the static in his brain get loud and fuzzy. yeonseok pulls the jacket back onto his shoulders and it's actually kind of terrifying. usually people would let him drift until he hits a wall. he stares at yeonseok's knuckle resting right against his throat and forgets how to breathe for a second. or maybe he just doesn't want to break the silence. his heart is doing this weird, syncopated thrumming. "you're a masochist, yeonie," he mumbles, throat full of dry leaves. "wanting the consequences..."

he looks away, out at the seoul skyline that looks like a circuit board someone spilled white ink over. he feels the weight of the jacket now—warm from yeonseok's hands and it lowkey feels like a bribe. a really effective one.

"ulsan, huh. i forgot you were a tourist in this disaster," he says, leaning his head, watching the snow fall between them, "the snow here isn't even a color. it's just... the absence of light. it's like the city's way of saying its too tired of being watched. i get it. i totally get it." for once, the exit signs don't seem as interesting as the person standing right in front of them.

"hey, i get you too. and i'm not going anywhere. i'm already mostly ice anyway, its a pre-existing affliction," he says, reaching out to tug at the edge of yeonseok's sleeve with a clumsy, frozen finger. "but if you're gonna stay out here, you're definitely gonna freeze too." his eyes go dark and tired and weirdly soft. "i guess i can hang out for a track or two. just don't tell anyone i'm being nice. it'll ruin my reputation."

#建 / events #hdyeonseok #hd:yearend2k25

🌸 CLASSIFIED ANNALS OF THE IMPERIAL SOCIAL SECTOR: 1805

🍃 SECTION I — Identity

Name: okazaki kento (岡崎健人)

Clan: royal; eldest son of a japanese imperial prime minister and noblewoman.

The Reputation: the pamphlets call him "the beast." they are somewhat true to say his father, a man of cold steel and colder discipline, "corrected" his son's defiance with a ceremonial brazier. he bears a map of his father's cruelty on the right side of his face, a landscape of burned skin that no silk can truly hide.

🦋 SECTION II — Aura

Color: a beautiful green green tint. when he is pushed to anger, it's the color of a lightning strike just before the thunder.

Trigger: pity. the moment a court lady softens her eyes or a scholar offers a "kind" word regarding his scarring, his aura spikes. he would rather be feared as a beast than coddled as a victim.

The Interpretation: the world sees him and thinks arrogance or malice. they believe he is a ticking bomb of imperial resentment. in truth, he is desperation; a man trying to burn bright enough to blind anyone looking too closely at his wounds.

🌷 SECTION III — The Heart

Arrangement: he has been offered to the social season as a "wolf among swans." matchmakers treat him as a challenge, a wild element to be "tamed" by a lady of high standing to secure a diplomatic treaty between nations. he avoids them, using the shifting architecture of the pavilion to evade every scheduled tea.

Memory: he has no visions of other worlds or past and future lives, only the echo of this silent, polite 1805. but he does he find the stillness of the mountains deafening, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting for him to fail.

The Scandal: he did not receive his scar for disobedience, but for mercy. he burned himself protecting a joseon servant his father intended to execute. but the imperial court can't know the eldest prince harbored "weak" loyalties.

#建 / events #hd:au

robotblues

Picture Book of Flowers of the Four Seasons 絵本四季花 Kitagawa Utamaro 喜多川歌麿 Japanese 1801

#建 / musings

hdyeonseok

yeonseok turns his head a fraction of an inch to study what he can of kentaro’s face, mottled in pale light and velvety shadow. the very portrait of laconism. kentaro doesn’t answer his question— not directly— but yeonseok is a believer in a great many things, trustful in a way that is, perhaps, too straightforward. so if kentaro claims time behaves differently under the watchful eyes of an audience, then yeonseok believes him. he has an unusual way of doing that himself— kentaro. influencing time. with him, hours go like minutes. minutes go like seconds. it’s a quality about him that yeonseok quite enjoys. one of many.

“wasn’t sure you’d come,” he says, finally. plain-spoken. “thought maybe you still wanted to be alone, or. that y’ resigned yourself to the life of a wallflower. far as i’m concerned, taro hyung, you’re right on time.”

he blinks as kentaro rids himself of his jacket. then blinks again when it’s held out to him, like some well-meaning donation to charity. yeonseok has, sort of, an inkling of what he’s meant to do with it, so he frowns. one of his hands, stiff and very nearly numb, curls itself around the heavy fabric. the other slips into one of its pockets and sifts through what it has to offer. “depends on your idea of fun.” his fingers touch upon something, then, and he salvages it between his thumb and index, gingerly. it’s a lighter. “— arson? very gutsy. very fun.” he raises both eyebrows suggestively, then tucks his new acquisition into the pocket of his pants, without asking. “can’t, though. ’m kinda training to become a worldwide pop sensation, and you’re already well on your way. not sure you noticed.”

he presses the jacket back into kentaro’s chest. insistent, though something in the sound of his voice softens, next: “come on. can’t have fun if i’m gonna be held responsible for VARSITY’s beloved maknae catching a cold.”

kenhd

kentaro stares at his jacket being given back. ouch. a physical rejection that feels a little too much like a metaphor. he doesn't put it back on. that would be too logical, too adult, and kentaro has spent most of his twenties perfecting the art of being neither. he just lets it hang off one hand, the sleeve dragging a little against the concrete, because wearing it now would be like a concession he's not ready to make.

"arson's too much cardio, man," he says and it's just this static-heavy mumble that barely clears the railing. "it involves, like, running... and planning. i'm more of a 'sit in the back of the van and wonder why the sky is that specific shade of bruised purple' kind of guy." he looks at yeonseok through the messy curtain of hair that's definitely overdue for a trim. the kid looks like he belongs in a movie—the kind with a depressing ending but a really fucking good soundtrack. meanwhile, kentaro just feels like the guy who shows up in the credits under 'miscellaneous regret.'

"beloved maknae is a reach," his smirk is jagged and pulling at all the wrong ways. a total wreck. "the label probably just keeps me around so the other guys look like they have a work ethic by comparison. i'm... the cautionary tale. 'don't end up like this guy, kids.'" the cold is starting to actually hurt now, a dull thrumming in his bones, but it's better than the suffocating velvet and fake laughs inside. he watches a snowflake land on yeonseok's collar and vanish...

everything is so temporary it makes his head hurt.

"what's the move then? sneak off and go find a 24-hour convenience store and eat soggy ramen? stay out here until we turn into ice sculptures...? that's actually pretty metal."

#建 / events #hd:yearend2k25 #hdyeonseok

sunlight behind your eyes —

written for riyan moon (@hdriyan) ♡

the waves were big and cold against the coast. they broke hard against the rocks, white and sharp. so, naturally, kentaro (not a great swimmer) held on to the camcorder in his hand for dear life. it was black and plastic and it felt like a shield. when the staff asked who wanted to film, he snatched it. he did not want to be seen; he wanted to see. through the lens, the world was different, it was quiet. riyan stood by the water, and he looked like a weird fairy dream that was too vivid to be real. kentaro smirks, 'tsk such a pretty boy.' today had been a lot. streets were crowded and loud, they walked like ghosts being chased by a thousand eyes. it was a shopping date for the cameras, but the pressure of the crowd was a lot, crushing and sweet. it was the price of the comeback not promised. it was the cost of being near the sun.

kentaro lowered the camera. the red light blinked like a small, bleeding heart. "eh, that doesn't look good on screen, not gonna lie," kentaro said in his brotherly-deadpan-jabs kinda way. the camcorder goes slightly to the left purposely, framing riyan's awkward stumble over a wet stone. "you're ruining the 'idol' aesthetic. try looking less like a lost puppy." his knuckles go white, it's like the sea knows he can't swim.

#建 / events #hd:debut2k26 #hdriyan

you have received a message from lee jaeyi! happy birthday, kentaro. don’t get heartburn from your energy drinks and fix your feng shui. :-)

you have received a message from okamoto kentaro! thanks. heartburn is a future-me problem. feng shui… i rotated a chair. the room feels 3% more balanced.

#建 / 🎁#HELP 😭#clocked my sad little caffeine cryptid

hdsocials

HYDRA LABELS @HYDRALABELS

HAPPY BIRTHDAY! 🎁 To. @kenhd

#建 / 🎁#( cheers to this guy!!!!! 🥳

yum-nyang

NI-KI: bad desire (with or without you)

#建 / face #oh fox demon kentaro we'll miss u legend 🦊🕯️💔 RIP

ni-kidaily

#建 / face

when it rains (foxes remember) —

written for chae hwayeong (@averyxhd) ⚰️

rain has a way of erasing scent. of thinning the world into something dreamlike, all silver sheets and ghostlight, the sky humming like a curse. kentaro stands beneath a shrine's half-rotten eave, cigarette ember flickering like foxfire disguised. he hasn't seen another of his kind in a hundred years, maybe two. maybe it's a trick of the mist again, one of the forest's bad jokes.

but then he passes, imprint in the puddles, tail half-glimpsed where a shadow shouldn't be. the flame on his fingertip gutters out.

"you're not supposed to exist," he says, low and almost reverent, a grin curling slow as smoke. "so either i'm dreaming again, or the world's ending twice." a pause. he flicks the cigarette into the rain, watches it hiss. "tell me," he murmurs, eyes catching faint gold, "what grave did you crawl out of, little brother?" the wind rises. somewhere in the dark, the shrine's bells begin to rings; soft, wrong, like they remember gods are present.

#建 / events #hd:au #(what does the kitsune say?

burn, little wolf, burn —

written for zoe park (@hdzoe) 🎃

the air in the training hall smells of silver dust and charred salt, the kind the instructors scatter before class to keep things 'civil.' kentaro can feel it sting, a prickling reminder that he's wearing a boy's skin and mind again. zoe stands across from him, all muscle and moonlight. he likes that. he likes her teeth, the way her eyes flash gold when she's bored. "don't hold back," he says, tails flicking once, twice; only visible if you look between blinks. his voice carries that lazy, mocking rhythm, as if every word's a secret. "i don't bruise easy. i just bite better."

he circles her, the soles of his shoes whispering against the chalk line that divides them. he smirks, sharp and crooked, heat curling from the corner of his lips like an unspoken spell. "so, show me, little wolf. what do you do when the monster smiles first?" he moves before the last word lands, a flash of blue fire tracing the air where he'd stood. like lighting, too fast to an untrained eye. when it clears, he's behind her, close enough for his breath to stir the hairs on her neck.

"point one," he whispers, low so only she can hear. "you blinked." slides behind her, claws retracting mid-swing. the blow could land inches from her ribs and the fire curling around his hand like a living thing, could cast her right down to hell...

#建 / events #hd:au #hdzoe #(been watching tew much naturo

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