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witchyafterdark · 7 months

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Consolidated HL Character Profile #1:

— Ominis Gaunt —

Note: The following information on this post are a combination of my personal headcanons and canon-compliant resources. I have done research on this but, of course, these are pure speculation since we do not have actual canon information about this character. I hope you all enjoy this! 💕

Tags and shout-outs are at the end of this post!

This is a very, very long post! Take your time.

—---—---—---—---—

I. Possible Birth Place

The last of the Gaunts, as we know it, have lived in poverty. The members of this once noble house trickled down to Marvolo Gaunt and his two children — Merope and Morfin.

According to the book, (Half-Blood Prince; Chapter 10, "The House of Gaunt") the family was living in a rundown shack that Harry Potter wondered whether it was inhabited, or not.

"... its walls were mossy and so many tiles had fallen off the roof that the rafters were visible in places. Nettles grew all around it, their tips reaching the windows, which were tiny and thick with grime."

The description of the Gaunts' living conditions were shown during Bob Ogden's visit in Little Hangleton around the early 1920's. As the wiki suggests, Ominis should already be in his late 40's (and close to his supposed death). It was also said that due to their vein of instability, arrogance, and pride, the family gold has been squandered well before the last generations were born.

Now, based on the canon timeline, there is a high chance that Ominis and Marvolo were siblings — something this fandom seems to agree on.

"Chronologically, Marvolo Gaunt could be one of the elder siblings who tortured Ominis with the Cruciatus Curse."

However, I personally find it hard to picture him having been born and raised in that same shack in Little Hangleton. While it's very possible to have a family living together in a small, decrepit house, it seems like there are more than four members of the second-to-the-last generation of Gaunts.

Ominis had both parents present, his Aunt Noctua, and older siblings (one of which could be Marvolo himself). That would be at least five family members living under one roof. I just find it a little difficult to believe that someone who is as kempt and posh-looking as Ominis would be living in a shack.

Also, he seems to be the least-favorite child based on how his parents and siblings have treated him. So, why would he have neat school robes if they couldn't really afford it, right? And why give the good clothes to the blind, black-sheep of the family?

This led me to think that maybe, they did have some money to spare during those times. Another accepted headcanon of the fandom is that the Gaunts needed to keep up with the façade that they are still rich and prominent by dressing up aristocratically and by speaking in a posh accent (which is called Received Pronunciation, also called the Queen's Accent).

Furthermore, we literally almost got the Gaunt Manor questline, with a courtyard, in the game but the developers cancelled it. This could be the proof that they have also thought of the fact that Ominis did not grow up, nor was he born, in a dilapidated shack.

—

But wait!

How and where did I start pinpointing the Gaunts' possible ancestral origins? Well, I found a theorized Timeline of Salazar Slytherin's Descendants compiled and analyzed by Obversa (whom I am a long-time fan of, and usual source of information). Please take a moment to check this part out:

[This is the Reddit link to the whole post!]

—

So... where do we start with Ominis' theoretical birth place? I have attached a map that is highlighted in different colors to make it easier to understand.

1. Derbyshire or Nottinghamshire (Highlighted in blue)

Situated at the center of the English map, one of the possible birthplaces of Ominis Gaunt is either Derbyshire or Nottinghamshire.

We know that the Gaunts were descendants of Cadmus Peverell, the original owner of the Resurrection Stone (a.k.a. The Heirloom Gaunt Ring). So, I got to trace back the origins of the last name Peverell, where they're from and which period they came to be.

According to House of Names, the Peverell line is one of the thousand new names that the Norman Conquest brought to England in the year 1066 CE.

William Peverell, the "natural son of William the Conqueror," received his share of 162 manors; many of which were in these two counties.

As stated from the pictured timeline above, Cadmus Peverell had been born at around the year 1214 CE.

A hundred and sixty-two manors under the Peverell family name alone seem like it's a possibility that the three Peverell brothers (Antioch, Cadmus, and Ignotus) inherited at least one of these manors as part of familial land distribution.

And once again, citing the timeline above, the Peverell line (at least in Cadmus' side) possibly ended with a female; who married a male Gaunt. It's likely that they moved to one of these manors as a start of the foundation of the House of Gaunt.

— An example in Derbyshire:

— An example in Nottinghamshire:

These two examples look like Gaunt Manor style, in my opinion. So far, I'm highly convinced that it's either Derbyshire or Nottinghamshire due to the manors being quite sequestered from city propers and large, populated towns.

2. Yorkshire (Encircled in red on the map)

This one is actually the suggestion of the lovely @diligentcranberry (Thank you for entertaining my unhinged obsession about the Gaunts origins).

It is said that Little Hangleton is approximately 200 miles north of Privet Drive. Now, Privet Drive is in Surrey. When I checked on the maps, York is directly north of Surrey; at around 203 miles, if you travel by foot.

There is also the possibility that perhaps the Gaunts simply moved towns instead of counties and cities. Maybe there is a magically hidden part of Yorkshire that is isolated enough to be far away from the muggles (or muggleborns) and nosy neighbors for them to conduct their wicked and inhumane past time activities: torturing muggles for sport.

Not only would this place be an ideal location for illicit activities, the density of trees around this area sounded like something the Gaunt family would like to have so that they are not easily accessible to anyone, including Ministry officials.

—

Runner-up Place: Godric's Hollow (Lined in pink on the map; the whole West Countryside)

There has been speculation that the Gaunts once resided in Godric's Hollow (as did other Wizarding families). Most people would also think that the Gaunts have ties to this place since one Peverell was buried here.

"Every now and then, he [Harry] recognized a surname that, like Abbott, he had met at Hogwarts. Sometimes, there were several generations of the same Wizarding family represented in the graveyard: Harry could tell from the dates that it had either died out, or the current members had moved away from Godric's Hollow."

The wiki even suggested that Godric's Hollow is Cadmus Peverell's final resting place. However, there is no canonical reference to this speculation. According to the book (The Deathly Hallows; Chapter 16, "Godric's Hollow"), Hermione only confirmed seeing Ignotus' tombstone. And while it was the norm to bury family members together in the same graveyard, we have no evidence that Cadmus was, in fact, buried alongside his brothers.

Lastly, official information from Wizarding World states that it was only Ignotus that had been found buried there, but no evidence pointed to where the others may be.

Runner-up Place: Leicestershire (Highlight in orange on the map)

This is actually the last place I researched because I remember that there was a man named John of Gaunt (1340-1399). He was the father of King Henry IV, and used to be one of the richest men of this century. I didn't find anything about him at first... until I saw who his wife was.

John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, had been married thrice in his lifetime. But it was his second wife, Constance of Castile (1354-1394) that piqued my interest.

Now, this sounds like a long-shot. But the theorized Timeline above proposed that Salazar Slytherin could be from Burgos, Castile, Spain. It wouldn't be totally impossible that Slytherin himself had children back in Spain; or that some of the children he sired during his stay in Scotland possibly moved back to Spain.

At least in my mind, there is a chance that Constance of Castile might be one of the descendants of Salazar Slytherin who ended up marrying a Gaunt.

Then again, Constance and John only had a surviving daughter, and the canonical information about the Peverell line was completely thrown out of the window with this theory. So, it's highly unlikely that this place was the ancestral origins of the future Gaunts. Still, this was fun to include!

—

End Results:

There is strong evidence that Ominis Gaunt may have been born in either Derbyshire, Nottinghamshire, or Yorkshire. I know there's so much information to consider regarding this, so it's your decision which county you would use that fits your headcanons.

As for my personal headcanon, I'd say he's born in an ancestral manor that once belonged to the Peverells, which was located in Derbyshire.

But as the family fortune started to dwindle due to poor management, it ultimately fell unto Marvolo to sell the property and find another place to move to. And since Marvolo doesn't seem to be the type to find employment, the money he had gotten from the sold property almost immediately got used up. In the end, he and his remaining family had to move to that dilapidated shack in Little Hangleton, Yorkshire.

—---—---—---—---—

II. Possible Date of Birth

Note: If you're not interested in astrology, you can just skip this one, and go to Part 3, 4, and 5!

This section of the post is pure speculation, and no solid proof at all. But we do know that Ominis should be born between September 1, 1874 and August 31, 1875 if he was to be eleven years-old during the start of his first year at Hogwarts. Therefore, all of the following information is gathered by astrological observations of his character.

(I have a personal tarot and astrology account, @tarotwitchy, if you guys are interested in knowing more about this type of content).

Based on character analysis, I believe that Ominis is a Capricorn Sun, Pisces Moon, and Scorpio Rising.

Now, what does that mean?

Let's break down his character one astrological placement at a time.

1. Capricorn Sun

— a person with their Sun in Capricorn is someone who is determined to make the most out of their life. Hard working, perseverant, and resilient, they don't allow themselves to succumb in to their losses and admit defeat.

— Ominis surely displayed these characteristics throughout the game. He doesn't let his disability stop him from accomplishing the things he set his mind to. He doesn't want his traumatic beginnings to inhibit his potentiality for success and happiness outside of his family's customs. When he sets his mind on something, he sees through it (no pun intended).

— Also, he is loyal to the good cause. He knows what's right and what's wrong. He isn't afraid of calling out anyone for their wrongdoings, nor does he back off from confrontation. This behavior of his was very apparent when he secretly followed the new fifth-year and Sebastian to the catacombs.

— There's also a bit of a savior-complex in him; wherein he feels he could set someone straight, tell them what to do or what not to do, can have a demanding demeanor at times, and could perhaps want to control his environment to make it easier for him to navigate. (So, yes. All of those Dominis stories can actually be a canonical behavior of his).

2. Pisces Moon

— With all that was said about his Sun Sign, his Pisces Moon is the reason we get a softer, gentler version of his Capricorn. People with Pisces Moons are known to be emotionally wise beyond their years. Their ability to empathize people's experiences are astounding, and their compassion is matched only by their fellow water signs.

— This admirable kindness that Ominis possesses is what we eventually understand and come to associate with him. When faced with the opportunity to torture muggles like his family does, his first instinct is to refuse. In spite of his blindness, he doesn't need sight to see how all of that was very immoral and apathetic. And even as he was forced to cast the Cruciatus Curse, he still laments and regrets that event up to the present time.

— One more thing to note is that Ominis could have simply reported Sebastian as soon as the latter displayed interest in the Dark Arts. But he didn't because of three reasons: He didn't want to lose his best friend, he still believed in Sebastian's chance to redeem and pull himself out of the darkness, and he empathized with Sebastian's desperation to find a cure for Anne. This altruistic attitude is what's best about him.

— It also affirms my previous headcanon about Ominis' sleeping habits, as Pisces rules over the realms of sleep.

3. Capricorn Mercury

— It's very obvious that Ominis is quite mature for his age. The way he talks, thinks, and carries himself is trademark Capricorn Mercury. He is also straightforward and he plans ahead not just for himself but for others. At the end of the game, he literally said, "whatever lies ahead, we must face it together."

— Mercury is the planet of communication, intellect, memory, and learning. Ominis' style of communication is quite formal and authoritative in nature, and he keeps it that way. He is able to express himself in a put-together manner that conveys his thoughts crystal-clear. He doesn't speak in riddles (👀) and he wants to be understood the first time around.

4. Sagittarius Venus

— Alright, this one is a surprising placement for Ominis. But after a while, I found this to be quite fitting for him! While he is someone who we consider as "docile" or "serene" on most days, having his Venus in Sagittarius gives him a streak of curiosity and a yearning for exploration; as Sagittarius is the sign of higher learning and traveling.

— The first time we see him (if you're a Slytherin) is in the common room being cheeky about the first-years who are trying to spot mermaids through the windows. He has a playful side to him that balances out majority of his more serious and somber placements. The fact that he is closest to Sebastian (who is really fiery and passionate) is proof that Ominis can hold his own when it comes to his best friend's fervent personality.

— Of course, Venus is the planet of love and romance. Majority of the stories I've read, Ominis is the kind of man who will study his partner's personality, routine, habits, quirks, likes and dislikes, special interests, and goals and dreams. This is the behavior of a well-developed Sagittarius Venus. They will absolutely love to get to know their partner's personhood beyond the superficial. They will also keep their partnership alive by sharing life experiences together and encouraging their partner to explore more novel and romantic moments with them.

5. Scorpio Mars

— Where to begin with this placement? It's quite hard to believe, at first, that Ominis would have his Mars in Scorpio. That would entail someone who is traditionally brusque, aggressive, and would embody the combination of Martian-Plutonian qualities.

— But in his case, there is a reason why people are compelled to write, draw, and express him as Dominis. It's because even if he haven't actually seen him being a dominant man, we instinctively know that he is capable of it. That's the effect of Scorpio Mars. The evidence of this placement is not always "in your face." It can be subtle, it can be a secret. His dominance and assertiveness is just dancing along the edge of his skin.

— But one of the most important things to remember about them is that once a Scorpio Mars has had enough, they snap. And they will always get the last word after they have put people in their place, snapped some bones, and razed the earth. And this is something Ominis is very much capable of doing. But his self-control is immaculate.

6. Scorpio Rising

— Again, this seems very unlikely at first glance. But upon further observation, Ominis is the type of guy you don't really know much about unless he purposefully let you in on his private circle, explicitly says something about himself. He also has strong eyes that pierce through others in spite of his blindness. His striking face and cheekbones are unforgettable, and he doesn't look like anyone else. Others also can't help but feel compelled to want to know more about him, as his enigmatic aura inevitably pulls them in (whether he likes it, or not. That's why most Scorpio Risings have trouble with unsolicited attention).

— To drive this point further, if you check out this video of other NPC's talking about him, they all seem to come to a polarized conclusion, with the common thread of 'Ominis is hiding something.' Granted that the name Gaunt, in and of itself, strikes fear and wary in people's hearts, others have really strong opinions about him without even getting to know him personally. That, too, is something most Scorpio Risings struggle with.

—

End Results:

Ominis Gaunt was born on January 11, 1875 at around 03:00AM, during the winter season.

Of course, this is only my personal headcanon, and based on my astrological research and experience. The runner-up dates I had in mind would make him fall in the Sun Sign of Pisces, Cancer, Aquarius, and even Scorpio! But the rest of the chart doesn't really align with the rest of his personality. Ultimately, January 11th is the final date I believe suits him most.

—---—---—---—---—

III. Psychometric Analysis

Note: I will be linking the sites for these tests should you want to take them yourself! 😊 Have fun!

1. MBTI

— ISTJ (Introvert, Sensing, Thinking, Judging)

"They rely on their past experience to guide them, and are most comfortable in familiar surroundings. On personality trait measures, they score as Calm, Stable, Steady, Cautious, and Conventional. The ISTJ’s main and most admirable strength is perseverance; people of this type simply do not give up. They also have a natural instinct to protect and defend, as they are loyal, reliable and committed."

These descriptions speak for themselves when it comes to knowing Ominis' personality type. People who have a lack of sight (or those who are legally blind) rely on fixed structures and routines to help ease their everyday needs. While it is possible for them to be spontaneous, they still have to have familiarity and past experience in the spontaneity they'll participate in.

He is very loyal, to a fault sometimes. He's committed in making sure that his beloved friends are not dallying in things they shouldn't be. He knows the difference between right and wrong, and trusts his life experiences to guide him to proper decisions.

2. Enneagram

— Type 6 with wing 5; SP/SX (The Defender)

"The committed, security-oriented type, sixes are reliable, hard-working, responsible, and trustworthy. Excellent "troubleshooters," they foresee problems and foster cooperation, but can also become defensive, evasive, and anxious—running on stress while complaining about it. They can be cautious and indecisive, but also reactive, defiant and rebellious."

"Their basic fear is being without support and guidance, having nowhere or no one to hold onto. This is why their basic desire is to have security and support from their chosen people."

This one is very obvious. It's quite apparent that he is the type of person who can be anxious if things and people aren't where he wanted them to be. While he yearns for cooperation due to his need for security, other people who aren't used to this kind of behavior will find him controlling; and perhaps, even smothering.

Nevertheless, Ominis' intentions come from a good place. He doesn't want his people to be hurt or harmed. He also has an impeccable intuition to predict outcomes of certain situations, which makes him look paranoid. But his assumptions, more often than not, are proven to be correct!

3. Four Temperaments

— Melancholic–Phlegmatic (The Analyst)

"The Melancholy-Phlegmatic is a pleasant and accommodating person who tends to seek a structured environment requiring attention to detail. They have a self-sacrificing, self-critical nature, and struggle with guilt feelings about things that are not often their fault. The Melancholy-Phlegmatic is more conscientious and private than the other Melancholy blends."

This is quite self-explanatory. Ominis has two distinct behavior: the calm and peaceful, and the anxious and prickly. When things are going the way it's supposed to be (in his definition), he would be placated and docile. We see him as approachable and a little more open. But when things aren't going according to plan, or when things suddenly happen unexpectedly, he's like a rolling wheel going in different directions trying to extinguish the uncontrollable fires of disaster.

He's the first to respond by going to Headmaster Black to fabricate a story to hide what really happened between the Sallows, and make it look like a family argument instead. He's the one to alert MC that Anne went to get Solomon, and that we should do something about it immediately. He is the safety net of all these people in his life.

—---—---—---—---—

IV. Corporeal Patronus

I want to give a shout out to @ponfarrdraws for discussing this with me!

We were wondering what Ominis' corporeal Patronus would be, should he be able to cast one. I've had a lot of speculation, going through one animal at a time. But ultimately settled with a Mongoose. This animal is not on the official list of Patronuses but it still has a lot of weight and meaning.

This article states that mongooses are a symbol of protection and are considered to be wards against evil. To quote:

"As a totem, the mongoose has the magical attributes of defense, protection, and destroying evil. The mongoose symbolizes action, adventure, boldness, fearlessness, impulsiveness, independence, optimism, rebellion, resistance, resourcefulness, speed, and adaptation. As a spirit animal, it encourages us to confront our enemies because we can overcome much stronger rivals than ourselves."

If Ominis were to find himself facing a dementor, he would probably be the first to sense its presence, and probably the most affected. Even though he wouldn't be able to see the frightening features of a dementor, he would be feeling the immediate change in his senses — his environment growing cold, no sounds of animals around, and the overall sensation of hopelessness and misery. He would be completely thrown off by the sudden change in his surroundings; something that would send him into a state of panic.

But with this Patronus, it represents his determination to stand firm in the face of adversity, to not give in easily without putting up a fight, and to prove that he is as deadly as any dementor that would stand in his way.

I personally headcanon this animal for obvious reasons. He truly is a fighter in a den of snakes. No matter how many times his family strikes against him, he just takes his time to recover and stand back up again. He is clearly outnumbered by his family members. No one else can support him in his opposition ever since his Aunt Noctua passed away. Regardless, he doesn't seem the kind to bow his head in defeat just to save his skin. He fights back until he can't anymore; something the mongoose is well-known for.

And let's just say that Ominis did die at 50-years of age. He still got the last laugh out of them all since he got to pass away on his own terms, away from the very people he loathed since childhood. That's still a victory in his book, and that's what this patronus represents.

—---—---—---—---—

V. Wand Information

1. Wand Wood

Based on the physical characteristics of this wand and the meaning of the wood, it's highly possible that Ominis' wand is made from Ebony Wood.

According to the wand wood information:

"This jet-black wand wood has an impressive appearance and reputation, being highly suited to all manner of combative magic, and to Transfiguration. Ebony is happiest in the hand of those with the courage to be themselves. Frequently non-conformist, highly individual or comfortable with the status of outsider, ebony wand owners have been found both among the ranks of the Order of the Phoenix and among the Death Eaters. [...] the ebony wand’s perfect match is one who will hold fast to his or her beliefs, no matter what the external pressure, and will not be swayed lightly from their purpose."

This type of wand wood, in my opinion, is a reflection of Ominis' conviction in his views. I find it fascinating and admirable that even in the face of losing his friendship with Sebastian, he didn't bow down and agree with Sebastian's methods. Sure, he gets convinced by the MC to let them deal with it. But at the end of the day, Ominis is strictly against the use of the Dark Arts. Furthermore, he does everything to maintain his moral compass despite being surrounded by people (friends and family) who practice and preach about the unforgivable curses.

Also! I'd like to add the conversation I had with @tennoujinerin about Ominis' godly self-restraint. We believe that while most of us admire Ominis for his kindness, temperance, compassion, and commitment to the good cause, he is someone who can easily turn it all around. He is born in a family of pureblood supremacists who have no qualms in utilizing the Dark Arts like it's a daily chore. He most definitely is very, very familiar with Dark Spells that maybe even Sebastian isn't aware of. If pushed to the brink of survival, there's a possibility that Ominis could reconsider his relationship with the Dark Arts. And this wand wood is perfect for that kind of change of heart.

2. Wand Core

For this part, I admit I was stumped for a while. I believe all the three cores that Ollivanders usually has could be a good fit for Ominis for a plethora of different reasons. But it still feels... lacking. Like, something was missing for this special wand to work.

That's why in the end, I think Ominis has two wand cores that were needed to suit his special needs. He needs a core that reflects his personality and another to aid him with his magical abilities. And for that, the cores of his wand are a combination of Unicorn Hair and Horned Serpent Horn.

"Unicorn Hair generally produces the most consistent magic. These wands are the hardest to turn to the Dark Arts. The most faithful wands have unicorn hair, making them bond strongly with their owner. They are prone to melancholy if seriously mishandled, meaning that the hair may ‘die’ and need replacing."

While this core could technically be enough, it just doesn't feel customized enough. We know that his wand emits a red pulse at the tip to help him navigate his surroundings. Therefore, this wand needs another core to bolster its utility.

"Wands made with Horned Serpent Horn are exceptionally power, creating massive spell effects regards of the user's skill. Sensitive to Parseltongue and would vibrate when Parseltounge is being spoken near it, and can warn their owners of danger by emitting a low musical tone. These wands were said to only bond with one user through it's lifetime, but this is only a rumor for now."

These two cores encased in ebony wood make for such a personalized wand. The fact that Horned Serpent Horn core warns its owner about incoming danger is an important factor for Ominis' safety and security. He needs to be alerted for when hexes and spells are being blasted in his way. And as for all serpentine cores, it's also sensitive to Parseltongue.

(Maybe it's just me but I believe that Horned Serpents are the antithesis of Basilisks. Having this creature's horn as Ominis' wand core would be the ultimate and tangible symbol of his rebellion against Salazar Slytherin's secret weapon, that lies in the Chamber of Secrets, and everything his family taught him to uphold).

3. Wand Flexibility and Length

According to the official source:

"Wand flexibility or rigidity denotes the degree of adaptability and willingness to change possessed by the wand-and-owner pair."

Because of that, his wand is most likely Rigid. This source had explained it perfectly:

"A wand of this flexibility will only give its complete loyalty to an owner who has faced great personal tragedy. It is particularly good for practical magic use, and thus usually doesn't perform well for magic that is frivolous or silly. Rigid wand owners are cautious and have difficulty trusting others, but they are not usually unkind people. Generally, they prefer to be left alone so that they can do what they want to do, regardless of what anyone else says."

(If you're not a Slytherin in the game, your first interaction with Ominis is surely abrasive and tense. And that's because he truly is cautious, and wants his private spaces to be left alone).

Lastly, this wand is on the longer side, measuring at around 14 inches. He needs a wand that can act like an extension of himself; just like blind muggles need a mobility cane.

TL;DR:

Ebony with Unicorn Hair and Horned Serpent Horn Core, Rigid and 14 inches.

—---—---—---—---—

Phew! 😮‍💨 This post took a very, very long time to make. But I am extremely glad for the assistance, conversations, and opinions of other wonderful people here on Tumblr and Discord! I swear, I love you all.

I want to give love and credit to the following:

@damn-it-a-hogwarts-legacy-blog (You're the one who really inspired me to finally get my mind together and put my brain cells to use. I admire your creativity towards your headcanons so much, and I want to share this with you!) 🫡

@tennoujinerin (Our conversations are the highlight of my obsession in this fandom. I love our collaborative thoughts, and I hope you enjoyed this one. See you in the basement! 😈)

@ponfarrdraws (I think my delusions have reached its peak with this long-ass post. But I just have to let out my aggressive emotions about Ominis! I know you get it, and I'm glad I got to know you).

@diligentcranberry (Thank you once again for entertaining my craziness. My OCD is now satiated with these information out in the open. I originally didn't want to post anything about this until you talked to me about the locations. So, thank you!)

#yes I know I am crazy #and no I can't do anything about it at the moment #hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy fandom #hogwarts legacy imagine #ominis gaunt #ominis gaunt hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x reader #ominis hogwarts legacy #ominis gaunt fluff #ominis gaunt fanfic #ominis gaunt imagine #ominis gaunt headcanon #hogwarts legacy astrology

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esamastation · 6 months

Text

Part thirty-three of Shizuroth, aka, the SOLDIER General's Self Saving Shizun.

Ao3 link.

Previous parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty, thirty-one, thirty-two

Reno hates the fact that in the last twenty four hours he's somehow become the Turk Expert on SOLDIER behaviour. Well, Rude did some of the research too, but still, this is not the way Reno expected to see his career going.

"I think the fundamental problem with the entire SOLDIER corps is that they don't know how to take a fucking break," he decides, rocking his chair back and forth on its back legs while making faces at the ceiling. "I mean, just look at the shitshow that started just because Sephiroth took some time off! They couldn't even let him have that."

Rude hums, shuffling through what looks like all of the camp's paperwork.

Reno continues, crossing his hands behind his neck. "Rhapsodos and Hewley don't leave him alone, everything he does is scrutinised -"

"Mostly by us," Rude comments.

Reno ignores him. "The other Firsts take him out training, because they don't do enough of that in their work hours, clearly, and then Rhapsodos drags him out shopping, and that's just the first day. The second day he goes to train in what was at the time an empty training room not in use, and the moment he does, people call Hojo on his ass," he waves a hand. "The poor schmuck took a break, and all he got was so much stress for it! And that's without even taking into consideration his memory loss!"

Rude hums in agreement and then looks up. "SOLDIERs don't have work hours."

"What?" Reno asks, his momentum halted.

"SOLDIERs aren't paid by the hour - they're paid by the mission. They, technically, pick their own hours. They can and do regularly make thousands of Gil in a matter of hours."

The front legs of Reno's chair bang against the floor, rattling their entire paper hut of a house. "Well, I know that, yes, everyone knows that. It's a big selling point, aside from the whole become a hero by having Mako pumped into your veins thing."

Rude hums in agreement. "With his mission completion rate, Sephiroth regularly makes up to quarter million Gil in a month."

"... By working how many hours, in general, per day?"

"Seventeen -

"Seventeen?! When does the fucker sleep?!"

Rude shrugs and puts the papers down. "According to his medical file, he generally can do with five hours of sleep while maintaining optimal function."

"And who the fuck determined that - Professor Hojo?" Reno scoffs. "Un-fucking-believable. Also my point is made! SOLDIERs don't know how to take a fucking break."

"Truly a detrimental view on work," Rude agrees.

"It really fucking is! I mean, come on! You take a bunch of jacked up meatheads, give them a system that massively rewards their overwork, you keep them on call all the time, keeping them on edge and hyped up, all the while Hojo looms over them like the fucking boogeyman and can pull them into the labs any time he wants!" Reno scoffs. "Never mind the fact that they're considered, technically, Shinra property, with all the Mako in their veins, so they have fuck all employee's rights."

"Might add to the reason why so few take time off," Rude agrees.

"They do have paid time off, right?" Reno asks. "The program isn't that much of a shit, right?"

"They do, standard rate… which is on average about a fifth of what they'd stand to make working. Or in Sephiroth's case… one-thirtieth."

"Of course it fucking is," Reno scoffs with disgust.

"... And the Science department can still call them in, if they're in Midgar."

"So either work yourself to early death or take a massive hit to the wallet and still Science can just grab your ass if they feel like it! What the fuck," Reno mutters. "Who the fuck designed the SOLDIER program, anyway?"

"According to the paperwork, originally Professor Gast… but its current form is mostly Professor Hojo's handiwork."

"Guess I should've expected that," Reno mutters and rocks back in his chair again, glaring at the ceiling. "The whole fucking system is rigged to blow. Nice fucking experiment you got there, Professor."

And now it's his problem to deal with. Wonderful.

He thinks of the way Angeal said it, time and privacy, like it was a joke, an impossible task. It makes him so fucking mad.

The only fucking reason work as a Turk is worth it sometimes is because it comes with some sweet fucking benefits - including properly paid time off and all the incentive on the fucking planet to use it, too. Because way back when Turks were first put together, then still called the Investigation Sector of the General Affairs Department, someone had the common sense to look at these guys, with abilities and access of fucking spies, and go, "yeah, you know what we don't want to see - what happens when these assholes get burnout." Because that's how you end up with your asshole bosses assassinated in the night.

To this day Turks will fight tooth and nail to keep their off work hours off the fucking clock. Because what happens on the clock is bad enough, and if it doesn't justify being able to fucking punch out at the end of the day, then what's even the fucking point?

Time and privacy aren't impossible to get, for the Turks - those are fucking contractually enforced benefits they're entitled to, and just a few of many! They keep them fucking sane! And woe be the fucking asshole who tries to mess with them. Even Heidegger knows better.

It's so damn wild to realise that just a few floors down there a bunch of bastards who just don't… care? Who are incentivised not to care. Who'd rather work themselves to death rather than risk being seen at loose ends. Guess that's how Shinra keeps the SOLDIERs in check - they're clearly all of them too overworked to even think straight anymore. And those who are not working still might be pulled into the Science Department any time. Shit.

Dragging his hands down his face with a groan, Reno rolls out of his chair. "I hate this fucking assignment already. Did you find anything?"

"There are a few potential sites," Rude agrees and shows him a drawn map of the area. "A charcoal burner's house over here has been abandoned for months, and might be in bad condition. A hunter's lodge over here, it's higher up on the mountains and might be within view of Wutai patrols from Fort Tamblin. And here there's an old farm, partially burned in a bombing two years back, abandoned since."

Reno considers the locations. The hunter's lodge is right out… "We'll start with the charcoal place," he decides. "If that doesn't work out, then the farm."

"Sounds good," Rude agreed. "How will we justify it?"

"Do we justify it? It's Turk business," Reno scoffs, taking out his PHS. "And so, it's no one's business."

Rude thinks about that for a moment and then nods. "I'll requisition supplies."

"You do that," Reno agrees, checks his watch to make sure it's office hours back home and makes a call. It takes no time for the call to connect. "Good morning, boss, how's the weather in Midgar?"

"There was a storm, but it looks like the worst is over now," Tseng answers. "What's the word for Sephiroth?"

Reno flashes back to the moment he heard the arguably strongest man in the world sobbing into his hands about how fucked he is. "Yeah, so, about that. We're making some new arrangements."

What I love most about the Turks is how they definitely know how to appreciate time off.

#Fanfiction #ffvii #ff7 #reno of the turks #rude of the turks

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h3lfaerie · 2 months

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The Barbaric Archipelago.

We know it. We love it.

And it's massive.

Researching the heck out of Hiccup's map has become a crucial part of devising the action in Path of Alfheim.

And though right now the story takes place primarily on Berk (which deserves a map of its own, and I'm working on it) the interactive map of their world is without a doubt, the first thing I open when I start a writing session.

This is the official DreamWorks HTTYD Map of the Barbaric Archipelago, designed and verified by none other than Hiccup Haddock.

Here ye, here ye, fellow fanfic writers. This one saved my ass. Have at it.

But KEEP IN MIND-

Within five seconds of laying eyes on this thing, I immediately noticed that Berserker Island is conveniently missing... Which is confirmed to be a massive slip up on DreamWorks' behalf.

And I do have to admit that some distances within the map do not make sense. For example Valka's nest and Eret's Port are both further away from Berk than Dragon's Edge. And according to the map (and RTTE) it takes about thirty-two hours to get to the Edge from Berk on dragon back. Which is almost a two day flight, yet somehow in the second movie it took Hiccup and Astrid less than a few hours to fly back to Berk from Eret's Port?

ALSO VALKA'S NEST WAS SO DAMN CLOSE TO DRAGON'S EDGE??? HELLO??? SHE WAS RIGHT THERE!!!

#httyd #httyd fanfiction #my fic #path of alfheim #fanfic #fanfiction #httyd fanfic #map #httyd map #fanfiction map #httyd rtte #rtte

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tojiswhore-nanamisslut · 3 months

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So I haven't seen anyone mention the weapon that Yorozu created for Sukuna yet.

This is a pretty long post so I'm inserting a read more here.

We end up seeing it later, but we actually got a sneak peek earlier in one of the colored pages! The weapon she created for him is what he's holding in his left hand.

We see it when he wields it in his fight with Kashimo. It's translated as "Kamutoke" or supreme martial solution and is shown to have electric properties which proved to be useless against Kashimo:

and it's also what he ends up losing in Higuruma's domain expansion:

After a bit of researching I learned that this cursed tool looked VERY similar to a common Buddhist weapon called the Vajra:

And we know how much Gege likes using Buddhist symbolism throughout JJK, so this definitely isn't a coincidence. According to Brittanica, the "Vajra, in Sanskrit, has both the meanings of “thunderbolt” and “diamond.” Like the thunderbolt, the vajra cleaves through ignorance... Like the diamond, the vajra destroys but is itself indestructible and is thus likened to śūnya (the all-inclusive void)."

Other websites further explain the prongs of the Vajras as representing the Five Buddhas or five wisdoms and kleshas (causes of suffering). Each Buddha carries various associations linked to the wisdoms/kleshas, particularly: ignorance/delusion, envy/jealousy, selfishness/lust, pride/greed, and aggression/aversion, all of which are "poisons" on the path to enlightenment. (I'll make a separate post about this later).

BUT the Vajra is typically accompanied by a bell (also called a Ghanta).

Many sources explain that the combination/interaction of the two is what creates and represents an enlightened individual. The Vajra specifically represents "method" and the bell represents "wisdom" as well as emptiness.

The fact that the Vajra is representative of a thunderbolt further confirms that the weapon Sukuna wields is a nod to this, as we know it summons a thunderbolt that ends up being useless against Kashimo.

However, I think there's a couple things that are interesting:

The fact that the Vajra is also representative of diamond, destroying things while remaining indestructible and the fact that Higuruma's domain confiscated it; and

The fact that it's the combination/interaction of the Vajra and the bell that represent enlightenment and how we don't ever see Sukuna with a bell or anything indicative of one.

Beginning with my first point:

The Vajra is indestructible and represents the "method" of enlightenment, cleaving through ignorance to attain it.

Due to its indestructibility, I think it makes sense that the only way to get rid of it was through confiscation. But what was the point? Would the lightning bolts have really been enough to off Yuuji or the other characters? I feel like they would have been able to figure out a counter. Which is why I think Sukuna losing it played a more symbolic role.

Up until this point, Sukuna has never doubted himself or given much thought to anything but his desires. He's not fueled by emotions or ideals, but by his pleasures and whims. That is, until Higuruma dies.

It's after Higuruma's death that we see Sukuna, for the first time, lost in thought, reflecting on himself and others.

I think Higuruma's CT confiscating the Vajra was symbolic of him putting the first crack into Sukuna's enlightenment and understanding of himself. It's also interesting that it's Higuruma who does this, because when we first meet his character he's somewhat similar to Sukuna. After his mental break in the courtroom, he's chosen to live by his whims. He's in a bathtub because why not? It's what he felt like doing. And his assertion in the second panel about killing people who piss him off is an almost perfect parallel to Sukuna's.

Ultimately though, Higuruma regrets the people he's killed and agrees to help everyone as a way to repent.

Higuruma taking the Vajra, especially as a sorcerer who intrigued Sukuna, was the only way they could have put that crack into Sukuna's enlightenment. I don't think it would have had the same effect if someone else got rid of it.

And that crack only grows wider as Sukuna continues to ponder.

Which ultimately leads him to the one he's consistently underestimated and ignored: Yuuji. This also leads us into the second point.

2. The Vajra is consistently depicted with a bell. So where is it?

As stated above, the Vajra only symbolizes method while the bell symbolizes wisdom and emptiness. Both are needed to represent/attain enlightenment. And one particular panel makes me think Yuuji might be symbolic of the "bell".

In chapter 244, we see Yuuji land a blow on Sukuna that makes it seem like he's almost vibrating, akin to the vibrations released from a bell being rung. We also know Yuuji has improved as a sorcerer given his use of RCT and that panel of him and Kusakabe training. He's also clearly done something to his arms, but we don't know what yet.

So how else could Yuuji symbolize wisdom and emptiness? One is the fact that he no longer houses Sukuna. It could be argued that Yuuji is empty now. Or it could also come from a more emotional aspect: Yuuji has faced tremendous loss and grief throughout the story. He not only lost his closest friends: Megumi and Nobara, but he also lost both of his mentors. He further had to witness the deaths of Junpei and hundreds of people in Shibuya. Based on what we've seen with Itadori's character development, I think describing him as having an emptiness or void inside of him would be apt.

The wisdom component comes in with his indomitable ideals. Similar to the Vajra, Yuuji possesses an unbreakable soul.

The story began with Yuuji wanting to give people a proper death and wanting to help people

And it holds true throughout the story. All Yuuji has ever done is try and save people. And despite his many failures, he persists.

It's the wisdom to keep your course and stay true to yourself, despite how many times you've been broken. And if there's anything I know about Yuuji's character, it's that that boy will get back up. So long as there's a person he could save, he'll continue to fight for them to have a proper death.

#sukuna #yuuji #megumi #higuruma #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk meta #jjk analysis #posts #mine #this took me SO long to articulate #and i tried including links for things too #i'll make a part 2 about the 5 buddhas later

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muddyorbsblr · 1 year

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keep me safe

See the full 14 Days Collection here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: You run into a tent for safety after being chased by a massive insect-like creature while collecting flora samples from Skull Island. The tent belongs to James Conrad.

Pairing: James Conrad x Reader

Word Count: 2.6k

Warnings: 18+ | smut (minors & pearl clutchers, exit stage left); oral (f receiving); fingering; unprotected p in v; kinda public sex (they're in a tent but y'know people can hear…) [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: coworkers to lovers

"I really don't think we should be this far out from camp, Y/L/N. According to Marlow's notes--"

"Forget about Marlow's notes," you hissed at Brooks, walking even further into the greenery of the island. "Look at this flora! I'm pretty sure some of these we can't even find in any textbook known to man. If we come back home with these samples we could win the Nobel for discovering a new species of jungle flora. And what if the key to proving Randa's research was found on this side of the island? What then, Brooks? Would you still tell me that we're going to follow Marlow's notes and miss out on the chance to finally prove to the scientific community that we're not certifiable? That we deserve to be taken seriously?"

"Well we should at least call for one of the soldiers to back us up. Or Conrad."

You bristled at the mention of the name; having him here would only put you on edge, trying so hard not to look a complete fool in front of the former SAS tracker and also trying your damnedest to not let him see that you'd started having feelings for the man.

"Why? So he could tell us how stupid we are for not listening to 'sound advice'? Brooks, when did anyone who made any measurable breakthrough in our community ever do so by listening to 'sound advice'?"

"They weren't surrounded by giant creatures that could kill them within nanoseconds, Y/N!"

"We don't know that!" you snapped back, stopping in your tracks to look back at your clearly hesitant lab partner, the fear emanating from him palpable even from where you stood. "Look," you sighed, thinking of a way to grant him a modicum of relief in this forsaken island. "You can head back to camp, okay? I'll be fine. I'll just collect a few samples for us to bring home so that we can actually have something to give the board reason to give us more funding when we come back. With more backup so we can collect the rest."

"You promise it's just a few samples?"

You gave him your best attempt at a reassuring smile. "Five at most. I promise."

His only response to you was an exaggerated sigh. "Lead the way." He waved his hand toward the expanse of trees less than a hundred meters away.

You'd just bagged your first sample and were prepping to collect the second a few feet away when you heard his shallow, ragged breathing.

"Brooks, honestly you don't need to stay with me if you're scared of what lies beyond Marlow's little safety threshold," you grumbled, starting to carefully cut the mysterious flower in front of you at the stem.

"Y/N…" he squeaked out, his voice barely audible had it not been for the pin drop quiet of the island. "Behind you."

It felt like ice shot straight through your veins at his words; you didn't even wanna dare look at what he was referring to, but you knew that if you wanted to have a chance at dealing with your problems, you had to face them head on.

Or at least that was what you thought.

You rose to your feet slowly and turned around, holding in the shriek that threatened to escape you when you were face to face with a creature that you could only best describe as a giant cockroach, its antennae moving in sweeping motions that barely missed grazing the top of your head.

"We should run," you whispered in a rush as you heard the leaves rustling from where Brooks began to sprint away from you. You didn't waste any time and quickly followed suit.

You moved as fast as your legs could take you, willing yourself not to think about how you could hear the creature following you both. The way the ground sounded like it was crunching beneath the force of its steps as it chased you and Brooks in the direction of the camp.

The moment a tent came into view you ran towards it, ignoring Brooks' calls towards you and just hoping that your friend would make it out of this alive. Once you'd stepped into the temporary shelter of the tent, you tried to catch your breath, closing your eyes and focusing on trying to calm yourself.

"Y/L/N?" You froze at the sound of the brusque voice that greeted you. Fucking hell why'd it have to be Conrad's tent? Should you even bother opening your eyes to see the annoyed disappointment on his face the second he realized where exactly you came from? "Y/N…"

Your eyes snapped open at the gentle tone of his voice when he said your name, failing to mask the surprise when you saw that he wasn't visibly annoyed at your clear disobedience of the ground rules to never even think of traveling West. Instead he looked concerned, which felt infinitely worse and had you gasping out your next words. "I'm sorry."

Your breathing came in ragged, nearly hyperventilating as he walked toward you, placing his hands on your upper arms. "You're shaking." That seemed to make your breaths come in even faster, shallower…like the more you tried to calm yourself the worse your panic became. "Tell me what happened." You fought against the urge to relax into his touch as he started to stroke your skin with his thumbs; the clear reluctance in you was most probably the cause of his exasperated sigh. "At least come sit down. Catch your breath. Please."

The way he breathed out the word had you inwardly tensing, bracing yourself for him to start berating you even as he held you by your hands while leading you further into his tent to sit at the edge of his cot. "I went West," you admitted with your head hung low, squeezing your eyes shut when you felt him rubbing his thumbs across the back of your hands. "I wanted to collect samples of the flora and--"

"You were chased." You nodded your confirmation. "Tell me about the creature."

"About twice my height, as big as one of our tanks on hand…looks like a giant cockroach but…kinda pale?" You started shaking at the image of the creature slowly and surely imprinting itself in your mind again, feeling like your throat was constricting. "I have to check on Brooks--"

"He'll be fine." His hold on your hands tightened slightly when you tried to stand up, wordlessly ordering you to stay put. "He's tougher than he seems, he'll survive. If you go out right now in your current state, however, you won't."

"Excuse me--"

"That creature you described…it tracks by smelling the pheromones that one excretes when they're distressed. Afraid. It can quite literally smell your fear--"

Those words had you on your feet and slipping out of his hold within seconds, ready to exit his tent. "Fuck. I'm so sorry, I probably led it right to you--"

"Y/N, breathe." He grabbed hold of you again, pulling you into a gentle embrace, one hand cradling your head while the other rubbed at your back in slow, soothing motions. "You'll be alright. We'll be alright. You just need to breathe. You're worsening your fear even I can feel it, little spitfire. Try to remove it from your mind." He tucked your head under his chin, the soft shh'ing sounds from him throwing you off kilter as you continued to draw in shaky breaths. "Just breathe with me."

You did your best to match the breaths he was guiding you through, curiously finding yourself relaxing against him as he paired his guiding breaths with the movements of his hand on your back. When you began to feel yourself calming down some, that was when you became acutely aware of your head pressed against his chest, the beat of his heart thumping in your ears, racing almost as fast as your own.

Just as you were about to pull away from him, the sound of heavy footfalls paired with a slight rumbling of the ground made you flinch against him, shame overcoming you as a small whimper escaped your lips. "Oh, that creature did a number on you, didn't it?"

"Yes…" you mumbled, mortified that you'd begun to shake in his arms again.

"Then it appears putting it out of your mind is the wrong approach," he murmured, and you could have sworn you felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. Impossible, you hissed at yourself. It's just your fear playing tricks on you, stupid Y/N. "We'll just have to put your mind onto something else then."

This time you were sure he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, and then again to your cheek, ghosting his lips down to the corner of your mouth. "What're you doing?" Your question was barely even audible with the way your heart started pounding in your ears once again.

"Distracting you," he answered simply, letting out a soft moan as he pressed his lips to yours, weaving his fingers through your hair and tightening his hold on you. "Don't think about anything else." He murmured the words against your lips letting out a deep, sinful groan when you began to kiss him back. "Just feel…Focus on me…I'll keep you safe."

You found yourself reaching up and resting your arms on his shoulders as he lifted you off your feet to lay you down on the cot, the metal frame creaking slightly from your combined weight on it. When his lips left yours to start trailing down your neck, you began to squirm in his hold as his hands began to push up the fabric of your tank top, baring your stomach to press his lips to the newly exposed skin. "Conrad…"

"Keep your eyes closed, darling. I want you to think of nothing except what you're feeling in this moment. Tell me what you're feeling." You shuddered at the feel of his lips tracing along the waistband of your panties, letting out a shameless moan when his tongue flicked against your skin.

"You. Just you."

When you felt his fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear, you lifted your hips instinctively and Conrad disrobed you from the waist down in one fluid motion. "Good girl," he whispered as he pressed his lips down your thigh, curling his hand around your knee and parting your legs. "Fuck." He let out a groan that sent another rush of wetness between your legs, feeling your walls clenching at the thought of him with his eyes on you.

He ghosted his lips along the inside of your thigh, working his way up until finally you felt his tongue tracing along your folds, only licking into your entrance for a brief moment that had you arching your back off the cot. "Please--"

"Tell me you're mine," he murmured against you, the vibrations against your skin making you even wetter than you already were. The only response you had was an incoherent whimper. "Tell me you'll still be mine even after this. After today. After this mission." He pressed another searing kiss to the inside of your thigh, sucking a bruise onto the sensitive skin that had you desperately calling his name.

You struggled to form words in between thready breaths. "Only if…you're mine."

He pressed a brief open-mouthed kiss to your clit, making you arch your hips against him. "You truly didn't know…I've been yours for quite a while."

"Then I'm yours," you breathed out, a smile reflexively pulling at the corners of your mouth as his words began to sink in. He felt the same way. He saw himself as yours. The exhilaration from the combined effect of his words and the way he was currently licking into your entrance with long, languid strokes of his tongue, had you blurting out the words, "I want to see you."

"Not yet," he rasped before closing his lips around your clit and sucking on the aching bundle of nerves while his tongue flicked over it in a near merciless pace. When your legs began to quiver on his shoulders he pulled away from you. "Don't open your eyes until I tell you to, Y/N. Promise me." You could only manage a broken moan of his name as he circled your clit with the tip of his tongue.

You breathed out your assent so faintly you'd be surprised if he even heard it, arching your hips once again into his mouth when he resumed his attentions to your clit, only this time partnered with him inserting two unthinkably long fingers inside of you and curling up, stroking against that soft spot inside of you that had you seeing stars from behind your eyelids.

This time when your legs began to shake against him he didn't stop until you'd reached your crescendo, your back arching as you screamed his name to the high heavens until you could only whimper incoherent syllables as he withdrew his fingers from you, holding your legs open as he wantonly lapped at your release. The feel of him humming sounds of satisfaction against your skin had you growing wet again, the sounds coming from you resembling a garbled utterance of 'more'.

He lifted your legs from his shoulders, the sound of him undoing his belt buckle and unzipping his pants echoing loudly in your ears as your body thrilled in anticipation for what he would do next. You could tell from how the cot shifted in weight and the sounds of the metal frame creaking that he was making his way up the cot so your faces were level with one another.

"Look at me, darling." You opened your eyes, failing to hold back a gasp as you saw him hovering over you, pupils blown out to turn his usually cool steel blue eyes a near complete obsidian black, cheeks flushed as he tried to catch his breath, his lips shining with your release even in the dimmed light of the tent. He gave you a soft smile before resting his forehead against yours. "Just look at me. You're safe. You're okay. I won't let anything happen to you."

"Why wouldn't you let me see you earlier?"

"You want the truth?" You nodded at him with wide eyes as if to say 'Do you really have to ask?'. "Because I knew if you did and you saw even a shadow of what was going on around us, your fear would return, and it would get you."

"You mean--?"

"It was right outside." Tears began to flood your eyes as the realization sank in. Just how close you two really were to the danger you caused. All because you wanted to go West and feed your ego by trying your luck at the Nobel. "Hey, hey…it's okay. Everything's going to be fine." You could feel yourself relaxing again as he pressed soft kisses to your temple, down your cheekbone, and finally on the tip of your nose.

When he moved his head to kiss at your neck, a hand reaching between you to line himself up at your entrance, the world around you began to blur again as you began to whine his name.

"Just focus on me," he rasped as he started to inch his way inside of you. "Look at me and tell me what you're feeling."

Your eyes met as he pushed the rest of him inside you, a guttural sound escaping his lips as your sex surrounded his entire length. "You. Just you."

A/N: I honestly can't believe that this event's more than halfway done already and so many amazing stories have been included in the collection 🥹🥹. That's a wrap for James Conrad as far as 14 Days goes but here's hoping that my lil thotty brain can come up with stories for him in the future 🫠

No part 2 is planned for this story. There is, however, a 'what if…?' episode planned. Non-smut though.

'everything' taglist: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @huntress-artemiss @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @devilsadvocactus @lokiprompts @sititran @ladyjames78 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @kats72 @creationsbyme @coldnique @athalialaufeyson @simplyholl @tallseaweed @sarahscribbles @unlucky-number-13 @ozymdias @maple-seed @ladyofthestayingpower @wolfsmom1 @km-ffluv @psychospore @loopsisloops @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @lovelysizzlingbluebird @peaches1958

#14 days of valentines collection #james conrad x reader #james conrad x female reader #james conrad smut #james conrad fanfiction #james conrad fanfic #kong skull island #muddyorbs writes

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darth-mortem · 2 months

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This is a LAST chapter of my COD fic "At the Crossroads of the Worlds" translated by @g8se.

Task force "141" was sent to clean up a secret laboratory, the research of which was financed by states recognized as sponsors of terrorism. The soldiers broke into a bunker located in the Caucasus Mountains on the Russian-Georgian border. At first, everything went according to plan, but after the fighters split up, Ghost came across a strange room, the door of which locked automatically the moment he was inside. Without knowing it, Simon Riley had set off an experiment that had been brewing here for years, and now he would have to be very strong to finally return home.

First chapter | Second chapter | Third chapter | Fourth chapter | Fifth chapter

Chapter 6 of 6. 1430 words

Past character death, fix-it, angst, action, secret lab, experiment, parallel worlds

August 15, 2030. Georgian-Russian border. Caucasus Mountains. Coordinates classified. Experiment status: completed. Time adjustments successful. The object has completed a reverse transportation. Time status: five minutes after successful equipment launch. Object status: vital signs within normal range. Reality LW414/2030.

He was gradually coming to his senses. The body felt heavy, and Ghost couldn't even open his eyes. It was as if cotton had been stuffed in his ears, and sounds were muffled and distant. He heard an unknown buzzing, noise, and... a voice. A voice that repeated his name over and over again.

“Simon!” The captain finally heard. “Simon, ye hear me? What happened? Where's yer gear? Simon, please, open yer eyes!

It was difficult, almost unbearable, but Ghost managed to comply and... saw Johnny. It was definitely him, because Captain MacTavish from another world didn't have a scar on his chin, and the scar over his eye was old, not fresh. Struggling to coordinate his movements, Ghost raised his hand and touched Soap's face to make sure it was really him, and then...

Memories crashed onto Captain Riley like a concrete building under the force of a powerful explosion. Barely managing to prop himself up, he fell to the floor again, his body convulsing.

“Si!” Johnny looked at him with alarm, then leaned in and embraced him, pulling him close. “Christ almighty, Si, hang in there!”

Ghost didn't hear any of it. Memories of these seven years of his life were flooding into his mind, his brain unable to handle it. He was seized by convulsions, blood trickling from his nose, and he didn't even feel Johnny - his Johnny - pulling the mask off him.

...Ghost sat on the edge of the sergeant bed and looked at his face. Johnny had just come to after that terrible mission, which ended at the underground station and nearly cost him his life. He had a concussion and a brain injury, half of his body was wrapped in bandages because Makarov’s bullet had hit his collarbone very badly, but he was alive, and the damned Russian was dead.

“Si...” Johnny rasped, and it was his first word after a three-day coma. “I ‘ave something tae tell ye.”

Riley leaned to him, peered into his eyes, then touched his lips so delicately, as if they were a tender and fragile work of art.

“Johnny,” Ghost barely whispered, “God, if you hadn't put your helmet on...”

Soap embraced him with his uninjured arm and told the story that Ghost didn't believe back then, but believed now, after experiencing another world, seeing another MacTavish, and kissing another Riley.

“I coudnae sleep,” Johnny whispered softly, not letting go of Simon, “in the mornin', before ye all woke up, I went out to smoke and calm down, and... two men approached me. One looked exactly like me, but older. He had a scar over his eye, like this.”

Soap traced his finger over his own face, and Ghost squeezed his hand, then lifted it to his lips, removed his mask, and kissed him.

“The second one was...” Johnny paused, clearly unsure how to explain. “Back then I thought he was like ye, but he was much smaller, ‘n’ wore a balaclava instead of a mask. They told me tae take care o’ ye, ‘n’ also to put on a helmet. And you know... for some reason, I believed them. I did as they said, ‘n’ here I am… Alive. If I hadn't worn the helmet...”

“That's enough,” Simon held Johnny tightly, not wanting to hear more, not even wanting to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't worn the helmet. “Enough. Whoever they were, I'm grateful to them for saving your life.”

“Wait,” Soap gripped Ghost's shoulder, looking into his eyes, studying his face that he rarely saw, “they also said I should pass their thanks on tae ye, but for what exactly - ye'll understand later... D’ye know them? Does it make any sense tae ye?”

“No,” Riley shook his head, “but if you, idiot, only put on the helmet after they told you to, I, as I've already said, am very grateful to them.”

“I love you too,” Johnny smiled and stroked Simon's cheek.

They sat silently for a few minutes. Always stoic, unwavering, and icy Riley shuddered, pressing his sergeant, who miraculously survived, to his chest. Soap held onto him, softly nuzzling his neck, stroking his back, and simply enjoying the warmth and how Ghost's long fingers ran through hair of his funny mohawk.

“Johnny,” Simon breathed out, leaning back to look the sergeant in the eyes, “I didn't dare to ask you before, but now, after you almost died in my arms... Will you marry me?”

MacTavish widened his eyes, which suddenly began to sting and burn unbearably. Tears rolled down his cheeks, and then he wrapped his arms around Simon's neck, holding him tightly, and whispered softly in his ear:

“Yes.”

A smile of happiness and love appeared on Ghost's lips. Holding Johnny with one hand, he reached into his pocket with the other and pulled out two simple silver rings. Taking one of them, he put it on Soap's finger.

“It says ‘Bravo 7-1’ here,” he whispered, examining the ring.

“Yes,” Ghost nodded and opened his palm, showing the other ring. “And this one says ‘Bravo 0-7’.”

Johnny smiled again, then took the ring from Simon's hand and put it on his finger...

Captain Riley softened in MacTavish's arms, and he held him tightly, cradling his head.

“Simon,” Johnny said in a trembling voice, “God, what happened tae ye...”

“I'm fine,” Ghost whispered, leaning back, wiping the blood and sweat from his face with his sleeve, and putting on his mask. “Everything's fine now.”

Leaning onto Johnny's shoulders, Simon managed to stand up, and then they slowly walked away from the experimental room and the laboratory. Ghost saw other soldiers leading captured scientists out of the facility; he saw the destruction, bullet holes, and explosions' aftermath, and dead guards. He walked, holding onto Johnny, and couldn’t not think of how his friends from another world defeated their enemies. Presumably, they managed to clear their names and return to service. They stuck together, didn't forget about safety, and lived to see the day when a similar secret laboratory appeared in their world. And then... well, Ghost would never know the details, as he would never see his friends again. All he could do was hope that they were okay and that his younger double finally dared to confess his feelings to his own MacTavish.

“Johnny,” Simon called out as they left the sixth level of the bunker and paused on the fifth one to catch their breath, “remember how you were talking about two guys who told you to put on the helmet?”

“Sure,” Soap looked at Ghost and gently stroked his cheek, slipping his fingers under his mask. “Why are ye bringing this up so suddenly?”

“Did they have rings?” Riley kept asking. “Please, love, try to remember, it's very important!”

MacTavish frowned, not understanding what was happening, but genuinely trying to recall. He was silent for a minute, then his face brightened, and he looked Ghost in the eyes.

“The one in the balaclava had gloves on,” he said, “but the other one, who looked like me, did ‘ave a ring. It was a simple, silver one, like... like ours.”

Soap's eyes widened in surprise as he looked at Ghost, who smiled under his mask and hugged his beloved tightly, burying his face in his funny tuft. Tears began to well up in his eyes, and he blinked to hold them back, because soldiers from 141 were running around them, under the joint command of Captain Riley, Major Price, and Captain MacTavish.

“Simon, love, what's going on?” Johnny asked. “Please, talk tae me, ‘cause ye're scaring me!”

“Everything's fine,” Riley lowered his head, looking into MacTavish's clear blue eyes, and a happy smile appeared on his lips under the mask again. “Don't worry, my dear. Something did happen to me in that room, but everything's fine now. I'll tell you, just please, let's get out of this shithole first.”

“Aye, sure,” Johnny peered into Simon's eyes through the slits in his mask, reassured that everything was okay, and smiled as well. “Let's get oot of ‘ere, ‘cause it feels crappy and smells like shit.”

Ghost chuckled quietly, again placing his hand on Soap's shoulder - not because he couldn't walk on his own, but because he wanted to feel him. Johnny wrapped his arm around his waist, and they walked up the stairs - towards the light, towards life, towards the future where they would undoubtedly live to retire and grow old together in a cozy house somewhere on the Scottish coast. Where everything would be wonderful, because they both deserved it.

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alyssaswrld999 · 2 months

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I'm Broken And I Don't Want To Be Sammy

( Sam Winchester x Reader)

Warnings: deppression, suicidal thoughts, deep conversations, broken feelings, self harm, etc.

Y/n's pov:

I never looked at the world so differently until now. Never knew that I could go down into a pit of emotions that kill me every single day. To were it makes me feel that no one needs me anymore...

That no one will miss me...

That it's ok to leave this world behind...

"Y/n you okay" Sam asked. I look up at Sam getting out of my trace of thoughts. "Yeah I'm alright Sam" I said giving a decent smile. I look down and get back to researching our case. It seems we are dealing with a ghost of some sort which is never good.

"Listen to this according to the crime scenes and deaths that have happened in the past five years they all are near this old mental asylum at a 10 mile radius at least. And they are even killed the same way which is all suicide" Sam said.

Dealing with a case that involved ghosts used to make me sick to my stomach but now from the way I've been feeling for awhile it doesn't bother me much anymore. The fate I seek lately by any paranormal creature now is just plain and simple its just becoming the term "it is what it is".

"So it sounds like we could have ghost possession?" I said. "I think Y/n's right because we did have a case similar to this before" Dean added. Sam closed his laptop and looked at Dean. "Well then let's go check it out" Sam said.

➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️➖️

We finally make it to Louisiana and arrive at a motel for the night. "I'm gonna go get a drink I'll see you guys in the morning" Dean said. I rolled my eyes and got out of the impala and made my way towards the motel door of our room. "Always Dean leaving at the worst moments" I thought.

Sam's pov:

"I'm gonna go get a drink I'll see you guys in the morning" Dean said. After Dean said that Y/n gets out of the car and she seems angry. Also including the fact that she didn't grab her bag. "Hey uh do you think Y/n is acting strange" Dean asked.

I looked at Dean and back to the motel door. "Yeah I do I mean she's been acting strange for a couple of weeks" I answered. I was worried about her she just seemed numb as if she couldn't feel anything of a happy thought.

"Well just make sure to keep an eye on her while I'm gone. Maybe talk to her I don't know Sammy. We don't need to lose anyone else" Dean said. I nodded my head and got out of the impala and went to the trunk. "I just hope she's gonna be ok" I thought.

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Y/n's pov:

I enter the motel room and it wasn't as bad as some we have stayed in before. It was different because it was more "Country Life" themed. There was even a cow picture on the wall.

"Never thought I would seen a more beautiful room" I thought. This room sorta gave me peace for now which is more peace that I've felt in awhile. Sure it doesn't fully help me feel better but it's still comforting.

As I go into the motel bathroom Sam entered. "Y/n I'm gonna put your bag on one of the beds" Sam said. I peek out of the bathroom and looked to see Sam's back facing me. "Thanks Sam" I said.

Sam turned around and seen me for a second before I went back into the bathroom. He seemed concerned but I couldn't worry about the way he feels right now.

I close the bathroom door and I look at myself in the mirror. There was bags under my eyes and it looks like I haven't slept in days. I mean technically I haven't wanted to eat anything or sleep. Haven't even really eaten a proper meal in five days.

"Why would Sammy want me as his girlfriend?" I thought. I've done things and I just feel that eventually both Dean and Sam won't want me around anymore. I keep having dreams of everyone even Castiel saying that "I'm horrible", "I need to die", etc.

As I get out of my trace of thoughts I look down to wash my face. As I look up again Lucifer was beside me. I then froze and couldn't move from where I was. "Hi Y/n" Lucifer said with a grin on his face.

"Why are you here why now why are you bothering me" I asked. Lucifer just smiles at me then walks towards me. "I'm just here to talk to you I mean technically I'm your only friend at this moment isn't that right" Lucifer said.

I look away and then look down at my hands. "No your not real get out of my head" I said. Lucifer laughs as if I was joking. "No what I think you need to do Y/n is give in to how you feel. Sam and Dean are tired of protecting you. There tired of you being a pathetic waste of a hunter" Lucifer said.

I shook my head and I covered my ears to ignore what he was telling me. "Leave me alone just leave me alone" I mumbled. "As you wish Y/n I'll leave you be for now at least" Lucifer said then dissappered.

I look around to see Lucifer was gone but I still had this weird feeling. I open the bathroom door to go and grab an outfit and some of my toiletries. As I walk back I noticed Sam wasn't in the motel room.

Then I seen a note on the table beside his laptop. "Y/n I went to go a get us something to eat I'll be back soon -Sam". Well that's good because it gives me time to be alone. I enter the bathroom and turn on the shower.

I grab my phone and start to play "Behind Blue Eyes". This should ease off on how I'm feeling for a bit and it's also a good song to.

No one knows what it's like to be the bad man...

I just wanted to feel peace and not feel empty. I just wanted to feel happy again with Sam and Dean. But lately I've just felt this way because of everything with Crowely, Castiel, etc.

To be the sad man behind blue eyes...

I just want to be normal again and not broken. I'm tired of feeling like everything is my fault. Castiel losing his grace, Crowley trying to kill Sam and Dean, Lucifer tormenting Sam.

And no one knows what its like to be hated...

I just don't want to wake up one day and be told that everyone hates me. That I don't deserve to be happy with the people I love the most.

To be fated to telling only lies...

But what if this is all a lie? I keep secrets away from Sam and Dean so they won't worry about me. Especially about Lucifer speaking to me and tormenting me.

But my dreams, they aren't as empty...

I just want to feel better and the only way is to do the thing that isn't ok. I open my makeup bag and pull out my raiser. I take the blade and hold it In my hand.

I then roll up my sleeve and cut. I don't know how many times I did but it just kept going....

As my conscience seems to be...

All I see is blood and I then stop what I'm doing. There is now 28 new cuts on my arm. And I felt horrible and at peace in a non-normal comforting way.

I strip out of my clothing and then step inside the shower to clean off all the dirt and nature off my body. I haven't showered in days and I finally have the chance to do now.

I have hours, only lonely...

I felt alone and I just couldnt get that off my mind. I love Sam and Dean and I care about them. I just can't let then see me like this.

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Sam's pov:

As Y/n went to the bathroom I decided to go and get us something to eat. I can tell she hasn't been herself lately and when I would try and talk to her about it she would push me away.

I can't force her to talk because I don't wanna make her feel forced to do anything. I just don't want her to hurt.

I left a note on the table to let her know where I was going so she wouldn't worry or anything. I just don't want her to ever think that I'm gonna leave her.

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Y/ns pov:

After 20 minutes I finally got done taking a shower and I put my new pair of clothes on. Which was a brown Tennesse long sleeved pajama shirt and a pair of Sam's boxers.

I remember the first time I took these boxers and weared them in front of Sammy. He was happy and thought it was cute so he let me keep them.

It brought me a comforting feeling and it made me forget what I did earlier to my arm. I just don't want Sam to notice what I've done. And I don't feel like getting yelled at by both Dean and Sam for this.

I noticed that my phone turned off and it stopped the song that was playing. I clicked the play button and it continues where it left off.

My love is vengeance that's never free...

No one knows what it's like to feel these feelings...

Like I do, and I blame you...

No one bites back as hard on their anger...

I grab my hairbrush and start brushing my hair while the song continues to play. It was almost over anyway so why not listen to it.

None of my pain and woe can show through...

But my dreams, they arent as empty...

Then suddenly the motel door opens and I heard a plastic bag rustle. "Sams back" I thought. I finally get done brushing my hair and I turn off the song.

I make sure I look ok and I walk out of the bathroom. "Hey Sammy" I said. Sam looks up and smiles at me. "Hey beautiful I just got back and I got us Chinese food" Sam said holding up the bags of food.

I gave him a big smile and I walk over to him. When I get in front of Sam I rest my head against his chest and wrap my arms around his waist.

"Hey what's this for" Sam said. I moved my face more into his chest and I held on for dear life. Eventually Sam puts the food down and hugs me back. "Hey sweetheart whats wrong" Sam asked. I then just broke down.

I started crying and I couldn't stop the tears from falling. "I'm broken.. and I don't want to be sammy" I mumbled. Sam then picked me up and held me in his arms. I wrapped my legs around him and just held onto him.

"Y/n talk to me sweetheart please I need you to tell me what's wrong" Sam pleaded. I pull away and look at Sam. "I've just been feeling not myself lately... I wanna tell you everything but I don't want you to leave me Sam" I said.

Sam looked at me and paused. He looked as if I was crazy and joking. "Y/n I'm never gonna leave you I love you to much and I would never do that to you" Sam said.

"I love you to Sammy"

#Spotify #love #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester x reader #crowley #lucifer #depression #sad #comfort #lonely thoughts #castiel #sam winchester #music

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bowtiepastabitch · 3 months

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Warlock Dowling: Disabled Icon?

Okay so this is all based on like five seconds of the show and has no real bearing on the plot, but I'm intrigued and wanted to look into it so here we go:)

When asked how old he is, Warlock signs when he speaks:

"Five."

"I'm"

"Five."

I don't know how this carries over to BSL, simply because this is not technically the correct way to indicate age in either ASL or BSL according to my brief research, but this is a sign for "I am" in ASL (Source) which is simpler and age appropriate.*

So did Warlock pick this up from someone? The most straight-forward explanation would be that he's been exposed to someone hard of hearing or deaf that uses ASL and picked it up, which isn't entirely uncommon for children and it's a pretty easy sign. This is nice to imagine, simply because it fleshes out the world beyond what's shown onscreen.

There's another explanation, one I quite favor, though there's not a ton of textual evidence for it. Total, pure speculation based on what cannot technically be proven wrong. This would be that Warlock himself is hard of hearing.

At his birthday, he totally talks right over this girl in pigtails and doesn't really seem to have processed or responded to anything she says.

But he turns around to look at this kid when he's talking, and then responds. One explanation for his behavior is of course that he's a little shit. And he is, yeah. But also, it could be used, if one was as insane as me, as evidence that he relies at least partially on lip-reading to fully process things being said to him. We also literally never see this kid's ears, so we can't prove he's not wearing hearing aids.

On a more down to earth note, his signing is not mentioned in the script book, and there's very little information about the child actor on the internet to determine if he himself might be deaf or hard of hearing. There's almost certainly a boring explanation of course, but it's kind of fun to imagine. Either way, it's neat that sign language is used onscreen, and it definitely implies that canonically Warlock himself or someone in his caretaking sphere is deaf/hoh. Hopefully in the future we'll see more openly disabled characters on screen, but until then, we have headcanon. <3

*I am not an expert in this and base this off my minimal research. It is always best to learn sign from actual deaf/hoh educators when at all possible!

#good omens #good omens season 1 #warlock dowling #warlock good omens #neil gaiman #disabled omens #that's not actually an existing tag but I want it to be so bad

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neon-junkie · 1 year

Text

In the Heat of the Moment - Chpt.5

Summary: “Less than ten percent of domesticated species go into heats,” accord to Tech and his research, and (un)fortunately, you’re one of that ten percent. What else are you meant to do? Trapped during a heat cycle with five men - five willing men who are happy to help relieve you, but not all have the confidence to say so.

Relationship: The Bad Batch x fem!Reader (she/her)

Tags: Heats, Mating, Sex pollen, Friends with benefits, Friends to lovers, Slow burn, Sex, Jealousy, Pining, Scents, slightly A/B/O, First time, Angst, Tags to be added.

Word count: 2.5k

[Chapter 1] [Chapter 6]

Chapter 5 - Icarus

Your morning has been spent playing hide and seek - not literally. You were attempting to hide in Echo's room, his door ever-so-slight ajar, wide enough for you to peep through. When the moment was right, and the others had their backs turned, you dashed across the Marauder's hallway into your room, shutting your door with a gentle slam - a cue for Echo to leave his room and distract the others from your whereabouts.

They totally know what's up.

Whatever. That's a conversation for another day. Presently, you're setting off from Mos Espa, finalizing your series of successful negotiating missions. The only meaning behind 'negotiating' is that Wrecker wasn't able to blow anything up, although there was most definitely bloodshed.

Tech, with sharply furrowed brows, is having some trouble piloting the Marauder, muttering under his breath about, "all this kriffing sand is covering my vision, and the scanners."

Eh, he'll be fine. You've seen Tech pilot his way through the most unruly of situations - situations that, no doubt, you would have cracked in.

Slouching back in your chair, you let a sigh slip from your lips as you scan your surroundings. Tech is in the pilots seat, with Echo as his co-pilot, attempting to find some way to clear up the scanner.

Wrecker can be overheard down the hall in the armoury, talking to himself, or talking to his array of explosives. Who knows, really?

Hunter is idle, sitting at one of the control panels, his viroblade twiddling between his fingertips. He did attempt to offer a hand, but Tech ushered him away, cursing his Sergeant out for creating distractions.

As for Crosshair, he's cooped up with you in the cockpit, sitting in the passengers' chair besides you. He's also idle, arms crossed against his chest, his expression is neutral, zoning out at the wall.

"Well," you mutter under your breath, catching his attention. "I'm going to make myself a cup of caf," you state as you push yourself up from your chair.

"In this turbulence?" Echo questions over his shoulder.

"Turbulence?" you say with a scoff. "I thought Tech was just getting warmed up."

"Hilarious," Tech hisses, his fists tightening on the steering wheel. Echo shares a look of confusion with you before turning back to his work, and Crosshair can be overheard letting out a light chuckle.

You turn heel, and exit the cockpit, making your way to the kitchenette. The 'turbulence' is light, a jitter here and there, but seeing as Wrecker is playing with his explosives, it indicates that things are not merely as bad as Tech is making them out to be.

Unless if he knows something that the rest of you don't?

After filling the caf maker up, you flick the power on, and watch as it drips down into the pot below, one trickle at a time. Your arms cross against your chest, and you join Crosshair and Hunter in falling idle, zoning out into nothingness like an NPC without any tasks.

Your mind begins dancing over the last couple of days. Tension is running high, and you curse yourself for being the source of the problem. If only you'd taken those supplements the second Hunter gave them to you, then you wouldn't have slept with a third of the team - or half, seeing as Crosshair has had some light fun with you.

Speaking of Crosshair, ever since he met you in his slumber, he's been somewhat distant. You know that it's out of both respect, and guilt, feeling rather uneasy that he had such an intimate dream about you. Crosshair assumes that his dream was simply that - a dream - but what he doesn't know is that you were tugging the strings all along.

He's had you on his mind ever since. You can pick up small snippets using your force sensitivity - a blessing, and a curse. Crosshair often has scenarios running in the back of his mind, such as breaking your bickering with him just to kiss you, or entering your room and curling up against you in bed without muttering a word.

Even last night, when Echo was sheathing himself in your warmth, you could sense that Crosshair was working himself away in the darkness of his room, his fist around his cock, and his other fist smothering his mouth in an attempt to muffle his sounds.

He has you on his mind right now. His idle form is a cover-up. Whilst he may be staring out into nothingness, his mind is conjuring up scenario after scenario with you, most of which are rather sweet.

That is, until Crosshair reminds himself of the previous mission. As a woman in heat, on an even hotter planet, leading a squad of rugged men, you're rather worked up - stressed, if you dare say it. You've become snappy, and most of your anger has been taken out on your enemies. Some idiot back in Mos Espa tried to put you 'in your place,' seeing as you're only a feeble female, and the way that you barked back at him? It left a chill running down everyone's spine, and for the first time in his life, Crosshair decided that he'd happily submit, rather than be submitted to.

He's thinking about that now - your tone of voice, firm with caring undertones. And would you dare mock him in that voice? Tease him? Push him around a little bit? Your dry and witty sniper is bound to cave, especially now.

Crosshair shifts in his seat, folding one leg so that his ankle is resting on his opposite knee. He's giving his little trooper some breathing room, and growing room, seeing as he can't help but get worked up.

That might have something to do with you.

You're doing it again, tapping into his thoughts, playing along with his fantasy right under his nose. The others are oblivious to it, including Hunter, who is still fixated on twirling his viroblade. The caf machine continues to drip away, and you use that as a timer; once the caf is brewed, then play time is over.

"Crosshair," a voice calls out to him. He shifts in his seat again, rather alarmed that your voice sounds so crisp. It seems his imagination is getting the best of him...

Crosshair can see you standing in front of his chair, your hands on your hips, looking down at him sitting in the passenger's seat. His brows turn upwards, and Crosshair feels guilty for having such a vivid imagination. Little does he know.

"Getting hard whilst on a mission, are we?" you question, your eyes briefly glancing down to his cod piece. You tut, your tongue clicking against the roof of your mouth a few times as you shake your head in disappointment.

Crosshair lips fall open, only for them to shut instantly. This is a daydream, and Crosshair can't start talking into nothingness. He replies with his thoughts and feelings, playing along. "Can you blame me?" he replies, and feels rather stupid for thinking of you like this, in public, during the end of a mission.

"I thought a good soldier such as yourself would have learnt some obedience," you tut once more, and watch as Crosshair shifts again.

Crosshair's eyes move from your force vision, checking on the others. Tech and Echo are mumbling away up front, piloting the ship. Hunter can barely be seen down the hallway, with you in the distance, also zoned out as you gorm at the caf maker. Wrecker is far down the ship, and for once, he can't be seen, nor heard.

Turning back to you - or his vision of you - Crosshair replies, "I must have missed those classes. Care to educate me?"

Your lips turn upwards, as do Crosshair's. He's challenging you, matching your demeanour, because you know Crosshair won't be put in his place without a fight. You can work with that; you have plenty of pent-up frustration that is desperate for an outlet, seeing as your heat has been running rampant on this scorching planet.

Slowly, you bend forward, and rest your palms flat on Crosshair's thighs. He sucks in a quick breath, a chill running down his spine; you feel so real, as if you're really squeezing his thighs, and batting your lashes as you catch his gaze. His imagination is wilder than Crosshair ever realised.

Only, it's not his imagination - it's you, pulling the strings, but Crosshair doesn't know that. For him, this is just one of his little fantasies.

"I doubt you have the patience to be trained," you coo. "We both know what an impatient brat you can be."

This time, Crosshair is the one chuckling, "me? A brat? Whatever are you talking about," he smirks.

With a raised brow, you respond, "you know what I'm talking about."

To your surprise, Crosshair rises to his feet, your body automatically moving out of the way for him. He stands against you, chest to chest, his fists bunched up at his sides. Crosshair looks down at you, and through his mind, he speaks.

"We can keep playing this game, if that's what you want," Crosshair responds, with venom laced in his words. His head leans forwards, mere inches from yours, and with a piercing gaze, he continues, "although daydreaming doesn't do much for me."

With that, Crosshair is gone. You can see him leaving the cockpit in the corner of your eye, making his way down the Marauder. The caf pot clicks as he approaches, and with a weak grasp, you eagerly pour yourself a cup of caf, attempting to feign innocence.

Crosshair pays you no attention as he walks past you, only both of you stop in your tracks as the Marauder's turbulence begins to kick it up a notch, bumping against the weather outside.

"Hold on to something!" Tech's voice booms out from the cockpit, shouting in lowercase, if that is even possible. You've barely looked up from your cup of caf, still sitting on the kitchenette, before the Marauder begins to take a dive.

Grabbing onto the counter isn't enough, and you overhear Crosshair's back hit the ship's wall from behind you. The ship takes a plummet, and with it, your stomach drops. Your hands fail to grip onto the flat surface, and whilst crashing into the dunes of Tatooine, you find yourself falling against Crosshair.

He cushions your fall, to some degree, even if you both end up tangled on the floor. The overhead lights flicker a few times before all power cuts out, and you're left in near darkness, the sight of your smashed mug being the last thing you see. Crosshair's deep breaths are heavy on the back of your neck, and he lets out a pained grumble as he begins to push you off, and scramble himself up.

Crosshair isn't that mean, though. The second that he's up, he helps you up, keeping his grasp on you until you've found your balance on your own feet. Hunter, who is mere meters away, has now picked himself up from his tangled mess on the floor, and calls out, "is everyone alright?"

Wrecker is the first to respond, down the hull, in the armoury, "I might have broken something..."

"We're fine," Crosshair answers for you.

"Still breathing, somehow," Echo calls out from the cockpit, along with a grumble from Tech.

Hunter begins laying out his action plan, and his words ring out from your ears. All you can focus on is Crosshair - the man standing beside you, with his hand on your waist, and the other on your forearm. The hand on your waist tightens, catching your attention, and you turn to look up at him. His brows are furrowed, but not out of anger, and when he speaks, his tone is... challenging.

"I suppose that was your punishment for trying to toy with me," he speaks in a hushed tone, directly against your ear, ensuring that the others can't overhear during their post-crash frenzy.

"Huh?" you bat your lashes, ensuring that you heard him correctly.

"Don't act stupid," he tuts. The grip on your forearm tightens, and Crosshair somehow manages to pull your bodies even closer. Auburn eyes are staring into yours, and if you were his enemy, you'd genuinely be scared. "You're going to have to do better than those little force visions, if you want me to put you in your place."

Your sudden, shocked expression indicates that the message has been received. Crosshair looks at you for another moment, before loosening his grasp, and walking off down the hull. There you are, standing there like a deer in the headlights, a mixture of guilt and worry washing over you.

Crosshair... knows?

He's known this entire time?

His dream the other night, his daydream moments ago, he's known that it was you all along?

Shifting from one foot to the other, you continue staring into nothingness, a million thoughts running through your mind. Crosshair doesn't seem angry, nor is he pushing you away, he only seems to be challenging you. He's not easy, and you doubt you can play the 'my heat is bothering me, will you help me out?' card.

Oh, no. That man will be a challenge...

"Hey?" Hunter calls out, bringing you back to the present. You lightly flinch as he presses the back of his palm to your forehead, his expression filled with worry. "You alright? You've been zoned out for a while-"

"-I'm fine," you defend. Hunter looks rather defeated as he moves his hand away, his brows remaining upturned as he looks down at you. "I must have hit my head harder than I thought," you say with a shrug.

"You need me to check-"

"-No, no," you wave your hands. "It's okay. Let's just focus on getting some repairs done."

With that, you're walking towards the cockpit, pretending to be eager about lending a hand, when in reality, you heed a heavy distraction.

Hunter remains still for a moment. His eyes watch you walk away, before they shift in the opposite direction. He watches as Crosshair helps Wrecker clean up the armoury, picking up unarmed explosives that are, thankfully, not damaged in the crash. Your voice can be overheard in the background, asking Tech where to start, with Echo grumbling about how long this is going to take.

Hunter's hands come to rest on his hips, and he lets out a soft hum. Whatever happened - whatever Crosshair said to you moments ago - has caused some sort of rift, tension, and Hunter doesn't like it.

He'll get to the bottom of this...

#in the heat of the moment #tbb #tbbwriting #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb crosshair x reader #crosshair x reader #smut #angst #bad batch #bad batch crosshair #tbb fanfic #bad batch fanfic

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knickynoo · 2 months

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Back to the Future: The Animated Series, s02ep12 "St. Louis Blues"

Previous episodes linked here.

In this episode:

Almost at the end of the series, folks. We don't have much Real Doc content left, so let's treasure our time with him while we can.

We find our friend Doc at the Hill Valley baseball field, where the Hill Valley Dreamers are playing against the Riverburg Big Dudes. According to Doc, the teams aren't very good, and most of the seats remain empty during the games. However, this hasn't stopped Doc from somehow managing to end up in the worst seat possible.

He does occasionally poke his head around the beam to talk to us, but he just. Goes back to sitting behind it. There is NO ONE else around, and he can literally sit in any seat he wants, but he's resigned himself to being unable to see the game.

I love Doc so much. Where else am I going to find a man who's like this?

As he enjoys an iced tea and a hot dog, Doc shares that the food and drink were both introduced at the St. Louis World's Fair in 1904, which he went to with his family. We go into the cartoon then.

Marty and Jennifer are on a date to play mini-golf, but it isn't going well. If you've been keeping up with these posts, you probably know that Marty and Jen don't exactly have a great relationship. Jennifer is angry at Marty like 80% of the time on account of Marty being an immature doofus who likes to tease Jennifer and lie to her. As they play golf, a series of mishaps (due to Marty's clumsiness) causes Jen to be sprayed with water and then covered in green goo from the fake volcano.

Marty thinks this is very funny. Jennifer does not.

After laughing at Jen for a little, a girl in a convertible pulls up to chat with them. Her name is Liz, and she's apparently a rich, snobby girl who goes to Marty's college.

Liz asks Marty if he wants to be her date to a party at the country club or, "play kiddie golf with the witch." And even though Marty has plans with Jennifer (you know, his girlfriend) for later that night, he decides he'd rather go to the country club!! With this mean girl Liz!!!

Jennifer stomps away angrily, to which Marty does not even react. He just laughs and goes, "Well, looks like I'm free."

Jail for Marty.

He goes right to a barbershop to get a haircut in preparation for his country club date, but even the cheapest haircut is $92.50. Marty leaves and figures maybe he can borrow money from Doc.

Doc, Clara, Jules, and Verne are all at an amusement park. After paying $275 just for admission and then being charged $10 each for a drink, Doc and Clara propose they take the time machine to visit an old-fashioned amusement park where the prices are much more reasonable. Jules and Verne aren't interested, though; they want to stay and ride the present day thrill rides. Clara and Doc decide to take the trip themselves and tell the boys they'll be back in two hours.

Meanwhile, after arriving at the Brown home and finding it deserted, Marty comes upon one of Doc's inventions in the garage—the "Hair Cut O Matic." Ah, the perfect solution to Marty's problem!

Except, as is the case with most of Doc's inventions, it malfunctions pretty much right away. Marty barely has five seconds to admire his fresh new cut before his hair starts morphing before his very eyes.

Listen. Marty deserves this, okay?

Also, I don't think I've really mentioned this in past posts, but some episodes have quick segments called "Back to the Facts" which is when Cartoon Doc reads off a fun fact that relates to the episode. I assume these were played at the start or end of the commercial breaks? Anyway, this episode has an interesting one where Doc notes when the first roller coaster opened (1804) and mentions that they probably didn't go as fast as the "roller coasters of today—which can travel up to 66 mph."

I did some research because my initial thought was, "That can't be right. Roller coasters in 1992 could only go up to 66 mph??" But it appears that fact was right, as I looked up a list of coasters from that year and couldn't find any that went above around 60 mph. Which is crazy because that seems so...slow? Roller coasters today can reach much higher speeds, with the fastest coaster in the world ("Formula Rossa" in the United Arab Emirates) going almost 150 mph.

I personally have ridden the fastest coaster in North America, "Kingda Ka," which hits 128 mph. This beast:

Yes, the drop is every bit as wild as it looks. No experience like it. I think I've been on it two or three times? It gets shut down a lot because if there's significant enough wind, it sways and becomes too unsafe to ride, lol.

Must refocus. Marty goes to the amusement park to try to find Doc and ends up having to cough up $100 for the entrance fee anyway. So...Marty had the money. He just didn't want to use it for his haircut.

He has a stunning, beautiful braid at this point, btw.

Marty's hair briefly returns to normal, and he buys himself a hat to hide it as he continues to wander around the park looking for Clara and Doc. He's eventually spotted by Jules and Verne, and this is where I got sidetracked AGAIN because I could not for the life of me figure out what Verne was saying after he sees Marty. It sounded like, "Hey, lookie! Michael came back from The West!" I went back and listened two more times, and it sounded the same. I assumed it was an obscure reference to something, but I couldn't figure out what. Then I went and turned on the subtitles and saw the line is, "Fievel came back from The West!" which still didn't help me at all.

So, I did some searching and found it's a reference to An American Tail: Fieval Goes West, which is the sequel to An American Tail, a movie that's apparently about a Jewish mouse named Fievel Mousekewitz? I guess this is something the kids of 1992 would have known?

Marty, Jules, and Verne travel to the World's Fair in 1904 and set up the Time Train as a fair exhibit: The Train of the Future. A Tannen relative, P.T. Tannen, sees it and is intrigued. He's looking to set up an exhibit of his own that will bring in a lot of money, and for a moment, it looks like he might take the train. However, it turns out that he wants MARTY for his exhibit. A boy with magically changing hairstyles is just the thing he's looking for.

After kidnapping Marty and locking him in a cage, P.T. starts attracting quite the crowd to view such a freak of nature. Doc and Clara even wander in and are horrified to see who it is. The audience screams in terror as Marty's hair continues to change.

Doc and Clara attempt to create a diversion and rescue Marty, and there's a moment where another one of those weird mistakes with the animation happens. As you may remember, there have been instances of character's eyes and skin tones changing color randomly during scenes, as well as objects disappearing from the frame. This show is full of errors, but this one is a first. After being caught by P.T. Tannen, Doc's eyes inexplicably glow for several seconds.

I would love to know what was happening behind the scenes of this show because it's so sloppy a lot of the time.

After successfully escaping with Marty, everyone returns home. Marty dresses in a spiffy suit, gets his hair fixed, and takes the DeLorean over to Liz's house. There has not been one sighting of Marty's truck over the course of this whole show, so I assume he doesn't have one in the cartoon universe. He's always borrowing the DeLorean. Also, not a single mention of parents or siblings.

Marty's whole experience with his hair has taught him a very valuable lesson: it's not nice to make fun of other people. He tells Liz that he never should have teased Jen at the mini golf place and says he can't go to the country club with her. This doesn't bother Liz one bit since she found a "better" date to take her: someone who is rich and popular. Marty goes to Jen's house with flowers, pizza, and some movie rentals and apologizes to her. She forgives him, gives him a kiss, and we go back to Real Doc, who catches a baseball in his ice cream cone. He still attempts to eat it.

This is a fun episode. I like when I get to go and do a few minutes of research and learn about things like roller coaster speeds and animated mouse movies. But I can't believe so many episodes are built on the premise of Marty being a meanie and having to go through something awful to learn his lesson. Cartoon Marty is so wildly different from Movie Marty, and it makes me sad to think about the potential the show could have had. Bob Gale should approve a reboot of the cartoon but make it GOOD this time. He should hire the Tumblr BTTF fandom to work on it.

Join me next time as we head into the final episode of the series. 😭

#back to the future #bttf #bttf: the animated series

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multifunctionalnitroglycerin · 4 months

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The Locked Tomb Series Name and Symbolism #3

This one is a beast. Be warned.

And now, onto the original Penumbral Lady, the Mother of the 9th House, the First Keeper of the Tomb, the Lyctor that that never was, Anastasia the First.

Now Anastasia is one of the characters most riddled with symbols and hidden meaning and conspiracy theories, so I'll do my best to add my own tidbit here.

The studious over-researching scion of the Ninth House has ended up being a Symbol herself, in a way that all saints are to those that love and follow them. And the Ninth does love her, or at least, they love what they understand, what they perceive she stood for (The Anastasian monument and the whole "You could not trip in the Ninth House without falling over an Anastas, an Anastasia, or an Anastasius; or, in later years, bumping into their niche.")

But here we'll look into more mundane, if you will, aspects of her symbolism and perhaps come up wit ha theory or two on the way.

First things first, her name itself. Anastasia or Αναστασία is a name of Greek origin that is quite popular in Eastern Europe, and closely associated with Christianity (You'll be surprised at how many Saints of the Orthodox Church have born that name. Okay it's five, but it still seems a lot) It originates from the ancient Greek word ἀνάστασις, meaning Resurrection. The noun itself comes from the compound verb ἀνίστημι, which for our language nerds such as myself out there has two components ἀνά meaning again and ἵστημι meaning stand. So practically, stand again, which is my personal favorite take on the name. Being the one that stands up again, and again, and again. Beautifully stubborn, don't you think? And quite fitting for our Saint here, for research is nothing but failing and falling down time after time only to rise back up wiser than before and face the challenge again. In all honesty, this also reminds me of a few other Ninth House dolts, that redid that trial countless times without any sleep, food whatsoever. For all my experimentalists and researchers out there, do NOT be like Harrow. A few hours of sleep, or a walk down the hallway and a glass of water might help you figure it out, more than tiredly redoing the same thing over a thousand times. Oh, I am off track though, I apologize.

Back to our point, Anastasia = Resurrection. Now whether that resurrection refers to her own coming back from the dead (we see Alecto recognizing her bones huddled in a corner ready to roll the stone back up) or perhaps another Second Resurrection, with John overthrown and things returning to their natural order - more or less, kinda, I mean who knows?- and her or her blood aka Harrowhark playing a significant part, I don't know.

What we also do not know, are the exact circumstances of her existence post ascension attempt, and the manner of her death, both of which are clouded in mystery. Kind of like another Anastasia in history. Yes, that's the one, Grand Duchess Anastasia Nikolaevna of Russia. Countless rumors of her possible escape circulated after her death, fueled by the fact that the location of her burial was unknown until even decades later. And still even after the mass grave was found, the bodies of the young tsarevich and one daughter were missing. (Those were found in 2007 and the body is attributed either to Maria or to Anastasia). Another Anastasia that for decades was clouded in mystery.

But mysteries are kind of a Ninth House thing, aren't they. What with the jawless skull, the only known treatment to a sewn tongue being the house symbol and all. And my gosh, the whole thing with Alecto has my brain spinning. Because why would John ask of Anastasia to guard Alecto in the tomb? Why would he sent his only failed student, the one he betrayed, with the thing that could spell his end? Why lock them up together? Unless the point was not to give Anastasia a role, but to punish her.

According to the eighth as they so graciously inform us, the Ninth shouldn't even exist. Anastasia should have sealed herself with Alecto in the tomb and died there. There was no plan for her having descendants, a bloodline unbroken for ten thousand years (Why, I wonder? What did it service? Why was it so important and so deeply integrated in the Reverend Family that Harrow's parents had to go to the lengths they did to ensure the continuation of Anastasia's bloodline? To ensure, unknowingly that the oath between Anastasia and Alecto still held true?)

Before diving to my own conspiracy theory about these questions I would like to point out a parallel between Anastasia being locked as a punishment in the tomb and one of the most well known tragedies of the ancient Greek world. It could be none other than Sophocles' Antigone. And again the parallel between Antigone and Anastasia is so prominent as the Alecto Αληκτώ one, that having translated the part

Ὦ τύμβος, ὦ νυμφεῖον, ὦ κατασκαφὴς οἴκησις αἰείφρουρος, οἷ πορεύομαι πρὸς τοὺς ἐμαυτῆς, ὧν ἀριθμὸν ἐν νεκροῖς πλεῖστον δέδεκται Φερσέφασσ’ ὀλωλότων· ὧν λοισθία ’γὼ καὶ κάκιστα δὴ μακρῷ κάτειμι, πρίν μοι μοῖραν ἐξήκειν βίου. Ἐλθοῦσα μέντοι κάρτ’ ἐν ἐλπίσιν τρέφω φίλη μὲν ἥξειν πατρί, προσφιλὴς δὲ σοί, μῆτερ, φίλη δὲ σοί, κασίγνητον κάρα·

I don't know how many times, I should be ashamed of myself for not making the connection sooner. Our Greek speakers have probably already figured out the translation, but lets put it here as well... this is the most famous

Ω Τάφε μου, κρεβάτι νυφικό, σπίτι μου στη βαθιά τη γη κι αιώνιο κελί μου, έρχομαι να βρω τους δικούς μου νεκρούς που μέγα πλήθος η Περσεφόνη φίλεψε...

(I am cutting this short, we will need the English version either way. Don't ask why this part is such a big deal. It just is)

Anyhow, for everyone else that didn't grow up around Greek comedic series of the 90s this whole thing translates to

O tomb, my bridal-bed—my house, my prison cut in the hollow rock, my everlasting watch! I'll soon be there, soon embrace my own, the great growing family of our dead Persephone has received among her ghosts. I, the last of them all, the most reviled by far, go down before my destined time's run out. But still I go, cherishing one good hope, my arrival may be dear to father, dear to you, my mother, dear to you, my loving brother...

And while the bridal bed line would make for an interesting interpretation, seeing Harrow's -Anastasia's blood, instant pull to Alecto and seeings as we never figured out the nature of the relationship between Alecto and Anastasia, it is the greater premise of the story that we care about.

In short, Antigone had two brothers, who fought over who could rule over Thebes. So evenly matched they were, that they both perished in the fight, and Antigone's uncle, Creon, takes over. Eteokles (Ετεοκλής) who stood for Thebes was buried with the honors befitting a king. His brother Polyneikis (Πολυνείκης) however was left out of the city borders, exposed to the elements, his body abandoned to be consumed by vultures. Creon ordered that no one was under any circumstances allowed to give Polyneikis any sort of death rites, and going against this order was punishable by death. If you know your way around Greek myths, you know that is the worst thing you could do to someone, and it was considered a heinous crime both by mortals, and most importantly, the gods. Antigone, defies Creon's order to not bury Polyneikis and performs the rites symbolically, applying a thin layer of dirt on her dead brother's body. Creon finds out, and after his son begging him for Antigone's life instead of her being killed by stone throwing, Creon decided to bury her alive in a cave with no food or water, until she died of thirst and hunger. Thus the tomb, and prison Antigone mourns about. The story does go on, and ends up with Antigone being found dead, having taken her own life in the tomb, Creon's son, who was in love with her trying to kill his father, failing, and killing himself, and Creon's wife Euridice, killing herself at the loss of her only son. Creon then exiles himself from Thebes cursing his own αστοχασιά, foolhardiness and imprudence at not following the moral laws and the will of the gods.

Antigone chooses to go against man-written laws, and the power of the mortal king, in order bury her brother, following the divine honor and will of the gods, as well as her love for her brother. In return she is punished by being buried alive where she chooses to end her life and meet her family in the Underworld.

The parallel to Anastasia is rather prominent in this case. Anastasia in attempting perfect Lyctorhood goes against John's will, something however that she didn't know, and John himself didn't realize probably until the oh crap she is going to achieve perfect Lyctorhood, and my mistakes will be obvious for everyone to see. Doubt is going to enter everyone's minds and then I will have lost them all over again.

So he kills Samael - again, I think that something might indeed have gone wrong in the process and Alecto might have been involved with or without John's urging, but that' s a story for another time. And Anastasia is all that remains, brokenhearted and unwhole. He doesn't kill her and she lingers, probably doubtful and distrusting. Then she is tasked with guarding Alecto's tomb until her death. John seals Anastasia in the tomb, much like Creon seals Antigone, because she went against his will. Whether that is because of perfect Lyctorhood or some later transgression - a potential pact/ blooming friendship with Alecto, we don't know.

John like a petulant child, locks his broken toys away, where no one but him can find them, where nothing but his blood can free them. Anastasia like Antigone, follows rules larger than her small king, and is entombed with the body she is supposed to protect as a result. She makes peace with her death, does not cling to life, seemingly already having met Samael in the life after (if he is indeed dead)by the time Alecto is freed and tastes her in Harrow's blood. She is naught but a pile of bones ready to roll the stone and seal the tomb once more. John's intentions were never for her to have descendants, for the ninth to become a house. It was to lock the women who he left behind, whose trust he betrayed, for eternity. To keep their doubts, and their secrets and power forever buried.

#alecto tlt #harrow the ninth #the locked tomb #harrowhark nonagesimus #tlt series #tlt spoilers #anastasia the first #anastasia the ninth #samael novenary #nona the ninth spoilers #locked tomb #john gaius #alecto the ninth #literary parallels

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sungbeam · 2 years

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𝐢𝐧 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐨𝐫𝐬, 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫

nonidol!kim hongjoong x fem!reader

you and joong made a promise to each other. now the world wants to test that.

genre. strangers 2 lovers, fluff, angst, scene by scene

warnings. fast paced! (cuz it time-skips after the first part, but slows a little afterward), dorks™, angst, panicking (like actual anxiety attacks, happens twice), stress, fluff tho, swear words (as usual), emotional asf, bliss to pain, but comfort too, plot but not really, barely proofread

inspired by. lany’s (what i wish just one person would say to me)

word count. 12.1k

taglist. @yuufiles @rge-nini @bookishcalls / permanent taglist: @tayunji @im-a-big-mess @doodlewon @y3jiishot @crazywittysassy @seomisaho @stopeatread @enhacolor @yedammi @rnjfy @jaehunnyy @shakalakaboomboo @hoohoohope @kpop718

a/n: i love kim hongjoong, that is all. (also, this was gonna be a WHOLE lot sadder, so uh yw)

— part one: our hearts were set aflame

It had taken you about five seconds of crossing the threshold of the store entrance to realize that you were way in over your head. People buzzed about the floor of the clothing shop, paper bags with other store logos hanging from their arms and clashing against racks, shelves and rows upon more shelves and rows of clothing in colors that you could only imagine created a mass labyrinth. And there you were, standing at the glass doors gaping like a fish, a complete idiot.

There were many things you could research, but shopping was something much easier to do in theory than in practice. (Like writing, but you’d rather not speak on that.)

People were starting to stare at you and you caught someone with a headset glancing your way. You swallowed. It was just shopping… right?

You went first to your left, where all of the business formal wear seemed to all be located. This would be a good start, you thought, eyes skimming through the suit jackets, all blocked off based on color and coordinated as such. There were just so many—

A cough. “I think the taupe would look really good on you.”

You whirled around to see who had suddenly appeared at your side, and you found a young man standing slightly behind you. He had dark hair, slightly swept back in a neat yet charming sort of way; a pair of black headphones hung around his neck, the ears littered with colorful stickers. You could tell he knew how to dress with his black cargo pants and boots, silver chain hanging around his pretty neck, white graphic tee tucked beneath a dark bomber jacket.

Intimidating. Yeah, anyone who could dress well was automatically intimidating.

But then he smiled, flushing under the late morning light the color of light raspberry lemonade. He scratched his head as if suddenly embarrassed by your eyes on him. “Sor—sorry, I mean, uhm, I think taupe works really well with your, uh—your eyes.”

You almost laughed. He was cute. “My eyes?”

“Yeah, it uhm—” he licked his lips, beaming boyishly, “—brings out your eyes.”

“Is that so?” You turned to the rack of clothing once more, eyes narrowed while you rifled through to find what you thought your size was. (And according to the clothing you already had in your closet. You usually didn’t go shopping alone, but since everyone else was busy…)

“Like this?” You found a jacket that was tagged with your size and you held it against your front.

The man’s smile widened. “Yes, it’s perfect. Pair it with light colored slacks and that satin blouse over there and you’re golden.”

You followed his nod in the direction of said “slacks” and “satin blouse”. You only saw a sea of fabrics. “Would you mind, y'know…?”

“Showing you?” His eyes lit up and there was something about the bounce in his step as he gestured for you to follow him. “Of course!”

There was a sort of relief that filled your lungs when he understood you completely. He must have seen the anxiety in your smile or heard the nervousness in your voice. But the way he didn’t hesitate—that seemed to be the thing that had your heart racing. He was absolutely a-light.

He peered over his shoulder at you as he guided you through the labyrinth. “I’m Hongjoong, by the way.”

“I’m Yn. And thank you, Hongjoong. I’m helpless when it comes to this stuff,” you said, laughing awkwardly. Helpless was the understatement of the century.

He waited until you replied before breaking eye contact with you and turning back to the front. “Nice to meet you, Yn. And don’t worry about it; you’ve accidentally met the right person!”

You didn’t know it yet, but by the way your heart skipped a beat and a smile teased the corners of your lips with a semblance of hope—well, maybe you did know. In this moment, you knew you had met the right person.

— ✶

Two hours and eighteen minutes and three shops later, your hands gripped two paper bags each, all filled with clothing and accessories. Hongjoong himself carried just as many bags, perhaps one or two for himself, but all the rest were yours that he had offered to carry for you. He had dragged you into each store, carting you around the clothing labyrinths, piling articles and garments into both yours and his arms. He had been a kid in a candy shop—clapping his hands when you emerged in a piece he liked, or narrowing his eyes, tongue stuck out, as he fixed something wrong with the outfit he had put together on the spot.

You were convinced he had magical powers, and as always, your curiosity and thirst for research had you dragging him to the mall’s bistro for a cup of coffee. And maybe a sandwich or two.

Kim Hongjoong sat across from you, cheek resting against his fist while his other hand idly stirred the latte in a pretty, white porcelain saucer in front of him. He didn’t seem interested in the coffee, really. You could sense his gaze, at this point, from all the time you had spent together today. You could probably pick him out of a lecture hall if you stood at the podium.

“I like your headphones,” you blurted out suddenly while gesturing to the accessory hanging around his neck. “I didn’t say it earlier, but they’re really cool.”

Hongjoong unconsciously touched one of the ear pieces, chuckling. “Ah, thank you! I’ve had them since I was a kid and kinda just… revamped them.”

“You had those massive headphones when you were a kid?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “Dad thought I’d just grow into them. They still work, so I’m not exactly complaining.”

You nodded and brushed your hands from the crumbs of your finished sandwich. “Do you revamp a lot of things?”

Hongjoong hummed and bobbed his head. “Yup. It’s, uhm, kinda my thing,” he laughed and clutched the back of his neck. You’d learned he did that when he got shy. And that was often. “I take the things no one wants and make them feel loved again.”

“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure,” you mused. There was something about the way he had worded what he said that made your heart flutter. When you had asked him, spontaneously, for his help today, you had unintentionally opened the floodgates of his passions. It was one of the best decisions you had made in awhile. “You’re an upcycler then?”

“Is that what we’re called? Then yes, that’s me!” He finally lifted the coffee cup to his lips, but held your eye contact. He exhaled contentedly after taking a sip. “It’s just really cool to take an old, ratty T-shirt like this—” he pinched the shirt on his torso and snapped it against himself, “—and giving it a second life.”

Your eyebrows shot up and you leaned forward to take a closer look at the graffiti-esque designs on the garment. “Wow. You did that yourself?”

He lifted one shoulder in a modest, half-hearted shrug. The corners of his eyes crinkled in delight. “Yeah. Made the necklace, too.”

“That’s amazing, Hongjoong. Really,” you said. Sure, you could write. But could you create in the way he could? In no way, shape or form. “Have you ever thought about going into fashion or design?”

“That’s actually my major and, like, my goal in life.” His gaze flickered from his coffee to you. “I’ve always wanted to design clothes and become one of those household names in fashion. Y'know, like New York Fashion Week kind of thing. It’s always been a dream of mine.”

You nodded. “No, that’s great. Like your own company?”

“Yep, getting some help from my friends to start it up,” he chuckled. “They’ve been cool about all this…” His voice trailed off, but he suddenly shot up, waving his hands in almost a sheepish manner. “But enough about me!”

Never enough of you. “Oh—”

“Let’s talk about you!”

“How about no?” You laughed, teeth pressed in an awkward smile. It wasn’t that you were embarrassed by your ambitions, really. Hearing Hongjoong talk about his upcycling and fashion dreams made yours seem so… mundane? Yes, yours were so very mundane in comparison.

Hongjoong frowned, bottom lip jutting out. “Oh, come on, Yn. It’s only fair,” he prompted. “At least let me drink this coffee.”

With that, you caved. You couldn’t help the smile that found its way to your face, and while you had your head ducked slightly, you hadn’t noticed Hongjoong’s smile that had crept onto his lips while he lifted the cup to his mouth once more. “I'm… a writer,” you confessed. “Well, that’s my ultimate goal, y'know. I’m majoring in writing and all that jazz, and—I don’t know.” You pursed your lips. “Sorry, I’m not really that interesting.”

Hongjoong set the cup down. “That’s fucking nonsense—excuse my French.”

A giggle fell from your lips and his eyes shot to you, fondness softening his smile lines.

“How long have you been writing?”

You hummed. “Since I was a kid,” you replied. “I once found some of my writing assignments from primary school and I guess I always had an active imagination.” Those works were cute… to an extent. You had definitely cringed at not only your atrocious handwriting, but the pieces where you had included your current crush at the time of creation. Not your finest moments, but Hongjoong didn’t need to know those details.

Hongjoong’s hand flicked at the space between them. “Ah, so we’re both fulfilling our childhood dreams. You must read a lot then, Yn-ah.”

“I do, yeah. There’s something about reading that brings you a sort of satisfaction that real life doesn’t.” You could recall the days when your parents, who had always been fond of reading, had once tried to make you read a few classics when you were young. You had hated it then, but now, all you did was read. It was a miracle you hadn’t tucked a paperback into your purse today.

And while you rambled on and on about why reading was so important to you now, Hongjoong committed his full, undivided attention to you. There was something about how your eyes had grown wide, how your voice had become a little livelier, that made you glow. You gestured wildly with your hands as you spoke about the nuances of a certain work you were reading for your literature seminar. You couldn’t believe how elegantly this author could write about these monstrosities, and he couldn’t either.

He was all smiles, all nods, all eyes on you. Because there was just—it was unexplainable.

“You should meet my friends and get them to read like you do,” he half-joked to you at one point. His friends did not like to read; they’d much rather glue their eyeballs to their computer screens than ever make contact with a book.

He adored the way you seemed to perk up more. “Oh, of course! My friend San loves to read, too. And I think all of my friends would just love your style advice and pieces.” You quickly added, “Sorry, as long as you’re comfortable, of course!”

Hongjoong couldn’t have been more comfortable. “I’d love to meet your friends, Yn.”

Relief filled your eyes, loosened your shoulders. You picked up your own cup of half-drank coffee and he clinked his cup against it. “To new friendships then.”

He dipped his head to you, a twinkle in his beautiful eyes. “To new friendships.”

— part two: everything i’ve ever wanted, everything i need

It had taken about five seconds of crossing the threshold into your apartment that you knew something was different. Perhaps it was the curtains of your windows drawn closed, or the smell of burnt eggs. Or perhaps it was the fact that there were eight men scattered about your apartment, doing god knows what.

It had been a good six months since you had met Kim Hongjoong and his friends, and they had positively invaded your apartment once again. Your friends had always known the password to the apartment, but you had also given Hongjoong the code. He had then begun to come over more often than your other friends (Wooyoung and San had been way more choked up and butthurt about your new friends “stealing” you; Yeosang and Jongho couldn’t give two shits, which was practically par for the course). In the little nook where your desk sat by the far window, Hongjoong had even brought himself a mannequin to work on while you wrote. Sometimes you would come home from your classes or internship to find him at the window with your back to you, a measuring tape draped around his neck, as he worked on his newest project.

“Hi Yn!” The apartment chorused all at once as the front door shut behind you. You noted that one of the windows had been opened, and Yunho stood by it to fan the smell of the burnt food out. Seonghwa was stationed in the kitchen, most likely attempting to rescue dinner, a pot of ramen boiling away on the stove as he dug fresh eggs out of the fridge. Wooyoung had perched himself on the kitchen counter, “watching the ramen”. Everyone else was in the living room portion, where San and Yeosang were duking it out in Smash Bros (their game, not yours) on the TV screen.

It was no uncommon sight ever since your groups came together. Rather, it was quite welcomed.

You stepped over legs and answered hooted greetings from the boys, until you reached the corner of the couch where Hongjoong lounged. His dark hair hung relaxed over his forehead, and he wore a light colored hoodie that swallowed him up. “Hey.”

He lifted his eyes from his phone and sent you a smile, raising his arm for you to slip under. “Hi baby doll,” he murmured, lips ghosting over the side of your head.

Jongho made a guttural noise of disgust, but his eyes were still glued to the television screen. “Ew, get a room!”

“Aw, I think they’re cute,” Mingi said with a pout, nudging Jongho.

You chuckled, settling yourself against Hongjoong’s body to get comfortable. With a glance at the screen, you determined that Yeosang was winning. “How long have you guys been here?” You raised your voice so those in the kitchen could hear you over the TV and over the four boys sucked into the video game.

“About twenty minutes,” Seonghwa called back while he cracked the eggs into a new pot.

Wooyoung smirked. “But hyung’s been here longer—Hongjoong hyungie.”

You didn’t have to look to know that Hongjoong was glaring daggers at Wooyoung by the way the latter giggled nervously and began ducking his head to avoid his eyes. Hongjoong made a gruff noise from the back of his throat, one you recognized as exasperation. “Yah,” he scolded, “I wasn’t here that much longer.”

“You said you were here since four thirty,” San said suddenly without taking his eyes off the TV. A ghost of a smile played on his lips.

“You’ve been here an hour?” You teased, chuckling to yourself.

Hongjoong pouted, hiding his face in your neck and hair. “Yn-ie.”

Yunho glanced out the window where he stood, then sent a fond smile yours and Hongjoong’s way. “He practically lives here, Yn-ah. Me and Seonghwa hardly ever see him at the apartment anymore.”

Hongjoong began to protest, “That’s not true—”

Seonghwa rolled his eyes; scoffed. “Oh, cut the crap, Joong. Just move in with her already. You’re practically married.”

Everyone burst into either laughter or murmurs of agreement. Well, all except for you and Hongjoong. You shifted in his hold so you could see his face. As he was blushing a blatant cherry red, so too did your neck and face feel hot. And you had a feeling it was not from whatever Seonghwa was attempting to cook.

Hongjoong’s fingers danced along the nape of your neck, the dark irises of his eyes darting to and fro as he searched your expression for a sign—anything. But it had been six months, and you couldn’t deny the rapidity of your heart beat at the thought of waking up next to him .

“What do you say?” You asked him softly, volume low enough that only he could hear you. “Wanna be my roommate?”

A smile bloomed upon his mouth. “There’s nothing I’d love more, doll.”

— ✶

Moving in wasn’t so difficult to do, especially when Hongjoong was practically half-moved already. He had a section of the dresser in your bedroom already filled with his backup clothes for nights he slept over; one side of the bathroom counter had his toiletries and skincare and makeup; and of course, there was the makeshift workspace right next to yours. That left only the rest of Hongjoong’s extensive closet and shoes, his favorite blankets and gear and tech, and his second mannequin and tubs of materials. All of these, you would find a home for. Oddly enough, you kept your workspace a little messy (as your brain was), but you were able to keep the rest of your apartment tidy.

You had been walking into the apartment with another one of his boxes of clothes when you noticed the little chain that had fallen onto the floor. It wasn’t one that you had seen him wear before, and trust that you had seen quite a few of them by now. It was similar to the silver chain link choker you often saw him wear, but this one had a small cabochon in the shape of a key hanging from the center.

You were able to kneel down and sweep it off the ground. “Joong!” You called into the apartment, venturing deeper into the bedroom, where Hongjoong had gone to start organizing some of his things into drawers and the closet space.

“In here!” He replied from the closet. He poked his head out. “What’s up, doll?”

“I think you dropped this,” you chuckled, showing him the chain dangling from your fingers. “Probably fell out of a jewelry box or some—”

“Oh shit, you weren’t supposed to see that yet,” he swore. Hongjoong winced, hissing to himself, as he hustled over to you and took the chain. He raked a hand through his raven dark locks; why was he so stressed about this? There was that pout again. “It was supposed to be a surprise, like—like an apartment warming gift and a thank you for letting me move in with you.”

He slumped, sulking, and you imagined he was beating himself to a pulp on the inside.

“Oh, honey,” you murmured with a small smile. You set the box down on the ground and gathered him into your arms. He brought his arms up to wrap around your waist, chin settled on your shoulder. “You’re so sweet, but you didn’t have to get me anything. I think it was only a matter of time before we moved in together anyway.”

“It was gonna be a cute reveal, too,” he sulked some more, playing with the chain behind your back. “See?” He moved back slightly and withdrew his own chain link choker from beneath his shirt collar. Instead of a key, however, a silver lock hung from the center. “Because you’ve unlocked the key to my heart—something sappy like that.”

Your cheeks warmed. “Surprise or not, it’s beautiful. I love it a lot, Joong.”

Hongjoong brightened. “I’m glad.” He made a swirling motion with his fingers. “Alright, now turn around for me, babe. Let’s put this on, shall we?”

You turned your back to him and let him link the choker around your neck. The chain rested just above your collarbones, comfortably. There was a bit of weight to it, but it was a welcomed presence that didn’t really bother you much. You fiddled with the key charm, trying your hardest not to smile too big.

When you turned around to show him with a little “ta-da”, Hongjoong’s eyes flickered to your collar. He grinned, tongue darting out to lick his lips. He stepped closer, leaning forward to press a kiss to your cheek. “You’re stunning. Dear fucking god, you’re perfect.”

“Hongjoong, you can’t just say something like that!” You stammered helplessly. Oh Lord, you were a mess he was making you an utter mess with his words. That was supposed to be you, wasn’t it?

He cupped your cheek in his hand, lips parted in awe. “I need to kiss you. Let me kiss you.”

“Kiss me then,” you told him.

One arm wrapped around your waist and the other tilting your chin up toward him, he pressed his lips against yours, the seal on an old chapter and the beginning of a new one. Because there was no one else either of you would want to be with—could imagine yourselves with—for the rest of your lives.

— part three: the world is yours; i’ll hold it down at home

It had taken about five seconds of you crossing the threshold of the bathroom and into the bedroom for you to feel the weight of Hongjoong’s stare. There were different types of looks, you’d come to realize over time: the awe, the analyst, and so on. His narrowed eyes and tilted head signified his critic’s view. Oftentimes, Hongjoong liked to use you as his live mannequin rather than the canvas ones he had.

He had argued that “you make everything look ten times better”. Or something along those lines. But you knew he liked playing dress up with you (not that you complained).

The piece you were currently modeling for him was an evening gown made of dark gossamer, satin, and tulle. It was rather different from the silk slips you usually thought to wear; this was more like a Gothic wedding dress, almost. Hongjoong had said it was for a class project.

“What do we think?” You asked him, arms held out as you twirled for him—slowly.

Hongjoong bit the tip of his thumb. “There’s something wrong with the bodice,” he said. He stood from the bed, twirling his finger in the air. “Turn to the front again please.”

You did as he asked, chin ducked to take a peek at the bodice again. In your very humble opinion, you thought the chest was brilliant. The fabric was matte and layered with a black lace, its collar cleaved open just enough to leave something for the imagination. The sleeves attached were slightly puffed like flower petals. As was everything Hongjoong created, it was beautiful, brilliant—

“I have these black crystal beads we could try threading,” he muttered, chin propped on his fist as he swung from side to side in thought.

“We?” You mused. “But I think I know what you’re talking about. Just in moderation though, right?”

He smiled at you from over his clear glasses frames. “Of course, doll. You already shine like the sun, so we don’t wanna blind anyone.”

There went your heart again. “Hongjoong.”

“I love you,” he sang in reply. He whirled on the heel of his slippers and hurried out of the bedroom. You shuffled after him in the large skirts. You heard him rummaging through his work station drawers until he fished out a small container of black acrylic beads.

With a speed you were still in awe at (even after watching him do it thousands of times), Hongjoong whipped out a spool of black thread, then threaded and knotted a needle. You swore you only blinked and he was walking toward you with a threaded string of the black beads.

He glanced at your face, stark with awe and fondness, and you couldn’t believe how cute he looked with his safety pin earrings and dorky glasses. “What?” You spotted the brush of scarlet on his cheekbones while he got to work, attaching the string of beads to the front of the dress.

You chuckled. “You’re just… incredible. Why do you like me again?”

“You know why I love you.”

“Ah, but you better still love me when you’re rich and famous and sending models out down runways in Milan.”

He pouted, head ducking to try and hide his burning cheeks. Try. “Yn-ie,” he whined. “And you say I’m the flirt.”

“You are!”

“Ai,” he scolded lightly. You knew he couldn’t deny it—not completely, at least. “If I’m in Milan though, you know you’ll be there with me, right? You’d be my bright, shining star. The feature model—”

You shook your head. “You know I wouldn’t like that.”

“Okay, yeah.”

He stood up straight now, impaling the needle onto the pin cushion attached to his wrist. He considered the added beads draped like a little upward crescent… and nodded. Hongjoong stepped closer into the circumference of your poofy skirts, hands settling on your waist. His hands rubbed your sides as a sigh fell from his lips—your hands went to his shoulders. “You’d be by my side then? You’d be there when I’m panicking and screaming at people?”

“In sickness and in health,” you joked. “I’ll be your tangible conscience.”

Hongjoong bit his lip through a smile. “The only competent mind and body in that backstage area.”

“Not the only one.”

Before anything else could be said, your phone chirped loudly from inside the bedroom, audibly announcing the time. You realized that the sun had just begun to set through the window of your apartment. The two of you had spent nearly the entire day with Hongjoong’s dress project.

You removed your hands from his shoulders and hiked up the skirt fabric. “Alright, time to go! Yunho’s gonna kill us if we’re late again,” you said as you waddled back into the bedroom. Every week, yours and Hongjoong’s friends got together to have dinner together, whether that be at someone’s apartment or at a nearby restaurant. Tonight, it was at a restaurant again, but it was one that required all members of a party to be present to then be seated. You and Hongjoong had accidentally held them up once. It wasn’t like either of you to be tardy, but shit happened.

As predicted, Yunho hadn’t been pleased. (Hangry, tall man.)

Hongjoong trudged after you with an over exaggerated frown. “Oh, come on. It was one time!”

“And he’ll never let us live it down!” You exclaimed with a vague hand gesture. “Now come unzip me.”

“Dangerous words,” he whistled. You threw a glare at him from over your shoulder and he raised his hands in surrender. “Sorry!”

— ✶

For the most part, you were pretty good at meeting a deadline. For the most part. But for some reason, when it came to writing longer pieces, you were the absolute worst at meeting the deadline given to you. You could get copy edits back to your supervisor in half the time given to you, you could draft up possible theses and essay content paragraphs in an hour or less… but writing short stories? A collection of poetry? Your brain liked writer’s block.

It was a bit odd, since you were always able to write recreationally, but if it was for coursework, you literally could not function. (Not until the last minute, at least.)

The apartment was quiet except for the dull, calming sound of brown noise buzzing right next to you from your phone. The light from the kitchen had been left on, as well as the lamp on the desk beside your laptop, but the remainder of the space was left dim or dark. The clock in the bottom corner of your screen displayed something along the lines of 3:52am, but your fingers had been flying over the keyboard for the past three hours straight, and you were going to make this deadline.

The door to the bedroom creaked open, a yawning breath of air.

You barely registered the sound, but could feel Hongjoong’s presence as he slumped over to you and draped his upper body over the back of your chair. “Can’t sleep?” You murmured to him softly as your pointer finger stalled on the page by repeatedly tapping the “j” key until you decided on the appropriate word to continue your sentence.

He hummed into your hair. “Mm. Missed you.”

“I’m almost done,” you promised. A few more paragraphs of this description, and you would call it a night. Lord knew you needed a bit of sleep.

“Come to bed please,” he whispered. You could feel his breath tickle the hairs on your head; could feel his breathing already begin to even out.

“Go back to bed, Joongbug.” You reached up and gently scratched his head. “I’ll be there in five minutes, okay?”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And in five minutes, you had closed the lid of your laptop, shut the lights off, and climbed into the warm covers on the bed. Hongjoong’s arms found you almost immediately, his limbs wrapping around your body to be cradled in his embrace. You shut your eyes with a tired sigh, nose snuggling into his chest.

— ✶

“Got you your favorite, doll.” The hot paper cup was pushed carefully across the table as you settled into your chair opposite to Hongjoong. He sipped his own little cup of well-espresso’d coffee. He wore his dark hair swept back as usual today, but had chosen a nutmeg colored trench coat and cream sweater to beat the winter weather beginning to blow through the city. There was a sparkle in his eyes this afternoon; you had a feeling you were about to hear good news.

You shivered as you cupped your hands around the drink, gingerly blowing cool air through the mouth of the lid. “Thank you. How was your day, love?”

As you brought the lid to your lips, he lowered his cup to reveal the full-blown grin on his face. “You know that designer I’ve been contacting about an internship?”

You nodded. He had been antsy about the whole thing for a couple of weeks now, always coming to you with drafts of his emails and correspondence, asking if what he said was too informal or if there was a better way to say “Oh, cool. Thanks.” (There was, but then again, it didn’t sound like Hongjoong.) “Mhm. Of course.”

“Well,” he giggled. “He offered me an apprenticeship! Like a full on, actually paid internship thing where I shadow him and work beside him and get to turn my fashion dreams into realities I didn’t even know existed!” He gushed with a small squeal, palms pressed together like a prayer.

You beamed at him, practically leaping across the table to wrap your arms around him and press a kiss to his mouth. “Congratulations, Joong! Oh my god—this… this is incredible. You’re incredible.”

When you’d both settled down a little, you stared at him with what you knew to be hearts in your eyes, cheek lying in your cupped hand. “I’m so proud of you.”

He reached for your hand over the table. “Thank you, Yn. I couldn’t have done it without you though.”

“You could’ve gotten here without me!” You insisted. “Don’t sell yourself short.” Because if you knew Hongjoong…

Hongjoong couldn’t stop smiling. “I just… I have you to thank for being my support system and my partner and my—my inspiration. I’m just… the luckiest man on this fucking planet.” And he lifted your hand to his lips in a kiss to your knuckles, eyes never leaving yours, the twinkle in his irises never fading.

“I love you,” you told him with an equally radiant expression. You were beaming, glowing—he got the position. He was going to do big things one day. “And I’ll be here as long as you’ll have me.”

You set your other hand palm up on the table, a silent question. Without hesitation, Hongjoong placed his hand over yours. Fingers intertwined, two pairs of hands held firmly and warmly.

You captured his gaze in yours, held it. “I’ll stand with you, stand by you… in all your endeavors, Hongjoong, now and forever.” As long as you’ll have me.

Silver pooled in his eyes, that smile wavering as his lip quivered. He scrambled for the perfect words to say back to you, to reassure you that he felt the exact same about you. All of his elegance had drained away and left only a mess of his emotions. “And I’ll be there for you every step of the way, too, Yn.” As long as you’ll have me.

— ✶

For the past several nights, you had been working late into the night on a major assignment of yours. It wasn’t for school, but rather, for your work this time. Your boss had recently offered you an opportunity to become fully employed at the publishing company, not as a regular editor, but to work directly under the Chief Editor. It was an opportunity you simply couldn’t pass up, but you had lately been so persistent on perfection that you often forgot to go to sleep.

Hongjoong would usually stay up with you because you were both workaholics, but his new internship packed on top of his course work had him drained from the moment he finished his dinner at ten o'clock. You would find him passed out on the bed, deep into sleep, after emerging from the shower.

Your place at the desk had grown old and uncomfortable, and so your new work space in the meantime was the couch and coffee table.

It felt like déjà vu when the bedroom door parted open and your sleepy lover shuffled out. He settled beside you on the couch and rested his head against your shoulder, mindlessly watching you type away and letting sleep tickle the corner of his eyes. You knew he would fall asleep there and you knew you would lose all feeling in your left arm, but you had learned how to type with one hand now.

Hongjoong inhaled the comforting scent of your shampoo, the smell lulling him to sleep like a babe in a crib. He wondered if you ever minded him staring at your screen, watching you string words together out of thin air like a magician. You could finagle a manuscript just as well as he could sew a hem. Probably better. He still drew blood sometimes.

But if you didn’t want him reading it, he wouldn’t be here. If you didn’t trust him, he wouldn’t be here.

Like all artists, the words you spilled onto paper held a piece of you. You bore your soul to him in moments like these, open and vulnerable. It was similar to whenever you let him dress you up, to tailor his pieces while on you, to ask your opinion. He trusted you to not take his heart and crush it into nothing.

Groggy, but not completely out of it, Hongjoong mumbled, “Can you work with me here like this?” Just to make sure.

Your reply surprised him. “It’s the only way I can work,” you said. It was unconscious, like instinct, like you didn’t even have to think about it—the words had been waiting on the tip of your tongue, ready to leap into his ears and make his heart quicken.

It gave a warm shock of electricity from his chest and down his spine and to his toes. It felt… good. It felt so, so good.

He smiled against your shoulder even with his cheek smooshed against it. He closed his eyes, arms wrapping loosely around yours. The pale light and dull clicking rocked him to sleep.

— part four: i’m here to stay, i’ll find a way, i know it hurts

It had taken less than five seconds of entering the bedroom that your nostrils burned with the smell of bleach. There was a heavy techno track thumping in the background originating from the speaker set on Hongjoong’s workstation out in the living space. Hongjoong himself was situated in the bathroom, the white light from the LED bulbs over the mirror illuminating the strands of his hair that had been smothered in a periwinkle mixture, the hair beneath already lightening to platinum blond.

Hongjoong caught your wide doe eyes in the mirror, tongue caught between his grinning teeth. “Hi, doll. What’d'ya think?”

You had left your book bag out by your desk and you now stepped back out into the bedroom to peel your jacket off and roll up the sleeves of your shirt. “What do I think?” You echoed. When you returned to the bathroom, you crouched down to tug out a pair of latex gloves from one of the drawers beneath the sink. “I think you need help with the back.”

“That’s my girl,” he mused.

You snapped on the gloves, leaning over to him. He turned his face—met your lips with his. You dipped your fingers into the little bleach concoction in the black plastic bowl on the counter and began carefully rubbing it into the dark bits at the back of his head. “You got a haircut today,” you said offhandedly, noting his shaved sides.

“Are you not gonna ask what sparked this sudden hair change?” He chuckled. “Are you not at all curious?”

“Are you not worried about me not liking it?” You raised your eyebrows at him in the mirror, a teasing smile on your lips.

He loosed a flippant sound from the back of his throat. “I wasn’t that worried about you not liking it.” He lost his gloves, tossing them in the trash, observing your movements in the mirror while you finished off the bleach job.

You threaded your fingers through the locks of hair at the top of his head, combing them back. “Not that you asked, but I think it looks very handsome.”

A smile curled at the corners of his lips, and you could never miss that brush of red on his cheekbones. “I’ll always ask what you think.” He sighed, tapping his phone screen to start a timer, “Woo Hyuckjae said he thought a hair change would suit me. Something like blond.”

When your gloves were disposed of, Hongjoong slung an arm around your shoulders and the both of you made your way out of the bathroom and into the main living space. “Is that right? I mean… as long as you wanted to change your hair, y'know?”

Woo Hyuckjae was the man Hongjoong had been interning and apprenticing under for the past month. Your partner looked up to Mr. Woo as if he was a star in the sky, and he believed that if he could prove himself to Woo Hyuckjae, he’d get to his goal in no time. You’d met Mr. Woo once when Hongjoong had asked if you could come to dinner with him and meet his boss.

Suffice to say, you were glad that Hyuckjae wasn’t your boss. (God, you had never faked a smile or a laugh so hard in your life. There was something in the way Woo Hyuckjae’s eyes had looked at you that made your skin crawl. He was a fashion genius… but if you only met and saw him once more in your life, that would be one time too many.)

You snuck a glance at Hongjoong, your hand reaching up to your collar where the chain link choker rested. Your fingers fiddled with the pendant. “As long as you did it out of your own accord, Joong,” you emphasized.

“Of course.”

“Okay,” you bobbed your head in acknowledgement. That was all you wished for. As long as it was Hongjoong’s decision, then you would stand by it. Plus, you had a feeling he’d look damn good as a blond.

— ✶

“This one.” Hongjoong’s low murmur blessed your ears as he came up behind you and rested a heavy, warm coat over your shoulders. It was a slightly oversized shacket made mainly of a muted taupe, striped with a plaid pattern of other shades of brown. He adjusted the collar of your white turtleneck so the collar could rest above the shirt fabric.

“Thanks,” you said back. You stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket, rocking on your heels. The two of you stood side by side in the frame of the full body mirror as finishing touches were applied to your outfits for this week’s outing with the friend group. Tonight, it was supposedly a rooftop bar a little ways from the university, so you and Hongjoong thought it best to dress warm.

Well, you thought it best to dress warm. Joong was simply trying to make sure you both looked good while doing so.

He had fitted a black beanie over his tuft of blond hair; you thought it matched with the leather jacket and dark pants. His silver collar gleamed like diamonds in the low light of the bedroom against his dark blue sweater. He met your eyes in the mirror. “Sorry, give me a couple minutes, doll. Gotta find something before we leave.”

“Sure, take your time, love.” In the meantime, you busied yourself with gathering things to throw into your purse for your night out. You stared at the new miniature first aid kit sitting on the kitchen counter, then tucked it into your bag. You’d learned that you could never be too careful when it came to yours and Hongjoong’s friends.

Once you’d deemed yourself prepared, you considered the rack of shoes by the door. Out of the time since you had met Hongjoong, you could say that your sense for fashion had improved… to an extent. As you stared at your options, you opted for a pair of neutral toned sneakers (a pair of chunky ones Hongjoong had encouraged you to purchase during a store’s massive online sale). You figured these would be fashionable enough, but comfortable. It wasn’t like you were going into the office anyway—

“Babe, have you seen my sketchbook?”

Your head perked up. “Isn’t it on your desk?”

“The new one, not the old one,” he clarified. Hongjoong poked his head out of the bedroom, and there was a frown on his face. “I wanted to show Hwa some of my new designs tonight, but I can’t find that damn thing anywhere.” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head as he came out of the bedroom and made his way toward you.

“Maybe you left it at the office,” you suggested, nudging his favorite pair of black boots toward him with your foot.

He hummed. “Yeah. You’re probably right.” He knelt down and began lacing up his shoe, to which you bent down with him to help him with the other one.

When you’d finished your little bow, you tapped the toe of his boot. “So you don’t fall for someone else.”

Hongjoong exploded into giggles and playfully hit your shoulder. “God, I love you. You’re stupid if you think I could ever fall for someone else, but I love you.”

“We share one brain cell now,” you mused as the two of you made your way out of the apartment, “so it’s not like you can get rid of me.”

“We share one?”

“Yeah, and I clearly have it today.”

His eyebrows flew up. “Oh, is that so?”

You saw the gleam in the dim light of the hallway, and your instincts had you backing up from him. Your heartbeat skipped. “Hongjoong, I can’t run in these shoes…” (As ironic as that was; you hated how heavy these clunky things were.)

“It’s a good thing I can run in these—yah! Get back here, Yn!”

Yours and Hongjoong’s laughter echoed loudly in the corridor as he chased you down the stairwell, out into the street, until you were caught in his arms. You squealed when you felt his toned arms cage you against him, wrestling you to a stop on the sidewalk.

The night was young, and though faint, stars glimmered like crystal beads sewn into the ebony silk of the sky. The cold nipped at your nose and your cheeks, but walking in Hongjoong’s embrace, his heat radiating from him, kept you warm.

Your phone’s ringtone sliced through the night air, and you tugged your phone out of your pocket. “Hello?”

Your coworker Minju’s voice raced at a million words a minute as she panicked into your ear, yet for some reason, you could comprehend every word of it. You’d stopped short in the middle of the sidewalk now, and Hongjoong had stopped with you, watching and waiting for news. His brow furrowed at the exasperation and the disbelief stark on your face. Your hand had even come up to fidget with that key charm.

“Okay,” you finally said, coming to a decision. You glanced at Joong, and he mouthed a question to you. Everything okay? You shook your head, lips pursed. “Okay, Minju, I’ll meet you at your place. I was on my way somewhere so I don’t have my laptop, but—yeah, thank you… okay, I’ll see you in fifteen. Bye, hon.”

You sighed as you ended the call. “So…”

Hongjoong looked at you expectantly. “Work emergency?”

With a wince, you nodded. “I’m sorry, Joong, but the CE literally just sprung this on us and we’re both kinda fucked if we don’t finish this tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it; really, doll.” Hongjoong held you by your arms, eyes and words sincere. “Plus, you’re only missing one gathering. There’ll be plenty after this.”

Your shoulders slumped. “Thank you,” you said. For understanding. For reassuring me. “You’ll have to apologize to the others for me.”

His chuckle rang warm down your spine and made a smile split your face. Hongjoong wrapped an arm around your shoulder, hand rubbing your arm as you both walked toward the nearby metro station. “Now that is something you’ll have to owe me for. D'you know how much of a fit Mingi’s gonna throw when he finds out you’re not gonna make it?”

You laughed, head resting against his shoulder. “I’ll figure out a way to pay you back.”

“I have some ideas,” Hongjoong sang with that familiar twinkle in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, but you knew you’d hear him out later. For now, you focused on the task you had ahead of you, rather than a blissful night with friends. If only you’d known that tonight wouldn’t be so spectacular for either of you.

— part five: everything i’ve ever wanted, everything i need

It had taken about five seconds of you clambering into the darkness of your apartment—keys clinking against the key bowl, shoes thunking against the floor, sigh falling from your lips—for you to realize something was wrong. More wrong than the report you and Minju had bullshitted tonight that could cost both of you your jobs. More wrong than the headache pulsing in your temples like a construction site.

Your eyes flickered to the pair of black boots dumped onto the shoe rack as you tore your clunky shoes off. You could have sworn you heard something… “Joong?” You called out into the dark.

There was no answer, but you definitely weren’t dreaming when you heard the sniffling and the labored breathing.

Your heart leapt into your throat, mind running haywire as you practically dove into the bedroom, narrowly missing the doorjamb with your shoulder.

You found Hongjoong in the corner of the room, knees hugged tightly to his chest, tear tracks glistening down his face. He rocked himself back and forth, not in a calm, soothing manner, but rather, something equivalent to a knee bouncing up and down. His eyes were wide and red, staring at nothing at all. He sounded like he was choking on oxygen, like—like—

You fell to your knees before him. “Joong—Hongjoong—”

He shook his head. He opened his mouth, a sob tearing through his body so harshly that you thought he might break. “He—he—he,” he croaked, trying to find his voice, but ultimately struggling to breathe again. “I can’t breathe—”

“Hongjoong,” you said once more and moved your body so you were in his direct line of sight. You raised your hands, palms to him. “I need you to count to ten with me. Is that okay?”

His bottom lip quivered, but he nodded.

“One… two…” And the two of you made it all the way to ten together. His breathing had steadied only slightly, and it broke your heart to see him in such a state.

Before you could ask, Hongjoong rasped, “He stole them. He stole them all, Yn. He stole all—he stole all my work.”

Your heart fell into your stomach.

You didn’t want to ask for clarification, but “What?” slipped out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

Hoongjoong stared at nothing again. “He stole my sketchbook. He stole my designs. He posted them as his own. I'm—I can’t do jack shit about it.” And he was choking again, dry gagging on the mere thought of never seeing his dreams realized, of seeing them crumpled up in the fist of a man he used to idolize.

Disgust had bile climbing up your throat and you swallowed harshly. Tears prickled at your vision, and you swiped at your eyes. “Oh fuck, I'm—” God, I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I can’t do anything but be here for you. “What can I do to help you? What do you need, love?”

“I can’t breathe,” he sobbed, body quaking, trembling, falling to pieces. “Help me,” he begged, “hold me. Please.”

You settled yourself against the wall next to him and opened your arms, without question, without hesitating, without wasting a second. He collapsed against your body and drenched your clothes in his grief. You held him close and tight, wishing it would be enough to make everything better. Even if you knew it wasn’t.

— part six: i’ll go through hell to make it work

It had taken you about five seconds of walking into Park Seonghwa and Jeong Yunho’s apartment to know that shit was going down. Seonghwa greeted you at the door with a quiet, sad smile. He let you in and led you to the kitchen where he would explain to you what was happening in the living room.

You could even hear them: Yunho and San were helping Hongjoong wage war.

“How are you, Yn-ie?” Seonghwa asked lowly, leaning back against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in his hands, facing you.

That was the question of the hour, wasn’t it? It had been about two or so weeks since Hongjoong had quit his internship after he discovered his boss and ex-idol stole the designs straight out of his sketchbook with no credit given. Woo Hyuckjae was just as slimy and sleazy as he seemed—part of you wished you had spoken your mind about him sooner. Could all of this have been prevented? All of the sleepless nights, the crying, the panic attacks? Could Hongjoong’s heartbreak have been prevented had you just told him you didn’t feel comfortable about his former boss?

It ate you up inside, twisted your guts, squeezed your heart in this vice-like grip. Was this partly your fault?

But even as you expressed these concerns to Seonghwa, he always gave you the same answer: that no, it wasn’t your fault. Not in the slightest. Because no one but Woo Hyuckjae was to blame for this.

“I could be better,” you answered with a half-hearted shrug. “Joong’s just been… I guess it’s better that he’s speaking now.”

And for the first week, he hadn’t spoken at all. He’d stayed in bed almost all day, every day. You’d try to coax him to get up and watch a movie with you in the living room, but would ultimately take your laptop to bed with you so he could hold your hand while he slept and you worked.

It absolutely swallowed you whole to see him like this.

“He’s in his anger stage,” Seonghwa said as if that explained it. “Like the stages of grief, kind of thing. He’s meticulous when he’s ticked off. Very rarely does he blow up at people.”

You could attest to that. You rarely saw Hongjoong pissed—annoyed, maybe—but never pissed. The last time you’d seen him remotely mad or ticked off was when this retail worker kept ignoring you when you were asking about a fitting room. He hadn’t blown up, but had been like a quiet storm—deadly calm, and terribly patient. He was like a tiger, crouched in the tall, leafy grass, stalking an unsuspecting antelope. He would only pounce when the time was right; he was dangerous, in that way, when he was mad.

You swallowed, then scratched the side of your neck. “Did they find a loophole yet?” You asked, hope squeezing through the cracks of your voice. It had been a rough few weeks.

Seonghwa shook his head. “When they do find one, they’ll exploit it as thoroughly as possible.”

Yunho and San were both English majors, both of whom also hoped to continue their education in law school. Yunho had offered to help Hongjoong in the way he best could—through his connections at the law firm he was currently interning at. San didn’t have an internship at a law firm, but he had sharp eyes and an even sharper mind. It would be good for finding a loophole in the contract Joong had signed with his former employer. They had been at it for almost a week, about the same amount of time it had been since Hongjoong emerged from his slump one day.

And you? Well, that last minute report had reverberated up the chain, and you and Minju were struggling to keep your footing and position in the company as possible head editors. One mistake of miscommunication, that hadn’t even been either of your faults in the first place, had rocked your chances at a career so hard that you were still reeling from it two weeks later. You were still in the running, but you liked to think it was only by a thread.

It had been a rough few weeks.

“Woosan just texted and let me know they’re grabbing pizza with the others,” you said with a vague gesture to the phone you just took out of your pocket. “Is it cool if they bring it here?”

Seonghwa nodded, yawning. “Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll probably just grab a slice and head out.”

His head perked up faster than the coffee could wake him up. “You’re gonna leave? Why don’t you stay—”

You shook your head, already itching to get back to the office. “I have a lot to make up.” My reputation, especially. “I’ll say hi to Joong and everyone and take a slice.”

“You’ve been working a lot too, Yn-ie.” Seonghwa’s voice was soft as he set his mug on the counter, folded his arms over his chest, and regarded you with a concerned frown. “As much as we’re worried about Hongjoong, we’ve been just as worried about you, too.”

And that sentiment in itself was enough to boost your spirits, if only for a moment of happiness. It was nice to know that they noticed. Your smile was small, but it was present through your eyes. “Thank you for worrying, but you don’t need to worry too much. I can take care of myself, Hwa.”

“You can lean on us, too. Even Hongjoong, no matter what state he’s in, he’s gonna be there for you.”

“I know,” you reassured him. You adjusted the bag on your shoulder, already turning to the doorway to the living area. “Thank you though, Seonghwa.”

Seonghwa’s smile was soft, his nod barely noticeable. But you were already making your presence known to the conspirators in the living room, and as you leaned down to press a kiss to your lover’s cheek, it was impossible to miss the loving twinkle in his eyes.

— ✶

Rain pelted your hooded head as you made a mad dash for the apartment complex from the taxi car. The sky had up and opened its dark gray skies and let hell rain down upon the earth. If it had been a more mild downpour, you could have stomached the walk from the metro stop to the complex, but with the showers… no, there was no way.

You flung yourself into the apartment lobby, hand swiping your hood off and wiping the rainwater from your eyes. You reached for the elevator button and jammed it with your thumb a few times before reaching for your phone. You wondered if Hongjoong was home yet—he was definitely home, right? It was a Thursday, and he didn’t have afternoon classes on Thursdays. He usually didn’t go out on days like these either—

The elevator doors slid open and you nearly crashed into Hongjoong himself. Both yours and his eyes widened in surprise, and a laugh fell from your lips.

“Hey, I was just about to text you,” you said as he stepped out of the elevator. You noted the coat he had on and an umbrella tucked under his arm. There was a noticeable dropping feeling in your stomach that you recognized as disappointment.

He cupped your cheek and pressed a kiss to your mouth. “I was just about to call you and say I won’t be home for dinner. Yunho wanted to go over something with me and his superior. I’m headed to the firm now.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll start dinner later then.” You hoped that would entice him to come back early. Another few days had passed, adding onto Hongjoong’s running plan to take back his designs, or at least, expose his former boss. He had become much livelier lately, and you had begun to see a lot more of his older self shone through. No longer was there incredible amounts of melancholy or anger. There were still moments, obviously; it would take him some time, and you were willing to wait as long as it took.

Hongjoong shook his head, lips pursed. He was already walking away. “Don’t wait up, doll! You’ve worked hard today, so don’t worry about me. I’ll be back for bedtime.”

You watched as he left the way you had come in. He’d thrown the hood over his frazzled blond hair and braced for the gust of wind and rain firing down upon him. When the door smacked closed behind him, you sighed and jammed the up button one more time. You supposed a bit of quiet would do you some good.

— ✶

It wasn’t the first night that Hongjoong didn’t even come home. Another week had gone by, and you believed you’d forgotten what Hongjoong sounded like at this point. You hadn’t seen him in what felt like days, but the reality was that you and him only caught glimpses of each other: run-ins of you coming into the apartment and him hurrying out, those few moments you were both at the apartment together, feeling his body warmth leave your side in the early mornings. He would leave in the opposite direction you went toward the metro, since the law firm and his new, makeshift office was in the more high society end of downtown.

You were hunched over your laptop at your desk when you heard the distinct clicking of the apartment lock. You glanced over your shoulder briefly as the door yawned open, then took a peek at the time—Jesus, it was already two in the morning. You dug the heel of your hand into your eye to rub the sleep away; there still so much to do, especially with that fourth year thesis deadline approaching and looming over your shoulder.

The shadow currently looming over your shoulder, however, stole a peek at your computer screen. “You’ve been at that same paragraph for hours now, haven’t you?” Came Yeosang’s soft murmur. It was no longer teasing like he would on previous occasions, but rather exasperated, tired, or worried even.

Yeah, writer’s block was an ass. And you felt like one, too, for Yeosang’s being awake so late because of you.

“Mhm,” you hummed with a deep exhale. You anxiously reached for the key charm at your clavicle. “You can crash on my bed. I probably won’t go to sleep for a while.”

“The point of me checking up on you is to get you to sleep now, y'know,” he said with a yawn. He leaned over the back of your chair and propped his chin on top of your head. You swallowed; a wave of déjà vu washed over you. Your chest ached and your throat closed in on itself—you missed him so much.

You brought both of your hands to your face now as if you could scrub away the negative things in your life, or maybe just the drowsiness. “What am I doing, Yeo? Like, seriously. What am I doing?”

He straightened and his warm hands came to your shoulders and squeezed reassuringly. “You’re working too hard, just like your boyfriend. One of you has to have self-control, Yn-ie. And I think you have a little more sense than hyung right now.”

He gave your shoulder another squeeze, and he walked away toward the bedroom. “Come on! If I have to wait, your pillow’s gonna be warm.”

“You sadist, Kang Yeosang,” you huffed after him. You looked at your computer screen again—the blinking cursor, the blank page remaining. You shut the lid of the screen and padded after Yeosang.

Yeosang idly scratched his chest as he stood next to your bed, watching as you collapsed into the sea of cool blankets and sheets. He didn’t bother climbing in, but rather, sat down next to you on your side and leaving Hongjoong’s side untouched (as it had been). He set his palm on your forehead, then gently patted your head. “Feel better?”

You nodded. Your eyelids were already falling like rain. “Yeah. Thanks, Yeo.”

He hummed, and the room was quiet for a moment. You thought he was waiting for you to fall asleep before leaving, but you heard him say, “Just call him, Yn. Call him and tell him you miss him.”

“He’s busy.”

“He’s never too busy for you,” he countered. “Surprise him with lunch or something then.” You didn’t say anything, and he sighed like he knew what you were thinking. “You’re stupid if you think you’re a bother, and he’s stupid if he thinks you are a bother. If.”

The bed lifted as he stood up to turn off the lights. “Call him, Yn. Good night.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, pulling the covers up to your chin and wishing the bed next to you was filled. “Good night.”

— ✶

The high part of downtown was a windy place like the streets were made for a live runway show. You had tied your hair back in an attorney to beat the breeze, but the rest of your jacket was flying behind you. You’d luckily opted for your backpack today rather than your tote, so your belongings were strapped to your back.

You were presently on the way to Hongjoong’s little studio. Hongjoong had given you the address awhile ago, but with all of the chaos recently, you hadn’t found the time to go see it. According to San though, it was still a mess of boxes and plastic—he also had little time to decorate—but there was apparently a kitchenette and bathroom. He could live there if he wanted to… as he practically did at this point.

You dug your phone out of your pocket when you heard the ringtone go off. “Yunho, hey! I’m actually on my way over right now.”

“Oh, thank God, Yn.” He sounded frazzled, the way the words spilled from his mouth like alphabet soup. “How far out are you?”

“Uhm, a couple blocks,” you estimated and squinted up the road. “Why? Is something wrong?”

“It’s Hongjoong. He—”

Your mind flew to the worst possible scenarios. It had been several weeks since that night, but maybe you should have paid closer attention to him. He had been getting better, had been returning to his old self… but perhaps he was relapsing, and it was breaking your heart all over again. “Give me five minutes,” you said with resolution, then hung up and hightailed it all the way up the street.

There were probably people on the street looking at you strangely, but you could hardly care as the wind and your heartbeat thundered in your ears. Memories of that night echoed in your mind, and you could hear his heart wrenching sobs again.

When you arrived at the complex, San was stationed by the lobby door and escorted you up the elevator. You barely took in the lobby as you swiftly passed by the front desk, and ascended to the third floor. Even San was nervous—his finger tapping against his arm and his teeth chewing the inside of his cheek.

“He wanted to dye his hair back to black,” San explained to you quietly as you both stepped out of the elevator. “But he had, uhm, this meltdown. I don’t even know what triggered it, but—” he pushed out a rough exhale, “I don’t even know, Yn-ie. I really don’t know.”

One of the doors in the corridor exploded open as Yunho yanked it open and beckoned you inside. His shoulders visibly relaxed at the sight of you. “Yn, thank God. He’s not listening to either of us. I don't—I don’t know how to help him.”

“Where is he?” You asked, already scanning the surroundings for Hongjoong.

“The bathroom.”

You were directed to a small doorway to the side, and you set your bag on the ground against the wall. Slowly and quietly, you peered into the bathroom.

Hongjoong was hunched over the bathroom sink with his hands braced on the counter top. His hands were stained in ink black dye, coloring the white marble counter like blood. A discarded bottle of black hair dye sat next to his right hand, along with a pair of latex gloves that hadn’t even been used. It seemed he had been halfway through the dye job with half his head dyed black, when something had happened to trigger this—this quiet.

Unlike last time, he was not crying uncontrollably, but deadly silent. He stared into the negative space of the empty sink bowl, tear tracks dried on the slopes of his cheeks. But you saw the way his body shook underneath it all. He trembled, an earthquake of bottled emotional wreckage having bided its time long enough. The past few weeks… he had been hiding it all this time.

“Hongjoong-ah,” you murmured to test the waters.

He said nothing yet, but his bottom lip trembled.

You slowly and delicately wrapped your arms around his waist from behind, then pressed your cheek against his back. “Talk to me, my love.”

A sob broke from his mouth and your chest ached.

You gave him a reassuring squeeze when you felt your own eyes prickle with tears. “I love you,” you rasped. “I missed you a lot. I missed you so much.”

“I’m so sorry, Yn,” he croaked. “I’m so, so sorry. I—” He desperately sucked in a breath of air, “I should have gone home.”

“You had things you needed to do; I understand,” you told him. “You can come home when you’re ready.”

And as you held him in your arms once more, with those words echoing in the space about you both, Hongjoong cried and cried and cried.

— part seven: i’m happy for you

It took only about five seconds of blinking and squinting for Hongjoong to get accustomed to the warm light of the living room lamp. His eyes were red and dry and puffy from breaking down earlier again, but the brief bit of sleep had been nice, for once. Sleeping in his own bed felt like heaven, but he was still missing you.

It was probably around four in the morning by now, a number he wasn’t surprised to see. But you were there on the couch again, laptop propped on your lap and eyes zoned into the words you poured onto your canvas. Hongjoong rubbed his eyes, scratched his chest, waddled over toward you with grogginess contorting his face into a pouty frown.

You glanced up from your screen for a second and he saw the ghost of a smile on your lips.

He curled up next to you, and you scooped him under your arm. He felt your hand run through his hair as you set your laptop aside and gently guided his head to your warm lap. “Missed you,” he exhaled, voice barely audible.

“I’m sorry; I’ll be there soon,” you said back. “The hair looks good, bug.”

After you had helped clean him up at the office, it had become a silent decision between the two of you to keep his hair half black and half blond. There was something about the combination that struck you, but he couldn’t see it yet. All he could see were two halves of himself—one that had been blinded by naivety and ambition, and one scorned by those two very things. But perhaps those two halves were what made him whole. He just couldn’t see it yet.

“You look good,” he murmured back. His eyes were glazed and half lidded as he gazed up at you. He couldn’t imagine how he’d gone so long avoiding you and the apartment. How had he abstained from the allure of home for so long? He remembered the moment he had crossed the threshold of the apartment, weeping in your arms, and your scent was everywhere around him, embracing him even while you weren’t right next to him.

He felt safe here.

“I’m sorry for neglecting you,” he suddenly croaked. His eyes were already dampening again, stinging. “I’m sorry I was so far all the time.”

You leaned down to cradle him, and his nose went to your neck. His lungs were filling with you again, but he didn’t want to breathe in anything else. “Don’t apologize, Hongjoong. You don’t need to apologize to me; I wasn’t much better. You were doing it for you, and I just want you to be happy.”

His arms came around you and held on for dear life. “I’m not happy—I wasn’t happy, doll. I was so… I was so angry.”

“At him?”

“At myself,” he said, “for letting that happen, for not seeing it before it could happen. I’m just…” disappointed.

“You couldn’t have known, love,” you reassured him. He felt the featherweight of your lips on his head, a kiss from an angel. “You were just following your dreams.”

His heartbeat was rapid, but his breathing was steady for the first time in weeks. He wondered if he could immortalize this moment, so he would feel nothing but your love, all the time. No more pain, no more anger. “And now look at me. Huh.”

He closed his eyes for a moment in the silence. “How’d I get so lucky?”

“Don’t be like that, Joong.”

“No, I mean—” he felt your eyes on him again and he was back on the pillow of your lap, “—how’d I get so lucky with finding someone like you? Who decided to make me walk into that store that day? Who decided to give me the courage to give you fashion advice? Who decided to let me meet the woman of my dreams?”

His eyes fluttered open, and he saw the silver lining your eyes.

“We might never know, but I’m lucky to have met you, too,” you said.

“Even with all the trouble I am?” Hongjoong closed his eyes again as you pressed kisses to his eyelids.

“That’s the best part,” you mused. “But you’re no trouble, Joong. You are no burden, no problem, no ball and chain. You’re just—” Your mind went fuzzy and you couldn’t find the energy to be elegant at four in the morning, “—mine, y'know?”

He giggled. “I’m yours.”

You hummed. “You are mine to hold, cherish, love. I’m here to encourage you and help you and… I—well, I’m just going to support you. Because I want to, not that I’m obligated to or anything.”

Hongjoong peered up at you again, and he wished he could say all the things brewing in his mind, but he couldn’t find the right words to string together. You’d taken all that he had ever wanted and given it to him on a gold platter like it was nothing, as if it didn’t make his heart skip about five beats in a row or want to make him stay in this bubble with you forever.

How’d he get so lucky?

“I love you,” he rasped as he extended his arm up to cup your face in his hand. “And I’ll love you and stand by you in all your endeavors.”

You turned your face slightly to kiss his palm. “Forever?”

“Forever.”

a/n: might write an epilogue at some point, but hope you enjoyed <3 pls do rb, comment, and send asks !! tysm x

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