#i definitely could have done better with the composition
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mfw i stayed up past 12am into my birthday just to colour this
#hermitcraft#smallishbeans#joel#bdoubleo100#bdubs#ghh.. tagging joel art with hermitcraft is really beautiful#lockbox#lockbox: but coloured#i definitely could have done better with the composition#but its 2am and i just wnna get ot sleep lmfao
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My Brief thoughts on the Azula in the Spirit Temple comic
It's very short and essentially a character piece with no plot. I didn't like it; it felt like it missed a lot of opportunities (spoilers below):
So I just read it today. It's pretty short, and definitely the most sympathetic presentation Azula since the show. Of course, that's a very low bar to clear. I can also praise the fact that it did not depict Azula as "crazy" or "a nutso," which another low bar this franchise has repeatedly failed to clear.
That being said, it's mostly weird and uninteresting. Despite the comic acknowledging Azula's weird Smoke and Shadow plot to make Zuko a better Firelord and stating that her current actions are part of that, it depicts Azula as entirely obsessed with becoming Firelord and has her declare that she's the rightful Firelord essentially every page. This contradiction isn't dealt with, and of course in the show Azula did not obsess over the position of Firelord.
A lot of emphasis is placed on Azula's relationship with Mai and Ty Lee in this comic, but, given that they almost exclusively appear as "spirits" here, little is said aside than Azula knows she treated them badly but struggles to admit it. There's really nothing about what her past relationship with them meant to her or about how these relationships developed her time, no imagination what their interactions outside the battlefield might have been like or their relationships as little kids. No flashbacks to their time in school together, only standard lines about manipulation and fear. The comic can't be bothered to imagine what various relationships might mean or have meant to Azula. And it's like it's incapable of depicting or imagining any event not already depicted in the show.
Much the same way, the comic has nothing to say on the meaning of Azula's relationship to her brother to her. Iroh is also a nonfactor.
Azula's loyalty to her father is left mostly unexplored, as are Azula's motivations in general. Imperialism was a massive part of Azula's life, but, as always in the comics, it's ignored.
Hicks apparently felt it necessary to canonize or at least reaffirm the fanon idea that Azula was really into burning turtleducks. The idea that Ursa could have just always disliked Azula never occurred to her, apparently.
If the story is pushing an idea, it's mainly that Azula was responsible for almost every problem she had with her relationships with others, aside from with Ozai. She needs to beg for forgiveness. The issues she has with other people are generally depicted as unreasonable on her end.
And of course the comic goes nowhere. It has an open ending that will put zero constraints on future writers; no clear step toward redemption is made. The only thing accomplished is to depict Azula a little more sympathetically for people who paid little attention to her in the show. I suppose, given the general composition of the ATLA fandom, that's something, and of course we have to acknowledge how short 80 pages is to tell a story.
But the reality of the situation is that it took 15 years for this comic to come out, only for it to advance her character not at all and to say nothing that wasn't evident from the show itself. Maybe in another 15 years we'll get something actually interesting about her, if we're still alive.
As for making Azula more sympathetic, hundreds of fanfics have already done a better job than this comic manages.
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Tutorial: How I Render Accents
PART 1: LINES
a quick disclaimer: as stated on the title, this is how I render accents and obviously a lot of it will not apply to whatever style/method/etc that you may use. Another thing is there are some aspects of my style that will seem obvious to me that I may overlook explaining. please consider this a more generalized guide than a step-by-step.
So, first things first: the lines themselves.
I'm going to be making an entry for Brightshine for this tutorial, so it'll be the example i use. I use Clip Studio Paint for all of my accents and I specifically use the asset found in the CSP asset store called SOIPEN for my lines, specifically on a size 3. I feel it does a good job of getting crisp yet soft lines and matches well to the line weight of the dragons line art. I typically do not zoom in very far and try to focus on making the outer silhouette ares bold and the inner lines soft. This gives a crisp edge to the work and a definitive line that makes it easier to color later on.
Something to note if I utilize the line method of going back and forth between opaque and transparent colors. It's a hotkey you can set that effectively turns the same brush you're using into an eraser. It allows me to carve away segments to create that negative space (as seen on the middle of the flower above) rather than trying to perfectly draw in that specific circle shape. Negative space is a huge tool to master that can give a lot of depth to your work. It also helps to sometimes fill in segments or widen out segments that are just Barely touching. The less complications in the lines the better.
For the main feature, the flowers, I will typically find a reference showing a good clear outline of how the flowers look and simplify the shapes. The flowers in question here are Delphiniums and I've decided to render them upside down as if they're hanging. Simplifying the shapes and giving the illusion of the petal bunching is more effective than genuinely drawing each and every petal in a 100% accurate way. (also since it's for Brightshine I've replaced the flower bulbs at the ends with light bulbs)
When doing line work that goes right up to the edge of the dragon, I'll typically start with the line for the edge, then build from that. Also when it comes to narrow areas (like the tip of the wing there) I'll leave it blank and typically fill it in with gradients or other small things to not make it too busy.
A very important rule for making accents is: Do Not Invest In Details That Will Get Lost In Resizing. I don't make super small details that don't matter, for example if you look at the innermost part of the flowers they are blocky and somewhat large compared to how they actually are on the flowers. When they get resized they will barely maintain that level of detail.
With all of the linework done I'd like to point out how I do composition for my accents. I tend to have 2-3 main focal points (in this case it's the two major draping areas on the wings, and the flowing lace on the arms) and everywhere else is filled in with evenly distributed small bits. Originally the butterfly on the bottom left wing wasn't there in the sketch but when I looked at the accent lines for what I had I noticed an empty spot and filled it in with a matching motif.
Some main points of how I craft my accents include: keeping the main focal points and number of thematic motifs limited and deliberate. I could add a bunch of like, jewelry trinkets or more lace and really clutter the accent but by not doing that it gives the flowers room to breathe and be the star of the show. Also using references for flowers creates a much better image than winging it.
In the next part I'll go over my coloring/rendering process!
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down by the river - Chapter 9
Raphael x Warlock!Tav
Read on AO3
Chapter 8
A/N: Okay we jumping cause we gotta move this story along. Also shout out to @sky-kiss for screen shotting the Mol scene for me, it was of great help! Also, many parts of the dialogues are taken from the game but modified to fit the story better.
After Halsin told the group that they needed to go to Moonrise Towers, Tav gathered everyone to decide on which way they should go: through the Underdark or the Mountain Pass.
Lae’zel argued in favor of the latter, saying that there was a githyankyi crechè in the area and they would have to offer her cleansing. Shadowheart, however, favored the Underdark, considering that it would be a more discreet route.
“I believe we could go through both.” Tav finally spoke. All eyes turned towards her. “We have means of exploring both regions, and then we determine which way is better.”
‘And it would stop the two of them from bickering.’ Tav thought to herself. She turned towards the gith warrior. “We’ll go to the Mountain Pass first, see that the crechè gives us a solution.”
Lae’zel nodded and walked away, probably to polish her sword some more. The others left as well, while Tav kept looking at the map.
“The shadow cursed lands.” Tav whispered to herself. As she passed her finger on where the name was written on the map, she felt the scar on her collarbone sting, causing her to hiss.
“Have you ever been there?” Shadowheart asked, appearing next to Tav.
“Why you ask?”
She pointed with her chin towards the paper. “Just the way you look at the map. Seems like you’ve got some history there.”
Tav shook her head. “I’ve never been there, no, but Raphael has a few contracts there.” She turned towards the cleric. “I can’t help but wonder what has happened to them - the debtors.”
She made a motion to move away, saying “Now, if you’ve got nothing more to ask, I’ll get ready for bed.”
“Actually, there is something else I’d like to know.” Shadowheart said. “We know Mizora sent Wyll to hunt after devils and demons alike, but what type of jobs did Raphael ever sent you on?”
Tav shrugged. “All sorts of things. Sometimes it was to kill someone who wronged him, or gather information. Other times, accompany him to an event, entertain a guest.”
Playing music when he was bored, helping him with his compositions were also part of the list, although Tav wouldn’t say that out loud. “If there was something that needed to be done, I’d do it, although, since he acquired another warlock, things got a bit easier on my side.” She looked away, for a moment. “One thing is true, however. Raphael would never ask me to do something he knew I couldn’t do.”
Shadowheart nodded. “When you put it like that, he doesn’t seem that bad.”
“Well, he’s definitely better than other masters that I have served.” Tav chuckled to herself. “It is getting late. We should go sleep, tomorrow will be a long day.” She said and moved towards her bedroll.
That night, the dream visitor met her again, giving her warnings for the future, while telling her to embrace her potential. Tav had no inclinations of becoming ilithid, but she still needed his protection, and so, she told him she’d think about it.
As their journey continued, Tav would keep listening to the dream visitor’s interference, but she tried to ignore it. She already had one devil telling her what to do - she didn’t need another otherworldly being bothering her as well.
…
“Your move, Mol.” She heard him before she saw him. Of course Raphael would be at Last Light Inn, but playing lanceboard with a child was not the sight Tav expected to see.
“You trapped me.” Mol said. “I didn’t even want to take this one.”
“Calishmen rules, dear. The first piece touched is the first piece moved.” He explained. For a moment, Tav was transported to a memory that played much like this one. When he taught her how to play the game, and how frustrated she had been.
‘This doesn’t make any sense.’ She groaned. ‘I’m gonna end up losing this knight.’
‘Then make a useful sacrifice.’ He guided her. ‘Guard your Mystra or come for my Cyriq.’
Tav was snapped out of the memory when Mol asked her “Say, do you play Lanceboard by any chance? It’s my first time playing.”
She raised her brow at the girl, easily detecting the lie. “Put pressure on him. Attack the pieces in front of his king.”
Mol did as you say, moving the pieces around.
“My, the Theskan Double Counter - Gambit. Vicious. Exactly what I would have done.”
The girl soon beat Raphael. “How’s that for Calimshen rules?”
“Brava! Lovely work.” Raphael praised the girl. “I see I was right to make you the offer I did. You will consider it, won’t you?” He asked Mol, who didn’t say anything as she walked away.
Raphael turned towards the group.“The Thasken move was inspired. I see I have taught you well.” He then looked at Mol speaking with the other tiefling children. “What a lovely specimen she is. A blushing apple, ready to be plucked.”
“I know he’s your boss, but please, let me smack this creep.” Karlach whispered.
Tav ignored her, crossing her arms and raising a brow. “You’re offering deals to kids now? I thought you loathed chattering children.”
“I can make exceptions, from time to time. But don’t you worry about Mol - it goes without saying she still has the unconditional freedom to choose the only option she has left.” He chuckled. “Besides, I do enjoy being in this neighborhood again. It has such a history of abject tragedy.” He focused his gaze on Tav. “And as you well know, tragedy is my bread and bloody butter.”
Raphael waved his hand, dismissing the subject. “But enough about my lesser pursuits. Why bother with trifles when I’m in the illustrious presence of my very favorite client.” He bowed as he said that, making Tav suck in a breath. “It is good to see you again, O apple of my eye. I’d ask you if you’ve made any progress with your little problem, but the tell-tale twitching of your eye is answer enough.”
“Raphael.” She greeted him. “Should I consider it a coincidence to find you here?”
He smiled. “My dear, nothing is a coincidence. Mortals trifle themselves with free will, as if their betters have not moulded every potential path ahead.” Tav cleared her throat at that. Raphael chuckled. “No offense meant, of course. I’m sure everyone in Last Light thinks they could have changed things.”
“They’re not the only ones ripe for temptation. As you well know, Tav, my last contract here fed me for decades.”
“You were here before?” Wyll asked. “Why?”
“Family troubles. Not my family, of course.” He shot Tav a knowing look, and she gave a small nod, imperceptible to the others. “I never surrender knowledge for free, but one good turn deserves another, does it not? To repay you, for all the souls you sent my way, I offer you a glimpse of the truth.”
The devil then spoke of Ketheric Thorm, how his army had been massacred, and even proposing more knowledge in a future contract. Tav squinted her eyes at that - although Raphael shared most of his plans with her, she knew there was something that he was hiding.
When he was done talking, she made a move to leave but he continued. “Before you leave, I sense there’s something your friend wants to ask me.” He looked at Astarion.
“I do. I have a proposal for you.” The elf spoke up. “My old- well, a long time ago, someone carved some runes into my back. I’d rather like to know what they say.”
As Raphael considered his words, Tav turned towards the rogue. “Scars? What are you talking about?”
“You haven’t told them? And you’ve kept your clothes on this whole time? How unlike you.” Raphael smirked. “Why not let them see? Don’t be shy.”
“Raphael, don’t-” Tav tried to intervene but it was too late. Her patron waved his hand and soon, Astarion found himself only in his underwear. She looked angrily at Raphael.
“Don’t worry. I’m motivated to help you. Scars often tell such wonderful stories. I think yours might be truly exquisite. I’ll see you soon.” He eyed the two of them and vanished.
At the same time, Tav removed her clock and threw it around the elf, as he said “Well. Now you know.”
She sucked in a breath. “Go back to camp and get dressed.” Astarion nodded, doing so as told, alongside the others.
Meanwhile, Tav turned her attention towards Mol. Although she knew Raphael, she did not enjoy the idea of such a young child making deals with him.
“Nice strategy back there. If we put our heads together, I bet you and me could make a tidy stack of coin in Baldur’s Gate.” The girl as Tav approached her. “But Raphael’s offered me a partnership already, and it seems like a sweeter deal than throwing my lot in with you.”
Tav gave her a serious expression, crossing her arms. . “Be careful, Mol. You are too young to be making deals with devils. They can be quite the poison.”
The girl squinted her eye at the woman. “Poison. Sure.” She scoffed. “You seem to love the taste of it. He seems to know you pretty well.”
Tav clenched her jaw, and tilted her head. “Touché.” She loosened her arms. “You’ve got quite the keen eye, I see.” She sighed. “But I’m being serious, Mol.”
“Look, you saved us. Not knockin’ that.” Mol began. “But after you left, Zevlor lost his nerve - gave up the fight. I won’t. Now there’s no grove, no coin, no one taking us to the city. I’m not letting my crew get eaten by shadows.” She shrugged. “Maybe I’ll make a deal, maybe I won’t. But it’ll be my choice - not the devil’s and not yours.” Mol huffed and walked away, leaving Tav to shake her head.
…
After that meeting, Astarion wondered when he would meet the devil again, saying that they would need to keep their ears ready for the sound of cheap poetry and the smell of sulphur.
“I wonder, how do you handle it, that smell all the time.” The elf complained, as the group made their way towards what could be the entrance to the mausoleum they sought. “It’s absolutely dreadful.”
“Well, it does help that Raphael is always perfuming himself.”
“Oh, really? And what scent does he use?”
“Cherries and musk.” Tav replied. “It’s the one he always makes me buy.” She raised a brow at Astarion’s curiosity. “Wanting to buy one for yourself?”
“No, I-” Before he could finish, Tav raised a hand, hearing a voice. In an instant, she recognized who it belonged to.
It was, of course, Raphael and his little theatrics.
“How long have you been practicing those?” Tav asked, once he was done rhyming.
“Until it was perfect.” He smiled. “As your dear patron, Tav, I thought it only fair to warn you of the dangers ahead.”
She raised a brow. “I can handle myself, Raphael.”
He scoffed. “Intrepid as ever. It would be pointless of me to try and bar you from entering but I can still…set the scene, as it were. Prepare you for your role.”
Tav frowned. “How are you so sure that there are dangers ahead?”
“My dear, you should know better by now. You’ll find that I play my part in many a plot.”
The leader of the group sighed, getting agitated. “Cut the chase, Raphael.”
“‘Patience was always a virtue that you lacked.” He commented. “But very well. There is a creature that lurks in silence and shadow - a creature, who like me, is very much of the infernal persuasion.”
“Should it make its way out through these very doors you are about to so brazenly open, you’ll have unleashed a pestilence unto this realm.” He took a step forward. “In truth, it is carnage incarnate. Should you find it, consider no other course of action - kill it.”
Tav eyed him, feeling that something was off. “I believe there’s more that you’re not telling me.”
‘Let me guess.’ Tav thought. ‘It’s probably one of those fiends that hates Raphael’s guts.’
Raphael sighed. “This creature and I go back a long way. I admit it would be in my best interest that as well should it remain in the dark - or misplace its head, perhaps. I should not relish its reacquaintance. Let’s leave it at that.”
“Very well.” Tav said.
He turned towards the elf. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you, Astarion. When the beast is dead, I’ll consider that enough payment to translate those scars of yours.”
“A fairer deal than I expected.”
The devil smirked. “Ask Tav. I always deal fairly.” With a snap of his fingers, he was gone.
…
Finding the orthon had been less than ideal, considering that in an instant, the devil recognized their leader.
“You. I recognized you. You’re Raphael’s little dog, following him around, obeying all the orders he barks at you.” Pointing his hand bow at her, he shouted. “Tell me where that perfumed bastard is, before I end you.”
The others tensed up behind her, but Tav remained calm, if not mildly annoyed. Placing a hand on her hip, she looked at her nails as she addressed him. “I’d be more careful with that tongue of yours, Yurgir.” She looked at the orthon. “Considering I hold the key to setting you free.”
“What are you doing?” Tav heard Astarion whisper shout behind her. “Just kill the damned thing.” She ignored him.
“What do you mean?” Yurgir asked.
“Oh, Yurgir, you think I don’t know about your little contract with Raphael? About the song?” She put a finger on her chin. “How was it again? Oh - I remember: Spill all blood sworn to the night / Silence all prayers; Smother all rites -”
Before she could continue, the orthon shouted. “Stop it! Stop singing. I’ve had enough of this bloody song.” He lowered his weapon. “Tell me. I did as instructed, but the song still rattles around in my head - the contract still stands, somehow. If I break it, I’ll become Raphael’s slave forever.”
“It’s quite simple, actually.” She explained. “Pay attention to the last rhyme. Leave none to hear it, then be set free / This song is your oath, swear it, swear it to me.” Tav looked at Yurgir with a condescending glare. “Don’t you see, Yurgir. You always hear the song.” Then, Tav smirked devilishly. “Kill yourself, be reborn in the Hells. Be free of your contract.”
The orthon huffed. “If you’re wrong about this, I’ll claw my way out of Avernus and eat you alive - contract be damned.” He grabbed his sword, pointing it towards his chest. “Nicely played, Raphael. Bastard.” Were his final words, as he impaled himself, body turning to ash.
Tav smiled, proud of herself.
“Does that count as killing him? It better count.” Astarion said and Tav nodded.
“That was…impressive.” Shadowheart said.
“Well, when you live with a devil for a long time, you learn a thing or two.”
“So the song was the contract? And how did you know about the loophole?” Wyll asked.
Tav turned towards him. “To answer your first question, indeed it was. Parchment can burn, oral agreements aren’t worth the tongues they’re waggled upon. A song lingers.” She remembered that those were Raphael’s words, when she asked him as to why a song. “And about the loophole, well, it’s simple. I was the one who helped my master come up with the rhymes.” She shrugged. “I guess that’s the luck of having an ex-bard as a warlock.”
Wyll said nothing, only nodding along as Tav moved and began looting the place. He felt as if everyday, there was a new side to Tav that he’d never seen before.
…
Raphael was quick to show up back at camp, praising Tav for how cleverly she avoided a direct confrontation with the orthon and telling Astarion of Cazador’s plans. As the vampire left the two of them alone, the devil took the moment to speak with his warlock privately, bringing her close to a river nearby the camp.
“Tell me, how have you been?”
She eyed him up and down, suspiciously. Raphael was not the type to ask this sort of thing - at least, not out of the goodness of his heart. “Never been better.” She lied.
“Truly?” He raised a brow. “Because I have this picture on my head - of you tossing and turning in the middle of the night, thinking strange things, dreaming strange dreams.” Raphael gestured. “And there’s this little voice inside your head asking: Is this my will or is it the worm’s? But you have no answer and no way of knowing.”
“Get to the point, Raphael.”
He took a step forwards, nose almost brushing with hers. “The point, dear Tav, is that you’ll do good to remember that there’s only one voice you should listen to: Mine.”
Raphael moved back. “I’ll be seeing you very soon.” He snapped his fingers and he was gone.
#raphael bg3#raphael x tav#raphael baldur's gate 3#raphael the cambion#tav#warlock!tav#baldur's gate 3 fanfic#my writing
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Finally, after devoting all of my Spring semester and Summer Session I into this project, I am happy to say I have passed and defended my capstone! Pan Dulce for the win 🥐
My project depicts the nostalgia of family traditions and appreciation towards the Hispanic and Mexican cuisine of pan dulce, or sweet bread! I am responsible for all aspects in the final render. This was definitely a challenging project to depict, especially when it came to modeling and surfacing organic foods. However, I am forever grateful to my professors, mentors, and peers for their constant guidance, advice and support throughout so I could achieve the best outcome possible in my process!
This project has allowed me to better appreciate my Hispanic roots and the tasteful cuisine of pan dulce. I hope to keep going with similar projects like this into the future, making more pan dulce assets and one day model a 3D environment of a Mexican panadería 🥐!
All assets were modeled in AutoDesk Maya and surfaced in Substance Painter and Pixar’s Renderman, post effects and compositing done in Nuke.
#3d modeling#visualization#3d still life#pan dulce#autodesk maya#substance painter#digital artist#alpha’s art
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can i request more yan!reader w dazai? maybe something about dazai noticing reader getting possessive n how he’d react to it? i’m just OBSESSED with this idea, it makes me all giggly.
we are back in business!!! tag for this au is #yandere reader 🐟
cw yandere reader, yandere character, murder, manipulation, dazai purposefully riles reader up, obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, jealousy. very unhealthy relationship dynamics, neither of them are any good
you weren't subtle at all, you know.
or maybe dazai was just too observant—to be honest, he liked the idea of you unable to hide your feels better. knowing he made you feel so strongly, that your usual composition was shattered in an instance the moment someone else catches his attention, made him feel proud.
in the office, your possessiveness reared its head whenever anyone else was paired with him for a mission. you would beg and plead until they were switched out with you, until the president stopped assigning any partner that wasn't you, or just made you tag along anyway. there was that time, he can remember quite fondly, when you purposely sabotaged a mission so that you could prove that you would have been a better fit instead, and you would have thwarted the trouble before it got out of hand. but the real fun happened outside of the office.
once he stepped inside the restaurant, he had noticed at once that they hired a new waitress. again. dazai knew your constant glares was the reason why they kept leaving. but what was he to do? it wasn't his fault everyone just seemed to fall all over him. ah well, he might have encouraged the flirting just a little; an amused look, a coy smile, a soft brushing of fingers—but it didn't mean anything, seriously! he was just playing around. how was he supposed to know you would act so recklessly?
some part of him, as he smirked up at the new person, hoped that you'd finally snap. the cute glaring and the thinly veiled threats were entertaining enough, sure, but how far would you really go, for him? there was that incident with fyodor that neither of you talked about once it was done, but he wanted...more. he wanted to see it again, the freed rage etched into your face, the fluid, nonstop motion of your arm. he wanted to see you promise to kill anyone who hurt him again, except...this time he wanted you to do it for no reason at all except jealousy. god, he was sick, wasn't he?
but you still liked him knowing that, didn't you?
was it jealousy if you never really had him? he whispers something to the girl and she looks away, giggling. he sees your hands clench and unclench, and you stare down at the table.
do something, wouldn't you?
he sees you lift your head and study the waitress closely. but that was all, to his disappointment. no glare, no snarky comments, nothing out of you. what a shame, really. did you think he would hate you if you did something bad? he would only be upset if you just sat there and did nothing.
and then he heard the news. something about a body found, working as a waitress at the time. a familiar photograph was shown and it was found in a very familiar location. he finds himself unconciously staring straight at you, your poor attempt of hiding your smile by drinking from your cup doing nothing to ease the fluttering in his heart. he definitely misread your intentions, took your silence as inaction and your calm exterior as indifference. how wrong he was.
he thinks about congratulating your efforts. or should he pretend to be mad? but you didn't deserve any more torment after what a good job you had done. he didn't want you thinking he was not happy with your work. he was beyond pleased, and he was proud. nobody would have any reason to suspect you, not after how calm you were yesterday. no indication you were hiding murderous rage. maybe he'll put in a note for you that next time, he'd like to be there and witness it. wouldn't you like that?
#yandere x you#yandere bsd#yandere x reader#yandere bungo stray dogs#yandere bungou stray dogs#yandere bungo stray dogs x reader#yandere bungou stray dogs x reader#yandere bsd x reader#yandere dazai x reader#yandere reader x yandere dazai#yandere reader 🐟#yandere reader x bsd#yandere reader x dazai#yandere reader#ask 🐟#bsd 🐟#dazai 🐟
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all that we wouldn't say (myg x knj)
summary: if yoongi told someone that letting go of BTS and namjoon at the same time was hard, it would be a gross understatement. it was, in fact, the worst year or so of his life, but he’s managed to somehow move on. he’s had time, therapy, and lots of friends, family, and work to distract him. things are good now—the best they’ve ever been, maybe. but yoongi knows better than anyone that good things don’t always last, and that point is proven when namjoon shows back up in his life out of nowhere with an album that needs producing and questions yoongi doesn’t have the answers to.
pairing: yoongi x namjoon, yoongi x ofc
rating: explicit (18+ please)
genre: smut, angst, ambiguous (happy tho) ending
au: canon divergent, post-disbandment idolverse
warnings: a little angst, this is post-disbandment so like... they disbanded and that seems like it should be a warning. the ending is hopeful but not concrete... not unhappy but not like... your traditional happy ending either. smut! bisexual!yoongi (he sleeps with a woman and a man in this fic). penetrative sex, anal sex, oral sex (f!receiving, m!receiving), namjoon has a praise kink a little bit prob, anal fingering, kissing, idk... bottom!kim namjoon... i think that's probably everything but as always pls tell me if i missed something...
word count: 20k
a/n: sorry that this fic is two months late! this was written for the composition of the century yoongi collaboration. thank you to @kithtaehyung for the banner, and to @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over. you are all very lovely people and i'm so so happy that we were able to see yoongi together!! that said, all mistakes are mine and they're lovely people who would have caught anything if i asked them to. let's be honest, we're just here for vibes at this point.
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He wakes up, and not that he’s counting, but it’s been eight hundred and fifty two mornings that he’s been on his own (he’s definitely counting). By now, that shouldn’t be the first thought that crosses his mind each day, but without fail, it is.
When they were younger, he would tease Namjoon about his penchant for forgetting details—”Namjoonie, everyone knows you didn’t mean to change your stage name, you just forgot what it was supposed to be one day”—to a predictable chorus of responses: falling on the floor laughter from Tae and Jimin, surprise from Hobi, stifled almost-giggles from Jungkook and Jin…
Now, he wishes he could forget like that.
Briefly, he wonders what it would be like to wake up in the morning (afternoon, but don’t tell his mother) and not know how many days it had been, to have just a small break from remembering what his life was like before. Instead, every day he wakes up feeling half-right, ruffled, a little on edge, and a lot alone—the last remnants of something like pain that all the therapy in Seoul hasn’t managed to ease.
Just like the previous eight hundred and fifty one days, he shakes off the disorientation. It happens pretty quickly now—he does it much faster than he used to be able to. His routine now is good, grounding. Coffee first. He goes through the motions, humming a little and tapping out a beat on the counter while he waits for the fancy machine (Jin bought it for him, he was perfectly happy with his old french press) to pull his espresso shots. When it’s ready, he takes it to the piano bench and sits facing the window while Holly spins until he finds himself a seat on top of Yoongi’s feet. Over coffee, he has his first (sometimes only) conversation of the day,
“Who’s the best boy?” he coos softly.
“You are… yes, you are.”
“Are we gonna have a good day, Holly? Hmm?”
(It’s not for lack of trying that Holly only responds with wide eyes and a wagging tail).
Then it’s pilates, which he’s done for a while now. Long enough that he can remember getting Namjoon into it, can remember taking online classes together eventually, can remember the first time he tried it again on his own. It’s almost mindless at this point, which today makes him pause to wonder if he should try something new. Is it really a workout if you don’t have to try that hard anymore? Maybe he’s gotten complacent. Or just stronger? He looks at his thin arms in the mirror and smiles. Complacent, he thinks.
In the shower, he contemplates calling Jin to get together over the weekend. They don’t see each other as much as they used to before Jin stopped coming around the company to record. He knows if he texts he’ll get a call back relatively quickly at least, which is more than he can count on from Jungkook. It’s like this nearly every day—he thinks about who he could call: music friends, old friends, new friends (except you can’t always be sure they’ll actually turn out to be friends, Yoongi knows), and decides to stick with what he knows best. It’s always Jimin, Hobi, or Jin. Always. Tae and Jungkook are too busy, and while he misses them, he loves seeing them so successful and happy. Small victories.
More coffee while he walks Holly. It’s cold outside, so he’s in as many layers as he could find and cutting their morning stroll a little shorter than he normally would. Jimin always teases him for complaining about the cold, but he lives at least a quarter mile closer to the river than the rest of them, so what would they know, anyway? It’s definitely colder at his apartment than any of theirs, and he’ll die on that hill.
Finally it’s time for work. He’s lucky that he makes his own schedule and can dick around for a few hours from whenever he wakes up until whenever he decides to work. Not that he doesn’t have things to do and deadlines to meet, he just knows himself well enough to put in the right amount of time and effort nowadays. It’s not worth being burnt out over, which is something a younger version of him would have never thought he’d be someday saying. It’s one of the only things he thinks Namjoon was right about eight hundred and fifty two days ago.
Here’s where his routine varies. Sometimes he drives, sometimes he calls a driver, sometimes he walks when he’s feeling especially ambitious or nostalgic (it’s not often). Today, he calls a driver. He doesn’t know how long he’ll be there or if he’ll feel like driving when he’s finished, and he hates leaving his car at the company overnight. It’s inexplicable because their security is great, of course. It just makes him feel like he’s stranded in his stupid large apartment with no way out. Trapped. He despises that feeling even if he doesn’t actually end up wanting to leave.
In the back of the car, he decides it’s a good day. The sun is out, but not harsh, Holly woke up happy, he’s working on a couple of tracks he’s really proud of with people he likes collaborating with, and he’ll probably see Jin this weekend if everything goes to plan. He’s lucky, he knows. Some people don’t have the privilege to decide if their days will be good or not. So, he tries to simply let himself feel content. It’s a challenge, but on the days he succeeds, it’s worth it. And on days like today, he really believes it when he repeats affirmations of his own success and happiness in a silent mantra as the car crosses the river into Gangnam.
“Morning,” he greets the receptionists. It’s not bright or cheery, because he’s not onto coffee number three yet, but they smile regardless. Neither of them correct him to say it’s afternoon, because he’s who he is and they’re probably intimidated. He wishes it weren’t like that, but his whole last fifteen years has been a testimony to the importance of keeping professional distances, so he lets it slide. It’s not about him; not really.
The nice thing (one of many, he knows), about being his own boss (more or less) is that he doesn’t have to worry about running to his email inbox first thing to see if anyone needs anything from him. People perpetually do, but hardly any of them sign his paycheck, so they can usually wait a bit. So, he doesn’t bother. He gets his computer on, opens Cubase straight away, and starts work (after he texts to see if someone will bring him coffee number three). It’s peaceful, he likes this track so much it’s going to almost hurt when he’s done with it. That’s the moment he loves and hates the most—the one where something he’s put his soul into transfers ownership to someone else. If you love something, let it go, as they say, but Yoongi’s never really been very good at that.
The songs he’s been writing for himself have been sad. They’re too honest—pure and crystalline, each verse a surface reflecting another way in which his breakup with Namjoon ruined him piece by piece. The rest of the storyline, where he’s gradually started to put himself back together, has only shown up in his ability to produce songs that are happy, angry, defiant, hopeful… Still can’t write anything like that, though. Has songs he’s worked on for months and the lyrics simply sit in his notebook unedited, unfinished. For someone like Yoongi, words turn the theoretical into the tangible. So, if he never finishes those songs, his pain remains as an idea—the remnants of it haunt him, but he never has to let anyone know that, not really.
Instead, he can take the words and ideas of others and bring those to life. Maybe it’s healing for them, maybe they’re braver than him, but he plays a small part in their happiness and their success and that’s as worth clinging onto and being proud of as getting his own thoughts to paper would be.
Later, after coffee and before lunch, he’s immersed in the song, but his phone won’t stop buzzing. It’s annoying and incessant and he can feel it more than he can hear it as he tries to ignore it in favor of working out a harmony on his keyboard. Finally, on what he assumes is the fourth or fifth missed call, he tugs his headphones off and grabs the phone. It’s the fourth missed call, it’s Bang-PD each time, and he can’t place why the man would call him so many times in a row. Then he gets a text that just reads, “Check your email, please.” Ominous or curious, he can’t really tell.
In his inbox there are a hundred or more unread emails, but one sitting right at the top from his old boss—the subject line reads “Favor,” and it has an attachment.
The email is simple; just that Bang-PD needs a favor. Needs someone to lead production on an album, and the artist has personally requested Yoongi. Yoongi doesn’t work for him anymore; their former boss has been long replaced by someone a little younger, a little more interested in running the company now that it’s bigger than big with divisions and sub-corporations so numerous that Yoongi can’t even count them all. But… even though he’s not the boss, he’s certainly someone Yoongi owes a favor to. Their relationship is complex—somewhere between friendship and mutual respect… When everything had ended, when Yoongi was lost and low and scared, his old boss was there for him. An ear to listen, a guest room to sleep in, a job when he was ready to do something with himself again… So, even before he knows who the artist is, Yoongi knows he’ll do it. It’s not like Bang-PD sends him shit usually, anyway. If he’s onboard, it’s probably at least half-good already.
Yoongi pops his headphones back on and opens the attachment. A demo, rough around the edges but well-executed. Good ideas musically, superior ones lyrically. He doesn’t recognize the voice on the track, but he supposes it may or may not actually belong to whomever the song belongs to, anyway. There’s something about the song… something about how the words manage to be melancholy and optimistic at the same time, something about how there are maybe one too many competing sounds in the track… It’s so familiar. He likes it instantly, he also knows he can fix it, he knows it’s good but that he can make it great—doesn’t even finish the whole thing before he texts back. I’ll do it, this is good. Really good.
The response is immediate. “I knew you’d like it. I’ll be in touch.”
And just like that, Yoongi has a new gig as the current one is winding down. He still doesn’t know why it carried the urgency of an email and four missed calls and a text, still doesn’t know who the artist is that asked for him, but that’s how it goes sometimes. He’ll know all the details soon enough, he decides. No use in overthinking.
***
So, life goes on. Work and routine and warmer days as spring rolls through Seoul, and meetings with rappers and singers and other producers… It’s busy in the way he likes, keeps him just on the healthy side of distracted, keeps him feeling productive, human even. His therapist, it seems, was right all along: things seem better with time and distance.
When he meets Jin a couple Saturdays later for drinks, everything is as it should be, everything is squarely in its place in Yoongi’s carefully crafted world.
“Yoongi-chi!”
Seokjin looks happy—bright smile, bright voice, always a little hint of a tease in it.
“Jin-hyung, I’m glad to see you.” And he is. These are always his favorite parts of the week. He’s wrapped in a crooked hug—Seokjin is and always has been a little awkward with this kind of contact (unless it’s with Jeongguk).
“Glad to see you, too,” he says into Yoongi’s hair.
They sit, they flag down the server to place their order, and they catch up. Jin’s not making music anymore, but he’s busier than ever with all of his other endeavors: restaurants, makgeolli, commercials, MC gigs… the list is almost endless. It’s good to see him happy, trying new things with his friends. Of all of them, Seokjin’s always been one of the most private, so Yoongi likes seeing him this way, happy and open. It feels like something gifted to him, a part of his friend that not many people will ever get to see.
“So…” Jin says lazily, and Yoongi knows he isn’t going to like what’s coming next—he knows this tone. It’s the “I’m planning something and I know you won’t like it so I’ve taken it far enough that you can’t back out or argue about it without looking like a dick” tone. Usually only reserved for Yoongi (and used to be Namjoon, too, but Yoongi—thankfully—doesn’t know much about Namjoon and Jin’s current relationship, if they’re still close enough for Jin to pull this kind of shit anymore).
“You might as well spit it out,” Yoongi murmurs.
Jin laughs and takes a long drink of his beer. “Well… There’s someone I want you to meet.”
“No.”
“Yoongi, just hear me out.” He draws out the vowels of Yoongi’s name like he’s already begging. This means one of two things. A music favor or a date he doesn’t want.
“What’s his name?”
“Her name.”
“A singer?”
“No…”
Yoongi sighs and picks at the label of his beer bottle. “I don’t think I’m ready,” he says.
“It’s been almost three years.”
“Time is a construct,” Yoongi retorts. He means for it to be under his breath, but he knows Jin heard him, knows it wasn’t quiet enough.
“Her name is Hiah. She owns a small soju brand we brought into one of the restaurants. She’s smart, Yoongi, really smart. And interesting, too. She plays the guitar and volunteers at the childrens’ hospital with Iseul. They get along great, and I know you’d like her.”
Ah… So the truth comes out. Kang Iseul is a force to be reckoned with; you’d have to be to put up with Jin, Yoongi thinks. But Yoongi likes Iseul, respects her, and if she likes this girl… Maybe. “So you want a double date or something?” he asks.
Jin’s grin reappears as he taps his temple. “Ah, Yoongi-chi, you were always the smartest one in the group.”
Yoongi scoffs. “When?”
“Next weekend. Saturday. A fundraiser for the hospital. Wear a suit and get someone to do your hair.”
“Hiah, huh?”
Jin nods. “Hiah. She’s great, you’ll see.”
A week later, Yoongi finds himself at the mercy of a stylist at the company who is ensuring he looks photograph-ready. It’s been a while since he’s been forced to shoot anything, dress any certain way, wear any makeup that isn’t of his choosing… He forgot that he kind of likes it—just a little bit, anyway. It’s nice to let someone dress you up and make you look like a different (hopefully better and less tired) version of yourself.
It’s hard not to sit in the chair and be reminded of how he used to share these moments with the rest of them: how Jeongguk and Jin used to play-fight while the makeup team yelled at them, how Taehyung and Jimin would tease each other and Hobi and whoever else would pay attention to them… and Namjoon—how Namjoon would sit in the back of the room on his phone, always finished first, always pecking out a lyric or a text, meeting Yoongi’s eyes in the mirror every so often and giving a wink or a smirk or just a barely there flash of a dimple when no one was paying attention.
“That’s a big sigh.” He hears Jin’s voice before he sees him, pulling him back into the present moment.
“Who let you up here?” Yoongi teases in reply.
Jin makes flower hands around his chin and pushes his lips out in a half-kiss, half-pout. “Ah, this face still gets me everywhere. Almost ready?”
The stylist nods for him, and pushes the front of his hair back with one last spritz of hairspray before she signals that he can leave. He stands and bows to her quickly and then checks himself out in the mirror. Not bad, really. Actually, pretty good. His hair is long again, but she’s got it swept off his face, and he looks good in the suit she chose. It’s simple, navy, which isn’t his usual first choice, but looks pretty nice. When he checks out his profile, he decides maybe the pilates are still working just fine. He looks good.
“Done preening?” Jin asks.
Yoongi feels himself flush a bit under his makeup. “It’s been a while,” is all he says in return.
“I know it has.” Jin loops his arm over Yoongi’s shoulders as they make their way to the elevator bank. “But you can do this,” he says.
Yoongi’s not sure Jin’s right, but he’s gotten this far, so he figures he might as well give it a shot.
***
Turns out, he ends up being glad he gave Hiah a chance. As promised, he does like her. The fundraiser actually ends up being fun, and it’s mostly thanks to her. She keeps up with Jin, she isn’t shy around Yoongi, she makes jokes (and Yoongi finds a great satisfaction in announcing to Jin that Hiah’s jokes are funnier than Jin’s, which Iseul agrees with, sending Jin into a panic of telling even worse dad jokes than he had been before). Jin was right: Hiah is smart, pretty, and interesting. She doesn’t just play the guitar, she plays the guitar in an indie band, which Yoongi thinks is painfully cool even though he really isn’t supposed to be impressed by that kind of thing anymore. She’s taller than him in her heels, probably a little taller than him without them, too, and looks incredible in her dress, which is off-white and off-the shoulder and shows off her collarbone and the delicate, fine-line tattoo that runs across the length of it, as well as her tanned skin, which Yoongi never has himself and has always been a sucker for.
When the speeches start, the part of these kinds of events that Yoongi hates the most, Hiah leans in and whispers to ask if he wants to get some fresh air, and then promptly tows him out of the ballroom to a balcony on the next floor.
“So…” she starts, looking a little unsure and a little wild as they lean against the railing. “Can I be forward with you Yoongi-ssi?”
Oh, he likes her already.
“Of course. And just Yoongi is fine.”
“Iseul tells me you might not be over your last relationship.”
“Does she?” It isn’t what he expected to hear from her; he was hoping to avoid the ex talk.
Hiah nods and then turns to look out over the city, holding her weight off of her heels when she leans over the balustrade. “I don’t know if I am either,” she says quietly. “Over my ex, you know. But you’re interesting, and handsome, and pretty obviously out of my league, so…” She lets herself down with a hop. He likes watching her, he realizes, likes her playful body language, likes that she seems to have these bits of energy bubbling in her veins just under the surface of her skin that she needs to let out. She’s different from him in that way. “I think we should just kiss and get it out of the way.”
“What?”
She smiles widely. “You know, just see if anything’s there. If there is, maybe we see each other again, take things slow. If there’s not, then… Well, we can tell Iseul and Seokjin we tried and maybe they’ll get off both our backs for a while.”
“You’re an interesting woman, Hiah.”
One step closer… then another, and then Hiah is right there, breathing the same air as him, looking down a little at him with a smirk. “I’ve heard that before.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmhmm,” she murmurs, and then brings her hands to his lapels to smooth them down over his chest. Something in the back of his poorly-functioning-at-the-moment brain tells him that they were already smooth, that she’s touching him just for the sake of touching… And he thinks he likes it. “I’ve also been told I’m a good kisser.”
“Interesting…” He chokes it out, nervous, anticipating. Hiah’s clearly holding the reins and Yoongi’s excited, he realizes, to see what she does next.
What she does is dip her head down and press her lips to his, all softness and kindness and something sweet that Yoongi immediately realizes has been missing from his life for a couple years. Hiah is warm and her lips are plush and when her tongue slips into his mouth, licking softly against his own, she tastes like strawberries and a little like the champagne they’ve been drinking. It’s nice—nice to feel wanted, nice to have the taste and smell of someone else weaving their way through his senses. It’s mostly nice to feel connected to someone. His chest hurts, thinking about how long it’s been since someone touched him like this, since someone showed him affection like this. The kiss is nice, tender, and a little bittersweet as he realizes how different it is… kissing someone that isn’t Namjoon. Without meaning to, he whimpers quietly when Hiah pulls away, already missing the feeling of her mouth on his. Missing the closeness.
“That was…” he starts at the same time Hiah speaks.
“Maybe there is a little something there,” she says, eyes wide. He’s relieved that it’s not just his unadmitted loneliness making him think there was a bit of a spark between them, that maybe she felt it, too.
They share a few more sweet and quick kisses on the balcony, and then the sound of applause floating through the air decides for them that they should go back inside. He isn’t really sure how long they’ve been gone—kissing and laughing and sharing some sense of anticipation under the crescent moon.
Seokjin literally giggles when they make their way back to the table, as Iseul politely points out that Yoongi has the dark red stain of Hiah’s lipstick on the side of his mouth. He would be embarrassed under most circumstances, but Hiah is laughing when she grabs his jaw gently and dabs at it with a damp cloth napkin. It makes him feel light and more free than he has almost since he can remember.
He doesn’t escape the teasing from Seokjin for the rest of the night, and for weeks after that. He takes Hiah out a few times, keeping Iseul and Jin in the loop on how things are progressing. Each time he sees her, he likes her more. On the days when they have dates planned for the evening, he finds himself smiling more, focusing less, and even a little giddy looking forward to his time with her. She’s a good companion, still making him laugh like she did the first time they met, still easy on him and a little hard on herself—Yoongi can relate to that.
Everything is going well, and he has to stop himself from thinking it’s going “too well,” that he doesn’t deserve this kind of happiness, that it’s not meant for him.
***
The first time Yoongi invites Hiah back to his place after a date, he’s had an objectively good day. He finished the track he’d been working on for Younha, he met with one of the company’s girl groups to see if a song he’d written a while back could work for their new album—they loved it—and he finally got a meeting set up with the management of the artist whose album Bang-PD asked him to produce a couple months prior.
His date with Hiah that night was great; they met at the company building and then walked to a cat cafe. It was stupid and simple, but they drank wine and ate cake and played with cats, and she was so funny and kind, and whip-smart with her conversation… He felt like he just stared at her the whole time with big, dopey eyes—this girl in baggy jeans and a hoodie with cats crawling all over her lap while she made stupid jokes about Schroedinger—and he knew that he was going to take her home, knew he wanted to try and take things further with her, knew he was about to cross into new territory and he was shitting bricks just thinking about it.
“Hiah?”
“Hmm?” She looks up at him and smiles, hands carding through the soft fur of a calico kitten that hasn’t left her side since they got there.
“Do you… maybe want to come back to my—”
“Yes.” Hiah nods emphatically before he can even finish his sentence, and then they’re both immediately reduced to nervous laughter and shy smiles, downing the rest of their wine more quickly than people should, and scurrying to get a taxi back to his flat.
As soon as they’re through the door, they’re on each other, Hiah pressed against his door, his hands pushing under her hoodie, and hers in his hair as he kisses up her neck and jaw, warm and soft skin pricking up with goosebumps as he goes.
“Want the tour?” he asks, a little breathlessly.
“Not now,” she replies. “Just the bedroom, yeah?”
And then it’s happening. It’s like a fever dream, and he doesn’t even remember how they got there, but she’s naked on his bed (and Yoongi hasn’t had someone naked on his bed in a shamefully long time—not since Namjoon, not since tanned skin and long, thick legs, and playful dimpled grins that are still etched into his brain), and she’s also long and tan and fuck, she’s wet already, he can see it when she opens her legs for him…
The first thing he thinks when he sees her is that she’s so different from Namjoon. And he hates himself a little for even thinking about him in this moment. He wants to give his attention to Hiah—doesn’t love her, but loves spending time with her, wants her to feel good and special and cared for, and thinking about how her legs are long and tan like Namjoon’s but that nothing else is the same isn’t achieving that.
It’s been so long since he’s been with someone, longer since he’s been with a woman, but he finds, as he brings his focus back to Hiah, that it’s the same now as it has been in his memories and fantasies for the last couple of lonely years. She rolls her hips into his touch when he slides one, and then two fingers inside her. When his thumb finds her clit, she whimpers, tells him it’s been so long and he feels so good. She whines again when his lips close around one of her nipples, rolling his tongue around where it peaks and letting his teeth sink in just enough for her to feel it, not enough to hurt.
He’s hard and he’s self-conscious, because as good as he knows he is at making other people feel good, he also hasn’t been naked in front of anyone since Namjoon. Namjoon with his, “God, you’re so gorgeous, hyung,” and his deep, deep moans, and his jaw clicking around when Yoongi would tease him, making Yoongi feel sexy… powerful even, like he could do anything, ask for anything, and Namjoon would let him, would give it to him. Except when you asked him to stay, his traitorous mind tells him as he slides his briefs off and gives Hiah her first view of all of the rest of him.
“Fuck,” she says. “Pilates works for you, huh?” as she sits up on her elbows and smirks. It makes him blush, makes him feel good, makes him decide that maybe dating Hiah, bringing her home with him, was one of the best ideas he’s had in a long time.
“I do okay,” he replies.
“You look great,” she assures him. “Now will you please fuck me?”
Sex with Hiah starts out fun. They laugh, and their teeth clack together a few times when they try to kiss, and it’s clear that it’s been a little while for both of them, but they eventually find a good rhythm. She’s a little whiny, a little desperate, and Yoongi likes that—it’s a confidence booster, makes him feel like he’s still got “it.”
At one point, after he’s given her one orgasm already, she gets him on his back, straddles him, and slides slowly onto his dick. It’s the closest to perfect he’s felt in ages. She moves her hips against him, grinding more than bouncing, and it’s just like Namjoon. Just like him. There’s a warm wave of nostalgia that washes over him, and even though her hips feel different, and the soft skin of her stomach isn’t as firm under his hands, if he closes his eyes, he can almost swear he’s gone back in time. Namjoon grinding down on him, whining when Yoongi thumbs at the head of his cock, dragging precum and lube down to the base and fisting him tight. It’s so clear in his memory, the little grunts he would let out, the breathy, “fuck, hyung,” with each upstroke, getting more desperate as he got closer to release.
Soon, Hiah is moving up and down, riding him fast and hard and he’s got his fingers wound tightly into the bedsheets because she’s not Namjoon—because he doesn’t know where to touch her, doesn’t know what she might like, and if he tries something, it might ruin the fantasy playing out in his head. The one of his best friend fucking himself on Yoongi’s cock until there’s cum all over Yoongi’s hand and chest, until they’re breathless and Namjoon feels like dead weight on him, reeling in his orgasm and just letting Yoongi fuck into him until he’s finished too, letting Yoongi use him to get off and moaning quietly through the overstimulation. It’s perfect, really, because Hiah is bent over him now, kissing her way along his collarbone and chest and it’s warm and wet just like Namjoon would have made him. And she’s giving him soft whimpers that he can distort in his mind to make them sound like Namjoon’s, and nothing is the same about them, not really, but nothing is so different that he can’t imagine it.
He’s coming before he knows what’s happening, almost saying Namjoon’s name, his hands releasing their tight grip on the sheets to land on Hiah’s hips, to hold her down as he thrusts up into her hard, spilling into the condom. He knows she hasn’t had another orgasm, knows it’s selfish that he didn’t even try to give her one while he was still inside her. As his orgasm fades, the guilt sets in. It’s not fucking normal, he thinks, to be thinking about your ex-boyfriend while some near-perfect girl is hot and tight and wet on your cock, while she’s telling you how much she likes you, how good you make her feel. He feels himself turning red with shame, hopes she thinks it’s sex related… Pulls the condom off and tosses it before he dives back between her thighs to hide his embarrassment.
It works, at least a little bit, because he loses himself in the way she feels and tastes, and she fucks his face like she’s taking something that doesn’t belong to her, and she whispers something when she comes that doesn’t sound like his name at all. Her eyes are pinched shut and there’s a tear slipping out of the left one, and right then, he remembers what she said the first night they met about maybe not being over her ex, knows what they’re doing is fucked up, but at least they’re in it together.
They both clean up quietly, he invites her to stay, and she accepts, and he’d be willing to bet money that they’re both in it for the same thing—the delay of the crash that’s coming, the loneliness that will set in when they’re not curled up next to someone warm, someone who shares their pain, someone who gets it.
Her breath is shallow and warm on his chest, and she’s kind and sweet and sexy, and he wishes he could have done this differently.
“Are you alright?” she whispers.
“No. Are you?” It’s honest; probably too honest, but he owes her that, at least.
Hiah smiles against his skin. “No.”
“At least we have each other,” he says, knowing it’s not enough and hoping it’ll do, anyway.
“Could be so much worse,” she says.
“The cats were nice.”
She lets out a loud, bright laugh. “The cats and the orgasms,” she agrees.
***
When he wakes in the morning, he tries to stick to his routine, even with Hiah there. It’s strange to have someone in his space like this, he’s not used to it and it throws him off a little. He doesn’t know anymore how to make the right amount of coffee for two people. Doesn’t remember that Holly has to go for a walk and Hiah is probably a person who eats breakfast and those two things seem exceptionally challenging for him to coordinate properly. But Hiah is easy, relaxed about things in general, so she takes Holly for a walk while Yoongi cooks for them, and by the time they’re done eating and Hiah is borrowing a toothbrush and a towel so she can get ready for work, he almost forgets that he doesn’t know how to do this.
They part ways when a car comes for each of them, one to take Hiah to her office in Sinchon, and one headed to Gangnam for him. She gives him a kiss before she gets in the car, and they make plans to see each other again on the weekend, and they don’t talk about how she cried, don’t talk about how he was picturing someone else on top of him. It seems like they don’t need to.
He’s halfway through the day when he gets a “Good job” text from Seokjin with eggplant emojis because apparently they’re still fifteen, which means Hiah told Iseul that they’d slept together, and Iseul told Jin, and Jin is going to want to tease him relentlessly about it—worse than the teasing he was getting for not sleeping with anyone, probably. But they go back and forth for a bit, and Yoongi gets one of the interns to bring him coffee and the good dakgalbi from the place down the street, and he’s still on a bit of a high from the orgasm and the friendship and the food when there’s a knock on his door.
It’s time for his meeting with that mystery artist, and he’s excited. He’s prepared for it, has ideas for each track that he thinks will help, but also needs to hear all the lyrics so he has a better idea of what they’re trying to accomplish with the songs.
He’s got a smile on his face when he opens the door to Genius Lab, and it lasts approximately half a second when he realizes that standing in the hallway in front of him, for the first time in years, is Kim Namjoon.
“Hi, hyung.”
“No.”
Confusion crosses Namjoon’s face, Yoongi sees it—Namjoon has never hidden his thoughts well, never had a good poker face. “Sorry, I’m not sure what to say,” he says.
“Me either,” Yoongi says, still in disbelief that this is happening.
“Can I come in?”
And that feels… like something Yoongi doesn’t want. Or, at least not right now. That’s his place. It’s private and it’s safe and it’s been redecorated since Namjoon left—the pictures of him all gone except for one of the seven of them at the Grammy awards a long time ago that Yoongi couldn’t bear to shove in a box.
“I don’t think so,” he says.
Namjoon looks crestfallen. “Well… okay. Alright… I guess… I guess I can go. Or can we go somewhere else?”
“I have a meeting with…” And something dawns on Yoongi at that very second. “You. They’re your songs. You’re the one who asked for me.”
“I did.” Namjoon nods, hands shoved in his pockets, just the right amount of sheepish. It pisses Yoongi off. How does Kim Namjoon have the audacity to think Yoongi owes him anything after everything they went through? After Namjoon left him…
Yoongi scoffs. “Bold.”
“Hyung…”
“I can’t do this right now. I was having a good day, Namjoon.”
“And now you’re not. Because of me?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Yoongi mutters it, but not quietly enough that Namjoon misses it. It’s catty and shitty and everything Yoongi has tried so hard not to be. It’s not who he wants to be, but seeing Namjoon in front of him just makes him so fucking mad. Like all of that hurt and sadness and feeling like he wasn’t good enough is just right there, taking a human form. A fucking gorgeous human form, because of course he is, because the universe isn’t fair enough to make him anything but the man of Yoongi’s dreams. It fucking sucks.
“That’s not fair,” Namjoon says softly.
“I don’t think you get to decide that.”
Namjoon’s shoulders slump. “Fine. I deserve that,” he concedes. “But I really need your help with this one, hyung. I wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t important. I know what a big deal this is.” And then he digs one of his toes into the carpet, twisting it around nervously. “I know I don’t deserve it. But I’m here, begging. You’re the only one who can make these songs right. I need you.”
I need you. Those three words hang in the air between them. Namjoon’s face contorts as soon as they come out, like he knows there’s so much more meaning associated with them than he meant for there to be. He has to know that Yoongi has waited for years to hear those words from him. Fucking literal years. He’s had dreams about hearing Namjoon say those three words to him. And yet, now that it happens, he doesn’t feel anything he expected to feel. Not hope, not love, not even anger. It’s just hollow.
“I need to think about it.”
Namjoon pauses and sucks in a breath. “Okay, sure… That’s fair, yeah. Thank you. I mean, for even considering it. I know there’s a lot of… stuff here between us and… Well, I’m ready or willing to talk about it… Or whatever you want. If you’re ready, hyung. The ball’s in your court.”
It takes a lot for Yoongi not to give a snarky reply. He knows it’s fair, more than fair. He doesn’t owe Namjoon anything, doesn’t owe him closure or support or his time. Where was Namjoon when Yoongi wanted to talk years ago? When Yoongi wanted to work through things? But he’s trying, really trying, to not feed his own negativity. So, instead of making things more awkward, he lets out a long breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and nods. “I’ll be in touch, Namjoon,” he says quietly before he shuts the door, leaving Namjoon on the other side.
There’s something surreal about knowing Namjoon is right there, he thinks as he slumps against the door. Close enough to touch, and Yoongi has been thinking about that touch for years. Part of him is mad—over time, he’s run through a million scenarios in his head, what he would say when he ever had the chance to speak to Namjoon again. None of them had played out like this: more wistful than angry, more heartache than rage. He’s dreamt about giving Namjoon a piece of his mind, and still, given the chance, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t bring himself to hurt Namjoon, not really. Doesn’t even think it would be worth it—nothing he could do to Namjoon would come close to hurting as much as what Namjoon did to him, so what’s the point?
A while ago, if this had happened, Yoongi might have panicked. Now, he feels eerily calm about it. He does want to ask some questions, though, so he makes his way back to his desk and sends an email to Bang-PD, asking why he wouldn’t tell Yoongi that the mystery artist was Namjoon. It feels a little like a betrayal, and he wonders if anyone else knew. Did Jin know? Did Hoseok? Yoongi knows he and Namjoon are close. Maybe it doesn’t matter. If he hadn’t been blindsided, he wouldn’t have taken the meeting. So, perhaps, this was the only way to get them in front of each other.
He leaves early that day, feeling a little shaken and more than a little confused about what he should do.
So, he does nothing. He doesn’t go into the studio for the rest of the week, doesn’t call Jin, doesn’t leave the apartment except to walk Holly. He spends four days sort of frozen—reminiscing, thinking, trying to figure out the right next move. After four days of thinking and delivery chicken and self-admitted sulking, he pulls out the box.
It’s a pretty morning in Seoul—the sun is soft in the deceptive way, where you could be tricked into thinking you can go outside without a jacket, but it’s hiding a bitter chill. Yoongi likes these mornings, not the cold, but the apricity—likes the way the pale, dissipated light filters through his living room. Likes the way the air smells when he cracks a window open, reminds him of stolen mornings with Namjoon at Naksan. Which reminds him of the box.
It’s tucked in his guest room, hidden deep deep deep in the back of the closet under old equipment. It’s not big—it’s a shame or a wonder that you can fit ten years of memories into a 40x40x10 centimeter box, he can’t decide which. He hasn’t opened the box since he filled it, but he knows what’s inside. Everything that he needs to be reminded of Namjoon, including one particular picture he’s looking for. It’s halfway down in the stack of photographs and tickets and memories. Probably from 2014. In fact, he knows it’s from 2014 because Namjoon has that ridiculous hair, the swept back blond with the undercut that’s darker than dark. He’s standing on Naksan Beach, with the ocean on one side of him and the mountains of Seoraksan Park on the other and he looks like the love of Yoongi’s life.
Even then, back when they were young and scared and stupid, he looked radiant. Namjoon has always had this quality about him that Yoongi can’t resist—it’s magnetism, magic of some kind. Even when they fought and scrambled to survive and things were shit, there was no one Yoongi would rather have done that with than Namjoon. And that day, on the beach, before the real fame and the complication and the endless travel, he seemed perfect. Yoongi still remembers it—early summer, sneaking out of the dorms early in the morning without sleep, clambering into his shitty car, driving all the way to Seoraksan before Namjoon begged him to keep going to the beach, said he just needed to remember he was small, that he didn’t matter in the big big scope of the world, that everything would be okay.
The sun rose on them as they pulled up, and Namjoon took his shoes off and ran to the sand as soon as the car was in park. Despite the sun, it was wickedly cold, but Namjoon didn’t even seem to notice. Head back, tan skin glowing, stupid haircut and all, and Yoongi’s only (terrifying) thought as he watched from the hood of the car was, “I’m so in love with him.”
In his hand, the picture still feels like love. Feels like the day Yoongi handed his heart to a young blond boy from Ilsan in a quiet transaction. Namjoon smiles so wide you can barely see his eyes, his dimples are crater deep, and his palms are out wide—looks like he’s just trying to absorb all that sun and steal it, let it become him. Sometimes, back then, Yoongi was sure he’d figured out how, too.
Certainly, at the very least, he stole something important from Yoongi that day.
Nothing happened then, not between them, but it was a big day. The biggest. He took all those big feelings and shoved them into his chest and did what he thought was the right thing for the group, for him, especially for Namjoon. He didn’t know until later that Namjoon felt the same way, didn’t figure it out until they were in a hotel room in Osaka three years later, high off their world tour and finally alone for the first time in months. Yoongi lamented all the time they’d wasted not talking about how they felt, and Namjoon said that no moment with Yoongi could ever be a waste. And again, Yoongi’s thought was, “I’m so in love with you.” But that time, he said it out loud, and Namjoon said it back.
He doesn’t realize he’s crying until a tear lands on the picture, right on Namjoon’s face, like the clouds opened up and dropped a bit of salty rain right there, Namjoon with his face titled, ready to receive it. It’s still precious, he wants to keep it, thinks he’ll save that picture until he dies, probably. It gets carefully wiped off on his soft hoodie and put back in the box, but this time, he puts it right on top.
And when he puts the lid back on the box, it doesn’t feel at all as final as it had nine hundred days ago.
***
On the weekend, he still has plans with Hiah, so he drags himself out of the house for the first time and meets her at a hole in the wall restaurant near Ehwa. It takes her all of five minutes to realize something’s up with Yoongi.
“You can tell me,” she says after one of the women working there takes their order.
“Tell you what?”
“You’re not subtle.”
He lets out a quiet laugh. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” Hiah takes his hand in hers on top of the small table. “Would talking help?”
“I’m not sure,” he says honestly. “I saw my ex this week.”
“Namjoon,” she replies softly. It’s not a question.
Yoongi nods. “Yeah… How’d you know?”
“Iseul told me. She thought I should know what I was getting into. A little more complicated between you two than a typical relationship, maybe.”
He just hums in agreement. It’s true, and it’s a wild understatement.
“How long has it been?” she asks.
“Since we disbanded… So, about a month before it was announced if you were keeping up with it back then.”
“I wasn’t,” Hiah says, “but it was hard to miss even for people like me who weren’t big fans.”
Yoongi brings a hand to his heart in faux insult. “You weren’t a fan?”
This, at least, makes Hiah laugh. “Not really. But I wasn’t not one, either. If that means anything. And I’m a fan of you, now.”
It makes his cheeks flush—Hiah is sweet. He’s a fan of hers, too. It should make him feel good that they have this mutual attraction, but instead he just feels kind of sick. He should be thinking about her, and instead he’s thinking about the box, about the pictures in it, and the boy in the pictures. About how the boy in the pictures became the man who stood in front of him at his studio the week before: beautiful, contrite, and small in a way Yoongi had never really seen before.
So, when their food is in front of them and they’re settled in, instead of telling Hiah he feels the same way about her in return, he says, “I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
Across from him, her expression doesn’t change. She takes a big piece of pork off the grill and wraps it in lettuce, chews it carefully and rolls her eyes back with pleasure just like Seokjin would. It’s funny, or would be anyway, but neither of them are laughing.
“You’re not over him,” she says once she’s finished eating.
“I don’t know if I am or not. That hasn’t changed. But I know that before, I really, really wanted to be.”
Hiah gives him a smile he doesn’t deserve, understanding and more kind than his behavior warrants. “And now?”
“Now I’m not sure.” Yoongi takes a shot of soju and pours more for each of them. “I’m still hurt. But… I don’t know. I think he might be, too. And maybe I owe it to myself to find out why. Maybe I don’t and I’ll just get hurt more but…”
He trails off, but she picks it up for him. “But you were together for a long time and you need to know why it ended.”
“I think so. And I don’t feel right about this while that’s still hanging out there unfinished.”
Hiah doesn’t placate him with a nod of agreement or a murmured “that’s okay”. It’s fine really, he doesn’t deserve her grace, he thinks. He certainly isn’t giving much to himself, and isn't proud of himself at this moment. He picks at the potato salad and tries to will himself out of this situation. It doesn’t work, of course. He’s always been an honest person. He knows he’s not ready, knows he’s probably going to hurt her or at least not be available emotionally if Namjoon is back in his life. Not at first anyway.
“I think I get it,” she finally says.
“I can’t do both things at once,” he adds. “Not well, anyway. Can’t get closure with him and give you what you need at the same time… It’s not fair, but I think I need this.”
“As long as it’s for you and not for him,” Hiah says, with authority in her tone. It sounds like the advice of someone who has done this before. Someone who has been in his shoes.
Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that—doesn’t know if in the time that he’s been apart from Namjoon if he’s figured out what separates what’s for him and what’s for Namjoon. It used to always be interconnected, and he’d like to think it’s not that way anymore, but there’s a part of him that he thinks might never get over wanting to see Namjoon happy and secure. The same part of him that couldn’t tell Namjoon off the other day in the studio, the same part that still thinks of that day at Naksan as one of the best days of his life because Namjoon was happy, because he was giving Namjoon what he needed and that was enough. That’s always been enough; at least for Yoongi.
But Hiah doesn’t need to know all that. So, Yoongi nods his agreement and makes a non-committal murmur over his bottle of beer. Tries his best to make it through dinner without feeling like he’s making another Namjoon-induced mistake, the kind he thought he was done making a long time ago.
After a semi-awkward dinner, he turns down Hiah’s offer for coffee. She doesn’t owe him any kindness and he just wants to be alone with his thoughts again. They agree to stay friends, but it feels hollow, the kind of promise only made because both parties know the other won’t deliver. He might see her around, definitely wants to stay friendly, but can’t picture a future where Hiah pursues a friendship with him after he dumped her. He wouldn’t if he were in her shoes. He didn’t with Namjoon.
It makes him want to scream, the way his traitorous brain relates everything back to Namjoon, every thought just seconds away from being connected to his past somehow. It feels like years of progress are reduced to nothing. He walks through the crisp night air and thinks he should go back to his therapist soon, thinks he’s probably actually going insane this time.
The next day, he ignores his messages from Jin and Iseul, both asking why he’s broken up with Hiah, both not scolding but coming close enough that he doesn’t want to hear it. Both worried, he knows, Hiah’s probably told them that Namjoon had something to do with it and he’s sure Jin has thoughts about that. Honestly, though, he’s got no idea what they might be, because he and Jin have never talked about what happened with Namjoon—not out of the context of what happened with BTS, anyway. It’s actually one of the things Yoongi appreciates most about his hyung. One time, right when it happened, when it became abundantly clear to everyone that Yoongi and Namjoon were no longer sharing a car at the end of the work day, when Namjoon kept later than usual hours at the studio despite claiming he needed a break, when Jin caught Yoongi crying on the floor of one of the practice rooms at two in the morning… Then and only then did Jin ask. “Things are over, right?”
Back then, Yoongi nodded through his tears and let his head slump onto Jin’s stupid shoulder when he took a seat on the floor beside him.
Jin stayed quiet and just let Yoongi cry there until he didn’t have any more tears. And then finally, after a long stretch of silence, he poked Yoongi in the side and said, “Well, everything goes.”
Yoongi looked up, ready to lose his shit completely, only to see Jin stifling a laugh. Sent Yoongi into laughter, too, and soon the two of them dissolved into a fit of giggles in the quiet city morning, laughing because one didn’t know what to say and laughing because the only alternative for the other was to cry again.
“Thanks, hyung,” Yoongi said when they were done with hysterics and gathering all their stuff to leave.
“We can talk if you want,” Jin replied.
But they never did. So, Yoongi really doesn’t know what Jin ever made of the whole situation, doesn’t know if Namjoon and Jin ever talked about it, either. All this time, he’s made the assumption that Namjoon talked to someone about it, Hoseok probably, maybe Jimin, too. But he doesn’t really know. Doesn’t think he’s ever wanted to ask.
His phone is a graveyard of missed calls, missed texts, and email waiting for responses, but he ignores it all in favor of sending one message in a long-dormant kakao chat. He shouldn’t send it, he knows better, he’s pretty confident this is going to end up in more therapy and more tears, and probably a lot of whisky consumption, but he can’t tell his heart to shut up. It’s always been as loud or louder than his brain. An advantage usually, but sometimes he’s his own worst enemy.
It’s just a few words, but he can’t help but remember that’s more than Namjoon used to break his heart.
We can start work on your album tomorrow at noon.
Yoongi doesn’t wait for a response—Namjoon will show up or he won’t, and Yoongi decided a long time ago that he deserved better than to wait around for someone who couldn’t make up their mind about him. The circumstances are different, but the principle is the same. He plugs his phone in and leaves it while he takes Holly for a walk. He hopes the fresh air will clear his mind, but knows it probably won’t.
***
There’s something like a loud crash against his studio door exactly at noon. If Namjoon is the same as he always was, he’s probably been standing out in the hallway worrying about how loud to knock or if he should knock at 11:59 or if 12:01 would be more polite.
“Come in,” he says, spinning around in his chair.
There’s a soft thud and a groan. “Can’t.”
So, Yoongi gets up and opens the door for Namjoon, tries to push down the intrusive, cheesy thought that it’s a metaphor for something bigger.
“Hi,” Namjoon says quietly. His hands are full, coffee in each one and a bag of takeout hanging from one of his wrists. He’s bundled up, mask still on, a fluff of dyed brown hair poking out from under his hoodie.
“Hey.”
“I brought food. You haven’t eaten?”
“Not yet,” Yoongi admits. He doesn’t like that he’s still this kind of predictable to Namjoon, but he doesn’t want to lie either, and if Namjoon owes him a lot for what they went through, rice and kimchi is a good down payment. “Sit, and we can eat and go over some ideas for the album.”
Namjoon lights up—Yoongi can see it even under his mask. “Sounds good,” he says, more calmly than he looks.
They accomplish the first step; Namjoon sits on the small couch and his eyes dart around, probably trying to take in what’s changed since he was last in the room. Yoongi sits in his work chair across the coffee table and unpacks the food. It’s awkward. Awkward enough that they don’t quite make it to the second step: talking. Yoongi feels queasy, Namjoon looks like he is, and so they shove food in their mouths and avoid eye contact and the silence is simultaneously safe-feeling and painfully uncomfortable.
Until Namjoon breaks it.
“Are you sure you want to do this, hyung?”
Yoongi’s usually careful with his responses to questions like that, and takes time to choose his words. But he doesn’t have to this time. “No.”
“Why are you, then?”
“I’m not sure, honestly. Curiosity, maybe?” It’s not quite the right word, but he can’t think of a succinct way to say that he needs to know why Namjoon stopped loving him, why he wasn’t good enough to stick around for.
“Hmm…” Namjoon just murmurs, nothing coherent in response. It’s so terribly awkward, and Yoongi hates that they’re in this situation. He’s frustrated with himself for not being mad or angry, he’s frustrated with Namjoon for everything… But more than that, he wishes they could just be normal with each other. Just for a few hours. Just pretend like nothing ever happened and go back to 2014 when things were simple. He wishes they were at Naksan.
“Do you remember the day we drove all the way to Naksan for the sunrise?” he blurts out. He regrets it immediately when he sees Namjoon freeze, chopsticks in midair, eyes wide.
Then Namjoon nods, a cautious smile making it onto his face. “I do. That was a good day,” he says fondly. And then more quietly, he says, “That was the day I think I knew I loved you.”
And Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that. Almost doesn’t believe it. It’s his turn to let his eyes go wider. “What?”
“Sure,” and Namjoon’s blushing now, bashful in a way that makes Yoongi’s heart feel like an instrument. “I remember thinking I was so lucky to have you in my life. So lucky that you would go out of your way to do something like that for me for no real reason other than that I wanted it.” He finally makes eye contact with Yoongi. “I remember thinking that it had to be what loving someone was; making sure they were happy. Putting them first. I felt so loved by you that day.”
Yoongi swallows. They’d never talked about it, not once. Never had that, “when did you know?” conversation that he thinks most young couples probably have.
“I would have done anything for you,” Yoongi replies. “That’s the day I realized that. That’s the day I knew I was in love with you, that I would choose you over me.”
Namjoon’s face falls a little. He’s not frowning, but it’s the look he gets when he’s really considering something, when he’s trying to put the pieces of some puzzle together. “Is that why you’re doing this?” he asks. “I don’t want you to do this if it’s like that. I don’t want you to choose me over you, hyung.”
He sounds a little desperate, a lot concerned. It’s not what Yoongi expected from him. Really, he’s not sure what he expected. Album talk, glossing over the past, asking about polite things like their military service, how their families are, what trouble their dogs are getting into… It wasn’t this.
“I don’t think so,” Yoongi answers.
“Good. If you’re sure.”
Yoongi nods, still a little shaken up from their conversation, ready not to talk about it more. Which is ironic, because the whole reason he’s agreed to this is to get answers and now that he has Namjoon here, seemingly willing to give them, he can’t even bring himself to ask the questions.
“Let’s get to work, then.”
They do, and it’s still weird, and the air feels thick and sticky and uncomfortable between them, but the music helps. Yoongi outlines his ideas for each track, Namjoon scribbles in his notebook and hums along, chewing on the end of his pen in between writing notes. They don’t get to the lyrics yet, just Yoongi’s initial impressions and thoughts, and Namjoon promises to review everything and make some adjustments and let Yoongi make some of his own. It starts to feel a little more natural, working on music together, and Yoongi almost lets himself feel good about it, in his element.
“I think what I really need to know is what you want to accomplish, you know?” he asks Namjoon as they start to wrap up for the evening. “What’s the message overall? And then, from there, we can get working on the individual tracks.”
Namjoon stares at him for a beat too long, pen pinched between his lips. He drags it out slowly and taps the other end on his notebook—one of the same nervous habits he’s had since Yoongi can remember.
“It’s a love letter, kind of,” he says. “Maybe more like an apology. I’m not entirely sure yet.”
Yoongi tries not to throw up or yell or just storm out of his own studio. A love letter. Kim Namjoon dragged him into producing some sort of love letter to someone after everything they’ve been through, after all this time. It’s fucking unbelieveable. His head feels like it’s spinning around in his skull and his heart isn’t cooperating much better. But, much to his surprise, he keeps his voice steady and calm when he replies, thinks he schools his expression into something stoic. “And you think I’m the right person to help you with this?”
“You’re the only one, hyung.”
And as much as Yoongi wants to tell him to fuck right off, something on Namjoon’s face doesn’t let him do that. He looks sad, hopeful, serious… Yoongi knows that for whatever reason, Namjoon means what he’s saying. And he may not like it, and it may drag up some shit that Yoongi’s been eager to keep to himself, but he may also get what he needs from this. If Namjoon’s so bent up over someone that he needs Yoongi to help him write an album of love letters to them, then he’s definitely moved on. And maybe he can help Yoongi move on, too. It’s dumb, but Yoongi’s always been a little dumb about Namjoon.
“Okay.” He stands, walking toward the door to let Namjoon out. “Same time next week?”
Namjoon’s voice is low and soft when he replies, a careful smile on his lips as he meets Yoongi at the door. “Thank you. You won’t regret this.”
Yoongi wishes he could believe that.
***
Whether it’s for better or worse, Namjoon was right. Yoongi doesn’t regret working with him on the album. There are times, of course, when things are tense, when the awkwardness between them seems to fill the room and threaten to suffocate him. But then one of them, somehow, lets the air out, and they move forward.
And they work so well together—Yoongi wishes he could say he’d forgotten about that, but of course he hadn’t. He and Namjoon had always managed to sink into a familiar rhythm together when they were making music, and working on Namjoon’s album was proving no different. When they were caught up in a track, it was easy to forget that Yoongi was supposed to be hurt, that Namjoon had chosen to walk away, easy to forget that Yoongi still didn’t truly know why Namjoon was back.
“Hyung!” The voice outside the door is unmistakable, and Namjoon and Yoongi both respond to it.
“Come in,” they say in tandem before Namjoon seems to realize it’s not his studio to invite anyone into, and Yoongi realizes that maybe Namjoon’s been in closer contact with the other members than he’d known.
Jungkook swings the door open, two coffees in hand, and freezes just inside the doorframe when he spots Namjoon sitting on the floor across from Yoongi with his lyrics notebook spread open on his lap.
“Hyungs?”
“Hi, Jungkookie,” Namjoon says fondly. “How’ve you been?”
“Good… I’ve been good. Busy. I, uh… I wasn’t expecting to see you.” He tilts his chin to the drink carrier he’s holding. “I would’ve brought you one, too.”
Namjoon just gives him a fond smile and lifts up the iced coffee he’s been nursing since dinner. “I’m okay, thank you.”
Jungkook seems nervous, eyes darting between Namjoon and Yoongi, not knowing what to say or where to sit.
“Well, can I have the coffee, or what?” Yoongi teases.
It at least seems to shake Jungkook out of his shock. “Right! Yes, here you go.” After he hands the drink to Yoongi, he adds, “What are you two doing?”
“Ah, working on Namjoon’s album.”
This seems to be even more surprising to Jungkook than finding Namjoon in Yoongi’s studio. His eyes go a little wide and he turns to Namjoon, whispering, “You played it for him?”
Namjoon’s cheeks flush and he scribbles in his notebook, pointedly not making eye contact with either of them. “Yeah,” he mumbles. “He’s helping me with the production.”
“Oh…” Jungkook seems like he’s considering the idea pretty seriously. “And how’s that going?” He’s cautious sounding; like he’s trying to ask something else but can’t find (or doesn’t want to find) the right words.
“Pretty good, I think,” Namjoon spits out quickly. “You know how it is with Yoongi and me.”
“Boy, do I,” Jungkook says under his breath, probably not realizing he’s louder than he thinks he is.
Yoongi feels a little lost, like they’re having a whole conversation that he’s not hearing, and he doesn’t know why Namjoon looks like he just got caught out doing something he shouldn’t. It makes him feel strange, like an outsider in his own studio with the idea that there’s something else going on. So, he interrupts them. “You’ve heard the songs, too?” he asks, head tilted up at Jungkook.
“Oh, I… Yeah. Hyung played them for me a few months ago when he was trying to figure out what to do with them.” He pauses for a second, taking a drink of his coffee, and then finishes. “They’re pretty personal… I think the album will turn out well.”
“Me too,” Yoongi agrees, and to his side, he practically hears Namjoon shrink under the praise, embarrassed probably, to be spoken about like he’s not in the room.
“Well,” Jungkook says with a shrug, “I should go. I’m sure you two have a lot to talk about.” His smile brightens. “Or, maybe you already have if you’ve heard the so—”
“Bye, Jungkook!” Namjoon practically shouts, too loud for the room.
Yoongi definitely does not know what’s going on with these two, and he’s not sure he wants to. By the time they all agree to get together for dinner in the next couple weeks, and Jungkook is shuffled out of the studio with lots of confusing murmurs to Namjoon as he leaves about being proud of him, Yoongi feels lost—he’s missed something, but he’s not quite sure what. He’s replaying the last five minutes over and over in his head before Jungkook’s even to the elevator bank.
“Still a strange kid,” he says as he sinks back into his chair.
Namjoon never really responds, just nods into his notebook and hums noncommittally.
***
Things, as they’re prone to do, finally come to a head a few weeks later. They’re in the studio, Namjoon recording a verse that hasn’t been sitting quite right with either of them. The more Yoongi hears it, though, the more he thinks it’s the lyrics that he’s taking issue with, not the delivery.
He spits out a line about nights being as long as eternity, another about getting out his words and then feeling empty inside, and all Yoongi can think of is how much those lyrics feel like all the sad and lonely lines he’s been writing since Namjoon left. It makes something pull at his chest, makes a lump in his throat start to swell for some reason he can’t quite identify. If Namjoon keeps going, Yoongi might assuredly do something stupid, might cry in front of his ex or try and pull him into a moment too intimate for what they are to each other now.
“Joon, can we take a break for a second? I want to talk about these lyrics.”
“Sure, yeah.” Namjoon pulls his headphones off and sits on the couch with a bottle of water. “What’re you thinking?”
He should have thought about this more, because now that he needs to say it, there’s no way to make it sound professional. Probably also no way to get Namjoon to drop it and put his headphones back on, so he’s a bit stuck.
“Maybe I’m missing something,” he says, trying to be as careful as possible, “but this seems so sad for a love song. They all do, really. And I… Well, I just want to make sure it’s saying what you want it to say to whoever you want to say it to. If I’m being honest, right now it sounds like you just feel sorry for yourself and that’s… That’s okay if that’s what you want to say, but if I put myself in the shoes of whoever it is you’re dating, this might make me think you’re still thinking about someone else.” He takes a long pause and watches Namjoon carefully for any sort of reaction. There isn’t much of one, just a crease in his brow that only appears when he’s thinking about how to say something he’s thinking. Yoongi knows that look, it’s familiar in the same way as the lyrics they’re talking about now—it’s Namjoon’s alone, but Yoongi knows it in his soul because nothing used to belong to only one of them.
Then Namjoon speaks, and it’s so quiet, Yoongi barely hears him. “Not dating anyone… haven’t for a long time.”
“Oh…” It takes Yoongi by surprise, because this whole time he’d been under the impression that Namjoon wrote this album for someone. Why write a love letter when you haven’t got anyone to write it to?
“I am, for what it’s worth.”
“You are what, Joon?”
Namjoon slides his fingers through his fringe and blows out a long breath, puffing his cheeks out. “Thinking about someone.”
The twist of feelings in Yoongi’s chest is rough. Confusion, a little hope, a little anger, because if Namjoon doesn’t mean him, it would hurt too much to know there was someone after him that meant more. If Namjoon does mean him… That’s almost worse. He tries to be measured in his response. “Well, I think we all do that sometimes.”
“Yeah… Maybe we do,” Namjoon agrees. Then more tentatively, he asks, “Do you?”
“Do I still think about people I used to be with? Of course I do.”
“Do you still think about me?”
And there it is, the question he’s been simultaneously hoping to get and hoping to avoid. He’s thought a million times about what he would say if they ever actually spoke about this, about them. Now that they finally are, though, he feels dumbstruck.
What he thinks is, every goddamn day. What he says is, “Yes, sometimes. You and I were…”
“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “We really were.” His voice just sounds like nostalgia, and Yoongi recognizes it in the way he’s been delivering these lyrics, choruses and verses bound with sadness and hope, a plea for absolution and to be loved.
It’s a startling realization when he has it, but at the same time, he wonders if he should have seen this coming all along. Little pieces of information start to snap together in his head—Namjoon asking for him specifically to work on this, and on every song, which is unusual in their business… Jungkook being so strange, Namjoon himself being cagey about who the album was for, about why he was inspired to write these kinds of songs, too wistful even for him.
“Who’d you write this for, Namjoon?” He’s firm in asking, not wanting to show how vulnerable he’s feeling, even though he’s asking for that vulnerability from Namjoon.
“Hyung, I…”
“Just tell me, please.”
Namjoon looks like he wants to sink into a hole, and Yoongi has no idea what Namjoon thought would happen, if he thought they could make this whole album and never have this conversation, or if he just thought he’d be able to control the timing and environment when they did. That would be classic Namjoon, thinking he has to plan out even his feelings so that they don’t pop up and inconvenience him.
It’s soft when he says it, a whisper almost. “You. Of course it’s for you.”
And Yoongi knew that, but having it confirmed sends him reeling. So he asks another question he’s not sure he wants the answer to.
“Why?”
On the couch, curled in on himself and looking uncharacteristically scared, Namjoon stays quiet for a while. Feels like Yoongi might sit here until his bones brittle before he gets an answer. Feels like that might be okay, like he’s probably not ready for whatever Namjoon is going to say anyway.
“Because you deserve an apology. You deserve to know that not one single day has gone by that I haven’t thought about you, about us… About how things ended when… when I didn’t even want them to. I have tried, hyung. I’ve tried to move on. And I can’t, you know? Feels like I lost everything and all this time I’ve been running trying to get it back, trying to fill some space in my heart that feels like a chasm and I… I just can’t do it. No matter what. It always comes back to you, and how we were—How good we were. I just…”
“You’re just selfish,” Yoongi interrupts.
Namjoon is crying now, glassy eyes filling and slowly spilling trickles down his cheeks. Was crying before he got called selfish, but now he’s crying and he looks like Yoongi just slapped him, surprise written across his face like a stain.
“What?”
“Selfish. You heard me. You say I deserve an apology, and I do, but not like this. Not with some grand gesture bullshit. A whole fucking album, Namjoon? You could have called. Did you even think about me when you did this, really? Or did you think about needing to feel less guilty?”
“I tried at first… I called, left you messages you never returned… and then… I don’t know,” Namjoon says. He looks like the leaking tears might turn into something harsher at any moment. “I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.”
Yoongi’s not sure why he says the next thing he does. Wants Namjoon to hurt a little, maybe. Doesn’t care anymore if Namjoon knows how much Yoongi’s still affected by him. “You know I was seeing someone when you came around?”
“No… I didn’t know.”
“She was great, you know? Smart, funny, beautiful. She was good for me, too. And then you showed up, and just the faintest idea of you being back in my life… It made it impossible to keep seeing her. It wasn’t fair to her, to be trying to build something with her when I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Knowing you were going to be around… I couldn’t give my attention to her the way she deserved. After all this time…”
It’s cruel, the way Yoongi saying he broke things off with Hiah puts this look on Namjoon’s face… One that’s part empathy and part anticipation. Cruel that he would give Yoongi the idea that they could be something again, cruel that he thinks that’s possible after what happened, after so much time has passed. Does he think so little of Yoongi that he thinks they can go back? Pretend like nothing happened?
“You should go, Namjoon.”
“Hyung…” It’s desperate when he says it, like he’ll take any crumb Yoongi will give.
And equally as desperate, Yoongi replies, “Please, Joon. Just go.” He can’t let Namjoon see him cry, and it’s going to happen soon. He doesn’t even want to have these feelings, but especially not in front of Namjoon. Not when he doesn’t know yet exactly what they are or what they mean.
Mercifully, Namjoon gets up to leave, packing his headphones and his notebook quickly, mumbling unwelcome apologies under his breath. Yoongi’s not sure he even knows what he’s apologizing for, still doesn’t think Namjoon really understands what happened between them or why it hurt so much. Certainly, Yoongi doesn’t begin to fathom why Namjoon seems like he was as damaged as Yoongi by the whole thing. Can’t understand what Namjoon said, that he didn’t want things to end with them. Because that day, he’d said plain as day, sitting them all at the big table in their old dorm, “I need a break from this.”
Everyone knew what that meant—a break from BTS, from the pressure and the lack of privacy and the heavy weight of expectation. And Yoongi knew, too, that their relationship went hand in hand with that. More pressure, more secrets… Hiding is work, it’s exhausting, it looms over every moment, and once you get over the excitement of something illicit, the constant fear isn’t fun anymore. So, Yoongi gave Namjoon what he wanted: a break. No matter how painful it was, no matter how unloved it made him feel, no matter how much he wanted to call, text, touch… anything.
As he leaves the studio, he turns to Yoongi one last time, tears still welling up but a little angry now, and says, “I wanted a break from the group, but you’re the one who took a break from us.”
This time, it’s Yoongi who feels like he’s received a verbal slap in the face.
All that night and the next day, it’s the only thing Yoongi can think about. How can they possibly see things so differently? How can their perceptions be so starkly opposed?
“Can we talk?” He says vaguely into the phone.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t know,” he admits, voice breaking. “I’m not sure.”
Jin is at his apartment within the hour. It’s good, he knows, to have a friendship like this. Even when they’re both busy and on separate paths, that they’re still there for each other when it matters, that they carve out time to maintain their friendship of over a decade. There’s something so comforting about knowing someone cares for you as much as you care for them. There’s a quiet confidence in his relationship with Jin that’s hard to achieve with most people.
“What’s going on with you?” Jin asks, fussing in the kitchen for whiskey and water and probably trying to find something to feed Yoongi, too.
“Do you remember,” he starts, “that day when Namjoonie sat us all down and said he needed a break?”
Jin snorts out a laugh. “Of course I do. Our lives sort of changed that day.”
He knows Jin isn’t laughing because it’s funny, more because it’s ridiculous to think any of them wouldn’t have the memory of that day imprinted on them… “What do you think he meant?”
The look he gets in return is part thoughtful, part surprised. “I think he meant he wanted a break, Yoongi. Not much gray area there.”
“A break from what?”
He hums in consideration before he answers, “The pressure mostly, I think. We all needed it, all wanted it. He was just the first one to say it. It was a lot. To write songs we didn’t love, and for him to be the spokesperson, to not have time for his own creativity to bloom anymore.”
“And?”
“And nothing, Yoongi. Sometimes people say what they mean. Namjoon usually says what he means.”
“So… Did you think… Didn’t you think he wanted a break from me, too?”
Jin stares at him like he’s just said the most outlandish thing. “No. No, I never thought that. Did he tell you that?”
“Not exactly…”
“Oh, Yoongi…” The look of pity on Jin’s face is enough to make Yoongi want to vacate the planet, but instead, he just turns his eyes to the carpet and listens. “I think you and Namjoon should talk.”
“Maybe,” Yoongi shrugs.
“I don’t think I have to tell you how ridiculous it is that the two of you might have given up years of being happy over something so…”
“Stupid?”
Jin gives him a sympathetic smile. “Yeah, sorry to have to say it.”
“Did you know? This whole time, did you know?”
There’s a long pause before Jin speaks again, and it’s fine. Yoongi knows it's a question that puts his friend in the middle—maybe makes him choose between honesty and loyalty. And aren’t those sort of the same thing anyway?
“No. Not really. We never talked about it, you and me. And Joon is so…” Jin waves a hand around for emphasis.
It’s clear what he means though. Some combination of smart, closed-off, quick to surrender. “He is, yeah…”
“He told me you weren’t taking his calls at first. Then when he enlisted… he told me he only regretted that you and he hadn’t found a way to talk through things. But he didn’t tell me what happened, not really. I assumed he said something without thinking, hurt your feelings, assumed you broke things off properly… But Yoongi, if you just… stopped speaking to him…”
It’s a little clearer now, in Yoongi’s head, what happened versus what he’s been telling himself. Namjoon got the group together, said he needed time to focus on himself, and Yoongi took that to the extreme, assumed the worst, let his biggest insecurities get the best of him. Maybe Namjoon did just mean a break from BTS. Maybe he didn’t mean a break from Yoongi. He had called a lot those first few days—left voicemails saying he knew he should have talked to Yoongi first, shouldn’t have blindsided him in a team meeting like that. Said he loved Yoongi and he was sorry. It’s so easy to see how what Yoongi thought he meant could have been wrong; how it could have just been taking things one step further than Namjoon was trying to take them.
“Fuck.”
“Sounds about right.”
“I should talk to him.”
“Couldn’t make things worse.”
***
It’s been one thousand days since Namjoon broke his heart, and the thought and those words weigh heavy on his heart and feel thick on his tongue. One thousand. It’s ten one hundred days. It's been almost three years. It’s all the time that he’s been running in place trying to get his life back but always feeling a little off kilter. Jin was right—Yoongi needs to talk to Namjoon, needs to confirm his worst fears, that he made this happen, that he shut Namjoon out preemptively, before Namjoon could do it to him. That, contrary to what he’s been telling himself, it’s been one thousand days since he broke his own heart.
Maybe the line between self-preservation and self-destruction is thinner than he’d ever thought.
It’s difficult though, hard to swallow his pride and his nerves and pick up the phone.
So, he doesn’t. He packs a bag and sends an email to work that he’ll be out for a few days and messages Jin to let him know he’ll be gone, too. When Jin asks him where, he just says he needs to go back to where things started. It’s vague enough that he knows Jin won’t track him down, probably thinks he means Nonhyeon-dong or Daegu. He wouldn’t know about Naksan.
The drive is longer than he remembers, quieter without Namjoon beside him rambling about Murakami or Skinner or some other author that most people would have choked through in college but Namjoon read by choice.
For the first time in a long time, he lets himself reminisce without trying to shut it down. He thinks about those drives: Namjoon reading out loud to him, Namjoon snoring in time with the rain beating down on Yoongi’s hood. Later, Namjoon sliding his fingers across Yoongi’s thigh and squeezing softly, his head thrown back and eyes scrunched closed with his smile in the passenger’s seat. Thinks about the first trip when he knew he loved Namjoon, thinks about the last one where they walked along the beach, Namjoon shirtless and glowing in the sun until Yoongi couldn’t stand not having him alone and dragged him back to their cottage.
He’d love to say it wasn’t intentional, booking that same hanok again—the quiet, cozy cottage tucked in closer to the forest than the ocean—but of course it was. Really, he just didn’t know where else to go, and well… if he’s planning to think (wallow) he might as well do it right.
When he pulls the car into the driveway, the cottage looks like it’s been stamped directly from his memory onto the landscape. It’s so funny how whenever it seems like everything in Yoongi’s life has changed, he somehow stumbles on the little things that remain the same.
Walking through the hanok, he sees vignettes of his past playing out on the low walls, across the countertops, and all over the sofa and beds.
Namjoon, sheepish, bringing a tray to the bed with something that vaguely resembles breakfast on it. Laughing when Yoongi runs a hand through his hair and tells him it’s the thought that counts.
Later, Namjoon’s fucked out moans when Yoongi shows him exactly what he’d had in mind for breakfast instead, his tongue moving in languid circles around Namjoon’s rim, fingers pulling his cheeks apart to slip deeper and deeper.
Sand covering the floor of the foyer as Namjoon panics because he didn’t realize he’d brought his new crab friend all the way back to the cottage. Yoongi in tears from laughter, Namjoon mortified at his potential animal abuse before making his way back to the beach to right his wrong.
The two of them, backs against the sofa and legs tangled at the ankles in front of them, arguing about the form of a song that would never even make it to an album. “Why don’t you just listen to hyung?” Yoongi says.
Namjoon’s muttered response as he pouts because he knows he’s wrong but he’s argued too long to admit it now—always so stubborn. “Because it sounds better my way.”
Yoongi shutting him up with a soft kiss that doesn’t stay soft for long.
He stands in that living room today, swearing he can see the two of them still on the floor: argument forgotten, song abandoned, panting into each other’s mouths and slick with sweat as they came to an understanding in their own way.
In the kitchen, he sees a golden-skinned Namjoon, perched on a barstool saying, “I love you so much I think I could drown in it,” as he watches Yoongi make him a sandwich. “Love you so big I can’t breathe around it sometimes,” he adds as an explanation as he twists his t-shirt around in his fist right above his ribcage. Sucks the air right out of Yoongi’s lungs, too, with the way Namjoon is looking at him.
All that for a sandwich.
Neither of them knew then what they know now—neither of them knew that they would drown in it, but that they’d also be the other’s fresh air, until the day the ugliest parts of their self-doubt snuffed it out like a spent cigarette.
Yoongi knows one thing: he’s barely been in that hanok for an hour and he needs to get out.
It should be easy to distract himself that day—he walks along the beach and only thinks about Namjoon a little bit. He runs to the closest store and gets some essentials for the next few days: whiskey, pork, rice, kimchi… He grabs what he needs to make jajangmyeon, too, even if he doesn’t like it all that well anymore. It’s just that it’s Namjoon’s favorite and Yoongi used to make it for him all every time they came to the hanok—slurping cold noodles together in the yard and drinking cheap beer until they were so full they both complained they’d never be able to move again. Then somehow finding the energy to move when Namjoon looks at Yoongi through his eyelashes in his best approximation of coy and says he should probably properly thank his hyung for the meal.
It should be easy, but it’s so very difficult to distract himself from thoughts of what used to be, he thinks woefully as he tries not to get hard in the market.
That night, he puts on a movie and eats quietly on the couch. He doesn’t return the missed calls he has from Jin, but he decides he likely will in the morning when his thoughts start to run away from him again. For now, it’s easier to be on his own—easier to worry silently over if this whole painful three years was a terrible misunderstanding, whether or not he took away his own happiness instead of letting someone else do that for him.
Neither is good, but one makes him feel so so so much worse.
***
There’s low, buzzy thrumming through his head when he wakes in the morning. There’s an ache in his shoulder that matches it—dull and persistent… He should know better than to fall asleep on the sofa like this. Warm beams of sunlight make the hanok feel a little stifling—he gets up to open some windows, lets the swift, salty breeze off the sea take away some of the stuffiness in the room.
Over coffee, he pulls his notebook out of his bag. He hasn’t touched it in ages, hasn’t thought about it much in between work and Namjoon. But it’s just as he left it, full of the words that he’s been afraid to turn into reality, too sad, too true, too much of his life on display. But knowing that things may not have (probably didn’t) actually happen the way he always told himself they did, the words take on a different temperament.
While it sits worse with him that he might have at least partially put himself in this position, it also seems easier to let it go. Seems like he needs to, like it’s time. People always say it’s hardest to forgive yourself, but Yoongi’s had a lot of experience with that. He knows he’s bound to betray himself at times, he knows he’ll do things that are stupid or reckless or thoughtless. It’s been harder for him to forgive Namjoon because he never thought Namjoon would take him for granted, never imagined Namjoon would hurt him in a significant way. Yoongi might hurt himself as a part-time job, but Namjoon treated him like something precious—cautious and sweet, kind and compassionate. Namjoon was more graceful with Yoongi in their time together than Yoongi could ever imagine being with himself back then. Before he and Namjoon even got together, he promised himself he wouldn’t look back on his mistakes as such anymore—they’re just him. He did his best, he’ll do better in the future.
It’s not easy to forgive yourself, but he’s practiced at it.
So, he sits with his coffee in the sunlight and lets those words breathe the sea air with him, gives them life, makes them real, and tries his best to start giving himself the grace he knows he deserves.
***
The day passes like that, Yoongi writing furiously, ignoring the cramps in his hands and the crick in his neck. When it’s nearly golden hour, Yoongi’s stomach rumbles and breaks his concentration for the first time.
It occurs to him that he’s strayed from his routine for the first time in a long time, and it feels surprisingly good. His heart is splayed out on the pages in front of him, and his stomach is painfully empty, but he is more full inside than he has been in three years. It’s not over, he knows he has to talk to Namjoon, knows there’s still forgiveness he needs to extend and receive in that relationship to really find some closure, but he’s far more equipped to do that now than he was when he arrived, certainly more than when he forced Namjoon out of his studio days prior.
When he goes back to Seoul, Namjoon’s will be the first number he dials, he promises that to himself while he grabs some fruit to stick in his pocket and leaves the hanok to spend at least a few minutes out of the house before sunset.
Outside, he can see a storm coming over the sea. There’s still time, but the sunlight is filtered in stripes through thickening clouds. It’s hazy and low, perfect for photos, but ominous for the small number of families Yoongi sees trudging toward him, away from the beach, weaving around him as he carefully makes his way down the path toward the ocean.
When he reaches the sand, the incoming storm has shooed enough people away that it’s nearly unoccupied. Rare for any place in Korea, but welcome. Yoongi likes being able to walk undisturbed, likes the sound of the waves giving a rhythm to his steps, likes to see if he can pattern his breath to match when they hit the shore. It makes music in its own way, and as he walks, he thinks about the songs he worked on that day, about what it might sound like to give a Pacific Ocean backbeat to some of the more hopeful of the lyrics he’s finished.
Ahead of him, someone sits in the sand facing the sea, knees pulled up to their chest and what looks like a backpack next to them. It looks like a man, although Yoongi’s far enough away he still can’t make out any of their details, not really. The folded body looks like it’s probably long when stretched out, but it’s curled in on itself as if whoever owns those long limbs is trying to coil them inward and gather some momentum from them.
Yoongi feels a twinge of empathy—something about their posture makes him think they’re gathering courage just like he is. He wonders what it is they have to do that they’re afraid of. Wonders if they’ve felt the freedom of finally putting words to their turbulent thoughts.
He’s probably reading too much into a man sitting on the beach.
He gets closer, and the person must hear him—their gaze finally breaks from the water and they turn their head in his direction.
It’s silly—Yoongi laughs silently at himself for thinking this guy looks like Namjoon. He’s spent too many hours shut in the hanok, too much time hunched over his notebook thinking about the past.
But then, the man stands up and plants himself in the sand, facing Yoongi, and runs a hand through his marine-air mussed brown hair.
“I knew you’d be here,” the man says... Namjoon says.
It’s enough to make Yoongi stop in his tracks, he tries to rationalize, tries to think of any possible reason his brain would actually hallucinate Namjoon standing on this beach talking to him in a perfect imitation of his deep voice.
“Jin told me you were going away for a while. He said he didn’t know where, but that you told him it was ‘back where things started’. So, I figured…” Namjoon’s nervous, his words trail off into the breeze. Yoongi’s still in shock, maybe, unable to move.
“Why are you here?” he asks softly. He can’t decide if it’s lucky or unlucky that the wind blows toward Namjoon, carrying his words along with it. They’re harsh, but his tone isn’t, it’s soft like the sand, the rocks in his heart already smoothed over more than he’d like to admit.
Namjoon gives him a one-sided grin that’s just as soft in return. “Wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice,” he says as he takes a couple cautious steps toward Yoongi.
“I don’t know what that means, Joon.”
“You said I didn’t try back then. I could have tried so much harder. I should have—you were right. I should have stood in front of you and made you listen, made you hear that you were the last thing I needed space from.”
Yoongi doesn’t know what to say to that—of all the ways he pictured his next conversation with Namjoon panning out, this wasn’t one of them. The wind is picking up around them, and so is Yoongi’s heartbeat and the speed with which Namjoon’s speaking.
“Hyung, I’m going to try this time. I’m here to try.” His dimple is gone, but the smile has been replaced with Yoongi’s favorite of Namjoon’s looks. It’s fierce determination—youthful and reckless and exactly the way he was when Yoongi started loving him (and a lot of things change, but oh, all the small things that stay the same, he thinks in a flash).
“I wanted a break from the group, but not from you. I wanted a break from that so that I could focus on me and what I wanted, but what I wanted was you. I wanted us to have a future, I wanted us to have time. We never had time… We deserved that.”
The storm is there now, and Yoongi can’t tell if the salt water on his cheeks is ocean spray or tears. Doesn’t think it matters either way, still doesn’t have the words to respond to Namjoon, still wishes they could have had this conversation years ago, still can’t separate the hurt from the fear from the love.
Rain starts, the sky splitting open above them as Namjoon watches, waits for Yoongi to respond. There’s water everywhere, and everything is overflowing and Yoongi thinks he must have wasted every good syllable he ever had writing lyrics today because he doesn’t know a goddamn thing anymore except this: he fell in love with a boy on the beach once, and he’s pretty sure he never ever once stopped loving him.
When Yoongi moves, it’s like the lightning that’s streaking across the sky above them. Namjoon’s eyes fly open when Yoongi’s arms fling around him, and he’s finally just as speechless as Yoongi when their lips meet. It’s rain-soaked and cold but Namjoon’s lips are warm and his arms around Yoongi are home and when he finally kisses Yoongi back it’s like drowning all over again.
They stay like that until Yoongi can’t feel his fingertips and Namjoon’s shivering into each slide of Yoongi’s tongue against his. When they pull apart, Yoongi’s found a few words, so he just repeats them into Namjoon’s soaked hoodie. “I’m sorry, let’s talk… I’m so sorry…”
And Namjoon holds his jaw carefully, thumbs wiping raindrops off Yoongi’s cheeks but losing the battle against the clouds, whispers back, “I’m sorry too, I never stopped loving you… Please, Yoongi, please…”
Their icy fingers are threaded together as they scramble back to the hanok. Sometime as they run along the beach, Yoongi realizes he doesn’t even know how Namjoon got there, doesn’t care really, but maybe someone’s waiting for him or expecting him…
“Joon-ah!” he calls over his shoulder, into the wind, realizing he never actually asked the question. “Do you want to come over and talk?”
Namjoon’s smile is bright enough to break the storm, and he looks like love with his wet hair stuck on his face, water flowing down his cheekbones like waterslides to his lips. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask for so long,” he says, squeezing Yoongi’s hand in his.
Jin’s car is in the driveway of the hanok, and it’s running, and the window opens just a crack when the pair rushes up through the yard. “You need me to stay, Namjoonie?”
“No, hyung, thank you… I don’t think so.” He turns to Yoongi, and it’s obviously a question: can I stay? Are we going to fix this? Do you want this?
Yoongi’s not sure what he expected, but Jin in his driveway after apparently driving Namjoon three hours there wasn’t it. He nods his head in agreement and mouths a “thank you” to Jin as he pulls Namjoon a little closer. The rain’s slowing, but they’re soaked and shivering and Jin has a long drive back to Seoul if that’s indeed where he’s going, so they wave and keep moving toward the house, peeling off shoes and hoodies as they enter. They see Jin flash his lights as he backs out, and Yoongi makes a mental note to buy Jin all the meat in Seoul when he gets back for what he’s done today.
They don’t really talk until they’re inside, dripping onto the foyer floor, Namjoon looking around curiously. Yoongi wonders if he’s trying to see how much has changed, wonders if he has the same film highlight reel of their greatest moments there playing across his field of vision as Yoongi did a day ago.
“Let me get you a towel and some dry clothes,” he says.
When Namjoon emerges from the hanok’s bathroom a few moments later, hair now half-wet and fuzzy from the towel drying, he’s wearing a pair of Yoongi’s sweatpants—comically short and not even covering his ankle bones.
It’s a stupid thing, probably, the way that Yoongi loves his ankles. Namjoon is big, that isn’t a secret, and he’s especially large in comparison to Yoongi. But his ankles are so delicate, tendon narrow and bone sharp against his maple wood skin. For years, Yoongi’s admired them, how they keep Namjoon’s long frame so (mostly) steady—they’re a miracle of physics and a good parallel for Namjoon as a person. Larger than life and painfully delicate at the same time.
“You’re staring,” Namjoon notes, drawing Yoongi’s attention away from his lower half.
“Those pants look stupid on you,” is all Yoongi says in return, and he doesn’t even mean it. Namjoon can probably tell; the words are delivered with a specific fondness that he doubts has been forgotten.
“I’d say that means I should take them off then, but maybe we should talk, instead.”
That’s a consideration, certainly. Kissing in the sand, Yoongi hadn’t let his thoughts get that far. Should they talk? Doesn’t he want to? Yes, and eventually, but mostly he wants to get that feeling back—the one of Namjoon’s thick bottom lip on his, the one of Namjoon’s arms holding him firm and insistent against a broad chest.
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too, hyung. All the time and every day.”
“I think I know that now,” Yoongi admits quietly.
Namjoon gives him a hint of a grin in return, but it’s not an entirely happy one. “I wrote you letters,” he says. “Once a month. Never got brave enough to send them, though. Turned them into all those songs, instead.” Yoongi sits on the sofa while Namjoon speaks, and he pats the spot next to him in encouragement.
“I never knew you were so sad, Namjoonie…”
“No one asked,” he shrugs. “Don’t blame them… Things were hard for a while and that was mostly my fault. I know that. I guess Jungkook did once, though. That’s when I showed him all the lyrics.” Namjoon laughs, mostly to himself. “He cried for like an hour after he read them. He’s always been so soft.”
“They are pretty sad,” Yoongi agrees.
“I have another track for it. One with a little more hope. Haven’t been able to get it quite right—didn’t feel the right way inside to finish it, I think. But maybe…” He trails off, eyes lifting from where he’s been staring at the rain outside to look at Yoongi. “Maybe I could finish it now.”
And there is so much they need to talk about, so much to resolve, to hash out, to work through. This morning, Yoongi was just thinking they might be able to salvage a friendship, and now it’s confusing and bigger and all he can focus on his Namjoon’s lips on his and how nice nice nice it felt and how safe safe safe he would be with Namjoon if he just let himself forgive—let himself forget.
Just for a while, he thinks.
“Just for tonight,” he says, “maybe we can not talk…”
“Can I kiss you again?” Namjoon asks.
Yoongi doesn’t answer, just scoots himself forward until he can fit Namjoon’s jaw in his hands and his thumbs on those pretty pretty cheekbones and presses his lips careful careful quiet (but not nervous) to Namjoon’s.
They both hum into the kiss, Namjoon’s deep like a moan and Yoongi’s with the higher pitch of relief and release. Letting go of all the nerves and the fear and breaking everything down to the basest of parts: lips and tongue and teeth and hearts and he swears he can feel Namjoon’s beating steady like the waves and right in time with Yoongi’s.
They’ve always had the same rhythm.
It’s like that for a while—time feels fake because Yoongi thinks they must have been kissing for years, they must have never been apart. It gets messier and deeper and more intense as they kiss, and somehow he ends up in Namjoon’s lap with his fingers twisted in damp hair, pulling Namjoon as close as he can. Namjoon’s long fingers are teasing along his back, light touches under Yoongi’s shirt, moving across the back of his hip bones in a way that’s driving him wild, pricking up goosebumps on the thin skin there and daring to skim his waistband every now and then. It’s a question unspoken and one that they both already know the answer to.
“Take me to the bedroom,” he breathes against Namjoon’s lips. It’s not a request, not really.
Namjoon nods furiously, out of breath and flushed as he lifts them both from the couch at the same time in a display of strength that makes Yoongi’s insides tumble and twist.
They kiss their way down the hall, and Namjoon’s still clumsy in the precise way Yoongi remembers—his pointy elbows bump into the drywall to keep Yoongi from taking the hit and his teeth tug on Yoongi’s lips as he licks and groans into Yoongi’s mouth.
It’s an eternity before they make it to the bed—feels like the kind of forever Yoongi wants when Namjoon lays him down in the middle of the mattress and slowly pulls his joggers and briefs off.
“You’re so fucking pretty, hyung.” It comes in an exhale and Yoongi feels just as breathless when his mostly-hard cock bounces against his own pelvic bone.
“Did you forget?” He teases Namjoon instead of giving away quite how affected he is (beyond the obvious). “Used to tell me all the time, remember?”
Namjoon wraps a hand around Yoongi’s cock and strokes slowly, still looks surprised to be there, surprised Yoongi’s naked under him. “Didn’t forget… Pretty skin, so smooth and perfect. Pretty face,” he says fondly. “Pretty cock, too.” He squeezes around the shaft at that and leans over to kiss Yoongi again, tongue insistent and just as skilled as Yoongi remembers.
Yoongi’s already lost in it—it’s a little dry and a little less confident than he thinks Namjoon used to be, but it’s still so good. Namjoon thumbs over his slit and with his other hand, he swirls around Yoongi’s balls just the way he likes and it’s all so much. Unfair, Yoongi thinks, that Namjoon’s still not naked, but Yoongi doesn’t even think he can open his eyes anymore, so maybe it doesn’t matter.
“You still with me?” Namjoon whispers into his ear, teeth tugging gently at his earlobe and then lips moving down the column of his neck to tease at the thin skin there.
“Yeah, yeah Joonie… I’m here. Feels so good. You’re so good for hyung.”
Namjoon sounds like he might cry, voice cracking when he replies, “I missed this so much… Missed you.”
When Yoongi opens his eyes, Namjoon’s eyes are glassy, his pupils are blown and he’s got love and lust written in ee cummings trickles across the planes of his face. It’s a look Yoongi never thought he’d see again, makes him feel wanted and proud and so fucking turned on he might pass out before he comes.
“Want to feel you, Namjoon,” he whispers. “Please… need to see you.”
Namjoon kisses him lazy and deep before he sits on his knees and yanks his (Yoongi’s) shirt off with a hand behind his back. His body has changed—Yoongi can see all the soft spots gone a little firmer since his enlistment. His chest looks wider and more filled out, his abs are more defined… The way Yoongi’s sweatpants sit low on his hips is beyond indecent. He can almost hear himself swallow his arousal.
“I think I look a little different than last time,” Namjoon says in the most absurd understatement Yoongi’s heard this month. He looks bashful, and Yoongi can’t possibly think of what Namjoon would have to be ashamed of—he thinks he’s perfect.
“I think you look perfect,” he mumbles. It changes Namjoon’s bashful smile into a smug one as he climbs off the bed and pulls Yoongi’s sweats off. His back is to Yoongi, and it’s a view he’s seen more times than he can count, but it’s still as good as the very first time.
“You still keep lube in your bag when you travel?” Namjoon asks, throwing Yoongi a look over his shoulder. “In the small pocket?”
Yoongi nods, a little embarrassed to be known like this, a little awkward since it’s been so long since he’s been with Namjoon like this. He wonders, briefly, if anything’s changed about what Namjoon likes, wonders if he’ll still know how to make him come untouched. Wonders if Namjoon’s as predictable still as he seems to find Yoongi to be. Wants that, and also wants the small thrill of discovering all the new things, too.
Namjoon gets back on the bed and Yoongi moves to make room when Namjoon taps on his hip to scoot him over. He’s always been like this, a little bossy, a little quiet until he’s got something brushing his prostate—then he’s pliant, talkative, a bumbly mess in the best way. Filth spills from his lips but it never makes much sense, just fragments of feelings and always a little bit of desperate pleading mixed in, always wanting more and deeper and harder.
When Yoongi scoots down the bed and sits on his knees, expecting to slick up his own fingers and work Namjoon open slowly the way he likes, he gets his first surprise. Namjoon’s on his back with a pillow under his hips and he’s already two fingers deep, cheeks pink with a sheen of sweat on his forehead and staring right at Yoongi.
It takes a lot of self-restraint not to try and slide one of his own fingers in alongside the two already there. “Oh, Joonie… You look so good like this, opening yourself up for hyung.”
“Want to be good for you,” Namjoon says, a little whiny. “Think about you all the time when I do this. Always you…”
The angle’s all wrong, Yoongi knows it can’t feel great on his wrist, but then he sees the moment Namjoon finds the spot he’s been looking for—Namjoon’s eyes roll back in his head and he lets out a groan that sounds a lot like, “Yoongi,” and Yoongi has to kiss him.
He pushes Namjoon’s hair off of his forehead and presses their lips together, slides his tongue across Namjoon’s and then pulls away to whisper praise into his ear—tells him he’s a good boy, he’s so pretty, he’s doing so well, Yoongi can’t wait to be inside him.
They kiss slow and heavy, Yoongi’s dick is pressed up against Namjoon’s hip, and as Namjoon works a third finger in himself and moans long, Yoongi moves in little grinding motions against him—can’t help himself, needs just a little relief while he waits for Namjoon to be ready for him. He’s not huge, but Namjoon’s always needed a good amount of prep and they both like this part, like the anticipation and the teasing and the kissing.
“I’m ready,” Namjoon says, voice shaky. “Need you to fuck me now… Please,” he adds.
Always so polite while he makes Yoongi lose his mind.
Yoongi sits up, makes a point of mouthing along Namjoon’s cock before he goes—it’s nothing too intense, just wet and open lips across Namjoon’s length, a little swirl of his tongue around the crown that makes Namjoon whine loudly and repeat himself. “Please, hyung… Please, I need it…”
“Okay, yeah…Want to take care of you,” Yoongi agrees. He finds the condom Namjoon had left on the bed earlier and rolls it on, then sets himself between Namjoon’s thighs. He pauses then, because in movies, this is the moment when everything changes. When sex makes the feelings irreversible, sets two people on a path that they can’t walk backward along. Whatever he and Namjoon have isn’t a movie, it’s absolutely no fairytale, and even if Yoongi never slides into Namjoon’s tight heat, things will have changed between them. So, there’s nothing to lose, not really, and he’ll get the whole fucking world, he decides when he looks in Namjoon’s eyes, if things keep changing for the better.
Before, they weren’t careful and slow. Before, when Namjoon said he was ready, Yoongi would believe him and give him everything all at once. It was always deep and deeper and fast. But this time, he takes his time sliding into Namjoon. Wants to remember this, wants to document each still frame in case this is the last time. It’s something he’s always regretted about before, that he took their last time for granted.
Or, what he thought would be the last time, anyway.
“Oh, holy shit,” Namjoon sighs as Yoongi’s tip enters him. It’s followed by that mumbling, slurred rambling that Yoongi’s missed so much. It’s a mess of, “feels so good… hyung, please… fuck me, please” but never comes out coherent like that and Yoongi bends over to kiss the words right out of his mouth. When their lips part, Namjoon whispers, “Please hurry...” in the most desperate voice Yoongi thinks he’s ever heard.
“You’re so tight, Namjoon, give me a second… Feels too good, don’t want to come already.”
Namjoon’s coherent enough to smile at that, his lips so close to Yoongi’s still that it’s almost as much a feeling as it is a sight.
Finally, finally, Yoongi works all the way in, his hips flush with Namjoon’s skin. He pauses for a minute, finds one of Namjoon’s hands and tangles their fingers together at their sides, and then he pulls out halfway and thrusts back in.
“Oh my god,” Namjoon groans. “Don’t stop, please…”
And Yoongi doesn’t. Keeps licking the curses out of Namjoon’s mouth and pushes one of his thighs back further so he can get the right angle. When he starts hitting Namjoon’s prostate on every thrust, he feels Namjoon’s fingers tighten around his, feels him moan into Yoongi’s mouth, sees the tears gather in the corners of his eyes.
“You’re so good, Namjoonie, feel so good around my cock.”
“I’m so close, hyung,” he whines, follows it with a little begging, just like always, greedy for more.
“Are you gonna come for me,” Yoongi asks. “Just like this?”
Namjoon can only nod because Yoongi’s picked up his pace, curves his back so he can get one of Namjoon’s nipples in his mouth, teases and nips at the skin there and makes Namjoon absolutely keen underneath him.
This is what Yoongi remembers, the almost nonstop, “Please, please, please… wanna come, hyung,” that Namjoon’s repeating.
“Yeah, come on, baby, want to see you,” he agrees, out of breath and so enamored all over again.
Yoongi lets go of Namjoon’s thigh and runs just the tip of a finger along Namjoon’s cock—that’s all it takes. Namjoon lets out a long moan and then he’s coming, body tightening around Yoongi and cum streaked across his own stomach before he goes lax and loose.
“Want you to come, hyung,” he says, and it comes out a little raspy and foggy, and Yoongi loves him like this.
Loves him.
“Fuck, I love you… Love you, Namjoon.”
Namjoon wraps long arms around Yoongi’s shoulders and pulls him closer. “Love you so much, hyung.”
And that’s what does it for Yoongi. He gives a couple of staccato thrusts into Namjoon and then he’s spilling into the condom and trying not to collapse down on top of the man underneath him.
They’re kissing again, drawn out and soft, and they stay that way until they can’t really anymore, Yoongi slipping out of Namjoon and disposing of the condom while Namjoon closes his eyes and wipes leaking tears out of his eyes.
In the bathroom, Yoongi grabs a washcloth and looks in the mirror. He doesn’t look any different than he did this morning, but he feels like he’s been reborn a little. It’s dangerous to feel this hopeful, but it’s a hell of a lot more interesting than feeling so sad.
He cleans Namjoon as best he can, and gets water for both of them before climbing back into bed.
“We should talk tomorrow,” he says as he pulls Namjoon tight against him and presses a kiss to his shoulder.
“Yeah, we’ll talk tomorrow… Need to talk,” Namjoon agrees sleepily.
“Go to sleep, Namjoonie.” Fond, fond, fond.
“G’night, hyung.”
Namjoon’s asleep before he can say it back.
Yoongi lays in the dark bedroom and he holds Namjoon tight, and sleep evades him. There’s so much unsaid, so much they really do need to figure out. They can’t just pretend the last three years didn’t happen, and there’s so much Yoongi wants to know, so much he wants to tell Namjoon, too.
But it’s late, and he’s tired, and Namjoon’s already started snoring, so it will wait. They will sleep, and in the morning, they’ll walk this new path together and this time, Yoongi will say what he means and ask questions and get all the information before he decides what someone else is thinking on their behalf. If Namjoon can try, he can, too.
They both deserve at least that much.
It’s been less than one day since he let Namjoon back into his life, and the last thing he thinks before he slips into sleep is that for once, he might not still be counting the days when he wakes up in the morning.
#yoongi x namjoon#yoongi fic#namjoon fic#yoongi imagine#namjoon imagine#bts fanfic#bts smut#yoongi smut#namjoon smut#bts writing#kvanity#btshoneyhive#btswritersclub
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I made a post for asking questions and these are what were submitted. Thank you for taking the time to ask guys! There were only 3 questions but two of them needed some detailed answers which I was so happy to write! Hope you enjoy! 😊
@princessbutterflysposts
What was your first experience like with the Eldritch Pantheon?
My first experience was with Yog Sothoth. I felt him knocking on the door the way deity can often do, but at the time I didn’t believe they were anything but fiction so it was very strange. I ended up falling into research somehow on egragore’s, godforms, and the Eldritch in general and kept feeling Yog Sothoth’s pull the further I dove into it all. Finally I decided to meditate and see if I could connect with him…it was almost instantaneous how quick he answered. I was enamored and in awe but strangely not overwhelmed. He seemed like…an old friend in a way even though we had never properly met. I suppose his energy was always present and guiding me. I wanted to know him even if I wasn’t sure he was real…so he answered that prayer and lead me to the research that ultimately encouraged me to reach out. Once that happened all the other Eldritch pieces just started falling into place.
Have you ever done astral travel or lucid dreaming?
Yes I most certainly have astral traveled as well as lucid dreamed. I part of my practice is Psychonautics and a great deal of my time and energy have been put into astral traveling to the void as well as other realms. Lucid dreaming as well has been something I kinda just was already doing? I can’t really say when it started, just that’s it’s kinda always just been something I’ve been able to do.
@hallucinagogia
What's something you'd like to talk about regarding void but don't see an opportunity to do so?
Well this is actually something that happened somewhat recently. But during a deep gnosis meditation I was introduced to an interesting fact. The void is alive…sort of. It’s somewhat paradoxical because in order for something to be alive it must also be able to die. However the void can’t die so by that definition it can’t be alive either. So…then what is it? It’s a form of existence that goes beyond our understanding of life and death. Further confusion is added when we recognize void as a place, which it is, and not a finite being like a deity or a spirit.
We can add more confusion still with the notion of life attached to other spirit beings that never graced the mortal plain. They as well are a separate form of existence but are still altogether different from the void. As the first being, void existed before life or death could, so its composition of what we understand to be life is outside anything we can fathom.
The closest example I can make (and even that isn’t perfect) would be if your house was alive. It doesn’t seem to speak or react as living things do. It doesn’t possess the organs we would expect a living thing to possess either. And it gives us absolutely no visual evidence to understand its senses but somehow it still has them. It feels, sees, listens, and speaks in ways we don’t nor could we ever begin to understand. In ways our mortality prevents us from properly understanding. Even when we cross over completely in death we will still be unable to fully perceive it. Even the dwellers within it, those that have circumvented its puzzles for millennia can’t completely articulate its fathoms. But we at least can come to know it a little better. That’s something at least and it’s a lot better than nothing.
#paganism#witchcraft#pagans of tumblr#chaos magician#chaos magick#eldritch magic#witches of tumblr#yog sothothery#death witch#void magick#void magic#void
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Hello, would you mind doing a Rihanna/ASAP rocky synastry or composite analysis? Are there any celeb readings you're currently working on?
I have shipped them since the Fashion Killa music video lol
I couldn't find time of birth for Rocky, but we will work with what we have. I am pleasantly surprised to be honest. I have done her Synastry with Drake a few years ago and that was something.
I will begin by mentioning the best things I see in this synastry. The first of which is the Mars-Venus and Mars-Moon conjunctions. His Mars is conjunct her Venus and Moon. This indicates extremely strong chemistry, attraction, passion. The Mars-Venus is very romantic and shows two people who are very tuned in with each other's energy. The Mars-Moon conjunction is the classic intimacy aspect, it can point to a couple who are likely to have a child together. It shows that he is very, very protective of her. This is all in her 12th house, which can point to a very private, secretive relationship. His Mars also conjuncts her Juno so in a long-term relationship or marriage between the two he will be the one to lead. His Mars aspects definitely show that he is the one to pursue her.
His Mercury is in her 7th house so communication is good and they can be very considerate of each other. He can be the one to convince her, to influence her. His Moon is in her 4th house so there is a strong emotional bond. This is a good placement for starting a family, living together, as it can show two people who are tuned in with each other's feelings, nurture each other, protect each other.
His Venus is in her 5th house which is once again a very romantic placement. The 5th house is the house of joy, passion, sex, love, romance and Venus is the planet of love and romance, what more can you ask for? It can be indicative of a dramatic relationship though. They will probably do more creative projects together. His Juno is also in her 5th House which can show a very happy and fulfilling long-term relationship or marriage. His Jupiter is in her 2nd so they build each other up, they make each other feel confident.
Now the not so good. His Sun is in her 6th so they can view each other as a form of responsibility. They can be critical of each other, but want the best for the other person at the same time. His Juno and Venus are conjunct her Lilith so he probably put in a lot of effort to make her commit to him or want something more serious with him.
His Mars in her 12th house isn't ideal (His is making great aspects to her chart which does make it slightly better), but it can indicate that frustration is hidden, it can show the buildup of anger, secret drama, hiding things from each other. Her Mars is conjunct his Uranus and Saturn (she has the same aspects natally) so there can be slight chaos. Looking at this I am not surprised how they committed to each other very suddenly. There is also a Mars-Neptune conjunction which once again points to doing more creative projects together. His Neptune is in her 10th/conjunct her Midheaven so he can be a great source of inspiration for her.
His Mars is square her Mars, Saturn, Uranus and Neptune. So any fights or misunderstanding between the two can be very serious, very chaotic, very unclear. She is probably the stubborn one in the relationship and he is the one trying to fix things when something goes wrong. But there can be impulsivity in the relationship, living out fantasies.
His Neptune is square her Moon and Venus so he idolizes her and puts her on a pedestal. He is definitely infatuated by her, but there can be lack of boundaries in the relationship and he could be manipulative, especially emotionally. His Jupiter is square her Sun so his ego can definitely feel hurt by her. There can be a battle for attention in a way.
Overall, I think there is strong chemistry and long-term potential. I haven't read much about them, but they are both attractive and have had a friendship for a while which is always great.
#rihanna#asap rocky#astrology#synastry#zodiac signs#aries#taurus#gemini#celebrity astrology#cancer#leo#virgo#libra#scorpio#sagittarius#capricorn#aquarius#pisces
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For some levity, the Lackadaisy pilot is finally out! If you’ve seen it already, what are your thoughts about it? I thought it was a treat!
Yup! I’ll post my review here then!
So, overall I definitely liked it. As everyone is saying, the animation and composition is absolutely GORGEOUS, I loved the 3d props and backgrounds, I have been following this project since it was announced for an animated short so I watched a lot of sneak peeks from behind the scenes, (even becoming a patron member for Tracy for a long while) and the long wait and hard work definitely paid off. While the sketch lines being visible is very distracting at times, I will give credit that the animation and look and feel of the short is nice, since they were trying to go for an old-timey Don Bluth/Disney vibe, basically those old cartoons from the 50’s-80’s.
I will admit that while this is around 25 minutes, it feels very short, I was hoping we got to know the characters more better, mainly characters like Wick or Pepper. Like….I will say I thought there’d be a little bit more than what we got, so that was a little underwhelming for me, BUT what we got wasn’t at all bad, especially since this is a pilot. This entire time I thought it would just be an animated short, since I could have sworn the creator said that’s all it’s ganna be for now, but now it’s labeled as a “pilot”, so I can give it a pass for that. Even if you haven’t read the comic like I have, you can kinda get down most of the characters and dynamics.
Rocky is this loose canon yet sweet and can get the job done in wacky ways, Freckle is the soft cutsey wutsey one who deep down has a temper and is crazy, (and Rocky can see the potential in him) Pepper comes off as someone who wants to be an independent woman and can pull her weight around the way how rough the world is, (with Rocky respecting her and her and Freckle having somewhat of a cute relationship) Nicodeme and Serafine (two that I really enjoyed watching) are also loose canons who enjoy the battle, being paired up with my favorite character that is Mordecai, a straightforward, professional and stern person who has an infamous past and isn’t aquatinted well with the people around him. The Mitzi stuff along with the other characters at the bar I’d thought we’d dive into more, but again, this is a pilot, and they do hint at future things, how they’re trying to get Wick to help them, Mitzi being a mysterious character, and the leader of their rivalry business learning about the mishap that happens in the end credits scene.
Since this is a pilot, there are PLENTY of things to be explored, it opens a door for the characters to get more depth, and for the story to expand, something that I really want, especially since the comic (for now) seems to be on halt. I think this pilot serves as a perfect “short and sweet” scenario, it did want it wanted to do, it introduces the characters and some of the story well, and I really hope this gets a BIG following enough for the cast and crew to keep working towards this goal, I would even say I hope a studio sees this and wants to pick it up. Lackadaisy certainly isn’t for everyone, I myself have said that I had a hard time following the comic at times due to the 1920’s language, and some of the humor didn’t catch me, some of the dialogue in this pilot as well could have been better in terms of showcasing the characteristics of each character or the world, but other than everything I mentioned, I don’t have any other criticisms or nitpicks, since it’s too early.
Now that the pilot is finally out, I definitely want to reread the comic and compare the two in the near future, Lackadaisy is something I have passion for and I’m so proud of the team for what they accomplished. Here’s to hoping there’s more! 🍻
#honestly I do think this is a great start#even if you have some issues with it#I’m really hoping there’s more to see what this can turn into especially since the comic itself changed over time#begging that this gets the same cult following Hazbin did#lackadaisy webcomic#lackadaisy#review#reply#ask#animated indie short#animated short#2d animation#lackadaisy animated short#unrelated
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these days every time i start on an art idea for myself that's more than a sketch i just get this weird fear that it will suck, or i stop halfway through because the amount of work i need to put in for it to be as good as i imagine is more than i feel like handling at the moment. i haven't done a legit illustration that i put effort into (as in multiple concepts and serious thought about composition, value thumbnails, color thumbnails, etc) in about a year, and i still haven't done all those action pose studies i promised myself i'd do way before that. the point of those at the time was for my webcomic which I no longer have any interest in finishing bc it's just too much right now. but all that to say i keep trying to make things and finding myself lacking when i had all these cool art plans for this year.
like. it's the middle of january, i have plenty of time, i don't need to worry about this. i'm just. annoyed that i still have baby fears about some parts of art despite being confident in many aspects of it.
i just want to get back whatever my brain was on when i did 2 major zine pieces and three 15+ page comic chapters in a year while working my other job. like that's definitely the reason I was burnt out, but. If I could get a fraction of that back I think I'd manage my creative energy better now. If I can pool my knowledge together and shake all the dust off I can make so much cool stuff. I just. I'm realizing that I want to update my portfolio and I don't have any recent personal pieces that feel up to the same level of effort as the stuff already in it. So I want to make stuff I'm really proud of this year, if I can. I just have to be patient with myself, which is possibly more of a challenge than doing action pose studies.
#if you read all of this. here's a cookie i guess#sorry just#long art rant. feeling annoyed with my work overall#it'll pass i just need to figure out what to focus on#hannah.txt
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◄ Prev Chapter \Fic Playlist\Ship Playlist\ Next Chapter ►
WHAT'S THIS AN UPDATE AFTER SEVERAL MONTHS!?
Sorry this is taking so long, but me and @candy12110 are gonna try and get this done!
The next few chapters will be from Marvus's POV, and the last one will go back to Chixie's.
Rating:: 13+ // Teen
Fandom:: Homestuck
Themes/Kinks:: None
*1 month earlier*
Marvus was so tired.
He'd been on his feet all day preparing for his set, and he finally got a chance to just breathe without some lovestruck groupie up his ass asking for an autograph, a hug, or trying to fill his quadrants.
It was exhausting being loved.
He was sitting in his dressing room alone for once, trying to relax while scrolling on Chittr. After scrolling past various adverts and stalkerish fan messages, he came across a video of some bronzeblood performing. They were in a seedy little bar, with a small crowd, and terrible lighting. He didn't have high expectations for them but he could always appreciate a fellow performer.
He watched the video to the very end and was mildly surprised by how much he enjoyed it. He went to the comments, and there were only a few. He wanted to comment but his publicist, and his fanbase, would kill him if he did. He could tell the few trolls that did comment were lower on the hemospectrum, they were pretty supportive. However, he did notice one from a familiar account that caused him to internally cringe.
THECODAKKEFFECT:: Great job, Bronzie boo! Sorry, I couldn't make it. I couldn't miss Marvus’s concert but you looked gorgeous on stage.
He stared at the screen curiously, there was no way in hell that indingdong was her matesprit. And if he was, there was no way he had any good intentions behind it, he was known for having his quadrants forever empty.
Marvus rewatched the Bronzie’s performance, the shot was way too shitty to tell what they looked like. Morbid curiosity led him down the rabbit hole, he got the bronzeblood’s name from the video caption and started looking for anything he could find on them.
Chixie? Chixie. Chixie!
He found a video with far better quality that finally showed what they looked like. Chixie was…shy? Nervous? He wouldn't necessarily say gorgeous, but she wasn't ugly either. She was…cute. She didn't have much presence or hype but she was talented.
After watching at least ten videos of her performing and pouring out her soul he could reasonably say he was a fan. Her lyrics, composition, and the way she put her all into her performance even if he could tell she was scared for her life half the time. Honestly, her nervousness weirdly added to her cuteness. Like a hopbeast shivering in fear but still thumping along in an attempt to scare off predators. She was definitely brave, not fierce or powerful, but she held her own on stage and he liked that.
He broke out of his thoughts to a knock at the door.
"Marvus, I'm coming in. I'm tired of all the noise out here," Chahut announced, busting through the door and entering the room with the rest of the purplebloods following her like quackbeasts.
"Honk!" The smallest clown, Karako, ran up to Marvus and hugged as tight as he could. As annoyed as he was with them barging in, he couldn’t stay mad at the little clown.
"Hey to you too, little wriggler. Been causing trouble?" He patted the little clown’s messy fluff of hair, before actually holding onto him.
"Honk!"
"Good. Never let 'em keep you in a box."
"Honk?" Karako pointed at Marvus's palmhusk.
"What? Her? Nothing. I just liked her songs so I was giving ‘em a listen," He waved the runt off, quickly locking his palmhusk.
Chahut narrowed her eyes at him.
“This another one of ya desperate lil’ groupies?”
“Nah, and mind ya business!”
"Mighty defensive are we?" Chahut stalked closer to Marvus. He instinctively moved the hand holding the device away from her, only for it to get snatched by one of the twins from behind.
They quickly opened the phone to see a video of the bronzie girl playing on a loop.
“Aww your love-sick for a lil’ Bronze girl,” Chahut said mockingly.
“How cute!” She quickly busted out laughing with the twins, before Marvus snatched it back!
“Didn’t I tell ya’ll to mind ya business!” Marvus responded with a clenched jaw. He didn't know why he was being so defensive, but he did find the invasion of his space and privacy annoying.
"Why should we? Mr. Unaffected is over here creeping on some bronzeblood. What happened? Embarrassed?" She said smirking and cocking her head.
The twins both shook their heads before speaking.
"You should be!"
"How embarrassing."
Karako just looked up at the bigger clown confused.
"Honk?"
Marvus’s face grew angrier by the second.
"I'm not feeling flushed for her little man. Why do y'all even care?"
“Cause we love to torture you!”
Chahut commented as she gave the device back to him.
He immediately snatched it out of her hands, causing Chahut to jump back a bit.
“Jeez, we were just playin’!”
He glared up at her annoyed, before sitting back down. The room fell silent for a bit before the twins began to speak.
"You're not seriously developing feelings for the bronzie are you?"
"..."
"You're not seriously developing feelings, right Marvus?!" They both repeated in unison.
His face became more annoyed.
“No, I ain’t!”
"Good,” Chahut cut in sitting down on the couch.
”A troll of your status ain’t got no business foolin’ around with some lowblood girl. You remember what happened last time?”
"That ain't gon happen. A, I'm not foolin’ around with her. B, I don't even know her. C, she's not even a fan. D, most important of all, I ain't never even met her before. There is no business happening here. I saw a cool performance and I wanted to see if she had talent. You motherfuckers are the ones making it weird!"
"Fair enough. Just tryna make sure you ain't repeating that bullshit,"
"Time is money. Do you think I can afford to pay attention to every lowblood out there? Is my name Nova?"
"Honk!"
"Right little man! I'm nothing like that fame chaser,"
“Honk! Honk!” Karako aggressively commented, while the other three just rolled their eyes.
“Whatever.” Chahut stretched her arms behind her head.
“I just can’t wait for you to finally be on vacation. You’re takin’ us with you, right?”
Baizli asked.
“Yeah, we got everything packed up.”
Barzum followed up.
“Honk?”
"You wanna go with me?" Marvus walked over to the smallest clown and picked him up, booped him on the nose.
"Honk!"
"I don't know, they been kinda annoying lately," Marvus teased the smaller troll.
Karako turned to the other purple bloods and shook his head side to side.
"Oh, you not a part of they group? I guess you could come with me. We'll leave these losers behind,"
"Honk!"
"Hear that, it's me and little man's duo trip. But, maybe if ya’ll apologize, I’ll consider bringing yas along.” He and Karako gave a small chuckle
"We're so sorry," The twins enthusiastically responded.
"That's two more invited! Chahut you're next."
"As If I'm apologizin’ to your lame ass," Chahut crossed her arms. She barely moved to sit up before having three pleading faces staring at her.
"Ooooh looks like the wrigglers are gonna miss you. How sad. But I guess you're too lame to hang with guys."
"Fuck you."
"That's not an apology. Wanna try again?"
"I'm sorry, Marvus,” She said grumbling under her breath.
“That’s three!” He said, high-fiving Karako.
"Vacation! Vacation! Vacation! Vacation," the twins chanted, flipping around the room.
"Honk! Honk!" Karako cheered along.
—
Marvus was sitting on his bed in the hivetel. He was wearing one of his old merch t-shirts, no point in wearing that clunky tux and scrolling through Chittr. Since the point Chahut made about that clingy lowblood from before he'd been trying to keep his mind off Chixie. Unfortunately, nothing like forbidden fruit makes you want to take a bite. As soon as he arrived and locked himself in his room he’d started watching more videos of the girl. In his scrolling, he came across a post on her actual account.
Chixie:: I'll be performing at BloodBrawl bar tonight. Come out and show support!
Below the text was a picture of the lineup, there in big brown text was her name. She’d be the middle act and the bar was close to the hivetel. It was at that moment that Marvus got an amazing, and kinda stupid, idea. He did have a few toned-down outfits and his favorite black hoodie. It wouldn't hurt to just pop out for a drink real quick.
He just saw a recommendation to come out to a local place that had good music. As an accomplished artist, how could he resist hearing fresh talent? If he just so happened to see the bronzeblood that he's been listening to for the past two days then so be it. It's their fault for choosing this hivetel, not his.
With his plan in mind, he memorized the time she’d be performing and went to gather everything he’d need, searching vigorously through his bags. He found his most raggedy hoodie, an old patched-up pair of sweats, and some platformed boots he wore for a concert messiah knows how long ago. To make things more convincing he decided to give himself a fake caste symbol. But there was only one person in their entire Hivetel with paint…Chahut.
He sighed walking down that hall towards her and Karako’s room.
“Chachki!” He yelled knocking at the door.
He heard several large stomps before the door flew open.
“I thought I told ya to never call me that,” she looked down at him agitated.
“Whatcha want?”
“I need to borrow ya paint sis’.”
She cocked her eyebrow.
“What for?”
“I…Need to repaint some of my shoes.”
He all but mumbled out. It wasn’t a lie, after sweeps of performing a lot of his shoes and outfits were worn out. The bigger clown stared at him for a moment before sighing and going back into her room. She pulled a bag of spray paints out of her suitcase. She tossed them out to him, and he wandered off back to his room. He picked up the burgundy and quickly sprayed a fake caste symbol on his hoodie.
He wanted to make sure no one recognized him, went into the washroom, tied his hair back, and did something he never thought he’d do. He washed his makeup off. It was weird seeing his gray skin after only seeing white on it for so long. For the piece de resistance, fake glasses and a face mask.
He threw his newly painted hoodie on and slunk out of the hivetel room. He took the stairs to avoid any fans or press and snuck out the back of the building. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and hunched forward changing his overall image and hiding as much of his shape as possible. He didn't remember ever being able to leave a building without being watched or swarmed before but it was an exciting feeling.
Before he knew it he was on the streets, heading towards the bar. He did get a few looks on the way, he guessed they’d never seen a burgundy this big. Still, it didn’t stop some of the higher bloods from pushing and shoving him out of their way. To be honest he didn’t even notice most of them, they just bounced off of him. Plus he was too focused on seeing this gig to worry about any of them.
After a few minutes, he finally made it, and there wasn’t too long a line!
When he got in he noticed the place was fairly crowded, he thought back to the lineup, he did remember seeing some popular names. He looked around a bit to see if he could recognize Chixie before giving up and going to get a drink. He had a few songs to get through before he would get to hear hers anyway.
The act currently setting up was a purpleblood band. They were pretty good if he was being honest, but he wasn’t coming for them. He was here for one performance, and one performance only.
After them was a solo indigo.
And after that was another act and another…and another. If he was being honest, a lot of the acts were starting to meld into one another.
Something else he noticed was how many of the acts were blatantly copying him. Not just his lyrics and beat, but his entire persona and style.
Normally he wouldn’t mind this he loved it when people took inspiration from his work. But all of these acts felt the same, there was no flare or pizzazz. Just the same thing over and over expecting to get more applause than the last act, absolutely boring. But, it would all be worth it, soon, cause next up was Chixie!
Only the little bronzie didn’t come out, instead, it was another group of purples who, apparently came late. Marvus sat there confused, as to why Chixie wasn’t on stage.
Maybe they just rearranged her spot, so they could perform?
He didn't care for the abrupt change but it's fine he could sit through one more performance.
After them was another group, indigobloods. Then there was a teal solo act. Then two jade acts back to back.
It seemed like everyone but Chixie was performing tonight, as the show went on more and more trolls started to leave. Soon there was nothing but a handful of lowbloods and one indigo, standing in the front, left. Marvus was considering leaving himself, but he noticed a fairly short troll nervously walking on stage.
The last act came up, and there she was, Chixie. Despite his annoyance, Marvus felt a smile grow across his face when he saw her. He noticed her outfit, it was a long black button-down dress, a pair of white leggings, and a pair of black flats with baggy leg warmers. It wasn’t at all flashy, and it didn’t look expensive, but it was still cute!
His focus on her was broken by the sound of very out-of-place cheering; he looked forward to seeing the indigo loudly praising her and clapping. His eyes migrated back to the bronze girl, who was now awkwardly smiling and waving at him as she pulled down the mic off the stand.
A burgundy with a guitar wrapped around him stumbled out and started playing.
She visibly sighed, before she started to sing.
The song she sang was a somber one. She didn’t do much, she wasn’t loud or flashy like the other acts. She didn’t have dance moves unless you counted hand gestures and hip sways.
She was just being herself, calm, but kind of nervous. Many would probably call her “Plain” or “simple” but that’s what made it all stand out. She wasn’t trying to be this big personality, she knew who she was, and that made her all the more unique to Marvus.
Soon the guitarist stopped and Chixie’s voice disappeared with the last few chords.
He was stunned. She was far better in person than the shitty video quality from Chittr. However, he did appreciate whoever was uploading videos of her performances. He sat for a while watching her interact with the few lowbloods left in the bar before visibly cringing as she turned to the indigoblood that was feeling a little too excited to see her.
"Hey Zebruh! I'm so…glad you could make it. I thought you were going to a concert for that purpleblood you liked."
"Marvus. His name is Marvus.”
The indigo corrected.
“And I did wanna go to his show but I heard he went on vacation, so I decided to come support you in the meantime!"
"That's so sweet of you but you didn't have to-"
"What kind of manager would I be if I wasn't here to support my favorite bronzie!”
He interrupted getting in the bronze girl’s face.
"Oh. Well…You really didn't have to."
"Nonsense! They already bullied you once. If you had let me, I would ' ve made sure they never changed your spot, but of course, you're just too kind," Zebruh smirked. Marvus eavesdropped for a bit and could feel the anger she was hiding from his backhanded compliment.
"I'm glad you think so," She smiled weirdly at the indigo, as he tried to put his hand on her but she turned away like she heard someone call her, barely missing his hand.
"They called Trixie not Chixie," he said, dropping his arm to his side.
"Oh! Well, that's fine. Sorry, but I have to go, I gotta- feed my lusus! I'll see you later."
Without a second she turned and walked away.
"I love that about you. You're so responsible. Bye~"
He yelled at her from across the room.
The mousy girl quickly ran out of the bar, brushing past Marvus. His eyes focused on her face quickly taking in her features as she skittered past him. He wasn't expecting to get such a close-up- up but at least he was right and the trip wasn't a waste, she really was cute.
Marvus made his way back to the hivetel. He figured using the stairs would be better but by the fifth floor, he started regretting his choice. He decided to just take off his sweater and take the elevator the rest of the way up. He managed to make it through the hall without being spotted or recognized. Soon enough he made it back to his room and he sighed loudly when he got in.
His tiredness was soon replaced with panic when he noticed Karako sitting on the couch, legs and arms crossed.
"Honk."
"Woah! Hey little man, what you doing here?"
"Honk?" Karako glared at him, waiting for an answer.
"Where I been? What you mean, where I been? I just stepped out for a bit. I ain’t been gone long."
Karako made an annoyed face at the obvious lie.
"Three hours ain't that long. Why were you in my room for three hours?" He tried to change the subject but the little clown steamrolled past it.
"Honk. Honk."
"Thanks for thinkin' of me but you really ain't have to and as you can see I'm fine."
"Honk?" Karako asked again.
"I just got a drink and forgot to check my palmhusk. Sorry little dude."
The little clowned glared him down, giving an exaggerated pout.
"Just down the block! Look, it's not that serious."
"…Honk," Karako glared at him suspiciously.
"No, I didn't go see that girl. What girl are you even talkin' about?"
Karako quickly showed the evidence on his palmhusk.
" I didn't go to see her! I just got a drink at a bar she just so happened to be performin' in."
“Honk!”
“My makeup? It needed to be redone, so I took it off!”
“...Honk,” The small clown pointed at the jacket, and glasses he still had in his hand. It was at this point Marvus knew the little clown wouldn’t give up, he sat next to him and began to explain.
“Okay, I ain’t confirmin’ or denyin’ nothing. But maybe, maybe , I went to see her perform,” His panic was replaced with a small grin as he explained further.
“You should’a seen her! She was so sweet and so talented. I thought seeing her in person would, you know, scratch the itch. Sate my curiosity.”
Karako cocked his head at the older clown.
"Yeah, I probably should've left it alone but I couldn't not go after being told not to watch her."
“Honk!” Karako began to chuckle as he stated the obvious.
“No! I ain’t got red feelings for her! I remember what happened last time!” He picked Karko up into his arms “Besides, you too young to be talkin’ bout that!”
“Honk?”
“Yeah…I did say this was different…”
“Honk!”
“No! I ain’t goin’ back to see her.”
Karako grabbed Marvus’s palmhusk again, going onto Chixie’s Profile.
He pointed at the red quadrant status, which was marked as empty.
"Karako, I can't do that again. Chahut would kill me if I brought another groupie around!"
"Honk!"
"I know she's not a groupie but still it's not gonna end well either way." Marvus slightly raised his voice, causing Karako to tear up a bit.
The little clown began to cry and fuss, Marvus sighed and brought him in for a hug.
“I’m sorry little man, it’s just I can’t be out here catching red feelings for a girl I don’t even know,” He pulled Karako back wiping his tears, smudging his makeup a bit.
“Besides, if I went chasing after her, you and me wouldn’t have time to hang out!” He booped the runt’s nose.
“And ya wouldn’t want that now would ya?”
Karako nodded his head “no”.
“Then let’s not focus on all that quadrant mess, okay?”
“...Honk!” Karako squeezed his arms around Marvus’s waist, pulling him in for one last hug.
"Yeah! Let's get some faygo and grubcorn. We can watch a movie. Let me just get my paint back on."
#fanfic#mine#fanfiction#fic#homestuck#bronze clown ship#bronze clown#hiveswap marvus#hiveswap#hiveswap chixie#hiveswap zebruh#marvus x chixie#marvus xoloto#chixie roixmr#chahut hiveswap#chahut maenad#karako pierot#karako hiveswap
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24 Days of La Fayette: Day 5
(I might be really behind schedule, but I will finish what I have started.)
Artist: Thomas Pritchard Rossiter (1818–1871), and Artist: Louis Remy Mignot (American, Charleston, South Carolina 1831–1870 Brighton). Washington and Lafayette at Mount Vernon, 1784 (The Home of Washington after the War). Oil on canvas, 1859. The Metropolitan Museum of Art, JSTOR, https://jstor.org/stable/community.18413572. Accessed 19 Mar. 2024.
Washington and Lafayette at Mount Vernon, 1784 (The Home of Washington after the War) is probably one of the more famous pieces on this list. It was painted 1859 by Thomas Pritchard Rossiter and Louis Remy Mignot. The Mount Vernon Ladies Association was founded in 1853 and there was a renewed interest in Mount Vernon and its history. That is the reason why the pair decided to set their scene at Washingtons home. Mignot was tasked with painting the house and the landscape – a task he took very seriously, he visited Mount Vernon during a painting trip and talked with older people in the area to get the proverbial full picture. Painting the figures fell to Rossiter and while he certainly also did his research, a closer look at the clothing and styling of the figures reveal that it was indeed not a painting done in 1784. Houdon’s bust of Washington supposedly served as a model for the President while an assortment of paintings from Lee University and Washington University served most likely as inspirations for La Fayette and the Custis children.
While there are definitely worse depictions of La Fayette, there are also better ones. The receding hairline is this one very prominent feature that goes a long way of letting La Fayette “look like” La Fayette – but I also find it a bit “lazy” to rely solely on such features (what is rich, coming from a person who can not paint even if my life were to depend on it.)
The composition, a mix of a historical and a genre painting, was very popular at the time. There are also some variations of this painting, especially in print. Here we see depictions of La Fayette arriving, Washington enthusiastically greeting La Fayette or La Fayette leaving Mount Vernon at the end of his stay. While these are all separated works, the parallels between these pieces and the painting at hand are too stark to dismiss the obvious inspiration that was taken from Mignot’s and Rossiter’s work. The historical elements of the portrait depict La Fayette’s third visit to the United States, just after the end of the War. With peace now prevailing he could enjoy his time as a private gentleman and as a friend of Washington at Mount Vernon, away from the horrors of war that had previously occupied him in America. His trip in 1784 would be the last time he and Washington meet in person. But still, La Fayette’s marks are still there, almost 150 years later. The room he stayed to, although afterwards used by countless other guests, is still commonly referred to as the La Fayette room and a copy of Charles Wilsons famous painting adorns the wall.
Rossiter wrote about the painting during the initial exhibition:
The busy portion of the day is over; and, as the long shadows creep slowly over the lawn, the family portion of the household have congregated under the ample portico. The General and his noble guest have arisen from the chairs, which indicate that they had formed a portion of the group with the ladies, and are standing in colloquy: Washington in the act of speaking, and Lafayette leaning against a pillar, in deferential attitude, holds a newspaper in the hand - suggestive that the discourse is a topic of the times.
N.Y.), M.M. of A. (New Y. (1965) American Paintings: A Catalogue of the Collection of the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Metropolitan Museum of Art, pp. 88-90.
#24 days of lafayette#marquis de lafayette#la fayette#french history#american history#history#american revolution#art#george washington#mount vernon ladies association#1784#thomas pritchard rossiter#louis remy mignot
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okay i’m finally here to give you a prompt HSKDKSDK first of all congrats on the milestone!!! secondly, i’m thinking akkayan + 24+25 for the touch prompts? i saw those ones and immediately thought of them hanging out with kanthua + namowat and a sensitive topic for one of them comes up?
hi liz ✨✨ im finally here to give you a fic! this was a lovely prompt thank u very much 💜
24 + 25 (whispering in their ear, lips touching the skin + stroking their arm soothingly); set somewhere in the back half of e12, probably; about 1.4k of group reflection
💜
“Did you all see Aunt Waree smiling today?” Namo asks into the silence.
Akk glances up from his book. Their entire group is sprawled across various surfaces in one of the common areas of Akk and Wat’s shared dorm building, exam prep supplies scattered all around them across the furniture and the generic patterned carpet.
To Akk’s left, Aye is tucked into the corner of a moderately-comfortable couch, a notepad propped up against his legs and his laptop balanced precariously on the armrest. He’s changed out of his uniform and into a soft-looking, pale green t-shirt. Akk thinks his lips might be shinier than before, too, but he’s really trying not to check too much. It’s been happening more often recently, the lip gloss, and it makes Akk — well. Not study.
Across from them, Kan and Thua are sitting squished together on a loveseat, both out of their uniform jackets and excessively cuddly, and Namo and Wat take up another couch. Wat sits normally, but Namo is on his back and half-sprawled across the rest of the cushions, legs nearly in Wat’s lap.
They’re the only ones in the room; if Akk’s tenuous reputation with the Suppalo populace combined with Wat and Kan’s overprotective posturing has done them any good, it’s that any space they take up on or even near campus usually gets given a wide berth.
“Yeah, right,” Kan says dryly, not even bothering to look up. For the most part they’ve been surprisingly industrious given the group composition, but somebody has been interrupting at almost-clockwork fifteen-minute intervals the entire time. Himself and Thua aside, most of his friends don’t have the best attention span; Aye does, actually, but he seems to be perfectly fine with interruptions as long as he gets to pester Akk during them.
“No, for real,” Namo insists, letting his book drop open onto his chest. Akk winces. He could at least use a bookmark. “When she came into class, she was all smiley, and she even said good morning to us before the head of cl— before class got called into session. I didn’t know she could do that.”
His last-minute word swap is likely for the sake of Thua, who’d lost his position after his suspension. To Akk, it doesn’t seem like Thua really cares about that, but they’ve all been doing kind of a lot of sidestepping around each other’s issues in group settings. Some of them are better at it than others.
Akk has talked, one-on-one, with most of his friends; he’s cried embarrassingly into Wat’s shoulder, let Kan hit him then hug him, let Thua say whatever he needed to despite Aye’s disapproval and came out of it with the same fire-forged understanding he’d had before. He isn’t sure if the others have done something close to the same, but when they’re all together there’s an unspoken agreement to leave it alone. A group delusion, maybe, pretending that they’re normal high schoolers for just a little longer.
Finally, Wat looks up, casting Namo a sidelong glance. “No, he’s right, I saw it. It is pretty odd, but she’s just always been the kind of person who’s very careful about her image.”
Akk, for his part, had not seen it. Before class started today Aye had kicked him under their shared desk, and when he’d reflexively kicked back he’d gotten an inexplicably softer one in return, and then again until he realized they were just nudging each other back and forth and Aye had a silly little smile on his face (and he had one too, probably, definitely). He was not paying attention.
So that’s why he’s mildly offended when Aye chimes in. “I saw it too.” Their eyes meet briefly, and Akk doesn’t know how to object without admitting to being embarrassing, so he’s still just frowning aimlessly when Aye continues, “She’s really been a lot more relaxed lately. Maybe she feels freer.” He doesn’t sound happy about it.
Akk gets it, he thinks; he’s had enough practice on the other end of this particular Aye habit. It’s just him being all empathetic despite himself again. He still wants to be angry with her, and he’d deserve to be, after all the school’s teachers did to him, but he can’t help seeing it from her side even though he’d really rather not.
Wat, apparently noticing the shift in mood, sounds more subdued when he says, “I mean, it really wasn’t always so bad. Our teachers are strict, it’s— the culture, but I think it got worse this year. With— everything.”
Akk winces. Everyone is looking up now, Kan’s face set in those serious lines that suit him surprisingly well and Thua’s eyes unreadable under his lashes.
Uncharacteristically, Namo’s half-smile goes more sincere. “You’re right,” he says honestly. “It was better when Teacher Dika was here.”
Thua’s eyes snap to Namo and Wat’s eyes snap to Aye and Kan’s mouth half-opens as they all simultaneously realize that there’s only one person in the room who wasn’t in a different room all that time ago. He doesn’t know.
Before he can think about it, Akk is already reaching out to put a hand on Aye’s arm. He hasn’t moved, or said anything, but Akk finds him tense under his touch, staring at a fixed point in the distance that isn’t quite Namo. His hair is coming unstyled a little, a strand falling into his eyes.
Namo doesn’t seem to notice the temperature dropping just yet. He genuinely looks thoughtful as he continues, “Even if he was a junior teacher, it sets an example. Like Teacher Sani now.”
Akk lets his fingers travel down Aye’s bicep, hoping to get any reaction at all. He’s rewarded with Aye turning to look up at him; after a moment, his eyes seem to focus back in from wherever he’d gone to look at Akk’s face.
“Namo,” starts Wat, sounding uncertain, but he’s interrupted.
Swallowing audibly, Aye looks across to Namo and asks, “How was it better?”
“Oh, right, you wouldn't have been here,” Namo says cheerily. “He was an English teacher, but he worked in student welfare, too. Not that I was there all the time, of course,” he adds after a moment, in an immediately suspicious way. “But he was a really nice guy, even when he would’ve had every reason to scold people, and I think other staff saw that.”
That sits there in the air for a moment, until, quietly, Thua says, “He always had these jokes on the whiteboard in his office, in English, that he’d explain all the parts of even if you didn’t ask.”
Aye laughs a little at that. It’s more breath than sound, and it looks like it startles him; Akk gives in to his own urge to comfort and puts his arm fully around his boyfriend, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt. Instantly, Aye leans into it, soft against Akk’s side even as his notes slide haphazardly out of his lap.
Kan, having clearly seen them, starts loudly trying to remember one of Teacher Dika’s whiteboard jokes, exaggeratedly mispronouncing the words to make Thua giggle. Grateful, Akk takes the opportunity to dip his head and move even closer. His lips brush skin as he murmurs into Aye’s ear, “You’re alright?”
In his hold, Aye wiggles a little, probably ticklish, and says, “I think so. Mostly.” It comes out wondering, like he hadn’t been sure, like he’d expected it to hurt more. “I— he did that at home, too. He had printed-out lists.”
That doesn’t surprise Akk. It makes sense, he thinks, for Teacher Dika to have tried to show as much of himself as he could have. And Namo’s right; they had seen that, for better and for worse. He wouldn’t blame Aye if he never forgave anyone for what they’d done with that, if he stood up right now and demanded they shut up about him, if he said it wasn’t like they had any right to his memory. Akk certainly doesn’t feel like he does, some days.
Aye doesn’t do any of that. He just curls all the way into Akk, breathes intentionally even, and listens to them talk with a contemplative expression on his face. The others cast sidelong glances at him from time to time, worried, and then less, and then they’re moving on, eventually getting back to what they’re supposed to be here for.
But Aye stays tucked comfortable and close, refusing to move when they have to arrange their notes again, even though it’s not like Akk was letting go. Their friends make fun of them, but only gently, the same way they’d do for anyone else, and that too is different now.
#my fic tag#the eclipse#akk x ayan#arbitrary milestone prompts#yes they are going to tell namo eventually. probably right after this even#just not like. in front of aye lmao#i hope its obvious but. aye having lip gloss on in this fic is my light shoutout to your she/he aye.#(and also bordering on canonical frankly. i look at ayes mouth a normal amount)#the timing of the fic & its nature as an unrelated prompt made it difficult to address the whole thing. but. hes a lil gender here. u get i#oh! dika being a daily dad joke guy is a stolen characteristic of one of my most beloved high school teachers. mr hanson shout out.
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Doctober 2023 Summary
Completed 24/31 prompts!
List of all the prompts I did for Doctober 2023 below
So happy to be done 🥳🥳🥳👏👏👏
1. Sunrise: Tbh I don’t feel any which way about this one and I think it’s because I created it to be a companion piece to Sunset. So its like lowkey half-assed but also far from it. I’m very happy with how that turned out so that’s something…
2. Desert
3. Gun Fight😜🤧☠️: Ah, the first meme post. I felt shaky posting this. Cherry, I hope you know I did it for/because of you
4. Light Blue😈: Ah yes, the first Hell Valley angst post. I’ve always been super proud of it and I’m really happy that others are still liking/reblogging to this day! Almost a month later
5. Alarm Clock😜☠️: AH YES, the first post to really give me anxiety about posting. I was like this ain’t a SIMPLE meme anymore, ITS GOT COMPLEXITY.
6. Ticking Time Bomb
7. Family😇: This one was super wholesome and the first time in a long while drawing Jules and Verney!
8. Outatime😜💛: This one was a fun one! There was a moment where I wasn’t sure if I should do a background… I’m glad I still had fun with it, it took a lotta work hahaha
9. Zipline
10. Nuclear
11. Briefcase😜☠️: We back doing goofy shit again… but I really liked this one and had a lotta fun with it. definitely up there with Rear View Mirror.
12. Train Tracks
13. Photo Album😜: This one was fun and gave me a break from drawing (aside from the days I didn’t do anything…)
14. Coffee😇💛☠️: This one’s so wholesome. But Im biased af
15. Invention😜🤧: This is the first certified half-assed art piece LMAO im sorry to admit it but I gotta speak the truth
16. Stage
17. Einstein😜: This was really fun, I love poking fun at Biff but who doesn’t?
18. Letter
19. Memory 😇😈: Didn’t like the linework on this one I think that’s why I was feeling so negative about it… or maybe the composition… overall, I think I can do better.
20. Rearview Mirror😜💛🔥☠️: This one’s definitely the funnest one I’ve worked on and still makes me giggle.
21. Improvement😇: I was stressing over trying to finish it so I don’t have the happiest memories of working on this one…
22. Constellation😇💛: This one’s special to me so I was gonna love it no matter what lmao. I really enjoyed working on it even though I wish I had more time.
23. Nostalgia😇💛: One of the faves and always will be. The vibes are on point.
24. Record Player😈: The return of Hell Valley angst
25. Café😇: I’m happy with the color palette. I want to revisit this one some other time cuz I feel like I could do more if I had more time. Not sure if I should categorize this under half assed attempt or not.
26. Anniversary😇🤧: Yeah this was another half assed one, sorry
27. Thunderstorm😈: Angst and Hell Valley are synonymous at this point. I really liked this one, especially how it transitions from colored to black and white
28. Metallic😜☠️: Nimona. That’s all I gotta say. Nah jk I wasn’t going to do this but the no pines timeline was really interesting to learn about… and by interesting, I mean scary. But hey, it gives us another angle to the bttf storyline.
29. 2023😇😜🤧: Talked about the musical. Drew a few doodles. Hair style reveal?
30. Sunset😇⚡: Gives all the warm fuzzies, how could you hate it? Very happy with my use of color here.
31. Free Day (Halloween)😈🎃☠️: We don’t talk about this one… It’s the number one rule of the club 😉
What the emojis mean:
🤧 Half Assed
😜 Funny/Meme
😇 Warm Fuzzies
😈 Angst
☠️ WHO LET ME COOK
💛 Top 5
🔥 Funnest Prompt
🎃 Spookiest
⚡ Personal Fave
My goal for this prompt list challenge was to focus on quality over quantity. There’s a few half-assed art pieces that snuck in, but it could have been worse. By quality, I wanted clean line art, backgrounds, and if I have enough time, color!
What drove me to create art: Showing other people that are in this fandom (most notably ⚡@cheriboms). I’d love to interact with other mutuals on here. Shout outs: 💛@bttf-dork 💛@synthsays 💛@alex-a-fans. I feel like I’ve been doing that more towards the end of the challenge, but yall give me motivation! And sometimes, inspiration!
What I learned:
🤔 I can actually draw backgrounds if I actually try [wowowow who'da thunk] It’s much easier to draw a background from a reference rather than coming up with one on your own. So I need to keep that in mind whenever I feel discouraged.
🤔 I feel like my work is very dramatic. Like melodramatic fr. Or at least it can be... I blame watching those tv dramas with my mom when I was a kid. But then again, if you want to incite emotion out of an audience, you gotta know how to frame stuff and do all the fancy cinematography work. So you gotta be dramatic to an extent. I got really really bored with my ideas that weren’t telling a story(or rather a more interesting story…). And that effected my motivation.
🤔 Looking back at the list, I noticed that my top 5s are all either silly or wholesome and I’m glad and relieved about that. I said that I’m really dramatic and there’s quite a bit of angst in there, but ig I’m not THAT edgy (or maybe the prompts didn’t allow me to be🤔👀)
Things that I want to improve on: COLOR THEORY. Brush theory/line weight. I’ve been experimenting a tiny bit with this throughout the month, but I want to delve into it. Since I didn’t work on something for more than a day, I felt like I was throwing shit at the wall and seeing what sticks.🤪I didn’t get to really study what colors work well and why and experiment with it.
A lot of the ones that I’m not very proud of could be chalked up to not having enough time to work on it/make it better, so that’s an interesting dilemma.
TL,DR; I talk too much. Gotta work faster smh git gud 🙄
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Lean On Me
for @foofsterroonie and the Stiles Shipping Central discord's monthly exchange, the theme for which was Alpha April!! opted for an OT3 option this time, which i don't think i've done before in this event for some reason 😂
| Stiles/Scott/Kira | Gen | 1k | Established Relationship | Alpha Scott | Stiles Gets The Bite |
(also on AO3)
.
Stiles stared at the teeth marks in his forearms. Every puncture was distinct. A dentist would kill for this bite print. His dad could probably solve a murder with it—not that Scott had committed any murders, so that probably wasn’t relevant. It also hurt like a bitch, but hey, anything with this much blood and flesh-rending was bound to, right?
The venom hurt too. Its exact composition was a mystery, but Deaton’s alarm when they had dragged Stiles into the clinic and described the creature that had clawed him up had been all the information they’d needed. Whatever it was, it was bad, and even their local guru didn’t have anything to offer them.
A soft hand on Stiles’ shoulder dragged his eyes away from their hail mary. Kira hosted herself up on the metal exam table beside him, close enough to swap her hand out for her chin and press a kiss to his cheek.
“Scott will be back in a minute,” she said. "Once he gets Liam’s broken arm sorted out.”
Once he got himself sorted out, Stiles filled in. The look on Scott’s face when he realized that giving Stiles the bite was their best option had not escaped him; they had both known it wasn’t what Stiles wanted. Scott had known that for years, and he had always been wholly in favor of Stiles making the choice for himself.
And, Stiles would argue, he had. The circumstances were not fantastic, and there was definitely an element of coercion in play, but it was not Scott’s coercion. Stiles didn’t want to die, and therefore, he had made the choice to get the bite for himself, but Scott’s guilt had been palpable before the blood was even on his teeth. It was probably for the best that he had let himself be drawn away to tend to his injured beta because otherwise he might have cried on the spot, and that would’ve been awkward while they sat around waiting to see if Stiles survived.
“He can take his time,” Stiles told Kira with faux nonchalance. “I haven’t died yet. If I was gonna reject the bite, I would’ve died by now, right? Spewed black goo all over the place and keeled over? That’s usually a pretty quick process, if memory serv—”
“Maybe try not thinking about death," Kira suggested. "Think living thoughts!”
“Mind over matter?” Stiles said wryly. “Think that works?”
Kira snorted. “God, I hope not. My mind is not a best-case-scenario kind of place. I don’t want to see what it would manifest if given the power.”
Stiles’ laugh was interrupted by a grunt of pain. He pressed his good arm against the bandages around his middle, still contaminated with fucking acid spit or whatever the fuck that thing had secreted into his abdomen. He wasn’t sure what hurt more, the muscle-deep wolf bite or the burning gashes in his stomach. They both fucking sucked.
Kira took his hand gently, carefully not to jostle him and make it worse. “I wish I had the pain drain mojo,” she said with a grimace that made Stiles smile in spite of everything; it was the only thing their resident kitsune envied about the werewolves. “Is it better or worse than before?”
“Hard to tell. You hurt in enough places at once and it all kind of blends together.”
The door flew open before Kira could do more than squeeze his hand in sympathy. Scott was at Stiles’ side in an instant, hands flitting around like he couldn’t decide what he needed to examine first. He had rinsed the blood out of his mouth at some point in the last eight minutes. His eyes, while red-rimmed, were dry.
“Stiles,” he said, a world of care, relief, and worry in that one word alone. “How are you feeling? Has there been any— I mean, is the bite— The venom, is it—”
Stiles pulled his hand from Kira’s to take Scott’s instead. “Deep breath, Scottie. I’m doing fine. So far, at least.”
“No black goo?”
“No goo of any colors,” Kira assured him.
Scott visibly deflated as the tension left him. The hand in Stiles’ turned to lace their fingers together properly and, with a softly released breath, he let his veins flood black.
Stiles groaned as the burning and the throbbing and the multitude of other pains leached out of him. “Oh, that’s so good, I could kiss you.”
Even with Stiles’ pain in his own veins, Scott smiled. “There’s literally nothing stopping you from doing that,” he reminded him.
Except for Kira’s head still on his shoulder, dislodged when he leaned forward. She pouted about it, but she perked right up when offered a kiss from both of them in apology. Then she shuffled down the table, tugging Stiles gently along with her to make room for Scott to join them. It was a bit of a tight fit for three teenagers, but they didn’t mind.
Stiles, now with his boyfriend on one side and his girlfriend on the other, flexed his hand, watching the muscles of his masticated forearm shift with morbid fascination. “Is it my imagination or does the bite look, like, older than it did before?”
Kira leaned close to examine it, unperturbed by the blood in a way that Stiles still had yet to achieve, at least when the blood was his own. “It definitely does. Does it hurt less?”
“Dude, I just got pain-drained, I can’t tell.” He turned to Scott. “If this works, you gotta teach me how to do that, first thing.”
Scott put an arm around him, pulled him closed, and pressed a kiss to his temple. “When this works,” he said, “I’m gonna teach you everything.”
That sounded wonderful. Stiles melted into the embrace; the activity and stress of the day was catching up with him. With Scott’s arms around him from one side and Kira’s warmth settled against the other, he let his eyes slip closed.
“Can’t wait.”
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