#at least not until designs are finalised

[mdantics]

dropping these and not elaborating

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Stitched Hearts [2]

Pairing: dressmaker!Hongjoong x noblewoman!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 7.7k

Summary: Throughout his entire career, Hongjoong has received nothing but praise for his work. Never once had anyone suggested his dresses were anything short of perfection. That is, until he met the youngest daughter of the Baek household—the family's black sheep, an enigmatic spinster whom he found utterly confounding.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"Go home, hyung, and think carefully about what I've said," Yunho insisted, ushering the dressmaker out of his clinic, "I really can't talk right now; I need to close up."

As Hongjoong made his way back to his shop, an internal struggle ensued between his mind and heart. His mind urged him to proceed with the job, reminding him he had no reason to be so troubled. Yet, his heart protested, insisting that it wasn't right. By going along with this, he would be complicit in someone's unhappiness.

Various scenarios played out in his mind as he imagined the aftermath of the makeover he was about to undertake. There was no doubt that you would attract attention from all directions, which wasn't the issue. He could picture potential suitors vying for your hand, but the thought unsettled him for reasons he couldn't quite grasp.

By the end of the night, his rational side prevailed, leading him to choose to proceed with the job. He concluded that entrusting another dressmaker with your makeover was out of the question; after all, he was the best in all of Joseon. You said it yourself; what you liked or wanted did not matter. If you were willing to comply with your family's wishes, then who was he to object?

He chastised himself for letting his emotions cloud his judgement. Despite feeling bad for you, he reminded himself that you were simply another customer. He shouldn't allow himself to be so affected by matters that were none of his concern.

Over the next few days, he dedicated himself entirely to crafting the most exquisite hanbok. He meticulously coordinated every detail, ensuring it would meet the approval of your family. As he finalised the sketch of your ensemble, along with the hairstyle and makeup he envisioned for you, he couldn't help but notice the absence of a smile on his drawing of you. It dawned on him that he had never seen you smiling, not even once.

Although a part of him entertained the idea of coaching you to flash a killer smile, his heart twinged at the realisation that any smile he coaxed would be forced, "Snap out of it, you idiot!" he scolded himself, shaking off the unnecessary thoughts and redirecting his focus to other aspects of the design.

In the meantime, Hongjoong's name seemed to echo through your days ever since his arrival. Your family would lavish him with endless praise for his dedication to his craft, simultaneously lecturing you for not being more courteous toward him, for expecting him to seek you out without you bothering to greet him upon his arrival. If only they were aware of the cruel words he had uttered to you recently. Would they still support him so fervently? Perhaps they would side with him and reprimand you even further for not showing him enough appreciation.

"My dear, why not try being a bit more hospitable today and give Mr. Kim a little tour during his visit, hm?" your mother suggested during breakfast, her tone tinged with exasperation, "It's hard to believe he's already been here twice and has only seen the library and your quarters. Take him around the gardens, at least, will you?"

You pursed your lips, feeling a hint of irritation rising within you, though you didn't show it, "But mother, he's here to work. He's not a guest. Why should we extend such hospitality to him?" you muttered, taking another bite of your food.

Haeun scoffed in response, "Are you even listening to yourself? Mr. Kim is doing you a huge favour. He even closed his shop just to come here for you. The least you could do is show him some courtesy," your father and brother instantly agreeing with her.

Feeling frustrated, you decided to keep your mouth shut, realising that nothing you said would ever satisfy your family when they teamed up against you to highlight your supposed shortcomings.

This is dumb, he's getting paid anyway.

"What a pleasant surprise, Miss Baek! How kind of you to finally greet me and offer to take me on a tour!" the dressmaker exclaimed with raised brows as he was met with your blank stare while you stood waiting by the entrance of your family estate.

Shaking your head, you gestured for him to follow you, "Trust me, Mr. Kim, it's not my idea, and I dread this as much as you do. Please endure it for a bit for the sake of pleasing my family."

He blinked, trying not to let your bluntness affect him. He should know better than to be surprised by your straightforwardness by now. Nodding quickly, he rushed to catch up to you, already several steps ahead, apparently unconcerned whether he was following or not as you began the tour, "Right, my lady! Of course!"

Amused, he chuckled softly to himself at your bored expression as you walked past main areas like the living hall and dining hall before reaching places he recognised. Speaking in a monotone, you pointed out, "You've already seen these places. This is the library, and my quarters are just over there, but you already know that."

Turning to him, you furrowed your brows, "Is there anything funny?"

Biting his lip to suppress his laughter, he shook his head, "Not at all, Miss Baek. Please continue," he reassured, finding your reluctance somewhat endearing.

His eyes widened in wonder as you both arrived at what appeared to be a small play area for the children, "This is a mini playground my father had our servants create for his grandchildren," you explained, gesturing toward your nieces and nephews who were running around joyfully, their laughter echoing through the air. Glancing over at you, he noticed a hint of envy in your eyes, as if you longed to experience the simple happiness the children were enjoying.

After a moment, you took a deep breath and shook off the sentiment, "Well, let's move on to other areas then. I'm sure you don't have all day, Mr. Kim," you said briskly.

Without giving him a chance to reply, you headed off in another direction. He sighed before running after you again, silently cursing you for keeping him on the move. Yet, despite that, he couldn't find it in him to muster any irritation toward you. There was something about your behaviour that felt refreshing. For once, he appreciated being treated simply as another person, rather than being placed on a pedestal for all his accomplishments or appearance.

Arriving at your next location, you remarked rather sarcastically, "Of course, we can't forget the most crucial place in the entire estate, the kitchens," your voice hushed to avoid attracting attention from the busy maids for fear of disrupting their work.

Just as you were both about to leave, a burst of laughter echoed through the kitchen, accompanied by a blunt remark, "I bet the young miss will end up divorced early in her marriage, even if she miraculously finds a suitor after the makeover Mr. Kim gives her. She's an absolute nightmare! What sane man could tolerate her for long?"

Hongjoong felt his blood boil at the audacious words, growling under his breath, "How dare they—" He clenched his fists and took a step toward the door, seemingly ready to confront them.

Surprised by his reaction, you reached out and grasped his wrist, causing him to look down at your hold before meeting your gaze with a questioning expression. You sighed heavily, "Forget it, there's no point in doing whatever you intend to do. I'm already hard to like as it is, and I don't want them to dislike me even more than they already do. Let's just get out of here, Mr. Kim."

Feeling a pang in his chest, he couldn't shake off the aggravation that washed over him at the acceptance in your tone. The realisation that you were well aware of everyone's dislike towards you, yet you had resigned yourself to enduring it, stirred an unsettling mix of emotions within him. Just how long had you been suffering all this alone?

When he remained rooted in his spot, you squeezed his wrist and whispered, "Please, can we just go?"

With a defeated expression, he squeezed his eyes shut and nodded, "Fine, as you wish."

As you both left the kitchen behind, his mind buzzed with unanswered questions. Why wouldn't you stand up for yourself? And why wouldn't you let him be the one to defend you? It frustrated him to no end. He couldn't comprehend how someone as strong-willed as you could endure such treatment.

The weight of your silence hung heavy in the air, leaving him feeling helpless and conflicted. He wanted to reach out, to offer some form of solace or support, but he couldn't find the right words. Instead, he walked alongside you in silence, his mind racing with thoughts of how to help you.

Glancing at him, you could easily discern his struggle to contain his annoyance. But what you couldn't understand was why he seemed more bothered by it than you, especially considering his apparent dislike toward you. Eager to move past the incident, you decided to follow your mother's suggestion and led him to the gardens.

"I hope you like flowers, Mr. Kim," you offered as you strolled among the blooms, "These are some of my mother's proudest collections, gathered from other provinces."

Relief washed over you as he appeared to be distracted, showing genuine interest as he examined some of the rare flowers not typically found in this area.

Giving him a moment alone, you scanned the area, straining to hear a faint meowing. Your eyes widened and you gasped as you spotted a cat stranded atop a tree. Without hesitation, you rushed forward, calling out, "Don't worry, kitty! I'll rescue you!" Your hands reached for the tree branch as you searched for a secure foothold to climb.

"Ooh, this one's pretty! Where did this come from?" he pondered aloud, his brow furrowing at the lack of response. Glancing up, he did a double take upon seeing you attempting to scale a tree.

Hastening over, he halted your ascent with a firm grip on your arm, "I turn away for one second and—have you lost your mind? What in god's name do you think you're doing?!"

Clicking your tongue in frustration, you pointed to the poor little distressed animal above, "Let me go. I'm going to save the cat, whether you like it or not."

The dressmaker sighed in exasperation, slapping a palm against his forehead as he observed the determination in your eyes. With a roll of his eyes, he relented, "Ugh, fine. Step aside, I'll do it."

You huffed, conceding to his offer, and relinquished your position. As he handed you the bag containing your latest hanbok, he rolled up his sleeves, muttering to himself, "I can't believe I'm doing this," before proceeding to climb the tree with surprising agility. However, he soon realised the tree was taller than expected, and panic gripped him as he reached the top, letting out a startled yelp, "Oh my god, this tree is way taller than I thought!"

"Quit wasting time and save the cat!" you urged, frustration creeping into your voice. When he shot you a glare, you narrowed your eyes and challenged, "If you're so scared, get down here then! I'll do it!"

"No, no, no, don't you dare! What kind of man would I be to let you do it, huh? You stay put and wait down there," he insisted firmly, before reaching out tentatively for the frightened animal, "Come here, kitty. It's alright, just come to me and you'll be safe."

With bated breath, you observed as his hand shook pitifully. Slowly but surely, the animal inched closer to him, bit by bit, until it ended up snugly in his arms. A sigh of relief escaped you as he succeeded. Holding the rescued feline close to his chest, he carefully made his way back down.

As soon as he handed the cat over to you, his legs gave out, and he sank onto the ground. His face was blank, as if he were still trying to process what he had just done. The last thing he expected when coming here today was to do something like this.

Seeing his defeated posture, unlike his usual composed demeanour, you couldn't help but let a smile sneak onto your face, eventually bursting into a fit of giggles as you replayed the scene in your head. At the sound, he glanced up, captivated by the melody of your laughter. Frozen in place, his heart skipped a beat as he beheld your smile for the first time, genuine happiness lighting up your features. At that moment, he realised your beauty, wanting nothing more than to see that smile more often.

How pretty.

Since that day, both of you appeared to have grown more at ease with each other. He abandoned the formalities, as you urged, and shed the false pleasantries. Finally, he felt comfortable enough to be his true self around you, letting his unfiltered thoughts flow freely and speaking his mind without reservation. You didn't seem to mind, especially since he hadn't intended any offence with his words.

While you wouldn't go as far as calling yourselves friends, there was a comfort in each other's presence that had developed. Even in moments of silence, there was never any awkwardness, only an unspoken understanding between you, a connection that required no verbal declaration; you simply understood each other.

Over Hongjoong's recent visits, a routine had formed. You would courteously greet him at the entrance before guiding him to your quarters. There, he would assist you in trying on the hanboks he had crafted, ensuring they fit perfectly and required no further alterations. He would experiment with different makeup and hairstyles, exploring which suited you best.

After weeks of diligent work to assemble the perfect ensemble for you, today marked the culmination of his efforts—the day he would finally unveil your complete makeover. With an array of hanboks he had brought from his previous visits, they were sufficient to constitute an entirely new wardrobe for you. This was the moment your family had eagerly anticipated, the outcome they had engaged the dressmaker for. He observed you scrutinise the items he had meticulously prepared, your expression unreadable.

"Are you ready, Miss Baek?" he inquired.

You shot him a look that seemed to convey 'are you kidding me', your lips pursed, "Does it matter? Just do what you have to, Kim."

With a nod, he began with your hair and makeup, his heart quickening with every movement under the weight of your attentive gaze, fixated on his handsome features. Unbeknownst to him, you held your breath whenever he moved a little closer to perfect your eye makeup. Cursing himself, he attempted to steady his trembling hands as he moved on to your lips, "Could you please look away or close your eyes?" he requested.

"Why?" you inquired, devoid of any jest.

He sighed, "Look, it's... it's distracting, okay? I find it hard to concentrate when you're watching me so intently."

Rolling your eyes, you acquiesced and closed your eyes, "And you claim to be a professional," you remarked.

For once, he lacked the energy to retort, his heart dancing with sensations he had never experienced before. Despite having applied makeup for countless women, he had never encountered such a physical reaction. Puzzled, he struggled to understand the inexplicable effect you seemed to have on him and his poor heart.

"Everything's finished, except for putting on the hanbok," he announced, placing his tools aside before excusing himself momentarily as your maids began assisting you with one of the most elaborate hanboks he had produced. Stepping outside your quarters, he was taken aback to see your entire family assembled and waiting. Bowing respectfully, he greeted them, "Ah, you've all arrived right on time. Miss Baek is almost prepared."

Hajoon stepped forward, extending his hand to shake the dressmaker's, "With your assistance, I'm certain she'll look stunning. Thank you so much for your dedication, Mr. Kim," your parents chimed in, expressing their gratitude for his hard work.

Suddenly, the attention shifted as one of your nephews pointed towards the entrance of your room, exclaiming, "Look, a princess!" All eyes turned to catch a glimpse of you.

A chorus of gasps escaped from your family members as they beheld the sight before them. Your family was overcome with awe, your mother and sister shedding tears of joy as if you had finally fulfilled their deepest wishes. Turning around, Hongjoong's breath caught in his throat as he took in your completed transformation for the first time, mirroring the astonishment of everyone else. You appeared breathtaking, meeting society's standards of perfection and seamlessly fitting into their expectations. Yet, the absence of joy in your expression failed to bring him satisfaction.

She's not happy.

In truth, a foolish part of him clung to the hope that you might still be impressed by your transformation once you had seen your beauty, despite knowing your reservations. He harboured a fleeting expectation that your initial reluctance stemmed from never seeing yourself adorned in such finery before, and that your perspective would shift upon witnessing your present appearance. But he knew he was wrong as soon as he observed your evident discomfort, your fingers clutching the hanbok's skirt tightly, your gaze averted while your family showered you with adoration.

Confusion enveloped him at that moment. He should have felt elated that his vision had come to fruition; your family's satisfaction with his work signalled the success of his mission. However, instead of joy, remorse consumed him; your family's praises fell on deaf ears, and all he could see was the despair in your hunched shoulders.

"Mr. Kim, this is utter perfection! You've truly outdone yourself! Please join us for dinner tonight before you leave! It's the least we can do for all the work you've put in over the past few weeks!" your father invited, excitement evident in his tone.

Normally, he would reject such offers, but he realised he wasn't ready to leave you just yet. With only you in mind, Hongjoong accepted, "It would be my pleasure, Official Baek."

Seated beside you in the dining hall that night, the dressmaker did his best to engage with your family members. However, his attention kept drifting back to you, noticing your silence as you picked at your food, showing little appetite. He grew concerned seeing you repeatedly reach for the wine glass, drinking more than eating. Haeun's disapproving glare didn't escape his notice.

"That's enough, maknae. No man likes a drunkard for a wife. With your enhanced looks, you'll be attracting a suitor real soon. Now's the time for you to start training to be a proper lady," she scolded.

Hajoon chortled, "Let her. Perhaps she'll be a better wife when drunk. That version of her might be more tolerable than her usual self."

To Hongjoong's dismay, your sister and parents joined in the laughter, despite your brother-in-law and sister-in-law exchanging apologetic glances in your direction. At that moment, he lost his appetite completely as he watched you quietly enduring it all, much like when the maids made fun of you.

Before he could inquire if you were okay, your father addressed him, "Mr. Kim, we apologise on our youngest's behalf for any trouble she may have caused you. Surely, she couldn't have been easy to work with. We will compensate you nicely for all your efforts."

Wanting to use the opportunity to stand up for you, he plastered on his most professional smile and spoke, "Not at all, my lord. Miss Baek has been an absolute pleasure to work with. She's remarkably selfless, unlike many customers who approach me solely for superficial reasons. Despite her reservations about fashion, she wholeheartedly complies for her family's sake. And I deeply respect her for that. The opportunity to make her clothing is reward enough for me. I consider myself fortunate to have such a client."

His response surprised everyone, including you, with its sincerity and absence of flattery or deceit. Your mother blinked, ashamed of herself for laughing moments ago, "Oh, that's reassuring to hear. Perhaps we should give her more credit for her efforts."

The atmosphere turned slightly awkward after the dressmaker's indirect words, making it clear he disapproved of their conversation about you. It seemed as though his remarks had prompted them to reflect on their behaviour, recognising the cruelty of mocking their own family member. Despite your usual straightforwardness, they understood that you truly never meant to hurt anyone's feelings. Guilt washed over them as they realised their earlier actions had been intentional and hurtful.

Absorbing the aftermath of Hongjoong's defence of you, a surge of emotion welled up inside you. His words resonated deeply, touching a part of you that had longed for such validation. No one had ever stood up for you in such a manner, not even your own family, who were supposed to be your closest allies. To hear someone speak so kindly of you, with genuine sincerity, was a rare and precious gift.

Looking up at him, you felt a warmth spread through your chest. Perhaps, in that moment, he had become more than just a dressmaker to you. Maybe, without him even realising it, he had earned the title of friend.

As he gently confiscated the wine glass from your hand and replenished your bowl with food, a tiny smile tugged at the corners of your lips. His gesture felt like a moment of genuine concern that warmed your heart. Whether or not he realised it, he was showing you a level of care you hadn't experienced before, and it felt comforting to be treated with such thoughtfulness.

"Stop drinking so much and eat more, my lady. You'll be sick if you keep up like that," he lectured with a soft grin.

You wondered if this was his way of showing that he cared. Regardless, it felt nice to be looked after, to have someone pay attention to your well-being in such a simple yet meaningful way. As you took a bite of the food he had placed before you, a sense of gratitude washed over you, grateful for his unexpected kindness in a world that had often felt cold and indifferent.

After the meal, he said his farewells to your family but insisted on walking you back to your quarters before departing. Upon reaching your room entrance, you turned to him, saying, "Well, I'm here safe now. You can leave, Mr. Kim."

He scoffed lightly, "Would it hurt to have a little chat before I go?"

Taking a seat on the short staircase leading to your room, he patted the space beside him, gesturing for you to join him, "Come on. I don't know when I'll see you again after this. Let's just... talk."

Your heart felt uneasy at the reminder that today marked the grand finale, and with it over, his job here was considered done. He would have no reason to visit your family estate unless summoned. Reluctantly, you settled down beside him on the step.

Despite his desire to converse, there was a moment of silence as you both pondered what to say. The ambience was filled with the chirping of crickets and the gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze as you sat side by side, your shoulders lightly touching. Mustering his courage, he finally broached the subject, "Be honest with me, Miss Baek. Do you hate my designs? I've noticed your unease since you put them on."

Gazing down at the vibrant hanbok adorning your frame, feeling the weight of the accessories on your head and the unfamiliar thickness of the makeup on your usually bare face, you let out a sigh, "I don't hate them. It's just... honestly, I don't feel worthy of such finery. They're undeniably beautiful, but they don't resonate with who I am. And if this is what it takes to attract a husband, I can't help but wonder... what good is a man who would only value me for my looks? What kind of marriage would that be? The maids had a point. Any man fooled by this appearance would likely end up divorcing me."

Frowning, he turned to you, seeing the rare display of emotion as your eyes glistened with tears, "That's not true, why would you think you're unworthy?" he questioned, genuine concern evident in his voice. Though he wanted to agree that a man like that did not deserve to be with you, he opted to address what truly mattered.

You let out a humourless chuckle, a sound that tugged at his heartstrings. It was unlike you to expose your vulnerabilities in such a manner. Perhaps it was the comfort of Hongjoong's presence or the effects of the alcohol. Or maybe it was a combination of both. You shut your eyes as your world began to spin, whispering, "I've never been good enough for anything or anyone. My parents made that abundantly clear since I was a child. Nobody has ever truly liked me, and don't pretend otherwise, I know you disliked me too. I just... I'm so tired. I want to be loved for who I am. Is that too much to ask...?"

It really isn't, my lady. I'm right here.

Your voice trailed off, a tear tracing down your cheek as you rested your head against his shoulder, succumbing to exhaustion. His heart ached as he hesitated, then gently wrapped an arm around your shoulders. Once he was certain you were truly asleep, he carefully slid his other arm beneath your legs and carried you into your room.

The dressmaker felt as if his life hadn't been the same since taking on that job. It had been nearly a week since he last saw you, the image of your tear-stained sleeping face lingering in his mind as he tucked you into bed. A heavy weight settled in his heart as he silently bid you farewell that night, making his way home with a sense of numbness.

Every day after that felt unsettling.

The initial satisfaction he anticipated from accepting your sister's job offer eluded him. Thoughts of you consumed his mind relentlessly. He wondered about your well-being—whether you were eating properly, sleeping soundly, finding happiness. Despite his yearning to see you again, even just a glimpse to ensure you were okay, he knew he had no reason to visit the Baek estate. The job was completed, and he had received his payment in full. Alongside the surge in his reputation, he had earned widespread recognition for transforming the once pitiful youngest Miss Baek into the stunning beauty you are today.

Consequently, his business flourished. Recognising his inability to change the situation, he threw himself into his work, attempting to maintain a semblance of normalcy. Day after day, he laboured tirelessly in his shop, his pockets filling up, yet his heart growing emptier with each passing moment.

"Huh, who would've thought this day would come? It seems someone could rob you in broad daylight, and you wouldn't even notice," the sudden familiar deep voice snapped him out of his thoughts. Looking up, he found Seonghwa standing right beside his work desk, "What's up with you, Kim Hongjoong? Need a break?"

"I told you, he's been acting all weird since he completed the Baek family's job," Wooyoung chimed in, appearing behind the general.

The dressmaker blinked, "Wh-what are you two idiots doing here?"

Seonghwa scoffed, "Oh wow, is that really the way to greet your friends who care enough to come check on you?"

Flustered, Hongjoong cleared his throat and returned to work, "Why do you have to check on me? I'm doing just fine."

"Are you really? That's not what Yunho told us. It sounds like someone's finally having girl problems," the investigator retorted.

The general grinned, "You know, for someone who gives so much relationship advice, you're rather terrible with matters of the heart when it comes to yourself."

With a sigh, the dressmaker rolled his eyes, "I don't have any problems. You two should worry about yourselves instead. Haven't you heard? Taken men have more issues than single lads like myself." The two had been exceptionally insufferable ever since the younger man had also begun courting his precious Miss Han, always borderline making fun of the rest for still being single.

"Really? So you're not bothered that Miss Baek has finally found a suitor?" Wooyoung teased. At that, Hongjoong dropped the pencil in his hand, head snapping up with wide eyes, "What did you say?"

His friends exchanged knowing grins before the younger one repeated, "I said, the youngest miss of the Baek family has finally found a suitor. The eldest son of the Yoon family has asked for her hand in marriage."

The dressmaker felt his heart drop, "The Yoon family...? Aren't they the ones on the verge of bankruptcy?"

Seonghwa nodded, "That's correct. I guess they must be taking the opportunity to forge a union with the Baek family to save themselves financially. I suppose it wouldn't be so bad now that the youngest miss is finally pretty enough to marry."

"Don't you dare say that about her; she's perfect the way she was. Her appearance doesn't define her," Hongjoong growled, glowering at his friend for the first time.

Rather than reacting negatively, his friends applauded his response, the older man smirking, "Congratulations, you're in love."

"I'm not—"

Wooyoung sighed in exasperation, "Listen, it doesn't matter to us whether you think you're in love or not. But if you aren't, I suppose it wouldn't matter that today is the day the Baek and Yoon families formalise the engagement. Do what you will with that information; we have a double date to enjoy."

At that moment, he came to the realisation that what he had been feeling all along was love. Looking back, he should have recognised the signs from the very beginning; despite his irritation with you, genuine anger never surfaced. The incessant thoughts of you had been consuming every moment of his life, a clear indicator in hindsight. Yet, he couldn't fathom why he had persisted in denying it. It was evident that he wasn't fooling anyone except himself.

The dressmaker's cheeks flushed with embarrassment as he watched his friends leave his shop, "W-wait!" he called out, his voice tinged with a hint of nervousness, "Thanks, guys. I appreciate the help."

With a playful wink, the general teased, "Atta boy, go get your girl. I'm looking forward to making it a triple date next time."

God, I sure hope she feels the same.

Meanwhile, you wandered through the gardens of your estate, accompanied by Byungho, the eldest son of the Yoon family and your soon-to-be fiancé, a sense of unease lingered within you. The suddenness of his proposal, along with his family's involvement, left you in a state of shock. While you had anticipated attracting suitors after your makeover, you hadn't expected everything to unfold in less than a week. Despite Byungho's outward appearance of kindness, you didn't know how to feel about spending the rest of your life with him.

Besides, you weren't entirely clueless.

You'd heard all the rumours circulating about his family's financial troubles, stemming from a failed business venture that had left them on the brink of bankruptcy. You understood that his proposal wasn't solely motivated by your newfound beauty; rather, you were seen as a solution to his family's predicament. And since he was still unmarried, it would be like killing two birds with one stone.

Even as you walked alongside the man who was supposed to be your future husband, your thoughts were consumed by a certain dressmaker. Amidst the familiar scenery of the garden, memories of your shared moments played on a loop in your mind.

Like the cat you had rescued and set free, you couldn't help but wonder about both of them—the stray animal and its saviour. Did he ever think of you, even fleetingly? The maids had recounted the events of your final night with him; how he had carried you back to your room and tucked you in with care. You regretted being influenced by alcohol, wishing you had bid him a proper farewell.

Now, you knew you would never see him again—the first person to show you genuine kindness despite a rocky start, the first to truly care, the first you had considered a friend... and perhaps more.

I miss you, Kim Hongjoong.

Little did you know, he stood just outside the entrance to your family estate, struggling to catch his breath. He pleaded with the guards stationed at the gate, conveying the urgency of his situation, "Please, I left behind a crucial tool that I need to retrieve."

"We apologise, Mr. Kim, but the Baek family is hosting important guests today, and we cannot permit entry to outsiders without a valid reason. Perhaps you could return tomorrow," the guard explained respectfully, bowing his head in apology.

As he regained his composure, a sense of desperation gripped him. He knew exactly who those guests were and the purpose of their visit. He couldn't afford to wait until tomorrow; he had to be there to stop it all now. However, he couldn't reveal the true reason to the guards, fearing it would only lead to his expulsion from the premises.

Summoning his typically fearless demeanour, he planted his hands on his hips and fixed the guard with an unamused stare, "Listen, I have a significant client waiting on her hanbok for tomorrow. If I lose her business because of this delay, will you take responsibility for my losses? I doubt your salary could cover the cost. So, soldier, are you prepared to shoulder that burden?"

The guard swallowed nervously, "I-I..."

Rolling his eyes, Hongjoong pressed on, "All I need is a moment to retrieve my belongings. What harm could my brief presence possibly cause? Do you think the guests will be bothered by a mere dressmaker dropping by to pick up his things?"

Lord forgive me for deceiving this poor man.

Finally relenting, the guard stepped aside, "I suppose you have a point, sir. My apologies."

As soon as he was out of the guard's line of sight, he moved stealthily like a spy. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself and face a barrage of questions. His heart raced in his chest as he scanned every corner frantically in search of you. Inside, the living hall buzzed with activity, hosting both your family and the Yoons. However, you and the eldest Yoon son were conspicuously absent. Panic and protectiveness surged within him at the thought of you being alone with another man.

He felt a wave of relief wash over him when he discovered your quarters were vacant. The mere thought of finding you with another man in your room made his stomach churn with jealousy. Passing by the library, he was once again grateful to find it deserted. These were sacred spaces shared only between the two of you, and he refused to let anyone else intrude upon them.

Finally, a sense of calm settled over him when he spotted you in the garden with your prospective betrothed. Taking cover behind a nearby tree, he strained to eavesdrop on your conversation while contemplating his next move. Walking up to you and blurting out his feelings like a madman seemed out of the question. Not only would it be reckless, but he also had to consider what your family would think of him if he acted so impulsively.

He needed to devise a careful plan of action.

Perking up, his attention sharpened as he heard the eldest Yoon son's words to you, "My lady, we've been here for a while. Would you perhaps like to have some tea in a more... secluded spot?"

Hongjoong's blood ran cold at the suggestion, his fists tightening involuntarily until he heard your firm response, "I'm not in the mood for tea, Byungho. If you want some, feel free to go ahead and enjoy it yourself. I'll be right here." A surge of pride swelled within him at your characteristic straightforwardness.

That's my girl, you tell him.

A tense silence hung in the air before Byungho's frustration reached its boiling point, "Enough of this, I've had it with you," he burst out, "Do you honestly believe that just because you've become more attractive, you're suddenly something special? Do you know what men outside are saying about you? Sure, you finally look pretty enough to marry, but they would have considered you if only you were a couple of years younger. Take a good look at yourself in the mirror, you're old. Be grateful I'm willing to marry you. You have no right to be playing Ice Princess with me right now, you hear me?"

The dressmaker's blood boiled as he listened to Byungho's disrespectful tirade against you. Unable to contain his anger any longer, he emerged from his hiding spot and strode purposefully toward the two of you.

"Look who's talking," he interjected, his voice laced with fury, "If she's so undesirable, why the hell are you and your family here begging to have her hand in marriage?" He narrowed his eyes at the bastard, his words dripping with disdain, "Look at yourself, Yoon Byungho. You're going broke and are relying on a woman to save yourself. I don't think you should be the one to talk."

Byungho's face turned red with anger as he shot back, "Who the hell do you think you are? Wait a minute, I know you. Aren't you just a lowly dressmaker? You have no right to speak to me like that."

But Hongjoong stood his ground, undeterred by Byungho's attempts to intimidate him, "I may be a dressmaker, but at least I have the decency to respect others," he retorted, "Unlike you, who seems to think you can treat people however you please just because of your family name. Would you prefer to back off on your own, or would you like me to repeat your earlier words to Official and Lady Baek word for word? Do you reckon they'd still want such a son-in-law?"

As the tension between them escalated, you watched in shock, unsure of what to make of the confrontation unfolding before you.

You didn't know how to react when Byungho scoffed in disbelief, "Whatever, I can't stand her anyway," he said before turning to you, "And you, don't come crying to me when you can't find someone to marry."

"Oh, don't you worry, she won't," the dressmaker sneered, watching the despicable man huff and stalk off.

Still in a state of shock, you blinked rapidly, trying to process Hongjoong's sudden appearance and his unexpected action in ending your engagement so abruptly, "M-Mr. Kim...? What have you done?"

He narrowed his eyes at you, "What have I done? More like, what are you doing, woman?" he retorted.

"I haven't done anything," you fought back.

"Exactly! Were you really just going to marry that douche of a man if I hadn't shown up? Even after he said those things to you? Don't you want to be happy?" he questioned.

Massaging your temples, you struggled to understand his point, "I don't get it, Mr. Kim. What are you trying to say? You know better than anyone my happiness never mattered."

He ignored your question, "Of course, it matters! And what the hell are you wearing?!"

Confused, you looked down at the hanbok you were wearing, one of his designs, "What do you mean? This is your—"

"Only wear what you want and do what you want! Why should you be so unhappy? This is your life!" he interrupted, frustrated.

Exasperated, you sighed, "In case you haven't been paying attention, no man will ever want me if I were to—"

He cut you off, gripping your shoulders firmly as he looked into your eyes, "I do! I want to be with you, okay? Your happiness matters to me more than anything else!" he declared before bravely pulling you into his arms. He felt like he could finally breathe again when you lifted your arms to hug him back.

A week had passed since that pivotal moment, and it was remarkable how one single moment could alter the course of your life. Hongjoong's unexpected intervention had changed everything. Byungho's decision to call off the engagement had left both families in shock, particularly his own, given their desperate need for financial assistance. The bastard was more keen to preserve his reputation, fearful of the repercussions of his outburst towards you. Strangely, your family seemed somewhat relieved by the turn of events, although the reasons behind their reaction remained unclear.

Eventually, it became clear when the dressmaker approached them, seeking permission to court you. The knowing grins exchanged among your family members answered your unspoken questions.

Haeun's laughter, unexpected to both you and Hongjoong, was joined by Hajoon's, "I knew it! I knew there was something between you two! Your actions spoke volumes, Mr. Kim, especially your protectiveness towards her that night. We've been waiting for you to realise it."

Your parents nodded, "You have our blessing, Mr. Kim. So long as our youngest is happy. But ultimately, it's her consent that truly matters. You should ask her if she's willing."

The dressmaker hesitated, his heart pounding in his chest as he reached for your hand, "I did ask her..." His nerves eased when you willingly intertwined your fingers with his, "And she said yes."

And ever since that moment, he hadn't let you go for long, always claiming to miss you. Though you were too shy to admit it aloud, you felt the same. Now, as you stroll along the bustling streets of town for the first time in what feels like forever, his hand securely holding yours, he shows you around, "Come on, beautiful. There's still so much to see."

He slowed his pace, noticing the slightly overwhelmed expression on your face, and wrapped an arm around your shoulder, "Are you feeling alright, darling?" he asked, scanning the surroundings, wondering if you were perhaps feeling insecure due to any stares, "Is it the hanbok? I promise I'll make an even simpler version next time."

You shook your head immediately, "What? No! I like this, Joong, I really do," you said, smiling down at the simple yet elegant pastel-coloured fabric he had picked especially for you. He had replaced all the previous ones he made for you with a new batch of minimalistic hanboks you'd prefer.

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, he persisted, "Are you sure? You know you can tell me anything."

You chuckled softly, and he felt a flutter in his chest at the sight of your beautiful smile, "Of course, you know I can't lie to save my life."

His laughter echoed with realisation, "That's true, how could I forget?"

Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, you leaned your head against his shoulder, your favourite spot, "I was just thinking..."

"About what?"

You blushed, "About us."

As you reached a serene little bridge spanning over a gentle river, you both paused to admire the tranquil scene below, leaning against the ledge side by side, "What about us?" he asked.

Turning to meet his gaze, you softened, "I just find it amusing how we ended up like this, together. I recall how much you couldn't stand me when we first met, and I thought I'd never see you again once the makeover was done. Yet... here you are."

He grinned warmly, leaning in to rest his forehead against yours, "Here I am, my darling. I was an idiot then, but I have no intention of ever leaving your side again."

Your heart brimmed with joy, a sensation you never thought you'd have the pleasure of experiencing. Similarly, Hongjoong felt a sense of pride as he observed you gradually opening up, becoming more at ease in expressing your emotions around him. He was proud of the progress you had made.

Caught up in the moment, he summoned the courage to finally kiss you. Truth be told, he had been searching for the right moment to share your first kiss but wanted to respect your boundaries. He knew you must have been new to all this, and to be fair, he wasn't much more experienced than you. While he had seen many couples throughout his life and displays of affection were nothing new to him, he lacked firsthand experience. He often wondered when would be the right time to take such a step.

Sensing his gaze fixed on your lips, your breath caught in your throat. Was the moment finally here? Were you about to share your first kiss? You closed your eyes instinctively as he leaned in, taking it as his cue to press his lips against yours.

Here goes nothing.

As your lips met, a rush of euphoria swept through him when he felt you kissing him back softly, enjoying the sensation of your lips on his. Slowly pulling back, you both broke into shy smiles, "That felt nice," he said, and you nodded in agreement, "It really did." Just as he leaned down again, intent on kissing you once more, you were both snapped out of your trance by the sound of a child yelling for help.

Reaching for his hand, you immediately pulled him towards the source of the commotion, only to find a little girl pointing to the top of a tree, "Help, please, somebody help my poor little kitty!"

You couldn't help but burst into giggles at the familiar scene as Hongjoong shook his head, "Nope, absolutely not. Someone else can help her," Pouting, you tugged at his arm, "Please, Joong? We have to help the poor thing! I'll give you a kiss when you do."

His jaw dropped before determination filled his being, "You know what? Deal. You best not go back on your words, woman."

Rolling up his sleeves, he approached the tree with a shake of his head in disbelief, "Goodness, the things I do for her," he muttered. But as he glanced back and saw the beautiful smile on your face, he realised he would be willing to save a thousand, no—a million more cats if that's what it takes to make you smile like that every day.

Anything to make you happy, darling.

If you haven't already read the first bonus chapter of TWTHH, please do so soon! I'll be working on the second bonus chapter after this hehe also, I hope you're all excited for Yunho's spinoff next!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[project-sekai-facts]

After seeing the fun fact about Becoming Potatoes, I now wonder how far back does the process of one event is from conceptualizing it to fully releasing it. Is it months? Years? I know development and planning can be long but how far back are things planned for Proseka's events in spesifics.

i have an extra fun fact about that song that i don't think i've mentioned before: it's the only song to never have a teaser before it's released in-game, probably because there was no point in it since the vocaloid version had been released months prior. annoyingly, neru never did a corocoro producer interview, so it's basically impossible for us to know what exactly went down in the development of that song.

here's some stuff i can tell you about event planning and such (most is song related lol bc there's far less interviews with the writers):

in an old Q&A around the 1st anniversary, the writers said it takes around 6-12 months to complete an event after conception

in the same question, they said they immediately have to prepare a summary after commissioning so they can pass it on, suggesting the commissioning stage comes first

i know i usually don't mention leaks but these aren't leaks anymore. back in early 2023 around the time of Little Bravers, the song titles and producers for commissions up until Samsa leaked. The producers for Hug and Regulus also leaked 1-2 months in advance. p sure there used to be a staff leaker LOL but at least they confirmed the comms are finished a fair amount in advance

for early events though, some accounts make it sound like vocaPs were being commissioned like years in advance. PinocchioP, Oster Project, NayutalieN did not receive a story summary.

NayutalieN also said that he was contacted very early on in development, only being shown character designs for MMJ. He literally says that "nothing had been decided and he was fed more details as they were finalised". and later in his interview mentions that the "omoi no kakera" lyric was not an intentional reference [to what is known as wish pieces on EN], since those didn't even exist yet.

Syudou says that Jackpot Sad Girl was made in 2020, not very long before the launch of the game, so there's a little less time there.

Surii said he was commissioned ~6 months before launch, so around a year before Pale Color ran. It's also worth noting that he was given story details at this point in time, meaning Pino/Oster/NayutalieN were commissioned before this point.

The designs were completed in early 2019 according to CGWorld's prsk feature, so we can assume that the vocaPs who weren't given story details were commissioned around this time

The story has a planned ending and has had this since early development. The overall story has always been decided but only as an outline, more specific details and the actual events are written as the game goes one.

However certain details, such as Mafuyu running away, were planned in advance.

Apparently it takes about a week to get to the final draft of an event story, after going through checks with other staff and re-drafting (same source as the "specific details" link)

Additionally: card art. According to that 1st anniversary q&a i mentioned earlier, the art team takes two months or more per card. might be longer now because of the higher art quality. The art team sometimes bases set themes off the commission (such as Hitsuji ga Ippiki & kiuan set), or off the event story, which again gives us an indicator of how far in advance this stuff is finished.

[hugmekenobi]

S2: The Bad Batch (12)

Chapter Twelve: The Outpost

Gif by @dreamswithghosts

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Series Summary: Some time has passed since everything that happened at Kamino and you and the Batch are trying to figure out your place in the rapidly changing Imperial galaxy. And you're having to do all this whilst figuring out where your relationship with Hunter fits into it.

Chapter Summary: Crosshair's mission for the Empire finalises what he'd feared would happen to him. Meanwhile, you and the Batch take on a tame job yet you find yourself filled with anticipatory dread but you have no sense of why.

Masterlist for S1

<Previous Chapter

Genre: Friends (idiots) to Lovers (we're in the lovers stage now)

Chapter Warnings: Canon-typical violence, angst, Lieutenant Nolan, character death, my interpretation of Crosshair's thought process, Force-related anxiety, descriptions of exhaustion, poor attempt at kidnapping, light injury descriptions, reader isn't quite on top of things, briefest instances of innuendo (it's tiny and you might not even notice it but including just in case), me making up some of Hunter's past, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 5.9K

Author's notes: Told you I hadn't forgotten about Crosshair lol, the poor boy goes through it. Also added my own thing to go with it and thank you to @fuckoffthanos and @arctrooper69 for helping me out with deciding how this should go! Also, @arctrooper69, loved your idea and had to incorporate it somehow but just the way other things panned out, it's a bit on the tamer side but thank you again! Hope you everyone enjoys!

He waited by the shuttle and watched. He watched the group of newly redundant clones walk past. It was the same spiel from the Imperial officer every time- “The Empire thanks you for your years of service and wishes you well on your retirement.” Like that would really make a difference.

“CT-9904?”

Yes, that was who he was to them now. Just a designation, but at least he still had a purpose here, not like the countless others he’d seen be forced out. He turned to face the lieutenant who addressed him.

“You’re out of uniform.”

Right, yes. Can’t be seen to look too different. He put his helmet on and awaited his instructions.

“I’m Lieutenant Nolan, your commanding officer for this mission. We’re heading to the Imperial Depot on Barton-4. High-value cargo stored there has been targeted by local insurgents. We’re to secure it until it’s transferred at week’s end.” Nolan paused as he heard the faint voices of the clones already in the shuttle. He let out an irritated sigh. “Fantastic. More clones.”

“Problem, sir?”

“Yes. I don’t like used equipment.” He boarded the shuttle. “Let’s go.”

Right. ‘Used equipment.’ He couldn’t afford to give that more thought. There was a mission to complete. He grabbed his sniper rifle and stepped onto the ship.

--

Barton-4 was an ice planet. And a hostile one at that. The cold wind howled and worked its way through to his armour and seeped into his bones, and the gusts of snow made it hard to see ahead. It was understandable how things had been going so wrong. Getting caught off guard by native insurgents in a place like this would mean the squadron here would have no chance of defending themselves successfully.

The group made their way into the main cargo haul and Nolan addressed the droids moving the shipments. “Where is your supervisor?”

“You must be our reinforcements.”

They all turned in the direction of the voice who emerged from behind one of the containers.

“We expected you 36 rotations ago. Did you get lost?” The clone asked coolly.

“We work on the Empire’s schedule, trooper, not yours.” Nolan replied.

“It’s Commander, Lieutenant.”

“Well, Commander, your orders were to guard and protect this facility and its cargo, yet this outpost is grossly unguarded.” He followed the clone round the corner. “Where are the rest of your men?”

“Dead.” He replied bluntly before he introduced the clones cowering round a heat lamp. “Hexx, Veetch, and I, we’re all that’s left.”

Their names. He was using their names. Not designations.

“Your failings will be dealt with later.” Nolan scolded. “For now, I am in charge here until the cargo is transported.”

“I feel safer already.” The commander drawled.

“Look here, clone, you speak to me with respect.” Nolan snapped.

“In my experience, respect is something to be earned.”

The Lieutenant sneered. “Yet the Empire assigned you to this desolate rock, were you let the majority of your squad get killed.”

The commander didn’t rise to it. “Tell me, Lieutenant, how many missions have you commanded?”

Meanwhile, he watched the interaction between these two men with hidden interest. He liked that this clone wasn’t backing down so easily.

“That’s what I thought.” The commander said as his question was greeted by silence. He addressed his group behind him. “Boys, why don’t you help the new boss get situated?” As soon as they all left, he focused his attention on the soldier in black armour that had followed the lieutenant in. “You, uh, know the lieutenant well?”

“For about two hours.” He responded.

The commander scoffed. “Two hours too long, I bet.”

He hummed in agreement and was both surprised and grateful to see his fellow clone bring over the heat lamp.

“So, what’d you do to get stuck with this mission?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” He said distantly.

The commander’s laugh turned into a sigh. “The name’s Mayday.” He looked at the clone expectantly.

He debated for a moment. It had been so long since anyone had wanted to know his name and cared enough to ask about it. “Crosshair.” It almost sounded foreign; it had been a long time since he’d had a reason to use it.

“Welcome to The Outpost.” Mayday with faux celebration. He grabbed his helmet and blaster. “I’ll give you the lay of the land.”

--

Nothing was out of the ordinary, the ship flew peacefully through hyperspace, with you all deciding that you were going to heed Cid’s instructions- after all she had said you shouldn’t return if you didn’t scavenge anything from the crash site so you were doing as you were told and the added benefit of not being in her employment worked things out quite nicely.

So, why as you sat on the edge of your bunk, was it that with nothing being out of the norm, you had a deep sense of dread lingering in your heart? This was the worst it had been; you had sensed it creeping in the days since the failed mission from Cid and your sleep had been very limited but you had put the cause down as being the mission and assumed it would go away. It hadn’t. And last night had been the worst. It overwhelmed you and had prevented you from sleeping entirely and the exhaustion you were feeling wasn’t helping matters. A light tapping on your leg forced you out of your head.

You glanced down to see Hunter kneeling in front of you, hand on your knee. “Sorry, did you say something?”

“What’s going on?”

“Didn’t sleep well.” You said briskly, not wanting to create a fuss.

“Something on your mind?” Hunter asked kindly. He could tell you were putting a brave face on but even that couldn’t hide the dark shadows under your eyes and the way you could barely keep your head up.

You shook your head. You didn’t want to bother him with something you couldn’t even put a cause or label on. “Is something happening?” You jutted your head in the direction of the cockpit where the others were gathered.

Hunter let your deflection pass for now. He knew you well enough to know that he couldn’t push you to talk. You would come to him when you needed it.

“Phee got in touch. She’s got a mission for us, but she needs us to get some credits from a contact first.”

“And the catch?” You asked, stifling a yawn.

“Her contact seems to have five possible addresses to keep people guessing his location.”

You nodded slowly. “Honestly was expecting worse.”

Hunter gave you a small smile. “I’d figure I’d keep Omega with me and the rest of you split to check out each of the other addresses?”

“Sounds good, Seargeant.” You said as you stood up to go to the refresher. You splashed some water on your face, and you caught a glimpse of your reflection. You did look pretty rough. Your eyes were puffy and dark circles graced the skin underneath them. Maybe a distraction from this feeling would be a good idea. There wasn’t much you could do about the tiredness expect for push through but even doing a small job might help with forgetting for a little bit.

--

Not only had it sounded like Mayday and his team had been hung out to dry with degraded equipment and poor support all the while protecting cargo the Empire hadn’t deemed necessary to inform them of what exactly it was, but it also hadn’t taken long for the first attack on the depot to occur since he and the rest of them had arrived.

The raiders had made it in and out fast and had caused the deaths of the rest of Mayday’s team and had stolen more cargo. The only saving grace had been that Crosshair had been able to hit one of them as they retreated, and the blood trail led to a system of ice tunnels that had allowed them to slip through undetected for months.

Upon Nolan’s request, he and Mayday had gone in search of the crates, and they started with the ice tunnel.

--

“You sure you’re up for this?” Hunter asked you gently as the others stepped off the ship.

You knew he was coming from a good place, but your sleep-deprived state took it as more of an insult. “Yes.” You said tetchily.

Hunter raised his hands in appeasement. “I’m just checking in.”

You exhaled wearily and ran a hand across your face. “I know. I’m sorry. It’s probably best to just leave me be for the moment.” You lifted your hood and mask up.

Hunter debated pushing the matter further, but he decided to wait until this task was over. “Okay.” He put his helmet on and let you leave the ship first.

--

It turned out that Wrecker had the current address and after he confirmed everything went smoothly, Hunter had said you were all to head back to the ship. You cut down an alley way that was a shortcut but also a means to avoid a public scene since you’d been followed once you’d rounded the corner from one of the contact’s alternative residences. “Please, I’m in no mood to do this today.” You said tiredly as the figure dashed in front of you, halting you in your tracks. You stared the Weequay. “What do you want?”

“How’d you know about the money? I’ve been watching that house, and I heard your comm. Where’d you find him?”

“I don’t have it.” You ignored the crux of his question.

“No, but someone you know does. And you’re going to help us get it.”

You really couldn’t be bothered with a simple kidnapping. If you were going to be threatened today, you’d rather it be a bit more interesting than this. “You know you’re not actually going to get anywhere with that plan, right?”

The Weequay simply sniggered and drew a blaster.

You sighed heavily and reached for your holster. Your entire body was slow. You’d never felt so sluggish.

And that was probably why you didn’t pick up on the ‘us’ or register the person that came from behind and smacked the butt of their blaster across the back of your head.

--

“Alright, let’s get going.” Wrecker said cheerily as he stepped on board and put the case down. He took his helmet off.

Hunter glanced past him. “(Y/N)’s not with you?”

Wrecker shook his head. “Was she supposed to be?”

“She’s not come back yet, and we haven’t heard from her.” Omega informed him, her own troubled face matching Hunter’s.

Hunter reached for his comm and tried for you, but he got no reply. “She wouldn’t go radio silent without being told to.”

“You guys aren’t in a fight, are you?” Wrecker asked.

Hunter shot his brother an irritated look. “No. And even if we were, she knows better than to ignore any of us if we’re checking in.”

“(Y/N), come in.” Omega tried but again was met with no response.

Both Wrecker and Tech also attempted to get in touch with you, but nothing came through.

Hunter started pacing. You wouldn’t ignore all of them. You just wouldn’t, no matter what was happening. The panic was starting to set in now. It was something he rarely did and when he did do it, he didn’t like it, but now he was thinking he should’ve pulled his rank with you and at least made you stay on the ship. He’d known you were in not shape to go out there, even if it was a simple mission, whatever you were going through and the exhaustion you were experiencing would have an effect on anyone.

“Hunter, it’s her.” Tech called over from the cockpit as the ship’s main communication control lit up. Only it wasn’t your voice that came through.

“If you want to see her again, meet us with that lovely case of credits you picked up in 30 minutes.”

“How do we know she’s with you?” Hunter asked, doing his best to keep his voice level.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. “Her top has half a white skull on it.”

Dammit. Hunter paid no attention to the looks the others gave him. He needed to know more. He needed to know if you were okay. “I want to hear her. For all I know, you just saw her and that was the first thing you noticed.”

The voice chuckled unkindly. “She’s currently… unavailable for speaking. If you want that to be a more permanent state, then by all means, don’t do as we say. But, if you want her back, you better be here.”

“If you’ve hurt her-”

“It’s 20 minutes now. By all means, keep talking and pissing me off if you want her to suffer but I’d suggest you start walking.”

“Wait, but where are-” Omega started to say but the transmission cut out. “How are we supposed to find her?” She addressed the others.

“They used her own comm. I can trace it easily enough.” Tech said calmly as he got to work.

“The rest of us will go over her steps.” Hunter directed before he led the way off the ship.

--

If it wasn’t for the throbbing radiating throughout your skull, you might’ve been grateful for being knocked out. It was the closest thing you’d had to a rest. But the resulting headache and embarrassment at being so easily caught took precedence over any relief at being able to not think about what signals the Force was trying to send you. Now that you were awake, the feeling was back.

“Ah good, you’re up.”

You ignored the voice and took in your surroundings instead. The room was dark, the only light came from the faint glow of a lantern, and you were sitting with your back to a damp wall. Your hands were tied loosely in front of you with a piece of frayed rope. It was the worst attempt at kidnapping you’d ever experienced.

“Don’t worry. We’ve been in touch with your friends. Once we have the money, we’ll let you go.”

Your eyes had adjusted to the dimness, and it was then that you saw the two Weequay men standing by the doorway. You snorted. “Yeah, I’m not all that worried.”

“Oh yeah?” The one that had originally cornered you in the alley said.

“You two really don’t do this a lot, do you?”

“What are you talking about?” The one you didn’t recognise asked.

“Kidnapping people. You two are clearly new to the game.”

“Meaning what?” The first Weequay asked suspiciously.

You released an aggravated huff. You were too tired to do this, but it was your way out of here. “Meaning if you were regulars at this, you wouldn’t have used my comm to send your demands to my team- I’m assuming that’s what you did, right?” Their anxious glance to one another gave you your answer. You continued, “Ideally, you also would tie my hands behind my back, or, at the very least, you would double check the strength of the knot.”

“Check it.” The one you had seen first ordered his companion.

Perfect. As he kneeled down in front of you, you punched him on the underside of his jaw, and he crumbled to the floor. Acting quickly, you broke your hands out of their restraints, and you fired a stun blast from his blaster to the second one, who had been too taken aback by your actions to get his blaster out in time.

You grabbed your stuff and headed for the door, but it was then you heard the faint sound of someone grunting. You were still pretty out of it so as you moved to dodge the blade, your reaction wasn’t quite fast enough. You inhaled sharply as the knife sliced the part of your forearm that wasn’t protected by your armour. It wasn’t much more than a graze, but you could feel blood slowly secreting from the wound and it stung like hell. You whipped around and fired a stun bolt to the half-collapsed figure, and he fell unconscious.

You opened the door to be greeted by three familiar faces. “Oh. Hey, what brings you all here?”

“We were coming to rescue you.” Omega said as she peered around you to see the two knocked out Weequays.

“I appreciate it, kid. I’ll save you something to do next time.” You dug deep for the smile that graced your face as you touched her shoulder. “Thanks for coming after me, guys.” You said to the group.

“Did they hurt you?” Hunter asked urgently as he scanned your body for any obvious injures.

You shook your head. “Nothing major. It was my fault anyway. I completely switched off.”

“Yeah, what even happened?” Wrecker asked you.

“Don’t really wanna relive the humiliation at the moment, Wrecker.” You took a breath. “We good to go?” You asked Hunter who nodded and the four of you walked back to the Marauder.

--

“Tech, would you mind bringing the medkit down here?” You asked as you boarded the ship and sat down on your bunk. “Also, thanks for helping find me.”

“No thanks are necessary. Although, it was a relatively simple mission; I do not understand how this incident occurred in the first place or how you managed to injure yourself.” Tech said frankly as he pulled the medkit down and started to make his way over to you.

He was right but you were embarrassed enough to be so caught off guard like you were and you didn’t need more reminders. “Tech, what about my general demeanour right now makes you think I’m unaware of that fact?” You said through gritted teeth as you tossed your vambrace with a little too much zest judging by the way it smacked off the wall by your bed. You were doing your best to keep it together. You were determined to not let your mood affect the relationships around you.

“I only meant-”

“Tech.” Hunter warned him off calmly as he took to medpack from him. “Just get the ship in the air, okay?”

“Very well.” Tech said with a nod before he turned back for the cockpit.

Omega and Wrecker followed him.

“Do you want-” Hunter started to offer.

“I can do it myself, it’s a really small cut.” You said touchily as you held your hand out for the case.

Hunter didn’t fight you on it and he was prepared to give you space, so he handed it to you. “I’ll be in the cockpit with the others if you need me.” He risked a step forward and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.

You did feel instantly more tranquil after he did that. “I’m sorry.” You uttered quietly as he stepped away.

Hunter tenderly rubbed a thumb across your cheekbone. “Get some rest.”

--

Crosshair and Mayday rounded the corner of the tunnel, and the blood trail came to an end. Both their lights found the dead body of the raider hunkered against the wall.

“He didn’t get far.” Crosshair said wryly.

Mayday kneeled down to examine the body. “Not sure what bothers me more. That he’s wearing armour stolen off my men or that his cohorts just left him here.”

“No point in carrying deadweight.”

Mayday glanced back at Crosshair. “Remind me not to die on your watch.”

Crosshair didn’t pay the comment much mind. He just carried on walking past, but he didn’t get very far as he suddenly came to a complete standstill as he heard the activation click of something hidden in the snowy ground. His best chance was to not move a muscle.

“Pressure mine.” Mayday stated.

“Mm-hmm.” Crosshair nodded.

Mayday brought his light down to examine it. “What were you saying about deadweight?”

“Do you know how to disarm it?”

“I’m not an explosives expert, but since I don’t feel like carrying your body back to the outpost, I guess I’ll give it a shot.” Mayday took off his helmet and put his blaster on the ground as well as his torch- but he kept the light trained on the pressure mine- as he crouched down. He blew away the flakes of snow still covering it. “Hmm. This mine’s a little different than ones I’ve seen before, but I’m pretty sure they’re all the same. Guess we’ll find out soon enough, huh?”

It wasn’t the most comforting of statements for Crosshair to hear, but he’d take any help he could get at this point.

Mayday pulled out his tools and carefully got to work. “I wish I had the proper equipment for this, but the Empire’s ignored all my requests. I’ve learned to improvise though. I guess all clones have had to since the war. Can’t say I ever thought much about the war ending…” he sighed, “… until it did.”

As Crosshair stood still on the mine and waited for Mayday to get him out of it, he couldn’t help but let his mind wander and start thinking about his old squad and how different this mission would be going. Tech would have the suitable equipment. Hunter would’ve known where to step to avoid a situation just like this and he’d have made finding these raiders look easy despite the conditions. And, even if one of them still found themselves in this position, Wrecker would’ve disarmed it with a degree of ease and sophistication people wouldn’t necessarily expect from him. While he would never admit it out loud, he was finding that he missed them. Mayday’s question to him pulled him out of his thoughts.

“What unit were you with?”

That was a question he did not want to answer. “It doesn’t matter.” He just about manged to grind out.

“Humour me. I could use the distraction.”

Well, if he wanted them both to make it out of this, he had to do what Mayday was asking of him. “Clone Force 99.”

“What happened to them?”

“They’re gone.” He replied subduedly. It wasn’t a lie. They were gone and he didn’t know where they had wound up or even if they were all still together and alive. It had been a long time now since that day on the platform on Kamino.

“And here we are, the survivors.” Mayday peered up at Crosshair. “Hmm. Combat troopers stuck babysitting cargo shipments.”

If he let his mind start to drift down that path any more than he already had on occasion, then he’d lose all sense of purpose. He’d lose that purpose he was so sure this Empire would provide. “Mission’s a mission.”

Mayday chuckled sarcastically. “Yeah, I used to say the same thing.” He inspected his work and grabbed his gear before he stood up. “There. That should do it.” As he saw Crosshair start to move, spoke up swiftly. “Whoa, whoa, whoa! Don’t pick up your foot yet. Wait until I tell you, then lift it, but real slow like.” He started to walk past him. “I’ll wait around the bend. If I don’t hear a boom, then I’ll know it worked.”

“Glad your confident in your work.”

Mayday put his helmet back on as he continued to walk away. “Oh, I’m confident. I’m just not stupid. Remember, nice and slow. On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”

Crosshair lifted his foot and sighed in relief when there was no explosion.

The two of them made their way out the tunnel into the storm. It was then they saw the light radiating from the raider’s base and they put their plan of attack into action.

--

It had been going well. The enemy bas was destroyed, and they were able to reclaim the cargo. They went down to the area where the cargo had spilled. But it was then when it had started to go wrong as they both discovered what it was they were risking their lives for and what it was Mayday and his men had men had devoted their lives to defending. And… and it wasn’t worth the fight they had put in.

“Gear?” Mayday said aloud as he examined the boxes. “We’ve been risking our lives to recover equipment we could have been wearing this whole time?”

Crosshair nudged a helmet with his foot to expose the design. “It’s not clone trooper gear.” Because why would it be? They were disposable after all.

Mayday picked up a breastplate. “New toys for their shiny new military, and we get the scraps. After all the clones have done, all we’ve sacrificed… We’re good soldiers. We followed orders. And for what?”

Crosshair didn’t have an answer for him. He thought he’d been a good solider but how was that being rewarded? He couldn’t see it. If he had any lingering doubts about where his place in this Empire was, this mission was doing a good job of eradicating them. He, Mayday, and all his fellow clones weren’t valued. They weren’t worth anything to this Empire.

Suddenly, a growing rumbling echoed around them.

“Go!” Mayday ordered as he saw avalanche hurtling towards them from the mountain behind them.

They ran as fast as they could through the deep snow, but they couldn’t outrun it, the best they could do was make it past the rock ahead.

Crosshair didn’t know what happened. One minute both of them were running side by side, and the next Mayday was knocking him past the rock and letting himself get swept up by the snow first which meant he smashed into the rockface.

Crosshair’s helmet was knocked away and the best he could do was take a deep breath as the snow smothered him.

--

Crosshair punched a hand through the top of the snow before his head followed and he breathed in the cold air. His entire body was numb and shivering but he couldn’t dwell on that for too long since he’d caught sight of Mayday’s helmet a few metres ahead. He heaved his way through the waist deep snow towards it and started to desperately dig through to find his companion.

It was after a few moments that Mayday’s face came into view, but his eyes were shut, and his body was limp as Crosshair propped him against the rock behind him. “Mayday? Mayday, wake up!” The faint groan from Mayday’s mouth was enough of an indicator that he was alive… that there was hope for him. “Come on. We have to move.”

Mayday’s eyes flickered open. “Go.” He gasped. “I won’t make it.”

Crosshair didn’t know what possessed him to grab Mayday’s helmet and put it back on his head. All he knew now as he supported Mayday’s body was that it was something he had to do. He had to make sure they both made it back and Mayday would survive. He was going to get them both through the storm.

--

Hunter came back from the cockpit to see everyone else asleep but you. You were perched on the edge of your bunk looking utterly shattered and anything but relaxed. You still had all your gear on, minus the one vambrace you’d taken off to tend to your cut earlier. “Sweetheart, you need to get some sleep.”

“I can’t.” You mumbled, utterly defeated, as you brought your head down to lean against his shoulder.

Hunter rested his head on top of yours. “Tell me what’s wrong?”

“I can’t because I don’t know.” You sighed deeply and pushed your face into the crook of his neck. “I’m just so tired.”

“What can I do?” Hunter asked softly.

“Knock me out until we rendezvous with Phee.” You suggested, only half kidding.

“I’m not sure that’s the best idea, but we can keep it as an option.” Hunter said lightly. “Come on.” He gently nudged you up, ignoring your slight groan of protest. He went to the ground in front of you.

“Okay, but I’m pretty tired, can’t promise I’ll be super enthusiastic.” You attempted levity but your tone was too flat.

“Hush you.” Hunter said with a slight grin. He got to work on taking your boots off before he came to sit next you. He started to delicately take your remaining armour off before he reached for the ends of your first layer. “Arms up.” He prompted tenderly.

Your arms felt heavy, but you did as he asked and he brought it up and over your head, taking care to not let you get caught in the material. “Now what?” You asked drearily.

“Now you lie down and close your eyes.”

“You know, I have tried doing that.” You said drily.

Hunter gave you an imploring look. “Just trust me, okay?”

You did and so you found yourself lying back down.

Hunter enveloped you. He rubbed, light, soothing patterns across your arms and back. He could feel how tense you were. He kept his voice quiet and low to create as restful an environment as he could for you. “I want you to focus on me. Nothing else. Nothing else matters. It’s just you and me here right now. Switch off. Focus on my voice. Focus on my heartbeat. Breathe with me.” He stared taking slow, deep breaths whilst continuing his peaceful touches. “It’s just us. I’m right with you. You don’t have to think about anything else. I love you. I’ll always be right here.”

You did as he asked. His hands were warm- if a little rough- against your arms but years of wielding a blaster would have that effect and you welcomed that feeling. It reminded you of all that he had survived, of what you all had survived and that he was there with you. Deep breaths. He’s here. He’s okay. Everyone’s okay. Shut it off. You thought to yourself. You mirrored his breathing and continued to listen to his words.

As the minutes grew longer and you continued to listen to him, you felt yourself start to relax into him. Your eyes grew heavy, and it was easier to keep them shut this time. How’d you know how to do this so well?

“Growing up with enhanced senses had its difficulties. I had to learn how to manage it.” He felt you nuzzle closer to him, and a deep sigh left your body. “There you go” He murmured as he kept caressing your body. “Keep breathing with me.”

Things felt easier now as you focused on him, on his scent, on the feeling of his hands on your body, on his breathing. And the last thing you remembered was you telling him you loved him and the kiss to the top of your head from him before you drifted off.

--

Crosshair staggered onto the main platform of the outpost and fell to his knees. He tried to be as gentle as he could when it came to putting Mayday down.

“About time you two returned.” Nolan said harshly as he approached the two men.

“He-” Crosshair broke off with an exhausted pant before he removed Mayday’s helmet. “He needs a medic.”

Nolan ignored him. “I see you didn’t retrieve the crates, which means you’ve failed your mission.”

How could that be all he was concerned about? “Did you hear what I said? Help him!” Crosshair begged as he could feel the pain and weariness creeping into his own body, but Mayday needed the help first. He had to be saved.

“Certainly not. That would be a waste of the Empire’s resources.”

“He’ll- He’ll die.” Did they truly not care? And it was then he heard one last pained cough from Mayday before his eyes shut and he fell silent. Crosshair searched for a pulse but found none. No. No. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

“He served his purpose as a soldier of the Empire.” Nolan said unsympathetically.

Crosshair could feel white hot anger start to rise within him. “You- You could have saved him!”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me. He is expendable, as are you.”

And there it was. Confirmation of the doubt he had been trying so hard to deny. Hunter had been right. They were only ever numbers.

“And if you speak to me again with such disrespect, I’ll see to it you meet a similar fate, clone.” Nolan continued disdainfully.

Crosshair caught the sight of the shadow of one of the ice vultures. He knew they were coming for Mayday. But it shouldn’t be here for him.

“Now, leave him and get back to work… while you’re still useful.” Nolan started to walk back to the shuttle.

Crosshair looked up to the sky and started at the circling bird. He’d thought he’d found a way to survive on his own too but that had changed. He was supposed to have this incredible ability to see things others couldn’t. How had he been so blind for so long? Well, no more. He’d had enough. He wasn’t concerned about the consequences he would face with what he was about to do. All he knew was that he wouldn’t give this Empire anything more.

He got unsteadily got to his feet and trained his blaster on the retreating back on Lieutenant Nolan. “Lieutenant.” He didn’t hesitate and the shot went straight through Nolan’s chest as soon as he turned around. It was after that final act that he finally let the exhaustion and agony take him and his sight went dark.

--

You awoke with a start and sat up. Things had been going well but that was a new development. You rested a hand on your chest as you felt your heart pounding. You shivered. You were cold, both outwardly and inwardly. There was a deep chill in your veins that left you feeling frozen and unsettled. You took a few deep breaths to settle yourself.

“What’s wrong?” Hunter rasped; his voice still thick with sleep as he sat up alongside you and laid his hand on your back.

“I don’t know.” You murmured uneasily as you fiddled with the bandage on your arm. “Something woke me up. There was this cold shadow and all I could feel was fear and pain, but I couldn’t see what from or who.”

“It was just a bad dream.” Hunter comforted. He kissed the back of your shoulder. “Come on, you should try to get back to sleep.”

“Right… a bad dream.” You whispered distantly as you let him lay you back down. Whatever it was that had woken you up, it felt real, it wasn’t just a bad dream, you were experiencing what someone else was going through but you didn’t have a face to put to the feeling and you didn’t know what it could be. You closed your eyes and tried to focus on the feeling of Hunter’s arm draped over you, holding you close, but you couldn't shake the feeling like there was something more to what just happened and so sleep didn’t easily come this time around.

--

Crosshair woozily came around to the sound of equipment beeping. He didn’t recognise where he was, and it was then he heard the muffled sound of someone addressing him.

“Hello, CT-9904. Or do you prefer, Crosshair?”

His name. She was using his name. The woman that was speaking to him seemed to be some kind of doctor. “Where am I?” He asked wearily.

“I’m holding you for observation. Once you’ve healed, the doctor will come for you.”

She was holding a needle to his neck, yet she wasn’t the primary medic? “Who- Who are you?”

“Remain calm. Cooperate and you might survive.” That was all he registered before the needle pierced his skin and he fell into darkness once more.

Next Chapter>

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @fuckoffthanos, @tpwkcalli, @graciexmarvel, @arctrooper69, @nightmonkeysstuff, @brujaporfavor, @flyingkangaroo, @sunkissedclones, @ladytano420, @keep-calm-and-drink-caf, @yyourmotherr, @xxeiraxx, @dragonrider9905, @starwarsnerd111,

[lesbianchemicalplant]

Home Office 213/926 or HO 213/926 is a Home Office file which records the secret deportation from the United Kingdom of thousands of seafarers to China in 1945 and 1946, permanently separating them from their families. It was officially entitled "Compulsory repatriation of undesirable Chinese seamen."[1]

[...] As soon as World War II ended, Blue Funnel Line reduced the wages of Chinese seamen to a level that it internally admitted was too low to live on. Chinese seamen were also barred from seeking employment ashore.[8] On 19 October 1945, two months after the end of the war, Courtenay Denis Carew Robinson, Assistant Under-Secretary of State for the Home Office, chaired a secret meeting at Whitehall, joined by representatives of the Foreign Office, the Ministry of War Transport, and the Liverpool City Police and immigration inspectorate. In the meeting, the Home Office finalised a policy titled "Compulsory repatriation of undesirable Chinese seamen," under a file designated HO 213/926.[9] The policy was kept secret in part because it was illegal, as only sailors who had been discharged due to criminal convictions could legally be deported, and only a tiny number of the seamen targeted for deportation had faced any charges during their time in the service. The Home Office had also internally acknowledged that even among the small number that had faced charges, minor gambling and opium offences were commonplace in dockside life and did not warrant deportation.[9] After the policy was finalised, Home Office officials, along with Liverpool Police, worked with shipping companies in the UK to arrest Chinese seamen and forcibly deported them to China. Some of the workers were forced to sign discharge papers that would have them discharged in China, with no way to return to the UK.[10] To deport the seamen, Blue Funnel modified some of its ships, including the steamships Diomed, Menelaus, Priam, Sarpedon and Theseus, installing makeshift bunks to hold the seamen who had been brought directly by the police. By the end of 1945, the police increased their efforts to round up remaining Chinese seamen, searching through homes in night raids and asking police chiefs elsewhere in the country to report any seamen. One immigration office memo stated that "It should not be difficult, if energetic steps are taken, to weed these out of the restaurant kitchens, laundries, etc." Deportations continued until at least December 1946.[9] In the War, many of the seamen based in Liverpool had settled in the city, falling in love and starting families with local women. Those families were neither notified of the deportations nor given any information as to the fates of the seamen, leaving many to assume that the seamen had simply abandoned them.[11] By mid-1946, rumours of the deportations had spread through the Liverpool community. The Liverpool Echo published a report under the headline "British Wives of Chinese." A group of the seamen's wives protested against the government that summer, stating that they were left destitute and that "we are left to live on public aid, charity and the help of our families."[12] However, the government refused to acknowledge the protest.[8] Labour MP Bessie Braddock wrote to the Home Office in support of the protesting wives, but was told that the deportations would continue since, if they didn't, "it might embarrass the immigration officer, Liverpool, the police and the shipping companies concerned."[9]

the british government denied this up until 2022

[hwd405]

Spyro 3 - The "Pre-E3" Screenshots

All three of the original trilogy games had sets of press screenshots which were sent out to journalists and the like for use in magazines and articles, and all three games also had at least one especially early build used amongst these press screenshots. For Spyro 3, it's a set of screenshots I've always called the "Pre-E3 screenshots", since they're from a build that's... earlier than the E3 build, obviously.

It's not hard to come across these screenshots by looking through magazines from the era, but one might wonder how many of these screenshots there are, and how much we know about them. So, let's have a quick refresher on the earliest known build of Spyro 3.

First thing: when is this build from, how does it compare to other builds, and where have all the screenshots come from? While all of them can be found in magazines if you look hard enough, a bunch can be found in old online articles, through internal Sony press sources, and on press asset CDs. The highest quality version we have of each image has been compiled into the collage above - five of the ones remaining have so far only been located in scanned-magazine quality. We also know that there's 28 of them, thanks to an old GameSpot UK page, which listed 28 (mostly lost) screenshots from that time, exactly matching the total number we've managed to find.

I've got something coming up in the future which will hold links to all such press material sources, but it's currently a work in progress. For now, here's a link to the PS2 E3 2000 Artwork Disc - not only does it contain high quality versions of several of these screenshots, but they also have creation dates of March 27th, 2000, over 5 and a half months before the game was finished. While we don't know for certain that this is when they were taken, it does suggest that the build shown in the screenshots is probably from this date or earlier. The build shown here is somewhat similar to the April prototype, a preview build used in many different publications and seemingly also the build used at E3 2000, but naturally this build has got a few additional differences from the April build on account of it being a few weeks earlier in development.

Perhaps the most well-known of these screenshots is the fabled "fountain screenshot" - Sunny Villa originally had a fountain, which we also saw in the later April build. Here, though, the building at the end of the level can also be seen to hold balconies, something that would be removed by the next build. The upstairs area of this building is actually where the skateboarding sublevel portal is located (which can be seen in the left balcony), so presumably they were removed to avoid major sequence breaking taking place.

Sheila's sublevel contained some completely unique Rhynocs not seen in the area in the final game. Their designs would be reused in the final, though - but only in a couple of the cutscenes.

Some of the Spooky Swamp Rhynocs had a totally different colour scheme, and the tigers in Bamboo Terrace that we saw in the later April build were first seen in these screenshots, too. Funnily enough, one of the dialogue lines referencing tigers remained in the game until only a week before the game was finalised, at which point it was changed to refer to the water buffalo instead.

This one's easy to miss - check out the wall surrounding the plunger Rhynoc on the floor. What was that used for? Who knows. In the April build, the walls were already gone and the Rhynocs would start wearing metal armour, which was removed again later in development.

Frozen Altars seems to have had some restructuring towards the end of the level - an ice wall wouldn't usually go there and access to the building wouldn't normally be in that exact location, either. Spyro's flame isn't ice coloured, here - I doubt flaming the snowman would help that much, regardless.

Agent 9 looks very very weird. As Pepper has already pointed out, the difference in his eyes just seems to be a case of the vertex colouring changing between this build and later ones, and his suit can be seen to change colours between builds too. Sgt Byrd also looks a little bit different here, having a slightly different model and different texture work, but his early model would persist for several months after this build and can even be seen in some locations in the finished game.

Expect more posts like this one - reviewing known early builds and key points in Spyro's development cycles - in the future, particularly as I gear up to releasing the first part of a project I've been working on for quite a while now.

[zellkernchen]

As per @pastel-kaleesh‘s request: Here’s some information on (my version of) Grievous’ Izvorsha! Please do keep in mind that my designs are by no means finalised and could still face some small redesigns in the future (since they’ll need a looooong time until they’ll be relevant in my fanfic series (if I even have the motivation and time to finish it ToT)

This is Kahazan gin Ohlarhilli, one of Grievou’s Izvorsha from Grendaju. He was well known for his many piercings and that he spoiled his only child, Nusigal, and wife quite a lot. He loves them more than anything.

Here is some overall information about him:

Gender: Male (he/him)

Birthplace and year: Kulsheg, continent of Grendaju, Kalee, 60 BBY

Height: 196cm

Spouse: Nanakletta uim Vynikkaijli

Child: Nusigal gin Babbar

(Under the cut for length!)

The second and last of Grievous’ Izvorsha from Grendaju is Tshoat kel Nejilneski!

She used to be a gladiator in Kaleela and Grendaju before joining the Izvorsha. Tshoat is also distantly related to Grievous’ first wife, Ouhlma.

Here’s some overall info about her:

Gender: Female (any pronouns)

Birthplace and year: ???, Grendaju, Kalee, 91 BBY

Height: 210cm

Spouses: ??? (m. 76- 71 BBY), ??? (m. 70- 68 BBY), ??? (m. 69- 68 BBY), Yvliznal hiz Nuneashtel (m. 66 BBY)

Children: Many children and step- children

Next up are the oom twins: Lehmez oom Vaznij and Uupooka oom Statec.

They were Grievous’ first Izvorsha and childhood friends, though many in their village considered them and Qymaen non- biological siblings. Grievous cared about them a lot. These twins are polar opposites.

Overall infos about Lehmez:

Gender: Male (he/him)

Birthplace and year: Uipzik, Vykonpoul, Kalee, 67BBY

Height: 188cm

Overall infos about Uupooka:

Gender: Female (MtF, hence why she has two pairs of tusks) (she/her)

Birthplace and year: Uipzik, Vykonpoul, Kalee, 67BBY

Height: 189cm

Spouse: Alakaz uip Muskanzi

Children: Buubar uip, Buuin uip

Vazekalik Poomstak is a Kaleesh who, by their own words, has no clan. Not much is known about them as they were recruited 2 weeks before the shuttle crash to replace a previous Izvorsha who had to quit the Kolkpravis due to health problems. It’s theorised that they suffered from malnutrition while their body was still developing.

Overall infos:

Gender: None (any pronouns, but is mostly referred to by they/them)

Birthplace and year: ???, Kunbal Jungle, Kalee, 44BBY

Height: 153cm

Spouse: Alleged husband

Children: ???

Unfortunately I’m still brainstorming the designs for the next three characters because I genuinely cannot find one I’m happy with (I will post them once I am though) but at last but not least there’s the san clan trio. It consists of Bentilais san Sk’ar and his two cousins: Zrrokiguul san Dim’dim and Bvuhala san Sakkanasaggil. Originally they were meant to be Benti’s siblings but I decided against it and made someone else (who will 100% never be important to the story/s) his sibling.

Here’s some overall infos on them:

Bentilais:

Gender: Male (he/him)

Birthplace and year: Royal castle of Kaleela, Zapadipoul, Kalee, 71 BBY

Height: 301cm

Children: pre- Shuttle crash; none, post- Shuttle crash; his 2 “nephews” and 1 “niece”

Zrrokiguul:

Gender: Male (he/him)

Birthplace and year: Near the royal castle of Kaleela, Zapadipoul, Kalee, 68 BBY

Height: 212cm

Spouse: Yvenskjo pin Sohur

Children: 2 sons and 1 daughter

Bvuhala:

Gender: Female (she/her)

Birthplace and year: Near the royal castle of Kaleela, Zapadipoul, Kalee, 68 BBY

Height: 205cm

———————————————————

That’s it for now on my version of Grievous’ Izvorsha! Feel free to ask me more questions about them or any other topic ^^

[kaimactrash]

Eyy, okay this group is a little lacking, and it's entirely my fault.I've been pretty oblvious to the asexual identities until a few years ago, and since quite a lot of my characters were made before that, the number of non-allosexual OCs I have are currently small.I don't really love like re-writing characters sexual identiites unless it comes from inspiration, and quite often when making my characters I have a pretty clear idea of their personality and identity, that can change, but i don't like to force it, so instead I look forward to seeing which identities will occur, now I have a better, but still a little shallow, understanding of the aroace identities.

read more for info on characters!

Anyway, here's all my character so far who fall on the spectrum, starting from the top left we have Saulo! They are an elder demon in my story, as are two of the other characters here, because I designed the elders much more recently than the other characters in my story! Saulo is a pan/demi and non-binary, they're a jokey playful little imp who doesn't take their role as an elder too seriously, rarely taking on under demons like hokeys, sucubi, and incubi. Spends a lot of their time making music, reading comics and manga their underlings show them, and looking for their best friend Calo, who's been missing some time. Their extremely into lovey dovey stuff, love core style, so their wand and magic has heart shapes too it. Top right is our second Elder Demon, Delde, she keeps herself far from her fellow elders, married for thousands of years to her life partner, Emesh, a demi-god who you can check my galley for more info on like Calo, she's ace/bi and trans woman!She's a very quiet shy woman still getting used to her physical limiatitions, but having plenty of time to do so, and a loving support system around her. Bottom right is Milo! the 3rd and final elder, hes very bubbly and sometimes intentionally niave, he has a good heart, but he doesn't do enough to oppose his other elders, and participates in the recruitment drive his co-elders push for. Still, he'll chose the right side when it really comes down to it, currently it's easier to coast and not make waves, and a big part of this is his sudden development of diablities, such as losing his hand. he's an ace/omni trans man! Bottom center is one of my older characters, and she was one i really struggled to figure out identity wise, but as I got to know her more and finalised her design and story arc, she felt like an ace lesbian above all else! an absolute unit of a demon, she stirred up so much trouble for elder Rilo she was chuffed, and eventually banished by them. This leads to a lot of fights with large beasts, leaving her scarred physically and mentally. She's partially blind, with only shaows visible in her left eye. She was a much more anthro creature before becoming a demon, being a Cathze, a cat like speices of bipedal humanoids. she also featured on my lesbian pride pic from last year! the design change is intentional, I am always trying to find lotties perfect look, I think this may be it? I feel it has a much more unique look versus the last design. Last but not least left bottom is a character not too old, but who I am obcessed with. :lmao: IDK why but she just give me dopamine whenever I draw her, it's the one eyed fitness nut, Greip Tavros! She's a rather charming woman with a lot of power behind her punch, she loves socialising and gets on really well with most others. She tries her best to know about as many popular topics as possible to make sure she always knows atleast one topic to discuss to help newbies out when joining the rebellion on frenrar. She works constantly on the defence plan agianst both a small group of elders, and from the mages college who are over stepping their jurisdiction and commiting some very unethical acts to ensure a continuing supply of new mages coming. She's aro/pan! Welp, probably a good time to explain where the hell I've been all pride month, since I'm posting my first pride piece, on the 25th of June? Yeah, well, first of is kinda nice news. I've adopted a dog this month and I'm still very much getting my footing with my life balance changing up! And secondly is massive despression and anxiety becuase this started as an awful time to be trans at pride, to an awful time to have a uterus during pride, I can't say I've had a lot of time I've felt safe being proud this month, but i did get a new binder which I'm completely in love with, so thats the only good pride month thing for me so far. Feels like theres been a shadow looming over us this whole time that is rappidly hurtling towards us. Anyway, take care of each other.

[missfortune-xyz]

i am a failure.

i made this short film to submit as my final project on my foundation year. to avoid beating around the bush - it was really rough and did not go the way i wanted in the slightest. regardless, i was able to pull this together and i hope it's something that maybe someone out there might be able to resonate with. enjoy <3

i had 8 official weeks to complete this project, with a 3-week easter break tucked between weeks 3 and 4. the project was entirely my own - i wrote the brief, i chose the concept, i was able to take this project in any direction i wanted. this was so foreign in comparison to the projects i had completed throughout the year prior to this final one; our briefs were set and our stimuli were given, not chosen.

yet somehow, this was the hardest.

looking back, i think working with a completely set agenda is almost easier in many ways (especially in the graded context of school/college/uni. at least with a set brief, one's creativity is offered the boundaries of restraint - yes, it can be too precise and limiting at times, but when done right it offers focus that the creative mind can often lack.

i originally wrote my brief about how self prophecy, failure, and superstition can link together. i started off by looking at jungian psychology, and superstition/luck across various cultures and histories and felt energised - i had a list of planned references and ideas for research/experiments and was ready to go through with what should've been my best project of the year. my final grade and subsequent university admissions depended on this after all.

i lost track around week 3 and failed to get back on track until week 7.

i nearly forfeited a whole year of hard work.

my impostor syndrome decided to kick it up a notch from just-about-bearable to extra-spicy in merely a fortnight. whether i cracked under the pressure of our looming final submission, or whether the concept just didn't click is beyond me, but just like an episode of hot ones, the temperature increased and i couldn't stand the heat.

to put it bluntly, i floundered for weeks. not just the 4 official weeks that sat between Week Three and Week Seven, but the almost two months that included the easter break. i jumped from idea to idea with no real inspiration, no focus, and no confidence.

i categorise myself as an a-list overthinker. if a thought can be thought then i've thunk it. catastrophising might as well be my profession at this point. i ended up chasing and overthinking every idea and piece of feedback i got, to the point that my own ideas took a backseat in the project.

things came together at the end of week 6. i found out that i had won a £250 grant that i could spend on my project in any way i wanted (i had sent in my application back in easter on impulse with no expectations to actually get it!). i got some feedback that finally clicked and prompted me to stick to my guns more. i took a stand, set a boundary, and went back to the beginning.

well, sort of.

i went back to some of the ideas i had looked at right at the beginning of the project, but decided to mix it with my own experiences on the project, as well as the best of what i had researched throughout the whole journey. i pulled together a script, shoot plan, and set piece in a single weekend and got to work.

i had a week to finalise the plan and shoot, and then one week to edit and get together everything i needed for submission. it was rough and took a helluva lot of late nights and overnighters, but it worked. filming wasn't without its issues either, but my energy was renewed and so was my focus. i edited visual, audio, and sound design and i was ready to go.

i didn't end up getting the grade i wanted, but that okay.

in all honesty, i don't think there was anything i really could've done to recover my grade in the way that i had wanted. upon reading the feedback from my assessment, i realised that things that went wrong were things i was never going to be able to fix. my floundering had consequences.

more than anything though, i'm glad i was able to pull it together. i'm not a fan of personal projects - i love when other people do them, but for me it doesn't tend to go well :(. to even be able to produce a coherent outcome is more than i had imagined i would accomplish. the film is rough - some of the dialogue is clunky, the audio is odd and the pace is too slow, but its okay. in a normal set you'd have people taking different roles in the production process, but i had to do pretty much all of this myself. it's a step in the learning process and this project is what it took for me to fully realise that.

if anyone read to the end of this thank you. i hope that the emotions you see in this are something that maybe you can relate to? let me know what you think :

[mahou-furbies]

After a few months of break I’m back to thinking about the Dazzling Pink Precure again and it’s as confusing as usual (two characters have changed names since the most recent pic). I’d like to finally be able to post finalised designs some day so I could actually do something with them, but that really needs the basic story idea to be completed first or they’re going to just keep changing every few weeks. 

Which leads to another issue: so let’s say I manage to map out the perfect plot for my dumbass Cures to explore. Then what? I have no interest (or ability) in writing fanfiction, but I can’t draw comics either. So what will I do, just sit quietly and aggressively imagine the story to myself? Then I could claim it’s the best story ever and none of you could prove me wrong, but it also doesn’t feel very fun.

Anyway once I figure out one character I think I have the big picture down, after which it’s mostly just character stuff. But here’s a tip: if your premise is that all your characters have the similar straightforward, easygoing, friendly, altruistic and good-natured personality, maybe give it a second thought. Because it’s pretty difficult to include some conflict to the story when the characters just want to be friends and help each other...

[amiination]

Is there an AU where SunSundae lives (or at the very least slightly immortal)? Because I think it'd be hilarious if SunSundae is just there, in the background, for every treaty, photo-op, ceasefire, and so on.

Like imagine if the ice cream man was just always there, every important event, and they're always there. You don't realize until you look at the photos and the ice cream man is there. Always smiling. Always handing out ice cream. Somehow alive when millions of other mecha aren't.

That'll be cool.

I suppose Shattered Glass AU? He's like that one creepy story about a man always appearing in photos before disasters XD kinda like a grim reaper

Here's a prototype of what I imagine his SG! design to look like (NOT FINALISED)

His theme is mint and chocolate because he dislike those flavours the most normally (sorry mint and chocolate lovers 😔)

[jewishconvertthings]

hello! i am in the process of converting with a Liberal Jewish synagogue in England, as i'm a queer woman with a non-Jewish spouse (who isn't interested in conversion) I felt this is the best course for me. my spouse is American and once I've finalised my conversion, we want to start thinking about moving to the US so they can be closer to their sick parents. i want to join a Convervative synagogue in the US, bc I have some issues with Reform Judaism for the most part (unless I actually find one that fits, you never know!) my question is, do you have any idea if Conservative shuls will accept a Liberal conversion? i don't even think that's a thing in the US. but if it matters, the rabbi I'm studying with grew up Orthodox until his adulthood, when he became a liberal rabbi & he's very serious when it comes to education and doing everything properly, and i'm going to go to the mikveh, i'm learning to read and write Hebrew and hopefully will learn to speak it, afaik we're following Halacha. thank you!

Hi anon,

So you're partially correct in that in the U.S. there isn't a Liberal movement that is called that, but my understanding is that its closest cousin in the U.S. is the U.S. Reform movement. (It's a bit confusing, because there is a British Reform movement, but it is a lot closer to the U.S. Conservative movement.)

As for a transfer of the conversion, most Conservative rabbis I know will accept a Reform conversion, so long as all of the usual traditional requirements are met. They will want to see that you've studied deeply and participated actively in the community for at least a year, ideally more. They will also want to see that you had a beit din, that you were circumcised (if relevant to your anatomy), that you immersed in a mikveh, and that you accept the responsibility to live a life of Torah and mitzvot upon yourself. If you do those things, most will accept you without further action. If you skip one or more of those steps, then they will want you to at a minimum complete them first. A more traditional rabbi might ask you about your intent to accept the mitzvot as binding during your beit din before accepting your conversion, or might want you to redo some of these steps within a Jewish framework that considers halacha binding. I would be very surprised to learn that anyone would make you start all over again.

As for the non-converting spouse: the Conservative movement allows individual rabbis to convert a person married to a non-Jew, but they are certainly not required to. The main thing is that they cannot perform interfaith marriages, and it at least used to be that they couldn't even attend as a guest. (I think that rule got flouted enough that it's gone now, but haven't researched it.) Some Conservative rabbis won't perform those conversions at all and so that may be a problem in the (still somewhat unlikely) event that they also want you to reconvert. I can try to track down the teshuva (rabbinic halachic opinion for the Conservative movement) if you really want to read it.

That said, my experience with the Conservative movement so far is very much not that. Honestly? They were just happy to have another person counting towards their minyan.

Best of luck with your journey, wherever that takes you, and g'mar chatima tova!

Edit: Potentially controversial take, but: it's up to you about how deep into the weeds you want to get in explaining your conversion to the new rabbi before participating in services. If you converted and consider your conversion valid and yourself fully Jewish, you aren't required to tell them anything except that you're Jewish. If it really matters to them, they'll ask about your background if/when you join as a member and can figure it out then. I personally like to be up front with the rabbi/designated community leader, because I have anxiety about rejection, so I'd rather know sooner rather than later if we have a problem. But that's me, and you should be aware that lay people aren't supposed to be asking you nosy questions. If it's a situation in which someone born Jewish doesn't feel the need to produce a copy of their mother or maternal grandmother's ketubah to the rabbi first before accepting an aliyah or what-have-you, then I don't think there should be a double standard for gerim.

[s1st3r]

Coincidence (Fives x f!Reader) Part 1

Author Note: This was originally a super basic idea that I just got really carried away with and before I knew it I had 1666 words and was like “welP. We’re doing multi chapter stuff now”. Bit of a slow pace at the moment. Part 2 will have more action.

Summary: You and Fives are assigned on a delicate infiltration mission. 

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1666

Rex’s POV

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to have them working together on this mission?”

I had to admit, I too was second guessing. It was a risky move, but I had faith that Fives and Y/N could pull this off.

“Yes sir,” I affirmed, “their specialised training accommodates for missions of this nature.”

“I’m well aware of their training Rex.” General Skywalker replied as we entered the bridge and approached the holotable. “I just wonder if things might get too… personal.”

“Sir, they’re the most dedicated soldiers I’ve ever met-“

“You mean the most stubborn,” Ahsoka, whom had been waiting for us on the bridge, supplied with a grin.

The general nodded his head reluctantly as though not completely convinced. He brought his hand up to rest on his chin as he contemplated.

“The communications have been established sir,” interrupted Admiral Yularen as he joined those of us surrounding the holotable.

A crackling sound came through as Fives and Y/N’s comms came online.

“Y/N comm check.”

“Fives comm check.”

General Skywalker leaned forward, overseeing the map of the multi-level mansion before him and the two red bleeping icons that signaled their positions.

“You’re clear to proceed,” he advised.

“Copy that,” rang Y/N’s clear voice.

I turned to face the general.

“They know what needs to be done sir.”

Skywalker considered my words carefully. He sighed, “I don’t know Rex. What if they’re not prepared to do what needs to be done?”

  Your POV

Heels echoed throughout the dimly lit hallway as I followed the sound of distant music and murmuring that spilled from the ballroom. As I drew closer, I held my breath in anticipation.

Or was that just this ridiculously tight corset?

I fluttered the fan in my hand in a feeble attempt to act like the lady everyone thought I was, while forcing some oxygen into my lungs. I took a deep gulp of air and compelled a graceful smile to my lips before I stepped into the light and glamour of the ongoing party.

Swiftly, I made my way over to the far side of the room where small tables covered in fine white tablecloth were dotted about for guests to rest at when their feet got tired of the dancing. Since it was still early in the night, many seats were yet to be occupied.

As inconspicuously as I could, I seated myself at a table displaced relatively far from the crowded dance floor. Casually, as if simply admiring the grand space, I surveyed the area. The room itself had to be at least three stories high with massive columns reaching up from the marble floor and curving to intertwine at the center of the ceiling, creating an arched effect. A magnificent chandelier was strung from the heights of the room and casted a beautiful reflection upon the floor’s surface and her dancers.

Hundreds of strangers in expensive clothing mingled below, constantly switching partners through the course of the dance. Swirling skirts and glimmering jewels were all that could be seen as I observed the onslaught of people.

All of this I saw in only a glance before my eyes found our man across the dance floor from me. He stood tall in a suit, cane in hand, as he conversed with other young men. Unfortunately, my eyes failed to find my man who was meant to be already situated at the main hall’s back exit.

I noted to my right, an approaching butler serving crystal glasses filled with rich red wine. Effortlessly, I reached out, seized a glass from the silver tray as he passed and brought the goblet to my lips as though to drink.

“I’m in position,” I muttered. “Eyes are on the target and ready to engage. Fives where are you?”

Small static sounds could be heard through my comm as the audio came through.

“Relax,” came the smooth reply, “I wouldn’t want to miss the party.” I resisted rolling my eyes at the slight tease in his tone. “Besides,” he continued, his voice dropping low, “I would love to see you in that dress again mesh’la.”

“Focus Fives.”

A small smirk tugged at the corner of my mouth at the General’s curt interruption.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Fives slip through a side door clad in the guard uniform he had stolen. My smirk grew. He looked so cute in the dress uniform; little epaulettes and all. Clearly Fives wasn’t the only one distracted. I forced my attention to the task at hand.

“Ready when you are.”

“About time,” I breathed as I left my cup on the table and stood. “Approaching target.”

 The Jedi Council had heard of a new Separatist general joining the fray.

Yavaros Tai.

Rumour had it that Tai was finalising his designs of a deadly weapon that he was revealing to his Separatist sponsors tonight. Clearly, the surrounding men he spoke to were his said benefactors. Wealth dangled from them.

Edging closer, I noted that he looked far younger than I had anticipated. No older than his mid-twenties.

The dark blue floral dress I wore dragged along the floor, so much so, not even my heeled shoes had given me the height I needed, and I resorted to tug the front of my dress upward to refrain from tripping. I hoped that all would go to plan, and I wouldn’t have to try and run in this thing. My only comfort was that I was well rehearsed in these kinds of missions and, on more than one occasion, proved myself to be surprisingly sufficient in improvising… and running.

As I approached the group of men, I planned my next steps carefully in my head. Now, with them only a few feet to my right, I looked over my shoulder as though entranced and distracted. An oblivious dancer, close to the edge of the throng, accidently collided into me and sent me tumbling. Before I could even register the surprised shouts of men, strong arms caught me, and I looked up to see the bright blue eyes of General Tai. Perfect.

  Fives’s POV

She was beautiful.

I knew we were in the middle of a mission, but my eyes were completely spellbound as they intently traced her movements. She moved with a grace and sophistication I had never seen on her before and, despite being dressed to fit in for the event, she stood out like a rose among thorns.

From my position near the doorway, I spied the envious looks from the surrounding women as she walked the expanse of the hall. I didn’t fail to realise the visible admiration from the men nearby either, but my brief jealousy was quickly replaced by pride. I couldn’t help the smug smile.

That’s my girl.

I wished I could be beside her. Show those men she was mine. Maybe ask her to dance. We could dance and laugh until our feet got tired and then leave the party, running down the empty corridors. We would find a way to climb up to the roof and spend the rest of the night under the stars like I know she loved to do.

My smile faltered. Not for the first time, disappointment and love fought for control as I struggled to come to terms with reality.

Because standing alone on the outskirts, I was again reminded anew.

She may love me, but I could never give her the life she deserved.

  Your POV

My mouth gaped open in false shock.

“Oh, excuse me!” I exclaimed. “My sincerest apologies!”

The corner of General Tai’s eyes crinkled in amusement as I gathered myself and pretended to act gushed and embarrassed. Smoothing out my dress, I noted his hands still rested on my shoulders. One of them still held onto his cane. Almost reluctantly, he let his arms fall to his sides as he took in my appearance. I blushed as his penetrating eyes slowly raked down and back up my form.

“My my,” he hummed, “what a beautiful specimen.” His hand caught mine and gently lifted it to brush his lips against my knuckles. His eyes stared intently into mine. It made me uncomfortable. In many ways he was generically handsome, blue eyes, blonde hair, high cheekbones, and a refined posture. Nothing like Fives with his dark features, rugged look, wild smile, and-

“Ehem.” My thoughts were interrupted when a man to our side leaned closer to the general. “We have important matters to discuss sir.” His narrowed eyes flickered over to me. I could tell he was trying to intimidate me as he squared his shoulders.

“Nothing that can’t wait Cronan.” Yavaros’s eyes never left mine.

“But sir- “

“Cronan,” Tai interjected, finally tearing his gaze away from me to focus on the man beside him. “This is a party, is it not? Enjoy yourselves this evening gentlemen. We will discuss business later.”

Cronan shot me daggers as him and the other men dispersed and weaved themselves among the partygoers. Some opted to dance, while most continued to converse with other diplomats.

“Looks like a fun crowd,” I remarked sarcastically, drawing the general’s attention back to me.

“Ah yes,” Tai smirked as his piercing eyes turned to fix on me once more. “I should like to apologise for his curtness. Cronan is… ambitious, and very keen in his handling of business.”

I look of hunger flashed in his eyes.

“Perhaps in some ways, I am no different.” I tried not to squirm as he edged closer to me.

“Oh?”

Ahhh man.

“Mmm.” I felt his breath ghost my cheek as he whispered in my ear. “I’m ambitious to gain your affections Miss…”

“Miss Y/N,” I supplied in a breathy tone. While he mistook it for admiration, I tried to steal my nerves.

He leered. “Miss Y/N,” he murmured, as though playing how the name felt on his tongue. The tension in the air tangible. “Would you join me for a walk?”

To be continued...

~ Sister

Tags: @imalovernotahater​ @kaorikoizumi​ @xlittlemissydjx​ @damerondala​

Let me know if you want to be tagged in future works!

[prettywordsyouleft]

Peach and Pear

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x female reader

Genre: strangers to lovers / fluff

Warnings: none

A/N: So I woke up the other morning and wrote this story before getting up for the day. It’s set in a place here in New Zealand and I’m really proud of this little world I randomly created.

Word count: 2945

Once upon a time, there was a little peach that lost his way for the first time. The peach had always been a very successful fruit, doing many things each day to become one of the best peaches around. He was strong and healthy and he was full of talents. A lot of the other fruit admired him a great deal--

“Then why did he get lost?” a curious, high-pitched voice asked, and before you could continue with the story, someone else did for you.

“He woke up and realised he was tired of being successful because he did so much each day,” your husband Jinyoung answered, walking over to you and your daughter, who scooted out from under the blankets you had just tucked her under to reach out her little limbs towards her father. Sitting down on the opposite side of the bed from you, Jinyoung pulled her into his arms, planting a kiss on the top of her crown affectionately.

“You know this story too, Daddy?!”

“Oh yes,” he replied, shooting you a look. “Who do you think told Mummy about it?”

“I want to hear what the peach did next!” she exclaimed and you cleared your throat to continue the story.

Jinyoung laid there, unmoving, as the alarm continued to shrill around the room. Normally he would turn it off and roll back over, knowing he had a second one set for when he truly had to be out of his bed. Yet, when that one sounded as well after the first one had gone on for too long and given up, he still didn’t rush out from under the blankets.

For the first time in a long while, he felt unmotivated.

He had business meetings and English lessons to attend today. Not to mention, his daily swimming practice was waiting for him to start the day. He would then head into the office, working until six precisely, where he would go out for dinner with a client who was investing more into his company. Afterwards, he was expected to hit up the gym for leg day, and finally wind up back here, finalising any paperwork before reading another chapter in a self-improvement book and go to bed by eleven.

And then the day would repeat, usually with some variation to the workday, but still with the continued structure that he expected from himself each day.

Today, however, he didn’t care for any of it.

Jinyoung wanted a break. He couldn’t remember the last time he didn’t follow the same continuous pattern that all around him had come to rely on. He was too predictable now, twenty-six and thriving as a businessman, successful enough to have his name in the tabloids often as a measure that many others in the industry strived to match. No one had expected the handsome man to create such a storm at his age, let alone at all. Yet the proof was in the pudding, or in Jinyoung’s case, his relentless endeavour to create a stable and solid life plan for him and his company.

Whilst he had worked tirelessly on building the foundation of his business, his university pals were off taking in the world. Mark had gone snowboarding at every well-known skiing resort, and Jackson was in America promoting Team Wang whilst collaborating with top names on every country’s celebrity list. Jaebum had travelled to Europe to learn more about the way music was produced there and BamBam was never in the same continent for too long, having fun being young and rich. Even Youngjae and Yugyeom had found themselves leaving this place to find better horizons. Only Jinyoung had stayed.

He wasn’t bitter that he had chosen to, but it did mean his youth was spent grinding each day and not truly lived. As he laid in his bed, still uncaring that the second alarm had come and gone, he realised he craved reaching out for what he had missed out on. He wanted to explore a foreign place and do so without much planning.

He was usually the research and implement type of guy, but today, he simply packed a small suitcase with the necessities for travel and climbed into his car, heading towards the airport.

With passport in hand, he watched the departure board for one of the places to stand out to him. Many flights were heading out within the next couple of hours, though there was one about to leave in forty minutes. Striding towards a desk, he smiled at the clerk and asked to buy a ticket to that destination.

“Sir, are you sure?” she asked, slightly perplexed by the sudden passenger request. Jinyoung nodded and she cringed. “There’s no business class left and it will take-”

“I’ll take it,” he confirmed, sliding his credit card across the tabletop towards her.

And that was how Jinyoung found himself in the back row of a twelve-hour plane ride to New Zealand.

“Wow!” exclaimed your daughter, eyes round with the adventure. “The little peach travelled all the way here! Did he make any friends?”

“Well,” you said, glancing at your husband before nodding once. “He turned up unexpectedly and asked to stay at a pear’s broken down bed and breakfast.”

“Which was basically in the middle of nowhere,” Jinyoung added on with a smile, glancing over at you fondly. “And it didn’t have any central heating.”

“That was because the pear herself hadn’t quite found out how to fix that problem, and the peach had chosen to get on a plane without checking that New Zealand was in the middle of winter.”

Jinyoung laughed, placing his daughter back under the blankets before continuing the story.

You blinked at the man standing upon your porch, shivering in his thin coat, the snow that was falling outside having covered his dark hair. And when you realised you weren’t hallucinating, you gasped, jerking open the old door across the wooden floors and stepped aside.

The foreign man dove inside out of the howling wind, and you shut it out with some effort in closing the door before stepping in front of him.

“How did you… I mean, it’s freezing out and you’re barely layered up. Please, follow me to the fireplace, you need to warm up.”

Once he was positioned as close to the fire as he could get, the man unravelled his arms around his waist and outstretched them towards the embers to thaw out. You left him there and dashed down to the kitchen, flicked on the jug and waited for it to boil.

Just who was this strange man? And how had he stumbled across your place at this time of night?

When your uncle died earlier in the year, his estate had been left to you. Your father, and his brother, had passed away some years prior and since your parents had been separated, what your uncle owned had been rightfully designated as yours.

“An inn?!” you echoed the words the lawyer had just read out, sitting up further in your chair. “My estranged uncle owned an inn?!”

“I wouldn’t be too excited, the place hasn’t had any guests in years,” the lawyer remarked, but you were already looking at the photos of the charming building, imagining what a bit of paint and gardening could do for the place.

So that’s how you wound up leaving the city life for the small township in the Buller district that had less than 1000 people living there. And, it was definitely going to take more than paint and some gardening to fix this place.

“You’re as crazy as your uncle was for trying to do up that house,” Katie, the owner of the only tearooms in Reefton, mentioned when you came in for lunch earlier in the day. “It’s got more problems than the number of people living here.”

You smiled grimly. “You don’t need to remind me.”

“Why not sell it and go back to where you came from, Y/N? The land would be worth some. I’m sure a farmer around here would happily bulldoze down that eyesore of a home and run his sheep or cattle over it just fine. In fact, I think Bill was-”

Imagining the crumbling building no longer existing didn’t make you feel any better. Glancing up at Katie, you shook your head. “It’s Reefton Estate. You can’t just go tearing down history like that.”

“There’s history, Y/N and then there’s money traps. Sure, in its heyday that place must have been spectacular and full of guests all the time with the gold rush and all. But this isn’t the eighteen hundreds. There’s only the novelty of finding gold at Shanty Town if you’re a tourist these days.”

“I don’t need gold, and I can’t just sell up.”

So you got stuck in with what you could do. You hired a contractor from Greymouth to come and look at your home, and with an extremely long list of projects thereafter, you started tackling them one by one. The place was liveable, but it still had a long way to go to be back to its former glory.

And you certainly were slower than most, being a one-woman team, with a trickle of funds available. As a joke, you placed an advert up online looking for volunteers to help lovingly restore the estate.

Of course, no one had come, until now.

Handing the stranger a mug of tea, you sat down beside him and smiled gently. “Did you mean to come here?”

“It’s a long story,” he said, smiling weakly. “I’m Jinyoung and you are?”

“Y/N,” you replied, holding out your hand in greeting. He took it, and your eyes nearly popped out of your head with how cold he still was. Rubbing it repeatedly, you tried to warm him up until Jinyoung gripped at your wrist and eyed you warily.

You balked and let him go. “Sorry, it’s just that you’re so cold. Not many people venture out at night around here without thermals on.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he mentioned with a soft smile, nodding once. “Thank you for the tea.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

Before the night wore out, Jinyoung had told you of his rash plan. He had left Korea and come to New Zealand on a whim, and again, chose his next destination in the same way as he had his last.

You gasped. “Of all the places to choose in New  Zealand, you ended up in Greymouth?!”

“To be fair, I wasn’t really aware. I thought it would be bigger and have more people,” he admitted and you laughed.

“The coast has people; just they tend to know each other. Oh boy. It won’t be long until word spreads about you coming here either.”

“How will that happen when it’s just us two here?” Jinyoung asked and you sighed.

You didn’t want to have to explain it tonight. When you had arrived from Christchurch, it was as if you had a giant beacon on your head that every resident of Reefton could see from their homes. You had been inundated with visitors both very friendly and extremely nosy for an entire week before you felt that you had met almost everyone. And although you got used to the gossiping nature of the place, you still didn’t quite like it either.

You somehow felt protective of Jinyoung. Besides, when the light arrived in the morning, you were certain he would climb into his hired vehicle and continue on his sightseeing ways.

However, you found him merely staring at your entryway, aghast.

“Morning,” you called and he whipped around, trying to wipe the perturbed look off his face. Clearing his throat, you shook your head to stop him. “I know, it needs a lot of attention.”

“Only one fireplace works, the rooms are freezing even with the space heater you gave me and you have a hole in the ceiling above me.”

“There’s also the west wing that has two inaccessible rooms, one of the bathrooms upstairs is blocked and there’s no way anyone will be able to stay here in the next few years to produce any revenue,” you added on with a smile, handing Jinyoung the coffee you had made him. He thanked you silently, before allowing his gaze to travel up the walls again. “It would probably make nice firewood to some farmer who tore it down for the land to run his animals over-”

“It has charm,” Jinyoung said then, cutting you off. You merely stared at him, wondering who he really was. He was the only person you had met since inheriting this place that had said those words to you. “It has a lot of potential to become something amazing, after a lot of work, of course.”

“I think so too.”

“Do you have the blueprints at all?” he asked and you cocked your head to the side.

“Thought you were sightseeing?”

“Well, there certainly seems to be a lot to look at just within this house, don’t you think?”

Jinyoung said he would stay for two weeks, helping you with projects that could be started with a bit of manual labour. Two weeks turned into a month, with trips to Greymouth for further supplies. And after then, you stopped asking when he was going to go back to Korea and his company. Part of you didn’t want to know the answer, having grown attached to the man. He was more playful than you had expected, and you spent most of your days laughing and soon your nights curled up together in front of the fireplace.

Of course, the gossip mill ran wild. Jinyoung didn’t care, and after three months, he even held your hand as you walked downtown, allowing the nosy store owners to pick up their phones and ring around that you had found yourself a man.

“Did the peach ever return home?”

“He did, three times,” Jinyoung stated, holding up the right amount of fingers before counting them down as he spoke. “First, because he felt he had to go. But he had found he could run his company from New Zealand with relative success.”

“Especially once he invested in better internet connection at the inn,” you interjected with a knowing look and Jinyoung rolled his eyes before dropping another finger.

“He came back here because he couldn’t stop thinking about the house and worried that pear would end up hurting herself badly. Which, had he not gotten on that plane and walked through the door when he did, pear would have fallen off a ladder onto the ground.”

“Instead she fell on top of the peach,” you said with a laugh and Jinyoung nodded.

“And the third time he went back was to finalise the sale of his company and bring his parents back with him.”

Your daughter sat up eagerly again. “Why did his parents come?! Did he miss them?!”

“Of course. But there was another reason too,” Jinyoung said, glancing at you and reaching out for your hand. You took it and he rubbed the set of rings that lay over your left finger. “The peach and pear got married.”

“Wait a minute!” your daughter breathed, pointing at her father and then you repeatedly before clapping and squealing. “That’s you and Mummy!”

“And now we live in Reefton Estate together, don’t we?” you told her, and her little head bounced up and down.

“Which thankfully has heating.”

“And no more holes in the ceilings.”

“The west wing can be rented out to staying guests.”

“And the peach and pear lived happily ever after.”

“With their own little peachy-pear!” cried your daughter to end the story, which had you all laughing, hugging the sweet child.

And once she had finally drifted off to sleep, you stepped out into the hallway on tiptoes, trying not to make the floorboards creak and wake her back up.

Of course, the house had been repaired. But it still carried most of its original parts, and definitely needed more work. The floors were next on the list to replace.

For now, tiptoeing back to your room down the hall was the best option you had. And when Jinyoung shut the door behind you, he pulled you into his arms, resting his head on your shoulder. You leaned back into him, cherishing the moment.

Mostly for his warmth, and he knew it.

“We need to work on the heating in our room.”

“It made sense to do the guest rooms at the time so we could make money,” you reminded, spinning around softly so you could face him. “Besides, I remember you saying at the time that we had each other to keep warm with.”

“That’s how peachy-pear came along,” he pointed out with a low chuckle and you slapped his shoulder playfully.

“We should get that heating sorted quickly then in case we end up growing more fruit,” you teased but Jinyoung shook his head in answer, leaning down to capture your lips briefly.

“I don’t mind growing more fruit with you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“It’s one way to keep us both warm, too.”

“Why did you turn up on my doorstep all those years ago?” you breathed out, staring at your husband lovingly. You still couldn’t quite believe your luck.

As if he read your mind, Jinyoung smiled. “It wasn’t luck that brought me here. It was a need to find my forever home.”

“You chose well in a broken-down inn,” you retorted, to which he chuckled again.

“It has its charm,” he said before nuzzling his nose into yours. “And it has you.”

_________________

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[matildashoney]

All I’ve Ever Known // The Prologue

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Let’s talk about Harry and Amelie!

Harry’s routine is always the same before a show. All of Live on Tour has been routine, at least.

That’s because Amelie has been around for nearly the entire tour, scheduling shows around when the meetings for her latest exhibition, her biggest exhibition – twenty pieces of art centred around boundaries and the journey to accepting them as they are – are going to be held, especially the mandatory meetings in-house with Susan – the agent that she’s started working with since she saw her work at an exhibition for up and coming artists two years ago and was thoroughly impressed – and Harry wanted to be as supportive as he could be. That meant being around, even if there was a world tour of eighty some dates across the globe.

Harry’s had the threat of losing Amelie once. He wouldn’t make that mistake, again.

His schedule for the day usually begins with getting to the venue, then soundcheck and tech rehearsal while the stage is being finalised, a light meal of some sort – usually that’s just Amelie eating and Harry having coffee and sitting with her because he’s a tad bit clingy – and a workout. Harry will shower and change, dragging Amelie into the bathroom and talking to her about any emails that she’s gotten, an update on any of the art and the designs that’s she’s been working on with the film that she was signed an artistic creative director for – which he was unbelievably proud of her for – and the dates that she would have to fly home to California to attend their meetings and go over the designs that the crew was working on.

Amelie and Harry were apart for a majority of the years before, nearly nine months apart two years ago and four months last year, graciously able to reconnect towards the end of the Live on Tour dates in late October when the major meetings were coming to a close regarding the exhibition and much of the creative direction was being sent through private emails and phone conferences. Harry was grateful that Amelie was with him, now, but he knew that she was stressed beyond measure. Amelie wears herself too thin, too often, and Harry doesn’t want to see her burn out like she had a year and a half before.

Harry would get changed shortly after his shower, getting in the chair and giving hair and makeup time to do their work, this being the moment that Amelie steps aside and tends to her computer work or talking with her cousin about where the best photographs would be taken for her to sketch out for a project she was working to give Harry for Christmas, that year.

Not that Harry knew this.

Then it’s Amelie’s turn, getting dressed in an outfit that most likely matches Harry’s suit to an extent. Harris designed a few dresses and pant suits for the final show to match what Harry had had selected for himself, giving her the options. Tonight, for the final show, Amelie is wearing the black and gold sparkled pantsuit that’s tight fitting to her chest and thighs, flaring at her calves, a new nose ring hooped into her piercing, her hair a new shade of platinum and curled the way she – and he – loves so much. Not that she admits it often, but it’s always her favourite when they match; it’s their hinted way of saying that they’re together without anyone actually catching on.

Three years in, and crowds are still oblivious to the relationship that they have, and it’s something they cherish, especially with how Harry is painted in the media more often than not. Helene is always very careful with their photographs, too, never sharing too much but always giving the pictures that she has of them backstage. Those might be their favourite shots, the ones where they’re kissing or Harry’s arms are tightly wrapped around her waist, or she’s wiping lipstick off his cheeks. Always a sweet reminder that they’re there, in this together, whatever it may bring.

And by the time everyone is done getting ready, Harry is ready to eat something light, warm his voice, and head on stage. Outside is buzzing with excitement, and they can already hear the crowd singing to “Olivia”, which is Harry’s favourite. Amelie’s computer is away, all of her attention ready to be set on her man, the love of her life, and admire him do what he loves on stage.

Harry was made to be there, to be the star of the show.

And tonight, this show, is bittersweet in a lot of ways. It’s the final Live on Tour date. Coming to a close of eighty-nine shows, all around the world, ninety minutes that tens of thousands can be themselves in one room, one arena. It’s special. It’s something that not many could do. Amelie knows that she surely couldn’t. It’s admirable and brave to be vulnerable to so many people. And although Harry would have liked to write an album a bit more authentic to his sound, what he loves, Amelie is encouraging him every step of the way that now he’s seen how many people adore him and want to see him be himself. He has a million chances to get it right, to grow, to change.

Anne is there. Fay and Luca. Phoebe and her girlfriend, Deb. Brandon and Autumn. Jenny and Dan, Amaya and Amari. All of their friends.

And Amelie. Always where Harry can see her. Always where Harry can know that she’s there to support him, and love him, and be the one that will hold him tight and say that’s she’s proud of him when the show comes to a close.

All of their entourage for the evening is gathered backstage, Amari on Jenny’s waist and Amaya standing close by to Uncle Harry as they all talk and decide on where the children will stay towards the end of the show. Harry’s extremely protective of his goddaughters – and his entire family – to say the least.

Jeff walks into the dressing room, telling Harry that’s it’s time to go, that the show is about to start. Sarah and Mitch walk in behind him, greeting everyone, Adam and Clare shuffling in. Harry is smiling, his heart full of love and so much happiness that isn’t quite sure what could be better.

That’s until Amelie brings him to the side, to the quiet corner in the hallway, taking a polaroid out of her pocket, one with Amelie kissing Harry’s cheek with a smile spread ear to ear on his lips, and sticking it inside the tiny slip in his suit jacket.

“Not one person in this arena could be prouder of you than I am,” Amelie smiles, her eyes wet with tears as Harry swipes a stray beneath her lashes, “and I want you to have this near your heart, to remind you that I fucking adore you and everything you do. All the songs, all the tears, all the love. That’s all you, inside of you. Less than two years and you’ve acted in a film, released an album, done two tours, and you’ve supported me like no one else ever has. Not one person on this planet will ever know the way it is to love you, and I’m beyond grateful that you chose me. I’ll do this with you forever, Harry.”

Harry’s on the verge of tears, now, cupping her jaw and kissing her in a way that could say everything he isn’t sure how to articulate. He loves her. God, he fucking loves her. And he’s sure that he loves her more than anyone could ever love another person in the entire world. That’s why there’s a ring in his duffle bag, a ring that her grandfather gave him the day they went to visit a day before his show, telling Harry that her grandmother always said that the person that falls in love with Amelie should have it, because it would mean more to her than she would ever admit. And Harry wants to give it to her, and everyday feels like the day.

“All for you, all of this is for you, you know that? Everything I do.”

Amelie wraps her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tightly, soaking in the way that for a moment, it’s only them and their love and how much of their life is surrounded by the way that they support each other. Her fingers toy with the curls at the nape of his neck, not wanting to ruin his hair, even though she knows that he wouldn’t mind. And they stand that way for a few minutes, knowing that someone is going to come and whisk him away for the show to start, and Amelie will stand right where the stairs are to be the last person he sees before going on stage.

“I adore you, Harry Styles. More than anyone has ever loved another person,” Amelie whispers into his neck, and Harry pulls away for a moment to look at her. “And I am unbelievably proud of you. Not just as your girlfriend, but as your best friend.”

“You’re the best thing to ever happen to me.” Harry stares at Amelie as if she’s hung the moon and the stars in the sky and aligned all the planets for them to live the life they’re living. Helene is hidden behind a wall, snapping pictures of the two in the middle of their moment, unable to hear the way they’re speaking so fondly of each other. They’ll want the memories, the photographs of the moment that only they shared. “You’ll be at the B Stage, right? I’m ready to sing my heart out to you.”

“Always.”

And Amelie’s right. Not one show has she missed being right there, standing in front of him, singing the words to the songs that he wrote for her, as his way to show the love that couldn’t be said in an everyday conversation.

“Harry, it’s time to go,” Tom says, kindly taking the two out of their bubble and patting Harry’s cheek. “Know where you’re going, Ames?”

Amelie smiles at the name, knowing that it’s all Harry’s doing that so many people in their life have taken to calling her that. “Always.”

“Great. Have to take him away but you’ll see him soon.”

Harry takes a deep breath, nodding to his manager and taking a few steps away and towards the huddled group in the centre of the corridor, all of his band and team and crew gathering to have a final few words before the show would begin. Amelie squeezes Harry’s hand reassuringly, stealing a kiss – not that she’s stealing much when she has about a hundred a day – and smiling, releasing him and gently nudging him towards the group, taking her backstage pass between her fingertips and walking towards the walkway of the stage, slinking down and hiding herself as security lights a path for her to the stairs. All of the band is shuffling quickly behind her, Harry talking to Jeff and giving Anne a kiss to her cheek before walking in their footsteps.

And standing there, listening to the arena cheering and screaming his name, the lights fading and the screens lifting, Harry knows that there is nothing that will replace this feeling. Euphoria, in a sense. Feeling completely at home and loved and free. He is well aware that having the love of his life there is a big part of that, because there is no better feeling than making the one you love proud of you.

There Amelie is, waiting for him at the edge of the stairs, his favourite smile on her lips, waiting to give him one last kiss before he steps on the stage, before he’s home.

“Enjoy every moment of this, baby,” Amelie smiles, taking his cheeks in her hands and kissing him sweetly. “This is all for you, you did this. I am so proud of you.” There’s a moment where they’re staring and it’s perfect. “Only Angel” is beginning to play, and the clock is ticking. “I’ll be right there singing back to you.”

“I love you,” Harry says, and there are no more words for him to express how wonderful he feels at that moment.

“All the way back to wherever you are, I love you. Always.”

One final kiss, and Harry is bounding up the steps, his in-ears pressed in place and the screams of the arena overwhelming him in the best way. His attitude changes to the stage presence that everyone loves, and he knows that this is the moment that he’ll remember forever. That this will be his, always.

Harry’s, and Amelie’s, and theirs – the fans – because there would be nothing, none of this, no opportunity to fulfil his dreams without them.

And for that, he will be forever grateful, beyond words.

Amelie rushes to walk around the stage, everyone beginning to file around her as security leads them into the arena and weaves through the audience, making sure everyone is settled in the area that Harry wants them, where he can see them. As always, Phoebe grabs Amelie’s hand, the two happily unaware of anyone recording them and the way that the tech and sound engineers are overly endeared by them. All that there is in the room is love and happiness and a whole lot of freedom that nobody could take away from them.

Amelie can’t not think about what the songs mean. Harry gave her the opportunity to really have her own interpretation of the lyrics before telling her what they’re about, the ones that she wanted to know, at least, and for a few minutes, she would sit in silence, listening to the track all over again, taking in the way he writes so elegantly about things that have cut him deep. For that, Amelie is unbelievably proud of him, because there is a lot of courage that comes along with being honest, even if Harry was still working up to being authentically himself.

Harry Styles is not about her entirely, and that’s nothing that’s ever upset her. Amelie knows there were experiences, relationships, love, heartbreak long before she was around, and there would never be a time that she would say something to make Harry think differently about what he was writing, because at the end of the day, his writing is the same as her art – therapeutic and cathartic; a way to release all of their thoughts and emotions in a healthy way, to get everything on the surface and share in the best way they know how.

Opening the show with “Only Angel” and “Woman”, there really was no need for a thoughtful interpretation. Harry including the line that Brandon said to him the day they met, that his younger sister is less than an angel and he would have to wait to find out, clearly oblivious to how their relationship came about to begin with. Harry writing in the line that was said to her as his face was between her thighs when she visited him in Jamaica while writing the album, only there for four days and he took full advantage of having her at his fingertips and as his muse. “Carolina” was always the song that made Amelie try to hide away, remembering particularly the night that they all went out and got absolutely plastered, blacked out, somehow winding up with a story of Harry nearly dragging Amelie to a toilet and taking her there, their friend bringing home a girl and telling the story of their night together the next day; and thus the song was born, a messy tale of sex and liquor and one night stands – for their friend, at least.

And everyone is dancing, singing, having the time of their lives. All of their friends and family are cheering and supporting the man she loves most in the world, and there is no greater feeling than how much she adores him and all that he’s doing.

Amelie’s arms fold in front of her chest as soon as the opening chords of “Meet Me in the Hallway” begin playing, thinking about how far they’ve come from the moments that inspired such a desperate song. That was the first song that Harry played for Amelie when showing her the album – not simply because it was first, but because he wanted to tell her why he wrote it – and there will never be a time that she listens that she doesn’t think of how much hurt their break, their arguing, their conversations caused for him barely two years ago. That’s how Harry felt, in devastating pain. There is something to be said for the way the outro to the song leads him straight to where she’s standing. Maybe Harry’s done it on purpose, maybe he hasn’t, but seeing the way his eyes light up with her standing right there says more about their love for each other than any words could.

Harry grins at Amelie, gathering his guitar and microphone and getting ready to sing the songs that are all for her, that were chosen to be sung to her, right there. He smiles as Amaya waves from where they’re standing, their Amari already falling asleep on her father’s shoulder, her headphones chunky on her head and making for a difficult way to be comfortable. His tongue wets his lips, taking a drink and playing the opening chords to “Sweet Creature” as he always does, trying his absolute best to have his emotions in tact as he stares at the love of his life crying in front of him, her eyes wet and her hand over her heart – with their niece’s hand over hers – the tiny h tattoo that she impulsively got in Amsterdam at the small of her wrist.

All of this, whether she believed it or not, was for her. All of the songs. All of the emotions. All of the writing and travelling and work, because all he wanted was to make her proud, to make her happy. And she is. Completely and utterly happy.

“Hugs, Auntie?” Amaya whispers into her ear, noticing the tears on her cheeks as the song comes to a close.

“Absolutely,” Amelie smiles, hugging her tightly to her chest and kissing her forehead and adjusting her on her waist to have her tuck her face into her neck. One of them would bring them backstage once the miniature set was over, to have them there for when everyone hurries out and they all begin to make their way to celebrate the end of tour. “Uncle Harry’s going to sing a song for Auntie and then Daddy will take you back, okay?”

Harry grins as Amelie mouths the three words that mean the absolute most, his fingers beginning to strum against the guitar that she decorated as a birthday present before tour began in March. This was their song, the song that was meant for Amelie and only Amelie. All of the lyrics are about her, about how he would do absolutely anything for her.

Harry’s eyes meet Amelie’s, eyelashes wet with tears as she sings along, singing to him and him to her. “For your eyes only, I show you my heart. For when you’re lonely and forget who you are. I’m missing half of me, when we’re apart. Now you know me, for your eyes only.”

And for those four minutes, it’s as though they are the only two in the arena.

Amelie really thinks that, maybe, she and Harry might be.

“Kiwi” has the ground shaking, and by the time Harry is at the B Stage standing in front of her, once again, the smile on her face is unmistakeable for one that only can be caused by him. Her shoulder is tapped near the end of the third go, ushering her backstage where Harry would be waiting to squeeze her and kiss her as he always does.

Around the dressing room, there is a freshly made cake and champagne and liquor and balloons celebrating the show. Harry’s clothes are folded neatly on the vanity, waiting for him to change and get to greet everyone and give his gratitude to everyone that’s supported him – his team, his crew, his band, his family and friends, and his girlfriend when they’re home – and stay a bit later to watch the stage get taken down and absorb the last moments that existed of Live on Tour.

“Hi, baby,” Amelie grins, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and laughing as his hands grab her bum and lift her onto his waist, hugging her as tightly as physically possible. “That was fucking incredible. All of it. Every single second.”

Harry kisses her neck, gently setting her feet on the ground and feverishly kissing her, his hands tied in her hair, soaking in the way she is smiling against his lips and clinging to his arms. His mind is oblivious to everyone clapping and cheering around him, giving the two a minute to themselves before whisking him away to the makeshift party. “I love you. Merci pour tout.”

“This is all you,” she says, turning her head and kissing his palm as his lips touch her hairline sweetly. “Never need to thank me for doing what a best friend should do, what you should do for someone you love.”

“Amelie Fay, you are so much more than my best friend.” Harry kisses Amelie once more, interlocking their fingers and walking towards the crowd that is cheering and congratulating and sharing hugs.

Amelie hugs Harry’s waist, slinking away and walking in the dressing room, leaving him to talk to everyone and have his moment alone. This was Harry’s moment and Amelie knows that he’ll get distracted with her around and talking nearby. Her mother and father are talking with Anne, Phoebe and Maya talking with Brandon and Autumn as they all get ready to leave sooner rather than later. Jenny and Dan and talking mindlessly on the couch, their children sleeping on their chests and enjoying the quiet that surrounds them.

“Harry always gets them right to sleep,” Amelie laughs, taking a seat next to Jenny and staring lovingly at her goddaughter as she cuddles into her mother’s chest. “Did you like the show?”

“Loved it, as always,” Jenny says, pursing her lips together and staring into the corridor, likely ensuring that Harry wasn’t walking inside before speaking again. “Thought about this earlier when I saw you two outside.”

“Thought about what?”

“You and Harry getting married,” she says, shrugging her shoulders as her husband shakes his head. “Don’t shake your head at me, Daniel, I want to officiate it.” Jenny’s attention goes back to her best friend, “Do you think you’ll even get engaged soon? Don’t have to get married, right away. Thought about how great you two are so great together, in love more than anyone could’ve guessed you would be. Age is a stupid excuse, so I don’t want to hear that.” Jenny’s eyes narrow at Amelie as she opens her mouth, knowing what her best friend would say. “Obviously, you two are living very chaotic lives, right now, but have you thought about it? Talked about it, at least?”

“From time to time, yeah,” Amelie says, running her fingers through her hair. “Don’t really think about it much, right now, with tour and the exhibition and the movie, and everything. I mean, that’s not to say that I wouldn’t say yes if Harry asked me.” Harry’s voice gets louder as he nears the dressing room. “Think that us living together and having a cat and buying a house is what works for us, right now. Don’t think Harry would want to settle down that fast at twenty-four.”

“Think you’d be surprised,” Jenny shrugs, kissing her daughter’s hair and rubbing her back soothingly. “Harry talks about having a life with you all the time.”

“Maybe it’s because having babies almost feels inevitable after you get married, you know? Neither of us want to have children when everything in our future is so uncertain.”

“Makes sense,” she says, pursing her lips and taking a sip of her water. “Don’t ever rule anything out, though, alright? This is good for you. Harry’s good for you.”

Harry smiles as he walks into the dressing room, kissing his mother on the cheek, graciously accepting her tight embrace, hugging Amelie’s mother and father, and walking straight towards his love sitting on his chair at the vanity. “Hi.”

“Hi, baby.”

Harry instinctively moves into a spot where Amelie’s arms can wrap around his shoulders, where she can hold him. His hands hold hers, kisses set all over his cheeks as he laughs, their best friends murmuring something about how obnoxious they are together. His heart is obsessively full of love, nearly breaking his ribs with how swollen it is, his chest tight in the sweetest way. Harry grabs his clean clothes, tugging on Amelie’s hand and bringing her into the quiet bathroom with him, squeaking when his hands immediately move to her waist and his mouth attaches to hers.

His kiss is heavy against her swollen mouth, feverish and lusting and slightly out of breath. Her fingers thread through his curls, absolutely obsessed with the moment that belongs to only them, only their eyes, only their mouths. All Harry wants is to immerse himself into Amelie’s skin, her touch, her kiss. His yearning for her isn’t necessarily sexual, but craving the moments that they’re alone that all of his attention is on her, and he doesn’t have to speak to anyone, simply listening to her ramble and talk about what she loves about life and art and music and always most importantly, him. His greatest wish would be to be inside her mind, to know all that her thoughts are when she isn’t telling him, to know all that he doesn’t already. Harry loves Amelie so deeply, that he wants to know absolutely everything, feel everything, love everything.

Amelie gently nudges Harry away, smiling softly at the whimper that leaves him and the way his hands hug tight around her waist. “Everyone is going to look for you, Mr Styles. Can’t have sex in here and disappear from the world.”

“Can disappear if you really want to.”

Harry swears his heart could burst when Amelie giggles, laying her head on his sweaty skin and kissing his neck. “Get changed and we can celebrate.”

His fingers start undoing the buttons on his shirt, his trousers loosening around his waist. “Are you going to watch them take the stage down with me?”

“’Course,” she says, smirking when his head rolls against his neck, frustrated with the buttons that won’t come undone. “Let me.”

His tongue licks his lips as Amelie begins unbuttoning his shirt, each button slow and drawn out, giving him a moment to talk to her. “Having that picture in my pocket made me feel really,” he pauses for a moment, thinking, “loved. Made me feel even more loved, t’night. Thank you for it.”

“Have about three years’ worth of polaroids to take on stage with you.”

“Like having one of only you, only us, though. Gave me a reminder of who I’m doing it for,” Harry says, his eyes squeezing shut as Amelie kisses him, her warm hands on his sweaty skin, her thumbs pressing into the butterfly on his abdomen to steady her on her toes. “You.”

“Good thing I do the same for you, then, isn’t it? Otherwise that’d be awkward,” Amelie giggles, handing over his shirt and sweats and smiling to herself. “Couldn’t be more freaking proud of you, baby.”

“That’s the best feeling in the world.”

“Feeling?”

“Making you proud,” he states matter-of-factly, tying the inside of the waistband and folding the suit neatly, tucking the polaroid in his pocket safely and kissing her forehead as they walk outside. “Alright. There’s a party in the kitchen. Let’s go!”

Harry and Amelie leave a bit early, saying goodbye to their family and friends and taking to sitting in the seats in the arena to watch as the last of the stage comes down. All of the bittersweet feelings that remain clinging between their interlocked hands and Amelie’s cheek resting on Harry’s shoulder. Her head is buzzing with champagne, Harry’s mind slightly foggy with exhaustion and liquor and the adrenaline. All of it is perfect, the way it should be. Harry couldn’t have asked for anything better to finish out his tour.

Harry’s eyes sting with tears as they leave, clinging to the hand in his and savouring in the kiss that is wet on his cheek as they get into their car. Harry nearly laughs thinking about how this might be their first drive together where there is absolutely no music, and there is the temptation to bring about their very first conversation about having music on in the car from the very first day they met. His mind is going in a million different directions, and as they’re going into the garage, the engine turning and the door closing behind them, the realisation settles in that they’re about to have time to be together.

“Can we watch the sunrise?” Amelie whispers tiredly, reaching for Harry’s hand as she walks around the car and follows him inside, their cat waiting at the door expectantly. “Says it should be rising in about thirty minutes.”

“Gives us time to shower, then.”

Harry squeezes her hand, kissing her forehead and walking closely behind as they walk into their bedroom and begin lazily taking their clothes and tossing them into the laundry bin, a laugh echoing around the room as she shivers under the water. Holding hands and sharing kisses, the water washes over them warmly and comfortingly, soothing Harry’s aching muscles and drawing Amelie into relaxation that is more than enjoyed.

After their shower, Harry draws the curtains open on their balcony to watch the sunrise, admiring how the light shines over Amelie as she shrugs one of his sweatshirts over her torso, disregarding any underwear or shorts or leggings, climbing into their bed and waiting for him to tug clean briefs onto his legs and settle beneath the comforter. Her hand is holding their favourite poetry book – the one they’re reading, at the minute, at least – and lays on his lap, letting the dim light of his bedside lamp cast over the vanilla pages and lifting her neck slightly to let him bring all of her damp hair onto his thighs, his fingers gently scratching her scalp and carding through the curls. Her eyes fall over the words written in the scattered form, always reading silently to herself – although she always reads quietly aloud, which he loves – before reading to him.

Amelie’s voice is almost shy when she speaks, making Harry immediately turn away from the rising sun to meet her hooded eyes. “Harry?”

“Hm.”

“Do you think–” Amelie hesitates for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts and emotions before speaking aloud. They’ve never really had this conversation before, surely not at nearly six in the morning. Usually it would be the casual, I want to be with you forever or This is it, you and me, that would settle the lingering question that seemingly everyone but them would ask. “Have you thought about us getting married, about proposing? Maybe a future, with me, I guess.”

“All the time,” Harry says, his soft movements making her eyes fall shut every so often. “Have you thought about it?”

“From time to time, yeah. Like what we have going,” she says, staring at the man she loves dearly, a soft smile on his features as she licks her lips. There’s something in Harry’s demeanour that changes, as though her words are saying that she wouldn’t marry him, which is far from the truth. “But that title doesn’t really matter to me, at the end of the day. I want you, more than anything. As my boyfriend, my husband, my best friend, you name it. Could ask me to marry you and I’d say yes. All that matters to me is that we’re together.”

Harry thinks that their best friend might’ve said something about the engagement ring sitting in his duffle bag with the polaroid from his suit, and his heart falls to his stomach. He didn’t want to ask this way, sleepy and fatigued, the sun rising, their bodies utterly exhausted from the rush of the last two days.

“Not saying I am,” Harry laughs, kissing her hairline as she lays the poetry book on her chest and stares at him. “But, if I asked you to marry me, let’s say today, would you say yes?”

“Doesn’t matter if it was yesterday, today, tomorrow, or a year from now,” Amelie whispers, grabbing his wrist and bringing his hand to her mouth, kissing his palm as he caresses her cheek, “I’ll say yes whenever, wherever.”

“Mean that?”

“De tout mon coeur.” Amelie says, with my whole heart, and Harry knows that there is nothing that could be more perfect.

“Can we hold off on the babies, though? Like to enjoy you as m’wife for a bit.”

“How does four years sound? Think we can get married by then? Have a nice house in London and Malibu. Living lavishly.”

“Is that what you want, angel? Lavish?”

“Truthfully,” Amelie breathes, turning her cheek on his thigh to watch the sun rise over their balcony and through their window, Harry’s fingertips trailing up her neck and through her hair, “none of that matters to me as long as we’re together. As cliché as that all sounds, and I absolutely hate a cliché. Mama always said that nothing really matters if there isn’t love in it. Don’t think anything would be what I want if I didn’t love you and you didn’t love me.”

“Good thing that I’m absolutely in love with you,” Harry smiles, gently taking the book from her hands and kissing her cheek and her jaw. “Think the Universe made you for me to love, you know that? All along, the stars were aligning for us to have something special.”

“Think that we’ll make it through anything? Not like the relationships that have something bad happen and they’re irreparable.” Harry leans over to shut the light, the dimness in the room casting over her, reminding her of how tired she really is. “Can’t see us being that way.”

“Nothing could be irreparable with us. Not you and me, Ames.” His accent is thicker, now. He’s exhausted, his body and mind are craving sleep. But this is a conversation that he’s willing to stay awake for, that he would deny sleep for hours if that’s what she wanted. “Nothing could make me not love you.”

Amelie adjusts her body slightly, giving Harry space to lay flat on their mattress, his head sinking into his pillow. His hands nudge at her waist, sighing deeply when she lays her weight completely on him – well, nearly half of her body is slung over him – his arms around her waist. Harry liked to sleep like this sometimes, especially when they’re feeling especially close and intimate. Amelie doesn’t mind it. It makes her feel loved.

“Guess we should tell everyone to be expecting a ring soon, then,” Amelie laughs, kissing Harry’s neck and breathing in deeply as her eyes fall shut. “I’m proud of you. I love you.”

“Love you more.”

Amelie kisses Harry’s lips sweetly, sinking into his embrace and falling asleep, her breathing evening out against his skin and her lips parting on his chest. And Harry stays silent for a few minutes, kissing her hairline, soaking in the tenderness that surrounds him, thinking of the tiny diamond ring sitting in their wardrobe.

FOUR WEEKS LATER

Harry is sitting at the edge of the bed, fingertips picking at his trousers, his palms sweating against the quilted comforter. Amelie is in the bathroom, the door shut quietly behind her – which is awkward in itself because they’ve not shut the bathroom door since they moved in together two and half years ago – and there is the sound of the running sink echoing around the bedroom. Tigger is purring against Harry’s leg, and Harry wants to tell him to stop, to leave the room and give them a moment, but he knows that there is a sense of comfort in all of three of them being together in such a defining moment, a moment where they are nervous for what’s to come and what to make of their situation, a moment that could certainly change their relationship forever.

Harry’s eyes flick to where his girlfriend is standing in the bathroom doorway, moving his hand away from their cat’s head and holding his knees. He can see the tears in her eyes, the wobbling of her chin, the shakiness in her hands. Her anxiety is written in the furrowed brows and lines creasing her forehead, the redness lining her mouth as her teeth bite into her lips. His arms open, waiting for her to walk forward and sit with him, grateful that she decides to straddle his waist and wrap her arms around his shoulders rather than sit far away. His hands rub her back, kissing her neck lightly and waiting until she’s ready to speak.

“This isn’t what we wanted,” Amelie whispers into his shoulder, tears wetting her cheeks, her fingertips gripping his sweater as if he is going to disappear from beneath her. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey, hey,” Harry soothes, trying to mask the fear in his voice, “don’t apologise, baby. Not all your fault, you know. Certainly, had my part in it.” His throat goes dry for a minute. “All your decision what you want to do, once that timer goes.”

Amelie can feel Harry shake his head against her neck as she speaks, his fingertips tracing along her spine beneath her oversized shirt. “Harry, the album–”

“Album can wait. Tour can wait. All of it can wait. Can’t do that without me, can they?” Harry wants to lighten the anxiety lingering in their chests, but he very well knows that that won’t happen until that timer sounds and the answer to their question is given.

“Don’t want you to resent me for ruining your life.”

Harry immediately pulls away to face her, his eyebrows furrowed together in confusion at how she could ever think such a thing. “Amelie Fay, do you really think I would resent you? And who said anything about ruining my life? Do you really think that having a family with you would ruin my life? How many times have I told you that I want forever with you?”

“Don’t know.”

“Didn’t you say to me, ‘all that matters is that we’re together’? Didn’t you say that?” Harry pauses for a moment, waiting for Amelie to silently nod to answer his question. “Have to believe that we’ll be alright, as long as we’re together.”

Amelie hides her face in Harry’s neck once more, ignoring the ringing timer going in the bathroom. “This anxiety is unlike anything I’ve ever felt before.”

“Come with me,” Harry says, squeezing her waist and kissing her cheek, “and we’ll do this together.”

Amelie nods into his chest, standing and taking Harry’s hand in hers, walking nervously into the bathroom and taking a second to turn the timer off and let Harry see the results first. He always has a steady hand, even if he’s feeling anxious himself. His stability grounded her in more ways than one, and it was something that made her feel as though, if this were to be real, maybe they would be alright.

“Can you look first?”

Harry nods, taking her hand and kissing her knuckles, squeezing her fingers as he turns the test over on the counter, his peripheral vision catching Amelie turn away. Harry gulps, taking in the blinking Pregnant + sign on the digital screen. His voice caught in his throat, unable to speak through his parted lips, his mouth going dry. Amelie was right, this isn’t what they wanted, what they planned. Harry wants a family with Amelie – of course he does – but that certainly wasn’t the intention until after they were married. Hell, Harry hadn’t even proposed yet. All of his thoughts are swimming in his brain, almost going unnoticed when her hand slips out of his and takes the test from the counter, staring at the words written on the screen and taking a minute to really take in all that this meant.

“I need you to not hate me for what I want.” Amelie sucks in a deep breath, tears stinging her eyes, a sob wracking through her body as Harry brings her into his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around her shoulders and touching his lips to her hair, desperately trying to soothe her.

“Could never hate you for that,” Harry says reassuringly, kissing her forehead and gently cupping her cheeks, bringing her to face him. “I’m with you, always.”

Amelie gulps, taking the test in her hands and staring at the way the bolded word is so intimidating to her anxiety, to the pressure that is felt on her chest as if there is a brick weighing on her lungs. Maybe this is another way to test her strength, to test how much she wants to be a better person, because this would be the perfect opportunity to slip into an anxious state, a depressive episode. Her mind is begging for it, for the comfort of being numb.

Harry nudges her chin, making her meet his eyes and all of the thoughts are subsided by ones that make her want to cry into his arms and say that she loves him. “Don’t get swallowed into it. Can shake these feelings, but we have to do it together, Ames. Look at me.” He knows her better than anyone does. He knows her better than anyone ever will. “I’m here, angel. I’m right here.”

Amelie nods, sucking in a breath through parted lips, leaning her forehead against his chest and blinking away the remaining tears in her eyes. Harry’s fingers brush through her hair as they always do, comforting her in the ways that he’s learnt over the three years they’ve been together. “Everything we do is together, right?”

“Always.”

And silently, Harry and Amelie turn to stare at the tiny word that is going to change their lives forever.

[artsy-hobbitses]

Ironhide! Sorry, I love that bastard. I think an issue is that, by the checklist, he should be Megatron's. In Cybertron 'verses, he's a warframe, a soldier and usually not "something else before the war." He'll ram through a wall instead of stealth, acts and MIGHT ask questions later. But he saw the world from between Meg/OP. Megs speaks to him. So there's pull between that and loyalty to Optimus. Throwing a name like Irving Hempstead into the ring? Place names and ties to the land.

I’ll take it into consideration! All I’ve actually got to work with was his G1 self admittedly (I had him designed from way back in 2007 and he was distinctive enough then that I’m likely going to keep most of his aspects intact for his move to TTB).

The thing is with TTB is that everyone was something else before the war (and OP was like, three whole things before the war) but a compromise can be made in that I can see him taking Hound’s route ie. a former soldier (who likely had no economic choice in the matter) who decided to retire/get out of the military before he lost himself or his limbs to it.

Considering that he’s marginally older than the rest of the crew, even OP himself, and lives an entire continent away from the two in TTB, he’d have to have seen the world or at least made up his mind about it to some extent given that he does not meet Megs or OP until he’s middle-aged. 👍🏼

Megs DEFINITELY speaks a lot more to his sensibilities, though he sticks around with OP by a thread.

He actually has a name back from 2007: Ian Hart! It’s short and sweet but we’ll see if I keep it for his finalised sheet ouob