#like wow things really just come and go and ebb and flow like this

[inejghavertz]

having a moment

[mayonnaisetacos]

Better Call Saul: The Most I've Cried In a While.

If it isn't clear, there WILL be spoilers during every moment of this post. I would love to talk about my thoughts on the show as a whole, and reflect on how I've connected with the characters... especially Jimmy McGill.

Fresh From 'Breaking Bad'

Being introduced to Better Call Saul after Breaking Bad was inevitable, of course. Going into it, I think I had the same assumption as everyone else: "Wow!! The silly, funny, very unserious lawyer got a show all for himself!! Finally, some comedic relief from the heartbreak I felt from Breaking Bad! Thank god!!" Well, safe to say I was extremely wrong. A couple episodes in, I'm learning to mourn "Saul Goodman". I LOVED Saul, I thought nothing he could do would make him seem worse or better than he already was. I thought he was at his peak all around, so seeing him go from Saul Goodman to some dude named "Jimmy McGill" was whiplash, and I rejected it, thinking: "wow, he's not cool yet. This is so sad to watch." Seeing him wear browns, blacks, navy blues and greys really made me shun his core character already. I remember feeling bored, and as if I wouldn't like the show, given the mindset I went in with. Boy, was I wrong.

Learning Jimmy

As I watched more, I came to realize the TRUE Jimmy McGill. His difference in morale, mannerisms, approach to life, more or less was a lot more genuine. A little fucked up? Sure, but human and real. I've come to realize slowly but surely during S1 and S2 that Jimmy was a man who had a heart, despite him constantly ricocheting between being a con-artist, and man with a lot of love to give. When he was slipping back into his bad habits, breaking the rules was fun to him, and that's all he ever wanted life to be as his Slippin' Jimmy self: Fun. When his brother Chuck gave him a new life, he tried his best to win the approval and respect of him. At this moment of time, to my knowledge, Jimmy had no habits of doing crimes. It seemed as if he was a clean slate. When he was at his best, learning and growing with Kim Wexler mid-relationship / early marriage, he would become very self aware. Did he still manage to get into the wrong corners of life despite trying to live straight? Yes. It was really hard to watch him put effort into his own betterment, yet still be pulled into the cartel by Lalo, Nacho, Mike, etc. Having Jimmy's selfish and scheming behaviors fueled due to Kim Wexler in the later part of their marriage especially, Or even when Chuck could never show true belief and trust in Jimmy and his law degree. A lot of corners her turned, and a lot of corners he'd meet either someone he loved that didn't give him enough wiggle room, or people heavily associated with crime. I learned to love Jimmy as a whole. He was and still is amazing.

The People Around Jimmy

As I went on watching Jimmy do his thing: Getting in trouble, repeating his wrongdoings just in different fonts despite having the right support eventually, all while also seeing a lot of potential in him to be an honest man, I started building resentment; Especially when Kim wasn't part of the scheming or continuance at all. At a certain point in S3, I started seeing the pattern of "Jimmy fucks up, Jimmy feels bad mostly because he was caught, Jimmy lies his way through it all, and now Jimmy is apologizing, and he will do this again BUT WORSE in the near future." He was the biggest asshole in my mind come S3. I felt it ebb and flow throughout, feeling it strongest in the middle of S5, and towards the end of S6 with the divorce papers scene specifically. Through every character that interreacted with Jimmy, I felt their emotions towards him. Through Chuck, I felt betrayal and resentment. Through Kim, I felt loyalty and pain. And through Howard, I felt as if i was overextending my hand towards someone who needed help, however they never knew to not bite my hand. More or less, all my emotions can be boiled down to feeling attached and trusting, accepting and helping, then pain and betrayal over and over again until I just couldn't see what Kim saw in him anymore.

A Good Guy Deep Down (?)

Learning about him embodying his Gene persona in a negative way, yet still having the effort to hide from authorities, made me the most bitter. The extent he would go, and the people he would continue to rope into his wrongdoings was a painful view. However, I needed to keep in mind that Gene was right after Saul Goodman, not Jimmy McGill. Like Kim, I had all the belief in the world that Jimmy can be a good guy deep down. I really thought I saw Jimmy McGill in his fullest and truest ways just how Kim did. But once the ending started rolling around, I realized I was just another Howard, Chuck, Richard, Cliff, etc, who could not understand him to his fullest. I often find myself wondering if Jimmy was being true with his actions at the end of the show, even though the 86 years of jail time he has received was by his doing. He could have had seven years, but he confessed to a mountain of crimes, made himself clear as day, gave Kim the fresh slate she needed, and accepted the 86 years. Whether it was for Kim's approval and love, or because he truly did believe he deserved every single one of those years, is unclear. It could be a little bit of both, but I'd like to believe that it wasn't for Kim's affection; But rather, because she inspired him. I will say though, I disliked how fast he became self aware and willing to accept his consequences. I'm not sure if the crew had to wrap this show up quickly, had a different way of expressing his deep regrets and pain via flashbacks or whatnot, but it was paced a little oddly from my perspective. What gives me reassurance to the authenticity behind his change of heart, is in the final scenes everything remains black and white, despite him being in the presence of Kim. Only the lit cigarette shines orange, signifying to me that the memory of sharing cigs with her, and anything else associated with this action in the past, makes him feel alive. Or maybe, it's as simple as everyone else puts it: There's still something between them.

Final Notes.

What I will say, however: it's made me raise an eyebrow to the way he'd only indulge in his bad behaviors when he has the love, or the rose-colored glasses, of at least one individual in his life. With a singular person in his corner, he feels confident and free to commit crimes, whether or not said person knows of it. As Saul Goodman, being the richest he's ever been, had the love and acceptance of thousands. While fully committing to being plain and simple Gene at the beginning of his runaway, he had no one, and he had no crime to be involved with. With Kim, however, he truly tried changing, and still is; By telling her everything, even if it makes him anxious. Staying out of trouble, trying to get Lalo stuck in jail, having 86 years of prison time, giving her the best ending she could've gotten despite the situation he got both of them in, the list goes on. Unfortunately, their relationship was the epitome of an "Addict and Enabler" dynamic, where Kim loved not only his company, but what he brought with it: crime, bad behavior for selfish gain, and fun, all while Jimmy had an addiction with con-artistry he could never seem to fully put down even with her not participating at first. While Kim still loved him as a person, even showing restraint and disapproval of Jimmy's deceiving ways in the earlier moments of their relationship, it evolved into getting married for the "we can't testify against each other" benefit, and they both started wrecking havoc. Kim loved Jimmy a lot, which is why I think his addiction to con-artistry made her, in a way, relapse with the same actions practically reestablishing the same type of criminal co-dependency she and her mother had with one another. She didn't want to lose him, but she was also fighting against her own urges to join in earlier on, hence the neutrality towards Jimmy's actions, and coming to his rescue in court whenever needed, but obviously looking stressed while doing so.

This show has truly broken my heart in ways Breaking Bad wish it did. The story telling, the connection to the characters, the world building, all of it. The way Kim and Jimmy's relationship was tampered and maneuvered with all throughout, in order to tell a rich and cultivating story full of dynamic characters and complex emotions, really moved me. In reality, this show was meant to encapsulate the most heart-breaking, beautiful, yet gut-wrenching romance. I'd like to think that Kim visits Jimmy in prison a few times a year... but I'd also realistically think that Jimmy will always be going from 'trickery' to 'truth'. Both phases being fleeting, just in a different, lighthearted manner with the cell he resides in for the rest of his life.

Thank you for reading <3 ~Fini

[whenmuldermetscully]

Astrology of David and Gillian

I’m pretty amateur-ish as a reader (maybe a little more than). Strap in folks because this is WOW. So UNDER THE CUT if you dare read on…

Ok first thing’s first — the birth time is missing from David’s, and Gillian’s birth time isn’t a confirmed time. So ascendant signs and moon are ify…. But I’d buy that Gillian is a highly possible Leo Rising.

Their synastry chart:

Let’s talk about THIS wow. What I see regardless of a birth time — placements that are 100% known.

Immediately noting: Her Leo Mars conj. His Leo Venus. It’s not close to each other (2° and 27°) but wow a Mars/Venus connection. Pure chemistry - intense, passionate, hot…. In a lot of areas not just sexually (although a sexual attraction is usually a pretty strong gravitation). Lots of symbiosis, flow, yin & yang. In non-sexual realms this can ebb and flow into things like really heated explosive arguments to really intimate and passionate agreements. In Leo too?? 😂 a fire sign??? This is a pendulum swing of burning hot, fast, and bright to ultra cuddly, kitten behavior. At their best, it’s instinctive, unbreakable, match-my-freak energy. At their worst, it’s impulsive, irrational, arrogant, screaming-down-the-I95 type..

His Virgo Pluto conj. Her Virgo Venus….. please. PLEASE! It’s giving karmic. It’s giving past life. It’s giving contract.

On a more basic read: a Pluto aspect to a planet in a synastry chart is going to be felt. Pluto amplifies/intensifies - makes its presence known. That is black hole energy. And it’s right next to her Venus (5° tight conjunction)???? Bay-BE! Believe them when they say they don’t have any other relationship that compares to what their’s is. It’s pure devotion (in whatever terms/category you want to place them). The Pluto person (David) sees the beauty in the ugly and dark and death of the Venus person (Gillian). And Venus loves Pluto in its dark complex entirety.

Have I mentioned this is a RARE aspect?

Venus/Pluto conj. is chemistry and attraction on a level that goes beyond explainable (the irony of MSR right? Haaaa). At its best: this is again an unbreakable and magnetic force. It’s mind body soul linking — will not, cannot forget each other. At its worst: Pluto is represented by death and the devil. It can be obsessive, possessive, territorial, toxic… This can manifest into things like jealousy, again heated fights, or also ways like: manipulation — because it’s such a consuming, intense, passionate aspect. In this sense: if Pluto is Hades, Venus is Persephone. In this case… David possibly has had issues with control when dealing with Gillian. While the love/connection is strong, there can be some irrational behavior on his end when it comes to Gillian especially if she exhibits behaviors of say breaking away from them being a unit - bc Pluto/Venus is such a “you’re my partner”.

Now you think that’s crazy… Her Lilith is conj. His Mars at an even tighter conjunction (2°). The closer the aspect, the stronger the effect.

If you thought Gillian was off the hook on the last read — GEAR UP — because she’s far from being excused. Where the Pluto/Venus can be more of an emotional atmosphere, their Lilith/Mars can manifest in a more action-driven way.

‘Animalistic’ is more apt. This is yet ANOTHER indicator of that strong, passionate, intense attraction/chemistry. Not as “get a room!” as their Mars/Venus conj. but close (I feel like Mars/Venus “get a room” can visibly seen from space, but a Lilith/Mars may be more like a “we’re already in the room”). Here brings out their more impulsive side. There is high energy, excitement, comfort with this aspect. And in Gemini?!?!!! It’s giving “you jump I jump - fuck it let’s go!” Its live wire energy can bring a heightened desire to seek each other which can also again lead to obsession and toe the line of “too involved”. With this energy they also trigger each other — deep wounds and traumas emerge but it’s a welcomed sharing. And as a result a lot of mutual experiences are created that bond them together. Gillian being the Lilith person and David the Mars — the trust she puts in his hands is very high and intimate. How the Pluto/Venus works to consume, similarly this happens here as well. So basically Gillian has a tendency to do the same that David does - jealousy, assertion, manipulation, power struggles and dominance. It’s aggressive energy. It’s like “we went through fire together. Who dares to try and usurp where I stand with you?” kind of aggressiveness (possession?).

In unrelated mentions or not? Lilith/Mars conj. pushes forth a very strong sexual attraction coupled with the impulsive nature of this aspect, it’s an attraction that is difficult to not act upon in some way. Mars energy is masculine and Lilith is “dark feminine”, together it’s combustion. So whether the ramifications of acting on the energy or not, probably yields the same result..if not worse.

Then we have the moon. Gillian is an Aquarius moon (possibly Pisces?). David is also an Aquarius moon (smaller possibility of Pisces). But if I had to really guess - I’m almost certain they have the same and it’s Aquarius. I’m an Aquarius moon myself and rather than getting down to what it means, let’s just say they love a good detachment.

But to have the same moon as someone? Home. There’s a comfort, familiarity. You process emotions the same. You feel the same. Not to mention they both are Leo suns. Leo/Aquarius are sister signs and to have both their sun/moon matching AND sister signs? It’s opposites attract when necessary, and on-the-same-page more often than not. The yin/yang flow comes naturally. It’s “I know exactly how they’ll react”. It’s instinctive. If you flow with someone without having to try and don’t have to explain your feelings much because they just “know” and they just get you without much effort? You guys probably have the same moon. And no doubt that’s what Gillian and David have.

Anyway… this was a long post. But oh well. Did we really need to consult the stars? Does this add any more proof to the truths we already know? They’ve displayed iterations of these aspects in many ways over the years (*cough* 1998) so what is really new… Anyway someone more proficient can interpret this better probably but that’s just the big ones I got - thanks!

[kitsunefaux]

All Ships Week - Day 5

Fandoms: Yu-Gi-Oh, Avatar: The Last Airbender

Ship: Gemshipping

Prompt: Mentor/mentee

Parts: 1

Enjoy!

----------

Ryou’s fingers twitched as he struggled to mould water to his will. It was just one little spout. Things moved all the time when he didn’t want them to. He’d accidentally exploded the tea more than once when his father had guests over.

Ryou cupped his palm and made a scooping motion. Liquid followed, quivering as he tried to hold it in place. It slipped from his grasp, rejoining the rest of the pond. 

Ryou cursed and kicked a stone. It skittered to a stop in front of a pair of ghostly bare feet.

“Wow, you’re really letting that water make you its bitch.”

Ryou flushed red as he realised he had company. He wiped suddenly sweaty hands on his rich green tunic as he stuttered, “Y-You… you came back.”

Bakura raised an eyebrow. “I don’t leave, Ryou. You’re the one who comes and goes.” He moved closer and grabbed Ryou’s arm, holding it up, his touch solid despite his semi-transparent form. “I told you last time. You’re doing it wrong.”

Blue eyes flicked up towards the circle of the moon. Did Bakura manifest every time it was full? “How do you know? You’re not a waterbender.”

“Well, obviously.” Bakura kept his grip on Ryou’s arm as he moved behind him, resting a hand on his other shoulder. “But I’m used to figuring shit out on my own. Water and fire aren’t really that different. Neither of them likes to sit still.” He tapped Ryou’s knee with his foot. “Loosen up and stop trying to hold on to it. Let it flow with you.”

Ryou’s face heated, growing more flushed with each prolonged moment of contact. He swallowed, forcing the distraction from his mind, then stared down at the pond, and lifted his hand. Nothing happened, not even a burble. “It didn’t work.”

“That’s because your wrist is about as limp as a dead fish,” Bakura said, wiggling Ryou’s arm in demonstration. “And don’t be so polite. The water works for you, not the other way around.”

“Polite?”

Bakura let out a breath as he stepped away, and Ryou didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed, both feelings twisting together in his gut. Bakura opened his palm, summoning a white spectral flame. It danced, growing and then fading away with each rise and fall of his chest. In and out. Ebb and flow. 

“Gather the seeds and then let them go,” Bakura said in a softer tone, golden eyes fixated on a single point. “Fire moves because that’s its nature. Try to hold it still…” The flame flickered once and went out. “And it dies.” 

An unknown feeling squeezed Ryou’s heart. How cruel it seemed that something so pretty could be so easily extinguished. “I…” He held out his hand. “Can you show me?”

Bakura studied him for what felt like forever. Then he took his hand. Ryou smiled as they melded into one, the ghost settling like a warm blanket beneath his skin. 

“Move with me.” Bakura shifted their stance, distributing weight evenly between their feet. “Follow me, and the water will follow you. Okay?” 

“Okay,” Ryou said, his voice quiet, almost reverent.

Bakura repeated the scooping motion Ryou made at the start, and water rose from the pond. When his hand reached its peak, he shoved down. Water burst forth, splitting into two waves. Ryou flicked his wrist at the last moment, and they crystallised. 

Ice sparkled with captured moonlight. “It worked.” A smile crept onto Ryou’s face, and then he laughed, a sound of relief and delight.

[To be continued]

[meltotheany]

Goodreads | Amazon US | B&N | Blackwell’s | Bookshop this is a really beautiful collection of short stories, all having the ebb and flow of the sea crafted seamlessly into them. i enjoyed this so much, that i actually think this solidifies that julie armfield is my newest favorite author, and i just hope she keeps giving the world (and me) her stories. down below i breakdown each individual story in this anthology collection, with the trigger and content warnings that i wrote down while reading! ━━♡ Mantis ★★★★ “I choose Greek myths and ghost stories, tales that come in under fourteen pages and culminate in violent lessons. I read aloud and let her stop me when she wants to – stories of swans and spiders, bay trees, narcissi, girls transformed into monsters by rivals playing dirty.” this was a very strong start to the anthology, and there is just something so insanely lulling about this author’s writing to me. it for sure reminded me of how much i loved our wives under the sea and it has really similar vibes at first, too! but this is a story about those transformative years, of being a girl and growing up surrounded by people and things that are also transforming you and the way you think and feel (about yourself and the world). shedding your childhood and growing into a body that is being dictated by others while you’re still in metamorphosis and learning what your truly want to transform into. and the ending was just great. plus, you all know i’m also going to love a growing up catholic backdrop on top of a really compelling story. cw/tw: this short story has a lot of talk of body image and parents and friends talking about the mc’s body image, also talk of weight and diet and starvation and food, talk of menstruation, blood, drinking, threat of sa, and i would also say just sickness in general with some body horror ━━♡ The Great Sleep ★★★★ “You don’t notice the way a city breathes until it changes its sleeping habits.” this is the type of story crafting where i am just impressively saying “wow, this is so cool, how did you think this up?” and then upon finishing my mind is going wild with metaphor meanings. but this is a tale of a wave of sleeplessness hits the world, and the people impacted now have a personification of their sleep that just kind of hangs out with them and makes life more annoying while they are more and more sleep deprived. and our mc finds comfort in her dreamlessness with someone in her apartment complex who is still able to sleep, even if she is constantly questioning why she hasn’t stopped along with most people. i feel like this instantly made me think of vegas, my current city, and how there is a magic to the restlessness that is pretty indescribable, even if you know it’s not the healthiest. but i think this story could be a metaphor for mental health, i think it could maybe be touching on abuse, or maybe how loneliness can feel all consuming. i think this might be about health and people saying wild shit as reasonings for serious things, or if could just be a cool story that i know will stick with me. i really enjoyed this one. cw/tw: things with sleep and the miserableness of being sleep deprived ━━♡ The Collectables ★★ “That’s the problem with kissing. In theory, when someone’s good at it, you should be able to keep kissing forever. But of course, forever is too long to do anything without getting bored.” three women living together, all friends trying to get their phds, who all have been hurt by men. and we get to see one of the women spiraling more and more with her line-drawn paper doll that she is adding bits slowly to. this wasn’t my favorite, sadly, but maybe that’s because my american ass has to google princess anne and then that really just set the tone for picturing the rest of the story in my mind lol. cw/tw: fire, drinking, smoking, suicide mention, heart attack mention ━━♡ Formally Feral ★★★ “The house opened around her the way you crack a chest cavity,...

[shutupheathersorryheatherr]

"Jungsu hcs pt.2"

Summery: pt.2 of the Jungsu hcs like I promised!! just how you got together and a couple little cute scenes I came up with approximately: about a 20 min read

A/N: I got jungsu brain rot from writing this :(

Warnings and info: kissing I think? Tbh I forgot if that’s in here or not, cursing, fluffy fluff, mentions of food, mentions of riding the Ferris wheel & other carnival rides, think that’s it!

~this is simply a piece of fiction. My imagination onto “paper.” This is in no way is mean to be taken as an actual and real representation of anyone.~

••••••••••••••••••••••••••

i know full well how I’ve said this before, but I’ll say it again: jungsu and jooyeon both give me friends to lovers vibes

I know full well how I’ve said this before but I don’t care so imma say it again

both jungsu and jooyeon give me friends to lovers vibes

like specifically with jungsu… it’s like yeah sure y’all are really good friends and have been for a while, and there’s something in the both of yalls back of heads that’s making your linger on the thought that maybe it’s more than that… becoming, growing, blooming and blossoming— starting to grow fruit ripe, sweet, and beautiful…

something booming in your heads about how maybe it wasn’t so cut and dry

so simple

And unlike with you and jooyeon, you don’t try to reason your way out of it much

thinking that “it isn’t that important” “it’ll go away soon” or “nah they dont feel the same”

not like either of you dwell on the reality at all either though,

oh but it’s there all right— thick air in between the two of you, and just like how I said it would be like with you and jooyeon, never getting awkward or boring

you both knew it was important and you had a feeling the other felt the same— the glances, coupled with the sporadic longing looks into each others eyes, and just all around knowing how deeply and the type of way you cared for each other,-- you were both content with it for a while. it just felt nice keeping like a little secret the both of you knew about each other

but the first time you two really realized that wow, this is really happening and it’s bigger than I thought, happens when y’all are at a carnival with a group

somehow you two end up getting separated from the larger group you were with

Not like either of you really minded, tho

he like being alone with you and the both of your thoughts just say much as you did him

but this time, unlike the others, all those feelings inside the both of you couldn’t stop from bubbling over the surface

one thing led to another and soon enough he's leaning his head on your shoulder on the ferris wheel

he knows its a cliche, but with you, it was all he could think and dream about doing.

you can feel your heart beating in your ears and for some reason you don't care about him knowing

if anything, you'd like him to know

you look down at him the same time he's looking up at you

and its not awkward at all

there seems to be something in the air

or maybe its just how high you two are right now but neither of you could catch your breath, even though youre both sitting down

he wants so fucking badly to say something, and so do you

but is this really the right time, you wonder

but no matter how silent the two of you are, a mutual understanding seems to ebb and flow between the both of you

even though you turn away in a few seconds, you both come away from that knowing that you have something to say to the other

a few minutes later and the ride is over

as youre climbing out, your back turned away from him, you ask: got something to say to me?

his body vibrates with a chuckle and as youre walking away from the ride, you don't even realizing how close the two of you are until you can feel him laugh behind you

"oh you--" "yeah," you quickly smile, "I noticed. seemed pretty serious too."

He simply shrugs, now a little bit ahead of you, turned around and walking backwards

(not the best idea in a crowded place but ok my guy u do u)

"ill tell you later." he says. and you cross your arms at how his cheeks are puffing up in a smile

before you can get another word of protest out, he's already speaking again

"why is this all about me? I feel like you definitely had something to say. so what was it? what were you gonna tell me back there?"

"you wanna know?" you playfully shove him now that he's back next to you. "mmhm." "is the suspense just killing you?" "mmhmmm." he repeats, more drawn out this time

seeing the rest of the group ahead of you, you shrug like he did a minute ago "ill tell you later." you say

and you don't see it, but he was having an inner war as to wether let himself blush or to stomp his feet in annoyance. then again, he did say the same thing to you

soon enough you get separated again, this time not alone with him

yu eventually get reunited though, having been able to think a little bit more about what had happened and what you where gonna do about it

You see other next at the food court— weathered picnic tables are scattered throughout the grounds

You’re sure hes… somewhere, now you just had to find him….

he feels your presence before you get to him and he sees you, turning around so he could smile at you

You get to the table, but to your surprise, not does he have food for himself but also a separate container of your favorite carnival food

When you sit down he’s not giving you any time, already scootching something that quote “made him think if you when he passed it at a merch stand”

you’re sitting so close to each other that you can feel the warmth radiating off his body, even through his clothes and he can smell your fabric softener and your hair products

suddenly it didn’t feel like you two where in a crowded space, the scent and feel was way too homey to have been melting into out in the open

”figured you were hungry” he says, soft voice next to you breaking the silence

you thank him and take a few bites

“I didn’t eat too fast,” he tells you. And you’re confused for a moment before he continues “you texted me like, twenty minutes ago and after I had told you about the last ride I went on”

you remember “oh!” You neatly shout “well, I am glad you heeded my warning” you were practically beaming in front of him, you feet now turned so that they were perched on the bench for the table

“Cause seriously, the way you described that ride,” you leaned back a little, frowning “it sounded pretty crazy” he nods and says that it was and he wasn’t sure how anyone convinced him to get on that thing that quote “must’ve been invented by people in the Middle Ages as a new kind of torture device”

After a few moments or silence you try to brake it. Not like it was awkward or uncomfortable… you just needed to know “so… what were you gonna tell—“ before you can finish hes cutting you off, looking dead in you eyes and saying “I always think of you”

the look in his eyes is serious, almost pleading

the confession surprises you a little, but not enough to make you not be able to regain your composure a second later

”I know, Jungsu… I know. seems like you always do." he stops looking at you to stare again at his food. "do uh--" with all the feelings where flooding out of him all at once... it was getting hard to get his speech and thoughts all coherent and in order, and suddenly, even after all his forwardness he's getting nervous now.

but neither of you mind it, even though his throat is as dry as a desert

"Do I also think about you?" you ask yourself for him. "all the time."

and now he's fucking beaming even though his food is getting cold in front of him

youre smiling at him too

and really, that was all you two needed to say to understand

Moving on!!!!

=========

ok so as I've mentioned before, jungsu cares so sosososoososo much for you. and yeah he tells you but you see it too

like one time when he came home late and actually dead tired. he had to deal with so many people that day, but he realized that so did you... so he sits up in bed and talks to you even though his eyes are closing on their own. even when you start to lay down and pull the covers up to your chin to wind down, he's still keeping up with whatever you have to say

or a smilier time when he also came home dead tired about ready to flop in bed. which he did

but the next morning, he wakes up and jumps outta bed, happier than ever despite not sleeping in till noon with how tired he was.

why the fuck is he so happy, you ask?

just this little thing called: cause he's got it in his mind he's going to make you breakfast.

you wake up to the wonderful smell and go to the source to see he's almost done making an entire spread. like he thought of everything. you want freshly made whipped cream on your pancakes? say less its already there. fruit with a sweet glaze? look by your favorite breakfast drink its right there

he's shirtless, wearing sweatpants/ night pants that are hanging low on his hips, boxer band poking out (when will it be my turn????!!) his absolutely glorious bare back is turned to you and you're just standing there for a second admiring the view.

"I was waiting for you to drop the eggs." he says, back still turned but now whisking them vigorously so they'll be fluffy.

"need--" "no no, sit down" there was noting special going on at all, he just felt like it

... and it just so happens that making you breakfast is something he just "felt like doing" consequently, after seeing your reaction that first time

uggghhh he just wants to make you happy

and you want the same-- for you two to be happy together

while he eggs are cooking he brings over your drinks. youre sitting at the table and he leans there, almost caging you in as he points to his cheek. you smile and give him a peck there

He brings himself closer as you breath his presence in, putting your chin on his shoulder and closing your eyes in comfort and Surender before he drops lower

he holds your hands in his, guiding your knuckles to his lips to give them soft, small and sweet pecks all over

his chin is almost on your knees as he's doing so and the both of you revel in the closeness-- with your hands balled up tightly in his and his lips kissing at your fingers, spreading warmth throughout the both of you

you role your eyes at him, and all you can do is smile. thought that seems to happen a lot in malls relationship-- being so close, having a friendship so strong, that all you two needed to do was to look at each other a certain way and the point would be conveyed perfectly... so I guess, in a way, you two never strayed too far away from glances and longing stares

~end~

thanks so much for reading! again, if you liked it please show some love like commenting or reblogging! Tumblr works on that system to push fics out and not a "liking" system. so when you just like something all that does is just bookmark it for you. so even though getting attention is not solely why I make fics, a simple reblog/comment really does a lot of good!!

taglist: @itz-yerin

[eliasliwrites]

Setting [pt. 1]

or so

-Quick note: I will maybe release a character sheet thing(?) soon! Only issue: the characters are not developed yet. So, eventually! This entire story isn't very fleshed out yet, keep that in mind for anything I ever say, really.-

The main story is compiled of two main books (I have an ideaa for a third?? But no actual plot points at all) (and highly lack of motivation, so unlikely). Each have very different vibes, so it's good to separate them.

Book One: -dystopian -futuristic -ish?

I'm not entirely settled on this. Originally, there was going to be a magic system or superpowers involved. But I decided to scrap that (which requires more rewriting, since the hero systems were built around superpowers) (still working on that) There is still magic, but completely different than before? I think it'll mostly come off in a sci-fi type of way anyway.

The planets ebb and flow with a locked energy source. (More if there's life on them?? Not sure yet, but something like this I think) The planets are like gods, old and long forgotten, but more ancient than anything here. Magic (term used loosely) flows through the ground and they can tap into it to do stuff that's only a little of a stretch from existing things. Small stretches of reality, some people better than others. Just being in control of science like another language to nature, and the better you speak the language of the planet the more you can control. Maybe some people, like Monks kind of, that go on temple retreats for years to become connected to the magic? That'd be interesting, but anyway.

Some people are also naturally better at it. Some can use the magic for all sorts of unique things, but only barely. Others can only control a few aspects but much stronger. Some barely at all. It all depends. Kind of like how good you are at math, haha. You can practice a ton but overall sometimes some people's minds just click faster and work less for it.

There's also lots of weird fantasy-type things. Still figuring out how many if at all new creatures and nature things are changed (because a LOT will change in the second book). I don't want to keep it too close to Earth, but I don't want it tooo fantasy vibes, either. Some ideas so far, though:

-Sea creatures work differently >smaller sea creatures can fly in the air (idk what qualifies as small, though, because manta rays can but whales can't. maybe I'll do only the small reef manta rays?) >And fish could too, but not too much, but it'd be interesting >Idea: maybe gravity is a little lighter here too? So people can jump around more and have cool rooftop scenes, idea, idk >manta rays are used for large travel, like trains or planes maybe >originally with the powers it was power based, so I need to figure out more explanations now >but anyway, you climb into the mouth of a manta ray and they put you to sleep and cover you in a neon green goo, then when you arrive they clean the goo off and that brings you awake. so no travel time in your eyes, and if something bad happened (nothing currently in the book but cool perspective, or maybe a hero rescue mission?) while inside you wouldn't age or notice. so you could wake up stranded years later with no time passed to you. maybe it could just be mentioned in a news thing? Like "oh wow, they just found a fallen manta ray with a clipped wing- there was a whole batch of missing people in stasis inside" random thought I dunno >There'll be a scene later with Blondie and Hero where they jump around on top of a field of flying, glowing jellyfish >That's all so far I just like the concept lol so I need to figure out more ideas with it too

-Ocean is broken >Relating to the sea creatures thing, the ocean is deadly to people (is it weird to call them humans? Like, it's not Earth exactly, but. Idk) >I don't know why yet though- too much salt, like the dead sea? Or too acidity? No idea. Maybe it's not actually toxic but there are so many deadly overwhelming sea creatures (that don't fly) that it's practically toxic? Poisonous? To be determined. >Maybe there's a certain type of animal you cAn ride inside- something see-through? Or a giant type of angler fish? Squid? Idk >So maybe because of this I'll need to add a ton of crazy sea creatures. Orr leave it a big mystery, who knows

-Okay now moving on from that type of stuff (we'll get more into it with book two though!) -Cityscapes >I want lots of city-vibes, probably (and ample hero & villain rooftop moments) with high skyscrapers >Possible idea: I was thinking maybe the sea levels have been rising, maybe there was a time a while ago with it idk, and if so lots of the old city are falling apart underwater, unreachable. And most buildings now would be designed to hold from this and maybe the bottoms built to not actually start until above water with deep support systems, but some older ones would be just normal buildings a little underwater that you skip over (might not go with this fs though) >Probably lots of smaller, poorer suburbs surrounding the big city points but I'm not sure how much or the dynamics yet >Probably a few big cities centered around hero work but without powers I still need to reevaluate things >Also need to work on figuring out differences across the globe. Are some countries less interested in hero work? Are some more high tech? Are some more known for other things? Are some flying sea creatures only in specific areas? Is the planet too small to care? Is it less differentiated or is there strong cultural ties?

-High tech! >More of the dystopian aspect but I want probablyy more tech-based things (especially w/o power systems) >Maybe tech amplifiers? As in, specific things used to amplify certain magic qualities, or storing it for higher use? >Hologram wristbands, I think, instead of phones (or both?) (or maybe only hero agencies use the holograms much) >Need to figure out fighting stuff w/o powers >Also, maybe include things like flying or strong powered jump boots or antigravity boots? (Idk I just was really sad to give up mid-air battle scenes and floating, taunting villain lmao) >Maybee some type of tech things to get to each building so they often scale buildings and jump across rooftops. Because that's a vibe

-Government setup >I want a kingdom-type set up, I think >Maybee like Nimona with mixing futuristic with medieval? To a degree, but idk >The Hero (mc, still nameless) needs to be the son of someone important- either the king, ruler, military general- someone. Later his dad dies unexpectedly and he has to rule the military during the battle. >If it is a king and queen setup, I still want a government system, though. Not sure how but something more balanced. Probably also sector leaders. Should it be a bunch of kingdoms? Some more so than others? Some more focused on certain things than others? Or a big sole ruler with multiple mini leaders of kingdoms under it to organize the peace? I don't want world peace necessarily, but the battles are more hero vs villain focused than country vs country. Dunno how to balance that well, or how to make sure there's enough villain things for it anyway. Maybe a rebellion is starting?

>idea: in order to become the next ruler you need to spend a certain amount of years training under one of the Monk temples, learning to let go of previous thoughts and become one with the earth. Because maybe in order to understand the nature, and let it understand you, you simply cannot be evil. The two don't go together. Also maybe, what if there's a type of fruit or fungi or vine or something that vines up your arm when you're trying to become crowned, and it digs thorns into you and reveals if you're ready. Either glows or allows you to bleed a specific color or something like that, to show you are connected enough. Like how you can manipulate specific things using the magic of the planet, this is one thing that only if you are ready can you do. Also this way anyone could train to become the ruler if they wanted (if lots of people became ready, maybe a large test ceremony to determine your skills? Not just battle but problem solving and decision making and quick thinking as well as kindness) and it's not just royal bloodline, it's someone specially connected enough to their planet to understand the needs of being a great ruler >Government isn't completely evil. Maybe morally grey, but not really in the wrong. As much as I like the trope of hero slowly realizing that they were fighting on the wrong side, that's not what this hero -> villain story is exactly. It's literally a hero to villain. Being forced to make more and more morally grey decisions, put in situations that make you choose, examine how far you're willing to go until you break, until you're too far gone. Trying to justify everything for so long until you lose the connecting thread, and are only left with yourself and what you've become. >Anyway that's to say that the government will have flaws, of course, as all do, but the story isn't about it being secretly corrupt- at least not horribly

I think this is all I can think of for now! Let me know any questions, and sometime soon I (probably) will continue with a part two for book two.

Also, just, in general feel free to tell me anything you want to know about this story- I really want to info dump and talk about absolutely everything (this is also a good way for me to organize all my thoughts) but I'm not sure how. I'll go through the actual story itself soon, too! Dump a bunch of plot, so until then here's these random threads

[ech0-0nslaught]

i want to know ur agent lore they sound cool,,, (totally not desperate for agent 32 content)

show your face anon i don't bite.. also here you go

my 4's entire lore comes from the fact that i can't fathom her name being anything except Four

her parents named her that cause she's the fourth kid they had and they didn't give a shit about her 😢 in order to make them give a shit she studied all day every day like a madman to get extremely good grades cause they Had to show up for school events otherwise someone would know something was up...

anyways she skipped grades, didn't make any friends, didn't even know who the squid sisters were, then one day she heard ebb & flow on the radio (i like to think it's a song about marina running away from the domes and being Free, inkfish are weird about music they hear one song and just leave their home forever lol) and decided to go to inkopolis (the family lives 40 mins away from both inkopolis and calamari county, if this doesn't look right on the inkadia map then you can throw a stick at me or something)

that's where she finds marie's pothole and decides to investigate! she becomes agent 4 etc, the way she approaches agent work is basically the same way she acted towards schoolwork (i have to be the best so they can love me, if i get one thing wrong they'll hate me forever) and marie tells her to chill out... she spends a lot of time in octo canyon with marie, she ends up taking a lot after her... ok then they save callie and that's two good role models, she stops acting like this cold uncaring war weapon and starts acting like four !!!

since she spends a lot of time at cuttlefish cabin with the squid sisters and octavio's always there, or sometimes she's there by herself and has to watch him, they slowly start becoming friends... they do four's homework together and octavio teaches her octarian cause she wants to talk to the octarians during her patrols around the domes lol

i think she basically befriends all of octo canyon after learning octarian, like they still fight eachother but nobody's actually worried about anything and it's basically just a game. also callie still goes to the domes to talk to her friends i think they all do. fun

i like to think octo expansion happened a year after splatoon 2 and not at the same time, basically just so that 4 & 3 can have already met before oe lol . they're good friends 3 is a really bad influence on 4

okay moving on to agent 8 . she DOES have a name it's hachi (creative i know), back at the domes she used to be in the surimi combat unit (name i pulled out of my ass) and she's never been on an official mission yet but she's basically done all the training already... wow awesome

she's already gotten a few warnings for possession of illicit material (various squid world items that the octarians pick up on the ground and trade around) and general compassion towards the enemy but her unit's elite lets it slide cause she's a good soldier. at 12 she heard the calamari inkantation and it did affect her in some way but she didn't think about running away until she heard it again at 14... so then she does... metro time

i think it's implied that she experiences psychosis due to the many hallucinations. anyways the metro isn't fun but they get out YAY!!! she lives with pearl and marina for a while but it starts to bother her how far away she lives from inkopolis (really short ride but she likes walking), so she decides she needs to find an apartment in inkopolis

the whole splatoon has a nice meeting/dinner and 4 mentions needing a roommate, 8 (who barely speaks inklish at this point) immediately offers herself as a candidate

so that's when they start living together. 4 teaches her about the squid world ooo... they become friends awesome

4's working at grizzco in the super secret clique of guys who need to clean up after everyone's failed runs (top employees who get treated even worse and HAVE to work every day, the company needs them!!) and 8 doesn't like her job and hopes that grizzco blows up every day. after she gets her engineering degree (in a less stressful way than how she handled the rest of her school years) she even has to help them design weapons

8 started studying at inkblot art academy!! fashion specifically, she works part-time at a clothes store and she wants to hopefully one day have a clothing brand of her own... wow...

they both do patrols at the canyon now also at one point they get together i can't decide how. anyways the world tour

4 was supposed to come to the tour too but a big run started (and grizzco's shitty about giving vacation days) and also a bunch of octarians mysteriously went missing at octo canyon, so she ends up staying in inkopolis to take care of both issues... very sad

when she and octavio realize that basically nobody's there anymore he leaves on his giant robot suit to find whoever's responsible. he goes to the crater we know what happened (nooo the octarians are all fuzzy now)

around the time octavio leaves is when oth tests the memverse for the first time !!! when order takes over four also gets sucked in and order manages to grayscale her pretty easily cause like, a world of order means no big runs and no octarians going missing (oversimplification)

anyways it basically splits her consciousness into parallel canon, the ones wearing helmets basically only have enough brainpower to use weapons and follow orders but the one wearing the mask is just four but orderly or something (this isn't canon parallel canon is just a bunch of copies of four's soul)

ok anyways after 8 kills the white baby 45 times they reconfigure 4's palette and she's normal again yay, marina hires her as head of memverse security and she can quit working for grizzco hoorayyyy

thanks for reading and sorry for the word vomit

[quietbluejay]

Transformers Infiltration #1

Here we go! the beginning of the continuity, folks!

Also just as a disclaimer, I'm going to be possibly referring to events that happen later. I'll try to cut down on doing this, or do separate posts when I talk about it, but it is gonna come up. I'll also try to keep spoilers to a minimum!

I can't believe we can date this just based on page 1

man this is such a nostalgic look really reminds me of the Providence bus station where I used to take the bus to Boston all the time

Verity: I watch the ebb and flow…the human tide…

Time to finally meet our protagonist

was anyone really wearing layers like that in 2006? in arizona?? i mean no one at my high school was dressing like that and I was a good number of parallels north of here lol however verity is not alone…

"Target acquired"

dun dun dunnn

bus heads off

yeah our girl verity is a thief if you didn't pick up on that from the first page

she streetches out a hand carrying a knife through the gap in the seats

narration as she cuts open the bag: he'll have to explain to his boss...

narration as she pulls a small electronic device out of the bag: ...how he lost his expensive computer

Narration as the bus stops: the near rancid bagel…

"Never fails. Hot bus, sick girl..."

"...couldn't let me off fast enough."

Verity leans over, her hands on her legs, as the bus door closes behind her

to tldr, her last laptop died on her a week ago (in Denver) and I dunno US geography that well but that's pretty far from Arizona right?

anyways she's been looking for a replacement since

she riffles through the bag and pulls out a palm pilot in triumph

"is back in the game!"

she sticks her thumb out at the side of the road

ominous

and now...

ITS MY BOI

lmao i do find it hilarious he tells you how to pronounce his name when he has presumably just said it to her

Verity: Verity. Verity Car-ter. Like it sounds.

Hunter makes a comment about how people always make jokes about his name

i would like to wish that one comic reviewer who said that modern day Hunter would be a 4chan incel who sends hatemail to women on twitter a very kick rocks

Verity mentions that that sounds like it's in the middle of nowhere

Hunter umms and ahhs and nervously scratches his nose

Hunter: I just head north there, is all, on the one seventy-seven

I love these two

Verity:…some kind of back-to-nature boy?

Hunter tells her to forget it, she'll just think he's weird

meanwhile hanging from his mirror is a little green alien toy

Verity: you're looking for little green men, right?

she pokes at the little alien hanging there

Hunter:…not exactly. I-

Verity rummages in her bag

Hunter puts up a hand

Hunter: Easy, easy. Look-

Hunter says it's just a short detour

huh that bus looks familiar

Verity: where are you going now? don't-

the salesman Verity stole from vanished!

Bus driver says everything's fine, just an accident and a guy who wandered off

Hunter: you...sure?

Driver: Sure. Bus company's got us on GPS. They're on their way…

Hunter: Right. Good.

meanwhile in the distance are 3 puffs of smoke or dust

and a THUM THUM noise

Verity and Hunter head off and she queries him again about what he's out here looking for

Hunter: would you believe…

he pulls out a file folder

Hunter: …giant robots?

he has printouts of the first page of his website

Verity: and what? we just haven't noticed?

she's clearly holding back laughter

Hunter frowns

Hunter: They're in disguise!

Verity leans back, laughing

Verity: Hah! Of course!

one thing is i do like the art of the humans the faces are pretty expressive also they're not like, weirdly attractive, you know?

i'm also seeing some subtle manga style bits like you tended to see in some comics art of this period like ultimate xmen had some too oh huh E.J. Su neat to see how his art evolved

oh goodness Josh Burcham did some of the colouring for this issue wow he's been working in transformers since this far back?

HIIII TC! NICE TO SEE YA!

Hunter floors it

Hunter: …not our military!

meanwhile ahead of them, they see the plane turning around and coming back towards them

Hunter: I think maybe we were just…scanned, and whatever it was looking for…

i…think this is Starscream maybe

??? (possibly starscream): and purge!

meanwhile Hunter grabs Verity's arm and pulls her out of the car as he starts running

Hunter: move!!

Verity: okay, okay

Hunter's van is destroyed in an explosion rip hunter's van

again, liking this art it's not like the most amazingly prettiest but it's nice and dynamic and really gives a sense of the characters and place

then we get to see TC's empty cockpit

Hunter: Surrender's not an option hunter how the heck did you look inside that plane as it flew over you at whatever speed TC was at hunter do u have elf eyes

we also have to wonder how they still have hearing lol writer fiat

Verity: this is not happening...

Hunter pulls her arm again

Hunter: It is...now c'mon!

TC circles around

he's keeping it together fairly well but meanwhile this is such an OCP for verity

the two of them run as Verity keeps a hand on her bag

guns pop out of the roof of the car in front of them

ah wait, it's an ambulance

it (well, mild spoilers, but he) fires a rocket at Thundercracker

and the issue ends there

man im sad what ended up happening to these guys

way underused by later parts of the continuity

and there's an interview with Furman at the end! which I'll make a separate post for

[meowihart]

I need to be studied by scientists please.

I want them to scan my brain and look at the images and show me pictures of my brain and I want to see my brain and I want the smart people to see my brain and study it and say “Wow you have such an interesting brain! We must study you!” And then I say “Yay! Please study me please please!” Because I want to feel special and also because I want to know everything that’s wrong with me.

So then I live my life in a white room. A white room. You know- the white room? You know! The light. The ever expanding. Endless endless. I get lost in my enclosure. But then they open the door again.

The let me out and run some tests.

I color in some shapes. I tell them that circles are red and squares are blue. Triangles are yellow, but everyone knows that already. I laugh, but they don’t laugh with me. I stop. I look away, ashamed. I cry. They write things in their tiny notepads. I apologize, but they reassure me, “You’re doing fine.” I stop crying.

Then they have me solve a maze. First they gave me a paper. “It’s blank,” I said.

“Flip it over.”

“Oh..” a maze. A maze! Oh I love puzzles. I go through paths in my head, eliminating the easy dead ends. I look at the start and finish points and solve from both ends, joining the two lines in the middle. After I’m finished I draw little hearts in the white space of the worksheet. I like the pen. I mean- Of course I would. I chose this pen. I did. They laid out a whole row full of pens.

Standard pens- red, blue, black.

Colorful pens- pink, purple, blue.

Some are hard. Plasticky. A few rough, a few smooth and shiny. Some have a more silicone texture, kinda rubbery.

I alternate pens a lot. I have certain phases of pen if that makes any sense at all. I’m quite fond of certain textures and that fondness ebbs and flows constantly. Right now though, I use a black pen. A black ink pen I should say- the pen itself is a kind of dark red. Hmm, yes, this one- yes. This one is nice right now.

I never pick the pencil.

At some point after I finish the maze they interrupt me while I’m drawing on the page. “Yes, yes, well done. You solved it, good job. You are very smart.”

I smile.

I am smart.

“The next test is ready, come with me.” So I follow them to the big room. The one where the more physical tests are held. The room is set up as a maze. They don’t tell me what to do, but I do it anyways. I struggle with dead ends, but I brute force my way through. Just stick to the right. Just stick to the right. Eventually I reach the end. They applaud. I soak in the attention. I get cubes of food as a treat. Why do they bother to cut them into perfect cubes, I wonder… It is good though. Good size. Predictable. Hard edges. Good.

Later they take more pictures of my brain. They study them again. “What’s wrong with me?”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with me?”

“There’s nothing wrong per say- you’re just-“

“Why am I built wrong?”

“There is no wrong way. Just a standard and an alternate approach.”

“But I feel wrong.. I know I’m different- I don’t feel bad about being different necessarily. I’ve always known I was weird- ever since I was a little kid- but I never really felt directly ashamed of it. But.. I’m different BECAUSE I feel bad. Normal people don’t feel bad. Not the way I do.”

“We know.. that’s why we’re trying to fix things.”

…

I speak up again, “Will I ever feel normal?”

They don’t answer.

#Ineedtobestudied #pleasestudyme #shouldicamel casethis

[theharrowing]

REVISIT THOUGHTS:

wow, it took me a lifetime, but i have finally reached the end of this revisit.

ughhhhhhhhhh, this entire chapter is so sad and frustrating, with the way everything is winding up, and Hoseok has nobody to blame but himself (but also a liiiiittle blame can be put onto yoonkook, those tempting devils, hehehe.)

because i am reading this fic all at once, i am remembering a chapter from the Osaka arc where Hoseok is slapped by Yoongi, and is surprised by how good it feels because slapping is not something he and Namjoon do during sex. i had actually forgotten that detail when i had Namjoon slap Hoseok in this chapter, but i feel like having that extra nugget of information adds to how fucked up their dynamic is becoming in this chapter.

ugh, i LOVE this bit so much:

Hoseok grips and claws at soft quilted fabric, breath ragged and hot, sticking to his skin as it condensates with nowhere else to go, suffocating him as his bliss ebbs and flows to high highs and abrupt stops. He could die like this. He practically begs Namjoon to press hard enough to cut off the flow of oxygen completely.

people really struggled with Namjoon in this chapter, and for good reason. his anger comes out, and his behavior during sex borders abusive. it is particularly hard to stomach because we see him being super fucking kind and understanding for 24 chapters. even after he and Hoseok argue, Namjoon is ready to find a way to make things work. we have to consider just how much pain he is feeling throughout this chapter. and while pain is no excuse to hurt someone, it is one way in which people snap.

i wanted to show him feeling pure rage in between his soft moments so that readers would really see how much he needs to take a step back and have a breather. i didn't want him returning home to be a surprise to anyone, and i also didn't want to downplay his pain. and when Hoseok questions whether Namjoon will be there when he comes back...it seems like his question is pretty justified.

ah, the callback text from chapter 1. i wonder if anyone will catch that? 🥺🥰🥰

Guilt pangs through Hoseok's chest as a sense of déjà vu hits him. Hotel hallways with ill intentions, acting as a liminal space between where he should be headed and where he wants to be.

strange to think that this is it. the next chapter is the final chapter of the story. and i have found a couple small things to expand upon in the chapter, but it is 98% done. what a bittersweet event. 💛💛💛

if you are reading this, thank you for being along with me on this journey! i will have more sappy notes on the final chapter, but i think it goes without saying that this fic holds a very special place in my heart, and when people read it, it means a lot to me.

Dollhouse 24 💛: Are you here alone?

Hoseok's job is simple: He enters the host's body, he confiscates or terminates the target, and he gets back into his own body by dinnertime, easy peasy. Until a client comes along who becomes as obsessed with his life as he becomes with theirs, and the lines between their realities begin to blur.

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

💛 Hoseok x Namjoon, Jungkook x Yoongi 💛 word count: 15.1k words 💛 hired assassin au, sci-fi, body swapping, graphic violence, infidelity, body dysphoria, lgbtq, smut, fluff, angst, poly, nsfw, smut, 21+ 💛 chapter warnings: rough oral & anal sex, slapping, spitting, use of safe word, humiliation, use of the word "whore", cum on face, paranoid feelings, Hoseok making more terrible fucking choices. Hoseok spirals.

💛 notes: wow, uhhhh...idk how i ended up writing a chapter this long, but here we gooooo!!! we're so close to the end, ahhhh!!!! 💛 beta read by @neoneunnajimin 💛 posted april 2023 | read on ao3

The Boss: Hoseok-ssi. I know you have already left for the day, but a file has come across my desk that I would like you to have a look at. It is from a possible client in New Zealand, and you are the only one I trust to take on someone this high profile, but it will require jumping. I will need a response in the morning, so mull over whether you think you are up for it.

Hoseok does not hesitate to agree to the position without giving it much thought at all. A job in New Zealand could not have come at a better time. 

Hoseok: Count me in. I'm ready to jump again.  

The Boss: Wonderful. We will discuss more tomorrow.

Ordinarily, their dynamic is that Namjoon likes to bottom and Hoseok likes to top. A surprise to neither of them, really; Hoseok has always been a bit of a control freak, and Namjoon takes care of people so much professionally that he really enjoys being taken care of at home. Tonight, however, Hoseok is going to beg to be fucked. 

He gets home first, sends a text to Namjoon—

Hoseok: Hey baby, I need to discuss something very important with you, please come home as soon as possible.

—and preps himself in the shower. As soon as his phone dings, Hoseok reaches past the shower curtain, dries a hand on one of the nearby hanging towels, and clicks on the screen to find a notification waiting for him. 

Namjoon: On my way! 

Hoseok rinses himself, gets out of the shower, towels off, and then goes into the bedroom. First, he glances around and tries to decide on something to wear. He has his share of sexy lingerie, but he is unsure whether he is in a sexy lingerie mood. So, he sits on the edge of the bed nude and waits, thumbing through his phone for something to distract him. Typically, it takes Namjoon about fifteen minutes to get home from work, but sometimes he leaves in a rush and messages while already on his way, so Hoseok has no idea what to expect. 

He does his best not to let his mind wander, but lately, it feels like an impossible task. The files that Seokjin sent Hoseok seem to be pointing to a very obvious fact, and Hoseok needs to do more digging in order to potentially corroborate the information. But he is also trying to keep his wits about him and not get too swept up in the excitement of everything. 

But what if, Hoseok wonders. What if Taehyung and Jimin really are—

The sound of Namjoon pulling into the driveway rips Hoseok from his thoughts, and he blinks heavily, looking down at his phone, the screen of which has shut off in his hands. He sets the device down onto the bedside table, and as the front door flies open, followed by the sounds of shoes thudding against the wall and the front door being thrown shut, Hoseok stands, walks into the center of the room, and gets down on his knees. 

"Seok?" Namjoon calls, voice sounding somewhat frantic.

Hoseok has to bite back a grin, feeling affection bloom around his ribs. 

"Up here, baby!"

Namjoon barrels up the stairs, feet stomping hard enough that he must be taking two at a time with his palm rubbing against the railing—a cacophony of sound Hoseok has become all too familiar with over the years. And although the bedroom door is already partially ajar, Namjoon pushes it roughly, slamming it into the door stop on the wall while he glances around, disheveled and worried. 

As soon as his eyes land on Hoseok, Namjoon stops in his tracks, nearly tripping on his feet. Hoseok has to bite down onto the inside of his bottom lip to keep from laughing. 

"Seok," Namjoon gasps, out of breath with a look of shock on his face. 

Hoseok smiles softly, resting his palms over his knees while he stares up at his husband, watching as his brain buffers. If the roles were reversed, Hoseok would already be loosening his tie and telling Namjoon what a good little toy he is. But Namjoon always requires a little nudge.

"What," Namjoon tries again, glancing around at the bedroom, which looks just as it did when he left in the morning, as if there may be more clues to explain why his husband is nude and waiting in a submissive position. "I thought—you said—"

"Baby," Hoseok interrupts sweetly. "I do have something urgent that I would like to discuss with you. But first..." Hoseok raises an eyebrow and tips his head back delicately while letting his lips softly part—a flower opening to the sunlight.

"But first...?" Namjoon asks, walking into the bedroom with his arms hanging stiffly at his sides. 

"I need you to fuck me," Hoseok says, reveling in the way Namjoon's eyes widen. "Please."

"Ah," Namjoon responds, hands rising to his grey shirt to begin working his buttons open. "Uh—of course. Yeah, of course. I can do that."

"Yeah?" Hoseok asks sweetly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

Namjoon shrugs quickly out of his shirt, throwing it to the floor despite being only a few feet from the closet hamper. He tears his white tee over his head, fumbles to undo his belt, and shoves his slacks to the floor, leaving a trail of garments in his wake as he walks to Hoseok in his black socks and grey briefs. 

"Yeah," Namjoon sighs, appearing somewhat dazed with his dark hair messy around his face.

"Did I worry you, baby?" Hoseok teases, blinking his eyelashes dramatically.

Namjoon's face becomes a little more stern; finally, he seems to be getting into character. 

"You did."

Hoseok pushes his bottom lip out in a pout and whines, "I guess you should punish me," which is the final push Namjoon seems to need to get into the mindset, gaze sharpening while he rolls his shoulders back and towers tall over him.

"What's the goal, baby?" Namjoon asks as he reaches a hand out and cards it through Hoseok's damp hair.

"Make me forget," Hoseok responds, voice shaking ever so slightly through his words. "Want to just...cease to exist for a little while."

The hand in Hoseok's hair grips tightly and pulls straight up, elongating his back, and he attempts to alleviate the pain by following the pull until all he can do is whimper and take it. With his other hand, Namjoon gently grasps Hoseok by the jaw and squeezes, pressing his lips together, searching his face as if deciding what to do with him. Then Namjoon releases his jaw and slaps him across the cheek, hard and loud, and Hoseok gasps a deep, sharp intake of air, too shocked to make a sound. 

"Color?" Namjoon asks softly.

"Green," Hoseok pants, feeling alive as the pain settles and spreads warm across his skin. 

Namjoon's fist tightens around Hoseok's hair, and he slaps Hoseok on the same cheek, then pulls his hand back and backhands his other cheek in a swift, surprising motion, making Hoseok sob through the sting. 

"Fuck," Hoseok gasps.

"Color?"

"Yellow."

Softly, Namjoon pets the backs of his fingers over Hoseok's cheeks. Hoseok's eyelids flutter shut, and he lets out a deep, pleased exhale. But Namjoon yanks on his hair, forcing Hoseok's eyes open.

"Eyes on me!" he commands, and Hoseok shouts, "Yes, sir!" instinctively. 

"Sir?" Namjoon asks, lifting an eyebrow. "Not daddy?"

Hoseok shakes his head in small, quick movements. Not daddy. Daddy reminds him...makes him think of...

"Hmm," Namjoon groans with a devious grin. "I think I want you to call me daddy, though."

"Joon," Hoseok pleads, whimpering when his hair is pulled roughly. "Baby—sir, please!"

Namjoon crouches before Hoseok, still somewhat taller, but nearly eye-level, and he cocks his head to the side, holding tightly to his hair. 

"You don't want to be reminded of him, do you?" Namjoon asks, voice soft, almost sympathetic. 

Somehow, Hoseok feels the overwhelming urge to cry. 

"No," he mutters pathetically. "No, I don't want to be reminded of him."

After a pause, Namjoon says, "You will call me daddy," while taking Hoseok's jaw in his hand once more, squeezing just enough for it to ache. "By the time I'm done with you, that word will only remind you of me. Are we clear?"

"Yes—" Hoseok whimpers, voice caught in his throat as tears rise to his eyes. 

Namjoon squeezes tighter, and Hoseok knows it is a signal to finish his sentence.

"D-daddy," he says, choked by the vines that squeeze and squeeze. "Yes, daddy."

"Good boy," Namjoon growls as he stands. 

Namjoon steps forward, crowding Hoseok's space with his cheek gently pressed against his soft cock. The delicate musk of Namjoon's sweat and sweet scent of fabric softener has Hoseok's mouth watering, and he lifts his hands, eager to pull the briefs away. 

"Keep your hands on your knees," Namjoon instructs as he yanks Hoseok's face forward, crashing his nose and lips into his bulge. 

Hoseok huffs warmth through the fabric and allows his lips to drag, hypnotized by the familiar feeling of his husband's semi-erect yet heavy dick as it slowly hardens against him. He takes a deep inhale, desperate for his senses to be filled only with the scents of Namjoon and home. 

"Do you deserve my cock?" Namjoon asks teasingly, grinding Hoseok's face into him.

"No," Hoseok whimpers pathetically. 

"That's right," Namjoon responds, using his thumb to tug down on the waistband of his briefs until Hoseok's nose is buried in dark, rough hair. "You don't deserve my cock. You're lucky I don't force you to watch me fuck someone else."

Shame fills Hoseok's chest, weighing heavily. He knows it is true; he agrees.

"I bet my coworker Hoseok would break me in half. He's so strong. I bet he would fuck me so good." 

Hoseok's heart pounds; it aches. Namjoon's coworker Lee Hoseok is an absolute beefcake of a man, and he has seen the shy way he looks at his husband. They have even joked in the past about Namjoon leaving him for his coworker of the same name, but this time, it does not feel like a joke. This time, it stings.

"How would that make you feel?” Namjoon continues. “Me calling your name for another man?"

A sob shakes through Hoseok's chest, and before he can stop himself, tears begin to fall from both eyes; sadness and maybe a sense of relief. 

"Namjoon, please," Hoseok groans, burying his face against his husband's crotch while his nails dig into the skin of his knees.

"What about Soyoon?" Namjoon asks, voice still just as deep and laced with playful hints that swirl with anger. "Wouldn't she look so pretty sprawled out on the blue comforter, squeezing her thighs around my head?"

"Baby—" Hoseok whimpers. He does not want to think about Namjoon's shy, mysteriously gorgeous coworker like that. 

"That's not what you call me," Namjoon responds curtly with a squeeze to Hoseok's hair. 

Sadness wells over—bursts like a dam as Hoseok shouts, "Daddy!"

"Beg me," Namjoon commands, shoving his briefs down lower with one hand. 

"Please, daddy. Please let me make it up to you. Please let me apologize."

"Make it up to me?" Namjoon scoffs, making the vines squeeze Hoseok's sorry little heart. "How could you possibly do that?"

"Please," Hoseok sobs, tears pouring down his cheeks. All he wants is to suck Namjoon's cock and make him feel good. He just wants to be used and hurt until he can no longer comprehend the world around him. 

Namjoon's briefs slide past his thighs and hit the floor, and Hoseok looks up through his eyelashes pleadingly. From here, Namjoon may as well be a god towering over him; massive, omnipotent, and unforgiving. 

"Open," Namjoon instructs.

Hoseok tilts his head back and lets his mouth fall open, tongue rolled out flat. With two fingers, Namjoon presses onto his tongue, slowly sliding back into Hoseok's throat and out, back and forth. The urge to gag makes tears continue to stream from Hoseok's eyes, and saliva begins to pool under and along the edge of his tongue. 

"Gonna use this pretty mouth," Namjoon groans as he leans forward, pulls his fingertips to the end of Hoseok's tongue, and spits.

Hoseok gasps, feeling heat rise to his cheeks as the spit settles on his tongue. Humiliation is not something Namjoon usually enjoys; he must be really angry. 

Namjoon stands tall once more—a looming presence—and Hoseok pleads with his eyes, eager for Namjoon to let out some of his wrath. He just wants things to be back to normal between the two of them, despite knowing it will probably never be the way it was before. If hurting him is a way to achieve that goal, then Hoseok wants to hurt. He needs to. 

Namjoon's cock hangs heavy and leaking, and Hoseok tilts his chin toward it, flicking his tongue until it hits velvety skin. Another rough tug on Hoseok's hair makes him sob; he has gotten used to the steady pull, but the skin has also settled into a state of soreness that is easily exacerbated. 

"What an eager little whore," Namjoon teases, lightly smacking his fingertips over Hoseok's tongue, filling him with the urge to cough. "Alright, if you're that desperate, suck my cock."

"Thank you, daddy," Hoseok mutters softly as Namjoon's grip on his hair loosens. He licks up Namjoon's shaft as best as he can.

Without his hands, however, Hoseok cannot quite reach the tip. With a frustrated huff, Hoseok attempts to sit higher on his knees, but he is just barely out of reach. 

Namjoon laughs, filling Hoseok head to toe with shame, and he takes his cock in one hand and smacks it against Hoseok's eager tongue before letting it go to hit his stomach.

"Daddy," Hoseok whines with his tongue half hanging from his mouth.

"What's the matter, little whore? Do you need me to help you with everything?"

Namjoon's words begin to cut so deep, causing the vines to squeeze so hard, Hoseok swallows twice to rid his throat of the lump that continues to gather. The urge to cry grows stronger.

With an exaggerated sigh, Namjoon tilts his hips, takes the base of his shaft in his hand, and flicks it down, hitting Hoseok on the lips. Hoseok whimpers as his mouth falls open, and he attempts to wrap his lips around the tip, but Namjoon keeps moving it—keeps fucking with him.

"Christ, Namjoon," Hoseok snaps, and Namjoon's grip on his hair tightens, making him wince. 

"What's the matter, Seok?" Namjoon growls, standing tall with his eyes squinted and something dark burning behind them. "Don't like being toyed around with, hmm?"

Tears threaten to break, and Hoseok blinks rapidly to chase the feeling away. 

"No," he mutters pathetically, feeling his body fall limp and causing his hair to tug more. 

Namjoon yanks Hoseok back to his knees—back to sitting up just as high as before—and Hoseok whimpers from the feeling, but allows his mouth to fall open. He wants Namjoon to use him, despite the myriad emotions this scene is conjuring inside him. He needs Namjoon to let his feelings out. 

"Open," Namjoon instructs, and Hoseok sighs as his tongue lolls flat from his mouth.

The tight grip on Hoseok's hair becomes a dull sensation once more, and as Namjoon slides his cock roughly into his throat, Hoseok breathes through the urge to gag, feeling tears along his eye line begin to break. Hoseok closes his lips and sucks, doing his best to swallow back in time with Namjoon's thrusts and make it feel good for him. 

Namjoon groans and places his hand under Hoseok's chin, making the squeeze in his throat tighter. Hoseok feels as if his head is caught in some sort of loose vice grip—like if he attempts to rest on his knees, Namjoon will continue to roughly hold him suspended in the air. 

The sounds Hoseok's throat begin to make as Namjoon thrusts deeper and harder are low and guttural, bordering gags and moans, sending a chill through him. The thick saliva that gathers is even worse. 

Hoseok nearly fears for his ability to breathe as Namjoon's cock drives further, but he feels powerless to do anything to stop the deep, hurried thrusts, and his eyes roll back as he makes attempts to suck air in through his nose. His body starts to go limp and his ears begin to ring. 

When Namjoon pulls out entirely, Hoseok gasps a horrendous involuntary sound, and he crashes to the floor, realizing a second too late that Namjoon has let his hold on him go.

"Seok," Namjoon says, but he does not sound concerned. He sounds annoyed. Inconvenienced. 

Hoseok blinks heavily, hot tears stream down his face, and he swallows hard to push back all the thick, phlegmy spit. As he stares down at his hands, seeing the way his fingernails cut into his skin, he barely recognizes himself. He seems paler. Weaker. 

Namjoon sighs.

"I don't fucking get you," he says. "You call me here like it's some kind of emergency, then completely dissociate."

Hoseok is almost certain that this is not what dissociating is, but he is not in his right mind to argue. And, anyway, what would be the point? His voice cracks, and the first part of his sentence gets stuck somewhere unvoiced, as he mutters, "—being too rough."

"Alright, sorry," Namjoon says as his weight shifts from one leg to the other. He does not sound sorry.

Hoseok hums, looks up, and holds his mouth open, shuttering as he takes in Namjoon's distant, angry glare. 

"I can do it," he mutters, "let's keep going."

Without a word, Namjoon takes Hoseok by the face in one hand and slides his cock back into his mouth. Hoseok is somewhat surprised; he expected the tears and overall distress to stop Namjoon. He expected to have to beg. 

"Feels good," Namjoon groans as the tip of his cock hits the back of Hoseok's throat, but not hard enough to make him lurch. "Fuck, baby, your mouth always feels so good."

Hoseok's eyelids flutter closed, and he moans as he swallows back, gently gripping his fingertips into nail-dug skin as he does his best to breathe through each languid thrust. 

Sucking Namjoon's cock is always a treat. The heavy weight of him, girth stretching his lips just slightly too much, the salty-sweet taste of his heady precome. Namjoon is heaven.

As Hoseok relaxes further into the feeling of his husband using his mouth, his tears fall less frequently, and his hands fully relax over his knees. He can forgive Namjoon for his outburst; he knows he deserves it. In fact, he deserves far worse. 

"Swallow around me," Namjoon commands softly, rubbing his thumb along the edge of Hoseok's mouth, smearing spit on his skin. Hoseok does as he is told, earning him a deep, pleased groan.

"That's it, fuck, so good. Gonna come soon, baby. Not gonna last long."

There is a voice in Hoseok's head that tells him that Namjoon not lasting too long is a good sign. Namjoon must not have already come today—always having more stamina the second time—and therefore, he must not be cheating on him. After all, Hoseok has expected his long evenings at work and out with coworkers to result in cheating. It is what he feels Namjoon owes him after everything he has put him through, but the thought of his big, dumb cutie being unfaithful does make him sad. 

Of course, Namjoon could still be cheating; Hoseok did call him to come right home today, after all. Hoseok chooses not to dwell on it.

Instead, Hoseok sucks eagerly, even rolls his tongue when he can, anxious to make his husband come. Namjoon groans and gasps, sounds becoming louder and more desperate, hips picking up speed. With both hands, Namjoon grips Hoseok by the sides of his face and begins to trust a little harder. 

Air and spit sputter out from the sides of Hoseok's mouth, and he does his best to sit pretty and let Namjoon use him as he needs. He can feel his face warm as the lack of sufficient oxygen makes it harder and harder for him to breathe, and his fingertips once again dig into his knees. 

Luckily, Namjoon chases his high quickly. With two more powerful thrusts, Namjoon presses in far enough to make white burst in Hoseok's vision at the loss of oxygen before he pulls out completely and comes on Hoseok's face. Hoseok heaves for air, doing his best not to cough, eager to stay as still as he can as Namjoon paints his face. 

Once he has caught his breath, Hoseok holds out his tongue to catch the last of the release, then attempts to lick as much of it from around his mouth as he can. Come drips down his cheeks and slides down the slope of his nose, and Namjoon stands, cock fisted overhead a little longer before he steps away, toward the bathroom. 

"Felt good," Namjoon calls just before turning on the faucet. 

Hoseok lets out a sigh of relief. His heart and lungs ache, feeling tightly wound with emotion. He would love to curl up and fall asleep, but—despite everything he is feeling—he still wants to get held down and fucked. He wants it so badly, his entire body vibrates for it—every nerve needs it. 

Viscous, watery fluid leaks down Hoseok’s chin, mingling with the drool that has pooled, then drops down to his chest. Namjoon must be really well-hydrated; his release is more watery than sticky today. 

Namjoon returns with a small grey washcloth that looks darkened by water, and he slowly approaches, smiling down at Hoseok as he surveys the mess he has made. Then he squats, still sitting taller than Hoseok by several inches, gazing down at him with a smirk. 

“So pretty covered in my come,” Namjoon mutters. “All mine.”

“Yours,” Hoseok rasps, throat feeling sore. 

Namjoon gently rubs the cold, damp rag over Hoseok’s face, taking extra care to wipe his chin, neck, and chest, covering his body in goosebumps as the cool sensation shivers through him. All the while, Hoseok’s palms stay rested on his knees. 

All yours, Hoseok thinks. If only he could believe in the conviction of the words. 

When Hoseok arrives at his office at 8 AM on the dot, The Boss is standing beside his door with her arms folded over her chest, gripping onto a manila folder. She wears thick, dark sunglasses despite being indoors, adorned in one of her long, black dresses that covers her from neck to wrist to ankle—a dress fit for a funeral. Hoseok wonders if it will be his own life that she will be mourning as he reaches a hand out to take the document. 

"New Zealand?" Hoseok asks, realizing with a pang of anxiety that he forgot to mention this job to Namjoon last night, too distracted by getting fucked within an inch of his life.

The Boss hums. "We need to bring the man back to Korea to carry out the assassination order, so your primary duty is to jump and lead him to us."

"Of course," Hoseok says as he punches in the code to his office door and pushes it open with his palm.

"And I assume you got rid of Kim Seokjin?" The Boss asks, stopping Hoseok in his tracks. 

Hoseok clears his throat and mutters, "Yeah," then turns to face The Boss. "I asked him to provide substantial evidence for his claims, and he has not gotten in touch since. Perhaps he knew what we would find in his background check and decided not to pursue it further."

"That is a relief," The Boss states. "We have found…something…but we are working on substantiating it, first."

"Found something?" Hoseok asks, knitting his brows. "What?"

"I—" The Boss begins, then she cocks her head to the side, and Hoseok can see her mulling her words over. "Let's hold off on this conversation until the results come back."

Ordinarily, Hoseok would argue. It is a big pet peeve of his when someone begins to share information only to rescind it. But today, he has no fight in him, and he nods his head and mutters, "Fine."

"Everything alright at home?" The Boss asks. 

Hoseok knows this tone, and he cracks an unconvincing smile and says, "For the most part." 

Namjoon is a liability are the words Hoseok recalls, spoken by The Boss more times than he would like to admit. He knows she does not care how things at home are. He knows that she feels he would be better at his job if he was not married at all. Surely, bringing Namjoon onto the team has not changed that. 

"That's good," The Boss responds flatly before she turns around and leaves. 

With a glare, Hoseok watches after her, then he walks to his desk and throws himself into the uncomfortable chair that sits before it, wincing from the soreness of his ass—a reminder of the night before. As he lifts the file and allows it to fall open, he sees an image of an older man who appears to be Korean, dressed in a suit. There is nothing about the man that stands out in any way, and Hoseok reads through the file quickly. The mission is to jump into the man's advisor's body—against the advisor's will—and hand the two of them over to a team that will escort them back to Korea. Easy enough. 

Hoseok sighs and tosses the folder onto his desk, letting the papers fly from it and fall over the opposite edge, landing on his leather chair, and possibly on the floor. New Zealand is still a bit of a trek to Australia, but it is closer than he is now. Hoseok looked up flights last night, right after Namjoon fell asleep. 

The information Seokjin gave him seems pretty clear. Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung popped up on Seokjin's radar the day The Boss claimed Yoongi and Jeongguk went missing. The crimes that Park and Kim are allegedly running from seem to have all been fabricated in order to get Hoseok's attention. But why? Why is Seokjin unable to come right out and tell Hoseok point blank that these bodies may be hosting the consciousnesses of the men he is searching for, if that is, in fact, what Seokjin is trying to say? What does Seokjin have to lose? What could his connection to them be?

The phone on Hoseok's desk rings. He lets out a heavy sigh as he stands from the chair, rounds his desk, and picks up the receiver, staring down at the paperwork that is scattered on his office chair and the floor. 

"This is Jung," Hoseok says, making a failed attempt to not sound absolutely dead inside. 

"Hoseok-ssi," The Boss says, and Hoseok hums in response, "the target has just made a reservation at the Sofitel in Wellington, and appears to be checking out one week from today. In the event that he moves, I want to try to get to him first. What are the odds of getting you on a flight in the morning?"

Tomorrow morning is way too soon. Hoseok will hardly have a chance to explain to Namjoon what is going on, and what if his pivot to Australia winds up taking him a while? How long will he be away from his husband on such short notice?

"Tomorrow morning is fine," Hoseok responds, nibbling on his bottom lip. 

"Perfect." The Boss responds, sounding pleased as she hangs up.

With a sigh, Hoseok hangs up the phone, then he slowly gets down on his knees to pick up the spilled paperwork and shove it back into the file folder. He considers what he is going to tell Namjoon, then he stands, grabs the papers from his chair, and places it all on top of his desk in a pile before picking up his office phone once more and dialing Namjoon's extension at work. 

It takes four rings before Namjoon picks up, and Hoseok is grateful that he is around rather than helping a patient. Namjoon's voice almost sounds foreign to Hoseok, with how chipper it is when he says, "This is Kim's office."

"Joon," Hoseok blurts, feeling a heavy wave of sadness settle over him from how unusual Namjoon's happy tone sounds, "hey, sorry for calling you at work."

"Oh," Namjoon responds, voice dropping, sounding concerned, "Seok, baby, is everything alright?"

Suddenly, Hoseok feels the weight of leaving the country pressing heavily on his shoulders and tears well into his eyes. He swallows a lump and breathes through the tight, tight squeeze as the vines snake through each rib. 

"Uh—I, uh…Yeah. Kind of."

"Can we talk about this in person, tonight?"

"It's The Boss. She wants to send me to New Zealand."

"Oh."

"Tomorrow."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

Hoseok rubs a hand over his cheek and closes his eyes, letting out a huff of air. Moments ago, he was somewhat content with everything, and now he feels stricken by regret. 

Namjoon sighs, and Hoseok braces himself, expecting the worst. Not that things could get much worse. 

"Well, I was going to take a trip home to visit my family in a few weeks, but maybe I'll push it up and leave this weekend."

"Oh?" 

Hoseok finds this news surprising; he had no idea Namjoon had been planning another trip home. Not that Ilsan is far at all, but typically, Hoseok travels with his husband. 

"Yeah. I just think I need a breather after everything that has happened, you know?"

Another breather. Only a few months ago, Namjoon went to Ilsan for a breather, and now he feels the need to go again?

"Alright," Hoseok responds, failing to sound positive. "That works out well, then."

A voice calls to Namjoon, and Hoseok's heart pounds heavily as Namjoon chuckles and says, away from the phone, "Sounds great, Yoon; be right there!" and then returns to Hoseok to say, "Lunch is here, so I am going to let you go. See you at home?"

Lunch with Soyoon. Soyoon brought Namjoon lunch. Hoseok does his best not to spiral.

"Alright. See ya," Hoseok mutters before hanging up and throwing himself down into his office chair. 

He wonders how things could get any more fucking cumbersome.

[Unknown]: Hoseok-ssi, this is KSJ. I have information on your boys. They have a reservation at the Park Hyatt in Sydney, with a checkout date of a next week Saturday. I hear the botanical garden is lovely this time of year.

Hoseok: When do they check in?

Hoseok watches as his message is never delivered. So communication with Seokjin is a one-way street. He supposes he can handle that. Briefly, his thumbs twitch as he considers calling the line he already had for the man, but if Seokjin is going out of his way to communicate through unknown numbers, Hoseok already knows he will not be reached on his main line.

Sydney is much closer to New Zealand than Perth, and Hoseok cannot help but wonder if this is no coincidence. But it has to be, right? There is no way Seokjin has managed to orchestrate another hit just to get him close to Australia. That seems ridiculous. Considering Seokjin never pressed Hoseok about the alleged and suspected charges, Hoseok wonders if he was never going to formally pursue a hit on the two men at all, but he just wanted Hoseok to pay attention to Park and Kim. 

It certainly does not seem impossible. Seokjin does not work for a government agency, but there is something about him…something that The Boss suspects. But what? Hoseok does find it quite interesting that both his target and his persons of interest seem to be making moves at the same time, and that hotel reservations are the specific pieces of information being fed to him by both his boss and Seokjin. Does Seokjin have some way of monitoring his correspondences? He is beginning to think like a conspiracy theorist.

Ever since Seokjin's visit, Hoseok has been spending less and less time watching the CCTV feeds. He no longer believes Yoongi and Jeongguk are likely to be in Japan. He knows it is foolish to think the two men in Australia could be them, but…what if? How else could they have disappeared without a trace?

By the time 6 PM rolls around, Hoseok shuts his monitor off, shoves his paperwork into his desk, and stands up, glancing around the office. Light dapples in through tall black and silver curtains, covering the room in a dreamy glow. 

Hoseok does not wish to ever return to this office. The more he takes in his surroundings, thinking about all the lives he has taken, and those he has lost, he feels a deep contempt and hatred, compounded by a sense of longing that almost settles into his bones like nostalgia.

He wonders if he would be better off never knowing Yoongi and Jeongguk. If he could turn back time, pursue a different line of work, and never cross their paths, he and Namjoon would not be so strained, and he would not be so set on disappearing completely. He is relieved that Namjoon is returning to Ilsan, to visit his family. He wonders if he should recommend Namjoon stays there a while longer. Possibly for good. 

With his face buried in his pillow for the second night in a row, Hoseok feels as if he may just be on the brink of total ascension. Soul leaving the body, and all that—enlightened beyond the realm of what is humanly imaginable. 

Namjoon fucks him slow and deep, pressing hard on the back of his head while his other hand grips the tip of Hoseok’s cock, squeezing any time he starts to feel close, as if Namjoon is hardwired to know precisely when he is ready to burst. 

Hoseok grips and claws at soft quilted fabric, breath ragged and hot, sticking to his skin as it condensates with nowhere else to go, suffocating him as his bliss ebbs and flows to high highs and abrupt stops. He could die like this. He practically begs Namjoon to press hard enough to cut off the flow of oxygen completely. 

“So fucking good for me,” Namjoon moans as he thrusts languidly. Two loads of his come squelch with every movement; Namjoon has been making Hoseok wait a long time before he can finish. Hoseok does not mind. “Gonna be so sore, you’ll feel me all the way to New Zealand, baby.”

Hoseok whimpers and squeezes the comforter harder, lamenting having to leave. He almost feels guilty for how quickly he knows he will forget about Namjoon the moment his feet touch new soil. Once he focuses on finding them, everything else will fade into obscurity. 

“On your back,” Namjoon mutters, voice sounding deep and broken as he pulls out and releases Hoseok’s cock, making him tremble and whine, feeling so terribly empty. 

Hoseok falls to his hip and takes a deep breath, keeping his eyes shut as he rolls onto his back. He squints his eyes open, blinking so as to not let in too much light, and Namjoon’s torso and neck come into view, flushed and covered in a layer of sweat. 

“Wanna look at you while I come inside you one last time,” Namjoon says, making Hoseok’s stomach churn from how final it all sounds, reminding him of the last time with Yoongi, when he said something similar. “Want to watch you come once more before you’re gone.”

“G-gone,” Hoseok mutters quietly, voice croaking around the word, throat raw from screaming into the pillow. 

Namjoon grips Hoseok’s hips to yank and press him into place, lines himself with Hoseok’s sore, used hole, then spits on Hoseok’s cock and grips it tightly, rolling his palm over the head. The pressure from orgasm after orgasm being denied has every touch feeling electric to the point of being painful, and Hoseok gasps and groans from the touch, pleasure-pain shooting through his limbs and festering deep in his guts. 

“So pretty,” Namjoon praises as he slowly fills Hoseok, pressing his thick length past each ring of abused and tired muscle. 

Hoseok whimpers and sobs, feeling too overwhelmed by the sight of his husband towering over and glaring down on him. Everything is too much, and Hoseok wishes he could return to being pressed face down. Suffocation would certainly be easier on the heart. 

With a deep, rumbly groan, Namjoon pulls back and thrusts forward quickly, causing Hoseok's entire body to freeze, spine locked in an arch, as a sob quakes through him and trembles from between his lips. He is suddenly so dreadfully close to the edge and already beyond the point of overstimulation. 

"You gonna come already, baby?" Namjoon teases, rolling his palm over Hoseok's cock while he pulls back and thrusts forward, back and forward, picking up a pace much steadier than anything he has done for the past incomprehensible amount of time. 

"I'm—" Hoseok sobs, squeezing his eyes closed as Namjoon thrusts deep and opening them widely when he pulls back. "Yes."

"Good boy."

Hoseok whimpers as Namjoon continues to fuck him, and his heels dig uselessly against the blue comforter, unable to find a stable position. His legs are restless, but he lacks the energy to hold them in place, instead clawing at the blanket with both hands, down at his sides. 

"T-too much," Hoseok whines, knowing that if he really needs Namjoon to slow or stop, that he will have to use his safeword, not wanting to. 

Namjoon knits his brows and juts out his lip into a mock pout, responding, "You can take it, baby," in a tone dripping with mirth, making Hoseok want to cry. 

Hoseok is not entirely sure he can take it. His entire body begins to stiffen and convulse against the mattress as sharp, overwhelming waves of horrible pleasure rock through him, pulling him asunder. Close. So, terribly close. 

"So good for me," Namjoon groans, giving Hoseok's cock a firm, nearly painful squeeze. "For me and only me,"

"Only you…" Hoseok mutters as his eyes roll back and he succumbs to innumerous feelings, trembling and sobbing as the pleasure bursts and overcomes him.

"That's it," Namjoon groans, voice sounding affected—broken around the edges.

Hoseok paints himself in release, spraying his neck, chest, and tummy, aided by Namjoon's insistent fist. Much to his demise, Namjoon's hips speed up, shooting blinding amounts of pleasure-pain through him. It hurts—it hurts to the extent of Hoseok nearly calling his safeword and begging Namjoon to stop. The oxygen feels pressed sharply from his lungs, and he squeezes his eyes closed so hard, his head begins to ache.

"Joon…" he mutters, voice barely audible over the slap of skin against sweaty skin. "Pl–please, baby…hurts…"

With a loud, long groan, Namjoon's hips still and tremble, and he pulls from Hoseok's stretched, aching hole and sprays his come over Hoseok's thigh, tummy, and deflating cock, droplets compared to his earlier loads, but still more than Hoseok would expect. The fluids instantly begin to cool, along with the sweat that covers him, and Hoseok's shoulders and chest tense as he begins to shiver. 

"God damn," Namjoon gasps, leaning forward on one hand propped beside Hoseok's hip while he squeezes his cock in the other. "Fuck. Look at you, shivering and covered in come. Such a pretty fuck toy, baby."

The impulse to cry returns, and Hoseok attempts to blink it away, feeling a trembling exhale work its way through his chest and throat. 

"C-cold," he whines, making Namjoon chuckle.

"Alright, let's get you into a hot shower," Namjoon says in a tone that is flat, possibly verging on annoyance, though Hoseok could be imagining it.

Namjoon leaves the room and makes his way to the bathroom. Lazily, Hoseok drops his head to the side and watches as his husband's ass flexes and relaxes—perky and soft. The sound of the faucet turning on makes Hoseok groan, and he sits up slowly, feeling his muscles settle somewhat painfully from being fucked so hard and for so long. 

When Namjoon returns, he appears exasperated. His lips are tugged down into a frown, and he looks everywhere but at Hoseok, even as he approaches and scoops him up bridal style to take into the bathroom. Despite the feeling of discomfort that engulfs and settles down into his bones, Hoseok leans into Namjoon, shivering against his warm skin, and Namjoon squeezes him a bit in response. 

"I'll miss you, Seok," Namjoon mutters as they enter the bathroom. 

And although Hoseok knows Namjoon must only be talking about missing him while Hoseok is away on his work trip, the way he says it feels heavy. Matched with the way he was speaking moments ago about fucking him one last time, Hoseok's mind races. What if he returns and Namjoon has decided to move on, leaving him alone in this home? He knows he deserves it. 

"I'll miss you too, Joonie," Hoseok responds solemnly, thankful to be set beside the shower so that he can step into the tub, allowing the steam and water to greet him—warm and welcoming, and a cover for his tears. 

Hoseok is beginning to stir, letting the early morning sunlight break through, turning his dreams into distant blurs that are slowly wiping from his mind. He hardly makes sense of Namjoon's voice sweetly saying, "Rise and shine, baby," until delicate touches against his forehead and cheek bring the waking world more quickly into focus. 

"Hmm?" Hoseok grumbles, stretching his legs out, followed by his arms, which he lifts over his head. 

"You have a long trip ahead of you, so I thought I would head to work a little late and see you off," Namjoon responds low and close, leaving warm breath after each word to ghost over Hoseok's face. 

Namjoon smells minty and sweet, and Hoseok would chase his lips to have a taste, if only his own breath weren't putrid from sleep. Slowly, Hoseok opens his eyes, squinting as he adjusts to the light. Namjoon has opened the curtains, and although the sun has yet to fully rise, it is more than Hoseok is used to when he wakes.

"What would my husband like for breakfast?" Namjoon asks, and Hoseok nearly pinches himself to check that he is awake, after all. 

"Coffee and an omelet?" Hoseok responds, voice still raw from overuse. 

With a hum, Namjoon kisses Hoseok on the forehead, then makes his way from the bedroom. Hoseok groans and stretches once more, then he sits up, digging his palms into the mattress while the pain in his ass radiates through him, making him hiss. Namjoon certainly fulfilled his promise to make him sore, and he hopes the eleven-hour plane ride is not too painful.

Hoseok sits a moment, gathering his thoughts and allowing his brain to fully catch up to being awake. Then he slowly swings his legs over the edge of the mattress while pushing away the comforter, and sets his feet onto the floor. It feels like only yesterday, Hoseok could barely manage this much movement without feeling intense bursts of blinding pain radiating from his side, and he stares at his feet, grateful for mobility. And for community. Although getting wrapped up in Yoongi and Jeongguk's mess was what got him shot in the first place, Hoseok is grateful to have had them by his and Namjoon's side while he recovered. He thinks about that incident often.

As Hoseok gets out of bed and makes his way to the closet, the smell of coffee slowly permeates the air, hitting his nose. He takes a deep, slow inhale and smiles on each exhale while finding an undershirt and suit for the day—all black, of course. He can faintly hear the sounds of kitchenware, and he gets dressed a little quicker than usual, excited to have breakfast with his husband. 

He promises himself that once he completes the job in New Zealand and confirms his suspicions in Australia, he will be ready to move on and be devoted once more to Namjoon. Although he misses Yoongi and Jeongguk terribly, he feels certain that he is finally at peace with whatever mess transpired between the four of them being over. Enough time has passed, and he does not crave Yoongi the way he used to. 

He will miss occupying Jeongguk's body, but his main concern is that the two of them are still alive. He can deal with the possibility of them being in different vessels if and when the time comes. He just needs to see that they are alive. Perhaps losing the temptation of their former bodies will put everything to rest. 

"Ready, Seok!" Namjoon shouts from downstairs, and Hoseok smiles wide, nibbling on his lower lip. He wonders how he got so lucky to run into Namjoon all those years ago at that shitty college party. He wonders if Namjoon feels lucky sometimes, too. 

"Coming," Hoseok responds, though not too loud. 

He snakes a belt through the loops of his slacks and begins to buckle it, catching his reflection in the mirror. His hair is beginning to grow too long, the back falling below his ears, but he likes the way it frames his face, shaggy and a bit unkempt. 

Hoseok pulls a black blazer from its hanger and drapes it over his arm, then approaches his mahogany jewelry box, lifting the lid and pulling out his favorite Rolex—a black watch face with silver details and a silver band. Then he makes his way from his bedroom, to the stairs. 

Part of him feels sentimental about leaving, but he is too excited about breakfast to let that weigh on him too heavily. He will have to bear the burden of his choices eventually, but for now, Namjoon is waiting for him. And considering the chance that Namjoon might not be here when he returns, Hoseok knows that he needs to appreciate every moment that he can, right now. 

As he walks down the stairs, he notices his suitcase is already down on the landing, and he smiles to himself. Namjoon really has thought of everything, it seems. A relief, considering Hoseok had forgotten to grab it, too busy being wrapped up in his thoughts. The air smells of coffee and melted butter, and Hoseok reaches the bottom of the staircase with a pep in his step and spins in socked feet toward the kitchen. 

Namjoon stands in a black hoodie and sweatpants, which is an uncharacteristic sight, and Hoseok wonders just how much later he plans to go into work, almost making a joke about casual Friday being far more casual than he remembers. He tries not to think of the familiar attire on Yoongi and Jeongguk, but it feels impossible, and he sighs as he smiles and allows his husband to pull him into a hug.

"How long do you expect to be away?" Namjoon asks with his lips pressed to Hoseok's temple. 

Truthfully, Hoseok has no idea. As long as his target is where The Boss says he is, Hoseok could have his actual mission complete by tomorrow. But as for when he will return home…

"Hopefully no longer than a week," Hoseok responds with a sigh, considering the possibility of needing the entire week to search for Jimin and Taehyung. "A week from Sunday, at the latest."

Namjoon plants a kiss on Hoseok's cheek, then steps back and motions for him to have a seat. His breakfast is going to be cold, but Hoseok hardly cares as he lets his fingertips linger on the soft black cotton before pulling away. 

At the sight of only one plate, Hoseok feels a bit sad; he had hoped that he and Namjoon would share a meal before he leaves. But Namjoon does have a seat across from him, cradling a white ceramic mug of steaming coffee, and Hoseok decides that is good enough.

"I might still be in Ilsan when you return," Namjoon says, pulling Hoseok's attention and making him hum. "I'll keep you posted, though."

Hoseok grabs his coffee cup and lifts it to his lips, muttering, "Alright," before taking a sip of the steaming, bitter liquid. Then he sets the mug down and eats his omelet, rushing through it just a tad so that he can round the table, straddle Namjoon's thighs, and get back to hugging and kissing him before he finally has to leave.

"Do we have time to fuck?" Namjoon asks against Hoseok's lips, breath smelling like coffee while his candor takes him by surprise. 

"I don't think I could handle it," Hoseok responds, rubbing his fingertips over Namjoon's neck. His ass is far more sore than he would care to admit.

"What if I already stretched myself with a plug this morning?" Namjoon asks, rubbing his palms down Hoseok's chest and stomach before gripping onto his thighs. 

Hoseok gasps. "Oh?"

Namjoon hums in response and begins to palm over Hoseok's crotch, sending blood flooding to the warmth left by his touch. If Namjoon is already prepped, they should have time for a quickie.

"Alright," Hoseok says, checking his watch to confirm he has about twenty minutes until he has to leave. "I want you naked and on your knees, on the couch."

Hoseok sits up straight and gets onto his feet, taking in the sight of Namjoon disheveled and flushed, lounging back against his wooden dining room chair. 

He steps back, giving him space as Namjoon nods, smiles, and mutters, "Yes, daddy."

Thanks to the aid of prescription medication, most of the eleven-hour and twenty-five-minute flight goes by in a blink of an eye. Hoseok wakes up drowsy and stretches as the plane skids over the tarmac, slowing to a taxi while the sun shines brightly into the small windows. He has never been to New Zealand before, and although he is interested in taking in the scenery, his brain has not fully logged back on.

Beside him, across the tiny aisle, The Boss sits staring out her window with a glass of white wine in her hand, dangling by the stem between two manicured fingers. She must sense Hoseok is awake, because without turning to look at him, she says, "I have confirmation on the…information…that I began to share with you, yesterday."

"Oh?" Hoseok asks through a yawn.

The Boss hums. "As you recall, it is in regards to Seokjin. I fear that once I share this information with you, you might do something irrational."

"Try me," Hoseok responds, already feeling fed up with her tone. 

The plane slows to a stop, and outside workers are positioning a metal ladder outside while an attendant begins to open the door from the inside. The Boss drinks back the last of her wine and holds the empty glass out for another attendant to walk by and grab, then she unbuckles her seatbelt, stands, and smooths her hands over her long black dress—another fit for a funeral.

"Kim Seokjin is a Jeon," The Boss says simply. 

Hoseok's head races, though he already knows what she is trying to tell him. The resemblance between Seokjin and Jeongguk was hard to miss. 

She continues, "A Jeon who is not eager for his father to be assassinated, I suspect. Hence attempting to pull you off of his little brother's trail to focus on a fake job."

Or, Hoseok thinks, he is eager to get his little brother back. Perhaps he assumed that once Hoseok came into contact with his targets, he would know that one of them is Jeongguk in a new body. Maybe he does want his father to be assassinated; he seems quite a bit older than Jeongguk. Perhaps whatever his father is in charge of, Seokjin will be next in line for. He could even be throwing Jeongguk under the bus, hoping for the kid to do his dirty work. 

"Interesting," Hoseok responds as he undoes his seatbelt and stands. 

Hoseok begins to make his way to the exit, already finished with this conversation. Now he definitely wants to get this job finished as quickly as possible so he can get onto a red-eye to Sydney. 

"I recommend you stay away from him," The Boss adds, but Hoseok does not stop, only mutters, "Got it."

"I mean it, Hoseok-ssi," she continues. "Last we heard, he was laying low in Tokyo. Whatever it is he seems to be running away from, it could have something to do with the Korean government. He could be working with Yakuza."

Hoseok nods and exits the airplane, squinting as the sunlight fully permeates his vision. He is tired and grumpy, and he just wants to get jumped and take care of his client. The Boss is close behind, footfalls clicking against the metal ladder as Hoseok reaches the bottom, and he heads toward a black car, anticipating The Boss to climb into the front seat. 

Hoseok opens the door behind the driver and gets into the car, then shuts it and takes in the smell of artificial leather that has undoubtedly been sprayed, perhaps to give an air of newness or importance. Once The Boss gets into the front seat, a staff member places their luggage into the trunk and closes it, then the car takes off. 

"We are going to take you straight to the target host and get you in and out quickly," The Boss states. 

Music to Hoseok's ears. 

"Sounds good," Hoseok mutters as he closes his eyes and rests his head back. 

With any luck, he may be able to avoid checking into the hotel altogether. 

Although it is possible to jump into the body of a person who has been knocked out, The Boss prefers not to go that route. Depending on the method used to knock out a host, their body may be sluggish, and that is the last thing an assassin needs. So when Hoseok shows up to the penthouse of some fancy hotel to find a man bound to a chair and whimpering into a gag, he sighs. 

Of course, he agrees with The Boss, and prefers his hosts to be as alert as possible, but jumping into the body of a man who has been struggling enough to break out into a sweat is also not optimal. Not only is he risking feeling soreness, but he is going to have to clean the man enough to make him presentable to the target, which is a hassle. 

Without skipping a beat, Hoseok approaches the hotel bed and pulls off his black blazer, draping it over the back of a nearby empty chair before taking a seat and swinging his legs up. He lays his head into the receiver, then reaches back to uncork his implant and plug himself in. The metal feels cold as it slides past his skin, though he cannot feel anything once it enters the receptor nestled in his brain. 

"Ready?" The Boss calls, and Hoseok closes his eyes and hums before saying, "Ready."

"Jumping in 3…2…"

A ringing can be heard before everything goes black and then white. 

It always feels weird to wake up in someone else's body. The discombobulation of space and time, adjusting for hand-eye coordination in a new skinsuit with different length limbs and overall proportions, acclimating as quickly as possible to carry out the tasks at hand. 

But he always adjusts quickly because he is the best. 

Nobody is better than Jung Hoseok.

When Hoseok opens the host's eyes, he feels the soreness in the man's biceps and thighs from being bound to the wooden chair, and he closes the host's eyes and sighs, doing his best to relax the man's muscles while the team checks to make sure it is, in fact, Hoseok jumped into his skin.

"Birthday?" a man asks as the cloth is pulled down away from Hoseok's host's mouth. 

"Nineteen ninety-four, eighteen, two."

"And your spouse?" The man asks.

Hoseok clicks the host's tongue against the roof of his mouth and mutters, "Keep my husband out of this."

The man looks past Hoseok, undoubtedly to The Boss, who must give him a signal to accept the answer. 

Hoseok is untied from the chair and stands, stretching the long, heavy limbs with the hope of relieving some tension. 

"Your host and the target have a dinner reservation at the restaurant downstairs," The Boss informs as Hoseok cracks his host's neck and stretches the arms out once more. "All we need you to do is get the man into a car afterward. How you manage that is up to you, as long as it does not cause a scene."

Before falling asleep on the airplane, Hoseok watched a video compilation of the two men interacting and determined that the target is pretty easily persuaded by the host, who goes by the name of Ahn Ilseong. The target—a man named Choi Giseok—is a lawyer who has been taking bribes from some pretty high-profile clients, recently assisting in the building of an apartment complex that will cover what the Korean government believes to be a burial grounds for a now-defunct gang whose operators are still lurking in the shadows of Seoul. 

After the discovery of two bodies, detectives have been working around the clock to catch those in charge and put a stop to the building operations, but the man Hoseok meets with today has been influential in covering everyone's tracks. 

While taking hush money, Choi has been approving building codes and ordinances for the construction of that building, despite the place being an active crime scene, using his power and influence to secure a certain police chief who Choi has promised to help make a mayor, right into his pocket. Hence the hit placed on his head; taking down a lawyer is far easier than taking down the police, but Hoseok expects this case to extend into their precinct, should this job not send a clear enough message.

Hoseok approaches his own body, which lies unconscious on the bed, and rummages through his front pocket to grab his cell phone. Then he types in his passcode and makes his way to the suite's bathroom to clean up while he replays videos of the host to watch for mannerisms and listen for speech patterns. 

This time frame is a little tight and not ideal, but he is confident he can figure it out. Worst case scenario, he drugs the man and makes it appear as though he is too drunk and needs to be escorted out to a car. It does not quite fit the whole not-making-a-scene profile, but it is a plausible enough scenario. 

Once Hoseok has the host's face washed and hair combed with enough dry shampoo to rid the sweaty and disheveled appearance he found him in, Hoseok bids The Boss farewell and makes his way down to the lobby with ten minutes to spare before their reservation. 

Choi Giseok is already at the bar when Hoseok arrives, and he approaches on the man's right side, slinging an arm over his shoulder, doing his best not to gag from the overwhelming stench of cigar smoke, sweat, and booze. Much to Hoseok's delight, he seems to be on his way to being wasted. 

"Starting without me?" Hoseok chides, as he looks down at the man's drink and back to his face. 

Choi squints at him, and for a split moment, Hoseok worries that already he may be blowing his own cover. He is, after all, a little rusty from not working as much as he used to. Perhaps his studies were not thorough enough. 

"Ahn, you son of a bitch!" Choi finally slurs, setting Hoseok's mind at ease. "Have a drink with me, and then we will sit down to dinner and discuss the deal, yeah?"

"Yeah," Hoseok responds with a crooked smile, breathing in through the host's mouth in an attempt to avoid Choi's stench as he settles on the stool beside him. He waves down the tender, orders one of "whatever he's having," and sets the night in motion. 

It takes exactly two hours of listening to the old man babble bullshit, eating steak, and drinking whiskey before Hoseok is able to get him into a car on its way to the airport. He does not even put up a fuss; hardly seeming cognizant of where he is. Easy peasy. 

The walk back through the hotel lobby and to the elevators is a bit rushed and stumbly due to his attempts to keep up with Choi's unrelenting need to drink and drink. He wastes no time, feeling the host's pulse spike as he makes his way back to the penthouse suite, to his body.

By the time Hoseok is back in his own skin, he feels restless. Two men drug a very combative Ahn Ilseong and drag him out while Hoseok smooths his jacket down with his palms. The thrill of completing a task feels duller than usual, and he checks his Rolex to find that it is already after 8 PM. He is quite tired, but not enough to stay on this island. He needs to get to Australia. 

"I trust that we have someone waiting for these men back home to carry out the rest of the mission," Hoseok says, pretending to adjust his silver cufflinks while ignoring the way The Boss must be glaring at him. 

"And why would you assume such a thing?" she asks after a few tense seconds of silence. 

"Your description of the job only included jumping and getting the man into custody," Hoseok says, glancing up to find her squinting at him with her hands on her hips. "There was no mention of me carrying out the assassination."

"And just who the fuck else will carry it out?" The Boss snaps.

Hoseok fights the urge to laugh—this really should not strike him as funny, but he is mentally and emotionally checked out. 

"Any of the other men," Hoseok responds, lifting a brow and dropping his hands to his sides. "We have a whole team."

The Boss studies him for a moment, then crosses her arms tightly over her chest before asking, "You're going to Australia, aren't you?"

"That is correct," Hoseok responds; he figures he may as well be honest.

"Hoseok—" she begins, but he cuts her off. 

"I think it's them. At the very least, I need to see for myself."

"And if they're not?" The Boss challenges, cocking her head to the side. 

Hoseok drops his gaze to the forest green carpet and shrugs. 

"If they're not, then they're not. Either way, I will be home in a few days."

"I thought I told you to stay away from Seokjin," she tries, and Hoseok senses a tremble in her voice. 

"This isn't about Seokjin. This is about Yoongi and Jeongguk. I need to go."

The Boss does not say anything at first, and Hoseok hovers for a few beats before deciding he would like to get to the airport as quickly as he can. He unlocks his phone and searches for whether or not New Zealand has Uber, then navigates to the app and calls for a car to the airport. 

"I won't send you there with the company's fuel," The Boss says, possibly as a last-ditch effort to make Hoseok change his mind. He hadn't planned on using the private jet in the first place.

Hoseok lifts his phone and turns the screen toward The Boss, showing her the Uber app with a map open. A little black car symbol is at the far bottom of the screen, connected to a dot where the hotel is by a long, winding black line. 

"Already have it figured out," he says.

"Alright," The Boss concedes. "But be careful."

With a hum, Hoseok takes his leave. 

A car is thirteen minutes away, but Hoseok has no desire to stay inside the suite a moment longer than he needs to, so he straightens his suit jacket once more and makes for the door, stopping to extend the handle of his black rolling suitcase and gripping tightly to it as he flings the door open and away from him. There is a light, lingering stench of perfume in the air—something too sweet to be considered pleasant—and Hoseok scrunches his nose as he walks through the empty hallway, shoes sinking into forest green carpeting as he makes his way toward the elevator. 

Guilt pangs through Hoseok's chest as a sense of déjà vu hits him. Hotel hallways with ill intentions, acting as a liminal space between where he should be headed and where he wants to be. 

He should at least message Namjoon to let him know he is thinking about him. 

By the time Hoseok reaches the elevator, his heart pounds with anticipation. What if he finds Park and Kim and discovers they are two men in their own bodies, actually running from the Korean government? What if Seokjin is setting him up to be captured or killed? What if his suspicions are correct but Yoongi and Jeongguk, in these shiny new bodies, want nothing to do with him?

Hoseok wonders if this would be the first time Yoongi has permanently jumped into someone else's body. Is it something he does regularly? What kinds of horrible secrets could he be hiding? 

The doors of the elevator grind open and pull Hoseok from his thoughts. Had he pushed a call button? He hardly remembers approaching the lift at all, but it is empty when he steps in, so he must have called for it. With a sigh, Hoseok hits the first-floor button and pulls out his phone, checking to see that the car is seven minutes away.

Hoseok opens his search engine and begins to see if there are any flights that leave for Sydney tonight. Depending on how quickly he can get to the airport, he might be able to catch a flight immediately. Otherwise, he will have to wait several hours. 

As the elevator doors open, Hoseok stands tall and makes his way into the lobby, eyes ahead on the dark sky just outside the glass doors and wall. No detail of the space lingers long enough in Hoseok's periphery to make it out; only the vague memory of light marble, dark upholstered chairs, and matching carpeting cross his mind before fading to obscurity. 

The cool night air instantly chills Hoseok as he steps outside. He shivers and pulls his phone out, checking to see that the Uber driver is four minutes away, and that he should be pulling right up to the doors. Then he glances around, and instead of finding a bench to sit on, he decides to make his way over to an empty stretch of wall to lean against it.

Hoseok wishes he had a cigarette—an urge he does not have often. Nicotine would be nice at a time like this. 

As Hoseok waits, he stares ahead at the ground—black and dark grey and somewhat foreboding under the glow of the yellow lights coming off the hotel. There is a part of him that almost hopes that the driver does not get him to the airport on time for the soonest flight, just so that he can sit with his thoughts and prolong the inevitable, but he knows that if that does become the case, his thoughts could very well eat him alive. 

For weeks, he has been a shell of a man searching and waiting and worrying. He needs closure. He needs to at least try.

Hoseok's phone dings to alert him that the black Honda Civic is approaching, and he looks up to find a car that fits the description pulling into the round driveway in front of the hotel. Hoseok straightens out, confirms the license plate number, then makes his way to the vehicle. When the driver gets out after popping his trunk, Hoseok allows the man to take his suitcase and place it inside, then he slides into the back seat on the passenger side and takes in the stench of fake leather that reminds him of the ride over from the airport this morning. 

"Alright, mister…" the driver says in a thick, somewhat unfamiliar English-speaking accent as Hoseok puts on his seatbelt and the man stares at his phone, undoubtedly trying to make sense of a Korean name. 

"Hoseok," Hoseok mutters while rolling his eyes to gaze out the window to his right. 

The driver hums and says, "Off to the airport, I see," then waits for a beat, possibly for Hoseok to respond, before driving off. 

Thankfully, they are not too far from the destination, because the stink of the fake leather is beginning to give Hoseok a headache. He is feeling extremely cranky and he just wants to be on his way. Opening the window for a moment blasts cold air into his face and he quickly rolls it back up with a huff before spacing out once more. 

New Zealand seems like a neat place, he thinks. But he has no desire to be here. 

It takes them a little while to get up to the correct doors, but once the car is pulled up to the curb, Hoseok gets out and makes his way quickly to the trunk, which pops open. The driver only halfway gets out of the car before Hoseok can slam the trunk shut and mutter a quick, "Thanks," and then he sets the wheels of the suitcase onto the ground and hastily makes his way into the airport.

Lines are short, and Hoseok approaches a kind-looking older lady, and says, in English, "I am hoping to get onto a flight to Sydney, please."

The transaction takes all of ten minutes, with Hoseok wheeling off to the security line, which moves quicker than he expects. The bad news is that the soonest flight to Sydney is already too soon for the attendant to have issued him a seat in good faith, and Hoseok tells himself that he is relieved not to have to sprint through an unfamiliar airport. The good news is that the bar near his gate is open late, and boy, is Hoseok thirsty. 

Approaching a bar and being spoken to in English takes Hoseok momentarily off-guard. He had just been speaking English to the woman at the counter to get a flight ticket, but something about ordering a drink from a tender—an action he has performed many times—feels strange to do in another language. But he spots a familiar bottle of whiskey and orders a glass, easing quickly into the interaction. 

Since he has several hours to kill, and the airport bar is pretty empty of patrons, Hoseok decides to strike up conversation. The tender is pretty cute, and he finds Hoseok's accent charming, and Hoseok thinks there are worse ways to kill a few hours. 

The moment Hoseok wakes up—jolted from the feeling of the plane touching down—he yawns and squeezes his eyes closed before opening them wide. Then he switches his phone from airplane mode and watches as notifications pour in. Two are from Namjoon, letting him know that he is on his way to Ilsan and that he hopes everything is going well for Hoseok, and one from an unknown number. 

[Unknown]: Your boys have been spotted at a popular nightclub not too far from the hotel. Will attach the location. They may be there again tonight. 

Hoseok does not bother to try responding, assuming his number has already been blocked. Seokjin must have some way of knowing that he has traveled, so whatever it is the man does for a living, he seems to at least have friends in high enough places. Perhaps even someone working with the bureau for which Seokjin lied about being employed. 

As the plane pulls to its designated spot, anxiety takes over. Hoseok suddenly has no idea what he is doing or why he thought coming to Australia would be a good idea. There is a chance that he will find nothing. But, even if he does find what he is looking for, he acknowledges that it may very well be just another action on his long list of malfeasances against his marriage vows. Try as he might to convince himself that he is ready to move on, he is unsure how he might feel if he meets Park and Kim. 

He is also anxious because he has to urinate. After several glasses of whiskey and a couple dealer's choice drinks concocted by the bartender that tasted like glorified Manhattans, Hoseok used the bathroom once shortly after takeoff and immediately passed out with his head against the window. It was a relief, at the time, to find he had the row of seats to himself, having the freedom to get up and move around as needed, but he had not used the freedom he had been granted. 

It takes entirely too long to exit the plane, standing hunched over in his seat while his bladder screams and everyone files out as slowly as humanly possible, some fumbling with overhead compartments and others trying to wrangle children. There is truly nothing worse than a commercial flight, Hoseok is certain of it. 

The first order of business is making a beeline to a bathroom the moment he steps from the jetway and onto solid floor. Hoseok groans as he situates himself before a urinal, practically moaning from relief as he empties his bladder. He is still somewhat drunk from earlier, and he has the overwhelming urge to either curl up and go to sleep, or keep drinking. Luckily, it is the middle of the night, leaving Hoseok with only one option. 

A plus side to his government job is that Hoseok almost never has trouble booking a hotel. Regardless of the continent, people feel adamant to accommodate him the moment he flashes his government-issued identification card and winning smile. So when Hoseok calls the Park Hyatt, he is pleased that even over the phone at this ungodly hour, he is able to secure a room. It takes some convincing to allow him to check in immediately, rather than waiting for a more appropriate time, and Hoseok absolutely does make some shit up about it being official government duty, and that, if he likes, he could get someone local on the phone. 

"That won't be necessary, sir," is music to Hoseok's ears as he speeds through the airport down to baggage claim. 

By the time he hails a cab and sinks into the leather backseat, the weight of everything begins to press on him heavily. Hoseok is exhausted. He cannot wait to sleep. Tomorrow, his search begins. 

Despite his exhaustion, Hoseok hardly sleeps a wink. The sun rises mere hours after he lays down, and although the curtains do an okay job of blocking out the sunlight, by 8 AM he is wide awake. He decides to take a shower and then find something to eat. If Park and Kim have been spotted clubbing, then Hoseok assumes they may also be the types to sleep late. And if they are Yoongi and Jeongguk occupying new bodies, it is likely they will order room service rather than venture out to a diner or café. 

Still, Hoseok dresses in more casual clothing than usual and begins looking for somewhere local with a cup of coffee. At the very least, he wants to get a sense of the neighborhood, and take a walk along various paths that would lead him to and from the location Seokjin said they were spotted at. 

Wearing a simple black tee tucked into black skinny jeans with a black leather belt and chelsea boots, Hoseok covers the bottom half of his face with a black mask and heads down to the lobby. His room is on the third floor, a far cry from the penthouse and executive suites he has grown accustomed to, but the tan and white furnished room is sleek and luxurious, and still roomy enough for one person to spend a few nights. 

Although he knows there is no chance of spotting either of them in the hallway, he still looks over his shoulder, turning his head each time he hears another voice. The lobby is surprisingly crowded, and he glances around for two men roughly Yoongi and Jeongguk's height but with lighter brown and blond hair, not finding anyone who may look Korean. 

Hoseok is so distracted walking through the lobby glancing around at everyone, that he bumps into someone, causing them to drop their phone in a clatter against the white marble floor. The person scrambles, and Hoseok bends instinctively to pick up what was dropped, nearly colliding with the other person's forehead. 

"Shit, sorry," Hoseok mutters in English, bowing his head as he walks away, not looking the person in the eyes. He is too tired, and his pulse is spiked too high. He needs some fresh air. 

As soon as he exits the hotel, the scenery does not seem too promising in terms of finding any kind of city life, with the hotel sitting on a harbor. But, evidently, there are several cafés and nightlife spots a short distance away, so Hoseok walks in the other direction from the waterfront. 

The weather is nice, and Hoseok takes note of the nearby botanical garden that Seokjin mentioned days ago. He cannot help but think about the gardens in Osaka the day that everything truly started between the four of them, for better and for worse. 

It only takes about five minutes to find a café, and he orders an Americano and sits near the window to survey the passersby and try to clear his head. Memorizing patterns and behavior is his job; this should be no problem, as long as Park and Kim are actually Yoongi and Jeongguk. It has to be them; he just knows it.

Once Hoseok drinks his coffee, he heads out past the nightclub, surveying more clubs and bars, judging them on whether he thinks Yoongi and Jeongguk would be likely to patronize. He even takes a stroll through the botanical garden with the hope of organizing his thoughts, but it feels like an impossible task. The more Hoseok settles into the neighborhood and lets the possibility of finding them sink in, the higher his nervousness builds. 

He stops somewhere for food, just to get a sandwich and quell his hunger, then makes his way back to the hotel, deciding that perhaps he will eat in his room, then sit down at the bar for a drink. Even if he is at the bar by himself, he does not wish to be alone, especially in his quiet hotel room. 

Later in the evening, Hoseok settles in against the marble countertop of the hotel bar and sips at a glass of neat whiskey. Although he tells himself he is not intentionally on the lookout for the two of them, he checks over his shoulders every so often. So much so that the bartender asks if he is waiting for someone. 

"Hmm," Hoseok considers the question, then shrugs as he says, "Kind of."

After several drinks, Hoseok is groggy while walking to the nightclub. He arrives late enough for it to be packed, and does a round to the bar, glancing at the swarms of patrons before standing with a drink in hand and his eyes on the crowd. Once his drink is gone, he sets his empty glass on the counter and heads to the dancefloor to blow off some steam. 

Strangers approach him to flirt, and he even allows a cute woman to wrap her arms around his shoulders and attempt to seduce him, going so far as to move his hips invitingly for a song or two. But everything feels empty and a little distracting, and he excuses himself to the bar, wishing her a good night before she can join him. After another drink, he stumbles back to the hotel, feeling worse for wear emotionally; drunk and very much wrapped up in his feelings. At least he is so exhausted that by the time his head hits the pillow, he is out like a light.

The second day is much the same. He takes a late lunch walking through the neighborhood, then through the botanical gardens and back, only to wind up bar hopping before landing at the same club as the night before. He drinks and dances alone, turning down strangers looking for a little fun. Then he stumbles back to his hotel alone, falling asleep before he has a chance to let everything weigh him down any further. 

The third and fourth days are much the same, leading Hoseok absolutely nowhere. He thinks he sees chestnut hair on a build that could resemble Jeongguk at the botanical garden, but loses the man in a crowd before he can get closer, and then he hops from night club to night club, tumbling into bed drunk and disappointed each night earlier than the night before.

Hoseok almost does not leave his room on the fifth day, feeling a level of depression that is almost foreign to him. Never before has he felt so bogged down by hopelessness that all he can do is stare at the wall, with the exception of recovering from getting shot. Not since college, anyway. He wonders if his methods are failing because he is not likely to find Park and Kim where he would expect to find his friends. He worries they might actually not be his friends, after all.

Deciding that the route he has been taking for the last two days is not the correct one, Hoseok decides to head down to the pool for a little while and swim some laps. He is bored beyond belief, wishing he had a way to contact Seokjin and ask for more information. If he has a way of knowing Park and Kim have been to that nightclub, then he should be able to see other activity, so why is he staying silent? 

Hoseok slides on a pair of salmon-colored swim shorts and puts on a white tee. The walk to the pool is winding and confusing, and by the time Hoseok reaches his destination, he is practically ready to turn back and return to his room, exasperated to the point of muttering under his breath. The sunlight coming in through the tall glass walls is too bright, the sounds of voices and shoes echoing through the marble corridors are all too loud, and Hoseok is fed up. 

When he enters the pool area, there are two people sitting in the hot tub, a blond and a brunette, and Hoseok actually stops in his tracks, wondering if it could be them. One of them laughs, and the sound is so bright and sweet but also hauntingly deep, and it echoes delightfully over the largely otherwise empty space, bouncing off the water. Hoseok watches for a moment, but they stay huddled close together, and, from what little he can glean from their conversation, they seem to be speaking in English. 

So he removes his shirt and shoes near a chair and heads for the deep end. Without giving it any thought, he throws his hands over his head and dives in. The water is simultaneously surprisingly cold and peacefully warm, waking up every inch of him, covering him in goosebumps and shrouding him in weightless comfort. He swims ahead as far as he can before his lungs begin to sting, signaling for him to come up for air. When he breaches the surface, the two people who were in the hot tub are gone, leaving him alone. 

Hoseok nearly gives up. After swimming, he has the urge to search for flights back home and check out a couple days early. Something about this trip feels so empty and fruitless. He wonders whether, in his search for them, they have found him, and now they are hiding. Paranoia sinks in, and he begins to worry that the two in the pool earlier could really have been Jimin and Taehyung.

After showering, Hoseok puts on a white tee tucked into blue jeans, with a black jacket over top that has a floral pattern of pinks, blues, and whites. He decides that he will need to have a drink to gain the courage to leave, so he slides on his boots and heads down to the bar. This time, while he boards the elevator and walks through the lobby, he does not look for any familiar faces. This time, he stares ahead, at the boring white floor, attempting to talk himself into giving up and going home. 

The bar appears packed when he approaches, so he leans with his elbow against the strip of space he manages to squeeze into, orders a glass of whiskey neat, and then steps away from the bar to lean against an equally boring marble pillar. Hoseok stares down into the caramel liquid as he swirls his glass, letting the scent of it waft into his nose.

This was a mistake, he thinks. Coming to Australia was a mistake.

Laughter breaks through the crowd, and Hoseok thinks that it sounds just like the one he heard in the pool earlier. His head perks up automatically, searching for the source of the laugh. He has no idea why, he just feels...drawn to it. 

Briefly, he glances around, but he does not see anyone who such an angelic sound may have come from. That is, until someone who had been hunched over the bar stands up straight and turns his way.

The man who locks eyes with Hoseok is so beautiful, he struggles to comprehend it fully. His features are somehow razor sharp and pillow soft, plush and inviting. The man watches Hoseok for a beat with a curious expression, then he smiles, turns and walks away from the bar, past the row of pillars separating the space from the lobby. 

"Wait," Hoseok mutters under his breath, craning his neck to try to see where the pretty man wandered off to, but the large, round marble columns block his view, and several people are standing in his way of moving quickly.

He knows he should not be so fixated on the appearance of a stranger, but something just feels...right about him. He knows without a shadow of a doubt that the man at the bar was Park Jimin. There is no mistaking it. Even in the shoddy security footage that Seokjin provided, those lips and that jawline were impossible to miss. 

Hoseok feels frozen in place, but also driven by the desire to move. Move his feet, move his mouth, move anything that will get him closer to that man once more—that man who he is positive is Jimin. That man who could very well be Yoongi or Jeongguk.

But all he can manage to move in the moment is his arm. He lifts it just enough to tip the glass to his mouth, dumping the whiskey straight down his throat, resisting the burn that it leaves in its wake. With a wince and a slight sigh, Hoseok allows the strong, barrel-aged liquid settle over him. 

He steps up to the bar, weaving between a few bodies on his way, and sets his empty glass down. With no tab to close because the drink has been added to his room, Hoseok lets out a fortifying sigh and turns to exit, but there is a man standing in his way who he nearly runs into.

"Oh, excuse me," the man says in English at the same time Hoseok mutters, "Sorry," in Korean.

"Do you speak Korean?" the man asks in Korean, and Hoseok gasps as he looks up and finds himself face-to-face with Adonis, himself. 

This man is so handsome, his visuals rival fine art; captivating in the way his features rest in a slight frown. His eyes are expressive, and his voice is deep as the ocean but as smooth as silk. This has to be Kim Taehyung.

"Yeah," Hoseok responds after a beat, feeling heat rise to his face once he realizes he has been staring. He attempts to recover, adding, "Sorry, I got thrown off hearing someone speak Korean after several days of speaking English." 

The other beauty approaches from behind this man and places his hands on the man's arms, peeking from around his shoulder with a shy smile. Hoseok lifts his hand and mutters, "Hello," earning a soft, "Hi," in response, setting a swarm of butterflies in his tummy to take flight. 

"Are you here alone?" the tall one asks, earning him a slap on the arm from the shorter one. 

"Tae," the shorter one grumbles, confirming Hoseok's suspicions. 

"What?" the man who must be Kim Taehyung whines, turning his body so the man who must be Park Jimin is in clearer view. "He was surprised to hear me speak Korean. Maybe he could use some company."

"I am alone," Hoseok responds, swallowing a lump as both beautiful men turn their attention back to him. "I'm here for work, but there was a change in plans, so now I'm just...killing time."

He has no idea why he says all of that. Perhaps there is a part of him that does not want them to think he is just here for them—if they are, in fact, his friends. They have not given him a reason to believe they are, but he has not given up hope; perhaps they are trying to suss out the situation before admitting to what they have done.

"I'm Taehyung," the man confirmed as Kim Taehyung says as he holds out his hand, and Hoseok takes it with a bow of his head as he says, "Hoseok."

"Jimin," the man confirmed as Park Jimin says with a small wave, and Hoseok bows his head as he responds, "Nice to meet you two."

"We were thinking about heading to a whiskey bar up the street," Taehyung says, cocking his head to the side and giving Hoseok a lazy smile. "Would you like to join us?"

"Sure," Hoseok responds without giving it any thought. He is desperate to interact with other people, and now that he has found the two men he has been searching for, his heart pounds with anticipation. 

"Alright," Jimin says with an inviting smile and eyes that shimmer in the golden light of the hotel bar, causing the vines around Hoseok's ribs to bloom brightly. "Let's go."

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[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — GUARDIAN ANGEL! GOJO x FEM READER 

Kneeling by your bed, rosary wrapped around your knuckles, lips pressed to the burnished rosewood, you pray. 

God, please send me another guardian angel. 

A blast of static from the TV behind you. 

The one you sent me- 

“Hey, how does the thing work?” Gojo says, accompanied by loud thumps. You cringe in silence. 

He’s strange. 

wc — 3.7k

tags — religion, Gojo has to reckon with the consequences of being the strongest, domesticity, attempted (failed) mugging/attack, Gojo kills a man for you (non graphic), Shoko’s a good friend, bs angel lore, I think of this like a prequel to reader’s villain arc lol,  title from closer by nine inch nails 

You wake up to a man standing over your bed. Understandably, you scramble backwards, hands over knees over legs over feet, all your limbs tangled together, until you bump into your headboard. 

“Hi!” He says cheerily. “Wow, haven’t gotten that reaction in a while, not since- Anyways. I’m Gojo Satoru, your guardian angel. Please make breakfast, it’s 12 pm already and I’m starving. Your sleep habits are terrible.” 

You shake, terrified. Nothing he said has gone through your brain.

“Um, hello? Deep breaths now. It’s really not that serious, can you stop that? Hellooooo,” he’s snapping his fingers in front of your face, trying to get through to you. 

You panic and bat his hand away, but if you can touch him, that means he’s real. You’re not dreaming. There’s a strange man in your house calling himself your guardian angel. You try to pull yourself together enough to make a coherent sentence. What comes out is: 

“Um. Guardian angel. What?” 

“You don’t believe me,” he says. 

You’ve heard it can be dangerous for people suffering from delusions to be forcefully brought out of their dreams. “No,” you say carefully. “I’m sure this is all a big understanding.” 

“No, that’s okay,” he laughs. “I love getting to do this.” 

Massive wings unfurl from his back. It’s a strange sight. The air seems to ripple around them, iridescent ebbs and flows of the universe to make space for the impossible. They seem to sprout right out of his shoulder blades. 

It’s undeniable, irrefutable proof. Your brain can’t process this. It goes back to sleep. 

You wake up to the smell of bacon burning in the kitchen. 

Gojo hums as he cooks, his wings out. You’re almost worried they’ll get caught in the flames when suddenly you have something much more real to worry about. 

“Ow!” He’s about to stick his finger into his mouth when you intervene, scolding him without even thinking about it. 

“That’s dangerous! Don’t put your hands in your mouth, especially not if you’ve been cooking. Come here,” you tug him over to run his hands under the faucet. 

“Who's the guardian angel again?” He teases, amused. 

You answer him with another question. “Why are you cooking, anyways?” 

“You’re starving me! It’s so late and you haven’t made breakfast yet - you know I could report you to the authorities for angel abuse, right?” 

Somehow, you don’t believe him. There may very well be a division in heaven’s bureaucracy dedicated to looking after angels, but something about Gojo is just on the edge of unbelievable, like if you blink too hard, it might disappear without a trace. It’s the wings, probably. 

You’re good at compartmentalizing, so you ignore all of the normal reactions someone would have to an angel randomly appearing in your apartment to instead make breakfast. Gojo already burned your favorite pan, so you stick it in the sink to soak while you rummage around for your second best set. Then you check the fridge. You’re out of butter and eggs. There are just two pieces of bacon left. Is it presumptuous to ask your angel to run errands with you? 

You poke your head out of the fridge to look at Gojo, staring remorsefully at the burnt remains of his once-was-an-egg. He’s nursing the cut on his finger. 

“Do you want to go grocery shopping?”

He smiles at you, slow and syrupy and- 

He can’t do that. He’s beautiful as it is, as if God took extra time crafting him. Smiling only makes his beauty all the more painful, tugging at the strings of your heart. His snow white hair curls against the nape of his neck, a ruthlessly cute detail you notice when he tilts his head at you. 

“I would love to. What’s grocery shopping?” 

Introducing Gojo to the modern world is an exercise in both patience and childish wonder. There’s so much he doesn’t know. He tells you the last time he’s been on Earth was somewhere back in the 90’s.

“Like 1990? That’s pretty recent,” you remark. 

“Like 90 CE.” 

He’s delighted by everything, even the simplest of snacks, and begs you to add them to your cart. Ramune impresses him to no end. He’s enthralled by the taste of ice cream after the nice worker gives him a sample. You might really be reported to the Bureau of Angel Abuse at this point - all he’s interested in is junk food. It takes a while to finally wrangle him away from everything. In a way, it’s your fault because you hesitate to refuse an angel anything, and Gojo wants it all. You only manage to get him to agree to go home once you’ve tired him out. 

There was a sense of reverence, at first. 

There’s an angel living in your home. It’s hard to imagine getting used to that. Walking into the bathroom to the sight of Gojo brushing his teeth shirtless, his wings out, is a sight that will never get old. He manages to transform even the mundane into the divine. The sunlight strikes his hair at just the right angle to glow, giving him a faux-halo. 

“Good morning,” he smiles. “I think I used up all your toothpaste.” 

By day seven, you’ve wised up to Gojo’s tactics. If you don’t say no to anything, he’ll steamroll right over you, so you have to grow a backbone. 

“Oh, Christ? Yeah, we’re old pals. We go wayyyyy back.” 

“Please be quiet while I’m trying to pray.” 

“We’re in the same therapy group, actually. He texts me all the time for advice-“ 

“Gojo. Shut. Up.” 

He’s silent for all of a minute before he pipes up again. “I don’t think capital G up there would appreciate that.” 

You have never missed a day of prayer in your life. No temptation has been able to sway you from your duties. Hunger, thirst, and pain all were swept away in the face of your faith. Were you seriously about to start now, being annoyed to death by a particularly useless angel? 

The best solution to Gojo is always to ignore him. He needs attention like flowers need water. 

Without it, he stalks off to sulk. 

It’s night by the time he returns. He’s flying, which you usually don’t allow him to do, but you’ve driven out to a more remote, private church to pray. It’s owned by an old family friend, who handed you the keys without question. Half of this is for you, to experience god in the sanctity of nature, and half is for Gojo. You hate seeing him cooped up. Part of you feels like you’ve chained him down. You’re a trap in the form of a human, made to keep him grounded. 

He touches down next to you, hair slicked to his forehead in sweat. When he stretches his arms, his wings move simultaneously. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look more alive. He loves nothing like he loves flying, and you’re inclined to agree. 

Maybe you’ll let him take you for another ride tonight. You love the feeling of the wind against your face, the sight of the landscape beneath you when he takes you up, the feeling in your stomach when he tucks his wings in and free-falls for fun. You’re not scared. Gojo would never let anything happen to you. 

You might ask, later. Now, you send him off to the car ahead of you while you lock up. He’s cheerful as he heads off, whistling merrily. You’re glad flying has improved his mood. It’s equally painful for you whenever he’s upset with you. Perhaps it's simply a side effect of being a guardian angel .

The key is in the door when you feel the first hint of danger. 

“All the money in your pockets, ma’am.” 

Polite, for a thief. 

“You’re not from around these parts.” He says as you spin around. “Should’ve known better than to go wandering around these woods alone. Whatever happens next is on you, sweetheart. If only you’d been a little more careful.” 

He has a knife. 

“What do you want? Money? You can have it.” It doesn’t matter much to you. As long as he leaves before Gojo comes back. 

“Sometimes, ma’am, men don’t want anything but a thrill.” 

Then he lunges at you, presses you against the wall, and pins you with a knife to your throat. 

“Don’t scream now. No one would hear you anyways.”

He’s wrong about that part. 

You hear him coming up the path before you see him. 

“What’s taking you so long?” Gojo whines. “I wanna go home and watch Love Island already-oh.” 

“Run!” Gojo might be an angel, but you’ve seen him cut himself making toast. He can bleed like any other man, gold ichor, yes, but blood still. You don’t want to see him hurt. 

Instead, he sizes up your assailant, unfurls those beautiful wings - they always take your breath away - and in one swift move, simply tears you from his grasp. It’s faster than you can blink. 

The man makes a muffled sound of fear and shock as Gojo seems to blink back into existence. You know he’s only moving too fast for your brains to comprehend. 

“Stay here,” he deposits you on the grass behind him. It’s scorched, burned black from the temperature of his wings. 

He turns up the heat. You didn’t think it was possible, but he was clearly holding back. The air seems to melt around him, heat waves shimmering off his skin, his white feathers. They glow with an otherworldly light, radiating heat. 

You didn’t know true glory until this moment, and it frightens you. All other versions of blue fade in favor of Gojo’s eyes - a single, unyielding truth. He is a piece of heaven on earth, burning up. His anger is righteous. Holy. His true nature melts away his human appearance. 

He’s a seraph, one of the highest order of angels.  

You’ve never seen him fight before, don’t know how he gets his weapons or where he puts them. It just appears out of thin air. He carries a flaming sword in one hand, its pommel is white marble, its blade glass. Contrary to common belief, his voice doesn’t boom. In fact it’s all the more threatening because it is soft, a whisper so clearly heard it defies the laws of the world just because it can. 

He raises the sword like an executioner and judge all in one. 

You barely have time to close your eyes in horror when you realize what he’s about to do. 

Real angels are not like the watered down, commercialized ones you can find today in any young adult TV show. Real angels are bloody. Real angels are the hand of God, ruthless and violent.

Real angels have no mercy. 

You open your eyes again when you feel the now familiar heat on your skin. 

He’s standing before you, beaming. It’s clear he expects praise. In heaven, it might’ve been given to him. 

You can only stare at him in fear, not awe.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” He steps closer, his burning wings flapping. “It’s okay. I got rid of him. You’re safe now.” 

You’re ashamed a split second after it happens because it’s so pathetic, but you can’t help it. Your animal instincts react instinctively to the threat, sending you skittering back on your palms and ass away from him. 

He freezes. His wings remain moving. Perhaps, like a shark and its gills, he simply can’t stop. 

“You’re afraid of me,” he says, stunned. “Why are you afraid of me?” 

The heat from his wings is baking your face. You’re afraid if you speak, your skin will crack. Still, Gojo shows no signs of leaving you alone. If anything, he’s about to get closer. 

“Stop,” you squeak. You throw out your hands in front of you like the world’s most useless shield. Your eyes are watering from looking into his radiance. 

Helpless, Gojo does something he hasn’t done since he was just a newborn angel. 

He asks for help. 

Shoko Ieri looks nothing like him, so that answers one question you’ve always had. Gojo tells you she’s another angel, although you don’t see her wings past the first minute you’ve met. After Gojo summons her to the scene and she catches the way you look at him, she keeps them carefully folded in. 

She helps you into the passenger seat when you can’t make your legs move to walk back to your car. You won’t let Gojo touch you, feeling torn at the look on his face when you flinch back from him. 

He’s sitting on a stool at the island while Shoko checks you over for injuries in the kitchen. There’s no major damage, just the after effects of shock and adrenaline working through your system. 

“You know I’d never hurt you, right?” He says, hurt and confused. 

“You fucking idiot. You colossal blockhead. You-“ Shoko pauses, not because she’s run out of things to say, but because she has too many. “It’s not about you, right now, okay? I know it’s hard for you to get your head out of your ass, but can you at least try to be supportive?” 

Gojo makes a noise like he wants to protest, but you shift your weight and that draws his attention back to you. The look on your face makes him fall silent.

Shoko leaves after she’s completed her examination, though she doesn’t leave you helpless. 

“Do you want to come with me?” She says, carefully. “I understand if you don’t want to be left alone with him right now.” 

You shake your head. 

“Listen, I know Gojo scared you. I’m sorry. He shouldn’t have. He’s always been too reckless - ugh. The stories I could tell you. But I promise you, he will never hurt you - not just because he cares about you, but because he’s literally not allowed to. He’s your guardian angel.” 

“I know,” you say, and that’s the end of that. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence after Shoko leaves. You’re not sure how to navigate the once easy relationship between you and Gojo now. Always unable to keep still, he breaks the silence first. 

“Do you want to talk about it now?” He says softly. Everything about him is dulled, even the gleam of his brilliant hair. He’s back within his human skin, even more modestly than before, as if he has taken care to seal up every crack that his true nature could spill out of. 

You choose your first question carefully. “Why has the lord sent a seraph to watch over me?” 

Seraphs are the highest level of the hierarchy of angels. They maintain the order of the world, fulfilling God’s will. For one to have come to you- 

True horror is sinking in. You love your saints. You worship them devoutly, knowing each story by heart. You could trace a path through the church library of all the books you’ve read on them, giving the history of each spine. 

You do not want to be one of your saints. 

Joan of Arc died at 19. Saint Agatha was canonized for being tortured violently.

By sending you such a strong protector, your lord may be condemning you to die young, but that’s not why you cry. You cry because you are too weak to fulfill his command. 

Life is sweet. You don’t want to give up the taste of tart oranges on your tongue, the feeling of the babbling creek over your feet, the songs of the birds in the morning. You don’t want to give up Gojo’s wake up calls, or the feeling of flying. 

All these selfish, worldly pleasures should mean nothing to you when faced with the lord’s call, and yet- 

You resent it still. 

You’re so confused by it all. Why were you given such a burden and told nothing about it? What does any of it mean? 

“I don’t know. I’m sorry. We don’t get told anything but who we were assigned to.” 

“Okay,” you say. 

“That’s it? Okay? I scare the shit out of you, and all you have to say is okay?” 

“Gojo, I don’t want to fight anymore. Let me just go to bed, please.” 

You’re woken up not by the light of Gojo’s halo, as you’ve gotten used to when he comes to your room demanding breakfast, but by the sun. The curtains are open, and sunbeams stream in over your pillow. 

Gojo is in the kitchen making - not burning - breakfast. He doesn’t turn when you pad into the kitchen on slippered feet, but you know he knows you’re there. You’re feeling much better. Sleep has refreshed you from the major shock to your system last night, and now you feel almost half bad for your reaction to him. He only wanted to help you, after all. 

It’s not his fault he’s strong. At the end of the day, he’s just another gear in the universe, like you. Neither of you are important enough to be privy to the greater, divine plan, not even a seraph. You shouldn’t have snapped at him. You’re in this together. 

You stand on tiptoe behind him to peer over his shoulder into the pan. 

“I’m making you breakfast,” he says. Is it just you, or does he seem almost shy? 

What an impact you’ve had on him. Your heart breaks. You’ve only known him to be bold and uncaring of human customs like politeness. You didn’t think it would upset you to see him learn manners, and yet- 

It’s a consequence of your rejection last night, as if he’s worried you’ll pull away again. This isn’t what you wanted, ever. 

“We should talk,” you say. 

“Yeah. We should.” He still won’t turn around, avoiding eye contact. 

Before you can speak, he blurts out, “ Do you not want me to be your angel anymore?”

“Of course not,” you say, reaching out for him. He’s hesitant to let you pull him closer, take his hands in yours. “Gojo, why would you think that?” 

“You’re scared of me,” he says, almost petulantly, like a sulking child. “You don’t like me anymore.” 

“Gojo,” you can think of nothing to say but his name. Sweet Gojo. Selfish Gojo. Gojo, who you’ve gotten used to having around. Gojo, who has infiltrated your life and now thinks to leave like you can kick him out like that. Like you would. Gojo, who you’re fond of in a way you can’t articulate, despite the way he takes and takes from you. Gojo, who you’re willing to keep, despite everything. 

Gojo, who you care about, enough to want him to stay. 

Gojo, who cares about you, enough to want to leave. 

He takes this like a rebuff and wrenches his hands out of yours. 

You grab his face and forcefully drag his attention back to you. His eyes are wild like a trapped animal, but there’s no sign of fire. He’s carefully dampened any kind of godliness in him.

“Oh, Gojo. Please don’t. I want you with me, I promise. I would never ask you to leave.”

“You don’t have to,” he says grimly. A soldier to the end. He knows how to do the hard things. Sometimes, you have to cut the rot out before the wound festers. 

“I am scared of you - please don’t make that face. You’re breaking my heart.”

“Your heart? What about mine?” He bristles. 

“I trust you. Let me prove it. Take your wings out again. Show me your true self.” 

“After seeing how you reacted?” He scoffs, turning defensive. You’ve exhausted his goodness, and now his emotions are getting the better of him, making the situation ugly. But you knew this would happen. 

You know him. 

And you know how to deal with him. 

“Come on,” you say.  “Think of it like exposure therapy.” 

“I don’t want to see you look at me like that again,” he admits.

“I know you won’t hurt me,” you say. “Please. Do you trust me?” 

He ends up on the ground cross legged, his wings spread, back to you. His wings are fiery, but carefully controlled. He won’t burn you. 

You start small, running your hands all over his wings. They rustle underneath your touch like startled animals. When you tug gently at the ends, extending them to their full length, you realize how monstrous his wingspan truly is. From tip to tip, they’re larger than a grown man is tall. Your fingers creep along the thin ridge of his radius, deceptively thin beneath your fingers. If you didn’t know better, it would snap easily with just the barest hint of pressure. 

He makes a small noise. You jerk back, worried you’ve actually bent the bone, but he’s fine. He pushes his wings back under your hands like a puppy seeking attention. 

From the radius, you trail along the top edge to his metacarpus, then down to his feathers, all the way back to his scapula. From there, it’s only a few inches over to his actual shoulder blades. He shudders when you touch him there, your fingertips lightly grazing over the bone. You press down gently. His muscles flex under your skin, tense and wound up. 

You realize that he's been suspiciously quiet for a while. He’s too still, as if he’s purposely holding himself in place. Have you hurt him without knowing? Would he tell you if you had?

“Gojo?” You pull your hands away from his wings and he shudders as if he’s been burned. “Look at me.” 

He won’t turn, so you grab him by the chin and force his head up so you can look him in the face. Even down on the floor like this, he’s tall. His face is pink, his eyes wide like he’s been stunned. He looks almost like he’s in pain.

“What’s wrong? Why didn’t you say anything? Does it hurt?” You fret over him. 

“Doesn’t,” he says hoarsely. “Feels too good.” 

You freeze. It’s this sight of an angel in all his celestial grace wrecked by your touch, brought down by just the brush of your fingers, that makes you realize it. 

It feels good to have an angel at your feet. 

[anisaanisa]

Hiii hope you’re well! i hope this doesn’t come off as rude or anything but i was just wondering if there was going to be a conclusion to members only, i just ask because i really liked that fic and the plot, but i understand that sometimes things get in the way and all that. again i hope this isn’t coming off as rude and you can totally disregard this!

Hi, anon! Thank you for the ask, I appreciate it. At first, I thought to respond quickly so you were more likely to catch it, but the further I moved away from it, the more I thought on it, and felt it deserved a more fleshed out answer.

You’re not rude for asking, and I’m glad you reached out. I remember very well what it’s like to be a reader that’s left wanting for a fic that’s seemingly been abandoned (some of my personal favourites have remained unfinished since 2006), so I understand completely where you’re coming from. I never considered that I might be that author for someone until I got this ask, so you have nothing to worry about. I’ve taken it in good faith, and if anything, I’m a little humbled.

The short answer: Yes, there is a conclusion! And it's...done. The final chapter is sitting at 27K, half-edited, and put to rest by me a while ago now when I stalled on the editing (my bain, my beloathed). I’d like to get it finished and out of the way soon, but I hate to make promises, so I’ve got a much longer answer below the cut.

The long answer: Members Only appeared at a very particular point in my (and everyone elses) lives. Covid was still at the forefront of…everything, and it was cathartic for me to outline and write here and there. I really like the characterisation, their dynamic and the world they were plopped into. The period of rest and relaxation (aka floundering on the editing) rendered it unfinished on the reader end for 2 reasons:

1) The world was moving on from a global pandemic whilst I remained stagnant (irl things). Like you garnered, things get in the way, stories need to be told at a certain time, and there’s a small ache there with tying up threads that feel a tad fragile and gnawed on.

2) The constant fluctuation of writing woes. I go through ups and downs with how I feel about my own writing – sometimes I read something back with wonder and I think “wow, I did this.” Other times, I cringe and think “wow, I did this?”. Fun factoid: they're the same story. I was just in a different mode each time. And I remember with stark clarity how much I did not vibe with my own writing at the point in time where I was editing that final chapter.

Fanfiction is an inherently selfish act, and because of this, I go with the flow when it comes to the things I share, and I’d be lying if I didn't acknowledge writing is my most emotionally taxing hobby. It takes so much more bandwidth for me than art and anything else that I have going on. Writing, editing, all that, it ebbs and flows with my mood. The state of the world. The position of the sun.

How much water I drank that day.

There’s a whole vault of stories and outlines living in my PC that may never see the light of day – but they were there for me to pour myself into when I needed them the most. That’s my satisfaction: the process, rather than the result, and unfortunately, sometimes that need or want being quenched leaves those that are along for the ride left unsatisfied.

And I get it. Cause I’m a reader just like you, and I've been left wanting.

I still care about this story a lot. It’s alive to me in a way that I can’t really articulate without you living in my head with me, and I know there are authors that might be reading this that know exactly what I’m talking about. It’s not abandoned – if anything, it’s so alive that putting it to an end is like a tiny death. There’s grief in finishing stories that are hard to navigate unless you’ve done it, and I think that’s one of the things that’s so personal to fiction – both fan and original – it’s just really hard to say goodbye sometimes, so it's easier to not say goodbye at all.

Thankfully, I’m in a place where I’m jiving with the words I’m making. Hopefully I can put that energy into seeing it published before the end of the earth. And thank you again for reaching out. Sometimes yer pal just needs a little reminder that her stories meant something to someone, somewhere.

ttyl bbs <3

[kmclaude]

Forgive me Father, I have no awful headcanons for you, only a general question on comic making. How do you do it, writing-wise/how do you decide what points go where, how do you plot it out (or do you have any resources on the writing aspect that you find useful?) Not to get too bogged down in details, but I attended a writer’s workshop and the author in residence suggested I transfer my wordy sci-fi WIP into graphic novel script, as it might work better. (I do draw, but I don’t know if I have it in me to draw a whole comic—characters in motion? Doing things? With backgrounds? How dare, why can’t everyone just stand around looking pretty)

I was interested but it quickly turned into a lot of internal screaming as I tried to figure out how to compress the hell out of it, since novels are free to do a lot more internal monologuing and such compared to a comic format (to say nothing of trying to write a script without seeing how the panels lay out—just for my own sake, I might have to do both concurrently.)

As an aside, to get a feel for graphic novels I was rereading 99RM and was reminded of how great it was—tightly plotted, intriguing, and anything to do with Ashmedai was just beautifully drawn. I need more Monsignor Tiefer and something something there are parallels between Jehan and Daniel in my head and I don’t know if they make sense but it works for me. (As an aside, I liked the emphasis on atonement being more than just the word sorry, but acknowledgment you did wrong and an attempt to remedy it—I don’t know why that spoke to me the way that it did.)

I thought Tumblr had a word count limit for asks but so far it has offered zero resistance, oh well. I don’t have much else to say but on the topic of 99RM, Adam getting under Monsignor’s skin is amazing, 10/10 (about the Pride picture earlier)

wow tumblr got rid of the markdown editor! or at least in asks which means the new editor probably has no markdown....god i hate this site! anyway...

Totally! So first, giant thank you for the compliments! Second, I have a few questions in turn for you before I dive into a sort of answer, since I can give some advice to your questions in general but it also sounds like you have a specific conundrum on your hands.

My questions to your specific situation are:

did the author give any reason for recommending a, in your words, "wordy" story be turned into a graphic novel?

is the story you're writing more, like you said, "internal monologuing"? action packed? where do the visuals come from?

do you WANT it to be a comic? furthermore, do you want it to be a comic you then must turn around and draw? or would you be interested in writing for comics as a comic writer to have your words turned into art?

With those questions in mind, let me jump into the questions you posed me!

Let me start with a confession...

I've said this before but let me say it again: Ninety-Nine Righteous Men was not originally a comic — it was a feature-length screenplay! And furthermore, it was written for a class so it got workshopped again and again to tighten the plot by a classroom of other nerds — so as kind as your compliments are, I'm giving credit where credit is due as that was not just a solo ship sailing on the sea. On top of that, it got adapted (by me) into a comic for my thesis, so my advisor also helped me make it translate or "read" well given I was director, actor, set designer, writer, editor, SFX guy, etc. all in one. And it was a huge help to have someone say "there is no way you can go blow by blow from script to comic: you need to make edits!" For instance, two scenes got compressed to simple dialogue overlaid on the splashpage of Ashmedai raping Caleb (with an insert panel of Adam and Daniel talking the next day.) What had been probably at least 5 pages became 1.

Additionally, I don't consider myself a strong plotter. That said, I found learning to write for film made the plotting process finally make some damn sense since the old plot diagram we all got taught in grammar school English never made sense as a reader and definitely made 0 sense as a writer — for me, for some reason, the breakdown of 25-50-25 (approx. 25 pages for act 1, 50 for act 2 split into 2 parts of 25 each, 25 pages for act 3) and the breaking down of the beats (the act turning points, the mid points, the low point) helped give me a structure that just "draw a mountain, rising action, climax is there, figure it out" never did. Maybe the plot diagram is visually too linear when stories have ebb and flow? I don't know. But it never clicked until screenwriting. So that's where I am coming from. YMMV.

I should also state that there's Official Ways To Write Comic Scripts to Be Drawn By An Artist (Especially If You Work For A Real Publisher As a Writer) and there's What Works For You/Your Team. I don't give a rat's ass about the former (and as an artist, I kind of hate panel by panel breakdowns like you see there) so I'm pretty much entirely writing on the latter here. I don't give a good god damn about official ways of doing anything: what works for you to get it done is what matters.

What Goes Where?

Like I said, 99RM was a screenplay so it follows, beat-wise, the 3-act screenplay structure (hell, it's probably more accurate to say it follows the act 1/act 2A/act 2B/act 3 structure.) So there was the story idea or concept that then got applied to those story beats associated with the structure, and from there came the Scene-by-scene Breakdown (or Expanded Scene Breakdown) which basically is an outline of beats broken down into individual scenes in short prose form so you get an overview of what happens, can see pacing, etc. In the resources at the end I put some links that give information on the whole story beat thing.

(As an aside: for all my short comics, I don't bother with all that, frankly. I usually have an image or a concept or a bit of writing — usually dialogue or monologue, sometimes a concrete scene — that I pick at and pick at in a little sketchbook, going back and forth between writing and thumbnail sketches of the page. Or I just go by the seat of my pants and bullshit my way through. Either or. Those in many ways are a bit more like poems, in my mind: they are images, they are snapshots, they are feelings that I'm capturing in a few panels. Think doing mental math rather than writing out geometric proofs, yanno?)

Personally, I tend to lean on dialogue as it comes easier for me (it's probably why I'm so drawn to screenwriting!) so for me, if I were to do another longform GN, I'd probably take my general "uhhhhhh I have an idea and some beats maybe so I guess this should happen this way?" outline and start breaking it down scene by scene (I tend to write down scenes or scene sketches in that "uhhhh?" outline anyway LOL) and then figure out basic dialogue and action beats — in short, I'd kind of do the work of writing a screenplay without necessarily going full screenplay format (though I did find the format gave me an idea of timing/pacing, as 1 page of formatted script is about equal to 1 minute of screentime, and gave me room to sketch thumbnails or make edits on the large margins!) If you're not a monologue/soliloque/dialogue/speech person and more an image and description person, you may lean more into visuals and scenes that cut to each other.

Either way this of course introduces the elephant in the panel: art! How do you choose what to draw?

The answer is, well, it depends! The freedom of comics is if you can imagine it, you can make it happen. You have the freedoms (and audio limitations) of a truly silent film with none of the physical limitations. Your words can move in real time with the images or they can be a narrative related to the scene or they could be nonsequitors entirely! The better question is how do you think? Do you need all the words and action written first before you break down the visuals? Do you need a panel by panel breakdown to be happy, or can you freewheel and translate from word and general outlines to thumbnails? What suits you? I really cannot answer this because I think when it comes to what goes where with regard to art, it's a bit of "how do you process visuals" and also a bit of "who's drawing this?" — effectively, who is the interpreter for the exact thing you are writing? Is it you or someone else? If it's you, would you benefit from a barebones script alongside thumbnailed paneling? Would you be served by a barebones script, then thumbnails, then a new script that includes panel and page breakdowns? What frees you up to do what you need to do to tell your story?

If I'm being honest, I don't necessarily worry about panels or what something will look like necessarily until I'm done writing. I may have an image that I clearly state needs to happen. I may even have a sequence of panels that I want to see and I do indeed sketch that out and make note of it in my script. But exactly how things will be laid out, paneled, situated? That could change up until I've sketched my final pencils in CSP (but I am writer and artist so admittedly I get that luxury.)

How do I compress from novel to comic?

Honest answer? You don't. Not really. You adapt from one to another. It's more a translation. Something that would take forever to write may take 1 page in a comic or may take a whole issue.

I'm going to pick on Victor Hugo. Victor Hugo spent a whole-ass book in Notre-Dame de Paris talking about a bird's eye view of Paris and other medieval architecture boring stuff, with I guess some foreshadowing with Montfaucon. Who cares. Not me. I like story. Anyway. When we translate that book to a movie any of the billion times someone's done that, we don't spend a billion years talking at length about medieval Paris. There's no great monologuing about the gibbet or whatever: you get to have some establishing shots, maybe a musical number, and then you move tf on. Because it's a movie, right? Your visuals are right there. We can see medieval Paris. We can see the cathedral. We can see the gibbet. We don't need a whole book: it's visually right there. Same with a comic: you may need many paragraphs to describe, say, a space station off of Sirius and one panel to show it.

On the flip side, you may take one line, maybe two, to say a character keyed in the special code to activate the holodeck; depending on the visual pacing, that could be a whole page of panels (are we trying to stretch time? slow it down? what are we emphasizing?) A character gives a sigh of relief — one line of text, yeah? That could be a frozen panel while a conversation continues on or that could be two (or more!) panels, similar to the direction [a beat] in screenwriting.

Sorry there's not a super easy answer there to the question of compression: it's a lot more of a tug, a push-pull, that depends on what you're conveying.

So Do I Have It In Me to Write & Draw a GN?

The only way you'll know is by doing. Scary, right? The thing is, you don't necessarily need to be an animation king or God's gift to background artists to draw a comic.

Hell, I hate backgrounds. I still remember sitting across from my friend who said "Claude you really need to draw an establishing exterior of the church at some point" and me being like "why do you hate me specifically" because drawing architecture? Again? I already drew the interior of the church altar ONCE, that should be enough, right? But I did draw an exterior of the church. Sorta. More like the top steeple. Enough to suggest what I needed to suggest to give the audience a better sense of place without me absolutely losing my gourd trying to render something out of my wheelhouse at the time.

And that's kinda the ticket, I think. Not everyone's a master draftsman. Not everyone has all the skills in every area. And regardless, from page one to page one hundred, your skills will improve. That's all part of it — and in the meantime, you should lean into your strengths and cheat where you can.

Do you need to lovingly render a background every single panel? Christ no! Does every little detail need to be drawn out? Sure if you want your hand to fall off. Cheat! Use Sketchup to build models! Use Blender to sculpt forms to paint over! Use CSP Assets for prebuilt models and brushes if you use CSP! Take photographs and manip them! Cheat! Do what you need to do to convey what you need to convey!

For instance, a tip/axiom/"rule" I've seen is one establishing shot per scene minimum and a corollary to that has been include a background once per page minimum as grounding (no we cannot all have eternal floating heads and characters in the void. Unless your comic is set in the void. In which case, you do you.) People ain't out here drawing hyper detailed backgrounds per each tiny panel. The people who DO do that are insane. Or stupid. Or both. Or have no deadline? Either way, someone's gonna have a repetitive stress injury... Save yourself the pain and the headache. Take shortcuts. Save your punches for the big K.O. moments.

Start small. Make an 8-page zine. Tell a beginning, a middle, an end in comic form. Bring a scene to life in a few pages. See what you're comfortable drawing and where you struggle. See where you can lean heavily into your comfort zones. Learn how to lean out of your comfort zone. Learn when it's worth it to do the latter.

Or start large. Technically my first finished comic (that wasn't "a dumb pencil thing I drew in elementary school" or "that 13 volume manga I outlined and only penciled, what, 7 pages of in sixth grade" or "random one page things I draw about my characters on throw up on the interwebz") was 99RM so what do I know. I'm just some guy on the internet.

(That's not self-deprecating, I literally am some guy on the internet talking about my path. A lot of this is gonna come down to you and what vibes with you.)

Resources on writing

Some of these are things that help me and some are things that I crowd-sourced from others. Some of these are going to be screenwriting based, some will be comic based.

Making Comics by Scott McCloud: I think everyone recommends this but I think it is a useful book if you're like "ahh!!! christ!! where do I start!!!???" It very much breaks down the elements of comics and the world they exist in and the principles involved, with the caveat that there are no rules! In fact, I need to re-read it.

Comic Book Design: I picked this up at B&N on a whim and in terms of just getting a bird's eye view of varied ways to tackle layout and paneling? It's such a great resource and reference! I personally recommend it as a way to really get a feel for what can be done.

the screenwriter's bible: this is a book that was used in my class. we also used another book that's escaping me but to be honest, I never read anything in school and that's why I'm so stupid. anyway, I'd say check it out if you want, especially if you start googling screenwriting stuff and it's like 20 billion pieces of advice that make 0 sense -- get the core advice from one place and then go from there.

Drawing Words & Writing Pictures: many people I know recommended this. I think I have it? It may be in storage. So frankly, I'd already read a bunch of books on comics before grabbing this that it kind of felt like a rehash. Which isn't shade on the authors — I personally was just a sort of "girl, I don't need comics 101!!!"

Invisible Ink: A Practical Guide to Building Stories that Resonate: this has been recommended so many times to me. I cannot personally speak on it but I can say I do trust those who rec'd it to me so I am passing it along

the story circle: this is pretty much the hero's journey. a useful way to think of journeys! a homie pretty much swears by it

a primer on beats: quick google search got me this that outlines storybeats

save the cat!: what the above refers to, this gives a more genre-specific breakdown. also wants to sell you on the software but you don't need that.

I hope this helps and please feel free to touch base with more info about your specific situation and hopefully I'll have more applicable answers.

[lillupon]

AEV Chapter 21 Bonus: Canon-divergent AU

If you’ve been following me for a while, you may have seen me blabbing about Wonwoo getting pregnant in this fic! I actually debated for a long time on whether or not male omegas could conceive. If male omegas could not get pregnant, it could be another reason why they occupy the lowest rung in the societal hierarchy. Anyway, I scrapped that idea because there’s something very thrilling about Mingyu knocking Wonwoo up—in particular, while he is still Wonwoo’s student.

But then I thought: Maybe alphas are more virile and omegas are more fertile during their cycles. They didn’t use protection while Mingyu was in rut. So, despite Wonwoo being on the pill, he gets pregnant. He doesn’t find out that he’s pregnant until he and Mingyu have already broken up. He keeps the child. Names her Jeongyeon.

I imagine Mingyu and Wonwoo reconnecting in the same way they did in chapter 20. Wonwoo reluctantly cuts their first meeting short, but this time, not with the excuse of being hungry and having to do more work later:

Wonwoo slips off the table and stretches his arms over head. The vertebrae between his shoulder blades pop satisfyingly. “I’m sorry, Mingyu. I’d love to chat more, but I have to run.”

Mingyu also slides off the desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you this long.”

You can keep me for as long as you like. Wonwoo doesn’t voice the thought out loud, but it embarrasses him just to think it. Things have changed. Now, Wonwoo is just one face in a sea of thousands, just one person out of many who loves Mingyu. “Don’t be sorry. I really enjoyed catching up with you and hearing about what you’ve been up to.”

Mingyu smiles at him. “You don’t have to spare my feelings.”

Wonwoo laughs softly. “I’m serious! I would have liked to talk more, but I, ah—I need to go pick my daughter up from daycare.”

The smile freezes on Mingyu’s lips. His throat bobs as he swallows. It’s a beat before he recovers. “I’m sorry for keeping you from your family. I didn’t realise you had a kid and a mate now.”

Wonwoo shakes his head. “It’s just my daughter and me.”

“Oh,” Mingyu says. “Your mate…”

“Not in the picture anymore.”

“I’m sorry,” Mingyu says. Stiff. Awkward. Cautiously curious, he asks, “Did they uh… You know… Kick the bucket?”

Wonwoo’s laugh is genuine. Kicking balls rather than buckets, he wants to say. “No, they’re alive and well. We just went our separate ways.”

* 

Mingyu’s heart falls out the bottom of his stomach when Wonwoo says that he needs to go pick his daughter up from daycare. They had spent the last two hours chatting and laughing. Mingyu had found himself falling all over again. Charmed by this beautiful man with his beautiful smile. 

Of course someone else had been captivated too. He had steeled himself for this before he walked through the doors of Carat Elementary, that Wonwoo might belong to another person now. The mental preparation does nothing to ease his disappointment. 

His heart is saved from its death throes by the words It’s just my daughter and me. It valiantly climbs up to his chest again. It still hurts, but with a different sort of wound. Wonwoo had loved someone enough to have a child with them, but they had walked out.

How could anyone do that to Wonwoo?

Mingyu feels like a gormless and clingy puppy. He trails after Wonwoo as the omega goes to his desk to pack up his belongings. Falls into step beside Wonwoo as they exit through the school doors and head to the parking lot.

Mingyu waits until Wonwoo’s car has pulled out of the parking lot before leaving himself. 

Chaeyoung returns home for reading break. The Kim family all take a trip down to the hot springs for a week. Mingyu had been looking forward to spending time with his family for months, but now that he is actually here, all he wants to do is return to the city. See Wonwoo again. 

As soon as Mingyu is back in the city, he visits Wonwoo again. A lot of people won’t date single parents, but Wonwoo having a kid changes nothing for him. The years they spent apart have not diminished his feelings for Wonwoo. Mingyu still pines, still wants to provide—not just for Wonwoo, but Jeongyeon as well. He just has to figure out whether or not Wonwoo is interested in dating someone. More specifically: whether or not Wonwoo might be interested in dating him.

Meanwhile, Wonwoo is struggling to figure out how to break the news to Mingyu. He wonders if he should bring it up at all. It’s a huge secret—perhaps even more so than the clandestine affair between student and teacher. It’s a secret that can destroy the budding friendship that is starting to bloom between him and Mingyu. Mingyu will feel betrayed, lied to, Wonwoo knows. He doesn’t know if he can withstand losing Mingyu a second time.

It weighs on him, every time they meet. Almost to the point where he feels sick when he sees Mingyu smiling at him, sweet and tender. To make matters worse, Jeongyeon, normally a shy and quiet child, has imprinted on Mingyu like a duckling. It’s as if she knows Mingyu is her father. It hurts Wonwoo’s heart, to look at the two of them playing: Mingyu sitting hunched in a too-small plastic chair, daintily holding a tiny teacup between his forefinger and thumb; Jeongyeon pouring Mingyu tea, sharing with him plastic pastries. This could be his, for real, but he’s so scared. 

They’re both falling deeper and deeper for each other, and they both know it. But as quickly as they had crossed the line years ago, they’re more hesitant now. 

It comes to a breaking point when Mingyu invites him for a day out. An afternoon at the art gallery, where the current exhibition features one of Wonwoo’s favourite artists, followed by dinner at a restaurant along the waterfront. This is different from all the other times they’ve spent in each other’s presence. Wonwoo knows this because he had caught a whiff of the nervousness in Mingyu’s scent before it was swiftly buried, and because Mingyu had said, “I was thinking, it might be just you and me.”

So Wonwoo drops Jeongyeon off at Dahyun’s house that day. He showers and spends an hour rifling through his closet before deciding on a simple turtleneck and dark jeans. He works some product into his hair and spritzes on a bit of cologne. He feels embarrassed for trying so hard, until he opens the door to greet Mingyu and is instead made speechless. He is floored by how gorgeous Mingyu looks. A sweater with a deep v-neck, the colour of red wine. Tucked into thigh-hugging navy trousers that make his legs look a mile long.

Now Wonwoo fears he hasn’t tried hard enough. Except Mingyu quells that worry with an awed, “Wow. You look great.”

If Wonwoo had any doubts that their outing was a date, those thoughts are dispelled in the first two minutes: Mingyu opens the passenger door for him. Wonwoo ducks into the car, wanting to tease Mingyu about it, regain some sense of normalcy. Except the old-fashioned gesture has him giddy and tongue-tied like a young omega being taken out on their first date. 

Fast-forward to the tail-end of their date. By the waterfront. Night has fallen. They had had a late dinner in a floating restaurant. They exit the boat, arms brushing. They stroll up the dock, making their way to the main wharf. Beneath Wonwoo’s feet, the wooden planks sway as a gentle tide ebbs and flows. He had two glasses of red wine with his salmon. Not quite enough to get tipsy, but he finds himself listing towards Mingyu, as if he is drunk. He flounders over his own feet, bumps into Mingyu’s side.

Mingyu reaches out to steady him with a hand on his low back. “Careful,” he says. Keeps his hand there.

All this reciprocated flirting and touching. Wonwoo feels like he’s been turned inside-out, his most vulnerable feelings on bright neon display for Mingyu’s eyes.

Victorian street lamps line either side of the wharf, glowing a warm orange that penetrates through the dark. Mingyu steps up to the railing and leans his weight against it. Wonwoo joins him. Together, they gaze out at the dark waters.

“I’m mad,” Mingyu says, except he sounds anything but. His voice sounds like it has been pulled taut, turned rough and brittle.

Wonwoo turns to Mingyu. Mingyu’s profile is thrown in shadow, and yet it still makes Wonwoo ache. He’s so handsome. “What’s wrong? Why are you mad?”

Mingyu doesn’t respond. 

“Mingyu?” Wonwoo tries again.

Quietly, Mingyu says, “If it had been me, I never would have left you and Jeongyeon.”

Ahh, I’m really captivated by this AU of AEV, but I feel like it would need another 30k-40k words to do it justice. I literally came up with this entire scenario so I could have Mingyu say that cheesy-ass line, hah!

CLICK HERE TO READ THE CONTINUATION BY AN ANON 

[ayyyez]

First time headcanons for Itachi, Shisui and Madara w their s/o please😍😍

a/n: sure thing bby! kept it neutral for everyone. Ahhh I loved writing these! warnings: sexual content - foreplay, kissing, grinding, dry humping, first time having sex (under the cut)

Itachi Uchiha 

He take things very slow and gentle his first time. This mans resolve and patience is intense. Like the carnal instincts inside him make him want to just take you right then and there but this man loves you and wants to cherish you.

Starts with featherlight touches, chaste kisses, little gasps for air. Runs his hands gently along your thighs. Almost tickles you but it’s just so gentle. Enough to get anyone choked up lol

Really drags out the foreplay. Keeps his touch super light and super slow. If he is entering you he will tease you so much. featherlight motions over your sensitive areas. My fellow clit owners, this man knows how to tease that sensitive nub to get you shivering before he even enters one finger inside you. It’s almost torture he doesn’t add more pressure.

Other wise, if you have a dick his grip is so loose around it while his finger lightly circles your hole. 

If you are entering him, he will insist on giving you a blowjob first because he is just good like that. Like I said he really drags out the foreplay lmao

This man will take his time even if you beg. He will insist he doesn’t want to hurt you/wants you to feel good/that you two should take your time.

Wants to cherish the moment okay? Can’t argue with that! If he enters you he will do it so slowly. Like you will end up squeezing him so hard because it’s so slow. 

Keeps a fairly slow pace most of the time. Doesn’t want to rush despite internally wanting too. His stroke game is so strong though. He is slow but boy is he precise. 

Gentle kisses throughout the whole time. Soft moans each time he thrusts deep inside you. Tries so hard to come with you together but it won’t necessarily go as plan. Will try and at least make you cum first, usually pretty successful too. 

He shakes when he cums. It is so intense, especially because it was such a slow build up. Likes to be touching you after, whether its a half spoon or one of you is half on top of the other he just needs the intimacy while he comes down from his high. 

Shisui Uchiha

This man is so over eager he shakes with anticipation. He isn’t overly nervous it’s more just his body reacting to the whole situation. Likes to start with a heated makeout session. 

There’s so much grinding and dry humping before you even get to the naked touching. It’s so hot he is torn between tearing your clothes off and cumming from this friction. 

Ultimately, if you agree to have sex with him, he will be ripping the clothes off. Lips pressed against yours the whole time, only breaking to move articles of clothing out of the way. 

Then there is more making out and cupping/rubbing each other through each others underwear. He moans so much too he is living for how good the friction feels. 

Will blush when you finally see his erection but he also has a dopey smile because he is so freakin happy you too are taking such a big step. Holds out a hand to beckon you to join him. 

Gives you a chaste kiss and some words of affirmation while you two prepare each other at the same time. It’s more silent in terms of speaking than it was before. There’s gasps and moans as you to rub/penetrate/stroke each other in preparation. 

He is very sensitive and ready to hop to it ASAP! Takes the entering/being entered stage slow. Once everyone is adjusted though he is ready to move those hips!

Takes a few thrusts to get a momentum but then he is right into it. Fast and hard and oh wow he may explode already because it is so good. He is moaning a lot! He is panting already. 

Opp and it’s not long before he is cumming. If you don’t cum, he will make you as soon as he recovers. 

Honestly could go for more than one round because now he his energised lol. Afterwards though he is a big smoocher and wants a cuddle, even if its in the shower he will stick by your side for the rest of the day/night. 

Madara Uchiha

Ahhh this mans just so full of passion and it’s no different for his first time. This man would only be doing this with the love of his life because he is hands down a lover. It is a very emotional time for both of you.

Things between you would have built up for so long that the tension just explodes and you have a heated moment which leads to having sex for the first time. 

It starts with kissing. The kind of kissing that doesn’t stop. It’s like he is starved of oxygen and you are his air. He needs to kiss you to live and that is exactly what he does.

It’s a battle between you two really. Not for dominance but to get as close as possible to each other. It’s ebb and flow. He pushes against you and you push against him. It’s two people melting into one. 

And the way he holds you - it’s like he never ever wants to let go (spoiler he doesn’t) He can be quite talkative too. Depending on you of course. He is always down for a bit of banter and this is the best banter. pre sex banter lmao 

A bit of a tease during the foreplay but not too much because this man is eager to get to the main event. (also tease him back he loves it) Honestly just dominate this man and take him for the ride of his life for his first time he won’t ever forget it. 

He will have his moments. The first time for Madara is intense and passionate. There’s so much kissing, touching and hard thrusting. A lot of longing looks into your eyes and ahhh the way he looks at you. You are the most important person in the world. 

Afterwards will want to be pressed against you. Won’t say no to bathing together either. Will still be pressed against you. After the first time with Madara he is clingy because he is suddenly overcome with the thought of losing you and he can’t stand that idea.