#my room will become a minefield

[toomanylegos]

I've been drained and it's been a weird week of ups and downs so fuck it! Time to live up to my screen name!

Behold! My collection!

And those are just the unlabeled sets : )

Today shall mark the day that I bring Tumblr with me on my journey to organize my Lego sets. The goal is to build, label, and write down the missing pieces of each set if there be any. I started this journey last year, but had to stop because of school. Now, I will continue it because damn do these sets need some love.

I hope you enjoy the mess these things will make of my room 😅

[03jyh23]

— 2 soon || kim hongjoong part 1

<part 2>

goes to waste the series based on my favourite keshi songs

(listen here)

idol!hongjoong x non-idol!reader

synopsis: years after choosing his career over you, hongjoong still finds himself haunted by the memories of you. your relationship is a constant dance of on and off, and you cannot stay away from him.

genre: lovers to strangers to ?, angst, smut

trigger warnings: cussing/mature language, break-ups, toxic relationships, possessiveness, toxic jealousy, sex as a coping mechanism, excessive alcohol usage, emotional manipulation, obsession, verbal aggression, emotional distress, mentions of clubbing, career-related stress, explicit sexual content: making out, protected sex (condom), mentions of using birth control, pet names baby, princess, handjob, blowjob, hair pulling, neck kisses, dirty talk, nipple play (?), missionary

words: 12.8 k

reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi there! after several intense days of work, it's finally here! the first part of the goes to waste series! while writing 2 soon, i had many negative thoughts and was very self-critical. im still not sure if i did a good job - especially when it comes to smut. smut is the genre where i probably will never feel good enough, but believe me, im really trying. the second part is already in the process of being written. im handing this over to you; thank you very much for such a warm reception of this series, and i hope you'll enjoy it. and please let me know if i missed any trigger warnings for the sexual content!

love, monika. ♡

if you enjoyed this post, i’d be so grateful for a little love – a like, reblog or comment would truly make my day!

taglist: @skittyneos @kyeos4ng @vcutparis

one

There you were, unexpectedly positioned in a scenario you never once imagined you would find yourself in. It was the middle of the night, the hour when all was quiet and still. Your ordinarily vibrant living room was dimmed, with only a single floor lamp in the corner casting long, dramatic shadows across the room. You were nestled into the corner of the worn-out comfortable sofa, hugging a pillow close as if it were your only lifeline. The only sounds filling the silence were the words from your boyfriend, each one hanging heavy in the cold air. You were painfully aware of what was coming, a gut-wrenching feeling of imminent heartbreak washing over you. The reality of the situation was that there was no escaping this conversation, no possibility of emerging unscathed. The knowledge that Hongjoong was about to shatter your heart into pieces was a bitter pill to swallow. This moment was the beginning of an end you had never anticipated. And it was happening tonight.

"The company believes that you will become a distraction," Hongjoong said, his voice laced with an undercurrent of tension.

"I don't give a damn about your stupid company," you retorted, your hand trembling and your eyes welling up with tears that threatened to spill over at any moment. "I wasn't a distraction all these years when you were a trainee, so why am I suddenly one now?" Hongjoong paced nervously across the room, his movements betraying his inner turmoil. He was torn between the company and you, and he didn't know how to navigate this minefield.

"Y/N..." he sighed heavily, his hand running through his hair in a nervous gesture. "Now that Ateez is gaining more attention after our first prize win and the new album coming soon, the company..." he trailed off, unable to finish his sentence. "They believe I need to remain more focused."

"I don't fucking care about what they think, Hongjoong!" you shouted, your voice cracking with the weight of your emotions. "You think I give a damn about their opinion?" you continued, your voice rising with each word. "They don't know us, they don't know what we've been through. All they see is some stupid company policy, but they don't see the love that we share." Tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke, the pain of the situation threatening to consume you whole. You had never felt so helpless, so powerless.

"Please, try to calm down. You're not making this any easier," Hongjoong pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

''I don’t fucking believe that after almost three years they decided I will become a problem...'' Your voice cracked, tears finally spilling down your cheeks. Hongjoong looked at you, his eyes filled with sorrow and regret. It was clear that this conversation was tearing him apart just as much as it was you. "Hongjoong, do you believe what they're saying?" you asked, your voice filled with a mixture of fear and desperation. "Do you think they're right?"

He paused, his back still turned towards you. "I... I don't know, Y/N," he confessed, his voice barely audible. "What if they are right?" The question hung in the air, a haunting doubt that only added to the heartache. Your heart pounded in your chest, the words echoing in your mind.

"You already believed them…'' you asserted, your voice tinged with a hint of defiance. ''I can't believe that you see me as a distraction now." With a frustrated cry, you grabbed the pillow and hurled it across the room, the action serving as a physical release for the pent-up anger and despair that threatened to consume you. "Fuck it, Hongjoong," you choked out, tears streaming down your cheeks. "I need you to choose me. I need you to fight for us, for our love. Because if you don't, then what's the point of any of this?"

There was a long silence before he finally spoke. "I...I need to do what's best for my career," he answered softly, sounding utterly defeated. "And if that means that we..." his voice trailed off and he didn't finish the sentence. You felt a lump in your throat and fought back the tears.

''So, you’re going to leave me?'' Hongjoong turned to face you, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and resignation.

"What else am I supposed to do?" Hongjoong's eyes flickered with pain as he met your gaze, his own turmoil reflected in the depths of his gaze. "I can't lose my career, Y/N! It's everything I've worked for.'' His words cut through you like a knife, searing through your heart. You had always known that his career was important to him, but you had never imagined that he would be willing to sacrifice your relationship for it. ''I’m sorry, Y/N,'' he managed to say, his voice filled with regret. ''I have to do this.''

"Just say it already..." Your voice was shaky, the tension in the room was palpable, and the silence that followed was deafening.

"I want to break up," Hongjoong finally said, his voice barely audible but clear enough for you to hear.

Your voice broke as you responded, "If this is your decision, then I'm not going to fight it. I won't beg you to stay, Hongjoong." The room was filled with a painful silence after your words. The reality of what was happening hit you both, but you stood your ground. "No, I won't beg," you affirmed, your voice steady despite the tears streaming down your face. "If this is what you've chosen, then I have no right to stop you. But remember this, Hongjoong, love is not a distraction. It's what keeps us human." He looked at you, his eyes welling up with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry, Y/N," he whispered, the regret in his voice tangible.

"I need you to leave," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The room fell silent again. With a heavy sigh, Hongjoong cast a long, lingering glance in your direction, his eyes filled with a sadness he had never felt before. You couldn't meet his gaze, your own eyes fixated on the worn-out fabric of the couch, your hands clenched tightly in your lap.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," he repeated, his voice just as quiet as yours. He hovered for a moment, as if waiting for you to say something else, offering him a way out of this situation. But there was nothing more to be said. The decision had been made.

"I'm sorry too, Hongjoong," you whispered into the silence, your voice trembling. The words echoed in the quiet room, a bitter acknowledgment of the pain that both of you were feeling. Slowly, Hongjoong headed towards the door, his steps heavy and uncertain. Each footstep felt like a punch to your heart, amplifying the emptiness that was beginning to set in. As the front door opened, a shiver went down your spine. With one last look, Hongjoong closed the door behind him, leaving you alone in the quiet apartment. The silence was deafening, the absence of his presence felt like a void. You sat there, motionless, the harsh reality of what had just happened slowly sinking in. Eventually, you rose from the couch, your legs feeling like jelly. You switched off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You could still feel the remnants of Hongjoong's presence, the memories of your time together felt almost tangible. But, he was gone. And you were left to pick up the pieces of your shattered heart, alone. Your small apartment never felt lonelier.

two

The room was dimly lit by a single lamp, casting shadows everywhere. Hongjoong sat on the hotel floor, his heart ached like a heavy stone in his chest, echoing the raw, jagged pain of an all-too-fresh wound. Next to him sat a half-empty bottle of whiskey, its strong liquor failing to dull the hollow gnawing pain that gripped him. For the past few months, Hongjoong had been busier than he'd ever been. Recording sessions that kept him up all night, followed by grueling dance practices to perfect choreography. Once ATEEZ’s first studio album was finally out, there was an endless string of fan sign events and meetings. Then, his dreams came true — they announced a world tour. Hongjoong was so busy that eating and sleeping felt like a luxury. He was happy, but not completely. Something was always missing. You were missing. Hongjoong'd become a master at hiding his pain from the world. So good, in fact, that he'd even managed to hide it from himself. But even as busy as Hongjoong was with his career, there were moments when he couldn't help but constantly think about you. And in those small moments every song that he wrote, every dance he choreographed, every performance he gave, you were always on his mind. Hongjoong was haunted by your memories, by the love he had lost. And even if he was being so good at hiding his emotions, his bandmates could see the change in him. They saw the sadness in his eyes, the heaviness in his steps, the emptiness in his laughter. But they said nothing, respecting his silence, knowing that this was a battle he had to fight on his own. Now, it’s been over six months since he broke up with you. Since he had chosen his career over your love, ambition over affection. He believed it was the right decision, but it did not lessen the pain of his heartbreak.

Hongjoong's eyes fell on his phone, lying innocently on the carpet. He had been contemplating it for hours, his heart pounding with apprehension. He longed to reach out to you, to hear your voice again and beg for forgiveness. Everything seemed so pointless without you. His dreams and ambitions felt hollow and meaningless. The fame, the success, the love from fans all over the world — none of it mattered. Because without you by his side, sharing in his joy and success, it all felt empty. All he could think of was the sweet sound of your laughter, the warmth of your touch, the comfort of your presence. And the longer he was without you, the more he realized how much he had lost. Taking a shaky breath, Hongjoong gathered the courage to pick the phone up, dialed your number with unsteady fingers, and pressed the call button. Eight rings echoed in his ears, each one a chance to hang up, to retreat, to save himself from the impending heartache. But he didn't. He couldn't.

"Hello?"

"H-hey," His voice wavered, barely more than a whisper, "How... how you been? How you doing?" His heart pounded against his ribs. The room felt smaller with every passing second as if the walls were closing in on him. Hongjoong gripped the phone tighter, his knuckles turning white as if holding onto it was the only thing keeping him grounded at that moment.

"I've been... okay," your voice was guarded, a stark contrast to the warmth it used to hold when you spoke to him. "Just... keeping busy, you know." Your heart was pounding loudly, so loud you were scared Hongjoong was going to hear it on the other side of the phone. You tried to steady your breathing, focusing on each exhale and inhale. There was silence on the other end. You could almost picture Hongjoong there, sitting in the dimly lit room, phone in hand, as he grappled with your words. The silence stretched on and for a moment.

"I've... I've been drinking," he confessed, a bitter laughter escaping his lips. "Thought I'd be over you by now... but I'm not. I can't be." His voice cracked, raw emotion spilling out. There was a pause again, a silence that seemed to last forever.

"Hongjoong..." you murmured, your voice filled with a detached understanding that was almost more painful than the silence before. "You... You shouldn't be drinking, Hongjoong," you said softly, concern seeping into your voice despite your best efforts to keep it neutral.

"I miss you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I... I know I caused you pain. I know I can't turn back time. But I... I can't imagine a life without you." The line went silent once again, except for his ragged breath and the deafening beat of his heart. Hongjoong held his breath, waiting, knowing that your next words could either set him free or push him further into his torment. Despite the distance, despite the coldness in your voice, he thought he detected a hint of lingering affection for him. It was subtle, nearly imperceptible, but it was there. A slight hesitation in your voice before you spoke, a soft sigh he barely caught. It gave him a glimmer of hope, but also a sea of despair. Because he knew that even though you might still harbor feelings for him, his choices had wounded you.

"I miss you too," you said, your voice so quiet that he almost missed the words. And in that moment, he knew that you felt the pain just as sharply as he did. Despite the remnants of love between you, you were both trapped in this cycle of regret and longing, both victims of his ambition. He longed to tell you that he loved you, that he was ready to give up everything to be with you. But the words wouldn't come. Because he knew he couldn't. He couldn't let go of his career, but he couldn't let go of you either. And so, he found himself stuck in this self-destructive cycle, driven by his own choices and his inability to let go of the past. The burden of his decisions hung heavy in the silence. His heart ached with unspoken words and the bitter sting of regret.

"I want to see you..." Hongjoong whispered into the phone, as he took another swig of the whiskey, the bitter liquid burning his throat, a fitting punishment for his mistakes. He closed his eyes, the image of your face clear in his mind, the memory of your laughter echoing in his ears. He missed you. He missed you more than he could put into words, more than he could bear. But all he had were his dreams and ambitions, the things he chose over you. ''I don’t know what I’m expecting'' All Hongjoong knew was that he missed you and that no amount of fame or success could fill the void you left in his heart.

"I... I want to see you too," you responded, soft and hesitant, yet filled with a longing that mirrored his own. Since the day Hongjoong left, your world had changed drastically, nothing felt the same. You tried to move on, to heal and rebuild your life without him. But it seemed like every time you made a little progress, something related to ATEEZ would unexpectedly appear, pulling you back into the memories of him. It was as if the universe was conspiring to ensure Hongjoong remained an inescapable part of your life, refusing to let you forget him.

"I don't know if this is a good idea...but, can we meet?" Hongjoong held his breath, waiting for your response, the silence between you two stretching out into a deafening void.

"Okay," you finally whispered back, the single word carrying a world of hope and fear, a promise of a reunion fraught with uncertainties and unspoken feelings. A wave of relief washed over Hongjoong, followed by a pang of anxiety. He had so many things he wanted to say to you, so many apologies to make, so many feelings to confess. But he feared that it might be too late, that the damage he had caused was irreparable. He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult for him to speak.

"Thank you," he managed to whisper, his voice barely audible. "I'll be back home in a few weeks, I’ll see you then?"

"Yeah...yeah, I'll see you then," you replied softly, your voice tinged with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension. "Take care of yourself, Hongjoong.''

The call ended, leaving Hongjoong alone in the dimly lit room once again. He sat there, staring at his phone, his heart heavy with a mix of relief, fear, and longing. He didn't know if this was the beginning of a new chapter or the closure of an old one. All he knew was that he needed to see you. He needed to say the things he had been unable to say for the past six months. And most importantly, he needed to apologize.

three

The interminable weeks you anxiously awaited for Hongjoong's return seemed to mercilessly drag on, transforming into a seemingly endless expanse of time. In truth, the past few months without him felt like an eternity, every moment punctuated by his absence. After the initial shock of your breakup, which shook you to your core, you managed to shake off the immobilizing numbness that it brought. Once the initial shock was dealt with, you allowed yourself to fall into a routine, an everyday pattern of activities that became your lifeline in these challenging times. This routine, mundane as it might have been, was the only thing that kept you going, the only thing that kept you sane amidst the tumult of emotions that threatened to consume you. It was your anchor in a sea of chaos, providing a sense of normalcy in a world that, without Hongjoong, felt anything but normal. So, when you saw the news that ATEEZ had returned from their tour, it took you by surprise. You thought Hongjoong would call you straight away, that he would want to see you as much as you wanted to see him. You were holding on to the thought of seeing the man you loved again, of finding closure, or perhaps a new beginning. But the call didn't come, and with each passing day, your hope dwindled a little more. The silence was deafening, filling you with a sense of dread and disappointment. But despite everything, you continued to wait, clinging on to the hope of hearing from him. Days turned into weeks, and the silence from Hongjoong was deafening. You tried to keep yourself busy, to distract your mind from the painful thoughts that threatened to consume you. You began to question his intentions, wondering whether he really meant what he said during the phone call. Did he truly miss you, or was it just a moment of weakness? Did he genuinely want to see you, or was he simply trying to ease his guilt? Your mind was a whirlpool of questions, doubts, and insecurities. You felt like you were trapped in a never-ending cycle of hope and despair. Despite the emotional turmoil, you couldn't bring yourself to reach out to him first. You weren't ready to face the possibility of rejection, the fear of him telling you that he had moved on and that the phone call was a mistake. So, you waited, hoping against hope that he would contact you.

One evening, while you were trying to drown your sorrows in a sad movie and a tub of ice cream, the doorbell rang, startling you out of your thoughts. Your heart pounded in your chest as you got up to answer it. As you swung the door open, there he was. Hongjoong stood on your doorstep, looking just as nervous and scared as you felt. You were taken aback, not having expected him to show up at your doorstep. You felt a mix of emotions - surprise, fear, anxiety, but also a strange relief. Despite the emotional turmoil swirling within you, you couldn't help but feel a rush of warmth at the sight of him. He was as handsome as always, his dark blue hair tousled slightly, his eyes filled with a mixture of apprehension and longing. For a moment, you found yourself lost in the depths of his gaze, the familiar warmth of his presence washing over you like a comforting embrace. It was surreal to see him standing there, on your doorstep, after so many weeks of silence and uncertainty. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing the tumult of emotions that raged within you.

"H-Hey," he stuttered out, his eyes avoiding yours. "I hope I'm not... I hope this isn't too soon."

"No, it's... it's okay. Come in," you said, stepping aside to let him in. He hesitated for a moment, then walked inside. You closed the door behind him, it felt strangely normal to have him there, in your apartment, as if the last few months had been nothing but a bad dream. But the tension in the air was palpable, a reminder that things weren't the same anymore. You led him to the living room, he took a deep breath, his gaze wandering around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings.

"It's been a while," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes, it has," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady. The silence that followed was deafening, both of you lost in your own thoughts. Finally, Hongjoong broke the silence.

"I... I wanted to apologize," he began, his voice shaky. "I know I hurt you, and I'm... I'm really sorry." He looked at you, his eyes filled with regret. "I made a mistake... a big one. And I... I want to make it right." You were silent for a moment, processing his words. It was what you had been waiting to hear, but now that he had said it, you didn't know how to respond. You looked at him, studying his face, searching for sincerity in his eyes. Despite the hurt and confusion swirling within you, you couldn't deny the flicker of hope that ignited at his words. His apology felt genuine, raw with emotion. As you wrestled with your thoughts, a part of you longed to forgive him, to embrace the possibility of reconciliation. Yet another part remained guarded, wary of opening yourself up to further pain. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart. "I've missed you so much," he confessed. Suddenly, Hongjoong reached out, pulling you into an embrace. The sudden movement startled both of you, but neither of you pulled away. On the contrary, you nestled deeper into his arms, burying your face into the crook of his neck. The familiar scent of his cologne instantly calmed your racing heart, making you feel like you were home again. In his arms, the pain and heartache of the past few months seemed to melt away. As you held each other in a tight embrace, the weight of the past few months began to lift, replaced by a sense of comfort and familiarity. Despite the pain and uncertainty that had plagued your relationship, being in his arms felt right, as if you were finally where you were meant to be.

"I've missed you too," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath. The words were a confession, a raw admission of the emptiness that had consumed you in his absence. The warmth of his embrace melted away the walls you had built around your heart. Despite the doubts and uncertainties that lingered in the back of your mind, you couldn't deny the overwhelming rush of emotions that surged through you. Without thinking, you lifted your head from the crook of his neck, meeting Hongjoong’s gaze with tear-filled eyes. At that moment, all the words you had been longing to say seemed to vanish from your mind, replaced by a desperate need to express the depth of your feelings for him. Leaning forward, you closed the distance between you, capturing his lips in a tender, passionate kiss. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though time stood still, the world around you fading into oblivion as you lost yourself in the intoxicating warmth of his embrace. In that moment, all the pain and heartache of the past seemed insignificant, overshadowed by the overwhelming rush of love and longing that coursed through your veins. As you pulled away, breathless and trembling, you found yourself staring into his eyes, searching for some sign of understanding, of reciprocation. Hongjoong smiled and giggled quietly,

''I did not expect this…'' Your heart fluttered at the sound of his soft laughter, a gentle melody that filled the room. Despite the gravity of the situation, his laughter was like a balm to your wounded soul, easing some of the tension that had been building within you. Hongjoong’s hand found its way to your flushed cheek, it was a comforting presence, his touch sending shivers down your spine as you leaned into his touch, relishing the warmth of his palm against your skin.

"I know," you replied softly, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

''Can we do it again?'' A soft chuckle escaped your lips at his bashful demeanor, finding it endearing how he could still manage to blush after all this time.

"Of course," you replied, a playful glint in your eye as you leaned in closer to him. The warmth of Hongjoong’s breath against your skin sent a thrill coursing through you, reigniting the spark of desire that had never truly faded between you. Closing the distance between you, you pressed your lips to his once more, savoring his familiar taste and feel. It was as if no time had passed at all, as if you were picking up right where you had left off, lost in the intensity of your love for each other. As you pulled away breathlessly, the intensity of the moment lingering between you, Hongjoong placed his forehead against yours, his hand pulling you closer by your waist. His touch sent shivers down your spine, igniting a fire within you that had been dormant for far too long. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate and needy. Your bodies pressed together, the heat between you rising. Hongjoong's voice was husky when he pulled back, his breath hot against your ear as he said,

"I'm not gonna stop myself if we keep on." You could feel his arousal pressing against you, a stark reminder of the intimacy you hadn't shared in so long. A shiver ran through your body as you processed his words, your heart pounding in your chest. You had missed this closeness, the intoxicating intimacy that only Hongjoong could provide. Despite the uncertainties that still lingered, your body yearned for his. You met his gaze, your eyes reflecting the desire that was undoubtedly mirrored in his.

"Then don't stop," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. There was no hesitation in his actions then. His lips found yours again, his hands exploring your body, reigniting the flame that had never fully extinguished. Hongjoong's grip on your hips tightened, his touch electrifying, igniting a spark within you. He pulled your hair just the way you liked it, gentle yet firm, exposing your neck to his gaze. He began to leave a trail of wet kisses along your sensitive skin, his warm breath causing shivers to run down your spine. The anticipation was unbearable. You knew that after all this time, after all the longing and desire that had built up between you, you wouldn’t last long. Every fiber of your being was desperate to feel his body against yours, to experience the intimate connection that only he could provide. And as if he could read your thoughts, Hongjoong returned to kissing you, his lips capturing yours in a passionate embrace. He was devouring you with an intensity that took your breath away, his every touch and kiss stoking the fire within you. You felt his hands tugging at the hem of your hoodie, his fingers deftly pulling it over your head in one swift, practiced motion. As the fabric lifted away, the cool air of the room hit your skin, causing a shiver to course through your body. To Hongjoong's surprise, you were not wearing a bra underneath. His eyes, dark with desire, roamed over your exposed chest, taking in the sight of your bare skin. There was a moment of silence as he savored the sight, his breath hitching in his throat. Your head was spinning, a whirlwind of emotions and sensations taking over, and you could feel yourself getting wetter with each passing second. Hongjoong placed his palm on your breast, cupping it gently but firmly. His touch was warm against your skin, a stark contrast to the cool air surrounding you. His fingers, tender and explorative, began to play with your nipple, tracing delicate patterns that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your body. You moaned softly. Each touch ignited a spark within you, a flame of desire that seemed to grow with every passing second.

As your hands began to wander, you found yourself drawn to his jeans. Your fingers deftly unclasped his belt, the metallic clink echoing in the room. Heart pounding with anticipation, you slid the zipper down, the sound seeming to reverberate through the room. Hongjoong quickly removed his own shirt, revealing his toned chest. Your hands instinctively reached out to him, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles. In response, he wrapped his arms around you, lifting you off the ground with ease. Hongjoong carried you towards the bedroom, and a sense of anticipation filled the air. As he gently put you down, your eyes locked with his, the intensity of his gaze sending shivers down your spine. His lips found yours again in a deep, passionate kiss while his hands roamed over your body, further stoking the flame of desire within you. You found yourself lost in his touch, each stroke of his fingers sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As he slowly moved down, peppering soft kisses along your neck and collarbone, you could hardly contain the moan that escaped your lips. Hongjoong pulled your shorts down, kissing your stomach and hip bones. His touch was electrifying, setting your skin ablaze with a hunger that only he could satisfy. You reached for his pants, finally tugging both them and his boxers down and revealing his throbbing erection. Hongjoong groaned as you wrapped your fingers around his thick dick, you spread pre-cum on his length and stroked him gently yet firmly, eliciting a moan from him. Hongjoong was so hard, so ready for you, and the thought only made you wetter. With a mischievous glint in your eyes, you knelt in front of him and placed a kiss on the tip of his throbbing length. Sensing his anticipation, you started licking him from the base all the way to the tip, savoring the taste of him. His body shivered in response to your actions, his breath hitching as he watched you with a mixture of desire and disbelief.

"I missed the way your cock tastes in my mouth,” you said just before you slowly took him all into your mouth, your lips wrapping around his length as you began to bob your head up and down. The sensation elicited a groan from Hongjoong, his hands instinctively reaching for your hair to guide your movements.

"F-fuck," Hongjoong moaned out, his grip on your hair tightening as you continued to pleasure him with your mouth, your tongue swirling around his length in a way that had him seeing stars. His body was tense, filled with an anticipation that was only heightened by the rhythm of your movements. The room was filled with the sound of his ragged breathing and the wet noises of your mouth on him. His hand tugged at your hair, guiding you, setting the pace. His other hand found its way to your shoulder, his fingers digging into your skin as he struggled to keep control. "I... I need to be inside you," he gasped, the words barely more than a whisper. You looked up at him, your eyes locking with his. There was a raw intensity in his gaze that sent a thrill coursing through you. You nodded, releasing him from your mouth with a final lick, a smirk playing on your lips as you watched him shudder at the sensation. You crawled back up his body, your fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, the sensation eliciting a soft moan from him. Hongjoong's hands found their way to your hips, guiding you to the bed. He positioned himself on top of you, his hands gently spreading your legs. His fingers slowly explored your folds,

"You are so wet, so ready for me" he murmured in awe, his fingers brushing over your slick folds. The sensation caused you to gasp. With a sudden surge of impatience, you pulled him closer by his neck, kissing him aggressively.

"Hongjoong, I need you now," you demanded, your voice thick with desire. He positioned himself, ready to give you what you so desperately wanted. But then, he stopped, pulling back slightly and looking into your eyes with a serious expression.

‘’Are you on the pill?" he asked, his voice filled with concern.

"No, not anymore," you admitted, biting your lower lip anxiously.

"Condoms?" he asked, hoping that you had some.

"I don't think I have any," you confessed, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Shit, I think I have some in my wallet," he moved off you and rushed to search his wallet, which was carelessly thrown to the side earlier. After a moment, Hongjoong let out a sigh of relief as he pulled out a condom. Returning to the bed, he positioned himself above you again, his dark eyes filled with desire. You took the condom from him, your hands slightly shaking as you carefully unrolled it down his throbbing length. You guided him to your entrance, the anticipation making you shudder with pleasure. As he slowly entered you, you couldn't help but gasp at the overwhelming sensation, the feeling of him inside you sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. As Hongjoong began to move, each thrust sending sparks of pleasure shooting through you, your hands found purchase on his shoulders, clinging onto him as if your life depended on it. The rhythm of his movements, slow and deliberate at first, gradually picked up pace, each powerful thrust hitting that sweet spot inside you and drawing moans of pleasure from your lips.

"Hongjoong whatever you do just don't stop now," you moaned, your toes curling in pleasure. His name fell from your lips again in a breathless whisper, the sound of it spurring him on. The room filled with the sounds of your passion, the rhythmic creaking of the bed, and your shared moans and gasps of pleasure.

"You feel so good, baby” he moaned. You felt his dick throbbing inside you, which made you clench around him, making him moan again. As your climax approached, your body tensed, your grip on him tightening. Hongjoong could sense it, and his thrusts became more powerful. "Are you going to cum for me, princess?" he asked, his voice husky with desire. Your body responded to his words before your mind could, a rush of pleasure coursing through your veins. You could do nothing but nod, your body taut with anticipation. Hongjoong’s movements became more deliberate, his rhythm matching your own as the tension built.

"Yes," you breathed out, the word barely escaping your lips before a wave of pleasure washed over you. Your body convulsed, your grip on him tightening as you rode the waves of your orgasm. His name fell from your lips in a breathless moan as you rode out your orgasm, each wave of pleasure more intense than the last. With a final, powerful thrust, Hongjoong groaned, his body tensing as he reached his own peak. Feeling him still buried deep inside you, you could sense the warm sensation of his cum filling the condom. Hongjoong’s head fell to the crook of your neck, his hot breath against your skin as he rode out the waves of his climax. The room fell silent, save for the sound of your labored breaths. He collapsed next to you, took the condom off, and threw it away. Hongjoong pulled you into his arms, and his fingers traced lazy circles on your bare skin, the sensation sending tingles down your spine. You turned to face him, your eyes meeting his. There was a softness in his gaze, a tenderness that you hadn't seen for a long time. It warmed your heart, bringing a gentle smile to your face.

"I was going crazy without you," Hongjoong whispered his words a fervent declaration of the depth of his longing. "I missed you every single day," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper as you gazed into his eyes, losing yourself in the depths of his gaze.

"You wouldn't let me forget about you," you smiled sadly, "ATEEZ were everywhere." You chuckled, the sound tinged with a hint of melancholy. "Every time I started to get a bit better, you would show up on a TV or the internet."

Hongjoong gave a bitter-sweet laugh, "I guess we're inescapable, huh?" His hand moved from your waist to cradle your face.

"I was so proud of you, Hongjoong," you confessed, your voice choked with emotion. "It just hurt that you needed to leave me to do all these amazing things."

His gaze softened at your words, his thumb gently brushing away the tears welling up in your eyes. "I didn't want to," he admitted quietly, his voice hauntingly sincere.

"Will you stay for tonight?" you asked him, your voice quiet and hopeful. A silence hung in the air between you, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and raw emotions. Hongjoong looked at you, his gaze soft and contemplative. It felt like an eternity before he finally responded.

"I wish I could," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "But I have to go back. There are things I need to take care of." A pang of disappointment shot through you at his words, but you understood. His world was unforgiving, with schedules and commitments that left little room for personal desires. You knew that asking him to stay was selfish, but some of you couldn't help but wish for a little more time together.

"I understand," you replied, your voice tinged with sadness. "But promise me this won't be the last time we see each other. Promise me you'll come back."

"I promise," he whispered, his voice filled with sincerity. "I'll come back as soon as I can." You nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite the tears that threatened to fall. Hongjoong planted one last kiss on your lips, before gently untangling himself from your embrace. He rose from the bed, his eyes scanning the room for his scattered clothing. You pulled a comforter from the bed around your naked body as you got up from the bed, and you walked up behind him, wrapping your arms around his torso.

"Stay over," you tried convincing him again. "I don't want to be alone." Your lips found the back of his neck, peppering soft kisses there. Each kiss was a silent plea, a yearning for him to stay. He shivered under your touch, goosebumps erupting on his skin. You knew he loved it when you kissed his neck like that. His eyes closed and a soft sigh escaped his lips, a clear sign that he was fighting the urge to stay with you. With one hand, you pulled him in closer, his back pressed against your chest. Your other hand traveled down his torso, exploring his body. You slid your hand lower, until you grabbed his cock, causing Hongjoong to let out a whimper at the sudden contact. The sound was music to your ears, a testament to the effect you had on him. This moment felt right, a perfect blend of desire and intimacy that only you two could share. As you started to pump him slowly, his cock hardened again. Kissing all over his neck, Hongjoong trembled under your touch. Your touch was gentle, yet firm, as you slowly worked him back to full erection. His reactions were immediate and intense, his body trembling under your hands. Hongjoong’s breath hitched in his throat, a soft gasp escaping his lips as you trailed kisses up and down his neck. Every touch, every kiss, seemed to set his nerves on fire, his body humming with pent-up desire.

"Feeling your dick get hard in my hand is so hot," you whispered into his ear. Hongjoong’s breath hitched at your words, he was completely at your mercy, his eyes fluttering closed as he lost himself in the sensations you were coaxing from him. His hands reached for you, his fingers digging into your arm as a silent plea for more. His breaths came in short, ragged gasps, each one a testament to the pleasure you were bringing him. The room was filled with the sound of your soft murmurs and his gasps, the air heavy with desire. You took your time, savoring each reaction, each tremor that ran through him.

"I'm going to make you come so hard," you breathed against his neck, your voice filled with a promise of the pleasure to come. A shiver ran through his body at your words, anticipation causing his breath to hitch in his throat. The kisses you trailed along his neck grew more passionate, more desperate, each one a promise of the pleasure to come. He was trembling beneath your touch, his body writhing with anticipation, ready for the climax that was sure to come.

"Need... need to feel your mouth on me. Please, please," he moaned as you sped up your movements on his length. You could feel his desperation in every word, the primal need making his voice tremble. You turned his body to face you, without missing a beat, you moved down his body, trailing kisses along the way. You took him in your mouth, your movements slow and deliberate at first, earning a guttural moan from him. His hand found its way to your hair, fingers tangling in the locks as he guided your movements. With every moan, every gasp for breath, you could feel him lose himself in the pleasure you were giving him. It only spurred you on further, your movements becoming more confident, more insistent. Hongjoong was a moaning mess, his body tensing as he felt the precipice of his release approaching.

"God... F-fuck," he stuttered, the words tumbling out amidst irregular breaths. He looked at you, his eyes dark with desire and pleading. "Baby, I love you... Can I... Can I cum in your mouth?" your eyes met his, a soft nod of consent given as you continued your movements. The quiet room was filled with only the sounds of his heavy breaths and soft curses. Your name fell from his lips like a prayer, his hands gripping your hair tightly. "I love you... I love you so much," he gasped out, his body trembling as he reached his climax. His cum filled your mouth, the taste of him intoxicating and familiar. You swallowed it all, a sense of pride swelling within you. As his release washed over him, you could see the love and adoration in his eyes. He was open, vulnerable, and completely yours at that moment. Post-orgasmic bliss took over him, his body going limp as he tried to regain his breath. You crawled up, placing soft kisses along his chest, his jaw, his lips. Hongjoong pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

"I love you too, Hongjoong," you whispered, your head resting on his chest. His heart was still racing, the rhythm syncing with your own. You could feel his fingers tracing patterns on your back, a content sigh escaping his lips. He didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. The look in his eyes said it all. He was in love, and so were you. Despite the challenges and the heartache, you belonged together. And in that moment, everything felt right. For a moment, he allowed himself to enjoy your embrace, his mind lost in the warmth of your touch.

"So, did that earn me your stay?" you asked playfully, a hint of mischief in your eyes as you looked up at him. Hongjoong kissed your forehead, before gently pulling away from your embrace, his fingers brushing against your cheek as he looked at you with regret-filled eyes.

"Baby I really wish I could stay, but I can't," he murmured, his voice heavy with regret. "I have early rehearsals tomorrow. I promise I'll come back soon." He gently extricated himself from your grasp and began to get dressed.

"Don't go," you pleaded softly, your voice barely a whisper. But despite the plea in your eyes, he knew he couldn't stay. No matter how much he wanted to remain by your side, his responsibilities were calling him back.

"I don't want to leave you," Hongjoong murmured in a tone that was barely a whisper, his eyes filled with regret. "But I have to. I have responsibilities that I need to attend to." Despite the warmth of your bodies pressed together and the lingering taste of you on his lips, he knew he couldn't stay. He gave you one last look, his heart aching at the sight of your disheveled hair and the love in your eyes. The silence in the room was heavy, filled with unspoken words and lingering emotions. Once fully dressed, he turned back to you, his gaze soft. He walked over and pulled you into a gentle hug, his hand stroking your hair in a comforting gesture.

"I'll see you soon, I promise," he whispered into your ear before pulling away. Hongjoong gave you one last lingering look, his eyes filled with longing before he opened the door and stepped out of your apartment, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

However, Hongjoong did not keep his promise.

four

Once again, days turned into weeks, and Hongjoong was nowhere to be found. You started to believe that your meeting was only a dream, a figment of your imagination borne out of desperation and longing. Each passing day without any word from him further reinforced this belief. The emptiness that you had once managed to keep at bay was slowly creeping back in, consuming you bit by bit. The silence was deafening, a harsh reminder of the reality you were trying to escape from. It felt as if you were trapped in a never-ending cycle of hope and despair, each passing day a test of your resilience and strength. With each passing day, a seed of doubt began to grow within you. Was it possible that Hongjoong regretted what had happened? Could it be that the promises whispered in the heat of the moment, the tender kisses and reassuring words, were nothing more than a mistake? The thought gnawed at you, casting a dark shadow over the glimmer of hope you had been clinging on to. You found yourself questioning everything, your mind a whirlpool of confusion and despair. Your days were filled with uncertainty and your nights were haunted by dreams of him. You longed for the comfort of his presence, aching for the familiarity of his touch. Yet, all you were left with was the deafening silence, a cruel reminder of the distance that had grown between you.

Three weeks had passed since you last laid eyes on Hongjoong, and the absence was fucking with your head. Questions spun around in your head like a whirlwind, each one piercing deeper than the last. Was it only the sex that he missed? You were haunted by the warmth of his touch and the intoxicating way he used to look at you. The ghost of his touch still lingered on your skin, a cruel reminder of the intimacy that once existed. The silence of your phone was deafening, the man who once couldn't go a day without hearing your voice, who used to fill your inbox with loving messages, had now been reduced to radio silence. Your mind was a battlefield, memories of him clashing violently with the present reality. This was not the Hongjoong you loved and cherished, the one who held you through the darkest nights and lit up your world with his smile. This was a stranger, a phantom wearing Hongjoong's face and carrying his memories, a cruel mockery of the man you once knew.

five

On a sunny afternoon, you came back from grocery shopping and approached your apartment complex. Upon reaching your floor, you found Hongjoong leaning against your door. The sight of him waiting there, a look of nervous anticipation on his face, sent a jolt of surprise through you. The sound of grocery bags dropping onto the floor startled Hongjoong, his head snapping up to see you standing there, a look of shock and anger on your face. He quickly jogged over to help you pick up the scattered items, but you recoiled, pulling the bags away from him.

"Why are you here, Hongjoong?" You spat out his name like it was poison. "I don't want to see you," you quickly got up as you finished picking up what was left from your shopping.

"We both know you don’t mean it…" Hongjoong blurts out, a look of guilt crossing his face.

"My manager found out I came to see you," Hongjoong admitted, avoiding your gaze. "The company... they're not happy. They made me sign a contract." His voice was barely a whisper, but the words hit you with the force of a freight train. "I'm... I'm banned from dating now." His words hung heavily in the air, the final blow to the fairytale you had tried so hard to keep alive. The revelation left you speechless, your heart aching at the harsh reality of his words. You felt a cold wave of disappointment wash over you, the realization of Hongjoong's predicament hitting you like a punch to the gut.

"Banned from dating?" you echoed, the words sounding foreign on your tongue. As the weight of Hongjoong's confession settled over you, you couldn't help but feel a sense of betrayal. It wasn't just the fact that he was banned from dating that stung, but the realization that he had chosen to prioritize his career over your relationship once again. "How could you?" you whispered, your voice barely audible above the pounding of your heart. "After what happened that night, you still chose them over me?" The hurt and anger bubbled up inside you, threatening to spill over at any moment. You felt like a fool for ever believing that things could be different, for allowing yourself to hope for a future that was never meant to be.

Hongjoong reached out to you, his hand hovering in the air as if unsure whether to touch you. "I didn't have a choice, Y/N," he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. "You have to believe me. I didn't want this to happen." But his words fell on deaf ears.

"You always have a choice, Hongjoong," you retorted, your voice laced with bitterness. "You chose to sign that contract!" The tears welled up in your eyes, threatening to spill over at any moment. "You promised you would be back to see me, Hongjoong! You said you missed me and you wanted to make this right. And now this?" you exclaimed, your voice shaking with the intensity of your emotions. The betrayal cut deep, his broken promises like salt in the wound.

"You can't just show up here after weeks of silence and expect me to be okay with this," you continued, your voice raw with emotion. "You've made your choice, Hongjoong. Now, I'm making mine. I can't do this anymore."

Your words hung heavily in the air, the finality of them echoing in the silence that enveloped the two of you. Hongjoong was left standing there, a stunned expression on his face as he processed your words. The man who was once your world, who held your heart in his hands, was now a stranger standing before you.

"I... I didn't mean to hurt you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. His eyes were brimming with regret, the weight of his actions visibly weighing on him.

"But you did, Hongjoong," you replied, your voice steady despite the tears that threatened to spill. "You hurt me... and the worst part is, you chose to. You chose them over me... again."

The silence that followed was deafening, the tension palpable. Hongjoong looked as if he wanted to say something, to defend himself or perhaps apologize, but no words came out. It was as if he finally realized the gravity of his actions, the damage that he had caused.

You turned your back on him, the sight of him too painful to bear. The man you loved was no more, replaced by a stranger who wore his face and held his memories. As you walked away, you could feel his gaze on you, heavy with regret and longing. But it was too late. The damage had been done, and there was no turning back.

You walked into your apartment, closing the door behind you. The finality of the sound echoing in the silent hallway. As you leaned against the door, your knees gave out, sending you sliding down to the floor. Sobs racked your body, the tears flowing freely now. Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. You froze, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Y/N, please," Hongjoong's voice filtered through the door, his tone desperate. "I love you, please let me in." But you couldn't bring yourself to open the door, to face him again. His words, once so comforting, now felt like a cruel mockery of what you once shared. You wrapped your arms around yourself as if to ward off the chill that had seeped into your bones.

"I can't, Hongjoong," you whispered, your voice barely audible. The silence that ensued was deafening, only broken by the occasional sob that escaped your lips. You could hear Hongjoong's muffled pleas on the other side of the door,

"Baby, I need you to understand," he began, his voice steady despite the emotions that threatened to overwhelm him. "I love you. In this world, it's always been you. Without you, I feel so alone. I need you to really hear me when I say that I love you." he murmured, his voice filled with so much pain that it made your heart ache.

Your cry spasmed through your body, causing you to shiver uncontrollably. Between gasps for air, you managed to sob out, "I love you too." Hongjoong’s voice fell silent on the other side of the door, and you clung to the silence, hoping, praying that he had left. But then you heard it, a low, heartbreaking sob from the other side.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Hongjoong's voice was barely more than a whisper, choked with emotion. "I'm sorry for everything." You clung to the cold, hard floor, your body wracked with sobs. The apartment felt emptier than ever, the silence echoing through the space, a stark reminder of your loneliness.

"Please let me in," he tried begging again, his voice echoing through the silence. But you couldn't. You were too hurt, too betrayed. You curled up tighter on the cold floor, your heart aching as his pleas continued to echo through the small apartment.

"I...I need to go," Hongjoong finally whispered, his voice heavy with sorrow. You heard his footsteps recede and the faint sound of the hallway door closing. You were finally alone, the silence in the apartment a stark reminder of the void he had left behind. In the silence of your apartment, you allowed yourself to break down completely. Your sobs echoed through the empty space, your heartache manifesting in the tears that streamed down your face. You felt the loss of him deeply like a part of you had been ripped away.

six

You had lost track of how much time had passed since you last saw Hongjoong. The days blurred into weeks, and the weeks blurred into months. Morning turned into night, and night turned back into morning, but the ache in your heart remained constant. Hongjoong’s absence was like a gaping wound that refused to heal. You found yourself going through the motions of life, putting on a brave face during the day while falling apart in the solitude of the night. Every little thing reminded you of him - a certain song on the radio, the scent of his favorite cologne lingering in the air, the way the morning sunlight streamed through the window just the way he liked it. You knew it was wrong, that you needed to move on, but it was easier said than done. The memories of him were etched deep within your heart, a part of you that you couldn’t just erase. You missed his laughter, his touch, the way he used to look at you. You missed him, and it hurt more than you ever thought possible. Try as you might, you were coping really badly without him. His absence had left a void in your life that you didn't know how to fill. You felt lost, adrift in a sea of loneliness. You yearned for his presence, for the comfort and familiarity that he brought into your life. Despite the heartache and the pain, you were holding on. Holding on to the hope that, maybe, with time, the pain would lessen. Holding on to the memories that brought you joy in your darkest moments. Holding on to the love that, despite everything, still lingered within your heart.

You started to go clubbing, drinking more alcohol than you should, each shot you took was a desperate attempt to erase him from your mind, to numb the pain that was threatening to consume you. You tried to lose yourself in the rhythm, in the mindless chatter and laughter around you, but all you could think about was Hongjoong. Alcohol, which was supposed to help you forget, ironically made him even more present. His name was etched on every bottle, his memory swirled in every glass, his phantom touch felt in every drunken stupor. Each night was a replay of all the moments you shared, every word exchanged, every secret whispered, every promise made.

The club was packed, the music pounding in time with your heartbeat. The smell of alcohol and sweat filled the air, mingling with the intoxicating scent of perfume. Lost in the crowd, you tried to drown out the loneliness that gnawed at your insides. Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you. Turning, you found yourself face to face with a stranger. He was handsome, with a warm smile and dark, inviting eyes. He offered to buy you a drink, his voice barely audible over the loud music. You nodded, accepting the drink he handed you. The alcohol burned your throat, but it was a welcome distraction from the emptiness you felt. As the night progressed, the stranger became more comfortable. He leaned in closer, his hand brushing against yours. His touch sent a jolt through your body, a feeling of excitement... and something else. Something that felt like a betrayal. The stranger leaned in for a kiss, his lips barely inches from yours. You wanted to respond, to surrender to the desire that was churning within you. But as his lips meet yours, a flash of Hongjoong's face appears in your mind. It was as if a bucket of cold water had been dumped on you. Suddenly, the stranger's touch felt wrong, his presence a stark reminder of what you were missing. With a gasp, you pulled away, pushing the stranger off you. You stumbled back, your heart pounding in your chest. You turned and ran, pushing through the crowd, desperate to escape. The stranger called after you, but his voice was drowned out by the thumping music. Once outside, you leaned against the wall, gasping for breath. Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the truth. Despite the desire to move on, to forget Hongjoong, your body seemed to have a mind of its own. You still craved his touch, his presence. It felt like your body was still his, refusing to let go, refusing to be with anyone else. It was a painful realization, a glaring reminder of the void that Hongjoong had left in your life. Staggering back to your apartment, you felt more alone than ever.

After what felt like forever, you reached your apartment complex. Stumbling through the doorway, you barely had the strength to close the door behind you. Your thoughts were a blur, the world spinning around you as the effects of the alcohol finally started to take a toll. You leaned against the wall for support, the cold surface offering a stark contrast to the warmth that was spreading through your body. A bitter laugh escaped your lips as you slid down the wall, your body finally giving in to the exhaustion. You sat there, alone in the darkness, the silence of your apartment echoing the emptiness you felt inside. You pulled out your phone, your fingers hovering over Hongjoong's name. Without any hesitation, feeling like you had already waited too long, you pressed the call button. The phone rang, but there was no answer. A pang of disappointment hit you, though it was an outcome you weren't entirely surprised by. You sighed, waiting for the beep before leaving a voicemail.

"Hongjoong, it's me," you began, your voice slightly shaky. "I was out clubbing, and there was this guy… We kissed and… and he wanted to take me home. But I couldn't... I couldn't because it felt like I would be cheating on you. And that just... it made me feel sick." There was a pause as you braced yourself, gathering your thoughts. "The worst thing is," you continued, your voice slightly choked, "that I would still welcome you with open arms. I miss our life together, Hongjoong. I miss you." There was another pause, a heavy silence filling the line. "I'm so sorry," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry for making you feel bad about choosing your career. I know how much you wanted what you have now. And I... I shouldn't have held you back." You took a deep breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you grappled with the words you knew you had to say. "And Hongjoong," you added, your voice filled with a quiet intensity, "I will never not love you." With that, you ended the call, the silence that followed echoing with the weight of your words.

In a haze, you managed to make your way to your bed, your body sinking into the familiar comfort of the mattress. The silence in the room felt overwhelming, and your mind filled with thoughts of Hongjoong. You missed him terribly, the uncertainty of his whereabouts gnawing at you. Pulling out your phone, you started to text him, your fingers clumsily typing out the words.

"Hongjoong... I miss you. I don't know where you are... and it's driving me crazy," you typed, the words blurring on the screen as tears welled up in your eyes. You hit send, the message disappears into the ether. Tears trickled down your cheeks, the emptiness of the room amplifying the loneliness you felt. You cried a deep, aching sob that echoed in the silence of the room, your body shaking with the intensity of your feelings. The room was dark, the only light coming from the screen of your phone, you picked it up and started typing another message.

"Hongjoong, I miss you."

"I need you, Hongjoong."

As you sent the message, a wave of regret washed over you. You knew you shouldn't have sent it, but the alcohol in your system and the loneliness in your heart had made you reckless.

"I still love you."

"I love you so much it hurts."

"I wish I wasn’t hurting this bad."

You dropped your phone on the bed, the screen illuminating the darkness as your messages were sent into the void, unanswered.

"I wish things were different."

The truth of your words hit you like a sledgehammer, and you broke down again, sobs shaking your body as you curled up on your bed. You cried until you fell asleep, your dreams filled with memories of Hongjoong.

seven

The crowd roared with applause as Hongjoong left the stage, his heart pounding in his chest. The energy from the audience was infectious, their cheers and screams echoing in his ears long after the music had stopped. The final show of the tour had been a resounding success, each seat filled, each ticket sold. As he walked off the stage, the reality of their success began to sink in. The bright lights, the screaming fans, the sold-out venues - it was more than he had ever dreamed of. Despite the fatigue that was beginning to set in, he couldn't help but bask in the afterglow of their performance. The excitement, the adrenaline, the sheer joy of performing - it was a feeling like no other. After all was said and done, he found himself walking through the corridors, personally thanking each member of the crew. Their faces lit up at his words of gratitude, their hard work acknowledged by their leader. The atmosphere was filled with camaraderie and mutual respect, a testament to the bond they shared. Once he had made his rounds, he finally reached his sanctuary - his dressing room. The room was dimly lit, the quiet hum of the air conditioning the only sound breaking the silence. Rows of neatly hung suits, shirts, and accessories greeted him, a stark contrast to the chaos that had ensued earlier. Exhaustion washed over him like a tidal wave, the adrenaline that had been fueling him all day finally starting to wane. His body felt heavy, his mind cloudy from the day's events. He moved towards the plush leather couch sitting in the corner of the room, his legs giving way as he sank into the soft cushions. The quietness of the room enveloped him, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. He let out a sigh of relief, his body sinking further into the couch as he allowed the exhaustion to take over. The day had been long and arduous, but he had made it through, and for that, he was grateful. Hongjoong reached out and picked up his phone from the bedside table. The bright screen lit up, and his heart skipped a beat as he saw your name at the top of his notifications. Hongjoong's heart pounded in his chest as he played the voice message. Your voice, which he hadn’t heard in so long, laced with alcohol and desperation, echoed in his brain. His breath hitched at your confession, the image of another man touching you burning in his mind. It was a torment he hadn't prepared for, a reality he refused to accept. His grip on his phone tightened, his knuckles turning white as your words washed over him. Each syllable was like a dagger to his heart, the pain raw and unbearable. As the full weight of your words sunk in, he was left reeling, the reality of your pain and longing hitting him like a punch to the gut. He had never felt more helpless, more desperate. After hearing the voice message, he quickly clicked on the text notifications. His fingers trembled slightly as he read the messages:

my love: "Hongjoong... I misssss youuuu. Don't knoowww whereeee u r... it's drivin' me craaaazy."

my love: "Honjoong, I missss youuuu.”

my love: "I neeedd yoooo, Hongjoongg.”

my love: "I stiilll lovvee yooouu.”

my love: "I wishhh thinggs werre differrrent.”

my love: "I luvv yu sooo muchh it hurttss."

my love: "I wishh I wasn't hurtin' thiss badd."

In a heartbeat, Hongjoong got up from the sofa, the quick motion caused his head to spin. Shaking off the disorientation, he lunged for his bag, hastily gathering his belongings in a flurry of swift movements. All his thoughts were consumed by one singular goal - he needed to see you. Not bothering with changing out of his stage attire into something more casual, he embraced the urgency of the moment, allowing it to fuel his actions. He shrugged on his jacket, barely noticing the lingering sweat on his skin or the way his stage clothes clung to his body. Hongjoong’s heart pounded in his chest, as he sprinted out of the dressing room. His eyes darted around the bustling backstage area, scanning the familiar faces and chaotic scenery in search of one person. His manager. Every second was critical, each fleeting moment amplifying the urgency of his need to see you. The world around him seemed to blur into a whirlwind of colours and sounds as he navigated through the backstage chaos, his mind solely focused on his mission.

"Hongjoong, are you alright?" Minah, the stylist, asked as she approached him cautiously. She had been observing him from a distance, noting the far-off look in his eyes. It was unlike him to be this distracted, especially when they were on a tight schedule. Hongjoong didn't even notice her until she was right next to him, her voice cutting through the fog of his thoughts. He blinked, turning to look at her with a slightly startled expression.

"Where is my manager?" he asked, his voice tense. It wasn't like him to be so curt, and Minah knew instantly that something was off. She glanced warily at him, biting her lower lip anxiously.

"He stepped out for a moment, he should be back soon," she replied, trying to keep her voice steady. She had been working with Hongjoong for a while now and she had never seen him this agitated before. Hongjoong nodded, his gaze wandering off again as he started scanning the room left and right. He looked like a man on edge, his eyes darting around the room as if searching for an escape route. His hands were clenched tightly in his lap, his knuckles turning white from the pressure. Minah watched him with growing concern, her mind racing as she tried to think of a way to help. She had seen him tired, stressed, even overwhelmed at times, but she had never seen him like this. He looked like he was at his breaking point, like he was about to shatter into a million pieces. She knew better than to press him for answers, knowing that he would open up when he was ready. But as the minutes ticked by and his anxiety seemed to mount, she couldn't help but worry. Something was clearly wrong, and she felt helpless as she watched him struggle.

"Fuck it," he cursed under his breath, his thoughts racing as he rushed towards the back doors that led to the underground parking lot. Hongjoong made his way through, heading straight for the exit. At that moment, the possible consequences of his actions didn't matter to him. Just as he was about to pry open the alarmed doors, causing the alarm to ring out, he heard someone calling his name.

"Hongjoong, what do you think you're doing?" It was his manager, jogging over to him.

"I'm going back home," Hongjoong declared, his voice ringing with a determination that startled his manager. The manager, taken aback by the sudden change in his typically professional demeanor, quickly tried to regain control of the situation. He grabbed Hongjoong by the shoulder, attempting to steer him back towards the conference room where a team of publicists and stylists awaited their return.

"You aren't going anywhere, Hongjoong," his manager sternly replied, his grip tightening on Hongjoong's shoulder. "We're flying back in two days after the interviews. You know the schedule." Typically, Hongjoong was a stickler for professionalism. He understood the importance of maintaining a certain image, of fulfilling his responsibilities and keeping to the schedule. But this was not a typical situation. His mind was filled with thoughts of you, your voice in that message echoing in his ears. The sound of your soft sobs, the barely concealed panic in your voice - they haunted him. He needed to be with you, to hold you, to reassure you that everything was going to be okay.

With a firm shake of his shoulder, he freed himself from his manager's grasp, his movements abrupt and filled with a newfound, desperate energy.

"Seonghwa will take the leader role when I'm gone," he declared, his voice louder than it had been all night. "You will figure something out," he continued, his voice echoing with a resolve that hadn't been there before. Hongjoong gaze was intense, almost desperate, as he looked at his manager, it was a look they had never seen before, a look that spoke of desperation and determination that was both terrifying and heartbreaking. "Give me the keys to the car," Hongjoong demanded, his voice icily calm in contrast to the furious glint in his eyes. But his manager defied him, refusing to hand over the keys. Hongjoong was on a rampage, his usual composed demeanor replaced with a fiery rage that was starting to consume him. His vision blurred, the edges tinged with red as his frustration escalated."I NEED to go!" Hongjoong shouted, his voice filled with an urgency that cut through the tense silence.

"You're not thinking straight, Hongjoong," his manager retorted, his tone laced with frustration and concern. "You can't just abandon everything and run off. Think about the consequences!"

"I don't care about the consequences!" Hongjoong snapped, his patience wearing thin. "This is more important!"

"Oh, is it?" his manager sneered, a manipulative glint in his eyes. "Remember, Hongjoong, I can ruin you. I can leak your little secret to the press. Imagine the scandal, the headlines... ''ATEEZ's leader, Kim Hongjoong, abandons tour to chase after ex-girlfriend.'' How do you think the fans will react?" Hongjoong knew it was a threat, a blatant attempt to control him, but the reality of the situation was that his manager held the power to destroy his career.

Hongjoong's heart pounded in his chest, his blood running cold at his manager's words. He gritted his teeth as he cut off his manager's words.

"How do you know it's about her?" he demanded, his voice harsh. A cold dread washed over him as he considered the implications. How was it even possible for his manager to know you had contacted him? After all these months of radio silence, how could he possibly know? His manager shrugged, an unreadable expression on his face.

"I have my ways," he said cryptically. "Besides, it's not like I don't know what she still means to you." The words stung, a harsh reminder of the heartache Hongjoong had been trying to bury. "Don't tell me I didn't warn you," his manager said smugly, dangling the car keys in front of him. With a sigh, Hongjoong snatched the keys from his hand, his determination unwavering. He would face the consequences of his actions, whatever they may be, as long as it meant he could be there for you.

For the first time in his life, Hongjoong didn't care about professionalism or the implications of his actions. He didn't care about the shocked expressions of his manager and the other staff members. He didn't care about the potential backlash or the consequences he might face. This time, all he cared about was you.

[ode2rin]

fragile hearts and frantic minds

pairing. itoshi rin x gn!reader

genre. angst with no comfort | argument

content/warnings. 700+ wc | no dialogue | heavy in narration | no proofreading | inspired from "the other side of the door" by taylor swift

note. this is my first ever post, i just fixed its theme but it wasn't like this before xD

itoshi rin has convinced himself multiple times in the span of 42 minutes that you were going to leave him. as expected, as you should, he thinks.

the clock on the wall ticks away, each second like a hammer pounding against rin's chest. he sits slumped on the couch, his eyes unfocused and his thoughts frantic. the air is thick with tension, as if the weight of the fight between you two still lingers in the room.

rin's mind was stuck in a never-ending loop, replaying the argument over and over again. it had started innocently enough, with a joke from one of his teammates that had made you laugh. but for rin, that laughter had felt like a stab in the heart. it was irrational, he knew, but he couldn't help the way he felt. he hated the way his mind always jumped to the worst-case scenario, the way he felt like he was constantly being tested, waiting for the moment when you would realize that he wasn't enough for you. that another man can give you everything he can, if not more. and when he snapped at you, it was like all of that fear and anger had boiled over, a volcano of emotions that he couldn't control. 

there were moments in your relationship with rin when jealousy consumed him to the point where he felt like a green-haired mockery of himself. he hated the way his own insecurities made him feel. and yet, despite his occasional outbursts, you had never left the apartment. usually, you'd be cuddling on the same couch where he's sitting right now. , and you would run your fingers through rin's tousled green hair, whispering sweet nothings in his ear. assuring him until the warmth of your touch will replace the cold and gnawing feeling of his fear of being replaced.

but as rin sat there alone, his thoughts spiraling out of control, he couldn't help but wonder if this time was different. maybe this was finally the straw that broke your patience, the last drop in a cup that had been filled to the brim with Rin's issues and insecurities. maybe you’ve become tired of riding this never-ending rollercoaster with him, where the highs of your love are always followed by the lows of his fears. as he sat there in the suffocating silence, he was convinced that this was really the end.

little did he know, your own thoughts were just as frantic as his.

you never intend to leave your shared home. but when rin’s piercing words were pointed gravely at your deepest hurt, it felt like the only option.

from the beginning of your relationship, you knew that itoshi rin was a man guarded with painfully unyielding walls. the first time you met rin, you were drawn to his brooding aura, like a moth to a flame. he exuded an air of aloofness, his eyes guarded and distant. rin had been hurt before, you could tell. the scars of his past were etched onto his face, in the creases around his eyes that you stare dazedly into, and in the set of his jaw that you caress while he sleeps. 

rin's heart was a minefield, each step fraught with the danger of triggering his issues. one wrong move, one careless word, and he would retreat into himself, shutting you out. his walls would go up, higher and thicker than before, and it would take all your patience and love to bring them down again.

it never fazed you, though. everything about itoshi rin was never frightening to you, because you knew behind the cold and impersonal glow of those teal eyes was a man that is trying to come undone to you. you saw through his tough exterior, understanding the vulnerability hidden beneath those icy teal eyes. 

and so, you chipped away at the barriers he had erected around his heart, piece by painful piece. you like to think that you made your way to the top of his walls where you could finally see him. you like to think that somehow maybe you manage to let yourself in. 

but now, as you stand in front of your shared apartment’s door, your thoughts clouded with doubt, you couldn’t help but think if this time you had enough. maybe you were just another casualty of rin's fears and insecurities, unable to bear the burden of his emotional rollercoaster. maybe you were fooling yourself to think that you could ever truly understand the complexities of his heart. as you stand there in the suffocating silence, you couldn't help but wonder if this was really the end.

part 2 here!

[allicat0]

hiii

anyways LOVE ur writing !!

i had an angst trope in mind recently abt hunter x fem!reader

basically as he's quite bad at expressing his emotions he tends to scold her and be really mean but not on purpose, thinking she sees it as him being protective, which she doesnt

and then they take a 2 person job from cid where she almost dies during it and he's mad and all and they fight and she says that maybe she should've died earlier, and just before finishing the job she ALMOST actually dies but there's a happy ending

is that's alr🫶

Left In The Dark

ans: oh my goodness, YES! I love this idea so freaking much, I also love love love writing angst and was so happy(but also sad)writing this. Hope you enjoy! I tried my best😭

Summary: Lately things within the Batch had been stressful and Hunter felt the pressure caving in on him. He knew he wasn’t alone, and that his brothers took an equal leadership role as he did. Though his continuous need to protect everyone but himself, still left this heavy weight on his shoulders that he could never seem to shake.

Content: afab, Angst, Self-doubt, Hunter x FemReader, arguing, blame game, harsh language.

A/N: I don't like Hunter when he's sad, it makes me sad. Again sorry for any punctuation, grammar or structural mistakes!!

Lately things within the Batch had been stressful and Hunter felt the pressure caving in on him. He knew he wasn’t alone, knew that his brothers took an equal leadership role as he did. Though his continuous need to protect everyone but himself, left this heavy weight on his shoulders that he could never seem to shake. 

Hunter was sitting alone in the dimly lit room, his thoughts swirling in a chaotic storm of confusion and sadness. He stares blankly at the wall, lost in the echoes of past conversations that ended in hurtful words and shattered trust. The weight of his own emotions feels like an invisible chain, binding him to a cycle he can't seem to break. "What am I doing," he whispers to himself, the words heavy with self-doubt and longing for understanding. He doesn't know why he reacts the way he does, why his attempts at protection often turn into painful misunderstandings. Like a wounded animal, he retreats further into himself, searching for answers that seem to elude him at every turn, a haunting reminder of his struggle to navigate the complexities of his own heart. “She was just trying to help” He mumbled to himself once more. 

You on the other hand were at the front of the Marauder, while Tech and Echo were both doing repairs on the ship. The last mission didn’t go as smoothly as you had hoped, leaving the whole Batch divided. The atmosphere in the batch was heavy with tension, the air thick with unspoken frustration and disappointment. The mission had been carefully planned, every detail scrutinised and rehearsed, yet despite their best efforts, it had unravelled into chaos. Hunter could feel the weight of failure pressing down on him, his shoulders sagging under the burden of expectations. You did your best to help him, to cheer him up, remind him that what happened today wasn’t his fault but, he bursted out and left to be alone. 

Between Hunter and the rest of the crew, there was a volatile mix of frustration, anger, and a lingering sense of betrayal towards fate itself. The silence was deafening, each member grappling with their own thoughts and emotions, unsure of how to bridge the growing divide. It was a moment frozen in time, marked by the bitter taste of defeat and the uncertain path that lay ahead.

You and Hunter had found yourselves locked in a cycle of bickering over seemingly trivial matters, yet the tension between you has been palpable. It's as if every conversation, every interaction, has become a potential minefield where the smallest spark ignites a fiery exchange. Simple things, like navigation or organising the next mission, making your every day with him a battlefield. What starts as a minor disagreement quickly escalates into heated exchanges, with words exchanged like arrows in a skirmish. The weight of these constant conflicts hangs heavy in the air, casting a shadow over what used to be easy camaraderie. Don’t get it confused, the two of you loved each other so deeply and had made it clear you would do anything for eachother, though Hunter had a hard time expressing it leading to your bickering arguments, pulling yourselves away from one another. 

It’s always been evident that Hunter has struggled with expressing emotion, ever since he was a young clone. His demeanour created a significant and unhealthy strain on him and the relationships of the people he holds closest to him. He knew he would sometimes hurt the ones he loves, but he never knew why he did it. There's an ongoing internal conflict within Hunter. On one hand, he genuinely cares about the well-being of the people around him and wants to protect them. However, this desire to protect sometimes manifests in ways that come across as harsh or critical. Despite his intentions, he is often unaware of the unintended impact of his words and actions. He may say things with the intention of offering guidance or preventing harm, but these words can be received as hurtful or dismissive by others. 

You heard footsteps travelling through the Marauder, stopping behind you. “Cid wants to see you in the parlour” It was Echo. You looked behind you and gave him a soft side smile “Thanks for letting me know” You sat up and out of the chair, making your way past Echo, he quickly placed his hand on your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. “You know he doesn’t mean it” he said to you softly referring to Hunter’s last outburst. “I know” You said softly, moving away from his grip and meeting Cid inside the Parlour. 

When you walk in your met with Cid speaking to Hunter, his arms were crossed over his chest, he didn’t look too happy with whatever Cid was telling him. “We just got back” You heard Hunter say as you were in range of their conversation. “And you’re going right back out- Ah there she is” Cid said as you caught her attention, Hunter looked over to look at who Cid was referring to. The anger left his eyes as he looked at you, filling with shame. “I need the two of you to go out on a quick and easy job for me” Cid said crossing her arms Hunter was about to protest but she quickly cut him off. “I don’t wanna hear your complaints, remember who you’re working for.” 

“ I have a guy waiting for his Cargo I was meant to deliver some time ago. . anddd I may have forgot, so I need you two to go deliver it to him” Cid explained the plan to the two of you “We need a ship, the marauder isn’t in any condition to fly.” You said finally speaking up. “I’ll give you a ship, just don’t screw this up alright, or they’ll have all our heads.” Cid warned. You and Hunter loaded up the ship in silence, neither one of you finding the courage to speak up to one another, now wasn’t the time to speak on behalf of each other's feelings, the two of you had a job to do. 

“Look I” Hunter started to speak but you quickly cut him off “there is no need to apologise right now, we’re on a job. . we can talk after.” You said sternly, clearly upset of the events that took place a few hours earlier. Hunter's eyes fell to his hands resting in his lap, letting out a sigh as you continued to fly the ship. The whole ride there, there were little to no words shared, just silence. 

The hum of the engines was steady as you piloted the ship through the vastness of space. The mission had been proceeding smoothly so far, each step executed with precision and expertise. He sat beside you, monitoring the navigation systems and keeping an eye on the mission objectives.

As the ship cruised through the starry expanse, a sudden blip on the radar caught your attention. Before you could react, Hunter's voice cut through the calm atmosphere. "We've got incoming," he announced, his tone shifting instantly from relaxed to alert.

The ship shuddered as Tie Fighters swooped in, their lasers blazing through space. Your reflexes kicked in, manoeuvring the ship expertly to evade the onslaught of enemy fire. Hunter frantically worked the defensive systems, trying to buy precious seconds as he returned fire.

The intense battle raged on, the ship jolting with each hit it took. Despite the chaos, you remained as focused as you could, your piloting skills keeping the ship one step ahead of destruction. However, luck was not on your side as a critical hit struck the ship's engines, sending it spiralling out of control.

The alarms started to blare, lights flickered, and the once smooth mission turned into a desperate struggle for survival. “Hold on, we’re going down” You said you were doing your best to control the plane so the landing wasn’t too harsh but there was no preventing the outcome. With a final impact, the ship crash-landed on a nearby planet, Jakku, the ground shaking violently upon impact.

As the dust settled and the ship's systems powered down, you and Hunter coughed from the smoke, making your way out of the ship. The ship was badly damaged, you and him weren't gonna hear the end of it from Cid either. Luckily the two of you weren’t badly banged up, “why did they even attack us anyway-” Hunter groaned while leaving the ship. “There was no warning, no coms to surrender, or to even identify who we were.” He continued to ask open ended questions. 

As the initial shock of the crash landing wore off, Hunter's frustration began to simmer beneath the surface. He surveyed the wreckage of the ship, his expression tight with concern and annoyance. "Damn it," he muttered, running a hand through his dishevelled hair.

You approached him cautiously, knowing that Hunter's emotions were running high. "We'll figure this out," you said, trying to reassure him. Hunter turned to you, his eyes flashing with a mixture of anger and worry. "This shouldn't have happened. I told you to keep an eye on the sensors!  We could have avoided those Tie Fighters if we had seen them coming sooner," he accused, his voice edged with frustration.

You felt a pang of guilt at his words, knowing that he was right. You had been focused on monitoring other systems and had missed the early warning signs of the impending attack. "You can’t blame this all on me! They came out of nowhere Hunter!," you protested against him, but felt the weight of his disappointment. Hunter's expression softened slightly, pinching the bridge of his nose "Cid had to pick you to come with me, of all people," he huffed out. “Excuse me?” you said as your eyebrows furrowed together. “Last time I checked, I was the one holding up our position for most of that, without my piloting abilities we could have had a much worse fate" 

“Well look where you got us!” Hunter raised his voice back at you pointing towards the ship.

“The ship is destroyed, we have no way of transportation, and” Hunter inhaled sharply, taking a deep breath. “Look I” 

You cut him off “No, I perfectly understand what you mean” You snapped back at him. “Maybe you’re right, maybe it would have been better if Cid sent someone else with you, if I didn’t come at all, since everything I do lately seems to be pissing you off!” You said sternly. “But I can tell you now, that there was no way to avoid that!” You pointed towards the destroyed ship.

“I got us to Jakku, now let's finish this cargo drop off so we can find a way to get back home” You walked away from Hunter grabbing the Cargo box from what remains of the ship, dragging it out. It was heavy and gonna be a pain in the ass to haul through the sand in the blistering heat. Hunter came beside you lifting the other end of the cargo and the two of you were off. 

The relentless sun beat down on Jakku's barren landscape, turning the air into a sweltering oven. You trudged through the soft sand, each step sinking deeper into the heat-absorbing grains. Sweat trickled down your forehead, stinging your eyes as you hauled the heavy cargo box behind you.

The box, filled with god knows what but it seemed to grow heavier with every step. Hunter walked beside you, his face etched with frustration and exhaustion mirroring your own. The two of you had been travelling for what felt like endless hours, the heat and monotony of the journey wearing down your patience. "What's taking so long?" Hunter's gruff voice cut through the hot air, his tone tinged with annoyance. "We should have been there by now."

You gritted your teeth, the heat amplifying the tension between you. "It's not like I'm enjoying dragging this thing through a desert," you retorted, your own irritation bubbling to the surface. Hunter scoffed, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Could've fooled me. At this rate, we'll be lucky if we make it before nightfall."

The bickering continued as you pushed forward, the weight of the cargo box a constant reminder of the challenges you faced. As the sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting long shadows across the sand, continuing your travel through the sand. The two of you finally reached your destination, coming to a small area filled with people. The relief of unburdening yourself from the cargo box was near, the coolness of the evening a welcome reprieve from the blistering heat of the day.

As the last rays of sunlight faded over Jakku's horizon, you and Hunter finally met the Client you were asked to deliver the cargo to. He stood tall and imposing, his features hardened by a life lived on the edge of the law. You approached him cautiously, the weight of the cargo box now off your shoulders but the weight of the situation heavy on your mind. "We've got your delivery," you announced, gesturing towards the cargo box at your feet.

The Client’s eyes narrowed as he inspected the box, his expression unreadable. "Took you long enough," he grumbled, a hint of impatience in his voice. "We hit some unexpected obstacles," Hunter explained, stepping forward to diffuse the tension. "But the goods are here, just like we promised."

The Client’s gaze shifted from Hunter to you, his scrutiny making you uneasy. "And is it all here?" he demanded, his tone sceptical. You exchanged a quick glance with Hunter before nodding. "It's all there," you confirmed, hoping that the client wouldn't notice the slight hesitation in your voice.

He seemed satisfied for a moment, but then his eyes narrowed again. "This is only half of what I asked for," he accused, his voice rising in anger.

You and Hunter exchanged a worried look, realising that this was not going to end well. "We were told this was the entire shipment," you tried to explain, your words falling on deaf ears. A tense standoff had begun, the air crackling with tension. Finally, the client seemed to relent, though his expression remained distrustful. "Well it’s not what I asked for," the client said, frustrated, looking over at you. He pulled out his gun from the holster pointing it at the both of you. 

“Easy, now” Hunter said, holding his hands up in defence. “There's no need to -” The client cuts him off “Oh there is every need, I want what I was promised” He yelled his blaster still pointed towards you. You felt as you were quickly pulled into the client's arms pressing your back against him, blaster to your head, Hunter pulling him out in defence against the client. 

The cold metal of the gun pressed against my temple sent a shiver down my spine, as I stood there, held hostage by a desperate individual. Hunter, always quick on his feet, assessed the situation with a calm demeanour, his eyes flicking between me and the client.

"Let her go," Hunter said evenly, his voice carrying a hint of authority that demanded attention.

The client's grip tightened on the gun, his eyes wild with fear and desperation. "Ahh I see, a little soft spot you have for her I see. .be a shame if anything. . happened. To her."

Hunter took a step forward, his hands raised in a non-threatening gesture. "Don’t you touc-” He took a deep breath “look We can work this out. There's no need for anyone to get hurt."

But the man's resolve was unyielding. He kept the gun trained on your temple, his finger twitching on the trigger. Your heart was pounding out of your chest, never in a moment as serious as this one. Your hand slowly moved to the button on your buckle, sending an alerting beep to the marauder grabbing the attention of Echo, allowing them to know they were in trouble. 

“They’re alerting us from Jakku, the plan must not have gone as expected.” Echo said relaying the message to Tech “not surprised.” Tech countered.  

“Is the Marauder ready to fly?” Omega asked Echo and Tech a worried look spread across her face. “Well see” Echo said as Tech fired up the engines getting ready to take off, they were on their way. 

The three of you were in a standoff, Hunter was unsure what to do in this situation he was crossed, your eyes were laced in fear and there was nothing Hunter could do. You had to think fast and thank you did, your eyes locking with Hunter's mouth the words “shoot” to him. Your foot stomped down onto the Client’s, he yelled out in pain letting you go, moving out of his grip Hunter shot him in the shoulder, yelling out in pain. It was just enough time to allow you to get to his side. “Come on we need to go” Hunter said sternly, as you were about to leave you suddenly felt a piercing pain threw your upper torso right by your ribcage falling to your knees, yelling out in pain. You had been shot. “Ah shit” you cried out doing your best to stand on your feet. Hunter turned to the Client and blasted him right through the chest.

Hunter wrapped your arm around his shoulder giving you support, raising you up, and getting the two of you out of there.”we got to go before things get worse.” Your breathing was heavy, as you did your best to keep yourself collected, but you could feel yourself losing your strength by the second.

Groans would escape your lips, as you would lose the strength in your legs. “Come on, we're so close.” Hunter did his best to keep you focused and awake, but your eyes began to blur. 

You struck in and out of consciousness “No no, come on stay awake” You heard Hunter say as your body began to go limp. Who knows how long you were out, coming in and out of consciousness, your eyes would open every now and then, getting small glimpses of what was unfolding around you. You could see the bright light of the ship come down, it had to have been the Batch, feeling as the sand hit your face. Hearing the worried conversations ringing throughout your mind. 

Your eyes begin to slowly open, taking a second to adjust to the light beaming down on you. Feeling the pain of your Wounds coursing throughout your body, causing a groan to escape your lips. Unsure of where you were, you tried sitting up, but falling back immediately. “Mm fuck” you cried softly. 

Your groans caught the attention of Hunter who was sitting in the chair, by the corner of the room. “She's awake” he called out to the others coming to your side. His hand pushed your hair back and behind your ear, getting a clear view of your face. “Hello handsome” you said with a cheeky grin going to laugh, but coughing in the process hurting your side. “Easy, easy, he got you pretty bad.”

Hunter leaned down and kissed your forehead. “I thought I lost you. . there was a moment I thought you weren’t coming back. . scared us all” he explained to you, the pain coming through his voice. “I’m fine” You said to him with a weak smile, grabbing onto his hand. There was a look in his eyes, full of shame and regret. He looked away, not facing you. . taking a deep breath. “Look I.” Hunter began but you cut him off “I know” You said to him softly, his eyes softened. “I’m sorry.” his head fell. “I’ve been so, unfair to you.” He barely let out, he felt horrible for his recent outbursts and detached emotions, but you didn’t blame him. You never did. “It’s not something you have to apologise for Hunter, I get it. .” You tried to make him feel better, but he shook his head disagreeing with your words.

“No, it’s not okay,” Hunter said sternly. “You don’t deserve that. . what if, what if I couldn’t get you back. . all I’ve been is unfair and cruel. . I don’t mean to be. I don’t know why I do it. . I hate it.” He admits to you his voice breaking with every word. “I hate that I am, that I can’t express myself properly, I just end up hurting you further. . I fight and” he went to continued but you stopped him “Hunter. .” You looked at him with a soft gaze, feeling his pain. You knew he was trying, you knew he was struggling and it broke your heart. “I forgive you.” You gave him a faint smile reaching your hand up and cupping your cheek. “But never be afraid to tell me what's going on inside that crazy head of yours, alright?”He nodded his head “yeah. .okay”

“I love you so much. .and I wanna be able to help you. But I want you to understand that I never will and never have blamed you for anything, everyone processes their emotions differently and that's fine. . just don’t leave me in the dark. Promise me from here on out you’ll try.” You said pleading with him. “I promise” he said to you softly “I love you.”

“I know.” you smiled. 

@allicat0 . .signing off

[thesiltverses]

There’s so much I could say about the latest episode, as someone watching the clock tick down until the time I’ll be in Faulkner’s position, and I have to say thank you for including the fact that we have to meet someone with dementia in their Dementia World rather than attempt to “snap them out of it”. It’s no hallucination we can help our elders see through, it’s their deteriorating brain’s reality and the only compassion we can offer is to stop distressing them further by contradicting them.

That episode was honestly the most beautifully heartbreaking thing you’ve ever made. Thank you to the writers and to the actors and soundscapers who breathed it to life.

Thank you very much for the kind words, and heartfelt well-wishes to you and your family members.

Yeah, absolutely - it's obviously not an attempt at a grounded take on dementia overall, but I worked for a dementia charity for a good few years and have had some experience of it in my family, and I did want to express the basic real-life problem of family members who witness fluctuating levels of behaviour / sundowning and believe they can get their loved one back by "proving" to them that they're wrong or insisting that X or Y is actually long dead (which only causes further distress and confusion), when instead they'd be a lot better off supporting their loved one through whatever version of reality they're currently inhabiting.

One of the things we hinted towards (but didn't want to take too far with Faulkner) was the fact that carer abuse often rises out of a failure to understand the roots of specific behaviours, which then becomes a failure of empathy as the frustration grows, a belief that the person with dementia is actually being 'difficult' or deliberately unhelpful.

My favourite story I use to talk to people about this is a UK care home resident with advanced dementia who was seen as aggressive and hostile because he'd always start angrily yelling at people whenever they entered his room; as a result he was often ignored or viewed as an anti-social nuisance by staff. Eventually someone bothered to look into his life properly and realised that he'd worked in land-mine clearance his entire life.

He was shouting because he was reliving his moments working in minefields and when he saw people approaching without warning, he was worried they'd be in danger. He wasn't yelling at them because he was aggressive, he was yelling at them because he cared about them.

The staff started asking for his permission before they stepped into the room (and then entered more slowly and cautiously), and the yelling stopped.

[rainbowsky]

Hi rbs, stupid question maybe but do you know why Yibo never stays during events like this one?

(I mean he just walks the red carpet very fast and then we almost don't see him for the night, he doesn't sit with other celebrities)

Hi Anon! ☺️

It's not a stupid question at all.

Of course no one knows for sure, we can only theorize. However, there are a few excellent reasons that immediately pop into my head for why DD doesn't linger and hobnob with others at these events.

He wants to avoid being a disruption

Let's face it, wherever DD goes the cameras and fans follow, and his mere presence can be a huge disruption to any proceeding. DD always tries to stay in the shadows so as not to steal other people's fire. Not just because he's humble and respectful - which he definitely is - but also to avoid anti attacks about him 'taking up too much space'.

A perfect example of this happened last night at the event. Eric Wang - his costar from Hidden Blade - was onstage speaking, and DD's face appeared on the screen briefly and the fans screamed really loudly, interrupting his speech. He was startled and looked around in confusion trying to figure out what had set everyone screaming.

This is the sort of thing both GG and DD no doubt want to avoid. They wouldn't want to be the reason other people's moments in the spotlight get derailed. Eric Wang is a friend and colleague, onstage in his own special moment. DD wouldn't want this.

And this isn't just an issue with the event itself, but also all the discussion and buzz that their appearance generates online.

Yes, of course it's important for them to be talked about a lot and viewed as popular and in demand, but that can often tip over into being seen to take up too much space - too many 'public resources' - which can lead to public criticism and viewer fatigue. It can also heavily contribute to the 'traffic star' 'teen idol' reputation, which I believe they're both trying to shake (for various reasons it's better if they can be viewed as serious actors).

He and his team want to minimize risk

This goes along with my first point - he and his team will want to do everything they can to minimize the risk associated with unscripted moments in the spotlight. Of all the reasons, I think this is actually the number one reason they lay low at events.

Whenever a star is out in front of people in a live public setting, there is tremendous opportunity for them to become the subject of embarrassing, hateful or even career-jeopardizing anti attacks, gossip and hotsearches. Especially at an event where other stars are present. Every move they make, every choice about where to look or how to stand, every facial expression, becomes an opportunity for misinterpretation or incitement of fan wars.

This is likely also why GG and DD are never in the same room when accepting awards at these things. When one is onstage accepting an award, the other is backstage. This ensures that there can be no camera cut to the other one, which would be massively disruptive (as with point 1) and potentially inflame fan wars.

And it's not just onstage moments that are a problem; all time spent in the room can be a minefield. For example, any time one star is seated next to another star every micro-expression, every slight move or action is analyzed and conclusions drawn about how the two feel about each other. This can lead to harmful rumors ranging from dating rumors to rumors they hate each other - all of which can lead to negative gossip and fan wars.

If a star is really friendly with another star and one of them ends up embroiled in scandal, that can lead to the other one being dragged into the same scandal just by association. DD especially is constantly the target of hate attacks. It wouldn't do for him to be seen getting too cozy with the next star on the chopping block. Antis would have a field day making it seem like DD was part of the scandal somehow.

Both GG and DD are at the level where frankly they don't need this kind of exposure anymore. They don't need the risk, and they don't need the 'rewards'. They simply don't need to be seen quite as much as some of the newer up-and-coming stars do. There comes a point where the risk/reward ratio shifts to where it's safer for their careers to not be so constantly in the spotlight.

He is at work

I know these kinds of events can be a lot of fun for fans and feel like a big exciting party, but ultimately for the star, they are at work. It's work. Because of the issues I pointed out above - along with so many others, no doubt - being put in the spotlight like that has to be incredibly high pressure and high stress.

These are tightly managed events, and a lot goes on behind the scenes to ensure that things in front of the camera go smoothly. They have to be at certain locations at certain times (for example, they have to be at the end of the red carpet when it's their turn to walk, they have to be in their seat when their award is announced), and they have to be looking their best and on their best behavior.

They have to look beautiful but not too flashy. They have to look relaxed even if they don't feel relaxed. Their facial expressions and behavior have to be appropriate. They're appearing, after all, in front of millions and millions of people - appearances which are being recorded, photographed and livestreamed from every angle.

Behind the scenes there are people managing their makeup and wardrobe, there are often interviews and photos with media, there are often brand-related bits that need to be captured on film.

It might seem glamorous to get all dressed up and go to a party and get an award, but for the top stars it's a high stakes public appearance where every moment is closely managed and timed up to the minute - even second.

Things are simultaneously fast-paced and incredibly dull. Top stars like GG and DD are usually the last to appear on the red carpet or onstage, so there would be a lot of waiting around in unfamiliar spaces surrounded with work colleagues and management.

With events like this the stars are often starving as well, as they don't have time to eat or don't want to risk ruining their outfit or having digestive issues while in the spotlight.

I'm sure being a surgeon or a detective also seems exciting to those outside the profession, but really it's always work, and these are some of the most high-pressure, high-stress, high-stakes jobs.

A public appearance like this is ultimately a promotional activity, not a party, celebration or social occasion.

He's a very busy guy

This is another huge reason GG and DD often sweep into an event and leave the first instant they're able to. Because they have incredibly packed schedules and many conflicting demands on their time. They simply don't have time to dicker around at an event for any longer than necessary.

They've left events like this to go straight to a filming set to get back in costume and back to work. It's just how things go when you're that high profile and in high demand.

It's too public

GG and DD have private lives, even just in WeChat groups, etc. where they can socialize with friends and colleagues out of the public eye. I doubt they get excited about being under the scrutiny of so many people at events like this.

This is just the norm

I feel the need to add that DD's behavior isn't unusual at all. I think sometimes fans get the impression that GG and DD make themselves unusually scarce, but it's just not true. All the top stars tend to vacate their seats the moment they have a chance.

Just look at this footage from last night when DD was accepting his award. Look at all the empty seats behind him as he's walking to the stage - all along the entire length of the stagefront where the top stars are always placed. Soon DD's seat will also be empty.

Anyway, like I said, no one knows for sure. It's not something he or his team is ever likely to speak about publicly. But just looking at the situation some features do stand out.

[itsuki-minamy]

"K – LETTER STORY"

BLUE: "THE TESTAMENT OF REISI MUNAKATA"

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

Enomoto discovered the corrupt file in a corner of the cloud while working to restore the system that had been trampled by "Jungle". Because the virus spread by "Jungle" remained a minefield on the public and private network, it was necessary for "Scepter 4" to shut down the network, re-clean the directory, and completely destroy any suspicious files there.

After carefully isolating the corrupted file and restoring it, it turned out to be a video file. When he checked the file's path, he discovered that it had been uploaded from Seiun's bedroom.

"Fushimi-san. What is this?"

"Eh?"

Fushimi approached Enomoto's seat.

"I'll try to reproduce it."

Unusually, Munakata was shown wearing casual civilian clothing, rather than a uniform or kimono. He shows him sitting at his desk in his room in Seiun's dormitory from the front. The date and time are just after his dismissal as director of the fourth legislative office.

Munakata, who was sitting at his desk with his fingers intertwined, opened his mouth.

[I leave you this letter on video in case I don't come back.]

Without saying a word, Fushimi placed a hand on the side of Enomoto's PC and leaned in to look at the screen. Enomoto stepped back a little and gave the place to Fushimi.

[A separate notarial document on the inheritance of private property has been preserved. I am a mediocre official, so I don't leave much wealth.]

Munakata had a mocking smile on his face that he couldn't read, whether he was serious or joking.

"Fushimi-san, this is..."

"It's the boss's will."

Enomoto swallowed at what Fushimi said with an emotionless face. Neither of them asked to stop watching, but they continued.

[The fact that there are people watching this letter on video means that I did not return. Did they accomplish what they were supposed to do or did they fail and allow the world to fall into chaos? In the latter case, all members withdrew, disbanded, returned to private life, and became normal individuals. This will be my last order.

Even if it is the former, I hope that social order is maintained even if I am absent. In fact, it can be said that the reason for being of "Scepter 4" has become ingrained in the social system even though I am no longer needed as an individual.

Awashima-kun, I trust that you will handle the official consequences without omissions. I'm sorry I didn't tell you anything. I will take Zenjo-san and Fushimi-kun with me. I needed someone to take care of the rest and I couldn't think about you. I'm sure you have many things to tell me.]

Munakata hit Awashima's "what he meant" with a single punch. He felt dizzy as he looked at Munakata's blurry face with red and swollen cheeks.

[Also, I should explain to you about Fushimi-kun here. I think he will survive because I take measures to bring him back alive, but I don't think he is the type to explain himself.]

Even after the incident, Munakata verbally explained the fact that Fushimi was infiltrated into "Jungle". If Munakata hadn't returned alive, everyone would surely have had a misunderstanding.

"I'm glad you're safe... Both the boss and Fushimi-san."

Feeling relieved once again, Enomoto murmured in a wet voice. Fushimi snorted.

"That was a boring suicide note. I thought he would say something about his personal life that he would never say if he were still alive, but being a "public figure" is what makes him a real person."

Perhaps it was Enomoto's desire to say something that seemed like a curse to hide his embarrassment. As Fushimi looked away from the screen and was about to get up from his seat, Munakata in the video continued.

[In other words, I would like to say that the discussion with Fushimi-kun that day was also scripted, but you said it quite well, Fushimi-kun. Was I defeated by Otori Seigo? What do you mean by not saying anything? You use interesting vocabulary. Completely beaten? Hoho... Do I want to become Otori Seigo?]

Munakata rested his chin on his intertwined fingers and smiled.

Fushimi clicked his tongue vigorously.

"Don't take it seriously. You said much more."

"Wasn't there a script for that?"

"Hey, I was just following orders to infiltrate "Jungle" by any means necessary in case the Christmas operation failed."

"Hehe. This is a communication between Fushimi-kun and me."

Enomoto suddenly heard a voice behind him and jumped into his chair. Fushimi looked back indifferently.

Munakata was standing there, again wearing the fourth section chief's uniform, which was different from the one in the video.

"Sorry, I found a file while I was working."

"I'm going to delete it. It's no longer needed, so I'll delete it completely without a trace."

While Enomoto was quick to make excuses, Fushimi said calmly and without hesitation.

"Yes. Please delete it. It is no longer necessary."

Munakata nodded and smiled with some satisfaction. Enomoto thought it was a little strange that he had gone to the trouble of repeating his intention, but he said goodbye to Munakata as he left the station and said, "Thank you for your hard work.". His beautiful, broad blue back disappeared into the hallway.

If he were a private citizen and asked to protect what was most important to him, he thought about what he would have protected. Well, he doesn't have a girlfriend, so his family at home, his hobby collection, etc... No. He thinks he stayed back and did the best he could, even in a small way, to maintain order and protect the others citizens who had fallen into chaos. In fact, all his colleagues in the Special Forces did it as a matter of course.

Even in Munakata's absence, they would create an orderly, common-sense society in which each person acted to protect "what is most important to each person" based on his own judgment.

It has been proven that Munakata's soul was already incorporated into the BIOS of the basic system running "Scepter 4".

Enomoto deleted Munakata's will, which was no longer necessary.

[luesmainblog]

I don't have the brains to get screenshots, but the video essay in my head is going off, so some thoughts:

Elemental makes a pretty cool example of how a group can be disabled not because of their bodies being inherently Wrong somehow, but because their environment is actively hostile to them. and this adds into how there are different layers of marginalization depending on where you live.

the city is Designed for water people. because of how water folks work, it is generally Safe for air and tree people, and it isn't difficult to make some minor accommodations for their needs, but it's still consistently obvious that this city is FOR water people. They can move around it much, MUCH more freely than any of the other groups existing here.

Fire people, having needs and concerns significantly different than the other residents, are in active danger in this environment, as well as posing an accidental danger to other residents. There are obvious examples of this, like the way that the aquabus overflows its channel whenever it passes by and this causes a huge splash of water down onto the fire people's hometown, but there are also subtle examples of this.

one scene that stands out to me is the one plant man's office; absolutely OVERFLOWN with plantlife. an accommodation(?) for him which makes the area mildly annoying to get through for water people, and presumably air people, but becomes a minefield for any fire person needing to visit him in person…. which appears to be the standard procedure for withdrawing a paper sent his way. this is kind of hard to explain but disabled people can sometimes find themselves in environments where they "cause damage" because the area was NOT made with them in mind; a fire person is at a risk of lighting those plants on fire, and a person in a wheelchair is liable to knock into your shelves, for the exact same reason: they have no room to safely navigate. and this can make a really shitty situation where the disabled person is blamed for "not being careful" when the real issue is that the area should have been planned better to prevent that sort of incident.

there's also the family visit, which, JESUS there is a lot to examine there, but the two big ones: One, the casual bigotry displayed by the little kids. one of them asks "if you fall in the water, will you Die?" and then proceeds to wiggle the chair, intending to knock her into the water and find out. sadly, this is an (only slightly) exaggerated thing that real kids DO if they are not taught about disabilities and generally taught some god damn manners. a kid might pull on an oxygen chord, or push your wheelchair without asking, try to steal your cane, etc etc. this is an issue of social structure; there's certain things we're Expected to teach our kids and others that are treated as Extra, and disability often falls into Extra unless it's the specific one grandpa has.

the other is how the family gives,,, absolutely NO consideration to her needs in this house. wade and ember are left to quickly figure out how she can safely navigate a water house on their own, expected to follow right away. thankfully they're able to find something easily enough, but it's the mix of architecture and social awareness that puts her in danger just BEING in this house.

more in reblog

[presidentbungus]

unedited sneak peek at the beginning of a spycentric smissmas fic :) team reunion at scout's. i am looking for a beta for this bad boy so hit me up if you have any interest.enjoy

It’s a potent relief when, finally, he knocks on the door and Scout appears behind it, in a hot pink apron covered in a pale approximation of buttercream. It’s less relieving when he’s practically tackled with an embrace that does an excellent job of spreading a pale approximation of buttercream all over the front of a brand new, extremely expensive trenchcoat, but maybe that’s what he deserves for wearing it here.

Scout pulls back and sets a hand on both of his shoulders—which are, notably, still covered in useless bandage, a habit he has apparently never broken—and says, in a voice just as awful as Spy remembers: “Holy shit man I didn’t even think you’d come.”

He could turn around and leave, right now, and change his contact information and vanish into the sea. It takes a substantial amount of effort to keep himself from smiling. “… Good. Thank you for… telling me.”

Scout’s eyes move down, presumably to the frosting all over Spy’s front and he says something along the lines of “Oh crap sorry sorry sorry” and hands start ineffectively scrubbing at his chest. Spy looks over his shoulders into a hallway much longer than the one he was expecting, into a kitchen filled with screeching children and adults already starting on their drinking for the day.

Dreadfully familiar faces circle the island.

Dell stands leaning over the granite, wrapped in an apron and pounding some heinous mixture into submission with a whisk in a mixing-bowl. He’s grown a beard, since Spy last saw him—unkempt, but it certainly suits him. And that hideous hard-hat is nowhere to be seen, but he’s still wearing those awful goggles and it takes Spy a moment to notice those lenses are glaring right at him.

His stomach sinks. Spy turns his attention back towards Scout, slapping his hands away and hissing. “Jeremy—Jeremy, you’re making it worse.”

“I’m—jeez, I’ll get some water or something, okay?”

“It’s fine.” Dell is still looking over—he can feel it, and he won’t dignify it with any more eye contact than strictly needed. Scout is still suggesting solutions and none of them make remotely any sense. “Jeremy, it’s fine. I’ll have it dry-cleaned.” And this still doesn’t stop him, so he asks over him: “Are you going to invite me inside or are you going to spend the entire day smearing buttercream on my coat?”

“Oh. Oh!” He finally gets the idea and moves aside, awkwardly sweeping his hand into the house. “Uh, welcome in, uh, mi casa is you casa, or whatever, should I… take your coat or something?”

He steps inside (it smells like gingerbread) and closes the door behind him when it becomes clear Scout is too distracted to remember to do so. “I assure you I will manage.”

“Okay. By the way you can just call me Scout. If you want.”

And then he continues to stand there and watch Spy start to unbutton his coat like a mud-covered dog begging for food on the side of the road.

“Scout. I appreciate your hospitality, but I can take it from here.”

“Okay.” He doesn’t budge.

“Go away.”

“You sure?”

“Yes.”

Finally, finally, this leads him to scamper back into the commotion of the kitchen.

Spy breathes a sigh of relief, pulling his coat the rest of the way off and looking for a place to store it. There’s a coat rack by the door (which he faintly recognizes as the same one he used decades ago) with what looks like every jacket of every single person currently inside the house piled on top of it—he wrinkles his nose.

He folds his coat into a square and tucks it under his shoulder. Perhaps he’ll hold onto it, for now.

The foyer is large—much larger than what could barely be called a mudroom in the old house, essentially a closet so packed with jackets and shoes and scarves you’d have to pick through it like a minefield, no matter how much Charlotte desperately tried to make them keep it clean. The room is relatively enclosed, though connected to several different spiraling hallways, and the walls are navy-blue, turning cream in the corridors that branch out, and much of the furniture is entirely too new and ornate for Spy’s tastes—largely unused plush leather armchairs, grand mahogany trophy-cases contrasting with the junk they’re filled with, paintings in pristine frames of ships and landscapes and women that must’ve come with the house. It’s almost uncanny, mixed with scraps of furniture and decor he recognizes, basic, well-worn, falling apart.

The interior of the house certainly matches the exterior; expensive-looking without cohesion, presumably fancy to someone who’s never had money before. It’s obvious where Scout’s paychecks were going; he must’ve bought the first and most expensive pseudo-mansion he saw.

Spy knows he’ll have to go properly into the house eventually, but the idea of all those sets of eyes on him at the same time—and one pair in particular, scrutinizing, unimaginable—makes his skin crawl. His hands are buzzing; they’ve been buzzing since before he got to the house. Bare, exposed to the air—he willed himself to go without his gloves, to prove something to himself—to brace for being seen again, that he could bear to be seen again, perhaps—it’s all he can think about, every nerve receptor in his fingertips grazing every stitch of fabric on his coat, intermingling, screaming static into his spine, buzzing all the way back down to the tip of his nose…

Something taps his shoulder—a shockwave through his nervous system—he jerks forward, yelping, and turns around, and it’s Dell, it’s Dell, it’s Dell.

“You alright, friend?”

Spy’s hand darts into a vest pocket and pulls out a set of black leather gloves and slips them on, and relief floods his system. His tongue suddenly stops swelling in his mouth. Smoothly: “Yes, of course.”

Dell smiles apologetically, raising his hands—ungloved, yet his prosthetic hand is nowhere to be seen, both arms perfectly intact and pristine. Curious. “Sorry for startlin’ ya, uh—I know you, uh, don’t… I just kept sayin’ your name and it seemed like you were somewhere else.“

“It’s alright. I was… thinking.” He carefully copies the apprehensive-yet-hopeful expression on Dell’s face, brushing a hand through his hair—still feeling naked, but thankful for the sunglasses. This is manageable.

“… Must be a lot to be here again, huh.”

Spy has braced himself for that question every day for weeks and it still makes him seethe. He smoothly brushes over it. “In a way, yes.” Half-turning away, sheepishly: “Have I… missed anything, yet?”

He laughs. “Nah, nothin’ you’d be real interested in. ‘Less you’ve become a master chef since last time we talked?”

“… I can’t say I have.”

And then there’s nothing else to say, is there.

“Um.” Dell smiles, looks at the ground, and clears his throat. “Well it’s nice to see you again, slim. Been a minute, hasn’t it?”

The surreality of looking at him keeps hitting him over, and over, and over again. He holds out a hand. “Pleased.”

Dell shakes on it. It’s strange to be touching him again. “You’re, uh… lot taller than I remember.”

And he seems to have shrunk, though he doesn’t vocalize this. “I see you’re capable of growing hair.”

“Oh, yeah.” Dell awkwardly passes fingers through his beard, the close-shaved crop of grain on the top of his head. “I thought it’d be… wintery. And all.”

“It suits you.”

“… Thanks.” He blushes, and it’s almost nostalgic, that alone. He always blushed at everything. It emboldened Spy, made him hopeful about the way things would turn out, even if they ended up like they did. 

He frowns.

Dell clears his throat again. “Now, I know you’re… takin’ your time and all, but why don’tchya join us out there? Ya don’t have to help out,” he mumbles, “but there’s a lotta folks who’d like to see you again.”

“I doubt that.”

He frowns, deeper. Awful thing to say.

And he braces himself for something—Dell’s lip peels up and he prepares for the same scolding he always gets, but it never comes.

Dell moves to set a hand on Spy’s shoulder, thinks better of it and pulls it back to himself, and sighs, and somehow that’s worse. “Come with me or don’t. ‘S your decision.”

Spy’s not remotely sure how to respond to that, and he’s sure it’s embarrassingly obvious.

“Look. I appreciate you for coming, but I told myself I wasn’t gonna bend over backwards try’na… teach you somethin’, or… whatever I usually do,” he says, quietly. “I get this is tough for you. I do. And don’t give me that no you don’t look—I’ve spent every other night the past two or three weeks hearing all about how tough this is for you. But I keep tellin’ you, and I hope you know, that this—being here—this is what’s gonna help you.”

“I know,” he lies.

Dell crosses his arms, clearly unimpressed. Spy shrinks further into his coat. “Look, I’m going back to the kitchen,” he mumbles, matter-of-factly. “I told everybody not to come talk to you unless you talked first, so you can take your sweet time out here.” “You shouldn’t have done that.” “I don’t think so either, but what are you gonna do.” There’s a long, long moment where it seems like he’s going to leave it at that, but the look on his face softens—and finally the hand reaches his shoulder, and Dell says: “I really do appreciate you for coming. I hope you know that.”

A tempting you’re welcome dies on Spy’s lips. “... Of course.” And then he tacks on with a smile that probably looks as fake as it feels, the space between his ears at a slow-rolling boil: “Merry Smissmas.”

He laughs through his nose, something genuine, and through mechanisms Spy can’t quite discern the half-smile he offers instantly dissolves every bit of tension between them. “Merry Smissmas, Marce.”

Dell’s hand takes a little bit too long to come away after that, and Spy’s certain they both feel it; then he’s quickly gone, and Spy mourns the moment alone to a degree that frightens him.

[zipzapzopzoop]

There's a Great Big Beautiful Tomorrow

Chapter 36: One Brother Short

A soft knock sounded on the door before it clicked open. Bud stepped in, a plate of apple slices and honey in hand.

“Franny? I brought your favorite. How are you feeling?” He paused upon hearing the gentle sound of laughter.

Across the room Franny stood silently, her back towards the old man. In front of her sat the Memory Scanner, softly playing a memory from only a few weeks prior…

It had been a long day, and she was feeling pretty drained. A good song had come on the radio, and Cornelius began to dance playfully. He was being goofy and singing off key, and Franny couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. Upon seeing her smile, he wore a big grin. 

“There’s my beautiful wife,” he teased and gently took her hands. They began to dance around the kitchen, laughing and swinging and playing and forgetting about everything else in the world. Nothing else mattered.

The scanner’s screen faded out as the memory came to an end, and a tear slipped down Franny’s face. Then another. And another. Her shoulders hitched and she began to sob quietly to herself.

“Oh dear,” Bud sat the plate aside and set a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“I’m so worried about him,” Franny sobbed. “And now my brother’s gone, and I don’t know what to do-” 

“Woah, easy, easy… Sometimes my brother’s worries get the better of him. And when that happens, he takes a deep breath and tells himself ‘One thing at a time.’”

Franny sniffled and wiped away a tear. “I… don’t understand.”

Bud handed her a box of tissues. “In other words, if you take on all your thoughts at once, you’ll end up overwhelmed. Focus on right now. You’ve got your son safe. We’ve already gathered a great deal of the family. And we at least know what to look for. I mean, where are they going to hide a dinosaur? Underground?” He chuckled.

“Now, I may be an old man, and my brain’s long since become scrambled, but I’ve never lost my good judgment of character. Gaston, I’ve seen that man take on more explosions than a fireworks show on a minefield. He’s as tough as nails. And Cornelius… from the moment I first met him at that science fair, I knew he had a spark in him. He was smart as they come and clever as a whip! They don’t call him ‘The Father of the Future’ for nothing… He can handle himself. They both can. I know it.”

Franny cleaned away her tears and blew her nose, feeling a bit better. She mulled over the words and thought for a moment. She took on another look of concern suddenly. 

“What about Lucille? Will she be okay?”

Bud’s face fell a bit, but he seemed to pick back up. “Oh, she’s the strongest person in the entire world. She’ll pull through…”

Franny didn’t miss the worry behind his smile.

------------

“How could this happen?!”

Carl flinched away when the chair was thrown against the wall, smashing it to bits.

The spaceman ran a gloved hand through his hair, huffing with anger. He growled and threw another piece of furniture across the room. Carl always knew Art as one of the kindest and patient people he’s ever met. He’s never seen him so angry.

Buster whined and ducked out of the room with his tail between his legs. Lefty meanwhile continued dusting, seemingly unbothered. Even after Art picked up and threw a stool he was dusting, the octopus just blinked and moved to dust the next item.

“I need to go for a walk. Please excuse me,” Art growled, storming out and slamming the door shut behind him.

------------

Wilbur sat silently in the hall, just out of sight.

His hands trembled as he listened to his uncle tear that room apart. He hiccuped slightly, trying to keep himself from crying.`

‘No! Wilbur Robinson doesn’t cry!’ he scolded himself internally.

He knew he was already crying. There was no point.

He’d really gone and done it this time.

------------

Check out the chapter on my Archive!

[fellty]

discovered energy drinks recently. diary entry ahead

still figuring out my future, some health stuff as me evaluating life with the perspective that it could be short, though, it's not a huge concern yet and things are still very treatable. but, it is a concern to me, since the chance still looms in my head like a heavy stone. i like to think about the worst possible scenario, and roll as if it was a real reality, since then i've done the mental work to a degree, and well, i guess i want to have peace with that possibility (though, i will say, doctors have said right now the chance is low. it's just scary? who wants a chance like that at all?)

if i'm to take my health seriously, and think about my time being short, then i'd have spent a lot of time avoiding art because it made me uncomfortable, and then avoiding being uncomfortable by avoiding art. facing yourself on the canvas is a big task. my mind lives there, you know?

Synthesizing my sense of depression around not working on art, and also, my discomfort on working on art, has been a hard task. Autism floats around in there with masking having me wonder how much to be myself, especially online! how much is right? how much to be me? and at what cost? a prickly little balance.

all of that seems to live in my shoulders and back. my muscles tighten harder, my shoulders concrete and my lower back steel. what a cost masking has. i'm happier when i see rubber kitten roleplay than when i see ten people clutching pearls around it. if they're free, then i'm free too. (hell, the freedom to scoff and move on vs worrying they'll be attacked by a group with hammers.)

i think there is a certain discomfort in getting to know yourself if you're constantly in a state of moral panic about what being yourself even means to others. being predisposed to people pleasing as a kid has made moral panic on the internet a minefield for my mental health.

i think i figured why i never tried to become a doctor or a lawyer and doubled down on being an artist. 1) I really love art, and 2) i wanted to become something my dad could love as myself. i took that as a challenge, i could be better, smarter, but also i got burnt out quickly because i had to figure it out by myself. hating myself when i made mistakes was a natural outcome, because those mistakes were what made my dad dislike me. if i could eliminate those mistakes, then, i would be loveable, right? i accepted readily i was in the wrong, i was ready to be loved! every child is. hating myself was a mechanism of protection, i could be loved soon! wholly! if i was just better! lots of hope lives here, hope for a better me and a better world. the pain of that runs so deep, because as the mistakes pile up, with no hand to guide, and only scorn to give, you realize being small, silent, and still is the best course of action. it feels, safe.

the thing is that, that's not a reality where natural improvement exists. my dad didn't want a kid, and then had to contend with the reality that he had one. now what? i exist. i have all the same features you have that traumatized you growing up, that you never really contended with with a sense of love for yourself. i am so equally my mom and my dad, it's painful and freeing. i understand them, but i won't be them. I will heal myself and love myself.

it's uncomfortable. my parents react to a broader societal and generational trauma around mental health, my class room reacts, adults react, and pass it to me. there's such a mesh of pain i wish I could lift it all. i can only try and lift it in myself and not reinforce it in others, to celebrate others joyfully as they lift it in themselves. whewh. what a task.

it's uncomfortable to sit with that lore undigested while i draw. but i think the other reality i face is that if I don't actually dismantle that in me, i'll just be in pain forever. i want the life i wanted, i feel stubborn about it especially seeing other people live it with joy. me too!! i want this for me too!!

[slothquisitor]

One of the worst parts of being department head is that I have to be part of the interview process for new hires. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad to have a say in who I work with. But I need you to understand that while I’m department head and in my early 30s, I look maybe 22. As in, I regularly get mistaken for a high school student (I look young, but I am also *very* short).

So interviews become a fun little minefield of me being the one conducting the interview, and yet not being taken seriously at all. That’s not to even begin getting into the misogyny I experienced last time when during an interview, despite being the person asking all the questions, a man decided to direct all his answers to the other men in the room.

Anyway, I’m very dressed up today in hopes that folks have zero excuses. But you know, I live where I live so it’s still going to be A Thing.

[alternis]

writing practice, third eye au.

pre-'canon', set during tim's third eye era, wildly unreliable narrator.

It hadn't been a revelation.

He'd been thinking about his teacher--he did that too much, frankly, but this time hadn't been too bad. He'd had too many late nights, neglecting his daily practice, and the thought 'bet she'd be disappointed to see me, letting her teaching go to waste,' passed through his brain as he trawled surveillance logs.

And then some dumb, spiteful, half-asleep impulse had whispered 'well if she wants to be disappointed in me she can get in line behind my parents' and that, well. That had woken him up faster than a can of Zesti.

He'd tried not think about his parents, after his teacher had taken him in. It was the kind of thing his teacher had taught him meditation techniques specifically to avoid thinking about, like his mind was a minefield and his job was to walk the safe paths and avoid straying into the weeds.

So he'd pushed away the memories, when they came--his mother telling him he could be anything he wanted, his father transferring him mid-year because his end-of-term report-card said he was 'under-performing'.

He was old enough, though, to understand the subtext. It all added up; the months spent travelling, the whispered arguments when they got home, the louder arguments when they thought he was asleep.

They had always seemed so happy, over the phone, whether they were working a dig or attending conferences. His mother had always assured him that everything was fine, and they'd be back... at some point.

It was when they were home that everything seemed to start breaking apart. They'd tried to hide it from him, of course, but any investigator worth their salt could have put the pieces together.

He knew his parents had loved him. But he was pretty sure they hadn't liked him.

Worse, maybe, was the knowledge that they definitely wouldn't like the kind of person he'd become--the kind of criminal his father would have complained about over his morning paper. He lived in the underbelly of society. He travelled under fake names, stayed in rented rooms, and dug through people's private lives for money.

He'd killed somebody, and he'd gotten away with it. No matter the circumstances, no matter that it hadn't been his intention to kill, no matter that the man had been trying to kill him, he'd still taken a life.

The healing arts he'd learned, the people he'd saved, his work as Third Eye, none of it would ever undo what he did.

He had known what he was doing when he'd created Third Eye, knew the kind of people that would approach him and what they wanted. And sure, yes, he tried to do the right thing--tried to warn people if they were in danger, sent tips to people who could intervene if lives were at risk, set up just enough plausible deniability that nothing could be traced back to him. He'd even helped a couple of heroes, when they'd approached him.

But what did he have, other than his work? He'd dropped out of middle school, he was technically homeless, he'd become the kind of person who broke the law and didn't even feel bad about it.

He could get a new identity, get a GED, go to college. Get a good job, help people the right way, be the kind of person his parents would have wanted. But Tim Drake couldn't.

Tim Drake was an empty grave in the family plot, and all their hopes and expectations had died with him.

[prince-of-elsinore]

Dear M*A*S*H: S1 Ep 01 “Pilot”

I want to talk about M*A*S*H. The 50-year-old show that, completely unexpectedly, has captured my heart and mind. I finished the series just over one week ago and had to force myself not to immediately begin a rewatch. Now that I’ve had a bit of time to process, though, I’m eager to dive and dig back in, to pick apart what makes this show tick and what made it resonate with me. I want to take my time this go-around (though I expect that will be difficult) and document my thoughts on episodes and characters as the show morphs and grows. I don’t know if I’ll make posts for every episode (that’s a lot) or how long I can keep this up tbh, and I make no promises as to the eloquence or deepness of all my reactions (sometimes you just wanna stare at Mike Farrell’s fuzzy chest amirite). But this show left my brain buzzing with how much there is to talk about and, well, it’s my blog, so here goes.

Korea, 1950: a hundred years ago

What a line to open on. When the show first aired in 1972, it was only 22 years ago. But maybe for audiences jaded by 7 years of direct American entanglement in Vietnam, the first war with moving images broadcast directly into living rooms across the nation, swiftly drawing to an embarrassing and disastrous conclusion, this other war did seem like a hundred years ago. That other, “lesser” war sandwiched between the heroically fought Second World War and the unprecedentedly divisive living nightmare of Vietnam. The supertitle is a simultaneous reminder to the audience of a conflict not often discussed around dinner tables, despite its relative recency (almost as recent to them then as the Iraq War is to us now), and an acknowledgment of how very, very distant it feels. What fascinates me most is how it positions the story we’re about to see as a fable of sorts from a distant time and place, presaging--somewhat paradoxically--the show’s perpetual relevance. This is Korea. It is also every war.

Then, the rest of the cold open. Visual storytelling at its finest! In a brief series of images we glean not only a sense of who our major players are at their cores, but also the notion that at the 4077, not all is as it seems. Two men in Hawaiian shirts playing golf: a familiar sight, until--kaboom, the ball lands in a minefield. A surgeon and nurse work over an unseen patient--oh, no, it’s a bottle of champagne. A man and woman in uniform studiously read a Bible and medical manual--while playing footsie under the table. So, Hawkeye and Trapper are the happy-go-lucky types who don’t see being in a war zone as any reason not to get their kicks where they can; Henry may appear official on the outside (though as we’ll soon see, rarely even that) but really he’s concerned with having a good time with a nurse (it strikes me this could also be an appropriate establishing situation for our two leads, but it’s even more fitting for Henry who is consistently negligent in his duties as Commanding Officer for the sake of sensual indulgence); and Margaret and Frank put on a hypocritical show of military and Christian officiousness while succumbing to their baser desires like anyone else.

Perhaps the implied injunction to look beneath the surface is nothing more than a promise to audiences of what kind of comedy the show will deliver. Perhaps it’s a commentary on the absurdity of life in wartime and under military jurisdiction (people will be people, no matter how many rule books you throw at them). I doubt the show intended this at the time, but I also see an early indication of the ethos that will come to permeate the series: that the truth--and often, our shared humanity--is found in looking closer, not making snap judgments based on superficial features. In any case, this much is clear: your expectations will be subverted. What is familiar becomes foreign, what’s foreign is familiar. It’s a topsy-turvy world. That’s the oldest root of comedy; it’s also war.

“Par is a live patient”

We get Hawkeye’s first “Dear Dad” over our first O.R. scene, conveniently filling us in on the what and why of the 4077 and meatball surgery. It’s also a thesis statement of sorts. They’re there to save lives, not for glory or to be pretty or precious about their work. Life: the number one concern of a doctor, and the number one thing that war takes away. In some ways, a doctor in a war zone is a paradox. This will be Hawkeye’s struggle straight through to the end of the series. He’s more needed here than he could be at any General Practice or stateside hospital, but what the hell is he doing here? He keeps fixing bodies--just enough to keep them clinging to life--only for the war and the army he works for to keep breaking them.

Back at the Swamp, Hawkeye voices a sentiment we’ll often hear repeated over the 11 seasons to come: invite the North and South to a cocktail party. Last one standing wins the war. Here, it’s a throwaway joke, but as we’ll come to see, the tragedy of Hawkeye Pierce is that he simply cannot grasp, cannot accept, how human beings, given the chance to just talk to one another, cannot come to an understanding, or at least an agreement, and settle their differences without resorting to killing.

All right, on to Lieutenant Dish. The scheme to auction off a nurse, even for the good cause of sending Ho-Jon to college in the States, is cringe-inducing today, as is the awkward montage of Hawkeye’s dogged pursuit of the lieutenant. The show’s misogyny, especially in its early seasons, is by far the hardest aspect for me to stomach. If, however, you take what is shown at face-value, as intended, there’s no harm, no foul here. The Dish-Hawkeye dynamic walks a thin line. Yes, she rejects him over and over and he ignores her over and over. Yet, even as she claims to be saving herself for her fiance, Dish seems indulgent towards Hawkeye, and later at the party even flirtatious. So, she enjoys the attention. Convenient and typical of an attractive woman written by and for men. At the same time, it doesn’t take any stretch of imagination to see that flirtation and sex are some of the only outlets available to the women of the camp, and that they could enjoy it just as much as the men.

I do want to know what the hell the plan was with the raffle of the weekend passes. Father Mulcahy winning is simply too convenient. (Incidentally, I feel robbed of seeing William Christopher react to his name being drawn. I’m looking forward to more familiar faces rounding out the supporting cast.)

The party scene also provides the stark juxtaposition of revelry and Hawkeye dancing cheek-to-cheek with his conquest with the sobering reality of their purpose, the raison d’être of the whole camp. To his credit, Hawkeye looks appropriately grave as he informs Margaret that they’ll be operating on a fresh batch of wounded within hours. While the 4077 dances and drinks, Canadian troops are fighting and dying not far off. Not only is this the linchpin of the episode, the get-out-of-jail-free card for Hawkeye and Trapper after all their shenanigans behind Henry’s back, but also a stamp of credibility for so much of the show. How on earth can these clowns get away these schemes, in the army, of all places? Because they are indispensable. Not only are they surgeons, they are the best at what they do. And once again the hypocrisy of army rules and regulations reveals itself; if everything were done by the book, to the letter, the army would cease to function. It would regulate and court martial itself into obsolescence. (Though, as is pointed out more than once in later episodes, would that really be a bad thing?)

Okay, some more thoughts, now as bullet points so I can wrap this up:

I’m watching without the laugh track, and boy is its absence obvious here in a way it never is later on. The pacing is off, much of the comedy wooden. Still, I prefer this subdued, awkward version of the show to the one with the incongruous canned audience. I think watching it this way allowed me to see so much more.

We get a “Come on, Mary” from Hawkeye to Trapper in the first six minutes! And they facetiously, effeminately point their noses in the air in unison as they walk away from Frank. They’re so in sync straight from the start and I love to see it.

I’m so glad the show left these awkward montages and flashbacks (Hawkeye with Dish, Margaret with General Hammond) behind.

Margaret’s limp hair and awful bangs make me sad.

I forgot The Still (tm) is not with us from the start! I assume they build it after Frank breaks their rudimentary barrel gin mill.

Oh, the bucket hat. Odd that it stays with us in the opening credits for the entire series run, when it feels so odd to see Hawkeye wearing it.

Radar is a surprisingly smooth operator here, even devious. He’s no dummy but it’s odd seeing him like this before he became more the wide-eyed innocent kid.

What is the true origin of “Hot Lips”?? Hawkeye calls her that seemingly off the cuff, and her reaction makes it seem like it’s a new nickname. Then Hammond shows up and calls her the same thing. Is this simply a case of Impossible Coincidence Played for Comedy?

I don’t think I got it the first time around that Margaret recognizes the gauze-covered Frank by his butt when she goes to give him the injection. One of the better jokes of the episode imo.

I listened to the Mashcast podcast for the episode and they were puzzled by the use of Japanese covers of popular songs. I assume that this was because Japan was so firmly established as a base of US military operations, a place every G.I. would pass through on their way to Korea, and where they would hope to go for R&R. I assume (but have not done research to confirm) that radio stations they might get would play Japanese tunes like this. The Japanese cover of “Happy Days,” for instance, seems like a nostalgic choice for US servicemen of the era.

Biggest laugh for me: Such a simple moment, but when Hawkeye and Trapper come into Henry’s office and shake hands with a “How are you, Henry?” and he responds, a little wary and knowing, a little sad-sack, “That’s not what you guys came to ask. I mean, the last thing you wanna know when you ask ‘how are you’ is how am I.” God, I really love Henry.

Parting thoughts: In retrospect, the pilot does a better job than I would’ve suspected in setting up not only the characters but also the lasting themes of the show, even while striking a tone a world away from what the show would become. Not a particularly good or funny episode, but it’s rewarding to rewatch and see the pebble drop into the pool, sending out the rings that will reverberate far into the future.

[crmsnmth]

Untitled #39

This room smells like cheap red wine and cigarettes The late night snack of the hopeless Feeding on depression like a leech gorges on blood I'll inhale your dirt So I can at least become pliable

The lights are dim and ultraviolet the stains of old sex cover my black jeans You'd think I'd be embarrassed but you can't be embarrassed if your cares are dead and mine are dead

This carpet needs a cleaning but no one wants to do the work besides, I bet there's dropped and forgotten pills litter in between cigarette burns and its a stained minefield I really hope the wet spot is just water red water puddles

That's the couch I OD'd on Now that's a trip down memory lane My fondness for death, and that was my closest trip I saw death coming as the veil faded away and suddenly the room is white and beeping That's the best damn switch I've ever seen

The world outside is blocked By piss colored disgusting sheets That radiator is where Tommy burned his hands so bad We had to take him to the hospital and we couldn't find a sober driver I don't know how we did it, either

This room smells of cheap red wine and cigarettes and it contains all the secrets of the world and even with all that knowledge I still ran out as soon as the door opens

I'm not going to die in this room

[remyfire]

🎲 Margaret/Trapper

(You get a gentle peck!! Ahh, this is my first foray into writing early-seasons Margaret, I think, and that was quite a minefield to be wading into, but I hope she reads okay. Thank you so much for the meme!!)

If Margaret has learned anything over the past year, it's that war will force you to become reliant on people that you never would've given the time of day in your usual life. There are moments where Frank makes that swim into dizzying clarity—she can say with one-hundred-and-ten percent confidence that if a married man kept her waiting in the wings for so long back in the States, she'd bid him a frustrated goodbye and turn her attention to the other dozen fellows trying to catch her eye. But given that the other men in this unit are below her rank, are unforgivable womanizers with the backbone of an earthworm, or have an intense disdain for the very country that sustains them, who else would she find any kind of succor with?

Sure, she'd leave Frank in her dust back home, but she'd just as happily slap Pierce across the face or break McIntyre's toes with her heel. There's very little that's redeemable about them.

Yet the closeness of proximity also forces remarkable emotions to rise in her that she would never otherwise entertain.

She has plenty of time to muse on this after the most recent shelling around the 4077th. They're fortunate in so many ways that even with the damage done in post-op from flying debris—shattered bulbs, a hole in the wall, and one bedframe broken when it was enthusiastically thrown down to provide some measure of cover—they're still able to reorient the patients on their mattresses and make sure that none of their stitches were torn out.

It's only when the door opens and Pierce is stumbling in with an almost limp McIntyre, arm thrown over his shoulder, that Margaret feels her heart skip a beat. It loses a subsequent one when she sees the blood dripping down McIntyre's cheek.

"What happened?" She flies straight into crisis mode, marching over to a nearby empty bed and making sure the mattress is properly placed and secure.

"Falling beam," Pierce spits in that authoritative way he has when he's one hundred percent focused on his duties. She hears it so rarely, even in the operating room. Experiencing it now makes her vision sharpen on the dripping wound as Pierce settles McIntyre to sit up against the wall. "He threw himself to cover Radar."

"My God," Margaret murmurs as a powerful, surging emotion floods her. She's so unfamiliar with experiencing it to this magnitude that it takes her a moment to identify it as monumental concern.

McIntyre grins up at them both. "Kid gets his brain broken, we lose the whole fuckin' war." His words slur slightly. As he turns his focus on Pierce more intentionally, his eyebrows spring up. "Hey, gorgeous."

"Concussed," Margaret diagnoses.

"Yeah, or something." Pierce shoots McIntyre a look she doesn't recognize before he gets to work. It doesn't take long, only a few moments of sponging and disinfecting and care, for Pierce to determine that he won't need stitches, but he'll have a nasty bruise and needs to keep the wound covered.

By the time they have McIntyre settled, there's more that they both need to care to—Pierce to check on others who took glancing blows or cuts, Margaret who has an entire post-op to keep an eye on—and they're able to leave him there.

But she'd be lying if she said she didn't keep glancing over her shoulder as the hours passed.

Men like McIntyre aren't worth her time, her energy, her attention. Yet he has it in spades. She can't help it. There's something about him that draws in all her nurses like moths to a flame, and...and she's noticed. She knows he's noticed. She knows because she's...told him too much. More than she ever planned to.

He summons extremes within her. She'll walk past two of her nurses comforting a third who is crying and know that he's used up yet another woman like a razor blade that's gone dull. But she'll also see how tenderly he'll wrap an arm around Lieutenant Bayliss and touch a handkerchief to her cheek in a way that Frank has never done for her. Part of that is perhaps that Margaret won't permit the vulnerability of weeping, but...but she can't deny the near ache that floods her, to see a man take a woman so gently in his arms and make the darkness go away for even just a little while.

It'll often make her wonder what it must be like to be Mrs. McIntyre when there's not a war on. Is he just another man who swears he has permission to mess around with whoever he needs to so he can get home? Is he as devoted to his wife as he is in these compassionate moments with his favorite nurses of choice?

What is it like to have a man be so...gentle?

When she catches herself lingering on these thoughts in the third hour, Margaret actually scoffs at herself aloud. These are useless time-wasting contemplations that have nothing to do with the act of medicine.

What does have to do with nursing and her solemn, patriotic duty is swinging back to check on his injury and if he has a bit more awareness.

As Margaret drops into the chair by McIntyre's bedside, he looks up at her and beams. "Hey, you're back quick."

"What?" She blinks.

"You were just here, right? With Hawk. Where's Hawk, anyway?"

Margaret breathes a sharp sigh through her nose. She buries her concern in the facts. These brief periods of memory loss are often standard, of course, and not a sign that there's something dangerously wrong. "I haven't spoken to you for several hours, McIntyre," she informs him as she continues checking his vitals for her own peace of mind.

His eyes twinkle up at her. "Musta been just running through my head, then."

I will not be susceptible to your charms, she repeats internally as a mantra.

But when she moves to check his pupils, his voice goes incredibly soft. "Y'know you look kinda like an angel with that lamp up there?"

I. Will Not. Be Susceptible. "What on earth do you mean?"

"With the light on. Makes you look like you've got a halo. S'nice. When you're being all sweet like this, it really suits you, y'know? Makes you look even prettier than normal, and that's fuckin' hard to beat."

God. She despises him. He plays women like a fiddle, even when his faculties are so powerfully affected by an injury. "What do you want, McIntyre?"

"Nothin', honest. Just enjoying the view."

She sees how it's so easy for her nurses to play into his hands. She wouldn't be surprised if he's been spinning these exact lines to every single one of them who might've swung by his bedside to make sure he'll survive the night, be on his feet soon so he won't miss their perverted dates to the supply shed.

But she feels her pulse flutter all the same. And if her fingers linger when she nudges his curls back to check his swelling, she doesn't feel a need to comment on it. "I hear those lines every day. From you, even. Perhaps you've already forgotten them all, but you'll remember soon enough."

"Louise'd like you, y'know."

All at once, it's as though Margaret was dropped naked into a frigid lake. She rolls her eyes, covers the lingering sting by checking his bandage to see if it needs changing. "You married men. You're all the same. Obsessed with keeping your wife close and your mistress closer. What kind of fantasy world do you live in that you think a woman—a real woman, with a brilliant mind and a passionate heart—would settle for living in one of your...your little apartments on the far side of town where you can invite her around for garden parties and barbecues and take advantage of her in the facilities while your wife is feeding your daughters?"

But all at once, her rushing train of thought comes to a sudden stop as McIntyre brushes the back of his fingers down her cheek, a more tender action than she's received in quite some time. Margaret turns her head to look into his eyes, suspicious, but the dopey smile on his face catches her before his words do. "No, I mean, she'd like you. Like I like you."

It turns out that at the bottom of the icy lake is somehow a blasting, deep volcano, one that bursts all at once. She stops breathing. Moment by moment, she processes his words. Understands what he's implying. Has absolutely no idea how to respond without...

When Margaret glances askance, those fingers could belong to anybody. McIntyre. Her Lorraine who isn't hers anymore.

As her cheeks blister, she clears her throat. "I see that concussion's far worse than we thought," she eventually murmurs. When she leans down to finally lift the bandage away and check his wound, there's tiny touches on the back of her neck, and just the littlest bit of pressure.

Turns out that's all he needs to come up an inch and kiss her.

It's there and gone, and then he's collapsing back down with a huffed breath like it took all his effort to pull that off, but as Margaret flies to her feet, he's grinning even wider. "Promise me if we make it out of here alive, you'll look us up, okay?" he's asking.

"I cannot believe you!" Margaret blurts. She touches her mouth, brings her fingers away, somehow finds herself staring at them as though there'll be evidence of his actions right there on her skin. "Wh-What is the matter with you?"

If it's possible, McIntyre's gaze goes softer, those pretty hazel eyes that haunt her when she's alone in her tent and nursing irritation at Frank for finding yet another reason to make her feel small. "Sorry," he whispers. "You're even prettier when you're fired up like this. Can't help it."

"Major?" It's Lieutenant Kellye behind her, her voice soft and searching. "I could change his bandage, if you want to go check on bed four?"

It's a gentle out, the kind that her nurses so rarely give her. She can't imagine what the entire post-op tent can read on her face, in her voice, for one of her own subordinates to have enough compassion for the hated ice queen to offer her an escape.

"I'll check on him right away," Margaret eventually replies. She throws her shoulders back and starts walking as commandingly as she can.

And if her lips are still tingling, well, that's something she'll deal with later—or bury at the bottom of that lake when she shoves down a boulder, something that can plug up the volcano before it can irreparably harm her.