#<- it's totally a french word trust

[theokusgallery]

Have a snake!ktsawtg Janus. I love him dearly.

KtS(aWtG)!AU by @greenninjagal-blog :)

Close-up on his head + bowler hat version. Because I love his stupid tiny bowler hat

[minimomoe]

How to Train your Demon

Pairing: trueform! Sukuna x Fem Reader

Summary: Life has all kinds of wins and losses. You don't know which category to put your new demon husband in though.

Tags: MDNI!, red string of fate trope, true form sukuna, librarian reader, soul mates, reincarnation, accidental summoning, love at first sight (buti it's one-sided (until it's not)), Sukuna is demon, but he's v much in love, smut and stuff eventually i guess....

Song inspo: E.V.O.L- MARINA

Part I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII. (completed!)

Rule no. 1: Don't show fear

It was a mistake. A comical, nonsensical, monumental mistake, but a mistake nonetheless. You didn’t mean to create a soul tie with a demon . All you did was read a torn up book from the library. Was it an occult book about spiritual practices in the Japanese Heian era? Yes… but it doesn’t warrant an eldritch horror being your life partner. 

Actually, according to the demon, you didn’t create the soul tie, he has been waiting for you all his life. Cute, but it didn’t make the situation any better. Damn your natural inclination to catch the old and withered items thrown into the donation boxes of the library you worked at. It just pained your heart to see pages falling out of books, and the ominous leather bound grimoire was no exception. 

Restoration was one of your favorite things to do. Knowledge is always worth saving, no matter how old it may be. Books were your life. You found yourself lost in them, enchanted, terrified, taught. You had no genre as your favorite. Everything was welcomed, nothing was off limits. You knew a little bit of every culture, every study, every block buster fantasy. If you could, you’d build a machine that would let you live inside of a book and experience the scene yourself. 

Technically you could ask your all powerful demon to do that, but you didn’t want to deal with him right now.

You still weren’t all too sure on how it happened. First you were glueing the pages back to the spine of the book, running your fingers over the deckled edges when you opened a page that was stuck together. You carefully peeled it apart, a task that took ten minutes to do to avoid any additional tears, and opened up to a page that was different from the rest. The words were written in a rush, the strokes of the characters dragging much longer than it should. You only knew a tiny bit of Japanese (but much more of Latin, Russian, Yoruba, and French from having just an abundance of time on your hands), but this time you could make out some of the words. 

You muttered the ones you knew for sure, used context clues for the ones that were beyond reading. It didn’t make a lick of sense to you. You closed the book with a clamp so that the glue would set and decided to come back to it tomorrow since it was closing time. There was no rush of wind, flash of lightning, or eerie sounds. Just you and the screech of a thousand cicadas as soon as you stepped outside to walk to your car. A normal Thursday night.

Until it wasn’t. 

You shuffled around your house with a new arc from your favorite novelist in one hand, a glass of wine in the other, and the largest frame of glasses known to man perched on your nose. Jazz music quietly spilled out from your hidden speakers, preventing the house from getting a little too quiet as you lived alone with your cat. It was a total boring cliche, you were well aware, but you were happy with your life. You had friends who you trusted, a great relationship with your parents, and just recently got out of a relationship with someone who you didn’t hate, you just grew apart. There was no chaotic, negative energy to feast on in your household and you liked it that way. 

You thought you heard your cat clawing on the door when you were snuggled away in your bed. You flipped the covers over and went to let her in to snuggle with you. 

“I’m so sorry, Cleo. I thought you were already in here with me,” you said, scooping her up from the floor. The ragdoll cat begrudgingly accepted your kisses of apology. You set her down on the bed, watching her find a good spot to curl up in and smiled. You went to reach for your wine glass you knew that you set on your nightstand, but there was nothing in the glass. You were sure that you didn’t finish it. You paced yourself well enough for it to last until at least chapter five, but there wasn’t a drop of alcohol left. 

“The quality of sake has diminished over the years, I see.” 

The voice came from all around the room but also deep in your chest. Cleo hissed, making a run for it out of your door, leaving you wildly spinning around for the intruder. You lunged for the heavy duty taser you kept in your nightstand, but when you turned around there was nobody there.

“What is that?” 

The bone chilling voice spoke again. Was it one person or many, you couldn’t tell. 

“I— I have a weapon!” You tried to steady your voice but it was hopeless. You were terrified. There was nobody there but you could feel a heavy presence in the room. 

“You call that a weapon?” The voice laughed. “The only weapon my wife needs is me.”

The statement made you falter. “Wife? Who are you?”

You turned around once again and nearly jumped out of your skin. A man, or a close approximation of one, sat on your bed flicking through your book. It was impossible, but he had twice as many limbs on his top half than he should, and double the amount of eyes. They were bright and red when scanning through your novel. “What language is this?” 

“F-french,” you whispered. You were dreaming. You had to be. That was the only way this could be happening. Still, dream or not, you had to protect yourself. You pressed your taser and watched the prongs leap out and touch his bare skin. He looked unbothered, merely looking down at his stomach where the taser landed and moved his arm to reveal a mouth on his abdomen. A tongue flopped out and licked the prongs, dragging it back to the mouth and the taser was slowly dragged out of your hands and into the mouth. You watched in horror as the hard plastic was crushed to pieces in front of your very eyes. 

“Useless weapon,” he reiterated, this time looking directly at you. “Don’t insult me again.” 

“Pl—please don’t hurt me.” There was nothing left to do but beg. You already punched yourself till blood was drawn. This was not a dream, you were looking at a real, evil monster who didn’t know French and ate high voltage tasers. 

He rose from your bed. You crawled away as much as you could until you bumped into a wall and still you wanted to move through it. He stood before you, looking over your trembling frame and called out for you. 

“Rise.” 

You rose, unsure if you really had a choice in the matter. One of his many hands cupped the side of your face. A clawed thumb brushed away the tear that fell on your cheek.

“Why do you weep?”

“Um… well… I don’t really know who you are,” you said honestly. You were still pinned to the wall, unable to flee and he took up your entire frame of sight. He nodded, removing his hand from your face and raising it in the air. You thought he was going to strike you and you flinched. When you opened your eyes again he was multiple steps away from you, still raising his palm.

“Time has faded your memory of me. You are my wife, and I am your husband. The string of fate proves that we are mates.” 

He stated it so matter of factly. You are my wife, and I am your husband. My wife, your husband. Mates. Forget dreaming, you have officially lost your mind. 

“I don’t… remember agreeing to that,” you said carefully. The words “husband” and “wife” bounced in your head in a crazy echo. You slumped to the floor, your body suddenly very tired. A laugh bubbled up your throat and escaped your mouth. So much for your boring life.

“Do you not feel the connection? The string is tied from my last finger to yours.” You looked at your hand, not seeing any supposed string and shook your head. 

He frowned. “You do not agree to it. It has been decided.” He crouched in front of you, inspecting your face earnestly. One side of his face was strange, not normal skin, instead inhuman, bumpy and shades darker. 

“You look the same after all this time,” he murmured. “I will make you remember.” 

“Let’s not do that,” you said quickly. “I don’t even know your name and I am not married. I’m a librarian and I have a cat. And I have never, ever met you before.”

“I am known as Sukuna, among other names,” he responded to one of your distresses. “What title is a librarian?”

This time you laughed. An deranged laugh, loud and unbecoming. Sukuna waited as impatiently as he could for you to be finished, but you kept on cackling. Once out of breath, you wiped the tears out of your eyes and leaned against the wall. It finally dawned on you how this happened. The drying grimoire that was locked up in the library was responsible for this strange turn of events.

“It’s not a title, at least, not in the way you’re thinking. It’s my job, one that I love very much. Was I ever a common worker before?”

Sukuna bristled at the thought. Even his tummy mouth frowned. “You were a queen. You wanted nothing because you had everything.”

“Interesting,” you mused. “I’m so not your girl.”

“I’m not interested in little girls.”

“Kudos to you. I think I’m going to sleep now. I’m clearly much more tired than I think I am.”

“We have things to discuss,” Sukuna protested, but you already slipped under the sheets. If I force myself to sleep he will go away, you thought. 

Instead you felt the dip of the other side of your bed and flung your eyes open. Sukuna was in bed, with you, staring your down with his four eyes. He was much too close for your liking. 

You looked at him wildly. “What are you doing?” 

“Resting with you.” 

“Get out of my bed!”

“Are you no longer tired?” 

“I am tired. Extremely tired, but that doesn’t mean I want you on my bed! Stay on the floor or something!”

Sukuna rolled his eyes at you and turned on his back, his arms crossed in two sets on his chest. 

“You were always particular with your sleeping habits. I see that hasn’t changed either.”

“Stop acting like you know me!”

Sukuna got off the bed to sit on the floor like you asked. The only problem is that you could feel his gaze prickling your skin, making it impossible to ignore him. You didn’t feel bad about kicking him out, he certainly didn’t have a pout on his face because of it, but something needed to be done. 

“Face the door instead of me,” you mumbled. 

His eyes twitched. “Commanding me like footmen,” he grumbled, yet he still turned away. You wondered if his obedience had something to do with the book. Sukuna had the aura of someone who doesn’t listen to anyone, yet he’s been more than understanding with you. Maybe you really were his wife. Maybe you were having a very elaborate and maladaptive daydream. You thought of “maybe’s” until the sun came up, still staring at the back of his pink, spiky hair. 

Your alarm chirped for you to get ready for work. You groaned. You didn’t get a second of sleep. You were too afraid of being eaten by the demon you accidentally summoned. You reached out to shut off the ringing clock as quietly as you could, but Sukuna touched it first. 

“How strange,” he said, turning the clock around in his hand. He brought it up to his ear, shook his head, tapped the glass. Then he crushed it. It was made of plastic, but the shards bent and broke to the floor left his hand unscratched. You gaped at the mess he made as he let the remains fall to the floor. “It was making a wretched sound.”

“Yeah…” you sighed. “It was pretty noisy.”

You had to find out how to get rid of him. Fast. 

Thanks for reading loves!! lemme know what ya think xx

Part: I. II. III. IV. V. VI. VII. VIII. IX. X. XI. XII. XIII.

M.list || Twitter || Ao3

[yeah-thats-probably-it]

#doesnt bertie do something similar with his vocabulary lapses and the numerous instances of 'if x is the word i mean'#bertie is writing his stories after the fact just like jeeves - he could look it up. he doesnt. in jeeves in the offing bertie gets a word#wrong ergo dahlia doesnt understand what he means and bertie reacts as though it were self-evident that dahlia couldnt have understood him#even if he'd used the right word: 'you are probably not familiar with the word but its one i've heard jeeves use'#if we assume that that is how bertie looks at the world then he doesnt have to look it up - to bertie people like him (people who will read#his writings) dont know words like jeeves does and therefore it is unneccessary to be 100% sure which word he means - noone else would know#and while jeeves doesnt include literary allusions in his narration he very much establishes himself as an authority in that area#except he does it through bertie - he is writing a guide addressed to new valets and right at the beginning he quotes emerson at bertie#who is immediately portrayed as the guy who cant remember the name of the play he saw the evening before. jeeves is absolutely showing off!#there are three foreign words set in cursive in the first paragraph alone! but the difference is while he may be showing off he - just as#you said - has nothing to prove - he is already the authority and here hes just establishing another way in which a valet#has to keep the upper hand

@noandnooneelse's tags for further discussion about jeeves as a narrator but responding in the tags because that's the most superior method of communication

you guys ever notice how in his dialogue when he's in bertie's presence, jeeves uses quotations and references constantly, but in his THOUGHTS during "bertie changes his mind," he doesn't use any? this is obviously because he doesn't care if we the audience know he knows shakespeare, but he will languish and die if he doesn't get to dazzle bertie with his wit and knowledge every five seconds

[lecsainz]

stuck in the elevator

pairings: charles leclerc x fem!reader

warnings: Y/N freaking out and charles being a sweetheart, the elevator breaking down, cute french nicknames.

authors note: [SOMETHING COOL] because i really have no idea what to write here today 😭

word count: 1.1K

Charles Leclerc was in Miami for the Grand Prix, but he had to take a break from the busy atmosphere and have a moment to himself. He decided to take the elevator up to his hotel room when he saw a girl in there with him. He was on the phone and didn't pay much attention to her until the elevator suddenly shook, causing Y/N to stumble. The girl, Y/N, immediately started to panic, saying things like "I can't die yet" and "I have so much to live for". Charles found it amusing, but he knew he needed to comfort her.

"I think we're stuck," Charles replied, his eyes scanning the elevator buttons.

"What do you mean we're stuck? We can't be stuck!" Y/N started to panic.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Charles said, putting a hand on her shoulder. "We'll get out of here soon enough."

"But what if we don't? What if we're stuck in here forever?" Y/N asked, her voice shaking.

Charles couldn't help but chuckle. "Trust me, we won't be stuck in here forever. And even if we were, I don't think spending eternity with you would be so bad."

Y/N blushed at his words, and Charles couldn't help but smile at her reaction.

They spent the next few minutes trying to press the emergency button and asking for help, but there was no response.

Charles leaned against the wall, "Well, looks like we're stuck here for a while."

Y/N groaned, "Great. Just my luck."

Charles looked at Y/N, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Well, ma chérie, I guess we'll have to find a way to pass the time then." he said, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Y/N couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine at the sound of Charles' french.

Y/N arched an eyebrow, curious. "And what did you have in mind?" she asked.

Charles stepped closer, his hand reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair out of her face. "I was thinking we could get to know each other a little better." he said, his voice low and seductive. Y/N couldn't help but smile.

"So, Miami, huh?" Charles asked, leaning against the wall of the elevator with a curious expression.

Y/N nodded, "Yeah, I heard the Grand Prix is amazing, and I've never been to Miami before, so I figured why not?"

"Do you like formula one?" he asked surprised.

Y/N nodded. "Yeah, I do."

Charles' face lit up. "That's great! Do you have a favorite team?"

Y/N grinned mischievously. "I'm a Mercedes fan. I mean, have you seen Toto Wolff? He's a total babe."

Charles feigned offense, putting a hand over his heart. "Hey now, I'm a Ferrari driver. You're not supposed to like our rivals."

Y/N laughed. "Well, I can't help it. But I think your charming french accent could make me change my mind." Charles smiled smugly at the compliment.

"Well, I appreciate the sentiment. Maybe I can even convince you to switch over to Team Ferrari." He teased, his eyes sparkling.

Y/N raised an eyebrow, feigning consideration. "Hmm, I don't know. I mean, I don't think anyone can replace Toto in my heart." Charles laughed, shaking his head.

They sat in silence for a few moments before he spoke up again, "You know, there's something about being stuck in an elevator that's kind of romantic."

Y/N raised an eyebrow, "Really? I'm not feeling it."

Charles grinned, "Well, just imagine it. Two people, alone in a confined space, forced to confront their feelings."

Y/N rolled her eyes, "Oh please. There are no feelings here."

Charles chuckled, "Are you sure about that, ma chérie? I mean, you did say my french accent was charming."

Y/N's cheeks turned red, "I did not!"

They fell into a comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts. Charles picked up his phone and began scrolling through his photos.

"You know, I have some amazing pictures from Monaco," he said, showing Y/N a photo of himself overlooking the harbor.

Y/N leaned over to get a better look, her arm brushing against his. She quickly pulled away, but Charles didn't seem to mind.

"It's beautiful." she said, admiring the photo.

"It's my hometown. I was born and raised there." Charles replied with a smile.

S/N's eyes widened in surprise. "Really? I had no idea."

"Yeah, it's a special place for me." Charles said, his gaze lingering on Y/N.

As hours passed and they were still stuck in the elevator, Charles and Y/N talked about everything and nothing. They discussed their favorite movies, their dream travel destinations, and even shared childhood stories.

Charles found himself enjoying Y/N's company more and more as they talked. She was funny, intelligent, and had a unique perspective on life that he found refreshing. As the hours dragged on, they joked and laughed together, forgetting about the chaos of being stuck in an elevator.

At some point, exhaustion caught up with Y/N and she dozed off, her head resting on Charles' shoulder. He couldn't help but smile at the sight of her sleeping peacefully, her breaths steady and calm.

He brushed a stray strand of hair from her face and whispered, "Tu es tellement belle*." *you are so beautiful

When they finally got out of the elevator, Y/N woke up from her nap on Charles' shoulder, she felt a bit embarrassed but also grateful for his comfort during their ordeal in the elevator. She looked up at him and smiled.

"Thank you so much for being there for me, Charles. I don't know what I would have done without you," she said.

Charles smiled back at her. "Of course, Y/N. I'm just glad I could be of help. And who knows, maybe we can find ourselves stuck in an elevator again sometime soon," he teased.

Y/N laughed. "I think once was enough for me, but I wouldn't mind seeing you again outside of an elevator."

Charles watched Y/N walk away, feeling a sudden pang of regret. He realized that they hadn't exchanged numbers or made any plans to meet up again. He mentally scolded himself for being so caught up in the moment and not thinking ahead.

"*Merde." he muttered to himself. "I can't believe I forgot to ask for her number."*shit

But he wasn't about to give up that easily. He made a mental note to try and find her at the Grand Prix later that day, hoping to get a second chance to make things right.

As he walked away, he couldn't shake the feeling that Y/N had left a lasting impression on him. He knew he had to see her again.

[mintyys-blog]

Peter Parker x French! reader: Veux-tu coucher avec moi?

WARNINGS: none

Peter Parker had always found her fascinating. Maybe it was the way she spoke, her French accent making everything sound ten times more interesting. Or maybe it was the way she scrunched her nose when she didn’t understand a word, stubbornly trying to figure it out instead of asking for help.

She was adorable.

And Peter, bless his awkward heart, was determined to ask her out. The problem? She was still learning English, and he didn’t want his words to get lost in translation.

So, naturally, he turned to Ned.

“Dude, you speak Spanish, right? French isn’t that different—do you know how to say ‘Will you go out with me?’”

Ned, ever the reliable best friend, furrowed his brows in deep thought. “Oh! I think I heard it in a movie once!” He cleared his throat dramatically and said, “Veux-tu coucher avec moi?”

Peter’s eyes lit up. “That sounds so romantic. You’re sure it means ‘Will you go out with me?’”

Ned nodded confidently. “Yeah, totally. Trust me.”

And so, Peter—bless his oblivious soul—marched up to her with the biggest, dorkiest grin on his face.

“Veux-tu coucher avec moi?” he asked proudly, chest puffed out, expecting her to swoon at his impressive display of French.

Instead, she froze. Her eyes widened, her cheeks turned a deep shade of red, and she choked on her own spit.

“Quoi?!” she squeaked, staring at him like he’d grown a second head.

Peter’s confidence wavered. “Uh… did I say it wrong?”

Her embarrassment quickly turned into flustered outrage. “Tu te fous de moi?! Pourquoi est-ce que tu me demandes ça?!”

Peter blinked. “…Okay, I have no idea what you just said.”

She groaned, running a hand through her hair. “Peter!” she hissed, leaning in closer and lowering her voice. “You just asked me if I want to sleep with you!”

Peter went pale.

“WHAT?!” he shrieked, causing a few people in the hallway to turn and stare. “N-No, I meant—I was trying to ask you on a date!” He whirled around, eyes burning with betrayal. “NED!”

Ned, who had been watching from a safe distance, immediately turned and booked it in the other direction.

She buried her face in her hands, mumbling something in rapid French that Peter was pretty sure was either a curse or a prayer for patience.

“Okay, okay, let me fix this,” he rushed out, running a hand through his hair in panic. “Uh—uh—how do I say it? Like, properly?”

She sighed, shaking her head before finally meeting his gaze. The frustration softened, replaced by something more amused. “Est-ce que tu veux sortir avec moi?”

Peter swallowed his embarrassment and tried again, this time getting it right.

She gave him a look—half exasperated, half endeared. Then, finally, she cracked a smile. “Yes, Peter. I would love to go out with you.”

Peter beamed, all previous mortification forgotten.

Maybe he’d made a fool of himself, but hey—he got the date. And in the end, that’s all that mattered.

[holy-harkers-47]

clemmie headcanons !!!

according to cole, their laugh sounds like bells

tends to get very very cold very easily

^^ always has cold hands

friend of all bugs

used to do ballet, still dabbles in it sometimes

doesn't like their hair being touched, unless it's by cole or perrine. perrine bc they trust them, and cole bc they're very tender-handed, and knows how to be careful and gentle

loves loves loves sweets !!! esp pastries

loves humming to cole's guitalele

very close friends w/ perrine, tends to confide in them abt cole

doesn't cry easily, but will start sobbing if cole accidently hurts their feelings :[

tends to be a bit bratty due to their childhood, and being raised in a very rich household

'speaks to the wind' and 'sings to the mountains'

big fan of bows, ruffles, lace, bells, etc <3

is insanely flexible

always smells like wildflowers

^^ speaking of which, loves flowers- esp getting to braid cole's hair with them / tucking them into cole's shirts ( says it makes them look handsome <3 )

^^ they also regularly give cole flowers they think look pretty / neat (cole presses and dries them, and then puts them in their notebooks <33)

commonly gets dizzy / faint

paints / decorates cole's guitalele sometimes

loves tea parties. the others don't really like them, but they like clémmie to be happy, so they participate

collects stuffed animals ( esp ones with big black / brown eyes )

very very neat

occasionally goes nonverbal due to trauma

^^ uses sign language to communicate when this happens

likes to read in their free time, has a small library in their room

total hopeless romantic

often labeled as a 'child prodigy' or 'artistic / musical genius'

hates eating meat. diet is mostly made up of fruit, pasta, cheese, and bread, but they will eat other things if offered ! only dietary restriction is meat

their name, clémentine, means merciful or gentle :]

first language is french ! they tend to forget some english words, and asks perrine what the word is ( perrine learned french for them <3)

cannot go an hour without chapstick. hates hates hates having dry lips

^^ same goes for lotion. hates having dry skin, so they always carry a small tube with them ( for themselves + the rest of the lark )

loves their nose and smile !!! makes them feel different and pretty :]]

has a very small appetite. usually only finishes one plate, or less than one. offers the rest of their food up, mostly taken by cole or kingsley. kingley will take it without thinking twice, but cole typically hesitates ; "are you okay ? are you sure i can have this ?"

loves loves loves making desserts, esp for cole !

not a morning person. loves their beauty sleep

huge fan of people watching and bird watching

^^ has a huge window on the wall their bed is pushed up against, so they can watch the others (if they're out) or the birds before getting up !

all of their shoes (aside from the ones they usually wear) are mary janes

prefers fem / neu compliments (ex. beautiful, pretty, etc.)

painted / sculpted all of their masks

curls their hair around their fingers when anxious

has extreme hair shrinkage, and when they fully stretch their hair out, it goes down to about their mid back

cole knows origami, and makes clémmie lots of little origami animals

daydreams a lot

gives out kisses / affection to the rest of the lark. lots of forehead / cheek / hand kisses + cuddles to everyone who wants em

is 4'11, 5'0 with their shoes on.

affectionate headbutts.

caution ; slight angst below !!

is used to being dehumanized / treated like an object due to their parents and childhood

^^ father generally treated them as a muse for his dolls, as well as treating them similarly to a doll ( dressing them up in lace / ruffles / bows / etc., and being extremely paranoid about clémmie's 'fragility' )

mother always put them on a pedestal and showed them off, as well as making efforts to keep clémmie quiet ( essentially making sure they knew that they didn't have their own feelings / thoughts )

doesn't like the words 'ladybug,' 'bumblebee,' or 'butterfly' as nicknames, esp when referring to them. all three are nicknames their dad had for them :[

^^ on a similar note, doesn't like being compared to dolls. (ex. 'you're pretty as a doll', referring to them as 'doll,' etc.)

more may be added later (might be in a reblog, might be just editing this post ! <3)

. * ° 🐇 🪕 🌾 ° * .

!! before commenting / tagging on this post, please know that clémentine uses neutral pronouns, and she / her or he / him pronouns are not appreciated when referring to them !! :[

[lividstar]

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ THE CITY OF LOVE

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎ Chapter Twelve: Ma Meilleure Ennemie

ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎ ㅤ‎‎‎‎‎‎‎‎< previous | next >

masterpost

៚ wc: 10k (total: ???)

៚ fluff, angst, fashion designer!hongjoong x model!reader (ft. personal assistant!seonghwa & photographer!wooyoung), slowburn, strangers to lovers, soulmates au if you squint, do french people actually say bonjour irl?

៚ playlist !

៚ The night is electric, filled with fleeting glances, moments of tension, and unspoken words hanging in the air. You find yourself caught in a delicate dance between the past and the present, as old wounds resurface in the most unexpected ways. But just when you think you’ve built a wall strong enough to keep it all out, everything comes crashing down. Who can you trust when even your own heart feels like a stranger? Will you finally face what’s been lurking in the shadows, or will you keep running, hoping the past will stay buried? The answers are closer than you think—but are you ready to hear them?

a/n: the way you can tell this is a belated new yearʼs special... also peep the references hehe

tags: @beabatiny @babymbbatinygirl @vcutparis (ik youʼre not actually on my taglist but i wanted to add you here haha 😅)

Paris glowed as if it were at the very edge of heaven. Streets lined with twinkling fairy lights stretched endlessly, shimmering like stars brought down to earth. The chill of winter softened by the warmth of countless candles flickering in shop windows and the golden glimmer spilling out of bustling cafes. Children darted between the legs of laughing adults, their giggles carried on the crisp evening breeze. Couples strolled hand in hand, their faces illuminated by both the soft light of the decorations and the sheer joy of the season. Fireworks were being prepped along the Seine, their bright colors barely restrained, waiting for the stroke of midnight to explode into celebration.

Yet, amidst all this joy and revelry, there was a quiet heaviness—a void that neither the beauty of Paris nor the energy of the celebrations could fill.

You sat at the edge of your bed, the faint hum of the heater in your apartment the only sound breaking the silence. The festive cheer of the city below felt like a mockery of the hollow ache in your chest. The loneliness that clung to you was suffocating, made worse by the distance between you and Hongjoong. You tried not to think about him, but every laugh that slipped in through your window or every stray cat that crossed the street below brought him to mind. He was everywhere and nowhere all at once, his absence more palpable than any presence could ever be.

Seonghwa’s name suddenly flashed across the screen of your phone, pulling the anchor of your thoughts back to the shore. For a moment, you considered ignoring it altogether—you werenʼt in the mood to do anything at all today, anyway, let alone celebrate the upcoming year. But knowing him, he wouldn’t just leave it at one call—he’d keep trying until you answered. With a shaky breath, you swiped to accept.

“Hello?” Your voice came out quieter than you intended, and you cursed yourself for the way it wavered.

“Hey, I missed you!” Seonghwa’s voice was warm, almost too warm. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten about me.”

You forced a small laugh, but it sounded hollow even to your own ears. “As if I could. But… why the sudden phone call?”

There was a pause, brief but charged, before he spoke again. “We’re having a New Year’s Eve party here tonight—and you should definitely come!”

Your heart sank. Of course, he’d call about that. You already knew the agency’s New Year’s event was a big deal, but you hadn’t planned on going. The thought of being in the same room as Hongjoong, pretending everything was fine when it very clearly wasn’t, was almost unbearable.

“I don’t know, Seonghwa...” you began, but he cut you off.

“Listen,” he said gently, “you’ve been cooped up for too long. It’ll be good for you to get out, be around people.”

You bit your lip, your grip tightening on the phone. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. Being around people wasn’t the problem. Hongjoong was the problem.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” you said, hating how weak you sounded.

Seonghwa sighed, and you could picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he always did when he was trying to be patient. “Itʼs because of Hongjoong, isnʼt it?”

Your breath hitched, and the silence that followed was damning. Of course, he knew. He always knew.

“He’s not going to bother you,” Seonghwa said softly. “I’ll make sure of it. You can stick with me the whole night if you want. Hell, I’ll even block his line of sight if it’ll make you feel better.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at that, though it was brief and tinged with sadness. “I don’t think that’s physically possible, Seonghwa.” Your fingers tightened around the edge of your desk, your chest tightening. “And it’s not just that,” you admitted. “I don’t know if I can handle pretending to be okay. I feel like I’ll just ruin the mood.”

“Ruin the mood? Are you kidding?” Seonghwa’s laugh was light but not dismissive. “You’re the highlight of any room you walk into. Trust me, no one’s expecting you to put on a show. Just be there.”

Before you could respond, Wooyoung’s voice burst through the receiver. “Hey, I know this phone number!” he beamed before straight up snatching the phone from Seonghwa. “How come youʼre picking up Seonghwaʼs calls and not mine?”

Your eyebrow went up in confusion. “Youʼve been calling me?”

“No, but you should be able to telepathically sense my soul whenever I want you to call me.”

“Wooyoung, give me back my phone!”

“No way! She’s laughing now, thanks to me.”

Despite yourself, you smiled, warmth seeping into the cracks of your heart. “Well, hello to you too, Wooyoung.”

“Hey there,” Wooyoung greeted. “Now, listen up. You’re coming tonight. No arguments. We’re saving you a seat and everything. And you know what? If you cross paths with Hongjoong and things get weird, just yell my name, and I’ll come running. Deal?”

Your smile faltered at the mention of Hongjoong yet again, but Wooyoung didn’t give you a chance to dwell on it. “I mean it,” he continued. “You’ve been MIA, and honestly, we miss you. So, get dressed, look stunning, and show up. That’s an order.”

“Wooyoung,” Seonghwa scolded lightly, “let her decide on her own.”

“Nope,” Wooyoung countered. “She’s coming. End of discussion.”

You wanted to go. You really did. But the thought of walking into that office, of seeing Hongjoong and pretending like everything was fine... It felt impossible. The wound between you wasn’t just fresh—it was still bleeding, raw and unhealed.

What if he ignored you again? What if he didn’t?

That was the cruelest part. You didn’t know what was worse—his cold indifference or the possibility that he’d look at you with anything resembling regret.

Your thumb hovered over the screen, contemplating an excuse to end the call. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Seonghwa. You knew he’d keep his word, stay by your side, shield you from whatever awkwardness might arise. But it wasn’t enough.

Because no matter how much you wanted to deny it, this wasn’t just about Hongjoong avoiding you. It was about the hollow ache in your chest, the way your mind kept replaying that almost-kiss, that devastating moment when he stepped away.

You hated how much you missed him. How much you still cared, despite everything.

But maybe you were being selfish. Maybe you needed to stop wallowing in your own misery and try to move on. Maybe—

“Still there?” Seonghwa’s voice broke through your thoughts, soft but insistent.

“Uh… yeah. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he said, and you could hear the sincerity in his tone. “Just think about it, okay? I really think it’ll do you some good. And if it gets too overwhelming, I’ll take you home myself. No questions asked.”

“Okay,” you said quietly, though you weren’t sure you meant it.

“Promise you’ll think about it?”

“Promise.”

“Good,” Seonghwa said, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “And hey, Wooyoung wants to say something to you.”

Wooyoung’s voice came back, loud and chipper. “If you don’t come, I’m eating all the desserts. Every single one. You’ve been warned—mind you, half of these are your favorites!”

You laughed, a genuine one this time. “Noted.”

Meanwhile, at the office, Hongjoong found himself standing beside a table, his hands busy arranging patterned fabrics, though his thoughts were anything but focused on the task at hand. Wooyoung’s voice carried across the room, loud enough to be heard by everyone nearby, including him, making Hongjoong look up in mild surprise, only to see him and Seonghwa engaged in a phone call.

As soon as a laugh echoed faintly through the air from the other line, Hongjoong’s entire world seemed to grind to a halt. It wasn’t even loud—just a soft, almost timid sound—but it hit him like a hurricane.

That laugh.

It was yours.

There was no mistaking it, even after the days of silence that stretched between you like a vast ocean. His hands froze, the patterned cloth he’d been meticulously arranging slipping from his grasp as his breath caught in his throat.

It was ridiculous, really. He’d heard your laugh countless times before, in moments both mundane and extraordinary. But now? Now it felt like a lifeline, a fleeting tether to something he’d been desperately trying to push away yet couldn’t help but crave.

God, how long had it been since he’d heard it? Days? Weeks? It felt like a lifetime. And to think, he’d spent all that time convincing himself that distance was the right thing to do, that staying away from you would somehow make things easier for both of you. What a joke. He wasn’t sure what hurt more—the hollow ache of missing you or the self-inflicted wounds of his own stubbornness.

As your voice murmured something indistinct on the other end of Seonghwa’s phone, Hongjoong felt the sharp sting of longing cut through him like glass. He wanted to hear it more clearly, to hold onto every word, every inflection, as if they could somehow fill the empty spaces you’d left behind. And damn it, he wanted to be the reason you were laughing. Not Wooyoung, not Seonghwa—him. He wanted to be the one who could coax that sound from you, the one you’d turn to when the world felt too heavy or too bright.

For a fleeting, irrational moment, he wanted to march across the room, grab Seonghwa’s phone, and press it to his ear. He wanted to say your name, hear how you’d respond, even if it was with confusion or anger. But he didn’t move. He couldn’t.  

What good would it do? What could he possibly say to you that would make up for everything? For the cold shoulders, the deliberate avoidance, the way he’d pulled away just when things had begun to shift between you two? He was a goddamn hypocrite, and he knew it. He hated himself for it.  

Because the truth was, he didn’t want to keep you at arm’s length. Not even a little. Every fiber of his being screamed against the distance he’d forced between you, begged him to close it, to reach out, to pull you back into the space he’d so selfishly carved out for you in his life. But then that ugly, insidious voice in his head would creep back in, reminding him why he’d done it in the first place.  

What could he offer you? He was a man with flaws, with baggage he wishes not to let you carry. And you... you deserved more than he could give.  

So he kept his distance, even though it killed him. Even though he could feel the cracks widening in the carefully constructed wall he’d built around himself. He told himself it was for your own good, that he was protecting you, even as the lie twisted like a knife in his gut. He didn’t believe it anymore—not really. But admitting that would mean admitting how badly he’d messed up, and he wasn’t sure he had the strength for that.  

Hearing you laugh again, even from afar, was both a balm and a wound. It reminded him of everything he was missing, everything he’d willingly let slip through his fingers. He wanted to fix it, to fix everything, but the fear of making things worse kept him rooted in place.  

The voice of another employee of his—Yunho, broke through the fog in his mind, pulling him back to the present. “Hongjoong? You okay?”  

He nodded stiffly, forcing a tight-lipped smile. “Yeah. Just... tired.”  

But as Yunho turned back to his task, Hongjoong’s gaze lingered on Seonghwa. He watched as his friend smiled faintly, clearly amused by something you’d said. And for just a moment, the ache in Hongjoong’s chest flared into something sharper—something dangerously close to jealousy.  

He shook his head, forcing the thought away. This was his choice, wasn’t it? He’d made his bed. Now he had to lie in it, no matter how much it hurt.   

The call ended with Wooyoung’s playful taunts still echoing in your mind, the warmth and humor of his voice a stark contrast to the silence that quickly reclaimed your apartment. You lowered your phone, letting it rest loosely in your hand as your gaze wandered to the window. Outside, the city lights twinkled in celebration of the approaching New Year, but their brightness felt muted, distant. The faint hum of life beyond the glass only highlighted the silence around you, the stillness wrapping itself around your shoulders like a heavy, unwelcome shawl.  

You leaned against the window frame, staring out at the faint reflections of your own eyes in the glass. How long has it been since you let yourself enjoy anything? Since you’d laughed without reservation, without that ache trailing behind it? Days? Weeks? The timeline blurred in your mind, consumed by the fog of isolation.  

It wasn’t just the absence of Hongjoong that weighed on you, though his presence—or lack thereof—was an unshakable specter. It was the guilt of shutting out Seonghwa and Wooyoung, the two people who had always been there for you, unwavering and unrelenting in their support. They didn’t deserve your cold shoulder, yet you had given it to them anyway, consumed by your inability to process your own emotions.  

But even that guilt paled in comparison to the ache you felt for Hongjoong.  

You missed him. There was no denying it, no point in pretending otherwise. You missed his laugh, his rare but heartwarming compliments, the way he’d tilt his head when he was deep in thought. The void he left in your life felt insurmountable, and yet you had no idea how to bridge it. Every attempt at reconciliation seemed doomed from the start, the tension between you so thick it felt almost tangible.  

What if I go and ruin everything? The thought sliced through you like a blade, sharp and unyielding. Would your presence at the party make things worse? Would it sour his mood, dampen his excitement for the New Year?  

But then, Seonghwa’s voice came back to you, his gentle encouragement echoing in your mind. He was right—you couldn’t keep doing this to yourself. You couldn’t keep hiding away, letting the world pass you by while you drowned in your own sorrow. 

With a sigh, you pushed away from the window and headed toward your closet. Each step felt like an act of defiance against the part of you that wanted to stay buried under the covers, but you forced yourself forward. You weren’t going for Hongjoong, you told yourself firmly. You were going for Seonghwa and Wooyoung. For yourself.

As you scanned your closet, fingers brushing over the fabric of your clothes, you tried to suppress the part of you that hoped—prayed—that Hongjoong might notice you. That he might see you, really see you, and understand just how much you missed him.

But that was just wishful thinking, wasn’t it?

Before you could dwell on it further, you grabbed an outfit and set it aside, picking up your phone to send a quick message.  

I’ll be there.  

Thank you for the encouragement :)  

Tell Wooyoung we’ll be competing on who can eat the largest amount of food by the end of the party!

The response came almost instantly.  

knew you would cave in lol

this is woo btw  

and don’t be too confident, i won’t even give you a chance to win >:)

A small smile tugged at your lips as you read the message. You set your phone down, grabbed your outfit, and headed to the bathroom. Tonight, you weren’t going to let the weight of the past hold you back.

But deep down, you couldn’t deny the truth.

You wanted to see him. Even if it was from a distance.

—

The clatter of chairs and tables echoed through the expansive room as Hongjoong stood at the center of the chaos, his sharp eyes tracking every movement. Employees walked around, fixing decorations, adjusting lights, and arranging catering setups. The air was filled with the subtle hum of excitement, yet he felt oddly detached from it all. He issued instructions left and right, his voice professional and commanding, but beneath his composed exterior, his thoughts churned relentlessly. 

The memory of Seonghwa’s phone call from earlier kept replaying in his mind, an endless loop of voices and laughter that wasn’t meant for him to hear. He had caught snippets of Wooyoung’s playful banter, the sound of your distant chuckle, faint but unmistakable. He’d wondered if they were trying to convince you to come to the party. He prayed they were. The idea of you not being there made his chest feel hollow. 

He tried to focus on the present, on the tasks at hand, but his mind stubbornly returned to you. Were you debating whether or not to show up? The last time you spoke, things were left unresolved, painful and raw. He knew you had every right to avoid him. Hell, if he were in your shoes, he wouldn’t blame you for staying as far away as possible. But selfishly, he wanted to see you. 

No, he needed to see you.

His stomach twisted at the thought of you deciding not to come. He couldn’t bear it. He imagined what you might wear tonight, how effortlessly stunning you’d look, and the ache in his heart deepened. If things had been different—if he hadn’t been such an absolute asshole—he would’ve spent the evening showering you with compliments, unable to hold back the admiration he always felt when you were near. 

But he’d ruined that.

The guilt gnawed at him, almost unbearable in its intensity. He sighed heavily, running a hand through his hair. Were you going to take the bus? He hated the thought of you braving the crowded streets alone on a night like this. A part of him toyed with the idea of showing up at your apartment unannounced, offering to drive you himself. But he dismissed the thought almost immediately. You hated him—he was certain of it. The last thing he wanted was to make things worse.

Still, the worry lingered. He had no idea if you were okay, if you’d even decided to leave your apartment.

“Hyung, do you mind? You’re in the way,” a sharp voice interrupted his spiraling thoughts. Hongjoong turned to see Wooyoung, sleeves rolled up as he adjusted the trays of pastries on the table. The younger man’s expression was irritated, though that was nothing new.

“Hey, wait—”

Wooyoung turned with an exasperated look, his brows furrowing as his eyes landed on Hongjoong. “What now?” he asked flatly. “I’m busy, you know.”

“Please,” Hongjoong began, his tone unusually soft, almost pleading. “Just hear me out.”

Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, skepticism written all over his face. “This better be worth my time. What is it?”

Hongjoong swallowed hard, his throat feeling dry. “I wanted to apologize,” he said quietly. “For that day. For how I acted. I was out of line, and I feel fucking horrible about it. I shouldn’t have taken my frustrations out on you, and I know everything I said was unjustifiable. I understand your behavior towards me, and I—”

Wooyoung studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he sighed and shrugged. “I didn’t really mind your attitude that day. You were being a jerk, yeah, but I’ve dealt with worse. What really bothered me then, though, was the way you were treating her.”

Hongjoong flinched at the mention of you, guilt hitting him like a tidal wave.

“So, if we go by my logic,” Wooyoung continued, crossing his arms, “since you’re still acting like a bastard towards her, I’m still mad at you.”

Hongjoong nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “I know. You’re right.”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. “So, what’s the catch, then? What do you want from me?”

“I just…” Hongjoong hesitated, glancing away. “Is she coming tonight?”

Wooyoung blinked, clearly taken aback. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “Why do you care?”

Hongjoong exhaled slowly, struggling to find the right words. “Because…” He paused, his shoulders slumping. “Because I need to know. If she’s here, I—”

“You’ll stay away from her,” Wooyoung cut in sharply, his voice cold. “I’m not letting you ruin her night. She doesn’t deserve that.”

Hongjoong nodded without hesitation. “I understand.”

Wooyoung studied him for a moment before his expression softened just a fraction. “If my guess on what youʼre so worried about is correct—Seonghwa will be picking her up. She won’t have to worry about the bus or anything like that.”

Relief flooded Hongjoong’s features. “Thank you.”

As he turned to leave, Wooyoung grabbed his arm, stopping him in his tracks. “Listen to me, hyung,” he said, his voice low but firm. “This is your only chance to fix things with her. If you screw this up, you’re going to lose her forever. Do you understand?”

Hongjoong’s chest tightened as he nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Wooyoung said, releasing his arm. “Don’t waste it.”

—

You stood in front of the mirror, your reflection staring back at you with an intensity that made your stomach churn. The sleek fabric of your outfit hugged your beautiful form in all the right places, the color complementing your complexion perfectly. Your hair fell just the way you wanted it to, framing your face delicately. Yet, no matter how much you adjusted the hem of your dress or smoothed down nonexistent creases, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off.

Your hands nervously fidgeted at your sides before moving to smooth your hair again. “Does this even look good?” you muttered under your breath, biting your lip. The anxious energy buzzing inside you was unusual—normally, you weren’t the type to obsess over your appearance. You had a certain confidence about these things, but tonight felt different.

You turned to the side, checking the outfit from another angle, then turned back to face the mirror. Why were you so worked up over this? It wasn’t like you were trying to impress anyone. But the longer you stood there, the more the answer lingered just below the surface, teasing you with its obviousness.

Deep down, you knew.

Hongjoong.

You shook your head at yourself, scolding the foolishness brewing in your heart. Why did you care so much about what he might think? Why were you secretly hoping he’d notice you? You let out a humorless laugh, pressing your fingers against the cool surface of the vanity. You didn’t even know if you wanted him to approach you tonight. The memory of your last interaction was still fresh, a wound that hadn’t fully scabbed over.

But some small, ridiculous part of you hoped—prayed—that maybe, just maybe, things could be different tonight. That maybe he’d look at you the way he used to, with that spark of admiration in his eyes. Maybe he’d find the courage to talk to you, to apologize properly, to explain why he’d hurt you the way he did. Maybe he’d—

Your thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of your phone on the countertop. The screen lit up with Seonghwa’s name and a message that read:

I’m outside.

Walking to the window, you peered outside and saw him leaning casually against his car. When his eyes caught yours, he grinned and waved enthusiastically, his free hand raised high above his head. The sight of his childlike excitement made you chuckle softly, and you returned the wave.

Grabbing your purse, you cast one last glance at the mirror, adjusting your earrings before slipping on your heels. As you made your way out the door, you kept telling yourself to stop overthinking. Tonight wasn’t about Hongjoong—it couldn’t be. This was your chance to let go of everything, if only for a few hours.

Inside the elevator, you leaned against the wall, staring blankly at the buttons as the floors ticked by. When the elevator stopped on the third floor, Madame Dupont stepped in, her sharp eyes immediately lighting up when she saw you.

“My dear!” she exclaimed, her voice warm with surprise. “Look at you! You look stunning.”

Her genuine excitement brought a shy smile to your lips. “Bonsoir, Madame Dupont,” you greeted, inclining your head politely.

“What’s the occasion? You don’t usually dress up like this,” she teased, though her tone carried more curiosity than mockery.

You hesitated for a moment, shifting your weight. “My friends invited me to a New Year’s party. I thought… maybe it’s time I went out and let myself breathe a little.”

Her expression softened, her wrinkled eyes glimmering with something akin to pride. “That’s wonderful to hear, my dear. You deserve it, truly.” Before you could say anything else, she pulled you into a brief but firm hug, her perfume—sweet and floral—wrapping around you like a blanket.

When the elevator doors opened on the ground floor, she squeezed your hand gently. “Have fun tonight,” she said with a smile. “You’ve earned it.”

You nodded, touched by her words. “Merci, Madame Dupont. I’ll try.”

The cool night air greeted you as you stepped outside. Seonghwa was quick to spot you, his entire face lighting up as he waved like an overexcited child. “There she is!” he called out, his voice laced with exaggerated enthusiasm.

You laughed, walking toward him. “You didn’t have to make it that obvious that you missed me, you know.”

“Oh, but I did,” he said with a grin as he opened the passenger door for you. “It’s been far too long since we hung out properly.”

You slid into the car, murmuring a soft “thank you” as you adjusted your dress. But as you settled in, the familiar setting triggered a memory you weren’t prepared for—the last time you were in Hongjoong’s car. You remembered the way he’d glanced at you during that drive, how the silence between you had been heavy but not uncomfortable. How things had been… easier.

The smile you’d been wearing faltered slightly. You really missed him.

But tonight wasn’t about him. You couldn’t let it be.

Seonghwa slipped into the driver’s seat and immediately noticed the change in your demeanor. Though he didn’t say anything, his brows furrowed slightly in concern. “So,” he began, steering the conversation away from whatever was on your mind, “you’ve missed a lot lately.”

“Oh?” you asked, forcing your focus back to him.

“Yeah,” he said, his tone turning light and teasing. “You missed Wooyoung accidentally sending a mass email to the wrong group. He meant to send it to the marketing team, but instead, the IT department got a very detailed report about catering options.”

You chuckled softly. “Let me guess—he blamed it on the system?”

“Of course he did. And don’t even get me started on Mingi and his latest prank. He replaced all of Yeosang’s post-it notes with ones that had motivational quotes in Comic Sans.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the image. “Sounds like I’ve missed quite a bit of chaos.”

“Oh, you have,” Seonghwa agreed with a grin. But as the conversation lulled, your curiosity got the better of you. “What about Hongjoong?” you asked hesitantly.

Seonghwa’s expression softened, a knowing look crossing his features. “He’s… different lately,” he admitted after a pause. “Not as talkative as he used to be. He’s professional, sure, but there’s something missing. He’s not himself.”

Worry gnawed at you, but Seonghwa reached over to pat your arm reassuringly. “Don’t think about it too much tonight, okay? Let’s just focus on having fun.”

You nodded, though his words did little to ease the tightness in your chest. You wished it were that easy. You truly did.

—

Hongjoong’s fingers curled around the edge of the sink, his reflection staring back at him with a mixture of frustration and nervousness. The soft hum of the fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, matching the unsettled rhythm of his thoughts. His hair refused to cooperate, each strand mocking his futile attempts to tame it. He combed his fingers through the dark locks for what felt like the hundredth time, letting out a low growl of irritation.

“Why now?” he muttered under his breath, narrowing his eyes at the rebellious strands. Of all nights, it had to be this one where he couldn’t look as put-together as he wanted.

But deep down, he knew it wasn’t just about the hair. No amount of fixing or adjusting could cover up the restlessness gnawing at his chest. Tonight was different. Tonight, you were here.

The thought made his stomach twist in an uncomfortable knot. His gaze flickered down to his hands, knuckles white against the sink’s edge.

“Why do you care so much?” he asked himself, the question lingering in the air like a stubborn shadow. He already knew the answer—he just didn’t want to say it out loud.

You hadn’t spoken in weeks, not properly. Not since the argument that had left things hanging in the air, unresolved and heavy. And yet, here he was, fussing over his appearance like a teenager before their first dance.

It was foolish, wishful even, but a part of him hoped that tonight… maybe things would be different. Maybe your eyes would find his across the room. Maybe you’d exchange even just a glance.

The muffled sound of Wooyoung’s voice drifted through the door, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“You’re finally here!”

His body stiffened.

You were here.

“Shit,” he hissed, running a hand over his face before straightening his posture. He took one last look in the mirror, smoothing out the creases in his blazer. It wasn’t perfect, but it would have to do.

The moment he stepped out of the bathroom, the atmosphere shifted. The harsh fluorescent lights dimmed, replaced by the soft glow of multi-colored LEDs that washed over the venue in a dreamlike haze. Music played faintly in the background, mingling with the hum of conversations and the occasional burst of laughter.

But Hongjoong wasn’t focused on any of that. His eyes darted through the crowd, scanning the sea of faces for one in particular.

Before he could spot you, the stage lights flickered on, illuminating the small platform he had set up in the center of the room. Seonghwa stood there, microphone in hand, his presence commanding attention as he greeted the crowd.

“Good evening, everyone!” Seonghwa’s voice was warm and inviting, drawing cheers and applause from the guests. “Thank you all for coming tonight to celebrate not just the end of the year, but also the incredible milestones we’ve achieved together. It’s an honor to have so many talented and inspiring individuals gathered here.”

The applause swelled, and Seonghwa smiled, pausing for effect before continuing. “Now, I won’t keep you from enjoying the night, but before we get started, I’d like to call up someone very important to say a few words—our host, the man behind it all… Kim Hongjoong!”

The room erupted into cheers as Seonghwa gestured toward him, and Hongjoong felt a surge of anxiety spike through his chest. He wasn’t one to get stage fright, but the thought of speaking while you were out there, somewhere in the crowd, made his throat tighten.

He forced a small smile as he stepped onto the stage, his usual confidence faltering under the weight of his own thoughts.

“Thank you, Seonghwa,” he began, his voice steady but lacking its usual vibrancy. “And thank you all for being here tonight. This year has been nothing short of extraordinary, and it’s all thanks to the hard work and dedication of everyone in this room.”

His words were genuine, heartfelt, but as he continued, his eyes couldn’t stop flickering across the crowd, searching. He tried to keep his composure, but the way his gaze kept shifting didn’t go unnoticed by a few observant guests.

“Tonight is not just about reflecting on our successes but also about looking forward to the future. I hope this evening will serve as a reminder of the creativity, passion, and drive that brought us all together. Let’s welcome the new year with open arms and make it even better than the last.”

The applause was loud, appreciative, but Hongjoong barely heard it. His eyes finally landed on you.

And you were looking back at him.

For a moment, everything else seemed to blur—time, sound, the crowd around you both. His heart stuttered in his chest, and his grip on the microphone tightened.

“I…” He paused, clearing his throat to steady himself. “I hope you all have fun tonight. Thank you.”

The crowd cheered again as he stepped off the stage, but the moment had already left him shaken. Across the room, Wooyoung nudged your shoulder gently. “Hey, you okay?”

You blinked, startled out of your thoughts, and turned to him with a faint smile. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Wooyoung didn’t look convinced. “Are you sure? You kind of zoned out there for a second.”

You hesitated, your eyes flickering toward the stage where Hongjoong had stood moments ago. “It’s just… there are so many high-profile people here. I feel like I don’t belong.”

“Bullshit,” Wooyoung said bluntly, earning a surprised laugh from you. “Sorry for the language, but yeah, that’s total bullshit. You belong here just as much as anyone else.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not.” He crossed his arms, giving you a pointed look. “Look around. People are literally noticing you left and right. You’re the star tonight.”

Before you could respond, a nearby conversation caught your attention.

“Who’s that stunning mademoiselle over there?” a woman whispered, her gaze fixed on you.

“She’s one of Mr. Kimʼs newest models,” her assistant replied, earning a smile of approval from the woman.

Wooyoung grinned triumphantly. “See? I told you.”

You shook your head, trying to suppress a smile. “You’re reaching, Woo.”

Before he could argue further, someone from across the room called out his name, and you turned to see a tall man waving enthusiastically.

“Soobin!” Wooyoung called back, his face lighting up.

You nudged him gently. “Go say hi.”

Wooyoung hesitated, glancing back at you. “Are you sure? My priority tonight is—”

“I’ll be fine,” you reassured him. “Go. Catch up with your friend.”

It took a little more convincing, but eventually, Wooyoung relented, leaving you alone in the crowd, telling you to stay safe before heading towards the other corner of the room. And as much as you hated to admit it, you wanted the chance to see Hongjoong—keeping Wooyoung around would lower your chances. You weren’t sure what you’d say or do, but the pull was undeniable.

The music swelled, filling the air with a hauntingly beautiful melody that sent shivers cascading down your spine. You recognized the song instantly—Ma Meilleure Ennemie.

Its delicate notes carried a tension that mirrored the one steadily growing in your chest. Each rise and fall of the rhythm felt like it was echoing the flutter of your heartbeat, unstable and erratic.

The lights dimmed and flickered in sync with the music, casting shifting hues of red, blue, and purple over the crowd. The once vibrant room was now a kaleidoscope of moving silhouettes, their faces obscured by the moody lighting and the fog created by the haze machine. You moved cautiously through the throng of people, your heels clicking softly against the polished floor.

With every step, you felt smaller. The towering presence of high-profile figures, their laughter and animated conversations, created an invisible barrier that was difficult to breach. These were people who belonged here—artists, designers, and models who were not only established but celebrated. They mingled with ease, their confidence palpable, while you felt like an imposter wandering through a world you didn’t quite belong to.

You clenched your fingers around the fabric of your dress, the smooth satin offering little comfort against the gnawing self-doubt creeping into your thoughts.

“Excusez-moi.”

A deep voice startled you, and you turned to see an elegantly dressed man with salt-and-pepper hair and a sharp, tailored suit. He looked every bit the part of a veteran in the fashion industry.

“You are one of Monsieur Kim’s models, no?” he asked, his French accent rolling off his tongue smoothly.

You forced a polite smile, nodding. “Yes, I am.”

“Ah,” he said, his smile warm but scrutinizing, his eyes scanning you as if evaluating your worth. “I thought so. You have a certain... presence. Unique.”

His words, though intended as a compliment, made your skin prickle with unease. You managed to thank him before he moved on, but the encounter left you feeling even more out of place.

As you continued walking, more people stopped you. Some were kind, their words of admiration genuine, but others were probing, their questions sharp and loaded.

“How long have you been modeling?”

“Which agency represents you?”

“Do you think you’re prepared for a career this demanding?”

The last question lingered in your mind long after the conversation ended, gnawing at the cracks in your composure. Am I prepared?

Someone brushes past you, stepping on your foot in the process. You hissed in pain, stumbling back and clutching your arm to steady yourself.

“Apologies!” the person called out over their shoulder, but their apology was lost in the sea of voices and music.

You backed away further, retreating to the edges of the room where the lights weren’t as harsh, and the crowd wasn’t as suffocating. The thrum of conversations and laughter seemed louder now, drowning out the melody of the song that once comforted you.

Your breathing grew shallow, the edges of your vision narrowing as anxiety took root. Your hands trembled slightly as you pressed one against your chest, trying to ground yourself.

Maybe you shouldn’t have sent Wooyoung off…

The thought barely formed in your mind before you decided to leave the crowd altogether. You turned, intending to slip away unnoticed, when a warm hand closed gently around your forearm.

“Wait—”

The touch was familiar, so much so that your heart skipped a beat. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

It was Hongjoong.

Slowly, you turned to face him, and the sight that greeted you nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

Even under the shifting, dim lights, he looked strikingly handsome. His dark hair, though slightly tousled, framed his sharp features perfectly. The tailored blazer he wore fit him impeccably, accentuating his slim build and exuding an understated elegance. But it wasn’t just his appearance—it was the way he held himself, a quiet intensity in his gaze that felt almost magnetic.

He was slightly out of breath, his chest rising and falling as if he’d been rushing. You couldn’t help but wonder—had he been searching for you? The idea made your heart clench with conflicting emotions.

“I…” You opened your mouth, but the words didn’t come. You had hoped to catch a glimpse of him tonight, to admire him from a distance and leave it at that. But now, with him standing this close, your resolve crumbled.

Hongjoong’s grip on your arm loosened, but his hand lingered as if afraid you might vanish if he let go completely. “Please,” he said softly, his voice almost drowned out by the music and chatter around you. “Can we talk? Just for a moment.”

You hesitated, glancing around at the crowd before meeting his gaze again. “Hongjoong, I don’t think this is the time or place—”

“Then tell me when,” he interrupted, his voice firm but laced with urgency. “Tell me where, and I’ll be there. Just… don’t push me away like this. Please. I’m begging you.” His hand tightened ever so slightly on your arm, his desperation evident in the way his brows furrowed, his lips pressing into a thin line as if to hold back words that might spill out too quickly.

Your hesitation deepened, your heart warring against your mind. This is a mistake. He’s a mistake. But… why does it hurt to see him like this?

“I donʼt…” you began, your voice faltering as your resolve threatened to give way.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. “I know I’ve failed you in ways I can’t even begin to explain. But if you walk away now, if you don’t let me fix this—” His voice broke, and he exhaled shakily, dragging a hand through his hair. “I’ll regret it for the rest of my life. Don’t let this end here. Just one conversation. That’s all I’m asking for.”

You bit your lip, your chest tightening at the rawness of his plea. You wanted to say no, to walk away and preserve the fragile walls you’d built around yourself. But the sincerity in his eyes, the cracks in his usually composed demeanor, made it impossible.

This is dangerous, you thought, your mind screaming at you to pull away. But your heart had already decided.

You sighed, nodding slowly. “Fine,” you whispered, the single word barely audible over the noise around you. Relief washed over his face, and for a moment, you hated how much it softened something inside you.

The moment Hongjoong’s hand tightened around your arm and he led you toward the nearest exit, your feet faltered. Panic mixed with confusion, and you instinctively pulled back, halting him in his tracks.

He turned to face you, a flicker of concern flashing in his eyes as he noticed your resistance. His brows knit together, and his lips parted to question you, but you spoke first.

“Hongjoong,” you began, your voice a mixture of firm and hesitant, “you have guests. This is your event. You can’t just leave them here like this. What if they notice you’re gone? What if it leaves a bitter taste in their mouths? They’re—”

“I don’t give a damn about what they think,” he interrupted, his tone sharp yet desperate. His voice cracked ever so slightly, and it was enough to make you pause. “To hell with it if they think I’m irresponsible. I don’t care if they’re disappointed, or if they whisper behind my back. All I care about is you—just you. I need you to talk to me tonight—that’s all that matters. So, please…”

The intensity in his gaze, the way his voice broke on the word please, made your chest tighten painfully. You sighed, defeated by his resolve but unwilling to make this easy for him.

When he reached for your arm again, you took a step back, hiding it behind you as you shook your head. “You don’t have to drag me with you,” you said, your tone cold but your heart racing. “I have two feet that function perfectly fine, you know.”

For a moment, his face fell—hurt flashed across his features so quickly it was almost imperceptible, but you saw it. And as much as it made guilt twist in your stomach, you knew you had every right to set boundaries. After all, he had been the one to build the fire between the two of you, only to extinguish it when you were most vulnerable.

Still, he nodded, accepting your terms without argument. A couple of minutes later, you found yourself stepping into his office on the highest floor of the building.

The room was dimly lit, the faint glow of the city lights seeping in through the large floor-to-ceiling windows. Papers were scattered across his desk, some even littering the floor. It wasn’t dirty, but it wasn’t the meticulously organized space you remembered from your last visit. The disarray was a stark contrast to the Hongjoong you knew—or thought you knew.

He closed the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the silence. For a moment, neither of you spoke. The tension in the room was palpable, thick enough to suffocate.

“I know,” he began, his voice low and rough, “that I’ve been a mess. That I’ve been unfair to you.” He turned toward you, his hands twitching at his sides as if he wasn’t sure what to do with them. “I’m not going to stand here and pretend like I haven’t made mistakes. I have. I’ve made so many mistakes.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, leaning against the desk to steady yourself. “Then why?” you asked, your voice sharper than you intended. “Why did you do it? Why did you build this thing between us only to tear it apart?”

Hongjoong’s shoulders sagged, and he ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. “Because I was scared,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “That night… at your doorstep… I almost kissed you. I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But I was standing at the edge of a cliff, and I wasn’t sure if I was ready to fall.”

His words sent a sharp pang through your chest. “So you weren’t scared to fall when you were dancing with me at the flower shop?” you demanded, your voice trembling. “When you’d look at me like I was the only person in the world? When you kept lighting the fire between us? You weren’t scared to do all of that, but the moment we almost kissed, suddenly you’re scared?”

He flinched at your words, and for a brief moment, you saw the guilt etched into his features.

“I was scared of what it meant,” he confessed, his voice rising slightly in desperation. “I was terrified, because I didn’t know what would happen if I let myself fall for you. I thought if I stayed away, I’d be sparing you—”

“Sparing me?” you interrupted, your voice rising as tears stung your eyes. “Sparing me from what, Hongjoong? From feeling like I was nothing to you? From crying myself to sleep because the one person I trusted to stay decided to leave? You weren’t sparing me. You were sparing yourself.”

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his confession. “I know, and I hate myself for it. But I couldn’t—”

“Couldn’t what?” you snapped, your chest heaving as the floodgates burst. “Couldn’t handle the thought of being vulnerable? Couldn’t deal with the possibility of getting hurt? Newsflash, Hongjoong: you hurt me. You left me to deal with everything on my own while you ran away. What are you so scared of?”

“I’ve spent so much of my life building walls, focusing on my work, convincing myself that I didn’t need anyone. But you…” He took a shaky step toward you. “You made me want more. And it terrified me.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” you snapped, your voice cracking as tears burned at the corners of your eyes. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt me? You pulled me in, Hongjoong. You made me believe in something I didn’t think I could have. And then you pushed me away like I was nothing.”

He winced, his head hanging low. “I know,” he said softly. “I know I was an asshole. I know I shouldn’t have waited this long to talk to you. But—”

“It’s not too late,” you cut him off, your voice quieter but no less firm. “It’s just that you could’ve done this sooner. You had every chance to speak to me, and you didn’t. Why only now?”

He stepped closer, his eyes searching yours for a sign of forgiveness. “Because I’ve realized that I can’t keep running from this. From you. I don’t care how long it takes or how hard it is—I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. To fix us. Just tell me how, and I’ll do it. Please…”

His voice broke, and the raw emotion in it shattered the last of your defenses. All the pain, resentment, and longing you had bottled up came rushing to the surface.

“You don’t get to just say that and expect everything to be okay!” you cried, your voice rising as tears spilled down your cheeks. “Do you know how many nights I stayed up thinking about you? About what I did wrong—and why I wasn’t enough?”

Hongjoong reached for you, pulling you into his arms despite your attempts to push him away. You pounded your fists weakly against his chest, but he didn’t let go. His hands cradled the back of your head, his lips pressing softly against your temple as you sobbed into his shoulder.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’m so, so sorry. You were always enough. More than enough. This is on me. All of it.”

Your fists stilled against his chest, and you let out a choked sob, clinging to him as all the anger and frustration poured out of you.

He held you tighter, his presence grounding you even as your emotions threatened to drown you. And in that moment, you realized that as much as you wanted to hate him, as much as you wanted to push him away—you couldn’t. Not entirely.

The silence between you stretched thin, taut like a wire ready to snap. Hongjoong’s arms remained firmly around you, his hands gently gripping your arms as if afraid you might slip away. His gaze bore into you, raw and pleading, but you couldn’t look at him without feeling the sting of all the nights you cried over his absence.

“I know I don’t deserve your forgiveness,” he began, his voice hoarse as though the words clawed their way out of him. “But I’m here now, and I’m begging you. Just—please, let me fix this. Let me fix us. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

You pulled back slightly, enough to meet his eyes, and the sight of him broke your heart all over again. His eyes were glassy, brimmed with tears he was clearly fighting to hold back. The vulnerability in his expression was a stark contrast to the confident, composed man you thought you knew.

“And what if it’s not enough?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if no matter how hard you try, it won’t erase the pain you’ve caused? Do you even realize what you did to me, Hongjoong?”

“I do,” he said quickly, embracing you even tighter as though afraid you’d vanish if he let go. “I know I broke you. I know I left you alone when you needed me most. And I’ll never forgive myself for that. But I swear, I’ll never make that mistake again. Just tell me how to fix this—tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

You shook your head, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. “You say that now, but what about when things get hard again? Will you run away then too? Will you leave me to pick up the pieces while you figure out how to handle your emotions?”

“No,” he said firmly, his voice rising with desperation. “I won’t. I know I’ve been a coward, and I know I don’t deserve your trust, but I’ll earn it back. I’ll prove to you that I’m not the same person who hurt you. I… Iʼll admit I really thought placing a wall between us was the solution. I thought I was doing the right thing. But I was wrong. So fucking wrong. I’ve spent every single day regretting it, hating myself for the pain I caused you. And I’m here now because I can’t keep living like this—I can’t keep living without you, goddamnit.”

His words hit you like a tidal wave, threatening to pull you under. You wanted to believe him, to let yourself fall into the safety of his arms, but the scars he left on your heart made it impossible to trust him fully.

Still, you wanted to.

“I hate you, you know,” you said, your voice trembling as the words spilled out like shards of glass. Each one was sharp, cutting through the silence, through the air that seemed too thick to breathe. Tears ran down your cheeks in an unrelenting stream, and you didn’t bother to wipe them away. Your fists clenched at your sides, the tremor in them betraying the rawness of your emotions.

“I hate how you left me in the middle of a path I was unfamiliar with,” you continued, your tone rising with every syllable. “I hate how much of a coward you are. I hate how you made me believe there was something between us, only for you to act like there wasn’t. I hate how you kept me wondering why I wasn’t enough for you to stay.”

Your voice cracked on the last word, and you felt yourself breaking all over again, like a dam collapsing under the weight of too much pressure.

“But…” You paused, choking on the lump in your throat. “But mostly, I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.”

The admission hung in the air, a fragile truth that seemed to silence everything around you. And as the words left your lips, you let your arms find their way around his figure, clinging to him with a desperation that mirrored the ache your heart felt.

You buried your face in his chest, your tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. His arms came around you almost instinctively, holding you tightly as though afraid you might slip away if he loosened his grip even slightly. The faint, familiar scent of him—the one you’d tried so hard to forget—engulfed you, pulling you deeper into the spiral of emotions you’d fought to keep at bay.

You idiot, you thought to yourself, you absolute fool.

You had come here tonight to forget him, to push the memories of him into a corner of your mind you could lock away forever. Yet here you were, sobbing into his chest like the heartache of the past weeks hadn’t been enough. You hated how much you’d missed him, how much you still craved the safety of his arms even after everything he’d put you through.

Hongjoong held you close, his own chest tightening with every sob that wracked your body. He rested his cheek against the crown of your head, his breath hitching as he tried to steady himself. How could he have done this to you?

The sight of you like this—so fragile, so broken—was a knife to his heart. And knowing he was the one who had caused this pain made the guilt nearly unbearable. He’d spent weeks convincing himself that pushing you away was the right thing to do, that he was protecting himself, protecting you. But standing here now, with you trembling in his arms, he realized how horribly wrong he’d been.

The fears that had haunted him for so long—the fear of being abandoned again, of opening his heart only to have it shattered—no longer mattered. Because nothing, no ghost from his past, no amount of uncertainty, was more important than you.

He didnʼt care anymore. He didnʼt care about anything but you.

He closed his eyes, his lips pressing softly against your temple. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “For everything. For hurting you, for being a coward. I’m so sorry, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You sniffled, lifting your head slightly from his chest. His hands moved instinctively, one cupping your face while the other rested on your waist, steadying you. His thumb brushed away the tear tracks on your cheek, and when you finally met his gaze, the raw vulnerability in his eyes made your breath catch.

Hongjoong looked at you like you were the only thing in the world that mattered, his own tears threatening to spill over. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. He didn’t need to speak; the emotions in his eyes said everything.

And against your better judgment, against every ounce of self-preservation you’d tried to cling to, you found yourself leaning in.

The moment your lips met, it was as though the world outside ceased to exist. The kiss was slow but full of urgency, a culmination of every unspoken word, every suppressed feeling, every moment of longing that had built up between you.

Fireworks exploded in the distance, the sound echoing through the air as the clock struck twelve.

The kiss was not rushed, nor was it perfect; it was trembling, raw, and unpolished. It was the kind of kiss that could only come from a place of deep yearning, a place where words had failed and only touch could suffice.

Hongjoong’s lips were soft against yours, moving with an unspoken gentleness that contradicted the storm of emotions swirling between you. It wasn’t about passion or desire—it was about connection, about pouring every unsaid word and buried feeling into this single, fragile moment. His touch was tentative at first, like he was afraid you might pull away, but when you didn’t, he kissed you deeper, his hands steadying you as if to anchor you both.

The world around you seemed to dissolve into nothingness. The distant sound of fireworks faded into a muffled hum, the sharp chill of the night forgotten. All that remained was the warmth of his lips and the way your heart thundered in your chest, not from nerves but from the overwhelming sensation of being wholly, undeniably seen.

His hand cupped your cheek with a reverence that made you feel like you were something sacred, something he was terrified of breaking yet couldn’t bear to let go of. His thumb brushed against your skin, a subtle, tender movement that spoke volumes more than words ever could.

For the first time in weeks, the ache in your chest began to ease, replaced by a bittersweet warmth that spread through your entire being. The kiss wasn’t just an apology; it was a confession, a plea, a promise. It carried every moment you’d spent apart, every sleepless night, every tear you’d shed. It was as though he was trying to stitch back together every broken piece of your heart, not with grand gestures but with the simplicity of his presence and the sincerity in his touch.

And you kissed him back just as softly, your movements hesitant but full of meaning. It wasn’t forgiveness—not yet—but it was a surrender. A quiet acknowledgement that no matter how much he had hurt you, no matter how hard you had tried to let him go, he was still there, embedded in every corner of your heart.

You could feel his tears against your skin, hot and unrelenting, as they mixed with your own. Yet, he didn’t pull away; he stayed, pressing closer as though afraid that even a breath of space might shatter this fragile moment. His lips trembled against yours, betraying his vulnerability, his desperation, his overwhelming relief.

It was soft, painfully so, like the brush of a feather or the first tentative notes of a love song. And yet, it carried the weight of everything—the pain, the longing, the fear, and the undeniable truth that no matter how broken the two of you had been, you were still standing here, together, trying.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads nearly pressed together, both of you breathing heavily, as though the kiss had stolen every ounce of air from your lungs. His eyes met yours, glistening with unshed tears, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you saw him—truly saw him. Not the man who had hurt you, not the coward who had run away, but the boy you had once fallen for, the boy who was still fighting to be worthy of you.

Coming to terms with what just happened, your cheeks flushed, and it seems he still noticed it despite the dim, ambient surroundings engulfing both of you, given the way he smiled.

And in that moment, as the bright hues of fireworks lit up the sky, you realized something: this wasn’t an ending. It wasn’t even a beginning. It was a moment suspended in time, a fragile, imperfect truce between two hearts that refused to let go of each other, no matter how much they had tried.

🎞️ — lividstar.

[melefim]

Swearing in Dead Boy Detectives: Episode 8- The Case of the Hungry Snake

Episode Overview:

58 total, 12 different words said by 12 characters.

Charles: 1 Bloody Hell

Crystal: 5 Fuck, 5 Shit, 2 Bitch, 7 God. 1 Jesus, 1 Prick

Jenny: 10 Fuck, 1 Shit, 1 Ass, 1 God, 1 Jesus, 1 Screw

Niko: 2 God

Esther: 3 Fuck, 4 God, 1 Screw

Cat King: 1 Fuck, 1 Dick

Kingham: 3 Fuck

Girl in Memory 1 (Cheating BF): 1 Damn

Crystal's Mom: 1 Damn

Crystal's Dad: 1 Jesus

Girl in Memory 2 (Club Fight): 1 Fuck, 1 Slut

Girl in Memory 3 (Traffic): 1 God

Curses Per Character:

Charles: 1

Crystal: 21

Jenny: 15

Niko: 2

Esther: 8

Cat King: 2

Kingham: 3

Girl in Memory 1 (Cheating BF): 1

Crystal's Mom: 1

Crystal's Dad: 1

Girl in Memory 2 (Club Fight): 2

Girl in Memory 3 (Traffic): 1

Uses Per Word:

Fuck: 23

Shit: 6

Bitch: 2

Ass: 1

Damn: 2

Bloody Hell: 1

God: 15

Jesus: 3

Dick: 1

Prick: 1

Slut: 1

Screw: 2

Lines:

Girl in Memory 1 (Cheating BF): Why are you being so goddamn mean?

Crystal: Am I ever wrong about this shit?

Crystal: My parents won't say shit, they don't even--

Crystal: Jesus Christ! You guys scared me.

Crystal: God, it's like being punched in the face and the stomach.

Crystal: Yeah, well blame my parents. Holy shit!

Esther: God, you're nosy.

Crystal: Mom? Oh my God. Mom is that--

Crystal’s Mom: They're wasting our goddamn time, Seth, go tell him!

Crystal’s Dad: This is Art, for Christ’s sake!

Girl in Memory 2 (Club Fight): Get your fucking hands off my boyfriend, you slut!

Girl in Memory 3 (Traffic): Oh my God, did you guys hear? James got hit by a car.

Crystal: Maybe karma is just a bitch.

Crystal: Oh, my God. Oh, I'm a fucking awful person. Oh, God, I'm the worst.

Crystal: God, I was a bad person before him.

Crystal: Because if you did, God, you'd hate me.

Jenny: What the actual fuck?

Jenny: And why the ever-loving fuck is my hair braided?

Jenny: Fuck that! That is bullshit!

Jenny: No fucking way.

Kingham: "No fucking way" to you. "No fucking way" to that side braid. What the fuck is that?"

Jenny: Fucking fuck!

Jenny: Screw it. I'd rather know my own life, no matter how fucked up.

Jenny: Jesus, fuck!

Crystal: Oh my God, Jenny are you OK?

Crystal: Shit (digging Niko out of rubble)

Niko: Oh my God. Am I dead?

Niko: Oh my God. Is that why the magic eight ball kept saying "outlook not so good"?

Jenny: Esther's a witch? I thought she was just an asshole.

Crystal: Fuck! (Realizes Esther has the boys)

Jenny: I figure a meat cleaver can cut up a witch, but what the fuck do I know anymore?

Crystal: Because whatever fucked-up little thing you have going on with Edwin, you must care about him a little.

Cat King: So was her wayward husband. A real swinging dick.

Cat King: Fuck me. Did you even listen to my story?

Crystal: She probably put a, like, kill-you-instantly spell or some witchy shit on the door.

Esther: Don't ever trust a goddess to grant your wishes, because she'll definitely screw you over good.

Esther: Oh, God! Oh, God, no, my face… Is fine.

Esther: Oh my God, my own sacrificial knife? I'm impressed. But I'm not fucking around that you're also gonna patch that wall before you die too.

Crystal: I am so sorry he was a colossal prick.

Esther: Who the fuck are you?

Esther: What the fuck? Hey hey hey no! What did you just do?

Crystal: Hubris is a bitch, am I right?

Jenny: God, that sounds so fucking procedural.

Crystal: I don't have to give up my new fucked-up life while I'm trying to sort out my old fucked-up life.

Charles: Oh, bloody hell. And you're always just popping up. Where do you even come from?

Notes:

Previously on Dead Boy Detectives…

Shown in this episode’s recap but not counted above:

David: I can’t, you stupid bitch! (Episode 7)

Bonus:

Esther: Oh, shoot. Or as the French say, merde.

‘Merde’ is French for ‘shit’

Updates:

-Added ‘slut’, updating charts and counts.

-Added bonus quote from Esther

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More Dead Boy Detectives Swearing Posts:

Masterlist

Swearing by Episode

Swearing by Character

Swearing by Word

All Swearing Posts

And if you like lists of things like I do, you can check out my other Dead Boy Detectives ones here!

When Charles’ Shirt Colors Change

George Rextrew’s Edwin comic inspo board

Full soundtrack with timestamps

Moves, Incidents, and Cases Masterlist

First pass at finding where the songs in the score are used- full post with timestamps in progress

[midnightmoodlet-art]

Do you have any personal headcanons for Affogato? Little things that you apply to him that makes you happy?

You fool! YOU HAVE ACTIVATED MY YAP CARD!

I will focus on random hcs or else this will become a 30 page word document

❧ I personally see him as mixed race: half Cacaonian and half Vanillian (particularly since Vanillians have a strong ice cream imagery) ❧ He has freckles all over him from his Vanillian ancestry (the vanilla bean spots in french vanilla ice cream do you see my vision) that he's a bit insecure about, so he covers them with clothes or makeup

❧ He's a BIG fan of anything high fashion, fancy makeup and extravagant nails ❧ high key would run a fashion blog to yap about it, maybe even has half the Pinterest results be his posts there ❧ He's also really into experimenting new looks, so for special occasions, expect to see some WILD looks ❧ In modern AUs, his sims 4 mod folder is at least 100GB big and it's just CAS items aka bigger than the game itself and all its totally legally obtained expansions

❧ Halloween is his fav holiday for no reason it's because it's the best excuse to get free candy in ridiculous amounts ❧ Would constantly be in top 3s for Halloween costumes, he goes nuts ❧ His home will also be heavily decorated full of trinkets for Halloween, as if his home wasn't already a maximalist paradise

❧ He's big into aromatherapy and incense, and makes his own incense sticks based on medicinal properties (ex: lavender and calming properties), but also some would be based on the very few positive memories of his childhood. ❧ In modern AUs he's a Bath and Body Works candle slut, like holy fuck do NOT let this man enter the store he still has 52 3-wicks to burn through!!!

❧ He never had romantic relationships, and doesn't really prioritize them either ❧ Like unless he really REALLY cares about a specific cookie, he's indifferent about that whole aspect (basically he's demisexual) ❧ He's a strong independent man who need no cookie! ❧ He's 100% bisexual, like his requirement is literally just "be beautiful" ❧ Good luck finding out what he thinks is beautiful though lmao ❧ If you catch his eye though, and by sheer miracle you manage to gain his trust, hooooo boy he's gon be obssessed, he's a very jealous man after all (bonus points: in private [key word] he'd be really cuddly, a direct contrast to how he portrays himself in public)

Ah fuck I wrote a novel again

[thefandomdirtymind]

Masterlist and Coming Soon !

SFW:

Shiny Offering

The Mermaid Dream ( Request)

The Magic of a Kiss ( Request)

I though I knew love ( Request)

Trust Issue (Request)

Wait for me (Shanks Request)

The Haircut

His High Standard Princess ( Request)

Stand by Me

Better late than never ( Request)

Ice cream ( Request)

Oregano and other things (Request)

You left me ( Request )

NSFW

The Small Favor

Casual Part 2 Part 3 (Finish serie)

Under his touch ( Request)

SANJI SPEAK FRENCH EVENT

The French book

Let's make a deal

The many way to say I love you

TAZ AU

Christmas Tradition

COMING SOON

I though I knew love (Request)

Trust Issue (Request)

High standard (Request)

Better late than never (Request)

Shank ( Request)

Origano and other things ( Request)

When you left me ( Request)

Casual Part 2 ( Request)

Love is caring (Request)

Safe Word (Request)

The Haircut

Ice cream

Casual Part 3 NSFW (Request)

Under his touch NSFW (Request)

I see you (Request)

Tell me i'm wrong (Request)

The sound of my heart (Request)

Safe with me now (Request)

Cherry lips NSFW ( Request)

Mine NSFW (Request)

Through his eyes (Request)

The titles aren't totally fixe and I still add some title if I have other ideas.

[theokusgallery]

It's still Janus. You know

KtS(aWtG)!AU by @greenninjagal-blog :)

I am 100% using that guy as an emote somewhere. or something. Maybe I'll print it out and make it a sticker

[miserymerci]

<- Day 9: Storm Day 11: Quest ->

Fluffy February Day 10: Care - Desert Water

Fandom: Lego Monkie Kid

Characters: MK, Sun Wukong, Mei

(Sunburst duo, Jackfruit duo, Samadhi fire, Alternate universe)

Word count: 4347

Summary: (TW: Descriptions of a panic attack) In our original timeline, the Samadhi Fire reforges and almost tears Mei apart. In this timeline, things aren’t much better.

There is little that you can’t steal from people. Money can be taken, for one, and life, for another. While most stolen things are material objects, there is also the intangible; love, happiness, trust …

The downside of taking love, happiness, and trust by force is that they often become broken in the process. If there’s one thing that remains constant in people, it’s their will to bite and scratch and tear when attacked. Broken love is not love, broken happiness is not happiness. It becomes a second, more awful thing not too different from hallucinating an oasis in the middle of the desert.

So, then, broken trust is not trust.

Mei and MK met as children in the midst of a mediocre autumn day. She had begged her parents for fast food, was promptly denied, and then threw a tantrum so bad that they had finally– begrudgingly – found themselves at Pigsy's Noodles for dinner.

Pigsy’s was by no means a fast food place.

So, really, Mei was totally justified in her little five-year-old mind to be upset. She pouted with her head on the counter, stuck her tongue out at the noodles, glared dramatically as her parents ate… what else could a child do to express their feelings? Well, she could always toss the bowl. She wasn’t going to make this easy.

Before she could execute her next plan, MK popped up from the other side of the counter. Mei flinched back in her seat.

“Where did you come from?” asked Mei.

“My room,” said MK, blankly, “I’m Xiaotian. Are you going to eat that?”

Mei blinked. She followed the kid’s finger to her bowl of noodles, and then remembered that she was supposed to be pouting.

“No,” she said, sticking her nose up, trying to see if her parents were paying attention. They weren’t. 

“Can I have it?”

“Why do you want it?”

“Because if you don’t eat it, Pigsy will have to throw it away. And it makes him upset. He cries about it at night.”

Mei frowned, glancing at the chef behind the door flaps of the kitchen. He was weird and scary, but did he deserve to cry? Her inner sympathetic self (annoyingly) jumped out and decided that she didn’t want to go that far. 

She pushed the bowl toward Xiaotian. 

“My dad cries at night. Not about noodles, though,” said Mei after a moment of watching Xiaotian fumble with his chopsticks. “He paints as a hobby, but gets cranky when he can’t get the colors right.”

“Oh! I paint sometimes. With crayons.” 

Noodles fell out of Xiaotian’s mouth as he chewed and talked with his mouth full. Mei was thoroughly intrigued. 

Wordlessly, she handed him a napkin.

“Thanks.”

“You’re making that look really good,” she said.

Xiaotian, for the first time during this conversation, broke his blank expression to smile. It was sort of weird, though, as if he had only attempted it a few times.

“It is. Pigsy makes the tastiest food in all of China.”

Mei wrinkled her nose. She snuck another look at her parents, who were likely chattering on about a future business deal, and then turned back to Xiaotian.

“Are you not hungry?” asked Xiaotian.

“I… Well, I am , but I wanted fried chicken. Not,” she frowned at the peppercorn swirling around Xiaotian’s chopsticks, “ …this .” 

“What’s a fried chicken?” asked Xiaotian through a mouthful of beef. 

Mei’s jaw dropped.

“You’ve never had–! Fried food! Have you ever had french fries before?”

“What do French people have to do with frying chicken?” 

“How do you know what France is but not– this is hard to believe,” said Mei after a moment, “have you lived under a rock ?!”

“Mei!” said her mother, finally turning to look at her. “What are you doing yelling at the chef’s boy? Be more respectful.”

Mei squeezed her hands into fists on the counter.

“We were playing a game,” said Xiaotian, licking his lips, “who could yell the loudest. She’s winning.”

“ Xiaotian ! What are you doing eating the customer’s noodles!?”

Xiaotian actually looked worried this time. He cradled the bowl in his hands and turned to Pigsy.

“Didn’t want you to cry,” he blurted.

“What–”

“I’m full. I was gonna throw it away,” said Mei, crossing her arms, “ without drinking the broth.”

Pigsy gave a full-body shudder. He tightened his hold on his ladle, grumbled under his breath, and then returned to the kitchen. He might have said something about the disrespectfulness of the young these days, but it wasn’t something either of them had remembered. 

When Xiaotian turned back to Mei, she looked deathly serious.

“I’ve never lied to my parents before,” she said, quietly.

“What’s ‘lied’?” said Xiaotian, just as quietly.

“It’s when you say something that hasn’t actually happened.”

“Like a story ?”

Mei shrugged, still awestruck, “kinda.”

“You made a story for me?” asked Xiaotian.

Mei blinked at the boy’s blank expression and laughed . 

“My name is Mei,” she said, “but you probably already knew that from my mom. It’s nice to meet you Xiaotian… but I need to teach you the delicious good-ness of fried chicken.” 

Xiaotian brightened. He glanced down at his half-eaten soup and offered it back to his new friend.

“I will eat fried chicken, but you have to give Pigsy’s noodles a chance. They’re delicious good-ness too.” 

Mei, whole tantrum forgotten, straightened up in her seat with excitement and took the bowl. 

“Thank you. I… here,” she dug around in her pockets before holding out a little, crinkled daisy. “I picked it from our garden this morning. You can have it.”

In actuality, the Dragons grew only fruits and vegetables in their garden. Mei had been given a tiny dirt box of her own just beyond the mangosteen tree on her fourth birthday, and flower seeds that her parents didn’t expect would live to see the next week. 

Xiaotian held the daisy very, very gently. A pool of warmth was drawn from the flower into Xiaotian’s veins; like the cozy bubble bath Pigsy had given him only a few weeks prior. The flower wouldn’t stay fresh and green for anymore than a few hours, but the steady transfer of trust had already taken place.

The flower, early the next morning, would be found as a crispy, burnt vessel, and Xiaotian would catch the worst fever in his existence. Tonight, however, Mei blew on the hot noodles and took a bite.

The three rings of Samadhi spat fire around them; like a wolf with no eyes; like a tiger with no teeth. The most vicious beasts came in a state of deep confusion, like sorrow and hunger and panic. Scared beasts lash out– like sparks? Like fire . There was only fire. It breathed in their lungs and spilled out of their mouths like rotten poison. Fire can’t help but consume. It was in its nature, after all, and many would lose their lives in its blind fury.

Mei, in the middle of it all, held onto Macaque’s wrist like a lifeline; as if he was the only person between Mei and death. 

In a sense, he was. But he was not on Mei’s side. As far as she knew, he never has been– and never would be. 

The fire was roaring. The lights were blazing. Macaque’s hold on her was scalding. The smoke of it all gathered into her nose and tried– cruelly, slowly– to break into her very being. The Samadhi fire… was it coming? Which of these bright lights was it? Did it matter? Would she die? Was she already dead? Could she still fight?

The screams of her friends warbled in the heat. Through blurry vision, she tried her best to keep her eyes on Macaque. As long as she didn’t let go of this beast, he wouldn’t be able to run off to hurt any of the others. If she just could keep holding on… stay brave a little longer . Mei tightened her grip and glared at The Macaque. 

He wasn’t looking at her. His unclouded eye darted around the ritual site with a look so strange that Mei couldn’t stop her heart from dropping. 

Something was going wrong. Something was wrong, and Mei couldn’t do anything .

The fire, deep and dark and merciless, raced past the wailing night sky like a wounded dragon, past Tang, past Macaque, and past Mei.

It struck MK instead.

“No,” whispered Macaque.

“MK!” Tang turned and lowered his hand, but his spell was already in full swing. It sputtered and tolled in a final act of defiance. 

The beam gathered into a golden ball at MK’s chest– and then it burst into flames. 

Macaque dropped Mei. He stepped over her, hesitated, and skidded back from a shockwave of unquenchable fire. It tore apart the ice haunting Macaque’s body. It roared over MK’s cries. It took that cruel, cruel coldness from Macaque and shoved it into Mei’s queasy stomach instead. 

“I was too late,” said someone behind Mei.

She swallowed dryly and begged for the fire to burn her instead. Did she mean that? She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything but the harsh heat and the wild feeling of no control. But now, in the inferno of MK’s painful wails, she could only turn and aim her anger elsewhere.

“What is this?” said Mei, her words wavering. She glared at the Monkey King, who looked between her and MK, frozen. “What did you do to him?”

Monkey King opened his mouth, closed it, then swallowed. 

Mei growled.

“I’m coming, MK!” she tried to shout over the crackling fire (and, probably, crackling bones ). “Stop drop and roll, MK! Drop! Drop !”

She lifted herself up to her feet, prepared to leap, and was barely caught by Monkey King. 

“No,” he said, keeping a firm hold on Mei’s shoulders, “that won’t work . The Samadhi Fire– it’s inextinguishable. Did you forget that part?”

Mei shoved off his hands. 

“I don’t care . We need to help him!”

“You can’t ,” stressed Monkey King, but even he didn’t look very certain of that. His limbs were heavy and his heart shook pathetically in his chest– the words were on instinct, but there had to be a way to wiggle out of this mess (but by all the gods did he feel trapped. Like a scraggy wolf, or an old tiger, or a collared beast). 

“Sun Wukong is right!” called Nezha, his locus petals breaking the others out of their frosty prison just off to the side. “The fire will consume the boy, but it will also consume us if we stay.”

“We can’t leave him!” sputtered Mei. 

“There has to be another way,” begged Pigsy. 

“There are no other ways. We need to leave, if you value your life,” Nezha was saying, but Monkey King was too distracted staring at his shadow.

Macaque stared frightfully back. 

“ You did this!” 

Through an endless heatwave, Monkey King lunged at Macaque and took him by the throat. 

“I– I didn’t! Well– technically – but… ! Ghrr!”

Monkey King dug his nails against Macaque’s skin. He gritted his teeth as another heartbreaking cry came from the fire.

“ Stop !” said Tang. “It wasn’t Macaque who started the ritual. It was me . Uh, well, he did force me to but– but I felt like I had to! I mean right now I’m kind of having second thoughts…! But you have to understand– it was like it was my destiny .” 

Monkey King’s jaw dropped, and Macaque’s would have too if he hadn’t been dropped bottom-first onto the ground. 

“Destiny?” cried Monkey King, stepping toward Tang. “This whole reason we’re here is because of destiny and you thought it would be a good idea to follow it !? Look around! Is this all exactly what you wanted!?” 

Tang flinched. Pigsy turned to glare at Monkey King, fists clenching.

MK wailed. Somewhere in the flames, his legs buckled and stumbled like a newborn. 

“ AAAAUUUUGHHHHHH !!” Another shockwave rippled past the group. The fire, glowing a faint raspberry, churned into a murky red. Whatever battle MK was fighting, he was losing– and quickly. Monkey King lifted his arm and took the brunt of the force, Mei and Macaque behind him. From the other side of the whipping frenzy, Monkey King could see Sandy doing the same. 

“ What is happening to MK!?” 

“The Samadhi Fire– it was supposed to be inside of you , Mei. During the ritual, a piece of it got away from me and took form inside the closest vessel it could find: your great-great– eerr probably a lot of greats– grandfather, Ao Lie.” 

“YOU ARE A FOOL, SUN WUKONG!” shouted Nezha distantly. Monkey King tried to pay him no mind.

“SO YOU WERE GOING TO SACRIFICE ME !?” shouted Mei.

“No! No ! I thought that, maybe, I could have taken it away from you and put it into me– uh, okay, it’s embarrassing just saying this aloud…”

“Ugh! Then how does MK have it? We’re not related!”

“You had it before , but you must have given it away unintentionally! Or something! I… I’m not sure .”

Mei deflated, probably going through every single memory of her and MK together. Had any of them involved an exchange of fire? 

Monkey King hesitated at the mortified look on her face.

“You knew ?” sobbed MK, finally, breaking Monkey King from his trance. His arm curled around his gut. Through the charring inferno, his eyes warbled and twisted in sickening pain. MK was looking at him; afraid, confused, burning from the inside out, and wailed; “ Monkey King ? You knew ?” 

The fire was horrendously loud. MK’s cries, somehow, felt louder. They struck through every crack in Monkey King’s walls and, very suddenly, he realized that there was little he could do to fix this.

He had lost control, with no known way to truly extract the fire, with no way to pull his protege from the flames. How did this happen? How had he overstepped? ( Okay , he overstepped a lot– more than he could ever name– but with the kid ? The only times he had let him slip from his grasp was when he wasn’t paying attention; Macaque, the Lady Bone Demon; but he had been so watchful this time. 

Where had he gone wrong? Where had he gone wrong ? 

It must have been his laziness, somehow. Had he been lazy? Maybe a few times, but it had been harmless. No, not harmless– harmless to him , maybe. Not to…

Oh. Oh, he was losing it. He couldn’t… was he? Could he…? Think…! …

The embers went fuzzy around him. The Samadhi fire howled on and on, deforming into a fierce shriek, like a monster going for his traitorous throat– and then nothing but ringing buzzed through his head… something like underwater, something like space, something like nothing.

MK…! MK… MK… ? 

.

.

.

“Wukong!” someone was yelling. Hot air blew through his fur and left something that sizzled there. It kissed his skin and grabbed his windpipes and held on tight. 

“ Monkey King !” someone else screamed. The thing clenched tighter.

He was breathing too loudly– louder than the chaos, louder than the calls, louder than his stuttering heart. Focus. Focus . His eyes stung from the heat and the shaking world cried with MK’s turmoil.

“I need– Please. Please… Monkey… King..?”

Monkey King blinked. What did he want him to do? MK fought against the whipping blaze; stumble after step, step after stumble. He neared like Earth around the Sun, like a thirsty throat to water, like he couldn’t help but gravitate toward the only thing he knew in a desperate time of need.

Monkey King’s breathing quickened.

The fire burst. Everyone was knocked back further, but Monkey King planted his feet and gritted his teeth. Blackened, burning claws scraped ground and sky and flesh and bone.

Focus ! 

MK was crying. He was looking at him– looking for him– looking not for answers from him, but a secret second thing. Monkey King needed to figure whatever it was now (maybe run, maybe fight, anything but stand dumbly).

“Monkey King,” said Mei, oddly level in the storm, “I don’t know if you can hear me, but it just remembered something.”

Monkey King’s tail twisted.

“When MK and I first met, I had felt a connection between us that I had never felt before. I mean… I had my parents, of course, but that’s a bond that began even before I could really think. With MK, it was all my own. I felt as if every action and feeling was me . I shared with him my trust that day, and I think it may have helped us for the better. Like I could share every piece of me with him. Like it helped lessen the pressure.”

‘I don’t get it,’ Monkey King wanted to say, ‘please spell it out for me. I don’t understand. What is trust? You want me to trust him? How can I trust him any more than I already do? Do I? How do you even show trust?’

What can he do?

‘What can I do?

‘What can I do for you …?’

The heat kissed his face. His company was gone, now, hidden away behind walls of flames that had glazed past him and trapped him in the eye of the storm. It was just him and MK; MK and the fire; and he was frozen. 

MK crashed into Monkey King. The fire reared, wailing in support of MK's weakening will. His knees knocked against Monkey King’s, stumbled, and then ashen hands balled up the cloth at Monkey King’s chest.

He could hear MK’s every growl and grit, now. His body was warm like a fever and his grip tugged at Monkey King’s fur. The fire, deep in his kid, reached out to try to grab him , too.

It lashed and spat and tore and the smell of smoke lingered like a wound. 

Him and MK. Him and MK. And then MK and the fire… the fire…

Them and the fire.

Monkey King breathed it in. The smoke eagerly seeped into his immortal lungs and shuttered. His hand, once frozen at his side, snuck up and untangled MK’s hands from his clothing. He squeezed his hand, and MK struggled to do the same. 

MK was sobbing into his neck. He could hear it in the crackling of the flying sparks. He could feel it in his heated bones. 

‘What can I do for us ?’

And Monkey King had an idea now; an inkling of one, as usual, but instead of starting as a thought, it began as a feeling. Less like he ‘should’, and more like he ‘could’. 

Monkey King’s other hand broke from its daze and wiggled into that little spot where MK was hiding his face. With two fingers, he pressed at the dip in MK’s throat and found his pulse.

It raced and raced like a wildfire. It sparked from MK’s heartbeat. It clung onto Monkey King’s touch. He gritted his teeth as the Samadhi fire darted straight into his body (like an illness, like a bad dream, like a–).

He shook his head and huffed, the fire finally making his composure waver. His belly burned with the beginnings of something destructive. It taunted his resolve.

With another smokey breath, he pulled MK closer. He could do this. He had helped to contain the fire before, how different could it be to contain it in himself?

“I’m sorry we’re in this mess, bud,” he grunted out. “And I’m sorry I froze up like that. But I’m here, and I see how much you trust me to fix this right now.”

MK’s heartbeat quickened, and he keened in fiery pain.

“It’s okay. We’re okay. Shh– shh… Do you feel the fire? Not the burning, aching part of it: its core. Its heart. Do you feel it? It’s lashing out because it doesn’t know where to go. It’s spent most of its life dormant and it’s–” a wave of the Samadhi fire fought against his control of it. Monkey King swayed back and growled “–it’s free now, and it doesn’t know what to do. We have to calm it down– not let it control us.”

The kid sucked in a harsh breath, choked, and then inhaled again. The flames wavered and roared around them, surprised at the attempt of reeling it in. Monkey King imagined that, if he could see MK’s face, it would be tensed up in that determined, brave way of his.

Monkey King focused on MK’s fluttering pulse and then said, “There we go. We’ve got it. Hang on tight. Grab it and don’t let go– pull it close and simmer it to sleep. We’re not on fire, we’re using the fire. It’s ours, not us.”

The fire, mighty and lethal, split at the coals and seeped into Monkey King’s gut. It coiled there like a tired beast, warm from the sun and protective like roots to rain; rain to clouds; clouds to sky. He hung onto the life alight inside of him and onto the life clinging to him. He bit the inside of his cheek and tasted iron and smoke and something strikingly sweet.

MK took the other half of the fire. The wildness of it, suddenly, became so much more bearable. Two little flames that had come from one life with the strange purpose of being destructive reeled into their beings like a sharing of duty.

No, not duty– Monkey King took a deep breath that was full of MK’s bitter hair and felt the fire twinkle and ring inside the both of them– this was a sharing of trust. Proof that they could stand together and achieve a type of care that no forced bond could steal. 

The maroon flames sighed one last tired effort and whisked into nothing.

Monkey King blinked once, then twice, and then took away his hand from MK’s pulse and looped it around MK’s back. His shoulder was wet. MK had been crying there, seeping into his clothes and skin.

“You did good, bud,” he said into his protege’s hair. He blinked away the stinging of his fire-nipped eyes. “We got it. We’re okay now.”

MK shuttered in relief and went limp in his arms.

“Kid!” shouted Pigsy, cutting through the receding smoke first. He reached out and helped Monkey King lower MK to the ground. “Is he alright? What happened in there?”

“Your big blue friend was going to try to charge through the fire after our view was cut off. I had to hold him back,” said Nezha, nearing carefully, as if curious.

Monkey King sighed.

“He’s going to be okay. We were able to calm the Samadhi fire inside of him, but–”

“He still has the fire ?” snapped Pigsy. He pulled back his hand from where it was on MK’s forehead and whirled on Monkey King. “Take it out of him!”

“You saw what happened to him. If you want Wukong to take it out of the kid completely, then let’s go ahead and start the ritual again,” said Macaque.

“What’re you still doing here!?” blurted Monkey King.

Macaque shrugged and averted his eyes from where half of the group was shooting him withering looks. 

“Public space,” he said.

Monkey King felt the fire twist unpleasantly inside of him. The beginnings of anger threatened to kindle the spark, but he took a deep breath and focused on MK’s resting face. 

“I took away half of the fire from him and put it into myself,” he said. Nezha took a step back from him, and he pretended not to notice. “It’s… not a permanent fix to the problem, but no one’s on fire anymore, so that’s an improvement…”

Pigsy sniffled (angrily) at him, but swallowed his words. Instead, he turned back to MK to tend to his lingering fever.

Monkey King’s tail coiled and uncoiled nervously. He felt queasy from the unfamiliar fire inside of him, like he could faint any second and have a long, tremendous nap. He turned the slightest bit to look at Mei, who had come to stand next to him in the calm after the storm.

“You sounded like you knew exactly what to do,” he said.

Mei startled, wiping at her teary eyes before looking up at Monkey King. Her worried face was equal parts concerning and touching, and he hoped to never be the cause of a look like that again.

“Why didn’t you do it?” continued Monkey King, softly. 

Mei shook her head. She almost looked guilty, but one look at MK replaced that hesitance with certainty. She smiled at Monkey King (something he didn’t expect her to do to him after all that ).  

“I just felt it in my gut; that it had to be you to do it. MK already knows that he and I… we’re a team. We can always rely on each other. I just…” she sheepishly crossed her arms (almost hugging herself, almost not), “I needed to know that you would go halfway to him, just like he would go halfway for anyone else here. I needed to know you really– really – cared.” 

Monkey King bit his lip and sighed, “Of course I care.”

Mei laughed, still tense from the aftershock, but friendlier than she was before when she was just about ready to smack him upside the head. They watched MK’s breathing steady out. Pigsy, ever the hovering parent, placed a wet rag (that had been provided by Nezha, fearful of Pigsy’s protectiveness) over MK’s forehead.

“Now that you have the fire,” started Mei again, quietly, “are you going to go after the Lady Bone Demon?”

Monkey King glanced down at his fingertips. He let them twitch with a newfound, blazing energy; one that could combat the everlasting ice haunting his past and future. It was true that he had gotten what he had wanted (albeit only half of it), and it might just be enough to win the war. But it hadn’t got exactly how be planned. Out of all of the ways this could have played out, this one was by far the most mortifying way he dared to imagine.

He pulled his eyes away from his hands and blinked slowly at MK.

“No,” he said, “if we go up against the Lady Bone Demon, it’ll be together.”

[more-sonorous]

crutchie morris and jack kelly's recipe for disaster (gmybw)

here, have thousands of words worth of crutchie watching a disaster unfold at the hands of jack kelly. gay pining and shenanigans ensue.

yes this is the same universe as the gmybw pieces but it is many years later! they're all in high school, and it's a bit of a time jump but i have so much fun writing davey into the group dynamic that i just had to skip around a bit-- so please enjoy.

also, TW FOR UNDERAGE DRINKING. minors who are reading this, do NOT do this. do not break the law, please! this is not to be tried at home.

additional tw for a mention of blood and a bigger mention of vomiting. i said shenanigans and yes i meant it. again PLEASE do not do this at home, i am NOT advertising underaged drinking do NOT DO IT DONT DO IT IM SERIOUS.

.....

In retrospect, Beer Night was born to be a shitshow. Somehow Crutchie had managed to be optimistic about it, but he considered his past self to be an idiot when he looked back at his own foolish hopes.

There were many reasons why he should’ve recognized Beer Night for the disaster that it was. The first reason was simple: it was Jack Kelly’s idea. Now, Jack was one of Crutchie’s two best friends in the whole world, and he loved the boy with his whole heart. However, if someone were to ask Crutchie if he trusted Jack’s judgement, or thought that any of his shenanigans were good ideas? Well, that was another story. He’d seen the disastrous outcomes of many Jack Kelly schemes before (see sneaking out of their group home using sheets tied into rope, or wearing a ‘if found, return to my gorgeous girlfriend’ shirt to meet his girlfriend’s rich father, or constantly unintentionally flirting with his best friend while in a relationship with said girlfriend whilst being totally unaware of it) and at his wise old age of sixteen-going-on-seventeen, Crutchie had learned to shoot down Jack Kelly schemes as quickly as they popped up in his pretty head. 

He did not shoot down Beer Night.

Second reason for disaster: Beer Night was born out of spite. Jack Kelly spite, to be more specific, which was not good. Jack had accompanied his girlfriend to a monthly tradition she shared with her best friends, Wine Night. Wine Night was classic rich kid shit– Kath and her two best friends Darcy and Bill plucked bottles from their parents cellars, ordered cute charcuterie boards and dressed in semi-formal clothing. They’d spend the evening tasting wine, pairing it with cheeses and crackers, and gossiping whilst watching high-brow French films and discussing classic literature. Not an activity Crutchie would’ve taken Jack to, but he admired Katherine’s balls.

Jack had shown up in cargo shorts and a henley (he was very handsome, bless him, but the common sense department was lacking at times) and proceeded to wreck the night by subtly teasing Darcy and Bill’s wealth and interjecting little bits of horrific knowledge about his abusive childhood. Because he found Darcy and Bill’s faces funny, and they did not let him joke about his backstory like Race and Crutchie did. Plus, Jack Kelly was well known for his hatred of wine. Why he would even agree to go to wine night was beyond Crutchie’s understanding– but the fact remained that it was a shitty time for him, and Jack left in just as bad of a mood as his girlfriend did. He had a whole ‘eat the rich’ thing going for about a day after that before he remembered that his girlfriend was, in fact, one of the rich– it was a mess.

So, the second reason was spite. Jack created Beer Night as his own joking middle finger to Wine Night. That was never a good reason for an alcohol-fueled hangout to be born. 

Third disaster reason? The guest list. 

Jack, staying true to Wine Night source material, invited three other people to his Beer Night. Crutchie, Racetrack, and Davey. Now this was a guest list that could make mothers cry. Not because of Crutchie, of course— he considered himself to be incredibly responsible and he had a lot of friends, so he assumed he was fun to be around. People liked he stupid jokes. That was good. Jack and Race alone with alcohol were perfectly fine. Jack and Race together with alcohol were like two toddlers raised from the fiery pits of hell. Crutchie had spent countless evenings looking after their shitfaced asses and countless mornings caring for their ear-splitting hangovers. When they got drunk together, their already reckless brains became even more stupid. The wildest things could happen. If they got too drunk at Beer Night (which wasn’t the original plan, but neither Jack nor Race had stellar self control), iminent horrors had the potential to spawn. Then there was Davey. Sweet, almost perfect Davey. Truly, Davey was too good for their ragtag little gang of idiots. He was loving, understanding, gentle, family-oriented– a genuinely lovely personality with stellar grades and extracurriculars to match. He was the type of boy that parents wanted their children to bring home. Responsible, loyal, uptight. Though Davey could be anxious and shy and sometimes a bit standoffish, all of that was part of his charm. Their friend group adopted him remarkably quickly and soon everyone saw Davey as someone that needed protecting, despite his dry, sarcastic humor and his sufficient ability to stand up for himself. He was the most sheltered person they’d ever met, and he had a serious babe-in-the-woods vibe that wasn’t helped by his wide green eyes. They gave him a deceptively sweet look, but he could be mean if he wanted to. Normally he just didn’t want to.

Of course, you combine an undeniably gorgeous mess of a boy like Jack Kelly with an anxious gay boy like David Jacobs and the only result is disaster. They’re both sort of irresistible in their own way– Jack with his endless charisma and effortless good looks and Davey with his little smiles and comforting presence– so they were naturally drawn to each other. Jack (supposedly straight as a ruler with the girlfriend to prove it) takes the kid under his wing, Davey falls in love hard and fast, and the entire friend group is suddenly subjected to off-the-charts levels of pathetic gay pining.

Everyone loved Davey. Crutchie included. But when someone is well-loved in their friend group and they say ‘what’s a body shot’ during lunch with a wide-eyed, totally innocent expression? Well, they get taken to one of Racetrack’s famous raves the very next Saturday. That is exactly what happened to sweet Davey Jacobs.

In short, he… he did not mix with alcohol well either. That was another story. 

Anyways, a guess list with a 75% disaster rate around alcohol was obviously contributing to the Beer Night recipe for disaster. You add drunk Davey into the mix of drunk Race and drunk Jack and Jesus Christ, why hadn’t Crutchie shut this down? Why did he ever agree to Beer Night?

Beer Night started off good, to give Jack some credit. The four of them hung out without alcohol very often, whether they were sprawled out doing homework in Jack’s bedroom or goofing off at the public park. They had a good dynamic. Davey was usually level-headed and he had a remarkable talent for reeling Jack in, so he was really nice to have around. Maybe that’s why Crutchie had been so falsely optimistic. They’d been hanging out for months. He liked hanging out with the guys. Things had the potential to be fun, right? 

Just four guys in Race’s ridiculously rich foster parents’ basement with two six packs of beer between them. That was three beers per person– but Davey had vowed not to drink three, and it took Race and Jack more than four beers to get dangerously shitfaced. They had a massive TV to play Mario Kart on and all the extra cash they could dream of thanks to Race’s folks– plush couches, comfy armchairs, fuzzy throw blankets– it was a teenage boy’s dream. Deceptively nice.

To kick off the night, Jack climbed onto one of the armchairs with a beer in hand, smiling that remarkably bright smile of his. Davey was obviously enchanted, staring up at him with stars in those expressive green eyes. “Hello, boys, and thank ya’ very much for bein’ here on this fine evening! I want to take a moment ‘n welcome you all to our inagri– fuck, Davey, what’s the word?”

“Inaugural.” Davey corrected with a smile, fondness lacing his tone. 

Race grinned in a ‘oh-my-god-he’s-stupidly-in-love’ manner at Crutchie, who glared at him in a ‘cut-it-the-fuck-out’ sort of manner. Davey was marginally less oblivious than Jack, and if he noticed them grinning about his crush, he’d be hurt. Hurting Davey’s feelings would be like kicking a puppy, and Crutchie Morris was not a puppy kicker. 

“Yes! Our inaugural Beer Night!” Jack raised his beer triumphantly and his meager crowd erupted into cheers. Jack was an excellent public speaker. Crutchie could even imagine him rallying hundreds of starving children to do something dangerous like, maybe, strike against a millionaire in another life. “As you all know, Beer Night is my personal response to my girlfriend’s very lame event, Wine Night. We’ll be keeping Kath updated to show her just how much cooler Beer Night is. They eat little cubes of cheese with their wine, so we’re gonna have fuckin’ pizza with our beer! They watch boring movies, so we play video games! They discuss yacht club gossip, we discuss– I dunno, cool shit! This, my friends, is the high life. No caviar, no stupid expenses… just four guys in a basement, chilling the fuck out! Beer Night Supremacy!” 

“Beer Night Supremacy!” They all echoed through laughter, as Race popped the caps of beers for everyone else and Davey carefully opened one of the pizza boxes. Jack grinned and hopped onto the couch, walking across the cushions and stepping over Racer’s lap to squeeze in next to Davey. He slung an arm over the back of the couch and Crutchie watched poor Davey take a breath and mentally reboot, nervously biting his slice of cheese pizza as he geared up for the night. That should’ve been the first sign of disaster, but hey– Crutchie was an optimist, and it was hard to be negative with garlic knots and brownies sitting in front of you. 

It was actually good fun for at least an hour after that. They ate, played video games, made stupid jokes and shared stupid stories. Crutchie could admit that some levels of drunkenness were really fun.

He liked to have a beer and quiet some of his more anxious thoughts, and he sort of liked the heavy-eyed, lazy feeling that took over him. Being around other tipsy people was especially fun, because no one’s brains were quite working right and everyone knew it. You could have the stupidest conversations and treat them like the most serious thing, and laugh about it in the morning without a hangover. Tipsy Davey was also a treat to be around. His anxiety seemed to drain away, leaving him ten times less rigid than usual, smiley and easy. There were three levels of drunk Davey, and tipsy Davey was a safe and pleasant one that Crutchie thoroughly enjoyed. 

Unfortunately, disaster was imminent. It was bound to happen– Beer Night was born to be a complete and utter shitshow. Crutchie was just glad it didn’t happen sooner. First, the pizza disappeared. Then, Race shot into the basement with a bottle of strawberry flavored vodka in his hand. Then, in the fucking middle of a conversation, while Davey was in the fucking middle of a sentence, sloppy-drunk Jack grabbed Davey’s chin and smiled lazily. 

“Dave, anyone ever told you how fuckin’ gorgeous your eyes are? I wanna draw ‘em sometime.”

Davey had been doing so well. So very well. But then Crutchie watched the gay panic set in as big green eyes stared at Jack like he’d just recited a particularly beautiful love confession and oh, it was heart wrenching. He didn’t even blame Davey for ripping himself out of Jack’s touch and popping the cap of another beer. If he was eyes-deep in unrequited love, he’d be drinking, too.

Unfortunately Davey Jacobs was a lightweight. Race was going wild on the vodka, too. Soon he’d turn into an impish fairy creature and start asking everybody to play poker or do stupid dares. Jack, strangely enough, had not touched the vodka– but he was still causing problems because he would not stop flirting with poor Davey– Crutchie almost wanted to slap him or separate the two. 

When Davey entered the second level of drunkenness, Crutchie knew there was no saving Beer Night. Race had already called two of his exes and Jack had actually run one of his hands through Davey’s hair. Things were falling apart fast. 

Angry Drunk Davey was step two, and he was a terrifying sight to behold.

When Davey got really and truly drunk, he got really and truly angry. Whereas Jack and Race were just generally chaotic and random in their drunkenness, Davey had three predictable stages. Stage two was a fair departure from his normal calm and collected self. He was prone to ranting and shouting like some sort of hellfire and brimstone evangelical pastor, and by the time Crutchie struggled down the stairs with bottled waters in his arms, Davey was in the midst of his third passionate sermon of the night. He stood on the coffee table, shirt half unbuttoned, curls beyond rumpled (thanks to Jack) and face flushed, gesticulating wildly.

Race was watching him raptly, obviously drunk off his ass, and Jack was sprawled out on the couch grinning up at Davey like the stupid, oblivious dope he was. Crutchie kind of wanted to murder them all.

“And that is exactly why heteronormativity is so fucking harmful to American youths!” Davey shouted, raising his hands up as if he was shouting directly to Jewish God. “I mean, why is it just assumed that straight is the default? Why do people ask me if I’m sure when I tell them I’m gay? Why is it that a straight boy that’s never kissed a girl in his life is totally normal, but if I tell someone I’ve never actually dated a guy, they tell me I should still experiment with women? I don’t want to experiment with women!”

“Hell yeah!” Race shouted, lazily pumping his fist as if pushing it through molasses. “Hell yeah, Davey, you shouldn’t have to touch tits if you don’t want to!”

“I don’t wanna touch tits at all!” Davey practically roared in response, holding both hands out like  drunk, Jewish Richard Nixon. “And I shouldn’t hafta! I wanna touch men! Goddamnit, niech geje będą gejami!” (Let gays be gay!)

Jack laughed softly and leaned forward, gently tugging on the hem of Davey’s pant leg. “Hey, Dave, maybe you oughta slow down for the night, yeah? I think Crutch has some w–”

“No!” He reared around to face Jack, pointing one accusatory finger at him. “Fuck the straights!”

Race leapt up from his seat on the couch, impassioned and haphazardly swinging his vodka around. “Yeah, fuck ‘em!” 

“Gay rights! I have the gay rights to drink as much goddamn beer as I want!” In a show of his gay rights, he plucked a beer from the pack and tried to open it with his bare hands, lips curled in a snarl. Jack, bless his heart, looked positively dumbfounded and concerned by this change in demeanor. “I also have the gay rights to ask you to open this beer for me, Jack Kelly!”

“Nah, man, no can do.” Jack said very carefully, holding his hands up in a form of surrender. 

Davey blinked at him, his dark brows twisting in an almost comical display of rage. “Fine! Racetrack, give me vodka!”

“Yes, President Jacobs, vodka for the gay president!” Race crooned, and Crutchie quickly intercepted the bottle just as Jack worked in tandem to crack Davey’s beer open. Christ, this was a mess already. Race shouted his offense and threw himself onto Crutchie, moving like a wet noodle. Crutchie tugged the blonde down onto the couch and shared a terrified look with Jack, who for once in his life, looked concerned about the drunk people. Or maybe he was just concerned about Davey.

Davey took a large gulp of his drink and leapt back onto the coffee table. He brandished his beer, eyes glimmering with drunkenness. “Fuck heteronormativity in America, and fuck the straights! Gay rights will always win!”

“And bisexual rights!” Race crowed, still curled into Crutchie’s side and fighting for his vodka. “I want rights too, big boy.”

“Rights you shall have, bisexual boy.” He pointed his beer towards Race. Then he pointed it towards Crutchie. “And you too, my fellow Jewish brother. I love you… deeply.” Crutchie couldn’t hold back his own giggle and he held up a fist of solidarity, brandishing his Magen David necklace to Davey.

Davey grinned and gave a dramatic bow, tipping forward dangerously. Jack was standing in a matter of seconds, looping his arms around Davey’s waist and tugging him off the table. Davey let out a noise somewhere between a whine and some Polish word. He dug his nails into Jack’s arms and kicked his feet fruitlessly, but Jack had gotten very strong since living with Medda, so Davey (already scrawny when sober and coordinated) stood no chance. 

Honestly, Jack really had gotten strong. Fourteen year old Jack would look at seventeen year old Jack with serious surprise and delight. He’d filled out and then started hitting the gym, which led to some very impressive muscles. Crutchie was very proud of him. He was also very proud of Jack for being responsible for once, tugging Davey onto the couch. 

“You need to sit, Mr. President.” Jack’s voice was soft and careful, and Crutchie wished he could pay more attention to their exchange but he was currently fighting off an increasingly agitated Racetrack. 

“You don’t tell me what’ta’do, Mr…. Mr. Beautiful face.” Davey sassed, wagging a finger in Jack’s face, and taking another swig of beer right after. 

Jack laughed, soft and low, and carefully cupped Davey’s cheek in his hand. It was a fleeting touch, but it seemed to murder Angry Davey on the spot. “Davey. Sit.”

Davey blinked. Slow. “Okay.”

Jesus Fucking Christ.

They were all a veritable mess. Race and Davey got into a very deep conversation about capitalism while Jack repeatedly begged Crutchie to let him try doing tricks with one of his crutches, his drunkenness showing now that Davey was safely seated on the couch, getting drunker by the second. 

Crutchie sort of wanted to die. He was fine with looking after two drunk idiots– but two drunk idiots and a distressed drunk gay boy? Not okay. He was feeling out of his depth. 

Thankfully Jack and Race started up a round of Lego Star Wars and Race sobered up, devouring an entire bowl of liberally buttered popcorn. That left Davey as the only disaster, and he was only getting worse as Jack continued to mindlessly flirt. He kept sending Davey these private smiles and showering him with compliments, and he even kept his left hand firmly planted on Davey’s lower thigh throughout the entire Lego Star Wars game. Jack was so fucking oblivious sometimes, it literally baffled Crutchie. 

How he managed to ignore the fact that he was sending Davey into a drunken stupor was beyond Crutchie’s mortal comprehension, but eventually Davey was finishing his fourth beer and stumbling into the feared third and final stage– Flirty Drunk Davey.

At Race’s rave, this had been a serious problem and Kath had called in Crutchie for help. Flirty Drunk Davey was such a far departure from rational, anxious Davey that it was almost funny. It would’ve been funny if he wasn’t flirting with every single dark-skinned boy he came across, twirling his curls through his fingers if they had a pretty smile or cornrows braided like Jack’s. During that rave, Crutchie really wished that Davey was ugly, because he was far too successful when it came to flirting.

He kept slipping off with random strangers and sending Kath into panic mode, and they kept finding him making out with these random ass boys in secluded corners, clinging with his eyes dilated and his face red as a rose. One of the bastards had even tried to take Davey home, and the little minx was actually down to go with him. Crutchie eventually managed to wrangle Davey into a bathroom and force him to drink water, but the chaos of Flirty Davey had left Crutchie scarred for life. 

Thankfully he was more subdued when there was only one option, and it was the real thing. All of his inhibitions seemed to fall away as he let himself cling to Jack specifically, and Drunk Jack was a slut for physical affection (or maybe just a slut for Davey) so he dared not push a clinging Davey off his lap. 

Jack was not helping to discourage him and Racetrack thought it was the funniest thing in the world, so Crutchie was forced to watch in abject horror as Jack ran his hands through Davey’s hair and Davey melted into him. 

Beer Night was a disaster. Just when Crutchie thought things were fine, Flirty Davey unmoving and blissed out in Jack’s lap, Race caused yet another disaster. He let out a furious string of curses and practically leapt onto Crutchie’s bad leg when he stepped on a beer bottle, shattering the thing beneath his sock foot. Crutchie watched with distant horror as crimson stains began to leak onto Race’s Phantom Of The Opera socks.

“Oh, fuck.” Race groaned, tilting his head back. “I liked these socks!”

“Hey– Jackie look Jackie–” Davey supplied unhelpfully, nuzzling his nose against Jack’s neck. “‘S a piece’a glass in Tracerack’s foot.”

“God, he’s wasted. Why did we let him get wasted?” Racetrack whined, hopping around. Jack was already close to laughter because of Davey but he totally lost it at the sight of his friend hobbling, and soon Race and Crutchie were laughing too, because why did they ever think they could produce anything that would rival a Katherine Plumber Pulitzer event?

That woman was far too brilliant.

She was probably laughing at their failure somewhere far across the city, sequestered in her mansion and wrapped in furs and silks. That mental image made Crutchie laugh even harder (sue him, he was still a bit tipsy), and he actually had trouble getting to his feet and stumbling into the basement bathroom to fetch a first aid kit. They’d used it before. Jack and Race were always idiots, and they were always doing idiotic things to get themselves hurt.

He giggled his way through wrapping Race’s foot and they all giggled their way through multiple shitty rounds of various video games, slowly crawling back to sobriety. Well– it was a crawl for Jack, Race, and Crutchie. Unfortunately their friend group seemed to have a penchant for putting Davey in bad situations with alcohol.

He hadn’t spoken a word in at least thirty minutes, curled up in Jack’s lap and seemingly content, when he suddenly lurched to his feet. Crutchie knew instantly, just by how pale he was and the sweat beading on his brow, that he’d had one too many and things were about to get bad.

Jack, as if drawn by a magnet, leaned forward in his seat as his eyes followed his friend. “Dee, man, you good?”

He received no response as Davey tumbled into the bathroom. All three of them were on their feet within moments, their giggles dead and buried, only to be replaced by the sounds of Davey retching. Jack ran to his aid but Crutchie and Race both had to limp over to the door, each of them hobbling with an injured leg. Once they leaned against the doorframe and stopped laughing at themselves, they were greeted with an almost confounding sight.

Davey was retching into the toilet, gripping the seat so hard that his already pale knuckles turned white. What was shocking was Jack's demeanor. One of his dark hands was threaded through Davey’s hair, holding his fluffy curls away from his face. Jack rubbed rhythmic circles onto the other boy’s back, and he spoke in a soft and low voice that Race and Crutchie seldom heard from him. He whispered little affirmations, some in English, some in Spanish, and the two boys shared a bewildered look.

“Christ.” Race muttered, dragging a hand through his own blonde hair. “Who killed Jack and replaced him with this guy?”

“No idea.” 

He wrinkled his nose and scoffed. “Last time I threw up, Jack pushed me into a bush and filmed the whole fucking thing. Dave’s getting the royal treatment, I guess.”

Crutchie was just as confused as Race was. Sure, Jack had comforted kids at the group home through a stomach bug or two, but that was years ago. This was incredibly different. Jack was looking at Davey– an honest to God, downright mess of a boy– like he was in love with him, even as he was spilling his guts into the toilet. Jack’s eyes were the real giveaway. He just looked infatuated. Crutchie had only ever seen him look quite so enamored with Katherine. It felt almost like they were intruding on something private, considering the fact that Jack literally had a girlfriend.

“Could someone get Davey some water?” 

When Race hobbled back into the bathroom and dropped the water into Jack’s lap, Jack was preoccupied with gently passing a wad of toilet paper over Davey’s mouth and nose. Davey’s cheek was pressed against the toilet seat and he was staring at Jack like Jack was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. Maybe, to Davey, he was.

Shithead that he was, Race grinned impishly as he hoisted himself up onto the bathroom counter to sit. “God, Jack, you are such a good boyfriend.”

“I know.” Jack replied easily, grinning like an idiot.

Crutchie watched Davey’s awed expression crumble. Within moments he was even paler than before and throwing up even harder than the first time around. Crutchie couldn’t hold back a wince at the sound of it– it was one of those vomits where you felt like you were choking on the stuff, unable to get a breath in, and Davey was actually sobbing with it. Race at least had the decency to look halfway guilty but Jack had only turned up his stupid flirting.

“Davey, baby, it’s gonna be okay. Just get it all out.” He murmured, gently scratching his fingers against Davey’s scalp. Davey made a particularly unbecoming noise and Crutchie knew his hangover was going to be positively murderous. “There you go. You got it.”

“I c– I can’t breathe–” He sobbed and gagged at the same time (impressive).

“Naw, cielito, you’re okay.” Jack brushed his thumb over Davey’s cheekbone and Crutchie really, really felt like he was intruding at the sound of Davey crying. “It’s okay. I’ve gotcha. I’m right here, ‘m gonna make sure you’re okay.”

Race seemed to have the exact same idea– this had turned into something very personal very quickly– and the two of them quietly, carefully exited the bathroom to the sound of Davey throwing his guts up and Jack shushing him like he was the most precious thing on earth. Both Race and Crutchie flopped onto the couch, feeling far too sober for boys who had been drinking less than an hour prior. After a very prolonged silence, in which the sound of vomiting devolved into the sound of quiet sobbing, Race carefully picked up a water bottle and raised it reverently.

“Beer Night.”

Crutchie rolled his eyes and lifted his own water in response. “Fucking Beer Night.”

[middle-ans]

you could just split some scenes into other fics and make it a part of collection, either way it’s just exhausting to catch up with 100+k words for a couple of interactions or hot stuff only

Okay, I’m totally overstaying my welcome if this is what I get the day after new chapter was out, ookie dokie darling, I get it that you’re done with me - trust me, my therapist can confirm, I would presume that the most random person hates me at least twice a day even if we never talked. The thing is, on a deep level, I never sneeze once. Ever. If I start - people begin a countdown to the next New Year, and guess what comes first: me stopping a sneeze fit, or 2026. With this in mind, let’s ask ourselves - does it spread to writing fanfiction too? Yes, aaaabsolutely, so, still on that deep-deep level, you owe me a whole nothing to waste your time and energy on following stuff that’s simply not to your liking. That’s the most normal thing, because we aren’t bound by some agreement to forcibly stay where we don’t want to, no one gets paid for either (yep, my entrepreneur’s brain will make it about money). I learned French in high school and I was into it quite much to continue after, but I fought German fiercely in uni and we bid goodbye as soon as I graduated, not making it to be friends, but just bowed with some respect and said Tschüss. I really want to make a point here - I’m writing it for myself, because I have genuine fun with it, because it is my mental distraction, and I cherish, kissing on cheeks and gladly welcome everyone who wants to join and follow this story with me, but I am more than capable to get it that you may like it to some point, then change your mind and close that story. So, why not doing what actually makes you happy?

[moth-eats-paper]

My complete thoughts on TMA through 93-200

MAG Thoughts on ep 93-200

THERE'S A CAT

John's hand still hurts from the cult of the flame

There's also a missing calliope. I think thats how you spell it

The institute is a death trap.

Both John and Elias are vessels of “The Eye” and can make people spill their guts Gertrude was also one up until Elias killeClayr. So that's fun

GORGEY MIGHT KNOW/BE A PART OF ANOTHR GOD?!?!?!

LAST WORDS OF A CORPSE? WHAT DO YOU MEAN GORGEY?

Gorgeys not ok

Nor is Marten

I quite like the new girl shes funny

Is anyone in mag alive lol

Well idk John why does Elias do anything.

IT'S THE THING GIRL DOLL PLASTIC THING OMG

(I have no idea what i was trying to type here^)

Tim and Marten are not okay especially marten

Spooky doll thing changed her mind apparently

And Michael (the spooky one) use,d to be an assistant of Gertrude funnnn

Ep 100 time baby :3) No one in the institute knows how to interviewnoople except John and I'm pretty sure that's because of “the eye”

The spself-cannibalismThe spiders are weird

Why is this woman so calm about a ghost woman who's on fire burning her (poor marten he's very confused)

Tim is speaking to a maniac

Melanie (I think it's her) is speaking to a man who keeps getting side tracked

THE FUCK YOU MEAN YOU GOT OUT OF THE SPIRAL AND WENT TO DINNER

The poor detective

SPOOKY MAN NAMED PETER JUST APPEARED FROM NO WERE AND I THINK HE'S FROM THE UNKNOWN?!??

SPOOKY DOLL WOMEN!

THE COFFINS BACK

“Sarah wanted to use nails but I talked her out of it because I'm a good friend!” YOUR A MANNEQUIN (I love that line so much lol)

Oh wax love that

Mmm skin

Don't skin John please

ARE YOU GOING TO MOISTURIZED JOHN AND THEN SKIN HIM?

MICHAEL HOLY SHIT HE'S BACK

oh he's going to kill John

Revenge?

Oh

Oh dear he doesn't want to be Michael

MICHAEL BECAME THE DELUSION

Oh he's making a statement

MICHAEL SHELY

Oh god Gertrude

Unrelated but my cat has decided to try and kill me

PETER LUCAS IS ALSO THERE

Oh god Michael Shelley is very dumb

Only just know getting scared? What the fuck

Doors. fun

I can't even spell whatever that is

THE SPIRAL

Of course she didn't care

Just don't trust Gertrud

The Worker of clay?

His laugh is silly

Oh oh dear

Oh dear the doors not working

OH JESUS

HELEN

MICHAEL BECAME HELEN

HELENS GOING TO HELP?

HELENS THE DISTORTION NOW

So I guess the distortion only wants what that person wanted

Why does Elias just agree with the person who's trying to kill him

I think this man has bugs in his skin

He does

John can suddenly read French and then can't

I LOVE MARTIN

Melanie keeps trying to kill people

(People being Elias)

Pig episode (like actual pigs not the police)

Oh the pig no no like you sir

Oh god I guess this pig is a weird thing

THE CIRCUS?

Oh god not more circuses

Oh dear I think the pig has decided to eat clowns now

Oh self cannibalism

Whelp the pig ate someone

Loud sound

The eyes doing it's thing

JOHN DOING THE THING WITH THE EYE

Tim keeps scaring people

Tims not ok

OMG TIM STATEMENT

Tims brother went missing

I don't think it's Tim's brother

Whelp he's gone

Oh clowns know

OH DEAR CLOWNS

I don't think that's your brother Tim

Oh blood

Oh dead clown

Oh no more skin .

Oh famous clown

Tim and Elias drama

Oh we're in China

Oh creepy opening

I wonder. Is this in Chinese? I know that the eye can allow you to read other languages in order to obtain more knowledge. Even if you never spoke that language or were able to read it you just suddenly are able to.

Oh screams

Nevermind I'm pretty sure it's in English cause it seems the person writing it is a British soldier

Does he have the black plague?

OH DEAD BODYS IN THE WATER

Oh-

This is a sad man

“True and total war”

GOD DAMMIT NO CIRCUS

HE CAN READ MANDARIN AND AND CHINESE NOW (cause of the eye)

IT WAS FROM 2004 NOT 2014

Oh the proper one's are in America

Space station time

I wonder if this is the same space station as the one Gertrude read

I think she kept talking about it in one of the statements well more specifically the guy who it is from

We love Melanie (even though she keeps trying to kill Elias but she has a good reason)

FAIRCHILD IS BACK

IT IS THE SAME SPACESHIP BUT JUST A DIFFERENT GUY

Because the one Gertrude read was the isolation guy. This is about the other two people who were on the ship

Oh god the space weird space hands are back I think

Oh blood

Oh he's bleeding

Oh god he's just going to let himself die

Old screaming things

Don't envy the isolation guy he had a really shit time

Whelp now he's in limbo space

OH SOMETHING'S BLOCKING THE STARS

Oh deep thoughts

Melanie is thinking deep

She's skeptical of stuff

Oh dear

IS HE STUCK IN SPACE

Viscera I think is how to pronounce her name?

MARTIN HAS A CRUSH ON JOHN?

Viscera and Melanie are gossiping and I'm here for it

Oh performance review

OH GOD ELIAS

JESUS CHRIST ELIAS STOP LEAVE POOR MELIAINE ALONE

WHAT DID HE DIE OF

WHY DID YOU GIVE HER THE KNOWLEDGE OF HIM DYING

THAT'S TERRIFYING

He can just make her watch her dad's death!

I want texas toast I'm going to go make some

JOHNS IN AMERICA

Whelp he's being followed by a police officer

And Jared's “death”

GERTRUD WAS ARRESTED FOR BREAKING INTO A MORGUE

He just has to read statements to make him feel better

A screaming oven lovely

OH THERE'S A FIRE

OH A TRAINS ON FIRE

What do you mean you'd burn them?

John is better!

OH SHIT IT'S THE POLICE

WHAT IS THAT ACCENT

OH MY GOD ITS THE VAMPIRE HUNTER

YIPPEE MARTIN

I fucking hate Shakespeare

Lovely more masks

Poor Tim

And Melanie

AWW

OH SHIT

SOMETHINGS HAPPENING

PETER LUCAS IS BACK

Lucas seams so silly

Viscera gets really excited about her reading and I love that about her

Mmm more statements

I'm pretty sure John just asked for a statement because he was starting to feel sick lol

MORE VAMPIRES (I think) YIPPEE

His accent is kinda hard to understand

BODYS IN BOX

Spoopy people

Love how she calls the vampire hunter old man

Oh bodys on table

Silent screamers

OH WATER

Staby stab

Oh she killed him

OH SPOOKY THING

HAHAH DOLL THING (why is his voice kinda-)

More Marten :3

This girl sounds like an asshole

THIS PERSONS TRANS TDZSDHUGDZ

That is a long ass name

“Spiders are eating” PFF

Oh don't walk into people's jaws

Mmm Japanese spider movies

YOU HAD TO TRY AND CONVINCE YOURSELF HE ONLY HAD TWO ARMS

Oh spoopy

Oh they found A Way to distract Elias

A leitner?

JARED

Jared is cool

Jared's mom was an ass

Hmmm more things to kill and torture everyone

I keep forgetting meat is in this

Jared is so sad

MURDER

YIPPEE VISCERA

We're back in America and they found a bomb and the taxidermy or what's left of it

John and Tim drama

YIPPEE TIM A JOHN ARE OK

Oh tunnels

Bomb time

The meats back

LITENER

No more arm

And now he's in the water

PFFF

HELEN

Aww

YIPPEE SPOOPY

Meeting timeee

Gurtrud tape time

Wolfgang?

Puppets?

I think this is from a older time in europe because of the writing and how it is worded

DON'T GO

Mmm more robotic things

OH GOD A STAGE

Mmm birbs

BLOOD

WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU CURL YOUR LEGS INTO A FIST

Funsies

Oh he's being protective of martennnnn

PLANS

SECRET PLANSSS

JOHN STATEMENT HDHJDGKDVJHK

Awww john

ITS LIGHTENERS

Melines to relatable

MELANIE STATEMENT

MARTIN NFSUSSTUDIY

TIMM

Aww goodbye Jarey

mmm masquerade

MARTIN!!

“sorry Elias I can't hear you there's a DOOR in the way” I love marten

Hehehe bomb

Oh god marten don't die

OH GOD THAT'S NOT WAX WORK

MARTIN NO

ELIAS FUCK YOU

Uh oh

SILLY MUSIC

WHAT'S HAPPENING

Mmm nothing is everything and everything is something

God what is happening

EYE THINGGGG

TIMMM

TIM SET OFF THE BOOM

Oh

What the fuck is this

He's not responseuve

Oh eye always watching

ELIAS STATEMENT?

(I'm listening to this for a second time)

Hehehe sad man

Oh

Oh dear

THE ELBOWS DON'T WORK

The sky?

Oh

OH

Ma ma that's not edible

I don't want the box to sing

NOT THE COFFIN

Oh tunnel

Hmmm blood

TRAIN TIME

Hmmm watching

WHERE'D SHE GO

Oh dig

DOOR

Ants?

Oh

He screams

Who are we watching?

MARTIN

What

ARE TIM AND DAISY DEAD?

Bye Eliasss

PFFFF

OH

Lucassss

YIPPEE PETER

NO TIM AND DAISY ARE DEAD

Season 4 babyyy

Oh

Poor marten

This is so sad

Oh

WHAT

WHAT DO YOU MORE GOODBYE

First actual episode of season 4 :3

Oh?

WHO IS THIS

WHAT

WHERE

YOU SAW JOHN IN A DREAM?

WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU

Oh statement

He sees how people die funnn

“What am I?” I ask that often

Oh

OH

Ship into the middle of nowhereeeee

MEMENTO THING

Snakes?

Oh

Nevermind it's death

Why ya calm

Oh

Did you accidentally kill a bunch of people

Nope

YOU GOT A GUN?

YOU KILLED THE CAPTAIN!????

oh

OH GOD YOU KILLED EVERYONE

This is this Oliver guy

SPIDERS

Oh

That's funnn

Oh boy

Melanie (I think it's her)might have scared him off

Oh

OH

JOHNS AWAKE?

Zombieeee

I keep sending the homophobic vase because I can

oh no it was gorge

AND VISCERA

Magic tape?

JOHN!

HIII JOHN

oh

6 MONTHS

He's very confused and I can see why

Hehehe eye thing

Statement timeeee

YOU CUT SOMEBODY'S HANDS?

I think this dudes on something

Maybe

Idk any more everything is odd

YOUR BEING FOLLOWED MX STATEMENT PERSON

Oh

This person's a little silly

Awww I love John

Even though he keeps making have deep thoughts

THEY CAN'T FIND DAISY'S BODY?

Oh oh god marten are you okay buddy

Oh

Aww

He miss his boyfriend (I'm desperately waiting for them to get together)

W E B yippee

Oh god meline she's very traumatized

Oh

Oh that hurt

OH MY GOD THEY'RE GETTING ATTACKED BY THINGS

(Not at the moment)

I think everyone's losing it

HE JUST CALLED HIMSELF THE ARCHIVIST NOT “Johnathan Sims head archivist” JUST THE FUCKING ARCHIVEST

EVERYONE IS EITHER DEAD, PART OF SOMETHING, FUCKING LOOSING IT OR ALL THREE.

Real honestly

It's always weird MX statement person

Oh

Is the site sentient

OH DEAD

Is this a thing of the eye?

No it was the web

Oh he's a fish kabob

I can't tell if this is the buried, flesh or end

BAGPIPES

IT'S THE PIPER

it's the slaughter

Cause everyone slaughtered each other

Pfff

Eye thing

Mmm

OH GOD

126 is the distortion

Awwww

MARTEN

The recorder is silly

DOESeter

Idk if I liself-esteemt he still will

Of course he's worried about his boyfriend

ITS THE COFFEIN

OH

oh

OH MY GOD HE CAN DO STUFF

He had killed the thing

Lot of truck

DAISYS ALIVE BTW

We have bone Turner

SPACE PART 3

Oh god that sounded ow

YIPPEE

I can't really update during school

PFFF The eye is just my brain absorbeing things cause it's never anything useful

THE TAPE RECORDER IS JUST A SINGLE FOR KNOWLEDGE

GARRY

Garry reference

God damnit John stop being creepy to strangers

The computers are eating people again

SIMON FAIRCHILD

Mmmm cult's

MELINES GOING I GOUGE HER EYES OUT SO SHE CAN LEAVE THE EYE

oh god

Oh

WHAT HAPPENED TO DAISY JUST NOW?!?

I DIDN'T WANT HER TO DIE

Oop angey Martin

Oh dear

Peter Lucas is an asshole

Into the lonely

PFFF

LOVE THAT

John is so smart

THAT'S SOME OF THE GAYEST SHIT EVER

Oh god the eye opens

They gay

SEASON 5 BABY

Oh

PFFF

Aww

Stop being depressed

TF you mean I'm faceless

PFFF

Ah the not Sasha

Oh it pissed of John

“Ceaseless watcher turn your gaze on this wretched thing” HE SAID THE THING

Martens broken

They broke Marten

I think it the lonely

Oh

Oh god he's getting relatable

HE JUST KEEPS HATING THE CHAIRS 😭

“I am marten blackwood and I'm not alone anymore” HAD ME SOBBING

It's the bone man idk what his name is but I hate his voice

Helen just wants to have fun

Who the fuck is doctor David

I didn't realize they could get any gayer

THEY ACTUALLY FELT TIRED AND HUNGRY FOR THE FIRST TIME IN LIKE FUCK IF I KNOW

AND THAT FREAKY PIRATE AND WEB WOMEN ARE THERE

(They also just like feel asleep lol)

Doctor doe Jane is silly

Silly

HIII Helen!!!

“You've always said you were Helen!”

“I am! I also ate her… it's really simple if you don't think about it”

THEY SAID I LOVE YOU

George and Melina are backkkk

And Meline fucking slays

The gays are arguing

DOSE ANNABELLE OWN THE TAPES?!?!

Christ that is scary

“Shocker, I have self esteem issues. Not the point” I am Martin

This is adorable and sad

1 MORE EPISODE

Oh

Oh god John

Oh he's pleading

Oh

OH MY GOD

HOLY SHIT

SHIT

OH

OH DEAR

IS JON OK

Oh

That's scary

Statement

This doesn't sound like a tape

Oh god

He's going to die

I'm going to cry

He's going to kill him

I'm actually going to start crying

Oh god

Simon?

Oh

[melefim]

Swearing in Dead Boy Detectives: Esther Finch

Overview:

21 curses total, 6 different words said in 5 episodes.

Episode 1: 1 Jesus

Episode 2:

Episode 3: 1 Shit

Episode 5:

Episode 6: 1 Fuck, 1 Damn, 3 God

Episode 7: 2 Fuck, 2 Damn, 1 God, 1 Screw

Episode 8: 3 Fuck, 4 God, 1 Screw

Curses Per Episode:

Episode 1: 1

Episode 2: 0

Episode 3: 1

Episode 5: 0

Episode 6: 5

Episode 7: 6

Episode 8: 8

Uses Per Word:

Esther’s favorite word is God, which she says 8 times. After that is Fuck, said 6 times, and Damn, said 3 times.

God: 8

Fuck: 6

Damn: 3

Screw: 2

Shit: 1

Jesus: 1

Unique Words:

Esther, Crystal, and Jenny are the only characters who say Screw.

Percent of Total:

Esther swears 21 times throughout the season, which is 6.5% of all cursing in the show.

Rankings:

Who Swears the Most: Esther’s 21 curses puts her in 4th place overall.

Curse Word Variety: She is tied for 4th place for cursing variety with the Cat King, with 6 different curse words each.

Individual Words: She is tied for 1st place with Edwin for most uses of Damn. (3 each)

She is tied for 2nd with Niko for most uses of God- 8 times each.

Lines:

Episode 1: Monty! Jesus! I'm trying to threaten some kids!

Episode 3: Quit loitering you little shits.

Episode 6: Oh, God, well without her precious little dead boys she'll be snake food in no time.

Episode 6: God! You're not going gaga for the uptight boy?

Episode 6: I mean, this is why we had a plan, Monty, so I wouldn't be the one traipsing through the goddamn woods!

Episode 6: God, I love final moments.

Episode 6: Teeth Face, what the fuck?

Episode 7: I'm gonna wring that chic little kitty's goddamn neck.

Episode 7: Oh, god.

Episode 7: I know you blew up Monty's spot, you little fucking snitch.

Episode 7: And I'm gonna take that power, and get this goddamn town under my thumb.

Episode 7: You, you.. you think that you're the only one who's ever been screwed over? You're not. I fucking deserve this!

Episode 8: God, you're nosy.

Episode 8: Don't ever trust a goddess to grant your wishes, because she'll definitely screw you over good.

Episode 8: Oh, God! Oh, God, no, my face… Is fine.

Episode 8: Oh my God, my own sacrificial knife? I'm impressed. But I'm not fucking around that you're also gonna patch that wall before you die too.

Episode 8: Who the fuck are you?

Episode 8: What the fuck? Hey hey hey no! What did you just do?

Notes:

Esther is the only character to swear in another language- in episode 8 she has the line “Oh, shoot. Or as the French say, merde.” — ‘Merde’ is French for ‘shit’. (Not included in count above)

Updates:

Updated Percent of Total Swearing chart.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

More Dead Boy Detectives Swearing Posts:

Masterlist

Swearing by Episode

Swearing by Character

Swearing by Word

All Swearing Posts

And if you like lists of things like I do, you can check out my other Dead Boy Detectives ones here!

When Charles’ Shirt Colors Change

George Rextrew’s Edwin comic inspo board

Full soundtrack with timestamps

Moves, Incidents, and Cases Masterlist

First pass at finding where the songs in the score are used- full post with timestamps in progress