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tonythr · 3 months ago

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We need to talk about the Pale King's foresight ability

Ok, I waited a very long time to make this post. The story of the Pale King is my favorite aspect of the whole narrative of Hollow Knight, and there's so much mystery surrounding it that I can't not think about it on a daily basis. There are a bunch of questions left unanswered, and I believe that most (if not all) answers were left in the game specifically so that players could interpret them the way they think is best. So I wanna see what interpretations ARE there and maybe pick one (or two. or three. or all of them. or maybe really just one.) I dunno. Anyway, the point is, this is probably gonna be a long one. Big shoutout to anyone who makes it all the way to the end.

Now, enough with the rambling. To the point.

It all starts with the mushrooms.

The part that started all this train of thought was this particular line.

Unlike other areas of the game, Fungal Wastes don't have a boss that correlates with the area's native species. The shrooms don't have a higher being they worship. They don't have a civilization. They don't have a Dreamer. All they have is this big old mushroom elder that sleeps eternally with this one thought in their mind. All this to say that this line here is *probably* hella important.

The lore tablets of the Wastes also echo it.

So keep this in mind: when the Wyrm, reincarnated as the Pale King, started building and expanding his Kingdom (it's safe to assume that he started doing that AFTER he turned into his bug form) and got to the part where he had to make an alliance with The Mushrooms, they agreed to be a part of Hallownest ONLY because they knew that the Pale King had an ability to predict the future. Remember, they looked down on all the bugs that weren't part of their mycelium-sharedSelf-mindUnited thing. They were perfectly happy with their way of life. They didn't need the Pale King's gift of mind. The only reason they agreed to accept his will was because of his foresight ability. They assumed that, since he can see what's going to happen in the future, he will protect them (along with the rest of his Kingdom) from any possible danger. And that was a smart decision.

And yet, it didn't work out. And not just for them. For the whole Kingdom.

The main question is why.

From the way the mushrooms talk about the Wyrm, we can assume that his foresight ability didn't quite suck, which is to say that he really COULD see a big part of what's going to happen. So basically, we have two possibilities:

A. The PK's foresight didn't allow him to see *too* far into the future. It had its limitations. Maybe he could see what was going to happen in an age from now, but he couldn't predict *everything*.

B. The PK's foresight could reach as far as all eternity, meaning he knew the 'Eternal Kingdom' was doomed to fail from the moment he started building it.

In any case, Elder Mushroom's words suggest that, at one point, PK actually KNEW his Kingdom was going to fail.

And, since the most important part of his story is his battle with the Radiance (like, what else would the Mushroom be talking about?), I think it means that he potentially knew that the Hollow Knight was going to fail, but created and Sealed it anyway. So, the question is:

If the Pale King could see that his plan of creating an empty vessel to seal the Radiance would inevitably fail, why did he go through with it in the first place?

Here's the first, most simple answer.

He knew that the Infection was inevitable, so he decided to postpone it indefinitely. Hit the snooze button, but make it last forever.

Actually, that's not even an answer. This is just a straight-up fact.

Hallownest is literally frozen in time.

(Actually, I think it's so frozen that sometimes it makes rocks levitate)

The Hollow Knight's sacrifice was made SPECIFICALLY so the inevitable arrival of the Infection could be set back for all eternity. That's why the game has a big leitmotif of night and day.

That's why the Radiance's main goal is for the Dawn to Break. Because she's the Sun, and what she's fighting against is an eternal night.

But now we're entering the mystery zone. There are two questions about PK's foresight ability that have to be answered in order to understand what's actually happening.

Question 1. Does freezing time also freeze the foresight? If the Kingdom is left in a stasis without a changing future, can PK still see past that stasis? Could he see when it would end? If so, could he see what will happen after it ends?

Question 2. Is Time actually predictable? Is there just one timeline where everything that happens was doomed to happen in the first place, OR are there infinite possibilities and some room for the free will? If so, can the future be changed if one knows what actions will have what consequences? And if so, are there things that are actually inevitable, no matter the choices?

Whatever the answers to both of those questions are, I want to emphasize this:

Those lines spoken by the Radiance, along with the Elder Mushroom's words about a demise unavoidable, as well as some other things I'll mention later, make me think that the Infection and the Radiance's rise to power is an event that was truly inevitable.

Here, it doesn't matter if the free will is real or not. Remember: in the Pantheon of Hallownest, the Radiance ranks higher than the Pale King. She is a candidate for a God of Gods title, the highest of the Higher Beings. So maybe PK could shape the future with his knowledge of it. Maybe his foresight actually protected his Kingdom by preventing some bad things that he, as a Pale Being, had power over. But the power of the Radiance was stronger than that. She had the strength to assert her dominating will in every possible timeline, so that, even with his foresight, the Wyrm couldn't do anything to stop the Dawn from Breaking. After all, it's the power of Nature itself - the day always inevitably comes to replace the night.

So that's the entire reason the King decided to use the Void in his battle with the Radiance. The Forgotten Light had the ability to conquer Fate. But the Void, in his own words, had the ability to deny Time itself.

So, even if the Infection was inevitable, the power of Void could either prevent it, postpone it, or straight-up defeat it. I think that the reason for this is that the Void possesses a will that is stronger than any Higher Being. The Night and Day can follow each other, but the force that represents the End itself is beyond that.

So, now we're gonna ask the REAL question.

With the Void being able to deny Time, could the Pale King see the future the Void's actions will bring?

And for that, I have two facts that suggest that PK, in fact, couldn't at least foresee SOME of the Void's choices.

The first one is the fact that the game has multiple endings.

Look into those eyes and tell me that they're looking at something that could have been predicted and prevented by a dead monarch, albeit a godly one. The existence of multiple endings tells us that free will IS real, at least for The Knight/The Shade Lord.

Oh and speaking of dead monarchs, here's the next fact.

That man is fucking dead.

The Pale King's whole deal was to last eternally, right? To build a life that would ensure his endless reign. To achieve immortality.

So if he could see what was going to happen after he let the Void into the picture, why would he still try that despite it clearly leading to his demise?

The nature of PK's death is mysterious, to say the least. He didn't just die of old age. He tried to run away, bringing his whole Palace along with him to the Dream World. He tried to run away from something - probably from the consequences of his own actions. But even that escape didn't save him from being killed. And what killed him was most definitely the Void.

The throne room is dark.

In fact, it's so dark that the Kinght has to pull out the lumafly lantern. The only other room in the entire White Palace where that happens is the workshop, where PK worked on creating the Kingsmoulds and the Wingsmoulds. The space is filled with black smoke and black particles - the same ones that are seen in the Abyss and many areas that are located above it. When the Kinght strikes the Pale King's body with the Nail, it sounds the same as striking a training dummy outside of Oro's hut, which is made out of a lifeless husk. It's like the Pale King's body was literally hollowed out.

The form that was given to the Void by the Pale King to create the Kingsmoulds guarding the throne room is lost here, implying that it gained some other will that was beyond the Pale King's control.

And again, the only other place we see something like that is the Palace Grounds in the waking world.

...Which are located just above the Void Sea. Also, the same smoke and particles surround the place, and black tentacle-like vines reach inside the body of the Kingsmould containing the Palace.

No need to doubt. It was definitely the Void that killed the Pale King.

But what does it mean?

Well, here's some important info about the Void. It is a manifestation of this world's regrets.

If you look deep enough, it makes a lot of sense for the Void to symbolize literal regret. The Shade is a manifestation of the Knight's regrets about what went wrong on its journey. The Void Sea in the Abyss is probably the regrets of the Ancient Civilization's dead bugs. And the Void that surrounds the Palace Grounds and the Pale King's throne room is a manifestation of his own regrets. That's why he couldn't escape from the Void even in the Dream World. Because you can't escape your own guilt, your own darkness, your own regret. That's also the reason why the Knight has the right to sit on the throne after striking down the Pale King: it's because, at that point, the Kinght is set on a path that includes facing its own regrets, accepting them and uniting them under its will. Something the Pale King failed to do.

But the question remains: what exactly were those regrets that the Pale King was running from and that ultimately killed him? I mean, of course, it's the whole deal with the vessels that he regretted, but I think there's more to that. I want to lay down a list of theories about his foresight. Each of them can also explain which specific regret got him the most.

Each theory would also change the interpretation of this famous line:

...Which is important. Obviously, this line refers to the Vessels being sacrificed in order to create a Pure one, but, depending on the possible range of PK's future vision, it can have an additional, deeper meaning. You'll see what I mean.

But first, there's some other issue here that needs to be addressed, that makes this whole discussion twice as complicated. It's all about this one line:

So, here's another fucking question. Does harnessing the Void by creating the Vessels and the Moulds make those creations a part of what the Pale King could see with his foresight ability?

There's some kind of scale here that varies from 'There are multiple endings that depend on that one Vessel's choice, so that means the Void is outside of the PK's ability to predict the future' to 'The Vessels and the Moulds are the Void that is harnessed by the Pale King, so his future vision applies to them as well; it's just that the Knight gains the power to choose the ending only when it takes control over its own Void by gaining the Void Heart'. So, what if the Pale King could foresee that the Knight would be able to defeat the Radiance in the dream world? What if he couldn't see the Knight's arrival at all? What if he COULD see it, but his vision only applied to the events of the Hollow Knight ending, the only one that doesn't include the Void Heart? What if even the Embrace the Void ending was visible to the Pale King after all, as one of many possibilities he didn't pay too much attention to?

But the Knight is one thing. What about the Hollow Knight? Was its failure a part of the future PK could see? Or, since THK is a Vessel too, its choices were off limits as well? What about the Kingsmoulds? Was the fact that they would succumb to the Void that was going to kill PK available for him?

None of these questions have a clear answer. Probably. Or maybe they do. But there are multiple explanations for what was really going on. I'll try to present them as a list of theories. Each of them will give us a different interpretation of the Pale King's foresight ability's true nature.

PK didn't know what the Void would do but decided to try using it anyway.

PK only saw that the Void would help the Hollow Knight seal the Radiance, but his vision was limited (either because it was limited by its nature (option A, see above), or because the stasis created by the void limited his abilities (question 1, see above)), and so he didn't see that the Hollow Knight would break.

PK knew the Hollow Knight was going to fail but doomed his Kingdom anyway.

PK only saw the timeline where the Knight seals the Radiance without killing her. Every other ending besides The Hollow Knight was beyond PK's foresight.

PK knew that there were multiple possibilities once the Pandora's box was opened, but he saw that one of those possibilities was the Void successfully sealing the Radiance and/or killing her, so he decided to roll the dice. So he could see that Dream No More was possible, but he didn't consider Embrace the Void.

Each of these theories holds some interesting interpretations. Let's take a closer look.

I'll use a timeline to mark the possible range of PK's vision for each theory:

Just to clear things out: when I talk about what PK could or couldn't see, I mean what he could or couldn't see while using his powers at any point before his death. It IS possible that he saw some things when it was already too late to do something. That's what I was talking about when discussing possibilities A and B above (so maybe he saw that THK would break before he even made the Vessels, or maybe he figured it out only after it got sealed). Every theory accounts for that. It's complicated. You know what? Nevermind this whole disclaimer. I'll get to it.

Theory 1. The Void neutralizes the future vision

Basically, what this means is that once the Void got into the picture, the Pale King could no longer use his powers in any meaningful way. The Void, being a will that denies Time, created too many different possibilities for the King to account for, yet he decided to go through with the Hollow Knight plan just because he didn't see any other option.

The line 'No cost too great' in this case might refer not only to the Vessels being sacrificed, but to PK's foresight ability itself. The cost is his future vision, sacrificed to a state of uncertainty that might or might not bring salvation.

If this theory is true, the Pale King's story is a story about a monarch who, in his efforts to save his Kingdom from a wild force of radiant nature, accidentally unleashed something far beyond anyone's control and paid for it not only with his main ability, but with his life as well. Both the Vessels' and the Abyss' actions couldn't have been predicted, and that's why PK accidentally allowed for the Hollow Knight to break and for the forces of the Abyss to overpower him with his regrets about the countless children he murdered.

The risk he took is his main regret.

The flaw of this theory is that, if it's true, it means that:

a) The Elder Mushroom was completely wrong about PK being able to foresee the second coming of the Infection.

b) Harnessing the Void doesn't do shit besides changing its form. Even while being contained inside a semi-sentient Vessel, its actions don't bend to the Pale King's will or his foresight ability.

All in all, this theory basically means that both Pale King's powers and his judgment sucked, and the whole collapse of Hallownest happened because he was incompetent, reckless and stupid.

(That's why I don't like it)

TL;DR: The Void does what it pleases regardless of the Pale King's future vision, and he was stupid for trying to use it.

Theory 2. The Hollow Knight's failure was beyond the Pale King's future vision

This is probably a very controversial one, but it does have some interesting implications. The point is that PK didn't see that the Hollow Knight would fail, and so he went through with the plan thinking it was flawless.

In this case, the Hollow Knight counts as a 'harnessed' part of the Void, so its actions up until its breaking were completely predictable. The Pale King saw that the Infection would be sealed successfully, and that a stasis would be created. He got what he wanted, but at some point (could be any point) he realized that he didn't know if anything was going to happen next.

That could happen for one of the two reasons:

The stasis created by the Pale King literally meant that the time was frozen, which meant that nothing relevant wasn't going to happen unless this stasis would somehow break. But, while inside this state of stasis, the Pale King himself couldn't see anything beyond that state. What future vision is there if there's no actual future?

The future vision was clouded by the Pale King's inevitable death. It's possible that, while looking into the future, PK couldn't see the Hollow Knight breaking simply because his future vision doesn't allow him to see beyond the moment of his own death.

Anyway, what this theory suggests is that the main thing the Pale King didn't or couldn't predict was his own death. Or maybe at some later point he saw it was coming and tried to run away from it by hiding his Palace, but the Void got him anyway. It happened because the Void that destroyed the Kingsmoulds' bodies and killed the Pale King was a force beyond anyone's control an beyond PK's foresight.

A major proof of that is the situation with this guy:

Notice how they apologize directly to the Pale King, and how the Void slowly took over their mind. This guy was a royal retainer, which means the King probably ordered them to keep the lighthouse running himself.

The question is, why did he take such a half-assed measure to keep a whole Sea of raw dark power at bay? It looks so stupid! Just one lighthouse for a whole unchecked Void Sea? And just ONE lighthouse keeper who couldn't even resist the Call of the Void? Why such carelessness?

The answer is right here. That was because the Pale King simply DID NOT KNOW what the Void Sea was actually capable of, because its power (unlike the power of the Void trapped inside the King's children's bodies) was beyond his foresight. Without a clear answer from his future vision, he figured that this Void might or might not be an issue and decided that he had more important stuff to deal with instead of even hiring a whole team to watch one lighthouse.

So, while he managed to reach his goal creating a stasis that would keep his Kingdom lasting eternally, there was one thing he didn't account for, and that was the vengeful wrath of the dark force he dared to use as his plaything. The lighthouse was turned off, and the Void soon started to rise up through the rocks of the Ancient Basin towards the White Palace. The King tried to run, hiding himself and his Palace inside the Dream World, but the Void seeped in easily, killing the monarch. After all, the Kingsmould that was used as a gate to the Palace was also made out of Void.

If this theory is true, then the line 'No cost too great' could refer not only to the Vessels, but also to himself. If he didn't know that the Hollow Knight would break, then he probably thought that his Kingdom WOULD last forever, and that even his own death wouldn't change that. So he sacrificed his own life, gave in to his regrets about everything bad he had done, but managed to save one glimmer of pride, thinking that, even though he killed a bunch of children and abused the Void, he still managed to deliver eternal happiness to all his subjects.

But the thing about this theory is that now we also need to explain why the Radiance broke free despite everything the Pale King thought he did. Here, this theory divides into two additional theories (I'm really sorry for this long-ass post):

Theory 2.1: The Radiance is like 'Nah, I'd win'

Basically, PK's plan to achieve eternal life for his Kingdom at the cost of his own life was actually good. There was no flaw in it, and it should've worked perfectly. But we know that the Radiance might be a being that is higher than PK on the power scale. So, just like the Void, her actions might be beyond what PK's foresight ability could help him see. PK did everything right (not morally), but the Radiance broke through anyway because she's just... that much better.

Theory 2.2: The death of the King is what triggered the whole thing

Going back to the Void's actions messing with the future the Pale King could predict, I say it's possible that his own death, caused by the Void, is what made the stasis wear off.

Think of it this way. The Hollow Knight contained the Infection, but that merely eliminates the possibility of a HIGHER FORCE enacting some sort of change. Preventing EVERYTHING ELSE from breaking the stasis is the job for the Pale King himself. But, once the Void (another higher force) kills him, there's no one that could keep the stasis running, and it just... ends. That gives the Radiance (as a force of change, opposed to a state of frozen time) an opportunity to break free.

Or maybe it was the Sealed Vessel that was affected by the Pale King's death. After all, we probably know what its only thought (the one that ruined everything) was:

So, the Pale King dies, the Hollow Knight senses that a familiar presence is starting to slip away, which makes the Vessel panic (or something like that), and the Radiance makes her move, infecting its mind.

OR it could be both of those things! Maybe the Hollow Knight's attachment to its father AND the Radiance's insane higher power both played a role in filling up the power vacuum that was left after PK died.

Anyway yeah, that's it for this theory. The only thing left to discuss is the new interpretation it gives us for the line spoken by the Elder Mushroom:

'A demise unavoidable', in this case, refers to the demise of the Pale King himself. He didn't necessarily foresee that his death would lead to the destruction of Hallownest, but at some point he might've figured out that the Void was coming to get him but decided to stick with his plan anyway. But then it raises the question of when and how the Elder Mushroom learned about the Pale King's demise, and why they assumed that he could see it coming. That's the main issue with this whole theory: it just doesn't explain how the Mushroom's line fits into all of this.

TL;DR: The Void killing the Pale King is the only thing that he couldn't foresee in the long run, and even if he could do that at some point, the consequences of his death AND/OR the Radiance's actions were beyond his control.

Theory 3. Self-fulfilling prophecy

Ok, so now we're on the theory that I personally consider the closest to canon, or at least the implications of canon that we have. This is also the one theory that brings (some kind of) consistency to this whole question. This is because it explains the earlier question of how the future vision actually works.

See, there's no way the Pale King actually knew that the Hollow Knight would break from the very start, right?

Why would he doom his Kingdom when all of his actions were meant to prevent that? In fact, that's exactly the question that the Elder Mushroom is asking.

"Pale Wyrm... What good to foresee a demise unavoidable?"

Well, the answer here is actually kinda simple this time.

He saw it coming, and he tried to postpone it.

This is the simplest explanation possible, because we already have all the proof right here on the table.

The King sees that the Infection will come, and that it is inevitable (the inevitability is the key part).

He knows that, when the predicted moment comes, the Radiance will return and wreck his shit. No matter the timeline, no matter the choice. The flow of Time itself inevitably leads to the Infection happening.

The only option is to use a force that is able to deny time itself. The solution is to use the Void to metaphysically freeze the very flow of Time itself. The plan is not to try to change what is meant to happen, but to create a stasis that makes it so that it never comes to it. The timer never reaches zero. The eternal snooze button.

The stasis, however, dampens the foresight ability. If there's no flow of Time, the King can't see what's going to happen.

[A little digression: For the purpose of proving this theory, let's say that the foresight ability works better the closer the observer is to the moment that is being observed.

For example, while looking into the future from a point in time before a big war, the observer CAN see that the war will end on a certain date, but only when that date comes closer to them can they see HOW the war will end, and WHO will end it, and any other detail.]

The stasis wears off because of the Radiance's power (like in theory 2.1).

The King is finally able to see the exact nature of the Infection breaking free. He sees that the Hollow Knight itself, the Vessel he personally created to be the only key to the Kingdom's salvation, will be the reason everything goes to hell.

Wracked with guilt and regret, he escapes to the dream realm before the break happens so that he can at least save himself and his palace.

The Void makes a move that the King could or couldn't foresee, killing him. He thinks about the 'no cost too great' philosophy one last time before realizing that it is, in fact, utter bullshit. He dies with a feeling of everything he built crumbling to dust and his core belief being proven faulty.

The Infection breaks free, having harnessed the Hollow Knight, as inevitable as always. With the King being dead, there's no power to uphold the time stasis, which becomes the final push. The Vessel breaks.

Only then the Kingdom sees the arrival of a void being that has the potential to actually change things from their set course. The Knight, being a part of the Void that was beyond the Pale King's future vision range, enacts an end of its own choosing.

This ties to the game's themes of determinism, and flashes out the Kinght's strength to break free from the fate's chains, empowering the player and making the whole plot twist with the final battle against the Radiance even more epic.

The monarch who justified killing his own children by his desire to prevent the higher will from destroying his artificially made Kingdom has succumbed to a force beyond his control, becoming a part of a self-fulfilling prophecy. The chosen hair of its father's will becomes the reason why the inevitable finally happens. The only one who is free of obligations, desires and beliefs becomes the one to save the Kingdom once and for all, avenging the deaths of its kin. Beautiful.

And the Mushrooms who probably just didn't believe in the stasis from the start turned out to be right, smugly reminding us that it was always inevitable and PK couldn't do shit. There's no good in seeing a demise unavoidable, and it's foolish to make sacrifices to postpone it.

What the Pale King lacked was acceptance. The ability to embrace the true nature of things.

Something that is the main ability and the main character arc for the Knight, whose nature is to consume and to use its will to make even the darkest shadows become a part of it.

A little spoiler though: this theory has another variation that is even cooler. I'll leave it for the very end.

TL;DR: The King knew that the Infection was inevitable from the very start. He tried to postpone it. He failed, becoming a part of a self-fulfilling prophecy. When he figured it out, it was already too late, so he fled and was then killed by the Void.

Theory 4. The Masterplan

Ok, so, while the previous theory was probably the one closest to the canon implications, there are still a couple of possibilities that make this WHOLE thought process worth the time spent on it, because the mere CHANCE of this one theory being true makes the whole game feel even more nuanced. It's not even necessarily correct, but it's not about that. Team Cherry made the lore surrounding the Pale King's foresight ability vague enough for us to feel it's POSSIBLE that the whole plot was predicted by him. And that's how this narrative works: it allows the players to come up with different interpretations of itself, never proving or disproving any of the theories that it inevitably creates inside our heads.

So anyway yeah, what if the Pale King knew that another Vessel would usurp the Hollow Knight? What if THAT was his plan all along?

So, let's discuss a very important question.

How was the Hollow Knight chosen among other vessels? Why did that one child become the Pure Vessel while millions of others were left behind?

Well, judging by these lines and by the Birthplace cutscene, the trial to be chosen as the Hollow Knight was to climb up from the Abyss.

But why? How does scaling a huge pit prove a vessel hollow, and devoid of thought? Is it about the strength? Is it about not caring about other siblings who fall down? Is it about controlling one's inner Void in order to not succumb to the regret of the whole situation? Is it something like a sperm and an egg thing? A bug thing? Maybe it's all of those things. Maybe it's none of them. One thing we can assume, though, is this:

The Knight also passed this trial. It could have become the Hollow Knight. The reason it didn't was because the Pale King didn't see it and the Hollow Knight didn't care about it.

But in the end, it was the same reason why the Kinght became a more worthy candidate.

Think about it this way. If the Void is what is needed to seal the Light, and if the Void is created and channeled through regrets and past pain, what could be a better fuel for it than a father's abandonment and a sibling's indifference? Passing the life's trial but losing a chance to live anyway creates the strongest darkness, and that darkness is the reason the Knight becomes the best Vessel possible to do this task.

But it's not the only trial the Knight had to pass in order to qualify for this role.

(Notice the phrasing used in the Quirrel comic - 'ascend to that fabled land')

We don't know how it happened (Team Cherry teased us once about revealing it), but the Knight not only escaped the Abyss through some other path, but managed to leave Hallownest and then come back, purified by the mind-wiping winds. That's what Hornet says about it, too - she specifically states that the Knight's resilience was born of two voids: the one that's outside of the Kingdom and the one that's below it.

And we also know that many other Vessels attempted the same thing.

So basically, had any of them been more successful at the quest the Knight did succeed at, the Kingdom could have had a greater, if not near-infinite, amount of replacements for the Sealed Vessel. One Knight takes the Infection inside of itself, holds it in until the Infection inevitably starts to break free, but then another Knight arrives, answering its sibling's call for help, and the cycle continues. Convenient, huh?

Sounds like a thing some very perceptive godlike monarch could come up with as a plan to save his Kingdom.

It could ALSO explain why there are SO MANY Vessels in the Abyss. Maybe it's not about the White Lady being crazy horny. Maybe it was a part of the plan (which included the White Lady being crazy horny) all along. A way to measure up to eternity by creating an amount of heirs that no one would be able to count. Yes, it IS finite, but with THIS many spare Vessels it wouldn't really matter.

That said, there ARE some flaws in this theory. First, there's no live Vessels in the Abyss, so the ones that survived the Pale King's trial probably either died or left the Abyss already. And it's likely that there weren't too many of those who escaped, so maybe there weren't enough vessels after all. But then again, it only takes one to save the Kingdom for multiple ages, so who knows how that would work.

Second, as far as we know, the Knight was the only one who had the potential to actually seal the Radiance once and for all. Letting weaker vessels try to usurp the Hollow Knight would mean risking the Kingdom. But then again, that's what Hornet was there for. On the other hand, even she was surprised with how the Knight was able to defeat her, so either she didn't know about the Masterplan, or it was never real in the first place, and the Knight IS the one unique Vessel who has the strength to save Hallownest for good.

Honestly, I'm inclined to agree with the latter assumption solely because of the narrative weight of the Birthplace cutscene. I mean, there was no other vessel that was in the same position as the Knight. No one else had that same experience of passing the Abyss trial just in time to see the first Hollow Knight walk away with its father, who then shut the door in their face.

But anyway, this theory is still pretty valid. If it's correct, it would mean that:

a) The 'No cost too great' line spoken by PK at the moment of his death basically means 'Whatever bitches, I may be dead but Hallownest WILL last eternally because I had those Vessels ALL FIGURED OUT, and there's SHIT you can do about it now!'

b) All who doubted PK's plan are proven wrong, and the Mushrooms' smugness is worth nothing.

c) The Pale King's future vision is fucking OP.

...Whiiiich yeah, makes the Pale King look like the coolest mastermind in all fiction, but at the same time takes away the tragedy of his whole story and the uniqueness of our dear beloved Ghost Knight. Still fun to think about it tho.

TL;DR: The King knew that the Hollow Knight would break, so he had every other possible Vessel in mind as a replacement. The new Vessel would be the one who survived the Abyss, escaped, left Hallownest, and returned at the call of the previous Vessel. With millions of Vessels born, the cycle could have been repeated so many times that it wouldn't matter when the Abyss would run out of Vessels.

Theory 5. The Masterplan but cooler

Now THAT's what I personally consider a big stretch.

See, for THAT theory to be correct, the Pale King should have known the EXACT moves the Knight (and only the Knight) would take in order to defeat the Radiance one way or another. He should have accounted for things such as:

The Knight being left in the Abyss in the exact way that it was; broken mentally by the chance that was taken away from it.

His own death.

The Knight arriving to Hallownest, passing all the tests, getting the Dreamnail, breaking the Dreamers' Seals.

The Knight becoming the new Sealed Vessel in at least two of the possible timelines.

The White Lady gifting the Knight her part of Kingsoul.

The Knight successfully entering the White Palace, finding the King's corpse, and taking the second half of Kingsoul.

The Knight returning to the Birthplace, getting the Void Heart and uniting the Void.

The Knight entering the Hollow Knight's dream with Hornet's help and actually killing the Radiance by making the Void consume it.

I think there's exactly a 0.00001% chance of that being the case. But hey, it's possible!

Actually, I don't believe that. It just doesn't feel like that's what the canon implications are about. And then again, if that theory is correct, why couldn't the King predict the Embrace the Void ending? And I do believe that SHADE LORD wasn't on ANYONE'S bingo card at all (except for maybe that one goth bug who gives us the Shade Cloak). Or did the King just decide to risk it all by defeating one God of Gods by creating another, much stronger one? I really don't think so.

I think the Void's will, as well as the Knight's, has the nature to defy any type of fate or future vision. And once the Knight gains the power of the Void Heart, the future of Hallownest is entirely in its hands, and its choice is now inherently outside of anyone's foresight.

TL;DR: The King predicted everything. Could he predict the Shade Lord though?

Theory 6 (the secret one). The 'human' factor

Ok, so, up until now, I discussed the possibilities the Pale King had with his future vision, and how said possibilities could influence his actions and the history of Hallownest as a whole, with the Self-fulfilling prophecy theory (of which this one will be an extension of) being the most plausible one. There's just one thing though. None of those theories really accounted for the possibility that, at some point, Pale King could've just not used his powers, or, more realistically, used them but chose to do something despite the information he got.

But why? What could possibly make him do that? The literal God of Mind, not being rational? Sounds like something that Team Cherry wouldn't fail to include in the game as an emphasized plot point. A lore piece so important must've been given some significant place, perhaps even locked behind some insane platforming gauntlet...

I swear, this one moment drives me crazy.

The Pure Vessel. The Sealed sacrifice. The Empty God. The Hollow Knight was created to be the one and only savior of Hallownest, of everything the Pale King worked so hard on. It was created not as an heir to its father's throne, not as his child, but as a tool to win a war that had been going on for ages. And we all know that it failed because it gained a mind, a will to live, a desire to crave happiness.

And this moment at the end of Path of Pain tells us exactly how it happened. The Pale King, being a god whose main power is to give bugs the ability to think, shared exactly one moment of pure fatherly affection with his empty creation. And that's all that was needed to plant the seeds of a mind-conquering disaster.

And right now I want to focus on the Pale King himself here. If you watch the cutscene, you'll notice that he is the first to turn his head towards the Hollow Knight. He was the one who initiated this moment.

And one might ask: why? Didn't he know that that could lead to the Vessel having a thought that was terminal for the whole plan? Couldn't he PREDICT that him showing even an ounce of affection towards this hollowed-out child would ruin everything he built? His whole Kingdom, his whole dream, his whole civilization? WAS HE STUPID?

But hear me out. What if what we're looking at here is not the Pale King messing up his entire career as a monarch, but him actually achieving the only thing that could satisfy him? Think about it. Who knows how much time he spent in his workshop trying to harness the Void. Millions of his children were left for dead, locked inside a horrible bottomless pit as bones and shadows. Three of the Kingdom's greatest bugs agreed to sacrifice their lives for the King's plan. All so he could achieve what he considered perfection. The impossible ideal. All the struggles of this Kingdom led to the creation of that one being. And when the Pale King knew he had succeeded, there was nothing left to strive for. Finally, he could allow himself to be satisfied. To forget about the greater good. To forget the never-ending battle. To live.

To love.

And maybe at that point he refused to use his future vision. Or maybe he knew that this would ruin everything. Maybe he always knew. For that moment, none of it mattered. The god of mind finally experienced something that had nothing to do with rationality. And once that happened, nothing else mattered anymore. No cost was too great for this one moment.

And so, nothing that happened after that mattered as well. The King's radiant enemy would soon take his Kingdom. His beloved Queen would go into exile. He himself would not be able to fight the regrets of his dark past and would soon cowardly flee from the waking realm, only to be killed on his throne by the very power he so foolishly used to achieve his goal. But at that point that goal didn't matter to him anymore. He was ready for the eternal Void, because he had already achieved the only thing worth achieving.

Too bad that meant he would doom millions (if not billions) of live creatures and make the only being he could actually love experience the cruelest torture unimaginable. Too bad that, when gods attempt to achieve a higher ideal, countless souls must suffer. Too bad that because of that one achievement everything Hallownest was had to end.

But everything ends at some point. That's one of the main themes of this game, and the idea that I believe is represented by the Void. The Knight arrives to reap the sins of its creator, witness secrets sealed, bring some hope to a ruined land, and enact the end of an era. Only a silent agent of change is there to witness the dark consequences of the Wyrm's quest for happiness.

Neat theory, right? Now guess which one is my favorite!

TL;DR: The Pale King realized that the act of loving his child is worth sacrificing everything he worked for, so, even knowing that sealing the No-More-Hollow Knight would doom Hallownest, he decided that his life has already peaked anyway and that there's no point in trying to do anything anymore. He knew that he was cooked though, so he fled and died only with the closest circle of family and friends to keep him company.

----

The post is over now. Big, bigger, yet bigger, the biggest thanks to anyone who genuinely made it through to the end. My grammar is probably flawed as fuck tho, because English is not my native language, so please cut me some slack in that regard. I hope what I was saying there was at least somewhat cohesive. I also hope that the more obscure bits of information I used (like cut dream dialogue) didn't throw anyone off the thought train. It's probably gonna be a big deal when I release this post, so I probably will be coming back to it. Any discussion, as well as disagreement, is always welcome! Please just let me know I didn't write all this for nothing lol. Thanks again!

TL;DR: Skill issue.

#hollow knight #hollow knight theory #hollow knight lore #pale king #hallownest #the radiance #the hollow knight #shade lord #fungal wastes #hk godseeker #path of pain #future vision #character analysis #long post #the pale king

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reverseexorcist · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! How are you? Can you write some enemies to lovers with Lute if you feel comfortable with that? Like reader is a overlord who likes to fight every extermination day just for fun and Lute sees a worthy rival until they fall in love?

❥ 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐧 𝐌𝐞 𝐈𝐧 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐨𝐥𝐲 𝐅𝐢𝐫𝐞 ❥

Oh wow I love her such a normal amount like seriously you could ask me anything about her and I would be the most normal person ever about her. But something about enemies to lover Lute with a sinner reader just hits different-

Someone here was having way more fun with the enemies to lovers aspect of this (and it's not Lute.)

(I am sorry I took so long with this request, but it was just so long and I'm juggling multiple blogs, interests and school-work rn so I'm just happy to get this one out. Thank you for being so patient <3)

➲ Lute + !F!Overlord!Reader

➲ Romantic ☒, Platonic ☐

➲ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 Count; 4,532 Words

➲ Warnings/notes; Descriptions of gore, descriptions of body shifting/horror, tsundere Lute, lots of fighting between two idiots who are actually trying to murder each other

Three hours before extermination day. Three hours before the exorcists would descend from Heaven like a plaguing swarm to rid Hell of as many demons as they possibly could. Three hours before you could go dance with death like you usually did and scare the living shit out of winners and sinners alike with your almost insane mannerisms.

Because that's what you did for fun, apparently.

However, unlike the countless times before you'd done this, you were feeling just a little tired. Staying up late to binge the new episode of 'MAMMON'S MAGNIFICENT MUSICAL MID-SEASON SPECIAL' mightn've been the best idea you'd ever had, but it was one hundred percent worth it even as you stood proudly, staring up at the pearly gates of Heaven. From where you stood, they still looked rather bare, and so you didn't think a quick nap beforehand would be all that bad, right?

At least, that was the plan. Just a quick nap before the extermination to get your head in the game - Except you'd forgotten to put a damn alarm on and slept right through the beginning ceremony. As the holy trumpets and guitar riffs echoed throughout the scorching pit of eternal suffering, you were snoozing away peacefully in your Evil Overlord Tower™.

Or, at least, you were.

Something didn't feel right, which was odd, because you had one of the most comfortable beds in all of Hell courtesy of the instinctual fear you spread throughout the ring of pride. And when something wasn't right, you sought to make it right because you didn't deal with shit that annoyed you (such, through the power you held).

A light weight rested across you, evenly spread expertly as if whoever was standing above you was trying not to rouse you from your slumber. For a moment, you thought you'd imagined it. There was no movement from above you, and there was a split second where you considered just letting your mind relax and fall asleep again, but such thoughts didn't get you into your current status. Being an overlord meant destruction and paranoia, the two things you strove to embody.

You barely gave whoever was on top of you time to react, moving swiftly enough that for a split second, your entire body shimmered and turned invisible as you slammed your would-be attacker into the floor.

Your hands fumbled, grappling with a sleek, steel pole that you promptly threw outwards, topping the attacker in front of you over. The room around you shook violently, the lights flickering as your brain caught up with your body, trying its hardest to shake the dregs of unconsciousness from your mind.

Bold stripes stared back at you, a sleek mask emblazoned with threads of angelic steel. The sight jogged your still sleep-hazy brain.

'Oh yeah, extermination day' and you gleefully took a swipe at the exterminator in front of you. You'd just fix the damages later.

But she was fast, swift on her wings and on her feet as she ducked and rolled out of the way. You could see she was stumbling, still recovering from the shock of being thrown halfway across the room. But you could still clearly see that she wielded her weapon with pure fury and raw talent, which was certainly something you weren't used to. Other exorcists relied on the fact that normal demons couldn't hurt them, their fighting sloppy and trivial because of it. The one in front of you actually knew what she was doing.

"You're kinda rude, y'know," Rolling your shoulders, a part of you was miffed for being woken up so rudely. Another part of you was grateful for the wake-up call.

She laughed, deep and sharp. The sound made your heart flutter.

"Demon scum like you don't deserve niceties," Her grin grew, sharp edges stretching upwards. You hummed thoughtfully and shrugged your shoulders.

The exorcist charged forward, striking forward with precision startlingly quickly. But you were quicker - Ducking under the point of her spear and tackling her, grappling with her wings as the two of you rolled across the floor in a writhing mass of fury. Holy steel clashing against the might of an overlord. Deep grooves were carved in your floor, yet, as the exorcist managed to tuck her head and roll with the momentum till she was on her feet in one elegant swoop, you couldn't find yourself caring. Adrenaline coursed through your veins, and you almost laughed as she stabbed at you with her spear once more. You parried it almost expertly, cackling before you managed to grab the pole between your palms.

It almost seemed evenly matched between the two of you, an unstoppable force fighting against an immovable object. The poor spear quivered, bending as you both quarrelled over it like young children until it splintered roughly between your palms, crushed beneath the sheer force you exerted. That seemed to get the exorcist's attention.

She stumbled backwards, no doubt thoroughly pissed off at her now shortened weapon - But even that didn't deter the bloodlust in her step. Half of it was thrown away, the broken half that held no pointed end, and chucked it at your face. It missed, and instead, it rattled ominously somewhere behind you in time with the flickering lights, but with your attention split for just a breath, the exorcist lunged forward and scraped a shallow wound in your forearm. It stung, numbly, and the wisk of air as she jumped warned you belatedly. Crimson trickled tantalisingly down your arm as the air between you sizzled, thick and heavy with some undeterminate feeling that made your blood thrum with electricity.

You cackled, grin growing to match the angel's, jaw splitting further than it probably should've as your bones cracked seamlessly, form growing larger as you felt the power of endless stolen souls burning your flesh. Your head brushed against the ceiling, bending to fit in the limited space - You could only relish in the confusion and fear that rolled over the exorcist's face, quickly masked with the solemn, set expression of a battle-seasoned soldier.

However stoic she seemed, you saw your opening and rocketed forward with speed that seemed unsightly for how big you were, pulling yourself against the floor like the demon you were. With the force of a semi-truck, you slammed the exorcist into the wall, fracturing the framework and no doubt rattling her entire being to her very core. You could feel the point of her spear pressed faintly against your chest, a gentle reminder that you quickly snagged and tossed the item far across the room.

Face to face, almost nose to nose. A twisted scarl danced across her face, pearly white fangs stained with spatters of golden blood. It was almost beautiful with how it shimmered in the darkness, like liquid stardust.

"You better fucking kill me, hell-spawn," She spat in your face, fingernails carving angry crescents in your skin.

You laughed, because her words were rather cliche, after all.

"Y'know," You mused, "maybe knowing I'm down here will make you try harder next time."

That did not ease her scowl, but that didn't really bother you, because you had other places to be right now - You weren't going to waste your entire extermination day on one singular angel after all.

You threw her out of the nearest window.

She would be fine, with her wings and all, but it was still funny watching the momentary panic spread across her face before she realised the same thing you did.

Furiously, she flared out her banded wings, scattering loose a flurry of black and white feathers, specks of gold blood arcing in the crimson sky around her. Dazed as she was, her fierce eyes flickered and spun before honing in on her mobile target, namely, you. A titan of the underworld, an overlord in hell - An ear-piercing, spine-chilling cackle echoing around the eastern side of the Pentagram as you pulled yourself from your tower, monstrous figure all too elegant for how big you were, hauntingly so.

And that just made her blood boil, to see a sinner escape her clutches and laugh like nothing was wrong - Or worse, to laugh and knock down her subordinates straight from the sky like they were nothing more than bugs. As little as she cared about the fledglings on their first escapades, that was her hard work going to waste because the littles had no idea how to use their wings.

And that just pissed her off all that much more.

The little exorcist you'd hucked from the top floor window was the furthest from your mind as your galavant around hell started again. She was a little spitfire, but nothing you hadn't ground into the dirt before and gotten away with. Even the array of cuts and slashes littering your body, courtesy of her spear, didn't mean anything beyond a harsh sting that would be gone within the next month. Yet nothing she did was permanent, which is why you didn't exactly pay attention to the screeching war cry of rage followed by a sharp twinge between your shoulder blades.

Which irked you, but not that much. You twisted your neck in an unnatural manner, bones creaking as your form bent in on itself, teeth fastening around the stab-happy angel's wing before wrenching her away from you. The machete she'd snagged from elsewhere remained buried just beneath your shoulder, you absentmindedly reminded yourself to remember it after this whole ordeal was over. Angelic steel was no good when left to fester in an open wound.

It could've been the same angel, probably was for all you knew. All their stripes looked the same, and plenty had horns curved back like hers (you had a collection of similar exorcist helmets lining your basement, and you still struggled to tell them apart when not labelled.)

But it was those eyes - They were different, or her mask was at least. You'd never seen obsidian glass carved with an 'x' like that marked over an eye, but there was something about it that was so alluring. It was shiny, unique, and belonged to an especially bloodthirsty angel, and you had what was probably the perfect spot to display it back in your den.

Greed made you strike out, grabbing at her helmet and tussling with the exorcist as the two of you fell to the ground. You may have had the size advantage, much, much larger than the lean figure writhing beneath you, but she was still incredibly strong. Her wings were annoying too, beating and kicking up dust that made your eyes water and ache, battering against your face and drawing a headache up, thrumming against the back of your skull. But you wanted that helmet more than anything, and she seemed extremely determined to keep it on.

The force of it all sent a splintering crack through the surface, shining a brilliant bright white like the threads of angelic steel melted and spilled like blood as one horn snapped clean off beneath your palm.

Those eyes.

They almost made you falter, as gold as angel blood. They were beautiful.

The exorcist, however, was not as thrilled.

She snarled, whipped her head around and sunk her teeth into whatever of your flesh she could reach.

It was more like a hell-kitten nipping at your skin, but you still flinched and let her go, watching as she slumped, cradling a crooked wing. A swelling of a certain emotion welled in your gut, something that made you feel small and achy and you absolutely hated it, but you couldn't do anything. Or, more aptly, you didn't want to do anything as you merely watched the exorcist flare her wings out, still beating strongly despite the fact one of them surely was broken.

The trumpets sounded. She made a rude gesture (many rude gestures, actually) before she grabbed the discarded weapon and the broken curve of her horn before disappearing back into the flock.

It was almost creepy, with the way your eyes watched her without blinking.

"You-"

"You!"

It was that time of year already.

The puffed-up exorcist looked angry, but no more than the last few times you'd seen her. You'd come to associate her venomous scowl, sharp wings and pointed spear as a sort've unique welcome between the two of you, in the same manner that your oversized overlord form bent out of proportion was a gratuity you reserved for your exorcist and your exorcist alone.

Because it was fun, and something you two did together.

"I want to try something," You mused out loud. The angel in front of you didn't respond to your remark, circling you like a severely ticked-off lion. You didn't expect her to, intently watching her as your neck kept twisting and twisting, bending like an owl.

Even with every muscle in her body tensed, she still wasn't prepared for how fast your strikes were. One and two, sharp against her chest as your hulking silhouette snapped and quashed itself into a far more humanoid one, the exorcist's favourite blade now held loosely between your hands. As if it would make her feel better, you kicked a machete, similar to the one she used in your first fight, toward her. Coated in crimson blood of sinners, yet still undoubtedly sharp.

"Here, now it's more of an even fight," You shrugged your shoulders, stancing up.

She scoffed.

"Is that really the best you can do?" She sneered, tapping her foot and folding her wings back high and proud. You quirked your eyebrow.

"Huh?" Your head tilted just a bit too far to be considered 'cute' or 'puppyish'. The exorcist grumbled.

"Your form. It's shit," She motioned with the tip of her blade. "Tuck your arms in, for fucks sake. No wonder your swings are so sloppy."

For once, you seem flustered and tried your hardest to follow her instructions. Heat swelled in her chest, almost like pride. But she would never be proud of someone like you.

"And speaking of, adjust your grip. Move your dominant hand up and your non-dominant hand down - For the love of anything holy, how can you be so shit with the bare basics!"

"Okay! Sorry!" You shifted your weight and tried to do as she told, almost forgetting where exactly you were. The exorcist only felt her grin grow more sadistic, watching how small you suddenly seemed in front of her, and how pathetic you were at actually using a weapon like a somewhat normal person.

It was sad.

(It reminded her of her bright-eyed, curious fledgling classes. All of them eager to learn about how to serve the lord above.)

"Like this?" You question, insane eyes almost reflecting the same eagerness of her students.

It was all wrong, but that was what she wanted.

"Ha. No."

This time she was the one covering the distance between you two with frightening speed, flinging herself forward with the momentum from her wings. The noise you made plucked at her heart, that startled screech clashing with the harsh sound of metal as you brought her own weapon up against her.

It was a brief moment of weakness, one quickly lost as you found your footing and started swinging. For how amateur your swings were, they were more than halfway decent compared to the littles fighting closer to the portal into Heaven. She could work with this, make it feel like you were actually a challenge instead of just another run-of-the-mill sinner.

She could see the way your eyes were glowing, looking all too content with yourself as you somehow matched her footwork and swordsmanship. You were a bit all over the place, but you were also incredibly smart - Picking up on her unique fighting style that not one other exorcist had, and you were doing it fast. Puffing up, almost preening.

"Aha! Now for some witty back-and-forth banter!" You declared out of nowhere, swings much more confident. She narrowed her eyes, infuriated. Just when she thought you were starting to take this whole thing seriously.

The exorcist remained eerily silent, not even puffs of exhausted breath or grunts with each collision of the blades.

"Huh, yeah, not really sure where to go with that?" You shrugged with the brief lull in fighting, darting backwards and sheathing your weapon with just a tad too much confidence for her taste.

Which, every part of this felt like a trap, but she trusted her own skills enough to not fall prey to the like of a sinner. Expertly, more than expertly, she matched those steps as you fell back, advancing, wings arced out as eyes aglow with holy fire.

Only for you to, once again, take her off-guard with your usual tactic. Darting forward, ducking under her blade and kicking her feet out from underneath her. She didn't make a sound but refused to go down with a fight and grabbed at the back of your outfit.

Her vision briefly went dark, the impact of something heavy crashing against her torso and knocking the wind right out of her. Her helmet cracked again, which was par for the course ever since she started brawling with you every extermination.

"Well, fancy meeting you here," Through the new crack in her helmet, she could almost perfectly make out your face. A bit too perfect, and way too close. Close enough to see her pale reflection in the dark of your eyes.

Your, admittedly, pretty eyes.

She felt like carving her own heart out rather than admitting she'd ever thought that in the first place.

"Get. Off. Me." She snarled. Meanwhile, stars practically glowed in your eyes.

"Oh wow! Dropping the 'Hellspawn' and 'Demon-scum'? Could this be love?" You were clearly joking, but her own heart decided to betray her thoughts, flipping in graceful arcs that she'd seen you perform one too many times.

She bit you again.

Five hours.

It had been five hours into the extermination.

With a ranking tally of two hundred and fifty or so demons, the exorcist figured she was fine to have a quick look around.

Because, through all this time, she'd seen neither hide nor hair of you. She didn't want to admit that she'd been loitering around your tower, knowing your tendency to throw yourself into the fray, dancing like you were tempting a lightning storm. She didn't want to admit that she'd been expecting to see your annoying face peering out at her from a nearby rooftop or to descend upon her like a leaping cat, or even to stroll up and start talking to her like the two of you were old friends. None of that happened.

The streets were rather empty, if you didn't take into account the blazing wrecks of cars, broken corpses and puddles of crimson blood puddling around the divets in sulphur roads. There were no moving, 'living' souls scurrying around, and that was what worried her.

Or, no. Not worried. She wasn't at all worried at the thought of you gutted somewhere, dying in a pool of your own blood, banished to the forever void that came after a second death. No, she was pissed at the thought that someone else had managed to kill you after all those years of the same cat-and-mouse dance. Or, more aptly, cat and fox dance. That honour was rightly hers, and she'd smite down any other exorcist that dared to stand in her way.

In her way of killing you. Yes.

The exorcist pinned back her wings, sheathing her weapon and scuffing her boot against brimstone in annoyance. This was bullshit.

There was no fun in the exterminations without your jeering taunts, or odd remarks, your instance of fighting absolutely everyone you saw. Along with the annoyance of you ditching her mid-battle to rip feathers from one of her cohorts, along with a certain warmth she felt when you came bounding back towards her, bloodlust in your eyes and that same weapon you'd stolen from her all those years back pointed directly at her.

The angel only stopped once her boot stepped in liquid gold. It rippled, her thoughtful reflection mirrored and shimmering on its surface. Amber ichor, melding into the red from a nearby puddle, the mingling of sinner and winner blood alike.

What was the chance? She reasoned. But only one demon so far had managed to draw blood from an exorcist.

With a set snarl, she followed the trail. Her bootsteps were the only sound ricocheting around the dinky alley she found herself tracing.

"Oh, it's you..." She almost jumped out of her boots at the sound of your voice. Although, it didn't sound like you, per se. It was croaky and weak, dull and mild-mannered to put it lightly.

You were resting against a brick wall, clutching your front, eyes dimmed in the bright light. Squinting, as if a headache was plaguing your every thought.

Beside you, one of her cohorts rested too. Not dead, but her mask was all but shattered, one of her wings horribly ripped. She wasn't sure if she'd ever fly properly again.

But, you were not dead! Which was good news, because it meant she would be the one to finally slit your throat and watch the light drain from your eyes. And you knew it too, with the way your head kept tilted in her direction, a thoughtful twinkle in your eye.

"So, how's your day been?" Still playful, still joking. It was definitely you.

She scoffed.

"How's the blood loss?" She quipped back, the first she'd ever done so. Properly, at least. You laughed wetly, gagging on your own blood. Even she couldn't help but chuckle, dragging the tip of her weapon up until it rested gently over your heart.

Your laughter died down. Her hand was shaking.

Everything around you was quiet, like the two of you were submerged in a solid bubble of silence. Your ragged breathing was the only sound above a whisper, wet and ragged.

"Can I see your face?" Your voice was as soft as she'd ever heard it. Genuine.

She hummed, quirking a single brow. Not that you could see, because of her helm.

"Why would I do that?" She'd meant for it to sound more venomous. It didn't. You tried your hardest to shrug your shoulders, wincing in pain.

"Well," You sucked in a pained breath, "if I have to die here, the last thing I'd like to see is your face." Tears pricked at the corner of your eyes, smudging the whorls of gold and red blood alike as they dribbled down your cheeks.

Something within her snapped. Dead. Death. A future forever without you. If she'd thought today's extermination had been boring without you, she couldn't even imagine any more.

That's what she told herself, anyway. A future without you was not one she wanted to live, for any reason.

The clank of angelic steel broke the atmosphere, harsh against the bloody floor. Fingers fuzzy and numbed, clasping as the latches that kept her exorcist helmet together. One flick, then another, a sharp snap. Dark obsidian peeled away, horns lifted till a silver-sharp face so out of place in the depths of hell appeared.

"I was right," You croaked. "You are... Pretty woman."

You devolved into another flurry of hacking coughs. The angel felt her feathers flare up, alarmed.

"Yeah, yeah," You waved her off, "don't show weakness or whatever, thanks lieutenant." Your chest crackled painfully as you just regained some unneeded breaths. The angel in front of you stumbled, anxiously padding forward as her boots clacked against the ground.

"Look, I can die happy now. Was fun fighting against you - Really fun, actually. And look! You finally came out on top this time, eh?" You tried to wink, you really did. It just didn't have the same effect when you were bleeding out in front of her. Which made her stomach drop and her adrenaline spike.

'This goes against everything I've ever done' She squinted, furrowing her brow. Gold eyes almost glowed like hot iron, fingers clasped firmly against the hem of her outfit. 'But, y'know, I could always say I was just trying to save my flockmate.'

And she tugged.

Her shirt ripped, the sound harsh against your ears, but it left her with a hefty chunk of fabric that slid against her chainmail gloves. The Lord would smite her down if he ever found out about this, but chances are, in the belly of hell, it would be a secret between only the two of you.

Hours ticked onwards, slipping through her fingers far too quickly. She was just lucky you were as strong as you were, holding on to your consciousness with all your might as she worked her magic. Stuff the wound, stop the bleeding, heal and hope to everything that was holy that angelic magic didn't sear your flesh the same way their steel did.

Of course, you being you, airy quips were thrown around, keeping the air light as your wound slowly healed. It was nasty, there was no doubt about that, your first permanent scar. But at least this way, you'd make it out with your life.

"How did you even let her catch you off guard?" She questioned you after hours of silence.

"I'll be honest, I thought she was you based on her footsteps," You sighed, exhaling softly as she tugged at your makeshift bandages. You got no proper response outside of her light scoff. Somehow, that still made you burn hot with shame.

In perfect unison, the two of you looked out to the horizon. Golden light spilled down from heaven, the portal slowly growing more and more, ripping open a way back to their holy home. Six minutes till the trumpets would sound, if you had to guess. The angel tutted, disapproving of the way time worked. The thought was enough to make you crack a smile.

"I have to go," She seemed hesitant.

"I'll be fine," Even if hoisting yourself to your feet almost made you black out, lugging yourself back to your tower shouldn't have been a big problem when you could literally see one of the back entrances.

That didn't ease her thoughts. She was thinking, mind ticking away as she thought and thought and thought. She kept thinking, until she slowly reached up and snagged a rounded, down-fluff feather from her puffed-up shoulder. Pristine and warm to the touch, it washed away the blood as she carefully placed it into your shaking palm.

No words were shared between you as she rested you against the wall, letting you steady yourself and she hoisted her fellow exorcist onto her shoulders. After helping her shimmy back into her iconic helmet, she glanced backwards at you before stepping toward the light.

"You better not die before I can kill you." Her words were soft, unlike her sharp exterior. You could only match the assumed small, hidden smile. With a hum, you felt only a single name come to mind.

"Yeah, course I won't Lute."

Rules + Info,

Masterlist,

#lute x reader #hazbin lute #lute x female reader #hazbin hotel lute #hazbin hotel lute x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel x female reader #hazbin hotel x you #wlw

90 notes · View notes

lunardragon00 · 5 months ago

Text

Supernatural (Hongjoong x Reader)

Eternal Sunshine Masterlist

Fashion Designer!Hongjoong x Journalist!reader

This love's possessing me, but I don't mind at all It's like supernatural It's taking over me, don't wanna fight the fall

The alarm blared, disrupting the quiet of y/n's apartment. Groaning, she fumbled for the snooze button, her hand finally finding its mark. With a sigh, she rolled out of bed, her mind already buzzing with the day ahead.

After a quick shower and a hurried breakfast, y/n stepped out into the bustling streets of the city. The cool morning air greeted her, mingling with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafting from nearby cafes. With a glance at her watch, she quickened her pace, knowing she couldn't afford to be late for work.

The familiar routine of her morning commute unfolded: the rhythmic clatter of the subway train, the chatter of commuters, the fleeting glimpses of city landmarks flashing by the windows. Lost in her thoughts, y/n barely noticed the passing scenery as she mentally prepared for the day ahead.

Finally reaching her office, y/n greeted her colleagues with a tired smile before settling into her desk. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting a sterile glow over the rows of cubicles. With a sigh, she powered up her computer, steeling herself for another day of deadlines and assignments.

As the morning wore on, y/n found herself in need of a caffeine fix. Grabbing her coat, she made her way to the nearest coffee shop, the scent of freshly ground beans drawing her in like a siren's call. With a grateful smile, she ordered her usual—a strong black coffee—and settled into a corner booth, savoring the first sip as it warmed her from the inside out.

With her coffee in hand, y/n returned to the office, ready to tackle the day's tasks. As she walked past the glass windows, a figure steps out of their office.

"Hey, Y/N, can you come in here real quick." y/n nodded, setting her coffee cup down on her desk before making her way to the office where the figure stood waiting. She recognized him as her editor, Mr. Johnson, a no-nonsense man with a keen eye for news. Entering the office, y/n greeted him with a polite smile. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Johnson?"

Mr. Johnson gestured for her to take a seat opposite his desk. "Yes, Miss L/N, I have an assignment for you." He paused, eyeing her over the rim of his glasses. "It's a big one."

Curiosity flickered in Y/N's eyes as she leaned forward, intrigued. "What's the assignment?"

Mr. Johnson leaned back in his chair, folding his hands together. "We've been granted exclusive access to cover the rise of a promising young fashion designer. Kim Hongjoong."

Y/N's brow furrowed slightly. "Kim Hongjoong? I'm not sure I'm the right person for a fashion story, sir. Besides, I've already started working on the writer's strike piece."

Mr. Johnson arched an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "I understand your reservations, Miss L/N, but this is a unique opportunity for us. Hongjoong's story is more than just fashion; it's about ambition, creativity, and the relentless pursuit of excellence. I need someone who can capture the essence of his journey, someone with a fresh perspective."

Y/N hesitated, weighing her options. "I'm sorry, I'm a bit confused. You want me to write the strike story and the fashion story?" She questioned him. He leaned back and laughed a bit.

"Oh no no no, the striker's story will be given to Jongho. I want your focus to be on Mr. Kim. Don't worry, you'll still have 3 weeks to get the story done." Y/N felt a surge of frustration rising within her as Mr. Johnson clarified the assignment. She had poured countless hours into researching and preparing the striker's story, only to have it snatched away in an instant. And now, she was being thrust into a world she knew little about – the world of high fashion.

"But sir," she began, trying to keep her voice steady despite the annoyance bubbling beneath the surface, "I've been working on the striker's story for weeks. I've invested a lot of time and effort into it. I don't think it's fair to just pass it on to someone else."

Mr. Johnson leaned forward, his expression serious. "I understand your frustration, Miss L/N, but this is a decision that's come from higher up. The opportunity to cover Kim Hongjoong's rise to fame is too important for us to pass up. And I believe you're the right person for the job."

Y/N gritted her teeth, her annoyance growing with each passing moment. She knew Mr. Johnson had a point – opportunities like this didn't come around often – but that didn't make it any easier to accept.

"And what about Jongho?" she asked, unable to keep the bitterness out of her voice. "He's going to be thrilled about getting the striker's story handed to him on a silver platter. He's going to see this as a victory over me."

Mr. Johnson sighed, rubbing his temples as if trying to ward off an impending headache. "I know Jongho can be... competitive," he admitted, "but this decision wasn't made to pit the two of you against each other. It was made because I believe both of you are capable of handling these assignments. And I trust that you'll rise to the challenge."

Y/N clenched her fists, her frustration reaching its boiling point. She knew arguing further would be futile; Mr. Johnson had made up his mind. With a resigned nod, she forced herself to accept the assignment, pushing aside her annoyance for the time being.

"Fine," she muttered, her tone curt. "I'll do it."

Mr. Johnson offered her a sympathetic smile. "I know this isn't what you had in mind, Y/N, but I promise you won't regret it. Now, go meet with Hongjoong and see where this story takes you. Who knows? You might just discover a whole new world waiting to be explored."

With a heavy sigh, Y/N rose from her seat, her mind already racing with thoughts of the daunting task ahead. As she left Mr. Johnson's office, she couldn't shake the feeling of resentment lingering in the air. But she knew she had no choice but to tackle the assignment head-on, no matter how much she wished things had turned out differently.

"This is such bullshit, I mean I worked day and night on that stupid article. I poured my blood, sweat, and tears into it and now it's going to just be handed off to Jongho. And now, I have to write and article about some random guy from nowhere land. It's an insult, seriously." Y/N stirred the pot of pasta on the stove as she spoke.

"I'm sorry hun, that sucks. But hey, maybe it won't be so bad, he could be a cool guy." Her friend, Wooyoung, trying to offer sympathy to her. Y/N huffed, her frustration still evident.

"I highly doubt it. He's just some fashion designer, probably full of himself and his fancy clothes. What could I possibly have in common with him?" She saw Wooyoung shrug through the camera, his expression thoughtful. "You never know until you give it a chance. And who knows? This assignment could lead to something unexpected. Maybe you'll find a new passion, or even make a new friend."

Y/N rolled her eyes, but a small part of her couldn't help but entertain the possibility. "Yeah, right. I highly doubt that." As she continued to stir the pasta, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of resentment lingering in her chest. But amidst the frustration and disappointment, a tiny spark of curiosity flickered to life. Maybe, just maybe, this assignment would turn out to be more than just a nuisance. Only time would tell.

"Hey, when are you coming over again? I need my drinking buddy, especially if I have to deal with some stuck up prick for almost a month." She heard wooyoung laugh through the speaker.

"I'll make sure to clear my schedule for you. We'll drown in our sorrows together," Wooyoung replied with a chuckle. Y/N couldn't help but crack a smile at Wooyoung's lighthearted response. Despite her frustration, his unwavering support brought a sense of comfort amidst the chaos of her thoughts.

"Thanks, Wooyoung. I appreciate it," she said, her tone softening slightly.

"Anytime, Y/N. Remember, I'm always here for you, no matter what," Wooyoung reassured her.

With a nod of gratitude, Y/N focused her attention back on the pasta, the rhythmic stirring providing a soothing rhythm to her troubled mind. As she contemplated the upcoming assignment and the challenges it would bring, a sense of determination welled up within her.

"Alright, let's plan for a night of debauchery then," she declared with a hint of newfound resolve.

The next day arrived, and Y/N found herself awake before the crack of dawn, her mind already buzzing with thoughts of the upcoming assignment. Determined to make the most of the opportunity, she had set her alarm early to dive into research on this Kim Hongjoong guy, the enigmatic fashion designer who had suddenly become the focus of her journalistic endeavors.

With a steaming cup of coffee in hand, Y/N settled into her cozy living room, her laptop open before her. She typed Kim Hongjoong's name into the search bar, her fingers flying across the keyboard as she delved into the depths of the internet in search of information.

As she sifted through articles, interviews, and social media profiles, Y/N began to piece together a picture of the man behind the designer label. She discovered that Kim Hongjoong had risen to prominence in the fashion world at a remarkably young age, his bold and innovative designs earning him praise from critics and admiration from fashion enthusiasts around the globe.

But amidst the glitz and glamour of the fashion industry, Y/N had found almost nothing about his life before fame. Nothing about his home life, nothing about his family, and barely anything about his friends. Hours passed in a blur as Y/N immersed herself in her research, her determination fueling her relentless pursuit of knowledge. By the time the sun began to peek through the curtains, she had compiled a wealth of information on Kim Hongjoong, ready to embark on the next phase of her assignment.

Y/N navigated the bustling streets of Seoul with purpose, her steps quick and determined as she made her way to Hongjoong's office. The city buzzed with energy around her, a vibrant tapestry of sights and sounds that served as the backdrop to her journey.

As she weaved through the crowded sidewalks, Y/N couldn't help but marvel at the juxtaposition of modernity and tradition that defined Seoul. Towering skyscrapers loomed overhead, their glass facades reflecting the morning sunlight, while historic palaces nestled amidst the urban sprawl, remnants of a bygone era.

With each step, Y/N felt a sense of dread building within her. She was about to meet Kim Hongjoong, the rising star of the fashion world, and she couldn't help but wonder what awaited her behind the doors of his office. Finally, y/n arrived at her destination – a sleek, modern building nestled amidst the towering structures of the city skyline. With a sense of determination, she pushed open the glass doors and stepped inside, her gaze sweeping over the pristine interior.

As Y/N made her way through the lobby, her gaze scanning the pristine interior, she was halted by a woman in heels standing by the elevator.

"Ma'am, you need to check in," the woman said politely, her tone firm but courteous. Y/N nodded, realizing she hadn't yet announced her arrival. "Of course, I'm here to see Kim Hongjoong," she replied, offering a small smile.

The woman nodded in acknowledgment and motioned for Y/N to follow her. Together, they approached a sleek reception desk where another impeccably dressed individual sat behind a computer screen.

"Good morning, how may I assist you?" the receptionist asked with a professional demeanor.

"I'm here to see Kim Hongjoong," Y/N repeated, feeling a twinge of nervousness creeping in despite her best efforts to remain composed. The receptionist typed something into the computer before glancing up at Y/N with a polite smile. "And your name, please?"

"Y/N.....Y/N L/N," she replied, feeling a surge of anticipation as she awaited the receptionist's response.

After a moment of typing, the receptionist nodded. "Ah, yes. You're expected. Please sign in here, and Mr. Kim's assistant will be with you shortly."

Y/N complied, quickly scribbling her signature on the designated spot before handing the pen back to the receptionist.

"Thank you. Please wait in the designated area over there," the receptionist said, gesturing towards a stylish seating area off to the side.

With a nod of gratitude, Y/N made her way to the designated area, her heart pounding with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. She couldn't help but wonder what awaited her behind the doors of Kim Hongjoong's office, and she was determined to find out.

As Y/N settled into the designated seating area, she couldn't shake the nervous energy coursing through her veins. She glanced around the sleek and modern lobby, taking in the minimalist decor and the hushed murmurs of other visitors waiting nearby. Minutes felt like hours as Y/N anxiously waited for his assistant to arrive. Her mind raced with questions and uncertainties, her anticipation building with each passing moment.

Finally, a door to the side of the lobby opened, and a sharply dressed woman emerged. "Miss L/N?" she called out, her voice cutting through the air.

y/n rose from her seat, her heart pounding in her chest. "Yes, that's me," she replied, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness.

The woman offered a warm smile as she approached. "I'm Mr. Kim's assistant. He's ready to see you now."

Y/N followed the assistant through the door, her pulse quickening with each step. She couldn't help but wonder what awaited her behind the closed doors of Kim Hongjoong's office – a world of glamour and creativity, or something more unexpected. As they reached the door to Kim Hongjoong's office, the assistant paused and turned to Y/N with a reassuring smile. "Good luck, Miss L/N."

With a grateful nod, Y/N took a deep breath and braced herself before stepping through the door, ready to embark on the next chapter of her assignment and uncover the mysteries hidden within the world of high fashion.

As Y/N entered Kim Hongjoong's office, she couldn't help but feel a sense of apprehension mingled with her professional demeanor. The sleek interior of the room exuded an air of sophistication, from the modern furnishings to the artfully arranged fashion sketches adorning the walls.

Kim Hongjoong rose from his seat behind the desk, his presence commanding attention. Despite her reservations, Y/N couldn't deny the subtle charm that emanated from him as he extended his hand in greeting.

"Miss L/N, it's a pleasure to meet you," he said with a warm smile, his voice carrying a hint of genuine warmth.

Y/N accepted his handshake with a nod, her expression carefully neutral. "Likewise, Mr. Kim," she replied, her tone professional. As they settled into their respective seats, Y/N wasted no time in getting down to business. She fired off questions with precision, her demeanor cool and detached as she sought to glean insights into Kim Hongjoong's rise to fame and his creative process.

To her surprise, Kim Hongjoong proved to be an engaging and candid interviewee. He spoke with passion and conviction about his journey in the fashion industry, sharing anecdotes and insights that offered glimpses into the man behind the designer label.

As the interview progressed, Y/N found herself gradually letting her guard down, intrigued by Kim Hongjoong's sincerity and humility. Despite her initial skepticism, she couldn't deny the genuine passion he exuded for his craft, nor the depth of his knowledge and experience.

By the time the interview drew to a close, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of intrigue that lingered within her. Perhaps there was more to Kim Hongjoong than met the eye – perhaps he wasn't just another arrogant celebrity living off his family's wealth.

"That was great, Mr. Kim," she remarked, her tone softer than before. "If it's alright, I would love to come by your studio sometime this week and watch you work."

Kim Hongjoong's eyes lit up with genuine enthusiasm at the suggestion. "Of course, I'd be delighted to have you visit," he replied warmly, his smile infectious. "I'll have my assistant arrange everything. It'll be a pleasure to show you the creative process behind my designs."

Y/N couldn't suppress the flicker of excitement that sparked within her at the prospect of witnessing Kim Hongjoong's creative process firsthand. Despite her initial reluctance to take on the assignment, she couldn't deny the allure of delving deeper into the world of high fashion and exploring the complexities of Kim Hongjoong's journey.

With a nod of gratitude, Y/N rose from her seat, feeling a newfound sense of curiosity and anticipation coursing through her veins. Maybe, just maybe, there was more to Kim Hongjoong than met the eye.

As Y/N observed Hongjoong and his team tirelessly working to put together outfits for the upcoming fashion show, she couldn't help but feel a sense of detachment from the flurry of activity surrounding her. Despite Kim Hongjoong's kindness during their interview a few days prior, she remained largely disinterested in the fashion aspect of everything.

She watched from the sidelines as fabrics were draped and patterns were meticulously arranged, her mind drifting to other matters. The intricate details of the garments held little significance to her, and she found it difficult to muster the same level of enthusiasm as those around her.

Kim Hongjoong, ever the gracious host, occasionally glanced her way with a smile, eager to share his creative process with her. But Y/N's attention remained elsewhere, her thoughts consumed by the pressing deadlines and obligations awaiting her outside the realm of high fashion.

As the day wore on, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of restlessness gnawing at her. Despite her best efforts to immerse herself in the world of fashion, she found it increasingly difficult to connect with the intricate workings of Kim Hongjoong's design process.

But amidst the chaos of the fashion studio, a small spark of curiosity flickered within her. Despite her initial reluctance, Y/N couldn't help but wonder what drove Kim Hongjoong and his team to pour their hearts and souls into their creations. Perhaps there was more to the world of fashion than met the eye – and she was determined to uncover the truth, no matter where it might lead.

Summoning her professionalism, Y/N approached Kim Hongjoong during a brief lull in the chaos, her notepad in hand as she prepared to conduct her interview.

"Mr. Kim," she began, her tone businesslike yet polite, "I'd like to ask you a few questions for the report. What inspired the collection you're working on for the upcoming fashion show?"

Hongjoong turned his attention to Y/N, his expression brightening as he welcomed the opportunity to share his creative process. "Of course," he replied, his voice warm and inviting. "The inspiration behind this collection is a blend of traditional Korean elements with a modern twist. I wanted to pay homage to my cultural heritage while also pushing the boundaries of contemporary fashion."

Y/N nodded attentively, scribbling notes as Kim Hongjoong elaborated on his vision. Despite her initial reservations, she couldn't help but be drawn in by his passion and sincerity.

"And how do you go about translating that inspiration into your designs?" she inquired, eager to delve deeper into his creative process. Hongjoong's eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as he launched into a detailed explanation, his gestures animated as he described the meticulous craftsmanship and attention to detail that went into each garment. He spoke of hours spent sketching, draping fabrics, and experimenting with textures and colors until his vision was brought to life.

As Y/N listened to Kim Hongjoong's words, she felt a newfound sense of admiration for the fashion designer before her. Despite her initial skepticism, she couldn't deny the depth of his dedication to his craft and the genuine passion he exuded for his work.

With each passing moment, Y/N found herself becoming increasingly intrigued by Kim Hongjoong and the world he inhabited. But Y/N wasn't content with just Kim Hongjoong's perspective. She sought out other members of his team, eager to gain insight into their experiences working alongside the renowned fashion designer.

"Excuse me," she addressed one of the seamstresses, her voice polite yet inquisitive. "What's it like working with Mr. Kim? How would you describe his approach to design?"

The seamstress smiled warmly, her eyes sparkling with admiration for her boss. "Oh, Mr. Kim is truly a visionary. He's incredibly dedicated to his craft and always pushes us to do our best work. It's an honor to be part of his team."

As Y/N continued her interviews with various members of Kim Hongjoong's team, she couldn't help but notice the genuine respect and admiration they all held for their leader. She couldn't deny the impact Kim Hongjoong had on those around him, nor the depth of his commitment to his art.

The day drew to a close, the bustling activity in the fashion studio gradually subsided, signaling the end of another productive day. Fabrics were neatly folded, sketches were carefully stored away, and the last few adjustments were made to the outfits for the upcoming fashion show.

Kim Hongjoong, ever the gracious host, approached Y/N with a warm smile. "Thank you for joining us today, Miss L/N," he said, his tone genuine. "I hope you found the experience enlightening."

Y/N returned his smile, a sense of newfound respect evident in her expression. "Thank you, Mr. Kim," she replied, her voice sincere. "It was certainly an eye-opening experience. I appreciate you taking the time to share your insights with me."

As the rest of the team began to pack up and prepare to leave for the day, Hongjoong turned to Y/N once more. "Before you go, would you like to grab a coffee or a bite to eat? I'd love to continue our conversation."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her initial reluctance warring with the growing curiosity within her. But ultimately, she found herself nodding in agreement. "I'd like that," she said, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Together, Y/N and Kim Hongjoong made their way out of the studio, making their way to a nearby coffee house that Hongjoong favors. The atmosphere in the coffee house was cozy and inviting, a welcome respite from the hustle and bustle of the fashion studio. Y/N and Kim Hongjoong found a secluded corner table, their conversation flowing effortlessly as they sipped on steaming cups of coffee.

"So, what did you think?" He asked, taking a sip out of the mug the barista had handed him moments ago.

Y/N paused for a moment, considering her response carefully. "Honestly?" she began, meeting his gaze with a hint of uncertainty in her eyes. "I didn't expect to enjoy myself as much as I did today. I've never been particularly interested in fashion, but seeing the passion and dedication you and your team put into your work... it's inspiring."

Hongjoong smiled warmly, his eyes reflecting genuine appreciation for her words. "I'm glad to hear that," he replied, his voice tinged with sincerity. "Fashion is more than just clothes – it's a form of self-expression, a way to tell stories and evoke emotions. I'm honored to be able to share that with you." Taking out her notepad, she quickly jotted the line down, mind still focused on work. Hongjoong smiled seeing this and gently took the pen out of her hand.

"You know, I was hoping to get to know more about you Miss L/N. I've only met the person interviewing me." Y/N felt a slight flush creep into her cheeks as Kim Hongjoong's words registered. She hadn't expected him to express an interest in her beyond their professional interaction. Despite her initial reluctance, she found herself intrigued by the prospect of getting to know him better outside the confines of their interview.

"I... I suppose there's not much to know," she replied, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips. "I'm just your average journalist, always chasing after the next story."

Hongjoong's smile only widened at her response, his eyes twinkling with curiosity. "I highly doubt that," he said, his tone playful. "I have a feeling there's much more to you than meets the eye. But hey, if you're not ready to spill all your secrets just yet, I understand. We've got plenty of time."

Y/N couldn't help but return his smile, her initial reservations melting away in the warmth of his presence. "What is it you'd like to know?" Y/N asked, her voice betraying a hint of curiosity despite her attempts to remain composed.

Hongjoong leaned back in his chair, a thoughtful expression crossing his features as he considered her question. "Well, for starters, what led you to become a journalist?" he asked, his gaze never wavering from hers.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her mind drifting back to the defining moments that had shaped her career path. "I suppose it all started when I was young," she began, her tone introspective. "I've always had a passion for storytelling and a desire to uncover the truth. Journalism felt like the perfect outlet for both."

As she spoke, Y/N found herself opening up to Kim Hongjoong in a way she hadn't expected. His genuine interest in her story made her feel seen and heard in a way she hadn't experienced in a long time. "And what about you?" she asked, eager to turn the spotlight back on him. "What inspired you to pursue a career in fashion?"

"Please, we've been talking about me all day, I'm sure your sick of me talking about myself." Y/N couldn't help but smile at Hongjoong's response, appreciating his humility and consideration.

"Well, in that case, let's change the subject," she replied, grateful for the opportunity to shift the focus away from herself for a moment. "How about we talk about something completely unrelated to work?" Hongjoong's eyes sparkled with amusement as he leaned back in his chair, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. "I'm all ears," he said, his tone light and inviting.

And so, Y/N and Hongjoong spent the rest of the evening engaged in lively conversation, their laughter mingling with the ambient chatter of the coffee house. They talked about everything and nothing – from their favorite books and movies to their most embarrassing childhood memories.

As the hours passed, Y/N found herself completely immersed in the moment, grateful for the chance to simply be herself in the company of someone who accepted her without judgment or pretense.

By the time they finally parted ways, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the unexpected connection she had forged with Kim Hongjoong. Despite their vastly different professions, they had discovered a shared sense of camaraderie and understanding that transcended the boundaries of their respective worlds. As she made her way home, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of warmth and contentment that filled her heart.

"You're in trouble." Y/N stopped her task and looked at her friend. "Why do you say that." She asked. Wooyoung gave a stern look to her and stood.

"Have you realized you've been talking about nothing but Hongjoong for the past hour. I mean, come on, I know your doing this story on him but you sound obsessed. You'd think being around him 24/7 for the past week would make you not want to talk about him" Y/N paused, her friend's words sinking in as she considered them carefully. "I... I hadn't realized," she admitted, her brows furrowing in concern.

"I didn't mean to come across as obsessed. It's just... he's been on my mind a lot lately, with the interviews and everything." Wooyoung nodded sympathetically, taking a seat beside her. "I get it, believe me. But you need to remember to keep some perspective. This isn't just about Kim Hongjoong – it's about the story you're telling. Don't lose sight of that."

Y/N sighed, feeling a sense of guilt wash over her. "You're right," she conceded, her voice tinged with regret. "I guess I got caught up in the excitement of it all and forgot why I started this in the first place."

Wooyoung placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, offering her a reassuring smile. "Hey, it happens to the best of us. Just take a step back, breathe, and refocus. You've got this."

Feeling a renewed sense of determination, Y/N nodded, gratitude shining in her eyes. "Thanks, Wooyoung. I needed that."

"Is he at least nice?" Wooyoung asked. Y/N paused for a moment, her mind drifting back to her interactions with Hongjoong. Despite her initial reservations, she couldn't deny that he had been nothing but kind and welcoming towards her.

"Yeah, he's actually really nice," she admitted, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "He's passionate about his work and is genuine. It's... refreshing."

Wooyoung's smile widened at her response, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Well, then I guess it's not so bad after all," he said, his tone teasing. "Just remember to keep your head on straight, okay? Don't let those puppy dog eyes distract you from the task at hand."

Y/N chuckled, rolling her eyes at her friend's playful jab. "I'll do my best," she promised, feeling a sense of gratitude for his unwavering support.

The pair continued to enjoy their evening together, the gentle hum of conversation and laughter filling the air, Y/N's phone chimed with the arrival of a new email. Curious, she glanced down at the screen, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the sender's name: Kim Hongjoong.

With a sense of anticipation, Y/N opened the email, her eyes scanning the contents with eager interest. As she read Kim Hongjoong's words, a wave of disappointment washed over her.

"He won't be available for a one-on-one session for the rest of the week," she explained to Wooyoung, her voice tinged with a hint of regret.

Wooyoung frowned in sympathy. "That sucks," he said, leaning back against the couch. "But hey, at least you’ve got plenty of material already, right? And it might give you some time to reflect on everything you’ve gathered so far."

Y/N nodded slowly, setting her phone aside. "You're right. I've been so focused on getting more that I haven’t really taken the time to process everything I’ve learned."

Wooyoung grinned, nudging her playfully. "See? It’s all about perspective. Plus, now you can actually take a breather and maybe do something fun for a change."

She laughed, feeling the tension in her shoulders ease. "Like what? You know my idea of fun is curling up with a good book or binge-watching a series."

"Which is exactly what you need," Wooyoung replied, his eyes twinkling. "A little escapism never hurt anyone. How about we start with a movie night? Something completely unrelated to work."

"Alright, alright," Y/N conceded, smiling at his enthusiasm. "But you get to pick the movie, my brain feels like mush."

"Deal!" he said, jumping up to rummage through her collection of DVDs and streaming services. As he did, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a warm sense of appreciation for her friend’s efforts to lift her spirits.

As the opening credits rolled on a lighthearted comedy, Y/N settled back into the couch, her thoughts drifting briefly back to Hongjoong. Despite the disappointment of not getting more time with him this week, she realized that Wooyoung was right. This break might be exactly what she needed to regain her focus and ensure that her story about Hongjoong was as well-rounded and insightful as possible.

Halfway through the movie, Y/N found herself laughing freely at the antics on screen, the worries and stress of the past week melting away. She glanced over at Wooyoung, who was equally engrossed in the film, and felt a surge of gratitude for his unwavering support and friendship.

As the credits rolled and the movie came to an end, Wooyoung turned to her with a satisfied grin. "Feeling better?"

"Much," Y/N admitted, her smile genuine. "Thanks for this, Woo. I really needed it."

"Anytime," he replied, giving her a quick side hug. "Now, let’s plan something fun for tomorrow. Maybe a little adventure around the city or trying out that new café downtown?"

Y/N’s eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That sounds perfect."

Y/N sat at her desk, the soft hum of the office around her providing a comforting backdrop as she put the finishing touches on her article. The past few days had been a whirlwind, but the final one-on-one interview with Kim Hongjoong had been worth the wait. It had given her the deeper insights she needed to tie everything together.

She glanced at the clock, noting that she still had a few hours before her deadline. Taking a deep breath, she reread her article from the beginning, ensuring that every detail was perfect. Y/N leaned back in her chair, a sense of accomplishment washing over her. She had captured the essence of Kim Hongjoong, not just as a designer, but as a person. His passion, dedication, and kindness were all there, woven into the fabric of her article.

Satisfied with her work, she saved the document and sent it off to her editor. As she did, a wave of relief and pride filled her. She had done justice to Hongjoong's story, and she knew it would resonate with readers.

Just then, her phone buzzed with a message. It was from Wooyoung: "How's the article going? Ready to celebrate?"

Y/N smiled, typing back a quick response. "Just submitted it! Let's definitely celebrate."

Closing her laptop, Y/N felt a sense of closure and excitement for what lay ahead. She had grown both professionally and personally from this experience, and she was eager to see how her article would be received.

The elevator ride down felt different today. There was a lightness in her step, a sense of fulfillment that accompanied the completion of a job well done. Stepping out into the warm evening, she saw Wooyoung waiting for her by the entrance, his familiar grin spreading across his face as he waved.

"Hey there, star reporter," he called out, pulling her into a hug. "How does it feel to have finished your masterpiece?"

Y/N laughed, the tension of the past days melting away in her friend's embrace. "It feels incredible. I can't wait for you to read it."

Wooyoung gave her a playful nudge as they began walking down the street towards their favorite café. "I'm sure it's amazing. I wouldn't expect anything less from you."

They settled into a cozy corner of the café, the rich aroma of coffee and the soft chatter of other patrons creating a comforting atmosphere. Wooyoung ordered their usual drinks, and soon they were clinking glasses in a celebratory toast.

"To hard work, passion, and a job well done," Wooyoung said, his eyes twinkling with pride. Y/N raised her glass with him with a grateful smile.

As they sipped their drinks, Y/N filled Wooyoung in on the highlights of her final interview with Hongjoong. She recounted the moments that had left the deepest impression on her—the candid discussions about his creative process, his reflections on the challenges he faced, and his unwavering commitment to his art and his fans.

"You know," Y/N said thoughtfully, "this experience has really made me appreciate the power of storytelling. Hongjoong's journey is so inspiring, and I feel honored to have had the chance to share it."

Wooyoung nodded, his expression serious. "And you're amazing at it, Y/N. You have a gift for capturing the heart of a story. I'm proud of you."

Her phone buzzed again, interrupting the moment. It was a notification from her editor. Curious, she opened the message, her eyes scanning the text quickly. A smile spread across her face as she read the words of praise and approval.

"Well, it looks like the editor loves it," she announced, her excitement bubbling over. "They're going to feature it in the next issue!"

Wooyoung cheered, drawing the attention of a few nearby patrons who smiled at their infectious enthusiasm. "That's fantastic news! You deserve it, Y/N."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, conversation, and celebration. As they walked back home under the starry sky, Y/N felt a profound sense of contentment. She had achieved something meaningful, and she had done it with the support of her best friend.

It was a Wednesday morning, almost a week and a half after her article had been published. Today was supposed. to be her day off, her one day to sleep through the morning. Unfortunately, life had other plans for her. With a loud ring, Y/N groggily reached for her phone, her mind still hazy with sleep. She fumbled to answer it, her eyes squinting against the early morning light filtering through the curtains.

"Hello?" she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"Good Morning Miss L/N," came the crisp voice on the other end. Instantly, she sat up, her heart pounding. She hadn't checked the caller ID and now realized it was her editor calling her this early for a reason.

"Good morning, sir," she replied, trying to sound more awake. "Is everything okay?"

"Better than okay," her boss responded, his tone filled with excitement. "Your article on Kim Hongjoong has been a massive success. The response from our readers has been overwhelmingly positive. You've done a fantastic job."

Relief and pride surged through Y/N, but before she could fully process the news, her boss continued.

"Listen, Fashion Week is starting in a few days, and we want to capitalize on this momentum. I want you to cover the event. You'll have full access to shows, backstage, everything. Think you can handle it?"

Y/N's mind raced. Fashion Week was a huge opportunity, a chance to solidify her reputation as a top-tier journalist. Despite the early hour and the whirlwind of thoughts in her head, she felt a surge of excitement.

"Absolutely, sir," she said, her voice firm with determination. "I won't let you down."

"Good to hear," her boss replied. "We'll send you all the details and your press credentials later today. And hey, Kim Hongjoong will be there so be sure to get some stuff on his collection. Get some rest; you're going to need it."

As she hung up, Y/N sat in bed, the news sinking in. Fashion Week. It was an event she had never dreamt of covering, but now it was happening. She quickly called the one person who could help her think this through.

"Girl, I didn't think I would hear from you until 1pm. I thought you were off today?" Wooyoungs voice echoed through the phone speaker.

"Just shut up and listen ok. My boss called me and guess what? My article on Hongjoong was a hit! And now I get to cover Fashion Week!" she paused, awaiting her friends reaction.

A reply came almost instantly. "Holy shit, that's amazing, Y/N! Please tell me you get to bring a plus one. I would kill to be there."

"Unfortunately not, but, I don't know if I can do this Woo. I still know almost nothing on fashion, and now I'm covering one of the biggest fashion events of the year." She got out of bed, her mind already buzzing with ideas for her coverage.

"What do you mean? You did the story with Hongjoong and look how that turned out." Y/N made her way to the kitchen to make herself a cup of coffee.

"That was different, that was about a person who just so happened to be in the industry. This will be about the industry itself." She heard Wooyoung hum in thought, her mind already racing to her natural pessimistic thoughts.

"Wait, that's it. Hongjoong, he's your key." Y/N furrowed her brows.

"What do you mean?"

"You already have a connection, Hongjoong. Ask him for advice, you're not doing on article on him exclusively anymore so it wouldn't be inappropriate to reach out randomly." Y/N's hand paused over the coffee pot, Wooyoung's words echoing in her mind. Of course, Hongjoong. She had built a rapport with him, and his insight could be invaluable for covering Fashion Week.

"You think he'd be willing to help?" she asked, doubt creeping into her voice.

"Absolutely," Wooyoung said with confidence. "He seemed to like you and appreciate your work. Just reach out to him, and I'm sure he'll offer some guidance. Besides, you made him look good with that article."

A small smile tugged at Y/N's lips. "You're right. I'll email him today and see if he has some time to chat before Fashion Week starts."

"Perfect! And remember, you’ve got this. You're more prepared than you think," Wooyoung said encouragingly.

"Thanks, Woo. I really needed that pep talk," Y/N replied, feeling a surge of determination.

"Anytime. Now go conquer the fashion world!"

After hanging up, Y/N sat at her kitchen table, her coffee steaming beside her. She opened her laptop and began composing an email to Hongjoong.

Hi Mr. Kim, I hope this message finds you well. I wanted to thank you once again for your time during our interviews – the article was a great success, and I owe a lot of that to your openness and insights. I have some exciting news: I'll be covering Fashion Week for my publication. Since this is my first time covering such a major event, I was wondering if you might have some time to chat and offer any advice or insights. Your perspective on the industry would be incredibly valuable as I prepare for this assignment. Looking forward to hearing from you soon. Best, Y/N

Satisfied with the message, she hit send and leaned back, sipping her coffee. The nerves were still there, but so was a sense of excitement and readiness. This was a huge opportunity, and she was determined to make the most of it.

Later that day, as she was organizing her notes and planning her coverage, her phone pinged with a new email notification.

Hi Y/N, Great to hear from you! I'm glad the article was well-received. I'd be happy to help you out with Fashion Week. How about we meet for coffee one morning? Maybe when you arrive in Paris? I have some time free before my final prep for the event. Looking forward to catching up. Best, Hongjoong

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. She quickly replied, confirming the time and place.

The morning came to meet Hongjoon. Y/N arrived at the coffee shop a little early, her notebook and pen ready. She felt a mix of excitement and nerves as she waited. When Hongjoong walked in, looking effortlessly stylish, she stood to greet him with a smile.

"Y/N, good to see you," he said warmly, taking a seat across from her.

"Thank you so much for meeting with me," she began. "I really appreciate it."

"Of course," Hongjoong replied. "So, tell me, what do you want to know about Fashion Week?"

As they chatted over coffee, Hongjoong shared his experiences, offering tips on what to focus on, key people to watch, and the latest trends. His insights were invaluable, and Y/N felt her confidence growing with each passing minute.

"Remember," Hongjoong said as they wrapped up, "Fashion Week is about more than just the clothes. It's about the people, the creativity, the stories behind the designs. Capture that, and you'll do great."

Y/N left the coffee shop feeling inspired and ready to tackle Fashion Week. With Hongjoong's advice in mind and her own determination, she knew she could bring something special to her coverage. This was her moment, and she was ready to shine.

The first day of Fashion Week arrived, and Y/N stood at the entrance of the grand venue, press credentials hanging around her neck. The energy in the air was electric, with designers, models, and fashion enthusiasts bustling around in a blur of colors and fabrics. She took a deep breath, feeling a mixture of excitement and nerves.

Her first assignment was to cover the opening show, featuring several up-and-coming designers. She made her way to the press area, setting up her notebook and camera. As she scanned the crowd, she spotted Hongjoong speaking with a group of industry insiders. He caught her eye and gave her a reassuring nod, which bolstered her confidence.

The lights dimmed, and the show began. Models strutted down the runway in stunning creations, each piece telling a unique story. Y/N took meticulous notes, capturing the essence of each collection and the reactions of the audience. She remembered Hongjoong's advice: focus on the stories behind the designs.

After the show, she navigated through the sea of people, seeking out designers for quick interviews. She managed to speak with a few, their excitement and passion evident in their words. Their stories added depth to her coverage, providing insights that would resonate with her readers.

Later in the day, Y/N attended a panel discussion on sustainable fashion. The panelists, including prominent designers and industry experts, discussed the future of fashion and the importance of sustainability. Y/N found their perspectives enlightening and jotted down key points for her article.

During a brief break, Y/N sat in the press lounge, sipping on a bottle of water. She reviewed her notes, feeling a sense of accomplishment. The day had been intense, but she had managed to gather a wealth of information and insights.

Just as she was about to head to the next event, her phone buzzed with a new message. It was from her editor: "Great job so far! Your updates have been fantastic. Keep up the good work."

Smiling, Y/N replied with a quick thank you and made her way to the evening's highlight: Kim Hongjoong's collection showcase. The anticipation was palpable as she entered the venue, the air buzzing with excitement.

The lights dimmed, and the first model stepped onto the runway, wearing one of Hongjoong's creations. The audience watched in awe as each piece was revealed, a testament to Hongjoong's creativity and skill. Y/N could see the dedication and passion that Hongjoong had spoken about during their interviews.

After the show, Y/N managed to catch Hongjoong for a quick word. "That was incredible," she said, genuinely impressed.

"Thank you, Y/N. I appreciate your support," Hongjoong replied with a warm smile. "How's your coverage going?"

"Really well," she said. "Thanks to your advice, I feel like I'm capturing the essence of the event."

"That's great to hear." As Hongjoong chuckled, Y/N couldn't help but notice the way his eyes crinkled at the corners and the genuine warmth of his smile. There was an effortless charm about him, a confidence in the way he carried himself that drew people in. It suddenly struck her just how attractive he was, not just in appearance but in his demeanor and presence.

"I have to say," Y/N began, trying to keep her thoughts professional, "your collection really captured the audience. The details and craftsmanship were exceptional."

Hongjoong's smile widened, and he leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Coming from you, that means a lot. I’ve read your articles; you have a way of bringing stories to life."

Y/N felt a blush creep up her cheeks. "Thank you. That really means a lot."

There was a moment of silence between them, filled with the buzzing energy of the crowd around them. Y/N took the opportunity to observe Hongjoong more closely. His eyes were focused, yet kind, and there was an intensity to him that was incredibly appealing. She found herself drawn to the passion that seemed to radiate from him, not just for his work, but in everything he did.

"I should let you get back to your evening," Y/N said, snapping herself out of her thoughts. "I’m sure you have a lot of people to talk to."

"Actually," Hongjoong said, glancing around, "I’ve spoken to most of them already. How about we grab a quick meal? I’d love to hear more about your thoughts on the show."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat. "That sounds great," she replied, trying to keep her excitement in check. "Let me just grab my things."

As they made their way to a nearby restaurant, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling of warmth and excitement bubbling within her. She found herself stealing glances at Hongjoong, noticing the way he held himself with a quiet confidence, yet remained approachable and genuine.

Over dinner, their conversation flowed effortlessly, touching on everything from their shared love for art and music to their aspirations and dreams. Y/N discovered that Hongjoong had a passion for storytelling, not just through his designs but also through his experiences and the way he interacted with the world around him.

With each passing moment, Y/N found herself drawn deeper into Hongjoong's world, captivated by his insights and the depth of his character. She admired his humility and the way he spoke with such sincerity about his craft and the people who inspired him.

As they laughed and shared stories, Y/N realized just how much she enjoyed being in Hongjoong's presence. There was a sense of comfort and familiarity between them, as if they had known each other for much longer than just a few days.

As the evening drew to a close, Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of longing. She didn't want the night to end, didn't want to say goodbye to this newfound connection that felt so right.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Hongjoong turned to her with a smile that reached his eyes. "Thank you for tonight, Y/N. I had a great time."

Y/N smiled back, her heart fluttering with anticipation. "Me too, Mr. Kim. It was... really special."

She heard Hongjoong click his tongue and playfully glare at her. "You don't work for me you know." He let out a small laugh. Y/N stared at him in question.

"What do you mean." Hongjoong's smile softened, and he shook his head gently. "I mean, you don't have to call me 'Mr. Kim' all the time. Just call me Hongjoong."

Y/N felt a rush of warmth flood her cheeks. "Oh, right. Sorry, force of habit, I guess."

"No need to apologize," Hongjoong said, his tone gentle. "I just want you to feel comfortable around me."

Y/N nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Thank you, Hongjoong. I appreciate that."

They stood there for a moment, the cool night air wrapping around them like a comforting embrace. Y/N couldn't help but feel a sense of closeness with Hongjoong, a connection that went beyond their professional interactions.

As they said their goodbyes and went their separate ways, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted between them, something deeper and more meaningful than just a casual acquaintance.

As she made her way home, Y/N couldn't help but replay their conversation in her mind, savoring the warmth of Hongjoong's smile and the genuine kindness in his eyes. She couldn't deny the flutter of excitement in her chest as she wondered what the future held for them. But one thing was for sure – she was eager to find out.

The sunlight streamed through the windows as Y/N bustled around the apartment she'd been staying at, preparing for the evening ahead. She was buzzing with excitement, and having Wooyoung on facetime only added to the anticipation. Y/N sat on the couch with her laptop, surrounded by a cozy atmosphere of dimmed lights and soft music playing in the background. It was a much-needed moment of relaxation after the excitement of the previous night.

"So, spill the tea," Wooyoung said, wiggling his eyebrows playfully. "How was your night with Mr. Kim?"

Y/N rolled her eyes, though there was a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "It was... interesting," she replied, choosing her words carefully.

"Interesting, huh?" Wooyoung raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "Do tell."

Y/N recounted the events of the evening, from Hongjoong's invitation to grab a meal to the lively conversation they had shared. She described the way Hongjoong's passion for his work shone through in every word he spoke, and the genuine connection she felt with him.

"It was just... nice," Y/N concluded, her cheeks flushing slightly. "He's a really great guy, you know?"

Wooyoung nodded thoughtfully, a knowing smile on his face. "I'm glad to hear that. And hey, maybe this could be the start of something more, huh?"

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the thought, a mix of excitement and uncertainty swirling inside her. "I don't think so," she admitted. Wooyoung loudly tapped his screen, gaining her attention. "Hey, I was joking. Look, whatever happens, I'm here for you, okay? Just like I've always been."

Y/N couldn't help but smile at her friend's words, feeling grateful for his unwavering support. Suddenly, her phone started ringing.

"Who is it? Oh, is it Soomi? We haven't heard from her in a while?" Wooyoung asks as Y/N reaches for her phone.

"No, it's an unknown number." Y/N contemplates hitting decline, but something tells her to answer the call.

"Hi, this is Y/N L/N speaking." A familiar laugh could be heard on the other line.

"Wow, so you're just professional in all areas of life huh?" Y/N nearly drops her phone from the realization. She dramatically turns to face Wooyoung on her computer screen, who immediately takes notices and mouths 'who is it?'

"Hongjoong, Hi! What uh...What's up?" Wooyoung quickly leaps from his couch to stand, shocked by the revelation.

Hongjoong's laughter echoed through the phone, warm and familiar. "Not much, just wanted to see how you're doing after last night."

Y/N felt her cheeks flush at the memory of their evening together. "Yeah, I had a really nice time," she admitted, trying to keep her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

"Good to hear," Hongjoong replied. "I know these events can be a lot, especially for first timers. Trust me, my first one I was about to have a panic attack." Y/N heart dropped to her stomach.

"Right-" she fake laughs. "Yeah, the fashion show. That...yeah it, it was fine."

Hongjoong chuckled softly. "Well, if you ever need someone to help navigate the chaos, you know where to find me. Speaking of which, I was wondering if you'd like to grab dinner tonight? There's this new restaurant I've been wanting to try, and I thought it would be fun to go together."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at the invitation, her mind racing with excitement and nerves. She glanced at Wooyoung, who was practically bouncing with anticipation.

"I...I'd love to," Y/N said, trying to contain her excitement. "Thank you for asking."

Hongjoong's smile was audible through the phone. "Great! I'll text you the details. Looking forward to it, Y/N."

As the call ended, Y/N couldn't help but grin from ear to ear. Wooyoung practically squealed with excitement, grabbing Y/N's hands and jumping up and down in excitement.

"This is it, Y/N! This is your fashion love story unfolding right before our eyes!" Wooyoung exclaimed, unable to contain his excitement.

Y/N laughed, feeling a surge of excitement and gratitude for her supportive friend. "I guess it is," she said, her heart brimming with anticipation for what the evening would bring.

As Y/N stepped out of the bustling restaurant, she was greeted by the sight of Hongjoong waiting for her, a genuine smile lighting up his face. The vibrant lights of the street cast a soft glow around them, adding to the enchanting atmosphere.

"Hey, I wanted to say this earlier but uh-" Hongjoong said, his voice warm and inviting. "You look absolutely stunning tonight."

Y/N felt her cheeks flush at his compliment, a shy smile gracing her lips. "Thank you, Hongjoong," she replied, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest. "You look pretty amazing yourself."

Hongjoong chuckled, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. "Thanks, but I think you might be biased."

They fell into step beside each other as they walked away from the venue, the energy of the night still buzzing around them. Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Hongjoong, admiring the way he carried himself with grace.

As they chatted about the show and their shared experiences, Y/N found herself drawn to Hongjoong's presence more and more. There was something about him that felt familiar yet exhilarating, like finding a piece of herself she never knew was missing.

By the time they reached Y/N's car, she was reluctant to say goodbye. Hongjoong's kindness and charm had left a lasting impression on her, igniting a spark of curiosity and admiration.

"Thank you for tonight, Hongjoong," Y/N said, her voice soft with sincerity. "I had a really wonderful time."

Hongjoong smiled warmly, his gaze lingering on her. "The pleasure was all mine, Y/N," he replied, his voice filled with warmth. "I hope we can do this again sometime." Y/N showed him a soft smile before turning to her car, ready to open the door before Hongjoong gently moved her shoulder so they could face each other.

"Do you work tomorrow? For the article I mean?" Y/N turned back to face Hongjoong, a small smile playing on her lips. "No, I think they're having someone else cover the next two days so I don't get overwhelmed. Why?"

"I was wondering if you would like to accompany me to the show. All of my designs have been showcased, but I would like to see every one else's. I know fashion isn't your forte but, maybe.....I could change your mind about it." Y/N's heart skipped a beat at Hongjoong's invitation. The idea of spending more time with him, exploring something new together, filled her with excitement.

"I'd love to," she replied, a smile spreading across her face. "It would be a great opportunity to learn more about the industry, especially with such a knowledgeable guide."

Hongjoong's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. "Great! I'll pick you up tomorrow afternoon, then. We can grab a bite to eat before heading to the show."

As they exchanged goodbyes once more, Y/N felt a rush of anticipation. She couldn't wait to see what the day would bring, eager to spend more time with Hongjoong. Once in her car, she immediately calls Wooyoung, knowing he'll freak out with her.

"Damn, you guys were out late. So, when's the wedding?" Y/N chuckled at Wooyoung's playful jab. "Very funny. But seriously, you won't believe what happened."

"Oh, spill it already!" Wooyoung's excitement was palpable through the phone.

"Hongjoong asked me to accompany him to another fashion show tomorrow!" Y/N exclaimed, unable to contain her excitement.

"No way! That's huge!" Wooyoung replied, his voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "Looks like you're really making an impression on him."

Y/N felt a rush of happiness at her friend's words. "Yeah, it's been... really amazing."

"I'm happy for you, Y/N. This could be the start of something big," Wooyoung said, his tone sincere.

"Thanks, Woo. I'll keep you posted on how it goes tomorrow," Y/N promised, feeling grateful for her friend's unwavering support.

"Can't wait to hear all about it. Now, go get some rest. You've got a big day ahead of you!"

With a smile on her face, Y/N ended the call, feeling a sense of excitement and anticipation for what the next day would bring.

fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. What the hell am I going to wear. Y/N assumed at this point she had pulled everything out of her closet. Sure, she had planned outfits for attending fashion week, however what she didn't plan was for Kim freaking Hongjoong to ask her to attend with him. Maybe she could just wear what she had originally planned, but would that be enough?

Y/N paced back and forth in her bedroom, her mind racing with a million thoughts. She had spent hours going through her wardrobe, trying on different outfits in a desperate attempt to find the perfect one for the fashion show with Hongjoong. But nothing seemed to feel right.

"Okay, calm down, Y/N," she muttered to herself, trying to quell the rising panic. "You've got this."

Taking a deep breath, Y/N forced herself to sit down on the edge of her bed, her eyes scanning the array of clothes strewn across the room. Suddenly, her gaze landed on a simple yet elegant dress hanging in the corner of her closet.

She hesitated for a moment, wondering if it was too understated for such a glamorous event. But then she remembered Hongjoong's warm smile and kind eyes, and she knew that it wasn't about the dress – it was about being herself.

With newfound determination, Y/N reached for the dress and slipped it on, feeling a sense of confidence wash over her. It may not have been the most extravagant outfit, but it felt right, like a reflection of who she truly was.

As she admired her reflection in the mirror, Y/N couldn't help but smile. Just then, she received a text message.

Joong Just curious, what's your favorite color?

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she read the message from Hongjoong. A small smile tugged at the corners of her lips as she typed out her response.

Y/N Green, definitely Green. What about you?

She pressed send, her pulse quickening with anticipation. This simple exchange felt like the beginning of something new, something exciting. And as she waited for Hongjoong's reply, she couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement bubbling inside her.

Joong Probably red, or yellow. I kind of go back and forth.

Y/N couldn't help but smile at Hongjoong's response. It was endearing to learn a bit more about his preferences, and she found herself feeling even more drawn to him.

Y/N Red and yellow, huh? That's interesting. They're both such vibrant colors.

She hit send, her mind already racing with thoughts of their upcoming day together at the fashion show. This unexpected connection with Hongjoong was sparking something inside her, something she couldn't quite put into words. But one thing was for sure – she was excited to see where it would lead. Her mind wandered to the moments they had shared so far. From their conversations to their time spent together, she couldn't deny the growing connection between them. It was a feeling she hadn't experienced in a long time, and it both excited and scared her.

Her phone buzzed, snapping her out of her thoughts. It was a message from Hongjoong.

Joong Yeah, they are. They have their own energy, you know? So, are you ready for today? I should be leaving in about 2 hours to head your way.

Y/N's heart skipped a beat as she read Hongjoong's message. The anticipation of spending the day with him at the fashion show sent a thrill through her. She quickly composed her response, her fingers dancing over the screen.

Y/N I'm definitely ready! Can't wait to see all the amazing designs and spend the day with you. Let me know when you're on your way, and I'll be ready.

With a satisfied smile, Y/N hit send, feeling a rush of excitement coursing through her veins. Today was going to be something special, and she couldn't wait to see where it would take them.

.....shit, she still needed to get ready.

Y/N's heart fluttered with excitement as she heard a knock on her door, signaling Hongjoong's arrival. With a quick glance in the mirror to ensure she looked presentable, she hurried to answer it.

Opening the door, she was met with the sight of Hongjoong standing there, looking effortlessly stylish as always. His warm smile greeted her, sending a wave of warmth through her.

"Hey, Y/N," he said, his voice soft yet filled with energy. "Ready to go?"

Y/N returned his smile, feeling a surge of excitement as she stepped out to join him. "Definitely," she replied, her voice tinged with anticipation. "Let's do this." Hongjoong stepped out of the way so Y/N could lock her door and they both started heading towards the car. It was a simple black car, not anything extravagant like she had anticipated. Hongjoong reached to open the passenger door, and before she got in, she noticed the bouquet of flowers sitting on the seat.

"Oh my gosh." She reached down to pick them up, they were beautiful white roses with a light green tissue paper wrapped around the stems. Along with the wrapped tissue, a green ribbon was tied around them as well.

"Hongjoong, you shouldn't have." Hongjoong chuckled softly, his eyes sparkling with warmth as he watched Y/N admire the bouquet. "I wanted to do something special," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "Consider it a small token of appreciation for your company today."

Y/N felt her cheeks flush with color at his thoughtful gesture. "Thank you," she replied, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. "They're beautiful."

As she carefully arranged the bouquet in her lap, she couldn't help but feel a sense of warmth and affection towards Hongjoong. It was moments like these that made her realize just how much she enjoyed his company.

With a smile, she settled into the passenger seat, the scent of the flowers filling the air around her. As Hongjoong started the car and they began their journey to the fashion show, Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that this day was going to be something truly special.

As they drove through the bustling streets, Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at Hongjoong, admiring the way he effortlessly navigated through the traffic with ease. His focused expression spoke volumes about his determination and drive, qualities that she found incredibly admirable.

"So, what are you most excited to see at the show today?" Y/N asked, breaking the comfortable silence between them.

She saw Hongjoong think for a moment, his mind drifting to the array of designers and collections they were about to witness. "Honestly, I'm excited to see the diversity and creativity on display," he replied, his voice tinged with anticipation. "Fashion has this incredible ability to tell stories and evoke emotions."

Y/N nodded in agreement, a thoughtful expression on her face. "I couldn't agree more," she said. "Each designer brings their own unique perspective and vision to the table, and it's always fascinating to see how it all comes together on the runway."

Hongjoong smiled, his eyes bright with enthusiasm. "Exactly. It's like witnessing art in motion."

As they continued their conversation, Y/N felt a sense of comfort wash over her. There was something about being with Hongjoong that felt easy and natural, like they had known each other for much longer than they actually had.

Before long, they arrived at the venue, greeted by the bustling energy of the fashion show. Y/N's excitement grew with each step they took towards the entrance, eager to immerse herself in the world of haute couture. She watched as paparazzi crowded the front entrance, only now realizing she would be captured with him. A sudden fear overcame her, she quickly reached for Hongjoong's hand after he turned off the car.

"Wait-" Hongjoong looked at her, putting his hand back down from where it was on the car doors handle. "Everything ok?"

"When we step out, you're going to be bombarded with questions. Especially with me right next to you." Hongjoong could see the anxiety filling her features, a soft smile played on his lips. "Y/N..."

"You know what, why don't you go ahead. I'll just park the car somewhere in the garage and meet you inside, ok? Ok, sounds great."

"Y/N, " Hongjoong removed her hand from his and gently held her face. "listen to me." Hongjoong's touch was gentle yet firm, his gaze unwavering as he met Y/N's eyes. "You don't have to worry about a thing," he said, his voice filled with reassurance. "I'll be right by your side every step of the way."

"I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you. Your image." Hongjoong's expression softened at Y/N's words, a small smile playing on his lips. "My image?" he echoed, his tone curious.

Y/N nodded, her eyes searching his. "You're a public figure, Hongjoong. You have a reputation to uphold, and being seen with someone like me might not be the best thing for you."

Hongjoong's smile grew, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "Y/N, you're not just 'someone like me'," he said, his voice earnest. "You're someone I genuinely enjoy spending time with, someone who I feel brings out the best in me."

Y/N's heart skipped a beat at his words, a warmth spreading through her chest. "But-"

Hongjoong gently placed a finger against her lips, silencing her. "No buts," he said, his gaze unwavering. "I make my own choices, and being with you is one of them. So trust me when I say, my image is just fine."

Y/N felt a wave of gratitude wash over her, touched by Hongjoong's unwavering support. With a smile, she leaned into his touch, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence. "Thank you, Hongjoong," she whispered, her voice filled with emotion.

He returned her smile, his eyes soft with affection. "Anytime, Y/N. Now let's go show them what we're made of."

Hand in hand, they stepped into the world of fashion, ready to face whatever challenges came their way, together. As Hongjoong and Y/N stepped out of the car and made their way towards the entrance of the venue, they were immediately met with a flurry of flashing cameras and eager reporters.

"Hongjoong, who's the lucky lady you've brought with you tonight?" one of the reporters called out, his voice loud and persistent.

Y/N felt a surge of anxiety at the attention, but Hongjoong remained calm, his grip on her hand steady and reassuring. He turned to face the reporter with a smile, his demeanor composed yet friendly.

"This is Y/N, a dear friend," he replied, his voice carrying over the noise of the crowd. "She's here to experience the magic of fashion with me."

The reporters continued to fire questions at them, but Hongjoong skillfully deflected each one with ease, never once faltering under the pressure. Y/N couldn't help but admire his poise and grace in the face of such scrutiny.

As they finally made their way inside the venue, the chaos of the paparazzi faded into the background, replaced by the excitement and anticipation of the fashion show. Y/N glanced up at Hongjoong, gratitude shining in her eyes.

"Thank you for handling that," she said, her voice filled with sincerity.

Hongjoong smiled warmly, squeezing her hand gently. "Anytime. We're in this together."

With renewed confidence, they entered the venue, ready to enjoy the show and make memories together, no matter what challenges they might face along the way. Throughout the event, Hongjoong and Y/N stuck close together, weaving through the crowd as they admired the various displays and interacted with fellow attendees. Despite the occasional interruption from well-wishers and admirers, they remained focused on each other, their connection growing stronger with each passing moment.

Y/N couldn't help but be drawn to Hongjoong's passion for fashion, his eyes lighting up as he discussed the intricate details of each design and the creative vision behind them. His enthusiasm was contagious, and she found herself becoming more and more engrossed in the world of haute couture.

Throughout the event, Hongjoong's presence was a constant source of comfort and support for Y/N, his reassuring smile and encouraging words helping to calm her nerves and boost her confidence. Whether they were chatting with other guests, admiring the latest collections, or simply enjoying each other's company, their interactions were filled with warmth, laughter, and a growing sense of camaraderie.

As the night drew to a close and the last echoes of applause faded away, Hongjoong and Y/N found themselves outside the venue once more, the vibrant energy of the fashion show still lingering in the air around them.

With a contented sigh, Y/N turned to Hongjoong, a soft smile playing on her lips. "Thank you for inviting me to the show," she said, her voice filled with genuine gratitude. "I had an incredible time."

Hongjoong returned her smile, his eyes sparkling with warmth. "The pleasure was all mine," he replied, his voice soft yet filled with sincerity. "I'm glad you could join me. It wouldn't have been the same without you."

As they stood there, bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights, a sense of peace settled over them, their shared experiences and moments of connection weaving a bond between them that felt both comforting and exhilarating.

A few months later, the chill of autumn had settled over the city, bringing with it the vibrant colors of changing leaves and the crisp, invigorating air that heralded the approach of winter. Y/N found herself standing outside a cozy café, feeling a mixture of annoyance and impatience. She tapped her foot, glancing at her watch repeatedly as the minutes ticked by. Finally, with a sigh of frustration, she decided she had waited long enough. She turned on her heel and left the café, heading across the street.

Y/N walked with purpose, the path she took now ingrained in her memory from frequent visits over the past few months. After crossing the street and walking a few blocks, she took a left and entered one of the many tall buildings that adorned the strip. The lobby was bustling with activity, but Y/N moved through it with the confidence of someone who belonged.

Removing her sunglasses as she approached the elevators, she was momentarily stopped by Jisoo, a new employee at the building's reception desk. "Excuse me, Ma'am, you need to check.....oh," Jisoo's eyes widened with recognition. "My apologies, Miss L/N."

Y/N gave a curt nod and continued her route to the elevators. Once inside, she pressed the button for the floor she needed and leaned back against the wall, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

When the elevator doors opened, Y/N stepped out and walked down the hallway until she reached the familiar office door. Without hesitation, she knocked and waited for the response from within.

"Come in," called the voice from the other side.

Y/N entered the office, her eyes immediately finding Hongjoong behind his desk. He was currently on a call, his empty hand fiddling with a pen absentmindedly. When he looked up, a smile spreading across his face as he saw her. "Look why don't we discuss this later, I have an important client that just walked in..........Ok great, yeah just send me an email about it when you can." Hongjoong quickly hung up and walked towards her.

"Hey sweetheart," He leaned in to give her a kiss on the cheek, but she moved her face to dodge it. Hongjoong paused, noticing the tension in Y/N's expression. "What's wrong?" he asked, concern evident in his voice.

Y/N crossed her arms, trying to keep her irritation in check. "You were supposed to meet me at the café. I waited for over half an hour."

Hongjoong's face softened with guilt. "I'm so sorry, Y/N. I got caught up in a meeting and completely lost track of time."

She sighed, her frustration still simmering. "It's not just today, Hongjoong. You've been so busy lately that I feel like I'm always waiting around for you."

Hongjoong reached out gently taking her hand, laying a kiss to the back of them. "I know, and I promise I'm not trying to neglect you. Work has just been overwhelming, but that's no excuse. I'll do better, I swear."

Y/N looked into his eyes, seeing the sincerity there. Her irritation began to ebb away, replaced by a mix of relief and lingering disappointment. "I just want to feel like a priority sometimes."

Hongjoong nodded, squeezing her hand gently. "You are a priority to me, Y/N. I'll make sure you know that from now on. How about we go out for lunch? Just the two of us. No interruptions. No Mr. Kim no Ms. Journalist, just Y/N and Hongjoong."

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Okay. But you have to promise that work won't come first all the time."

"I promise," Hongjoong said firmly. "Now, let's go. I've been craving that little Italian place you like."

They left the office together, walking side by side as they made their way out of the building. The crisp autumn air greeted them, and Y/N felt some of the tension in her chest ease as they stepped into the street.

As they walked, Hongjoong slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "I really am sorry," he murmured. "I'll make it up to you."

Y/N leaned into him, appreciating the gesture. "I'll hold you to that," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips.

next story coming soon......

Thank you guys for enjoying the series, it means a lot to see so many people like the posts. If you want to join the taglist, please let me know.

Taglist: @scarfac3 @bts-army380 @ssrnghwa @philijack @laurenwidjaja

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stxneflxwers · 1 year ago

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sleepy tired.

⋯⁂ summary. furina spots you napping, and suddenly she's feeling awfully sleepy herself...

⋯⁂ a/n. short and sweet, barely edited, etc. yes im one sleepy bastard! also id give furina so many goddamn cuddles. cmere, furina, we can nap for eternity together

⋯⁂ characters. furina. gn reader.

⋯⁂ cw. fluff. physical affection (cuddles). reader is a massive sleepyhead. no dialogue. reader and furina's relationship can be romantic or platonic.

furina.

you've always struggled with constant sleepiness throughout the day (even if you stay up all night, you'll be tired then, too.) you're unsure of the exact cause of this excessive fatigue, but it can become agitating very quickly sometimes.

and some days...

you're simply too tired to care. like today.

you had full intentions of enjoying this tea party with furina—it's a treasured activity of hers after all. but the moment she got up to grab the fresh, piping hot tea from the kitchen—you start dozing off, much to your (subconscious) dismay.

the moment she was gone for a little too long, your head sinks back against the head of the sofa and your body slumps—falling into dreamland rather quickly. and when furina comes back, she gasps softly at seeing you snoozing already.

she sets the porcelain teapot down on the coffee table that rests in front of your buckled knees. she glances down at the cakes on the same surface, pouting a bit that you aren't awake to enjoy them right now. but, she ultimately brushes the thought off.

she tiptoes up to you, her steps quiet as a mouse. she leans down a bit to get a better look at your face, noting how peaceful you look—your features completely relaxed, even your mouth parting a little. she smiles wide at the view.

she then sits down next to you; and despite the rustling of the sofa, you still don't wake up. she curls up next to you, leaning against your arm. her eyes flutter shut and a deep, longing sigh drifts from her lips.

she thinks she'll have a nap, too.

#🌠— my works #🌠— fluff #💕— furina #furina x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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twst-drabbles · 7 months ago

Note

For the House Pet AU can/does MC drive? And if yes which pets like to go on a car ride if any do, and do they come along the ride for shopping (like the kid seat in shopping carts, or the carriers made specifically for pets like I've seen for some cats and dogs)

Hmm that's a good question.

I can't really see the Caretaker owning a car, on the account of how expensive they are, but mostly because the neighborhood and place they grew up in is a pretty walkable place. It's very easy to request for magical buses to come by and add in your street as a potential route. And since buses are public service, nobody has to worry about paying a dime. Just go in and wait. Though, the Caretaker will probably entertain the thought of getting a car, if only for the safety of the pets. And you can bet your ass that someone is going to buy a car for the Caretaker as a celebration gift for getting a license.

Magical engines are pretty much a thing by this point and they're very silent things. No need to worry about cars and other vehicles making that loud sputtering, so the only reason why anyone would hear a motorcycle engine or any kind of engine is because it was specifically requested from the driver. Like, the driver wants everyone and their mother to hear them driving everywhere they go, just for the sake of showing off. By this point in time, it's just rude to have a loud engine just for the sake of it and are pretty much considered real old fashioned.

So, I suppose to answer the question, it isn't no. Initially they didn't have a car, but will likely have one later down the line. And it's... a ride that's for sure. Deuce over here is very stoked and will plop himself on the wheel like he can drive, then Ace will hop right on over and join Deuce at the wheel. Little weirdo. Riddle is being a good boy and is inside the plush car seat strapped in there specifically for the pets. Trey and Cater can usually be seen snoozing off and if the car ride is long enough, the rest of the plant nymphs will follow.

Jack and Ruggie are little those little bobbleheads sitting up in front, just enjoying the sight, clearly getting charged up and wanting to run right alongside the car, but they're very well behaved, so that won't happen. Leona's reaction is rather boring since he's been in cars before, so he's just napping on the passengers seat.

Idia over here was initially interested in the way the car worked, but whatever was inside apparently wasn't what he wanted, so he just plays simple games on the Caretaker's phone while the ride goes on. Ortho, Caretaker had to fight him to keep him from possessing the car engine. He's eternally locked in the pet carrier because he will slip away, he will get into the engine, and he will go to the speeds he wants. He's sentences to pet jail for the duration of the ride and it makes him grumpy every time. Unless you have a treat. He's not interested in the engine when it's not turned out, just so you know.

Malleus and Lilia initially got pretty carsick the first few times, but they're stubborn and they want to be with the Caretaker and Silver every step of the way. They got used to it eventually, and Sebek over here is really fascinated by the changing scenery. His face will be pressed up against the window and it's funny to stop suddenly because you can hear the squeak his face makes as it rubs against the glass. It makes him so angry.

#admin #house pet au

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oddsconvert · 3 months ago

Note

Joshy playing Mario kart with his boyfriend and him always choosing yoshi because it sounds like his name

Anon. ANON! I love you SO MUCH for this!!! This is such a cute prompt, giggling and kicking my feeties!

This is post-captivity Josh and his boyfriend, Alec! <3

- “UNSELECT YOSHI RIGHT NOW!” Alec’s voice booms loud enough to trigger a magnitude seven earthquake. With lightning speed, Alec's red controller flies across the room, landing with a clatter as he lunges for Josh's blue one. He pounces on Josh’s lap, straddling him, their bodies intertwining in a tangle of wriggling limbs.

“Nuh-uh!” Josh giggles infectiously until he’s red in the face. He holds his switch controller high in the air, out of reach, and wrestles Alec with his free hand. “Snooze you lose! I got to him first!”

“But I’m Yoshi!” Alec exclaims, his arms shooting up and swatting at the controller like a playful cat.

“Since when were you Yoshi?” Josh challenges.

“Uhm, I don’t know… since like - FOREVER-”

Josh's laughter explodes into a full-blown cackle as Alec's attempts to steal the controller grow increasingly desperate. His legs kick wildly, trying to gain leverage, while his hands flail like a windmill.

“Can’t you just be dry bones or something?!” Josh huffs, with a cheeky roll of his eyes.

Alec freezes, his eyes widening in mock horror. He holds his palm flat against his chest, like an old lady clutching her pearls. “...You did not just suggest dry bones to me, Joshua!” he gasps, “Never have I ever been so offended in my life!”

“Why the hell do you want to be Yoshi so bad?!”

"He's my good luck charm, I always win when I play as him," Alec boasts, a smug grin spreading across his face. His eyes narrow. "Why do YOU want to be Yoshi so bad?" he demands, crossing his arms.

Josh’s face flushes a deep red as he ducks his head, trying to hide his embarrassment. “He…His name sounds like my name… Yoshi… Joshy -”

Alec's stern expression melts into a tender smile. His heart skips a beat. A small, involuntary and smitten smile creeps in. “...Aww - dammit … that’s… kind of adorable,” he murmurs, “Okay, okay! I’ll guess I’ll let you have your way, my love. Just this once!”

“You say that,” Josh teases, his arms wrapping around Alec’s waist, “but you know I always get my way.”

Alec's lips curve into a knowing smile. Leaning in, he captures Josh's gaze but nearly gets lost in those eyes. He shakes free of Josh’s alluring spell. "Oh, do you?" His voice a low, husky promise. Before Josh could respond, Alec gently closes the distance between them, their lips meeting in a soft, sweet kiss.

Josh's breath caught in his throat as Alec's lips touches his. His eyelashes flutter closed as he surrenders to the moment. It’s a sensation Josh fears may always feel foreign to him. The freedom of choice, the safety of another’s embrace, the tenderness. For so long, touch had been a weapon, a tool of coercion. The idea of touch would make Josh break out in hives. Now, it was his language of love - a silent declaration of trust and affection.

With Alec, there’s never fear, or dread. Only peace.

When they finally pull apart, eternities later, his heart was racing and Alec’s eyes were sparkling.

"Didn't say I'd let you win though, did I?" Alec purrs.

Josh chuckles softly. "You're so mean to me," he replies, feigning hurt, before pulling Alec back in for another kiss.

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artyandink · 3 months ago

Text

amoralism | twelve

SUMMARY: You and Dean Winchester are the top agents from Major Crimes. You’re also assigned as partners on the same case- a crime syndicate is running loose and buying out most of downtown New York. He hates you cause you hate him. You hate him cause you think he got in his position with his daddy’s influence. But this case is personal to one of you more than the other- and you may be getting too personal for comfort.

TW: Chuck. That’s all it is.

Song Inspo: Feeling Good by Michael Bublé

SERIES MASTERLIST

bureaucratism

President Chuck Shurley wasn’t like other presidents. He didn’t have the gravitas of Roosevelt, the poise of Kennedy, or the eloquence of Obama. No, Chuck was more of a “deer-in-the-headlights meets caffeinated-squirrel” kind of guy. And if the public knew just how haphazardly he started his mornings, well…let’s just say the stock market might crash out of sheer panic.

Chuck’s mornings began in the most predictable way possible: with an alarm clock blaring at an ungodly hour. The digital numbers on the clock flashed 5:30 AM, casting an eerie red glow across the darkened room. The harsh sound of beeping echoed off the walls, loud enough to wake the dead—or at least the leader of the free world.

But Chuck was having none of it. Still deep in sleep, his hand shot out from under the covers, flailing around wildly until it made contact with the clock. After a few moments of blindly slapping the top of the clock, he managed to hit the snooze button, silencing the infernal beeping for a glorious nine minutes.

In the brief moment of silence that followed, Chuck’s body relaxed, sinking back into the mattress as he let out a contented sigh. But before he could drift back into unconsciousness, the alarm blared again, sending a fresh wave of panic through his half-asleep brain.

This time, Chuck groaned as he rolled over and opened his eyes, squinting at the blinding red numbers. With a resigned sigh, he reached over and turned off the alarm properly. There was no escaping it now—the day had officially begun.

Chuck sat up slowly, rubbing his bleary eyes as he tried to force his brain to wake up. It was a struggle every morning, as if his body was rebelling against the very idea of consciousness. He fumbled for his glasses on the nightstand, squinting until the blurry room came into focus.

His bedroom was what you might expect for a president: luxurious, spacious, and impeccably clean. But for all its opulence, it still had Chuck’s personal touches scattered here and there. A stack of comic books sat precariously on the nightstand, a Captain America figurine stood guard on the dresser, and a half-eaten box of Twinkies was hidden in the drawer.

Sliding out of bed, Chuck shuffled his way to the bathroom, his feet dragging across the plush carpet. He flicked on the lights and winced at the sudden brightness, his eyes narrowing into slits as he blinked in the mirror.

The man staring back at him was disheveled, with a mop of bedhead and pillow creases etched into his cheek. His eyes were still puffy with sleep, and his glasses sat crookedly on his nose. Not exactly presidential, but then again, it was still early.

“Morning, Mr. President,” Chuck mumbled to his reflection, offering himself a lazy salute before reaching for his toothbrush.

He squeezed an excessive amount of toothpaste onto the bristles—enough for two people, really—and started brushing. It was a vigorous process, more of a scrub-down than a clean-up, and the foam quickly built up in his mouth, turning into a frothy mess.

Chuck wasn’t one for subtlety, and his morning routine was no exception. As he brushed, he paced around the bathroom, checking his hair, inspecting his stubble, and occasionally pausing to make ridiculous faces in the mirror just to see how silly he could look.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally spat out the toothpaste and rinsed his mouth, giving his reflection an exaggerated grin. His teeth were sparkling, if a little too brightly—perhaps he’d gone overboard with the toothpaste again.

Next came the shower, which, for Chuck, was a battle of wills. On the one hand, he loved the warmth and relaxation of a hot shower; on the other hand, he knew that once he stepped out, the cold reality of the day would hit him like a ton of bricks. But duty called, and so, with a dramatic sigh, he turned on the water and stepped in.

The shower was quick, efficient, and slightly chaotic, as Chuck managed to knock over every bottle of shampoo and conditioner on the shelf. By the time he was done, the floor was a slippery mess, and he nearly wiped out twice as he climbed out and grabbed a towel.

Wrapped in his fluffy robe—embroidered with “POTUS” on the back, a gift from some well-meaning advisor—Chuck made his way to the kitchen. His stomach growled in anticipation, and he rubbed it absentmindedly as he contemplated what to eat.

Chuck wasn’t much of a cook. In fact, his culinary skills were limited to microwaving, toasting, and, on particularly adventurous days, scrambling eggs. But today, he was in the mood for something special, something that would really set the tone for the day.

Cereal. But not just any cereal. Today was a Cap’n Crunch kind of day.

He rummaged through the pantry, pushing aside the healthier options—granola, oatmeal, something that looked suspiciously like cardboard—until he found the bright red box. With a grin, he grabbed it and poured himself a heaping bowl, the sugary scent wafting up to greet him.

As he reached for the milk, his phone rang, vibrating loudly on the counter. Chuck jumped, startled by the sudden noise, and nearly dropped the milk in his haste to answer it.

“Hello?” he answered, his voice still a bit raspy from sleep.

“Good morning, Mr. President,” came the chipper voice of his assistant, Becky. “Just wanted to give you a heads-up on your schedule today.”

Chuck’s stomach sank a little as he realized what was coming. The dreaded schedule rundown. He glanced longingly at his bowl of cereal, which was rapidly getting soggy, and sighed.

“Go ahead, Becky,” he said, trying to sound more awake than he felt.

“Well, first up, you have a meeting with the Joint Chiefs at 8:00 AM. They’ll be discussing the new defense budget and—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Chuck interrupted, waving his free hand in the air as if she could see him. “Do we really have to start with that? Can’t we, I don’t know, ease into the day? Maybe with something less…defense-y?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Chuck could practically hear Becky rolling her eyes. “Mr. President, this is important. And besides, after that, you’ve got a briefing with the National Security Advisor, so—”

“Let me guess,” Chuck cut in again, his tone dry. “More defense stuff?”

“Pretty much,” Becky replied cheerfully. “But after that, you have a lunch meeting with the Senate Majority Leader. That should be a little less intense.”

Chuck groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Becky, remind me again why I signed up for this job?”

“Because you wanted to make a difference,” Becky replied without missing a beat. “And also because you were the only candidate left standing after that scandal involving the goats.”

Chuck grimaced at the memory. The less said about the Goat Incident, the better.

“Right,” he muttered, resigning himself to the day ahead. “Anything else?”

“Oh, just a quick note: the First Lady called and wanted to remind you about the charity gala tonight. Black tie, starts at 7:00 PM sharp.”

Chuck’s eyes widened in alarm. “The gala? That’s tonight?”

“Yes, sir,” Becky confirmed, clearly amused by his panic. “And don’t worry, I’ve already got your suit and tie picked out. Just make sure you show up on time.”

“Great, great,” Chuck said, his mind racing as he tried to remember the last time he’d even thought about the gala. “Anything else?”

“Just one more thing,” Becky said, her tone suddenly more serious. “The press has been asking a lot of questions about the incident at the summit last week. They’re looking for a statement from you, so you might want to be prepared.”

Chuck winced. The incident at the summit had been…well, let’s just say it hadn’t gone according to plan. But that was a problem for later. Right now, he had to focus on getting through the day.

“Thanks, Becky,” he said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “I’ll handle it.”

“Of course, Mr. President,” Becky replied, her voice brightening again. “I’ll see you at the office.”

Chuck hung up the phone and stared down at his now thoroughly soggy cereal. The day hadn’t even started, and he was already feeling overwhelmed. But there was no time to dwell on it—he had a country to run, after all.

With a resigned sigh, he shoved a spoonful of cereal into his mouth, grimacing at the mushy texture. It wasn’t the breakfast of champions, but it would have to do.

Once breakfast was out of the way, Chuck shuffled back to his bedroom, determined to at least look the part of a confident, capable president. He flung open the doors to his walk-in closet and surveyed his options. Row upon row of suits hung neatly on hangers, each one tailored to perfection and carefully labeled with the occasion it was meant for.

But despite the impressive selection, Chuck found himself stumped. Did he go for the classic navy blue? Or maybe the gray pinstripe? And what about the tie? Was it a power tie kind of day, or should he go for something more subdued?

As he pondered his options, his phone buzzed again, this time with a text from Becky: “Don’t forget the blue suit.

It’s the one I picked for you.”

Chuck sighed in relief. Sometimes, it was nice to have someone else make the decisions.

He grabbed the blue suit and laid it out on the bed, then turned his attention to the tie. After a few moments of deliberation, he opted for a simple red tie—a classic choice that wouldn’t draw too much attention.

Getting dressed was an exercise in patience and coordination, two things Chuck wasn’t exactly known for. But after a few minutes of struggling with his tie and nearly tripping over his own feet, he managed to pull himself together.

He checked himself in the mirror, adjusting his tie one last time and smoothing down his hair. The man staring back at him looked every bit the president, even if he didn’t always feel like it.

But there was no time to dwell on that now. The day was waiting, and so was the rest of the world.

With a final deep breath, Chuck grabbed his briefcase and headed for the door, ready to face whatever chaos awaited him. After all, if he could survive the morning, he could survive anything.

Or at least, that’s what he told himself as he braced for the day ahead.

President Chuck Shurley wasn’t what most people envisioned when they thought of a president. In fact, he wasn’t what most people envisioned when they thought of a fully functional adult. His mornings were chaotic, his days filled with barely organized mayhem, and his nights ended with the quiet terror of knowing he had to do it all over again. But if anyone knew how to navigate the unpredictable seas of Chuck’s life, it was his sister, Amara—who just so happened to also be the First Lady.

The sibling relationship was unconventional to say the least. While most First Ladies were the spouses of the President, Amara was Chuck’s older sister, the one who had always been there, guiding and, occasionally, strong-arming him through the rough patches of his life. Their bond was the foundation of Chuck’s presidency, and while the world saw her as the serene, supportive figure beside him, Chuck knew the truth: Amara was the real force to be reckoned with.

It was after one of his more frantic mornings—complete with cereal disasters and a narrowly avoided wardrobe malfunction—that Chuck found himself sitting in the Oval Office, trying to mentally prepare for the day ahead. His phone buzzed, signaling an incoming message from his assistant Becky: “Amara’s on her way over. She wants to talk.”

Chuck sighed. Amara’s talks were rarely just chats—they were more like interrogations wrapped in silk, pleasant enough on the surface, but always digging deeper, trying to unearth something Chuck would rather keep buried.

Not five minutes later, Amara swept into the room, her presence commanding and yet somehow soft, like a storm that wasn’t quite sure whether it wanted to wreak havoc or simply pass by. She was dressed in a chic, tailored suit, her dark hair pulled back into a sleek ponytail, and her expression was as unreadable as ever.

“Chuck,” she said by way of greeting, her voice carrying that familiar mix of affection and exasperation that only a sister could muster. “We need to talk.”

Chuck offered her a smile, though it was a little strained around the edges. “Good morning to you too, Amara. What’s on the agenda today? Let me guess—another lecture about how I’m not taking things seriously enough?”

Amara didn’t return the smile. Instead, she crossed the room with purposeful strides, coming to stand directly in front of his desk. “This isn’t a joke, Chuck. We need to discuss your security.”

“Ah, here we go,” Chuck muttered under his breath, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his temples. “I’m fine, Amara. The Secret Service is on top of things. I don’t need you worrying about me.”

But Amara wasn’t having any of it. She folded her arms across her chest, her eyes narrowing as she studied her brother. “You were nearly killed in that suicide bombing last month, Chuck. And that wasn’t just a random attack—that was a targeted attempt on your life. You can’t just shrug it off like it’s no big deal.”

Chuck shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the memory of the bombing still fresh in his mind despite his best efforts to bury it. It had been a routine event, a charity dinner at a downtown hotel, when all hell had broken loose. The blast had come out of nowhere, the force of it rattling his bones, shattering glass, and leaving a ringing in his ears that had taken days to fade. He’d been lucky—unbelievably so—but luck wasn’t something you could rely on forever.

But Chuck was nothing if not stubborn. “I’m not shrugging it off,” he insisted, though his tone was more defensive than confident. “But what do you want me to do, Amara? Hide away in a bunker? Cancel every public appearance? I’m the President, for crying out loud. I have to be out there, doing my job.”

Amara’s expression softened slightly, but there was still a steely determination in her eyes. “I’m not saying you should live in fear, Chuck. But you need to be smart about this. We can’t afford to take any more chances. The security detail might not be enough next time.”

Chuck sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I trust my team, Amara. They’re the best in the business. They won’t let anything happen to me.”

“I’m not questioning their abilities,” Amara replied, her voice gentler now. “But even the best teams can be outmaneuvered. You have enemies, Chuck—powerful ones. And they’re not going to stop just because you got lucky once. We need to be proactive.”

The seriousness of her words hung in the air, and for a moment, Chuck was quiet, his usual bravado slipping away. He knew she was right, deep down. The attack had shaken him more than he cared to admit, and the thought of another attempt on his life was enough to make his stomach churn. But there was a part of him—a large part—that refused to live in fear, that clung to the idea that he could somehow carry on as if nothing had changed.

“Okay,” he said finally, his voice subdued. “So what’s your plan? How do we ‘be proactive’ without turning me into a paranoid wreck?”

Amara took a seat across from him, the tension in her shoulders easing just a bit. “For starters, we need to increase the security around your public appearances. That means more thorough checks, tighter protocols, and maybe scaling back some of the events that aren’t absolutely necessary.”

Chuck grimaced. “So you want me to cancel half my schedule? That’s not exactly going to look good, Amara. People will start asking questions.”

“And we’ll have answers ready,” she countered smoothly. “We’ll frame it as a temporary measure, just until we’re sure the threat level has decreased. But more than that, Chuck, you need to start taking your personal security more seriously. No more late-night strolls without protection, no more impromptu detours. You need to stick to the plan.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle at that last part. “You know me, Amara. Sticking to the plan isn’t exactly my strong suit.”

Amara’s lips twitched into the barest hint of a smile. “Then maybe it’s time you learned, little brother. This isn’t just about you anymore. It’s about the country, about the people who depend on you. You have a responsibility to stay safe—for them.”

Chuck leaned back in his chair, the weight of her words settling heavily on his shoulders. He knew she was right—he’d known it from the moment the dust had settled after the bombing. But admitting that meant confronting a reality he wasn’t sure he was ready to face.

For as long as he could remember, Chuck had always felt like he was in over his head, like he was playing a role he wasn’t quite cut out for. Becoming President had only magnified that feeling, amplifying his insecurities and fears until they sometimes felt insurmountable. And now, with the added threat of assassination hanging over his head, it was all too easy to let those fears take control.

But then he looked at Amara—calm, composed, and as unshakable as ever—and something inside him steadied. She believed in him, believed that he could do this, and that gave him the strength to keep going, to face the challenges head-on.

“Alright,” Chuck said finally, his voice firm. “We’ll do it your way. But I’m not going to live my life in a bubble, Amara. I need to be out there, doing my job. We just have to find a balance.”

Amara nodded, satisfaction flickering in her eyes. “That’s all I’m asking, Chuck. Just be careful. You’ve got a lot of people counting on you, and we can’t afford to lose you.”

The sincerity in her words caught Chuck off guard, and for a moment, he was at a loss for how to respond. Despite their frequent clashes and differences, there was no denying the depth of their bond, and the thought of how much Amara had already done for him left him feeling both humbled and grateful.

“I know,” he said softly, meeting her gaze. “And I’m counting on you too, Amara. I couldn’t do this without you.”

Amara’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, the stern First Lady persona melted away, revealing the caring sister underneath. “You’re stronger than you think, Chuck,” she said gently. “You’ve come this far, and you’re going to make it through this too. We just have to be smart about it.”

Chuck nodded, absorbing her words like a lifeline. “Yeah. Yeah, we will.”

They sat in silence for a moment, the tension between them easing into something more comfortable. Despite the gravity of their conversation, there was an underlying sense of unity, a shared understanding that they were in this together, no matter what.

Finally, Amara rose from her seat, smoothing down her suit as she prepared to leave. “I’ll talk to the security team about the new protocols,” she said, slipping back into her composed First Lady demeanor. “And I’ll have Becky coordinate with you on any changes to your schedule.”

“Thanks, Amara,” Chuck said, genuinely appreciative of her support. “I’ll try not to drive everyone too crazy with my…improvisations.”

Amara’s lips quirked into a wry smile. “Just try to keep the improvisations to a minimum, okay? The Secret Service would appreciate it.”

Chuck chuckled, the tension in his chest easing a little. “No promises, but I’ll do my best.”

As Amara turned to leave, Chuck called out to her one last time. “Hey

, Amara?”

She paused in the doorway, turning back to look at him with a raised eyebrow. “Yes?”

“Thanks,” he said simply, his voice laced with a rare vulnerability. “For everything.”

Amara’s expression softened once more, and she gave him a small, genuine smile. “Anytime, little brother.”

With that, she was gone, leaving Chuck alone in his office, the weight of their conversation lingering in the air. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself for the day ahead. The challenges were mounting, the threats looming larger than ever, but with Amara by his side, Chuck felt a little more equipped to face them.

He still wasn’t sure how he was going to navigate the turbulent waters of his presidency, but one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to do it alone. And with Amara’s guidance, maybe—just maybe—he could find a way to steer the ship in the right direction.

Lunch in the White House was supposed to be a grand affair, or at least that’s what President Chuck Shurley had imagined before he actually became the President. He’d pictured long tables filled with dignitaries, crystal glasses clinking, and silver platters overflowing with food. Instead, most days it was just him, a small table set up in one of the many dining rooms, and a staff member awkwardly hovering nearby in case he needed something.

Today was one of those days.

Chuck sat at a round table in a private dining room just off the Oval Office. The room was ornate, with heavy drapes, thick carpets, and enough gold trim to make a pharaoh blush. But instead of feeling like the leader of the free world, Chuck felt a little like a kid playing dress-up in his dad’s suit.

He glanced at the table, where his lunch had just been placed: a modestly-sized plate with a sandwich—turkey on rye, a bowl of soup that he couldn’t quite identify, and a small side salad that looked more decorative than edible. Next to it was a glass of water and a lone apple, shining under the lights as if it were some forbidden fruit that had found its way onto his tray by mistake.

“Well, this is…something,” Chuck muttered to himself as he picked up the sandwich. He eyed it suspiciously, as if it might suddenly spring to life and start talking. “Not exactly what I had in mind when I thought about lunch at the White House.”

He took a tentative bite of the sandwich, chewing slowly as he let his thoughts drift. It wasn’t bad, exactly, but it wasn’t particularly good either. The turkey was a little dry, the bread a little too chewy, and the lettuce a bit too wilted. It was the kind of meal that wouldn’t be out of place in a hospital cafeteria, which only added to the surreal feeling that had been following him around since the day he’d been sworn in.

“Could be worse,” Chuck mused, trying to look on the bright side. “At least it’s not another one of those fancy dinners where I have to pretend to know what all the forks are for.”

He chuckled to himself, taking another bite as he glanced around the room. The walls were adorned with portraits of past presidents, all of them looking stern and dignified, as if they were silently judging his every move. Chuck could practically hear them muttering among themselves, comparing notes on his performance.

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” he said aloud, addressing the silent audience of former leaders. “I’m not exactly a Lincoln or a Roosevelt. But hey, I’m trying, okay?”

He wasn’t entirely sure why he was talking to the walls—maybe it was the isolation of the job, or maybe it was just that he’d always had a habit of rambling when he was nervous. Whatever the reason, it made the room feel a little less empty, so he kept going.

“Anyway, I bet you guys had some pretty weird lunches too, right? I mean, Harding probably had to deal with some Prohibition-era weirdness, and I bet Nixon had more than a few awkward meals.” He paused, tapping his fingers on the edge of the table. “Come to think of it, Kennedy probably had a great time with his meals. That guy could charm anyone.”

Chuck’s mind wandered as he stared at his plate, which was quickly becoming less appealing with every bite. The soup, which he’d been avoiding, sat there like a murky mystery, daring him to try it. He wasn’t sure what kind it was—potato? Leek? Something else entirely?—and he wasn’t particularly eager to find out.

“Well, here goes nothing,” he muttered, picking up the spoon and dipping it into the bowl. He hesitated for a moment, then brought it to his mouth.

The taste was…bland. Not bad, just not memorable. If the soup had a personality, it would be the kind of person who never took risks, always played it safe, and probably collected stamps as a hobby.

“Okay, that’s enough of that,” Chuck decided, pushing the bowl away and focusing on the salad instead. It was small, more garnish than a real side, with a few sad-looking leaves of lettuce, a couple of cherry tomatoes, and a drizzle of what was probably supposed to be vinaigrette. He speared a tomato with his fork, popping it into his mouth. It burst with a sour tang that made him wince.

“Who knew a tomato could taste that aggressive?” he muttered to himself.

Chuck pushed the salad aside, feeling like he’d done his duty by at least trying everything on the plate. The apple, however, remained untouched. He picked it up, weighing it in his hand as if it might reveal some hidden secret. The fruit was pristine, almost too perfect—no bruises, no blemishes, just an unnaturally glossy surface that practically screamed “processed.”

He rolled it around in his hand, thinking about all the bizarre twists and turns his life had taken to get him to this point. Who would have guessed that Chuck Shirley, of all people, would end up here, in the White House, holding a waxy apple and trying to pretend he knew what he was doing?

“I wonder if Washington ever had to deal with this,” he said to no one in particular, imagining the first president sitting in a similar room, dealing with the mundane problems of running a country. Somehow, he doubted it. Washington had probably had bigger things on his plate—like, say, founding a nation.

Chuck shook his head, chuckling at the absurdity of it all. “Well, at least I’ve got the easy part, right? Just keep the country running, avoid starting any wars, and try not to choke on a lousy apple.”

He set the fruit back down, deciding that he wasn’t quite ready to tackle it yet. Maybe later, when he had a bit more time to contemplate life’s mysteries.

His phone buzzed on the table, and Chuck glanced at it, seeing a text from his assistant Becky: “Meeting in 15. You ready?”

Chuck sighed, the brief respite of lunch already coming to an end. He quickly typed back, “As ready as I’ll ever be,” and sent the message, knowing that he was never really ready for these things. But that was the job, wasn’t it? Always moving forward, always dealing with the next crisis, whether he was ready or not.

With one last glance at the half-eaten sandwich, Chuck pushed his chair back and stood up. “Well, I guess that’s that,” he said to the room, grabbing his water glass and taking a long drink. He could hear the faint sounds of activity outside the door—staff moving about, phones ringing, the constant hum of a place that never really stopped.

As he walked to the door, he gave one final look around the room, as if hoping to find some last bit of wisdom hidden among the portraits or in the shadows of the ornate decor. But there was nothing—just the quiet, persistent sense that he was a little out of his depth, that he was still playing catch-up in a game that had started long before he’d ever even known he’d be a part of it.

Chuck squared his shoulders, taking a deep breath as he reached for the door handle. “Alright, time to get back to work,” he told himself, his voice a little more confident now, a little more certain. After all, he might not always feel like he was cut out for this job, but he was here, and he was doing it. And that had to count for something.

As he stepped out of the dining room and into the bustling hallway, he couldn’t help but glance back at the table one last time, where the apple still sat, untouched. It almost seemed to mock him, a reminder of the little things that always seemed to slip through the cracks, the tiny details that no one else ever noticed but that somehow always seemed to matter.

Chuck gave it a small, rueful smile before turning away for good, leaving the room behind as he headed off to tackle the rest of his day. There would be more meetings, more decisions to make, more crises to manage—but at least he’d have a story to tell the next time someone asked him what lunch in the White House was really like. And who knows? Maybe he’d finally get around to eating that apple.

Chuck Shurley sat at his massive oak desk, drumming his fingers against the polished wood. His schedule for the day was a neat, orderly list, meticulously prepared by his assistant, Becky. Meetings, briefings, a photo op, lunch (which he’d probably end up eating alone again)—it was all just so predictable. Too predictable. For a man who once wrote best-selling books full of excitement, danger, and drama, the reality of the presidency was...well, it was a little boring.

He sighed, glancing out the window at the meticulously manicured White House lawn. The groundskeepers were out there, trimming hedges with the same precision they brought every day. Everything was perfect, nothing was out of place. Which, if he was being honest, was exactly the problem.

The intercom on his desk crackled to life. “Mr. President?” Becky’s voice was bright and cheery, as it always was. Too bright, too cheery for someone who was about to bring him yet another stack of dull briefing papers.

Chuck leaned forward and pressed the button to respond. “Yeah, Becky?”

“Your ten o’clock is in fifteen minutes,” she said, her voice tinged with the kind of energy that suggested she’d already had three cups of coffee this morning. “Should I bring in the briefing materials?”

Chuck sighed again. “Sure, bring them in.”

A moment later, Becky bustled into the room, a thick folder of papers clutched in her arms. She was wearing her usual office attire—an overly colorful blouse and a skirt that might have been fashionable in the nineties but was now just…retro. Her enthusiasm was as bright as her wardrobe, and it was infectious, even if Chuck wasn’t quite in the mood for it.

“Here you go, Mr. President,” she said, placing the folder in front of him with a flourish. “All the details for your meeting with the Joint Chiefs. I color-coded the important points!”

Chuck blinked at the folder. Of course she’d color-coded it. She always did. “Thanks, Becky,” he said, trying to muster some enthusiasm. But as she stepped back, ready to leave him to his reading, he couldn’t stop himself. “Becky, wait a second.”

She turned back to him, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Yes, Mr. President?”

Chuck leaned back in his chair, searching for the right words. “Do you ever feel like things are just...too calm around here?”

Becky tilted her head, confused. “Calm, sir?”

“Yeah, you know, like everything’s just...routine. Predictable.” He gestured to the folder. “I mean, look at this. Meetings, briefings, photo ops. It’s all the same, day in and day out. Where’s the excitement?”

Becky blinked, clearly trying to process what he was saying. “Um...you want more excitement, sir?”

Chuck nodded emphatically. “Yes! I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m glad the country isn’t in chaos or anything, but it’s like...there’s nothing happening! Everything’s under control, and I’m just...here. Sitting in meetings, signing papers. There’s no adventure.”

Becky chewed on her lip, thinking hard. “Well, sir, I think it’s good that things are under control. It means you’re doing a great job as President! No crises to deal with, no wars to fight—just smooth sailing.”

Chuck frowned. “But that’s just it! Smooth sailing is boring. I used to write stories, Becky. Stories full of action and drama. Now look at me—I’m the most powerful man in the world, and the most exciting thing I do all day is pick out a tie!”

Becky furrowed her brow. “I...I guess I never thought about it like that. But, Mr. President, we’re running a country here. It’s supposed to be stable. Exciting is usually bad in politics, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Chuck conceded, “but still...it feels like I’m stuck in a loop. And it’s not just the job—look at my lunch! I had the same thing three days in a row last week. There’s got to be more to being President than this.”

Becky’s face brightened suddenly, as if she’d had a brilliant idea. “What if we mixed things up a bit? I could schedule some more interesting meetings for you, or maybe plan a surprise event or two?”

Chuck sat up a little straighter, intrigued. “Go on…”

“Well,” Becky continued, warming to the idea, “we could set up a meeting with some, uh, more unconventional figures. Like...like artists or writers or inventors! People with big ideas, who aren’t just talking about policy all the time.”

Chuck’s eyes lit up. “Now you’re talking! That’s the kind of thing I’m looking for. Something different, something that makes me feel alive again!”

Becky was getting excited now, too. “Or what if we organized a surprise visit somewhere? Like a school, or a hospital—or maybe even a local diner? Something that’s not on the schedule, where you can just...I don’t know, interact with regular people. Get out of this bubble.”

Chuck smiled for the first time that morning, a real smile. “I like it. Let’s do that. Let’s shake things up a little.”

Becky beamed, pleased that she’d hit on something that made him happy. “Great! I’ll get to work on it right away, sir. This afternoon, maybe we could—”

“Wait,” Chuck interrupted, holding up a hand. “There’s something else.”

Becky paused, mid-thought. “Yes?”

Chuck leaned forward, lowering his voice as if he were about to reveal a state secret. “I want you to plan something big. Something no one expects.”

Becky’s eyes widened. “Big? Like...how big?”

Chuck grinned mischievously. “Big enough to get people talking. Something that’ll shake up this place and get everyone out of their comfort zones.”

Becky hesitated, clearly unsure of what he meant. “Are we talking about a policy announcement, or...?”

Chuck waved a hand dismissively. “No, no, nothing like that. I mean something more... fun. Something that shows I’m not just a boring old politician.”

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