#i might as well of made a full length fic with this LMAO | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the7thcrow · 3 years ago

Text

just in case | hhj

pairing: hyunjin x (gn) reader.

wc: 8.6k

genre: fluff. angst. suggestive. romcom. office au. valentine’s day au. coworkers to lovers. slight enemies to lovers.

warnings: alcohol, heavy making out, a both snarky and unreliable narrator, all around just inappropriate behaviour for a workplace (but what else would you expect from an office au lmao.)

summary: your valentine’s day plans of bad cable and a bottle of wine take an unexpected turn, as when leaving the office you witness a completely different side of your least favourite coworker, hwang hyunjin. perhaps valentine’s day really does hold a little bit of magic.

a/n: this is so disgustingly late, frankly i’m ashamed. but life and such, you know how it is. this is for the sweet treats from skz event hosted by @districtninewriters. hope you all enjoy, and i’d recommend checking out everyone else’s works!! also i lowkey resent this fic for how long it has taken me, so i hope it’s okay.

Sunday’s are the worst.

With the office being full of coworkers hungover and regretful from the previous night’s little escapades, as well as consumed by the dread of being forced to work during the weekend, the air always seems to hang a little lower on Sunday’s.

Of course, today is no normal Sunday. Not at all, and it is apparent in the excited buzz and extra chatter that fills the office with a tad more enthusiasm than annoyance.

No, today is no normal Sunday, but rather Valentine’s Day.

Which depending on exactly who you are and the activities you have planned for the evening, could either mean that this particular Sunday is slightly better or worse than average. For some, it’s a night of romance - budding or long-term - of roses and chocolate and candlelit dinners, of longing glances and playing footsie under the table.

While for others, it’s nothing special, no significant other to share the night with, and the giddy attitude that fills the air is only slightly nauseating.

You are a part of this latter.

It should be made clear that you don’t hate Valentine’s Day. Frankly, an extra night just to celebrate the love in a relationship is really quite sweet, and you are not such a killjoy as to rain on other’s parades.

However, that doesn’t mean you can’t hate the way that people in the office treat Valentine’s Day. At least a little.

This particularly applies to Gahyeon, who is now peaking over your cubicle, a far too cheery smile on her face.

“Any plans for the night?” She asks sweetly, expression innocent, although you’re fairly certain she already knows the answer.

“No,” you say shortly, before realizing that might be too blunt, and frankly, a little rude. “Nothing tonight. You?”

“Felix and I are going out for drinks later,” she replies, a faint blush lacing her cheeks at the mention of her fiance. You’ve met Felix a few times, the blonde sometimes opting to come inside when picking her up after a later shift. He’s nice. Cute. A well-suited match for her, based on the very brief conversations you’ve had with him.

“We’re going to Dominique’s,” she adds, and you manage to refrain from letting your surprise show. Felix clearly has expensive taste, although you suppose the ring he gave her two months ago was already a pretty obvious indication of that.

“Well, I’m sure the two of you will have a good time,” you offer, returning to face your computer screen, assuming that the conversation is over and you’re free to return to your work. However, this is not the case, as Gahyeon continues to stare at you from over-top the cubicle, chin resting over top of her crossed arms.

“I got you a gift,” she says, causing you to twist your chair to face her once more, raising an eyebrow. She disappears back into her own space, searching for whatever she wishes to give you.

“Here,” she calls out, before once again popping her head back up into your line of sight. She has a gift bag in her hand, one that is so narrow and tall in length you already have a good idea of what it might be.

After taking the bag, you find your assumption proven correct, as you pull out a rather hefty bottle of wine.

You stare at the gift, before flickering your gaze back to Gahyeon. It’s not that you don’t like it, in fact, it’s your favourite brand. Even a tad more expensive than you typically let yourself reach for, unless for a special occasion.

You’re more so just confused as to exactly why Gahyeon would be giving you a bottle of wine, on Valentine’s Day none-the-less.

Her smile falls slightly. “Do you not like it?”

“No!” You rush out, quickly changing your bewildered expression into a smile. You certainly don’t want her to feel bad for getting you a gift, however strange it might be. “I mean, no - but not no as in no I hate it - sorry, yes. Yes, I like it. Thank you.”

She smiles again, and you let yourself relax slightly, taking a breath. “I’m more so just a bit lost,” you continue, examining the bottle once more. “What is this for?”

“Well, I assumed for drinking, although I guess that’s ultimately up to-”

“Gahyeon.”

She sighs, eyes softening with what you can only recognize as pity, “Well I don’t know,” she begins, before trailing off. “I just… Well, I just figured someone should give you something nice. I mean it’s Valentine’s Day after all, and well, you know.”

You’ve been doing a rather decent job at managing your expressions thus far, but your jaw falls open at the statement.

You’re a rational person. You’re certain she meant well by this, and it isn’t something cruel or a mocking jab at you.

But the fact of the matter stands that you never even told her you didn’t have a date for Valentine’s Day. Sure, you didn’t tell her that you did have one, but you made no indication for the opposite either.

And the audacity of the assumption - let alone the fact that you’d be so torn up about it that you’d need to drink your feelings away - is enough to render you momentarily speechless.

You open your mouth, unsure of what you can even say to such a statement, when fortunately you find you won't have to, as someone approaches both you and Gahyeon.

However, it quickly becomes unfortunate as you realize who it is.

“Oh, hi Hyunjin!” Gahyeon says sweetly as the man approaches. You discreetly slide the bottle of wine back into the gift basket, hiding it behind your chair. The last thing you need is for him to see it.

It should be made clear that you don’t hate Hyunjin.

He’s just… a little irritating.

Okay, maybe a lot irritating.

A tad arrogant, ego far too large for just one person. Sure, even you must begrudgingly admit the man is attractive, with long golden hair and striking features, but he would be a lot more attractive if he didn’t act so high and mighty about it.

He’s also a bit snobby, most of this deriving from when Chan was promoting people in your division a couple months ago, and he chose him instead of you. Not that you care, obviously. You both deserved it, both rather talented in your area of expertise.

Even if you have worked here for two years longer and have put in almost double the hours of overtime work.

But hey, who’s counting?

Not you, of course, because you don’t care enough about Hyunjin to really worry about such things.

He’s just a little annoying, that’s all.

“Hi, Gahyeon,” he says, plastering on as equally as sweet of a smile as the one she is wearing, before his gaze momentarily flickers to you, and when he speaks his tone is disinterested.

“Hey,” he says shortly, before immediately shifting his focus back to your coworker, and you can’t refrain from rolling your eyes.

“Who are the chocolates for?” Gahyeon asks. You hadn’t noticed it before, but Hyunjin holds a box of chocolates in his hands, bright red, gigantic, and in the shape of a heart.

A little cheesy, but you digress.

“Oh,” he says shyly, shifting his gaze away in an attempt to play coy. “Um.”

You know the bashful display is entirely fake and undoubtedly for attention, but Gahyeon eats it up, holding a hand to her heart as if moved.

“Aw, for a secret admirer maybe?” She guesses and when he laughs at the idea, she tries again. “Or a big date planned for tonight?”

Hyunjin chuckles, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, and you resist the urge to gag.

Alright, maybe Valentine’s Day does make you a little extra cynical.

“Something like that,” he replies finally, before clearing his throat and changing topics. “But Gahyeon, the reason I actually came over here was to remind you that I need the numbers for the WENUS. So just swing by my office before leaving tonight, okay?”

“Of course!” Gahyeon says, giving the man a thumbs up as he begins to make his exit. However he stops for a moment, glancing over his shoulder to meet your eye, a smirk sliding across his lips.

“Enjoy the wine,” he chirps. You open your mouth to heckle back - something sharp and witty, you figure - but he’s already gone, disappearing around the corner and back towards his own office.

You glance over at Gahyeon, prepared to give her a half-hearted glare. She knows full well about the little tug-of-war relationship the two of you share, which means she also knows about how her gift undoubtedly gave him some new teasing material for the coming weeks.

And you know she’s aware of this, because she quickly disappears back into her own cubicle, the sound of typing immediately apparent as she begins to busy herself.

You sigh, turning your attention back to your own screen, fingers resting motionless on your keyboard.

Alright, so you don’t hate Valentine’s Day, but maybe you actually do hate Hyunjin.

~~~~

It’s just past 11:00 pm when you admit that it’s officially too late for you to still be in the office. Rubbing your tired eyes, which ache slightly from staring at a screen all day, you let out a dramatic yawn. The office remains dark, everyone already having packed their things and left for the night, to their own date nights and special holiday plans.

You rise to your feet, prepared to grab your things before heading home, to what will most likely be a night of wine and bad cable tv shows. Just the kind of activities expected of a single person your age on Valentine’s Day, but you find you no longer have the will to attempt fighting against the stereotype. You’re tired and the wine Gahyeon bought you is good, you might as well make the most of it.

However, your plans are put to a sudden halt as you glance over at Gahyeon’s desk, a stack of papers laying neatly beside her keyboard.

It’s the WENUS - the Weekly Estimated Net Usage Statistics - or in other words, the documents Hyunjin had specifically asked her to deliver to him before she left the office tonight, which was roughly 5 hours ago.

Biting the inside of your cheek to refrain from letting out another pained sigh, you instead decide to take the high road, slipping into her cubicle to grab the papers.

Gahyeon isn’t normally this forgetful, just another unfortunate symptom of Valentine’s Day you suppose. The papers most likely dismissed as Felix came inside to pick her up, roses in hand, a dreamy as well as grossly in-love smile plastered across his lips.

So you can’t entirely blame Gahyeon, because if someone ever looked at you with such a disgustingly enamoured look, you might forgot about the stupid WENUS as well.

You’re the only one left inside the office, and as you head down the hallway you’re certain you’ll have to simply slip the documents under Hyunjin’s door, the man having gone home for the night.

Or more likely, to the big date or “something like that” he said he had planned.

Which is why you’re completely caught off guard by the light brightly shining from further down the hall.

Raising a skeptical eyebrow, you follow the brightness, finding yourself before Hyunjin’s not-at-all empty office. The door remains wide open and you discreetly peek inside, finding the man stationed at his desk, pen in hand as he quickly jots something down on a sticky-note.

Blonde hair messy and tousled as his chin rests in the palm of his hand, tie loosened and falling low below his collar, it’s a look you’ve never seen from the man. Always so put together, so perfectly poised with a level of arrogance attached, it’s almost a shock to see the mask fall, even if just for a moment.

“Can I help you?” He calls without looking up, voice monotone. Your hiding place behind the door frame must not be as discreet as you may have hoped.

You clear your throat, walking towards his desk and tossing down the papers. “I noticed Gahyeon forgot these, figured you would want them.”

“Great. Thanks,” he says, still not looking up at you, but taking the papers all the same. When he doesn’t continue, it’s an obvious cue to leave, and indication that he enjoys your company about as much as you do his. Yet, something in you stops for a moment, holding you in place.

“Didn’t you have some sort of big date planned for tonight?” You ask, and at that he finally looks up at you, his eyes full of an extra amount of irritation that you don’t quite understand.

“What makes you think that?” He shoots back, his scowl making itself even more evident. You gesture to the large box of chocolates sitting on his desk, which remains unopened.

“The chocolates and the conversation with Gahyeon earlier,” you explain, giving the man an incredulous stare. The two of you don’t get along, obviously, but surely he can’t be mad at your presumption, considering he practically told Gahyeon he had plans. “I just assumed.”

“Well, you assumed wrong,” he huffs, before immediately going back to his work, pointedly not meeting your eye. You scoff, turning on your heel to leave his office, having enough of the attitude for the night. You know that you too can be a tad haughty and dramatic at times, but Hyunjin really is something else.

However, before you can make it through the door, you hear a deep sigh that clearly does not wish to go unheard, and you stop in your tracks.

“I always buy a box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day,” he says quietly, and you turn back around to see the man lift the giant red heart in the air. He keeps his eyes fixated on his desk, clearly embarrassed by the confession, tone dripping with shame. “You know… just in case.”

“That…” You start, unsure of how exactly to respond to the admission, to the defeated look nestled in his eyes. It’s unsettling, and entirely not Hyunjin. “That is one of the saddest things I’ve ever heard.”

He scoffs, dropping the chocolates back down on the desk with both a thud and a matching glare. He looks annoyed, but you suppose that’s better than whatever defeated, as well as slightly pathetic expression he was wearing prior.

Hyunjin’s already annoying, you can’t possibly add self-consciousness into that mix.

“Okay, fuck you,” he cuts back, leaning back into his chair and crossing his arms, although you can’t help but notice there’s a lack of malice to the statement. Just slightly more of a playful jest than an angry rebuttal, although the irritation still isn’t entirely absent. It’s a bit strange, as the air between the two of you is almost always hostile, and honestly, you’re quite comfortable in that normalcy.

“If it makes you feel any better,” you continue, the words coming out before you truly give yourself a chance to contemplate them. “The wine you saw earlier? Gahyeon only bought it for me because she figured at least someone needed to give me something nice on Valentine’s Day.”

Now that brings a smile to Hyunjin’s face, as the man proceeds to let out a low whistle, as if to say: “Ouch, low blow.”

You chuckle beneath your breath. “The worst part is that I never even told her I didn’t have a date, she just assumed.”

He actually laughs out loud at that, and you realize that you’ve never actually heard the man laugh in a way that wasn’t condescending or snarky. It’s an awfully boyish sound - as well as loud - and it’s enough to catch you momentarily off guard.

“No, the worst part is that she didn’t need to be told,” he quips, shrugging his shoulders. “She was right.”

“Okay, fuck you,” you cut back, although a grin sneaks it’s way onto the corners of your lips.

Okay seriously, what is wrong with you right now? You clearly need to leave this office and go home, because there’s no possible way Hwang Hyunjin just made you smile.

Instead, for some unknown reason, you hang in the doorway. A flash of something lights up in Hyunjin’s eyes - mischief perhaps - and he smirks. “Do you want to crack it open?”

“Huh?”

“The wine,” he clarifies with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s still in your office right?”

“I mean yeah, but…” You trail off, biting your inner cheek nervously. You’re not sure what the company policy on alcohol might be - as drinking at work has never been something you’ve considered - but other than the spiked egg-nog at the annual holiday party, you’re fairly certain it’s off limits. “Can we do that?”

“I mean, I’m sure we’re the only two here,” he offers, which you suppose is understandable. “Who’s going to care?”

When you don’t respond, still slightly apprehensive of the suggestion, he continues.

“Besides, do you really think Chan would mind anyway?” He says, referencing the head of the company, and subsequently, the boss of both of you. “He’s going to come home tomorrow from his romantic getaway smitten as hell. I bet he wouldn’t even notice if we were hungover off our asses.”

Another fair statement, Chan having taken the entire week off on a trip to Italy with his significant other. “A special Valentine’s Day treat,” he’d called it, never mind the fact that they do it annually, and this just so happens to be one of the busiest weeks of the year he’s left you all to deal with.

Yeah, you’re not the happiest with Chan at the moment, especially knowing he’s going to come back tomorrow completely love-sick and dreamy when you need him to focus.

Perhaps that’s why you don’t reject the offer, why you don’t immediately call Hyunjin out for being unprofessional. Tomorrow is going to suck anyway, and frankly, you could do with a little harmless defiance against Chan.

There’s also the unfortunate truth that today is still Valentine’s Day, and sharing the wine might be a little less sad than drinking the entire bottle on your own. Even if it’s with someone as insufferable as Hyunjin, the company remains company all the same.

“Alright,” you concede with a sigh, heading back out through the door. “Let me grab the bottle.”

~~~~

After half a bottle of wine drunk out of your office’s paper cups, and a box of chocolates the man had jokingly gifted to you (with only the slightly disgusting flavours remaining), you find yourself sitting next to Hyunjin at his desk. Having pulled an extra chair over from the office beside his own, you lay your head against your arm, which is spread out across the tabletop.

The last hour has passed by in a strange, as well as confusing fashion. You’ve found that Hyunjin perhaps isn’t the worst company in the world, all though you must admit, it doesn’t feel like you’re really with Hyunjin at all.

A man most often recognized for his meticulous demeanor, never seeming to have a hair out of place nor a wrinkle in his suit, now let’s this mask fall even more substantially than when you first entered the office. The knot of his tie now completely undone, hanging over the collar of his shirt, which is absent of its first few buttons and sleeves rolled up past his elbows. Long hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, and suit jacket thrown lazily over the back of his chair, it’s almost difficult to place him as the man you see near every day.

However, what’s most shocking to you is certainly not his clothing, but his personality.

The arrogance is still there, certainly. The cheap little jabs and teasing jokes, but accompanying that is a level of sincerity. Perhaps the spirit of Valentine’s Day has possessed the man, and now that it’s a few minutes past midnight he’ll go back to his normal cocky self, but you can’t deny that Hyunjin has been almost… sweet.

A surprisingly attentive listener, he let you ramble on about anything from Gahyeon and Felix’s sickeningly sweet relationship to the rise in gasoline prices, even chiming in with his own genuine thoughts and advice.

Frankly, you’re a little weirded out.

“I mean, it’s all very cliche. Don’t you think?” He says now, referencing your current topic of whether or not either of you actually like the present holiday.

“What about it is cliche?” You ask, hiding the whisper of a smile behind your wine glass.

“All of it,” he explains, waving his hands in exaggeration. He’s had a little more to drink than you have, the fact obvious through the slight redness in his cheeks, although he’s by no means drunk. Just comfortable enough to keep his guard down, which you certainly don’t mind.

“The flowers, the chocolate, the wine,” he continues. “Fancy dinner that overlooks the city skyline, or a moonlit walk along the beach.”

You snort at the sentiment. “I think you’re just describing the night you’d rather be having right now.”

You mean the statement as a joke, but Hyunjin simply smiles. “No,” he states, his voice soft. “I’d rather be here.”

“Well,” you chuckle lowly, sliding the bottle of wine towards yourself. “Then you must have had a little too much to drink.”

He reaches over, grabbing the neck of the bottle and preventing you from pulling it away any further. Other hand clutching the area over his heart and lower lip drawn out in a pout, he mocks fake offence.

“Why?” he laughs, and although his next question is said with a jovial nonchalance, you can tell there may be a weight behind his words. “Are you saying you would rather be somewhere else?”

A part of you considers answering yes, to tease and bicker and do what you always do with Hyunjin, play into the jesting match as per usual. But you find that something holds you back.

“No,” you reply. “I’d rather be here too.”

A moment of silence passes by, the only sound in the room being the ticking clock that hangs above the doorway. His eyes meet yours, and the corner of his lip pulls upward into a half smile.

“Good,” is all he replies.

After another short moment of silence, a nervous feeling beginning to turn with your gut, you clear your throat. You’re not sure what’s happening here exactly, why your body is tingling with a jittery anticipation, but you suppose it’s a sign that this strange new side of Hyunjin might be enough excitement for one night. “Well, it’s getting late.”

A flash of something passes along the man’s face, what you could almost recognize as disappointment. “Ah,” he says with a glance at the clock, the unavoidable truth that it’s past midnight and too late to still be at the office beginning to set in. “I guess it is.”

“I should probably head home,” you say, beginning to rise to your feet. You don’t manage to stand up fully however, as Hyunjin gently takes hold of your wrist, motioning for you to sit back down.

“Sorry, can I just say something first?” He asks, and swallowing down the worry that arises at the statement, you nod.

Hyunjin takes a deep breath. “Thank you for not feeling sorry for me.”

The look on your face must accurately show the amount of confusion you feel, as the man quickly clarifies. “I mean earlier with the chocolates, most people would just feel pity and try to console me for something like that. But you saved me the embarrassment, so thank you.”

You really didn’t think much of it at the time, but there is a level of truth to the statement. It didn’t even cross your mind to pity the man, and although it may have been slightly out of spite, you suppose if the situations were reversed, you wouldn’t have wanted him to make a big deal out of it either.

“But I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he shakes his head, letting out a small laugh as he seems to forgo his past seriousness. “That’s kinda our thing after all.”

“Our thing?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“You know,” he says, giving you an equally confused look at the fact you don’t know exactly what he’s talking about. “The teasing? The shots back and forth? That’s what we do, isn’t it?”

It takes a moment for you to register what exactly he’s saying, or rather the implications of it.

Hyunjin thinks teasing is your guys’ thing.

You just thought Hyunjin was an asshole.

Oh.

“Right, of course, our thing,” you say, doing your best to sound genuine, as if the two of you have totally been on the same page the entire time. As if you haven’t been cursing him under your breath every time he’s made a teasing comment. As if you haven’t called him arrogant and snobby for two years straight with honestly little to no substance behind it. As if you haven’t assumed every time he was being nice to another coworker, it was all fake and for his own personal gain and attention.

Hyunjin stares at you for a moment, the soft smile on his lips slowly morphing into a frown, eyebrows drawing together in puzzlement.

“You…” He trails off, mouth opening in a small “o,” before a look of mortification passes along his features. “You didn’t think we were joking, did you?”

“Well, not exactly,” you say, albeit a tad awkwardly, unsure of how to navigate the admission. In the end you decide to go with honesty. “Like I knew we teased each other, it just didn’t come off as very, you know, lighthearted to me.”

The horrified look Hyunjin wears only grows wider at the statement. Hands reaching up to cover his mouth, the man appears almost animated. “I am so sorry,” he says, words slightly muffled by the fingers that cover his lips.

“Don’t be,” you rush out quickly, reaching forward to take hold of his wrist, gently pulling his hand away from his face. “It was just a misunderstanding. If anything it’s a relief, so don’t worry about it.”

He seems to relax slightly at that, the tension leaving his shoulders, although he continues to chew on the bottom of his lower lip. “Well, I’m still sorry.”

You smile, the sentiment undeniably endearing. “It’s okay.”

He pauses for a moment, gaze focused intently at the bottle of wine, as if contemplating something. “I’m also sorry for taking the job,” he says suddenly.

The statement takes you by surprise. “What?”

“The promotion,” he elaborates. “ I know it was between you and I, and point-blank, you deserved it more than I did. I don't know what Chan was thinking, and I should have stepped back and let you have it. I’m sorry.”

It’s funny, you’ve spent the last two years wishing to hear him say those words. A deep dark part of you just wanting to hear him admit it, to acknowledge the fact that he got off lucky being Chan’s favourite. That it was you who deserved it. You, who was both more qualified and held seniority.

But now that he’s actually said the words out loud, only one response comes to mind.

“Shut the fuck up.”

Hyunjin’s eyes widen to the size of saucers. “Wait w-what?” He asks, words fumbled with shock.

“There’s no way in hell you would have, nor should have turned down an opportunity like that,” you explain, and it’s true. If the roles were reversed, there’s not even a chance you would have given up a promotion for him, and it’s not until now that you realize you never would have wanted him to do it for you either. “Don’t be an idiot.”

Eyebrows furrowing together, he stares at you in disbelief. “But you’ve been here longer, and put a lot more time into-“

“And I'm not saying I disagree with that,” you counter, because frankly, you don’t. “But throwing away this opportunity would have genuinely been the stupidest thing you’ve ever done. Don’t be a saint, we both know you’re not one, and neither am I.”

He watches you for a moment, eyes scanning your face carefully, as if looking for something. After a moment he swallows deeply, taking a deep breath as if to concede. “Yeah okay, you’re right.”

That should be the end of it, but something stops you from switching topics, an itch beneath your skin that says the conversation isn’t quite finished.

Possibly deriving from the fact that Hyunjin has always been good at the job - just as good as you are - and he doesn’t seem to be acknowledging that. Extra hours and seniority aside, the two of you have always been on rather equal footing in that sense, and you don’t think it's fair to go completely unannounced.

“And you are very talented Hyunjin,” you say softly, a confession of sorts. “You wouldn’t have gotten the job otherwise.”

He doesn’t say anything to this, but you don’t miss the way his cheeks flush slightly, the faintest hint of a smile appearing at the corner of his lip.

“So don't feel bad, yeah?” You finish, even placing your hand over his own on the desktop, hoping it comes off as reassuring. “I'm sure another opportunity will come around for me.”

He pauses for a moment, staring down at your hand over top of his own. Gaze fluttering up to meet your eyes, he finally allows himself to fully smile. “Alright.”

“Good,” you say simply, giving his hand a small squeeze, before removing it entirely. You go to have a sip of your wine - the paper cup having been momentarily forgotten - but don’t miss the way your hand shakes slightly. Almost nervous, it seems. Strange.

The smile on Hyunjin’s face suddenly shifts from compassionate to playful. “So you think I’m talented, huh?”

You roll your eyes, finishing your sip before answering. “Amongst other far less kind things, sure.”

It’s almost automatic how his face falls, smile dissapaiting into a frown, eyes hollowing of the newfound joy.

Shit. This is really going to take some getting used to.

“Sorry, force of habit,” you add, quickly trying to recover your mistake. “But yeah, I do.”

He seems to regain his footing at this, that small smile returning to his lips once more, granting you a strange sense of relief. “I think you’re talented too,” he says quietly, almost shy.

“Thank you,” you reply, voice equally as gentle.

It takes about ten seconds of smiling at each other in silence for the moment to become awkward.

“I’m sorry, I’m not very good at this,” he blurts out quickly, face flushing a light shade of pink.

“At…?” You ask, not quite sure what he’s trying to get at.

“Ever since the promotion, I really haven’t had much time to myself,” he admits, leaning backwards in his chair. “So I’m a bit out of practice with the whole, you know, flirting thing.”

Wait.

Wait, wait, wait, wait-

Flirting?

Is that…is that what he’s doing right now?

You stare at him, trying to get some tell that he might be joking. That this whole thing was just a game, that he’ll say sike, and then spill his cup of wine over your shirt and you can go back to the Hyunjin you know. The Hyunjin you somewhat despise, sure, but at least that irritation is comfortable. At least it’s familiar and something that you can understand.

This Hyunjin, the one that compliments you, tells you that you deserve his job more than he does, and flirts with you, he is anything but understandable.

To make matters even worse, you aren’t repulsed. The statement doesn’t make you uncomfortable nor grossed out, in fact, the reasoning behind your heart beginning to pound faster is what you can only label as excitement.

You truly must be losing it.

You must be, as instead of putting a stop to the conversation, to the entire night by leaving his office and going home, you indulge in it. “I get that, it’s been a while since I’ve been on a date too.”

“Really?” He asks, clearly intrigued as he leans in a little closer, resting his chin in his palm. “How come?”

“Same sort of thing,” you reply honestly. “Don’t get me wrong, I love Gahyeon, I really do. The job would not even be half as interesting without her, but for the last couple months I feel like I have to do double the work. She has to go wedding cake testing one night, or bridesmaid dress shopping the other, and I always pick up her shift or stay later to finish what she couldn’t get to. I care about her, so I don’t mind doing it, but it can be tiring. Plus Chan already expects me to do extra overtime on top of that, because it’s what I’ve been doing for two years straight, and that just doesn’t leave me with tons of free time.”

It feels a bit weird, talking to Hyunjin of all people about this, considering you haven’t mentioned it to anyone in the office before. But he listens attentively, eyebrows drawn together in understanding.

“I know that’s not exactly the same thing,” you clarify, clearing your throat as if to shake off the vulnerability of the statement. “Because I’m doing it to myself, and you have a lot more responsibility in your position, but-”

“No, don’t say that,” Hyunjin quickly cuts you off, and this time it’s him who reaches forward to take your hand. “You still work equally as hard as I do, hell honestly even more. You deserve better than that, it’s not fair to you.”

“Yeah, but what can I do?” You ask with a shrug, because really, there’s not much you can do about it. ��“I can’t stop working as hard, because Chan will see that as even less of a reason to promote me. And I hate to say it, but the dating world doesn’t exactly love a workaholic.”

He seems to consider this for a moment, before shaking his head in defiance.“Who cares about them?” He retorts, and you can’t deny it's sweet how much he seems to take offence on your behalf. “Being a workaholic means you’re ambitious. You're hardworking and dedicated. I mean, who doesn’t want that in a partner?”

You snort at this, because if only it were that simple. “You'd be surprised.”

Hyunjin doesn’t seem to accept this as a viable answer. “Maybe you just need someone who’s also a workaholic,” he offers, reaching to take a sip of his own wine. “Someone who gets it.”

You smile at this, raising an eyebrow jokingly. “What, do you want to date me?”

He doesn’t even hesitate a moment before answering. “Sure.”

You blink.

It’s as if you can feel your eyes monumentally widen, granting him an incredulous stare. “I was kidding,” you state in disbelief, ready for him to laugh at the look on your face. To explain that he was joking, and just wanted to get a reaction out of you.

Except that this moment never comes, as Hyunjin simply stares back at you, eyes equally as wide but for different reasons. You are shocked and confused, but he seems more like a deer caught in the headlights. As if he has been caught red-handed, revealed more than he meant to.

But instead of back-tracking, instead of making some sort of excuse and pretending it never happened, he takes a deep breath. Gaze shifting to the ground momentarily, as if to steady himself, before firmly looking back up to you.

“Well you know what, I wasn't,” he says, tone blunt. It’s not even a semblance of a shy or earnest confession, but rather a fact, and he does not refrain from delivering it as such.

“Hyunjin-” You begin, unsure of what you’re even going to say such a sudden and bold statement. Fortunately, you find you don’t have to bother figuring it out, as he immediately cuts you off.

“No, hear me out,” he starts, “We’re both workaholics, we’re intellectually compatible, we’re both attractive.”

You hate the fact that instead of attempting to argue this, you’re momentarily both taken aback and flattered by the fact that Hwang Hyunjin finds you attractive.

“We won't get annoyed if the other person has to pick up extra shifts or stay late,” he continues, not even stopping for a breath. “We have the same sense of humour-”

“Okay Hyunjin, I get it,” you cut in, feeling a tad overwhelmed.

Because really, is anything he’s saying wrong? No. Is it unfair or manipulated or just plain ridiculous? Also no.

But at the same time, it’s also Hyunjin.

“Come on,” he says, his tone finally shifting to become more soft, as he leans forward to take your hand once more. This time however, he doesn’t let go. “It's Valentine's Day, and we’re both here together. You even said you wouldn’t want to be somewhere else.”

Once again, true.

“Don’t you think that means something?” He pushes a little further, and you finally force your gaze to meet his eyes, which are practically glistening with sincerity.

Taking a deep breath, you decide not to confirm the question, but also not disagree with it either. The safest option.

“How are you even sure we’re compatible in that way?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper. Heart beating a mile per minute, palms clammy in a way they haven’t been in months, you can barely fathom how nervous you are in this moment.

Not a bad nervous. Not terribly nauseous, or a terrified sort of anxious, but for lack of a better term, it’s what you can only describe as butterflies.

And how long has it been since someone has given you those?

Hyunjin leans in a little closer, just a fraction of an inch, but you feel your breath halt sharply. He smiles. “Don’t you want to find out?”

“Yes,” your mind whispers, followed immediately by: “No you don’t, what the fuck?”

It doesn’t take a genius to know which one of those thoughts might hold a little more truth than the other.

“I don't know,” you answer, and after a moment of silence, you sigh. Hyunjin has been awfully honest, perhaps it’s time you try the same. “Ugh, maybe? But isn’t that crazy?”

“See, we’re both crazy,” he says, adding to the rather extensive list he’s created.

You can’t stop the laugh that escapes your lips at this, and his grin grows a little wider before he chuckles along with you. As it dies out, the quiet you are left with is full. Full of compassion, of confession, of the anticipation of what might happen next.

“Here let me propose an idea, and try not to freak out until I’m finished,” he says, waiting to continue until you give him the confirmation of a small nod. He inhales deeply. “Let me kiss you, and if there’s nothing there, you can leave and we can act like this never happened. We’ll just go back to being colleagues and tease each other like we always do, except this time it actually will be lighthearted.”

You open your mouth to respond, but he gently puts a hand up, indicating he’s not quite done yet. “And if there is something there, you’ll let me treat you to coffee after work on Thursday. And at a cafe, not the breakroom.”

Maybe you should say no. He’s a colleague, and one you’ve not so secretly disliked for over a year, at that. Sensibility states it’s not wise to date a coworker, so long as things don’t work out and you’re forced to see them again and again.

But your heart states that it’s Valentine’s Day, and your heart has never been the most sensible of influences. You’ve tossed the thought of relationships and the possibility of butterflies on the backburner for so long, what if you allowed yourself a little fraction of weakness?

After all, a kiss and maybe coffee afterwards isn’t too dangerous a proposition, is it?

Letting your gaze momentarily flicker down to the man’s lips, which remain drawn in that soft smile, you take a deep breath. “Okay,” you whisper, and he nods, although you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to glow a little brighter.

Slowly, he leans forward, so close that you allow your own eyes to flutter shut, the ghost of his breath hot against your face. You wait a moment, shuddering slightly, when you can feel him let out a chuckle.

“Are you sure?” He asks, and it’s blatantly obvious that he’s teasing you.

“You’re the worst,” you reply, although there is no seriousness behind the words. You’re about to reopen your eyes, when he suddenly leans forward fully, closing the remaining distance between the two of you.

The kiss is soft. Chaste, but also not lacking in compassion, as he leans in a little further to deepen it. His hand falls onto one of your own that rests on the desktop, fingers dusting against your knuckles. It’s all very tender, in a way you never expected of Hyunjin.

Not that you’re admitting to ever having imagined what kissing him might be like, of course.

He pulls away for a moment, eyes opening briefly. “Was that alri-”

But you don’t give him a chance to finish, because now that you’ve had a taste, you simply can’t imagine stopping.

“Just, shut up for a second,” you state, before leaning back to connect your lips once again. He allows his hand to trail up your arm with a bit more purpose this time, as if reassured by your confirmation. Settling on your shoulder, he pulls you in closer, the rhythm the two of you begin to settle into slowly escalating. A little more eager, as each kiss becomes more desperate than the next.

His lips taste of the wine you had earlier, a sweet and crisp flavour that you can’t help but internally thank Gahyeon for, as you chase after the high it gives you.

It’s sudden, how his other hand slips to wrap around your waist, pulling you upwards so that the two of you are standing. The chair you were sitting on rolls backwards, not so gracefully knocking into one of the office’s many filing cabinets, but neither of you pays much mind. Instead, Hyunjin takes the liberty of shifting you over, so that your lower back presses up against his office desk.

It’s not until now that you realize how genuinely tall the man is, as both of his hands fall on either side of you to rest on the desktop, closing you in.

“You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this,” he whispers into your mouth, and you can’t deny the way your chest warms at the statement, a strange sense of pride. At the same time, however, it is accompanied by surprise.

“Really?” You whisper back, and he nods, hand pulling back the collar of your shirt to reveal your neck and collarbone.

“Are you saying you haven’t thought about it?” He challenges, and your first thought is to immediately say no and deny it, just as you always have. But really, what good would that do you now?

“I have,” you answer honestly, taking in a deep breath as his lips begin to work their way down your jawline, approaching your neck. “It just wasn’t exactly like this.”

You have always thought Hyunjin was attractive, you aren’t blind. With long golden hair, plump lips, and a nice jawline, there is no denying that he’s pleasing to the eye. This of course didn’t change your inherent dislike towards him, but you suppose it also may have made it… manifest a little differently at times.

After all, hatred is a passionate emotion, and it’s not so difficult for the line between detestment and desire to blur. For those feelings to subconsciously manifest into something more. Something angry, and charged and deliciously wrong.

“Oh, yeah?” He smirks, only stopping for a moment, before continuing his trek downwards, nipping at the skin of your collarbone. “Tell me what it was like then.”

Breath hitching slightly has one of his hands trails down your waist, before resting awfully close to your inner thigh. “Fuck, yeah okay,” you murmer, barely above a whisper.

“We were here,” you breathe, and he hums at this, the curve of his smile pressing against the skin of your neck. “We were just in an argument.”

“Sounds like us,” he notes, moving his hand so that it actually does rest on your inner thigh. “What was the argument about?”

“I… I don’t remember,” you manage, and you don’t even bother attempting to figure it out, as imagining anything outside of the rushing in your ears and the excitement building in your chest seems beyond impossible at the moment.

“Affecting you that much, huh?” He teases, finally removing his mouth from your neck, bringing his head back so that his eyes can meet yours. They glint with mischief, and you find yourself both embarrassed, as well as a tad bothered in more ways than one.

“Shut up,” you murmur weakly, and he simply laughs before opening his mouth, surely to say something else that will affect you more than your liking. You don’t give him the chance however, as you once again connect your lips, letting your own hand wrap along his jaw, firmly pulling him into you.

He easily complies, before taking the initiative to go further, leaning you backwards over the desk. Now this is more similar to what you shamefully imagined, dirtier, far more risky and bold and something you certainly should not be doing in the office.

His computer is conveniently placed to the side, so long as you don’t mind the WENUS booklet that rests below your back - which you obviously don’t - there’s more than enough room as he lays you down, hand trailing downward along the shape of your figure.

Your mind whispers that this might be getting a tad out of hand, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the need coursing through you, that hunger for what might come next, for more. Voice of reason be damned, after all you’ve been listening to it far too much lately, let tonight be your one slip up.

That is, the voice of reason would have been forgotten, had it not taken the shape of a bottle of wine that sits haphazardly at the edge of the desk.

All it takes is for Hyunjin’s elbow to stray a little too far to the side, for the bottle to be tipped over. Unfortunately, it also doesn’t take the liberty of falling off the side of the desk and onto the floor, which would perhaps lead to a small stain on the carpet and nothing more.

No, instead it tips over onto the desk and the bottle cracks open, not shattering completely but rather into a few separate pieces of glass. The sparkling white liquid spreads across the desk top, and subvertly, the computer and keyboard.

It’s almost immediate how the heat of the moment transforms into a blind panic.

“Shit, shit, shit,” Hyunjin mutters, scrambling to grab the broken bottle before more wine can leak out and cause any extra damage.

Meanwhile, you sit yourself upward and off the desk, trying to ignore the fact that your back and shirt are now both soaking wet. Without another word, he disappears from the office, only to return with a stack of napkins you recognize from the lunchroom.

It takes the two of you all of only a few minutes to clean up the mess, the wine easily soaked up by the napkins, the computer and keyboard only having acquired a quick wiping to be fine, at least on the outside.

After a quick boot up by Hyunjin, the computer starts alright, the two of you letting out an equally relieved sigh. Both of your jobs pay fine money, but the thought of paying a couple grand to fix a company computer - not even considering the embarrassment regarding how exactly it got broken - isn’t exactly on your list of work goals.

“Is it okay?” You ask, and Hyunjin nods, giving you a soft smile.

“The computer seems fine,” he replies, before tapping a few random buttons on the keyboard, a frown playing across his lips. “But I think I’m going to need to invest in a new keyboard.”

“Bummer,” you state, which seems like a rather lame thing to say, but frankly it also could have been much worse than just the keyboard. Honestly, the two of you probably deserved a bit worse, so you can’t help but feel lucky.

Hyunjin sighs, standing up from the seat in front of the computer and walking over to stand beside you. Leaning against the desk, this time he is sure to take a glance behind himself to check that there’s nothing he might be in danger of knocking over “Bit of a mood-killer though, huh?” He states, and you snort.

Shifting yourself to stand in front of him, you go to redo his tie. “On the bright side,” you start, glancing up at him, only reveling slightly in the way he watches you intently, as your faces are only a few inches apart. “I think we can add that kind of compatibility to your list.”

“You think so?” He says, tone both a little surprised but happy all the same. It’s endearing, how his eyes light up with relief. “The wine disaster and panic didn’t tarnish the whole thing?”

“It would take a lot more to tarnish that, believe me,” you answer, finishing the knot of his tie before beginning to let go. “But I guess we’ll just have to continue this some other time, over coffee perhaps?”

Because honestly, you’d already mentally agreed to coffee before he even kissed you.

“Of course, I’d love that,” he starts sweetly, before suddenly taking hold of your wrist, grip gentle but firm. He smirks. “But if you want, we could also go to Chan’s office.”

You laugh, assuming the statement to be a joke, but Hyunjin simply raises an eyebrow. A challenge.

Surprisingly - and perhaps a little terribly, as well - you aren’t appalled by the idea. You’re more than willing to continue where you left off, and enacting what would be a little bit of revenge on Chan is almost too enticing.

It’s risky, unprofessional, and undeniably wrong on almost every level, but these are also the things that make it so incredibly tempting.

You hesitate for a moment, a wide grin spreading across your own lips. Tilting your head to the side, you look him up and down, analyzing. “You’re a bit of a freak, aren’t you?”

He chuckles at this, before mimicking you and tilting his own head to this side. “Only if you’re into it.”

And yeah, you’re a little into it.

“Okay,” you say with a smile, tugging lightly on the end of his tie as you make your way towards his office door, pulling him along with you. “Chan’s office it is.”

~~~~

psa: pls don’t fool around with anyone in your boss’ office. thank you <3

but anywho, thanks for reading everyone!! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, feel free to come chat with me about any thoughts or feelings you may have.

if you want, here are my skz and ateez masterlists for more content. i hope to see you around. :3

903 notes · View notes

pumpkinpaix · 4 years ago

Note

hello there, hope you're having a nice day <3

so i've been reading a lot of fics lately, uk for sanity's sake, and i've noticed that in most of them, lwj doesn't use contractions (eg., says do not instead of don't)?? and i think he doesn't in the novel either but i don't remember lol so i can't be sure but anyway that made me curious - does chinese have contractions as well? does he not use it bc it's informal?

hello there! I’m doing all right, i started to answer this ask while waiting for a jingyeast loaf to come out of the oven 😊 many thanks to @bookofstars for helping me look over/edit/correct this post!! :D

anyways! the answer to your questions are complicated (of course it is when is anything simple with me), so let’s see if I can break it down--you’re asking a) whether chinese has contractions, b) if it does, how does they change the tone of the sentence--is it similar to english or no?, and c) how does this all end up with lan wangji pretty much never using contractions in english fic/translation?

I’m gonna start by talking about how formality is (generally) expressed in each language, and hopefully, by the end of this post, all the questions will have been answered in one way or another. so: chinese and english express variations in formality/register differently, oftentimes in ways that run contrary to one another. I am, as always, neither a linguist nor an expert in chinese and english uhhh sociological grammar? for lack of a better word. I’m speaking from my own experience and knowledge :D

so with a character like lan wangji, it makes perfect sense in english to write his dialogue without contractions, as contractions are considered informal or colloquial. I don’t know if this has changed in recent years, but I was always taught in school to never use contractions in my academic papers.

However! not using contractions necessarily extends the length of the sentence: “do not” takes longer to say than “don’t”, “cannot” is longer than “can’t” etc. in english, formality is often correlated with sentence length: the longest way you can say something ends up sounding the most formal. for a very simplified example, take this progression from least formal to absurdly formal:

whatcha doin’?

what’re you doing?

what are you doing? [standard colloquial]

may I ask what you are doing?

might I inquire as to what you are doing?

excuse me, but might I inquire as to what you are doing?

pardon my intrusion, but might I inquire as to what you are doing?

please pardon my intrusion, but might inquire as to the nature of your current actions?

this is obviously a somewhat overwrought example, but you get the point. oftentimes, the longer, more complex, more indirect sentence constructions indicate a greater formality, often because there is a simultaneous decreasing of certainty. downplaying the speaker’s certainty can show deference (or weakness) in english, while certainty tends to show authority/confidence (or aggression/rudeness).

different words also carry different implications of formality—in the example, I switched “excuse me” to “pardon me” during one of the step ups. pardon (to me at least) feels like a more formal word than “excuse”. Similarly, “inquire” is more formal than “ask” etc. I suspect that at least some of what makes one word seem more formal than one of its synonyms has to do with etymology. many of english’s most formal/academic words come from latin (which also tends to have longer words generally!), while our personal/colloquial words tend to have germanic origins (inquire [latin] vs ask [germanic]).

you’ll also notice that changing a more direct sentence structure (“may I ask what”) to a more indirect one (“might I inquire as to”) also jumps a register. a lot of english is like this — you can complicate simple direct sentences by switching the way you use the verbs/how many auxiliaries you use etc.

THE POINT IS: with regards to english, more formal sentence structures are often (not always) longer and more indirect than informal ones. this leads us to a problem with a character like lan wangji.

lan wangji is canonically very taciturn. if he can express his meaning in two words rather than three, then he will. and chinese allows for this—in extreme ways. if you haven’t already read @hunxi-guilai’s post on linguistic register (in CQL only, but it’s applicable across the board), I would start there because haha! I certainly do Not have a degree in Classical Chinese lit and she does a great job. :D

you can see from the examples that hunxi chose that often, longer sentences tend to be more informal in chinese (not always, which I’ll circle back to at the end lol). Colloquial chinese makes use of helping particles to indicate tone and meaning, as is shown in wei wuxian’s dialogue. and, as hunxi explained, those particles are largely absent from lan wangji’s speech pattern. chinese isn’t built of “words” in the way English is—each character is less a word and more a morpheme—and the language allows for a lot of information to be encoded in one character. a single character can often stand for a phrase within a sentence without sacrificing either meaning or formality. lan wangji makes ample use of this in order to express himself in the fewest syllables possible.

so this obviously leads to an incongruity when trying to translate his dialogue or capture his voice in English: shorter sentences are usually more direct by nature, and directness/certainty is often construed as rudeness -- but it might seem strange to see lan wangji’s dialogue full of longer sentences while the narration explicitly says that he uses very short sentences. so what happens is that many english fic writers extrapolated this into creating an english speech pattern for lan wangji that reads oddly. they’ll have lan wangji speak in grammatically incoherent fragments that distill his intended thought because they’re trying to recreate his succinctness. unfortunately, English doesn’t have as much freedom as Chinese does in this way, and it results in lan wangji sounding as if he has some kind of linguistic impediment and/or as if he’s being unspeakably rude in certain situations. In reality, lan wangji’s speech is perfectly polite for a young member of the gentry (though he’s still terribly rude in other ways lol). he speaks in full, and honestly, quite eloquent sentences.

hunxi’s post already has a lot of examples, but I figure I’ll do one as well focused on the specifics of this post.

I’m going to use this exchange from chapter 63 between the twin jades because I think it’s a pretty simple way to illustrate what I’m talking about:

蓝曦臣道：“你亲眼所见？”

蓝忘机道：“他亲眼所见。”

蓝曦臣道：“你相信他？”

蓝忘机道：“信。”

[...] 蓝曦臣道：“那么金光瑶呢？”

蓝忘机道：“不可信。”

my translation:

Lan Xichen said, “You saw it with your own eyes?”

Lan Wangji said, “He saw it with his own eyes.”

Lan Xichen said, “You believe him?”

Lan Wangji said, “I believe him.”

[...] Lan Xichen said, “Then what about Jin Guangyao?”

Lan Wangji said, “He cannot be believed.”

you can see how much longer the (pretty literal) english translations are! every single line of dialogue is expanded because things that can be omitted in chinese cannot be omitted in english without losing grammatical coherency. i‘ll break a few of them down:

Lan Xichen’s first line:

你 (you) 亲眼 (with one’s own eyes) 所 (literary auxiliary) 见 (met/saw)？

idk but i love this line a lot lmao. it just has such an elegant feel to me, probably because I am an uncultured rube. anyways, you see here that he expressed his full thought in five characters.

if I were to rewrite this sentence into something much less formal/much more modern, I might have it become something like this:

你是自己看见的吗？

你 (you) 是 (to be) 自己 (oneself) 看见 (see) 的 (auxiliary) 吗 (interrogative particle)？

i suspect that this construction might even be somewhat childish? I’ve replaced every single formal part of the sentence with a more colloquial one. instead of 亲眼 i’ve used 自己, instead of 所见 i’ve used 看见的 and then also added an interrogative particle at the end for good measure (吗). To translate this, I would probably go with “Did you see it yourself?”

contained in this is also an example of how one character can represent a whole concept that can also be represented with two characters: 见 vs 看见. in this example, both mean “to see”. we’ll see it again in the next example as well:

in response to lan xichen’s, “you believe him?” --> 你 (you) 相信 (believe) 他 (him)? lan wangji answers with, “信” (believe).

chinese does not do yes or no questions in the same way that english does. there is no catch-all for yes or no, though there are general affirmative (是／有) and negative (不／没) characters. there are other affirmative/negative characters, but these are the ones that I believe are the most common and also the ones that you may see in response to yes or no questions on their own. (don’t quote me on that lol)

regardless, the way you respond to a yes or no question is often by repeating the verb phrase either in affirmative or negative. so here, when lan xichen asks if lan wangji believes wei wuxian, lan wangji responds “believe”. once again, you can see that one character can stand in for a concept that may also be expressed in two characters: 信 takes the place of 相信. lan wangji could have responded with “相信” just as well, but, true to his character, he didn’t because he didn’t need to. this is still a complete sentence. lan wangji has discarded the subject (I), the object (him), and also half the verb (相), and lost no meaning whatsoever. you can’t do this in english!

and onto the last exchange:

lan xichen: 那么 (then) 金光瑶 (jin guangyao) 呢 (what about)？

lan wangji: 不可 (cannot) 信 (believe)

you can actually see the contrast between the two brothers’ speech patterns even in this. lan xichen’s question is not quite as pared down as it could be. if it were wangji’s line instead, I would expect it to read simply “金光瑶呢？” which would just be “what about jin guangyao?” 那么 isn’t necessary to convey the core thought -- it’s just as how “then what about” is different than “what about”, but “then” is not necessary to the central question. if we wanted to keep the “then” aspect, you could still cut out 么 and it would be the same meaning as well.

a FINAL example of how something can be cut down just because I think examples are helpful:

“I don’t know” is usually given as 我不知道. (this is what nie huaisang says lol) It contains subject (我) and full verb (知道). you can pare this straight down to just 不知 and it would mean the same thing in the correct context. i think most of the characters do this at least once? it sounds more literary -- i don’t know that i would ever use it in everyday speech, but the fact remains that it’s a possibility. both could be translated as “I do not know” and it would be accurate.

ANYWAYS, getting all the way back to one of your original questions: does chinese have contractions? and the answer is like... kind of...?? but not really. there’s certainly slang/dialect variants that can be used in ways that are reminiscent of english contractions. the example I’m thinking of is the character 啥 (sha2) which can be used as slang in place of 什么 (shen2 me). (which means “what”)

so for a standard sentence of, 你在做什么? (what are you doing), you could shorten down to just 做啥? and the second construction is less formal than the first, but they mean the same thing.

other slang i can think of off the top of my head: 干嘛 (gan4 ma2) is also informal slang for “what are you doing”. and i think this is a regional thing, but you can also use 搞 (gao3) and 整 (zheng3) to mean “do” as well.

so in the same way that you can replace 什么 with 啥, you can replace 做 as well to get constructions like 搞啥 (gao3 sha2) and 整啥 (zheng3 sha2).

these are all different ways to say “what are you doing” lmao, and in this case, shorter is not, in fact, more formal.

woo! we made it to the end! I hope it was informative and helpful to you anon. :D

this is where I would normally throw my ko-fi, but instead, I’m actually going to link you to this fundraising post for an old fandom friend of mine. her house burned down mid-september and they could still use help if anyone can spare it! if this post would have moved you to buy me a ko-fi, please send that money to her family instead. :) rbs are also appreciated on the post itself. (* ´▽` *)

anyways, here’s the loaf jingyeast made :3 it was very tasty.

#mdzs #mdzs meta #the untamed #the untamed meta #lan wangji #lan wangji meta #mine #mymeta #linguistics #chinese #english #cyan chinese school #cyan help desk #languages #contractions #register #look man idk how am i gonna tag this #*yeets into the void*

1K notes · View notes

a-lil-perspective · 3 years ago

Note

What if cyare went into labour while Hunter is away on a mission

My Headcanon: He freaks out and acts like Manny in that scene from Ice Age: Dawn of The Dinosaurs where Ellie goes into labour

OMG Anon this made me cackle.

Yes Hunter absolutely freaks out. Like. Somebody has to slap him and say “Get a hold of yourself” and I’m thinking that falls to Crosshair. XD

It’s sad tho because it was his biggest worry throughout the pregnancy, that he would miss out, and his greatest fears are realized when he gets the call in the heat of battle.

But I’m laughing so hard because I’m thinking it’s exactly like how it happens in Ice Age so like Cyare calls and starts naming off all these fruits because idk she doesn’t want to startle him so she’s just like “Hey Hunter, uh… Meiloorun…”

Crosshair: “Meiloorun”?

Hunter: She gets cravings.

Cyare: Pear… Jogan… (it’s even funnier because in that last fic when Cyare first starts showing she says the baby is equivalent in size to a jogan fruit LMAO)

Tech: She’s ordering a fruit cocktail.

Hunter: …

Hunter: ThE bABY

Hunter, whilst stabbing droids: Did yOu gUYs HeAR tHAt cAUse SoMeTiMEs I IMAgiNe iT iN mY HeAD—

Wrecker: CAN YOU TRY TO HOLD IT IN???

Cyare: Can somebody slap him for me.

Echo: *slaps Wrecker*

Crosshair: *slaps Hunter*

Bonus reaction from Omega: h U R R y H U n T e R

Needless to say Hunter loses his shit.

—

He didn’t want to go on this mission. She was getting close, any day now, and the idea of leaving her for any length of time did not sit well with Hunter; with or without heightened senses.

“Those people need you.” Cyare, ever the voice of reason, reminds him through gentle strokes as he gives in to his selfishness, the need to hold her taking priority over the need to quash a droid occupation as he curses the wretched barrier of armor keeping his skin from hers.

“But…” his eyes fall to her stomach, his gloved hand cradling the swollen mound. “Someone else needs me...”

Cyare cups his cheek. “We’ll be just fine.”

His breath hitches. “I just don’t want to miss…”

“I’ll call you if anything happens.”

“As soon as it happens,” he pleads.

Cyare can’t help but smile at his concern, however overbearing. She gets it; the last thing she wants is to give birth alone.

“As soon as it happens,” she agrees. “But I don’t think it will. And besides; it’s not like we’re star systems away. We’ll still be planet side.”

The reminder does little to attenuate his anxieties, but he allows himself to breathe anyway, shoulders heaving with the effort. Her eyes dance over him.

“Been awhile since I’ve seen you like this,” she teases, drumming her fingers along his battered plastoid largely decommissioned up until this point.

It feels just as odd to Hunter, suiting up again. Crazy how a few odd months of civvie clothes has strained his relationship with his second skin indefinitely.

“In and out,” he reminds himself, before leaning in and kissing her passionately. “I’ll be back in three rotations.” He promises with his whole chest like an idiot, kneeling then to address his unborn baby. “Wait for Papa, if you can.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Cyare holds his gaze intently, in the hopes that he will listen. “Hunter. Okay?”

His eyes are wide and full of heartache, and it takes all of her resolve to shoo him on his way.

“I love you,” he breathes, gathering her close and it’s awkward with their faring conditions but he revels in it anyway, knowing it might be the last time he gets to hug her in all of her pregnant glory. “Both of you.”

“We love you too,” she cradles the back of his head and baby suddenly gives a hard kick. She’s telling her Papa bye. Or maybe that she’ll see him soon. Very soon.

He didn’t feel it through the armor.

Cyare tries to keep her expression in check as she pulls away.

“Come back soon, Hunter.” Omega is distinctly petulant as she sulks up to him, having been ground-bound from this mission, just this time, Hunter had assured.

He kisses her head and boards with the others then, forcing down the sinking feeling in his gut.

171 notes · View notes

dykebeeduo · 3 years ago

Text

My @mcytblrsecretsanta gift for @moonblanche! It's a fun Boatem ficlet, because boatem was unceremoniously destroyed pre-christmas this fic is canon divergent lmao. No shipping, and no content warnings asides from being heavy on the food mentions. the formating is a bit wonky but thats on me for using microsoft word.

2.2k words

(i finally got around to putting this fic up on ao3)

“Oh welcome one and all to the Swaggon holiday dinner” Scar looked away from the mirror and over a Jellie with a frown “no that’s to formal, and this isn’t even a Swaggon event, it’s a Boatem event!”

“Meow” said Jellie tilting her head from her place of prominence at the head of the six seated table in the middle of the room.

“you’re right Jellie, I should just be natural. What even is natural? This is Hermitcraft for heaven’s sake!” Scar said sharply turning back to the mirror and adjusting his festive but still appropriately large Santa hat.

“Me-oww” Meowed Jellie before leaping down from her chair and pumping up onto a windowsill.

“Yeah, yeah I know I know they will be here soon” and as if on cue Grian’s voice descended upon Scar’s specialty made ‘Holidaggon’

“scarscarscrarscarscarscar” the blond rattled as his flew down to an abrupt stop. His voice mystically cutting through the layers of copper wood and appearing at scars ears as full as is they were right next to each other. “Did I scare you?”

“Nooo, you did not. Now come on into this very special Holidaggon!” Scar beamed opening the door to what could best be described as “copper Charismas and candy” a rightfully earned title as he had built the waggon while munching down on pumpkin pies and leftover Halloween candy.

The waggons copper roof has three spires are carefully covered in snow that scar spent hours shoveling (much to his chagrin Plaines biomes never snow no matter how much ambiance the affect would have on a build) and the build was surrounded by small evergreen trees scar shaped himself. Scar had spent hours on robotic stilts while Pearl keeping watch over the clumsiest member of Boatem as he carefully sniped each branch to the perfect length. And to top all of it off the inside of the waggon was filled with delicious treats, yummy food, and a warm fire to counteract all the snow.

“The waggon looks wonderful Scar, and so do you! Sweater buds!” says Grian pointing between his red and white sweater and Scar’s red cardigan.

“Well would you look at that we are all matchy matchy” scar replied making himself busy with a punch bowl as Grian rustles through his inventory.

“ah-hah, one turkey fresh out of the oven, and one delicious bowl of cranberries!” Grian said triumphantly setting the bird and the bowl delicately on the table. “and no I didn’t forget this!” Grian says with a flourish as he grabs a meticulously wrapped gift out of his inventory. The gift is as tall as he is and has a bow the size of his head perched on top, the gift however seems particularly lightweight as Grian effortlessly places it atop the table at the side of the room where Scar has also placed a gift for his secret Santa. But before scar can take a peach at who the gift is addressed to Pearl makes her presence know.

“Knock-knock! I need a hand!... or two” shouts Pearl from behind a stack (no pun intended) of Tupperware containers.

“I’ve got the door Pearl” shouts Grian as if the containers obstructing her view might have also obstructed her ears. Pearl wobbles into the waggon (luckily for her Scar had made this one at ground height) narrowly missing Grian’s snow boots which he had left haphazardly in the middle of the floor in the entrance, and she dropped all of the containers in her hand down on the table with an exhausted

“humph, that’s the last time I go mining before a social event, my darn inventory is filled with cobble I couldn’t fit in the food!”

“Why didn’t you just empty your inventory” said Scar knocking Grian’s snow boots at him with his cane.

“Because I’m using the cobble for a build, and I couldn’t find my cobble chest” Pearl replied before reaching into her inventory and pulling out a small box wrapped in craft paper and tied with a thin yellow ribbon and sets it down on the gift table. Outside the waggon two voices clamor to be the last one inside”

“After you” says Mumbo opening the door for Impulse.

“No after you” replies Impulse taking the handle out of Mumbo’s hand.

“No, I insist” asserts Mumbo pulling the door back away from Impulse.

“I insist as well, after you” Shouts impulse jerking for door away form Mumbo.

“Boys, don’t make be take an axe out and make another door hole” Shouts Pearl not bothering to look up from her meticulously opening her containers of food.

“No not my waggon” Pouts Scar as Impulse and Mumbo finally make their way into the waggon. Each holding a bag of food and a gift.

“howdy do” whistled Scar taking a bag from Mumbo and moving towards the table, beginning to help Pearl organise food.

“I brought candy” Impulse shouted shaking his bag and reaching an arm out to pet Jellie.

“Murrrow” Jellie chirped giving Impulses hand a quick headbutt before letting him scratch under her chin.

“Of course, I made you charismas cookies Jel-ster” Replied Impulse before reaching a hand into his candy bag and taking out a small fish shaped cookie and placing it down next to her.

“I made a tofurky!” Mumbo announces pulling a grey monstrosity out of his inventory. (he was a bad cook when he was eating meat, the things he does to vegetables would make a bunny weep) Upon seeing the grey monstrosity the rest of boatem lets out a collecting groan. “And baked potatoes!” Mumbo says allowing the rest of boatem to gain back some of their appetites.

“Well at least he can’t mess up a Baked Potatoes” says Grian arranging placements and cutlery around the table.

“I don’t know what you could possibly be talking about” Replies Mumbo knowing smile saying what Mumbo isn’t, that he is a terrible cook. But before Mumbo’s cooking can be called further into question pearl announces from across the table.

“I think we are all set! Take a seat everyone” that rest of dinner was a blur compliments flying and jokes exchanged.

“Awesome gravy Pearl!”

“Jellie would you like some tofurkey”

“Scar pass the peas”

“Impulse I like the taffy”

“Does anyone want the cranberries?”

And just as quickly as supper started it ended, and the Boatem crew made their way out to the Boatem Pole to open gifts and roast marshmallows.

“Scar the big one has your name on it” Impulse shouts across the Boatem Hole.

“No fun now I know it’s from Grian” Scar says making his way (carefully) around the pit that has claimed far too many lives this season.

“Well, you would have figured that out eventually” replies Grian as he circles the Boatem Pole inspecting each gift for the one with his name on it.

“Okay has everyone found theirs yet” shouts Pearl standing next to a small box and a raging campfire with Jellie curled up next to it.

“Almost-yep I just found mine” Responds Impulse standing between Mumbo and Grian.

“alright wonderful, do we want to go clockwise?” a small chorus of ‘okays’ ring out from around the Boatem Hole. “Okay Grian you got first”

“Alight, my box is small, and brown and” Grian pauses for a second before shaking the box. “it doesn’t rattle.” He pauses for another second and looks around the Boatem Pole eyeing each hermit to see if a face might betray who gave him the gift. But before any of the hermits can break, he quickly opens the box and shouts.

“and its…. SAWEATER! YEAHHHH” Grian holds up a fire red and yellow knit sweater with blue around the collar and wrists.

“It has wing holes!” Pearl shouts from his right. Hearing this Grian quickly turns around the sweater and gasps as his eyes land on two small slits in the knit just the right size for his equally tricoloured wings to fit through.

“Pearl I love it!” he shouts running the sort distance over to her and wrapping her in a hug.

“I know you don’t like it when your back is cold!”

“it’s the worse!” shouts Grian before effortlessly flapping his wings and lifting the two of them up and off the ground.

“aak- Grian PUT ME DOWN! I’m not wearing an elytra!!!” shouts Pearl before pressing her face into Grian’s chest as he floats back down to solid ground.

“you’re fine Pearl we weren’t even taller than the Boatem Pole” he laughs letting go of Pearl and watching steady herself with her arms.

“Says the guy who has wings! Of course, you don’t think I’m going to die!” she laughs out before sitting down on the ground and yelling over to Impulse “go ahead Impulse!”

“okay my present is tiny” Impulse says holding a small box the size of his hand “and inside of the tiny present is…. A tiny model of my factory!!! It’s so cute” Impulse slowly turns the model around in his hand but before he can say anything else about the small model it lights up and begins to produce a small amount if smoke out of the smokestacks. “oh my gosh I love it!”

“I’m glad! I don’t do Micro-Redstone for just anyone.” Mumbo laughs at the look of wonder of the man’s face.

“oh thank you Mumbo I love it” replies impulse taking Mumbo into a quick hug before he puts his eyes back into the small model.

“Okay well I guess its my turn, my gift appears to be an unwrapped shulker box, but what could be inside….” The mustached man says before twisting open the shulker mechanism and gasping. “Oh Redstone, full sized Redstone my beloved! It’s been too long my dear the world thinks I’m a builder now!”

“I knew you’d like it!” responds Scar tipping his oversized Santa hat at Mumbo for good measure.

“it’s wonderful thank you Scar!”

“and now it’s my turn!” Scar says before dramatically turning towards the large present beside him. “And since the gifters identity has been revealed already, Grian how am I supposed to open this?”

“rip anywhere!” with that simple sentence scar began to rip away the paper and looked with curiosity at the object Infront of him. Made with glass, soul sand, and held together with a wooden frame and lid Scar was officially stumped by what the gift could be.

“its uhhhhh a ummmm”

“it’s a potable enderporter with a dustless panic button.” Grain said with a smile.

“wait what? that’s so cool!!!” Scar said opening the lid to the enderporter and lifting out a small stone tablet on a lanyard.

“you just fill it with water, throw a pearl in a press the button whenever you get in trouble.” Grain said watching Scars eyes light up with the possibilities this enderporter offered. “Here have a water bucket and some pearls.” Grain said opening his inventory and pulling out the two missing components for the enderporter.

“awesome” replied Scar before quickly placing the lanyard around his neck and filling up the enderporter with water before taking two quick strides towards the Boatem Hole and jumping in.

“sc-scar….” Grian started before being interrupted by

goodtimewithscar fell out of the world.

“he forgot to throw a pearl” Grian whispered towards the other hermits as they all silently giggled as Scar made the quick walk over from his “starter base” to the Boatem Hole.

“I… I may have forgotten something”

“I knew you would which is why I made multiple panic button” Grian says with a. smile as he opened his inventory and pulled out another for Scar.

“Thank you” Scar said letting his eyes drop to the ground for a slit second before gesturing over at Pearl with a flourish and declaring “onto the one and only Pearlescent MOOOOON!”

“Thank you Scar, well my gifter is not really a secret considering I’m going last but regardless the gift itself is a mystery!” Pearl says picking up her gift from the ground beside her. “it’s a….” pearl pauses for a second to carefully undo the bow that Impulse had tied around the box. “Ship in a bottle!”

“it’s an upside-down ship in a bottle!” Impulse a laughs as Pearl looks into the meticulously arranged model of her starter house.

“Oh thank you Impulse, it will look wonderful in the lighthouse!”

“thank you pearl.” Impulse replied before clapping his hands together and asking a question he already knew the answer to. “Does anyone want a smore?” and all of Boatem descended upon the campfire with joyous vigour all five (six if you count Jellie) clamouring for a dry seat on one of the logs around the fire passing around marshmallows, graham crackers and chocolates. And as they all sit back and begin to roast the marshmallows Grian looks over at the man beside him and asks a simple question.

“Hey Mumbo?”

“Yeah Grian?”

“Does the moon look big to you?”

“not at all, if anything it looks small!”

#boatem #boatem village #boatem crew #grian #good times with scar #gtws #mumbo jumbo #impulsesv #pearlescentmoon #hermitcraft season 8 #hermitcraft #mcytblr secret santa

24 notes · View notes

skyeventide · 3 years ago

Text

my trsb fic has so many notes to the text that they didn’t fit within the ao3 notes’ section character limit lmao, so here is the lengthier version of it. you can consider it a teaser I guess? but either way, I need some place to store these and link them back in the fic.

contents here, cut for length

on the matter of the mother of Gil-Galad

Celebrimbor’s names

shibbolething all over Thauron’s name

actual quotes and canon

On the matter of the mother of Gil-Galad

Meril-i-Turinqi is a Book of Lost Tales character, lady of Tol Eressea, kin of In(g)we but also similar to the Solosimpi, which is to say the Teleri.

The character of "Meril" on the other hand, is a proto-Amarie, Finrod's love interest. In the early draft of Meril's appearance, Finrod is married and is father of Gil-Galad: this draft is obviously discarded and Finrod becomes childless, while Meril transforms into Amarie, who does not join the exile. Gil-Galad is instead transferred to Orodreth, which iirc is Tolkien's last word on the matter (I don't count the Fingon thing as even canon-adjacent, ChrisT was quite clear in admitting the mistake). Now I recall Orodreth is said to be married to a Sinda; why did I discard that? Cause I initally forgot it. Rip to me and Orodreth.

However, what I had was: a proto-Amarie, who is a Vanya, and a BoLT character who is of the family of Ingwe (so a Vanya), but also like the Teleri (so of the third clan, even though not a Sinda). And so Meril-proto-Amarie became Meril-i-Turinqi, wife of Orodreth.

The full headcanon on Meril here would have her as daughter of a Vanya who is kin of Ingwe and of Telerin nobility (or royalty? they're all big on intermarrying between royal families), which fulfills both sides of the coin and also stays true to the statement that Elenwe is the sole full-Vanya to join the exile (I'm gonna assume this excludes any non-royalty followers). Now regarding the parentage of Orodreth, he is here son of Angrod, as I feel that is a better option in almost all respects. This poses some issues with regard to age, as I recall Orodreth-son-of-Angrod and Idril as being named the only two non-adults to do the journey to ME (again... this surely excludes any non-royalty youngsters, but nonetheless). Obviously these issues grow even further if one also includes the matter of Celebrimbor being Aman-born to a wife who doesn't follow Curufin (and therefore the matter of his age at the time of exile), but reconciling these versions is borderline impossible with how the origins of Celebrimbor keep changing throughout the conception of the legendarium.

Long story short, I up the age of Orodreth to be at least old enough to speak softly with Finarfin (here his grandfather) during the flight of the Noldor, but I have him already married though childless. Finduilas is born early into the exile and Gil-Galad is her younger brother.

Meril returns to Aman at the end of the First Age and rules Tol Eressea for the exiles who are stuck there until the Ban is fully lifted.

Celebrimbor's names

FN = father-name, MN = mother-name

I do not claim to have come up with "Tyelperinquar is an epesse", that headcanon, which nonetheless I'm sure happened separately for other people, is one I first read in a fic by Tyelperintal on AO3. That of course means that I could no longer go with the FN Curufinwe MN Tyelperinquar option, and needed another mother-name, which I also borrowed from the same story, and went for Ilvanon, "the perfect". It's pretty, and also speaks of a mix of high expectations and love.

What in this story made me accept the epesse headcanon is the matter of the origin of "T(y)elperinquar" as a name. Vinyar Tengwar (and most recently also NoME) explains how "silver fist" is a name common among the Teleri, famous for their ability to smith silver even among the Noldor, and it is also mentioned how other similar names, such as Tegilbor "calligrapher", are given to people based on their skill. This, however, directly contradicts the fact that elves don't give the same name to more than one person. That statement is problematic in itself (impossible that all elves across all time are aware of all names that ever have been used -- and also of course there's the usual royalty exceptions, that however may well be exceptions because they are royalty), but if it is a common name among the Teleri and we are to keep the duplicate names lore in mind... my only solution is that it's a coveted epesse, given to the very skilled.

Celebrimbor picks it as his chosen and preferred name over FN, already shared by two people and preferred as chosen name by his father, and the potential arrogance of picking his MN with its meaning.

This still led me to problems of both spelling and language choices.

As far as spelling goes, there's several variations. I'm marking with * the one that is not canonically attested, but can be inferred.

Pure Telerin: Telperimpar

Quenya-Telerin compound that maintains the Telerin spelling of silver: Telperinquar

As above, but shortened: Telpinquar

Pure Quenya: *Tyelperinquar

Pure Quenya, shortened: Tyelpinquar

I use all these except the last one at various stages: I decided (though I go back and forth on this) that his household might have used pure Quenya, and his mother sticks to it; the person in Tirion panicks and uses the shortened version Telpinquar, which together with Telperinquar (Telerin spelling maintained) was more common among the Noldor. The Tirion passage exemplifies the uses and applications of these names, how they were given and altered.

This leads me to problems of language and POV, Celebrimbor vs Tyelperinquar. His mother, in her POV, always uses the latter, but Celebrimbor himself uses the former. The true problem here was adapting my feeling that Celebrimbor would be far more used to thinking of himself as Celebrimbor (as opposed to the Quenya name) vs Tolkien's statement that elves do not use names in another language when speaking in X language. This doesn't stay wholly true through the legendarium and the texts, so it's something I've decided to partially ignore when it comes to POV, though I tend to stick to it in first person dialogue. Something that again I try to tackle in the text itself -- when Galadriel tells Celebrimbor which language to speak and which name to use for her.

I am not entirely satisfied with all my choices here and I might revisit them in the future, but for the moment, here we go.

Shibbolething all over Thauron's name

Another language and spelling headache. As I encountered the problem of Sauron, I encountered that of the spelling of his name: the eternal TH/S issue. Were I to have Celebrimbor's mother, and Celebrimbor himself, stick to the Shibboleth? I initially attempted to circumvent this by using Gorthaur, but the issue described just above, about mixing languages, yet again bit me in the ass.

Of course it comes down to characterisation: would Mrs Curufin stick to the Shibboleth, and would Celebrimbor? The matter with Celebrimbor was that I don't believe he spoke Quenya with any real frequency after the Nargothrond business, not as a choice but rather due to circumstances and preferences of those around him. With Ercasse, the conflict is part of the character, and that sadly meant that the TH/S choice became less of a personal choice and more of a political one, as usual.

That got me thinking about the circumstances around her and something interesting came to me: Finarfin spoke Quenya with the Shibboleth, because of the Teleri. And in the Darkening he becomes king in Tirion, and also has to adjust things with the Teleri -- not an easy task, imo, when he turns back only after the pronunciation of the Doom, and not just after the kinslaying occurred. Additionally, the Vanyar spoke preserving TH. Additionally x2, by the Fourth Age, Exilic Quenya (which uses S) is associated with those who rebelled and returned to Aman -- meanwhile any Sindar preserved TH naturally, as it's a sound that never went out of use in Sindarin.

So I chose to take these things and make something of it. If Finarfin maintains TH to keep the Telerin influence; if the Noldor who remain in Aman decide to step closer to the Vanyar in an anti-rebellion reactionary manner and to conform to the speech of the king; if Exilic Quenya gains the lower status of language of the exiles; and considering the canon fact that in later ages the elves are more likely to preserve language rather than change it -- what are our chances that Shibbolething gains opposite connotations as time passes? My conclusion was high chances. So I decided to implement it.

And so Ercasse doesn't have to think about her personal allegiances anymore and has a path built in for herself in these social changes. And Sauron is Thauron. (Unless Galadriel is talking: she doesn't Shibboleth, and uses “Sauron” and “Sindarin”.)

Quotes and canon

Many things I wrote are based on canon snippets. Here I tried to collect them.

On Celebrimbor and the mention of the bath of flames in his speech. It isn't, in fact, a corny lineage reference, but rather a metaphysical or pseudo-physical concept of purification from the Lost Tales:

Yet now the prayers of [their parents] came even to Manwe [the highest Valar], and the Gods had mercy on their unhappy fate, so that those twain Turin and Nienori entered into ... the bath of flame... and so were all their sorrows and stains washed away, and they dwelt as shining Valar among the blessed ones, and now the love of that brother and sister is very fair;

On the naming of Mithril (appears in the upcoming Nature of Middle Earth, as well as already published in Vinyar Tengwar):

[Celebrimbor] was a great silver-smith, and went to Eregion attracted by the rumours of the marvellous metal found in Moria, Moria-silver, to which he gave the name mithril.

On Celebrimbor's ambition and assorted choices, from Letter 131:

In the first we see a sort of second fall or at least ‘error’ of the Elves. There was nothing wrong essentially in their lingering against counsel, still sadly with the mortal lands of their old heroic deeds. But they wanted to have their cake without eating it. They wanted the peace and bliss and perfect memory of ‘The West’, and yet to remain on the ordinary earth where their prestige as the highest people, above wild Elves, dwarves, and Men, was greater than at the bottom of the hierarchy of Valinor. They thus became obsessed with 'fading’, the mode in which the changes of time (the law of the world under the sun) was perceived by them. They became sad, and their art (shall we say) antiquarian, and their efforts all really a kind of embalming – even though they also retained the old motive of their kind, the adornment of earth, and the healing of its hurts. […] But many of me Elves listened to Sauron. He was still fair in that early time, and his motives and those of the Elves seemed to go partly together: the healing of the desolate lands. Sauron found their weak point in suggesting that, helping one another, they could make Western Middle-earth as beautiful as Valinor. It was really a veiled attack on the gods, an incitement to try and make a separate independent paradise.

Legolas and Aragorn and my choice to use the word love:

"[...]Yet whatever is still to do, I hope to have a part in it, for the honour of the folk of the Lonely Mountain." "And I for the folk of the Great Wood," said Legolas, "and for the love of the Lord of the White Tree [Aragorn]."

Celebrimbor and the Elessar. It must be noted that this Celebrimbor is not Celebrimbor son of Curufin, but I still liked the tidbit of lore. From there my choice to have three different Elessar stones, one made by Feanor, one by Enerdhil of Gondolin, one by Celebrimbor (in the fic redressed to Celebrimbor son of Curufin, and without the romantic love for Galadriel):

But he did not say to Galadriel that he himself was of Gondolin long ago. Therefore he took thought, and began a long delicate labour, and so for Galadriel he made the greatest of his works (save the Three Rings only).And it is said that more subtle and clear was the green gem that he made than that of Enerdhil, but yet its light had less power. For whereas that of Enerdhil was lit by the Sun in its youth, already many years had passed ere Celebrimbor began his work, and nowhere in Middle-earth was the light as clear as it had been, for though Morgoth had been thrust out into the Void and could not enter again, his far shadow lay upon it.Radiant nonetheless was the Elessar of Celebrimbor; and he set it within a great brooch of silver in the likeness of an eagle rising upon outspread wings.

On the vale and the stream where Formenos is located, I utilised this passage from Lost Tales:

[...] here the entire people of the Noldoli are ordered to leave Kor for the rugged dale northwards where the stream Híri plunged underground, and the command to do so seems to have been less a punishment meted out to them by Manwe than a pre-caution and a safeguard. In connection with the place of the banishment of the Noldoli, here called Sirnúmen ('Western Stream') [...]

Relevant LotR quotes about the Eregion passages, used for soil description extrapolations and other elements:

Suddenly Gimli, who had pressed on ahead, called back to them. He was standing on a knoll and pointing to the right. Hurrying up they saw below them a deep and narrow channel. It was empty and silent, and hardly a trickle of water flowed among the brown and redstained stones of its bed; but on the near side there was a path, much broken and decayed, that wound its way among the ruined walls and paving-stones of an ancient highroad. ‘Ah! Here it is at last!’ said Gandalf. ‘This is where the stream ran: Sirannon, the Gate-stream, they used to call it. But what has happened to the water, I cannot guess; it used to be swift and noisy. Come! We must hurry on. We are late.’ [...] "...there is a wholesome air about Hollin. Much evil must befall a country before it wholly forgets the elves, if once they dwelt there." "That is true", said Legolas. "But the Elves of this land were of a race strange to us of the silvan folk, and the trees and the grass do not now remember them: Only I hear the stones lament them: deep they delved us, fair they wrought us, high they builded us; but they are gone. They are gone. They sought the Havens long ago."

More TBA if anything comes to mind.

#writing stuff #trsb21

34 notes · View notes

rosesloveletters · 4 years ago

Text

Gunmetal.

pairing: Heath Ledger Joker x Fem. Reader

word count: 5,944

warnings: gunplay, fingering, language, blood, medical procedure (stitches)

summary: When you delve into a person’s mind, you find the strangest things; ‘guns are too quick’, J says, ‘you can’t savor all of those little emotions’…perhaps, for one brief moment, J had been wrong.

requested by anonymous: Hello, do you still take requests? I was wondering if you could write a Ledger!Joker fic with smut (gun kinkkkkk and if you’re comfortable the reader getting off on the gun) and aftercare ( cuddles+J trying to cook something for the reader but him accidentally hurting himself so the reader has to stitch him up) ? I also wanted to tell you how I admire your work and what a lovely person you are! Have a nice day :)

notes: Thank you so much for this request, darling! I am SO SORRY it took me this long to fulfill it, but I hope that the length of this piece makes up for it. I have never written anything like this before, so I am really hoping that it turned out alright. I actually researched the proper way to do DIY suturing and I let J put his spin on it lmao. I really appreciate your kind words as well, darling! It means so much to me that you like my work :’) Enjoy!

J had learned all the things that drove you mad with lust, the things that tore straight through you like a blade turned red from fire and forge and scorched your once-pristine soul until your very flesh went up in flames. He sought after those things which made you incoherent with fervent ache and it mattered not how he learned them, but how quickly he could acquire that knowledge and apply it.

You were nothing but a blank canvas to which J wielded each of his weapons, resembling that of an artist’s beloved utensils, with care; a starless night were you and J was the painter who dotted each and every last tiny speck of white into the void.

He had learned to interpret every tiny change in your voice; he knew exactly what he needed to do to leave you breathless and clinging to him for dear love. He lived for the noises you made and he delighted in your quiet moans of pleasure and the way your breathing changed at the will of his measured dedication.

He never thought he would experience that same level of intensity at which you fucked, full of wicked passion and raw, inescapable brutality. It was animalistic and licentious, tinged with a certain malevolence and bloodier even than some of J’s most viscous kills; you were agreeable, having had your eyes opened to a whole new world.

That state of mind was not one you could have believed would come to someone like you.

And even though you could not have been more different, your blackened souls fit like two centerpieces of a puzzle, even if your edges were jagged.

When you delve into a person’s mind, you find the strangest things; ‘guns are too quick’, J says, ‘you can’t savor all of those little emotions’…perhaps, for one brief moment, J had been wrong.

“J…” your lips parted to expel one syllable from a single exhale like it were the only coherent sound you could make and there was a good chance that it was. Your tone was heady with desire, a billowing of smoke from the swath of flames that had been ignited within you at the lone touch of cold metal to your heated skin; the irony of it all made you light-headed and your vision rippled, undulating at the edges like you were looking through a clear glass puddle.

The man in question cared little for such nuances when he was met with them, yet he still held the inexplicable desire to coax them out of you each and every time.

You maintained a grip on J’s shoulder for balance and anchorage, fearful were you to let go in any case that the rest of the world might slip out from under you, as the barrel of an unloaded handgun brushed over one hardened nipple. You gasped at the contact and arched into that simple touch, body seeking friction and attention from only the second most deadly thing that was in your bedroom that night, the first being the one who wielded it.

The smooth steel rapidly warmed in J’s hand; he positioned the gun at the base of your navel as he watched you squirm, his bloodied lips parting in a twisted version of a smile. You were right where he wanted you; it was not enough.

J would only give in to what you desired when you were delirious and close to tears, bound in raw, sweltering sexual arousal and the sheer, excruciating excitement was too much for your delicate system to handle. Only then would J relent and be merciful; how long you could remain impassive towards this state was unclear, but J’s ministrations were firm and coaxing, easing you slowly into the unknown until you were unable to protest and then he would pull you under the weight of his current where you remained captive until you could no longer breathe.

That was the way things worked with J, you had come to realize, and no matter how much you scrabbled for purchase he was the one to push you over the precipice.

Excruciatingly slowly did J lower the deadly weapon in between your legs, the cold metal a stark contrast against your skin which felt as though it were on fire. Everything that J did to you scorched a path of flame with every touch, every ghosting of his fingertips left a black imprint on your soul and you loved him all the more for it.

Everything that J did to you came at a price; the vehemence in his touches were clear: your gratification was worthwhile to him and that itself seemed almost like a lapse in judgement.

You spread your legs, unbidden, and the appreciative noise that J made spoke volumes of his respect for your quick-witted obedience. His hand tightened minutely on the weapon as he probed forward, stroking your slick folds and gathering your wetness for ease of entry. You mumbled incoherently as you arched against the weapon, enraptured by J’s careful attention to detail and exhilarated were you for his next move. A chess game had your lives become and delicate must every calculation be so not to fall behind; you had not been anticipating this move. J had the upper-hand and never had you been more eager to hand him the reigns.

There was some distinct carnality in the way of using a gun for pleasure, an oddity that drew you closer to J and for that were you grateful. Nothing could have swayed your decision in that moment, perhaps even J himself, to reconsider. You laid motionless beneath him, a testament to his ownership, as wanton moans escaped your lips. Unsurprisingly skilled was J in the art and understanding of weaponry; for all you had known, guns were a simple black and white, how little you knew that there was more to J than life or death.

It was not the way in which a gun was responsible for death, but the one who wielded it and how they chose to use it.

‘Guns are not quick after all, J mused, ‘perhaps those who prefer to use guns are too quick to pull the trigger.’

Your hips lifted slightly above the plush mattress and J guided the tip of the gun along your slit. His fingers were sticky with your juices and his scars pulled taut and creased as he grinned, spindly as if crawling up his cheeks like a spider. Unforgiving metal grazed your swollen clit and you jolted, aware of your reflexes and how you had nearly bumped heads with him as J leered over you. He managed to keep hold of the gun, putting a bit more distance between the two of you as he probed lower still and kept his hand wrapped tightly around the grip.

“Relax, doll,” J cooed, silver tongue of his coming out to play, “don’t, ah, tense up.”

He spoke to you so soothingly it was impossible not to do as you were told. You felt your muscles beginning to relax again as J positioned the gun at your entrance for the second time in the last five minutes; you suppressed a cry as the tip of the barrel slipped inside of you.

J had not needed to prep you more than what little had already been done. The thought alone of this man doing a thing like this to you was enough to leave you soaking. Your body shivered and pleasantly convulsed as J withdrew the gun and slowly slid it back inside, deeper and deeper with each languid thrust. He was mirroring his own movements he had grown so accustomed to while he pleasured you with his body; he was careful to mimic what you were used to and did not exceed what he was aware you could handle. It was a science J knew better than all, for he knew you. He knew what was too much, but also he knew what was just what you needed…

“Oh, J!” Your low moan made his eyes flicker to yours, checking to make sure he had not unintentionally harmed you, but your eyes told a different story. You were watching his arm and the way his taut muscles bunched and flexed beneath the haphazardly hexagonal patterned shirt he donned. Lust pooled inside your pupils like swirling galaxies of desire; you were pleased thus far and you had J to thank for that.

“Ya like that, doll?” he crooned, tongue darting out to wet the corners of his scars, “want more?”

To his great pleasure, you nodded and J let the barrel slide in a little further, daring to see just how deeply he could reach without having you cry out in pain. Your hips bucked slightly as J found his rhythm, thrusting the gun in and out of you as he would have with his fingers. The weapon was an extension of them, no differently than it would have been outside of the bedroom.

Your arousal had leaked onto the sheets the longer you felt the gun inside of you, the cold metal warming from your tender, heated core. J edged you closer and closer to your peak, yet something told you J was after much, much more. His eyes darkened maliciously and, without preamble, he had removed the barrel from your aching core and swiftly replaced it with two gloved fingers. You cried out at the drastic change in size; the gloves made his long fingers thicker and you keened as his index finger forced its way in deep and stroked you in a come-hither motion.

You whimpered, your sticky juices coating his leather gloves and J leaned in close, “get on your knees.”

“J…” you mumbled and J tutted.

“Do not…argue.”

His tone had taken on a deep timbre as he growled lowly into your ear and without much choice were you hauled onto your knees as he had asked of you. Your mind swam with possibilities and you were beginning to feel lightheaded again; J retracted his fingers and used the thick stitching on his gloves to his advantage as he massaged your sensitive bud, goading you and inching you closer and closer to orgasm.

J would not let you experience that kind of pleasure so soon; the desirous look in your eyes left him with a slight twinge of guilt, but it faded almost as fast as your approaching climax did once he left your clit entirely.

You whimpered pitifully, but J did not leave you waiting long. His fingers closed around the gun as he brought it in between your legs and repositioned it so that you could sink onto it. A change of pace, it seemed, but you were wiser. J did not receive any physical gratification from this, but the implication was there; he wanted to see you riding it, his innocent little bunny riding the weapon of his choice did nothing to lessen the unbearable, aching erection in his pants.

You desperately sought his approval, in all things, and thus did you begin to ride the gun with vigor as he held it steady for you, “is this what you wanted me to do, J?” you asked timidly.

The man’s feral growl made your insides shudder and you almost came on the spot from that sound alone, “fuck…” he hissed, matching you thrust for thrust as the slick barrel slid further inside of you, “that’s the way, sweets. Show me how much ya want it.”

You needed no further encouragement. You rode the gun as you would have ridden him, deliberate and firm and full of desperate need. J babbled soft praises and words of approval to you as you rode the weapon, but your focus was trained solely on the sound. His voice fell to an immeasurably low octave and was raspy like the crunch of gravel under his heavy boots. You wanted J to let you cum, but even more than that, you wanted him to make you feel like this all of the time.

No stranger to sins of the flesh were you whenever J was around. He took you over the edge every chance he could and you loved him all the more for the way he made you feel and the things he did both to you and with you. Suddenly, his lips came crashing down onto yours like raging tidal waves and your hips stuttered, pace faltering as your muscles clenched and seized around the intrusion and your core pulsed rapidly as you came. Pressure was expelled from your abdomen and you felt a warm, tingling feeling rush down your legs as goosebumps sprang up on your skin.

“J…” you breathed, barely able to achieve any sense of coherency as you called his name on a cracked whisper. You were hardly aware of his lingering kisses as your addled mind raced and his scars caressed your soft cheeks; his mangled skin pressed into yours as he nuzzled you, taking it upon himself to comfort you and ease you through your initial burst of emotions. Your mind and body buzzed alike and you felt as though you were wrapped in cotton from head to toe. J coaxed you into a prone position and he extracted the weapon from within you.

He moved off of the bed and went about cleaning you up; he brought a damp cloth in from the bathroom and wiped your legs free of your stickiness. Your eyelids had begun to droop as you resigned yourself to allowing your most intimate area to being cleaned like this; never would you have allowed anyone other than J to administer cleanliness and aftercare in this way. You trusted him, even if your instincts sometimes left you questioning how wise that fact was.

After you were adequately cleaned off, J returned to the bathroom, this time with the presence of mind to bring the gun, and began to scrub it free of any sensual residue. J kept his thoughts to himself as he cleaned his weapon; it was not unusual for you to hear the quiet mumblings of J filling your ears as he talked quietly to himself, but he was satisfied. No more did he need or want from you that he could not take after you were well-rested and cared for. Another session would come and then it would be his turn. J could wait for the things he wanted most, patient was he when it mattered.

The gun was cleaned and dried and left in a safe place atop your dresser as J exited the bathroom and found you curled on your side underneath the duvet. J made a mental note that he would need to devest your mattress and throw the sheets in the wash before the night was over, but for now he clambered in behind you, yanking the corner of the sheet out of your grip as he settled in. J’s broad frame fit snugly against your back and you pressed in against him, bodies connecting and solidifying his presence in your mind and in your life. Sometimes the prospect that J was both real and yours was too much for you to imagine and so a constant physical reminder became something that you craved.

His legs bent at the knee and framed yours as you laid against him. His big toe probed at one of the bottoms of your feet and you snorted, “what are you doing?”

He grunted and leaned over you, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot behind your ear; you turned, unable to keep your hands off of him, and embraced him. You nuzzled happily into his chest, inhaling his usual musk.

He smelled different these days and it had taken you a while to determine what it was that you could not pinpoint. Every time this week that you had held him had been the same; J was not strict on hygiene and your only hope was that what you had been smelling was not the result of that, but no. What you smelled on him was familiar and pleasant, like that of a home from whence you had long visited and that you could not return to, not until now. What you smelled on J was much stronger than that. It awakened your very soul, a bolt of lightning which struck you and traveled directly down your spine and filled you with new life and breath. You felt it pull on you like an invisible string tied directly to his heart; on him did you smell you.

You began to kiss his neck, the tender spot beneath his jaw that his makeup did not touch and which always elicited a pleasant response from him every time you laved at it. His gentle moan of gratitude for the attention was music to your ears and, as you continued, you listened quietly for any other signs of approval he might give. His skin smelled of sweat and rainwater; you loved his scent and J knew it.

You nipped his neck, delivering love-bites to the spots you knew drove him wild. Slowly and with carefully measured gyrations did you rut against him, desperate to ignite that fire once more and give him exactly what you knew he longed for. J’s low growl resonated in your chest as much as his own and you took it as a sign of encouragement; your hand slipped between your two bodies, searching lower for the hardened flesh you knew would be there.

Your stomach growled and, just as quickly as it had all begun, J snatched your hand away from his crotch.

“What are you doing?” you grumbled, sitting up indignantly with a slight harumph as J was nearly out of bed already.

“Ain’t that clear?” his response matched your indignance, “makin’ ya somethin’ to eat.”

“J, you don’t have to do that. I am perfectly capable of-”

“I’m gonna,” he countered and the look in his eyes said ‘try and stop me’.

Knowing that any protests would be futile, you said nothing more as J strode from the bedroom and retreated to the kitchen to supposedly bring you food. It was somewhat unlike him to offer so much to you without having given to him in turn. There would be a time and place for you to pay back this favor, however J was not so cruel as to make you wait for a meal.

You stretched out on the bed and waited with bated breath, barely able to quell your giggles as you heard him banging around in the kitchen doing heaven knows what.

All too quickly had it become quiet again and you soon found yourself beginning to slip into a state of consciousness to which you rarely, if ever, have visited. You were aware that J would be bringing you something to eat soon and yet that did nothing to slow the inevitable; you found yourself missing J’s warmth as you laid on your side, facing away from the door. To what end would you go to if it meant having him beside you once more?

Almost asleep are you, pondering those possibilities, when the bedroom door bursts open, swinging on its henges until crashing into the wall behind. You nearly jumped out of your skin and you sat up quickly and deliberately looked his way, but J had returned much too quickly to have had the time to prepare anything of substance like he had seemed to be insinuating he would. Surely he was not this fast and the fact that he did not stop by your bed gave little remedy to the sinking feeling in your stomach that something was wrong. That, and as J made his way silently towards the bathroom, you noticed an abrupt change in his appearance that he had removed his shirt and wrapped it tightly around his right forearm that he was cradling to his chest like a delicate newborn. Something was wrong, you knew for certain, but what that something was you knew not.

J had not stopped in his haste to get into the bathroom and he had tried to kick the door shut but the door itself was not heavy enough to close without deliberately being shut. It had swung inward just enough for J’s reflection to be visible inside the mirror; you could see him digging inside your medicine cabinet, though you could not tell what he was after. A moment later, as you stumbled toward the open door did you catch a glimpse of the arm that was encased in blue, hexagonal fabric and the flash of red that had crossed your vision gave you pause.

A barely audible gasp escaped you as you approached the door and peered inside. J had given up on his search within the cabinet, decidedly finding nothing of use for the large, gaping wound on his forearm, and had turned on the faucet at full flow and thrust his arm beneath the spray of tepid water. He seethed in pain as he washed the still-bleeding cut; how it had happened you knew not, but J had sustained a nasty gash on his arm that, from the looks of it, would be unable to heal on its own, at least without stitches. The thick, oozing liquid matched the color he had painted on his scars and you marveled at the morbid beauty of his crimson blood.

He shut off the sink and reached for one of your hand towels, scarlet drops spattering onto the stark white surface of the sink bowl. You pushed open the door with your foot, finally deciding it was time to make your presence known; J did not look up until he had the towel firmly over his arm, pressing it to the cut in an effort to stop the bleeding.

He met your measured gaze and said nothing for a long moment as he assessed the situation and tried to determine what should occur, “you’re, ah…gonna have to stitch me up.”

“I’m what?”

The emphasis you put on those two words was not nearly enough to convey the seriousness of the situation or was indicative to how uncomfortable you felt at this proposition. You had little to no knowledge of this particular aspect of care and, though you knew more than the average person when it came to serious wounds because of J, you were not convinced you had what it took to stitch up a wound of this size.

J held up the arm he was favoring, “As much as I’d like to do it myself,” his response was laced with sarcasm and contempt for the situation that he was currently in, his lips twitching irritably as he fought to control his quick temper, “I can’t get ‘em straight enough with my left hand.”

You weighed your options carefully: you could not take J to the emergency room. He was too easily recognizable and the GCPD would swarm him immediately. You had to handle this here, whether you would do a good job or not remained to be seen, but there was no other alternative and time was running out. The longer the wound remained open left more of a chance of infection; you would have to stitch him up.

“Alright, J,” you relented, “where do you keep your medical supplies?”

You were aware that J had a hidden stash of medical paraphernalia in your house, though where those things were kept you were not privy to. J’s work came at a high risk of injury; it would have been suicide not to have been prepared.

“Check your dresser. Bottom drawer, right side…under your clothes. Should be, ah…a case there with what ya need.”

You nodded and scuttled off to find the supplies that J had hidden in your bedroom. He must have had things scattered throughout your home; it was a miracle he could remember where everything was kept, but so far so good.

You made a beeline for the dresser and tore all of your clothes out of the bottom drawer. Sure enough, on the right side near the back of the drawer itself, was a small black case that was similar in size to a makeup bag. You grabbed it and returned to the bathroom with it.

Under the incandescent glow of the light fixtures, you removed all contents from the black bag: a much smaller case with some wicked-looking needles and other instruments you did not recognize, a couple of spools of thread used specifically for stitches, a couple of half-used rolls of gauze and several large bandages. From the looks of the equipment, it did not appear that J had to use them very often. You were well aware that he had stitched himself up on more than one occasion, but recently he had not come home in need of serious medical care. A couple of bandages and rolls of gauze were necessary here and there, though rarely was much more was ever needed.

You did not ask J how he had gotten this particular cut; the less you knew, the better. Also, because you had a faint idea that perhaps later you might find the knife which had cut him, sticking blade down in the cutting board with dried blood on its’ edges.

You shuddered at the mental image as you peered curiously at the materials in front of you. For all you knew, the needles were already sterilized, but you didn’t ask too many questions that you knew J would not answer anyway.

You were unaware of where the proper place was to start and so you looked to J for answers and found him watching you intently from beneath a hooded gaze, “grab that one, second from the left,” J indicated the second largest, somewhat curved needle within his arsenal, “and, ah…thread it through. Grab the, uh, needle driver and the forceps. You’re gonna start at the end, here.”

You had next to no idea of what J was asking you to grab and he had to point out each instrument to you as if he himself were a doctor. When one often found themselves in situations such as this, one must learn the tools of the trade. He told you how to lock the needle clamp into place and had you pull the thread itself out of the suture kit.

You doubted J used each of these tools as intended when he was the one stitching himself up; one could not be bothered to do as thorough of a job if having to do it yourself.

J let the towel drop away from the cut and your eyes widened at the sheer size of what you were to be working with. You could feel your hands begin to shake; how could you possibly do this?

You felt fingers enclose around your own and you looked down to see J’s left hand reaching for yours, “none of that,” he indicated your shaking hands as he squeezed your fingers only once, “gotta have steady hands for this, sweets.”

You were well aware of what you needed to do; if only your mind and body were in sync could you get the job done. You inhaled, steadying yourself, as you proffered the threaded needle, held within the needle driver, in front of him like he had instructed, “what next?”

“You’re gotta pull it open,” J smirked as he caught your slight grimace, “Just slightly. The forceps will help ya line it up. Gonna stick me right here. Try an’ keep it at a ninety-degree angle. Don’t go in too deep either…I don’t need to be losin’ any more blood.”

Your hands threatened to start shaking again as J methodically explained to you the steps you needed to take and the process to which you would completely stitch up his wound. You had never been asked to do anything remotely similar to this in your entire life and you felt sick at the prospect. You steeled yourself the best you could, trying not to think about the gaping wound in front of you, though it was easier said than done.

At J’s behest did you use the forceps to line up the edges of the cut as he had instructed and push the needle into his skin with measured calculation and accuracy.

J hissed in pain as the needle easily slid through the thin layer of skin and poked out through the other side as he had directed you, making no further exclamations or indication that he was in pain; J’s threshold tolerance for pain had to be high.

“What now?”

J huffed, “unlock the needle driver,” he grumbled; from the tone he was using you could tell he was far from comfortable and so you swiftly did as you were told, wanting to save J the pain and discomfort of an overly lengthy procedure, “reattach it at the tip. Pull a little of the thread through an’ release the needle. After that, you’re gonna use your left hand to hold it and wrap the thread ‘round the tip of the needle holder twice.”

Carefully and to the best of your ability did you follow the words that J was saying; how many times, you wondered, had he done this? The directions he gave you could have been comical, save for the single fact that you were the one doing the stitching. The words he said sounded foreign to you and even though you were quite unaware if you were doing this properly, J had not stopped you.

“I need ya to focus, doll,” J’s voice cut through the fog as you ceased all movement and waited patiently for the next steps, “now, you’re gonna open the needle holder and grab that thread right there…on the right side. Pull the long part with your left hand.”

J watched you carefully, pleased with how well you were doing thus far, “thaaat’s it, there ya go,” he praised you as you did exactly as you were told; he had trained you oh, so well.

You watched as you continued to pull and the part of the thread which was wrapped around the needle holder slid off and you gasped, afraid you had done something wrong, but J shook his head, “that’s good. It’ll do that. Make sure ya tighten it…want that knot to lie flat.”

The corner of J’s eyelid twitched at nearly five second intervals; it was impressive how he had managed to retain his composure to give instructions to you, but then again, what choice did he have? J was an unstoppable force, it seemed, and nothing could topple him. You were beginning to understand more about the man before you than you ever had considered and the knowledge he possessed. J was something of an enigma and you only wished for him to open up to you and provide some source of insight into who he really was, though the only thing about J that was ever opened to you was his body in the form of cuts you would be asked to stitch.

For how badly you longed to delve into his mind, you remained the reason he was closed off.

“Alright, alright, don’t get ahead of yourself,” J inhaled noisily through his nostrils, “Take that long end of the thread and wrap it around there once, just the way ya had before but once this time. Open the needle driver and grab the shorter end now. Pull on the long part there, doll, with your left hand and you’ll pull that knot tight.”

You finished the knot with little difficulty. You were beginning to feel somewhat proud of yourself and the job you were doing; had it not been for J, you never could have done this on your own, but the sheer knowledge that you were the one to have done the deed made you brim with pride.

“Good job, sweets,” J winced as you pulled on the thread and secured the second knot, “do that again, but wrap it counter-clockwise this time. Don’t want the knot to, ah slip.”

You did as you were told and finished the third and final knot with relative ease compared to the first and second one.

“Cut the thread, doll. About a…quarter inch down you’re gonna do another one. Remember, ya want the knots all on the same side.”

Your mind reeled at the tediousness of the process and how long the cut was in size; you had your work cut out for you, though J was the perfect patient. He tried to remain impassive as you went to work with much less help from him the longer you continued.

You cut the thread after securing each knot thrice, making sure you followed his every direction and paid heed to which movements and made him flinch and how much pressure was safe to apply that would not make him squirm uncomfortably while you worked.

It was over sooner than you had anticipated and after J had deemed each knot to be adequately constructed, he instructed you to bandage it for him. You did your best with what haphazard bandages and gauze he had available and by the time you had finished, it appeared as though an actual medical professional had sutured and bandaged his large wound.

You were methodical and paid close attention to detail, both of which saved you from making any critical errors.

Your bathroom had been thoroughly trashed in your haste to care for J; his shirt lay in a crumpled heap on the floor at his right and was soaked through with dark blood. The towel he had used to stop the bleeding after he’d washed the cut was soaked as well, from water as well as blood, and had been left lying on the floor between the two of you. There were blood splatters on your pants legs and your shirt and in the sink and on J’s chest…

“Alright,” you sighed as you stepped back and let him admire your work, “get out. I’ve got to clean this up.”

J tilted his head, nodding his approval at your handiwork, “ya did good, doll, for your first time.”

You scoffed, shaking your head at him in disbelief, “well, I hope this first time is the last time, but I know you better than that.”

The corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile and without another word did he step out of your way and exit the bathroom.

You set to work on washing the blood out of the sink and wiping it off of the floor; the next hour or so would you spend treating the bloodstains on your clothes and his before all would go into the wash.

It did not bother you to be left to clean up after him, nor did it upset you that you would also be the one to make dinner for the two of you. Any relationship thrived off of give and take; it was your turn to give. J did much for you, even if the repercussions seemed too great for one to bear.

You loved him, because he tried. J did not give up on you easily. He gave to you what you desired of anyone: a chance to be yourself without judgement and the freedom to explore the kind of person you wanted to be.

J had always been a taker, but not because he was selfish; you just had so much to give.

#heath ledger #heath ledger joker #joker #the joker #the dark knight #ledger joker #the dark knight joker #joker x reader #the joker x reader #heath ledger joker x reader #biblio :: 📖#nsf/w :: 🌶️

143 notes · View notes

dean-you-assbutt-cas-loves-you · 4 years ago

Note

I saw in your tags that there’s some old destiel fic you like on ffn. Do you have any recs ? :)

omg I haven’t been on there in years! like last time I read anything on there was like in 2014 lmao xD

32 fics total - I just checked and all of them are still up...there’s like 30+ more that I bookmarked that isn’t on the list cuz I’m not sure if they’re destiel fics or not so I gotta re-read them

all the ones below are fics that I’ve recced before in the past

1. All Angels Need Their Wings - RATING: NC-17 | LENGTH: 29,784 (2012)

Dean never thought that Castiel would ever return. And when he did, he came in a very unexpected way, a very horrifying way. SLASH Castiel/Dean. Wing-Kink. Takes place in season 7. AU.

2. Heart Trouble - RATING: NC-17 | LENGTH: 74,320 (2011)

Dean's having a harder and harder time of denying what he feels for a certain blue-eyed friend of his. And it's making him a little ornery, and a lot confused.

3. It Hurts - RATING: NC-17 | LENGTH: 29,963 (2013)

Inspired by the S9 Trailer Cas had watched the angels fall and with them, his self worth. Now human facing the challenges of navigating mortality he also tries to find a place for himself in this new world. It is a hope he has to find without the Winchesters, without Dean. So now he runs, from both Heaven, Hell and from Dean.

4. Small Problem - RATING: NC-17 | LENGTH: 13,310 (2011)

A cursed artifact has made Castiel miniature, it's amusing for the Winchesters at first until they realize he might stay that way forever. Slash Dean/Castiel Please R&R

5 My Broken Angel - RATING: M | LENGTH: 24,999 (2010)

When Castiel disappears from his vessel, Dean is concerned. But when Castiel reappears and seems to avoid him, Dean is heartbroken. Set mid-season 5.

6. A Hand - RATING: M | LENGTH: 23,474 (2010)

Dean/Cas, multichapter, slight AU. Dean's busy trying to re-soulify his brother, but Cas needs help. Maybe it's time Dean gave it to him. Ch. 15: Dean glared indignantly. "I find the term 'lovebirds' to be offensive. We prefer to be called 'sex-falcons.'"

7. Saving Grace - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 38,602 (2010)

With everything that was going wrong in Dean's life, it took him a while to realize that the person close to him that really needed the most help was Castiel.

8. Candy - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 98,068 (2013)

The Fall from Heaven changed everything. The supernatural no longer hidden. Angels roaming the planet. Sam and Dean's immediate concerns were on a smaller scale. What do you do with the former King of Hell? Where is Castiel?... Destiel/Mute!Human!Cas/Angst!Dean

9. Dude, Dean Looks Like a Lady - RATING: M | LENGTH: 20,774 *gen/pre-slash* (2013)

Sam's good, Cas has been found, and demons everywhere seem to be on hiatus. Seems like things are looking up for Team Free Will that is until Dean wakes up with his very own vagina anyway. Warnings: Fem!Dean, Destiel, female masturbation and S8 spoilers.

10. Evil Intent, Trials of Love, & Finding My Angel - RATING: NC-17 | LENGTH: 36,729, 70,453, & 59,941 *rape, graphic torture, violence* (2009)

Anna rapes Castiel and uses a method that torments him more than anything imaginable. WARNING: Rape and Castiel/Dean makes sense when you read it . If you don't like then don't read!

11. Cascade - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 44,626 (2013)

"And if you fall as Lucifer fell, you fall in flames!" An 8x23 coda.

12. Count The Cracks, Hear The Shatters, Feel The Insanities - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 44,626 *gen/pre-slash* (2013)

They've walked miles on gravel roads that led to hell and back but the journey never quite ends. This is the story of Castiel and the Winchesters after the angels fell from heaven. Post Season 8.

13. Damn Straight & Wait Wait Wait - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: about 21,000 (2010)

Humorous Cas/Dean, with multiple POVs. Slight AU. Fluffy. Ch. 5: Sam sat in the Impala in the motel parking lot, praying that three and a half hours at the library had been long enough.

14. Entertaining Angels - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 43,659 *gen/pre-slash* (2008)

A strange boy shows up at Dean and Sam’s motel room. Maybe he needs help, or maybe he’s there to help them—they can’t quite tell. Spoilers through 4.10. Not an OC.

15. Happy Friggin’ Valentine’s Day - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 22,771 (2010)

SLASH. It all started with Dean's perfectly healthy hatred of frivilous holidays and a much-coveted sack of dust. Poor Castiel doesn't fully understand 'romance' to begin with, and this crash course is most unwelcome.

16. I’m Just a Love Machine - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 29,200 (2011)

The Impala finally gets the chance to love Dean back. The problem is, Castiel seems to be in its way.

17. It’s The Great Destiel Shipper, Sam Winchester - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 49,641 (2012)

What's Sam really doing all that time on the computer? Fangirling. Over Chuck's Supernatural books. Now Wincest might be a bit too much to deal with, but Destiel he might be able to get on board with... Especially after being around the two people involved for three days straight.

18. Pain in the Head - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 78,771 *character death* (2011)

It started out slow. "Since when do angels have headaches?" "Since they become human." Established Dean/Cas. Sort of AU. PG-13. Complete.

19. Sleep in Heavenly Peace - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 45,517 *christmas fic* (2013)

Dean wants to have a nice, peaceful Christmas for once, but it seems like the universe won't let him. Dean/Castiel. Post-8.08 (Hunteri Heroici) AU. First in "Holidays With the Winchesters are Always Fun."

20. The Shattered One - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 94,021 *grace mpreg* (2012)

When it struck Castiel, it dropped him out of the sky. He set down the first place he could find. He stood in a field in Switzerland, swaying on his feet and staring down at his body, dazed by what it had just done.

21. This Cupid Isn’t Stupid - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 41,572 (2012)

Dean receives a shock when he wakes up to discover Castiel has returned. Why is the angel suddenly back? Why have his powers dimmed? And.. Why are he and Dean joined together by an invisible rope!

22. Wild Horses, Cas - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 23,505 (2013)

(S8 Spoilers (story is set in S9), Sickfic! Destiel, Minor Sabriel). When Cas comes down with a bad case of Pneumonia it leaves Dean feeling more protective over his friend than ever, but will it also lead to Dean's admittance of his feelings towards his friend?

23. Wrong - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 51,384 (2010)

Angels are not supposed to drop out of the sky into motel rooms, broken and beaten. They're not supposed to bleed like that. It was all wrong.

24. The Reluctant Contestant - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 50,502 (2012)

AU When Gabriel is hired as a new host for a dating show, Cas has no choice but to follow his brother along as part of the camera crew. Forced at the last minute to be a contestant, he is shocked when Dean Winchester continually refuses to eliminate him.

25. The Ugly Duckling - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 81,676 (2012)

Castiel: a nerdy, skinny thing with a crush on the the most popular guy in class. Being unpopular isn't easy and it's worse when the homophobic school figures him out. A small struggle to be noticed by his crush is turned into a huge struggle for himself and his dignity. But bullying can get the better of anyone. Slash. Destiel rated M for later chapters.

26. Nameless - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 77,882 (2013)

AU. Everyone has the name of their soulmate written on their wrist at birth. Well, everyone except Dean Winchester. Complete.

27. Cufflinks - RATING: M | LENGTH: 61,845 (2012)

The world is full of creatures that prey on humans. It is up to 'Hunters' to fight against the dark. Lucky Hunters rely on the help of angels they have bound to their service. Sam and Dean may be good Hunters, but they have yet to capture an angel. One day, Sam finds an angel and seizes the opportunity to bind the angel to himself. Little did they know what they were getting into.

28. Angel Training - RATING: M | LENGTH: 95,700, Angel Training 2: Save Us - RATING: M | LENGTH: 76,888, & Angel Training 3: Uprising - RATING: M | LENGTH: 89,512 (2011)

In a world where angels are common and the most privileged or skilled people are able to own one; the world's angelic hierarchy is about to change when Dean Winchester receives a wild and recently caught angel.

29. Chasing Your Shadow - RATING: M | LENGTH: 92,077 (2012)

The prophecy says that when Castiel turns twenty-three winters old, a stranger will come into his life and bring a lot of suffering. But do prophecies always come true? Demon Dean/human Castiel AU

30. The Holiday - RATING: M | LENGTH: 32,088 (2011)

Castiel and Sam are unlucky in both life and love, so they swap houses for the holidays. Both find the experience highly...interesting. Dean/Castiel Sam/Gabriel

31. And In Your Arms I Shall Find Shelter- RATING: M | LENGTH: 33,824 (2012)

Dean Winchester is a long forgotten painter who suddenly receives an order for a painting from a rich man - Crowley. He is about to start painting when Castiel - his personal reaper visits him. The main question is: Will Castiel give Dean enough time to finish the painting?

32. Jar of Hearts - RATING: PG-13 | LENGTH: 127,192 (2013)

February being the supposed 'month of love' people seem to forget that it's also one of the coldest times of the year. Valentine's Day themed events in a cafe turned bar is how Dean managed the courage to speak to the locally famous singer and somehow score a date, a relationship, and a man he didn't deserve out of the deal. Destiel college/uniAU some Sabriel

#ask me stuff #my fic recs #destiel #spn fanfic #Anonymous

60 notes · View notes

wicked-jade · 3 years ago

Note

2, 19, and 38 💐

Full transparency that 21 actually made me laugh out loud 😅.

Thanks for the asks, Rox!! 😘😘

2. Anything that you'd like to write but feel like you're unable to?

In general, anything plot driven or action oriented, lol. There are so many stories I want to write (the rest of the vampire fic, that KK3 re-write I'm always bringing up) but my inability to write anything more than a basic fight scene continues to hinder me.

I've also always thought it would be fun to write a full on AU, but I'm pretty sure that's beyond me. I would get lost down a research rabbit hole, never to be seen or heard from again.

19. Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

“Daniel hates roses,” Johnny muttered, flopping down on his back to stare up at the sky, like maybe he’d find an answer to his problem in the clouds.

“He might hate roses, but he loves bonsai!” Miguel countered, circling back around to his original idea. He leaned over Johnny, beaming down at him brighter than the sun. “See, it’s perfect!”

Johnny dropped the ice pack from his face and gestured around the bonsai-strewn garden with both hands before turning back to Miguel. His eye was already starting to puff up and turn purple. “Yeah, because that’s just what LaRusso needs, more munchkin trees. We live in a miniature forest of the damn things!”

“But this one would be special because you made it!” Miguel insisted, taking the ice and placing it back over his sensei’s bruised face. “He’d love it, I know he would.”

“Can I make it so it’s shaped like a dick?” Johnny asked, squinting up at the clouds. If he turned his head just right…yep, that one was totally a dick.

“Oh my god, no!” Miguel groaned, covering his own face in despair.

Sam, meanwhile, looked thoughtful. “Well, maybe…” She trailed off, staring off into the middle distance, like she was trying to visualize how to prune and wire the branches to make that happen.

~~~~~

I already answered 38 for @matahariherself, so I went and took a look at 21, and lmao. We all know the answer to that one is a big, fat NO. The day I accurately predict the length of one of my fics will be the day hell freezes over. 🤣 Like, can you imagine if I actually set out to write a long fic??? Dear lord.

#writing asks

4 notes · View notes

obaewankenobis · 4 years ago

Text

solace — obi-wan kenobi

summary : after the death of satine kryze, obi-wan kenobi returns from mandalore to the jedi temple.

warning(s) : character death, it's pretty fluffy with some angst.

pairing(s) : obi-wan kenobi x jedi!reader, mentions of obi-wan kenobi x satine kryze

notes : this is my first fic on tumblr like,, ever. i hope you enjoy lmao 🧍🏻‍♀️. oh also it’s written in all lowercase intentionally!

though you didn’t know much about their relationship, you knew from a very young age that obi-wan kenobi loved satine kryze. the jedi and the duchess were destined to live their lives apart, honor bound to serve the people before themselves, whether it be the citizens of mandalore or the jedi order. you had seen them interact firsthand, the endless bickering and shrewd glances at one another making up a feeble attempt to cover up how they truly felt. you hated the way your stomach twisted and your heartbeat quickened when you saw how he looked at her, overwhelmed with all sorts of emotions a jedi were barred from feeling. he drowned in her touch, however subtle that might be, her hand on his face leaving him with burn marks, his fingers on fire as he grasped her wrist. you stood idly by, hopeless in the shadows, because that was what the force had destined for you. you, like obi-wan, had duties as a jedi, duties that you would put over your own well being and selfish desires, even if that meant spending hours watching obi-wan languish in the realization that life would never allow him to be happy. he’d lost his master at an age where, although he was not terribly young, he was still vulnerable to the world and its brutalities.

life had not been kind to obi-wan kenobi. he was old when he started training, feeling the need to work twice as hard as his fellow initiates, just for him to be remembered and not cast aside. he was constantly battling his darkest fear, that he was never good enough for his master and he would one day be considered unmemorable or unworthy. life was still cruel to obi-wan kenobi. he felt the cold, bony fingers of satine kryze cradle his face, leaning into her touch before she fell back limply, dark blood staining her abdomen. around him, maul laughed, as vengeance had finally been served. all those years the scarlet skinned zabrak had spent wasting away, he only had one thought: kenobi. it was a mantra that kept him going, a fire that fueled him, that drove him so far to the point of madness that the only thought echoing in his mind was exacting his revenge on the man who had caused him so much misery, obi-wan kenobi. with some much needed help, obi-wan had escaped his jail cell on mandalore, but maul had won, for now he was trapped eternally in a prison of his own mind. if he closed his eyes, he could still see satine in all her beauty. the soft, pale buttercup locks of hair were strewn messily across satine’s face, framing her pointed features that highlighted her regality. her eyes, normally a stunning, brilliant blue, were now overshadowed with heavy purple circles underneath, fluttering once, before lying still. obi-wan could still feel the ice of her touch on his auburn beard, could still hear the hoarse whispers of her final, dying breath in his ears. worst of all, he could still sense through the force as her life signature died out, like a warm sun casting its final rays before leaving a planet in darkness. he had loved her, and she had loved him. though light years away, separated by many planets and suns and stars, you could sense his anguish. it was overpowering, tainted by the dark side; this was the closest obi-wan had been tempted to stray away from the light. still, he clung on to the light, clung on to the idea that there was still good in the world, despite every curve thrown in his way. the night ahead of you, should obi-wan not return before then, would be sleepless, as worry for the man ate at your insides, and you were helpless to resist as it consumed you. you were, for lack of a better word, attached to him, and he you, and that was the most dangerous thing a jedi could be. the very idea of caring for one being over another was discouraged, but no one prepared you for how hard it would be to follow a code you lived by. at last, you sensed his presence here in the temple. throwing on a beige cloak, you quietly shut the door of your sleeping quarters to greet him. it was late enough in the evening for the temple hallways to be barren, but not too absurdly late for you to be awake, as the bright yellow hues of the coruscanti sunset dimmed and made their final goodbye through the transparisteel. “obi-wan,” the breath caught in your throat as your eyes met his. he resembled a shell of who he once was, clad in red mandalorian armor that oddly suited him. his russet hair was disheveled, dirtied by dust and sweat, shoulders sagging as his arms lay limply at his side. his ocean eyes were swimming with sorrow and grief, mourning the loss of someone — it didn’t take much to put the pieces together. satine kryze. he had gone to rescue her, and returned alone. “y/n,” his voice is like a melody in your ears, though his tone is solemn and tired. they stood close enough for it to be amicable, but far enough for it to be agonizingly respectable. neither of you made any movement to get closer, knowing the probability of someone stumbling upon them was far too likely. “what happened?” you bit your lip, studying his face. his eyes didn’t quite meet yours, his fair skin littered with dirt and battered with cuts and bruises. “maul,” came the short response. “he… i must report to the council.” waves of alarm began radiating off of him, as if he had just remembered something important. “master yoda and master windu are both away,” you sucked in your breath. “you should speak to them tomorrow.” all he could muster was a nod of his head, and you knew then that he would only talk about it in time. silently, mannerisms mirroring one another, you began walking, your pace slow and your shoulders brushing just slightly every few steps. there wasn’t much to be said; obi-wan was silent for most of the short trek back to the jedi sleeping quarters. “will you be alright?” you stopped in your tracks, pausing in front of his quarters. a faint smile crept onto his face, his lips twitching upwards but his eyes remaining dull. he nodded quickly before turning to enter his quarters. “thank you, darling.” however persuasive the famed jedi negotiator was in his prime, there was something about the way his voice sounded so tired that made you doubt the truth of his words. obi-wan’s name was on the tip of your tongue before he disappeared behind the door of his quarters, not allowing you to call after him; he could lie to you once, to save you from needless worry, but he could not do so twice. without much resistance, you retreated to your own space, the walls and floors scarcely decorated, what little furniture you did possess simple and modest. after a moment, you retired to your sleep couch and allowed your sore muscles a bit of relaxation. sleep did not come to greet you, not even as you spent hours tossing and turning, the normally soft mattress underneath you now lumpy and hard. with a sigh, you threw the covers over you aside, wincing as you were greeted with the coldness of the floor as your feet touched the ground. you made your way to the hallway, pitch black and coated with a blanket of silence, a dim light seeping through the cracks of the door opposite of yours. obi-wan was still awake. raising your hand to knock on the door, you were surprised as your knuckles were met nothingness, as the door slid open automatically. obi-wan had not moved since the night began, sitting in his own turmoil. the mandalorian armor had been stripped off of him and was now cluttered in a corner of the room, and it looked as if he had used the refresher — droplets of water still clung to his hair, and his sleeping clothes looked fresh and clean. “can’t sleep?” you spoke up with a rueful smile, careful to keep your pitch low enough so only he could hear them. the door closed behind you, and then it was just the two of them. he looked up; dark circles of grief and exhaust making him appear older, more fragile. in a hasty, unsure movement, you had crossed the length of the room and settled yourself next to him, the sleep couch dipping slightly under your added weight. there were so many questions you longed to ask him, like the details of his journey to mandalore, and why he couldn’t even bring himself to say more than a few words at a time. but patience was a jedi’s greatest tool, and you forced yourself to simply sit in silence, the feeling of obi-wan’s grief hanging heavy in the air. “i lost her.” his voice is hollow, monotone. there is no need to say her name, but it enters your mind anyways. satine. “i know,” you let out a weary sigh. “i’m so sorry.” without more words, you felt his body shift, feeling the heat coming from his body as he drew closer to you. “you need to rest, love.” there was no reason for him to protest, but you knew why he had stayed awake for so long. nightmares. they would haunt him for the rest of his life, chasing him mercilessly for as long as he remained asleep. no matter how awful life treated him, obi-wan kenobi never cried, at least not in front of anyone — instead, he allowed himself to rot away, internalizing everything for fear of burdening another being with all of his agony. tonight would be no different, you suspected, as you felt a weight on your shoulder, as a head full of strawberry blonde hair, still dewy with shower water, rested against your side. it was hesitant at first, as he barely allowed himself to lean on you, but after a moment of his cheek on your shoulder, he collapsed, the full weight of his body and all his worries heavy against your frame. as your arm wrapped around his shoulder, pulling him closer to you, your breath was light and tense. this was the closest you’d ever been to him, to anyone, really, the feeling of his skin against her own a foreign concept she’d never dared to explore. it was the way he smiled. it reminded you of warm summer days, of lazy mornings on naboo surrounded by nothing but fields of flowers soaked in sunlight. he was like the sun, bright and hopeful; steady and dependable. it was the way he laughed. it reminded you of cozy winter nights, of waking up to a ground littered with snow, the frigid air of the outside making evenings surrounded by a crackling fire intimate and welcoming. it was the way he looked at you. his gaze reminded you of a chilly autumn breeze, of carefree days and brisk weather that made your skin tingle, your heart feeling light and free, singing to the fallen leaves of the sky. it was the way he touched you. it reminded you of spring, of new flowers blooming in soft sunlight, of plants budding with new, green life and animals of all shapes and sizes fluttering around with their young. it was the start of something new. you loved him. it went against everything you stood for, but you loved him. and maybe somewhere, buried deep within his soul, he loved you too. in another lifetime, perhaps you were the right person at the wrong time, or the right person at the right time. but in this timeline, where the jedi code was carved into your bones, where the light side ran through your veins, where your duty came above your being, it was the wrong circumstance. you had been so deep in thought, woefully wishing a for love from a man who could not do so, that you hadn’t noticed how obi-wan’s breathing slowed, how his eyes, which had once fought to stay open, were now blissfully shut. the man who had been through so much, who had endured so much heartbreak and loss, had finally sought solace in your arms. your own eyes fought to stay awake, knowing how much trouble you’d be in if anyone caught you both in such a… compromising position. however innocent the intention may be, the council would not see it that way. your last conscious thought was that of i must wake up before sunrise, before you lapsed into a peaceful sleep.

#obi wan kenobi x you #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi one shot #obi-wan kenobi imagine #obi wan kenobi #obi-wan kenobi #star wars #star wars one shot #star wars prequels #the clone wars #satine kryze #obaewankenobis

72 notes · View notes