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avatarvyakara · 3 years ago

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Strands of Webbing

A Spiderverse Fanfic

Prompts 205-216

“To Love a Parker”

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205. Timing

“You know I love you, right?” asks Gray.

CLANG.

The worst time for this conversation is any time. The second-worst is when she’s doing engineering work.

“Goddamn—are you okay?” he calls, reaching under SP//dr to try and pull her out—

She revs back on the hoverpad quickly, and sits up.

And regrets it. “Ughhh...”

One cooling-pack later, she adds, “Okay, can you say that again? A little clearer?”

Gray’s blushing. (He blushes in grey.)

“It’s just...I told the other guys I loved them before I went home, but you’d already gone by that time. And you’re important to me too. So...yeah.”

“As in, like, family, or...”

“Don’t know,” he admits. “Kinda like family. Kinda like friends. Kinda like soulmates. Kinda like spiders.” He grins sheepishly. “Might have been a bit out of it to actually say it, but...”

Peni rolls her eyes, feeling a smile slide up her face.

“Did any of them say it back?” she asks.

“Um...not exactly.”

“...can I say it back?”

“Say what?”

“That you’re important to me and I love you too.”

“...oh, see, ‘say what’ is an expression used to—oh. ...uh. ...are you sure?”

“Yes I’m sure, you big dummy!”

He grins. “Just making certain.”

“Now gimme a hug. You owe me one for bumping my head.”

Kind of like family. Kind of like friends. Kind of like soulmates. Kind of like spiders.

Yes, she can relate.

206. Fans

Yes, the previous Spider-Man was popular. Very popular. Thing is, though, he was popular because he was human. He was what everyone wanted to be—strong and confident and having so much fun, but always remembering to do the right thing. He’d also remember your name, more often than not. It made you feel...special.

There was a rumour going around the city, when Miles was growing up, that his name was Ben. Rio saw a lot of Bens and Benjamins during her stint in the maternity ward. A lot of Benedictas as well, and a few Japanese newborn girls with Ben as a middle name.

Come the announcement of his death, there are a lot more Peters and Petras and even a few Parkers.

Miles...actually does understand. Really, he does. It’s just that he kind of doesn’t know how he’d feel about running into a dozen Mini-Mileses on patrol. So he’s just going to leave it at that, and definitely not bring it up to anyone.

(He might not say no to one or two Aarons, though.)

207. Yorkshireman

I tell my tale anew.

My name is Peredur the Respected, Peredur y Parchedig. An ironic title among my peers, to be sure, for I am best respected by the Romans who took our land and built the town of Eboracum here. I was bitten by the goddess Arianrhod, and for the past four years I have been the one and only Spider-Man.

Until today.

“I thought British people could all understand each other?” complains the fay princess.

“What part of ‘he’s speaking some weird ancient dialect of Welsh, which is not English’ is so difficult to understand here, Mayday?” argues the fay prince.

Arianrhod’s Presence helps me understand them (obscure vocabulary aside), but they do not, it seems, understand me without pantomime.

And apparently don’t like the insinuation that they’re bickering like my aunt and uncle. (You know how difficult that was to imitate?)

So there I am, trying to argue with two spiderling elves when they can’t understand a word I’m saying, when the Not So Benevolent Goblin shows up to fight.

...well, this is exactly what I expected this Thursday.

208. Tolerance

From nine years old, Peni Parker knew she had to be the best. From the moment her father died—the moment she became SP//dr—she knew that every moment she spent being unable to do her job meant billions of New York Credits worth of losses and hundreds of thousands of lives at stake. The world couldn’t afford for her to slack. She knows Aunt May and Uncle Ben love her, in their own way, it’s just...well, they couldn’t afford to let love get in the way of duty.

Maybe that’s why she disliked Miles at first, and to a certain extent Peter B. for showcasing him. Aunt May and Uncle Ben hadn’t let her out into the field before they knew she wasn’t going to cost anyone their lives by her actions—that she’d be performing at peak levels all the time. Miles hadn’t had even a hundredth of her training, and he expected to get them home?

Maybe that’s why she dislikes Cindy Moon. She shouldn’t. She’s older now and knows it isn’t her fault. But the girl was hidden away in some bunker somewhere for training, hiding from...something which either her mentor didn’t specify or which they did but which she won’t tell anyone else. And then she left. Started work as a superhero, when if she was in any way not ready then she risked her life and the lives of her fellow New Yorkers—and which risked attracting her mentor slash possible captor. Psychic spatiotemporal breach aside (what Gray calls the Sixth Sense and Ham calls Web-Sense and most of the others call Spider-Sense), preparation is key.

It took all of a day to warm up to Miles, but then everyone knows that the second-best way to learn is under intense life-threatening pressure. With Cindy, she’ll have to take the long way around.

(Not that she has any personal biases to examine, just, you know, she’s open to being persuaded on a long-term basis.)

209. Album

Peter B. turns out to be exactly the kind of dad who carries around pictures of his wife and kid with him in his wallet. Which is great, except if you get him started he’ll talk about them for hours.

“Is it weird that I don’t know how to feel about him discussing his daughter who has my name?” asks Mayday. “Who might as well be me?”

“No weirder than him talking about his wife who has my name,” says Mary-Jane. “Although, to be fair, she’s okay.”

“Lucky. Other Me is still a toddler. And you know the worst part? Dad sometimes joins in!”

“Parallel-Daughter, can we agree that this Peter is weird?” says Carnage.

“Absolutely, Parallel-Mom,” says Spider-Girl. “...actually, now that you mention it, is there anything embarrassing I should know about my mom? Given that you’re still a teenager and all.”

“Hmm. I don’t know...”

“Blackmail material might mean extra time for ice cream in Gwen’s world.”

“Have I ever told you about the incident with the birdhouse?”

“Nope. Spill.”

“Yes it did...”

210. Parenting

Four-year-old Peter B. Parker isn’t sure what’s going on. He’s leaving the flat behind because Mommy and Daddy...well, something happened. But now his Aunt May and Uncle Ben are taking him to their home, and saying it’s where he’s going to be staying from now on.

He’s mad about that. He knows he shouldn’t be, but he is. Where are Mommy and Daddy? Why aren’t they coming home?

The first night, he cries himself to sleep. And the second. And the third. He won’t let them in.

But on the fourth night, just like before, Aunt May and Uncle Ben knock at the door of his new room. (He hates his room. He hates that he doesn’t hate his room.) And just like before, Uncle Ben asks:

“Peter...can we come in?”

Tonight, though, something in him breaks. Something in him says, “...yes, Uncle Ben.”

He doesn’t want the hug. He doesn’t. He doesn’t like how much he needs the hug. Or needs Uncle Ben to sing him Daddy’s lullaby, without changing the tune or the words even if his voice is new and scratchy. Or needs Aunt May to kiss his forehead like Mommy did, smelling so different and yet so right. Or needs, needs so badly, then being here until he falls sound asleep.

They’re not his Mommy and Daddy.

...but they chose to take care of him, thinks four-year-old Peter. Mommy and Daddy are gone, and he would give the world to bring them back—but the world doesn’t include Aunt May and Uncle Ben. Not if it means losing them too.

211. Singular

“Makes you kinda unique,” says Goggles. “Most of us either have our families right behind us or want to keep them well away from the job.”

Cindy shrugs. “Yay me, I guess.”

"Seriously, though. You’re already taking to this world like a fish to water, even though it’s not the one you left behind. That takes moxie, doll. Take it from me."

He’s loosened up in the past four years; he doesn’t even mind taking his mask (and, yes, his goggles) off in her world anymore. Mind you, so has she. Finding her little brother has helped a lot, even if Mom and Dad are still missing. Albert is an absolute pain and a joy to have around and she’s missed him—

“And what the hell was he doing with the Goblin Nation?” That she still can’t understand. It was only three weeks, thank God, but three weeks is still too long. And he was on his own for two years before that, basically. Where were her parents?

Goggles sighs, and takes her hand. It’s a surprisingly forward gesture for him, even after four years.

“He’s gotta tell you that for himself, sweetheart. But he will. Count on it. And you’re gonna get them back.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I can do it. I can get them back.”

He grins. It’s an infectious grin. And he’s still holding her hand. (Maybe she’s holding his too.)

“Not long now. I’m sure of it. You’ve got the fire for it, sweetheart.”

...maybe she shouldn’t have kissed his cheek like that. Bit late to think of that three seconds post-kiss.

Does anyone know that he blushes grey? Well. She does, obviously—

“...um. You know I wasn’t saying those things because I—”

...oops.

“Oh god. Oh my god. I—”

He sighs again.

“It’s okay, swee—Cindy. It’s not your fault.”

“...huh?”

Gogg—Peter—lets go of her hand, and rubs the back of his neck, and looks away from her. “Look, I can’t say I understand it, but I know you and I have got that whole same-Spider thing going on, right? Like you do with the other Peters. And maybe Gwen. Same spider, stronger...bug-sprays, I think.”

“...pheromones.”

“Yeah. Yeah. That. Look, I feel it too. Not quite normal attraction, I know what that’s like, and not quite normal love. And it’s been making me act weird and all, and I’m truly sorry. I’ve been meaning to complain to my spider about it, it’s not right to take advantage of a young woman in that way, even if it is some kind of whacked-up biology—”

Goddamnit.

“Peter,” says Cindy, keeping her voice as level as she can. “I know what the pheromones are like. I know what the effect is, better than any damn spider I know. I know how to handle those effects. And because you got bitten by a demon spider instead of a radioactive one you’re just about the only Spider-Peter in the multiverse that it doesn’t happen for.”

“...um.”

Now would be the worst time to have a panic attack and run.

Which she does.

(Way to go, Cin.)

212. Sow

“Hey, Aunt May?” Peter asks one day. “If you could be any other animal, what would you be?”

May Porker considers this.

“I’d be a fish.”

“...wow, I didn’t see that coming.”

“Honestly, though. A manta ray. Big and friendly, for carrying people. And extra long fins for cuddling little sea spiders.”

“Aunt Maaaaaay,” whines Peter, as she tackles him. “You’re ruining my street cred!”

“We’re inside, dear.”

But that’s the way it is with this woman. She doesn’t even mind that he was a spider. Helps him address various holiday cards each year to his sixty-seven brothers and sisters, even though she needs a magnifying glass and a sextant to see the print.

Peter Porker, from the tender age of seven months onwards, would gladly die and/or eat anyone for his aunt.

213. Duplicate

Otto knows he can’t leave it at something as simple as the takeover. He is Spider-Man now, which means it should be his choice what Spider-Man does, but...he also chose to be Spider-Man. And that means upholding what Spider-Man stands for. What Peter Parker stood for.

“Keep them safe. That’s all I ever...”

It also means that, when a counterpart of his—a female Octavius, with plastic arms, quite a treat—comes to town, he’s curious about what the possibility of multiple Doc Ocks working together could achieve. Better yet—multiple Spiders. Keeping reality safe, taking down their enemies much more efficiently...sharing ideas. Finding families.

(He is Spider-Man. He’s not quite certain, despite every test that he ran on the Psychic Transference System, that he’s not slowly becoming Peter Parker again. When he feels genuine love for Mary-Jen, or feels quips come out of nowhere that he manages to stamp down, or even just has a brilliant idea out of the blue that he knows he couldn’t have had. Or that he wasn’t always Peter Parker, believing himself to be Otto Octavius in spite of the evidence. It terrifies him—and yet the science involved is spellbinding.)

214. Bestie

She’s got a lid on it, she’s got a lid on it—

“So!” says Gwen, brightly. “Invisible boyfriend, huh? That must be handy. He doesn’t actually live in Canada, right?”

Silkworm laughs. Gwen tries to stand upwind, just in case. Damn pheromones.

“Nope. Definitely here, in SanFran with me. And he’s kind of stuck in an in-between state, not quite alive or dead. We’re working on that.”

we’reworkingonthat? isthatwhatwe’recallingitnow?

Spectro...isn’t bad-looking either, per se.

Silkworm laughs.

“Well, what do you want to call it?”

gettingtotacklemylong-lostgirlfriendeverysooften. forscience. stillmadatyouaboutthewhole “longlost” bitbytheway.

“No you’re not.”

...yeahnoi’mnot. anywayigotmyrevenge.

“Maybe I just happen to like the name ‘Silkworm’ for other reasons.”

Spectro grins.

uhhuh.

“Wow, you’re actually as chatty as Peter,” Gwen blurts out.

“As in Peter B.?”

“...as in the ghost of my best friend,” she mumbles. “There. Knew I was crazy.”

Silkworm and Spectro exchange glances.

hmm. isheashandsomeasmethough? askingforafriend.

“Behave.”

don’tialways? But then Spectro gets serious. listen. somehowidoubtyou’dbelikelytoimaginesomethinglikethat. prettyvividguy, huh?

Gwen sighs. “Invisible. Actually invisible. But I hear things, sometimes. I think he’d actually dead, though, not just halfway gone like you.”

(It doesn’t matter how many times he forgives her or Peter B. forgives her, she won’t assume she’s in the clear yet. Not yet.)

soundstomelikeunfinishedbusiness.

Gwen smiles. “Yeah...he was always bad about leaving loose ends.”

“Not that unusual, with Parkers,” says Cindy, fondly. “Well, Spider-Woman, care for a tour around the greatest city in the States?”

“And you call yourself a New Yorker? I am shocked, ma’am, shocked.”

And off they swing.

(And float.)

215. Hire

The photos aren’t high-quality, not yet, but the technique is decent. And sixteen-year-old Peter B. Parker seems pretty darn down on his luck, after what happened with his uncle.

Nobody could accuse J. Jonah Jameson of being a softie.

(On occasion, his son simply states the facts. Which...fine, there’s a point there.)

Spider-Man wears a mask, like any criminal. (Like that criminal.) Parker wears glasses to see and still takes above-average shots. Spider-Man makes himself the centre of attention, Parker wants to be anything but.

Jonah will take Parker’s laboured but careful snark over Spider-Menace’s quipping any day.

216. Established

May lost her Peter. He lost his May. They sort of fill a space in for one another. But she loves each and every one of her nephews (and niece) regardless, even if they have Aunt Mays of their own.

It’s not a conscious choice. It doesn’t need to be.

And in any case—who said Miles and Gwen and Mary Jane weren’t family too? You don’t need to be blood to be a Parker.

(Although, with Mary Jane, as it turns out...)

...she was a bit uncertain how to react to her younger self with four mechanical arms, though. Maybe sitting down and getting her to question her life choices would be a good idea.

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george-fabian-weasley · 4 years ago

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Fred Weasley — Helplessly Part 2

Summary: After the Battle Of Hogwarts, Fred was rushed to the muggle hospital for better treatment of his injuries. While on a coma, his soul stayed with you for a couple of months. He watches as you went through the stages. And he watches when you start to write a song, just for him.

Words: 2,253 words

Warnings ⚠ : Just... Pure Sadness

Disclaimer: I am still in pain.

TAGLIST FOR HELPLESSLY: HERE

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 (COMING SOON!)

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CHAPTER 2: Weakness & Comfort

Your eyes felt like burning.

“Coma?” You repeated with a whisper, everyone was looking at you in concern, knowing how badly the new information could be to your health. “Y/N…” Hermione called softly; her hand reached yours with a gentle grip.

“I-I need to see him, please. I need to see Fred.” You said, hastily ripping off the wires on your arms, slightly panicking the others. “Y/N, dear, why don’t you rest first?” Molly hold both of your shoulders, somehow making herself as a barrier between you and the ground. She was giving you a gentle, slightly alerted smile. You shook your head fast, “I need to see him. I-I need to see if he’s okay. Fred… Fred’s okay, right?”

George came and helped Molly on keeping you on the hospital bed, “Yes, Y/N, he’s okay. You, on the other hand, need more rest.”

You were anxious, you can’t rest. Not until you see Fred.

“No! Let go of me!” You shrugged off George’s hands from you and jumped off the bed, only resulting your legs to fail you after remaining static for so long. So when you fell to the ground with a thud, Ron and Harry went running to you, trying to help you up.

“Y/N, I think it’s best if you could just-“ “Ron, please, I need to see Fred.” You cut off Ron’s words, gripping his arms tightly as you looked at him in the eyes. Your eyes were watery, your throat was burning. The thought of not seeing Fred made you so scared. The image of Fred laying down the grounds of the Great Hall kept resurfacing in your mind like a broken disc player. You were scared, you were panicking, you were stressing out, all at the same time.

As you kept trying to move forward to the door, Harry and Ron kept holding you back; holding your arms each, so you started screaming, “No! Let me go! I need to see him! I need to see Fred! Let go of me!!!” You tried again, and they still held you back. You throat was burning, and the emotions began choking you up. Tears were running down your face as you tried to break free from Harry and Ron desperately, screaming in agony.

Bill and Fleur hurriedly left the room to call a doctor to stop you hyperventilating, while Molly was already sobbing under the embrace of Hermione. George was trying to keep his tears all to himself, he hated to see you so distraught like this, it broke his heart so much the emotions were choking him up.

“Fred!!!” You wailed out, your voice hoarse from shouting and screaming.

The doctors finally arrived, and they had you pinned down to the floor when they injected you with a tranquilizer. Your crying had quieted down, but the weak whimpering you made; “Please, I need to see Freddie… He almost died in my arms, please…”, before you passed out was enough to make the whole room heartbroken.

When you woke up again, it was night-time. The view outside the window was dark, the only light was the small fluorescent light right on top of your head, just enough to dimly light up the room. You noticed the room wasn’t as crowded as before; there was only George, Molly and Hermione left in the room. George was sleeping in an uncomfortable position on the hospital couch, Hermione was dozing off sitting on one of the chairs, and Molly was beside you, with her upper body leaning onto the bed, seemingly sleeping as well.

“Molly…?” You whispered with a hoarse voice; your voice was small, similar to a young child asking her parents if they were mad at her. Instantly Molly woke up, the exhaustion in her face was clear, yet she was smiling widely at you, “Oh, dear, you finally woke up! Are you hungry, perhaps?”

You shook your head, your eyes sad. You remembered how you acted a few hours ago, and you weren’t proud of it. Your guilt was terribly heavy, your eyes turned glassy the moment they stared into Molly’s kind, loving ones. “I’m sorry.” Was all you could say, watching her smile softened at your words. She took a hold of your hand; her calloused warm hand brought you comfort almost immediately, “You were scared. And I don’t blame you, dear. War certainly brings the worst out of us, especially when we’re desperate.”

Molly had told you that you needed to stay in the hospital for a while, at least until your legs are strong enough to hold your weight again. The healers had said that you were overwhelmed with stress, and plus the injuries from the war, they’d actually be surprised if you didn’t faint.

A week passed by like a total blur.

While Molly and George took turns to look after between you and Fred during the day, Hermione had stayed with you the whole time, the hospital even gave her an extra mattress so she would be comfortable. She would be awake at night until the sun rises, to look after you. Because-

“Y/N, I’m here. You’re okay, sweetheart, you’re okay.” Hermione hugged you when you suddenly woke up screaming. You were having cold sweats everywhere, and your eyes were flooding with tears. You gripped onto her tightly, sobbing uncontrollably, “I dreamt it again, Mione… I-I can’t. Every time I close my eyes, I see him on the ground-“ You couldn’t finish your words.

She rubbed your back lovingly, giving no damn of her wet shirt, “He’s okay, Y/N. Fred’s alright.” She muttered softly, caressing your head to calm you down. After several minutes of silent crying, you pulled away, sniffing. The nightmare was reoccurring, almost every night. You were exhausted to say the least, emotionally and physically. The nightmare drained you so much you’re afraid you’re becoming a shell of who you were.

“Can we go see him, Mione?” You asked her, you couldn’t stop the yearning in your heart. You need to see him. Hermione sighed, this wasn’t the first time you asked her this, “Y/N, it’s 2 in the morning.”

You only nodded. You knew it’s not going to work, but you had to try anyway.

Hermione watched you quietly with silent pity. Out of all, you were the most traumatized from the war. Sure, some of other people had nightmares too from the war, but not even Harry got it bad like you. She was grateful Ron was with her the whole entire time during the battle, she didn’t even want to think what would happen if she was in your shoes and the one laying on the ground was Ron. She knew how much you loved Fred, and she had seen how much the tall lad adored you.

She’s 100% sure, if soulmates are a true thing, you and Fred would be the first soulmates she thought of. So she did something; even Hermione herself was calling herself crazy for it.

“Can you walk?”

Hermione helped you walk to Fred’s ward by holding your arm, acting as your walking support. Unlike before, your legs got more strength and you could stand, but you were still having difficulties to walk. The hospital hallway was dimly lit and barely no one was there, except for one or two sleeping nurses at the counters. Despite that, you feel no fear inside, your main goal was to see Fred.

One whole week, you were yearning for this.

And there he was, on the hospital bed, with his eyes closed, and an oxygen mask on his face. He looked pale, yet he looked peaceful. Almost every part of his body was wrapped with bandages, especially his head, blocking your view from his red hair that you ridiculously missed. You sat on the seat beside his bed, watching his chest rise up and down as if he’s just sleeping, not trapped with wires and machines. Your shaky hand took a hold on his unmoving one, and you took a trembling breath at how cold it was.

The beeping machine was the only sound in the cold room.

“Hello, Freddie.” You whispered, watching him quietly. The anxiousness that you were feeling for a whole week vanished into thin air, your heart was beating healthily again at the sight of this boy of yours. Your thumb caressed Fred’s skin, a habit you’ve been doing for years because you knew how much Fred loved it when you do it. For once since the Battle of Hogwarts, you smiled sincerely, even with tears in your eyes, “I missed you, darling. I missed you so much…”

Your emotions were mixing with each other. You were happy that you get to see Fred again, breathing and alive, but you can’t help to feel broken that he’s not really alive. You caressed his face lovingly, in your mind, Fred was looking at you, giving you that cheeky smile you’ve seen a million times. But then your eyes woke up from your imagination, Fred was closing his eyes, pale and cold.

Your heart clenched tighter.

Hermione waited outside, giving you some time with Fred. She couldn’t bear to see you cry again because of him; her heart couldn’t take it. So she stood outside, letting out a shaky breath as she heard the quiet sobs of yours. Her eyes began to water, you were her best friend, you were there for her for almost every event of her life.

Watching her strong best friend become weak and fragile was enough to send Hermione to tears.

After giving Fred a kiss on his knuckles, you left with Hermione with a calm smile. You hugged her when you realized she was crying outside; it was your turn to comfort her. “Have I told you, I love you so much, Hermione?”

Hermione slightly laughed at that, with tears and all, “Yeah, you have, dummy.”

The next day was better for you, you weren’t as terrible as the past days, but you weren’t great either. Nevertheless, you feel better. It’s not like you’re saying goodbye to Fred, it’s more to comforting yourself that he was indeed alive and will wake up soon.

You just didn’t know how long it would take.

The Weasleys had invited you to stay at the Burrow for a while so they could take care of you once you’ve been discharged. Not wanting them to see anymore of the ugly sides of yours, you declined softly, giving reasons like your shared apartment with Fred will get dusty if was unkempt for long. As worried as George was for you, he reluctantly agreed, with a condition he gets to visit you every week to check on you.

Hermione even offered to stay at your apartment for a while, to keep you company. You once again declined, Hermione never had time for herself ever since the Battle had ended, you didn’t want to burden her any further. You were touched however, seeing so many people who weren’t even your blood caring about you immensely as if you’re one of their own. You believed at some point, you are, and you were grateful.

When you returned home a few days later, accompanied by Harry, Ron and Hermione; they insisted, you were glad they did. Seeing the shared space of you and your lover, with him being in the hospital unconscious, you broke down as soon as you step foot into the place.

Your three friends tried their best to be there for you, telling you jokes and making you laugh, trying to let you forget for a moment, so you could relax. After dinner, they reluctantly left, grimacing at the idea of leaving you all alone without anyone else in the house. But you convinced them you would be fine, and that you were too tired to think about other things. They gave you a goodbye hug, and Ron kissed the temple of your head comfortingly.

But as soon as they left, the smile on your face drained. You leaned your back against the bedroom door, slowly sliding down to the cold tiled floor. The dimly lit area seemed to darken, the darkness started to surround you. As you hugged your legs, tears once again without fail came without warning. Being left alone after surrounded by people you loved was the worst feeling ever, and despite that, you didn’t want them to see this ugly side of you. It’s enough that Hermione saw it, even with her, your best friend, you feel awful showing her your moments of weakness.

So you sat there, sobbing alone, with your heart aching for one man.

You remembered that morning where you visited him before going back home, you volunteered to wipe his body, the feeling of wanting to take care of your loving boyfriend was so strong. And so you did, with heavy tears in your eyes at the battle scars he had when you removed the bandages to change them to new ones. Despite the scars and cuts and burns and bruises, Fred still looked beautiful in your eyes. You kissed him goodbye on the forehead, not forgetting to squeeze his cold hand.

Somehow, the memory comforted you like no other.

Unbeknownst to you, a certain soul had followed you home the moment you visited him that night. Fred Weasley, now a lost soul, felt his heart physically snapping into pieces as he watched you quietly.

“Oh, darling. What have you done to yourself?”

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PART 3: READ

TAGLIST:

@paigeyisme @britishspidey @hargreevesgrace @jasminweasley @neutralgoodval @kaidenceweasley

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jumpingjaxx13 · 4 years ago

Note

📚 📖 📓📕📒📔📘📗📙

Lol

The joke's on you. I have a ton of these and I'm about to make it everyone's problem.

Put "📓" into my inbox and I'll explain the plot of a fanfiction that I haven't written but daydream about.

(I'm gonna cheat a little. The ones with * are ones that I have started writing, but are incomplete/have been WIPs for a long time/nowhere close to being done. I feel like that counts just because of the amount of daydreaming/not writing that goes into them lol)

(Also, if there is any that someone is particularly interested in reading once it's finished, just leave a reply and I'll reach out with a link once it's published!)

This is going to be a long post, so I'll put the answer under a read more!

📚 *

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ships: ShigaDabi (primary), TodoDeku (background, maybe)

An AU where Tenko Shimura was found by Inko Midoriya instead of AFO and raised as Izuku's brother. He winds up becoming Hawks's secretary, meets All Might and learns about his grandmother, and gets to proudly watch his brother follow his dreams. Things start to change when he meets a strange man outside of a cafe and falls for him. How was he supposed to know that Dabi was a villain!? From there, Tenko has to do a lot of self reflection and decide what he wants to do after learning about his boyfriend's identity, especially when he found out that his boss had known all along. Does he chase after Dabi? Join him? Turn him in? I'm not 100% sure how I want to end this, but I am tempted for it to lead to the "birth" of Tomura. Any suggestions would be welcome!

📖*

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ships: N/A, maybe background Duo Holders?

Essentially an AFO origin story focusing on his relationship with Yoichi over the course of his descent. I take a few snapshots of the brothers together, starting as teens and going through to his death, and showing how their regard for each other changed. It finally ends with AFO speaking to Yoichi's grave years later. I'm a fan of DFO, so I'm going to be using the name Hisashi for him, but if/when his canon name comes out, I'll be changing it to match!

📓

Fandom: Death Note

Ships: LawLight (primary), MattMello (secondary)

An AU where Roger Ruvie dies early on in the investigation and, with the entire world under suspicion, L can't afford to replace him. Instead, he sends the majority of the kids off to other houses that Watari had built, save for his top three successors. Near, Mello, and Matt all move into the Task Force HQ and, despite L's "best efforts" to prevent it (read: he's totally just pretending to stop them to please the others), they continually find themselves thrown in the middle of the investigation. I'm also not 100% certain how I want this to end, but I do know that it's going to be endgame L/Light and Matt/Mello.

📕*

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Ships: RanPoe (past), ODazai (past, platonic or romantic), SteinCraft (past, background)

A sequel to Unstoppable Force. I've had a few people express interest in the culprit, so I've decided to write up an optional sequal that explains it. I debated not doing it, but I know that a lot of people enjoy closure, so I thought it would be fun! I invented a new villain and a new ability and I found an excuse to drag some Guild members into it as well. Essentially, Ranpo reopens the case after the funeral and uses the strange behavior of Steinbeck to corner and catch the elusive ability user. I'm personally proud of the ability I created, so I'm going to keep it a secret for now.

📒*

Fandom: Toilet Bound Hanako-Kun

Ships: TeruKane (primary)

This one is actually based on a post that has since been deleted proposing the idea of a soulmate AU where the name of your soulmate is written on the inside of your book in the Four O'clock Library. I shook it up a bit and added the idea that if you read your soulmate's name, people will begin to forget they exist and you have to confess your love to them within a week or they will disappear from existence entirely. Akane didn't think it would be a problem to go and confirm his soulmate-- it's obviously Aoi-- only to discover a very different name written in his book. Knowing his time limit, he struggles to find a loophole in the curse that would help him avoid confessing a love he doesn't feel. In the meantime, people are slowly starting to forget who Teru Minamoto is, with Akane being the only one to remember, forcing them to spend even more time together. This one is going to have a happy ending, but it's going to be a really close call!

📔

Fandom: Robihachi

Ships: Robby/Hatchi (primary)

This is a sequel to Lovely that I've been playing around with. Someone expressed that they wanted to see how Robby's father would react to their situation and that got me thinking about it. In a misguided gesture of good faith, Hatchi's parents invite Robby's family up to the moon to help celebrate either his birthday or their first anniversary. Much to Robby's surprise, they agree to come, leaving him with an awkward mess of judgement to deal with until they leave. I still haven't decided how this will end, but I know it's going to be on either a positive or bittersweet note.

📘

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Ships: EraserMist (primary; may be romantic or platonic), Tomura/Touya (secondary)

Sequel to Purpose. Kurogiri and Tomura move in with that kind hero, Aizawa, after what happened in the alleyway. It takes a lot of getting used to, but it is leagues better than living out of a hotel. Kurogiri juggles working to obtain his hero license with raising Tomura (made easier with the new help) and investigates just why that hero seemed so familiar... Later on, when Tomura enters UA, he juggles making friends for the first time, proving his heroism despite his quirk, and a concerning new crush on the hot upperclassman.

��

Fandom: Sk8 the Infinity

Ships: MatchaBlossom (primary), Renga (secondary), ShadOka (maybe)

This one is going to go through a week of after-hours visits at Sia la Luce. Each day, someone drops in while Joe is closing up, needing one thing or another. From relationship advice to a pleasant escape to pleas for forgiveness, Joe finds himself to be the center of all of their attention. It's just a collection of seven mini-stories that are all collected throughout the span of one week in-universe. Everyone is going to give Joe a visit for different reasons and I'm excited to see how it turns out!

📙*

Fandom: Bungo Stray Dogs

Ships: Shin Soukoku (primary), Soukoku (secondary), more potentially TBA

A fantasy AU in which Fukuzawa and Mori are the kings of two rival kingdoms, Ada and the Port Kingdom (I'll probably change the names lol). Fukuzawa has no genetic heirs, but he had taken in a number of wards, one of which will be chosen to succeed him. Mori has two children, and the prince was born with a terrible curse that leaves his reputation soaked in blood. Atsushi, one of Fukuzawa's wards, is also cursed and feels that Prince Ryuunosuke is just like him; that he can be saved with some kindness and compassion. Despite being warned not to, he sneaks out and attends a ball intended to find the prince a suitor. While there, he unknowingly defends the prince from a number of attackers, which, while unnecessary, piques Ryuunosuke's interest. The two run away together, but wind up being sidetracked by an advancing enemy and wind up lost. Chuuya, a knight from the PK, is sent by Mori to go and find his son. Dazai, Atsushi's mentor and ward of Fukuzawa, is sent to go and locate the weretiger after he does not come to breakfast in the morning. Chuuya and Dazai run into each other while searching for their respective people, which leads to them teaming up to find them while Atsushi and Ryuunosuke are trying their hardest not to be found.

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stargazerdaisy · 3 years ago

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Tagged by @abedsmessedupmeta and @vesperass-anuna

How many works do you have on AO3? 40

What’s your total AO3 word count? 200,109

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

I Get The Feelin’ That You Wanna Fall

I Want You to Stay, You Have to Go

Except Your Touch

Couldn’t See You Coming

The Moments In Between

Wow, I didn’t realize my three highest were all Chenford. Nice!

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I do my absolute best to reply to every comment left on my stories. Interaction with authors was one of the things that got me more actively involved with fandom and led to me writing my own fic, so I try to pay that back.

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

It’s a toss up. The Fuse Is Lit, So Stand Back and Watch It Burn is one of the very few (might even be the only?) fics I’ve written that has a confirmed, definite angsty ending, because it’s basically a canon scene where I added in Ward’s inner thoughts. And well...that didn’t end well for anyone. But Don’t Go is probably the angstiest, despite it being an intentionally and very ambigious ending. I think the ambiguity adds to the angst and I got a much bigger reaction from readers for it.

Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the strangest one you’ve written?

Not really. I don’t have a lot of personal attraction to crossovers (they’re really, really hard to do well and serve all of the characters properly). I applaud people who can do them well, I’m just not intrigued enough to try. I’ve joked around with little headcanons and daydream ideas here and there that I discuss with friends, but nothing that I have sat down to actually write and publish.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Surprisingly no. I actually haven’t really gotten any hate, either on fic or in anon asks. Maybe I joined the fandoms too late or maybe I’m too boring to pick on. Either way, works for me!

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Siiiiiigh. This is a weird one for me. No, I do not write smut. I do however cheer on my co-writers to write the smut for our stories. And I have definitely helped choreograph and beta’d smut (making sure everyone get their clothes off is harder than you think). But writing smut myself is one of those lines that I drew for myself, whether it makes sense to anyone else or not.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I am aware of. But it’s one of the things I’ve always been concerned about when people have asked to translate my fics (which is also incredibly flattering!).

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Hahahahahahahahha. Yes. I’ve done headcanon ‘verses with @vesperass-anuna and @agentramsey where we exchanged prompts and wrote stories for each other. In those, the individual stories were each written by us, but all together, the whole collection was definitely co-written. And then there’s @evieoh with whom I co-write a TON of stories. Seriously, all of my best stories are the one we co-wrote. And we really and truly co-write. There are scenes that one or the other of us wrote, but there are parts where we literally alternated sentences or even words. It’s a very enmeshed process. Bless Google Docs!

What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Skyeward. Chenford is working hard to climb up there, but at the end of the day, Skyeward has my heart, my ass, and my soul. Just the other day I was listening to random songs and having major feelings about them with Skyeward.

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

Alias AU. It’s just too big for our brains to handle. We have SO MUCH of it mapped out, but there’s a lot of mythology that needs to be detailed, and we’re just not gonna get there. So we scaled it down to Blalias AU, as we nicknamed it. Hopefully we’ll work our way through that.

What are your writing strengths?

Banter. For sure. I love writing dialogue.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Action. Don’t think I can do it at all. But then again a lot of my fics are in settings that don’t require a lot. Also, slow burn is actually hard to write! I just want them happy and comfortable in a relationship.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I don’t really do it, mostly because I don’t have a good reason to in the stories that I write. As a reader, I like a little bit, like a sentence or two, where you can guess the meaning from context. And I really love little terms of endearment (bless Darklina fic for all the Russian endearments) in other languages. But if there are big blocks of dialogue, I just skip over them. If there’s a translation, then it takes me out of the story, and if there isn’t, I’m not going to go look it up, so.... yeah. As a writer, if I had a reason to use another language, 1) I would make sure I got the translation from an actual human that speaks it (i.e. not Google Translate) and 2) it would be just a line or two that wouldn’t need a separate translation to understand.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Very very very first, was Hanson. Yup, that Hanson. I even turned in a self insert fanfic as a Creative Writing assignment in high school. I still can’t decide if my teacher knew what it was and died laughing at me or had no clue because he was an old grizzled English teacher who would rather listen to jazz than Mmmbop. But like, as intentionally writing fic, it was actually Skyeward.

What’s your favorite fic you’ve written?

Hmmm.....that’s really really hard. I loooove Couldn’t See You Coming (Skyeward Soulmate AU I wrote for Evie’s birthday a few years ago). I think Finders Keepers is my best single fic. And From My Hands, I Could Give You (Restaurant AU) might be the one I’m the very most attached to. I haven’t updated it in 2+ years, but I still think about it and daydream plan for it on a near-daily basis.

Tagging: @universallongings, @firstdegreefangirl, @inthemovingcastle

#ask daisy #daisy writes #or at least thinks she does #writer things #shameless self promotion

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little-read-a-lot · 4 years ago

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Hi!! Congratulations on 100!!!! Would you do me a favor and link your comfort/favorite fics?

Oh I would love to! Most/all of these have been recommended before but they are my favs. This isn’t complete by a long shot but it’s a fairly decent list. These are not in order from best to worst, I have them alphabetically organized because I don’t think I could choose.

Avatar the Last Airbender

lessons in tea making by aloneintherain - the idea of Zuko having to run away from the Gaang is just...I wish I had found this fic sooner.

Salvage by MuffinLance - Zuko getting a father figure through Hakoda is not something I knew I needed until I read this fic. I would die if this fic became abandoned.

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Every Letter That You Write Me by othellia - Hands down best Buffy fic I have ever read. I’ve only made it through this one twice but that’s because it’s not finished yet. If I could only recommend one Buffy fic it’d be this one.

Danny Phantom

Because of Him by dizappearingirl - I will die for another chapter. I have no idea why I love this one so much but I do.

Danny Phantom Reversal by The Smiling Crow - legit the best DP fanfic in which he turns into a half ghost after having fully died. No one could do a better story with this concept, I swear by it.

Disinterred by DarkNymfa - I was fairly late to reading this one but it is so good.

Fathoms Below by VanillaSpiders - I cannot tell you how much I enjoy this one. Maybe I’m just a sucker for mermaids but I have read this trilogy at least five times and would read it again in a heartbeat.

when the kingdom comes calling by blueh - this one makes me giggle.

The One About Mr Tricycle and Mr-I-Take-a-Bike-to-Bed by FrankandJoe3 - I crack up every time. This fic never gets old. Whenever I need a laugh I come back to this one.

The Ward by FrankandJoe3 - Y’all just need to read this one it’s so well written and has a unique storyline.

Through a Glass, Darkly by Never_Says_Die - Best Static Shock fic, period. I really like this story in ways I can’t explain.

Doctor Who

Connect-the-Dots by fingersfallingupwards - It’s a soulmate fic with Rose and the Doctor and I would die for another fic just like it.

Mad, Beautiful, Fantastic by JulietRose - I’m a sucker for Rose and the Doctor, and the title says it all.

Merlin

Y’know I’m not gonna even list all of these, just go check out CaffeinatedFlumadiddle

Everaftering So Happy by Palebluedot - this one makes me laugh.

Peace for Our Time by AngryPurpleFire - really funny Merlin fic, I’ve read it twice and would read it again.

Miraculous Ladybug

Go read SailorChibi because I can’t list all the ones I like from them.

Snuggle Bug by imthepunchlord - short, funny, and cute.

You Call This Acting? by chellethewriter - I have my reasons.

Crossovers

Broken Hearts (DP x TT) by DizzlyPuzzled - If you asked me in 2015, before I got into much fanfiction besides Danny Phantom, what my favorite fanfiction was, this would be it. I loved it in a way that, although it did put Danny through the ringer, it did allow him to heal and make steps toward his old self. Hurt/comfort for the win.

Devils Without And Devils Within (DP x DC x Marvel) by Ellyven- Literally would die for the last few chapters of this. It reels you in and keeps you wanting more and then...stops.

Earthbound Spirit (DP x TT) by TheTragicHero - I think this is one of the few, or only, that Starfire is Danny’s friend first. I have read this again and again and could read it a few times more. I read it after Broken Hearts and this holds a close second in nostalgic fics.

Mirrored (DP x American Dragon) by Lynse - Best, hands down, Danny Phantom and American Dragon crossover. Read it a long time ago and rediscovered it.

Mistaken Relations (DP x Rise of the Guardians) by DAsObiQuiet - if you’re looking for a laugh - this one is it.

Oh Captain, My Captain (Captain America x Torchwood) by Vinelady - I never thought a Marvel and Doctor Who (kinda) crossover could make me laugh and smile so much. I’ve read this maybe 3 times and it hasn’t gotten old yet.

Recognized (Danny Phantom x Young Justice) by AgentIanLegend- One of the more recent DC/Danny Phantom crossovers I cannot get enough of.

#daily fic rec #fic rec #danny phantom #miraculous ladybug #dc #marvel #doctor who #merlin #fanfiction #AO3 #ask #answer #list #fav fics

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petrichxxr · 4 years ago

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fateful coincidence [2] | l.jh

A/N: here I am yet again wondering if people still read the things I write... I started this series a year ago (I think) and finally have gotten around to updating it...

Word Count: 12,552

Genre: chaebol/heir!au, supernatural elements/deal with the devil, slice of life, romance (slow burn/soulmates)

Warnings: reader (fem) x lee jooheon (monsta x) pairing, mature/suggestive themes, language

Summary: Lee Jooheon is a well-known heir to a global hotel conglomerate, and is next in line to take over the family business. You’re a journalist, aspiring for more, but barely managing to pay your own bills at the end of the month. The two of you are from entirely different worlds, yet fate somehow tangles your threads, and Jooheon seems to know an intriguing amount more about you than he lets on.

You’re forgetting things.

Like pockets of memory, it starts off small. Miniscule things throughout the day that slowly progress into more important issues. There are holes, you reach in and grasp for something that you know should be there, but nothing comes out. It’s an irritating feeling—to know that something is misplaced, forgotten, but to be unable to identify what it is. It feels as if it’s only gotten worse since the night of the hotel opening, but a part of you is suddenly aware that it’s been going on for much longer than that.

It’s only after the event, waking up the next day with the taste of alcohol lingering, that you wonder how serious your memory displacement might be—because you realize, waking up, that it’s not even the alcohol that’s making you forget. Yet despite that, you still push everything down. You lock it and the dashing Lee Jooheon away in the depths of your mind, forcefully making yourself forget this one thing. You didn’t have the time to keep constantly turning his words over in your head, attempting to sort through the shrouded mystery that they presented. Not just that, but he was from a completely separate world—even if you allowed yourself time to do just that, he was still untouchable.

Plus, you didn’t want to relive every single detail as you described the event to Kihyun. There were some important factors that could be conveniently left out—he had refused to talk to you for almost three days, annoyed you’d hung up on him and given him the cold shoulder that day. Despite having a job to do. But you were just as irritated in his behavior and lack of thoughtfulness the day of the event when you’d called out of work. He hadn’t bothered to check on you at all, and you had needed to get to your job. It was as simple as that, but he’d taken it out of proportion and was being childish.

His childish behavior had dropped after the three days—after he seemed satisfied he’d gotten whatever point he was attempting to make (there was none) across, and after you got some decent recognition from Minhyuk due to the article you’d written. You tried not to consider the fact that it could have been some of Jooheon’s doing that the piece was performing so well, another thought you pushed out of your mind and locked away.

After the hype of everything between the event and article died down, your daily routine fell back into place. Kihyun was back to his normal blunt best friend act, Minhyuk was as bossy as ever and overworked you, and your daily headaches returned.

The daily headaches. You wonder if it has anything to do with your missing pockets of memory.

“Are you forgetting anything?” Kihyun’s voice suddenly breaks through the slight throbbing just beyond your skull, silencing the thoughts that were just about to make everything worse.

You glance up from your suitcase to see him entering your room, eyes scanning over the piece of paper you’d typed up. A gray cloud of fluff, fondly known to be your cat Silas, expertly weaves his way through Kihyun’s feet. Whenever he did that to you, you’d trip and fall—yet for some reason, he and Kihyun had it down to an art. No matter how much Kihyun multitasked, he was always used to the feline being just underfoot.

Silas breaks apart from Kihyun and trots across your bedroom to you. “Hey, bub.” Smiling, you reach out and give the cat a few chin scratches. Looking up to Kihyun, you add, “I don’t think so. You’ve taken care of him before though, so it shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Kihyun frowns. “Not for this extended length of time, though. Does he get separation anxiety?”

“With how much I work and am away from home, anyway? Doubtful. But who knows, he may miss my presence. Just sleep over here. I have food that’ll go bad and you still have a roommate.”

“True. Hyungwon just sleeps, anyway. It’s not like he’ll really notice I’m gone.” Kihyun lowers the paper of instructions for caring for the flat and Silas while you’re gone on your trip, eyeing you. “Are you going to get that checked out, by the way?”

You practically scramble to lower your hands from your neck, realizing Kihyun had spotted you attempting to massage away some of the pain throbbing at the base of your nape. He was always so watchful, it was almost annoying. You understood the headaches were something to be concerned over, but he didn’t have to nitpick so much.

“It’s not really a work trip, nor a leisure trip. I’ll see if I have time.”

“Still, you’ll be visiting home while you’re there. You may as well fit in a doctor’s appointment,” Kihyun pointed out, giving the paper in his hand a small wave. “Plus, you’re there a little over a week. Family matters to take care of or not, you’ll have plenty of time. Make sure to get some rest, too. Maybe you just need some decent sleep.”

You sigh. “Yes, mother, I’ll try to.”

The sound of Kihyun’s scoff immediately follows, along with his footsteps. Silas, who had been sprawled out on the floor this entire time, scurries away at the sudden weight reverberating across the floor that startles him out of his catnap.

“Anyway, did you forget anything?” Kihyun asks once more, eyeing your open suitcase in front of you.

You glance back at your suitcase, a little haphazard with the contents but sorted and all together nonetheless—you just had to figure out how to make everything fit between your checked and carry on baggage—and shake your head. “No, I think I’m good. If I do forget anything, at least I’m going home. There’s usually spare stuff available, or I can just buy it if it’s something small.”

Kihyun frowns. “You were literally just complaining a few weeks ago about having to spend money on a dress, and now you’re saying you can just buy what you need.”

“Well, I figure if I forget anything, it’ll be something cheap like shampoo,” you cut him a look, rolling your eyes. Not a gown, you want to say. “Anyway, let’s get some sleep. Flight leaves at two in the morning, and I’m sure that’s going to be a lovely time waking up for the both of us.”

If possible, Kihyun’s frown deepens. As quickly as you possibly can without making any mistakes, you finish organizing your belongings between the luggage and close everything up, creating a pile to easily collect upon your departure. Kihyun bids a soft goodnight and makes his way back to the makeshift bed he’d created in your living room. You were already dreading the sixteen hour time difference and having to reset your internal clock for your visit to the States. At least all Kihyun had to do was wake up at an almost-unholy hour of the night to drop you off at the airport, then return to home and bed. You hoped sleep would come easily to you on the plane—because as the lights in your apartment are shut off and you close your eyes, the pounding of your headache seems to increase and rear its ugly head in full force—making sleep almost impossible for the five or six hours ahead of you.

—

Sleep comes, at some point—though not easily. But as long as it took to come, it ends in an even shorter amount of time. When you finally do fall asleep, it feels as though only a few moments pass before your alarm begins to go off. You groan, your head still pounding, and roll over to bury yourself further under your covers. The blaring song of your alarm does nothing to ease the throbbing within your skull, and you wonder how you’re supposed to get into an airplane and make the trip. Will the climb in altitude make your head hurt worse?

It’s Kihyun’s groaning from the other room, followed by his annoyed stomps—that finally wakes you. He silences your phone alarm before abruptly pulling your covers off you, making you groan again.

“Wake up,” Kihyun orders, and you feel your shoulder shoved at. “You don’t want to be late.”

“I don’t want to be at all…” Comes your sleepily mumbled reply.

“We are not having an existential crisis at twelve in the morning. Get up. I will not hesitate to drag you out of bed,” Kihyun warns. “And your apartment floors are wood.”

Letting out a sigh, you push yourself into a sitting position. Giving your eyes a rub, applying a slight pressure in hopes to ward away the throbbing headache, you drop your hands then blink a few times and allow your sight to adjust to the darkness of your bedroom.

“You still have a headache?” You see Kihyun frown in the dark.

“Why are you surprised? It’s a constant thing nowadays,” you sigh once more, pushing yourself to the edge of the bed. “Plus, it took forever to fall asleep. I’ll just sleep on the plane, though. Do you mind packing the car and I’ll get ready?”

You don’t really wait for Kihyun to answer, knowing he’ll do so anyway without you having asked, moving around to collect the clothes you’d set out the evening before and heading to the bathroom. One of Kihyun’s pet peeves was being tardy, and while you lived close enough to the airport that it wasn’t a huge deal to leave a little later—it had been Kihyun’s idea to at least get there an hour and a half earlier than your flight. Which honestly made sense on any normal occasion, but the airport was sure to be a bit on the dead side considering the time of night.

It doesn’t take you long to get ready. Your warm morning shower does nothing to ease the tension in your head—a last ditch effort you had hoped might work. By the time you’ve finished a very shortened version of your morning routine brushing your teeth, drying your hair, and applying your facial care—Kihyun already has the car packed and is pouring some food into Silas’ bowl, before pulling a hoodie on and getting ready himself. You gather the last of your toiletry items that need to be packed, and when the two of you head downstairs and you bid your farewell to your beloved feline, you stuff your toiletry bag into the top zipper of your luggage.

Kihyun was right to urge you to leave earlier rather than later. Despite the distance to the airport, there’s a decent amount of midnight traffic due to it being a weekend. You close your eyes as he drives, the blinding city and street lights glaring against the glass window of the car and burning your pupils and head. Kihyun’s smooth operation of the vehicle makes it easy to doze off a couple of times before you arrive. While the traffic may have been on the heavier side, you still make it early, and with plenty of time to spare.

“Make sure to tell me when you land,” Kihyun orders as he helps pull your bags out of the trunk of the car.

“I will.” You’d be sure not to have a repeat of the hotel opening night, where he hadn’t checked in on you when you’d called out, and out of spite you hadn’t bothered to reach out to him. “Make sure you send me plenty of photos of Silas while I’m gone.”

“He’ll be fine, he’s a cat.”

You jut out your bottom lip into a pout. “That’s not what I said.”

Kihyun scoffs, but reaches up to pat your head gently. “I’ll send you photos. Please try to see if you can get into a doctor while you’re there.”

“You’re going to keep pushing that, aren’t you?”

“As much as I possibly can,” Kihyun lowers his hand to give you a one-armed hug. “I’m going to miss pestering you. I don’t think we’ve been separated for a week since we met in college.”

“You could just say you’re going to miss me like a normal person would.”

“There’s no fun in that though.” Kihyun grins down at you, before nodding towards the entrance to your gate.

Giving a small wave, you gather your luggage and head inside. In total, it takes about thirty minutes to get your bag checked, get yourself checked in for your flight, and to go through security. Just as you’d suspected, the airport is practically dead at this hour and the lines are nonexistent. However, the traffic had been enough to make a dent in the time, and you thankfully don’t have long to wait before they start calling for your gate to board. There’s exactly enough time to grab a quick pastry from a nearby coffee shop that happened to be open before making your way onto the plane when your seat section is called.

You board the plane, stow your carryon in the overhead compartment, and then claim your seat and fasten your seatbelt. Having flown before, you stick your earbuds in your ears—figuring you’ll listen to the flight attendants’ usual spiel when the time came—but more eager to make yourself comfortable and attempt some more sleep as quickly and as soon as possible. Especially since you’d been lucky enough to snag an unclaimed window seat. This meant you were tucked away in your own little back corner, hopefully left alone for the sixteen hours ahead by whoever decided to take up being your seat partner.

Hopefully left alone was too much along the lines of wishful thinking.

As you stare out the window, watching workers move about below in the dark as they load and prep the plane for takeoff—you suddenly feel an uncomfortable tug on the cord of your earbud, before it’s pulled straight from your ear. You can’t help but grimace, feeling the bud tug at one of your many piercings.

“What the hell—”

Just as you speak up, a voice that’s all too familiar asks, simultaneously, “What are you listening to?”

You blanch as you turn in your seat, coming face to face with none other than Lee Jooheon. He quirks a brow at you, tilting his head to the side as he inserts your stolen earbud into his own ear. You can just barely make out the dimple impressions on his cheeks, his mouth pressed into something along the lines of a smile suppressing an amused smirk.

“How—” The word falls from your lips, empty and confused. How, what? You wonder. How did he get here? How was he on the same flight as you? How did he recognize you? Not that you’d chosen to sit too far towards the back, honestly—anyone walking into the plane after just boarding could easily recognize a familiar face with an empty seat next to them. You liked sitting toward the front-middle of planes when traveling; apparently, in this case, that was your downfall.

“Business trip,” Jooheon just shrugs, replying simply. “Why didn’t you ever text me that night?”

You turn away from him, pursing your lips. Text him? You briefly remembered him handing you a business card, though couldn’t remember where it had slipped off to—too many drinks made it difficult to keep track of something that small. He’d only asked for you to notify him you got home safe, anyway, so what was the big deal? His bodyguard that had escorted you home surely passed that bit of info along to him.

Had he—a possible multimillion dollar heir—really expected you to text him, unannounced? And why would he expect such a thing?

Copying his shrug, you glance away from him. “I lost your business card.”

It wasn’t a lie. As much as you wanted to admit, it was easy to forget the business card and it’s whereabouts. It was easy to forget the possibility of texting him as he’d asked. With the alcohol that had coursed through you, it was easy to forget that entire night. That was something that would probably irk him if you did choose to admit it. However, what wasn’t easy to forget were his words that randomly popped into your mind and turned over in your head, playing like a broken record—Do you really not remember me?

That, on the contrary, was something that irked you.

What was there to remember? Had you really forgotten something? It was a question that burned into your mind, day and night, even when you attempted to suppress all thoughts of him. You tried not to allow yourself to think of the events of that day, or him. While the former was fairly easy, there was something about Jooheon himself that made the latter next to impossible. There was no way for you to fight off the burning curiosity he’d created, as much as you tried. You could forget everything but him and his mysterious words.

“Well, we can fix that,” Jooheon’s reply doesn’t miss a beat. Before you even have a chance to react to his words, you feel your unlocked phone slip through your fingers and out of your grasp.

“H-Hey—”

But Jooheon is paying no mind to your protest, and you watch as he swipes out of the Spotify app on your phone to open the dialing screen. His fingers glide across your screen as he inputs his number. He even goes a step further as to open your messages and start a new text to himself—ensuring he also had your number.

As he hands your phone back to you, you frown, feeling your jaw tense. You glance down at the screen briefly, which he’d returned to your playlist, before looking back up at him. What would he do if you blatantly deleted his phone number? A part of you felt spiteful enough to do so just for the mere fact that he had taken your phone without asking and entered his number. It’s fine, I’ll just delete his number after the flight, you decide. Even if he has my number, I can just block him.

Whatever kind of coincidence this was—it was just that. A coincidence. Nothing more would amount after this. It was rather unlucky you were stuck here for sixteen hours with the given circumstances, but you reminded yourself that this wouldn’t be happening again, and to just suffer through it for now. But there was a small part of you that wasn’t quite convinced it was merely just a coincidence, like you hoped… his words from the hotel opening night, like a broken record, continued to replay in your mind. You couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something missing. Something you really had forgotten.

“I like this song,” Jooheon comments off-hand, and you only hum in response, finally turning away. It would be an understatement to say you weren’t really in the mood to engage him. Maybe he’d only spoken up and said that because you’d been staring for so long, taking your gaze the wrong way. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to be completely lacking in common sense. Jooheon doesn’t push for more of a reply out of you, allowing the two of you to sit in silence as the rest of the flight occupants take their seats.

It’s almost more unnerving to sit next to Jooheon without saying anything. During the hotel night, before things had gotten weird with what he’d muttered, you two had been able to freely talk without much difficulty. There was something about his energy that made it almost comfortable, yet invigorating, to be in his presence at that time. But now the invigoration has twisted and warped into an unnerving feeling. For the most part, you feel on edge—yet there’s still a high energy, a curiosity, that sparks between you. While the flight attendants review the usual plane and flying regulations, you find yourself glancing at Jooheon. The music still plays between the two of you, having not reclaimed your earbud and he having not offered to return it.

Despite your better judgement, you’re aware of the way that the wire of the headphones rests against his shoulders, and how in normal, casual clothes—he’s actually quite broad. It’s something you feel like you should have noticed when he was dressed to the nines in a suit, yet so many suit jackets have padding you weren’t actually sure you would have trusted it. But in the simple hoodie he was wearing, you can see the breadth of his shoulders, and you’re positive it’s not because it’s oversized. He looks so simple, the outfit rounded together with some black sweatpants and a white shirt peeking out from underneath the hooded sweatshirt. So simple, and so unlike an heir or someone of his financial status. You try to ignore the fact that your brain keeps yelling at you that he looks good. It’s not important right now—or right ever, actually. Why did your mind feel the need to supply such an observation?

You’re about to pull your gaze away from your attention on Jooheon, when you notice something as you do so—where his hand lays on the armrest, his finger taps incessantly. The tapping seems to pick up speed, even becoming more sporadic, as you feel the plane beneath you pick up speed with the takeoff. For a moment, you lose yourself in the background noise of his tapping—the tiny sound overtaking your senses and demanding your focus, a rhythmic and hypnotic thing. Don’t worry about him, you tell yourself. But there’s a part of your mind that is just too curious.

“Are you okay?” You suddenly ask, dragging your eyes away from his fingers. The action seems to feel as though it takes slower than it should.

“Huh?” Jooheon blinks at you in surprise, having not expected you to acknowledge him for the rest of the flight. It’s then that he realizes what he’s doing, and he stills his hand. “Yeah, fine.”

But when you glance down, you notice the way he grips the armrest instead—forcing his muscles to be still. You think he might start vibrating with the anxiety.

“Are you sure?”

Jooheon nods, though the action is terse. “I just don’t like flying.”

“Don’t you have to do it a lot, though?” You ask, surprised. He was the heir to an international hotel chain. Wasn’t he meant to do a lot of flying? Plus, he could be considered a businessman… the idea of him not liking flying and being used to planes confuses you.

“I—” Jooheon starts, though his words are immediately cut off as the plane picks up, pulling itself off the ground as it officially takes off. Jooheon intakes his breath sharply, the takeoff pushing both of you back against your seats. It’s not a rough takeoff, per se, but you’d definitely had smoother.

Despite that, Jooheon isn’t handling it well. Something within you pulls toward him—an innate need to protect that you can't quite explain. It’s like a little tiny flame, you feel it stir within you and you can’t help but want to feed it. The combination of his intake of breath, and the way his jaw clenches when he closes his eyes, causes you to reach out without thinking—practically prying his hand off the armrest to take hold of it.

You wrap your hand around his, giving a reassuring squeeze.

Jooheon is surprised by the contact—enough so he stills for a moment, opening his eyes to peer down at your hands in curiosity—before he’s caught by surprise by something else. It’s in that moment that your hand folds around his, skin touching skin and your warmth flooding into his system through shared palms—entwining itself around every nerve—that everything stills. The sensation of everything within him simply quieting—the black, reverberating anxiety that shook at his core like a thunderous stormcloud, and the way his stomach twisted with nausea at every jerky movement the plane made. But it wasn’t just that, it was everything from that to standard stresses, a whirlwind of things that needed to be done for work, and the tormenting voices he often had to deal with within his own mind—they all just silence at your touch.

He finds his gaze locked on your hands, confused and curious all at the same time. He’d never had this happen before. Was this something that was supposed to happen? Even if he wanted to, Jooheon feels as though he’s unable to pull away from the warmth there. Like your palms are magnetized, connected, and something he shouldn’t pull apart. There was a warmth just beneath his hand, where his skin met your skin, that he could feel building like a little fire. But instead of overtaking everything in the way that a wildfire might, Jooheon finds the warmth to be soothing. Comforting, like a warm drink that fills you up—or perhaps closer to the sensation of sinking into the warm water of a bathtub. The silence within him is a welcome sensation that he’d personally like to drown himself in, if only to escape reality for just a little bit and stay suspended where he was in that strange sensation of lulled time.

For you, the skin to skin contact with Jooheon is scalding. You immediately feel that electricity you’d felt the night of the hotel opening shoot across every nerve in your body like a cosmos, the tiny flame you’d been curious about flare up with a vengeance. The heat that floods through your system at his contact in places you’d never even imagined—the pit of your stomach, the cavity of your chest, the back of your throat, is parching and suffocating and entirely overwhelming. It overtakes you in such a way that you feel your chest seize up, like you can’t breathe. But for some reason, you hang on to him. You wonder if you’ll start shaking from the sudden pressure that feels as though it’s been placed on your body, hyper-aware of the contact of him.

Yet, for some reason you don’t have the answer to, nor the mind or focus to think about—despite the way his skin contact is scalding, the nerves in your body ignited and burning from his touch—you still find yourself reaching out to him during the flight. It’s almost like it’s instinctual, though you aren’t quite sure how that would even be possible. Every time you notice Jooheon tense or become physically uncomfortable, the incessant tapping of his fingertips against the arm of the seat picking back up—you reach out to him. Your touch stills the anxiety from pouring out of his body in a physical form. It always happens when there’s turbulence, Jooheon seemingly seizing up every time the plane acts up in any way. You find it an odd fear or worry to have, considering he should be someone accustomed to flying so much, but you suppose people don’t get to pick and choose what it is that they’re afraid of.

For a good majority of the flight, Jooheon opts to leave you alone. As much as he has questions and curiosities, and a need to hear your voice, he doesn’t want to push his luck. Every time your hand finds his whenever the turbulence of the plane gets to be too much for him—everything within him stills after a shock of electricity passes through his system from your touch. It’s like that single strike flashes through his system, piercing through every bit of thick, smoky anxiety in its wake. But beyond that touch, Jooheon doesn’t ask or prompt for much more. And as the turbulence settles the longer the sixteen-hour flight drags on, the less Jooheon feels your touch that acts as a solid comfort to him. Instead, he relies more on the music the two of you listen to together. You never ask for the earbud back, and the cord of the shared headphones acts as the main thing linking you together the more time passes.

Jooheon only pushes his luck a little bit every time food or snacks come around. He takes these moments to chat with the stewardess, asking some questions, and pulling you into the conversation with ease. It’s then that you find yourself stuck in small chats with him as he passes you snacks, drinks, or your meal. Luckily, it’s easy conversation that—for the most part—doesn’t push any boundaries, and always has something to do with the food being passed around. Questions like, How does that taste? What’s your favorite food? And barters to trade snacks. They’re interactions that don’t require much of a thought process otherwise, just meaningless words to fill the silence and help pass the time. While most of your interactions with him up until that point had been begrudging, to put kindly, Jooheon couldn’t help but be surprised at how receptive you could actually be.

In between conversation, you spend the flight trying to get some shut-eye in, as you had originally planned—to no avail. You aren’t sure if it’s the presence of Jooheon being so close to you, his flying anxiety, or the sensation and sounds that came with flying that make it difficult to find sleep. From the corner of his eyes, you’re unaware of Jooheon watching you nod off every now and again, unable to ignore the way your head starts to bob or fall back against the seat suddenly. At these times, you barely manage to catch just a few fleeting moments of rest, something you couldn’t quite place your finger on always stirring you back awake.

It’s during one of these brief moments when you stir back awake that you notice Jooheon working on a tablet. At first, you think nothing of it, wanting to go back to sleep—even though you’re almost certain it’s impossible at this point—but, then it dawns on you that Jooheon is focused and quiet, and most importantly: Working, and not bothering you. As much as you hated to admit it, you’d become accustomed to Jooheon pestering you every time you moved even an inch. His silence almost disturbed you.

You blink a few times, blearily at first, refocusing your gaze and quietly straightening in your seat to peek a glance at the tablet. It sits in Jooheon’s lap, propped against one of his knees that he has raised and crossed over the other leg, where he drags the stylus against the screen, moving a specific item back and forth across the piece he’s working on. You can’t tell if he’s being erratic or indecisive. For a moment, though, you stare—studying what you assume to be some sort of pamphlet being put together for a hotel—before a yawn overtakes you.

When the yawn subsides, you shift in your seat, leaning closer to Jooheon. You give his elbow a nudge on the arm rest as you peer further over his shoulder at the tablet. “There’s too much white space.”

You bite your lip to keep from laughing when Jooheon startles in surprise at your sudden intrusion into his space—having thought you were asleep still—letting a curse in Korean slip from his mouth under his breath. Cute, you can’t help but think, offering up a sheepish smile as if to apologize when Jooheon turns his head to stare you down, his eyes screaming offense. Jooheon lets out a small sigh, turning away and lifting a hand up to pat his chest and clear his throat—attempting to settle a heart that had almost tried to jump out of his chest.

“I can’t get this layout to work,” Jooheon says as he returns his attention to the tablet in front of him.

You reach over the armrest, and over his arm which holds the tablet, pointing at the screen as you speak. “You should resize these things, and then move this font here, and this image here. You could also do an overlay with a neutral color to offset the layers of this.”

As you point to what you’re talking about, careful not to touch the tablet and accidentally move something, Jooheon watchings your index finger carefully. You don’t notice the way his brows knit in focus, hanging on every word you say and carefully listening to you. You also don’t notice the way that, as you speak, he’ll find himself losing focus for just a split second to allow his eyes to flicker to your face—so close to his as you lean over the armrest—taking a fleeting moment to admire the way you seem so serious and concentrated, your eyes alight with determined focus. Jooheon glances away from you, and back down to the tablet as you speak, feeling the corners of his lips twitch with amusement. This is what you liked doing. It was the part of your job that you liked, and he could tell. A stark contrast to the night of the hotel opening, which just seemed stressful and forced on you.

It’s Jooheon’s turn to shift in his seat, leaning closer to you as he pulls his arm back and puts the tablet on the armrest between the two of you. You feel yourself freeze slightly at the proximity, having been so focused on what you were telling him. He lifts his hand, holding out the stylus to you. You blink, glancing at him and meeting his gaze—brief enough that it makes your chest clench—before glancing at the stylus.

“What?”

“I’m not going to retain any of what you just said. I got a bit of it. You take over.”

“You… want me?” You blink in surprise, glancing at the screen of the tablet, and at him again. “This seems important though. It’s for your work, I could mess it up—”

Jooheon scoffs. “Please, if anything—I’m the one that’ll mess it up. You’re the journalism major here, I’d say you’re much more qualified.”

“Then why are you doing this?” You ask, relenting and taking the stylus from Jooheon.

“We acquired a hotel in Los Angeles a few months back that’s been undergoing renovation—for the line of hotels I introduced at the grand opening the other night. The one in Seoul was built from the ground up, but we’ve slowly been expanding and we took a historic hotel and made it our own,” Jooheon explains, watching as you finally touch the stylus tip to the tablet and begin to work. “Anyway, long explanation shorter—the opening for that and the reintroduction of the new management is soon, but we recently lost our marketing manager. We haven’t been able to find someone else to hire, and we’ve got deadlines to reach. I’ve been trying to help out by taking over half of the job duties from the general manager.”

“That’s very… responsible of you.”

“Well, this whole chain is my responsibility,” Jooheon muses. “So, yeah. But also my best friend is the GM and his ass is getting kicked. Neither of us are any good at this, we’re just good at the business portion of it.”

The conversation falls off there, Jooheon realizing you’re focusing. Hearing he and his general manager were struggling made you feel more pressure, and you can’t help but mentally chastise yourself for stepping in and helping, despite how clearly he had been struggling. Luckily, Jooheon stays close to you as he watches you work, leaning against the armrest. You try not to focus too much on the way your shoulders touch, or the way his scent flows into your space as he delegates a little, giving you technical hotel terminology to include and add in as the pamphlet comes to life on the tablet screen and the white space that had been taking up the majority of the screen before slowly melts away. When he challenges something you do, he allows for you to explain your reasoning behind it and listens carefully as you do so. You find yourself surprised at how well he listens, and how easily it is to compromise with him on certain things.

You two spend a couple of hours working away at the project together before determining it’s finished, Jooheon and yourself both pleased with the outcome. Jooheon is smiling with enough force that his dimples show on his cheeks, and you can’t help but find yourself smiling along with him—his happiness infectious; you’re happy he’s happy, and you’re happy to have helped. Yet even with the happiness, you find your eyes stinging because of staring at a bright screen for so long, and are acutely aware of your beloved ever-present migraine rearing its ugly head even more than it had at the start of the flight. Jooheon takes note of the way you lift a hand to pinch your nose, attempting to suppress the pain throbbing from your skull.

“Get some sleep. I won’t bother you anymore,” Jooheon comments, lifting the tablet up briefly to give it a small wave. “Thanks for your help though.”

“No problem,” you mumble, suppressing yawn. His thank you catches you off-guard, enough so that you lower your hand from the bridge of your nose to blink at him a couple of times. But he’s not paying attention, turning away from you to put the tablet back into a carry-on he’d had stowed underneath the seat ahead of him. You shift in your seat—away from the position which had you closer to him—attempting to make yourself comfortable again as you close your eyes.

Sleep seems like a fever dream to you. Something you’re aware that you’re receiving, but never feeling quite satisfied from it. As if it’s there, but simultaneously not; all a figment of your imagination. You begin to doze almost immediately after closing your eyes, the migraine practically pushing you to do so, because keeping your eyes open hurt too much. The intensity of the migraine doesn’t relent, though, which has you dozing and waking just as you had before you’d begun helping Jooheon with his work. Just as before, you find yourself going in and out of consciousness, nodding off and startling awake when your head begins to bob or tip too far. You sleep in increments—none of it restful.

Jooheon is aware of your restlessness next to him, but he’d promised not to bother you—and he has to remind himself of that. But the way your head tips and bobs makes him feel anxious for you. Especially because he could briefly recall a mention of a constant headache the night of the hotel opening, and he couldn’t help but wonder if the reason sleep wasn’t coming to you easily was because of that. Had you been serious about it? You had a dry sense of humor, which he found quite amusing, but it had him often wondering if what you said was the truth or not at certain times—and did a decent job to keep him on his toes as he attempted to figure out whether you were being serious at times.

He gives in to listening to himself constantly telling himself that he had said he wouldn't bother you, though, after too much time passes watching your head nod as sleep attempts to overtake you. That has got to be uncomfortable on the neck… he thinks to himself, completely giving in when he watches your head fall forward a bit too far. Jooheon reaches out to catch your head, guiding it gently toward his shoulder. As he does so, he sinks lower in his seat just a bit, so your head can rest more comfortably against him. He’s a little disappointed to find that the instant calm and quiet that had overtaken him earlier during the turbulence from your touch doesn’t envelop him warmly again—he is, however, surprised to find that after a few moments pass, you shift in your seat closer to him. When Jooheon glances at you after feeling the movement, he finds you still asleep—thankfully—slumping to the side to lean towards him more comfortably, snuggling against his shoulder.

The way you nuzzle against him has him tensing in surprise—a heat pooling in the pit of his stomach. The action from you and the heat he feels overtake him with a sudden ferocity are familiar. Too familiar. A type of hunger he’d rather not put a name to.

No, Lee Jooheon. Not right now. He clenches his jaw, glancing away from you and swallowing roughly, feeling parched suddenly. It was strange how different actions elicited different reactions, his body responding in such stark contrast to each. As Jooheon turns away, he carefully lifts his hood up and over his head, closing his eyes.

He should sleep, too. There was still quite a bit of flight left.

—

You’re met with silence when you finally wake.

The plane is bustling and alive, a quiet hum of sound that reverberates through the cabin as people speak in hushed tones and get ready for their landing. These sounds all come to you, slowly seeping into your consciousness. Before your body fully wakes—before you begin to tense your muscles and stretch, and a yawn overtakes you while your eyes crack open—your mind wakes first. And you notice something that seems a little off.

Everything is silent.

Your headache is completely gone.

You stay still for a moment, reveling in the odd silence, though your mind is reeling as to why the migraines which had been plaguing you for months were just suddenly gone. The cavity of your skull where your mind rests feels empty, but in an oddly good way. What had changed? What had happened? Was it the ascension in the plane to a higher altitude? Was that even something that could stop chronic migraines?

It almost felt too good to be true, considering your migraines also came hand-in-hand with your pockets of disappearing memory. For all that to just suddenly stop felt too good to be true.

Furrowing your brows, you squeeze your eyes closed tighter. You want to stay here—suspended in silence and the darkness behind your eyelids—forever. There was no ache just beyond your temple that caused nausea; the pain so bad sometimes you felt like you might pass out. There was no ache behind your eyes that typically brought about the stinging sensation of tears, and made the glaring brightness of any sort of light hurt. There was nothing. There was just silence. No thoughts, no suffocating pressure, no pain.

“Are you awake now?” Abruptly, Jooheon’s not-so-welcome, yet familiar, voice breaks through your silence.

Begrudgingly, you open your eyes, blinking a few times to readjust to the light. And then, you blink again, realizing the tilted angle at which you’re resting.

“Sleep well?” The hint of amusement in Jooheon’s voice has you jolting upright—and off his shoulder, where you’d been resting your head. You take a moment to stare ahead, refusing to meet Jooheon’s curious gaze that you can feel burning into you. Silently, you swallow down your nervousness and glance to your side, avoiding his gaze for a moment to stare at his shoulder—your makeshift pillow for who knows how long—then you lift your eyes to meet his.

Without prompting vocally again, Jooheon simply raises an eyebrow.

You almost hate to admit you did sleep well, considering the push and pull you kept experiencing towards Jooheon. There were too many unanswered questions about him, too many things that made you curious and worried at the same time. He was too mysterious. Admitting something like this to him almost felt like you were placing a playing card right in his hand. There was a small part of you that wondered if his presence had anything to do with it, but you immediately pushed that thought out of your mind, writing it off as absolutely absurd. You barely knew him, how would he have any sort of effect on you such as that?

Letting out a sigh, you nod finally in answer.

Jooheon takes the silent answer with a small nod of his own, turning away to gather his belongings which had been at his feet to begin putting in the backpack he had, before pushing it back under the seat before him. “That’s good, you looked like you needed some decent rest.”

“Apparently so. My headache—or rather, migraine—is gone.”

When Jooheon straightens in his seat, he turns to look at you again. “You mentioned once you had a constant headache. Was it that bad?”

You nod. “It would vary. Sometimes it was a headache, sometimes a migraine. Anywhere from manageable to incapacitating, but always constant. It’s been going on for almost three months now, I think?”

“That long?” Jooheon’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and the corners of his lips immediately follow in the opposite direction, pulling down into a frown. “You mentioned during our first meeting you were stressed, but that sounds like something more than just stress. Have you been to a doctor?”

“Please, finding the time is too difficult. Don’t start nagging me like Kihyun.” Out of habit, the borderline pushiness of his words has you reaching up to pinch the bridge of your nose. There’s no headache there to attempt to subside—which has your hand just as quickly falling down from your face. You frown at your palm, studying it. The habit had been built on stress, and as stressful as Jooheon’s miniscule attempt to nag had been, there was no physical representation of that stress like usual.

Maybe Kihyun is the problem, you muse to yourself. He did have a tendency to nag to the extreme. Almost like a mother.

“I’m starting to think Kihyun might be on to something,” Jooheon grumbles from next to you, causing you to lift your gaze from your hand. “You seem to be stubborn, you need someone to nag you, it seems like. You should find the time. Three months almost certainly implies there’s some sort of underlying health concern.”

“My headache is still gone, don’t ruin the moment. If you keep it up, it’s almost certainly going to come back.”

With a scoff, you look away from him and nestle back into your seat. As you do so, an announcement over the intercom notifies everyone aboard the plane of the oncoming landing. Instructions to start preparing for landing by putting away and stowing all belongings follows, and the stewardess over the speaker ends the announcement by asking everyone to return to their seats and begin buckling up.

“Fine. I won’t ruin this moment. But I can’t promise for any future moments,” Jooheon declares. When you glance at him in surprise, he looks over at you with a small dimpled smirk. You end up rolling your eyes—rolling your gaze away from him. How the heck was he so annoying, yet somehow charming?

As if someone hears the word charming cross through your mind—the plane hits a bit of turbulence just before it begins to tip to the side, turning to make a circle to land. It’s a very slight maneuver, almost unnoticeable. In fact, you were so accustomed to flying that you really wouldn’t have noticed it yourself, if not for the fact that Jooheon, next to you, was visibly tensing as he had earlier. His hand, lying on the armrest between you, grips the edge so hard the skin pulls taught and translucent over his knuckles.

Even Jooheon’s unusual fear and his reaction to it, something you had become accustomed to during the flight, was somehow charming.

Wordlessly, you reach out, pushing your hand beneath his where it grips the armrest. It takes a bit of urging before he feels your fingertips pushing against the base of his palm near his wrist, attempting to push your way underneath. When Jooheon does, he glances at you in surprise, lifting his hand just enough for you to slip yours beneath to take hold of him as you had before.

When your palms connect, fingers wrapping around his and him returning the gesture, that scalding feeling from before returns. You knew you’d be burned, touching him—yet for some reason, as you had so many times through the flight already—it was a risk you were willing to take. That same electricity that you’d felt before, and felt from the night of the hotel opening, shoots up your arm from where your palms connect and shoots across every nerve in your body again. This time, though, it feels so much stronger—and now you wonder if the clarity of your migraine being gone is a good thing, or a bad thing. Without the heavy, leaden fog that rests over your mind with the migraine, you’re suddenly aware and feel everything. So much so that the contact this time and the reaction your body has to him makes you flinch in surprise, though very subtly.

Jooheon, of course, takes silent note—his eyes never not watching you curiously.

That electric fire that swarms through you happens in such a brief amount of time that it takes you a few moments of staring at your hand, connected with Jooheon’s, to realize that it at some point quiets down to something more akin to a simmer. Warm, and somehow pleasant. Something like sitting in a window, where sun filters through, your eyes closed against the sunlight that warms the glass and warms you.

You really had to be going crazy, you think. Jooheon was handsome but there was no way you were attracted to him—right?

Meanwhile, the same warmth floods through Jooheon, euphoric and soothing. He draws his eyes away from you, clenching his jaw and trying not to physically react to the fuzzy feeling that overtakes him, filling him up yet again. The welcome silence of everything stopping within him returns. If he isn’t careful, he’s sure he might let out a sigh of contentment that would give everything away. And so, he clenches his jaw a little tighter, pursing his lips.

“You’re going to break the poor armrest,” you say, past a knot that forms in your throat. Your throat feels dry, seizing up again. You feel awkward just holding his hand—especially as you try to make sense of the sudden fire that had built up just as it had before, before slowly dying down into something more manageable. This time, it wasn’t as suffocating. Yet you still felt somehow nervous and small next to him, that unnerving edginess he causes settling over you again. Your body was starting to feel as though it was experiencing whiplash.

A little over sixteen hours spent in his presence was starting to confuse you. Were you still irked by him, yet somehow intrigued? Or were you actually starting to soften up to him? You had to admit that his mysterious riddled words and overly generous actions had made you immediately throw up a wall… but he hadn’t been that bad during this flight. He’d been much more normal, still as charming, but besides taking your phone for himself—he hadn’t pushed any boundaries or said anything weird.

“You’d rather I break your hand, then?” Jooheon retorts good-naturedly, which has you suddenly snorting out a small laugh.

“Please don’t actually break it. I need to return to work after this trip.”

“What are you on this trip for, anyway?” Jooheon wonders, and when you look at him with a frown, he shrugs. “I told you what I’m going to LA for.”

“Family reasons.”

“A vacation, then?”

You shake your head, grimacing at the thought of what awaits you when you land. Although Jooheon has made the flight a little more bearable, despite everything you thought about him prior, a small part of you wishes you hadn’t even boarded the plane back in Seoul. Knowing what you were walking into when the plane landed—you wished for everything that, somehow, you wouldn’t have to. If only you hadn’t been pressured into taking this trip. You wanted to stay suspended here, with your migraine gone and a bit of peace from everything in life and just spend some time not thinking. Not thinking about work, not thinking about family, and not thinking about how much pain you were constantly in. Kihyun had told you to get your migraine checked out while you were near your family doctor, but you wondered when you’d have time for that—wondered how long this peace from the head pain would last. Which is why you wanted to keep it, for as long as possible. It was so nice to have some silence and a break from it all. Soon, you’d be walking back into more pain. Unwillingly so, but that was the outcome, nonetheless.

“It’s not going to feel like a vacation.” Comes your answer, just as the plane lands. It’s at that moment that Jooheon squeezes your hand, the impact of the plane hitting the runway jostling everyone inside just a bit. But there’s something in the way that he gives the squeeze—almost reassuring instead of to comfort himself—that has you staring at your hands, yet again, in silent curiosity.

Jooheon keeps holding your hand up until the plane reaches a complete stop once it pulls up to the jetway. It’s only then that he relinquishes his hold, and the both of you silently gather up the belongings which you’d brought as carry on items onto the plane. Other passengers begin to do the same, standing in their rows and slowly beginning to exit the plane. Jooheon, once he has everything in his backpack he’d brought with him, soon stands in the row you share, turning to glance over his shoulder. As you finish gathering your things into the backpack you’d brought on the plane with you after claiming it from the overhead bin, you look up at him—noticing him searching.

You peek over the top edge of your seat just as Jooheon appears to have found who he was looking for, giving a curt nod of acknowledgement. “I’ll meet you outside,” he says, nodding over his shoulder to signal when they exit the plane. You squint, studying the people, before your eyebrows shoot up in surprise, instantly recognizing the larger built man a few aisles back from you who seems to nod a reply to Jooheon.

“He was here too?” You blurt out, without thinking, memories immediately flashing back to the night you’d been drunk and that man had taken you home. You grimace, sinking down in your seat a bit and hoping he doesn’t see you.

Your outburst causes Jooheon to glance down at you in surprise, lips twitching in amusement at your reaction and the way you attempt to hide yourself. “Of course. Hoseok’s my bodyguard. And kind of an assistant, since he keeps track of all my schedules.”

“Why’d you sit with me instead of the person you came on this trip with?”

Jooheon shrugs. “You’re much more interesting. Plus, I see him every day.”

You frown, but before you can reply, Jooheon reaches down behind you where you sit, backpack on, and gives the hook strap on your bag a tug, urging you to your feet. The two aisles ahead of you move to make their exit, marking it as your turn next. Jooheon turns away as you stand, stepping out of the aisle—and his next action catches you by surprise. He steps out enough to block others from cutting out and ahead, nodding for you to go first. Blinking in surprise, you almost trip as you rush out of the aisle so as to not hold up the line, feeling Jooheon keep close behind you as he follows.

You don’t realize until you’re off the plane that Jooheon has an ulterior motive by letting you exit first. As soon as you’ve cleared the bridge connecting the plane to the terminal gate, and have stepped out into the waiting area, Jooheon steps forward from behind you and slips his hand into your own. He takes a firm hold, tugging you along as he leads you off.

“Hey!” Surprised, you stumble after him, having not even had a chance to figure out what your next step after arrival would be—you’d traveled back in time, and it was almost nine o’clock at night on a Friday in Los Angeles. You needed to figure out a form of transportation home, first and foremost, before things started to close down. “J-Jooheon!”

The sound of his name slows his pace down, and Jooheon glances over his shoulder at you with a quirked brow—but he doesn’t stop walking. “That’s the second time you’ve said my name.”

You frown, staring at him. Had he been counting such a thing? You hadn’t really been aware you’d said his name so little… but you had been avidly avoiding the use of it. You didn’t want to give him too much power by using his name. It was better, you thought, to just keep him as a stranger. That’s what you’d thought the night of the opening ceremony and the nights following where he’d constantly tormented the gaping hole in your memory. Unfortunately, he’d pushed past that boundary line already—something you were well aware of. Lee Jooheon was more like an acquaintance now, and as much as you hated it—it was too late to turn back.

“We’re going to go get food,” he announces when you don’t say anything to his statement, turning away from you to keep leading you on.

You give your hand a tug, attempting to pull it back to yourself. “We don’t need to, though—”

“Nonsense, I’m starving. The plane meals weren't that filling.” Jooheon glances over his shoulder at you again. “And like I said, you’re much more interesting to spend time with. I’m not done doing so yet—as soon as you leave this airport, who knows when I’ll see you again, or if you’ll even use that phone number I put in your cell? LA’s a much bigger city than Seoul, we might not cross paths at all while we’re here.”

“Why does that matter?” You grumble. You wanted to keep things at the acquaintance level.

Jooheon shrugs. “Matters to me. But please, just indulge me for a bit. I’m stuck here for at least a week having to do work. I might not get to see anything outside of a hotel for the entire time.”

You sigh, but give up trying to pull your hand back to you. Jooheon doesn’t free you of his grasp until you’re being seated. As you stop outside the restaurant he’s chosen, you can’t help but stare up at the sign on the wall for the Mexican food eatery, grimacing. Jooheon catches the face you make as you sit across from him—and when your eyes meet as you take your seat, and you realize he’d seen you make the face, you let out another sigh.

“Did we really have to eat here? Airport food is so expensive.”

“It’s quick and convenient. Plus, I’m paying.”

“What?” You shake your head. You already owed him, you didn’t want more added on. “No, definitely not.”

“You’re indulging me, so I’ll be the one to handle the bill.” Jooheon reaches across the table, tapping the menu that had been set down in front of you by the waiter before they had disappeared. After doing so, Jooheon pulls his phone out of his pocket and busies himself with it.

You purse your lips, scanning the limited menu options. The downside to airport food, besides the price, was how little there was to choose from. That being said, it made making a final decision a lot easier and faster. When the waiter comes back around—the two of you being among the very few people sitting to eat at that time of night—you both place your order with ease.

Just as the waiter leaves, Jooheon’s phone rings. He glances at the phone face to see who’s calling, before answering in Korean. While the voice on the other end of the line speaks, you decide to pull your own phone out of your bag that you’d brought with you. Having been dragged away by Jooheon, you hadn’t had a chance to turn your phone off airplane mode. You do so, and then wait for the onslaught of messages to pour through.

“Hey,” Jooheon says from across the table. You glance up from your phone to look at him, just as your finger pushes the little slider to turn airplane mode off. “What does your luggage look like?”

For a moment, you just stare at Jooheon, confused.

“It’s Hoseok, he’s at baggage claim.”

“Oh.” The word falls from your lips slowly as his words settle into your mind, realization dawning on you. That’s right—you’d been dragged away so fast you’d also forgotten about your checked luggage that you had to pick up. “Uh, it’s a larger black suitcase. I have a yellow ribbon tied to it.”

Jooheon nods, repeating the information to Hoseok. As he does so, you overhear him follow up by telling his bodyguard-assistant that the two of you are eating, and apologizing profusely for running off. It’s clear from the tone the conversation takes that Jooheon isn’t going to be let off easy, despite being the boss. You zone out, then, instead returning your focus back to your own phone. But the screen contents are empty when you tap the screen to wake the phone from sleep, unlocking it.

The lack of any sort of notification causes you to frown. Of course, it was past nine now, so you doubted anyone here that was waiting for you to arrive actually cared about you arriving. This entire trip had been a guilt trip, and was an inconvenience for you. You were sure drama would start as soon as you arrived home. It was likely no one had even stayed up to greet you, so why would anyone bother to check and see if your flight had gone well? There had been minimal communication leading up to your departure, anyway.

Doing the math in your head, you count back, figure that it’s a little after one in the afternoon back in Korea. The fact that there was no message from Kihyun, either, was a little deterring—considering it was a weekend in the middle of the afternoon. But then you remembered he had asked you to call him when you landed. Mentally chastising yourself, you open your text messages and send him a quick text, letting him know you’ve landed and were grabbing some food, and would call him a little later.

“You okay?” Jooheon asks, now off the phone. He’d been sitting there quietly for a few moments, watching your expression turn increasingly sour.

Hearing his voice, you startle in surprise—having not even realized he’d gone silent. You fumble with your phone, locking it quickly—slightly guiltily—and pull your gaze back up to him. Not long ago, you’d been trying to get out of eating with him and slip away as fast as you possibly could. But, now you realize it didn’t really matter. It wasn’t like you had anywhere to go.

“Yeah, fine,” you mumble sheepishly.

Jooheon clicks his tongue, reaching for the glass of water the waiter had set on the table when seating the two of you. “That’s a lie,” he says, before taking a drink. “But I won’t press.”

Before you can react to that, wondering how Jooheon would know such a thing was a lie, your waiter returns with your food. The way you can feel your expression instantly lighten on your face, your stomach growling in response to the delectable scent—you realize that’s how Jooheon had known you were lying. Thinking about what you were returning home too had dampened your mood enough that it was visible on your face. But the smell of the expensive, yet delicious-looking, airport food had lightened it back up.

Jooheon smiles softly, watching you, amused at how easily food motivated you seemed to be. He gives a quiet thanks to the waiter before joining you, taking a bite of the tacos that had been ordered. The two of you eat in silence, for the most part. The only questions Jooheon asks are if you like the food, just as he had done on the plane, and how long you’ll be in Los Angeles for. Neither answer illicit much of a further reaction from him, or push him to speak more—and so you finish your shared meal together quite quickly—and thankfully before things get awkward with the staff as the restaurant nears closing time.

You wait by the entrance while Jooheon finishes up paying. As he turns away from the counter, he sticks the receipt he was given in his wallet, before shoving that into the pocket of his sweatpants, walking over to meet you. You offer up a smile as he stops next to you.

“Thanks for the food.” “Thank you for eating with me,” Jooheon replies, returning your smile. He can’t help but take note of how soft, and slightly shy, the way your lips appear to be turned up on your face. It’s cute. Before much more can be said, his phone goes off in his pocket.

The sound makes you a bit jealous, and you watch as Jooheon pulls the device out and studies the name on the screen. He lets out a very long sigh before he answers the phone—and you’re almost surprised it’s in Korean, again.

“I just finished eating,” you hear Jooheon say, and you turn away as he speaks on the phone.

As you do so, you blink, catching sight of something—or rather, someone—peculiar.

“Daniel?” The name falls from your lips with confusion, but with a raised-enough voice that the owner of the name—the person walking towards you—lifts their head in answer, confirming your suspicion.

Jooheon, standing behind you, hears your voice not only against his ears—but he also hears it echo within his phone receiver, as well. Blinking in confusion, he pulls his cell phone away from his ear just enough to stare at it, surprised and confused, before turning around slowly. Jooheon looks at you, first, then lifts his gaze up to see what you’re staring at with such a surprised expression.

“Changkyun.”

You glance over your shoulder at Jooheon, hearing a name fall from his lips that isn’t a question—but rather, a statement. Seeing where Jooheon is staring, you look back.

Daniel—or Changkyun—stops dead in his tracks where he’s walking, the cell phone he’s holding to his ear frozen there. He stares, dumbfounded, looking between you and Jooheon. After a few moments, your name falls from his lips in surprise—out of breath and nostalgic, the familiarity of it hits you like a wave. And then, his next word that follows has you blanching in surprise, looking once again back over your shoulder at Jooheon.

“Uh, hi, Boss.”

Jooheon purses his lips, lowering his phone from his ear and hanging up the call. He shoves the device back into his pocket. “You’re late.”

“S-sorry, you know how LA traffic is.”

“You two know each other?” You blurt, suddenly, just as Daniel nears the two of you, slowly coming to a stop.

“I want to ask the same thing.” As he speaks, Jooheon quirks a brow at you.

“Actually,” Changkyun clears his throat. “Same.”

“This is the best friend-general manager that I was telling you about on the flight, for our LA location,�� Jooheon explains, before nodding in your direction. “And she’s my favorite small-time journalist in Seoul.”

Favorite small-time journalist. The words ring in your head, and you’re suddenly propelled back to weeks ago when you had found yourself wondering if Jooheon had a hand in how well your article had been doing. You purse your lips, but decide not to say anything.

It’s Changkyun’s turn to quirk a brow, but you’re too busy turning the rest of Jooheon’s words over in your head to react. It takes a moment before your eyes suddenly widen. Your head snaps up in the direction of Daniel, eyebrows shooting up in surprise and mouth falling open. “You?! A general manager?!”

“Wow, the lack of faith in your incredulous reaction is a testament to your faith in me,” Changkyun mutters, tone dripping with sarcasm. All you do is shake your head, still in disbelief, before looking back at Jooheon.

“We went to high school together,” you reply simply. “And middle school, actually. We’ve been friends since then.”

“Speaking of, why are you back? Are you here for—” Before Changkyun can finish his sentence, you loudly cut him off.

“Oh! Look! Hoseok has the luggage!” And before waiting for either of the men next to you to react, you push past Daniel in a rush, heading towards Jooheon’s bodyguard. Changkyun blinks, surprised, meeting Jooheon’s eyes before looking over his shoulder at you. Jooheon simply shrugs, following after you a little more slowly.

“How are you getting home?” Jooheon asks as he catches back up to you, watching as Hoseok relinquishes your luggage back to your own possession.

You give Hoseok a small thanks, turning back. “I’m just going to call an Uber or Lyft.”

Jooheon frowns, before looking at Changkyun. “How close are you two?”

“Uh… close, I guess? Our families know each other, and we keep in touch, albeit inconsistently because of work.”

“Perfect. Let her borrow your car.”

In unison, you and Changkyun both blurt out, “What?”

“It’s late, and it’s safer. We can just get the Uber. This way you can just head home,” Jooheon explains, matter-of-factly. “And if you two went to school together and your families are familiar with each other, I’m sure you know where to pick your car up.”

“Hey,” you mutter, scowling at Jooheon. “That’s not really for you to decide—”

Changkyun sighs, waving you off. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal. He has the right idea. You live like twenty minutes away from here, anyway.”

You frown, wanting to argue further—but you feel Jooheon’s intense gaze on you and figure it probably won’t get you very far. But to just make that decision on his own, without asking… you cut Jooheon a look of annoyance before turning your attention back to Changkyun as he fishes his car keys out of his pocket, pulling the car key off and taking the remaining keys on the ring. He hands it over to you, briefly explaining he’d left the car in the loading port after convincing the attendant outside that he’d only be a short amount of time, urging you should likely go soon so as to not result in his car being towed. You nod, thanking him and giving him a quick hug, before turning to Jooheon.

Lifting Changkyun’s car key menacingly, you glare. “Don’t you dare use this as an excuse to see me and come with him and pick the car up, got it? I appreciate your concern and I’ll accept it this time—but I’m not happy about it.”

And before he can answer, you gather your things and turn on your heel, heading away. You hear Jooheon let out an audible laugh as he watches your retreating figure. He smiles, watching you leave, and waits until you’re out of earshot before turning to Changkyun.

“High school friends, huh? What a coincidence.”

“That’s the girl you’ve been bugging me about?” Changkyun crosses his arms, frowning. “If so, I don’t think coincidence even begins to cover it.”

Jooheon tilts his head to the side, curious.

“She’s the one, right? The failed contract you mentioned?” Changkyun prompts, before letting out a bitter chuckle as Jooheon nods. He shakes his head, reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “Ha… I can’t even be surprised, with the divorce and all…”

“Divorce?” Jooheon echoes.

Changkyun frowns. “My statement that she dodged earlier. Why she’s back here… her parents are getting a divorce. Long time coming, honestly, and she probably got dragged back into it. There’s… a lot in that household that’s worth escaping, to be honest. Which makes sense why she sought you out.”

“If it makes so much sense, then why’d the contract fail?”

“Do you really not know?” Changkyun wonders, quirking an eyebrow as he levels his gaze with Jooheon’s.

“I’m not here to play guessing games, Changkyun,” Jooheon mutters. “It just happened to be convenient that you showed up to see who I was referring to, and coincidence that you know her and we were on the same flight. But I’ve been venting all this to you for the past few months because I’m at an utter loss as to why the contract would have failed. I’m not all-knowing, despite what people may think. Now that you’ve seen her, I’m assuming you have an answer. So, spill.”

Changkyun smirks, stepping forward to place a hand on Jooheon’s shoulder. “My Lordship… that girl is your soulmate.”

Soulmate.

Before the word even processes, Jooheon is scoffing, to which Changkyun tsks.

“You were human at one point, too. We all have one. Even you, the King of Hell,” Changkyun chastises. “I’m guessing you probably can’t see it, or you would’ve caught on much sooner—but her aura, it reads totally differently when she’s next to you in comparison to when she was walking away. It’s quite interesting to see this in person, I’ve only ever heard of it happening a few times through sources.”

Jooheon frowns, studying Changkyun’s face for any sign of a lie. Soulmate. Another person with which one had a natural affinity and deeper connection toward. The connection was often instantaneous and natural—and strong enough that one would feel themselves drawn to that other person in every single way while simultaneously bringing about a sense of peace and calm. Jooheon wanted to scoff again. It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in them. He’d seen the magic at work for others. But, for himself?

And yet, so many things made sense. His anxiety eased when near you. The entire plane trip, everything had been calm. A sort of calm he’d never experienced before. Just as much as things had been calm, though, every touch had set ablaze his nerve endings. He hadn’t experienced such a nervousness in someone else’s presence in years.

What an ironic twist of fate this had to be—the universe was definitely playing games with him, now. He was well aware he’d pissed off many higher powers over the years… but to do this to him? Send him his own soulmate, on a silver platter, begging to make a contract with the Devil? Begging for release? Begging to forget?

To forget…

Jooheon blinks, realization dawning on him—the migraines you’d mentioned. He lets out an audible groan, lifting a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. Of course that would be a side effect. While he had never had a contract fail in the past, unless a soul really wasn’t set on release—a broken contract could amount to many side effects, some more serious than others. In most cases, Jooheon had witnessed the failed cases simply go insane. But since your request had been so definite and simple, it made sense that it would backfire with a physical manifestation like this.

That’s why she doesn’t remember me.

“Changkyun, I need a drink,” Jooheon mutters, brushing past both him and Hoseok. The two share a look, and Changkyun stares after Jooheon in confusion, before trailing after in a hurry.

#jooheon fanfic #monsta x fanfic #mx fanfic #jooheon scenarios

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goshikle · 4 years ago

Note

You’ve got my curiousity hooked... Do you perhaps... Have an info dump or little fun facts for some of your ocs? 👀

.... I just drew 2 sketches of one of them tonight LMAO

Well idk how to explain this well??? Jeffree Ward is another character in the story with my poly OT3!

Jeffree is Luna's Fyuie ( Fyi - Ya) or well Guardian, Fyuie's are the dead and basically a walking spirit brought back to life once again. Fyuie's provide wisdom and support to the person they are bounded to, typically found though platonic soulmates. (Strictly no romance cause those already exist this is the platonic verison aka your life long bestie). Typically people don't get a Fyuie if they aren't experiencing extreme hardships and or their Fyuie is well- dead already.

Typically you can tell whos a Fyuie by markings on them (where they died) or by the ears just being more elf like to put it short.

Jeffree is basically Lunas best friend, he helps support and protect Luna when no one really can. Though Jeffree does have to deal with his own personal issues from his past but tries to ignore it so he could be more helpful for Luna. (Yeah this doesnt last long he gets bonked for that)

Jeffree is basically the optimistic one in the duo, wanting Luna to be happy and not wither away due to the war and just enjoy life no matter how shit it is at times. After all he knows how that went for him in his past life.

Anywhooooo I love this idot have one of the sketches of him trying to get lunas attention-

#jeffree ward #oc #personal #ocs #mine #goshi art #sketch #ask #trashboi #Oc Lore #Luna

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rosethornewrites · 3 years ago

Text

T and G rated fics I read this weekend!

This is all The Untamed/MDZS fics.

So I learned last week that I can only add 100 links. And I read over 100 fics 😬 so now this is gonna be two posts. Additionally, I’ll likely start posting these daily from now on. It just gets to be a lot.

Finished:

Tumblr Fics:

BEETOBER 2021 DAY 2 - EARRING, by @bloody-bee-tea

Rated T:

find a home in him, by makebelieveanything and nerdzeword

“Come on a-Cheng, let’s go,” she prodded, gently ushering him out the door as she handed off jackets to both boys.

“Why the fuck is he always doing stupid shit and making us run after him for?” Jiang Cheng complained as he shrugged into his jacket, Lan Wangji donning his own in silence.

“Wangji?” Yanli prodded gently. “Are you alright?”

“... what if we never find him?”

“We will,” Yanli said confidently.

or Modern AU where Wei Wuxian runs away from his foster home when he turns 18, and it doesn't end the way he planned.

My Brother's Keeper - Purple Years (The first stage of grief), by ArchiveWriter

Set after WWX plunges from the cliff after the battle at Nightless City. The ramblings of Jiang Cheng's mind in the first stage of grief, flicking back and forth between the past and then.

thank you, drunk me, by carmiemaybe (glazedlilies)

Or where Lan Zhan is confused at Wei Ying's behaviour after the previous, drunken night's events.

This Grave Will Not Be Mine, by Rana Eros (ranalore)

The Burial Mounds' claim to Wei Wuxian has been superceded.

Qinghe Jue, by Merinnan

Nie Mingjue promised to protect his brother. He wasn't going to let qi deviating and dying at Jinlintai stop him from keeping that promise.

With What Proof, by Preludian_Staves

"I know he did it!"

"What proof do you have?"

Meeting the Family, by sami (part of a series)

Wei Wuxian has a secret.

I’ll stick to my single-log bridge till it’s dark, by autumncolour

Can’t anyone give me a nice, favorable road to walk on?

Lan Wangji leaves the Burial Mounds. Wei Wuxian gets drunk. The night in Yiling is clear and dark, and full of thick, half-understood longing.

Love Me on the Sunlit Grass, by Eliza (second in a series)

Zizhen will always be there when Jin Ling calls in a panic about his uncle.

the mutability of survival, by tunnelOFdawn

All the ways Lan Zhan, Wei Ying, and Jiang Cheng could have died in canon.

i'll keep walking, by justdoityoufucker

Wen Qing died.

This, she knows; from the painful lick of flames to the unavoidable choking that came with the smoke to the wickedly satisfied grin on Jin Guangshan’s face before she closed her eyes the last time. She hoped, those last few moments, that it would be the end. Wei Wuxian would be free, and the last remnants of their family would be safe. She hoped that Wen Ning wouldn’t feel any pain, when the time came for him to follow her.

Or, the one where Wen Qing ends up in the past and fixes the future.

Rated G:

天涯之外 / beyond the world's end, by yuer (vintageblueskies)

"Wei Ying," Lan Wangji says, his voice cracks open in a way Wei Wuxian has never heard before. He crosses over to where Wei Wuxian is still sitting; Wei Wuxian starts to scramble up, but Lan Wangji just shakes his head, gets to his knees next to him. And isn't that something? The untouchable Hanguang-jun on his knees in the Burial Mounds, dirtying his pristine robes to sit next to Wei Wuxian.

or, lan wangji returns to the burial mounds

Song of My Heart, Mate of My Soul, by SakuraKage

The Gusu Lan are said to have an innate connection with music. The Gusu Lan are also said to love deeply – with their whole soul – so deeply that they seem to only be able to fall in love once.

Lan Wangji knows these rumours. He also knows the truth, or close to it, as it has been handed down through the generations. Their connection to music runs far deeper than the other sects could dream. Every Lan heart contains a song, a musical piece that encapsulates the very fiber of their being, and it only comes to life under a specific set of circumstances. The parameters to unlock your heartsong are highly disputed, but the generally accepted condition to fill is … to meet your soulmate.

see your face, hear my voice in the dark, by arypls

Wei Wuxian is having trouble falling asleep but Lan Wangji is there with gentle words and soothing touches to show his husband he's no longer alone.

If I knew what safety looked like, by askanis

Beautiful, brave Wei Ying is waiting for Lan Zhan to tell her she cannot be all of who she is. She will listen, if Lan Zhan says this. If Lan Zhan even looks uncomfortable, Wei Ying will take this back and never mention it again. Will pretend that this is not her truth, perhaps until she believes it herself.

And Lan Zhan will never get to fully see Wei Ying for who Wei Ying is.

underneath the magnolias, by krizzlesandblues

Summer in Cloud Recesses means iced fruits sent by merchants, more practical trainings for juniors, with some of them catching up on their lessons.

But for the youngest members of GusuLan Sect, summer means classes under the big magnolia tree.

Word Up, Talk the Talk, by Larryissocute

It wouldn’t have been a problem (it really wouldn’t) if they weren’t best friends. Wei Wuxian doesn’t know what good deeds he did in his past life to be blessed with Lan Wangji as a friend nor does he know what evil things he did to be cursed with being only a friend to Lan Wangji.

Or the one where Wei Wuxian kisses Lan Wangji and then runs away.

Hai Shi — Sleeping Hours, by Saint Er (wwxsays_er)

It's right before bedtime, when a drunk Wei Wuxian shows up on Lan Wangji's door, and suddenly, this has now become Lan Wangji's problem.

In the Silence, by XianleDianxia

With his husband and son on a night hunt, Wei Wuxian is left to his own thoughts. His temperament is not as calm as Lan Wangji would like it to be.

intervention (how to convince your very gay brother that he, is in fact, gay), by okok29

"You guys hold hands all the time around campus and he takes you out to brunch every Saturday. He even brings you roses," Jiang Cheng emphasizes.

"Yeah, as bros do!" Wei Ying says cheerfully.

jiang cheng tries to forcibly drag wei ying out of the closet.

No Regrets, by Sarehz

Lan Zhan gives his forehead ribbon to Wei Wuxian as a sign of his love.

Look Down to Reminisce About My Hometown, by Nadat (one-shot series)

A collection of short stories following a Promptember list; will add tags and alter the rating as appropriate. It will be mostly live action show canon but I may borrow here and there from the book if something strikes me.

jin ling's uncles and aunts, by saheeli

jin zixuan invites all of jin ling's uncles and aunts to his birthday party. there are more than he even thought possible.

Helianthus, by tinykira

"Say, Lan Zhan. Do you know that when people die, they become plants?"

The Jingshi, which was formerly called as The Gentian House, is now also full of sunflowers.

Magical Marriage Ribbons, by starandrea

But consider this: the Lan forehead ribbons are magical, and the mountain knows it. (It takes Wei Ying less than a day after Lan Yi’s cave to realize more than just her wards consider him family.)

Or: If you’re accidentally betrothed to your classmate in a mostly legitimate life or death situation, how long can you wait to tell him before he finds out by accident?

their mothers sons, by silversshadow

In one world Jiang Fengmian gave Wei Ying more attention than he did either of his own children. In this world he can barely look at the child.

A series of short looks into a different timeline.

You blow me away, by silverclaw

Lan Zhan’s neighbour is playing a song that has been stuck in his head for ages. The neighbour just so happens to be the singer of said song and he’s supposedly laying low.

Echo Of My Heart, by ColdBloodedReptile

A short insight of Lan Wangji's thoughts during Dafan Mountain, CQL version.

And the scene in Jingshi before Wei Wuxian wakes ft Lan Sizhui.

A new score, by Lhaewiel

Wei Wuxian does not know this new score. It is evening, Gusu looks like a painting during this time of the year, with snow slowly falling down and covering the court outside.

Parallel Lines, by Sarehz

Wei Ying: Lan Zhan is going to break up with me!

Nie Huaisang: No, he's not. But please tell me in great detail why you think that.

Jiang Cheng: [Unfortunately sharing an apartment with Nie Huaisang and therefore has no choice but to listen] Please leave me out of this.

Why Wei Ying Shouldn’t Matchmake, by PrinceJakeFireCake

Lan Wangji is NOT jealous of Jiang Cheng. He’s just trying to figure out why Wei Ying likes him so much. Wei Ying thinks it’s great that Lan Zhan has a crush on his brother. (Hint: he does not)

to home, by Guinny (4 chapters)

'My Wei Ying,

It seems that we are winning the war. Wait for me. I will come home. I will come home to you. We will spend the rest of our lives in peace. Far from all of this. In a place that is quiet and there's only us.

Yours,

Lan Zhan.’

if you love him, never let go, by cloud_wanderer

three times lan wangji let go, and the one time he swore to never do it again

Hard to forget, by Lucky_Moonly

“Aiya sorry for interrupting what must be a very interesting read,” a boy who seemed to be a first year as well, cheekily exclaimed, before he smiled widely at Lan Wangji and he stepped inside the compartment. “But did you perchance see my pet axolotl? He’s black and he’s missing one of his front legs!”

in sickness & in flames, by talesfromthecryptid (2 chapters)

the one in which lan wangji has a cold and wei wuxian fusses over him and falls even more in love with him, something he didn't even know was possible but oh, it really is.

learning and the dead, by northofallmusic (tofsla)

In a small house of his own, after everything, Wen Ning works with his hands.

Unpredictable, by canis_m

If Lan Wangji had said a few more things while drunk in Qinghe.

Waited For Precious Moments Such As This, by Preludian_Staves

He would not trade these precious moments away for anything in the world.

Unfinished:

Rated T:

No Regrets, by AluraRose

Lan Wangji took a deep breath, centered himself, and swallowed his pride.

“I apologize.” He bowed low to Jiang Wanyin and held it. “I wish only to help your brother. I humbly request access, and give my word that I will touch nothing and speak to no one of what I see.”

“I can’t just let you in there!”

“Even to save Wei Ying?”

And suddenly the wind seemed to go out of the sails of Jiang Wanyin’s anger. “I can’t” he repeated more quietly.

In order to save Wei Wuxian, Lan Wangji must first convince Jiang Wanyin to trust him.

Your Name On My Chest, by Director_XuanWu

Lan Wangji is the president, at the beginning of his second year on his first term.

Wei Wuxian, his ex fiancé, was dishonorably discharged from the military because of a well hidden scandal.

They meet again after 13 years. Lan Wangji will drop everything for him. Wei Wuxian will sacrifice himself for him again. What does it take to finally be together? Too many goodbyes, too many heartaches. Yet they conquer all.

Whatever it takes, by Moonlit_dewdrops

Jiang Cheng and Wei WuXian are sent back to the past. This time, they can save everyone they love. They can make the right choices. They can learn to trust one another. However, everything comes with a price.

underneath your skin, by tardigradeschool

Wei Wuxian falls into the Burial Mounds. His body walks out.

White Flames in a Red Sky, by ZipZapZop

Maybe it hadn’t been a good idea to run away in the middle of a snowstorm.

Wei Wuxian needs help, but he can’t understand that for the life of him.

and so it goes, by doyeorem (pomellogranate)

"While a person is dead in one particular moment, they are still alive and well in all of the other moments of their life, because all of time exists at once."

In which Hanguang-jun is at Qiongqi Path, and instead of Jin Zixuan's death, he witnesses Wei Ying throw himself in the way of a punch from the Ghost General, and three swords - one of which is Bichen.

The Burial Mounds is enraged and offended, and many suffer for it.

Purgatory Divinity, by sinfulempire

"Your third and final mission is to rewrite history, Wei Wuxian."

In which Wei Wuxian, the son of the Heavenly Demon Empress, Cangse Sanren and the Celestial, Wei Changze has to rewrite history in order to prove himself worthy of the throne, however, this was a mission that he did not sign himself up for.

[WARNING!! WARNING!! System error, system erro-]

"What-"

Upon accepting the mission, Wei Wuxian found himself back in the past. He had returned to his 6 year old body accompanied by the system at the dingy streets of Yiling- far before Jiang Fengmian had found him and took him in.

Wei Wuxian was alone and surrounded by numerous hound dogs.

Rated G:

Coil Tightly, by Thunderstruck (Blueyed_Impala)

When Wei Wuxian stumbles across a shady pet store in the back alley of his new town he ends up leaving with a companion for life, and more than he bargained for.

Forced apologies, by Io_Palladium

Jiang Cheng confronts Lan Zhan after Wei Yings punishment and it changes everything.

#the untamed #mo dao zu shi #chen qing ling #cql #mdzs #untamed fanfiction

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treeni · 4 years ago

Text

A Lifetime of Love

Day 5 - Any intense emotions your soulmate feels you will also experience.

Logicality

Wordcount: 4524

TW: Mentions of death emotionally affecting characters.

Summary: Logan has felt his soulmate’s love nearly all his life. He just didn’t realize it until that love turned into heartbreak.

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taglist: @tsshipmonth2020

Why does Logan’s soulmate feel so much?

It was a near constant struggle for him as he had to deal with strong waves of intense ups and downs. He would almost use the idiom “extra” to describe it. The whole ordeal was borderline debilitating Logan’s ability to keep his focus.

He could not see a reason that anyone needed to feel so strongly.

Logan took a deep breath to try and calm a racing heart that was out of his control and pushed his coffee away with a frown. This menace needed to be stopped. How could he work like this? How could he attend to his patients?

He felt the cardiac quickening still and groaned. If it did not slow soon he was figuratively certain that someone would need to call a crash cart.

Maybe literally certain.

It was too be seen.

“Hey doc!” A cheery voice said to his left just as he heard the telling ‘clunk’ of a plastic tray hitting the table to reveal a face he recognized.

Scrubs. Curls. Light hair. Bracelets. Alto. Freckles. Vanilla. Smiles. Soft.

Friend.

Patton.

Nurse Patton. His mind reminded him as it instantly cycled through the immediate sensory details he most associated with his table mate.

Patton was a near constant source of smiles and warmth to those around him. He was a favorite among patients who would often come in even after their recovery to deliver tokens of appreciation and occasionally gifts that were more intimate. Logan could remember a particular nuisance who was overly forthcoming with their affections, to the point that Patton sometimes appeared uncomfortable. Sometimes Logan felt uncomfortable too just seeing the displays. The ward nearly had to dispose of a ridiculous number of roses when the man thought he was being romantic with a display that engulfed their waiting room in the flowers. It was a nuisance for the staff to deal with and potentially endangered the lives of anyone who needed life-saving emergency services at that moment, or anyone who was simply allergic to roses. Thankfully no one was harmed in the end. Instead, Patton showed his quiet brilliance when instead of tossing them all, he suggested instead to divvy them out to the hospital rooms to cheer up the patients. Many people expressed gratitude for the gesture and were generally more open to the medical suggestion of the hospital’s professionals. Though, Patton insisted he simply wanted to make people smile. Logan agreed that was probably the case.

Despite all of the good it did, Logan was not the least bit sorry to see that particular suitor leave.

“Doc? You okay?” the cheery voice asked and Logan blinked.

He had been been swept up in his thoughts.

“My demeanor and functioning is slightly less than satisfactory today,” Logan replied.

He didn’t quite understand the strange way Patton quirked his lips into a half smile, but Logan did understand that the small snort that Patton made was somehow at his expense.

“Feel like sharing with the class?” Patton asked, tilting his head to the side just so, the way he always did when he was really paying attention to what was being said.

“I do not believe that sharing my turmoil during my afternoon lecture would be appropriate.”

Patton snorted again and Logan found he didn’t mind when his shoulders shook with near-silent giggles. Even if it was at his expense.

Even on days when his soulmate bothered him with needless intense emotions, Patton always seemed to assuage the pesky feelings and replace them somehow as a bubble of joy settled into his chest that Logan was certain was all his own.

“I meant it as a turn of phrase doc,” Patton said with a toothy smile that Logan understood from experience was a show of his amusement. “What’s got you down?”

Logan squinted at Patton, trying to decide how best to approach the topic. The media always portrayed soulmates as endlessly beautiful, wonderful things and Logan just found the whole thing... absurd. However, he was not at all certain how Patton felt about the subject. He was an inherently emotional being, it was part of what made him such an effective nurse, being able to connect and empathize with the patients. However, it was also his downfall as Logan watched every failure... every death affect Patton on a personal level. Logan has held his friend many of times, exhausted and sobbing during the night shifts as another patient died in his hands. The empathetic nurse always handled losing children the worst.

Surely someone as emotionally driven as Patton would subscribe to the popular opinion of soulmates, would he not?

Logan was uncertain.

“I have found myself fatigued recently by my soulmate’s emotional turmoil,” Logan replied finally.

Many would consider such an admission blasphemy. Even if he was unsure of Patton’s feelings on the matter he was certain to find out now. Additionally... he trusted Patton to understand his intentions.

The nurse was perplexingly astute at understanding intentions.

Patton’s eyes were instantly blown wide as he sat up straight and pulled further away from Logan’s immediate personal bubble.

Maybe he would not understand after all.

Logan felt a pang of... something. He was not certain it was his own emotion, but the immediate disappointment running through his veins was palpable.

“It’s... it can’t be that bad can it?” Patton asked, with a small laugh with twiddling fingers that for Patton, signaled nervousness rather than the joy usually associated with laughter.

“I do not believe there is anything inherently wrong with them experiencing emotions,” Logan corrected, uncertain if emotions can even really be considered “bad.” He prescribed more to the ideology that it was a person’s actions that defined them, rather than their internal monologue. “It is just that I have found myself distracted by both the strength and range of emotions they have recently imparted onto me. It can be... difficult to concentrate with the physical symptoms that some of the emotions cause.”

“Mmmm,” Patton hummed in reply as an audible agreement. “Tell me about it.”

Patton moved slightly closer again, back to his position from before and placed his chin in his hand with the half-lidded gaze that meant he was considering the topic deeply. While he appreciated the thought Patton was putting into forming a response, Logan was more relieved that Patton had not abnegated their friendship the way he initially feared.

“Have you experienced anything similar with your soulmate?”

Fear, no... hesitation seemed to work its way into Patton’s expression as he met Logan’s eyes from underneath his lashes. The pair stared for several seconds, both doing their best to read the other. It was sometimes a struggle, Logan knew. He often found emotions difficult to understand, like a language he was inarticulate in. Reading Patton was... admittedly easier than most. The two spent so much time together that Logan had learned to understand many of his emotional signals, what small gestures and certain tones meant.

Logan would never admit it out loud, but his understanding of Patton’s expressions was so prevalent that he had started internally matching other people’s emotional reactions to his curly haired friend’s. It honestly helped his navigation of the unfamiliar territory.

Logan swore he could hear an ambulance siren alarming in his head when Patton looked away and murmured, “Sometimes they get angry.” while clutching his chest, just over his heart.

At first, he was uncertain how he should respond. Logan found himself experiencing an irrational desire to build walls around Patton. To create a space for him that he could curate and fill with all of the things that brought his friend joy, to protect him from such ugly emotions and particularly protect him from such an undeserving soulmate. Logan was certain that someone as patient and good as Patton deserved to feel nothing but emotions that were as equivalently kind and soft as he was.

Logan knew such a feat was impossible though. Patton would never realistically be happy in such a state. He loved the world, no matter how barbarous and unkind it could be. Patton strived to make it a more benevolent place and his presance alone made his goal a continually successful one.

Logan found himself reaching for Patton’s hand unthinkingly, a mimicry of a gesture Logan had seen the curly haired man used to console his patients.

“Are you safe?” He asked in a low, murmur. He was uncertain who Patton’s soulmate was, or where they might be, but he had to be certain that his friend was in no danger. Logan was more than willing to act as a metaphorical shield to help him reach safety should the man require it.

A literal one too.

Patton was giggling at his expense again.

It was an unexpected and yet somehow favorable outcome of the conversation.

Only when it was him though.

“Don’t worry, it’s nothing so dramatic. No danger on my end, I live alone. No partner or anything. Not even a house cat.” Patton admitted, and patted the hand Logan offered him. It seemed to be some sort of consolation for his efforts. “I just worry about them sometimes, ya know?”

Well... no he did not.

He had not even considered applying concern to the disembodied entity that plagued him with unwarranted emotions. Instead, his immediate reaction had been mainly ire. Logan was diligent with his work and often took on additional duties at the hospital while maintaining several personal projects. Logan’s main focus had been on how his soulmate’s emotions had interfered in his ability to effectively complete everything he intended.

Perhaps that was the wrong perspective to take.

Logan had not even contemplated why the person he was spiritually bound to was feeling the things they did before that point. Patton truly was remarkably astute in many ways that were out of Logan’s reach. His friend always seemed to find a perspective on things that he did not initially entertain. It was quite an admirable quality.

A soft beeping noise interrupted Logan’s thought process as the pair both immediately checked their pagers.

“Well, that’s my cue I guess,” Patton said and cast his uneaten meal a longing gaze as he pushed himself up from his seat. Patton gently hip-bumped Logan’s side affectionately before taking his tray to the disposal and dumping the various items into the most appropriate containers.

That would not do.

Logan and Patton’s occupations were both difficult enough when they were working at their best. Patton did not need the strain of a missed meal impairing his professional ability and physical condition. Logan mentally added the task of procuring Patton a meal to his mental to-do list. Something that could be consumed without inhibiting his duties. Perhaps a smoothie that could be kept at the nurses station?

Logan’s eyes wandered to the nearest wall clock as he considered his options, but realized that he too needed to be on his way. He barely had time to retrieve his annotated materials before the lecture that was meant to present in less than a quarter hour. He rose without hesitation and took long strides to quicken his pace as he headed toward his office.

“-in conclusion, this medication, though still in the experimental phase is predicted to decrease the symptoms of both conventional insomnia, that a great proportion of adults suffer from, but also lessen the affects of fatal familial insomnia. Though the condition may be rare, before now modern science has had very little to be able to treat the disorder with effectively. If testing goes as predicted, we will finally be able to offer those suffering it a small respite from their symptoms.”

Logan completed his lecture and clicked the universal remote in his hand a final time to turn off the smart board that displayed his power-point and reignite the room’s lights in turn. Logan let himself smile in appreciation as the room’s occupants clapped a bit more enthusiastically than what would be qualified as simple politeness. They truly seemed to be enthused by his work and Logan was relieved to not be the only one.

“Questions?” Logan asked as the room began to quiet down and immediately several hands shot up.

However, Logan’s eyes widened slightly as he felt something bubbling in his chest. It was something foreign, something that did not belong to him.

Oh no.

A desperate laugh exploded out of mouth without his permission as the entire room looked on with bewilderment. Logan doubled over as several more hysterical laughs followed. He tried to repress it, to force himself to stop, but he could not quite hold back the near spastic convulsions as grating shrieks escaped his throat.

When it finally subsided, he took several deep breaths to try and regain his bearing. Instantly he stood straight with squared shoulders, trying to recover the serious atmosphere he had previously conducted with. One glance at his audience however proved that it would be of no use, they were all grinning at him with twinkling eyes. Some had shaking shoulders, others hid their mouths behind cupped palms and they were all laughing at him.

They were all laughing at him.

“Excuse my behavior,” Logan said and swallowed hard as his gaze drifted to the floor. “It seems my soulmate has suddenly found something immensely amusing.”

There were a few sniggers and guffaws that that response, though most tried to politely stifle their snickering.

They were all laughing at him.

“I believe I need to extract myself while they resettle, so I will conclude this lecture here. Please direct any of your unanswered inquiries to my email and I will respond at a later time.”

From there, Logan simply walked out without a glance in his audience’s direction or even parting word. His gaze stayed mainly trained on the wheel-worn tile as his feet automatically guided him on the route he knew so well, leading him straight to his personal office within the facility. He quickly slipped in and tucked the door closed behind him.

Then his clipboard was immediately flung across the room as he banged his back against the heavy wood of his door. He wanted to break something. He wanted some kind of physical stimulation that matched the fire burning inside of him. Logan’s mind flew through the images of himself turning over his office, leaving ripped papers, knocked over bookshelves, and even a broken desk chair in his wake to express the frustration that was entirely his own. However, he stopped himself, allowing his forearm to instead hit the solid wooden door only once.

The sting helped.

Then, all at once, his own wave of emotion subsided. He felt heavy and shaky at the knees. Logan leaned his weight more fully on the door for support as he slumped against it. He needed a moment.

Emotions were exhausting.

He was not certain how long he stayed against the door, seconds most likely, but it felt much longer. Logan was not truly ready to move, but he suddenly heard the faintest dripping noise and it consumed all of his attention as if there was nothing more important.

Oh.

He was crying.

Or more accurately his soulmate was, but he couldn’t fathom why.

They had just been so joyous mere moments ago. Unless-

Unless....

Was it possible they were crying because they felt his own lividity?

Logan tried wiping the tears away with a disposable tissue from the box on his desk. It proved to be a useless endeavor however as the tears refused to stop. He felt the full weight of grief expanding uncomfortably in his chest, putting pressure onto his lungs. He found he could only drag in short breaths that were barely sustainable for his respiratory system. He needed-

He needed...

He needed Patton.

Patton would know what to do.

After dabbing his eyes with the tissue one last time he slipped out the door, taking the short walk to Patton’s station. Logan kept his head down, hoping no one noticed the physical display of emotions that streamed down his cheeks.

When Logan made it to the counter of the nurses’ station, he relieved to see only Andy sitting at the ready, the only nurse who actually enjoyed working the night shift as far as Logan was aware. It was odd to see him on a Tuesday afternoon, but Logan would not complain about his fortune. Andy was unlikely to judge him. The young nurse barely had his feet in the door, but immediately took all of the oddity of medical professionalism in stride. He almost seemed to enjoy the full moons where the placebo effect drove in the results of all sorts of illogical and often insane behavior.

Andy glanced up and Logan the dark circles under his eyes looked more prominent somehow. He wordlessly pushed a box of tissues toward Logan.

The doctor ignored them.

“Where’s Patton?” Logan asked in low voice. There was no need to draw unnecessary attention.

Andy stared back blankly, but could not hide his eyes glancing down once instinctively.

Logan leaned over the desk and found all of the air rapidly leave his lungs as if someone had hit him in the stomach at full speed with a gurney.

There was Patton, scrunched up on the floor beneath the desk in the fetal position. His glasses were crooked on his forehead as he bawled into his knees with an endless stream of tears running down his cheeks.

The very same tears running down Logan’s own cheeks.

He did this.

Logan fell to his knees and reached for him. He had to stop it. He had to help. He had to... he didn’t know what.

Something.

Logan attempted to place a hand on Patton’s knee as gesture of comfort, but it was as if lightning had suddenly struck Patton with the way he had jumped, cracking his head against the back of the desk.

Logan winced. He was certain that did not help Patton’s emotional state.

Patton gave Logan a miserable look as he tried shuffling away, curling further against the back of the desk that he was already leaned against as if Logan’s hand were some kind of predatory creature that was encroaching on his space.

Logan let his hand fall away.

Patton tucked his nose against his knees and stared up at Logan once again from beneath his lashes, but it was an expression that seemed eons away from mirth-filled nurse who had joined him jovially less than two hours before.

“I want...” Logan whispered, entwining his hands to stop himself from reaching for the soulmate who did not want to be touched, by him at least.

He wanted so many things in that moment. Forgiveness. Reassurance. Physical affection. Hope that the relationship could be salvaged. Patton.

He wanted Patton.

“...I want to apologize,” Logan said, pushing down all of those thoughts.

This was not about what he felt at the moment.

Then Logan caught sight of something that was not his to bear witness to.

In his mind’s eye he could see a child, chubby cheeks, unruly curls, and bright blue eyes behind round glasses that sat awkwardly because they were still the tiniest bit too large for such a young face. It was an image in a mirror. A figure sat behind the child in overalls as they worked a brush through the nearly blond hair that was yet to darken with age.

“Renny,” The child remarked, staring up at the adult’s reflection in the mirror. “How muss do I gosta feels so dey feels it?”

“A whole lot, my sweet little Pattycake,” the adult said, swooping down to bestow the child a series of kisses on their face in quick succession.

The child let out a joyful squeal and the adult used the child’s distraction to loop on a hair tie to form one half of the hair-style colloquially known as pigtails. The child smiled and turned slightly to enable the adult access to the other side.

“I wan’ dem be happy,” the child audibly decided as the adult continued their work.

“Well then,” the adult remarked, as they carefully worked a knot with their fingers to minimize the child’s discomfort. “you know what you gotta do right?”

“Wha’?!” they asked in a gasp, as if in a state of absolute wonderment. “Wha’ I godda do?!”

“You have to think of everything that makes you happy babydoll. Cookies, the afternoon sun, Mr. Ribbit who lives on your bed. You have to think of Mommy and Renny and how very very much we love you. You have to think of all the love that’s given to you and all the love you have to share. Then, when you start to feel warm, all the way down in your toes, hold onto that feeling okay? If you do that, they’ll feel it. I promise you Pattycake.”

The scene began to fade away just as the adult secured the second pigtail. However, Logan caught a stolen glimpse at the child and adult sharing a hug that was too sweet to be meant for his eyes. Too sweet to be bearable.

Then in one swift move Patton sprung forward, pushing past Logan’s form that was still crouched down and took off in a sprint.

Away from Logan.

Patton has successfully avoided Logan for a full week.

It was the worst week Logan could ever remember experiencing. He felt miserable. Patton felt miserable. They both felt miserable. Before that week, Logan had not realized exactly what Patton had done for him nearly his whole life.

Patton constantly shared an immense amount of love with Logan through their bond.

Patton made Logan feel supported, confident, complete, all things he hadn’t realized were even at stake until they were replaced with numbness. Nothing but a hollow pit that slowly ate away at his emotional state like an insatiable black hole. Other doctors took over many of his cases that week, assuming he was ill. He was even sent home early, twice.

There was virtually no sign of Patton. Even the few glimpses he managed to catch in his peripheral were short lived as he disappeared before Logan could even fully look his way. Each time left Logan’s chest aching. It was a shared feeling.

It did not help that Patton had the loyalty of the entire nursing staff and several doctors to help him in his endeavor to hide away. Logan even thought he saw the janitorial staff help him duck into a closet once.

However, when he questioned them on it, they unsurprisingly feigned ignorance.

Logan once thought he was well liked among the hospital staff, but nothing could have prepared him for how dearly loved that Patton was. Part of him was relieved that his soulmate had such a strong support system to defend him, to protect him. The other part of him was frustrated with his position as the one Patton was being protected from. They refused to give him a chance to apologize.

He needed to apologize.

He needed his friend back.

He needed to make things between them right again, to make them as they should be.

He needed to correct the situation so they could resume their relationship just as it was.

Or maybe even make it something potentially more.

He just needed the chance.

He needed to find a way to regain the comfort of Patton shooting him a reassuring smile across the hall whenever the stress of the job began to strain him because there was no sweeter balm to his strained nerves. Patton’s absence has both physically and emotionally pushed him into a state of stress that he was unaware he could even reach. He found himself craving his soulmate’s sweet reassurances, reassurances that he never realized he could be without.

He needed to make Patton smile again.

He needed to see Patton smile.

He needed Patton to smile.

He needed Patton.

It was his total lack of progress in crossing paths with Patton at work that had Logan entering the nurse’s apartment building as he took the steps of the stairwells two at a time. He held a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a box of freshly baked muffins in the other, a treat he knew Patton favored. Logan was quick on his feet and ascended to the fifth floor easily. He moved down the hall that hadn’t changed much since his last visit where he introduced Patton to some of his favorite podcasts while Patton taught him how to make shepherd’s pie.

Logan had visited the apartment several times before. However it felt... different somehow. He felt like he was an intrusive bacteria that was entering a foreign body, hurting it unwittingly. However, Logan internally reminded himself that he had no intention of causing his soulmate any further pain.

He just wanted to make things right.

Logan shifted his gifts into one arm and let his knuckles rapt against a white door three times in quick succession. Then he waited.

There was no answer.

Not one to give up easily, Logan simply repeated his actions.

There was still nothing.

He had intended to simply leave the gifts behind if this happened. He had intended to respect his space. However, the jittery feeling of stress dancing just beneath his skin found his hand reaching for the door handle in an invasion of privacy he had never intended to commit.

It was locked anyway.

Logan’s forehead slumped against the door.

“...I am sorry...” he whispered, probably to no one.

The flat was most likely unoccupied at the moment. It was illogical to stay, talking to an empty apartment.

Even foolish looking.

That did not stop him this time.

“Patton I... I did not know... I did not understand...I was an idiot.”

Still no response.

“Patton, when you entered my life, you quickly became one of the most important people in it before I even realized it happened. You bring so much elation into everything you do, you radiate joy as the sun radiates light. I feel blessed to even be able to orbit around your presance.”

Logan bit his bottom lip to ground himself before continuing.

“When I felt all of these new feelings from my soulmate I... I found myself frustrated with them. I thought.... Patton, I thought that it was not you.”

He swallowed.

“I wanted it to be you.”

There was something on the other side of the door. The faintest noise, like a breath or maybe a gasp? Logan closed his eyes, focusing on the advice the adult imparted in the memory that was not his own.

He focused on everything he knew, everything he felt, everything he wanted Patton to understand.

He only hoped that Patton could grasp it all.

Logan’s whole being felt overwhelmingly full of so so many emotions.

He finally wanted to know them all.

“I love you,” Logan found himself whispering to the unforgiving white door that separated him from everything he wanted.

That separated him from Patton.

There was a click as the door finally unlocked.

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