#I really need to vent somewhere right now because the two servers I’m sort of activity in my friend is there and they’re the reason for this

[starry-selfships]

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[orihara-infobroker]

Ranty rant rant about stuff because this cat just needs to vent.

So I've mentioned this before a few times though I don't really talk about it all that much. One of my on-and-off hobbies is role-playing. Tabletop, live-action, or narrative writing, I pretty much enjoy them all. For similar reasons to why I love writing stories. I like creating characters and worlds. In writing I do all the heavy lifting but role-playing has the unique experience of collaborative storytelling and that adds an element that can be very fun. Also, sometimes it's just fun to play in someone else's sandbox for a change.

Some time ago, a friend invited me to check out a Harry Potter rp site. The site itself is pretty decently setup and it seemed like it could be interesting. I'm not a huge Potter nerd but I've seen the movies and I'm a sucker for fantasy settings. But this isn't the first time I've dipped my toes in the HP universe so I thought that instead of doing the standard Eurocentric character, I'd try something different.

I admit, I'd been working pretty heavily on Shadow and Light at the time so that was strongly influencing my mood insofar as what I wanted to play with. So I submitted the idea of a Japanese character who had grown up in Japan but recently moved to London (thus why I'd be attending Hogwarts). The character's parents were onmyoji, part of a branch family of the Tsuchimikado clan. This clan is somewhat famous for its relation to Abe no Seimei who is arguably the most famous onmyoji in Japanese folklore. I also requested that the character be a metamorph which is a wizard who can change their features. Basically a kind of shape-shifting. Tonks was a metamorph, for reference. In requesting this, I was asked to explain why my family had a metamorph. So I wrote a piece where the character's mom told him the story of Abe no Seimei's mom being a fox that his Dad saved and that there had been stories told of how Abe no Seimei could change his appearance. (Not into a fox. Just change his appearance.) And how sometimes people in the clan would be born with the same ability.

Note that everything I incorporated into this character's backstory is based off actual Japanese mythology and not Harry Potter universe. Harry Potter universe doesn't actually address anything about how magic is done in the East. (And if Rowling ever comes up with anything it'll probably be hideously racist anyway but I digress.)

All of this is important, I promise.

So I was a Japanese pureblood kid raised to become an onmyoji only to end up at Hogwarts by pure misfortune. I thought this would be fun to play, basically a foreign exchange student completely out of his element, not understanding how Western magic works, struggling with having to learn English on top of magic, etc.

Well.

Apparently my idea set all sorts of fires under the admin staff of this site. They were opposed because:

1. They didn't think I knew what I was talking about when I suggested being onmyoji (wherein I proved that I actually know more about onmyoji and Japanese mythology than them.)

2. They didn't have lore on the East therefore they didn't want me making stuff up because it might not mesh with what they might eventually get around to creating somewhere down the road. Even though they had no current plans to develop the Eastern setting. (Yeah. You read that right. I was told... in a role play game... not to make stuff up... which is ironic given that I didn't actually make anything up, just liberally stole from actual Japanese mythology. Further, my character was going to Hogwarts so all of this was just backstory and flavour.)

3. I CANNOT BE RELATED TO ABE NO SEIMEI HE IS LIKE THE JAPANESE MERLIN!!!!!!! (Oh yes. Please. Make more ignorant racist comments at me. From now on I shall refer to Merlin as the English Abe no Seimei. -_- Abe no Seimei, while unlikely to be as mystical as he was made out to be in the stories, was a real person. Merlin was never real. He was always a fictional creation. Further, I never claimed to be related to Abe no Seimei. I claimed to be a branch family of the Tsuchimikado Clan to whom Abe no Seimei was either a member of or the founder of, depending on varying stories. So. Apparently they don't understand how Japanese clans work? Or branch families? No? OK, great. GREAT.)

4. They claimed that my story about the kitsune wasn't appropriate because kitsune were a type of mythical creature and metamorphs are completely human so I can't be "half-fox". Further, one of them claimed I wanted to be "half-demon". (Which is both a grave misinterpretation of what I wrote *and* a completely incorrect assumption on what kitsune are. They are not any kind of demon. And I didn't want to be any kind of half demon or even half fox. It was a story told from a mother to a child, using a classic myth to convey a possible reason why their family sometimes had metamorphs. That's it. Which, if they had understand that whole BRANCH FAMILY thing, they should have definitely realized. But apparently I wasn't clear enough? Ok. Fine, maybe I was too fucking subtle. Still never asked to be half fucking anything. Asked to be a metamorph. That's it.)

5. Labeled me as a problem because of all of this. Which occurred over the course of two conversations and a handful of days. Yeah. YEAH. I'M A FUCKING PROBLEM BECAUSE I TRIED TO BE FUCKING CREATIVE IN THEIR FUCKING SANDBOX AND HAPPENED TO ACTUALLY KNOW WHAT THE FUCK I WAS TALKING ABOUT WHICH TURNED OUT TO BE SIGNIFICANTLY MORE THAN THEM.

And it's so frustrating because I was looking forward to playing with my friend on this site and I genuinely felt like they were targeting me because I didn't choose a basic bitch character and I had the nerve to ask questions when they tried to contest it. Like, it wasn't a genuine conversation where two sides explained their opinions. It was literally me trying to propose something and being treated like a child when I was repeatedly trying to explain where they were misinterpreting the things I had written because they didn't know Japanese history/mythology.

I've been a gamemaster/storyteller for games before. Over the course of my time role-playing, I've run four Larps, a handful of tabletops and hosted a couple online rps. My Discord server is technically a role play server that I moderate ( currently its mostly just chatting, not a lit of rp but it was designed to be rp lol). I know how these things work. And that just makes this more frustrating because my impulse, as a storyteller, has always been to work together with players to create engaging stories. I've always been willing to accept the potential of new ideas because the whole point of fucking role-playing is getting to exercise your imagination and tell stories together. So from my perspective, I'd be more than happy to work with them on this. I'd be more than happy to share what I know and talk about what could work or not work. But they don't seem to want to engage in that way and it makes me sad, frustrated, disappointed. Especially because I had really been looking forward to playing with my friend and now it seems that this whole thing is doomed to failure.

All because I got creative and asked questions. :/

[prismatoxic]

i feel like talking about what happened and it's easier to just go on a wild rant here than it is on twitter, so. plus i don't think my ex-qpp will ever use tumblr again so i don't need to worry about them sending me angry messages or something lol

this is very personal and by no means required reading, i just really wanted to write it out somewhere. so... read if you want?

anyway. relationship trauma.

their name is paris. for the sake of this vent i'm going to refer to them in the past tense, but they are still alive and presumably still out there, doing god knows what.

paris and i met in late 2020. we were both in a server for profiction sorts and i talked about how i wanted to roleplay souyo. they were playing p4 for the very first time and were quite interested, so we started to roleplay.

i would quickly find that paris met all of my standards, agreed with all my headcanons, and brought even more things to the table than i was prepared for. i have borderline personality disorder, and they became my "favorite person" very quickly. to be brief, this meant i was devoted to (obsessed with) them. i introduced them to all my friends. i shared everything about myself.

they encouraged these things, and more. i distinctly recall a conversation about how they had bared their soul to me, because i didn't know meaningless things like their age or favorite color, but i did know deeper things like their personality, their interests, their typing quirks.

we got along splendidly. we spent practically every moment of every day together; i neglected a lot of relationships during this time, i know, because i wasn't yet aware of my bpd and didn't realize what i was doing. paris was everything. they loved me just as much--or so they said, i don't know what i believe anymore. regardless, i felt like i had met my platonic soulmate, my queerplatonic partner, my aibou.

we met irl mid-2021. it was about three days, they were in the states for other reasons and just barely squeezed in a trip to see me, but it was a wonderful time. they were so gentle and loving with me and i was as sure as ever that our friendship was meant to be.

a month or two later, they suffered a personal tragedy, which i'm not going to share the details of, but suffice it to say that they were devastated. they needed time. i assured them they could have that time, as much of it as they needed. i sent them messages every day, not to get attention but just so they'd know they were loved--messages affirming my care for them and telling them about my day, things like that, something for them to return to when they were ready. they told me that was fine.

i had their number, as well, and texted them a few times, and i recall them saying "i can't carry you right now, aibou". i assured them i understood, that i wasn't asking that. i told them to take their time. it was hard, without them, yes, but it was about then that i realized i had bpd and even apologized to them about it!

the next seven months are a blur. i know a few things that happened but i can't remember the order. my vent twitter was a wreck, worse and worse by the day. paris was improving, returning to social life... without me.

things that happened:

--they confessed to being triggered by persona 4. the thing that brought us together. they did not explain why, and ended up making a non-persona twitter account. i assume they muted me as well but i'll never know now.

--they got into the game no man's sky. i fought to afford and buy a copy so we could play together. when i finally got it set up, they stopped playing.

--they started writing a novel. they would constantly message a group chat between myself, them, and our friend priam asking priam for advice on french for the novel. it got to a point where i vented to priam that i didn't understand why they didn't just dm priam, because i felt left out every time "we" spoke. it was just them asking priam for help and placating me when i tried to join in.

--they stopped initiating conversations with me. they very quickly ended conversations i started.

this went on for, as i said, 7 months. in all this time they resumed talking regularly to their "original" friends and seemed to be healing.

my fiance told me, in an effort to assure me that maybe paris had never intended to keep me so long, that paris told him something once: they said i would lose interest in them when i moved onto a different hyperfocus.

as you can imagine, this gutted me, but i held onto it for many months because i knew paris would be furious at him for telling me. paris was always so serious about conversations not leaving the spaces where they were from. devot telling me this secret would be a breach of trust (even though paris did not like devot).

in one of many, many, many breakdowns i had over all of this, i finally confessed to it on my vent twitter. i had long since assumed they had me muted on that account; they used to like every post to let me know they saw them, a show of solidarity, but they had stopped a while ago.

my tweet was something to the effect of "you once told someone i'd leave you when i got interested in something else, but then you did it to me instead"

paris was furious.

they first sent me several messages in our personal server, telling me they were disappointed in me and that they would not forgive me, and left that server and others we shared. when i did not chase them down, they sent me an even longer, much angrier rant in dms. they were vicious, telling me things they had apparently held in until then, things i wish they would have ever been honest about feeling. i trusted them to be honest with me, but they lied up until that day, i realized.

i had split on them some days before because a formerly-mutual friend had told me paris was treating them the exact same way. i realized they were leaving me, in that moment, i think. i still broke down later, obviously, but i was on the way out. their explosive farewell didn't affect me as much immediately, because of that, but the aftereffects have been... difficult.

i'd never seen them so mad. for weeks i debated responding, but in the end i chose to just let them exit my life without any rebuttal, because nothing i could say would mean anything. they were so mean in those final messages. i'd never imagined them talking to me like that. there was no easy or right way to respond. the only winning move is to not play, as they say.

in the weeks following, someone else they had told off and left in the past told me their discord icon was all black, and they'd purged all their friends. i assume that means they abandoned that account to start a new identity, as they told me they'd done in the past. i don't know where they are now. i don't want to find out.

abandonment is one of my greatest fears and triggers. this all has been very hard on me, and even now, i miss them. i miss what we were a year ago. i wish i'd seen the red flags for what they were. i wish i'd never met them, sometimes.

i loved them so very much. so many old souyo arts were dedicated to them, and their descriptions say as much, reminding me of it all every time someone goes through and likes a bunch of my art. it's hard. i wish things had been different.

but i have other people. i have devot, mikee, anjie, ashe, priam, robin, and so many others who care deeply about me. it's been hard to allow myself to be close to everyone--i'm afraid they'll leave, too--but i know i'm being irrational. it's just hard. it's so hard.

i hope i move past this. i hope this post can be a landmark for how far i've come and how far i'll go.

and paris, if you do read this, i'm sorry.

[gripefroot]

Phone Booth

Since you’d turned off your coms long ago - mission complete, and with ten minutes until rendezvous time at the jet - the sudden banging on the iron door jolts you and Bucky apart, breathing heavily as he quickly drops his hand from under your shirt. The door squeals, and a panicked Clint barges straight in and closes the door behind him. 

“You turned off your coms,” he snaps accusingly at the pair of you - you refuse to be embarrassed, merely curious at the sweat beaded on Clint’s forehead, glistening in the dim floor lights of the tech room. Small tech room. Not really made for four people. Counting you, Bucky, the knocked-out guard on the floor, and now Clint.  

“We finished our mission,” you say, twisting slightly so that Bucky can wind his metal arm around your waist chastely instead. “And we’ve still got a few minutes until we have to be back - we just figured we’d make the most of it.” 

“Gross.” 

“What’s going on?” Bucky asks, his voice a little rough.  

“They deployed some sort of smoke weapon through the vents,” Clint stands up a little straighter, wincing as he snaps his bow on his back. “Stark sent us all to the nearest rooms with closed vents.” 

“Luckily we’re already here,” you say, cooing slightly as you wink up at Bucky. He rolls his eyes fondly, giving your waist a little squeeze. 

“You know, just because we all know you’re dating now,” Clint says vehemently. “Doesn’t mean you can just go around frenching each other during missions. Lives are at stake here!” 

“Oh, please,” you brush this away. “This isn’t the first mission we’ve made out on. This is just the first time you found out.” 

There are a few shouts from down the hall, and hurried footsteps. A split second later, and Clint is thrown from in front of the door as Steve and Natasha barge in wildly, shutting the door just as fast as they came through it. You’re pressed back up against Bucky - you don’t mind, and clearly neither does he - but the temperature with the extra bodies is rising fast.  

“Aren’t there any other closed ventilation systems?” Natasha asks, taking in the sight of you and Bucky - probably a little haphazard looking - and Clint, glowering and rubbing his arm. And bumping into Steve in the process. Natasha, deciding that the best personal space could be gained above the tiny metal desk in the room - hops on top. The security guard beneath doesn’t move. Steve stands against the wall behind the door, one shoulder against the wall and one against Bucky. 

A room good for two people and a body - not so good for six.  

“Guess not,” Steve answers. 

“We got our intel,” you say to everyone.  

“Good for you,” Clint says testily.  

“Ugh, we were so close,” Natasha sighs. “98% complete when the bomb was deployed.” 

“Bucky, I don’t think the safety’s on,” Steve says, nodding at Bucky’s leg - where, indeed, his gun is strapped and ready to fire. Must’ve happened during the frenching, as Clint called it. Bucky quickly flips the switch.  

“Uh oh,” Natasha says suddenly, pressing a finger to her ear. “Stark’s coming in.” 

“No no no,” Clint groans. “Doesn’t his mask have a filtering system?” 

“He got hit in the face with a motorcycle when we were coming in,” you remind him. “Busted up his systems.” 

“Your holster’s on the floor, 28,” Natasha points out. You glance down - ah. Had Bucky unbuckled your thigh holster? It’s possible. He does things like that sometimes.  

Bending over as best you can in the tight space - Bucky muffles a groan behind you - oops, your rear is pressed up against him - you pick up your holster and strap it back on. And make sure the safety is on your Glock, too. Standing with a smile, you take your place against Bucky again, tilting your head slightly as he whispers a reprimand in your ear.  

“You tryin’ to spring me a boner in front of everyone, babe?” 

You ignore him, merely smiling smugly to yourself instead.  

“I wish I was deaf,” Steve comments.

“It’s worth it around them,” Clint says.  

The door opens again - only the slightest whiff of acrid air, and then Stark is through the door, shutting it behind him. His helmet flips open.  

“When I build a secret lair, remind me to put more than one closed vent room in the building,” he says. His back is against the door - the only space available. His armored knees knock against yours. Not very comfortable. Steve is shifting awkwardly, and Clint tries to scoot. There’s nowhere to scoot.  

“This is the worst game of seven minutes in heaven I’ve ever been invited to,” Tony comments.  

“Seven minutes in heaven ended when Clint showed up,” you say.  

Tony blinks. “Didn’t need to know that.”  

“Where’s Sam?” Natasha asks.  

“Maybe he’s lucky and made it out of the building,” Clint says.  

“Sam?” Steve says loudly, pressing a button on his com. Silence. Then he nods, and reports back, “Sam made it out. He’s waiting at the jet.” 

“I should’ve tried to make it to the door,” Clint laments.  

“Anyway, Jarvis has informed me that it will take approximately 48 hours for the chemicals to diffuse themselves safely out of the building,” Stark informs the group at large. “Think Sam can bring back a gas mask and some things to speed it up?” 

“Yes,” Steve says resolutely. 

Tony flips his helmet back on, and starts jabbering some technical talk to the missing Sam. Then a moment later, he opens his helmet again, scrunching his nose.  

“Someone forgot deodorant today,” Stark says, looking beadily around. Then he catches sight of the body beneath the desk. “Who’s the dead guy?” 

“He’s not dead - he was guarding the server,” you tell him. “Bucky hit him, that’s all.”

“He’s lucky. Wish I could be knocked out,” Clint sighs.

“That can be arranged,” Bucky says, a little testily. You reach around, finding his fingers with yours to give a little squeeze.  

“By the way, Stark, I’m going to be sending you the bills for therapy after this,” Clint announces. “I’m going to need some serious help getting the image of Barnes’s tongue down 28’s throat out of my brain.”

“Maybe group therapy will do the trick,” you tease him. “What do you think, Buck? Shall we traumatize everyone?” 

“No!” Steve says quickly, the tips of his ears bright red. 

“No!” Stark says almost as fast, looking away awkwardly. 

“Well,” Natasha says, tilting her head.  

“Gross,” Clint says again, still miffed. 

“You two are lucky you work so well together,” Tony adds, pointing a finger between you and Bucky behind you. “Otherwise I’d put a stop to this nonsense right now.” 

“Oh, please. This nonsense has been going on for a year and a half and it’s never bothered anyone before.” 

A chorus of protests starts as you finish speaking - you start to laugh, and Bucky’s fingers find their way to the back pocket of your pants. No one notices. Yet.  

“You know what,” Natasha says slowly, narrowing her eyes as she studies you. “I once heard something very suspicious on the coms. I figured it was just 28 out of breath, running for a rendezvous point...now I’m questioning it.” 

“When was that?” you ask, bemused. 

“Paris, last June.” 

“Oh. Yeah, I was already at the rendezvous. Bucky was, too.”  

“Let’s change the subject,” Steve says over Clint and Stark’s groans. Bucky is laughing in your ear. You like the feeling of his breath on your skin, shivering slightly. Clint shifts, and Natasha ducks to avoid getting whacked in the head by the arrows strapped to his back. Before she can (gently, undoubtedly) remind him of the limited space in the closet, a heavy foot presses on yours and you yelp. 

“Tony!” you say indignantly. 

“Sorry, 28.” 

“Clint!” Natasha snaps, ducking again.  

“Urrrggghhh,” from beneath the desk. Everyone looks down to the see the guard start to squirm - immediately Bucky’s boot shoots out, hitting his shin on the desk and the guard in the face. The guard stops moving.  

“I really hope Sam gets here soon,” Natasha sighs. Frankly, so do you - the little jaunt in the closet is much less fun now. Maybe you and Bucky can sneak into the bathroom on the jet. The two of you have done so before. Or, skip the sneaking and just tell everyone not to bother you. Not having a secret relationship anymore has its advantages. 

That little daydream helps the minutes to pass. Ignoring Tony giving Clint a hard time about something or another (it’s a nice break), you lean your head back against Bucky’s chest. He kisses the top of your head, but says nothing. Since Super-Hearing-Steve is less than a millimeter away, even if he is trying to ignore you and Bucky being touchy-feely. 

It’s probably about twenty degrees warmer in the closet than it had been when you and Bucky had snuck in. Steve is sweating - you can feel prickles of heat across your own skin, and your back pressed to Bucky is definitely damp. From him, or you. Doesn’t really matter. Natasha is fanning herself with a hand. Which probably isn’t helping much. 

“He’s back in the building,” Stark reports suddenly. 

“Finally,” Clint moans. Your fingers tighten on Bucky’s. The metal is cool, at least.  

“Air’s clean,” Tony adds. 

Then a rushing of air from somewhere above - the vents, probably - of the noxious gas being cleared out. In the closet, the air is just as stale as it was before, but a moment later there’s a pounding knock on the door. Stark squeezes into you so it can swing open - you’re pushed further back into Bucky (no complaints), and finally a breath of fresh air as Sam’s head, covered in a gas mask, pokes in.  

“Oh, boy,” comes Sam’s tinny voice. “I missed a good time, didn’t I?” 

“No, it was awful,” Clint says, stomping out. Nat hopes down lithely from the desk.  

“Could’ve been better,” she says. “But not with you stuck in there too.” 

“Thanks…” Sam’s eye roll can be seen through the helmet, though he really doesn’t seem offended at all.  

Tony is out next, talking to Jarvis about looking for more guards anywhere in the building to ‘take care of’, and finally Steve leaves, talking to Sam as if he hadn’t just spent the last hour pushed up against you and Bucky. Poor Steve.  

Bucky lets out a long breath. “Next time you say we have enough time to get a little frisky before we need to head out, I’m going to remember this specifically.” 

“Oh, come on,” you say lightly, peeling yourself from him as you turn around with a smile. “One interrupted mid-mission makeout out of what? Two dozen or more? And it wasn’t the kissing that was bad.” 

Bucky’s lips twist into a lopsided smile. “Wasn’t bad at all, babe.” 

“In fact - ” you glance over your shoulder - Steve and Sam are still chatting, walking down the hallway. Sam has taken off his mask. You kick your foot backwards, and the door clangs shut again before turning to Bucky with a smirk. “Where were we?” 

[kgmoonsoo-blog]

SNAPSHOTS

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 3:00 PM

“C’moooon.” 

Moonsoo nudged Min with his elbow a few times. “C’mon.” He nudged Kyeong again. “Look, you know who’s on this mission? Yeah, TY. She is just sneaking into a gala to take pics with her glasses and that’s it. This is a stats fluffer. You can’t tell me you wouldn’t like another success under your belt.

Right?

Riiiiiight?” 

Kyeong scratched his head. Even with his ducked head, Moonsoo saw the smile appear on the other’s face. Moonsoo clapped his hands together loudly. 

“Alright! Atta boy. Thanks for covering for me, man. I really appreciate it.” 

––––––

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 5:03 PM

“Uncle Samwoo!”

Not too long after he heard that, the little girl appeared from around the corner. One of her hands stayed attached to her mom’s, while the other patted along the wall so she could navigate. 

He leaned down and picked her up. He held her up high towards the ceiling. The height had her giggling and shrieking out of joy. The overjoyed sound made him feel better about taking the day off. 

“How my favorite little princess?” 

“Hungry.”

“Aigoo,” he cooed at her. “Then I guess Uncle Samwoo better make you some food, right?” 

Enthusiastically, she nodded. He placed her back down on the ground. Her little hand grabbed onto the hem of his shirt. 

The mom grabbed her purse off the kitchen counter and headed for the door. “Thank you so much for this, Samwoo. The landlord keeps calling me, and it might get messy if we start looking at the lease. I don’t want to expose––”

“It’s okay. I get it. Go ahead. Good luck,” he said. “Let me know if you need me to come back you up or anything.” 

“Thank you. Really, thank you.”

––––––

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 5:48 PM

CALL ACCEPTED.

“Hey, Samwoo. I just got done with talking to the landlord.”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes and no. I’ll tell you more when I get back. Are you okay with watching Joon-ie for a while longer? I haven’t had a night to myself in a long time.”

“Yeah, I got the whole night off. Don’t worry. Enjoy yourself.”

“Thank you so much.”

CALL ENDED.

––––––

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 6:32 PM

Fatigue was too much to ignore. He flopped face down onto the carpeted ground. The wool provided a thin cushion for him to rest upon. Just when he thought he got a second to himself, he felt the tugs on his shirt.

“Uncle! We gotta do it again! The dragon has to be defeated,” she whined.

“Nooo,” he mumbled. “You killed me. You really killed me this time.”

“No. The witch has a time curse set. If I don’t kill you the right way, time just rewinds!” She pulled his arm to get him back up, but he remained still. 

“What’s the right way then?”

“I can’t tell you! You’re the dragon!” 

“Why you little clever punk.” He sprung up and caught her. Gently, he started tickling her sides. In her bout of giggling, she unknowingly kicked her feet at his torso. It didn’t hurt him much so he didn’t blame her. Finally he stopped and he huffed. “I want to be the princess now.”

––––––

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 6:50 PM

One short buzz and four long buzzes on a loop was a personal call. 

Two short buzzes and three long ones was a work call. 

Three short, three long, then three short buzzes again meant that there was an emergency at work. 

“Joon-ie, can you sit here and listen to the rest of your book? Uncle needs to make a phone call.”

The little girl did as she was instructed.

He rushed to the kitchen where he could still keep her in his line of sight from a distance. He punched in the number of Kyeong as quick as his fingers would allow. The ringing droned on.

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 6:52 PM

The call went to the voicemail. He ended the call immediately and tried again.

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 6:53 PM

The morse S.O.S. alert went off again. The vibrations traveled through his arm as the ringing hummed again and again in his ear. 

Another call was cut short, because he knew it would go straight to voicemail. 

This time he called a different number–– One that he knew would get him a response.

“Hello?”

“Hey,” he kept his voice even. “Nothing is wrong. Joon-ie ate already and is almost ready to go to bed. I sort of need to go check up on something with my family. It’s urgent. Can you come home?”

“Oh, I thought you had the night off.”

“––I did. I’m sorry. I wouldn’t dip out like this if I had a choice.” Moonsoo’s hand ran through his hair. There was a dull pain from how hard he pulled at the hair. Two alerts in a short amount of time meant that something was extremely wrong. What if they needed him? He couldn’t leave Joon-ie by herself though. His responsibility was to protecting her as much as it was to the Kingsman. 

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 7:00 PM

SERVER LINK DISCONNECTED. SERVER LINK DISCONNECTED. SERVER IS OFFLINE. SERVER IS OFFLINE. 

His thumb hovered over the send button on the screen.

< Please come home. > 

His organization needed him, but he was letting them down by being stuck here. The appliances and food on the counter tempted him to push them all onto the floor. His frustration needed to be vented and this would be a great way. But the loud noises would scare Joon-ie and she didn’t deserve to be startled.

The sent button highlighted when he pushed his thumb against it. The worst thing about that was he knew after sending that text, he did everything he possibly could. There was no way out of this other than to wait it out. His fate was left to this woman he had no blood ties with.  

––––––

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 7:25 PM

Moonsoo was a man who fulfilled his promises. 

A man who withstood backhanded comments about how she wasted money at a spa for barely an hour. Not to mention the traffic she had to endure since she had to rush home. 

A man with lifeless eyes because he knew he should’ve been somewhere that needed him more. 

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 7:45 PM

A man whose knuckles burned hot white from gripping his steering wheel so hard, as he drove to the headquarters. 

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 7:59 PM

A man with a heavy conscience when he saw the state of his workplace. 

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/15; 8:10 PM

A man who gathered up volunteers to enter inspect the parts of the building that hadn’t collapsed yet. The orange hues of the flames colored his shocked expression. The odor hit him hard. He couldn’t tell if it was C4 or pure dynamite. The after smell was heavily mixed in with what he assumed with charred flesh. He had to work quick. He had to redeem himself. 

––––––

⌜ CLICK ⌟ : 2017/10/16; 4:05 AM

Moonsoo sat by the sidelines at Medic station, going over the series of his mistakes today. He recalled every moment vividly like photographs. Together they formed a visual essay about him failing everybody. He didn’t deserve to dodge this bullet over his other co-workers. This was yet another album that added to the collection of regrets in his life.