#This shouldn’t not cost $30 what the fuck man

[aeolianblues]

WHY IS PRODUCE PRICED LIKE THAT

[thriftedtchotchkes]

his favorite girl, part ii

pairing: joel miller x f!reader

summary: keeping things professional only works if both parties are in agreement. after a heated first lesson, it's clear you and joel aren't.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, no outbreak, guitar teacher!joel, age gap (30 years), slow-burn, smut, angst, m&f masturbation, mentions of regret and shame

word count: 3.6k

series masterlist | part i

Adrenaline hasn't stopped pumping through your veins since you left your guitar teacher's house. Joel's house.

It's hard to even think his name now that you know what it's like to moan it for him, to feel his body tense and tighten like nylon strings as you tune him to your pitch. The things that man could teach you with all of his experience and endless patience...wait, no. No.

How to play guitar—that's the only thing you need from Joel Miller. Nothing else. God, what the hell is wrong with you? That stupid daydream has been running through your head on a loop ever since you got home and it really shouldn’t be. It was a mistake, one that almost cost you your entire future, and yet you’re still so hung up on it.

On everything you learned during your short, disastrous guitar lesson, the intimate knowledge you’ll never be able to forget. Like the fingering for the chord he showed you, or that he makes the neediest sounds when his body's pressed up against yours and his fingers are so close to where you need him, inches away from—

Stop.

The freezing cold shower you just took is about to be rendered useless at the rate you're going, and tomorrow’s lesson won’t be far behind if you can’t get your shit together.

But you can’t stop yourself from wondering—how much of it was real? You toss your hair over your shoulder, ignoring the icy droplets trickling down your back, and the bruise you’d imagined he left isn’t there. Instead, the mirror taunts you, reflecting smooth, unmarred skin that only serves as a harsh reminder of your fuck-up.

You’re more disappointed than you should be. It would've been the only piece of physical evidence you had proving what happened earlier wasn't all in your head. That maybe he reciprocates even a fraction of what you feel. But it's for the best. Now you can move on and focus all of your mental energy on staying present tomorrow so he won't rescind his offer to continue your lessons.

You'll have to keep things totally professional. The diligent college student, eager to learn and dedicated to her studies—that’s you, all right. It shouldn’t be that hard to stay focused for one measly hour, not when those thick, talented fingers of his are so captivating and capable of so many useful things. Guiding you through the next few bars of that song, slipping beneath the waistband of your—

Fuck it, you're doomed.

There's no way you can handle this. He's just too distracting, and you're way too easily distracted. Judging by the way he reacted to your inappropriate behavior earlier, you're starting to wonder if he can handle it himself. He was a little too quick to touch you, to sit so close that you could feel every instruction he gave you rumbling in his chest.

That familiar heat’s starting to build in your belly, and you know it’ll boil over the second he’s within reach again. You have to get this in check before you see him tomorrow or you’ll be royally screwed, and not even remotely in the way you’d like to be.

But it’s getting harder by the minute. It’s all too fresh in your mind, and you can practically still feel the drag of calluses across your skin and the weight of his arm slung over your shoulder. His fingers twitching in your desperate grasp like he was just itching to trace a knuckle down the soaked fabric between your legs.

You don’t remember how or when you got into bed, but you suddenly find yourself lying on top of your damp, unfastened towel, your bare breasts exposed to the cool air of your bedroom, and your fingers grazing your hardening nipples as you snake them down your body.

The second your fingers slide through your embarrassingly wet folds, you're a lost cause. God, that's good. You're so wet for him, and he's not even here to see you, to feel what he does to you.

You press down on your clit and pretend it's his solid chest tucked against you instead of your shitty dorm mattress, and his rough fingertips swirling masterful circles around your slick nub before dipping achingly slowly inside you.

Shit, you're going to cum soon, so much quicker than you normally do. But maybe this is exactly what you need to get him out of your system. Maybe cumming as many times as you can to the thought of your hot, middle-aged guitar teacher is all it'll take for you to finally get over this stupid, dangerous schoolgirl crush. To get on with your life and earn your fucking college degree.

Joel Miller. You erupt around your fingers with his name hot and heavy on your lips, but it’s…not enough. It's fine, that's totally fine. You'll just go again. As many times as it takes.

But by your third orgasm in as many hours, you realize you’re only making it worse. The aching emptiness you feel every time you cum is almost unbearable. Even as you fuck yourself on three of your fingers, desperately trying to fill yourself up the way he would, it's still not enough.

It’s not him.

God, what are you supposed to do now? Can you really face him tomorrow knowing that you spent the entire night gushing around your fingers, pretending they were his?

And what if he tries to touch them again? Shit. Shit. You just keep making dumber and dumber decisions when it comes to him.

So...maybe you can forgive yourself for making one more. You know that you couldn't have imagined everything earlier. That dark, hungry look in his eyes when he told you flat out that he didn't pull away from you on purpose—he has to want you as much as you want him. Right?

He just needs a nudge in the right direction. A green light so he can push aside those polite, southern manners just long enough for you to both get what you need. Then, you can continue your lessons distraction-free.

After all, you did your finger exercises tonight just like he told you to, and teaching is always more effective with a little positive reinforcement.

Yeah, this will totally work.

Joel’s been rock hard ever since you left his house.

He’s still sitting on the couch in the same spot you occupied just a few hours earlier, his mind running a mile a minute, hands clenched painfully at his sides so he doesn't touch himself.

Christ, you're young. Much too young to be this desperate over or to consume his every thought the way you have since you shoved his hand between your thighs, moaning his name like his fingers were already buried in your tight cunt.

He can't do this. His own fantasies are starting to concern him. He's never this vulgar. Not since he was a stupid kid in high school, picking up girls and bragging about it to his buddies. But that's how you make him feel. Like a stupid, horny kid.

C'mon, dirty old man. Get your shit together.

This is why he never should've agreed to start taking on students. The second you walked through his front door, he should've known he was in for it. Those bright eyes, ever-observant and eager to learn, and delicate hands, clutching the handle of a guitar case much smaller than his own. He wanted to help you with your class, he really did.

Wants. He wants to help you, but he feels like he can't trust himself around you anymore, if he ever did in the first place. Still, he made his old bandmate—your professor, now, he guesses—a promise that he didn't intend to break. Not until he actually met the student in question and discovered, to his horror, that you were his every wet dream come to life.

When you picked up your tiny guitar, a baby version of his own Taylor six-string, and began to strum clumsily with your beginner's touch, he couldn't help himself.

All he could think about were those dainty fingers wrapped around his cock. Teaching you how to stroke him just right, his hand guiding yours up and down his length the way yours were shifting up and down the neck of your guitar as you hopped from fret to fret.

Shit, he's fucking hard.

It's not going away anytime soon, either. Maybe if he just...takes care of it. Jerks off, quick and dirty, thinking about the smooth pad of your thumb circling the head of his cock while he leaks precum onto your fingers. He'd cum so quickly imagining himself splattering his release across your plush lips, his name on the tip of your tongue.

His jeans are halfway down his thighs before he can think twice about it, and he hisses in a sharp breath when he finally begins to pump himself, tight and focused toward the tip just like he'd tell you to.

He was right. He's not going to last long. That's probably a good thing. The faster he can get you out of his system, the better, and then he can forget all of the things he did to you. He's more than ashamed at how quickly his balls start to tighten when he remembers how intimately you let him touch you. How fucking crazy you drove him.

The living room fills with the echoes of his stuttered groans and skin slapping against skin as he frantically fucks his fist, lost in the memory of his lips dragging across your bare shoulder and the heel of his hand grinding into your soaked, clothed pussy.

Then, he hears it so clearly through the haze of his pleasure—your voice whimpering his name, begging him to take care of you. He barely has enough time to tug up his shirt before he's cumming hard across his stomach and dribbling down his knuckles. Christ, you'd look so fucking good on your knees right now, sucking the release off his fingers.

Not good.

What the hell is happening to him? This desire, this need, it isn't who he is. And all of it over a beautiful girl. A very, very beautiful girl. He sighs, running his clean hand frustratedly down his face, fighting to ignore the cum drying uncomfortably on his skin.

It's not just that, and he knows it. It isn't your youth, either. It's...your passion. Your kindness and determination, even in the face of adversity.

It's you.

But he can't have you, no matter how much he aches to. You deserve better than an old, washed-up musician with bad knees and high blood pressure. You need someone who can really take care of you, and he's already decided that isn't him.

Come tomorrow, he'll keep things professional like he said he would. He'll keep his distance and teach you everything he has to offer. Be the guitar teacher he should've been from the beginning.

You're both adults, perfectly capable of controlling yourselves long enough to get through an hour-long lesson.

Yeah, this'll work.

You're late.

Not a great start to your second lesson, but then again, that seems to be your M.O. these days. Not this day, though. Today, all of that changes.

You take a deep, steadying breath before your fist connects with sun-bleached oak, and do your best to focus on the warm, mid-September breeze instead of the impatience and anticipation threatening to swallow you whole.

Now that you're back here, standing on his porch, you're beginning to realize you're actually excited to see him. The anxiety you felt last night has given way to a strange sense of relief and a fresh wave of want. It's like your body can sense him and all of the things you're about to learn and experience.

His broad figure comes into view through the foggy glass paneling of his front door, and then after a strenuous 24 hours, your guitar teacher is within reach again—Joel. His name is Joel. You’re going to have to get used to saying it without your breath catching in your throat or he’ll know. He'll see your intentions clear as day and you'll never get to moan it for him again.

“Hey, you, uh...ya made it," he says breathily, frowning down at his watch. He's panting, and there's a gentle flush spreading from his cheeks down to his neck, disappearing under the collar of his navy blue T-shirt. “I was startin' to get a little worried there."

You smile apologetically, turning to nod back at the piece of shit Chevy parked in his driveway. It's old as dirt and somehow always manages to act up when the weather gets too hot.

"I had some car trouble," you tell him sheepishly, throwing a disdainful look over your shoulder before facing him again. "I should've called. I'm sorry."

He shakes his head, offering you a small, if not subtly strained, smile in return. You can tell he's relieved you didn't call, even if he's too polite to say it.

"S'alright, m'just glad you're here now," he says tightly, shifting from one foot to the other as he continues to stand awkwardly in the doorway.

Well, this isn't good. You can take a pretty decent guess as to why he's acting so strange, but you're not sure how to even begin diffusing the situation. Inviting yourself in wouldn't be a terrible first step, but he already seems nervous as hell, and you're afraid he'll spook.

He's still thinking about yesterday. It's evident in his stance and the tension visibly building in his biceps and shoulders. What you wouldn't give to relieve some of that stress—but you can't do much of anything while you're still stuck at an impasse, sizing each other up for two very conflicting reasons.

Hiking your guitar case higher up on your shoulder, you gesture as delicately as you can to the door he's still hiding behind.

"Is it okay, um—should I...come inside?" you stumble over your suggestion, your words conveying none of the confidence and allure you'd hoped for.

Come on, buck up. Be the girl who made him question his self-control; the girl who made his eyes turn so dark, you thought you'd lose yourself in them and never find your way out. You meet those same eyes again with a playful darkness of your own.

"Or did you wanna continue what we started yesterday out here on your porch?"

He does startle at that, but luckily it's the push he needs to finally let you into his home.

"Y-yeah, yes. M'sorry, 'course ya can," he mutters, shaking his head as if he'd been in a trance the entire time. "Didn't mean to keep ya standin' there. Come, uh...Christ, come on in."

Good. Entranced is good.

He holds the door open for you like a perfect gentleman, and your chest drags across his as you squeeze past his large frame and into the entryway. It’s an unsubtle and potentially cheap move, but neither of you pretends it wasn’t on purpose. He sucks in a harsh breath, seizing up until you're past him and taking in the quiet comfort of his living room.

Last time, you'd been too distracted to notice all of the little details and odds and ends that make the space so distinctly Joel, but now that you're really paying attention, it's...charming. The stacks of CDs next to his guitar stand, some in cases and some not, and the varying brown tones of his shag rug and leather couch feel warm and inviting. Just like the man who spends his days and nights here.

Being here suddenly feels intimate in a different capacity than before. Heat begins to bloom in your chest instead of between your legs at the idea of creating music together, a variation all your own, heavily influenced by the history all around you. The abrupt shift takes you by surprise, but it's not unwelcome. If anything, it increases your sense of urgency.

So you let it draw you in, back to where your next lesson and, hopefully, everything you have in store for Joel will take place. That same cushy spot you dreamt about all night while you fucked yourself with your fingers, and that he, unbeknownst to you, lingered while he fucked his fist to thoughts of you.

Looking back over your shoulder, you catch him watching you. There's a curiosity there and an undercurrent of something darker that makes your stomach swoop. He's still flushed, even more so than before, despite his AC kicking to cut the heat and oppressive humidity you brought in with you.

But then he blinks and it's gone again. Left in its place are the kind, if not extremely guarded, eyes of your patient guitar teacher. He's so good at that. Maybe a little too good.

You twist around, heaving the soft case off your shoulder so you can plop down on the couch. He winces out of the corner of your eye when you land on his spot, and his fingers twitch restlessly at his sides as you pull out your guitar and set it across your lap. Lifting an eyebrow, you wait for him to make a move, but he seems stuck in place. Conflicted, almost, like he's fighting himself.

You need him closer. You need him to loosen up. Most of all, you need those thick, insistent fingers inside you before you lose your damn mind.

"Joel? You coming?" you ask expectantly, moving your hands into place over the frets and strings.

At that, he downright grimaces but nods nonetheless. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds a lot like self-admonishment as he putters across the room to pluck his guitar from its stand.

Instead of sitting beside you, he pulls up a chair in front of you, putting enough distance between himself and the couch so you can heed his instructions, but not be tempted to touch. Whether that's for his benefit or yours, you're not entirely sure, but you shiver at the thought. He notices.

"Y'need me to turn down the AC? 'Cus I can handle that real quick before we get started," he sounds a little too eager to get away from you again, so you hurriedly reach out to grab his hand before he can make his escape.

"Woah, hold your horses. It's totally okay. I'm not cold, I promise," you try to reassure him with a chuckle, attempting to soothe the palpable tension in the air. Those rough, time-hardened fingertips brush against the delicate skin of your inner wrist, and you instinctively tug him closer.

But he resists. He carefully pulls out of your grasp and sits back down, returning to a safe distance and refusing to make eye contact.

That's not a good sign. At all. You can't help but feel a little ashamed at his reaction. It was never your intention to push him, but you also hadn't expected him to be repelled by just the sight of you.

Maybe you misunderstood your last conversation? Or maybe it really was all in your head, even after you stopped daydreaming. It's entirely possible you only saw what you wanted because you wanted him. You bite your lip anxiously, shifting away to offer him more space.

"Hey, is everything okay? You seem kind of...off today," you press him hesitantly. "Look, if this is about yesterday—"

"S'nothin' like that. We agreed it was water under the bridge, right? Two adults keepin' things professional," he cuts you off, kindly yet firmly dismissing your concerns.

He meets your eyes again, and they're clearer, now. His voice, too—unwavering and more sure than it's been since you got here.

Oh. This is a reminder. A gently worded warning for both of you.

Okay, that's totally okay. It has to be. He's right, anyway. You keep forgetting how important these lessons are, and he's just being the reasonable, responsible adult who wants to keep you on track, no matter how nervous you make him.

Shit, you wish that didn't turn you on so much. You tell yourself to ignore it. Your mission's a bust, anyway, and he's clearly not interested. You ignore how badly that hurts, too, while you're at it.

"Yeah, of course. Totally professional," you repeat back dejectedly, and you will yourself to mean it. But he never makes it easy, does he?

"That's my girl," he smiles so, so handsomely, and you're forced to bite back a frustrated groan.

How he manages to look so genuine and innocent while he says things like that, you'll never understand. What's worse, you have no doubt he actually is.

Joel Miller. 56 years old. Your generous guitar teacher whose only goal is to share his craft in that syrupy sweet twang that sounds like the sweetest music to your ears.

Just your luck.

thanks for reading & stay tuned for part iii <3

(dividers by @saradika & @inklore)

[palms-upturned]

I’m not gonna jump in ppl’s notes over this bc lord knows I do not want to have a debate about it but seeing someone say “I have qualms about people calling Jean ableist for trying to fire Harry and in the same breath saying Harry is unfit for cop work” is really getting to me. I am practically on my knees begging people to actually engage with what disco elysium has to say about disability and addiction and ableism and policing and social murder because it’s not even subtextual, it’s as blatant and hand holding as it could possibly be. The 41st is an awful environment for Harry not bc him being disabled makes him incapable of doing his job, it’s bc the job is fucking hostile to his existence. Like, no one is “fit” to be a cop because they shouldn’t exist, firstly, and even Harry himself will say as much in the Ruby bad ending. But talking about Harry’s case specifically, we know that this job is part of what landed him where he is to begin with.

From the start of day 2:

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — You mean why are you so tired? Too tired and *down* to even think? It *is* worrying, isn't it. You can't be a detective like this -- detectives need to be able to think.

YOU — Why is this happening?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — It's just that your heart has finally pumped all the *speed* out of your system, buster. Time to get some more.

YOU — Wait. What *is*... speed?

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Speed is a potent central nervous system stimulant. It kept you propped up all day yesterday despite your debilitating hangover. How else did you think you even got up from this floor?

VOLITION — You got up from this floor because of a holy vow you made sixteen years ago. With *me*. To wake up exactly 07:30 every morning until the day you die.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Don't be silly. There was no vow. You were high on speed. That was the only reason you got up. You can't *detect* without it, it's that simple.

YOU — No. I can take this. I am not going to go looking for speed.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Are you sure? Ready to live as this pathetic shell of yourself for days? Basically a week? Let's be honest -- two weeks, maybe three? You won't make it. Half the town will be dead by then. You will be fired.

YOU — That's a lie. I can do this without the speed. Half the town won't be dead... (Opt out.)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — Suit yourself, slow, sad shell-man. See how you do without your spark.

And from this talk with Kim in Klaasje’s room:

KIM KITSURAGI — "Amphetamine -- does it make you a better detective?"

SUGGESTION — Be honest. He's not grilling you, he just wants to know. Ask if he's ever wanted to take it too.

YOU — "Honestly, it makes me the detective I am. Have you thought of taking it too?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Maybe I should?" He lets out a little pensive hum, rubbing his shoulder...

DRAMA — It's not insincere. He's actually giving it thought.

KIM KITSURAGI — "Doesn't the... pupils and the gurning jaw, the sweating... doesn't it become tiring after a while?"

YOU — "I understand it's unbecoming but if I don't perform this job well I am nothing. It's the price I pay."

Harry knows that the cost of getting sober would be that the precinct would let him go. They’re not going to have the patience to deal with him slowing down from the combo of withdrawal and no speed to “keep him propped up.” Not when the reason that he’s stayed on the force this long and risen in the ranks is most likely because he manages such a massive caseload, as we find out from Kim:

YOU — "Is two cases a week a good case load, lieutenant?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "Huh?" He raises his nose from his notes. "Two *complex* cases to undertake is a lot, yes. You *really* have to push yourself. I would not suggest it. Lest you start making mistakes."

YOU — "Two cases a week appears to have been my load, lieutenant. I'm not sure I completed them though."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Two?" He raises both eyebrows. "That's a lot. I didn't mean to say you're making mistakes, by the way. That was presumptuous of me."

And later:

KIM KITSURAGI — "This next row -- the one that wraps all the way around -- is your number of closed cases. *Closed* is good. It means finished. You've got, let's see..."

KIM KITSURAGI — "Wow, more than 200!"

YOU — "Is that a lot?"

KIM KITSURAGI — "It's *quite* a lot, even for someone who's been on the force for nearly two decades. Usually clearing more than 10 cases a year puts you in the 90th percentile of *all* RCM officers..."

Despite the trouble Harry makes, he’s considered an asset so long as he closes cases. To the point where he wasn’t punished for drunkenly beating Burke unconscious and then injuring his knee so badly that he can’t walk anymore just because this allowed them to close the “unsolvable case” of Leslie and Burke. 41 and the RCM as an institution don’t care about Harry’s or anyone else’s wellbeing, they care about whether the pros of having him around outweigh the cons.

From the lazareth call with Gottlieb:

YOU — "Isn't there *anything* you can do for me?"

NIX GOTTLIEB — "What, you want me to do blood work for you again, tell you just how bad things really are *across the board*? You want another rundown of everything collapsing inside your body?"

YOU — "Yes. I want the truth!"

NIX GOTTLIEB — "You want the real, honest-to-god truth? Stop drinking, eat magnesium and vitamin D. Our station is not a retirement home. We don't have the funds to deal with *rock stars* past their prime."

RHETORIC — So it's political! You're being *neglected* because of political reasons...

NIX GOTTLIEB — "And no, I *don't* want to hear a *political commentary* on the topic. In fact -- I've got work to do."

If I were to quote every time Gottlieb was notably uncaring or said something blasé about how you probably didn’t have long to live, I’d have to quote pretty much every word of that dialogue. That’s the whole joke with Gottlieb. That’s just how it is dealing with doctors when you’re in Harry’s position.

From talking to Kim about Uuno:

KIM KITSURAGI — "We could take him to Remedie or Saint Batiste, but he doesn't have money for medical services. The Almshouse would turn him down..."

KIM KITSURAGI — "They don't do charity for people who're trying to kill themselves. Besides, he'll be dead in a few..." The lieutenant stops, listening to him.

RHETORIC — ... years? Months? Weeks?

“They don’t do charity work for people who’re trying to kill themselves” really sums up the absurdity of Harry’s situation and institutional responses to it. Harry isn’t seen as the kind of person in crisis who deserves intervention. He’s treated as a lost cause who deserves to suffer the consequences of his self harm, even though the unending crisis and the lack of response to it is what drives him to harm himself and hope that he “gets worse.” If he weren’t a cop, it’s unlikely that Kim would care about him any more than he cares about Uuno and Cuno’s situation. Harry’s job is killing him, but it’s also the only thing that gives him access to anything resembling a community or support network (at least at the start of the game). Again, that’s just the way it goes when you’re disabled.

From the second tribunal:

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Well -- here is my theory: What if this is an absolutely normal reaction to the world we're living in? What if this is *not* a significant anomaly at all, something to be explained, approached as a defect? Look at the sensory input here..." He gestures toward the scenery.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Look at the ruins, the neon, listen to the radio, the multitudes. The people. Live here for forty years... As a police detective, he's like a magnetic reader on the world-tape -- to borrow a known metaphor. Harry's been pushed *flat against it*. Total input."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "Hard-wired to the free market..." He nods confidently. "He just needed for it to end."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Okay, Trant, thank you. That's... absolutely meaningless. I'm glad we brought you. Will he or will he not be able to work in the Major Crimes Unit? Is he a cretin now? I want to know *that*."

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "He is *not* a cretin. And he *is* able to do work -- if not in his previous leadership role, then as a line detective."

YOU — "Line detective is good for now."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "For *now*?" He looks at you, then at Trant. "I misphrased my question. It should have been: Is he able to put his clothes on, and use the potty, or do we need to get him on a disability pension?"

Or, alternatively:

YOU — "He's wrong. I'm too far gone for work."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Agreed, Harry." He nods. "Just don't expect us to get you a disability pension. Cops who actually gave a shit are waiting in line. You're not gonna hog their seat."

Trant, who, notably, is technically a civilian consultant rather than a cop, (edit: and maybe even more notably, as someone pointed out in the tags, has had experience with addiction, too) suggests to Jean that Harry’s breakdown is a basically inevitable result of his circumstances and the systems that created them, and Jean’s response is that he doesn’t care and all that he wants to know is whether or not Harry can work or if he’s going to be “hogging” resources from other people who are more deserving of help because they “actually gave a shit.” He’s a mouthpiece here for the institutions that he represents and his ableism is blatant and heinous to drive the point home. He denies that Harry’s case is as serious as it is and accuses Harry of faking it, despite the fact that it’s happened (at least) twice before, and very recently:

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "I believe you *drank*. People do that -- you especially. What they don't do is forget their *whole life* because of drinking."

JUDIT MINOT — "But, Detective Vicquemare," she interjects. "He *has* blanked out before."

YOU — "I have?"

JUDIT MINOT — "Yes, a couple of times. After some of the more... serious benders." She pauses, remembering. "One was after the Two Drunks case, the other when we looked into that mural."

REACTION SPEED — The two cases... in your ledger. The Unsolvable Case and the Next World Mural. Those were recent.

And despite the fact that even Gottlieb doesn’t seem shocked about it:

YOU — "I've lost my memory. All of it."

NIX GOTTLIEB — "With all the damage you've been dealing yourself with drugs and alcohol, I'm not surprised."

AUTHORITY — There is no surprise in his voice. Only careless superiority.

DRAMA — It's hard to say if he doesn't believe you -- or doesn't care.

(Considering that Gottlieb’s PSY stat is so high (he’s even eating one of the PSY boosting candies during the call), along with his uncaring responses to all your other problems, it’s more likely the latter.)

Jean also won’t believe that you’re sober even if you haven’t touched so much as a cigarette for your entire playthrough, and even when Judit points out that he’s wrong, he’ll double down and say that it doesn’t matter because you’re going to relapse:

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Even the insect -- I don't care. But you're an *alcoholic*. And you've been drinking -- again. I won't let my life unravel because of this."

JUDIT MINOT — "Jean -- I think he hasn't. I can see it on his face..."

ENDURANCE — The bloating *has* gone down since you woke up that morning...

JEAN VICQUEMARE — "Okay, so he's stayed clear for what? A week?" He sighs.

TRANT HEIDELSTAM — "It's tough. One of the toughest addictions to overcome. Comparable *only* to heavy synthetic opiates. Even morphine is easier to kick than alcohol -- statistically. The odds are against him. Especially at his age."

JEAN VICQUEMARE — He nods. "He's too old. He's been like this for too long. I've seen him try many times. It's a farce by now."

SUGGESTION — They're leaving. They're all turning away from you.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY — No. You can figure it out. *Replace* it! Replace the alcohol with amphetamine. Or GBL! Fuck it -- morphine! Graffito removal agent! Anything. It'll buy you time. All you need is time.

Electrochemistry brings up yet another facet of Harry’s struggles with substances, which is the idea that some of them may be replacements for alcohol. He doesn’t have time or space to try to quit in any way that is remotely healthy. What he has are substances like speed that keep him from collapsing from the strain of it all so that he can keep showing up to work, and other substances that might (he hopes) help him wean himself off the alcohol.

The game explores all of these different factors of Harry’s struggles with addiction and the circumstances that keep him trapped in them exhaustively (and the fact that Robert Kurvitz apparently was recovering from alcoholism during the development probably contributed a lot to that). The structure and culture of the RCM are hugely responsible for Harry’s situation. He’s mocked and berated for being an alcoholic and told repeatedly to get his shit together without actually providing him with the means to do that. Instead, he’s not only enabled but practically forced to keep using just so that he can show up to work at all and not risk losing the only support network he has (even if it’s the shittiest and most unhelpful network imaginable). As Luiga (iirc) said, Harry’s biggest tragedy is that he’s incapable of quitting the force. Many of the reasons for that are genuinely just due to Harry being a class traitor and an asshole, but it’s also true that even if he did want to quit, there is no safety net to catch him.

And then Harry comes to Martinaise, a town that has been “orphaned” by the RCM and neglected by Revachol at large, left mostly to their own devices. It’s not like policing doesn’t still exist in Martinaise, and things are pretty dire for everyone in the community, but at the very least you can see that it is a community. Isobel houses you for free. In Kim’s absence (and after Gottlieb stitches and ditches you), Cuno and Garte take care of you when you’re shot. Acele responds to your breakdown on the ice by saying it’s okay to cry and that you can talk with her about it when you’re ready. Idiot Doom Spiral and co run to your aid when they see you drive your car into the sea and invite you to come drink with them just to stop you from doing it again. Harry discovers that life, while very painful and bleak at times, isn’t necessarily hopeless for the marginalized. You can still find solidarity and support outside of the system.

Meanwhile, if Harry in the end has no one to vouch for him and hasn’t stayed sober, that system will abandon him, a well-known suicide risk with at least one bullet hole in him and severe amnesia, with the promise of nothing but getting served a station call slip. The point is not whether or not Harry “deserves” to be forgiven or even whether he’s a danger to himself and others (to be clear, he is). The point is that this is a system that doesn’t care whether Harry and people like him live or die. That is why, even in a “good” ending where Harry is welcomed back to the 41st, the work won’t be sustainable. It’s going to kill him because that’s what it’s designed to do. The miracle of Martinaise was the realization that he doesn’t have to die. There are people who will help to keep him on this earth. They’re just not members of the fucking RCM.

It’s not a “gotcha” to say that if Jean (and the RCM, and the institutions of Revachol on the whole) is ableist for wanting Harry fired, then saying that cop work is unsustainable for Harry is also ableist. I won’t even say what I personally think of that logic because I’m trying to keep the tone of this post polite. Jean’s dialogue during the tribunal is meant to parrot every bit of ableist rhetoric that the system is built on and that keeps Harry trapped in this hellish feedback loop. He’s a mouthpiece for the general culture of the RCM, just like Gottlieb is a mouthpiece for the shit that addicts and the disabled have to deal with from the medical system. He thinks Harry should be fired because he’s a drunk and therefor a lost cause. The truth is that Harry needs to quit this job because it shouldn’t exist and because it is actively killing him.

In one of Martin Luiga’s articles about the process of creating the game, he brings up the concept of social murder, which is a term coined by Engels:

When one individual inflicts bodily injury upon another such that death results, we call the deed manslaughter; when the assailant knew in advance that the injury would be fatal, we call his deed murder. But when society places hundreds of proletarians in such a position that they inevitably meet a too early and an unnatural death, one which is quite as much a death by violence as that by the sword or bullet; when it deprives thousands of the necessaries of life, places them under conditions in which they cannot live – forces them, through the strong arm of the law, to remain in such conditions until that death ensues which is the inevitable consequence – knows that these thousands of victims must perish, and yet permits these conditions to remain, its deed is murder just as surely as the deed of the single individual; disguised, malicious murder, murder against which none can defend himself, which does not seem what it is, because no man sees the murderer, because the death of the victim seems a natural one, since the offence is more one of omission than of commission. But murder it remains.

None of this is subtext. And all of it is intended to make players actually spare a thought for what it’s like for people in Harry’s situation in real life. For God’s sake, please engage with it. You have to try and understand what it means to be trapped in a life that is made unlivable and to know that your death will be ungrievable. That’s what this whole game is about.

Edit: I’ve seen some ppl say in the tags something like “yeah, I like to imagine a happy ending for Harry, but…” and listen. I am laying a very gentle hand on your shoulders. The point of this post was never to say that there’s no happy ending for Harry. The point is that the first step toward that ending is conceptualizing a life outside of the RCM. In Martinaise, he got a glimpse of what that might look like. Hell, in the bad ending, you can even say to Jean, “fine then. I’ll just live here.” There’s hope for him and for us. I promise.

[olderthannetfic]

I went scrolling through anti ao3 tags and blogs because I was bored and not doing the shit I need to do and you know for a group of people who every year twice a year throw such hissy fits you’d think they’d at least have a point, but all their arguments make no sense(except their one main one that they almost never use?--why??) Like ok, there is one argument for why people shouldn’t give money to ao3, and that is the argument that ao3 is bad website because it has bad policies and refuses to moderate. I disagree, but ultimately if someone thinks that ao3 should update the TOS and moderate what fan fiction they allow, it makes sense that that person would be against the site making money because… well they are against the sites founding principles, I’m not shocked they don’t want it to succeed.

But the rest of the arguments!? Man they make no sense at all

“They are scamming you there is no way they need that much money”, ”its immoral to give money to ao3 because they already have so much!”, “Even if ao3 was perfect, its ridicuslous to give 100K to a fan fiction site!” — like… maybe I’m the asshole here, but ao3 made about 250,000 this spring, so they make about 500,000 a year… that’s just not that much money! That could what, pay for 10-30 employees at best! And that’s not counting the actual cost of all the shit they currently spend their money on! I get that ao3 is run by unpaid volunteers so antis think that 500K is a lot, but that’s not true! That’s not a lot of money at all! It might be a lot of money for an individual but for a company that’s practically pennies. Wikipedia, which granted is a lot bigger than ao3, with 57,218,269 pages to ao3s 6 million works, makes 155 million to ao3 500,000. According to antis ao3 has over a million in reserve and well according to wikipedia they have net assets of US$240 million. One is clearly more than the other!

I saw someone say that servers should be 1K, which is so stupid and out of touch with eveything I almost died laughing. I had a project using firebase this semester, I created 2 projects within firebase one for my school project and one to dick around and figure out. I accidentally set my test database to a “pay as you go” version instead of a free version. And almost had to pay a thousand dollars for the month! I wasn’t even using that database it was just sitting there but I check my google billing to make sure I wasn’t paying anything and it turns out I was! 150 dollars actually so that sucks! (My fault though)

Also also I keep seeing that its ridiculous and evil to pay the much for a site that “doesn’t improve” but the “doesn’t improve” is referring to A) no changes in TOS, which I don’t want to happen any way so good. B) the fact that it’s still in beta, which I don’t give a fuck about and I don’t understand why I should care. I think antis are dont like that the layout hasn’t changed but I don’t want to the layout to change. Also things come out of beta because they are a commercial product to be sold(this is very simplified), which is why some things come out of beta to waaaay to early and are glitchy as all hell! Ao3 isn’t being sold to me its slowly being built and archiving things that would probably be lost, and it will probably technically be in beta forever, but it doesn't effect me and I don't care. Would it be better if it came out of beta only to continously updated like a lot other shit does. I don't really play video games but I know ppl that do so I know at least once a game came out that didn't really work and people needed to later update shit for it to function and I'd argue thats worse than a functional website just being in beta forever. C) The claim that it hasn’t changed at all, which is just not true! They added the exclude section and eventually added the blocking shit. The blocking took too long to come out, so I guess in this sea of dumb criticism theres at least 1 piece of critism that makes sense. And finally again I don’t want it to change! Every other week we are all bitching that Tumblr or YouTube or Instagram or any other app are needlessly changing the layout or adding shit we don’t want in order to keep up with latest trends, make it more marketable or try and attracted new users. Ao3 is great because its never going to change. Ao3 and Craigslist will always kinda look like ass and I’m ok with that. If it aint broke ¯_(ツ)_/¯

I could keep going but there is no point. I just think they are all so stupid.

--

The thing about beta is the funniest because AO3, like oldschool shit from the 90s, has actual criteria for coming out of beta.

It's not "we've been going for 10 years" or "we want to sell the product": it's "we've checked off all the things on this checklist".

And they still haven't done them all, so it's still in beta.

[tradetobest]

dee's january 2024 fic recs

ok so. i thought i'd do a fic rec list every month this year of just my favourite fics that got bookmarked in the month (not necessarily written in the past month) that had just passed... i was a bit busy for the past few days but FINALLY i got the chance to sit down so!!

(if you want to play fic roulette here's some blind links otherwise!! enjoy under the cut

1 2 3 4 5 6)

3:30 by sevenfists

pairing: sidney crosby/evgeni malkin rating: E words: 11k summary: Napping with Sid would be inconvenient, embarrassing, and more than a little gay, and maybe Zhenya was a little gay, but he didn’t need to advertise it.

i LOVE "oh this thing we do together has become a routine now we Have to do it before games" fics and you should too!! this one is So cute i love it....

waiting for confessions of love by catchingpapermoons

pairing: jamie drysdale/trevor zegras/mason mctavish rating: M words: 41k summary: “I’ll be so real with you, man,” Trevor says, pulling back. “I had no fucking idea you liked dudes.”

one thing about me is that i am an absolute sucker for miscommunication and will love it at all costs and this fic DELIVERS!!!! and so well!!

high into the blue by idday

pairing: jack eichel/connor mcdavid rating: T words: 10k summary: Lieutenant John Eichel of the United States Navy – Boston to his squadron and Jack to the people who matter – is reckless and cocky and too smug for his own damn good. But even Connor has to admit that the boy can goddamn fly. (Captain Connor McDavid, Royal Canadian Air Force, is by the book in the worst way, conservative and careful and liable to get himself killed out there. Jack shouldn’t be impressed by him. He really shouldn’t.)

when i tell you i SCREAMED when i got the notif for this fic and then immediately went and watched top gun.,.... if you know me you know anything idday puts out i literally eat up like mceichel is the only thing that will ever sustain me ever again and this was NO exception,,,, always a pleasure to be able to experience an idday fic is what i say

play your heart out by ribena

pairing: leon draisaitl/connor mcdavid rating: M words: 4k summary: Connor loses his heart. Leon finds it for the both of them.

oughh./.. ouhhh.... what even to say.... clutches my heart (lol)...... beautiful..... i literally screamed cried went through it..... please read like literally begs you

nobody wins afraid of losing by adelphenium

pairing: tyler bertuzzi/dylan larkin rating: E words: 12k summary: It’s been almost a year since the first trade. It’s been just a few weeks since they last saw each other, facing off on the ice here in Toronto. In all the months since the Boston run, Tyler’s done nothing but read Dylan’s texts from the notifications bar like a sad and filthy sack of shit, too weak not to feel a thrill whenever a Saw that goal, what a beauty berts or a Hope you’re sleeping ok came through. Or: Tyler and Dylan during the 2024 bye week.

"hey you bookmarked this one on december 31st" IM PUTTING IT IN JANUARY!!!!! PLEASE READ THIS FIC!!!!! not only did jamie adelphenium write it but its just. it has shaped the way i view tyler bertuzzi and sparked a love for mr hockey butt himself..... what a good fic yall please read

reserve your ardors by wrightsworth

pairing: jamie benn/tyler seguin rating: E words: 9k summary: Jamie was in over his head. He had been out of his depth for months if he was being honest, ever since he picked Seggy up from the airport that first time in the humid Dallas air and his Omega genes decided to make themselves known, and loudly.

it wouldnt be me without some good old bennguin and RAHH pining and omegaverse and unrequited-requited and miscommunication like what else could you want in a fic its so good

[sarah-dipitous]

Hellsite Nostalgia Tour 2023 Day 342

Last Holiday

“Last Holiday”

Plot Description: Dean accidentally releases a wood nymph in the bunker named Mrs Butters, who proves to be super helpful—but she doesn’t take so kindly to Jack

ABADDON MENTION IN THE PREVIEW!!! ARE WE???

Would I Survive the First Five Minutes??: only thing that died was the air conditioning

Dean mocking Sam wishing they could call a repair person to come look at what’s goin on at the bunker was unreasonably funny

Dean, I’m begging you. Stop calling yourself Meat Man. It’s accurate, but at what cost to my sanity and dignity that I’m still watching this show? Hmm??

HE HAS SCOOBY DOO BOXERSSSSS. That’s actually adorable. Sadly, I like that. Or maybe it’s not sad. I dunno. I just think if you like something you should wear stuff about it

I hope this lady gets out. She shouldn’t have been doing the laundry for the Men of Letters, she should have been at the club. Or in the woods…nymphing

It’s like 60 years AFTER the year she thought it was and she thought the full grown men she did the cleaning for were still around??

Dean, you could have told her they’d be 80 or 90 years old. You didn’t have to say Abaddon killed them

I can’t believe the bunker had monster radar this whole time

They weren’t doin nothin!!! They were watching movies and…admittedly drinking blood that could have saved someone’s life, but they didn’t KILL anyone!!!

Dean, you are only just BARELY not a millennial. SAM is a millennial. Also what in the Scrooge going to bed, what in the ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas are you even wearing??

I mean, it’s hard to like someone if in the first conversation you have with them, they confess to having killed their friend who was the mom of the last two remaining Men of Letters in the US

How…how long is this goin on?? And why does Sam have Mjolnir??

Mrs Butters…worked with or for the nazis before being conscripted to serving the Men of Letters?! I knew something was gonna be off about her, but did it have to be that??

Oh mrs butters won’t like you saying “son of a bitch,” Jack

Aw!! Sam and Eileen are going on a date!!

I hate the ideas Mrs Butters is putting in Jack’s head. I mean, it IS weird that in the (undetermined) amount of time she’s been out, he’s not been allowed out of the bunker (also no Cas that whole time??), but it’s…it’s not because Sam and Dean are scared of him

Why can………….omg, she incapacitated Jack. She basically nullified his powers

Fuck fuck fuck…how’s he gon—what’s that now?? Mrs Butters just expects Dean to kill Jack?!

Sam is in his 30s. He doesn’t have a curfew

I love that Dean knew his life was not in enough danger to call Sam and ruin his date

Is she gonna try to brainwash Sam??

Omg is your idea to magic blast Jack into the locked door?? I mean, it’ll probably work but dammit Dean

Oh. No. She’s just gonna torture Sam. Cool. Too bad for her, she doesn’t know he’s been tortured before. (But I can’t watch)

It did work! (Dean’s plan, not Mrs Butters’s torture)

Lady, please go nymphing in a forest. Oh, her traveling outfit is cute tho

At least this episode got Jack out of his room…there are six episodes left…

DEAN MADE JACK A BIRTHDAY CAAAAAAKE

[jodilin65]

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 30, 2002 I hate God for allowing our heat pump to break after all the things that have broken on us already! I really do. I’m gonna hate him even more on the first, no doubt. APS is in back so I’m sure God will be picking out the perfect set of freeloaders to move in if he hasn’t already.

It’s cold and drizzling out.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 29, 2002 Signing in on this very cloudy day. Tom says that according to the weather news, we should see snowcaps up top of the mountains today cuz of all the moisture. Can’t see any yet, though.

Saturday, I tested Tom, who did exactly what I thought/hoped he’d do. As I’ve said before, the man just doesn’t have the heart to come out and admit he isn’t any more interested in sex than I am, though his actions clearly show it. I brought the subject up and he said we’d start tomorrow, which was last Sunday, and how he wanted me to do him by hand. I reminded him that I’ve made the offer to take care of him by hand before, but he didn’t bring it up, so neither did I. Sure enough, when the next day came, he never said a word about it. What this means is that although I doubt I’d feel a shred of guilt if I did end up getting it on with Teddy Bear, whose letter’s now just 90 days away, I’m all the more certain I wouldn’t feel any guilt. I wouldn’t be depriving him in the least.

Before I get to the worst news, about 26 pinkies have arrived over the last few days, and the red truck still comes in back nearly every day.

If anyone had any lingering doubts about a breakage curse being thrown on us, this will kill them off - our fucking heat pump broke! It never fucking ends! We can’t go 6 months without a major break of some kind. Two-year-old heat pumps just don’t give out like this. What is it with this two-year shit anyway? We lost the well at two years and now this at two years - aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!!

It’s so obvious that something wants us to put our money anyplace we don’t want to. Every time we get ready to receive a large sum of money with which we have certain plans, something has to come and fuck us out of our plans. I’m so fucking sick of being kicked back in life financially, never getting ahead. I know someone’s going to have to be called out on account of this, and that alone will cost hundreds. Then, we have to hope to hell we called the right person who knows what the hell they’re doing. Better now than when it’s boiling hot out there (we’re using the portable heaters), but I’m sick of this shit. Totally sick of it! I’m fed up with our stuff breaking and with being forced to put our money in places we shouldn’t have to. We need fences and things like that. Not to have to fix a new heat pump.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 25, 2002 Spoke to Paula a few days ago. Get this - they want to give her 10 lousy days in jail, a $500 fine, and a year’s probation for slugging that cop. Yet the writer goes to jail for 6 months, does 100 hours of community service, and ends up paying thousands towards it. Yes, we really do live in a wonderful world with wonderful people, don’t we?

Tom was saying that it’s not the spontaneous crimes Arizona’s strict about. They’re strict about those that were planned. No shit! Even so, I don’t think Paula would get just 10 days and a year’s probation for slugging a pig out here. No way.

Anyway, Paula, who admits to hitting the pig, said she was hit first. I don’t know what to believe. A lot of pigs are aggressive, and they do hit, so I’d say that yeah, she probably was hit. In that case, she had every right to hit back. Sometimes two wrongs do make a right if you ask me. Sometimes you just have to give back what you get, depending on the situation.

She says her lawyer’s pressuring her to plead guilty. Public pretenders will always try for that. Remember, they’re on the state/county’s side and not their clients.

Received a quick letter from Mary. She thinks Pérez went to Madison, too. Figures, huh? What is it with all the Estrella DOs moving to Madison? Is there anyone there I knew?

She said the testifying’s been delayed till March and that a new prosecutor was assigned to the case. She asked me to look up what I could find on the new prosecutor, but I couldn’t find anything on her.

She hasn’t seen hotdogs in a while. That’s good, but I’ll bet they’d suddenly reappear like magic if I were there!

Hope’s still her celly. I wonder what the hell she’s in there for. I asked Mary, but I have a feeling she won’t tell me.

Other than that, she praised my book again and thanked me for writing as often as I do. Makes her smile, she says.

Believe it or not, I decided to do some wall art, but only in the retreat. I did a ballerina, but I don’t like the way the fat-faced thing turned out. My flowers came out okay, though. Flowers are easy because you don’t have to be so precise with them.

So much for not anticipating Scot till April or May. The cheeks showed up yesterday. It hasn’t even been 3 weeks since his last visit! This is the first time he’s ever come twice in the same month. Tom said it’s simply because he happened to be in the area, but after what’s happened, I’m always suspicious of anyone in the system. It makes me wonder - did I say or do anything to falsely imply we may move? Or is something else going on I don’t know about? I just didn’t expect him to pop in again so soon, but maybe that’s why he did. Well, if he shows up again before mid-February, I’m not opening the door. Just because he hasn’t done anything corrupt yet that we know about, doesn’t mean he’s clean with the best of intentions in mind. He could be a friend of the freeloaders for all I know, biding his time, just waiting to slowly start harassing me. I doubt it, but you just never know. He could suddenly decide to either make demands he knows I can’t/won’t meet or badger me with the hopes that it’d cause me to abscond. Again, I doubt it. He probably was in the area. But just in case, I’m standing my ground against the freeloaders/system. I’m not going to be driven out of my home. I just won’t answer the door much if he starts coming around more often. Maybe if he sees I’m not that accessible, he’ll back off, but if he does have it in mind to start harassing me, and if he can’t get to me in one way, he’ll go another route to get at me. I’d rather him bug me every week, though than tear up the house. I wouldn’t let it happen if I could help it, but that’s my biggest worry. Again, I doubt it’ll happen, but the reason it’s my biggest fear is not only cuz of the humiliation of feeling violated by having strangers pawing through our personal stuff but cuz I know they’ll take something. I know how it is - if they can’t find contraband, they take something that isn’t. They’re not gonna waste all their time and work walking out of here empty-handed. Besides, it’s a power thing, too. Just the idea that they can take from someone. It’s an adrenaline rush for them, making them feel all high and mighty and God-like.

All I can say is what I’ve already said - if he hurts us, he hurts himself. He’ll ruin his career, his life and much more if he steps out of line. Never again will anyone hide behind the law to use and abuse us with it while we lie down and just take it.

I’m shocked to say, after yesterday’s dentist appointment, that I have not one cavity! See, I really think Smith made up a lot of those cavities. I’m so glad I switched dentists. This one’s so much more competent, honest and friendly. She finds new things to compliment me on each time I see her. This time it was my young-looking hands that lack brown spots, and the dimple in my left cheek that I’ve always hated. Looks like a zit to me.

Her assistant was talking about painting stars and clouds on her kid’s ceiling and I mentioned the wall art to them. The dentist thought the idea sounded cool and was curious about it, so I said I’d send some pictures of various wall art to her.

I decided to wait a couple of weeks, at least till he gets paid, before I get another whitening kit, cuz they’re $30. I did get more fluoride toothpaste for $10, though, since I’m not doing the fluoride treatments with the trays. She said we didn’t have to drive all the way in to pick it up, either. She’ll mail it to us, which is very nice of her.

After seeing her, we went through a fast-food drive-through, then to Walgreens. I got silver chrome nail polish, though it looks more like shiny gray than metallic silver. It’s still nice, though.

I also got a vanilla lip gloss and a watermelon one, too.

Then I got 3 Kelsey dolls for $12. They’re close in size to Barbie. I got a blue-eyed blond, a green-eyed redhead, and a brown-eyed brunette. They each came with spare outfits.

MONDAY, JANUARY 21, 2002 I’m trying out a new word processor now. So far, I like how it has a lot of colors to choose from and a built-in text reader, but it has several flaws.

I freed my last male mouse and now all the ladies are living together. I have about a dozen in all till the babies are born.

Decided to do some wall art, after all this time, but only in the retreat. All it is is a music room/storeroom. As soon as the sun comes up and I have better lighting, I’ll attempt some outlines. If those are a success, then we’ll get some markers. I was thinking I’d do floral decorations. Maybe a Bugs Bunny too, like I had on the bedroom wall in Phoenix.

Yesterday morning, just before 7:00, I heard two dogs barking outside the window in front. When I looked out, they were barking at something on the front steps, though at first I couldn’t see what it was. My yanking the blinds up so I could see better scared the dogs back a few feet. Then I saw next door’s big black cat. It jumped off the stairs, then the dogs chased it down toward where it lives. When I glanced out the side door, I thought I saw it lying dead about 80 feet away, but since the sun wasn’t fully up yet, I couldn’t see that it was really a dead cactus slumped over. The cat escaped by climbing up a tree.

The ruckus woke Tom up, but fortunately not too long before he was going to get up, anyway. I’m pretty sick of dogs on our property. These are always huge dogs, too. Never any little poodles or anything like that. So I’m hoping we can do the entire exterior fencing this year. Even though they’d be too big to squeeze through the barbed wire, we talked about stringing a low-voltage wire around the perimeter.

I’m going to try to stay up as late as I can, but I don’t expect I’ll sleep well tomorrow or the next day with them booming away up there. It’ll depend on the time they do it.

When we saw Scot Friday, I told him I decided I didn’t have enough dolls and so I decided to get more. He then said, “Oh, just what the old man needs. I’ll bet he’s thrilled. But there are worse things to collect.” That’s when he told us about people collecting barf bags from planes. Unused, of course.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 17, 2002 Although we both checked, we couldn’t find anything about Paula online. Massachusetts doesn’t air out people’s dirty laundry like Arizona does. Arizona is definitely the most unique state as far as what’s illegal and what’s not. So much so that the Madison Street jail is the only jail in the country with live cameras. Meaning, I can go online and watch them at intake, the very place I was first at! There are 4 different cameras. They show a holding cell, the whole row of holding cells, the search cell, and the area where the mug shots are taken. Wouldn’t it be a trip if I saw Teddy Bear!

Due to the way my stomach reacts so poorly to dairy products, I’ve been forced to change my diet menu. I can’t have dairy or roughage. Especially raw roughage. I’m simply going to have one big chicken, potato and broccoli TV dinner, a bag of popcorn, and some crackers each day. I’ll be hungrier on this menu, but I’d rather be hungry than sick. I’m sick of having so much gas and sometimes getting the runs, too.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 15, 2002 I’m rather tired this cloudy day cuz the freeloaders said I had to get up sooner than I’d have liked so I could see Scot on Friday. If he doesn’t test me then, then who knows when he will?

I finished the East Coast part of my story yesterday, including its final proofreading. Today or tomorrow I’ll start my adventures in the wild, wild West!

Paula’s been through her share of Eastern adventures. Sure enough, she has been busy getting arrested, but as usual, I couldn’t make sense of her rapidly changing and disjointed sentences. Something about speeding and a case of mistaken identity between her and her twin brother Paul concerning her car. Then she said she beat up on this lady cop. Then she’s also in trouble for threatening that woman on school grounds.

She has court this week. The 3 months she spent in Niantic wasn’t the only time she did. She’s done two 6-month sentences. All of which were for assault. I never was kidding when I said she had one aggressive temper! It sounds to me like she’s going to be doing time. I told her to notify me if she does, so I can hold off on sending letters to her.

I hope she curbs her temper soon. You can only point a loaded gun at other people so many times before that gun’s turned on you. Meaning, she’s gonna end up hitting the wrong person and getting herself killed sooner or later.

She says that her father never got packages she sent him in Florida, either.

Paula was so hyped up and even paranoid. It seems she’s more and more paranoid lately, always thinking her phone’s tapped. I got a kick out of how she claims she hears static depending on what she says. As if taps know what’s being said! Anyway, if I didn’t know any better, I’d swear she was on something.

I feel so bad for Justin. She’s always threatening to beat his ass, break his face, punch him out, etc. That kid must be utterly terrified half the time! He’s going to turn out to be a monster. This is the type of rearing that produces the utmost violent people. I know she’s beating on him. I’d be willing to bet she’s never hugged, kissed or praised the kid.

During my interview with Tom, he claimed he didn’t want our relationship to be platonic since I’ve been home and said that he’s only kept his distance cuz I haven’t been interested. No, I haven’t been, but I don’t buy his being interested. Wouldn’t he have brought it up a few times here and there if he was? I think that unlike me, he can’t admit his lack of desire. I told him a few times I was rather indifferent and that if he felt he had to do it, ok, but when he didn’t bother to pursue the matter, I assumed he wasn’t any more interested than I was.

I can live with the same person year after year, obviously, but I can’t have sex with the same person year after year. I want Teddy Bear till I get sick of her and get her out of my system!

MONDAY, JANUARY 14, 2002 We finished making the Barbie stands. We ended up using Plexiglas for the bases as well as the stands and they look really good. A lot better than if we’d used CDs.

Tom set up a can crusher outside so we can crush soda cans and take them in for money. It’ll be like another piggy bank.

I did an “interview” with Tom for my book. He told me more about his childhood, but we haven’t gotten to his adulthood yet.

I can’t believe they’ve been working on that house in back for 3 months now.

Today’s one of those days where I’m really missing Teddy Bear quite badly. As bad as I did a lot of the time during my first few months home. Can’t get the woman off my mind! Will we see each other? And if so, how often, and what will happen? So many questions run through my mind. Has she been alone all this time? Does she miss me?

SATURDAY, JANUARY 12, 2002 Gina still misses me, she told Tom when he dumped stuff at the recycling center. The people she has right now are doing such a lousy job. She hinted at the possibility of having to hire someone, but I’m not about to get my hopes up. If I were meant to be a homemaker like I have been over the years, why would that suddenly change? Seems to me that if I were meant to be working, I’d have been working all along. Also, it’s too good to be true. The job would just be too ideal, and the idea of the freeloaders leading us to more money after they took us for thousands, seems rather ironic. I also have to wonder, if we made more money, would the Gods be more tempted to send someone to steal it from us? It just seems that whenever we have more money than usual, someone rips us off.

For just $20 Tom got an awesome new vacuum. It’s small and you can sling it over your shoulder with a strap. As small as it is, though, it has major suction. It’d be ideal for vacuuming the couch, blinds, utility area, countertops, and the area around the animal cages.

I received mail from the doll company yesterday (Paradise Galleries) and now I have to wait two months for Sugar Plum, the musical ballerina. I guess they’re made and assembled in batches in China.

I also got mail from Mary. It was a quick letter saying she has to testify on the 4th. I wonder if it’d be on the news, being a high-profile case. I’d think the baby killer would generate more media coverage than the stalker.

She said she hasn’t seen Pérez yet, but when she does, she’ll slip her my note/pictures. I get the impression Pérez hasn’t been there in a while. I wonder if she’s still even there. She says there are a lot of new DOs. No Teddy Bear.

She also praised my writing, saying I was a very talented writer and that my life has been like a good thriller. Ha! If she thinks that, wait till she reads my life out here. I’ve decided to have two books. Book one will be Life in New England (the first 26 years of my life) and book two will be Life in the Southwest (ages 26-35). Book one is going to be about 50 pages long with 58 chapters.

I spotted an easy way through the wash that’s in back of the house. It’s not as close to the house as the front wash is. Anyway, I walked through and back towards the rentals. What pieces of shit! No decent white person with a decent, honest job is going to want to live in a dump like that.

It’s quite a walk from this house to the back property line. There are 4 washes on our land. The front one’s just a dozen or so feet from the house, maybe a bit more. The second one’s about 100 feet behind the house, then there’s one about 50 feet from the rental, with one in between. The one in between is pretty half-assed. It’s like it barely formed. This is where he wants to build a barn, whether or not we have horses. It’ll be a good privacy block, as well as the hedges we’re going to put up, and a good way to get water to them. For now, we’re gonna dig a trench and use the old plastic well piping to pipe water out to the hedges.

So, our tentative plans are to put up an interior fence, a doggie door, barb wire the west and north perimeters, porch/screen the 3 doors, though we may not get them screened in this year, plant exterior hedges (mostly in back), and a couple of palms and clumps of cactus in front.

Next year we’ll screen the porches, do the barn, do the pool/AZ room, finish the exterior fencing, and create a circular drive in front that’ll extend over the wash. So he’ll still park where he parks. He just won’t get to that spot the same way he does now, which is driving in between ours and next door’s property.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 10, 2002 Well, I finally get to hear my wind chime and hear it well. Some would find the clanking annoying, but I love the sound of wind chimes. There’s a dust storm blowing through right now and if it’s fronting any rain, I don’t know. It was gorgeous earlier. Around 70 with a gentle, clean-smelling breeze. The perfect weather for opening windows.

I’m beginning to think that yes, Paula is in jail, but I’ll find out sooner or later. I won’t write to her till I do. Besides, I’m still pissed at her for saying she was going to send stuff she knew she wasn’t going to send.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 9, 2002 Down to 120 pounds now.

The red pickup and George are in back again. It sucks to know that the dog the renters will have, and I know they’ll have one cuz their place will be closest to ours, may very well be audible within the house if it’s got a loud bark. Nowhere near as loud as those collies in Phoenix, but it may even be somewhat annoying when we’re outdoors while it’s a straight shot without any hedges to absorb some of the sounds.

Yesterday it was so nice out. Cool in the shade and warm in the sun, the air smelling as clean as can be. Today it’s cloudy and cool with the air reeking of horse shit. I don’t know why you can smell it some days and others you can’t.

Now there’s a white mini-van in back I’ve never seen before.

Tom may be switching to nights and looking at a raise, but we don’t know this yet for sure.

I was pleasantly surprised to get my dolls yesterday. I love them! Some of the colors aren’t quite what they appeared to be online, though. Emerald’s dress looked pine green like Rapunzel’s, but it’s more of an olive green. She’s one realistic-looking doll for $25! Valentine, another member of the fairy series by this artist, isn’t quite as nice, but certainly nice enough. Her dress looked pink online, but it’s mauve. Both the mauve and olive dresses add good variety as far as colors go, though I don’t particularly care for olive. The doll wearing the dress, on the other hand, is great. She has red hair and green eyes, while Valentine has blond hair and blue eyes.

Twinkle looks sensational and also very realistic. She’s no Bailey, but she’s close. Only her gray eyes fringed with auburn lashes aren’t as realistic, but only if you get close up to her. What I like about dolls that are around her size is that you don’t have to get right up to them to see them well enough. Especially the girl dolls, which tend to be thicker. Summer Dream is only a couple of inches shorter in length, yet you have to be close to her to admire her fine, delicate detail. Twinkle’s hair looked washed out online, making it appear white, but it really is white! Talk about variety and originality. It really goes with her fairy theme and her satiny pink outfit. I didn’t attach her wings, though. They were full of glitter and they made a mess. I’m not big on wings anyway. I never attached Angel’s, Linda’s or Valentine’s, but I did attach Emerald’s cuz they were cool looking with just a little glitter and scattered glittery stones.

The little fairies come with some cute accessories. Emerald comes with a gold plastic treasure chest, bedecked with jewels inside and out. There’s even a beaded necklace inside. Valentine comes with a gold wand in which a pink jeweled heart sits on top, and also a plastic butterfly-shaped box with multi-colored jeweled hearts inside. Ashton-Drake wouldn’t sell one of these $25 dolls for under $80! And I can’t believe Twinkle and Praying Spirit were under $200!

Twinkle’s wand is really cool looking, by the way, and she’s my first doll to lie on her tummy.

The only one that wasn’t as impressive in person was Praying Spirit, but she sure is nice enough and I don’t intend to send her back. She looked lighter online and her lips looked rosier, but again, she adds variety to my collection with her hands clasped in prayer and her long braid flowing down the middle of her back. I had done up a cheap doll that was stored away in a braid, but it didn’t look too good.

It was the PO that fucked up and not the doll place. It’s totally something that would have to happen to me, though. I always have to fight for or wait on dolls.

The next one I want to get from them is Blossom for $60 who goes with Twinkle.

When I checked online, I found another picture of Sugar Plum, who’s on her way, and she is poseable. I figured she wouldn’t be all-porcelain like Patrice and Colette, but even so, I’m amazed she’s just $25.

Now there’s a car I can barely see from the angle it’s parked with what appears to be, looking through the binoculars, a white guy and two Indian women standing on the front steps of the house. Perspective renters? Wouldn’t surprise me since we can’t have white neighbors, but I’ll take Indian over black or Mexican.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 8, 2002 There’s been a red pickup, along with George’s white one, in back the last two days. I wonder when it’ll ever have power and people living in it. The longer it takes, the better.

I wonder if Teddy Bear ever did check into some property out here. I’ll find out, hopefully, soon after 111 days.

I fine-tuned my diet to perfection, so I should start losing weight again. I’ve been stuck at 121 pounds.

MONDAY, JANUARY 7, 2002 The dolls still haven’t come, so Tom called them from work at the bank’s expense. The girl he talked to said they usually take 10 days. Then why did they say they shipped priority mail? Priority mail takes only 2-3. God, I hate liars! And if they use regular parcel post, how come they only take 10 days and Ashton-Drake took 3 weeks? And does their 10 days mean “10 days” or 10 “business days?” Well, either way, he feels they’re definitely a legitimate business and that they’ll be here this week. I hope so, cuz even by regular mail, it shouldn’t take this long from San Diego. They were shipped the day after we placed the order like they said they usually do. It’s been 8 days. They also said they can’t put a trace on it till it’s been 30 days, so I’d have to wait till the 28th of this month. I hope my doll luck doesn’t turn out to be that shitty!

We’re now trying out a new way to epoxy the Barbie stands. I thought it’d look better if we epoxied the Plexiglas stand right to the CD. So far, so good. Our prototype’s drying nicely. I think it can handle a 5-oz. doll.

I took a strip of material that Ma had given me and I tacked it across a couple of tall, narrow slots on the entertainment center. That way I could put 4 small dolls in that area.

I definitely want to convert back to having nothing but female mice, so I set up one male with 5 females. Once they have babies, I’ll ditch the males. So I have 3 groups right now. A pair of males, the male and females, and then I’ve got 6 females.

I forgot to say that Scot amazed the shit out of me by not testing me when I saw him on the 4th, and he also stopped by today. He was in and out in a flash, and Mr. Serious was loosened up for a change. He even laughed when he saw all the dolls strewn about the kitchen table. What a stupid ditz he is, though. Talk about being non-observant! He asked if the Bowflex was a Christmas present, saying he hadn’t seen it before!

Anyway, I’m glad he finally came. Now this will be one less thing I have to anticipate bugging me for a while. I don’t expect him back till May.

SUNDAY, JANUARY 6, 2002 Did I get my dolls last Friday? Of course not. They better be here on Monday! I’d be very surprised if they weren’t, despite my shit doll luck. If they’re not, Tom will call them from work. If they took the money Monday, I doubt they shipped them any later than Tuesday. Therefore, I doubt it’d take more than a week to get to me.

We finally got the second story of the rat’s cage back on. It looks pretty neat.

We went outside yesterday and staked out where we want the interior fence to be. It’s going to run from the utility pole at the corner of the house where he parks to the back door. It’ll extend out towards the wash in back, which means Pepper or whatever dog we do get, if we get a dog, will have plenty of room. Way more room than your typical yard in Phoenix.

Next week we should know exactly how much stock money we’ll be getting and what we’ll be doing with it. We’ll at least get some ideas, then we’ll get prices. Some things may cost more or less than we think they do. We didn’t expect to get the satellite this cheap, but that’s why God compensated us with the delay. So you just get more hassles with the money you save. It’s still good to find things for less than you thought because then there’s room for buying more stuff.

As of yesterday, there has been a huge dumpster sitting behind the new rental, but no activity. They’ll probably make up for lost time this coming week.

I’m surprised Paula hasn’t been pestering me. Could she be in jail? Or maybe she’s feeling guilty for lying to me about sending first a doll, then a letter and pictures.

FRIDAY, JANUARY 4, 2002 Oh, how I hope Tom’s right about it being unlikely that I have to piss in front of anyone! Either way, in just a few hours I can get that over with, then get asked the same damn questions, half of which he knows the answer to, like how much time I got total. It really bugs me when he tells me how much time I have left. First of all, I know how much time I have left, and what’s the point of bringing that up? Does he think it’d make me feel better? It’s way too soon to be counting down the probation time. I’m worlds away from the end. I’m not even to the halfway marker yet. This is an annoyance not worth bitching about, but if he ever again refers to them as the “victims,” I will let him know that that bothers me and that I don’t want to hear it. God how I wish that when it wasn’t testing time, he was a gorgeous woman. It’d make it a little easier.

I moved the wind chime I got for Christmas and put it outside the office window. It’s just too hard to hear things like that in this house. Being on the stair rail just wasn’t cutting it. It’d have to be stormy-windy in order to be heard from there.

I was extremely shocked to see four or five p-dogs running around yesterday! I didn’t think they’d return till March.

If all goes well, my Teddy Bear should be 115 days away. Well, I can send the letter. I just have to hope she gets my letter or calls me if she doesn’t. I may send letters to both Estrella and Madison.

Mary sent home some oranges from her orange tree with Tom yesterday, but I couldn’t get into them. They were hard as hell to peel, and I’m just not a citrus person. Ma gave him twenty bucks, so maybe we’ll get treats at Circle K. I’m down four pounds. Down to 121. I think I can get to 115 in 27 days with a few days off from the diet in the midst.

I want my dolls today! Oh, Tom said he knows why he didn’t get an email from them; because it wouldn’t go through. He’s got something set up wrong. Even so, there should be an invoice saying that the doll they didn’t charge us for is out of stock or sold out. I knew someone would be missing or delayed. Especially after Christmas. I also knew they wouldn’t give me a free doll. I’ll bet it’s Emerald or Valentine that I won’t get today.

THURSDAY, JANUARY 3, 2002 Once again they’re talking about the possibility of Tom switching to nights, but who knows if it’ll ever happen? If it does, he’ll make almost two more bucks an hour and would work mainly from 9 PM-5 AM.

They’re also talking about laying other people off, but because that’d mean a lot of money for us, we know it won’t happen. God knows how many more years he’ll be stuck at this bank. At least he can be flexible about his hours, though, at this place. With the freeloaders occupying so much of our lives, he needs all the flexibility he can get.

Speaking of the freeloaders, I told him I was nervous about tomorrow’s trip to Scot, cuz I know he’ll test me, and I fear having to put on a piss show for someone, but Tom said it’s highly unlikely with him being the only PO in Maricopa. Of course, all he has to do is tell me to go to Casa Grande if he wants me to piss for someone that bad. I’ll know to drink a cup of tea before we leave tomorrow. It’s a great diuretic. You can get three or four trips to the bathroom in just one cup.

My bio’s still under construction with no known finish date in sight. I’m still back east. Still in MA. Haven’t even gotten to S. Deerfield yet, for that matter.

Sure enough, there were no dolls yesterday. No message about the one they didn’t bill us for. Tom thinks they may’ve comped the bill on that one for placing such a huge order, but I doubt it. No one’s that generous. If anything, they should comp a doll for the delay. It’s been a week since we placed the order, and holiday or not, I should’ve received the dolls by now. We’re thinking the dolls were shipped Monday because that’s when the money was taken, so that means they shouldn’t be here till tomorrow or Saturday. I don’t want to make him run all the way to the PO on Saturday if they don’t come on Friday, so I’ll just get them next week in that case, unless there’s some further delay.

I wish it were tomorrow afternoon! Then I won’t have to see the cheeks again for two weeks, and I should have my dolls.

They haven’t caught Bin Laden yet, the guy who masterminded the terrorist attacks. They never will either, I’d bet. These are the kinds of people God protects. So, I just try to see the good in it, and that’s that out of the many thousands of people that were killed, a lot of assholes had to be included.

They didn’t have fireworks at Times Square this year so people wouldn’t freak out thinking it was terrorists.

Although I’d go back to sleep if I were tired enough, I’m going to try to stay on a day schedule for the next few months. If I remember correctly, January through March is when they’re booming by a lot.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY 2, 2002 Yesterday we rearranged like I said we were going to with the stereo and entertainment center. I think I’ll like it better this way.

We also cooked salmon. It was the first time Tom tried it. He says he’s going to try eating healthier, but like with most things, I know he won’t stick to it. Anyway, the salmon was way too salty.

Upon ordering the dolls, I read what they had to say about ordering/shipping, and was like - you mean I can just order these and get them in a few days? Yeah, right! Sure enough, as my shit doll luck would have it, one’s out of stock and the 4 that they did charge us for weren’t shipped till Monday. There’s no way I could get them today. And this was informed to me by Tom right after I was thinking that getting all 5 dolls today was a wee bit too good to be true. Why does there always have to be some kind of catch to life’s good things? We rarely get to do things like buy stuff for ourselves like this, yet there’s always a catch. A doll’s out of stock, they screwed up my order, and there’s some glitch within the doll.

TUESDAY, JANUARY 1, 2002 Maricopa, AZ Age 36 I haven’t gotten too many vibes pertaining to this New Year. It doesn’t even feel like it’s New Year’s. All I got was that I would lose weight and that he’d get a raise around March. I can’t see anything for sure on fences, dogs, porches, etc. I don’t even have any Teddy Bear vibes, though I still think she’s coming. I hope so, but if she doesn’t, she doesn’t. I should know for sure one way or another between now and March. I think February will tell me.

As for goals, mine are to be down to 115 pounds come February 1st, 110 by March 1st, 105 by April 1st, and 100 by May 1st. I think I’ll get close if I don’t get all the way down to where I want to go. Don’t have a choice either way. I’ve got to lose some weight because my clothes are pretty tight on me, but I have already dropped some, so that’s cool. I didn’t even need to weigh myself in order to verify it. We could see the difference, and I could feel it, too. When I was 125, just a slight bend to the side would cause my sides to roll, but now it takes a little more than a little bend. Once I hit down around 105, I won’t be able to roll my sides no matter how far towards the side I bend at the waist.

We have to figure out a way to keep Little Buddy from going under the couch or else it’ll be completely destroyed in no time. I was thinking that the best way would be to staple wire or strips of wood in back of its frame.

Had some really cool rearranging ideas. I was thinking that it was rather dumb to have two “stereos” in one room. The music loaded on the computer is there if I want to work out, or if someone’s being noisy while I’m trying to work.

Meanwhile, I thought I’d put the listening/singing stereo in the storeroom (the retreat off of the bedroom). I always thought the music would sound good in that room. It’s our smallest room at 10x10. Also, the way I sit on the floor has really fucking up this semi-cheap carpet, and so I’d prefer to fuck up the carpet in more remote, less-traveled areas of the house.

I screwed a curtain rod about a half-inch from the floor in the doorway to the music room, as I’ll now call it, and Tom’s office to keep the rat out. Before, he was blocking off his dump with wire.

Lastly, I got this awesome idea for the entertainment center that he built that’s been in my office ever since we got the big-screen TV. This one may be hard to describe, but anyway, it’s got 3 columns of shelves. The first one’s about 5’ high with 3 shelves just over 22”. Each varies in height. The second column’s barely 2’ tall. It too, has 3 shelves that are 25” wide. The third column is about 4’ high with 3 shelves that are just under 22”. Well, for the most part, the dolls are too tall to go anywhere but on the top shelves, and one of the 3 top shelves was taken up by the stereo, then the monitor. If I turn it on its side, with the highest part being at the bottom, I could fit more dolls in, though not on the bottom, cuz of the rat. The shelves would be skinnier and taller, rather than short and wide. Perfect for my 22” dolls. Once turned, it’ll be C-shaped, with the bottom of the C extending out more.

I also remembered seeing an age on the tag inside the sleeper Jade’s wearing that Bailey came in. Instead of spending $100 on a dress for her at a place like JBS Dolls, I could go to K-Mart and look for something within the same age group. I still need to get her a stand someday, too.

I sent Mary some more of my own story, and some journal stuff to Paula, even though she doesn’t deserve it. I still don’t like being lied to like that just to get tapes and keep letters coming.

[tooattached2fictionalcharacters]

Copying a breakdown from FB because someone else can put this better than I can. But this dog shouldn’t have come this close to dying. Do not utilize LGDs if you have no intention of providing them back up. If you are not willing to step out and protect your herd WITH your dog with a gun, don’t fucking own livestock.

Copied post below

“My heart is heavy over a story circulating in LGD groups the past week or so. It is the story of a 20 month old Great Pyrenees who took on a pack of coyotes alone. A 20 month old is not much more than an oversized puppy. It lacks the mental and physical maturity necessary to take on a serious predator load. When the owner of the dog went to investigate barking indicating a problem, he found his female dog with the sheep backed into a corner and the 20 month old fighting with at least three coyotes. When they left, the young dog pursued them. There were sounds of fighting for 30 minutes, during which time the owner failed to locate the dog or provide backup in the form of the other dog or himself. There were clear sounds from the dog indicating is was injured and in pain. When the sounds of the battle ceased, the owner looked around for the dog and not finding it, hoped it would make its way home and went to bed. They searched for the next couple of days and did not find the dog until it appeared in their chicken coop. The dog had its tail severed in the fight, had multiple deep wounds and remained in critical condition for days after being in the hands of emergency vet care. He finally started improving but has needed constant supervision, skin grafts for areas where his skin had been torn off, had the remnant of his tail amputated, multiple stitches, drains, etc.

Most of the comments I read on the post are lauding the dog. There are almost no comments about the heartbreaking ignorance and irresponsibility of the owner. LGD breeds have been bred for hundreds of years to protect their flocks. They do not know how to count the personal cost. They only know how to give it their all and to not stop fighting until the threat has been eliminated. This simple understanding of the nature of LGDs is critical for owners to understand. This dog was already in trouble when the owner saw 11 coyotes earlier that evening. The dog was in trouble when he was allowed to pursue the pack of coyotes by himself. The dog nearly died when no backup was provided for him in the middle of a terrible fight. The dog nearly died because it was “too dark” to see well and his owner went to bed thinking he could find him in the morning if he wasn’t dead…

This is not about the owner. I don’t know the man and my point is not to run him down. This is for current LGD owners and wannabe LGD owners. This is for the dogs whose humans may not have the knowledge or experience to know what they possess when they have an LGD. Yes, they are working dogs but they are not machines. They are living, breathing, feeling creatures that will die to protect what we ask them to. This incredible depth of love and devotion deserves our respect and understanding. They can’t choose to turn away from a fight. They can’t say, “I am going to be too badly injured in this fight, I might die. I will sit this one out.” They are incapable of saying this. That leaves a heavy moral responsibility on their humans. We must not set them up for a fight that leaves them in the condition of this poor pup. You must know your predator load. You must understand the mental and physical maturity of your dogs and what they are truly capable of no matter how big and grown up they may seem. Not just what they can pull off, but what they can do as safely and effectively as possible. Make sure they have the backup they need whether it is canine working partners or you with your gun. Do not let their hearts lead them into a battle they cannot win without backing them up. This kind of love and devotion deserves our respect and that we steward this love with gratitude, not squander it just because they can and will fight. Working dogs get injured in the line of duty and it is part of who they are. May the injuries to these selfless animals never be the result of our ignorance, or callous ingratitude for what they so freely offer.”

[dis--mayed]

For future reference, some notes I made about my 48 year old brother

Bipolar, unmedicated, kidnapped and raped as a child, molested by babysitter*, birth-dad was killed (sometime before he was 10), accused of rape and has to register as a tier two sex offender because he repeatedly broke the probation he was only put on and then refused to register as tier one, raped in jail, sexually harassed in rehab,* caught meningitis in rehab and can have a heart attack if his heart goes above a certain rate, but has survived at least one overdose that I have witnessed, was stabbed at some point (I've seen the scars), every.single.sign of a narcissist. (*we are just going to assume this is true.)

His only bill, while collecting $800 is on a $240 storage unit he thinks he shouldn’t have to pay for, which we got in July 2022 (he’s collected over $130k from SSI while living with us), which we wouldn't need if he wasn't living with us, which, also, consists of most of the 10+ amps and 10+ guitars he's been hoarding for decades. He, also, goes busking, helped a pot dealer friend grow pot for a few years, and entertained a job my dad handed him for a few months - who knows just how much money this man has, while only having one bill for roughly 2 years.

Every.single.sign of a narcissist and has spent the 30+ years guilt tripping my mom into doing everything for him, while he blames everything; from his tooth aches to his drug abuse; on her.

When he had to report that he was moving, he screamed at mom that she "doesn't do shit" and "makes everything worse" for him and he'll "punch you in the face, motherfucker, if he doesn't have to report that he's moving.

When we had to move, he “accidentally” sent a text to my mom about how he can give his friend rent money, kept playing my mom a recording of my dad screaming at him to move out, threatening to sue and make us homeless. He was upset that she didn’t leave him, so on the final day that we had to move, he flipped out and screamed at us and slammed and threw shit, got right up in my mom's face and screamed "FUCK YOU"

Follows my mom around the house, repeating things she says in a monotone voice, occasionally screams at her, still threatening to sue her for abuse and make us homeless, claiming we’re living in his house, frequently makes claims of child abuse towards mom. He’ll bring up upsetting things to mom and she’ll get overwhelmed and ask him to go away and he’ll get angry and say things like “I know you don’t care,” “I never get tired of my life,” “[her name] wants to play dumb-dumb," often calling her a "sick motherfucker." He, also, sends her texts and Facebook messages.

Sometime in his twenties, he stole dad’s BB gun and he and a friend were arrested while walking around the stores in a rich neighborhood with their hoodies up in 80+ degree weather. He told mom he was giving the gun to a friend, so they could rob stores and she says he was just being "stupid." (His father robbed stores when he was a baby, resulting in him getting killed by an "accidental" overdose. He was scared of needles, but shot heroin... guess what my brother abuses.)

told me I’m alive because of him (taking a plea deal) and won’t make it to 40, claims my mom "ruined" his life by encouraging him to take it.

Told our brother, who was helping pay bills while he lived for free, who had a black girlfriend at the time, on EASTER, that he "doesn't like colored people"

After getting fucked by the recession, as my dad was still sick, we were losing our home, my aunt died and her husband, who spent years making threats to our family, was still trying to make my disabled uncles homeless and cost them to lose their childhood home, who isolated my mentally ill aunt from my mom, banning my mom from her death bed, and turning their family against my mom - my mom had an anxiety attack. He asked her what she had to be so stressed out about.

He stood over my mom, while she was shaking like a fucking leaf because she was just standing in the freezing rain, digging leaves out from a pipe, and he degraded her for not caring about his fucking sniffles.

[copperbadge]

It’s Actually Ok To Round Up At Checkout

I keep seeing posts about how you shouldn’t round up your payment at checkout “for charity” because the company takes the money, gives in their own name, and then receives a tax break for the donation.

This is incorrect. It’s just plain wrong information. 

Because it’s illegal for a company to claim collected donations on their taxes, since they give you a receipt that proves you can claim it on yours. They are considered a collection agent -- the corporate equivalent of a firefighter with a boot soliciting on the sidewalk.

And the sentiment is potentially fucking nonprofits out of serious change.

So here’s how it works. When you make a purchase you’re asked if you’d like to round up your price, say $22.70, to $23 and give that extra 30 cents to charity. When you choose yes, the company adds that as a special charge, and transfers the amount to a processing company. The processing company disburses many small gifts in one big chunk to the nonprofit, so that the nonprofit doesn’t get ten thousand transactions of thirty cents. Over the course of a couple of years, campaigns like this can raise millions for the nonprofit. 

So where’s the catch? you’re thinking. Capitalism doesn’t allow kindness like this to rampage unchecked!

Well, you’re kinda right. For one thing, there’s something called the Halo Effect, where companies get a huge PR boost from this giving. People feel better about themselves and the place they give, when they give this way. That’s why companies do it, pure and simple. It’s cheap, built-in positive messaging. 

The companies aren’t deducting it (it’d be chump change to them anyway tbh) but you can. You can literally deduct the thirty cents you gave at Jersey Mike’s off your very own taxes, if you keep the receipt. But unless you’re giving more than $6K to charity each year ($12K if you’re filing jointly!) then there’s no point keeping that receipt, because before that threshold you won’t get a tax break for charitable giving anyway. 

UPDATE TO ABOVE, thanks @evvrythingisawesome, you do get a credit on your tax return for up to $300 in giving, which I even DID LAST YEAR and forgot about because that’s not my area of specialty. Sorry about that! 

One significant benefit of giving at checkout is that the nonprofit doesn’t get your name or address, so you never go on a mailing list. If you give an average of 30 cents twice a week when you buy a soda at the gas station, over the course of a year you’ll have given over $30 commitment-free. Sweet deal. 

Here’s what most people think is the catch: between three and seven percent of the money given goes to that processing company I mentioned. Because they have to, you know, process that money, which comes with expenses like software, customer support, servers, bank fees, etc. 

However. Three to seven percent? That’s nothing. A good fundraiser working for a nonprofit costs, in salary, roughly 20% of what they raise. For every dollar they earn, they bring in about $5 from donors. Round-up campaigns raise $5 and charge you 25 cents for it and require almost no work from the charity -- that money just shows up. And even if you didn’t give at the checkout, if you give online we pay a processing fee to the place processing THAT payment. If you give by check or cash, we still have to pay people to count, record, and deposit those payments. Giving money costs money. That’s just the way it is.  

2. Unless you actually are giving elsewhere, if you choose not to round-up, then you’re just...chest pounding. You’re pretending to stick it to the man when really you’re just not making a charitable gift at all. If you do give elsewhere that’s great, keep up the good work, I’m not talking to you. And if you can’t afford to give, I’m really sorry, I want you to keep your money and I’m also not talking to you. As we know, thirty cents adds up. I couldn’t give for several years, and it’s a point of pride now to always be able to hit the round-up button without doing any math. 

But if you could give and aren’t giving somewhere...then no offense but you have no skin in this game and you need to sit down and let people who give a shit get on with their work. 

Because an additional truth is that some people only remember to give when they’re asked but they HATE TO BE ASKED, except at checkout. And some people only give if they feel like they’re giving insignificantly relative to their income -- like thirty cents at checkout. These campaigns are nearly-free, super-easy money for us from people who probably wouldn’t otherwise give. They raise our profile, too, so that people who have given at checkout think of us when they DO remember to give (like oh, around the holidays, which are fast impending). 

In the end, I suppose I’m really just begging people, as a whole, for about the seventh or eighth year running, to stop coming to charitable giving from the standpoint of “Well whaddaya give me for it? Where’s the catch? How do I know you’ll do the best with my money? Can you prove you aren’t a scam?”

I know that most of you, most of the time, come to any relationship with an inherent assumption of good faith -- from tv shows to friendships to Etsy purchases to pet ownership. You’re not deeply suspicious by nature! But this lingering hostility towards charitable giving, where the immediate assumption is one of bad faith, is really harmful to people who are attempting to do good work. An extremely small fraction of the nonprofits that want your funding are scams, religiously sketchy, or deeply negligent when it comes to how your money is eventually spent. Most are doing their best and many are putting up with a lot of unnecessary fucking side-eye while they do it.

So try to downshift from “Who will scam me the least” to “Who would I like to help the most?” and give accordingly. Whether that’s a local pet shelter, a toy or blanket drive, a national cancer organization, your friend’s top surgery gofundme, or the woman standing in traffic with the cardboard sign. Your blood pressure (and mine too, for that matter) will go way down.

[zalrb]

OTH 3X03 REWATCH Review

1. IIIIIIIII DON’T WANNA BE ANYTHING OTHER THAN WHAT I’VE TRYNA BE LATELYYYYYYYYYYYY

2. “Should’ve used your stage name.” Lol, petty Nathan, I like it.

3. Also, in my high school, our lockers were supposed to be our same lockers for the whole four years but a) we moved lockers if we felt like it b) we didn’t even really use lockers, we just brought our bags to class.

4. Guys, their chemistry has DISAPPEARED

5. The whole plot line of these girls making fun of Haley for being a rockstar is just ... why? Like, I get jealousy, like I’ve heard of teen singers who got their, like, tires slashed by students and stuff because of their celebrity but this just rings so false.

6.

THE 00S WHAT A TIME!

7. Dan, shouldn’t you be focused on rebuilding your dealership?

8. Whitey is just so useless.

9. Was medical marijuana not a thing yet? Wasn’t it a thing in the 90s?

10. I know Dan thinks Lucas tried to kill him but this is your, like, 17 old son.

11. “I don’t care how many board members got their cars at cost, 40 years of coaching should count for more than that” not to side with Dan but one is more effectual than the other, Whitey, you’re a terrible coach. Which again. This is not a basketball town. In FNL, Eric loses ONE game in season 1 and the entire town freaks the fuck out and is like, we win SEASONS here, not games.

12. I like how they make it seem like adoption isn’t a lengthy process and that Ellie was just like yep this couple and that was it.

13. The funniest thing about the Haley/Nathan detention SL for me is that this ACTUALLY happened to me (minus the marriage or EVEN the dating) with my best friend and my French teacher. We weren’t talking because of the whole I realized I liked him thing and we weren’t sitting together in class anymore and I guess he would glare at me from across the room and sometimes we just ended up in huge fights in the hallway and we had French class before lunch and she told us both to stay behind then kept us in the room with her for the whole lunch hour so we could talk. She did it again after school another time.

14. “See you at lunch”, I’ve never seen you two together at lunch.

15. “Are you Kelly Clarkson?” “WANNA SAY THAT TO MY FACE?” WHAT is the insult here.

16. OK it IS really intrusive for Ellie to just be UP in Peyton’s room, going through her art, like I would be pissed off too but also

I need her to give it a rest, like I’m tired, Peyton.

17.

Like, I CAN’T. It also doesn’t help that Hilarie isn’t a great actress so this just comes across as whining as opposed to sheer devastation. Like, go find Jake and be giddy again please.

18. Everyone just loves calling Brooke a whore, man.

19. Oh, Peyton, looking at the stoplights. Ofc. At least she’s not driving this time I guess.

20. “Sometimes you guess right. You guessed where to find me.” Who wouldn’t know where to find you, Peyton. My god.

21. Mouth you’ve been annoying this WHOLE episode.

22.

but Lucas has NO right to be the one to tell him this. You end up painting Brooke’s red door black, sir.

23. Why is the MAYOR here? OK.

24. Lol I can hear Leyton shippers talking about how Peyton always brings up making out with Lucas as an indication that she wasn’t over him and that Leyton was always in the background but Peyton also always brings up making out or Nathan being horny for her all the time around him too and in fact in season 2 has to remember not to talk like that in front of Haley, so that’s just Peyton’s thing, she just talks about making out with guys she’s made out with before.

25. Dan is just fucking EVERYWHERE

26.

1. This is redundant, just say booty call.

2. We’ve never actually SEEN this. This just seems like conjecture.

27. I’m sorry but I found this delivery SO funny. This is not better, Nathan.

28. This always made me laugh because this is just regular pjs, it isn’t sexy, but she’s in her underwear instead of pants, so I guess

29. THE CHEMISTRY IS JUST GONE

30. Every time I see Whitey I’m like WHY

31. ALWAYS LOVE, HATE WILL GET YOU, EVERY TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIME. Nostalgia.

32. Then Lucas’  fucking voiceover ruins it.

33. Because we all know that a podcast is a sufficient substitute for therapy from a licensed professional.

34. THE LETTERS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

35. I also realize that I like Naley when they’re together but don’t care for their buildups.

[matryosika]

shoot me, chapter VI

pairing — changbin x reader

rating — 18+

genre of the overall series — smut, angst, fluff if you squint

prologue chapter I chapter II chapter III chapter IV chapter V chapter VI

word count for this chapter — 4.1 k

warnings — mentions of alcohol and emotional abuse

note — this chapter has no smut in it. still, the love-story gets completely developed here. next chapters will be filled with smut and angst so stay tuned! i haven't read this chapter because i wanted to upload it as soon as possible, so it may contain grammar mistakes. i will check it later since i have to go out with my family to have dinner! <3 hope you enjoy

taglist:@cozyblues @ahgasearmyfan @binnie-m00n @minaamhh @pinkishwen @spilledtee

*

[changbin's pov]

"so?" you asked him, modeling one of the dresses that you had previously selected from the expensive clothing shop "what do you think?"

she looks like a goddess.

"good" changbin limited to reply. "is that the last one?"

"c'mon you are not helping at all" you grunted, turning around slightly on the mirror to see the full silhouette of the dress "this might be the one, don't you think?"

i think so. i think you look perfect in all the things you have tried on, actually.

"it's alright" the dark-haired man reply "just take that one and let's get this over with"

"jesus, changbin" you whined "you are such a pain in the ass. if you were in a bad mood then you shouldn't have accepted to drive me here so i can buy a dress for the wedding"

you had been in korea for a month and 2 weeks now, your relationship with changbin growing unconciously intimate as you often engage in sexual encounters with him. you wouldn't say the both of you were close, but each day that passed by you could feel how you learned more about him just like he learned more about you too. you wouldn't consider him a good friend, since hostility made a presence every now and then between the both of you, but you had learned to spend time with him without feeling the need to put plugs into your ears and a blindfold to stop acknowledging his existence.

"if you needed help picking a dress" changbin interrupted, standing up from the seat he had been occupying for the last 45 minutes "you should've asked hyejin or ryujin to come and help you out, not me"

"hyejin is busy" you were quick to respond "ryujin had work today and you were the only other person i know that owns a car"

"cabs exist"

"yeah well" you made a pause, swallowing hard "i don't like cabs"

"you could've asked arthur to lend you his private driver" changbin tilted his head slightly.

"i get uncomfortable with strangers" you answered after a few seconds of being completely silent, changbin's gaze making you incredibly nervous.

"really?" he inquired, one of his hands traveling all the way to the pocket of his jacket as he pulled his wallet out. "why won't you just admit that you wanted to spend time with me?"

"fuck no" a grimace of disgust was quick to appear on your face "don't get confused. i would rather be dead than to spend more time with you than i already have to"

"yet you are still here" he teased "maybe i'm not as unbearable as your mind is trying to convince you i truly am"

with lazy steps he took the bunch of dresses that were piled up on the chair next to him, putting them all over his shoulder as he walked to the counter. "what are you doing?" you asked, still wearing the last dress you tried on.

"you are indecisive and i am starving" he said without even looking at you "i don't need to spend another 45 minutes here looking at how much you struggle to pick between 5 dresses, just have them all and pick one when you are alone"

you looked at him in desbelief "do you have any idea of how much just one of them cost? are you stupid?" you almost yelled in astonishment, looking at the figure of changbin slightly turning around to face you.

"i am not stupid" changbin reply "like i said, i am just hungry"

and currently thinking about how beautiful you are looking right now with that look of amazement on your pretty face. if i could, i would buy you the entire world just for you to destroy.

[y/n's pov]

"i will pay every single one of those dresses back before i leave" you mumbled, eating your food as if you had been starving for days "i had money, i didn't need you to come and rescue me as if i was some sort of damsel in distress"

"you were in distress though" he added, taking a sip of the drink he ordered "you took almost 30 minutes just to pick one dress to try on, you are really undecisive"

"yeah well, it's not like i had anywhere else to be" you replied.

"isn't arthur going to have a small gathering at his house today?" changbin inquired "like a pre-celebration of the wedding or something?"

you shrugged your shoulders "i don't know and i don't care. i am just here for the wedding and then i will be finally free"

you kept on eating your plate of food, confused as to why changbin's gaze stayed fix on you. "what, do i have something on my f-?"

"are you leaving right after the wedding?" he asked in a very hostile way, almost as if he had completely forgot that you were not going to stay forever.

"not right after but that's the main reason i came here, yeah" you replied, having a mixture of feelings inside your guts.

you couldn't deny the fact that you missed tsukuba, but living there meant to be trapped in the university dorms 24/7 just studying. but still, the lifestyle you have had for the past time was absolutely something you could get use to it: ryujin, hyejin, going out on the weekends, being free from school, changbin...

changbin?

"i still don't know the exact date though" you added "school doesn't start for me in another months so..."

"how is your life?" he asked, earning a weird look from you as you couldn't quite understand his question "in Japan, i mean"

you sighed. you had thought that living in japan was really good and you felt utterly comfortable living there until you arrived to korea and discovered a whole new life style that you had already learned to love. not only that, but leaving everything here was going to get you a bit nostalgic in the future. "it is great, better than people say it is honestly" you responded as he nodded "i live at the university dorms so life is pretty much everything but rushed. i spend my days at the library studying, i sometimes work as a shadow teacher for like 4 or 5 kids and on weekends i go and visit my mom and her partner"

"your mom got married after divorcing arthur?" changbin followed, just in time as he finished his dish of food.

"uh, it's complicated" you gave him a smile "she lives with someone and she is very happy"

"and are you?"

you were about to answer the question when you felt a pinch on your heart. a month ago you would have replied "yes" without a doubt. you thought you were happy living in japan, you thought you were happy when you visited thea, your mother, and reiko, her girlfriend. you thought you were happy when reiko made you her special coffee and you thought you were happy when they ocasionally visited you on winter nights at your dorm. you thought you were happy when you worked with children and spent time with them. you thought you were happy when you rode your bike from school to work and you thought you were happy when ryejin visited you and your mom on the holidays.

however, you had learned a new definition of happiness here.

"are you?" you fired back.

changbin slightly tilted his head as he laid completely back on his seat "i could be"

"what is exactly stopping you from being happy?" you asked him, intruiged.

"even if i explained it to you" he mumbled "i don't think you will be able to understand it"

"ah, there you are again" you scoffed, slightly rolling your eyes "your god complex has not show all day. i guess you missed it."

"c'mon" he grunted, raising his hand at one of the waiters at the restaurant "let's go somewhere else"

"where exactly?" you laughed "to your place? your car? a motel? jesus changbin, you can't really go a day without fucking, can you?"

"that's not actually what i had in mind" he replied, taking out his credit card as he saw the waiter approaching the table "but i mean if you want to fuck i won't say no"

"you had something in mind?" you asked, faking excitment "for me? you planned something for me?"

"if you want i can drop you at arthur's place right now so he can force you to have dinner with him and his bride. it's up to you"

you weren't really feeling like spending "quality time" with your father, and you also knew that hyejin was probably not going to attent the dinner, so there was no point of you being there. but at the same time, the thought of spending time with changbin doing non-sexual activities was something that it always made you nervous for an unknown reason, and you were feeling particularly nervous today.

"whatever"

*

the evening went on peacefully and that alone was unreal. he drove you to the center of seoul and suggested to take a walk around the most popular avenues because "the city looked better at night", something you have always believed too.

changbin was attractive and, even though your personalities crashed every damn time, you couldn't deny the fact that there were some sort of intimate bond going on between the both of you since that very first night at the bar. still, you wouldn't accept it. you wouldn't accept that the one person you disliked the most was starting to change your mind.

and you couldn't get yourself to trust him either. you couldn't trust any men, for that matter.

"have you thought about which dress you are going to wear tomorrow?" he asked so casually, his hands inside the pockets of his jacket as his gaze diverted from building to building.

"no" you replied, trying to get back at the trail of thoughts you had been threading since you left the restaurant with him. "have you?"

"have i thought about the dress i am going to wear tomorrow?" he laughed "i don't know, it will depend on which one you lend me"

"i got distracted" you admitted "but i will try on all the dresses tomorrow morning and i will give you the rest of them so you can return them to the store"

"i won't do that" he clicked his tongue "i bought them for you"

your heart skipped a beat after hearing those words and it was everything but pleasent.

"i don't want them"

"you can't reject a gift" he mumbled "that's the whole point of a gift"

"i will sell them on the internet" you threatened.

"do it, at the end of the day they are yours" he gave you a side look while smirking "but i wouldn't sell them if i were you. you look good in them"

"oh so you want to give opinions about the dresses now, huh?" you asked, mildly annoyed "you could've help me back at the store but you chose to be grumpy"

"at least i am helping you now"

"you are unbearable" you whispered.

a bright smile was quick to appear on his face. a genuine smile, as if he was enjoying the conversation. not only the conversation but the whole moment: you and him, walking around the city and talking about something so casual and trivial like which clothes you were going to wear tomorrow or which dress he liked best on you.

and for a moment it felt nice.

you felt safe.

"the red one was pretty" he added. you looked at him confused, once again lost in your trail of thoughts. "the red dress, the one that you tried on last"

"good" you responded "i'll make sure not to wear that one"

"you hate me that much?" he teased while a faint chuckle left his lips.

"oh changbin, you have no idea" deep down knowing it wasn't more than a vile lie.

*

you looked in the mirror one last time before you heard hyejin calling your name once again "y/n, how long will you take? i need to stop by the bakery to pick up the wedding cake"

"i'll be out in a minute" you replied, noticing how your hands got sweatier by the second.

you were quite nervous, but couldn't really understand why. maybe the sole thought of your father having his "happy ending" made you jealous because you knew that he did not deserve that at all; he didn't deserve the love he had.

the emotional abuse your mother and you suffered throughout your childhood and adolescence was not something that could be fixed in a month or two and you were certain about it. no matter how happy your father was, you couldn't help but to feel jealous about how he never had to suffer like you and your mother did.

and even though you got over your negative feelings towards him, the scars and aftermath of an abusive household still caught up on you: the mistrust, the negativity, the hostility and the lack of commitment were things you had to deal with on a daily basis.

of course he was the one to blame. but you were an adult now, and you were supposed to deal with all those issues by yourself. no one was going to fix them for you.

"jesus y/n, we are running late" hyejin busted the door open "are you ready now?"

"yes" you were quick to respond, grabbing the purse on your bed and trying to quickly divert from your sister's gaze.

"wait" she mumbled, gripping both of your shoulder as you intended to the leave the room "why are you tearing up?"

"i am not" you replied "i yawned"

she didn't look convinced, but still decided not to push any further "i'll meet you in the car, i just have to grab a few things"

you nodded and made your way through the hallway. because of how rushed she was, you didn't have a chance to tell hyejin how gorgeous she looked. she was wearing a golden shiny dress that embraced her body just fine and carrying a maching clutch with it. she was really pretty, maybe the prettiest woman you had ever seen, and not only that but she was also very smart. any guy would be head over heels for her, but she still decided not to engage in a "silly love story" as she called them because "it is a waste of her precious time, and time is money"

you wished you had the same mentality as she did, but you grew up getting educated on how love was portrayed in books, movies and television. it was ironic how you were the first person on earth to deny that love actually existed, but you were still a hopeless romantic after all.

*

[changbin's pov]

"changbin, are you too far from the church?" haeun, his mother, asked desperately as changbin picked up the phone.

"i'm right outside" he grunted "i told you i was not going to be late"

"we are sitting on the second bench at the left of the altar" the old woman added "hurry up"

changbin hung up the phone and cursed under his breath. the weather today was maybe too nice for his own liking and his clothes were a bit too uncomfortable to be wearing them under the sun.

as quickly as he could, he closed the door of his car and started walking towards the entrance, making sure that the ceremony hadn't started just yet so he wouldn't make a scene.

"did you bring the gift?" jang-yeop inquired as he sat down next to him and changbin nodded "did you also bring your mother the pair of shoes?"

"yes" he responded "how long is this going to take?"

"40-45 minutes?" his father replied "i have no idea, what time is it?"

"7:02 p.m." haeun was quick to answer "now, the both of you shut up"

right after she mumbled those words, music started to sound on the church. changbin, being in a rush to get to his seat before the ceremony started, didn't notice that arthur was already standing up next to the altar and waiting for his soon-to-be wife. changbin's gaze was fixed on arthur, then it diverted into the bride walking down the aisle and then returned to arthur once again. he never thought about marriage or building a family. hell, he never thought about having a romantic relationship that would last longer than a few months actually. but as he grew older, and as he experienced new stuff, he wasn't sure if he still had the same mentality he used to have last year.

to changbin, arthur seemed genuinely happy. his half-lidded eyes along with that bright smile he was wearing indicated that the man was living one of the happiest days of his life. and as changbin witnessed that romantic scene, the question that popped up in the conversation he had with you last night grabbed his attention once again.

what exactly is stopping me from being happy?

and before he could respond himself with words, his eyes had already found the answer: standing on the bench at the right of the altar and wearing that promising dark red dress that could drive any man insane, the woman he never dreamed of looking just as beautiful as the very first day he met her.

not being able to have her completely.

*

[y/n's pov]

after the ceremony, a big party was held at a very elegant event hall located in one of the tallest buildings of seoul. you were not particularly excited about having to see arthur's side of the family, but you still managed to keep yourself together the whole time.

"you are wearing the red dress" a sudden voice whispered into your ear as you were counting the tables that were still missing their dinner plates, an order given by hyejin. you slightly turned around to meet changbin's breath dancing on your neck and nape, goosebumps filling every single inch of your skin due to the proximity.

"congratulations" you sighed "your vision is crystal clear"

"i have been watching you since the ceremony" changbin added "i can't help but think about how pretty you are going to look when you are taking that dress off for me"

a spark of electricity traveled around your whole body and directly into your core. you immediatly looked around and notice a few people who worked for arthur's company sitting not that far away from the both of us "do you really want to do this here?" you asked "aren't you scared of being caught by any of arthur's friends?"

"are you concerned about that now?" he chuckled "that didn't seem to bother you at the company's elevator"

"c'mon" you whispered, your back slightly pressing against his chest "i have to help hyejin with some stuff"

changbin slightly gripped your hand and guided you to the dancefloor that was crowded with couples dancing around "i am sure that she can handle all of this by herself"

before you could protest, you took out your phone and sent her a message with the information she asked for. you had no idea what changbin was up to, but you still decided to follow him.

changbin positioned his hands on your waist as he gracefully dragged you across the dancefloor, looking for a spot in the middle of the crowd so it would be easier for the two of you to get lost.

"you are spending the night at my place" he mumbled over the slow songs that were now playing. it wasn't a question nor a petition, it was an order.

"yeah right" you chuckled "if you are too desperate to fuck we can do that, but i am not fond of sleepovers"

the thought of you spending the night with him was terrifying, but you would've been lying if you said that you hadn't think about what it would be like to wake up next to his him.

"i wasn't asking" he responded. "tell me when you are ready to leave".

with a swift movement, your whole body was pressed against his, his hands resting on your lowerback as you both swinged from side to side, following the rythm of the song. this was a whole new side of him that you didn't know it existed, and you couldn't deny that you were loving every second of it.

"who thaught you how to dance, huh?" you asked, your gaze fixed on his eyes that looked even brighter because of all the lights adorning the hall.

"there is so much about me that you don't know" he replied.

"oh i know everything there is to know about you, changbin" you scoffed "but let's see if you can keep surprising me"

*

it wasn't even midnight but people were already starting to get completely intoxicated with alcohol. arthur had spent the night dancing with ara and, after she was done being the unofficial wedding planner, hyejin ended up getting wasted with the small group of friends she invited to the wedding. you, on the other hand, spent the night dancing with changbin and eating your dinner with him.

it was not unusual to see the both of you together since you spent too much time at the company, but tonight it was sort of different. the looks he gave you, the way you two danced for hours on end, the way he was treating you... it felt different, a little bit more personal and intimate. his parents probably noticed this too, since they made a lof of comments about "how happy they were about us being really good friends". if only they knew.

"i think i am ready" you said to changbin after telling hyejin that you were going to spend the night somewhere else. she nodded her head and agreed to say, if asked, that "you were at ryujin's" even when she wasn't invited to the wedding in the first place. you just smiled at her and nodded, not leaving without telling one of her sober friends to look out for her.

"don't worry" the pretty pale girl mumbled "she will stay at my house tonight"

you glanced over to arthur and ara who were still having the greatest time of their lives on the dancefloor, and proceeded to walk away from the party with changbin. "you parents will stay here?"

"yeah, they will leave in an hour or so" changbin replied "i told them that you wanted to go home and that i was going to drive you"

"perks of living alone i guess" you joked.

the walk through the empty corridors of the building felt eerie as the loud sound of the music were still ringing in your ears. even though you were walking on your own, you could still feel changbin's ablazing touch on your body and that only provoked your heartbeat to go even faster.

as you waited for the elevator to open their doors, changbin's lips unexpectedly crashed against yours. it wasn't a passionate kiss, and it wasn't rushed either. it was just a kiss, an innocent kiss, a kiss you give to your significant other as a demostration of how much you love them. his soft lips dragged against yours as his teeth bite softly your bottom lip, earning a small whine from you. his hands, that were now located into your waist, guided you to the insides of the elevator once the doors were opened.

"you look so beautiful tonight" he whispered interrupting, his breathing getting faster each second that passed by "i can't get you out of my head"

his lips left yours to meet the sensitive spots on your neck, peppering soft kisses all over the surface. your gaze found the reflection of the scene in the mirror of the elevator, looking at how changbin was tasting every inch of your skin with his eyes closed, his rushed hands traveling all the way from your waist to your lower back trying to memorize every single trace of your body.

"i don't want to hurt you tonight" he continued "no roughness, no pain, no petnames. i want to make you completely mine, in the most pure way"

and for the night, you agreed to let your feelings out and let go.

no fear and no mistrust, you were ready to face the overwhelming feelings that had been building up inside you since the day you met him.

even if you could potentially regret it later...

[faunbarnes]

Writers' Iron Chef #2: I want to kiss you...

Writers' Iron Chef #2: I want to kiss you.

[PROMPT] An overwhelming desire to kiss that is not, or cannot, be acted on

[TIME LIMIT] Optional 10 minutes prep time, 30 minutes writing time, Optional 10 minutes editing time

Pairing: EddiexF!reader

Rating:T (Some Cursing)

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 4 OF STRANGER THINGS VOL 2

You wanted to kiss him. That was the only thought you had as you watched Eddie hot wire the RV, you know you shouldn’t be excited by him stealing someone’s home, but the look of concentration on his face was almost too much to bear. As soon as the RV roared to life the owners were banging on the door trying to get in; the RV lurched forward causing you to fall into Eddie’s lap. Your face exploded with blush as you jumped from him and quickly sat next to Robin who elbowed you.

“What was that about?” she whispered; you shook your head and stole a glace at Eddie who was staring at you. A smile appeared on your face as you quickly turned to look out the window, watching the trees pass by.

“I’ll stay with Lucas, Max, Dustin and Eddie.” You said quietly as your friends left the RV; Robin gave you a knowing look causing you to stick out your tongue. As the door shut behind them you felt eyes on the back of your head you turned to find Eddie staring at you once again. “What?”

“Nothing Princess,” he said; a smirk nestled on his lips as you sat next to Dustin.

“so this is been happening for how long? Right under Hawkins noses?” you asked him; Avoiding Eddie’s gaze at all cost.

“Since Will went missing maybe even before that.” The freshman answered as he fiddled with his hat. You frowned; There had been monsters in Hawkins for three years and the only people who knew were a group of teenagers and maybe 4 adults.

“That’s insane; How do the Adults not realize what’s going on? I mean between Barb, Chrissy Fred and now Patrick?”

“They think the last three were me.” Eddie said; causing you to laugh; everyone’s eyes turned to you and your blush came back.

“That’s stupid; anyone who really knows you knows that the only thing you kill is the dreams of a young elven rouge.” You muttered crossing your arms. Dustin giggled as Eddie rolled his eyes. “Jesus you kill her once and suddenly your a bad guy.” he smirked; you shook your head and jumped as the door to the RV opened again and Nancy, Robin, Steve and Erica returned, telling them that the Jocks were stocking up as well. Steve got back into the driver seat and sped out of the parking lot.

You were staring again as Eddie messed around with Dustin; they both had a smile on their faces as they spoke.

“Jesus you got it bad don’t you?” Robin asked; you flipped her off as you gathered your bolts for your crossbow. Your Aim wasn’t the best but Nancy had told you it was good enough for any Bats that came your way.

“I don’t have it bad.” you snapped as she and Steve giggled among themselves.

“Right cause you weren’t salivating when he was hot wiring the RV?” Steve countered; you punched him before walking over to Dustin and Eddie.

“Never Change, Man.” you over heard Eddie tell Dustin, and somewhere in your heart something snapped; giving you a sense of dread.

“are you guys ready to kick Vecna’s ass?” you asked; Dustin grinned and nodded as your eyes met Eddie’s

“Princess, and what weapon will you be wielding?” he asked; you held up the crossbow. “Holy shit.”

“it’s for any bats that come our way before we get the change to escape.” Eddie nodded as Steve called everyone back to the RV.

Everyone was in position, you stood next to Dustin as Eddie had his guitar ready to distract the bats;

“This is for you Chrissy.” he muttered; a frown found it’s way to your face as he began playing. Watching him play a metal song that you would never listen to was mesmerizing. You wanted nothing more than to pull him to you and kiss him until the world ended but you refrained knowing that it would derail the plan.

“This is fucking awesome!” Dustin yelled as Eddie continued playing. He was a rock god and both You and Dustin’s eyes and when this was all over you were looking forward to seeing his band live. A couple of bats found their way to the trailer and you made quick work of shooting them down until the larger group came into focus.

“Alright time to go kid.” you told Dustin you all jumped down and made it into the reinforced trailer.

“You are amazing.” You told Eddie as he and Dustin celebrated. Dustin grinned and nodded in agreement.

“Thanks Princess.” Eddie said the bats began to attack the trailer rocking it slightly. “Jesus Christ, alright up you go.”

You went first climbing up the bed sheets and falling onto the bed in Hawking, you smiled up at Dustin and Eddie in the upside down. Dustin quickly followed but when it was Eddie’s turn he stopped right before he began to climb.

“Eds come on?” you begged as he cut the bed sheet and the bed sheet on your side fell to the ground. “EDDIE!”

You and Dustin were screaming for him to stop as he ran out of view of the breach, you helped Dustin climb up and the younger boy fell.

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

This was really fun; I wrote more than I thought I would!!!

[exosmutfactory]

Six Phases 006 Pt 2

Originally posted by exo-stentialism

Who knew it nearly took 6 months to win your heart, and 6 phases for Baekhyun to lose his mind.

A/N: sorry not sorry 😇🚗💨🔥

[ contains: romance, fluff, angst, & smut ]

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1)  P(2) | Part 6 P(1)  P(2)✓ ----- P(3)   P(4) 

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Somehow, waking up early on Saturday mornings had become a routine since that weekend. Between the plague-like thoughts that disrupted my sleep and how Baekhyun cutely requested for breakfast the next morning, I dragged my tired body out of bed and quickly whipped up some bacon with scrambled eggs. He insisted that my cooking was the best before the flavor even settled fully onto his tongue, counteracting my every protest with flustering compliments. I recall accidentally telling him he was full of shit—it was only a simple meal, after all. What is that compared to the hundreds of fancy restaurants he has dined in?

"Your food tastes like home," He argued between pacifying whines, back-hugging me in a way that always weakens my defenses. I begrudgingly agreed after convincing him to have turkey bacon from time to time. Pork has its place, and I preferably don't enjoy the breakfast variety all too often.

It's ridiculous what lengths I would go for this infuriatingly attractive man. If my weekend to-do list full of breakfast, groceries, and laundry is anything to go by, I wouldn't oppose being considered as "whipped" for him. It is what it is, man.

Every Saturday I am up and running by the time the sunlight breaks over the horizon. Regardless of how late I end up sleeping the night before, my eyes automatically open between the hours of 6 and 7; ready to climb out of bed as quietly as possible. Thankfully Baekhyun is a heavy sleeper who is content with hugging my pillow to his chest while I sneak off to the kitchen.

The aches in my body become very apparent the moment my foot touches the carpeted floor of our bedroom, a familiar feeling—welcomed almost, though I'd never tell Baekhyun that. His ego when it comes to things like this is big enough as it is.

Suppressing a shiver at the wintry morning air, I reach for his discarded shirt from the night before, tsking quietly at the two buttons missing from the top of the material. I swear he's the most annoyingly endearing man I've ever met. There's no other explanation for why I'm already planning what time to sew the buttons back on, carefully picking them up from the floor and leaving them on top of our shared dresser.

Luckily the remaining buttons are enough to shield my shoulders from the cold of the large apartment; the bottom of the shirt brushing against the back of my thighs as I make my way out into the hallway, gently closing the door behind me. In times like these I am grateful for Baekhyun's habit of leaving his house-slippers right outside of our bedroom. I rarely use mine despite his constant chastising. Some things in life are better bare.

Slipping into the slippers with ease, a smile tugs at my lips while shuffling quietly down the hallway. I usually keep breakfast simple: scrambled eggs, a few strips of bacon—maybe a pancake or two on a particularly good morning. Today, however, I'm in the mood for something more. Omelets, cinnamon buns, and the little sausages Baekhyun has adored lately.

Checking on the buns in the small conventional oven on the counter, I whisk away at the raw eggs that will make up Baekhyun's omelet, smoothing out the yolk entirely. A light breeze and soft kiss pressed to my shoulder break me out of my concentration. I could recognize those pouty lips anywhere.

"You're up early," I murmur, leaning back against his chest. Tilting my head up, I smile at his cute sleepy expression.

"Mmm," He manages to capture my lips in an upside-down kiss that melts me to my very core, his warm fingers seeping through the fabric of my borrowed shirt. "What are you up to?"

"Breakfast," I breathe, cheeks warming as he pulls away, quickly checking on the sizzling frying pan in front of me before he can catch me admiring his bare torso. "I got the sausages you like, Bae."

"Bae?"

The top of my head nearly slams into the bottom of the cabinets as I freeze in my tracks, frying pan clutched in hand. Shit, did I say that out loud? My face might as well be 50 shades of red. "I—I mean-"

Baekhyun plants a kiss on my head that throws my every thought out the window. "I love you." He hums, hugging me warmly before walking to the dining table. The view of his bare back as he runs a hand through his sleep-tousled hair is way too captivating for six-thirty in the damn morning.

I put my attention back on the pan, hurriedly removing it from the burner to slide the sausages onto a tray. 30 more seconds and I would have burned the damn things had I not shaken myself back into focus. "Jenny and the gang are coming over today."

"Today?"

I raise a brow at his tone. The high-pitched inquiry of his voice at the mention of his friends is a little suspect. Who was the genius that bragged so much about my BBQ short ribs everyone ended up inviting themselves over to our apartment? Shouldn't he remember our plans for tonight?

"Yes?" I drag out, tilting my head, looking at him skeptically with a hand on my hip, raising my spatula. "Did you forget?"

His silent form sitting rigidly at the table is enough of an answer. "N-" I raise my other brow. "Erm—M-Maybe?"

"Uh-huh." If he wasn't so adorable after just waking up with his lips tutted in a confused pout, I would give him hell. "I bought groceries yesterday, so we're only missing the wine-"

"I'm on it." Baekhyun perks up in his chair as if douched in cold water, pulling his phone out of nowhere. "Hyerin," He murmurs groggily, fumbling clumsily for a couple of seconds and slapping it to his ear in his hurry. "I need a bottle of Dom Perignon by 6:30. Thank you." The call is over in the span of 10 seconds. He sets the device next to his glass of orange juice on the table, busying himself with gulping down half of its contents. It takes a while for him to notice my bewildered gaze. "What?" He mumbles; orange pulp on his pouty lips.

I narrow my eyes, lowering the grease-covered frying pan back to the stove. "Who was that?" And how the fuck you just ordering Dom Perignon as if it doesn't cost my entire education expenses? If you just bought the $50k edition, I swear, Byun Baekhyun—"My new secretary." He yawns, stretching his arms above his head with a soft, content smile. "Come here." He mumbles, opening them towards me, his sleepy brown orbs fluttering sluggishly. "I miss you."

For a moment I just stare at him. "I'm right here..." I mutter softly, growing more aware of his current state by the minute. Those dark circles are committing the worst crime by being on his precious face. Carefully sliding his omelet onto a plate followed by a few pieces of sausage, I can't help laughing a little to myself at the comparison of our meals. His omelet managed to come out better than the one I made for me, perfectly solid compared to my result of scrambled eggs. No matter what, he gets the very best from me—I'm taking the biggest cinnamon bun though. That delicious treat has my name written all over it, it's mine for the taking. Besides, I can risk a sugar-crash unlike Mr. 12 hour shifts over there. Noting his drowsy form nodding off at the table, I quickly reach over to start the coffeemaker.

The smile that lights up his face as I present his food to him makes up for the few seconds I burnt my hand earlier, trying my best not to burn our whole apartment down. Note to self: never daydream about eventful Friday nights while leaning over a hot stove. Had I been slower to react, I'd be nursing my hand back to health with a frazzled boyfriend refusing to let me so much as brush my teeth on my own—it gets overwhelming after the first day, trust me.

Settling down on his lap under the persuasive encouragements falling from his irresistible lips, I hold up a piece of sausage to shush his drowsy mumblings. As cute as he is, he needs his morning protein before he can wake up and function properly. Especially after working 60 hours two weeks in a row. I respect his enthusiasm as a semi-workaholic myself, but damn am I worried. What kind of crazily time-consuming clothing line is going on in his beautiful head this time?

Baekhyun finishes his juice while I pick at my food, lazily twirling his hair between my fingers. Some days I ask myself why I’m still here, why I still try, why I continue on in this relationship that has more blurred lines than direct answers about our future. To tell the truth... I never expected to fall in love again. I never saw this coming—never saw him coming, when my sole way of survival has been spotting things from miles away. How did it come to this? How the hell did this man sneak past all my defenses so easily?

Maybe it was the smile he shot my way the first time we met or the way we had danced that Friday night, his body seeming to match so perfectly with mine. His comforting presence and sweet, brown eyes that hold all the stars in the universe. The countless late nights he has spent looking after me when I caught the flu from a combination of lack of sleep, stress, and poor life choices. He's always been there—always been here with me, but why… Why isn’t it enough? What is missing? How can I strip this weight off my chest that suffocates me more by the day?

"Baby?" Baekhyun's warm voice caresses my ear, comforting arms tightening around me.

"What if it happens again?" Jenny's worried face flashes vividly in my mind.

The memories come pouring in, making my mouth go dry as a lump forms in my throat. It takes everything in me to drag my eyes up to meet Baekhyun's inquiring orbs, plastering on another smile. The gesture is easier to manage with every sweet kiss his soft pillows plant on my lips. His heart-fluttering touch distracts my hyperactive mind for a while.

"Damn, Riley." Chanyeol practically moans, the sampling spoon I had offered him left to dangle pre-cautiously between his fingers. "Had I known you could cook like this, I would have come soon—ah!"

"Yah," Baekhyun scowls as I take the last serving plate from the counter to the table with a bashful smile, passing the tall man clutching the back of his head. "That's my girlfriend you're talking about." He mutters, lowering his hand, voice deepening in an unfairly attractive manner. "Watch your mouth."

"Geez." The giant huffs, glaring at him under the veil of his blonde hair. "You'd think you two were married with that—okay, okay!"

"When you two are done." The over-the-top chirp of my voice catches their attention; both their eyes widening like guilty little kids caught with their hands in a cookie jar. "Dinner is ready."

"Don't let me eat it all." Jongdae drawls, throwing an arm over the back of Jenny's chair, looking at them lazily, his brown eyes glinting mischievously. "Remember what happened last time."

Baekhyun and Chanyeol scramble for their seats as if their asses have been set on fire; an unusually quiet Jongin follows behind them, carrying a plate I forgot all about.

"Thank you." I gasp, quickly making room for the forgotten dish. "Set it down here, please."

Jongin nods, setting down the plate of cucumber salad next to the servings of Bulgogi. "I'm sorry Kyungsoo couldn't make it." He mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Something came up at the restaurant."

"It's alright. Wanna pack a to-go plate for him?" Tilting my head, I smile in understanding at the sheepish expression on his face. "If you think he'd like my food, anyway," I joke, resting my arm on the back of my chair as I continue to face him, relieved at the familiar hint of playfulness restored in his eyes.

"Oh he's going to love it," Chanyeol insists with a pleased hum, yelping at the smack Jenny lands on his sneaky hand.

"Where are your manners, Park?" She sighs, shaking her head, fiery red curls bouncing with the motion.

"Save some for the rest of us, asshole." Jongdae grumbles, subtly eyeing the cucumber salad.

Everyone's plate already has a soft taco shell, warm from a few seconds in the microwave. The toppings are placed on top of the two tables Baekhyun and I had to push together to accommodate our guests: fresh Korean lettuce, sour cream, and other ingredients that Jenny helped me choose—especially that bowl of melted nacho-cheese Jongin keeps taking glances at.

We all look towards Baekhyun once he settles in his seat. He leans forward to reach the middle of the table, bypassing the regular bulgogi for the one drenched in a home-made sauce, spooning some on my taco shell with a chaste kiss to my cheek. "Eat up, everyone," He murmurs sweetly, tired brown eyes twinkling.

Jongdae doesn't even fake-gag with Chanyeol and Jongin, he goes straight for the cucumber salad. The fresh smell wafts in the air amongst the various meat and spices, making Baekhyun's nose crinkle adorably. I carefully brush his freshly dyed hair out of his eyes, chuckling at the pout he shoots my way. "Did you really have to make cucumber salad, baby? Cucumber?"

"One man's trash is another man's treasure, Byun," Jongdae mutters, forgoing his personal bowl to grab the whole serving. No one says a word, we just share knowing smiles. And once Chanyeol pops the cork of the expensive Dom Perignon, the real party begins.

Endless tales of embarrassing high school cafeteria incidents spill forth from Jongdae's mouth as if shame has gone out of style. The details he shares at the expense of Chanyeol's seemingly innocent public image flying out the window right along with it.

"One second this guy looked like he was taking the biggest shit of his life, and the next thing I know, Lee Naeun from 5th period Physics is crawling out from under the table, wiping spulge from her lips. Like, Chanyeol, what the actual fuck bro? Couldn't you have taken your business to the 3rd floor Janitor's closet? I think I still have the key..."

If it wasn't for Baekhyun's quick hands, I would've sprayed a mouthful of wine across the entire table.

Unfortunately, Jongin had to head out right after dinner, promising to meet up again soon before hurrying to Kyungsoo's house, two plates clutched in hand. Chanyeol decided to stick around for longer to "let his two glasses of wine wear off"—this man has the metabolism of a beast, we know why he's really here. His reason is comfortably seated next to Jenny on our striped couch, sock-clad feet propped up on the coffee table.

"Dinner was nice," Jenny smiles, sipping leisurely at her water.

"More than nice." Chanyeol boosts from our leather recliner, raising his glass, tipping his head at me. "Your food damn near tops Kyungsoo's," He pauses, brown eyes widening. "Don't tell him I said that."

"No worries," I laugh softly, hiding in the safety of Baekhyun's shoulder. He shifts towards me, finishing his wine and setting the empty glass on the coffee table before wrapping an arm around my waist, brushing his lips against my forehead in a way that leaves my heart shaking. The white loveseat we're sitting on sinks further under our joined weight, and really, there's no place I'd rather be—except our king sized bed, that is. Baekhyun's firm grip on my bare thigh isn't helping my tipsy trance in the slightest. The universe knows I'd rather be getting drunk off of him right now.

"I'm going for a smoke," Jongdae mutters, rising from the couch. He leans down to Jenny for a kiss that leaves her beaming, going to retrieve his trench coat and shoes before slipping out of the door.

Good to see them doing well; I blink in surprise, smiling teasingly her way. I'm happy for her! It really is a pleasant surprise to see Jongdae stating their relationship in such a way; an immense improvement from their past encounters of Jenny nervously seeking affection and Jongdae down-right dodging it like his life depends on it. Public displays of affection are a sweet, straightforward way to say, "hey, this person means a lot to me," or, "back off, they're mine." Which personally sets me on romantic fire. Even if it's just holding hands, it can put me in high spirits—doing it with a certain, cheeky silver-haired man is just a bonus.

Jenny winks, fanning her cheeks that match the rosy shade of her hair before tuning in to Chanyeol's loud chatter.

Soft laughter rumbles in Baekhyun's chest as he engages in the conversation. His warm palm securely holds my hand when I slip my cold palm into his warm one. He presses a kiss to the back of it, pulling a silent giggle from my lips as he smiles at me with an arched brow, squeezing our intertwined fingers.

"Riley?"

I drag my eyes up to Jenny who's loosening her red curls by running her fingers through them. "Yeah?"

"Jongdae's not answering his cell," She murmurs with a worried frown. "Can you go check on him, please?"

And why can't you do it? — Or come with me for that matter? I raise a brow, getting up from the chair and Baekhyun's warmth with a silent sigh. "Okay. I'll be back." If I get kidnapped or spooked by some random asshole, she'll never hear the end of it. I really should ask Baekhyun to teach me a thing or two about hakipdo though.

Jenny beams, a peculiar twinkle in her eye, clasping my hand between hers. "Thank you!"

Uh-huh... I try not to eye her too warily.

"Take my coat, baby," Baekhyun murmurs, kissing the side of my wrist. "It's cold out."

"O-Okay." I clear my throat, pointedly avoiding the smug smiles of the other two in the room while walking over to the coat hanger.

Slipping on his brown, cinnamon-scented coat brings a giddy smile to lips—one I'm quick to hide in the soft fabric.

I slide on my boots before making my way to the elevator, not up for taking the 4 levels of stairs this late at night. Thankfully, that nosy neighbor down the hall isn't meeting me at the elevator tonight on one of his various late-night escapades. I've had enough awkward encounters with his lovers to last me a lifetime.

The lobby is empty except for a lone security guard who waves my way, face lit up in familiarity. Smiling back, I step out the crystal-clean glass doors of the building into the quiet night, quickly finding the man I'm looking for standing at the edge of the sidewalk. "Jongdae."

"Huh?" He looks over his shoulder, turning halfway at the sight of me, pulling a joint from his lips.

"You alright?" I pull Baekhyun's coat tighter around me, resisting the urge to shiver in the icy wind. "Jenny was looking for you."

"Looking for-" He chuckles, brown hair ruffling as he throws his head back in laughter. "Girl, please. I was instructed to come down here 5 minutes ago." He continues, inhaling deeply from the stick between his fingertips. "She ain't looking for me, she's looking for a way for them to chat privately and to make us talk..." He sighs, looking over at me. "I'm not exactly the best company for deep shit."

"O-kay then," I mumble, more than a little peeved, ready to turn on my heel in any direction other than stay here.

"Let's talk." He shrugs, exhaling smoke into the frosty air. I shoot him a wary look, barely taking a step in his direction. "I said let's talk, not have a screaming match." He mutters, rolling his eyes into the back of his head. "Why you all the way over there?" He follows my gaze to the stick between his fingers. "What? This?" He scoffs, smirking. "It's a joint, worst thing you'll get is the munchies."

Crinkling my nose, I take a couple more steps closer anyway, standing beside him, keeping a respectful distance between us.

"Listen." He sighs, taking another drag. "I know I've done some things that… I didn't necessarily have to do." He glances at me for a moment, and then faces the street lights. "Bros before hoes, you know?"

Yeah, I inwardly roll my eyes, focusing on a lonely snowflake evaporating before it reaches the ground. There's a lot to be said over people doing things that they didn't necessarily have to do. If I had a dime for every sleepless night I've had because of Jongdae's shameless mouth, I wouldn't be paying off my student loans anymore.

"Look." Jongdae takes one last drag, crushing the joint under his worn-out winter boots. "The way he is now is much better than the Baekhyun we knew back then." He nods a little to himself, meeting my gaze. "Still can't see why he decided to change his ways for you...but oh well." He mutters, lips quirking into a playful smirk at my small smile before facing the city lights again. Festival lamp-shaped snowflakes attached to the top of every streetlight beam against the dim backdrop of empty downtown buildings, prepared for the coming holidays. "You're alright for a best friend stealer."

A laugh escapes before I can slap my hands over my mouth, meeting his eye nervously only for us to both end up laughing; our amusement echoing loudly through the quiet night.

"Riley?" Jenny's confused voice peeps up, red curls rebelling against the hood of her fluffy white coat.

"Over here!" I cup my hand around my mouth, waving to get her attention.

She turns towards us, rounding the corner with quick strides. "There you are! I thought you got grabbed or something." She fusses, resting a hand on my arm, leaning closer to whisper in my ear, "Especially you. Baekhyun was two seconds from hunting you down with my head on his mantle."

"Jenny!" I snort, accepting her tight hug, my voice muffled in her puffy coat. "It kinda would be your fault though."

"I know!" She exclaims, viewing me from an arm's length away. "I was sweating out my hair."

"Baby?" That unmistakable honey voice calls. A head of fluffy silver locks and brown eyes peek around the building, catching light in the streetlights.

"Here, B," I soothe, chuckling as he speeds over to us, gathering me in his arms without hesitation.

"I thought I lost you," He mutters, hiding in my hair.

"She was gone for ten minutes," Jongdae deadpans.

"Ten minutes too long!" He pulls back to glare over at the brunet, hugging me to his chest with cheeks too rosy to be merely from a few moments out in the cold.

"Just how much of that wine did you drink?.." I narrow my eyes, cupping his flushed cheeks.

"Good thing you only bought one bottle," Jenny laughs nervously, slowly gravitating to shelter behind Jongdae's taller form.

"Enough to miss you." Baekhyun's breath leaves goosebumps on my chilled skin, his soft lips brushing my ear.

"Al-right, time to go before the lovebirds start mating." Jongdae grumbles, wrapping an arm around Jenny's beaming form. Their matching smirks have me scurrying to direct my tipsy boyfriend back towards our apartment.

"Uh—okay! See you guys next time!" I laugh to mask my burning face, gently pushing Baekhyun into the building.

"Goodnight! Don't do anything I wouldn't do," Jenny sing-songs, the smugness clear in her tone.

"Can't make any promises!" Baekhyun proclaims over his shoulder, much to my embarrassment. Thankfully he quiets down once we reach the elevator, but based on the wide eyed security guard, the damage has already been done.

Can the frozen ground just please open up and swallow me whole?

The view of this busy street differs from all the other times I've walked down it with Baekhyun by my side. Maybe because it's been almost 2 years since I've moved to this city, or that new boutique being set up at the end of the road. Whatever the case, the air is different—crisper, cleaner. Refreshing as I briskly walk to my destination, wanting to avoid being out in the cold as much as possible. The weather here is so much colder in the middle of December compared to how flowers were still budding around this time outside of my childhood home.

Humming a song that's been stuck in my head for days with my car keys spinning around my finger, I stroll into Privé Alliance's building, admiring the latest clothing line pictures hung up along the walls and waving to the new receptionist while making my way to the elevator. Many men and women in business attire are all over the place as per usual during the busiest months of the year. However, once I make it out of the crowd of chattering employees, the sight of a familiar face waiting in front of the elevator brings a smile to my face. "Kyungsoo!"

The short-haired man turns around. "Hello, Riley." He nods with a small smile as we step inside the open doors, pressing the buttons to the 5th and top floor. "Lunch date?"

"Hmm?.." Blinking a few times, I follow his gaze to the picnic basket clutched in my hand. "Oh! Yes." I chuckle, smoothing down my hair. "Sorry." Between nearly slipping on a patch of ice on the way over here and the pretty lights decorated all over the city, I've forgotten the reason I left our fridge in a disarray this morning. Who decided to store the sandwich meats at the back of the refrigerator? I know Baekhyun loves my home cooking, but damn, man, let me have a break too.

"It's alright." Kyungsoo chuckles, arching a brow. "Hopefully you can get him to relax."

"Relax? Coming from you!?" I gasp sarcastically, covering my mouth with wide eyes.

"Only because he's seconds away from firing half the 3rd floor." He mutters with a roll of his eyes, yet an apologetic smile forms on his face. "Sorry I couldn't make it to the gathering." He clears his throat while facing forward again, straightening his suit.

"It's alright," I smile, resisting the urge to chuckle at his flustered state, checking my outfit in the elevator's reflection. It may be a chilling 40 degrees—4 in celsius—but I can spare the warmth of my legs for a 2 minute walk from Privé's parking lot. No weather can tell me what I can and can't wear. If I want to rock a pencil skirt on the coldest day of the week, so be it! Plus, these two-inch heels couldn't be left behind. I can't show up at Baekhyun's workplace with the poor fashion choices I subject him to at home, so we're going, coolness over comfort.

"Life happens," I mumble, tucking rebellious locks of hair behind my ear. "I'm just glad you're doing okay." The smile that forms on his heart-shaped lips when I take a glance at him makes me beam back.

"I'll stop by sometime this week." He hums, black dress shoes tapping on the floor. "I just finished a new recipe."

"Recipe?" I blink, mildly intrigued, mentally running over the list of food I'm carrying for the 3rd time today.

"Fried ice cream cake," He smirks, nonchalantly checking his watch.

"Fried-" My jaw damn near drops to the floor. Fried? Fried!? The one ice cream Baekhyun banned me from attempting myself after burning my hand while frying fish a few days ago?! Which Baekhyun is half to blame, by the way—never sneak up on someone over a popping frying pan. It never ends well. Besides that, it also was the day I truly realized the stamina that man possesses. I have never seen someone react so quickly to shove my hand under ice-cold water in my life.

Searching for any cameras in the elevator, I step a little closer to the short-haired man, whispering discreetly behind my hand, "W-Will you bring me some?"

"The prettiest one," He promises, softly patting my shoulder, chuckling at the star-struck expression written all over my face. "This is me, I'm afraid."

"Huh?" I blink into focus, shocked to be on the 5th floor so soon. What the heck. What is it about elevator rides with Baekhyun and Kyungsoo that make them go by lightning-fast compared to the stifling, tension-filled ones with Jongdae? If you can read a room, it truly makes a difference. "Oh, don't let me keep you." I give a little wave, balancing the picnic basket on my forearm. "See you later!"

Kyungsoo nods, smiling with a wave of his own as the double doors close. It is at that moment that I freeze, recalling how Baekhyun mentioned he hired a new secretary a few weeks back. Well... shit—how do I explain why I'm arriving at his floor unannounced on a random Tuesday afternoon?

Do his employees even know we are dating?.. A small part of me doubts it. Why do I care? Oh, right—I fucking live with him!

By some miracle, no one is occupying the neatly arranged desk when the elevator opens on the top floor, saving me from the completely rushed explanation I have no idea how to even put into words. All that lies before me is an undisturbed walk to Baekhyun's office, the intimidating black door slightly ajar. I slip off my heels, rushing out of the elevator on sock-clad feet before the doors close. Baekhyun's businessman voice filters through the quiet air. He must be on the phone.

Shuffling as quietly as possible down the hallway, I peek into his office. My eyes quickly find his broad form leaning a hip against his executive desk, a phone pressed to his ear as he faces the floor-to-ceiling windows showcasing the heart of Seoul. Impeccably dressed in a wrinkle-free, white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. His black blazer thrown over the back of his chair. Like always, the splashes of color in every corner of the room have my lips curling up, but I have to muffle a small giggle at the sight of a thin pink measuring tape hanging around his neck.

I slowly inch closer, discarding my coat and setting down the basket in one of the leather chairs. Smoothing my flower-patterned, white button-down shirt, I silently approach him, gently covering his eyes once he ends the call. "Guess who~"

Baekhyun stiffens for a moment before swiftly turning around, wrapping his arms around me and lifting me up, setting me down on his desk. He cups my cheeks in his warm palms, crashing his lips to mine before I can make a sound. "Thank god, it's you." He breathes, warm fingers sliding into my hair.

"W-Well—hello to you too." I barely manage to get out between his feverous kisses, making a noise in surprise when he pulls me flush to his chest. "What is it?" I ask softly, noticing the bothered look on his face; carefully running my fingers through his styled hair as he hides in my neck. "Another long day?"

"You have no idea." He sighs, looking up at me. "I was 2 seconds away from losing it."

"Don't-" I pause, thinking about it. A few memories of last week flash through my mind. "Well, you are kind of hot when you're angry..." In the proper context.

Baekhyun perks up, exhausted brown eyes regaining their sparkle. "Really?"

I hum to appease his hopeful expression, yelping when he pulls me into his arms, not expecting to be carried up from the desk so suddenly.

"Come here," He murmurs, walking around to sit in his chair, setting me on his lap. "I need strength to get through these reports."

Gently playing with his hair to calm down my racing heart, I tilt my head, "Do you have time for a lunch break?"

Baekhyun hums distractedly, kissing my forehead, holding me closer to his firm chest. "We can order in a little later."

Kyungsoo's words come back to mind while I watch Baekhyun continue to click around his computer, brown eyes squinted and brows furrowing more by the minute. I inwardly cringe at the move I'm about to pull, but… Our sandwiches' lifespan is ticking away. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

"But…" I pout, resting my hands flat on his chest, widening my eyes for effect as his focused orbs shift to meet mine. "But I made it."

"Let's eat now then," Baekhyun smiles, his steady gaze flickering all over my person. I swear I just witnessed his pupils dilating right before my very eyes. "Give me 5 minutes."

My lips quirk up, "One-"

"I'll set a timer." He laughs, shaking his head, reaching for his phone between his bright screen laptop and desktop PC.

Smiling in victory, I stretch across the desk to retrieve the basket, peeking at his computer accidentally. "Holy shit, is that Melody Hudson?" I straighten up, focusing on the magazine cover opened up on a famous website. "The model?" My eyes widen in awe of her tall blonde form modeling a stunning royal blue summer dress; the color bringing out the blue in her shining eyes. I place the basket on a clear spot on Baekhyun's crowded desk before rubbing his stiff shoulders. He must still be tense from work. "She's so pretty."

Baekhyun hums, placing a hand on my cheek. His gentle caress coaxes my eyes back to his. "But you're beautiful," He whispers, resting his forehead on mine, brushing a thumb over my lips.

There's nowhere to hide the red hue that springs onto my face, making him chuckle as I quickly turn back to start taking out our food.

"Would you like to accompany me to a photoshoot?" The tentative tone of his voice has me raising a brow.

"Sure!" Handing him his sandwich, I press a kiss to his cheek, carefully unwrapping my homemade fries. "I'd love to see you work behind the scenes."

"Actually..."

I look at him, mid-bite of my toasted turkey sandwich.

"I'll be in the scenes," He drops, soft lips quirking a boyish grin.

My grip on my sandwich rips a hole in the middle while preventing it from falling out of my hands. "I…"—Behind the scenes witnessing Baekhyun modeling?? With his god-tier body and knee-weakening smirks that have me crumbling from beyond a screen alone? Hell to the mother fucking yes! "O-Okay."

Baekhyun's brown orbs twinkle knowingly, an amused smile forming on his lips as he presses them to mine. "Great."

It's impossible to mask my excitement while slipping into the passenger seat of Baekhyun's Audi. The beautiful red highlights around the black interior never fail to leave my jaw dropped in awe, fingertips tempted to graze over every surface. I'd like to think a person's dream car matches their owner, and there's no denying how devilishly divine my boyfriend looks settling into the driver's seat.

Baekhyun's simple, black button-down shirt and matching jeans have me inwardly salivating—I don't even have the slightest clue of why he's going to a photoshoot today. Privé? A cover for a magazine? Possibilities are endless, but not just anyone can request an hour of his time during one of the busiest months of the year.

"Are you ready?" Baekhyun glances over at me, his unstyled hair tucked under a Privé corduroy camel baseball cap that I haven't quite seen before.

"Yes," I beam at him, tilting my head curiously. "Is that hat new? I don't think I've seen it before."

Baekhyun smirks, brown eyes glinting mischievously as he straps on his seatbelt. "Maybe." He rests a hand on the steering wheel and the other on my thigh, backing out of his designated parking space. "Hold on tight, baby. You're in for a long ride."

I blink, having no clue what kind of ride he means. When it comes to Baekhyun, you never know what you're getting yourself into, but you never really have to worry about it either. If I hadn't known him for a few years, I would have bugged him to tell me where we're going for the entire ride. But with a few years under our belt—and some long months spent sharing a close-knitted home—I can comfortably sit back and relax for the whole journey, because there is no Baekhyun without one.

•••

The parking lot outside of the building is relatively calm, with only a few staff members bringing in materials from their cars. Inside of the place, however, is a complete madhouse. Everyone is speed-walking to various rooms and popping up from behind every corner. Not a drop of silence in the heavily populated area.

"There's our man of the hour!" A tall, aged man steps forward to shake Baekhyun's hand, carefully cradling a camera strapped around his neck. "So glad you could make it. I hope we are not taking up too much of your time?" He inquires, pushing glasses further up his nose, glancing over at me.

"Oh no, of course not!" Baekhyun shakes his head, shifting closer to wrap an arm around my waist. "I invited my girlfriend to accompany me today." He clears his throat, reddening cheeks caught under the harsh spotlights. "I hope you don't mind."

"No, not at all," The man reassures, gesturing towards a staff member who quickly brings over a grey single-seat sofa. "The more the merrier. Here you go, Madam. Is the chair to your liking?"

"Yes, thank you," I smile, trying not to stutter, brushing my fingertips over Baekhyun's warm palm before taking a seat. He shoots me a little bashful grin as the photographer whisks him away, a team of stylists directing him to a chair on the opposite side of the room. It's amusing to see so many people fussing over his hair, pulling out hairspray, and presenting him with simple yet sexy articles of clothing.

A few other models are walking around in the same attire, giving off a cool vibe of the newest clothing line, but when Baekhyun steps out of a dressing room…

Holy shit.

No, seriously holy shit!

Baekhyun walks into the room, standing against a wall as stylists comb his hair over to the left side of his face, using sprites of hairspray to tuck the right side behind his ear. As if he doesn't look dangerous enough adorning a leather jacket, a black shirt with white scribbles I can barely make out from this distance, and camel pants with unique, black low-platinum shoes.

The staff directs him over to the area with a gray backdrop, lights and cameras focused all over the place. Baekhyun practically glides over there, oozing with that stunning Ceo confidence. At a closer look, I can make out the pretty image of open and outstretched hands in the white lines at the bottom of his shirt. The intriguing detail has my full attention until I feel a persistent stare.

I lift my eyes higher to meet Baekhyun's dark brown orbs—from me sitting in the back of the room or getting into character; I have no idea. Suddenly my red knitted sweater is a bit too warm despite not being in front of any bright lights. Just when I think it can't get any worse, the photographer announces that it's time to begin.

If I had known what I agreed to the other day, I would have been more prepared—or so I'd like to think. I mean, how does one prepare their feelings for watching their unfairly attractive, multi-millionaire boyfriend pose for the camera as if moments away from sweeping them off of their feet!? And not in a sweet way either. Nah, ain't nothing innocent about the lethal expression swirling within his dark brown orbs. Especially while they are pointed right at me.

The hairstyle they gave him just makes my situation worse. How am I supposed to sit still with this man gazing so intensely into the "camera"? Is this really the same drowsy Baekhyun who I have to wake up every Sunday morning? Where did his tiredness go? There ain't nothing exhausted about the way he is staring at me! And when they bring out a chair for him to sit on… No. Hell no. That's it.

Draping my sweater over the back of my chair has his covered lips curling up at the corners, I just fucking know it.

After a few more camera flashes, the stylists are back with a new outfit in tow, gesturing for Baekhyun to change. However, right as he is turning down the short hallway leading to the dressing room, someone comes rushing into the building.

"I'm so sorry I'm late!" A petite woman with a French accent flies into the hall. "Traffic was-" She skids to a halt, staring at Baekhyun as if she's seen a ghost, her brown wavy hair mid-loop of making a bun. For a long moment, nobody says a word, and then she's on the move, crossing the short distance within two furious strides.

Her slap echoes across the tall walls.

"To think I waited for you." She grits out between heated spews of French. Her gray eyes brimmed with tears shoot daggers into Baekhyun's wide-eyed ones. "To think I held onto the fact that maybe you actually cared." Her whole body shakes as staff members rush over to restrain her, calling her name over her loud obscenities in an attempt to calm her down, trying to pull her away from him before she can jump him. It takes three men to drag her back out of the building. A woman from the small crowd quickly follows, dropping a blue clipboard in her haste. We hear her panicked voice a split second before the door slams shut behind them.

I don't know when or how it happens, but I'm already on the other side of the room, reaching out for a stunned Baekhyun being fussed over by stylists. "Baekhyun?" My eyes flicker all over his shock-stricken face once they move out of the way for me. A lump forms in my throat at the look in his eyes. "B," I tentatively place my hand over his frozen one on his cheek, the red handprint visible between his fingers. "Baekhyun!"

He flinches, shaky pupils focusing on me. "Y-Yes?"

"Are you okay?" Emotions grip at my throat, making it hard to speak while my eyes keep shifting between his alarmed ones and his steadily bruising cheek. I take the ice pack a staff member hands over without a word, gently brushing his hand away to hold it to his face. "Come here."

Baekhyun silently follows me to the dressing room, seemingly in a daze as stylists vacate the room, closing the door on their way out. I lead him over to a swivel chair in front of a white vanity table, letting him settle before speaking. "What was that?"

"What was what?" He mumbles, breaking my heart at the sight of him pressing ice to his swelling cheek.

"You know what I'm talking about." Crossing my arms, I continue staring him down. "Who was that woman, Baekhyun? Why did she hit you?"

"I'll tell you later, baby." He avoids my eye and his reflection in the mirror, getting up from the chair. "Let's wrap this photoshoot up, hmm? Then we'll go home-"

Stumbling to reach the door before he does, I block his escape, looking into his conflicted eyes. "I'm not letting you leave this room until you answer me."

His lips twitch, "Baby-"

I cross my arms despite my racing heart, my stomach twisting in an ignored warning. "I need answers-"

"For fuck's sake, Riley!" He thunders, startling me so much I slam the back of my head on the doorframe. "Out of my fucking way."

I step aside without another word, turning my head away as he storms out of the room. The slamming door left in his wake has my heart jumping into my throat. Anxiety grips at my chest like a vice, making it hard to breathe. I latch onto a Privé clothing rack, holding onto it for stability.

Baekhyun's tone on the other side of the door is much calmer while talking to one of the staff. I wait for a few minutes, resting against the clothing rack until his voice drifts away; the loud taps of his shoes fading into the distance. No matter how far away he is—most likely continuing on with the photoshoot by the faint clicks of a camera echoing around the quiet building—I don't… I can't; I won't go back out there to watch him. No, not after that. I'm sure everyone in the vicinity heard what just happened.

Slipping out of the room, I gasp when I bump into someone else, my heart beating so hard it hurts to breathe. Could this day get any worse? Seriously? "I'm so sorry."

"You're fine," The same staff member I heard minutes ago with Baekhyun shakes her head, smiling in sympathy. "Tough morning, huh?"

I can only manage a deep exhale, nodding, "I guess you could say that, u-um—" I'm losing the battle against the sting steadily building behind my eyes. "Do you know where the bathroom is by any chance?"

"Just around the corner," She nods, pointing farther down the hallway. "First door on your left."

"Thank you," I breathe, hurrying down the hall. Before I can pass by her, however, I notice her angrily marking out a name with a black sharpie from the same blue clipboard that clattered to the floor earlier.

Nicole. The woman they dragged out earlier…

With tears finally breaking free from my sore eyes, I couldn't have reached the bathroom fast enough.

To my relief, the room is empty. Nothing but painfully bright lights and the porcelain floors to witness my current state. I walk up to the sinks with a shaky sigh, splattering cold water on my face. My reflection isn't a pretty sight to behold when I look into the mirror, bracing my hands on the countertop as I take in the streaks of mascara running down my face. The one day I decide to wear a non-fool-proof kind and this is what I get?

Sighing, I turn to lean my back against the counter, crossing my arms. The photoshoot is back in full swing with all the compliments the photographer is showering Baekhyun in. It's pretty pathetic of me to hide out in this ice-cold bathroom, but I rather shiver for a few minutes than face him right now. Something about the way he reacted earlier... To that woman, to me—doesn't feel right. Maybe I pushed him too far? I just… Do I not have the right to know who just slapped the hell out of my boyfriend? Hell yeah, I'll admit I want to know who she is because he's mine and she was acting as if she was waiting forever for him to recuperate her feelings, but it's not just about that. No—Nah. The deer in headlights expression on his face as her hand collided with his cheek will not leave my mind.

Whatever it is, whatever just transpired in front of me; something is off and I rather be out the line of fire while trying to figure it out.

"To think I waited for you" For what? For when? With the way things are going, I might never know the answer.

The lack of chatter filtering through the echoing walls of the room catches my attention. I tentatively peek out of the bathroom, stepping back into the hallway at the uncharacteristically quiet state of the building. Is the shoot over already? Pushing past my dimly lit surroundings, I head back to the dressing room, hesitantly standing in the open doorway. I'm confused to not find Baekhyun there, or in the main area when I poke my head over the edge of the short hallway.

"Excuse me?" I approach the nearest stylist, moving out the way of another one clumsily carrying out articles of clothing. "Have you seen Baekhyun?"

She shakes her head with a pop of her minty gum, giving me a solemn look. "Last I saw of him, he was on his way to the men's room on the other side of the building."

"Ah..." Dread fills my stomach, and something tells me that I rather not find out why. "Thank you," I murmur in passing, quickly making my way back out of the room, speeding down to the opposite hallway. The possibility that I got left behind in an unfamiliar part of the city twists my stomach into knots until I round the corner. I stumble to a halt, sucking in a breath. My heart breaks at the sight—and then the rage kicks in.

Baekhyun's broad form in his partially unbuttoned black shirt braces himself against the wall, looming over a model. Her hand is in his hair and their lips interlocked in an intimate kiss. The sight has my blood boiling—nah, it's turning into fucking lava.

"Wow." I bark out a laugh, loud and hollow, positively seething as he jumps back from her as if burned. "If you were going to cheat, you could have at least had the decency to do it behind my back." The smirk that forms on my lips is the worst kind, the ugliest kind, the kind that has fear flickering in Baekhyun's wide brown eyes. "Or was this your intention all along?"

"R-Riley-" He stares like a deer in headlights, hurrying over to me, smearing her red lipstick over his lips in his haste to rub it off with the back of his hand. "Baby, please keep it down. I can explain-"

"Nah," I shake my head, looking at him in disdain. Just the sight of him right now has me heating up with anger. I'm seeing red as the model smirks at me from over his shoulder. That bitch. "This is explanation enough." I spin on my heel before I do something I won't regret in the slightest, just for his sake.

Baekhyun's dress shoes tapping frantically behind me as I storm back into the main hall.

"Riley, baby." His grip on my wrist throws me over the edge. "Please-"

"What were you doing, huh?" A snarl forms on my face as I whirl back around, meeting his pleading eyes. "Gonna show her your failed attempts at lasting for longer than a minute?"

Everyone in the room pauses. The photographer almost drops his prized camera.

Baekhyun's face grows progressively red, and if it wasn't for the rage burning in my own veins, I'd be concerned about the vibrant hue going up to his ears right now. Just like his mishap a few days ago that would normally be insignificant, it was his grave mistake. The key that I used to fuel the fire to the flame in the most torturous of ways... Have I hit a nerve, Hyunnie?

His grip tightens on my wrist. "We," He barely gets out in an angered growl of his own, "Are leav-"

"Get your filthy-" I hiss, snatching my wrist out of his grasp, "Paws off of me." I grab my sweater on my way out, exiting the building without looking back. The bite of the cold wintry air is a relief for my heated skin. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

"I drove." He says through clenched teeth, hot on my heels.

"And I'm walking." I bite back, walking past the car as he climbs into the driver's seat.

"Riley!" Baekhyun bellows, putting the Audi in gear and slowly following me out of the parking lot. "Get in the fucking car!"

I cross my arms, scoffing out a laugh. It doesn't matter where the hell I am, I'm not getting back in that car with him. Bringing me all the way out here just to pull that shit. He can kiss my ass. I knew I shouldn't have gotten in that car with him. If I had taken my own four-seat beauty that I left back at home, I'd be halfway on the way to Jenny's by now.

Baekhyun continues to follow behind me, honking obnoxiously, attracting unwanted attention from bystanders that whisper amongst themselves. Some of them pull out their phones. What a spectacle we would make for the front cover of magazines, endlessly entertainment for all their peering eyes. Pausing for a moment to weigh my options, I step towards the Audi with a sigh, climbing in without a word to the fuming man next to me.

Baekhyun drives on, clutching onto the steering wheel with both hands. His grip is so tight his knuckles turn white. I direct my gaze out of the passenger window, avoiding him at all costs within the confines of the car. The long ride home and walk up to our apartment does nothing to ease my rage. Anger continues to thump angrily in my veins as the past two hours replay in my mind.

Baekhyun unlocks the door and holds it open for me. I walk into the apartment with a scoff, moving to tug off my boots only for my back to meet the wall, the front door closing with a startling slam.

"What was that?" Baekhyun glares at me, fire burning bright in his brown orbs. He can't exactly tower over me, but by his mannerism, he doesn't need any extra height to get his point across.

"What was that?" I mumble, peeling off my shoes, ducking under his arm to cross the other side of the room. The longer I stay in these warm clothes, the more I die from the uncomfortable heat.

"No, what the actual fuck, Riley?" He shakes his head, long strands of silver hair dangling in his fury-filled eyes. "You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Fine." I retort, rolling my eyes and looking at him, "Who was that woman then?"

His nostrils flare. "Really?" He bites out, laughing in disbelief. "Is that really important right now?"

I cross the room in three strides, tilting my chin up to stand nose to nose with him. "It is to me if you haven't fucking noticed."

"Oh, I'm so sorry." He scoffs, stepping back. A cruel smile curls on his lips. "What should I do? I haven't paid Riley enough attention." All traces of humor leave his features, his minty breath washing over my cheeks. Baekhyun leans in again, his voice lowering into an angered growl. "Maybe if you weren't wetting yourself over me all morning, you'd figure it out."

I grind my teeth. "Who. Was. She?"

"For fuck-" Baekhyun reels back, his brown eyes rolling so hard into the back of his head a flicker of worry sparks in my chest before those dark orbs land on me again. "An ex-fling," he grits out. "Why does it matter?"

My hands fall limply to my sides. "Why didn't you tell me she would be there?" I ask. My voice is much quieter while I search his eyes for answers.

"What?" He scoffs, raising a brow. "How was I supposed to know she would be there?"

"Her name was on the roster-"

"I-" He shakes his head, pulling harshly on his hair. "What? Do you expect me to know the names of the women I've slept with?" A smirk quirks at his pink lips, his brown eyes so dark that his pupils have vanished in their mahogany depths. "Do you think I've kept some journal? " He purrs, grinning in delight when I shuffle uncomfortably on my feet. "Are you really that insecure?"

I stiffen. A bolt of something sinister shoots down my spine. Did this fucker just—

"Me?" I point to myself with wide eyes, laughing incredulously. "Me?.... You know, that's real fucking rich coming from you." I sneer, roughly tugging off my annoying turtleneck. What was once a reliable piece of clothing ends up torn in my fit of rage. I fling it out of my sight. Baekhyun's words loop over and over in my head. Even though I don't show it—they cut me. Deep. On a touchy subject. In a part of me I thought had died 2 years ago. He damn well knows it hurts when it's mentioned in such a menacing manner, and he still did it. For what? His weak stamina in wake of his long hours at work is suddenly the equivalent to the root of my trust issues?

My fingers curl so tightly into a fist, I can feel my nails pierce the skin. "You're one to talk." It's easier this way; keeping my back turned to him so I can mask the tears brimming my eyes. Who does he think he is? Who is he, period? How is this the same adoring man that was pursuing me the summer we met?.... It takes all my effort not to bolt for the front door—not to let my nose run or tears to stream down my face. No. I won't cry over him again. I won't let him win. Not like this.

Firm in my resolve, I take a deep breath before turning to him again. "You're not so confident, Mr. Big Shot..." My words falter at the sight of him ripping his shirt open, black buttons clattering all over the floor. "What-"

Baekhyun has me backed against the wall before I can utter another word. "Did you enjoy yourself?" He demands, holding my chin between his thumb and index finger. He peers down into my eyes; the familiar look held in his dark orbs has me quivering on the inside—and it isn't from fear. "Hmm? Did you enjoy embarrassing me earlier? Did you have your fun?"

I quickly recover. "Not my fault you don't know how to keep it in your pants."

"You wish you were in my pants." He grits out, lips curling mockingly.

There are so many things I want to throw up in his handsome face right now. So many little secrets and observations I've made over the past year that would make him falter—make him kneel. But today...

Today.

I choose violence.

Tangling my fingers in his hair, I yank on his delicate locks without remorse, pulling him into a brutal kiss of tongue and teeth. Baekhyun grunts in surprise, pressing me harder against the wall. The harsh clash of our mouths only seems to egg him on. The stinging bite he leaves on my bottom lip is nearly enough to break the skin. I don't know how long we stand there; my hands in his hair and his palms sliding down my back. There's no telling where he ends or I begin until the lack of air sinks in. His breathless puffs for air erupt goosebumps on my skin.

"Are we really doing this?" He pants, pulling away to brush his hair back. His eyes are more familiar to me now, softened by his calmer state, intense from the lust felt in his every touch.

I pause my exploration of his firm chest, arching a brow at him with a mocking grin. "Think you can last longer than a minute this time?"

Baekhyun clenches his jaw and steps away. For a moment, I worry if I pushed him too far until his lips crash back to mine. "Jump," He mutters gruffly, his grip near bruising on my ass.

"And if I don't..." The look in his eyes as he drags his dark brown eyes up to mine shuts me up entirely.

Baekhyun slowly leans closer, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear. "I'll fuck you against the goddamn window." The serious expression on his face combined with the threat is damn near intimidating—and I hate how aroused it leaves me.

Baekhyun hoists me up and walks to our room with quick strides, relentlessly keeping his lips glued to mine. He pushes open the door before dropping me unceremoniously onto the mattress. His lips are back on mine before I can chastise him for the mini heart attack, his impatient hands tug at the rest of my clothes. I let him pull off my pants and hurriedly move to unclip my bra in the meantime before his rough actions can rip the expensive fabric.

Baekhyun freezes above me, brown eyes transfixed on my matching red lacy set. It may be winter, but that doesn't mean I can't dress up nicely underneath endless layers of flannel and wool. Although, when I think about what happened not too long ago... Warmth fills my cheeks and I know I'm blushing way too hard to have done this countless times with him.

"Ah." Baekhyun tsks, stopping me from covering my chest. "Take it off." He breathes, soft lips brushing over my neck. "Let me see these tits bounce for me."

My eyes widen at his crude words, a gasp escapes my parted lips when he sucks harshly on a sensitive spot on my neck, pulling down the straps of my bra at a snail's pace. The poor clothing is tossed over his shoulder without a care in the world.

I'm no stranger to Baekhyun's habit of leaving pink and red hues on my skin, but today is different—today it feels like he has something to prove by trapping my skin between his teeth, marking me as his. He doesn't stop at my neck; his restless mouth ventures lower, painting my collarbones and chest with the shape of his lips.

I grit my teeth as he reaches my breasts, determined not to let him win me over so easily. It doesn't matter how much I want to melt under his warm hands mapping out the contours of my waist or tremble in anticipation at his breath fanning over my sensitive nipples. No matter what, I will not crumble... until he does first, at least.

Yeah—easier said than done with the way he's tugging my nipple with his teeth, roughly rolling the other between his fingers. It's all fun and games until his grip tightens on my hip, his pelvis grinding mercilessly against me. A move that has my back arching clear off of the mattress. He just presses me back down to the bed, continuing to alternate between each breast, pulling away minutes later with a wet pop of his lips. He's relentless in using every weak spot of mine. As if he knows what I'm trying to do.

"Not today, baby," He murmurs to my squirming form, chuckling in my ear. I can't help but bite my lip, breath caught in my throat when his hand slides down my body. His large palm covers my clothed core entirely. If it were any other day, I'd be flustered over how true his words from earlier were; the evidence of my previous admiring and current state of euphoria clear as day to his greedy hand, tugging at my last piece of clothing.

My heart races in the realization that I'm lying under him, almost completely bare, as he remains fully clothed besides the ripped shirt clinging to his broad shoulders.

"Ah," Baekhyun smacks my hands away, flashing a grin full of devious intentions. "Don't worry your pretty little head."

He's yanking my underwear down before I can get a word in, tossing them carelessly off the bed and spreading my thighs as far as they'll go.

"Always so ready for me," He muses, spreading my folds apart with his thumbs. I stop breathing entirely when he leans down, spitting onto my pussy. "Your hungry cunt has been waiting all morning for me, hmm?"

My lack of response doesn't bother him in the slightest as he meets my eye, sliding two of his long fingers into my core so suddenly I shout, grabbing his wrist. Baekhyun just pries my fingers off of him before interlocking them with his freehand, bracing our joined hands above my head. My eyes roll back at the burn of the unexpected intrusion. It's a dull, persistent ache while he shoves his fingers deeper into my cunt. He curls them up in a way that has me shaking at the seams, tugging at his silver locks as he brings me dangerously close to the edge. Right when I'm nearing my high, he pulls his fingers out, nonchalantly sucking on them while fiddling with his belt.

I gulp, relaxing back against the sheets. I can't even be mad at this point. Our argument ended the moment I started that fiery-filled kiss, but—

Baekhyun's belt clatters to the floor and his brown eyes have never looked so fierce—so carnal, I wonder if he plans to eat me alive. What I don't expect is for him to crawl further up the bed like an actual predator hunting his prey to hover over me again; his gaze not straying from mine for a second. The warmth of his body encloses me; it's second nature to relax under him when we're like this—when we're touching the tip of the iceberg before diving headfirst into the chilly depths of our lust. Sex with Baekhyun isn't like playing with fire; it's handling dry ice with bare hands.

And being in love with him is one of the most intense and excruciating experiences of my life.

We spend so much time eye-fucking each other that I'm not prepared for the bruising kiss he pulls me into, sliding his cock into my core without a warning.

"Ah—B-Baek!"

"Hmm?" He humors, his low voice filled with lust. "Now she speaks."

"Baekhyun." I gasp when he spreads my thighs wider; the pull from the unfamiliar stretch adds to his incessant pounding—his hips seeming to snap a mile a minute. Oh, please—please don't let both of us have muscle strain tomorrow morning. I swear I've never seen him move this fast for anything. Ever. Baekhyun, what the fuck? Have you started back up on your late-night visits to the gym or something? He's reaching depths he hasn't quite reached before, hitting a spot inside my core that makes me want to cringe away and slam myself onto his cock at the same time.

I yelp out when he tilts my hips at a different angle, not meaning to scratch his back so hard in my hurry to cling onto him. Baekhyun just groans, slamming rougher into me in retaliation, his teeth firmly bite down onto my shoulder.

"Baekhyun! what the—ah—fuck!?" I nearly shriek, appalled and aroused.

Baekhyun smirks, sliding a hand down to press his thumb on my clit. "What's the matter, baby?"

"B-" I can't even say his name without stammering, shaking under him when he slows down to roll his entire body against mine. The only thing I'm capable of at this point is gripping his shoulders, throwing my head back with a loud moan. I always thought of myself as not being a fan of sweat or having any strange, warm liquids touching me, but Baekhyun... Fucking Baekhyun. His sweaty chest brushing over my nipples is making me lose my damn mind—if I was feeling any more horny and adventurous, I'd lick the salty sweat off of his neck.

"Come on." Baekhyun pants with a satisfied grin. Sweat continues to drip from his honey-toned skin, sticking silver locks to his forehead. "Tell me."

The fucker, he knows exactly what's up. It's written all over his face. A part of me doesn't want to beg—my rational side. The one chastising me for falling into bed with him again in the first place. But I don't know how much longer I can take his teasing antics, so despite my stubbornness—despite the heart aching memories creeping up on me in such an intimate moment; I press my body to his.

"Fuck me like you mean it." I pant, yanking harshly on his hair, smirking at his pained hiss until his hips undulate in a new direction. The constant stimulation on my most sensitive spots has my high sneaking up on me so quickly, I don't have time to warn him.

"Bae—!"

Baekhyun's lips crash to mine, swallowing my cry of his name as I fall over that blissful edge. His cock is the only thing on my mind amongst the ringing in my ears—in the minute-long paradise where nothing else matters but our frantic hearts racing as one.

Baekhyun lets out a telling grunt before a burst of warmth fills me up. The remains of his release drip down my thighs with his erratic, shaky thrusts. He doesn't even pull out when he's done. He just leans tiredly over me, coaxing my lips into a lazy kiss. "You're the only one for me." He whispers as if sharing the biggest secret, all rosy-cheeked and wide-eyed.

Beautiful; there's no other way to describe him—in general, in this moment. Nothing compares to his mocha brown eyes that shine brighter than a million stars when his steady gaze sets on me. Nothing compares to the safety of his warm embrace that surrounds me. Nothing could come close to the way he drives me crazy in every single way. Love. Lust. Doesn't matter. If it's with him—for him, it's...

...

Is it worth it?

The emptiness I feel when he gently pulls himself from me triggers every painful memory imaginable: my birthday, the party, our summer fight, his ex, that phone call, his photoshoot...

Baekhyun collapses beside me on the bed, completely oblivious to the war going on in my head. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close to his beating heart.

I wait for him to fall asleep, brushing damp silver locks of hair out of his eyes as his breathing slows. He looks so peaceful like that, so innocent while his face relaxes with sleep. So... So welcoming, like home.

Tears stream down my cheeks, blurring my vision of his twitching brows and pouted lips. I hope he's happy; I hope he got what he wanted.

Carefully sliding out from under his loving hold, I quietly get dressed, collect my duffle bag, and slip out of the room, holding onto the doorknob for dear life. His quiet mumbles drift through the crack of the door, tossing and turning as if already aware of my absence. I have to cover my mouth to contain my sobs.

I love him—I really do, but I...

I can't do this.

I can't take this anymore. If he won't open up to me; if he thinks I'm... I'm unworthy of knowing his past—hell, fuck that. Apparently caring too much leads to being left behind, if that encounter this morning is anything to go by.

My laughter just ends in more sobs, the salty taste of tears on my tongue more bitter with the realization that once again, I've lost.

But at what cost?

The ache in my chest and between my legs is an answer within itself—the last push I need to retrieve my car keys from the counter.

If he wants to be that way, Baekhyun... Baekhyun can do whatever the fuck he wants. What's the difference between me and all the others? What use am I? Is it because I learned how to cook? Clean? I wonder how many of those late nights at work are actually spent bent over his sketchpad. Am I his personal little stay-at-home trophy? Does it feel good to show me around important events? After today, I might as well hang up the thought of ever stepping into his world again. No one wants a possessive girlfriend in their corner of the wrestler ring. No one needs a jealous, nosy, demanding burden weighing them down. And I have my high standards as well.

I can—and will not—be one of those girls.

Not even for him.

•⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •⇔♦ •

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1)  P(2) | Part 6 Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3  P(1) P(2) | Part 4 P(1) P(2) | Part 5 P(1)  P(2) | Part 6 P(1)  P(2)✓ ----- P(3)   P(4)

A/N: I can feel the pitchforks on the rise, l-listen (<.<) just trust me on this, not all is lost.... Or is it?  😇 I’ll try to finish the next part as soon as I can. *cracks fingers* let’s see what this troubled couple gets up to next.

[lost-in-the-80s]

Bloodletting Part III - Y/N

Words: 2,245k.

Summary: Guns n Roses are already known for being dangerous, but how dangerous would they be if they were vampires? Would it be a wiseful decision to fall for one of them?

A/N: This part is more focused on explaining the Vampire world and introducing Y/N. 

Part II | Bloodletting Masterlist | Playlist

2020 - New York - 02:40 am

Duff walked through the dark streets of the city, the cold wind hitting his face as his feet touched the floor with an almost inaudible sound. He had just closed his bar, leaving a ton of glasses and utensils to be cleaned the next day.

It was autumn, and he took the opportunity to go walking towards the bar, ironically called Bloodletting, which now meant he’d have to walk back home, or more precisely, Izzy’s home. He didn’t mind walking though, being a vampire had its advantages, and not getting tired was one of them.

He stopped abruptly when a familiar smell got his nostrils, vampire smell, or more specifically, the lack of any smell accompanied by the slowly fading away human scent, mixed with a small hint of embalmed corpse. 

His head snapped towards the smell, curiosity taking a hold of him. It was someone new, he knew it because he was familiar with the scent of every vampire who lived in the city.

Over the years he learned how to identify each one of them based on the smell of things that constantly stayed around them. Like the smell of Slash’s snake, or the smell of cigarettes in Izzy’s clothes. And he was sure, this vampire, whoever it was, was someone new. 

Turning left he walked down a couple of streets until he found a dark alley, the smell of blood was strong and fresh, and coming closer, his eyes adjusted to the light, allowing him to see you on top of a man, his body laying on the ground.

Focusing on his hearing Duff realized that the man was still alive, and judging by the expensive clock on his wrist, he knew that you had made a huge mistake in choosing your prey.

“That wasn’t very smart of you.” He said, entering the alley.

You turned towards him and he realized that you were around his age. Your hair was all messed up and you were wearing party clothes. There was blood dripping from your lips and your pupils were dilated.

You ran towards Duff, pushing him against the wall, your mouth moving towards his neck as you got on your tiptoes. But Duff was older, which allowed him to be stronger than you. One of his hands grabbed your neck, pulling you away from him and inverting your positions, making you hit your back hard against the wall.

“Yep, you’re definitely not smart!”

Your eyes widened in shock.

“I’m gonna let you go, ok?” He said after a few seconds.

You nodded slowly, and so he removed his hand from your neck, taking one step back.

“You shouldn’t have chosen him.” Duff said, starting to walk towards the man, who by now was dead.

“Why?” You finally spoke.

“See this watch?” He removed the accessory, throwing it towards you. “Costs 30 thousand dollars.”

Duff searched for personal belongings in the man's pockets, throwing his wallet and his car keys towards you. Standing up, he threw the body over his shoulder, walking a few steps towards a dumpster and throwing the body inside of it. 

“Take the money and the credit cards from inside of it and then throw the wallet in the dumpster too.” He said, taking a pocket knife out of his leather jacket.

“Why?” 

He rolled his eyes. Is that all you know how to say? He thought.

“We need to make it look like it was a robbery.” He answered, stabbing the man’s neck where two small holes used to be. 

You did as he said, running weirdly with only one shoe on towards the dumpster and throwing the wallet there. You turned around realizing that Duff was nowhere to be seen.

“Stranger?” You shouted.

“Here.” 

You followed his voice, finding him leaning against a black Porsche. “You don’t need to yell you know.” 

He took a cigarette out of his pocket, lighting it up. “Here!” He threw the car’s keys towards you. 

“Find a junkyard and use that money to pay for someone to destroy the car.” 

You looked at him dumbfounded as he started walking away.

“Wait!” 

He stopped, turning around.

“I- I…” You tried to think of what to say, but nothing came out of your mouth.

Duff eyed you for a while, before realizing what was going on. “When did you wake up?”

“This- today... a few hours ago.” You looked so lost.

“Shit.” He mumbled. “It’s normal, most of us don’t remember anything personal after the transition, it can take you some days to remember everything.”

“Transition?”

“You weren’t like this before, honey.” 

You frowned.

“You used to be a human, like him.” He pointed towards the alley. “Now you’re a vampire, like me.” 

“Why?”

“Because someone wanted you to.”

“Who?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t fucking know! But clearly wasn't decent enough to raise you.” 

“What- What do I do?”

“There’s nothing you can do, this is your life now.”

You stared at him as he heard your heart racing and could see the tears that started to form in your eyes. 

“Do you remember something? Anything?... Your name, maybe?”

You nodded slowly. “It’s Y/N.”

Duff threw away his cigarette, before opening the driver’s door of the car. 

“Come on, Y/N, let’s get rid of this car, and then I’ll find somewhere for you to stay.” 

---

The sun was rising on the horizon when Duff and Y/N entered the house, everyone showing up as soon as they smelled your scent, curious about the new guest.

“Brought some company, Duff?” Axl asked, walking down the stairs, stopping in front of you and picking up your hand, taking it to his lips, pressing a delicate kiss on it. “All yours or will you share with us?” A smirk appearing on his face.

Duff said nothing, putting his coat on the hanger and walking towards the library, finding Izzy reading by the window. 

“It's a new-born, doesn’t remember anything, I think it’s better if you give the lecture.”

Izzy lifted his eyes from his book, thinking for a second before closing it and exiting the room with Duff on his track. 

“Y/N, these are Axl and Izzy, Steven is the guy looking at you through the backyard windows and Slash is the one up there.” He pointed towards each one of them, stopping at Slash who was on the second floor, looking at them.

You looked to your side quickly, a little startled by Steven’s presence, but soon you saw curiosity in his eyes and his figure waving at you, and you realized he wasn’t creepy. You slowly waved back at him, before having your attention caught by Duff again.

“Izzy is gonna explain to you some things, since he’s older than me.”

Izzy motioned for you to follow him, walking further into the house.

You looked at Duff hesitantly, but he nodded, reassuring you, making you walk behind the brunette until you were inside a fancy office, filled with wooden shelves and expensive furniture. 

Izzy sat behind the desk, making a gesture for you to sit in front of him.

You eyed each other for a few seconds, in an awkward way before Izzy spoke up.

“What is it that you’re curious about?” 

You took a moment to reply as his accent hit your ears. "I don't know…"

"You don't know?" He raised one eyebrow.

“What am I?”

“You’re a vampire.”

“Yeah, but Duff said that I wasn’t- he said I was a human before.”

“All of us were, until we transitioned.”

“Transitioned?”

“It’s what we call it. A vampire transformed you.” 

“How does it happen?”

He leaned against his chair, taking a long breath before replying. “They give you their blood, which is poisonous to a human, as soon as it touches your stomach, you die. After a few hours you wake up, and you’re no longer a human.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t know, the only one who can answer that, is who transformed you.”

There was a pause before you spoke up again.

"Why can I remember random things, but not my birthday?"

He shrugged. "No-one knows, it's just how it is."

You looked at one of the walls, observing a big old map on it, the once white paper was now in a dark shade of beige. “So it is like in those movies?”

“Pretty much.”

“Will I shine in the sun?”

He chuckled lowly, “No. You’ll most probably burn.”

You looked back at him, widening your eyes. “Like, catching on fire?”

“No," He chuckled again. "More like going to the beach on a very sunny day without sunscreen. Of course, if you stay underneath it for too long your skin will start to look like barbecue and it won't be a pleasant feeling… but, on a cloudy day, sunscreen and hats do the job for you.”

“What about sunny days?”

“Forget about those. We usually isolate during summer, just going out during the nights.”

“So I- I really am a monster?”

“A monster, a god, a beast… there are many definitions, depending on the culture, but we usually go by vampires.”

You took in a long breath. “So my heart stopped beating?” You touched your chest.

“Of course not, nothing survives without a beating heart." He smiled, trying not to laugh again. "It's just beating slower… if we stay silent and you pay attention, you'll hear it”

“That- that’s a lot of information.” You gulped.

“Yeah, but it’s better for you to learn it in the beginning.”

He crossed his own fingers, eyeing you.

“Why do we drink blood?”

“Why do cows eat grass? Why does a wolf eat the sheep?... It's the food chain ... we are predators." 

You looked at his Persian rug for a while before coming up with another question.

“Do we still eat normal food?"

“We don’t actually need food anymore, but food gives your body energy and we can make good use of that.”

“So you guys still eat?”

“Sometimes… the same goes for drinking anything.”

“We don’t need water anymore?”

“Technically, no. But if you spend too much time without drinking it you’ll look like a raisin.” He smiled faintly.

She nodded slowly. “Garlic?”

“That’s bullshit, you can eat garlic if you want.”

“Crosses?”

“Another lie. Some of us are still religious, so no, crosses don’t do anything to us.”

“Who was the first?”

“No one knows… There are many legends and stories, but nobody knows exactly.”

“Legends like Dracula? Do you think he was the first one?”

Izzy chuckled at you. “Axl is older than Dracula, so no, I don’t think he was.”

“He is… older than Dracula? That ginger?” You pointed towards the living room with your thumb.

“I am!” You heard his voice coming from there.

“As you probably noticed, we don’t age.” He got a cigarette from his vintage cigarette box on top of his table, lighting it.

“And what is this? Is it like a fraternity, or something?”

He shrugged again. “There isn’t a correct definition for the collective of vampires, we usually call them clans.”

“Are there too many clans?”

He looked at you for a second, and you could tell that he was annoyed by the number of questions you had. But he answered anyway.

“Not really… Vampires aren’t the most sociable species, we hardly hang around each other."

“And why do you guys do?”

He shrugged, blowing out some smoke.

“What should I do now?”

“You need to wait.” He placed the remains of his cigarette on his ashtray. “As soon as your human blood is replaced by the vampire, you’ll remember your personal information and will start to have full access to your new abilities.”

You nodded, fixing your eyes on a black-covered book on his desk.

“Where will I stay?” Your posture changing with discomfort.

“You can stay here until you remember everything, then you’ll have to leave.”

“But what will I do alone?” You bit your bottom lip, trying not to cry for the second time that day. 

Seeing the tears forming in your eyes, he stood up. “That is not something you should be worried about now. Go upstairs and sleep for some hours, it will help with your mood swings.” 

“So we can sleep?” You got up, walking past the door.

He didn’t answer, stopping by the door and looking up. “Slash, can you find a room for Y/N?”

The man still on top of the stairs nodded, and so you walked towards him, following him down the corridor.

“Here, this room ain’t taken.” He opened a door to his left.

“Thank you.” You entered. 

“If you need anything, just say it, we can hear you easily.”

You nodded and he closed the door behind him, leaving you alone in the room. Your mind racing and aching with all the information you had gathered.

Loneliness and sadness soon hitting you like a train. You removed your shoe, laying on the bed and closing your eyes as silent tears left them.

You hated not knowing what was happening, or more precisely, what had happened, and even if you tried to remain calm, you couldn't help the frustration that started to build up in your chest.

So you laid on your side, squeezing your pillow closer to you as you tried to sleep, hoping that when you woke up, everything would have been just a dream.

Tag list:  @roger-taylors-car @metalheartofgold @slashscowboyboots @ginny-rose-sixx @bigdaddylars @dynamitebabe @tuffduff @mitchgrassified @gamsbeans @no-stone-no-bone @ladieswttda @teasid @hooloovooblue @littlemisscare-all @rumoured-whispers @1800endmeplease @izzys-nose-ring @motley-cruer @angxlxc @oihanasstuff @dazeduchess @claire-xox @polka-dot-duff @mudkicker @izzysjujuhounds​ @pinkpatiencecreepers​ @axlswhiteshorts​ @apovanity87​

Add yourself to my tag list :)

Thanks for reading <3

[ooc-but-stylish]

freezedive:

I think I said it in one of your other beautiful posts, but I thought I’d mention it again. All of the ridiculous cutscenes did give us a golden nugget of information on Luna that most of us who are brutally critical of her (like you and me), suspected all along: Luna openly admits to Gentiana that she doesn’t think she has anything to offer Noctis outside of being an oracle. And Gentiana makes it worse by speaking in fancy words by saying some bullshit about her being the oracle is her being human or something and that she is fulfilling her true calling and that is what Noctis needs? Idk but it reeked of emotional manipulation. 

I hold little to no regard for Ravus because there’s evidence Luna was being brutally beaten right under his own nose while he was busy being the Emperor’s lapdog thinking it could maybe give him the power to save his sister? The man should have opened his eyes and defended her against the men that kept them jailed

I happened on this reply to roxainn’s post while trying to recapitulate all my other FFXV critical posts and reblogs on the way to making new ones. 

Crawling back to find anything about this point, I find that it was posted 3 years ago. But at least I reblogged the reply to it.... and missed that it was literally @ ME. Goddamn did I slack.

But here’s my reply, 3 years late, which should elaborate on where I stand on this.

Yes, the flashback that gets triggered by a random creepy little girl in Tenebrae is about Luna and Gentiana. Somehow the little girl knew about that conversation even though she wasn’t there to witness it first-hand? Or maybe Noctis was imagining what the conversation would be like between Gentiana and Luna off of the vague suggestion from the girl, and it’s just him telling on himself that his imagination of Luna says all that? Otherwise the not-altogether-tinfoil-hat theory says it’s Gentiana in the form of a little girl, telling Noctis something that IMO should piss him off but just makes him sad and guilty because Luna loved him so much, don’t you see. She loved him so much that after wrapping her entire life around him, she’d just want to keep that going for the rest of their lives!

Gentiana opens the conversation with, “At first, the father had mourned the fate of his chosen son. Yet in Tenebrae, the two found solace. It was not the Oracle who assuaged their fears. But the girl…she holds…the true power.”

Then Luna replies, “I have little to offer a king, other than the voice afforded the Oracle. Nevertheless…” She turns to look at the wedding dress. “And—I’m afraid he might find this foolish… But…to be together with Noctis again, even if only for a short while… It…would mean the world to me. I do not seek to guide him, merely to stand beside him.”

The exchange is all types of fucky.

First off, she was twelve. What comfort could she have offered Regis and Noctis? What comfort was she capable of when Sylva was right there, an adult with experience of an Oracle and a personality thanks to a presumable full life not hampered by grooming of the gods? 

Second, every other scene of Luna as a child is of her telling Noctis his duty, and that it was her duty to see it through. Did that assuage his fears-- the fears he didn’t have at the time since he never knew the entire meaning of his fate and was being told a saccharine, embellished version of it by Luna right there? Did that comfort Regis, knowing a little girl would also die to protect his son if the gods wanted it, but that she wouldn’t have the will to avert their fates whatsoever? 

Third, even she thinks Noctis would think her desire to be with him is foolish. So... was she expecting that Noctis himself didn’t have feelings for her or want to spend time with her of his own volition for reasons outside of her job? She was looking forward to a marriage with no emotional security, where her desires are one-sided and unreciprocated, and the man she cares for think she’s worthless outside of her powers? She would’ve been willing to put herself through that, given a choice?

We know what we know and think what we think, but the fact that this was placed right in the vanilla game and no one thought that was wrong, and instead they doubled down on it in patches, is pathetic on their part.

Moreover, what does The Girl have, that was separate from The Princess and The Oracle? Every facet of her being wrapped around Noctis since age 4. She was nothing but her duty by the time Noctis met her; they had no scenes where they acted as children would. Even supplemental/promotional art for other XV media and related locales cement that. Little Luna serves Little Noctis pastries, she’s not seen eating with him. Luna teaches Noctis how to play piano, she’s not playing with him. Dawn of the Future came out with its own art, and Noctis is afforded the liberty to sit in a chair, and his son(?) sits on his lap, while Luna and her spitting image child(?) are both on their knees, looking up at the dudes. 

In most of their art together, Luna and Noctis are either not meeting each other's gazes, she's bending or kneeling to him, or he's supposed to be holding her close but he hover-hands her, or there’s that one time where they took a selfie and the picture was of their Pocket Edition versions. They’re still not looking at each other in that one. And it’s not canon.

Anyway yeah, any conversation Gentiana has with Luna about Noctis is emotional manipulation on Gentiana’s part, but the writers manage just enough to make everyone involved seem creepy and reprehensible in their own way. 

In DOTF, Luna has a death soliloquy that confirms she sunk into the water at the end of the game’s Chapter 9, but the soliloquy is about how she was prepared to die even at the age of 12, and she put on a smile and resolved to be strong for Noctis’s sake, so that he wouldn’t remember her having a look of despair. There’s a line there about how she would cry herself to sleep but Gentiana would wipe her tears. Gentiana does nothing else except allow her to cry and wipe her tears afterward, and makes no effort to save her from her fate or at least take her out of terrible situations so that she would cry fewer tears. But there is cut dialogue from the game, and used in the novel, where Gentiana revealed herself as Shiva when Luna was <16 (probably still 12 at the time), when she thought she was being held back from forming the covenants, so there’s that. And Luna still somehow ignored that this meant Shiva allowed Sylva to die, and thanked this useless goddess for her nonexistent generosity. 

For whatever reason they had to add a passage where Luna superimposes the image of an eight-year-old Noctis onto the adult version-- quote, "the image of him as a child, burned into my eyelids, overlaps with his now-grown face"-- even though Noctis has canonically sent her photos of him as a teenager (15-16, around the time he met Prompto in high school, see: Brotherhood). Granted, that's a translation from Luna's voice actress reading an excerpt as if it were first person POV. The English version says she sees the child image first, then the adult version is superimposed. Then not much after that there's a passage where Noctis smiles as his child self and it was "that smile she loved that had been in her heart all these years, giving her strength, always and forever".

So she was groomed and turned into a shell since age 4, believes she has no value outside of her job and turned her grooming on a similarly vulnerable child, and her strongest image of him, the one she fell in love with and kept in her heart, is of the helpless boy that promised her the world without knowing the cost. The smile of the carefree boy that didn't know his journey would end with his soul annihilated. It couldn’t have been that hard to have her see an image of him as the 30 year old True King of Light that he would become. At least she'd sound a little less like a weirdo who continually places herself (and is placed by the narrative) as below him, unworthy of him, etc. but also has strong feelings and memories toward a goddamn child.

Re: Ravus: you already got a reply to that, but for real? Ravus was also shafted by the plot and beaten down by terrible, amateur writing. The narrative shits on him as if it’s written by a high schooler or otherwise emotionally arrested adult trying to push a Mary Sue Protagonist. The modus operandi for those stories is that everyone who disagrees with the protagonist in any way has to suffer tremendous humiliation including but not limited to death, because the Protagonist Is Just So Good And Perfect And Always Right. 

Nothing Ravus does justifies his treatment in-game or in-fandom like he’s a one-note out-and-out villain who wanted nothing but to kill Noctis and disrespect his sister, to the point where his corpse is defiled multiple times in Chapter 13 and he’s twisted into a perversion of himself that begs to die.

Chapter 13 has Noctis land next to Ravus’s corpse and all his letters to Luna, and Noctis has piss all to say about it, either out loud or to anyone. He looks at the Sword of the Father, glances at Ravus, and without a word takes the Royal Arm and lets the Magitek arm-- still dripping, still gross-- fall onto Ravus’s body and doesn’t even move it.  

He had no way of knowing beforehand that Ignis and Gladio knew of Ravus being killed. WE didn't even know they saw security footage until Ch13V2 was added in. Noctis happening on his late fiancée's dead bro sounds, I don’t fucking know, like something you’d want to tell everyone else about later. Along with the letters he wrote evidencing that he intended to return the Sword of the Father to Noctis!

An aside: The Letters from Ravus are just weird to behold; it isn't 100% clear whether Luna ever received all of those letters. She had to have received the first one, at least. But the idea that Ardyn intercepted even one other letter so that Luna never heard from her brother between Tenebrae and Altissia is farfetched. He shouldn’t be able to intercept those messages as if they were delivered conventionally. Luna has a pair of magic space-bending Shiba Inu that send letters instantly across continents. If she’s sparing their use to send Noctis one-liners and stickers but can’t afford that for Ravus to send her discrete updates on Noctis’s status, she’s a piece of shit. 

They do meet in Tenebrae as Ravus wanted her to, and they have the conversation where he gets on her case about her “throwing [her] life away” for Noctis. So chances are higher that Ardyn only got a hold of all three letters after Luna received them and no sooner, but then he shouldn’t be tossing letters from Ravus at the dude’s body when it makes more sense for him to toss down letters to Ravus, since the writers wanted to make a point of Ardyn having a vicious streak. It makes way more sense for Ardyn to deprive Ravus of Luna’s writing, then insult him with them post-mortem, unless Ravus’s notes were really all he could acquire, meaning Luna never once wrote back to her brother. 

The Doylist explanation is that the writing team sucks and couldn't be assed to think of anything for Luna to say because they didn't think of her at all. The Watsonian explanation is that Luna’s a piece of shit and that tracks with her in Kingsglaive watching her brother burn alive in response to the Ring, but ignoring him and running to Regis’s aid instead, but then the rest of the plot presents her as morally pure through her white clothing and “unconditional, self-abnegating love” for Noctis.

Back to the topic: I don’t know, maybe I’m being old fashioned, but Noctis should’ve given more of a shit that his dropping the Magitek Arm on Ravus’s body was probably what turned him into a mutated abomination begging to die, and he thought so little of Ravus that the dude isn’t even in the glimpse of "people who helped me get this far" in the Beyond. Ravus doesn’t even get a spot to wish Noctis and Luna well on their afterlife wedding, not that it makes any sense for any of them to have words to say since Noctis is already dead, no one was there with them, and none of the bros expressed any sign that they knew that Noctis was bound to get married after his sacrifice (he sure doesn’t mention it in the final campfire scene and that’d be a better place than any). But anyway, Regis is in the Beyond at Noctis’s side even though he never told Noctis a damn thing and still never spoke to him from within the Ring, but Ravus? Nah, he’s the real asshole somehow and doesn’t deserve any recognition whatsoever.

The only other characters I know of that have a remotely similar dynamic to Noctis, Luna, and Ravus (lovers, but the girl has a straight-edge protective brother working for the bad guys) is Nero, Kyrie, and Credo (see: Devil May Cry), but as much as I think the writing in that series is hokey as fuck, at least the writer(s) for DMCs 4 and 5 had enough sense to make the love story simple and based it from a line from Amagasaki City-- “I love you, so I love the city that you love.”-- and opted against portraying Credo as an outright villain because if Nero killed him, Kyrie would resent him for it even though she knew Credo was working for the same Order that threatened her life. 

Shouldn’t Noctis care about the shit Luna cares about even if he has no personal investment in it or it’s inconvenient to him? Shouldn’t he care about Tenebrae and its prosperity? or about Ravus? Nah, it’s okay, Noctis doesn’t have to respect Luna’s love for her brother or her kingdom because for all intents and purposes, she doesn’t care for Ravus or for Tenebrae as much as she loves Noctis. Her love for Noctis and her looking forward to the wedding is what matters here.

The yaaaas queen vicious clapback from Kingsglaive!Luna about how Ravus is the Empire’s dog is especially rich coming from her when she’s fellating the gods all through the game even though Eos’s equivalent of The Holy Bible says the Hexatheon’s Revelations destroy cities and that undoubtedly means people are killed by the gods, and their summoner is complicit, because there’s no such thing as a perfect evacuation. See: "Revelations left great devastation in their wake, with entire cities being laid to ruin," noted in the Cosmogony long before the True King even exists. 

Luna herself didn’t see a problem with this and helped in the effort, with no regard to the collateral damage she would cause with the summoning: bonus points for the part where Leviathan is hostile to humanity and threatens to eat every living being if Noctis fails! She had even less regard to the damage Niflheim would cause in their attempt to kill the gods even though she was first-hand witness to them sacking Insomnia. Waking and defeating Titan deprived Lestallum of the meteor they derived power from. Waking Leviathan destroyed Altissia. Luna’s refusal to leave Insomnia when told to by Regis led to her being used as bait and taking the whole of the Kingsglaive out of Insomnia in time for their Face Heel Turn and Insomnia being destroyed. Everything else leads to the eventual World of Ruin where people also die. 

All because she killed herself prematurely from the covenants and didn’t hold back the longer nights as she promised to the public’s face and on her honor as Oracle she would do. Her dying words in Chapter 9 were her being completely satisfied with her fate because “[her] prayers were answered, [her] calling fulfilled”, even though the calling requires that she dies and she should’ve known better than anyone that her death, even if it was for Noctis’s ascension, would endanger the rest of the world for 10 years and helped the Starscourge spread. But instead of fighting for her own life to stem the plague for as long as possible, she let herself die under the belief that "Noct can handle this" to give him the chance to be the revered King of Light. She also didn’t make a single appearance on the world of the living in her spirit form during those ten years until Noctis needed help with a piddly imitation of the Magic Wall, only then does she come down in her ghost form with seemingly all of her power intact, and summons five of The Six as if Noctis can’t easily do it himself.

But Ravus is the lapdog? Luna’s the one with her “ends justify the means” behavior and what looks like general neglect for actual human beings.

Anyway, Ravus stabs Caligo in the back and kills him, and that move only makes sense in light of the idea that Caligo was manhandling Luna as seen in the Dawn trailer. Ravus was 16 when Tenebrae was overrun, and there’s no reason to believe he was magically immune to institutional abuse, so there’s a high chance that he was abused by the Empire too, held resentment of that, and waited for the time he’d be able to retaliate with no repercussions. Gentiana as a goddess is 1000000% more on the hook about letting Luna be beaten than Ravus is, since he saw his mother die in front of him while Regis ran away. Regis had the power of the Ring and could have used elemancy to put out that fire, or void magic to banish Glauca and his MT army, didn’t do that, but he totally spares enough magic during the treaty signing to toss around Thunder spells straight from his hand, cast barriers, and summon some Royal Arms straight at Iedolas, and that’s bad enough. Gentiana who’s been the Fleuret family attendant since Luna was born and also is Shiva who can freeze people with her fingertip had even less excuse to let that fire rage, to let Sylva die protecting her son, and to stand by and allow her ward(s) to get thrown around by some random Imperial soldier.