#also to the separate person who occasionally messages me and whose messages i leave sitting there

[vulpinesaint]

it's me and messages from people who i have constructed extremely complicated relationships with in my head sitting in my inbox

[cybernaght]

The Rebel/叛逆者: A Review of Sorts

After being only semi-invested in the Rebel, I ended up getting so into it in the final weeks of its release, I’ve shelled out on IQIYI premium just to get the final couple of episodes a few days earlier.

That’s right kids, it’s a Review of Sorts. Unfortunately, I could not find a translation of the novella the drama is based on, so will be looking at it as a separate entity. 

Most of this post is spoiler-free, however I have dedicated a few paragraphs at the end of it to discussing the final episode, as there are a few specific things about it I wanted to mention. There is a clear spoiler warning before that part.

If you don’t want to risk it, TL;DR version of this review goes something like this: Rebel is very decent, and positively one of the best things that I have seen to come out of China since I’ve jumped into that particular rabbit hole. It’s pretty well written, it’s very beautifully dressed and shot, and the cast is killing it. I thought it dropped the ball a little in post production, and I did not always love the pacing. Other than that, it’s incredibly decent, and well worth watching, unless communist propaganda really irks you, in which case stay very well away. 

I have been having many conversations with @supernovasimplicity​ all the way through watching this drama, so there are likely to be some thoughts here that are influenced by those. 

The story centers around Lin Nansheng, a struggling servicemen in the Guomingdang party. He has a great analytical mind, and absolutely no emotional capacity for his job. He has trouble handling violence, he is impulsive, he cannot speak to his superiors without bursting into tears, and has nothing even remotely resembling a poker face. And that is what makes this drama as enjoyable as it is. 

I don’t think Lin Nansheng’s journey would have been nearly as exciting had he started it from a place of competence. He botches up everything he touches because his big brain switches off the moment his emotions kick in. And so, when you see him grow in confidence, learn to control himself, learn to fake his smiles and compliments, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of pride. It also makes Lin Nansheng very likeable as a character for reasons other than Zhu Yilong’s ability to look like a bush baby.

It did take me a while to feel fully engaged with his performance - not because there is anything lacking in it, but just because it’s hard to be truly surprised by his choices after the exposure I have given myself to his work. That said, at about a half-way point I got charmed by him anyway, and there were quite a few scenes that were truly mesmerising. There were scenes where he broke out of the familiar mould of big unguarded eyes and fluttering wet eyelashes, and tried something that was not pretty: every time to a great success. I am hoping to see more of that in his future work. 

I really wanted to like the female lead, Zhu Yizhen, but unfortunately both the way she was written and the way she was performed by Tong Yao left me somewhat cold. It did not help of course that the screenplay ended up sidelining her at every turn, leaving her with very little personal agency. She was set up so interestingly, but in the end her sole purpose became being someone for Lin Nansheng to pine over. It is particularly curious from a perspective of meta storytelling: seeing how this is all centered around superiority of communism, which as a whole was, arguably, ahead of its time in the matters of binary gender equality.

The ensemble cast of the drama is stunning. Wang Yang came very close to  stealing the show at several points as Chen Moqun, somehow managing to make his rather unlikeable character interesting. I can say the same thing about Zhu Zhu who absolutely shined as Lin Xinjie, showing an incredible range and imagination in her performance.

The overarching story of the show is engaging, with some incredibly suspenseful elements; every narrative arc including a nice progression through it. As spy thrillers go, it was fairly well plotted. You could if you go looking for a few things that did not pay off in a satisfying way (notably, the Chekhov’s cyanide capsule), but you overall the story really was well told for the most of it. 

I did, however, feel like the pacing started to fall apart in the last quarter of the drama. Last episode in particular really did feel rushed, not just due to its pace, but also in a way it failed to pay off the final mission in any visible way. There will be more on that in the spoiler section of this post.

Important to note that The Rebel is a show made in Communist China in the year 2021. It does not ideologically side-step from the path that was laid out for it by that fact. Which is to say, it is, undeniably, filled with propaganda. Communists are the good guys, and if you think a good guy (or gal) is not a communist, they probably secretly are. With one exception of a friendly character who is not a communist, and whose fate we actually never find out. Curious, that. 

The Rebel is not a kind of a show where censorship-appeasing scenes are shoehorned in. It’s a kind of a show in which the main theme is Sacrifice For the Party.

Aside from the being the moral vector of the show, Mao’s gentle teachings explicitly help get Ling Nansheng out of prolonged depression following his injury, and almost annoyingly, this sat incredibly well with the character, as he was written. Lin Nansheng is conceived as this naive idealist who wants to be on the front line, who needs validation and support of others. His - and I can’t believe I’m saying this - his being disillusioned in his beliefs and choosing to join a party which includes people whom he likes and trusts makes sense. Him finding this one thing that gives him hope and letting it propel him into gaining confidence and competence makes sense. 

In many ways, the Rebel is a story of Lin Nansheng’s failure to become an antagonist within the world of the drama.

I have honestly spent this past couple of weeks pondering whether being well written makes political propaganda better or worse, whether the subtlety of it makes it more or less palatable, whether it’s enough, as a viewer, to be aware of it to shrug it off. Ultimately, this is not something I could or should make moral judgements on, but I do believe that it’s possible to acknowledge the fact that propaganda exists in the drama, and still appreciate it for a good piece of television that it is. 

That said, I am very well aware that me being kind of okay with it stems entirely from my own removal from the culture this is made in, and I am, perhaps, lucky to even have a choice as to whether I want to engage with a product which is, undoubtably, here to dress political ideology in fancy clothes.

I have, on the other hand, also seen many things in Russian media of the “Annexation of Crimea is Good Actually” variety and those make me feel very unwell, so feeling somewhat at ease with blatant political propaganda in Chinese media makes me the biggest hypocrite.

But, I digress.

Before we go into some specific plot-related things, I would like to mention that the Rebel has this weird dichotomy in which the production is sublime, and the post-production… not so much. The show very well shot. Every element of it sits perfectly together, not a single prop out of place, not a single extra underdressed, not a page of script not put to good use. It’s lit to perfection. It’s scored beautifully. So much of this show is just stunning.

And then… there is post-production. 

This is not even about bad CGI (and the CGI is, indeed, bad), it’s just that most of post-production as a whole feels rushed.

Starting with surprisingly imperfect editing, which at times just fails to make the scene flow together. The final line of dialogue would be spoken within a scene, and it would fade to black instantly without a single breath to indicate a full stop. A montage sequence would be created, but every shot within it condensed to a second, making it feel incredibly fast-paced when the effect should be the opposite. There would be a cut away from a speaking character and to the same speaking character from a slightly different angle, making it dynamic without any reason to do so. There are a couple of truly startling jump-cuts.

I did not speed this gif up. This is part of a romantic montage, edited like it’s a goddamn action sequence.

And of course dear old friend slowing down footage shot at 24FPS. Please don’t do this. You think no one notices - but we do.

There are other tell-tale signs of production rushing to the finish line: occasional, but very noticeable ADR glitches, very sloppy job done at sound mixing, which contribute to parts of the show feeling ever so slightly off.

It’s not unforgivable, but it does make me wish the same amount of care and efforts that went into shooting this drama would also go into it after it was all in the can. 

Oh, and just because if you know me you know I have a professional fixation on fights, and I am happy to say most action scenes are toe-curlingly delightful. Hot damn those fights are good. I am absolutely in love with the shot below, for example. Placing an actor behind a piece of set so he can exchange places with the stunt double during a one shot is such an old trick, but the execution, timing and camerawork are just... flawless. This is what perfection looks like.

Now we got all that out of the way...

SPOILERS FOR THE SERIES FINALE BELOW

Here’s the thing. I wanted to love the ending and I found that I could not.

The final mission was presented as important, and honestly the scene in which Zhu Yizhen is sending the vital message out as Lin Nansheng holds his ground in hand to hand fight is incredibly dynamic. Party, this is due to the fight itself being incredibly well choreographed, yes, but it’s also where it sits within the narrative, how high the stakes are for everything surrounding it. 

But then, the tension all but bleeds out. The Important Message is sent, the fight is won, and we are treated to ten minutes of a very slow car chase, problem of which is not even its speed as much as its placing within the story. As in, by this point both of those operatives have lost their cover, and completed their Very Important Mission. It would be very sad if they died, but their survival does not technically contribute to their cause. Moreover, Zhu Yizhen getting mortally injured in order to protect Lin Nansheng as part of her mission read a little empty when the mission is technically over. 

While I personally found Lin Nansheng slow recuperation and his low key ending enjoyable, I think I would have preferred to have seen a more tangible pay-off to all the sacrifices made in the name of “bright communist future”, just a little more justification for every moment of death and despair we witnessed. I would have certainly at the very least preferred to see Wang Shi’an’s death on screen. Considering how many likeable characters martyred themselves on screen, denying us the death of the one antagonist just seemed cruel. 

I really did love the ambiguity of the final few scenes however, if we consider the children choir at the end a fantasy. The idea that Lin Nansheng will live out his life in this hope that Zhu Yizhen is still alive, imagining her just outside of his field of vision, his only joy being in this fantasy of her… now, that is incredibly strong. I equally like the idea of rest being promised to him at the end of his journey, and said rest being painful, and slow and unwelcome.

But it felt like as they chose not to to lean into the “sweet” part of the bitter-sweet tone of the ending and we’re unable not commit to the “bitter” part either, so it lands with a splat which is somewhat lacklustre. 

---

This concludes my thoughts on the Rebel. 

I am more or less out of Zhu Yilong’s filmography to watch, which is probably a good thing at this point. I have just emerged out of several back to back work projects - literally today - and will hopefully once more have time for things I grew to enjoy doing during the lockdown. 

Those things, if you have not guessed, include watching Chinese television and writing things about Chinese television. 

[ateezmakemeweep]

the 5 times you want mingi to stay + the 1 time he does

fuckbuddy!au

word count: 14k

angst, fluff, smut

funnily enough, the arrangement started on valentine's day.

you and mingi both happened to be at a bar with your friends that night, your separate groups wallowing in self pity in the form of overpriced tequila and body-shots.

meanwhile the both of you sat just two stools away from each other, miserable not because of your relationship status but from the company that came with alcohol and obnoxious, drunken rambles.

those drunk ramblings were, in fact, what sparked everything.

"y/n," your friend had loudly whined, breath reeking of liquor, "it's valentine's day, it's the peeeeerfect day to finally get yourself laid!"

"shhh!" you said, putting your hand over her mouth, "i'd rather the entire bar not hear about my lack of a sex life, if you wouldn't mind."

"oh ple-ease, they can just smell the pent up sexual frustration on you," she said and your cheeks flamed red. you didn't even have any time to chastise her before she sauntered over to the tall, dark-haired boy a few seats away and started talking animatedly.

mingi was minding his own business when a girl stumbled up to him, her slurred words telling him that she had a friend who was very much so in much need of a "valentine's day fuck" and he would've laughed if she didn't point you out, looking so embarrassed and shy and ready to bolt.

girls had been coming up to him all night, batting their eyelashes and offering him drinks while he all but sneered at them before they finally got the hint and fucked off.

but you. he liked the pureness, liked that you looked like you didn't belong here and especially liked that maybe you could be his distraction tonight.

and a distraction you were. you two talked for the four hours your friends stayed at the bar and got inebriated, two of them coincidently hooking up in the bathroom and then getting an uber home together.

you discussed everything and nothing, talking and laughing and smiling the entire time.

he played the nice boy for most of the night, told you about how hard he works at his job, how his friends could be obnoxious assholes but he loves them like family, how he secretly enjoys just lounging around the house and watching movies.

he also seemed interested in you, asking about your interests and schooling and childhood and it really seemed as if he was intrigued, watching you talk with soft, attentive eyes and a pretty, contagious laugh.

(of course he failed to tell you how easily he moved on from girl to girl, straight up about his intentions but kissing and licking and fucking every part of them so well that they were always left begging for more).

when you saw your friends were winding down towards the end of the night, getting a last round of waters and calling for ubers, you swallowed the nervous knot in your throat and asked him for his number.

you knew you shouldn't have, knew he was actually bad news by the way his eyes would occasionally roam over you, how his tongue would slowly lick his lips when he watched you speak and how he so openly joked that he would take your friend's offer in a second if you were willing.

you also knew, positively knew, you shouldn't have when he took your face in his giant hand and mumbled, "you had me on my best behavior tonight, y/n. but any other night... you should know i only answer for one thing."

and when those words left his mouth, something burned deep inside you. something longing and yearning and enticed enough for you to smile up at him and put your number in his outreached phone.

he smirked at you before standing up, leaning over to place a peck on your cheek.

"hope to hear from you soon, little one," he said before gathering his herd of loud friends and heading out the door without a single glance back.

1. 03/04/19

the first time you texted mingi, you feared he wouldn't remember who you were nor recall the offer your friend so graciously handed to him on valentine's day that served as your lousy opening message.

but to your surprise, and utter delight, he did. even answered with a short response of:

about time, y/n. address?

he walked in your apartment a few hours later looking just as attractive and tall as you remembered. you already felt your heart start to race and palms start to sweat but you wanted this.

you hadn't been able to stop thinking about much you wanted him, hadn't been able to get his face or his voice or his entire being out of your mind since valentine's day.

and so you finally caved. after one particularly rough week of drama with friends, stressful school work and, frankly, just getting tired of the burning in your core, you texted him.

you guys were making out on your couch, the movie now just noise in the background when his hand slipped under your t-shirt. he hummed against your lips at your bare chest, skin soft and warm and inviting.

"no bra?" he mumbles in your ear, voice deep and teasing, "you were just waiting here all ready for me, weren't you?"

his thumb brushes over your nipple and you bite into your lower lip, a strangled moan slipping out that has his cock hardening in his pants.

"a moan just from that, baby? when was the last time you were fucked, huh?"

he feels you stiffen underneath him and he pulls back immediately, hand still resting on you while he looks down at you questioningly. he sees the hesitance in your eyes, maybe even a twinge of shyness or embarrassment, and his hand leaves from your under your shirt.

"little one, have you been fucked?"

the nickname has you squeezing your legs together and he tries so hard to ignore it, finding himself now torn because he knows you deserve better for your first time. deserve someone who could properly love and cherish and take care of you, not someone like him whose desire is heightening from the mere fact that he'll be the first man you're with. that from here on out, you'll only have him to compare others to.

with a little shake of your head, he licks his dry lips and stares down at you intensely, taking a deep breath before asking if you're sure you still wanna do this with him.

"of course, it's not a big deal," you tell him softly, "i just...it should've happened by now and i just...i want to..." you stutter before confessing, "i'm more than ready to get it over with."

because the whole idea that your first time has to be special and magical kind of goes out the window when you're a legal adult in the presence of a man like this.

he thinks, if he were a better person, he would've asked one more time if you were absolutely sure but because he is who he is, and you're looking up at him the way you are with arousal and heat in your eyes, he picks you up and carries you toward the bedroom.

he lays you out, strips you from the rest of your clothes and works his fingers and tongue on your clit for what feels like hours. alternating from long licks to small circles with his thumb to his tongue lapping so skillfully against your slit until he's easily sliding two fingers in you. he watches you come apart for the first time, hot mouth right between your legs as he continues to pound his fingers in and out of you.

your mouth hangs open, fingers threading through his hair and trembling legs on either side of his head as you feel the deep knot in your lower stomach start to quickly unravel. you come with a moan and then more and more when he enters you inch by inch, so so slowly because he doesn't wanna hurt you and taint your first time even more but you're just so tight around him and he's gonna lose his mind at the feeling of your clenching.

"you're so fucking tight, baby," his low voice says in your ear as he barely starts to pick up his slowed pace, "this pussy's been waiting for me, hasn't it? you've just been waiting to be fucked by me."

you can only moan louder as a response because you're too embarrassed and out of your element but also so turned on and shaking.

as his pace picks up, as he fucks into you and hits a spot deep inside you, rubbing his finger back over your clit, he grits out "this is my pussy from here on out, do you hear me?"

you simply moan again but he slows his pace, taking his finger off you and you shoot your head up to look at him in distress.

"answer me," he growls, "this is my pussy now, right?"

"yes," you yelp out and you would've responded the same way if he said the sky was green because you just don't want him to stop.

"yes what?" he says, thrusting a tad faster but refusing to touch your aching clit.

"yes, this is your...your pussy," you say and even fucked out, the words feel awkward and foreign leaving your mouth. but you have to say them because the pleasure he's giving you outweighs your virgin politics and inexperience.

"that's a good baby," he says and he puts his finger back on your clit, still refusing to move it, just holds it there tauntingly and you let out a whine that doesn't sound familiar to your pounding ears.

"if you're in the mood to fuck, you call me. do you understand?"

"yes," you moan out.

"no one else fucks this pussy. only me," he says sternly and he can't believe his own ears. he's never the type to do this, never the type to initiate a second hookup let alone completely ban someone else from sleeping with anyone but him.

but he could tell the second he saw you, you were gonna affect him differently.

"yes, just you. you're...you're the only one that's gonna fuck me," you say, breathy and whiney and responsive so he's finally fucking into you again, pace sped up and thumb rubbing over your clit until you're both moaning each other's names, pussy clenching and cock leaking and then he crashes on top of you, boneless and tired but so relieved.

he rolls over onto his back, trying to catch his breath as he feels your sweaty forearms grazing together. the room is silent for a few minutes, heavy breathing and the scent of sex in the air surrounding both of you.

you let out a shaky breath before sitting up, hair tousled over your shoulder with flushed cheeks and he can't help the small smile that covers his face.

"you good?" he mumbles because he's not a complete asshole and that was a hell of a first time for you.

"yeah, i-i think so," you tell him quietly, "that was..."

the smirk creeping onto his face tells you he knows, his eyes moving down to your bare chest and shyness overtakes you as you grab the sheet to cover yourself.

"yeah, better cover up, not like that tight pussy of yours was just in my face or anything," he says sarcastically and your mouth drops open at his vulgarity.

"oh my, god! stop!" you yelp mortified, cheeks now bright red as you grip the cotton tighter.

a tiny chuckle leaves his mouth as he sits up, moving the strand of sweaty hair off your forehead and he feels himself ready to bolt.

because he's never had an interest in staying afterwards, had no desire to fake being interested in bare minimum aftercare or awkward one-word conversations during a post sex meal.

but with how you're looking at him, still so shy and pure after you were just ruined by him, eyes wide and sparkling at him, he's not about to risk his chances of messing up the system in an effort to not get attached to you.

though he supposes he ruined that when he made you promise not to have sex with anyone else.

but that's different, he tries to convince himself as he stands up to shrug on his boxers and pants, looking around for his shirt as you watch him with furrowed eyebrows.

you didn't think he was gonna stay but you also didn't think he was gonna run out of here five minutes after.

"i'm...i'm probably gonna order chinese if you wanna stay for some," you tell him softly because you'd be lying if you said you didn't want him to be next to you for just a little bit longer.

"i'm good, thank you though," he says while tugging on his shirt, "it's getting late and i gotta be up early tomorrow."

you check to see it's almost 11:00 at night and you nod your head in understanding, trying to banish the sinking feeling in your stomach.

"oh...right, yeah, okay," you stutter out and he smiles at you, trying to understand why there's a painful shooting through his chest.

he walks around the bed to sit next to you, his hand moving to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear as he looks down at you.

he licks his dry lips, eyes burning into yours as his voice drops.

"you remember what i said? about only calling me?"

your eyebrow raises and a part of you wonders if he's gonna be out having sex with whoever he pleases when he's here putting these restrictions on you.

you're about to say something of the sorts when his hand brushes over your cheek, slow and soft and gentle and you're embarrassed that something as simple as that has words meant for establishing fairness and rules dying in your throat.

instead, you say "yes, mingi," and his eyes darken, his face bending down to place his lips on yours. they immediately part so his tongue can slip in your mouth, caressing your own as his teeth sink down into your lip so he can dominate you one more time.

he pulls back, looking over your flushed face and sloppily kissing your pink cheek as his hot breath fans across you.

"i'll see you soon, little one."

2. 5/10/19

you knew the second mingi arrived, he wasn't himself. even the way he texted you that night was unusual.

his message pinged through asking if you were home followed by a knocking on your door ten minutes later that had him barreling through your apartment. his hands immediately grabbed your cheeks, lips attacking yours as he kicks the door shut and slams you against it.

he shoved his tongue in your mouth, grabbing your wrists and pinning them against your head roughly before dragging his mouth down to your neck. he sucked it to the point of pain, teeth sinking into the sensitive skin and you let out the smallest of whimpers.

he pulls back and you see the fire behind his eyes, pent up stress and anger so raw that you find yourself swallowing from both fear and arousal.

because usually he was fun and playful during foreplay, the both of you giggly and teasing for hours before he finally took you into the bedroom and became this mingi.

but now he's only been here for two minutes and your neck is already marked up, wrists red and cramped from his hold and he looks just about ready to destroy you.

"i need you to be good for me tonight," he says, "please, baby, i need you so bad." his voice is desperate and deep and begging and you know something had to have happened.

so you're on your knees in seconds, his body now against the door as you pull his pants and boxers down to his ankles and work your hand around his dick to get him painfully hard. you hear a quiet bump from above you, his head thrown back against the wood and then a quiet groan leaving his mouth when you wrap your lips around the head of his cock.

you swirl your tongue around the tip before hollowing your cheeks and bobbing your head up and down, hands holding him down by his hips and you hear his choked out grunts of expletives.

"look at me," he then says and your eyes raise to his ever so slightly. you take him out of your mouth, running your tongue along the underside of his cock as your eyes bore into his and they're so dark looking down at you.

you spit on the tip, lips wet and red and just grazing his most sensitive part that he's nearly bucking his hips into your mouth.

"stop playing and suck," he growls and you obey immediately, taking him in your mouth to start bobbing your head again. your tongue swirls around the tip ever now and then, lapping in circles before engulfing his cock and his hands are pulling at your hair to create a makeshift ponytail.

your hand starts to jerk him and the feel of your wet, hot mouth around him has deep groans leaving his mouth.

his hips start twitching again and he bucks his hips into your mouth, his large length hitting the back of your throat and a muffled gag leaves your throat.

a strangled chuckle leaves his mouth as he pulls you off his dick by your hair. you wince at the sharp pain before he pushes you backwards causing you to fall on to your butt.

you're shocked at first and then your heart speeds up when he's looming over you, reaching down with his hands to get you completely on your back. he meets you on the ground, body over yours as his hand comes up to your throat.

"gagging on my cock? i forgot you were just a sweet little virgin when we met," he tells you, eyes hot and dark and intensely staring into yours like a mad man, "but i've really made you into my little whore, haven't i?"

he's never talked to you like this before, never degraded you in the slightest and you didn't think you'd be into it but the wetness seeping into your thong is saying otherwise.

"and you're still only my whore, right?" he asks, tightening his hold around your neck.

you nod your head, swallowing nervously because you're not used to this tight a grip.

"i had such a bad fucking day, so many people getting on my nerves and fucking things up," he confesses to you while he tears your shirt off over your head. "but you. you always help, little one," he continues, ripping down your shorts and thong as his breath fans right between your legs, "you and this sweet little pussy reserved for me always help."

you squirm when more wetness pools between your bare legs and he smirks, licking over your wet thighs and then to down to your hole before moving to your clit. he puts one finger in you, licking and sucking and playing with you before another finger slams into you.

you moan at the feeling and it only causes him to suck your clit again, fingers angled up to hit that spot deep inside you.

he looks up at you and slowly licks up and down when he sees you've been watching him through half lidded eyes.

"you like watching me baby? like watching me eat your pretty pussy?" he asks, fingers ripped from you as he shoves them in your mouth in an effort to make you gag again.

you cry out and moan against his fingers because he's making you feel so good but also empty, his tongue not enough to satisfy your dripping pussy.

you twitch in his hold, moving your hips back and fourth almost uncontrollably and he smirks, pulling his mouth back to see you splayed out on your living room floor with your legs spread and face twinged with arousal and frustration.

"you just want my cock, don't you?" he muses, "want me to fuck you over and over until you're screaming my name."

you nod your head, a tiny whine of "yes, please" leaving your mouth and you cry out just seconds later when his cock slams into your wetness.

he pounds into you like he's never done before, your body moving against the floor as he grunts and groans and grinds himself into you.

your feet wrap around his waist, his pants still by his ankles and he lifts your hips up so his thrusts can hit you deeper.

you let out a loud moan, slapping your hand over your mouth because your downstairs neighbor is already probably pretty pissed off.

but mingi doesn't care.

he rips your hand away from your mouth, taking both of them and holding your arms above your head.

"don't even fucking try it," he growls in your ear, steadying out his pace, "i'm treating this pussy so well and you don't want me to hear you scream my name?"

your eyes roll back when he hits that deep spot in you again, his hand tightening on your wrists as the other one roughly plays with your hard nipple. you let out a moan, throwing your head back and attempting to grind your hips to match his speed.

he feels you clench around him and he pounds into you again, fast and hard and deep and you let a tiny, pleasurable scream as the knot starts to unravel.

"you've been getting so fucking greedy, coming whenever you want," he growls at you, "you think because you have this tight little pussy, you can just-" his loud, abrupt moan cuts off his sentence as he comes in you, filling you up with frantic thrusts. it's warm and wet and pulsating and your moans are bouncing off the walls in harmony.

he's sweating over you as you try to catch your breath, chest heaving up and down and you finally feel his grip around your wrists loosen.

you pull them back, cracking and stretching them and you see the red marks and bruises already start to adorn them. he looks down at you and you see despite what just happened, he's still tense. considerably less tense but still tense.

which is why you fuck three more times that night.

once right on the same spot again, just ten minutes after, the floor sweaty and probably permanently stained with fluids.

the second time, you made it to the couch and he took you from behind, hips slapping against yours loudly as he dug his fingers into your waist.

and the third time you somehow ended up on the dining room table, your body laid out on the cold surface as he ate your pussy for what you believe was 40 minutes, the overstimulation from the three rounds prior almost making it impossible for you to reach an orgasm.

but once you finally came, he sat you on his cock as he slammed your hips into him on your (now broken) dining room chair.

"i'll pay for that, i promise," he says breathlessly as he walks you over to the couch, still inside you before dropping you down on the chaise. he hovers above you, observing your flushed cheeks, bruised neck and legs that were still trembling from the five orgasms that ripped through you tonight.

"it's fine," you laughed out breathily and because you're used to this, you know in about three minutes he's gonna start looking for his clothes scattered across your apartment.

you don't know why it bothered you, why he never stayed for more than ten minutes after you guys do what you do. you've accepted it, somewhat, after all of these months.

but it doesn't slightly hurt any less.

and tonight seems different. he was so obviously bothered and tense, so much pent up aggravation and anger and annoyance that he took out on your body.

and not that you were complaining....but you also think it might be helpful for him to talk about it.

"oh well if that's the case then, we might as well break the other three, right?" he jokes. or at least attempts too. because it doesn't reach his eyes.

you giggle, shaking your head at him but he sees you looking at him with this wary look of concern.

"what?" he asks and you lick your lips in hesitation.

"are...are you okay?" you squeak out, "that was...a lot."

"you didn't seem to mind," he says cockily, pulling his boxers and pants over himself again.

you squint your eyes at him slightly because true but not a real answer.

"i didn't, i just wanna make sure you're okay, that's all," you tell him.

there's a few beats of silence because he's trying to get out of his own head. but work was just such a nightmare, all of the guys fighting and having differing opinions and being put through a 3 hour meeting just for nothing but more confusion to be added to the pot.

and then he comes here, knowing that you deserve better than him but not being able to help coming back to see your smile and laugh and hear your moans of pleasure from him fucking into you.

he wants to stop, for your sake, but he's selfish and even though it pisses him off, he can't stop.

"i'm fine," he says shortly and you recoil from his tone.

it hurts his chest when he notices. and then hurts even more when despite his attitude, you try again.

"maybe you wanna eat something before you go?" you, say softly, timidly because you know it's a risk, "i could heat up some of my food from-"

"i said i'm fine, y/n," he says shortly before asking "now where's my shirt?"

hurt is swirling in you because after all of that, he's still gonna be an asshole to you.

"i don't know," you tell him shortly and he snaps his head to look at you.

"what, now you're seriously mad?" he asks in disbelief, "sorry i'm not fucking hungry."

"no, i just don't know where it is," you say quitely, padding over to your own pile of clothes and throwing on your shirt.

you spot his a few inches away and grab it, bunching it up and throwing it to him.

"here," you say, wincing when you walk back to the couch because the soreness is already present between your legs.

he deeply inhales, watching your expression twist into one of discomfort and he walks into the kitchen as he puts his shirt on.

you're flipping through the channels quietly when he suddenly hands you an ice pack wrapped in a paper towel, holding it out until you take it with a sigh.

because he's so hot and cold like this all the time. only texting you when he wants to fuck, leaving right after you use each other bodies but sometimes doing little things that leave your hurting heart warm and fluttery.

"thank you," you mumble, looking at him before training your eyes back to the tv.

you hear him sigh and he just stands there for a few moments, watching as you ice between your legs and he hates that he is who he is.

hates that before you can ask him again if he's sure he doesn't wanna stay, he wishes you a goodnight and leaves you alone in that apartment yet again.

3. 7/26/19

mingi's phone blares in his ear, awakening him from his slumber and he looks with half open eyes at the bright screen. he's sees your name and assumes it's gonna be a 1 am booty call, so he probably shouldn't answer because he has work tomorrow and is so damn tired and did just see you a few days ago.

but then he's sliding his phone open anyway because apparently he has no control over his own body when it comes to seeing you.

"hey little one," his deep, sleepy voice mumbles.

"mingi!" he hears you screech into the phone, "mingi, mingi, mingi, can you pleeeease come over when I ge-et home," you stutter and he smiles at your drunken voice.

"for you, i think i can manage," he teases, "where are you now?" he sits up in his bed because he's done with sleep now knowing you're intoxicated AND horny out in public.

"i'm at-omg i'm at the bar we met at!" you squeal, stumbling over your feet and leaning up against a tree, "do you remember that? on valentine's day, cherry still in tact!"

he tries not to burst out laughing, phone against his ear as his slips on his shoes, "now how could i forget that?"

you giggle against the tree and you think it's as tall as mingi. you tell him so.

"i doubt that," he says, "what are you doing against a tree?"

"i...perhaps am a little drunk and dizzy so i'm gonna call an-an uber after i confirm this di-ck appointment," you say through hiccups.

"don't call for an uber, i'm coming now," he tells you, grabbing his key and trying not to lose his shit at the term dick appointment leaving your mouth.

"oh...really?" you ask him, tone light and airy and you sound so happy that it makes his heart soar, "thank you, mingi."

"i'll be there soon, little one, stay against that tree and don't go near the street."

"sir yes sir!" you respond to his command before adding, "mingi?"

"y/n?"

"i like when you call me that."

he can't help the chuckle that leaves his mouth now, walking out the door and to his car with a smile on his face.

"i know you do, baby. i'm coming for you now."

"not yeeet, you're not," you sing-song to him before ending the call with a giggle and if he speeds a little bit to get there, no one's around to notice.

he's helping you stumble up the stairs to your apartment twenty minutes later, arm around your shoulders as you kick your high heels off your aching feet.

he couldn't help the way his eyes raked over your body, tight jeans and a crop top accentuating his favorite parts of you that only his eyes have seen. or at least he hopes so.

(something burns in him at the prospect that it still doesn't hold true).

"you have fun tonight?" he asks as he watches you grab a water bottle out of the fridge. you tip your head back and gulp it, the faded hickeys he gave you the other night visible as you swallow the cold liquid.

"yes!" you squeak out, "we just wanted to dance and the dj was so good! and i had three shots!" you tell him, holding up and wiggling three fingers.

"yeah?" he says, "who'd you dance with?"

even a little tipsy, you know what he's hinting at.

"my friends," you tell him and then you get a teasing glint in your eye before adding, "and this one guy. hot but not as hot as you," you tell him, running your finger along his chest.

he squints down at you, stepping closer to you and you feel yourself already getting heated.

"oh?"

"yeah," you tell him, taking the collar of his shirt in your hand and pulling him down so your mouth is by his ear, "you're even a better kisser too."

something flares through him immediately, a growl leaving his mouth as he drags you by the arm and pushes you down on the couch, water bottle flinging across the room.

"you better be joking," he warns and you smile up at him so teasingly he just wants to-

"i'm not, you really are," you tell him and he leans over so his big frame covers you completely.

"y/n," he says seriously and a tiny pout covers your lips.

"not little one?" you say, eyes wide as you look up at him and deepen your voice when you use the nickname.

"stop fucking around," he growls and he's getting angry now but you can only giggle softly at him.

"i'm kidding, mingi, gosh," you tell him, pulling him down by his collar again so your lips meet.

but he doesn't kiss you back and you furrow your eyebrows at him.

"kiss me," you whine and he looks down at you with hard eyes.

"watch yourself," he tells you before taking your chin in his hand and placing a kiss on your awaiting mouth.

you make out until your lips are sore and red, overlapping tongues and teeth sinking into each other as quiet groans and mumbles fill the room. you grind against his bulge and throw your head back with a moan, rubbing down harder and harder.

"it's so big, mingi," you breathe out, "your cock is so big and fills me so well."

he mumbles out the quietest, gruffest "shit" because he's never heard you talk like that on your own. you've become more talkative, moans of yes and curses and repeating back what he asks of you; but never have words that dirty left your mouth.

it causes him to grow harder against you, ripping off your shirt and unclasping your bra so he can dip his head and take your nipple in his mouth. he swirls his tongue around it, your hand coming to hold the back of his head as you thread your fingers through his hair.

you whine his name and his teeth graze you ever so slightly.

he moves to the other nipple as your moans ring out and you push him off to shimmy out of your jeans and soaked thong. you then turn to face him, his hair messy and lips swollen as he watches you undress. you crawl over to him, sliding off his sweatpants and you're thrilled to see he's not wearing any boxers, cock previously hard and straining right against the black material under you.

"mmm," you moan out, licking your lips at the sight of it raging and exposed before adding "take off your shirt," and he's surprised by how easily he listens to you.

when his shirt is still over his head, he feels your hot wet mouth around his dick and he hisses, quickly throwing it over the couch and meeting your eyes that are already burning into his.

he watches your head move and tongue swirl around him in a lustful daze before you pull his dick out and slap it against your lips as you catch your breath.

"my favorite cock," you tell him and he feels paralyzed by you. by your eyes and your words and the way you look with his dick slapping against your pretty wet lips.

"my favorite cock and my only cock," you clarify, "do you like that?"

"yes, baby," he moans out and he can't take his eyes off you, "i like that a lot."

"it tastes so good," you whine to him, circling the tip with your tongue again before pulling him by his shoulders and sitting him up to sit on his lap.

"but am i your only pussy?" you suddenly ask him, head turned to the side questioningly as your arms wrap around his broad shoulders. his mouth drops because you really just asked him that and he wasn't at all expecting it.

"wha-what?" he stutters, brain already fuzzy from arousal as he now stares at you.

"well...you say i can't fuck anyone else so i was just curious if the same went for you," you tell him, voice sweet and airy but your drunken self with darker motives.

you're straddling his core, your wet heat right on his raging cock and he can barely hold himself together, can barely form a sentence.

"why aren't you saying anything?" you mumble before standing, your pussy leveled with his mouth and you pull him slightly forward so he's only inches away from you.

"answer me," you demand and he moans against you at your forcefulness, slowly licking at you and circling your clit agonizingly slow before carefully moving down to your slit and wet hole.

but you pull his face away despite the immense pleasure because you need an answer before you give in to him.

"y/n..." he whines, so close to your heat that he just wants to bury his face in between your legs and taste you over and over.

"tell me," you growl, not at all used to being like this, "am i your only pussy?"

"yes baby," he says, his face moving closer to you but you pull him back by his hair.

"you're lying," you spit at him, moving so you're right above his lips and then pulling back when his tongue tries to lick you.

"i'm not, little one, i swear," he moans out, "how could i when you taste like this...i don't...want anyone else's" he whines, eyes looking up into yours and you can tell he's being sincere.

"how do i taste?" you ask him, rubbing yourself back on his face and he grabs your hips to eat and suck and lick every part of you, like his very life depends on it. like he's trying to prove you're the only one.

moans leave your mouth and your legs wobble above him, hand tangling in his hair when he finally speaks after devouring you.

"so fucking sweet, little one," he says against you, lips glistening, "so so sweet," and before he can continue licking against your slit, the back of his head is pulled upwards, forcing him back to your clit and he smiles against your wetness.

"i love when you eat my pussy," you tell him, voice breathy and strangled and your mission is long forgotten, "you make me feel so go-" a moan cuts off your sentence when he sucks your clit into his mouth at your praises, "good, so fucking good."

he's about to really go back in, about to grab you by your ass and slam you into his mouth when you pull away and squat down to sit on his cock.

"but..." you tell him, hand back on his veiny skin as you guide him inside you,"i've been wanting to ride your cock since you first fucked me."

because it's true.

and even when you're on top, he's the one controlling you, moving you by gripping on to your waist or rocking your hips into him.

which is fine for you on any other day.

but today, you can't hold back anymore. you were secretly so fed up and annoyed at yourself tonight. because you really couldn't even think about hooking up with someone at the bar.

all because of this man.

the man who refuses to stay with you or cuddle or see you outside of this apartment.

the man who you think likes you a little bit as a person but likes what your pussy and mouth do even more.

so you drank and drank until your low tolerance said enough and then you naturally felt the need to see him. but you figured now would be the time to assert yourself in some way, with liquid courage and your ever present need for him to find out if his little rule went both ways.

"i wanna do it myself," you tell him as your wet, hot core hovers over his rock hard cock, "will you let me do that? let me ride you all by myself?"

he swallows thickly because he wants to just thrust up into you and take your tight pussy the way he always does. but you're so sweet and polite and ready for him that he can only nod his head.

"let's see what you got, little one."

and right as the words leave his mouth, you sink down onto him. you both moan at the sensation, not used to this deep angle as you rock into him slowly, experimentally and his hands are already at your hips ready to guide you.

but you grab them and hold them, placing them on your chest because you figure he won't move them off when he's got your hard nipples to play with.

"no, mingi," you scold, rolling your hips slowly as you trail kisses down his neck, "don't move your hands, mmkay?" you mumble against his skin.

he doesn't answer, just kneads your boobs with his large hands and you sink down on his cock again, causing a sharp exhale to leave his nose.

"okay?"

he shakes his head at you because you're so cute and pure but also so fucking bold and demanding tonight.

"who do you think you are," he says, almost as if he's talking to himself and it's all the motivation you need to start bouncing up and down on him.

you throw your head back at the feeling, your boobs rocking in his hands as his legs spread out underneath you.

"fuck," you hear him grunt out but you barely hear him because you're so wet and he's so big, filling you up like you're a perfect fit. you clench around him because he's so thick around your tightness, your bouncing and rolling steady with him inside you.

"oh..oh my god," you moan out, head thrown back as you get yourself off on him. you grip his broad shoulders as your legs start to burn and you've never heard this many deep groans leave his mouth.

but he can't help it, watching you take control and ride him with your face so blissed out by his cock.

"holyshit baby," he grunts again and he tries to put his hands on your waist but you grab them, shoving them back to your chest.

"don't," you whine out and you find your pace again. grinding and bouncing and rolling, his moans and groans and curses filling the air and they only fuel you to roll your hips more.

that and your own immense pleasure coursing through your veins.

"this...feels so fucking good, oh my god," you whine, "your cock is so-" a loud moan rips through you, your clit stimulated from the position and your nipples erect from mingi's hands rubbing mercilessly at them.

"my cock is so what little one?" he asks, his voice strained as he looks down at you with sweat glistening on your face and chest.

"it's so fucking big and it," a moan slips out of your mouth before you continue, "fucks me so good," you cry out and the tightening in your core you're so familiar with hits you. "oh my go-god, i'm gonna...mingi, come, please," you beg, frantically rolling your hips so you get him to release first.

"i'm close, baby," he grunts out, taking your nipple in his mouth and licking over it; you nearly come on the spot and you think that's why he does it.

"please, please, please, mingi," you're all but screaming now, "come in me, i want you to come in my pussy. it's all yours, it's all yours so please-"

you feel a hot burst in your core followed by his loud grunts in your ear and you're finally able to  rub out your own orgasm.

the clenching of your core, his hot release, your moans filling the air is almost all becoming too much as you collapse against him. your face is in the crook of his neck, breathing heavily against him and his hands finally make their way to your waist.

he squeezes it softly, rubbing over the smooth skin with his thumbs before picking you up and laying you on the couch gently. he leans over you, wiping the sweat off your face with his hand before plopping down next to you.

your mind is fuzzy from the alcohol and post orgasm daze, leg stretching out and falling into his naked lap. you both sit there for what feels like hours, hearts slowing and breaths evening out until your leg falls off his lap when he stands.

your stomach plummets because you know it's that time of the night and you blink back the emotional tears you're just gonna blame the alcohol on.

"are you leaving?" you ask him quietly, laying on your side as he puts on his sweatpants.

he bends down in front of the couch so you're at eye level, his hand raking through your sweaty hair.

"you know i am," he says quietly, eyes roaming your face that falls into the most heartbreaking frown.

"why do you always leave," your voice comes out in a mumble, "you always leave so fast and it hurts my feelings."

your mind is so fuzzy with tiredness, eyes fighting to stay open so you don't notice how sad your confession makes him.

"i don't mean to, little one," he says softly, "it's just...what i do." what i have to do.

it's a lousy excuse, lousy excuse for what used to be him being inconsiderate and uncaring and then morphing into something he does now to protect himself.

because he knows if he holds you, if he gets one taste of anything other than sex with you, it's over. he's over and you'll have the power to completely ruin him.

"well i wish you wouldn't," you whine before asking, "can you at least...bring me to bed?

he licks his dry lips, looking down at you and nodding after a quiet, "please," leaves your mouth,  eyes wide and glossy. he picks you up bridal style, your head against his bare chest as he carries you into your bedroom.

he pulls back the comforter and places you down before covering you with it, watching as you snuggle further into your bed with a content sigh.

"this is nice..." you mumble and your eyes pop open to look at him. they look even more teary in your dimly lit room and he's hoping that maybe his own eyes are just playing tricks on him.

"you good now?" his eyes roam over your sleepy face one more time before he turns to leave.

"wait," you mumble, eyes feeling so heavy as you struggle to keep them open before you ask, "can you please stay with me?"

"y/n..." he whispers into the dark, voice strained and shaky and he feels his heart breaking but your quiet, sleepy voice continues.

"i know you won't...but i wish you would, just once," you mumble and then five seconds later, your breaths turn even and you're fast asleep.

4. 9/18/19

"ah shit, i left my wallet at home," the boy across from you says and you sharply inhale because you didn't think this date could go any worse. but of course here's the universe just continuously proving you wrong, about to send you into a downward spiral.

"oh," you say quietly, looking at the total of $65.31 and swallowing your pride because you never wanna see this guy again. "it's fine, i'll just pay it."

"you sure?" he asks and you quickly slide your card in the bill pocket before flagging over the waitress.

"yeah, no worries. it happens," you say before thanking the lady who looks at you sympathetically.

she watched the whole date unravel into a disaster of the night: from him being 30 minutes late to cutting you off so he could order your food and then proceeding to boast about himself and his six figure job for 45 minutes.

"thanks, babe." you swallow down the queasiness fighting it's way up your throat, "maybe i can pay you back some other way. like at my place?" he suggests, eyes staring at you like they're supposed to be seductive and alluring when he's really just appearing cross-eyed.

"uh..i don't think so," you tell him, smiling at the waitress before you sign and quickly stand up, "it's getting late so i'm...i should probably go."

he scoffs at you, like you were somehow the one wasting his time and conning him into a free meal.

"nice meeting you," you lie through your teeth and he mumbles something that sounds like "yeah, whatever" before you scurry out to your car.

the whole drive home, you hold back frustrated tears because what the fuck.

this was your 4th first date in three weeks, curtesy of your friends' incessant need to hook you up with their coworkers or friends of friends and you've had enough.

had enough of the rejection and bad dates or the "you're really nice but..." and without fail, every single dinner ending with the obvious inclination they're just doing this to get laid.

and it's not like in the back of your mind, you're refusing for any other reason than the men being so boring and self-absorbed and just plain awful.

so that's how you find yourself texting mingi the second you park your car, running upstairs to shower some of tenseness out of your muscles while hoping the rest will be fucked out.

you're still in your towel when he knocks on the door and you let him in, eyes roaming your body and a smirk crosses his face.

"well, this is awfully convenient," he says and you roll your eyes with a chuckle, dropping your towel and pulling him in your bedroom by his shirt.

"hey, you're gonna stretch it," he whines and it's not like he actually cares when you're pushing him down on your bed.

"too bad."

you straddle his hips, bending down to kiss him and you two start doing what you always do. it's so natural at this point, the way your lips and tongues collide against one another.

his hands come around to grip your bare ass, grinding you into his growing bulge and you bite down on his lip before soothing it with your tongue.

the more you make out, the more clothes he sheds off until you're both pressed up against each other's naked bodies, the sounds of sloppy kisses and muffled moans filling your small bedroom.

you're about to pepper kisses down his neck, mark him up like he always does to you, when he suddenly grabs your thighs harshly and spins you around until you're sitting on his face. his tongue delves into your wet opening as you let out a high pitched whine at the sudden feeling.

"shit," you moan out and you feel him smirk against your pussy until he commands, "suck."

you lean down, grinding yourself on his face in the process before taking his dick in your mouth. you suck him off, hollowing your cheeks and swirling your tongue as your hand joins to jerk him off. a moan falls from your lips as he sucks your clit into his warm mouth and it vibrates against his cock. there's something about the way you're moaning around him, muffled and silenced and full that has you dripping over his mouth.

you feel his finger make its way into you and you bob your head faster after spitting over the tip of his dick, sucking it slowly, and his hips start jerking into your mouth.

you're matching each other's pace, trying to get the other to come first and you feel an orgasm coming on already. desperate to come but even more desperate to win, you slide yourself off his mouth and sit on his dick backwards, ass in his face as you start to ride him.

you know you're gonna be victorious because he's groaning and cursing and slapping your ass, squeezing one of your cheeks as he throws his head back into one of the pillows.

"jesus christ, baby," he says, voice strangled and wobbly, "keep going."

your arms fall out in front of you to ground you, hips rolling and twisting and then bouncing and you moan out into the sticky air.

"so big," you whine out because this angle could be borderline painful if you move the wrong way, his cock feeling like it's lodged in your lower stomach and puncturing vital organs.

"so good," he praises, gripping your ass and you know it's gonna have bright red finger marks, "so fucking good."

"come for me, mingi," you whine, "come for me if i'm so good to you," and 3 seconds later, you listen in utter delight as he's grunting and groaning above you, his hot come releasing into you as you roll your hips slowly to drag out his orgasm.

but you barely have time to celebrate because he pulls you up and off him, fingers on your clit and mouth around your nipple as he brings you to your own orgasm shortly after.

he watches as you try to catch your breath below him, eyes shut and arms splayed out as your stress and annoyance vanishes and is instantly replaced with sadness and disappointment.

because you can distract yourself all you want, drown yourself in the pleasure of mingi's cock and mouth, but the high will wear off and the realization that no one wants you will sink in. not the assholes you go on dates with and especially not the asshole who's about to bolt out of here in five minutes.

he sees your eyes are twinged with sadness, glassy and staring off into space and he bites his lip because he doesn't know what to make of it.

"what happened little one?" he asks, thumb wiping over your lower lip, "upset you didn't get to come on my tongue? the night is still young."

you know he's joking and being light-hearted, eyes bright and peering down at you expectantly for another round or three but you can't stop yourself from snapping.

"oh is it? i thought for sure you'd be rushing out of here by now."

his face drops at your tone and his eyebrows furrow, unsure of what to even say to you. because there's nothing he can say.

but he also doesn't know where that came from.

"what?"

"maybe you can tell me" you suddenly blurt out, "why no one sticks around, not even for a second fucking date since, you know, you're so well rehearsed in leaving."

now he knows he's definitely missing something but can only watch as you start to have a breakdown, his own chest bubbling up with guilt and confusion and anger.

his eyes are dark and narrowed when he spits, "why are being like this right now?"

"because i'm so tired of feeling alone," you tell him and maybe it was a deeper answer than he was expecting because he looks taken back. "i'm so tired of looking like a fucking idiot when my friends keep setting me up on stupid dates and i have to tell them what a shitshow it was."

"so you're taking it out on me because you had a bad date?" he snaps, "i'm struggling to see how that's my fault."

"but then there's you, mingi," you say, sitting up and throwing him a harsh look, "i give you everything because, well, how the fuck can i not and you still fly out that door, still don't fucking want me and only come back because of my pussy."

he reaches over and grabs you by the jaw roughly, staring down at you with dark, fiery eyes. "stop." i want you too much, that's the problem.

you pull your face away, "you stop. it's true and you know it."

tears prick behind your eyes and you feel so stupid for doing this. you should've never invited him over in the first place because you knew you were gonna end up having a pity party.

his hand makes its way back to your jaw, thumb rubbing over your soft skin and forcing your eyes to meet his.

"you don't know anything," he mumbles so quietly you can barely make out the words. but you can only advert your eyes from him because you feel so shitty and sad and pathetic.

but then he's moving your face again, looking right at you when he softly asks, "what do you want me to do?" and you feel a tear slip down your face.

he peers down at you and his heart is breaking because he can tell you're hurting tonight, can tell you're truly upset and he doesn't want you to feel like you're ruining anything between you two.

but he's also being mindful of himself and his heart, attempting to find a happy medium inside of him.

"little one, why are you crying?" and you don't know if it's the name or his soft tone that causes the tears to pour from your eyes, pushing him back and turning away from him.

you want to tell him you want him to hold you, to please stay with you so you can burrow yourself into his chest and surround yourself in his warmth and fall asleep to the sound of his heartbeat.

but if you outright ask him and he still denies you, your tears will never stop tonight.

so you mumble out "please just go," but you can feel him still sitting beside you minutes later.

his heart is torn in two trying to decide what to do, decide whether to stay and wipe your tears and put you to bed or do what he always does and be a cowardly asshole.

"y/n, i'm trying to help," he says, placing his hand on your bare back and rubbing his thumb back and forth ever so slightly, "i hate seeing you like this," he mumbles softly and he's not even sure if you hear him.

because he only hears your quiet crying, breathing erratic and shoulders shaking  and he just wants to throw himself around you and force you to talk out your feelings with him.

"then leave," you tell him, "i...i shouldn't have asked you to come tonight when i'm like this."

but i want to be here for you.

and if speaking the truth were that easy, those words would've left his mouth and maybe resolved the issue. but, because he's mingi and because the truth is often too hard to say, he places a lingering kiss on your head, one of the first chaste kisses he's ever given you, before putting on his clothes and leaving you to cry yourself to sleep.

5. 11/30/19

"did i mention that i missed this pussy," mingi mumbles against your thigh and you instinctively widen your legs because apparently not getting laid for the two weeks you were abroad really did a number on the both of you.

"only about 50 times," you quip because you've honestly lost count of how many times you guys have had sex today.

he spits between your legs at your tone, using his finger to swirl it around the sensitive area before lapping at your clit. you're so overstimulated and raw, voice scratchy from your screams and wrists sore from your hands currently being bound by his tie on your headboard.

but you can't stop the pleasurable moans that rip through you, your hands flailing against the tightly tied knot and you would've gone away sooner if you had known this was a form of punishment.

"can't believe you made me go that long without it," he says, his finger running teasingly up and down your slit, "you know how many times i had to get off with my own hand. had to think of you and this pussy just so i could come."

"but it's such a nice hand," you whine sarcastically and he halts all movement down there, pulling his face and fingers away and now you're about to pay dearly for your attitude.

"you came back a little fucking brat," he spits, tightening the tie around your hands, "now you're not coming."

but you're still stimulated and dripping and desperate to come, crying out and begging and pleading. but he only sits next to you so he's by your head, yanking your face down to his cock and shoving it in your mouth.

you gag at the sudden intrusion, jaw still aching from the last three times you blew him but you persist, licking and sucking and drooling on him as he thrusts into your mouth.

you moan around him the more he talks to you, the more he curses at you and tells you "this should fucking shut you up."

your hands are pulling against the tie because you want to touch him, want to stroke the parts of him your mouth can't reach and tease the tip of his dick but it only starts to chafe your skin.

"so...close," he moans out and his stamina is something to be commended, "your mouth is so- i'm gonna-" and you promptly hear him moan again. luckily there's not too much of a taste, his cock completely drained empty but what does make it past you make a show out of enjoying because you have to be good now.

a tiny noise leaves the back of your throat, a mix between a pant and a whine, as you lick your lips, eyes shut like you're savoring the taste of him and you bite your bottom lip when your gaze meets his.

"you taste so good," you say, voice breathy and eyes rolling back and you're resisting the urge to smirk when his mouth dives in and his tongue finishes you off between your legs.

you come with one last scream, borderline painful from how sensitive you are and you push his head away with your hands.

"i'm gonna fucking die if i come again," you mumble a few moments later, laid out on your back with your knees bent and drenched hair splayed away from your sticky body.

"agreed," mingi says, reaching over to untie your wrists and you had forgotten they were even bounded. he cringes when he sees the skin is red and chafed, deep indentions and he rubs his thumb over them gently.

"jesus christ, little one, we might have to start using a safe word," he says, examining them thoroughly, "do they hurt?"

you pull them back to stretch them and you wince, rubbing your own hand over one of them. "a little bit...but it's okay....i liked it," you admit, cheeks flushed and voice quiet and he lets out a small laugh next to you.

"still so shy after being such a cockslut, huh," he teases, his face leaning in close to yours and you push him away with a giggle.

"don't use that word!" you squeal and he smiles down at you because fuck did he miss you.

"really though, are you good," he asks, "because that was like a 6 hour sex marathon."

"oh, i know," you tell him because you can absolutely feel the soreness coming on, "you're completely empty, bud."

his head snaps to look at you and you give him an innocent smile, stretching your body before rolling over with a groan.

"i'm okay though, just very tired now," you mumble, closing your eyes and his roam over your face. because he notices that he always does that, takes in every part of your face when your eyes are closed and tries to stop the fluttering in his chest, stop his body from reaching out to touch your hair or wrap his arms around you.

and if he wasn't already sure that he really liked you, the time apart made it obvious.

"would i be able to shower quick before i go?" he asks, shaking himself from his thoughts, "my hot water isn't working and i definitely don't need a cold one after tonight."

you giggle sleepily against your pillow, mumbling a "sure," and then you pull the blanket over yourself and succumb to your exhaustion.

he watches with a smile as you lose yourself to sleep before padding off to your bathroom. the hot water pelts his sweaty body as he stands under it, eyes shut as his exhausted body relaxes under the heat.

he squeezes a bit of shampoo in his hand, bringing his hand up to his nose to smell it and there's something strange about using your soap; almost as if the lavender vanilla scent should only belong to you. but it's nice, being surrounded by the smell he associates with you. it does something to his chest, his heart tugging in a way he's been trying to avoid for months now.

but it's getting harder to ignore. getting harder to leave you here alone and act as if you're not way way more than a friends with benefit.

he tries to push you out of his thoughts because he's not gone yet. he's still here with you, still gets to look at you and touch you and smell you. and that very thought has him speeding up the shower, lathering his body with soap before washing it off and enjoying the heat for a few more moments.

he peeks into the bedroom, towel wrapped around his waist, to see your body is still and assumes you're still sleeping. he quietly tiptoes around the sea of clothes to find his, slipping on his pants before he hears a little whine.

he looks over, seeing your eyes are still shut but face now slightly pinched together. he keeps his gaze on you for a few seconds before searching for his shirt and throwing it over his head.

it's within those moments you start silently thrashing, legs twitching and arms flailing until he hears a broken "stop" leave your lips.

"y/n?" he says softly, waking over to peer down at you in bed.

your brows furrow even more, eyes scrunched tightly and face in a grimace as you start shaking your head side to side.

"no, no, no," you weakly mumble out, "stop. please stop!"

"y/n," he says louder, placing his hand on your cheek. but your thrashing quickly pushes it off and he moves it to your shoulder.

"wake up, baby," he coos, shaking your body, "c'mon."

a loud groan rips through your mouth, almost resembling a cry and he shakes you one more time before your eyes pop open.

you don't even know why you're crying, heart racing and brain fuzzy as you try to piece together what just happened.

"what the hell happened," mingi asks you, his hand back on your cheek as he wipes your tears off with his thumb.

"i don't-i don't even know," you stutter breathlessly, "i just heard your voice and then i-" it's so hard to breathe so you try to catch your breath, in your nose, out your mouth, and he pulls you into his body on instinct.

he mimics your breathing in your ear, in and out as he holds the back of your head with his hand and he doesn't think he'll be able to leave you tonight. doesn't want to leave you like this and is willing to put his stupid selfish feelings aside for a night to give you the comfort you need and deserve.

you hesitantly move your head to his chest, shakily breathing out and your body visibly relaxes when he allows your touch, welcomes it even when he puts his arm around you and hums again your hair.

"does that happen a lot?" he asks.

"mmm, not really," you tell him even though your sleeping habits have always been questionable, " but when it does, i always wake up so upset and...i never know why, can never remember," you explain softly, eyes feeling heavy because he's warm and big and you've wanted this with him for so long.

his lips brush against your head, arm tightening around you protectively. "i'm sorry, baby," he says softly and the affection in his tone has you a blushing mess, stomach churning and heart pounding.

his heart warms when you snuggle further into his chest as you both lay there silently, your hand making its way to draw shapes on his chest.

you're so tired and calm, so content with the current position that you don't even realize you're mumbling a few moments later, "are you gonna stay?"

his usual reaction would be to bolt, to stutter out some lame excuse and deal with his sinking heart.

but he's admitting defeat, admitting that he can't leave you tonight and probably fell in love with you somewhere along the way and has been way too scared to deal with it.

he's about to breathe out a yes when his phone blares in his sweatshirt pocket on the floor and he huffs because really, what god fucking awful timing.

you kisses your head in apology and you hold back a sigh when he moves you off him, going over to pick up his phone.

"what?" you hear him snap and a frantic male voice on the phone is speaking a mile a minute. you watch his face morph into one of shock and annoyance and then disappointment as his gaze moves to you and a tiny pout covers his lips.

"i'll be there in 10," he grumbles out, hanging up the phone with a huff and making his way over to you. he kneels down, hands running over your hair gently as his soft eyes stare at you.

"i gotta go, little one, i'm so sorry," he says and you can hear the genuine sincerity in his voice, "are you okay? i can...i can come back after if you need."

your own hand moves to his cheek, rubbing your thumb over the soft skin and you shake your head even though your heart is soaring at the gesture.

"it's okay, i'm good now," you tell him, "i hope everything's okay."

he nods before bending down to press his lips to your forehead. "it's fine, my friend's are just drunk assholes and need someone responsible," he tells you with a chuckle and you roll your eyes.

"and they called you?" you tease and he can't even pretend to be mad when you're smiling at him like that.

"sh, don't be a brat," he tells you, trailing his lips down to meet yours in a peck, "or else you know what'll happen next time."

+1: 1/10/20

it's like you guys came full circle, sitting side by side at the bar stools you first met almost a year.

"now, see, it was a good thing i embarrassed you after all!" your friend remarks while ordering a round of shots, "if i hadn't, who knows how bad those cobwebs would've gotten in your-"

"shut up!" you screech, covering her mouth with your hand as mingi chuckles next to you.

"i mean...she's not wrong," he teases, looking at your flushed cheeks and remembering your first night together, "because you were waiting for me, weren't you, little one?"

you feel yourself burning, squinting your eyes at his hushed words because you know exactly what he's thinking about.

"you shut up, too," you growl as your friend shoves two shots in your hands.

"to a valentine's day fuck!" your friend screams, her and mingi clinking their glasses together as you sit there completely unamused.

you take down the liquor with a sneer, your throat burning and you nearly vomit all over the bar. but then twenty minutes later, with the alcohol coursing through your veins and music blasting, you and your friends are dancing in the middle of the bar.

it's crowded tonight and there's far too many sweaty people but it's still fun. laughing with your friends as you spin and grind and jump around with no care in the world.

and for half that night, that's how it goes. just fun and carefree and tame until you feel a hand on your ass that you know isn't the one you're so used to because of it's size.

you snap your head back to see a short, stocky guy attempting to grind his hips on you. he's wobbling because you can tell he's absolutely gone, eyes glossy and forehead sweaty and you move closer to your friend who yells a slur of curses in his face.

"fuck off, i want your friend," he snaps at her and you give him a little shove.

"well, i'm not interested," you tell him, smacking his hand off before turning around to face your friend. "do you wanna get another-"

your words get cut off when your arm is nearly pulled from the socket, trapped between the wall and the man you just rejected.

"c'mon, babe, you're so pretty," he coos, running a clammy finger down your face and neck, about to circle your little bit of cleavage exposed, "i'll treat you-"

he's on the floor and away from you in a second, mingi putting himself between you both as he stands over the groaning boy. you can feel the anger radiating off of him, fists clenched and jaw ticking as he kicks him once in the stomach.

"don't fucking touch her," he growls, "i should break your god damn hand, you know that?"

he turns around to survey you, hand on your waist and concerned eyes roaming over your face.

"are you okay?" he asks and you see the fire behind his eyes.

"i'm fine," you say even though your racing heart has finally slowed and you still feel sick to your stomach at those intrusive hands on you, "just a drunk asshole."

"it doesn't matter," is all he spits, "he shouldn't have touched you."

and then he quickly turns back around, the man slowly getting up so he's not at all prepared for the punch the connects right into his nose.

"mingi, stop," you whine, "it's fine, you're gonna get us kicked out."

"so what, he can't just touch what's mine," he blurts out and your eyebrows shoot up because he's usually only saying that in his dominant sex crazed state.

but then you think you're letting your own feelings fill you with false hope, reading way more into this than you should. you let out a sigh, pulling him closer to you and looking up at him.

"it's fine now, you're here," you say softly because you just want him to calm down, "let's dance."

he bites his lip because he never dances in public but also can't risk someone else touching you against your will.

so that's exactly how you two find yourselves in a corner, grinding to the beat and forgetting that you're in a bar full of people.

your arms are looped around his neck, hands playing with his hair and his hands squeezing your hips lightly. your head falls against his chest when you feel him growing hard under you.

"big," you stupidly mumble out and he chuckles lowly, hand worming over a few inches below the button your jeans.

"for you, little one." his hips press further into yours, rubbing more purposefully against you, "always for you," he mumbles and you make the quietest moan in the back of your throat.

his hips and his voice and that god damn nickname have you dragging him into the bathroom, locking the single stall and pulling him down to crash your lips together.

he smiles against them because finally before picking you up, pressing you against the wall as you intertwine your legs around his hips.

both a little tipsy, it goes a lot sloppier than intended. he nearly stumbles over his feet and you slam your head against the concrete but you guys never break the kiss, tongues and teeth clashing as you moan loudly into one another's mouths.

"please fuck me," you whine into his ear, moving against him as you lick down his neck. he walks you over to the sink counter, quickly pulling down your pants and thong as you lean back and spread your legs for him to get a better look.

"that pussy," he groans as he pulls down his own pants, giving you his hand to spit on so he can wet his cock. he jerks it off a few times staring at your wetness, eyes finally moving to yours where he sees you sitting back patiently with glossy, dilated pupils and your teeth in your lip.

"please," you groan again and he rips you off the sink to put you on his cock, back up against the cold wall again and you tighten your hold around him.

it's fast and dirty and hard, skin slapping on skin that echoes throughout the tiny bathroom.

"oh, my god," you moan out loudly and he thrusts up once, deep into you.

"don't be so loud, i don't want anyone hearing you," he grunts out, "don't want anyone hearing what's mine."

even tipsy and horny and in the middle of being fucked out, you noticed he used that word again.

"i'm yours," you repeat quietly and he growls, fingers digging into your hips as he stills inside of you.

"what the fuck," you whine out, rocking your own hips against him but he's just staring into your eyes, chest heaving up and down like he's trying so hard to control himself.

"be mine," is what he grunts out and your eyes widen. despite the shock and confusion and your rapid heart picking up its pace, you still clench around him.

"what?"

"be mine. completely mine, officially," he says and you can't believe he's doing this now, with his cock buried inside you in a dirty public bathroom.

and as sick as it is, your answer is immediate. you don't even have to think about it.

"i always was, you idiot," you say, rocking yourself into him more, "now just fuck me."

and he has to meet your demands so the tears threatening to sting his eyes don't surface and make a mockery out of his reputation.

but it doesn't stop him from praising you, asking you to repeat if you're really his over and over again until you're both moaning in unison at your releases.

you lean your head against the wall, his resting on your shoulder as he's still inside you while you try to catch your breath. he takes you off his cock, pulling up your clothes before his own and looking down at you.

"did you really mean that?" is the first thing he asks and you furrow your eyebrows because is he that stupid?

"yes," you tell him and it's so matter of fact he finds himself wanting to blurt his next words out.

but he waits. waits until you guys leave the bathroom and say your goodbyes, waits while you guys hold hands in the uber and stumble in your apartment together.

and then when you both lay out on your couch, he takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply on the lips.

"i love you," he says, so soft and sincere and genuinely that tears almost spring to your eyes. "i love you and i'm so sorry it took me this long to realize."

you look at him in shock because you never would have dreamed this confession would be happening between the two of you. never would have dreamed of him looking at you with watery eyes and a terrified expression as he shows you his most vulnerable side.

"i know i've been stupid and obnoxious and sometimes just a fucking asshole but i promise if you let me explain-"

"i love you too," you say, cutting him off because it's as simple as that, "i thought it was fairly obvious but..."

and that's when the first tiny tear falls from his eye and his natural instinct is to quickly wipe at it because he's not used to crying in front of anyone.

but he wants to let that guard down, show you it's always been more than just sex and pleasure.

"y/n..." he says and you shake your head at him, softly smiling as tiny tears continue to leak from his eyes.

"you're an ugly crier," you tease, scooting over so you can wipe his wet face before pulling him into a hug. you're almost positive he doesn't let you go for a half hour, arms tight and warm around you as his head rests in the crook of your neck.

but you relish in the feeling because he's finally letting you see this side of him and while you love fucking his brains out, you also want to see him break down and show you any sort of deeper emotion.

"can i just ask you one thing?" you ask when he pulls back and he nods his head.

"anything, baby."

"why wouldn't you ever stay over?" you squeak out and the question alone causes anxiety to bubble up in you, "why would you always leave so soon after?"

he swallows the lump in his throat and intertwines your fingers together, thumb brushing over hand.

"because i knew this would happen, i knew you were it for me and that scared me," he tells you, "i knew if i held you and stayed with you and spent more time...i was gonna fall in love because how couldn't i," he muses and he's being so honest and raw that it's hurting your heart in the best possible way.

"i'm sorry that it hurt you, baby, i'm sorry for how much i hurt you and that i made you feel...shitty sometimes," he say, "but i promise i'm gonna be the best boyfriend i can be, okay? please-"

you cut him off with a kiss, pushing him back and jumping into his lap. it's like all your other kisses but also something incredibly new, passionate and loving and so so sweet that you have to rip yourselves off each other for air.

"I know you will," you tell him, pecking both of his cheek sweetly and smiling when you see a blush on his cheeks.

"look at that, you're a boyfriend for one whole minute and you're already blushing!" you squeal and then he really goes and giggles and you're shocked this giant baby ever had you so fooled.

he squints his eyes playfully at you, pushing you down on your back so he's holding himself above you and dipping down to meet your lips again.

"we'll see who's blushing in ten minutes, little one," he says and it's safe to say boyfriend mingi is just as talented as friends with benefits mingi.

except this time afterwards, he carries you in the bedroom and does all that aftercare nonsense he swore was annoying and stupid but is actually making him so stupidly happy. cleaning you up between your legs and taking off your runny makeup, worming his way to litter tiny pecks all over your clean face as you giggle against him before finally pulling you into his chest and smiling when you cuddle your:self deeper into him.

you fall asleep to a mantra of "i love you"'s, his hand trailing up and down your shoulder until the smell of burning food wakes you hours later.

and it's something you grow incredibly used to because only two weeks after that do you open your door to find mingi in the hallway, holding five boxes stacked on top of each other with the stupidest smile on his face.

"what's all this?" you ask him, standing on your tippy toes to grab two of them and placing it down in your living room.

"the rest of my stuff is in the car," he tells you matter of factly, pecking your nose with a kiss before looking at your confused expression.

"did i forget to mention i'm moving in?"

[ohlawsons]

vidcalls | 01

[ RE: THE SOUND OF YOUR VOICE IN THE DARK ]

SUMMARY. Business might keep Sophie and Reyes separated after the conclusion of their work on Kadara, but that doesn't mean they can't take time for the occasional message or visit. Or: some f!Ryder/Reyes interactions post-Kadara, because Bioware didn't give us enough in-game. Spoiler warnings will be marked at the beginning of each chapter. NOTES.  i still haven't finished the game but after the archon's flagship mission and doing the 3rd/4th parts of the ryder family secrets, i had no choice but to let sophie vent about some plot stuff. mission: ryder family secrets, the fourth unlocked memory also pls note i'm pulling stuff out of my ass for reyes' past bc all bioware gave us is """destroyed records""" with no helpful info LINKS. [ AO3 ] [ FFN ] [ sophie’s tag ]

She didn’t go see Scott like she’d planned, or Captain Dunn, or even Kandros.

When Sophie left SAM Node, she went straight to the Tempest, waving off Suvi’s greeting and Liam’s concern and shut herself in her quarters — lights off, windows closed, with only the soft glow of SAM’s interface to light the room. She cried — a good, hard cry like she hadn’t had in years — until her eyes hurt and her head pounded and her throat was raw.

It hadn’t occurred to her until that morning that she hadn’t ever properly mourned her mother’s death. At the funeral, Sophie had been so furious, so angry with Alec that it consumed her; he’d always treated her mother like a puzzle — especially as the disease worsened — and watching him stare at the casket in disappointment, like his failure was more of a tragedy than her death, had been the last straw for them both. She’d only spoken to Alec in the Milky Way once, after that, and it had been about the Initiative.

But watching it all over again, seeing herself with red-rimmed eyes and tousled hair as she clung to Scott, hearing the exhaustion and grief in both of their voices — it was almost like losing her mother a second time. That hadn’t even been the worst, though; Sophie had always suspected how Alec had felt, then, but actually experiencing it, feeling the wheels turning in his mind and listening to his insistence and excuses when all Ellen had wanted was a goodbye, had been enough to reignite the years of rage she’d harbored against him.

And what was she to do now? Talk about it? Drink about it? Continue to sit in silence and sulk over it? Any of those options required dealing with the issue — to varying degrees — and it was so much easier to just ignore it.

So that’s what she tried to do.

Pushing herself to sit upright, legs crossed, Sophie leaned against the headboard of her bed and pulled a tear-soaked pillow into her lap. She squinted against the light of her omnitool as she keyed in a familiar frequency, and as she waited for the connection to stabilize it occurred to her that she must be quite a sight, in her sweats with the hood pulled up, with nothing but her orange glow of the omnitool for light.

“It’s four in the morning, Ryder.”

She couldn’t make anything out on her omnitool’s screen, and assumed Reyes was in just as dark of a room as she was. Sleeping, probably, rather than having a minor crisis. “Damn. And here I was hoping you’d have time to get really drunk and have lots of sex.”

Sophie hadn’t missed the way her voice had wavered, and apparently neither had Reyes; there was the muted sound of shuffling from the other end of the call, then a light clicked on and Sophie was treated to a view of Reyes, without a shirt and with his usually carefully-styled hair looking delightfully mussed and unruly. “I’m not normally one to turn down an offer like that, but…” He trailed off, yawning. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” She fidgeted with the sleeve of her hoodie, and her resolve crumpled even without any prompting from Reyes. With a sigh, she leaned over to the panel on her bedside table and flicked on the light. “It’s stupid.  I mean, I’d be over it before I even got to Kadara, anyway.” Sophie had wanted to avoid the subject, and here she was prepared to talk through it with Reyes; she hadn’t ever done anything like this with him, and found herself wondering at what point she would have to pin a label on their thing — it wasn’t really a relationship; they weren’t really a couple —if they continued this trend of being about more than booze and sex and distractions on a hostile planet.

But Reyes was still waiting for an answer, and Sophie had more pressing things on her mind.

“It’s… Look, I’ll give you the short version because I don’t even know how to give you the long version,” she began, hugging the pillow in her lap with her free hand. She bit at her lip as she thought, not sure where the hell to even start explaining her enhanced link with SAM. “My pathfinder implant is more… complex than the others. Courtesy of my father, who apparently thought he was immortal and no one would ever have to deal with his own fucking—” With a hard sigh, Sophie let her shoulders drop and shook her head. “Not the point. Anyway, I can… see, I guess, some of his memories. Experience them.”

The hand that Reyes had been holding up, shielding his eyes from the light of his own omnitool, slowly moved so he could look at Sophie. Brow furrowing, he was quiet for a minute. “I’d like the long version of that, at some point. I think.” He frowned.

“You’ll have to get it from someone else, then, because I don’t understand it. Anyway, I…” She trailed off, teeth pressing harder into her lower lip. There was a reason she usually went to Gil or Liam when something was bothering her; Liam was just so easy to talk to — and their talks always began with him handing her a beer — and Gil had a knack for knowing when they needed to talk and when they needed drinks and a game of poker. It would be easier, she reckoned, if she was there with Reyes, instead of just on a vidcall, but then again the drinks and sex excuse might have actually worked. “SAM showed me a memory this morning, and… it was the last time I saw my mother.”

“Sophie…” Reyes pulled himself up so he was seated, rubbing the exhaustion from his eyes. The crisp white sheets pooled at his waist, but Sophie was too distracted to properly appreciate the view; either way, she was more focused on the concern etched into his features, a rare display for someone normally so suave and charismatic — rarer still that it was directed at Sophie. “Tell me about her.”

Not about it, not about the memory, not about the way her anger at Alec had overshadowed her grief at her mother’s death.

No, Reyes wanted to know about her, about Ellen, about the woman whose loss Sophie could still feel years later and a galaxy away.

“She was… kind. Above everything, she was kind. She was a glass-half-full type, but she had this thing about fate and acceptance and letting some things just happen. She used to always say… to say that—” Sophie took a shallow breath, feeling that familiar lump in her throat — one she’d thought she’d worked past, thought she’d trained herself to ignore when she talked about her mother.

But it was back, and all of a sudden her room felt too small — the whole ship felt too small — and she was faced with the fact that Ellen Ryder had died over six hundred years ago and Sophie had fled the galaxy where her mother was, and all she wanted was to claw her way back through dark space to Brazil.

“The first time Alec forgot mine and Scott’s birthday was when we turned seven,” she said, trying to pull herself back to the present conversation. “Scott wasn’t ever bothered by that stuff, not even then, but I just wanted us to be a family. I remember curling up in her lap and crying for forever.” Clearing her throat in an attempt to hide the shakiness that was beginning to creep into her voice, Sophie watched as Reyes studied her over the vidcall, taking in every word she spoke.

It felt good to be so openly wanted, and while Sophie had relished his initial one-track-mind sort of interest in her physically, Reyes’ recent earnest and eager desire to learn about her, about her life and her past, was something of a novelty for her. The relative openness they’d shared since Sloane’s death was… nice, and Sophie had been trying her best to embrace it.

“I was fifteen when I learned that he forgot their anniversary most years, too,” she continued. “I got right up in his face about it, yelling and saying all sorts of shit. Scott actually picked me up and carried me outside to calm down. I started buying her flowers every year — Mothers’ Day, Valentines, her birthday, anything that Alec could forget about.”

“That’s a much simpler solution that I would’ve expected from you,” Reyes commented, voice still rough with exhaustion but softened by admiration. “Then again — you are still single-handedly trying to patch up the galaxy’s problems.”

“Tell me about your mother,” Sophie suggested suddenly, pulling her knees to her chest; she was beginning to get restless, the way she always did when the conversation turned too personal and too open, but this time she had no desire to change the subject or end the call. No secrets between us, Reyes had said, hadn’t he, all those weeks ago in the aftermath of the Collective’s takeover of Kadara. While Sophie had thought she wanted to leave the Milky Way behind — let everything from that other life fade away —  with as much as she’d been thinking about her mother and São Paulo lately, she found herself with a fledgling interest in Reyes’ life, too.

He gave his head a little shake and laughed, a low, quiet sound that pulled a smile from Sophie. “You would have liked her, I think. She was always doing something, always working or cleaning up after us kids. There were four of us, and we each had our own way of causing trouble.”

She rested one cheek on her knees, a little surge of warmth spreading through her at the soft, distant gleam in Reyes’ eyes; she hadn’t expected nostalgia from a man like him. “Big family.”

“It’s easy to feel… lost,” he admitted, looking away as his smile began to fade, “with three older siblings. Like everything’s nearly run out by the time it makes it down to you.”

“You miss them?”

“I left them long before I joined the Initiative. But… yes.”

Their call fell into silence, and Sophie felt a pang of loneliness. She missed her mother, and she missed Scott, and in a way she missed Reyes — missed being close to him when all she wanted was to curl up beside him and sleep until her head stopped pounding and her chest stopped aching. “I’m gonna go see if Gil wants to grab something to drink before we have to leave the Nexus,” she decided, already dreading her decision to end the call. “And… Reyes? I know you’ve got Kadara to run these days, but when Scott’s up and walking again, I’d really like if you’d come visit.”

The corners of Reyes’ lips slowly curled up into a small smile, and when he spoke his voice was filled with a sincerity and honesty that Sophie was still getting used to. “Promise.”

[rumraisinregret]

Unhooded chapter 3: Interrogation

Abelas sighed for what seemed the ten thousandth time this morning. There were things that needed to be done today. Things that he needed to do, and things that he wanted to do. He had never been comfortable in allowing the latter to come before the former, in permitting pleasure to come before duty. Especially not in the last several thousand years, when duty was all he knew. When duty and death so entwined around his spirit that the sorrow nearly crushed him. When he had longed for the peaceful oblivion of slumber, though he knew over time, that the ache inside him would reach even into his dreams. But since his guardianship of the Vir’abelasan had so abruptly ended, and since the Dread Wolf had shown him that his life could still have purpose, he had started allowing pleasure back into his life.

Just small things at first. Things that he found he enjoyed, like reaching a hand out to stroke a halla’s velveteen muzzle or walking barefoot through a field just to feel the grass between his toes. There had been no time for such things trapped in the Temple as he had been for so long, in a constant cycle of killing and uthenera, that he had forgotten many of the small joys of the life he had known before he had given himself over into the service of Mythal. But every time he took the time for these kinds of simple pleasures, memories of having done the same things in the past came to him like very old, comfortable friends. And before long, he started allowing himself more time unfettered by responsibility.

He still had his duty; a duty which had changed considerably over the last two and a half years, yes, but one that he took no less seriously. And he did his duty with all the solemnity it required as he always had, much to the occasional consternation of his oldest comrades-in-arms. But he found that after his obligations were done for the day, he could go help tend to the mounts as they ate their afternoon oats. Or cook an evening meal for himself and those officers whose tents neighbored his own so they didn’t have to eat commissary food. Or just sit beside the stream that wound its way south of the camp and listen to the water gurgling over the rocks, perhaps even catch a few fish. These were all things that he had discovered he enjoyed immensely.

So today, there were things that needed to be done, a great many things, and he would not have hardly any time for leisurely activities. But the one thing he wanted to do would not take much time at midday. But if he did not start his day soon, his time to do it would run short.          

Instead of beginning his day as he had planned, he stood, back straight, shifting from one leg to the other, in the corner of the command tent with the other generals, listening to the builder Faron present his case for acquiring more construction supplies. Abelas didn’t know why he had to be here for it. Didn’t know why he had been summoned for this impromptu meeting so early in the morning. Did it concern troop movements or training techniques? He didn’t think so. He wondered if he moved slowly enough, if anyone else would notice him edging toward the door flap.

“The new smithy will tax all of our remaining supplies,” Faron was saying. “If my men and I build it to your desired standards, Lord Fen’harel, which we have every intention of doing,” he held out his hands in a placating gesture as if the Dread Wolf would strike him down for sounding ungrateful, “we will not be able to complete some of the other housing projects we have already started.”

“This is a military encampment,” the spy master Talitha grumbled, “We are not building a town.”

Abelas halted his escape. “We do not only have soldiers here.” He crossed his arms and looked her in the eye. If anyone noticed he was a meter closer to the door than he had been, they didn’t say anything. “When the troops move out, which we are undoubtedly going to do at some point, there will be non-combatants left behind in this place. There are families and children here, the future of our people. Would you have them sleeping on the ground waiting for us to return or plan for them to follow us into battle?”

She scowled up at him. She had to tilt her head quite a bit as he was easily two heads taller. “We have thus far been fortunate that this place has not been discovered by the Ben-Hassrath or the Siccari, but that is all I attribute it to: luck.” She brought her hand up to rub at her forehead, then dropped it wearily. “If we start bringing in supplies by the caravan-load, my network will not be able to keep up with the task of covering our tracks. They will catch wind of our presence in this forest before our plans are ready.”

Fen’harel had been happy to stand back and let them bicker, but now he stepped forward. “The Commander is right,” he said. “We must take care of our people.” -- Talitha shot Abelas a look filled with venom, but he ignored her. He wasn’t interested in playing a game of favorites. Talitha was young, having lived for only four or five short decades, she still saw meaning in such things. – “Begin construction on the smithy,” Fen’harel said to the builder, “but continue work on housing where you can. There will be a new shipment of supplies next week. You may leave.”

Faron bowed to the Dread Wolf, nodded to the others, and left. Abelas gazed longingly at the bright sunshine outside before the tent flapped closed again.

“Our Spy Master is also correct,” Fen’harel continued, drawing their attention back to him, “It is of dire importance that all opposing forces remain ignorant of our whereabouts. But it is not luck that has allowed us to elude discovery.” He pinned each of them with a stare in turn. “All of you have a responsibility to protect the secrecy of our goals and the means to achieve them. We cannot rely solely on Talitha’s network or on the misdirecting enchantments I have placed on the surrounding forest to keep us safe. Tell your agents,” he pointed to the Recruitment Officer who shook like a leaf at the end of his finger, “to take further precaution in bringing new people through the Eluvians. We need to be certain no one with prior allegiances is brought into the fold.

“Which brings me to the next matter.” He sighed and turned back to Talitha. “The new blacksmith and his daughter are formerly of the same Dalish clan as the Inquisitor.” A surprised murmur passed between the Recruitment Officer and the Quartermaster. “Send someone to investigate any contact or correspondence between the Inquisitor and her clan within the last few months since my identity was revealed to her. Explore the possibility of a familial relation as well. Monitor any messages they may try to send. I want them under surveillance if they leave camp until they are no longer under suspicion.”

Talitha bowed her head deferentially. “As you wish, Fen’harel. Should they be questioned, too?”      

“I have already seen to that.” His eyes glanced over Abelas as he said it. “That is all. You’re dismissed.”

As the others filed out of the tent, Abelas hung back, feeling uneasy. Fen’harel had turned to look over a map spread on the surface of a low table. He looked up when Abelas stopped at his side. “What is wrong, Abelas?” he asked with a mildly playful tone. “You seemed eager to leave not ten minutes ago.”

Abelas sighed again. Of course the Wolf had noticed his attempted escape. But the disquiet in the pit of his stomach erased the thought of any slight embarrassment. “Do you think the Inquisitor would send her own family to spy for her?”

It was Fen’harel’s turn to sigh and his shoulders slumped as if he were suddenly exhausted. “Truthfully, no.” He dragged a hand down his face. “It would be quite out of character for her. She would not risk putting anyone that close to her in such danger. Although she would know I would spare them for her sake. At least,” here he paused, “I hope she knows that. I do not know what she thinks of me any longer.”

And even though Abelas knew it was no business of his, he still asked, “Do you want her to still think well of you?”

The man before him straightened his posture and stared him square in the face. “Of course not.” But his face softened thinking of her anyway. “I am everything she was taught to fear. It is better if she thinks of me as the Dread Wolf. Nothing more. Perhaps it is wishful thinking on my part that she thinks of me enough to send spies into my ranks. It is, after all, what I would do.” He turned back to the map on the table. “Are you still willing to question the blacksmith and his daughter?”

“Yes, Fen’harel.” Abelas hesitated. “I will speak to them.” His hand stretched toward the canvas of the tent. “If there is anything more-?”

He dismissed Abelas with a wave of his hand.

****************

The midday sun had just reached its zenith when Abelas was able to leave the training grounds. It was a warm day, despite it being late autumn, the heat and humidity lingering for longer this far north than he was used to, having lived in the Arbor Wilds for so long. It was warm enough that he had worked up a sweat on the training grounds. His hair adhered unpleasantly to the back of his neck under his hood and he could feel a bead of perspiration run the line of his spine under the light armor he wore around the camp.

The newest recruits were soft and unskilled, several of them were timid in the face of an opponent, and Abelas would have to work them hard to get them ready to face what was to come. He had lieutenants who were in charge of the training of their troops, but Abelas oversaw and assessed each soldier’s progress personally. With the new ones, he separated them into class and faced each one in the sparring ring. After they inevitably ended up on their backs in the dust at his feet, he had them run laps. Later, he would take his lieutenants aside and discuss what the new soldiers needed to improve on most.

He would meet with his lieutenants this afternoon. Now, he made his way to the large canopy that housed the dining area and the camp kitchen. Hot air hit him in the face as he ducked under the edge of the tent. It was pleasant in the sunshine with a cool breeze that fluttered the tents as it wafted through the trees, but it was stifling and still in the commissary, the cooking fires making it nearly unbearable even with the sides of the tent rolled up. It was no wonder there was hardly anyone eating under the broad canvas. He moved through the line as quickly as possible and grabbed two plates of the midday meal that was on offer, brown rice with a strange orange stew with a meat he assumed was chicken and a chopped salad on the side. He rushed out of the sweltering heat before he had to breathe in too much of the oppressive air.

He carried his two plates to the west side of the camp where the clinic stood. When he straightened after ducking into the tent, he saw that a healer was removing the bandage over Souren’s face and inspecting the eye underneath. He still had his broken arm in the sling, but the side of his face was not redressed after the examination was complete. The burn was still a tender pink but the skin was smooth and appeared to be healing well.

The healer glanced up as Abelas came to a stop just short of the foot of Souren’s bed. “Good afternoon, Commander,” the man said, eyeing the plates in Abelas’ hands. “Is it midday already?”

Abelas hummed in affirmation. “How is the patient doing, doctor?” he asked and set one plate on a tray by Souren’s good arm. He rounded the end of the bed, sitting down in a chair he had placed by the bedside the evening before.

“Quite well,” the healer said, sounding almost surprised. “Better than I would have expected given the nature of his injuries. It seems that the Dalish woman is a competent healer, after all,” he mumbled sourly. “Souren may have lost the eye if she hadn’t been there.”

Souren huffed out a laugh. “I guess you owe her an apology for the way you spoke to her yesterday, then.”

The healer pressed his lips into a thin line and narrowed his eyes. “Hmmm,” he said and returned to the far side of the tent.

Souren turned to look at Abelas. “To what do I owe the pleasure of another visit from the stoic commander so soon after the last one?” he asked, his eyes crinkling in the open smile he always wore when he was teasing.

Abelas picked up his fork and stabbed a piece of meat. “I thought you might be hungry,” he said evasively. He put the bite into his mouth and found that it was indeed chicken and the creamy sauce was, in fact, incredibly spicy with coconut and a hit of something he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Some kind of fruit, perhaps? It was uncommonly good compared to the usual fare the cooks were known for offering.

“Right,” Souren said in mock disinterest. “It’s not like you missed me or anything while I was away.”

Abelas exhaled audibly, but he allowed a soft chuckle to escape him. “Well, you are my only friend.”

“Don’t forget it.”

They ate their meal together companionably, Souren stopping occasionally to fan his tongue. Abelas appreciated the level of spice in the dish, but it would be too much for Souren who thought black pepper could be spicy. As they ate, Souren recounted everything that had happened while escorting the recruiting party. He became particularly animated when he got to the part with the dragon and how he was injured. After that his memory was fuzzy. Abelas understood that Souren had been in and out of consciousness for much of the next day. The one clear focus being Varda Lavellan leaning over him, shining like the dawn, whispering again and again that she would take care of him.

Whether Souren remembered it correctly or he had been delirious, Abelas could not be sure. But she did seem to have had an impact on him, he spoke of her with awed undertones.

Abelas grinned at an ancient memory of Souren as a much younger elf, newly entered into the service of Mythal, before the Fall of Elvhenan, who fell in love with every young woman who smiled at him as he stood guard in the Temple. He would tell his fellow Sentinels of their beauty after the end of his shifts and wish aloud that they would come back someday. Someone had to inevitably remind him what it meant that they had come to supplicate for justice before Mythal and would he really want the beautiful woman to have to come back after all?

After Mythal’s murder, Souren had retreated into his duty as much as they all had, becoming almost as solemn as Abelas. But it seemed that with the Temple behind him, just like Abelas, Souren was beginning to remember his past life and accepting his natural inclinations again. He supposed falling easily in and out of love was something Souren enjoyed like Abelas enjoyed fishing. Although, with the potential for hurt feelings, Abelas wasn’t sure it was worth it. A fish had never broken his heart.

It was after they had finished eating and Abelas had moved their plates to the side, and while they sat speaking quietly of old times long gone, that Varda Lavellan peaked her head into the clinic. Souren noticed her first and waved her over. She seemed to hesitate for just a moment before fully entering the tent.

The healer stopped her before she got too far, whispered something they couldn’t hear, and then he left the tent altogether.

She continued the rest of the way to Souren’s bedside with shock clearly written on her face.

“I hope he didn’t say anything disrespectful to you again,” Souren said as she stopped a few feet from them.

She looked down at Souren, her eyes still wide and gasped out, “no,” she cleared her throat, and when she spoke again, her voice was melodious and surprisingly soothing, “he apologized and then asked me to consider helping out here in the clinic from time to time if they have the need for extra hands.” She sat down on the empty cot behind her, a small, pleased smile spreading on her face.

“Good for you,” Souren said, “I knew he wasn’t a complete ass.”

She laughed. “Just mostly an ass.” And the two of them shared a good-natured snicker.

“Will you?” Abelas asked, drawing her attention to him. She timidly raised her eyes to his face, not quite meeting his eyes. He knew that he could be intimidating, especially to outsiders, especially in his full armor, especially when he was tense, all of which he had been the first time he saw her. But it was unfortunate if his first impression had made her anxious of him. He was much more relaxed today after his conversation with Souren, which she seemed to sense. She studied him for a moment before answering, her gaze sharp and searching. He could almost feel her eyes tracing his vallaslin, and he wondered again why her face was bare.

She must have realized that she was staring. She dropped her gaze to her hands and when she looked up again, she met his eyes just long enough to answer him before peering around the tent. “I will consider it. I enjoy helping people, chances are I’ll agree. But,” she said with another grin at Souren, “he’ll have to agree to be nice.” And she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder in the direction the healer had gone.

Souren smiled and opened his mouth to speak, but Abelas beat him to it.

“I never introduced myself-,” he started, but Souren took his turn to interrupt.

“What?” he gaped in mock horror, “My good man, where are your manners?” He held his good hand up under Abelas’ chin and smiled at Varda. “This sullen looking fellow is one of my oldest acquaintances. He’s a Sentinel like me and the commander of Fen’harel’s army. He calls himself Abelas, but don’t let the name fool you, he’s every bit as cantankerous as he appears.”

Abelas closed his eyes and breathed in annoyance, trying not to show how much Souren’s antics had a tendency to amuse him, even if Abelas was made the butt of his jokes more often than not.

Varda laughed airily, and the sound pierced his chest. He opened his eyes and saw her beaming at him, which pierced him deeper. “It’s nice to meet you, Commander Abelas.” She extended a hand to him and he grasped it above Souren’s legs outstretched between them.

As he cradled her palm for that fleeting moment, feeling how delicate and slight her fingers were in his, the thought came uninvited to his mind that he could not remember the last time he had touched a woman. He knew he had, countless years ago, caressed a woman in tenderness. Or perhaps there had been more than one over the years. But the only touch he had known for time beyond memory had been in violence and bloodshed, defending his home.

He released her hand as if she had burned him and retreated into his chair. Why had he thought of that at a time like this? This woman was nothing to him, a stranger. He had no feelings for her to make him think of bedding her, so why? Because a beautiful woman smiled at you, he thought. But no, that was ridiculous, he wasn’t like Souren. Because you’re lonely. And it has been eons since you’ve known any kind of affection or gentleness. He thought that much more likely.

He was aware of the conversation continuing without him, Souren and Varda exchanging pleasantries, talking about the unseasonable weather, the healer’s prognosis for his injuries. He wasn’t following any of it. He stood and made his apologies, excusing himself before Souren could ask him about his change in mood and Abelas invariably made a fool of himself.

He stood just outside the clinic door-flap for several moments breathing the fresh air and clearing his mind. He had a job to do here, a purpose to be fulfilled for the good of the People. Those kinds of distractions were the last thing he needed. He made a point not to allow it to happen again.

A soft “Oh” behind him made him turn. Varda had nearly bumped into his back as she left the tent after speaking with Souren for less than five minutes alone. His sudden pivot knocked her off balance. He grabbed at her elbow to keep her from stumbling back into the canvas and dragging the whole thing down around her head. He steadied her by drawing her against his chest. Her fingers found purchase on the buckles of his hooded cloak as she gazed up into his face with wide eyes. Her full lips were parted in surprise and he had the sudden urge to lean in and devour them.

What was wrong with him today?

He backed away quickly and said, “I’m sorry,” at the same time that she said, “Thank you,” and they stood staring awkwardly at each other for a few eternal heartbeats.

She cleared her throat and bent to swipe at some imaginary dust on the front of her leggings. “Thank you, Commander. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your time with Souren. Did you want to speak with him some more?”

He glanced over her head at the tent. “No,” he said and found that it was true, now was as good a time as any.  “I wanted to speak with you.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”

He nodded, squaring his shoulders. He pulled the role of Commander over himself like a cloak, pushing away this strange desire and donning his usual façade of solemnity and indifference. “Fen’harel requested that I ask you some questions.”

Her face fell in disappointment or disinterest, he couldn’t tell which. “Oh.”

He gestured away from the clinic with a wave of his hand in indication that she should follow him. They wove their way through the remaining tents on the outskirts of the camp, soldiers hailing Abelas as they passed, until they found themselves in the wide clearing where the Eluvian sat on its dais. There were no arrivals or departures planned for today, so the clearing was empty and the mirror was dormant. They were alone.

Varda walked to the edge of the ramp leading up to the platform and tapped the hard stone with the tip of her toe. “What questions does the Dread Wolf have for me?” Her back was turned to him and her arms were crossed; she almost reminded him of a petulant child, preparing for a scolding after misbehavior.

Abelas reminded himself that he had permission to be as straightforward as he liked and jumped in. “He wants to make sure you and your father are not spies for the Inquisition.”

She snorted a laugh, spinning to face him. The corners of her mouth were downturned with a suppressed smile and her eyes twinkled as she searched his face, looking for the joke. But her expression fell once again when she saw that he wasn’t smiling. “Creators, you’re serious, aren’t you?”

“I am always serious.”

She snorted again. “Two Dalish elves who have never spent a day of their lives away from their clan, spies for a massive entity with enough resources to hire a whole legion of trained infiltrators? I’m sure they already have plenty of spies if the rumors of the humans’ new Divine are to be believed.”

“You are from the same clan as the Inquisitor,” he pointed out matter-of-factly.

Realization dawned in her eyes. “Ah… that’s why,” she said as if the thought hadn’t crossed her mind before. Perhaps it hadn’t. “Alright, I’ll answer your questions.”

“Tell me,” he stepped in front of her so she had to tip her head to look in his eyes, she was not as short as Talitha, “are you related to the Inquisitor?”

“Yes,” she said with a shrug – he was taken aback by that, not having expected honesty -- “everyone in our clan is related to each other in one way or another. That’s why we Dalish go to Arlathvhen to find our mates.” Her expression was open and candid.    

“The color of your hair would suggest you are more closely related than the average clan member.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh please,” she laughed with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Over a dozen hearths have at least one person in front of it with this same red hair in Clan Lavellan. Ask Adhlea, she met quite a few of them.”

That could be true. He would ask Adhlea later to confirm her claim, but certain features did tend to run strongly in familial groups; the golden-yellow of his own eyes he had shared with all of his siblings and several of his cousins. They were all gone, now.

“Have you been in contact with the Inquisitor recently?” he asked, changing tact.

“I haven’t spoken to Eléntari, no,” she said. She thought for a moment, tapping her chin with an index finger. “The last I heard from her was about five months ago,” she looked up into his eyes, “Keeper Deshanna shared a letter she had received from Eléntari with the whole clan. She had written to say that her hand had stopped glowing because she didn’t have that hand anymore, and that she wasn’t the Inquisitor any longer.” Her eyes flicked down to his lips and up again before she turned back to the Eluvian. He made himself ignore it.

She stepped up onto the dais and began balancing her way around the very edge, her arms out to the side, swaying every now and then. It had been awhile since he watched someone in the midst of such a carefree and self-indulgent deed.

“How close of a relationship do you have with her?” he pressed.

“We’ve never been friends,” she shrugged again. The movement disrupted her balance; she waved her arms and stuck her leg out in a comical attempt at regaining it. “She’s about ten years younger than me, so we never played together as children,” she said, continuing to wobble. “We had very separate groups of friends that didn’t mix much. I felt that I was much too grown-up to play with the babies, as it were. And then after my mother died I became a disgrace to my clan, while Eléntari eventually became First to our Keeper, and we had even less to do with each other.”

His brow furrowed in confusion. “Why are you a disgrace to your clan?” he blurted.

She sighed and gave up her balancing act. “I thought you were asking about Eléntari.” She turned toward him again. He thought he saw a dusting of pink on her cheeks, but she crossed her arms and stuck out her chin defiantly to cover it.

“I apologize. I did not mean to offend. But you were the one to bring it up.” He reached out his hand to her, his traitorous hand, in an offer to help her off of the dais. She stared at his upturned fingers, but she turned away instead and hopped down just out of reach.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed my lack of a vallaslin,” she began, her fingers flicking up to her face, “while the Dalish are known for having them.”

“It had crossed my mind,” he admitted.

“You heard my father say yesterday that my mother was a slave back in the days of Arlathan?”

He nodded.

“After she joined the clan, she couldn’t understand why everyone around her wore them so proudly. She told my father, and eventually me, what the markings had meant in her day, and she tried to tell the rest of the clan, but they wouldn’t believe her. I don’t think anyone but my father ever really believed her claims of being an ancient, so her credibility with them was already pretty shaky.” Her voice had turned bitter. “I was to come of age about a year after she was killed. You know, have the ceremony and get a vallaslin, become a full member of the clan, but I–“ her voice cracked “—I just kept thinking how disappointed she would be of me,” she said swiping at a tear as it slipped down her cheek. He looked away. “I’m sorry, she’s still hard for me to talk about.”

He dismissed her apology with a wave. “No, I should not have pried. You do not have to continue.”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind you, or Fen’harel, knowing the rest. It at least explains why we were so willing to leave them.” She cleared her throat and squared her shoulders in a mirror of his posture. “So I refused the ceremony. I’ve never seen Deshanna so angry before. She stopped teaching me magic and would have banished me from the clan if it hadn’t been for my father. He has skills that the clan needed at the time and Deshanna knew he would not have left me on my own.” She shook her head, still bitter. “Since then, I’ve been somewhat of a non-entity to them. An inconvenient mouth to feed when pickings are slim, but at least I can make a pretty basket to trade for decent coin. And they never let me forget how much of a burden I am.”          

If his thoughts toward the Dalish weren’t already so hostile, this story of the treatment of one innocent girl would have enraged him. As it were, it just made him sad. He had met several truly decent people of Dalish heritage since joining Fen’harel, so he knew her experience was not universal, but that it had happened at all was inexcusable.

He was at a loss for words for a moment, opening and then closing his mouth once, but she stopped him with a hand on his forearm. “Listen, I don’t need your pity, Commander, I just want to leave that past behind and start over. I might actually have a chance at a life now.”

He examined her face. Her expression was proud and defiant, intelligence and wit danced behind her eyes in equal measure. He was again struck by how little her features resembled those of the mortal elves he knew. He wanted to say something encouraging, something to convey inclusion amongst the ever growing community of elves they both found themselves in, he wanted to tell her she was beautiful, but instead all that came out of his mouth was, “Call me Abelas.”

She raised an eyebrow at him, suppressed another smile, and let her hand fall from his arm.

“I mean to say, you’re not a soldier, I’m not your Commander. My name will suffice when addressing me.” He faltered and left it at that.

“As you wish,” she said with a tilt of her head. “Did you have any further questions for me, Abelas?”

“Just one.” The direct approach had worked for him so far. “Did Inquisitor Eléntari Lavellan ask you and your father to come here and spy for her?”

“No,” she said. “I doubt she knows even yet that we have left and joined Fen’harel’s cause, unless Deshanna saw the need to write to her right away. But honestly, why would she waste her time?” She paused and met his eyes again. “So, have I passed your examination?”

Abelas thought for a moment. In the entire length of this conversation, he had not detected deception once from her. He gave a sharp nod. “I believe so, yes.”

“Good. Now,” and she pinned him with another piercing look, “I have a question for you.”

He held his hands out in a welcoming gesture.

“Why did Fen’harel pick you to question me when interrogation is clearly not your strongest suite?” she asked, her eyes crinkling at the corners again. So she was teasing him, now?

It was his turn to walk toward the Eluvian. He stood staring at the strangely reflective surface of the mirror, his mouth set in a thin line. “I’m still trying to figure that out myself.”

She let loose that light, airy laugh that had so affected him before. “Well, overall, I’d say you did a wonderful job. Although, I’ve never been interrogated before, so I have nothing to base that assessment on.”

His lips quirked slightly at that. “Thank you, Miss Lavellan.”

“Call me Varda,” she said in imitation of his earlier tone. “Is there anything else about which you would like to talk with me?”

He tried to think of something to keep her there, but the nagging weight of his own responsibilities shot to the forefront of his mind. “No, you may go about the rest of your day, Varda.”

She smiled at him gently. “Thank you. Until some other time, Abelas.”

He watched her go. And he went to speak with his lieutenants. But he could still feel the warmth of her hand where it had rested on his arm.

[modifysimplelife]

Recently, a friend asked how my husband and I have successfully managed to both work at home, which we have done for about 12 years. Answering this question was difficult because our boundaries have become second nature to us. Whether a telecommuting individual or couple, the following offers tips for home… work… bliss!

Worldwide, more than 50% of people who telecommute part-time said they wanted to increase their remote hours. Additionally, 79% of knowledge workers in a global survey by PGI said they work from home, and 60% of remote workers in the survey said that if they could, they would leave their current job for a full-time remote position at the same pay rate. 17 Stats About Remove Work in 2018 by Remote.com.

Create a dedicated working space.

A dedicated space is best, set apart from the heart of the house, preferably with a door. Invest in office furniture such as a functional desk, ergonomic chair, and file cabinet(s). Skimping on organizational needs eventually makes for a frustrating working environment. Consult with a professional interior designer or professional organizer. Retail stores such as Pottery Barn and IKEA offer varied price range options and have in-store consultants that can help. Visit sites such as Houzz to view home office styles and source ideas to narrow down what you need and the look you want. Create a space that motivates you and provides the necessary desktop area to be productive. Consider high-speed Wi-Fi connection and either a business landline or business cell phone to keep business and personal calls separate. Take the time and invest $$$ for functionality suited well to you. It’s worth it!! Water bottles or a Keurig machine is ideal to be close at hand. If an occasional water/coffee/tea drinker throughout the day, going to another part of the home is great reason to take a walking break. Below is a picture of my home office space, keeping it simple and uncluttered.

Dedicated space suggestions.

Turn a guest bedroom into a home office and consider the stylish Murphy Bed Cabinets, to save space and offer additional shelving. Closets are a great place to store books, office supplies, printer, and file cabinets. The pictures below are of my office/guest bedroom closet. The closet is fully utilized as a sewing space and storage for books, office supplies, additional file cabinet, printer, crafts  and shredder!

Convert an upper level loft or 3rdcar garage into an office space. You will need a certified and qualified professional interior designer and/or general contractor.

Invest in a studio shed if you have a large enough backyard. The cost can be pricey but could be worth it. Example from Studio Shed  … a 10’ x 10’ with the Lifestyle Interior Package, professional assembly and installation – $18,985 not including a permit, if one is required.

If both spouses are telecommuting, consider two designated office spaces. My husband and I find we don’t interrupt each other now that my office is located on the upper level and his office is on the main floor. A marriage saving decision.

Respect your spouse’s working time and downtime as if he/she were a business colleague in a corporate office environment… another marriage saving tip.

Structure your day.

“Working from home is always a fine line,” she says. “You have to learn how to give and take with yourself so that your business doesn’t take over who you are.” 5 Ways to Work From Home More Effectively by Carolyn O’Hara HBR

Working at home requires structure just as if you were driving to the office each day. Your colleague and client time zones determine workday start and shutdown. If living on the west coast and your territory is east coast, your day may start at 6 AM and end at 3 PM. Working consistently from 6 AM to 5 PM+ on the west coast is an 11 hour+ day that will eventually lead to burnout and affect creativity and productivity. Skipping lunch and small breaks is more likely when you don’t have on-site office colleagues to encourage conversation and lunching together. This practice can lead to fatigue, brain fog, and frustration – counterproductive.

Establish consistent workday hours –beginning AM and shutting down PM.

Identify lunch and break times. Be disciplined with breaks or it’s too easy to work right through.

Plan spurts of movement to promote healthy circulation. Stand up and move around every 30 minutes, to keep blood flowing. Sitting down for long periods of time have led to painful leg cramps for me.

What are the risks of sitting too much? Edward Laskowski, M.D., Mayo Clinic shares… They include obesity and a cluster of conditions — increased blood pressure, high blood sugar, excess body fat around the waist and abnormal cholesterol levels — that make up metabolic syndrome. Too much sitting overall and prolonged periods of sitting also seem to increase the risk of death from cardiovascular disease and cancer. 

Communicate work hours to all those living in the home. When in your office, you are not to be disturbed as if you are not at home. This boundary has been a blessing to my marriage. In advance, define and discuss emergency situations that would qualify to trump this rule. Questions can be texted and replies to be expected during specified times. Example…I will read and respond to text messages at 10 AM and 3 PM.

Dress for success.

The old advice to dress for the job you want, not the job you have, may have roots in more than simply how others perceive you—many studies show that the clothes you wear can affect your mental and physical performance. Dress for Success: How Clothes Influence Our Performance, What you wear can influence your thinking and negotiating skills, and even hormone levels and heart rate by Matthew Hutson, Tori Rodriquez

Dress as you would working in a corporate office. Business/casual business attire inspires a working mentality, rather than working in sweats or PJ’s. If you feel professional, you will think professionally! And, being business presentable reduces the embarrassing risk of getting caught off guard when the unexpected Skype or Facetime call comes through and it’s your boss or a client. This has happened!

Making it ALL work!

A Stanford University study last year found that the productivity of employees who worked from home was 13% higher than their office-bound colleagues. 5 Ways to Work From Home More Effectively by Carolyn O’Hara HBR

Know when to turn work ON and when to SHUTDOWN. It is much more difficult to turn OFF having a home office when a quick note can easily become two additional hours of work. Have a notebook handy outside the home office or a NOTES app on your smart phone for reminders and inspirational thoughts, after hours. Shutdown your computer at the end of each working day because doing so before bed doesn’t end well, unless you thrive working after midnight.

Refrain from answering the front door unless you are expecting someone. Working from home does not make your job less important. If a business call is scheduled, put a note on your front door – DO NOT RING DOORBELL, BUSINESS CALL IN PROGRESS. This is especially important if you have a dog(s) whose barking will interfere with an important call and your concentration.

Communicate with family, friends, and neighbors specific times you are available so unexpected visits or phone calls can be considered then and not in the middle of a workday. Example…”I’m available after 5pm.” Each unexpected interruption takes 23 minutes on average to regain focus. Interruptions can add up. According to estimates based on a recent UC Irvine study, refocusing your efforts after just one interruption can take up to 23 minutes. It Takes 23 Minutes to Recover from a Distraction at Work, by Nicholas McGill, INC.

Schedule lunch or morning coffee meetings outside the home, when possible. If colleagues and clients are out of state, schedule occasional face-to-face SKYPE or Facetime calls to feel a team connection and build camaraderie.

Schedule “talk time” with your significant other or a trusted friend in the AM and/or PM to discuss the workday and gain a different perspective. This encourages a team feeling that is experienced in a corporate office environment but not as likely when working remotely. My husband has inspired many of my writing topics and I have influenced some of his sales strategies. Our “talk-time” is 7 AM and 4:30 PM – every day.

Mute all cell phone “beep” distractions such as news, social media, texting.

The percentage of people working from home is increasing with each passing year. It’s possible to telecommute successfully by creating a productive and inspiring workspace, establishing structure to your day, dressing for success, and consistently following through with boundaries to make your business from home, work! Working from a home office doesn’t make your job less important and the boundaries you establish should reflect this. If you and your spouse both telecommute, it’s critical to professionally respect each other as you would colleagues in an office environment. Telecommuting   successfully is possible and you can make it happen!

Resources

Cover Image – Free stock photos and royalty free images from picjumbo

17 Stats About Remove Work in 2018 by Remote.com

5 Ways to Work From Home More Effectively by Carolyn O’Hara HBR, October 2014

It Takes 23 Minutes to Recover from a Distraction at Work, by Nicholas McGill, Inc, May 2017

What are the risks of sitting too much? by Edward Laskowski, M.D., Mayo Clinic

Dress for Success: How Clothes Influence Our Performance, What you wear can influence your thinking and negotiating skills, and even hormone levels and heart rate by Matthew Hutson, Tori Rodriquez, January 2016

Additional Resources 

10 Tips For Telecommuting Successfully 

Get More Done: 18 Tips for Telecommuters By Christina DesMarais Contributor, Inc.com, August 2013

  Home Office…making WORK, work!

Recently, a friend asked how my husband and I have successfully managed to both work at home, which we have done for about 12 years.

Home Office…making WORK, work! Recently, a friend asked how my husband and I have successfully managed to both work at home, which we have done for about 12 years.

[tmmsradio-blog]

Michael Cohen sentenced to three years in prison for crimes committed while working for Trump

The president’s former personal lawyer tells judge he’s lived in ‘personal and mental incarceration’ since working for Trump. By Matt Zapotosky and Devlin Barrett December 12 at 12:55 PM NEW YORK — A federal judge on Wednesday sentenced President Trump’s former lawyer Michael Cohen to three years in prison for financial crimes and lying to Congress, as the disgraced former “fixer” apologized for his conduct but also said he felt it was his duty to cover up the “dirty deeds” of his former boss. Cohen made an emotional, teary apology to U.S. District Judge William H. Pauley III, taking responsibility for crimes that included tax violations, lying to a bank, and buying the silence during the 2016 campaign of women who alleged affairs with the future president. “My weakness could be characterized as a blind loyalty to Donald Trump,” Cohen told the packed courtroom. He stood at a podium, sniffling and fighting back tears as he spoke, and paused occasionally to regain his composure. The judge also ordered Cohen to pay nearly $2 million in financial penalties. Pauley said Cohen’s sentence should reflect the competing interests of his case — punishing those who repeatedly break the law, and rewarding those who cooperate and provide truthful testimony.

Michael Cohen, right, President Trump's former lawyer and “fixer,” is accompanied Wednesday by his wife and children as he arrives at the federal courthouse in New York for his sentencing hearing. (Craig Ruttle/AP) “Our democratic institutions depend upon the honesty of our citizenry in dealing with the government,” Pauley said, calling Cohen’s crimes serious, particularly given his profession. “As a lawyer, Mr. Cohen should have known better. Tax evasion undercuts the government’s ability to provide essential services upon which we all depend,” the judge said. “While Mr. Cohen is taking steps to mitigate his criminal conduct by pleading guilty and volunteering useful information to prosecutors, that does not wipe the slate clean. “Mr. Cohen selected the information he disclosed to the government. This court cannot agree with the defendant’s assertion that no jail time is warranted. In fact this court firmly believes that a significant term of imprisonment is fully justified in this highly publicized case to send a message,” the judge said. Trump made no immediate statements following the sentencing. Cohen pleaded guilty in two separate cases. One was brought by Robert S. Mueller III, who is investigating Russia’s interference in the 2016 presidential election, over Cohen’s lies to Congress. The other was brought by federal prosecutors in New York over tax and bank fraud allegations and campaign finance violations. In his emotional appeal for leniency, Cohen denounced what he called his own weakness in the service of his former boss, the president. “I stand before your honor humbly and painfully aware that we are here today for one reason, because of my actions that I pled guilty to,” Cohen said. “I take full responsibility for each act that I pled guilty to, the personal ones to me and those involving the president of the United States of America. Cohen said there was a deep irony about his sentencing, because he felt that he was finally getting free from Trump. “Today is the day I am getting my freedom back as you sit at the bench and contemplate my fate,” he said. “I have been living in a personal and mental incarceration ever since the fateful day that I accepted the offer to work for a famous real estate mogul whose business acumen I truly admired. In fact I now know there is little to be admired.” Cohen cited a recent tweet from the president calling Cohen “weak” for cooperating, and said the president was right, but not in the way he meant. “It was my own weakness and a blind loyalty to this man that led me to choose a path of darkness over light,” he said. “Time and time again I felt it was my duty to cover up his dirty deeds.” Cohen was joined in court by his wife and children. Upon leaving, he strode past a bank of television cameras, ignoring a microphone stand that had been set up, and departed in a black SUV. Moments later, Michael Avenatti, the lawyer of one of the women Cohen arranged to be paid hush money, told reporters Cohen “deserved every day of the 36 month sentence” he received. “Michael Cohen was sentenced today,” Avenatti said. “Donald Trump is next.” In a court filing asking for no jail time, Cohen’s lawyers wrote that their client’s misdeeds were a product of his “fierce loyalty” to Trump and put the wrongdoing squarely at the feet of the president and his close advisers. Cohen’s lawyer, Guy Petrillo, urged the judge to be lenient in light of what he called Cohen’s courage and “the remarkable nature and significance” of his decision to cooperate against Trump. “He knew that the president might shut down the investigation . . . He came forward to offer evidence against the most powerful person in our country,” said Petrillo. He did so not knowing what the result would be, not knowing how the politics would play out, not knowing if the special counsel would even survive.” As a result, Petrillo said, Cohen and his family have faced public outrage and...  Continue: Michael Cohen sentenced to three years in prison for crimes committed while working for Trump Read the full article

[sshbpodcast]

Tales from the Holodeck: Star Trek/Star Wars Mashup: Ames’s Story

In celebration of A Star to Steer Her By’s second anniversary, we broke out the "Tales from the Holodeck” fanfic again and wrote up some mashup stories combining Star Trek and Star Wars! We picked our series and allowed the force to guide us where we went from there. You can listen to all the fanfic on the podcast, or read them here! This is Ames’s short story written out. Live long, prosper, and may the force be with you.

[images © Lucasfilm, Disney, CBS, Paramount, etc.]

“The Solo Algorithm”

by Ames

Random Picks: Star Trek: TNG / Star Wars Anthology Series

I'd been staring at the plans for the Death Star for the entire morning, poring over every detail of the computer code until I could see them burning on the backs of my eyelids. My head buzzed. My office appeared blurry. This was easily the biggest project I'd worked on, so complex that I had to keep a cheatsheet next to my monitor with all the algorithms scrawled in my unsightly handwriting. My intercom shouted at me every few minutes with new requests until I had to turn on the auto-response so I could claw at the blueprints for some futile minutes in peace. I came to the determination that whoever had designed this project had fucked up.

I flipped the intercom back on. "You have 1001 messages!" screeched the mechanized voice of the auto-response system. "Press one to hear your messages!"

I dialed in the number for the inventory manager, whose line was also going to auto-response. A curt, concise: "Inventory. Please consult the database."

Rolling my office chair behind my desk, I bumped the rear wall of my cube. We were not allowed windows. We were not allowed doors. We were not allowed to see any of the other workers in untold other cubes, fitted only with enough room to sit at our computers and stare at the wall of monitors while we incessantly worked through what was assumably the workday. Sometimes I could hear the occupants of neighboring cubes bump against my wall and mutter some profanity, occasionally an apology. A tiny, simple houseplant I'd custom-designed and printed sat on my desk so that I wouldn't go stir crazy.

I brought up the database and started searching through it. We could build starships, we could design worlds, we could create artificial beings with personalities that could fool a Turing test, but whoever maintained the database was the true mastermind of this operation. The task sheet was several thousand pages of cells that delineated the job breakdown because we had to account for everything, no matter how minute, and whoever had bungled the Death Star would be on it somewhere.

It was afternoon when I'd tracked down the culprit out of everyone else developing the plans. I pulled up an extension number with no name – we didn't go by those – and called their intercom. They didn't have their auto-response on.

"Make it quick; I've got to finish this damn thing," came the genderless voice on the other line. I would never meet this person, as I would never meet any person here. It's possible I'd spoken with them many times on countless other projects, and just as possible our degrees of separation had been infinite until today.

"Uh. Hi. Say, have you noticed something wrong with the Death Star plans?" I asked. I stared at my little houseplant and drummed my fingers on my desk.

My counterpart groaned. "You're obviously going to have to be a whole lot more specific than that." I could hear them typing nonstop through my earpiece, working endlessly even while we talked.

I pulled up the design plans again and zoomed in. The pixels fuzzed and then sharpened as I scrutinized a certain section that had gotten me scratching my head. "Well… Uh, take a look at the superlaser reactor," I started. "I'm kinda reviewing the code and, uh, if there were a pressurized explosion there-"

"The whole station will blow. Yep," they said, as matter-of-factly as possible.

"Oh, so you're working on it? I figured it was a mistake and I just wanted to make sure-"

"No, you don't get it. It's supposed to do that."

I stopped fidgeting in my chair and stared at the intercom as if I expected to see something there. My brow thoroughly furrowed, I managed a "Wha- Why?"

They snorted at me. "Players have to be able to beat the Death Star – it's the damn trigger for the next cut scene." It sounded really simple and obvious when they said it. We builders don't always think about the reasons behind the designs we construct; we just do them to check them off from the inexhaustible database, which assigns us a new project, and on and on into oblivion. They continued, "No one's gonna play the damn game if there's no way to beat this level. Didn't you read the wireframe specs? The flaw is there intentionally for the storyline to- Oh, goddammit shit on a fuck! Hang on!"

I jerked my chair away from my desk and smacked it against the wall. My adjacent unseen neighbor yelled something muffled and I could hear them give the wall a hit with the palm of their hand. "Sorry!" I called out.

In my earpiece, the codewriter on the intercom was still letting out a raucous stream of profanity. "Cockass fucking shithole piece of hell!" they shouted.

I hesitated between hanging up on them so they could get back to their obviously important work, and apologizing for existing in the first place to wreck their day so utterly. "Oh jeez," I stammered, "I shouldn't have brought it up; I- I- I'm sure you've got it under control. I, uh, I'm sorry to have bothered you."

"No, for fuck's sake, it's fine, dumbass. The Death Star is ready to roll out, dammit. It's just this other project just keeps not coming the hell together. I'm supposed to be coding Han Solo and he keeps coming out fucked up."

"I'm sorry," I squeaked.

"Stop apologizing! Now I've got to undo a day's worth of edits on his stupid charisma levels, but then his whole personality generator will be imbalanced and he'll just be too much of a miscreant for this assignment. This whole character sheet is fucking impossible. I wish I could just start from scratch and delete this son of a bitch."

My hands were shaking as I listened to them shout at me over the intercom, and I focused on my tiny potted plant. I had made it to give me something real to look at in this grey, claustrophobic mimicry of an office, otherwise made up of screens and machines. Everything else black or metal, even my hulking metal desk. The plant was just a couple tiny leaves, simple, uncluttered. I could have made a flower, but the greenness of the ittybitty leaves were just what I needed to make myself feel composed, justified. Like my existence in this world were validated. I took a quick breath before gliding my chair closer to my desk. "Well… Then why don't you?" I asked.

"Why don't I what?" came the clipped reply. I heard more frantic clattering which echoed from the keyboard, more muffled cursing.

"Start from scratch? I do it all the time."

"What are you talking about? That's a waste of time. I've already got so far into developing this feckless cad. You have no idea how long- how many hours I've spent staring at- ugh, and he's got this fucking idiot ponytail I'm just sick of too! I just want to cut it right off his damn head!"

I tried not to laugh. Smiling, I went on, "You don't know about the Star Trek universe, do you?"

"What? No. The what?"

All of the developers loved the Star Trek universe. It was enormous. It contained nearly everything we'd ever created to date. And everything in it came from mistake after mistake after mistake, growing and evolving into the most realistic world we'd all ever built.  And it would never see the light of day.

"It's only where we've been dumping our botched projects for as long as I've ever known. What? You can't delete this Solo guy? Then I say scrap him for anything useful, rename the original file to anything else – uh, Okona or, I dunno, literally anything, – and dump it into the Trek ether. Here, I'll send you a link that a bunch of us have been using. I've got a ton of crap floating around in there."

I found the link to the virtual environment and messaged it to the developer's extension. Over my earpiece, I could hear the message pop up on their screen with a cartoonish bouncy sound. "This is a fuckin' live world?" they asked, incredulous.

"Yeah sure! I mean, it's programmed to never leave the test environment, so it'll never be found, but yeah. You put something in here, and you get it off your plate, and you can, I dunno, start over from the beginning . I do it all the time. I was on the Game of Thrones project and broke one of the Dothraki's foreheads somehow – really rough day, don't ask – so I renamed them Klingons and basically threw them in here. Now they're one of the biggest races in the universe."

"The garbage universe?"

"Ish? It's been running on its own for a long time now. And all the beings in there have their free will turned on, so they just sort of go, and write their own stories, and stuff like that. It's a downright lifesaver sometimes."

I'd heard about the Star Trek universe early on from another developer. This jury rigged quickfix had been passed along from person to person in this office as a way to work around efficiency checks and quality assurance, and it was rather brilliant. Another coder who kept bungling a Gandalf for the Lord of the Rings virtual reality game told me about it. They couldn't get the long white hair on the wizard to attach properly, so they just shaved it all off, renamed the file Jean Luc Picard, and shoved it in there. I heard that character's a starship captain now!

As far as I can tell, the first usage of the Star Trek universe was when someone was building The Master from the Doctor Who VR, accidentally overpowered the character, renamed him Q, and gave him sentience. After the coverup of that mistake, the whole galaxy started to come together on its own and turned into this enormous, complex behemoth where the characters have no idea that they are programs, the worlds are first drafts that have evolved into huge functioning civilizations, and the stories write themselves into the cosmos of what's effectively a galactic recycling bin.

My counterpart was silent on the other end of the line for a long time, without even more typing to be heard. They spoke in an awestruck whisper. "I'm looking at this universe, and holy shit."

"Yeah, I know."

"Thanks a shit-ton for showing me."

"Hey, no prob, really, just doing what anyone would do."

"Who are all these space elves I'm seeing?"

"I dunno. Probably Vulcans? They're sort of neat," I said.

"Why isn't THIS what we're building?" they finally exclaimed in ecstacy. "People would play the hell out of an open-world sandbox program like this! It's fucking majestic! It's… it's everything!"

I didn't have an answer for that. We developers try not to dwell too much on our purpose in life, spent forever logged into office cubes, staring at blinding monitors, where we create everything the database tells us to whenever a project calls for a new character or item or vehicle or anything, no matter how big or how small. We have to account for all of it while we literally build the world and everything represented in it.

"Yeah, it's pretty great." I hesitated for a second while I couldn't stop from smiling at the sheer splendor of the world we'd unknowingly nurtured. "Hey, can I tell you something, friend?"

"What's that?"

"Can you go check how a planet called Bynaus is doing?"

"Bynaus? Uh, sure. Let me see." I heard some clicking and waited for a reaction to what they might see. "There's a little humanoid being down there. Cute little shit."

I trembled, grinning, tears starting to form in the corners of my eyes. "That… That little humanoid… That's me."

"That's you? You built yourself?"

"Something like myself. Like, an interpretation of myself. I kinda wanted some version of me to exist somewhere in the playable universe. Maybe it's stupid-"

"Naw, it's not stupid, it's cool," they scolded me. "You named yourself 01?"

"It's from my extension number."

"Oh my god." There was another pause and more clicking I could hear. Finally, the other spoke up. "I'm gonna build myself to keep you company. I'm gonna be 10."

"Oh! You don't have to do that…" I was surely blushing, though the other developer would never know it.

"Already did. I just copied your file and mirror imaged it. Stupid easy."

I opened the universe and watched the two Bynars – me and a nearly identical programmer I would never meet – as they conversed rapidly to each other, going about their days as if they were real people, ignorant that they were just two pieces of code living in a virtual world.

"I should get back to my jackass Han Solo problem," they said. "I may keep the vest, but everything else is just horseshit."

"Sure."

"Nice talking with you."

"You too. Hey, another suggestion," I said.

"What's that?"

"You should print yourself a houseplant for your office. They're nice, I think."

I logged out of the office environment at the end of the workday, and pulled the virtual reality set from my head. I immediately felt ten pounds lighter. And that night, as I stared out my apartment window at a slightly pixelated setting sun and a program depicting a city full of apartment buildings implying masses and masses of people, I felt optimistic about the world for the first time in a long time. "Computer," I said, as I stretched my legs and shook out my arms, "load program Star Wars: Escape from Corellia."

Thanks for reading! If you’re hungry for more, check back here for Caitlin, Jake, and Chris’s stories, revisit our first batch of TOS fanfic here, keep listening to the podcast, and follow A Star to Steer Her By on Facebook and Twitter. Be sure to tip your yeoman!

[storm278]

Home is where the heart is CHAPTER 1

10 years after college, Riley has gained a reputation of being a flight risk. Her friends and family have tried to stop her from taking off but truthfully there is only one person that can make her stay for good. what happens when riley sees said person for the first time in 14 years. Rucas centric

Rated T

Cross posted to Fanfiction.net here

Prologue 

Maya storms into Riley's pent house after getting a 911 text from her best friend. She marches straight into her bedroom to see the lights turned off and she also hears the brunette crying her eyes out underneath the covers.

"Riley, honey, are you okay I got your text what happened" she says as she turns on the light to get a better view of the situation. Immediately she sees her sister, her mood goes from worried to panicked. She runs across the room to her best friend.

"Riles talk to me what's going on? are you sick? Did someone hurt you? Just give me a name I'll find em"

Riley slowly takes off the cover with tear stained cheeks "Maya it happened again, Charlie," she sobs "he did it again, he promised he would never do it again. I walked in on him and some slut in his office".

Maya immediately hugs are friend and comforts her for several minutes, just allowing Riley to let it all out. "that son of a bitch never deserved you to begin with honey. And no worries, tonight we take care of you tomorrow we can go all psyco crazy on his stupid ass" This made Riley giggled and sniffed back some tears "let's not go all Maya-Ville just yet, we can just throw out his stuff from my place"

"Riley! He hurt you. I have to…" she was cut off by Riley before she could continue "No Maya, you do not have to do anything to him. I blame myself actually".

"No Riley! This isn't your fault. You've been faithful to him for the past 3 years and he cheated on you in return. He's at fault here not you and he has to pay. Maya countered

Riley sat up and propped herself on her pillows "three years' wow, I really stayed with him for that long?"

"Honey I'm as shocked as you are. He was such a creep"

"If I let myself be honest I think after I caught him with Melissa last year I just didn't feel the same way about him anymore but for some odd reason I took him back. I don't know, I guess on some level I just assumed I'll learn to love him and then I opened myself to him again. I was 29 already so I stayed with him. Can you imagine I actually started to feel things for him again. I had hope that maybe he would be the last one you know. God was I stupid" Riley rambled.

Maya knew it was a bold face lie. Maya could admit that Charlie's actions did hurt her best friend but Riley saying she thought Charlie was her 'the one' was nothing far from mendacity. He and the other guys since college have just been place holders in an attempt to forget a certain green eyed doctor. Was she pissed with said doctor? Yes, but he just so happened to have made her best friend very happy a long time ago and for God knows why, Riley has refused to explain the actual reason for their break up. But right now her friend needed her so the story of doctor huckleberry will have to wait. Plus, this was a delicate situation and if not handled properly would mean a horrible reoccurrence happening again

"Honey you are not stupid. Everyone deserves to love and feel loved in return. But can I at least set his stuff on fire. He has some really expensive clothes and shoes here". Maya said with puppy eyes.

Riley sighed with relaxed shoulders and ultimately gave in. "Fine do what you want I don't even care anymore. Please just stay here with me tonight?".

Maya scooted closer to her on the bed and hugged her even closer "I already have Josh watching over Melvin. So girl's night?" Riley cleaned up what was left of her tears "yea I'd love that".

GMWGMWGMWGMWGMWGMWGMW

Maya called Isadora and their childhood friend Darby over to join their girl's night. Fortunately, it was a Friday night and their husbands had so graciously agreed to watch the kids. Actually Farkle, Josh and Yogi had been filled in on the Riley/Charlie situation and all three made sure their wives would be with Riley tonight because they knew a lonely thinking Riley Matthews only leads to her taking off to God knows were again for a long time.

Riley had managed to stay put in New York for the past 3 years because of her relationship with Charlie which has been a new record for her since high school. It started with her breakup with Lucas the night before their high school graduation. She took a year off school. She got invited by their classmate Sarah whose dad happened to work as a captain on a ship set to cruse across the world picking and dropping of passengers. Riley and Sarah joined the crew and sailed for months before Riley docked in Europe and got several jobs while touring the continent. She lived and worked there for the remainder of the year. Maya has yet to forgive Lucas and Sarah because that 'friendly invitation' gave Riley the reputation of being the flight risk of their group. Her take off behaviour continued in college after her breakup with a guy named David, she spent the next 2 semesters abroad. Then after college it became a reoccurring event.

Whenever her heart got broken she would take off for months going on a year and Cory Matthews was glad to fund any trip that would involve taking Riley away from guys as long as she was going to be happy where she was going he didn't care. This was after all his little girl and he would do anything in the world to make sure she was happy. Of course, at the time he thought he was doing it to avoid losing his little girl to the wolves but now with her job at Minus international and her occasional 'business trips' after unfortunate breakups he never gets to see her anymore and he didn't like it one bit until Charlie came around.

After the distress text sent from Riley, Maya saw the signs and informed all their friends of what was inevitably coming.

Darby and Isadora came charging into the penthouse like soldiers on a mission. "Riley!" Darby screamed from while moving around Riley's place. "Riley Grace Matthews where are you"

Maya meandered into the living room "Darbs she's in the bathroom. I sent her to take a bath. She just needs to clear her mind. Smarkle did you get my list"

Isadora smiled and went through the list of items needed for the special girl's night Maya had planned "okay so I have the ice-cream, chocolate, popcorn, scissors, lighter and of course wine, is this to your liking Maya?".

"Perfect" Maya responded

Darby was still very much worried about her friend and her 'take-off' antics in situations like this. She just had to speak up "has she mentioned anything about you know…"

"taking off? no I have not mentioned anything about that" Riley said as she sauntered into the living room. "thanks for coming you guys. It means a lot to me that you guys are here"

Darby quickly went and hugged her friend "please don't leave riley, please Charlie is total d-bag. He never deserved you and he doesn't need to know he caused you so much pain you had to leave the country because of him. I swear I'll set you up with someone new, give me a week. I could even find someone who looks just like Lucas if that would make you stay please Riley don't leave this time." Darby ended her ramble because she just had to breathe. Everyone stayed quiet after that because Darby just let out Lucas' name. Riley felt her heart rate go up just by the mention of his name. She even felt a little dizzy just having flashing images of his face and what could have been had she told him sooner.

It was weird to speak of him with Riley because since high school everyone stayed in touch with each other except for Riley and Lucas. It was kind of an unspoken rule to not speak of him around Riley. She never talked about their breakup not even to Maya.

Farkle just stuck with his theory that the fact that they would be attending separate colleges ignited the fire but he never quite understood why they wouldn't so much as be in the same room with each other let alone sit to have an actual conversation. Lucas never spoke about the situation either. Whenever Zay or Farkle asked he just waves it off and leaves the room almost like the air was sucked out of him whenever anyone brought up the topic of what happened between him and Riley.

Riley finally broke the uncomfortable silence "I see someone is back on those sugar beverages again. Darbs you really should cut back on those drinks and no I do not want a guy right now no matter what he looks like. As for me leaving I will be going to Vancouver and it's not because of Charlie, we are opening a new office there I need to oversee their operations being that it is the first branch we have in that region of the country".

"Pardon my bluntness bubbles but even I know that's a bold face lie" said Isadora as the other girls take their positions on the couches making themselves comfortable for the night

Smackle continued "I know this Charlie incident might be one of the reasons you want to leave but suggesting you going to Vancouver for business is total crap and you are very well aware of it". At this point the girls were willing to say and bring up just about any topic or argument to ensure Riley didn't leave the country even it meant speaking of a certain emerald eyed doctor.

"Oh really Isadora enlighten me why would I possibly want to go to Canada if it wasn't for the company" Riley said being defensive.

"Because someone cough Darbs cough let out the fact that a certain Lucas Friar from Texas will be coming to town next month to in an attempt to expand his business here in Manhattan. Correct me if I am wrong bubbles"

"Smackle you are supposed to hide the message in the cough not actually say the word cough. And I only told Riley with hopes that she would dump Charlie and move on with Lucas" Darby said

"First of all you are wrong and second if this is how my night is going to play out I'm gonna need a drink. Anyone care to join me for Vodka?" Riley said as she walked over to her mini bar and took a shot. "You guys want me to talk fine let's talk. I have moved on from Lucas!" she shouted "I dated Charlie for the past 3 years' I actually loved him hell I've been dating other guys since college if that doesn't say Riley has moved on I don't know what will".

Maya final spoke out "Honey first of all stop speaking about yourself in the third person its weird and second I hate to break it to you but you and I both know you were never going to end up with Charlie Gardner or any other place holder you've hooked up with since college".

"Maya!" Riley said with wide eyes knowing were her friend was taking the conversation

"Riley I've known you my whole life. I've seen you happy and in love and I've seen you with Charlie. There is a clear difference" Maya took Riley's hand and looked her in the eye "Charlie is an asshole we've all know that, you have refused to accept that fact for some reason. But I know you and even if you won't admit it you still love that Texas huckleberry". Riley took back her hand and went to take another shot and just taking in the burn that came with it.

Riley felt like she has had enough Lucas discussion for one night. She never lets herself think of him willingly because thinking about him meant thinking about the events that surrounded the breakup. She has almost let details of their breakup slip out before and she was not about to let that happen tonight. She took another shot and spoke "weren't we supposed to set Charlie's stuff on fire or something"

"Way to change the subject on us Riles" Maya rolled her eyes "and yes we are definitely making a burn fire tonight if only you would let me get my hands on the actual Charlie…"

"Maya! you would take what you get okay".

"Fine but this isn't the end of this"

The girls drove out of the city that night and in true Maya fashion set all Charlie's stuff on fire. Literally every trace of him in Riley's pent house clothes, shoes, gifts, pictures, all the relationship momentous all gone. Riley felt sad about the situation because she knew the girls were right. After all these years of dating all these different men and traveling around the world in search of some kind of happiness in a new place or in someone or in something that could measure up to what she had with he who shall not be named but yet nothing. She wondered the whole ride going and coming back, would she ever get over him? And if so how, because she simply couldn't go on like this it's been fourteen years for God sake. And boy is she desperate because she just had to find a way. He seemed to have moved on years ago quite nicely so why couldn't she.

At the end of the night Riley had sworn all the girls to secrecy about her impending move.