#corporate neckties

[designyourtie]

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[gurlu]

When he came out of the barber, he was a completely different person.

Now move out of the way, he's late for his shift...

[tojisth3rdwife]

Kento was a man of details. He noticed the little things that others often overlooked, and his keen eye missed practically nothing. So when his gaze fell upon you, the most vibrant and captivating woman he had ever encountered, he made it his mission to attune himself to every nuance about you.

Your natural hair was the first aspect that captured his attention. Its luster, its scent, its curly texture—it fascinated him. The versatility you exhibited never ceased to amaze him; you effortlessly transformed your look, switching from bouncy curls to sleek straight strands, from intricate braids to elegant locs, and accessorizing with colorful headwraps or slicked-back buns. Just as your hair shifted, so too did you linger in his thoughts.

But that day… that particular day was a turning point. You strolled past his desk, your hips swaying gently in dark slacks that hugged your curves perfectly. You wore a fitted white button-up blouse that accentuated your figure, complemented by a floral yellow scarf tied at your neck—a vibrant pop of color that momentarily distracted him before his eyes were drawn back to your hair. Every spiral bounced with your graceful gait, and in that moment, Kento knew he had to say more than just “Good morning” or lament the struggles of quarterly report week.

He felt a surge of determination as he approached your desk, nervously tugging at his necktie. Kento wasn’t much of a flirt; in fact, he didn’t see himself as one at all. Yet, he hoped that the way your eyes lit up at his compliment about your hair was a sign that he recognized you as the beauty you were. You brought a much-needed vibrancy to the drab corporate office, and the thought of you occupied his mind daily.

He wanted nothing more than to know you beyond the confines of this place, and that day marked the first step toward making that a reality.

“I’d say I almost didn’t recognize you, but that would be inaccurate,” he said, leaning against the wall of your cubicle. You glanced up, and a spark ignited in your expression at the sight of him.

God, you were stunning. From the glow of your honey-brown skin to the shimmer in your large almond-shaped eyes, you radiated beauty. When you smiled, something tightened in his chest, but he maintained his cool demeanor, betraying nothing.

“Oh? What makes you say that?” you asked, your curiosity piqued. You turned in your chair, now fully facing him, and Kento felt a rush of adrenaline. This was dangerous territory.

“Because it just would be. You’re undoubtedly the most fashionable person here; I’d be blind not to recognize you,” he replied, noting how you leaned your head slightly as you listened, a smile playing at your lips. His compliment seemed to amuse you, evident by your playful eye roll and the way you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“Oh please. You can’t say things like that when you’re dressed like a Tom Ford model every day…”

You werent even exagerateing.

Kento Nanami stood over you, a vision of polished professionalism that made your heart race. His tailored dress shirt hugged his broad shoulders just right, accentuating the lines of his physique, while the crisp tan slacks draped perfectly over his legs.

The silk tie he wore added a touch of sophistication, its deep hue contrasting beautifully with his neatly styled blond hair that framed his face with effortless charm. As he moved, a subtle yet signature cologne wafted through the air, a warm and inviting scent that lingered long after he passed by. You found yourself captivated, entranced by the way he carried himself with quiet confidence, and every glance in his direction felt electric, igniting a flutter of hope deep within you.

Flattery was clearly one of your strengths, and Kento found himself reveling in the sweet praise that rolled off your tongue.

Your tongue…

Your lips..

Both were equally full and glistening, a decadent nude shade of gloss that he imagined tasted utterly addictive. As you spoke, his attention lingered on your lips before retreating back to your eyes, warmth blooming in his chest.

“You’re far too kind,” he said, a blush creeping across his cheeks as he briefly looked down before meeting your gaze once more.

Honey-colored irises met your deep mahogany, both shades swirling in a dance of unspoken desires. Kento had no idea how nervous he made you, how the sound of his voice, even from a distance, quickened your pulse.

“Can I just say, your hair is beautiful? It always is, but today…” He hesitated, almost revealing too much before continuing, “I’ve never seen a more elegant look on you.”

If you had known that a simple wash and go would finally draw the man of your dreams to you, you would have embraced this effortless style ages ago.

“Thank you, Mr. Nanami…” you replied, a blush creeping across your cheeks as you searched for the right words.

Each syllable that slipped from your lips was buttery smooth, but to him, the sound of his surname—caramelized and decadent—was like music. He wanted to hear it again, to savor it as he basked in the warmth of your presence.

“Kento, please. Just Kento,” he insists politely, but there’s an undeniable hint of authority in his tone—one that makes you feel as if calling him anything else would be a disservice. In that moment, you realize you’d gladly oblige him, surrendering to the quiet power he exudes.

The air between you crackled with an unspoken tension, and Kento felt a sense of exhilaration.

“Okay…” you reply, a smile breaking across your face as you look up at him. With the ice finally shattered, both of your minds drift far from work, caught up in the electric connection that now filled the air between you.

This was only the beginning.

[saralutra]

This is my first artwork of the year. And an art commission. The customer was so kind to give me free reign of the motives. And I wanted to do something pink with pirates in love. Which may be extra needed, given that Max just axed the third season.... For reasons, most likely only a severely corporate minded necktie will understand. So, I am stubborn, and will stay in the fandom. With more obnoxiously in love pirates. And more obnoxiously in love pirate otters.

[starryriize]

kiss me kiss me | eunseok

— ✧ • ˳೫˚ part of my valentine event!

೫ pairing: corporate worker bf! eunseok and gf! reader

೫ summary: you surprise your boyfriend while he's stuck at work with flowers and of course, kisses! however, you didn't expect him to look so attractive.

೫ genre/word count: kinda fluffy but more suggestive! 668 words!

೫ author's note: ngl i wrote this really quickly because i didn't like the first draft of this so...here we are :)) good lord i was giggling and kicking as i wrote this fr <3 this could definitely be better though...

Eunseok rarely let the effects of lack of sleep get to him. Most days, he could easily get by with a shot of espresso and some coffee, but today was one of those days. It was one of those days when everything was thrown at him and there wasn’t enough time in the day to get it all done. His once pristine desk was now piled with papers and proposals that were meant to be finished. Reaching up to his collar, he laced his fingers under his necktie, roughly pulling it to undo the knot. 

His suit jacket was strewn across his office chair along with his discarded company badge. There was a new client that his boss had wanted to get signed before the end of the day. His phone buzzes, the dim light shining facedown on his desk. Picking up his phone, he glances at the text from you, finding it cute that you wanted to visit him with a pick-me-up.

10 minutes later, he heard the ever-familiar ding from the elevator. The soft click of your heels can be heard as you walk down the halls along with the soft whirr of the elevator going back down. You approach Eunseok's office, seeing him sitting at his desk, head resting in his hands. You open the door slowly, peeking your head in, exclaiming, "Honey! I brought some midnight snacks for us!" He perks up, eyes instantly sparkling upon seeing you in his office.

Getting up, he walks over to you, pulling you into a tight hug. For him, you were the cure to every single one of his problems. His hands found their way to your cheeks, wordlessly pressing his lips against yours. It was rushed, full of want and need. Perhaps it was the adrenaline rush of kissing in his office, even though there was no one else in the office building. Maybe it was the stress of work, but your boyfriend looked far too good in his white shirt and loosened tie. You pull away, not wanting to give in too quickly or ignore the food that is getting cold. His eyes were glazed over as he leaned back against the front of his desk, teasing, "What? Do you want more?" You contemplate it, smirking in response, dragging your eyes up and down his figure. If he was a tease, you were the devil. Your eyes land on his loosened tie and you let your intrusive thoughts take over.

Stepping closer, you lightly trace your fingers down his white shirt, noticing how he slightly shivered at your touch. Looping a finger around the bottom of his tie, you tug it, pulling him towards you. "Hey-" he exclaims, wondering what you were doing. "Shhhh." You add, before pulling him in for a passionate kiss with his tie. The kiss was far from innocent, the only sounds that could be heard were both of your breathless moans into each other lips. Eunseok's mind was melting as you kissed him more impatiently, your tongues molding against each other. He kissed you as though you were the most decadent chocolate, savoring every taste, swallowing your pretty sighs. He dragged his hands away from your waist, dropping lower to grab your ass, giving it a little smack. “Eun-ah!” You yelp, but he chases your lips, wanting you to be the only air he breathes. He pulls you closer and the way his lips perfectly moved against yours drove you insane. By now, the food was not the snack that your boyfriend wanted, rather he wanted to have you. This moment, in his office, was simply the prelude to what would be a long night.

You both pull away, chests heaving from the lack of air, and smiling hazily at each other. "Let's continue…this at home,” he says between pants. He smiles, lopsided and dazed, as though he got drunk on the taste of your lips. You nod, catching your breath before asking him, “So, what’s for dessert tonight?”

“You.”

[gothiccharmschool]

Hey Auntie,

I've been in a corporate office job with a very strict dress code (think suits, no colored hair, minimal accessories) for a while. I like my job, but other than small things like my pearl skull earrings and my band posters on my cubicle walls, I'm feeling bummed out that I can't really rock my usual goth stuff at work. Do you have any resources/info on small ways to incorporate goth stuff into your work wardrobe? I'm looking for ideas to make things feel a little more me instead of a costume.

Wellllll, here's this article I wrote about CorpGoth.

For a job with a really strict dress code, my immediate suggestions are:

It's easier to fold romantigoth styles into corpgoth. Ruffled blouses in black or dark jewel tones, slightly fuller skirts with a decorative ruffle or lace trim, and jackets or blazers with interesting silhouettes. (Scarlet Darkness has some items that would work for strict corporate wear.)

(I realize I am assuming you're femme -presenting. I apologize if you're not.)

As much as I realize shopping at Amazon or Shien is Not Great (ugh, the rise of fast fashion, I will not rant), if you comb through the sites you can find some interesting suit jackets that are not just, how do I put this, lawyer corporate drone -wear.

Accessories! I know you said minimal accessories, but maybe a men's dress shirt with a subtly gothy necktie would help sooth your spooky soul. Cufflinks. Stickpins. Gothy socks or tights.

I'm sorry your work wardrobe makes you feel less yourself. I hope some of my suggestions help.

[yuurei20]

Epel Facts Part 22: Epel and Vil (pt1)

Vil and Epel meet for the first time before the school’s opening ceremonies have even begun, with Epel deciding that he is going to leave an impression on his new schoolmates via violence in order to make sure that he doesn’t get bullied like he was back home. 

Vil orders Epel to button up the collar of his robes immediately upon meeting him, while Epel’s first impression of Vil is of a feeble, girly person that he wants nothing to do with.

Vil compliments Epel’s physical beauty once he gets a closer look at him and Epel takes immediate offense, calling Vil weak and girly to his face (in a line that was rewritten for EN).

It seems that in the world of Twst Epel’s beauty may rival Vil’s: during Halloween, campus visitors see him and talk about having discovered the next top model.

Vil tells Epel, “The way you dress, the way you act…even the way you think is utterly devoid of any sensibility” and Epel challenges him to a fight, which Epel promptly loses.

Vil explains, “in this school, the rule is that the weak obey the strong…since you lost, you will do as I say.” Epel fears that Vil is going to take his money or make him into an errand boy, but instead Vil orders him to button up his robes, righten his belt, comb his hair and speak more politely (in a line that was rewritten on EN, but goes much deeper than simply a change in accent.)

Epel explains that he has never beaten Vil once despite challenging him every day, and has been stuck doing what he says since, as Vil has said Epel can only act as he wishes once he is capable of taking him in a fight.

Vil’s orders include but are not limited to table manners, speech patterns, participating in Film Club activities, wiping down windows, wearing a frilly shirt with his school uniform and tying his necktie in a bow, not getting into fights, fixing his posture, reading a book a week, becoming strong, and stretching properly.

When he learns about Vargas Camp Epel responds, “No matter how bad Coach Vargas gets, he can’t be more demanding than Vil.”

Vil also has Epel carve an apple for him so that he can “try one at its most beautiful.”

Vil does not seem to be above corporal punishment, tugging on Epel’s ear, pulling at his hair, smacking him in the back and gripping onto his head to emphasize his points.

[ronearoundblindly]

i believe johnny needs some attention 🤭 A, B, C, & D?

Prompts from this dirty ask game, and the answer is my general impressions of canon Human Torch. Note at the end explains why it can't be my Johnny Storm AU in the works.

MINORS DNI. This is not for you, kiddos. Sorry.

A - Alone Time

He's not a man of finesse, that's for sure. Johnny doesn't consider or analyze anything long enough to know what his preferences are--

(unscented lotion and BBW porn)

--and he also isn't consistent. He's too young to need to think of a self-care routine and spends almost no time alone.

When not training, away on mission, or doing PR--a big job as the bad-boy of the astronaut program and the most charismatic of the Four,--he goes out a lot.

He feeds off the attention (and approval) of others, and therefore masturbation...does not fill that void.

B - Bondage

Johnny doesn't have that kind of forethought, and if Sue ever heard one fucking whiff of him restraining someone...she'd use magnetic fields to squish his testicles into oblivion.

If him being tied up is what gets him laid for the night, then strap that puppy down already! Only improvised stuff, though, like scarves, neckties, fuzzy cuffs, or whatever.

Johnny is a speed demon in every aspect of life. Bondage takes time, limits sex positions, slows him down (when moving others), and just...yeah, not appealing.

C - Crying

What type of crying we talking? If he's just met you, and suddenly, you're blubbering about how your boss treats you or some deep-seated family trauma, Johnny will jump out the window to get away.

Now, shedding tears because of how amazing his cock feels stretching you out and because he's the best fuck you've ever had...well, he can understand that. You go ahead and cry. The only soothing he'll be doing is to keep going.

Otherwise, he's got nothing.

No sweet words. No compulsion to talk about it. No intention of diving deeper and getting to know you.

Johnny is a one-trick pony in this department (sex); there's rarely a second hookup.

D - Dominance

His existence feels like a perpetual game. Johnny is always leveling up after a boss battle, and his life--his real life--amounts to nothing more than side quests.

Naturally, he's a take-whatever-he-wants and do-whomever-whenever-he-pleases type of guy. It's not dominance or submission.

He's amused when his bed partner shows some initiative or control, but he doesn't need them to. He is used to taking over, thinking on his feet, and finishing a job.

He's what we might call a 'practical dom.' He takes over out of necessity. If Johnny slowed down enough to really listen to and bond with someone, he'd have and existential crisis and fall apart.

That's why he's only alone when passed out drunk or exhausted. He won't survive self-reflection.

Thank you for asking!

[Main Masterlist; Dirty Asks Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

A/N: I couldn't answer almost any of these using Johnny from Phantom Pleasure because that's ghost!Reader. Bondage? Of a ghost? Probably not. Crying? Eh, long story, but unlikely. Dominate a non-corporeal entity? Yeah, no. And, weirdly enough, being alone? When a ghost could be there but not visible? Oops! (Yes, reader gets to see Johnny's alone time routine in that tale. Teehee. It's the opening scene lol.)

[lord-byrons-ghost]

Salut et Fraternité, my dear Citizen George - (that you pretend to the title of Lord I am aware, but I cannot acknowledge aristocratic pretensions; as for my addressing you by christian rather than last name, you will agree it is much more comic.) For an Englishman, your sentiments appear tolerably reasonable, and your letters are certainly amusing; however, I have a strong objection to make to your mentioning Monsieur de Chevalier Saint Just within them and never once mentioning me, despite the fact it is quite clear to any with the least knowledge of the fashions and intellectual currents of this age that your Style is conspicuously derived from mine! In order to demonstrate this point beyond question, let me draw your attention to the portrait of myself by  Citizen Joseph Boze: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Camille_Desmoulins#/media/File:Camille_Desmoulins_-_Joseph_Boze.png.

You here perceive, unless you are quite as blind and as provincial as Polyphemus, serpentine and lightly disheveled dark curls, a melancholy and brooding air, a distinctly classical nose and mouth, a luminous and restless eye, and a frilled necktie half-hidden by the shadows of the palette, which catch up and intensify the dim mystery of the sitter; all of which, mon cher Christmas (as such, I have been informed, is the name you prefer to go by), are now ignorantly termed to be Byronic attributes, as if no one but George Gordon Noel Byron, 6th Baron Byron, had ever employed them! Add to this your scathing wit, your appreciation of the glories of the Ancients, your predilection for writing with a hangover, your swiftly-shifting humours of unseasonable gaiety and black despair, your habit of throwing your countrymen into fits of puzzlement and concern and incurring banishment for carmen et error, and it becomes a simple case of plagiarism! You may think yourself extremely Original in engaging in incest, calculating, no doubt, that I would not have had time for the pursuit in the midst of all my patriotic duties, but if that is the only defence you can find it will not do at all. You had better reply with all haste, as I already have a philippic forming in my head, and if I grow bored in the interim, or simply become very attached to the phrases, you shall not be able to prevent me from publishing it.

Yours with slanderous intent,

@thelanterneattorney

Dear God, what a veritable wall of words! I doubt any poor fellow was before presented with his faults in such a devilish involved manner - & I am used to missives that look like essays - my lovers send them all too oft - & usually burn the fattest ones when my debts disallow coals. Heigho, pistols at dawn et al it is then! Let us see if I can make a sentence string together well enough in prose to answer this, without becoming more ennuyé than is usual of that yawning verb.

Firstly: George?! Of all the conjugations of my name, that one has fallen into such a disrepute that it is almost as obscure as the locative & about as oft used. You hardly insult me - simply perplex, which seems your usual mode of carrying on - & to be addressed as a citizen of a republic I admire & who gave birth to the new Caesar can be taken as nothing save a compliment! I had far rather be French, Italian or Grecian than inhabit ye nook-shotten isle of the stinking corporal Arthur. However, I beg to correct your assumption of my nationality - I was born & raised in Aberdeen, & as such am more Scots than English - & ask you to to at least use Geordie, if you must be so damn familiar.

Next, my correspondence: aforementioned reference to the Chevalier Saint-Just is not within my letters - which would be a plain case of traitorous friends - of which I have many - or traitorous lovers - of which devils there are still more - but it makes up an entry in mine journal from 1813-14. This suggests burglary - Massena @chicksncash, if you helped him I swear by Jove to call you out! - which is far more concerning when coming from a rather insane journaliste. I believe property is sacred under your Declaration of the Rights of Man &c, & so if you would give me back my deuced scribblings, I would be grateful.

Yon portrait is lacking from ye missive, so I shall ask Teresa to aid me in supplying a copy of it alongside one of my own, for comparison:

'Pon the subject of my supposed plagiarismes: My curls are certainly not serpentine - simply charmingly windswept, as is to be expected from traipsing about in sublimity - & bear not the lightest resemblance to ye ancient tempted the Serpent, being far too short. As for this melancholia of air - Phah! I have no such sullen countenance as yours - although I am a devil in a mood - nor do I look upon death's door with consumption. Yon "dim mystery of the sitter" is certainly the kind of trash dear Polly-Dolly would write about me, but is hardly apropos from a man of some literary talent. This Byronic air you speak of is hardly the depression of the incarcerated firebrand, as is evident in your portrait, but simply the inevitable absence of ye world traveller pondering the mountains & smoking.

I admit that I gain some attributes of my manner of carrying on from you, but is not imitation the sincerest form of flattery? If ayne fellow of talent - @franzliszt-official for example - came up to me with a reputation for imitating my mannerisms, I should offer him hock & soda on ye spotte! My only defence for stealing your gay moods & melancholia is that I found you fascinating as an infant, & something about your heroism must have wormed into my unformed mind to lodge there.

Your final point is one no gentleman would make, let alone acknowledge. I do not know what that harpy my wife has been saying, but her words are driven by spite and disappointment in my "failure to reform", & are not worth their damn salt. You would do well to refrain from mentioning such toss again.

Yr humble servante,

Byron.

[rustbeltjessie]

Chicago Noise (Love Letter to Steve Albini) by Jarret Keene

How many boys want to be whipped by Steve Albini’s guitar? -Sonic Youth bassist/singer Kim Gordon

Woke up this morning, as usual, hungry for white-boy noise and black coffee. Popped in – what else? – Big Black’s Songs About *!?king and blasted it at full volume on the home stereo so I could feel every

drum-machine wallop in my molars, every lacerating riff against my face, those places where noise really hits me when its good and loud. Steve, there’s something about your band Big Black

in the morning that helps me to more effectively hate birds outside my window as they chirp ridiculous tunes about nothing to no one, something in the serrated edges of the song “Pavement Saw” and

the slaughterhouse fury of “Colombian Necktie” that transports me to the Loop, jostling around inside a metal tube across an ice-cold, urban-Midwest landscape of old, bombed-out meatpacking plants.

Like it’s a clear day in March and I’m taking it all in – the canyons of LaSalle, the cliffs of Michigan Avenue, the public artworks – and there’s this satanic chainsaw behind my ears, eager to sink

its teeth into my skull, turning my lights out and then everyone else’s. This noise is dirty and yet so pure that I can’t help feeling even more comfortable in my alienation, even happier in hostile

territory. I imagine myself lying down like a lamb at the paws of a lion guarding the stairs of the Art Institute. I picture myself walking into a Wicker Park record shop (a real record shop that

actually sells, you know, vinyl) and asking the skinny, unfriendly employees there if they might sell me another Big Black LP. And when they scowl at me with an expression that says “Why don’t

you already own that record, poser?” all I can say to my fellow rock snobs is leave me alone, because I’m armed and dangerous, and about to vaporize Cloud Gate in Millenium Park, to rip

the girders from Calder’s red-orange flamingo-looking thing perched in front of the Federal Center with my incisors before flame-broiling it oh-so-slowly with an acetylene torch until the steel is tender enough

to eat with a plastic spork, to challenge the next thrash band to play the Double Door to a demolition derby-style mosh pit involving broken beer bottles and our bare chests and bags of salt.

And if anyone asks about the point of this tsunami of sucking nihilism, this whole tortured carnival ride, let me say that it’s my chance to ignore the terrifying silence at the end of this caffeinated daydream.

Anyhow, Steve, just thought I’d write you a quick letter letting you know how much your anti-corporate band gets me dreaming of Chicago and prepares me for another gray and greasy day

of corporate enslavement, chained to my cubicle, hoping for a moment to shut down my computer and loosen my tie, straining to hear a measure, the merest note, of the sweet music of birds.

[kwanisms]

🎄Tales from Camp Holiday Special 02🎄

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➮ Chan × fem!Reader wc: 8.7k summary: After being put on wine duty for his family's holiday party, Chan heads to his local grocery store to snag the last few bottles where he sees a small group of girl scouts attempting to sell cookies. He is unwavering, refusing to buy into their corporate cookie empire until he sees who is helping run the stand: none other than Y/N. genres/themes/au: angst (but it only lasts for like 2 seconds lol), fluff, smut; holiday themes, scout themes; non idol au, scout au, camp counselor au, holiday au warnings: adult dialogue, female reader, alcohol consumption, party setting, meeting parents, sexual content (18+ mdni), see smut warnings under the cut! taglist: @yoonguurt @dreamhannies @wonw00t @aikisbbq @hoshithinker @eneiyri @ninanyctophilia @everyw0nu @enhacolor @hybe02z @wonwoothinker @baldi-2 @1004luvangel @hellolittlequeen @duchesskaren @coupsiekkuma @yoonjin96 @sherituhhh join my taglists: permanent | group | special closes after part 7 goes up! Strikethrough means I cannot tag you.  MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. AGELESS BLOGS WILL ALSO BE BLOCKED. 

a/n: hey hehe. I kept the same bondage themes from the original cause I feel like he'd still be very much into that lol I'm going to say about 3 or 4 years have passed since the events of Chan's story and the present time but don't think too much about it lol thank you so much for reading and as always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only.

smut warnings: minor dry humping, unprotected sex (just use protection!), minor bondage (f receiving, necktie used as a gag and belt used to bind wrists), impact play (f receiving; spanking and he goes hard), choking (f receiving), spitting, degradation (uses slut, whore, and bitch), hard dom!Chan, sub!Reader, rough sex, and that should be it!

═══════════════════════════════════════════════════════

Chan still didn't know how he of all people got roped into alcohol duty. One minute he was pulling onto his old street, heading for his parents house, the next he was turning around when his mother begged him to run to the closest store and grab a few bottles of wine because his father had mistakenly sent a couple of the bottles meant for their annual holiday party home with some of their friends.

So here he was, the day before Christmas, trying to find a stupid parking place at the local grocery store so he could go in and fight the crowds to buy a couple bottles of wine because his father drunkenly gave away theirs.

He grumbled to himself as he circled the parking lot for what felt like the fifth time, cursing each spot that got stolen by some family or little old lady until he pulled up as another person was leaving.

"Finally!" he whined as the person backed out and pulled away, allowing Chan to steer into the empty space and park the car. "About damn time," he mumbled as he unbuckled his seatbelt and got out, slamming his door a little harder than he intended.

He pat the top of his car, muttering an apology before turning and heading toward the entrance of the store, thanking the cars that stopped to let him cross with a wave.

It had snowed heavily a few days before but there had been enough traffic and crews out to clear the lots and sidewalks of most of the slush and snow banks. Chan hurried past an employee bundled to the max as he sprinkled ice melt on the sidewalk in preparation of the forecasted snow shower later that night.

It would be a white Christmas after all.

Chan followed the lines inside the building and bypassed the carts, opting to grab one of those little red baskets stacked near the doors. He was only grabbing a few bottles, he didn't need an entire cart, he reasoned with himself.

No sooner than he entered the main entrance did he stop in his tracks, eyes falling on the table set up inside the store.

A homemade poster made with poster board, craft foam, and copious amounts of glitter and glue read three words he hadn't seen in years.

Girl Scout Cookies.

It took all his willpower not to turn around and walk right out of the store in favor of finding another store to shop at to avoid the eventual begging and puppy dog eyes of third grade girls asking him to feed into their corporate cookie schemes.

He wasn't having it.

Except that he was.

He really didn't relish the idea of driving even further across town and struggling to find another parking place just so he could walk into another grocery store that probably had another troop of girls set up to sell their wares.

Chan managed to avoid being seen by sneaking past the stand with an elderly couple.

Dodging the scouts meant he could make a beeline for the wine and spirits section of the store and get exactly what he came for. And what luck he had. There were exactly three bottles of the wine his mother had asked him for.

Resisting the urge to do a little happy dance, Chan grabbed all three bottles and made his way towards the self-checkout. He scanned the bottles, showed his ID to the attendant and paid quickly, bagging the bottles of wine and grabbing his receipt.

He was just reveling in his good fortune as he headed for the exit, hoping to slink past the cookie stand when his luck ran out.

The crowded entrance was certainly not on his side. He stood on his tiptoes to see what the hold up was and of course, one of the motorized carts had died, blocking the only exit out of the store.

Chan cursed under his breath, pulling back his coat sleeve to check his watch. The holiday party at his parents wasn't due to start for another hour and forty-five minutes so this little snag wasn't going to make or break him.

As he waited for the way to clear, his eyes wandered to the only other thing by the entrance of the store.

That damn cookie stand.

He took in the small girls making monetary exchanges for overpriced boxes of factory made baked goods.

His eyes were wandering from one of the girls to one of the adults standing behind her, back facing him as she looked through the cardboard boxes. He watched as she turned and his eyes widened in shock as he recognized her.

Or should he say as he recognized you.

When your sister-in-law called a week ago, you expected it to be about the holidays, Christmas at the family's. What you weren't expecting was your niece to be on the other end, begging you to fill in for her mother and help sell girl scout cookies.

It was well known amongst your family that when it came to selling girl scout cookies, you were a professional. You'd manage to outsell all the girls in your troop every year as well as the other troops in the city. You were good at it as a child. A natural born salesperson.

So when you heard that little voice begging you for your help, you couldn't say no. You expected to just take the back seat while the girls did most of the selling but you soon found yourself falling into old habits, helping make the sign when the first one the girls made fell a little flat. You showed them how to enhance the sign by using craft foam letters, glue, sharpies, and an insane amount of glitter.

You drove to your brother’s house, ready to pick up your niece and one of her fellow scouts. Luckily, the girls helped load all the boxes into your car and the large sign which you looked at with a sense of pride and adoration.

The drive to the local grocery store was an easy one and finding a parking space wasn’t too bad since you chose to park towards the back of the lot. The girls were prepared, having packed a wagon in your trunk along with the cookies.

Inside the store was another one of the scouts with her mother who had already set up the table. She smiled warmly as you approached, carrying the few boxes that didn’t fit in the wagon while your niece, Talia, carried the sign and the other girl you picked up, Yuna, pulled the wagon.

It didn’t take long at all to set up the stand, decorating the table with the sign you’d helped Talia make and unpacking some of the individual boxes of cookies.

The first hour went by and you were surprised at how easily people came over and bought cookies. You, of course, worked your magic, creating sales and teaching the girls how to drive a bargain.

As time ticked by and the number of boxes dwindled, you were certain that the girls would sell all of their cookies before the store closed for the evening.

The cardboard boxes had emptied little by little and soon you were down to the last carton of cookies.

“Two boxes of Samoas!” Talia called to you over her shoulder as she made change for the store patron in front of her. You turned, leaning over to reach into the box and pull out the last two purple colored boxes.

“They’re the last two!” You chirped, turning to look at the patron but your eyes fell on someone standing behind them, looking directly at you with a shocked expression.

‘Chan?’

It was indeed him. Lee Chan. The same Lee Chan you’d met, and hooked up with, during summer scout camp all those years ago. The very same that tied your wrists together and fucked you on a picnic blanket in the middle of a forest.

The same Lee Chan that had disappeared without a trace after that summer, leaving you with a gaping hole in your heart.

Here he was, standing before you now and all because some old woman hadn’t bothered to check the battery on the motorized scooter.

“Auntie Y/N?” Talia’s voice snapped you out of your daze.

You tore your gaze away from Chan and looked at your niece who had been waiting for you to hand the boxes to her. ‘Shit.’

You muttered an apology and handed the boxes of cookies to her.

Your eyes wandered back to Chan who was still standing in the same spot as before, looking at you with the same shocked expression.

You silently hoped he would stop staring and just leave but the universe had other plans.

With a sense of determination he hadn’t experienced in a long time, Chan finally unfroze, crossing the short distance to the table with one thing on his mind: you.

“Hello sir!” A small voice said, drawing his attention away from your face as he looked down at the young girl in front of him.

She was smiling up at him eagerly. ‘Oh no.’

“Would you like to buy some cookies?” She asked and Chan felt his heart sink. He’d never purchased scout cookies before, preferring his mother’s homemade cookies.

Before he could answer, the other adult told the girls it was time to pack up. “But we still have boxes to sell!” One of the other girls said, looking up at the adult who spoke, a pout on her face. “But mom!” She retorted, no real argument to her name. The girl’s mother gave her a pointed look.

The girl who had asked Chan if he wanted to buy cookies turned to look up at you, eyes pleading for more time.

Chan watched as you stepped forward, crouching down to the girl’s level. “It’s okay, Talia,” you said in a soft voice. “We’ve sold most of the boxes,” you added, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder.

“You girls did so well,” you continued, offering the girl, Talia, a smile.

Talia smiled back and wrapped her arms around your neck, hugging you tightly. “Thanks Auntie Y/N,” she said in an equally soft voice. Chan watched the exchange and felt an unusual tug at his heart. He knew he was going to regret this and his wallet was going to hurt but he cleared his throat, catching both yours and Talia’s attention.

“How many boxes are left?” He asked quietly, looking from you to your niece and back.

“Six~!” Talia replied quickly. Chan looked from Talia to you, waiting for you to confirm. You nodded slowly and silently, a confused expression on your face as he pulled out his wallet. “I’ll buy the rest,” he said, pulling a few notes out of his wallet and handing them over to Talia.

She let out an excited squeak, thanking him and taking his money to make change.

You stood up straight, still looking at Chan with a confused expression. Talia handed him his change as one of the other girls put the boxes in a cardboard box and set it on the table. “Thank you so much!” The girls said in unison. Chan smiled at them before turning to look back up at your face.

“Thanks?” You offered, clearly still confused by his actions. “Start cleaning up, girls,” the other adult said and the three scrambled to start collecting any trash and cleaning up the space.

“So,” Chan started, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I didn’t realize you lived in town,” he added. You shook your head. “I don’t,” you answered. “I’m in town for Christmas and I promised my niece I’d help her sell her cookies,” you continued, gesturing at Talia who was currently helping break down boxes and put them in the empty wagon.

Chan nodded, silence falling over the two of you once more.

You swayed awkwardly in place before clearing your throat. “Well, I’d better help them…” you trailed off, gesturing to the girls as they started clearing the table.

Chan felt panic rise in his chest. ‘This might be the last and only time you see her you idiot! Do something!’

He took a step closer, bumping into the table and causing you to turn, eyeing him with wide eyes as he startled you.

“Do you have plans later?” He suddenly asked. Your eyes searched his, flickering between them.

“I’m sorry,” Chan said quickly, shaking his head. “That was stupid of me to ask. I mean,” he said, a nervous chuckle leaving his lips. “Who doesn’t have plans on Christmas Eve?”

You shook your head. You didn’t have plans. The tradition of the cookies and milk left out for Santa as well as what your sister-in-law called “Santa Watch” was theirs, not yours. You were going to go back to your parents’ house and probably curl up with a glass of wine.

“Me apparently,” you answered, a smirk forming on your face as Chan looked up to meet your gaze.

A smile spread across his face. “Wait, really?” He asked, to which you nodded.

“I’m staying with my parents, but we don’t do anything for Christmas Eve,” you answered, watching as Chan’s face lit up. “Do you want to go to a Christmas Eve party with me tonight?” He asked, hoping you’d say yes.

This could be your only chance to see him before you left the city again after the first of the year.

You nodded wordlessly, watching as he reached into his pocket and fished out his phone.

He unlocked and tapped the screen a few times before handing the device to you, which you accepted.

He had opened a new contact on his phone and had your name typed in. You typed your digits in and tapped the save button before handing it back to him. “The party starts at six but I can pick you later,” he said, pocketing his phone. “Sure,” you said with a nod and a smile. “So, let’s say six-thirty?” He asked, smiling widely when you nodded again. “Six-thirty sounds great,” you replied.

╾─────────────⭒✧⭒─────────────╼

You sat at the breakfast bar in your parents’ kitchen, checking the time on the clock above the range. The tiny black hands told you the time was six fifteen. You had half a mind to cancel but you knew you'd probably never get another chance to spend time with Chan again.

Picking up your phone on the counter, you unlocked the screen and checked your texts with him from earlier.

Chan: send me your location and I’ll come get you You: [location sent] Chan: perfect! See you soon

Letting out a sigh, you locked the screen and set your phone back on the granite countertop, face down and looked over your shoulder to the sliding glass doors leading off the living room onto the snow covered deck in the backyard. It had started snowing again, lightly, as you were getting ready.

You hoped the snow wouldn’t pile up too much. You dreaded the thought of getting snowed in at Chan’s parents home, especially when it was on the opposite side of the city than your parents' home.

You drummed your fingers against the countertop, chin resting in your hand as you waited, trying not to focus on the ticking of the clock.

You wondered if you were overdressed, glancing down at the dress you’d chosen. It was one of your favorites for any holiday themed event but it could work for any other time of the year.

You were drawn out of your thoughts by the vibrating of your phone on the stone countertops.

You snatched the device up quickly to see a couple texts from Chan.

Chan: I think I’m here? Chan: yeah. I’m here. I see your car lol

You got up, ignoring the scraping of the barstool legs on the wood floor and grabbed the small clutch bag you’d chosen for the evening, a smaller black velvet rectangular clutch with gold metal detailing and a dainty gold chain strap.

Inside you had a tube of lip gloss, your lipstick, a small compact mirror, and your wallet. You slipped your phone into the space and moved to grab your coat from the closet by the front door.

As you pulled it on and buttoned the front, the doorbell rang and you rushed to answer it.

On the other side of the door stood Chan. He smiled as you came into view, his eyes sweeping over you quickly. You allowed yourself to take in what he was wearing and knew you’d made the right choice.

He was wearing a pair of fitted black dress pants with a black corduroy thick jacket. Under the jacket, he wore a light khaki sweatshirt with a black trim neckline over a white collared shirt, the top of a black tie barely visible.

His shoes were a simple pair of oxfords in the same blue as your dress.

You pointed down at his shoes, a smile on your face. “Oh look!” You said before pulling back your coat just a bit to flash him the material of your dress.

“We match!” You said with a laugh, causing him to chuckle. “So we do,” he said as you stepped out of the door onto the front porch.

The frigid winter air hit your legs and made you shudder as you pulled the front door shut, making sure it was locked behind you before turning to Chan.

“Holy fuck it’s cold,” you hissed as he laughed, leading you down the steps, holding out his hand for you to steady yourself.

“Thanks,” you murmured as you drew level with him on the sidewalk leading to the driveway. You followed him to his car, a black mid sized sedan with tinted windows.

You felt your cheeks burn as he opened the passenger door for you.

Thanking him, you climbed into the surprisingly warm car that you realized was still running. He must have left it running to keep the interior warm.

Chan jogged around the front of the car and got in the driver’s seat, buckling his seatbelt before looking up at you with a smile. “You ready?” He asked, putting the gear in reverse. You nodded wordlessly, turning to look out the window as he backed out of your parents’ driveway.

‘As ready as I think I can be.’

Pulling up to the house, Chan cut the engine and turned to you. "If they start asking questions, I'll jump in and explain," he said, giving you a warm smile. You thanked him and moved to unbuckle your seatbelt.

Chan was quick, moving around to your side of the car and opening your door for you. "Wow, what a gentleman," you said, a hint of amusement to your voice as the tips of his ears turned red.

"Oh shut up," he scoffed but the smile on his lips was unmistakable.

You glanced up at the house before you and felt your stomach sink just a little.

You had suspected Chan came from money from your summer spent together but just how much money his family had always seemed to elude you until you were standing on the doorstep of his family home, feeling completely out of your comfort zone.

You felt Chan's hand grab yours gently and looked down at your hands before looking back up at him. "Nervous?" he asked, eyes searching yours.

Not wanting him to know just how nervous you actually were, you flashed him a smile. "A little," you said with a small shrug.

'Liar.'

Chan gave your hand a reassuring squeeze before his free hand landed on the doorknob and pushed the level down.

He leaned into the wood, pushing the heavy door open and stepping up into the house. You allowed him to lead you inside, pulling you along gently by the hand.

Inside the house was simply stunning.

It was clear this house had been standing for some time. It was old but extremely well preserved.

The foyer was grander than any house you'd been inside recently. The high ceiling paired with the massive crystal chandelier gave the room a very regal and elegant look.

The floors were white carrara marble. The small polished black diamond shaped tiles in between the squares of marble made the ornate black wood paneling stand out even more.

You quickly unbuttoned your coat and shrugged it off, allowing Chan to take it and hang it up with his.

Chan closed the sliding door to the den after hanging your coat up with his in the darkened room his parents designated as the coat room.

Upon returning to you, he allowed his eyes to wander, taking in the dress you’d chosen to wear.

It was a fitted bodycon dress made of a dark blue velvet with corset bone striping down the bodice and a ruched tulip hem skirt that ended just above your knees.

The straps were thin with gold chain detailing.

He could hardly take his eyes off you and the way the dress fitted your body and hugged it so well.

He placed his hand on the small of your back, reluctantly tearing his gaze away to lead you through the crowded house in search of refreshments and hopefully some wine or champagne.

The kitchen was just as gorgeous as the foyer, the same black wood paneling stopped to make way for a much more modern looking kitchen with black wood flooring, white cabinets and counters with black subway tile walls. You were surprised by the sudden change in architecture and style but it was still amazing.

The counters were covered in any sort of snack, appetizer, or hors d’oeuvre imaginable. In the middle of the kitchen stood a massive kitchen island where plates, bowls, ramekins, cutlery, napkins, and cups were stocked.

The breakfast nook had been emptied of any furniture and instead a bar had been installed where two bartenders stood, mixing drinks.

You glanced at Chan, an eyebrow raised. “A full bar?” You questioned, chuckling as he shrugged his shoulders. “My parents don’t play around when it comes to parties,” he answered, leading you to the kitchen island.

After grabbing plates, napkins and cutlery, you followed Chan through the line, inspecting the spread and grabbing a few things you knew you were going to love as well as a few things you’d always wanted to try.

After filling your plates, Chan led you to the bar and the two of you ordered drinks before you followed him to an empty space and sat on one of many seats placed around each room.

“This is crazy impressive,” you said, grabbing a small cracker appetizer with some sort of cream cheese mixture on it and popping it into your mouth.

Chan snorted in response. “These parties just keep getting bigger and bigger,” he admitted, looking up as a couple passed in front of where you two were currently sitting. “My parents probably invited half the town,” he added.

You giggled before taking a sip of your drink.

You opened your mouth to respond but you were cut off by the sound of someone calling Chan’s name. He grimaced at you before mouthing an “I’m sorry.”

You watched as he got to his feet and smiled as an older woman, most likely his mother, approached and pulled him into a hug. You stood up, awkwardly brushing your dress to make sure you looked presentable.

The woman pulled back, smiling at Chan and you could tell instantly it was indeed his mother.

Her eyes fell on you and widened quickly.

“Who is this?” She asked, looking from Chan to you and back.

Chan took your hand and pulled you closer.

“This is Y/N,” he answered, turning to look at the woman. “She’s my date, mom,” he added, confirming your suspicions that this was his mother.

Her shocked expression upon seeing you morphed into a warm smile as she let go of Chan and immediately wrapped her arms around you, pulling you into a hug.

“It’s so lovely to meet you!” She said in your ear, hugging you tightly.

A man, no doubt Chan’s dad, stepped forward to peel her off you and hold her firmly. He offered a kind smile as well, introducing himself as Chan’s father, as you suspected.

The conversation shifted as Chan’s parents started grilling the both of you about how you met, when you started dating, and more questions you’d expected. Chan took it like a champ, answering everything so you could nurse your drink and empty your plate.

One your plates were empty, Chan’s mother took you by the arm firmly but gently, and proceeded to lead you through the house, introducing you to various guests as well as showing you around the house.

You were on the second round passing through the main living area and greeting people when Chan finally appeared by your side, handing you another drink and leaning in to whisper in your ear.

“You want to step away? Get some air?”

You took the crystal glass he handed you with some amber liquid and nodded, looking at him with pleading eyes. Chan smiled and leaned in to his mother, whispering something in her ear. She nodded and smiled at you, patting your arm and turned to engage with her guests while Chan took your hand and led you through the crowded room to a staircase and up into the darkened hallway.

You let him lead you past closed doors until he reached the end of the hall and opened the door, pulling you into the dark room.

He moved through the darkness and flipped on a small table lamp, illuminating the room in a dim light.

Peering around the room, which turned out to be a bedroom, you noticed various trophies for sports and academics. You stepped closer to a bookshelf next to the door and looked at all the various encyclopedias and fictional stories, reading off the names softly.

You were inspecting a series of personal academic awards when you remembered you weren't alone in the room and turned to find Chan was watching you look around what was no doubt his old room. You smiled sheepishly, mumbling an apology before turning away from the shelf and taking a sip of your drink.

You weren't the biggest fan of whiskey but this stuff wasn't bad.

"So…" you trailed off, not knowing where the conversation should go, if you should even talk, or what else could possibly happen.

"Your room?" you asked, nodding at the trophies. Chan chuckled lightly. "Yeah," he answered, suddenly feeling very nervous and self conscious. "My childhood room," he added, taking a sip of his own drink. You moved slowly, walking over to the opposite side of the room, the side he stood by.

There were lots of drawings and a bulletin board full of postcards, notes and other scraps of paper hanging above an old wooden desk. The desk itself was neat and tidy, no doubt having been cleared of whatever sat upon it when Chan moved out.

You heard shuffling against the carpet and felt the heat of Chan's body behind you as he set his now empty glass on the wood of the desk in front of you. You wondered when he finished that because it looked much fuller a moment ago.

You felt one of his hands move to your hip, not moving either up or down, just resting in one place, while the tips of his fingers skimmed down your arm, leaving goosebumps in their wake and sending shivers up your spine.

"Why did you bring me here?" you whispered, eyes fluttering shut as you felt his breath on your neck.

"I thought you could use some space from the people downstairs," he whispered back. You forced your eyes open and turned to face him, his hands shifting to your waist as his eyes studied yours.

"No," you replied. "Why did you bring me here, to your parents' party? Why did you invite me after years of not seeing or speaking to each other?"

Chan's expression changed as you spoke, going from confusion to understanding in a split second. One of his hands moved, cupping your cheek tenderly. "Because I thought if I didn't ask you, I might not get a chance to see you again," he answered after carefully considering his words.

Your eyes danced back and forth, looking into his as his thumb gently caressed your cheekbone. "Why did you disappear that summer?" you finally asked. It was the question you'd wanted to ask since you first laid eyes on him in the store.

The expression on Chan's morphed quickly, confusion, concern, understanding, and finally regret passing over his features in quick succession. He let out a heavy sigh before taking your drink out of your hand and setting it on the desk, taking your other hand and leading you over to sit on his old bed.

He sat beside you, turned slightly so he could face you properly.

"I'm sorry," he started. "I am so sorry. I never intended to just vanish," he continued. You sat motionless, listening as he started to apologize and explain.

"I had every intention of continuing things that summer. I didn't want things to end between us. I wanted to get your number, your Instagram, anything so I could contact you but there was a family emergency," he said, taking both your hands in his.

"My brother was in an accident. A really bad one," Chan said, trying to keep his voice even but you could hear how the memory seemed to affect him as he spoke.

"My parents didn't even give me a heads up. They sent a car to come get me. I didn't even have time to leave a message for you. I had time to pack my stuff and then we were gone."

You looked up at his face and watched as his expression of torment morphed into one of shock. "Oh, Y/N," he said softly, hands moving to gently take your face. It was then you realized you had started crying. You apologized, trying to carefully wipe the tears away.

"I'm sorry," you said, chuckling awkwardly. "I don't know why I'm crying," you mumbled.

"It's not like you were my boyfriend."

Hearing the sadness in your voice as you said those words felt like a stab to Chan's heart. Sure, he wasn't your boyfriend. But that didn't mean he didn't want to be.

"I guess I just felt like I'd done something wrong," you continued. "One day you were there and everything seemed to be fine and the next, you were gone. No note, no calls, nothing. I thought you had grown tired of us. Grown tired of me-"

Chan took your chin in his hand, forcing you to look up at him.

You didn't have the chance to say anything else before his lips crashed against yours. The kiss was rushed and over much too quick for your liking. Chan pulled back to gaze into your eyes.

"I would never intentionally do that to you, Y/N. I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I didn't want things to end that way and I certainly did not want you to feel like I didn't want you. I tried to find you, to find a way to contact you after I got home but I couldn't find you anywhere," he responded softly, thumb moving to brush over your bottom lip gently.

"To me, you were gone, too."

The way he looked at you had your heart aching. It had been mutual then. The pining, the regret, everything.

He'd wanted more, just as you had back then and even now. You couldn't deny that what you felt then and now were feelings of more than just sexual or physical attraction.

Each time you spent together that summer was more than just sex. The two of you had talked about your hopes and dreams, poured your hearts and souls out to one another.

And hearing those words from Chan now were confirmation that he was feeling the same way you were.

"Well I'm here now," you said softly, causing Chan to look up at you. "I'm right here in front of you now, Chan."

Hearing his name tumble from your lips ignited something deep inside him. His lips were on yours in an instant, hands moving to your hips as he pulled you forward and onto his lap.

Your arms wrapped around his neck as you straddled him, lips moving against his before parting, allowing his tongue to meet yours for the first time in years.

It was as if nothing had changed.

Chan groaned into your mouth, his hands grabbing your ass firmly as he pulled your hips against his. "Fuck, I missed you," he groaned, his hips bucking up into you, his growing erection pressing into your core. You let out a moan, hands moving to his chest to push him back against the sheets of his old bed.

You rolled your hips, grinding against him and watching the way his eyes fluttered shut at the feeling. "You always knew how to ride me," you heard him mutter. Feeling a little bolder than before, you let out a chuckle at his words.

"You look so cute like this," you said softly, slowing your movements just enough to tease him, and yourself, but not give him the pressure and friction he wanted.

"Don't tease me, Y/N," he moaned. "You remember what happened the last time you decided to act like a brat?"

You shook your head, putting on an innocent facade.

"No. I don't," you answered before a smirk appeared on your face.

"Maybe you should remind me."

Your words had Chan flipping you onto your back on his bed and hovering over you in seconds. He rolled his hips against you, rocking his hard cock into your lace-covered sex, the feeling sending a wave of pleasure through your body.

You let out a whine, your back arching off the bed as he continued rutting against you, causing your panties to stick to you, your arousal seeping through the fabric.

"God look at you," he breathed, watching the way your face contorted in pleasure with each roll of his hips.

"I haven't even touched you properly and you're acting like such a needy slut," he added. You moaned again at the use of the term, thighs clenching around his waist, trying to draw him closer.

"You're so eager for my cock, baby?" he asked, leaning down to kiss you hungrily and not give you the chance to answer him.

"Yes," you finally managed to gasp out when he pulled back.

"Of course you are," he responded, one of his hands sliding up your side to cup your breast through your dress.

"You knew exactly what you were doing when you wore this dress. Parading around like a bitch in heat, showing off your body like a little whore," he growled, hips rutting harder against you.

"Fuck, did you wear this so everyone would see what a slut you are?" he asked, hand on your chest squeezing again. You shook your head quickly. "No! I only wore this for you," you moaned, not noticing the way Chan's face lit up at your admission.

"So you're my little slut?" he asked, slowing his movements as you nodded in response.

"Only yours," you breathed, chest heaving.

Chan pulled back, making you whine until you felt his hands grab your hips and roll you over. He pushed your thighs together and climbed over you, straddling your thighs as his hands moved to your ass, grabbing your cheeks firmly before you felt one of his hands land a firm smack.

The material of your dress helped absorb the shock of the blow but Chan, realizing this, moved quickly, pushing the material up and exposing your ass to him. He groaned, fingers skimming over the material of the black lace thong you were wearing.

"Did you wear these for me, too, baby?" he asked breathlessly. You nodded, murmuring a 'yes' in response.

You felt his hand land another harsh smack to your ass, causing you to yelp. Chan's fingers threaded into your hair and pulled back as he leaned down to whisper in your ear.

"Keep your voice down, baby. Unless you want everyone in the house to know you're about to get fucked."

A shiver ran down your spine, a rush of arousal shooting through your core.

Another sharp smack to your ass had you whimpering into the sheets to muffle the sound. "I'm gonna teach you a lesson," Chan murmured, hands working to undo the tie around his neck.

You looked back over your shoulder as he pulled the material loose and leaned forward, rolling it up and holding it to your face.

"Open that pretty mouth, babygirl," he ordered. You obliged, opening your mouth and allowing him to stuff the rolled up tie past your lips and against your tongue.

With your voice effectively gagged, he started his assault on your ass, delivering sharp smacks before running his hand soothingly over your skin. He made sure to ask if you needed to tap out but each time you shook your head.

After a good ten to twelve blows, your ass was red and raw. Chan made sure to gently rub the sensitive skin, asking if you needed a break or anything. You shook your head again, wanting him to continue.

You felt his fingers fumble with the back of your dress and heard the unzipping of the zipper as he pulled it down. He helped you shimmy out of the material, leaving you in just your panties.

"Fuck," you heard him gasp, hands moving along your skin and up your back. "You're so fucking gorgeous," he murmured. You felt his fingers skim over the lace of your thong, thumbs toying with the waistband briefly before his hands disappeared, making you glance over your shoulder at him.

His hands made quick work of his belt, pulling it from the belt loops of his pants as his eyes were trained on your ass. “Give me your hands,” he ordered, eyes moving up to meet yours. You hesitated, eyeing the belt in his hands and wondering what he was planning on doing with it.

Chan gave your thigh a quick tap with the belt. “Did you hear me, baby?” He asked, cocking his head.

“Hands, now.”

You moved faster than you were able to process his words, offering your hands behind your back. Chan positioned your arms behind your back, elbows bent before he started to wrap the belt around your wrists and forearms, effectively binding you. You couldn’t move much, only squirm under him as you heard the rustle of his pants as well as the zipper.

Chan leaned over, grabbing one of the pillows near the headboard and sat back, one hand reaching under you to lift your hips and stuff the pillow underneath you.

His hands were back on your ass, barely skimming the skin that was still sore as he muttered to himself. “Never imagined I’d be doing this in my old bedroom,” he said with a low chuckle as you felt his fingers dig into the skin of your hips. His hands moved, nails raking down your skin and pulling your panties down until he was able to slip them past your knees and off entirely.

You were now completely exposed to him and entirely at his mercy with your arms bound.

Chan let out a groan, sliding his hands up your thighs until he was able to spread your cheeks, displaying your wet core to him. You heard another growl rumble from deep in his chest. “God,” he breathed out. “Look at how wet you are,” he continued. “Practically dripping.”

You wiggled your hips, one of the only things you could do at this point. Chan chuckled lightly before falling silent. You were about to look back at him but felt him circle his fingers around your entrance, gathering your arousal before he pushed two fingers into your wet cunt.

You moaned against the gag, eyes rolling back at finally getting some friction as he slowly worked his fingers in and out of you at a torturously languid pace. You wiggled your hips again, trying to push back against his hand but Chan removed his fingers, harshly slapping your ass, sending a jolt of pain through your body that was immediately replaced with pleasure as his fingers were back at your slit, rubbing up and down slowly.

“Stop acting like a brat,” he hissed. “You’ll get what you want in time.”

You used your tongue to push the gag out of your mouth. “Chan please,” you whimpered, voice hoarse. You heard him tut lightly, feeling him lean over you, pressing his hard cock against your ass. “Now you want to be a good girl?” He asked, ending his sentence with a scoff.

“I promise I’ll be good,” you continued, feeling your eyes and cheeks burn. “Please Chan,” you begged again. "You made me wait long enough," you added, hoping he would give in. “You gonna be a good little whore for me?” He asked, lips brushing against your ear as he ducked his head. You nodded quickly. “I promise.”

“So eager to please,” he said, smiling against your skin as his lips trailed down to your shoulder. “I suppose I could give you what you want.”

Your stomach bubbled with excitement as he sat back up. You didn’t dare look back as he pushed his pants and underwear down, pulling his cock out finally and giving himself a few strokes before taking your ass in his hands again, spreading your cheeks once more and spitting on your already soaked pussy.

You let out a lewd moan as you felt him line the tip of his cock with your hole and before you could register anything else, he was pushing himself into you, stretching you out so deliciously.

“Oh,” he said, surprisingly calm as if he wasn’t nearly balls deep inside you. “Can’t forget this,” he added, reaching over you and grabbing his tie before holding it to your face. “Chan,” you whimpered, trying to calm yourself as you adjusted to his size.

“I know how loud you get, baby,” he cooed, leaning over your body. “Unless you’d rather everyone, including my parents, know I’m fucking you up here,” he added. You shook your head.

The idea of walking back into the party after having your brains fucked out by the hosts’ son was one thing, but returning to the party when everyone might have heard mortified you.

Obediently, you opened your mouth and allowed Chan to shove the cloth back into your mouth.

“Good girl,” he praised, softly kissing your temple, the action making your heart flutter and your stomach do flips.

And just like that, the sweet and shy Chan you’d grown accustomed to during the day was gone, replaced with his much more confident and dominant side.

The first thrust was shallow, making you gasp, despite the gag in your mouth.

The second and third thrusts were harsh and soon the room was filled with the sound of Chan’s hips meeting your ass, skin hitting skin as he pounded into you, his fingers digging into your hips as he held you in place.

Your walls clenched around him, sucking him back in each time he pulled out. “Fuck,” he moaned. “I forgot how tight your cunt is,” he continued, voice cracking as he tried to keep up his dom persona.

You whimpered, letting out muffled moans with each hard thrust as you tried to push back to meet him but with your arms bound behind you, there was no way of grounding yourself and you were at the mercy of his grip.

One of his hands moved, grabbing your bound arms and pulling you up, not stopping or slowing the movements of his hips. Your body moved with the force of each ruthless thrust into your drenched pussy.

Even with the gag, you were still able to make plenty of sound for him to hear and each one of your moans had him digging his fingers into your skin a little hard, moving his hips a little faster.

It had been years since he’d had you like this but it felt like no time had passed since scout camp. The way your body reacted to him was almost exactly as it had back then. He knew how you liked it then and it wasn’t any different now.

You liked it rough and he liked to give it rough.

You let out a loud moan, the gag slipping out of your mouth and falling to the bed soaked in your spit. Chan let out a growl, letting your body fall back against the mattress as he stopped, stilling inside you and worked to undo his belt and remove it, releasing your arms.

Despite the harsh and hard way he fucked you, his hands were gentle as he repositioned your arms above your head and grabbed his tie from the bed, ignoring how wet the material was as he tied your wrists together before resuming his assault on your core.

With your hands in this new position, you were able to grab onto the sheets and keep yourself in place.

“You have to keep quiet,” you heard him pant. “You really -ah!- think i can keep quiet when you’re- oh fuck!- when you’re fucking me so hard?” You whimpered, cursing between each stroke.

“You’re going to have to,” he growled, stilling inside you again. “Or I’ll stop right now,” he added.

You peered over your shoulder at him. “When you’re so close to coming?” You questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

“Are you trying to push my buttons, baby?” He asked, thrusting forward with his cock buried deep inside you.

“I thought you were going to be a good girl,” he continued, pulling back slowly only to snap his hips forward.

“I am being a good girl,” you answered. You felt one of his hands reach around to grab your throat. “Good girls don’t talk back, baby,” he cooed, his voice low and sending shivers down your spine.

He squeezed lightly, fingers holding your neck firmly but not harshly.

“That’s what I thought,” he scoffed. “Stop acting like a little bitch and take what I give you,” he growled, his hips gaining speed as he fucking you against the mattress.

You let out a gasp, quickly turning into whimpers and mewls as Chan proceeded to fuck you dumb. Your lips parted, no sound coming out as you arched your back, allowing him to reach deeper inside your walls, each drag of his cock having you see stars as your orgasm approached. “Fuuuuuuuuck,” you moaned out. “M’gonna cum,” you whined.

Chan chuckled, his grip on your neck loosening. “You gonna come for me?” He whispered in your ear, making you nod vigorously. “Such a good little slut,” he mumbled. “Gonna cum all over this cock?” You whimpered, nodding again as you felt your orgasm wash over you. “Good girl,” Chan breathed, releasing your throat as he helped you ride your climax out. “You take me so well, you always have,” he continued to praise you as you came down from your high.

“Wait, what about you?” You whined, slowly coming to your senses. “Be a good girl and lay still for me, okay?” He whispered. You nodded as his hand covered your mouth and for good reason.

The next moment, he was pounding into you like his life depended on it, chasing his own high. His hand muffled your cries and screams of pleasure as he abused your cunt, bringing himself closer to his climax.

As your second orgasm rolled over you in waves, Chan let out a moan, hips stilling as he came. You felt his teeth dig into your shoulder as he released inside you, painting your walls white with his hot load. You moaned against his hand as he filled you up, your walls fluttering around him and milking his cock.

As you both came down together, chan released his hold over your mouth and groaned, kissing the spot where his teeth had dug into your skin. “Sorry,” he murmured, more to your skin than to you. You winced as he pulled out of you and sat back, looking down where he could see his cum seeping out of you. “Shit,” he cursed as he pulled his pants and underwear back up. “Let me get something to clean you up with.”

He was gone for a moment before he returned with a clean towel and spread your legs to clean your skin off. You felt two of his fingers gather his cum and push it back into you, causing you to moan into the sheets.

“Let’s get you dressed,” you heard him say softly.

He had your panties back on and your dress zipped back up in no time as you tried your best to salvage what was left of your appearance. “Do I look like I just got my brains fucked out?” You asked, hoping for an honest answer. Chan smiled, reaching up to take your chin in his fingers.

“Yeah but to be fair, you did just get your brains fucked out,” he answered, causing your cheeks to burn as you let out a whine and leaned into him, hiding your face in his neck. Chan let out a laugh and wrapped an arm around you.

“You want me to take you home?” He asked softly. “If I say yes, will you stay with me?” You asked quietly, fingers playing with the collar of his white shirt. The silence between you lasted for only a moment before he answered.

“Of course,” he replied. “I’ll stay with you as long as you want me to.”

The two of you left his room, making your way back down to the first floor where the party was still in full swing and no one even batted an eye. Chan left you for a moment to get your coats but a moment was all it took for his mother and father to find you.

“You were upstairs for a while,” Mr. Lee said, smiling at you as Chan returned. “We were looking at all his awards,” you lied, looking up at Chan who smiled as he helped you into your coat before fumbling with his. “Your son is quite accomplished,” you added, noticing the way Chan’s cheeks burned and he tried to hide the pleased smile on his face.

Once his coat was on, he turned to his parents, explaining he was going to take you home and spend some more time with you. His mother and father bid you a goodnight, his mother pulling you into a hug and inviting you to come back for their New Years party. You might just take them up on that offer.

As you and Chan made for the door, his mother let out a squeal of delight, causing you to stop in your tracks and turn to look at her. Chan was also looking at his mother like she’d lost her mind. Her attention wasn’t on you however, it was directed to a spot just above your heads.

Looking up you noticed the mistletoe that hung above you. How had you not noticed that the stuff was hanging everywhere? In every doorway, from random places over hallways. Its placement must have been deliberate.

You glanced at Chan who looked from the holiday greenery to you, his expression blank for a moment before he shrugged, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against him, his lips pressing against yours.

You kissed him back, ignoring the way his mother reacted as if you two had just gotten married or something.

When Chan pulled back, he smirked at you. “Shall we?” He asked, nodding towards the door. You nodded in response. “And you’ll stay with me?” You asked, eyes looking between his own.

His smirk softened into a smile as he pressed a short kiss to your lips. “As long as you want me to,” he answered.

“If you want me to, I’ll stay the whole damn night, baby. I’m not going anywhere this time.”

ⓘ Graphics made by me. Content and support banners made using a template by cafekitsune. I do not allow reposts, translations, or continuations of my works. All writing and graphics are ©️ kwanisms.

[designyourtie]

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[dotversion2]

Dot Explains the Plot of Library of Ruina

Thank you to everyone who read the first part. It's been fun compiling all of these into something a bit more solidified than the mad ramblings I typed out on Discord between shifts at work.

All the same content warnings apply from before.

Chapter 2: Urban Myth

We open on a conversation between a handful of unknown individuals discussing the 'Distortion Phenomenon.' They list a couple of possible sources for the bizarre happenings but get nowhere. We will learn who these speakers are later.

We return to Roland and Angela having a conversation about the status of the Library. Roland says he's starting to get a handle of how his job works. Angela says that she is curious as to why he is so accepting of her orders. She can tell that he is not motivated by fear. Roland admits that there are things about the Library that he's curious about. There's also 'something' that he's been meaning to find the meaning of and he thinks this might be the only place he'll get his answer. Angela is pleased to see that the two of them have a coincidence of interests and is fine with him 'exploiting' her and her Library as she exploits him to handle receptions. Roland is a bit unsure about her wording but drops the issue when she gets prickly about her past. Roland asks Angela what is up with the other Librarians, admitting that they don't 'feel human.' Angela explains that she, the Abnormalities, and the other Librarians can only exist in the Library and would disappear without it. She laments that they all shared the same past of originating as humans, being taken advantage of, and then discarded. Roland asks if this is a form of exploitation in itself; Angela rebukes the idea and explains that, if she hadn't acted, all of them wouldn't be here to begin with. Furthermore, once she completes her goal, she and all the other Librarians will be able to leave together.

The Floor of Technological Sciences

Technically this floor opens at the end of Canard and not the beginning of Urban Myth but that is a minor trifle. After clearing Hook Office, Roland goes looking through the Library again when he notices that it has grown another floor. He enters the newly arisen Floor of Technology and spies a dour-looking man standing near a window. Roland greets him warmly only to be met by a cold, focused stare. Roland feels like he's about to be attacked only for the man to walk over and fix Roland's loose necktie in an extremely homoerotic way. He introduces himself as Yesod, Patron Librarian of the Floor of Technological Sciences. He was previously the head of the Information Department at Lobotomy Corporation and another Sephirah. He asks Roland why he goes along with Angela's orders without question. Roland responds that he doesn't have much of a choice in the matter and tries to bridge the gap by offering him a handshake. It throws Yesod off, much to the thinly-veiled delight of the Fixer. Yesod tells him to fuck off and he does.

Urban Myth Receptions

The first reception is of Pierre's Bistro, a restaurant in District 23 that cooks and serves people. They are up to their usual bullshit and mostly offer Roland a chance to exposition dump about how each District of the City has its own particular culture and weirdness. District 23 is the only place in the City where cannibalisms isn't considered a massive taboo because the culture of the District is built around the pursuit of the perfect dish and they believe that the best path towards this has been through munching on people. Pierre briefly ponders what Angela tastes like (as she is not human) before both she and her sous-chef get got.

The second reception is of the Streetlight Office, a Fixer Office that genuinely tries very hard to make their little corner of the Backstreets better for those living in it and is affiliated with the Zwei Association. We enter on a scene of two of the Office's Fixers, Lulu and Mars, bantering about their recent dry patch of work. Lulu is even considering transferring to a different Office but Mars doesn't think she has the expertise to make the jump and would be better off staying put to beef up her resume. The arguing starts anew when Lulu realizes that Mars ate a piece of cake she had been saving in the fridge. Their boss, San, enters to explain they have a new job: investigating the Library. While the job is under the table and not officially sanctioned, it comes with an Urban Legend-sized paycheck. San shows the Invitation that he was given, originally intended for someone else. Lulu and Mars disagree with taking the job but San promises the pair a nice dinner if they finish the job.

Back in the Library, Angela asks Roland about some of the terms that the Streetlight Office used. Roland explains that Fixer Offices are usually associated with one of 12 Fixer Associations (each one associated with a number). He also explains that there is an internal grading system used by the Hana Association (Hana is one in Korean) to explain the prevalence of the various phenomenon within the City. The ratings are Canard, Urban Myth, Urban Legend, Urban Plague, Urban Nightmare, and Star of the City (and one more that we'll talk about when we get there). Canards are often not even real while Urban Myths tend to be at least 'something.' Angela goes to greet the Office as they arrive, noticing their comradery. San asks if it is okay for them to use an Invitation originally sent to someone else; Angela explains that the Invitation made it to them meaning it was meant for them. San reminds the group to flee if things get too hairy and they enter the reception. As the battle turns against the Office, Mars holds the Receptionists at bay so Lulu and San can escape. After the battle, Roland laments that it is a rookie mistake for a Fixer to have personal connections with the others in their life as it makes losing people that much harder. Angela questions how he came to such a conclusion so casually and he says that it is important to maintain detachment and that he learned that lesson the hard way.

Lulu and San mourn the loss of their comrade. San blames himself for getting them involved with the Library and plans on taking it up with the Zwei. Lulu screams at San that getting the Association involved would make Mars's death worthless if they don't handle it themself. San lets Lulu blame him, voicing his own regrets. Lulu goes to the fridge to get a drink when she sees that there is a replacement slice of cake. She asks San about it and he says that he didn't buy it. Lulu steps out the office and into the rain, screaming as she realizes that Mars had bought a replacement slice for her before they went to the Library. Her blind fury is broken when she looks at her feet and sees an Invitation offering the book of Mars. She calls in every favor she can before returning to the Library…

After the battle, Angela asks Roland for his insight on what just occurred. Roland admits that he isn't heartless but he considers death part of the life of a Fixer. Angela notes that Roland talks with the air of a veteran yet describes himself as a washed-up Fixer. Roland refuses to elaborate but Angela doesn't pry, stating she could simply turn him into a book and read his secrets if she so desired. Roland swiftly changes the topic, asking Angela what her thoughts on what happened are. She says that she feels completely indifferently. Her time at Lobotomy Corporation required her to see employees die over and over again, sometimes for reasons far less dignified than this. She explains that this is why she set up the Library the way she did: to give Guests the freedom of choice without feeling coerced. Roland still believes that the situation is weighed in their favor since Angela can revive dead Librarians. Angela is visibly annoyed; Roland backs off, concluding that her methods are still far more fair than other the rest of the City.

The Floor of Literature

Upon clearing the first half of the Streetlight Office Reception, the Floor of Literature opens. Roland goes to meet the Patron Librarian, bitterly amused that a whole floor is dedicated to a topic he believes isn't fit for the City. He meets the Patron, Hod, who politely introduces herself. She was previously the Department Head of the Training Team at Lobotomy Corporation. Roland asks if she holds a grudge against Angela; Hod admits that she isn't friends with the Head Librarian but she does plan on honoring the deal they made to its fullest. Roland asks why everyone hates Angela. Hod tells him that Angela did something unforgivable, though she considers herself no better. Roland says he wants the tension to resolve itself. Hod reassures him that, if he stays through Angela's plan, she's sure that things will improve. Hod invites Roland to sit and let out some of his frustration. He vents that his work handling Receptions is stressful and he wishes that interacting with the Librarians could be less tense. Hod says she doesn't have good answers to why people can't coexist peacefully but believes that they may find answers in the books he brings her. Roland is a little annoyed that she seems to be giving evasive answers but believes that, since he got himself into this mess, he needs to get himself out of it. Hod supports his endeavors and strives to help him (for which he is very appreciative).

And that is more or less everything that happens in Urban Myth. I haven't been covering all the individual conversations between Roland and the Patron Librarians (even though they are very good) because they would probably bloat this out even further. That said, enjoy this CG of all the rectangles seen during one of Yesod's flashbacks.

Chapter 1 2 3 4 5 6 7

[siobhanhazel]

Once Upon a Time - HP Rec Fest 2024

Once Upon a Time by busaikko (podfic version by malnpudl)

Gen - Dudley. Rated: G. Words: 1,200. Trans Femme Dudley, Harry Potter, Cousins, Transgender, Post-Canon,

Day 26 Prompt: a fic under 5k In which Dudley discovers who she really is. Warm, good feels all around. I wish I could give justice to this fic with an amazingly worded review but, all I can manage with my exhausted brain is to yell READ IT.

The writing is so tight and impactful. The character portrayal of Dudley is just chef’s kiss. It’s such a heartfelt 1,200 words. Excerpt (the first two paragraphs):

Dudley's got five suits in the closet, one for each day of the week, and three chins like a ladder up from necktie to scowl, and a solid German car for driving to the corporate headquarters of Consolidated Demolitions, Ltd., every morning at half past seven. Dudley sits with thighs pushing knees wide apart, and drips sweat climbing the stairs, and when the receptionist snipes under her breath it's not like you can eat yourself happy Dudley throws such a wobbler that the next day she applies for a transfer to the department of breaking big things into little things with hammers. She starts Dudley thinking about happiness, though, which leads to thinking about unhappiness. Once upon a time, Dudley had the pleasures of life sucked out by an invisible creeping horror. Knowing that evil really existed, waiting just around the corner from normal life, made it hard to go back to school. After that, Dudley was afraid of being put in the cupboard under the stairs, afraid of dirty old clothes and sharp words and birthdays with no presents or cake, of being laughed at by friends. It's an unpleasant shock to trace the roots of those fears down into the childhood certainty that if ever Dudley were a freak like Harry, there'd be no more love, ever.

★★★ Check out my other HP Rec Fest 2024 recs ★★★

@hprecfest

[blusterb8]

"No More Fancy Neckties for You, Hotshot Executive! Not so well groomed now, are we?!"

"Oh no! Please don't do this!" cries the stunned executive. "I wore this tie because it matches my suit and shoes!"

Wacky Australian businessman Richard Branson hates neckties and wants to force well dressed men to surrender their symbols of privilege. So he cuts them off in public. He claims that ties are symbol of arrogance and class privilege. When Branson appears at business meetings and corporate events, he secretly carries a big pair of scissors and suddenly grabs the neckties of overdressed, uppity professional gentleman and hacks off their ties.

He always grabs the tie just below the knot and pulls the men close to him. He screams with laughter as he slices through the silk. The formerly well groomed businessmen and executives are shocked, humiliated and helpless as their very expensive silk ties are chopped to pieces while they are still wearing them. Their perfect corporate uniforms are destroyed and Branson keeps their ruined neckties as trophies of his victories.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

🎵 The Insulindian Miracle

2. "He's a beautiful man. Beautiful and *just*."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Just? Hmm... in what way?"

"In a funky socialist way. He looks out for the people."

"In a nice, crunchy, white working class way of course."

"Yeah, he's not actually just, is he? He's useless."

+1 Communism

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course. *Some* of them, at least. The ones who work for him -- how else would he have stayed in power all these years... no wait, actually..."

"Corruption! That's how he's done it. Fantastic, würm-like corruption reaching into the bowels of the Earth." She looks at the ground and nods.

KIM KITSURAGI - "The position of my *unusual* colleague does not reflect official policy. I hope you understand -- the RCM does not pick sides."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course -- and I don't expect you to share anything he told you with me. I am not a *corrupt würm* myself." She turns to you: "However, if you felt like *discussing* something..."

"...how could I stop you? Are we not human? Are we not *curious* to hear another person's take? It's only natural. We would only be..." she smiles, "gossiping."

VOLITION [Formidable: Success] - Don't fall for it, it's a ploy to get you talking. The honey-mouthed syllables, the smiling, the conspiratorial jokes, all of it!

CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success] - Intellectually speaking... it would be quite *interesting* to hear what she has to say about these things...

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - Tell her, she'll *like* you for it.

HORRIFIC NECKTIE - Yes! Your disgusting tie agrees completely. Let's *gossip*.

Sorry, Volition, you're outvoted.

"That money you gave me -- would that make things... *weird*? If I shared information, I mean?"

"Mr. Evrart is helping me find my gun."

"I helped him turn up the heat on the borscht."

"I'd rather talk about something else for now, if you don't mind." (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Weird? Oh no. One of the positive things to come from the Revolution is the *unhindered* exchange of information, you see, even when it comes to *trade secrets*..."

"Which isn't to suggest our talks constitute *corporate espionage*. Even *if* they did -- it would be fine. But they don't, since you logged the money as a donation and this is *clearly* just gossip between friends."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - The lieutenant might have -- but I don't remember you logging anything as anything, Harry.

2. "Mr. Evrart is helping me find my gun."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Oh!" Her eyes become large and round. "That's so *helpful* of him..."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant looks at you and you can swear his jaw muscle is trembling.

-1 Reputation

COMPOSURE [Medium: Success] - He's able to contain the anger and surprise.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - When I said *be wacky* I didn't mean *wildly, grossly irresponsible and damaging to the RCM*.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Unconventional police officers sometimes *lose* their guns. They then go around and tell people about this -- to gauge their reactions. It's all part of *detecting*."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Incredible," she shakes her head. "Simply incredible -- and how is it going? Has this *detecting* produced a gun?"

"No."

"Mr. Evrart says it's *almost* ready to be found soon."

"Mr. Evrart is helping me find my gun."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Ah yes. As you said." She looks confused for a moment.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Please don't get him in a loop. If he gets in a loop it will last *forever*. Ask him to say something else please."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - That's wrong! You don't get into loops!

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course. Thank you for the advice -- I'm glad you were here to assist." She turns to you: "Your *other* dealings with Evrart are still of considerable interest to me..."

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - The lieutenant will be more lenient toward sharing those, hopefully.

3. "I helped him turn up the heat on the borscht."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Did you now?" She's intrigued, if a little confused. "What sort of borscht is he making?"

"Unimportant."

"The cook makes it to keep the strikers drunk. Helps them strike."

JOYCE MESSIER - "The strike brew," she nods. "That's a classic. And by *turn up the heat* I presume you mean *put more alcohol in it*?"

"Yes."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Why, if I may ask? Why make them *more* drunk? Aren't they corked enough already?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Yes, detective -- what *were* you hoping to accomplish with this strange thing?"

"An act born of sympathy for the working man. I set fire to the fumes of struggle."

"I worship Al Gul in many ways."

"It's uninteresting, I thought it would make the broth taste better."

+1 Communism

JOYCE MESSIER - "Very curious." She blinks both eyes. "A very curious thing to do."

+5 XP

KIM KITSURAGI - "Truly, but that's how he operates. He just does things, ma'am. And then talks about them -- even if it's inappropriate."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - A strange equanimity has overtaken the lieutenant. He's just going with the flow now. Easier that way.

JOYCE MESSIER - "What else?"

We don't have anything else on Evrart to tell Joyce just yet.

4. "I'd rather talk about something else for now, if you don't mind." (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Of course, detective," she simmers down. "Should something come up, later down the road -- don't be afraid to drop by for a chat."

"Until then -- is there anything *I* can help *you* with?"

I exited Joyce's dialogue to make a quick save, but talking to her after midnight opened a new topic of conversation.

JOYCE MESSIER - "You're back. Good." She takes a sip from her silvery thermal cup. "What can I help you with -- at this late hour?"

"It's night. Don't you ever sleep?"

"Answer me a question."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Matter of fact, I don't." She takes another sip.

"Why is that?"

(Better not to poke further) "That's good. This way you can answer me some questions."

JOYCE MESSIER - "I have a medical condition of my own -- nothing unusual, though. I'm *old* you see."

"Old, huh? I think I have that too."

"No you're not. You look young."

(Better not to poke further) "That's good. This way you can answer me some questions."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Don't worry. It's curable -- with *questions*. Ask me some, it'll help pass this night."

7. "I've got some more questions about *reality*."

JOYCE MESSIER - "More lessons in basic reality?" She's positively surprised. "My favourite part of the day! Go ahead, ask me anything."

8. [Volition - Medium 10] Ask for Kim to step away while you discuss the pale.

+1 Kim trusts you.

VOLITION [Medium: Success] - Good idea. Just ask him. He won't make a scene.

"Kim, can I talk to the ma'am alone for a second?"

KIM KITSURAGI - "Fine." He steps away with his notes.

VOLITION - See? What can he do. You're a grown man.

"Now -- what is the pale?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Are you sure you're sure? Your colleague seemed adamant..."

"Yes -- what is the pale?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Okay." She concedes. "The pale is the most dominant geological feature of the world, detective -- the separative tissue between the isolas. It is the interisolary mass."

"Wait, and what is an isola?"

"Okay... what is the pale *like*?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "*Isola* is a Messinian word for a continent of matter, enveloped on all sides by the pale. Also: isolation, or land mass. We used to believe there was only one. In the last four centuries we have discovered seven..."

"Mundi, Seol, Samara, Iilmaraa, Graad, Katla, and this -- Insulinde."

"And Insulinde is...?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "An oceanic isola. It comprises mostly of water. Mundi is the largest, Katla the coldest, Insulinde the bluest. What can I say..." She stops. "Each is perishing and dear."

"Okay... what is the pale *like*?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Achromatic, odourless, featureless. The pale is the enemy of matter and life. It is not *like* any other -- or *any* thing in the world. It is the transition state of being into nothingness."

LOGIC [Medium: Success] - The negation of being.

"The negation of..."

JOYCE MESSIER - "That's right -- the negation of being." She tightens her hood around her neck, it's cold outside.

"Is it... here?" (Look around.)

"What are its physical qualities?"

"If we're surrounded by pale, how do you get from isola to isola?"

"How much pale is there compared to the world?"

"Let's return to reality, please." (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "No, detective, we're safe." She points to the sea. "It begins there, 6,000 kilometres to the north, and even more to the south, east, and west. You are in the middle of the isola."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - As your gaze instinctively turns north, a small black pit opens up in your stomach.

"Six thousand kilometres from the end of the world?"

"And... (point north) ...there?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes -- that is enough. Many cities are built *much* closer."

"And… (point north) …there?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "An uproar of matter, darling, *rising* into the pale. Rolling. Evaporating even, a great vision. The area of transition between the world and the pale is called *porch collapse*."

"Imagine a grey coronal mist, cold vapour, marked by spores of an opportunistic microorganism -- a mould that's adapted to grow at the edge of the unrest. It's…"

She closes her eyes and breathes out heavily: "... the most *disco* thing you will ever see."

2. "What are its physical qualities?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "It's difficult to describe -- or even measure -- something whose fundamental property is the suspension of properties: physical, epistemological, linguistic..."

"The further into pale you travel, the steeper the degree of suspension. Right down to the mathematical -- *numbers* stop working. No one has yet passed the number barrier. It may be impossible."

3. "If we're surrounded by pale, how do you get from isola to isola?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Oh, it is..." Her lungs deflate, her words sound like a sigh, "...*so* difficult for us."

PERCEPTION (HEARING) [Easy: Success] - A squall of birds, hardware operating in the harbour. Firm, self-evident.

JOYCE MESSIER - "It is possible to force dimensions on the pale -- in modern times we can even compress its latitude, bouncing radio waves from one end to the other. Shortening the path."

"But it is still hard for humans to navigate the pale without getting lost. Or having our minds damaged."

3. "The pale can damage the mind?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Extensively."

"How?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Some say the damage stems from extreme sensory deprivation. Others argue that pale somehow *consists* of past information, that's degrading. That it's rarefied past, not rarefied matter."

"They call it *the blend-over of the self*. The pale does not only suspend the laws of physics, but also the laws of psychology, maybe History, even... The human mind becomes over-radiated by past."

"What does this over-radiation feel like?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "It feels terrible. Absolutely terrible. International standards strictly limit civilian travellers to six days of pale exposure per year..."

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - It's more for her -- way more.

"*You're* not a civilian passenger?"

Let it go.

JOYCE MESSIER - "No, Lieutenant Du Bois. I'm 'Entroponetic Business Class.' I'm cleared -- and trained -- for 22 days of pale transit annually."

EMPATHY [Easy: Success] - Perhaps that explains her strange pining after the Revolution? Some degraded early memories...

LOGIC [Easy: Success] - Someone *else* you've met may have been *exposed* as well. The strange grey-haired woman in her lorry.

"Do *lorry drivers* pass the pale?"

"Are *you* over-radiated?"

"*You're* not a civilian passenger?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes. Carried in the hulls of airships," she nods. "It's a horrific job. Automation will abolish it, soon."

+5 XP

REACTION SPEED [Easy: Success] - You should ask the Paledriver about this. See what she says.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - That poor woman must have stories to tell like you wouldn't imagine...

2. "*You're* not a civilian passenger?"

JOYCE MESSIER - She's looking out toward the sea, what at, it's hard to say.

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - She's over-radiated. And then some.

5. "What is *entroponetic*?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "*Entroponetics*," she corrects, "is the scientific study of the pale. Or a recent iteration of it, by way of Graad. The study of the pale reaches back 6,000 years -- the Perikarnassians called it the Western Plain."

"Did they... cross it? The Western Plain?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "There *are* signs of pretermodern crossings. Successful navigation of the pale relies not just on technical know-how, but intensive psychological preparation. Some of these tactics have been known for thousands of years."

"What has entroponetics changed then?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Nothing. We remain powerless before the pale. The only real advance in pale transit is the speed with which an aerostatic craft can pierce it. Less exposure leads to less... *effects* later."

"Aerostatic craft?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Hybrid airships, detective. Conventional rotors or jet engines no longer add velocity after the point of reference for motion is suspended -- once you've crossed from near pale to far pale..."

"In essence, we throw them in and they come out the other end -- if we throw them precisely."

"If we do not?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "Then they don't."

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] - Gone -- like a skipping stone beneath the surface.

6. "How much pale is there compared to the world?"

JOYCE MESSIER - "The pale outweighs reality two to one -- there is more pale than there is matter. And the ratio is slipping."

"Slipping how? To our detriment or…"

JOYCE MESSIER - "What do you think, detective?" She looks you in the eye.

"It's shrinking. There is more and more of the world."

"It's growing. There is more and more of the pale."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Precisely. One of the few measurable effects of the pale is that it is expanding at an unknown rate."

"An intuitive conclusion of that development is that one day the pale will cover everything -- but this sort of talk is mostly left to extremists."

"It's not extreme at all. It's going to happen."

"Cover *everything*? That can't be. Where would we go..."

Stay silent.

JOYCE MESSIER - "Most people -- and indeed most private and government sector organizations; entire civilizations and religions even -- find handy ways to ignore, or downplay that knowledge."

"I suggest you do the same."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - *Off we go...* you see the hanged man's mouth open.

"Off we go into the wild pale yonder."

JOYCE MESSIER - "One and all," she closes her eyes. "They say pale is death, but for the Universe."

INLAND EMPIRE - Why should we just leave and leave -- and the world get left behind?

7. "Let's return to reality, please." (Conclude.)

JOYCE MESSIER - "Yes, sweet reality," she stomps her foot. "But before we do, tell me detective..."

"Is this the first time you're hearing this? Do you really not remember anything?"

"Nothing. Just alcohol fumes and blackout."

"I sometimes sense vague shadows of a past, and it's not good."

"I'm getting a sense of who I am, but no, I didn't know this."

JOYCE MESSIER - "Then tell me -- what do you *think* of the pale?"