#i need a believable reason IN STORY it happens not ‘the story requires this so i can cause this romance’

[midnight-bay-if]

The nightmare ask had me wondering about something.

So, we know one of the things with N in the story is learning boundaries of not entering MC's mind whenever they want and what not.

But I'm curious:

Is it possible to have a MC who is just okay with that, whatever the reason may be?

No matter your answer to the previous question generally speaking, what would N think of a MC who suffers from anxiety bouts or other issues of the sort, and who actually ASKS if N could come into their mind when that happens because in these instances, having someone else there is reassuring / calming.

Would N's reaction change depending on if they're the romanced RO or not?

1) Yes, how the MC responds to N being in their mind will be determined by the player. As well as giving the option for MC to change their mind about it in the future, as well.

2) As someone who deals with panic attacks and anxiety, I feel this, haha. It's not something N would understand at first, not until they entered MC's mind and saw it. It's a strange concept to them... to be needed. It seems like something that would require a delicate touch, so they are completely out of their depth. But still. They talk, make jokes, and act all self-absorbed in the hopes it'll cause you to react, lash out, quip back, or anything else.

3) With a romanced N, they might even discover themselves capable of having a little anxiety. They fear making things worse much more severely. But it also makes them much more determined. If you say they can help you, they will believe you.

[chryzuree]

i think my main issue is that this series doesn’t have a goal outside of the romance, but it’s rlly rlly trying to act like it does. oh, this is happening. no, this is too. and this is alllll important because….!! the plot needs it to generate chemistry between the characters!!

i get that romance novels are like that, but i find it’s a writing style better suited for a one-off. if you’re doing a whole series that’s jst a series of events to drum up chemistry, it comes off as rushed and shallow. why are they still interacting with each other? what’s the driving force that keeps bringing them together? if i, the reader, see that it’s only because the author wants it to happen, then that’s shoddy plot-work. there should be something in the story that brings it about.

there’s LOTS of ya romances that manage this, like, WAY better and more believably. being a little more clear w my reasons why i hate this series sm

[prael]

c'est la vie - Kim Minju

Part 3 of folie à deux.

IZ*ONE Kim Minju x Male reader smut. (ft. a sprinkle of Wonyoung)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6

Masterlist word count: 10,553

c'est la vie - that's life

"I'm so fucked."

Fists clenched and eyes scrunched, you’re venting out loud to no one in particular. You repeat it, "I'm so fucked." Louder this time—to the sky. Well, more accurately, to the plastered ceiling of this little hole-in-the-wall. Either way, the solution isn't there.

It isn't at the bottom of a bottle either, but you're determined to find that out the hard way.

"Is there a friend I can call for you?" The woman behind the bar has stopped polishing off the glasses; interrupted by what she would say are the ramblings of a madman.

"There's no coming back from this." You throw your head forward, catching it in your now open hands, elbows resting on the wooden bar top.

"Sir? I'm going to call you a—"

"I don't need a cab." You draw your head from your hands and open your eyes—allowing the light to pour onto you from one of those little round lights above you. The drink sits in front of you, unfinished. Hard liquor in a tumbler just waiting to be thrown back like the three before it—a plea you can’t ignore. The large ice cube rests against your nose as you pour every last drop onto your tongue and swallow. "I do need another drink."

With the glass set back down, your body slouches and sinks. Eyes stare down at the empty glass and your face is cold to the world, cold to the woman across from you. You must reek of self-pity, the smell thick in the air. 

Let’s be honest, you've had far better days.

She's got her delicate fingers around the neck of the bottle, pouring you a fresh drink and placing it on a napkin, "you know, you're not the first person to stumble into this bar wearing a face like that."

You slide your eyes over to the glass and reach for it. "I highly doubt it."

"But, few of them show up this early, even if it is a Friday." She has a point: you’re propping up the bar alone and drowning your sorrows solo. In fact, there are only two other people in this whole place, sitting together at a table. "So what’s your story?"

"Does there have to be one?" You grip the glass in your hand, giving the stranger the best smile you can fake.

She steps back and brushes her hand on her trousers as she laughs, "I've seen many broken men and women sit at this bar and spend too many hours drinking their life savings, with hearts broken, dreams smashed and most of all, mistakes they regretted. But you seem different."

"Oh really, why's that?" Your eyes stare into your drink. It stares right back at you.

"You're still young."

"Does being broken have an age requirement?"

She shifts and reaches for something, something you can't quite make out, being locked in the most intimate of stares with your drink. It’s the sound of her placing down another fresh glass that gives it away. "Actually, yes. Because you've still got time to work with."

"That's the irony. All I have left is time."

“Then you have to believe in yourself to make the most of that time.” Her words are heavy, like their meaning holds weight within her too.

She lets you dwell on it for a moment while she pours her own drink. She settles herself against the bar top, across from you, resting her head in one open hand. Her gaze burns into you like sitting in the sun. You can feel something else too, a soft vibration in your pocket.

You finally break away from your staring contest with your drink—one you lost anyway—to fish your phone out of your pocket. The screen alights with Gaeul’s name and is followed by the words ‘1 new message’.

After a swipe, it reads, ‘wtf where are you? what happened?’ but the thought of sending a reply never crosses your mind. And, just in case, you switch it over to silent.

“Is that her?” The woman gently waves a slender finger towards your phone as you put it back where you found it. “The reason you’re here?”

"Do you press all your customers like this?"

“Only the interesting ones,” she returns her hand to her glass, taking a sip of it before continuing, “and there’s sadly so few of those.”

"And if I'm not as interesting as you think?"

"Then I'll buy you a drink.” She tilts her glass at you. "For the trouble."

"And if I'm fascinating?"

"I'll still buy you a drink." Another sip from her glass as her lip gloss stains the rim, "maybe two."

"Then no, it wasn't her." And here's the thing, you don't know who to blame. Yourself? Probably. Wonyoung? Maybe. The mystery cameraman who got it all on video? Almost definitely. 

“But it is another woman, right?”

“It’s complicated.”

“I’m not exactly rushed off my feet here.”

You sigh, unsure exactly where to begin with this whole mess. The complete story is a long one. You could tell her about your family—the trouble at home and why you had to leave—but that’s not for anyone to know.

"I transferred here. Moved here with my brother. He's at work right now, and he will be late into the evening." You pause to take another drink. Another burning sensation. "To keep food on our table and keep me in college." 

Even saying so little it weighs on you, the feelings of regret and the feeling that you're saying too much. You bite your tongue and hesitate.

"So why are you here and… you know... not at college?" She pushes you for more. She flicks a finger towards you with her free hand and then brings her glass to her lips.

You drag your eyes up for the first time and finally inspect the woman across from you.

She's your age, roughly—if you had to guess. She's pretty, and that part you're more confident about. She wears her long brunette hair over one shoulder, running in a loose wave, over her slate black blazer, which sits over a small black tee, cropped at the waist. She smiles when your eyes meet hers. And maybe she had no idea, and perhaps it's all subconscious, but the tips of her slender fingers squeeze slightly against the glass now that you're paying her some attention.

"I never got your name," you say with curiosity laden in your voice.

"Minju."

"And why is a young woman like you working here on a Friday afternoon?"

"Were you not the one telling me about your troubles?" She follows her words with a soft laugh.

"Call it quid pro quo. You answer and then I’ll tell you all about it," you say.

"Fine." She stands back upright, adjusting her blouse with a few gentle touches. The way her finger glides across the collar and tugs at it slightly. It's more than a little distracting. She cuts a sleek hourglass shape out of the shelves of bottled booze behind her. "I'm between gigs right now."

"Gigs?"

"Ah." She waves a finger. "My turn."

Minju tilts her head and then rests her palm against the bar—leaning toward you and eyes focused. It’s like an inspection and you instinctively sit up straighter.

"So why are you here?" she asks.

"Expelled. About..." You bring up your wristwatch into view. "About an hour ago."

Her brows go up a fraction and her eyes narrow on you again, almost as if to accuse you of lying to her. But her expression softens almost instantly. You would never notice if not for watching every second in painstaking detail. Her widening eyes reveal to you the thoughts passing through her mind as she racks her brain for a reason you would be expelled.

"You said that you're between gigs, so what is it you do?" you say, shifting the focus back away from yourself.

"I sing. I dance. I model. I act." She pauses with a bitter look. "However, right now, I serve drinks." You get it; she looks the part. That much is clear. She's far too gorgeous to be spending her time polishing glasses and serving screwdrivers to burnouts at happy hour. She looks every bit like a woman who should be so much more, but this isn't Hollywood, and the storybook tale of the waitress who makes it is so cliché.

You swill the last of your drink around in the glass, watching the little tidal pattern inside. The way the ice cube moves with the current, it hypnotises, entrances. You speak, looking down into the amber-hued ocean within your glass.

"And you have the talent to back up the looks?"

"So they tell me." There's no joy in the words or the tone. No pride or smug sense of achievement. If anything, it's dismissive. “It’s just a slow period. That’s life.”

“C’est la vie.” You catch her gaze as you utter the phrase under your breath.

Minju continues despite you, “but things will turn around soon enough. I'm going places."

"Every actor who is going places never seems to get there." Maybe it's the alcohol or maybe it's because, right now, you hate this city and everyone in it, but everything that comes out of your mouth is uncharacteristically curt.

And look, you regret it as soon as it leaves your mouth but that doesn't change the way you just dismissed her. It wasn't meant personally, but it's hard to stop your thoughts from curdling into words right now.

Minju is quiet, and the air becomes heavy. You swallow deep and finally look her in the eyes again. There's something there, some little flicker of emotion untold that gives her away for a moment. She is a woman told repeatedly that she has the world at her feet, but the hard truth of it is that she's here, working away behind the bar because, in fact, life is a lot more cruel.

Absorbed by her vulnerability, you feel the need to backtrack, "that's not—"

"So what, you look at me and see nothing but a girl who couldn't cut it?" There's a flash of fire in her eyes. A burn. A spark that sets the sky alight. A very attractive spark.

The way she fires it back. The passion in her words. The tension building between you as your eyes linger on each other.

You can't explain the attraction, but you can certainly feel it.

"No," you fire back without hesitation, leaning towards her, "what I see is a woman working two jobs just to afford a place to live." Your confidence rises with the alcohol pumping its way through your system and you do your damnedest to rescue the situation. "What I see is a girl with stars in her eyes and a dream that somehow she still keeps alive where so many more have given up. I'm not judging."

Silence.

Sudden, silent, and slightly sinister.

"Yeah, you were," Minju's eyebrows arch in amusement, "but that's fine, I'll take my turn now."

As she leans forward, there are words on her tongue. She looks ready to bite back, but she's looking over you, across the room, watching the only other two people in the bar leave. And for a minute, everything is held in suspense, you are locked together in silence, the clap of their shoes echoing through it. Then the sound of the door, and the brief exposure to the outside world, it's the rain pouring and the cars passing by and then it's the slam shut. It's just you and her, Minju, alone under the dim of the lights.

"So what was it?" she finally breaks the silence.

"Hm?"

"What got you expelled?"

You could lie. There's an opportunity for that. But what's the point? Even though she's a stranger, it doesn't feel like there's a risk if you just come clean and spill your dirty little secret, besides, you owe her one now.

"I got caught fucking in the library." The truth comes out plain and simple. It’s a brazen statement to make in the middle of the afternoon to a stranger. Her gaze shoots down at you. Whatever she expected, it wasn't that.

"I’m sorry, you were caught fucking in the library?" She repeats it out quizzically as if she’s taking time to process. Minju has this way of talking—a lilt in her voice. She has a tone and a pitch that rises and falls with each word. She's amused, that much is clear, by the slight smirk that has curled a corner of her mouth to accompany her sound.

"We were alone, or at least we thought we were, and it’s not like we hadn’t done it before, but apparently, there's evidence." You gesture your empty glass at her, a secondary conversation, unspoken but clear that you need another drink before you tell her anything else.

In doing so you see how she tenses her lips together, holding in her laughter at the thought. She’s holding and you’re watching until she finally cracks, her grin wide and laughter loud.

"Now I am the one judging you. You made fun of me for trying while you're too busy swinging your cock around to even try. So, you tell me, who is the stupid one here?"

"Alright I deserved that one." Your hand had been holding the empty glass to her but now you bring it to rest against the bar top. "In my defence, it's not like I had much of a choice. That girl..."

"Here we go. Let's see how you justify this one." She finally takes your empty glass and when the edge of her fingers brushes across the back of your hand, they linger for far too long. And when she draws back, dragging away those long, delicate fingers from your own, you find yourself suddenly cold.

"It's not like I could turn her down if I wanted to. Also I would never have done it in the library if she didn't make me."

"She 'made' you. Go on." There's scepticism in the words. Her mocking tone teasing you as you watch her turn to the shelves behind her, eyes scanning the possibilities.

"No one says no to her. Never."

"Wow, sounds like quite a woman," she says, ever more playful, as she reaches for the top shelf. Her blazer is pulled up now, ever so slightly exposing her back above the waist of her trousers. Trousers hugging the subtle swell of her hips. Her small, tight, round ass is defined through the fitted fabric. You can't look away.

"Everything comes easily for her. There are literally men fighting for her affections. They would die for her," the words tumble from your mouth, as your gaze lingers.

You must have been lost in the daze and absent-mindedly following the contours of her thighs because by the time you shift focus to her face, she's peering at you from over her shoulder. Eyes sharp as daggers, as if to say it’s a little too obvious.

"Wow she sounds like a real piece of work. I know someone like that too. " Minju turns with bottle in hand, hair swirling around her as she does so. She's graceful. Unbothered and unhurried by anything. "This one is perfect. This bottle is older than me."

She pours two fresh drinks with more ice in each.

"Am I going to regret this in the morning?" you question as the weight of the glass finds your hand.

"You might. But at this moment? No."

You trust her, somehow, inexplicably; you do.

She asks, “so, what will you do now?” it’s a question as funny as it is difficult to answer. 

The truth is that you haven’t got the slightest clue. You tell her as much and try to explain it as best you can, and her eyes soften as you share the details. It’s supposed to be a back-and-forth—quid pro quo—but she’s pressing you with question after question: how long have you known her? Is she pretty? Where does she see you in all of this?

“You and her. Still a thing?”

Minju is on your side of the bar now, sitting by your side with little caution about personal space; there’s not an inch of space between you. Her thigh presses against you and her upper arm is flush with your own.

"Me and Wonyoung were never a thing, not really."

Minju stops dead and chokes, holding her throat, and forcing the drink down. Her whole body shifts. She nearly falls off the bar stool and, after steadying herself, she stares blankly forwards.

"Wonyoung? Jang Wonyoung?"

"Yeah, her." The new drink meets your lips and its taste is a hell of a lot richer than the cheap stuff you were pouring down. It’s laden with a smoky taste over sweet tones.

There's a silence even after you finish taking a drink. Something untold hangs in the air. You know it. She knows it. She's here on the verge of telling you something, but what? And you sit here and wait, despite the racing of your heartbeat.

"I should have known." Minju shakes her head, laughing, but without a smile.

"Should've known what?"

"You're Wonyoung's new toy. I should have guessed as soon as I saw you, she has this effect on people."

You stiffen at that. It's always the truth that hurts the most and the fact is you really were just a toy. A convenient dildo.

"You know what you need right now?" She twists on the stool, and suddenly, you've got Minju looking straight at you. Eyes locking with you. Right there. Looking up at you. So close. Right there, leaning back ever so slightly so her chest arches towards you, accentuating her small breasts, straining against her shirt.

"Drinking helps," you reply, raising your glass.

"Yes, but so does fucking."

That’s a line. It’s one that shouldn’t come as a surprise because a girl like this probably has a lot of experience in being wanted, so who is to say she can’t turn the table for once? But in one breath you’re giddy, taken out of yourself and feeling drunker by the moment. Not on the booze, but her. She is intoxicating.

It takes you a few seconds to notice but her free hand slips on your leg, rubbing and caressing as it snakes further and further up.

"What?" You ask as if it needs confirmation and in those long few moments, you think you must have imagined it. And the same way a nervous laughter rises, the laughter spilling out of your throat, she is quick to quench the growing dread inside of you by sliding her palm across your bulge.

"Wait here." Something has switched inside her. You don’t know what, but either way, it's got her standing up and strutting towards the door. With each step, she opens her body language. A growing swagger, letting you see the sway of her hips. Left and right. Just enough to catch the eye. And oh boy, does your eye get caught. You couldn't pull your gaze away now if you wanted to.

She's swiping hands at the door now and flicking the locks. Then she's pulling the blinds shut. A giggle comes from Minju as she spins back to face you. She runs her bottom lip through her teeth and stares right into you.

You feel exposed but, strangely, comfortable. It's so very odd; with no clue as to what happens next. It has your heart pounding out of your chest.

"I thought you were alone tonight because you were upset, but no, I understand it now. You're frustrated. Angry. Stressed. She used you and got away with it."

She kicks off her heels, loses a few centimetres in height, and is walking barefoot across the floor - toward you. Her shoulder rolls to one side and then to the other as her body rises and falls, sashays with the pace of her hips. She can see that you're stuck. You’re rooted to the seat with a dumb look on your face, and yet she saunters ever closer.

“I am a little confused,” you finally say. She's so close that all your senses are lost to the approach of Minju's swaying frame. Her curves, her body, her gentle steps, the way her perfume smells—it's consuming you.

She ignores you and continues, "I’m frustrated too. I'm so frustrated that I'm wasting time in this damn bar. I'm angry at all the auditions that ended up with producers rejecting me. I know exactly what you're feeling. You're angry at the world and everyone in it." Her tone grows raspier. More raw and less stable. "You feel alone. Hung out to dry and in need of attention."

"And you feel the same?"

"Yes, and I'm hungry. Starved of any real satisfaction. You told me I’m going nowhere and I guess it means I need a little attention, too."

You watch her eyes flittering as she looks you up and down. The sultry grin she wears shows she likes what she sees.

"So what are you going to do about it, Minju? What is the solution?" You drop a look down to the soft and slender flesh of her neck.

"No strings. We get this all out of our system." Minju leans in. Lips so close to yours. She stays there. It's torture. "You let all that shit out. Take out your pent-up stress, frustration, anger."

"On you?"

"Exactly. You'll feel better. I will too. Because right now…" Her nose presses against the side of your own. Soft skin. Gentle pressure. "I need it rough."

Her hand lands on your thigh again, rubbing down the denim of your jeans.

The offer is enticing. It has your head swimming with dirty images of everything the two of you could do together, and your cock? Well, that's already twitching in your underwear.

"This isn’t going to help, it will just make things worse."

"Can they really get any worse?"

Minju brings your hand, hers and yours, to her waist. Your thumb feels the soft material of her shirt, and your fingers touch that small patch of skin below it.

"Are we prepared to find out?" Your lips graze gently against hers. The thrill. The electricity in the air.

"I’m ready. More than ready. Just this once, do what you want to do and make me the star of your fantasy. Use me. Make me everything you need." She plants her lips firmly on yours. You both go quiet, muffled by a kiss.

Nothing to do but feel.

Minju's grip tightens on your leg, and yours on her waist. The other hand slides up to her chest, finding her breast, cupping it and feeling her. She opens her mouth. And you follow. Your tongues are colliding and sweeping across one another, eager and desperate.

So you push, guiding the two of you to stand. Minju staggers back, and you're with her every step of the way. Stumbling through a kiss. Hands everywhere. Uncertain. Lost, confused, and passionate. It's an incoherent tumble that takes you both crashing through chairs, pushing them aside until you hit something sturdy. Minju's ass slams against the pool table and she grunts into your mouth.

Her lips drag away and she smiles. "Fuck me."

You grab her by the hips, lifting her onto the pool table.

"I need to see the big cock that’s got Wony all worked up. She wouldn’t settle for anything disappointing." She's fumbling at your waist, struggling with the buckle of your jeans.

"This what you want?" Your words vibrate through her. And when you take a handful of her hair and tug, there's a long, soft, desperate sigh from Minju's parted lips.

"Use me. Abuse me." Her fumbling finally succeeds and the waist of your trousers slackens. "I know how I look, but don't worry, you're not going to break me."

She's pushing at your trousers, your boxers, and when that stiff dick pops out, her smile spreads into a big, stupid grin. It's not an unattractive expression—not really. It just tells the truth. She is excited. 

It’s as clear as day that you are too. You’re rock hard, stiff as hell, ready to fuck, and this, this will give you the chance to let it all out. All of it.

"Perfect." Minju grabs your cock in both hands, still warm, throbbing, and strong. "Just look at this thing."

You pull on her hair again, harder, until she breaks away from you, until she gives way—losing the grip on your cock and falling back on the table. And now you slow as if to savour the moment as you’re sliding your fingers under the waist of her trousers. Not often you get afforded a measure of control.

"C’mon, please, don't be gentle," Minju moans out through gritted teeth. The desperation is painted on her face and that’s the difference here: while a girl like Wonyoung wouldn’t let you go slow, Minju is the type of girl who makes you not want to go slow.

So you pull at the trousers of the girl sprawling out in front of you, tearing the button from the fabric, yanking them open and pulling them down those long, slender legs. The flesh is soft. And to touch, so smooth and light. Minju's breathing picks up—becoming shorter and deeper with each touch to her sensitive skin.

"I might leave marks."

Minju stares you down, hands already massaging over her panties. "I hope you will."

The thought is intoxicating, so much more so than the alcohol in your blood, as your hands paw over her legs; you knead soft skin with a kind of aggression you haven't felt before.

Minju is a rare girl.

Beautiful. And by definition, beautiful women have seen it all before.

But her?

The look she gives? Like no man has ever fully satisfied the itch within her. It's deep-set hunger. The kind that she chases endlessly for.

This hunger makes people behave stupidly, careless and forgetful of the consequences. And maybe you know that all too well but even still it's a risk worth taking. Every choice has led you here and maybe that is your solace, that it's not all downhill from here.

And as your hands reach her small satin panties, the warmth embraces you, and the urge within you grows. You hook your fingers inside and draw the panties aside to expose the tight pink flesh of Minju's cunt.

Not that you would expect anything else, but she is clean-shaven. So smooth. Not a single blemish. This is a girl who kept herself neat and pristine, and yet from her mouth spills utter filth, "just look at how wet this pussy is for you."

She's running her fingers between her lips, showing you everything she has to offer between her legs, showing you where she expects you dick will get put to use.

"This tight fucking cunt can take everything your thick cock has to give."

"Minju, you’re so..." You're standing over her, her legs spread wide beside you, blazer falling from her shoulders leaving nothing covering her but that low-cut top.

Minju stares right at you, eyes fixed, wide and eager, her chest heaves with every deepening breath she takes in. She's wild, reaching for you with one hand, stretching to hold you and then pulling at your shirt to draw you in.

"I'm so needy. Please fuck me." She's whining through closed lips as her other hand slips away from her pussy and glides over her taut abs and leaving her cunt ready to be used. She wants it, desperately, and you're drawing it out. Making it build inside her, and you hold your cock in your hand.

You're stroking, and she's watching. And for all her strain to pull at your shirt, to pull you into her, you hold back. You hold just long enough. Enough for her arm to fall limp. Enough for her to almost give in. "Please..." she trails off with a whimper.

You push the head of your stiff cock against her cunt—against her clit. Your hips roll as you run the entire underside of your cock between her lips. She gasps and breathes deeply. She's holding it all the while. All the time it takes for you to draw your cock back, so the tip is right there. Ready.

She let's go as you do. The air escapes her lungs with a sharp squeal. You let your cock sink in. Slow but persistent, you push further and further, feeling her tensing. Then the clench and tightness overwhelms. She gasps and squirms, wriggles beneath you and her nails scratch at the fabric of the table beneath her.

You push again, sinking your cock as far as you can through her wet hole.

There's a loud snap and squeal from Minju. Pretty girl broke a nail. It flew off somewhere across the room, such is her grip onto the table. "Fuck. So fucking full," she manages, barely. It's more the noise you force from her than any actual communication.

You draw your hips back and she's quick to encourage you, "again," she says.

Your hips are driving forward again, pushing every last centimetre back through her.

Minju whimpers. There's this short, sweet purr from deep within her. You feel her stretch, she moves a little, adjusting herself atop the pool table. There's a warmth that swells, tightens, and pulsates. And you feel the breath come easier. It leaves her as though her body has settled to a kind of ease and pleasure, some form of satisfaction.

You refuse to let her rest. It's not what she would want.

It's not what you want.

You run your hands along her inner thighs, past her knees until you finally reach her ankles and pull them together and hold them aloft. You lift and pull her ass up slightly from the table. She's suspended now while you fuck into her.

The shake of her small frame is completely erotic. Watching her ass and thighs jiggle as you fuck into her. That plump little ass taking slap after slap from your hips.

Her perfect skin reddens as her moans louden the longer you last. There are high-pitched squeals and low and gritty growls. They bounce around the empty bar, reverberating and multiplying—echoing back louder than before.

"Harder." She thinks she can take more. Look, Wonyoung was demanding, she wanted to control everything and push your limits, but Minju? Minju is whole different type of demanding. She's welcoming everything you have with every fibre of her being. Her pussy so eagerly taking it all, and it just seems like no matter what limit you push past, or the more Minju takes, the more she craves.

You pull her legs to you, calves on your shoulders, feet in the air, and your hands move firmly onto her hips. You steady her—ready her. Your grip bruises the tender skin (hey, it's what she wants) and then you fuck her like your life depends on it. Your cock pumping inside with reckless abandon.

"Keep going! Just like that! Fuck!" her voice rises over the rhythm of your low grunts, and the crack of your hips slapping against her ass.

Minju's face twists, red and flushed. She's so tense. Muscles tight around the neck and her teeth buried in the soft flesh of her lower lip. Her voice is low and raw, growling, as she pleads for more with words you can't pretend to understand. It's not eloquent or graceful... In fact, it's that incoherence that makes this all the better—so utterly unbothered, unconcerned with anything other than being thoroughly used, fucked and defiled.

She has that hungry glaze in her eyes when you look down upon her, a girl being exactly the kind of filthy thing she promised to be. And those eyes only draw you in, you're pushing over her, folding her legs further against her body until she's truly helpless. Pinned to the table. Bent in two. No ability, nor want, to stop you from dominating her.

"I'm gonna—" she tries to speak until you press down, right into her. She squeezes your cock inside that tight, creaming hole. Then she whines, loud.

So loud.

Her back would arch high if it could. But she can't break free. You have her completely immobilized with your upper bodyweight. And fuck does she love every second of it. She's got handfuls of her shirt, pulling it, clutching, writhing. Ecstasy courses through her and eyes roll.

And now she's rolling, you're turning her. Ankles in your hands, you have pulled out and you're flipping her onto her front, face down into the table. She’s just… accepting it. Not an ounce of fight in her. Not even a word. Just a throaty moan.

"Be a good girl for me, won’t you?” you’re ordering, “give me your hands.” 

She reaches her arms back over her subdued body and lets you take her delicate wrists.

She submits.

Just lying there prone, her delicate body against the table, with that tight little ass perched on the edge of it, and that skimpy underwear still pushed aside for her throbbing cunt. Those slender legs left hanging either side of you. And go on, you're allowed to think it in the simplest of terms; Minju is sexy. In a word, that's it. Sexy. And yet, the reality is there's so much more you can say. Every soft curve of her toned body is alluring, she is magnetic and inviting, and that cute face peering over her shoulder, long hair spilled all behind it. All the words in the world couldn't do justice to describe her—couldn't properly capture the image.

"What are you going to do to me, daddy?" Oh, she says it so seamlessly, slips it in like it's been on her lips for a while - floating in the atmosphere since you took control. And now that it's finally landed, you feel its weight. It has her voice different; smokey and dripping with sex. And it hits you straight between your legs. 

She licks her lips and tests it out again, just for good measure: "what does daddy think I deserve?" 

One hand holding her wrists against the small of her back, another gripping her hip. Her legs sway lazily, unable to reach the floor. Helplessly dangling, waiting for her fate. And you're not a man to disappoint a girl like Minju.

"I'm going to use the needy little slut in front of me," you say as the head of your stiff cock probes at her cunt, slipping between her wet lips and sliding against her swollen clit. Teasing her. 

You draw it back up again and pushing apart her ass cheeks with the length of your cock. Slipping under the thin fabric of her soaked panties.

She bites her lower lip and whimpers through her teeth. The head of your wet cock slides against her tight asshole, and her hips twitch back. "Whatever you need, take it from me." She means that. There's yearning in every word. The hunger and desire in her voice growing thicker.

You push against her, cock sandwiched between her cheeks, pushing your weight down and pressing her against the table. Her eyes close for a moment, her fingers curl into her palms.

"Yes. Fuck," Minju's desperate encouragement spills through clenched teeth.

You pull back your cock and replace it with your thumb, sliding your hand over her ass and slipping it against her puckered hole.

"Please da—" You slip the tip of your thumb just inside her ass and hold it there while she holds her breath. 

Anticipation— 

Waiting— 

Knowing what's coming next. 

Minju is completely still as you drive your cock into her cunt again. Sinking yourself in so deep—balls deep. Her hands become tight fists and her whole body is shaking. You withdraw and plunge again, and she hisses, breathing from the bottom of her lungs, ragged and shallow, and fighting to speak.

"I'm a dirty, needy, little slut and you’re going to use me—"

You spit at her spread ass, right onto your thumb, and use it to dig a little deeper. "What are you?" your question provokes an instant answer,

"I'm a horny slut. I'm a fuck-hole. That's what I am."

As if it's a reward for her honesty, you fuck her a little harder. Push your thumb a little deeper. She smiles through a howl of ecstasy, the sound swelling into the room.

"Tell me again," you command with another pump of your hips, stretching her even more with your thumb.

Her words crackle, dying in her throat with each impact of your hips, "I'm just a dumb girl who needs to be full of cum."

No sane man would refuse it. Not you, not anyone. Definitely not you at all. You couldn't resist any part of her, but especially not that filthy demand. Especially not with how you felt watching those gorgeous fucking curves ripple every time your hips slapped against her ass.

It's all so easy, how you continue, keeping pace. Thumb deep in her ass. Balls smacking against her soaked pussy with every thrust. It's a pleasure all too overwhelming—a thrill, a sensation, a powerful sense of utter fucking satisfaction and all-consuming desire—an erotic overflow inundates, a swell, an ever-growing crest inside your balls.

"Minju. I'm. Gonna—"

"Cum in me? Please." She's the hallmark of innocence-gone-wrong; the way such words roll off her tongue with playful ease. And she knows all the right ones. The ones that she knows will bring all the right reactions. To speak to you on a primal level. She's at it again, cutting into you, "Inside— Inside me."

Cutting through you like the blade of a knife, right to your core and you obey—fuck.

"Daddy please."

You're incensed.

Dogged with the pounding you're giving her, you have lost control of just how deep you have your thumb in her ass. This is so Indecent. Obscene, even. For you, or for anyone, to just... enjoy something like this. Your body is roaring with lust as her ass and cunt both squeeze on you, clamping you as you drive yourself to the brink.

"I wanna... feel your hot load," her voice comes shaking through the unabated pounding you're inflicting. "Fill me please," she's begging and it sounds a little clearer now, stronger, a little louder, no doubt because she knows it's almost done.

You tug at her wrists, pulling her arms back and her body away from the table. Her head hangs forward beneath a wave of hair. Face covered by sweat streaks across those pretty sculpted features.

"Please, I'll be a good girl and take every drop. All the fucking cum that daddy has. Make me your stupid dirty little slut," she compels, then yelps with every new slam and stroke of the stiff cock being buried into her again and again.

That tight asshole, and that cock-hugging pussy. All the relentless slamming that you have done and will do. All the desires, with the pent-up frustration, the rage and anger and tension that has built up—you release it. Everything goes as you send your load rushing through your cock to paint her insides.

Pushing everything you have in. Pumping. Driving hard.

Her squeals are like music to the soul. Relief and rapture are overflowing. And fuck. What a ride. What a rush. You pump her full until she's gasping for air, struggling in your grasp and making sure to moan each and every dirty word into the atmosphere as she fights to hold on. What a thrill. And as the two of you hit the limits of physical exhaustion and exhilaration, you pull back. Letting the girl lay there, spent, and filled, on the pool table.

Used.

Satisfied.

Sullied.

Minju to you, today, is a feeling of freedom. Fulfilment. Absolution. As she lay limp, arms out, legs hanging, hair draped over her face and pooling on the table—a girl well fucked and on display. She is satisfaction. And she is dripping with your cum.

She slips her fingers under her panties. That shrivelled piece of fabric that clings, or struggles to. Now she pushes them off her hips and they tumble over her feet.

When this beautiful girl speaks her voice has the distinct scratch of someone whose lungs have had the oxygen stolen from them, her throat sore with moaning, "I need more."

She moves to her back and you can only watch in amazement as she turns to you with that flush face. One of her small, delicate hands falling between her legs and her dainty fingers tracing around her cunt—through her pink folds, and dousing them in your leaking cum.

There's a knock at the door. It rattles in the frame. "Open up!" It's the voice of the young man seeking an afternoon drink. You think that, luckily, hopefully, between the blinds, the posters and the neon lights in the windows along with the dim lighting, he can't see in.

"Fuck off!" Minju shouts. Her chest is heaving, and there are the gentle lulls of a giggle welling in her throat.

You notice she hasn't moved the fingers away from her swollen and sticky cunt. There's a building cackle, almost as if she is going to fall into hysterics.

"Let me in! You should be open!"

"I said fuck off!" Minju's climbing from the table with a wild smile on her face. Cum is trailing from her cunt, pooling, oozing, dripping down her thigh, down her leg. Her tongue slides over her lips, she's eying you up like a tiger.

"I want to ride your thick cock." She's breathing the words out heavy and finally pulling that shirt over her head. Small round breasts exposed. Stiff dark nipples. Hard and taught. That bare torso. Tight and tone. Firm and solid. Every muscle defined under glistening, sweaty skin.

She pushes herself against you until you push between a pair of stools and your ass plants against the bar. "You made me a dirty girl, and now I can't stop."

You find her strength a little unnerving, the way seems so unphased and determined. She's running on pure adrenaline. It's hot, sure, a kind of raw passion is certainly not without appeal, but also maybe a touch too overpowering. The way that she grabs at you, a touch forceful, and the way you come together is perhaps too rough and less than elegant.

So unkempt, un-romantic, yet so insanely gratifying as her soft skin finds yours.

You take her body in your arms, lips on one another, exploring mouths with tongues. Grasping the round cheek of her ass as she lifts her left thigh up to your waist. Hand trailing between the two of you and then grabbing a firm hold of your cock, guiding the thing back to her pussy—and not letting go.

This is it. This is where she belongs.

It’s all so natural for her to be on the end of your cock, so much so that she can casually pull away from the kiss to switch her focus to finding a drink on the bar behind you. She’s taking a drink of it now and some of it spills from the corner of her mouth.There is something undignified in that, but utterly perfect nonetheless.

She's grinding against you now, swirling her hips and cooing like a little kitten, as your hands move over her ass and that silken smooth back.

Minju sets the empty glass back down on the bar, and pulls back to meet your eyes. She presses a finger to her tongue, her eyes gleaming and focused solely on you, as she guides a small, playful trail of drool to run over her glistening tits. "Fuck," she breathes through a grin, taking both her hands and smoothing that drool over her chest.

Another knock at the door. Another fist pounded into its frame.

All these fucking interruptions.

"Ugh! Fuck this. Come on, follow me." And before you know it, she's guiding you across the room. "I'm going to ride you until I can't walk. Until I'm so sore that every step will remind me what it felt like to have you deep inside me."

Your phone rings, on the floor in the pocket of your trousers. Who would call right now? Just as one interruption finally concedes at the door, another emerges.

Minju bends to fish it out of your trousers. Her little ass, one cheek marred with a handprint from your grasp, is so close you could bend forward and eat it (any other time, you would.) but it's not that which intrigues you the most. When she rises, slowly, your phone is in her grasp, screen displaying Wonyoung's name.

"This should be fun," Minju chuckles to herself. She swipes the answer button and raises the device to her ear. "Hello?"

Minju reaches out to hold your hand and pulls you toward the staff only door. "Sorry, he's a little busy right now," she says as she walks through the door with you in tow. Her head pivots. Minju stares, eyes boring deep into yours. That sultry expression. The spark of desire igniting all over again.

Minju turns on her heel, letting you go and taking a step back. Thin fingers stroke over her cum-soaked thigh, up and along her wet lips, higher and past her flat stomach, sliding between her firm tits. "He is really busy."

She points at the couch in the break room, gesturing you to sit. You oblige, a little nervous about the turn of events. She's rubbing at her perky little tits as she speaks, "do you want me to take a message?"

"Minju..." you say with warning, ready to take the phone off her. But it's so hard to ignore how utterly sexy she is, and your hand starts to stroke along your shaft. She turns her body and poses, looking over her shoulder to you, and she grins. Minju affords you all the time you need to admire her while she listens to the ramblings of Wonyoung through your phone.

Minju steps toward you, looking down at you. "You need to speak to him?" She rests a hand on your shoulder, and then she clambers over you, straddles you. Her leaking cunt right above your cock. She licks her lips and rubs her slick pussy over your stiff dick, eyes focused on you, head tilted down. "Give me one second."

She holds the phone against her collar and shifts above you, resting the tip of your cock against her hole.

"Minju, let me—"

She sinks onto your cock. 

Inch by pleasurable inch, she takes you. Minju rocks forward and adjusts to settle on the length of your rod. Fully hilted and stuffed. She's a slick sheath of velvet on your stiff rod and you realise then just how perfectly she fits on you. You bite your tongue, trying to not make a noise so you don't alert the woman on the other end of the phone. Minju, however, is careless, and she lets out a soft moan as she shifts on you, readying herself.

Cum still seeps out of her cunt and down your shaft—your own and hers in some messy cocktail. The smell is sharp but unmistakable. It hangs in the air as the unmistakable evidence of what has happened and what will happen again. It’s so potent; invigorating and exciting. A reminder of everything and more, as if you would ever forget it—as if you could ever forget what she has become for you.

Minju draws the phone back to her face and, with a cocky smirk parting her lips, she speaks again, her voice breathy and full of lust. 

"He's in a bit of a tight spot right now." She throws you a wink and continues, "give him ten—wait, no—give him fifteen minutes and whatever is left of him is all yours."

There's the sound of a voice coming through the phone, so unmistakably Wonyoung's but you can't make a word of it out. There's another sound, one much dirtier, that fills the air between the two of you. The soft squelching as Minju rocks and rotates those full hips on you.

"Sorry, what was that?" Minju is stifling a giggle and not-really trying to keep the naughtiness of the situation in check. "Yeah, Wonyoung,you’re right. It's me, Minju," she purrs, biting her lip as her eyes fix on you. Then her tongue flits from her lips, sweeping from left to right.

‘It's me, Minju.’

Look, it’s not really a surprise that they know each other well. It was always a possibility that Minju had just heard of Wonyoung but had never really been acquainted. Thinking back, however, the strength of her reaction to the girl’s name should have told you everything. The truth is now ever so clear. 

Not that Minju is going to let you process it. She will not allow you to focus on anything other than the caress of her pussy over your sensitive cock. She's elegant with the movements of her hips—the motions subtle and slow. Her pace is sinful. She's running her tongue over her teeth and staring at you, enjoying the quiet grunts that rattle from your throat.

"He showed up in—" Her breath hitches and she catches a moan in her throat before it escapes. "In the bar, drinking alone."

There's a gasp, then another as she strokes her hands through the locks of your hair. "Yeah. He was doing that." She's laughing under her breath and looking you up and down. "That thing with his hand, yeah, it's cute."

“What? No. I wouldn’t.” You’re getting half a conversation and none of it makes any sense.

She reaches out her hand to the side of your face, thumb brushing the line of your jaw and her body leaning in. "He's got a sexy jaw line," she admits and then picks up the speed of her movement. 

Her hand slides down your neck and presses into your collar. "His body?" Minju hums as her hips are churning; her body is rolling and her abs are flexing. "Yeah, I think so too."

Minju's back arches and her tiny tits bounce as her movement changes, bouncing rhythmically on your cock. She's adjusting and getting more comfortable on you. As the seconds pass, she's getting rougher and moving ever faster. 

Fuck.

"Well, he's drunk, so it's no surprise."

It's been no end of strange situations over the past couple of months, but this may well be the strangest yet. The girls are having a friendly conversation, but one is on top of a cock that's dripping with her mess.You're still trying to piece it together. They're friends—that much is clear. But there's still so many questions unasked: How? Since when? And why are they having their catch up right fucking now?

Her delicate frame moves fast now and the rise and fall of her chest growing sharper leading to short breaths.

"Mhm," she utters, keeping her voice low and words at a premium. "N—No we aren't." To give her credit, she's actually very good at sounding natural. In some twisted way, it's one hell of an audition for how talented of actress she can actually be. 

But that image comes crumbling down before your eyes.

Just for a moment, the picture freezes. Her mouth is half-open, eyes wide. She bites down on her lip, silencing herself, and then she drops her hand from her ear. She's hitting her fist, clenched around the phone, against her thigh repeatedly as she fights against her own body. There's another choked grunt as she is being pushed ever so close to the edge.

She draws the phone to her face again, breathing in deep and staring at you with those glossy eyes scanning all across your body, and she swallows. 

"We aren't fucking," Minju denies, as your hands creep up from her slender thighs, sliding over those beautiful taut hips, gripping tight and helping pull her back and forth. It's clear, from the way she bites down on her bottom lip, the subtle trembling of her chin, she's hanging on by a thread, ready to lose it at any second.

"No. Don't—" Minju holds the phone out, and she’s looking at it—you can see it too—Wonyoung has just ended the call. "Ah fuck it." Minju throws the phone down on the couch.

She looks at you with a face that's a little lost in thought, considering things unknown to you. All while her body is on auto-pilot, still fucking down onto you. 

After a moment, her face changes, an expression of indifference, of calmness. She smiles a little and rests both of her hands on your shoulders. Staring deep into your eyes, she grows ever more serious with a tinge of intent. She shifts from auto-pilot to manual, tightening the grip with her legs and slowing the pace, but fucking you harder.

Minju rides the ridge of your cock. Your whole length is dragged up and down her insides, setting every inch of you on fire. She moans every time she slams onto you. 

Every time. 

She's falling further apart in front of you—coming completely undone. Eyes rolling and biting that lip again. Hips shifting in all kinds of directions. A cacophony of beautiful grunting sounds that flood the room.

Minju is a woman derailed by pleasure.

"God. Your cock— Your cock is—" She's struggling now and you're only going to make it worse. Using the hands on her hips, you buck yourself up into her, bringing yourself a fraction closer each time. 

"The things this cock— the things you— fuck." Minju has no power to string any kind of sentences together, no matter how many words you force from her. They grow less and less like words you can understand until all that remains are these loud and unashamed gasps. 

Gasp after sharp and unstoppable gasp.

The rush of exhilaration courses through her, from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes. She feels it. All over. It's written on her face, in the way that she moves and in the look in her eyes. A look like that is a hard thing to fake, even for her—there's nothing else like it. Minju is cumming all over your cock and every bit of it is evident in every tense muscle, the quiver in the corner of her mouth, the sheen across her brow, the mist in her eyes as she blinks lazily and tries not to be overcome, overawed, with emotion and all the intense sensations, one wave after another, rippling through her.

You're just about there again too. You try to warn her, but you're fucking up into her with so much energy that you're not sure if the words ever left your mouth. But she knows it, somehow, because she has renewed aggression in her. Even through her orgasm, she's bouncing on your cock with such ferocity. Minju takes hold of your head and draws you into her. Nose to nose. Foreheads touch. "Cum in me again."

They're four of the best words she could have said.

She rides you faster still as you pump rope after hot rope into her cunt, your entire length filling her already overflowing cunt. You cum so hard inside her that the world seems to distort, twist, and wane.

"Yes! Yes!" she shouts in a whisper—her voice stolen by pleasure. "Fill my little pussy."

And with every last ounce of strength you have, you continue. Bucking into her, driving deeper with the last throes of your second load. It's too much. It's beyond pleasure and into pain now, as you have nothing left to give her.

You squeeze at her hips and waist, holding her down and doing everything you can to stop her fucking you.

You're panting. Tired. Done.

Done.

Minju raises herself just enough to slip that ruined and swollen cockhead from the depth of her. You watch as your combined fluids flow out of her onto your leg.

All that filth, a dirty combination of the two of you. Two loads of your cum drained into that one pretty pussy.

Minju is stroking a hand up your stomach, your chest, along your neck and jawline. Across your face and to your chin, so slowly, as if memorising your features.

You watch her body, so fucking perfect, flexing and trembling still and her breasts heave beneath sweat and exertion. Her breath is so ragged that a chuckle emerges between the hard, deep inhales and exhales. She's sweating, perspiration painting her body and strands of long hair matted to her head. So beautiful. Always so fucking beautiful.

She looks into your eyes, studying, thinking. "You feel better now," her voice has returned to the softness of before, low and sultry. "Don't you?"

With a smile, your hands move again, wandering further up. They snake their way around her slender waist. There's something strange, something new, about how they explore her—before, you were quick to set them and demand control. But not now. Now, it's tender and grateful and you have a slow, searching rhythm to the touches that skim the skin across her skin. 

"Yeah." It's honest. You do. She has done her magic, she has restored the balance, and the release has cleared a space within the self, within the mind. You stare back into her gaze, "thank you."

"No." Minju brings her head forward, her face almost colliding with yours. "Thank you. This is exactly what I needed, I really—" She bites down on her lips and hesitates. She pauses for a second before she begins to move herself off you. Standing up straight, wobbling for a moment on the spot before stepping off and the sticky remains of your fucking cling to her inner thighs, glistening on the flesh, thick and trailing down from her hole.

She stares at you for a moment in some profound silence. You sit on the couch, on that musty old fabric, fully spent and staring. She's searching for something, eyes drifting over the room until it catches her eye, and she heads right for it.

You find the strength to stand and as you do, you’re still watching the sway of her body—noticing each bounce of her perfectly formed butt. Your eyes linger, appreciating the body that was given to you, enjoyed by you, and that gave so much to you. Your strength slowly builds from within, your legs are sore, your stomach and core are aching, your lungs feel crushed.

She's fumbling around on the table for something, she's leaning over slightly, her thighs pressed together. She wears sex like a crown—the pride, confidence, and accomplishment manifesting in her natural glow. Minju radiates. There's always something so electric about a woman in the post coital haze.

"You smoke?" she asks.

"No."

"You should," she says as she turns, fishing one out of the pack and perching herself on the edge of the table, crossing over her legs. "Makes you less nervous. You might need it."

There's an elegance in the way she slips the filter between her lips. An attractiveness in the casual way that she places the box down. With practiced poise, she flicks her wrist with lighter in hand so it flips open and her thumb runs against the sparkwheel. Once, twice, and on the third go the light takes and the flame holds steady. Minju lights the end of the cigarette and leans in, taking a deep draw and holding it.

It's mesmerising to watch. The way her mouth closes around the stick, how the soft glow dances upon her features. A darkness in the hollows of her cheeks as the smoke fills within, while she flicks the lighter back closed and slides it on the table.

Minju tilts her head back as her lungs empty, billows and tendrils escape into the room.

In the silence, you've had some realisation.

Minju is cool.

Like— really cool.

So you stand naked, facing her, in the breakroom of the bar she... works in? Owns? Hell, you don't even know that. Doesn't matter. And you finally ask her, "how do you know Wonyoung?"

For a long moment she just smiles, blowing smoke towards you, teasing with silence.

"We go way back," she says, and that is hardly the complete answer that you've hoped for. 

Eventually, she offers more. "High school. We were friends." Minju studies the cigarette, eyeing the burning stub. "Guess you could say we were closer than that. Fuck. If not for—"

Silence.

And yet you wait.

"Well, there was this boy," she continues eventually, offering a soft and resigned smile. "My crush, and then my boyfriend. He was my first. First kiss, first date. First—" Minju looks over to the wall and inhales hard on the cigarette again. She breathes in slowly and you watch the small ember dance, the edges turning amber and glowing bright before she brings the cigarette down and flicks ash in the tray.

"What happened?" you ask, taking a seat alongside her on the table, pushing a cup aside to make space. It's not exactly hygienic, but nothing the two of you just did was.

"Wonyoung happened. Right before we left school, he left me for her and he thought he had a chance, but, well, you know Wonyoung. She's unattainable."

"You blame her?"

"Fuck no. But it didn't exactly bring us closer. He left me for her, she rejected him. What a mess."

There is always something when Wonyoung is in the picture, a messy little tangled web, something hidden behind those silky smiles. She's the reason for many lost loves and many lonely nights. You take a pause to appreciate that fact—to see what's really at the core. She’s the common denominator. Wonyoung—the arrogant heartbreaker.

"So what was all that about? On the phone?" you ask, trying to make some sense of it all.

Minju laughs aloud, tilting her head back and blowing smoke up towards the ceiling. She holds her cigarette between her slim fingers and rests her other hand on your thigh. "I wanted to play with her a little. I wanted her to know. Because well, and no offense, but you’re one of her possessions. She basically owns you. Don't get me wrong, it's kinda hot, but I wanted to see how she would react."

"So you teased her."

"Pretty much."

She laughs a little. There is some spark in her eye, born out of childish fun.

"Don't think she cares," you shrug.

You both turn toward the door that leads back into the bar. You both heard it. Out there. The knock against the front door of the bar.

Minju turns to you, crushing her cigarette into the ashtray beside her. There's a smirk on her lips and amusement in her eyes. In that look alone, there's a lot to unpack; there's an air of knowing, a glimmer of deviousness, and something else lurking beneath the surface.

"Then why is she knocking on the door?"

Next Part

[gyuswhore]

the story of us ✦ j.w.w x reader

the story of us looks a lot like a tragedy now - the story of us

synopsis: So many walls that you can't break through; except you do.

wc: 2.1K

contains: best friends to lovers, angst, fluff, humour, happy ending, alcohol, arguments

masterlist

Support creators by reblogging!

[a/n]: im exhausted, im loopy, im hungry, but i really wanted to post this so here you go my babies I'm sorry i haven't fed you in so long (ty @toruro for making sure i wasn't talking out of my ass in this ily)

[edit; 11/04/24]: grammar and spelling.

Jeon Wonwoo was nearing boiling point when he watched you push him away from yet another conversation.

He tried to understand, just like he always had. But it was proving near impossible at the five-month mark. 

There were clear signs you exhibited when you needed space, for whatever reason, Wonwoo knew you would tell him when you recovered. So he gave you what you needed.

And yet, when he finds himself pushed away from what looks like a casual conversation between your mutual friends, he finds his mild annoyance grow into something hotter. 

There’s a clench in his jaw as he tries not to squeeze the red cup in his hand with too much pressure, even when all the spiteful bit of his brain wants to do is to pour its pigmented contents all over your cream outfit. He manages to control himself, choosing to get up and exit the premises entirely. In complete silence, he refuses to acknowledge any yell of his name from passing acquaintances. 

Jeon Wonwoo refused to respond to any of your advances after that. 

Invitations to lunch were left on a jarring sent, the notification sitting in his log until he chooses to open it too late. His response was bare when you asked for help on some accounting concepts, pushing you over into Jihoon’s hands to fulfill your requirements. There’s a blatant shrug when you touch his shoulder, concerned, asking why his behaviour had become so distant in the past weeks; he responds with a mumble of, “just tired”.

The great divide happened a few days proceeding your birthday, one for which Wonwoo did nothing for but send you a quick message during the evening, never to see you throughout the extended day. 

“I can’t believe you’re putting this on me!” you all but yell, eyes wide and expression exasperated at the situation.

“Are you blind? Or just plain stupid? Because I didn’t tolerate months of your shit attitude to have you say it isn’t your fault.” Wonwoo is breathing heavily, hands motioning towards your entire figure with equal disbelief.

“What attitude?” you emphasize. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I couldn’t be upfront with my best friend.”

“There’s a difference between being in a mood and blatant disrespect. I’m tired of having to put up with your mood swings like it’s my responsibility to coddle you. When was the last time you genuinely asked me how I was doing?”

“All the time!”

“Yeah, after you realize there's nobody else to whine and wail to!”

“Wonwoo, you’re being ridiculous.”

“Fine. If I’m clearly so unhinged, I’ll leave you to your liking.” 

The dwindled interactions, from messages to hellos, went from sparing to nonexistent — just like that. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t expect for you and Wonwoo to reconcile in the matter of a few days, if not a couple weeks.

But when the distance did nothing but grow larger, there was a settle of resentment in the pit of your stomach as you accepted the feud you were in. 

A text was sent from your phone a couple days after the incident.

[You]: can we talk?

But when you see no sign of the grey Delivered on the end, you knew he had blocked you. 

This was all nothing less than baffling to you for a number of reasons, starting with how you had never witnessed Wowoo acting this way. 

Wonwoo had done nothing but reprimand you the rare chance you suggested blocking an apprehensive individual, something about not showing that you cared. His voice seemed redundant after a certain decibel, the rarest chance to witness him yell at a failed video game or a frustrating professor. 

You know better, which is the only reason you’re ruling off paranormal possession. 

The claims against you came as an afterthought, not, however, rendering them any less strange. There’s a part of you that pondered if your shield of annoyance blocked you from seeing the truth in his words and in your behaviour, finding yourself overwhelmed with emotions when the thought crossed your mind, tears of frustration immediately blurring your vision. 

You did not understand, you could not. And when it all got too much, you allowed the hurt and confusion to turn into something more dangerous. You replaced it with anger, in the same place that once occupied a more delicate emotion. 

There was an uproar in Wonwoo’s mind when he sees you walk into the lecture hall, unaware of your overlapping schedule in the new semester. He watches as your eyes pass over the moderately packed space, briefly glancing over where he sat; if you saw him, you did nothing to bring a reaction out of it. You take a seat a few rows up front, right in front of him where he’s able to see the back of your head for the next two hours — for the rest of the semester. 

He wonders if it’s too late to switch classes. 

“Wonwoo, I honestly think this is getting out of hand.” Jihoon munches on his cashews, leaning against bark of the tree they were both sat under. 

“Did you want me to keep tending to her bullshit then?” he grumbles.

“That’s not what I’m saying, you know it’s not.”

“That’s what it sounds like.” Wonwoo’s retort is brisk.

Jihoon is suddenly snapping his fingers in his face at the reply, a flinch accompanies Wonwoo’s already sour expression. 

“See! See how frustrating it is when somebody isn’t making sense?” 

“How does this—” 

“Wonwoo, did you try talking to her about how you felt, you know, without the screaming?” 

Jihoon watches as Wonwoo’s expression clears out, his eyebrows unfurrowing and the scowl fading. He doesn’t speak, choosing to let the realization kick in.

“No.” 

Jihoon sighs, taking another pause. “I’m not saying what she did wasn’t uncalled for, but you need to talk shit out before deciding you hate each other.”

“I don’t hate her.”

“Right, so can we wrap this up quickly and have you confess your undying love so we can all relax.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Heat crawls up Wonwoo’s cheeks.

“What? If you don’t hate her, it’s gotta be the opposite.”

Did Wonwoo like you? Yeah, he probably did. Did he ever let himself ponder upon it? No, because he was downright mortified of the mere thought. He finds himself a hypocrite to say it was to preserve your friendship, but he figures he’s fucked it up in a way that’s arguably worse. 

Regardless, Wonwoo walks away from that conversation with two things: a stark realization, and an even starker admittance. 

Everything was going wrong. At least that’s what it felt like when you hear the clang of your water bottle hit the pavement, rolling off into the oncoming traffic as you sprint to grab it. You nearly cause a vehicle pile-up, swallowing a couple profanities from braking drivers. 

You’re stuffing the darn thing into your bag when you trip on a loose brick on the path, nearly landing on your face. The glare you send into the pavement costs you even more when a hard shoulder bumps into your side, sending you another couple steps back. You don’t bother to see who the perpetrator is, too preoccupied with your attempts to take in deeper breaths amid the blankness of your mind. 

There are no hiccups after that, what you might owe your more conscious mind to. Stomping up the library steps, you thank nothingness for the air conditioning that meets your hot face, slowing down as you take in the crowd. 

Scanning the room for an empty seat is harder than you’d anticipated, hoping the heat would keep students away from the building as you left to get work done. Approaching a table, you set down your bag with a huff, pulling the chair out to finally take the seat you’ve been needing for so long. 

The universe seems to have other plans. 

It’s almost funny the way you and Wonwoo make eye contact across the other table, the recognition sending a jolt through your stomach. 

You’ve never moved so fast, pushing the chair back in with a screech that earns you a few looks, grabbing the handles of your bag as you turn around to leave the building you’d just entered. 

No way you'd sit there. Not when he was around.

You're bounding down the steps when somebody passes you, murmuring something without slowing their stride.

“I’m leaving, you can go inside,” Wonwoo says, and the sound of his voice has you halting almost immediately.

Whipping your head around to search for the sound, you watch as he takes a turn at the end of the steps, slowly moving out of your vision. 

There’s a swirl of something in your chest, and you realise in that moment how much you missed hearing his voice. 

Chiding yourself, you blink back the water that wells up in your eyes, embarrassed at how quickly you were losing yourself.

But the damage was done. And you wanted to be reckless, regardless of how desperate it made you look. A split second decision is made in that moment, one that lightens the heavy feet that you’ve planted on the concrete. 

You’re back to bounding down the steps, but this time with aim. 

Taking the same turn you saw Wonwoo take, you break into a sprint as you see his figure move farther away. You keep running, continuing to bump into both objects and people, hurried "sorry"'s the only thing you choose to throw their way. 

“Wonwoo!” Your voice comes out stronger than you’d intended, the sharpness having him turn around in search, eyes landing on your accelerating figure. 

Both of you realize too late how fast you’re really going, the velocity taking you directly into his outstretched arms, hands grasping the sleeves of his shirt as you come to screeching stop directly into his chest. 

You don’t have the time nor the patience to be embarrassed, pulling your face back to look directly into Wonwoo’s bewildered eyes to huff out your next words.

“Why did you block me?” you ask, voice gruff and slightly out of breath.

Wonwoo’s mouth opens and closes like a fish, words refusing to come out. 

“Why are you so mad at me? Why are you being nice to me if you’re mad at me?” You don’t stop, the direct questions tumbling off your tongue in desperation. 

You search his face for an answer when his mouth fails, but all you find is the remnants of shock yet to ebb away. 

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for making you feel like you weren’t important, I’m sorry for taking your presence for granted, I’m sorry for hurting you, I’m sorry for…for… I don’t know! I’m just really sorry and I don't know how else to make this right.”

“I’m sorry, too,” you hear him say and you feel the moisture return to your eyes. 

“Huh?”

“I should’ve…” he pauses, looking sheepish. “I should’ve talked to you before I, y’know, went off on you. I should’ve managed my feelings better, I’m sorry.” 

You're silent for a few tantalizing moments before you raise your fists, and pound down on his chest with everything you have. You do it again, and then again, and again—

“What?- Ow!” 

“When are you gonna stop bottling up your feelings for fucks sake, it’s landed you everywhere but good!” you say, nearly yelling.

Wonwoo whips his head around to see who’s listening, palm to mouth in attempts to silence you. 

“I’m sorry! I know! I’m working on it,” he rambles, trying to get you to quit struggling. “Jihoon and I talked, that’s why I realised I was being dumb.”

“Are you gonna unblock me now or do I need to pay Jihoon to sit down with you again?”

Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow. “You payed Jihoon to sit with me?”

“No, you idiot. But I should have because you can’t seem to figure out how to feel emotions.” 

Wonwoo can’t help himself when he breaks out into a grin, letting out a breathy chuckle that has you asking “What?”.

He pulls you in, heart to heart in an embrace, holding you tight to make up for the weeks of no contact. He breathes in your scent and feels as though he hasn’t in years. 

“I’m not gonna come running up to you the next time you decide you hate me,” you mumble into his shoulder, pouting slightly.

“I love you.” 

“I love you, too.” 

“No.” Wonwoo pulls away but keeps you in his arms, looking at you, “I love you. Like, the kind of stuff that makes you wanna live together forever. I love you.” 

It’s your turn to gape like a fish. 

“W-what?”

“You told me not to bottle up my feelings.” 

“Yeah, but—wow, um.” 

“Did I make another mistake?” 

No! You wanted to scream. But you don’t. You instead lift your hands up to come around his face, cradling it. And you kissed him. 

“I love you, too. Like the live together forever kind.” 

[lawofangie]

how i manifest

having anxiety and depression made manifesting more difficult than it ever needed to be. whenever i experienced something unfavorable, i would accept it and disassociate, rather than dealing with it properly by putting in the very minimal effort required to utilize the law.

no matter how hard i "tried", i failed to muster up the courage to simply assume in my favor, i put all my focus on worrying about bad things happening instead, so here is a step-by-step on a method i created a while back that's helped me a lot:

step 1: i like to get myself comfortable in lying down in bed, on the couch, or in a chair. getting comfortable helps me relax, being relaxed helps me focus on what i want to manifest.

step 2: i meditate. taking deep breaths, put my attention on different body parts, and saying affirmations and sometimes fall asleep, kind of like SATS (state akin to sleep). my favorite meditations are edward art's 'i am the creator', and 'let go of reasoning' meditation.

step 3: once i'm relaxed, i affirm for whatever i want. however, the goal in mind is to help myself accept whatever i want as already being a fact, not saying affirmations to make myself believe i made something happen. sometimes i don't need to affirm, i can just tell myself i have it and that's enough. other times, it helps.

step 4: if it was for something i felt less resistance to (ex: money, self concept), i would get back up and continue with my day, and simply keep myself busy so i wouldn't begin to reject the idea. if i was manifesting something i felt more resistance to (ex: grades, sp), i would go to sleep/ take a nap, so that i wouldn't worry about the "how" later.

step 5 (?): if i foud myself still worrying/ having resistance after completing the previous steps, i would acknowledge that it was because my self concept was low. the main issue i had was feeling trapped, like i wouldn't get anywhere with my life. this was a result of doing nothing productive with my time (and having mdd). i had no friends, social life, plans, undesired grades, and i didn't go out much. i would simply start picking up hobies, going out more, and socializing more, all while reminding myself of the new story i wanted to accept about myself. reminding myself of how big the world is was helped me whenever it felt too small, too pressuring. it reminded me that the feeling of being trapped is nothing but an illusion. it simply isn't possible in a world this big.

in summary, what helps me best is being logical, optimistic, and doing things that helped me ground myself in reality.

but don't forget: manifesting is still just a matter of choosing what you want, accepting it's already yours, and sticking to that acceptance. you accept that the world doesn't dictate anything, it simply reflects whatever you choose to assume. this is simply just what helps me best at getting past resistance.

so, this is how i manifest! i hope you guys find this helpful. remember, manifestation is simple. simplicity is sometimes hard to accept, and that leads to us complicating things ourselves.

[hayatheauthor]

Everything You Need To Know About Writing Bruises 

Welcome to the latest instalment in my ongoing series on crafting realistic wounds in fiction. After delving into stab wounds, burns, and gunshot wounds, we're turning our attention to another crucial element in bringing your characters and their stories to life: bruises.

Bruises are possibly the most common miswritten injury in fiction. As tempting as it might be to make the protagonist's skin bruise when the morally grey characters clutches her wrist, scenes like this only serve to ruin immersion and make your readers wonder whether this could realistically happen. 

Unlike the other wound types I've covered in this series, the internet doesn't seem to have a lot of writing advice for bruises. So, here's my comprehensive guide to writing bruises. 

Types of Bruises

Understanding Bruise Formation:

Bruises are a common occurrence in everyday life, from the accidental bump into a table corner to the aftermath of an intense sporting event. But before we dive into the art of crafting realistic bruises in your writing, let's start by understanding how bruises form.

Bruises, also known as contusions, result from the rupture of blood vessels beneath the skin's surface, typically veins and capillaries. When these vessels break, blood leaks into the surrounding tissue. The body's natural response to this injury is to initiate the healing process, causing inflammation and discolouration.

Differentiating Types of Bruises:

Not all bruises are created equal. Understanding the various types of bruises will help you describe them accurately in your writing. Here, we'll explore the common distinctions among bruise types.

Contusions: Contusions are the most typical type of bruises. They often occur due to blunt force or trauma, resulting in pain and discolouration.

Subcutaneous Bruises: These are the most typical bruises resulting from blunt force trauma. Subcutaneous bruises appear as dark, discoloured areas under the skin and can change in colour as they heal, starting with red or purple and transitioning to green, yellow, and eventually fading away.

Hematoma: A hematoma is a more severe type of bruise caused by the collection of blood outside of blood vessels. Hematomas often appear as a raised lump under the skin and can take longer to heal.

Petechiae: Petechiae are tiny, red or purple pinpoint spots that can form when small blood vessels near the skin's surface break. These are often a sign of more severe underlying medical conditions.

Ecchymosis: Ecchymosis is a large bruise that covers a wider area, typically caused by substantial trauma or medical conditions. These bruises tend to be darker and may require more time to heal.

Tattoo Bruises: Sometimes, an object's pattern or texture may leave a distinct mark, resembling a tattoo. These can occur when someone is subjected to direct pressure from an object with an intricate or textured surface.

These distinctions will enable you to convey the type of bruise accurately in your storytelling, reflecting the nature and severity of the injury your character has endured. So, when crafting a scene in which your character sustains a bruise, you can choose the type that best suits your narrative.

Causes of Bruises:

Bruises can occur for various reasons, and knowing these causes will help you craft believable narratives. It's important to note that not every physical interaction results in a bruise, and your characters shouldn't bruise from actions that typically don't lead to bruising. For instance, someone holding another person's arm tightly is unlikely to cause a bruise.

Common Causes of Bruises:

Blunt Force: The most common cause of bruises is blunt force trauma. This can occur from falls, accidents, or impacts, such as bumping into furniture or being struck by an object.

Pinching or Squeezing: Intense pinching or squeezing, especially on delicate skin areas, can lead to bruises. For example, if a character pinches their arm or thigh too hard in frustration, a bruise may develop.

Repetitive Motion: Overusing or repeatedly striking a particular area, like through strenuous exercise or certain work activities, can cause tiny blood vessels to rupture and lead to bruising.

Medical Conditions: Some medical conditions, like blood disorders or certain medications, can make a person more prone to bruising.

Ageing: As skin becomes thinner and more fragile with age, it's more susceptible to bruising even from minor bumps or impacts.

It's crucial to consider the appropriateness of a bruise in your story. Understanding when and how a character can realistically develop a bruise will help maintain the credibility of your narrative.

Characteristics of Bruises:

Accurately depicting bruises in your writing involves considering various characteristics, such as:

Colour Changes: Bruises typically undergo a series of colour changes during the healing process. They usually start with shades of red, purple, or blue due to the initial bleeding under the skin. As the bruise heals, it can turn green, yellow, or brown before fading entirely. These colour shifts can be an essential detail when describing the progression of a character's injuries.

Size and Shape: The size and shape of a bruise depend on the impact's force and the underlying blood vessels' distribution. Bruises can be small, like a fingertip mark, or large, covering a significant portion of the body. Irregularly shaped bruises may indicate multiple impacts or trauma.

Tenderness and Swelling: A fresh bruise is often tender to the touch, and the area around it may be swollen. Describing your characters' reactions to this tenderness and swelling can make the injuries feel more lifelike.

Pain and Discomfort: Bruises can be painful, and the level of pain may vary depending on their size and location. Detailing your character's pain and discomfort can enhance the realism of your narrative.

Itching and Healing: As a bruise heals, it may become itchy. This can be an interesting detail to add, showing the progress of the injury and your character's recovery.

Duration: Mention the duration of a bruise. Some may heal relatively quickly, while others can linger for weeks. Knowing how long a character's bruise lasts can impact their daily life and the story's timeline.

Factors Affecting Bruise Appearance and Healing:

Bruises aren't one-size-fits-all injuries. Their appearance and healing process can vary based on several factors:

Location: Bruises can look different depending on where they occur on the body. For instance, a bruise on a bony area, like the shin, might appear more pronounced compared to a bruise on a fleshier part, like the thigh.

Age and Health: The age and overall health of your character play a significant role. Younger, healthier characters may heal faster and have bruises that change colour and fade more quickly. Conversely, older characters or those with health issues might have bruises that take longer to heal.

The severity of the Injury: The force and severity of the impact determine the size, shape, and colours of the bruise. Consider whether the injury was caused by a minor bump, a hard fall, or a violent struggle.

Character's Skin Tone: The appearance of a bruise can be affected by the character's skin tone. It might be more challenging to spot a bruise on darker skin, and the colours may appear differently.

Treatment and First Aid: The way a character treats a bruise can affect its healing. Mention how characters apply ice, warmth, or topical remedies to their bruises.

Character's Pain Tolerance: Some characters may have a higher pain tolerance and can bear a bruise without much discomfort, while others might find even a small bruise painful.

Clothing and Cover-Up: Characters may conceal bruises with clothing or makeup. This can impact how they are perceived by others.

By understanding these factors, you can tailor your descriptions to create a more authentic portrayal of bruises in your writing.

Healing Process of Bruises:

A key element in writing realistic bruises is depicting their healing process. Here's how to effectively describe it:

Gradual Changes: Highlight the evolving nature of the bruise over time. The progression of colours—red to blue, green, and yellow—is a visual cue that indicates the bruise's age. This chronological shift in colour offers readers insights into the passage of time within your narrative.

Concealment and Exposure: Address the issue of concealing or revealing the bruise. Depending on its location, characters may need to don concealing clothing, apply makeup, or use other means to hide or reveal their injuries. Such choices can significantly impact the character's interactions and relationships.

Medical Care: Mention whether the character seeks medical attention for their bruise. Medical professionals can provide insights into the severity of the injury and the potential complications that might arise during the healing process. Additionally, you can explore any treatments, remedies, or advice offered by healthcare providers.

Impact on the Character: Describe how the presence of a bruise affects the character's daily life, activities, and interactions with others. A prominent facial bruise, for instance, can influence the character's self-esteem, social interactions, or how they are perceived by those around them. Emotions and psychological effects should not be overlooked.

Varied Healing Timelines: Recognize that the healing process can vary from one character to another. Factors such as age, overall health, and the severity of the injury can affect how quickly the bruise fades. This variation can add depth and authenticity to your character's experiences.

Scarring and Discoloration: Note that severe injuries may leave lasting scars or discolouration on the skin. Explore any permanent marks or changes that remain after the bruise has healed.

By incorporating these aspects into your narrative, you can create a nuanced portrayal of the healing process of bruises and its impact on your characters.

I hope this blog on Everything You Need To Know About Writing Bruises will help you in your writing journey. Be sure to comment any tips of your own to help your fellow authors prosper, and follow my blog for new blog updates every Monday and Thursday.  

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Haya’s book blog where I post writing and publishing tips for authors every Monday and Thursday! And don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[neptuneiris]

sparks (04/04)

But I promise you this I'll always look out for you

pairing: business-boyfriend!aemond x fem!reader

summary: at the beginning your relationship with aemond is perfect and there were no worries. until he becomes the Heir of his father's company, the most important in the whole country and certain events and certain people start to interfere in the relationship.

word count: 9.0k

previous part • next part • series masterlist

now yes, the epilogue is officially coming soon haha

hello loves! hope you are having a wonderful day!

I made an announcement about the change in the story so if for some reason you didn't read it, don't worry, here I will explain again what happened:)

the reason why I decided to add a part 4 to the fic is very simple: the chapter was too long for the epilogue and when I say too long I mean really long. and I didn't want to bore you or fill you with too much, believe me that the epilogue was exaggeratedly long:(

I'm sorry if it wasn't what you expected, but I decided the best and I really hope you like it a lot, after all it's not the end yet😚

that's all, I won't keep you any longer, enjoy!

Aemond Targaryen had never felt so miserable in his life.

The trip to Casterly Rock was one of the most important in his entire working career and yet it was the worst trip he had ever attended in his life.

His mind would not leave him alone and the urge to cry along with the anxiety and desperation he felt was too much. And it was so much that he couldn't control it.

But outside of that, he didn't care too much about the event, socializing and having conversations with other important businessmen, as if it wasn't something he did every day, nor did he attend to the press which was what he avoided the most nor did he care about Larys Strong and Alys Rivers.

He honestly didn't care about anything.

At least nothing outside of the important thing that was his meeting with his partner Jason Lannister and attending his conference with the board of directors.

He didn't care that this would later lead to 'serious consequences,' if you could call it that, with his grandsire.

Even after he caught up again with Jason Lannister and properly attended the conference with the board of directors, as soon as it was all over, he took his flight back to King's Landing in a needy and desperate manner.

And the first thing he did after landing was to look for you and try to talk to you. Although he must have known that you would not let him find you.

Your university is extremely large and although he tried to find you by asking the administration and coordination of your university for your varied schedule, they did not give him anything, as they cannot give out their students' personal and private information so openly to strangers.

They only do so on occasions that require it and are extremely necessary with hard evidence, such as to a family member of the student for an emergency or something like that.

And Aemond honestly didn't blame them, as he looked extremely desperate and like a madman, especially when they told him they couldn't give him that information.

So he went to your work, where he knew it would be easier to find you, but again… he was unsuccessful because you wouldn't let him.

"Uhm… I'm sorry, but she's not here."

Your coworker told him and judging by her face, he knew instantly that she was lying, especially by the pitiful face she was giving him amidst the assurance she wants to create by saying her words.

"Please, just tell her I need to talk to her," he tells her pleadingly, feeling like he will burst into tears at any second.

She lets out a long breath, as she looks away from his gaze for a moment, looking hesitant, nervous and even watching him with pity.

"I'm really sorry but… she hasn't presented for days now and I haven't really seen her."

"But I need to talk to her as soon as possible," he insists, sad and still with a hint of hope that he can fix this, "Do you know where I could find her after her classes and work?"

"I-I…" she starts to say nervously, biting her lips, then completely avoiding eye contact with him "I'm sorry but I don't know. Like I said, I haven't seen her, so I'm not aware of her plans after work."

He takes a deep breath, as he runs a hand through his hair and also over his face, feeling his heart beating too fast, losing patience, losing hope, feeling completely desperate and frustrated.

"Please," he begs, not knowing what else to do, "Please tell me. I really need to see her and talk to her. I'm worried."

Sophia, not knowing what else to say, can't help but feel uncomfortable and again averts her gaze from his.

"I'm sorry but I haven't seen her and I really don't know where she might be."

Aemond watches her for a few seconds without saying anything else even with his sad and desperate face, understanding perfectly that he wouldn't get anything from her about you.

He sees how she is more than willing to keep lying for you and even though he feels completely desperate and frustrated, he knows it's not her fault, so he decides not to push her too hard.

So he took a deep breath and tried to sound calmer.

"Okay, I understand, thank you," he says resignedly, "But if you see her, please tell her that I came looking for her and needed to talk to her," he tells her one last time, "Tell her to please consider it."

And Sophie nods with a sympathetic nod, still watching him with that pity.

"Sure, I will."

And he nods back.

"Thank you."

That time Aemond came out of the coffee shop completely disappointed, having the foolish hope that you would come out of hiding and stop him after the little show he gave to your coworker completely sad and desperate.

But of course, that didn't happen.

Upon returning to the apartment, nothing felt the same anymore. Aemond now all he feels now is a deep loneliness and sadness that eats him alive inside as he finds himself alone in that place, a place that was once home to him and you, where you both started a little life together as a couple.

With loneliness in his chest and in the middle of the apartment, he sees everything around him with his melancholic eye and face.

Everything now felt like a painful reminder of what he had lost.

The place is completely permeated with memories where every room and corner tells a story of his relationship with you.

The cushions on the couch where you used to cuddle and watch movies together, the kitchen island where you shared with each other your day to day separately and the kitchen where you made food or washed dishes together, laughing and talking about anything.

Aemond then goes to the bedroom, where he now sees your empty desk where there is no longer your laptop, your lamp and all those pens and markers with which you used to make notes for your classes, nor the various sheets and folders with which you used to do your projects and research.

So he understands why you decided to leave him, because even though it was never intentional and the least he wanted to do was hurt you, he still did.

Your vanity is also completely empty, where so many times you spent hours doing your makeup happy and energetic singing your favorite songs.

And other nights you would remove your makeup crying for him and because he never put a serious stop to his work by standing you up.

And as he looks at the bed, only the memories invade him more, beginning to feel his eye watering.

The two of you cuddling, him taking refuge in your arms after a stressful day at his job or you taking refuge in his arms after a stressful day at college. Also before bedtime, the two of you would talk about anything silly until you fell asleep, where the moment felt more intimate than anywhere else.

And Aemond loved those moments, as did you, where you both shared space on the comfort of your bed.

Aemond then wanting to return to the living room, he stops in the middle of the hallway looking at the door with a serious and at the same time pained expression, where he also remembers that day when you were here and he was at the entrance waiting for Cole, where everything happened.

But it's also where you both made love and showed that love to each other with that passion, with that affection and with that deep intimacy of just the two of you that was nothing ordinary or common.

You were just two people in love loving and enjoying each other with that complicity and that unique union that characterized them.

Letting out a huge breath, he then plops down on the couch, staring at a spot in the living room in silence, feeling completely alone and hopeless.

And he hates it.

He absolutely hates the feeling.

Just as he hates the feeling of emptiness in his heart that seems impossible to fill. Because he knows it can never be filled by anyone else. Only you.

And that's when Aemond starts to really break down, realization and acceptance slowly creeping into his mind, eating him alive, destroying him, leaving him with nothing.

Until it happens and in the midst of his silence and loneliness, he starts to cry without being able to help it anymore.

He hates everything, his job, his grandsire, the association with Alys Rivers, the press, absolutely everything and also himself, for letting you slip through his fingers and not doing anything more efficient from the beginning to avoid the breakup.

Because if he had, you would still be with him.

It's only until Aemond really feels miserable and like he can't breathe that he decides to call the only person who can get to him sooner, really not wanting to be alone, needing someone to be able to reassure him.

So he calls the one person he thinks might be able to help him and reassure him.

He would have called you, of that there is no doubt, you would be his first choice, but you have blocked him from everywhere, from every social media, calls and messages.

He would have called Hel too, but she's in Highgarden, Hells, he would have even called Aegon, but he's in Storm Ends.

"Yes, Aemond?"

Rhaenyra Targaryen answers on the other end of the call, and Aemond really can't formulate coherent sentences for every sob.

He tells her your name, that he can't find you, that you've blocked him from everywhere, he mentions his grandsire, the company, loneliness, sadness and that it all happened too fast, that he needs her and doesn't know what to do.

And soon after that Aemond says he doesn't want to be there anymore, so they both leave the apartment and with every step he takes away from the place that used to be a home for him, he feels an increasingly heavier weight than before in his heart.

Soon Rhaenyra arrives at the apartment to help her half brother, not asking him anything about what has him like this while he continues to cry and holds her hand tightly.

Rather Rhaenyra tries to reassure him by telling him that she is there for him.

It is only a matter of time before his entire family knows of his breakup with you, instantly Hel calling him, as does Aegon, Hel being the more surprised and incredulous of the two, wanting to know what has happened.

Since Aemond has no vacation and can't afford to miss work with a few extremely important and one hundred percent justifiable exceptions, he soon finds himself setting foot inside the building.

Though they both know, as does their whole family, that it was because of their grandsire and everything to do with the company, also because of Alys Rivers.

And they are not surprised when Aemond implies he had something to do with it, not saying anything else, clearly because he doesn't want to talk about it.

All his workers notice the down and serious mood of the next boss, as it is also noticeable that he doesn't want to talk to anyone and doesn't want anyone to talk to him more than necessary, so he just locks himself in his office to continue with his work.

But as soon as he starts his work day, inevitably having that hope by looking at his phone screen from time to time that you will call or text him, Eleanor calls him and warns him that he has a meeting in ten minutes with his grandsire.

This makes his mood worse, even though he knew it would only be a matter of time, but he reluctantly gets up and heads for the conference room.

And the moment Otto enters the room, clearly with his annoyed and frustrated face, the whole place fills with tension. And when Otto makes it clear to him that he is not happy at all, still Aemond maintains an emotionless and indifferent face.

"I can't believe how irresponsible you're being, truly."

Otto begins to say with incredulous surprise and a frown on his face, watching him completely annoyed.

"I asked you for one, just one thing on your trip to Casterly Rock."

"The only important thing on that trip was to attend my meeting with Jason Lannister and also the conference with the board of directors, in both of which I did perfectly well," Aemond says still completely indifferent.

"Don't you want to play dumb with me, Aemond," he warns him through his teeth, "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

"Look, I'm not in the mood for this right now—

"And you think I am?" he inquires instantly, "You think I'm not tired of telling you the same old thing over and over again?" he says annoyed, "Wasn't I clear with you when I told you I didn't want Rivers to cause a scene for me again because of you and what's the first thing she does when she comes back from that trip?"

"For fuck's sake, you close your fucking contract with her!"

Explodes Aemond annoyed against him without being able to control himself anymore, tired and annoyed of him, but of course Otto also responds in the same way.

"No, this is your job! She wants you, not me! And now that you're finally done with Y/N, you can do something about it, something more than necessary, but you do nothing!"

Then again something inside Aemond snaps at the mention of your name and the breakup, leaving him completely silent and watching his grandsire with his parted lips.

Everything in his mind is still fresh, his emotions are still running high and that he has mentioned the breakup as a good thing so that he can finally whore himself out to Alys without any guilt and restraint, as his grandsire has asked him to do, only makes his gaze turn dark and one of complete anger towards him.

And Otto, as he is looking him straight in the eye, notices that change within him and in his gaze, but he doesn't move, doesn't flinch, and continues firm.

"So you know."

Aemond says in a low but firm tone, watching him intently and without even blinking, even with that dark and determined look, making Otto watch him silently for a moment, then swallowing hard and finally speaking.

"Of course I know. Just because I'm not home much, doesn't mean I'm not informed of what's going on with my family."

"And you're happy now?"

He inquires him really without much emotion, with an incredibly calm and soft tone of voice that surprises Otto, while now Aemond's gaze reflects the slight pain, watching him completely attentively, being strong and as much as he can in front of him, clenching his jaw.

And Otto says nothing, just watches him, which Aemond considers him a coward, as what he wanted so badly has finally happened and he says nothing.

"I bet you do," he answers her question for him, watching him bitterly.

Otto lets out a long breath.

"Look, I know you cared about her, and I feel sorry for you, but the company—

"No, that's not true, you don't feel the slightest bit sorry for me," he interrupts him with a disinterested tone, "She broke up with me because of you, but also because of me. And I'm sure when you found out, you were so pleased and had more hope that I would finally do something about Rivers and the association," he says dispassionately.

"Aemond, I'm just asking you to be professional and fulfill your obligations as heir to this company. I'm asking you because I care about you and because you can't get stuck thinking about a girl, instead of your job, your company."

"Don't mention her," he tells her instantly serious and with a threatening tone and look, "I don't want you to talk about her, ever again."

Otto lets out a long breath.

"Rivers has given us a warning and a deadline for you to convince her to sign those papers. She's already upset and unpleasant enough thanks to you," he tells him seriously, "This whole process has gone on long enough, so either you act now or we lose her forever. And we're not going to have the conversation again about why it's important to partner with her company, are we?"

Aemond looks away from him, completely pissed off and annoyed, and then gets up from the swivel chair, intending to finally get the fuck out of here.

"I'm talking to you."

Otto tells him in a higher tone of voice, watching him seriously.

"Yes and I've heard enough."

"You will do as I have told you and you will do it now," he warns him.

Aemond scowls at him, then puts on an annoyed and more threatening face than before, placing his hands on the very expensive refined wooden table then leaning towards him as well with his threatening posture.

"You're not going to order me around anymore."

"Aemond, do you really want to force me to do something I don't really want to?"

"Don't worry, I know you really do want to and I honestly don't care. But believe me it wouldn't be good for you, after all… I remind you that you're forgetting your place."

The fight and silence builds the tension further, as Otto and Aemond stare menacingly and defiantly at each other, each with their differences being more than clear, when suddenly the door to the conferences bursts open.

This breaks all the tension and also draws the attention of both of them, who look towards the door and under the doorway stands Rhaenyra, whom Otto observes slightly surprised and completely confused.

"Sorry to interrupt," she says as she places a soft smile, "I hope it's not something important."

Aemond turns his gaze back to his grandsire for a moment with his jaw clenched, who continues to stare at Rhaenyra confused and this time with a questioning look, showing his annoyance at the sight of her.

"No, we were done," Aemond makes clear, his voice in a serious and low tone, to turn his gaze back to her.

"And what are you doing here?"

Otto inquires Rhaenyra, who is not surprised by his attitude towards her, as she is used to it and doesn't really care.

"I came to speak with Aemond," she says then turns her gaze to her half-brother, "Your secretary told me you were here and I thought maybe you could talk to me, if you're not busy."

He nods in her direction.

"Sure," and she nods back, waiting for him as well.

But Aemond turns his gaze to his grandsire, who also looks back at him, confused and questioning to see that in his gaze he still intends to fight him with his threatening posture.

Again they both stare at each other, where Otto stares at him completely serious without saying anything and Aemond continues threatening, completely serious.

"If you pay someone to notify all the press and all the media anonymously of my breakup with Y/N or tell only Rivers to take advantage of me, believe me I will publicly announce and tarnish your image about how you tried to whore me out to Rivers with proof."

He threatens and Otto gasps for a moment.

"And i will tell worse, that she was also seeking an intimate relationship with me, a woman who has almost my twenty years on me."

And without saying anything else, Aemond leaves the room together with Rhaenyra without waiting and without hearing any answer back from his grandsire, for the first time in a long time having won the fight and leaving him completely speechless.

"What? You thought I didn't know?" he asks, "She doesn't say her age and she doesn't look nearly forty, but she is, so we don't want any of that, do we?"

He observes him expectantly,

"It will be a disastrous scandal. And it won't be good for her, nor for you and the company. I also know it won't be good for me, my mother, my siblings or my entire family. But I will do it if you leave me no choice and I won't give a fuck, because it will all have been your fault," he makes it clear.

At that moment he feels liberated and empowered, as he has finally left him in his place and has not done what he always ordered her to do, while he experiences a sense of relief and renewed self-confidence.

But unfortunately, that feeling doesn't last forever. Or at least it doesn't last once he's outside the company walls.

And that's because he's still thinking and longing for you.

He tried a few more times to try to find you, asking all the people he and you have in common where you might be or where you live now saying he needed to talk to you, but no one would give him an answer, making him miserable.

Even at work, he couldn't concentrate, because all the time he was thinking about you and if he could do his work, it was all thanks to Eleonor, who would notice his tired face and the bags under his eyes, as well as notice how hard he was trying.

She would see him drinking coffee more than usual and it worried her, but knowing how stubborn he is, she knew there was nothing she could do.

And once he got home, no one knew the sadness and loneliness that consumed him completely.

Even sometimes when he couldn't sleep, he kept looking at the selfie of you and him on his phone screen that he hasn't taken down, both of you smiling and more than happy, instantly feeling the pain in his chest and the tears about to run down his cheek.

It's going on a month since you decided to end the relationship but Aemond is still haunted by the moments you both shared and the 'what ifs' that haunt his mind.

Every day, the pain of the breakup seems to increase rather than decrease. At every moment of distraction, also at work or doing the most ordinary thing in life, like making a coffee, Aemond gets lost in his thoughts, remembering you.

And in every memory, he blames himself for what had gone wrong, thinking of all the ways he could have acted differently and done more for both of you, for you.

And he couldn't accept that he would simply never see you again, that it was all over, he needs you and he needs you so badly every time he starts crying and blaming himself at the same time.

He feels completely trapped in the memory of what the relationship was and feels unable to get over you, the woman who had and still means everything to him.

It is not until Rhaenyra and her mother began to notice Aemond's instability and begin to worry about him that even Helaena decides to fly to King's Landing to be there for him, reporting everything to Aegon.

And fortunately Aemond doesn't push her away when she visits him by surprise, telling him that she has come to stay with him as long as necessary.

And he hugs her tightly and cries on her shoulder, asking her not to leave him alone, to please help him recover you, that he needs you, that he understands that everything was his fault but that he deserves at least one more conversation with you.

The people Aemond cares about are there for him, even Rhaenyra, but Helaena is the one who is almost all the time with him at home and also at the company, running the Highgarden company from there, helping him heal at the same time.

Unfortunately you never responded to Helaena's messages, neither to Baela's.

So even though it hurts Helaena to see her brother like this, she knows that you are hurt too, she knows your reasons why you did what you did and she doesn't blame you for it.

But Aemond can't.

And though he doesn't know it and doesn't even think about it, you are just as or worse off than he is, trying just as hard as he is to cope with the breakup, barely being functional in your day to day life and in having enough energy, being completely broken inside.

He is still immensely in love with you and every day that goes by and he doesn't see you or hear from you, it's complete torture.

He even stopped being seen in public and stopped attending events, focusing entirely on the company and nothing else.

It's not until another full month passes that one day, when Aemond wakes up to find Helaena in the kitchen with her face completely pale, her eyes wide open and her lips parted with her phone in hand, she gives him the news that he knew would happen someday but still takes him by surprise.

His father has died.

And he knows what that means, everyone knows.

He is the successor and literally overnight, he is now the boss, officially. And with that begins the real chaos for Aemond Targaryen.

It was a moment he was looking forward to but at the same time not because of the great responsibility that would fall on him, all the great weight.

But first of all, the whole Targaryen family is busy with a funeral and taking an indefinite rest, all of them and him especially hiding from the press and everyone.

1 month later

"So…

Speaks the calculated voice of Alys Rivers with a condescending tone, looking expectantly at Otto Hightower in front of her as she slowly turns in the swivel chair she is sitting in, having her uncle Larys Strong next to her, who in comparison to her is calmer.

"He won't show up?"

She inquires as she fiddles with the pen in her hand, twirling it between her fingers with her perfectly painted dark scarlet fingernails, raising an eyebrow in Otto's direction.

"Of course he will, he knows how important this is to us," he tells her immediately, "It's just that with the death of his father, he and his siblings still need a little more time. It's been very recent still."

"We still mourn the death of Viserys Targaryen," Larys Strong says in a soft tone and Otto nods in his direction.

But Alys is not at all pleased, for months now.

"We've been waiting for almost fifteen minutes."

"Yes, I know, I'm sorry, honestly—

The door suddenly opens, interrupting Otto and drawing the attention of the three in the conference room who turn their heads and see Aemond entering the room unhurriedly and calmly.

"Sorry for the delay," he says as he approaches his place, "I was taking an important call."

Rivers instantly looks at him in a penetrating manner as she continues to fiddle with the pen in her fingers, while his grandsire watches him seriously.

"More important than this?" hisses Otto quietly through his teeth.

And still not caring, he takes a seat to adopt an equally nonchalant posture, looking even annoyed that he has to be in this room with these people, causing Rivers stress and frustration, as well as his grandsire for his attitude and lack of interest.

"Yes."

Aemond replies to him without dissimulation and without caring.

"I don't think you have understood the gravity of the matter, Mrs. Targaryen," Alys Rivers speaks, catching the attention of the three, looking directly at him, "I gave you a deadline to sign the association papers and you still haven't given me one good reason why my company should be associated with yours."

Aemond shrugs, observing her indifferently.

"That my company is the most important, innovative and efficient in the entire country is not reason enough for you?"

"That's not what I meant."

"We're talking about business and what's in the best interest of our companies, aren't we?"

Rivers clenches her jaw.

"I think you know perfectly well that a partnership requires more than that, it's also about building interpersonal relationships."

"As far as I know, you are a co-owner of Riverlands Group and the one who actually founded the company was you, Larys Strong," he observes the man, "You shouldn't decide if you want to sign these papers or not?"

Otto throws daggers at him with his eyes and an utterly deadly stare, but Aemond doesn't even notice, as well as Rivers starts to get annoyed. So before Larys Strong can speak, she speaks first.

"We both work as a team and make decisions together," she tells him instantly, wanting to make it clear.

"You seem to make all the decisions."

"Aemond—

"As far as I know, it's not in your best interest to lose this opportunity to be able to partner with my company," Rivers speaks with a firmer, more serious and determined tone, "And I've been very patient and accessible for months now."

"Also as far as I know, months ago we attended an event together and it was you who announced how proud you were to have a partnership between us in process to everyone, yet you are the one who hasn't signed the papers, so what exactly is it that you need or want from me or the company for you to sign them?"

He dares in asking with a challenging tone and look, watching her completely intently, wanting to know how bold she is, pushing her a little to say or not to say what she really wants from him.

As Otto hides in his chair and holds a hand to his face, not being able to believe this is really happening.

And Rivers looks completely serious and annoyed at Aemond, who starts to look amused by his lack of response. So the next thing he does is point to the contracts on the table in front of him, extending them to both of them.

"So… do we have a deal or not?"

He inquires, not wanting to waste any more time and wanting to get this over with once and for all, watching them expectantly.

Strong and Rivers exchange a glance, where Rivers still has his serious and annoyed look, but also has something else on his mind after fully analyzing this new Aemond now that he is he boss.

So he silently nods in his uncle's direction, making Strong extend his hand to place the papers in front of him to sign them.

But just as his fingertips touch the paper, Aemond abruptly puts them back in front of him, leaving them out of his reach, drawing the attention of all three instantly and more so of his grandsire who already feels completely relieved after so much.

But Aemond's attitude is alarming just then.

"Before you sign, I need to tell you something important."

All three of them frown, especially his grandsire.

"And it can't be after the two finally sign?" he inquires without having the patience for any more of this.

Aemond lets out a long breath, looking at his grandfather and then Rivers directly, wanting to be completely clear with his words.

"I want you to know that in another occasion I would have really appreciated having the opportunity to work with you and partner with your company, I really would," he tells her honestly, "But you never acted the right way, neither did you," he turns to his grandsire to focus back on Rivers, pausing slightly, "So I don't need this association anymore."

Surprise and disbelief completely takes over the three of them, but more so on Rivers and Otto, who exchange confused and puzzled looks.

"Aemond, what are you saying?" his grandsire inquires.

"I'm saying that I don't care and I'm not going to do what you tell me anymore nor am I going to let people like you intrude into my personal life," he then tells Rivers with determination.

Rivers looks at him completely offended.

"Me intruding in your personal life? What are you talking about?"

"I think you know perfectly well what i'm talking about, so since you have nothing more to do here, I'm sorry for wasting too much of your time, but you can go now."

His grandsire looks at him in complete surprise and disbelief.

"Aemond—

"If you think I'm going to sit here and allow this treatment of me by you, you are very wrong, I will not tolerate it for another second," Rivers says, getting up from her chair, annoyed and offended, "You need me but this is your loss. Let's see how long it takes before your company goes bankrupt and you lose everything."

Aemond lets out a bitter laugh.

"No, in fact I don't need you," he makes it clear, amused, "And if I needed you, believe me I wouldn't have partnered with you even as my last option," he tells him decisively, "Do you think you're the only company that has partnerships with Essos? Not only you, but also Rodrik Greyjoy, the owner of the Pike company in the Iron Islands, my new partner".

He says and Otto Hightower looks on in complete surprise, not expecting that at all. And this only causes more anger and indignation in Alys Rivers.

"You're going to regret this," Rivers tells him humiliated and annoyed as she grabs her purse and then heads for the exit with big strides, "And my company is never going to be associated with yours, ever!"

"Have a nice day."

Aemond tells her not forgetting his manners and the doors slam shut with a loud slam that still doesn't completely flinch, then looks at his grandfather who looks like he's going to explode at any moment.

"You can leave too," he tells her nonchalantly, rising from his seat, "I've had enough of this shit. I expect your resignation by tomorrow at the latest."

"My resignation?" he repeats, completely bewildered and surprised.

"Yes, your resignation," he affirms him" "Rhaenyra will now take your place while Daemon is left running Dragonstone."

"W-what…? Aemond, you can't do this! I helped you, I supported you, I broke my back for you, I made you what you are now and I put you where you are!"

"Actually yes I can and in fact I already have," he says dispassionately, heading for the exit, "I'm the boss now."

And even hearing their protests and shouts, he leaves the room with him following, causing a huge scene, but once he makes his way to his office, he slams the door in his face and asks Cole to take him out of here immediately and he instantly complies with his order.

And when Aemond sits in his chair, he lets out a long sigh and closes his eye as he drops his head completely on the backrest, no longer feeling that weight on his shoulders and that tension he felt every day all over his body, finally feeling free, relieved and at peace.

It honestly feels good, after so long.

And he sees the positives of him finally being the boss, as he can now do these kinds of things, things he couldn't do before and finally give him that needed balance to his life and work.

But as soon as he leaves his work space and gets home, he again feels that emptiness in his chest and that sadness, not feeling full and like him, knowing full well that you are missing for his life to finally be perfect.

He wishes he could have done all this with you by his side. He still wants to fix everything between him and you, but you being off his radar, it's just impossible.

And he still loves you too much to use money to try to find out where you are, knowing he couldn't do that to you, the woman he still loves with every fiber of his body and heart.

He still misses you, very much. He wants to have one more reason to be this new person he has become, a better person really.

But he respects your decision, even though he still thinks he deserved more.

That same day he sends a message to Helaena asking her when she will come to King's Landing and if she wants to stay with him at his house and that same day at night he receives a message from Floris Baratheon, a friend he and you have in common, finally things being in his favor.

The moment he so deserved arrives when Floris invites him to a pub in the center of the city to celebrate his birthday. And since he knows you and Floris are close friends, he knows you'll be there.

You thank the driver for dropping you off at your destination after paying him, then you get out of the car, close the door and head towards the entrance of the pub that Floris has chosen to celebrate his birthday.

Today you don't know what's wrong with you, as you suddenly have a very positive mood and attitude that hasn't been seen in you for months, clearly since what happened that day.

But today you have all the willingness to have fun, celebrate with Floris, have a couple of drinks and see what else the night takes you to, you really need it.

So you open the door of the pub to enter, instantly ringing that typical bell that announces a new customer, which draws the attention of some people already inside the place, but you focus on finding Floris and his friends at all the scattered tables.

"Y/N!"

Suddenly someone shouts your name and you turn your head, seeing that it's Floris, calling you from the table they are at and you start to smile, about to head towards all of them, when suddenly, your gaze crosses with a blue eye that you know all too well among all the people at the table.

A blue eye you haven't seen for months.

And your whole world around you fades away.

You freeze completely and a shiver runs down your entire back as you stare at him in shock, attentively and with your lips parted, definitely not expecting to see him, at all.

Your heart starts pounding, your legs turn to jelly and your throat goes dry. You don't know what to do, let alone what to say, you just can't speak or react, nothing.

You don't feel any more that mood of before, that disposition and that attitude, you simply feel like a little girl who wants to hide behind her mother's legs.

The memories of the relationship, the happy moments, the painful moments, everything you went through together comes back to you in an instant. Just as you remember that day, when it all ended, feeling sick to your stomach, suddenly no longer feeling strength in your whole body.

You feel completely trapped in a sea of emotions flooding your mind. The feelings that you had tried to suppress for months, now overwhelm you.

But not only does your whole history with him come back to you, you are also affected by seeing him again physically after so many months because you had not even seen him through a photo on the social media after the breakup.

And to see him now after the passing of his father and that he is now the owner of the most important company in the country, is just more of a surprise for you.

You try not to let the surprise be so noticeable on your face, although you probably already failed at it, seeing now his gorgeous short platinum hair, giving him a completely different air and look, although not in a bad way.

So you assume that those are the reasons why now he has changed. You can't say the same for yourself as he has really changed, physically.

You had never imagined an Aemond with his hair cut short, you never thought about it and now seeing it… it makes you feel a sensation all over your body that you really can't explain.

He looks more… mature and like… an expert in business, which is what he really is. He looks even younger for his age, also more handsome. He looks like a big businessman.

Unable to help yourself, you still can't move, just standing there, clearly affected after seeing your ex-boyfriend again, who Floris immediately jumps to your rescue, while at the same time you see how Aemond says something under his breath to Liam, a friend of his and also yours, to then get up and head towards the bathroom without looking any further in your direction.

You follow him with your gaze, swallowing hard and starting to tremble, while Floris stops in front of you with a small reassuring smile.

"Hey, I'm so happy you came."

She hugs you and you let her, as you really need it and she knows you need it too.

"Easy," she murmurs comfortingly in your ear, "You've got this, take a deep breath."

You blink, as if to clear your thoughts that way, then drop your head defeatedly on her shoulder, inhaling deeply, as she has told you to.

"I'm sorry," she tells you with some pity, feeling your body tense, "The guys mentioned it to him but he said I still wouldn't tell him anything, so in order not to make him feel bad, I decided to invite him too," she tells you sadly.

"No, no, it's okay."

You tell her instantly, turning away to watch her, seeing Floris as your eyes are full of emotions and with effort, you try to nod and understand her, although you really do, since after all, Floris is not only your friend, she is also his friend and you can't blame her, you would never do that.

"I-I… I… I know, I just… I didn't expect it," you confess, trying to compose yourself.

At least he's out of your sight now and that helps a little but still, you know he'll be back soon.

Floris takes your hands gently, offering you his physical support that she hoped would be enough for you in comforting you.

"I know it's all still very fresh in your mind, so if you need to leave, that's fine with me, I'll understand perfectly, don't worry."

"No, no, I mean, yes, it all still feels very fresh but…" you let out a long breath, "Sooner or later it was bound to happen, you know? And it's your birthday!" you exclaim out of nerves, "I-I can't just leave, I-I…" you bite your lips, "Happy birthday, by the way."

Floris smiles.

"Thank you bestie."

You smile back as best you can, still feeling your mind working at full speed, your body feels it more tense than usual and you unconsciously keep on the lookout for him, because he might come back at any second.

You give her the gift you bought for her, then she gives a few words of motivation and finally she leads you with almost everyone to the table.

You greet old friends and also meet other friends of Floris, trying to look calm and relaxed at all times, when in reality, inside you are a bundle of nerves and not calm at all, not at all.

You can see that all your friends… and Aemond's friends too, know that he and you are no longer together, which causes you some discomfort, but for Floris, you decide to face it, him too.

"At any point in the evening you can leave if you need to, really," she reassures you again before you take a seat and you nod in her direction, understanding.

Meanwhile Aemond in the bathroom leans fully into the sink as he breathes through his mouth and closes his eye for a moment, trying to calm himself, letting a sigh escape his lips.

He honestly doesn't understand what has happened to him.

He thought he could, that this is all he's ever wanted so he could have you back with him, but… when he barely laid his eye on you the moment you walked into the place with five meters in front of him, he felt like he was going back to the past.

For all these months, even yesterday, I was waiting for this moment. He was waiting to see you again, to try to talk to you, to try to get you back and now?

He just felt like a scared little boy.

His heart broke into pieces again as he remembered that day, when you decided to break up with him.

And how he felt at that moment, besides the weeks after when he tried to look for you and you wouldn't let him and blocked him from everywhere, he relived it again, feeling every emotion, remembering every tear he shed and all the other pressures he had on him because of his grandsire.

Not to mention the death of his father and his promotion in the company, all in a matter of days, making everything worse.

And although everything is totally different now, he still recognizes that he did not prepare for this moment.

Everything still hurts him, he no longer feels capable, he feels that you will break his heart again, although no more than he broke yours, where he did nothing about it, he only asked for forgiveness, as if that was enough.

Aemond looks at his reflection and tells himself that he must keep calm, keep his posture and not make this any more uncomfortable than it already will be.

But at all times he has this longing in his heart to be able to get you back.

While you now find yourself sitting, having a place at the big table, basically at the other end, away from where he is sitting, trying to calm yourself down from now on, although it is costing you a lot.

And not a moment too soon, Floris places a beer in your hand, murmuring in your ear that your mind needs to stop thinking and worrying too much.

And just as you take a sip, Aemond returns.

You try not to look at him too much, just the same way he tries not to look at you too much as he takes a seat next to Liam again, but unconsciously it's impossible.

The table by the others is full of laughter, while the pub is full of music, with a party atmosphere that really contrasts with your whirlwind of emotions and also with his.

Even though you don't want to, yet when he doesn't notice, you watch him. And this frustrates you. You want to enjoy Floris' birthday, but you can't help the tension you emanate along with him even though they are extreme to extreme.

Every time his gaze meets yours, you avert yours to the other side, nervous and alert, telling yourself that you can't let this disturb you for the entire time you'll be here.

"We're just here to celebrate Floris."

You repeat to yourself in your mind constantly.

On the other side, Aemond's mind doesn't stop spinning. Every time his eye meets yours, he feels a knot in his stomach and in order not to feel too much, he takes a sip of his beer as well and tries to appear unconcerned.

You both feel completely vulnerable, you don't want to make the atmosphere more tense and uncomfortable, so you make an effort to think about Floris and his friends.

You try to distract yourself by talking to other friends, talking to Floris and observing the whole place, but Aemond is always on your mind.

And even though you shouldn't, you ask yourself inevitable questions, unable to control it.

How is he doing?

How is he coping with the fact that he is now the boss?

Did he suffer a lot because of his father's death?

Must he hate me for ending things with him like that?

Did the association with Alys Rivers' company happen?

You let out a long breath, hating your mind at that moment, but you also inevitably begin to answer those questions with assumptions.

You assume he must be fine, since he's here, which surprises you since he didn't have time for almost anything before, so his new position at the company must give him a little more free time, although you don't really know.

You think about whether he must hate you for breaking his heart in such a cruel way, taking advantage of the fact that he had to leave to get on his plane and you guess he must still be seeing Rivers, even the breakup probably made things easier.

You bite the inside of your cheek and scold yourself, since you don't really know anything and take a long swig from your beer bottle, having had enough of you.

Aemond, on his own, in his mind was trying to find a reason or a good excuse to approach you, but he couldn't find the right moment. He wished the words would flow naturally, but every time he imagined a conversation, he felt blocked and unable to utter a word.

As the night progresses, the tension between the two persists, but fortunately it also becomes a little more bearable.

Although you have not spoken and have only exchanged glances, you had taken an important step in facing the past in that same place. But although the purpose was to have fun, neither he nor you did, it was impossible and you just sat in your places for Floris, nothing else.

Luckily everyone else didn't feel uncomfortable or tense because of you two, as little by little the table fills up with more drinks, the guys and he also smoke, the music helps and most of them are getting drunk, except him and you.

Until the hours go by, it's a little past midnight and already some people are starting to leave, Floris' night of celebration slowly coming to an end.

When only Floris, Liam, Sarah, Jenna, him and you are left, therefore, Floris considers the night over. And that's your cue to leave, so you say goodbye to her and everyone except him, taking the opportunity to leave the pub as you see him busy asking for a cigarette.

As you leave the pub, you lean against the wall with your phone in hand and the Uber app on the screen, waiting for a driver to accept your ride, but it keeps asking you to wait every long minute, making you feel desperate and worried.

You know it's only a matter of time before they and he come out and see you here and that's what you don't want.

But luck in that regard is not in your favor.

After continuing to wait for five more long minutes, you grunt under your breath in frustration as the application doesn't tell you anything, besides it's too much to ask for but you don't blame that either as you recognize that your dorm is far from here and you also take the time into consideration.

When then, Floris and all of them leave the pub, instantly her and also him noticing you.

Floris instantly turns to you and you give her a tired and distressed look.

"What's wrong?" she asks you in a low voice.

You bite your lips as you stare at your phone in frustration and answer her in a low voice as well.

"No driver accepts my ride. I don't know what to do."

"Well, Aemond has offered to drive us," she tells you with some caution and even in a low voice, "I'm sure he'll have no problem driving you too."

And here's just what you didn't want.

"No, I-I…" you let out a long breath, "Maybe I should try another app or walk a little further."

"Have you lost your mind?" she reproaches you in a whisper.

"I'm not going to ask him to drive me too," you clarify, frustrated and sad, "I've had enough."

"Come on, Y/N. I'll ask him."

Aemond, actually hears everything from a distance and realizes the situation, so he notices how Floris watches him and also how you try to watch him from the corner of your eye, noticing how you move your fingers across the screen of your phone in a desperate way.

And just then Liam speaks in his direction.

"I don't think we're all going to fit," he tells him as he points to his car.

He lets out a long breath as he pulls his keys out of his pocket, unlocking the doors.

"Get in, everyone."

He says in his voice loud enough for everyone and especially you to hear, without even looking at you, he also says it with a nonchalant tone, then starts across the street, heading to his car, which is big and spacious enough for everyone.

He listens as you and Floris speak again, but it's not so audible to him anymore, with the others following him to the car as well.

Tonight hasn't been the best, neither was the way you both ended it, but he still cares about you and your well-being, as there was no way he was going to leave you here alone, at almost two in the morning.

And when he gets in the car, he thought he would have to stand still, waiting for you, to the point of having to tell you himself that he will drop you off at home, but in the end he sees you following Floris with a look that he can't really describe.

Liam gets in as co-pilot and all the girls settle in the back seats, you too.

And pretty soon he's driving through the city, watching you in the rearview mirror from time to time, unable to help himself, while you watch him too when he doesn't notice, biting the inside of your cheek and feeling completely nervous.

And you don't know if it was intentional, but it really wasn't, Aemond just started asking for directions and those who had their houses closest to them spoke, leaving Sarah first, then Floris, Liam and at the end there's Jenna and you.

"My dorm is in Walden Residence, it's on the first block of the university," she indicates to Aemond and then she looks at you, "You live in a dorm too?"

You nod, feeling unable to speak.

"In which residence?"

You swallow hard, as you lick your lips.

"Westbridge."

"Oh! Then you'll drop me off first, her dorm is further in the back," she says to Aemond, who starts the car again.

Oh fuck.

general taglist:

@melsunshine @n4forlife @iamavailablesstuff @ttkttt @elliaze @trshngyn @tsujifreya @imsoshygirl @watercolorskyy @kckt88 @zenka69 @yentroucnagol @crispmarshmallow @bellastwd @queenofshinigamis @strangersunghoon @happinessinthebeing @iloveallmyboys @twobluejeans @siriusdumblittlepuppy

taglist next part:

@anehkael @randomstory56 @crazylokonugget @minttea07

[coca-lastic]

Takami Keigo: 5 Red flags vs 5 Green flags

Characters: Takami Keigo (Hawks).

Mi first lenguage is not English btw

Part 2 with Bakugo?

First of all, a relationship with Keigo can go very well or very badly. His life requires a very specific type of person, although he is not one to judge people and prefers to be optimistic when it comes to anything, it must be admitted that a person who is a little more "egoistic" could not stand the schedules, the dangers and harms that come with the hero's work.

In any case, if you are a person who, although you have flaws that might seem out of place with the style of life that has been imposed on Keigo, but you are still a person who is willing to do better, fight and resist for the relationship, believe me that the he will put the same as you and more.

Probably at the beginning there will be many problems, Keigo is not a man used to his life not being just for him, and perhaps you are not used to living with someone like him, but part of a relationship is learning, step by step and with a lot of time, love can change things if you use it well.

Of course, like any person, he has his good things and bad things.

🟥 Red Flags:

• At first he's a very independent and close person: Being independent can be a very good thing and a good sign, but when it comes to Keigo, it is not the same. His independence is too big to be considered a good thing, he has grown up and lived his entire life believing that he is the one against the world and only he has the right to know what is going through his mind, so it wouldn't be the kind of boyfriend who is asking your approval or telling you about his day. But he knows that that is not right, so I firmly believe that he would correct it to the point of telling you his problems.

• He's sarcastic: Come on guys, you could see this coming from the second this hero appeared on the screen and started making the most annoyed faces a face can make. It's not like he does it in a bad way often, but when arguments start he would get on your nerves with his sarcastic comments, probably minimizing the problems or making you look wrong, even stupid in the worst cases.

• You are the priority, but if people need him, he will leave: This is a very extensive topic and contains many reasons. You are the most important thing in his life, if you leave he would be totally devastated and depressed than anyone else could be, but he simply cannot reject the call, if his phone vibrates and they tell him that they need him he will already be acting the hero suit. It's not that he wants to leave you, it's that he can't stay, it's that he has been educated to always leave.

• He is jealous: Normally it is not something that bothers you, it can even be something that the two of you later make fun of in private, but there are some times that if he seems to be intense about it, he is not attracted to the idea of you leave, that you change him or that you abandon him, so although he always tries to keep himself in line, there are few cases in which he goes too far, when he marks someone as his rival he will forever be "the disgusting guy who wants with you", and he could say offensive things about him, start fights so that you stay away from him and even demonstrate his jealousy without any type of shame.

• "Is not that deep": I don't know why, but I'm very sure that Keigo would say this MANY times, like you may have told him that it's something that bothers you, or something that hurt you, or you're just telling him a story, and he responds with the damn "is not that deep." Partly it's because like I said before he won't tell you something just because it happened to him, so he doesn't understand why you're open about it.

OKAY BUT, he has hes beautiful Green Flags and all that, SO let's goOoOooOOoOOOoo

🟩 Green Flags

• He drives you to achieve and fulfill your own goals: He would be a man who not only asks, he also offers, he would never ask you to support him in his goal of a better and more relaxed world for those who are heroes without first supporting you in any goal that you have worn. You need money? He can give it to you, do you need to improve yourself? Ok, here he is to support you, do you just feel tired of trying? Well he will give you a reason to do it again.

• "Let's see each other even if it's just for 5 minutes?": He leads a busy life but he takes you into account in every second of it, it's true that it's hard for him to tell you about it, it's hard for him to open up, but he loves seeing you, even if he doesn't express it correctly, he loves to be there for you even though he may not tell you that he thinks about it, he loves to give you time even if it means more fatigue for his body.

• Stop having attitudes that make you feel bad: Did you read all the previous red flags? WELL HAWKS TROLL YOU BECAUSE HE CHANGE WHAT YOU ASK HIM TO DO, GIRL!!!! He would make an effort because he doesn't take it lightly, it is difficult and takes a lot of time, but he keeps trying.

• "I saw this and I remembered you": I repeat, Keigo takes you into account every second, even if at first he can't express it correctly. But he is a bird, he will bring you any stuffed animal, bracelet, candy, necklace, clothing or toy that he finds in a store and has a detail as beautiful as you.

• Hella touchy: Bro, if you don't consider this a good thing I'm really sorry but what the hell are you doing reading something about Takami Keigo, Get the fuck out of here! He will never have one hand far from you in moments of rest and time as a couple. A simple hand on your thigh while the two of you are eating or while he is finishing work papers, a few light cuddles on your hair while he is falling asleep, a hand on your cheek before kissing you, a hand on your waist to hug you, and if i keep going, I don't finish the list.

[maddragon15]

Finalized design for my version of Etho for hermitcraft s10!

Warning long infodump ahead about the decisions made and general lore

So I've had this idea that redstone is like uranium. Powerful, can be used for energy + various machinery and scientific discoveries, used to increase the value of the everyday lives (uranium girls ref) but with the major cause of life deletion/life altering affects. I believe that it would cause more mutations within redstoners over the course of time they are exposed to it and the varying degree that they're covered in it. But redstone is a fairly new resource that has been discovered in the world of minecraft/hermitcraft. So the research behind it isn't as strong nor as known as it should be. Therefore every effect that happens to the pioneers of redstone is completely new and unheard of. Which might be the reason why some builders like Grian, Scar, Ren, Gem, etc are hesitant to fully learn redstone mechanics due to the unknown nature of it but still aren't fully opposed because of the benefits it has.

In my world of hermitcraft for season 10 it's built off of the fact that there's quite a few people leaning into that cybery, technological, sci-fi theme. Like the Punks, then Ren's Gigaverse and of course the nature of Doc in general. So the main story is that this world of hc2410 is that it's a world that was much similar to earth. It went through the usual set of technological feats bit by bit, culture by culture.

For a long time their main power source which fueled everything was glowstone, a semi renewable material exported from the Nether and harvested from blazes and the blaze rods. Blaze rods were grinded down then compressed into glass like bilets which were then heated, strained, and forged into various forms that were needed. For a while it was small 2x2 inch cubes mainly used in lamps and later 6x6 foot cubes for lighthouses. But as the age of the iron wore on, technology looked much like the era of the vacuum tubes.

Thus began the swap of simplified forms of glowstone into the complexities of tubes and the requirement of more materials and longer time to create these specialized parts. Though that didn't stop what pioneers were part of that era, these guys being Etho, Tango, Doc, and Mumbo. Now these guys were very basic hybrids, Etho an arctic fox, Tango a nether born blaze, Doc whom was a rare specices of creeper, and Mumbo who was actually just a human. It took long and multiple days worth of work to even produce what would be a 4 part machine in modern redstone technology with glowstone. Though these guys were at this point young and determined to optimize their creations.

Glowstone in itself was a relatively safe material to work with unless of course consumed, if consumed it would wear down the lining of the stomach, cause holes in the intestines, and heat the user to an unbearable degree akin to the infamous iron bull method of torture except it was your insides and only your insides being subjected to it. To the person that found this out would never be credited and largely forgotten in most history records. Mainly because he died such a painful death and most didn't want to remember it. So when Etho was working on the mines with his crew and discovered redstone there was a guess and perhaps a hope that it would be as safe as glowstone. Therefore safety percautions that were used with materials like obsidian and diamond were thrown out the window. Instead it was instantly collected into glass cylinders and brought back to the workshop to be played around with.

Thus the reason why for most parts of hc2410 many will be seen with previous and malfunctioning innovations or straight up tech from the glowstone era. One of these people is Mumbo who still uses comms from the glowstone era as a way to keep his small hometown economy running because any way to help Big Ron was a win in his book. Pearl is also another example user of older innovations or at least less redstone heavy variations. Rather going into the world of solar, and botany side of technology dubbed leafstone. Other variations of older innovations would also have to be old port towns who used wind and small hydroplants to keep their town running and connected with the rest of the world such as Gem's & Grian's hometown.

With Etho being the main guy who really played around with it and pretty much like at it like ate it like it was sugar was thee very first to experience the mutational effect of redstone. At first his left eye would begin to flicker with rapid involuntary movement, then followed a set of what would be dubbed "chromatic abberation" (etho would be the only one to experience this and no one can confirm what he saw was accurate due to the mental state he was in), and the onset of vision loss. But this wasn't the first and last effect, he would begin to develop a second tail and unusual pelt coloring akin to the color of the newfound material. Much like the later steps of his changes the second tail development was not a pain free one. As the months continued his mental state worsened, this was due to the psychoactive effects of redstone and already altered vision. He would begin to see things that weren't there in a translucent red glow often accompanied by intense localized migraines behind the left eye. It would get so intense and unbearable that in the middle of developing the infamous etho hopper clock he began to claw at his left eye but the fingernails weren't enough and instead used a screwdriver to try to get it out. However Doc and Tango would find Etho moments before a prosthetic eye would take the permanent place of a redstone scarred eye.

Although Etho did wear a mask during the initial stages of redstone development and technology it wouldn't be enough against the sheer intake the 4 went through. Therefore under the careful guise of Xisumavoid, who'd later become the main caretaker/medic and manager, and Doc they would make several changes to how redstone was regulated. Making a mandate that all personnel, consumer, mechanic, and who ever else would have to wear a respirator and gloves during the usage of redstone. You'd think this would be easy to get the crew to swap into using respirators at the very least but it was met with much hesitation and backlash due to the blukiness that came with them. It was already tough to pack around the canisters of redstone, glowstone tubes, and iron baseplates and now they also had to squeeze into tight spaces with a clunky mess? But again Doc and Xisuma found ways to make sure that each member found a way to have their own variation of resperation based upon needs. It wasn't too hard to make one for Etho because he already had a mask but his stubbornness rivaled Doc, and took a near fatal pass out due to lack of blood production, aka just more extreme anemia, and bloody nose to convince Etho to finally add that respirator onto his mask.

Despite however the apparent dangers of redstone it sent the world of hc2410 into a new world of technology seemingly overnight, from clunky 60s-70s style tan and heavy clunk switches into an age more similar to thin touch panels and streamlined designs of now but with the flair of the iconic synthwave/cyberpunk style deemed by the 80s-90s. Yet it was met with strife due to how time consuming redstone was even with several engineers helping out on one project and most innovations were only available to the richest before being thrown out for the latest and greatest.

Also you may recall, if you've made it to this point, that I mentioned that the 4 were basic hybrids. Well much like Etho the effects on the rest weren't simple nor painless, and varied quite differently from each other. But those will be covered once their designs are finished.

I thank you if you've made it this far and I'll see you on the next hermitaday posts! :3

Edit: I also want to include that one of the main design inspos is actually Snakeyes from Gi Joe because that man is absolute gender to me. So why not combine my two favorite guys into one character.

Edit #2: Added more text breaks bc I no longer have 5 am involuntary eye movement. Which is odd because you'd think I'd need more text breaks but it's the opposite.

[ladykailitha]

If I were to do a A/B/O story with Steddie this is how I would do it (I've never done omega-verse for any of my fandoms, but damn there is something about Steddie that just screams it, you know?)

Steve was sold to a place that uses infertile omegas as sex toys. Rut servicing, gang bangs, orgies, or even just pretty arm candy for special events. The point is that the Harringtons sold him when they found out he couldn't be sold to the wealthiest, most influential alphas as a broodmare.

They are pretty much indentured and have to pay off the debt of how much the company paid for them. Steve pays off his debt and stays. Most omegas leave, but he loves what he does. He really loves rut servicing. It's his favorite because he has all the control during the three to four days the alpha is sex crazed. He also loves that he can take care of them without them thinking he's in for the bond bite.

Steve's at some gala or event or whatever on the arm of an older alpha, probably a senator or someone important like that when he meets Eddie Munson, frontman for Corroded Coffin.

They're introduced and they hit off, until Steve mentions offhand that he's infertile. Because that angers Eddie for some reason.

Eddie sets up Steve to be his rut servicer and demands that Steve be placed on some kind of birth control. It's a strange request, but it's granted.

When Steve arrives, Eddie tells him under no uncertain terms that either of them are going to be barebacking. Condoms are required.

This pisses Steve off. He's infertile and these demands are just ridiculous. He can't get pregnant.

Eddie scoffs. If he was infertile it would reflect in his scent. It would be sickly sweet, like overripe fruit. Cloying almost. But Steve doesn't smell like that. He smells darker, woodier, more like spices then fruity.

Steve frowns, he hadn't heard that about omegas, but it made sense, his other co-workers did have that sweet smell, but never really thought about it being different than his own.

But before they could talk it out, Eddie goes into his rut hard. Harder then it's ever been and Steve is pretty much scrambling to keep up with the sex.

At the end of the five days, Steve is worn out and ready to pass out for the next week, but he needs to know what Eddie was talking about.

Eddie tells him that he's not infertile, he's an ultra-fertile omega. So rare that they present in only 1% of the human population as a whole. Red-heads are more common they are.

Basically they are only fertile during their heats, but instead of having only a 1 in 5 chance of getting pregnant like omegas do in heat (1 in 8 out of heat), they can get pregnant 4 in 5 chance of getting pregnant. In fact, they are so revered that they can have their pick of the best alphas in their country. Some of them even go so far as casting their net over the whole fucking world.

Steve isn't sure he believes him, but his parents never tested for it because it was too rare. So it's possible that he could be, it's not like he can test it now. The test needs to be done at the time he presented. The only way to know for sure is if he shared a heat with an alpha (he's not allowed to as service omega to spend it with anything but toys) and he doesn't know of any alpha willing to take the chance that he might be some golden omega.

Only Eddie is totally willing. Willing to even bond Steve, with or without the ultra-fertility.

Steve is shocked. He's even more shocked when he goes into heat just from being so close to Eddie. Because he's on blockers, that's not supposed to happen.

While Steve is still cognizant he consents to Eddie helping him through the heat, suddenly grateful for the condom and birth control stipulation is suddenly very welcome.

It's only a light one that lasts a couple of days, but it's the best he's ever had. The first he's ever shared with an alpha. And he loved it.

He found out that in order to share Steve's heat, Eddie had to pay a lot of money for the privilege so he just bought Steve's contract as a whole. The one he made because he brought in so much money to the company.

They talk about bonding and sharing Steve real heat. The reason Eddie was so insistent on the contraception measures is that his scent had been known to break blockers in the past.

Which makes sense, some alphas just have that strong a scent. It's not a thing like an ultra-omega, but just something that could happen. The company tended to screen those types of alphas and made sure that the omega would be safely whisked away. It just never happened to Steve before.

Eddie courts Steve properly and they bond. And sure enough Eddie was right Steve gets pregnant, and suddenly Steve's parents are banging on the door demanding they be compensated for the fact that he's an ultra-omega and could have been sold for lots, lots more money then the company gave them.

But Steve tells them to fuck off and slams the door in their faces. And Steve and Eddie live happily ever after with their growing family.

First chapter of the full story here.

[maybefae]

Week Ahead: 10/28 - 11/03/2024

Pile 1 - Pile 2 - Pile 3

Although this has a date, I believe it can resonate whenever you come across it!

Remember, this is a general reading and it may not resonate for everyone or completely. Tarot is a tool to help guide but you are responsible for your actions and life, you choose your path.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: Knight of Wands, Seven of Wands, Nine of Pentacles, Ace of Cups, Queen of Wands (Bottom of the deck), (Two of Pentacles)

Oracle: Understanding, Strength, Celebration, Intuition, Pleasure, Acceptance (bottom of the deck)

While I was shuffling the deck, the two of pentacles was the card left on my desk that I didn’t pick up to shuffle again. And as I got your main cards out, I believe that it was there for a reason. You may have made, what you think, was a risky decision recently. It may have felt not safe to make this decision but you had a gut feeling that this is what you need to decide because it feels right, even if your logical mind thought otherwise. This decision could’ve happened years, months, weeks, days, before this reading. 

And after you made this decision, you spent the time after working extremely hard. 6 months just popped in my head, maybe there was a 6 month gestational period. There is also a feeling of making this decision to spite someone (parents?) that told you that it was wrong. But you are so passionate about this. It probably doesn’t feel like work because you love it so much. I also keep getting “pregnancy.” That won’t be for all of you but I know it is for someone. It could also symbolize the time you have worked on whatever passion you decided to go for.

This week I believe you are seeing the fruits of your labor! You’re seeing all your time and hard work paying off. There is a sense of abundance, this is the type of abundance you’ve always wished for. And these people that have tried to put doubt in your head could see the potential in you and tried to stop you out of jealousy. It may not be that they don’t want you to succeed, but they want the courage you have to go after their dreams and wishes like you have. And seeing it pay off may strike a nerve. You may have gone through a lot of emotional drama before this happens and it’s because the energy is shifting in your favor. 

For some of you, the passion you have lost for something could be reigniting. 

Newts are being shown to me. They usually symbolize adaptability, regeneration, renewal, and transformation. 

This week should be confirmation to you that your intuition works and that you can trust yourself! You know what you want and you have the strength to push yourself through to get it. Your dreams require work, strength, and determination (even if it’s just baby steps). They won’t just land in your lap. However! You probably didn’t feel like you were working at all and so it will feel like it dropped in your lap, which gives you a sense of relieve and gratification. Celebrate your win!

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: (The Tower), Ace of Wands (Seven of Wands), The Hanged Mand (The High Priestess), Seven of Swords (Nine of Swords), The Hierophant (Ace of Pentacles), The Star (Eight of Pentacles), Queen of Swords and Strength (both bottom of the deck)

Oracle: 

While I was shuffling, The Tower card peaked out and it was just the words of it. There could’ve been a situation that you had a feeling was coming or could see happening and it probably just showed itself. I was going to say that this feels very similar to pile 1, but I don’t think that’s the case.

While laying out your cards, I had to get clarifiers. There is a sense of looking at a situation from all sides or finally getting the other side of a story which triggers the happenings of this week. And I was also very set on organizing the cards, even getting the oracle cards out early. 

I want to warn you that the energies are warning you not to make any rash decisions just yet. (Even if you really want to.)

There is a situation that probably just happened. either in a friendship (group), relationship, or family. There is a feeling of something coming out of the woodwork and catching you a little off-guard. It also could’ve been something you have been suspecting all along and you finally got confirmation. Whatever it was, you might have ended up in a fight with this person or these people but you were left with the last word. You had to say your piece and put your foot down. Maybe you didn’t mean to but the emotions were so high that they slipped out and made decisions for you. (Whatever it is, I believe it caused a sense of panic because I’m feeling hot and getting the type of sweat that happens when panic/anxiety happens.)

You may be feeling down or were. There is a sense of betrayal and the feeling of being lied to. (Don’t call yourself stupid for not seeing it.) But I believe that this week could be the time where things are slowly turning around. It’s time to pick up your feet and head to the drawing board. 

I won’t call it a “revenge era” because that means that you are doing it for the other person. You are going to be making plans for your future. You deserve better and you know that the previous situation was getting you nowhere near what you want for your life. It could’ve been a situation where it was safe, but the latest issue was the last straw. The energies that be are giving you a boot in the ass. They are a little tired of you staying where you are, they know you’re tired of this situation, so they are pushing you in the direction you need to go.

You have big hopes and dreams to work towards! And whatever dreams that reoccur in your daily daydreams are meant for you to work towards. So take this week of silence and peace to plan the next few steps moving forward.

Pile 3

Oracle Cards: Transformation (Patience), Passion (Influence), Readiness (bottom of the deck)

Tarot Cards: Five of Pentacles, Soulmates, Nine of Swords, Queen of Swords (reversed), Ace of Cups and The Emperor (Bottom of the Deck)

This was the only pile I was called to pull oracles first. And the energies feel more melancholic and peaceful than the other two piles. Another note: I separated the oracle and tarot, like there is a noticeable presence of separation. And I am all over the place as I write this out because I keep bouncing from thought to thought and having to move sections around. 

I believe that, like everyone that has encountered the altering energies of October, has been forced to slow down. The transformation oracle kept looking at me while I was shuffling. And on this card is a bat. I love bats and they have followed me on my own journey through life. They are a symbol of journeying through darkness, movement even when there is no clear path. You could have been through something this month or recently that has left you in the void. Everything has been stripped away and almost feels like starting over. Here’s the kicker, the energies that be are trying to guide you but you’re too in your head to notice. 

You are in the process of transforming, most likely in every way, but you aren’t giving yourself the patience to let it happen. It’s not going to happen right away. Slow down! Breathe…You are missing out on everything around you. And by missing out on the present, you may be missing the clear path laid out. In video games, players have a path but they don’t usually just keep on the trail. There’s side quests, time where players spend doing the mundane, nothing at all… And I believe that you need time spent just enjoying the day to day. The peace you have been given. Life isn’t peaceful all the time and you want to skip over the chance to have it right now? 

I almost feel like I’m comforting someone that has been crying to any divinity and asking what to do. I see you crying at me… Love, you’re okay. You don’t need to know right now. You have been given the time to just be. Sit and be. The energies that be aren’t your enemy and haven’t left you. They are like the ultimate parent and have been holding your hand the entire time. The times they are silent are the times where you get to think and figure things out yourself. Take this time to feel the emotions, rest…When the time comes to move, you know you can figure it out. You have guided yourself this far and you can guide yourself on the journey ahead. But for now, enjoy the peace.

Decks Used: Ethereal Visions Illuminated Tarot Deck by Matt Hughes, White Numen Tarot: A Sacred Animal Tarot Deck by AlbaBG, Cosma Visions Oracle by James R. Eads, Flowers of the Night Oracle by Cheralyn Darcey

Dividers: @inklore

[yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy]

It’s been discussed before yes yes yes but the fact that in Trespasser Solas declines your Lavellan from joining him because he doesn’t her want to see what he will become.

a) All Lavellan knows is the moral, ethical, and principled Solas, the Solas who acts defensively and practically. Solas has and will act/order others to act in such a way that would break many Geneva conventions if it means succeeding, and he doesn’t want to test Lavellan’s love for him by making her bear witness to that, to choose him when she has no idea the true cost of what she is demanding, not only of herself, but of the world that will be ravaged by all of the terrorism and political maneuverings meant to destabilize and destroy the only world she has ever known. There is nothing more heart-breaking than someone you love forsaking you, to reach that limit one has for another. But equally so, Solas does not want to be in the position where he may be left with the choice between choosing Lavellan or his mission. What he will become may just be a man that would sacrifice her for his plans. He will not let her potentially put her heart on the line like that.

b) He doesn’t want to make her a monster that participates or allows such things, because part of the reason he fell in love with her was because of her goodness. It wouldn’t be difficult to groom her into evil if love was added to the mix. Love can compel you to do terrible things for the sake of a loved one, and Solas does not want to take advantage of her in that way, does not even want to have that temptation or that possibility involved. He is distancing himself to avoid accidentally corrupting the nature of what he believes to be a good, pure spirit. Evil inevitably poisons goodness. The Evil he wields is utilitarian and remorseful and necessary but evil all the same because it will do harm to thousands via the removal of the Veil. The man is planning what is potential omnicide. You cannot participate in that and not have something about you change irrevocably to allow it to happen. Solas, again, thinks of Lavellan as a good spirit. He wants to keep as many “good-spirited people�� (kind, good people) intact as possible before he executes his plan. Why, I do not know, but I suppose because he believes that possessing a good spirit means your life will be happier. To be good is to exist well, and as Solas explains, to be good of heart means you will attract good spirits in the Fade and thus your experience in the Fade will be more pleasant, so by this logic he believes that, ideally (strictly ideally, he knows how much reality does not reflect ideals), goodness begets goodness begets peace.

Solas needs to be a monster because truly effective warfare is conducted when principles and ethics are thrown out the window. He does not want Lavellan to witness that and be confirmed in how much of a monster he was, is, and is willing to be. He wants her to remember him as a civilian, as Solas the humble apostate, not Fen’Harel the shadowed and conniving guerrilla war general. Selfishly, he wants her to only love a part of him, the best parts of him, because he is afraid of the whole of him being rejected, because who he is in totality is so storied and convoluted and repugnant that it would require the most extreme cognitive dissonance to be able to love him, and if there is anything Solas hates, it’s people who ignore reality in favor of their own self-serving fantasies. Lavellan would be right to disavow him, and by the same token it would be so terribly selfish of them both if she forgave him of his crimes and he accepted that forgiveness, because his sins cannot be absolved with a single individual’s love. That is the tragedy of their love, because love cannot overcome all that has happened. It cannot redeem or wipe away what he has done, not unless he kills a significant part of who he is, the Ancient Elf, the Rebel, the Failure, the Veil Maker, the Doomer of the World.

[firstfullmoon]

SOLMAZ SHARIF: I was recently reminded of a story of a political prisoner—I don’t know if I want to share this. . . This political prisoner, who had been convicted and was facing the death penalty, was in a large cell with about twenty other political prisoners. Periodically, the guards would come and call one of their names and take that person out to be executed. When this political prisoner’s name was called, the prisoner stood up and started singing “The Internationale.” The whole cell sang along, and that was their farewell. But when the prisoner went into the hallway, the guards told them that they weren’t going to the gallows. They were being transferred to a different prison. The guards took them to the latrine, and while the prisoner was in there, they realized they wouldn’t have wanted “The Internationale” to be their last song, and started reciting a poem by, I believe, Hafez from memory.

For me, the why of poetry has become the reason revolution must happen to begin with. It’s no longer the conditions that make revolution inevitable, but what’s waiting for us on the other side of it. That required me to be more vulnerable—removing the conceptual frame was an act of that allowed vulnerability. . .

ALINA STEFANESCU: That reminds me of how my parents made me memorize poetry. They said: If you find yourself in prison, if you lose your home, family, livelihood, everything, the poems you remember will keep you whole. At the end of the day, alone in a cell, no one can steal the stanzas you remembered. The recitation itself is a radical act of refusal. Maybe poems sustain the hope and selfhood that carceral systems aim to extinguish.

SOLMAZ SHARIF: I love that. I was reminded of poetry’s capacities at the beginning of the pandemic. When lockdown started, some of my artist friends who work in other mediums suddenly couldn’t do any work. I remembered, for readers a poem is something you can carry with you anywhere, and for poets, writing a poem is an action that you can undertake anywhere. You don’t need physical materials. I hadn’t decided to turn my attention toward those qualities, however; I was forced to. My idea of poetry is tied inextricably to my early understanding of carcerality and war—both of which evaporate all that seems solid. And poetry seems especially able to survive these things. I bristle at the word hope, but the poem’s scrappy thereness is enough for me. In an interview late in his life, Mahmoud Darwish says, “poetry changes only the poet.” Some people understand that statement as pessimistic or cynical or jaded. Or maybe see it in line with Auden’s choppily quoted “poetry makes nothing happen”—a quote betrayed in the two words that follow: “it survives.” Auden is often quoted to fall neatly into that neoliberal ethical bypass of so much American literature. But I see the Darwish quote as honoring that even when a poem can’t be anything else, that it will be enough. I’m surprised by this turn in my own work, but the lived practice of poetry in my life made it inevitable.

— Solmaz Sharif and Alina Stefanescu, in conversation for BOMB Magazine

[dalishious]

Reclaiming Independence of the Dales

Before anything else, I’d just like to clarify that that vast majority of this is made of my own ideas, based on interpretation from the little canonical information provided, and a little inspired by my own people’s history and governing structure. Additionally, what I am presenting here is an ideal situation, not necessarily what I think is an immediately realistic outcome in the world-state established. So, please keep that in mind.

The Dales were established as a homeland for elves—a small piece of a continent that was once called their home in its entirety, before the humans colonized it—by Maferath in -165 Ancient. This was in reward for the eleven people’s participation in the fight against Ancient Tevinter. But in 2:10 Glory, Divine Renata I broke this treaty and declared an Exalted March against the Dales, ending in its annexation by Orlais.

[Related Post: All You Need to Know about the Exalted March of the Dales]

If Solas has very low approval with Inquisitor Lavellan, and Lavellan accuses him of not doing enough to help their people, he will say the following: “You could order Halamshiral returned to the Dalish, if you wished. But ultimately, you know that would fail. That even you cannot solve this.” I hate this with a burning passion. The reason I can’t do that, Solas, is because it’s not an option in the game! Why are you as a character angry at me, the player, for not doing something that is not an option for me to do? Why was this written? Just to push the point that it’s not worth it to try and fight back against oppression? Because if I refuse to accept hopelessness in real life, why would I in accept it in a video game where the story is made-up, and therefore anything is possible if the developers so wish it.

Regardless, according to Solas, the Inquisition has enough power to support the reclamation of an independent Dales. I imagine this would require a lot of political maneuvering within the Orlesian governance, and therefore I think the best opportunity to do this would be with Briala ruling through Gaspard. This would then later open the door for Briala to be the leader of the newly independent Dales, too. I would like to see Briala as ruler of the Dales not just because she is a favourite of mine, but because I genuinely believe she is the best established character fit for the job. She was trained in everything Celene was trained in, has first-hand experience in court, has extensive connections, and has demonstrated her ability and desire to utilize these skills and assets for the benefit of elven kind.

Briala’s blackmail on Gaspard may help prevent Orlais from invading again while under his rule, but to last longer, the Dales would need to establish itself as a strong, independent Nation with allies. This is why I believe it would also be important to have Leliana as Divine Victoria in such a world-state where this could happen. Leliana re-canonizes the Canticle of Shartan, and in making it available for the common person to understand, would ideally help sway the minds of the average Andrastian into supporting the Dales’s independence. The nobility would of course be much trickier, because they and the Chantry are the ones who actually benefitted from its annexation—but there is little they would be able to actually accomplish if they did not have the power of the people behind them.

As far as allies go, Ferelden could only gain from Orlais losing control of the Dales, because it would mean cutting Orlais off from a lot of Ferelden’s border, therefore reducing the threat of another invasion. Additionally, a leader with just plain good morals like say, Alistair, would easily accept the elven kingdom’s return. But even Anora is willing to grant part of the Korcari Wilds to the Dalish if Mahariel requests it, and while this sadly doesn’t last, it does show a positive sign into her potentially being open to the idea of an independent Dales as well.

I sincerely doubt that all Dalish clans would return to the Dales and re-settle down. After all, they have developed differentiating cultures over the years of wandering in separated groups, with different ideals and different ways of life that they might not want to give up. But many would return, and that would likely create conflict between the elves coming from the Dalish clans and the elves coming from the cities. We know that some prejudice exists against “flat-ears” as some Dalish call those from the city, and we know that city elves have adopted a lot of misinformation from humans into their views of the Dalish. It would take time and positive leadership to reconnect the people, without risking falling into some sort of hierarchy based on origin. This is why I do not believe one group or the other should single-handedly rule alone. Rather, I think there should be a Grand Council of High Keepers made up of those voted into the position each to represent a single district of the Dales. (I like the idea of there being seven High Keepers, not just because there are seven traditional districts of Mi’kma’ki, but because it works out that there seven of the Creators. So it makes sense that there would be seven High Keepers.) The Grand Council would meet and make decisions together, with one appointed leader at the head to act as the Council’s chair.

In terms of protection and order, the Emerald Knights should be reformed. This would include the Fade Hunters, to protect the people against demons and maleficarum, with there being no Circles or Templars.

Restoring the independence of the Dales would lead to a revival of elven culture in ways that could never happen before, because they would actually be free to pursue re-learning the language, re-discovering the history and culture, and sharing it all amongst each other. They would not have to fear arrest the crime of simply being an elf.  

But what of the other races presently living in the Dales? I see no reason why they would have to leave, so long as they would be willing to follow the Grand Council’s leadership. I imagine many nobility would flee to Orlais, simply because they would not stand for it. But for the average human or surface dwarf, their life wouldn’t really even change much; they’d still be managing their farms the same as always. Hell, it might even improve things for them, assuming the Grand Council gives fairer treatment than the nobility previously.

[letters-to-lgbt-kids]

My dear lgbt+ kids, 

Did you know the practice of meditation can have side effects? Some people experience adverse reactions to meditation, such as heightened anxiety or depression or even delusions and hallucinations. 

What does that have to do with being lgbt? Well, nothing - but meditation is often seen as one of those “healthy things everyone should do”, something that just has so many benefits and doesn’t require you to take anything or undergo any kind of surgery, something that it’s widely recommended and accepted as healing… and even THAT super great thing has some people who will regret doing it. 

Not a perfect comparison, nothing ever is, but you see the analogy coming: Transition (social or hormonal or surgical) is super beneficial to many people. And there are also some people who will regret it. 

Any kind of health decision - and really any decision at all - can end with you regretting it. That’s a part of life. 

“Protecting people from making a decision they might regret” sounds like such a noble goal. We want to live in a world where people can make informed decisions. Education, including on risks and side effects, is something to strive for. But it’s important to remember that we can not live in a world where nobody ever regrets anything. 

People can regret getting their ears pierced. People can regret buying a car. People can regret going to university. People can regret having sex with someone. People can regret marriage. People can regret moving to a different state. People can regret coming out as gay. People can regret hip replacement surgery. And yes, people can also regret transitioning. 

If we seriously wanted to protect people from ever regretting anything, we would need to just take any deciding power away  (and then who would we give it to? Whoever makes our decisions for us then, they could also make a decision they end up regretting!). 

Another reason why this analogy works: I told you meditation has side effects and people regret it - but I pretty conveniently left out that it’s pretty rare for that to happen. Meditation is generally very safe and has a really low regret rate. Plus, people who regret it may not regret that they choose to meditate all together but rather report that they regret a specific experience (such as choosing silent meditation over guided meditation or going on a meditation retreat that lasted multiple days). 

Similar to that, transition also has a low regret rate (statistically much lower than tattoos or hip replacement surgery for example!) - and people who regret it may not actually be a case of “I regret it because I realized I’m not transgender”, even if that’s what transphobes tell you. Some people still identify as transgender but regret their surgery because they experienced complications (as they can arise from any kind of medical procedure). Some people regret it because they lost friends or family or job opportunities after coming out. And so on. 

The topic of regret is much more complicated than “meditation is actually bad” or “they woke up one day and realized they were brainwashed into believing they were trans”. And it’s unfair to not only the ones who will never regret it but also to the ones who do regret it to reduce their stories to a cautionary tale meant to stop people from making a decision over their own body.

“We need to protect people from making decisions they might regret” just isn’t a good argument. 

With all my love, 

Your Tumblr Dad 

[mal3vol3nt]

the reason people get mad and upset over aang not killing ozai is because they can’t or are unwilling to understand what it really meant for him to be the last airbender

a lot of people don’t truly acknowledge what aang went through when they talk about him. it was a genocide. an ethnic cleansing. a GENOCIDE. and i think that’s because so many people are just incapable or unwilling to wrap their heads around how tragic and isolating and unchangeable something like that is.

i’ve seen countless people say they wish aang had found other airbenders hiding away somewhere. and while i totally get wanting that to happen for the happiness of the character (hell, even i have thought about how heart wrenching that utter relief would feel for him), i’ve also seen those takes associated with people saying they just find it hard to believe that none of the airbenders survived. that none of them were able to escape.

and that’s the thing that annoys me because genocide is a real fucking thing that has happened and IS currently happening in the world (just look at palestine, congo, sudan). it shouldn’t be so hard for people to suspend their belief into thinking it could happen in a fictional piece of media. this disbelief that a genocide can be real results in people being unable to fully sympathize with a character who is stated several times to be the definite, unchangeable sole survivor of his people’s genocide. and i’m not saying it’s wrong to want there to be airbenders who lived, but in canon it’s clear that none of them did. and the ones who did canonically escape were hunted and lured by the fire nation to their demise. and if we’re going to discuss characters and the intents behind their actions, aang’s character development is heavily, heavily heavily guided by his guilt and grief over his lost culture and people. but a lot of people still can’t wrap their heads around the canonical genocide he survived, meaning they can’t fully comprehend why aang would choose peace over a violent end. and considering atla is a western show with a largely western audience, its even more evident that this gap in people’s ability to understand and sympathize with aang is emphasized by their western intrigue toward violence. people don’t just misunderstand aang’s dilemma—they wanted him to kill ozai because seeing him do that would have been cool and interesting and satisfying.

but aang’s decision to spare ozai’s life was made due to his status as the last airbender. prior to meeting the lion turtle, i think it’s safe to say that he had resigned to what he had to do. that is to say, he was likely going to kill ozai despite the pain that was going to cause him. he was going to give up a part of himself, his humanity and the last remainings of his culture, to be the avatar the world needed. but he was then gifted the ability to energy bend, offering him, but not cementing, another option. aang still had the choice, and we saw in the fight that aang was so very close to killing ozai even with this new ability. but he couldn’t. because although killing ozai would have been a pretty justifiable thing to do, it would have fully finished off the air nomads. aang was the only living human who held onto their beliefs. if he were to push those values aside to end the war, the war would have ended the same way it started: with the death of the air nomads. and it may sound “cheesy” or overly dramatic or whatever to some people, but aang’s entire story arc has, arguably, been him trying to fit in a world that seemingly has no more room for the air nomads. not only is he 100 years in the future, but this future has none of his people around and war is everywhere. violence is basically required to survive. death is everywhere. greed has corrupted nations. everything the air nomads stood against made up this world, and aang, as the avatar, had no choice but to save it. for him to have given in to what everyone expected of him—violence—he would have ultimately eliminated air nomad values from the world. and the world would have not cared. aang’s victory would have been celebrated, but aang would have felt even more grief than before. he would have let himself and his people down. and balance would have never been achieved because the air nomads mattered. they were part of what kept the world going round. no matter how much the current world he was fighting for called for violence and death to achieve an end, the air nomads still had a voice through aang. they were still around because of aang. aang’s existence and dedication and love for his culture kept the genocide from being official.

and in my opinion, air nomadic values coming out victorious in a war that nearly wiped them clean (except for aang) is much more of a meaningful and satisfying ending than violence ending with violence.

and if you wanna call aang’s decision selfish, then fine. but i personally think it’s more selfish to expect a survivor of genocide to keep giving and giving and giving for a war that took his people from him until he has nothing left of himself to give. i think that is far more selfish. aang may be the avatar but he is also human. just as much human as his people were, and the leaders he was fighting against, and the millions of people he ended up saving, and just as deserving of having some sort of agency in the decisions he makes. call me crazy ig