#the themes aren’t super clear and sometimes it doesn’t feel like it’s going anywhere

[nick-close]

My really controversial opinion is that s2 of dndads is not good but it IS enjoyable.

[rfxiii]

Being in a relationship with the North Yankton Trio-

(TW: for angst, drug use, suggestive themes, alcohol mention, canon typical Trevor grossness)

Michael Townley:

Will be gone for weeks, maybe even a month at a time. And when he comes back he won’t want to talk about what he’s done while he was away. He just wants to hold you and lay on the couch or in bed for the first few hours after he gets home.

It will be impossible to get him out of bed early- Michael loves sleeping in, so don’t expect to go anywhere before around 8:30am. While he doesn’t get much sleep, he doesn’t like waking up early.

Speaking of sleeping, Michael has terrible nightmares. In the North Yankton era, his nightmares aren’t as bad as when he moves to Los Santos, but they’re still bad. Be careful trying to wake him up at night, or trying to jostle him awake from his nightmares- he’d never intentionally hurt you, but he wakes up violently.

Movie dates are a must- you don’t even have to go out to the cinema or anything, he’s just happy with microwave popcorn and a VHS.

Has bad bouts of depression. Some days he’ll lay in bed all day- he won’t shower or eat. And other times, he’ll drag himself out of bed, but something simple like a misplaced shoe or dropping a plate will have him snapping. He drinks a lot more during these times and may even slip into old habits of drug use that he’d tried to leave behind after you guys got together.

Likes going on drives. Sometimes, when the night is slow and you’re both just sitting on the couch, he’ll ask you to go for a ride with him. You can drive for hours sometimes with nothing but his hand on your thigh and soft, classic rock playing through the speakers.

Car sex. Pulling over in a field or off some unused dirt road and messing around- the headlights off and the radio up as you ride him in the backseat.

He’ll bring you home flowers after he’s gone for a while or after he’s had a bad bout of drinking. It’s almost impossible to get him to verbally apologize, but gifts and softer words are his best attempts at showing he does feel bad.

Because of the previous cocaine usage and his current drinking addiction, it’s incredibly difficult for him to get hard. That being said, when he’s not using Mollis or something similar to help him get it up, he’s still extremely generous with his hands and mouth. Not a big fan of toys though as he gets almost jealous and feels like you’d try to replace him with them when his fingers and tongue can do just as well.

All in all, dating Michael is full of ups and downs, but he genuinely tries his best to be a good man and a good partner, despite his flaws.

Trevor Philips:

The sex! Oh my god, the sex! He’s relentless. You don't see each other for weeks or months at a time, so when he gets home you’d better clear any plans you have for at least a week.

Toys, ropes, handcuffs, restraints, knives and guns (unloaded), exhibitionism, and any other thing you can think of (no matter how fucked up)- he’s down.

His mommy kink- it is what it is. You love it or you hate it, but it’s a part of him and there’s nothing you can do to change it, so get ready.

Loves being cuddled. No matter where you’re at- on the couch, in bed, standing in line at the grocery store, he’s gonna come up to you and want you to hold him. He’s super clingy. But with his almost debilitating abandonment issues, it’s understandable.

Getting him to shower is an Olympic event. He stinks like 80% of the time, and his hair is greasy, and clothes go unwashed until you can wrestle them away and clean them yourself. But when you can manage to wash him, he loves taking showers together (shower sex), and likes letting you (just you) touch his mullet and brush it out.

He’s a drug addict, you had to have known it before you settled into a long term relationship. That being said, you have to deal with all of it- his breakdowns that leave him sobbing and snot nosed, his angry explosions where he screams, calls you names, and throws things, or worst of all, when you find him passed out and unsure if he’s OD’ing or dead. It’s painful and turbulent, and you have to constantly remind yourself that you love him and that’s why you stay.

He drools in his sleep, and snores too. He can fall asleep practically anywhere, and when he finally does crash after days of being up, he’s out for hours and hours.

He will occasionally get so high and drunk that he’ll accidentally wet himself or vomit in his sleep. Most of the time he’s on the floor, but sometimes he’ll make it to bed and you’ll have to strip the sheet, and occasionally his clothes, while he’s still asleep because he won’t wake up for anything when he’s that far gone. It’s genuinely almost sad that this happens, and even more worrying.

It’s not all bad though. He’s a lot of fun when he’s not super messed up. He loves taking you out to bars, getting drunk, and dancing/singing together, or going out and climbing up buildings to sit on roofs and watch the stars. Sometimes he likes to park his car out by the local airport and point out different aircrafts to you as they take off.

His mother.. Holy shit. She’ll show up once every few months to a year, after she’s been released from her latest prison stint, or when she needs something. She treats him like scum, and he’s always in tears, having a full breakdown by the time she leaves. But god forbid you say anything bad about her, it would only start an argument. So, the most you can do is hold him and tell him how much you love him and how you promise not to leave.

He’ll get bursts of utter, playful energy at random. He could be laying on the couch while you do dishes, and suddenly, something inside him will compel him to sprint across the room, pick you up, and spin you around. It’s insanely cute.

In the end, dating Trevor is a chaotic roller coaster. But frankly, you probably knew that before getting with him. It takes a special kind of person to keep up with him and keep their head around him, but if you can do it there will definitely be rewarding moments that will make it all worthwhile.

Brad Snider:

Behind Trevor, he’s the clingiest person. Always holding your hand, has his arms wrapped around you from behind, wraps you up in his jacket with him. He’s stuck to you like glue.

Loves to tell you everything he did while he was off pulling a score- even the violent, bloody, messed up stuff. He doesn’t really have a verbal filter, and gets surprised when you're shocked by his stories. If you don’t wanna hear about it, you have to clearly express this beforehand.

Loves getting his hair pet. It stays pretty tangled since he pulls it up in a bun or ponytail immediately after he showers in the morning. But he doesn’t complain when you brush out the knots and run your fingers through it.

Likes when you wear his clothes. They’ll probably all be big on you- but when you wear his jacket, or his necklace, or one of his baggy hoodies, he’s incredibly happy. It’s like it really means you're his.

Soft, slow sex. You in his lap so he can look in your eyes and touch every part of you. He’s clingy, after all. He loves having his hands on you always.

Will sometimes disappear with Trevor for extended amounts of time. His drug habits aren’t nearly as bad as Trevor’s- but after being gone for a few days, he’ll stumble in late at night, strung out on meth or barely able to stand up from the heroin. If you look disappointed or yell at him, he will cry. And he’ll spend the next few days of his comedown begging for you to be close and hold him.

Cries when he gets too drunk. Either about sad shit, about how much he misses you when he’s gone, or because he’s so happy he’s with you and he can’t believe you love him.

When he gets mad and you fight, he forgets to control his mouth. He’d never hit you or try to physically hurt you in any way, but his words are sharper than anything. He can be cruel, and he won’t realize it until you start crying or lock yourself in your room. And he won’t apologize immediately- it takes him hours sometimes to calm down. But once he does, he’ll sit outside the closed bedroom with his back against the door, talking to you through the barrier and apologizing for every hateful word he said. He’ll say it won’t ever happen again, but you know it’s a lie.

Loves holding your hand, or when you sit on his lap, or let him carry you around. He’s tall, and he’s big, and he’s strong- he knows all that, and loves carrying you around, because despite what you weigh, it will still be effortless for him to pick you up.

Doesn’t understand why you worry for him so much when he leaves. He almost takes offense to it- like you don’t think he’s a good enough stick up artist. He just can’t wrap his brain around the fact that it has nothing to do with his skills, and more to do with the fact that he could be shot and killed everytime he goes to pull a score.

Out of the North Yankton Trio, Brad is probably the most “normal” one to be with. He’s calmer than Trevor and not as depressed and pent up as Michael. But he lacks a lot of emotional maturity, and can be cold and callous when he perceives that you’re wrong or that you don't believe he’s “as good as” M and T. But he can be sweet more often than not, and he truly does love you despite the fact that he’s a bit narcissistic and self absorbed.

[cognitosclowns]

HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!! Any The Gang x reader valentines stuff?

YEAYEAYEA OFC I CAN!! HAPPY VALENTINE’S!!!!!

ALL SFW!! (brief existential/immortality stuff w/ Myc!!)

EEEHEHEHEHE <3333

BRETT

YOU KNOW HE GOES ALL OUT <3333333 COME ONNNN

He just <333 he gives me the vibe of smb who goes absolutely batshit for every holiday, AND he's such a naturally loving guy??? dear god valentines day is gonna be so cute??

 its a lot more like valentines week

BECAUSE,,,, he always gets a lot of ideas of stuff he wants to do, and he can never choose because they're all so good, so he ends up doing all of em??

<33333 he always wakes you up w/ breakfast anyways, but during the valentines season its SPECIFICALLY super cute breakfasts?? Like,, pancakes in the shape of hearts? eggs in the shape of lips? Scones and raspberry butter with lil heart sprinkles in it???? OUGHE its so cute

he has a tradition of giving,, multi-part gifts that all have a theme for the final gift? ( ex: all apple-themed things, the final gift is running around an apple orchard)

<33333 he tries to be subtle but usually you end up figuring it out smndsmd. even if you do, you aren’t gonna say anything bc <3333 he’s having so much fun smdnsd

REAGAN

tbh she struggles with gift giving? she feels like she isnt supposed to give you a gift unless,, its a special occasion? and what kind of gift is TOO much for a

VALENTINES IS KINDA HER NO-HOLDS-BARRED KINDA HOLIDAY <3 where she doesn’t need to worry about making something TOO sappy or too big

OKAY BUT SHE ABSOLUTELY WRITES DOWN EVERY LITTLE THING YOU’VE EVER MENTIONED YOU’VE WANTED 

LIKE <333 just this giant folder w/ photos and memos and half-legible scribbles?? <333 its her own little way of easing her mind when it comes to thinking of smth nice to get you!!

SO OFC,,, SHE ENDS UP STRUGGLING TO CHOOSE JUST ONE. 

<33 this means you usually end up getting,,, Care Boxes?? Absolutely jam packed w/ stuff because she kept thinking it wasn’t enough <3

OH <333 her ideal date is a nap. genuinely if you just surprise her w/ ‘oh i cleared your schedule, wanna cozy up on the couch and slip into a coma?’ she will <3333333333333333333

GIGI

<3333 OH expect to be positively hounded with notes <333

SHE HIDES EM EVERYWHERE DURING THE 13TH FOR YOU TO DESCOVER ON YOUR OWN!!!! little compliments, things she loves about you, lovey-dovey little thoughts shes had about you <3

You absolutely won't find all of them on valentines day, so <333 sometimes you'll get little surprises during the weeks after. It's extremely cute

OH <333 you'd expect something super big and fancy but she much prefers <3333 smth small and personal. It's easy to do smth super big and bright but,, <333 she likes to take the time to set up smth cute

IDEALLY??? A little weekend getaway to her cottage up north <333 its a little chilly but you two aren't going anywhere!!!

It's really nice <33 it reminds her of a simpler time where she didn't have quite so much to worry about smnsd. Sometimes she kinda misses having a normal life <3

JUST <333 all cozied up by the fireplace, giggling about nothing in particular and sipping cocoa <3333 oughghe <3333

GLENN

HE,,,, probably doesn’t really celebrate valentines? i have the feeling that he sees himself as,, ‘Too Mature’ for it, etc, etc. Valentines was never really a thing his parents did growing up, its not smth him and his ex-wife did?

THIS MEANS THAT IF YOU DO SMTH SPECIAL FOR HIM IT WILL THROW HIM FOR AN ABSOLUTE LOOP <333

doesn’t even need to be smth big <333 a simple dinner-date and some new cufflinks and he’s gonna be putty in your hands <3333

OH AND,, if you bring him flowers he’ll 10000% gonna huff about how its such a Girly Gift, etc... but there’s also no way in hell he’s gonna throw em out. 

he might even snip them when they start wilting, and leave them by his windowsill so they can dry out and preserve <333 for all his hemming and hawing, he really does appreciate the gesture <333 oughghgeouehe

ANDRE

he isn’t really the type for Grant gestures? He likes little stuff <333 just,, stuff he knows you like. Making your favorite dinner, or a few cases of your favorite drink - some little stuff to show he cares, and make the day a bit more special!!

THIS GUY USED TO WRITE POETRY BABYYYYYYYYYYY <333333

oH he is wayyyyy too nervous to read it out loud or,, even be in the room while you read it but <333 expect a little letter on your bedside while he’s in the shower.

PLEASE <33 PLEASE TELL HIM HOW MUCH YOU LOVED IT. HE’LL GET SO ROSY. YOU’LL GET SUCH A BRIGHT SMILE OUTTA HIM.

OH <3333 and what y’all do with your day is entirely dependent on you!!!

Because yeah ofc you two could go to a Rave or,, some assorted wacky shenanigans and he’d love that BUT <33 IF YOU’D RATHER STAY IN W/ TAKEOUT AND CHEESY MOVIES THEN HE’D ALSO LOVE THAT?? He’s extremely pliable 

<3 tbh as long as he’s with you he doesn’t really care!!

MYC

‘you wouldn’t have anything to do with the wad of cash that mysteriously appeared on my desk this morning?’

‘How dare you imply I care about you ;)’

‘mhm <3′

YEAH HE <333 isn’t really the sort for mushy gifts - he’s much more practical? Also his,, concept of time is kinda skewed? He’s been around for so long!! He knows that most gifts get tossed or eventually lose their use, and he doesn’t see the point of getting you smth Sappy Just Because It’s Expected?

like sure he COULD get you some super expensive glitzy necklace but,,,,,,

MONEY THOUGH??? Nah that shits always gonna be useful and appreciated!!

(ALSO ALL OF THIS MEANS,, the rare GIFT gifts he gets you are,, surprisingly thoughtful?? Its stuff you’re gonna love for a really long time. It always feels super out of nowhere but <333 you never say that bc its such a lovely, unexpected surprise <33 oughghoughoughge)

JR

OH <333 YOU KNOW THIS LITTLE RICH BOY IS GONNA GO ALL OUT. Nobody is pulling him away from you <3

there’s maybe,, 3 times a year where his phone is gonna be completely off <3 AND THIS IS ONE OF EM SO HE REALLY LOOKS FORWARD TO IT <333

you always insist that,, he should keep his phone on him in case smth goes wrong but NOPE HE RARELY HAS AN EXCUSE TO BE UNPLUGGED FROM THE CHAOS OF COGNITO AND GOD DAMMIT HE’S GONNA TAKE ANY CHANCE HE CAN <333

<333 yea he’s bringing you to a fancy restaurant, we all knew that, but afterwards? The sky’s the limit.

helicopter rides are his personal favorite, because Virginia looks beautiful from up so high, but if you’re not a fan of heights then its BOAT TIME <333

YEA YOU HEARD ME RIGHT, HE HAS A DINKY LITTLE BOAT <333

‘‘‘‘dinky’’‘‘‘ its still big but not quite,, Mega Yacht levels of big?? A small staff for the kitchen + to make sure it doesn’t steer into any rocks. Something a bit more subtle and special - he rarely takes it out except for the two of you <3

SNIFFLES LOUDLY <333 having dinner near a balcony area under the light of the moon <333 the soft sound of the ocean <333 ougghhgoughe

it’s extremely sappy and he wouldn’t have it any other way. It’s exactly what you deserve <3

A.B

OH he absolutely hates valentines day. He sees it as ‘dull human nonsense’, etc, etc and will tell you as much.

HOWEVER,,

‘you didn’t get me anything then?’

‘what? of course I did. do you think so little of me? ;)’

yeah he’s a hypocrite but honestly what’d you expect <333 cause sure, Valentines Day is mostly just another opportunity for companies to make money BUT <3 that doesn’t mean he can’t use it as an excuse

besides, he’s a hopeless romantic at heart <3 and yeah, the heart-shaped candies are kinda cute. Sue him.

OH <333 he enlists Gigi’s help in actually,, setting stuff up, since he’s currently in Tube Jail and unable to buy stuff for you </3 they make the basement area all cozy w/ a bunch of pillows and blankets so you can sleep down there <3 ouguughgoughhee

ALSO,, HE STAYS ON EXTRA GOOD BEHAVIOR TO TRY AND CONVINCE REAGAN TO GIVE HIM THE RESOURCES TO MAKE YOU SMTH NICE. 

It’s a 20/80 on whether or not it works.

IF IT DOES??? <333 a little bracelet/ring made using some of his metal, probably engraved w/ your initials? <33333

some part of him distantly hates that he can’t,,,,,, take you anywhere. or hand you the gift himself. or give you a kiss. >:(

BUT ALSO <333 he can appreciate just having you near him <333 for now that will be enough

SORRY THIS GOT KINDA LONG BUT I WANTED TO GIVE EVERYONE SOME ATTENTION <3333 HAPPY VALENTINES, LOVE YOU ALL BUNCHES

[purplesurveys]

1127

1. What is one thing you will never do again? Watch The Hours. Film itself is great, but is way too triggering.

2. Would you rather be twice as smart or twice as happy? I’d take happiness easily. It’s not bad for the most part to make mistakes and I’d rather be too clumsy than be altogether miserable.

3. What happened the last time you cried? It was the day of what would’ve been our anniversary and at that moment I was alone in my car at a parking lot (waiting for the office to open) on a gloomy day. I just had to cry and let my feelings out for like 5 minutes to accept everything but I was immediately fine afterwards, haha. Grief can be funny.

4. What happened the time in your life when you were the most nervous to do something? My first job interview. It was my first adult thing ever. They never got back to me - very professional of them - but I was still grateful for the experience nonetheless.

5. What would your parents be surprised to learn about you? That I was in a whole ass relationship for technically 6 1/2 years. They probably have an inkling by now, but only about me being in a relationship. I’m sure they would be very surprised if they ever found out how long it had actually gone for.

6. What’s your worst habit? I pick at my toenails when I’m nervous or stressed. I tend to do this when I’m doing a work task that I particularly dread, and sometimes I’ll end up being fixated on the habit for like 10 minutes straight and not get anything done.

7. What superpower would you have for one day? Time travel, just to take quick trips to multiple decades and see how life was like during those times.

8. What fictional character do you have the biggest crush on? Matty from 13 Going on 30 would be one of them. Albert Finney’s character in Two for the Road is also charming as fuck.

9. Where would you live if you could live anywhere in the world? If money wasn’t an issue, probably somewhere cozy in like Switzerland or Canada.

10. What is your most bizarre pet peeve? Not necessarily a pet peeve but I get extremely uncomfortable when someone hands me a gift then they insult the gift while in front of me, saying it’s not a great gift or that I probably don’t need it, etc. Filipinos also have this habit of saying something along the lines of, “You earn way more than me so you’d probably think this gift sucks” like how do you want me to react :(((((( I love receiving gifts and the idea of being thought about already means a lot to me, so it just makes me wince a little bit when I hear statements like the above.

11. Who knows you the best? Gabie, probably. I’ve changed a lot since then, though.

12. What after school activities did you do in high school? Clubs were mandatory extracurricular activities in my high school; in my time, I joined the table tennis and yearbook clubs.

13. What “most likely to” superlative would you be most honored to receive? Idk, we didn’t have those in school. I probably would have been honored to get a journalism-themed one though; something like Most Likely To Write for NYT or Most Likely to Win a Pulitzer or something like that. Obviously that’s changed now and I’ve long let go of journalism as a passion.

14. What’s the last book you really loved? I haven’t read in a long, long while.

15. What was the greatest television show of all time? I don’t watch a lot of TV so I’m not the most credible decision-making body for this lol, but out of all the shows I’ve watched the best one would easily be Breaking Bad.

16. What’s been your favorite age so far? 16. Life was insanely easygoing back then and everything fell into place for me at the time.

17. If you could go back in time, what is one piece of advice you would give your younger self? Know when it’s enough. Be kind to yourself.

18. What one thing would you be most disappointed if you never got to experience it? Have kids.

19. Apologize or ask permission? I don’t understand the relationship between the two.

20. Unlimited love or money? I would love to never have to worry about finances ever again.

21. If you knew you would die in one week, what would you do? Take a week-long leave for work, spend all my money, bond with my dogs, throw a party for my closest friends, and honestly, make my peace with her.

22. What’s your most listened to song? Spotify doesn’t show that feature, but I bet it’s from Paramore or Hayley anyway. It would be impossible to know my most-listened to song of all time, like if we took into account my Spotify, iTunes, etc.

23. Beach vacation or European vacation? I need a beach vacation badly, but a European vacation would be a new and different experience. I’d take the latter.

24. If you could have been a child prodigy what would you have wanted to be skilled at? Playing the piano.

25. What’s the first thing you would do if you won the lottery? Depends on how much I won lmao. I’d probably retire this early if the money was big enough since I’m pretty stingy anyway. But generally, I would like to pay off whatever bills my parents are currently paying for, get back the car that we had to sell because of the pandemic, and maybe go for a solo vacation or five heheh.

26. What celebrity would you trade lives with? Kylie Jenner, for a day. Just so I can briefly have a taste of how being that rich is like.

27. If you were a performing artist, what would you title your first album? Nope.

28. What story do your friends still give you crap about? Staying with Gab despite the red flags that glared for four whole years is one of them. Angela will also never let go of that one time I tried some kind of fruit juice in high school and I described it as ‘packs a punch.’ It’s understood as a super Westernized idiom where I live and literally no one uses it in a casual sentence, so it was a hit with her and now we use ‘packs a punch’ whenever we want to describe something awesome or surprising.

29. If earth could only have one condiment for the rest of time, what would you pick to keep around? Mayonnaise and I will die on this mayonnaise-coated hill.

30. What is the ideal number of people to have over on a Friday night? Ideally? At this point? Like 20. I would love for that to be the case on the first Friday we can consider the Philippines COVID-free.

31. What was the worst age you’ve been so far? Sorry for yet another incoming Paramore reference but they literally have a lyric that goes, “22 is like, the worst idea that I have ever had.” Before turning 22 I used to think it was a weird line, like how could 22 possibly be unenjoyable? Now I’m 22 in a pandemic going through a rough breakup and I can’t even see my friends nor work in my first workplace ever.

32. What is your weirdest dealbreaker? If they wanted only cats as pets. I can deal with a dog and a cat, I guess; but cats were never fond of me so I feel like I’d struggle with this situation lol.

33. What fictional character reminds you most of yourself? Mr. Peanutbutterrrrrrr. Has a lot of love to give, doesn’t always use it on the right people. Also lives on pleasing others.

34. Do you believe in karma? Just to a tiny extent, in how I would want people’s awful actions to come bite them in the ass one day. It’s not a philosophy that controls my life and the things I do whatsoever.

35. What was your favorite TV show as a kid? My absolute favorite was Hi-5, with the original cast. As I got older my interests shifted to Spongebob and The Fairly OddParents.

36. What is the weirdest thing you find attractive in a person? I don’t think it’s weird, but I don’t hear thighs too often when people list down their favorite physical traits. It’s certainly one of mine.

37. What Jeopardy! category would you clear, no problem? A Friends-themed one, obviously. This reminds me of the Jeopardy night I had with some friends a few nights ago! That was so much fun, and Andi makes really great and fun questions hahaha.

38. What is something you’re superstitious about? I don’t think I am about anything.

39. What is the scariest experience you have ever had? Maybe that night my grandpa went into a drunk rampage. I was 9, right in his line of sight, frozen and scared shitless, and I didn’t know who he was going to strike next.

40. Who is a non-politician you wish would run for office? I never really think about this. If someone’s a non-politician then there must be a reason they aren’t, lol.

41. What cheesey song do you have memorized? Little Things by One Direction is very cheesy and it’s one of my least favorite songs of theirs, but I still have it memorized out of habit.

42. What one dead person would you most like to have dinner with, if it were possible? My great-grandpa died all the way back in the 70s, even before some of my aunts and uncles could meet him. It would be cool to spend time with him.

43. Do you think it’s important to stay up to date with the news? Yeah, absolutely. I have the stomach for it lol, so I always monitor what’s happening locally and globally. Skipping the news from time to time is fine because I get how anxiety-inducing and depressing some events can be, but there’s a huge difference between ignoring the news for your mental health and being indifferent altogether. I’d immediately judge anyone who’s the latter, and would assume you are incredibly privileged.

44. What is the best present you could ever receive? My money refunded -____________- I had food delivered to my director, Bea’s house as a surprise earlier today, but apparently I ran into a scammer driver and the fucker drove away with the meal I had bought for Bea. I reported the driver and the situation, and thankfully the customer service rep of the food delivery app quickly responded and said they’d return the full amount I paid for; but I still haven’t received it.

45. Would you give up one of your fingers if it meant you’d have free wifi wherever you go, for the rest of your life? No. Mobile data exists for a reason.

46. What’s the first thing you’d do if you were the opposite sex for one day? Check out my voice.

47. If someone told you you could give one person a present and your budget was unlimited–what present would you get and for whom? I’d love to surprise Angela with an overseas trip that would last for like a month. Traveling is one thing we have yet to do as best friends.

48. What is the nicest thing someone could say about you? Nothing particular, but it makes me happy when people call me strong and when they validate the shit I’ve gone through over the years.

49. Giant house in a subdivision or tiny house somewhere with a view? I would take the giant house. When it comes to my own place, I would want to have a lot of space to roam around.

50. What is the weirdest quirk your family has? Nothing is coming to mind.

[jasonbehrs]

i wanna read every word, chapter 2

by airauralintensity (aka me, jasonbehrs!)

“Have you ever fallen in love with someone you’ve never met?” “Uh, do you mean like we’ve-been-doing-long-distance-slash-online-dating or like I’ve-been-crushing-on-the-cute-barista-at-the-library-cafe?” “Ummm, more like I’ve-read-their-poems-and-sure-they’re-very-talented-but-their-handwriting-alone-makes-me-smile.” “… That’s oddly specific.”

fandom: kpop, super junior characters: eunhyuk, ryeowook; guest appearances by the rest of sj-m and yesung ship: eunwook genre: romantic comedy themes: alternate endings, strangers to lovers, handwriting, identity reveal setting: college chapter: 2/4 word count: 5.2k

read it below or on ffnet, aff, wattpad

A/N (6.6.2021): Welcome to the next installment folks! Some clarifying things:

- This is the first of two alternate endings to the story, which answers the question, 'What if Ryeowook finds out first?'

- I got some interesting reviews/PMs about the last chapter? Eunhyuk isn't pining after Yesung or anything, and I didn't mean to indicate that would be an aspect of the story. If you were looking forward to it, I'll be disappointing you today haha. Feel free to let me know how much you hate me in a review ;)

Also, today would have been my grandmother's 102nd birthday, so I'm dedicating this chapter to her since she always loved seeing me write. Love you, Nanay!

~~~

He and Hyukjae haven't hung out alone before, but he's sure this won't be awkward. Their only real link may have just been Yesung, but Hyukjae successfully ingrained himself into their entire friend group in the short weeks since they first met. Besides, even if Hyukjae weren't so willing to help him with his twisted scavenger hunt for love, Ryeowook thinks he'd like to hang out with him some time anyway. He's grown to like Hyukjae, really.

At least, that's what he tells himself when he turns the corner and sees Hyukjae sitting alone on a bench in the quad with his legs crossed, a laptop over one knee and an open notebook on the other, waiting for him to arrive.

Ryeowook takes a breath to steel his nerves then heads over to plop himself right next to the other. He doesn't say anything and takes out his own work instead. They don't have to start with the crush thing.

"Ah, my favourite person under 5'2". How do you do?" Hyukjae snarks without pausing his typing.

In response, Ryeowook uses a single finger to tip Hyukjae's notebook onto the ground without remorse.

"Ya!" Hyukjae picks up his notebook and slaps Ryeowook with it.

On the downswing, Ryeowook freezes.

"Oh shit, did I hit you that hard? Sorry, I didn't mean to," Hyukjae hurriedly apologises, but that's not it at all.

Ryeowook had caught a glimpse of the notes hurriedly scrawled across the open book. He would recognise that handwriting anywhere.

"Why don't we get started then," Hyukjae offers uneasily, eyeing how Ryeowook's stance hadn't relaxed yet. "Um, did you bring a copy of one of the notes like we discussed?"

Of course he did. Ryeowook was so excited to be one step closer to identifying the person behind the song lyrics that took up as much space in his brain as his Food Sciences lecture notes, he had brought the whole ass scrapbook with him, eager to show off his favourites to a new and willing audience.

But now, Ryeowook is panicking. He found the object of his affections much sooner than for which he was ready; and said object is sitting right next to him, staring at him expectantly and eager to help.

Not letting himself think it through, Ryeowook rummages through his bag looking for viable scraps of paper. There is no way he is going to hand Hyukjae's own work to him, so he makes do with what he's got.

He bypasses the lyric samples he actually prepared for today's meeting and found ones of his own making which he had intended to recycle weeks ago but never got around to. He silently thanks himself for this terrible habit as he frantically smooths out the small squares of paper before handing them to Hyukjae.

The other raises his eyebrows as he reads through the papers. "Damn, I was hoping that maybe one of these things had even a little similarity to an assignment we've heard so far, but no dice."

Ryeowook nods, affecting understanding disappointment even as he privately rejoices.

"Do you mind if I keep these? I can, like, surreptitiously check people's notebooks during group assignments," he offers with a laugh. "Pearl blue sticky notes can't be that common in a class of 50, right?''

Ryeowook smiles, wide and fake. "Fingers crossed!"

~Even though we're making awkward conversation, it's clear that we're happy to be together.~

Thus proceeds their search for Poem Person. (The gender-neutral nickname Mi had come up with stuck even after Hyukjae revealed those were not actually poems being left behind. Alliterative nicknames are just so catchy.)

"Okay, what if we tie a balloon to your chair and hope Poem Person likes balloons enough to take it with them around campus?" "No way, they won't take it." "How could you possibly be so sure?"

Sometimes, it's Hyukjae coming up with ridiculous plots.

"Trust me. They curl their lowercase L's." "I'm gonna let this go, but I want you to know that makes zero sense."

Plots which Ryeowook foils with equally ridiculous reasoning.

"''We might have never known each other, but we crossed faraway paths and came together. We crossed the distance of a stranger that's farther away than space.' Huh, not bad." "You think so?"

Sometimes, it's Hyukjae asking to read more of the scraps that Ryeowook collects, partially so Hyukjae can make fun of him, but mostly so that he has more clues.

"Yeah. I mean, it doesn't help me at all, but your man's got a way with words. I wonder why he doesn't submit any of the stuff you've shown me for class. It's worth critiquing."

An ask which forces Ryeowook to wrack his brain for passable imitations of song-lyrics-that-could-be-mistakenly-construed-as-poems and to get used to writing with his nondominant hand.

"Pass. Pass. Pass. Pass." "Really? You're passing on Park Hyungsik?"

Today, neither of them are feeling very motivated, so Hyukjae pulls up the Facebook profiles of his classmates and let Ryeowook play smash or pass because "it's fun to hear strangers' opinions on people you know."

"Oh, absolutely. Does that guy look like he cares where he dots his i's and j's? Hard pass," Ryeowook maintains.

Hyukjae shakes his head in amazement as he pulls back his phone. "You'll meet him one day, and you'll regret this moment; mark my words. Hyungsik is universally loved. Honestly, I'm not convinced yet Poem Person isn't him. He fits basically all of your criteria."

Ryeowook has to actively smother a knowing smirk. "What a shame."

He didn't come clean to Hyukjae in the quad that day because he panicked. Ryeowook was not mentally ready to meet the object of his affections so soon, much more confess, so he acted on impulse to buy himself some time.

Once he had it, he got curious.

It's no secret that Ryeowook had built up an idea of what Poem Person is like. The lyrics provided some insight, of course; but most of his intuition came from the handwriting itself. From what he could see, Poem Person was supposed to be intensely passionate, excitingly impulsive, and almost sickeningly romantic.

"Okay, how about this guy?" Hyukjae asks as he passes his phone over again.

Ryeowook takes one look at the screen and snorts. "Very funny. Pass."

The app is opened to a photo of Hyukjae himself posed unnaturally on a couch wearing a forward-facing snapback perched atop his head and an awkward half-smile, and Ryeowook refuses to look at it any longer before he does something he'll regret, like coo affectionately.

"Pass!?" Hyukjae repeats with mock-incredulity. "Don't you think he looks charming and witty and oh-so-loveable?"

Ryeowook indeed had a lot of thoughts about what Poem Person would look like, and 'charming,' 'witty,' and 'oh-so-loveable' have indeed flitted through his mind. Actually, Ryeowook finds that Hyukjae and Poem Person aren't altogether dissimilar.

Hyukjae is passionate about his craft, to be sure, but it doesn't occupy every one of his waking moments like Ryeowook expected. He is as much of a romantic as the next person is, but really Hyukjae is poetic, a distinction Ryeowook learns and appreciates very early on. Hyukjae is a little too thoughtful to be so impulsive, but his quick wit and ability to do/say/become whatever a situation calls for more than fulfill the quota for chaos that underlay Ryeowook's original supposition.

So yes, Ryeowook is withholding the truth so that he can slot the person he made up in his head into the person Hyukjae is, but it's been worth it.

"He looks like a brat and like his feet smell." "YAH! My shoes don't breathe!" "Get better shoes, then." "Give me the money, then." "Get a job, then." "That's not fair! Helping you find Poem Person is basically my part-time job!" "Consider it more of an unpaid internship."

Before Hyukjae takes his turn to volley back, his phone rings in his hand.

"Ah, as much fun as this was, I gotta go. I have a mini-showcase coming up, and I've been slacking on rehearsals." He shakes his phone towards Ryeowook, and the latter could see an alarm screen that reads "get your dumb ass to the gulliver center!"

Ryeowook's heart beats a noticeable thump thump all of a sudden. "Can I come with?"

"S-sure," Hyukjae says, shocked by the offer. "But why?"

That's a great question. For now, he says, "Because your internship is getting in the way of your studies, and I feel bad," but later, he'll know it's because he didn't want his time with Hyukjae to end so soon.

A grateful grin spreads across Hyukjae's face, and Ryeowook will add that onto his list of reasons later as well. "An audience is always welcome."

In no time, Hyukjae is in a practise room in the athletic center stretching his limbs every which way while Ryeowook watches as intently as possible while feigning interest in literally anything else in the room.

The bass-heavy noise music that Hyukjae puts on startles his attention back onto the dancer, and Ryeowook can no longer hide how blatantly he stares.

Hyukjae moves through the choreography so fluidly it almost looks lazy. He goes from jagged angles and harsh lines to sinewy curves and rolling waves to strong stomps and high jumps with no hesitation. He plays with the rhythm of the music, and he makes full use of the space available to him. Ryeowook is barely processing one impressive move when Hyukjae executes another one; and before he knows it, the performance is over.

"So," Hyukjae pants, "what'd ya think?"

"It's…" Jaw-dropping. Powerful. Hot. "… impressive," Ryeowook says at last.

Hyukjae smiles tightly. "Thanks. It actually needs a bit of work for the showcase, but I don't think the routine is all too shabby."

Ryeowook watches as Hyukjae watches himself through the mirror, redoing parts of the choreography over and over again at different tempos just to fine-tune his movements, and he can't help but feel like Hyukjae needed more from him.

"Um, I wonder if maybe it's lacking emotion?"

All movement halts. "What?"

Ryeowook didn't mean to say that; but now that it's out, he finds himself needing to continue. "You move well, um, obviously," he gestures awkwardly to Hyukjae's person, fighting a blush. "It looks physically difficult, sure, but what is it that you're trying to say? Like, I'm guessing you chose that song, too, right? So, why?"

Hyukjae stands in the middle of the room, arms limp by his side, and staring at Ryeowook with an unnervingly blank look on his face. Ryeowook hastily backpedals, "But hey, what do I know? I'm sure your professors will watch you and see all the nuances I can't with my untrained peon eyes. I was just… talking to talk, I guess."

"No, but I think you have a point," Hyukjae interjects.

Ryeowook perks up. "I do?"

"Yeah, like… I was so focused on trying to show what I can do with something only I could do, but that means basically nothing when any one of my classmates could learn my routine with only a week of practise. The only way I would be able to stand out is from whatever I put into it, but you made me realise I didn't put anything into it." He plops on the floor, eyebrows furrowed in consternation.

Ryeowook shakes his head adamantly. "No, no! There's clearly something there! You just need to, like, bring it out more. You have that whole idea—that this is something only you can do. You can take that, morph your routine into a testament to your need to prove yourself. Start with some trepidation, throw some desperation in the middle, and end with triumph. Honestly, I think I saw a little bit of that in your performance already. Maybe it was an accident, but now, just… do it on purpose."

"'Do it on purpose,'" Hyukjae repeats to himself. His head is down, so Ryeowook can't immediately tell what he thinks of the idea. He's ready to apologise again, even offer to go home so that Hyukjae can concentrate better, but then Hyukjae raises his head. "Alright, let me give that a try."

His eyes are filled with will and determination. Ryeowook, of all people, put those there.

He sits back and watches Hyukjae rehearse his routine over and over again, getting better and more evocative each time.

The Hyukjae before him is not a Hyukjae Ryeowook would have been able to guess based on his handwriting and lyrics alone.

Ryeowook knows basically nothing about dancing; but over the past few weeks, he's really come to know Hyukjae. He's noticed how the other is prone to express himself through movement, like when he accentuates his stories with body language and physical reenactments. It belies a comfort and confidence with his body and what it can do with which Ryeowook could never empathise. It's a subtle thing, but impactful nevertheless.

He smothers it down because he doesn't want to give Hyukjae the wrong idea, but he wants to laugh.

Only he could fall for a dancer's words first before anything else, and only he could fall for the same person twice.

~Where should I start? When should I say it? Darling, our seconds, our minutes together were beautiful.~

"Ryeowook, why haven't you asked to see my handwriting yet?"

"What?"

They had commandeered a study room in the library, but honestly neither of them are making a lot of headway in their respective assignments. Ryeowook didn't want anything to do with Organic Chemistry, but this conversation is making him reconsider his previous stance.

"Isn't that what you're into? Trying to infer people's personalities based on their handwriting?"

"I'm not into it. It just happened."

"Okay, sure, but aren't you, like, good at it now? Read mine! Tell me what it says about me."

Ryeowook, desperate to squash this idea immediately, blurts out. "It… It won't work!"

"Why not?" Hyukjae pouts.

Ryeowook scrambles. "Because I know you already. Yeah. I'll see and interpret things in a way that confirms what I already know."

Hyukjae eyebrows furrow in what Ryeowook can presume is consternation. "Sorry," he offers feebly.

Some more time passes, and Ryeowook makes mild progress on his O-Chem work, before Hyukjae speaks up again. "So if you can't do me, can you do my friend?" he asks with an excited tone that makes Ryeowook wary.

"I do not want to do your friend." You, however…

"NO! I mean: can you interpret my friend's handwriting? Here. He left it at my place last time we studied together."

Hyukjae's smirk radiates smug self-satisfaction, and with one look at the paper, Ryeowook understands why. He actively controls every muscle in his body to prevent the facepalm that's threatening to break loose.

He has to give Hyukjae props, though. If Ryeowook weren't already so intimately acquainted with the handwriting on the page before him, the other's ploy could have worked.

Regardless, he still finds himself in the position he was trying to avoid in the first place.

All the best lies are based in truth, right? "So I can tell your friend has a very high-stress major. The handwriting is cramped and small, like he can't waste a single stroke or else he'll miss something he needs to write down. Ah, see how he doesn't fully cross his t's and dot his i's? He thinks he'll be able to read his own handwriting later. He probably has decent memory or just has a lot of faith in himself."

Hyukjae nods with an impressed frown. "Huh, not bad."

It would be so, so easy to stop there, but Ryeowook can't. He loves Hyukjae's handwriting too much. "And look here," he points excitedly to a cross-out near the center of the page. "He could cross out his mistakes with a single line or a little squiggle, but he completely blocks it out instead. It suggests he has more confidence with the obvious; but really, I think he needs the reminder. Like, 'Yeah, I made a mistake. I'll move on, but I won't let myself forget. That way I don't do it again.'"

A moment later, Ryeowook realises with a jolt that he had been holding and smiling at the scrap paper a little too tenderly. He whips his head up in embarrassment, an explanation-slash-apology at the tip of his tongue, but Hyukjae doesn't seem to notice.

In fact, Hyukjae has been silent the whole time. Ryeowook chuckles awkwardly. "Am I right?"

"Huh?" Hyukjae intones as he's brought out of his reverie. Ryeowook thinks he sees something in his eyes when their gazes meet, but Hyukjae blinks and it's gone. "I'm sorry, what did you ask me?"

"I was wondering if I was right. About your 'friend,'" Ryeowook reminds, air quotes clear in his tone.

Hyukjae shuffles uncomfortably in his seat. "I think you're more right than even he's ready to admit," he says with a hand at the back of his neck and a sardonic quirk of his lips.

The sight causes an unexplainable swell of affection within Ryeowook, and he turns away. "He can take his time," he assures, eyes trained on his textbook even though he can't read a damn thing.

Hyukjae nods his thanks and turns back to his homework, but Ryeowook doesn't feel right letting it end here.

"Hey, wanna give my handwriting a try?"

~You always lift your head to look up at me. I want to take my big hands and cup your small cheeks.~

Next time they're meant to hang out, it's the weekend; and Hyukjae texts him to meet him at Bomnal.

"Both of us were here just two days ago, and we have to be here again in two days. Don't we spend enough time in Bomnal as it is?" Ryeowook complains as soon as he enters the atrium of the academic building.

"Think of it like a field trip. Come on, Wook," Hyukjae says as he leads them to the second floor lecture hall.

"Pretty sure field trips are meant to take us out of the classroom, but sure, whatever," Ryeowook grumbles as he follows along.

He's testy. He knows it, but he can't help it.

This is the first time both of them will be in Bomnal 235 at once. It feels like a turning point, like he's going to learn something today whether he wants to or not. He wonders if Hyukjae feels the same sense of impending that he does, or maybe it's just worse for him because he's in love.

As soon as they open the doors, the automatic lights flick on and douse the room with a very awake yellow.

"So… where do you normally sit?" Hyukjae asks as he motions to the empty seats before them.

Ryeowook freezes. Now that it's upon him, he can definitively identify this as the thing he was anxious about.

What if he tells the truth, Hyukjae realises Poem Person is him, and he feels awkward about it? Their comfortable but still-very-new friendship would evaporate on the spot, and Ryeowook won't have him in any capacity, much more a romantic one.

So, in another impeccable display of judgement, he decides to lie again.

"Oh, you know… I change it up," he mildly comments as he moves to somewhere near the middle of the first row. He sits down and gives an unassuming grin to his friend, who makes a face. "You're one of those people? Haven't you heard of the same seats code of conduct? You fed me some crap about curling L's when really it's your fault the balloon trick wouldn't have worked," Hyukjae jokes in that way where he's completely serious but is phrasing it with humour.

Ryeowook feels a genuine, fond grin spread across his face before he can help it, and he quickly ducks his head. "Why are we here, again?" he asks instead of dwelling on the validating comfort of being known.

"Why not?" Hyukjae asks as he moves to sit down. "This is the place it all began, right? Might as well."

Ryeowook, for his part, only stares.

Hyukjae went up to a seat in the rear right quadrant of the lecture hall. Ryeowok's own, real seat is directly in front of where the other is sitting. That can't be a coincidence.

"Um, I'm guessing that's where you sit?" he asks as casually as possible.

"Huh? Oh! Haha, yeah. It's funny, I didn't even think of sitting anywhere else. My feet just automatically guided me here."

"So funny," Ryeowook squeaks out.

"Yeah, my friend in the class actually used to sit with me, but it became very apparent very quickly that we would never get anything done if we did, so he moved down there." Hyukjae points with his foot to Ryeowook's seat, and Ryeowook's breath hitches in his throat. "Sometimes when I'm bored, I just can't help but throw stuff onto his desk just to annoy him." Hyukjae mimes a free throw shot towards the desk and smiles.

Well, if there were any doubt before in Ryeowook's mind that Hyukjae was Poem Person, it has summarily been erased.

Ryeowook hums but says nothing else, letting a companionable silence stretch between them as he acknowledges the warmth that settles into his chest when he confirms with himself that yes, he is glad that Hyukjae is Poem Person.

"Why are you helping me?" he asks, curious and without judgement. The abrupt question startles the other out of whatever reverie he had settled into during their respite, but Hyukjae bounces back quickly, as he always does.

"You know, I had to figure that answer out myself," Hyukjae answers with a laugh. He leans back in his chair with his hands folded behind his head, staring out at the empty lecture hall. "I told you I would at first because it was obvious that I was the only one in a position to actually help. It wasn't even an option in my mind that I wouldn't… But even after my sense of obligation ran out, I wanted to keep going.

"You're cool, Ryeowook. You're fun to be around, you're sassy, you're down to try anything once. You're totally comfortable being yourself, and your 'self' is crazy. Like, who else trusts in their gut enough that this person you're chasing after is worth the effort? Who else would go to the lengths to which you're willing to go just to meet him? Honestly, I think that's pretty awesome. I don't know if I could have that same confidence you do."

He tilts his head towards Ryeowook then and gives a close-lipped, self-convinced smile. "If anyone's gonna find love based on a few scraps of paper and a dream, it's gonna be you."

Ryeowook nods mutely. He hopes the distance between them is enough to disguise the blush on his cheeks.

Hyukjae faces forward again. "If I think about it, I guess I'm being selfish, too. I want to believe a love like that is possible; and if I help you find him, I'll get to see it happen for myself… I really hope this guy is worth it, Ryeowook. I think it would break my heart as much as yours if he weren't."

He is, though. He's so worth it. "Me too."

~Longing is a beautiful pain I thought I could endure.~

Ryeowook walks out of the campus mail room, and life couldn't get better.

He just picked up a care package his mom sent him; he got a 94 on his last Nutrition Essentials quiz; and Hyukjae loves the new low-fat, protein-enhanced strawberry scones recipe he tried out yesterday.

Speaking of whom, he thinks this whole Poem Person plot is going to wrap up soon. The last time they must have actually worked on a strategy to find out who Poem Person was, like, two weeks ago at least; and Ryeowook's glad he can stop pretending he has any interest anymore.

Their friendship has wholly evolved beyond the point of needing a project to work on in order to spend time with each other anyway. Why pine after a fictitious man when he has a whole Hyukjae right there, who buys him coffee lattes simply because he's Hyukjae's dongsaeng and who helps him study for his quizzes even when Hyukjae himself is stressed.

Ryeowook tells himself that with some more time, the whole mystery will just fade into an inside joke between the two of them, a white whale they can reminisce about when they're sipping soju and reminiscing… preferably cuddled on a couch and with his head on Hyukaje's shoulder.

However, his friend group did not get the memo.

"So, uh. What happened to Poem Person?" Henry asks one weekend while everyone is at Ryeo-Mi's apartment.

"Shut up!" Kyuhyun admonishes with a slap to the back of Henry's head. "Ryeowook hasn't annoyed us with that in weeks. Aren't you grateful?!"

"I actually am very curious about what happened there. Weren't you and Hyukjae supposed to find him together?" Yesung asks.

"The gen—" "Maybe I'm manifesting, Mi! Ever think of that?"

Ryeowook cuts in before Mi's feelings get even more hurt. "Yeah, we were, but honestly I've kinda given up on the whole thing."

He expects some shock, but he couldn't have predicted who would be the most affected. "You're just gonna give up on finding love!?" Mi despairs.

"Actually, the potential for a romantic relationship was never confirmed," Henry quips. Yesung gives Henry a high-five.

"It was just a little crush," Ryeowook defends. "I've moved past it, as I was bound to do eventually." He says this last part to Kyuhyun, who he knows was the most annoyed with his actions back then.

"'Eventually' doesn't end in time for finals week, Wook," Kyuhyun retorts.

"Well, now you never have to worry about it, Hyun."

"Is love dead?" Mi desponds aloud, but no one pays him any mind.

Ryeowook pats his roommate's shoulders in a half-hearted attempt at consolation. If Mi turns out to be the only casualty in this whole ordeal, Ryeowook will count this as a win.

What he doesn't count on is the fact that Hyukjae would invariably hear about it.

"Is it true?" Hyukjae corners him after Ryeowook picks up his order from the on-campus cafe.

"You know, I don't think so. I think she's just Henry's accompanist for rehearsals," Ryeowook responds genuinely, certain that the latest gossip about Henry's potentially secret girlfriend is what Hyukjae must have been referring to.

"What? No!" Hyukjae stops in confusion but stomps after Ryeowook once he gets his bearings back. "No, I heard that you gave up on finding him, that you gave up a while ago. Is it true?"

Ryeowook hesitates to sit down at the open table he found, and Hyukjae's entire posture seizes in betrayal. "Alright, got it," Hyukjae says with an edge to his tone. "Do me a favour, yeah? Never talk to me ever again."

"Wait!" Ryeowook calls once Hyukjae turns on his heel and storms off. "Hyukjae, wait!" He pays no mind to the fact that he's abandoning his belongings as he chases Hyukjae outside. "I get that you're angry, but don't you think this is a little much?"

He reaches out for Hyukjae's upper arm, but the other immediately shrugs it off. Ryeowook flinches and retreats slightly. Despite the other's obvious fury, Hyukjae is stopped in place and seems willing to actually talk to him, and Ryeowook holds onto that hope instead.

"No, actually," Hyukjae sneers. "I think this is the perfect amount of much when you find out your best friend has been wasting your time for who knows how long!"

Of all the things Hyukjae could have said in that moment, Ryeowook didn't expect that reaction at all. It stings more than he expects, cuts through his defensiveness; and despite his position in the situation, he can't help but need comfort. "What do you mean?" he asks in a confused, desperate voice.

"What do I mean?" Hyukjae repeats exasperatedly. "Ryeowook, we spent weeks together trying to figure out how to get you your dream guy! We never even got anywhere, and, and… And it's all because of you! You shot down basically every one of my ideas practically from the beginning, even after I told you how much it would personally mean to me. That is, like, the textbook definition of a waste of time!"

"You weren't having fun?"

"What?" Hyukjae demands incredulously.

"All that time we spent together," Ryeowook clarifies as he steadfastly meets Hyukjae's angry gaze. "You didn't have fun?"

Hyukjae is silent, and his body posture screams obstinate defiance, but his eyes remain trained on Ryeowook.

"You didn't come to look forward to spending time with me? You didn't spend your free time thinking of ways to make me laugh?"

Hyukjae rolls his eyes. "So what? What does any of that mean when you were just stringing me along? You… you weren't even using me!?" he exclaims, voice rising in a hysterical question. "That was literally the whole basis of our friendship, and you couldn't even do that? Like, what could you have possibly gained from lying to my face like that for all this time?"

Ryeowook gives a watery smile at the non-answer and looks down at his fingers fidgeting together. "I did, too," he says in a voice so quiet it was like he intended to keep that to himself.

It's silent for a long time after that admission. Hyukjae's lividness has dissipated, and he is only left with a disappointment so painful he doesn't want to dwell on it any further. He moves to leave Ryeowook alone outside of the cafe, but Ryeowook's voice stops him.

"W-What did you say?" Hyukjae asks with apprehension.

Ryeowook ignores the tears falling from his eyes as he repeats himself. "I'm in a rush to catch you, but you're in a hurry to leave. Should I just surrender? Now we're like an old and worn notebook filled with scribbles."

Hyukjae simply stares, and Ryeowook takes that as his cue to keep going. "Take your beautiful smile with you. Don't leave it here. You saw me with tears in my eyes."

By heart,

"I was a selfish man, but my life is divided into before and after I knew you."

Ryeowook recites lyric,

"When I first saw you, it felt like a miracle."

after lyric,

"I'm thinking of you more today. I wonder how tomorrow morning will be. Will I miss you more than I do today?"

after lyric;

"I'm honest because I don't know lies before love."

and before he knows it,

"I'd place my feelings on the thawing snow. I'd hang my wish on a disappearing star, but only if you ask me to."

Hyukjae is within arm's reach.

"It's me?" Hyukjae whispers into the scant centimetres between them. "It's really me?" he asks again when Ryeowook had simply nodded.

Ryeowook can't even help it when he recites, "Even when you ask me again, for me, it's only you." with a breathy laugh as he shyly looks away.

Hyukjae moves to gently hold Ryeowook's hand. "And you're okay with that?"

Ryeowook wants to laugh and melt and cry and run away, but instead he settles for an earnest nod and a hesitant smile. "Are you?"

Hyukjae answers him with a kiss, and it feels like a dazzling melody.

~Together, we can make all our unfulfilled dreams come true.~

[oneboxofmatches]

I hope it's okay to ask for a HP romantic and friend matchup from the golden trio era and possibly romantic for marauders (please don't feel like you have to do the marauders one too if it's too much. I definitely don't want to stress you).

My pronouns are she/her and my romantic preference would be for a guy. I'm 5'4 and my style usually lingers somewhere between feminine, preppy, and "basic". I do think it's important to put at least some level of effort into my appearance.

My HP house is Ravenclaw (second highest Slytherin) and my enneagram is 1w2 (with 3 as a very close second top number)

I'm a super hardworking and ambitious person (sometimes at the expense of my own mental health and wellness). It's important to me to be able to work towards my goals and be with someone who has goals of their own. I'd get frustrated by someone who never knows when to take things seriously. I have a tendency to stress myself out sometimes and often let my stress bottle up. Cleaning/organizing and baking always help me feel centered and reduce my stress when I feel like I'm freaking out a bit. I tend to also be a little bit of a control freak on occasion in everyday life.

I can be a bit reserved when it comes to meeting new people, but when I'm around my close friends and family, I'm more open and talkative. I don't feel the need to force conversation though and can enjoy time around people just by doing our own thing next to each other and relaxing in each other's company. My friends and family are really important to me and I always try to be reliable and there for them whenever they need support.

When it comes to hobbies, I enjoy reading, watching tv/movies, cross stitch, and shopping. I used to be on a dance drill team and have continued doing yoga to keep up my flexibility because it helps me feel healthy. My favorite genres in books, movies, tv shows, etc. are romance and mystery, but I especially love when something has a big plot twist or is really thought provoking so that I can discuss it with someone I know. I also tend to be a romantic. I'm not really an outdoorsy person though and don't enjoy things like camping and hiking a ton.

When it comes to my idea of a perfect date it would probably be something pretty classic like going out to a nice dinner. I do enjoy getting dressed up and doing something fancy. Though, I'd also enjoy something like going to a carnival or festival together and just enjoying each other's company for a day. The most important thing is just spending time and connecting with the person I care about. My love languages are quality time and physical touch. It's simple, but I think it's super sweet just walking down the street and holding hands with someone. I also think it's nice when someone is taller than me so I can lean my head on their arm or shoulder while we stand next to each other (this sounds cheesy haha).

Goodness this came out so long, but I hope it's okay. Thanks so much for doing this!

This was amazing and no problem at all, thank you for requesting and I hope you enjoy!!

In the Golden Trio era, I romantically pair you with…

CEDRIC DIGGORY

You value hard work. Cedric is by no means a stranger to hard work. Getting paired together for a project is the most likely way you two realized just how much you can accomplish together.

While Cedric realizes the importance of his schooling and the high piles of work that come with it, he also recognizes that maintaining a balance between “work” and “play” is the secret to a healthy, manageable life. He admires your work ethic (and supports your goals 100%), but he’s also the first to advise taking a step back when the world starts asking too much of you.

It’s because Cedric has the utmost respect for you that he doesn’t just outright dismiss your outbursts that occur whenever he’s attempting to get you to relax for a moment. He makes sure you know that he finds both the work you’re doing as well as your mental health important, and all he wants to do is help you find that middle ground where you don’t have to sacrifice either one.

Learning that you already have ways to cope with stress (cleaning, organizing, baking) eases his mind, and he even uses this information to his benefit. He knows that suggesting one of these activities as an alternative to partaking in any stressful work environment you’ve found yourself in betters the chances of you taking a well-deserved break.

Aside from actual dates, it’s these little breaks where the two of you spend the most quality time together. In terms of conversation, things can range from talking lightly about your days, taking on a vulnerable tone for more personal topics, or even just a silence that sits comfortably between you while you work.

Also, it’s almost surprising how much Cedric loves watching mystery TV shows and movies with you. It’s not necessarily something he would’ve found himself doing otherwise, but he loves having someone to share the massive surprise that comes with a major plot twist. After the screen goes dark, you two can find yourselves discussing what you just watched for hours without growing bored.

As for the traditional dates, you can bet that Cedric is up for both dressing up for a nice restaurant or taking the more casual route by going to a carnival. The variety not only keeps your relationship interesting, but it proves that the location really doesn’t matter -- you enjoy yourselves and feel just as strongly for each other no matter what.

Overall, the mutual respect and dedication between you and Cedric create the ultimate power couple dynamic. Alone you can accomplish many things, but together the possibilities are endless. But at the end of a long day, it becomes clear that having each other is all that really matters.

As a friend, I think you’d best be matched with…

DRACO MALFOY

Don’t be fooled. Before this friendship was anywhere near friendly, you and Draco made up one of the most competitive duos Hogwarts has ever seen. Your high work ethic and his constant need to be recognized as a great wizard clashed, and Draco was found applying himself to his work like he never had before.

It probably took you two being forced to work together to realize you (surprise!!!) actually make a pretty good team.

The sudden burst of motivation Draco found while competing against you stays after you become friends, and you’re the one who teaches him how to use this newfound ethic more efficiently. He recognizes that you taking a break from your own work to give him these helpful pointers is a big deal, and though he doesn’t say it, he’s grateful.

Whenever he isn’t off trying to impress someone or make sure his name remains respected, he’s often in the library with you, working away. You don’t talk much, though the question “How are things?” serves as a solid conversation started for the times when the work you’re doing doesn’t need to be rushed.

You both come to find that you value the other’s opinion on many things. Both schoolwork and social matters are things you bring up with the other, and advice-giving (yes, Draco can give advice when he feels like it) becomes a common theme.

Support becomes a key part of your friendship. Draco makes sure you take care of yourself and you make sure he knows he’s more than just his last name. Rumors of his family’s involvement in certain affairs aren’t exactly rare, and while you don’t force him to open up, you make a point to remind him time after time that he has the power to choose his own destiny.

And when he does finally open up to you in private, your opinion of him doesn’t change in the slightest. You reassure him of this, explaining that whatever he needs, you’re there for him. You realize you can’t do much to change his situation, but you know that simply being a loyal friend through all this might be just what he needs.

Overall, you and Draco hold each other in very high regard, and though you bring different perspectives to the table, you realize you’re willing to help each other in any way you can.

In the Marauders era, I romantically pair you with…

REMUS LUPIN

Remus understands you find his friends annoying. He finds them annoying. But seeing you sit through one of their worst hyperactive, downright ridiculous episodes just so you could spend time with him while knowing you can get fed up with people who have a hard time taking anything seriously demonstrated that you were committed to your relationship and were willing to accommodate whoever he hung out with.

As someone who outworks over ¾ the school, Remus is a master at recognizing the early stages of burnout. Whenever he sees it in you, he’ll take on a softer tone and gently ask if you’d like to direct your attention elsewhere for a while and return to work at a later time.

You often work in the same room as each other, taking solace in the gentle quiet you two can find if you get lucky enough to find such a spot. While you both enjoy the peaceful, intimate conversations that usually come at the end of a long day, you are also content with saving that for later and using the time at hand to focus on schooling.

The complexity of your conversations (whether it be about the latest book you both read, a recent assignment from a shared class, or one of life’s mysteries) is much higher than that of the average couple. With the level of thought you two are already capable of, you challenge each other by exploring new ways of thinking together.

Remus can be quite the romantic when he wants to be. Respectful, yet simple gestures (such as opening a door for you) are a given, but he also loves little signs of affection such as holding your hand as you walk through Hogsmeade. He revels in the feeling of being close to you, and don’t be surprised if he gives your hand a gentle squeeze once in a while.

Overall, not only do you and Remus unlock new levels of thought and productivity, but you also have a pure, sweet love for each other that is timeless.

[artyrogue]

Blind Date Gaming: Pac In Time

Tonight's date was an interesting one to say the least. It was with Pac-Man, the iconic game character from Namco that helped build video games as a mainstream activity! The only issue was that it wasn't...JUST Pac-Man. No, it was a pun and a spinoff all in one. It was... Pac In Time!

Soak in the colors, 'cos from here out we're mostly back to 4-color palettes.

I've seen some of the other Pac-Man spinoffs before and they just never felt right. There was some dumb point-and-click game on the SNES where Pac-Man clearly had a lobotomy, some pinball game, and that one where he was fighting a bunch of nerds on some floating platform called 'final destination' or whatever. So yeah, they're typically lame attempts to make a buck based on the identity of one of gaming's most well-known IPs. I didn't expect much, then, going in. It was a bit bias of me, sure, but I was still willing to give it a chance. The first thing I was presented with was a super-long, slow-scrolling wall of text with absolutely no music or sound throughout the whole thing. Brilliant first impression, that.

'Crazy events' here means 'binge eating countless unmarked medications within the confines of a series of neon-infused tubes with occasional spontaneous manifestations of fruit and/or keys'.

Okay, okay, sure. Some ghost witch sends Pac-Man back in time and now he has to travel through different zones to find a way back to the present. That could have been summed up much more succinctly; in fact, I basically relayed all the information you need to know right there. It also really doesn't matter at all in the long run, so my heart reaches out to the poor writer whose hopes were squandered when Pac in Time didn't end up being their gateway to better writing gigs. What matters isn't the story here, it's the gameplay! So what do we have?

It's a platformer. A pretty floaty one at that. You always slide all over, with momentum that takes a bunch of effort to dissipate. Jumping follows the Mario 64 school of gaining height in each successive jump, but it really doesn't seem necessary. It's quite bad and takes some getting used to. There's an additional aspect to the game that helps bring puzzle aspects to it: powerups. You're given a few in each level that give you different abilities and can sometime pick up (or lose!) them along the way as well. They don't really seem to fit into the typical Pac-Man lore, though. Unless there's some fanfic where Pac-Man can shoot fireballs and swing around like Spiderman?

Yes, that is a screenshot of Pac-Man shooting a Kamehameha at a shark. This is fine.

Some levels are pretty interesting, but a lot of them are short and kind of dull. Most of the time you don't even end up using half of the powerups they give you. I will say, though, that the grappling hook was well-programmed and a lot of fun to mess around with. Sometimes there are issues canceling grappling momentum when an enemy is right in front of you, but otherwise it's liberating to swing like a monkey through a level in mere seconds.

Wheeeeee!

Somewhere around world 3, though, things start to take a turn for the worse. For the most part, enemies are tame and take a major backseat to the puzzles and powerup adventuring. In the jungle world, you start to see some annoying and poorly-programmed enemies marring your fun. Some foes relentlessly track you down, some change their velocity in unpredictable ways, some blast into the center of the screen as soon as you approach, and more. It starts feeling more like I Wanna Be the Guy, a game I loathe not for its toughness, but for it's cheap death tricks and poor design. Games like that aren't about skill as much as they are about rote memorization. That's...not fun to me. Make the obstacles visible, not surprises. I'd rather spend time memorizing something useful.  Although apparently my brain seems to define 'useful' as being able to list the first 386 pokemon and recalling room layouts for a mall that has been dead and destroyed for like 15 years?

I suddenly have flashbacks to Super Meat Boy, although that game was fair and up front with its obstacles. This buzzsaw popped outta nowhere, which I guess is standard in an ancient Egyptian tomb.

I had to look up a walkthrough on a certain level, too, where the only way to progress was apparently to walk off a cliff into a pool of lava. Then, an invisible air stream carries you across the lava to safety. Jumping the gap kills you and does not reveal an air stream, there are no indicators that walking off is a good idea, nothing. Just know the trick or be stuck. Great. The walkthrough on GameFAQs even says that the walkthrough's writer was stuck on this level until someone gave them a tip. That's...not exactly a good sign of game design. There were other annoyances, like teleporters teleporting stones higher than you: if you walk into one too quickly after pushing a stone into it, the stone appears above you and crushes you to death. Also, many levels host a plethora of arrow signs that don't make lick of sense.

Right, right...I get it now. It's all so clear where I have to go!

I got through world 4, and looking up a gameplay video reveals there are 4 more worlds to go, but I had my fill. This date isn't going anywhere I want to be. So yeah! No second date here. I've also found via the comments of that video that the game is actually a reskin of another game on DOS called 'Fury of the Furries'. They basically just turned the main character into Pac-Man and made some lame music tracks that sound like the one ditty from the arcade game. Even the enemies and final boss are the same. Boo! Get some originality or keep the Furries! I mean I know the internet in general has some hangups with them, but I've never had a bad experience with a Furry myself, let alone felt their Fury! Although if the world followed this game's lead, all furry conventions would turn into massive Pac-Man cosplay events, and I would definitely pay to go see that.

I found a furry! Except it kind of beat me to a pulp, but I guess I deserve it since I stole his game.

Before I end this, am I crazy or does part of the Beach world theme sound vaguely like some Mega Man track? Listen here and skip the first 50 horrid seconds to get to the part I mean. I swear, it sounds like something I've heard before, but I can't tell which track it was. Mega Man has too many Men to keep their themes straight. Maybe I should invest my useless memorization into Mega Man theme recall instead.

And so ends another date. I'll be looking around for something else, thank you! I will say, though, that today's Sprite of Passage is a keeper. Put this as a war decoration on your uniform and go speak of the fierce battles you went through to earn it! Don't be surprised if no one gives you any sympathy or anything though. They might instead give you the number of a psychiatrist. Maybe that shrink will give you pills and you can lay them out in a maze to eat them or something? Pac it all in!

They finally, really did it...YOU MANIACS!! YOU BLEW IT UP!! DAMN YOUUUU!!

[eshithepetty]

wholesome mp100 things:

(Because I really like to ramble about this show and I just thought I'd compile some things I appreciate about it):

Bottling up feelings? Nuh uh, bad idea, better have realistic and well paced development of you opening up more and learning to accept your emotions, kiddo.

Self!! Respect!! Not just learning it in a 'oh, I love myself, flaws and all' way, but the actual process of trying really hard to actually be proud of oneself, even when it's hard to see yourself as anything but terrible. It's all in the gradual changes and small moments of taking your own feelings into account!!

An actual adult? Actually acknowledging?? How actually fucked up all the shit the kids of the show have to go through is??? And going out of their way to lessen their weight of responsibility, and to protect them and offering them comfort, like,,, yes please!!!

'Huh...? You want? World domination?? What a ridiculous concept. What are you even going to do with that? People need other people, dummy. Honestly, you're acting more childish than the actual children here.'

Everyone!! Is!! Equal!! Yes, you may have god-like powers that could literally fling me into the stratosphere and I might be an actual sewer rat incarnate, but as people?? We all still long for the same validation. We all have the same rights. We're all human.

Not?? Sexualising any of the female/kid characters? Tbh, I don't really feel at my best giving points to a show for this, since it shouldn't be that surprising in the first place, but still, and I think this is easily overshadowed by all the thirst Bones has for Reigen, but that's the thing! They're putting all their (tbh not that creepy really and in character) fanservice into one grown man and that's!! Really great! Thank you Reigen for being our sacrifical lamb

On the subject of not sexualizing kids, Tsubomi, Mob's crush, while being portrayed as very pretty, is not sexualized at all either, and Mob's fantasies about her entirely consist of them just,, doing stuff like holding hands and walking home together?? Not even kissing or anything like that??? It's just so innocent and cute, gosh... also the fact that Tsubomi and the rest of the girls aren't stereotypes, but have their own lives that don't revolve around the boys and interesting personalities that are very distinct from each other, even if they don't get as much screentime as the boys :> (also, Tome being a protagonist in the Reigen spin-off manga!!)

Dealing with anxiety and dependency and manipulation/abuse, when you're an adult?? I honestly can't say I've seen too much of anything concerning this anywhere,,, Serizawa is so good

And all the adults for that matter!! All the villains! Their redemption arcs are all about intergrating into society again and learning to have a realistic worldview and all around getting well rounded as people. That's pretty inspiring, imo!

Also, Reigen, an adult, realising that he was being unfair to Mob, a kid, and specifically saying he was 'caging him in', instead of using excuses like 'trying to protect him" and trying his hardest to fix his life and mistakes before confronting him, and when he does, doesn't expect Mob to accept or forgive him or want to be friends with him again?? And tearing up for the first time on the show just from being a called good person by him,,,? That was honestly so tearjerking and pure and that arc made me feel the full range of human emotion.

Speaking of Reigen, the fact that all of his friends, for the longest time, are a bunch of middle schoolers, and that he has basically fathered them all is such a funny, yet heartwarming and also a bit sad and complicated thing, all at once, to think about.

The body improvement club!!!!! Super supportive and protective jocks, the absolute opposite of toxic masculinity. Thank you ONE for bringing us this gift.

The fact that every one of Mob's friends would likely kill, or at least give a very stern lecture to anyone who ever tries hurting him is amazing and sweet. The same goes for Mob, a big pacifist at heart, putting his strict morals on hold and fighting just for the safety of his friends, and sometimes even strangers or enemies. They're all just so protective and I absolutely love it,,,,

By the way!! Mob!!! I love that he's not a stereotypical cinnamon roll protagonist who is always pure. Like, he has his dark moments. He has hurt people. Sometimes, he's geniunely scary. But the fact that he's so aware of his faults and how much damage he could inflict, and thus tries so hard to better himself every day and to always stay on good morals, and always strives to understand and help people above all else, even through all the suffering he's gone through and all the power he posseses, is what truly makes him so kind and lovable. He's just.... grown so much. I'm immensely proud of him <3

Power of friendship, but done right, because they don't use bonds as some convenient power up, but rather primarily as a tool for character development, that, in turn, helps them become better and more stable and capable people ^^

The fact that the protagonist getting stronger in this show doesn't mean them gaining more power or becoming more book smart, but instead entails them learning to better understand people and to let others understand them as well so that confrontation can be as civilized and nonviolent as possible and become a better tool for helping everyone involved improve themselves is such a direct yet nuanced way of presenting how solutions can be made to real world problems and conflicts, and it's just such a different aproach to the usual shonen aesthetic of power being the defining factor on deciding who wins or loses.

In fact, a lot of the time there is no clear 'winner' of a fight. Sure, we certainly get to understand which side is stronger physically, but the impact those factors play into the characters' mental states and development is usually very removed from those results. A character technically winning can result in them plunging into a meltdown full of self loathing. A character losing often brings a very positive change in their life. Those experiences change the characters in different ways than just winning - positive or losing - negative.

The message that you don't need to be special! Everyone is fundimentally equal, so you being more or less special than anyone else is just flawed as a mindset. Reaching for the top is alright as long as you remember that the thing that matters the most is just trying to be kind.

Mob being widely recognized as autistic in the fandom!! A lot of characters having the capability to be seen as neurodivergent, actually. But even if it isn't intentional coding from the creator, all the messages about how people expressing themselves differently doesn't make them any less human or valid, how conventional isn't always the best, how being empathetic can manifest in wildly different ways and also the reoccurring theme of dealing with trauma etc. are still very much there and impact the narrative and characters a whole lot.

How the story was even able to become so popular, despite the nature of ONE's art!! Also, how the anime creators decided to stay faithful, even tho they had the opportunity to change the art style to something more conventional and not go as hard as they did, but nope, they admire and respect the source material and clearly have so much passion for this project, putting all kinds of talent and creativity and effort into every episode!!! They seem like they're having a lot of fun with it, and I'm very glad.

(Feel free to add more!!!)

[witchqueenofthemoon]

BODY AND SOUL Part 17 (Duncan Shepherd/Mackenzie Stone Millory AU)

BODY AND SOUL MASTERPOST

Author’s Note: So I did a very rough outline of everything else I want to happen in this fic and I’m gonna tentatively say we’re halfway through it; I don’t know how long any given part is until I write it, so that might be wrong, but we’ll see! I at least have an endpoint in mind, though there’s a lot of stuff in between that endpoint and now, so never fear, Duckenzies, Duckenzie aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. I listened to ODESZA’s album A Moment Apart a lot while I wrote this chapter; that’s an album about LOVE for sure, so it’s very Duckenzie (I love Boy especially, a song that is pure Cody in my eyes--as rapturously beautiful as he is). I LOVED writing about Duncan putting Kenzie’s clothes away; clothes are such a big part of my life and are so important to me and they tell such an intimate story about a person, and clothing continues to be an important theme in this fic. The framed picture of Kenzie and Madeline is based on a real photo of Billie and Carrie (@hi-ilovedamien used it in one of the Instagram edits she made for my fic). The one of Kenzie and Claire is based on the fact that Billie and Leslie are super close IRL and love to go to Disneyland together (follow their Instagrams for plenty of proof on that one), and the one of Kenzie with her father is based on on this photo of Billie and her dad Bryan Lourd. Everything Duncan picks out for Kenzie on Agent Provocateur’s website is really from them except for the rose choker: this is the white lingerie, this is the black lingerie, this is the kimono, this is the sleeping set. The rose choker is real, it just isn’t from AP, but I included it there anyway because they do have a choker section on their website. Here’s Duncan’s Givenchy sunglasses. Stoked to finally include mention of Duncan’s private plane, it’ll show up more in the future. I couldn’t find a mirror that looks quite like theirs: this is about the right size, so imagine it gilded in gold grape vines, and you get the idea. I found Duncan’s study desk, by the way. The peacock clockwork in Stapleton’s Antiques is something like this but bigger and just the peacock. Frederick isn’t an AU, he’s my character, but he definitely has some weird ancestry and a belief in the occult; he knew the mirror was magickal in nature, though he kept that mostly to himself. His story about the Vicountess isn’t quite accurate, but she was indeed a witch. Jack Rose is a real whiskey bar in DC and my friend/coworker Christina told me about it, so my including it is a nod to her because she hasn’t watched APOCALYPSE or HOUSE OF CARDS and doesn’t even know who Cody or Billie are and still listens to me talk about this fic CONSTANTLY at work and at least pretends to be interested, thanks babe, you are great. I had a lot of fun including Tyler, my Taylor Lautner AU, in this part, and based his look on this photo from when he and Billie were still dating. Here’s Claire’s dress at the bar. Here’s Nat King Cole’s THE VERY THOUGHT OF YOU, a very Duckenzie song. Regarding the sex: Duncan enjoys doing what Kenzie tells him to do more than anything--any domination of her is always tinged with her needs. They’re both switchers in the bedroom (you’ve probably noticed), but Duncan does what Kenzie wants him to do, important to keep in mind--she really enjoys the ways he dominates her, so she asks for those things, but the decision is primarily hers and he follows her leads. Once you’ve been having sex for awhile, you start to notice that once in awhile, you have a really fucking great orgasm among a bunch of other pretty great orgasms, and the fucking great, lost-in-nothing-for-awhile, screaming-involuntarily-because-its-that-fucking-intense kind are the kind of orgasms Duncan and Kenzie have in this part. I hope all of y’all reading along have an orgasm like that at some point in your lives, cuz it’s always one for the books.

Duncan had watched Kenzie run away from him, down the hall to the elevators--which somehow slid open immediately, as if to mock him in his longing--and ached. My Persephone, leaving me; only to return to me later, her hair full of flowers, her skin smelling of nature, trees, the clear air, and sweet herbs. Kenzie’s eyes gazed across to him as the doors slid shut once more, and they were golden and green, her little mouth smiling, her tawny hair over her shoulder, the roundness of her thighs visible above the long black boots--he blinked, the vision of wings, the vision of her wings flashing across his eyes again, residue from the dream--it had been so vivid, so bright, and the emotion in him had been overwhelming, like a storm. And then she was gone, and he was staring at the doors, breathless with her memory. I know we can’t always be together, but god, the hole she leaves when she isn’t tucked under my arm. It’s like a raw wound. He turned from the entrance of the penthouse, letting the door swing shut behind him--not realizing his hand was at his jaw, trailing over his lips. The darkness he’d felt coiled in the pit of him in that dream rested there still, along the lining of him, with a sticky and sickeningly heavy residue--the divinity of her light in it still tingled along the edge of of his mind, the smell of her hair dancing through his fingers, and he lifted his fingers to his nose and breathed in--roses, vetiver, geranium, and the sweet muskiness that was the crook of her mouth and the space between her legs. Now she is everywhere here, he thought, satisfied, looking over at the little bowl he’d handed her an hour ago, now empty of granola and fruit and in the sink, silver spoon resting inside it, wet with the residue of milk and berries. Now there is a small gold lining in every corner of this place, painted with the finest brush, and it dazzles me.

He thought of the tears they’d shed against each other in the darkness of the room that was now their bedroom as their bodies had shuddered in release; the terror and wondrous beauty of the realization that no, I haven’t been dreaming words into her, the words and emotions and colors I’ve felt have really been coming from her, and somehow, beyond all understanding, sometimes, I can hear Kenzie’s thoughts and feel what she is feeling, and the gold I see is her soul, kissing into me with the most tender of touches, shivering down onto me like a paper-thin wave of sunlight. And god, it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever fucking felt; it’s more beautiful than anything I can see with my eyes, it’s like a boon from beyond time, and my body and soul are abject and amplified in her. The words and feelings I’ve felt towards her, from her--they feel as though I’ve pulled them from deep memories, as if I’ve begun to awaken from an ageless sleep I’ve slept for eons, and she was there at the beginning of that sleep, and now, having finally woken, she is here again, as it was always meant to be. Duncan found himself lost in these thoughts, hands trailing through his hair, as he leaned down to where he’d left his smooth black iPhone on the nightstand, idly opening the Instagram app and going to Kenzie’s profile--already I miss her face, already I want to look at it again, anyway I can. @kenzielouwho. Duncan noticed she’d now amassed over a million followers--his heart twinged with a vague worry, thinking of the man who’d gotten into the Post building yesterday, her little tear-stained face pressing into his shirt, the trembling in her body, her cheeks white, eyes haunted with shock. A million strangers and how many of them want to hurt her? His blood felt cold, the hairs on the back of his neck tingling. If only I could shield her from every hurt, always. If only I could be sure she would always be safe. The thought of Kenzie being hurt filled him with a terrible dread, a nameless emotion beyond terror, beyond despair--a sorrow that felt like a dagger plunging into his ribs and rending his body in two. But Duncan pushed the fear out of him with a stern hand, the voice of reason in his mind cutting it off. Your Kenzie is marvelously brave and as beautiful as the full moon rising on a clear night, as the stars turning in the heavens. Trust her. She can do this. She can be in this world. She has a heart made of melted gold, you’ve pressed your lips to it, and you know she is stronger than you are. With her, you will create wonders. You will move mountains.

He went to the photo she’d taken and posted the night before--the two of them in the shadowy backseat of the BMW, neon lights drifting across his cheek and her forehead, her wide eyes, framed by heavy lashes, staring out at him; his profile pressed to her, his expression serene. The longest day, the greatest love. Oh, beloved. Kenzie. Truly you are my greatest love. My only love. The One. He scrolled idly through the comments; scores of heart emojis and reaction faces and stunned, excited comments, some bitter towards her, and Duncan felt twinges of resentment around his heart at them--you don’t know her light, you can’t know, whoever you are, how dare you, as if you know her and you fucking don’t--even though he knew these emotions, sent out into the ether, were essentially useless. Most of the comments, however, seemed genuinely positive--some bordered on obsessively enamored, fervent, worshipful. #Duckenzie are forever love one said, followed by neon hearts that matched the colors falling across his and Kenzie’s faces in the photo.

I want them to adopt me followed by a long line of sobbing emojis

You are the most beautiful couple of all time, King and Queen of Earth

They’re like something from a fairy tale, I can’t even handle it asfajhdlghslgha

@DUNCANSHEPHERD PUT A RING ON IT

Shepherd Unlimited: now the most powerful company AND the most powerful couple in the world

#DUCKENZIE FOR PRESIDENT(S) SCRATCH THAT WE ARE NOW A MONARCHY

I wanna be right in the middle of that Duckenzie sandwich like fuck my bi ass up

Their energy is too powerful to even look at, I’ve gone blind

Duncan clicked through to his own profile; he’d amassed another 20k followers since the last time he looked at it, bringing him past 8 million, and he gazed down at the two photos of her that were his most recent posts, each with over 170k and 180k likes; one of Kenzie sleepily leaning against the backseat of the BMW in afternoon sunlight; the other of her gazing down happily at the succulent in the oversized tee shirt, damp hair on her shoulder. I could look at these all day, he thought. But Duncan remembered, looking up; he’d asked if he could organize her things, and she’d said yes. The thought of putting Kenzie’s little clothes in his closet thrilled him, made his head hazy, made him hard; Duncan stood, bare feet feeling the thick rug that extended far around the bed--he moved beyond it to the dark hardwood, reaching for her clothes on the hanging rack in the corner. He turned toward the doorway for a moment, eyes falling over the wall beside it; that’s where the mirror should go, he thought. The side of the bed facing it clearly; and the hook we’ll hang from the ceiling above it, the hook will be right in front of it, close, so we can fuck there, standing, her little arms extended by the soft rope and her body stretched out to me, and she can press her sweetness down onto my mouth and I can watch myself eat her, watch the pleasure in her eyes and the tremble of her body, prostrate to me there, I can watch my worship, I can see every delicate turn of her and be smitten again and again, besotted in her, angel baby…

Duncan shivered and turned back to her clothes, hands trailing along in them; the smell of her rose off them in a delicate wave, and he felt drunk on it. He carefully lifted the hangers up, taking only a few pieces at a time into the closet, gazing down at them; her beautiful little dresses, babydoll and bodycon and with flowing skirts, and long-sleeved button-downs and turtle and mock necks, low-cut blouses and high-necked form-fitting tops and v-necks and wrap tops, some with prints of flowers or celestial bodies or patterns, and some lovely dresses in white and cream and sand, but most of them in solid, earth-tone colors. He lined them beside the new things she’d bought and hung in the closet the other day; he felt greedy, wanted more there, wanted the whole closet to be full of her things so he could stare at them and smell them and drink them in; wanted her gold on everything. His eyes fell over the red dress he’d gotten her at Nancy’s shop--the one that had kindled feverish lust in him, made him press his fingers between her legs and coax her into an orgasm on his lap, and he thought of the fall of her hair and her little teeth when she smiled and laughed and the bob of her throat when she was sad, tears streaking down her cheeks, and he shivered again. She is so beautiful. It makes my heart fucking ache. He thought of her pressing kisses between his shoulders this morning; you aren’t dark, baby. You aren’t. Duncan thought of all the things he’d done at his mother’s bidding for the furtherment of Shepherd Unlimited; thought of the app that he knew was mining people’s personal information, the hidden overseas accounts, his Uncle’s attempts to unseat President Underwood; he wondered if, in this case, it was wrong to hope his Uncle’s death would come soon. If one man causes so much suffering to others, is his death truly something to mourn? Only when Bill was gone would they be able to reshape Shepherd Unlimited into something that could cease harming others and begin to aid them. We have so much, he marveled, staring at the delicate pieces of Kenzie’s wardrobe, having finished hanging everything from the rack across from his dark monochrome clothes on the other side. How can I not have seen it before, really seen it, and known that I needed to reshape the company to help the rest of the world? That’s what I’m meant to do. I see that now. Kenzie has brought not only her light across everything in my life; she’d kindled the desire in me to further that light to touch as many people as I can. The Fates have blessed us, and I think they expect us to share those blessings further. She was meant to open my heart and my eyes to everything. Kenzie’s clothing juxtaposed sharply with his; the earthy tones of her, the shadowy tones of him. Persephone comes to Hades in his dark realm and kisses sweet flowers into his mouth, bringing him back to life from his cold death-state. She kindles the latent embers of his soul; stokes them back to a burning fire in his heart.

For her. It’s all for her. All for you, Kenzie. My body and my soul.

Duncan continued to move Kenzie’s things carefully into the closet with studied reverence; he had always been neat by nature, having been raised by a meticulous mother and taught that discretion was of paramount importance, coordination and careful study the measure of one’s mettle, and he organized the clothing in the boxes according to style and function and then by color; starting with whites and moving down through the rainbow to gray and black at the end. He moved on to two other boxes that held her shoes; the strappy sandals she was wearing them they met (he cradled them affectionately), little kitten heels he knew she wore to work sometimes, suede boots in black and saddle, more heeled sandals and flat sandals and black heels with pointed toes; Duncan loved how small they were, marveled at the size of her little feet, and carefully lined them on the shelves he’d cleared for them on the opposite side of the one that had dozens of pairs of his black boots and dress shoes along it. He marveled, shyly, at her, seemingly, scores of pairs of panties (some silky, some cotton, in every color and style he could think of--brief ands bikini and lacy and thongs--and a particular box that seemed to have only comfortable boycuts, most of them with period stains, and he carefully placed those in a bottom drawer together) and the loveliness of her bras; soft and silky, their small cups sliding through his fingers. Looking at her underthings just made Duncan long to buy her more--he thought of her in lacy, flowing lingerie, a garter belt and suspenders and a lacy chiffon robe, her chestnut hair falling around her shoulders, the Tiffany moon at her throat, glittering in low light, and his mind grew hazy with the sweetness of the thought. He looked down at the little labels on one of the bras and on her panties, committing her size to memory. It’d been a long time since he’d bought lingerie for a woman (most of the romantic attachments with women in his life up until now hadn’t lasted long enough for him to do something so intimate for them)--it had been for Misha, ancient history--and Duncan vaguely hoped, thinking as he slipped on a pair of black cashmere socks, that Kenzie wouldn’t mind him picking out something so intimate for her; she was so fierce in her own stylistic preferences, after all. But now that he’d carefully looked at her wardrobe, he felt sure he knew what she would like, and what she wouldn’t. Her clothes are a little piece of her soul; the way my clothes are a little piece of mine. They tell a story about her; the story of her gold aura and her bravery and how hard she works, the way she guards herself, the trembling delicacy of her emotions, with what she wears, the lovely scent of her and the shape of her and the interest she has in nature and in colors, in space and stars and celestial images, in cuts that flatter her body and make her feel comfortable and make her feel attractive. It’s a lovely wardrobe. If I didn’t already love her, I would after I saw it this way, this closely; if I’d seen this wardrobe out of a hundred others, I feel I’d know it on sight as hers, even if I’d never met her. I don’t know I know that, but I know. Duncan looked inside some of the other boxes the movers had stacked along the wall; some had books in them, more of her little jewelry boxes (one was a little gold-embossed, mirrored tray full of tiny rings, another a Victorian-style box with bracelets inside, including the twisting one she’d worn the night he first saw her on the balcony); one had her constellation bedspread, others her beautiful little tchotchkes; her moon alarm clock, crystal towers and geodes and incense and other lovely things that felt like her and looked like her and smelled like her to him, delicate, gold-sheened: an array of tiny china birds, her moon and sun wind chimes, framed pictures of her with Madeline (Kenzie was sitting on her lap, clutching her mother’s face close, eyes turned down, and Duncan’s affection for her fell over him in a wave again), one of her with Claire at Disney World (both of them in Mickey ears holding Mickey ice cream bars, grinning with happy abandon), and another with her in a black dress, golden hair over her shoulder, and an older, balding man with a friendly smile; clearly her father. He looked over them lovingly, but didn’t presume to move them--she could put them anywhere she wanted, where she wanted them, because this space belonged to her now, too, and anything of hers was a boon to him, a bright little piece of her blessing a space that had been cold and empty of warmth to him for so long.

Duncan went out to the vast space of his open living room in the quiet daylight, stepping over to where the Bouguereau prints stretched between Dike and Nike, his arms crossed in contemplation; he’d always found them beautiful, but now they seemed unearthly in their beauty to him; each of the aspects of the cycle of the day reminded him of Kenzie now; each one was her, her turning her body under him in the shadow of the evening, her lifting her face to kiss him, her reaching across his body to put her little hands around him, the aspect of her sleeping face against the pillow. He hesitated, contemplating going into the study to look at The Youth of Bacchus, but stopped himself; something about it was tied irrevocably to her now, and he longed to look at her looking at it instead; the wondrous affectation of her eyes moving over it, entranced. I should look up the next auction at Sotheby’s, he thought. That blank wall in the bedroom...and our birthdays are soon. I want to dedicate more than the Gala to her. I want to dedicate art, all the beauty I see, and my life, to her. She deserves absolutely everything. She deserves a painting of her own, one that reminds me of her, given with all my love.

Duncan went to the low leather couch, opening his Macbook there and glancing at his emails, but not opening any of them, even though he noticed a very important message there that he’d been waiting for; from the President’s secretary, in reply to a correspondence he’d begun a few days before. He saw the first line in the preview; President Underwood has agreed to see you on Thursday. Midday is best, around 2 PM. She isn’t feeling up to talking for very long--and then it cut off. Perfect, he thought. Just need to get in the door. He went out of his email and opened a new tab, typing into the bar at the top of the screen: agentprovocateur.com. As he scrolled through the models in delicate lingerie, Duncan’s thoughts were full of Kenzie; her golden hair falling down her back, her eyes on him over her shoulder, the round rise of her ass and her gorgeous, curvy hips under his hands, the tiny hairs around the lips of her sex, the roundness of her little nipples growing hard under his fingers, her delicate collarbones, the space under her ear that fit so well into his hand, the softness of her there under his lips, her wide hazel eyes, flecks of gold and bronze whirling in their depth, framed by long eyelashes that battered into his heart when she looked at him--he felt continually swept away under her gaze, as though it took him again and again into another world, one where they were alone and undisturbed, free to look into each other for ages and contemplate the wonder of the other. My Kenzie. My heart. The half of me that was ripped away, the half of me I found again, somehow, miraculous, trembling like rain on roses, my heart whole again.

Duncan chose two full lingerie sets for her. One was in black, with intricate, criss-crossing geometric embellishments in transparent tulle along the bust and suspenders, with long, sheer black stockings. The second was sheer nude with white flowering lace embellishments and white banding, with bows on the suspenders and the front of the panties, the breasts exposed (I can’t wait to press my mouth against her there through the tulle, feel the beating of her heart under her breasts with my lips while she watches me in the mirror, tied up nice and tight), and sheer stockings. The thought of Kenzie wearing them set a bonfire in the center of him; made the back of his neck tingle, coiled heat between his thighs. Duncan went to the section titled cuffs, chokers and bodychains, his skin humming, his breath catching as his eyes fell on a thick, black buckled choker with a silver stemmed rose attached to the front of it. He imagined Kenzie wearing it, staring up at him as he tied her wrists into velvet ropes, and he felt another wave of dizzy desire wash over him. Oh, fuck, baby. My little rose; roses on the balcony, roses in the bathtub, roses here on this table that I got for you because they remind me of you, my rose. I’m going to fucking devour you. To him it seemed as though the choker had been made just for her--the better for me to adorn her in worship. He added it to the cart, imagining the look in her eyes when she opened the telltale pink box and saw it nestled between the tissue paper, and Duncan felt himself harden with a shiver. Be patient, she’d told him. He wondered when she would tie him up. Duncan looked down at the screen again, coming back from his thoughts.

He also picked out a short black silk kimono with a tying sash and flowing lace embellishments at the hem and sleeves, and a sleeping shorts-and-top set in pink satin with straps and black lace around the open neckline. As much as Duncan loved Kenzie sleeping in his graphic tees, he couldn’t help but feel she deserved something more beautiful to wear to sleep; as beautiful as she was, as delicate and fascinating. And I have my own selfish reasons, he thought, blushing unbeknownst to himself in the quiet morning light, going to the checkout and typing in his Black AmEx card number, choosing next-day shipping. She’s so fucking beautiful and I want to see her in finespun beautiful things that look like they came from heaven like she did before I carefully undress her, over and over and over, and kiss every inch of her body for as long as she’ll let me. Duncan thought of his dream of her that morning again; the wings from her back, the iridescence of the halo that hovered around her, the serene expression in her eyes, like galaxies turning in their obscure orbits; they’d been in some celestial ether, a clouded place of blushing colors, and he had knelt before her, stunned by her. The dream had felt...not like a dream, somehow, in that it was real, in that it was the past, or the future, or something that was happening somehow; something that had happened in another time, or was going to happen, or was going on in this moment in some other place. Duncan felt dizzy--the details of the dream were slipping away little by little, but he tried to grasp at the image of her in it; paint its outline onto his memory. If I can remember just that, the halo and her wings and her face looking at me with such love and concord, so much compassion for me, a dark and lowly creature. That’s enough.

Duncan leaned back from his Macbook, hitting the home button on his phone, clutched in his palm, going into his contacts absent-mindedly, thoughts still on the dream of Kenzie, and highlighting a certain name there. Frederick Stapleton. Frederick had been the most trusted antiques dealer for the Shepherd family for two decades. He’d found Duncan’s mahogany study desk (19th century--Kenzie sitting on it, naked, staring at me with velvet rope) and had been curating Annette’s personal collection for the better part of his career. He’ll know where I can find what I’m looking for. Duncan hit the call button and held the phone up to his ear. It rang four times, then a warm voice floated through.

“Stapleton Antiques.”

“Frederick, it’s Duncan Shepherd. How are you?”

“Ah, Duncan, what an unexpected surprise. I’m well--very well, actually, we recently got in several exquisite pieces from 17th century France, if you’re in the market, though I deign to part with them, honestly, they are so exceptional--”

“Frederick, thank you, no, I have a very important request.”

“I’m listening. You know I love a challenge.”

“I need a mirror. A very large standing mirror. Gilded would be ideal; something beautiful….something exceptionally beautiful. Maybe 8 or 9 feet.”

There was silence on the other side of the phone for a few moments, then a satisfied chuckle from Frederick; he was well over 80 now, but Duncan was pleased to hear the vibrancy of his voice through the phone; still full of life.

“I think I have just the thing. Can you come by today?”

“I can come right now. Thank you, Frederick, I knew I could count on you for this.”

“You, of course, were right, Mr. Shepherd.”

“Half an hour?”

“Very good, Mr. Shepherd. I think you’ll be very pleased.”

“See you then.”

Duncan hung up, standing and slipping his phone into his back pocket, fingers idly trailing through his hair, coming down to rest around his chin as he went to the closet, choosing one of the dozen pairs of Yves Wyatt black boots on the rack of his shoes towards the middle of the walk-in’s length; he turned for a moment, staring again at Kenzie’s little shoes he’d lined carefully on the opposite shelf, his gaze zeroing in on the sandals he remembered untying delicately from her feet, his lips on the red stripes they’d made on her ankles, that first press of their bodies together, whiskey making him bold in the face of her loveliness. His skin felt hot and flushed; nervous energy was sliding along it, his anticipation singing. He’d never known Frederick to be one to boast; if he said he had what Duncan described, he had it. God, I still wish my mother hadn’t insisted on fitting her today like this, though, Duncan thought with frustration, choosing a pair of Givenchy aviators from one of the adjacent shelves that held his dozen pairs of black designer sunglasses in varying styles. I wish she could come with me, if she doesn’t love it absolutely it isn’t good enough. It has to be perfect. The thought of them being able to spend the whole day together tomorrow was humming in the back of his mind, a secret thrill of joy and relief. Our first whole day together, just the two of us. Nobody to tell us where we have to be. God, I hope she likes those pieces I ordered. She’s going to look so fucking beautiful in them, I might just fucking die. Duncan thought vaguely of looking at his emails before he left, but a heightened kind of abandon was building behind his temples. It can wait. Everything can wait. Kenzie is more important than all of this, any of this. She told me she wants me to do this today while she’s gone, and her wish is my command, my duty. So emails, fuck off.

Duncan slid the aviators over his eyes, switching his phone out of his pocket to call an Uber Black, sliding his Ferragamo wallet into it instead, and left the penthouse, letting the long black door swing smoothly shut behind him, his thoughts full of her, her gold-flecked hazel eyes. Whatever you want, baby. Anything you want.

------

Duncan arrived at the antique shop about twenty minutes later--Stapleton Antiques was a stylish, squarish mid-century brick building partially hidden by two very old oaks on either side of its eaves, a well-kept secret with almost exclusively seven-figure clients. They didn’t even have a sign; you either knew what it was, or you didn’t. Duncan thanked his driver and stepped out of the Mercedes that had picked him up, the anxious energy humming along under his skin again. He glanced down at his Movado, eyes skirting over the edge of his sunglasses; it was just a little after 2 PM. He wondered idly what Kenzie was doing, how she was faring with his stern mother, how she was feeling. He pulled his phone out on the sidewalk and opened his text messages, sending one to Kenzie.

Hope everything is going okay, baby. I think I found the mirror. I’ll send you a picture in a minute when I get inside to look at it. Please tell me what you think, if it isn’t perfect, I’ll keep looking. He hit send, hesitated for a moment, then typed again.

I realized tomorrow is our first full day together without any interruptions. I was thinking we could go to the beach. What do you think? We have house in Yarmouth, around Cape Cod. We can just go for the day and fly back with the jet. It’ll be just us: just me and you. It’s supposed to be sunny and beautiful tomorrow. I just wanna hold you and kiss you in the sand.

He saw the telltale bubbles appear under his message almost immediately; Duncan marveled at the way his nerves thrilled at the prospect of her answer. All I want is to be near her, to talk to her, to listen to her speak, to read her words or look at her. Nothing else is so wonderful. Nothing.

Kenzie: WOW, baby, that sounds AMAZING! Yes!!! I didn’t realize you had a jet, though I guess I should have assumed that. That sounds so perfect, like a dream. I’m not with Annette anymore, I’m at Morgan’s studio, the designer Claire works for. Erik’s here. He’s going to help us decide what I should wear for the Gala and Morgan’s going to make it.

The bubbles appeared again, and then another text.

Your mom and I got into an argument. I mentioned you’d told me that you’re going to be co-chairman of the company when your Uncle passes away. She didn’t like that very much. I’m sorry I said something but she was trying to bait me again and I lost my temper and told her I deserve to know important things about your life. She left after that and Erik and I went on with the dress planning alone.

Of course they got into an argument, Duncan thought. You’re the one who fucking demanded Kenzie come do this fitting with you, Mom, and then you storm out. You treat her terribly and expect her to just put up with it. Not my Kenzie. He tried to quell the anger the immediately rose in him towards his mother and took a deep breath, shutting his eyes; changing Shepherd Unlimited is going to be an uphill battle the whole way. Thank whatever gods may be that I have Kenzie by my side now.

Baby, he replied, it’s okay. You DO deserve to know, you’re right. And eventually she’s going to see that too. My mother is a very stubborn person but I know she wants what’s best for me. She just needs to accept that what’s best for me is you. I’m so glad Erik is still with you. He’s trustworthy.

Duncan lowered the phone in his hand and stepped into the brick building, taking his sunglasses off and tucking them into the dip of his shirt; the musty smell of very old wood enveloped him, but the interior was meticulously clean; anything displayed in the front (chests and Tiffany lamps and crystal chandeliers) had been polished to its clearest, cleanest sheen, and Duncan’s eyes immediately fell on the gigantic golden clockwork peacock in the center of the room. This peacock had been here since he was a child; it had jeweled emerald eyes and it moved its head back and forth from its wing feathers on the hour, a chime erupting from somewhere deep inside it to mark the passage of time. The clock was very old; Russian, 18th century. Duncan had always loved it, and it had been at least two years since the last time he’d personally set foot in Stapleton’s. The sight of it immediately transported him back in time to when Frederick used to give him tiny caramel candies while he waited for his mother to look at whatever fine thing she’d asked Frederick to find. He’d stare at it for hours, the taste of the caramel in his mouth, the sight of the the golden peacock fascinating his eyes. Duncan thought of Kenzie’s gold aura; I have to bring her to see this peacock sometime, he thought. She would love it so much. And Frederick would love her. Of course he would love her. Everyone loves her. Kenzie is an angel and everything she touches turns to gold.

He stepped up to the peacock, gazing at it in his nostalgic drift (it was still right now, 2 having come and gone), and he was brought out of it by a warm voice to his right; “There you are, Duncan, come this way,” and he turned to see the back of Frederick’s head, white hair surrounding a shiny bald spot, already vanishing through the side-doorway to the back area, an area only ever seen by those who had gained the Stapleton’s trust and loyalty. Duncan glanced at the peacock one more time (Kenzie) and pushed the curtain in the doorway aside (it was heavy and red and velvet and smelled like the backstage of a theater). The back room was much dustier, and always in various states of disarray; this was where the new pieces came first and were sorted and appraised and cleaned. Frederick was in the far corner, an area comprised of mostly stacks of wooden boxes with precious cargo, still nailed shut, rolled Persian rugs, and a large antique dresser that seemed to be in the middle of being cleaned; against the wall was a very long black curtain, visibly dusty, draped over a huge squarish shape; taller than Duncan by several inches.   

“Duncan, it’s wonderful to see you again. It’s been far too long,” Frederick said. His half-moon glasses rested at the bridge of his nose; his eyes were very dark brown behind them, as if they held great depth, long secrets, tomes of ancient knowledge. Duncan had always thought so; had always felt as thought Frederick knew things that most people didn’t, spending all his time with the artifacts of lives long lived and gone on to the next plane, yet leaving the residue of those lives behind in the objects they had spent their time with. Frederick brought his wrinkled hands together, the curved silver handle of his cane resting in front of him on its four-pronged clawed feet, his white-bearded face breaking into a smile, tiny crows-feet crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“It has, Frederick. It’s nice to see the peacock again--and you. I was thinking about how you used to give me those little candies. Thank you for that.”

“You look very well, if I may say so, Mr. Shepherd.”

“I’m in love, Frederick.”

“I can tell. It’s shining out of you like a lighthouse. Quite a sight, I must say. Is this mirror--this great mirror of gilded loveliness--meant to be a gift for the one you love?”

“It is.”

“In that case, I think I really do have the right piece for you. It’s very...special.” Frederick spread his hands apart at this statement, stepping carefully, slowly, his gait stiff, using the cane with a silvery curved hook at the end, towards where the black curtain fell over the shape that leaned to the wall. “It’s quite singular, really. As the story goes, it belonged to a Viscountess in France, a few years before the start of the Revolution--1778 or ‘79, we’re not certain. Her parties, they say, were akin to how the Greeks imagined the hedonistic revelries of the Bacchanalia. Some say she worshipped Satan; others believe she was a practitioner of witchcraft, others still believe she was another kind of divine being; a Maenad, a handmaiden of Bacchus, a nymph of Dionysus, she of the wild ways. Whatever the truth--and likely she was nothing more than a woman unchained by society’s expectations of her--the mirror survived the rages of the Revolution, several sea voyages and World War II in a Belgian basement during its German occupation, among other things. The mirror, some say, will kindle the deepest desires of those who stare into it long enough--desires that transcend earthly passions, desires that touch the divine. In any case: the piece itself is truly one of a kind.”

With that, Frederick pulled carefully at the edge of the black curtain; Duncan saw a small cloud of dust lift from it as it fell away, and wondered how long the mirror had waited here along the wall for him; felt acutely, suddenly, that its wait had been for him, for them, for him and Kenzie, for the time when they found each other again, and he shivered as the curtain fell away. The mirror beneath was huge, a vast square of reflective energy; it stretched along the expanse of the wall, as long as it was tall--he stepped closer, almost involuntarily, to study its intricate details; the carvings that stretched along the framing, gold-embossed, were of the tendrils, vines, flowers and fruits of grapes; the nectar of the wine god. The mirror’s surface seemed untouched by time; it was still as clear as a pool of spring water, unblemished by the ages, and it stretched at least 8 feet long; the entirety of the room behind it illuminated in its reflection. Duncan reached out with a careful hand and ran it along the left side of the frame; the soft gold-and-bronze plating was cool and smooth under the tips of his fingers; they tingled, and he shivered. He stared at his reflection in the flawless surface; his sharp blue eyes, the stubble around his jaw, the rise of his lips, his hair falling behind his ears in soft waves. I’ve been waiting for you, the mirror whispered, in some secret, obtuse deja vu, into the center of his mind. I was preserved for the time you were together again--preserved by magick. By a strong spell that stood the test of hundreds of years. I belong to her. To the woman you love. I was always hers and I am always meant to be hers. Just like you.

“Frederick...wow,” Duncan murmured, glancing over his shoulder in the mirror’s reflection at the old man. “This is...more than I could have hoped for. It’s extraordinary. It’s...ethereal. Like it came from another world.”

“I knew it wouldn’t disappoint you. It’s been in the collecton for quite sometime--I never felt inclined to show it to anyone. I felt as though I couldn’t part with it. Until now, that is. For some reason, it feels as though it was meant to be yours all along. Isn’t that strange.”

“Can I please take a picture of it? I need to show it to her. I need to make sure it’s...it has to be perfect.”

“Certainly, Duncan. I’ll be at the front desk. Take your time.”

Frederick left, turned on his spindly silver-hooked cane as Duncan watched him through the mirror again; something in it seemed to shimmer in his gaze for a moment, as if a wave of gold passed over the surface, and Duncan was filled with a strange feeling, as if a rising tide had coursed down into his veins, swirled around his heart, pressed into the lining of his mind; as if something had fallen into place. He breathed deeply; the mirror was one of the most beautiful objects he had ever seen, and the thought of it in their bedroom, facing their bed, Kenzie’s golden hair falling around her shoulders in her reflection, her body turning in her beautiful little clothes, or naked, the softness of her skin in low light, her wrists tied tightly together and her arms extended to the ceiling, her form stretched towards it, her eyes shining out of its surface at him as he revered her body, its reflection of her a worship of her loveliness, filled him with fire. All for the worship of you, beloved. Oh, Kenzie, Mackenzie, my love.

Duncan pulled his phone out, stepping back several feet to include the entirety of the gigantic mirror in the photo; he smiled a little at his own reflection, his Givenchy sunglasses tucked over the front of his button-down, hair falling a little over his forehead, out at Kenzie, on the other side of the city, and added it to a text to her. Baby, it’s unbelievably beautiful. The picture can’t really do it justice. It seems like it was always meant to be ours. And it’s HUGE, 9 x 9 feet, he typed. He hit Send.

He looked up at it again as he waited for her reply; Duncan’s hand went to his chin involuntarily, his thoughts muddled by the beauty of this great object in front of him, his soul shaken by it. How had Frederick come upon such an extraordinary object, and how had it remained here until this very day, falling into his grasp this way? It seemed like Fate again to him; it seemed heavily destined. Duncan couldn’t imagine any other explanation. Like seeing Kenzie on that balcony among the roses, his heart struck with a longing he could not begin to fight, every sound fading and the starlight illuminating the fall of her hair, the shape of her shoulders, the jewels at her throat, and her eyes looking up at him from beneath the fall of her long lashes, stopping his heart. The mirror seemed to know him immediately, recognize the shape of him, as if it had beheld him before. As if I stood here before, in another room and another time and another place, but stood here in its gaze, and it remembers me now. He shivered again. His phone chimed, and he looked back down, tearing his eyes away from the colossal shape of it.

Kenzie: Duncan, oh my god. I can’t believe that’s even real. It’s AMAZING. It looks like it came from another world. Baby, I’m speechless.

Her echo of his own words sent a cold finger down Duncan’s spine. It really does, he typed back. I thought the same thing. It’s yours now. I can’t wait to see you, angel. I can’t wait to see your beautiful reflection in it.

Kenzie: Dunny, baby. I love you so much. Morgan made the most beautiful sketch for my dress...I can only imagine how gorgeous it’s going to be. I want it to be a surprise. Claire and I were thinking of getting a drink after we’re finished with Morgan and Erik--do you want to meet us somewhere? xxxxxxx

Duncan stared down at the X’s, his heart pounding. Dunny, baby. He thought of the day they’d planned tomorrow; the beach and sunlight and solitude, the promise of being wrapped in her arms all day, responsibilities forgotten and faraway. He thought of them finally alone in front of this mirror in their bedroom, Kenzie tied up under his hot, eager hands, thought of the lingerie he’d bought her that was soon to arrive in delicate pink boxes, and his body ached for her. Kenzie, I love you too. I can’t fucking wait to see that dress. Meet me at Jack Rose around 5?

Kenzie: That sounds good, baby. See you soon. She left the lipstick stain emoji at the end.

Duncan turned away from the mirror, his eyes lingering over its exquisite beauty for another moment, and went through the red curtain, to buy it from Frederick Stapleton.

-----

Duncan had made another purchase from Frederick before leaving the exclusive antique shop; a heavy, gilded ceiling hook made of bronze alongside a very long bronze-link chain that he now carried in a cloth bag clutched in his hand as he stepped outside. He vaguely mentioned something to Frederick about needing to hang a very heavy chandelier; if Frederick suspected it was for something else, he did not let on, just nodded and brought Duncan to an area that had dozens of antique hooks of varying sizes and styles. Duncan stepped into the car he’d called, asking the driver to take him back to the penthouse--he’d made arrangements with Frederick to have the mirror delivered within the hour, and there was still his email, unchecked today, that needed to be taken care of; not just coordinating his upcoming meeting with Claire Underwood, unbeknownst to Annette and his Uncle, but the confirmation of his Post interview with Kenzie and Ben Wilder next week. God, that mirror, his thoughts drifting away from emails, I want her to see it as soon as possible. It belongs in our bedroom. It has to be there when she gets home tonight. Frederick had given him a strange look before quoting the price to him; Duncan was still wondering what the look had meant, but he’d only asked for $100,000 for the mirror (the mirror to end all mirrors, Duncan thought); an extraordinarily low price for a piece so storied, unique, and rare. Duncan had balked at the amount--”Surely it’s worth more than that, Frederick.”

“It is.”

“Then why?”

“It’s meant to be yours.”

Duncan stared at the old man, studying him for a moment; Frederick stared back casually, decisively, as though his decision had come and gone and it was no longer something he could recant.

“This woman you love. It’s a gift for her, you said.”

“Yes. It is. She’s…” Duncan trailed off, looking away, feeling moisture gather in his eyes; words failed him, and he pressed his lips together, fighting off the wave of emotion that had crashed into him. She’s my one true love. She’s my soulmate. She’s the other half of me. The thoughts oscillated in his mind, filling him with blushing ardor. He pressed his hand to his chin, along his bottom lip, overcome.

“Mr. Shepherd. As I see it, the mirror is being returned to its owner. That’s all that can be said. All my happiness goes with it, to both of you.”

Duncan looked back up at the other man, and he nodded and smiled, because there were no more words to be said; Frederick was right. The mirror had, somehow, always been Kenzie’s; and now it would be a monument to her, an altar in her temple, a reflection of her staggering gold.

-------

“Anchaly, I need someone from maintenance to install this hook and chain in the bedroom ceiling tomorrow while Miss Stone and I are away,” Duncan said, coming up to the small man’s desk in the foyer of the high rise, setting the cloth bag carefully in front of him. “It’s for a chandelier. Oh, and I have a very large delivery arriving soon. Please allow them up into the penthouse. I’ll be at dinner with Mackenzie.”

Anchaly gave him a wry look, eyes dancing. “Of course, Mr. Shepherd. A chandelier. Lovely.” Duncan smiled at him in turn, not speaking; then, he turned and stepped to the elevators. Anchaly was very discreet, but the lobby had several other residents hanging around that afternoon--the last thing we need is someone to eavesdrop and blab to tabloids, I can just see the headline now: DUNCAN SHEPHERD AND MADELINE STONE INSTALL KINKY BONDAGE HOOK IN SEX DUNGEON. He snorted into his hand, unable to help himself, the elevator closing behind him; mercifully empty. He wondered, idly, what Kenzie’s dress looked like. With her by my side at the Gala, it’s going to be an incredibly memorable night, he thought. I hope they take a thousand pictures of her just to spite Mom. Everyone will see us together; no one will be able to deny anymore that Kenzie is meant to be in this world, that she shines brighter than anyone. That she’s a fucking goddess. Duncan came into the penthouse, tossing his sunglasses and wallet and phone onto the side-table by the front door, pressing a hand through his hair as he sat down at his Macbook on the low leather couch, fiddling with his Movado. The last of the work now; then just him and Kenzie for the rest of the night, and all of tomorrow.

-----

An hour or so later, Duncan stepped into to open space of Jack Rose’s Dining Saloon, a spacious whiskey bar with a truly impressive bar stretching the entire expanse of the space; wall to wall bottles of every shape and size, and the emphasis, of course, on whiskey. He thought of that first night again, a week ago (only a week?), when Kenzie’s little voice had said “Whiskey,” when he’d asked what she wanted from the bar and he’d gone hot and cold with the intensity of his desire for her, her fingers brushing against his when they clinked their Old Fashioneds together; when she’d agreed to go back to the penthouse with him, he thought he had to be dreaming. How has Fate smiled so on me. Duncan had often come here to have a drink alone; the bartenders knew him and most of the patrons left him alone (they were used to famous clientele), and they had the best whiskey selection in DC; his eyes scanned the long, open bar, searching for Kenzie’s telltale tawny hair or Claire’s short blonde shag. He spotted them towards the end, sitting in the high bar stools--Claire’s back was turned to him but he could see she was wearing a coral-colored summery wrap dress covered in blue, pink and gold catalina flower print, her legs crossed, a dry martini with two olives cradled in her hand, elbow resting on the back of the chair--and (my Kenzie) Kenzie was across from her, knees turned sideways in her seat towards Claire, the white stretch of her thighs visible between her mini skirt and long boots, and her hand was around a cocktail tumbler--a mint julep, from the sprigs of fresh mint he could pinpoint from this distance. Claire’s head was obscuring her face, but Duncan could see the angle of Kenzie’s chin was turned up to a man who stood a few inches from the backs of their chairs. The man was average, height-wise--shorter than me by a couple inches, I’d say, Duncan thought with a petty twinge of triumph--with shortly trimmed black hair and olive skin; he had a round, handsome, friendly face; he was physically fit and standing casually near Kenzie, a coiled, nervous energy in his stance, but with a measure of familiarity, as if they knew each other. He wore a white button-down with several of the buttons toward the top undone, exposing a measured stretch of skin along his neckline, and tailored slacks in navy blue with dark-colored plain-toe Oxford shoes. His hand was in one of his pockets, a pint glass half-full of dark beer in the other, and he was smiling at Kenzie as she spoke up at him, and something about the way he was smiling at her made a hot dagger of jealousy stab into Duncan’s temples.

Who is that.

Duncan pulled his sunglasses away from his eyes, shoving them into the dip of his short-sleeved Ferragamo shirt, pushing a hand along the side of his hair, stepping quickly to the corner where his girlfriend, her best friend, and this annoyingly charming person were huddled. Stop smiling at her, he thought at the man, a slight edge of embarrassment at the immediacy of his jealousy creeping into his mind. Something about the smile was full of warm affection; this man did know Kenzie, and this man cared about her, or else, he had cared about her--they hadn’t noticed Duncan yet and the man laughed a little at something Kenzie said...and the twinge of jealousy flared in Duncan again. He came up close enough to catch the man’s eye; they turned a little, eyes skirting between Kenzie and Duncan, expression softening with curiosity and wary recognition and vague enviousness, and Kenzie’s gaze fell on Duncan as the man stepped back a little, the small smile she’d been giving him widening as her bright hazel eyes fell into Duncan’s. Duncan’s heart twinged with immediate affection; Kenzie is so beautiful. Like a star with the rest of us orbiting around her.

“Hey baby,” Kenzie breathed, and she hopped down from the bar stool, pressing against him immediately. Duncan’s arms came around her and he couldn’t push away the possessive bloom of need that opened in him at the feeling of her hair against him and the smell of her skin and the soft incline of her lips and lashes from the bottom of his eyeline, and he leaned down to her and kissed her, open-mouthed; kiss me, Kenzie, kiss me, he thought, sheepishness at his inability to stay calm mixed in with his desirous abandon for her. She returned the deepness of his kiss for a moment and then pulled away, and he could see the blush on her cheeks at his neediness in front of the two pairs of eyes that watched them on either side; Claire with an expression of amusement (well, at least someone’s having fun, Duncan thought towards her) and the man with a skirting mixture of envious interest and awkwardness. “Hi baby,” he replied, breathless with the taste of her and the bitterness of his jealous rush. “Sorry I’m a little bit late, my car got stuck in the rush hour drift. Hey, Claire. You look lovely.”

Claire’s eyes drifted between the other man and Duncan, and she said “Hi, Duncan. Oh shucks, stop,” with a grin. She dipped the edge of her martini glass up to her mouth and took a long sip, as if to steel herself against the conversation she was about to witness. Kenzie looked between the two men for a moment and Duncan could see the blush in her cheeks deepen; she hopped back into her bar stool, facing him, clutching his arm for a moment, then held her hands out in short “ta-da” movement towards the dark-haired stranger. “Duncan, this is Tyler. Tyler Landau. Tyler--this is Duncan Shepherd.”

“Everyone knows who Duncan Shepherd is.” Tyler pulled the hand he’d had in his pocket out, holding it out to Duncan and giving him a small half-smile. Duncan grasped it, staring into the other man’s face for a moment; rather than feeling as though he disliked him, Duncan could immediately see a likability in Tyler, an affable evenness of temper. This is Kenzie’s ex, he knew in a rush, remembering the way they’d clutched each other in the shower as she told me about the man she used to love. This man. She loved him once. She lost her virginity to him. She used to kiss him, my Kenzie...she was tangled in his sheets for three years...

“Kenzie’s told me about you,” Duncan said. “A pediatrician, right?”

“Still in Residency, I’m afraid--3 years in. Not convinced it’s actually ever going to end.”

“Tyler’s here with some of his coworkers--it’s such a weird coincidence,” Kenzie murmured, her voice rushing with nervousness. She tucked a wave of hair behind her ear, pulling her mint julep up to her mouth, and Duncan felt a wave of affection for her. “He saw us come in from where they’re sitting over there and came over to say hi,” Kenzie gestured to a low table on the other end of the bar; Duncan glanced back and noticed a group of young professionals that all looked to be in their late 20’s, casual-dressy like Tyler, chatting amiably over cocktails and appetizers--a few of them met Duncan’s gaze with curious interest; he knew they recognized him. Duncan turned back. “DC feels oddly small that way sometimes,” he said. “Tyler, can I buy you a drink?”

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t want to--”

“I insist.”

He crooked a finger at the bartender, who was eyeing him knowingly--it was Murphy, the ginger-bearded head bartender, who Duncan knew of many a drunken evening. “Murphy, can I get two of the Four Roses single-barrel year-100? Two rocks for each.” “You got it, boss,” Murphy replied, briskly setting up two tulip-shaped whiskey glasses. “Nice to see ya, Duncan, it’s been a minute.” “Same to you, Murph.” Murphy passed Duncan the two glasses across the smooth marbled surface of the bar; Duncan handed him his Black AmEx, and turned with the glasses to hand one to Kenzie’s ex. You have to stay calm, he told himself. You can’t let your insecurities in. Kenzie’s with you now and she deserves your even temper. Imagine if it was Misha or Evan, and how strange you would feel.

“Thanks, man,” Tyler said, draining the rest of his beer and leaning on Kenzie’s opposite side (don’t touch her, the thought flashed through Duncan’s mind despite his attempts to quell it) to set the empty pint on the bar, reaching for the tulip glass Duncan held out. As he’d assumed from a distance, Duncan was a couple inches taller than Tyler; they had similar builds, though Tyler was vaguely stockier. “That wasn’t necessary, but I appreciate it. I don’t want to impose on your evening…”

Too late, Duncan thought. But now that you’re here, I’m fucking curious, I can’t help it.

“...it’s just been awhile since Kenzie and I saw each other, and I’dve felt weird about it if I didn’t come over to say hello.”

“Don’t apologize, I understand.” Duncan held out his glass. “Cheers.”

Tyler leaned out to clink his against the edge of Duncan’s; Kenzie and Claire made similar motions, and Duncan could see the tiny tremor in Kenzie’s hand. She’s freaking out. He swallowed a mouthful of the whiskey, savoring the warmth of it in his throat, and reached out a long hand to press it into Kenzie’s knee. She put her little fingers over the incline of his wrist, her eyes looking up into his, and he saw the trepidation hiding inside them. I don’t know if you can hear me right now baby, he thought, concentrating on the gold flecks swirling in her gaze, but if you can, be calm, okay? Everything’s okay. He seems nice. I can see why you were with him. I love you. Duncan saw Kenzie’s expression soften just a little, the stiff position of her shoulders smooth downwards. He was struck with the longing to press his fingers through her hair, touch the little star charms on her necklace; he moved closer to her, between her seat and Claire’s, his back to the bar, facing Tyler, and kept his hand there on her knee, taking another sip of the whiskey; it was flooding into his senses, and he felt his tongue loosen.

“So you and Kenzie dated for three years.”

Tyler’s eyes skirted between Duncan and Kenzie, hesitating. When Kenzie didn’t say anything, staring down into her mint julep, he replied. “Yeah, while we were at school. But it was just one of those things, huh, Kenz. There aren’t any hard feelings from me.”

“No, no--there aren’t from me either.” Kenzie’s gaze skirted between him and the her ex boyfriend (his eyes are as different from mine as one could conceive, Duncan thought, russet and warm), giving them both small smiles. Her fingers squeezed around Duncan’s hand, and he squeezed her in return, possessiveness clasping at his heart again, pushing guilt through his gut.

“I’ve seen some of the stuff about both of you in the news lately--I was pretty surprised to see Kenzie all over social media all of a sudden,” Tyler went on, shifting on his feet a little, “...how long have you two been seeing each other, anyway?”

Kenzie looked up into Duncan’s eyes as she replied. “A week.” But it feels like longer, doesn’t it, baby. It feels like we’ve always known each other. He felt her thought drift into him with a swirling, warm pressure. Yes, baby. It does.

“A week that’s felt like a month,” Claire interjected, “since twenty things have happened every day since. I can’t even believe how much I’m seeing Kenzie online now, it’s so surreal.”

“Yeah, actually, now that you mention it, Claire, I saw the two of you are a trending topic on Instagram and Twitter for, like, four days now,” Tyler said, grinning. “That must be weird for you, Kenz. Your mom always said you wanted attention until you got it, then you didn’t want it anymore.”

Duncan bristled at the familiarity of the words Madeline had spoken to him over their dinner at Busboys several days before. “Madeline’s a fucking delight,” he said, eager to be part of the conversation. I know her too, Doc. “We had dinner the other night and I was totally enamored with her.”

Kenzie looked up at him with a radiant smile bursting across her face; Duncan moved his hand from her knee to the small of her back under the slat at the back of the bar stool. Wildly, the thought of her hand clutched around his throat flashed through his mind; the way she’d straddled his lap in the BMW that night on the way back to the penthouse. You better do as I say. Duncan wondered with a flash of heat pulsing in the pit of his stomach if she’d ever commanded Tyler that way--if Tyler had melted in her hands. It wouldn’t matter who it was, he knew. Anyone would bow to her.

“Once, Madeline took Kenz and I to this weird Cirque du Soleil show in Vegas,” Tyler said, his expression the amused look of someone remembering a fond memory. “And she’d smoked some hash with us before--because it’s fucking Madeline--and then she started having a bad trip in the middle of it and started yelling about pink elephants everywhere, pink elephants staring at her with beady eyes, pink elephants with too many balloons and they made us leave--we were just standing on the sidewalk fucking howling by then, remember that, Kenz--”

Stop fucking calling her that, Duncan thought, an annoyed jab flashing through his mind again. Stop being so fucking familiar. Duncan looked down at Kenzie and noticed the amusement in her face, the giggle of remembrance around her mouth. The memory of her affection for him, he knew, and it made him ache. “Oh god,” she said, and he pressed his fingers into her a little, the ache spreading through his arm. “That day was insane. I forgot about that, I laughed so hard I fucking cried, we had to practically carry her back to the hotel.”

Duncan took another hard sip of the bourbon; it was heady and wildly heavy and it made his skull pound. He looked up at the man across from him again as she spoke--Tyler’s hand was back in his pocket, and Duncan noticed the way his dark eyes fell over Kenzie’s loveliness--the cascade of her gold hair, her little mouth grinning, her tongue slipping between her teeth, bringing her glass up to her mouth, her arm tucking under her little breasts in amusement, toying with the star necklace that dipped down there. He didn’t break up with you, Duncan realized, his heart twinging. You broke up with him. He still loves you, doesn’t he. Why wouldn’t he? Everyone loves you. I love you. I love you so much it fucking hurts.

“I need to order some fucking food,” Claire said, breaking up the amusement between Kenzie and Tyler, to Duncan’s relief. “Where did that bartender go?” Duncan turned, catching Murphy’s eye from down the bar, waving a little; Murphy came back, cocking his head towards them. “Oh, thank god,” Claire murmured. “The perks of having the famous person in your crew. Can we get the shared supper plate, please?”

“Oh, oh, I want the chicken skins too, please,” Kenzie said excitedly, and Duncan noticed she’d drained her mint julep out of nervousness; “And two more of these,” he said, pointing to Kenzie and Claire’s empty glasses. Murphy nodded, grinning; Duncan understood why, both Kenzie and Claire were lovely, their energy warm and infectious; but Kenzie’s glow was iridescent, intoxicating, throwing her brightness around this corner, pulling the eyes of the room in. Tyler watched her with eyes that couldn’t seem to hide their longing--and Duncan felt another twinge of intense jealousy towards the man who had first known her bed, who had gotten to spend so many days with her, who had a wealth of memories with her that Duncan, no matter how many memories he would build atop them, would never be privy to.

“Well, I think it’s time for me to go back to my table,” Tyler said, as if he sensed the roiling shadow of Duncan’s thoughts. “Kenzie...I wish you the best in everything, always. Duncan, thank you for the drink, I really appreciate it. Claire, it was nice to see you again.” Tyler leaned forward over Kenzie’s little face, and before she could react, he kissed her cheek quickly, eyes closing--then he lifted away from her and nodded a little at Duncan, staring at him evenly. Then he drained the last of the whiskey from the tulip glass and set it carefully on the bar, giving the three of them a little wave, and turned back to his table where his coworkers beckoned to him. Duncan watched his back retreat for a moment before turning his face down to Kenzie, who stared up at him with the same expression of concern; he leaned his mouth down to her, hand at the back of her hair, and pressed her into him, needy with relief that the other man had gone away, unable to stop the onslaught of emotion that washed over him now.

“Well, that was fun,” Claire said to them, staring innocently up at the hundreds of bottles lined along the bar, pointedly away from their passionate kiss that continued to extend. Duncan didn’t care. He’d waited all day to kiss her and then her fucking ex boyfriend had appeared and he was starving for her now.

“Baby,” Duncan whispered down into Kenzie’s ear as his mouth fell away from hers. “I missed you so fucking much today. Wait until you see it. Just wait. It’s the most beautiful--”

“Oh, Duncan,” she whispered back into him, her hands coming around his face. “Dunny, I missed you too, baby, I’m so sorry about that, I never expected him to be here--”

“Shhh, it’s fine,” Duncan kissed her again, with shuddering softness this time. “It doesn’t matter--”

“Excuse me, Prince Duncan and Princess Kenzie, but y’all are making me clutch my pearls right now,” Claire interrupted them as Murphy brought them fresh drinks, a waiter close behind with the tray of charcuterie Claire had ordered for them; Kenzie’s chicken skins in their other hand. “Can’t wait for some photos of this moment on BPF tomorrow, I’ll make sure to send them to you as your official press secretary, Kenzie.”

Kenzie gave her friend a shy gaze but clapped a little, delighted, at the food. “Oh my god, I’m so fucking hungry, I forgot to eat all day between fighting with Annette and trying to figure out the dress. Oh baby, wait till you see it--it’s going to be so wonderful--”

Duncan smiled down at her, sliding into the seat on her left, the tide of his relief riding over him with the richness of the aged whiskey he’d just drank, reaching out to the charcuterie and plucking an olive from one of the little bowls, slipping it into his mouth. He pushed his hand through the wave of her hair, skin tingling from the contact with her he’d longed for and had had to postpone. “And wait ‘till you see this mirror, baby--”

“Mirror?” Claire was eavesdropping, her eyes dancing, reaching for crackers and slivers of aged cheddar on the big plate, sipping at her second martini. “What mirror?”

“Duncan found this amazing mirror today for the penthouse--” Kenzie opened her phone and showed Claire the photo Duncan had sent her earlier. Claire goggled at it, her mouth falling open. “Holy shit, that’s incredible. All the gold, like, how big is that thing, wow, that’s fucking extravagant.” She gave Kenzie a coy look. “Wonder what you’ll do with that, hmmmm.” Duncan slipped a hand over his mouth, trying to hide his grin, but he knew Claire saw; she wiggled her eyebrows at them, mock-seductive. “Your own personal movie theater, huh?” Kenzie blushed, biting the nail of her index finger as Claire giggled at her, and Duncan was struck with the desire to pull her against him, cradle her in his arms with protective need. “Oh, by the way, Duncan, I rode in the BMW with Kenzie over here and Samuel is a fucking dream, I wanna marry him now.”

“He’s single,” Duncan said, only half-jokingly. “Somehow, impossibly.”

“He doesn’t have time to date when he’s carting your ass around all the time,” Claire retorted, and Duncan laughed a little. “Touche. He needs more vacation time.” Duncan’s eyes fell over Kenzie devouring one of the chicken skins clutched between two fingers in her little hand, then skirted behind her to where Tyler sat on the other side of the restaurant with his table of pediatric co-residents. Duncan could see the other man’s dark eyes falling back over to where they sat the end of the bar; especially over Kenzie’s gold hair, the incline of her back. Duncan brought his hand into her lap again, riding high up on her thigh; Kenzie giggled a little, swallowing; “Baby, that tickles.” She brought her lips up against his, wiping her hands carefully on her napkin before she pressed her fingers against his jaw on either side, pulling him against her. “I love you,” she whispered into his mouth, and he closed his eyes, smelling the sweetness of her perfume and the grease and the whiskey and mint on her lips, loving the scent of her and the texture. She loves me, Duncan thought with relief. How am I so lucky? She loves me, I love her, loves me, I love her, she loves me...

--------

They’d driven Claire back to her Dupont Circle apartment, about a fifteen minute walk from where Kenzie used to live. Claire was quite tipsy and Duncan had carefully helped her to her door, her arm threaded through his to keep from falling; she’d sat in the front seat with Samuel, the partition open so they could all talk together, and Duncan could tell his driver was quite taken with her; you say you wanna marry Samuel, but I think he wants to marry you, Duncan thought, watching his chauffeur and Kenzie’s best friend flirt, his hand in Kenzie’s lap. She was gazing at him with a contented, quiet look in her eyes; waiting for us to be alone, me too, baby, he thought towards her. Claire had hugged his neck (as was her way) as he deposited her at the door of her apartment; “I know you saw what I saw,” she said, leaning down to his face conspiratorially, her words slurring a little with all the gin from her martini having settled in, the sharp scent of it in his nose. “And I always suuuspected their break-up was one-sided. Tyler was giving her googly eyes, big ones. But here’s the thing, Duncan--she issin love with you. Like, I have never seen her SO happy in my whole LIFE, and I’ve known her since she was fucking up volleyball serves in high school. You’re gonna marry her. I know it.”

“Goodnight, Claire,” Duncan let go of her gently, smiling at her and nodding, and Claire stood there dazed for a moment, lost in the drift of the alcohol, then she gave him a little salute, like she was a private saluting a sergeant, and twisted the doorknob, falling inside. Duncan tried to shake the whiskey out of his head, too, the cool evening air helping a little as he walked back to the BMW; he slid back into the backseat, noticing Kenzie was already pushing the partition button, allowing them privacy from Samuel, the last obstruction to their solitude.

“Baby, I--you know I had no idea Tyler would be there--” she said in a rush, but he broke her off gently.

“Kenzie, of course. I know.”

“I could hear--I could hear you. The intensity of your thoughts. It was all around me. Like a ring of fire.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I tried to push it away, tried to bury it--”

“No...I sort of...I liked it.” Kenzie’s face came close, hovering under his chin; her mouth open, anticipating. Tonight Nat King Cole’s rich voice floated from the speakers, somewhere in the background of the golden sphere of her little body, finally so close to him: you’ll never know how slow the moments go...till I’m near to you...I see your face...in every flower...your eyes in stars above…Her eyes stared up into his (flecks of gold, bronze, dark sunset in a forest), her voice low and sweet, her breath shallow, and her other hand was falling down his chest to hover along his stomach and then at his hip, just above his crotch, the tips of her fingers brushing him with aching hesitation. “I...I liked that you were so jealous. I liked that you needed me so much, want me so much...like you were going to burst into a bonfire. Like you couldn’t bear it...like...when you wondered if I’d touched him that way--” It’s just the thought of you, the very thought of you...my love...

“Kenzie,” he breathed into her. “Touch me. Please, baby.”

She reached up so her hands fell on his jaw and in his hair, and he was pulling her against him, hands harshly clasped on her hips as the BMW drove the short distance back to the penthouse, falling into her in the dark.

“He still loves you,” he spoke between their kisses, gasping, his hands falling down the velvety feeling of her boots and back up to the bareness of her thigh, the curve of her hip and the tiny dip of her waist, his eyes shut, unable to bear the sight of her for fear she would shake his soul again with her loveliness, her otherworldliness, the taste of her enough to drive him into a state of mad emotion, threatening to make him unable to speak, the scent of her falling down into his senses, filling him up, sucking his breath away. “I could tell by the way he looked at you, baby. He wished he could go back to when you were his. I could see it.”

“Duncan, it doesn’t matter. I only love you.”

He sighed into her; Duncan felt tears prick at his eyes. Her mouth was so soft in the dark it was like the delicate petals of a flower under his lips, and his heart was swollen with the sounds she made, her tiny moans under his hands, the hum of her breathing in his ears in the shadows; he longed to breathe something into her, an admonition of passion and adoration so sincere, so entire, that it would dispel all doubt from her mind for as long as they lived--he wanted her to know the depth of his love would never fade, that he would worship her until the stars faded from the heavens and the sun burned away into darkness, but how could he? How could he find words? “I love you,” was all he could whisper, his mouth on her chin and the incline of her throat, “I love you, I love you, Kenzie--”.

The partition floated down and they broke apart, achingly, reluctantly, and he could see Kenzie’s little frame shivering with the intensity of her breathing in the dark; they hadn’t noticed the BMW had pulled up to the high-rise and had been idling, quietly, for several minutes.

“We’re home, Mr. Shepherd, Miss Stone,” Samuel said quietly, his eyes skirting over their dishelvement, their harsh breathing. Ushering us on to the quiet solitude of our bed, Duncan thought with a warm, vague knowledge. He nodded at the other man. “Thank you, Samuel. We’re taking the jet to Yarmouth tomorrow, can you pick us up around 9?”

“Very good, Mr. Shepherd. Miss Mackenzie, it was a pleasure to drive you today. Anytime you want to listen to Stevie, you let me know.”

Kenzie’s little smile broke over her cheeks in the shadows; “Thank you, Samuel. It was wonderful to spend time with you today.” Duncan opened the door and slid out, reaching down for her hand, anxious for her touch again. She slipped her small fingers between his, the sound of her boots on the sidewalk clicking in his ears, the soft lights of the street lamps falling over her small frame. He pulled her gently with him, wishing in that moment that he could snap his fingers and they’d suddenly appear in the bedroom, where he knew that vast, quiet, gold monument to her was waiting. Jerry pulled the door open, nodding to them without speaking; Anchaly was away from his desk at the moment, and Duncan silently thanked the Fates (Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos)--every interaction with anyone else was a distraction from his desire to show her what he’d found for her today, the thing he’d found that was already hers. In the elevator Kenzie let go of his hand and stepped to the opposite side, and they stood there across from each other, staring, the elevator’s mirror reflecting their profiles from the corner of Duncan’s eye--Kenzie leaned her ass against the smooth gold wall, parting her legs a little, bringing her hands into the dip of her crotch, not moving her eyes away from his face. Duncan’s hands gripped the rail behind him, the tension in his body rising, his need to feel her again making him dizzy.

“How was your day today, baby?” he said quietly.

“It was...long. Good. Sort of. Your mom--god, she hates me.”

Duncan bit his lip as the elevator climbed, his eyes on the flushed shimmer of her cheeks; 22, 23, 24. “We’re going to work on it, okay? We’re going to make her see.”

Kenzie nodded at him, a tiny smile at the corners of her mouth. “My dress, baby. Just wait. And Erik was lovely.” She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear; his heart shuddered.

“Mmhmm, he is. I can’t wait to see it, baby.” The elevator dinged, the doors sliding apart. Duncan reached for her but Kenzie--ugh, she’s so good at that, it makes me insane--slid away from him, looking at him back over her shoulder as she walked ahead of him to the penthouse door, her little teeth shining out of her mouth at him, a glint in her eyes. “Come here,” he said, needy.

“Come get me,” she replied, slipping her keycard into the slot by the door; it beeped and she swung it open, disappearing inside. Duncan groaned softly; fuck baby, I will. He fumbled with his wallet, snatching out his own key, hurriedly jamming it into the slot and yanking the door open; Kenzie had already kicked her boots off and was trotting around the corner in her little bare feet, towards the bedroom, hair shimmering. The penthouse was cool and quiet with evening; the diamond-drop chandelier reflecting the low lamps in the living room, his eyes skirting over her succulents along the sink, and he could see one of the little lamps in the bedroom had been switched on--as he followed Kenzie, kicking his own shoes off, he heard her gasp as she stopped dead, facing the wall that was obscured from this angle by the doorway. He stepped through, seeing her hands come up to her cheeks, her mouth snap shut, her eyes grow wide. He glanced to where she stared--there it was, this silent speculum of time, its carvings dipping softly in the shadows, vines, fruits and flowers, its clear reflection of them snatching his breath as he stepped up beside her. Duncan marveled for a moment at the difference in their heights--her little golden head only reaching to just below the bend of his shoulders, his hands obscuring her under his touch as he reached for her--and yet, he thought, your greatness astounds me, beloved. Your wonders are confounding to me, your secrets endless and each one more precious than any riches. She continued to stare at their reflection as his arms came around her from behind, pressing his stomach gently into her back, fingers falling around the dip of her elbows, tightening, desirous, his face falling into the crook of her neck, his eyes looking up into hers through the mondo glass that stretched before them. He shivered a little at his own gaze--a blue fire raging in the center of him, every ember of it for her, reflecting outwards.

“Duncan, this…” He felt her shudder violently under his hands, and he moved his fingers down to cup around her breasts, clutching her, longing to soothe the shaking in her limbs, pressing soft kisses against her ear.

“It’s yours, isn’t it. It belongs to you.”

Kenzie’s eyes grew clouded as he said it, puzzled, but acknowledging, lost in the confusion of her sudden knowledge that he was right.

“It’s...I know it from somewhere. Like it used to be mine. How can that be, baby? How can this be mine?”

“I don’t know, Kenzie. But I knew it too, when I saw it. I knew it was yours. I knew it was yours...I don’t fucking know, baby, in another life. I knew it.” He turned her into him, aching for her mouth--she pressed into him, impossibly small and soft and delicate, smelling of roses and the gathering desire on her skin--and Duncan’s hands pushed under the fabric of her shirt, his fingers trailing along the soft skin at her spine, the rise of her ribs.

“I feel like I’ve looked into it before.”

“I know. I do, too. I don’t know how that’s possible. When I looked into it--” Duncan moaned into her as she pushed her hand into the waistband of his clothes, her fingers sliding down to grasp at the shaft of his cock, growing hard and pressing into the fabric, straining. “--it felt like I’d looked into it before.”

“I need you, Dunny.”

“Kenzie, angel--”

“Stare at me in this mirror and fuck me. Do it, right now.”

Duncan couldn’t stop the burst of lust, like the unexpected, painful dusting of an electric current, that danced across his mind as her command fell into his ears. Yes, goddess. He gripped her arms harshly, pulling her neck roughly into his mouth, biting down on the sensitive skin there--Kenzie cried out, quickening the heat in his groin, and Duncan brought his thumb into her mouth, which had opened for him, pressing it into her little tongue forcefully. Her eyes fluttered and she sucked; “Yes, angel,” he murmured, “Suck.” He used his other hand to push at the mini skirt around her waist, yanking it down from her hips where it pooled around her ankles, exposing the silkiness of her dark underwear. Kenzie stepped out of the skirt, parting her legs against him; he slipped his hand into the waistband of her panties and pressed his fingers, demanding, into her sex, and she arched into him, moaning into his thumb still pressed to her tongue, the vibration of her throat sending lightning bolts of sensation through his body. He moved his hand out of her panties and his finger from her mouth and stepped back, willing himself with every ounce of resolve he had, and she whimpered, leaning into the emptiness where his hands had been and his heart ached terribly.

“Baby,” he breathed, reaching up to work at the buttons of his shirt, “Take off your clothes. I’ll watch you, you watch me.”

Kenzie nodded, lifting the hem of the collared shirt over her head, tossing her starry necklace on the floor, her hair falling over her bare shoulders as she let the shirt drop after it; Duncan finished the buttons of his own shirt and let it fall, fingers fumbling at his belt buckle as he watched her unhook the back of the little bra she wore, exposing her breasts, covered in the goosebumps of her arousal, and her little fingers slipped down to slide the waistband of her panties off, stepping out of them, and suddenly, she was naked in front of him, her eyes shining with anticipation of the return of his touch. Duncan watched her eyes watch him push his pants and briefs down, exposing his cock, now hard with his arousal, then her gaze slid up into his and he paused at the demand inside them. Fuck me. I command you.

He pushed into her roughly; pushed her back, her tiny body sliding against him with wild lightness; pushed her until her back and her ass fell against the cold, smooth surface of the mirror, pressed her against it, their mouths crushed together, tongues entwining, his fingers brushing up into her cunt, hard, insistent, her little fingers gripping his cock, pulling him against her, and then Duncan lifted his hand to her throat and gripped her there, turning her cheek so his mouth pressed into her ear roughly, and he said “I’m gonna fuck you now, baby, so turn around and put your hands on the mirror.”

“Uh huh, baby, yes,” Kenzie whimpered, and he loosened the harsh grip of his fingers so she turned her body toward the mirror, pressing the palms of her hands into the smooth glass, leaning so her ass lifted towards his groin, her hair falling down over her shoulders and back, lifting her gaze to stare at him in the reflection. Duncan returned her gaze in the mirror as he gathered her hair in his fist, twisting it once around his hand, drunk with the reflection of their bodies hovering together, and her head jerked back a little, a moan falling from her little mouth, her eyes fluttering. “Unng, baby, yes,” she mewled, lifting her hips back towards his erection, and he was struck with another hot wave of need at the sound she had made, wanton and supplicant to him. Then, he pushed his cock, hard and sudden, down into her, and she let out a cry that shook hot drops of avid thirst down his spine. Duncan pulled harshly at her hair (your beautiful hair, your golden hair baby, in my fist, all mine) and plunged in and out of her warmth, and Kenzie cried out again and again, his moans falling into her--her eyes closed and Duncan jerked her head back a little, demanding. “Look at me, Kenzie.” Her eyes snapped open to him; the green hue was deeply present, shining out at him, ethereal and haunting. “That’s right. Look at me.”

“Uhh, baby,” she moaned, and he slipped his palm under her chin and brought her head back and kissed her, hard, his lips bruising into hers, his fist still around her hair, his cock buried in her; then he looked up at the reflection of her, tip-toed, mouth open, eyes turned up to him, breasts shivering, palms flat on the mirrored glass, her body bent into him. “Down, baby,” he said, letting go of her hair to carefully ease her onto her knees with him by her hips, her hands sliding slowly down the mirror’s surface until both of them were kneeling in front of it. He pulled back on her hips, moving slow, still buried inside her, and Kenzie’s hands fell to the floor, to the dark wood between the rug and the edge of the mirror. Duncan brought his hand up around her neck again, looking into her eyes in the mirror; “I love holding you here,” he murmured to her, fingers clenching on her throat, and rebounded his efforts at pounding his length into the warm dip of her cunt, pressing her legs outward, demandingly, with his thighs until she was trembling, prostrate, spread, her tiny body crushed into his and totally at his mercy, her mouth trembling up at him in the glass, her cheeks flushed with need. Duncan slipped his index and middle fingers deep into his mouth, slicking them with spit, then pressed them down into her ass, working them harshly back and forth as he fucked her, his concentration smooth and unbroken and utterly demanding of her; Kenzie spasmed and her mouth widened and her eyes rolled back into her head, and a long bead of drool ran from the corner of her mouth, glittering in the reflection, her senses abandoned in the forceful movement of his fingers inside her.

“Look at us,” Duncan commanded her, and Kenzie’s eyes widened from her desirous haze as he continued to work at her cunt with his cock (so hard, I’m so fucking hard baby, so hard for you, filling you up like this, god you feel good, like I’m meant to be inside you always) and her tight asshole with his long fingers, her shivering body totally at his beholden to him, supple under his insistence, “look at us fuck, baby, watch me fuck you like this--”

“Duncan, unnngh,” Kenzie murmured, “I want you to fuck my ass, baby,” and Duncan’s eyes rolled back at that, rolled back with the rocking burst of fervor her words kindled in him. He could see the glistening trail at her chin where she’d drooled and he wanted to reach out and wipe it away, but didn’t; a secret gift for him, her supplication, her abandon for him.

He pulled out of her and she whined, piteously. “Stay there. Do not move, angel,” he said, and Kenzie froze, eyes staring into him from her reflection. He pushed himself up, his achingly hard erection illuminated in the mirror’s watchful, long eye, and went into the bathroom where he knew Kenzie’s jar of coconut oil was sitting on the counter beside the squarish shape of her perfume. He eased a hand along his cock as he did, slick with the wet of the inside of her vulva, concentrating on it, bringing the jar back out with him to where he saw her still kneeling obediently in front of the mirror, her ass shivering almost imperceptibly from the memory of him pounding against her a moment before, the memory of his fingers, her legs still achingly spread. He stood there over her for a moment, gazing into her eyes in the mirror’s reflection again; this fucking mirror is something extraordinary, he thought, where did it even come from, and it’s going to be in our room always now, fuck, it’ll make me hard every time I look at it, seeing you in it makes me want to die in your eyes, baby, and Kenzie was nodding at him, her mouth open again; she’d heard him. “Yes, baby, yes,” Kenzie said, “Yes, it makes me so fucking wet for you, baby, fuck me again. Fuck me. Do as I say.”

He knelt again, obediently, unscrewing the lid on the oil, plunging his fingers into it and rubbing his hands together; the feeling of it was achingly cool and slippery, the bittersweet smell of it drifting into his nose, and he slathered it along his length so his cock shone in the low light; then he rewet his hands with more of it, rubbing it harshly into the lining of Kenzie’s vulva, up into her ass again as he pressed his fingers into her until she was soaking wet with it and glistening under his hand, and she bucked back into his touch, moaning again, tossing her hair over her shoulder with a flick of her head, her fingernails scraping along the dark wood in front of her, the dark green and gold of her eyes staring into his of blue fire embers. Beloved.

‘Fuck my ass, baby,” she said, letting her little mouth hang open as the words fell from her lips, and in her eyes he saw both the command and the subservience of her desire; saw that she demanded it of him, but also saw her acquiescence; her complete adoration, the adjuration of her love, and the fire of her need to bring him pleasure. I would do anything she told me to do, I would die for her or kill for her, but she would do anything for me, too, she will prostrate herself to me, and be happy to do it, and command me to command her and will obey me when she wants to because it gives her pleasure to do it, and I will obey her in all things, command her to her liking and for her joy, and he knew this utterly.

Duncan let his cock hover over the tight pucker of her ass for a moment more, pulling his fingers out, and they shivered against each other, eyes locked, their thoughts cascading against each other: My Persephone, give yourself to me, your Hades, give me your flowers and your heart and your body and your soul, and I am lost to you forever, for all of time, I am yours now and always, yours alone, I am lost in you, I am yours, body and soul. Then he pushed into her, shockwaves coursing through him at her tightness around his length and they both moaned, overcome with it. Kenzie whimpered with the combined adulation of intense pleasure and low pain, moving her hips under his hands, pushing him further in, almost subconsciously; wanting more from him; wanting him to fuck her deeper, immediately. Duncan moved into her, carefully; he looked up to see both their mouths hung open, lost in the sensation of him inside her this way, their eyes glossy with yearning. “I’m gonna fuck you harder now, angel,” he heard his voice say, low with promise, and Kenzie nodded and let out a little sound that was some combination of a sigh and a moan, words beyond her in this moment. He moved his hips, building up a stronger rhythm-- and he saw Kenzie’s tongue loll out of her mouth as he did, her senses overcome, saw a line of moisture drip down from her vulva onto the carpet in the mirror’s reflection where her cunt pulsed, empty of him but still hungry and building on its desirous need with the wild sensation of his long, aching hardness burying itself in her tight asshole, spreading her to the breaking point.

“Unnng, baby, you’re so big,” she whimpered, and he eased his hands down her back, his fingers coming over her hip to rub into her soaking clit, his other hand coming up to clutch the back of her head, golden hairs tangled in his fingers. “You’re so fucking big, baby, you’re filling me up to the edge, I can’t--I can’t--” She bucked into him again, his cock sliding down into her ass almost to the shaft, and Duncan wondered how long he could hold on, not very fucking long, baby, I don’t think I can, and saw his tongue flick out and lick his lips as she watched him, his need for her overwhelming.

“Kenzie, baby, you’re so tight, angel, you feel so fucking amazing, your little ass around my cock like this, fuck--”

“Go on, baby, fuck me good,” Kenzie smiled a little at that, her head turned up to him, and Duncan was struck with her beauty again, the gold coil of his orgasm falling down through his body bit by bit, struck with the intensity of his love for her, struck by her nature, her spirit, so staggeringly exquisite. “Fuck me good and make me come for you, I’m so close and I wanna come while I stare into your eyes in this gorgeous fucking mirror, baby--” and his fingers pressed down with more insistence into her clit, adoring the sound of her voice, his hair falling over his forehead in his reflection, a moan escaping his lips, his throat bobbing in need, then Kenzie was crying out and shaking violently into him, overcome with his length buried in the wild sensitivity of her ass, her orgasm swooping down onto them like an unseen predator, its hungry jaws closing around her and he held her under a strong, careful grip and watched another long line of moisture drip down from her shivering cunt to the carpet from her reflection in the mirror, her release falling, her voice bleeding into a shriek tinged with a sob as she lost herself in the intensity of her climax, and Duncan felt his eyes roll back as his orgasm rushed forward--”I’m gonna come, Kenzie--is it okay--” and Kenzie was murmuring “Yes, baby, fucking yes, come in my ass, Duncan, baby--” and he did, the heat of it bursting out of him into the wetness of her in a stream he could feel with sharp, scalding clarity, all his need and desire pouring out of him into her, his shudders long and low and prickling along his mind with insane euphoria, and inside the intensity of the orgasm was a darkly powerful energy that was rare--it seemed to coax every droplet out of him, burying itself inside her, needy to belong to her, desperate to be a part of her. All this time they stared at each other; Kenzie’s eyes full of whirling drops of gold, his strangely bright, lit from behind with a blue brazier, and Duncan felt again that he could see the gold ring of her halo, see the delicate outline of her soul, her nature, her spirit, so brilliant and so beautiful and so erotic and heavy in his hands that he felt faint with its weight. Their orgasms drifted out into quietness--their bodies heaved into each other, then shivered into long, overwhelmed breaths, then shuddered down into small, even sighs, and all that time, he stared into his Kenzie, and she stared back into him, the mirror like a bridge between the deepest parts of both of them, like a window into who they were in another world, a divine world full of unspeakable beauty, a place where they were together, also, and exalted in delights far beyond those of earth.

Then the spell seemed to dissipate, and Duncan and Kenzie fell back to solid ground, back into themselves; Duncan crashed back into his own psyche, and he eased himself out of her, wincing a little at how sensitive his cock felt now, wincing at the redness he’d left on her skin; turned her carefully, with terrible gentleness, laying her down, easing himself onto the rug beside her, propping himself up with one long arm as his hand fell along her cheek and her head lay down against the carpet, eyes staring up at him, languid, hazy, her little arms tucked into her stomach, hands falling down between her legs to probe gently at the ache of his worship. Duncan brought his trembling mouth down to her nipple and sucked at it, just for a moment, hand on her hip; then he moved back to gaze at her again. “Kenzie, are you okay?”

She sighed, and her smile sent bursts of gold dust around his heart. “Oh, Duncan. Yes. I feel so good, baby. I could die right here, I feel so fucking good.”

His own smile fell against the shape of her. “Take a shower with me, okay, baby?” he pleaded. Kenzie nodded, sighing again, and Duncan paused for a moment, then pushed himself up, gripping her gently under her arms, lifting her as if she were just a doll; Kenzie weakly brought herself up into his grasp on the balls of her feet, and Duncan steadied her as she stood, wobbly, against him, her tiny body folded into his arms as he pressed kisses into her forehead against her hairline, into the sweet scent of her hair.

In the shower Duncan pressed his hands softly into her, sponging sweet-smelling jasmine soap down her back, soothing the ache of him from her body, his face pressed into the soaking fall of her hair, pushing it gently aside with worshipping hands, rubbing softly at her neck, between her shoulder blades. Kenzie was quiet, and Duncan knew she didn’t want to speak right now, innately; her mind was full of dazzling bursts of gold light, and it was all he could see of her in this moment, and he felt her joy, the effervescence of her happiness, the intensity of her affection, overwhelming her. “I can’t wait to hold you on the beach all day tomorrow, baby,” he whispered into her ear, bringing the soft sponge around to the front of her body, pressing it first with aching gentleness down between her legs and then around his cock, now limp with release, and Kenzie sighed into his neck and nodded, still not saying anything, but Duncan knew she felt the same way, felt her gold emotions pressing into his skin, blessing him.

As they folded against each other (naked tonight, damp hair against the black pillows, her arms tucked into his chest, their feet touching, in their bed) Duncan felt himself drift away almost immediately in sleep, the darkness falling all around them, and he knew Kenzie was drifting away too, could feel the soft settling of her body against him, the sweet smell of her skin filling his senses, only the moon’s waxing eye falling down on them--and he didn’t know it, but that night both he and Kenzie dreamed about being together in that other place, that place of exalted delights far beyond those of earth, though in the morning, neither of them remembered.

[commentaryvorg]

(This isn’t the moment Kokichi falls into despair. This is the moment he figures out that everything is fiction.) I think this is a bit of hindsight bias. I mean, just because Kokichi figures out something is a lie doesn't mean that it's purely for entertainment. That wasn't the case for dr1, after all? It absolutely was apocalyptic as hell out there, and Tsumugi could easily be lying about it being a "set" as well as peoples talents being fake (case in point Miu, no way in hell was hers fake)

Also about Hope's Peak like, even Shuichi doubts that it's fiction in the end? I doubt Kokichi would ever come to that conclusion when he had the book in his lab, and for a special reason? And yeah, people may have enjoyed the game and screwed with them, but that doesn't mean it's just about the outside world or whatever but the organization responsible for arranging this (TDR) since they're really corrupt and sadistic. Idk, I feel like there's a lot more to this judging from the evidence

Sorry if this is flooding you I'm just really bothered because you said it's 'the only thing that makes sense' and I'm like nooooo, no no no no it's not?? There's more worth looking at especially around Kokichi, it's super vague about him even in the end 

(If this is the same anon as before, thank you for being more polite about it this time! I am quite happy to have a legitimate discussion about this.)

Okay, so, of course, this whole commentary is running under the assumption that everything is fiction because that's my interpretation of the story. The awkward thing about that for people who aren't necessarily ready to buy that interpretation is that most of the parts where I get to actually discuss why that's my interpretation happen towards the end of the story. Until then, I'm just kind of casually assuming it's the case without getting much chance to back it up, at least if I don't want to go off on massive tangents unrelated to what's actually going on. I'll be talking a lot more about this in chapter 6 (and a little bit in chapter 5) when we reach the parts where the narrative starts actively focusing on all of this. Hopefully then it'll become clearer why I think what I do. (Hopefully. I’m not quite so far ahead in writing this that I’ve reached chapter 6 yet, so I don't know exactly what I'm going to say when I get there, but.)

I acknowledge that my interpretation isn't the only possible one and that there are some holes in it. I talked about a few of these during the prologue and also briefly mentioned the talent thing when we saw Angie's waxworks. But the thing is, I'm pretty sure there isn't any single interpretation which has absolutely no holes in it. I've certainly never seen one which doesn't make me go "okay, but what about this, though". Not even mine, admittedly, yes.

I choose to go with my interpretation for two reasons, the first being that, in my opinion, it has the most supporting evidence and the fewest holes. (And most of the holes it does have can be put down to the fact that the out-universe writers probably couldn't do much about them if this was the story they wanted to tell. For example, the pregame characters being kidnapped and then so slow on the uptake about being in Danganronpa is awkward, but the alternative, assuming this is the truth of the story that the out-universe writers are trying to tell, is either that they make it very clear what's going on and spoil the entire plot twist for the out-universe audience before the story's even begun, or we don't get to see the pregame characters in the prologue at all and therefore have no potential proof that there even was a "pregame", which would make it seem even more likely that Tsumugi was lying about that.)

But my second and probably more important reason I go with this interpretation is simply because I like the story best this way. I love metanarratives, and I find it absolutely fascinating to think about and discuss the ways that this being treated as a story within the story affects how things go. If this wasn't something that I could genuinely believe is the truth of the story, I wouldn't like Danganronpa V3 anywhere near as much as a narrative and wouldn't have as much fun talking about it to the point that I might not even be doing this commentary.

Obviously not everyone's going to feel the way that I do, and that's fine. But I think it's perfectly valid for me to use "this is what I want to believe" as a reason to believe it when that's an actual message that the story promotes. The narrative towards the end makes a point of the idea that sometimes you can never be sure what's a lie and what's the truth. That's almost certainly why Kokichi as a character is as ambiguously presented as he is (as much as I keep expressing my frustration at the lack of a concrete backstory explaining why Kokichi is the way he is, I do understand that the writers did it for this purpose, even if the result is that it makes me less able to like him), and why the plot itself is so ambiguous and there are multiple interpretations that are plausible. The player is basically invited to choose whichever interpretation they want to, so that's what I'm doing.

I gave you this general speech instead of addressing some of your specific points since I'm going to be talking about most of those points in more detail later when they come up in the main commentary (and I'd be happy to discuss them further through asks if you still want to once we get there). I will talk a bit about Kokichi here, though, since I won't be doing so later - because I'm honestly a little confused as to why you appear to be so sure that Kokichi is the key to figuring out the whole truth of the story. It seems apparent to me that the reason things are so vague and ambiguous about him even at the end is simply because the narrative purpose of his character is to be an embodiment of that theme about lies and truth, like I just discussed, not because the real truth about him would somehow give any answers about anything important. Kokichi is just as in the dark as any other character except for Tsumugi, and anything he might figure out is nothing but a guess. I admit that when I said "the only thing that makes sense" re Kokichi's view on the outside world, I was running under my assumption that everything is fiction, and, yes, him having hypothetically guessed that doesn't prove anything about what's really out there. That entire point of mine was less about using Kokichi to back up my interpretation of the real truth of the situation, and more about using my assumption of the real truth of the situation to back up Kokichi's state of mind. I still stand by my observation that the comments Kokichi makes in that scene do seem to be hinting that he thinks everything is not only a lie but specifically fiction, though, regardless of whether or not he's right about it.

I'm also not sure what Hope's Peak has to do with Kokichi, since Kokichi never learns about it at all. He never sees inside his own lab, so he never gets to read that book. Even if Hope's Peak was real, his memories of it would have been just as wiped as everyone else's, and he never gets exposed to that one Flashback Light.

[snoopyrps]

hello lucky !! we hope you’re having a fantastic day, and that this ask finds you well !! us at touringhq were wondering if you could give us your opinion of us ?? we’re about the story of twelve recent college-aged friends who are faced with a choice they never expected; do they jump onto the opportunity to fulfill a childhood dream and tour with warped tour as their old high school punk band, or do they turn towards a life of monotony and job security, and leave music behind ?? thank you !!

of course !! i,, love doing opinions tbh. under the cut !!

url: ok, so my first thought related to how simple it is. i like that it gets to the point, namely because there have been some rps in the tags that i’ve gotten one impression of when it wound up being completely different ( i thought a small town rp was a boarding school rp for a very long time ). i think that’s generally going to be the first thing people look at. i don’t know how everyone else feels about really general urls, but i know what this is about off the bat and y’all also already have all of your pages linked using it SO.

graphics: i never talk much about graphics, namely because i can barely figure psds out, but i like the color scheme ! that’s gone over some more in the theme subsection of ‘accessibility’.

theme: i’m not one to really judge on themes –– as you can see, mine is very simple and i haven’t changed my header color to make it… more visible… in six months. that being said, i can still confidently say that i do like your theme and the color scheme. i really like the font ? i don’t know why but ? my compliments to the creator. accessibility – navigation: the links at the bottom are super easy to find – love that. the arrows ( or ‘next/back’ ) aren’t where i was expecting them to be, so i had to do a little bit of scouring, but overall: easy to find. navigation page itself is SO EASY. the pretty navigation pages of this day and age are nice, do not get me wrong, but the navigation page itself is so easy to navigate. accessibility – misc. comments: i don’t have any visual impairments, so i can’t speak on that matter, but i do feel like i could add on that i get overwhelmed by various themes VERY easily ( e.g. a friend of mine rec’d an rp to me and wound up having to link me to its mobile page ). the cool colors ( combined with the pastel warmer ones ) –– my compliments to the chef.

plot: i’m over here geeking out tbh. i… have never had a band… rip… but, boy, if i don’t act like i do ! ok, anyway ! i think that, overall, the plot is clear. it’s very easy to grasp and the tl;dr at the bottom really does sum everything up. the only tip i would give is mentioning when they went to high-school/the grade(s) they were in, that way people have an age range, and possibly mentioning the band name too ? 

rules: i think you about covered it all. the only tips i would have would be translating ‘72 hours’ to ‘three days’ for dumbasses like myself whose highest grade on a pre-cal test was a 34 ( then went to summer school and finally got those credits, but only passing with the bare minimum ). 

skeletons: i think you have a really good balance of characters in there. i really like the diversity you guys already have with your own characters, as well as the diversity you’re demanding for the singer, the drummer, the manager, and the groupie. i also like how you’ve kept the descriptions simple ! i would still recommend putting a hard age range on –– at least for the band members, as 20+ could be anywhere from 20 to 54 to 85 to me continuously using hyperbolic examples to get my point across. pinterest & playlists: awesome add-ons ! the one question i would have for the playlists –– and i totally get that you can’t really… answer it… in that link… but: are they based on the type of music the character listens to? or are they meant to sum up the character?misc. comments: “evans… and not remo.” - me, looking at the drummer’s pinterest, offended that my favorite brand has been tossed aside for its rival in the snare picture without the vic firth drumsticks. “no semi-hollow body guitars… i see…” - me, the biggest stan of semi-hollow body guitars, looking at the guitarist’s pinterest and pretending semi-hollow bodies are actually often used in punk. 

* glanced over characters and taken fcs, but figured there was nothing to give an opinion on.

banned faceclaims: this is just a quick one… but i… honestly… appreciate y’all banning bts. i feel like everyone needs to stop brushing off their problematic behavior ( especially some of the individuals’ like kim namjoon’s ), but that’s a topic for another time. i also like that you allow people to ask. i’m completely fine when a roleplay doesn’t, of course –– i understand the logic, but it’s nice to give people some answers.

application: the big one ! it looks like a basic semi-appless application, so that’s all good with me ! i feel like ‘the basics’ section is a little open-ended, but that can definitely be a good thing for a lot of people and can tell you how one person thinks versus another. i also know it’ll be harder for others who are used to more “give us 2/¾+ paragraphs about ____” or “list 2/¾+ headcanons for _____” or “list 2/¾+ possible connections for _____” etc. tl;dr: this subsection of my opinion was useless adfjl

faq: so you know i went through and read all of them ! ok, ignore my earlier age range comments – i would delete them, but i think i’ve made them a few times and i… don’t want to go back up and find them. anyway ! i still might think about putting the direct age range for band members on their skeletons, but that’s my only further suggestion ! that being said, i’d also recommend looking up the ages of suggested fcs, just because i saw some suggested early-30s fcs for characters in bands, but that’s it !

pinterest: do i love it ? yes sir’ee, i do ! i skimmed through ‘the before’ and ‘the tour’ and it really gave me a feel for that sort of ‘rag-tag team of kids actually tries to make it,’ which seems to be the foundation of this roleplay. playlist: i kind of have the same question as i did for the skeletons – is this what they sound like or what’s sort of supposed to sum all of them up ? going through it and looking at the bands/songs y’all chose, i’ve got a feeling it’s both which works very well, but i’m a curious sob.

misc. tips: i did notice one thing: for the most part, y’all use the same tags. there’s obviously nothing wrong with that – you want to reach your target audience – but i would suggest branching out into other areas that apply. i assume it’s going to be very writing-based – if i’m assuming correctly, i’d suggest ‘lsrp/lsrpg’ ( but only for Official Promos bc that tag is Fancy ) ; i’d definitely suggest ‘fame rp’ ; i’d also suggest the regular ‘rp’ and ‘rpg’ ; i’d limit the use of ‘rpc’ due to some members of the rpc not liking seeing promos that aren’t shoutouts/opinions in the tag ; i’d also limit the use of ‘small group rp’ – i’d still use it, just not as frequently as it seems you guys are due to it not being a super popular tag.

further questions: how will this run ? like, will it be a limited time deal, only running until the tour is up, or will you find ways to keep it running past ?

overall: i really like this ! i only had a few questions when i went through all of the pages, what as opposed to as many as i… do sometimes have and feel like it would be too critical to ask because no one asked for your opinion, lucky! i think it’s beautifully diverse. i love the amount of thought you guys clearly put into it. i had fun critiquing pinterest’s choice of drum heads (granted… i think the other picture is ambassador vintage remo…). i may even fool around and look at it further, this time from a potential applicant standpoint. 

9/10 !

[vitalpen]

A criticism of Persona 5

So I’m gonna preface this diatribe with three disclaimers:

First off is going to be the SPOILER WARNING.  This post spoils the game all over the place as it needs to given the nature of the discussion.  That’s why the read more is there.

Second, this post is long.  Coming in at a lover 2000 words.  So if you ready this, get ready for an essay.

Third: I love Persona 5.  I played through it twice, did every social link, filled out the compendium, and beat the secret boss.  It is a fantastic game with a fantastic story, loveable characters, beautiful art, and menus stylish enough to have their own fashion show.  

That being said, there are things that it does with each character that I can’t help but sigh at in frustration.  There are a few running themes for all of these that I’ll expand on at the end.

A lot of the issues come down to how a character is treated after their “important thing” is resolved. I’m gonna run down them in order of people entering your party.

Starting off, there’s Mona.  Leaving behind how happy I am that he was not just another Teddy, there are points with Mona that make him out to be such a whiny little brat.  Mainly, the section where he leaves the party because he thinks they’re getting too greedy.  Rather than try to get them back on track, he drops them after one bad conversation with mostly just Ryuji (the rest of the party is pretty unclear on where they stand), thus leaving them with no supervision when they seem to need it the most.  There’s also the whole constant insulting of Ryuji to the point where it’s eyeroll-inducing and the fact that backstory wise, he does end up being part way to a rehash of Teddy.  

Actually, speaking of Mona insulting Ryuji, man that guy never gets a break.  Despite the fact that he has a compelling backstory and motivation, after the first palace, he starts to lean pretty heavily toward the “punching bag” type of joke character.  He’s the one that everyone (especially Mona) calls an idiot, he’s the butt of nearly all the slapstick, and he’s the one that gets harassed by the gay stereotypes with some really uncomfortable cutting to black (and that one’s an large issue all on its own).  At the point Mona leaves (with poor justification) Ryuji, understandably, doesn’t want him back and is treated like the bad guy for it.  Even when you aretrying to get him back, suddenly Ryuji is uncharacterisitically cold toward him.  Even near the end of the game, when Ryuji does something incredibly brave and selfless, seeming to sacrifice his life, the game completely undermines it by having the girls beat the ever loving shit out of him when he makes the mistake of... surviving, I guess.

Now, Ann, aside from the way they pronounce her name.  She is a straight up different character in her Social Link than she is in the main story (which is actually connected to another problem that we’ll get into later).  In the story she is typically caring, usually level-headed, if easily annoyed, and loves sweets, whereas her Social Link turns her into little more than a ditzy blond with a penchant for competition that we don’t see anywhere in the main story.  It creates this disconnectio between the two stories that’s really hard to reconcile.

Yusuke is window dressing.  He does nothing substantial for the main plot after the second palace is done.  The majority of his unique contributions could be summed up with deadpan, straight-faced joke moments (that are legitimately amazing every time they show up), dialogue that any of the characters could have said, and saying “yeah, that’s right” in the “every party member gets to say something” moments.

Makoto’s issue involves another theme that we’ll expand on later.  Her relationship with her sister is incredibly unhealthy and never realistically addressed.  It gets to point where she’s actually afraid of her.  It isn’t helped when the rest of the party guilt trips her into installing a virus on her sister’s computer (one of the few moments that I think is legitimately bad in this game). How is this resolved?  Once you do the palace it’s all just gone, despite you not stealing Sae’s treasure.  No counseling, no baggage, no promises to do better, not believable progression, nothing.  That’s not how that works.

Futaba has a similar issue.  After her palace, she is just magically cured of her crippling social anxiety, as far as the main plot is concerned at least.  She hangs out in front of LeBlanc, plain as day, totally fine, never having any issue in the main plot with other people ever again.  No therapy, not even the slightest relapse or difficulty, no believable progression, nothing.  I repeat: that’s not how that works.

Haru... poor, poor, Haru.  She gets nothing when she should have had so much.  She’s introduced at about 3/4 of the way through the story, doesn’t get a proper awakening to her persona and reveal of her thief outfit, never gets a moment of catharsis for her father and arranged fiance treating her like an object in the real world, nor any catharsis about dealing with the emotional trauma of her losing her father in a way that is as crushing as it could ever be, and eventually just ends up kinda telling the one who killed him that it’s no big deal.  Everything about her just gets buried until you’re left with a Persona Q character, which is a game that has a serious problem with reducing complex, multifaceted characters to one-note personalities.

And then there’s Goro “I have daddy issues disguised as an interesting take on personal justice” Akechi.  A character that was waaaaaaaaaaay better before the heelturn.  The switch from morally aligned but methodologically opposed antagonist to mustache-twiddling, muhahahing, train-track-damsel-tying villain sucked all the depth out of him.  They had a three-dimensional character that portrayed an interesting foil in both personal beliefs and public opinion of the party.  And by the end, all of that was stripped away because you have to have a bretrayal in a Persona game, and he gets with nothing resembling a satisfying sendoff.  The fact that he has essentially disappeared from the real world is never even addressed (this is yet a third thing that we’ll get into shortly).

All of these issues culminate in three specific themes.

The first is that the Social Links feel very disconnected from the plot.  P3 escaped this because the party member Social Links were specifically tied to events in the main story and sometimes couldn’t be progressed through until certain events occurred.  P4 didn’t have this problem because the Social Links all resulted from the personal issues that came up in their dungeons with their shadows, so there is connective tissue to the events.  

But the Social Links in P5 feel so distant.  Ann’s modeling stuff, Ryuji’s track team, Yusuke’s painting, Makoto’s friend, and Haru’s arranged marriage and coffee stuff, all have nothing or very little to do with the story.  The only one who didn’t quite have this issue, is Futaba, who got the P4 treatment, complete with confronting and accepting her shadow to gain her persona.  But even that deals more with her social anxiety than her acceptance that her mother’s death wasn’t her fault but actually an assassination.  Because the Social Links, which are literally “character development as a game mechanic”, are separated from the story, it gives the feeling that they’re inconsequential.  We never see the fruits of the character’s labor as they try to better themselves.  As far the main story is concerned, they may as well have not happened.  This is especially salient if you do the Moon social link, wherein you have to teach Mishima not to let the power go to his head, only to later have your party let the power go to their heads (or Ryuji at least, like I said earlier, it’s not super clear where everyone stands during that part of the game).

The second issue is that, for a series whose core themes are based off Jungian psychology (personas and shadows), it’s really bad at handling psychological stuff.  They want to have the drama of things like:

“a character who has social anxiety and intrusive thoughts of guilt about her mother’s death that have haunted her for years” 

“one of your party members has an older sister who’s her legal guardian, but is neglectful of her duties in that role and verbally abusive of that party member, thus creating a dependent relationship that revolves around trying (and failing) to gain her sister’s approval”

“After thinking that she may have helped turn her father into a better person who might love her as a daughter rather than an asset, in mid-celebration, a girl sees her father die on live TV and she may have been the cause of it”

But they aren’t prepared for the fallout that comes with those kind of elements.  Social anxiety severe enough to keep you in your room is typically going to take more than just support from friends to rehabilitate from.  Sae’s abusive tendencies toward her sister are explained by her palace, but they are not excused by it.  The palace’s are physical manifestations of the point where someone can justify anything to themselves, not a mind control device.  Nothing about Sae’s resentment toward her sister (that is doing everything she can not to be a burden) is given any kind of proper follow up.  It needed more addressing than the NOTHING it was given.  And don’t get me started on the rush job that was Haru.  

Her father is killed in gruesome fashion, eyes literally rolling back into his head and leaking blood, after she thought she had saved him from his own cruelty, and for a period of weeks, it seems a lot like it’s her fault.  She is left orphaned, and being pulled every which way by members of her father’s company in the void of power that’s left behind, once again turned back into an asset just after she thought she had escaped that.  This should have been the mother of all gut punches.  This should have been something that took her out of the game reminiscent of Shinji from P3.  This should have given her a hate boner for Akechi twice the size of Aegis’s for Ryoji.  This ruined her life just at the precipice of it getting better.  In one fell swoop, victory was ripped from her and replaced with bitter defeat and loss.  There was so much set up for her to have a character arc.  But we never see her react to it.  No crying, no depression, just back to her sweet, gardening self.  To top it all off, like a month later, she forgives the person who killed him and betrayed your party in a passing comment during one of those “every party member gets to say something” moments.  This is the pinnacle of emotional blue balls.

(Edit: @lightybulb brought it to my attention that Haru doesn’t actually forgive Akechi.  She, in fact, specifically says that she can never forgive him.  While it’s swept under the rug, I totally misremembered on that one.  My bad.)

Pretty much all of this fits into the third main issue that Persona 5′s narrative has.  It has a bad habit of not sticking the landing or following up afterward.  Which sucks for stuff like Akechi, where he was built up the entire game, and personal traumas like Haru, Futaba, or Makoto.  It sucks when it takes away a lot of the character’s depth like it did with Yusuke.  It sucks when the villain backstory and plan is literally just told to you in an exposition the likes of which I haven’t seen in years.  

This is not to say it never sticks the landing, as it very often does (more so in the first half of the game in my opinion), but there are a lot of key points where plot threads just kinda peter off into nothing or are wrapped up way too conveniently with a little bow on top.  

There are ways to fix these issues.

You wanna connect the Social Links to the main plot?  Lock ranks of party member Social Links behind story events.  This intrinsically ties the personal growth to the main plot and lets them talk about story events.  Events from the story can be used to kick of a conversation that moves it to the next level or draws a parallel to the personal situation they’re dealing with.

You wanna have satisfying and believable treatment of psychological issues?  Understand that they are not just something you deal with in a few days or weeks.  Understand that “the power of friendship” (Copyright Anime 1962, please support the official release) is not a substitute for counseling or medication.  Understand that the road to recovery is long, arduous, and sometimes loops back on itself.  It’s anything but a straight line.

There is no set remedy for sticking the landing and following up other than a pretty general good writing tip: don’t leave plot threads hanging and don’t introduce plot threads you don’t have adequate room to include.

Now as previously stated, I love Persona 5 and nothing I’ve said here takes away from that fact.  But I also want to see the things I love do even better for themselves.  That’s kinda the point of this post.

That’s pretty much all I got for this.  If you agree or disagree, feel free to add your own arguments to this, I’m always down for a conversation.  Cheers.

[askauradonprep]

A Pirate’s Life For Me

So, the Hooks kinda blew through the competition in the family dynamics vote. I’m not super surprised tbh. The Hook family is very popular, as evidenced by the plethora of head canon requests I’ve got, the 26 requests in my ask box for Harry (plus a couple for CJ) and the asks I got for Hook during our “Parent questions” theme day. The Hooks, and Harry in particular, seems to have become quite the fandom magnet. So here is the head canon post as promised. 

Under a read more for some seriously unhealthy and abusive dynamics. Some of this gets DARK. Also because this is going to be very long. Content warnings for abuse, graphic and blunt mentions of death and violence, one mention of suicidal thoughts, and mentions of Frollo being creepy (but not graphic and he doesn’t actually physically harm anyone).

Captain James Hook

- Hook drinks more than he used to because of the conditions on the Isle - not just because it’s miserable, but because wine is often cleaner than water. That’s done wonders for his temper, as I’m sure you can imagine - he’s volatile, vengeful and violent as ever. 

- When Hook was in a good mood, he’d send a drink to their table and drink with the crew. They’d sing sea shanties and pirate songs. Harriet was maybe six her first time and the other two were both like 8 when he first did it. 

- He has his kids call him ‘Captain’ to his face. He doesn’t like being called dad. 

- He’s very controlling? Like, his kids are not going anywhere permanently. He needs them around to help with the shop and they can leave when he says. 

- Don’t give him the idea his kids are disloyal. There will be hell to pay. He’s big on ‘crew’ - it’s not like having allies, who team up while the getting is good. Crew’s have agreed to band together and watch each other’s backs. You’re on his ship, you’re crew, KIDS. And if you are disloyal......eek.

- How good of a parent Hook is drastically depends on whether he’s in a good mood, a neutral mood, or a bad mood. When he’s in a good mood, he’ll move heaven and earth for his kids, as much as a villain can anyways. 

- And when he’s in a bad mood (which is most days) he is actively dangerous for his kids to be around because he’s violent, has volatile moods and he’s a drinker. When he’s feeling neutral, he just…..meh. He probably won’t hurt his kids but he won’t go out of his way to interact with them either.

- Although, one constant is that he’s a protective dad - either because you’re messing with his kids (good mood) or because by messing with his kids, you’re messing with him (neutral and bad mood). This seems to have carried on to his kids - no matter how mad they were or how much they wanted to avoid each other, if you harm or threaten one of their siblings, they will make you regret it. Assuming they get to you before you stare down the barrel of a gun held by Hook. 

- He’s set himself up as a role model, getting the kids to emulate him to an extent, while also frightening them with his mood swings, explosive anger, threats, locking them in either their room or the brig, and violent lashing out. He also has a nasty habit of playing them against each other and violently controlling them, especially if they try to leave.

- He’s not worried about coercing his kids into his feuds or fights. It’s fine, he’ll be there to shoot anything hurting them if something goes wrong, but they’re going to fight for him dammit. He’s hardly above emotional blackmail or loopholes in deals. 

Hook’s wife

- Died in childbirth. According to Harriet, ‘CJ’s fat head ripped her open and she bled to death’

- She was cold, cruel, stoic, and quiet. She never really got up in arms about much, unlike her husband. There was a kind of balance there. 

- She usually kept Harriet away from Hook when he was in a bad mood, as well as Harry, who was only an infant at the time. 

- She looked quite a bit like Harriet, but with CJ’s hair. 

- She wasn’t one to be crossed unless one wanted a knife in the ribs. 

- When she was mad at her kids, she tended to withdraw and pretend they were gone. 

- She was probably a pirate or something similar who worked with or served pirates. 

- I’m thinking Harriet is the only one of her kids who remember her - Harry was only a year old and she died giving birth to CJ. 

- Nobody’s quite sure if she was actually the mother of Harriet and Harry as well. Hook’s not sharing and she’s the only mother Harriet remembers - she was around when Harry was born, though Harriet doesn’t remember well enough whether or not she actually gave birth to him. For simplicity’s sake, Harriet’s just decided ‘fuck it, she was our mother’ and the other two don’t know any different. 

Regardless of whether she was the mother of all his kids or just CJ, Hook must have been very fond of her - he keeps a picture on a nightstand around. Meanwhile, if there were other mothers, there’s no evidence of it. 

- She used to tell Harriet stories and teach her how pirate songs went. She also used to hum to Harry when she wanted him to go down to sleep. 

Harriet Hook

- Harriet is about 19 when the franchise starts and about 20 now - so, about 3 years older than Harry and 4 years older than CJ. She's the oldest VK. 

- When her mother died, she took it upon herself to do most of the day to day raising of her siblings. As time went on, other adults noticed and started paying her dad to have her babysit. I don’t think there’s any VKs she hasn’t watched at least twice (outside things where villains are meeting to plot a way off the isle or partying or something, where she’s stuck in charge of the VKs in general). As she got older, she got her crew to help a little, but even with kids her age, she was usually in charge. Some of Hook’s crew used to nickname her ‘The Pirate’s Wendy’. She hates that nickname. She can’t deny that she’s stuck in the crux between her sibling’s sister and being their mother figure though (even if she’ll flatten them if they ever dare CALL her ‘mother’). 

- Harriet deeply resents that she had to raise her siblings. She was four - she never should have been responsible for two children only a few years younger than herself. She was TOO YOUNG. And it’s Hook’s fault, sure, but people aren’t always rational and sometimes she can’t help but resent her siblings for it. That isn’t helped by the fact Hook’s hired her out as a babysitter for anyone with cash, goods, or offering favours. She is NOT their NANNY. She used to have an iron fist style of babysitting - she figured if they were more afraid of making her mad than making their parents, they would listen to her and not make her look weak and incompetent to the parents (

- Harriet tends to cope with her environment by drinking, reading, or joining in the crew’s singing (as long as her dad isn’t working - he’s still a crack shot). 

- She’s not much into taking over as any kind of HBIC the way Mal or Uma is. She’s okay just chilling with her pirate crew and claiming seniority on the other kids. Mal tried to frighten her once and she laughed. “Really? I used to be your goddamned babysitter, don’t try to intimidate me. Sit down, little girl.” 

- She’s alcoholic as heck? Like, if she’s sober by noon, it’s a very sober day for her. Rum, whiskey, beer, and vodka are her favourites and she always has at least one flask of each on her - one on each hip and one up each sleeve. Don’t give her that look, she’s too SOBER to deal with the VK’s shit. 

- Even for an Islander, she puts things in as blunt and mean spirited as she can. She once told Gil when he was 8 and told her that his parents were going to have another baby, she told him ‘Fat chance, kid. With your mother’s hips and how much trouble babies give her, your father will kill her before he gets another baby out of her.’ 

- Because of all her time babysitting for them, Harriet talks to and listens in on the adults more than most. She occupies this weird place where she fits with the VKs and with the adults. Sometimes she uses this for both, telling them what the others had been saying. 

- A lot of the kids she used to babysit come to her for advice when they want someone older to help, but don’t want to talk to their parents. She’ll make them and grumble and complain about how she’s not their nanny and she was supposed to be free from these darn kids years ago and why do they come to HER for everything, god dammit. But after she’s done grumbling, she’ll help out. Usually after making them give her something.  

- When she’s really done with one of the other VKs, she takes a deep breath or clears her throat and then says very calmly “You’re a hateful child” or “You’re hateful children”. That is her way of saying ‘last warning’. If she’s screaming, yelling and swearing? It’s cool, keep pushing her buttons. If she does THAT? Sit down, shut up, and don’t do...whatever you did to annoy her. It’s NOT worth it. There will be consequences and you won’t like them. She once taped her brother to the ceiling for three days when he didn’t heed it. Their dad didn’t notice and she had to get him down. He’s listened to ‘You’re a hateful child’ since then. 

Harry Hook

- Harry has severe and undiagnosed dyscalculia, and so hasn’t learned to count. He might if he could get it diagnosed and get assistance for it, but how’s he gonna do that on the Isle? 

- Harry knows he’s got something wrong but he has no idea what. All he knows is something is wrong - those anger episodes are not normal. He is a little afraid of losing himself in that anger but he’s not sure what he could do about it. Any therapists on the isle are not therapists who should probably be trusted (if there are any). 

- Harry’s room is a mess but he always knows exactly where everything is. He keeps things where he can see them. It’s organized chaos. 

- Harry locks first years in their lockers regularly. 

- He is a real tool - don’t let him know you’re afraid of anything because he will use it against you. Not even in the more despicable ways, he’ll just troll with it, like yipping and barking at Carlos. 

- He is very much flirting with everyone a lot - the question is is this good flirting (he’s serious) or bad flirting (trying to make you uncomfortable or trying to lure you into a false sense of security). 

- He doesn’t sleep with an eye open (metaphorically) like some of the others on the Isle, but he hears EVERYTHING. Walking down the hall outside? He heard you. The whoosh of opening his port hole? Heard you. Tip toeing foot falls? Busted and he has his hook at your throat. 

- He works out - his arms will attest to that. 

- He’d rather get in big fights than little ones. Rumbles with rival gangs, three guys ambushing him, when people he’s shaking down for Uma fight back, it’s all good. 

- He’d probably be super fun at parties until fights break out at which point all bets are off. His calm and lucid moments tend to be best with Uma and his crew, not parties or bigger social spaces. He’s too trollish. 

CJ Hook

- CJ has a very eclectic mix of friends. She seems to have a penchant for people with magic though, such as Freddie and Zevon for example. 

- She’s always swinging from rigging, rafters, etc. She’ll find a place to swing from, wherever she is. 

- She’d rather have fun and adventures than feud with people specifically. If the Boreadonians are gonna party, she wants to watch the show. 

- She’s 15 during the time of the first movie, so about a year younger than Mal and co.

- CJ has sticky fingers with her sibling’s stuff - she regularly steals Harry’s stuff to piss him off. She always makes sure she gets Harriet’s stuff back before she realizes it’s missing because she likes not being throttled. Her favourite is to take his hook and make him do something or beg for it back. She steals from Hook too, but never for long and not very often. 

- Everybody sees how flashy and theatrical she is, but underestimate her. After all, surely she’d be too obvious to fool people and she has no patience. That’s usually when she sets her trap. People are so busy watching her do big, flashy things they miss the web she caught them in. 

- Never ever ever give her or loan her anything. You will not get it back. Ever. “This is mine now”. 

- She just takes eyeliner from her brother and other makeup from her sister. 

- If she doesn’t want to be found, you won’t find her. 

- She is very good at multitasking - she always has at lest 2 or 3 things going on. Mostly things that will be unpleasant and annoying if not actually super harmful for people. 

Captain Hook and Harriet

- Hook bragged about being the first to have a kid when she was born. 

- She was Hook’s pride and joy for the first 4 or 5 years of her life and if you asked him, he’d still claim she’s his favourite (though she’s not about to believe it - she knows full well it’s CJ). 

- When he feels like being ‘a father who teaches you things’ he’ll probably be with Harriet, showing her how to sail or be a captain. To date, she’s the only one of his kids he’s let steer the ship. 

- Unfortunately, Harriet also took the majority of his wrath, because she felt responsible for her kid siblings. She still has scars from knives, whips, his hook, and cigar burns to prove it. 

- He used to pick up books or anything else she could read while he was away for a few days. She’d read receipts if she had nothing else, so anything is good. He’s been known to brag about his ‘bloody smart’ daughter. 

- Hook is absolutely ignoring Harriet’s alcoholism. Go figure - he induced it in her, both by giving his six year old  hard liquor and by driving her to drink. 

- Harriet tried to move off the ship into her hideout a few years ago. When he found out, he acted very calm about it and told her he wouldn’t dream of taking out any frustration on her. Harriet thought she’d caught him on a good day. When she came back though, CJ had a black eye and Harry was clearly shaken. Hook told her he’d said he wouldn’t take any frustration on HER, but he couldn’t guarantee his temper around her siblings. She’d never been so angry as the moment she realized he would absolutely use her siblings who were like children to her to control her. 

- She sometimes steals his gun, for various reasons. She’s occasionally considered turning it on him...or on herself. But she’s got nobody to look out for her siblings so she’s not done that. 

- Captain Hook once feuded with Claude Frollo for half a year after he made Harriet uncomfortable while she was babysitting his daughter, Claudine. He didn’t hurt her, but the way he put his hands on Harriet’s shoulders too tightly and his tone creeped her out (while he was talking about how pirate’s lives were short when he was a law man) and she mentioned that to Hook. Nobody messes with Hook’s kids, so he asked her how she wanted him to answer this. She told him to scare them out of their minds. So he did. His crew would throw bottles, rocks, dirt, and all kinds of things at Frollo’s house, yell and jeer, break things,  insult and threaten his daughter, rattle swords, and sing very threatening pirate war songs. Finally, on the last night, Captain Hook came up to the front of the crowd and fired into the air and yelled “Frollo, I know what you did! Come out and die!” and fired again. Since that day, Claudine’s been afraid of pirates and especially Captain Hook and his children, Harriet’s not babysat for Frollo, and Harriet’s not sure what to make of this. On one hand, he took Harriet seriously and went to torment Frollo. On the other, was it because he cared about Harriet or because Frollo messed with Hook by messing with Harriet? And did he know what kind of man Frollo was when he told her to babysit for him in the first place? Hook would probably say it doesn’t matter - nobody threatens his kids. 

- Hook is proud of her for having her own crew, even if he doesn’t say it.

Captain Hook and Harry

- Hook likes to give his son a hard time for only being a first mate. “Why can’t you be more like your sisters?!” Which hurts Harry a lot. Turns out you can’t set yourself up as admirable and then tell your kids they don’t measure up. Who’da thought? He HATES disappointing his dad. 

- If Hook’s being honest, he forgets about Harry a lot. Most of the time he remembers he has a son, but not much more. He doesn’t even always remember his NAME. It’s not uncommon to hear Hook talk about ‘Harriet, CJ, and ....the other one’ or ‘the middle one’ or ‘the boy’. Harriet then reminds him of Harry’s name and Hook carries on like he’d used the name. 

- They don’t talk much unless Harry’s really messed up and Harriet wasn’t there to redirect Hook or when he specifically wants father-son time. 

- Harry very much wants his dad’s attention and for his dad to be proud of him. He does a lot to emulate him. He nicked one of his dad’s hooks and it’s his now. His dad was impressed he managed to get it and he was in a good mood, so sure, let the boy keep it. He doesn’t know Harry tried to get his hand bitten off because he hates that he still has both hands. Maybe that would be the kick in the ass he needed to be an actual decent dad. Or maybe he’d sink into denial and ignore Harry more - he denied that Harriet was an alcoholic because of him and that CJ avoids home for days on end because of him. 

- Those rage episodes Harry has are inherited from Hook, though Harry’s might be exacerbated by other mental illnesses or issues (I am not certain about what, as I would like more time to research various conditions). Hook recognizes them and sometimes he’ll have Harriet stick him in the brig until they’re done and then there will be consequences when they’re done (and his son will probably not like them). Or he’ll just leave the kid there until he remembers to come get him. He doesn’t know Uma can calm Harry down and probably wouldn’t care if he did. 

- Most of the time though, Harry isn’t being beaten or locked up - he’s simply ignored. That’s fine for Harry, he doesn’t need to take his dad’s temper like Harriet or avoid home because she doesn’t recognize it like CJ does. If it’s bad for him in particular, he can always hide out at Uma’s or Gil’s or the Lost Revenge. 

- There may be a rift in their future if there’s tension between Hook and Uma’s crews. Harry would never turn on Uma, but he doesn’t relish the idea of fighting his dad - he idolizes his dad! But even so, his dad should avoid threatening Harry’s crew, especially his captain. If Hook paid attention, he’d have noticed his son following Uma around, worshipping her, and nipped it in the bud when they were children. He hasn’t though, and Hook might live to regret that. 

- If you asked Hook, he’d profess to love his son. And, admittedly, because his mother and later Harriet protected him, Harry probably has quite a few decent memories with his dad (even if his dad doesn’t remember them). 

- Harry used to follow his dad around and listen to his stories about Neverland and Peter Pan

- Harry’s also the one Hook brings on the fishing trips for the shop the most. 

Captain Hook and CJ

- CJ is blatantly Hook’s favourite. He says she’s the most like him, and he spoils her as much as he can on the Isle. Harry and Harriet try not to let Hook see how much it annoys them - that’s not a reprisal they need. 

- She can get away with murder and all kinds of things the other kids or the crew would be scourged for. 

- She’s taken the least of his wrath, but she is not exempt. She sort of doubts her ability to tell when he’s in a bad mood that she can’t fix, so she tries to keep her distance. She likes to wander and annoy her friends. 

- When Hook feels like being an affectionate father, it’s a good guess he’ll be with CJ. 

- She used to hide when he was coming home from a fishing expedition and then jump out onto him to surprise him. She nearly gave Harriet a heart attack doing so, worried for his reaction, but Hook laughed and threw her in the air, saying ‘Hello, my hearty!’.

- When Hook is in a neutral mood or only a little bit of a bad mood, sometimes CJ can cheer him up. Sometimes if he’s in a bad mood, but not too bad, she’ll go up to him and give him a kiss on the cheek like she used to. 

- Most of his harm to CJ comes from threats and watching what he does to her siblings (and also being compared to them and himself, usually unfavourably).

- He’s also fairly stifling for CJ, frustrating her. He doesn’t let her steer a ship or keep a hideout because he is again, a controlling man who doesn’t like his kids having too many places to escape too. Besides, he ‘needs them’ for fishing. which is one thing for Harriet, who takes his anger and gets mad (and then drinks and sings with the crew) or Harry (who slips through the cracks) but CJ’s whole thing is relying on keeping her distance, so this is very annoying for her.

- CJ’s learned to read maps from him. She’s probably the best navigator out of her siblings. Hook says she has a nose for treasure.

- She’s a lot like him - scheming, manipulative, maniacal, and eager for adventure. Maybe that’s why she’s his favourite. Regardless, he sees himself in her and he’s fine serving as his baby girl’s mentor. 

Harriet and Harry

- When Harry was very little, he couldn’t pronounce “Harriet” properly (even though he had NO issues with “Harry”, Harriet was so mad). He called her “Hettie” instead. This went on until he was 8 or so (he’d long been able to say her name by then, but by that point she was ‘Hettie’ in his head). It went on until he annoyed her one day and because of that she slapped him and after that he called her Harriet. He only calls her Hettie now to annoy her. 

- Harriet used to use Mal’s feelings for Harry to get her to quit annoying her. She once told Mal if she didn’t quit being a pain, Harriet was showing Harry a picture of Mal with spinach in her teeth. She’s also threatened Harry with telling Mal embarrassing things. 

- Harry’s never been able to beat her in a sword fight. She always puts him flat on his ass. 

- Harriet thinks it’s hilarious watching Uma sabotage Harry flirting (not because Uma’s possessive or jealous, but because it’s funny as heck watching him get flustered and annoyed). Good job, Uma. 

- Harriet’s tried so hard to teach Harry to count but nothing ever worked. She despaired of his school years until he learned to cheat off Uma. 

- When Harry was very small, he used to crawl into her bed. He’d ask her not to tell Hook. She’d grumble about it and tell him he was too old for things like that (He was 4-6 but this is the Isle and this is the Hook’s family), but she’d let him and she wouldn’t tell their dad. The last thing she wanted was the consequences for it turning to her because she wasn’t going to let him dish them out to her little brother. 

- Harry really really doesn’t remember his mother. Even though he’s seen her picture, it doesn’t have any emotional connections for him. Mostly he can only imagine Harriet in that role. 

- She routinely drags him around by his ear and she can go on screaming rants for a long time about how frustrating he is or how stupid he’s been. When he was little, he was a cheeky little brat - he figured since CJ could sometimes calm down their dad this way, he could calm down Harriet by kissing her cheek and saying ‘Love you Hettie’. She almost throttled him - THAT’S NOT GOING TO WORK YOU LITTLE HELLION. And then she’d probably smack him upside the head and tell him not to do that anymore. 

- They both have really bad tempers and so when they fight, they go below the belt. She once told Harry she wished she was an only child and he told her he wanted to gut her half the time because Hook made a better parent. She told him he could deal with their dad himself then. They don’t apologize for things but after a few weeks they’d sit closer together in the mess hall and that’s good enough. 

- Harry isn’t really cognizant of just how much Harriet’s taken care of him (and CJ, but she might have an idea about that). He didn’t think about how she surely had homework she wasn’t doing when she spent a long time trying to teach him to count. He didn’t think about the fact he’s not seen her eat as much as he does because she’s always making sure he and CJ aren’t skipping meals (and he certainly doesn’t know she once stole their dad’s gun and threatened to send someone to hell to get Harry and CJ that food because business was slow and there was a food shortage). He doesn’t know she was redirecting their dad’s anger to her or that sometimes she was screaming at him to knock something off or dragging him around or smacked him to get him to do something because otherwise their dad would be FUCKING PISSED at him. He certainly wasn’t thinking about how, when their dad threatened Uma over some business dealing with Ursula, Harriet was holding him back and making him look at her instead of Uma not because he was being ‘weak’ or ‘annoying’ by yelling, but because she didn’t want their dad to get mad and also didn’t want him to watch if Hook really DID kill Uma (and ohhhhh, he hated her for holding him back). I’m not sure if he’d ever find out but maybe if he ever got some distance and got to think about it a lot, he might notice. 

Harriet and CJ

- CJ’s not quite sure about how she feels about Harriet in her head - one part of her brain says ‘sister’ and the other part says ‘mother’ and she’s not sure which is right. 

- When Harriet wanted CJ to shut up one day, when CJ was very little, she told CJ she’d braid a bead in her hair as a celebration for her first successful theft. It’s never hit CJ that Harriet just wanted her to sit down and shut up and quit annoying her - all she knows is when she does something impressive, like get a big score, Harriet braids a bead in her hair and the beads are pretty. 

- CJ’s favourite thing to do as a toddler was give Harriet heart attacks. She had to find the biggest thing in the area and climb it and swing from it. Harriet says she’s had grey in her hair ever since CJ was born. She hasn’t but it’s never stopped CJ from trying. 

- Sometimes CJ will stay in Harriet’s room with her, when Harriet’s drunker than usual and she’s scared Harriet will get alcohol poisoning. 

- These two fight all the time. Sometimes over silly things like makeup and sometimes over big things like piracy. 

- CJ routinely gets Harriet’s crew in her traps - both to test them for Harriet and sometimes to annoy her and sometimes to ‘punish’ her for crossing her in some way (real or imagined). 

- Sometimes when Harriet’s decided CJ’s been gone too long, she’ll drag her back by her hair and she doesn’t really care how much CJ doesn’t want to be at home unless their dad or brother is on a rampage. 

- Harriet actually gave CJ her first taste of alcohol. CJ was seven and had a fever, so Harriet gave her some bourbon. It worked (or they thought it worked) and she felt better and so when daddy gave her some rum a few months later, it went down easier. 

- Harriet’s temper puts CJ on the defensive all the time. CJ’s blaise attitude pisses off Harriet. These two haven’t worked an equilibrium out yet and they’ve occasionally fought physically. 

- CJ’s childhood screwed with Harriet’s education massively. She entered school late and was held back because she was busy dealing with toddler CJ. It’s not come up much, but Harriet sometimes wants to strangle CJ for it. 

Harry and CJ

- Harry calls her ‘Callista Jane’ just to piss her off. Pissing her off is his favourite thing to do with his little sister. 

- CJ’s favourite thing to steal is his hook. She’s also quite fond of rearranging his things, and breaking into his room just because he locked it or told her not to come in. He likes to tease her about crocodiles. 

- The only reason Harry hasn’t punted her through a wall for going through his stuff is because she’s his baby sister. Something about her being the baby stuck. It’s never stopped him from threatening her, hurting her friends, or bullying the heck out of her though. 

- The two of them used to play together most of the time when they were really really little. Harriet was a bit old for their games but they were always right smack in the proper age range. It made for some good fun before CJ started hanging out with Freddie and Zevon and before Harry had Uma and Gil. 

- These two are always making fun of each other for their romantic interests or trying to ‘warn them off’ because their sibling is the worst. There’s no sibling protectiveness here. They’re just making fun. 

- Harry gives CJ a surprising amount of brotherly advice. Now granted, most of that advice is phrased as ‘Do this/Don’t do this or I’ll *insert threat here*” but still. Call him a softy (no, don’t, he WILL hook you). 

- Harry and his friends used to go around annoying and bullying the heck out of CJ and her friends. 

- When they were still relatively young (think like 8-12) CJ would come up to Harry and his friends to try to get them to play with her. CJ’s games are manipulative and often not fun for anyone but her, so he’d try to refuse. CJ is always wiling to boss him around though and she does not care - Dad/Harriet (take your pick) said you would so GET OVER HERE HARRY. Sometimes they’d have fun together but most of the time Harry wants to strangle her. 

- Neither of them have any impulse control - don’t let them get in trouble together, they will egg each other on and escalate to all hell. 

- Harry worries about her in Auradon a non-zero amount. Most of the time he plays it off like he’s glad he has some peace and quiet. Sometimes he really is glad she’s not there to annoy him. Sometimes he’s fine because he knows she can handle herself. Sometimes he doesn’t care. Sometimes he wants to kick her around a little and annoy her. And sometimes he just plain misses her and worries about her and would do anything to have her home with him again WHO SAID THAT?

[zombiescantfly]

Words About Games:  Bloodborne (From Software, 2015)

I wanted to finally do one of these for Dark Souls 3, but realized that I'd finally have to do one for Bloodborne first.  This is something I've put off for two years because I wasn't really ready to try to articulate my thoughts about it, but it's time to face these demons and cut them to ribbons in the process.

From Software's deeply, deeply flawed masterpiece of werewolf killing and beast chopping devoured weeks of my attention, and is to date the only game I felt driven enough to 100%.  Which is strange, because after two and a half years, I still can't tell if I liked it or not.  Let's try to sort through this mess.

I'll start by, as I did with Dark Souls 2, outlining my experience.  I played through Bloodborne on three different characters, took one all the way through New Game+, and got the Platinum trophy for getting all the other trophies.  I killed Ebreitas, I slogged my way through all the Chalice Dungeons, and I've gone through the game using each weapon for a respectable amount of time.  But I never ended up buying the expansion, and I wasn't at all broken up when a random brownout during a loading screen deleted all my saves.

Bloodborne is a game that feels more like two halves of very good but separate games inexpertly mashed together to form a perfectly serviceable single game.  It's enjoyable, don't get me wrong; I don't at all regret the time I put into it and have even entertained thoughts of starting over, it's just that I never follow through when I start to think ahead to the second half of the game.

See, Bloodborne starts off as and is sold to you the player as a Victorian-era werewolf/beastman hunting simulator.  And for the first chunk of the game, it is.  A very good one, too!  Combat is speedy and interactive, enemies are grotesque things that were once familiar but now are not, and the environment of a crowded turn-of-the-century English city is a perfect sell.  

The gist is that for currently irrelevant reasons, the city of Yarnham partakes in odd medical practices that involve consuming blood in some manner.  Can't really say if it's by drinking it, injecting it, or by smearing it all over themselves.  You do two of those things.  The blood is great at curing diseases, but has the unfortunate side effect of slowly turning people into a whole manner of gross shit, and occasionally the city locks itself up to allow a force of Hunters to come in and clear out the worst of them.  A perfectly reasonable setup.

So you go through some impeccably detailed environments, cutting down mutated townsfolk, wolfmen, weird birds, gross dogs, and big lumbering dudes who look like when Mr. Hyde wore a three-piece suit in The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.  

This is easily my favorite part of the game.  The level and environment design is among From’s best, with the twists and turns of Central Yarnham sprawling through sewers and into residential areas, over bridges and across areas you'd been in half an hour ago and didn't realize there was more to.  Capped off by a stroll through what I consider the best-realized “Spooky Forest” in a videogame that leads to a shortcut back to the starting area that made me relive taking the elevator down from the Parish church back to Firelink, the first big chunk of Bloodborne is expertly presented.

And then you get to Byrgenwerth.  Byrgenwerth is the game's Creepy Oxford; hyped up as a massive university where terrible experiments of alchemy and black magic are carried out.  It's supposed to be the place where this all started, where the old scholars got their ideas and unleashed this blood plague upon the city while trying to pursue immortality.  At this point in the game and pretty much until the end, the game tells you that there is no place more important than Byrgenwerth.

So it's a real shame when you get there and it turns out to be a single room.

Byrgenwerth marks the end of the grounded concept the game started with, as well as the end of my fascination with it.  Byrgenwerth marks a massive shift in how the game is presented, how the narrative unfolds, what your purpose is, and why you've come to Yarnham.

Byrgenwerth is where you start fighting aliens.

To be fair, you can do that a tiny bit earlier in the Spooky Forest, down a hidden side path.  But once you beat the boss at Byrgenwerth, you get a cutscene that basically tells you “Yes hello now it is time for weird shit” and then you get teleported to a new part of the city.  And there are aliens.  From this point on, the game ditches the werewolf-hunter angle entirely and makes it all about tracking down this weird baby who’s part alien god or something; Vaati can tell you more about the story if you really care.  

Design-wise, it all starts to wobble a bit.  Levels become smaller, bosses become less mechanically interesting, and everything starts leaning super heavily on Lovecraft.  Weird aliens, possible space-gods, literal body snatchers; it’s all so jarringly different from the first half of the game, and not in a thematically interesting way.  It’s just incredibly different.

Okay, so the first part of the game is, again, essentially a massive single level that spirals and crawls all over itself in a way that is extremely satisfying to go through.  After Byrgenwerth, you’re shuffled through smaller and smaller levels that are barely connected until you just kind of find yourself at the end of the game.  There’s a place called the Lecture Hall that’s supposedly connected to Byrgenwerth, but it’s not anywhere near there, and the two exits on either side of it lead to entirely disconnected areas in The Nightmare Frontier, a place made entirely of bleeding tombstones and poison water, and Nightmare of Mensis, an area that while technically better put together than Lost Izalith, elicits many of the same reactions.

The Lecture Hall is two floors of simple, boxy rooms.  Nightmare Frontier is an uninteresting, flat expanse filled with enemies throwing instant-kill projectiles at you.  Nightmare of Mensis is a big creepy castle guarded by some of the most annoying enemies in the game and populated with the others.  Neither are actually horrible, but the lack of connection to anywhere else is just disappointing.  Add in secret bonus areas that are supposed to have a pretty big amount of plot significance like The Orphanage (a single room) or Cainhurst (a big impressive castle that you barely actually go through) and it all just left a bad taste in my mouth the longer I thought about it.

I said at the beginning that the game felt like two halves of other games inexpertly stitched together.  What I mean by that is that the story of that first game didn't seem done being told.  There was still a lot of mileage I felt that could have been gotten out of the setting, and instead of giving it a satisfying conclusion that rolled naturally into the second half, it was rather unceremoniously cut short to make room for this new thing that suddenly came into existence.  And the problem then with that new thing is that it didn't seem to have nearly as much care and attention put into as did the thing that had just been yanked offstage Vaudeville style, complete with comically oversized shepherd's crook.

My personal preference, then, is that the entire game would have been about this creepy blood plague people get from drinking weird fluids they found in an ancient catacomb.  It could have even gone the alien angle later, maybe saving that for the last third or even the last quarter of the game rather than an entire half.  There just seemed to be so little to go around in the latter half, while the first part still seemed brimming with ideas.  Instead of having us get transported to a secret sealed-off part of the city, have us go down into those catacombs and find what started this whole thing; make the last bit of the game one frantic rush to just barely touch the surface of what's really going on in Yarnham.

But oh wait, they tried that.

Yes, enter the Chalice Dungeons, a system for making procedurally-generated maps and mazes to fight through!  Only the finest square hallways and maddeningly repetitive rooms here, filled full of enemies that didn't make the cut for the main game!  Grind for hours to gather materials to make a new map, all for a chance to find a marginally better Diablo 2-style insertable weapon gem!  Chase that +1.3% increased critical damage, good Hunter!

In a word, Chalice Dungeons are shit.  But they're ignorable shit, there solely for those who find joy in them and the treasure hunting they allow.  Or they would be, if the true final boss of the game wasn't locked in there four-deep.

Throughout the game, you're occasionally given new chalices from boss encounters.  They don't do anything on their own, and are there only to participate in this system.  But you can't just put them on their little altars and hop over to the maps they control, no no no.  You need crafting materials to make the maps, even the ones that aren't procedurally-generated that make up the four story-relevant ones.  You get . . . most of them along the normal course of the game, either through drops from specific bosses or as out-of-the-way item pickups.  Others drop from enemies, so draw your own conclusions there.

The story-relevant dungeons are at least hand-crafted, but it doesn’t do a lot to get rid of the issues.  There’s no real theme beyond “blocky dungeon,” even when mildly-different tilesets add environmental decals and different decorations.  You have a short hallway, a long hallway, an L-shaped hallway, three or four flavors of rooms with enemies in the same places each time, two different trap rooms, and two different big setpiece rooms.  To their credit, they do (sometimes) populate the dungeons with unique enemies and bosses, but as I said above, a lot of the stuff you can only find in Chalice Dungeons feel like leftovers from scrapped main-game content.  

I don’t know what the Chalice Dungeons were supposed to be.  Maybe they were supposed to be a side project that got rolled into Bloodborne when the deadline started to loom, maybe they were supposed to be way more involved and part of a more complex post-game, or maybe they were just supposed to be a neat distraction for people who wanted more.  But the problem with that last one is that you are forced to go through four of these things to get the true final boss, and they are anything but short.  Each dungeon is pretty sizeable, certainly larger that some lategame areas in the main game, and the challenge they pose is on par with the rest (unless we’re talking about Cursed Pthumerian, holy shit that was painful).  I could understand having to go through one heavily-curated dungeon as a way for From to say “hey, come check these out!”  But that there are four of them that make a hefty demand on your time and resources, I just don’t know.  To make it even worse, enemies in Chalice Dungeons only drop materials for crafting new dungeons.  No dungeon-specific weapons or armor in the four of them to reward you, only dungeon crafting materials and those randomized weapon gems for nigh-inconsequential bonuses.  There’s just no tangible bonus for doing these things past what it takes to fight the end boss.

And speaking of resources, let’s dive into that.  The game does away with Dark Souls’ Estus Flask - the rechargeable, always-available but limited healing option.  Instead, we’re taken back to Demon’s Souls-style consumable healing items, with a couple caveats.  There’s only one type, you can only carry 20 at a time, they increase in price from vendors as the game goes on, and later-game enemies, for the most part, simply do not drop them.  

I realize I’ve not actually spent much time on the game’s mechanics, so let me jump back a second to talk about the Regain system.  Combat in Bloodborne was, at the time, much faster than anything in any of the Souls games.  Rather than focusing on slower, more cautious and methodical combat, Bloodborne fully expects you to trade hits with the enemies.  Combat is rapid; your roll is replaced by quick-stepping in any given direction, leading to dodges that cover less distance but that treat avoiding damage as secondary to repositioning.  Even the largest weapons swing quickly, and most hits stagger enemies just enough that the game wants you to dance around groups of them, using a series of unrelenting attacks to manage the crowd rather than waiting behind a shield for your opening.  So when you do inevitably get hit, the game doesn’t want you retreating, it wants you to jump right back in there and earn your health back.  For a short but generous-enough time after taking damage, hitting the enemy will heal you for up to the amount you were at before, and it’s absolutely possible to fully negate the effects of a swipe to the gut.  

So with that in mind, having 20 Blood Vials that instantly-regenerate 40% of your total HP seems reasonable, and it is for much of the game.  Coincidentally, the first half of the game.  Early on, you often face groups of 5 or so enemies at once, or individual ones that are slower.  There, the system works great.  Do a bit of damage, trade a few hits, dash back and use a single Blood Vial to give yourself a safety net, hop back in to finish everyone off.  Get a couple vials back off the enemies as a prize.  Later though, you’re facing down enemies mostly by themselves or with only one other, and they hit much harder while still being fast.  It becomes a lot riskier to try to get the full heal off the Regain system, so maybe you want to dash out and pop a vial.  As you go on through the later levels, it can be a pretty common occurrence to see your Blood Vial counter dwindling; not out of any real fault of your own for not playing well enough, but just because the game, again, expects you to trade hits, and has now changed how your damage matches up versus your enemy’s.  

You can store up to 600 extra vials in your storage box at home base, and your personal stock of 20 is replenished from that total when you respawn or go to a different area, so it’s not like you have to rush back to buy 20 more every time you use them up.  But you do definitely find yourself running out faster at the end of the game than you were previously.  You can only Regain the effects of the most recent hit you take, and nothing past it.  So if an enemy has, say, an uninterruptable frenzy attack that does multiple hits you can’t escape from for a small amount of damage each hit, well . . .  Blood Vials are the only way to regenerate health you’ve fully lost.  In Dark Souls, topping yourself up before a tough enemy encounter was a reasonable thing, because you’d get that estus back at the next bonfire.  In Demon’s Souls, chowing down on some Half-Moon Grass beforehand was fine, you were carrying 80 of the damn things, plus dozens of the other types.  Dark Souls 2 gave you Lifegems to make up for a smaller stock of estus, and even the King’s Field games had refillable health potions mixed with findable and buyable Earth Herbs.  Plus, each of those games had healing magic.  Bloodborne has “fight for the health you just lost” or “heal 40% of your HP, 20 times.”  Yes, as I said before, you can in fact buy more vials, but the increasing price combined with the carry limit make it difficult to rely on getting them that way.  

The game treats bullets much the same way.  Oh, right, you have a gun in Bloodborne.  You use to parry enemies, don’t worry about it.  Like Blood Vials, you can carry 20 on you at a time.  But you don’t just use them to shoot stuff, you also use them as ammunition for certain special attacks, or to cast spells.  So I’ll just come right out and say it, doing “a mage build” in Bloodborne is pretty much a waste of everyone’s time.  You don’t get useful spells until halfway through the game, and you cannot reasonably hope to defeat enemies with magic because you simply don’t carry enough bullets to make it happen.  

So, bullets.  Enemies at least drop them a little more generously than they do vials, and there’s a nifty little thing From put in the game to help you out.  At any time, you can press a button to sacrifice 30% of your health for 5 extra bullets.  It’s a neat system, it plays nicely with Regain, and it helps you conserve resources.  No complaints there.  

Alright, I’ll be honest here.  I’d taken a step away from this massive wall of text for a few weeks, and I think it’s best to just close the book on the whole thing.  If I haven’t been able to show you that my thought on Bloodborne are super conflicted by now, it won’t happen even if I write another five pages.  

Bloodborne is a great game.  Combat is fast and responsive, the graphics are superb, the aesthetic is wonderfully realized, the level design starts off so strong, and the difficulty feels natural.  But Bloodborne is also a mess.  Some systems feel half-baked, the superb graphics combined with too much post-processing leads to slowdown fairly easily, the level design turns to garbage in the lategame, Chalice Dungeons were a mistake, and the game clearly has no idea what it wants to do with itself.  For the third time, it feels like two different, unfinished ideas were mushed together to make a technically finished product, but it just ends up feeling like you’re awkwardly stepping from one to the other.

What I’ve felt about Bloodborne from the first time I finished it is that From had a lot of ideas, but spent far, far too long fleshing them out before actually considering how they would function as a game.  They allegedly started working on it while Dark Souls 1’s Artorias of the Abyss expansion was being made, which gives them around three years to have put the entire thing together.  Quite long for a modern game, but considering that so much changed from the Project Beast trailer that came out 7 months prior to Bloodborne’s release, I just don’t know.  

So much stuff feels like it was cobbled together at the last minute.  It feels genuinely unfinished on a conceptual level.  The actual mechanical gameplay doesn’t suffer for it, but something definitely feels missing from every other part of the game.  Maybe we’ll see it again some day, like March of 2016, or April if you don’t live in Japan.  And then two weeks later on PC for no reason.

[siliconwebx]

11 Best Facebook Plugins for WordPress

Love it or hate it, Facebook is everywhere. Virtually no website you visit is vacant of it, whether they’re promoting their own page, letting you leave a comment using your FB account, or just analyzing user behavior with the Facebook tracking pixel. With that in mind, if you’re looking for any kind of WordPress Facebook plugins to enhance what your site can offer, look no further.

1. Custom Facebook Feed

Normally, you wouldn’t want to embed your Facebook page or personal timeline in your website as primary content. It’s not indexed like normal content, and your site wouldn’t get any link juice for it. However, Custom Facebook Feed gives you a customizable way to include your feed in your WordPress website that search engines can crawl and give you that Google-ranking goodness. Additionally, you can customize the feed to include whatever you want, such as only events you want to promote.

More Information | Price: Free ($49 Pro upgrade)

2. Social SEO Facebook Responsive Timeline Feed

Say that plugin name three times fast, would ya? Despite the unwieldy name, this plugin is all about making things quick and easy for your visitors. Not only can you customize the design and type of content that displays on your WordPress site, you also put the social part of the social network at your users’ fingertips. Like the name says, this one’s about social sharing, and the feed it displays creates native versions of your Facebook posts and renders them in a shareable box like a blog post with excerpt and thumbnail. The sharing icons are directly below the image, making it super easy to share.

More Information | Price: $15

3. Facebook Thumb Fixer

Simple and to-the-point, Facebook Thumb Fixer solves the issue of FB grabbing the wrong image when a post is shared. It uses open-graph to do this, and it works like a charm. Just set a featured image, and you’re good to go. If you don’t use featured images, then you set a singular fallback image. Easy peasy.

More Information | Price: Free

4. Live Chat with Facebook Messenger

Zotabox has one of our favorite WordPress Facebook plugins with their Live Chat entry. It’s easy to install and quick to set up. Your visitors will have the option to leave a message and like your page from anywhere on your site. Rather than an email contact form, they will be connected directly with you through your page and their Messenger. If you use Messenger or the Pages app, then it’s a real-time conversation between you and a user. It is great at building relationships and promoting your brand socially.

More Information | Price: Free

5. Facebook Messenger for WordPress

Like the Zotabox plugin above, this premium plugin helps cover your bases in much the same way. The big selling point to this plugin versus the free one above is that you get a lot more customization options here. If you don’t want to run the Facebook Blue theme, change it. You get WPML support, and if you don’t want a hover button, you can include it as an embedded part of your site — including on WooCommerce product pages.

More Information | Price: $25

6. Simple Facebook Plugin

Again, this one’s name says exactly what it is. It’s a simple Facebook plugin that lets you gain likes, embed recent posts, show upcoming events and even let people drop you a line by sending a message to the page. It’s useful and simple, especially if you just want minimal Facebook presence with maximal engagement.

More Information | Price: Free

7. Facebook Comment Slider

Some people aren’t fans of the default WordPress comments. If you’re one of them, maybe Facebook Comment Slider will fit your needs. Instead of using the Name/Email/URL of most WP sites, this plugin lets your users talk about your content using their Facebook accounts. It expands and collapses, and it even has animations to draw people’s attention to the comment box. Using FB comments can lower spam rates and can help people keep their calm in the comments by removing the shield of internet anonymity. If that sounds good to you, check this one out.

More Information | Price: $15

8. WP Facebook Login

If you want to add a social login to your /wp-admin page, this is one of the easiest ways to do it. Your users have their normal WP user name, but linking a Facebook account to it is really simple with this plugin. The real benefit to this is that users are still using their WordPress user account, so their site info stays with you and them — only the login is handled by the Facebook protocol.

More Information | Price: Free

9. WP Facebook Auto Publish

Sure, you can use the Jetpack Connect features to share your content, but if you’re up  to using WordPress Facebook plugins, you can do so much more than that. WP Facebook Auto Publish lets you post the content itself (not just share the post) to your Facebook page (taking an image from the blog and using your content as the FB post, for example). You can filter certain kinds of content that gets sent over, as well as sharing text and links and excerpts. It gives you a ton of control over how you share your content, and it will give your page a lot more appeal than just having blog after blog shared automatically.

More Information | Price: Free

10. Social Warfare

This one’s not limited to Facebook, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t one of the best WordPress Facebook plugins out there. In terms of sharing plugins, everyone has an entry in the market. It’s like contact form plugins. There’s no end to them. However, what Social Warfare does differently is, well, everything. You can set specific images for sharing and author/publisher attribution (mega important), as well as keeping the social buttons clear of share counts until a certain threshold is met. After all, no one wants to see a measly 1 beside their up-and-coming popular blog post. You have analytics and campaign tracking, and that’s only part of it. If you have a Facebook marketing strategy that ties into WordPress, look at Social Warfare.

More Information | Price: Free ($29 Pro upgrade)

11. Facebook Content Locker

Sometimes, you don’t want everything out in the open. Sometimes, you need to incentivize people to either share or get their liking fingers over to your Facebook page. That’s where this plugin comes in. Using this, you can lock specific content behind a Facebook share dialog. You can lock individual images, text, videos or anything else behind their FB login. So if you want to give folks who like your page a little extra love, this is how to do it. They have the option of not seeing the content, too, by simply closing the dialog box to dismiss it.

More Information | Price: $15

Feeling Social?

I sure hope so! After those eleven entries, I think there’s more than a little sharing and posting and community building about to happen. Remember, no amount of WordPress Facebook plugins is guaranteed to make your next blog post go viral. But if you pick the right tools and make it easy for your audience to interact with your content, the chances of your post making the rounds go up a lot. Just be sure to include a funny cat video, too. You don’t need a plugin for that, though.

What WordPress Facebook plugins do you use on your site?

Article Featured Image by Julia Tim / shutterstock.com

The post 11 Best Facebook Plugins for WordPress appeared first on Elegant Themes Blog.

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[kinetic-elaboration]

April 19: Thoughts on 1x11 We Are Grounders Pt 1

It’s late, I’m all upside down, and I just reread some of my old meta so I’m thinking about how Smart I am and also how bitter I am about this show. So here’s more of my rewatch!

Today’s episode, We Are Grounders Part One

I wonder if Jaha was so quick to throw up his hands and walk away from the DNR group in S4 because, especially prior to what was basically a religious conversion, he has a similarly strong death instinct himself. I’m not saying he didn’t do everything he could in favor of survival many times, but honestly how many other times has he been like ‘well, okay, tried everything, time to die’? Like compared to other characters? I’m not saying he actively wants to die so much as that he is more comforted than the average bear by the possibility of a ‘good death.’ (Also I think this has a lot to do with having lost his son tbqh.)

Note to self: someone I’m assuming is a station rep referred to her constituents.

An incredibly bleak but fitting ending for this show would have been to kill the Ark in S1 and then to have the delinquents and grounders kill each other in an escalating S2 war. It would have fulfilled certain foreshadowings/themes of the first season (all the war escalation stuff, the nuclear-age throwbacks) and it also would have been an appropriate ending for all these truly terrible, morally rotten people.

Literally Jaha v. Kane is Jasper v. everyone else (or at least, like, Clarke and Monty) in S4. Truly this show ran out of original ideas after 2 seasons, see again my previous point lol.

Speaking of Jasper there is my angular boy.

There is nothing about the delinquent camp I don’t like. Raven in like a council-level position, ish, Bellamy’s speeches and blatant emotion, everyone’s outfits.

I completely forgot Tristan existed.

I also forgot how many fake out main character deaths this show used to do. Abby, Finn. Can’t get away with that 4 seasons in. The audience knows anyone important is getting a real death scene.

Omg Bellamy has a whole like war plan with little figures and stuff.

Bellamy has this reputation for being all emotion and I think that’s him at heart but ignoring Clarke, Monty, and Finn’s disappearance is a logic-based decision. A sort of...overcompensatory logic-based decision. Also not in line with the show’s morality, like, at all. Hence why he drops it later.

Yet again impressed by how Jasper managed to change more than any other character over 4 seasons while still remaining IC. Even young and comparatively innocent he could be snarky and sarcastic and he also was honest and straightforward in his confrontation with Bellamy, and he kept on being all of those things later, but with bitterness and bite.

Murphy (having just obviously suffocated a boy): He stopped breathing. I was trying to help him. Jasper (nodding slowly): Yep, sounds about right, totally legit, lots of evidence that that is what went down. Yep.

Also I’m like 99% this ep is basically their last canon interaction so btw this was the end of what is absolutely, canonically (see the pilot and the Pike-class flashback) a same-station-forged friendship. And probably also explains why Murphy’s reaction to Jasper’s death was like ‘Jasper who???’ though that doesn’t make it any less an unforgivable sin.

There’s nothing not perfect about this scene overall, but the most perfect thing is “Tell Bellamy what?” coming from Jasper’s pocket. I love both that he tried to be sneaky and the comedic value of it.

TWO HEADED HORSE TWO HEADED HORSE TWO HEADED HORSE.

Lincoln was criminally underused. He not only saved Finn and Clarke, he “killed one of his own people to do it.” This isn’t about Octavia. He’s just been looking for an excuse to rebel his whole life.

Jackson’s being so lovely and supportive and Abby’s still calling him by his last name. Knowing this show they probably forgot it was his last name.

Today’s reminder that Octavia likes literally 4 people in the universe lol. And one of them was Jasper. Until the show forgot about that too but whatever not bitter.

RE: Raven getting in under the floor. I’m thinking about my fic and my work around for opening the dropship from the outside and okay on the one hand if such a device existed, Raven would probably know about it as much as Monty but on the other hand, there has to be a way to close the dropship from the outside, because it’s closed in S3 and there’s no one in it. So logically it should open from the outside too, without recourse to loose panels and stuff. So maybe I was a little, like, short-cut-y in my solution but the show is not consistent so we’re even. (We’re not even but I’m self-conscious now.)

Bellamy talking on the walkie with Murphy might honestly be the most beautiful he’s ever been.

Legit question: who do the Grounders battle? They have this coalition, with like Ambassadors and shit. Which doesn’t mean they can’t battle each other but there’s also some diplomacy going on, like, clearly. Which should make battling less necessary, one would think. And even if they do battle each other, over fucking what??? Land? Literally never seen solid evidence that land boundaries matter to them. Shits and giggles? Bragging rights? They have an enemy in Mount Weather but Lincoln sure as shit wasn’t fighting battles against them.

T100 drinking game: take a shot any time says ‘cauterize the wound. Take two if they actually cauterize a wound.

“We lost Clarke, we can’t lose Bellamy too” is probably the first indication literally anywhere in the show that anyone acknowledges Clarke as an delinquent leader.

I miss the Raven + Jasper dream team. Tbh Raven has so few people who can appreciate her professionally. It’s literally Monty, Wick for a hot second, and Jasper (even though his skills aren’t the same as hers, they fit with hers nicely).

I miss my alternate universe where Jasper lives but becomes pacifistic in nature, where he abandons this ‘give me something to shoot through’ attitude and eschews the use of weaponry entirely.

I don’t think this show is 40% as badass or sick as it makes itself out to be but every now and then it lives up to that ideal. I mean this extended psychological torture sequence in which Murphy makes Bellamy hang himself is super fucked up.

The young Jaha and Griffin families were adorable.

“If you were never [in the tunnels] how did you map [them]?” / “Spoils of war.” I realize this is probably just quick plot-hole filling but nevertheless I sense a story here.

The Reapers were also a sick and twisted invention of this show. I feel like in S2 it was pretty clear that the Reapers were given dead bodies to feed on, so either I’m wrong/the Mount Weatherians were more efficient in their use of their limited resource of Sky People bodies versus Grounder bodies/the show has bad continuity/that living dude in the cart is an outlier/some combo of the above.

“The Eastern Sea” lol. The Chesapeake probably.

I never cared for Luna but she could have been cool and also she and Lincoln are ex’s pry this headcanon from my cold, dead hands.

I’m pretty sure Finn pounding in the Reaper’s head was his first kill. Would his S2 story be possible without that moment?

“They look up to you. Almost as much as they look up to Clarke.” Okay I’m sorry, this is just textually, canonically wrong. This is the show retconning Clarke’s position as a leader. And it’s so unnecessary! Her story line works better if she isn’t positioned as the main delinquent leader, imo. Like, lines like that are outliers that don’t make sense within the universe; they’re obviously outwardly pointed: here audience, Clarke is protag 1 and Bellamy is protag 2 and she’s the REAL leader, don’t forget that order! If you do, you might occasionally question her leadership credentials later, when we lazily write everyone just following her regardless of their actual interactions with her or the most recent developments of her storyline! (Not that I think they were already setting up the laziness of S4 this early, but I do think they were tipping the hand of their own biases and their inability to tell the difference between what’s going on in-universe and what the audience sees and understands.)

On the other hand “Well I think the princess is dead, but I know the king’s about to die, so who’s really going to lead these people, huh?” is a good line and I do like positioning Bellamy as king (of these people specifically) versus Clarke as a princess (of the Ark--an old position based on a class background that is irrelevant to their current society).

Lol @ Murphy’s plans being delinquent-domination though. Like that was going to happen.

Actually I think Finn’s S2 story line is created in the moment when he washes the blood off his hands: he’s killed, which changed him, and Clarke comforts him in that critical moment, and he comes to associate her with that event and its aftermath. He also says “I should have fought for you,” which I see as this...hard to describe but like...the creation of a devotion beyond what he’s so far felt. Not that he loves her more but that he’s convinced himself he loves her more, that she can save him in some way, that she is necessary to him. He has a lot of idealistic notions and I think this narrative gets created within him with Clarke at its center and everything else gets blurred out. Or something.

This Jasper and Bellamy scene is the best because it combines two things I love: Jasper’s hero-worship crush on Bellamy, and Jasper’s intense devotion to Monty. I’m a little sorry that Clarke and Finn’s return/these loser Grounders robbed us of a Bellamy and Jasper rescue mission though.

I guess it’s possible Bellamy said “Whatever the hell we want” all the time but really I think it was just the one time and the writers have already forgotten that Jasper never heard him say it omg sometimes I just want to knock their heads together their memories are such shit. (Yes I’m also bitter about Jasper’s pilot outfit returning out of nowhere in S4 and Clarke wearing his intact goggles in S5 even though he already smashed the plastic out of the lenses sometime in S3.)

Poor Jasper. He thinks Monty’s come back with them. He barely even has time to process that disappointment before they start debating whether or not they should leave.

Basically I have a lot of Jasper feelings.

Bellamy’s speech is better than Clarke’s. Come on Griffin, never start with ‘my opponent is right’ that’s a bad rhetorical move. I also find it intensely unrealistic that they’re all like ‘yes, Clarke, we will do what you say!’ when, I cannot emphasize this enough, she has literally never led them before. All of her leader decisions have been strictly BTS. Her only real advantage here is that they know they have no gunpowder and few other resources, so it’s probably just a straight up fear-flight.

“Crowds make bad decisions. Leaders do what they think is right.” I mean basically the theme of the show there lol.

I’m going to rant about this next time I watch but just gonna say here that Clarke is definitely, unequivocally, ultimately wrong in this and Bellamy was right. They should have stayed. People literally died because Clarke tried to take them out when she shouldn’t have.

The camp doesn’t look like I expect or picture in my head...where are their tents? How much land did they claim?

I remember watching this the first time and thinking Jaha’s plan to get them to the ground on the Ark itself was the outright coolest thing I’d ever see and you know what? It holds up. I stand by it.