#yes i am mourning my laptop you would too if you had the relationship i do

[panb1mbo]

guys the saddest thing happened to me. i bought red dead redemption and before i could even play it my gaming laptop kicked it because someone bullied me into using it years ago, busted my screen and never fixed it and she finally couldn’t run anymore :( but my husbands laptop can’t even run the game. i don’t think i’ve ever experienced this kind of heartbreak before. it totally doesn’t send me into a cycle of despair whenever i think about it

[shadyteacup]

Hi! I just read your angst with Chuuya and Dazai, and my God wasn’t that a tasty, juicy, beautiful angst. I LOVED IT. I would love to see a Kunikida x Reader angst from your pen (because I love torturing myself). Kunikida is in love with the reader, but he refuses to accept his feelings and distances himself from her every passing day, and he has to endure the suffering of losing her to Dazai as he sees that they grow closer and closer (romantically) every day.

I hope this idea inspires you 💕

Did someone say torture👀😏 I love hurting myself n others by writing angst, n baby, this is an AMAZING idea.. the amout of pain..wow😈

Kunikida doppo x fem! Reader x Osamu Dazai

Warnings: angst, bit of fluff, but mostly angst, slight swearing.

Word count: 1,557

Biggest Mistake

"Good morning, Kunikida-san!"

You greet him as you walk in the office.

He merely grunts in reply. Your heart pains at this. Were you so non-ideal for him? Did you not fulfill even one of the qualities of his ideal woman? Whenever you tried talking to him, he would shut you out. Does he hate you? If yes, then why? Did you do something to offend him?

You sigh, walking over to your desk. The air was getting awkward, and it didn't help that you both were the only ones here.

Then again, maybe Kunikida wasn't feeling awkward at all. He just simply doesn't care.

Taking out your laptop from the bag, you set it up on the desk. You had a few files to submit by the end of today. They would take up atleast two hours of your time. If you got started now, you could have the rest of the day to fool around.

You opened it, but couldn't bring yourself to start your work. You logged into your Gmail to pass time, instead.

From: handsomebrunette@gmail.com

Hello belladonna!

I am writing this to you to get permission from you. May I please have the permission to rob you of an hour of your day, today?

Love,

Mr. Handsome

You giggled at his antics.

Reply to handsomebrunette@gmail.com

Hello Mr. Handsome,

Are you proposing a date?

Love(?),

The Woman ;)

You have never had a dull moment with Dazai before. Ever since he has set his mind to woo you, you have had quite an interesting time. He obviously liked you. Did you like him back?

Well, earlier, not really. Your heart used to belong to Kunikida. But he never seemed to give a rat's ass about you. So you tried to move on. That's when you realized just how charming your other coworker is.

At first, it felt wrong to like Dazai in a romantic way. You had just been heartbroken over the fact that your long time crush just doesn't like you, and pursuing Dazai felt like you were making him a replacement.

But then again, you had never even told Kunikida that you liked him, so he had never actually 'rejected' you. He only conveyed it through his actions and rude comments. You even thought that maybe he's just a tsundere, but soon realized that the man just doesn't like you at all.

Dazai was quick to realize what was going on. At first, he had tried to bring you two together by using his tricks, like forcing Kunikida into the same room as you and locking it from the outside, pretending to have pranked him and not realized that someone else was already in there. He had tried to get Kunikida to open up to you, too. But that man was born with a stick up his ass, and even Dazai's manipulative schemes weren't enough to make him confess. Dazai knew that Kunikida actually liked you back. He was well aware of his colleague's affections and the fact that he was going through a denial phase. Kunikida couldn't accept that he liked you because he still had a few years left to find himself a wife. His ideals prevented him from wooing you. Besides, he was not one to be crystal clear about his emotions. So he pushed you away. Whenever you tried to talk to him, or approach him, he would push you away with his rude words.

Dazai, obviously, understood that. He also knew that if you tried hard enough, you could get Kunikida to open up. But that was a tiring path to take. It would drain you of your mental peace, and by the time Kunikida actually accepts his feelings for you, you would be too tired to give a fuck. You'd have given up by then. It would break your heart and torture your sanity.

Dazai would be there for you, if you decide to choose that path, that is, but he also liked you. He had liked you ever since you joined the ada. He hadn't approached you yet, because he was aware of his coworker's feelings. He respected Kunikida's emotions, and had decided to back off. But there were so many times when he wanted to abandon his respect for the blonde, and just confess to you. He was slowly falling for you, and he knew that it scared him, but he couldn't live another day knowing that he was sacrificing a chance of being with someone he truly adores, for a man who wasn't even ready to admit that he has feelings for you. He couldn't do that. He loved you a bit too much.

So he decided to fuck Kunikida's feelings and stupid decisions, and just woo you himself. If you reject him, he would be fine, because atleast he tried. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't even try.

He was pleasantly surprised to watch how you fell for him over the days. He could notice how you changed bit by bit, blushing at things that you would have laughed off earlier. You both were really close friends before he started flirting with you, and it was funny watching you get flustered at things that he used to do often as a friend.

Such as now. He was standing outside the office, peeking in through a crack in the doorway. He watched as you read his email and grinned, your ears turning red. You typed a quick reply, and sat with your chin on your palm, your eyes dreamy.

He watched you and subconsciously smiled at your adorable face.

He read your reply on his phone, and smirked at the sherlock reference. Both of you had binge watched the entire series together.

Reply to justanotherhooman@gmail.com

Dearest woman,

That's quite bold of you! If you so desire to go on a date with this handsome man, who is he to deny the wish of such a beautiful woman? I shall pick you up at 1pm. Be ready, dearest.

Love,

Mr. Handsome ♡

He watched you read his reply and shake your head, amused at his choice of words. He then decided to make an entrance.

"Good morning Bella! And you too, Kunikida-kun."

He smiled at you.

You greeted him, and smirked.

"So, Mr. Handsome, you mean to drag me out of here at 1, but where do you intend to take me?"

He smirked back at you, leaning on his elbows on your desk, closing majority of the space between your faces.

"Where do you want me to take you, hmm?"

He was so close to you, you could feel his breath on your face. You gulped at the intoxicating aura that this man carried.

"Where do you have in mind?"

He lifted one palm, and traced a pattern on your cheek with his finger. He traced the shape of your lips, making you part them slightly. Licking his own lips at the sight, he began leaning closer to you, eyes focused on your rosy lips.

Just as he was about to reach his destination, Kunikida cleared his throat.

"Get to work, both of you."

You both parted, looking away. You were beyond embarrassed. But you were also angry. You wanted to know what was going to happen, although you had a slight idea. You hated Kunikida for interrupting you.

Kunikida couldn't bear to watch what would have happened if he hadn't intervened. He couldn't bear to see you kiss another man. He knew that he was being stupid, but he just couldn't loose you. He wanted to confess to you, too. He had realized that he loved you, but it was too late now. You had already given up on him, and had found Dazai. He couldn't ruin it for you now. So he ignored you when you greeted him, shouted at you even though you didn't do anything wrong and gave you the cold shoulder to keep you away. Besides, you looked happy pursuing Dazai. Maybe he was the right man for you. It pained Kunikida to think this way, but it was the truth. You were better off with someone else. Maybe he just isn't right for you.

As he watched you and Dazai smile at each other from your positions on your respective desks, he couldn't help but notice your blush. You used to blush at his actions earlier. Now you don't even smile at him. He is the one to blame for that. But he felt a pang in chest, anyway.

Watching you with Dazai would suck all the happiness out of him. He would forever mourn the fact that he let you go. He ruined a potential relationship. Only now does he realize just how much he cares for you. Now, he could never have have you.

Abruptly standing up, Kunikida walked over to the washroom, avoiding any of your gazes.

Closing the door behind him, he took off his glasses, placing them in his front pocket.

Gripping the basin, he leaned into it to support himself. He looked into the mirror, and saw a defeated man look back at him, with blonde hair and tired eyes, desperately holding back his tears. What a pathetic state he has brought himself to. If only he had loved you before.

[writeriteright]

Promises

It is 2009 and the 5 of us are a mess of lipstick and miniskirts, stuffed animals and tamagotchi, sitting in a circle on Michelle’s king sized bed, armed with sparkly pencils and colored paper. We are bright eyed, wide eyed, leaning over an older sibling’s laptop, scrolling through pages of white gold rings crowned with a single clear stone. A promise of forever that we all wanted.

5 years later, 4 years after we have fallen apart, when I finally admit to myself that we had splintered long ago and the shards are too fine to ever piece back together, I dig out the hot pink friendship bracelet with the rhinestone heart and hold it to my chest. I wonder if instead of bangles I had bought those rings for us, if it would have linked us somehow or if they would have also sat unworn and unwanted in the bottom of childhood jewelry boxes.

It is 2015 and we are a blur of laughter and first times, joined hands and cheap wine. We lie with each other on a couch to watch a movie and you whisper in my ear sleep-soft promises of a family and our future. We are half-formed ourselves with dreams bigger than the universe and when I get on airplane to leave for a country that has winter and snow, you make a promise of precious stones set in a fine silver band. A promise of forever.

2 years later, when I finally admit to myself that the only bands you ever gave me were the mental bars of a self imposed jail cell, I tell you to keep your promises to yourself and feel nothing when I delete your number from my phone. Yet I keep your silver plated ring, the one with a little gold heart, I keep it and wonder if maybe my heart is made of the diamonds you promised, unfeelingly slicing through our relationship and not beating out even a single tear of loss.

It is 2015 and we are cake mix with too much butter, a whole tub of heavy cream, a drawer full of new boxes of stale cigarettes, perfectly manicured nails and dyed hair. You are everything I have ever wanted and in the dark of my room, I think privately to myself that this time, this will last forever and there is no need for gleaming rings or shiny stones.

9 months later, when I finally admit to myself that forever is a promise I am incapable of making, I am admitted to a hospital because it was all my fault and I mourn, pine and miss you more than I value my life. In the warm room they leave me alone in, I think that forever belongs to those who are determined and unwavering, who pump blood through their hearts, and not to me, whose cold, stone heart only knows how to hurt those they love the most.

It is 2018 and we are hands linked under covers on lazy weekend afternoons, comfortable silences, good-natured teasing in short car rides. I have learnt my lesson and I don’t make promises anymore, but you don’t make any either, just press your thumb in circles on the back of my hand as you tell me that you see us lasting a long time.

1 year later, when I finally admit to myself that I am full of hope for the future, I ask from your bed, groggy from an afternoon nap that lasted too long, I ask you to marry me and you say yes. Neither of us are naive enough to believe this is eternal, but as I crawl out of bed, bleary eyed, we discuss our plans, because even without a promise of forever, engagement rings cost two months’ salary.

It is 2019 and we are daytime and nighttime, pixelated video feeds and poor connections, quiet nights full of chatter and sleepy mornings of wakeful care. You are warm blooded, promises belong to your kind, they flow through your arteries. All I have is black ink veins and a hopeful heart, but you make the trade anyway.

Present day, when I finally admit to myself that since our Day 1 I have been dreaming of Day 3,650, I ask you if I am good enough and I bask in the glow of your unhesitant yes as we draw up blueprints of relationship infrastructure built on lapis lazuli.

[maybe-your-left]

BITCH I AM DEMANDING A FLUFFY PART TWO TO KYLO FORGETTING OUR DATE OKAY?!

I WANT SWEET AND NASTY MAKEUP SEX

HAHAHHA YESSSSS. here is part one of Kylo forgetting our anniversary.

“Hey.”

You sighed into the phone, slumped on the cool leather couch. The TV blaring before you, but you didn’t listen to what was on. It had been two weeks since you kicked Kylo out, the only communication shared were clipped texts and stale ‘Hi’s’ and ‘Byes’ when he needed to pick up clean clothes.

“Hi.”

Kylo took in a slow breath, you could practically feel the air hit your face. So close, yet so far, “Are you gonna be home today?”

“Yup.”

“Cool, I’ll be there at 12 during lunch. I have some shit to grab.”

You bit back sniffling, “Okay,” your voice cracked. “I’ll be here.”

———

You scrolled through your emails, waiting at the kitchen counter for him to show up. You'd applied for some jobs a few days ago if this was really the end of you two. You needed a job, there was no way you could afford living in the penthouse and at some point, Kylo would want it back.

It was in his name anyway, the only thing you really owned without his help was your laptop.

Fingers crossed you'd find something, you haven't worked in almost five years. You didn't need to with Kylo, and he urged you to not work. He wanted to take care of you, provide for you, help you in any way he could. But now, you were left high and dry, not even a single bank account in your name.

You swallowed back another round of tears, no.

No more tears, you'd get through this. You had family who would help, friends that supported you and wanted you to be happy. Even his mom, not that you'd stoop that low, was willing to help you.

It would be better to just cut all ties to him since there was a slim chance he would want to be back together.

You still weren't sure, you missed him. Terribly, barely sleeping because his presence was gone. Jumping towards your phone whenever it rang, hoping it was him on the other side calling to make it up to you.

But the man was stubborn, angry that you kicked him out.

Claiming that his accusations were valid, which wounded you further.

A light knock on the door drew you away from your wallowing, you took a shaky breath before whispering a faint, "it's open."

Kylo walked in slowly, dressed in his work clothes. A button-up, white, with his suit jacket and tight dress pants. His hair was getting longer, the harsh lighting of the kitchen showed a sheen of grease coating it.

And the bags, the bags under his eyes were darker than normal.

A part of you was smug over his appearance.

But the rest of you ached, fighting against your baser instinct to run towards him. So he could take you in his arms while you bathed him in kisses, mourning over the time spent apart.

"Hello," he nodded stiffly towards you. Not making eye contact as he shut the door. Kylo fiddled with the strap on his shoulder, his duffel bag hanging limp. Empty, ready to stuff more things inside before he ran away to whatever place he was staying.

"Hey," you croaked, eyes flitting back to your laptop. Biting your lip as you read through rejection after rejection, no one wanted you. The gaps in your resume were too long, your diploma meant nothing since you had zero experience.

Kylo's shoes scuffed the floor, sniffing loudly before he looked at you.

"I was going to grab some more things," he glanced towards the staircase, "All my stuff is at the dry cleaners right now, I've worn these pants two days in a row."

"That sucks."

He hummed, "Okay," backing away from you slowly. You watched him walk towards the stairs, back tense and straight. His hands were tucked into his pockets, something he did when he was nervous or uncomfortable.

You used to make him comfortable.

Now you just agitated him, even though it wasn't your fault you two were in this mess.

You stayed quiet as he rummaged around upstairs. Doors opening and closing, drawers slamming shut, you briefly heard swearing but you couldn't make it out. You hadn't thrown his stuff away, keeping everything organized. Right down to the hair products that he had left.

Color-coded and alphabetical by the sink.

His footsteps echoed to a stop, maybe he was considering kicking you out...

"Have you seen my black sweater?"

You stilled, his black sweater... "Nope."

A huff in annoyance, "The one that has the hole in the front, from when it got caught while we were in Niagra? It's not in the closet."

That's because I hid it, you thought. You'd been sleeping in it for the past week, it smelled like him and enveloped you like his arms used to. No way you were giving it back, call it a sacrifice of your relationship.

You listened to his slow descent to the kitchen, duffle now stuffed with clothes. He eyed you suspiciously, rolling his tongue along the inside of his cheek. Coming dangerously close to your seat, he angled himself behind you. A little to the left, but enough for him to spy on your computer screen.

"You're applying for jobs?"

You slapped your laptop shut, he didn't need to snoop.

"None of your business, Kylo."

He shrugged, looking up at the ceiling as he replied, "Might be good for you, to get out of the house."

"Mhm."

"You'll want to apply to multiple places," he stepped around you, opening the fridge for a brief glance inside. Spying one of his protein shakes that you hadn't thrown out, wasn't expired yet. Kylo cracked it open and took a small sip, "You won't be able to afford this place with entry-level salaries."

"Yes," you snapped at him, "I know that."

"Just trying to help, (Y/N)."

You climbed off your stool, moving away from him to curl on the couch. Already on the verge of tears, "You aren't helping, you're just being rude."

"Well, it's rude of you to steal my shit when we aren't together anymore."

That made the waterworks start, muffling your sniffles with your fluffy blanket. You tucked yourself away, desperate to disappear. Maybe when you woke up, everything would be back to normal, or you could wake up seven years earlier to avoid ever meeting him. Save yourself from the heartache that was tearing you apart from seam to seam.

You listened to the echo as he walked towards you. Huffing when he saw your shivering form, "I don't know why you're crying. I haven't been staying here for two weeks, we clearly aren't together."

"Whatever, Kylo," you whispered, voice breaking as you took in a wet breath, "Can you just leave?"

"Sure."

------

"I can't afford to stay there mom," you whimpered into the phone, you were stalling in your car. Parked in the garage of the apartment, you had been to an interview. Realizing the pitiful reality of your life, you had already begun to sell your designer clothes. Gucci purses, red bottoms, Tiffany earrings, Cartier bracelets, you name it. Anything that could help you create a bank account was sold off.

"Have you talked to him at all? Kylo wouldn't leave you high and dry, if anything he would pay for you to get an apartment."

"I don't want his help," you hissed.

A pause, "It would be humiliating to ask, I know he's expecting it. After the talk about jobs, he's just been waiting for me to cave and sacrifice my dignity."

"I'm just saying it wouldn't hurt to talk with him, I know you both have been avoiding it after the fight. It could bring you both some closure-or better yet-get you guys back together so I can get some grandbabies."

"Goodbye, mom."

You huffed as you hung up, slamming your head back into your headrest. Maybe you could sell the car, people would pay top dollar for a gold Porsche. But the title was in Kylo's name, birthday present, any money you'd earn would belong to him.

You pulled up your text thread, the last messages sent were from three days ago. He left you on read, you texted him goodnight after a few stale messages about your day and when he could come and move some furniture out. Kylo had gotten an apartment on the upper east side, right by his office. You checked the old Zillow listing, it was huge and ridiculously expensive.

Enough room for him and a new girlfriend, you were certain he was already fucking someone else. With how cruel he was with you, not even trying to make amends. Probably his secretary, she was always a slut. Showing off her tits to him, even when you came to visit. Kylo probably bent her over his desk the day after he left, just because he could.

You swallowed your pride, it was now or never.

Kylo, I think we need to talk.

Send.

Let's see how long it... oh?

What happened, I'm at work right now.

Quick, maybe he got the notification on his laptop.

Could I swing by the office?

Right now?

Yeah.

Typing...

I have a shareholder meeting at 2, make it quick.

You sped towards his work, determined to get there before he changed his mind and banned you from coming. You were shocked he even agreed, maybe he was having a rare good day.

Or forgot that you two were broken up.

After parking, you jogged into the building. No need to say hi to anyone, it was embarrassing enough to be the ex-girlfriend visiting. At least you were dressed up, people wouldn't think you were in the poor house, yet.

You smiled coldly at his secretary, not bothering to tell her what you were here for. Despite her stuttering about him having a meeting at 2, she was totally fucking him. There's no way she wasn't, a man like him can barely go a day without sticking his dick in something.

Whipping open the door, you were met with the uncomfortable silence that blanketed his office. Curtains were drawn, lights on the dimmest setting, the only noises were the door creaking and his fingers typing.

Like he was punishing the words, Kylo was good at breaking keyboards with his aggressive emailing.

You cleared your throat, watching as his eyes briefly flickered towards you before moving back to the screen. Okay, you walked slowly towards his desk. Pulling out a chair as quietly as possible, the leather squeaking when you sat.

Kylo let out a long sigh, leaning away from his screen. "What is it you want to talk about?"

With a harsh swallow, you fiddled with the hem of your skirt. Anything to avoid his penetrating gaze, "I just wanted to talk about, you know."

He blinked, face blank, "Use your words, please. I don't have time to fuck around, I have a business to run."

"I-I-I"

"Spit.it.Out."

"How come you never apologized?"

Silence.

Kylo's jaw clenched and unclenched, leaning back in his chair slowly. Staring directly at you, "This conversation?"

"Yes, I need to know."

"What good is it doing us now?"

"I don't know I just-"

"What are you hoping to gain from this?"

"Kylo-"

He huffed loudly, "I don't have to answer you anymore, we aren't together."

You slammed a fist on his desk, rattling a few pieces he had decorating it. Standing on your wobbling legs, "Listen to me, you can be an asshole all you fucking want but I deserve answers."

Kylo narrowed his eyes, standing slowly before you. His form towering, making you feel even smaller than you already felt. Crawling to his office for closure, and instead, he wanted to argue with you about the necessity of the conversation.

You watched his palms lay flat on the polished wood, crinkling papers he had strewn about.

"If you're here for money, just fucking say it."

"I am not here for-"

Now it was his turn to slam the desk, "Bullshit! You're here to fucking grovel because you don't know how to take care of yourself. Can't even get a second-rate job!"

"You're the one who insisted on taking care of me!"

"So you think it's okay to demand money when we aren't together? Selling off all the shit I bought you to pay the power bills?"

You gaped at him, "I would never."

"Shut up," Kylo spat, leaning further across to be nose to nose, "You forget that I have your email linked to my laptop. I can see every pathetic message about pawning what I worked for. What I provided you, fucking ungrateful."

"How dare you sneak through my email!?"

"It's not sneaking if I have the passwords, darling."

"You can't fucking do that," you pushed away, arms folded while you glanced around the room. All your pictures were gone, more proof that showed he was erasing your existence, "At least I'm not already fucking someone..."

"Excuse me?"

You spoke over your shoulder, "You heard me."

"Are you seriously accusing me of that," Kylo scoffed, "When that's what got us into this mess in the first place?"

You shrugged, "How long have you been fucking her, did you march to her place after I kicked you out?"

"(Y/N)."

"I'm a big girl, I can take it. Just tell me the truth, because there's no way you'd just abandon me if there wasn't someone else."

"(Y/N)."

You spun on your heel, snarling with a finger in his face, "How many women have you replaced me with? Huh? Or is it just your slut of a secretary-"

Kylo flipped his desk, everything crashing to the floor. You screamed as he began to throw items to the walls, tear books off the shelves, kicking his chairs to the ground. Anything he could get his hands on he attempted to tear apart.

"Enough!"

Heavy breaths.

"I'm not fucking anyone else! Are you fucking serious? All I've fucking done is work! Trying to just fucking move on but nooo," he faced you now, cheeks red and puffing. A few tracks of tears streaking towards his jaw, "You-you just have to be right, and have to be the victim of all this when it's both our fucking fault!"

Kylo paced away from you, running his fingers through his hair before crouching down to the floor. Cradling his face in his hands while he took in shaky breaths, "I fucking missed you, so much. It's all I thought about, but every fucking time I came back you ignored me."

"Kylo-"

"No, you fucking iced me out. I could barely speak to you and I wasn't going to do anything over text."

You succumbed to your tears, there was no way to hold them. Choking as you wiped away the floods, "I-I didn't m-mean to, you weren't talking to me Kylo. How was I supposed to r-react?"

Now he was crying, hiccuping in an attempt to steady his breathing and push through it like he always had. But he couldn't stop the tremor in his voice, "You could've told me you loved me or forgave me. Anything would've been better than this."

"Why do I have to be the one to apologize, I'm not the one who forgot our day and manhandled me in the tub! You were drunk, rude, and horrible to me, I deserved an apology."

"I know," he sniffed, "I tried to-the first few times I came back for clothes. But you hid from me."

You nodded slowly, pacing your way towards him. Unsure of how he'd react to you touching him, but you needed to be closer. You shuffled to his side, sliding your back against the gray wall to the floor.

"We've never been good at apologizing."

Kylo sat on the floor, mirroring you against the wall, "At least before, you didn't kick me out. Force me to crash on a couch, you know I don't fit on couches."

You chuckled softly, not wanting to smile at the visual.

"That's why our couch was custom," he laughed too, dull and humorless, "Because I kept sliding off."

"Yup."

Both of you swallowed, throats clicking in unison. Kylo shuffled in a more comfortable position, looking out at the clouded sky that peeked through the shades.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry."

A breath, "I never meant to miss our day, and I thought you were finished with me. I should've just spoken to you instead of drink, but that doesn't mean much now."

You hummed, "Thank you."

"I can write you a check," he sighed, "So you can get another place and still keep whatever's left of your collections."

"You don't-"

"I know I don't."

Kylo wrote you a check for half a million dollars, not looking at you when he ripped it from his checkbook. He mumbled about the bank may be needing to call him to confirm it, just have them call my office number.

Sending you off without another word.

------

Your new apartment was cute, small, perfect for you.

Light and airy, none of the fixtures were black or red. Hues of pink, coral, green, and blue danced around the rooms. Your couch was velvet, just because you wanted it to be. With an abundance of pillows and candles on every surface, you could fit them onto.

Your bed was a four-poster with a dreamy white canopy, soft and cloudlike bedding scrunched up from however you left them. No one was running around frantic to make the bed, or straighten the blinds, or draw the curtains, it was just yours.

The check was cashed with little fuss, you tried not to cry about it. You dropped off the old house keys at Kylos office, along with your car keys, there was no need to keep the Porsche. You weren't living that life anymore, you could buy your own car now! And it would be yours, it was too hard to drive the gift everywhere.

Kylo told you to keep the car when he found the keys, but you ignored his messages. He wouldn’t understand why you wouldn’t keep it, but that was his problem.

You sighed into your couch, looking at the TV nestled next to the bay window. Imagining where you could squish more houseplants… you already had an abundance but it wouldn’t hurt.

Your phone began to vibrate on the coffee table, startling you as you scrambled towards it. Oh, it was Kylo, odd.

“Hey?”

“Hey.”

“Uh,” you stood from the floor, scratching your cheek as you walked. “What’s up?”

He cleared his throat, “I saw you got a place, wanted to drop off a housewarming gift.”

Your face scrunched, balancing the phone between your face and shoulder. Popping a potato chip in your mouth, “Why would you do that?”

A sigh, “Can you just buzz me in? I brought wine…”

“Whatever.”

Kylo came in with a tight smile, dressed in some black joggers and a gray t-shirt. He looked like he just rolled out of bed, not his typical look on a weekday. He held up a brown paper bag, Whole Foods on the label.

"You went to Whole Foods?" you raised a concerned brow.

"Nope," he set the bag on your kitchen table, eying the plants and crystals that littered your living room. A few magazines were strewn around on the surface, "I had my secretary do it."

You glared at him, which he noticed before shaking his head rapidly, "New secretary-not the old one. His name is Brady, he's very nice."

Kylo stood with his hands in his pockets, glancing in every direction as you approached the bag. Humming when you began pulling out the goodies he had, as promised there was a bottle of wine. Your favorite, along with a set of glasses.

A clear purple tinge, almost vintage looking. Some of your favorite fruit, he blushed when you held them up to his eyes. Mumbling how you never had enough of them in the past, and it was their season.

Now you were blushing, finding some red velvet cupcakes. Packaged beautifully, and a small vase in the shape of a kitty. You placed it on the table, looking at it over and over. Biting your lip as you waited for something to happen.

"I like your place," Kylo croaked out, "It's very bright."

You chuckled, "You're just used to your eyes straining from all the red and black decor."

He hummed, walking down your hallway. Glancing indoors that were left open until he made it to your bedroom. You heard him groan when he saw the white sheets and canopy, Kylo whistled for you.

Obediently, you pranced towards him, taken aback when he was sprawled on your mattress. Facedown with his face in your pillow, groaning like he was trying to wake up from a good dream.

"I fucking forgot how good you smelled," he moaned out, looking over at you lazily, "What would I have to do to get you to make out with me in here?"

------

LOL, this was long, but I'll do a part three if you would enjoy the rest of their reunion.

TAGGING: @finn-ray-nal-beads​​​ @onlykyloscenes​​​ @candycanes19​​​ @historyandfandoms50​​​ @caelum-phyriina-vermillon​​​ @ghoulian13​​​ @mrs-kylo-ren​​​ @millenialcatlady​​​​ @relationshipwithmybed​​ @dancingmicrobes​​​ @wayward-rose​​​ @contesa-lui-alucard​​​ @daydreamsofren​​​ @insufferablelust​​​ @ohdamnadamm​​​ @mariesackler​​​ @caillea​​ @safarigirlsp​​ @jalexunderthestars​​​ @shesakillerkween​​​ @glassythoughts​​ @zimmermansbrat​​ @not-the-teen-witch​​ @jynzandtonic​ @roanniom​ @celestiasin @glassbxttles @cornmousequeen @driversmutbucket @blowthatpieceofjunk

Here is the link to my Mega Masterlist for all your stalking needs...

[gureishi]

I love reading your opinions on Saeyoung! I know I’ve thought about this in regards to Zen so I’m curious what your headcanons are in regards to Saeyoung’s future relationships post game with each member of the RFA and Vanderwood??

Ohhhh, thank you for this wonderful question, dear Lea! The characters’ relationships with one another vary so much depending on the route and the timeline. Even though it makes me sad (because of the glaring absence of one beloved character), I’ll write these for the SE timeline.

Headcanon: Saeyoung’s relationships with RFA+Vanderwood post-game

Yoosung

Saeyoung and Yoosung’s relationship is endlessly fascinating to me. They’re close—they’d both tell you that, if you asked—but their friendship in the game is actually very surface-level. Saeyoung keeps Yoosung at arm’s-length, and Yoosung honestly has too much going on in his own head to devote much energy to trying to break down those walls.

The fight they have toward the end of Saeyoung’s route is a huge turning point for both of them. Yoosung is genuinely hurt to learn that his friend had never planned on sticking around, and Saeyoung is surprised to find that anybody actually cares enough to be mad about it. He never really thought too hard about what would happen if (when) he inevitably had to disappear from his friends’ lives—but when he did think about it, he honestly didn’t think he’d be missed.

It is a huge deal that Yoosung gets mad, because it shows Saeyoung that his existence has had an impact on people. It’s after this conversation with Yoosung that Saeyoung tells you he’s willing to try and open up to you, too; Yoosung is the one who shows him that there is value in letting another person become close to you.

Later, I am absolutely certain that they are able to develop a real friendship: one that’s grounded in trust and mutual understanding. When you’re living in the bunker with Saeyoung and Saeran, if there is one member of the RFA who’s showing up unannounced with a backpack full of sweets and a big grin on his face—it’s Yoosung.

Jaehee

Jaehee needs to feel secure in her understanding of the things and people around her. She likes to be able to think to herself, “oh, here is why this person behaves this way.” And it’s for this reason that Saeyoung drives her absolutely crazy.

She respects him, of course—but begrudgingly, because he is an anomaly, a little piece of chaos in her perfectly-ordered world.

It is your love for him that allows her to wrap her mind around his peculiar existence—because Jaehee cares deeply for you (almost immediately), and she recognizes the look you get in your eyes when you talk about him. She may not understand him (or even want to)—but she understands about love.

Jaehee and Saeyoung are never going to be best friends. But in this timeline, Jaehee is one of your dearest friends—and for you, they will both try. Jaehee will make honey butter cookies for his birthday, and she’ll smile softly when she sees the look of utter delight on his face. He’ll ask her to bring him her laptop, and she’ll complain as he sweeps it from her hands—but when he returns it to her working ten times better than it ever did before, she’ll clasp his hands in hers, her eyes shining.

If she ever gets around to opening her cafe in this timeline—and I’d like to believe that she does—you and Saeyoung will go in often. He’ll annoy her by doodling cat faces on all the napkins—but he’ll always tip her 200% of the bill.

Zen

In this timeline, Zen immediately takes you in as a sort of younger sibling (yes, even if you’re older than him), and he's ready to go to battle for you, if he needs to. Like Jaehee, he feels almost instantly that you are someone special. He doesn’t quite understand why—but he knows that he wants to keep you safe.

A consequence of this protectiveness, of course, is that he becomes very suspicious of Saeyoung. He’s never trusted him (and for good reason: Saeyoung may be trustworthy, but 707 is anything but). Zen is worried that you won’t be safe with Saeyoung—and he’s not entirely wrong.

But: when Saeyoung reveals his real name, Zen is one of the first to use it—and he uses it repeatedly. Every time I play the Secret Ends, and the Vday DLC, I am hyper-aware that Zen is making a massive effort to call Saeyoung by the right name. And this speaks volumes to me.

If you let Zen in—even just a little—he will accept all of you (and he’ll do it with his whole heart). Zen understands what it means to feel like you don’t belong anywhere—to hide your true self behind a mask of pretense and positivity—to become someone else so you don’t have to look too closely at who you really are.

No matter which timeline we’re in, Zen’s success is going to skyrocket—so he’s not going to be around all the time. But when he is, it’s a party: these are the times that the whole RFA gets together again (and if you listen closely, you’ll hear the way he speaks to Saeyoung now—like he actually admires him. The feeling is mutual).

Jumin

This timeline is one of the roughest for Jumin, without a doubt.

The game doesn’t show us how deeply he is grieving—but he is. He has lost the two people who have ever made him feel comfortable in his own skin, and he no longer has anyone he can turn to. I’m not gonna sugar-coat it and say that everybody’s happy in this ending: they’re not, and even months (years) later, Jumin is suffering.

But here’s the thing: Jumin’s not the only one who loved Jihyun.

It takes Saeyoung time to sort through the complicated feelings he has for Jihyun, after everything that’s happened. He doesn’t forgive him right away—and even as he mourns him, he’s angry, too. But time passes.

I imagine that there comes a day—weeks or months or even years later—that Saeyoung and Jumin find themselves talking to each other about the person they both loved. Perhaps they are in Jihyun’s apartment, sorting through his things—or they find themselves alone together at a group event and—at last—one of them acknowledges the grief that permeates the negative space between them.

Jihyun leaves a gaping hole in both of their lives that nothing can fill. But I’d like to think that an understanding develops between them: they may never completely get one another, and it’s okay that they don’t. There is a deep and unwavering affection there—the kind of mysterious and unbreakable bond you only feel for someone who has become your family.

Vanderwood

In my personal post-SE timeline, Vanderwood sticks around for a while to help the twins deal with their father. I’ve written about it a bit (in my Human Again series): if they are able to find the records Jihyun was keeping about Saejoong, it would not be too difficult for them to take him down in this timeline. He has no leverage, here. With the brothers working together, they can expose him—and then, of course, they can really be free.

But Vanderwood doesn’t stick around forever—they wouldn’t want to. They have a whole life outside of taking care of Saeyoung; they have a hometown, and possibly even people there who are waiting for them.

But at least once a year—and never with any notice—Vanderwood shows up at your home. "Just wanted to see with my own eyes that the kid actually managed to keep himself alive,” they’ll say—and they’ll grunt and roll their eyes and maybe blush a little when you throw your arms around them and thank them for being the reason he stayed alive as long as he did.

Vanderwood really respects you, because when you tell Saeyoung to be quiet or sit down or clean up after himself, he does it. They respect you, too, for your bravery and your strength and your resilience.

Neither one of them will ever admit it, but for a long time, Saeyoung and Vanderwood really did only have each other.

You’ll invite them to your wedding, of course. They won’t RSVP—but they’ll be there.

Saeran

I could write a literal novel about their relationship in this timeline and how it develops (and ummm maybe eventually I will), but I’ll try and keep this brief.

SE Saeran is so very tired. It takes time—so much time, exponentially more than the game shows us—for him to even begin to feel comfortable living in his brother’s home. He is physically sick, for a long time, as a result of the drugs he was being fed and the torture he was enduring. There isn’t enough space for forgiveness: there is barely enough space for living at all.

There’s no one moment when the two of them start to feel like brothers again: love and hate are so much more complicated than that. And Saeran has had no agency in his life; every choice has been made for him—his newfound “freedom” doesn’t feel like freedom at all. He feels he has been shuffled from one cage to another: his brother’s horrible, windowless home is no different.

But it is the small things: walking in the grass outside the bunker and feeling the sun on his skin; the way you speak to him, like you trust him; the annoying way Saeyoung follows him around, wide-eyed, trying far too hard to win him over—gradually, he begins to feel that he has a home, after all.

In this timeline, I do believe that all three of you keep on living together for the rest of your lives. You certainly don’t stay in the bunker forever—but when you move, you do it together.

And what’s most important here, of course, is that Saeran chooses this. It is perhaps one of the first choices that he makes for himself—and it sneaks up on him, taking him by surprise one day: he wants to keep on living together.

And this—living with his brother in a home that’s warm and full of love—is the only thing Saeyoung has ever wished for.

[starshineandbooks]

    This is for @b0nechewers as part of the Revalink exchange (@revalinkexchange ), I used a mix of the prompts they gave me.

Words: 2106

    Warnings: Implied and referenced abuse, homophobia (Brief)     If I missed anything please let me know!

    Relationship(s): Revali/Link,  Background/implied Saki/Teba

    Summary: After a less than ideal ending to not only their dance partnership but their dating each other, Link and Revali find themselves back together, but will there still be sparks?

Revali had always known he had messed up, leaving Link after a several year-long relationships and an even longer friendship, maybe they had their fights, and they certainly started off in a bad place, but seeing Link dance with someone else hurt more than Revali would care to admit.

    Link had become Ravli’s own dance rival again, he dances with a childhood friend of his, Mipha, Revali dances with his friend Teba, but there was a time that Link had been Revali’s dance partner. Revali’s partner in every way that mattered.

    The way things had ended left him colder than before, less trusting, less hopeful, and more egotistical, and missing Link with everything he was. It’s one thing for a relationship to end on its own, but Link and Revali’s hadn’t ended of its own accord.

    But Link hadn’t been ready to leave his father behind, his very homophobic, father and violent mother had made it clear that it was them and their support and money, or Revali and nothing.

    He doesn’t blame Link, it sucks that Link chose them, after everything, but it’s likely better for the man.

    But it’s when he was assigned the same hotel suite (A completely different disaster due to them technically going to the same dance place) that he truly realized how much he still mourns the loss of Link, and how- he loathes to admit this even in his own mind- he pines for and love the man still.

    Teba had claimed a separate room for himself and his family, so this suite was Mipha, Link, and Revali. And then came the who sleeps where and no you aren’t sleeping on the couch, well you aren’t either discussion.

    Revali simply claimed one room while Mipha and Link tried to out friend the other, each insisting they take the couch and the other the bed.

    He sighs, walking into the room, “Or someone could share a room, now will you stop bickering?”

    Link pauses, looking to his phone for a time check, nine in the evening, Revali’s meditation, his eyes twinkle as he smiles softly, “Sure.”

    Mipha hums, “Well, I mean, Link and I could share a bed, you and Link could too, your both boys.”

    Revali rolls his eyes, “And I should share with him because?”

    “I have been known to be a restless sleeper?” Mipha says, “I’m sure he would be better elsewhere.”

    “Fine, he can take my bed with me, or the couch, it hardly matters to me. Now could you please keep it down?”

    The other two agree, and Revali goes to the hotel room, settling on the bed to begin meditation. His breathing slows and he focuses his mind on where his weight is distributed, letting his mind clear.

    Link looks nice with the jeans and blue sweater today- not going there. Clear mind.

    He sighs softly, trying again, it works better for a little while, but then he’s thinking about Link’s smile, and how the man might share a bed with him tonight.

    Revali thought he was over this, better than this, better than hopelessly pining over someone who chose something else over him.

    Just great, Revali supposes, finishing his meditation slower than is typical of himself, exiting his room to find Mipha on her laptop, video calling Zelda.

    Link is Hylia knows where, and Zelda spots him, “Hello Revali!”

    He sighs, “Hello, Zelda.”

    “How have you been? It has been- a long time. I’m sorry about-”

    Revali walks away, grabbing his wallet and exiting the room to go and see Teba and his wife and child, deciding to brave that more than to see Zelda.

    As if Hylia herself planned it (She’s a bitch thank you), Link trips over something, and tackles Revali to the floor, both sprawling on the ground of the hotel, neither as a breath yet in their lungs. 

    Link squeaks, pulling his face off of Revali’s chest, “I am so sorry.”

    “You should watch where you are going.” Revali sniffs, and the disdain is there, but he’s forgotten, Link knows him better than likely anyone else, the chastesation would chill most people.

    But Link? He just smiles softly, “Thanks, Revali.” Pushing to his feet, he holds a hand out to help the man he knocked over up, just to have it smacked away as Revali stands on his own.

    “I don’t need your help.”

    Link just smirks softly up at Revali, “Okay.”

    “What? Do I have something on my face?”

    “No.”

    “Well then, what is it?”

    “You-” Link hesitates, and oh, there is that sweetly awkward boy Revali first met, “You look good. You’ve done well in your career I hear, and your dancing is as perfect as ever.”

    “Of course it is, of course, I am, do you take me for a second-place king of man?”

    “No, you never were.” Link says softly then, “I’m sure you’ll win, you always have.”

    “It will hardly change now.”

    “No, it won’t,” Link says then he sighs eyes flicking to the ceiling then back to Revali’s own, “Revali, I- ‘m glad you’re okay.”

    “Why wouldn’t I be?”

    Revali watches Link hesitate, good, he should hesitate. The way things ended was awful, but what Link’s mother did was worse, it was Link who saved him, but it was also Link to leave his life.

    “I know Carolina was awful to you that last night and I- well- I’m sorry. But- I’d also like to say thank you.”

    “Excuse me?”

    “Thank you, thank you for everything you said while I was still with you. I shouldn’t have chosen them, I was scared and young and stupid, and maybe we wouldn’t have worked out, but I’d have been happier if I’d cut them out sooner.”

    “You cut them out?”

    Link nods, shifting, “Zelda and Uncle Roahm did too, I don’t know, it’s just- what you said kept rattling in my head, it stuck.”

    Revali almost preens outwardly at that, Link has always been stubborn, reckless, and fairly carefree if a little overly protective of his loved ones, to get him to listen is a feat and a privilege few have.

    Revali suspects he knows what was ‘rattling; about Link’s head too, the exact phrasing. 

‘They are bad people, Link, awful, vile creatures who berate you, withhold food, lock you in a small room without food, water, or a bathroom for up to two days giving you a trash can instead of a toilet then. Your father is neglecting at best and your mother physically beats you why you would choose them is beyond not just me.’

Quite the phrase, Revali supposes, but Link has always needed reality checks, not sugar-coated bullshit.

“Hm, well, I’m glad you finally made a decent choice about them.”

    Link laughs and Revali finds that even though he wanted to hurt Link (The way Link hurt him just a little, maybe revenge will help him heal) that the laugh he receives instead is sweeter and welcome.

    “Well, Revali, I had to eventually, statistically at least.”

    Revali snorts at that, he regrets it and doesn’t at the same time, letting lInk see him anything but annoyed at his presence is dangerous, but the way his eyes light up at the taller’s mistake is enough to soften the blow, even if his pride is bruised.

    “I suppose so.”

    “I was just coming back from my run to see if you wanted dinner, Mipha and I were thinking Subway.”

    “I do enjoy Subway,” Revali says noncommittally.

    “Want to come with me to get it?”

    “I suppose that would ensure my order is relayed properly, yes.” Revali nods, letting Link lead him through the halls, into and then out of an elevator, and down a street once they exit the hotel.

    They walk in silence, not awkward but not quite comfortable. Heavy, perhaps, but neither expected different, honestly they expected worse. The men walk along, in step, and each graceful after years of dance.

    The ordering and retrieving and even paying off their walk-in uneventful, though it is raining when they leave the place, Link seems pleased though it is a nice light rain on a hot night it does present the issue of memories.

    (‘C’mon, Rev, not even one kiss?’ It had been raining then, and they had just been reunited after a road trip.)

    He firmly shuts the memories off, he is better off this way, pining and hurting but free on a relationship that ended poorly. He’s better off not letting himself get wrapped up in Link and what that boy does to him.

    ---

    So, that was easier thought than done. The night before the competition’s final Teba’s son got injured and they have to spend at least two days in the hospital, and Teba won’t leave his wife or child, so he’s out of the competition. Mipha sprained her ankle the day before.

    Link grains, looking to Revali, “I talked to the competition judges; they said we can either partner up together or accept that we’re out.”

    “Why?”

    “They said because we’re from the same initial program and emergency issues came up we aren’t cut off. We can find a replacement, ie, team up ourselves, or, we can go home.”

    “I have never gone home empty-handed.”

    “I know.”

    “You are willing to be my dance partner?”

    “Of course I am,” Link says, that glint in his eyes that Revali has missed dearly.

    The night is spent in a choreographing and routine learning frenzy, and they know it’s sloppier than their usual standards, but they also still have the connection they used to. They sleep some, not as much as they should but not as little as no sleep. All in all, not too bad.

    The day of said competition is a mess of coffee, last-minute practicing, and pining from our resident useless gay dance team. And it isn’t until they end the dance, the crowd cheering that the two realize just how badly they messed up, doing this together, being kind.

    Revali drags Link off the stage, glowering at the blonde, “What are you playing at? You were too fast! I had to match your pace, my heart is moving entirely too fast.”

    “I wasn’t.”

    “Excuse me?”

    “I wasn’t.”

    Revali scoffs, but Link is right, he wasn’t.

    “My heart’s fast too,” Link tries.

    “Good.”

    Link shifts then, “I thought I was over this, you.”

    “Oh?”

    “I worried for you, but I figured that was to be expected when I found you bloody and almost dead on the ground of my kitchen with my mother over you.”

    Revali scoffs, “I hardly was on the brink of death.”

    “It felt like it, in the moment.”

    “Well, I suppose so, you always were overly emotional.”

    “Still am.”

    Revali sighs, “Well, surprisingly, I am not over you either.”

    “What?”

    “You heard me.”

    “I did- I just- Not what I was expecting.”

    “Nor I.”

    Link hums, “I don’t suppose you’re free tonight?”

    Revali cuffs the back of the blonde’s head when he smirks knowingly up at the taller, “I am.”

    “And I don’t suppose you’d want to give us another chance?”

    Revali hums, low, soft, unintentional, thinking. Link did choose his parents (His awful, abusive, toxic parents) Over Revali, but he’s moved on, he apologized, he was scared. And he’s here now, no less enchanting and no less Link.

    “One more chance, but if this does not work out, I am not giving you so much as a glance.”

    “Understandable.”

    Revali sighs, pulling Link into an embrace, startling the younger though the blonde hugs back tightly.

    “Just-” Revali sighs, kissing the top of Link’s head, “Don’t make a choice between me and someone like them that ends in the bad one.”

    “Never.”

    “Okay.”

    “You do know I’m not letting you go again.”

    “Sap.”

    Link snorts and Revali knows very well what that means, yes, Link is a sap, his sap. Link is his sap, oh Hylia, Link is his.

    (Maybe Hylia isn’t such a bitch. After all, these two certainly have a wonderful future ahead of them, and even if it is a spoiler for these two, they manage to make the relationship work this time, going so far as to get married and adopt a daughter they name Naru.)

    Link smiles softly, “I don’t think we won.”

    “I think we did, just not the competition.”

    Link snorts, shaking his head. And the world seems brighter, neither had realized how dark it had been. And if they end up curled up in the bed at the hotel that night, third place overall, watching old reruns of some show or other lost in each other, well, that’s their business. Isn’t it?

[cranehusbands]

glory, to olympus

loba andrade/crypto | park tae joon; established relationship; hurt/comfort; post broken ghost; apex rarepair week; 1883 words

a/n: first thought is why the fuck did ao3 butcher crypto’s name so bad.. that’s not how his name is said. taejoon is one word. crypto im so sorry

secondly, this has been my agenda this whole time. welcome to cryptloba hell, population me. i absolutely adore these two with all my heart, i was so excited for finally write for them, and will be doing so later this week, as it’s apex rarepair week! the prompt i went for for this one was meet the parents and well... you get the idea. angst time baby

@apex-rarepairweek thank you for hosting this wonderful week!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: The thief’s mouth hung open in her rambles, before she looked up to Crypto, still standing in the rain with his hands in his pockets, hair flat against his face. The shadow over her eyes fell now, mascara running down her cheeks as she wiped the nose with the back of her hand in an uncharacteristically sloppy way. “...Am I doing them wrong, Park? Have I done bad by them?”

The gentle sound of the radio was enough to not make the room sound so deafening in its silence, raindrops hitting the window like tears from the clouds, as if knowing the day to the date, and mourning on her behalf. The song was a lighthearted one, one about running away to the big city - an older one, from more than many years ago, somehow still prevalent on the radio stations that she tended to be drawn towards. Was it because this music was a comfort to her? Her father always cared a lot for songs like those, and he would whisk herself and her mother around the living room while some lovelorn fool sang about a Caroline or an Eileen. 

  Loba was gentle in the way she did her makeup, having mastered her technique in the past few years - her philosophy had always been to not get caught, but if she were to be, she had to look her best. She closed one eye, gently placing a synthetic eyelash over the smokey eye makeup she’d carefully painted on already, pulling away and staring at herself in the vanity mirror in her room, and hand running through one of the shorter braids, the ends of her hair no longer stark red and now simply a subdued blonde. Her eyes fell on a small polaroid in the corner of the vanity, moving to run two fingers of the faces of the two adults - a suited man and a smiling woman - staring at the young child with a wide smile and a small tooth gap. The thief smiled a little, at the way the girl was so oblivious to her future, her happiness at that moment forever caught, to be cherished and longed for. She stared for a moment or two more, hand pulling away to catch a glance of the two parents by the girl’s shoulders, just as happy as she, before she stood to her feet, grabbing the leather-gloved form the edge of the desk before she opened the door, and began heading out of the dropship, passing by the kitchen and listening to the clicking of her boots against the floor-

  “You’re awake early.”

She jumped at the sudden voice, shooting a glare over to the table in the dropship’s kitchen, where a pair of eyes stared back at her from over the back of a laptop. “For god's sake, Crypto, make yourself known. Don’t scare me like that.”

“Sorry.” He almost looked sheepish for a moment, pulling down his laptop screen so she could see his face, the clear bags under his eyes from behind his glasses and the weak smile he gave. “You’re looking very… monotone.”

Loba hummed, doing a little half-hearted spin. “I have places to be. Quite in demand, don’t you know?”

“Hm. Visiting death, are we?”

“I guess you could say that.”

He frowned at her for a moment, brow furrowing before he closed the lid of his laptop and stood to his feet.

“What are you doing?”

“Grabbing my coat.”

“What- no, you’re not coming with me.”

He didn’t respond, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way back to his room.

“Crypto!” The thief called out to him, but again he didn’t respond, not even so much with a turn. And though she gave an exasperated sigh and folded her arms across her chest, she didn’t try to leave him behind in this momentary blindspot. Deep down, she was almost glad for the company. Especially his.

  The hacker soon returned, now donning a fuzzy black coat, somewhat more professional and warmer than his normal attire, though still jarring to see him in something that wasn’t white or green… though, hints of his usual accent still came through, in the formal shirt and tie he still wore underneath. Hands were shoved into his pockets, clearly fiddling with the cube he always carried with him, more for comfort than out of function. Crypto shot her a small nod as she turned to look at him, quickening his pace a little to join her at her side. “So-”

Before he could finish, he was cut off as she ran a hand down his chest, feeling the soft material of his coat under her fingertips with a soft expression. It wasn’t often they shared moments like this - the two were discrete about their relationship, especially since their mission had led to both… complications and rifts in the group, but also new bonds being formed, including their own. Interactions between the two were kept strictly professional when eyes were on them… but now Loba fixed his coat collar, a sad smile on her face, perhaps getting a bit closer than what she would have normally. But it was the early morning, and the open kitchen was silent. It was just them. What did they have to hide?

Crypto’s smile was weak, and embarrassed, perhaps still not used to the shift between professionalism and PDA. His voice cracked a little as he continued with his train of thought. “S-so, where are we going?”

Loba pulled her hands away from him, tucking her arm into his with a solemn nod, as if to hype herself up. “The closest thing I remember being a home to me. ...To Olympus.”

  The ride was quiet, but they both were tense. Loba knew that Crypto never liked crowds, not much - it was bad enough that a handful of the legends knew who he really was, but being so visible was a threat, even if these people had never heard of Taejoon Park before. She reached a hand over to him without looking to make it obvious, feeling for his hand to hold onto for comfort, as she knew the way his eyes fell on her and his face softened in a way that only she knew. The thief gave him a glance, and a small smile, running a thumb over the back of his knuckles, to comfort him, but also perhaps to comfort herself, as through the window the overview of the city so foggy in her memories became clearer. It was so different, and yet... not at all. She tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it kept coming back, enough to make it hard for her to breathe as they left the landing zone and headed down a familiar road, being dropped off at the front of an extravagant building, where pedestrians entered through lavish double doors. She exited the taxi they had shared, a hand holding onto the door for a moment before she quietly shut it.

“Damn rain,” she grumbled, though it was certainly half-hearted, pulling out her cane and extending it to lean against it, in the way she usually did, her other hand over her eyes to avoid damage to her makeup.

Behind her, the taxi started up again, driving away as the hacker now joined her at her side, hands in his pockets. He hummed. 

“What?”

“You haven’t told me everything about yourself. If I knew any better, I would make a joke that this was your second home… the gaudiness is fitting. But…” He looked over to her, and the way she stared back at him.

Loba swallowed. “Yes, well I… the loss of my family to that… demon… meant I have lost my home, my heritage. I have no grave to return my good wishes to, so I…” With her cane, she gestured towards the building in front of them - to the restaurant where all but one little girl had lost her life over twenty years before.

  There was a long, drawn-out silence, the only sound being the sound of rain that his the pavement leading up to the glowing restaurant doors. 

“I feel my papa would have liked you.”

“Hm?” He glanced down to her, how the rain fell down the sides of her face and how the gloomy sunlight cast a dark shadow over her eyes.

“He would have liked you. From… what I remember, anyway. He was a kind man, a family man. ...Yes, he would have liked you.” Her voice quivered as she repeated herself.

“...Loba, I-”

“-And mama would have too. Oh, the things she would say, I can almost hear them, in a distant sort of way. ‘Mi yerno es un ángel.’, I think is the phrase she’d say… I-I’m sure she would call us married already, she was a housewife type despite her… her profession-”

“Loba.”

The thief’s mouth hung open in her rambles, before she looked up to Crypto, still standing in the rain with his hands in his pockets, hair flat against his face. The shadow over her eyes fell now, mascara running down her cheeks as she wiped the nose with the back of her hand in an uncharacteristically sloppy way. “...Am I doing them wrong, Park? Have I done bad by them?”

He didn’t know what to say. He’d never had this issue before, not for himself - what was done with him was done, and he had no one to mourn… no parents, and no sister. He quickly swallowed before he could ride down that thought path. Reaching a hand out of his pocket, he took hers and gently squeezed. “You… are an amazing woman. They know that, surely, from where they reside. Regardless of what you have done, or will do, you are still theirs. Be proud.”

That’s when her face, that had tried so hard to remain like stone despite her tears, wrinkled, and her grip on his hand grew tighter with a squeeze, before she burst into sobs and practically threw herself onto him, burying her face into his shoulder, as if to hide her dignity, her hands moving to claw onto his back and hold it as if he would leave her at a moments notice.

  He didn’t move, unsure if she would shatter in his arms like fragile glasswork, so perfect and delicate as she shook in the cold and the pressure of containing herself, but soon Crypto held her back, and brought her close, the warmth still foreign to him, even after all the times that had done this behind closed doors. No… it was never like this. Loba was strong, she held her cards close to her chest, and only let herself be vulnerable when she knew she had nothing to lose - and to her, she still had everything to lose. Losing her legacy, her revenge on the simulacrum that took her life away from her. The hacker held her close, holding the back of her head with a hand, quietly shushing her muffled sobs as he ran a hand through her hair, now knotted and wavy with the rain.

“Te amo,” she whispered into his neck, before pulling away and looking up to him, smiling despite herself as she wiped her eye, now red, though not like her usual makeup attire, with the back of her finger, smiling despite herself as she moved a hand to brush at his shoulder.  “Sorry about the makeup all over your coat.”

He couldn’t help but laugh, moving to cup her face with one hand and brush his thumb under her other eye, still wet from tears.  “Don’t worry. It’ll be fine. You will be fine. Saranghae.”

[ohshcscenerios]

Use the prompt, "Take off your mask when you're talking to me!" Because Haruhi has a silver tongue when it comes to arguing with Kyoya. She knows just how to hit him. MAKE THEM DUKE IT OUT! I want yelling! Slamming hands on tables! Grabbing wrists as someone tries to walk away!

I’m sorry this prompt is so long! I simply couldn’t stop once the idea came to me. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing it. Warning: this does contain a lemon.

Half past midnight; when the cool blanket of night trapped Japan beneath its spell, charming all who live below to burrow into their beds. The moon’s lullaby quietly lulled the aristocrats and commoners alike into a deep sleep… all except two.

Kyoya Ootori focused his tired eyes on his laptop, reading the same paragraph for the third time. The words seemed to mesh together, blur into a single line, until he refocused his vision once more. His attempts to finish reading over his father’s contract proved futile. He would have to submit to his body’s desires and retire to bed soon, though the very thought made him angry.

It was his personal goal to edit through his father’s contracts before they were sent to the Ootori Group’s newest employees. Considering how important their positions were – and the contract’s time sensitivity – he silently cursed himself for not having the mental strength to endure an all-nighter.

Back when he attended college his youthful endurance pushed him through many all-nighters; a few cups of coffee here, a cassette of classical music there, and he could power through the late hours of night. Some nights he would even have –.

No. He didn’t want to think about that right now. Sleep’s erotic teases made him feel vulnerable; he didn’t want to add more weight to his troubled mind.

He begrudgingly closed his laptop, regretting the soft click as it fell into hibernation, and adjusted his sleeves which rolled past his wrists when he wasn’t looking. With a heavy exasperated sigh he prepared to leave his office and his unfinished work for one of mankind’s many weaknesses. However, before he could stand from his desk a slender silhouette leaned against the door’s archway.

“Kyoya, why aren’t you in bed yet?” Haruhi asked, obviously miffed. A quick glance over her frame told him she was once again waiting for him in their bed; as she has done many nights. Her knee-length purple nightgown hugged her slim body with its silk threading. It was the same nightgown she had worn on their wedding night.

“You’ve caught me as I was about to leave.” Kyoya said, proving his point by standing from his chair and pushing it in behind him. He walked around his desk and leaned against the tabletop, curiously eyeing her; silently waiting for her to reveal her true intentions for finding him.

Haruhi pushed herself off the archway and sauntered closer, stopping a few feet away and resting her weight on her right hip while folding her arms across her – much more developed – chest.

“I worry about you Kyoya. You shouldn’t push yourself so much. Your father’s deadline is next Thursday. That leaves you plenty of time to finish reviewing the contracts.”

Kyoya wanted to roll his eyes but refrained, for his own sake. Provoking Haruhi to anger wouldn’t benefit him, especially now. He didn’t know if he had to internal energy to argue with her. If only she could hold off her scolding until he was more awake to properly rebut his case.

“My father’s deadlines are pointless; you of all people should know that by now. His appetite for perfection demands more from me. Finishing the contracts by the deadline would be considered a failure on my part.”

Haruhi’s eyes found the floor as she nodded, acknowledging his truth. She couldn’t deny his father was a ruthless man; never satisfied with simple success. His expectations for the Ootori Group – his sons – went beyond what is humane and fair; treating his own family like hired help when he focused his sights on the newest prize. Haruhi had once been a prize; a trophy he pulled from the grips of poverty. He once fought tooth and nail, even offering her future on a silver platter, all so she would accept Kyoya’s hand in marriage. Yes, Haruhi had been a prize.

Once.

“Well, please come to bed.” Haruhi said, keeping her gaze on the tan carpet.

“Like I said, I was about to.” Kyoya sighed, pushing himself off the desk. He contemplated on offering his hand but something stopped him, forcing his arm to remain by his side. He was about to pass Haruhi when her soft voice paused his steps.

“Kyoya…” Something was woven around the way she said his name; a plea, a question, or perhaps both.

He didn’t answer but turned his body to give her his attention, looking down to meet her chocolate eyes. He arched an eyebrow, waiting for her to speak her mind. The sooner they could end their conversation the sooner he could rest.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Her bluntness provoked an eye twitch, but nothing more. Her brusque question would have sounded cruel but the truth was, it opened a door to something they both had been avoiding for too long. Kyoya silently cursed her poor timing. If only he could have an hour of rest before dissecting their marriage.

“Can we finish this in the morning, perhaps? I apologize but I really need to sleep.” Kyoya curtly turned on his heel and took a few more steps toward the door – toward their feathered bed.

“I won’t be here in the morning.” She said, matter-of-factly.

Kyoya again stopped but didn’t turn around. “Excuse me?”

Haruhi sighed, her growing frustration seeping into her loud breaths, “By the time I leave for the law firm you’ll still be asleep. I won’t drag you out of bed to finish this conversation so I want to talk now.”

Kyoya clenched his teeth, angrily mourning his lost hours of much needed sleep. He felt the urge to also clench his hand but managed to collect himself. Kyoya Ootori wasn’t a violent man but he dangerously caged his anger behind a mask; one he’s perfected since he was in high school. Over the years he learned to contain his emotions behind this flimsy mask, constantly adjusting his calm composure as to appear strong and in control. If only he knew how fragile and torn his mask had become over the years. There was only so much he could hide behind a fake smile and he daily tested its limits.

He returned to Haruhi’s side and pulled out a leather office chair, gesturing for her to sit. She accepted his offer without so much a smile and he joined her in an adjacent leather chair, pulling it over so they could sit face to face.

“Why do you think I am avoiding you?” He asked, trying to suppress his annoyance.

“Because you are, plain and simple.” She said.

“No, not plain and simple. Tell me why you think I am avoiding you.” He pressed, losing patience.

“You stay up late, you sleep in late, and by the time I come home from work you’re still in your office. Most days you request for your dinner to be brought up. We rarely eat anything together anymore. So based on all that, I think I have good reason to believe you’re avoiding me.” She watched him carefully, hoping to catch a flash of regret – or any emotion really – to cross his serious eyes and stern lips, but he left her disappointed.

“Have you considered that I’m simply busy?” He questioned, tossing back her accusation.

Haruhi rolled her eyes, “Of course I’ve considered that. That’s how I’ve been able to excuse your behavior.”

“Who do you need to excuse my behavior to?” He asked; miffed by the thought that their personal staff might be gossiping behind his back. He didn’t want to think his own mansion was turning against him but it wouldn’t be the first time he had to confront those he trusted.

“To myself.” Was her quick reply.

“I am busy. The current evidence is on my laptop right now. Care to take a look? I’ll gladly show you how much work I’m drowning in.” He pointed to the closed laptop on his desk behind him, daring her to truly see a glimpse of his personal hell.

“Our relationship is drowning too but you don’t seem to care as much.” Haruhi snipped, glaring into his eyes – searching. Kyoya felt her trying to peer past his mask and made sure to adjust it.

Since the beginning of their marriage he made sure she understood who he was – an Ootori first, then a husband. At the time she agreed, not realizing the weight of her consequences, but overtime she began to struggle with accepting his terms. She was, after all, a human. She wasn’t a pet. She wasn’t a doll.

No, she was a prize.

“Why did you agree to marry me?” Her voice was soft and timid, losing the strength she conjured up before entering his office. She finally felt the weight of her consequences and the pain welled inside her chest, suffocating her fragile heart. In the beginning she could dull the ache by feeding herself petty excuses. He had a company to run. He had to meet his father’s expectations. He had to inherit the Ootori Group. She digested her own lies until they lost their power. The pain grew, worsened, and tested her fortitude until it demanded her full attention. She couldn’t run from the inevitable.

“I suppose I can ask you the same thing.” He said, leaning back into the chair’s padded plush. In truth, he’s wanted to ask her that for a while now. He knew she was suffocating. He knew she was merely surviving. It baffled him that she remained married to him, that she would wear his last name as a badge when it choked her happiness at the same time. When their engagement was arranged they were close friends – dare he say best friends – and the marriage seemed promising. Since a child he knew his marriage would benefit the Ootori Group rather than himself so he counted himself lucky – blessed even – that he was already fond of his bride. Perhaps, even in love. But that was then. He would never regret marrying Haruhi, only that he let her suffer for so long.

“Kyoya, why are we still married?”

That was the question of the hour, the question that has burned in the back of his mind for so long now. Why were they still married? What was it that kept them from signing their names on a few documents, guaranteeing their freedom – their happiness?

In truth, he didn’t know.

“Are you asking for a divorce?” His mask slipped, forcing his eyes to find anything except hers. He couldn’t find it within himself to look into bright chocolate eyes as he spoke the words.

He heard her shift in her seat, “Surprisingly, no. I do not want a divorce. I know it would cause you a lot of trouble in the public eye if you were to separate from your wife.”

“Separate from you.” Kyoya deemed it important to correct. He wouldn’t allow her to refer to herself in third person. They weren’t discussing legal affairs in her office downtown. This was their life – their marriage – and he wanted her to respect it. Haruhi Ootori was his wife. He would have to separate from her.

“Yes… well…” She recollected her thoughts, finding an ounce of strength hidden in her need to push through, and continued, “I want to fix this. I want to fix us, but I don’t know how. I don’t know where to begin.”

Kyoya kept his focus just beyond Haruhi, effectively missing her intense gaze and the raw emotions emitting from her glistening eyes and tried to fix his mask.

However, it wouldn’t budge. As it appeared, a crack slithered across his façade. His mask… was breaking.

Haruhi noticed him purposefully avoiding her pointed stare and couldn’t control the anger boiling in her stomach. The heat rose to her throat, billowing like fanned smoke, until it needed release. Without warning she balled her hand into a fist and slammed it against his desk, successfully stealing his full attention. His startled reaction acted as a bonus.

“Please don’t do that.” He reprimanded, unable to control the slight quiver in his voice.

“Then look at me!” Haruhi yelled. Her blushed cheeks and furrowed eyebrows clearly illustrated her loss of control. Her anger was plainly written on her face and laced in every word. Kyoya, in his silence, had unintentionally provoked her to the edge.

Unbeknownst to Haruhi, her outburst deepened the crack in his mask. It was slowly beginning to slip out of place and it terrified him. He thought he felt vulnerable when he was merely tired but had been so wrong. So terribly wrong.

“What do you want from me Haruhi? I’ve given you all that I can give you. I’ve given you a mansion with servants. I’ve given you an office for your law firm. I’ve given you my last name, the name that forces Japan to bow in respect. What else do you want?” He was speaking louder, fiercer, as he slowly came undone. Kyoya tried to give Haruhi everything she could ever want; the opportunities to achieve her dreams, his social standings to help her become a respected woman among Japan’s elite, and hell, even all the fancy tuna she could stomach. Whatever her heart desired he was sure to fulfill; whether she asked for them directly or merely whispered in her sleep. He made sure she was well taken care of. It wasn’t his fault that his life was far more demanding than most. It wasn’t his fault that their marriage was far more different than most.

It wasn’t his fault.

“You know how I am, Kyoya. I couldn’t care less about money or social status. I’m not a materialistic person. I don’t crave jewelry or dresses or even power -.”

“Then what do you want?” Kyoya interrupted, feeling his patience shred away like scraps of paper blowing in the wind. He didn’t care if he was acting rude. He didn’t want to beat around the bush. His need for sleep took a backseat in his mind as a new need took dominance; the need to save his marriage.

Kyoya sat upright and leaned over his knees, resting his forearms along his thighs, “Haruhi, what do you want?”

“I want you!” She nearly screamed.

Kyoya blinked once… twice… then a third time for good measure, letting her words seep into his mind.

“You already have me. I married you. I’m your husband.” He said, hoping to quench her anger.

“No,” she shook her head, “I don’t have all of you, only bits and pieces. I only have half you; half a husband.”

Kyoya didn’t realize his body was moving ahead of his mind and found his hand reaching for Haruhi, stretching across their distance until he found her small clenched fist digging into her thigh. Her white knuckles contrasted her soft porcelain skin like puzzle pieces to the wrong puzzle. When his fingertips touched her she instinctively pulled back and ignored the hurt in his eyes.

“Haruhi…” He mustered out. He wasn’t sure what else to say but her name. Her beautiful name was the only word on his tongue. The only sound he wanted to hear.

“We’ve been married for three years and you still haven’t relinquished yourself to me. I’ve given you my everything; my heart, my trust, even my virginity. I’ve submitted to you as your wife but you cannot do the same as my husband. You hide your thoughts and emotions behind some sort of mask. Do you not trust me? Do you not want me to know you? Do you not love me?” She spoke the last sentence with a hushed voice, almost ashamed to admit she doubted his affections for her. Yet, what was that the true motivation to him marrying her? Could she know for certain their marriage wasn’t purely business? Had he, at one point, loved her?

“Did you love me?” The question poured out of her mouth before she could catch it, regrettably exposing her darkest insecurity. She squinted her eyes shut, fighting back the pressure growing in her nose and the inevitable cascade of tears that would follow.

“Did you ever love me?” She asked again, her voice quivering uncontrollably, “When you married me was it only for my merit or did you once love me?”

Warm salty tears squeezed past her closed eyelids and trailed her blushed cheeks; one by one representing her fears which she couldn’t express in words.

Kyoya acted fast, abandoning his chair and falling to his knees before her. He firmly grabbed her hands and pulled them to him, forcing her to lean closer. Her eyes were drowning in her tears but she opened them nonetheless, looking at the man she had grown to love more than herself – the man she let break her heart over and over and over again.

“Haruhi, please don’t cry.” He pleaded, unable to watch her writhe in pain. Her tears threatened to provoke his own but he quickly stifled that reaction. His mask may be slipping but he would not cry no matter how much pressure it would relieve him.

“Answer the damn question Kyoya!” She managed to say as her chest heaved with her wracking sobs. “Do you love me?”

Something snapped inside him; an audible pop sounded in his ears as the last of his restraint pooled around his knees. His mask lost traction; its veining cracks destroying the ego he spent a lifetime constructing. He always imagined his mask to be impenetrable porcelain but once it fell he realized that all this time it was nothing more than fragile glass – and it shattered on the floor all the same.

Without thinking – without weighing out the consequences of his actions – he pushed her into the plush of her chair and grabbed a handful of hair, tilting her head back. Before she could protest he claimed her lips. He angrily crashed his lips against her soft skin and nipped at her bottom lip, biting at the supple flesh until a nearly inaudible moan escaped her throat. But he heard it and it encouraged him to give into his instinctual desires. For once, he silenced his mind and allowed his body to speak.

He bared his teeth and nipped at her top lip, provoking her to gasp. He took this opportunity to slip his tongue past her lips and found hers already awake and curious. They lost track of time as their tongues caressed each other; exploring the other’s wet warmth between heated kisses. The passion he felt could compare to their wedding night, when they were still innocent. Back then they didn’t know what awaited them, only that they wouldn’t be alone for they had each other. Their wedding vows were still fresh in their minds as they prepared for a lifetime together. Now, as Kyoya greedily captured her lips and Haruhi tightly entwined her fingers into his raven hair, those very vows resurfaced to the forefront his mind.

.

To have and to hold.

.

Kyoya left her swollen lips and trailed his hungry kisses down the column of her neck, tilting her head to the side for more exposure. Haruhi's hand slipped from his hair and landed on his chest, cautiously fingering the buttons on his shirt. Kyoya's free hand came to her aid and tried to unbutton his shirt alongside her but it proved to be more difficult than expected. Growing frustrated with his offending clothing he pulled back from their kiss long enough to tear his shirt open, ripping the metal buttons from their thread. With his smooth chest exposed Haruhi made haste in exploring his toned torso, feeling every subtle muscle beneath her palms. The feeling of her curious hands roaming his skin was stimulating, erotic even, and it forced his lips to find hers again.

.

For better or for worse.

.

Haruhi pushed his shirt down his shoulders and he flung the sleeves from his arms, throwing the shirt somewhere behind him – he didn't care where.

"Kyoya…" Haruhi pleaded as he nibbled on her jawline, lost for breath because of his bold endeavors, "Answer my question."

His fingers traveled up her thigh until he found the evidence of her need, teasing her entrance with his fingertips. She sharply took in a breath at feeling him acting so boldly. He slipped one finger in, relishing in the feeling of her tight walls clenching instinctually at the foreign object, and added another finger after a few pumps with one digit. Her moans grew more desperate and soon her hips were grinding against him to match his pacing, urging him further.

Kyoya growled as he lifted Haruhi from the chair and carried her to his desk, seating her at the edge of its polished oak. His hands scrunched her nightgown past her thighs, revealing her glistening arousal.

.

For richer or for poor.

.

He quickly worked on his trousers until they pooled around his ankles, leaving his tented briefs the only barrier between them. After another haste swipe of hands his hardened member was uncaged.

Kyoya gripped Haruhi's bottom and positioned her off the table's edge; kissing her neck while his hands spread her thighs apart. This was the woman he had shared his bed with for the past three years. They had shared their meals, their accomplishments, their victories, and their lives. He proudly wore her on his arm while she proudly wore his last name. What happened between their wedding night and now? How could they have grown so far apart that the only thing they shared was oxygen?

.

In sickness and in health.

.

Kyoya rubbed his tip between her thighs, coating himself in her overflowing juices. Her body ached to receive him but he had to satisfy her conflicted spirit first.

"Yes." He said, looking her directly in the eye with as much sincerity and honesty he could express through his dark irises. "I love you Haruhi. I've always loved you."

In one swift motion he became one with his wife, sheathing himself into her carnal warmth until her body swallowed him whole. He gave her a moment to adjust to him before moving; slow and sensual.

"I loved you before we were married. I was more than relieved to know my father chose you as my bride. I was happy." Kyoya confessed, rocking their bodies as one.

"Are…" Haruhi tried to speak between high pitched moans, "Are you still happy?"

.

To love and cherish.

.

Kyoya thrusted deep into her, earning him a harsh gasp, and quickened his pace inside her; his hands anchoring her body to the desk. His thoughts were beginning to vanish as he neared his peak and by how her walls twitched around him, he felt her peak also approaching. He was intent on driving her over the edge, whether she took him with her or not.

He slid his hands beneath her bottom and lifted her off the desk, inadvertently pushing himself deeper into her, and carried her to the nearest wall where he aligned her back and plundered her without restraint. Haruhi could only grip his shoulder and forearm as she was helplessly pinned between his heated body and the cold wall.

He watched her eyes slam shut and her lips quiver in anticipation for what was about to come.

.

Till death do us part.

.

The pressure building in his core demanded for release and with a few more quick thrusts he spilled himself into her, coating her clenching walls with his seed. Haruhi's hold tightened around his arms as she succumbed to her own peak, biting her lip to trap her obnoxious moans.

Kyoya carefully brought them to the floor, still holding her close to his chest. Once settled on the carpet he leaned his back against the wall and cradled her body in his lap, resting her head in the crook of his neck. For a while they didn't say anything, only caught their breaths while he mindlessly fondled her hair and she pressed soft kisses into his skin. Her hot breath against his neck was very tempting, teasing him for another round, but for now he had matters to settle.

"I am happy… with you." Kyoya confessed. "I am not happy with my father or with the new employees I need to review but I am happy with you."

"You don't act like you are." Haruhi argued. "That doesn't explain why you've been avoiding me."

"I cannot explain that either, at least in a way that would allow you to understand." Kyoya was too ashamed to admit he couldn't face his wife without feeling guilty; guilty for trapping her into a stressful marriage. He couldn't admit that though his heart yearned to invite her behind his mask his ego wouldn't risk it. He couldn't look Haruhi in the eye and admit that part of him was willing to live out their marriage alone.

But that part was long gone now; lying amidst the pieces of his shattered mask. Haruhi not only managed to look behind the mask but miraculously freed him of his own prison. All this time he thought he was protecting himself from a selfish world when he was the true selfish one. Selfish for not letting his wife see the bits and pieces that made Kyoya Ootori, Kyoya Ootori.

"I'm sorry… for hiding myself from you. You're right to be angry with me." Kyoya kissed the top of her head.

"Please, don't hide yourself from me anymore." Haruhi said, less of a plea but more as a command. She wanted to see their marriage succeed despite the rumors, despite their friend's concerned comments, and despite their own weaknesses. When she married him she accepted his ring as an eternal symbol for their commitment and devotion to each other. After three years she found that her vows never changed. Her commitment remained steadfast, written across her heart where she first etched them. She was too embarrassed to admit that she held some of the blame; for forgetting to look inward to find her strength.

"I don't think I could now, even if I wanted to." Was his humbled response before he lifted her chin to taste her lips again.

Haruhi savored her husband's kisses on which he gave willingly. She had been promised to Kyoya three years ago - as a prize - but tonight created a new definition to the offending word. His father may have seen her as easy plucking in the beginning, with a simple wave of an empty check to make her mouth water, but she knew that to not be true. She was Haruhi Ootori, a prize outweighing all of the gold and silver Kyoya could stash in his vaults. She wasn't a lucky commoner who married into money. She was a lucky woman who married her best friend - her lover.

Kyoya gently lied her on her back, unrolling their bodies across the carpet, and climbed on top of her. Peering down, he met her bright chocolate eyes and craved to dive in as deep as he could. They could finish their conversation in the morning but for now he wanted to enjoy the delicious Haruhi Ootori – his first love, his wife of three years, and now the only person to ever break through his defenses.

[breakingsomething]

aftermath

basic summary: marvin swears he’s fine after returning from anti. henrik finds out that’s not the case.

trigger warnings: abuse mentions, brief suicide mention

henrik was having a hard time keeping up with marvin.

before he’d left to go with anti, his and marvin’s relationship had been clear. henrik didn’t like marvin; he thought he was an arrogant, self absorbed prick. marvin had made it obvious the feeling was mutual. their brothers just sighed and tried to keep them away from each other when they could, although that didn’t stop them from making sly comments and spitting insults at the other at every opportunity. they didn’t like each other. that was it, plain and simple.

now that marvin had returned, he was a goddamn roulette wheel.

he spent a lot of time in his room. henrik had gone in there a few times to patch up his wounds which were, while not severe, still necessary to fix, but marvin had freaked out and forced him away, screaming and summoning flames that burned uncontrollably in his hands. jackie was too overwhelmed to help, so chase was forced to talk marvin down, soothing him from the side of the room until henrik could get close enough to assess the damage. even then, marvin had refused to let henrik see under his shirt, almost growling every time he tried to look and burning his hands when he touched him. jackie later told him why, told him about the scars on marvin’s wrists that he didn’t want anyone seeing, which henrik supposed he understood. he had scars from his time with anti that he never let anyone look at either. that was fair.

but when marvin wasn’t pushing people away or hiding in the storage cupboard (chase had found him sleeping in there once and nearly had a heart attack), he was being extremely overly clingy, latching onto the nearest person and not letting go. and by nearest person, henrik meant anyone but him. jackie, of course, got the brunt of it; marvin would lay on his chest for hours and protest tearfully whenever he tried to move, or sit next to him almost attached at the hip and get up whenever jackie did so. it was exhausting, jackie confided in him. “i feel bad talking behind his back,” he confessed one day about two weeks after marvin’s return. “especially to you, cause of, well, y’know. i feel bad because, like, of course i’ve missed him as well, but i can’t be attached to him all the time. i don’t want marvin to feel like i don’t want him around or anything.”

“he will have to learn you can’t be around him constantly,” henrik said firmly. “you have a life outside of him.”

“but he was- he was fucking tortured, hen.” jackie fretted. “i can’t just-”

“hey,” henrik said, softening a bit. “i will help him to the best of my abilities, even if he doesn’t want me to. ok?” jackie hesitated, and henrik reached out to pat his shoulder awkwardly. “go do your thing. i will look after him.”

as much as he hated to admit it, henrik was probably the best person for marvin to be around at the moment. jackie was dealing with his own ruined mental health, and chase was still mourning his children. henrik was the only other one who had spent time with anti, albeit only for about three months as opposed to marvin’s twelve. he would understand what he was going through better than anyone else. that was how he ended up home alone with marvin one morning, drinking coffee in the kitchen and working up the courage to go and try to talk to him.

as it turned out, he didn’t have to; after only ten minutes of pacing and burning his tongue, marvin came downstairs himself. he looked miserable. his hair was loose around his shoulders, looking like he hadn’t brushed it in weeks, and he was wearing one of jackie’s black hoodies with stained trackie bottoms. henrik wondered how long it must have been since he’d washed as he set his coffee down and leaned casually against the counter.

“morning,” he greeted with false cheer in his voice. marvin didn’t respond, and grabbed a glass from the cupboard next to henrik and filled it up with water.

he tried again. “how- how are you feeling this morning?”

marvin turned to him so suddenly henrik jumped a bit. “oh my god, you know you don’t have to be super nice to me just cause of- i’m not fucking fragile, i- fucking hell, can’t you just shout like you normally do? just- just stop acting so fucking weird!”

“hey, i am- i’m trying to help you!” henrik said angrily, crossing his arms. why  was marvin so angry all of a sudden? “i am not the one being an asshole right now-”

“fuck, just shut up!” marvin cried, dropping his cup into the sink with a clatter. he nearly doubled over, grabbing the sink’s edge tightly.

“i thought you wanted me to shout at you,” henrik said, much quieter this time. he straightened and moved to where marvin was now shaking, covering his mouth with one hand. “are you…”

“don’t,” marvin gasped. he stood and grabbed at his hair, making like he was pulling it into a ponytail then letting it go again. “god, just shut the fuck up for fucking once.”

henrik threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. “well, what- what do you want from me, marvin?” he had thought he’d be the best person for marvin at this moment in time, but had forgotten how extremely impatient and easily angered he was. “i just want to try and help!”

“i don’t fucking want help from you!” marvin screeched, before pushing himself off from the counter and racing from the room, leaving henrik much more confused and frustrated than he had been before. he listened as marvin stomped up the stairs and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.

henrik did want to help him. that much was true. but he was a surgeon, not a therapist, and was maybe not the most empathetic of people. henrik was more accustomed to dealing with chase, who responded in very different ways from marvin- mostly with tears and self deprecation, to which henrik brought him water and tissues and held him for as long as he needed. marvin wasn’t like that, apparently. he thought about calling jackie and asking how he dealt with marvin’s bad moods, before remembering he was seeing his therapist and he would only make him worry. henrik eventually decided to just wait it out, to sit and wait until marvin calmed down and he could talk to him again.

he shouldn’t have left him alone. henrik figured that since he was only sitting on the living room couch on his computer, marvin would be fine, of course he would be fine. he put on his headphones- second mistake- and listened to music while he sorted out his emails for the first time in months. that took up about an hour, and when henrik eventually closed his laptop to get up and eat he instantly noticed how dead silent the house was. maybe marvin’s asleep, he thought uneasily, before remembering that their upstairs bathroom made a loud creaking sound when opened, one that henrik would have heard even with his music on. marvin hadn’t yet left the bathroom.

fear instantly surged through him as he bolted up the stairs, whipping round the corner to confirm that yes, the bathroom door was locked and someone was definitely inside. he could hear small gasping sobs and a sudden loud clattering of something being thrown in the sink. all of this reminded henrik of a day long ago that he’d prefer to forget- the day he’d come home from a shift at the hospital only to find a note of the door of chase’s recording room telling him not to come inside, to call the police, the stench of blood filling the air. henrik pushed the thought from his mind and knocked frantically, noticing how all the noise instantly stopped as soon as he did so. “marvin?” he said shakily, trying to keep his voice gentle. “marvin, are you ok?”

the only sound was a muffled whimper, and dread filled henrik’s chest. “marvin. have you hurt yourself? you have to tell me honestly, marvin. please, i’m not trying to hurt you.”

more clattering, more strangled sobs. then, very quietly, “no.”

henrik didn’t believe him. “ok,” he breathed, and silently reached into his pocket for a coin. “marvin, i’m gonna have to come in.”

“what? no, no, don’t!” there was a very loud crash. henrik hadn’t wanted to have to to this, but judging from the sounds inside, something bad was going on. fear chilled his body as he pushed the coin into the lock and turned it- a trick he’d learned when chase has broken the bathroom door that one time. he threw the door open, heart pounding, only to see-

for a moment, nothing. the first thing he noticed was that the shower curtain had been half ripped off, and henrik could clearly see marvin shaking underneath it. he was about to race over to him when his eyes took in the full picture. bottles and boxes from the medicine cabinet and the side of the sink were strewn across the floor, evidently knocked over. there was a pair of scissors on the sink. and there was hair, great clumps of dark brown hair all over the floor and the sink and the bathtub, where marvin hadn’t moved from since henrik ran in.

his fear dissipated, to be replaced with an ache in his heart that he couldn’t quite name. still almost high off the adrenaline, he slowly picked his way across the floor to the bath. “hey, hey, i’m not going to do anything.” marvin was making muffled sounds from underneath the curtain, gasping and wheezing desperately. henrik felt like he himself was hurting with him.

“i’m going to take the curtain off,” henrik said softly, to which marvin cried “no, please don’t,” and somehow drew even further into himself.

“i have to, ok?” fingers numb, henrik grabbed a fold of the curtain and very gently pulled it away to reveal marvin, trembling with his face in his knees and hands over his head like was he still trying to hide. henrik swallowed, then crouched next to the bathtub and leaned over.

“do you think you can sit up?” henrik asked, and marvin slowly sat up, his arms sliding down to hug himself as he looked henrik with eyes full of tears. there was no immediate signs of blood or paling or any of the other symptoms henrik was looking for that would indicate he had hurt himself, so he instead focused on what appeared to be the real problem here. marvin had clearly not bothered to take his time with his work- his hair was, in some places, just short uneven stubs, sticking straight out like he’d been electrified. in other places it was longer, with bits hacked off carelessly, some parts of his head bleeding a little from marvin not being careful with the scissors. marvin flinched as henrik reached out and wiped a bit of blood away before it could slide into marvin’s eyes.

“short hair suits you.” henrik finally said. marvin didn’t move. he shrunk away when henrik tried to touch his hair, attempting to clean more blood. 

“i’m sorry,” marvin gasped, trembling. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry, i wanted it off, please don’t hurt him, he didn’t know, he can put it back, p-please, don’t hurt him-”

“listen!” henrik threw all caution and climbed into the tub with marvin, sitting on his knees in front of him. marvin scrambled backwards, only stopping when he was pressed into the wall, wide eyed. “marvin, it’s me, not anti, i’m not going to hurt-” realization struck henrik. “i’m not going to hurt dapper.”

marvin was breathing heavily and quickly, his eyes darting back and forth as he rubbed his shoulders, trying to push himself further back. henrik recognized the signs of an oncoming panic attack and sat back, giving him some space. “it’s ok, marvin,” he murmured as marvin hyperventilated, sobbing and holding himself tight.

about half an hour passed before henrik could even get close to marvin, close enough to gently pat his hands, then to trace circles on his shoulder, then to wrap his arms fully around him, marvin’s face buried in his chest as he cried and shook. henrik whispered meaningless words, trying to calm him down, and eventually it worked enough that marvin’s choked sobs quietened and stopped, his body stilling in his brother’s arms. henrik let marvin sit up, his face burning with embarrassment, and wordlessly the doctor handed him a tissue from his pocket. he waited while marvin blew his nose, then looked up with uncertainty on his face. “sorry about- sorry about your shirt.”

yes, his shirt was soaked with tears and snot and a few small patches of blood, wasn’t it. “do not worry about that of all things. can you just- can you tell me what happened?” marvin let out a shaky sigh and hiccuped. he stayed silent.

then, “didn’t like it long.” he paused. “anti liked it long. he didn’t let me cut it.”

“oh.” henrik said. it was all he could think of to say.

but it appeared that once marvin had started, he couldn’t stop. “anti loved my long hair, he liked to stroke it and brush it and told me how p-pretty it was. i tried to cut it, but anti caught me and got so upset, he had dapper rewind it and i didn’t remember but dapper did, anti did, i don’t know how anti did, but he hurt dapper, he- he tied him back with that rope, so he was stuck in one corner of our room, and i wasn’t allowed to go talk to him. i hated him touching it. i don’t like anyone touching it now, it just feels like him, it just feels like i’m being- like i’m with him again.”

“oh,” henrik repeated. “is that why… you cut it yourself?”

“yes,” marvin sobbed, his voice almost higher pitched. “i don’t want him to make me put it back, i don’t want it, don’t let him make me-”

“calm down, calm down,” henrik reassured before marvin would spiral again. he paused. “it is a bit of a mess right now.”

“i know,” marvin moaned miserably.

henrik’s legs were going numb. he sat down properly, cursing himself for not doing so earlier and sparing himself the pain. “you know, when finn and luka were young, luka cut finn’s hair. i don’t know what he was thinking.” he chuckled. “luka was six, and finn was four.”

marvin wiped his eyes and kept looking away, but henrik could tell he was listening. “finn didn’t like the hairdressers. he didn’t like strangers being near him at all, much less touching him, so when emilie said he had to get his hair fixed, he freaked out. so i cut his hair for him.”

marvin finally glanced up, curious. “you can cut hair?" 

henrik smiled. "well, i couldn’t then. i have a very steady hand and a good eye, though. it wasn’t hard on little finn, he turned out very ok. emilie liked it.” marvin sniffled and ran his hands along the pattern on the tub’s bottom. henrik did the same, the sensation calming him.

“are you suggesting you fix my hair?” marvin asked uncertainly. “because i- even with you, i- there’s a reason i didn’t go to a hairdressers, i don’t trust myself not to freak-”

henrik put a hand over marvin’s, just gently. he looked at him closely, noticing how he had almost stopped shaking. “i am your brother, like it or not. not some random stranger. you can trust me.”

marvin whimpered, and pulled his hands back from henrik to cover his mouth. his eyes fluttered closed and he let his head smack into the taps.

“what do you think?” henrik asked patiently. “i need your consent, marvin.”

a deep intake of breath. “ok. but please be careful.”

“i will,” henrik promised before fetching the scissors from the sink.

marvin stayed as still as a rock, barely breathing as henrik attempted to make the hacked clumps of hair somewhat even. “i’m sorry that i can’t really ask you what kind of haircut you’d like,” henrik joked lightly. “i don’t have much to work with here.”

evidently henrik was more used to dealing with chase, because the joke that he’d expected to lighten the mood just made marvin’s eyes fill with tears again. he blinked rapidly and rubbed his face, not making a sound.

henrik decided to change tactics. “look, i know we generally do not like each other.”

marvin let out a sudden laugh, startling henrik. “straight to the point as always, hen.”

henrik tilted marvin’s head. “yes, well. i think we should maybe- maybe try and get along a little better. for both our sakes. you know? being assholes is just so time consuming. i don’t have time for that in the day.”

“really? you only wanna stop hating me cause it’s time consuming?” marvin asked scathingly.

“i did not mean it like that.” henrik was very bad at this. “i don’t believe this is helping either of us. i was with anti for three months. i am the only other one here that would understand what you are going through. i think-”

“fuck off,” marvin snapped. “you were- henrik, you were fucking tortured with anti. i wasn’t. i went there willingly. you went there kicking and screaming after being possessed trying to save our creator. i don’t deserve any reassurance or anything.”

henrik couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “you honestly believe-” he lowered the scissors and looked marvin in the eyes- “you honestly believe that your trauma is less valid because you made a mistake that led to your abuse?”

“it wasn’t abuse at all!” marvin protested. henrik began to clip at the top of his hair, which had thankfully been left a little longer. “anti treated me… nicely. really nicely.” he went silent. “me and dapper were more spoiled than anything.”

“really.” henrik said flatly. “from what you have told me, you were not exactly having a good time there.”

marvin shifted, causing henrik to accidentally cut a bit too short. “i don’t know. ok? i don’t know. just- shut up, please.”

henrik finished in silence.

when they were done, henrik stepped out of the bathtub and pulled marvin out with him, both of them unsteady from so long barely moving. “do you want to see?” henrik offered.

“i guess i have to sooner or later.” marvin let go of henrik’s shoulder and took a breath before looking up at the mirror above the sink. for a moment he was completely silent, starting at his dark hair that had been cut extremely short on the sides, slightly longer on top and sticking up slightly. then his face crumpled and he buried his face in his hands, shoulders shaking. 

“what’s wrong?” henrik asked, alarmed. “is it bad?”

“no, no,” marvin sobbed. “it’s fine. but it’s all gone, i somehow didn’t except it to all be-”

“here,” henrik said gently, leading him out the bathroom. they could clean up the mess later. “let’s go fix your head. you scratched your scalp a few times, you did not even notice. i’ll get my things.”

half an hour later they were both on the couch in front of the tv, marvin with his knees pulled up too his chest as far from henrik as he could be. henrik decided to turn the tv on, hoping it would help to clear the air. “what do you want to watch?”

“you’re really- after all that, you’re not gonna- we’re just gonna watch tv?” marvin said, confused.

henrik set the remote down. “do you want to talk about anti?”

marvin slumped down on the couch, defeated. “don’t know. not much to say, is there?” he sighed and closed his eyes.

henrik thought carefully about how to phrase what he wanted to say. “i believe that maybe you should go to therapy.”

marvin snorted. henrik slid along the couch to be next to him, but not so close that he flinched away. “really, it is very helpful! me and jackie and chase all go, and it has done us… what is the phrase? the only word i can think of is ‘magnificence.’”

“wonders,” marvin muttered. “done you wonders.”

“exactly!” henrik exclaimed, slightly too enthusiastically. then, more gently, “trust me, marvin. it will help you a lot with coming to terms with- everything.” when marvin didn’t reply, henrik delivered his trap card. “it was the only thing that kept jackie sane while you were away.”

marvin winced, looking out the window across the room. after a tense silence, he sat back, flopping his legs out in front of him. “fine. i’ll try it. for jackie,” he said hurriedly. “not for you.”

henrik smiled. “i would expect nothing more.”

to his immense surprise, marvin leaned over and rested his head on henrik’s shoulder. “can we watch it’s always sunny?” he murmured. “i can’t be bothered to do anything today.”

henrik softened, about to run his fingers through marvin’s hair like he would to chase before deciding not to push his luck. “yeah. yeah, let’s put that on.”

when jackie and chase came home later that day, they were both greeted with the same surprise- henrik and marvin, curled up on the couch almost on top of one another, marvin’s hair considerably shorter than when they had last seen it, netflix playing quietly in the background. “awww,” chase cooed, a grin spreading across his face. “lemme take a picture of this and never let them forget it happened.”

jackie examined them both, noting the tearstains on marvin’s face, henrik’s and wrapped round him. “glad they’re getting along,” jackie murmured, gently ruffling marvin’s hair. it felt weird, it being so short- he wondered why marvin had decided to cut it, and why he had been crying. internally, he thanked the gods henrik had the strength to deal with marvin. 

“hey, jackie?” chase called from the upstairs hall. “what the fuck happened to the bathroom?”

[tacittherapist]

Heartbeats quicken. The tremors return. Rose opens her laptop, glancing about to make sure she’s alone. Gods forbid anyone, especially Jade, see her revisit one of her lowest points. She craves it -- to know the bitter ennui of her past mistakes is a nectar that keeps her reality grounded and the fire under her lit. This particular memory is perhaps the worst mistake of her young life though, and to correct it would be to supp deep from the ichor of sweet relief. She pulls up the log...

tacitTherapist [TT] started trolling grimAuxiliary [GA].

TT: So. GA: So TT: It’s come to this. GA: Indeed It Has TT: And you’re still not budging. GA: Consider My Position Entirely Unmoved TT: Entirely? That seems a bit harsh. GA: This Is A Harsh Reality TT: I imagined you’d have at least granted me the niceties and lied about how malleable your convictions are. GA: Rose GA: What Is There Left To Say GA: We Have A Crucial Difference In Opinion That Cannot Be Reconciled GA: We Have Iterated Our Arguments To Each Other For Days Without Relent GA: The Underlying Basis To This Disagreement Is Presupposed On The Notion That This Infernal Game Has Shown You The Right Course Of Action Without Any Other Supporting Evidence That It Isnt Simply Lying To You Once Again TT: They aren’t lies, they’re possibilities. GA: But Only One Of Them Will Happen To Us GA: The Rest Dont Matter GA: Thus They Are Lies And There Is Just One Truth TT: Couching your beliefs that way is what I disagree with. GA: Then You Arent Fucking Listening GA: Only One Of Those Timelines Will Be The One We Are In GA: So Forgive Me If I Buttress My Language In Solipsistic Idiom GA: Unless You Can Give Me More Than One Percent Assurance That We Will All Make It Through This By Jumping On This Fantastic Savior Satellite GA: I Cannot Support Your Idea And I Suggest You Let It Go TT: I can’t. GA: I Know GA: Thats Why Theres Nothing Left To Say TT: I disagree. I think there are a variety of things left to say. GA: Do They Relate To The Problem At Hand Or Are You Stalling TT: Irrelevant. The impetus of communication isn’t inherently problem-solving, it’s to convey meaning. GA: The Impetus Does Solve A Problem GA: You Want To Convey Meaning So The Solution Is Communication TT: Semantics. I’m saying there are other avenues of thought we must explore first. GA: Rose According To You We Are Running Out Of Time GA: Is This Truly How You Want To Spend Your Last Moments With Us GA: Bickering Pointlessly On Separate Computers To Avoid Devolving Into Another Shouting Competition Which Karkat Invariably Wins TT: Would you rather I pivot into sweet nothings about how I’ve so enjoyed our time together on this desolate rock? TT: Would you rather I spin the yarn of our tale aboard this distant laboratory, slowly starving as our grist cache dwindles? TT: Must I recount our feeding calendar in which we literally take turns stemming the hunger pangs until we all eventually succumb to malnutrition and sickness simultaneously? GA: No TT: Then this is how I’m spending my last moments. Quite presumptuous of you to assume I’ve made up my mind as well. For all you know, I could be swayed and end up staying here. GA: Given You Were Just Eviscerating My Position Mere Seconds Ago As To Why We Should Stay Here Im Sufficiently Certain You Wont TT: That’s another issue. Your certainty. The Light has shown me countless avenues to success. There are literally endless timelines in which we follow my advice and everyone meets up to finish the game. TT: And yet you’re somehow unwaveringly certain that none of them will occur? GA: Your Argument Swings Both Ways TT: I don’t appreciate the implicit reference to my confusing sexuality, but go on. GA: If There Are Countless Possibilities In Which We Succeed Following Your Idea Then There Are Also Countless Possibilities In Which We Succeed Not Following Your Idea GA: Its Two Infinities GA: The Question Lies In Which Infinity Is Bigger TT: That makes no sense, infinity is infinity. GA: Yes But Some Infinities Are Larger Or Smaller Than Others GA: Some Infinities Are Not Even Truly Infinity But We Consider Them Infinity For The Sake of Mathematics TT: How does that make even remote sense? GA: While You Were Studying The Majyyk I Was Reading The Calculus TT: I didn’t realize I was speaking to Jade’s pupil. GA: You Arent GA: If I Were Jades Pupil Wed Have Met Up By Now And We Wouldnt Be Having This Inane Conversation TT: But you can become her pupil! If you just come with me. Trust me, Kanaya. Please. GA: I Trust You Rose GA: But I Cannot Go With You GA: Look GA: The Prophecy Satellite Is On The Horizon GA: You Have Not Much Time TT: Technically I have all the time I need. GA: Dave Has Sworn Off His Powers And You Know This TT: He can be convinced. GA: If Your Powers Of Persuasion On Him Are Anything Like They Are On Me I Highly Doubt That TT: Fuck you. GA: Rose

A pregnant pause passes as Rose looks over on the horizon. The satellite is indeed coming into view.

TT: I’m sorry, Kanaya. TT: I love you. GA: I Love You Too Rose GA: But This Is Goodbye TT: It doesn’t have to be. GA: What GA: Didnt We Just Go Over That Im Not Coming With You And That You Arent Staying Here TT: Yes. But if you don’t say goodbye, it means we’ll meet again. GA: Rose This Is Childish TT: If you don’t say goodbye, it isn’t the end. GA: This Is The End Rose TT: It isn’t the end. I’ll see you again. I’ll find John and Jade by myself and we’ll come get you. GA: How GA: How Long Will It Take To Find Them GA: And How Will You Find Us If You Ever Do GA: This Laboratory Is Bound To Continue Drifting Even After You Depart GA: We Wont Stay Frozen In Place Once You Leave GA: This Isnt Like One Of Those Trashy Rainbowdrinker Books You Devoured GA: This Is Real Rose GA: You Must Face This Truth TT: We are the shapers of our world. GA: Not This Again TT: We determine our own fate. GA: Rose This Is A Quote From Another Novel Please Dont Do This TT: We mold the physical to our whims and thrust it forward through our own designs. We shape destiny. We reject that which displeases us and create our own reality. TT: Can you really not indulge me? As this one last act of kindness? GA: I Will Allow You One Kindness But It Will Not Be This TT: Fine. As my last act of kindness from you, I want... GA: It Cannot Be Something Ridiculous TT: I want you to forget me. GA: What The Fuck Did I Just Say TT: Hear me out. TT: If truly everything we’ve been through thus far has meant so little that you can’t put your faith in my decision, I want you to forget it. TT: It will be as if it never happened. I was merely a phantom in this session, and should I somehow return (against your predictions), I will get to vindictively rub it in your face. TT: But if you’re right, and I never return, the pain for you is lessened. You were never in a relationship with me, so there’s nothing to mourn. I never existed. Things were simply bad, and my nagging insistence to redirect our course was never there. TT: I want you to forget me. GA: Rose You Know I Cant Do That TT: Not even for me? As your last kindness? GA: It Would Not Be Kind To Invalidate The Memories You Ensured We Would Create GA: It Would Not Be Kind To Devalue Everything You Have Done For Us GA: And I Still Cherish Those Memories Even If They Led To Something Painful TT: It will only cause you more pain if you hold onto them. I don’t want you to suffer. GA: I Want To Suffer These Memories GA: They Offer Me Some Reassurance TT: But not enough to convince you to join me. GA: No

Rose stops typing, a nerve in her snapping. Her face goes beet-red, despair swelling into wrath. She sets her claws to the keyboard once more.

TT: Then if not by your grace, I’ll make you forget through spite. GA: What TT: I want to be forgotten. I want my existence to be erased from this failure of a timeline. I never loved you. You meant nothing to me. GA: Rose TT: My departure will be a curse upon you unless you forget. Whether by magic or by will, you must forget me. All those memories I made with you meant nothing. I did those things only to ensure my own survival. Your presence was happenstance at best. TT: Now that I’m heading out on my own, our destinies are uncoupled. Whatever happens to you is beneath me. I am taking the path to victory, and you can all squander the rest of your miserable lives here. TT: I won’t come back for you. I gave you all the chances I had. This is your fault. GA: Rose Please Dont Do This TT: You won’t see me again. I’m getting on that satellite and I’m not looking back. Even if I am to die, alone on a satellite, it will be a Heroic death as the only one with any sense not to continue a cursed existence on this fucking rock. TT: I will live with only a spectre of guilt that I didn’t forcibly coerce you onto the satellite with me, chastising myself for respecting your wishes and letting you choose your own demise. TT: That is all. Goodbye.

tacitTherapist [TT] stopped trolling grimAuxiliary [GA].

True to her word, Rose closed her laptop and walked briskly to the edge of the floating laboratory to wait for the satellite to pass by. Sheer anger coursed through her veins, hoping that would mask her true intent. She had never displayed that kind of fury before, let alone to Kanaya. If she played her cards right, Kanaya might still join her, moved by the pure strength of her conviction. But there was no hesitant hand on her shoulder, begging her to stay or to join her. There was no last-second plea, no ‘Rose Wait’, and not even a footstep in her general direction as she waited.

Resigned, she boarded the satellite, breaking her word and casting a desperate glance back as the satellite continued its course away. Through the tiny window, she could see Kanaya simply looking down at her grubtop, her face stained jade. Regret swelled, and for just a second, she could feel herself begin to open the hatch and jump back towards the meteor. But the second passed, and soon she was out of range to give even a cursory wave goodbye.

The same tears begin to stream down her face as she closes the pesterlog and wraps her sheets tighter around her shoulders. She can’t keep putting off her meeting with Cetus forever... but she still doesn’t know how she’ll reckon with the shadow of her failed ploy.

[elizabethemerald]

Jim is Honest AU, Lie 5

Jim Lake Jr lies again and again to his loved ones. What if instead, he told the truth? How would that affect his relationships, and story of Trollhunters? Let’s look at all the major lies and omissions Jim made and let’s turn them on their head. This time Let’s say Jim is Honest.

Strickler struggles with finding some way to turn Jim’s status as the Trollhunter to his advantage. However his conscious wars within him. What good would any advantage be if Gunmar is unleashed upon the world? What if there were a second option?

The final bell had rung for the day. Mr. Strickler sat in his office. They were getting closer and closer to their goal. The biggest obstacle was...Jim Lake. So far Strickler had managed to keep Bular in the dark about exactly how much he knew about the boy Trollhunter. He was starting to get worried that his fellow changelings might be more aware than they let on, but so far if they knew none had made a move against him. 

Strickler was trying to allow Jim to be killed without his direct intervention one way or the other. Jim had come to him, made himself vulnerable in asking for help. The last thing Strickler wanted was to betray that fragile trust. That thought in itself gave the changeling pause. Betrayal was second nature to him, it came to him as easy as breathing. Why should this boy be any different? Why should this boy stay his hand? Was there something in the innocence that made him pause? Or was it the boy’s mother? Dr. Lake certainly had a way about her that intrigued him. 

He looked closely at his pen as he thought. Truly the problem lay in his own selfish nature. What would killing the boy himself do? He could be the greatest of the changelings, which he already was. But to Bular and Gunmar he would be the greatest of their dogs, maybe the last to be killed and eaten, but that fate still only felt like a matter of time. He was sure he could manipulate Jim into opening Killahead Bridge willingly, but again what would that accomplish? Jim would either live the rest of his life as much a slave as the changelings or be the first human killed and eaten by Gunmar. Strickler doubted the Skullcrusher would care what his personal effort had been in convincing the boy. If only there was some way to turn the Trollhunter to his advantage. 

Almost as if his thought has summoned him, there was knock at his office door. Jim stuck his head in. Strickler found a genuine smile crossing his face, one mixed with relief that he wasn’t currently wearing his armor. 

“Mr. Strickler, do you have moment to talk about the chess club?” Jim asked. 

“For you my boy? Always, please come in.”

Strickler watched as Jim came in and sat down, not that surprising but the boy seemed stressed. 

“As glad as I am to see you, and not stuck in your armor, I confess I’m surprised to hear from you today. Karl told me that you had to give your spanish presentation today via Toby’s laptop. He said you were too sick to come in person.”

Strickler took a sip of his tea, that wasn’t all Uhl had said about the strange presentation in the staff lounge over terrible coffee, but Strickler was able to way lay any suspicions with a few small jokes then changed the subject. Jim rubbed his hand on the back of his head. 

“Yeah, I had bad run in with a fergulator, and the effects hadn’t worn off yet.”

Strickler immediately choked on his tea. “A run in with a what?”

“A fergulator. It shrinks stuff down, and apparently takes more than a single night to sleep off the effects.”

What on earth could Blinkous be thinking using a fergulator on a living being? Much less a human boy? It could have killed him, or just kept him pint sized forever. The Janus Order obviously had a few fergulators at their own disposale, but he would never put a changeling in the device. Mostly they used them to shrink large pieces of the Bridge down to sneak across state lines. He carefully wiped the tea he spilled on himself up. 

“I’m glad you’re back to your regular size than. Now was this what you wanted to discuss, or…?”

“Well, Blinky’s been training me on the three rules of being a Trollhunter. And I’m a little concerned.”

Strickler sat forward interested. He couldn’t say he was surprised to find out the trolls had three rules for Trollhunting, especially considering his own three rules for being a changeling. How exactly the Trollhunters were trained would be incredibly useful information. 

“And what are these three rules?” He asked, a calm mask carefully in place. 

“The first one is the easiest!” Jim immediately took on Blinky’s diction, Strickler almost smirked at how  accurate it was. “Rule Number one, Always be afraid.”

“Well that seems to make sense. Fear makes you aware, heightens your senses.” Strickler clicked his pen open then closed. 

“That’s exactly what Blinky said!” Strickler immediately wished he could take his words back, just on the principle of agreeing with Blinkous Galadrigal. 

“Mm. And what is rule number two?”

“See this is the rule that I have a problem with.” Jim hesitated, his hand again rubbing the back of his head. “Rule number two is Always finish the fight.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning I’m supposed to kill my opponent.” Jim hung his head. “How am I supposed to do that? I don’t even like killing spiders in my house! I’ve called Toby over to deal with some of them. How am I supposed to kill someone?”

Strickler thought about that. If this were one of his changeling underlings he would say better to get over this feeling soon or they would be replaced. Changelings were assassins as well as spies. His own first kill had been his own human parents, and he had been out of the fetch for less time than Jim had been alive. Not that he really mourned his parents, they were bastards from day one. 

“Like today, I shrunk down yesterday in the fergulator to get a gnome out of a hole, it had stolen my amulet. I managed to capture it alive, and Blinky was insistent that I kill it.” Strickler struggled not to laugh at the idea of a gnome succeeding where changelings had failed for centuries, removing the amulet from the Trollhunter. “Toby hid him in a dollhouse. And it seems like the little guy just wanted a place for his own. He didn’t want to fight us.”

That caught Strickler’s attention. Any troll who had been called to bear the mantle of Trollhunter would have killed the gnome without question. The creatures are notorious pests, rated below spiders and rats to most of troll kind, only slightly above venomous giant toads. But Jim didn’t have any of the biases other trolls had. Could that mean perhaps… Strickler cleared his throat. He had to tread carefully here. 

“I have done a small amount of research on legends surrounding trolls since you brought their existence to my awareness. Are you perhaps familiar with the legends of changelings?”

Jim seemed a little confused by the change in topic, but shook his head. 

“Your trainer, Blinky you said his name was?” A nod of his head. “Has Blinky mentioned changelings at all?” A shake of his head. Walter took a shallow breath. A blank slate. No opinions on changelings. 

“According to legends changelings were the young of trolls, stolen away, then subjected to dark magics. Those magics bound them with a human infant, a familiar. The changeling takes the infant’s place in our world.” Strickler carefully studied Jim’s expression as he talked. The boy had nothing but compassion on his face, none of the disdain or disgust that a troll might have. “The changelings are forced to walk the line between the human and troll worlds. Forever outcast from both because of the magic that was done to them.”

“That’s...awful.” Jim said, his expression downcast. 

“Yes and the legends and stories, though shrouded and changed by time and retelling seem to say that because of this the changelings are forced to serve the same cruel masters that stole them away when they were young. They are never able to be fully part of either society.” Strickler watched as Jim hung his head. “Now Jim you are human, you weren’t raised in the world of trolls. You may not have the same views as they have about things.”

“I presume you spared the life of this gnome you spoke of?” He waited for Jim’s nod, then continued. “And I’m sure you’ve found yourself capable of living along side this gnome, despite Blinky’s feelings on the matter?”

“Well he’s living with Toby not me, but yeah.”

“Troll society seems to be a place where to them finishing a fight makes sense. But if you have the chance to offer a creature a hand up in this world, be they troll or gnome or changeling, perhaps you have the opportunity to change things, to cross lines that have existed for millennia. When you get the chance, will you offer your hand?”

Strickler put out his hand. Jim looked at it, and the changeling could see the boy’s mind racing, before he proudly shook the hand. The simple handshake felt...monumentous. It didn’t last long however. After a mere second Jim’s phone rang. He let go of Strickler’s hand and answered his phone. 

“Uh yeah I’ll be home soon. Bye mom!” Jim was soon saying grabbing his bag. “Thanks so much Mr. Strickler. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

With that the boy ran out the door. Strickler sat back for a second, a smug grin on his face. The seed had been planted. He would need to reach out to some of his compatriots in the Order. Some who shared his views about Bular’s heel grinding down on their necks. Otto maybe? No he was too much of a boot licker. Nomura always had a problem with authority. Maybe he could have her reach out, approach the Trollhunter when he was alone, to extend a hand as it were. 

As Strickler thought and planned, he realized he never did find out what Rule number three was. Too late now, he doubted it would be a problem for him though.

Lie 1, Lie 2, Lie 3, Lie 4

[homespork-review]

Homespork Act 2: The Racism of the Conductor’s Baton (Part 2)

FAILURE ARTIST: We don’t get much time to mourn with Dave because the comic flashes to a weird wizard statue. This statue is ZAZZERPAN THE LEARNED. Wizards are another recurring theme in Homestuck. Andrew Hussie once artfully defaced this cheesy book called Wizardology (warning: lots of really offensive humor). Anyway, Rose hates the giant statue and the other wizard paraphernalia her mother collects and believes her mother does this only to spite her. On a platform is a bronzed vacuum (with a place to put alcoholic beverages) that Rose gave her as an ironic present. On the couch there’s a life-sized princess doll that Rose has attached a Cthulhu-type head to. All these things set up Rose’s troubled relationship with her mother. Rose believes her mother is taunting her and Rose taunts her back.

BRIGHT: This scene also establishes that some things (the Cthulhu doll for one) are too big to be captchalogued.

CHEL: Actually, that was noted with the harlequin doll earlier but we forgot to mention that.

FAILURE ARTIST: Rose goes to the kitchen. On the fridge is a crude picture of her late cat Jaspers, who turns out to be more than a family pet. There’s more signs of this cold war between mother and daughter on the fridge.

CHEL: Also, numerous liquor bottles in the kitchen and comically exaggerated displays of wealth, such as a fifteen-thousand-dollar picture frame.

FAILURE ARTIST: After fussing with the fridge, Rose tries to leave the kitchen only to run into her mother. She tries escaping but lands comically in some wizard statuettes.

CHEL: Mom Lalonde is mopping the floor, with no water in the bucket, holding a martini in her other hand. The woman clearly has a problem. Again, this is an issue with the portrayal of the parents; this is pretty funny, but were a real mother behaving this way, it would seriously mess up the kid, and whether we’re supposed to take it as Rule of Funny or not later becomes inconsistent.

BRIGHT: I think a lot of the humour here is supposed to come from the implication that Mom Lalonde actually is a loving if clueless (and drunk) parent, and Rose is reading her badly. On the other hand, something is clearly very wrong, and while Mom Lalonde may indeed be loving the situation is definitely having an impact on Rose.

TIER: Say whatever you want, but when putting on the late game Cerebus Retcon goggles there are probably non-humorous questions to be asked about how screwy Mom Lalonde is as a parental unit if her daughter has ended up interpreting most of her actions as mocking or backhanded towards herself. Like, kids don't just decide that.

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 3

CHEL: Back to Dave, he’s chatting with GG and they’re being adorable. GG comments about her birthday present to John, the green box we saw in the car earlier, and…

GG: no!!!!!!! GG: he will not open it GG: he will lose it!!! TG: oh TG: uh TG: wow sorry to hear that i guess? GG: no its good actually! GG: because he will find it again later when he really needs it GG: which of course is why i sent it in the first place! TG: see like TG: i never get how you know these things GG: i dont know GG: i just know that i know!

I think here is when we start to get inklings of the kids’ unusual abilities - I mean, unusual in the context of the weird world they live in. A bit more is established about GG’s home life and Dave’s attitudes, too:

GG: i have to feed bec which is always a bit of an undertaking TG: man TG: if i were you i would just take that fucking devilbeast out behind the woodshed and blow its head off GG: heheheh! GG: i dont think i could if i tried!!! TG: yeah TG: say hi to your grand dad for me too ok GG: ._. GG: yes i guess an encounter with him is almost certain GG: it is usually........ GG: intense!!! TG: well yeah isnt it always with family TG: but he sounds like a total badass

“Intense” in a world where attacking your father with a hammer isn’t worthy of comment sounds worrying. We’ll see how that goes.

FAILURE ARTIST: Dave has the tiniest of smiles here and in Hussie’s annotation he says that one pixel created Dave/GG. Whether or not their connection is romantic, Dave obviously feels great affection for her.

CHEL: Interactions between all four of the kids are really sweet, honestly. Dialogue and character interactions are one of the strongest points of the comic overall. Personally I have a soft spot for the OT4.

TIER: In my unprofessional opinion, the beta humans are by far the most functioning and tight knit group of the various groups within the comic, for what that's worth considering the overall dysfunction junction. They're sweet to one another is what I'm saying.

CHEL: Dave talks to John, who mentions the creepy trails around his house and how he thinks he’s seen monsters, which we the audience have definitely seen; creepy little black imps with fangs and, oddly, jester outfits. They bear a striking resemblance to the Wayward Vagabond, in fact. Dave makes fun, but at least pretends not to disbelieve him, and urges him to keep his hammer at the ready. Dave can’t find his Bro, but can find “Lil Cal”, implying Bro is nearby.

TG: lil cal is the shit EB: that's fine, you are entitled to your opinion, i am just saying that being a white guy who is a rapper with a ventriloquist doll is not cool by any stretch of the imagination or by any definition of word cool, ironic or otherwise. that's all i'm saying. WHITE SBURB POSTMODERNISM: 5

Would a non-white rapping ventriloquist be any cooler? I’m struggling to see how. Ventriloquism, by definition, sucks the cool out of any other aspect of the thing. And now I’m picturing Carlton from Fresh Prince trying to rap with a ventriloquist’s doll.

BRIGHT: Back at the Lalonde residence, Rose attempts to ‘Youth Roll’ out of the front door, but her escape route is blocked by her mother, who appears with martini glass in hand. Time for our second Strife of the comic! (And can I say that I really like the music for this one?)

As with John’s strife with his dad, this strife tells us a lot about Rose’s relationship with her mother. John had the AGGRIEVE and ABJURE options; Rose also gets AGGRESS (PASSIVE) and ABSTAIN. It’s pretty telling that one of these options is an EMPTY SUICIDE THREAT, and ‘Abstain’ has Rose fending off her mother’s insistent offer of the martini glass.

FAILURE ARTIST: I liked the EMPTY SUICIDE THREAT at the time but now I think it deserves an ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?

BRIGHT: Mom Lalonde may be intended as loving-but-clueless, but she’s offering her thirteen year old daughter alcohol, over Rose’s protests, and something is clearly very wrong if suicide threats are a normal part of life. (Something similar will come up in the future, but in that context it isn’t played for laughs.)

ARE YOU TRYING TO BE FUNNY?: 4

On a lighter note, ‘Abjure’ has her mother offering her A BEAUTIFUL PONY. Rose reacts in the moment like this is terrible, but does later pat the pony’s nose.

At any rate, the strife ends when Mom Lalonde apparently gets bored and decides to do some dusting. This takes all the fun out of using the front door, so Rose goes around the back to make her break for the generator.

Meanwhile, John is trying to read up on weaponizing sylladexes (sylladices?), but is being nagged by a voice to turn around — which he finally does, just in time for a monster to ram into him so hard it turns the panel pixelated. Strife time!

John’s bout with the Shale Imp kicks off with the monster threatening the Con Air bunny. John’s efforts to defend it are intercut with Rose’s progress out of the house and through the rain to the mausoleum. I think this interplay works quite nicely — it keeps both things moving without letting the reader get impatient -- but your mileage may vary.

The imp aggravates John by punching the bunny in the belly and waving it at him. John attacks the imp and breaks his hammer, then attacks it with the handle and gets knocked flat. Finally he weaponises his sylladex and chucks his inventory at it until it explodes into a shower of grist.

PUT THE BUNNY BACK IN THE BOX!!!!!! Now why couldn’t he put the bunny back in the box?

Because he’d set it as his strifekind, it turns out.

In true video game style, defeating the imp causes John to level up! In Homestuck, this is done by ascending one’s echeladder, a series of player levels with whimsical, old-fashioned names. John climbs two rungs, from Greentike to Plucky Tot, and earns 125 Boondollars.

Note how efficient this is: In one panel we can see that the echeladder is a levelling system, that Boondollars are in-Game currency, and that levelling up has increased John’s amount of grist and how much of it he can carry. He’s also got a new kind of grist called ‘Shale’. Hussie does take an extra panel to clarify the grist capacity expansion, but that makes sense as it’s a small part of the original panel. Compare this to the dozens of panels we’ve had laying out how sylladexes work. These panels are much more information-dense, and the comic flows better for it.

CHEL: Exactly what “grist” is and what it does beyond allowing changes to the house, why those changes are needed, and what “boondollars” are for hasn’t been explained yet, but will be soon, and it’s clear they’re something to do with the game so it’s not outright confusing.

BRIGHT: John spends the next few panels sorting his strife specibus out, and stashes the bunny in there for safekeeping. There’s something amiss, but he can’t quite put his finger on it...

Meanwhile, Rose has reached the mausoleum and prepares to activate the generator. The taxidermied corpse of her beloved pet lies in state, dressed in a tiny suit. A sad fate for an animal who should have peacefully decomposed in a flowerbed. Rose kicks it off the pedestal to make room for the laptop.

John discovers what’s wrong when a bucket of water perched atop his door lands on his head. The culprit behind this sudden dousing?

"[S] WHAT THIS IS SO OUTRAGEOUS (HD)" (Watch on YouTube)

Apparently the sprite has a sense of humour.

Next up is a pesterlog between Rose and Dave. There are hints that all is not well in the Strider residence.

TG: hey TG: dont tell john this but i think he might have been right about the puppets TG: theyre sort of starting to freak me out a little TT: You're referring to your brother's collection? TG: i mean dont get me wrong i think its cool and all TG: the semi-ironic puppet thing or whatever TG: or semi-semi ironic TG: man i dont even know TG: im just starting to think some of this shit is going a little far and its kind of fucked up TT: I've seen his websites. TT: I like them. TG: haha yeah well YOU WOULD TG: oh man i wish lil cal wouldnt look at me like that TG: with those dead eyes jesus TG: sometimes i dream that hes real and hes talking to me and i wake up in a cold sweat and basically flip the fuck out

Well, not so much hints as flashing neon signs. Dave’s gone very quickly from insisting that everything his brother does is cool and Lil Cal is awesome, to admitting that he has nightmares about Lil Cal and is freaked out by his brother’s ‘semi-ironic puppet thing’. We don’t know much about Bro’s websites yet, but we do know that Rose has a morbid streak, and Dave is clearly disturbed by the content.

Dave leaves to find his brother’s copy of the game, and we return to John, who, to quote Rose, has ‘just had a bucket of water dumped on his head by the ghost of his dead grandmother, who also happens to be dressed like a clown.’

And yes, that is indeed John’s dead Nanna, returned to help him on his journey through The Medium and beyond -- or at least, she claims she is. John has to take her word for it, as he doesn’t remember her at all. According to his Dad, John was pretty young when she died. Speaking of his Dad, he’s been kidnapped by the forces invading John’s home.

Nannasprite gives John the background of the game and what’s going on. His house is now in the Medium. This place was created by the game software, but is physically independent of it -- and no, he’s not inside a computer. The Medium floats in the Incipisphere, a place outside the normal flow of time in the kids’ universe. Above the Medium is the realm of Skaia.

According to Nannasprite:

Legend holds that Skaia exists as a dormant crucible of unlimited creative potential. What does this mean, you ask? I'm afraid my lips are sealed about that, dear! Hoo hoo!

Nannasprite is somewhat like a tutorial assistant for the game -- she helps guide John and provides information, although she’s somewhat cryptic.

We are getting a lot of new words here, but Hussie is defining them pretty well as we go, so I don’t think it merits a point.

At any rate, Skaia is defended by the forces of light, while forces of darkness plot its destruction. These two forces exist in an endless stalemate on a stage at the centre of Skaia until a player with a prototyped Kernelsprite enters the Medium. Then the prototyped Kernelsprite splits, with one Kernel carrying the prototyping information up to a kingdom basked in light, and another Kernel carrying it down to the kingdom of darkness. Each kingdom has four Spires, and when the Kernel reaches one, it propagates the prototyping information to the kingdom’s forces.

This is why the imps were dressed as jesters: John prototyped his Kernel with the harlequin doll, and whatever the other players prototype with will influence what forms the soldiers take. When the first Kernels reach the spires, the battlefield gets bigger and the war begins for real.

Oh, right -- and the forces of light are always destined to lose.

So what’s the point? Apparently, that’s for John to find out. For now, though, he needs to head towards Skaia, going through the first of seven Gates. The first Gate is situated directly above John’s house, but the others are going to be harder to reach. We now find out what all that Build Grist is for: To get to the Gate, they need to build the house higher to reach it. And then they can rescue John’s Dad, solve the ultimate riddle, and save the Earth from destruction!

...or not.

Nope, according to Nannasprite, Earth is doomed. Done for. Kaput. There is nothing they can do to save it.

John is pretty bummed about this. He isn’t cheered by Nanna’s assurance that he has a much more important purpose than saving the planet, although she fails to elaborate on that point and instead floats off to make cookies.

CHEL: I think here we earn another couple of points.

HURRY UP AND DO NOTHING: 2 HOW NOT TO WRITE A WEBCOMIC: 11 Failing the Turing Test - wherein the character has no reactions whatsoever While the emotional lives of characters should not be described in their every tiny wrinkle, characters must have emotional lives. When someone boos them off a stage, they should experience chagrin. When they fall from a tenth-storey window, they should feel alarm. The writer should not count on dialogue like “Yikes!” to get the point across.

Brief confusion and feeling “bummed out” by the news that one’s entire planet is doomed does not count as an adequate reaction. I’d expect more fear, more concern. As pointed out before, doesn’t John have any friends other than Dave, Rose, and GG? His Dad has friends, wouldn’t he be concerned for them on Dad’s behalf? If nothing else, more curiosity about this “more important” business?

BRIGHT: Now, I could actually buy this in some circumstances — John is a teenager, doesn’t seem to have close connections outside those we see on screen, and he’s been having one hell of a weird day. I wouldn’t be surprised if grasping the scope of destruction was simply beyond him at this point. It’s a lot to take in, and it’s only been a few hours since life went to hell in a handbasket — not to mention, he’s in an active combat zone. There’s a lot going on, and if he was to shove it out of his mind while he dealt with the immediate crisis, I could see that as pretty realistic.

Of course, that would depend on him actually reacting at some later point, when he had a chance to slow down and it could sink in. As it stands...well, if that does happen, we never see it.

CHEL: Does this also count as “Oh, Don’t Mind Him” for the How Not To score?

BRIGHT: I think so, yes.

CHEL: Then here it goes!

HOW NOT TO WRITE A WEBCOMIC: 12 Oh, Don’t Mind Him - where a character’s problems remain unexplored In real life, people are riddled with chronic problems that are not addressed for long periods of time, if ever. But in fiction, all problems are just the opening chords of a song. If there is a brother who has a problem with alcohol, a child who has lost her dog, or even someone whose car has simply broken down, the reader will worry about those people and expect the author to do something about it.

Technically, this could count for seven billion or so points, minus any people who successfully entered their own game sessions, but we don’t want to get out of hand here and it really only counts as one big problem.

However! I am very fond of this idea in theory. The obvious option would be that the purpose of the game is to save the player’s homeworld. We’ve all seen the “save the homeworld” idea in scifi and fantasy before. Here, the homeworld is beyond saving, but there is another option, and exploring that is the storyline. The forces of light cannot have a traditional victory; the protagonists must find a victory on the terms they have. It’s not a theme one sees often, and I like it.

FAILURE ARTIST: John and the other Beta Kids’ lack of angst of the destruction of their planet doesn’t stick out as much here as it will later when almost everything else is milked for angst.

CHEL: I’m not really sure the planet being destroyed is a great basis for a Rule-of-Funny-based story if that was what he was going for, to be honest. “Billions died, lol!”

[mi6-cafe]

The third week of writing for LDWS participants has come to a close. Now it’s time for the next bit of the competition: reading and voting!  

prompt: resurrection  Word count: 250 Challenge:  Write a drabble with an acrostic format spelling out ‘resurrection.’ (First word of first paragraph must start with r, first word of second paragraph must start with e, and so on). 

Voters–after you read, check out this form to vote for your top three drabbles! You can also leave anonymous feedback for the writers!

Who can vote? Anyone who’s read the drabbles! Yes, that includes YOU!  

Writers–you may also vote, but we do ask that you vote for three drabbles other than your own.  

The voting period ends at 11:59 PM EST on Sunday night. Results will be posted and anonymous feedback will be emailed on Monday.

Remember, readers–it’s up to YOU to decide who will wind up on top at the end of the competition!

Drabbles are under the read-more:

1) 

Title: Mourning Author: sunaddicted Rating: G Warnings: emotional h/c, mild angst Summary: the fact that it's not real doesn't make it hurt any less

"Roses, really?"

Exhaling a heavy sigh didn't alleviate his oncoming migraine "They were on sale" Q shrugged.

"Seriously?"

"Uh.. yes" had James really expected him to splurge on flowers for a fake grave? It wasn't like they wouldn't wilt anyway.  

"Roses are romantic, Q - for dinners and dates, not for funerals"

"Resurrections are romantic though, aren't they?"

Except for the fact that James hadn't really died: it had all been part of a plan to make some people believe that they wouldn't have to worry anymore about him hunting them down - and Q had been crucial to the plan, there for every step of it.  Still, he seemed... upset? "Are you okay?"

Candles peeked amidst the roses - the expensive and scented kind that Q lit up only to treat himself after long and hard missions; he focused on them, wondering about which of their colleagues had spent so much on a fake death "Sure"

That tone of voice screamed the contrary "Q..."

"I don't want to talk about it" Q sighed "You're fine. You're home"

"Of course I'm home" James drew Q against his chest, gently enveloped him in his arms "I'll always come back" faked or not, resurrection was his specialty afterall.  

Nodding was the only answer Q could give at those reassuring words: one day that grave would be full; one day that nightmare would be too real; one day he wouldn't buy discounted roses to cry on as he mourned the man he loved.  And it hurt.  

2) 

Title: Reinvention Author: IrishWitch58 Warnings: Introspection, Mildly fluffy Summary: Living long enough means changes

Rising through layers of sleep, Bond opened his eyes and blinked at the sunlight reaching warm fingers through the drapes.

Easing himself onto his back and finding his left arm trapped under a lithely muscled and sleep warm body was a familiar experience now.

Sleep was becoming easier, after years of subsisting on brief naps on missions and nightmares when not.

Until six weeks ago, he had never imagined he would be this contented. He hadn't been when an initially minor injury had proven more debillitating than it had seemed. The laceration across his palm had severed tendons and though surgery had repaired it, the tendons were shorter and stiffer and he couldn't use the hand to the degree field work required.

Retirement from 00 status was his only option. He had fought it but he was a realist and knew the department could not risk delicate missions on an agent who couldn't handle the physical tasks required.

Resurrection, he had once said, was his hobby. Reinvention might have been more accurate.

Eventually he had accepted the position as head of testing and training.

Considering his years of experience, it was an excellent fit.

This morning would be the first of his new career.

In two hours he would be Commander Bond, department head. It was time to begin the day. He nudged Q.

One green eye opened and a frown crossed Q's face. “Second thoughts?”

“None. Just starting the day properly.” They were fifteen minutes late with smug smiles.

3) 

Title:  Resurrection Hopes Warnings: No warnings apply Tags: established relationship

Author: Susspencer

Returning to what was home to me, Mi6, my family, friends, the question was would they welcome me?

Everything was different. Everything was the same.

Stiff upper lip and I stood ready for the Inquisition before me.  Where have you been?  Why didn't you contact us, or at least me? Why did you wait to come back?

Unscathed by wounds. Unhurt by blame. Unmoved by their feigned sorrow. Unwilling to forgive, yet.

Ready to regain my title again, reclaim my license to kill. Would they relinquish their grip on it? And reinstate me.

Rumbling in my soul as I saw your face. Reasoning within myself, what do I tell you?  Those eyes as they peered through your lenses.

Eyes full of compassion and love still there, hung with a hurt, so deep, that it peers into corners unseen in forever.

Cheer bubbles in my chest, in that empty place, that was barely holding on to the memory of your face.

Time keeps ticking as I wait to hear.

Is it reinstatement or thank you for your service?  I need to be the hero that you need me to be.

Oh, my Q just come stand near, and chase away my fear. I am nothing without you.  It’s only as we that we can save the world.

Nay or yeah, it doesn't matter, if I can just reach out and touch.  The only thing I need to resurrect is us. To be with you, Q, my dear, you are my life.

4) 

Title: One hope... Author: ato Warnings: none Summary: I wait.

Regret is the worst emotion.  Unprofessional, M would have said.  Inevitable feels more on point.

Eleven o’clock in a sterile waiting room, unsure of basic questions of life and death, I think of words not spoken.  Looks shared, but not acted on.

So clear in my mind... all my opportunities.  Over comms.  In the branch.  Heading out at the end of the day in the same direction, only to turn away.  Avoid temptation.  Turn away from him and toward the cold safety of solitude.

Useless now to imagine "what if?"  How I might have changed his sadness (and mine) by acknowledging what I knew was there, but feared reaching for.

Resurrection is my hobby.

Resurrection is my curse.

Even so, I wait in an antiseptic room, hoping against hope that Q will follow my example.

Come back from the dead.  The presumed dead.  Back from the missing, then found (injured... beaten).  Back from the shadows and pain and who-gives-a-fuck-why-should-I?

To the work.  To the family that isn't family.  To the battles and camaraderie and late hours, exhausted and triumphant.  To the old agent who wants another shot.  A chance to say, "I just need one thing," and have him know it's him.

I sit — cold, bone-tired, frightened for perhaps the first time in years — indulging in a hope.

One hope.

No.  One need. For a snarky, willful boffin to fight his way back from the deep, dark dreamlessness, rise up, open his bright, clever eyes… and say yes.

5) 

Title: Duck Psychotic

Author: Venstar

Warnings: None

Summary: Living is hard. Resurrection is even harder

Resurrection was a little known part of the Quartermaster’s job. It was a demanding procedure, tricky even. He’d had quite a few spectacular and dangerous results. Some agents weren’t meant to come back, some were never the same again and some...had to be destroyed.

Except for Bond. He took to resurrection like a psychotic duck to water. There wasn’t anything that he had been through that Q couldn’t drag him back from. “I’m tired Moneypenny. He’s literally taking years off my life.”

“Someone has to deal with him,” Moneypenny said. “And besides, you love seeing those blue eyes see YOU for the first time, every time you bring him back.”

Unfortunately, Moneypenny was correct. Q coughed. There was something terribly enchanting about an assassin with wonder in his eyes when he spotted Q.

“Remind me why you’re complaining?” Moneypenny asked.

“Remind me why I like you?” Q sighed out through his nose.

“Extraction team incoming,” Moneypenny said pressing her earpiece.

“Can’t wait.”

Terrible things happened every day. It was always a terrible day when 007’s body was brought into his Necro room, where the laborious process of resurrecting an agent took its toll on Q. One more year was taken from his life.

“I know you,” Bond’s voice rough when he finally woke. His face lax and sleepy, his eyes tracking Q’s every move.

“Of course you do, fool.”

Now came the time Q’s strength would leave him and Bond would stay, keeping him company, sharing tea from a Scrabble mug.

6) 

Title: Reboot

Author: kiddohno

Warnings: none

Summary: Everyone needs a hobby.

Rebooting… |  |  |

Entering non-interactive start-up... [OK]

Switching to guest configuration... [OK]

User: 007 Password: ************

Reading biometrics... [OK]

root@LAPTOP-Quartermaster$: cd ~/Programs gcc bond.c

ENTER

Connection failed. Unable to find node. Discarding circuit.

Try again? Y/N: y

Initializing. Resolving... Connection established. Downloading files...

On screen, hundreds of points appeared over a graphical world map. Some were tied together with pixelated lines of colour, highlighting connections between them, and each one linked to relevant documents in a massive repository of data and evidence. This was everything that Q had found chasing down what was left of SPECTRE, alone, after James had gone. He’d foolishly thought that taking out Blofeld would be the end of the whole organization. Instead, the power vacuum had only served to revive the criminal network with added fervor. Q had been methodologically tracking the formation of new splinter groups and taking down cells all around the world, and in doing so he had drawn too much attention to himself.

Now that he was missing and presumed dead, James knew that everything Q had done was to protect him. As long as any part of SPECTRE survived, there was the risk that it would target James Bond. Q had done this so that he could retire in peace. And when Q couldn’t continue his work, for whatever reason, he had made sure that his laptop and a short note found their way to James. ‘007,’ the note read, ‘You know the password-- we all need a hobby.’  

7) 

Title: Azalea's First Bloom Warning: Major Character Death Summary: Resurrection is never guaranteed (but she will probably come back to haunt me).

Author: GwyllionDream

R’s instructions blared over his mobile, but Bond was much too panicked to comprehend them. His hands shook. His mind raced. Despite all of his years as an agent, this was the worst scenario he had ever encountered.

Every manual Bond had studied proved useless in this situation.

“Stop and listen to me,” R’s voice demanded. ���Four compressions, followed by one breath.”

Unsure of himself, Bond resumed his efforts. His palms pushed on the small chest beneath him, but she was… gone.

“Repeat it with me,” R said, her voice cracking with despair. “One, two, three, four, breathe….”

“R! This isn’t working,” Bond shouted. “Q will be home any minute.”

Even from halfway across the city, R’s gasp of sympathy reached Bond.

Crimson petals covered the countertop. Bond had clipped the azaleas himself, hoping to bring some spring cheer into Q’s flat. Water dripped to the floor from the upended vase. Each falling drop reminded Bond of the pulsing heartbeat of life that now slipped away.

The old girl had really done it this time.

“I don’t want you to lose her,” R cried. “You need to keep going!”

“One, two, three, four,” Bond counted as he pushed on her fragile chest. He pressed his mouth to hers and breathed, but nothing worked. Bond sobbed so loudly that he didn’t hear Q enter the flat, or his footsteps as he crossed the kitchen floor.

“No!!!” Q let out a bloodcurdling scream when he saw Bond crouched over Pampuria’s lifeless body.

8) 

Title: Home Again Author: solarmorrigan Summary: Bond's priorities have shifted over time, just a little. Warnings: None.

Really, Bond had stopped enjoying the parties a long time ago.

Events like the ones he often infiltrated were filled people who wanted.

Someone was always wanting for his attention, always fawning and smarming and insinuating themselves into his space.

Unctuous in the extreme, they were unpleasant and false.

Repeatedly, though, Bond catered to them, listened to and flattered them. Whatever it took to gain their confidence, their secrets, their assistance – whatever they had to offer.

Realistically, it was the easiest way to get the job done.

Even so, the thrill of successful falsehoods had worn thin.

Could he do it another way? Were there options that didn’t involve the suppression of his every instinct and desire to the point where he felt more like a ghost watching his own animated body interact with others? Likely. And likely, they were higher risk.

The mission came first, though. Every time. And Bond would kill himself, body and soul, to complete the mission. Besides that, a lower risk meant a higher chance he could come home.

It wasn’t until Bond was on his way to that home that he began to feel himself again.

Only when he reached home did it really feel like he began to inhabit his own body again.

Not until he had Q in his arms, held against him, wrapped around him, grounding him and reminding him of who he was and who he was allowed to be, did Bond really feel like he’d come alive again.

9) 

Title: Lost and Found

Author: solitaryjane

Warnings: none

Summary: This time, it's Q who's been declared dead.

“Really, Bond?” Q sighed. “It hadn't even been a day.”

Each of the safehouse’s security measures had been breached, starting from the foyer all the way to the bedroom. Bond stood just inside the walk-in closet, where the entrance to the panic room was, and Q in front of it, looking cross.

Something could be said of the irony of being caught by someone prone to disappearing while trying to disappear. Q sighed again. So much for his foolproof plan. And it was foolproof, mind you, with a perfectly staged attack and a perfectly convincing corpse. He wasn't even going to be gone that long – maybe a few weeks – and then he’d be back. It would be no worse than what a certain double-oh liked to pull on a regular basis. Everything was going swimmingly according to plan.

Until now.

“R found some discrepancies,” Bond shrugged. “Thought I’d follow them.”

“Right, of course,” Q spat. He really should’ve specifically locked R out beforehand. It would've probably spared him the indignity of being found – alive – when barely 24 hours had passed.

Even with minimal lighting he could see the twinkle in Bond’s eyes, exuding mirth and arrogance. Q wanted to kill him.

“Care to explain?” Bond asked.

“To you? Not particularly.”

“I promise I can help.”

“Oh, suddenly an expert in international hacking ploys, are we?”

“No,” Bond smirked. “But luckily I know someone who is, and who, despite his efforts, won’t be going anywhere anytime soon.”

10) 

Title:  Faith

Author: Iambid/Flantastic

Warnings: None

Summary: Q’s faith in him is everything

Returning from missions has never been easy for James.  There is a soulless feeling that comes with killing. A deadening inside that is as difficult to overcome as it is insidious.  For years it festered.  Damaging James, slowly destroying him from the inside.

Even though Q has never realised it, from the moment they first fell into bed together, there is something he does that can bring James back to the land of the living in an instant.

Something so simple and he doesn’t even have a clue.

Understanding came slowly to James at first.  The first time that Q did it he didn’t know what to think but now he craves it.

Relishes it.

Returning home, it is Q naked in their bed, that resurrects him.

Even just sleeping, Q curls into James’s arms like their bed is the safest place in the world.  He allows James to hold him.  Protect him.

Caress him.

The times that James has killed are eclipsed by the moments that Q trusts him at his most vulnerable.  Nude.  Sleeping.

It is heady. This trusting intimacy.

Only James will never tell him.  It is the spontaneity of Q stripping off after a long day’s work, of him slipping into their bed, resting his head on James’s shoulder and holding onto him so tightly, that makes James’s heart beat again.  If Q realised, if it was a deliberate act, it wouldn’t be the same.

Nothing brings James back to life in quite the same way.

11) 

Title: Turnabout is Fair Play

Author: beaubete 

Warnings: none

Summary:  Patience is a virtue and Bond is a sinner.

Really, he should have expected it.  It was inevitable, though tell that to Q's empty flat at three in the morning with birdsong out the window and a funeral in Bond's heart.

Even the cats join him for long, meandering rambles through the kitchen as though they don't quite know what to do with themselves.  None of them do.

Surely Q will be back soon.  Surely Sunday he'll be at the door with a takeaway.  Surely Monday he'll  be back for his yoga mat.  Surely Tuesday.

Uncomfortable silence rules the flat; since that first confession, they've been quietly together, slipped into a relationship like falling into a warm bath.

Romance,  unanticipated as it was, has become the new normal, and this is of course why Q'll be coming back. It wouldn't be fair to suddenly get everything he's ever wanted only to lose it now.

Righteous anger sweeps his shoulders.   After everything, doesn't he deserve happiness? Doesn't he--

Except if anyone deserved to lose peace, it's him.  Chills trip up the back of his neck.

Could this be his own fault?

The thought has haunted him since their first kisses, faces drowned and ghostly in the corners of his vision.  It was always a possibility.   A likelihood.

It isn't acceptable.  His retirement was meant to make them safe; it never occurred that he'd find himself on the other side of the comms worrying.  He ought to let Mallory handle it.

Ought to trust the system.

No.  He fetches his pistol.

12) 

Title: Something of a Surprise

Author: melynen

Warnings: none

Summary: Q’s in the field and things get a little out of hand.

Resurrection being a hobby of James, Q has long since stopped holding his breath every time his lover pulls off one of his disappearing acts. He still fears for his life, yes, but he also trusts James to return to him.

Especially now that he has practically moved in to Q’s flat.

So it’s something of a surprise that this time, it is not James who disappears but Q.

Usually Q wouldn’t be in the field, but sometimes, concessions must be made, and this is one of those times. A supposedly easy mission quickly turns into anything but, and Q has barely time to feel the gunshot that takes him down.

Recovery is not the easiest or the quickest, and he’s told that on the way back to London his heart really did stop beating; waking up at Medical, surrounded by his nearest and dearest, he can only be happy it didn’t stick.

”Rubbed off on you, have I?” James grins, relieved.

Eve, sitting next him, snorts inelegantly. Q can see that she wants to say something, but mercifully she keeps quiet.

”Could be,” Q allows. ”Though I’d really rather not do this again, if you won’t terribly mind.”

”Too right you won’t,” says Eve.

”I certainly won’t mind,” James says. ”For a while there…” he pauses, but Q can easily hear what was left unsaid.

Out loud, Q says nothing, but he does squeeze the hand holding his.

Neither of them speaks again, but their clasped hands say everything.

13) 

Title: Blood and Fire

Author: azure7539arts

Warnings: Canon-typical violence

Summary: Bond wasn't going to make the same mistake again.

-

“Run!”

Every time he tried to close his eyes, the image of Q’s blazing gaze kept flashing deep in the recesses of his mind.

Smoke had been billowing from the damaged sites, the sound of people trapped and screaming only second to the thick stench of fresh blood that had been permeating through the air. They had been under attack. Again.

Up until that moment, Bond had never allowed himself to even think about exactly just how important Q was in his life. And the second he had heard Q’s sharp, unwavering order for him to go after the assailants instead of staying back in the wreckage to help, Bond had realized that he was going to regret it.

Running had always been his forte, he had told himself.

Running should’ve been easy because he had been doing it his entire life.

Even so… in that singular moment with him staring wide-eyed at the half of Q’s face that had been drenched in free-flowing blood from a gash somewhere above his eyebrow, Bond had never been more reluctant to leave.

“Care for some tea?”

To be fair, Bond hadn’t needed to ask to know that Q would say yes before sitting up straight and murmuring “finally!” under his breath. “How is it?” He sat down, watching Q sip at his drink.

“It’s good,” Q mumbled, seemingly more relaxed. “Just how I take it.”

“Of course.” Bond quirked a small smirk.

No, he wasn’t going to make another mistake this time.

Thank you to our amazing drabble writers for bringing their drabbles to life this week, especially since this was the most difficult challenge yet. 

To our amazing readers, you can help this competition by going here to vote on your top three drabbles. You may also leave anonymous feedback for one or more drabbles.

Let’s vote!

[mrkwonandmrchoibabygirl]

50 SHADES OF KWON JI YONG PT.21

GUYS WE ARE THREE CHAPTERS AWAY FROM FINISHING THE FIRST BOOK! sorry if there are any mistakes!

Genre:Smut/Fluff/Angst

Rated:NC-17

Pairing: G-Dragon x Reader

Wordcount:

Part.20 Part.21 Part.22

Masterlist

I am manicured, massaged, and I’ve had two glasses of champagne. The First Class lounge has many redeeming features. With each sip of Moet, I feel slightly more inclined to forgive Jiyong and his intervention. I open up my MacBook, hoping to test the theory that it works anywhere on the planet.

_______________________________________________________________ From: Y.N Y.L.N Subject: Over-Extravagant Gestures Date: May 30 2018 21:53 To: Kwon Ji Yong Dear Mr. Kwon What really alarms me is how you knew which flight I was on. Your stalking knows no bounds. Let’s hope that Dr. Flynn is back from vacation. I have had a manicure, a back massage, and two glasses of champagne – a very nice start to my vacation. Thank you. Y/N

_______________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: You’re Most Welcome Date: May 30 2018 21:59 To: Y/N Y/L/N Dear Miss Y/L/N Dr. Flynn is back, and I have an appointment this week. Who was massaging your back? Kwon Ji Yong CEO with friends in the right places, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Aha! Pay back time. Our flight has been called so I shall email him from the plane. It will be safer. I almost hug myself with mischievous glee. There is so much room in first class. Champagne cocktail in hand, I settle myself into the sumptuous leather window seat as the cabin slowly fills. I call Ray to tell him where I am – a mercifully brief call, as it’s so late for him. “Love you, Dad,” I murmur. “You too, Y/N. Say hi to your mom. Goodnight.” “Goodnight.” I hang up. Ray is in good form. I stare at my Mac and with the same childish glee building. Opening my laptop, I log into the email program.

_______________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Strong Able Hands Date: May 30 2018 22:22 To: Kwon Ji Yong Dear Sir A very pleasant young man massaged my back. Yes. Very pleasant indeed. I wouldn’t have encountered Jean-Paul in the ordinary departure lounge – so thank you again for that treat. I’m not sure if I’ll be allowed to email once we take off, and I need my beauty sleep since I’ve not been sleeping so well recently. Pleasant dreams Mr. Kwon… thinking of you. Y/N

Oh, he’s going to flip out – and I shall be airborne and out of reach. Serves him right. If I’d been in the ordinary departure lounge then Jean-Paul wouldn’t have gotten his hands on me. He was a very nice young man, in a blonde, perma-tanned way – honestly, who has a tan in Seoul? It’s just so wrong. I think he was gay – but I’ll just keep that detail to myself. I stare at my email. Rin is right. It is like shooting fish in a barrel with him. My subconscious stares at me with an ugly twist to her mouth – do you really want to wind him up? What he’s done is sweet, you know! He cares about you and wants you to travel in style. Yes, but he could have asked me or told me. Not made me look like a complete klutz at check-in. I press send and wait, feeling like a very naughty girl. “Miss Y/L/N, you’ll need to stow your laptop for take-off,” the over-made-up flight attendant says politely. She makes me jump. My guilty conscience is at work. “Oh, sorry.” Crap. Now I’ll have to wait to know if he’s replied. She hands me a soft blanket and pillow, showing her perfect teeth. I drape the blanket over my knees. It’s nice to feel mollycoddled sometimes. The cabin has filled up, except for the seat beside me which is still unoccupied. Oh no… a disturbing thought crosses my mind. Perhaps the seat is Jiyong’s. Oh shit… no… he wouldn’t do that. Would he? I told him I didn’t want him to come with me. I glance anxiously at my watch and then the disembodied voice from the flight deck announces, “Cabin crew, doors to automatic and cross check.” What does that mean? Are they closing the doors? My scalp prickles as I sit in palpitating anticipation. The seat next to me is the only unoccupied one in the sixteen-seat cabin. The plane jolts as it pulls away from its stand, and I breathe a sigh of relief but feel a faint tingle of disappointment too… no Jiyong for four days. I take a sneak peek at my BlackBerry.

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Enjoy it While You Can Date: May 30 2018 22:25 To: Y/N Y/L/N Dear Miss Y/L/N I know what you’re trying to do – and trust me – you’ve succeeded. Next time you’ll be in the cargo hold, bound and gagged in a crate. Believe me when I say that attending to you in that state will give me so much more pleasure than merely upgrading your ticket. I look forward to your return. Kwon Ji Yong Palm-Twitching CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc. Holy crap. That’s the problem with Jiyong’s humor – I can be never be sure if he’s joking or if he’s seriously angry. I suspect on this occasion he’s seriously angry. Surreptitiously, so the flight attendant can’t see, I type a reply under the blanket.

________________________________________________________________ From: Y/n Y/L/N Subject: Joking? Date: May 30 2018 22:30 To: Kwon Ji Yong You see – I have no idea if you’re joking – and if you’re not – then I think I’ll stay in Georgia. Crates are a hard limit for me. Sorry I made you mad. Tell me you forgive me. Y/N

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Joking Date: May 30 2018 22:31 To: Y/N Y/L/N How can you be emailing? Are you risking the life of everyone on board, including yourself, by using your BlackBerry? I think that contravenes one of the rules. Kwon Ji Yong Two Palms Twitching CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc. Two palms! I put my BlackBerry away, sit back while the plane taxis to the runway, and pull out my tattered copy of Tess – some light reading for the journey. Once we’re airborne, I tip my seat back, and soon I’m drifting off to sleep. The flight attendant wakes me as we start our descent into Atlanta. Local time is 5:45 a.m., but I’ve only had four hours sleep or so… I feel groggy, but grateful for the glass of orange juice she hands me. I glance nervously at my BlackBerry. There are no further emails from Jiyong. Well, it’s nearly three in the morning in Seoul, and he probably wants to discourage me from screwing up the avionics system, or whatever prevents planes from flying if mobile phones are switched on. The wait in Atlanta is only an hour. And again I’m luxuriating in the confines of the first class lounge. I am tempted to curl up and go to sleep on one of the plush, inviting couches that sink softly under my weight. But it will just not be long enough. To keep myself awake, I start a long steam of consciousness to Jiyong on my laptop.

_______________________________________________________________ From:Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Do you like to scare me? Date: May 31 2011 06:52 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong You know how much I dislike you spending money on me. Yes, you’re very rich, but still it makes me uncomfortable, like you’re paying me for sex. However, I like traveling first class, it’s so much more civilized than coach. So thank you. I mean it – and I did enjoy the massage from Jean Paul. He was very gay. I omitted that bit in my email to you to wind you up, because I was annoyed with you, and I’m sorry about that. But as usual you overreact. You can’t write things like that to me – bound and gagged in a crate – (Were you serious or was it a joke?) That scares me… you scare me… I am completely caught up in your spell, considering a lifestyle with you that I didn’t even know existed until last Saturday week, and then you write something like that and I want to run screaming into the hills. I won’t, of course, because I’d miss you. Really miss you. I want us to work, but I am terrified of the depth of feeling I have for you and the dark path you’re leading me down. What you are offering is erotic and sexy, and I’m curious, but I’m also scared you’ll hurt me – physically and emotionally. After three months you could say goodbye, and where will that leave me if you do? But then I suppose that risk is there in any relationship. This just isn’t the sort of relationship I ever envisaged having, especially as my first. It’s a huge leap of faith for me. You were right when you said I didn’t have a submissive bone in my body… and I agree with you now. Having said that, I want to be with you, and if that’s what I have to do, I would like to try, but I think I’ll suck at it and end up black and blue – and I don’t relish that idea at all. I am so happy that you have said that you will try more. I just need to think about what ‘more’ means to me, and that’s one of the reasons why I wanted some distance. You dazzle me so much I find it very difficult to think clearly when we’re together. They are calling my flight. I have to go. More later Your Y/N

I press send and make my way sleepily to the departure gate to board a different plane. This one has only six seats in first class, and once we are in the air, I curl up under my soft blanket and fall asleep. All too soon, I’m woken by the flight attendant offering me more orange juice as we begin our approach to Savannah International. I sip slowly, beyond fatigued, and I allow myself to feel a modicum of excitement. I’m going to see my mother for the first time in six months. Sneaking another covert look at my BlackBerry, I remember vaguely that I sent a long rambling email to Jiyong – but there’s nothing in response. It’s five in the morning in Seoul – hopefully he’s still asleep and not up playing mournful laments on his piano. The beauty of carry-on rucksacks is that one can breeze out of the airport and not wait endlessly for baggage at the carousels. The beauty of traveling first class is that they let you off the plane first. My mom is waiting with Bob, and it is so good to see them. I don’t know if it’s because of exhaustion, the long journey, or the whole Jiyong situation, but as soon as I’m in my mother’s arms, I burst into tears. “Oh Y/N, honey. You must be so tired.” She glances anxiously at Bob. “No Mom, it’s just – I’m so pleased to see you.” I hug her tightly. She feels so good and welcoming and home. Reluctantly, I relinquish her, and Bob gives me an awkward one-armed hug. He seems unsteady on his feet, and I remember that he’s hurt his leg. “Welcome back, Y/N. Why you cryin’?” he asks. “Aw, Bob, I’m just pleased to see you too.” I stare up into his handsome square-jawed face, and his twinkling blue eyes that gaze at me fondly. I like this husband, Mom. You can keep him. He takes my backpack. “Jeez, Y/N, what have you got in here?” That will be the Mac, and they both put their arms around me as we head for the parking lot. I always forget how unbearably hot it is in Savannah. Leaving the cool air-conditioned confines of the arrival terminal, we step into the Georgia heat like we’re wearing it. Whoa! It saps everything. I have to struggle out of Mom and Bob’s embrace so I can remove my hoodie. I am so glad I packed shorts. I miss the dry heat of Vegas sometimes, where I lived with Mom and Bob when I was seventeen, but this wet heat, even at 8:30 in the morning, takes some getting used to. By the time I’m in the back of Bob’s wonderfully air-conditioned Tahoe SUV, I feel limp, and my hair has started a frizzy protest at the heat. In the back of the SUV I quickly text Ray, Rin, and Jiyong : *Arrived Safely in Savannah. y/n :)* My thoughts stray briefly to Mino as I press send, and through the fog of my fatigue, I remember that it’s his show next week. Should I invite Jiyong knowing how he feels about Mino? Will Jiyong still want to see me after that email? I shudder at the thought, and then put it out of my mind. I’ll deal with that later. Right now I am going to enjoy my mom’s company. “Honey, you must be tired. Would you like to sleep when we get home?” “No, Mom. I’d like to go to the beach.” I am in my blue halter neck tankini, sipping a Diet Coke, on a sun bed facing the Atlantic Ocean, and to think that only yesterday I was staring out at the Sound toward the Pacific. My mother lounges beside me in a ridiculously large floppy sun hat and Jackie O shades, sipping a Coke of her own. We are on Tybee Island Beach, just three blocks from home. She holds my hand. My fatigue has waned, and as I soak up the sun, I feel comfortable, safe, and warm. For the first time in forever, I start to relax. “So Y/N… tell me about this man who has you in such a spin.” Spin! How can she tell? What to say? I can’t talk about Jiyong in any great detail because of the NDA, but even then, would I choose to talk to my mother about it? I blanch at the thought. “Well?” she prompts and squeezes my hand. “His name’s Jiyong . He’s beyond handsome. He’s wealthy… too wealthy. He’s very complicated and mercurial.” Yes – I feel inordinately pleased with my concise, accurate summary. I turn on my side to face her, just as she makes the same move. She gazes at me with her crystal-clear blue eyes. “Complicated and mercurial are the two pieces of information I want to concentrate on, Y/N.” Oh no… “Oh, Mom, his mood-swings make me dizzy. He’s had a grim upbringing, so he’s very closed, difficult to gauge.” “Do you like him?” “I more than like him.” “Really?” She gapes at me. “Yes, Mom.” “Men aren’t really complicated, Y/N, honey. They are very simple, literal creatures. They usually mean what they say. And we spend hours trying to analyze what they’ve said – when really it’s obvious. If I were you, I’d take him literally. That might help.” I gape at her. This sounds like good advice. Take Jiyong literally. Immediately some of the things he’s said spring into my mind. I don’t want to lose you… You’ve bewitched me… You’ve completely beguiled me… I’ll miss you too… more than you know... I gaze at my mom. She is on her fourth marriage. Maybe she does know something about men after all. “Most men are moody darling, some more than others. Take your father for instance…,” Her eyes soften and sadden whenever she thinks of my dad. My real dad, this mythical man I never knew, snatched so cruelly from us in a combat training accident when he was a marine. Part of me thinks my mom has been looking for someone like my dad all this time… maybe she’s finally found what she’s looking for in Bob. Pity she couldn’t find it with Ray. “I used to think your father was moody. But now when I look back, I just think he was too caught up in his job and trying to make a life for us.” She sighs. “He was so young, we both were. Maybe that was the issue.” Hmm… Jiyong is not exactly old. I smile fondly at her. She can become very soulful thinking about my father, but I’m sure he had nothing on Jiyong ’s moods. “Bob wants to take us out tonight for dinner. To his golf club.” “Oh no! Bob’s started playing golf?” I scoff in disbelief. “Tell me about it,” groans my mother, rolling her eyes. After a light lunch back at the house, I start to unpack. I am going to treat myself to a siesta. My mother has disappeared to mold some candles or whatever she does with them, and Bob is at work, so I have time to catch up on some sleep. I open the Mac and fire it up. It’s two in the afternoon in Georgia, eleven in the morning in Seattle. I wonder if I have a reply from Jiyong . Nervously, I log into the email program.

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon J i Yong Subject: Finally! Date: May 31 2018 07:30 To: Y/N Y/L/N Y/N I am annoyed that as soon as you put some distance between us, you communicate openly and honestly with me. Why can’t you do that when we’re together? Yes, I’m rich. Get used to it. Why shouldn’t I spend money on you? We’ve told your father I’m your boyfriend, for heaven’s sake. Isn’t that what boyfriends do? As your Dom, I would expect you to accept whatever I spend on you with no argument. Incidentally, tell your mother too. I don’t know how to answer your comment about feeling like a whore. I know that’s not what you’ve written, but it’s what you imply. I don’t know what I can say or do to eradicate these feelings. I’d like you to have the best of everything. I work exceptionally hard, so I can spend my money as I see fit. I could buy you your heart’s desire, Y/N, and I want to. Call it redistribution of wealth if you will. Or simply know that I would not, could not ever think of you in the way you described, and I’m angry that’s how you perceive yourself. For such a bright, witty, beautiful young woman you have some real self-esteem issues, and I have a half a mind to make an appointment for you with Dr. Flynn. I apologize for frightening you. I find the thought of instilling fear in you abhorrent. Do you really think I’d let you travel in the hold? I offered you my private jet for heaven’s sake. Yes it was a joke, a poor one obviously. However, the fact is – the thought of you bound and gagged turns me on (this is not a joke – it’s true). I can lose the crate – crates do nothing for me. I know you have issues with gagging, we’ve talked about that and if/when I do gag you, we’ll discuss it. What I think you fail to realize is that in Dom/sub relationships it is the sub that has all the power. That’s you. I’ll repeat this – you are the one with all the power. Not I. In the boathouse you said no. I can’t touch you if you say no – that’s why we have an agreement – what you will and won’t do. If we try things and you don’t like them, we can revise the agreement. It’s up to you – not me. And if you don’t want to be bound and gagged in a crate, then it won’t happen. I want to share my lifestyle with you. I have never wanted anything so much. Frankly I’m in awe of you, that one so innocent would be willing to try. That says more to me than you could ever know. You fail to see I am caught in your spell, too, even though I have told you this countless times. I don’t want to lose you. I am nervous that you’ve flown three thousand miles to get away from me for a few days, because you can’t think clearly around me. It’s the same for me Y/N. My reason vanishes when we’re together – that’s the depth of my feeling for you. I understand your trepidation. I did try to stay away from you; I knew you were inexperienced, though I would never have pursued you if I had known exactly how innocent you were – and yet you still manage to disarm me completely in a way that nobody has before. Your email for example: I have read and re-read it countless times trying to understand your point of view. Three months is an arbitrary amount of time. We could make it six months, a year? How long do you want it to be? What would make you comfortable? Tell me. I understand that this is a huge leap of faith for you. I have to earn your trust, but by the same token, you have to communicate with me when I am failing to do this. You seem so strong and self-contained, and then I read what you’ve written here, and I see another side to you. We have to guide each other Anastasia, and I can only take my cues from you. You have to be honest with me, and we have to both find a way to make this arrangement work. You worry about not being submissive. Well maybe that’s true. Having said that, the only time you do assume the correct demeanor for a sub is in the playroom. It seems that’s the one place where you let me exercise proper control over you, and the only place you do as you’re told. Exemplary is the term that comes to mind. And I’d never beat you black and blue. I aim for pink. Outside the playroom, I like that you challenge me. It’s a very novel and refreshing experience, and I wouldn’t want to change that. So yes, tell me what you want in terms of more. I will endeavor to keep an open mind, and I shall try and give you the space you need and stay away from you while you are in Georgia. I look forward to your next email. In the meantime, enjoy yourself. But not too much. Kwon Ji Yong CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc. Holy crap. He’s written an essay like we’re back at school – and most of it good. My heart is in my mouth as I re-read his epistle, and I huddle on the spare bed practically hugging my Mac. Make our agreement a year? I have the power! Jeez, I’m going to have to think about that. Take him literally, that’s what my mother says. He doesn’t want to lose me. He’s said that twice! He wants to make this work too. Oh Jiyong , so do I! He’s going to try and stay away! Does this mean he might fail to stay away? Suddenly, I hope so. I want to see him. We’ve been apart less than twenty-four hours, and knowing that I can’t see him for four days, I realize how much I miss him. How much I love him.

“Y/N, honey.” The voice is soft and warm, full of love and sweet memories of times gone by. A gentle hand brushes my face. My mom wakes me, and I’m wrapped around my laptop, hugging it to me. “Y/N, sweetheart,” she continues in her soft singsong voice while I surface from sleep, blinking in the pale pink light of dusk. “Hi, Mom.” I stretch out and smile. “We’re going out for dinner in thirty minutes. You still want to come?” she asks kindly. “Oh, yes, Mom, of course.” I try very hard, but fail to stifle my yawn. “Now that’s an impressive piece of technology.” She points to my laptop. Oh crap. “Oh… this?” I strive for casual, surprised nonchalance. Will Mom notice? She seems to have grown more astute since I acquired a ‘boyfriend’. “Jiyong lent it to me. I think I could pilot the space shuttle with it, but I just use it for emails and Internet access.” Really it’s nothing. Eyeing me suspiciously, she sits down on the bed and tucks a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “Has he emailed you?” Oh double crap. “Yeah.” My nonchalance is wearing thin, and I flush. “Perhaps he’s missing you, huh?” “I hope so, Mom.” “What does he say?” Oh triple crap. I frantically try to think of something acceptable from that email I can tell my mother. I’m sure she doesn’t want to hear about Doms and bondage and gagging, but then I can’t tell her because there’s the NDA. “He’s told me to enjoy myself, but not too much.” “Sounds reasonable. I’ll leave you to get ready, honey.” Leaning over, she kisses my forehead. “I’m so glad you’re here, y/n. It’s wonderful to see you.” And with that loving statement, she leaves. Hmm, Jiyong and reasonable… two concepts that I thought were mutually exclusive, but after his email, maybe all things are possible. I shake my head. I will need time to digest his words. Probably after dinner – and I can reply to him then. I climb out of bed and quickly slip out of my t-shirt and shorts, and head to the shower. I have brought Rin’s gray halter-neck dress that I wore for my graduation. It’s the only dressy item I have. One good thing about the heat is that the creases have dropped out, so I think it will do for the golf club. As I dress, I wake the laptop up. There is nothing new from Jiyong , and I feel a stab of disappointment. Very quickly, I type him an email.

________________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Verbose? Date: May 31 2018 19:08 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong Sir, you are quite the loquacious writer. I have to go to dinner at Bob’s golf club, and just so you know, I am rolling my eyes at the thought. But you and your twitchy palm are a long way from me so my behind is safe, for now. I loved your email. Will respond when I can. I miss you already. Enjoy your afternoon. Your Y/N

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Your behind Date: May 31 2018 16:10 To: Y/N Y/L/N Dear Miss Y/l/n I am distracted by the title of this email. Needless to say it is safe – for now. Enjoy your dinner, and I miss you too, especially your behind and your smart mouth. My afternoon will be dull, brightened only by thoughts of you and your eye rolling. I think it was you who so judiciously pointed out to me that I too suffer from that nasty habit. Kwon Ji Yong CEO & Eye Roller, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc.

________________________________________________________________ From: Anastasia Steele Subject: Eye Rolling Date: May 31 2018 19:14 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong

Dear Mr. Kwon Stop emailing me. I am trying to get ready for dinner. You are very distracting, even when you are on the other side of the continent. And yes – who spanks you when you roll your eyes? Your Y/N

I press send, and immediately the image of that evil witch Mrs. Robinson comes into my mind. I just can’t picture it. Jiyong being beaten by someone as old as my mother, it’s just so wrong. Again I wonder what damage she’s wrought. My mouth sets in a hard grim line. I need a doll to stick pins in, maybe that way I can vent some of the anger I feel at this stranger.

_______________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Your behind Date: May 31 2018 16:18 To: Y/N Y/L/N Dear Miss Y/L/N I still prefer my title to yours, in so many different ways. It is lucky that I am master of my own destiny and no one castigates me. Except my mother occasionally and Dr. Flynn, of course. And you. Kwon Ji Yong CEO,Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc.

_______________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Chastising… Me? Date: May 31 2018 19:22 EST To:Kwon Ji Yong Dear Sir When have I ever plucked up the nerve to chastise you, Mr. Kwon? I think you are mixing me up with someone else… which is very worrying. I really do have to get ready. Your Y/N

_______________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Your behind Date: May 31 2018 16:25 To: Y/N Y/L/N Dear Miss Y/L/N You do it all the time in print. Can I zip up your dress? Kwon Ji Yong CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc. For some unknown reason, his words leap out of the page and make me gasp. Oh… he wants to play games.

________________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: NC-17 Date: May 31 2018 19:28 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong

I would rather you unzipped it.

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Careful what you wish for… Date: May 31 2018 16:31 To: Y/N Y/L/N SO WOULD I. Kwon Ji Yong CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc.

________________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Panting Date: May 31 2018 19:33 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong Slowly…

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Groaning Date: May 31 2018 16:35 To: Y/N Y/L/N Wish I was there. Kwon Ji Yong CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc.

________________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Moaning Date: May 31 2018 19:37 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong SO DO I

________________________________________________________________ “Y/N!” My mother calls me, making me jump. Shit. Why do I feel so guilty? “Just coming, Mom.” From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Moaning Date: May 31 2018 19:39 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong

Gotta go. Laters, baby

._______________________________________________________________ I dash into the hall where Bob and my mother are waiting. My mother frowns. “Darling - are you feeling ok? You look at bit flushed.” “Mom, I’m fine.” “You look lovely, dear.” “Oh, this is Rin’s dress. You like it?” Her frown deepens. “Why are you wearing Rin’s dress?” Oh… no. “Well I like this one and she doesn’t,” I improvise quickly. She regards me shrewdly while Bob oozes impatience with his hangdog, hungry look. “I’ll take you shopping tomorrow,” she says. “Oh, Mom, you don’t need to do that. I have plenty of clothes.” “Can’t I do something for my own daughter? Come on, Bob’s starving.” “Too right,” moans Bob, rubbing his stomach and assuming a fake pained expression. I giggle as he rolls his eyes, and we head out the door.

Later when I’m in the shower, cooling under the lukewarm water, I reflect on how much my mother has changed. Seeing her at dinner, she was in her element, funny and flirty and amongst many friends at the golf club. Bob was warm and attentive… they seem so good for each other. I’m really pleased for her. It means I can stop worrying about her and second-guessing her decisions and put the dark days of Husband Number Three behind us both. Bob is a keeper. And she’s giving me good advice. When did that start happening? Since I met Jiyong. Why is that? When I’m done, I dry myself quickly, keen to get back to Jiyong . There’s an email waiting for me, sent just after I left for dinner a few hours ago.

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Plagiarism Date: May 31 2018 16:41 To: Y/N Y/L/N You stole my line. And left me hanging. Enjoy your dinner. Kwon Ji Yong CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc.

________________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Who are you to cry thief? Date: May 31 2018 22:18 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong Sir, I think you’ll find it was Taeyang’s line originally. Hanging how? Your Y/N

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Unfinished Business Date: May 31 2018 19:22 To: Y/N Y/L/N Miss Y/L/N You’re back. You left so suddenly - just when things were getting interesting. Taeyang’s not very original. He’ll have stolen that line from someone. How was dinner? Kwon Ji Yong CEO,Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc.

________________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Unfinished Business? Date: May 31 2018 22:26 EST To:Kwon Ji Yong Dinner was filling – you’ll be very pleased to hear, I ate far too much. Getting interesting? How?

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Unfinished Business - definitely Date: May 31 2018 19:30 To: Y/N Y/L/N Are you being deliberately obtuse? I think you’d just asked me to unzip your dress. And I was looking forward to doing just that. I am also glad to hear you are eating. Kwon Ji Yong CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc.

________________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Well… there’s always the weekend Date: May 31 2018 22:36 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong Of course I eat… It’s only the uncertainty I feel around you that puts me off my food. And I would never be unwittingly obtuse, Mr. Kwon. Surely you’ve worked that out by now ;)

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Can’t Wait Date: May 31 2018 19:40 To: Y/N Y/L/N I shall remember that, Miss Y/L/N, and no doubt use the knowledge to my advantage. I’m sorry to hear that I put you off your food. I thought I had a more concupiscent effect on you. That has been my experience, and most pleasurable it has been too. I very much look forward to the next time. Kwon Ji Yong CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc.

________________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Gymnastic Linguistics Date: May 31 2018 22:36 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong Have you been playing with the thesaurus again?

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Rumbled Date: May 31 2018 19:40 To: Y/N Y/L/N You know me so well Miss Y/L/N I am having dinner with an old friend now so I will be driving. Laters, baby© Kwon Ji Yong CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc.

Which old friend? I didn’t think Jiyong had any old friends, except… her. I frown at the screen. Why does he have to still see her? Searing, green, bilious jealousy courses through me unexpectedly. I want to hit something, preferably Mrs. Robinson. Switching the laptop off in a temper, I clamber into bed. I should really respond to his long email from this morning, but I’m suddenly too angry. Why can’t he see her for what she is – a child molester? I switch off the light, seething, staring into the darkness. How dare she? How dare she pick on a vulnerable adolescent? Is she still doing it? Why did they stop? Various scenarios filter through my mind: he had had enough, then why is he still friends with her? Ditto her – is she married? Divorced? Jeez – does she have children of her own? Does she have Jiyong’s children? My subconscious rears her ugly head, leering, and I’m shocked and nauseous at the thought. Does Dr. Flynn know about her? I struggle out of bed and fire the mean machine up again. I am on a mission. I drum my fingers impatiently waiting for the blue screen to appear. I hit Google images and enter ‘Kwon Ji Yong’ into the search engine. The screen is suddenly littered with images of Jiyong : in black tie, be-suited, jeez – Mino’s pictures from the Heathman, in his white shirt and flannel trousers. How did they get on the Internet? Boy he looks good. I move quickly on: some with business associates, then picture after glorious picture of the most photogenic man I know, intimately. Intimately? Do I know Christian intimately? I know him sexually, and I figure there’s a lot more to discover there. I know he’s moody, difficult, funny, cold, warm… jeez, the man is a walking mass of contradictions. I click to the next page. He’s still on his own in all these photographs, and I remember Rin mentioning that she couldn’t find any photographs of him with a date, prompting her gay question. Then, on the third page, there’s a picture of me, with him, at my graduation. His only picture with a woman, and it’s me. Holy cow! I’m on Google! I stare at us together. I look surprised by the camera, nervous, off balance. This was just before I agreed to try. For his part, Jiyong looks impossibly handsome, calm and collected, and he’s wearing that tie. I gaze at him, such a beautiful face, a beautiful face that could be staring at Mrs. Damned Robinson right now. I save the picture in my favorites and click through all eighteen screens… nothing. I won’t find Mrs. Robinson on Google. But I have to know if he’s with her. I type a quick email to Jiyong .

________________________________________________________________ From: Y/N Y/L/N Subject: Suitable Dinner Companions Date: May 31 2018 23:58 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong I hope you and your friend had a very pleasant dinner. Y/N PS Was it Mrs. Robinson?

I press send and climb despondently back into bed, resolving to ask Jiyong about his relationship with that woman. Part of me is desperate to know more, and another part wants to forget he ever told me. And my period has started, so I must remember to take my pill in the morning. I quickly program an alarm into the calendar on my BlackBerry. Setting it aside on the bedside table, I lie down and eventually drift into an uneasy sleep, wishing that we were in the same city, not two and half thousand miles apart.

After a morning of shopping and an afternoon back at the beach, my mother has decreed we should spend the evening in a bar. Abandoning Bob to the TV, we find ourselves in the up-market bar of Savannah’s most exclusive hotel. I am on my second Cosmopolitan. My mother is on her third. She is offering more insights into Y/N, men think that anything that comes out of a woman’s mouth is a problem to be solved. Not some vague idea that we’d like to kick around and talk about for a while and then forget. Men prefer action.” “Mom, why are telling me this?” I ask, failing to hide my exasperation. She’s been like this all day. “Darling, you sound so lost. You’ve never brought a boy home. You never even had a boyfriend when we were in Vegas. I thought something might develop with that guy you met in college, José.” “Mom, Mino’s just a friend.” “I know, sweetheart. But something’s up, and I don’t think you’re telling me everything.” She gazes at me, her face etched with motherly concern. “I just needed some distance from Jiyong to get my thoughts straight… that’s all. He tends to overwhelm me.” “Overwhelm?” “Yeah. I miss him though.” I frown. I have not heard from Jiyong all day. No emails, nothing. I am tempted to call him to see if he’s okay. My worst fear is that he’s been in a car accident, my second worst fear is that Mrs. Robinson has got her evil claws into him again. I know it’s irrational, but where she’s concerned, I seem to have lost all sense of perspective. “Darling, I have to visit the powder room.” My mother’s brief absence allows me another chance to check my BlackBerry. I have been trying surreptitiously to check emails all day. Finally – a response from Jiyong  !

______________________________________________________________

From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Dinner Companions Date: June 1 2018 21:40 EST To: Y/N Y/L/N Yes, I had dinner with Mrs. Robinson. She is just an old friend, Y/N Looking forward to seeing you again. I miss you. Kwon Ji Yong CEO,Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc. He was having dinner with her. My scalp prickles as adrenaline and fury lance through my body, all my worst fears realized, crashing through me. How could he? I am away for two days, and he runs off to that evil bitch.

_______________________________________________________________

From:Y/N Y/L/N Subject: OLD Dinner Companions Date: June 1 2018 21:42 EST To: Kwon Ji Yong She’s not just an old friend. Has she found another adolescent boy to sink her teeth into? Did you get too old for her? Is that the reason your relationship finished? I press send as my mother returns. “Y/N, you’re so pale. What’s happened?” I shake my head. “Nothing. Let’s have another drink,” I mutter mulishly. Her brow furrows, but she glances up and attracts the attention of one of the waiters, pointing to our glasses. He nods. He understands the universal language of ‘same again, please.’ As she does, I quickly glance at my BlackBerry.

________________________________________________________________ From: Kwon Ji Yong Subject: Careful… Date: June 1 2018 21:45 EST To: Y/N Y/L/N This is not something I wish to discuss via email. How many Cosmopolitans are you going to drink? Kwon Ji Yong CEO, Kwon Enterprises Holdings Inc. Holy fuck, he’s here.

dun dun dun!

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Christmas Rivals.

Authors Note: Character: Y/N and Character: Harry, sworn enemies, are chosen to prepare the company Christmas Party.

Rated M for mature audiences.

Warning: minor smut & swearing.

Prompt found HERE.

Harry Styles, the company's most valued asset, most popular, and best looking, if you challenge everyone who works in the company. If you ask me, he is the most vexatious, obnoxious, man I have come across. I will give him credit though— he is fucking hot. But, putting aside his incredibly good appearances, the grey eyes, and that cocky grin that can bring any woman to their knees, he has this thing about him that I can not stand. The feeling is mutual between us, he doesn't have the most righteous view on me, and he doesn't attempt to deny or suppress things at this point.

My day started off treacherous, we could say. If the freezing weather and compilation of snow weren't enough to put me in a god-awful mood, my lack of coffee was sure to do it. Of course, though, Harry was as felicitous as anything, very chirper and giggly this morning with his bright-eyed smile, perfectly adjusted suit and tie, not to mention his hair.

Oh god, the hair.

It's when he swaggers into in my office with a grim expression that I am caught off guard. He never steps foot in my office and I never step foot in his, it is unknown territory for the both of us.

"Did you get lost?" I snarkily question as I extract my eyes away from the laptop screen, my fingers immediately springing to pat against my desk.

He rolls his eyes, unamused as he strides closer to my desk while his gimlet eyes take note of my office, not that it is at all entertaining. "I only wish," he sighs heavily, "I am assuming you have yet to be informed?" He questions as his eyes stare into me deeply, cutting me at my edge as I feel a sudden hum in my veins.

I clear my throat and disregard the piercing grey eyes, "Yet to be informed of what?" I challenge with an unamused expression. I have not been informed of anything today besides the fact I am presumed to buy yet another fashionable dress to wear to the Christmas Gala that my boss hosts to advertise his ego. I, for one, can not stand the business gatherings, they are forced and fake. Nobody really appreciates them, the boss has a shocking taste with setups and decorations, not to mention the appetizers and desserts he supplies are nevermore delightful.

Harry's forehead puckers and I raise a brow, waiting for him to acquaint me with what it is he is standing in front of me for. Not that I am mourning too much, he is moderately intriguing to observe. "The boss has designated two people to organize his ludicrous excuse of a Christmas business party."

Thank the heavens, finally, maybe this year it won't be so damn boring.

I give him a lacklustre smile, "Yeah, don't grin too much, we are the designated individuals." The moment the words leave his lush lips and comprehend through my mind, my smile congealed and melts to horror.

I stare at Harry, the man I am meant to cooperate with to help with a Christmas party. "You have to be fooling me," my lips screw into irritation. There is no way Harry and I, will manage to survive working together. We can't be left together for more than five minutes without one of us making it known we can't stand each other... His five minutes is about up in my office.

"Do you think I would come in here just to joke? I am not that bored, quite know you can't take a joke," he comments and I roll my eyes at him, "It is tomorrow so we will have to work on it tonight."

"What if I say no?" I cross my arms over my chest as my mind wonders on the many different excuses I can come up with to wiggle my way out of this.

Harry huffs and glances up at the ceiling for a moment, "Well, you can cock your brow and cross your arms over your chest as much as you want, but you have no choice." Harry's voice is austere and full of annoyance, time ticking very thinly as his eyes beam into me.

"I am not working with you," I shake my head, "You're an inconsiderate ass. No."

"Take it up with the boss, trust me, I don't want to work with you anymore you want to work with me. But, there is a Christmas bonus of an extra 4,000 pounds."

"4,000 pounds?" I gasp and he nods, "Fine, but only because I need the money," I mutter to my own distaste.

"Mhm.. I will come back at eight. Try down some coffee by then, you're a grouch without coffee."

"Get fucked,"

He gives me a cocky wink, "Maybe later, love." I roll my eyes at him as I gesture for him to use the door and leave.

*** ***

I smile to myself as my fingers wrap around a glass of champagne, clients, and coworkers around me delighted by everything that Harry and I managed to place together. Despite our bickering at certain times, we did a genuine job on the place. I can't say that we see eye to eye on a lot of things because quite frankly, we are polar opposites with diverse tastes, but I do have to admit that we did pull it all off. It was much simpler once we both got over our pride and resentment towards each other. We managed to get through it all with minimum banter and remarks.

I glance around in an attempt to discover who I want to talk to, most of the time I stay by the bar and let people come to me, mainly because these events tend to be a bust when my boss organises them, but tonight everyone is legitimately relishing themselves and the scene.

My eyes land on him the arrogant yet somewhat charming man I haven't managed to get a break from in the last two days.

Ever notice that some guys just own the room the second that they stride in with such poise? There’s a certain energy that some men draw to a room that has everyone lift their heads and stare. That is Harry, he saunters into a room and immediately the spirits always seem to emanate, the smiles widen, the eyes gleam to him. Harry just dominates the region, his presence can periodically be sensed. At least, Harry's presence can evermore be sensed by myself.

I perceive the energy in the room rise at a high peak, the room feeling brilliant and full of more spirit the moment he enters. If I didn't know better, I would say he was the charming one everyone loves, but he isn't that charming, it is more of a forged impression, a  brightest full-face smile that has everyone locked into him. He works his ways, he works for the crowd, to say the least. He knows what he is doing and he is good at it, probably one of the reasons why he works at the firm and is considered successful.

I make my rounds around, making small talk with colleagues, meeting their significant others and constantly smiling politely and shaking my head when they interrogate me about my not so existent love life. It is somewhat amusing to observe their faces drop when I announce that I am single and have been for a while.

My last relationship was definitely one for the books, my ex really closed me off to the dating world in a sense. He showed me that even when you think you know someone, you really don't. Although he shattered my heart into more pieces than I thought was ever imaginable— he did teach me one thing— how to put up a substantial barricade to shield myself from others. He made me fall in love with him in such a cruel way, slowly, but surely. When he had me wrapped around his finger in what I thought was love, he showed me what it was like to trust someone with your heart, to have them hold it in their hands and compress it to its breaking point. The night he proposed to me was the same night I found out about his mistresses, yes mistresses. He didn't have just one, he had two on the side. While I thought he was in love with me and away on business, he was flying with extra benefits. Since then, I haven't dated or even thought much about dating.

I politely smile while in a small group of colleagues who are overly enthusiastic about the Christmas spirit and holidays, I think they might start singing Christmas Carol's pretty soon. Lord help me if they do.

I don't care about their bright spirit or the fact they admire the effort that I put into the decorations, mainly because it was all Harry who did the effort with the Christmas decorations. I was absolutely fine with throwing tinsel around in random places and calling it day, but he, on the other hand, preferred to make it resemble Christmas fucking galore in here— which is fine— but not for conversation.

My eyes dance around and greet Harry's, a sudden humming in my blood forcing me to glance away from his gaze as his lips touch the rim of his drink. I try my best to not allow my eyes to wander towards him, but for some reason, they stubbornly keep scouring and finding him. He cocks his lips into a small grin as he raises a brow and begins to saunter over here with those hips rolling and undulating.

Fuck.

Of course, at the sight of his appearance and him taking my side, the entire group of colleagues welcomes him enthusiastically like he is a worshipped Greek God of some sort. He clears his throat and his voice sends my nerves into a radiating mayhem as I hear him speak. He sounds so, attractive... Maybe it is the champagne thinking and deluding what my sober self would think.

"Do you mind if I steal this one for a moment, it seems we have an issue with the bartender she hired." The colleagues hold onto every word as they descend from his lips and they all nod simultaneously like compelled humans hailing their leader. I don't know what he does or how he does it, but damn, he can work his way with anyone and do it in a nice manner.

He tenderly draws me away and leads me to the bar, "Jack and Coke on the rocks and whatever the lady would like," Harry orders as he rests one arm on the edge of the bar while cocking his head to me,

"I'll have the same," I respond, catching Harry off guard as he raises a brow, "Is there a problem?"

"No," he shakes his head.

I arch a sly brow, "You brought me over here for a drink?"

"I thought I'd save you from the prying eyes of those mates of yours, you seemed bored and in desperate need," Harry informs me, surprising me that he actually caught a note of my expression.

"Oh, wow. You actually regard me."

He gives me a cocky wink and confident smile, charming me for a split second. I disregard his charm the moment he opens his mouth to speak."Don't be flattered, you're not special."

"But you are a dick with an ego who charms everyone."

He tilts his head to one side while listening. "Everyone, including you." Harry proudly comments, seeming cocky and confident.

I shake my head, "it takes a lot more than that to impress me," I respond as I press my fingers to curl around my class and take a drink.

"You're remarkably entertaining to communicate to but you certainly have to do more than just stand there attractively to impress me. I need to be wowed!" Harry responds after finishing his drink and pressing his glass to the counter.

I tilt my head back with laughter, "No ... You have it wrong. You need to wow me." I shake my head as Harry turns to face me and I cock my head up to gaze at him, taking note of how impressive his eyes sincerely resemble, despite his personality, he is fucking hot, notably in a suit and tie.

'Oh, the things I would like to do with that tie.'

"We're too similar. We'd never get along. So, I can't 'wow' you."

"Why?" I curiously challenge, just wanting to see where the conversation can lead. I don't really care much if we can get along or not, I am just relishing the quality of his voice and his excellent appearances right now. Definitely, the alcohol playing a toll on me.

Harry shrugs, narrowing his eyes onto me, "Because we'd never have anything significant to argue about. So we'd have to make up petty little things to argue about... And I'd always win." Harry's cocky demeanour aggravates me and turns me on at the same time.

He is just so poised with always being correct.

I shake my head, there is no way he would eternally triumph, "No you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would."

"No."

He hums, "You see, we're arguing right now... And you commenced it."

"No, I didn't. You did."

He rolls his shoulders back into a shrug, "Hey, but at least we'd have ideal make-up sex."

I tenderly swat his arm at his remark, "Bold, Styles. Very bold," My words come off as a mutter more than anything.

"Charming, some would say," Harry cockily winks and flashes me that fearless grin, again.

"Don't flatter yourself, you're not special," I respond, using his own words against him as I press my elbow on the bar top and rest my cheek in the palm of my hand.

He lets out a small humph before he leans closer, "Oh, but I am, and you know it." His breath hits the tip of my bare skin and transfers shivers down my back.

‘Oh, boy, do I fucking no it.’

I clear my throat and offer him my sweet smile, I step a little closer caressing my lips to the edge of his ear, well aware of what I’m doing, “don’t get overly confident.” I whisper before I step away.

I clasp my drink with my hands before I nonchalantly wander away from him. I glance over my shoulder and smirk as I observe him staring with a devilish grin painted across his face.

I find myself entangling myself with many different conversations, purposely dancing around Harry and his prying eyes, it’s like they’re always watching and undressing me as he lingers around. I’m not saying I don’t like it because I do.

While Harry watches me intently as he attempts to converse in conversation with some of the richer folks invited tonight, I manage to shift a few strands of her behind my ear and laugh a little louder to purposely grasp his attention and indeed, I do. Nobody can blame me for luring him into my corner— look at him— he’s a sight for sore eyes, a work of art, you could say. If only his personality wasn’t so damn irritating.

Harry makes his way over to my small group, yet again, and benevolently caresses his hand to my arm, “okay, look, we have to go,” he whispers in a tone that makes me weak at my knees, I give him a tender smile and compose my thoughts.

“No,” I bluntly respond, shooting him down. I know what he’s thinking, I can see it in the eye. Fuck, it’s plastered all throughout my eyes too, but I can’t give in. Not that easily. “I’m busy,” I whisper, gently nudging him back towards his friends or clients, whatever the hell they are. My eyes watch him and he glances over at me, licking his lips before I roll my eyes and go back to my conversation.

I’ve never quite understood how people can be so cheery and entertained by the festivities of Christmas, maybe my spirit burned out quicker than it should have.

When Harry first beamed and advocated for all these ornaments, I put up a bit of a fight against them, mainly because I can only handle so much Holiday disposition before I feel like it’s an overload. He persisted and wasn’t going to give up on the decorations and the festivities, for what reason, I do not know. He seemed like a literal kid at Christmas who just craved to observe the light shine in everyone’s eyes at the feel of Christmas spirit being spread across everyone.

I cock my head to the side and come to terms with just how much effort the cocky guy put into all this, just to see everyone’s eyes kindle for the night, quite frankly, it intrigues me.

My eyes dance around the room and cast themselves on the only man that appears to seize my attention in the room, in a sea of business-attired men, he by far, is the most desirable. I can’t help it anymore, there’s a verve burning in me and it’s not dwindling anytime soon.

I excuse myself from my modest assembly and execute my way towards Harry surrounded by men. The gentlemen all glance at me, eying me up and down, not being discreet in the slightest. I disregard them and clasp my hand to Harry’s arm in the same way he did mine. He clears his throat as my heart hammers in my chest, my nerves pulsating rapidly as I abruptly feel lost for words, “sorry to interrupt,” I mutter, “but I need you for a minute, gentlemen, do you mind?” I politely ask, not really wanting their approval but more so just trying not to sound like a bitch.

Harry and I step away and he gazes at me with his lip between his teeth, “can we go?” I softly challenge and he raises a brow.

“Ah, so you like to play hard to get?”

“Did you want me to make it harder?” I respond, my eyes focused on his pink lips and that tie around his neck that is driving me insane.

“Depends on what you’re making harder,” he winks and my eyes grow wide at his remark. Shameless, literally shameless. “C’mon, let’s go.” He gestures towards the comprehensive entries across the room before we find ourselves slithering in and out of people and doing our best to reach the doors without drawing too much attention to ourselves.

The moment we reach the Golden Arches I feel a sigh of relief escape my lips, it felt like we were constantly stuck in a sea of prying associates.

“And where are you two going?” A familiar voice catches me off guard and we both stop and turn around to view our boss. He stares at the two of us and adjusts his tie while awaiting our answer.

Trust him to be the one to be a cock block.

My mind scrambles with one hundred different circumstances to respond, but before I can even think of one, Harry’s voice sounds beside me.

“Y/N isn’t feeling too well, I was just taking her home, sir,” Harry answers the question, of course using that charm of his that undoubtedly is overused.

Our boss frowns for a moment, “you two don’t even like each other.” He’s expeditious to point out our rivalry and banter that seems to travel through the firm. Our boss is swift to remember Harry and me despising each other, but not so quick to remember he still owes me overtime from my last pay.

“Just at work, we don’t get along.” I intervene, wanting to get out of here as promptly as possible. “I’m really not feeling too well, do you mind if we leave?” I bat my eyes to the best of my ability to play the innocent, unwell, woman of the night.

He gives us a nod, “good luck with the roads, it’s terrible out there with the snow, be careful… feel better soon.” He dismisses the two of us and sends us on our way.

The moment Harry and I step outside I feel the intense cold of the typical London weather at this time of year. “Christ, it’s bloody freezing. Where the fuck is your coat?” Harry asks as he instantly takes off his jacket and places it on my shoulders to shield my bare shoulders from the frigid cold.

Sometimes a bulky coat doesn’t go with my dresses, plus I didn’t need one when getting out of the cab and hurrying inside the venue. That’s all I have to say on the matter.

“Didn’t go with my dress,”

“You’re a character, I swear.” Harry murmurs, “my car is right up here, watch your bloody step,” he grasps me with his hands, “for Christ sake, why don’t you just wander straight over Ice?”

“Quit distracting me or I just might.” I mumble, “but thank you,” I softly appreciate him being observant enough to see what I wasn’t paying attention to.

“You’re welcome, kinda want you in one piece,” Harry gingerly wraps an arm around me as we walk, tension building silently and subtly between us. “Here, Love.” Harry stops me in front of a Range Rover that seems like it’s brand new, not one dent or scratch to be seen. These things aren’t cheap, that’s for sure.

He unlocks his car and opens the door for me and making sure I step inside with ease.

The drive from the venue to a hotel wasn’t as grave as I thought, turns out, Harry and I desire the same sort of music and that kept us talking the entire drive to the hotel. Neither of us wanted him driving in this atrocious weather.

Harry gives me a small smile as we walk the lengthy hallway of the hotel, both of our eyes in search for the one particular number, 112. “Ah, here it is, love.” He stops in his tracks and slides the room key to unlock the door, he pushes the door open and gestures his arm forward, “after you.” Wow, he’s hot and a gentlemen. I’m intrigued, even though I really shouldn’t be. Then again, I shouldn’t be in a hotel room with him and yet, here I am. Oh well. I step into the warm hotel room, subtly taking a look around as the door closes behind me and I hear the room key press against the table. Before I can turn around, I feel Harry’s hands gently sliding his jacket away from my shoulders, his small move already sending a sweet shiver down my back. I turn around to face him and my eyes observing the beautiful grin that is painted on the delicate lips I desperately want to kiss. He leans closer and brushed his plump lips against mine in a teasing manner, “May I?” His voice whispers delicately, almost sending me into a crazy frenzy. Just fucking kiss me. I give him a hummed response, granting him permission to kiss me. Then he does. He kisses me. It’s a slow and steady pace as we learn how our tongues work with each other, the two of us tasting the walls and taking advantage of the slowness. His hands gently press to the small of my back and I caress my hands to rest in the crook of his neck. Our body heat begins to rise and I feel an aching tension intensifying between us. A bold caress of his tongue sends me wanting to fall at my knees. Damn, he’s good and he hasn’t done anything but taste the walls of my mouth. My hands move from his neck and begin to feel the thin material of his button up, his body protruding through the material, giving me a sneak peek to what my brazen hands can expect when the material is waddled up on the bedroom floor. My finger tips stumble their way to his tie and for a minute, I feel my heart skip a beat and a small moan escape his breathless lips. He parts our lips and resorts to pressing sweet kisses on my neck. I unravel the tie and allow it to fall from the tips of my fingers to the floor before my brazen hands begin to unbutton his shirt, slowly and teasingly. The touch of his lips on my skin is like no other, they’re delicate and sweet with just enough emotion in them to keep me wanting more. The second the buttons are undone, I push the shirt down his shoulders and expose his beautiful body to my lustful eyes. He really is a masterpiece under the shirt, fuck. I gulp and take a breath, pulling me back to reality as I step out of my heels, his hands becoming antsy as they finally leave their position in the small of my back and take a grab at my behind. He connects the two of us with his lips, again, and with another squeeze of my ass that has been craving his attention, like the rest of me, he hoists me up and my legs wrap around his torso. He escorts us towards the bed as I envelop my arms around his neck and take advantage of the slower paced kissing that pulls our bodies closer and rises our body heat with every passing moment. He sits on the edge of the bed and I find myself straddling him, his hard length bulging against me through his pants.

The tips of my fingers fail to resist themselves and travel around his body of perfect plains and abs, my hands feeling every single inch of his torso.

I know I shouldn’t want to take part in what’s happening between us, but every inch of me wants to feel every inch of him. The fact that we are work rivals makes it even hotter and frowned upon, but I can’t help myself… staring at him with lustful eyes is like waking up on Christmas morning to find the tree with piles of presents— exhilarating and fulfilling.

(I’m not too good with writing actual smut so I’m leaving it to the reader to imagine how they see the night ending). Xx

[meggannn]

more for lydia (of course): 21, 24, 45, 49

i am the worst person for taking like a day to respond to this omg

21)   Best Friend(s)?

it’s hard to categorize her best “friends” because for a while she doesn’t really consider them friends, she considers them “acquaintances she has varying degrees of closeness and unique relationships with” while not realizing that like… that is the definition of a friend? lmao (like for example, she only really let herself think of garrus and tali as ‘friends’ instead of ‘crewmembers i’m fond and protective of’ until the shore leave after the battle of the citadel. though while she was close with her me1 crew, i do think me2 is the first time she realizes she’s allowed to think of her team as friends too.

me1: kaidan and ashley at least in the beginning. by the end of the game i think she’s closer to tali as well

me2: at first, garrus and kasumi, and later when they join, tali and samara. i say this with like, knowing she has fondness for all of her crew

me3: garrus and, after renewing their relationship, ashley

24)   Do they have a love/hate relationship with any of them?

not with any of those mentioned above, though i think her relationships with miranda and jack in 2 are a little… not adversarial, but shepard is wary of them as much as she likes them. miranda for obvious reasons, and jack because she genuinely likes her after a while but being around her for so long is a bit of a drain on her energy, since she kind of reminds her of the kids from her old gangs. zaeed she definitely has a love/hate relationship with in 2, in that she appreciates his talks and advice but doesn’t appreciate his attitude and volatile unpredictability.

45)   Do they use social media?

lmfao I HAVE A LOT OF THOUGHTS ABOUT SHEPARD ON SOCIAL MEDIA OKAY YOU SHOULD NOT HAVE ASKED ME THIS, it’s not that she’s very tech savvy (though there’s some proficiency with hacking) just growing up as a teenager on earth who stole/resold a lot of omnitools and translators and laptops, she had very few other pasttimes when cash wasn’t coming in. i think she was really into social media during ict training with other candidates, as a way of bonding and non-physical de-stressing. and she obviously knows a lot of online slang and shitty corners of the internet from her teenage days. in the alliance she goes through periods of activity followed by periods of forgetting about the internet at all, like when she’s on missions.

by me1, she’s established enough that i think she’s convinced herself a commander shouldn’t post on social media, that’s not appropriate, blah blah. so for a while she’s mostly quiet with only occasional funny but nonoffensive comments on things like pop culture or whatever. then after the battle of the citadel she gets a huuuuge influx of followers, and she’s like ??? cause she doesn’t use her space twitter much, so she kinda posts once like "hey thanks for the support, look out for my album coming out next spring” and everybody loves it, until she starts talking about the reapers publicly and preparing for war, then everybody’s like “god shut up i thought you were cool” so she gets angry when it becomes apparent that most people just want a figurehead, not her to actually say anything, but she can’t go back to making jokes and pretending things are normal, so she stops posting altogether. maybe like, once or twice more about something irrelevant, and then three weeks later she’s dead. (and then her crew like garrus and tali in particular waste so much time on the internet looking at her online profiles, rereading her last posts, hunting through years worth of her feed far back enough to see she was a different person once, both of them in mourning but garrus denying it)

and then me2 happens, and she’s obviously not thinking about social media for a while. when she does, it’s like maybe midway through the game, like maybe on illium kasumi drags her out to dinner cause she found authentic thai in the markets, and shepard’s just content enough to think “this is the kind of meal you post a picture about and share on social media” and she considers it before remembering oh yeah i was dead……. is my account even still there? how weird would it be to suddenly post out of nowhere again? i know the rumor is i was just under cover, but would it help or hurt the war to treat this like normal? and she basically overanalyzes and decides not to say anything at all. (in reality i think after she died her account was given the space equivalent of a twitter verification, like Yes This Was The Real Shepard’s Account, Tweets Might Be Recorded, which she only discovers after she logs in on a whim back on the ship). i don’t think she breaks this social media fast until she either uses it one day because she 1) completely forgets she was avoiding it, like she just wakes up randomly and types “i had the weirdest fuckin dream let me tell yall about it” because she’s still half asleep and convinces herself it’s a good idea, then goes back to sleep and wakes up to a million notifications like “i KNEW YOU WERE BACK!!” and “SOMEONE HACKED SHEPARD’S ACCOUNT THAT’S DISGRACEFUL” and she’s like oh boy. OR 2) she gets so heated over something stupid (that is definitely about human pop culture) that she completely forgets/doesnt give a rat’s ass anymore about maintaining silence online. like “I JUST HEARD SPACE BEYONCE WASN’T NOMINATED FOR A GRAMMY LAST YEAR. WHAT THE FUCK?” after the collector base, she feels a little more freedom to be funny and has the time to engage and post about pop culture again, so she gains some attention back for that

by me3, coming out of alliance-imposed isolation, i think she takes back to the internet whenever she can, for better or worse, but because most of the news she swallows is so awful, she tries to be positive and reach out to people who @ her, like she doesn’t want to lie to them, but she tries to signal boost official evacuation and relocation efforts and stuff. when the alliance starts gaining allies, there’s a little bit of expectation for her to use her accounts as a political “so honored the turian hierarchy is joining us” blah blah kind of tweet, so she’s kind of like…. well people deserve to know we’ve made an accord, but i’m gonna do it my way, and she essentially starts sharing all the stuff that’s happening on the citadel that might get easily lost in translation, like

“i can confirm councilor udina was just killed by spectre williams after a standoff on the presidum, after he threatened the life of another councilor. we have confirmed that he was compromised by cerberus after his participation in a failed coup. please see the official statement for more details. the death of a high profile politician is always a shock, but to those feeling betrayed, i want every human and alien to be reminded that spectres are chosen to protect the galaxy from both foreign and internal threats. ashley williams takes her role seriously, as do i, and her actions saved lives yesterday. in light of the recent citadel attack, the alliance would also like me to encourage people to remain vigilant against cerberus cyberwarfare and contact with reaper tech. stay safe, everyone.”

just like, very honest, frank statements or clarifications that might not otherwise get out there, with an emphasis on trying to keep morale as high as reasonably possible. it’s not classified info, but she wants people to stay informed, like she wants people across the galaxy being bombarded who think they’ve been abandoned to know that she’s still fighting for them everywhere she can. even though she’s feeling really dejected and pessimistic sometimes i think she’s determined to make other people believe they can win even when she isn’t sure herself.

post-war (AHHA YOU THOUGHT I WAS DONE AFTER ME3, DIDNT YOU) as soon as she can travel, she kind of shoves her way into politics via reconstruction efforts despite her unstable health because she’s terrified everything will just go back to normal and the underprivileged people in slums and terminus colonies will be ignored. i think she keeps up the informative trend of letting people know what’s going on, like explaining what this or that emergency bill that was just passed by the council means, ‘cause she’s still new to politics and honesty all this dense language would’ve definitely confused her too. eventually as things start getting more settled she feels less guilty posting about how her day’s going. and then at one point, there is definitely a collective internet freakout when shepard acknowledges/makes a joke about one of the memes about her, and she’s like “what, you guys think i never go online or something?? i was a teenager once, i know how the internet works!” (she actually doesn’t spend that much time in forums or the like, she just learned about the meme from garrus and vega.)

(and then at some point post-war garrus, who used to have a dumbass video game let’s play account that gained a ton of popularity after me1 when shepard found out about it and asked to play turian call of duty with him on it (the vid was entitled “i play turian call of duty with commander shepard (my co)” and was mostly just them horsing around and then it went viral, but he took it down after she died and then purged the whole account/his entire online presence when he went to omega. but anyway a while post-war garrus comes to her like “hey you remember that video we made” “i remember the jokes about it” “well uh, i just managed to fix this old console i found at a flea market, do you want to do it again? yknow just kill time and lift people’s spirits?” so he makes a new account and introduces her to a lot of other games, she’s good at space overwatch but then when she gets cocky he makes her play like turian dark souls or some shit, and they record and post it online for kicks too)

fuck, i still have one more question left to answer???? i spent a fucking lifetime writing up this, I TOLD YOU ASKING ME QUESTIONS ABOUT LYDIA WAS A MISTAKE

49)   Would they consider themselves as a good person, bad person, or morally grey?

mostly i dont think she lets herself think about whether she’s a “good” person because emotionally, and morally, she doesn’t feel much different than she was when she was committing crimes for a living (though she knows logically she’s grown a lot, she convinced herself back then that she was justified in doing bad things by just trying to survive, which is… not entirely too different from now). anyway she still feels like she’s trying to make up for who she used to be, like she wants to put more good into the world than the harm she once contributed to, or failing that, she can at least remove as much of the evil in the galaxy as she can. (i keep forgetting to clarify, she didn’t just do petty theft and break-ins and lookouts and illegal reselling, she was occasionally a debt collector and beat people near to the point of death with biotics, and she hated it but it was mostly out of sympathy that she insisted on going instead of another gangster because if it were anyone else she knows they might’ve dismembered or tortured the person too.)

god i still haven’t answered your question. ive been writing for a full hour, keely. the long and short of it is that i think she’s morally gray. i call her paragade for a reason. she tries really hard to be a good person to make up for who she was (who she “had” to be), so she fights to save every life she can, but against enemies that show no remorse or whatnot, some of her old habits of ruthlessness and reluctance to forgive die hard. 

ASK ME QUESTIONS ABOUT MY OCS IF YOU FEEL LIKE SCROLLING PAST MORE LONG PARAGRAPHS ON YOUR DASH, YO