#i color coded the important parts though i just wanted to try to be clear

[svtskneecaps]

feel like the global tasks sweep strat should probably be nerfed somehow. my thought would be, give each team an individual ten minute overall cooldown on global task claims. that is to say, a certain team can only claim one global task per ten minutes. say, deliver gas masks, and then in ten minutes you're allowed to deliver tea, and then after another ten minutes you can claim hot chocolate.

another teams would be able to claim a global task for bananas during this time, and their own ten minute cooldown would start.

(the global tasks can either keep their individual ten minute cooldown [i.e. after tea is claimed no one else can claim tea for ten minutes] or a slightly shorter cooldown, say 5-7 minutes)

when a global task is claimed, everyone is notified, right? if not, in my hypothetical, they will be.

then, a team trying to sweep six tasks at once would actually take sixty minutes to do, allowing another team to swoop in and have a chance to stop it in cinematic, entertaining fashion rather than tubbo having to grind resources and then log out in front of the merchant to counter this, which is boring for everyone (including the person delivering). plus, if a team cuts it down to the last second and ends up getting delayed, they physically wouldn't have time to make a delivery, meaning even being a BIT of a nuisance could be a viable strategy, even if you can't manage to kill; if you can STALL you could still wreck their plans.

that's my dream anyway idk i'm not a game designer. just think it would be interesting for most players

(i elaborate under)

red team would have to shake up their strategies, which is fun since they're a team that kinda has to rely more on strategy than outright brawn (overall the team's pvp can't be relied on unless they have carre or phil, as seen today when pierre, bad, and etoiles attacked phil cellbit foolish and baghera, and cellbit and foolish both died to etoiles in the attack, despite it being a 4 on 1 at the time. baghera was killed by bad soon after. phil was the one to get the kills. the first day, when blue attacked [niki, tubbo, and bad as i recall] carre got both kills)

the other teams would then still have a way to stop a global sweep since a sweep would have to start earlier, allowing not only more time to arrive at global to pvp about it, but ALSO allowing another team to swoop in and steal the goal out from under the team again

i'm gonna use it in a scenario bc i'm badboyhalo and i can't stop myself from making examples:

so, tonight, if the proposed cooldown was in place, bad and tubbo would both still had roughly 17 minutes when red team would have HAD to start the sweep process if they wanted all six global tasks: 1 hour until the server closed at absolute MINIMUM. more for safety's sake.

therefore, in this scenario, there's a lot to happen

blue team could wait at globals, knowing red will probably try this strategy, and attempt or perhaps SUCCEED in killing red. if they kill red entirely, the operation is a wash; red doesn't have to gear to come back from scratch and take out blue team, and even if they could, the travel time to return to globals alone would mean they wouldn't get all the global tasks, potentially meaning they don't take the lead. if blue team is unable to kill red and dies themselves or has to retreat, but succeeds in delaying red, red would face the same problem.

if red sends in all of the task items on one person, and that person dies, even if the rest survived, blue could loot the items from that person and would be able to either use the items themselves, if green is currently the owner, or could run away with the items, effectively wasting red's time and again, meaning they wouldn't get all tasks claimed even if they were able to overtake the runner and reclaim their items.

i'm unclear what would happen if red divided the task items between them since it seems like the person claiming the task doesn't have to have all (or any? again, unclear) the items in THEIR inventory in order to claim so long as a teammate is nearby with the items in their inv (evidence: pac's vod "voltei... o que tá acontecendo no QSMP?!" at roughly 3:00:00; tubbo claims tea and tea is taken out of pac's inventory. i don't know the limits of this strategy)

blue team also has time to swoop in and steal a global task out from under red during this time. say, if red team had claimed the task for 10 tea leaves, upping the price to 15 tea leaves, and then blue team snuck in and claimed the task and set the price up to 20 tea leaves, (since the proposed 10 minute cooldown on claims would be TEAM LIMITED; red's cooldown applying to red only and so on). if red waited until the last second, they wouldn't have the time to reclaim this task even if they did have the resources, possibly forcing them to start their sweep earlier to counter this possibility, at which point team members who had logged on earlier and are out of time by the end of the night, OR members who live in time zones that don't allow them to stay up until server close, may have an easier shot at participating in defending against a global sweep.

all of this DIRECT CONFLICT would make for good audience entertainment and heighten the stakes of an attempted global sweep, since it would practically have to be one team defending globals for an hour while they pipe all their resources into it, knowing that if they die another team could easily swipe their task resources and use it themselves (along with the rest of their gear). it makes it more interesting, while still mostly viable.

plus it would force more strategizing for red team which is maybe just a personal plus, i just really like seeing people planning both in advance and in spur of the moment. it's really satisfying to see how a plan comes together and succeeds or fails; plus, since red team is the main team using this strategy at the moment and their main draw and strength as a team is cohesion and communication this would be completely fucking riveting for me as a viewer so maybe this is just a personal thing. but i really really think it would be fun

but again, i'm not a game designer, or a qsmp player, or a qsmp admin, or honestly even really a gamer? so maybe i'm off my rocker and out of my gourd and this isn't viable or balanced in any way shape or form but YKNOW what is this blog except putting stupid thoughts into the void and seeing if this time the void spits back hate mail so. i'm folding this into a paper airplane and throwing it into the abyss. hopefully it made sense.

k love you appreciate you getting this far, have a good week!!

(i hope your team gets a win in dramatic fashion and celebrates together!!! i hope they come together and unleash a plan so spectacular it takes the server by storm!!! i hope it's so good it becomes a vod you go back to even years in the future!!!! i hope you have a good week!!!!!)

[bookworm551]

Take the Edge Off | Part 2 | Focus

Things are tense between you and Miguel, and it all comes to a head when you try working a mission together.

A/N: this is technically a part 2, but it stands on its own pretty well. I might just keep going with these posts bc I can’t get him out of my head

Warnings: p in v, fingering, biting (ykwim), MINORS and my roommate DNI

Word count: 4.4k

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

With all the time you spent in Miguel's dimension, sometimes, you forgot that you had your own. You loved spending time amongst the Spider-Society, so many of different people who were like you in all the important ways. It was a nice environment, but it was also nice to be home every once in a while.

You'd been home for about 10 days now. You had never gone so long without being called in for a mission, and while it was nice to take a break from capturing anomalies, it also made you a little nervous. You came back the day after Miguel had visited you and left you a new gizmo...

...among other things.

Now, it had been nearly a week and a half, and there had been complete radio silence from Earth-928. You were starting to think that your little encounter with Miguel was to blame. Maybe he wanted you out now.

You had gone out to your favorite spot in the city to clear your mind. Just as you were preparing to swing back home, a beeping noise captured your attention from your wrist. Your heart leapt as you raised your arm in front of you, and Lyla's glowing, yellow form appeared from your watch. "Hey there," she greeted casually. "Boss wants you to run backup on an anomaly on Earth-287."

You smiled faintly as the code appeared on your device. "Sounds good," you replied, standing to your feet and walking onto the side of the building so that you were staring straight down at the street hundreds of feet below. "I'll be right there."

You activated the code, and a dimensional portal opened up in front of you further down the building. Taking a breath, you let go of your grip on the building and allowed gravity to pull you down into the portal. The shift in gravity was exhilarating as you emerged from the portal into Earth-287.

Emerging from the portal, everything was dull. The sun had set a while ago here, but even if it had been out, the colors would still be strangely muted. The building that you stood atop of overlooked a large city with strange gray, yellow, and green lights. This was a weird dimension.

Standing together, Pavitr and one of the many Peter Parkers was there. Upon seeing you emerge from the portal, Pav perked up. "You're here!" He said in an excited voice as you approached. You smiled under your mask and replied with the same energy, "I am!"

Glancing around, you noticed the lack of a certain presence you had expected to be there. "Is it just you guys here?" You asked casually. Before they could answer you, a cold voice behind you said, "What are you doing here?"

You whipped around and found Miguel's figure looming over you. Though his face was concealed behind his mask, you could tell by his rigid stature and unwelcoming tone that he was not very happy to see you. This was not really the greeting you'd hoped to receive from him.

"Lyla sent me," you told him defensively. "She said you wanted me to run backup with you." The eyes of his mask squinted down at you menacingly. "I didn't send for you," he said in an level tone. You crossed your arms in front of your chest and stared up at him stubbornly. "Then why am I here?" You demanded to know.

"Actually, you did mention calling for an extra member," Pav reminded him cheerfully. You looked back at Miguel with triumphant posture. "And here I am," you said. Miguel didn't seem amused, and he stared down at you for moment before sighing in resignation.

"Fine," he muttered reluctantly before turning away from you to look at his watch. "We have a Goblin anomaly somewhere in the vicinity. This is a routine bag and tag, but we need to cover our bases and sweep the area separately. Whoever finds him first needs to call it in for the rest of us. Am I understood?" His gaze seemed to be fixed on you, and you felt like his last question was directed at you.

You cocked your head a little at him before replying in a smooth voice, "Yes, sir." Miguel didn't reply nor did he give you any sort of reaction, but you could feel his eyes on you as you walked toward the edge of the building. "I call the north side," you stated before casually falling off the side and swinging away.

Leaving them behind, you were gliding between the buildings, looking for any signs of the anomaly or any traces of environmental glitching he may have left. You swung through the strangely-colored city until you landed on the top of a building to observe the cityscape below. You crouched low on the edge of the building, scanning carefully for any signs of the anomaly.

After a few minutes, you were about to get up and swing away before the sound of feet landing behind you stopped you. You whipped around and shot a web reactively. Miguel sidestepped your web, his head tilted in an unimpressed posture.

"I told you, I called north," you said with a huff of annoyance. "I have reason to believe the anomaly is somewhere in this direction," he told you vaguely. You put a hand on your hip. "Okay, well, this is my direction. I'll let you know if he shows up," you stated stubbornly.

"Hey, this is my mission," he argued. "I can go where I want." You rolled your eyes under your mask. "Whatever," you muttered. "Just don't get in my way."

He chose not to respond to your comment. An uncomfortable silence settled over you, and you didn't know whether to leave it or to try to alleviate it. Miguel made the choice for you. "Where have you been?" He asked finally. It was an attempt at a normal conversation, at relieving some of the tension that was wedged between the two of you.

You shrugged and replied nonchalantly, "Home. I figured you'd call if you needed me, and you did."

"Need is a strong word," he muttered. You scoffed softly. Miguel never wanted to seem like he relied on anyone. "Well, in that case, I can just go home. The newest episode of my favorite show comes out tonight." Despite his face being hidden behind his mask, you could tell that Miguel was unamused. "Let's just focus on finding this anomaly," he grumbled, turning his face away from you back to the streets below. 

"I'm focused," you told him casually. "Are you focused?" "I could probably focus if you could shut your mouth," he snapped. "Maybe I would if you asked nicely for once," you shot back, a smile pulling at your lips behind your mask. "Ever heard of saying please? Or maybe...por favor?"

His head turned slowly to look at you, and it was impossible for you to tell what he was thinking. "No?" You said. "Okay, then I'll do as I please."

He sighed in exasperation but didn't say anything. Just as the silence felt overbearing, a large crash captured your attention. "Sounds like our guy," you said before somersaulting over the edge of the building and swinging toward the sound. Miguel was right behind you as you both headed for the noise together.

There in the streets was your guy. Goblin was recognizable across any dimension, and this was no different, but looking at this short figure below, you almost wanted to laugh. He was thin, and his figure was stooped, and he didn't have a glider like you were used to seeing. This would be a cinch.

The anomaly spotted you before you could reach him, and he crouched with a sneer and called out, "Spider-Man!" Then, seeing your figure next to Miguel, he added, "...and company?"

"I'm Spider-Woman!" You clarified cheerfully as you shot your web at him. "Nice to meet you!" The little goblin rolled out of the way before your web was able to catch him.

"Where am I?" He demanded to know. Behind your mask, you rolled your eyes. "Always the same questions," you muttered. "'Where am I?' 'Who are you?' 'What is this place?' When are you guys gonna switch it up and ask how I'm doing?"

"Can you stop talking and focus?" Miguel snapped as he tried webbing the anomaly to no avail. You sighed. Banter was your thing. In fact, it was almost every Spider-Person's thing except for Miguel. It was definitely not his thing.

"You'll have to forgive my colleague here!" You called out to Goblin as you twisted in the air to avoid one of the bombs launched at you by him. "He's a little crankier than usual. I'm not sure why."

"You want to know why?" Miguel called out to you in irritation, webbing a bomb and throwing it back at the villain below. "It's because you're getting on my last nerve!" You sighed in exasperation. "I'm pretty sure you've only got one nerve, and someone's almost always on it," you grumbled.

You both managed to knock the anomaly into a dim warehouse. Together, you webbed his arms to the wall he was cornered into. He was looking around frantically for an escape. "Listen, bud, this isn't personal," you told him. "We just need to make sure you go home." You felt pretty confident about this whole mission, definitely one of the easy ones.

Goblin stopped struggling to free his hand and looked at you with a crazed smile, and you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand up at the sight. "Workplace relationships can be tricky," he stated. "I think you two should try resolving some of this tension."

Before you could reply, the anomaly kicked his leg, and a small, metallic sphere came rolling out of the sole of his boot. You barely had time to say "Uh oh," before the explosion knocked you and Miguel backwards. As you were recovering from the impact, the Goblin actually took flight, breaking free of the web bindings.

"What the hell?" You exclaimed. This Goblin didn't use a glider like you were used to, he had some weird type of rocket boots. He flew up and smashed his way out of the warehouse window and out to the sky with a loud cackle.

"He's getting away!" Miguel shouted as if you weren't already aware of the fact. You both slung yourselves up to the window and outside the building, but the Goblin was much faster than you both, and before you could catch up, he was out of sight.

Miguel punched the wall next to you and snarled in frustration. After taking a few breaths, he lowered his arm and stood completely still except for his deep, even breathing. His back was toward you, and you could tell that he was holding back a tidal wave of fury. Well, you might as well break the dam.

"You're awfully quiet," you stated reluctantly. "Anything you want to get off of your chest?"

Miguel whipped around and looked over you menacingly. "You let him get away!" He shouted at you.

"Me?!" You asked incredulously, ripping your mask off of your face. "How was that my fault?" His suit receded from his face as well, displaying his frustrated expression. "You were supposed to catch him! It's a very simple expectation," he told you angrily.

You scoffed. "Well, excuse me for not knowing this Goblin had flying boots instead of a glider," you said. "It's just as much your fault as it is mine."

Miguel wasn't happy with that statement. He took a step closer to you and crossed his arms over his chest. "It is your fault," Miguel snapped at you. "And now he's gone again." You stepped toward him defiantly and crossed your arms to mirror him. "Maybe if you weren't breathing down my neck, I could've gotten him," you retorted.

"That's your excuse?" He asked in an exasperated tone. "Yeah, it is," you replied sharply. "What's yours?"

"You're distracting me."

"I'm distracting you?"

"Yes."

"What does that mean?"

"It means," he said in a low voice as he took another step towards you so that his face was inches from your own, "you are distracting me. You never should have come on this mission." Your heartbeat sped up a little at how close he was now, and you couldn't help but look at his lips as he spoke.

"Well, too bad," you told him stubbornly. "I'm here, and you've got to deal with it. So, instead of fighting about it, why don't you get off my ass and help me catch this guy?"

"You don't get to tell me what to do," he argued. "I'll stay on your ass if I want to." You raised an eyebrow at his comment and had to suppress a snicker. Miguel realized as soon as the words left his mouth how they sounded, and he closed his eyes in a mix of exasperation and embarrassment. "Just focus on finding the Goblin anomaly," he grumbled.

"Oh, so you don't want to stay on my ass anymore?" You clarified with a smirk. He scowled down at you and snarled, "Do you ever just shut up?" You weren't deterred by his temper. Instead, you batted your eyelids up at him and gave him an overly-sweet smile. "Only if you ask nicely, remember?"

Miguel finally had enough of you. He shoved you back against the wall, making you gasp in surprise, and placed a hand on your throat. "I'm done being nice with you," he growled before crashing his lips down on yours with every ounce of his frustration.

You kissed him back with as much aggression, your tongues exploring each other's mouths impatiently. His hand slid down from your neck to grope your breasts over your suit. You sighed loudly as his hands roamed across your body, and when he pressed his knee between your legs, you couldn't stop the moan that emerged from your throat.

"What about the others?" You gasped. "What if they find us and—," Miguel cut you off with another open-mouthed kiss. "I don't give a fuck," he murmured against your lips. "They can watch for all I care."

You took a shuddering breath as he pulled at the neck of your suit. It had been designed for easy removal when you needed a quick change back in your world, but now, Miguel was using it to his advantage to pull it down over your shoulders. You didn't resist him disrobing you. You hadn't expected this at all, but with the frustration you both caused each other, you shouldn't have been so surprised.

You pulled your arms out of your suit as he peeled the fabric off of your torso. Miguel didn't have the patience left in him to properly undress you. Your suit was at your knees before he abandoned any further effort of taking it off. "Fucking full-body suits," he muttered in annoyance as he pressed heated kisses to your exposed neck.

You huffed an amused breath while you kicked off your boots and the remainder of your suit. His lips left a trail of sloppy kisses from your collarbone, up your neck, until they finally found your mouth. His tongue forced its way between your lips, and you couldn't help but moan at his overpowering touch. You barely even felt rough surface of the wall against your back as Miguel pushed his body against yours.

He was so tall that it seemed like his figure was devouring yours. To remedy the height different, Miguel's large hands hoisted you up by your thighs close to his own height and pushed you up against the wall roughly. You grunted at the force of his body shoving you against the brick, but you didn't care, wrapping your legs around his waist to pull him closer. You had both hands gripping his head, pulling his mouth to yours eagerly, tongues practically down each others throats.

Miguel's hands were gripping tightly at your thighs before he reached up and pulled down on your underwear. He wasn't holding you up anymore, relying instead on your ability to stick to the wall to keep you upright. Now that he didn't have to support you, his hands were free to do what he liked.

Your breathing quickened as his fingers teased the outside of your hot entrance. He traced over your clit, causing you to groan and throw your head back against the brick. "Is this what it takes to get you to shut up?" He growled in your ear. You wanted to say something snappy back to him, but right as you opened your mouth, he pushed two of his fingers into you, and you were unable to do anything but let out a gasping moan.

Your fingers ran through his hair, gripping it tightly as he continued pumping his fingers in and out of you. "Not such a smart ass now, huh?" He observed smugly. You wanted desperately to prove him wrong and shoot him a smart retort, but the pace he was setting with his fingers rendered you speechless.

You leaned your head against his as you took shaky breaths to regain some semblance of thought. "What h-happened to focus on the— on the mission?" You managed to ask through panting breaths. His fingers were curling inside you, making it difficult to speak properly.

"I told you," he whispered in a low voice, his lips tickling your ear. "You're distracting me. How am I supposed to focus when you're here with me?" He placed a wet kiss on your neck, and you sighed at the sensation.

"All I can think about is how good you feel around me," he murmured against your skin, "and all the pretty sounds you make." His fingers continued fucking you while his thumb started moving in circles around your clit, forcing a loud moan from your mouth.

"Even your scent," he continued. "I could smell you the minute you arrived. It's been driving me fucking crazy." Your legs were starting to shake as you felt yourself growing closer. Miguel could sense it too, no doubt, from your staggering gasps and the tightened grip you had on his hair.

"And now, you're letting me touch you like this in the middle of a mission," he said. "How do you expect me to focus on anything when you're here?" His voice sounded frustrated, angry almost, and that frustration was evident in the way his pace increased.

You were gasping his name over and over again, unable to say or do anything else. He was touching you in all the right places in all the right ways. The resentment you had felt for him before had completely transformed into lust, and as he continued moving his fingers in and out of you, you knew you weren't going to last much longer.

Miguel ran his tongue up the side of your neck before whispering into your ear, "Look at you. Are you gonna cum on my fingers while we're on a mission?"

As if to answer his question, your whole body began shaking, and you let out a trembling moan out as your orgasm overtook you. Something resembling a laugh came from Miguel's lips as he felt your body clenching around him, and he was pulled in closer by your gripping arms. Your breathing came in shallow gasps as your body trembled with his touch.

After a moment, his hand slowed down until he pulled out of you completely. Dazed, you blinked your eyes open to look at him. His eyes were red with lust, and he brought his hand up and sucked his soaking fingers without looking away from you. Your body was still twitching from your high, and the sight in front of you made you moan softly.

"I'm not done yet," he murmured as he gripped your jaw in his hand. You were still recovering from the intensity of your orgasm, and your head was limp in his hands. He noticed and moved your face back and forth to test your submission. "Dios mío, you're a mess," he noted with a smirk. "Are you gonna let me fuck you like this?"

Still trying to recover your breath, you were barely able to give him a faint nod of your head. "That's right," he said softly, placing another kiss on your neck, but you were barely registered it as you felt something hard at your soaking entrance. Miguel had retracted his suit just at his waist, and it seemed that this time, he hadn't even bothered with wearing anything underneath.

"Must be convenient having a nanotech suit," you commented under your breath. "It's not nanotech," he corrected. "It's much cooler than that." You rolled your eyes. Even during sex, he had to be right. "Whatever," you replied. "You don't have to nerd ou—"

You cut yourself off with a sharp gasp as Miguel pushed himself into you without warning. You tugged at his hair reactively as the stretch of your pussy made you whine. "Just shut the fuck up," he muttered into your ear.

He gave you a second to adjust before he started moving his hips against yours. You head fell back against the wall as he thrust in and out of you desperately. He had no regard for how the rough brick was scraping against your skin. He was now engaged entirely in his own pleasure, using you to channel all his frustration into satisfaction. You didn't mind one bit.

His pace was relentless. His head was pressed against your temple, and his panting breaths tickled your ear. You still had a tight grip on his hair as he fucked you mercilessly while your other hand held onto his shoulder in desperation.

Miguel's hands were digging into your thighs as soft grunts formed in his throat. "I've been craving you all week," he told you with a gruff voice, interrupting the repetitive sound of his hips slapping against your cunt. "The way you feel, how you take me so well, it's all I can think about."

You whimpered in his ear as he continued rolling his hips against yours at a savage pace. You were getting high off of his words, and all you could do to encourage him was moan. "I've been...thinking about you, too," you whispered to him, the overwhelming sensation of him railing into you causing you to pause every few words. "Late at night...when I'm all alone. I think about h-how good you feel...inside me. It makes me so hot."

Miguel growled in response, your words obviously having an effect over him. His lips met yours in a hungry kiss, and he actually let out a soft moan of his own. He let go of one of your legs to bring his hand up to the wall to support himself, and you heard the brick next to your head crack as his fingers clawed at the stone.

He pulled away from your lips and brought his mouth down to kiss your neck. His movements were growing more desperate and sloppy, and you knew he was getting closer to finishing. After a second, he raised his head up from your neck to rest against your own.

"Do you trust me?" He whispered in your ear.

What kind of a question was that? He had you pinned to the wall, fucking you mercilessly in another dimension in the middle of a mission. You certainly didn't not trust him.

Still, at his relentless pace, you found it difficult to speak properly, so you nodded your reply. "I want to hear you say it," he grunted. You were breathing hard as you tried formulating words. "I do," you gasped. "I-I do trust you."

That seemed to satisfy Miguel. His hips moved faster and harder into yours, and without further warning, he sank his teeth into the base of your neck. You cried out in alarm as you felt the tips of his fangs pierce your neck. You hadn't expected him to do that, but you couldn't deny that the pain made the pleasure even sweeter.

For Miguel, having his teeth in your skin made him go wild. It was like a primal reaction, and whatever self-control he'd had evaporated. He began pounding into you, using your neck almost like an anchor while he thrust into you over and over again.

Your eyes became unfocused as a knot formed in your stomach from the overwhelming sensation of Miguel's cock and teeth inside of you. "Don't stop," you begged with a gasp. "Don't stop, I'm gonna—"

You couldn't even finish your sentence before another powerful orgasm took over your body. A loud cry emerged from your throat as your thighs tightened around his waist, and your whole body began shaking. You gripped Miguel's back and hair desperately as his movements became erratic.

Just as it was becoming too much for you, Miguel's body tensed, and he let out a long, rare moan against your neck as his hips grew still and he came inside you. He took a couple seconds to recover his breath before he released the grip of his jaw on your neck. You let out a small whimper at the feeling of his teeth being removed from your skin. In response, Miguel ran his tongue over the two new sets of puncture marks you now had.

"Was that alright?" He asked with surprising softness, referring to his bite. You nodded honestly and replied, "I thought it would hurt more than that." He licked over it again as he pulled out of you, earning a quiet sigh from you. "Believe me, it could have," he said in a low voice.

You turned your head to look at him, meeting his eyes with your own, and you couldn't help the faint smile that pulled at your lips. You tilted your face up and kissed him. It wasn't the ravenous kisses from earlier, it was soft and slow, a token of appreciation.

"You're not allowed to come on missions with me anymore," Miguel mumbled against your lips. "Do you understand?"

You chuckled softly at his statement. Truthfully, you'd forgotten you were even on a mission. You opened your eyes to look at him before you whispered, "Yes, sir."

His jaw twitched, and he ran his thumb over your lips in admiration. "We need to get going," he told you after a pause. You looked up at him with a sly smile. "Think you can focus now?" You asked. His eyes flashed up from your lips to your eyes, and a faint trace of a smile formed at his mouth.

"I wouldn't count on it."

[scarfacemarston]

Arthur & John Meet a Scammer Part 2

Excuse me if there are mistakes. I couldn’t figure out through the coding the order of the journal entries. I also couldn’t fix one of the font colorings as you will see below. One of the last journal entries, though!  Part 1 here.  Arthur:

Transcript: Destroyed those charms. Went back to the village. Now the shaman announces things are worse because I destroyed the charms. Remarkably convenient. I was about to give him a beating when he ran off. The elder said the shaman was interested in a mine shaft. Perhaps that’s worth a look. John:

Transcript: Destroyed the supposedly cursed charms. Headed back to the village. Then the fake shaman announces things are worse preciously because I destroyed the charms. I was about to give him a little justice when he runs. The elder said the shaman was interested in a mine shaft nearby. Maybe that’s worth a look. Arthur:

Transcript: Went to the mine, looking to figure what hold that weird shaman has over that village. I don’t know why exactly. Just seemed important, I guess. The whole place was filthy and something nasty was leaking into the water and the soil. I’m no expert , but that stuff might well explain why all the folks in Butcher creek are so odd, Anyway, I made my way back to the village armed with this knowledge and a little of the evil looking water. Lo and behold, (continued below keep reading)

Transcript: I find the same shaman trying to force that duped elder into signing away his and the village's property rights or rights to get a mining company to leave. It was not quite clear which. The same shaman starts attacking me, so I force him to drink some of the run off. He promptly admits all, apparently loses his mind and I’m waiting to be treated like the hero I am. Or not. The villagers blamed the curse. At this point, I left them to their dreams of specters.  John:

Transcript: Went into the mine looking for some answer to what was going on in that village - I don’t know why - place was filthy and something nasty was leaking into the water and soil.  I’m no expert, but that stuff might well explain why all the folks in Butcher’s Creek are so odd. Anyway, I made my way back to the village my way back to the village armed with this knowledge and a little of the evil looking water.

Transcript: Lo and behold, I find the shaman trying to force that duped elder into signing away his and the villages property rights, or rights to get a mining company to leave. It was not quite clear which. The sham shaman starts attacking me, so I force him to drink some of the run off. He admits all, promptly loses his mind and I’m waiting around to be treated like the hero I am. Or not. The villagers blamed the curse. At this point, I left them to their dream of specters. Poor Arthur and John, they just want some recognition. lol

[paperbunny]

S2, E1: The Arrival, Pt. 2

Not a meta, just a tribute.

[Starting at 22:22] Ep 1, Pt. 1

('Allo 'Allo 'Allo) Muriel is perfect and I am so happy that everyone instantly loved her.

(General Omens) The matchbox says "Out of his mouth go burning lamps and sparks of fire leap out." Job 41:19 This is interesting because it doesn't seem like it applies to Gabe or Jim, unless the sparks are the prophesies that he says, which seems redundant since those were pretty clearly prophetic and don't need any extra hints. Crowley as Aziraphale did shoot flames from his mouth, though. The extended passage is all about the Leviathan which could be a reference to Crowley the Serpent but I hope it's a more interesting forewarning of Guardian!Aziraphale when he gets to work upstairs. It could just as easily be a warning about the power of God as wielded by the Metatron though. Important but not clear to me where to point it.

(General Omens) The coffee cup on the wall of the shop outside (above the outdoor seats, near the "or") has orange flame-like whisps instead of white or light grey that one would expect to signify steam. Ominous coffee business. The coffee shop is blue whilst the record shop is orange. Opposing colors.

(Nina the Mirror) Interesting that the coffee shop is called Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death, considering the lack of liberty Nina clearly has in her personal life. Nina and Aziraphale both taking up for others whilst trapped themselves. Sure, Az is technically unemployed, but he's certainly not free.

(General Omens) Not sure if there will be more to the story about the coffee shop being essentially USA-themed, such as a Greasy Johnson tie-in, but for now it just seems like another little UK joke about things getting set in the US or otherwise America-coded for the sake of mass marketing.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) He wants Crowley to be calm, he wants himself to be calm. He's also not familiar with the effects of espresso. And neither he nor Crowley are acting like it's at all unusual to be hanging out together, though they've not been together in this shop it seems. Eccles cakes? *pointed look at Crowley* Some eccles cakes please. He's just as nervous to show Crowley as he is about the problem itself, but not telling Crowley isn't even on the table. Because Crowley is there allll the timmmeeee and is an integral part of his world, too, of course.

(Nina The Shit Stirrer) How's your naked man friend? NINA. You know that this little book man has never brought this slinky goth fellow into your shop and you have no idea what their business is. But you just HAD to mention the naked man in front of Aziraphale's man-shaped friend. And she was so happy to do it. Has she seen the Bentley and Crowley coming and going? How much does she suspect? Is she poking that situation because of the volatility of her own?

(General Omens) "You're a dark horse Mr. Fell" First Dark Horse mentioned, of at least three.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) Immediate embarassment! Where was that embarrassment when it was the WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD? But no, in front of Crowley suddenly you're shy.

(Domestic Moments) The tone of "go back a long time" is so sweet. They really aren't trying to hide much at this point, despite aggressively refusing to Address The Situation. And how nice that Crowley gets to be introduced. No "friends" no obfuscation. No labels, either, but there's a real tide change even so. And Nina does a cute little curtsy-ish move in response. Maybe she has a sense about how long "a long time" could be.

(Crowley With A Purpose) He's so happy that he has actual news. Is he happy that there's something to do, or that something bad might be happening to Gabriel? Both? The IMMEDIATE interest in getting into the bookshop. I can't imagine that he thinks Aziraphale would be harboring a recreational naked man for sexy reasons, but he certainly isn't laughing about it either. He asks Aziraphale if he can help, and poor Az seems to have had whatever his plan for a soft launch of the problem was completely obliterated by Nina's bomb dropping. Also that coffee cup was SO EMPTY.

(Domestic Moments) Despite Az clearly getting his plan for easing Crowley into the problem messed up, they are off to the shop. Whole plate of eccles cakes in hand, and no "after you" needed at the door. This is a well oiled partnership opening doors and holding things as needed. Nina watches them steal her plate. Why is the closed sign stuck on with tape? It's like he's not even trying to pretend he is ever open.

(Maggie the Strange) She stops Mr. Fell to thank him, while he's clearly in a rush, and he tries to give her eccles cakes. No intro for Crowley this time. Was her purpose just to make sure we noticed the Eccles Cakes? Because we did. Everyone is upset that he just stole the whole plate. People need to slow down on the "not going to parties" and "not being that kind of teenager" meaning that she's some inhuman being, because some of us were also not that teenager. More talk of names. Maggie gives her a record because it's the same name, Nina hasn't accepted Maggie giving her name yet. She's still Skinny Latte.

(Aziraphale the Comfy) (Domestic Moments) Why are you closing all the blinds, sir? Jim!Gabe has been in here for awhile with the blinds open, so maybe it's more about the reaction of Crowley that's concerning? Crowley who has his own place for his glasses, who seems entirely at ease in the shop, and who says "Do we know a Jim?" we! I love that we. And the casual conversation. Go on and guess. I know a storm comes later, but we really did get so many soft, romantic moments.

(Heavenly Scandal) (Domestic Moments) So much of the Jim!Gabe is scandal but also tied up in the sweet domesticity. Crowley is pissed and scared but neither lashes out at the other in a real way. Aziraphale isn't scared of him, just worried about the whole mess. Jim!Gabe already trusts Az enough that he looks to make sure there's nothing wrong when Crowley first confronts him.

(Domestic Moments) The warm yellow-ochre walls. I thought people were exaggerating the yellow thread through the story but no. That's pretty intentional looking. I don't know if it's Az's favorite colour, but it certainly seems to be a color that makes him feel at home. Is there more than one room up here? Is this the room that Jim!Gabe ends up staying in? No bed up here it seems, though I don't know if our collective hearts could have handled A&C standing alone in a room near a bed. Az doesn't seem against the idea of getting rid of Jim!Gabe at first, just unsure of what to do. Crowley immediately is ready to dump him in Dartmoor. Az can't bring himself to not help. Would he go to Gabe to help him? Likely not. But once the person-shaped-being is in your care, is it your fault if harm comes to them?

(Husbands at War) This fight is well-trod soil. Neither seems legitimately angry at the other, but rather they fall immediately into defending their side in well-worn territory. Az wants to stay and help/fight/fix, Crowley wants to not make themselves a target/save their peace/refuse to get involved. There's strong arguments for both sides and we have our seeds of future conflict. Az tells him if he wants to leave he can, and that reaction from Crowley, "Is this how you want to do this?" as though this is one of a few versions that the argument takes.

(Bookshop Omens) The eccles cakes. Four of them. Next to a horse. Four horsemen? What are the cakes about!?

(Existential Crisis Crowley) His peaceful existence is at risk. He's so mad he's recognizing his own lack of control and tries to self-regulate. Did you learn that from a Richard Curtis film, Crowley? Or does Az have a self-help section?

(Nina the Observant) She sees Crowley smoking before the people on the street seem to. Everyone stops and watches though. There's no way that there isn't some kind of low grade miracle on this street that prevents these strange events from sticking in the brains of the passersby. Man smokes and yells and then is hit by lightning. Everyone watches and no one seems to retain it except Maggie and Nina. Also Nina I'm pretty sure those aren't auto locks. There's no sign of anything auto about the regular looking deadbolt.

(Heavenly Scandal) Why do I like Uriel so much? Michael does have the best claim to be Supreme Archangel Pro Tempore, as Duty Officer. I love the bureaucracy. It's great. Micheal is basically pulling a Dwight Schrute move. Saraquel is the one Muriel went to. Is Saraquel not an Archangel? Or are they just a more approachable one? It doesn't seem like they have a dog in the fight over who is the next SAAPT.

('Allo 'Allo 'Allo) Muriel is a scrivener, which immediately makes me think of Bartleby the Scrivener. I've been told that the job of scrivener comes up in games and stuff enough that it might not be a direct reference but it seems pretty pointed to me? Maybe it's just English Nerd Brain. The story tracks though, potentially, for where Muriel could be headed. From google, about the meaning of Bartleby: "...as the narrator is forced to admit, “Nothing so aggravates an earnest person as a passive resistance.” Refusing to kow-tow to the demands of his employer, and working to his own individual rule, Bartleby represents a challenge to capitalist, corporatist ideologies." Part of Bartleby's problem, from what I remember, is living in a place with no joy or interaction, and realizing that he can actually say no. Isn't that eerily similar to Muriel?

(Heavenly Scandal) Uriel looks at Micheal like, you want to be in charge so you get to touch the Material Object. Michael is not thrilled.

(Existential Crisis Crowley) He's sitting in that street, in his car, looking like the Saddest Boy-Shaped Husband. He's not having a good time, and now his little corner of peace is in high danger. He looks SO SAD. I didn't notice how sad he looked on previous watches. It's interesting to me that C always uses the honorific for Beeze. Lord Beelzebub. He also slides riiiiight into being cool and collected as soon as he realizes he's not actively in trouble. It's not a kidnapping, it's an offer. Watching him squirm immediately when he realizes this is about Gabriel is pretty fun. Crowley the suave, chill snake is just a flimsy cover for Crowley the clingy movie dork who uses affected disinterest as a defense mechanism. He's still one of Hell's best (ex)employees though. He's not suprised that Beeze wants to use his talents, but he is surprised that it's coming with an offer of a reward. "Doesn't seem like the kind of thing you're likely to say". Neither of them actually say anything solid. Hell is clearly better with contractual language.

(General Omens) Crowley says Extreme Sanctions don't exist. Beeze says they do. This remains to be seen.

(Nina The Mirror) More being mean to Maggie for no reason, then trying to make it up.

(Maggie The Strange) Maggie doesn't drink. That isn't weird. The "No Judgement" that feels awkward is a little strange. Especially since she waits til Nina is in the middle of a sip to say it.

(Maggie/Nina) They have a *moment*. It's a nice little conversation but doesn't seem very weighty. Not what you'd expect from a meet-cute.

(Husbands at War) I liked the use of Loverboy here. I seem to be in the minority. I hope it comes back again in S3, but I thought it was sweet. He's hauling ass to get back to his Angel. When it comes down to it, he's a good old fashioned loverboy. He always comes back.

(Eldritch Tendancies) I know things were a bit different in S1 but there seems to be NO concern about hiding from the human folk. Just explode on the street and then magically power-on the whole cafe. No big.

(Maggie The Strange) (Nina The Observant) Why doesn't Maggie seem to have the same level of awareness that Nina has? Also, one of Lindsay's texts says "I'm a real person. I Matter. Why don't you care about me?" Is someone not real? When the text is on the screen, the camera is on Maggie. [38:53]

(Domestic Moments) Aziraphale you petty bitch. He is just sitting in the chair waiting. Crowley sails in (does he have a key or did Az leave it unlocked for him?) and then suddenly Az puts on his glasses and starts pretending to look at his random papers. Our stage is set for the Dance of the Repressed and Afraid. This scene is so much funnier now that I've noticed that Az is clearly being a bitch on purpose. And that he is possibly delighted to have the chance to make Crowley do the dance, since Az clearly has done all the Dances lately.

(Husbands at War) The dance erases the tension and lets them move on without actually resolving the fight, but that's not really an issue here because Crowley has new intel. They immediately shift into planning and figuring things out. When it comes down to it they are both always on eachother's side. Az is nervous about doing a miracle, and it does sound like they've never done one together. Why they do it together this time isn't totally clear upfront but I guess it keeps the power used smaller on each side and shielding him from the other side helps prevent red flags being raised.

(Jim!Gabriel) He and Crowley don't like eachother, in this moment. Crowley is being "nice"-ish. But they make great faces at eachother.

(Husbands at War) Az suggests splitting the miracle and Crowley listens. Later we see Crowley not listen and steamroll Az. Unfortunately this isn't a great argument for listening to Az, since the teeny tiny miracle does NOT fly under the radar. There's a lot of wide angle or fisheye lens used here. And the chair Jim!Gabe is sitting in is on top of the portal. That might be a red herring, might not. Portal isn't active, but it could explain why alarms went off in heaven but not hell.

(Good For Me) I noticed the portal being under the chair. Also note that the rug is currently a general faded beige-y rug. Also Jim!Gabriel offers his hands crossed, left offered to Az and right to Crowley. They look distasteful (?) about it and awkwardly reach across to take the "correct" hand.

(Husbands At War) Crowley tests the waters, so to speak, and pokes at the air to feel the miracle. Az is happy that things seem to have worked. He reassures Jim!Gabriel and Crowley is still only in the fight to protect the Oasis, not Jim!Gabe.

(Heavenly Scandal) Michael seems to be ignoring the klaxon alarm on purpose? And Uriel is like, if you want to be Assistant To The Regional Manager, then you need to fix this. The miracle shows up as pink, and Saraquel is the one operating the globe thing. They refer to Aziraphale as a former angel, and there's no reference to Crowley. I really don't think that heaven or hell knows or understands much about the Az-Crowley situation. They clearly know there's something odd there, but I don't know what their impression of it is.

End Ep 1.

Ep 1, Pt. 1

[brightatmidnight]

Where We've Been and What We've Been Doing - An Update on the State of The Chaser's Voyage

It's been a while! Our client updates got interrupted by a much more important task, reworking our Tutorial! So, here's what we've been up to lately!

Hello everyone. It's been a while since we last updated but we're finally ready to tell you what we've been working on these last 2 and half months. The short version of it all is that we've been making some major changes to our tutorial. Since going live with it last November, we've gotten to see more people playing The Chaser's Voyage first hand and it's given us a better understanding of what we need to prioritize and what we need to back away from when it comes to introducing people to the game. Namely, it required a lot less talking and lot more doing.

I think the current version of the tutorial has too much talking in it. It was a way to introduce some core concepts of not just our game world, but also why the mechanics are the way they are. I thought it was a necessary bridge that needed to be crossed for players to understand why they were doing something. For example, unlike a space game like FTL where you might be traversing the entire galaxy, we limited ourselves to just a small corner of the galaxy, Sector 99, so that all of our planets could have names and backstories and our list of alien species didn't have to grow to, well, a galaxy sized level. In retrospect, I don't think that it was necessary to introduce the player to these lore explanations, at least not in the tutorial. So, we did away with a lot of the universe building dialogue, though we still did allow ourselves some brief, inconsequential, moments of world building.

We also thought that having a character explain what needed to be done vs. having text prompts explain would be a more active way for players to learn the ins and outs of the core mechanics. It definitely works for some games, but we realized, it doesn't work that way for ours. We didn't want players to feel like our game was too hand holdy or a "by the numbers" type game where "when X happens, you must do Y." We wanted to emphasize the idea that "Hey, you're going to be called on to make decisions, so just be ready for that" but I think it ended up adding some bits that the player isn't necessarily going to be interested in at that moment and the "on the fly decisions bit" can still be reinforced without us having to be explicit.

So, we changed our tutorial to something that uses a lot of less talking and lot more text prompts. This itself required a lot of work, as we made our text prompts no longer automatically close, but instead, players could choose when to close the prompt once they had carried out the prompt's instructions. We decided that perhaps for this part, a little hand holding was necessary to get the players started. We didn't want people to feel overwhelmed with options at first, after all. With our text prompts came more inspiration from Nintendo games, where we decided to color code text and use symbols to connect the keywords and instructions to the interactable elements. So for example, when we tell players to set their weapons to level 2 to shoot down missiles, the word "weapons" will be colored green and show the weapons icon and the symbol for level 2 weapons will be next to "level 2". It's actually been quite the challenge to think of every way we can make something as clear as possible and this time, no fear of whether or not it might be obvious.

Remaking our tutorial isn't the only thing we've been working on these last couple of months. We're really trying to revamp our social media marketing campaign. I've been doing a lot of studying up and we're prepared to make a couple of big changes. The first and most notable is that we're dropping "roguelike" from our marketing and will soon be changing it on Steam. While I will die on the hill that our game is technically a "roguelike", we are missing a lot of the modern hallmarks of what makes a roguelike a "roguelike". We don't have randomized power-ups or engage in tedious resource collection. For better or for worse, those are elements associated with roguelikes and I have gotten some questions along those lines from people wondering how The Chaser's Voyage is like a roguelike.

And since nobody wants a lecture or a redirection to my article, we feel it's just better to drop the genre from our marketing. This does once again leave us without a genre to categorize ourselves in but as I said in my "Is Our Game a Roguelike?" article, we don't like genres and we didn't set off to make a game constrained by genre. Though, in the writing of this article, I've learned that we made some assumptions about genres like "space flight simulation" which encompasses everything from games like Elite: Dangerous, to Kerbal Space Program, to Star Wars: X-Wing. Which is wild. So, going forth, we'll be leaning more into the "space flight" aspect of our game, perhaps marketing ourselves as a "space flight lite" or maybe just a "space flight sim". Who knows? (Have I mentioned I hate genres?)

With this change in marketing decision it also means changing some of our stuff on Steam and making a brand new trailer (again). We're hoping that our new trailer can be the kick-off of our new marketing efforts, but we'll see if this article doesn't end up doing that first.

We've also made a new Twitter account just for The Chaser's Voyage that will act as a central source for all things The Chaser's Voyage (while our Bright at Midnight twitter account will still be focused on stuff going on with us as game devs).

With all this going on, we're still hopeful of finishing The Chaser's Voyage relatively soon. We still plan on executing a well-crafted, unique, professional indie game. We want The Chaser's Voyage to go to the stars and we're prepared to do whatever it takes to make that happen!

For more updates on The Chaser’s Voyage, be sure to check back on our blog, follow The Chaser's Voyage and Bright at Midnight on Twitter, or join our Discord! If you wish to play The Chaser’s Voyage, you can buy it while we’re in Early Access on Steam.

- Eos//G

[eristic-kaleidoscope]

Like a Worm on a String | Erik A | Trial 5.2 | Re: Kenshin, END, Byrne, Akito | ATTN: Akito

First, Erik A looks to Adrik with a small frown at the mocking look on their face for That of all things, instead of the actual awful shit the hosts had done. But… for now, there were more important matters to figure out. He shakes his head in particular to some of what Kenshin says first.

  “I do have one thing to correct there, in that… I’m not sure if all of us were being tested as a potential ‘Vessel’, because it sounds like they already found one, and the woman who was picked was lying in the cell room. I guess she was also in the VR, and Jae-min said something about… her knowing about things that ER1K4 had done…? 

Point is, I still think that she might be the replacement ‘vessel’ they found, so the experiment they were doing NOW is… to find a replacement for all of the other color coded subjects that were raised for the project maybe? They seemed to want that same ‘ideal’ number, so… I can only assume at least. We didn’t find a clear explanation for WHY that’s happening, but… I mean, I can assume some things based on who’s running this.” 

He also gives a glance to a bit about what END said the post before last-

  “And thanks for the explanation- I wasn’t kidding when I said that that taser only has one tase between charges though, I’ve messed with it some before I passed it on to Erisu. So… if there were two uses, and the charger was THERE… was the pillow other people mentioned being burnt just… a test use of it then??? In the lobby???” He’s not sure if that makes sense, but it’s his best guess. Not like he saw it himself.

And then there’s Akito talking and… oh. Everything that Byrne says hits hard, and he can tell that even just expressing this much is painful for him to. Erik A gives a nod, acknowledging what he’s shared. Breath, Byrne…

  “...I can’t say I can defend everything that Akito’s said before, so I’m not going to try about that. I know… I know there’s been a lot of heart between you both and I’ll admit, that does sound suspicious to know, so it makes sense that you’d find it that way. I could say it could have been from other things or him just getting lucky, but I… would hope that now of all times we can get a real answer for that, for my peace of mind too if there is one. I know that I also knew shit about Eureka that I probably shouldn’t have, right? So… I dunno, it’s not impossible that it’s for a more benign reason too. I don’t want to jump to conclusions, especially when I was also able to get at least… part of that myself, even if not anything as detailed as that.”

 He takes a deep breath.

“Personally, I don’t think Akito did this. Or, at the very least, I don’t think he’s Az-8, and I’d… Like to trust be able to trust him on more than that too because I’m not sure how a third party would have gotten into things to kill Erisu otherwise. Because… I mean, it’s almost glaringly obvious that he’s suspicious, right? With the clues that we found. I don’t want to speak for him too much here, but the receipt for those items were about things I did in fact get in the gacha. The fact that… something that looked like his thermos and breath mints were by the surveillance cameras. The fact that the letter that Jae-min saw in VR by apparently matched Akito’s handwriting, and what END already said about who the ‘Vessel’ is supposed to be. It feels almost too easy, like they were left out on purpose. But I know we need to figure out more anything else about that.”

“If I’m wrong, if he has been stringing me along this entire time, I… I guess I’ll accept that if there’s actually way to prove it. But fuck, as it stands, I think it’s a hell of a lot more likely that he’s being framed for this for a number of reasons, and I’ve been trying my best to have some kind of level of faith for a while now because of a couple of things. I know we’ve talked about the possibility of this happening before, too.”

And a lot of those reasons, were… things that were personal too, weren’t they? Erik A turns to Akito, 

  “Do you remember what I told you once? About… letting more people in on whatever things you want to take on by yourself, because it can look more suspicious for you to not?? I know you think it would be more suspicious to let people know more things, and it can be sometimes, but now of all times where you’re already being looked at with it, some truth would be real nice.”

There are things he can say, but… coming from Akito himself with what he’s actually willing to say, Erik A thinks it’d be a lot better. 

Finally, he turns to END again, and gives a somber nod. He knows what she means, having talked about it already 

  “Yeah. The Kaleidoscope Project… It sounded like for all of those test subjects raised from before they were even born, it was intended for all but one of them to physically die, the last to have their mind presumably altered to house everything else. I don’t know how much they knew about all of that before recently, because it’s clear from TEXTS and interaction that Weiss… definitely only found out and tried to get away before of it in more recent years, before the Erika Foundation clearly caused what happened to him and then kept him in a medical coma for quite a fucking while.

An… and Calluna, and probably Az-8. I can only assume they were trying to escape that fate for themselves by bringing other people into it. Whatever the cost for survival, right? But now, we’re stuck in the same mess because of that.”

A rat in a maze making other rats run a maze, as he’d talked about with An once. Of course he can’t blame them for wanting out of that. But he can still be pissed about being dragged in alongside them.

[bao3bei4]

fan language: the victorian imaginary and cnovel fandom

there’s this pinterest image i’ve seen circulating a lot in the past year i’ve been on fandom social media. it’s a drawn infographic of a, i guess, asian-looking woman holding a fan in different places relative to her face to show what the graphic helpfully calls “the language of the fan.”

people like sharing it. they like thinking about what nefarious ancient chinese hanky code shenanigans their favorite fan-toting character might get up to⁠—accidentally or on purpose. and what’s the problem with that?

the problem is that fan language isn’t chinese. it’s victorian. and even then, it’s not really quite victorian at all. 

--------------------

fans served a primarily utilitarian purpose throughout chinese history. of course, most of the surviving fans we see⁠—and the types of fans we tend to care about⁠—are closer to art pieces. but realistically speaking, the majority of fans were made of cheaper material for more mundane purposes. in china, just like all around the world, people fanned themselves. it got hot!

so here’s a big tipoff. it would be very difficult to use a fan if you had an elaborate language centered around fanning yourself.

you might argue that fine, everyday working people didn’t have a fan language. but wealthy people might have had one. the problem we encounter here is that fans weren’t really gendered. (caveat here that certain types of fans were more popular with women. however, those tended to be the round silk fans, ones that bear no resemblance to the folding fans in the graphic). no disrespect to the gnc old man fuckers in the crowd, but this language isn’t quite masc enough for a tool that someone’s dad might regularly use.

folding fans, we know, reached europe in the 17th century and gained immense popularity in the 18th. it was there that fans began to take on a gendered quality. ariel beaujot describes in their 2012 victorian fashion accessories how middle class women, in the midst of a top shortage, found themselves clutching fans in hopes of securing a husband.

she quotes an article from the illustrated london news, suggesting “women ‘not only’ used fans to ‘move the air and cool themselves but also to express their sentiments.’” general wisdom was that the movement of the fan was sufficiently expressive that it augmented a woman’s displays of emotion. and of course, the more english audiences became aware that it might do so, the more they might use their fans purposefully in that way.

notice, however, that this is no more codified than body language in general is. it turns out that “the language of the fan” was actually created by fan manufacturers at the turn of the 20th century⁠—hundreds of years after their arrival⁠ in europe—to sell more fans. i’m not even kidding right now. the story goes that it was louis duvelleroy of the maison duvelleroy who decided to include pamphlets on the language with each fan sold.

interestingly enough, beaujot suggests that it didn’t really matter what each particular fan sign meant. gentlemen could tell when they were being flirted with. as it happens, meaningful eye contact and a light flutter near the face may be a lingua franca.

so it seems then, the language of the fan is merely part of this victorian imaginary we collectively have today, which in turn itself was itself captivated by china.

--------------------

victorian references come up perhaps unexpectedly often in cnovel fandom, most often with regards to modesty.

it’s a bit of an awkward reference considering that chinese traditional fashion⁠—and the ambiguous time periods in which these novels are set⁠—far predate victorian england. it is even more awkward considering that victoria and her covered ankles did um. imperialize china.

but nonetheless, it is common. and to make a point about how ubiquitous it is, here is a link to the twitter search for “sqq victorian.” sqq is the fandom abbreviation for shen qingqiu, the main character of the scum villain’s self-saving system, by the way.

this is an awful lot of results for a search involving a chinese man who spends the entire novel in either real modern-day china or fantasy ancient china. that’s all i’m going to say on the matter, without referencing any specific tweet.

i think people are aware of the anachronism. and i think they don’t mind. even the most cursory research reveals that fan language is european and a revisionist fantasy. wikipedia can tell us this⁠—i checked!

but it doesn’t matter to me whether people are trying to make an internally consistent canon compliant claim, or whether they’re just free associating between fan facts they know. it is, instead, more interesting to me that people consistently refer to this particular bit of history. and that’s what i want to talk about today⁠—the relationship of fandom today to this two hundred odd year span of time in england (roughly stuart to victorian times) and england in that time period to its contemporaneous china.

things will slip a little here. victorian has expanded in timeframe, if only because random guys posting online do not care overly much for respect for the intricacies of british history. china has expanded in geographic location, if only because the english of the time themselves conflated china with all of asia.

in addition, note that i am critiquing a certain perspective on the topic. this is why i write about fan as white here⁠—not because all fans are white⁠—but because the tendencies i’m examining have a clear historical antecedent in whiteness that shapes how white fans encounter these novels.

i’m sure some fans of color participate in these practices. however i don’t really care about that. they are not its main perpetrators nor its main beneficiaries. so personally i am minding my own business on that front.

it’s instead important to me to illuminate the linkage between white as subject and chinese as object in history and in the present that i do argue that fannish products today are built upon.

--------------------

it’s not radical, or even new at all, for white audiences to consume⁠—or create their own versions of⁠—chinese art en masse. in many ways the white creators who appear to owe their whole style and aesthetic to their asian peers in turn are just the new chinoiserie.

this is not to say that white people can’t create asian-inspired art. but rather, i am asking you to sit with the discomfort that you may not like the artistic company you keep in the broader view of history, and to consider together what is to be done about that.

now, when i say the new chinoiserie, i first want to establish what the original one is. chinoiserie was a european artistic movement that appeared coincident with the rise in popularity of folding fans that i described above. this is not by coincidence; the european demand for asian imports and the eventual production of lookalikes is the movement itself. so: when we talk about fans, when we talk about china (porcelain), when we talk about tea in england⁠—we are talking about the legacy of chinoiserie.

there are a couple things i want to note here. while english people as a whole had a very tenuous knowledge of what china might be, their appetites for chinoiserie were roughly coincident with national relations with china. as the relationship between england and china moved from trade to out-and-out wars, chinoiserie declined in popularity until china had been safely subjugated once more by the end of the 19th century.

the second thing i want to note on the subject that contrary to what one might think at first, the appeal of chinoiserie was not that it was foreign. eugenia zuroski’s 2013 taste for china examines 18th century english literature and its descriptions of the according material culture with the lens that chinese imports might be formative to english identity, rather than antithetical to it.

beyond that bare thesis, i think it’s also worthwhile to extend her insight that material objects become animated by the literary viewpoints on them. this is true, both in a limited general sense as well as in the sense that english thinkers of the time self-consciously articulated this viewpoint. consider the quote from the illustrated london news above⁠—your fan, that object, says something about you. and not only that, but the objects you surround yourself with ought to.

it’s a bit circular, the idea that written material says that you should allow written material to shape your understanding of physical objects. but it’s both 1) what happened, and 2) integral, i think, to integrating a fannish perspective into the topic.

--------------------

japanning is the name for the popular imitative lacquering that english craftspeople developed in domestic response to the demand for lacquerware imports. in the eighteenth century, japanning became an artform especially suited for young women. manuals were published on the subject, urging young women to learn how to paint furniture and other surfaces, encouraging them to rework the designs provided in the text.

it was considered a beneficial activity for them; zuroski describes how it was “associated with commerce and connoisseurship, practical skill and aesthetic judgment.” a skillful japanner, rather than simply obscuring what lay underneath the lacquer, displayed their superior judgment in how they chose to arrange these new canonical figures and effects in a tasteful way to bring out the best qualities of them.

zuroski quotes the first english-language manual on the subject, written in 1688, which explains how japanning allows one to:

alter and correct, take out a piece from one, add a fragment to the next, and make an entire garment compleat in all its parts, though tis wrought out of never so many disagreeing patterns.

this language evokes a very different, very modern practice. it is this english reworking of an asian artform that i think the parallels are most obvious.

white people, through their artistic investment in chinese material objects and aesthetics, integrated them into their own subjectivity. these practices came to say something about the people who participated in them, in a way that had little to do with the country itself. their relationship changed from being a “consumer” of chinese objects to becoming the proprietor of these new aesthetic signifiers.

--------------------

i want to talk about this through a few pairs of tensions on the subject that i think characterize common attitudes then and now.

first, consider the relationship between the self and the other: the chinese object as something that is very familiar to you, speaking to something about your own self vs. the chinese object as something that is fundamentally different from you and unknowable to you. 

consider: [insert character name] is just like me. he would no doubt like the same things i like, consume the same cultural products. we are the same in some meaningful way vs. the fast standard fic disclaimer that “i tried my best when writing this fic, but i’m a english-speaking westerner, and i’m just writing this for fun so...... [excuses and alterations the person has chosen to make in this light],” going hand-in-hand with a preoccupation with authenticity or even overreliance on the unpaid labor of chinese friends and acquaintances. 

consider: hugh honour when he quotes a man from the 1640s claiming “chinoiserie of this even more hybrid kind had become so far removed from genuine Chinese tradition that it was exported from India to China as a novelty to the Chinese themselves” 

these tensions coexist, and look how they have been resolved.

second, consider what we vest in objects themselves: beaujot explains how the fan became a sexualized, coquettish object in the hands of a british woman, but was used to great effect in gilbert and sullivan’s 1885 mikado to demonstrate the docility of asian women. 

consider: these characters became expressions of your sexual desires and fetishes, even as their 5’10 actors themselves are emasculated.

what is liberating for one necessitates the subjugation and fetishization of the other. 

third, consider reactions to the practice: enjoyment of chinese objects as a sign of your cosmopolitan palate vs “so what’s the hype about those ancient chinese gays” pop culture explainers that addressed the unconvinced mainstream.

consider: zuroski describes how both english consumers purchased china in droves, and contemporary publications reported on them. how: 

It was in the pages of these papers that the growing popularity of Chinese things in the early eighteenth century acquired the reputation of a “craze”; they portrayed china fanatics as flawed, fragile, and unreliable characters, and frequently cast chinoiserie itself in the same light.

referenda on fannish behavior serve as referenda on the objects of their devotion, and vice versa. as the difference between identity and fetish collapses, they come to be treated as one and the same by not just participants but their observers. 

at what point does mxtx fic cease to be chinese? 

--------------------

finally, it seems readily apparent that attitudes towards chinese objects may in fact have something to do with attitudes about china as a country. i do not want to suggest that these literary concerns are primarily motivated and begot by forces entirely divorced from the real mechanics of power. 

here, i want to bring in edward said, and his 1993 culture and imperialism. there, he explains how power and legitimacy go hand in hand. one is direct, and one is purely cultural. he originally wrote this in response to the outsize impact that british novelists have had in the maintenance of empire and throughout decolonization. literature, he argues, gives rise to powerful narratives that constrain our ability to think outside of them.

there’s a little bit of an inversion at play here. these are chinese novels, actually. but they’re being transformed by white narratives and artists. and just as i think the form of the novel is important to said’s critique, i think there’s something to be said about the form that fic takes and how it legitimates itself.

bound up in fandom is the idea that you have a right to create and transform as you please. it is a nice idea, but it is one that is directed towards a certain kind of asymmetry. that is, one where the author has all the power. this is the narrative we hear a lot in the history of fandom⁠—litigious authors and plucky fans, fanspaces always under attack from corporate sanitization.

meanwhile, said builds upon raymond schwab’s narrative of cultural exchange between european writers and cultural products outside the imperial core. said explains that fundamental to these two great borrowings (from greek classics and, in the so-called “oriental renaissance” of the late 18th, early 19th centuries from “india, china, japan, persia, and islam”) is asymmetry. 

he had argued prior, in orientalism, that any “cultural exchange” between “partners conscious of inequality” always results in the suffering of the people. and here, he describes how “texts by dead people were read, appreciated, and appropriated” without the presence of any actual living people in that tradition. 

i will not understate that there is a certain economic dynamic complicating this particular fannish asymmetry. mxtx has profited materially from the success of her works, most fans will not. also secondly, mxtx is um. not dead. LMAO.

but first, the international dynamic of extraction that said described is still present. i do not want to get overly into white attitudes towards china in this post, because i am already thoroughly derailed, but i do believe that they structure how white cnovel fandom encounters this texts.

at any rate, any profit she receives is overwhelmingly due to her domestic popularity, not her international popularity. (i say this because many of her international fans have never given her a cent. in fact, most of them have no real way to.) and moreover, as we talk about the structure of english-language fandom, what does it mean to create chinese cultural products without chinese people? 

as white people take ownership over their versions of stories, do we lose something? what narratives about engagement with cnovels might exist outside of the form of classic fandom?

i think a lot of people get the relationship between ideas (the superstructure) and production (the base) confused. oftentimes they will lob in response to criticism, that look! this fic, this fandom, these people are so niche, and so underrepresented in mainstream culture, that their effects are marginal. i am not arguing that anyone’s cql fic causes imperialism. (unless you’re really annoying. then it’s anyone’s game) 

i’m instead arguing something a little bit different. i think, given similar inputs, you tend to get similar outputs. i think we live in the world that imperialism built, and we have clear historical predecessors in terms of white appetites for creating, consuming, and transforming chinese objects. 

we have already seen, in the case of the fan language meme that began this post, that sometimes we even prefer this white chinoiserie. after all, isn’t it beautiful, too? 

i want to bring discomfort to this topic. i want to reject the paradigm of white subject and chinese object; in fact, here in this essay, i have tried to reverse it.

if you are taken aback by the comparisons i make here, how can you make meaningful changes to your fannish practice to address it? 

--------------------

some concluding thoughts on the matter, because i don’t like being misunderstood! 

i am not claiming white fans cannot create fanworks of cnovels or be inspired by asian art or artists. this essay is meant to elaborate on the historical connection between victorian england and cnovel characters and fandom that others have already popularized.

i don’t think people who make victorian jokes are inherently bad or racist. i am encouraging people to think about why we might make them and/or share them

the connections here are meant to be more provocative than strictly literal. (e.g. i don’t literally think writing fanfic is a 1-1 descendant of japanning). these connections are instead meant to 1) make visible the baggage that fans of color often approach fandom with and 2) recontextualize and defamiliarize fannish practice for the purposes of honest critique

please don’t turn this post into being about other different kinds of discourse, or into something that only one “kind” of fan does. please take my words at face value and consider them in good faith. i would really appreciate that.

please feel free to ask me to clarify any statements or supply more in-depth sources :) 

[ladyartemesia]

All I Want For Christmas is You

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x Female Reader

Summary: When Park Jimin is unable to escort his precious sister through the gauntlet of corporate holiday galas, he blackmails his best friend Taehyung into being her chaperone. After all, who better to safeguard his headstrong sibling than a man who would never want her for himself? (She and Tae have spent the better part of a decade mutually disliking each other, and that’s putting it mildly.) Yet, even the best laid plans may go awry at Christmas and Kim Taehyung is about to discover that the girl he never wanted has become a temptation he cannot resist...

Genre: Comedy • Fluff  • Smut

Tropes: Brother’s Best Friend (Reader is Jimin’s Sister) • Enemies-to-Lovers

Collab: This work is part of the Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tropes Collab featuring original holiday themed works by @ppersonna • @xjoonchildx  • @underthejoon • @yeojaa​ • @untaemedqueen • and @snackhobi

Word Count: 17K (I know—I am shocked too honestly)

Rating: Explicit (18+)

Warnings: suggestive photographs • mention of accidentally being hit with a baseball • hints of jealousy and possessiveness • light tit slapping • explicit sexual content • m/f oral sex • consensual unprotected sex (shield it before you yield it y’all) • Viola’s mirror kink makes yet another appearance •

Acknowledgements:

To @ppersonna​ (Lindy) @underthejoon​ (Fal) and @xjoonchildx​ (Ana) you guys are my heart. Your support, willingness to read (and re-read) and give honest feedback made this fic special. Your friendship is my daily dose of awesome. Truly, I love you.

To @untaemedqueen​ (D) all of the above applies to you, but I owe you a little something extra for the LITERAL HOURS you spent in the doc with me. This fic would not be here without you. You kept me moving. You inspired me. You were amazing. Thank you so very much. This story is lovingly dedicated to you. 

To @hobi-gif​ for being the most thorough and incredible beta reader and for having all the important girl chats with me. I think you learned more about my past than you wanted... Either way you made this story better and I am profoundly grateful for the hours of time you spent. I have removed all the Hope-No-No words in your honor. 

To @lemonjoonah​ as always, you knew EXACTLY what I needed to tweak to make this story work. (Gotta pass that Lemon Litmus Test or no dice lol.) My lovely soul twin. You’re a bloomin’ rockstar. 

Please Picture This Taehyung:

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“Yes. Because you absolutely owe me.”

“Then send me a bill, not your unmanageable harpy of a sister.”

Jimin raised a single unimpressed brow. 

“Kim Taehyung. It was exactly five years ago today that I carried your drunken naked ass two miles in the rain after you set your clothes on fire and sprained your ankle at that Beta Phi party.” He paused dramatically. “Do you remember what you said to me that night? After I deleted several pictures off phones and paid off half the party to keep it out of the papers?”

The man in question shifted uncomfortably.

“That incident is a bit hazy in my memory. I’m not sure I recall—”

“Jiminie—you’re the best and I—I owe… you. I owe you the most, Jiminie. I do—I owe you a favor—one BIG favor—anything you ask… Even though... I actually like being naked. I don’t think we need clothes. We should all be naked. Everyone. Then there would be world peace.”

Taehyung’s jaw dropped. 

“You RECORDED IT?!”

Jimin grinned, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Naturally. And I had it all ready to go—just in case you needed extra convincing.” He crossed his arms and fixed his best friend of nearly fifteen years with a triumphant smirk. “I’m calling in that favor today, Taehyung. Now are you a man of your word or not?”

“He did WHAT?!”

Your mother winced. 

“Jimin was... uncomfortable leaving you alone for the holiday season. He normally accompanies you to the galas but this year—”

“This year I was going to go alone and finally build my reputation as an asset to this family!”

Park Soomin sighed as she watched her daughter pace fiercely around the living room of their luxury suite. 

“No one doubts that you’re an asset, but… in light of recent events...”

Rage and embarrassment flared up in your chest before you could stop them. 

“This is about Milo… isn’t it?”

The silence that greeted your statement was confirmation enough. 

“Are you ever going to trust me again?” you whispered. 

“Oh sweetheart... it isn’t you we don’t trust...”

Tears burned at the corner of your eyes, but you ruthlessly blinked them back. 

You would play along with their humiliating schemes. 

For now.

“So which one of Jimin’s Ivy League brat pack did he blackmail into babysitting me? 

For the first time in the entirety of the conversation, your mother looked truly nervous. 

“Kim Taehyung.”

You tripped over your own feet and face-planted into the sofa. 

“Jungkook, I need to look into faking my own death. Nothing too over the top. Just a tasteful disappearance—”

The man in question could barely restrain his grin. 

“You don’t pay me nearly enough to deal with your mother in the event of your tragic demise and miraculous resurrection.”

“I could pay you more.”

“Or,” Jungkook replied with a heavy dose of judgment coloring his tone, “you could put on this ridiculous tie and stop trying to weasel out of it.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I pay you at all,” Taehyung growled, yanking the tie from the younger man’s grasp. “Clearly I’m not the one in charge.”

“Your words, sir, not mine. Now shall we go over the details and itinerary?”

If Jeon Jungkook wasn’t the best executive aide in the city (and one of his closest friends) Tae would have drop-kicked him right then and there.

“Could you at least try to look like you’re not enjoying this?”

“I’m sorry, sir. It was insensitive of me to ignore your suffering in this delicate time. The trauma of escorting a beautiful woman to a series of glorified buffets weighs heavily upon you.”

Taehyung tightened the tie so aggressively, he almost strangled himself.

“Beautiful woman?!” he wheezed. “We’re talking about the girl who showed up to our formal graduation party looking like she just escaped from Azkaban.”

Jungkook bit the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. 

“Tae… how long has it been since you’ve actually seen Ms. Park?” 

“Seen? Maybe three—four years.”

The heir-apparent of Kim Holdings avoided the public end of corporate culture like the plague, preferring to leave the requisite schmoozing to his personable cousin, Kim Seokjin. 

However, he had crossed paths with his adolescent nemesis in... other ways. 

Taehyung was romancing a lovely young socialite who suddenly ghosted him after someone told her that he wanted at least eight naturally-birthed children. 

Soon after, your favorite charity received an anonymous 30,000 dollar donation requesting that you be featured in the dunk tank for an upcoming benefit carnival and then the same anonymous patron paid for at least fifteen little league teams to attend. 

In retaliation, someone petitioned the National Aviary Society (chaired by a very influential senator’s wife that no one ever refused if they wanted their permits to go through) to make Taehyung the MC at their annual awards ceremony—knowing full well he was allergic to birds (not dangerously allergic—just enough to be miserable).  

Taehyung had sniffled and sneezed through approximately one hundred parrots, parakeets, and other assorted fowl until he was ready to commit murder. 

The last several years had been littered with similar incidents of the two of you taking thinly veiled potshots at one another. 

“I can’t imagine she’s changed very much,” Taehyung bit off absently. His mind was abruptly consumed by how he could get revenge for those demonic birds. 

He didn’t notice the smile creeping over Jungkook’s face. 

“No, sir. I’m sure she hasn’t changed at all.”

Taehyung had only ever had the wind knocked out of him once before. 

He was Dionysia High School’s star pitcher for three seasons and during one particularly tense game against JY Prep, Lim Jaebeom whacked a line drive right into his solar plexus. 

That’s how it felt to look up and see you at the top of the stairs. 

In his head, you were still the mischievous imp from his childhood. Every prank he played was directed at the fierce little fiend with braids and braces who’d knocked him and his date into the university fountain while experimenting with her friend’s skateboard. 

But she was gone… and in her place was something far more dangerous. 

A woman. 

Silken fabric wrapped tightly over curves you definitely didn’t have four years ago. That wild hair had been tamed into shining waves and pinned elegantly at the nape of your neck. The wicked slit that traveled all the way up your thigh teased a smooth shapely leg that all but demanded the viewer fantasize about running their hand up the length of it. 

Suddenly it was very clear why Park Jimin wouldn’t let his sister venture into the corporate cesspool alone. 

Because the sight of you could make a man desperate. 

Betrayal—of all things—slowly crept over Taehyung as you descended toward him like some sort of angel floating down from the heavens. 

His mind went blank. Just watching the seductive shift of your hips as you swayed ever closer felt like a violation of his friendship with Jimin. He could feel the judgmental stares of an imaginary Bro-Code Council boring into him from on high. 

“I see you’ve recovered from your memorable tenure as the Aviary Society’s Master of Ceremonies.”

And just like that the brat was back. 

Taehyung breathed a hefty sigh of relief, secretly thrilled to be in familiar territory with you. 

“Naturally I was delighted to help Senator Mitchell’s wife. In fact, Mitchell’s office just fast tracked all my pending permit requests for the new year.” He tilted forward, coming into your space a bit. “I should really send you a thank you card.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scowled, breezing past him like an indignant queen. 

Tae could practically see the steam pouring out of your ears. 

“Of course not,” he chuckled.

The first gala of the holiday season was an extravagant annual affair hosted by Min Corp., a Seoul based investment firm that commanded billions in assets. This year, the theme of the event was the Joseon Dynasty and the entire ballroom had been gloriously transformed into a stunning celebration of the Min family’s royal heritage. 

Attendees were gifted their own traditional fan, each uniquely crafted by artisans from Damyang. Taehyung’s was all black with bold silver calligraphy while yours was a beautiful bamboo and silk piece decorated with pomegranate trees. 

You had already whacked three people with it by the time dinner was served. 

“It really is a pity these fell out of fashion,” you lamented. “They’re quite useful.”

“You are deranged,” Taehyung mumbled, massaging his temples in exasperation. 

“Nonsense. I only fanned those who deserved it.”

“Harkins?”

“He was staring at my rack for a solid minute.”

Taehyung could hardly blame the man, it was a battle he himself was losing after all, but Harkins was twice your age and married—therefore his ogling was in especially poor taste. 

“Okay... What about Kang?” 

“He was verbally abusing one of the waitstaff.” 

“Alright, fair enough, but why on earth would you go after sweet old Mrs. O’Malley?”

“She was about to grab your ass.”

Taehyung’s mouth dropped open.

“She’s eighty-five!”

“And still kickin’ apparently.” You shook your head in disgust. “As if I’d whack an eighty-five year-old woman for anything less than non-consensual touching.”

“I- I- mean—surely you must be mistaken,” he coughed. 

“Oh, there’s no mistake. That nasty old crone is a serial offender. She likes to play it off as dementia, but she’s as sharp as a tack. Last year she got a whole handful of Jimin. Honestly, I’d call the police on her, but the commissioner is her grandson so I doubt I’d get very far.”

Taehyung turned to the woman in question just in time to see her totter lecherously toward Jung Hoseok, fingers already twitching in anticipation. 

“Is nothing sacred?” he mused hollowly. 

You shrugged. 

“Many people who accumulate as much as our families have start believing that they are entitled to whatever strikes their fancy.” Your eyes met his with a hint of bemusement. “Surely you should be used to this sort of thing by now?”

“Yes, but I was hardly expecting it from little old ladies!”

The remainder of dinner was a terse affair where you pretended he didn’t exist for the entire meal and he in turn pretended that the spunky young heiress seated to his right was the most darling creature to ever walk the earth. By dessert she was ready to get married and you were ready to vomit. 

Afterward, Taehyung found himself quickly converted to your views on fan usefulness as you began strolling through the crowd intent on strengthening your family’s corporate ties. 

“Kim Taehyung,” you ground out through clenched teeth, “how am I supposed to do business if you keep stabbing everyone I speak to!”

“I don’t know what you’re implying. I’m simply not used to carrying one of these. I may have accidentally grazed a few overzealous individuals—”

“My last three conversations have been rudely disrupted by the blunt end of that accused fan.”

Taehyung crossed his arms smugly. 

“And what of it? Jimin sent me along to keep an eye on you and the gentlemen in question were hardly behaving themselves. No one has to put their hand in my back or lean that close to me when they’re talking business.” 

“That’s because no one wants to get that close to you,” you replied sweetly. “You’re gross.” 

A devastating grin slid slowly over his features as he leaned forward to whisper in your ear. 

“I can think of several women who might disagree.”

He just barely caught the hitch in your breath before- 

“Like who? Miss Blushes-and-Giggles from dinner?”

“Jealous?” Taehyung drawled cockily. 

“Only in your dreams, Kim.” Then, with a deliberate flick of your fan, you turned your back to him. “I’m headed for the ladies room. Do yourself a favor and don’t follow me in.”

It was twenty minutes before Taehyung realized that you slipped out the back entrance of the restroom. 

It took another ten for him to locate you on the balcony flirting outrageously with Min Yoongi. 

The young heir of Min Corp. was just leaning closer to whisper sweet nothings in your ear when a black fan slid right in between the two of you. 

“Lovely weather we’re having,” Taehyung observed cheerfully. His eyes bounced between you and Yoongi with barely concealed fury and you let out a miserable groan. 

“Mr. Kim,” Yoongi cleared his throat significantly. “What an… unexpected surprise.”

Frustration clawed at your chest as your overbearing guardian nodded smugly in response. 

It was time to teach him—and Jimin—a lesson. 

“Yoongi,” you sighed, sliding your hand pointedly through the crook of his arm, “I’m not feeling at all well. Would you perhaps… escort me home?”

Taehyung suddenly looked as if he’d swallowed a live octopus. 

Yoongi grinned, clearly thrilled with the prospect of simultaneously spending more time with you and irritating Taehyung. 

“It would be my pleasure.”

“Jimin is gonna kill me,” Taehyung grumbled as he watched Min Yoongi help you into the passenger seat of his Aston Martin. 

An ugly green feeling he refused to identify twisted sharply in his gut when you smiled coyly at the other man. 

“This is ridiculous,” he snarled to no one in particular before yanking his phone out of his pocket. 

Jungkook picked up on the second ring. 

“Sir?”

“I need you to drive to Ms. Park’s apartment and tell me if she goes in alone or if Min Yoongi goes in with her.”

“You want me to what?!” 

“Just do it!” he snapped, downing an entire glass of champagne before signaling his own driver. 

Fifteen minutes later his phone vibrated from the car seat next to him. 

1 New Message from: Jungkook

Her building has four separate entrances. Which one do I watch? 

Taehyung could practically feel the vein pulsing in his forehead as he scrolled through his contacts. 

You picked up on the fourth ring. 

“Hello?”

“Where are you?”

“Oh it’s you… Wait—how did you get this number?”

“Jimin. Obviously. Now please answer the question.”

“Oh a ‘please.’ Who knew you had manners?”

“Answer the question, Park. I’m tired.”

The distinct sound of a zipper unzipping carried through the speaker. 

“I’m at home, of course. Where else would I be? I just got here like a minute ago.”

He had a sudden vision of Min Yoongi helping you out of your dress. His grip on the phone tightened. 

“Are you alone?”

You snorted. 

“I don’t see how that is any of your business.”

Taehyung saw red. 

“I’m coming over.”

There was a loud crash and several colorful words in at least three different languages. 

“Wha- No! I’m trying to go to bed!”

“With who?!”

“With myself, you idiot!”

“Prove it!”

“Fine! I will!”

The line disconnected and Taehyung swore loudly. He was just about to direct the driver to your building when his phone went off again. 

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

He almost choked on his tongue. 

You were clearly in the middle of undressing and—in your irritation—probably hadn’t looked too carefully at the picture you sent.  

At first glance it was simply a shot of your empty room (presumably “proof” that you were alone) but you neglected to consider the floor-length mirror hanging in the far corner…

A mirror that showed you angrily holding up your phone with your gown pooled deliciously around your waist and the soft round swells of your breasts strapped into lacy red lingerie. 

You were exquisite. 

A fierce, hot sensation gripped him ruthlessly, and this time there was no mistaking it. 

Desire. 

Your phone lit up on the bed where you tossed it after snapping a photo for your tightly-wound man nanny. 

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch 

I didn’t know you liked Van Gogh. 

Your head tilted in confusion. 

There was a Van Gogh print in your room, but he couldn’t have seen it because it was behind you when-

Oh NO.

You gasped, scrolling back up to confirm what deep down you already knew to be true. 

… You just sent Kim Taehyung a topless mirror selfie. 

Several miles away, smiling smugly in the backseat of his town car, Taehyung was sure he could almost hear you screaming. 

“Good morning, sir. Which would you like first; the bad news or the worse news?”

Taehyung groaned from underneath his covers. 

“Don’t you ever knock? I could have a woman up here.”

“You’ve never brought a woman up here.”

“Is that the bad news?” Taehyung yawned. 

“No,” Jungkook tossed a small stack of newspapers and printed digital articles into his lap, “this is the bad news.”

Pictures of you, Min Yoongi, and even himself were splashed over the front pages of all of them. 

PARK ANGEL TRADES ONE CORPORATE HEIR FOR ANOTHER AT MIN GALA

WHO WILL WIN THE PARK ANGEL’S HEART? KIM TAEHYUNG OR MIN YOONGI? LET US KNOW IN THE COMMENTS

NEW ROMANCE ALERT? PARK ANGEL LEAVES JOSEON BALL WITH MIN SCION 

“The Park Angel?” 

“That’s what the media calls her... The public is rather fascinated with her actually.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Taehyung mumbled. 

“Of course not, sir. It’s a great mystery.”

As usual, Taehyung chose to ignore his aide’s lethal snark and pressed on to the matter at hand. 

“This is a flaming disaster.”

“Oh I don’t know. I really appreciated the picture of you staring on forlornly while she and Yoongi climbed into the Aston Martin. Takes a real gift to capture all that drama in a single frame.”

“Which one was that?!” 

“It’s right under the MAN DOWN: PARK ANGEL LEAVES KIM TAEHYUNG HEARTBROKEN headline.”

Tae ran his hand down over his face in exasperation. 

“I’m surprised my mother hasn’t called.”

“She has. Twice.”

“I don’t suppose that’s the ‘worse news’ is it?”

“No.”

“Of course it isn’t. I’m never that lucky.” He collapsed backwards into his pillows with a beleaguered huff. “Go ahead then. Tell me.”

“Park Jimin is on the line for you right now.”

After a small eternity on the phone with Jimin (assuring him that NO Min Yoongi had not despoiled his precious sister and YES he would definitely do better next time), Taehyung was forced to attend an impromptu brunch with his mother. It took considerable effort, but he was eventually able to convince her that you were neither breaking his heart nor expecting his child. 

By the time he arrived to collect you for this evening’s event, Taehyung was already sick of hearing your name (he’d spoken it no less than three hundred times since Jungkook woke him this morning).

You were in much the same boat as Taehyung, having spent most of the afternoon pacifying Jimin and clearing up your own mother’s romantic delusions regarding the Min and Kim heirs respectively. 

Tonight’s gala was a Victorian Christmas Ball thrown by the National Literary Fund and the entire venue had been transformed into a Charles Dickens fever dream. 

Unlike the Min Gala (whose theme was guarded like a state secret every year) the Literary Fund’s tribute to A Christmas Carol was tradition and you were dressed accordingly in a custom corset gown with gorgeous detailing. 

Every second of effort it took to lace yourself into the monstrosity was worth the look on Taehyung’s face the moment you slipped off your cape. 

“Something wrong, Mr. Kim?”

Taehyung was desperately trying to look literally anywhere but your chest, where said corset was serving up your breasts like a debauched buffet. 

Jimin. Think of Jimin. Think of what Jimin will do to you. Think of how much trouble she’s caused-

He peeked again.

I would pay a million dollars to suck those tits. 

“Nothing at all,” his voice cracked. 

The itinerary for the evening included performances by a local children’s choir, a traditional waltz, and—of course—dinner.

You both managed to get along without snapping at each other during the choral performance, but as two of the largest donors to the Children’s Literacy Initiative, neither of you could escape being drawn into the waltz. 

The energetic socialite who Taehyung flirted with over dinner the previous night eventually lured him onto the floor while you graciously accepted an invitation from a lovely older gentleman who chaired the Fund’s event committee. 

For the first few movements, you were thoroughly enjoying yourself. Mr. Lee was charming, respectful, and still an excellent dancer despite his advanced age. It wasn’t until a familiar sound caught your attention that the lightness in your chest suddenly felt heavy...

Taehyung was laughing. 

You heard him do so many times over the years, and in each instance, the carefree magic of it never failed to make your heart flutter. 

But now he was smiling down at the pretty little heiress and laughing for her… and the flutter in your chest was accompanied by something else. 

Something that felt an awful lot like longing. 

“Does he know you look at him like that?” Mr. Lee asked quietly. 

Your eyes flew guiltily to his, but it was too late. The old man had caught a glimpse of the secret you buried deeply for more than a decade; so deeply, in fact, there were times you almost forgot it yourself...

Almost. 

“No,” you whispered, “he has no idea.” 

Disaster struck at dinner. 

Taehyung quite liked dancing with the lovely Miss Something-or-Other. She was sweet and funny and (unlike with you) he wasn’t constantly torn between agitation and raging inappropriate lust in her presence. 

The cold shoulder you offered him when he took his seat seemed even more frigid than usual and he spent half the meal wondering what he’d done to earn your amplified disdain when suddenly—

Your hand smacked down on his wrist, seizing it in a vise-like grip. 

Taehyung nearly choked on his steak and was about to give you a searing set-down over your spontaneous grabby-ness when he noticed your expression. 

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, leaning forward in concern. 

“I-I need—” 

It looked as if you were in some sort of physical pain and Taehyung was rapidly becoming worried. 

“I need your help,” you finally managed to whimper and the next thing he knew, you were dragging him away from the table and into one of the secluded alcoves near the main entrance hall. 

“Is there anyone around? Can anyone see us?” The look on your face bordered on unhinged. 

“No. There’s no one. Park, are you okay? What’s going on I—”

“I need you to unlace my dress,” you hissed frantically. 

At that moment, a bomb could have gone off and Taehyung wouldn’t have blinked. 

You, however, were completely preoccupied with your own distress and therefore oblivious to his. 

“My earring broke during dinner and fell down there and now it’s stabbing me—”

Your eyes were beginning to tear. Taehyung remained frozen, still trying to figure out whether or not this was a lucid dream. 

“—it’s definitely pierced the skin and there’s a possibility I’m gonna start bleeding through the fabric—”

The mention of blood snapped him out of his daze somewhat. 

“A-Alright. Just turn around—brace yourself on that wall.”

You quickly did as you were told and Taehyung began to tug fruitlessly at the ties cross-crossing your back.

“Why won’t this—”

His fingers fumbled over the knots, desperately trying to loosen them, but they simply wouldn’t budge. 

“I can’t—I can’t get it. Whoever helped you into this thing made sure you weren’t getting out of it.” 

You whined in frustration and the earring shifted a bit in response. 

There was only one other way to fix this (and you would almost rather be in pain). 

“Taehyung I—” you turned to face him again, forcing your eyes shut before reluctantly doing what had to be done “... I need you to reach down the front of my dress and get it.”

He blinked. Twice. 

“I’m sorry—What did you just—”

“Please, Tae,” you whispered desperately, letting your lip tremble in a way he had never been able to resist, “it hurts…”

He gulped. 

His eyes dropped to the matter at hand.

This is fine. Everything’s fine. She’s in pain, right? You’re basically a doctor right now. You’re just going slide your hand in between the most mouthwatering pair of breasts you’ve ever seen and then—

Taehyung’s manic inner monologue was interrupted by the sound of his own moan. He immediately faked a coughing fit to cover it and prayed you hadn’t noticed. 

(You hadn’t. You were actively being stabbed.) 

“I can’t believe I’m actually doing this,” he muttered, curling his fingers over the scalloped edge of the bodice. 

You bit your lip, desperately trying to hold back any reaction, but when his knuckle brushed the pebbled tip of your nipple, you gasped. 

Oh.

His hand stuttered, lingering a moment too long over the tight little peak as his gaze suddenly shot up to meet yours. Both of you had been studiously avoiding eye contact, yet now it was as if neither of you could look away. 

Taehyung wet his lips reflexively. 

“It’s too tight,” he whispered, “I need more leverage.” 

Then his arm wrapped over the curve of your lower back and he drew you tightly against him, anchoring your hips just enough to fully slip his hand between your body and the corset. 

You were so warm.

So soft...

“I can feel it,” he grunted, “but I can’t get a good grip on it.” 

His mouth pressed into a tight line as he leaned forward, bringing your back up against the wall. You let out a little squeak and his eyes darted briefly down to your mouth before he spoke again. 

“Hold on to me.”  

You nodded and wordlessly slid your arms around his waist.

If you concentrated hard enough, you could almost pretend that this wasn’t one of the most erotic moments of your life. 

You could almost pretend that it meant nothing. 

Your mind was spinning wildly, wondering what he was thinking, wondering if he noticed how strangely you were breathing or how hard your heart was beating...

“I’ve got it,” he murmured. Shivers shot down your spine at the dark timbre of his voice. 

He was so close. You could feel every word he spoke brushing softly against your skin. 

“On ‘three’ I’m going to pull it out… Are you ready?”

You drew in a final steadying breath. 

“Do it.”

He nodded. 

“One… Two… Three—”

Taehyung yanked his hand back and several things happened at once. 

Your breasts bounced almost entirely out of the corset. 

The decorative clasps on the front of your gown tangled with the buttons on his shirt and when he pulled back, three of them went flying off like stray bullets. 

And finally, the corset didn’t relinquish Taehyung’s hand quite quickly enough and, as a result, you toppled forward and crashed down on top of him, smashing your newly bare breasts to his newly bare chest. 

It could have been ten seconds or ten hours that passed by while the two of you lay there, breathing heavily in a pile of confused arousal when—

“... Is… everything alright here?”

You both looked up to find a thoroughly scandalized member of the waitstaff standing over you. 

Taehyung saw his life flash before his eyes—ending (of course) with Jimin murdering him for this. 

He gulped again. 

“I can explain.” 

It was decided—for the sake of appearances—that you would both leave the venue (immediately) in separate vehicles. 

Taehyung dropped a cool three hundred in crisp bills on the unfortunate waiter in order to help him ‘forget’ whatever he may or may not have seen. 

Neither of you spoke another word to each other in the ten minutes it took to bribe all the appropriate parties, gather your coats, and call for two separate town cars. 

Something had happened when he touched you; a subtle shift in the precarious balance of your relationship that you both felt keenly, but could not possibly begin to define. 

Taehyung barely even remembered climbing into the back of a vehicle. His body was firing on auto-pilot after the sensory overload of the last half hour. It wasn’t until he was nearly home that he realized he was still holding onto your earring. 

His mind began to wander as he examined the troublesome bauble in his palm. It was a striking piece; deceptively complex and unexpectedly beautiful. 

Just like you.

He told himself that the heat pooling low in his belly was anger—that the strange anxiousness to be near you was simply a desire for retribution—that it was merely platonic curiosity that left his hands aching to explore the rest of your curves. 

Lies.

… and pitifully transparent ones at that. 

Still, he clung to them desperately out of self-preservation. 

The gentle hum of his phone suddenly disturbed Taehyung’s silent contemplation. 

1 New Message from: Park Gremlin 

I made it home safely. 

Taehyung’s fingers were typing a reply before he could properly consider the consequence of his actions. 

To: Park Gremlin

I require proof… like last time. 

He nearly threw the phone the moment he sent it, running his hands down over his face in disbelief. 

You’re playing with fire, Kim Taehyung. 

And he was burning up already. He had no business sending you texts like that. Maybe you wouldn’t catch it. Maybe he could just-

The phone went off again and it was embarrassing how quickly he scrambled to open your response. 

His heart stuttered in his chest. His breathing ceased entirely-

And he knew—he knew—there was no coming back from this.

At first glance the photo was nearly identical to the shot you sent him last night. Same room, same angle… 

same mirror.

Yet this time, the reflection was quite different. 

The temptress in the glass wore nothing but that sinfully delicious corset and a pair of silky lace thigh highs, each accented with a green satin bow. 

He wanted to rip them off with his teeth. 

 “Oh Taehyung,” he whispered, as a dark wave primitive longing tore through him, “you are in so much trouble.”

Across town (buried beneath a pile of blankets) you were still struggling to process the boldness of your own actions when his response lit up your screen. 

1 New Message from: Kim Grinch

Green is my favorite color. 

“WHERE IS HE—”

Taehyung awoke to a series of crashes and shouts echoing from the floor below him. 

Jungkook was already seated in the corner of the room reading a newspaper. 

“Good morning, sir,” he said without looking up. “Would you like the bad news or the worse news?”

Suddenly the french doors of his bedroom slammed open and one very irate Park Jimin stormed through. 

“I swear I should have seen this coming. The two of you have always been obsessed with each other, but I never imagined—”

Taehyung’s eyes widened guiltily. He quickly schooled his features into a confused glare. 

“Jimin, I’ve only been awake for fifteen seconds. What the hell are you talking about?!”

Another stack of newspapers hit his lap and this time the pictures were mostly of him with his shirt ripped halfway down his chest. 

KIM HEIR AND PARK ANGEL CAUSE AN OLD-FASHIONED SCANDAL AT VICTORIAN BALL

FORGET MISTLETOE: KIM TAEHYUNG DISCOVERED UNDER THE PARK ANGEL AT CHRISTMAS CELEBRATION

NAUGHTY NOEL? PARK ANGEL’S STEAMY AFFAIR WITH CORPORATE PRINCE 

PARK ANGEL TOPS KIM TAEHYUNG’S CHRISTMAS TREE

He winced a bit at that last one. 

“You have ten seconds to explain before I start throwing things.”

Taehyung opened his mouth to do just that, but he was interrupted when his mother marched into the room waving the same articles that Jimin had just thrown at him. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG I raised you better than this! How could you!? That poor girl!”

“Mother!” he squeaked, yanking his blanket up over his chest like a frightened debutante. 

Jungkook began surreptitiously filming the whole debacle from the corner. 

“Indeed,” Jimin added darkly, crossing his arms over his chest, “how could you?”

Taehyung sighed heavily. 

“Is anyone else going to come charging into my bedroom?”

“Just answer me once and for all, is she pregnant?” 

“WHAT?!” 

“NO! Mother! Oh my—”

“Why does your mom think my little sister is pregnant?!”

Taehyung waved his arms wildly in exasperation. 

“My mom thinks everyone is pregnant! You know this!”

Jungkook could no longer contain his hysterical cackling. He very nearly fell off the chair trying to hold it all in. 

“Mr. Jeon,” Taehyung ground out irritably, “if it’s not too much trouble, could you please escort everyone out of my bedroom so I can get dressed!” 

“So you see—I was basically like a doctor,” Taehyung finished emphatically. 

He spent the past twenty minutes explaining to the entire table (which now included both you and your mother) why it was necessary to shove his hand down the front of your dress. 

Park Soomin had shown up at his door looking for answers (and dragging you behind her like a sacrificial lamb) about three minutes after Jimin. 

You had taken one look at Jimin’s murderous expression and insisted that the situation be evaluated over breakfast at the cafe down the street (where there were lots of witnesses). 

Which was how you, Taehyung, Jimin, and both your mothers ended up discussing your cleavage over coffee in a public restaurant. 

Jimin was the first to break. It was a few snorts at first, but he was basically in tears by the end of it, wheezing about how he never doubted Taehyung for a second and holding on to his sides from laughing too hard. 

Taehyung’s gaze met yours for a brief, heated exchange. He conveniently forgot to mention your slightly-less-than-explainable ‘check-in’ texts, but their existence was palpable in the air between you. 

“I think I’ll take a walk,” you muttered, excusing yourself from the complicated atmosphere at the table. 

Taehyung’s eyes lingered on you a tad too long as you wandered away, a fact that wasn’t missed by either of your mothers.

“Just a few more events and you can go back to not seeing her at all,” Jimin chuckled, patting him on the back. 

“Yeah,” Taehyung answered with a tight smile. “That’s… great.”

The cafe had a lovely little balcony area decorated with all sorts of comforting Christmas foliage. It was far more inviting than the awkward conversation and confusing stares you and Taehyung had been trading all morning. 

For the first time in the nearly fifteen years of your relationship (such as it was) you didn’t know where you stood with him… and it bothered you more than you cared to admit. 

Taehyung had always been important to you, whether you wanted him to be or not. He mattered—effortlessly—from the first moment you met him and continued to do so without regard for your sanity. 

Whatever was building between you now would almost certainly bring change… though what kind of change was anyone’s guess. 

It was hard to imagine the years ahead without the strange excitement he always brought to your life, but some things were simply out of your control…

“I never thought I’d see you here.”

A profoundly unpleasant feeling (something similar to falling through the ice on a frozen pond) overtook you. 

“Milo.” Even saying his name felt gross. You sighed. “What is so strange about seeing me here?”

The man in question blushed in a way you once found irresistible. 

“I looked for you everywhere. All your usual places—”

“I avoided them.”

I avoided you. 

Milo nodded. 

“I—I figured.” 

He took a step closer and you instinctively moved back. The hurt in his eyes was unmistakable, but you had long since become immune. 

“What are you doing?” you hissed angrily. “I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke.”

“Yes, but—” his hand reached out to curl over your forearm and you recoiled, “you didn’t give me a chance to explain—”

“Excuse me.” 

You both turned to see Kim Taehyung with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at Milo like he was a roach that crawled across his dinner plate. 

“Your mother sent me to come find you. She wants to leave.” 

You nodded and moved to pull away, but Milo’s grip tightened on your arm. 

“No—please if you just give me a minute—”

“That is enough,” Taehyung snarled, seizing the other man’s hand and forcibly removing it from your person. He angled his body between the two of you protectively. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

Milo’s eyes narrowed. 

“You’re Kim Taehyung. I read all about you in the papers this morning.” His lips twisted into an ugly sneer as he addressed you. “You really think you’re better off with him if that’s the way he treats you?”

Taehyung tensed menacingly beside you, but you laid a gentle hand on his arm to calm him. 

“None of that is any of your concern.” Your gaze rose to meet his defiantly. “Nothing about me is your concern anymore.”

Milo’s eyes fell to where your palm rested on the other man’s sleeve, noticing the way you both unconsciously leaned toward one another. 

“This isn’t over,” he muttered, storming off. 

After he was gone, you let out a breath you hadn’t known you were holding. 

“Thank you,” you whispered (though you couldn’t resist adding), “I could have handled it myself of course…”

Taehyung laughed. 

“Oh I know. I was at that party where you knocked out Tyler Jung for grabbing your ass.” 

You grinned. 

“I’d forgotten about that.”

“Well I’m sure Tyler hasn’t.” 

(He neglected to mention that he split Tyler’s lip behind the library the next day, just to make sure it was extra memorable for him.) 

“I wish I could forget about Milo.”

“... Are you still in love with him?” 

The words tasted like ash in his mouth. 

“No.” You smiled softly. “I’m not sure I was ever in love with him actually. It’s more—” you sighed, “—embarrassment… wounded pride.”

Taehyung tilted his head curiously and you found yourself continuing. 

“In the beginning, he was very playful and charming—and obviously handsome. He reminded me so much of—”

you. 

You cleared your throat. 

“Anyway… I was quite taken with him at first. I didn’t suspect any ulterior motives.” You shrugged, trying to hold back the unpleasant emotions that always threatened to overrun you in moments like this. “I just thought he liked me.”

Taehyung’s eyes filled with sympathy and understanding as you spoke. It felt oddly natural to open up to him this way. 

“Jimin is very protective of me—with good reason it turns out. He was suspicious of Milo and hired people to do some discreet digging.”

Your hands wrapped around your body for both warmth and comfort. 

“Milo’s family owns several companies, just like ours, but they’re all struggling. His father sent him to me hoping that he would eventually get compromising information… a sex tape or photographs—something of that nature. They intended to blackmail Jimin into doing business with them.”

Taehyung felt his jaw clench painfully. Fury, hot and profound, rolled through him. 

“I should kill him.”

You shook your head, amused in spite of yourself. 

“That’s exactly what Jimin said.”

“He has good instincts.”

“Scum like Milo aren’t worth it,” you chuckled. “He never got what he wanted… but I was still mortified. I felt like such a fool for believing him.”

“No,” Taehyung’s hands slid up to cup your shoulders, “it’s not foolish to believe that someone cared for you.”

It would be so easy to care for you. 

“Besides…” his eyes fell briefly to your lips as he searched for the right words, “I saw the way he looked at you and—even though he’s clearly a terrible person—I believe his feelings may have been genuine.”

You nodded. 

“That’s what he keeps trying to tell me—that he did have bad intentions, but ended up falling for me anyway.” You shook your head. “As If I could believe a word he says.”

The silence between you stretched comfortably. Taehyung sensed you had more to say, so he waited until you were ready to voice it. 

“I think that’s why I’m so sensitive about handling things on my own lately… and just now even. I want to prove to everyone—to myself—that I’m not a liability.”

“Hey,” he whispered, tipping your chin up till your gazes met, “no one thinks you’re a liability. And even if you are capable, no one should have to fight their own battles all the time—especially when they’re emotionally compromised…” His thumb gently brushed away the small tear that escaped down the curve of your cheek. “That’s the benefit of having people who care about you.”

“... Like you?” 

The words left you so softly, you could almost imagine they were still in your head where they likely should have stayed. 

Taehyung’s eyes widened in surprise. His gaze became even more intent and you ceased breathing altogether. After a moment his lips parted as if he was about to speak- 

“What’s going on, guys?”

You both jerked back at the sound of your brother’s voice. He was standing in the entrance to the balcony, gaze darting suspiciously between the two of you. 

Taehyung was a bit dazed, but you were always quicker on your feet. 

“I ran into Milo… Tae was calming me down.”

Jimin’s eyes hardened immediately. 

“Where is he?”

“Long gone,” you mumbled, ambling over to the familiar warmth of his arms. “I just want to go home.” 

The Black and White Ball was one of the most coveted invitations of the holiday season. 

The dress code was quite strict (all black or all white—no exceptions) and it was one of the few events where people actually arrived in limousines. 

Taehyung loathed limousines. He felt absurdly pretentious pulling up to your building in such a gauche ride, but traditions and appearances meant too much in his world to simply disregard them. 

His ensemble for the evening was a beautifully tailored black suit with hand-stitched baroque detailing. Oddly, he found himself wondering what you would think of it... 

“You look like a vampire.”

Taehyung turned at the sound of your voice and was struck, yet again, by how incredibly beautiful you were. 

You had chosen to wear white, donning an exquisite gown with delicate pearl beading and a daring sweetheart neckline that molded perfectly to your frame. 

If he looked like a vampire, you were surely an angel. 

Still…

Angel or not, he couldn’t let that comment pass. 

“I think I’m offended.”

“I can’t imagine why. After all, loads of women are attracted to Nosferatu.”

Taehyung’s eyes narrowed. 

“There are so many sexy vampires in popular culture, but you just had to lump me in with the creepy bald one...”

You shrugged playfully. 

“I wouldn’t want you to think I was going soft.”

A wicked grin danced over your lips as you strolled past him regally—just as you had many times before... 

This time, however, he let his eyes linger a little longer on the view. 

Lord have mercy. 

“Of course not,” he coughed. 

“You’re what?!”

You rolled your eyes.

Tonight had been going rather well. 

The two of you formed a mutual unspoken agreement to pretend that your last encounter on the balcony (and on the phone) had never happened and (despite the heated glances you occasionally traded) the bickering and playful banter characteristic of your relationship had all but returned to normal...

Until Taehyung learned of your participation in the evening’s main event. 

“I told you, I’m part of the date auction this year.”

“Does your brother know about this?!”

“I didn’t see any reason to bother him with it.” You were suddenly preoccupied with your nails. 

“Woman,” Taehyung sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, “are you trying to make my life difficult?”

“No, I’m just naturally gifted in that respect.”

You turned and began making your way to the front, but Taehyung was hot on your heels and clearly not ready to let the matter rest. 

“I cannot believe you’re actually going through with this! It’s not 1810, you know. We shouldn’t just auction off women for dates—”

“You’re absolutely right, Tae Tae.” You brushed a condescending pat over his cheek. “Nowadays we auction off the men too.”

Then you sauntered off to join the rest of the participating women—and men—backstage, leaving Taehyung to stew about the entire situation from the crowd. 

“As you know, all proceeds from tonight’s auction go to fight childhood hunger right here in our city. For legal purposes, I must advise all bidders that you are only bidding on the company of the individual in question.”

Taehyung shook his head. “Jimin is probably going to kill me for this.”

“If you place the winning bid, then you and your date will receive two VIP tickets to the Governor's Winter Wonderland Gala which comes with a variety of amenities including; a luxury limousine service, one of the private and famously romantic Winter Wonderland dinner experiences—”

His eyes fluttered shut. “Jimin is definitely gonna kill me for this.” 

“—unlimited free drinks, ten complimentary tickets for each of the grand prize raffles, photos with the Governor and his family, along with many more surprises!”

Taehyung grabbed a champagne flute from a nearby waiter and downed it in one go. 

“And now for our first date of the evening! Mr. Jackson Wang!” 

Jackson went for a cool six grand because no one was brave enough to outbid his girlfriend. 

After him, the beautiful Manoban heiress and her handsome cousin Kim Namjoon went for twelve grand each.

Jung Hoseok started a frenzied bidding war between two young socialites and Mrs. O’Malley. He ended up going to the lovely Ms. Ana Fallon for a staggering twenty thousand dollars. 

Taehyung’s own cousin, Kim Seokjin, paid a jaw-dropping twenty-one thousand dollars for Lin Yuna, the young CEO of Lin Cosmetics. (Taehyung made a mental note to ask him about that later.) 

Then it was your turn. 

“The next lady on our list needs no introduction. The lovely Park Angel has graciously agreed to a date with one lucky bidder tonight! Who will it be? Do I hear ten thousand?”

“Ten thousand.”

Taehyung swung his head toward the first bidder and breathed a sigh of relief. 

Tam Martin, one of your best friends and very gay. 

“Eleven thousand.”

“Twelve thousand.”

“Fifteen.”

“Sixteen thousand dollars.”

“Seventeen thousand.”

“Eighteen.”

Taehyung was having trouble keeping up with all the bidders. His ears were starting to ring again and a strange unpleasant nausea was building in his stomach. 

“Twenty thousand.”

“Twenty-five thousand.”

“Thirty thousand!”

At the sound of the last bidder’s voice, you noticeably paled. Your eyes flew to Taehyung’s and immediately he knew exactly who it was. 

Milo.

Before he could even react to the new information, another voice joined the fray. 

“Forty thousand.”

Min Yoongi smiled smugly from the other side of the room and even had the audacity to throw you a wink. 

You smiled shyly at the young heir’s boldness and Taehyung felt something downright unholy rise up in his chest. 

No. 

Milo was still bidding. 

“Fifty thousand dollars.”

Not her. 

“Sixty,” Yoongi countered.

She’s mine. 

Suddenly Taehyung was on his feet. 

“One hundred thousand dollars!” 

The silence in the backseat of your limousine was deafening. 

Tension charged the air like an electric current as the significance of the last hour weighed heavily between you. 

The spacious luxury vehicle allowed you to sit facing one another. Taehyung’s eyes were focused on his hands, but you were looking at him—letting your mind run wild with speculation. 

And hope. 

Part of you was still there, on the stage, watching him stand up and bid a fortune for the pleasure of your company. 

His gaze was so fierce when he spoke, like an ancient emperor calling out his decree for the people to obey. 

You dreamed about him bidding on you when you signed up for the auction (even before Jimin bullied him into accompanying you). You let yourself imagine him speaking out again and again till the others stepped back—

Yet you never dared hope for it. 

However, the last several days marked an unexpected turning point in your relationship. 

For years, you and he were like magnets with a too-similar charge, but something had shifted irrevocably between you, and somehow your stubborn similarities became opposites that could not resist their attraction. 

Kim Taehyung was one of the wealthiest men in the city…

But he didn’t need to buy your heart. 

It had always been his, even if you didn’t want to admit it. 

He had claimed you tonight—and every single soul in that ballroom knew it. 

The next move was yours and you intended to make it. 

“Mmm,” you hissed a bit, bringing your hand to rest just below your breasts. 

Taehyung’s gaze flew up in concern. 

“Is everything alright?”

“Yes, it’s just that scratch from the earring,” your fingers rubbed gingerly at the spot, drawing his focus to it, “it still stings.”

“Oh… I—” he shook his head, “I didn’t realize it was that bad.”

“Do you want to see?” 

Taehyung’s eyes rose slowly to yours. 

You watched the subtle rise and fall of his chest as he considered your words. Anticipation vibrated through your blood like notes struck on a piano—

Then he nodded...

And you both were lost. 

Trembling fingers slid the zipper down the side of your gown. The dress itself was a marvel of physics designed to support you without the need for a bra. 

Taehyung drew in an impossibly deep breath as the fabric drifted to your waist, baring the perfect mounds of your breasts to him entirely. 

“Here,” you whispered, pointing to a small red mark just under the curve of your left one. 

He bit back a moan. 

“I—I see. That looks… painful.” His fingers dug into the seat beside him. “Is there anything I can do to help?” 

You nodded. 

“Kiss it better.”

Taehyung felt the air knock out of his lungs like a sucker punch. 

This must have been how Adam felt when Eve offered him the forbidden fruit all those millennia ago. 

He knew he shouldn’t—

but he could never deny you. 

“Of course.”

You watched as his tongue darted out to wet his lips. He looked like a man possessed and you reveled in the power of it. 

It was for you. 

He wanted you. 

Your back arched up the slightest bit, beckoning to him—offering him a taste of what he was so desperately craving. 

Touch me… please. 

Large palms landed on either side of your thighs, bracing him on the seat beneath you. The tip of his nose teased the delicate line of your collar bone and he swore violently under his breath. 

Then his lips were on your skin and your mind went blank. 

“Taehyung—“ you moaned. 

Hot open-mouthed kisses spread over the soft swell of your breast and you gasped— shuddering helplessly as a fierce wave of pleasure tore through you.

Sweet merciful heavens. 

Over the years you imagined a moment like this thousands of times in your head—only to discover now that you had pitifully underestimated both his passion and his skill. 

You had dreamed of a quiet fire—but he had unleashed an inferno. 

The lewd sounds of his mouth nipping and sucking at your tender flesh filled the small space around you as he poured himself into each obscene contact—stopping briefly to flick his tongue over the taunt peak of your nipple. You trembled breathlessly at the sharp snap of sensation, letting your head fall back against the seat as you buried your fingers in his soft curls. 

“T-Tae—”

Finally his mouth fastened over the tiny scratch, and the kiss deepened. You knew what he was doing, what the result of his efforts would be—

He was marking you. 

And you wanted it. 

Oh how you wanted it. 

Suddenly the car took a sharp turn, causing Taehyung to lose his grip on the seat. His arms wrapped around your torso for balance, dragging you fully against him.

“Does it feel better, Angel?” he growled. 

You nodded frantically and he nipped at the underside of your breast. 

“Speak up.”  

“Yes, Taehyung,” you whimpered, “it feels so much better.” 

“Mmmm,” he hummed, brushing his mouth along the sensitive column of your neck. “Who knew you could be such a good girl?”

Then his hand came up to grip your chin, turning it so your lips were almost against his—

“Madame. We’ve arrived.”

The driver’s voice cut over your senses like a shard of ice. 

Taehyung jerked backward and immediately buried his face in his hands. 

Your fingers hastily yanked your dress up and you stumbled out of the car in a daze, letting your feet carry you forward until you collapsed on top of your bed. 

Did we just...

You hadn’t even begun to collect your thoughts when your phone buzzed from inside your purse. 

1 New Message from: Taehyung 🙄🥴🙈

I need to know you made it safely to your room. 

You grinned. 

Greedy boy. 

Back in the limousine, the boy in question was nervously tapping the corner of his phone against his chin as he waited for your reply. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Oh? But you saw me walk in… and I’m already in bed.

Taehyung growled in frustration. 

She would be a tease. 

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

I tend to worry. Put my mind at ease. 

He shook his head. 

I have officially gone insane. 

The phone buzzed again. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Well… We can’t have that can we… 

Taehyung literally felt the whine tear out of him as he opened the picture. 

Your gorgeous body (the body he’d had his hands and mouth on for one glorious minute) was nestled decadently atop a pile of fluffy blue blankets and wrapped in nothing but a tiny silk robe. 

The neck gaped open just enough to show off the pretty red marks he left on the delectable curve of your breast. 

He groaned, biting down hard on his bottom lip.

To: Angel 🤬🥵😅

That's all I get after I made the pain go away? Good girls send real proof, Angel

The screen lit up again almost immediately. 

1 New Message from: Angel 🤬🥵😅

Guess I’m not such a good girl after all...

Jimin came tearing through the Kim Manor front gate at precisely 7 AM—only to find Jungkook camped out at the entrance with several outdoor space heaters and a giant mug of hot chocolate.

“He told you not to let me in, didn’t he?”

Jungkook took a long satisfying sip of his cocoa. 

“I hope you don’t feel singled out, sir. I’m not allowed to let his mother in either.”

“I need to talk to him.”

“Of course, Mr. Park, let me just pull up his schedule—”

“I need to talk to him now.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Kim is booked solid for the morning.”

Jimin stomped his foot like a petulant child. 

“I know he’s up there.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“You’re welcome to climb the trellis and check. I promise not to stop you if you make it all the way up.”

“COME DOWN HERE AND FACE ME YOU COWARD!” Jimin shouted at the top of his lungs. 

Jungkook took another long pull of his drink. 

“Might I inquire as to the reason for your visit today, sir?”

“The reason for my visit,” Jimin yanked out his phone and angrily began typing into the search bar, “is that your boss paid ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND DOLLARS for my sister at a date auction last night and I want to know what the hell is going on between them!”

The article Jimin pulled up (DEVILISH KIM TAEHYUNG BUYS HIMSELF A $100,000 ANGEL) featured an image of the two of you entering the Black and White Ball. Your head was thrown back in laughter and Taehyung was grinning down at you as if you’d personally hung all the stars in the sky for him. 

A genuine smile crept over Jungkook’s face as he studied the photograph. 

“That’s quite a headline.” He handed Jimin’s phone back. “Have you asked your sister about it?”

“No, I swung by earlier, but she wasn’t home so—” His eyes widened. “Oh my—is she—”

Jimin suddenly took off running for the trellis, and Jungkook scrambled out of his chair to chase him. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG IF MY SISTER IS IN THAT ROOM—”

He was already three feet off the ground when Jungkook yanked him back. 

“I thought you said I could climb the trellis!”

“Yes,” Jungkook wheezed, “but I didn’t think you’d actually do it!” That trellis is a hundred years old! A few more feet and I’d be scraping you off the antique brickwork!”

Jimin scowled and crossed his arms. 

“Are you by any chance open to bribes?”

“Normally yes, but Tae promised to double my Christmas bonus if I didn’t accept them today.”

Jimin continued to eye the trellis speculatively, clearly willing to take his chances. Jungkook sighed and rubbed his forehead. 

“Mr. Park, I promise you… He came home alone last night. In fact, they both returned earlier than usual because your sister had a 7 AM finance meeting.” He paused significantly to glance at his watch. “Which is probably where she is right now.”

“Oh… Well.”

Jungkook bit his lip to hold back a snort and Jimin’s eyes narrowed. 

“He has to come down eventually.”

“One would think.”

The young Park heir glanced toward Taehyung’s window again just in time to see the man in question dart back behind the curtains. 

"I KNOW YOU'RE AWAKE, KIM TAEHYUNG, YOU PHILANDERING SLEAZE BAG!" 

Jimin made another jump for the trellis and this time Jungkook caught him in mid-air. 

“Sir, I’m sure it was just the maid!”

“It’s not the maid! I’d know that raggedy mop of his anywhere!”

Jungkook was out of breath at this point. Park Jimin might be small, but he was fierce. 

“Perhaps it’s best if you took a moment to collect yourself,” he grunted. “There’s a lovely new spa down the street and they sent Taehyung two free deluxe packages.”

Jimin stopped struggling. 

“Oh?”

Five minutes later, Jungkook sighed deeply and fished his phone out of his back pocket. 

“He’s gone, sir.”

“Excellent work, Jungkook. I never doubted you for a second.”

“However…”

“... However?”

“I had to give him your spa passes.”

“YOU DID WHAT?!”

“Are you headed for a gala or the guillotine?”

Taehyung rolled his eyes. 

“I don’t pay extra for commentary.”

“It’s complimentary, sir.”

The Kim heir tugged absently at the material of his absurdly expensive evening wear. 

Why do these events always have to be so uncomfortable? 

“Seriously, Tae… you seem,” the young aide searched for the right words, “unusually tense.”

Taehyung’s mind flashed back to three nights ago when he had his mouth wrapped around your breast. 

“Not at all,” he coughed, loosening the collar of his shirt. 

Jungkook bit his lip.

“Is this about Ms. Park, sir?”

The cufflinks Taehyung was attempting to fasten suddenly went flying across the room and hit a lamp. 

Both men winced. 

“I think that was your grandmother’s.”

Taehyung sighed. 

“I admit there have been… some developments.”

Jungkook nodded nonchalantly, trying to disguise the fact that he was internally frothing at the mouth for details. 

“... Such as?”

Taehyung gulped. 

“It started out rather innocently I suppose…” he cleared his throat, “but there may have been some suggestive photographs.”

“There may have been? Are you not sure?”

Taehyung colored guiltily. 

“Well—”

“Do you need me to check for you, sir? I have an art history degree.”

“Absolutely not.”

Jungkook grinned. 

“That’s what I thought.”

Taehyung yanked his tie out of the younger man’s hand. 

“Things have… escalated a bit.”

“Escalated how?”

I licked her tit in the back of a limo.

“Physically.”

It was everything Jungkook could do to maintain a straight face. 

“That’s… shocking.”

“Then why don’t you seem shocked?” Taehyung grumbled. 

A small smile played across Jungkook’s lips as he pointedly ignored the elder man’s observation.

“So what are you going to do, sir?”

Taehyung was silent for a long moment. 

“I honestly have no idea.”

Watching you walk toward him was an experience.  

Taehyung wondered absently if this was how it would be from now on; if for the rest of his life just the sight of you would be enough to scatter his mind and his pulse and even the way he breathed. 

Your dress tonight was deadly. 

It was a decadent red satin halter that clung to every curve. The truly wicked detail, however, was a daring slit that ran the entire length of your leg. 

Taehyung was certain he was going to trip over his own tongue at some point if he looked directly at you for too long. 

Oh help. 

Memories of your previous encounter flooded his senses. Every second you were getting closer and he didn’t know what to do—what to say. 

So he didn’t say anything at all. 

Not a word when you reached the bottom of the stairs. Nothing but silence as he opened the door of the limo for you. More silence and no eye contact as he settled into the seat across from yours—

And you tolerated that for about three minutes. 

“I never thought I’d see the day when Kim Taehyung didn’t have a comment about something. Perhaps I should mark this down on my calendar.”

The words were lightly spoken, but you were shaking on the inside. The last time the two of you were alone together he had your dress around your waist and you were moaning his name. Now he wasn’t talking and you were torn between panic and irritation. 

Taehyung, however, latched onto your passive barb like a lifeline. 

“Is that a hint of sarcasm I hear from the benevolent Park Angel?” He grinned. “Surely not.”

“Red is not a particularly angelic color. Perhaps I’m feeling feisty today.”

Taehyung leaned back in his seat and indulged himself in a thorough examination of your outfit. The urge to run his hands over the satin-covered lines of your body was nearly unbearable. He curled his fingers into fists to keep them from doing just that. 

She is definitely trying to kill me. 

“Should I be worried?”

Now it was your turn to grin. 

“I guess we’ll find out.”

The Governor’s Winter Wonderland Gala was by far the most extravagant event of the holiday season. Tickets cost a small fortune and sold out almost immediately. 

But it was well worth the price of admission.

Thousands of lights sparkled overhead as you made your way through the great hall of Governor Kim’s mansion. 

It was like stepping into a fairytale. 

Taehyung couldn’t take his eyes off you. The sheer wonder in your expression was breathtaking. 

You were breathtaking.  

“Governor Kim, it is such an honor to finally meet you.”

The Governor was a handsome man in his early fifties with a smile that was every bit as lethal as it had been twenty-five years ago. 

“The honor is all mine, Ms. Park. I trust my nephew is treating you well.”

Your eyes widened. 

“N-nephew?”

Taehyung shrugged. 

“I don’t really talk about it much.” 

The Governor chuckled and you cleared your throat to cover your nervousness. 

“Yes, he’s been a very capable escort.”

“Is that so?” Governor Kim smiled charmingly. “Well if it doesn’t work out, my son Seokjin is still single—”

“Thank you, Uncle. It was lovely to see you as always.”

You squeaked as Taehyung placed his hand firmly on the curve of your back and practically dragged you away. 

The Governor just shook his head and laughed. 

“Oh kid, you’ve got it bad.”

Everywhere you looked there was beauty. 

Whoever planned the gala this year had truly gone above and beyond. Surrounded on all sides by glittering trees and snowy vignettes, it was easy to be swept away in the festive magic of the evening. 

All in all (despite some initial awkwardness), you were having a fantastic time...

Until she showed up. 

“Kim Taehyung! Is that you?”

Every single hair on your body stood on end, but before you could determine the source of the shrill squealing, you found yourself being nudged aside by a blinding golden gown and some very high heels. 

“Aubrey,” Taehyung grunted as five-and-half feet of gorgeous wrapped herself around him like a clinging vine. “Long time no see.”

“Not since that vacation in Aspen,” she giggled. “We had quite a time, didn’t we Tae Tae!”

Suddenly you had the most unholy urge to slap the spray tan right off this woman. 

Instead, you plastered on a vibrant smile and placed your hand on Taehyung’s sleeve.

“Um. Excuse me, Tae Tae, perhaps you could introduce us?”

Taehyung looked as if he’d just been served raw fire ants for dinner. 

“Yes. Of course. This is—”

“Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine,” she interrupted with a smug little smirk. “Taehyung and I go way back.” Her expression grew just the slightest bit tighter. “And you are?”

“His date,” you deadpanned. 

“Aubrey,” Taehyung cleared his throat, “I’d like you to meet Ms. Park she’s—”

“Oh my goodness! You’re Jimin’s little sister aren't you!” Aubrey slapped her hand over his chest and he winced. “That is so precious of you to take her around like this!”

Your eyebrows raised right up into your hairline and Taehyung groaned. 

“Yes, he was kind enough to sign me out of the nursery for the evening.” You offered them both a painfully vacant nod. “If you’ll excuse me, I think I see one of my play-dates near the buffet.”

Then you turned on your heel and sauntered off without another word. 

Taehyung moved to follow you, but Aubrey curled her fingers into the crook of his arm and pulled him back. 

“Oh let her go, Tae. You and I have so much catching up to do.”

Taehyung pointedly removed her hand from his elbow. 

“Some other time perhaps.” 

Aubrey pouted prettily. 

“You’re not running off after her are you? She’s a big girl, she can take care of herself.”

Taehyung crossed his arms and fixed her with a knowing look. 

“Funny... that’s not what you were implying a moment ago.”

“A moment ago I didn’t have you all to myself. Now I do.” She had the decency to blush. “Perhaps I got a bit jealous.”

“You don’t say.” His eyes continued to search the crowd for any sign of you. 

“It seems I had good reason to be,” she murmured quietly. 

“Aubrey... Listen I—”

She cut him off with a finger to his lips.

“Don’t bother Tae Tae. I’m petty, but I’ve never been pathetic.”

He grinned. 

“Never.”

The lady sighed and gave him a heated once over.

“What a shame.”

Then she strolled off with a rueful smile. 

“You know what I don’t understand?”

You turn to find Min Yoongi leaning casually against a nearby column. He looked absurdly handsome as always, but his grin was just the slightest bit mischievous. 

“What don’t you understand, Mr. Min?”

The question was clearly a bait, but you were still fuming from your earlier encounter with Ms. St. Valentine and therefore desperately in need of a distraction. 

Yoongi pushed off the column and lazily made his way toward you.

“I don’t understand how a man pays a hundred thousand dollars for an evening with the most beautiful woman in the city, and then leaves her all by herself.” He leaned forward with a playful grin. “Perhaps you could enlighten me?”

Oh he’s good. 

You made a show of tapping your chin thoughtfully. 

“I’m afraid I don’t have an answer for that one.”

Yoongi sighed and shook his head. 

“Couldn’t be me.”

You laughed then. He really was a delightful man. In fact, if you still had your heart, you might have considered letting him take a shot at it. 

Alas. 

You tilted your head speculatively. 

Surely there was no need to brush away good company...

After all, no one else is interested in spending time with me. 

“Since my escort is otherwise occupied, perhaps you could join me for dinner?”

Yoongi held out his hand. 

“I’d be delighted.”

Taehyung wandered around the mansion for nearly forty-five minutes looking for his date.  

Panic was just starting to build in his chest when he finally spotted you

—at his private dining table with Min Yoongi. 

It was everything he could do not to storm over and yank the other man out of his seat by the lapels. 

Alright, Angel. If this is the game you want to play… then let’s play. 

Taehyung felt his anger rise with every step, but he ruthlessly suppressed any sign of it and instead adopted a charming smile. 

“Min, I didn’t expect to find you here. What a… delightful surprise.”

Yoongi’s expression was just a shade too satisfied. Taehyung could already feel his blood pressure beginning to skyrocket. 

“Yes, Ms. Park believed that you were otherwise occupied and invited me to share the meal with her.”

“I see,” Taehyung practically snarled. “However,” his gaze landed heavily on you, “since I paid for this table, I hope you won’t mind if I join you as well?”

You avoided looking at him up to this point, but now you were choking on your wine

“Easy there, Angel,” Taehyung murmured as he pulled up a seat extremely close to yours—so close that your thighs were nearly touching. 

Oh boy. 

Over the next several minutes Yoongi continued to flirt openly and you continued to smile prettily and pretend Taehyung wasn’t there (which naturally infuriated him). 

You should have known he wouldn’t let you get away with such behavior so easily. 

This was Kim Taehyung, after all, and if there was anything that could be counted on when it came to your shared history, it was that one (or both) of you was always ready to escalate. 

You had just offered the young Min heir yet another flowery compliment when you felt Taehyung make his move. 

Two warm fingers slid under the silken slit of your dress, coming to rest possessively over the soft flesh of your inner thigh. 

You squeaked and nearly spat up your drink. 

Taehyung leaned forward in fake concern, wrapping his arm around you as if to offer aid. 

“Are you alright?”

His hand continued to move significantly beneath your gown, but his face was the picture of innocence. 

You glared. 

“Just fine, thank you.”

A slow grin crept across his features as he began to trace soft intimate patterns over your skin.  

On the other side of the table, Yoongi tilted his head in genuine solicitude. “Are you sure?”

You nodded sharply. 

Satisfied, he resumed speaking about whatever it was he’d been saying—though you couldn’t understand a word of it at this point because the torturous strokes Taehyung was leisurely drawing over your thighs were moving closer to your center with each passing second. 

Yet you made no move to stop him. 

You should have. 

You should have slapped his touch away—rebuked him for his boldness—

But you didn’t. 

So he just kept nodding and smiling while Yoongi spoke, even as his fingers teased you with the maddening persistence of a man who knew very well what he was doing. 

You gasped aloud when he finally brushed the pad of his thumb over the thin cotton of your panties. 

“T-Taehyung—” 

“Hmm?” he turned to you, seemingly surprised by your attention (it was—after all—the first time you’d addressed him since the beginning of the meal).

“Could you pass me the salt,” you sputtered (hoping to cover the fact that you moaned his name involuntarily). Unfortunately, Taehyung seemed wholly aware of your ruse, offering you the salt shaker with a superior smirk.

You seriously considered stabbing him with a fork. 

However, before you could carry out any bloodthirsty plans, he pressed his fingers directly over your clit and your eyes rolled back in your head

“Oh my g—” you bit your lip stubbornly, “this lamb is just so good.” 

Sweet mother of macaroons, he is too skilled at this. 

You shoveled another bite into your mouth to cover your whine as Taehyung began to rub tight little circles over your sweet spot. 

Across the table, Yoongi nodded in blissful unawareness. 

“Yes, I agree, the lamb is excellent—very tender.”

Taehyung took advantage of the momentary distraction to slip beneath the fabric of your undergarment. 

Your fork clattered to your plate and your hand came up to cover your mouth as he began running his fingers up and down your soaked slit.

It was everything you could do to hold back your depraved whimpering. 

“I can’t wait to taste it,” Taehyung replied, flicking your clit in a way that guaranteed he wasn’t referring to the lamb. 

At this point Yoongi seemed to notice you were in some sort of distress. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and leaned forward. 

“Ms. Park, are you well?”

Taehyung chose that moment to sink his finger into the welcoming heat of your pussy. 

“Yes,” you almost sobbed, “I’m-I’m very well—thank you.”

“Excellent,” Yoongi smiled as he rose to his feet. “If you’re feeling up to it, perhaps you could favor me with a dance?”

Several attendees were already making their way to the center of the floor and the orchestra was beginning to play.

Your entire body, however, was vibrating like a plucked harp string and Taehyung was still brushing back and forth against your clit, driving you toward a release that promised to be explosive. 

There was no way—simply no way—that you would be capable of hiding it. 

“Yes! I would love to dance with you,” you squeaked, grabbing hold of Taehyung’s wrist frantically. The feel of him pulling out of your sopping core was nearly enough to have you coming right there. 

Thankfully, Yoongi remained utterly oblivious to the debauchery unfolding beneath the table. He took your hand and helped you to your feet with an eager smile (and it was a good thing too because your legs were still shaking). 

When the two of you reached the dance floor, you turned back for the briefest instant—

just long enough to meet Taehyung’s heated gaze as his lips closed over the finger he buried in your cunt. 

Emotions were a funny thing. 

They impacted your judgement, affected your body, altered your behavior… 

And occasionally eroded your common sense. 

Sitting alone in the corner of the Governor’s ballroom, Kim Taehyung found himself experiencing a full spectrum of emotional side-effects. 

His hands clenched as he watched Min Yoongi spin you around the floor. 

His heart pounded every time he caught a flash of your shapely leg peeking through the slit in your gown. 

His blood boiled when you threw your head back and laughed at something the other man said. 

It was difficult to pinpoint which emotion was to blame for each of these reactions. There were certainly a number of them boiling over in his subconscious. 

Frustration—

I didn’t even want to talk to Aubrey! How are you acting like anything she said was my fault?!

Rage—  

Why is challenging people to duels illegal? I would fight Min Yoongi at dawn. I would fight Min Yoongi now. 

Jealousy—

You asked her to dance while my fingers were in her pussy. We are not the same. 

But perhaps the most persistent—the most overwhelming— emotion twisting through him was longing. 

You and Taehyung spent nearly four years apart, and he was so desperate to be near you—even then—that he resorted to childish pranks in order to remain a part of your life. 

He hadn’t recognized his actions or desires for what they were. He hadn’t realized what you meant to him...

But now, after spending the last several days with your hand on his arm and your laughter in his ear, he could no longer imagine spending another moment without you. 

Everything seemed to crystallize as he watched you laughing and dancing in the arms of another man. 

Uncertainty became clear. Complications became simple. 

And when he saw Min Yoongi’s hand slide dangerously close to the perfect swell of your backside—

Emotion became action.

“Mind if I cut in?”

It wasn’t a question really. Taehyung was already shouldering his rival out of the way and pulling you into his arms. 

“Taehyung,” you hissed, shooting the bewildered Yoongi an apologetic look over his shoulder, “what are you doing? This is so rude—”

“You’re absolutely right,” he agreed, sweeping you through the couples on the floor with practiced ease. “It is unpardonably rude to steal someone else’s date. He’s lucky all I did was steal you back.”

Your mouth dropped open. 

“Oh? So you finally remembered that I was your date?”

Taehyung’s grip on the curve of your waist became a shade rougher as he pulled you through the next turn. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means—” you stepped forward vigorously, nearly smashing your body into his, “—that you spent forty-five minutes with Aubrey Alicia St. Valentine when you were supposed to be having dinner with me!”

Taehyung growled and yanked you flush against him. 

“I spent forty-five minutes looking for you while you were giving away my table to Min Yoongi!”

The two of you sailed through the next several movements glaring at one another before you snapped again. 

“None of this would have happened if you had just told Aubrey St. Spray Tan that you were with me—”

“I did!”

“Instead, you let her call me a baby!”

“What let? Aubrey is a grown woman!”

“But—”

“And—you stormed off before I could say anything, so how would you know what I let?”

“You didn’t come after me!”

“Yes actually I did—but she grabbed my arm!”

“Really? Well what else did she grab?”

Taehyung abruptly realized how silent everything around you had become. 

People were staring—and not even discreetly— just full on staring with their mouths hanging open. 

Well that’s great. 

Taehyung’s hand closed around yours and you suddenly found yourself being marched across the dance floor at a breakneck pace.

“What are you doing?”

“Continuing this discussion in private.”

“We can’t just go somewhere private in the Governor’s mansion!” you sputtered, struggling to keep up with his larger strides. 

“You mean in my uncle’s house? Yes—actually we can—and we will.”

Taehyung proved to be a man of his word, dragging you past two security guards and into the roped off section of the manor with nothing more than a nod. 

The residential wing of the Governor’s home was beautifully decorated with traditional Korean artistic touches—all of which you were unable to appreciate while Taehyung was speed walking you through the halls. 

After a surprising amount of turns and archways, he yanked open an ornate wooden door with the words Reflection Suite written on a plaque above it in beautiful calligraphy. 

You almost giggled when you got a look inside. 

On the surface it was a tastefully furnished guest room with a simple cherry wood desk and a cozy double bed set in an elegant matching frame.

However—

The ceiling and one full wall were nothing but massive mirrors. 

Reflection suite indeed. 

The door slammed shut and Taehyung rounded on you with a stormy expression—though you weren’t waiting on him to fire the first volley.

“This is definitely going to get us in trouble.”

“I told you, I can go wherever I want in this house. It’s fine.”

“Then why did you take us here?”

“Because you were shouting—”

“I was shouting?! You were shouting I just—”

Suddenly your back was against the wall and Taehyung’s mouth was on yours. 

He hadn’t brought you here for this. When he grabbed your hand, he was only trying to get away from the crowds. He told himself that he needed privacy so you could talk—so he could clarify things. 

But the minute the door closed and you flared up again in all your magnificent rage, he was lost. 

He had to kiss you then. 

You were so lovely. So fierce. So wildly irresistible and he was too utterly smitten to fight the need to be near you—to be with you in every way that he could—for a single second more. 

The shock of Kim Taehyung pressing his lips to yours lasted about two full seconds—and then there was nothing but ravenous insatiable need. 

Finally. 

Everything was him. 

Everything was this—this sweet indescribable ignition of a desire that spanned years. You moaned eagerly against his mouth in wanton delight. After a decade of sparks, you were more than ready to burn. 

“Taehyung—”

His name poured out of you like a prayer. You needed him everywhere and miraculously he seemed to understand—

Not that he was prepared to be polite about it. 

“Where’s that smart mouth now, Angel?” he growled, tangling his hands in your hair to expose the tender column of your throat. “Nothing to say?”

Your only answer was a desperate whine as he spread hot-open mouthed kisses down the soft skin of your neck all the way to your collarbone.

Now was not the time for patience. He would be tender with you later. You absolutely deserved soft sweet caresses and slow leisurely love making and he was absolutely going to give them to you—every day if you’d let him. 

But not today. 

The minute his mouth encountered the barrier of your dress, he gripped onto the sides and yanked it down to your waist.

“You knew just what you were doing in the back of that limo, you little brat,” he hissed, taking one swollen nipple into his mouth and tormenting it with his tongue.

“Tae-ahhh!” Your back arched involuntarily in ruthless pleasure. 

“I spent hours—days even—wanting to get my hands on these perfect tits.” He licked the other nipple obscenely, squeezing the soft mound till it bulged through his fingers. “And you offered me the barest taste with that coy little grin, knowing it wouldn’t be enough—” 

He reared back and landed a firm slap on both breasts and you screamed.

It was so so good. 

“Look at them now,” he murmured, “so swollen and needy and mine.”

If any other man had said those words, you would have cut his heart out with a butter knife. 

But you had always belonged to this man body and soul, and to hear him acknowledge it so primitively felt like the sweetest vindication. 

“Yes!” you sobbed.

The affirmation only inflamed him further. He teased and fondled the tender flesh till you were shaking.

Your fingers curled into the soft waves of his hair as he indulged himself. He looked so ridiculously good sucking your nipple, moaning lewdly with his eyes pressed shut in cathartic bliss. 

“This is all your fault, Angel,” he groaned. “You just don’t know how to behave.”

His hands gripped the curve of your backside, lifting you right off the floor and into his arms. Your mouths fused together heatedly as he carried you to the bed, and you giggled against him when his words finally processed. 

“You’ve been saying that for years.” 

“It’s been true for years,” he muttered, pulling one of your legs up around him so he could grind against your cunt while you kissed. 

Your fingers tugged at the buttons of his shirt, tearing them off when they didn’t unhook fast enough. You waited too long to be with him like this to care about anything other than the feel of his skin against your own.

“Impatient, are we?” he chuckled, bringing his lips around to nip at your ear. 

“You’re one to talk,” you shot back, yanking the ruined garment right off his shoulder just so you could sink your teeth into it. 

Taehyung moaned loudly, snapping his hips against yours with an involuntary jerk.

“You really are such a brat,” he hissed, fisting his hands in the satin length of your skirt. “Let’s see how fierce you are with my tongue in your pussy—”

His words were so filthy and raw, yet they stoked a frenzied need in your belly like nothing you had ever encountered. 

“This dress is evil,” he snarled, fumbling with the zipper for a moment before switching to a more destructive tactic. “It has tormented me all night and now it’s in my way.”

The stitching proved no match for his resolve, and—after a few vigorous tugs—he ripped it apart from the slit on up, leaving you covered in nothing but the thin cotton underwear he had breached earlier that evening. 

After disposing of your shredded gown, Taehyung paused for a moment just to take in the sight of you. 

“What a perfect little angel,” he taunted playfully, snapping the band of your lingerie against your hips with a cocky grin. 

Then he brushed his nose right up against the sopping fabric and inhaled deeply. “You smell just like heaven,” he growled before licking you right through the cloth, “and you taste even better.”

The sensations twisting through your body were merciless. You needed more or you were going to shake apart. 

“Taehyung please,” you whined, pressing against him shamelessly.

“Oh a please?” he chuckled, throwing your own words from the first night back at you. “Who knew you had manners?”

You would have screamed in frustration, but he cut you off with an open mouthed kiss right over the wettest part of your panties.

“Perhaps I can make a good girl of you yet,” he chuckled, as you opened yourself wider to encourage him. 

You nodded frantically, letting out another moan when he yanked the flimsy little scrap of lace down your legs—smearing a line of arousal over your thighs.

“So messy,” he tsked, tapping his finger right above your knee where the naughty little streak ended. “What am I going to do with you?” 

Then he pressed his tongue over the shiny trail of slick and licked it right off. 

You gasped loudly and his lascivious smirk was almost beautiful enough to make up for all of the shameless teasing. 

Almost. 

"You want my mouth, pretty Angel?” he whispered, letting the words brush maddeningly against your folds. “You want me to feed on this sweet little cunt?”

Every cell in your body cried out for release. He already edged you under the table at dinner and now he was determined to unravel you entirely. You would say anything—do anything. 

"Please—" you whispered.

"Please who?" 

Normally you met his arrogance with a cutting riposte, but an entire evening of methodical torment had left you beyond desperate. 

"Please Taehyung,” you begged needily. 

He grinned. 

“That’s right, Angel. Kim Taehyung. Not Min Yoongi or any other pathetic trust fund prick that’s panting for a taste of this pussy.” His eyes fastened on yours significantly. “You belong to me.”

Then his tongue licked a flat stripe over your glistening slit and you sagged onto the bed in relief—only to be thrown back into oblivion when his lips closed over your clit. 

Your body arched involuntarily as a ruthless wave of pleasure tore through you. Your eyes and mouth flew open in a silent scream and it was in that moment you remembered exactly where you were. 

Underneath a giant mirror. 

The passionate woman staring down at you was nearly unrecognizable. Her body was littered with her lover’s marks. Her hands gripped feverishly into the sheets beneath her—-

And Kim Taehyung was kneeling between her thighs, suckling on her weeping cunt with obscene satisfaction. 

It was the sexiest thing you had ever seen in your life. 

Your hands reached down to tangle in his hair, using it for leverage as you ground against his face. 

Then suddenly his grip on your legs tightened and his tongue plunged roughly into your trembling core. 

“Tae—ahh oh my—I can’t—”

The sensation was so intense that your hips bucked violently. You could not keep still. You were charging towards an explosion and your body was shaking itself apart. 

The noises tearing from you were incoherent. Everything around you focused in on the juncture of your thighs where Taehyung was licking inside of you again and again until—

You shattered. 

And the force of it nearly bent your back in half. 

Delirious sobs poured from your lips as he worked you through it, letting the obscene flood of your cum soak his face. 

The sight of him slowly lapping at the release between your folds, was unspeakably erotic. He ran his hands in soothing circles over your skin while you twitched and fluttered back down from your high. 

Then he was kissing you again. 

It was softer this time, but you felt truly depraved—and instantly obsessed—with the taste of yourself in his mouth—on his skin.

You could barely understand this ravenous hunger. You’d just found relief, yet you were already reaching for more. 

Your hands snaked down and wrapped around his still covered cock and he hissed in ragged pleasure. 

“So eager,” he gasped, as you pushed him back against the headboard—but you didn’t have time to bother with his teasing.

You were gonna blow Kim Taehyung into space. 

He bit his lip when you yanked down his pants and boxers together, freeing his arousal with stunning efficiency. 

It was almost unfair to discover that his cock was every bit as beautiful as he was.

“Of course,” you muttered. 

The sultry smirk he shot you in return had your cunt flooding all over again.

“You think Min Yoongi has a cock like mine?”

“I don’t think about Min Yoongi’s cock,” you retorted, wrapping your hand around his length, “you’ve always been the biggest dick I’ve ever met.” 

“I knew you thought about my dick,” he groaned as you began to work up and down the swollen shaft. 

After a moment, his hand slid over your chin to grip your hair, drawing you forward till your lips were almost touching. 

“I wonder what this pretty mouth can do,” he whispered. 

You gasped against him and he smiled. 

“Do you know how often I pictured your lips around my cock, Angel?”

You mewled shamelessly and he growled, cupping your cheek as your hands continued to service him. 

“Do you know how often I imagined this perfect throat stuffed full of my cum?” 

His palm slid down to lightly grip the soft flesh of your neck and you shuddered against him with a needy whimper. 

“I know you could suck me so good, Angel. I’ve wanted it for so so long...”

Your mouth actually watered with anticipation. 

The desire to be good for him—to give him whatever he asked for—consumed you. 

Taehyung let his head fall back against the headboard with a groan at the first brush of your lips along his shaft. His hips rutted involuntarily as your tongue wrapped around the tip and you hummed with pleasure at his enthusiastic response. 

After a moment you slid him into the welcoming heat of your mouth, taking him in as far as you could in one stroke. His jaw dropped open and his entire body jerked forward. 

“Yes, that’s it, Angel—feels so good.”

His praise was addictive. 

You loved that you could bring him to this. You loved to see the haughty Kim Taehyung coming apart as you sucked him. 

It made you feel beautiful—powerful even—and you reveled in every second of it. 

Your eyes were starting to tear. His length began to throb and pulse against your tongue and you knew he was close—so close you could almost taste him—

Yet suddenly he was pulling you back and you whined pitifully at the loss. 

Taehyung chuckled, dragging you toward him till your dripping core slid across his cock.

“I’m not coming before I get inside that pretty little pussy,” he swore, working your hips over his sex till it was drenched in arousal. 

The crass words filled you with the fiercest, most incredible want and you clenched reflexively against him in response. 

“Is that what you want?” Taehyung whispered as he bore you back into the mattress, pinning both your wrists above your head. “You want me to fill your empty little cunt?”

You did. 

You wanted it so so bad. 

“Please.”

Taehyung gently lowered himself closer to you, resting his forehead intimately against yours as he lined up his cock at your entrance. 

“Are you sure, Angel? Because there’s no going back after this... If you give yourself to me, then you’re mine—and I’ll fight tooth and nail to keep you.”

“Taehyung, you idiot,”—a tender smile spread over your face as you wrapped your arms around his neck—“... I’ve always been yours.”

He swore violently—letting the slight tremble in his voice betray just how deeply your words affected him. 

Then his fingers tightened on the soft flesh of your hip and he filled you to the hilt with one delicious thrust. 

There was a moment—the smallest space in time—where your eyes locked together and everything seemed to suspend; a strange perfect calm before a monumental storm. 

Then your world caught fire. 

Taehyung drove himself into you with passionate fury, letting years of denial fuel the insatiable rhythm of his strokes. 

Every time he told himself no. Every time he held himself back—

Every bit of it burned away as you screamed his name. 

The feel of him was indescribable. 

You imagined it too many times to count, yet your dreams fell pitifully short of the visceral reality. 

He was bloomin’ magnificent. 

Your fingers clawed up and down his back, desperate to hold on to something while he pounded into your g-spot like an animal. 

“This tiny cunt is the tightest thing I’ve ever had around my cock,” he gasped and you whined needily at his praise. “Like it was made for me—” his hand came up to grip your breast, “like you were made for me.”

“Yes—”

Taehyung’s need seemed to amplify with every whimper and moan that fell from your lips. The feelings you sparked in him were fierce and unapologetically primitive.

He would go to war for you—build a fortress for you—fight a dragon if one dared come close. 

You were his. 

And he felt like a savage every time you cried out for more. 

Suddenly an unexpected movement in his periphery caught his attention.

He’d been so consumed with the extraordinary rush of claiming you that he’d forgotten—

This guest room was thirty-five percent mirrors. 

And now… he couldn’t look away. 

The sight of your bodies tangling together in headless bliss played out before him like a scene from his most debauched and forbidden fantasies. His reflection grinned back at him in fascinated ecstasy while his beloved nemesis lost herself in the pleasure of his cock.

Something dark and wild began to burn in his chest as he studied the lovers in the glass. 

“Look at you, Angel,” he whispered softly, “you really are perfect.”

Then he pulled out of your core and you whined bitterly in protest, chasing his body to rid yourself of the sudden unacceptable emptiness. 

“Still so needy,” he taunted, gripping your hips and flipping you on your stomach before you could even think to protest.

“I want you to watch that pretty angel in the mirror come on my cock,” he groaned, plunging back into you from behind. 

The new angle was somehow impossibly deeper and your body shook as another wave of pleasure overtook it. 

Your fingers clawed into the mattress for purchase as he pistoned into your trembling mound. 

Only Kim Taehyung could rail you like a whore while he worshiped you like a queen. 

He gave you a moment to adjust before drawing your body back against his chest. His arm wrapped over your stomach as he slowly eased your legs apart, unfolding the lewd tableau of your bodies joined together for the voyeuristic gaze of the glass.   

“Look at yourself, Angel,” he growled, mesmerized by the way your breasts bounced with every thrust. “Look at how well you're taking me.” 

Then his fingers slid down to rub your clit and you screamed. 

“Tae! Ah-ahh!”

The pleasure building within you now was violent. You were coiling too tightly, too fast—

“That’s right Angel. Take it all.”

Your eyes locked with his in the mirror for the briefest instant.

And then you flew apart. 

Taehyung threw his head back with a carnal moan as you clamped down around him. His body was hurtling toward its own release with reckless speed. 

“I’m close,” he panted, “where can I come?”

“Come inside me please,” you begged, and Taehyung’s eyes widened in frenzied lust. 

“That’s what you want? Huh?” his thrusts became rougher as he chased his relief, “You want me to fill this puffy little pussy with my cum?”

“Yes, I want it so bad—“ you sobbed. 

“Sweet Angel,” he groaned, gripping at your breasts as he pulled you tighter against him. 

Then he met your gaze in the mirror again. 

“I want everything with you; a home—a family—your body in my arms every morning when I wake up—” his voice trembled, “I want it all.” 

The raw vulnerability in his eyes nearly broke you.

“Tae,” you gasped softly, too overcome with joy to manage anything else. 

His mouth pressed hungrily against the curve of your shoulder. You could feel his cock throbbing in your core as he bent you forward, pounding into your sex with exquisite precision. 

"Stay with me, Angel,” he whispered. His thrusts became erratic as he neared his high. “I don’t want to live without you anymore.”

The glorious thrill of his words tore over your senses with euphoric brutality. Your walls tightened greedily around his cock and the taunt cord of pleasure finally snapped. 

He came with a broken groan, flooding the welcoming heat of your womb with his release. 

“KIM TAEHYUNG!”

The sound of his name being shouted by the absolute last person in the world whose voice he wanted to hear woke Taehyung from a dead sleep.  

His eyes widened in panic as he began yanking pillows and covers from all over the bed in a frenzied attempt to hide—

The doors to his bedroom flew open with a resounding crash. 

“Jimin,” he squeaked, trying to look as casual as possible next to a giant pile of bedding. “What uh—what brings you here at—” his eyes darted to the clock on the wall, “—7:30 in the morning?”

Then he frowned. 

“And how the hell did you get past Jungkook?”

Jimin’s murderous expression broke momentarily to allow for a smug grin. 

“Kendra.”

Kendra Jackson was Jimin’s executive aide. She was fierce, capable, intelligent—

And insanely gorgeous. 

Taehyung groaned. 

Poor Jungkookie never stood a chance. 

To the surprise of absolutely no one, yet another newspaper landed on Taehyung’s lap.

KIM HEIR BRINGS NAUGHTY ANGEL HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

Underneath the headline was a picture of you and Taehyung (dressed in clothes you stole from Jin’s childhood bedroom) kissing passionately against the side entrance of the Governor’s mansion. 

One of your legs was wrapped around his waist and he was clearly grabbing your ass. 

“Ah… well you see the camera distorts everything from this angle—and-and the lighting is bad so it’s not really what it looks like—”

“Is that so? Cause it looks like you’ve got your tongue down my baby sister’s throat!”

“Okay—okay,” Taehyung massaged his forehead nervously, “so maybe it’s sort of what it looks like but—”

“I’ll kill you.”

“No wait—” he held up his hands to delay an already advancing Jimin. 

“Why should I wait?!”

“Because—”

“—I trusted you with the most important person in the world to me—”

“The situation is just not that simple.” 

“—and you grabbed her ass in public!”

“Admittedly not my finest hour.”

“So you tell me right now—”

“But you don’t understand it’s—”

“—Why the hell would I wait?!”

“BECAUSE I’M IN LOVE WITH HER!”

For a moment there was absolute silence. 

Then your head popped out from the massive pile of bedding. 

“Really?”

Jimin’s mouth fell open. 

Taehyung groaned again. 

“As usual, your timing is impeccable.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring his comment.

“Are you really in love with me?”

“Of course I’m in love with you! What part of I want you to have my children did you not understand?!” 

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Jimin choked. 

“That’s not the same thing!”

“It is for me!”

A radiant smile lit up your face. 

“I’m in love with you too.”

Taehyung’s expression softened. 

“Angel I—”

Then you were kissing and Jimin swung around with a horrified shout.

“Oh! No no no—Come on!”

He stumbled out of the room, hands firmly clamped over his eyes. 

“This is not over, Kim Taehyung!” the scandalized young Park heir howled in exasperation… but there was a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. 

Back in the bedroom, Taehyung shook his head at Jimin’s ridiculous caterwauling. 

“No, it’s not over,” he laughed, pulling you deeper into the comfort of his arms. “It’s only just begun.”

Thank you so much for taking the time to read my story. 

This baby took FOR-EVER to write. I started it in November and literally worked on it a little every day. 

If you enjoyed it— even just a tiny bit—please consider taking a moment to leave me some feedback. It is so incredibly uplifting and rewarding to hear reader thoughts and reactions to my work.

I promise to treasure every word like gold. It took a lot to bring this story to life. Your kind words would mean the world to me.

[writingwithcolor]

Representing China’s diversity

@hewwo-god-its-me asked:

Hi! I’m Chinese-Canadian, creating a secondary fantasy world completely based off of China and coded as such. (Don’t worry, I know China is a huge country with a vast amount of regional and temporal variation throughout dynasties; I have been doing/will be doing more research so as not to conflate these.) I’m not sure my question has an easy answer, but I think my question sort of extends into the creation of any secondary fantasy world heavily based off of real-world countries (hopefully!). Though media has popularized a particular “type” of Chinese person, in reality, China is a lot more diverse than “pale-skinned, black-haired”, and DOES have migrants from other parts of the world, including other people of color who aren’t Chinese. I want to reflect this diversity, since it seems disingenuous, inaccurate, and downright offensive to say that “X people do not exist at all”, especially since my story will take place in a time period analogous to our “modern” today. However, since my world is coded as Chinese, with the various cultures that exist taking inspiration from (and sometimes, almost wholesale being aspects of) real-life Chinese culture, I’m worried that, in this case, in trying to reflect this diversity, it will come across as assimilation/erasing their own cultural identities. Sorry!! I might just be totally overthinking this, but I’ve been thinking myself in circles about this for a long time now, and being Chinese myself, I thought it would be important to ask how other people of color would feel about this, and am totally open to discussion on the topic!

Han Chinese are the majority group in China forming approximately 90% of the population. They are the majority all over China and originate from northern China. 

I recently found out I was Hmong, so I will talk somewhat about minorities in China. There are 55 recognized minority groups in China, and Hmong is one of them. The Hmong have generally darker skin than the Han Chinese majority and mainly reside in southern China. They are also present more so in southeast Asia, but even there, they are still a minority and heavily persecuted because of American interference and the use of them as spies against communism during the Vietnam War in Laos. Many Hmong immigrated to the United States as a result. Because of Chinese imperialism, a lot of minority groups are suppressed. There’s also the Manchu, who founded the Qing Dynasty.

Perhaps you should focus on a couple of cultural groups in China but have it mentioned several times that there are even more groups different than the ones focused on.

–Mod Sci

So I would also like to note that even within Han people, there can be a range of skin tones. I’m Han myself and while I’m currently pale, I’ve been quite tan before when I was out and about in the sun as a kid, and my brother is also much darker than the rest of our immediate family. When my mom was telling me about growing up in Taiwan, I got the impression that tan skin was the default, as one of her friends stood out for being pale among everyone else. From what I remember, pale among Han Chinese is not necessarily the default; there were definitely darker-skinned kids in my Chinese school, and having pale skin was probably more the exception than the norm. 

–Mod Jess

I think it’d be incredibly difficult to cover every single cultural group of China but at the same time, obviously a singular pan-Chinese identity doesn’t exist as you’ve mentioned. During worldbuilding (while it is important to clearly code your groups), make it clear that these aren’t indicative of every group that exists in real life; The representation that you cover within the span of your story isn’t exhaustive and cultures exist outside of the main cast.

I think the biggest thing you should remember when doing this is that the media in the West usually doesn’t try to go beyond a single, homogenized Chinese identity. Even within Chinese diasporic circles, I haven’t seen too many attempts to go beyond just “Chinese”, which isn’t horrible because our cultures are super mixed! However, like I said, there’s a lack of exploration of China’s diversity.

Speaking from a Chinese-Singaporean/Taiwanese/Vietnamese/Indonesian standpoint, representation of Chinese diaspora from other East Asian and Southeast Asian nations isn’t something I see a lot of, either! Ethnic Chinese people live in Singapore, Hong Kong, the Philippines… and although I don’t like taking space from those who are marginalized by us in these places, we do exist outside of China and our cultures are influenced by other Asians as well.

Sci gave a great list of identities above that I haven’t seen much representation of above. I think that if you’re even taking a small step like this towards showing the diversity of China, you’re doing a lot already! 

–Mod Em

Firstly, I recommend reading about the mummies of Urumqi in Xinjiang, and their importance to Uyghur identity. 

Secondly, I recommend that you study Chinese history in depth, particularly:

The Silk Road

The Yuan dynasty (i.e. Mongols) 

The treasure ship diplomatic trade missions of the Ming dynasty. 

The Silk Road on its own resulted in regular interactions between many ethnic groups bound by trade, including many Central Asian Turkic nomadic and landed populations (of which the Uyghurs are a part). 

The Han are the majority ethnic group now and have arguably always been the supermajority (Depending on who you talk to), but to what degree this has been the case will vary from dynasty to dynasty up until the end of the Qing dynasty with the Manchus in the 20th century. Pay particular attention to when dynasties emerge and fall and which ethnic groups are mentioned when this happens. I think you will be surprised by what you find. Thoroughly studying a country’s history is generally the best way to fully appreciate its diversity. 

- Marika.

[epic-sorcerer]

Queer imagery in BBC Merlin

Content warning: kink/fetish, fisting in particular but I show I big image containing a long list of different kinks, homophobia, dom/sub dynamics, sex

Merlin is shown wearing a purple tunic in s4, despite the fact he is a servant and purple(especially with such saturation) was extremely expensive bc purple dye was so hard to make. Gwen also has a light purple dress(or maybe 2? It’s hard to tell). Even though it’s definitely lighter than Merlins tunic, it’s still expensive.

it was illegal for peasants to wear expensive fabrics because of the Sumptuary Law. Basically it makes sure that lower class people are not fashionable. However, BBC Merlin doesn’t seam to care about that law, considering Merlins other bright clothing so take this was a grain of salt.

Basically what I’m trying to say is that there’s no way they could have gotten their hands on these clothes without the help of nobles. Gwen might have, because she works with clothing and could have easily mixed blue and red dye together. Merlin probably not have because he’s never shown to be particularly materialistic or interested much in fashion, despite his bright clothes. Bright Purple would have been much, much harder to get.

It makes the most sense for Merlin and possibly Gwen too to have been gifted such expensive clothing by a noble for being a good servant. I’d imagine Arthur would be the one to give Merlin the tunic and morgana the dresses.

Why does this matter? Lavender(and also purple in general) was considered a queer color starting in the 19th century. Queer men especially were said to possess a “streak of lavender” and a serge of homophobia at the time was often referred to as the “Lavender Scare.” Purple and lavender is still used now to symbolize queerness.

Since Merlin is a modern interpretation of Arthurian myths, it would be perfectly plausible that this symbol was on purpose. Merlin/Arthur and Gwen/Morgana are both extremely popular ships and they are both shown to have a very deep form of trust(Gwen/Morgana being at the beginning of the show). Arthur and Morgana gifting Merlin and Gwen purple clothing could be show them they accept their queerness and/or signaling their own queer attraction to them.

Now, this next symbolism concerns only Merlin/Arthur.

Merlin is shown to have three neckerchiefs.

Navy blue, red, and light grey. Why does this matter? Well, let’s take a look at something called the handkerchief code, also known as the hanky code or “flagging.”

This code has its origins all the way back in time during the Wild West in the USA, but got more popular during the late 20th century in USA and UK gay bars. This code was used mainly by queer men and some nonbinary people to signal to other queers what they wanted sexually. While typically worn in people’s back pockets, a handkerchief could also be worn around one’s neck to show they are a versatile and experienced.

According to this code, Merlin is into;

Red: fisting and getting fisted. This color was hard to get an exact shade from, but the second best option was dark red for double fisting which is honestly so similar I’m not sure if it really matters much.

Light grey: stone topping and getting fucked by a stone top

Navy blue: fucking and being fucked anally

For any one wanting to make their own interpretations of Merlins neckerchief colors(the lighting makes it hard to tell the exact ones) have a look at this handy chart

Not only that, but Arthur is seen wearing a favour on his left arm in s3 ep 4.

What’s a favour? It’s a fabric strip of affection commonly given by maidens to knights before a tournament as a symbol of good luck. It’s often a very important scarf, hankcerchlif , towel, really any bit of cloth that can be tied around someone’s arm. This is also a popular trope in historical media for a female love interest to give a favour to a male one to show chemistry between them.

Regardless of your stance on Merlins gender identity, you have to admit how commonly Merlin is shown to be gender nonconforming(GNC) or otherwise be associated with “womanly” qualities. Especially in a society so heteronormative, the only “pure” option for a knight receiving a romantic gesture would have it be from a woman. If the token was from a queer man, it would also out the noble and cause lots of horrific chaos and destroy both of their reputations.

Even if it was common for women to give knights favours, queer men still existed and with that came romantic gestures—this time hopefully more secret.

Even though the favour on Arthur’s arm doesn’t look exactly like Merlin’s neckerchief, Merlin was the only person to speak with him while preparing for the tournament. Also, the original theorist who I linked in my sources also pointed out that Merlins neckerchief looks lopsided. Almost like Merlin tore off a bit of it and hastily tied it back on.

Although this theory is definitely flawed, it doesn’t matter. Arthur is still wearing a red handkerchief on his left arm. But what does that tell us exactly?

Regardless of wether or not it was Merlin’s, the red is the same shade and also implies Arthur is also into fisting. What about the placement? Sicne it’s on his left, it shows that he is a top/dom, meaning that he prefers to be the one fisting. Since it is worn around his upper arm, it shows that he is simply into the fetish, compared to what other placements mean. In another source, it shows taht upper arm means switch, but because Arthur is wearing it on his left it wouldn’t really make sense for him to signal being a “top-switch” compared to being a top and having the fetish in general.

If you look closely, you can see a different colored stripe on the favour. It’s hard to tell exactly what the color is, it could be yellow, gold, orange, etc. because the color is so dubious, I’ll just leave y’all with a list of color meanings that may apply to Arthur’s favour.

YELLOW: pisser/watersports kink

YELLOW, Pale: spitter/spit kink

MUSTARD: Has 8+ inch dick

GOLD: two looking for one

ORANGE: anything anytime

Also, it’s important to bring up what many in thsi fandom refer to as the “fisting scene.” Where Arthur threatens Merlin by showing him his gloved fist and pulling a bit at the glove.

In the blooper, you can see Merlin’s actor(Colin Morgan) breaking character and giggling as Arthur shows him his fist. Many in the fandom agree that this was a clear innuendo for fisting, and it is very well possible.

Merlin is shown hitting Arthur and saying he was just doing some horse play, but still indirectly convincing Arthur that he needs to teach Merlin a lesson. This is actually a common act in BDSM sex, where the submissive person purposely angers the dominant into punishing them in a way that somehow involves sex or fetish play.

If you look closely, you can see Merlin is wearing at kinky red fisting handkerchief, showing Merlin is perfectly capable of being a submissive fistee. Also, the hanky code also includes other symbols such as latex or rubber gloves that, surprise surprise, also mean fisting. Although it’s more likely Arthur’s gloves where made of leather, it can still further be interpreted as a fisting symbol if you want. Either way, Arthur’s favour still holds water as he is undoubtedly the dom in this situation.

Also, Merlin is very impulsive and a madlad. Tell me he wouldn’t wear his secret fetish symbols infrount of stuck up, Roman Catholics who are none the wiser. He’d probably think it’s hilarious which is probably why he wears them almost everyday. Merlin loves playfully misbehaving(and is also a brat sometimes) so it makes sense for him to have some dangerous fun.

Now, you may be asking. Why does this matter? At the end of the day, it probably wasn’t intentional. Well, there is alwyas room for doupt BUT I do have some ferther proof. One of the co writers of BBC Merlin—Johnny Capps—actually won a Stone Wall Award. You know, an award named after a core part of queer culture?

The award’s website and Wikipedia page say they give the award for art that describes the LGBT experience well. While I am unsure why or what Capps made to be nominated, it still shows he is very much in touch with queer culture. Capp himself even said at an interview about Merlin, “... in the end, deep, deep down it’s about sexuality and things you just can’t tackle head-on.”

Well, what says more about sexuality than the main characters fist fucking each other? That’s a lot of sexuality. While I am unsure of Capp’s age, he does look to be about middle age and it would make sense for him to know about a code popularized in a 70s to 90s. Especially for someone who has made multiple queer oriented stories in his life time.

Sources:

Why is purple considered the color of royalty?

Sumptuary law

How lavender became a symbol of LGBTQ resistance

How Lavender Became a Symbol of LGBTQ Resistance(part 2)

flagging opinicus rampant

Handkerchief code

DO YOU KNOW THE HANKY CODE?

Picspam: The Red Favour (Proof of Arthur Wearing Merlin's Favour in 3x04)

Five medieval love tokens

The Lady's Favour

Hanky codes

Nominees for Stonewall Awards announced

Merlin series 5 spoiler-free launch report

Pls reblog I spent hours on this /np 😭👊

[tu-sugar-mami]

Tales of the side of the road: Day #1)

You're an overworked, sleep deprived, tired barista at a pretty strange coffee shop. You don't really complain, since the payment is good and you have a lot of free time, with the shop being pretty much empty and customers walking in only once in a while. The place is big, well equipped, somehow there's wifi, and you love doing what you do even if sometimes you wish you could go home. You could say the building is placed in the middle of nowhere, in a road connecting two barely populated and pretty hidden towns. The only other building anywhere in a few miles is the convenience store, an old and beaten up OxxO across the street, the cashier doesn't speak much though.

The owner is a bit... how to say it? Cryptic, to put it slightly, but that doesn't bother you at all, you barely see them, and now that you think of it perhaps the only time you spoke to them is when you were hired.

You've seen your fair share of weird stuff in three years of working here, and you even made friends with the local cult, although with a rocky start when they tried to sacrifice you to their deity. It turned out for the best, since you gained regulars that always came in with the freshest gossip. And yes, you may have gotten a small curse because of the first encounter, but hey, being occasionally possessed by a dark goddess do come handy when one of the diverse side effects is super strength and you have to lift heavy boxes of ingredients for the drinks. Because, let me tell you, the drinks you make are not regular stuff.

You specialize in a very complex form of beverages, with basic color code names, but with a flawless, delicious, magnificent taste. At least to those who are meant for.

You see, customers here are very unique, and many have tried to eat you several times before you made it clear that you were not on the menu. They learned to not underestimate your skills manouvering a broom.

Anyway, today is a specially slow day. Not even Gary —a cultist of the highest ranks, who loves his double shot 'blue' coffee— has passed by yet and you can't help but wonder what or who held him back. Though your inquiry doesn't last long, when you hear voices outside and the approach of hurried steps.

It's almost nightfall and it starts to get chilly when you get ready for yet another endless night shift. You find it odd that other people aside from Gary would swing by the shop at this hour, but well, it is your job to serve them after all, and so you tighten your apron and ready your notepad.

Like i've said before you've seen a lot of not so ordinary stuff, and when an uncommonly tall —and absolutely gorgeous— lady along with three younger, shorter women wearing at least 10 layers of cozy clothes walk in you're absolutely unfazed and instead welcome them with the brightest smile you can muster.

"Hi! Welcome to Itsy Bitchy Spider, home of the best coffee in all 24 miles around. What can i get for you today?" You say, bringing the women's attention to you.

The tall lady seems a little thrown off by your warm welcoming. Or by the weird name of the franchise, or perhaps because she wasn't expecting a fragile-looking human to be behind the counter, who knows, but she usher one of the younger girls —a brunette one, who wears a creepy but charming smile peeking from under a thick scarf— towards the counter and clears her throat. "Hello, yes, my daughter got into a little bit of a situation earlier and she has to clean herself up. We're on our way to a very important meeting and she has to be presentable."

It's only now when you notice that said daughter has bloodied clothes, and when she lifts her head you can see that there's blood dripping from her chin too. But again, not the weirdest.

"Sure ma'am," You say with a smile, wich has her giving you a curious look. "the bathroom is on that black door over there." You point and the girl goes on her way, almost skipping. Kind of adorable, you think, like a small child would be, except much older and dangerous. "So, is the cult holding a meeting? That'd explain why Gary hasn't come by." You say casually. The woman is about to answer when another uh, you suppose is a daughter too, suddenly points at the pastries countertop.

"What's that?" A redhead girl asks. She looks excited and genuinely curious about a colorful piece of a cake. You don't make them, and honestly you don't want to know what's in them, but you know they're suitable for any kind of customer that walks in, so you pull out a piece and arrange it on a plate, decorating it with red syrup, the red syrup.

"Try it, it's on the house." You wink at her while sliding the plate towards her and she looks at you like you just handed her a priceless jewel.

"Really?" She says, but is more a formality since she's already pulling the plate closer. "Look Bela! Look what i got!"

"No, Daniela you shouldn't eat that. Your tummy will hurt, you know this." The tall lady says as she grabs the plate and pull it out of Daniela's grasp, which is easy given her height. "We're sorry, but we can't take this. We have a very strict diet." She hands the plate back to you.

You smile and gently take the plate away, aware of the sad puppy eyes the redhead is giving you. You discreetly, almost as if it wasn't your intention, you put the plate within her reach and keep talking. You pretend not to notice when the girl sneakily grabs the plate and runs back to her sister to share her prize.

"Ma'am, i assure you it is perfectly safe. You're not from around here, are you? Well, let me get you acquainted with the place." Not wasting any time you quickly prepare a concoction of 'red' coffee and top it with regular whipped cream while the lady's gaze is fixed on every move. "Here, try this."

"Try what?" The dark haired girl has returned from the bathroom all freshened up and looks curiously to the tall glass you slide on the counter. "Oooh, that looks nice!"

"It is nice. It's one of the house's specials. We call it 'red coffee' though it's up to you discover if you like it."

"Cassandra, i don't think we should..." The lady seems hesitant, but when you rise the glass as close as you can to her face and she takes a whiff you can clearly see her pupils dilate. "What... is that?" She asks, breathless, as if she's just found something she craved for so long and didn't even know it.

You smirk, knowing that you guessed correctly about what would work on her. "Why don't you take a sip and find out?"

"Mother, i think you should give it a try." The blonde girl, the one who hadn't said a word since she first entered says. You notice that there's some cake frosting right on the corner of her smiling lips.

"Perhaps i should listen to you, Bela. Let's see, shall we?" The mother takes the glass from your hand, tiny in comparasion to hers, and she guides the brim of the cup to her red lips. She cautiously takes a sip and as soon as the liquid touches her tongue and she tastes, the drink is downed in seconds.

"So, what's the veredict? You like it?" You say as you put the lid on the last of another three cups of the same drink that you finished making while the cup on the lady's hand was being emptied, ready to hand over to the girls.

"It's exquisite..." She says, and you can see the awe on her face. "How?"

"Well, that's a secret, isn't it? You can come by whenever you like, we're open all day, every day." You look behind the four women and spot a grumpy looking man wearing sunglasses and a hat just outside in the parking lot. Odd when there's no sunlight to protect his eyes from, but you don't judge. "Looks like someone is looking for you." You point past them to the guy.

And sure enough:

"Alcina! Where the fuck are you? Miranda is waiting for us, we're late!"

The annoyed expression on the lady's —Alcina, now you know— face almost make you laugh, but you don't want to be disrespectful and instead you just cough a little. "Looks like we have to part ways." She says, putting the glass on the counter delicately. Her eyes are glued to your own and you can see fire in them. "For now."

The lady turns around and walks away with determination and elegance in her stride and behind her the daughters follow with the grace of young gazelles. One of them, the blonde girl turns her head enough to see you over her shoulder and waves goodbye. You wave back.

"Have a safe trip!" You say. Much, much later you'll call this 'day one', when Alcina first entered your life, but for now:

Alcina... The name feels sweet like honey in your mouth and you smile. You can't wait to see her again.

-------------

@thejennystuttle here it is the first one i finished. I got carried away, srry. Hope u like it?

-------------

If you love my work, buy me a coffee?

[krakenartificer]

When I got my ADHD diagnosis, I looked at the questions on the screening form and thought, "If this result comes back positive, then I'm definitely not the only person in my family who has it." Questions like

"Have difficulty finishing one activity before starting another one" and

"I finish others' sentences before they can finish it themselves" and

"have trouble staying on one topic when talking"

...I thought were just weird quirks of my family, but no. When I got my results, I contacted my cousin, and she contacted her sisters and mother, and .. .. yeah. Basically everyone in my dad's side of the family is ADHD.

Now there are some problems with that, obviously, (getting family reunions to stick to a schedule is lol no) but there are some really fantastic perks. For one thing, no one in that family minds if I interrupt them while they're talking ... everyone's happy to keep 3 conversations going at the same time .... and no one minds if you fidget constantly.

But the best perk -- at least that I've found so far -- is that all of our parents have coping mechanisms, and passed them on to us. When I found myself unable to handle tasks with more than one step, my father didn't say "WTF are you talking about? It's easy! Just do the thing! Stop being lazy!" No, he could relate completely, and he sat down and taught me how to handle that.

So today, I'm going to pass on to you the coping mechanism my dad taught me for handling the "cannot put tasks in order / cannot get started / forget what I'm doing" problem. You'll need to adjust it for your own needs and your own struggles, but hopefully it'll be helpful in setting up your own process.

I'm going to walk through it with a big project I'm doing at work, just to have a concrete example. That will make some of the discussion specific to computer programming and technical writing, but I do the same thing for all my projects, so hopefully it'll be generalizable.

So to set the stage:

I was supposed to modify this piece of code -- we'll call it "Rosetta" -- to make it handle call data as well as what it was already doing. I did that.... but we now need the code to be able to handle calls (if that's wanted) but also to be able to handle NOT having calls (if THAT'S wanted).

Which is just .... ugh. So much. SOOOOOOOO much.

So. Break it down.

Step one is to get some recording mechanism - pen and paper, whiteboard, blank computer document, whatever

(Technically, this is a different coping strategy, so we'll just take a quick detour: WRITE THINGS DOWN. Your brain is shit at remembering things, and anyway you've already got limits on your working memory; why would you choose to tie up some of that limited resource in something that could be accomplished with literal stone-age technology? Don't even try to remember things. WRITE THEM DOWN.)

I like sticky notes: they're readily available in all offices, they're pretty cheap, and (most importantly) they can be rearranged if it turns out that I forgot a step or put the steps in the wrong order (which, like, let's be honest, I am definitely going to do). But they kill trees and create unnecessary methane emissions, so I've recently switched over to using virtual sticky notes. That's the format I'm going to use for this example, but you can use anything that meets your purposes.

So, you've got something to write with, you're ready to start.

The first question is: what are you trying to accomplish here? What would "done" look like? What is our goal?

I need to end up with a version of Rosetta that will make the correct results if you don't want calls, and will also make the correct results if you do.

The goal here is that you end up with a statement that you can definitively say (a) Yes this is what I wanted or (b)No this is not right because _______

In this case, in order to do that, I'll need to define "correct results" for both call- and non-call versions. But if I have that nailed down, then this statement meets that criterion: I'll be able to say "Yes, this is what I wanted: see, it makes the correct result for calls, and it makes the correct result for not-calls". Or else I'll be able to say, "No, this is wrong: see, it makes the correct result for calls, but on not-calls it does X and we wanted Y."

I have a clear, definitive standard about what I need to do and whether or not I've done it.

But there was a prerequisite there: I need to define "correct results".

So that goes on a sticky note: Create test that will compare my results to existing call!Rosetta-results and to existing not-call!Rosetta-results.

[ID: Two blue boxes, one on top of the other. The top one says in white text "Create test to compare my results to call!results" The bottom one says "Create test to compare my results to not-call!results"] OK. So now we know what we want. The second question is: what do we need to do in order to get that? Here's where the sticky-note recording system really shines, because you don't have to answer this question sequentially. You just start writing down every single thing that is not the way you want it to end up.

I need it to remove commas in the python script, not the bash script

I need to delete the first part of the get_runs() function, which doesn't do anything

I need to delete the rest of the parameters passed to build_query_script() function, because runs encompasses all the others

while we're on that subject, runs doesn't even need the group_variable, so let's pull that out of the parameter document

we also have a dmf defined, which the bash script demands but doesn't use; let's change that demand

since we're changing the structure of the parameter document, we don't need to pull new metrics for each run, so let's move that outside of the runs() loop and only run once

right now the parameter document is ALMOST but not quite "one row per template". Make it so it's actually one row per template.

among other things, that's going to require making it possible for a template to be followed by nothing at all, since it's the assumption that a template will have a metrics block after it that makes it not quite one row per template. So make it possible to publish a template with a null block

the other thing that's weirdly hard-coded is the definition of what a block looks like. Would it make more sense to separate that out into an input file, like the parameters document? On the one hand, that would make it much more flexible; on the other hand, that's another piece that can break. Don't know. Put a question mark on it.

etc

Here's what it looks like at the end of this step:

[ID: A black and white background showing many boxes in two different shades of blue, all with white text. Some of the boxes are overlapping each other.]

As you can see, at this phase you don't need to worry about any of the following:

ordering the tasks. Just stick 'em right on top of each other for now

how you're going to do any of this. Right now we just need to know what, not how

sticking to only one project. As I was working on this, it occurred to me that this whole process would have been a heck of a lot easier if someone had just made a user manual for this, and since I have to go through all the code line-by-line anyway, I might as well write up the documentation while I'm at it. (To help out future-me, if nothing else.) So I put those tasks on another color of sticky note.

making notes that make any ***ing sense to anyone else. This process is for you, and only you need to understand what you're talking about it. Phrase it in ways that make sense to your brain, and to hell with anyone else.

on that topic, also don't worry about making steps that are "too small" or "too dumb" to write down. This is for you. If "save document" feels like a step to you, then write it down.

You also don't need to get every single step involved in the project right now. Get as many as you can, to be sure, but the process is designed on the assumption that you ARE going to forget important steps, and is designed to handle that.

When you can't think of any more steps, then the third question is: what order does it make sense to do these in? Are there any steps that would be easier if you did another step first? Are there any that literally cannot be done unless another step is complete?

This is also a good place to group steps if they fit together nicely. When I used physical sticky notes, I used two different sizes; digitally I can of course make them whatever size I want.

So I have several documentation steps that (a) do need to be written to make sense to other people and (b) I really need to know what's going on before I can do that. I could write them now, but if I did, I'd just end up re-writing them based on things that change as I'm coding. So we'll move those to the end:

[ID: Three dark blue boxes with white text. They read "Create step-by-step instructions for creating your own metric agg", "Create step-by-step instructions for modifying a metric", "Create step-by-step instructions for modifying a query."]

These parts, though -- if I had all the variable structures written down, I could look at them while I'm coding. Then I won't have to keep scrolling back and forth in the code, trying to remember if it's an array or a dictionary while also trying to remember what part of the code I was working on. Brilliant. Move that to the front.

[ID: Seven dark blue boxes with white text, three large, four small. The first one is large and says "Write up explanation of how Rosetta works." The second one is large and says "Document structure of all variables." Attached to that one are four smaller boxes that say "All_blocks", "Runs", "metric", "New_block". The third large one says "Document what qb_parameters.csv contains"]

Also, while I'm at it, I should get the list of variables I need to document -- then I won't have to keep scrolling to find them. Make those sub-steps.

I definitely keep needing to look up what's in the parameters document, so I should write that down, too. For the user manual I also should write down what's in the metric document, but I don't need that for myself, so I can send that to the end.

[ID: The same three dark blue boxes from two screenshots ago (create step-by-step instructions for metric agg, modifying a metric, and modifying a query), now with another dark blue box in front of them with white text that says "Document what granular_metrics.tsv contains."]

These five are all small steps, and are all related in that they don't actually (hopefully) change the functionality of the code; they're just stuff left over from prior versions of this code. So we can lump them all together.

[ID: Five light blue boxes with white text that say "Delete first part of get_runs()", "Have build_query_script only receive the "run" parameter" "Delete dmf" "Move metrics=get_metrics() outside build_all_blocks (all the way up to the top level?" "Delete group_variable from qp_parameters"]

My brain likes this better, so that I can keep track of fewer "main steps", but that's just a peculiarity of me -- you should lump and split however you prefer to make this process easier for you.

[ID: The same five boxes from the prior screenshot, now all made smaller and attached to a larger box that says "Remove Legacy Code"]

Keep going, step by step, sticky by sticky, until you've got them in order. If -- while you're doing this -- you remember another thing you need to do, write it on a sticky and slap it on the pile; you don't have to stop what you're doing to deal with it, because it's written down and it's on the pile and it will get processed; you can just keep working on the thing you're on right now.

[ID: All the same boxes from the first screenshot, now in a neat row. Some of the original boxes have been grouped together. The ones that were said to be at the beginning of the process are on the left and the ones that were said to be at the end are on the right.]

Step four: for the love of all that's holy, SAVE THIS LIST.

Write it on your cubicle whiteboard where it won't be erased

write it on a piece of paper and tape it to the office wall

send an email to yourself

take a picture with your phone

I don't care but save it.

When I used physical sticky notes, I kept them all on the hood of my cubicle's shelf. Now, as you can see, I use Powerpoint, which is irritating af but does allow me to keep everything in a single document, which I can write down the path of.

[ID: White text on a black background says "open ~/Documents/Rosetta\ Modifications\ and \Documentation.pptx" The next line says "Notes in Rocketbook pg 10-12, 16" The next line says "Turn that into documentation that can be used for making modifications."]

And now (finally) you can answer the question "How would I even get started on that?" You look at the first thing on the list, and you treat it as its own project. You can hyperfocus on this step and completely forget about everything else this project requires, because everything you need to remember for the rest of it is written down.

If, as you're working a step, you think of something else you need to do for the big project, write it on a sticky and slap it on the pile. Don't even worry about trying to order it or identify sub-steps; as long as it's not blocking the thing you need to work on right now, you don't have to care. Just stick that bugger anywhere at all on the list, and go back to what you were doing. When you un-hyperfocus and come back to look at your list, there'll be a big sticky note stuck sideways across all the rest of the steps, and you'll remember to file and order it then.

Other benefits of this system

1) The first question really helps with unclear directions from your boss. You can take whatever they told you to do, and translate it into a requirement that is clearly either met or not-met, and then run it back by the boss.

If they say, "No, no, we want ______" then phew! You just saved a huge miscommunication and weeks of wasted work! What a good employee you are! What an excellent team player with strong communication skills!

If they say "Yes, that's what I want," then you know -- for sure -- what it is you're trying to accomplish. Your anxiety is reduced, and your boss thinks you're super-conscientious.

(And if your boss is a jerk who likes to move the goalposts and blame it on their subordinates, then have this conversation over email, so you can show it to their boss or to HR should it become necessary.)

2) Having this project map means that when you spend an hour staring at the requirements and trying to figure out how to get started (which, let's be honest, you were definitely going to do anyway) ... When your boss/coworker comes by and says, "How's it going?" Instead of having to say "I haven't even started 😞" You can say, "Pretty well! I've got all the steps mapped out and am getting ready to start on implementation!" and show them your list, and they think you're very organized and meticulous. 3) Sometimes, especially in corporate jobs, you and your coworkers will run into a problem that's too big for even Neurotypicals to hold all in their heads. At that point, the NTs will be completely lost -- they've never had to develop a way to handle projects they can't just look at and know how to get started. So then you pipe up in the meeting and say, "OK, well, what exactly are we trying to accomplish?" and everybody at the conference table looks at you like you're a goddamned genius and you don't have to tell them that you use this exact same process to remember how to make a sandwich 😅

4) Having this project map makes it so much easier to stop work and then start it up again later, but this post is already really really really long, so I'm going to address that in a separate (really really long) post.

[mod--soul]

~ Spoilers for The Book of Boba Fett Episode 3 ~

I want to take a look at the three most discussed “issues” with episode 3 of The Book of Boba Fett from a writer’s perspective. Because to me, as someone who has both worked with editors, sensitivity readers and near editor-level readers on my original stories and read other peoples original works as the latter, the writing does not seem lazy or bad, as a lot of people suggest.

Quite the contrary: It makes sure that BOBF is not just a simple repeat of the Murder-Hobo RPG-plotline of The Mandalorian and instead shows actual consequences of such actions. Plus the continued and stacked failings and vulnerabilities of a character that stood on such a high pedestal for so long is something rarely used in modern media and is therefore utterly fascinating to me. (In addtion to all the insights into species that so far were mostly known for being "bad". )

But let's take a look at what went down this episode.

Boba’s injuries

Let’s start with the easiest one. People have been complaining that Boba did not show signs of his injuries after the fight with the Wookiee.

Well, first of all: Krrsantan ripped him from a filled Bacta tank actively flodding the floor with its content.

This in turn means two things:

Boba was drenched in Bacta-water

Every time he fell onto the floor he got a new dosage of it.

With the interference of the Mods/Cyborgs that could have been enough time to rudimentally heal the most of that awful crunch. At least to an extent that he can pretend that he is not as injured as he really is. Which is technically underlined by the fact that Boba is still in the robe hours later instead of wearing the armor and unwilling to eat. (A lot of pain usally puts eating at quite a low priority ...)

What should be questioned instead is: How the heck did they get the Gamorrean in the human-sized tank?!

(I’m also pretty sure the Wookiee is going to be an ally later on in the season, paying back the kindness offered to him.)

The Mods/Cyborgs

The major complain about this is the fact that they look shiny, new and colorful. Yet, we don’t know if

they are from Mos Vespa

the modifications are aesthetically or aids

All we know is what the weaselly water vendor told us about them - and the one comment about the eye being expensive. So it may as well be that they have only recently moved to Mos Espa after buying and installing their gear. In the new environment they then found no employment causing their funds to dry out making them unable to have access to basic necessities. And of course they would have to keep their gear clean, as otherwise it would stop functioning, which is not good considering they are used as body part replacements. Though, I really hope that it will be revealed that the modifications are aids and not just aesthetics as that would add significantly to the representation they have already featured on both shows (plus SW in general). Even if it’d again be a case of “fixing” a disability with technological means.

(If anyone is interested in more information about the topic of Science Fiction trying to “fix” disabled people, you may want to check out the Podcast “Our Opinios Are Correct” where they talk about it with deafblind author and activist Elsa Sjunneson)

Considering that Boba knows about such modifications - having installed them in Fennec - it’s pretty clear why he gave them a chance, apart from the treatment they received.

As for the colors: You do realize that Mandalorians communicate their views on life through the colors of their armor? Which could make for quite a colorful group of people.

Anyway, now for the most important one:

The Tuskens

I think we can all agree that the subtext of using indigenous-coded people for this is questionable at best, because it is too close to things that happen(ed) in real life. Something that writers should strive to refrain from reusing over and over again and instead focus on new narratives (which was well done in the previous episode). Yet, at the same time it is sometimes easier (and recommended) to tell real world problems through a fictional lens to make people understand how awful and wrong a “thing” is/was. With Morrisons apparent involvement it stands to reason that he and Rodriguez may have deliberately chosen this to show how wrong the treatment of indigenous people (still) is.

Because the thing is: Even if Boba had been picked up by, say, the people of Mos Pelgo, as long as they incorporated the train-plot the exact same thing would have happened.

Well, let’s take a look at the plot so far:

The Pyke train drives through Tusken territory, killing anyone they see on sight - with the Tusken trying to defend themselves.

Boba conjures up a plan to stop the train, which succeeds. Through that, they not just kill most of the Pykes, but also destroy the train and the spice, while ordering them to pay a toll to the tribes for trespassing/safe passage. (Basically causing major financial loss for the Pykes)

Boba then tries to negotiate the treaty and is informed that the Pykes have already hired security details (despite Boba’s insistence that the deal would be made with the Tuskens). Namely the Nikto-gang Boba beat up and stole the bikes from that then were used to destroy the train.

In that moment Boba decides and announces to get rid of the competition. Only to realize that they beat him to it. Most likely having heard the exact same words regarding the "double payment” before Boba even made it to Mos Eisley, giving them a headstart and the Pykes an opportunity for revenge.

To me that is a valid (if old) narrative. And additional fuel - and thus connecting memories and present time story arc - to the Pykes trying to take over the Syndicate and showing how they treat their “problems” by playing all sides involved, expecting the parties that stand in their way to eliminate each other instead of them having to dirty their hands. Something they, from what it looks like, also did with the Hutts and Boba by sending the assassins by using the mayor. This could even mean that the memories are a warning/prophecy that remind Boba of what the Pykes are capable of.

In short: Whoever had saved Boba would have died, because of the actions he took to repay their kindness.

It’s not a new plot, quite old actually, but it is definitely not lazy as a lot of pieces need to be laid out for this to work. Namely the involvement of the third party that was teasered but only now revealed to not just be a random view into the life on Tatooine. It’ll still be interesting to see this unfold, especially as Boba promised ten-fold repercussions (technically only for deaths dealt by the passing freighters, but that would be nitpicking a perfectly fine threat) ...

And yes, I too hope that some of the Tuskens survived/managed to flee/were taking as prisoners ...

[wickedscribbles]

Come What May, Chapter Two

A/N: Enjoy! You can find up to Chapter 9 on my Ao3 if you get antsy for more; my username is just WickedScribbles. :) 

Masterlist

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Original Female Character (Second Person Perspective) 

Rating: Explicit

Tags: female masturbation, male masturbation, first kisses, admission of feelings, Obi-Wan ain’t give a fuck he’s getting some, that’s not how the Force works, discussion of the Jedi Code, Obi-Wan is a switch and you can’t change my mind, come marking

Word Count: 4.9 K

After the awkward ship ride home to Coruscant, Master Obi-Wan seems to make it his mission to stay as far away from you as possible. In the Temple, this isn't hard to do; most floors and rooms were meant to hold dozens, if not hundreds of people, and Obi-Wan knows its halls better than most.

It’s admirable, how he’s managed to vanish in a place that adores him so much. Have you seen Master Obi-Wan? is always followed by, Oh, you just missed him or No, I haven’t seen him. The most you’ve been able to see in weeks is the edge of his cloak slipping around a corner. A startled look over his shoulder as he flees the gardens, realizing that you’re meditating there, too. If you’re both attending a council meeting, you swear he ignores you so vehemently that you start to doubt your own existence.

And his life Force? Forget about it. He's shoved it down so tightly that he might as well not exist to you. You find yourself pining for it. If he's determined to never interact with you again, you had hoped to at least feel his Force touch yours, even in a friendly way. It's almost as if he yanked a part of your own essence away when he withdrew that night in Odryn. Something feels missing from you. In the mess hall, you start asking for cinnamon tea. It tastes flavorless.

In some ironic twist, now you're the one tormented by dreams. But each one leaves you right on the edge, with no one to reach out to. Alone in your quiet room, gasping for air as the details of the dream drain away the more awake you become. Obi-Wan. Smirking down at your naked body. Hands. Tongues. Breath. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan. Each time it happens, you bring yourself to climax, face muffled deep into your pillow, biting down a cry of his name.

Hesitant, you touch the thick cloud of life Force all around you. You have to swallow the bile rising in your throat. It's like slogging through floodwaters with Jedi on all sides; far too overwhelming. You have to pull out almost immediately, the sensation akin to being drowned under the weight of information.

You can feel the signatures of every Force-sensitive in the Temple, from the smallest youngling all the way to Master Yoda. They all have a presence. Lying on your back, you stare up at the ceiling with a fading sense of nausea. If you ever want to speak with Obi-Wan again, you’re going to have to get better at this.

Two more weeks pass before you can re-enter this headspace. Inhale, exhale. Don't try too hard to keep a rhythm. Body relaxed. Mind at ease. Then...you dive in.

Lit candles and a holonovel. Leaning on an old cane. The smell of blaster fire. Giggling and playing tag with your creche mates. Lying in a medbay bed, watching sunlight streak the window. Feeling fear wrench in your gut at the thought that this war might never end. Watching your Padawan twirl her sabers, her lekku flying behind her. Sitting cross-legged in the library tower, thinking about things you shouldn't.

The last one is him -- it has to be. There’s no other Force here that feels like this; the same mix of emotions run through it that you felt before. But now, they feel muted, pushed down under a working consciousness. You’re not sure you would’ve been able to sense it at all, had you not already made the connection.

Though you're still reeling from a dozen other sensations, you get to your feet. The library’s halfway across the Temple -- you trip and nearly fall flat in your haste to get there in time. Your urgency earns you more than a few strange looks, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You don’t even have a plan for what to say when you get there; all you know is that you need to see him again.

You slow to a walk when you reach the library’s entrance, trying to blend in with those coming and going. It’s the middle of the afternoon, the perfect time of day to be here if you wanted to go unnoticed. Younglings have just been released from their lessons, roaming the aisles. They chatter at a poorly managed volume, despite their minder’s warning. Older Masters roam to and fro as well. Some are glued to holodisplays, others watch the younglings play with fond smiles.

But where are you, Master Kenobi?

Dodging a group of Padawans, you scan the perimeter. Nodding hellos and exchanging brief greetings, your heart begins to drop the longer you investigate. It wasn’t him. All that work, for you to be wrong. Whatever connection had occurred on that mission is unwanted on his end -- so much that he's actively pretending that you aren't alive. Jedi are supposed to be good at letting go of attachments -- are forbidden from forming them -- so why does this sting? You turn to the library’s exit, fist clenched tight. Then, you hear it.

“Thanks, Master Kenobi!”

“Of course, Padawan. Any time.”

A short Rhodesian girl darts past you, beaming as she holds her unlit lightsaber with newfound determination.

Only years of discipline and training keep you from bolting past her like a Jawa to a shipwreck. Taking a deep breath, you round the corner. There he is. Finally. Sitting cross-legged, just as you’d seen him through the Force, warmed by the sun coming in through one of the high windows. He doesn’t look up when you spot him -- his brow is furrowed (like it was when he -- no, not here) like what he’s reading is too important to take his eyes off of.

Is it your imagination, or has he gotten prettier since you’ve had the chance to get a good look at him? His hair’s longer -- it’s starting to curl near his ears. The beard’s a little bushier, but still well kept. Obi-Wan brings a hand to his mouth, stroking it lightly. Maker. You swear the ghost sensation of the hair is still tickling your lips, though it’s never really been there.

Well, you didn’t track him down to stare.

You walk over to his small table in the corner, and he only looks up when your hand is on the back of the unoccupied chair. Must be one fascinating holotext. If your heart wasn’t pounding, you might have laughed at the expression that crossed Obi-Wan’s face before he composed himself. His eyebrows threatened to disappear right into his hairline. How many people could say that they’d caught Master Kenobi off guard in such a manner?

“Master,” you greet, bowing in a show of respect. “May I have a word with you?” You have to pull your hand off of the chair so that he can’t see it trembling.

For a moment he looks at you, apparently lost for words. You wish you knew what he was thinking -- or even better, could feel his life Force mingled with yours. You practically grieve it with him right in front of you, but unable to feel a thing. It’s torture, waiting for him to either accept or dismiss you with no hint about which he’ll do. At last, with the smallest of sighs, he closes the holotext and straightens.

“I suppose I can spare a moment,” says Obi-Wan, getting to his feet. “Come with me.”

Feeling like a youngling again, you follow him out of the library and into a hall that you’ve hardly ever been down. Together, you pass no one but a few busy cleaning droids. Neither one of you says a word as he pauses in front of a door, keying in a code. Looking around to make sure that no one’s watching, Obi-Wan waves you in before he follows. The door locks behind him.

It’s an abandoned training room. Still clean due to the presence of droids, it’s nonetheless clear that no living thing has set foot in here for some time. Wooden sparring sticks lie in a pile next to the door, and an outdated holoprojector sits in the far corner. The small size surprises you -- a room this large would likely only hold around half a dozen students. You imagine that’s why it’s no longer used.

“Please, sit.” Master Obi-Wan gestures to a floor mat, and you drop onto it obediently. He mirrors your assumed posture, back straight and ankles crossed. As if this was an out-of-the-way meditation session, not a tense confrontation that you’d been trying to have for weeks.

“You’re a hard man to find, Master,” you say, hoping to break the tension.

He ducks his head, the slightest hint of color creeping over his cheeks. “Yes. Well. War does keep one busy.” You watch his fingers drum on top of his knee, a habit never seen before. Is he anxious?

You nod. “Of course. And yet I notice that I haven’t been assigned any more missions.” When he doesn’t say anything, you continue.

“Our... mission on Odryn seemed to meet the Council’s standards.” Your tone is light, cautious. It’s true that you’ve been stuck in the Temple since then, with many other Knights coming and going. Hard not to believe that Obi-Wan hasn’t had a hand in where you get assigned. Or if.

Obi-Wan takes in a sharp breath, turning away. Was that going too far? He’s silent a moment before speaking, his tone lower than you’re used to hearing it. “Young one, I...that is to say...accompanying you that day was a mistake.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, a look familiar to you from watching him chase Anakin Skywalker around.

You’re genuinely curious when you ask what he means.

“What I mean is--” the blush on his face is darkening, and you lower your eyes, biting off a smile. Cute, your mind tells you again.

“I knew that there was -- that I -- felt something toward you. That offering myself as a volunteer to go with you on the Odryn mission was a poor choice. That my thoughts would -- that I might --” He breaks off, taking a moment to collect his thoughts. “Yet I went anyway. I am so sorry for what followed.” Obi-Wan looks ashamed, not meeting your eyes when you go searching for his.

Ashamed? Sorry? Poor choice? That’s...the complete opposite of how you feel.

Felt something toward you! Your brain screams in retaliation, alight with joy that you hadn’t hallucinated the whole ordeal.

“Do you...remember anything?” you ask timidly. “The dream?”

“I remember enough,” he replies, not seeming to want to discuss it further. “Enough to be consumed with guilt for what you had to witness. I assure you -- I swear -- that every moment since has been dedicated to severing the bond I mistakenly forged. To improving myself as a Jedi.”

For several seconds, you have no clue what he could mean. Then it hits -- he thinks that everything that happened was all his doing. That you were a bystander, a -- a victim.

“Obi-Wan,” you stammer. You’ve never called him that before, and it feels far too intimate once it leaves your mouth. He looks up, blue eyes full of chagrin. “Did you really think that was all you?”

“I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

“Can I...could I just show you?” You swallow. Oh please I’ve missed you, please.

Obi-Wan opens his mouth, then frowns, seeming to think better of it. After a moment of hesitation he simply closes his eyes and inclines his head, an invitation. So relieved you could cry, you close your eyes in turn and drop your shoulders, relaxing. Yes, oh stars, yes. Obi-Wan. Obi-Wan.

When you reach, the door to his life Force is open -- barely ajar, but open all the same. This time you’re the eager one, the neglected one, and your Force greets him like a long lost friend. He wraps around you, hesitant but willing to take you, to listen. You feel tears slip down your face before pushing harder.

Sunshine, tea, cinnamon, cedarwood, shame shame shame. His purest parts clouded with it, making your chest ache so deep you can’t catch a proper breath. This isn’t right. This isn’t the whole picture. You long to make him understand. To let him know that you want him every bit as much as he wanted you that day, and so you flex forward and show.

You hear him gasp from the sheer volume of it. All your desire, watching him sleep and dream of you. Feeling the ebb and flow of his thoughts and thinking you’d never touched a more beautiful life Force. Watching his fantasy about you and feeding back one of your own. When you play back your affection toward him -- before Odryn and after -- he makes the smallest sound under his breath. And when you show him how you came just from feeling his orgasm, right there on the jungle floor, he withdraws from your mind so painfully it feels like a blow to the head.

“Stop,” he chokes out, eyes wild. “I -- I get the picture.” His hands clench tight to the material of his robes, arms crossed over his midsection.

“Are you okay?” you ask quietly, wiping your face. “I didn’t mean to overwhelm you -- but you need to know. It’s not just you.”

Both hands bridge in front of Obi-Wan’s mouth as he stares straight ahead. “I'm not sure if this is better or worse.”

“Why?” You lean forward, unable to keep the desperate note out of your voice. “Master -- Obi-Wan -- I don’t see the issue. This appears to be… highly mutual.” You let your eyes dart down to his waist, which he’s still keeping hidden from you. He catches your look and bites his lip, and never in your life have you wanted to break a rule more. Because you know exactly what he’s going to say before he even has a chance to explain.

“Sometimes I forget how young you are,” he sighs, shifting under your gaze. “You know why. The Code -- attachments are exactly the sort of thing we can’t have.” But you can hear how his breathing’s gone shallow and shaky. His own eyes are lingering on your mouth, like he’s imagining if you taste like you do in his dreams.

“I think that’s an outdated rule.” You cross your arms, not missing the way his gaze now bounces down to your lifted breasts. “You’re attached to Anakin. And his Padawan, Ahsoka.”

“That’s…” Obi-Wan sighs.

“If either were about to die on the battlefield, would you not run to save them? Or leave it to fate?” You quirk an eyebrow, knowing his answer.

“I suppose you’ve got me there. But that’s not -- not the same attachment. It’s familial, not -- this.” He glances up at you shyly. “I can say with full confidence that Anakin has never tempted me in the ways that you have.”

“You’re one of the only people in the Temple he hasn’t, then,” you laugh, trying not to bask in the thought that he’s just said you tempt him. Obi-Wan grins back. A bit of that sunbeam feeling returns, though his Force is nowhere near yours at the moment.

“Anakin has a...fast and loose relationship with the Jedi Code. Even more so now that I am no longer his Master,” he chuckles. “Still. I have to assert that this is a different matter.”

“Hmm.” You frown, feigning contemplation though your mind is already set. “What if we... promise not to get attached? To fall in love? Would that feel safe enough for you?” A long shot.

Obi-Wan shakes his head, giving you a sad sort of smile. “I’m afraid that wouldn’t be possible, dear. I’ve seen your thoughts. You’ve seen mine.” The seeds have already sprouted, he doesn’t say.

Unable to help it, you scoot closer until your knees touch his. “That’s too bad. I -- I really wanted to kiss you, Master.”

And there -- you’ve struck a nerve. Simply addressing him as Master in such a sweet, plaintive tone is enough. Obi-Wan practically flinches, lips pressed tight together. His eyes are bright and longing, looking right into yours now. His lashes are longer than mine. You know without looking into his mind that he remembers that particular part of his dream. Finding you in his room, bare but for your long, brown cloak.

For a moment, you stare at one another. Then he takes a deep breath. “Well. In for a chit, in for a credit,” he murmurs, and presses his mouth against yours.

Oh, it’s soft. So gentle. The barest touch of lips, yet it makes you shiver. You place a hand on his cheek with a happy hum, so glad you were able to convince him. Obi-Wan answers with a satisfied sound of his own, inching further into the kiss. When he presses harder, his moustache threatens to go up your nose. You pull away instinctively, fighting not to giggle.

“Not good?” Obi-Wan’s mouth is still inches from your own, his innocent question full of concern.

“No, it’s fine. But you’re a little,” you grin, “fuzzy.”

“Oh.” His hand drops to his mouth as if he’d never considered it before. “You’re right, I suppose. It is getting to be a bit much. Should I shave it?”

“No!”

“Trim it, then.”

“Later,” you breathe, coming for his lips at a less direct angle.

“Mm! Mmm…”

The urgency of his tone betrays him as he claims your mouth again, more confident this time. Obi-Wan’s legs fall open loosely, and you crawl forward to sit between them, not quite in his lap. His arms come around you, fingers tight on your shoulder blades. You let your mouth fall open against his closed lips as you pant, heart hammering. Gods, he’s strong. The knowledge that he could easily be rough with you -- and yet his mind shows that all he wants is to be gentle -- only makes you want him more.

Obi-Wan’s lips open against yours in turn, and you whimper at his breath mingling with your own, hot and inquisitive. You curl a hand in his hair, wondering if he’ll have the reaction you imagined in your Force projection. He doesn’t disappoint -- with a needy little gasp, he pulls you forward, effectively placing you onto the very erection he’s been trying so hard to hide. His cock flexes up into your core. Oh kriff yes there, your body sings, applying the lightest pressure back.

This time Obi-Wan is the one to pull away, dropping his forehead to your cheek. You slide back to the floor, leaning back on your palms.

“Would now be a bad time to say that I have no idea what I’m doing?” he admits with a breathless laugh. His Force is trickling back open like he can’t seem to help it, and oh, do you like what you feel.

You laugh too, just as flustered. “Doesn’t seem like it, Master.”

��I’m flattered, but really. I’m rather clueless. I assume from the way you’ve spoken about attachments that you are...not.” You sense curiosity from him, though he says nothing more about it. In return, you offer your thoughts. It’s easier -- and far less embarrassing -- to show. Your eyes seek Obi-Wan’s, asking permission to join his life Force again. He inhales shakily, and you don’t miss how tightly his hands are clenched in his lap.

Pressing a kiss to his temple, you re-enter, gentler this time. Truthfully, the experiences you have to offer aren’t that impressive. Fervent touches with a few fellow Knights who also had little to no experience, but passion in spades. Your hands on your own body, long after night had fallen at the Temple. Obi-Wan observes these parts of you, not critical or judgemental. Instead, you’re met only with his growing attraction to you, his consistent relief that what occurred on Odryn was not his fault (but you started it, you tease.).

And you? You prod. His Force shrinks a little, nervous, before opening to you further on the topic.

He hadn’t lied. In conscious practice, there’s nothing. You sift through years and years of thought in fast-forward and he’s never even laid a hand on himself, though the urge to simmers far closer to the surface than he prefers. This...definitely explains the lack of certain details in his dream. Aside from intimacy displayed by couples he’s seen out and about on-planet, he doesn’t have much to go on. This isn’t a topic they teach you as a youngling. Because why would a Jedi need to know? You remember your own firsts, everything coated with disquietude.

“Told you,” he mutters, breaking your concentration. When you open your eyes, he’s giving you a classic Kenobi smirk. Uncertainty lingers behind the kind crinkle of his eyes, anxiety that he can’t quite banish. Neither of you address it. “Are you still so eager to break the rules?” Do I still appeal to you?

In answer, you graze your mouth over his once more. When you tug at Obi-Wan’s bottom lip with your teeth, the pile of sparring sticks in the corner collapses and scatters.

“This is a training room,” you say between kisses, adrenaline flooding your veins at the noises he’s making. Quiet gasps ascend into groans the more daring you get with your tongue, his fingers trembling on your shoulder. “So we should make the best of it. Get some more experience under our belts.”

“I like -- your phrasing,” Obi-Wan manages. "But I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to stop talking," one of his hands snakes to your ass and you squeak in surprise, "and come here."

Gladly, you have time to think at him, before he grabs your hips and lifts you right back into his lap. Nothing shy about it this time -- he's put you directly on his clothed cock.

Now you're the one caught off guard, and he can sense it all over you. How badly you want it. How long you've imagined. You must smell like need. Locking eyes with you, Obi-Wan rolls his hips into your cunt, slow and purposeful. When you whine, something seems to click in his expression -- like he's filing the information away.

I see.

See wh-- !

But you're not allowed to finish the thought. In one motion, Obi-Wan is rising up and over you, crowding you onto the floor under him. You lie there, the training mat stiff underneath you, as he continues to survey you. His hips press yours firmly into the floor, a delicious pressure as you lie flat and he sits astride you.

“There are several options running through your mind, little one,” he says at last, and you blush. No one’s called you that since you were a youngling, tripping over the hem of your robes and envying the Padawans with their lightsabers. To hear him refer to you as little, when you’re pinned under his arousal, does something to you. “Show me the one you want the most.”

Licking your lips at the way his curious look has morphed to one of hunger, you offer the image that has gotten you to climax for the past few nights. You had been desperate to be claimed by the one person who hadn’t seemed to want you.

How things have changed, you muse, watching his eyes go wide as he watches the scene play out in his own mind. Obi-Wan’s full lips part on a silent moan as it vanishes, blinking back to reality slowly.

“Yes. Yes, I think we can manage that.” His voice is so soft, a contrast to the hard press of his cock and hips. “Pull your tunic up for me.”

You scramble to obey, exposing the flat planes of your stomach, then the curve of your breasts. The sturdy material of the tunic is gathered up near your neck, leaving your torso bare for him. Obi-Wan reaches down to swipe the pad of his thumb over one nipple, making you squirm under his hold. He purrs at the desperate sensation it incites in your core, feeling it almost as you do through the Force.

Staying silent as he’d asked you to, you nonetheless beg him to hurry, both with your eyes and through the Force. You know he wants this just as badly -- can feel the stiffness of his cock and the arousal pooling in his gut as surely as if it was your own body -- yet he takes his time here.

So when he finally palms his dick through his trousers, forcing it flat against your stomach, you mewl for him. Your hands reach up to dig into his thighs, urging him on.

Exhaling through his nose, Obi-Wan continues to palm himself through the material, sucking in a gasp when he finally lets himself wrap a hand around it and squeeze.

“Out of everything you imagined,” he murmurs, undoing the ties on his pants deftly, “this is really what you want most?” His erection peeks out at you now, straining his underwear. With a bob of Obi-Wan’s hand, that too is pulled out of the way. Fucking -- Maker --

“Yes,” you whimper, mouth watering for it.

It feels like you’ve waited years to have Obi-Wan’s heavy, naked cock lying full on your stomach. He’s thicker than anyone you’ve been with, and flushed red with want. The tip is already dripping, warm on your cool skin. He grabs it firmly in his right hand, a ragged groan tearing from his throat as he gives it a slow pull. Powerless to stop yourself from wanting a closer look, you prop yourself up on your elbows. Your heart jumps to your throat as the extra attention makes him flush.

Those lovely eyes, framed by copper lashes, dart away from yours as he tugs harder, biting a knuckle to keep from crying out. Kriff, you wish he wouldn’t. You want his overstimulated sounds almost as much as you want his come smearing your chest.

One hand works his shaft at an increasing pace as the other tenses in the material of his tunic. "Always -- so much," he confesses in a gasp. "Such a m-mess to wake up to." And indeed, pre-come is dribbling down his cock and hand in rivulets now, pooling below your belly button.

"I've never," he shudders, shoulders tensing, "never done this -- on purpose --" Obi-Wan looks down at you, not really seeing, brows knitted with desperation. The normally composed Jedi is falling apart, and it’s driving you insane. "I can f-feel it about to happen." In his fist, his cock is making obscenely wet sounds as he covers it with his own juices.

"How -- how close?" you ask, unable to take your eyes off of the way he's working his hips in tight little thrusts now. Fucking into his hand like no matter how fast he strokes, it won’t be enough. You feel like your hips will be bruised by how hard he’s pinning you into the training mat, but you can’t bring yourself to give a damn.

“Close --” he whines, ducking his head, face screwed up as he pants. Obi-Wan’s hand and wrist are a blur as he pleasures himself, balls drawing up in anticipation. His hair is a mess, so untidy from its normal neat part, and you wish you could run your hands through it. “Oh, gods -- oh, gods --” His Force is blazing with the chase, teetering on the edge of an orgasm he’s never been able to fully experience. Going to come all over you, stars, feels so good --

“Please, Master, please,” you beg, shoving his hips further up your torso. You’re soaking in your underwear, waiting for him to mark you.

You see it in his eyes three seconds before it happens. They go completely round with wonder, a hand slamming over his mouth as the first spurts of hot come streak your stomach.

Little one, stars -- I’m coming, I’m coming -- oh f-fuck fuck --

Though Obi-Wan hardly lets more than a whimper escape past his own hand, you hear everything loud and clear in your mind. It’s every bit as intense as you remember from that day on Odryn, and you clench as his aftershocks roll through your empty cunt. Rope after rope of come covers your chest, from the bottom of your stomach to the hollow of your throat. The scent of it coats your nostrils, thick and musky and Obi-Wan.

Obi-Wan’s eyes flutter closed, hand falling from its grip over his mouth. “That -- that was…”

“Messy,” you joke, offering a smile. Incredible, you add as a hint of embarrassment creeps into your bond. When you reiterate how good it felt to watch him losing himself in the pleasure of it, he relaxes again. With a sigh, he eases off of your hips and tucks his wilting cock back into his trousers, settling down on his side next to you.

“You do look rather pretty like that,” he admits quietly, cheeks still flushed from exertion.

“Just wait until we actually take our clothes off, Master.”

“Pfft.” Obi-Wan leans in and kisses you, as gentle as the first time. “I have to tell you something,” he adds, voice lowered to a conspiratorial volume though you’re alone.

“What is it?”

“You taste like that dreadful tea they serve in the mess.”

[aspoonofsugar]

I hope this is not too much of a hassle but by any chance could you do an analysis on Watts, Tyrian, and Hazel.

Hello anon!

Sure, no problem :) I think I have shared some thoughts on these three characters in other metas, but I’ll get this chance to organize them and to put them all together.

In general, I would say Watts, Tyrian and Hazel are not extremely deep characters and they mostly work as foils to others, drive subplots in specific arcs and highlight themes.

Here is a list of their major narrative roles, as for now.

1) They symbolize three parts of Salem:

Each member of Salem’s inner circle represents one side of her.

Watts is her entitlement.

Tyrian is her desire of destruction for the sake of destruction.

Cinder is her wish to be free.

Hazel is her inability to grieve.

They are Salem’s three flaws. The reasons why she ends up the way she is.

Salem’s journey starts because she is unable to grieve:

Salem: No! No! What did you do?! BRING HIM BACK!

And because she feels she deserves better than others:

God of Light: When you first came to me, I did pity you. But it is clear now that your selfishness and arrogance have led you astray.

Finally, she enters the pool of Darkness and embraces destruction:

Jinn: Instead, it created a being of infinite life with a desire for pure destruction.

At the same time, Tyrian and Hazel also represent Salem’s inability to understand the cycle of life and death:

God of Light: You must learn the importance of life and death. Only then may you rest.

The cycle is about loving life and accepting death. However, Salem initially refuses death (like Hazel) and then starts despising life (like Tyrian)

Interestingly, Hazel is eventually able to understand Gretchen’s choice:

Hazel: I'm doing what Gretchen would have done!

And dies sacrificing himself for others, just like Gretchen did.

I wonder if Tyrian’s death will be something which will instead be linked to him finally aknowledging the importance of life. Since Tyrian is a very negative character (and I do not think he will have a redemptive or particularly empowering death) it might be something as simple as him begging for his life.

2) Watts, Hazel and Tyrian all act as the main secondary villain of a specific arc and they are linked to the main theme of that arc.

a) Hazel fights in the Battle of Heaven and he is linked to Knowledge:

Oscar: Did she know the risk of being a Huntress?

Hazel: She was only a child! She wasn't ready!!

Oscar: She made a choice!

Knowledge is complementary to Choice. It is what you must aquire to choose wisely. However, initially Hazel does not understand it. He dismisses Gretchen’s choice as a her being tricked and he himself lacks the knowledge to make the right decision.

This is why his turning sides is linked to the relic of Knowledge:

Jinn: Why, hello again, old man. Did you have a question for me?

Hazel: Actually, I think all my questions are answered now.

He finally understands the truth and is able to choose:

Oscar: What are you going to do?

Hazel: What Gretchen would have done.

b) Watts displays his hacking abilities to its fullest in the Atlas Arc. This connects him to the theme of Creation and in particular to its negative declination aka Control:

Cinder: You said in your message that you have control over Penny.

Watts: I said I had Penny under control, not that I could telekinetically force her to do whatever I want.

He hacks Penny and overwrites her will. Moreover, he himself ends up manipulated and “controlled” by Cinder:

Cinder: You deserve this, Arthur. We'll be back.

c) Tyrian has roles both in the Mistral Arc and in the Atlas Arc. However, he misses from the climaxes of both, so I think he will be important in Vacuo and maybe he’ll find his death in that arc. Moreover, the theme of Destruction seems to fit his character.

Finally, when it comes to themes, Hazel, Tyrian and Watts all explore the theme of trust (aka one of the main themes of the Atlas Arc) in a minor way.

To be more specific, the theme of trust is explored throughout the story in different ways. I have explained it better here and here.

It is interesting because the theme of trust is explored starting with Ozpin, Oscar’s foil, who does not trust others, so our protagonists feel betrayed. However, in Atlas they find themselves in Ozpin’s shoes and must choose if to trust Ironwood or not.

Here, we explore a form of conditional trust. This idea is presented by Ruby, who wants to be sure it is safe to trust Ironwood. So she keeps secrets and studies him until she decides she can trust him… only to discover that was not the case immediately after. This happens because trust can never be completely safe. Actually, in its most negative declination, this kind of trust becomes the control symbolized by Ironwood.

No matter what, trust is always a leap of faith. This is why trust is a risk. Oscar shows this concept well. He decides to still trust Ironwood at the end of volume 7, but it does not work. Still, he does not stop and decides to trust Emerald and Hazel. This time his trust and faith are repaid. He is fred and gains a new ally.

Anyway, even if trust is worth it, the exploration of this theme in Atlas actually ends on a negative note. It ends with Cinder who is an enemy of trust because she uses others’ trust and feelings against them.

In short, we are shown what trust is through Oscar, what it happens when there is no trust through Ozpin and how trust can be twisted and manipulated through Cinder.

Well, Hazel, Watts and Tyrian explore these same ideas in their subplots.

Tyrian takes advantage of the lack of trust among Robyn, Clover and Qrow:

Tyrian: It's taking a very long time for this show to get to the good part.

He exploits it and manages to kill Clover because of it.

Hazel shows the power of trusting others instead:

Oscar: You want him to trust us? Then trust me.

Oscar’s trust makes him willing to listen and later on he decides to help the kids escape.

Finally, Watts is used and discarded by Cinder, who fakes trust and friendship towards him and Neo.

3) Hazel, Tyrian and Watts all foil a member of Ozpin’s group and show their flaw in a clearer way.

Hazel foils Ozpin himself:

Hazel: He didn't tell you my tale, did he, boy? I thought you looked familiar, to think that evil was inside you when our paths first crossed. Your blood won't be on my hands, it'll be on his.

On one hand Hazel accuses Ozpin of sending kids to their deaths, while hurting children himself. On the othet hand Ozpin speaks about the importance of making choices, but does not give all the knowledge necessary to make an informed choice. So, both characters earnestly believe in their ideals, but they are also hypocrites about them.

Watts foils Ironwood.

Watts accuses Ironwood of having used his genius only to dismiss him later on and does not aknowledge how he himself has taken advantage of Atlas society that leaves those below (like Cinder) to rot. Moreover, both Ironwood and Watts frame themselves as rational, but lose precisely because they dismiss the importance of feelings for both manipulation (Watts) and trust (ironwood).

Finally, Tyrian foils Qrow.

In particular, Tyrian embodies Qrow’s self-destructive tendencies, which are Qrow’s true flaw. As a matter of fact Qrow ends up hurt in both fights (the first tiem physically, while the second time emotionally) not because Tyrian is stronger than him. He ends up hurt because of his flaw.

In Mistral, his misunderstanding with Ruby leads to him being poisoned. This happens because Qrow is so scared of his semblance that he keeps others away and does not explain himself.

In Atlas, his cynism leads him to make a pact with Tyrian and this leads to Clover’s death.

4) Finally, Hazel, Watts and Tyrian all foil a member of CEM:

I have discussed Emerald and Mercury’s foiling with Hazel and Tyrian here and here.

Hazel and Tyrian step in as Emerald and Mercury’s parental figures once Cinder leaves them behind.

Hazel is Emerald’s positive parental figure, but he is blinded by his flaw, just like she is.

Tyrian is Mercury’s negative parental figure, but he also tells the boy truths he needs to accept.

At the same time, Hazel is what Emerald really wants (an adult who looks out for her), while Tyrian is who Mercury thinks he wants to be (a big bad man). In both cases, they are not what Emerald and Mercury really need. Emerald must learn to be more independent, while Mercury needs to nurture his positive relationship(s).

I have discussed Cinder’s foiling with Watts here, here and here.

Watts embodies Cinder’s flaw (her hunger for power) enveloped in everything she hates, but also deep down envies (being an Atlas elites).

It is interesting that Watts is not really a mentor figure for Cinder (differently from Hazel and Tyrian for the murder kids). He is a colleague, so they are on equal footing. Interestingly, though, they both try to discredit the other and to act as the other’s superior.

In general, this is another way to convey that Cinder is less child-coded than the two kids she took in.

At the same time, it shows how Atlas makes relationships between equals difficult because in Atlas everyone always tries to be on top and discards the ones below.

5) Hazel, Watts and Tyrian’s arcs, when they exist, are very short and simple.

Moreover, they are built on what ifs.

What would happen if Hansel lost Gretel?

He would stay a prisoner of the Witch forever, until he manages to free himself doing what his sister would have done:

In a sense, Gretchen still frees Hazel, not physically like in the fairy tale, but psychologically because she inspires him.

What would happen if Watson were envious of Sherlock?

He would join Moriarty and end up consumed by his own envy:

Watts is shown eating a green apple while controlling a falling Atlas. This is interesting because Atlas is the house of our titular Snowhite and green is a color associated with envy. It is as if Watts has taken the bait Cinder offered him using his feelings of entitlement and jealousy:

Cinder: You have everything you need?

Watts: Oh, believe me, this is everything I've ever wanted.

His arc is also a clear case of wants versus needs. He gets what he wants, ignoring that this is not what he needs.

What would happen is the Scorpion killed the Frog, but survived?

The answer is that he would keep making pacts he breaks (like the one with Qrow) and would keep poisoning others (both physically or psychologically).

This until he leads himself to his own demise, just like his fable counterpart.

Thank you for the ask!

[snailsnfriends]

It has been a few months, six to be exact, but I wanted to revisit Tommy when he was locked in the prison.

A lot has happened since then, and I think the reminder of this would be nice since these moments affected Tommy so deeply, and watching streams over again can be time-consuming.

This analysis and summary will be split into three parts. The first three parts will be an analysis and summary of Tommy’s time in the prison, from pre-entrance to revival. From here on out, I will be discussing the characters on the SMP unless stated otherwise. Dialogue is color-coded: Tommy, Dream. So, let’s begin!

Stream: Tommy Gets Locked In Prison with Dream

The stream opens up with Tommy telling us, the audience, that this will be our last time visiting Dream. He wants to visit Dream one last time in order to gain closure. Tommy acknowledges that he has been, in his own words, “tortured” and “tormented” by Dream. Though Dream is locked up, Tommy is still anxious.

“Why am I still feeling like this? Why am I still feeling, you know, fuckin, miserable, I suppose. I’ve got my hotel, I’ve got my buis- I still feel kinda- a little bit low. A little bit empty. I think, I think it’s because I haven’t shut the book. He’s still in my life, you know.”

All of this confirms the fact that Tommy has yet to heal from Dream’s abuse. He is aware that he is safe and has everything he’s wanted, yet still feels unhappy. This also confirms that Tommy wants to heal and move on. He is making the conscious decision to do so.

“I wanna start living my life, because I haven’t lived my life since the start of this SMP! … it’s just been war after war, death after death, friend dead after friend! Death, you know? It’s been, dare I say, it’s been fuckin morbid! But um, he’s been the reason.”

This is further confirmation of Tommy’s thought process. He is aware that his life has always been busy in some way, and that conflict has always boiled down to him and Dream. It is important to note that he does not blame anyone else for his troubles except Dream. He does not blame Wilbur for L’manberg’s destruction, Philza for Wilbur’s death, or Technoblade for Tubbo’s death. For Tommy, it has always been him and Dream no matter what.

As Tommy goes over the required questions with Sam, he says that Dream does deserve to be in prison, but does not deserve to die. When Sam asks what Tommy’s prior relationship with the prisoner was like, Tommy immediately yells, calling Dream a wrongen. However, his demeanor changes quickly. He says that they manipulated one another, and that Dream manipulated him. This is interesting because Tommy is aware that Dream hurt him, but he does not exactly know how he fits into it. Tommy has not manipulated Dream. Tommy does not and did not have the power to do that. Tommy has a hard time understanding his relationship with Dream, which is something we will continue to see as the stream progresses.

While Tommy puts his items in the locker, he apologizes for his nervousness and asks if it’s obvious. This is also something Tommy does frequently; he apologizes for his emotions regardless of the situation. Tommy has good reason to be nervous, and Sam even asks if Tommy really wants to visit Dream. Sam is not annoyed by Tommy, so he has no real reason to apologize. Tommy has a hard time letting his guard down around people he likes and feels the need to apologize for his emotions.

As Sam and Tommy make their way through the prison, Tommy thanks Sam for doing his job and looking out for him. After being genuine with Sam, Tommy is frustrated when he doesn’t respond, despite being aware of the fact that Sam puts on a face while doing his job. Tommy does not like being ignored, but quickly moves on to once again explain that he does not want to visit the prison again after this. He specifically notes that blackstone is triggering to him, which is another thing to add to his already long trigger list. He also asks Sam to promise that Dream will be locked up forever. Once Sam confirms this, Tommy calms down. He says he would have no reason to visit Dream again unless one of his friends died. As Tommy blabbers on and on, Sam does a good job of being directional toward Tommy, telling him exactly what he needs to do. This is a good thing because it gives Tommy a specific task to complete, and does not give him time to panic. As Tommy waits for the lava to lower, he says this,

“I wanna make sure I always like who I am, and, you know, around this guy, I don’t think I do. I don’t think I like who I am around Dream. Let’s close the book.”

This is very important because it helps establish Tommy’s relationship with Dream for the audience. Tommy very clearly does not like Dream and does not like the kind of person he is while around him (hurt, afraid, confused, quick to anger). Dream, on the other hand, does not feel this way. He wants to be around Tommy. He wants to hurt Tommy. Dream sees this as fun, while Tommy does not. This is something we will also continue to see as the stream goes on.

This is minor, but I think it’s important to note, as it’s part of how cc!Tommy plays his character: As Tommy and Dream greet one another, Dream says that he lost his clock. Tommy jokes that if you remove the “L” a new word is created, and Tommy smiles. In response, Dream says, “That’s the Tommy I know.” Tommy’s face immediately drops after Dream says this; this feeds into Tommy’s dislike for himself around Dream.

Dream attempts to make conversation, saying that he wishes Tommy would visit more, but Tommy ignores this to explain that this is his last time visiting Dream. Dream tries to make Tommy second guess himself by saying that forever is a “long time.” Tommy pauses before speaking again. Something important to be aware of is that Tommy is very susceptible to Dream’s manipulation, especially now. In this situation. There is no escape. It is just him, Dream, and the lava. There is no one to break up any disagreement they have. There is no one here to stop Dream. And because Tommy is so anxious, he is an easy target. Tommy does try to combat this by being direct with Dream. He refuses to answer Dream outright as of now, and instead just tries to get his point across.

At this point in the stream, it crashes, but right before, Tommy explains to Dream that if there is anything he wants to say, he has to say it now, because Tommy won’t be coming back. Dream responds to this with a confused “why?” Dream cannot think of even a single reason why Tommy would never want to see him again, which plays into the fact that Dream believes that his relationship with Tommy is fun. It also shows that Dream thinks this relationship is mutual; Dream believes that Tommy feels the same way about him, which is not true.

After fixing some stream problems, Dream talks about possibly getting out one day. Tommy immediately denies this and stops Dream from talking about it any further. Here, Tommy is trying to keep some sort of power in the situation. He is trying to keep an even temper, but this doesn’t last very long once Tommy brings up exile.

“What you’re doing now, this is like exile. Do you remember that? Do you remember ex- I don’t know how much you remember with all these tears n shit, this is, this is like exile, man. I don’t- I don’t wanna know you-” “I mean, exile, it wasn’t, it wasn’t too bad, right? I mean, you still, you had, you know, like, we hung out and stuff.” “I fu- You fu- You fuck- You bastard, Dream! You threw my shit into a hole! I can’t go near plains biomes now without getting a little trembly in the fingers! You- Yeah no, it was fucked, you’re fucked!”

Here, Tommy is aware that he is not in power. He knows that he lacks control in this situation, especially because he is emotional. Comparing this to exile shows that this is what Tommy bases his opinions of Dream on, and this is where most of Tommy’s fears come from. This also shows that Dream has no sense of the severity of exile, despite the fact that he carried out the abuse. Dream describes it as them just hanging out, which, again, shows that Dream thinks his relationship with Tommy is fun. He does not think that what he did was abuse, despite Tommy’s clear indication that it was. He doesn’t think that it was too bad despite the fact that he cannot come up with any reason why it wasn’t bad. He does not complete his sentences because he cannot think of anything good. In order to gain the upper hand again, Tommy asks about the books he wanted Dream to write last time, but we quickly move on from that to this:

“Listen, when I’m around you, my brain feels like I’m conditioned to be your friend, but also when I have a knife, I wanna just plunge it into your heart, and it’s like I don’t- you don’t make me a good person.”

This, again, shows Tommy’s conflicting feelings toward Dream. Tommy is very aware that he doesn’t like Dream and is not the person he wants to be while around Dream. However, he still feels inclined to be his friend. Tommy is aware that he is being manipulated, as shown by the word “conditioned” here; he knows that he does not actually want to be Dream’s friend. Tommy just does not know how to make this feeling stop. What Tommy does know is that Dream has ruined everything for him, and he does not want to see Dream ever again. Tommy goes on about how Dream is horrible, specifically calling him out for almost killing Tubbo. In response, we get this:

“I did bad things but- Everybody thinks they’re right from their perspective-” “That’s not true.” “Wow. I mean, I think I’m right. I did bad things, but I did them for good reasons but-" “What do you mean ‘good reasons’ you’re a psychopath-” "but I’ve learned. I did bad things. And I’ve learned that I shouldn’t have done them." “What good reasons? No, please, enlighten us, please, enlighten me-” "I just wanted to bring the server together, have it be a happy family, you know?”

And this, my friends, is a lovely example of Dream’s mindset and ability to manipulate. Dream repeats that he has learned from what he’s done, but that is not true. He tries more than once to excuse his actions by saying that everyone is right from their own perspective and that he was doing bad things for good reason. He does this in an effort to make Tommy think he’s not that bad and can be either let out or revisited. This also proves that he hasn’t learned at all, because if he truly did learn, he would acknowledge exactly what was wrong with his actions. He would’ve apologized to Tommy a long time ago if he really believed that what he did was wrong. Tommy immediately disagrees with Dream’s points, which, again, shows that Tommy and Dream do not have the same mindset, despite what Dream believes. I think the most important thing to take note of is the “happy family” bit, which has been dragged through hell in back in discourse posts. In order to bring the server together to create a happy family, all of the members would have to be involved, and all of them would have to be happy. Based on Dream’s actions, he doesn’t actually want this. Abusing people does not make them happy. Threatening to kill others does not make them happy. Leaving your friends behind in pursuit of your obsession does not make them happy. In Dream’s mind, a “big happy family” is one that he can do anything to without repercussions, which is something Tommy calls out. Later, he says,

“I am better than that. I am better than you. I am done here. You ruined my past, Dream, but you will not ruin my future.”

Other than this being a banger line, this basically sums up everything Tommy wanted to accomplish with this visit. Dream tries to make Tommy second guess himself by asking him to visit, and saying that Tommy visiting would help him get better. Thankfully, Tommy knows that it’s not true, and refuses. But because we can’t have good things around here, right after Tommy says goodbye, TNT starts to go off, and Tommy starts to yell for Sam and panics. Dream does not have much of a reaction to the explosions. Tommy once again tries to bid Dream farewell, saying “It has been an honor knowing you, but it will be an honor forgetting you.” but is quickly distracted by more TNT. As more TNT rains down, Tommy grabs the item frame off the wall to use as a potential weapon. Eventually, Tommy asks Dream to let him out, which signals to Dream that Tommy is in a vulnerable state. Dream capitalizes on this by saying that Tommy might be stuck with him for a while. As they argue over not knowing any better than the other, Tommy doesn’t believe that Dream doesn’t know anything about the TNT.

Eventually, Dream says that this is a good thing and that they can bond. He remarks that this is just like exile, and Tommy immediately begins to curse at and hit him. Tommy continues to hit Dream and pace all panicked, and it only gets worse when Dream says that this is the best thing that has ever happened to him in the prison. Dream tries repeatedly to give Tommy food and books, but he refuses them. Eventually, though, he eats the food. As the two argue some more, Dream says that they will have a lot of fun together. This, again, shows that Dream has a warped perception of what “fun” is, and does not see any reason for Tommy to panic. And to end it all, Tommy says, “I was about to be done.” as he realizes that there is nothing he can do.