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usedpidemo · 6 months

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Acquainted (Red Velvet Yeri)

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You’re just about ready to head off to sleep when you check the group chat. This is your nightly tradition. These strangers, now your closest friends despite the anonymity, are active and in good spirits, as usual. Outside of your weekday 9-to-5, these few moments are the most interesting parts of your day, and you just so happen to join during a particularly lively conversation:

> [22:48:01] yerimiese: (posts a link to a red velvet album article)

> [22:48:14] flutter mane: :sanapog:

> [22:48:23] silksong sulker: k-pop is saved

> [22:48:33] wonyoung cockjuicer: ew red velvet

> [22:48:37] wonyoung cockjuicer: wonyoung can peg me tbh

> [22:48:39] irene’s tokki: Bae J:floshedjiggle::floshedjiggle:hyun

> [22:49:06] milf hunter: :floshed:

> [22:49:11] milf hunter: gape sugalo

So of course, you chime in as well.

> [22:50:12] You: lets get it, new rv fancams

You’re in no mood to chat for longer than five minutes, but before you head offline, you receive a private message from your closest friend:

> yerimiese: so when are you in korea again?

> You: Next week, why?

> yerimiese: nice. why don’t we meet up, that would be dope as fuck

> You: You’re in Korea?

> yerimiese: yeaaaah? why wouldn’t i be?

> You: I thought you’d be doing other schedules abroad

> yerimiese: nah sm definitely won’t fly us out to film an mv. cheap ass bastards ㅋㅋㅋ

Yerimiese then sends you a video link. It’s a Yeri fancam, her weapon of choice. Your conversations began with small, intimate talks about your personal life, soon transpiring into open fapping, degrading, and casual lewdness with each other. Despite the usually depraved nature of your messages, you both continued sharing snippets of your day to day lives. That’s how close you’ve grown as friends.

> You: Well i’m very tired, today was a long day at work, had to work overtime. No time to lewd, sorry

> yerimiese: it's alright. you did well today

Yerimiese sends you a pic this time. It’s an event; the internet can’t load any quicker. You’re hungry, impatient, dying. Whether it’s intentional or not, the photos she sends whenever you’re tired or stressed out are hotter than her usual swimsuit or photoshoot reel. You’ve shared enough about your daily routine to her that a camera crew might as well be recording you.

It’s nothing out of the ordinary; a simple candid pic of herself lying in bed, her face perfectly cropped out of the background, showing nothing but her body on full display in front of the huge mirror, dressed in skimpy black panties and a white shirt that accentuates her shapely breasts. As usual, she’s not wearing a bra; you can clearly see her hard nipples demanding all of your attention.

> yerimiese: no need to send a dick pic tonight if you don’t feel like doing it

You can’t help it. Tired as you are, you feel obligated to send her one. Luckily, every pic she sends is more than enough to make you instantly hard. It feels more guilty not to be turned on, rather.

It’s a mostly quick and painless affair, powerful enough to put you out of commission within minutes. Even though you’re mentally checked out, Yerimiese’s sexy body is too hot not to crank one out. Taking a pic of your erect cock as you pump yourself to her is second nature; sending it on sticky fingers after you’ve spurted all over your phone and blankets is a different story. There’s no other way to put it, she was the perfect reprieve from the day’s exhaustions—a perfect high note to go out on.

> yerimiese: fuck you’re THROBBING THROBBING tonight :ningasm: your dick looks so damn nice. i can taste your cum through the screen

> You: Happy now?

> yerimiese: more than, and then some. I wish you were here right now so you could feel how wet I am

> You: Just wait. I can’t wait to fuck you hard. Goodnight

> yerimiese: goodnight

> yerimiese: :tukkwithkiss:

—————

The next time you’re able to communicate with her, you’re one day away from being in Korea. In that period, you’ve been inactive in the group chat because work. What welcomes you back is a barrage of lewd photos and Yeri fancams.

> yerimiese: see you tomorrow :chuupeek:

It’s an open secret that you know she’s Kim Yerim. Yes, that Kim Yerim of Red Velvet fame. It was a giveaway right from the first explicit photo she sent you; those tits in a tight, petite package couldn’t have belonged to anyone other than hers. That, and the fact that her username is the same as her Instagram handle, and that she has a photo of herself in the group as a display pic. How she would end up stumbling into your private K-pop server objectifying her body and her profession is one of life’s biggest mysteries, yet here she is, giving you a very personal look into her shapely figure, better than any fancam and photoshoot could ever provide. To others, she’s merely a casual acquaintance, but to you, she can freely open up herself.

Mainly because you’re one of three people in the group chat that still cares about Red Velvet.

Her latest sent photo is relatively tame; a tight fitting white silk sundress, and the skirt is virtually nonexistent, her panties practically out in the open. Luckily for you, she seems to be sitting down, but not in her usual living room. The notion that this is what welcomes you to Korea, that you’ll be balls deep inside an idol’s pussy right when you land—it ruins you.

Almost.

An airport guard manages to break your deep train of thought. “Sir! No phones please,” he sternly commands, saving you from total disaster; you’re inches away from walking straight through a metal detector with your phone in hand, the belt around your pants, and some spare coins lying deep in your pocket after you bought some traditionally expensive bottled water. Luckily, no one manages to see the photo—and even if they did, she’s still smart enough to cut out her face, leaving nothing else to your imagination.

If there’s one thing you’ve learned about immigration and airport security, it’s that there’s little need for repetition. You go through security four times. At the entrance, after the check-in counter, then within your departure gate, and even before boarding your flight—repetitive. It’s frustrating enough to tell Yerim, to which she responds with more lewd photos of herself.

> yerimiese: yeah ive been there before ㅋㅋㅋ

> yerimiese: how long’s ur flight?

> You: About 13 hours

> yerimiese: cali?

> You: Yes

> yerimiese: kinda random, but seulgi misses los angeles

> You: How come?

> yerimiese: something about an ex-boyfriend that i didn’t know about until the other day ㅋㅋㅋ i bet she’ll be jealous when she hears about you coming over just to clap my cheeks ㅋㅋㅋ she’d wish it was her bf instead of you

> You: does she know about this?

> yerimiese: of course not LOL i bet you’d rather fuck her instead of me, so she’ll never know. smh.

> You: That’s not true ur my RV bias since day one!

> yerimiese: stop lying LMAO i don’t blame you tho seulgi has some really toned legs and a nice slappable ass XD anyway, i’m gonna send you something to pass the time while ur onboard

> You: If it’s a masturbating clip i swear to god

> yerimiese: fuck you got me LOL

> You: Goddamit if anyone finds out on a plane of all places…

> yerimiese: i still can’t get over your clip of you jerking to me. i can taste your dick. you’re depriving me by leaving me out to dry for a week ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’ve been touching yourself to that clip for a week??

> yerimiese: can’t help myself, album prep has been tiring and i haven’t really found any opportunity to relax in the meantime

> You: I’ll be there soon, just wait a bit longer

> yerimiese: can’t trust me with that, i’m very close to making a huge mess of my hotel room ㅋㅋㅋ

> You: You’re in a hotel?

> yerimiese: just to meet you! I won’t be able to meet you at the airport (duh, idol dating shit), so this is the next best thing. just message me when you’ve landed here, okay?

> You: Sure

—————

It’s ingrained deep within Yerim’s mind. A core memory. If her phone could present count how many times she’s played the clip, it would be over a thousand.

It’s very straightforward. A 45 second clip of someone masturbating between the sheets, pressing their erect cock against their phone with a brightened image of a scantily clad woman on the screen. But it’s not just any woman, it’s her. She’s pleasuring herself to the idea of a man jerking off to her. She’s following his rhythm, timing the pace her fingers rub her clit to the tempo of the man’s cock pumping to her zoomed-in breasts.

And she’s mere minutes removed from a conversation with that exact same person.

Slumped against the hotel room walls, her bliss spirals out of control rapidly. Her legs are instinctively spread wide, juices already leaking through her panties and spilling to the floor; that’s how used they are to Yerim’s impulses to pleasure herself. In those brief moments, she imagines how the next few days play out, skipping past the formalities and pleasantries and going straight to the fucking. She moans and shouts as if that very man’s cock is penetrating her pussy hard at this very moment. Her other hand bashes the wall, tongue screaming streams of profanities, as if he’s manhandling her, using her to his personal delight.

“Fuck! Suck those fucking tits!” she screams, slipping one strap of her sundress down to pinch her own tit, enhancing the illusion. Her phone rings; in her mind it's functionally a vibrator. He’s come fully prepared, and she’s riding high knowing that this person is doing exactly what he said in their private messages from the very start.

Yerim drags her fingers along her clit violently, desperate to reach climax, the realization that this is her third orgasm of the day way beyond her. The evidence can be found everywhere: on the soiled bed sheets and in the smell of the shower; she envisions herself getting railed in those parts of the room, and then some—essentially turning the entire hotel room into the backdrop for all of the things he’d do to her: fingers around her throat, sunk into her ass, until it’s red and hurting, the way she’d quiver and cream all over his throbbing cock. Her neediness has no limits; it even breaks past her very own personal quarters, the loudness of her own self-induced pleasure drawing concern from occupants nearby.

Only after the blissful haze of orgasm does everything fall back in place. That repetitive knock on the door is a huge wake up call. Yerim’s eyes widen.

“Shit.”

She checks her fingers—they’re coated in copious amounts of slick—and after a little further inspection, she realizes the aftermath.

“Shit. Shit. Shit.”

—————

Being honest about yourself, you couldn’t have asked to feel hornier at a worse time than this. Thirty thousand feet high up in the air, stuck in economy class because you don’t get paid enough to deal with the bullshit back in the office. Using your one of two allowed leaves in the year for a trip to see a girl you’ve mostly known online, and it isn’t even paid. To make things worse, there’s no layovers—just a point-to-point flight from San Francisco to Seoul. 13 hours.

And boy, is the ride absolutely miserable.

By what you might as well call divine intervention, you’re conveniently seated between a nun and a little girl—the two worst kinds of people to be alongside with. No, not because they’re annoying or anything like that; aside from the girl getting up every thirty minutes from her window seat to get something from her parents across the aisle, you’re practically barred access to your glorified archive of lewd Yerim pics. Opening them up with a kid barely in the first grade beside you is openly asking for trouble.

And the few times you get up for a lavatory break, you can’t get yourself going. There’s always someone at the door every five minutes.

Eight hours deep into the flight, you look over your shoulder, catch one of the male flight attendants sneak inside one of the vacant lavatories with a fellow stewardess while everyone’s fast asleep. Fucking sickening. That should be you with Yerim right now.

When you arrive on the other side of the planet, you’ve gotten only a couple hours’ worth of sleep. You almost fumble your passport at immigration, getting them mixed up with a slew of business and membership cards. Then there’s your forgetfulness working against you, remembering you need some kind of pocket Wi-Fi, and now you have to spend a little more to get back online. It’s a mess, and it wasn’t that long since you were in Europe for a seminar, where these things were merely second nature to you.

At least you remembered that VPNs exist. You message Yerim on the taxi ride out of the airport, unsure of where to begin.

> You: Just got out of immigration

> yerimiese: fuckin finally!

> yerimiese: you got a place to stay here?

> You: Not yet

> yerimiese: don’t bother, lemme send you my hotel address, you can stay here

Of course you don’t know Korean, despite the constant back and forth with Yerim for months. Learning’s been on the backend of your itinerary, and has never been your top priority, even now. You show the cab driver the address, who merely looks at you and the phone with a particularly vacant and dumbfounded expression, as if you’re stupid for not planning this out—which, in that regard, he’d be correct.

When you finally arrive at the hotel, only one message stands between you and finally meeting Yerimiese, once and for all.

> yerimiese: I’ll be at the poolside, third floor. can’t wait to meet you :P

And that’s exactly where you end up going. Forget that you’re lugging two whole bags and a traveler’s backpack on your shoulders; you drop them off at the front desk, expecting the staff to have a clue of what’s going on and what’s about to happen.

Stepping out into the poolside, it’s a completely barren sight. It’s three in the afternoon on a Tuesday; most people probably aren’t even booked, let alone in this supposed five-star hotel. You don’t really question whether she’s being serious or not, the evidence was in the previously sent photos; you’re dying to meet her at this point.

And as if perfectly timed for dramatic effect, a woman emerges from beneath the waters, shaking off the wetness from her damp hair.

Yerim casually swims over the deep waters’ edge, without a care in the world, let alone your presence quietly shadowing over the large pool. Even halfway submerged, you can make out the outline of her shapely bust and hourglass figure, tightly hugged by a pink swimsuit. She was sultry and intoxicating to gawk at from candid photos, but seeing Yerimiese herself in the flesh, that’s when the realization hits you: this is happening.

And you can’t move a muscle, let alone react from the actualization that you’re right in front of her. Even as the waves of water splash on your new loafers, you simply observe. It’s creepy, it’s morally dubious, but it’s one in a million. You’re taking in every moment, every second; soak it all in, you’ll never get an experience like this ever again.

You should be friends by now, if your definition of friendship means sharing explicit body photos and exchanging devious intentions about how you’ll fuck each other online or how much cum you’ve given to each other. But when she turns in your direction—catching you casually observing her, your hands tucked away in your coat’s pocket, grinning like a little kid— it’s back to square one.

Like the very first time.

Yerim takes all the time in the world to wade over from the other side of the pool, her smile growing closer as she approaches you. She lifts her eyebrows, expecting you to make a first move, to which you barely open your mouth, and ultimately only a deep breath, a stilted sigh, comes out.

Well, this is awkward.

Yerim giggles. You’ve previously heard her loud moans and cries, but a genuine laugh—this was your first. She never hops on calls in your group chat, most likely because idol shit, as she often refers to her line of work. Her laughter, her energetic expression—it’s as perfect of a translation to real life as it is online, and embodies the idol Yeri you know on screen.

“How long have you been standing there?” she asks, trying—and failing—to suppress more of her laughter.

Your answer is concise, but doesn’t seem quite right. “A while.”

In reality, about five minutes. You probably won’t be there any longer when she props herself out of the water with her strong elbows. Water cascades down her shapely figure, thicker and meatier than it's ever been, more than what the cameras and pictures present. She’s truly the entire package, through and through.

She walks over to her sunlounger, granting you a nice peek of her ass peeking through her skimpy swimsuit before she wraps herself with a towel. Apart from that, your only other notable observation is that she’s soaking wet, even bundled up. That, and also: she’s barefoot. No sign of slippers or any footwear—she willingly walked on what appears to be scorching cobbled floors.

“I would give you a big hug right now, but you know—” she comments, looking down at her drenched self, pool water endlessly dripping down to her feet. Even if she isn’t soaking wet, you’d still be frozen in place, or even worse, some eagle-eyed stranger or Dispatch reporter catch you in secret and you both end up on national news the very next day.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine,” you say, trying to dodge Yerim’s eyes. “I left my stuff at the front desk. I should probably go and grab them.”

“Smart.” Yerim sizes you up, nodding in amazement at how you’ve managed to get yourself past the entrance. “See you upstairs, then? Room 1015.”

—————

The difference between you and Yerim couldn’t be any more obvious.

Granted, you’re fresh off a 13 hour flight, followed by an hour's travel from the airport to a five-star hotel in the heart of Seoul. Yerim had all the time in the world to prepare, and yet when she emerges from the bathroom in nothing but a modest bathrobe and her dark hair bundled up, she’s never looked better.

Facing an idol in such a haggard condition, it gives you an underlying feeling of shame. And if you’re being completely honest, if not for your cock, she’d probably be repulsed and call security on you.

But there's no security in sight. Just you, just yeri, the two of you standing in this room - which is, for the most part, quite nice. Multiple bedrooms, a lovely view of the city beneath you, and all sorts of amenities and features you’ll never get to use—you half expect her members to come in later, but perhaps for your sake, you’re better off with just her and her alone.

When Yerim begins to talk, she rambles. She goes on about the status of the next album, discussions about a possible solo debut, her relationships with her members—conversations about topics that you never really had online. It was mostly dirty talk and lewd captions. At best, you knew each other at a surface level, but here she is, sharing everything from her heart like you’ve been lifelong friends since day one.

You let her. She’s as charismatic as what she portrays on screen, and her sass is no different than the private messages she sends you. There’s not a single dull moment whenever Yerim speaks. Though you know her mostly for her body, her personality is what has you sticking around.

You wonder if she feels the same way about you.

“So, how’d you find out about us?” Yerim asks, after blabbering for a while, and you genuinely believe she’d keep going till nightfall. Close enough. Five minutes away from five in the afternoon, and you’d already spent the last hour and a half listening to a personalized podcast from her. You hope she doesn’t notice the plate of bulgogi on the table now completely empty.

“Well, a friend was a K-pop fan and had an extra ticket when you toured here,” you say, casually, slumped on the sofa. “Forgot how long that was—” you pause, “five years ago?”

“Five years? Five years since we went to America?” Yerim appears flabbergasted, face in utter disbelief at the passage of time. The realization causes her to stand from her chair. You’d be too after listening to her drone on endlessly. “Fuck.”

“SM! Give us a fucking world tour already!” she screams, pretending she’s inside the company building and you’re an executive in the room. Watching her snarkiness come to life never ceases to amuse you. You’ll let her go on for as long as she needs to; she’s entertaining in such a unique and charming way that it disarms you.

“Argh, sorry, you know me.” She suddenly stops, faces you, arms crossed, mocking up a pout. “Look at me suddenly losing my shit for no good reason.”

“Are your members used to this?”

That didn’t come out right.

She bats an eyelid. On her face is a mild, blank look of displeasure. That didn’t come out right.

“Used to what?”

“Well, uh, I—I mean—”

You gulp your throat.

“Stop.”

Then, an air of awkward silence. Her eyes quickly scan you, lazing on the sofa.

“Let’s just get to fucking each other right now.”

—————

It isn’t that you’ve forgotten the one purpose you’re there to begin with, it’s that Yerim is very, very impulsive. One moment, upset at her company for doing the bare minimum for her group and her career, the next she’s using you as an outlet to release her frustrations. It’s a good thing your first impression of her was that she was very busty, because otherwise, the other description you had of her was—simply put—bratty.

You’re on your back, plopped against one of the beds, completely caught off-guard by her show of strength. Eyes rolled to the back of your head, you find Yerim already at the bed’s edge, loosening the belt around her waist, quickly disrobing herself within seconds. It’s nothing new; you’ve seen glimpses of her nude figure in pictures, imagined many scenarios where you’ve got your hands on her, but this—to see her completely bare in the flesh—is new.

This is different.

“Just so you know,” you mutter, frantically panting, your heart jumping, as Yerim undresses in front of you, “I haven’t actually had sex before.”

Just like that, the mood instantly changes. She stops. Abruptly.

“What?”

Her mouth drops—again. Might as well stay agape.

You consider retracting your statement. It was a joke, you’d say, something to get her even more aroused, fired up. The sex would be wilder, hotter than anything your fantasies would conjure. Then again, you wouldn’t be in this exact situation if you weren’t so chronically online, simping over pop idols like a kid about to enter puberty.

“I guess that’s to be expected,” she comments, snarkily, grabbing the edges of your pants, daring to rip them off you. “That’s fucking life, baby!”

If you were in her shoes, obsessively waiting for someone with equally unhinged horniness, expressing precisely how you’d get fucked every single time you’d send a remotely lewd photo, you’d feel just as disappointed. You can tell by her partially scornful expression: she’s been fantasizing this moment as much as you have, too. You can’t blame her, but you kind of expected her to anticipate this; after all, you connected in a private group chat that’s been sexualizing her, of all places.

Surely the signs of virginity were right there.

“At least this is real,” she says, leaning her head forward while cupping your growing bulge poking through your trousers. Your tip, at full mast, mere inches away from her chin, instead of a little phone screen. She’s pushing you around, growing slightly more mischievous and uncontrollable with the prospect of throwing someone like you around instead of the opposite. Something her members may have taught and ingrained in her.

It isn’t quite the picture you expected from all the erotic snapshots and clips she’s been sending you. Every photo and video, designed to rouse the filthiest and wildest of your thoughts, was an act, a ruse to let your guard down, to give you this fixed headcanon that you can toss her around like she’s your personal plaything and object of pleasure. Instead, she’s using you for her own desires and wants.

It’s not that you don’t want her to use you and fuck you like this, it’s how completely in control she is that has you reeling, leaves you in a dizzy spell.

“I was gonna let you use my pussy and fuck me to ruin,” she says, playfully rolling her eyes, teasing and mocking. Her hand grips around the denim of your bulge, and it fucking stings. You’re sucking on loose air. “But since we have a virgin over here, I’m gonna do whatever I want.”

The implied connotation is what terrifies you, and no, it isn’t the revelation that Yerim isn’t a virgin—you assumed that much—but the notion that you were gonna have free reign over her cunt that has you contemplating some deep, long forgotten life decisions that set you back years. Their consequences are now starting to show.

She releases her ironclad grip on your pants, frees you of your obstructive clothing, both trousers and boxers down to the floor. Your hard cock springs free, terribly aching, already red and sore from her suffocating clench, and already leaking bursts of precum. The last day and a half hasn’t been kind to your cock.

To add insult to injury, she makes this licking motion with her tongue, aimed at your tip, but relents at the last minute. It leaves your throbbing cock aching harder, without any point of relief. The teasing sight almost renders you unconscious, and sends Yerim into a laughing frenzy.

“Remember when I said I could taste your cock?” she says, chuckling. It’s not playful in the slightest—quite the opposite, in fact. It’s sinister. “I’ll wait a little longer to taste it. Don’t worry.”

Not the most reassuring of words, especially when you’ve got your hands tied—at least, not yet. Actually, you appreciate that she isn’t going to milk your cock dry just yet; when you finally look past the situation at hand, you come to treasure her chest. Her shapely chest, freely bouncing while she bounces her thick body on your lap—keep doing that, you say inside your mind, letting your wandering gaze soak in the unreal scene.

She notices your intrigued eyes, rising and falling in rhythm with her tits. Subtlety was never your intention, and she probably knows from experience, as she says she does. Fixated attention is how she gets herself off, based on how she seems to respond to the lewd messages you’ve sent her in the past, and it shows when she repeats some choice remarks back to your face:

“I’d kill my boss to fuck those tits right now, you’re so goddamn sexy.”

She grips a hand around your throat, another down to the buttons of your shirt, pulling them apart.

“Let me be your personal titty towel.”

Halfway there.

“I’d suck on your tits first, go down on your delicious pussy, then fuck that wet hole of yours three times straight.”

Just like that, you’re both even. Equal in nakedness.

You’re unsure whether it’s the sight of Yerim asserting her dominance over you, tits all up in your face with a devious smirk as she bares you down to your essentials that’s leaving you short on air, or if it’s the hand cautiously coiled around your neck. Either option seems sensible enough. This is how she lives in your head rent free, just being her sassy, sexy self. Even repeating some of the same particularly questionable lewd things you’ve written to her sounds hot with her brazen tone.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she raises an eyebrow, leaning her head close, as if demanding an answer.

Really, there’s no multiple choice here. Of course you nod.

She rolls her hips upward, inches her body across yours little by little, til her dripping pussy completely shadows your view. Her hand grabs the back of your head, meaty thighs pressing between your face. Now you’re truly suffocating. Even with the rather shameful admission, she rolls her crotch on your lips, expecting you to know what to do. No words, just the expectant grind of her crotch on your face, her wet folds opening up for you to take them.

Then, she begins moaning.

Admittedly, the closest you’ve had to trying out oral is using your phone as an outlet for your tongue whenever she sends a boob photo. Thankfully, your inexperience doesn’t show when you first dip your tongue inside her folds, getting your first taste of pussy. Saltier than you expected, but fuck, you’d be lying if you think it wasn’t completely intoxicating—everything you hoped for, and more.

It incites a few expressive reactions from Yerim—some loud, others quieter—with the end result usually a sharper, deeper grind of her waist on your face, splaying her cunt for you to devour. You’ve got one hand pressed on her ass, holding her plump flesh down while the other is at her mercy, pulled by hers, forced to squeeze her breast. You won’t complain. Not when her cries of pleasure motivate you to push yourself harder.

You repeat this addictive cycle, stretch moments into minutes, minutes into hours. Even when you’ve drained her completely, you’ll still be craving for more of her; that’s how hungry she’s made you. Your tongue meets her clit, and it draws out this especially sharp whine that she’s never hit once. Not on a track. Not anywhere. She swears up a storm, juxtaposed between soft, gentle pleas of “yes, more, and you’re so good.”

In return, you take more of her, soak yourself in the continuous downpour of her slick juices freely flowing all over your mouth and tongue. As her pleasure escalates, her fingers tighten their grasp on your head, grab your tousled hair. You add soft, intimate kisses between streaks of licking her folds, and they send the young idol writhing, shaking atop you. Her words have been reduced to nothing but short, needy bursts of “please.” Even in this uncontrollable state, she gyrates her hips around you, rhythm steady, but more determined than ever to let herself go.

By the way her pussy throbs, you’re certain she’s a few critical points away from climax. It doesn’t change your plans, not one bit. You continue to lap at her sensitive folds, bask in her intoxicating heat, purposefully teasing her clit. She won’t demand that you end her —not this quickly, not when you’ve magically learned the art of giving oral to a woman under short notice.

You slowly work her through it. Your tongue dives into her slick entrance, deeper than it's ever been so far. The overpowering sensations send ripples that reach even the foundations of the bed, unlike anything it’s ever felt. Even in the wild throes of bodily pleasure, Yerim has enough willpower to stay in character, delivering a demand in her usual playful, fast talking tone. “Please do it! I’m going to cum!”

You contemplate the thought, completely drunk in her divine taste yourself, but you oblige.

Your tongue sticks to her bud, and it causes this instantaneous, elaborate chain reaction. Yerim cries a sharp cry, waves of orgasm washing down all over her body. She stops in her tracks, completely rigid, mouth wide open, and this torrential gush of slick and orgasm swamps you, drowning you so deep that it's nearly fatal. Her thighs involuntarily clench tighter, too, and you’re temporarily trapped in your own pocket dimension, impossible to clean with all the cum left behind, especially on the sheets.

The most surprising observation from her orgasm is how suddenly calm it becomes. Only the sound of your tongue licking her clean can be heard, and it’s nothing but a gentle rustle. She hangs her head up, face completely flushed, catching needed oxygen in her lungs, letting the aftermath of her climax pass over.

While her breath normalizes, she lifts herself up, moves to the side of the bed. In her wake, she’s left behind a drenched lake of slick around your face, leaking down to the muddled sheets beneath you.

“Well,” she says, panting and pausing for air. “There goes the other bed.”

It doesn’t take rocket science to figure out what she meant. Even when you’re still mindlessly occupied by the sticky residue around your lips. You let out this muffled exhale, designed to be a laugh, but it backfires in your face. Amused, she giggles on your behalf.

“Not bad.” Yerim smiles at you. Charming and cute, a contrast to what had just transpired. “I thought you said you never had sex?”

It takes you a moment before you answer back, “I haven’t. You just taste really good.”

“You still have some left on the edges of your face,” she comments, her eyes mesmerized by how much she’s cum all over you. “Let me help you clean that up.”

And she helps, but not in a conventional way. She lifts you from the bed by your torso, then submerges you again, this time at the mercy of her bosom. You’ve got your arms wrapped around her waist while you’re kissing and sucking on her Yerim’s tits, not exactly tidying up, but creating a larger mess that no amount of tongue cleaning can resolve.

In the meantime, she whispers in your ear some of your more—questionable—comments:

“They need to give her a solo debut with a very sexy concept and trust me, I’ll be the guy who breaks the world record for jerking off if they do that.”

“It must feel heavy to carry them all the time. Let me lend a hand to you.”

“The only thought I had inside my mind when I saw her is every member would milk her 3x a day so that they don’t have to go outside and buy milk to eat cereal to the point they would just drink it from the source.”

You stop. You give her this strange, confused look. Even you couldn’t believe you said that.

“Did I actually say that?”

“Yes!” she replies, quick and straightforward, unable to hide her enthusiasm, while brushing your hair. “Not gonna lie, that sent me to the floor. I was laughing so hard, Irene ran in to check up on me!”

To make things worse, she flashes this wide, toothy grin that makes you regret your life choices.

“God. I don’t wanna drink anymore.”

“Hey, if there’s any consolation, you wouldn’t be sucking on my tits and eating me out now if you never made that comment,” she says, caressing your chin and giving you a peck on the lips. As if it’s still not one of the most out of pocket comments you’ve ever made about anyone, let alone a celebrity—and you weren’t fully yourself.

“Relax. Don’t think about it too much.” Yerim pushes you back down to the bed, crawls atop you, meeting your lips again for an intimate kiss. Your hard cock, which has been left unattended for quite a while, captures your attention—and especially hers. “Lean back for me, will you?”

You comply. Involuntarily, your legs straighten, but Yerim pushes them apart, places herself at center view, seemingly ready to take you in her mouth. It makes sense; a woman with a mouth that runs like hers probably only stops when there’s cock stuffed inside them. The theory proves to be plausible when she gives your sensitive tip a delicate, yet dangerous lick, her eyes glinting at you with renewed vigor and lust.

“I told you I’d have a taste of that cock,” she says, half smug, half seductive, gloating with her brows. Your tenseness slightly recedes—until you realize your cock’s moving past her lips, in the direction of the space between her cleavage. “I didn’t say I wanted to suck on it.”

And she was right—not once has she ever expressed her desire to choke, gag, deepthroat on it.

You grit your teeth, watching your cock disappear between her shapely tits, with Yerim personally making sure you comfortably fit like a glove. You fold. It’s snug. Hot. Breathtaking.

“Fuck, Yeri,” you mutter, closing your eyes as her inviting warmth leaves you weak in the knees, trembling. You don’t realize you’ve used her stage name over her real name. “God—”

“Does this feel like everything you wanted?” she asks, tone sultry and triumphant. A little slide up sends you into a frenzy.

You nod—even though there’s no other available options. The erotic image in front of you is permanently seared into your head: Kim Yerim, popular idol and to an extend, your ‘friend with benefits,’ grinning like a maniac, slowly fucking your cock between her tits, coated with your saliva, sweat, and copious amounts of precum. To think your little crude messages on a random forum would have such long term and drastic consequences such as this.

Not that you’d want to make sense of it all, especially when she gets into a rhythm. Sliding her breasts up and down, she’s delicate, intentional, and masochistic; you’re on the receiving end of how she felt when you were slowly eating her out. She’s dangerous, teetering between the line where your cock can be safe between her bosom and where she can break you in half. You’re already falling apart—and fast.

“Holy shit, Yerim. Fuck.”

Each word you deliver is long and drawn out, especially the profanities. Heavenly music to her ears. She’s out of reach where you can pull by her hair, so you settle for the sheets instead. Your gaze wanders, travels everywhere but in her direction, because you don’t need to see the tortuous scene happening between your legs. Looking at the descending sun, this is probably the last time you’ll see the sun set in your life.

Her eyes challenge you to look at anywhere from her. Panting frantically, you find yourself at the mercy of Yerim’s whims, your cock fading and swelling into view, sticky and wet, gushing cum all over her tits. The sight drives you further mad, has you making sounds that have never been recorded—ever. She takes you in, delights in your suffering, eager for you to say the magic words.

“Ready to cum? I know you want to cum.”

Even under duress, you’re not ready to fold just yet. There’s a little stubbornness inside you fighting back, pulling all the stops to keep you from surrendering to Yerim’s demands. You close your eyes, grip on the sheets even tighter, control your breathing, but it’s too little too late. You can only do so much with two hands.

“Cum for me.”

You hold onto a particularly deep breath, desperate to cling to whatever dying vestiges of control there is left, but your fate has already been sealed from the moment you’ve allowed your cock to enter her chest.

“Yerim, I—”

The exhale you release is the most relieving and satisfying. With it, comes out a rope of thick, creamy cum splashed all over her neck and chest. The aching, violent sensation doesn’t stop; more seed spills between the warmth of her cleavage. In one fell swoop, you feel all of your energy sapped from you, leaving you completely weak and powerless.

In the gap between your climax and post-orgasm haze, you wonder if she’ll take some of your cum in her mouth, with the way she looks at your cock as it throbs beneath her chin. No. She lets it drip down her perfect naked body with a sticky white sheen that glows under the natural light piercing through the hotel’s window.

“Just like that, hm,” she comments, casually flicking the last of your withering orgasm and cum with her wrist. She lathers the slick on her fingers on her shoulder, then places some into her mouth for a taste.

After you regain a semblance of normalcy—after Yerim’s finished entertaining herself with your cum, staring at her coated body and fingers with curious interest—she rests her elbows on your knees, in the process of relearning how to bend. You sink back against the headrest, watch as the fading sun glimmers on an idol like her, destined to shine for every occasion possible—on the stage and under the afterglow of sex. She smiles, bright and wide, taking you in, as you are.

There’s something brewing, especially in the tender few minutes that follow. Something special, something more than just a spark.

“So—” Yerim runs a sticky finger on your knee, dangerously close to stirring up your cock again. “You wanna try anal with me next?”

You pause. Widening your eyes, staring back with a look of disbelief. Just when you’re about to open your mouth to reply, she adds:

“Kidding. You do know that you’re gonna have to delete those tweets and comments, right? If they find out you’re here, you’re fucked. And I mean, a thousand times worse than now.”

—————

(A/N: This was an absolute joy to write. The nature of the request meant I could go very meta with it. About time we get a proper Red Velvet full album, so perfect timing! If you're able to figure out some of the references and easter eggs, then you, my friend, are too engrossed in the Tumblr K-pop male reader smut lore. Thank you for reading!)

(P.S. If you want to have your own story/idol written, you can ask for a commission :D)

#smut #kpop smut #yeri #red velvet

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beom-pyu · 1 year

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nights ☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ huening kai

huening kai x fem!reader , tags; established relationship , tiniest bit of angst , nsfw , emotional hurt/comfort , cute bf!kai , misunderstandings , he's had a long day, okay?!?! , u make it up to him tho!!! , kai luvs u , fluff , this is so soft i can only write soft stuff HELP , kai almost cries :(( , you call kai "angel"

warnings: smut (minors dni!!) , insecure kai , riding , unprotected sex , cumming inside , slight dom reader? u take the lead , marking (hickies) , praise praise praise , tit sucking , cockwarming

a/n: hiiii!! its been so long since i've posted a fic! currently wrapping up this semester :3 but thank you all for 350+ followers!!! i know it may seem small but all of your support really makes me so sososos happy and im so thankful for u all! now here's some cute bf kai for ur enjoyment hehe

wc: 3.2k+

“i am literally on the verge of quitting this damn job,” you groan with your phone pressed against your ear, lying horizontally on the couch in one of kai’s shirts and panties as some random drama plays on the t.v. in the background.

this has been going on for weeks—your lazy boss has been assigning you and your coworkers extra reports so he can go on vacation, leaving your entire division working overtime almost every night. you are both stressed and drained, fed up with your higher-up’s mistreatment.

“i hear you. how did we end up with the worst boss to grace this earth?” your coworker, sakura, whines into the mic in agreement.

the sound of keys at the door seizes your attention, pulling your phone away from your ear for a second to check the time. 9:15 p.m. kai’s schedule must’ve ended earlier today.

“hey, sakura, my boyfriend just got home so i’ll text you.” you give kai a small smile and wave as he enters your apartment, his exhausted eyes brightening at the sight of you. he slips his shoes and jacket off quietly as to not disturb your call while you and your coworkers say your goodbyes.

once you’ve hung up, you motion kai over to your spot on the couch as you try to sit up, giggling once his entire body flops directly on top of you. he buries his head into your clothed stomach, mumbling out a discernable sentence into your belly as his arms come to wrap around you.

“what was that, angel?” you laugh out as he mumbles something again before his head turns to the side, his eyes closing as your fingers tangle into his hair.

“said i missed you. and you smell nice,” he speaks sleepily, nuzzling his cheek against your shirt. you let out a chuckle, gently running your fingers through his hair.

“i missed you too, angel. how was your day?”

kai simply whines in response to your question and you take that as a good enough answer—you understand right away, tapping his cheek so that he can raise his head. he looks up at you, his fluffy hair bouncing a bit, falling into his eyes. your heart flips at the adorable sight.

“rough day, hm?” you ask as you push his hair back and he nods with a little pout, his head flopping back down.

“so busy,” is all he replies with and you automatically understand, your fingers massaging his scalp. “just gonna rest my eyes…”

and you’re sure he’s already falling asleep as he goes dead silent in your hold. you chuckle at your teddy bear of a boyfriend before your phone dings with a notification. you grab the device and you immediately have to suppress an annoyed groan at the email from your boss. you’ve already clocked out and he’s still assigning you more work.

you open your messages to text sakura.

you: he just emailed me another report to finish this week

you: like, can’t he do it himself???

you feel kai nuzzle himself further into you, shuffling around a bit before going still again. your hand is still mindlessly playing with hair before you get another notification.

sakura: and guess who just called me back in.

you: no way. is he being serious rn?

sakura: yup. completely.

sakura: he must’ve lost his mind

sakura: if he even had one to begin with

you: he’s literally so annoying wtf

you: i can’t stand him

you: idk how much longer i can put up with him tbh

“can we watch a movie?” kai suddenly mumbles, his voice muffled against the fabric of your shirt. you smile at his sleepy tone, your fingers stilling in his hair.

“i thought you were tired?” you inquire playfully.

“wanna spend more time with you,” kai speaks nonchalantly—but you’re sure your heart explodes in your chest at the simple words. you love him so much.

“let me go get some snacks and you pick the movie.”

it takes a good 2 minutes to finally get kai to move off of your body—complete with a few whines and grabby hands—but the mission is successful nonetheless. you toss your phone onto the couch before heading into the kitchen, rummaging around in the cabinets for popcorn.

it takes much longer than you intended, already hearing a movie begin to play on the screen as you pour the freshly popped food into a big bowl, grabbing some drinks out of the fridge as well.

kai gives you a stiff smile as you walk back into the room, arms full of snacks. you shoot him a questioning look, but his eyes are already glued back onto the t.v. screen. it is pretty dark, so maybe you didn’t see correctly—but you are sure you saw tears in his eyes too.

“you okay, angel?” you ask as you set the popcorn and drinks out on the coffee table, your eyes flickering over to him in between every movement. he looks over at you quickly before nodding slightly.

“mhm. just sleepy.” he offers you a faint smile before turning back to the movie. you feel a little uneasy at the response, but he did say he had a hard day and you don’t want to push him any further. you take a seat next to him, pulling your legs up to your chest before grabbing your phone to see if sakura has texted you back.

“babe…?” kai starts, slow and unsure. you lift your head from your phone to give him your attention, taking note of the way his hands wring in his lap, his leg bouncing anxiously.

“yea?” you ask, tossing your phone to the side to turn your body toward him. his eyes flicker up to yours nervously before darting away.

“i—nothing. nevermind,” he awkwardly laughs, shaking his head slightly as he tries to focus back on the t.v.

worry fills your body at his actions—if there’s one thing you knew about kai, it would be when he has something on his mind. and you can tell there’s something on the tip of his tongue by the way his leg continues to bounce, his mind clearly off somewhere far away.

you pout a bit, moving to straddle his lap, successfully gaining his attention. his eyes shoot up to yours and it’s only now that you can clearly see the slight glossiness of his orbs, tears pooling in his waterline.

“angel, what’s wrong?” you ask, your hands immediately coming up to hold his face. kai rarely ever cries, especially around you, so your gut churns with concern as he bites his lip and looks away from you, hands clenched at his sides.

“i’m sorry,” kai mumbles out, looking down at his lap. you let out a tiny noise of disagreement, your thumbs grazing his cheeks in an attempt to comfort him—yet he still continues to avoid your eyes.

“why are you apologizing?” you raise a hand to brush some of his dark hair out of his face. kai shakes his head again, his locks falling right back into his eyes.

“i’m sorry for being annoying—i just had a rough day and… i didn’t mean to be clingy and make you uncomfortable. i’m sorry, i won’t do it again. just—just don’t leave me, please.”

all of kai’s words rush out in a single breath, his voice slightly cracking at that last sentence, his body trembling slightly. you struggle to keep up, your brows furrowed in confusion.

“kai, angel, look at me,” you speak and despite his initial apprehension, his head lifts at your words. his eyes are shiny with tears as you cradle his face. “what are you talking about, my love? where is all of this coming from?”

“you… you left your phone unlocked when you got up—i didn’t mean to snoop but i saw your texts…” his voice is quiet and filled with sadness as he explains. your eyes widen as realization dawns on you, letting out a sigh of relief. this time kai’s head tilts in confusion, a pout settled on his lips.

“kai, i was ranting about my boss. you know—how he’s been making me work overtime lately?”

you watch with fondness as his cheeks redden, lips pursed shut. you can’t help but giggle as his hands shoot up to cover his face, covering your hands with his own.

“i’m so stupid,” his muffled voice sounds from behind his large hands. you laugh a bit—just because he’s so cute—moving your hands to pry his own from his face. an embarrassed smile rests on his lips and you are quick to peck them, once, twice, before leaning back.

“you’re not stupid, angel. it was just a little misunderstanding,” you giggle and he whines, his hands covering his face again. “come here, cutie.”

his harmonic laugh fills your ears as you lean in close to gently move his hands out of the way, kissing him again. you feel his body slowly unwind as your lips move against his, your hands replacing his own as you cup his cheek, pressing your body close to him.

when you separate, he’s out of breath, his hands hovering at your sides as you gaze down at him lovingly. you notice how perfectly placed you are in his lap, slightly rolling your hips down onto him—his lips part at the action, his chest rising and falling quickly.

“just relax, angel. let me do the work, okay?”

your hands are still on his cheeks as his eyes glimmer up at you, still wet and glistening. he nods in response, his mouth hanging open slightly as he stares at you in awe. so cute. you smile down at him before pressing your lips against his, your hands sliding into his hair.

kai softens into your touch, his hovering hands finally resting on your hips, holding you steady in his lap. you moan a bit as his teeth eagerly nip at your bottom lip, tongue swiping across shortly after to ease the sting. his hips move up against yours, trying to create any friction possible. he’s already hard, you notice, feeling his thick erection pressing against your core.

you pull away from the kiss to take a good look at his pretty face, his lips slick with your spit, a slight pink resting on his cheekbones. you can’t resist the urge to lean down to kiss up his jaw, pecking that spot under his ear that makes his body rack with shivers. he whines quietly as you suck marks onto his skin, still slightly sticky with sweat from his long day.

“do you wanna fuck me, angel?” you whisper low in his ear—and he quite literally moans at your words, nodding quickly as his hands grip your hips tighter, his hips bucking up into your clothed core.

“yes, yes, please,” he pants, already tugging at your clothes to get them off of your body. you giggle at his enthusiasm, letting him pull your shirt over your head. the movie running in the background does little to nothing to cancel out the heavy breathing as you wrap your arms around kai’s neck, arching your back a bit as he takes one of your sensitive buds into his mouth.

his tongue swirls around your nipple, his hands coming up to grope your boobs, loving how soft and bouncy there are. his hips move against you impatiently, but you know he won’t do anything without your word.

“my good boy,” you sigh out, the flashing lights from the t.v casting a sparkly reflection in his dark eyes. you smile dreamily at him, cupping the side of his face in your hand before you lean down to kiss him again.

his hands roam your body with such determination and your mind grows muddled with every kiss to your chest and brush of his fingertips against your heated skin. you can feel yourself leaking through your panties as you grind against him. you sit back a bit to grab the bottom of his shirt, tugging it up.

“i wanna see you too,” you speak as you help him take it off. you’ll never get used to how gorgeous he is—you know he’s been working out even more recently, and the fruits of his labor are definitely starting to show. his pecs are prominent as you lightly drag your nails over his feverish skin, hearing the strained moan he lets out at the touch. always so sensitive.

you trail your fingers down to his stomach and he lets his head fall back with a sigh. you lean in to press fluttery kisses to his bared neck and a low moan leaves his lips as you bite onto his skin. he smells like the cologne that you had gifted him for his birthday and the scent makes your stomach flip with anticipation.

“all mine,” you mumble and his hips buck up again, his head lulling to the side to give you more access to his neck.

“all yours, all yours,” he echoes out, his hands running up and down the sides of your body. you feel your core pulse when he brings a hand down to rub your clit through your panties, rolling your hips against his fingers.

your actions are feverish as your fingers trail lower to the waistband of his sweatpants, pulling his pants and underwear back in one swift motion. his crying dick slaps against his stomach at the action, already leaking glistening precum that leaves a trail across his lower stomach. his tip is an angry red and you have to resist the urge to get down on your knees and have a taste for yourself.

kai’s hands are obediently still on your hips as he waits for your next move, eyes flickering across your face. you give him a small smile before placing your cupped hand right below his mouth, cocking your head to the side.

“spit.”

and he does—a string of saliva leaving his mouth, dropping into the palm of your hand, dripping off of his lips. the broken moan that leaves his lips is music to your ears as you grab onto his erection with your slicked-up hand, spreading his own spit over the length.

“you listen so well, angel,” you breathe out, watching as he preens at your praise, a tiny smile finding its way onto his face. he looks so gorgeous—with his dark hair roused and in his eyes, cheeks flushed, his beauty marks sitting on his skin like stars in the sky.

you lean in to press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to his lips, his tongue immediately swiping over your bottom lip. he pants into your mouth, whining softly when you squeeze his dick a little too hard, his hips shaking as he tries not to thrust up into your hand.

you have mercy on him though—already feeling yourself leaking onto his pants. you pull your panties to the side, lining yourself up with his dick. his eyes never leave yours, staring at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes as you rub his tip in between your folds; a whimper leaves his lips as you slowly sink down on him, your eyes fluttering at how full you already feel.

his dick is thick and long, filling you up perfectly—as if your cunt was made for him. your legs slightly shake at the feeling, your free hand resting on his shoulder to hold yourself steady as you begin to bounce on his cock, soft moans leaving your lips as his tip hits your cervix every time.

“so good, angel. so big, fuck,” you whine and kai’s fingers tighten on your waist, subtly helping you move up and down on him. your moans mix together beautifully, loving the way he whimpers when your walls clench around him, his hands running up your back and down your thighs, touching every part of you in his reach.

you can’t even chastise him when he begins thrusting up into you, his head thrown back against the couch as he watches you through hooded eyes. your bouncing tits put him in a trance, his hand coming up to brush over your hard nipples. your pussy gushes and soaks his lap, eyes screwed shut from how addicting his cock is, twitching inside of your cunt.

every thrust into your heat makes your stomach flip with pleasure, getting lost in the way his hips snap against yours perfectly. you can tell he’s getting close too by the way his rhythm falters—his moans are high and breathy, his body shaking slightly as you rock your hips back and forth.

“can i—fuck, can i cum, please?” kai stutters out as he lifts his head to rest his forehead against yours.

“fill me up, angel. i’m all yours.”

his heavy pants fan your lips and you capture his again, moaning at the way he hastily licks into your mouth. you can already feel your high crashing upon you with one last stroke, your own whimpers falling deaf to your ears as his moans tip you over the edge. your body buzzes with electricity as your pussy pulsates around him, feeling him pump his thick ropes of cum into you at the action.

you swallow his moans as his hips thrust up into you a few more times before slowing to a stop, his tongue swirling with yours, swiping over your teeth, pulling away to kiss down your neck—as if he can’t get enough of you. you let your body fall forward onto his chest, your breath fanning against his neck.

you’re both quiet as you come down from your highs, the movie on the screen long forgotten. once your arms stop feeling like jelly, you sit up, finding kai’s eyes easily in the darkness of the living room.

he’s completely ruined—lips shiny and red, his neck and ears the same color. soft marks are already blooming on his skin from your ministrations and you find yourself lightly brushing over them, pressing into the bruises with the pads of your fingers. kai’s eyes don’t break away from your gaze as he bites his lip at the slight pain, his dick twitching inside of you. good to know.

“i love you, angel. you did so well,” you smile down at him and you swear his ears go even redder as your fingers stroke his hair. “please don’t ever think for a second that i would leave you, okay?”

kai nods quickly, leaning into your touch like a puppy.

“i love you,” he responds, arms wrapping around your waist to pull you into his chest. you let out a small noise of surprise at the quick movement, but melt into his embrace even quicker. his hold on you is strong as you rest your head against his shoulder.

“can we just stay like this for a bit?” kai mumbles, pressing a kiss to the shell of your ear. you giggle a bit, nodding in response. his dick is warm and snug inside of you, trapping his cum inside of you. his body feels like home against yours as he pecks your skin, and you let your eyes flutter shut in the arms of the one you love most.

reblogs are highly cherished!

masterlist

©️BEOM-PYU

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shepherds-of-haven · 4 months

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Happy New Year, everyone! I thought it would be fun to do a little retrospective on the game's progress over the last year... Shepherds of Haven has grown so much from the little demo I posted in January 2018, and it continues to steadily build and flourish in so many different and exciting ways! Here's a look at just some of the things we accomplished in 2023!

I added 143,151 words to the game (2.5 main chapters, 8 new character interludes) in 2023: the equivalent of writing the longest Lord of the Rings book in one year! We also broke our huge 1 million word milestone—without including code—meaning Shepherds of Haven is now officially twice as long as War and Peace, and almost as long as the entire 7-book Harry Potter series... and all in a single game!

A lot goes into game creation behind the scenes, including the coordination and creation of visual assets for the game—like character cards, codex entries, maps, portraits, and backgrounds—fun stuff for the fans (like the MC info template we created), and songs for the official soundtrack. As the game creeps slowly and determinedly towards its initial completion, that also means learning new things as a solo developer to prepare for the future, like learning to build an official website, researching business and tax practices, and beginning to think about how to conduct testing, publishing, and marketing down the road. Much of what I enumerate here hasn't been made public yet and will continue to cook in the background for a while, but I'm very proud of the work I've gotten done this year and will be excited to unveil more in the future!

And of course, for even more Shepherds of Haven content, I've added and completed even more stories for our little library on Patreon (which also has sizable word count at this point): The Bridge of Bones (a Trouble and Riel murder mystery), O Happy Dagger (a dark adventure featuring Briony, Chase, and Red), and The Hunt (a wild tale involving Tallys, Halek, Shery, and new kinds of spirits, fey magic, and Elves) were all serial stories completed in 2023, while Some Kind of Virus is a cyberpunk zombie apocalypse AU that will continue to be updated with new chapters monthly.

A full list of the Shepherd short stories and serial novellas (with links) can be viewed here!

I hope you enjoyed this session of Shepherds of Haven Wrapped! Honestly, this doesn't actually cover everything I've been working on, but some things can't be packaged and listed out neatly, or otherwise won't seem very interesting to anyone else but me! 😂 As we inch through Chapter 9 and get more interludes done (only a few more main chapters to go), I'm hopeful that I'll also be able to find time to work on my next novel, but we'll see if the Shepherds schedule ends up ramping up or settling down as we work steadily towards finishing the main story!

One important thing before wrapping up is to acknowledge your guys' role in this wonderful, wild journey. I want to express my heartfelt gratitude to each and every one of you for your invaluable contributions to the development of Shepherds of Haven. Whether you took the time to share links to the game, supported its growth on Discord or Patreon, left encouraging messages or asked interesting questions, reported bugs, or showcased your remarkable works of fanfiction or fanart, I am sincerely thankful for the unwavering support from this amazing community! Your collective efforts have played a pivotal role in shaping the world of the game into what it is today. Words cannot adequately convey my gratitude for your support, and I am truly blessed to have such a passionate community surrounding this project.

As we step into 2024, I am filled with anticipation for the developments awaiting Shepherds of Haven. Big things are on the horizon, and I am so excited to share these experiences with you! Thank you for being an integral part of this journey, and here's to the continued growth of our shared little world. Cheers to 2024—may it be a year filled with creativity, adventure, and joy! 🎊

#Shepherds of Haven #milestone #update #short story #short stories #Patreon #alpha build #alpha preview #year in review #wrapped #recap #2023 #master post #master list #happy new year #long #long post

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antimony-medusa · 2 months

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Do you like seeing cubitos hurt in a variety of ways, and then comforted afterwards? Do you sometimes go "man I wish I had an incredibly long list of ways to hurt and then comfort my guys"? Do you like working to a prompt someone gave you? Do deadlines comfortably far off in May fill you with a sense of security and peace?

CAN I INTEREST YOU IN THE HURT/COMFORT EXCHANGE?

The exchange is a big multi-fandom exchange, so as with other exchanges, you sign up with your list of Requests (things you'd like as a gift), and Offers (things you're willing to make as a gift), Ao3 runs a big machine that matches you, and then you will have six weeks to work on your gift before the deadline. It's a freeform exchange, so in addition to matching on ships (CharacterA & Character B (Character A Hurt) or Character A/Character B (Both Hurt)), you also need to have signed up and said that what you want for the gift is "Arranged Marriage - friends try to comfort anxious newlywed". Or "Character A Takes A Blow Meant For Character B". Or "Character who is afraid of vulnerability cries during sex". Or "Estranged Characters - Injured A shows Up on B's doorstep Saying "I didn't know where else to go"". I could go ON. There are probably thousands of freeform tags and honestly sometimes I browse them for inspiration.

We are currently in the nominations phase, which is when everybody submits the ships and freeforms they want to see in the tagset, because once Nominations are over, you will only be able to sign up with the ships and freeforms (basically little prompts) that people have already submitted to the tagset.

The schedule for the event this year is:

Nominations: 9 - 25 Feb

Signups: 1-15 March

Posting deadline: 31 May

Work reveal: 7th June

Creator reveal: 14th June

So I am come to you here now because we are in prime time to get your blorbo into the tag set. A friend last night realized the event was going, and started nominating, but you're limited in the number of tags you can nominate, and they basically just got Emduo into the tagset. Which is great for me, but some people like other ships, so. I am throwing this open. Do you want to join me?

When you nominate the ships, you nominate them with the names like normal, but you also throw in a parentheses that says which of the people in the ship is being hurt. Like one of the QSMP tags is "Ángel Missael Castañeda Vega | MissaSinfonia/Phil Watson | Philza (Hurt Missa)". Somebody wants to see the reaper cry. OR there's hurt Philza! Or both hurt! Or you, I am gesturing wildly, could get other ships into the tagset! I just nominated spiderbit for the spiderbit friends.

So come! Nominate tags with us! Have ships you want to see put through the wringer? Have a fantastic idea for a scenario that can fit into 100 characters as a freeform tag? Join! Nominate! Sign up with us later! Exchanges!

#mcyt #mcytblr #qsmp #dsmp #emduo #emerald duo #fandom exchange

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kanmom51 · 8 months

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JM live 1 September 2023 20:54 or 8:54 pm KST

And a little bit about JK's same day live as well.

Part 1

Cr./The creators of the media used in this post.

So we got a live from JK at the start of the day. 12:55 am or 00:55 KST, and from JM in the evening, at 20:55 or 8:54 pm KST.

One opening the days birthday celebrations (or was he?) and the other closing them (in a sense).

Do we have numbers working for the two?

Let's see.

JK's live:

Super easy. Add the 1+2+5+5=13. Then add 0+0+5+5=10.

What?

13/10.

So we get JK's special day with JM's special day. How sweet.

JM's live: Add the 2+0+5+4=11. Then add the 8+5+4=17 and down to a single digit: 1+7=8.

Guess what we get.

8/11

And if you want just a little bit more utilize the date:

1/9/23

1+9+2+3=15

and Ta-dah...

8/11/15

Oh, and if it's numbers we are talking about, and if anyone has any kind of doubt that numbers mean so so much to JM and JK, well here's another little doozy.

JM's watch. Yes, the tens of thousands of dollars worth watch he was wearing during the live.

*Screenshot taken at 3:20 min. mark.

It's a little hard to see, but the time on his watch looks to be around the 3:27 mark.

I want to remind you that JM started his live at 8:54 pm KST. JM has been in SK for months and you would think his watch would be set to KST, no?

Screen shot at 8:24 min.

Screenshot of watch at 32:56 min. mark.

Deduct the live time stamp at every one of those given moments from the time on the watch and you will go back to 3:23/4.

Why, you may ask, am I making such a big deal about this?

Well, my dear friends, this is why:

JK's time of birth tattoo, just to remind you.

JK's time of birth being 3:23-24.

Did JM set his watch to start the live at 3:23-24? JK's birth time?

Wait, but that's not the end of it.

Because JM's watch is also of significance.

Launched in 1997.

What in the effing hell?

Like, if you have another explanation please do explain!!!

Watch not working? Nope, it is, time counting as the live goes on, all from the 3:23 mark.

Coincidence? Again? That his watch happens to be set at JK's birth time, and it also, by chance, being one launched same year JK was born? JK, who's birthday happens to be on that specific day? The person who JM tells us to wish happy birthday and that it's a "wonderful day"?

Please don't continue to say this is all a coincidence. Setting your watch to a time that happens to be JK's birth time, something we have been told in the past, something that JK tattooed on his own body, hence being of significance to him, and most obviously of significance to JM as well.

JM and JK might not be saying the words out loud, but shit, they sure are being as loud as hell about what they are to each other!!!

Ok, so I mentioned in passing JK's live. His almost 9 minute live. His totally out of character shorter than short live, even more so when we are talking about a birthday live. No cake. No candles. No playlist (he told us this was just the music that he left on when he left earlier and it's still playing). No patience, lol. He came, he said hi, he told us he was out with friends he was practicing with (wonder if the reason he came live is to explain who with and why he was out and about...), said he's suffering from insomnia and he has to sleep. Did a card trick...MAGIC... Lol, and ducked. Like even his goodbye was super super short. Now, you could say he had a tight schedule, which he does, and that he has to sleep, which he does. But JK was definitley not on his way to bed when he was doing that live, nor shortly after. He was happy and super hyped, and in NO WAY shape or form about to go to bed at that point.

We need to remember that when they say they have a schedule, it's not a 9 to 5 job. Many a times their days start at noon and later and they keep on working into the early hours of the morning. That is the nature of their work. So having a tight schedule doesn't necessarily mean he has to be up at 7 or 8 am and off to the company or wherever he needs to be in the morning.

You could claim he was excited because it was his birthday, and perhaps you would be right. But if it was the end of his night, then excited what for? Bed? Where he struggles to fall asleep? Nah, I don't think so.

So yeah, I think you know where I'm going with this.

Only that this time we didn't get a photo because there was no one around to buffer.

2019 JM flies back to Seoul to celebrate JK's birthday with him. 2020 JM was with JK on his birthday eve. 2021 we don't know, they didn't tell us, we got a selfie the next day in the safety of the company - not the two together alone at JK's or JM's. 2022 JM was also with JK on his birthday eve. We got to see and hear about it just after JK's birthday, and we had Jhope there as a buffer. Why buffer? So that god forbid they aren't spending his birthday eve alone at his place, especially if it's happening year after year after year, cause you know, people would say it means nothing but at the same time it means everything.

I'm going to say it out loud, and shoot me (not literally) if you wish, but this is a hill I am willing to die on. JK wrote his birthday message and very possibly was not planning to go live that night. Perhaps he did come live because of the photos that came out of him with the fans and the info about him being out and about that night. But for whatever reason JK did go live that night it was always going to be short and sweet. And I do believe that is because he had something else planned which is not going to sleep.

I do believe whatever he had planned was with JM. Period. That's what JK was anticipating, that's what he was excited and happy for, that's why he came for a couple of secs and jolted off.

And for those that are already running to the comments screaming "but JM said he only spoke with JK the day before his birthday to wish him happy birthday" I say: hold your horses, I will most definitley get to it and explain to y'all exactly how JM did not say that by no means. Take a breath, be patient, read on, you'll see why JM said no such thing.

The two of the men having the live the same day.

It kind of felt weird that of all days JM goes live on JK's birthday. Well, maybe weird isn't the right word, but curious is more fitting.

JM wanted to come live for some time now. He says that. But then why, of all days, choose this one?

JM himself tells us he wasn't planning to go live from home that day (while on his way to fetch the mood lamp to show us).

Both lives feel unplanned, rushed and unprepared. There. I said it.

Did either of them even plan to do these lives? Or, perhaps they were a consequence of circumstances? JK wanting to clarify his outing (knowing how this fandom rolls). And JM... why JM? Well, maybe there was actually a birthday live planned? Could that be? One at the company? Us finally getting a Jikook live? Or even just a proper JK live at the company with a cake and all? But JK's schedule ran later than expected maybe? Hence one boyfie coming to the rescue and going live in his stead?

All of the above is questions, queries, possible explanations as to why JM decided to go live from home on JK's birthday, even though he himself tells us this was not the plan. I don't have the answer to these questions, but it definitley does have me wondering.

Will continue this discussion with regards to JM later on in my post.

Let's get to talking about JM's live. Starting by his opening pic.

I have to tell you that first thought I had when seeing the photo was "is that JK?". The frame wasn't right, but the outfit most definitely was, lol.

And guess what?

He's wearing pants for the boys new favourite brand. I guess JM's the one wearing the pants in the house, lol. But then, are they his? They do seem a little on the bigger size.

So, first 17 minutes or so to the live JM talks a bit about not coming live for a while and how he wanted and yet didn't because he's been going through a bit of a personal journey. Not doing well enough in his March promotions, in his mind, had him frustrated and unhappy with himself. Him wanting to restart rather than fix what he feels might be lacking. Kind of resetting himself per say as an artist? In any case he's been doing a lot of introspection. I guess I've mentioned that already, lol. The feeling I got from what he was telling us is that he himself didn't know how to explain what he wanted to tell us. His words not thoroughly thought out, perhaps another sign as to him going live unprepared and before properly thinking out what he wanted to tell us.

JM talks about being at the Dior event. Being nervous and awkward. Also wanting to thank fans that came to see him.

JM is asked multiple times about his hands. Oh my, those hands.

And when I say multiple times, I mean MULTIPLE times, lol. And JM keeps reading those comments and keeps answering again and again and again that it's a scrape from him working out, doesn't hurt, not to worry. At one point, after he is talking about JK's birthday, telling us it's a wonderful day, lovely smile on his face, and asked yet again, he 'bites back' (if you can call if bite back, lol), telling the commenter to look for it later (as in go watch the live from the start when it's over and they will find out).

Is this the right time to discuss JM talking about JK's birthday?

I think it is.

At around the 18 minute stamp time this goes down:

He says Jungkookie, btw.

From the moment he said JK is very busy (he looks at the camera) and up to this point, when he talks about JK's health, not once does JM look at the camera. His eyes were all over the place. And that includes not looking at the camera when he said "I talked to him on the telephone yesterday too".

Remember this?

@dgtn brought this to my attention. JM's eye movement in this part of the live reminds of his eye movement while thinking just before he goes for the kill with JK and the "did you answer them".

Here's JM talking about Jungkookie's birthday. Look at his eyes.

(But that smile at the end...)

JM was definitely deep in thought as to what to say, how to word what he wanted to say for JK's birthday.

Several things to note.

Where to start?

I guess I'll start from the obvious.

People jumping on the wagon: "JM didn't see JK on his birthday. He said so. He said he talked to him yesterday...(to wish him happy birthday?)".

Me, I'm calling the bull.

And I will explain it to you too (foreshadowing).

JM, as usual, is very precise how he words what he wants to say.

His words in this instance:

He mentions JK's birthday today, tells us he's very busy and then says "I talked to him on the phone yesterday too..." and back to "he's really busy..."

"I talked to him on the phone yesterday too..."

Let's take this apart, why don't we?

JM spoke with JK on the phone.

The conversation happened yesterday.

What did they talk about? He doesn't tell us. But mentioning JK being busy before he talks about the phone call and after he talks about the phone call. It feels like this is what he is telling us they spoke about.

So far so good, right?

And then we have two words/things said/or not said that are EVERYTHING here.

One word that he says, the other something that is not said and, at least to me, is super loud and super important and was omitted purposefully.

First word is "too".

I talked to him yesterday too...

TOO.

Leaving the context of the sentence open to interpretation.

Could be any of these:

I talked to him yesterday too just like I speak to him every day?

I talked to him yesterday too because I spoke to him today as well?

I talked to him yesterday too because I was also seeing him later on as well to celebrate his birthday with him?

As for what was missing, well to me it was quite obvious.

JM does not tell us that he wished JK happy birthday.

There was no "I talked to him yesterday too and wished him happy birthday".

JM makes sure to tell us he spoke with JK yesterday (which is not on JK's birthday). Makes sure to add the TOO, but forgets to say that's also when he wished him happy birthday? I think not.

JM is super measured. He is so very careful in what he says and how he says it, especially when it comes to JK. This man not saying it means the words were added or omitted on purpose. And not telling us he wished JK happy birthday in that phone call, well, makes it clear that the phone call in question was definitley not the end of it. Because there is no way in hell that JM would not wish JK happy birthday personally (not via an IG post that JK wouldn't see anyway not being on IG).

Since when would JM not wish JK happy birthday? The man is telling us to wish JK happy birthday, telling us it's a wonderful day, setting his watch to JK's birth time. The man that flew back from Paris to be with JK on his birthday. And also let us know he did it. He wouldn't have wished JK happy birthday himself? And this man wouldn't tell us so either?

Nah. This is JM telling us he spoke with JK, something he does all the time, and that the conversation he's talking about has nothing to do with JK's birthday.

And yeah, by omitting that he's also letting us know that he had another opportunity, one he isn't letting us in on, in which he got to wish JK happy birthday.

PERIOD!

JM talking about JK looking after his health. The way those two worry about each other.

Did I mention the pause as JM finishes talking about JK? It being a wonderful day? The smile on his face?

Oh, and JK mentions JK's birthday once more at the end of the live as well when summing up the live.

Thank you JM for reminding us once more it's JK's birthday and that it was one of those things in your live worth mentioning in your own recap of the live.

Now, I know that there are idiots that are dragging Mingyu for saying he met JK yesterday (on his birthday) and ate with him.

Well, dragging Mingyu on the one hand for what? Saying he met up with his friend on his birthday? That by doing so he was dissing JM? And others, on the other hand, using this, very stupidly, to prove that a busy JK would rather meet up with Mingyu than with JM.

Are we forgetting what JM told us? Well, JK too? That JK is super busy? Most likely in the Hybe building. You know, where Mingyu also comes to work, being in Seventeen, another Hybe band. Could they have met up at Hybe? Of course they could have. Could they even maybe have met up for a meal break at Hybe? Of course they could have. Mingyu was doing the live in a company car, probably on his way home from work looking super tired. So yeah. Chances are that they met at Hybe.

And as for JM, well, you already know where I stand on that one.

JM and JK most definitely saw each other on JK's birthday. Most likely right after JK's live.

Ok, this one is getting a little too long. So I think I'll leave you all here at the moment, let it all sink in, and come back with a part 2 that will include our little house tour and a few more interesting points - well for me at least, lol.

To be continued...

#Jimin #JM #JM live #JM Weverse live #Jungkook #JK #JK birthday #JK birthday 2023 #Jikook #Kookmin #Minkook

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dostoyevsky-official · 2 years

Text

gorbachev’s funeral was a solemn affair kept purposefully small by an outsized police presence, ordered there by a regime that wants to distance itself as much as possible from his legacy but which cannot forsake something as momentous as the last general secretary of the ussr. at the same time, those in power hate the people who embrace gorbachev and what he stood for. therefore you have “elements of a state funeral,” a ridiculous amount of police, riot police, plainclothes police, military police, elaborate ways of making sure as few people show up as possible (gorbachev was supposed to lie in state until 2pm, but this was suddenly moved to noon; the burial was closed to the public, but it was actually open). one person was arrested for holding up an anti-war sign. surprisingly, many complained about putin snubbing the funeral due to “scheduling conflicts.” good riddance! who among those present really wanted to see him?

it was something of a quiet protest action against him and the war, even without posters. a pensioner at novodevichy cemetery told me as much: “this is the only way i can protest against what’s going on without getting arrested, and they know it. i couldn’t not take the opportunity.” but what is a protest if it’s sanctioned, quiet, and cordoned off?

at 9:30 am, crowds began to gather at the house of the unions in the city center, where all former soviet leaders were displayed in state. it was both larger than i’d expected and much smaller than i’d hoped for from moscow. from a city of 12 million, there were perhaps a few thousand people all together, many with red carnations. there were several gate systems to the memorial manned by cops who had orders not to let in more than 50 people at a time (i overheard one say so on his walkie-talkie). as with the the funeral procession later on, there was a good showing by the post-soviet generation and those who would’ve been too young to remember much of anything from the gorbachev years; there was also a fair amount of pensioners. the crowd moved fast—the cops didn’t want to let anyone linger for too long in any place—and after three security checkpoints and five gates, i was in the luxurious hall of pillars, though made austere for gorbachev. after seconds of looking at a man who embodied the twentieth century like few others, i was urged to move on as fast as possible. on the way out, a couple behind me, a man and a woman in their 50s, started crying. they were not the only ones.

across the street, a large “we will fulfill our mission” poster, written with the propaganda Zs and Vs, hangs on the scaffolding of the new bolshoi theatre, as if to put a period on what had already ended months, if not years ago. the crowds only became bigger when i left at half past ten. on my way to novodevichy cemetery, i ran into gennady zyuganov, head of russia’s communist party, and asked for a photo—why not. a smaller crowd of CPRF, left front, and other “left” parties gathered for some event near red square. later, i learned that he gave a speech celebrating the end of wwii with the victory over japan. zyuganov said that we must continue the fight and cleanse the earth of nazis, as russia is doing now. this, too, is part of gorby’s legacy, the shattered pieces of a massive, unfinished political project.

a few hours passed before gorbachev’s procession arrived to novodevichy, where the crowd was a bit thinner. i stood next to a young law student in his junior year who skipped his first day of classes to pay respects, chatting with him to pass the time. “how excellent that so many young people showed up,” he said. maybe a third of those gathered was under 30. “if we are here together, it means russia still has a future.” the police moved us around from time to time to “make space.” after finding my way to him again, i noticed he had two carnations instead of four: he gave two to a journalism student and exchanged numbers. a pensioner: “is she your sister? no? watch over her, keep each other safe.”

the procession was headed by a downcast dmitry muratov, a massive portrait of gorbachev in his hands: one nobel peace laureate parting with the other. among those present for the funeral service were ambassadors, including john sullivan from the US, the south korean, french, and german ambassadors, and suzanne massie, a historian who served as advisor to reagan and allegedly introduced him to the russian idiom “trust, but verify,” with pavel palazhchenko, gorbachev’s long-time translator.

after the service, a 21-gun salute, the crowds thronging to the burial by raisa gorbachev’s grave. alexei venediktov (editor-in-chief of the now-dissolved echo of moscow, another glasnost creation) recently talked about how he went to novodevichy with gorbachev around 2010. gorbachev started crying, telling him that all he wanted now was to be buried with raisa. the love he had for her was immense. out of all the biographies and gorbachev/perestroika studies i’ve read, it’s only taubman’s that covers how profoundly he loved her with the space that such a deep, lasting relationship merited.

during the burial: “who do you think is next,” from one pensioner to another, two strangers. “well... you know.” “yes, let’s hope it happens soon.”

a last opportunity to pay respects at a grave heaped, heaped, heaped on with roses and carnations, and then the throngs dissolved. it was the best of who and what you could see in moscow, or, russia’s conscience—what’s left of it—on public display. i have no doubt everyone at the memorial and the cemetery was anti-war. the palpable depression of this crowd was alleviated only by the reinforcing mutual presence of everyone there, a silent solidarity drawn from an organization that hasn’t been seen on the streets since march. you understand what people feel from what’s not said—the looks—the tears—the efforts of men and women in their 80s and 90s to stand for hours, so long as they could say farewell.

the possibility of such organization, reluctantly allowed for the funeral and which was widely admissible in years passed, was the legacy with which we parted today. the defining feature of gorbachev’s rule was openness, glasnost, a gust of fresh air blowing through a hot, humid room, more than economic ideas that were a halfway house for the conditions the soviet state found itself in, and which he didn’t fully understand. yet he opened windows and doors. he returned memory to the people, he allowed memorial to form, he brought sakharov from exile, and yes, he then turned off his microphone during the congress of people’s deputies. gorbachev was a complicated, flawed individual who rose through the ranks of a bloody, ruthless bureaucracy to lead an imperial superpower whose continued survival was his overarching political imperative. he couldn’t have been gandhi. at one point, he nearly killed yeltsin with nothing more than a prolonged party criticism session; he was, directly or indirectly, responsible for the deaths of those on the imperial periphery.

but what could have been instead? nothing is precisely inevitable. had andropov been healthier, the soviet union could’ve been held together to this day by sheer force, or perhaps by prolonged conflict in azerbaijan, or mass-scale repression in the baltics. set in this context, gorbachev leashed the security institutions of the ussr, but didn’t properly dispose of them. thirty years later, his failure is zyuganov’s gleeful speech on denazification, the descent into a fascist society waging genocidal war. his success was thirty years of lost opportunity.

where do we go from here? the feeling of helplessness predominates, resonating through the said and unsaid perception of what could have been and what we have had. the crowd goes home, the opposition stays in jail, the war continues.

#here's the writeup people/mutuals wanted #lithuanian anon: consider this an answer #gorbachev

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abiiors · 5 months

Text

secret santa 🎄 // ross macdonald x reader (pt 1 of 2)

twelve days of christmas - day 1

a/n: back in my posting fic era?? this could either be so so good or so horrendous! i am undecided. ps: the band mentioned in this fic is made up cw: very slight angst but that's about it wc: 2k

need to pick secret santa names pls!!!!!!!!!!

that’s matty’s annual reminder text that pings through your phone; every 25th of november at 9 am like clockwork (almost like he schedules it). the exclamation points are generous, excessive even. but you smile and text him back.

and almost like clockwork, everyone is at his house on the 1st.

the hang out is like usual—everyone is loud and chaotic and happy. ross makes everyone drinks and he’s generous with the whiskey. matty swears he’s so cold, his fingers are going to fall off. george and charli shoo him away when he tries to cuddle with them and you ultimately take pity on him and share your blanket.

you laugh till your stomach hurts and giggle at john dancing with polly and take a thousand selfies. and everyone cheers once the jar with everyone’s names is brought out.

matty stands on the sofa with the blanket wrapped around him like a cape and announces the “commencing of the annual secret santa”. he’s dramatic, he always is, and everyone revels in it.

you watch him shake the jar and then toss its contents on the coffee table. the folded pieces of paper fall down one by one like falling snowflakes and everyone scrambles for one; one of george’s rings scratches your hand and you accidentally end up stealing a paper from adam but no one cares amidst childlike excitement. everyone holds their chits close to their chest, throws long secretive glances at each other and the room fills with sounds of paper rustling as everyone opens them all at once.

you don’t. you watch the look on everyone’s face.

carly smiles wide (so she has adam) and adam frowns slightly (so he does not have carly). george groans but it has an undertone of fondness (matty), charli smirks (either ross or you, reading her is hard) and ross simply shrugs (probably george) before anyone can notice, you unfold the paper and stop the moment the first letter comes into view.

r…

one by one the other letters join in and you try and fail to contain your smile. ross! exactly who you wanted, exactly who you were hoping for!

you spend two whole days tracking it down, the coveted last record of divine connection. you follow every rumour diligently, every single piece of information anyone gives you online until you come across someone who seems trustworthy. someone who knows what they’re talking about.

it’s important that you get this—the last ever unreleased album from the band that shaped your and ross’ early friendship memories, provided the soundtrack to all those stolen joyrides, all the inside jokes and references that linger between you like a secret language.

it’s important for you to have this, for him to have this—a silent acknowledgement of all the feelings you’ll never confess out loud.

so you stay vigilant. you ask them how they managed to get a copy (they know a guy, who knows a guy, who knows a guy who ran the recording studio where it was recorded) the anonymous seller even agrees to let you listen to the first two songs as a sample. the negotiation takes hours! in the end, you relent. it’s for ross, you don’t care what the price is, you only daydream about the look of utter fucking joy on his face.

one week later, ross texts in the group chat.

can we do the draw again? please! there’s someone i want to introduce you to.

jealousy is not in your blood, or so you thought until you see her on his lap, smiling the most radiant smile you’ve ever seen.

olivia (or liv, which is what she insists everyone calls her) is fucking perfect. there’s no denying it. she’s been here exactly 37 minutes and she’s already won matty over who was previously grumpy about having to redo the draw. and now you sit on one end of the sofa, watching them all laugh at the jokes you laugh at and retell her anecdotes that are supposed to be inside jokes.

a sour taste settles on your tongue like you’ve just sucked on a particularly nasty lime wedge.

olivia laughs sweetly.

“thanks for being so nice to me,” she says to everyone, you included, “for including me in the secret santa. i told ross you didn’t have to!”

he waves the comment away like it’s nothing, pecks her cheek even, and the anger in you drains away into a tired sadness.

liv is his type. not you, never you. you’re the best friend! he’s even said so multiple times. and when her smile lights up his entire face, you can’t help but feel like a bitter cunt.

“no worries darling! the more the merrier.” you almost scowl at george at that but hide it with a cough at the last minute.

your phone practically burns in your pocket—a message in particular, the one from the seller, telling you they’re ready to ship it as soon as you confirm payment. it’s unanswered because the fate of it currently hangs in the balance as the minutes tick by.

for the second time that week, matty brings out the jar of names, and this time they scatter on the coffee table like hail, dumped all at once. you don’t scramble to pick a chit with childlike glee. you don’t bother deciphering the looks on people’s faces. all but two that is! it’s impossible to look away from him when he smiles so sweetly—eyes crinkling and dimples on display. fondness is painfully clear on his face and you know what that paper says.

next to him, liv’s entire face brightens.

do you want it or not? i’ve got other buyers lined up mate.

you can feel the sender’s annoyance through the screen. it’s justified though, you’ve practically ghosted them for three days.

the real question is do you even want it anymore?

you adore matty, the new name on your paper but he has no connection to the band. that’s solely a thing between you and ross, not something you’d be willing to share with matty even tho he’s an occasional listener. logically you know he’d appreciate it solely as a collector. but the thought of anyone else having it apart from ross, even if that someone is matty, burns a hole in your chest.

and so you text back.

i still want it.

and then you send them the money.

the record sits at the bottom of your drawer, taunting you every time you open it to take out a new pair of socks (quite often considering it’s december). and you try to cover it with the book you got for matty (a first edition classic that has faint pencil annotations rumoured to be from the author himself) but your heart quickens at the prospect of any damage to the vinyl—an item currently more valuable than every single thing in your house.

so that’s how it sits, nestled carefully between thick wollen socks, collecting dust until you decide what to do with it. maybe it’ll make a good birthday present for him. and yet it feels oddly personal now that he has liv in his life.

it’s a foreign feeling, you realise, strangely hollow and ache-y, to feel like you’re being too personal, too intimate with a man you consider your best friend (perhaps even more so than he’s aware of).

it’s especially difficult when his invitation sits in your phone unanswered.

come see the practice show for the uk leg with us.

you want to. so so badly! to watch him be excited and involved and happy with what he’s doing. you especially love the spark in his eyes when he has a new idea, a new trick up his sleeve. to sit there the whole time and watch him in his element might just be the best thing ever.

so you weigh the pros and cons—it will be like the old times again! liv might be there… but she might not! and even if she is, you can live with it, you can do it.

and so you text him back and promise to meet up with him in an hour.

turns out liv is there.

not only is she there, she’s also involved herself in the process—lending out small ideas here and there, praising someone when she loves a particular detail. you want to be mad at them all for betraying you like this; for becoming so enamoured with her so quickly, despite knowing how childish it sounds.

it’s not their fault you buried your feelings in so deep that they never even had the chance to guess.

still, polly’s gaze lingers on you every once in a while, particularly when ross and liv kiss (although you chalk it up to coincidence even when she makes an effort to involve you in the conversation)

“you put so much thought into it!” she compliments while flicking through the selection of dvds that will go into the house eventually. you want to tell her it’s your job, to look throught the films. how you and ross always make a movie night out of it but of course she catches you staring at the stack.

“wait, ross told me the two of you always end up watching half the films from the stack instead of picking them out!” she giggles slightly and you jolt at the surprise of being addressed so directly out of nowhere.

“yeah… yeah i guess. it just kind of happens!”

she hums in response. “a friend movie date, that adorable!”

this time ross smiles with her. yeah. a friend movie date. what a fucking oxymoron. and yet you paste a smile onto your face and nod like a malfunctioning robot.

“it’s really fun, yeah!”

“you should join us next time, babe,” ross chimes in and a pit forms in your stomach. of course he’d want that, for his girlfriend to be there. but the silence that settles over the room is an odd one. and no one speaks of the movies after that.

liv approaches you when you’re alone, sneaking a tiny cig by the window.

she tries small talk and it fizzles out within minutes, then she tries empty compliments but it’s clear she’s here with a motive. she’s here to ask you something and so you decide to be direct.

“can i help you with anything, liv?”

she smiles a sheepish little smile and wrings her hands together. “well… yeah, you guessed it. i’m uh… i need your help.”

that piques your curiosity. what could you possibly help her with? until she glances behind her and vaguely in ross’ direction where he’s busy chatting with jordan and then back at you.

“don’t tell ross but…i’ve got him for secret santa and i really want to give him something special, you know? i really like him and i don’t just want to give him something super generic just because we’re still getting to know each other. and i thought you’d know since you guys are really close, so i thought…” she takes a deep breath and puffs out her cheeks. “i thought i’d ask you!”

the next time she smiles, it’s a brilliant little thing directed entirely at you and maybe for the first time you really see what ross might like about her. even when you want to laugh at the fucking irony.

here’s his girlfirend, struggling to find the perfect gift and then here you are, letting the perfect gift collect dust in your sock drawer.

you look behind her and at ross who quickly averts his gaze from the two of you and back to jordan. his shoulders tense for a split second, followed by an imperceptible shake of his head. this is it, you think. your chance to do something selfless for once. so you smile back at her and make sure it’s at least half genuine this time.

“you know what, liv? i think i have exactly what you need…”

lemme know what you think <33

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fuck-customers · 7 months

Note

(06/28/23)

I think my job just pulled a slightly classist move

my job was finally going to have a fashion show, it was even going to be at a really fancy & popular hotel. They asked in advance who’s really interesting in attending and I was one of the first to reply with a very enthusiastic “count me in”

Now the schedule is released today and it just rubs me wrong that they picked the two “lower class” employees to work that night. Which means me and one other male supervisor.

So they came up to us with this tone that felt off like “yeahhhhh sorry it’s that we need someone to be here and close the store, but don’t worry just close up the store really fast and rush over to the hotel”

…..we close at 11. With a crew of two people that will take us about 40 minutes. The hotel is 1 hour away. The fashion show starts at 9….

There are people with open availability that day, people who aren’t even going to attend the fashion show in the first place. They’re just off for the whole day? Our work app literally lets me see everyone’s schedule & availability. It completely appears to me that they purposely scheduled the two “low class” employees to work that day so that we can’t attend?

Am I tripping or do all of these signs point to the simple fact they just don’t want us bringing down the store “image” with our poverty & cheap dresses or suits.. I feel really offended.

Posted by admin Rodney.

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pbpsbff · 4 days

Text

happy 1 year of r&r :)

i know it's a lil cringe to like. celebrate the birthday of a series on ao3 but r&r is literally my child. my baby. i birthed this series. and you all signed up for this when u started reading my fics thank u

soooooooo thank u guys for all the support i've received over r&r i know it's hard to stay a consistent reader when my posting schedule is entirely non existent but i am so grateful for everyone who's stuck around this long and been with me for this journey (calling it a journey because a year ago i did not have any sort of overarching plot in mind and now we're 17? 18? fics deep and so many things have happened and i'm usually just as surprised as my readers) it's rlly u guys that have kept me going this long

ANYWAY. i rewrote this like 500 times cause i hate being like. overly sappy on this account because it's way funnier to act like a celebrity with a huge ego, but real talk i am so proud of everything i've done w this series & what it's become in the past year

i've been posting my writing online since i was like 10, so we're going on almost 9 years now and i don't think i've ever ever ever received as much support for something as i have for r&r and something about that is soooo special to me??? idk it's just so nice to see a completely self indulgent series become so loved by others, especially since the only other fics i had up before gmm&m were a little more on the "i'm gonna write what seems popular right now" side???

like shoutout to everyone who was here before/around when i started the series because my account was so empty like. 2 fics and one gets updated every 6 months. r&r pulled me out of the trench i fear. it also cured me of my very horrible disease that makes me delete all my fics after 9 months and then completely disappear from a fandom so everyone say thank you r&r

but yeah idk where i'm going with this i'm very grateful for r&r and all the friends i've made and people i've met through it because i was very lonely before i rejoined tumblr and r&r was like. 90% of the reason i made my account

AND SPEAKING OF FRIENDS. thank u to

@spidergrotto & @sapoteylx for being the first ppl i met on here to openly talk about and support r&r which i thought was so so cool even if you guys have become my haters in the past few months i've known you :/ thank u r&r nation u keep me humble and miserable (and i am very thankful for our friendship i think some aspects of r&r would be very different if we'd never met)

& ao3 user classactical because you've been here since like. a month or two into the series i think and i always always always look forward to your comments because i feel like if you comment, i did a good job on the fic LOL thank u for sticking around for so long, even if ao3 has been actively working against you for a whiiiiile

there's a lot more i want to say and a lot of people i want to mention but that would take a very long time and i always feel weird tagging a lot of people in posts so just know if u read r&r we are kissing rn. or high fiving idk whatever floats ur boat i guess

but yeah anyway tl:dr happy birthday r&r i'm very proud of this series & very thankful for everyone who has read any part of it ever u guys are so cool and hot and have amazing taste and i'm taking your kudos and bookmarks etc. as you swearing your allegiance to me and promising me your undying support no matter what (legally binding btw) thank u guys

#r&r tease #ough i cannot believe r&r is a year old #happy birthday r&r you are my favorite child #gonna go post that fic now #or in like 10 minutes #idk i haven't edited anything #stay tuned

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depressedbagpipe · 1 year

Text

Ka-Chaow (Charles Leclerc x female!reader)

Chapter one

Words: 3310 Warnings: mentions of alcohol and being drunk (guys, please, don't drink alcohol), some anxiety thrown in there, a couple of bad words, google-translated italian A/N: it's lights out and away we go! welcome to my crazy world in which i got into f1 right when the season was ending and now i can't wait to see every race. also, cause I'm still kinda new and I'm not Italian, any mistakes that i make in regards of *everything*, feel free to correct me, and be nice about it ;) A/N (II): italics are thoughts and phone calls and the email, bold and italics are messages, just bold is the location ;)

Series Masterlist Next chapter

Chapter one

London, November 18th, 2022

The weight of my bag was the only thing preventing me from sprinting to my desk. Several manuscripts I had yet to finish, together with my laptop, and all my personal items, hung from my shoulder as I made my way into Mr. Williamson’s wing. I cringed at the sound of my heels over the polished floors, making various heads turn my way as I sprinted by as fast as I could.

Eventually, I got to my desk, conveniently placed just outside Mr. Williamson’s office. The slight clutter was hastily thrown away with a flick of my wrist, making space for my bag, and turning my computer on at sprint time. A quick glance at the office before me told me Mr. Williamson hadn’t arrived yet. Thankfully.

Checking my wristwatch, I sighed in relief at the time.

9:32 am. New record.

Now relaxed, I took a seat in my uncomfortable chair and started typing away on the keyboard, going over all the emails and meetings I had to schedule for the day.

Half an hour later, Mr. Williamson showed up.

‘Good morning,’ he said in his usual hoarse morning voice.

‘Good morning, Mr. Williamson, would you like your usual coffee order?’ I asked in rehearsed practice.

‘Yes, please,’ he responded, struggling to open his office's glass door.

‘You gotta push,’ I noted while I grabbed my coat and my wallet, trying not to laugh.

‘Right,’ he grumbled, finally opening the door and leaving it open.

He stumbled a bit over the expensive rug, looking around before taking a seat on his bigger and far more luxurious desk. His briefcase fell over when he placed it on it, dangling over the edge, and only once he was fully seated, I left my post.

That’s how every morning went for the past year. I would arrive in time –usually–, be ready at my desk until Mr. Williamson came in late –usually–, make sure he got to his seat in one piece, and go down to the ground floor where the company’s private Starbucks had its own space.

One Americano, and one iced vanilla latte to go, please. Once again, those words were deeply burned in my memory.

‘How is he doing this morning?’ Jeremy, the morning barista, asked as he took the order.

I shrugged, swiping the company card over the payment terminal. ‘Still pissed off drunk.’

‘So, the usual?’ he chuckled, motioning me to the end of the bar while Amanda, his workmate, made the drinks.

We both leaned over the counter separating us, talking in hushed voices, so the other customers wouldn’t listen to our conversation.

‘Honestly, I don’t know how much he can go on like this. I’m starting to feel bad for the guy.’

‘Girl, he cheated on his wife, and she rightfully left him. If he deals with his own mistakes by getting wasted every night, it’s up to him,’ Jeremy sent me a pointed look.

I bit my lip. ‘I know, but you should see him. It stopped being funny eight months ago. Do you know how many meetings I had to reschedule because he wouldn’t even pick up his phone? And I don’t mean his personal phone, I mean the company phone in his office. All he has to do is press a single button and talk,’ I winced at the memory.

‘Here you go, have a nice day!’ Amanda gave me the drinks, and I smiled gratefully at her.

‘Well, as soon as he keeps ordering Americanos, I’m not complaining. I’ve doubled my hours here solely based on his caffeine ingest. And you know how much I need the money, so he better keep those orders coming,’ Jeremy winked.

I rolled my eyes and sighed. ‘If he ends up in rehab, I’ll blame you.’

He shrugged. ‘Fine by me. He’s an asshole.’

I laughed with a small shake of my head. ‘Bye, Jeremy! See you in a couple of hours!’

Getting back into the elevator, I made a mental note of everything that had to be done that morning. Meetings, meetings, and more meetings, until either Mr. Williamson got fed up and left, or I dropped in exhaustion for a quick nap.

The walk back to my desk felt longer than usual, the hefty workload of the week finally catching up to me as it normally did every Friday. I left my own coffee on my desk and quickly gave my boss his Americano, to which he merely responded with a grunt. He had his sunglasses on and was massaging his temples as if his life depended on it.

Making a face at his state, I bent down and took off my heels, knowing the constant clicking would be painful in his hungover head, and went back to my desk, making sure the door to his office was closed. Grabbing the phone, I was quick to cancel the first meeting he had in ten minutes.

With a sigh, I grabbed one of the manuscripts and resumed my reading, reading every page twice and making sure no typo was missed.

It was both a blessing and a curse, working at Ink’n’Paper. We were one of the world’s leading publishing houses on all sorts of literature, and consequently, the huge workload that we bore was overwhelming. Ink’n’Paper had been my first and only real job in the publishing industry, starting as an inexperienced intern and working my way up until I became the assistant of a household name in Historical Non-Fiction. It hadn’t exactly been my first option, non-fiction, but the pay was good, and I was desperate to prove myself. Next thing I knew, it had been three years since I’d started, and I was pretty much the only one making sure the whole department didn’t burn down due to my boss’ sudden neglect.

It was a few hours later, still sometime before the end of my workday, that I –or rather, Mr. Williamson– received the email. I had been managing all his accounts ever since the very first day he stumbled into the office completely drunk, Vodka bottle in hand, and screamed how much of a cunt everybody was on that floor, and then passed out on his rug, not before puking all over himself. After the embarrassment and degrading task of cleaning, not only him, but his rug too, I had taken over his entire life, managing even his dental care appointments for him, knowing he wouldn’t even be showing up to half of them.

I was surprised at the sender, for the name was oddly familiar. Maurizio Arrivabene.

Frowning, I quietly opened the message.

‘Buonasera, Stephen. I know it’s been a while, but as you’ll understand, these past few years have been a rollercoaster here. I was actually thinking about your past offer, and I know I’m a year too late, but I would love to look into it more. I’ll be in London next week after the season’s over, maybe you’d like to have some coffee (or tea, whichever you prefer), and talk about the book? I know here at Ferrari we need some push, whatever results we get this weekend. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Take care, Stephen. Sincerely, Maurizio.’

I widened my eyes at the email. Maurizio Arrivabene. Ferrari’s old team principal. I quickly gathered my planner and a pen and pushed open Mr. Williamson’s office door. Thankfully for me, he now seemed much better.

‘Sorry, Mr. Williamson?’ I took a few tentative steps toward him.

‘Yes?’ he lowered his spectacles, halting his typing on his keyboard.

‘You’ve received an email from one Maurizio Arrivabene,’ I pronounced his name in a heavy accent, the same way my dad would whenever he talked about his homeland. ‘Something about a book offer, maybe?’

His face broke into a smile. ‘Oh, Maurizio!’ he stood up from his seat. ‘I haven’t spoken to him in a while! How is he?’ he asked me. He still reeked of cheap alcohol.

‘I don’t know, sir, but he wants to meet with you next week.’

He clapped. ‘Fantastic, schedule a meeting with him.’

I coughed. ‘Well, the thing is, he sent an email to you, directly. I believe he’d like something more casual,’ I said, yet I opened my planner to check his schedule.

‘Well, then, I shall phone him immediately!’ he grabbed the phone on his desk, and rapidly frowned. ‘What’s his number again?’

I pursed my lips. ‘He didn’t write any, sir. I think you shall write to him directly.’

‘Of course! Let me just…’ he sat back down and typed something on his computer. ‘What was my email again?’

I groaned soundlessly, quietly making my way to him and fastly typing his correct credentials. Standing closer to him, I noticed the many wrinkles in his suit and the many hair strands that fell on the wrong side of his side part. Shaking my head, I pointed at the email.

‘There it is.’

‘Okay, when am I free for tea?’ he responded after a few seconds, his eyes reading over the words.

‘Well, you did cancel three meetings with the entire Editorial Department so… I rescheduled them for next week, but you should be free Friday afternoon after work,’ I checked all the time slots available, scribbling down the possible dates.

‘Why couldn’t we meet on a weekend? We don’t work on weekends,’ he said.

I paused. ‘You don’t work on weekends. I do. And I’m guessing this is a possible job offer, therefore counting it as part of the workweek at least allows you a free meal covered as company’s expenses,’ I recited off my head. Too many times I have said that.

Mr. Williamson widened his eyes. ‘That’s brilliant! You’re right, let’s schedule for next Thursday.’

‘Friday.’

‘Friday. Wow, who taught you that?’

‘You did, sir.’

‘Well, I’m a genius, then.’

‘If only you were sober enough to realize that,’ I muttered as I finished writing on my planner. Louder, I replied. ‘Remember to save the day and respond to the man. Don’t keep him waiting.’

I walked back to the door. Mr. Williamson nodded his head. ‘Will do!’

With another sigh, I sat back on my chair, cracking my fingers before typing in the response to Maurizio Arrivabene on behalf of Mr. Williamson, and making sure to set reminders in his calendar for every day of the week until his tea date.

The pay is good, at least.

—

‘You should have seen him. I mean, he’s like a toddler!’ I complained from my spot on the couch.

‘I don’t know how you keep working like that, you’re basically a babysitter at this point,’ my mother said from the other side of the phone.

I hummed in agreement, looking up at my feet. They dangled from the other end of the couch, as I took up the entire space by laying down. ‘Honestly, I don’t know what to do. I told Rosanna from Human Resources to notify me whenever there was a new vacancy, but it’s been months.’

‘Honey, I can’t tell you what to do, but do you think head editor is the right job for you?’ she asked.

I stopped. ‘I think so. I mean, I’m good at it.’

‘Yes, but do you like it?’

I paused again.

That question had been roaming in my mind for months. At first, the job had been nice. Reading manuscripts for a living, correcting the mistakes, meeting with the authors, and getting to know them first-hand… Again, maybe historical non-fiction wasn’t what I originally envisioned my future like, but the pay was good enough to get me my own apartment and to live independently. At the rate the economy was going, I felt like the luckiest girl in the world.

But then Mr. Williamson had suddenly neglected his own job when his life started spiraling down, and I had been the unfortunate soul to try and collect the pieces of his broken person. I was suddenly managing, not only my life, but his, and needless to say, he wasn’t an easy person to handle. Despite the many conversations to get him to sober up, every morning was a complete wild card, not knowing whether he would even show up, and if he did, would he be conscious enough to work.

On the bright side, thanks to his many absences, I had learned how to manage the editorial department pretty much completely on my own. I knew the names of every single worker, even the janitors and the night guards working late shifts. I had written, rewritten, corrected, presented, contacted, hired, fired, and despite knowing I was perfect for said role, my heart still longed for something different. The reason why I even had studied Creative Writing all along.

‘But only writing doesn’t pay the bills’, Mr. Williamson had said one morning, a month into my newly appointed role as his assistant. And ever since then, I had almost forgotten about my own dream of becoming a novelist.

‘What do you think I should do, then?’ I asked her.

‘Honey, you’re old enough to make your own decisions,’ she laughed.

‘Mom, I need your advice! I know I’m old enough but right now I’m at a crossroads!’ I complained, lifting my arm and covering my eyes with it.

‘You know what I think about writing for a living,’ she mused.

I groaned. ‘Yeah, I know it’s not your cup of tea, but I promise, I’m good. Great, even.’

‘I wouldn’t know, you never let me read anything.’

‘Well, yeah, it’s embarrassing.’

‘You need to get over that eventually, honey.’

‘It’s easier said than done,’ I sighed. ‘Besides, everything I have written so far was just reports and boring commercial synopsis for historical books, unless you really wanna read that…’

‘Honey, whatever you choose to do, just make sure it makes you happy. And that at least you’re getting money out of it.’

I took a deep breath. ‘I think I need to sleep this one over.’

‘It’s probably for the best. Let me know, whatever you do,’ my mother said. ‘I gotta go now, book club starts in fifteen minutes and I still gotta walk by Linda’s house to return her copy. Will you be fine?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Good. Wait, your dad wants to talk.’

‘Great.’

‘Hey, chicken pie!’ I chuckled at my dad’s voice.

‘Hi, dad,’ I smiled.

His tone was excited. ‘You’re seeing the practice?’

I nodded before answering, my eyes glancing at the TV, where the first day of race weekend was airing from the Yas Marina circuit. ‘Of course, I am. Not paying much attention, though.’

‘Well, nothing interesting so far. You wanna FaceTime tomorrow for quali?’

‘Yes, please,’ I groaned in delight. ‘I wish I could be there to watch it with you, though.’

I could hear his smile through the phone. ‘It’s alright, chicken pie, I know you’re busy lately. Everything alright with your boss?’

I could hear my mom yelling at him in the background of the call.

I bit my lip. ‘Ask mom, she got all the details. Shouldn’t you be leaving for book club too?’

It was his turn to groan. ‘Don’t remind me.’

I laughed. ‘What was it?’

‘To Kill a Mockingbird. No bird in it.’

I audibly laughed at him. ‘Please, don’t say that out loud, you’ll be banished from the club.’

‘Oh, what a pity would that be,’ he said in his most mischievous voice possible. ‘Wish me luck, Principessa.’

‘Ciao, Papà!’ I laughed, finally ending the call in a fit of giggles.

Shaking my head, I leaned my head back on the pillow and continued watching the practice, remembering the puzzling email addressed to Mr. Williamson.

Multiple explanations littered my head as to how on earth Mr. Williamson knew someone as Maurizio Arrivabene, both from such different spheres, but then again, Stephen Williamson had always been a renowned author and an even bigger editor. It was possible that both men had coincided at some point in history, but I tried not to dwell much on it. I had a week until I found out what the fuzz was about.

Groaning again once the free practice was over, I finally stood up from my couch and walked towards the small kitchen, opening the fridge in hopes to find something available to eat. Some leftovers caught my eye, and with a shrug, I took them out, threw them in the microwave, and sat down back on the couch once the food was warm enough to eat.

Browsing through HBO for something to see, I settled on my annual rewatch of Parks and Recreation, anything to get my mind off the horrible week I just had.

My phone pinging broke me out of my daze. Wiping my hand clean on my dirty pajamas, I quickly read over my friend Angela’s message.

‘You shouldn’t check Alec’s Instagram story, but I also think you should.’

With a frown I opened the app, seeing the familiar purple-ish circle around my ex-boyfriend’s face. The video was enough to bring a few tears to my eyes. His arm was around some other girl, and her crimson-painted lips left stains all over his cheek. His smile was wide, and he looked quite happy, wherever he was.

I rapidly closed the app off, throwing my phone to the other end of the couch, now in desperate need of a glass of wine just to forget what I had just seen.

Breaking up with Alec had been hard, but seeing him off with someone else was even harder. Not only two months ago we were talking about living together, and now it felt like I was seeing a stranger through my screen. My job had been slowly taking over every aspect of my personal life too, and while I couldn’t blame Alec for feeling neglected all of a sudden, especially after three years together, it still hurt. I still missed him every night, morning, and any other time in between. He had been my best friend for so long, and one of my main pillars ever since I stumbled out of college, completely lost, and in frantic need of guidance in the adult world. We were both still kids that had become adults together, and I was having a harder time than I wanted to admit to trying to forget about him.

Taking a big breath, I closed my eyes, touching the soft couch in an attempt to ground myself.

Big breath in, big breath out.

After a few minutes, I felt myself calm enough, resuming my dinner and my binge-watching, now more than ever desperate for sleep after the intense day. Technically I had every weekend off, but I still had many manuscripts and emails to send the next day, thankfully from the comfort of my own home.

It was only in bed that I allowed myself to relax, turning off my phone, and grabbing my crochet set. It was a habit I had picked up lately, something so far out of my field of expertise, yet so relaxing once I got the hang of things. Working on my silly bucket hat every night before sleep was pretty much the highlight of my existence. And I was so invested in it, that only after I was finally done with it I realized I had been sitting for three hours in the same position, my eyelids dropping and my back hurting. Getting the needles out of the way, I finally laid in bed, and it only took a few minutes to fall soundlessly asleep.

—

A week later I found myself in the same position, crocheting a summer top in my bed, late in the evening after yet another exhausting week, when I received Mr. Williamson’s message.

‘Book a flight to Italy. We’re going to Maranello.’

Next chapter

General Taglist: @angiewhoohooo, @azaleaniath

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x female!reader #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x y/n #charles leclerc imagine #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 fanfic #f1 fic

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lutiaslayton · 9 months

Text

Hey guys, I felt like giving you a bit of a heads up: now that the transcription of the Japan-exclusive Eternal Diva novel has been completed, I am now working on its translation. And I thought -- hey, why not share this translation here as I go?

The website's translation is meant to be as accurate as possible and is filled with annotations and comparisons with the Japanese version, but if all we're interested in is just reading the darn novel like it's actually meant to be (read: a story that is actually enjoyable to read), then this translation really isn't going to make that happen.

(Just look at this. This is awful. Translation accuracy: 9/10. Reading enjoyment: WhatTheHeckIsThis /10. Do not recommend.)

---

So yeah, I'm actually working on two English translations 👀 First one is from the website and meant primarily to study Japanese and (sometimes) get the juicy lore, and the second one will be posted here! This second translation will actually be meant to be read like a novel / fanfiction, in the sense that I'll rephrase things and try to make it as enjoyable as can be. It may mean that a thing or two might be changed along the way, but I'll try to keep my creative juice under control and try to stay as close to the original as possible.

If anyone wants to criticise this translation and bring suggestions if you think that I took too many liberties, feel free to let me know so we can rephrase things! It'd be much cooler if this were a collaborative project rather than the work of just one person who might end up putting in her own biases, whether consciously so or not.

---

I can't tell when exactly I will start uploading since I'd like to have some buffer before starting, but when I do, I'll try to have some sort of schedule. Like one "chapter" or so every week, something like that. (The novel doesn't have "chapters," but it does have sections with titles. So I guess we might as well call those "chapters" for commodity.)

Anyway, that's pretty much all I wanted to say -- just a little teaser and some context for something I've been working on and will hopefully start posting soon-ish, and which I'd like to share with you guys as soon as I can! It'd be cool if this could be something I could post while my PhD is slowly ending and my workload is getting heavier and heavier -- just imagine if I had some buffer that I'd just put in my queue, and then boom, a chapter a week while I'm off dying while preparing my PhD defence and whatnot hahaha. No promises, but it would be really cool if I could pull it off.

#professor layton #eternal diva #eternal diva novel #layton's book club #layton preservation

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hellfirexhoe · 1 year

Text

Death of Me - Chapter 9: Jealousy

Chapter 9 | Series Masterlist

2.4k words

Warnings: 18+ content, minors DNI, pregnancy, angst, smut

a/n: I am quite literally posting this from the stirrups rn (I accidentally booked my cervical smear for posting time and scheduling posts doesn't seem to work so hi I am literally laying here bare ass on an exam table)

You lean your back on Eddie, sprawled out under a blanket on one of Steve's pool loungers as a small fire crackles nearby. Eddie wraps his arms around you and kisses the back of your neck, sighing happily.

"Another?" Steve offers you a new can of beer and you shake your head, holding up the one in your hand, the one Eddie had chugged inside the house and then refilled with water,

"Still going with this one. Thanks." Steve nods and retreats back to his own lounger.

You snuggle into Eddie's arms, enjoying the way his warmth seeps into your body.

"Okay I've got to ask. How did you two happen, like I saw you two glaring at each other from across the lunch room. How does that turn into bonfire snuggles under the stars?" Robin's eyes flicker between the two of you, absolutely baffled.

"They're not telling us anything. I already asked." You and Eddie nod, grinning like twin Cheshire cats,

"It's much more fun to hear your theories Steve." You nod in agreement with Eddie,

"My personal favourite is Eddie wanting to join the cheer squad, so asking me for help and then we fell in love while I taught him how to cheer."

"It could happen!"

"God knows I've got the legs for one of those cheer skirts." Eddie deadpans making you splutter as you take a sip from your can.

“Well there’s a mental image I’ll never forget.” Robin groans, clutching her temples, “Can we not get even a hint?”

“It’s clear they’re taking that secret with them to the grave. Or we just keep plying both of them with alcohol.” Steve gestures to the cans by his feet.

“Why are you so invested? Jealous of Eddie?” Robin smirks as Nancy directs her question to Steve.

You know Nancy is referring to your relationship. Robin knows this. Steve knows this. Eddie, however, has been drinking for two this evening and is confused as to Nancy’s meaning.

“Ah Steve, you’ll be having your own nuggets before you know it.” You freeze, everyone freezes.

“Eddie.” You hiss. You’d both agreed to keep the pregnancy a private matter until it was impossible to hide, you’d enjoyed it being a little secret.

“What?” Robin laughs nervously, eyes flicking between you two as you glare at Eddie who is still cluelessly grinning.

“That’s not what Nancy meant.” Eddie’s gaze drops to you, now confused,

“Then why would Steve be jealous of me? Not like he doesn’t get any action.” A frown crosses his face as he tries to compute any possible reason, then his face goes blank, expressionless, realisation setting in.

“ ‘Scuse me a minute.” Eddie shifts out from behind you and stalks back into the house, lighting a cigarette once he’s a few feet away from you.

You give him a few minutes, silence befalling the group before you stand up, wrapping the blanket from your legs around your shoulders and trail after Eddie. You call out to Eddie as you step through the sliding doors into the living room,

“Kitchen.” Comes a quiet reply. You find Eddie leaning with his back to a counter, chewing the side of his mouth, clearly annoyed.

“You okay?” Eddie raises an eyebrow at you, “Okay maybe that was a stupid question.”

Eddie exhales a short sharp laugh,

“So when were you planning on telling me you and Steve used to date?”

“Date?” You bark out in a laugh, “It was a one night thing that ended before it even started, Eddie. That’s why I didn’t see any merit in telling you about it.”

“So like us when we started fucking around?” Eddie’s tone is cold and he raises an eyebrow as he speaks,

“No. You were different. It was always different with you.”

“Right. Because you hated me. Tell me, you could have anyone, you could have a queue of Harringtons following you, that much is clear, if you weren’t pregnant with my child would you still be here?” You know it's insecurity behind his words, that doesn’t take away the sting of the implication.

“How fucking dare you ask me that? You know I would still be here.” Your shout is so loud that heads by the pool turn in your direction, gawking through the glass,

Eddie shakes his head, “I’m not trying to start a fight with you.”

“You’re doing a very good job of doing so. You’re such an idiot. Eddie, I love you. You’re sweet, most of the time, you make me feel safe and you make me laugh. That is all I could want or need.”

Eddie’s chin drops to his chest as he stares at the floor, ashamed for having started this argument,

“It doesn’t hurt that you’re hotter than hellfire either.” You step into his space, into his eyeline,

“Very funny.” Eddie snorts,

“I wasn’t joking.” Eddie looks up at you, looking for any hint of insincerity in your words, he finds none.

The group outside take it in turns to peek out of the corner of their eyes towards the kitchen window, trying to work out what is being said. Your shout attracts all of their attention, heads whipping in the direction of the window at breakneck speed,

“Oh he’s done for.” Steve utters, watching your hands gesticulating,

“If she grabs a knife do we intervene?” Robin half-jokes,

“You can. I’m not about to get in between an angry pregnant woman and the target of her rage.” Steve’s head turns to Robin, looking at her like she’s truly lost her mind.

“Are we really going to gloss over that? That Eddie Munson has a kid on the way and still acted like that in the Upside Down?” Nancy frowns, remembering how Eddie had sacrificed himself, the idea that Eddie knew he was going to be a father and still sacrificed himself like that not sitting right with her.

“I doubt he knew. You see how he is with her, he’s been treating her like she’s made of glass the last two weeks. If he knew there’s no way he would have even gone on the run.” Steve offers up, confident in his assumption.

“Did anybody else notice him drinking her drinks?” Steve and Robin turn to Nancy, baffled.

“No?” They speak at the same time, in equally confused tones, trying to wrack their brains to remember seeing Eddie taking the cans from you. “When did he do that?”

“They weren’t very subtle about it, he took a can into the house and came out burping and looking nauseous but the can was still miraculously full.”

“Aww. Wait. Where did they go?” Robin points at the now empty window, Steve shrugs,

“Maybe she killed him.”

You hadn’t killed Eddie, how could you kill him when he’s planting such sweet kisses along your neck, whispering such sweet words into your ear as he presses himself against you, pushing your body into the sofa in Steve’s basement, careful to not put too much weight down on you,

“Love you so much, ‘m gonna do my best to be good enough for you.” Your head jerks away to look at him as he speaks,

“Eddie, you are more than good enough.” You stroke his face, a smile forms on yours as he pushes his face into your hand, grinning,

“Glad you think so.” Eddie’s head dips to kiss you, beginning a trail of kisses down your body, your hand that had stroked his face now tangling in his hair as his hands hook the top of your sweatpants and underwear and pull them down in tandem with every kiss on your skin, only ceasing his kisses to pull the clothes from you, and returning his lips to your skin in record speed, you shiver a little as you feel the cool metal from his rings on your inner thighs, his hands gently pushing them apart, the cool sensation never growing old, no matter how many times he does this.

It’s the same when his lips first kiss your clit, the sensation making you gasp lightly and practically vibrate with anticipation, Eddie parts his lips slightly and lets his tongue trace your soft skin, taking his time with slow circles around your clit, teasing you by slipping his middle finger barely inside you,

“Eddie, more, please, more.” The words come out high pitched and needy, and the effect on Eddie is instant, his finger dips inside you, quickly joined by another while he busies his mouth by sucking harshly on your clit, making your back lift off the sofa in an attempt to bring your body closer while Eddie’s sole focus, sole purpose of being at this very moment is your pleasure, spurring him until your hips are bucking against his face, your desperation to cum matched by his desperation to get you there.

“F-fucking hell.” Your body starts to tremble and Eddie speeds up his fingers, curling them to perfectly hit your g-spot with every thrust, you swear you can feel him smirking as his tongue flicks over your clit as he sucks on your sensitive little button remorselessly. “Fuck I - can’t, Eddie fuck!” Expletives leave your mouth as Eddie’s relentless pace forces a tidal wave of pleasure to wash over you, Eddie’s face getting soaked in the process. Eddie rides out your orgasm with you, drawing it out by not stopping until your hands, tangled in his hair, are forcing him away, begging him for a moment’s mercy.

Eddie comes up back into your line of sight, grinning wildly as he licks your slick off his lips, hair thoroughly messed up by your hands,

“Think you can cum like that again for me?” You shake your head, giggling from your high, as you feel Eddie shimmying off his own sweatpants and boxers, nearly tripping over them in his eagerness.

“Like that? No, I’m spent. You’ll die trying to get me there.”

“A noble way to go.” Eddie whispers against your lips as he lines his throbbing head up with your still twitching entrance, “Mind if I try?”

You nod, “Go ahead, big boy.” You both moan in matching pitch as Eddie slips himself inside, feeling the stretch as your walls adjust to Eddie’s thick cock.

“Shit. Always so fucking tight for me, huh?” Eddie gives a couple of tentative thrusts, encouraging your body to relax to accommodate him,

“Always. Just- fuck - for you.” Eddie stills as his cock enters you fully, relishing in the feeling of your still twitching walls all around him, drawing him deeper,

“Eddie. Fucking move.” You rock your hips up, grinding against him in your need for stimulation, ignoring how pathetic your voice and actions appear, relishing in satisfaction as Eddie starts to thrust once more, starting slowly and building speed the louder your moans get,

“Eddie, harder, please.” You can feel a burning coil tightening in your stomach with every thrust, you just need a little push to get there,

“Fuck are you sure, sure it’s okay?” Eddie starts to thrust harder, deeper, the room filling with the sound of skin slapping, Eddie’s deep grunts and your own whimpers, punctuated with the occasional, needy, “Please.” that escapes your lips as Eddie’s pace pushes you closer, the burning sensation growing from your stomach, travelling to your thighs which lock around Eddie’s waist, pushing him deeper with every movement.

The burning erupts into liquid flame coursing through your body as Eddie pushes you over the edge of your orgasm with a loud cry of his name, your body’s twitching and clenching around Eddie has him finishing seconds after you, sheathing himself deep inside and biting down on your shoulder as he finishes with a broken cry of your name.

You try to relax your legs from his waist but your body is currently disconnected from any of your control, so you stay, holding him close until you’ve regained enough of your sense to be able to move,

“Clingy, much?” Eddie teases as you release him, pulling out slowly, he doesn’t move an inch, stays pressed against you as if the tiniest amount of space between you would be unreasonable. You respond by wrapping your arms around him,

“Call me clingy again and you’re looking at a sex ban.”

“Yeah. Right.” Eddie snorts, “Don’t know if you’ve noticed this but you are incredibly hot for me lately. Can’t say I mind.”

“Blame the hormones.”

“Blame them? More like praise them.” You laugh at the earnestness in Eddie’s tone, relaxing your arms as you feel him shift on you, wanting to get off of you, keen to avoid squashing you. “Are you okay? Need anything?”

“I’m fine sweetheart, you worry too much.” Eddie pulls you into sitting and rests you against his chest, soft cotton against your cheek,

“I worry the healthy amount.” He chides gently, stroking your face. “You happen to not only be very precious to me but also be carrying very precious cargo. Of course I worry.”

“Cargo? Did you really just call our child cargo?”

“Yeah… it sounded better in my head.”

The fire outside has died and Robin and Nancy are leaving via the garden gate, avoiding going through the house.

“Well… Try to get some sleep, I’m sure they’ll settle down eventually.” Robin jokes awkwardly, laughing at Steve’s mortified face.

“Think I’m gonna sleep out here tonight.”

Another lie to your parents and you're spending the night in Eddie's arms again, pointedly reminding Eddie that he does have to resurface at some point and that will include seeing your parents.

For a change, you fall asleep before Eddie, who is more than content to hold you in his arms, listening to your soft breaths. Eventually you shimmy out of his arms, grumbling in your sleep as you do, you lay facing him still so Eddie shifts under the covers slightly, gently stroking your bump with a featherlight touch. You’d mentioned him doing this before, but he’d always felt kind of insecure doing it while you were watching him, even when you’d suggested putting headphones on so you couldn’t hear him.

“H-hi.” He whispers softly, pausing to listen to your breathing, any indication that you could be waking up, satisfied that you remain asleep he clears his throat quietly, “Hi little bean.” He pauses, what the hell do you say when you’re speaking to a foetus? He doubts current news would be particularly enthralling. So he settles for a quiet promise,

“I’m going to be better than my dad was. Just for you and your mother okay? I’m going to give you both the world, I promise.”

Taglist: @hellomothermoon @tlclick73 @likedovesinthewnd @bebe0701 @wheaty-melon @thegirlwhohides @mxcheese @witchofhawkins @munsonsgirl71 @sammararaven @joejoequinnquinn @hellfire-puppet @micheledawn1975 @averagemisfit03 @edsforehead @thehuntresswolf @a-hopeless-fan @bimbobaggins69 @harrys-titties @munsons-mayhem28 @thatsbunnysmind @heyhihellowhatsup0 @iamaslutforcoffee @boomhauer @quinndjarin @tayhar811 @sister-cirice @sidthedollface2 @plutolvr @callmeloverr

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outpost51 · 10 months

Text

The 51 Post

Figured I'd start some kind of digest!

Contents:

Things You Might Have Missed

This Week's Jams

WIP Breakdowns

From the Skwad

Around the 'Blr

Things You Might Have Missed:

I've got a taglist form now! Because who doesn't love a good form?

BRHP: Chapter 14 posted; Atria learns the meaning of touch starvation and really, really misses her dad.

WIP Intro: Caught in the Crossfire (18+)

WIP Intro: The Arsonist Chronicles (18+)

WIP Whenever (Open Tag): BRHP chapter 15 snippet; pop pop is having a time time

Crossing Over: the 5th entry into the Lighthouse in the Fog shorts; a new player has entered the fray, and a familiar face reappears.

Vampire Council lore and vampire origins lore

Aria/Omega snippety snip

This Week's Jams:

friends like these || Brassie [spotify/youtube]

Little Girl Gone || CHINCHILLA [spotify/youtube]

EVERGREEN || PVRIS [spotify/youtube]

Eyes on Fire || Gold Souls [spotify/youtube]

WHEN THE PARTY'S OVER || Cami Petyn [spotify/youtube]

Lizard Lady || Laura Doggett [spotify/youtube]

WIP Breakdowns:

Between a Rock and a Hard Place

Chapter 15 should be coming out later today, with 16 slated for release sometime late this week or early next week. I'm finally in the chapters that don't require a ton of rewrites; most of what I've been doing is adding content. The whole thing is outlined through chapter 30 though! Since this is my entry for WIP Big Bang, updates will "stop" at chapter 18, since that's what I had published before the rewrites. After that, you'll have to wait for the release date! Which also means I have to wait for the release date for the serotonin, and that's going to be a nightmare.

Unlikely Adventures of Bitchface and Go F*ck Yourself

At this point, it's just a matter of making myself work on it. About a third of chapter 9 is written and the entirety of Act II is outlined.

Blinding Neon, Shades of Grey

nervous laughter

Stellar Parallax

Fuck, I missed this WIP. I missed Jane especially, she's so fun to write -- I'm about a third of the way into chapter 9 and it seems to be flowing pretty well? I just wanna get to the part where she and Saren beat the shit out of each other LMAO

Lighthouse in the Fog

Dunno if y'all saw, but the lighthouse keeper stories have a tag and a tentative title now! It's going to remain as a series of loosely connected shorts, and that may very well be what I end up doing with Xatal as well. Anyway, we have some lore groundwork laid! Look out for the 6th short later today!

In the Works

I still have questions in my inbox that I am absolutely getting to! I've also got a bunch of unanswered tags in my drafts and Notion. Losing a week and a half of planned answer time threw my schedule WAY off. Submission for SSSC #006 is in the planning stage. Hannah and the MILF Squad Get Up To No Good is about 30% written and fully outlined. I have... so many Kryterius prompts left to fill, and so many more spotify wrapped prompts left, send help. Still working on separating out the Daddy Issues smutshots, hoping to finish up the rewrites for the F!Shali one before the end of July. TIPYNTS is most likely going to come out in October, and by then I'm hoping to have a backlog of chapters to make posting more consistent.

From the Skwad:

Door's always open! 18+ writing server for both fanworks and original works! Camp is starting soon! We also have a flash fiction challenge and three bingo cards running until the end of the month!

@teamdilf continues to absolutely baffle me with her productivity here we go: A Cheesy Situation is now complete, ch 16 of Alice's Adventures in Andromeda is live, ch 18 of The In-Laws and the Grandparents is live, A Night in the IKEA dropped which I'm absolutely dying over, and that's not even all of it. holy shit J i don't know how you do it but i'll have whatever you're having thx

@thetrashbagswasteland dropped ch 4 of the Sunseeker rewrite and I'm adsfdafdadsf yes. thank you king

@sparatus is tearing me to fucking pieces with Make Less the Depth of Grief. i hate you (i love you)

@uraniumwriting also obliterated me with their FFF entry.

@wrathbites is back and I'm literally beside myself I missed the Vampire AU so fucking much.

oops @commander-krios got me invested in Star Wars please look at this.

@starknstarwars updated Smuggler's Ruin aaaaaaaaaaaaa

A few of our members participated in Shenko Summer!! @dandenbo wrote Volta and @mrsd-writes wrote both We Got Here the Hard Way and Forever Home!

@regalbois dropped a new original oneshot and has been going bananas over Bioshock lately and gifting us MORE mlm deliciousness, ch 3 of Magnum Opus went live last night.

@inflarescent has a new wippppp aaaaaaa -- intro post for The Roulette Paradox here!

@discoeffect updated Far From Any Road and I am devouring the first book so I can read this one!!

Around the 'Blr:

Have you checked out the Writeblr Directory or Writeblr Cafe yet?

I'm literally still thinking about @captain-kraken's Heitha translator.

@void-botanist dropped some witch lore I'm eating with a spoon.

@tc-doherty ALSO popped off with the conlang.

The dates IRL are lining up with the dates in @elshells's Agent Ace EXCITING also a new chapter is dropping probably by the time I post this lmao

@liv-is dropped this GOLDMINE of relationship writing tips also TIL what Liv does for a living not sorry

@writernopal first of all made me absolutely CRY being sweet in the tags last night and also dropped an aasoaf 3 sneep while i was composing this thank you my friend i needed the energy snack

did y'all see Find the Word XVIII from @artdecosupernova-writing i'm going FERAL

@tabswrites's Silver Sentinels has a second chapter, I am VIBRATING

@oh-no-another-idea just slid in with this little diddy that i LOVE.

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Outpost Updates Taglist: @tabswrites @writernopal @freedominique @asher-orion-writes @liv-is @starknstarwars @captain-kraken

Ask to +/- in the tags, replies, DMs, or HERE!

#my fic #outpost updates #in which everyone learns korble cannot talk about himself without also sharing the floor bc anxiety #if i missed you throw something in my inbox or tag me!!#there wasn't a plan for this one but now that i know what i want to do i'll be collecting stuff throughout the week!

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excelsi-or · 8 months

Text

summoned (pt. 3)

hey guys! hope you're all doing well :) time feels like it's just slipping away a bit right now. my goal is to finish posting this in the next two weeks. xx

pairing: woozi x fem!reader/fem!OC

w.c. 2.5k

part 1 | part 2

“Human.”

Jihoon stands at her bedside. It’s nearing 11 AM and she’s still sleeping peacefully.

“Human.”

She still doesn’t wake.

“Human.”

She jolts upright, looking around before her eyes settle on him. “What’s going on?” With unseeing eyes, she pats the bedside table for her glasses.

Once they’re on her face, she squints at him. “What is happening?”

Seems the human is awake now.

“Don’t you have work to be going to?”

Her suspicion turns to disbelief. “You woke me because I’m going to be late for a 9-to-5 I don’t have?”

“You have meetings and a home and you don’t have a job?”

“I have a job. Just not one with a set schedule, Mr. Demon. I’m self-employed.”

That just sounds like she’s made up her job.

While checking her phone, she pushes her glasses to rub sleep from her eyes. He wonders why she continues scrolling as she does this.

When Jihoon doesn’t leave, she eases around him to get to the ensuite, phone still in hand, other hand adjusting her glasses.

Jihoon trails after her, halting when she holds a hand up in his face. Then she shuts the door. Unbothered, he leans against the doorframe, his eyes focused on the wood grain.

“I’m not going to pee until I know you’re in the living room. We can discuss whatever you need to discuss later.”

Despite now being bothered, he complies with the request. Unfortunately, the next portion of his plan requires her help. Jihoon stares at the pile of books he’d gone through over the last few hours since sunrise. When she doesn’t emerge right away, he puts the books away. She has a few books she’s never read before, and while some seemed immature and too romantic for his taste, some of the mystery ones were alright.

All of them kept him wildly entertained until he woke her.

She appears in the doorway dressed in a soft yellow dress, no longer donning glasses and her hair brushed.

“Now, what was so urgent that you needed to wake me…” she stops in her hallway and stares at her door, “... up?” She tilts her head, squinting at her doorway. “Why is my door wide open?”

Jihoon moves to her side to admire his handiwork. “Don’t worry. No one can see inside.”

“But it’s open.”

“No one even knows your door is there.”

“I specifically asked you to take the key if you were going to leave and close my door. Not fuck around with it and make it–why can’t people see inside?”

Jihoon motions for her to follow. At her doorway, she stops. He stands across from her in her hallway.

“How do I know this isn’t some soul sucking exercise?”

Jihoon sighs. “As I told you yesterday, I will only take your soul if you exchange it.”

More squinting. She’s extremely suspicious this morning. “How do I know this isn’t some pain inducing exercise that will force me to want to give you my soul to make the pain stop?”

Impressed at the suggestion, Jihoon crosses his arms. “Are you sure you aren’t a demon? That is a wonderful idea.” He deflates a little. “Unfortunately, I didn’t think of it. You’re just going to have to trust me.”

“You’re a demon. Here because I summoned you and won’t trade my soul for anything. I don’t trust you.” She goes to the kitchen. “Just change my door back to normal, please.”

Annoyed that she won’t appreciate his skill, Jihoon undoes the securities he’d put around her apartment. When he steps back inside, she’s pouring milk over her cereal.

She doesn’t offer him breakfast.

“How do you know I undid everything properly and didn’t actually create that soul sucking door?”

“A feeling.”

Odd answer. “What kind of feeling?”

She glances over at him; the spoon slips out of her mouth. “Just a feeling.” When she sits at the table, her eyes dart to the empty chair across from her, an invitation to join her. “Now, I’m assuming you woke me up because you needed something. Besides my soul, because I’m not giving you that.”

Jihoon suspects that this human is manipulating him, but he can’t work out how she’s doing it. Or why. So, he sits. “Before we discuss, can you do one thing?”

“Which would be?” She continues munching.

“Give me your hand.”

“We agreed no touching.”

“Only this once and I’m asking your permission.”

She’s still hesitant to comply.

Jihoon holds his hand out across the table, palm up. “I just need to check something.”

Her right hand drops into his as she continues eating. She winces at the warmth, but he closes his eyes.

If there was a demon possessing her, he would have known. He was hoping that her passing through the door would exorcise her just in case. And they wouldn’t have to do this. When he pulses a burning heat through her hand, she jolts back in surprise, a curse on her lips.

Her spoon clatters into the bowl. Immediately, she’s up and running cold water over her hand. “What a reminder that I’m an idiot.” Blisters are forming on her palm. On her drawing hand.

“So… now that it seems you’ve decommissioned me for a while,” Jihoon can hear the loud unspoken curse word she puts there, “what the hell do you want?”

Jihoon turns his body her way, unbothered by her change in tone. “I need a human to do some of my bidding for me.”

“That is the worst idea ever. And you’ve reminded me not to do anything you ask.”

“You haven’t even heard what I’m going to ask of you yet.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll probably be possessed or murdered. Or both. You also ruined my drawing hand.”

“I was checking to see if you were already possessed.”

Frustrated, she finishes her breakfast before returning to her seat. With food, and because she’s usually reasonable, she’s prepared to at least listen. “Explain better.”

Jihoon explains what had happened the night before, excluding his discussion with Seokmin. While he talks, she bandages her hand. He’s mildly impressed at how prepared she seems to be, even having gauze in her kitchen drawers to wrap her hand.

“Are you even listening to me?” Jihoon asks.

She frowns as she tucks the end of the gauze in. “What makes you think that I’m not?”

“Your reaction seems too calm for what I’m telling you.”

She looks him directly in the eye. “You’re telling me that some humans could be possessed by demons and turning the energy of the planet dark. The angels thought the demons were rallying to take over Earth, so they’ve started preparing to bring about the End Days.” Her eyes skim over him. “You appear to be a pretty neutral demon who would be content living on Earth if he could.” She lifts her eyebrows. “That’s the gist, isn’t it?”

Jihoon had noticed that she wanted to say more, but she was reading more into him than he liked. “And you’re not freaked out by it?”

She shrugs. “Disappointed, maybe? That the angels are actually just as set on ruining humankind as demons are. But freaked out? No.” It seems Jihoon needs her to further explain her reaction. “I have a literal demon sitting in my kitchen. One who refuses to leave me alone even though I told you that I am not willing to hand my soul over. And I now realize that possession is taking over my soul without my permission.” A small smile cracks her face. “So, you have the means to take my soul but don’t.” She waves her hand dismissively at his continuous staring. “I have a best friend who believes that aliens are real. This is typical Saturday dinner conversation.”

“Except I’m not talking about imaginary aliens.”

“What? Demons don’t believe in science?”

Jihoon shakes his head in confusion.

“It is statistically impossible that humans are the only living life forms in the universe. Plus, how can you not believe in aliens when you exist?”

“I’m real.”

“What? Angels and demons aren’t told whether aliens exist?”

“Do you get this nonsense from that friend of yours?”

“Insult Hansol one more time and I won’t help you.”

Jihoon’s retort is on his tongue but then hears her words. “You’re going to help me.”

“I’m decommissioned, thanks to you.” She waves her bandaged hand between them. “I gotta fill my time somehow.”

“You are not telling that human anything,” Jihoon argues on their way to meet Hansol at a café.

Jihoon insisted on coming along and she had countered that he could just stay home or go do something else.

“I can’t.” He looked as if he was trying not to sigh. “I have to go with you.”

Something about how being summoned required him to be around her at all times except for in the dead of night. It was why he was able to leave, but had woken her up at 11 AM. As well as needing her help, he’d been getting bored.

“What ridiculous rules,” she scoffed. “Then I’m telling Hansol what you are, because I don’t need him spreading rumours that I have a boyfriend and refuse to tell him about it.”

‘Who cares if he tells your friends a harmless lie?”

“My nosy friends are harmless but annoying. So, Hansol has to know.”

“I’m going to have to exorcise him first.”

“Hansol’s not possessed.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I know my friend.”

“Surprisingly, I don’t trust you just as much as you don’t trust me.”

“I think I’m the one in control here, Demon. I’m pretty sure there are other souls for you to take.”

“You only think you’re in control, human.” Jihoon flags another demon across the street. The woman glances at him, nods her head, but doesn’t stop. “I think I have significantly more power.”

“You say this and yet you’re here with a soul you refuse to take.”

“If you really need to share it with other humans who you think will believe you, I require that they be exorcised first.” He holds his hands up to stop her protest. “For your safety and mine.”

There’s suspicion on her face. Which Jihoon understands. But he needs to maintain some semblance of control. For some reason, the human is right; she has an odd amount of power in this situation.

Hansol is sat in the back corner of the café, which Jihoon recognizes must be their favourite spot. He just senses it when he sees her face light up. That could also be from seeing Hansol and the smell of food, but Jihoon doesn’t think so.

They have to weave through chairs and tables to reach him. As she drops her bag onto the floor, she says, “Sol, hold out your left hand.”

Hansol’s brow furrows, but he does as directed. “Why?” The furrow turns to a full-on frown as Jihoon grabs his hand. When their hands flame red, Hansol jumps back.

With a sigh, she pulls Hansol to the café bathroom.

“What the actual fuck was that?” Hansol demands. He stares at his blistering skin. “What did he do to me? What did you do to me?”

She turns the faucet to cold. Then, she shoves his hand under the water while simultaneously explaining the truth about Jihoon.

Hansol blinks at the onslaught of information. He decides to compartmentalize it and process it later. “And my hand?”

She realizes she doesn’t have any clean bandages to wrap his hand in. “He insisted that he exorcise every human I tell.”

Hansol doesn’t even bother to process that information. He nods. “Makes sense.”

She holds up her right bandaged hand. “And he recruited me to do something for him.”

“And wrecked your drawing hand.”

“Hence why I told you to hold out your left.”

“That also makes sense.”

She pats her pockets for her wallet. “Just gonna run next door to get you actual bandages. Stay here.”

Hansol salutes her and she hurries towards the door. Then she feels an uncomfortable pull above her belly button. She looks down at her waist and then feels something over her shoulder.

Jihoon is there.

With an exasperated look on his face.

“I told you that I can’t leave your side except for in the dead night.”

“Did you do that?”

“No, the summoning that you did did that,” he huffs.

She looks around him at their now unmanned table. “What about Hansol’s things?”

“No one is going to steal anything.”

“How do you know?”

“You can tell whether I’ve rectified your door, yet you can’t tell that the humans here aren’t going to steal your stuff?” This human is a pain in his demon derrière.

“I told you that was a feeling. I don’t get a feeling for humans. They’re complicated and temporary.”

Jihoon doesn’t have time to unpack that sentence. “So, what do you expect me to do?”

Now, they’re blocking foot traffic at the door, and she seems uninclined to move. Jihoon sighs. He tosses a hand back in the direction of the table and she watches him do it. Satisfied, she leads them out the door.

“How do you actually know? You can’t keep telling me it’s ‘just a feeling’.”

“And you can’t keep assuming it’s because I’m possessed. You’ve already done some magic voodoo on me.” The convenience store next door has the bandages she needs and a small washcloth. While Jihoon returns to the table, she pushes back through the washroom door.

Hansol tucks his phone away when she enters. His fingers are turning red, because the water is so cold.

Of course he would follow her directions to a T.

She quickly shuts off the water and uses the washcloth to dab at his blistered hand before wrapping it. “There we go. Now, we match.”

“So many other ways we could be matching besides burned hands by the devil,” Hansol points out.

“Just a demon actually. Not the Devil. And if we could match any other way besides this today, I would have taken it.” She realizes that maybe she should prep Hansol. “Before we go back out there, I warn that he’s a little temperamental, but he doesn’t talk much. Don’t feel intimidated by him. Feel free to leave if you need.” She shrugs as they head back out. “Not that you ever really feel that intimidated by anyone.”

At the table, Jihoon is flipping through her sketchbook. Meaning the demon had gone through her bag to find it and then had the audacity to put it on the table for everyone to see. Out of her periphery, she notices Hansol watching to see how she’ll react.

She decides to ignore Jihoon.

The demon doesn’t look up when they open their laptops and begin discussing all the projects they’re working on, separately and together. Jihoon actually seems to be analyzing every drawing she’s ever done in that sketchbook.

Four hours, two pots of tea, and a sandwich each later, she and Hansol pack up their things. When Jihoon had started tapping his fingers on the table, clearly bored, she’d tossed a pencil at him to draw in the sketchbook. Ever since, he’s been madly scribbling in it, ignoring every conversation that she and Hansol had had. Even the one when Hansol asked her if she’d heard about the pending alien attack he’d heard about and how he thought it was ridiculous.

She still isn’t clear on whether Hansol actually believes in aliens or if he just brings it up to make her laugh.

Outside the café, Hansol asks if she’s coming for dinner that night. “Seungkwan won’t shut up about how you don’t visit anymore.”

She snorts. “He knows I’m still working on my solo show.”

“He said that you should come over and work at the house again.”

“And we,” she motions between them, “agreed that we don’t get anything done if Seungkwan’s around.” She shakes her head with a smile and gives Hansol a one-armed hug in goodbye. “I’ll be over around 7, maybe 8? The boys are coming too, yes?”

“Seungkwan’s making it a big ordeal.” Hansol rolls his eyes affectionately. “But everyone said they’d come. Soonyoung hyung wants input on stage design for his next show, and Jeonghan hyung wants to talk about decorations for the wedding.”

Her eyes narrow. “Do I really want to go then?”

“Yah, if you don’t come, Seungkwan will complain for the next week. Do it for me.” Hansol waves a bandaged goodbye. He even smiles at Jihoon, who looks deadpanned back. “See you both later.”

She leads Jihoon back towards home.

“You sure you two aren’t dating?”

She chuckles. “Even demons don’t believe a girl and boy can be friends? I told you that Hansol and I mainly just work together nowadays.”

“He’s in a lot of your photos.”

“He’s my best friend.”

Jihoon’s mind flicks to the photos in her home. He can pick out all the faces, the pictures with all boys. “And are all the boys in your photos going to be at this party?”

She tips her head as she thinks. “Yes, actually.”

“Are you going to tell all of them who I am?”

She’d momentarily forgotten she couldn’t just leave Jihoon at home. “No, absolutely not.”

“So, what are you going to tell them?”

“Well, if I’m being honest, I was hoping I bored you so much today that you’d leave. But seems like that’s not going to happen.” She glances over her shoulder at the demon. She doesn’t remember when he’d changed outfits. It must have been sometime in the café, but he’s in a plain t-shirt and jeans now, a red hat on his head. “So, if you’re coming, I haven’t worked out what I’m going to say.”

“I can’t leave. I told you that there was something we had to do.”

“So you say.”

“And you seem to know more about it than you let on when I told you.”

“What?”

Jihoon waves the sketchbook in the air. “In here. Your sketches.”

“What about them? It’s not as if I’m drawing possessed humans or something.”

“You draw locations.”

“And?”

Jihoon frowns. He doesn’t trust anything this human says.

They stop in a few stores on the way home, and she can hear and feel Jihoon’s growing impatience. However, Jihoon doesn’t seem too aggressive for a demon, so she pushes her luck. They stop in a flower shop to pick up some flowers. She ducks into the bookstore near her apartment to ask the storeowner if anything interesting has come in. When the older woman points to a few new releases, she purchases two. The last stop is a bakery.

“You are seriously toying with me,” Jihoon grumbles under his breath.

“What are you talking about?”

The baker pretends as if he can’t hear the argument brewing, as he packs two-dozen assorted cupcakes.

“Are you trying to bore me into leaving?” Jihoon demands, his voice rising slightly.

She looks over her shoulder and shakes her head. “Not intentionally. Just always like to pop into these stores. And…” She pays for the cupcakes, smiling reassuringly at the baker hoping that it conveys that she’s not in a toxic relationship. “I always bring these cupcakes to Seungkwan’s. The boys love them.”

They go back to the apartment, bickering about different aspects of her life. From where all the women in her life are to why she is in the city alone to her lack of love life.

But she has a reasonable answer for everything.

“Seriously, Mr. Demon, I don’t know what you’re trying to figure out,” she smiles at the young man who holds the apartment door for her, “but my life is fine.”

“In my millennia of existence,” he watches her struggle to press the elevator button, “no one has a fine life. Something is always wrong.”

“But do humans who are satisfied with their lives,” she stops talking when the elevator opens, but there’s no one there, “summon demons to make it better?” She manages to press the button for her floor. “You’re here by accident, so you can leave whenever you please.”

Jihoon has no response to that. He trails after her. While he had been bickering with the human all the way back, Jihoon had also been watching the humans that were passing. If what he thinks is happening is actually happening, then there should have been signs of it. Also, why wasn’t he made aware of the plan, whatever the plan is?

Human possession isn’t frowned upon, far from it. Demons that can integrate and wreak havoc are praised highly. The reason most demons don’t is because the stakes are high. Consequences involve angels. Getting caught by an angel typically means termination, so only the strongest and boldest bother to try human possession. And with Hell crawling with more cowards than Bravehearts, well, it doesn’t happen often. And for all the evil that Jihoon could sense, there wasn’t anything particularly noticeable.

For all intents and purposes, the area seems just like her life: fine. So, why, as he walks into her apartment, does he have a sinking feeling?

He sits on the floor between the couch and the coffee table and splays her sketchbook open. Meanwhile, she disappears into her bedroom to do whatever humans do when they get home. When she returns, she looks similar to how she did when they stepped out the door earlier. She takes a seat across from him. Her back is to the TV and Jihoon doesn’t know why this makes him more comfortable.

The way she studies him makes him uncomfortable, as if she’s reading him more than she’s letting on. “So, what in the world have you been going on about that you refuse to say in front of other humans, Mr. Demon?”

“I just need to reconfirm. You are unafraid,” he pauses to gauge her reaction, “of me.”

“You don’t seem to want the destruction of humankind, so you seem overall alright. Haven’t possessed or really threatened me. If anything, you’ve now just become mildly annoying.”

That bothers him. Annoying. As if he’s a gnat.

“Why?” She tips her head. “Should I be scared?”

Jihoon takes her in. In whatever way she’s reading him, he can easily read more. In the reflection of the TV, he notices his own eyes going from black to green. The human can definitely see it too, though she hasn’t said anything about it.

“Hm, okay,” he finally says.

She blinks. That hadn’t been the response she was expecting. “Okay what?”

“You’re okay.”

She laughs in disbelief. “For a human, you mean?”

Jihoon nods. “Exactly.”

“Because I’ve decided to not be afraid of you?”

“I don’t like the groveling and the begging. And if they’re not doing that, then they’re demanding. Reasonable humans. I like you guys.”

“Does that include Hansol?”

Jihoon hesitates. “That human is tolerable.”

With a small smile he doesn’t notice, she leans forward and rests her arms on the coffee table. “Well, with that out of the way, what’d you wanna talk about?”

Jihoon immediately turns her sketchbook to face her. He points out the various locations she’d sketched out. At the time, she was working on architectural references. People are her forte, but she’s been wanting to transition to putting people into environments.

She waits for Jihoon to explain before asking her question. “What about them?”

He puts a finger on the sketchbook. “Do you know where exactly these places are?”

“Well, yeah. One of my friends and I went on a drive around the city and out to the suburbs looking for buildings to draw.” She answers the unasked question. “He wanted to photograph some stuff and he has a car.”

“These three,” he now points to an abandoned building, a building that looks a bit like a hospital, and a storefront, “give off…” Jihoon pauses to consider the best way to describe the black smoke coming off these sketches. “Bad energy.”

He cringes internally.

What’s the word he kept hearing in the café?

Vibes.

As if the potential end of humankind and the End Days are just about “vibes”. Hell, Jihoon can’t decide if he prefers the modern age to the last century.

But the human doesn’t cringe. Instead, she’d interpreted his words differently. As an affront on her skill. “You’re saying they suck?”

“No.” Jihoon looks over the sketches again. “Your drawings are actually… quite good,” he mutters. He avoids her eye when she smirks at the compliment. “These three places have bad energy coming off the page. But your other work,” he picks up the sketchbook and thumbs the pages, “nothing. So,” the book lands back on the table open to the original page, “I want to see them.”

“In person?” She takes his impassive expression as a yes. “I can take you to the places, but we’ll need a car.” Her eyebrows rise as an idea strikes. “He posted his photos on his Insta.”

“Insta?” Jihoon repeats.

“Instagram.” She’s on her feet going to her backpack by her desk. “Social media platform, not important.” When she sits back down, she looks at something in her sketchbook. “When did we go?” she mutters.

Jihoon notices the date scribbled in the right corner of each sketch.

He can hear her humming as she searches for whatever she wants to show him.

“Ah! Here!” The phone is then on the table facing him.

Jihoon squints at the screen before realizing he doesn’t need to squint to read what’s on the screen. Bad habits.

“Just swipe to the left to see the other ones. I think the abandoned building is the last photo.”

Her drawings, while not 100% accurate, capture the feeling and the general shapes. She’s simplified them, but Jihoon is impressed that he can associate the sketch and the real life building. His eyes dart to the name of the photographer: xu8.

He decides that can’t be a real name.

From the photos, Jihoon can’t see the evidence of demon activity. But through her sketches, he can. He doesn’t know what that says about the humans who did the work or the medium.

“This xu8 took the photos?”

“His name’s Myungho, but yes. That’s his username.”

Jihoon frowns.

She waves her hand dismissively. “Again, not important.”

“Will this Myungho be at the party tonight?”

“He should be. Do you want to talk to him?”

“Will he have the photos or the camera he used to take these photos with him?”

She reaches for her phone. “I can ask him to bring them.”

“Will he be suspicious?”

“Suspicious? No. Curious, probably. This was three months ago.”

Jihoon already recognizes the signature look of someone ‘texting’: head down, chin nearly to her chest. When she suddenly tosses herp hone behind him on the couch, the demon moves his head to avoid being hit.

“He said he’d bring it.”

Jihoon turns back to her and then back at the phone. “He responded already?”

“Myungho only texts in one worded answers and always has his phone nearby.” She leans back on her palms. “Now, what exactly are we going to tell my friends when you show up?”

part 4

#seventeen #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #lee jihoon scenarios #woozi scenarios #woozi imagines #svt #woozi #lee jihoon #woozi fic

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accidentalshifter · 2 months

Text

[March 10, 2024: Now Entering Mystic Falls, Part Two]

⚜️ TW: My Mikaelsons are a ✨️ problem ✨️ and don't play nice at all. Death, sex, blood, violence, manipulation, and dark themes will probably be present. I don't condone any of the actions taken by these vampires, I'm just recording them. For science. Also warning, I am TLDRing yet again. I don't expect anyone to wanna read this long (almost 9 page) hyper-detailed post. But if you do? I appreciate you.

Shifting Notes:

This is my first [awake, lucid] shift where I am actively piloting my DR-self (Zoey) like a Gundam mech suit. For those who have just stumbled across this post by chance, I encourage you to look at the introduction post I wrote about this DR. It can be found on my pinned intro at the top of my blog.

Astrological timing: It was a new moon in Pisces. Saturn and Neptune was on either side of the moon in the same sign. Pisces is known as a natural dreamer. Saturn and Neptune solidify the dream. An excellent time for shifting.

*In my DR, the Webb estate is a property owned by my DR-self's family.

⚜️ Because I've been binging on TVD lately just to hammer Mystic Falls into my brain, I know that there's a Realty office on the other side of the Square, opposite the Grill. It's a white building with large windows & blinds in front. I experience some de-synch with Z as she runs towards the Square. I notice that Z sticks to the outer edge, across the street from the sidewalk of the Square. Preferring to maneuver past the shoppers & specialty shops rather than take a short cut through the Square itself. Even though it seems like a lazy summer afternoon here in Mystic Falls, I feel...this weird chill crawling up the back of my DR-self's spine whenever I try to suggest that we use the short-cut. There's an implicit sense/knowledge to avoid the Square. Is this a part of my scripted "Slayer Senses" at play going on here???

⚜️ Finally, I make it to Mathewson Realty. Z and I pause in front of the doors. We take a breath in unison. I can feel her vibrating with anxiety over the choice she's making while I vibrate with anticipation. This shared second re-synch's us back together. I'm back to first person perspective again as I walk through the doors of Mathewson Realty.

Observation: It's interesting what actions we both do that de-synchs/re-connects us. I did not plan for my DR to have this kind of thing going on, but I'm enjoying this aspect a little.

⚜️ As soon as I step inside, I'm greeted by a middle-aged woman in a powder pink dress suit, wearing a string of classic white pearls around her neck. She seems to immediately know who I am but cheerfully asks me if I'm "Miss. Webb" and Mr. Pogue's three o clock appointment?". I say yes & she mentions in a funny/joking way that I was cutting it a little late. Also, that she was afraid I wasn't going to show up. I mention (straight-up lie) to her that the Greyhound was running a little late on its schedule and apologized. She waves it off, saying that "It's alright, you're here now, and we're so excited to have a Webb back in town." 😬 'yaaaaaaay,' I think while Z also is in agreement, thinking the same exact thing.

⚜️ This lady whom I assume is the secretary or something offers to personally walk me to Mr. Pogue's office and doesn't wait for me to say yes or no to that offer. I can't tell if this is southern hospitality (Mystic Falls is in Va & I'm from Cali) or if this secretary has ulterior motives? This (internal) question of mine is answered a mere moment later as she walks me down the hallway to Mr. Pogue's office... This lady starts talking about "being a bit of a history buff" and is wondering if she could trouble me with some questions about Will Webb the 1st. There it is. The motive. My DR self decides to take the lead on this question and with some amount of awkwardness tells the lady that she wasn't close with her father and never talked much about their ancestors or history. "So, I'm just as much in the dark as you are about it, haha!" Z adds, chuckling a little. I remain quiet during this, staring at the lady and noticing how she seems kind of disappointed hearing this information. But she quickly regains her cheerful, optimistic attitude just as we make it to Mr. Nathaniel Pogue's office door.

Observation: This lady has to be involved in some sort of Historical Society thing in this town. Keep an eye on her. Also, it's weird and interesting to me that my original idea in my fanfiction that the Webb family was exiled by either the church or Mystic Falls itself is not in play here. Why else would someone be asking about William Webb 1 like this? It's too early to tell right now. Another thing that I noticed was that I was shifting in my CR at 3 am and here in the DR, it's 3 pm. The time is swapped out.

⚜️ The lady knocks on Mr. Pogue's door. She states in a sing-song voice, "Mr. Pogue, Miss Webb is here for your 3~". The office door is opened immediately by Mr. Pogue, a tall and dashing man in a fine gray power suit and a silver-blue silk tie. His skin color is the olive tan you see from people who regularly use a tanning bed and his teeth are way too white when he smiles. It's almost radiant, standing out because of the contrast to his tan. With a quick glance, I think he ascertains that his secretary has winded my DR-self with all her questions (or maybe he just heard us talking in the hall, idk) and tells Z to "not to let Mrs. Annette bother me, she's just nosey. " Saying that, he shoos the lady playfully away while inviting me inside the office. Mrs. Anne gives us both privacy, walking back to the front, as my DR self (and I) step inside Mr. P's office...

⚜️ Pogue tells me to make myself at home. I drop my canvas bag by a chair opposite his desk and sit in it while he browses through a shelf full of files. As he does this, he begins talking about how excited he is to aid me in carrying on the "Webb legacy" & ensure that our properties are maintained/in good hands with me. He then pulls out a thick file that's labeled "Webb" in gold plate and places it in front of me on his desk. He opens it, taking out three packets of paperwork. Mr. Pogue tells me that my DR-self's father (Will Webb the later) owned 3 separate properties; two in Mystic Falls and one within New Orleans. And that the one in New Orleans has some "caveats" to it because of details inside Will's will. Stuff that I'll have to talk about later on with the Webb family lawyers present... But for now, all he needs is my signature on the deeds to transfer the properties over to me. He also needs my initials on the NOLA deed because of those aforementioned caveats...

⚜️ He hands me a fancy gold and black pen to sign the papers with. I begin to make the mistake of signing "Alice Hart" on the papers before realizing what my hand was doing & immediately corrected the A to a Z. Making my signature on the first paper look a little funky. My DR-self signs the papers as "Zoey St. Claire". Pogue raises an eyebrow and says that I'll have to sign these documents in my legal surname of "Zoey Webb". My DR-self is annoyed and tacks on "Webb" at the end of St. Claire, making it look like our name is one of those long "Mary Sue" names you'd see during the haydays of Fanfiction.net. (Re: Ebony Dementia Raven Way) Great, super. Ugh. I'm getting the feeling that both Zoey & I have ✨️ issues ✨️ with our paternal side of the family.

⚜️ As soon as I'm done signing my name on all the paperwork, he takes the documents from me and places them neatly back inside the file labeled "Webb." He congratulates me on my new home ownership (my CR self is currently crying over this because this event is probably the closest I'm ever going to get on owning a house) then assures my DR-self that he'll be there to help me get settled into the neighborhood. "Whatever you need," Mr. Pogue says, "Will was always a good client & I want to do right by his daughter." I feel my DR-self bite down slightly on her tongue as she holds back saying something rude when Pogue says 'his daughter'. Instead, she opts for silence.

⚜️ "Now for the final order of business," Mr. Pogue says, "Will left me something to give to you..." Mr. Pogue pulls out a flat, lacquer box from the front drawer of his desk and slides it over to my DR-self. A letter sealed in a white envelope is taped to the box. It does not seem to be addressed to anyone since it doesn't have Zoey's name on it. The letter is customized (only) with an onyx black wax, monogrammed seal of two W's interlinked with each other. As my DR-self touches the envelope gingerly, Mr. Pogue tells her that William instructed him to tell me that I can't open the letter until I get to the estate. And that Will said he wanted it to be a "surprise" housewarming gift. I influence Zoey to try & open the box but find that it irritatingly will not open. It's sealed shut just like the letter. I influenced Zoey to ask why I need to wait & Mr. Pogue chuckles and smiles with a shrug. "Your father liked to keep his secrets, Miss. Webb. He never told me why." Then he says that my family's lawyers might actually have more information on that than him. That I'll probably need to talk to them in regards to the exact wording on William's will to answer that question.

⚜️ With that, Mr. Pogue gives me a set of 3 keys (and one antique skeleton key) hanging on a lanyard. They're the keys to the Webb estates. I ask about the skeleton key and Mr. Pogue mentions that most of the properties in the "historic district" within Mystic Falls still retain their original architecture & locks due to a policy with the town to preserve all places of historical relevance to Mystic Falls. That the skeleton key is for the doors in the estates with antique locks. And also that if I plan on making any alterations, I need to get approval from the Historic Society of Mystic Falls. And all documents need to be done in triplicates.

Observation: The Historic Society is giving me vibes right now. Here they are already on my shit list 😅.

⚜️ Mr. Pogue says that he knows it's been a long time since I've lived in Mystic Falls and he can imagine that my memory is spotty so he's prepared a map of the town for me that marks where the estates are. He hands me a map with 2 red X's marked on it. One X is by a lake on the outskirts of town, another X is just down the street from the Square. My DR self looks confused and Mr. Pogue clears the air by saying, "Your residence is four blocks down from here, just take Washington St. & keep to the left. You can't miss it." I (CR self) assure him that I totally can but he doesn't hear me. Mr. Pogue looks like he's done with our appointment and is ushering me toward the door. He says, while doing this, that he'll be swinging by later this weekend in order to show me the lakeside cabin. Mr. Pogue ends our appointment by shaking my hand firmly and with a huge smile, exclaims "Welcome back to Mystic Falls, Miss. Webb! We hope you'll feel right at home & don't hesitate to call me if you need anything." Then he says "Property is our passion here at Mathewson" in a rhythmatic way that makes me feel like he's referencing a commercial jingle.

⚜️ Armed with the keys, map, and mystery box (plus my ratty canvas bag), I follow Mr. Pogue out of his office and back to the front of Mathewson Realty. I see "Annette" wave to me and wish me a pleasant weekend as I walk past the front desk she's seated at. My DR-self waves back at her a little nervously while I just...kinda stare at her because she's currently on my "keeping an eye on you" list. The minute I leave Mathewson and am back on the street, I feel my CR-self's body give a "check engine light is on" warning that I need to return to CR or face the consequences. If I stay in this lucid trance state for too long, it tends to stress out my body, leading to zero spoons (energy) the next day. I urge Zoey at that point to book it down the street to get to the Webb estate that was marked on the map.

⚜️ As per the canon, Washington St is one of four streets that creates the Mystic Falls Square. It's the street that Mathewson is on, opposite the Mystic Grill on Clark St. across from the Square. I follow Mr. Pogue's advice and just keep going down Washington with my stuff threatening to slip out of my hands. At the time, neither my CR nor DR-self was thinking about how weird it probably looked to everyone else around me that a new face to town was hauling ass down Washington holding a mysterious box but... I'll probably be dealing with that later.

⚜️ As I cross the street on the corner of Washington and Monticello at the southern edge of Mystic Falls Square, I feel it again. That cold chill crawling up my spine like a pair of eyes are upon me. I stop, pause for a moment at the "4-way crossing" sign on the other side of the street. I pretend like I'm catching my breath (and maybe my DR-self is) and take this second to assess potential danger. As soon as I do, the chill goes away. Another yank from my CR-self's body tells me I got another 10 minutes before I end up in my CR whether I want to or not. Zoey gets her wind back and continues her dash down Washington Street.

Observation: Someone was totally spying on me from Mystic Falls Square. I want to know who it was!

⚜️ Do you remember that house from TVD during Season 2, Episode 17, that Isobel and Katherine broke into because in her words, it was "the nicest house in foreclosure" quote un quote? This one:

Well it turns out that this is the Webb manor estate house that my DR-self (Zoey) has just inherited from William. The only differences I can see between my DR and canon is that it doesn't have the foreclosure sign staked into the lawn. Also, the trees outside of it aren't into their autumn foliage. They're green and thriving. I think whatever time frame I'm in is summer here in Mystic Falls. It feels warm & muggy...

Observation: Going back over that episode after this shift, I discovered something very interesting! The foreclosure sign has a name written on it: Nathan Alexander.

It could just be that my brain remembered this detail and incorporated it into my DR or. OR. It could be that the deviations from the canon in my AU (alternate universe) TVD is that Nathan Alexander was named Nathaniel instead and married/was born to a different family altogether. For the record, I did not plan this in the script. It just happened to be that way.

⚜️ I walk through the front yawn and up the porch steps, feeling like an intruder. My DR self has the same feeling as I do as we reach into our pockets & fish out the keys that Mr. Pogue gave us. I can tell Zoey is not having a good time right now. Her gut is twisting up in knots. Old emotions are hitting her. I think she's remembering her childhood with Will. She's doing a good job at hiding it because I can't see the things she's thinking about in this moment. I just know, based on context, that she's about to confront some very old memories by opening the door to this house. By living in Mystic Falls again. I take over at a certain point, force Zoey to open the door, and go inside. Then, lock it shut behind us. You can't ever be too safe in this town given its residents.

⚜️ The first thing I see is an old oil painting of a man wearing a white ruffle collar and a feathered quill hanging up on the wall. This painting is positioned up the staircase when you first enter the foyer, giving one the very unsettling impression that it's judging your every move in this house. My DR-self stares at it for a second before dropping her canvas bag onto the floor and placing the map and mysterious box on top of a side table in the foyer. It's weird because I know that painting is Will Webb the 1st. But I've seen it before... Not in my DR but in the actual TVD show. So, after I popped out of lucid trance I began searching through the television show to see if I could find that painting. Lo and behold:

Not only does the painting show up in TVD canon in the Lockwood Mansion during the first Miss Mystic Falls dance but also in S4 inside the Salvatore boarding house. It's the same dude with the same face wearing the same ruffled collar. And while I'm sure in the TVD canon show, this is just some dude. In my DR, this painting is of William Webb the 1st.

And I'm so curious as to why his portrait is hanging up in the Lockwood and Salvatore houses...

⚜️ I end up in my CR soon after Zoey drops her canvas bag and puts her stuff down. I'll have to come back here soon to do some big time snooping around the house and maybe go to the Mystic Grill to get more clues. I need to figure out when in the TVD timeline I'm in right now...

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