#and the last four I work in an office as a photo editor

[gnomeskillet]

Seasonal Job, SECURED!

[shiningwonderland]

Reiji Kotobuki (All Star)

Translator: Belen (Twitter: reiharus)

Proofreader: Raine (Twitter: amagiyas)

Editors: Mae (Twitter: itoshikimaegirl), Noemi (Twitter: dreaminbeyond)

Chapter Two — Melancholic, Lonely Boy

Ryuya Hyuga: Hey, what’s up, Haruka? You don’t seem well. Are you tired from being Reiji pushing you around?

Haruka Nanami: No, it’s not that….

It's early November, about two weeks after the unit meeting.

In the end, Kotobuki-senpai took his words back by saying: “Just kidding! Nyahahahaha!”

After all of that, as Kotobuki-senpai’s partner, I’m still in charge of composing his songs.

In the meantime, in order to learn, I've been helping the ever-busy Kotobuki-senpai with his work but....

Haruka Nanami: Kotobuki-senpai is busier than I thought….

He consistently appears in three variety shows and one radio show a week.

He’s starring in three dramas and will soon appear in two more.

There are also interviews and photo shoots in between all of that. Moreover, weekly and fashion magazines, as well as other serializations.

On top of that, he also helps out his family who runs a lunch box shop.

It’s quite tough.

It’s very difficult to meet up at every location to make deliveries.

And in the midst of it all, I’m still composing the unit song.

No matter where I look, things are busy, but Kotobuki-senpai is always making preparations in between locations.

I have to do my best too!

Ryuya Hyuga: Yeah, his adaptability is very effective. He’s useful everywhere, has been in the business for a while, and has a lot of connections.

Haruka Nanami: Yes.

Ryuya Hyuga: Well, that usually means being a jack of all trades and master of none. As a student, he would get good grades but didn’t have a specific selling point.

Ryuya Hyuga: His way of life is all scattered about, he acts like everybody’s friend…. I started thinking that he was a fool….

Ryuya Hyuga; I think that even if it limits your options, it's better to find your main skill.

Hyuga-sensei sighs as if he's worried.

Haruka Nanami: Hyuga-sensei… you knew Kotobuki-senpai during his student days?

Ryuya Hyuga: Hm? Yeah. At that time, Saotome Academy was already a very important training school for the office. Even after graduating, students still dropped by every now and then.

Ryuya Hyuga: I was also his instructor during the Master Course.

Haruka Nanami: What? Really?

Ryuya Hyuga: Yeah. He caused so much trouble. It was a real pain. He was friendly but had a habit of tagging along and not listening to what people had to say. He was selfish and clingy. Really, what a troublemaker.

Hehe, even as he says that, he looks happy remembering it.

Haruka Nanami: Ah, then, Sensei. Do you know Kei Otonami and Hibiki Katagiri?

Ryuya Hyuga: Yes, they were Reiji’s friends of course. They were always together and were known as "the foul-mouthed one," "the one with a bad personality," and "the dumb one."

The foul-mouthed one was Kei, the one with a bad personality was Hibiki, and the dumb one was Reiji.

Hyuga-sensei explains all of it meticulously.

It feels very refreshing to hear about a Kotobuki-senpai that I don’t know.

I knew he was older than me and had accumulated a lot of experience but....

The more I learn about him, the more I want to know.

Ryuya Hyuga: So, how do you know those guys?

Haruka Nanami: Actually, we met last month after a recording. They were having a meeting next to Senpai’s dressing room.

Ryuya Hyuga: I see. They seem to be doing fine.

Hyuga-sensei's eyes narrow.

Ryuya Hyuga: Those two were excellent. It’s a shame that incident happened, otherwise the four would still be at our agency....

Haruka Nanami: Incident?

After my question, Hyuga-sensei looks like he's said too much.

What incident did he mean?

And "the four" he just mentioned....

Haruka Nanami: So, Hyuga-sensei, about that….

Ryuya Hyuga: Nah, it’s nothing, please forget it.

Hyuga-sensei waves his hands in front of his face as if a little panicked.

Haruka Nanami: Ah… Okay….

Ryuya Hyuga: By the way, didn’t you come to pick up Reiji’s documents? You should get going. At this rate, you'll be late.

Haruka Nanami: Ah, that’s right!

Today, Kotobuki-senpai has been doing magazine shoots since morning.

Since he's busy with that, I made a promise to come pick up some materials from the office and bring them back for him.

I’ll be late if I don’t hurry!

Ryuya Hyuga: Hurry and go! Your partner is waiting for you all by himself.

Haruka Nanami: Right, I’m heading off now!

Ryuya Hyuga: And don’t spoil him too much! He’ll get carried away.

Haruka Nanami: Yes!

Hyuga-sensei sends me off as I rush out of the office with the documents.

Haruka Nanami: Ha… I made it somehow.

When I arrive at the studio, Kotobuki-senpai is still in the middle of shooting.

Cameraman: Well, Rei-chan, can you do three more poses?

Reiji Kotobuki: Eh? I’m tired~ Hold on, hold on~

Kotobuki-senpai pretends to collapse and people in the studio laugh.

Cameraman: Okay, how about we take a little break and then shoot the last three poses?

At those words, the studio collectively relaxes and the tired staff members sigh.

Haruka Nanami: Haha, that's just like Kotobuki-senpai.

Not much time has passed since I became his assistant.

After seeing him at so many locations, I've begun to notice how Kotobuki-senpai worries about everyone on site.

He’s always taking the initiative to make sure both the staff and entertainers can perform in their best condition.

If everyone is tired, he casually asks for a break.

That's one of Kotobuki-senpai's amazing traits that you wouldn't notice without paying attention.

But….

I’m still concerned about his words from last month: “You shouldn’t partner with me.”

Was that really a joke?

Reiji Kotobuki: Alrighty, Rei-chan is all charged up! Let’s do our best one last time, EY EY OOOH~!!

They fix his makeup, the stylist checks him over again, and the lights are adjusted.

It only takes Kotobuki-senpai standing in front of the background for a pleasant wave of excitement to run through the studio.

Reiji Kotobuki: Now, take a photo of me looking handsome.

Cameraman: But doesn’t Rei-chan always look handsome?

Reiji Kotobuki: Ah, that’s right, I forgot.

Cameraman: Okay, let’s go.

With every click of the shutter, Kotobuki-senpai changes his poses and facial expression, turning towards the camera.

Cameraman: Yes, this is good.

Cameraman: Could we have your eyes look away from the camera? You might lose some appeal, though.

Reiji Kotobuki: Well, that could be okay for the concept we're going for. It'll be good if we introduce a coolness factor. How about this sidelong glance?

Cameraman: Ah, that’s good, let’s go with that.

They check the photos on the monitors and make quick corrections.

Seeing him like this, Kotobuki-senpai looks so cool….

He’s usually fun and gentle, but he’ll make firm decisions when it’s important.

Being with him is so much fun and I’ve learned a lot. I’d like to stay as Kotobuki-senpai’s partner forever.

I really want to improve at having conversations and communicating with the staff, so I’ll follow his example.

I continue watching Kotobuki-senpai with these thoughts in my mind, but then I get the impression that he sees me and smiles at me.

What’s this, my heart is pounding….

And my face seems hot…. Did I catch a cold?

I'm just putting my hand against my forehead when I hear the cameraman’s resounding voice.

Cameraman: Well, okay. That’s a wrap! Rei-chan, good job.

Reiji Kotobuki: Good job, everyone!

Kotobuki-senpai bows his head quickly and the staff applauds the successful end of the photo shoot.

Haruka Nanami: Good morn—

Reiji Kotobuki: Morning! Huh? Have you caught a cold? Your face is all red.

Once the shooting is finished, Senpai greets me by waving his hands and coming over.

Haruka Nanami: No, I guess it’s different from a cold….

Reiji Kotobuki: Don’t tell me you’re crushing on me after seeing how cool I looked back there~?

Haruka Nanami: What? T-that’s….

Reiji Kotobuki: Nah, just joking, joking. But since you were here all this time, did you see that heated gaze?

Kotobuki-senpai smirks.

Ehh, it seems he was watching me.

Haruka Nanami: S-sorry… I was curious. It was wonderful.

Reiji Kotobuki: What are you apologizing for? Ah, by the way, you went for that errand, right? Nice job.

Ah, that’s right.

Haruka Nanami: I’m sorry for being late.

I hurriedly bow.

Reiji Kotobuki: It’s alright; you made it in time. It’s just that because you’re always so fast, I was surprised that you took your time.

Reiji Kotobuki: Could it be that a certain somebody at the office was speaking ill of me?

Kotobuki-senpai looks at me with a grin.

Select the phrase!

S-sorry. But… (+20 Love)

Haruka Nanami: S-sorry. But… it wasn't anything bad. Rather, Hyuga-sensei told me some cute things about you and I couldn’t help it….

Reiji Kotobuki: Is that so? Well~ I have a good relationship with Ryuya-senpai, yup!

Haruka Nanami: You seem really close.

Reiji Kotobuki: But Ryuya-senpai is not honest at all~ I’m sure he kept saying stuff like how I was disobedient and annoyingly clingy, right?

Haruka Nanami: Yes. ... Waaah!

I realize what I've said after nodding.

Reiji Kotobuki: Pffft, hahahahaha!

I said the truth without realizing it!

Reiji Kotobuki: Yeeeah Kouhai-chan, you really can’t lie, hm. Very cute.

Kotobuki-senpai looks at me, amused.

This is… so embarrassing….

Reiji Kotobuki: Well, Ryuya-senpai knows lots about me after all….

Haruka Nanami: I heard you were in the Master Course together.

Reiji Kotobuki: That's right. At that time, Ryuya-senpai had just debuted and we would hang out and have fun together.

Reiji Kotobuki: But, of course, he also took care of me. He used to give me advice and cheered me up when I was feeling down.

Haruka Nanami: I see.

Kotobuki-senpai talks about his memories.

Staff: Kotobuki-san, since we’re done here, could we please ask you to leave?

It seems like so much time has passed that a staff member had to ask us to leave.

Kotobuki-senpai replies airily and starts packing up.

Haruka Nanami: Senpai, here are the materials.

I hand Kotobuki-senpai the script I picked up at the office.

Reiji Kotobuki: Thanks. Let’s see… In the next “Welcome to Idol Las Vegas!”.... WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!

Kotobuki-senpai screams after flipping through the pages of the script.

Haruka Nanami: What, what’s wrong?

Reiji Kotobuki: WHAT’S THIS? “Idol Singing Competition! Shining Agency Battle: Reiji Kotobuki vs. Ai Mikaze”!!

He spreads the script wide open in front of me.

I take a look and it seems like they have to prepare new songs and compete with them.

Haruka Nanami: This is tough…. And you’re both in the unit song for the Christmas live.

Reiji Kotobuki: Well there’s that, but that’s not the worst part.

Reiji Kotobuki: My opponent is Ai Mikaze! The guy that people call “machine-like perfect,” that Ai-Ai!!

Reiji Kotobuki: And it’s one-on-one, so there’s no way out…. Do you know what this means?!

Haruka Nanami: But your singing is very good too... and your performances are gorgeous. I guess even I’d like to see it….

Kotobuki-senpai interrupts me and complains while making a very serious face.

Reiji Kotobuki: Ah~ You don't understand. There’s also the Song Festival in March, right?

Reiji Kotobuki: The result of the competition could greatly affect our chances at the festival. It’s a pretty big problem.

Haruka Nanami: Thinking about it like that, it really is a lot of pressure….

Reiji Kotobuki: And it would probably be more exciting for the audience if I were to lose on the show.... What a tough decision.

Kotobuki-senpai is always thinking about the big picture and how to act in accordance with that. He doesn't think about himself, but rather how he can benefit the most people.

Haruka Nanami: It's just the program plan, so maybe Mikaze-senpai will attend with the intention of enjoying himself?

Reiji Kotobuki: It’s Ai-Ai we’re talking about! Always perfect, always full power! He'll come to win against me for sure.

Haruka Nanami: That’s true, Mikaze-senpai is very rational so he will come with a strategy that allows him to win.

I wanted to make Senpai feel better even if it was just a bit, but it looks like it backfired.

Kotobuki-senpai closes the script.

Reiji Kotobuki: There’s no chance.... Unless we manage to turn the tables while keeping the flavor of the variety show, this is impossible.

Kotobuki-senpai holds his head and shakes it left to right.

Staff: Um, Kotobuki-san… the next session is about to begin soon so….

And so, we are driven out of the studio by the staff.

Reiji Kotobuki: Well, we’ve got a lot of time until the next job begins, what should we do~?

I look at the schedule. The next job, which begins at night, is a recording at a music TV station.

Kotobuki-senpai heads towards the parking lot.

Haruka Nanami: Oh, Senpai, you came by car today?

Reiji Kotobuki: Oh yeah, I returned to my family's home last night and came straight from there. Isn’t it cute?

Kotobuki-senpai points to his car.

It’s a lovely car with a round shape.

If I had to compare it to anything, it looks like an insect, a beetle....

The bright green car is parked as if waiting for its master.

Kotobuki-senpai stops to think for a moment beside the car and taps it.

Reiji Kotobuki: Ah… If you’d like, we can go early and listen to your song. We’ve been neglecting it recently, huh?

Haruka Nanami: Oh, is that all right?

Reiji Kotobuki: It’s a bit sudden, but do you have a music player?

Haruka Nanami: Yes, I carry it around so that we can listen at any time.

Reiji Kotobuki: Okay, okay. That’s the spirit. This is perfect for me too, so let's head there together by car.

Kotobuki-senpai takes the car keys from his pocket and unlocks it.

Reiji Kotobuki: Alright, get in, get in~~

Haruka Nanami: Y-yes!

Kotobuki-senpai opens the passenger door.

I’m a bit nervous because it’s my first time riding in his car.

Reiji Kotobuki: Come on, don’t be nervous. I’m pretty good at driving. Or should I escort you?

Haruka Nanami: Ah, that’s…

I'm really just confused because I'd never ridden a car alone with a man, but like he's unsatisfied with my reaction....

Reiji Kotobuki: Now, my lady. Welcome to my car. I’ll become your feet and take you anywhere you desire.

He gently places one hand on my waist and takes my hand with the other to gently guide me sit down on the passenger seat.

This behavior makes my heart race all of a sudden.

Haruka Nanami: T-thank you very much….

Kotobuki-senpai closes the door and sits down in the driver’s seat.

Reiji Kotobuki: Don’t forget to put on your seat belt. All aboard~!! Beep, beep!!

Kotobuki-senpai starts the engine and steps on the accelerator pedal.

Like he said, he's very good at driving and often overtakes other cars.

It’s said that men who drive are cool, but this seems to be a different charm than usual.

Reiji Kotobuki: Really though, it’s been a while since I’ve had a girl in my passenger seat~ And such a cute one too! I can show off my skills. So, how’s my driving?

Haruka Nanami: I think you’re very skilled. You're also careful. It feels gentle.

Reiji Kotobuki: ... Kouhai-chan, uhm…. Thanks. I’ll just say thanks for now.

Reiji Kotobuki: But you know, don't you think you should butt in there? Don't you want to know?

Haruka Nanami: …?

Reiji Kotobuki: The…. Look, what I said about the passenger seat before.

Haruka Nanami: Ooh, about how it’s been a while since you’ve had a woman here?

Haruka Nanami: I was surprised since you are such a wonderful person.

Reiji Kotobuki: Didn’t see that one coming… haha. What a shame. It’s usually….

Haruka Nanami: What?

Reiji Kotobuki: What kind of people I’ve given a ride to…. What kinds of places we went to…. What kinds of things we did....

Kotobuki-senpai turns his left hand and points behind the passenger's seat.

Reiji Kotobuki: Stuff like that, aren’t you curious? Not even a bit?

Kotobuki-senpai looks me in the eye, his gentle smile making my heart skip a beat.

Haruka Nanami: S-Senpai!! W-watch the road!

Reiji Kotobuki: Yes, yes. Sorry, sorry. I guess you’re pure~ I wonder where I put my purity~

Reiji Kotobuki: By the way, since romance is forbidden for idols, the only women who have been in that seat are my mother and my big sister.

Saying that happily, he looks forward and continues to drive.

That behavior and the way he acted as my escort before, it all comes so naturally to him….

Before me is a senpai I don’t know. It makes me feel a bit of a gap in our maturity, as if somebody like me can't address him properly.

Senpai’s past. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious.

When I become aware of that, I feel a slight pain in my chest.

Reiji Kotobuki: Haaa…. But still…. The song battle against Ai-Ai....

Kotobuki-senpai sighs as he remembers.

He detests the idea of competing against Mikaze-senpai that much.

I have to act as his partner and encourage him.

Select the phrase!

Since it’s Kotobuki-senpai, it’ll be fine! (+30 Love)

Haruka Nanami: It’s you we’re talking about, so it’ll be alright. I’m sure you can do it!!

Reiji Kotobuki: Wha...? What makes you think that? My opponent is Ai-Ai! The one who can sing almost anything from enka to rap!

Haruka Nanami: Oh, is that so?

What a catchphrase!

Reiji Kotobuki: Really, it may sound like I’m exaggerating, but his repertoire is enormous and his technique is ultra-leveled.

Haruka Nanami: But you have your wonderful expressiveness! I love your songs!!

Reiji Kotobuki: That so? That’d be great and all but aren’t you spoiling me? Ryuya-senpai's gonna scold you.

Kotobuki-senpai looks at me happily.

Haruka Nanami: No, rather than a compliment, it’s how I truly feel.

Reiji Kotobuki: Thanks! If it’s Kouhai-chan saying it, it must be true, right? Alright! I’ll do my best so that I can show you something good!

Haruka Nanami: Yes! I support you!!

Reiji Kotobuki: Okaaay then, let’s defeat Ai-Ai! EY EY OOOH!! OUCH!!

Kotobuki-senpai raises his fist and hits the roof of the car.

Haruka Nanami: A-are you alright?!

He shakes his hand to make the pain go away like nothing happened.

That sounded very painful, but it seems he’s okay now!

We arrive at the TV station safely and are able to use the dressing room since it's open.

Haruka Nanami: Okay, let me prepare.

I turn on my laptop and start the music production software.

Haruka Nanami: Please listen.

Kotobuki-senpai nods and I play the demo.

SONG: "QUARTET NIGHT" (S RANK)

Reiji Kotobuki: BRILLIANT!! Wonderful!!

Kotobuki-senpai raises his hands and stands up from the chair.

Haruka Nanami: T-thank you very much.

Reiji Kotobuki: It keeps getting better and better! At this rate, you’re going to knock me out!!

Haruka Nanami: Yes.

I’m glad, it seems like it was a big success!

After listening to the song, I head to a studio with Kotobuki-senpai for some recording.

It's there I recognize two figures across the hallway….

Reiji Kotobuki: Oops, I’m seeing you guys a lot lately…. Could it be that you keep following me? It's hard being famous, huh~

Otonami-san and Katagiri-san.

Hibiki Katagiri: That’s some confidence. I’m jealous of such positivity. Your little junior looks surprised too.

Haruka Nanami: Otonami-san, Katagiri-san, good morning.

Their gazes silently collide and I feel stuck between them.

Although I greet them, they act as if I'm invisible.

Kei Otonami: After the other day, I looked you up.

Ignoring my greeting, Otonami-san speaks to me.

Haruka Nanami: What….

Kei Otonami: Although you passed the graduation audition at Saotome Academy without a partner, you have been unable to debut for a year and a half. If you don’t produce good results at the Christmas Live and the Music Festival, you will be fired.

Haruka Nanami: ….

It’s the truth, but once again my mind goes blank and I can’t say anything.

Kei Otonami: Even so, you seem very relaxed, as if you have zero problems.

Haruka Nanami: S-sorry….

Reiji Kotobuki: Wait, wait, are you bullying my Kouhai-chan?

Otonami-san stares quietly after being interrupted by Kotobuki-senpai.

His eyes are cold and sharp, as if they could stab their opponent at any moment.

I have never seen eyes that could send chills down a spine like that.

Kei Otonami: I’m not. I just stated the truth. Was it wrong?

Hibiki Katagiri: But you sound so scary…. Merciless as usual. By the way, did you get the script?

Reiji Kotobuki: Script…? Which one are you talking about? I have so much work I get a lot of them.

Hibiki Katagiri: Of course the one for “Welcome to Idol Las Vegas!! Idol Singing Battle!”

Reiji Kotobuki: Could it be…?

Kotobuki-senpai pulls the script from his bag.

When I look at the script from beside Kotobuki-senpai, I see the names of Otonami-san and Katagiri-san written in the credits.

Producer, Hibiki Katagiri.

Music director, Kei Otonami….

This….

Reiji Kotobuki: Well, this new form of bullying isn’t very mature. Is it that fun to tease me?

Hibiki Katagiri: What? We’re just interested in Ai Mikaze. You think so too, right? That Ai Mikaze and Aine are related in some way.

Reiji Kotobuki: ….

Kotobuki-senpai falls silent.

Related? What does that mean?

Haruka Nanami: Um….

Kei Otonami: Kotobuki-kun, have you explained to her properly? About what kind of person you are, and how you managed to stay alive in this world. Not saying anything is basically deception. It’s like saying you won’t lose if you don’t fight.

Reiji Kotobuki: Is that so? All that talk about undeserved victories, not that I dislike them.

Kei Otonami: I do. It seems like we don’t have the same opinions on life.

Then, Otonami-san turns to me.

Kei Otonami: It would be better not to choose a coward like him as a partner. This is my warning to you.

Haruka Nanami: I… don’t think that way!

I deny his statement with a loud voice and as firmly as possible.

Kotobuki-senpai looks at me, surprised.

But I can’t keep quiet anymore!

Haruka Nanami: K-Kotobuki-senpai is always kind and takes care of everyone! He always says what he has to. He’s not a coward!

After that, everyone goes quiet for a bit.

Kei Otonami: You shouldn’t speak like that when you don’t know a thing.

Haruka Nanami: It’s true I barely know Senpai, but....

Kei Otonami: Why do you think he hasn’t had a partner for so long?

Otonami-san asks abruptly.

Haruka Nanami: That’s….

I’m desperately trying to think of an answer....

Haruka Nanami: Sorry, I don’t know.

Finding the answer to this isn’t easy, since I don’t have enough information.

I try to think about it but I can’t come up with anything.

Kei Otonami: You understand nothing. He’s a man that lives without a care in the world. And you don’t get that you’re in a blessed position too….

Reiji Kotobuki: Stop right there! This is between you and me, leave her alone.

Haruka Nanami: Kotobuki-senpai….

Reiji Kotobuki: If I haven’t told her anything, it’s because I did not want to get her involved. I’ll explain everything properly to her from now on.

Otonami-san stares at us for a while.

And then walks away without saying anything.

Hibiki Katagiri: Hey, Kei, wait! You too, try to understand it a little.

Katagiri-san sighs as he says that.

Reiji Kotobuki: Even if I tried to understand, it wouldn’t make a difference, would it?

Hibiki Katagiri: That attitude only provokes him.... I’ll leave the recording to you. You have a chance to fight with Aine again.

Reiji Kotobuki: ….

Hibiki Katagiri: Sorry about that. Please don’t worry about it.

After saying that to me, Katagiri-san follows after Otonami-san.

Reiji Kotobuki: Why has it come to this…. You guys aren’t the only ones who are in pain.

Kotobuki-senpai leans against the wall quietly.

Reiji Kotobuki: I’m sorry for getting you involved again! Seriously those two, always with those indiscriminate attacks.

Haruka Nanami: I’m fine, um….

Assistant Director: Kotobuki-san, rehearsal is about to start! Are you ready?

Just as I'm trying to reply, the AD comes for Kotobuki-senpai.

Amidst the fight, time apparently passed quickly.

Reiji Kotobuki: I will explain properly when this is over. Also, thank you for defending me, it made me happy.

Kotobuki-senpai smiles a bit and heads to the studio.

Then, as expected from Kotobuki-senpai, he finishes recording as if nothing had happened.

Haruka Nanami: Good job! Are you feeling alright?

Reiji Kotobuki: Yes, good job! It’s not so much that I can't handle it. Want to go out for dinner?

Kotobuki-senpai claps his hands together.

I was going to decline, as the incident from before made me quite tired….

Reiji Kotobuki: Ah, by the way! Might as well bring you to a nice place! I’ve been there recently, it was pretty good.

Haruka Nanami: If it's alright, I’ll be happy to go!

If it makes Kotobuki-senpai so cheerful, I’ll follow him anywhere.

Reiji Kotobuki: Yaaay!! Let’s go, go!

Kotobuki-senpai takes my wrist and we head to the parking lot.

Reiji Kotobuki: Okay, now, cheeers~~

Kotobuki-senpai takes me to a wonderful place for important people in the industry.

At the entrance of the underground parking lot there is a strong guard, as you can’t enter without a membership card or a referral.

He's allowed in just by saying his name and showing his face.

Senpai’s influence can be felt from how politely they treat him.

You can enter directly by taking an elevator from the basement, so that you don’t have to mix with the general public.

We contacted them in advance, so they lead us to a private room as soon as we arrive. The food and drinks have been prepared as well.

Reiji Kotobuki: So, do you like it? Feel free to eat to your heart’s content, it’s my treat.

Haruka Nanami: Yes! Thank you so much! I didn’t know there were places like this.

It's like we’re in another world.

The atmosphere and level are just so different from the places I frequent, everything feels so new to me.

I guess these are the so-called “industry things” that people talk about.

Reiji Kotobuki: Hahaha, that’s a nice reaction. You’ve had your mouth open the whole time.

When Kotobuki-senpai points that out, I close my mouth instinctively.

Reiji Kotobuki: Bringing you here was a good idea. So let me surprise you a bit more~

He presses a button on the wall….

Haruka Nanami: Waaah!

The large monitor in the room turns on and familiar images start flowing on the screen.

Haruka Nanami: There’s karaoke too!

The latest music videos are playing on the screen.

Reiji Kotobuki: Yeaaah! That’s right! Surprised? Since Kouhai-chan likes music so much... And on top of that, we can practice for the singing battle!

Kotobuki-senpai reaches for the hidden storage in the wall. He takes out a microphone and maracas, then stands by.

Reiji Kotobuki: It’s been a while since I’ve done karaoke~ So, what do you want to sing?

Haruka Nanami: Wha—me? But that’s….

Reiji Kotobuki: Eeeh, but this is for you, right? Come on, come on.

Kotobuki-senpai shoves the microphone at me.

Well, it seems like I can’t refuse.

What should I sing….

Select the phrase!

Idol song (+15 Love)

Haruka Nanami: Then, of course it’ll be….

Since I’m with Kotobuki-senpai, I choose a classic idol song.

Reiji Kotobuki: AN IDOL SONG IS COOOOOOMING!

He shakes the maracas as the intro starts.

Reiji Kotobuki: GO! GO! GO! GO! KOUHAI-CHAAAAN!!

Waaah, he's even doing calls, thank you so much.

And when I finish singing….

Reiji Kotobuki: Kouhai-chan, that was incredibly cute! How about debuting as a unit with me?

He snaps his fingers and winks at me.

Reiji Kotobuki: Kouhai-chan, you’re so good~!

Haruka Nanami: Aah, thank you very much.

Reiji Kotobuki: Alright, now it’s my turn~

Kotobuki-senpai plays the song.

A sparkling intro emanates from the speaker.

Reiji Kotobuki: You must not fall in love with me, my lady.

Kotobuki-senpai squeezes the microphone and starts singing the idol song.

He performs perfectly as if in front of a camera.

Even the words at the beginning sounded like a part of the actual song.

Haruka Nanami: Whoaaa….

Kotobuki-senpai is sparkling and dazzling…. And having so much fun as well.

He’s singing to me alone under the glittering mirror ball.

I forget to shake the maracas because I can’t stop staring at him.

Reiji Kotobuki: Thank you!!

He throws in a blown kiss at the end.

E-enchanting!

Haruka Nanami: K-Kotobuki-senpai, you were so cool!! Please sing some more!!

Reiji Kotobuki: Ah, really? You're making me blush~

He chooses the next song.

The next one is a very sweet love song.

Reiji Kotobuki: Hold me… tonight.

Murmuring that, Kotobuki-senpai’s mellow voice fills the room.

He gives me a gentle shoulder embrace to go with it.

Soon after that, he begins singing, and I can hear his breaths.

Accompanied by a heart-wrenching gaze.

Him fixing his eyes on me makes my body heat up….

Reiji Kotobuki: What’s up, your face is all red. Can it be… you’re embarrassed?

When he finishes singing, Kotobuki-senpai looks at my face as if suspecting something.

Haruka Nanami: No, it’s just…. You’re lovely….

Reiji Kotobuki: Really? Well then, tonight I’ll do a recital just for you.

Kotobuki-senpai then gives me my very own recital and sings until I'm satisfied.

Aaah, this is true bliss!

After singing for a while, we eat dinner while making small talk.

I wonder how much time has passed….

Suddenly the conversation stops and silence follows for a bit.

Reiji Kotobuki: Well… about what happened before.

As if he has been looking for a chance to speak, Kotobuki-senpai makes up his mind and says that.

What happened before….

Haruka Nanami: The things Otonami-san said?

Kotobuki-senpai nods at my question.

Reiji Kotobuki: Yes…. Have you ever heard about an idol disappearance incident?

Haruka Nanami: No, I haven't.

Reiji Kotobuki: I see. The thing is, it happened long ago: a new idol from the Shining Agency disappeared….

Kotobuki-senpai tells me the story.

Long ago, an idol that had graduated from Saotome Academy disappeared while he was filming a movie.

He was an excellent idol and seemed to be very involved with his work.

Apparently the role he was playing was very mentally demanding. It was said that might have been the cause of the disappearance.

Although it was reported in the news once, it’s treated as a taboo topic in the entertainment industry because no-one found out the truth, and it faded away.

It seems like very few people know about it nowadays.

Such a thing happened….

Haruka Nanami: Okay, but what does it have to do with what Otonami-san said…?

Reiji Kotobuki: That idol was my best friend, and also his partner.

What….

I look at him, shocked.

Haruka Nanami: But… what does his disappearance have to do with you?

At my question, Kotobuki-senpai lowers his eyes.

Reiji Kotobuki: He made a phone call… right before he disappeared….

He says that as if he has decided to open up.

Reiji Kotobuki: I…. Right at that time I was doing my debut audition…. I couldn't pick up the phone…. No, it wasn’t just that I couldn't pick it up. I threw myself into my own things. I didn’t realize that my best friend was hurting. Even though he called several times, my top priority was myself back then. Even though he was going through so much, I didn't notice. I did something terrible, and by the time I realized, he wasn’t there anymore… I couldn’t help him at all....

Kotobuki-senpai’s expression becomes clouded.

So that’s what happened….

Otonami-san left the agency out of remorse for not being able to help his partner.

Katagiri-san had an argument with the president and quit as well. He also stopped composing.

Reiji Kotobuki: Even now, those two do not think well of me surviving in the agency. There’s no helping it if they think I sacrificed my best friend for my own success.

He bites his lip.

So that’s… what happened….

The disappearance of his best friend….

I look at Kotobuki-senpai's face as he's facing down, looking pained.

Haruka Nanami: Could that person be Aine-san?

Reiji Kotobuki: Yes, Aine Kisaragi.

He then teaches me how you write it with the kanji for “February” and “love sound.”

Ah… but….

Haruka Nanami: What did they mean by you can “fight with Aine”?

I remember Katagiri-san’s words.

Reiji Kotobuki: Ai-Ai looks exactly like Aine. The face, the voice….

Haruka Nanami: What? Mikaze-senpai?

Reiji Kotobuki: I was surprised when I saw Ai-Ai for the first time. But they’re not the same age, and I don't think they can be brothers…. Ai-Ai refrained from media exposure until not so long ago as well, so they didn’t know about him either. I guess they’re curious since Ai-Ai and me were announced to be in the same unit at that Christmas Live press conference. They don’t know anything about Ai-Ai, so I think they came back because they think that there’s a connection.

Haruka Nanami: And they made it so that you would sing with him?

Reiji Kotobuki: Probably, and they’ll get a better chance of getting in contact with Ai-Ai as well.

So Otonami-san and Katagiri-san made a plan like that.

Reiji Kotobuki: And also, since Ai-Ai looks like Aine, by making me confront him they force me to not forget about the past.

Haruka Nanami: But I don’t think it was all Kotobuki-senpai’s fault.

You can't erase the past, but I think it’s sad to look for people to blame, or to blame each other for it.

Reiji Kotobuki: Well, that’s the story. I’m sorry for not having told you before. Must have made you feel bad.

Kotobuki-senpai raises his face as he says that.

Reiji Kotobuki: Do you understand? That's why I said it'd be better to not have me as a partner. I’m a bad person.

Haruka Nanami: ….

That’s not true.

I want to tell him, but because I feel like I can’t comfort him, I instinctively shut my mouth.

Because he's hurting and blaming himself that much even now.

Reiji Kotobuki: I don’t want to hurt anyone. I’m scared of getting too involved. I guess it’s easier said than done. My Kouhai-chan’s life is on the line at the moment. That responsibility weighs very heavily on me.

Kotobuki-senpai stares at me.

Reiji Kotobuki: I was happy that you chose me as your partner, but I want you to be happy. It'd be better for you to break your partnership with such a weak and irresponsible man.

If I don’t respond to that somehow, he'll go away.

That thought makes me reply honestly from my heart.

Select the phrase!

I'll accept everything (+15 Love)

Haruka Nanami: I'll accept everything. Of course, there are a lot of things I don’t know yet…. But I want to understand you, little by little. That's why I want to spend more time with you. I want you to sing my songs. My partner is the person right in front of me. It's you, Kotobuki-senpai.

If I can’t know everything about the past, I want to believe in the person in front of me in the present.

Reiji Kotobuki: It seems like you won’t back down no matter what I say. Really, Kouhai-chan is more honest and stubborn that I thought. It’s innocent in a cute way, like a child that doesn’t know anything. But you have to know that it’s dangerous too. What kind of things can you accept? What kind of me? … Let me teach you.

Kotobuki-senpai, who's sitting next to me, holds my shoulders and pushes me down to the sofa.

Haruka Nanami: …!

Even though he only pins my wrists down lightly, I can't move an inch.

Haruka Nanami: Senpai!

Resistance is futile. His face gets closer and closer, to the point that our lips are about to touch.

Haruka Nanami: No!

I close my eyes instinctively.

Reiji Kotobuki: See? I told you not to say those things so easily.

When I open my eyes, I see his usual kind smile.

Reiji Kotobuki: Did I scare you? I’m sorry. But you know, be careful not to step on things that shouldn’t be stepped on. Was that helpful to you in some way?

Kotobuki-senpai gently helps me get up and smooths out the wrinkles in my clothes.

Haruka Nanami: Yes….

I'm surprised the usual atmosphere is back, but now I’m a little relieved.

I wonder if he was actually angry.

But I feel there is a gap between us.

Maybe it’s always been there and I just didn’t notice….

It seemed like he was warning me not to get any closer.

Reiji Kotobuki: But whoa, look at the time! If it gets later and someone sees us it’ll become a scandal! Alright, let’s head home.

Kotobuki-senpai pats my back as he says so.

We leave the building and get into his car.

Senpai drives quietly while I watch the night passing by the window.

Inside this quiet car....

I feel awkward when I remember what happened before.

But I wonder if I’m the only one who's concerned….

While I'm thinking that, I take a glance at Senpai, who is smiling softly.

He looks the same as always.

The car comes to a slow stop as it approaches a traffic light.

As soon as he stops, he notices my gaze and turns towards me.

Reiji Kotobuki: Kouhai-chan, do you have someone who's so special, that you feel you could throw everything away for them?

Kotobuki-senpai asks me all of a sudden.

Haruka Nanami: What?

A special person…?

Haruka Nanami: That….

I'm a little surprised, but slowly open my mouth….

Select the phrase!

I do (+20 Love)

Haruka Nanami: … I do.

I answer and my cheeks start feeling hot.

Reiji Kotobuki: Oh… surprising. They must be very happy. Say… what kind of person are they?

Haruka Nanami: N-not telling!

For some reason Kotobuki-senpai’s name is floating around my head.

Reiji Kotobuki: So desperate. I’m going to be jealous… just kidding.

Haruka Nanami: … Please don’t make fun of me.

Kotobuki-senpai says "sorry" with a wink while shrugging lightly.

The car slowly starts moving again.

Reiji Kotobuki: You know why I asked? Aine was very special to those two. So… they haven't been able to sort out their feelings to this very day, and that turns them against me. When I think of it like that, I feel like I understand them a little. And seeing you doing your best rubs them the wrong way.

He lets out a chuckle.

Reiji Kotobuki: Having a special someone is a very happy feeling, but there’s also a risk of losing them.

Those words seem heavy on Kotobuki-senpai, whose profile looks sad.

Reiji Kotobuki: I've also been worried that even the Kouhai-chan I've been with all this time will turn on me too.

Haruka Nanami: Hm…. Do you….

Reiji Kotobuki: Hm? What’s wrong?

Haruka Nanami: Senpai…. Do you have a special person?

I ask boldly.

After a bit of silence….

Reiji Kotobuki: Haha, let’s see… I do, I think.

Haruka Nanami: That’s….

The moment I look at him, he steps on the brake and the car stops before the front gates of the dorms.

Reiji Kotobuki: Hm, what a shame, time is up! Tune in for more next week~ Joking.

Kotobuki-senpai grins and pokes my forehead with his index finger.

Our long day has come to a close.

Once I'm in my room, I take a shower and lie on my bed, my hair still somewhat damp.

Usually, no matter how late it gets, the days I meet Senpai, I end up working on the song, but today I feel like resting.

So much has happened, maybe I'm a little confused.

Senpai’s past. And also the exciting drive and the dinner.

Every time I think back on it, my heart beats fast and I get nervous.

All I can think about is Kotobuki-senpai….

Haruka Nanami: Who is his important person?

I can’t come up with an answer. I don’t know, no matter how much I think about it.

And without an answer, I fall into a deep sleep at some point.

The next morning, I'm woken up by a call from the president.

Reiji Kotobuki: Ah, Kouhai-chan, good job yesterdaaay~! Did you sleep well?

Haruka Nanami: Oh? You’re here too?

I find Kotobuki-senpai at the office.

Reiji Kotobuki: Yeah, I got a call from Shiny-san out of the blue. I’m still a bit sleepy, to be honest….

Kotobuki-senpai rubs his eyes.

Shining Saotome: MORNING, EVERYBODY! I appreciate you coming early, YO!

The door bangs open and the president appears.

Maybe because it's so early in the morning, but I'm not startled by the sudden appearance.

Shining Saotome: Now, now, let’s get to the point!!

The president picks up the envelope that's on the desk.

Shining Saotome: This arrived at the office late yesterday night!

The president reaches into the envelope and gives us a piece of paper.

Haruka Nanami: What… what is this?!

Shining Saotome: As you can see, a proposal!!

At the top of the paper, the word "proposal" is written in large, gothic font.

Reiji Kotobuki: A proposal? From who—whoa?!

Haruka Nanami: Otonami-san...?

Shining Saotome: ME remembers he was a very excellent composer YO.

The president sighs deeply.

Shining Saotome: If that thing hadn’t happened, he would have found success at our agency….

Seems like the president remembers Aine….

Written on the paper is….

PROPOSAL To the Shining Agency's President and Chief Executive Officer, Shining Saotome. I’m Kei Otonami, in charge of the planning of the singing competition in "Welcome to Idol Las Vegas!" Talents Mr. Reiji Kotobuki and Mr. Ai Mikaze, affiliated with your agency, will participate in this competition, which we plan to tie with the Song Festival. The composer affiliated with your agency, Ms. Haruka Nanami, will compose Mr. Reiji Kotobuki’s song. There is no need for Mr. Ai Mikaze’s song as I will compose it myself. The winner will have the advantage at the Song Festival with the votes from the audience. And the winning composer will be in charge of the unit song at the Christmas Live….

Haruka Nanami: So basically… Kotobuki-senpai and Mikaze-senpai compete in the singing battle and me and Otonami-san write the songs. And if Kotobuki-senpai loses, Otonami-san will make the song for the Christmas Live….

Shining Saotome: Yes! That’s right!! Great comprehension!

The president applauds.

Reiji Kotobuki: This is not the time for compliments at all. It's too late to bring this up, she has been working on the song for a while now.

Shining Saotome: Huhuhu, Mr. Kotobuki! I thought it was an interesting project so I’ve already given it the OK!! Competitions make for better results! It makes you more and more serious! Isn’t that right, Miss Nanami?

Haruka Nanami: Wha—? Um, yes!

I immediately respond when he calls my name, and he points at us with both of his hands and a big smile on his face.

Shining Saotome: YOU two! Fight your best with your song, YO!

As the words leave his mouth, the morning sun rises and reflects off the president’s sunglasses, gleaming.

Reiji Kotobuki: Wha—WHAAAT! WHY THIS!!

Kotobuki-senpai’s screams resound in the president’s office.

(Chapter End)

[kathlita20]

Yeahhh, I’m almost 1000% sure I’m gonna be dropping school now😭 why is it so hard to find a co-signer for a student loan? I have ONE YEAR LEFT. ONE YEAR. I’m a resident advisor, and I was offered the position again for the third and final year. There are only 80 RA’s in the entire school. Let alone the fact that there are very few of those that have been one for multiple years. I also work in the athletics department and am the main photographer for almost all of our sports/events. I’ve done that every year. I set that up before I even stepped foot on campus. I’m the photo editor for the school newspaper. I literally help the school with marketing and send them photos from events/athletics.

And the school just doesn’t care. I’ve told them that my only problem is finding a co-signer because nobody I know has a good enough credit score/can’t apply because they just took a loan out recently.

But they don’t care. “You’ve had four months to figure this out.” I HAVE BEEN LOOKING FOR A CO-SIGNER FOR OVER A YEAR NOW. AND YOUR OFFICE KNOWS THAT

I hate this so much. After everything I’ve gone through to spend the last three years here, and I just don’t even get the benefit of graduating with my friends. I’ve had medical issues, I’ve had mental health issues, I’ve had family issues, I’ve had issues with professors failing me for absolutely no reason, and all I want is that silly little piece of paper and to finally be able to walk across a stage to get it. I didn’t get to do that in high school because of covid, and now this is being taken from me also😭

I hate this so much🫠

[noodyl-blasstal]

Scheduling Error

Barry hated academia. Not just a bit, it was a passionate fiery hatred that the institution had stoked over the years. He loved studying, loved finding a problem and poking and prodding, researching, and testing until he found a solution. Loved his big whiteboard full of scribbles - especially now that he remembered to take photos of it before he left for the night. He loved teaching classes, a few dead eyed stares were worth it for the students who he recognised his own passion in. There was a whole lot of knowledge bouncing around in his head, and he wanted to share it. What he didn’t want to do was follow the ridiculous guidelines which allowed him to do all that. Publish four times a year, hit the right impact factor journals, give up his teaching to out-of-their-depth grad students who didn’t get paid so he had time to do the research, look at the ‘sexy’ topics and not the things he was actually interested in. 

Thankfully they couldn’t force him to accept the editor positions with the last three journals that had asked - prestige wasn’t payment, and those publishers were rinsing everyone as it was. Pay to publish your research (which they wouldn’t have a journal without), then pay to get access to the rest of the information in the journal, all the while he’d edit it for free? Not a chance. He refused to be a cog in that particular machine. 

He should probably quit. He could quit. He could do something else. Surely someone would pay him to research and teach and not suck every ounce of joy from it… yeah. Yeah right, Barry was stuck in this job forever, and he was going to be miserable for the rest of his working life if he didn’t find a way to enjoy it again. He’d think of something.

His desk chair reclined as Barry leaned back to ponder. He had time, a good 20 years until retirement started looming, it didn’t need to be anything quick. His office was big enough to have a small work bench in the corner, and near enough to the labs to facilitate scavenging missions. Magnus was always sparing with his equipment logs when Barry was concerned, and also had a cool stash of robot arms, spare solder, and other junk which he was happy to share.

The office door swung open wildly, bouncing off the wall.

“Shit, I always forget about that.” Said the woman framed in the doorway.

Barry stared. He was aware that he should definitely say something, but words were currently eluding him.

“I know, I know.” Said the woman walking fast toward him. “You’ve told me a bajillion times, but you know this brain’s too busy being baller at physics to remember the trick doors.” She didn’t take the seat on the far side of Barry’s desk, she walked towards him instead.

“Huhm.” Said Barry, intelligently. He wasn’t entirely sure who she thought he was, or why she seemed to think they knew each other. Not that he’d object to getting to know her - he was a friendly guy, and she seemed nice, if a bit enthusiastic. Maybe she was someone else’s grad student?

She perched on the desk, one leg curled under her, smiling at him. “What, no kisses for your wife?”

Barry wasn’t married. He’d never been married, he wasn’t even dating. Maybe Jenkins had paid her or something? That seemed about right. “Very funny. Good one. A+ joke. But I’m holding office hours right now, you’ll need to go in case a student needs me. Tell whoever put you up to it that they’re a comic genius.” Hopefully that would convince her to go. He hoped they hadn’t put hidden cameras in here or anything.

A look of panic crossed the woman’s face.

“Fuck… I’m early.” She muttered to herself, then looked Barry dead in the eyes.

“Forget you saw me.” Then she hopped down from the desk and sprinted for the door.

“Later Barold!” 

Barold? Who the fuck was Barold.

[justforbooks]

Eamonn McCabe, who has died suddenly aged 74, was a photographer, photo editor, educator and broadcaster, and served as the Guardian’s picture editor for 13 years. And when he wasn’t shooting, editing or talking about images, he was collecting awards for doing so. His work won him picture editor of the year an unprecedented six times and sports photographer of the year four times, creating groundbreaking photographs for the Observer. From his early pictures, such as one of a table tennis player with a very high throw, or an image of Björn Borg’s gimlet eyes on a tennis ball, it was recognised that Eamonn, like Borg, had his own way of perceiving the world. He was bringing something different to sports photography and his trophy cupboard started to fill.

In 1985 he won news photographer of the year for his photographs of the Heysel stadium disaster in Brussels. He was there to cover a football match, but sport was forgotten when the tragic events unfolded. He said that witnessing this horror had a lasting effect on him and perhaps hastened his departure from sports photography. “I went as a sports photographer, thrilled to be covering Juventus against Liverpool, and ended up a news photographer, as the whole thing turned into a terrifying disaster in which 39 supporters were killed … I never processed the films from the game itself. They didn’t seem to be very important.”

Editing pictures became the route out of weekly witnessing English football at its worst, and in 1988 Eamonn was recruited as picture editor of the Guardian by its then editor, Peter Preston, to help the paper see off the new Independent with its well-printed photography. Eamonn’s unique way of seeing and framing the world worked as well behind a desk as behind his cameras. He understood how a news or feature photograph is used and cropped is often as important as its content.

Eamonn was born in Highgate, north London. His father, James McCabe, was a taxi driver and his mother, Celia (nee Henchy), a hotel receptionist. They went on to open a hotel in Manor House opposite Finsbury Park. The young Eamonn grew up among the same postwar streets as another photography great, Don McCullin. At Challoner school in Finchley, it seems he spent most of the time playing football and boxing – he left school with just a couple of O-levels. He started work in a solicitor’s office, then in the accounts department of a brewery, but ledgers and spreadsheets were not for him and he got a job as a junior in an advertising agency. A previous incumbent of his lowly position had been David Bowie.

After a couple of years he got the travel bug, left the ad agency and headed to the capital of flower power in the 60s, San Francisco. He enrolled for a film-making course, but discovered a love for stills photography rather than movies. Eventually he had to leave – with the visa he held, he was in danger of being sent to Vietnam. But first he had a Rolling Stones gig to go to: “Mick Jagger laid on a free Stones concert on 6 December 1969 at the Altamont Speedway, northern California. Three hundred thousand people turned up. I had my cameras and pushed my way upfront to the tiny stage that had been hastily produced. By most accounts, the Hells Angels were hired as security for $500 worth of beer. If Woodstock was the dream, Altamont was the nightmare – the stage was much too low and the Angels didn’t like the sight of nudity and weighed into the crowd with snooker cues. A big guy next to me got the worst of it and I just ran. You don’t argue with the Angels high on beer.”

Returning to the UK, he worked in the photo unit of Imperial College, followed by a job with the London Photo Agency (LPA). He worked in the darkrooms and took pictures at rock concerts. This was a far more exciting world for a 23-year-old. Eamonn said: “The Rolling Stones, the Who, the Beach Boys – they were our heroes. Theirs was the music we listened to anyway ... there was a rawness about them that made good pictures.”

However, in the LPA building, there was another picture agency, Sporting Pictures, where Eamonn got some shifts shooting football matches. He had always been keen on sport, specifically football, and he was a lifelong Tottenham Hotspur fan. Like many sports photographers, if he hadn’t been sent to an event to take pictures, he might well have been there as a fan.

In 1974 Eamonn decided to set up his own picture agency in north London – working for the local papers in the area, but crucially shooting all the home matches of the north London rivals Spurs and Arsenal. He distributed pictures to the national papers. Within a couple of years he landed a contract with the Observer. The paper allowed and encouraged him to develop a style – what became known as “an Eamonn McCabe picture” – a different angle, perhaps away from the peak of the action; a detail; something graphic; a strong use of black and white; a touch of humour. The Guardian’s sports photographer Tom Jenkins said: “Formal shape and a whimsical sense of humour played a large part in McCabe’s sports work, like his picture of the bald Bristol City goalkeeper John Shaw looking like he was about to boot his own head into the centre-circle. Eamonn was always on the lookout for something different.”

According to Jenkins, a picture of the boxer Sylvester Mittee wrapping his hands with bandages before a training session is a prime example of this: “A close-up moment that probably no other photographer at the time would have bothered with.” Eamonn himself explained the choice of lens: “I grabbed a 180mm lens, quite long for indoor work, but it paid off. The effect was to throw everything out of focus except the bandaging and texture of his fingers.”

He documented just about every sport and covered three Olympic Games. And he photographed the wedding of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer – as a sports photographer he was able to capture the kiss on the palace balcony with his long cricket lens.

The peerless sports journalist Hugh McIlvanney wrote of being Eamonn’s colleague at the Observer in a foreword to his first book, Sports Photographer (1982): “Working with Eamonn McCabe can be hazardous to a reporter’s ego. His photographs often convey the essence of an event or a performer with such dramatic succinctness that the writer assigned to the same job is left with the feeling of having turned in a 1,500-word caption.”

As well as shooting sport, Eamonn also played for an amateur team, the Nine Elms Dynamos: “One morning, when we were getting a real spanking,” he wrote, “a long-haired centre forward scored yet another goal and ran back past me as I was lying face down in the mud: ‘You didn’t get a picture of that one, did you?’”

After Heysel, Eamonn was offered his first picture-editing job, on a new magazine, Sportsweek. It seemed a perfect journal for the move from shooting to editing photography. Unfortunately, the proprietor was Robert Maxwell. It was a good product with great photography, edited by Eamonn, but it lost money and Maxwell soon tired of the losses. The Guardian needed a new picture editor. Perhaps an award-winning sports photographer with very little editing experience might not have been everyone’s choice, but Preston knew it could work.

Paul Johnson, until recently deputy editor of the Guardian, said that Eamonn “transformed the look and feel of the newspaper almost overnight. Some senior colleagues felt the photographs were just too big and were squeezing out words, until gently reminded, with a smile, that no reader had ever complained about the lack of words in the Guardian (the wrong words, yes, all the time, but not lack of them).”

Eamonn recruited new photographers and ensured that photography was not an afterthought. He got his picture choice printed on 20in x 16in paper by the Guardian darkroom and argued hard for his selection in news meetings. Johnson said: “Eamonn had a compelling visual literacy but also warmth and charisma. People loved working for him, people loved working with him.”

Eamonn was in his element as the Guardian covered the big news events that seemed to come with increasing frequency at the time – the downing of the Pan Am plane over Lockerbie, the Clapham rail crash, the fall of the Berlin Wall, the death of Diana, Princess of Wales.

In 2001 Eamonn decided to “go back on the road”. He had a need to create his own images. He stayed on at the Guardian, but this time shooting something a bit quieter: portraits. He photographed many notable people, from Tony Blair to Iris Murdoch, Lou Reed to Desmond Tutu. The Guardian feature writer Simon Hattenstone said: “Eamonn was astonishingly quick, he never panicked, and he was fantastically unobtrusive. Often the photo was done before the subjects had time to smile or stiffen up.” He favoured a direct approach with his portraits. He liked his subjects to confront his camera and, by extension, the viewer.

Many of these photographs are in the National Portrait Gallery collection. He also photographed artists and their studios for the Guardian and the Royal Academy magazine, including Frank Auerbach, Grayson Perry, Bridget Riley, Howard Hodgkin and Maggi Hambling.

Eamonn was keen to pass on his knowledge and inspire others. A steady stream of hopefuls brought portfolios to his desk, where he dispensed advice and encouragement. His educational work extended to TV programmes such as Britain in Focus (2017) for the BBC. He was often chosen by the broadcast media as a photo pundit – he was recently interviewed about imagery of Queen Elizabeth – and his relaxed manner and thorough knowledge made him a natural on TV or radio. He published six books – the last one, on aerial photography, demonstrates the breadth of his photographic knowledge.

As well as honorary professorships at Thames Valley (Preston responded to the appointment by nicknaming him “Prof”) and Staffordshire universities, Eamonn was visiting senior fellow in photography at the University of Suffolk and held an honorary doctorate from the University of East Anglia.

He moved to Suffolk a few years ago and immediately got involved with photography in the county. He taught at the university in Ipswich and when PhotoEast – the Ipswich-based photo festival – was founded, Eamonn was asked if he would become the patron. He agreed without question.

Eamonn was always a dapper dresser and, once he had left his sports photographer’s waterproofs behind, his tweed coat and jaunty hats looked the part in the small town of Saxmundham where he lived. Although he was a Londoner who enjoyed the pubs, jazz clubs and art galleries of the city, life in the country gave him land- and seascapes to photograph and a vegetable garden to tend. He swapped soccer for golf – he played a round two days before he died.

On hearing the news of his death, Eamonn’s erstwhile neighbour McCullin said: “McCabe was like all great photographers – he never stopped working. Like most of us, his life was photography.” The answer to which is one of Eamonn’s favourite sayings, “It’s better than working, Rog”.

In July 1997 Eamonn asked Rebecca Smithers, a Guardian journalist, to marry him while they were on a press trip to New York – they were married at City Hall a couple of days later. He is survived by Rebecca and their daughter, Mabel; by Ben, his son from a previous marriage, to Ruth Calvert, that ended in divorce; and by Marian, his sister.

Alan Rusbridger writes: The email from Eamonn McCabe popped into my inbox just after breakfast one day in the spring of 2009. “What is it with X [here was the name of an internationally acclaimed fashion photographer whose work had been featured in that day’s Guardian]? I don’t get it. That photograph (?) of Y [here was the name of the subject in the offending portrait] has to be one of the worst we have ever printed ... I spent years trying to get that sort of crap out of the pages. What next, handshakes and big cheques?”

I revisited the image this week. It was, indeed, sensationally bad – poorly lit, awkward shadows, overexposed, lazily composed, clumsily cropped and barely in focus.

I don’t think Eamonn was bitter about the prices his fellow lensman could command (upwards of £40k for a plate). More likely, he felt puzzled – and, on behalf of press photographers the world over, a bit insulted. As a former picture editor, he knew that a dozen or more staff or freelance photographers – none of them remotely household names – would have come up with a better photograph given five minutes and a bare wall.

Eamonn was a press photographer to his fingertips. As a sports photographer on the Observer, he had lightning reactions and an instinctive eye for composition. Even if you didn’t know the name, you’d recognise many of the iconic images from his years on the touchline.

The former Times writer, Simon Barnes, wrote of his images: “People in sports journalism talk about an ‘Eamonn McCabe shot’ even when McCabe did not take the picture. They are talking about a style, a vision, a way of looking at sport.”

It was an inspired move when my predecessor as editor of the Guardian, Peter Preston, hired Eamonn to be picture editor in 1988 – the time of a crucial redesign. The paper had always employed distinguished staff photographers, but they were often let down by the quality of printing and by lacklustre design. Eamonn did, indeed, ban the “crap” – especially the cliched picture that told you nothing. He favoured the bold, the unexpected – images that not only caught your eye but lingered in the mind. He was encouraging to young photographers; always approachable … and always up for a pint or two at the end of his shift.

He was a late convert to the power of colour – once railing against the distracting glare of hi-vis jackets in an image of rescue workers at a train crash. But, in time, he came to accept the inevitable.

And then, remarkably, he had a third career (via a flirtation with landscape) as a portrait photographer, usually illustrating the culture pages’ profile of distinguished writers, artists and musicians. Unlike some internationally acclaimed photographers he could mention, he might only be given a few minutes and inadequate light in which to bag his shot. Nine times out of 10 he memorably and sensitively captured his subject.

It’s difficult to think of a comparable figure in photography – one who successfully crossed genres and who also had a spell generously editing the work of his peers. He was also one of the warmest and most collaborative figures in Fleet Street.

“Journalists are far too bashful to refer to any of their newspaper work as ‘art’,” wrote Barnes in an introduction to Eamonn’s work in 1987. Hence, perhaps, Eamonn’s snort of derision for the picture in the Guardian back in 2009. But Eamonn was truly a kind of artist, as well as an unpretentious pressman. He was a very rare thing.

🔔 Eamonn McCabe, photographer, born 28 July 1948; died 2 October 2022

📷 Photo above: Eamonn McCabe looking at his negatives in the press room during the 1988 British Open Golf Championships in Lytham St Annes.

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at http://justforbooks.tumblr.com

[shuahoonie]

out of love [tom holland]

PAIRING: tom holland x female!reader 

SUMMARY: being close friends with your ex is fine, right? even if your love for them was unparalleled among others. even if you were still in the process of moving on from them. even if you know they’re happy with someone else. even if you have no clue whether they loved you like you loved them. 

WARNINGS: foul language, so much angst, it starts ok at first then goes downhill from there. i literally write things on the go so i don’t know if this will have fluff at some point 

(if it does and i didn’t state it here, send me a cute photo of tom and a message of: ok wow she pulled thru 🤪; and if it doesn’t have fluff, send me a meme and a message of: miss girl i simply cannot today ✋😃)  

WORD COUNT: 5.6k 

A/N: hello! tonight, we are going to be sad!!! i know i usually like to write about all things fluff, but this?? this is just for me because i am having one of those episodes. i just need to feel something again aside from the stress of writing 3 academic papers per week lmao. i’m def not expecting people to like this type of vibe but yannoe. i apologize in advance. 

this is inspired by that one episode from new girl (season 6 x ep 16)

gif credits: @thollandgifs​ 

vanessa’s masterlist | taglist form | part two - pandemonium ​​

“You know, you can still live with us right?” Your friend Maia commented as she placed the box, labelled “fine china that mom gave me but will i ever use them?”, on the kitchen island. 

“I know,” You murmured dropping the heavy case of pots and pans on the floor. “But maybe living alone will be good for me.” You replied, forcing a smile. “Besides, I don’t want to int—“

“Hey, Y/N, where do you want this?” Harrison asked as he held out a box that’s labelled with “books that my grandpa passed on. HANDLE WITH CARE!” 

“Oh, just set it down on the living room—“ before you could even finish, Harrison dropped the box on the floor as if it was nothing. “Harrison!” You hissed, as you quickly rushed to check on the box. 

“Y/N, babe, they’re just books. Surely they can withstand any amount of pressure, yeah?” Haz tried to reassure you. 

“Haz, those books are from my grandpa—which I’m sure he got from his grandpa.” You sighed. “They’re really old and fragile, so I just want them to be in a well enough condition to stand in my bookcase.” 

“‘m sorry,” He murmured, rubbing the back of his head. “It’s just, why do you have to move out?” Harrison asked, frustrated at the whole thing. 

“Like I told Maia, maybe having my own place will be good for me.” You replied calmly, as you neatly put the box filled with your grandpa’s books in the corner room—the initial place where you want to build your bookcase. “It’s been a while since I’ve lived on my own.” 

“Yeah,” Harrison acknowledged “But there’s absolutely no reason for you to move out. You can’t possibly leave me with her!” He pointed at Maia who let out an audible gasp. Harrison was being dramatic of course.  

“Haz—“ You were trying to fight off a laugh. “You two are my constants and if I became dependant on having you two at my convenience, it’s going to be a huge problem.” 

“In my opinion, I don’t see it as a problem.” Maia pointed out childishly. You shook your head in disbelief. You had to move out because you miss having a place to yourself— a place where you can be at your complete worst and you don’t have to think about your friends worrying about you. 

Besides, moving out means you don’t have to see Tom that often and that was a bonus in your book. It wasn’t a sour breakup per se, it’s just really difficult to feel happy for your ex when he practically showcases how different he is now with his girlfriend. 

You prided yourself as a mature and well-rounded person who could be complete friends with her ex as if that’s normal. You could only keep the façade for so long. 

Four months. It’s been four months since you and Tom broke up. You lived with Maia soon after the breakup and that enough was a blessing. Maia couldn’t bear to handle the fact that you would be alone at a time like this. Harrison usually crashes at Maia’s so he was bound to move in with you two. In fact, he was always there more often than you. 

That was the point where you were convinced that Harrison liked Maia and that Maia liked Harrison.

Conveniently, you and Tom never ‘officially’ moved in together so you could avoid him freely at all costs.

Of course, that was eventually going to end soon. You and Tom were in the same friend group so you were bound to see each other, much to your dismay. You couldn’t exactly make Harrison and Maia pick friends because it’s not fair for anyone. 

You were all friends before you and Tom decided to date. Maybe that’s why people say to never date a friend—especially if they’re near and dear. 

You were coming back from work when you found people in the living room, and as if the universe really wanted to test you, it was the least likely people you’d expect to see. 

“Y/N!” Maia’s voice was pure panic. “I didn’t know you’d be home this early.” 

Your eyes quickly flickered between the two people standing across you before you diverted your attention to Maia. “Uh—yeah. There wasn’t really much to do in the office so I came home early.” 

Maia turned to Harrison who was equally lost on how to handle the situation. I mean, who wouldn’t?! What were you supposed to do when your friend drops in unannounced with their new girlfriend and to makes the matters worse, your other friend—whom your friend dated before— decides to come home early? 

You didn’t know how what kind of spirit took over your body that prompted you to extend your hand to the girl sitting beside your ex and say: “Hello, I’m Y/N.” 

The girl looked surprised but shook your hand in return. “Nadine,” Nadine smiled slyly “I—um, I’m Tom’s girlfriend.” 

Tom looked mildly uncomfortable but you chose to ignore it. You were becoming good at that—ignoring Tom. 

You returned the smile at Nadine. You could feel the burning stares from your friends, mostly Maia. You cleared your throat and said, “I’ll just be in my room to finish the papers I need to send to my editor if you’ll excuse me.” 

Before you left completely, you gave Nadine another smile and said, “It’s nice to meet you again, Nadine.”

You don’t remember how you got to your room but that was the least of your concern. You were just undeniably overwhelmed with what just happened that you didn’t even notice that there was a knock on your door. 

When you opened the door, it was the last person you expected to see standing in your doorframe. 

“Can we talk?” Tom asked in almost a whisper. 

You gave him a half shrug and opened the door slightly wider for him. 

“We’re okay, right?” He asked, looking at you in the eye. 

At this point, you convinced yourself that you were numb. You never talked about the breakup. You never overtly said anything about what you felt. You felt empty. You convinced yourself that you were empty. 

You stared back at Tom and without missing a beat, you replied “Of course. Why shouldn’t we?” 

“Just admit that you two will miss me,” You teased, grabbing another box from Maia. 

“Only if you admit that you’re moving out for an entirely different reason,” Maia whispered carefully as her eyes flickered towards Tom who was also helping with your move out. 

You pressed your lips together and acted like he wasn’t even there. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You said, you know, like a liar. 

You weren’t a vocal person. The idea of talking about your feelings was really difficult for you so you try your best to avoid it. Actually, it’s worse than that. You’d go to extreme lengths to avoid confrontation.

Obviously, it wasn’t healthy. You would always distance yourself whenever you feel emotionally exhausted, and you really meant that distance. It wasn’t bad at first—maybe a day or two was all you needed before you felt comfortable enough to be around people again. 

Then it became worse when you were in university. You were beyond unreachable. Aside from being emotionally exhausted, you were mentally drained too. You were always buried with papers and readings which was unavoidable but it took a huge toll on you. So whenever you get a chance to get a break, you completely shut off from people. 

Your friends definitely noticed it and they tried their best to help. 

Tom was among the people who definitely went out of their way to help you. He would always drop by at your dorm with food or coffee—he would literally just drop them off, most of the time. He would leave small notes that up to this day, you still kept and tucked away in a box. 

Both Maia and Harrison followed Tom’s approach. They would all alternate on who’s dropping what and when. Some days, Maia would drop off a new skincare product she’s been using or a lovely box of macarons from your favourite patisserie. 

On other days, Harrison would drop off some of his home-cooked meals or maybe a book he saw from a local bookstore—a book that reminded him of you.

Tom was very persistent though. He would sometimes wait out on the hall, just so he could see you and reassure himself (and your friends) that you were okay. 

You found it taxing at first—you would often try your best to match the energy from your friends, which only left you exhausted at the end of the day. You wanted space and you clearly weren’t getting that from Tom. You did acknowledge that he only did it out of pure concern. 

You often wondered why he did that, staying, but you didn’t ask him. You never did.

Maybe you were afraid that you’d come off as rude or that you’d seem ungrateful for dismissing someone when they’ve clearly taken the time off their day just to check on you. 

However, every time you’d open that door, it always seemed that Tom would breathe a huge sigh of relief when you lock eyes. Even if it was just for a quick second. You wondered about that too.

Tom wasn’t really being intrusive. Most of the time, he will leave a few minutes after you’d open the door to get the things your friends would drop off. You’d always ask him if he wants to stay inside for a bit, but he’d always decline.

Except for that one time, though. That one time that you knew you were going to fall in love.

It was the week of midterms and deadlines. You were knee-deep with papers from different classes that demanded to be finished that week, one of which was a research paper that practically tied you to your laptop and made you consume an unhealthy amount of caffeine. 

It wasn’t until 2 am when you were about to go on a quick drive to a McDonald’s but saw Tom dozed off in the hallway, his back pressed against the wall.

“Tom,” You shook him gently, trying not to startle him. “Tom, wake up.”

His eyes slowly fluttered open, seemingly disoriented at first but would soon fall into the warm familiarity that your face always brings. 

“Why are you sleeping in the hall?” You asked quietly, careful not to make a fuss. The walls in your dorm were very thin and you learned that the hard way. You’d think they’d put a disclaimer about that in the lease when you’re housing a bunch of university students with raging sex drives. 

It took Tom a minute to fully comprehend the question, seeing that the bright fluorescent light was being harsh on him and that he’s generally like that when being jolted awake. 

“Oh, erm, I—” Tom was finding the right words to use. He can’t exactly exclaim ‘I’ve been worried sick about you!’ out of nowhere. Instead he said, “I was waiting for you to open the door, just to see if you’re alright.” 

“All night?”

Tom scratched the back of his neck. “It seemed that way, yeah.” He muttered sheepishly. 

You were dumbfounded. Surely this was the first time someone actually fell asleep outside your door, waiting for you to come out. It was sweet but highly unnecessary. 

“I was just about to head out and get some McDonald’s, do you wanna come with?” You asked, giving him a hand to hoist himself up. 

“I should get going—“ 

“Have you eaten yet?” You asked cutting him off, taking Tom by surprise. He shook his head no. “Then you should really come.” You said, jingling your car keys in front of him.

Tom was debating whether or not to go with you. It’s been a while since you hung out, but that was the same case for everyone. None of your friends have properly hung out with you ever since the semester started. 

Tom should say yes, right? 

“Let’s go, Tommy,” You said as you grabbed his hand and dragged him across the hall. “I’ve been staring at my laptop all day and I really need some unhealthy food to balance out the concerning amount of caffeine I’ve consumed.” 

“Is that why you’re practically bouncing off the walls?” Tom asked amused, trying to keep up with your pace with your hand holding his. 

“Totally,” You grinned at him. “I need to wear out the caffeine or else, I’d have to skip my morning class again.” 

“French?” 

You nodded. “They’re counting the amount of absences in that class and I really need to keep my shit together.” 

“‘m not exactly sure why you took that as an elective,” Tom commented, properly wrapping his hand around yours with fingers interlacing each other.  

You tried to ignore it, you really did, but the warm feeling that settled around your stomach drove you crazy. 

“Why not? I think it’s cool to learn another language.” You nudged him playfully which he gladly returned. 

“I know and trust me, I’m in awe that you’re learning another language! erm—I guess it’s just I feel like you’re overworking yourself too much.” Tom pointed out softly, hoping he didn’t come off as rude or intrusive. 

“Eh, I don’t mind.” You replied “It’s what drives me to keep going and for me that’s more than enough. Even if it leaves me little to no sleep, even if it takes too much of my time—it’s enough reason for me to do it.” 

Tom stared at you in admiration as soon as those words slipped out your mouth and you didn’t even notice it. You were walking towards the student parking lot, consumed by the twinkling lights from the neighbouring lanes near campus. 

Maybe if you weren’t busy consuming the quiet campus grounds, you’d notice the very first time Tom fell in love with you. 

“Besides, I know a phrase in french now.”

“Hm—and what’s that, then?” 

“Je ne suis pas l’escargot” 

“L’escargot? Isn’t that—“ 

“I am not a snail,” You giggled. “Well, it’s true, isn’t it?”

Tom laughed, “I supposed so.” 

Maybe if you weren’t so afraid of confrontation, you’d have an idea of when Tom knew that you were his person.

See, the thing is— you needed to face reality sooner or later and both your friends could see right through it. 

“Honestly, Y/N, how on earth can your box of art materials be this heavy—” Tom appeared in front of the door frame, heaving as he carried the box from two flights of stairs. 

You quickly averted your gaze from Maia, who was staring at you expectantly, and cleared your throat. “You can just set them by the door, Tom. I don’t know where to put them yet.” You said as you tried your best to act normal. 

“You sure? They’re a tad heavy and I don’t want you to strain yourself.” Tom asked with furrowed brows. 

All you could do was nod. The last thing you wanted was Tom’s focused attention on you.

“If you say so,” Tom sighed in defeat “I’m going to grab more boxes—Baby, you don’t have to carry that!” Tom was quick to disappear as he urgently dashed towards his girlfriend, Nadine. 

“Oh, but I want to help, Tommy.” You heard Nadine say sweetly, assuming she was also pouting. 

You could see Maia roll her eyes, urging you to give her a nudge and a taunting look. “Maia,” you called her out, silently pleading her to stop. 

Maia settled down but she wasn’t exactly calm about it either. “I’m still not sure why she’s here.” She murmured. You and Harrison were close enough that you can hear her rambles—which was expected from her anyway. 

Maia and Nadine go way back—like toddlers and playgrounds kind of way. Though that sounds figuratively adorable in a way, Maia and Nadine never got along. 

Nadine used to date Maia’s brother, which already caused Maia a great demise. As one could expect, the relationship didn’t end well. She left him out of nowhere, saying she needs to find herself—or something along those lines. 

A week after the breakup, what Nadine found was herself in the arms of another man. Of course, Maia’s brother was devastated—He truly loved Nadine. Maia had to be the pillar that her brother leaned on. It took Maia a great amount of time to help her brother pick up the pieces that Nadine left. 

So yeah—Maia wasn’t thrilled when she heard that Tom was Nadine’s new boyfriend. 

“She offered to help, Mai,” You whispered “Who am I to deny help?” 

Maia looked at you as if you managed to empty your head while you were moving in between flats. “She’s been after me ever since we were kids. She’s also the reason why it took my brother months to get out of bed,” Maia deadpanned “and She’s Tom’s new girlfriend. Remember Tom? Your ex?” She said rather loudly.

You gave her a tiny pinch on her arm, causing her to yelp. “Maia, are you nuts?!”

Harrison left the two of you so he could grab more boxes, while you and Maia bickered silently amongst each other. 

“You are thicker than I thought—Seriously, Y/N. Quit pinching me!” Maia aggressively rubbed her arm. 

“They’re going to hear you!” You hissed. “The last thing I want is for those two to get involved.” 

“Babe, they’re already involved. Tom, especially.” Maia remarked. “I see the way you look at Tom. I also see the pain you feel whenever he’s with she who must not be named.” 

“I’m not doing this Maia,” you mumbled as you walked past her. Your objective was now to help Harrison with the remaining boxes. Your objective was anything but to talk about you and Tom. 

“You have to face it sooner or later, Y/N.” Maia called out “I’m not leaving you or this apartment until you tell me what really happened.” 

“What’s going on?” Harrison asked as he entered the apartment, carrying three sets of boxes. You grabbed one from him and actively avoided his question. 

Before Maia could reply, Tom and Nadine appeared on the doorframe, with Nadine practically glued to Tom. 

“Harrison got the last remaining boxes so we’re heading off now,” Tom announced as Nadine’s face painted with clear desperation to get out of your place. “Are we still going bowling tonight?” Tom asked before Nadine whispered something in Tom’s ear and left.

“I’m actually exhausted so I’ll pass,” You answered, obviously avoiding spending time with your ex and his current girlfriend. You’re not that pathetic. 

“Same might actually have to just drink the night away,” Maia responded with a grin.

“Well, there’s no way I’m third-wheeling so I’m good,” Harrison said as he threw himself towards the plush teal couch that you snagged from a flea market. 

For the tiniest second, Tom seemed disappointed but gave a tight-lipped smile. “Oh, maybe we can reschedule our bowling night, then?” He asked. “It’s not as fun to go bowling with just the two people.” 

You, Harrison, and Maia all shared a look. You weren’t on board with bowling-night, to begin with, but you didn’t want Tom to feel as if you were avoiding him—which you were but no one needs to know that. 

Maia looked at you, waiting for an answer because god knows she will solely depend on her decision based on yours. You don’t even have an answer, to begin with. 

“What are you two supposed to do then?” Harrison asked Tom. Thank god for Harrison.

“I might take Nadine to this poetry jam event that she’s been dying to go to” Tom replied with a soft voice. 

“A poetry night?” Maia almost wanted to laugh “You don’t even have the slightest interest in literature, Tom.” Maia didn’t mean to offend him or maybe she did? She wasn’t completely fond of Tom ever since you and Tom broke up—well, she wasn’t fond of the idea that Tom was dating her ‘arch nemesis’, but Tom was her friend and so were you. 

“I know that, Mai.” Tom rolled his eyes “but Nadine likes it and I’ll do everything to make her happy.” That left a bitter taste in your mouth. 

“If you say so,” Maia murmured before she took a quick look at you. She looked like she wants to give you the biggest hug. But you held a stoic look on your face—something that you picked up because you were afraid of confrontation. 

“I’m serious,” Tom defended, lost in his feelings, which only irked Maia even more. 

“I know, I heard you— we heard you,” Maia replied, her face showing only one emotion: annoyed. “God, read the room,” Maia grumbled to herself. Harrison had to reach for her hand, urging her to calm down. 

“I really love her,” Tom whispered. That left a slap in the face. 

It was a cold Saturday afternoon and it has been raining almost all day. It was one of the rare weekends that you weren’t really occupied to do anything other than to lay on your couch and consume a copious amount of entertainment.

Despite the spitting rain, you actually want to head out this time. Being confined to your desk and the university was torture especially since you couldn’t do anything about it—the four of you were graduating this year, no one could afford to slack off. 

You and Tom were cuddled against the sofa— Tom was busy watching something on TV while you were busy scrolling on your phone. 

“Hey, Tom?” 

“Yes, my sweet girl?” 

“Do you want to go downtown?” You asked, looking at your phone as you read the details of an event happening this weekend.

“Right now?”

“Mhm,” you hummed. “There’s a book fair being held at the local theatre.” You rested your chin on top of his chest and gave him a pout. You were getting sick of being cooped up between your study table and the library. This book fair was a change of scenery and it’s definitely right up your alley.

“But it’s raining, darling” Tom tried to say in the softest way possible. It’s not exactly up in Tom’s interests though.

“I know,” You sighed “I guess I’m just getting sick of this place.”

“You’re getting sick of me?” Tom asked with a huge pout. He was kidding of course. 

“I don’t think I’ll ever get sick of you, Tom.” You chuckled softly. 

“Okay,” He hummed, pulling you closer to him—if that was even possible. “Then can we stay like this for a while?” 

“Anything for you, angel.” You whispered as you closed the details about the local book fair. Maybe next time. 

Soon after Tom left, Maia pulled you to her side and asked, “You okay, babe?” 

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” You feigned innocence. It was clear as day that you weren’t okay, your friends knew that. 

Knowing that you weren’t going to budge, Maia walked towards the kitchen and brought out a bottle of wine from the fridge. 

Harrison raised an eyebrow at her and asked, “When did you manage to put that in the fridge?” All of you had been occupied with grabbing boxes that there was no way that Maia had the time to put wine in the fridge, let alone obtain them from somewhere.

“It was supposed to be a celebratory drink for Y/N’s new place,” Maia replied as she set the wine and three various mugs on the coffee table. “Obviously, that’s not happening now.” Drinking wine using the oddly designed mugs you collected over the years was a cry for help. 

“It’s 4 pm, Mai.” You pointed out as you stared at the white LED clock that you bought off Amazon—another impulse purchase enabled from scrolling on Pinterest for way too long. “We haven’t even had lunch yet.” 

“Oh please,” Maia snorted “If there’s one thing that I’ve picked up from university, it’s drinking with little to no food consumption.” 

“And if there’s one thing that I’ve picked up from university, it’s cancelling all of my plans for the entire day because I have to tend your hungover-self, Mai,” Harrison remarked as he grabbed the bottle and placed it back on the fridge. “I’m ordering food and no one’s drinking until everyone has finished a meal.” 

You heard Maia mutter a string of curses but most especially the part that she said, “This is not the version of daddy that I envisioned Harrison to be.” 

All of a sudden Maia’s idea of binge drinking doesn’t seem like a bad idea, you thought. 

Turns out Harrison had no intention of letting any of you drink. He was pretty adamant about not having to babysit two drunk messes in one night. 

“As if babysitting one isn’t enough,” You recalled Harrison say. He was obviously pertaining to Maia, in which she just huffed the entire time. You often wondered if Maia and Harrison noticed the obvious tension between them, because personally you found it endearing. It was no question that they were meant for each other. 

“Y/N, you still haven’t told us whatever happened between you and Tom.” Maia suddenly pointed out. You, Maia, and Harrison were still in the living room, silently watching TV. 

You were actively avoiding this conversation for the longest time as you haven’t told anyone about it, and based by the curious faces of your friends, you figured that Tom didn’t tell anyone about it either. You’re still not sure whether that’s a relief or not.  

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You mumbled. It’s not like you were lying, there really was barely anything to talk about. Heck—You and Tom never got to talk about it properly either. 

“We see the way you look at him, Y/N.” Harrison replied softly. “I think there is something.” 

“Look—” Maia sat up properly “I know you’re not really vocal about your feelings, but the fact that you’ve never talked nor showed any emotion about your breakup terrifies me, babe.” Maia’s tone was laced with concern. 

“I remember the day you told us about it too,” Harrison couldn’t hide his concern too “We were having brunch together at our usual diner and half-way through our meal, you promptly said “We broke up” when Maia asked where Tom was,” Harrison recalled it like it was a fever dream. He and Maia had already expected that you weren’t going to tell them about the breakup when it just happened. However, it baffles them that it’s been over a year since you and Tom broke up, and not one word has been said about it. 

It was silent for a while, except for Criminal Minds that was playing on the TV. You blankly stared at the screen, hoping that you’d catch whatever the agents were saying. It was impossible, especially when all your mind could focus on was the recollection of the day Tom knocked on your door at 1 am to breakup.  

You were relatively busy that day from volunteer work, so you haven’t seen any of your friends the entire day—or Tom for that matter. Actually, you haven’t seen Tom in a few days. He would send texts periodically throughout the day but they were always short and most of the time, you always forget to reply. 

You figured Tom was busy with his own thing and both of you established early on in your relationship that texting—or lack thereof— shouldn’t account to your relationship, especially since both of you are equally bad at it. 

You didn’t think any of it since you were bound to see your boyfriend and your friends tomorrow for brunch anyway. He will have your undivided attention by then. 

So imagine your surprise when you heard a soft knock from your door at 1 am, only to find Tom in disarray. His eyes were bloodshot red, tears falling down his face. His messy curls were masked under the hood from his jumper. 

At first you were in panic, you thought that something terrible had happened to any of your friends—his family even. 

But as soon as Tom dropped to his knees and whispered, “I’m sorry,” you had a clear idea what was bound to happen next. 

It’s been silent for a while. The door was still open and Tom sat out in the hall with his back leaning against your wall. You did the same thing except you were on the other side of the wall that Tom was leaning on. 

You two were close enough to the door frame that you could hear each other, actually facing each other was a whole other thing. Tears kept streaming down your face as you kept your eyes closed and rested your head against the wall. 

At some point in your relationship, you prepared yourself in case this happened— that you would accept whatever happens between you and Tom. You didn’t exactly anticipate that it would happen so soon. 

“Was there someone else?” You asked quietly. It was the first time you spoke after Tom dropped to his knees. You hoped there wasn’t. In fact, you silently begged to yourself that there wasn’t someone else, because you knew that you couldn’t handle that. 

“No, no—of course not.” Tom immediately answers.”I could never do that to you.” 

It was silent again. You were starting to feel numb—you tried your best to gather your thoughts and forced words out of your mouth, but you couldn’t. 

“Are we not worth fighting anymore?” You practically whispered. It was a gamble— you weren’t exactly sure if Tom had heard it and you don’t have enough strength to ask it again. 

“Y/N,” Tom sniffled. “You can’t say that.” He placed his hand on top of yours. You had your hand resting on the floor and you didn’t exactly notice that it served as an invitation for Tom hold it again. 

You love Tom with all your heart. He kept dismissing it but Tom made you a better person. He made you feel like love can be expressed through different forms of things—not just words.

You loved him by exclusively making time for him. You went on museum dates where he would make cheesy remarks, saying that you’re the most remarkable piece of art in the entire place. You went on dates to watch football games—you never understood it but Tom was happy, so you were happy.

You loved him through your touch. You would often massage his back because he had been tirelessly working himself to the core. He didn’t ask for it but you knew it would make him feel better. Your touch didn’t have to be intimate—though you expressed it through that way too

You loved him through mindless actions. Almost every time you would stop by at the local cafe to grab yourself some coffee, you would always recite Tom’s favourite order on autopilot. 

You loved him through silence. Study dates were gems for you. Even if you didn’t talk for the entirety of it and even if you were the only one who studied for the most part and Tom was just playing on his phone, having Tom beside you was enough.

You loved him so much that it pains you to think that maybe you weren’t enough for him. 

“I don’t think I can fight for someone who doesn’t even want to,” You muttered bitterly. “Just answer the question, Tom.” 

He didn’t answer. All you could hear were the silent sobs that you two were trying to hold back. At this point, you knew you wouldn’t look at Tom. Your heart wouldn’t take it—it will crush you. 

“Are you not happy anymore?” Your voice cracked as you broke into a sob.

“Y/N—“ Tom squeezed your hand even more. You’re going to miss it, but you had to let go. 

“Tom, if I’m standing in the way of your happiness then we should end this.” You cleared your throat and pulled your hand away. There’s a ghostly feeling that still lingered from Tom’s touch. 

“Please, Y/N, let me explain—“ 

“It’s okay, Tom.” You whispered. “I understand.” 

“You know I love you, Y/N.” 

“I love you too, Tom.” 

“But—“ 

“But maybe it’s best if we end it, I know. I got it.” You let out a deep breath, trying to calm yourself down from crying. “Maybe it’s better if we stayed as friends.” Maybe it’s better to realize that whatever you and Tom had were too good to be true—that your love will never compare to the love he deserves. 

“Do you want the truth?” You asked your friends, with tears forming in your eyes. You can’t even decipher how they looked at you because of the tears clouding your vision. 

Were they looking at you in pity? Empathy? Sadness? 

“The truth is—I’m mad.” You gritted the words through your teeth. This was the first time your friends had seen you like this. All of the pent-up sadness, aggression, and hurt you felt was starting to get the best of you. 

“I’m angry. I’m hurt.” You snarled, furiously wiping the tears from your face. “I’m angry at the fact that I can’t seem to be genuinely happy for Tom. I’m hurt at the idea he seems to be a better boyfriend for Nadine, that he constantly makes an effort for her.”

“I don’t even know if he even loved me the way that I loved him,” Your voice became quiet “and it’s selfish for me to think that way because I never fought for it—for us. That’s enough reason to keep me up at night.” 

That’s enough reason for you to wonder if you’ll be capable of loving someone so deeply again. 

PERMANENT TAGLIST: 

@quaksonhehe @dark-infernal-instruments @trustfundparker @emsma11 @tomshufflepuff @spider-babe @goodgirlgonetom @tabi-toast​ 

[siryouarebeingmocked]

And a finger on the monkey’s paw curls inward.

So, that fanfic I ranted about with the dumb yuri subplot came to an anticlimax.

The war just coincidentally ends by a random event the protagonist had little influence in. Oh, and the protagonist kisses his GF (which looks like a lesbian kiss to any observers) in front of his cabinet. I'm guessing it's reference to that one WW2 photo (or the Watchmen movie) and it is just...completely unearned.

So.

Someone decided to write a continuation fic. It's many flaws include;

-first person narration where the narrator describes how they missed some event happening in front of them. Not realizing they missed something later. In real time. Which is impossible. You can't  narrate how something happened to the second and then say you missed it.

-blatant stealing from books, video games, TV, film, and actual history, down to the word. I've read alternate history before. Real history should be used as inspiration. Not a game of mad libs. - After protagonist comes out, it seems like almost every world leader talking about her mentions that she's "queer". A lot. It's just not an interesting subplot, even with not-Stonewall. Imagine if every single chat about Bill Clinton mentioned his affair at some point. None of them, say, consider using it to manipulate or attack the protagonist in any way. Except her local political enemies. Once. About 100 pages ago. - the writer can't keep verb tenses consistent. Even with three (!) editors.

- less man on the street or boots on the ground perspectives. Just people talking to each other in offices. Which may thrill the hearts of David Weber fans, but not me. It's literally a plot point that the protagonist has been chained to his desk. Love interest drags her out, and to a lesbian bar, and then we've got not-Stonewall. -- Multiple chapters have opened with the various governments discussing an dramatic incident that apparently happened offscreen after the last chapter ended. You know what would've been nice? Actually getting to 'see' these events. - Love interest did suddenly develop a personality. She even criticizes and opposes the protagonist on many occasions. Like an actual partner. I still don't care for the ship, but I admit it and the love interest are both better written. --The original story was basically about four things; economics, international politics, war, and misunderstandings. And if you agree with Clausewitz, it's actually just three. The gay rights subplot has zero to do with any of those. 

It's just there, and it's awkward, like a drunk flamingo duct-taped to the Vietnam Memorial.

I think this was an attempt to make the yuri subplot actually relevant to the main plot, but it doesn't really work, because that whole subplot was just Author Appeal from the jump.

- The writer is one of those people who keeps typing "hummed" when it should be "hmmmed". This is a common mistake in fanfics. And it wouldn't be so irritating if characters didn't "hum" constantly. One chapter said

"Hmm," character hummed.

and I nearly threw my phone out the window. --I think there was also a netspeak tilde~ at one point. Once. Or I would've stopped reading entirely.

- When I was reading that, I decided to stop reading entirely. Because this fan-sequel has way too many problems for a nitpicking pedant like me, even by fanfic standards.

Bottom line: better in some ways, much, much worse in SO many others.

[definitelyseven]

hurts so good | three

summary: growing up with Park Jinyoung was never easy and things are about to get worse when you’ve been asked to marry him

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven | twelve - final |

You woke up to the sound of your alarm and an empty bed next to you. You sighed - he didn’t come home at all last night. 

“Good morning mom and dad,” you greeted Jinyoung’s parents. “Chae and Jae,” you continued to greet as you made your way to a seat at the table. 

“Where’s Jinyoung?” his father asked. 

"He left early for work,” you covered for him. 

He scoffed loudly before throwing a stack of photos onto the dining table. You looked down and see pictures of Jinyoung and a woman. She was on his lap, leaning down towards his face. His hand was on her thigh. “Come up with a better excuse next time,” his father revealed. “Do a better job taking care of your husband so he doesn’t need to look for another women to please him.”

“I’m sorry,” you apologized. 

“Being a Park women isn’t easy. You have to learn how to swallow your pride, when to speak up and when to shut up,” he lectured. “It’s your fault this happened.”

“I understand,” you said swallowing your tears. 

“Fix it,” he demands before leaving the dinner table. Your mother-in-law gives your shoulder a light squeeze before leaving the table. There was nothing she could do but agree with her husband. Your father-in-law was right - being a Park women wasn’t easy. Look at your mother-in-law who had to share her husband with another woman and take in her son as her own. 

“Could you get father’s medicine?” Jaebum asked Chaewon. She nods, leaving the table. You grabbed the photos in your hand, flipping through them. Each photo making your stomach churn. “Still think he’s worth defending?” 

“Where did father get this?” you asked with tears in your eyes. 

Jaebum sighed, “Sunrise Magazine.”

You were upset and mad. No matter how much he disliked you, never in a million years did you think he would actually cheat on you. You thought he would be faithful especially witnessing how his father treated his mother. 

“I’m sorry Mr. Joo. She wouldn’t wait outside,” the editor-in-chief’s secretary explained. You ignored her, taking a seat in front of him. 

“It’s okay,” he tells her before she closes the door. “How may I help you?”

“I’m Mrs. Park, the Marketing Director at Park Inc.,” you introduced, sliding your business card across the table. “If you don’t know, our company gives your magazine billions of dollars of business every year from advertisements alone.”

“Ah...yes. How can I help you, Mrs. Park?” he asked nervously. 

“I’ll make this quick.” You tossed a photo of Jinyoung and that women on his table. “This is my husband and this photo came from someone in your office. If you want to continue to work with us, I better not see any of these photos leaked to the public,” you warned. “Or else you’ll be the one explaining to your boss why you lost the magazine’s biggest account.”

“Yes certainly,” he agreed immediately. “I will make sure this will never happen again.”

“If you or anyone in your office follows me and my family again. I will blame it on you,” you warned once again before getting up. 

“Mrs. Park,” he called. “I can promise that no one from this office will bother you and your family again, but I must warn you of something.”

“What is it?”

“The women is this photo. She is one of our owner’s mistress. Even if this photo doesn’t leak to the public, I’m sure he’s already seen this.”

“And your boss is?” 

“Mr. Choi.”

Mr. Choi was one of your father-in-law’s oldest friend. He is notorious for his four wives and his many affairs. He is also the biggest investor in Jinyoung’s new project. The women in the picture was one of his mistresses which makes this situation more complicated. 

The car stopped at the red light and you quickly glanced outside. You shifted in your seat when you see a familiar face, Taeyong, your ex-boyfriend. Up until the day you agreed to marry Jinyoung, he was still your boyfriend. How do you tell the person you once loved that you will be marrying someone else instead of them?

“Wait,” you tell your driver as you stole another glance at your ex-lover. He was standing there alone, playing on his phone. 

“Mrs. Park, the lights turned green.”

“Just one second,” you tell him. The sound of school bells caught you and your ex-lover’s attention. A bunch of little kids running outside the school. In particular, one little girl running straight to your ex-lover. 

“Mrs. Park,” your driver called again. 

“Okay, let’s go.”

You had to be calm, no matter how mad you were at Jinyoung. No matter what he did wrong, he was still your husband; still the man that save your father from his gambling debts. 

He owned you. 

“Someone might see us,” you hear whispers coming from inside Jinyoung’s office. “Not here,” the woman inside continued to whisper. 

“I don’t care,” he tells her before the sound of her giggles filled the room. You shut your eyes and clenched your fist into a ball. You recognized that voice and it wasn’t the same woman in the picture. It was his secretary; Nayeon. Now you understood why she always acted weird with you. 

You had choices - you could go in and expose him or you could pretend this didn’t happen. You could let it go and maybe, just maybe you’ll still have a chance with Jinyoung. You could let it go and he would still be your husband and you will still be Mrs. Park. 

In this very moment, you chose to walk away and pretend nothing happened.

You walked away from Jinyoung’s office and headed for Jaebum’s. If anyone was going to help, it would be him. 

“Come in,” Jaebum said from the other side of the room. He looked up at you as soon as you walked into his office. “You need something?”

“You knew who she was.”

“Do you still think Jinyoung’s worth defending?” he questioned again.

“You knew who she was and you didn’t say anything this morning,” you repeated.

“Does it matter? You know now.”

“I need your help, Jae.”

“No,” he refused immediately. 

“Why? You didn’t even know what I was going to ask. Please,” you begged. He shook his head. “He’s your brother.”

“Has he ever treated me like his brother?” he asked through his teeth.

You let out a deep sigh. “Please,” you looked at him with tears in your eyes. “Save me from the humiliation. I don’t think I can take it,” you admitted honestly.

This time it was Jaebum’s turn to sigh. “You don’t deserve this, Y/N. You deserve better, so much better.”

“I know you’ve always cared for me like a sister-”

“You know I cared about you as more than a sister,” he admitted.

“It doesn’t matter anymore. We’re both married. Chae’s pregnant. Jinyoung’s my husband.”

“The answer is still no. Last time I checked we were fighting to be the next Chairman. I think this would be my advantage,” he revealed. 

“Jae...”

“What do you need from me?” he sighed in defeat.

“With your relationship with Uncle Choi, you can easily get me a meeting with him.”

“And what do you plan on doing once you meet him?”

“Leave the rest to me. Just don’t let Jinyoung know. He would be pissed if I meddled with his affairs,” you said before walking out of his office. 

You and Jaebum sat patiently in the VIP room for Mr. Choi. He was 30 minutes late and you were getting anxious.

“Relax Y/N,” Jaebum tells you as you looked at your watch for the sixth time.

“I’d be more relax if Uncle Choi showed up on time.”

“He has a right to be late,” he reminded. Of course he did. Especially after Jinyoung fooled around with his woman. 

Just as you were about to speak again, Mr. Choi walks in. “Uncle Choi,” the both of you called. 

“I know why you’re here and I don’t care,” he says right away as he sat down across from you both. 

“Uncle Choi, I know what Jinyoung did was wrong. We’re here to show you how sorry we are.”

“Sorry? Where is he then?” he scoffed. “He should be here apologizing if he was sorry.”

You smiled subtly, “Uncle Choi, you have four wives. I’m sure they’ll do exactly what I’m doing if you were in this situation.” 

Mr. Choi chuckles, “If they were as forgiving as you, I wouldn’t have four wives.”

This time it was your turn to chuckle. “So what do you say Uncle Choi? What can we do to get you to forget about this? You can get any women you’d like - no need to ruin our relationship over one woman,” you pointed out. 

“I don’t like to share,” he tells you. 

“No need to share when there’s plenty to go around,” you smirked. You clapped your hands signaling the women outside to come in. “You can have anyone you’d like.”

Mr. Choi laughs out loud. “Y/N, I didn’t expect this from you. You must really love our Jinyoungie.” You smiled subtly again. “Our collaboration agreements, raise my share from 50% to 70%.”

“We can’t do that Uncle Choi,” Jaebum immediately shuts down.

“That is my offer if you want to keep working together - including Jinyoung’s new project,” he said firmly. 

“We can agree to 70% -” Jaebum quickly turns to you, attempting to stop you from making any rash decisions. You grabbed Jaebum’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. You looked directly into his eyes - sending him a mental note to trust you. “We can agree to 70% but with conditions,” you requested. “We will stick with our agreed upon advertisements in your magazine as well as 10 billboards around your most popular locations in the mall; free of charge.”

“Fine. I always appreciate doing business with a beautiful lady,” he smirked. “Mistress #5 was supposed to be my lucky charm tonight. Why don’t you take her spot tonight?” he asked rhetorically as he hands you a red dress. You knew you couldn’t reject it. If you wanted him to forgive Jinyoung and accept your conditions, you had to do this. You had to be his lucky charm tonight.

“Y/N...” Jaebum whispers. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I’ve always been lucky,” you tell the both of them as you grabbed the red dress from him. The dress was tight and small. It was obvious what his intentions were tonight.

"My my my, Y/N. You look marvelous in that dress,” Mr. Choi smirked, licking his lips. Although you were disgusted by his words, you still had to fake a smile. “Look who I invited.”

You turned around to see Jinyoung standing there. Once he laid eyes on you and your short dress, his blood began to boil. “Jinyoung...” you called out. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” he asked pissed off. 

[jimlingss]

Game of Temptation

➜ Words: 16k

➜ Genres: 60% Smut, 35% Angst, 5% Fluff, Succubus!AU

➜ Summary: As a succubus, your beauty is unrivaled and shaped to tempt mortals. But it's still hard to resist Taehyung, and there's little you can do once you've been coerced to do his bidding for him. This time, you find yourself entering the affluent Kim Household as a housemaid. And these poor humans don't know your intentions are far from being angelic.

➜ Warning: seduction, sex, homewrecking, infidelity, daddy kink, creampie, etc. There were no morals in the making of this fic. I do not subscribe to my characters’ beliefs, y'all. It's just some crazy fiction. Reader discretion advised.

It’s your chance to have a little fun, peach.   The four wheels of the luggage roll against the smooth pavement, over the cracks and up the massive driveway. The sweltering sun isn’t a bother when the feeling of flames licking against your cheeks is such a familiarity. Yet, you still feel disgruntled as Taehyung’s words ring inside your head.   I know you want to try your hand at it. And you’ve been telling me how much you want a little subordinate of your own. You could do whatever you want with them. There are no rules.   He’s a bastard. If it wasn’t for you being so wrapped around his finger and dancing in the palm of his hand, you would never do something this ridiculous. But it’s not like you have much of a choice. Taehyung’s words of persuasion act like you do have a choice when in reality, he mocks.   Yet, in spite of what you might really think, you continue on your way, lugging your heavy baggage up the stairs and steadying your breath. Feeling a sense of calmness, the pad of your index finger presses the doorbell. You listen to how the sound echoes inside the enormous manor.   There’s shouting, footsteps, and a second later, the door swings open.   There’s a plump woman with an apron tied over her body, her gray streaked hair pulled back into a bun. She’s out of breath as she is fatigued even though it’s only eight in the morning. But she still greets you with a smile that spreads into her chubby cheeks. “Hello! You must be the new live-in nanny and housemaid! Come in, come in. Don’t just stand out here! It’s so cold!”   She helps drag in your luggage.    The large foyer opens up to a grand staircase, two archways on both sides that allow you to peek into the chandeliered and golden curtain rooms. There’s antique china in a display case and vases on tables — more to paint a picture of wealth than for any actual purpose. But while one would expect a quiet and proper home, there’s chaos instead. Feet rumbling from upstairs. Sharp laughter and exhausted sighs. Noises of shouting and screaming.    “You’re younger than I expected. What’s your name?”   “Y/N, madam.”   “Oh, I’m not the madam,” the woman giggles at the thought and bats the air with her hand. “The madam isn’t as old as I am. I’m the Kim’s housekeeper, Ms. Yoo. We’ll be working close together. Have you eaten yet? The trip must’ve been long and tiring. Would you like to rest?”   The corner of your lips quirk. “I’m alright, thank you.”   “I’ll give you a tour around then. The faster you can become accustomed to this home, the faster you can help out.”   You nod, but before she can get in another word, there’s thundering stomps down the stairs.    A boy’s face pokes through the banisters and he gives a toothless grin. Not more than five years old, he wears a blue, collared shirt and khaki shorts, one foot with a sock and the other without — he’s no doubt a spoiled, little brat.   The kid makes a ruckus while running down the rest of the steps, jumping from the last three and he comes up to you, eyes wide and sparkling as he looks up. “Who’re you?”   You lower yourself and offer a soft smile. “I’m going to be your daddy and mommy’s new little helper. We’re going to have lots of fun from now on.”   “Jaesun! Jaesun, get back here! What did I say about slamming your bedroom door?!”   A frail woman with grating vocal cords comes down the stairs as well. Her chest is rising and falling, evidently winded from her son but her eyes visibly light up when she sees you.    “You must be Y/N, aren’t you?” She’s a pretty woman with few wrinkles even in her forties, dressed cleanly in a rosy blouse and white skirt. But her dark circles ruin the pristine image.    “Yes, I am, madam.”   She shakes your hand vigorously. She looks at you like you’re her guardian angel. An irony that tickles your senses. “Oh, I’m so happy you’re finally here. I’m Kim Yijin, my husband is Kim Namjoon, but we should head to the kitchen to talk. There’s not much time left.”   The housekeeper smiles. “Yes, I was about to show her the way.”   “Let’s go, Jaesun.” You offer your hand to the boy and he happily takes it, something that Yijin doesn’t miss and even grins at.    The kitchen is twice the size of the foyer, two stove sets and two refrigerators side by side. The counter space is enough to stretch your entire body across and you can only marvel at the surroundings.    “I hope you don’t get too overwhelmed,” Yijin says as she turns to get her coffee started and Ms. Yoo sets out breakfast for Jaesun at the table. “But I should tell you now before I forget to. My family eats a gluten-free diet. Our Jaesun is lactose and tolerant, so he’s only to have soy milk and calcium-fortified orange juice. My daughter has poor digestion, so try to avoid whole-grains when you’re preparing the meals.” She stops for a second, lamenting, “and she has such bad skin these days, so avoid milk and anything bad, like instant noodles, even if she begs for it. The girl doesn’t know what’s good and bad for her.”   With her steaming coffee cup in hand, Yijin waltzes around the kitchen, forcing you to follow her whims.   “Make sure the kids have at least three servings of fruits and vegetables. My husband doesn’t like eggs and Jaesun isn’t supposed to have candy. Also, this is less important, but I really like fried foods that aren’t too oily, so if you have anything you can make…”   The corners of your lips lift. “I have a fried chicken recipe.”   “I like you already.” She snaps her fingers, smile brightening. She looks over to the older lady, calling out to her, “Ms. Yoo, I can get breakfast ready for today. Would you like to continue showing Y/N around?”   “Yes, I will.”    Even when you could tell from the outside, the house is grand. It’s a closed concept, full of mahogany wood panels, twisting halls, oak doors and chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. It looks like a place Taehyung would enjoy.    “Every day, we meal prep breakfast, lunch and dinner. Typically only the master of the house is here for lunch, so we have to watch our portions. He works a lot from home. Oh, his younger brother is also living here for some time. He’s an editor, so he’s quite busy. I tend to deliver his meal to his room if he doesn’t come down for dinner.”   You nod, entering the living room.    There’s a giant family photo above the mantel that looks all too artificial — stiff smiles and pressed clothes with a white background. But the space is warmed with cedar bookshelves, a coffee table to match and perfectly positions cushion chairs. In one of them is a sleepy man with dark hair, sipping on a mug as he reads the newspaper.   He looks up at you, features more tender than expected.   “Hello.” You dip your head to the so-called younger brother, keeping your voice soft-spoken.   “Mr. Kim, this is our new helper,” the housekeeper introduces.   “Yes.” His voice is also surprisingly husky. “I’m Yoongi. It’s nice to meet you.”   The two of you stare at one another until you dip your head as Mrs. Yoo keeps going and you leave the room, walking upstairs.   “We dust every day and clean the kitchen each night. Every other day, we do laundry and vacuum the rooms. The living space and foyer get especially dirty, so we have to stay vigilant. If your back ever aches from hunching over so much, tell me and I’ll give you some cream and heated pads.”   A door down the hall shuts and there’s an audible sigh. What follows are footsteps and a teenage girl in an ironed school uniform, backpack on her back. Her black hair is sleek, ending at her waist and in spite of puffy cheeks, her eyes are cat-like.    “Good morning, Sohee. Sleep well?”   “I guess.” As her pupils dart from the housekeeper to you, her steps slow and she halts altogether.   You lock your gaze with her and smile. “Hello. I’m the new housemaid, Y/N.”   You extend your arm, but she dwells — staring like a deer in headlights.   It takes a moment for Sohee to come to her senses and she shakes your hand while brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. She timidly murmurs, “O-oh. Nice to meet you.”   “Sohee!” There’s a sudden screech of her name from downstairs, grating to the ears. Immediately, the young girl deflates.   “Coming!” she shouts back to her mom with a groan, rolling her eyes before running down the stairs.   The housekeeper smiles sympathetically. “Sohee’s going through a bit of a growth spurt, so she’s been a bit sensitive lately.” You nod and she continues, “We clean the bathrooms once a week and once a month, we wash the carpets. Your room is just this way.”   Down the corridor is a small mahogany door. But there’s grandiose double doors with golden handles right where the hall begins from the open area. And your strides reduce. You linger from curiosity and peer through the crack with an eye. Vaguely, you’re able to make out bookshelves and an imposing desk. More importantly, there’s someone seated in the leather seat behind it.   Mrs. Yoo notices. “Oh, that’s master Kim’s office, but there’s no need to bother him right now.”   Your body moves a little too late. While you’re still peeping through, the man behind the desk raises his head. Your eyes meet, but you leave before either of you can get a good look at each other.   The room you’re given is a meager space — more like a closet compared to the rest of the house. You hold in your scoff, looking around at the single bed. The empty desk. The tiny window with dead bugs on the sill. The wooden chair with splinters sticking out of it. It looks like antiques shoved in a shed. Not even Taehyung treats you this poorly.   “The bathroom is across from your room, so it’s rather convenient!”   You set your luggage down.   “Also, you’ll be watching Jaesun when he comes home from kindergarten. You’ll wash him and put him to bed as well. I’ll help you out until you get the hang of things, so don’t worry too much.”   You wonder if the old lady ever shuts up, but you keep your voice soft-spoken and your demeanour timid. “Thank you.”   “It’s not an issue.” Ms. Yoo pats your shoulder. “Oh, you can get settled a little later on. We should help the madam with breakfast. She doesn’t cook very well.”   It’s possible to get lost in this abyss of a house. There are endless halls and pompous rooms. You don’t understand the purpose of having a large music room next to a drawing room, but you suppose with this much money, it’s fun to throw it into a blazing fire.   The housekeeper continues yapping away as you make it back downstairs. But on your way, you catch a different individual standing in the foyer. Someone in a black suit with doe eyes, boyish features that draw you in.    He seems surprised to see you too.   “Ah, Jungkook! Have you eaten yet? Would you like a coffee?”   “I’m fine, Ms. Yoo.” He has a cute smile full of teeth and his eyes flicker to you. “This is...?”   “Oh, it’s the new helper I was telling you about. Y/N, this is Jungkook, Mr. Kim’s personal chauffeur. He’s been working with this family for almost as long as I’ve been here.”   “Not that long,” Jungkook retorts mischievously. “I only started here a few years ago after I finished school.”   “Only? Oh my. Feels like you started here thirty years ago like I did! Time goes by so fast!”   “Only when you’re having fun.” Jungkook grins and then redirects his attention towards you, clearing his throat. “I-It’s nice to meet you.”   “Likewise.” You shake his hand and dip your head with a tiny smile. He averts his vision too, becoming shy. Yet, when you lift your head, your eyes meet each other’s. You can feel the way his hand is getting sweaty, but you let it linger for a longer amount of time than necessary. Until you’re the one to let go.   He’s too cute.   You catch the way his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat.   The tension between the pair of you is only broken when a voice coughs from the top of the staircase and Jungkook breaks apart from you, taking a step back. You look up at the master, Kim Namjoon. A man in his forties, tall with a commanding aura. His hair is styled neatly, thick glasses sitting on his face, sharply dressed in a tailored suit. Everything about him screams of new money.   “Good morning, Mr. Kim.”   He hums at the housekeeper. “Good morning, Ms. Yoo. This must be the new helper. It’s nice to meet you.” The man comes down and visibly inspects you, as if trying to figure you out and only looks away when he’s satisfied. “I hope you’ll do a good job.”   “Yes, sir.”   “Are you going already, daddy?” Sohee comes from the kitchen, crestfallen. The volume of her voice is quiet and tapers off, “You’re not going to have breakfast with us...?”   “I don’t have time today.” The words tumble out and he looks at his phone. Ms. Yoo opens the door as he answers a call outside.    You look over at Sohee who’s become dejected. Her shoulders have slumped and her hair falls in front of her face. She pouts and tries to hide it. But Jungkook smiles softly and ruffles her hair.   “Don’t be so sad. I’ll have breakfast with you tomorrow, okay?”   “Really?” Sohee looks up at him, eyes gradually brightening and her cheeks becoming rosy.   He nods. “I’ll make sure to come early.”   “I’ll have to cook more eggs then,” the housekeeper chortles and Jungkook grins until his eyes travel to you. The glance turns into a gaze and neither of you speak until Ms. Yoo turns. “Come on, Y/N! We can’t dawdle all day now.”   “Yes,” you murmur and follow after her, all too aware of Jungkook’s stare on your backside as Sohee still talks without him really listening. Once you turn the corner, the older woman pauses and your brow cocks. “Is….there something the matter?”   She smiles endearingly at you and shakes her head. “No, nothing’s wrong. You’re just very beautiful, that’s all.”

The house is chaotic.   Before going to bed, Ms. Yoo gave you one piece of furniture to add to the sad collection — an alarm clock. And it blares with red digits reading that it’s five in the morning. Lugging yourself up, you’re bombarded with chores. From laundry to wiping down windows and making the bed.   “Excuse me.” You knock against the door and there’s a muffled ‘come in’.   Yoongi sits at his desk with a stack of papers in front of him and a red pen in his hand. His room is similar to yours, cramped and modest, but with a larger window and mattress, and a proper wardrobe and closet.   The man in his pajamas doesn’t look at you. “You can leave it there,” he mumbles and you set his tray of breakfast food on his nightstand.    Your eyes linger on his slouching form. But he never turns around, so you leave.   The noise and bickering from the kitchen can already be heard from the stair landing. The stove top fan is blasted while Ms. Yoo fries eggs, Jaesun sitting at the table with his legs swinging and spitting his cereal all over the place as he plays make-belief with his robot, but most of all—   “Why won’t you let me go?” Sohee is standing by her mother, exasperation and the furrow of her brows ruining her otherwise innocent exterior. “It’s only Yeeun’s house! And you already know her mom!”   “I already said that she isn’t a good influence on you!”   “We’re only studying! I don’t get why you don’t like her!”   “Her family is lower than ours.” Yijin forces herself to become calmer and feeds Jaesun a spoonful of yogurt as he plays. She glances at her daughter after a moment. “If you know what’s good for you, you’d become friends with Lee Sunmi. At least they have something to offer us. And are you going to eat that bagel? It’s filled with cream cheese. We have to watch your weight, remember?”   “Why are you always picking on me?” The girl drops her choice of breakfast and cries, “What about Jaesun?!”   “Are you going to compare yourself to your brother?” She gives her an astonished look full of disbelief, tinged with disappointment. “He’s only five.”   Sohee is frustrated to no end. “I hate you all!” She screams and stomps away as you resume slicing the strawberries, eyes lifting every so often. You watch as Jungkook enters the kitchen at the same time Sohee’s leaving. She pauses for a second but then pushes past him.   Her mother screams after her. “Sohee! Are you not going to eat at all?! That girl! So rude.”   In the meanwhile, Ms. Yoo reads the expression on your face and smiles. “Don’t worry. They never argue for too long.”   “Shouldn’t we at least say something?”   She shakes her head. “I’ve tried to get involved a few times, but it never helped much. Better to keep quiet. Every family argues.”   The housekeeper finishes up in the kitchen while Yijin settles down and sips on her coffee as she scrolls through her phone. She asks for a plate of fruits from Ms. Yoo and at the same time, you notice Jaesun scooping his cereal and purposely spilling it on the ground. No one notices.   It sloshes into a pile.   You hold in your cusses and grab a rag.   The five year old realizes he’s been caught in the act and grins like a little shit. You get on the floor, scrubbing the mess. But the moment the floorboards are back to brown again, there’s another splatter of milk by your hand and a spoonful of cereal flakes that follow. It splashes on your hair and apron and you raise your head to find the little shit plastered with a ginormous smile.   “Done eatin’!” He announces, scooting back his chair before running off in giggles.   May Satan have mercy on the child before you tear his limbs apart.   The minute you’re finished scrubbing the floor and clearing the table, you go off to find the brat. Because god forbid there’s a scratch on him.    You find him in the hallway between the laundry room and garage. “What do you think you’re doing?!”   There’s a bright red crayon in his tight fist. And he’s scribbling all across the wall while laughing at a piercing volume. At the sight of you, Jaesun draws a line as hard as he can until his knuckles are white, bits of wax are sprinkling and the crayon is a half the size it used to be.   The kid runs away before you can snatch him.   Much to your dismay, Ms. Yoo merely smiles in endearment when you tell her. “Kids like to have so much fun, don’t they? I remember when my son was at that age, he was such a troublemaker too. But it’s nothing a little baking soda can’t fix!”   You end up on your knees, scrubbing the wall with a damp rag dipped in the white powder.   You’re humiliating and exhausted.    Taehyung was wrong — there’s nothing fun about this whatsoever. You swear to God you’re going to murder someone.   “How are you doing?”   You look up, discovering doe eyes and pink lips quirked at you. Jungkook is dressed in his suit that’s a bit too big for him, hands dug into the pants pockets as he glances at the wall. You smile at him, brushing away the strand of your hair that came loose from your bun.   It’s not too bad of a time to be sweating. To allow the beads to roll down the nape of your neck.   “It’s tiresome, but nothing I can’t do.”   “I’m assuming this is Jaesun’s little artwork project.”   “Who else could it be?”   Jungkook grins boyishly. “Once he decided to paint the inside the car using the leather seats as his canvas.”   “Why don’t they ever discipline him?” you ask genuinely, tilting your head up at him and he matches the playful glint in your eyes before shrugging.   “Probably because he’s the youngest and the only son, so it’s natural they spoil him.”   “But this is a bit much, isn’t it?” You shake your head, voice pitching upwards into a whine. The irritation was leaking through the facade you’ve created, but all it does is make Jungkook’s grin widen.   “It is. You know—”   “Y/N!” There’s a call of your name in a screeching voice. “Can you come here for a second?”   “Yes!” For the most part, the crayon is taken off and you breathe a sigh of relief. You look over to Jungkook as a tiny smile appears on your features. “See you.”   “Y-Yeah.”   His eyes linger on you as you leave.   “I’m about to be late for work, so can you please bring this up to my husband?” Yijin hands you a wooden tray with a tall glass of some sort of sludgy green liquid filled to the rim. The drink stinks of kale and lettuce. You wonder if she’s trying to poison him. “He hasn’t gotten anything to eat yet and I’m worried. That man never takes care of himself properly. Oh, and I’d really appreciate it if you could Jaesun dressed. Don’t know where he’s run off to.”   You nod and balance the drink up the stairs before coming to the familiar grandiose doors.   You knock timidly.   There’s a disgruntled noise of acknowledgment, one that signifies he’s inside but preoccupied. Still, you push the parted doors open and come forward with the tray. Namjoon never looks up at you, busy studying the files of documents.   The room is warmer than expected, oaks and mahogany, paintings and bookshelves, a large desk that reminds you of a judge’s bench — imposing, commanding. Not unlike him. There’s a fireplace, two leather sofas facing each other and a coffee table in between, and above the mantle is another family portrait that exudes a kind of stiff perfection.   You place the glass down on his disorganized desk, eyes peering up at the man. As you retract your arm, your skin brushes against a stack of papers and they’re knocked to the ground. He whips his head over, brow cocked.   “I’m so sorry, sir,” you whimper. As you frantically pick them up, you bend over in front of him.   “It’s fine.” You feel his eyes linger on your rounded behind before he looks at his document again. You mask a smirk. Namjoon mutters from the corner of his mouth, “Where are you from?”    You purposely pause so he directs his attention to you again.   “I grew up in the countryside not far from here, sir.” You hold the tray to your stomach, presenting a timid disposition as if his gaze weighs heavily on you.   “And what did you do before you took this job?”   “I was in university, sir, but I’m taking a break to save some money.”   The man gives a pleasant nod. “What was your major?”   “Education, sir.” You divert your vision elsewhere, but a sweet smile pulls on your lips. “I would love to become a teacher someday.”   He hums in approval, “I could see you doing that.”   “Daddy?” The conversation is interrupted by Sohee at the door. She’s dressed in her school uniform, but is nowhere near ready to step into a classroom with the way she’s teary-eyed and her voice croaks with a lump in her throat. “Mom’s not letting me study with Yeeun!”   Namjoon exhales exhaustingly. He sits back in his leather chair, looking at the ceiling. Sohee’s eyes stings at how she’s evidently annoying her father. But you don’t dwell, bowing your head and dismissing yourself.   //   You would’ve never picked up this job unless you had to. Not even for the useless money.   You detest education. Never did well, never had fun, never got along with anyone. Be a teacher? You could scoff ten times over. You hate children. You hate kids. They’re absolute brats. Noisy at their best and tormentors at their worst. There’s only a few perks to this job.   Like right now.   “I’m glad to be of service,” Jungkook breathlessly laughs.    His hot breath ghosts along your cheek while your legs wrap and lock around his waist.   A comfortable darkness surrounds you. The moonlight cascades through the small window, enough that you can see his handsome profile. And the slick, obscene sounds are covered by the dryer machine still rumbling underneath you. It has the last load of towels the housekeeper wanted to get done tonight — and it’s also helping Jungkook release his load into you.   The vibrations of the dryer flow through your body, adding to his raw strokes and the moans choking out of you. It didn’t take much to convince him to sneak away. The one-dimensional family is completely oblivious too, sleeping upstairs in their warm beds. You’re tempted to whine Jungkook’s name louder and make one of them investigate. You wonder what the look on their face would be if they found their little maid and chauffeur fucking in the laundry room.   Jungkook tugs down your dress further and gently noses your hardened nipple before his mouth travels upwards to the juncture of your neck. You feel his lips suck into your soft skin, but the fingers sunk into his dark hair tightens and you pull his head back.   He gives a throaty groan, half-lidded eyes pinned on your face.   You writhe against his hard chest every time his thick cock drags out of your walls. He’s bigger than you expected. Eager too. Jungkook is a healthy and young one, hips and strokes fluid albeit a bit fast and excited.    You can tell he likes you a lot.   “I-I would’ve never guessed you hated kids.” The boy watches how his cock enters you and disappears. Your pussy clenches around him and he sweats at his hairline, trying to hold back from cumming so soon.   “There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” you sing-song cutely and roughly pull him in by his shoulders, batting your lashes. “Can you kiss me, please, Jungkookie?”   He nods enthusiastically and leans in to nose your cheek. Then, he tilts his head and your mouth meets his. Your lips immediately part to welcome him deeper and his hands force your thighs farther apart, fingers digging into your flesh. Jungkook’s tongue licks into your hot mouth, making you moan.    Yet, the kiss is somehow sweet. Much too pure for someone like you.   The two of you break apart, lips wet with his spit. “I-I’m close.”   Jungkook’s strokes start to lose their rhythm. They become frantic. Frenzied. He can feel the shaking of the dryer jumping beneath you, how tight and wet you are around him.   You watch him through hooded eyes, tempted to coo at him and tell him that he can do it — encourage him that he can release his load right into your womb. But not wanting to ruin his fun moment, you instead squeeze as tight as you can.    Jungkook groans, hips jerking and he plunges deep inside your cunt to cum.    He gives two more thrusts. His entire body trembles and he realizes you’re still unfinished. Even with half a mind, he has the courtesy to lick his thumb and rub at your clit. You writhe with moans of his name, holding him close and a few seconds later, you get to where you want to be.   As you come down from your high, you pet him. “Good boy. Thanks for that.”   “Y-You’re so pretty.”   “Am I?” you hum and he nods madly.   Jungkook’s sticky breath heaves, chest rising and falling and you wrap your arms possessively around his shoulders. Whining incoherently, he understands that you’re pleading for another kiss. He happily obliges and you angle your head to deepen it. The kiss is lazier. Languid. Giving you a chance to taste him properly.   Jungkook starts to groan when you don’t pull away after thirty seconds.   He tries to part, losing oxygen. But you keep him in your tight grip. And you inhale.   It’s delicious. It fills you with a sense of euphoria, making goosebumps raise all over the back of your arms. It’s been a while since you’ve had a soul for yourself. And as it leaves his body, you feel him go limp around you.   Jungkook falls to the tiled floor, leaving a sopping mess at your center.   “Would you look at that?” A deep timbre sounds. He appears, manifesting himself across from you with the corpse in between. The corner of his thin lip is curled as if he’s impressed. His blonde hair looks white in the milky moonlight and the darkness causes his piercing brown eyes to glow. “Not too bad, peach.”   “It’s so easy, it’s not even fun.” You hop down from the dryer machine.   Taehyung’s devilish smirk grows. “That’s because you’re so naturally enticing.”   You roll your eyes.   He comes close, large hands lifting to cradle your cheeks. Taehyung kisses you without much warning — not that you need it — and he licks into your mouth, inhaling deep. He retrieves the soul you took, taking it right from your parted lips.   The two of you part and the thin strand of saliva breaks. Taehyung boops your nose. “I always knew my succubus was a talented one.”   You scoff. “Don’t act like you came here to praise me. You just wanted to collect the soul.”   “Can’t I come here for both?” He lolls his head, another smirk gracing his perfect visage that’s been sculpted by porcelain angel tears. “But it looks like you don’t need my help, so I’ll be on my way.”   Taehyung winks and takes the discarded body on the ground, disappearing with it. He vanishes as quickly as he came.   After he’s gone, you dip your hand between your messy legs.    It’s the last remnants of Jungkook and it’s salty on your palette when you lick your fingers.   //   The mattress is soft against your knees. It cushions and molds against you each time you push down. But still, your wrists strain against the hardened muscles and knots.   Yijin hums, a pleased smile on her face. “A little harder please. And oh, up there. Yes, yes. That’s the spot.”    You continue to massage her, making sure to knead your thumbs into the sweet spots. The madam of the house moans in satisfaction. If she wasn’t so annoying and if her soul wasn’t so bland to you — you would’ve taken it long ago. But well, she might be fun to have around a little longer when you start messing with her family more.    “You’re good,” she hums. “Where did you learn?”   “Here and there. My grandma had a lot of sore muscles, so naturally, I kind of picked it up.”   In reality, Taehyung makes you rub his shoulders all the time.   She looks like she’s enjoying herself, head placed to the side, eyes closed and the corners of her mouth raises. She’s melting under your touch. But even when she’s this relaxed, she still manages to yap.    “It’s been so long since I’ve been treated like this at home. I used to go to the spa often but there’s nothing like a home massage,” Yijin mumbles, “Namjoon used to do it for me all the time before we had kids and then he got busy with work, and well, it’s the reason we have this big house.”   She flips her head to the other side and you rub between her shoulder blades. “I used to be as pretty as you are.”   You keep your voice quiet and meek. “Pardon? You’re still pretty, madam.”   “You don’t need to flatter me.”   “But it’s true…?” Your voice pitches upwards as if you’re incredulous as to how she could think otherwise. “You have a maternal aura about you that I don’t have and you’re an established professional. Women can only dream of having that.”   Peering at her, you catch the way her smile sweetens.   At the same time, her husband enters the bedroom. Sighing and pulling off his tie, he places his briefcase down and moves to the minibar. Namjoon pours himself a glass of whisky and collapses into the white armchair beside the modern standing lamp, thighs spread wide and rather inviting. You look up at him, lashes fluttering in curiosity.   “What’s wrong?” Yijin opens one eye, clearly catching how stressed Namjoon is.   “I found that damn punk’s resignation letter on my desk. He’s gone.” He lifts his glass, taking a long sip of the amber liquid and letting the glass rest between his fingertips.   “Who?”   “Jungkook.”   “What?” Both of Yijin’s eyes peel back, pupils widening in shock. “How could that brat leave without warning?”   “I don’t know.” Namjoon looks to the whiskey, exhaling yet again. “After years of working for us, he upped and disappeared. I guess workers are always like that. Sohee’s been crying and throwing a tantrum. But anyway, I need to hire someone new. I don’t know who’s going to work this far from the city though.”   You continue rubbing Yijin’s back and you feel Namjoon’s gaze traveling to you from his place on the armchair. From the profile of your face, the nape of your neck, to the skin of your thighs that’s exposed from your dress being hiked up so you’re able to kneel on his mattress.   Yijin makes a noise. “Well, there’s nothing we can do. Do you want a massage too? Y/N’s really amazing.”   Namjoon looks away, tearing his eyes from you. “No. I’m fine. I only need to rest a bit before I have to go back to work.”   His wife opens her eyes again and this time, she gets up. You lean back, allowing her to do so.   “Oh my goodness! Your associate is coming for dinner tonight, isn’t he? I almost forgot!” She snaps her fingers and looks at you. “Can you please draw me a bath, Y/N? I have to look presentable.”   //   The business associate is Taehyung.   You couldn’t roll your eyes any harder when you see the blonde seated on the leather sofa as if he owns the place, suit and tie crisp, shoes polished. You don’t know what he’s doing or how he even set himself in their lives, but you suppose you had planted yourself in this household in dubious ways too — with his help, of course. So you don’t question it too much.   “I must say, this house is much more beautiful than I thought it was going to be.”   “That’s all thanks to my wife,” Namjoon chuckles, hands clasped together. “She has a better sense of aesthetics than I do.”   Yijin smiles. She’s dressed in another one of her rosy blouses and white skirts, polished without a hair out of place — to both play the role of the perfect wife and appeal to the handsome stranger. “Thank you. I wanted to be an interior designer a long time ago, so it was really fun to try my hand at it even if it’s not much.”   “Nonsense. It’s wonderful. Do you still want to be an interior designer now? You certainly have the skills for it.”   “Oh, no.” She bats the air with her hand. “I lost the dream when I got married and had kids. Plus, I don’t think I could ever work for anyone. It doesn’t really suit me.”   “Ah.” Taehyung leans back, all too comfortable as he is playful. “You prefer reaping the benefits of your husband and enjoying yourself? Can’t say I blame you.”   The corner of Namjoon’s mouth tilts while you approach with a bottle of wine, setting the crystal glasses down for them. “You know how women are.”   “On the contrary, they’re the more intelligent ones for letting us do all the work while they take pleasure,” Taehyung says, causing the other man to laugh and agree. You round the table to pour him a glass of wine and Taehyung looks at you with that infamous smirk, but you try to not make eye contact for long. “Thank you.”   You dip your head wordlessly.   “Oh yes.” Yijin perks up. “Thank you for recommending the company that you did. If not, we wouldn’t have been able to hire Y/N.”   “It’s not a problem at all. I’m always happy to help.” He smiles, taking the stem of the wine glass and rotating it to slosh the ruby liquid inside. “I take it she’s a good addition to the house?”   “Yes, she is.”   Taehyung exhales through his nostrils, lips adorned with a devilish smile. “I’m glad.”   You return to the kitchen unscathed, but damning Taehyung in your head for messing with your game. Though your irritation can’t last for long when Ms. Yoo hands you a wooden tray heavy with bowls and dishes. “Can you bring this up to the master’s younger brother? He’ll be having dinner in his room today.”   “Okay.”   You knock on the door. There’s a pause and after a moment, you open it.   Yoongi is in the same spot he was this morning, crouched over his desk with a red pen in hand, papers in front of him and round reading glasses perched on his nose. The curtains are drawn but the glow of the lamp gives him enough luminescence to work.   “You can leave it over there,” he mumbles and you place it on the usual spot.   The man never raises his head or pays any attention to you.   Your brow cocks and you take the tall glass, deciding to bring it to him. “Here’s some water, sir.”   And you purposely waver. The liquid sloshing on the sides and unceremoniously spills onto his lap. Yoongi jolts, arms lifting to save his papers while you sharply gasp. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry!”   You fall onto your knees and begin dabbing all over his lap and crotch with your apron. Yet your antics doesn’t last for a few seconds before he’s brushing your hand away. “It’s fine. It’s just water.”   You peer up at him through your lashes. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Kim.”   “I told you to leave it over there,” he grunts, casting a measly glance at you. “But it’s fine. If you have nothing else to do, please leave. I have a lot of work to get done.”   You rise to your feet and exit. He’s a harder one to crack. Those little tactics might not be enough, but you’ll get there soon enough. You’re certain of it.   “Y/N?” There’s a strangled whimper and you turn around in the dark corridor to see Sohee emerge from her room. The area underneath her eyes are reddened, nose raw. Her whole body trembles as she sniffles. The girl looks small and vulnerable, almost like a puppy.   “Is there something wrong?” you ask gently, akin to a mother cooing at her child.   Sohee’s eyes flicker up to you. “Did...Jungkook ever tell you anything before he left?”   You shake your head. “No. We were never that close. I’ve only spoken to him a few times.”   She nods. There’s a beat of silence and you lift your hand to caress her hair. The girl is startled but then eases, even leaning into your tender touch. You draw your fingers through her long, straight strands, petting her gently. “I’m sure he left for good reason. Maybe something happened or it was a family emergency. He was always close to you, right?”   Sohee nods again while choked cries come from her. “W-We were family.”   You embrace her, patting her back and she leans on your chest. “You’re not alone, Sohee. You have me now and I won’t ever leave like Jungkook did.”   She squeezes you back.   But the moment is shattered by a grating voice of her mother. “Sohee! Where are you?! Get down here and greet your dad’s friend!”    Her jaw clamps. She parts from you, rubbing her eyes.    You watch her go and she turns around to look at you. You smile at her.   //    “Your maid outfit’s cute.” He appears. A creeping shadow casted against the wall first, then flesh that stitches into the room. You’re resting on your bed, leaning against the headboard and filing your nails one at a time — the yellow glow of the desk lamp giving you barely enough light. “I didn’t get a good look last time.”   “What are you doing, Taehyung?” You blow against your index finger and finally ascend your gaze.   “Just having a little fun,” he chimes and muses that— “You’re taking a lot longer than usual.”   “Well, I’m just having some fun.”   Taehyung scoffs. “Don’t take too long.”   “You shouldn’t act like you’re busy when you’re not,” you bite back without missing a beat.   His brow cocks, smirk playing on his lips. “I think it’s been too long since I’ve disciplined you.”   Before you can react, he ambushes and pins you flat onto the bed. Taehyung hovers over you with a glint in his eyes, heavy body on top of yours, hips pressed together. He holds your wrists above your head, preventing you from squirming. But you make no attempts to do so, simply glaring at him like a petulant child. You’re neither surprised nor caught off guard. Taehyung always likes to be the one on top, in a literal and figurative sense. And truth be told, you don’t particularly mind.   His pink lips are curled and he leans down to your neck. He starts to suck into your skin, rough enough to break through and your pathetic cries only spur him on. Making him smirk against you. But your fingers find their way into his hair and you yank his head back.   Flesh coated in his saliva, a giant purple bruise is left blooming on your supple skin as the redness fades. “I told you no marks.”   “You’re going to need it, peach,” he says with a mischievous grin and then vanishes.   You’re left rolling your eyes.   //   The grandiose double doors have never been intimidating. Even when Ms. Yoo has warned you on your first day to not disturb the master working and to not approach unless necessary. As much of a brat as the five year old is, even he doesn’t come close to his father’s office.   But to you, those doors have always signified that a very fun game is waiting behind them.    Your knuckles rap against the wooden surface and you pull the golden handles without waiting for confirmation. Kim Namjoon’s seated in his leather chair behind the imposing desk, eyes flickering upwards and you smile, holding your tray higher. “It’s fruit, sir.”   “That isn’t necessary,” he says and you feign dejection, downcast eyes, shoulder slumping. He swallows hard and then beckons you over. “You can bring it here.”   You come forward and place the plate on a single empty spot on the desk not coated in file folders. You’re close enough that he catches a whiff of your scent and the hickey on your neck.   A scoff spills from Namjoon’s chest.   “You’re doing a lot of unnecessary things in my home,” he comments offhandedly, perhaps not for your ears to hear. It’s passive aggressive and you mask your smile. Namjoon looks at you. “I would prefer if you would work properly and complete your duties without doing much else.”   You feign confusion. Wide-eyed blinking. Lashes batting.   As if giving you the reason for his mention, his eyes linger at the hickey.   In a delayed manner, your hand raises to the juncture of your neck, covering the spot Taehyung made like that alone could remove it. And then, you immediately drop to the ground on your knees.   “I-I’m so sorry, sir. It...it wasn’t my fault,” you cry out, searching the floor as the volume of your voice becomes timid and shy. It isn’t hard to come up with an excuse. “J-Jungkook did it. I didn’t know what he was doing, but he cornered me in the laundry room and I..told him to stop...but…”   He slams his desk.   Hand curled into a tight fist. Making the pens on the surface jump. It’s startling and you look up at him, viewing just how upset he is. “He left the next morning and hasn’t been back…”   “So that’s why he left. Why didn’t you tell me?” Namjoon stares at you in distress. “This is very serious.”   You shake your head. “I was afraid of saying anything. I know Jungkook’s been here longer than I have, so I didn’t think anyone would believe me and I can’t lose this job, sir.” Your head tilts to look up at him, eyes gleaming through your lashes, lips pouted, still on your knees. “I’m sorry.”   The man sighs. “There’s no reason to apologize. If he ever comes back, I’ll call the police immediately. No one in this household should ever feel unsafe. I’ll promise you that.”   You nod and he helps pull you up by your arm. You stagger upwards and on weakened knees, you stumble. With agile skills Taehyung would be proud of, you land on the man’s lap. Perched on his spread thighs, your legs placed along one side, and hands securely on his shoulders. Namjoon’s steadied you as well with his own palms sprawled on the small of your waist. And your parted lips are gasping mere millimeters away from his.   It’s an intimate moment. One where your gazes lock. One where you make sure lasts three seconds to imprint into his mind.   And then true to the character you’ve created, you pull yourself away. You grab your chair and dip your head. “I’m so sorry, sir.”   Before the master of the house can get another word out, you run out the room.   The minute you’re outside, you run into Yoongi. Passing by, he cocks a brow at the way you frantically shut the doors and your breathing is laboured as if you ran a marathon.   “Something wrong?”   Your head shakes and you devilishly smile at him. “It’s nothing at all.”   //   It’s a game with these mortal men.   You know they want you — that they helplessly dream about you at night. Your words, your lips, you crawling over to them and doing whatever they ask. Showing what reality could be. But the more you let them peek without giving it to them, the deeper they fall into your trap of honey.   “What do you think?”   You place the papers down, a tender smile placed on your features. “Shouldn’t you ask your uncle who’s an editor to look over your essay instead of me?”   Sohee playfully sulks. “Yeah, but he’s always busy. I don’t want to bother him.”   “You made a few errors here and the conclusion isn’t as strong as the introduction. I think you should expand on this point into one or two more sentences. But overall it’s very well written, Sohee. You might even have a knack for writing.”   The girl nods with a grin and when you stroke her hair while telling her how proud you are, she looks up at you and leans into your touch.   Ms. Yoo enters the dining room, endeared at the sight of you and Sohee sitting together at the table and working on her homework. She’s reluctant to interrupt but does so anyways. “Y/N, the master is calling for you.”   The housekeeper never tells you for what purpose, but you have an inkling sprouted from your intuition. Swiftly, you leave and Ms. Yoo takes your place as Sohee continues on other assignments she’s able to do on her own. The pair of them are equally unsuspecting.   It’s evening and long after dinner. The sun is dipping over the horizon, crimson shades fuzzy in the sky. Everyone is preoccupied and there’s no real reason why he should be calling you.   But you don’t hesitate.   Your knuckles rap against the grandiose doors. There’s a pause and you push it open.   Inside, there’s a fire roaring in the fireplace — above the mantle is the family portrait — and the man is standing and staring at the flickering flames. His face casted by the warm glow and he’s nursing a glass of whiskey. Namjoon raises his head as you push the door back to where it was, leaving it slightly parted.    “Good evening.”   “Is there something wrong, sir?”   He shakes his head. “Not at all. I’ve just been thinking and I...realized I haven’t been as kind to you as I should’ve been. It didn’t occur to me that this wasn’t a safe place for you and I want to change that. I don’t want anyone in this house to be afraid.”   You know he’s referring to what you’ve accused Jungkook of doing and promptly you close the distance. Your steps are slow as your hips sway and you look at him through lidded eyes.   “Sir.” You keep your voice low. “This has always been a safe place to me, because I know you’re here.”   Your eyes locked into one another and a tense silence lingers.   Finally, Namjoon swallows hard and diverts his vision. “Would you like a drink?”   “I-Is that allowed, sir?”    “I’ll allow it.” The suited man smiles and moves to sit on his dark leather couch.    There are two couches facing one another by the fireplace with a coffee table in between, opposite of his desk and the bookshelves. A once private sanctuary meant for no one but him, yet you have an exclusive invitation.   His thighs spread as he gets comfortable and he reaches for the fancy bottle of whiskey. Namjoon pours a glass of the amber liquid. It sloshes on the side and he extends his arm.   You take it nervously as if you’ve never drank much before.   “You don’t have to drink it all if you don’t want to.”   “It’s not that.” You smile at him through your lashes. “I’m just wondering how expensive it is.”   Namjoon scoffs lightly, but not out of malice or annoyance. It’s from endearment. “You don’t need to worry about that.”   The rim of the glass is placed between your plush lips and you take a sip. It’s bitter, but slides smoothly down.   He watches you and in the meanwhile, your eyes flicker away from him. Something catches your attention on a mahogany bookshelf, so you cross the room. You allow your knees to brush against his, the loose strands of your hair nearly skimming along his nose.   Namjoon clears his throat, holding the crystal glass casually between his fingertips. “Can I ask what kind of perfume you use?”   You twist around with another easy smile. “I don’t really use any, sir.”   Bending over in his line of vision, you look at his stacks of books and other knick-knacks on his shelf. “You have chess?”   “I do.” He places his glass down. “Do you want to play?”   You turn around with another coy smile. “Can we really?”   The darkness of the room thickens, fire crackling and sputtering in the background. The glow is dim against your profiles and casts your shadows along the wall. The game of chess has been set on the small table. You tell him you barely know how to play to which he replied he’d go easy on you. A few minutes have passed and you’ve moved a few pawns around. Yet, it’s intimate and quiet as if the room is hidden away from the rest of the house. Something you’re sure isn’t too far off.   “Are you alright, sir?” you ask in a husky murmur, pupils flickering up to him as he’s mid-way from taking another sip of his whisky. “You seemed pretty stressed a few days ago.”   Namjoon leans back into the seat. It sinks underneath his weight. His thighs are spread as you hold your knight, still debating on where to place it on the board. “I still am, but it's just the usual business stress.”   “Your wife worries a lot.”    You place the chess piece down and he leans forward again, capturing your pawn with one smooth move of his rook.   “You don’t need to try to make me feel better. I know she doesn’t care.”   “That’s not true,” you refute half-heartedly. “Why do you feel that way?”   “It’s obvious,” he mumbles and takes another pawn of yours when you move it. “My wife is more preoccupied with using my credit card and all she does all day is nag which makes it worse.”   You move your bishop across the board.   “Because of her, we have to have two live-in maids in the house at all times,” Namjoon continues. The liquor makes it easy for him to relax and let the truth spill. He’s defenseless. “Sohee doesn’t get along with her at all and Jaesun isn’t disciplined whatsoever. Sometimes I wonder why my family is like this and where it went wrong.”   The older man exhales and slides his king forward.    He waits for your next move, but you don’t go.    Your gaze is pinned on him and his eyes travel upwards to connect with yours.   “It doesn’t need to be that way, sir,” you whisper.   It’s your moment. You can feel it. And you disregard the game in favour of crawling towards him. The chess pieces knock over, some to the table and the others collide to the ground.    He has no idea you were two moves away from checkmate.   In seconds, you straddle his thighs. Namjoon’s at a loss, arms not yet touching you, but hands never pushing you off of him. His eyes have gone hazy. He’s completely entranced by you, bewitched under your spell. Vulnerable to your seduction and the wicked temptation you offer.   “What are you doing?” His breath laboured and he tries to muster sternness to no avail, as if you shouldn’t entice him with such a dangerous game.   The corner of your lip pulls into a devilish smile. “I’m doing to fulfill every single one of your fantasies, daddy.” And you kiss him. Slotting your soft lips against his chapped ones, letting them move gently. It’s a brief moment before Namjoon surges forward like a man possessed.   Namjoon’s hands grab your ass and he pushes you forward until you’re sitting directly sitting above his crotch. You whimper, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. His brows furrow, mouth parting from the pain and you steal the chance to deepen the kiss.    He struggles for control but you ultimately give it to him, feigning submission.   It’s too easy.   You roll your hips over his hardened crotch, feeling how your panties stick to your slick folds, and he grabs hold of your waist. The pair of you break away from the kiss with your arms wrapped possessively around his shoulders.   “God, you knew what you were doing this entire time, weren’t you?” Namjoon’s chest heaves against yours. “Every time you fucking bent over. Every time you tried to play coy. Such a goddamn tease.”   His fingers rub over your wet lips then down to your neck and collarbones. His hands travel to the low collar of your dress and then he tears it. The fabric rips against the threads and you whine in shock. But Namjoon never halts, undoing your bra and tossing it aside. He grabs a handful of your soft breast and pinches your nipples roughly until the bud hardens against the pad of his fingers. You sob out as he watches you through lidded eyes, mesmerized by the way your expression contorts into pleasure.   “I can see why Jeon liked you so much.”   “But I didn’t want him to touch me, daddy.” You pout at him. The thin layer of your panties and his slacks prevents you from feeling it completely, but it’s still dry fucking. “I-I only wanted you.”   “And you’re going to have me,” the man grunts and pulls aside the skirt of your uniform. His hand dips past your thin, white underwear and his fingers feel against your folds.   “Fuck,” he hotly exhales, “you’re soaked. Do you really want me that badly?”   “Yes, daddy.” Without warning, Namjoon’s index and middle finger plunges into your cunt until he’s knuckle deep. You cry out, hugging him tighter to you and he pants, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.   “Your cunt is so tight.”   You squeeze around his prodding fingers. “Tighter than your wife’s?”   Before he can answer, you kiss him again. Your sticky tongues interlace, sloppy and obscene. You taste his spit at the back of your throat — and it’s just the way you like it.    The kiss lasts long enough that you can swallow his groan and you pull off his suit jacket. The rest of your dress pools around your hips. It becomes frantic after that, breaking apart just to rid of your clothes. He tosses your ruined underwear aside, but keeps the rest of his own attire on.   It’s some kind of power play as if you should be the only one naked and vulnerable.   Yet he’s oblivious to how you have him wrapped around your finger.   “Tell daddy.” The older man’s hand wraps around your throat gently. “Have you ever been fucked properly before?”   His slacks have been tugged down enough that his cock has sprung free and his other hand grips the base of it. The reddened tip leaks with a bead of precum and you eye how big he really is. It’s more than Jungkook’s but less than Taehyung’s.   You shake your head and lie. “No.”   Namjoon cusses.   “Is that okay?” you timidly whimper and he smirks.   “More than okay, baby. It won’t hurt too bad.”   He guides his shaft to your pulsing cunt and runs the head of his cock along the collected wetness that has stained his pants and dripped to his leather couch. Both of you lower your heads, watching as he starts pushing through your folds. Immediately, your fingers tighten on his shoulders, wrinkling his expensive white shirt that was ironed by his wife.   Namjoon shushes you. “Relax. It’s okay.”   “I-It’s too much, daddy,” you complain in a pitched voice. “It’s too big.”   His jaw ticks, fingers sinking deeper into the flesh of your parted thighs. “You can take it.”   You nod and sink down on him slowly, making sure to draw it out as long as you can. And Namjoon’s head falls back. He groans and makes it balls deep inside of you.   You make sure to tremble and squeeze around him, keeping his cock at a vice grip. “Is this okay?”   “Uh-huh, sweetheart. It’s great.”   With his eyes closed, he misses your smirk.   You begin to fuck yourself onto him, feeling the pull and thrust of his big shaft dragging along your wet walls. The way your cunt stretches deliciously. Namjoon meets you half-way, hips thrusting upwards while you rock yourself against him. Your nipples are hardened and your breasts bounce in front of him. Tying the sight all together, you reach behind and pull the pins from your hair, letting it cascade down.   You know it must be a sight for sore eyes.    While you’ve never flaunted your appearance, you know you’ve been subtly altered to lure mortal men in. Your face and body are the accumulation of their fantasies. And it’s effortless to tempt them. To captivate their attention with a simple smile. You’ve looked at yourself enough times in the mirror to know that you aren't shabby too.   “Daddy, it f-feels...so good,” the words are choked out of you, sobbed as you bat your lashes.   Jungkook, the poor boy, was much more eager and sweeter. But with Namjoon, his experience is evident in his strokes. He’s rougher with the way he squeezes your ass until a handprint is left. There’s less regard with how he treats you, as if you’re just a pretty placeholder merely giving pleasure.   His hard thrusts against your cervix would hurt if not for how the pleasure overtakes you.   “You have to pull out, daddy,” you stutter. “I-I can’t get pregnant.”   Your kind can’t carry children from mortals but he doesn’t need to know that.   “I’ll do whatever I want,” Namjoon grunts, jaw clamped and brows furrowed. He sweats at his hairline. “I’ll cum where I want.”   You give a loud and exasperated moan that you hope he enjoys. “B-But it’s not right.”   “Shush. I’ll take care of you.”   You squeeze around him again, hands tight on his shoulders. Namjoon’s eyes are shut as he revels in the feeling of you rocking against him and you smirk, looking down at him. At how pathetic he’s gotten.   Just sitting on his lap and giving a simple kiss was enough to reduce him to this mess. From an established mogul in his forties into a helpless, hormonal teenage boy. In a few minutes, he’s thrown away years of marriage and loyalty for his wife for some maid’s cunt. A measly housemaid who’s supposed to be only a few years older than his own daughter.   Taehyung was right — this is fun.   At the same time, Sohee walks up the stairs while humming, hugging her textbooks to her body. She beelines straight to your room at the end of the other hall, wanting to show off how she’s finished everything and secretly hoping that you’ll gently stroke her hair like you always do.   But as she passes by her father’s office, her ears catch a high-pitched whine. She stops. On sheer instincts, her head swivels over. And through the crack, she finds her dad’s backside. She sees the way you’re on top of him, naked, riding her father. Your eyes flicker to her through the gap. She gasps.   Sohee backs away into the darkness. She turns around, a thick lump forming in her throat, her brows knitted together. But she doesn’t watch where she’s going and her mother meets her in the corridor.   “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed, Sohee.” Yijin’s voice is grating to the ears and she frowns at her daughter’s disposition. The way her downcast head and eyes search the ground. She looks like she’s seen a ghost. “What’s wrong with you?”   She doesn’t mean to — but Sohee’s eyes incidentally travel back to the grandiose double doors.   And Yijin follows her line of sight.   //   “I can’t believe you’ve done this!” Her screeches fill the manor. It’s always been noisy, but never solely because of an individual and certainly never at this ear screeching pitch. “How could you do this to me?!”   Yijin’s absolutely deranged. She’s throwing a fuss early morning after what she saw last night and retreated to her bedroom. She waited for him to return. Yet Namjoon never came to join her.   Now she stands at the foyer with a suitcase that Ms. Yoo packed, but she has no plans of leaving. Instead, she’s tossing porcelain vases on the ground and tugging the tablecloth off of the table. The display case is open and fragments of antiquities litter the marble floor.   Jaesun is crying hysterically at the staircase while rubbing his eyes with two tight fists. Sohee remains silent, standing at the top and looking down at her mother.   “What the fuck is wrong with you?!” The woman shrieks at Namjoon who stands there motionlessly, expression blank and impassive. It doesn’t seem like she’ll be satisfied until she gets a remorseful reaction from him or tears this entire house apart. Either of which you’d be amused to see. “You selfish bastard!”   Although this was entertaining in itself. You’ve never seen her like this before. The once polished and poised woman has been diminished to this vengeful bitch that’s about to pop a vein — a version of herself that you always knew was hidden deep inside.   Ms. Yoo is the only one who comes forward and tries to put a stop to it. “Please, madam. Don’t do this,” she pleads softly, tears streaking down her own face.   Jaesun weeps. “Mommy!”   “Madam, please,” Ms. Yoo begs as if she’s trying to placate a child throwing a temper tantrum. “You’re only going to hurt yourself.”   “You can’t do this to me, Namjoon!” Yijin’s hair is all in front of her face in a tangled mess. Her dress is wrinkled and she’s bare feet. Crazed — just like her husband was last night….except in different contexts.   Ms. Yoo starts to guide her away from the foyer to the front door, dragging the suitcase with her.    “Even if you divorce me, I could still get the house! Get our kids! Namjoon! Fuckin— Namjoon!”   Ms. Yoo pulls her out the door while crying and Yijin collapses at the steps as violent sobs wrack through her. The housekeeper sets the suitcase outside and looks down, hesitating.    Namjoon deadpans, “Close the door, Ms. Yoo.”   She shuts it. Fists bang against the surface for a moment before it stops, being replaced by the noise of wails. Instantly, Sohee runs upstairs, disappearing from sight. Namjoon turns away. Ms. Yoo sighs, taking Jaesun’s hand and comforting him.   The only other person is Yoongi. His gaze is darkened and he leans against the wall with arms crossed. You turn and his eyes pierce into yours. But wordlessly, you bow your head to him and go on about your day.   //   The house is finally quiet. Just the way you like it.   But it brews with a sort of intensity, a tension that doesn’t let you breathe easy. It was the calm before the final storm and your guard wasn’t going to be put down just yet.   You knock against Sohee’s bedroom door and after hearing no protests, you open it. She’s laying on her bed, covers over her head, having skipped school today which no one blamed her for. You clear your throat, speaking gently as if you were cooing a puppy, “You didn’t have any breakfast, so I brought you hot chocolate, Sohee. I’ll leave it on your nightstand.”   The mug is placed down and as you turn away, the sound of rustling slows your steps. She’s come up for air, hair in a disarray and covering her face, and she calls for you, “Y/N.”   “Hmm?”   “Are…..” She hesitates and you take the invitation to sit at the edge of her bed. The girl looks up at you after a moment. “Are you going to become my new mom?”   The pause is purposeful. It makes it seem as if you’re considering it. Makes it seem as if you’re staring at her because you’re wholeheartedly endeared by her. And that nothing else matters.   To top it off, your arms reach out and you hug her. Sohee is vulnerable, small against you and she eases in your secure embrace, allowing you to hold her. You even run your fingers through her hair, caressing her gently and she softly sighs, relishing in the comfort she never received from her own mother.   In a lot of ways, you share many similarities with her.   “I’m sorry, Sohee,” you murmur. “I didn’t mean you to see that. For all this to happen. I adore you and if you want me to be your new mom, I will, but it’ll be a decision made with you.”   She nods against your shoulder and the corner of your mouth pulls into a subtle smirk.   To think she would ask such a question merely hours after her biological mother was booted out the house is both astounding and unsurprising. It’s partly from her poor relationship with the woman and how she was charmed by you moments after your first encounter. A kind of love at first sight.    Not unlike how most men succumb to your allure — yet differing from lust. Instead, Sohee has developed a familial affection towards you.   But not everyone is as welcome as she is to the new change.   “Did you have anything to do with this?” Yoongi asks you. A surprise that he’s stepped out of his bedroom for some sunlight. Or perhaps to find answers.   You hum, continuing to place the stack of books back onto the shelf in the living room. “Maybe.”   His cat-like eyes are focused, pierced into you with a kind of intensity that would make anyone sweat. But you aren’t anyone. “What are your plans? Is it the inheritance? The status? Namjoon’s money—”   “Neither.”    Finished with your task, you move to the kitchen. But Yoongi blocks the doorway, leaning against it and never moving away. You stop, allowing your bodies to press together, testing as to who will give in first. Yet, he never once yields. Wavers. You’re close enough that he can feel your hot breath against his skin and as his jaw clamps, your pupils flicker down to his pouty mouth.   Against his own will, his eyes mimic yours. They follow to your own lips. And you smirk.   It’s a heated moment and then you brush away from the sharp-witted man.   //   For a short while, there’s a mirage that the game has several winners. But the instant gratification comes with consequences and there is only one ultimate victor.   “I’m terribly sorry, but I can’t work in these conditions. With the madam gone, it’s just too hard for me. I…” Ms. Yoo shakes her head tearfully, a wrinkled hand placed over her chest where her heart is. “I’ve spent decades working in this house, master Kim, and I think it’s time I retire and spend some time with my grandchildren.”   Namjoon stares out the window, unable to work, unable to move.   His frustration overwhelms him.   “I won’t force you to stay, Ms. Yoo. Sohee and Jaesun will miss you, but you’ve done a lot for my family and I. We couldn’t thank you enough for your dedication and hard work over the years.”   He is calm and she bows her head before retreating.   You catch her in the corridor and she takes your hands, squeezing them and wishing you the best of luck with a sweet smile. After Ms. Yoo leaves, you wipe your hands against your collared dress.   You knock on the grandiose doors.    “Get out.”   Disregarding his command, you enter anyway. Namjoon is disgruntled, seated behind his desk in his leather chair, a finished glass of whiskey discarded on the side. His hands are clasped together, elbows propped on the surface and he leans his head on his fingers.   “What don’t you understand? Leave!”    But you approach him until you can press your hands on the edge of his desk and lean forward.   The once powerful man established in his wealth looks up at you, dark circles deepening, the wrinkle between his brows made permanent. He stares at you as if you’re a fearsome curse, a bothersome pest, a fiend. And you have to resist the delicious smirk that tickles your lips.    “You did this to me,” he mutters, simmering in animosity. “You destroyed me.”   You round the oak furniture and plop down onto his lap. Before he can shove you off, you grab his hair from the back of his head, letting the strands thread through your fingers, and you pull.   He groans, chin lifting up.   “You were the one who made the decision,” you tell him. “It’s you who became weak. You thought about me and even now, you still want me.” The edge of your mouth tilts and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in his throat before you lean in, whispering in his ear, “You can’t stop thinking about me, can you, Namjoon?”   “You’re a vixen.”   “Oh, I’m much more than that.”   You end up sinking to your knees and taking him to the back of your throat. He cums there, the taste salty and consistency thick — a kind of bitterness that you’ve learnt to find savoury. And Namjoon cums again in your tight cunt when you’re bent over his desk and he’s pounding into you, fucking you hard enough to feel his anger and for your ass to bruise against his pelvis.   “N-Namjoon, it feels so good.”   “Shut the fuck up, slut.” He sweats at his hairline, holding your hips and jostling you around as he chases his own release. You look across the room to the family portrait above the mantle and smirk to yourself. “I-I’ll spank your cunt again.”   He couldn’t even scold you. He couldn’t blame you for ruining his marriage.   You have him wrapped around your finger.   //   The photograph captured a moment of Namjoon holding newborn Jaesun, Yijin smiling with her arm looped around Sohee who was only eleven at the time. They’re in front of the house with Ms. Yoo beside them wearing a grin. She remembers that day, the family barbecue outside, the laughter and joyous atmosphere. Yet now, Ms. Yoo only sighs to herself and packs the framed picture into her duffle bag.   “You’re still here?”    Your voice nearly startles the old woman to death. She jumps and turns around, finding you at the doorway. “Yes, I was just finishing up. I didn’t realize I had so many belongings. I guess this is what thirty years gives you.”   Ms. Yoo takes a gander around the room, what was her home, then to you. She never once notices Namjoon’s cum dripping down your thigh from your messy and puffed center that still delightfully aches.   “I’m going to miss this place.”   “Or you could always stay.” Not wanting to waste any more time, you take three strides and your mouth presses against hers. The older woman is shocked, eyes widened at your kiss, but you inhale.   She goes limp against you. Her soul taken right from her. And Ms. Yoo collapses to the ground.   You shudder at the taste, at how your guts coil inwards. It’s terribly bland.    Her soul isn’t half of what it takes to satisfy you.    Not like you’re surprised. As a succubus who’s meant to entice mortal men, male souls are the desirable ones.   You wait for Taehyung to come pick up the corpse, but he never shows up and you curse him. He always finds a way to show his face and steal the good souls away from you, satisfying his own appetite and leaving the scraps left for you. But when it comes to souls that are bland to you and therefore bland to him, suddenly he has no business manifesting himself.   You kick Ms. Yoo’s lifeless body and having no other options, you roll her heavy body with the rectangular carpet. You start sweating as you heave her up. But with enough effort, you manage to stuff her in the closet and shut the doors.   Someone will deal with that later.   //   It’s amusing. Namjoon does everything within his power to act like nothing’s changed. That nothing’s happened and he isn’t missing his wife or housekeeper in his home. He grabs onto any semblance of normalcy, perhaps to cope with the changes of the past twenty four hours.   He calls for dinner to be set at the usual time and you’re thankful Ms. Yoo made sure the fridge was stocked up before she was to leave. All you do is slap the container food into bowls and heat them in the microwave before setting the table as you usually do.   The entire family gathers around the table — Sohee, Jaesun, Namjoon and even Yoongi.   “Y/N will be joining us for dinner,” Namjoon suddenly announces as you set down the last bowl. Your brow raises and Yoongi’s eyes round but no one questions it.    Not even Jaesun who often throws tantrums. The kid merely pouts. Never once lifting his spoon of rice into his mouth, putting on a defiant act, but you don’t care. If the brat wants to starve, he can starve.   You sit down beside Namjoon, across from Yoongi and diagonal to Sohee.   It’s tense at the table, the silence suffocating those around it. But you settle in comfortably and even pass some side dishes directly into Sohee’s bowl that you know she likes. Her eyes flicker up to you and a tiny smile tugs on her face. “Thank you.”   Namjoon clears his throat and looks to his brother. “You were working on editing a science textbook, right?”   “Biology,” Yoongi answers shortly. “For grade eight students.”   “And how is that coming along?”   They continue their conversation, making some small talk and you chew in your cheek while your foot lifts underneath the table. Your leg stretches and it grazes along the leg of the man across from you.    Yoongi immediately freezes. His brown eyes pool close to black and he glares. But you don’t let up, stroking the inside of his leg as you eat and look away from him. Yoongi pushes away. You scoot yourself forward. He tries not to draw attention to himself. Asked another question, he gives half a mind to responding.    Your toes slowly travel up to his thighs and then they tickle and twitch against his crotch.   Yoongi’s breath staccatos.    No one knows that you’re playing footsies with Yoongi underneath the table. That you can feel the way he hardens against his sweatpants.    “What game do you think you’re playing?!” he harshly whispers after dinner when the two of you are away from the others. Yoongi corners you, his good looks sadly marred by his twisted expression.   You blink, feigning ignorance. “What do you mean?”   But the little act doesn’t faze him. You knew it wouldn’t work the second you met the man.   “I know you have something to do with Yijin leaving.”   “I didn’t do anything, Yoongi.” You grab his shoulders, pulling him closer until his body is pressed against yours and you grin, breath skimming along his neck. “The dominoes were already in place long before I came here. You know that too. I just needed to give it a little push,” you exhale the word and he can’t stop himself from swallowing hard. From staring at you.   He eventually musters enough self-control to push you away and leave.   You turn the corner, the darkness enveloping the corridor and bringing a sort of eeriness. But it might just be from Taehyung who you find leaning against the wall. His arms are crossed and he’s smirking. “Aren’t you having a little too much fun, peach?”   “This is the best part.” You loll your head to one side. “Sometimes playing with your food before you eat it makes it much more appetizing.”   He laughs, chuckling from his chest and the sound tinkles. “I taught you well.”   Taehyung pushes himself off the surface and as he passes by you, he taps your butt.    He disappears seconds later, leaving you on your lonesome to keep playing.   //   Everything is falling into place.   It’s like you’re playing chess without an opponent, simply arranging your pawns as you’d like on the board. But because of how effortless and simple it is, it’s easy to get bored.   One day you’re waking up to a blaring alarm clock and slaving after the whims of humans as their servant and the next, you wake beside Namjoon in the master bedroom, having taken the madam’s place. You slept on her sheets, on her pillow, beside her husband.    There’s nothing fun about it anymore once you’ve won.   You roll over to straddle Namjoon’s hips, placing his morning wood right under your center. He’s shaken awake by the movement and groans, rough hands instinctively coming to grab your ass.    “W-What time is it?” his voice is still thick with sleep and you smile devilishly, rubbing your clit through your silk slip that barely covers your nipples. Your pink cunt is still swollen from last night’s endeavours, but you think one last one ought to be enough.    You won’t miss his cock after this.   “You were dreaming about me, weren’t you, Namjoon?” you whisper and before he can respond, your hands reach out, wrapping around his neck.   He’s completely at your mercy.   The man slowly blinks awake, coming to consciousness and a staggering exhale leaves his mouth as you position the bulborous head of his shaft to your folds. He mumbles something about how insatiable you are and lightly chuckles. But Namjoon should consider himself lucky. It’s not often you let the same human fuck you three times.   He pounds into you, hips lifting off the mattress. The stretch of your pussy is rather pleasing, but with the repetitiveness, your mind wanders and your hands around his neck tighten. You cut off Namjoon’s airway and his eyes slam shut with a loud groan. You can practically feel his cock twitch inside of you.   Unfortunately, the man loses it all too soon. It’s a bit amateurish for someone as experienced and punishing as he is, but you don’t blame him. Well...only a little as you lean down and capture your mouth with Namjoon’s before inhaling sharply.   Out of the three times you spread your legs for him and the numerous times you let his cum leak out of your pussy and drip down your thighs, he only made you cum once.   It’s kind of sad. Selfish.   Once you’re done with him, he falls back.    You hum to yourself as you climb off the man’s used dick and move to the vanity across the luxurious bedroom. You freshen up and pin up your hair, allowing a few strands to frame your face. After you’re satisfied, you grab Yijin’s shawl to cover your top half and you stride down the hall to Yoongi’s door.   He’s at his desk as usual, red pen in hand, crouched over a stack of papers.   But the curtains aren’t drawn, allowing the bright sunlight through his modest room.   “Mornin’.”   He turns around, brow raised, eyeing how you’re leaning against the door frame, casually greeting him in spite of being dressed in a measly scrap of fabric. “What are you doing?”   You quirk your head. “Something we should’ve done a long time ago.”   “And what is that?”   “Hmmm, I think you know, Yoongi.” You flick a piece of dirt from underneath your fingernail. “Let’s not drag this on for any longer than we have to.”   You stay ambiguous and he maintains an impassive expression. But his stoicness has no effect to deter you when you smile and approach him slowly. “You know, I was once like you. Complacent. Quiet. A little like Sohee too, maybe even more naive than she is right now.”   “Once?”   “A long time ago,” you hum. “I was going to get married to a bad, bad man until I became liberated.”   You come close enough to grab a fistful of his hair at the back of his head. His head tilts upwards when you tug, powerless to your enchantment. “It’s okay to give in, Yoongi,” you whisper against his skin. “It’s okay to be selfish and indulgent. You’ve done so well up to now.”   “What makes you think I’ll sleep with my brother’s mistress?” he asks in a harsher tone. “The whore that ruined his entire family.”   You laugh. “That’s not very nice.”   “But isn’t it the truth?”   “It is. But I’m supposed to be irresistible to men. Your restraint is impressive, Yoongi, but it’s only natural that you give into your primitive needs or at least be honest with yourself. You dream about me, don’t you?” The ongoing silence makes your grin widen and your eyes glimmer in the morning sunlight. “You’ve fantasized about me a lot. You want me.”   You lower yourself, hooded eyes connected with his. Your hair is messy, yet not in a disoriented way from sleeping. Yoongi smell it on you too — the sweat and musty scent. “You fucked my brother.”   “And I can fuck you too.”   You surge forward, capturing his mouth with your own.    It’s different. Languid with the soft caresses of tongue, his lips not chapped but puffy. The kiss is slow and lazy. Not eager like Jungkook but not as rough as Namjoon. Yoongi sighs, savouring and truly enjoying it, and it’s something you lean into.   You match his speed and rhythm and once you pull away, his eyes are hazy.   Yoongi pants, swallowing hard. “Who...are you?”   “Secret,” you sing-song and pull him towards you. The two of you nearly fall to the floor, though his bed is close enough in his small room that you collide against the mattress. The man hovers over you and you hold his arms in a vice grip. Cocking your head to the side, you giggle. “This is fun, isn’t it?”   “You’re a heathen.”   “Not quite, but close enough.” You grin and kiss him again. It feels good to.   Not long after that, you’re beneath him and he’s bare, quiet without a single moan. His cock draws deep into you leisurely, languid rolls that’s not necessarily chasing for an end but relishing in the pleasure.   “I was never going to fuck you,” Yoongi murmurs. “Even if I wanted to.”   You pout. “Why not?”   “Because I have dignity and respect for myself.”   You scoff. “Guess you lost all that.”   “No. I still do.” His voice is husky around the edges. “But if I give you what you want, maybe I’ll understand your intentions better.”   The corner of your mouth curls and your hips lift to meet Yoongi’s. You squeeze around him just to tease. “And what do you think my intentions are?”   “I-I still don’t know yet.” He sweats, hips sped up and then keeps a constant rhythm. “Why do you do the things that you do? Why did you try to tear this house apart? Gain Sohee’s favour.” Yoongi’s brown eyes pierce into you. He’s a perceptive man. “You don’t love Namjoon. I don’t think you loved Jungkook either.”   “Jungkook?”   “He would’ve never left like that out of his own free will.”   “You’re smart,” you coo affectionately and run your hands through his fluffy hair. It’s such a shame he’s just a mortal. “I promise you’ll know by the end of this, Yoongi.”   Another minute passes and Yoongi pulls out. You watch as he pumps himself thrice and finishes on your stomach with a quiet grunt, cum painting all over your flesh. You’re about to grab his shoulder to kiss him, but he parts your thighs and lowers himself. His mouth attaches to your cunt, forcing his wet tongue inside your used hole and he eats you out, licking at the juices that leak out of you.   But he remains meticulous and careful, drawing unrestrained moans from your lungs.   “S-So good…”   Yoongi works you up until you feel hot all over your body and your hands have sunk into his head of hair, threading through the strands. As if that wasn’t enough, he sucks on your clit and inserts his index into your walls. He sinks deep and curls the finger against the perfect spot.   Your back arches and you cum all over his tongue.   He lets you ride it out against the stiff muscle and his plush lips before he’s lifting himself up, revealing all of your slick that’s coated his mouth and chin.    “Thank you,” you pant, chest heaving. You gaze at Yoongi with heavy lids and you sit up. “I’ll give you the answer to your questions. Who I am. Why I’m here.” You cradle his cheeks in your palms and you lean forward.   Yoongi’s eyes droop and he kisses you back, softly and deeply. You keep it slow too, savouring the taste of yourself on his palette and then, when the moment is right, you inhale.   His lids open slightly, feeling himself weaken. Yoongi’s not sure if it’s from exhaustion, but as your kiss continues, his surroundings blurs more. He groans at the back of his throat, wanting to pull away, but without having the strength to.   The world around him darkens. His consciousness lasts three seconds afterwards. Enough to realize you’re a monster.   Yoongi’s body falls back onto the mattress.   His soul has been consumed by you and as tasty as it was, you’re a bit regretful. You pull the plush blanket up to give him some modesty and you ruffle your fingers through his bangs. “Truthfully, I liked you the best in this house.”   The sadness lasts another second before you’re humming and climbing off the bed.   The job is finally done and you roll your shoulders, walking out the room. As you do so, your exterior finally sheds of your human disguise into your true form. While your face remains the same, your lips redden and your hair becomes luscious and longer, draping your backside. The white, silk slip morphs to a dress in the blinding shade of crimson. It hugs your body, from the dip of your waist to the swell of your breasts. And at the crown of your head, two small horns manifest.   Downstairs, Taehyung is standing on the porch. He turns as you join his side and smirks. “About time you finished, peach.”   He’s been watching Jaesun. The five year old is running around the backyard underneath the sun and flinging around the toys his wealthy parents got for him. He’s completely oblivious to the situation and unquestioning to Taehyung’s presence.   Taehyung is the tamer of all brats after all.   “Didn’t you say I could take my time to have fun?”   “I think you’ve been having too much fun.”   The corner of your reddened lips pull. “I don’t think so.”   “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself though.” He lolls his head over and grabs a hold of your chin. Taehyung leans himself down to your height and comes forward for an invasive kiss.   Without warning, he licks into your mouth and you moan helplessly, completely at his mercy. Taehyung’s tongue is sticky as he tastes you, calm yet impatient. It’s a pleasant kind of intimacy as he steals your breath. But when he starts to inhale deep, you bite him.   Taehyung pulls back with a grin, the bottom of his lip split slightly.   You pout. “You should at least give me some. I worked hard for those souls, you know.”   He gives you a look. “Did you really?”   “More work than usual,” you bite back.   A black cat mewls at Jaesun. The kid swivels his head over, fascination growing as the feline hops from the fence to the grass gracefully as if inviting him to play. The cat has a short but luscious coat and its tail curls, green eyes wide. Jaesun instantly drops the ball he’s holding.   His greedy hands extend and he follows the cat behind some bushes.   There’s a flash of bright light and Jimin stretches himself out from his feline form. He cracks his bones and leans over, interrupting your conversation. “Thanks for the kid, Tae.”   Taehyung waves. “No problem, Chim.”

Sohee wakes up to a silent house.   There’s a strangeness in the air, a certain uneasy feeling in her body, but she dresses herself and continues her morning. It’s when the peace is ongoing that she searches for people, for her father first.   She screams when she discovers Namjoon on the bed lifeless. No matter how much she shakes him or calls out his name, he never moves or twitches. He doesn’t breathe.   The girl cries and runs to her uncle for help. But he, too, isn’t sleeping and isn’t resting like he appears to be. The man’s skin has gone cold, eyes shut tight, his lips pale.   She cups a hand over her mouth, silencing a sob in the eerie house and she stumbles down the steps. There’s only one person left. One person to help her. And she sees you through the back door on the porch. Standing next to a tall man.   Sohee’s confusion stops her tears while hiccups continue to wrack through her body.   “W-Who are you?”   The two of you turn at the sound of her voice.   Taehyung grins. “Oh. Nice to see you again, little girl. Remember me?”   Sohee’s eyes are swollen, cheeks stained with saltwater. Her body trembles as she grips the door frame. You coo at her, stepping forward with your arms open but she flinches. “W-What did you do to them?”   You sigh, arms dropping to your side, yet your voice remains tender. “They got what they deserved, Sohee.”   “W-W...h..at?”   “They succumbed to their primitive desires and suffered the punishment for it.”   “This is what you wanted, didn’t you?” Taehyung’s brow cocks and he smiles at her. “You were the one who summoned me here in the first place.”   Confusion is marked across her visage — brows furrowed, mouth lopsided.    But it was Sohee that called out to you and Taehyung. She was the one who began your assignment. She was the one who invited the pair of you into her home. Practically opened the door and ushered you in desperately.   “All those nights of prayer, did you really think God would grant you such evil wishes to get rid of your family? You were praying to the devil, little girl.”   Incubi and succubi like you and Taehyung need invitations to enter an abode. Yet Sohee handed the both of you that on a silver platter. Taehyung might’ve assigned the task to you, but it was a win-win. Not only could you grant her wish, but you could reap all the benefits by stealing the souls of her family members and indulging in their lust.   “All those nights of wishing your mother would get hit by a car. That your brother would cease to exist. That your father would fail his business….”   It was a victory from the start.   You give Sohee a moment since it looks like she needs it. It’s understandably shocking. You were once in her position after all and just as surprised. But the realization seems to sink into her with the way her eyes widen. “I-I didn’t know this is what would happen!”   “You wanted an escape from your life,” you say to her in excitement. There was one more benefit to this ordeal too — just as Taehyung has you, Sohee will become yours. “This is it, sweetheart.”   If you didn’t know you would get such an endearing subordinate from all this, you wouldn’t have gone through the trouble of it all. But ‘subordinate’ and ‘underling’ are such unpleasant words Taehyung uses. Sohee’s more like a little puppy for you to love, mentor and show around.   “Come with us.” You extend your hand, palm open to the sky. “We came all the way here for you.”   Sohee looks at both you and him, brows furrowed, hesitation evident. “What will happen to me?”   “You want to be like me, don’t you?” You smile at her along with Taehyung who remains patient. “I’ll take care of you and so will Taehyung. What else does this place have to offer you?”   This is the true game of temptation.   No one is ever forced into making a deal with the devil. It’s a choice. And one she takes.   The girl lifts her arm, taking your hand. A bigger smile pulls on your features.    And just like that, the three of you vanish together.

[handeaux]

In Memoriam: Western Hills Press 1924-2022 Part Two – An Ink-Stained Wretch

(When we last left our hero, he was contemplating a life-long career in the printing business. And then he graduated college.)

Within days after I accepted my sheepskin, management called me upstairs. I was told that, on reflection, they did not want a college graduate working in their print shop. The suits weren’t entirely clear why this was the case – I believe dread of unionization might have been involved – but they were insistent that I needed to join the newswriting staff. They were also insistent that Option B was unemployment. I went with Option A.

Problem was, my English degree involved zero journalism classwork. If you wanted a 2,000-word theme on the British Romantic poets, I was your guy. Typing a simple calendar brief? Not so much. Dan Hopwood, the managing editor at the time, undertook my accelerated orientation. He handed me a stack of the obituary forms submitted by funeral homes.

“Give me two-inch obituaries.” “How do I know they’re two inches?” He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Use a pica typewriter. Set your margins like this. Four lines convert to an inch of type. Eight lines is two inches.” I transformed the stack of forms into eight-line obituaries and proudly dropped them and the forms on Dan’s desk. He tossed the forms back at me. “Give me one-inch obituaries.” I turned in one-inch obituaries. He tossed the forms back at me. “Give me three-inch obituaries.” “There’s not enough information on those forms for 12 lines.” “You know how to use a telephone, don’t you?”

And that’s how I became a reporter. Hopwood was the sort of person who read dictionaries from cover to cover for fun. He’d badger me to write headlines in three different font sizes over three different column widths and one to three decks. He was relentless as a reporter. Dan had left the Press and was working for another newspaper miles away when a tornado slammed through White Oak overnight. I dragged myself out to the scene at dawn and found Dan already there, interviewing emergency crews and residents huddled on the street. He gave me his notes and his film and let me carry on while he went to work at his actual job. He was also hilarious. Dan and his wife, Barb, hosted the annual “Thank God Basketball Season Is Over Party & Cotillion,” which was sort of a cross between the Algonquian Round Table and Animal House. Their neighbors are probably still complaining.

Columnist Roger Miller held the Western Hills Press together for decades. He was overworked and underpaid and strung along by the promise that one day he’d be named editor. He knew everybody and made sure to mention everybody regularly. He lived for coincidences, going into spasms of delight when he learned that my sister was graduating high school on her birthday, which was also our grandmother’s birthday. Roger refused to use the same word twice in a story, so an item about a local football star involved his ability to “zing the October oval,” and a column about a pastor’s yen for popsicles ended with a mention of “tundra cones.” He also used at least one exclamation point every column inch.

Nancy Taylor and I got hired about the same time. She actually had a journalism degree, so I paid close attention to how she did things. Our office had the kind of carpet that produces lots of static electricity, so I could shock people at will. If a visiting P.R. flack was getting on Taylor’s nerves, she’d yell, “Hand!” I’d shuffle in and shock the unwanted visitor on the nose. They usually took the hint.

For a couple of years, Pat Obert and I were sidekicks. She took the photos and I wrote the stories. We almost got sued when we covered an outlaw motorcycle club funeral at a local cemetery. The cemetery’s attorney objected to my reporting that guns were fired during the burial, but Pat’s photos shut him up.

Hanging around the office was a high school intern named Mary Evelyn Wilson, who went by Mev. Hopwood affectionately christened her The Twirp. We had a saying in the office when a story fell through that, “Some days you get the bear and some days the bear gets you.” Mev inscribed that saying – in ersatz Latin – on a coffee cup she made in pottery class. I still have it.

Starting out as high school interns and working their way into various editorial roles were Bill Koch, who had a long career with the Cincinnati Post and Enquirer, and Chuck Melvin, who later went on to the Associated Press, Philadelphia Inquirer and other distinguished posts. Sharing an office with them was like acting in an improv troupe. One day we’d have to sing every headline we wrote as a blues, the next day we’d debate whether chess counted as a sport or not, but the rules were you had to argue in falsetto. Somehow we got on a tangent where every lead sentence had to be translated into Neanderthal – “Sewers? Good!”

John Froschauer was a newly minted graduate of Ohio University when we hired him as a photographer. John taught me more about designing pages than anyone I ever worked with, just by submitting photos with penciled notes indicating how many column widths they should run. If I followed John’s instructions, my pages looked great. If I ignored his suggestion, my pages sucked and he grumbled at me. To get the best photos, John endured any challenge. He showed up at my apartment in the middle of the 1978 blizzard because his camera froze. Although he accepted a cup of tea, he stayed only until the camera thawed and then trudged back into the deep freeze to shoot a Pulitzer-worthy portfolio.

I sent John on assignment one day with a young writer named Debbie Cafazzo. They got engaged a few months later. I count their marriage as among my greatest successes. Deb and another reporter, Jan Kipp, were close friends and, although only a couple years younger than me, were almost from a different generation. I was still stuck in the folk-rock Sixties while they lobbied me to re-evaluate punk. It was years later before I finally relented. I believe it was one or both of this duo who stashed a plate of “enhanced” brownies in the break room refrigerator. I scarfed a couple one Saturday morning when I went in to catch up on some work. Although I wore an illegal smile the rest of the day, I managed to file a lead story and a sidebar on Green Township zoning.

Holding this crew together was receptionist Ruthie Summe, who addressed everyone as “Hon.” Ruthie telephoned all the local bars each afternoon, and posted a list of their happy hour snacks on the office bulletin board. Based on this, we’d pick a saloon, buy a drink and dine on what Hopwood called the “noogies.” Drinks were around two bucks for a double and the noogies were free and filling – short ribs, pigs in a blanket, egg rolls. Thus fortified, we’d scatter to cover our assigned city council meetings.

In 1977, I was promoted to editor of the Western Hills Press. In that role, I inherited Henry Humphreys who, after many years as the Enquirer’s classical music critic, had been sent to pasture at the suburban weekly. We only paid him ten dollars a week for his column, but he kept the gig because record companies shipped crates of free albums for review. Henry was not fond of medieval and renaissance music. When he learned I enjoyed those ancient styles, Henry would send me his review copies, usually with a note: “For Greg Hand. Too many crumhorns.”

A year later, I departed the Press for reasons too complicated to relate in this space. When I left, management gave me a lifetime subscription. They stopped delivery after two years. Who knew I would outlast the paper?

[elocinnicole]

Fool For You: A Love Story in Four Acts

Pairing: Daveed Diggs x Black!Reader

Rating: T for language

Summary: Daveed and Reader used to date and haven’t spoken to each other since their ugly breakup. Years later, the two come across one another when you’re the artistic director for his photoshoot

Series Masterlist Part Two

“Hey, sis, did you hear?” You looked up from your computer in your new office in LA, you were just hired as a Creative Director for Muse magazine, a new urban magazine. You went to FIT in New York to major in Exhibition Design. You worked at various magazines as a production director for their photoshoots. You got a good job in New York after graduating, you worked at Macy’s as part of their design team. Becoming tired of working at a store you applied to work for Musethey were looking for a Creative Director for their photoshoots. You were ecstatic, to say the least when you received the call that you got the job. The move from New York to LA was a huge change for you but after living here for about three weeks you were slowly becoming accustomed to your new life in California. Unlike your newly decorated office your apartment on the other hand, still harbored a few moving boxes, more than you would like.

“No, Tai, what’s up?” Tai was a senior editor for the magazine and during your orientation, you and Tai became fast friends. She let you stay with her before your place was ready, helped you moved in, and even showed you around LA.

“Girl, we just got Daveed Diggs for the cover of the magazine!” You went back to looking at your computer, hoping your new co-worker didn’t notice the look on your face.

“Oh, that’s cool. Do you know who’s handling the project?”

“Well, I’m doing the interview,” Tai bragged flipping her hair

“Yes, bitch! Who’s doing the shoot?”

Um, you, girl.”

“What?!” You said turning your chair around

“Chile, yes, they’re gonna announce it at lunch. I know all these bitches gonna be jealous that the new girl gets to do a cover story with Daveed and you get to go to the photo shoot.”

“Are they sure they wanted me to do it? I’m new here, I’m sure they’re other—”

“Bitch, this is a huge opportunity, not just for you but for the magazine. This type of interview doesn’t come often, you’re doing the piece. See you at lunch?” You nodded, sighing you went back to pictures from the last shoot you directed but you weren’t even focused on that anymore. Your thoughts were all over the place, you decided to finish later, it wasn’t due until Friday and you couldn’t finish it if you tried. The rest of the day went by increasingly slow. Your mind was occupied with thoughts of him and you haven’t thought about him in years.

“Hey, they’re about to make an announcement in e the board room.” A co-working said walking past your office. You tried to best to seem excited but deep down you were dreading this.

“Hello everyone,” The Editor in Chief, Shanita, started, “we have very exciting news this afternoon. We have Oscar-nominated actor, Daveed Diggs as the cover of our April issue.” The room let out excited gasps and people were immediately gushing over the actor.

“Our newest member of the team will be handling the shoot,” A light applause filled the room but you could see behind some of the phony smiles in the room. The rest of the day you were on autopilot, various co-workers congratulated you throughout the day some girls even commented on how lucky you were. Lucky is not the word you were looking for.

At the end of the workday, you quickly packed up your items hoping to leave before someone else mentioned the Daveed shoot. You were practically out the door when Tai called your name.

“We need to go over the photoshoot.”

“Okay, I need to put these clothes in my car.”

“It won’t take long, I have Daveed and his people on FaceTime.” You rolled your eyes huffing you walked back inside before you even reached Tai, you could see that Daveed was on the other end of the call with his manager.

“Hey, here’s the creative director of the shoot, I’m sure you’ve heard of Daveed Diggs,” Tai said excitedly

“Hello, Mr. Diggs it’s a pleasure to meet you.” You could tell by the expression on his face, Daveed was taken aback by your tone but he quickly regained his composure.

“Uh, nice to meet you too.”

“Hi, what angle were you going for, for this magazine cover?” Daveed’s manager asked hastily.

“Well, since the issue is about the Body, Health, and Fitness I thinking of a rustic industrial type shoot where he’s in a vintage gym or an Ancient Greek shoot where Daveed is representing different Olympic sports like jousting and shot put.

“I like the Ancient Greek one, how does that sound Diggs?”

“It’s cool.” He said with lackluster. You held back an eye-roll knowing he was trying to get under your skin acting nonchalant; something you hated when the two of you were together, with his Aquarius ass.

“Great, I’ll talk to Designers and we’ll be all set on Friday. See you there.”

“Talk later,” Tai ended the phone call and excitedly pulled you in for a hug.

“I’m so happy for you, this could be great for your career sis. I saw the way he was looking at you,” Tai tased wiggling her eyebrows you rolled your eyes

“Girl he was not looking at me, I have clothes to shop for, see you tomorrow.”

Friday came quicker than you wanted it to, the blaring sound of your alarm clock awoke you, not that you were sleeping. Ever since you could remember you could never get a good night’s sleep if you had something important to do the next day. You looked at the time and saw it was 5:30 in the morning, you need to be at the shoot at least by 6:45, you hopped out of bed and started getting ready for your long day.

You were doing a great job at avoiding Daveed for the most part busying yourself with making sure the set was what you envisioned you talked to the photographer and the hair and makeup team. Everything seemed to be perfect until you saw Daveed walk on the set.

“What the hell is that? Why the fuck is he gold?” You asked, your voice filled with irritation. Daveed’s entire body had been painted in gold body paint and not just a little shimmer and shine, he was full-on covered in Gold, like an Oscar, a sexy Oscar.

“We thought you said the theme was Greek mythology?” A makeup artist said

“No, it’s Ancient Greek sports, he's supposed to be in oil. So now we’re gonna lose more time taking that shit off.”

“We’re sorry, we’ll change that right away.”

Daveed returned to the set with the correct make-up on you checked your watch you didn’t have much time to complete the shoot before the writer from the magazine came to conduct the interview.

“Alright, so first we're gonna do some shots without the props you’re gonna do some different action shots and then we’ll bring the props in.” You said not looking directly at Daveed not trusting yourself to not stare at his body.

“Sounds good,”

“Wait, he needs some more oil.” Someone shouted from makeup.

“Can you grab that bottle and put some more on his legs?” A makeup crew member asked

“Why can’t make-up do it?” You asked annoyed that your crew was prolonging this photoshoot

“Is there a problem?” Daveed questioned with a raised eyebrow, never being one to back down you sighed heavily.

“No, there isn’t,” You said grabbing the oil and sinking to lather Daveed’s legs. He looked down at you and snickered, now it was your turn to ask.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Diggs?”

“No, this just feels familiar doesn’t it?” You gaped at him and quickly stood back up.

“Codie will finish the rest for you.” The photoshoot was going well, in your opinion. Between, looking at a shirtless Daveed for the past half hour and Tai gawking over him like a schoolgirl, it could be worse.

“Can you come direct him, for this one? We’re having a hard time with the shot put.” The photographer called out, you sunk lower into your chair, hoping the floor would swallow you

“Uh, girl I think he’s asking you,” Tai whispered to you, you whined before sluggishly making your way to Daveed, a very sexy and shirtless Daveed—focus, that is not what you’re here for, wait, what did the photographer ask again

“Can you pose him? It’s coming off a bit awkward.”

“So, do you know to use a shot put?”

“Uh, yeah, I used to run track in college—-”

“Didn’t ask for your life story, just needed a yes or no. Anyway, get in the stance for it and angle your body this way so you can, um, so can you show off the muscles in your back,”

“Like this?” Daveed demonstrated and you couldn’t help but notice the way his muscles flexed.

“Uh, yeah like that.” You said quickly and you were off back to your seat.

“Alright, that’s a wrap!” You shouted having got the okay from the photographer, you stared at the countless images of Daveed, picking the ones you were going to use for the magazine.

“I think this one should be on the cover, send me all the pictures, these are great Neil.”

“Thanks, hon.”

“Hey, I’m about to do the interview, wanna meet up for drinks later?” Tai suggested

“Sure, just shoot me a text. Good luck with your interview,”

“Thanks, sis, see you later.”

You were just about to get in your car when you heard a familiar voice call your name, you contemplated not turning around, maybe he’ll think you didn’t hear him

“I know you heard me, don’t do me like that.” You turned and there he was, Daveed

“Hi,”

“That’s all you gonna say to me?”

“Well, I didn’t even get a goodbye when you left New York, so I think we’re even.” You faced your car again, only to turn back around

“Actually, we’re not even. You didn’t even fucking say goodbye, so fuck you, respectfully.” Now you were done, you got into your car and sped off.

[londontsukino]

I’ve been thinking about it for a while and I’m going to start posting the chapters of a Ghost fanfic I’ve been slowly been plugging away at since last May. If I’m lucky, this will give me the kick in the pants to finally finish it. The chapters will be posted when I feel like they’re ready so they might not be in sequential order, and the story will go on A03 once everything is finished.

Synopsis:

In an AU, the story’s narrator, a nameless writer, is sent as a last minute replacement by the magazine she works for to travel with Ghost in order to cover what life on the road is like for a band and its crew. Against her better judgement, she falls in love with Papa Emeritus III, the founder of Ghost, a regular (if somewhat eccentric and charming) guy.

Prologue below the cut.

Prologue

Can You Hear the Rumble

I knocked on my editor’s door, wondering what all the secrecy was about. Her email that morning had left me only confused and normally Gloria’s emails were nothing if not straightforward. Come to my office as soon as you’re in this morning. You’re going to love this new assignment.

“Come in,” she said brightly, motioning me to the chair in front of her desk as I closed her office door. “How are you doing today, dove?” Dove. She called everyone that, from the interns to the magazine’s chief editor. As much as I liked Gloria, I sometimes wondered if she did that because she was terrible at names.

“Good, thanks. A bit confused, though,” I replied as I sat.

She nodded in understanding. “Yes, sorry for the cloak and dagger, but I wanted this to be a surprise. You know how Erik was going to be away for a month on assignment?”

I nodded, although I couldn’t remember exactly what he was going to be covering for the magazine’s Views from the Road series. Something about life on the road with a band, maybe?

“Well, his wife just gave birth early and of course he can’t be away that long with a newborn, so . . .” She trailed off for me to connect the dots.

“What? You want me to take his place?”

She nodded excitedly. “Yes!” Gloria opened a fat manila envelope that had been sitting on the side of her desk. “Here’s your access all areas pass, information on your per diem and—”

“Wait a minute, Gloria,” I cut in and she paused, almost confused as to why I interrupted her. “Exactly who am I supposed to be traveling with?”

“Ghost, of course.”

A blank look was my only response.

Sighing, she turned to her computer and quickly typed something before swinging the monitor towards me. On the screen was a Wikipedia entry. I leaned forward and squinted a little to read the text.

“‘Ghost is a metal band from Sweden, formed and led by Papa Emeritus III, a satanic version of the pope. They won a Grammy for Best Metal Performance for their song Cirice’,” I recited. Pausing, I looked at the photo included in the entry. In it was a shortish man with ink black hair, his face painted like a stylized skull, and flanked by four taller men. Well, I assumed they were men. They each had their face covered by identical silver masks in the shape of a demonic imp, complete with small horns.

“So it’ll be a sausage party. A satanic sausage party at that. Why exactly did you pick me, Gloria? Wouldn’t one of the guys be a better fit? Dave’s always in the office wearing tour shirts for Ozzy Osborne and Led Zeppelin tribute bands.”

She waved away my remark with a manicured hand. “You are the best fit, dove. Your writing has never disappointed me no matter what topic I throw at you.”

I sighed, annoyed with myself. “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Besides,” my editor continued as if I hadn’t just agreed, “surrounded by lonely musicians, you might finally get some.”

“Gloria,” I sputtered as I felt my face heat up, “HR would have a field day if they heard you talking like that.”

“You leave tomorrow night,” she said with a grin.

“You’ll be gone for a month?” Jean asked, although I had a hard time hearing her over the staticky cell phone connection.

“Mmhmmm. Would you mind keeping an eye on my place?” I asked my best friend as I began to pick what clothes to take with me. A week’s worth of shirts, underwear, some workout clothes. Stuff that was easy to wash in a hotel sink, nothing too fancy.

“Of course. How exciting, though, getting to travel around with a band. Can I be you when I grow up?”

“Ha! Can I be you? I feel like I’ve failed some part of adulthood; wrong side of thirty, never married and renting an apartment. While you, my friend, have a mortgage, a husband, 2.5 kids, a nice little garden and pets.”

“There are trade offs to everything, you know.”

“I suppose. Still . . . I still can’t believe she said I might ‘finally get some’.”

I could hear Jean unsuccessfully smother a laugh. “You might. How long has it been?”

“Two years,” I muttered, frustrated that I couldn’t bring myself to start an account on a dating app or even seek someone out for a casual fling.

“That’s all? I could have sworn it was five.”

“You can’t see it, but I’m flipping you off, Jean. Ugh. Changing subjects.”

“Yes, changing subjects, which band are you tagging along with?”

“Ghost,” I replied as if that explained everything.

“Haven’t heard of them.”

“Neither have I, but apparently they’ve won a Grammy.”

“Huh.” Jean paused. “Well, promise me you’ll have a good time and bring that dress.”

I frowned as I stared at my closet. “What dress?”

“The dress. You know! The one you bought on a whim and always promise you’ll wear at the next girls’ night out but never do.”

Shoving a couple dozen hangers aside, I found what she was referring to. I took it off the rack and saw that the tags were still on. “Oh. That dress.”

“Yes, that dress. Wear it one night and see what happens. The desperation and underlying horniness wafting off of you is almost overwhelming at times.”

“What?” I screeched, but Jean had already hung up.

Sighing, I looked at the outfit again and tossed it into my suitcase.

[winnix85]

Harry Welsh's deeds included in 'Band of Brothers'

Publication:Citizens' Voice 

Location:Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania

Issue Date:Sunday, June 6, 1993  (with a photo of Harry and Dick in 1993)

They Jumped much too low from plants that were flying much too fast. Lt. Harry Welsh’s plane was at 0 feet "at the most" when he Jumped. As Welsh emerged from the C-47, another plane craved Immediately beneath him. The blast from the explosion threw Welsh up and to the tide. "That saved my We," he recalls. His chute opened in time to check his descent last enough to make the thump when he landed, painfully but not fatally. It was 1:20 a.m. (0120). The date: June 6, 1944. D Day at Normandy. 

...

"I wanted Dick (Winters) to serve as my best man. We had planned it for years (through the war)," Harry continued. "But, because Dick's a Protestant, I couldn't get the priest to agree. He served as an usher," Harry added.

Approaching the coast of France in lite early morning hours, the C-47s passed through a cloud bank causing their formation to break up. Some pilots veered their planes to the left, others to the right. As a result of the pilots' evasive action, the airborne unit's hopes for tight patterns in the drop zone dissipated. As Welsh reminisced, his company was scattered over a distance of 20 kilometers. And, so, in those frantic predawn hours in Normandy commenced the combat saga of E Company, 506th Kcgimcnt, 101st Airborne. Their heroic deeds are chronicled in a recently published book "Band of Brothers" (Simon and Schuster). Actually, Ambrose, who is the Boyd professor of history at the University of New Orleans (best known for his two-volume biography of Dwight Eisenhower and three-volume work of Richard Nixon) details the progress and achievements of the rifle company from its inception in July 1942 at Camp Toccoa, Ga., to November 1945 when the 101st was inactivated. They parachuted into France early D-Day morning and knocked out a battery of four 105 mm cannon looking down Utah Beach. 

Band of Brothers' heroes Harry Welsh and Dick Winters They parachuted into Holland. They were the Battered Bastards of Bastogne brought in to hold the line - although surrounded - in the Battle of the Bulge; then spearheaded the countcroffensive. Finally, they captured Hitlers Bavarian outpost, his Eagle's Nest, at Bcrchtesgaden. And, emerging as one of the heroes in the epic tale is Wilkes-Barrt's Harry Welsh, 577 Carey Ave., retired school teacher and administrator. Harry is the son of the late "Effie" Welsh, sports editor of the Times Leader Evening News when he passed away in 1951. His bravery as a platoon leader is well-documented in "Band of Brothers." Recounting the battle for the pivotal town of Carcntan (inland from Omaha Beach) where the 101st linked up with the 29th Division, author Ambrose writes: "A German tank started to break through the hedgerow on Easy's left flank. Welsh told Pvt. John McGrath to bring his bazooka and come on. They raced out into the open field, crouched down, armed the bazooka and Welsh told McGrath to fire. The shot hit the turret, but bounced off. "The German tank turned its 88mm cannon toward Welsh and McGrath and fired. The shell zoomed over their heads, missing by a few feet The tank gunner could not depress his cannon sufficiently, because the tank driver was climbing the hedgerow in an effort to break through. 

"Welsh started reloading the bazooka. McGrath was saying, over and over, 'Lieutenant, you're gonna get me killed. You're gonna get me killed.' But he held his place, took careful aim at the tank, which was at the apex of its climb, cannon pointing skyward, the huge vehicle Just about to tip forward as it broke through, and fired. "He hit exactly where he wanted, the unarmorcd belly of the tank and it exploded in a great burst of flame and fire. That was the critical moment in the battle. "German tank drivers lined up behind the one McGrath had hit, put their gear in reverse and began to back off." 

"I never ordered Harry to go face to face with that German tank," notes Dick Winters,  "That's the type soldier Harry was," Winters said over lunch the other day at the Carriage Stop Inn, Plains, where we were dining with the two old WWII warriors. Winters also told of Welsh's gallan try at Bastogne where he (Welsh) sustained shrapnel wounds in action on Christmas Eve (1944). Welsh was removed to a hospital in Paris, then transferred to London, but he eventually returned to the company. 

Indeed, there was no shortage of valor in Easy Company and it was Winters, holder of the Distinguished Service Cross, who was the inspiration for the men under his command. He led them  through the valleys of death. Still, today, he retains their admiration, affection and loyalty. "In combat your reward for a good job done is that you get the next tough mission. E Company kept right on getting the iob done throuch Holland - Bastogne -Germany. The stress through our training and  combat has created a bond between the men of E Company that will last forever," Winters remarked. 

As the end of the war in Europe drew near, Bcrchtesgaden site of Hitler's mountain lair, Alder-shorst (Eagle's Nest) - was a magnet for the troops of all armies. It was there that the high ranking German leaden had flocked to be near their Fuhrer. The palatial dwellings of Goering, Himmler and others were reputedly crammed with art treasures, jewelry and other valuables. Easy Company got there first. And, there was more than art treasures. Wandering through Goering's Officers Quarters and Club, Winters was scouting on his own, kicking open doors when he came upon a vaulted cellar - 15 meters by 10 meters. "Lord! I had never seen anything like this before. There were row after row of liquor racks stretching from floor to ceiling. The brand names covered the world. One estimate was 10,000 bottles," he recounted. 

Winters put a double guard on the officer's club entrance and another on the cellar. Needless to say, when Germany's surrender finally became official the 506th was prepared with the "spirits" of the occasion. 

And, finally, there's a touching footnote to the Harry Welsh story. Harry married immediately upon his return to the states. His bride, Kitty Grogan, wore a dress made from Harry's reserve chute he wore on D-Day. He carried it with him in his musette bag -through his entire 11-month campaign in France, Holland and Romany. "We were married in St. Ignatius Church (Kingston)," Welsh was saying the other day. "I wanted Dick (Winters) to serve as my best man. We had planned it for years (through the war)," Harry continued. "But, because Dick's a Protestant, I couldn't get the priest to agree. He served as an usher," Harry added. 

It's now a friendship that dates back 50 years to when Winters and Welsh were both lieutenants in Easy Company before the unit went overseas. They immediately became the closest of friends. The relationship was based on mutual respect brought about by an identical view of leadership. "Officers go first," as Welsh puts it. But, perhaps, author Ambrose puts it best in discussing the bonding of men ina rifle company. Prolonged exposure to the horrors of hand-to-hand combat forges bonds that are virtually unbreakable. As one member of the regiment told Ambrose, "riflemen would literally insist on going hungry for one another, freezing for one another, dying for one another." Their shared experiences creates "a closeness unknown to all outsiders." Their trust in, and knowledge of, each other is total.

[prettywordsyouleft]

Band Sessions: Dowoon

Pairing: Yoon Dowoon x reader

Genre: band au / university au / fluff

Warnings: none

Word count: 2681

Thank you to everyone who supported Band Sessions.

Index: Jae | Sungjin | Young K | Wonpil | Dowoon

It was the biggest scoop thus far for you to take on as a reporter for the campus newspaper. You had only transferred to this university at the start of the semester, and since the roles in the editing room had been well established before you came along, you had been lucky enough to be writing a weekly column as it was. Still, there was only so much of your journalism skills you could exercise in the highlights reel you had been assigned to.

So when a seasoned writer for the paper, Maggie, had fallen over skiing in the weekend, well, you had been worried for her, of course.

And secretly grateful for the opportunity to snag some of her workload.

“This is a big deal, Y/N. Day6 won another band competition on Friday night and we need someone to interview the members and write about their growing population on and off campus as a band.”

“I can do it,” you assured your editor-in-chief with a confident nod.

Gerrie sighed and looked around at the rest of the hustle in the office and then back at your face. You could tell he was hoping he could rely on someone else, perhaps someone who had already proven their talent in his eyes.

But this was going to be your moment. You had been accepted onto the newspaper team because of the stellar recommendations from your past university. There, you had usually held the third most important story of each edition. You had even saved the dying campus cafeteria after writing about their surprising culinary art.

So writing about a campus band would be a piece of cake.

“Alright, you have four days to interview them and present your article to me. It’s running in our next release.”

“I’ll get it to you on time, Gerrie,” you confirmed and picked up your notebook you had been scribbling in, shifting up out of the chair in front of the senior.

“Y/N,” he called out and you stopped to look back at Gerrie. His gaze pierced yours. “Don’t mess this up, I’m counting on you.”

“I won’t let you down, boss.”

Returning to your desk, you let an elated smile cross over your lips momentarily. You were wired up, excited to finally let your reporting prowess shine. Glancing down at the name written in the middle of the page of your notebook, you picked up your pen and circled Day6 a couple of times.

Oh yes, this would be amazing.

Once you found out who Day6 even was, that is.

Thankfully, it was never all that hard to research anything and your lack of knowledge about the five member band had been replaced with notes on all of their current accolades, how many gigs they had played this year, a fansite address, and most importantly, where their studio was located. You had even contacted the band over their official Instagram account and arranged an interview for the following evening. On your way over, you hummed along to one of their songs, Better Better, playing on Spotify through your phone, feeling more than ready to meet the band now known as regional finalists.

You could tell upon the studio door opening that this title was a big deal for them.

Sungjin, their leader, laughed heartily after greeting you, clasping his hands together and looking towards his members as he gestured for you to take a seat. “I never thought we’d be interviewed by the school paper.”

“Given you were interviewed by the local news station, it can’t be all that bad to have me here today.”

Having memorised all the members’ names, you smiled at Wonpil when he bashfully smiled, waving his hands around to dismiss the notion. “No, we’re really happy. Thank you for thinking of us!”

“Dude, you’re shaking, are you really happy?” Jae teased and leaned forward in his chair. He attention then switched to you. “You’re not taking a photo of us tonight, right?”

“No, I can use a photo from your latest gig, if you’d prefer. Your manager has sent me more than enough photos to pick from,” you offered and he somewhat relaxed, a lazy smile crossing his lips. You smiled knowingly, he definitely had a relationship with their manager as you suspected from her glowing conversation about the lead guitarist in particular.

Clearing your throat, you launched into your prepared questions after confirming it was alright to record the interview. It didn’t take long for Brian and Jae to take over, answering what you needed to know with relative ease. You picked up that whilst Sungjin was the leader, answering questions on the spot was more Brian’s forte. Still, the former was present, throwing in some witty remarks and making sure his younger members did participate.

You noticed that every time Dowoon talked, his ears would turn pink and he’d chuckle a lot. It was rather endearing, and you wondered just how many of their fans liked his shy persona. You could almost guarantee he was the type to get embarrassed being stopped on campus for a signature or photo.

“Oh yeah, he’s totally the type,” Jae confirmed with a laugh at the expense of the drummer. And then he nodded. “But Dowoon is the dark horse of our team.”

“Without a drummer keeping you all on time, how can you effectively work together,” you agreed, smiling brightly at the student now almost as red as Wonpil’s shirt. “How do you feel about the term Jae mentioned?”

Dowoon rubbed at the back of his neck awkwardly and then grinned. “Well, uh, I guess I’m kind of important.”

“Kind of?” Brian echoed with a laugh. “You’re definitely important.”

“Shall we go as far as to dub you the most important member?” you offered with an encouraging smile and Dowoon shook his head. “Come on now, if you don’t keep the time, then how can you play together as in sync as you do?”

“I guess that makes sense.”

You clapped your hands together and beamed at the rest of the group. “Thank you so much for your time today. I’m looking forward to your future achievements. And the show this weekend, as well.”

“Oh, you’re coming?” Sungjin asked and you nodded.

“Sweet, if your article goes well, you can come to the after-party,” Jae offered and shrugged when Wonpil gaped at him for suggesting it on those terms.

You merely chuckled. “Well I’ll consider myself invited since you all made it easy for me to write this up, I can tell.”

You thanked them all again for their time and then headed towards the door to the studio, smiling back at everyone before stepping out.

You felt relieved. Not only had the interview gone well, but you already felt inspired to draft up your first copy of the piece. Hurrying towards the elevator, you only hoped that your hands could keep up typing the thoughts now swirling around in your mind.

“Well, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m super impressed,” Gerrie announced when you handed in your article for submission. You beamed with his compliment, watching as he tried not to smile at you when he looked up. “I guess the highlights reel was not the right place to put you.”

“No, I think it humbled me.”

“Well, I’ll have to do some rearranging of the team. We’ll definitely need more of your articles running in the paper, Y/N.”

Thanking him repeatedly, you waited until you were out of the office before you began to celebrate. Pumping your hand up into the air, you let out a cheer, did a little dance on the spot and then patted your own shoulder.

When you were done singing your praises, you looked up and found someone watching you. Instead of feeling embarrassed, you grinned happily and approached the tall man whose ears were now the same colour as your blouse. “Destiny called you here, right?”

“Who’s Destiny?” Dowoon wondered and then eyed you carefully. “Are you alright, Y/N?”

“Never been better.”

“You ran around in a circle,” he pointed out with a small smirk. So he had enjoyed the performance you had just put on.

Nudging him playfully, you couldn’t contain your happiness. “My scoop on Day6 was a hit. I was complimented by the steely Gerrie Moore. That is not an easy feat and it’s all thanks to you.”

“Really?” he genuinely enthused and grinned. “Let me buy you a celebratory coffee then!”

“Only if you allow me to buy you a piece of cake to say thanks for helping me out,” you compromised and Dowoon laughed, nodding once.

“Are you free now?”

“Didn’t you see me just run around in a circle? Do you think I could possibly be up to anything more productive?” you mentioned with a laugh and Dowoon chuckled.

“Well then, coffee and cake it is.”

You had believed that conversation with Dowoon would be hard to achieve. Admittedly, at first, he had seemed shy. But he persisted through in asking you how you had been and you easily steered the conversation towards your hobbies and interests.

“You know, I’ve always wanted to learn the drums,” you mentioned and Dowoon’s eyebrows arched curiously.

“Really?”

You nodded. “Of course. How cool would it be to vent your annoyance by banging something?”

“There’s more to drumming than just banging at the instrument, Y/N. It takes a lot of skill.”

“Of course there is,” you agreed and then leaned over the table towards him. Dowoon eyed you cautiously. “Reckon you could show me sometime?”

“You… you want to learn?”

Nodding eagerly, you pointed to the exit. “Are you free now?”

“You just do everything on a whim, don’t you?” he asked with a laugh and you shrugged.

“When I have an idea, I want to follow it through. So, can you teach me?”

“I bet after thirty minutes you’ll never want to drum again,” he proclaimed and you gaped at Dowoon, rolling up your sleeves as if you were preparing yourself to prove him wrong.

You smirked. “I’m competitive.”

“I can tell.”

“Come on then, let’s go so I can prove you wrong!”

You did in fact, last longer than thirty minutes. But you had to admit, it was a whole lot harder than you expected. Most of the time, Dowoon had you simply kicking the bass drum in a stable rhythm. That was relatively easy until your leg tired.

Dowoon smirked. “It’s not easy, is it?”

“I can do it,” you corrected, heaving in a deep breath and trying to regain your tempo. When you had it, you smiled smugly and gestured for what was next.

“Y/N, most people learn the basics for weeks on end. You need to build up your leg muscles on the kick drum first.”

“No I want to try and incorporate my hands too!” you bit back, looking at the drum kit before you. Pointing at a part of it, you looked over at Dowoon. “This is the floor Tom, right?”

“You know your parts,” he replied with a surprised smile.

“When I research something I have an interest in, I like to know all the facts,” you commented, heaving in another breath.

Maintaining this beat was a lot harder than you wanted to let on.

“Oh yeah, is that how you knew stuff about us?”

“Of course. A reporter’s job is to find the facts and bring the story to life with them.”

“So you know about us?” he repeated and you glanced in Dowoon’s direction, your focus narrowing as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I bet you know a lot about Jae and Brian. They’re popular with the fans.”

“Your favourite colour is red, you have a dog and a cat, you love most types of meals with meat in them and you strangely like green tea ice cream.”

Dowoon blinked, and his ears turned red. “You know all that?”

“What, that’s just after a simple search from your fansites. Kind of crazy to think you have fans compiling lists like this, huh?”

“I’m grateful,” he mumbled and you nodded.

“I thought you would be.”

“Do you know anything else?” he wondered, his hand mindlessly playing with the cymbals. You examined his motion for a moment before giving up on kick pedal, collapsing over the snare drum.

“I know that my leg is about to fall off,” you heaved and Dowoon chuckled. Looking up at him, you smiled. “And that you have a nice talking voice. Your laugh is really cute too. And when you smile, I almost forget what I’m talking about. At the interview, you were the one I wanted to hear from the most.”

“Really?” Dowoon tried not to grin but it spread across his lips all the same. “You like talking to me?”

“I do. And admittedly, you were right. I don’t think I’m cut out for drumming. You’re super talented, Dowoon. I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

You chewed on your lip with hesitation. However, you were known to be bold with all your thoughts. It was how you were an excellent reporter. Sometimes, the risks you took were worth a moment of feeling out of your depth.

“Well, I saw what your ideal type was listed as and hoped I matched up well enough for you to want to spend time with me. And maybe go out on a date?” For a moment, Dowoon was frozen. You weren’t even sure he was breathing still and you watched carefully to ensure he wasn’t going to collapse or anything. And then he seemed to come back alive again, unable to control his emotions. His eyes were bright and he swapped between chuckling and grinning giddily. His ears were pink, as was his neck too. He seemed to be overheating.

Reaching out for his hand, you squeezed it, hoping he would calm down a little. It seemed to work, even though Dowoon had rested against the wall to hold himself up. “You’re bold.”

“I told you, when I show an interest in something, I need to know all the facts. There’s no point in me trying to play coy with you when I like you. But, if you don’t feel the same-”

“No, I definitely do. I just… you really do match my ideal type. I’m kind of surprised that you actually exist.”

It was your turn to blush finally and Dowoon seemed to like this a little too much. “Hey, about that after-party this weekend…”

“Want to come as my date?” Dowoon asked before you could suggest anything and you nodded happily, swinging your still linked hands back and forth gently.

“I’d really like that.”

“Can I request something though?”

“What?”

Dowoon grinned. “I don’t know nearly as much as you do. Reckon you could write up a facts list like the one you found on me? That way I can learn about you too.”

“Don’t you want to find out slowly like how most people do whilst dating?”

Dowoon shook his head. “If you’re going to know all you do about me first, I want to level out the playing field.”

“I’ll have it to you by tomorrow then,” you answered, standing up from the drum kit. You weren’t prepared for how weak your leg was, and stumbled, Dowoon reaching out to catch you. Your hands went to his middle and your eyes snapped up to his.

“Oh,” you commented, blinking slowly. “I guess that’s true too.”

“What is?”

“That drummers tend to have really good bodies.”

“Y/N!” Dowoon spluttered and then laughed. “Maybe you know too much.”

“It’s my job to know a lot about things,” you countered and Dowoon nodded. You then slipped your arms around his waist, nestling into his body. You waited to see what his reaction would be but he didn’t pull away, his arms gingerly sliding up to pat you gently.

“Let me catch up. I want to know a lot of things about you too.”

_________________

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[DAY6 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]

[fantasyfandommaiden]

ML Counsellor AU: It’s not photoshopped

One of the downsides to being the owner of the ‘Gabriel’ brand was that he had the final say on all advertisement pictures before they were released to the press… however the more he looked at the latest photos, the more he found that something… wasn’t quite right.

~~~~~~

Gabriel was fighting a massive headache that even tylenol wouldn’t fix. He honestly just wanted to crawl into bed and sleep, but if he didn’t approve of these photos by the end of the day, than they would be late to the magazine release and he wasn’t going to allow that to happen. 

They were mainly for the new fragrance line, as well as some of the winter clothes (it was currently late Summer, early Autumn but if they didn’t get those photos done now than it would be late for the season) however there was something… off about the photos that he was having an issue with. Adrien’s face seemed sharper than usual with the close ups, and his body was more lean. 

He looked like he was a fair bit thinner than he should be. Gabriel actually brought up photos taken several months ago to make sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him, but no, he did look far thinner.  

Gabriel called Nathalie into his office, still looking down at the photos with a scowl on his face. “... Something wrong with the photographs sir?” Nathalie asked with her usual professional tone. 

“... The latest photographs, did they go through our photoshop standards already?” Gabriel asked, still looking at the photo. 

Nathalie raised an elegant brow at the question “... Yes sir. Elle did it to your standards, with only color and lighting corrections, as well as getting rid of any obvious blemishes.” Nathalie stated calmly.

 Gabriel hated how many fashion models (who were already far thinner than they should be) were often photoshopped to be thinner or had any birthmarks, freckles, or scars were made to disappear. He actually had a female runway model who had a large birthmark across her eyes that almost looked like a mask. She had been one of Gabriel’s first models for the brand, and although she was almost 30, he had no plans to ‘retire’ her unless she wished to. He did plan to offer her a chance to be a modelling coach however. 

He also knew that Elle, who was one of the best editors he had in the brand, would never make this dramatic of a change to the photos without contacting him first. He closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before standing. “Has Adrien returned from fencing class?” he asked Nathalie, looking at her. 

~~~~~

Adrien was in his room, working on his homework when there was a knock at his door. “Come in.” he called, turning in his chair as the door opened. His eyes widened when his father entered the room, looking at Adrien. “F-Father… Hello!” he said as the man walked over to him.

“Adrien, stand up.” he stated, and Adrien instantly stood up, wondering what this could be about. Gabriel looked intensely at his face, than slowly looked down at the rest of him, actually lifting his hand to look at his wrist, a slight scowl on his face. “... Adrien, have you been eating the full meals provided to you by the chief?” he asked. 

Adrien blinked at the question “Yes father.” he responded quickly, but that answer seemed to cause him to scowl even more, so he guessed it was the wrong answer “I-Is there a problem?” 

“I was looking at your photos from your latest shoot, and noticed you are far thinner than last time.” Gabriel explained “Have you been doing other physical activities beside fencing and basket ball?” 

“No, not really.” Adrien stated rather quickly. Too quickly, and Gabriel could feel a spike of panic and guilt… he was lying. 

Gabriel looked down at Adrien with a stern expression “... Adrien, you shouldn’t lie to me. I know when you're lying. It’s important for me to know these things so that you are eating enough for the amount of calories you use in a day.” he responded to him. “I realise that your diet is very strict, and you have been enjoying your freedom, but you are clearly losing weight, and I refuse to allow this to continue because it is very bad for your health.” he stated to him.

Adrien looked at him wide eyed, bitting his bottom lip slightly “... Okay, so, with all of the akuma attacks that have been happening lately, I have started learning how to do parkour with some friends.” he stated slowly, looking at his father. “I realise that Gorilla- I mean, my bodyguard, is always there to protect me, but sometimes, like when it happens during school, we need to evacuate quickly, so me and some classmates thought that learning parkour would help us escape the situation more quickly.” 

Gabriel looked at him with a raised brow “... I don’t recall signing any forms for you to take on more lessons.” 

Adrien winced slightly, resisting the urge to fidget “It’s not a formal class or anything. During our breaks between class, it's usually like ten minutes, me and some of my classmates will go over some basic moves in the gym. Two of my classmates, Kim and Alix, are very athletic, and have been teaching us stuff like how to fall properly and do proper techniques. Kim is actually a junior lifeguard and swim instructor, and Alix has been doing this since she would walk so, also there is always at least one teacher in the gym to supervise … I just figured it would be something good to know. I didn’t tell you, because it’s not a formal class, it doesn’t take up much of my time either.” Also, you wouldn’t approve had gone unsaid. 

Gabriel looked down at him for a long while, before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose. “Adrien, parkour can be very dangerous if done incorrectly.” the man began and Adrien was just waiting for him to say ‘these children are bad influences on you, and you should stay away.’ 

“However, the fact you took initiative with your safety is good.” Gabriel complimented. “I wish you had told me sooner, because I am guessing this has been going on for awhile, yes?”

Adrien nodded “Shortly after the Stoneheart incident.” 

Gabriel scowled, remembering the first akuma that started this all with the face off against Ladybug and Chat Noir. “Yes, that. So for a long while, meaning your dietitian has been unknowingly underfeeding you. How often do you have these… ‘lessons’.” 

Adrien blinked, not believing that his father hadn’t pulled him out of this yet… but then again, this was an activity having to do with his safety so maybe that was why. “Um… it’s not very formal, but usually three maybe four times a week? During breaks that would amount to…. Four extra hours of physical activity.” 

Gabriel nodded “Very well, I will have Nathalie book another appointment with your dietitian, where I expect you to tell him in full ALL of the physical activities you do so we can have throughout the week Adrien.” he stated, looking at his son now realising that on top of him losing some weight he seems to have grown taller. A small, ghost of a smile appeared on his face “... I would have had to call anyway, if you're anything like me, you're bound to hit your growth spurt soon.” 

Adrien’s eyes widened as he looked at his father “... So, you’ll allow me to continue?” “I should have been informed about this before you started, seeing it can be dangerous and I don’t like being deceived, but since you are learning it so you will be able to get out of situations with akumas more quickly, I will allow it, on the condition that you wear proper safety equipment.” 

Adrien blinks “... Like, a helmet?” he asked slowly, dreading the thought of his friends comments on him going to one of their hangouts wearing a bike helmet. 

“No, helmets would get in the way with somersaulting if not built correctly and would cause damage to the neck. I mean things like wrist and knee guards. Also to wear loose clothing, and long pants so when you do fall, your less likely to scrap yourself against the ground.” Gabriel stated in a matter of fact tone. 

Adrien looked at his father in shock “... How do you know this stuff father?” 

Gabriel was quiet for a long moment before replying in a monotonous voice “During my time in design school we had a project were we had to design active wear, so I did extensive research on the topic. It appears even after all these years I still retain some of the information.” he stated evenly before turning around “I will make sure that the chief gives you some extra helpings tonight so we can get your weight back to normal.” 

“Ah!” Adrien called out and Gabriel looked over his shoulder with a raised brow. Adrien almost lost his nerve but began to speak anyways “Could I request lasagna for dinner tonight?” 

Gabriel looked at his son for a long moment. “The cooking staff has already prepped tonights meal and started when I came up to speak to you, it would be rude to have them change the entire meal plan so late now.” Adrien slumped slightly, nodding. “... Of course father.” 

Gabriel stood where he was for a moment longer, still looking at his son over his shoulder “I have some more work to attend to tonight, so I won't be joining you for dinner.” to which Adrien just gave a solemn nod, expecting that really. 

“... However, I will request that the cooking staff make lasagna tomorrow night.” Adrien perked up slightly, looking at his father who still had a fairly neutral expression. “And provided that I get all of my work together, I may join you.” 

Adrien grinned widely “That would be great father, I look forward to it!” 

~~~~ 

Sadly, there was an akuma attack that afternoon and Nathalie had to be the one to inform Adrien how his father was too busy to join him for dinner. The lasagna, which he had no doubt was very good, didn’t taste as nice as he believed it would.

[abrar-aslam]

GetResponse Details,Overview, Unique Features, Pros and Cons

Introduction/Details

GetResponse is basically an online marketing software which is used by many business owners. It helps us in creation of newsletter for subscribers and appeal. 

It was initiated in 1999 by Simon Grabowski who is an online marketing expert. It helps business traders to create content ,increase their sales, send marketing emails and perform vigorous tasks online.

GetResponse is functioning worldwide that is why we can see its offices in the Poland and many other countries. GetResponse has been growing rapidly because it is helping entrepreneurs regarding marketing issues. So, after knowing that marketing is the most important aspect of any business it forces you to research on GetResponse.  GetResponse review 2020 shows that more than 350000 businesses are working with GetResponse from 185 different countries. 

Overview

GetResponse was basically originated to help business persons to increase their sales volume. It is also helping to increase the number of subscribers and how to engage with them. This can only be done by the marketing campaigns. GetResponse has an awesome feature called email editor which allows the users to download the letters. It is beneficial for the user as there is no need of any kind of coding while conscripting the newsletter. There are predefined amazing templates to create emails and images. This feature will also help you to reduce cost as there is no need of graphic designer for this process. 

GetResponse also provides you with a great feature of making landing pages. It allows its users to create landing pages and customize their web forms. It also allows users to create amazing custom templates which can be used later. The most amazing thing about GetResponse is that users can make large amount of money by creating websites without any code.

There are also a lot of features related to GetResponse which includes automation segmentation, tracking ,least scoring and a lot more. GetResponse encourage beginners by providing them tiers when it comes to pricing. GetResponse has four main modes which are pro, max, email and enterprise. It is important to remember that these four modes operates different on basis of marketing features.

Features of GetResponse

Marketing Automation

Marketing automation is one of the key features of GetResponse which allows to create workflow that allows a user to send many segments of data at once. Due to this great feature of GetResponse we cannot compare it with others. With the segmentation tool a user can also subdivide the contacts of his/her subscribers as you sent the emails. It is much easier for user to reply to customers because it works automatically. If you divide your mails into segments now you only have to click the checkbox and click your preferred sections as you send the mails. It in each segment also allows you to opt to send mails to a few individuals. 

Free Landing Page Builder

This great feature of GetResponse provides the tools to design SEO-optimized and revenue-generating pages. This feature enables us to build unlimited landing pages to land our new subscribers and sales. GetResponse provides over 200 landing page templates. It provides dozens of ready-made, mobile-responsive templates designed to convert visitors into contacts. GetResponse also provides creativity with drag-and-drop editor which builds your page in minutes. It also has amazing features like move, resize, crop, group, color, reshape elements, enhance your design with GIFs and free stock photos, Tweak and optimize your page for mobile devices.

Conversion Funnel

GetResponse provides you with ultimate sales funnel software machine. It provides you the Ready-made, automated sales funnel creator, build your landing pages, automate your emails, sell your products, recover abandoned orders, and convert your customers. GetResponse also has Simple opt-in funnels, Lead magnet funnels, Sales funnels and Webinar funnels.

SMS marketing

GetResponse provides trigger-based SMS Marketing automation. It allows to create automated SMS campaigns inside your marketing automation platform. You don’t need extra tools or services to communicate with customers more effectively. The most effective ways of reaching your recipients are just around the corner in one GetResponse MAX account. It sends SMS messages automatically based on selected conditions, user behavior or contact information.

Pros

The visual campaign builder is excellent in GetResponse. It makes building out even very complex campaigns quite     easy. We believe it is one of the best on the market. It has everything     that you would expect to see in a high level email platform. This is the     core of GetResponse and it does it quite well.

The Funnel Builder which is a feature released last     year, is also an excellent tool. You can create a good customer journey     with the GetResponse funnel builder. It’s great for lead magnets, list     building, etc. but it also has enough features that can be used to lead a     customer all the way to the checkout.

The updated email builder is also great. This was an     area that needed some attention and it got it. The revised builder allows     for content-rich emails that are up to today’s best practices.

GetResponse offers original templates and you can play with the     themes of any particular campaign.

You can get a quantified and detailed report of the     processes You are working on.

GetResponse has very detailed and accurate statistics system.

The interface of GetResponse is elegant and extremely easy to use.

You can do everything quickly, productively, and     efficiently.

Cons

The one area that I have found that could be more     robust is the API. I had a situation where we were using Easy Digital     Downloads and had moved from a different platform to GetResponse. We ended up having to hack the API a bit to get the     functions we needed. It was not a major issue but it could have been     avoided with a more robust API.

The other area where GetResponse could be stronger is in the products that it     integrates with. They have been working to grow the list but we feel there     is still some work needed in this area. Beyond these two areas, I have no     complaints.