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wheelsup · 3 years ago

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the taming of the shrew | one

he is more a shrew than she

penelope reveals her plan to get you and spencer together. unfortunately, her plan has a few hitches.

A/N: again, big thanks to @homoose for being my helpful beta reader, and to YOU for reading it now.

category: fluff, spencer reid x fem!reader, series

wc: 4.1k

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Penelope came back to your place the following night, bearing a new bottle of wine and a collection of materials she mentioned were integral to executing the plan.

Very quickly into Penelope’s explanation of this Genius Plan –– her words, not yours –– you remembered what it was she did for work. Officially, she was some sort of technical computer-y person for the Federal Bureau. As you knew her, she’s a danger to society and anyone with a traceable digital presence.

She managed to construct a comprehensive list of every place in D.C. and Virginia that her friend liked going to, along with the approximate times in which you were most likely to find him there. Approximate meaning, exactly which days he visits and the roughly time of day, down to a mere one hour margin of error.

You scanned the list over, shocked at its detail. Where he cut his hair, got his coffee, bought his books. His favorite restaurants, the chess clubs he’s a member of, his local hospital.

His local hospital?!

“I’m not going to need to know that, am I?” you paused.

“Probably not, but it comes in handy with this job,” she shrugged with a nonchalance that was rather alarming.

There had to be a dozen more places on the sheet –– ranked, in order of his (assumed) preference for them. Penelope calculated it based on the frequency of his visits, their average duration per session, and how often he’d mentioned about the place.

“What?” she tossed her palms up, taking offense when you asked her if she had evil plans to take over the tristate area. “Hang out with him long enough, you tell me if you pick up a knack for researching or not.”

Researching. Mining private data through questionable methods. It’s a small difference to Penelope.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side, Penelope,” you muttered under your breath, flipping the sheet back and forth. “You could ruin my whole life with ten minutes on a computer.”

“I wanted to be thorough,” she defended, shrugging. “And I’d only need five.”

You laughed through your nose, giving the paper one last scan. “You left out one important thing, though.”

“No, I put his home address on there,” her brows wrinkled together as she pointed it out on the sheet with one hot pink polished finger.

“His name,” you berated. “Jesus, you think I’m going to show up at his home?!”

“Again! I’m thorough,” she cried at your accusatory tone. “His name’s Spencer. You’ll like him when you meet him.”

You didn’t doubt that Penelope’s friend was a likeable guy, but you weren’t exactly dying to go out of your way to meet him. You told her that you’d get around to it when you had a chance and left it at that.

And two weeks later, you found yourself in need of a caffeine fix that your tea kettle wasn’t strong enough to satisfy. You started on a new piece late the previous night, and midnight rolled into four in the morning, which pushed you into the arms of seven o’clock. Reinforcements were needed.

Throwing on a large sweater to cover up your messy clothes and grabbing the closest pair of shoes you could find, you originally planned on heading to your usual spot just around your street corner. Just as you were leaving, the list, still sitting untouched in the exact spot that Penelope left it in, caught your eye.

It’d been a while since you told Penelope you’d help her out. Enough time had passed that you now felt like there was an invisible deadline over your head.

Maybe it won’t hurt to try something new?

Besides, meeting someone at a coffee shop seemed like an easy, foolproof way to go about this. From all the movies and romance novels, you knew that cafes are the pinnacle of meet-cute situations. Or, in your case, a meet-forced.

Regardless, it should’ve been simple enough, and it would’ve gotten the favor off your shoulder.

You scanned the sheet for the cafe Spencer would be at on a Thursday at 8 a.m., and got there with barely five minutes to spare before he was expected to show.

It was just your luck that he had to pick a cafe practically as far from your home as he could get, and the transfer train had to have a delay that made you walk the last three-quarters of a mile there. Call it crazy, but you didn’t expect to actually have to put in work for this. You expected it better be worth the hassle.

You took a seat in the back of the cafe to catch your breath as you waited for him to show up. Sitting in the booth, with your head down so you coudn’t be seen, the plan started to feel stupid all over again. You were running around the city, spying on this stranger, and for what?

The silver bell hung over the door frame interrupted before your thoughts could travel down that path of questioning. It rang each time a new patron enters, and within the next twenty minutes it rang only eight or nine times. None of them appeared to be Spencer.

You were prepared to call this one a failure and leave, when you realized your colossal mistake. You only had his name, and no idea what he looks like. So unless he happened to wear a name tag around you could’ve already missed him. You realized then that there were more than a few flaws in this plan.

Keeping an eye on the door, you dialed Penelope’s contact as a swarm of new patrons flooded in.

“How am I supposed to know what he looks like?” you whispered into the phone, failing to cover it with a hand cupped over the speaker. Penelope was confused for only a second by the apparent lack of context.

“Oh! He’s tall, has mousy brown hair but he cut it recently. It’s like… missing on the sides, but it’s all there in the front!” she explained.

What the hell does she mean missing?

“Pen, brunette? That’s like all the guys in here…” You took a look around the full cafe; various men typing on computers, taking calls. All of them looked the same, from their brown hair to their khakis and puffer coats. “You’re going to have to give me a little more than brown hair.”

Penelope struggled to explain and with each new feature she gave you, your mental picture of him got more clouded. “He’s skinny! Dresses like a vintage teddy bear!”

“Does he have kind of like… a hot English teacher vibe?” you quirked your head, spying a man approaching from the sidewalk and drinking him in with your eyes. Tall, brunette, clad in corduroy head to toe with a plaid sweater vest underneath. Vintage Teddy Bear F/W 1978 collection.

“Yes! He teaches sometimes! And you think he’s hot?”

Your mouth gaped even though she couldn’t see you. “No, I - I didn’t say that. I said he had the vibes of a hot teacher.”

“And how different is that from saying he’s––”

“Pen, I gotta go. Your guy’s walking in.” You put the phone away before she could pick apart what you said.

The bell on the front door rang as he came in and you stared intently at his face. If this was like the movies, he’d turn his head right then, at the perfect time, and make eye contact. He’d fall madly in love from the first look, and your work would be done. You sat at the edge of your seat, burning holes into his skull, waiting for that moment.

But alas, he never looked up from the linoleum flooring as he walked up to the counter. With a groan, you slid out of your booth and quickly hopped into the line before anyone else could claim the spot behind him.

New plan: eavesdrop, order the same coffee as him, and pretend to go for the cup at the same time. Laugh about the coincidence, how if you share the same coffee order you must certainly have a lot in common, and have him fall in love with you.

But you overheard him rattle off his order and were absolutely horrified. Black coffee, extra sugar. Like, extra, extra sugar.

You were going to need a second change of plans.

You eyed him up and down, searching for something you could approach him about. He was donning black converse under a fitted pair of dark brown corduroy trousers, with a blazer to match, and a deep green plaid vest underneath. On paper, this outfit shouldn’t work. In practice, it… really did.

A little too well, given how good he looks in it. More fashionable than a federal agent ought to be as required by dress codes, right?

“Can I help you?” you heard, and it poked the bubble of your thoughts. Your head shot up to meet his for the first time, eyes wide as heat crawled up your face.

“Uh. No ––” Shit. You didn’t even realize how long you were staring at his legs. Long, long legs. And shit, why did you say no? That was your opening to talk to him.

The man –– Spencer –– nodded his head slowly, uncomfortably, and turned away with a forced grin. He grabbed the coffee cup placed on the counter and you thought now was the time to say something. But by the time you thought of it, he’d already picked up his cup and made his way to the door.

The stupid silver bell mocked you as he left.

The first attempt left you slightly jilted, but a few days later you found yourself in need of a few grocery items. You just happened to be in his neighborhood that day, and though it was very much out of the way of your own, you didn’t plan on it being a problem. He’d never see where you lived anyways, and he’d never need to know how unlikely this chance encounter really was.

You had Penelope text you the address of his regular grocery store, and upon arrival, felt immediate concern. It was not a grocery store. It was a convenience mart slash liquor store at the corner of the street, below a building of worn apartments.

As you walked through the aisles, the only things you found were a large assortment of wines that took up half the small store space, an aisle of candy packets and chips, a section for household supplies, and one measly aisle for canned and boxed foods.

Cereal, instant noodles, soup cans, pancake mix… nothing very fresh.

Spencer seemed like a pretty scrawny guy. You now believed it might’ve been from the fact that his food choices were so off-putting that he simply didn’t eat. It wasn’t your place to be concerned, but you decided that if you ever ended up taking him out, a farmer’s market might be good for him.

You loitered around for perhaps longer than necessary. The inquisitive shop attendant asked if you need help –– as in, why are you still here, get out of my store –– and you told her you were just really conflicted on which detergent brand you needed. Finally, the man you were after arrived at the scene.

“Hi, Dolores,” he greete with a small wave. The attendant, Dolores, greets back with a positivity that she sorely lacked when talking to you. Dolores has favorites, apparently.

An unexpected panic settled in your stomach and you quickly turned back to your selection of fabric softeners. You weren’t hiding, you just didn’t want him to catch you staring again. You picked up your two props, pretending to read the labels on the back and compare the chemical formulas on each of them, when you saw him out of the corner of your eyes.

He went into the aisle in front of yours, and over the short shelves you saw the back of his head sweeping over the modest food section. He turned around to inspect the other side of the aisle, and you ducked your head even lower. It was in vain. He spotted you anyway.

You fixed your eyes even harder onto the bottles, afraid to look anywhere else. He shuffled out of his aisle and turned the corner into yours. You started sweating a little.

“Uhm. Excuse me,” he said.

“Yeah?” You looked up from your bottles, putting on your best caught-off-guard face. Like you were a girl in a movie, reading a book on the beach (not detergent labels in a liquor store) and your romantic interest just noticed how beautiful you looked doing it, deciding he had to introduce himself.

“Can you… can you move…” he asked, gesturing to the section of cleaners that you’re blocking.

Never mind.

“Oh! Yeah, sorry.” You burned up, moving out of his way. He reached for what he needed and you peeked down to inspect the contents of his basket. Organic whole wheat bread, cream of mushroom soup, and somehow, he’d managed to find the only two apples this place must carry. At least there was light at the end of the dark, dark tunnel.

He tossed a bottle of Snuggle fabric softener and you raised your brows. Given that he was “grocery shopping’’ in a three-piece suit –– a good one, too, black trousers, vest and blazer with an eggplant purple shirt and lavender tie –– you would’ve expected him to simply send his clothes out for dry cleaning.

“Snuggle, huh?” you said. He gave you a confused look. “Oh, uh. I was looking at these. Couldn’t pick between the two.” You raised your two bottles of softener; Snuggle and Tide.

You needed him to know you weren’t just saying Snuggle to insinuate that you would like to do that to him. You remembered Penelope telling you he had a degree in chemistry or some sort of science field, and asked, “Is… is that one like, more organic? I was trying to read the formulas but I don’t… I don’t recognize the chemicals,” you trailed off. You could see yourself losing his interest the more you spoke. He barely looked at you as he grabbed whatever else he needed.

“I don’t know… I just like it,” he bristled. You looked down at the bottle and flipped it over to the front. It had a drawing of a teddy bear on it. How fitting.

You go to comment on it but yet again he’d made an escape, already at the checkout counter and unloading his basket by the time you looked up again. You rolled your eyes, wondering if it’s even worth it to follow him into line and see if he sparks up a conversation this time.

You could tell that he wouldn’t. So you gave him the space to buy his items and leave.

You didn’t really need the detergent, but Dolores gave you a pointed look before you could even think about putting it back on the shelf. You ended up buying the detergent, a loaf of bread, and two packets of sweets out of guilt.

As you took the train home, digging into your packet of sour peach rings, you began to doubt if you can carry out Penelope’s request.

After two failed attempts, you were prepared to tell Penelope that this just wasn’t going to work out. You didn’t expect it to be this difficult to talk to Spencer nor did you see yourself getting closer to him anytime soon. It would be best if she just found someone else to do it.

You caught her in the hallway, leaving her apartment just as you came home from the store. It seemed like as good of a time as any to let her know how unsuccessful your escapades were going. With your tail between your legs, you approached her with the intention of breaking the plan off.

But the second she saw you, it was like she could read through you. She clocked what you were about to say and before you could, she gave you a warm hug. It was the first one you’d ever received from her, actually. And she thanked you for trying.

It didn’t make you feel guilty, per se, but it definitely made you feel weird about telling her the news. So you bit back on telling her what you were really going to say. She didn’t need to know the details of your failure, or the fact that you were seconds away from giving up on her friend.

Maybe you didn’t need to give up right away.

After all, you did only talk to the guy twice. Don’t they always say the third time’s the charm?

You left the conversation at just that –– letting her know that you’re happy to do this for her, even if you aren’t really –– and slinked back into your apartment. The list, buried under the magazines and paint tubes and half-full cups of cold coffee on your table, called for you.

If by any stroke of luck you happened to share one interest with this guy, you promised yourself to give it one more try.

According to the list, that overlapping interest was the wonderful world of Gatsby Books –– a small, locally owned bookstore residing in the heart of D.C. ’s arts district. That neighborhood was smack in the middle of your’s and Spencer’s, and it was where the gallery you showcase at was.

You’d been meaning to get down there for a while now, anyways. It really was the cutest bookstore in the world; inside it lived a white, bushy-furred cat named Gatsby, and he was always there. After all, it was his bookstore.

It wasn’t such a burden to make your visit fit Spencer’s schedule, really. And it would make Penelope happy if you did. So on Saturday afternoon, you took a lovely walk through the sunny arts district of D.C., a smile on your face and a tote in hand for all the books you were planning on hauling back.

The smell of paper and coffee greeted your nose at the door, and you practically fell into a trance, letting it lead you through the aisles of the store without much thought of where you wandered. Not that it mattered, you could’ve roamed the shelves aimlessly all day long.

In the mystery and thrillers section, you found Gatsby. He jumped down from his perch on a step stool and weaved between your legs, greeting one of his long-time regulars. He was such a good shop owner.

“Hi, Mr. Gatsby.” You smiled and bent down to give him a little head scratch when he started running off in the other direction, taunting you into following him.

He rounded the corner and came to a stop at a pair of boot-clad feet; your eyes moved up to find your favorite employee (after Gatsby, of course) restocking the shelves.

“Miles!” you whispered, but he still jumped out of his skin. He turned around, hand still over his chest, and sighed when he realized it was just you. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” you laughed.

“Hey, long time, no see. Back for some more recommendations?” You ‘ooh’ed at his offer.

“I was just gonna say, the ones you gave me last time were so good. I finished them in, like, a week.”

“Really?” He smiled, brows happily up his forehead. You nodded in assent. “Okay, well I’ll give you more this time, see if the list’ll last you a little longer than that.”

You grinned eagerly, following him to the shop counter where he pulled out a stack of bright green post-its and a pen.

“I’ve actually been waiting for you to come in, I already had these in mind for you,” he mumbled, scrawling across the paper quickly. He handed the note over, and it took a moment to decipher the chicken scratches.

“Okay, first you gave me Al-Shayk and Bradbury. Now you’re giving me Chaucer, Dickens, and Doyle,” you recited the note, giving him a teasing look. “Are we just going through the alphabet, Miles?” you joked.

“Honest mistake. But I’d be happy to give you all the other twenty-two letters of the alphabet if needed.”

“I might hold you to that.” You nodded, folding the post-it in your palm to prevent the sticky backing from gunking up. It’d make quite the good bookmark for later. “Thanks for these!”

“No problem, just a part of the job.”

Nonetheless, you thanked him again before disappearing back into the aisles. You found Miles’ books as well as a few of your own and nearly lost yourself in the rows of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, until you made a turn. Standing in the middle of the next aisle was Spencer.

A week ago, he was the whole point of coming to the store. That day, you completely forgot about it, and it stopped you in your tracks to see him there. He was just standing in the middle of the walkway, staring blankly at the shelf in front of him.

“Excuse me,” you grinned, “Could you move?”

You thought it was a cute reference back to the laundry detergent fiasco, a chance for you to turn the tables, but he had no reaction to it whatsoever. His face was straight as he merely pivoted his shoulder out of your way as you reached for the book you needed; The Narrative of John Smith.

His eyes narrowed at you and his nostrils flared, and you wondered if it was called for because you grabbed the last copy they had in stock.

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did you want this?” you asked, waving the book in his face. He was just standing there for so long, you didn’t think he actually wanted anything since he never picked it up.

“No,” he said coldly.

Contrary to Penelope’s review, he didn’t actually seem that warm of a person. But you smiled tightly at him, letting a forced laugh fill the stale air.

“I… I swear I’m not stalking you,” you laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. Technically it was a bit of a lie, but he didn’t need to know. It’s just something people say when they have the happy coincidence of running into a stranger so often.

“What did you say to me?” he bit. His tone was sharper than you felt like this conversation deserves.

“I mean, I’ve just been seeing you around a lot… it was, like, a joke? Like, ‘ahh watch out, I’m stalking you!’ you know?” With each second he stared you down, you felt your throat dry out, getting more flustered as you felt the need to over explain yourself.

“Maybe you should work on your comedy routine,” he barked, his voice just faintly cracking. He shoulder-checked you as he rushed out of the store in long strides and a brisk pace.

What in the absolute fuck.

You couldn’t stay in the shop for another minute. You dropped your stack of books at the counter with Miles, giving him a rushed apology for leaving them behind as you stormed out of the shop and headed in the opposite direction of where Spencer ran off to.

The air outside was now frosty as the sun disappeared behind the horizon; the wind nipped at your hot cheeks as you charged home. There weren’t enough words to quantify the anger you felt. Your mind ran rampant with how much you now hated this man.

Not only did he bite your head off for no good reason, but he publicly embarrassed you at your favorite place and had gone so far as to bruise your shoulder to make a point. And you know what? If he really wanted you out of his way, you were more than happy to leave him the hell alone for the rest of your life.

You reached into your jacket pocket for your phone and dialed Penelope.

“Hey! How are––” she cheered.

“It’s off.”

“What?”

“It’s off. I’m not dating your fucking friend.”

“What happened? I’m sure it’s just a misunderstanding––” she started in a panic. She pleaded that you overlook whatever went wrong and promised that she’d have a talk with Spencer about it. She’d try to encourage him into the direction that you need.

None of that registered in your brain, hot blood filling your ears instead of her words.

“He’s a fucking ass,” you spat. “The more I see of him, the less I like him, and… I’m pretty sure we’d rather kill each other than date at this point. So yeah, I’m done.”

☆

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#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid slow burn #spencer reid series #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid enemies to lovers #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fan fic #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds series #criminal minds fic #doctor spencer reid #dr reid

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canageek · 8 months ago

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Plus the phrasing usually just says there's a whole world of RPGs out there without any goddamn direction.

My knowledge of RPGs basically stops at 2013 when I got busy with grad school and stopped browsing free RPG directories a bunch. Even given that I would say I've got more knowledge of what is out there than the average person these posts are aimed at. Like I'm reading a book on the history of role-playing games for fun right now, and I regularly read about vintage role playing games.

That said if I wanted to get away from D&D (and Pathfinder since it is just D&D under a different name, it's got all the same biases and problems as D&D) I wouldn't know where to start.

There's the osr which back in 2010 was a bunch of games recreating different specific parts of D&D history so people could still play those styles of game without having to try and find a vintage box to share with their group: OSRIC, Labyrinth Lord, Whitehack, etc. And there were some movements to recreate those styles of play with some more modern rules like microlight74. Not really my thing, and now it seems to mostly be vibes based without any actual relation to anything that was happening in the '70s? I'm kind of confused at what is going on under that label these days to be honest.

And I recently bought multiple gaming and role-playing team charity bundles on itch.io. they're almost entirely 1 to 10 page micro games that aren't really suitable for long-term play, the disorder thing you'd play for a session or three before hitting the edges of the system. Not my jam but I can certainly see the appeal to some of them. I get less why people are interested in so many of them though because they mostly seem to be using two or three systems with some loose theming each time. If you're not going to include a sample adventure and you're seeming is something you can summarize in three pages and I've already play the rules system I'm not really seeing why I would want to buy it, that's the sort of thing I could create myself. Anyway.

I never really got into apocalypse world or its derivatives but there seem to be a lot of games based on it? Also something called forged in the dark, which is I think based on a game called blades in the dark? But they seem to be very narrative focused which isn't my jam.

Anyway what I'm interested in knowing is what are the modern Shadowruns and Alternities and Vampire: The Masquerades? Like where do I find a fairly traditional RPG with a nice solid setting and some adventures I can play to get the feel for the setting or if I just prefer to run published adventures?

I mean I know Shadowrun is still around and so is Call of Cthulhu, but someone must have created more games like this in the last decade and yet I never hear them being talked about despite regularly reading RPG posts on here and being active on rpg.net.

Saw someone post this on Facebook:

And like, if this is you, here's a screenshot that will shake your worldview to the core:

(to put this into perspective: if you played one of these games per day, it would take you almost 33 years before you're done)

#dnd #d&d #dungeons & dragons #dungeons and dragons #ttrpg #tabletop rpg

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lustbile · 3 years ago

Text

The Journal

TenxReader

Word Count: 7.3k+

Summary/Warnings: Smut with plot, semi public, a lot of biting, mentions of supernatural and just general weirdness, and small amount of blood play

Apart of the Club X series: Masterlist (can be read alone or within the series, but unlike others it might just be the slightest amount confusing)

“So that’s what you’re into now,” your best friend’s voice is bored and distant, her task of wiping down the bar that stretched out in front of her taking a majority of her attention away from the babbling you’ve tried to subject her to since you entered the empty restaurant only about 20 minutes before, “weird demon sex clubs?”

—

“Ah ah, I never said they were demons,” you correct quickly, the thought of defending yourself never crossing your mind as you petulantly slap your hands against the polished wood, “I just said it was…. weird.”

“Weird is an understatement,” she scoffs quietly as she turns to dip her dirtied rag back into the bleach water and ring it out, “I mean look, I’ve always been supportive in the witchy stuff you’ve been into but this…. is a bit much.”

“I don’t see how this is any different than any other thing I’ve read into.”

“Oh you don’t see?” you finally manage to pull her attention towards you as she harshly slaps the rag back onto the wood with a stern glare pulled on her pretty features, “you’re talking about vulnerability and abandoned warehouses and public sex. That last one is definitely new.”

You fully expected this type of response, only hoping she’d be busy enough that you would dodge the motherly scolding she liked to give you when you pitched your schemes to her with your eyes wild and wide, but nevertheless, she was completely right.

It came from an old book, tattered and torn from being flipped through one too many times, that you found at your favorite antique store. The store itself was already notorious with your tight inner circle of friends as the creepy shop that was corrupting your brain, a constant taunt being that the little old woman that ran it was the actual devil and she was just waiting for the right time to jump you and eat you whole, but this did nothing to stop you from visiting at least once a week.

But the book, it was different from any other you had found. It was completely handwritten, including amazingly done sketches in a deep unfading ink, and spoke of outlandish things.

Some were easily brushed off, like a murder that happened in the 50’s that was known to stay in the mouths of the older folks, both to them and the book it was widely believed to be the doing of some long tongued and wild eyed creature, until a local sweet old man admitted on his deathbed that it was instead his one crime of passion.

He had been a young soldier that snuck into his lover’s room one night, and upon learning that she was to marry a nice lawyer the day after he was meant to deploy, his mind went blank and his hands were carving out her heart. He luckily escaped any questioning after being shipped off, and once he returned home he captured the heart of a pretty young girl and lived out a long life sitting on top of a horrid truth.

So yeah, stories of those sorts, having been solved in your lifetime, meant very little to you, but the one you were going on about now, meant the world.

The writing looked like it had been put down by a panicked chicken rather than the woman who’s name was written neatly in the front. It lived in some of the pages towards the back of the small book and spoke of a dark club. Club X.

She went on and on about stumbling across the club purely by accident, and meeting another woman with glittering eyes. Graphic details of being taken in the middle of the dance floor with a million eyes looking but not fully seeing her as she fell apart against a dancing and eager tongue made your heart thump lodged in your throat. But the more and more she visited the club, the more incoherent her words became, but towards the end the writing had become stained and obscured by a deep brown stain, before it stopped altogether.

Thankfully, the details of where the building was was completely visible regardless of being the thoughts of a mad woman, and with a lot of thinking and staring at the town map, you’ve come to believe that you knew exactly where the mysterious club stood.

Only a street down from the restaurant you sit in now.

“Listen, I know it sounds ridiculous, and it probably is, but what’s the problem with just going to check right?” you scramble to pull the delicate book from the bag that sits in the stool beside you as your friend moves closer and closer to where you sit, laying it flat to show her the page you’ve had bookmarked since you read it, “and look at the name she puts, I think it’s the man who ran it and it’s a long shot, but maybe he’s still alive, or if not maybe some family is! Right here, Asm-“

“Don’t say it again,” she’s quick to interrupt, sliding her free hand to hover above the page you’ve glued your eyes to, “I don’t wanna hear any old man names, especially that one it gives me the ick.”

“It’s just a name,” murmur to yourself, but move to put the book away regardless, “but anyways, I have something that most people who were going to the club didn’t, knowledge of what exactly I’m walking into. I can just go and look around, worst things worst its still a freaky sex club and I just go home, but I’m willing to bet this lady was just off the shits and its just an empty building with some funky vintage beer bottles that you can add to your collection.”

You feel like you’ve won an award you weren’t even trying to compete for when she finally breaks out into a soft smile. The huff that leaves her chest is endeared, and you swear your heart began to vibrate when she reached to run a gentle thumb across the swell from your cheekbone.

“Fine, do what you want, but if the bottle isn’t completely intact when you find it I don’t want it.”

“So you’re not coming with me?” your head tilts to the side in confusion as with things of this nature in the past, she’s always followed along to ensure that you didn’t do anything to stupid. You never felt like the company was fully necessary, but it was appreciated regardless.

“Baby, as much as I’ve enjoyed your info dumping you’ve done tonight, the other person that was meant to clean with me had to leave early with a stomach bug so I’m busy pulling a clean up job that’s truly a job for about five people. But you seem to really believe in this little adventure of yours,” she leaves the rag in a damp mass next to the stack of dirty glasses beside you to take your hands in her’s, her slightly wrinkled fingers are still warm and the way they lace with yours makes you feel like nothing in the world could hurt you, “besides, you’re as smart as a whip and I know you have me on speed dial. I trust you.”

——

You no longer love the feeling of being trusted.

When your friend had given you the heartfelt speech only a little over half an hour ago, you felt like you had been put on a nice pedestal before she handed you a cookie with a pat on the head.

Now the “cookie” had turned to rot in your belly and you were faced with your own perfectly dreamed up reality.

It was already late by the time you had walked into the restaurant your friend works at, the sun already setting and the last few customers gathering their things and paying the bills, so once you got her stamp of approval and we’re heading out the door, the only light left was a bright and full moon, and flickering street lights.

You took your time walking in the direction that your book and personal sleuthing had pointed you in, the closer and closer you got to the one warehouse in town that seemed to never be bought back from the city, the knots in your belly pulled tighter and tighter.

But regardless of the almost painful twist in your gut, you surprisingly almost missed the building in its entirety.

It was as if your entire being blocked out the thumping bass that shook the sidewalk and the blinding red light that spilled from beneath the entrance and out the fractured windows. Your brain trying to force itself from entering the building you spent so many weeks trying to locate.

But the way your heart thuds in your chest when you stand in front of the entrance is something you couldn't even pretend you didn’t feel.

Your tongue digs into the side of your jaw, and you're confused at the feeling of warm tears burning at your waterlines. It’s exactly the way the owner of the journal described it in her manic writings, weirdly exact considering the other stories that surrounded it that dated it back far before you were even born.

You want to go in, the shaking steps your legs take is evident to that, but the tense muscles of your shoulders and stomach makes you hesitate and even grumble out into the air.

You almost jump out of your skin when you hear a shuffling to your side, your throat tensing when you look over, and are put slightly at ease when you see two men who you assume are acting as some type of security. You almost expect them to look up and ask you for some type of ID when you’re being very weird and blatant about your presence, but they seem too preoccupied with the dim screens of their phones and the way they lean forward at different times as if they’re waiting for someone.

Your hands are shaking slightly as they scramble down to grab for your bag, desperately looking for something to occupy you to walk by them without being even more weird, and when your fingers wrap around the flaking leather that binds the book, you grab it like a lifeline.

Your fingers flip through the pages with perfect muscle memory as you trip up the few steps that lead to the door, the tabs you carefully placed on the first page mentioning the club not even necessary with the way you could find the page even in your sleep.

You subconsciously hold your breath when you walk past the two men, almost as if the book is instead something wildly illegal and you're trying to sneak past your parents, and your washed with a temporary wave of relief when you pass through the doors without even a glance from the two.

Though the relief is stolen from your bones the second your feet touch the floor of the club.

It’s as if you’ve entered a place you’ve known your whole life, and from the amazing descriptions from the woman in the past, its not a completely surprising feeling.

But another part of you feels like this is the first time you’ve seen human beings in the flesh.

You can't help but to feel like you must look like an absolute nerd as you pull the book up to your face as you start to survey the club, but thankfully the book told at least one truth, and many of the club goers are too busy grouping and grinding against one another to even acknowledge your existence.

More truths come to light as you flick your eyes between the pages and the walls.

The bar is still tucked in the same far corner as she described, the flittering red and blue lights making it feel like a beacon of calm regardless of it being surrounded by drunken forms and its intimidatingly pretty bartender.

The dj is just a stoic and unimpressed looking as the one from so many years ago as he subconsciously bobs to the beat that he creates as he messes with the nobs and switches in front of him. He’s actually so similar, you wonder if you were right and the owner did have family floating around, and maybe the dj is one of them.

You stumble further into the room as you pick out small details she wrote about so lovingly. Your legs carry you to the back of the building as you smile at the sight of the wine stain the writer claimed to have created when her lover shocked her with a playful bite to the neck.

You almost feel like the universe is gifting you everything you could have possibly asked for when you see the loose board that she said a friend of hers would always trip over, and electricity zips up your spine in excitement when you spots the large painting that still hangs over the booth she claimed as her favorite, and she meticulously sketched out next to a paragraph about what she thought the artist was feeling.

All these things though, lead to the things that make your jaw hang slightly open.

The large balcony above you is larger than you ever imagined. The hundreds of bright red carnations she loved to sketch drip from the golden bars like water, and the black velvet curtains that hang over the room it leads to look heavy enough that they suffocate someone if they fell.

She seemed so intensely in love with the place you stand in, and the woman she met there, and those emotions were more than evident from the way the recreated the energy of the club with her words and art. Which only tips you towards the part that caught your attention perhaps the most.

It was exactly where it was meant to be. Just below the balcony that hangs high on the wall, gaping wide and dark like the mouth of a hungry monster coaxing you to enter its throat. The only issue that you can see being the hanging rope that blocks you from entering, but with only shining bright clasps holding it onto hooks on the walls, you don’t think you're above sneaking past it with little guilt.

The hall was the one thing that taunted you the most about the story the woman spun in the little worn book. The empty and dark vass space being something that coaxed her as well, but unfortunately for you, and maybe her as well, the parts of her journal that began the tale of her passing the temping rope, was the exact spot that was stained with bleeding ink and a suspicious brown color.

You survey the space around you, looking for anyone that could possibly be a worker or just a stickler for the rules, but seeing as everyone in your range of vision was attached by the mouth on someone’s neck or sloppy lips, you figured you were in the clear.

You drop the book gently back into your bag before you step slowly forward. Your heart feels like a wild animal trying to break out of the cavity of your chest, and it feels like your intestines have been successfully replaced with writhing worms that are desperately trying to reach your gut. You feel heat traveling up your chest and neck, and as you get within a few feet of what feels like the end of your life, your body begins to shake.

If you had the ability, you would have screamed, and if you had the strength, you would have fought back. But right when you're about to reach the threshold of the hall, and right when you feel like your legs are about to collapse from underneath you, strong fingers clasp over your trembling mouth, and an arm wraps tightly around your waist.

You’re turned faster than you can blink, the sudden motion making your brain swirl in your skull and making you go lightheaded and dizzy. And while keeping their hand clasped tightly over your mouth, the person that cages you in slams your back into the cold wall and knocks the air from your lungs.

The eyes that meet you are cat-like and dancing wildly, the grin the man you're faced with now smiles at you wickedly, and when your hands dart up until your nails dig harshly into the skin of his forearms, his smile only widens.

“Now,” he starts, the remains of a chuckle shaking his chest and his words slightly, “what exactly are you up to?”

You wait for a moment for him to release you from his hold, and when after a minute or so he still hasn’t budged, all you can offer in response is an annoyed arched brow.

“What?” he has the audacity to ask with taunting sincerity, “you thought you were smart enough to go wandering around, so you should be smart enough to figure out a way to talk around my hand right?”

It’s with immense irritation that you realize the two possibilities you’re faced with.

From the book you know about the weird concept of soul mates or whatever they were meant to be. The woman and the mysterious dancing girl she met so many years ago, and similar stories from the friends she met during her many visits to the club who had almost identical tales that she had to recount.

So with that information you know the possibility of this grinning man being your person is high, but your person or not, he was lighting a fire in your chest regardless.

You don’t think or even weigh the negatives before you send him a hard glare, and you show very little hesitation when you push forward to sink your teeth into the first finger you can catch.

His yelp is covered by the blaring music, but you hear it loud and clear before he reaches his free hand up to pinch at the bridge of your nose to pull you off like a rabid kitten.

“You know what I’m up to,” you huff petulantly as you lean back into the wall with your arms folding over your chest, “or at least I’d assume you’d be smart enough to use your context clues right?”

His lip curls when he glances back up to you as he pets at his now bruising finger, but even with the thin veil of irritation on his pretty features, you can tell he enjoys the sarcastic tone you’ve adopted.

“Yeah you’re sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong,” he bites back as he steps closer, crowding your personal space and pushing his chest tightly against yours, “you’re lucky I’m who caught you and not boss man.”

“Boss man?” you ask, trying not to show you excitement over him spilling the treasured information about the club that you want so desperately.

He doesn’t answer you verbally, and the sly wink he throws at you shocks you more than you would like to admit, but when he tilts his head back quickly you don’t hesitate to follow his line of sight to the edge of the balcony.

If it weren’t for the thin wires of light that create hatching over his eyes and mouth, you probably would have missed the masked figure that leers at you from over the railing. His hands and shoulders are covered by the masses of flowers, and the hollow black where he hides his eyes stares down at you two with a look that you assume is annoyance and possible curiosity.

The moment you two look up, the figure jerks back. Your eyes flick quickly between him and the man in front of you, and from the bratty grin he wears as he looks up, you feel as if the masked man didn’t have any intention at being caught.

You get lost slightly in staring at the man pressed against you, his teeth that look sharper in the red lighting and his eyes twinkle in mischief, and even with the obnoxious start to your interaction, you’d be lying to say you don’t find him beautiful.

It takes you a second to regain your senses, tearing your eyes away from the fascinating side profile of the man, but when you glance back up to the balcony, the mask man has retreated back.

“He doesn’t like much when we take people back there before they’re ready,” he attempts at an explanation as he turns back to you, and seems unfazed when he misses the mark and just confuses you further, “he let the two goons outside have a little exception, but that's because they don’t know how to go easy y‘know.”

“No,” you shake your head at him with a quiet scoff, “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I think you know more than you think,” his voice drops as he speaks now, and as he speaks he reaches out his hand to hold himself propped against the wall next to your head while his other hand moves to run gently up the side of your neck, “I mean, you know who I am at least right?”

“I have an idea,” you admit with a huff, but you also admit to yourself that this probably means you won't be getting into the hall. You do mentally jot that down as a loss, but decide to take the man pressed against you as a win and you reach to grab at his shirt in retaliation, “but you could at least give me a name to work with.”

“Hm, I didn’t expect you to be one for such formalities,” his head tilts in amusement at his own words, and the action nudges the tip of his nose into yours and makes your heart flutter up into your throat, “but you might as well know the name of the man you’ll be destined to fall in love with.”

You roll your eyes hard enough for them to start to ache, and he quietly laughs and moves to press his nose into the soft flesh of your cheek as he feeds off your annoyance.

“Ten,” he answers quietly, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he moves to whisper the syllable in your ear, and you never thought that with just one word he’d have a shiver rushing up your spine.

You respond quietly with your name, but the word comes out strained and rushed when he begins to nibble on the lobe of your ear and pushes his knee harshly between your thighs.

Both your hands now hold tightly onto the sides of his shirt, and when his lips move to trail against the side of your neck that isn't enveloped by his hand, you tug roughly at the fabric and your back arches slightly away from the wall.

His tongue is hot when he lays it flat on the center of your throat, and when he swipes it up until it flicks against the end of your chin, you can't help but cringe slightly at the feeling regardless of the way it makes heat pool in between your thighs.

The wicked grin on his face never falters, it only grows wider and more hungry when your eyes meet again, and with his staring so deep that you fear he may be collecting every ounce of your soul, you two have a silent agreement on the unnatural waves of electricity that connect you.

When his lips finally land on yours, it's the roughest and clumsiest kiss you’ve experienced. Both of you fight each other with hungry and eager tongues and the way your teeth gently knock together has your skull rattling in a way that, if you weren’t so hell bent of devouring each other whole, you’d probably have to take a breather.

Your hands reluctantly release the wrinkled fabric of his shirt, and in a desperate attempt to stay occupied, they shoot up the tangle tightly into his hair. You admit, you probably tug harsher on the strands than you probably should, but the groans he pours into your mouth, and the way his hips rock roughly into yours, has you tugging again and again.

He presses you further and further into the wall, and without thinking your hips begin to kick and tilt down until you're grinding harshly and sloppily against his tense thigh.

You let out a quiet whine that's muffled and garbled by his moving at the feeling of him pressing his thumb gently into the dip beneath your jaw, and pressing into your jugular. The sound is followed almost immediately by a small yelp when he latches his teeth to your bottom lip and gives you a stinging bite.

You’re frustrated almost immediately with the lack of friction you can feel from the layers of clothing between you, and now the slight shooting pain from the tensing skin between his teeth, you can feel the impatience in your belly crawling up and invading your chest and throat.

He’s quick to pull away when you retaliate with your own nipping bite to his top lip, your teeth still sinking down when he does and making his sting probably just as much as yours. And when he eyes you as his eyelids droop down into an accusatory squint, you assume he’s not used to getting a taste of his own medicine.

He mutters something to himself about your feistiness, and a sly comment about how he shouldn’t be surprised as he was expecting to get a handful, but he gives you no time to make a snide comment or even question about any of the words, before his fingers are closing firmly but loosely around your neck.

He keeps you rooted in the spot that you stand, the only change in your posture he allows is pulling you slightly away from the wall, just wide enough for him to slink behind you and tug you roughly back into his chest.

“You like poking around into business that isn’t yours?” he asks rhetorically as his free hand reaches around your shoulder to push past the neckline of your shirt, and right as he pressed down the center of your chest and his fingers brush the bottom of your rib cage, his fingers curl and he starts to drag his blunt nails up your sternum as he continues, “need to know and see every single little thing right? So… what’s the harm of being on the other side of it for once?”

“What are you on about?” you as sharply as you try to turn your face towards him the best you can, but his hand tilts under the bottom of your chin until your head is forced to lean on his shoulder and he’s nothing but thrilled at the way it makes you struggle.

“To be seen, or not?” he presses his lips back against the shell of your ear, and the way he whispers roughly makes you shiver again as your thighs press tightly together, “you know what I mean, and you know the answer I want, but its all up to you in the end.”

The electric and slightly humiliating buzz of being seen in a mass of bodies committing the same sins as you was something the woman in the book went on about frequently. She mentioned that there were a few times where she and her lover snuck off to get alone time of course, but the almost blinding pleasure that came from being worshiped by not only one person, but the eyes of an entire room, was addictive. And you wanted just a taste.

You grumble in response, the idea of admitting to the already confident man that you did indeed wanted the same amount of attention as he did made your chest burn even more than it already was, and you’d rather take your chance with his terrifying looking boss than to give him the satisfaction of your verbal confession.

He seems unaffected by your nonverbal confirmation, the way you press into him as his hand wraps around your waist again and creeps down to the button of your shorts, and your own hand grabbing onto the sleeve of his rolled up long sleeve shirt to guide him to undo the clasp or just dip below the waistband, is enough of an answer for him to know.

He chooses to pop the button, and once he has the zipper pulled down enough that he can work with, he begins to shove the worn denim down your hips along with your underwear until they are wrapped around your knees and he can push his fingers roughly between your thighs.

You try to clear the fog that he creates in your mind from his teasing fingers long enough to reach your free hand back to give the same treatment to the dark jeans that wrap tightly around his hips and thighs in a way that had you mentally drooling from the moment you got to get a full look at him, after he ambushed you of course.

You’re not sure how he undid your shorts so quickly without being able to see, but as you fumble and scratch your nails against the sensitive skin of his hip, you give yourself the benefit of the doubt seeing as your trying to work while his middle and ring fingers tease over your entrance and the heel of his hand presses clumsily into your neglected clit.

He, on the other hand, doesn’t give you any benefit of the doubt. He at least has the decency to press his lips across your cheekbone and temple to muffle his quiet laughs, but to make your task even more difficult, his fingers shallowly curl up into you just enough to make you twist and curl.

Once the button of his jeans finally releases, you instinctively let out a huff and sink your shoulders back into his chest as you reach past the fabric to wrap your hand around his stiff length and pull it from the confines until you can press it against his lower belly. And you get just one tally on your side of the boards you’ve created in your mind when his amused laughs devolves into pleased grunts and tilting hips.

“Please,” you start quietly, trying to rock more against the parts of his hand that press against you while running your palm up and down the length of him and smearing him with his own pre come, “I can tell you’re just as impatient as me.”

He swears in your ear, using his hold on you with both hands to shift your hips up and pull you closer before he clears his throat to speak, “well could you imagine, looks like we are a match made in heaven.”

“More like hell,” you retaliate, digging the heel of your own palm into the skin just below the tip of him to egg him on even further, “but either way, that's the point isn't it?”

“I should have expected you to be just a little bit of a smart ass,” he mutters a half hearted complaint, but he only contradicts his own words when he pushes your hips away enough for you to guide him between your thighs and to glide against the arousal that spilled from your body and his hands spread messy along any available inch of skin.

He thrusts smoothly against your back a few times, bringing his arm down to guide him towards your entrance painfully slow, but when you let out a gravely moan of his name, he cant deny himself for any longer, and he’s sinking into you until your eyes start to gently flutter.

Once he’s seated inside you, his hand tenses slightly tighter around your neck, and when you both start pushing towards each other to meet in the middle of your thrusts, his other hand takes the opportunity to map any inch of you he can reach.

He gropes almost painfully at your chest, traveling over your stomach and up your shirt to dig his fingers into your skin until you swear he’s tattooed his finger prints onto you, all while nipping and lapping at the skin of your jaw and neck.

No one immediately in front of you is watching, they’re all in their own worlds of flesh and saliva, but you can still feel eyes of someone on you. His first and foremost as they burn holes into the side of your skull and glance to watch where you push back against him desperately, but there’s another feeling you get of being seen and studied thats so intense that you’re a little shocked when you chance a glance up and see that whoever the masked person was from earlier wasn’t there at all.

So no, you have no idea who, or what is watching you right now, but you can feel the unusual heat it stirs in you as your body flutters around him as he fucks you sloppily. You feel a deeper relation to the woman that owned the book that still rests in the bag that feel unceremoniously from your shoulder when he first put his hands on you, and you hope that maybe you’ll eventually slip into the life of bliss that she meticulously wrote about and possibly learn what happened that demolished the stories that lived in the back of the journal.

You could feel the pleasure crawling up your spine like a monster out creature, your panting breaths tipping the man that works you over off to this even though you’re sure he was already aware before you were, and you think your legs are back to the edge of collapsing when his creeping fingers dance along the expanse of your stomach to find their place back between your thighs.

Your back stiffens at the first touch of his rolling finger on your clit, and your head tilts even farther back onto his shoulder than he already had it. He doesn’t seem interested in coaxing you to your finish slowly, at a pace that would have mercy on your melting mind and shaking form, but he instead abuses your clit until your whimpering out and stumbling and stepping slightly on his toes.

You feel like you’re waiting out the suspense of a horror film that’s score is too obvious to the incoming jump scare. You tilt your neck in a way that seems normal to him, but in reality your trying to feel the many rings that decorate his fingers with the delicate skin of your throat to test if any of them could possibly be sharp enough to cut you and draw blood. You know what blood means to him, and you know it's something he’ll have to do soon if he truly can feel how close you are to the edge.

You feel like you’re floundering a bit, confused from the possible deviation from the story you’ve committed to memory. Was there any chance in this world that this wasn’t your person?

You push this thought away as soon as your panicked mind can construct it though, because there’s no way the spell that it feels has been placed on you would be there if that was the truth, and your body is heated almost like a furnace, but you suddenly love the idea of being burned by him.

You pull in a gasping breath of air that pierces through the music and grunting that rattles in your ears, the taste of your orgasms dancing on the back of your tongue and your back arching so harshly you fear that one of your muscles might seize up and cramp. And right when you feel his hips start to stutter in tandem with yours, and when you’re only seconds from blabbering out mixed syllables that you could only hope would come out as a coherent question, you feel it.

His teeth latch onto you again, his canines not sharp enough to make a clean cut as they dig into the muscle of your shoulder, but his determination is strong enough.

It burns painfully, and makes hot tears well up in your eyes, but almost embarrassingly, is the exact thing that pushes you scrambling over the edge.

You feel like it hurts to breathe, your lungs so focused on letting out puffs of air and broken moans that they can't seem to remember how to bring oxygen in, and your eyes roll for a completely new reason for the man and much more painfully.

It’s when you feel him start to suck the rushing blood from your newly christened wound that you also feel the rumble of his groans against your skin and feel him start to come inside of you. His fist tightens again around your neck as he pushes aftershocks through your nerves with his own orgasm, and with flying hands you grab at both of his wrists, not to ask in any way for him to ease up, but from a sudden wash and need to hold onto him possibly until you die.

He lets you collapse to the floor once he pulls out, but he follows your sinking form and sits alongside you and partially underneath you as you both try to catch your breath.

The club scene in front of you is now blurs of flashing lights and abstract writhing forms, and if it wasn’t for the zaps of energy you feel from every brush of his finger tips, your brain would probably be too muddled to register him fixing both your clothes and his.

You become just slightly more aware when he shifts your body against him enough to grab at the strap of your bag with the heel of his shoe, and you try to sit up faster than necessary and give yourself a small head rush when he pulls it to himself and flips it open.

“You seemed a little weirdly unaffected by the whole,” he flails his hands in front of you for a second as he speaks, and your lagging mind takes a second to catch up with his attempts at implication, “not the fucking part clearly,” he teases, “but the leading up to it. The meeting part and all.”

“I know what this place is,” you admit, and if your legs had gained just a bit more strength you probably would have stood and requested a glass of water just from how gravely your voice had become, “I knew I was probably going to run into you.”

“But you weren’t looking for me,” he tries, and fails, at hiding the slight edge of offense his voice shows, “if you knew I was here why didn’t you look for me?”

“I didn’t worry about it,” you say, warming up a bit again in the fear that it may have come off slightly rude, “or, like, I mean I knew you’d be able to find me easier than I could find you. I was more interested in finding answers.”

“Answers to what? You said you knew this place, or at least what it is?”

“Well I only know the basics,” you shift in his hold, knocking his hands away as they sift through your bag, and grabbing blindly until you can pull out the book, “I found this journal and it-“

“A journal?” he asks in a volume that could have been obnoxiously loud if it weren’t for the thumping bass that shook the floor beneath you, and pulls the small book from your hands.

“It was written by a woman who came here a long time ago,” you explain, deciding to not take offense to his rough and grabbing hands, “I found it and tracked the club down, I needed to see if it was real.”

“Oh it's real alright,” he laughs as he starts to flip through the pages, stopping for a moment to smile at a simple sketch she had done of a cat that she said lived in the back alley, “hey wait I think I know this name, and these people.”

“What are you on about?” you ask with a scoff as you tug the book from his grubby fingers, “you can’t possibly know these people, this was written in like the fifties. Stop pulling my leg.”

“Oh I see,” he smacks your thigh playfully as he leans over your shoulder to glance at the first page that mentioned anything about the date, the ink clear enough to read 1953 in the swirling handwriting, “you think you know everything.”

“I do know everything, fuck you,” you glare playfully at him over your shoulder, “or I would know, if you’d let me go into that weirdo hall.”

“No hall, for now at least,” he sighs, the gears in his head turning as he thinks of the next thing to say, “but you know, time doesn’t exist the same way here, the woman who wrote this probably didn’t know that at the time, so I’m not surprised you don’t either.”

“What do you mean time doesn’t exist?” you look at him as if he’s grown a second head, but do you really have the nerve to question him like that? Considering that entire concept of the club you are very aware of its existence now, a time situation shouldn’t be the most shocking should it?

“Well, it's hard to explai-“

“Then don’t explain it,” you almost jump fully out of his lap at the deep voice that rattles above you, and both him and you look up at the figure that looms over you now.

The man is tall, his black hoodie looking weird in contrast to the clothes of the other club goers, and with a squinting observation and a familiar and annoyed sigh from the man seated behind you, you realize you’re being stared down by the mysterious entity that is the DJ, his hands shoved deep into his hoodie pocket in annoyance.

“Huh?” Ten lets out more in the form of a noise than a word, as his arms wind tightly around your form.

“I said don’t explain shit,” the man begins to tap his foot in irritation as he speaks, and you wonder if he’s aware that he’s in rhythm with the song that surrounds you, “you need to chill out with the loose tongue, its bad enough we have the big mouths outside.”

“I wasn’t gonna go that far,” Ten sounds reminiscent of a scolded toddler, and considering the man is hindering you from getting information that you wanted so badly, you can feel yourself mirroring the pout he wears, “I know what I’m doing alright man? Why are you over here anyways, shouldn’t you be at your little booth minding your business.”

“No one minds their business over at that booth, and you should know that better than anyone pervert,” the words are sharp, but the curl to his lips and the underlying playfulness to his tone tells you the likeliness of them being friends is high, “anyways, I know we don’t follow any regulations or anything here, but I’m still gonna take a fuckin’ break or two.”

“Well breaks over,” Ten reaches out a hand to playfully swat the man away, “I didn’t wait this long for you to just interrupt my bonding time with my person alright?”

“Alright, alright,” he finally starts to shuffle away, throwing one last comment about Ten being bitter his person showed up first over his shoulder with a grin.

“What a loser,” Ten starts, looking at you playfully and rolling his eyes, “too bad he’s like my best friend or whatever.”

“You seem to have a lot of fun around here don’t you?” you take a shot at voicing your observations, your heart fluttering in a completely new way at the warm smile he shoots you.

“Just wait a see, my love. Just wait and see.”

#nct smut #ten smut #chittaphon smut #nct imagine #nct series #nct fic #ten imagines #ten oneshot #nct oneshot #kpop smut #wayv smut #wayv imagine #wayv oneshot

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astererer · 2 years ago

Note

🛏🏡👃 for Aster and Vernon??

🛏 — What does your OC’s room look like? Why do they choose this setup?

Aster

Comfort and coziness is the priority, with art and posters that have been collected over time to decorate walls, with books and other small items collected in her travels lining the shelves. Far from tidy as she tends to just throw her clothes on the floor before crawling into bed when tired. Doesn’t really spend much time in her room unless it’s to sleep, and doesn’t usually allow other people into her room unless they’re going to be sharing her bed that evening. Has a sofa in her room, but it’s mostly used by any of her team that are too big to cuddle up to her on the bed. Or at least it is when it doesn’t have piles of books or laundry or anything else taking up the space.

Vernon

Pretty basic set up, like his sister, Vernon only really uses his room for sleeping. Once he’s up he’s out of there and getting on with his day/night. Prefers something more on the minimalistic side as it’s easier to clean and opens up the space some. If there’s any clutter it’s because he bought some new books and hasn’t had a chance to organise them properly.

🏡 — What is your OC’s dream house and why?

Aster

Will probably never be able to have such a home as it’s very out of style these days + would likely be insanely expensive, but she’d love a house that has one of those 1960s/70s conversation pit sort of setups in the living room. Other than that, she’d be happy with anything as long as it’s spacious enough to have her various collections on display without causing a storage problem. Vintage furniture (either authentic or based on vintage designs) is a must no matter what, though.

Vernon

An old house in the country, maybe with a little history behind it, could be a fixer upper. City life is all he really knows, but the idea of escaping all the hustle and bustle for a more relaxed surrounding has endless appeal to him. Would also be nice to raise a family somewhere that isn’t prone to the sudden changes in surrounding he had to get used to during his childhood.

👃 — What do you imagine your OC smells like? Maybe even pick out a cologne/perfume they might wear.

ngl man I know jack shit about specific perfume brands but I roughly know about what things smell like so we’ll see how this goes

Aster

Depending on the time of year/climate of her current location, Aster has two preferred scents. For spring/summer and general warm weather she opts for something bright and citrusy, like lemon/lime and bergamot. Meanwhile in autumn/winter and cold weather she goes for something reminiscent of spiced cider.

Vernon

Smells like his shower gel. Yes it’s a 2 in 1. No he does not use conditioner. No he doesn’t own any colognes or perfumes. That being said, he spends a lot of time in the open air while working and probably has a subtle natural scent as a result — vague pine smell about him if he’s been flying through the wild area a lot.

#honesty hour vernon smells the way he does bc i was struggling to figure it out and then remembered #that one of my cats always smells great bc he spends so much time outdoors #whenever i go back to see my family i give that boy a big old sniff bc he smells like pine needles #oc aster #oc vernon #picture ask meme

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childrenofthenightt · 3 years ago

Text

That’s The Way (Chapter 5)

Pairing: Jimmy Page x Reader

Word count: 4.3k

Warning(s): Nothing! This is such a sweet chapter :)

Author’s notes: Another sweet little chapter with Jimmy and Y/N, with a guest appearance from Lillian, everyone’s favourite rascal ;) This chapter was honestly such a joy, and my partner in crime @rebel-without-a-zeppelin is so amazing as always!!! As usual, please enjoy, happy reading, and send us messages if you have theories, comments, music recommendations for the playlist, or if you want to be added to the tag list :)

Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

——

Y/N was in the kitchen, washing the dishes as she hummed to a tune she had just heard on the radio. She had just spent the morning baking biscuits, brownies, and all sorts of homemade goodies, and everything was still warm and cooling on a plate on the counter. Lillian’s loud footsteps reverberating through the house signalled that these delicacies wouldn’t be there for much longer.

“Y/N! Y/N!” she shouted in her high-pitched, innocent voice, as her footsteps grew closer. She scurried through the kitchen to stand at her sister’s side, looking up at her with her big eyes.

“What is it, Lil?” her sister responded, still scrubbing a bowl with a soapy sponge.

“I need you to braid my hair,” Lillian replied softly, her smile glinting in the afternoon sun.

“What for? What’s the occasion?”

Lillian’s lips pursed into a grin that she was trying to hold back. “Nothing,” she said in a sing-song tone, her head curling into her shoulder bashfully, “I just like the way it looks.”

Y/N huffed. “I’m kind of in the middle of something here,” she motioned towards the sink with her sudsy gloves; it had been filled to the brim with dirty dishes, though the mountain of tableware was lessening by the minute.

“Pretty please? I just want to feel beautiful like you,” her little sister whined, tugging on Y/N’s clothes.

Overcome with empathetic emotion, Y/N conceded, removing her gloves and turning the sink off. Crouching down to Lillian’s level, she held her hands, gazing into her eyes.

“Lillian, don’t say that about yourself. You are beautiful, truly,” Y/N coaxed earnestly.

“But when you braid my hair, I feel my most beautiful,” Lillian frowned.

Y/N couldn’t argue with Lillian, because she herself had bouts of self-consciousness and low self-esteem. Oh, the joys of being a young girl, Y/N thought, a wry grin on her lips. Ruffling her sister’s hair slightly, she replied, “Go sit at the counter and grab yourself a biscuit then.” Lillian giggled as she scurried over to the counter, reaching to grab one of each baked good from the three plates.

Y/N ripped off a piece of paper towel and handed it to Lillian so she wouldn’t leave any crumbs in her wake, as Lillian swung her feet as she sat atop the tall barstool chair and munched on her biscuit, a mischievous look on her youthful face. Y/N stood behind her, putting two elastics around her wrist.

“What kind of braids do you want, Lil?” Y/N asked, grabbing a nearby pencil to separate a perfect middle part down the back of her sister’s hair then tying off one side.

“I quite like Dutch braids,” Lillian said cheerfully.

“Okay, Dutch it is.”

Just as Y/N separated three strands of Lillian’s hair, the phone began to ring. Oh come on! Y/N thought with a huff. “Hang on a minute, Lil, let me answer this.”

“Hello?”

“Hey Y/N, it’s Jimmy,” a familiar voice echoed through the phone. Y/N’s eyes widened at the sound, a smile creeping onto her lips. There was a part of her that hadn’t expected him to call, though the way her heart skipped a beat at the sound of his voice only confirmed how happy she was about it.

“Hey Jimmy, how are you?” she replied, leaning against the wall in an attempt to look composed, though she was twirling the cord around her finger nervously, almost combusting from excitement.

“I’m well, love, how about yourself?” he asked, his soft voice coming across as calm and casual, though he was, in fact, not calm at all, unbeknownst to Y/N. His sweaty palms readjusting their grip on the phone every few seconds as they spoke would have been a dead giveaway.

“I’m doing well, thanks.”

“JIMMY!” Lillian squealed from the background, “Tell him I said hi!”

Y/N laughed, “Oh, and Lillian says hi.”

Jimmy chuckled, “I heard. A very enthusiastic little one. Tell the sweet girl I said hello, if you don’t mind.”

“I will,” Y/N giggled before a pause, “What’s up?”

“Well, I have a day off today, you see. I’m going book shopping, and I was wondering...if you’d like to possibly come along...” he trailed off, almost unsure of his invitation.

Y/N’s stomach dropped at his invitation. He wanted her company?! As much as she wanted to jump for joy and scream, she had to suppress her emotions as best she could. Lillian was sitting right there after all, and if she caught wind of her small crush? Y/N would never hear the end of it. All of St. Albans would know, given how enthusiastic Lillian can be. She cleared her throat, recomposing herself before answering, “I’d love to come along! Thank you so much for the invitation,” Y/N gushed, “What time were you thinking?”

“How about twenty minutes?” Jimmy asked, “I’ll have my driver take us, so you don’t have to worry about transportation.”

“Perfect! See you then.”

“See you soon, love.” With that, the phone clicked, signalling the man’s departure.

“What did Jimmy want?” Lillian asked as Y/N walked back over to behind her chair.

“Oh nothing,” Y/N replied, taking three strands of her hair, “just asked if I would come shopping for books with him. He’s picking me up in twenty minutes.”

“Oh, that sounds like so much fun!” Lillian said cheerfully, genuinely happy that her sister was spending time with her friend. She was not at the age to assume any type of budding romance or feelings between the two, much to Y/N’s relief.

“Yeah, I’m excited!”

“Maybe you should give him what you baked,” Lillian offered, “I think he’d like them!”

“That’s a good idea,” Y/N agreed. “Since I’m not going to be home for a while, can you help Mum with the dishes? I feel bad I didn't finish them.” Lillian nodded with a hum as she quietly munched on her biscuit and a comfortable silence settled between the sisters.

Oh, to be that young and naïve, Y/N thought as she finished braiding Lillian’s hair, no stress, no problems, no worrying about boys...

~~~~~~~~

Just as Jimmy had said, his driver was in front of Y/N’s front door in exactly twenty minutes. She put a biscuit, brownie, and oatmeal cream pie into a plastic bag and tucked it into her purse before walking out the door. Butterflies erupted in her stomach as she walked towards the car, seeing Jimmy in the back seat with an open spot next to him.

“Hello Y/N, love,” Jimmy greeted jovially as the girl slid into the seat next to him. The smile on his face felt warm and welcoming to the young girl, easily returning a smile with the same emotion.

“Hi! Thanks again for inviting me to join you,” Y/N replied as the driver smoothly pulled away from her house and started down the road.

“Oh, no problem! I was hoping that I didn’t have to go alone, so I thought of you,” Jimmy grinned. Y/N couldn’t help but notice the way he fidgeted with his fingers nervously while he spoke. Could he actually be feeling as nervous as she was?

“That’s so sweet, thank you,” Y/N responded bashfully, smiling from ear to ear.

An unsettling silence diffused through the car, the only significant sounds being the radio playing softly in the background and the occasional bump in the road. The two, sat close to one another, felt so far away, as the cavernous quiet settled over them.

With a clearing of his throat, Jimmy spoke up, “Did you know that this is the first piece of vintage clothing I ever bought for myself?” he asked, showing off the navy blue military jacket he was wearing, adorned with several ornate gold buttons.

Y/N turned her head to look at his jacket with a grin, “That?” she answered, trying to sound serious in an attempt to tease him.

Jimmy frowned. “Yeah, you don’t like it?” he asked, slight panic bleeding into his voice at her teasing.

“Did you get it at the Embassy or something, to go off to war? Are you assuming the position of a Revolutionary War general, because I’m afraid you’re in the wrong country. And century.” Y/N said, a smile creeping past her lips as she failed to contain some of her laughter.

Jimmy huffed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, it has a lot of buttons,” he admitted defensively.

“Yes it does,” Y/N chuckled. Then after a few moments of silence, she concurred reluctantly, “I like your jacket,” she said with a smirk.

“I knew it, I knew you did!” Jimmy laughed triumphantly, “It’s so cool, right?”

“It is pretty cool, I admit.”

“There’s also a bunch of pockets, so you can fit all sorts of bits and bops in there too. You wouldn’t even know,” Jimmy said with a wink.

“I can only imagine what you keep in those pockets,” Y/N grinned mischievously.

Jimmy’s jaw dropped in feigned shock. “What a naughty mind you have, Miss Y/N! How can you assume such a thing about me?”

“I’ve heard a few whispers about you and Jackie in my day,” Y/N giggled, “things I wish to not get into at this particular moment in time.”

“What did you hear? Who told you?” Jimmy said, an air of panic in his voice as he straightened in his seat.

“I can’t tell you that!”

“It was Jeff who told you, wasn’t it? The bastard.” Jimmy scowled, turning away from her to run his fingers through his hair. The slight tremor that rushed through them made the young woman smile. He was nervous.

“I said I can’t tell you! That’s for only me to know,” Y/N giggled.

Jimmy paused for a second, contemplating his next sentence before piping up, “Well, I should say that Jackie and I broke up actually,” he said quietly, his panic now overcome with sadness.

Y/N frowned, feeling bad for her friend. “Oh Jimmy, I’m so sorry. I can only imagine how difficult it is for you right now.” She draped her arm on Jimmy’s shoulder, hoping her physical touch would comfort him in any way. Jimmy leans into her touch, a sad smile settling on his lips.

“Thank you, love.” he nodded.

“When did it happen, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“A few days ago,” Jimmy continued, “I’m actually in the same boat as you.”

Y/N cocked her head in confusion. “In what sense?”

“Jackie was married the whole time, and I had no idea,” Jimmy replied solemnly.

“Oh my gosh, that’s awful!” Y/N said, “I can’t believe she would do that to you. You don’t deserve that.”

“I guess we were both someone else’s second choice.”

Y/N’s lips downturned into a frown, “Yeah…” she trailed off, “it’s the worst feeling in the world.”

You’ll never be my second choice, Y/N thought, I’ll always choose you, Jimmy.

“I might have a temporary remedy, though,” Y/N quipped as she opened her purse to retrieve the biscuits she had packed for Jimmy. “I baked these earlier, and Lillian said that you might enjoy them.”

Jimmy smiled as she handed him the bag. “Thank you for this, I really appreciate it, love.” As little as the words were, there was a tone of genuine appreciation in his voice. He really must have been going through a dark time. If there was a way she could help, no matter how small, Y/N would take that chance.

“You’re welcome. A baked good always makes me feel better, so I hope it does the same for you.”

Jimmy smiled down at her, his heart warming at her unbelievably kind gesture. Before he could say anything else, though, the driver had pulled up to the book shop; flicking hazard lights on so the two could get out right in front. They thanked the driver and walked into the store in tanduum, arms linked.

“What were you thinking about getting?” Y/N whispered as the smell of aged paper and freshly-cut wood greeted them.

Jimmy gave her a look that screamed did you really have to ask?

“Oh, okay,” She says, drawing out the first word with a subtle laughter in her voice. “Nevermind, stupid question.” Crowley manuscripts and textbooks. She knew that. She cursed herself for not thinking before she asked.

“You’re not stupid, don’t say that,” Jimmy said gently as he rubbed her arm soothingly, walking with her deep into the shelves and stacks of books. They were so close, her physical proximity and presence taunted him, and her scent dizzied him.

Their eyes scoured through the various titles, seeing if anything caught their interests. Y/N saw the trademark bright orange spine of The Catcher in the Rye, and quickly pulled it out. She never had the chance to read it whilst at school, but it was on her mental reading list.

Jimmy watched her intently as she read the synopsis on the back cover, her irises twinkling in the golden light that shone through the store. Her lips, her beautiful lips that he dreamed about kissing one day, were pressed together in concentration. She must have just put some lip balm on, because even they were twinkling. They looked like little pillows, so soft and supple and warm…

Y/N’s face now looked at the shelf once again before glancing at Jimmy with a grin. He prayed that she didn’t see him admiring her. Jimmy simply smiled back as if nothing had happened.

“The Catcher in the Rye, I see,” he initiated.

“Yep. I never got to read it in school, and it’s on my little mental reading list. I heard it was really good,” Y/N shrugged.

“What else is on your mental reading list?” Jimmy asked, “I can help you look for those, too.”

“Hmmm,” she thought aloud, “Marjorie Morningstar by Herman Wouk, Middlemarch by George Eliot, and Summer Crossing by Truman Capote. I also want to get The Fantastic Mr. Fox by Roald Dahl for Lillian. I loved it when I was little.”

“You’re a woman of good taste,” Jimmy grinned, feeling himself falling for her even harder. He had thought it impossible, yet he was obviously proven wrong by the feeling of contentment that settled over him whenever he so much as looked at her.

“Thanks,” she said, blushing as she sheepishly chuckled at the compliment.

The two slowly walked through the aisles trying to find the titles Y/N had mentioned. Jimmy found Marjorie Morningstar and Summer Crossing, and Y/N loved the way his face lit up when he finally found what he had been looking for. Y/N was able to find Middlemarch and The Fantastic Mr. Fox herself, as Jimmy practically drooled upon sight of her when she wasn’t looking. His personal thesis of Y/N being an angel had been proven correct many times that day, but these rather intimate circumstances really pushed it (and himself) over the edge.

Crushes are so foolish, he thought, why am I acting like this?!

~~~~~~~~

Jimmy invited Y/N to go to his Pangbourne boathouse for some tea after their shopping excursion, for a chance to talk in a more private setting and scan through their purchases. He showed her around his house, since it was the first time she had been there since they had met; it was a Edwardian-Pre-Raphaelite hybrid dream, and Y/N found herself amazed with every nook and cranny.

“Next summer, you’ll have to come up so I can take you out on the boat,” Jimmy said as he showed her his boat and the view from the dock.

“That would be so fun,” Y/N smiled, “how often do you take it out?”

“Not too often, unfortunately, with all the travel and studio time.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. I’m sure that will pick even more now that the Yardbirds will be traveling more.”

“Yes, you’re definitely right. But I’ll make time next summer for that boatride,” he grinned as he led Y/N back into the house and into the living room. She pursed her lips to hold back a smile full of gratitude, but to no avail.

His housekeeper must have just put a tray of tea and biscuits on the coffee table, because it was still steaming.

The two sat opposite of one another, taking things off the tray as they pleased, silence hanging in the air. Once they were situated, Y/N daintily crossed her legs with a smile as she held the cup on top of her clothed thigh.

What a sophisticated lady Y/N is, Jimmy thought as he looked at her, I wonder what she would be like in a more intimate setting…

Shaking the dirty thought from his mind, he rambled, “So I’ve been thinking about something...the other guys in the band know about it, and they agree with me...actually, it wasn’t my idea, it was Jeff’s…”

It wasn’t Jeff’s idea. He lied.

It was Jimmy’s idea.

“Oh! What is it?” Y/N asked as she tilted her head in confusion, “It sounds bad, should I be scared?” she ended with a giggle.

“Oh no! Of course not. You see, there’s so much to say, and not a lot of time to say it, so I have to go big.”

Oh my God, Y/N thought, what if he asks me out? Jesus Christ. I hope he does. But he probably won’t. He doesn’t like me. What can this mean? Jimmy, you’re killing me! However, she sat with an expectant look on her face, trying to accurately anticipate the information.

“I was wondering...if um, if you—Oh, Christ, I’m horrible at this,” he chuckled embarrassedly with a shake of his head, a pink flush dusting his cheeks.

Oh fuck, he’s gonna do it! Y/N thought excitedly.

“Oh gosh, don’t be afraid! It’s just me! Really, what’s the worst I can say?” Y/N joked, hoping to ease his obvious nerves.

But it’s not just you, Jimmy thought, you’re so pretty and nice and smart and funny...you don’t know half of the things you do to me…

“Well, I suppose you’re right,” he said, humouring her, “The Yardbirds are leaving to go to America within the next few weeks for the Dick Clark tour, and I—I mean, uh, we, would love it if you joined us.”

Y/N’s breath rushes past her lips with a surprised, almost unbelieving gasp. They wanted her to go on tour with them?! She again had to fight the stupidly giddy smile that would find its way on her lips.

“I would love to! That is so generous of you, thank you so much! I feel like I’d cramp your style though...I wouldn’t want you lot to lose women because of me,” she laughed.

“Most of those birds are nuts anyway,” Jimmy laughed with her, “They’re too caught up in themselves to notice the other people around them. Honestly, in theory, you’d probably attract more women to us.”

“I’m that bad, huh?” Y/N smirked.

Jimmy’s face became even paler than it already was. He didn’t mean that at all.

“Oh no! That’s not what I meant at all! Sincerest apologies, Y/N, I feel terrible. You’re so beaut—”

“I’m kidding, it’s okay,” she cut him off with a lighthearted chuckle, “I know where you’re coming from.”

“Okay, good,” he sighed, relieved. Y/N smiled before an awkward silence settled over the gorgeous tea room.

“So when is this tour happening?” she asked.

“End of October.”

“Wait, shit...I’m in university right now…”

“Oh, you’re right, fuck…” Jimmy muttered, his lips pursed in a pensive line, until he almost jumped out of his seat with excitement, “Wait! I have the perfect excuse for you.”

“Really? What did you have in mind?”

Jimmy smirked. “What if...you said you were participating in a study abroad-internship-sort of program for the fall semester?”

“I’m listening,” she said with a light giggle.

“Say that ‘it’s an opportunity to explore the depths of the cultural renaissance that is the British blues scene, which has indefinitely flourished over the past few years, as well as utilizing communication and leadership skills in a practical environment.’”

Y/N raised her eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, that’s good,” she nodded her head, “that’s really good. I love that.”

“Then all you need is for myself and Simon Napier-Bell to sign off on it, as well as your dean, and you’re good to go.”

“That’s genius, Jimmy!”

“Why, thank you Miss Y/N,” he said with a joking courtly bow.

~~~~~~~~

Y/N, with much pushback from the dean at her university, was able to acquire course credit for going on tour with the Yardbirds. Simon Napier-Bell, as well as other members of the Yardbirds administration, had to come into the dean’s office to fight in Y/N’s favour. All she had to do was take photographs and write a paper on it for the end of the semester.

Not too bad.

The week preceding the beginning of the tour, Y/N was so full of nervous excitement that she could barely sleep. By the time her brother dropped her off at Heathrow airport, people had taken notice of the dark circles that hung around her tired eyes.

“Y/N, you look like hell,” Jeff exclaimed as Y/N got out of the passenger seat of Tommy’s car.

“Thanks,” she deadpanned as she shut the car door, walking to the back to grab her luggage.

“My God, you have to pull yourself together,” he added as he walked with Y/N, “you look like a raccoon.”

“He doesn’t mean that,” Chris called hopefully.

“Well, I’ll sleep enough when I’m dead,” Y/N smiled as she walked over to the group at the sidewalk with her suitcase, “and I guess you’ll have to play ‘Rocky Raccoon’ to serenade me then.”

“If Y/N did, in fact, have to ‘pull herself together,’ she wouldn’t be wearing a floral dress and a jumper to an airport,” Jim said.

“Thank you Jim,” Y/N smiled, “but I do look like hell though. He’s not wrong. I’m really tired.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Why’s that?”

“I didn’t sleep this entire week,” she chuckled, “My excitement for this day got the better of me.”

“Why don’t you take a nap on the plane then, love?” Jimmy asked, “You can get sick from lack of sleep, and we can’t have you sick when we’re abroad.”

“I brought my melatonin just for sleeping on the plane,” she smiled, “and I just took a shower too, so I’m ready to go to bed.”

“Lads, we have to go now. The security line is already awful,” Simon called as he rallied the boys and Y/N together to enter the airport.

Everyone obliged, groggily entering the airport as the road crew pushed heavy baggage carts of encased instruments, monitors, and other electronics behind them. The security line was dreadfully long, but they made it through and boarded the plane with little time to spare.

As Y/N was walking on the tarmac to board the plane, Jimmy caught up to her.

“Where are you sitting? What does your boarding pass say?” he asked, out of breath from running.

“I’m in 10C,” she laughed at his disheveled state, “what about you?”

“10B.”

“Oh, looks like we’re sitting together then,” Y/N smiled.

The two entered the plane and once they got to their seats, Jimmy realized that he had the window seat.

“Uh, Y/N?” he asked, shifting his weight between his feet anxiously.

“Mmhmm?”

“Do you mind if we switch seats and you take the window seat?” he inquired, a sheepish countenance flooding his face.

“Oh no, I don’t mind at all,” she smiled as she sat down in Jimmy’s original seat, “Why do you ask? I think the window seat is so cool.”

“You see, I’m afraid of heights,” he explained as he sat down in the aisle seat, “not to be dramatic, but all the air travel has me fearing for my life.”

“Oh, I see. That’s valid,” she understood, “Planes can be uncertain.”

The two engaged in quiet conversation before the plane engine started with a roar, and the aircraft started to make its way down the runway. Once the speed accelerated and the wheels rumbled, a telltale sign that the plane would be leaving the ground any minute, Y/N noticed how Jimmy’s leg started bobbing up and down uncontrollably.

Hoping to sooth his worries, she intertwined her fingers with his as the plane ascended, sending him a gentle, comforting grin. Jimmy squeezed her hand to reassure her that what she was doing was helping. His spirits were automatically lifted, and his entire body felt bubbly as heat invaded his cheeks.

About a half hour into the flight, Y/N’s eyes were starting to droop, but she was desperately trying to fight off the sleep. She had to stay awake and not look stupid sleeping in front of Jimmy.

Jimmy took notice of her drowsiness, seeing her lightly dozing against the window, as he put a fragile hand on her shoulder. The girl woke up with a deep inhale, lightly grinning at him as if she weren’t just asleep.

“Y/N love, why don’t you take a melatonin now and try to get some sleep?”

“Yeah, you’re right,” she admitted self-consciously, “I have to give into it now.”

She took the melatonin with a few sips of the water one of the stewardesses had given to her.

“Put your head on my shoulder so you don’t wake up with a sore neck from the window,” Jimmy coaxed gently.

“Thank you,” she said with a stretch, placing her head on his shoulder, closing her eyes, “‘night.”

“Sweet dreams,” he laughed.

Next to Jimmy, the soft motion of the plane lulls Y/N closer and closer to sleep. Head on his shoulder, inhaling the scent of his aftershave, and something that was so uniquely him, Y/N slept the best she had in weeks.

————

Taglist: @blood-on-blood @reincarnated70sbaby @jonesyjonesyjonesy @jimmys-zeppelin

#that's the way #jimmy page #led zeppelin #jimmy page fanfic #jimmy page fanfiction #led zeppelin fanfic #classic rock fanfic

23 notes · View notes

yamayuandadu · 3 years ago

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Wikipedia troubles, or “Father Enlil, (...) don't let your precious metal be alloyed there with the dirt of the underworld“

clarification regarding my post about troubles with a certain site i’ve been contributing to a lot for the past few months. To preface this with a mythical metaphor: in Inanna’s Descent, when Ninshubur pleads with the other gods to save Inanna, she uses the formula “don't let anyone kill your daughter in the underworld. Don't let your precious metal be alloyed there with the dirt of the underworld. Don't let your precious lapis lazuli be split there with the mason's stone. Don't let your boxwood be chopped up there with the carpenter's wood.” Currently this is what is happening to the Inanna article, I am afraid.

So, long story short, as most of you probably have noticed I am contributing relatively often to wikipedia as of late, starting with the creation of a Matara-jin article a few months ago. Among other things I wrote, rewrote or at least significantly improved the following:

articles about Mesopotamian medicine goddesses:

Ninkarrak from the western frontier, Nintinugga, who was associated with funerary offerings, Ninisina, who took over Inanna's gimmick in Isin, Bau, who became a healing goddess by chance, Gula, who eclipsed her peers - as expected from someone named “the great” articles about Inanna's courtiers and associated goddesses:

Ninshubur, her sidekick (my best work overall imo, the one article I wrote which I think fully deserves the “good” badge but I am not vain enough to apply myself), Ninegal, a goddess turned into her title, Nanaya, just the horny part distilled (bought a book just for this one!), Irnina, inexplicably cthtonic personified victory

articles about Mesopotamian gods too insignificant for anyone else to care about them:

Tishpak, a god so foreign nobody knows where he came from, Sebitti, seven warlike brothers, Enmesharra, Enlil's evil uncle, Urash, not the earth goddess – there are two... Urashes, Ningishzida, Dumuzi but with a snake gimmick, Zababa, a war god who's NOT Nergal, Ninimma, Enlil's court scribe, Gatumdag, popular as ersatz mom among kings of Lagash, Manzat, the rainbow

articles about Mesopotamian goddesses whose main trait was being someone's wife: Marduk's wife Sarpanit, Adad's wife Shala, Shamash's wife Aya

articles about Hurrian gods: Alalu, primordial vanquished king of gods, Kumarbi, his son, divine Saturday morning cartoon villain, Ninatta and Kulitta, a pair of divine musicians who always appeared together, Allani, oddly joyful queen of the dead, Šauška, who was so firmly genderfluid there's two of them in the most famous image of the Hurrian pantheon, Lelluri, a mountain goddess, Kubaba, who isn't Cybele, Goddess of the Night, who has no proper name despite being a case study in important religious rituals, Belet Nagar, who was like Ashur before Ashur got popular, Nupatik, who was important but we don't know why

articles about Eblaite gods: Ishara, “independent lady of love associated with scorpion and cannabis” popular everywhere where she went, Aštabi, a war god who really wanted to be like the weather god, Hadabal, who used to be famous but vanished out of blue, Kura, whose mask had to be renewed each year, Adamma, who left her husband to hang out with Kubaba

articles about Elamite gods: Pinikir, sort of like a bootleg Ishtar and an international sensation, Jabru, who exists only in Mesopotamian texts about Elam, Humban, mandate of heaven personified, Ruhurater, oddly obscure creator of mankind, Inshushinak, the underworld judge and his Akkadian helpers Lagamar and Ishmekarab, and Simut, the “strange star”

articles which were borderline unusable before due to low quality of sources:

Astarte, who was much more than vintage Bible scholars might lead you to believe (but not a fertility goddess), Dagan, who wasn't a fishman, Qetesh whose existence proves that Egyptians were fond of making ocs for their favorite foreign franchises

assorted articles about general topics pertaining to Mesopotamia:

Sukkal, Hurrian religion (ongoing project), List of Elamite gods; also a much needed overhaul of List of Mesopotamian deities (ongoing project)

and, last but not least, a solid chunk of the Inanna article.

Two guiding principles of these ventures were the following:

people who cannot access academic resources or don't know how to use them and as a result rely on wikipedia aren't any less deserving of receiving up to date, credible information

Wikipedia's mode of operation isn't flawed in itself and the only problem is lack of will to edit it

I think I did a pretty good job at these two things, honestly. I made sure to rely on rigorous, credible, and, if possible, easy to understand sources, and removed the horrors which sometimes were hidden in bibliographies: a book written by a hate preacher who believed Bush didn't start enough wars; 1930s race science; what I can only describe as a hybrid of Woman's Encyclopedia and a bdsm manual; a fringe book asserting that Minoan palaces were graveyards and that Egyptians only learned mummification from superior Minoans; etc. Of course, it’s a thankless job, but as long as I could make the site more credible undisturbed, that’s fine by me. I even got some help in a few cases, most notably that of the god list, indicating that the work was on some level appreciated. The only problem I've encountered prior to today came from editing the Ereshkigal article – I've removed the claim the Burney relief depicts “Lilith”; this edit was however undone. I left a message on the editor's page, complete with links to articles about the Burney relief AND about the possible Mesopotamian forerunners of Lilith (who are undeniably not depicted on the Burney relief). They're responded rather dismissively to it, and asserted that even if unproven, a connection existed, so I pretty quickly gave up, as they relied on sources which were outdated or fringe. I focused on fixing two long, important articles instead: the god list, and the Inanna article. Some parts of it were alright, but there was much work needed: fringe theories trying to assign greater antiquity to relatively late myths, and frankly insane hyperdiffusionism, had a prominent place in the article, while well attested association between Inanna and similar deities from cultures closely associated with Mesopotamia wasn't, much of the info was outdated, scandalous hot takes about Dumuzi's treatment were all over the place, the section on Inanna's descent favored Jungian confabulations over credible research, etc. My progress on fixing that had been slow and steady. However, today the aforementioned person intervened when, in between editing the Inanna article and the god list, I reverted a dumb, brief , unsourced edit – made by a third party - which asserted that Inanna's descent is “similar to Persephone” which it isn't – if anything is similar to Persephone in Mesopotamian mythology it's Nergal and Ereshkigal. They pretty clearly didn't take it well: not only the unfounded speculation went back up, but they also added a “source” affirming it, from a controversial -medical- author, not an Assyriologist. They also added Persephone to the list of Inanna equivalents in the infobox, removing any credibility whatsoever from it. The author of the claim this is all about relied on sources so antiquated that they interpreted Inanna's sexual character as her being a child-snatching boogeyman. Inanna's primary connection to boogeymen is that she was invoked, alongside Nanaya whose sexual connection is even more blatant, to -ward off- child-snatching boogeyman Lamashtu (whose character was not sexual, because sumerians and akkadians weren't victorian aristrocrats and weren't paranoically afraid of sex - and why would a demon representing death in infancy be sexual in nature, anyway?). Simply put, the book in mention is worthless as a source. Of course, I reverted that; when it went back up (despite a justification being included in my reversal) I edited the Inanna article to remove this outlandish claim (you have a limited number of possible reversions per day for some arcane reason), also adding other information about Inanna I had prepared: a few tidbits on Assyrian royal inscriptions which involved the warlike and erotic aspects at once, suggesting that transgressors should lose both potency and bravery in battle, some info on love poetry about her and Dumuzi, that sort of stuff. The weird person reverted my edit – removing valuable info – and reinstated the claim. For a moment I lost my cool and reverted this edit, which sadly put me in the reversion overuse danger zone, but which was a necessary sacrifice to save the credibility of article I put weeks of work into. See the edit history here. As you can guess HaniwaEnthusiast is me. I left messages critical of this decision on the talk page of the article and on the talk page of the outlandish editor. Sadly, they responded rather rudely, and basically declared Wikipedia isn't meant to be credible, and that favoring academic sources over random crap is an “ivory tower” approach and should be discouraged; they also insulted me but that's much less relevant and much less hurtful than their desire to spread lies. If you ask me it's more of an ivory tower attitude to say people who cannot access or don't know how to use academic sources do not deserve equally credible info and need to be at the mercy of weird wikipedia editors. What's the main problem here, though? That person is a mod. Not a random user. They have 16 years of Wikipedia experience. They spread fringe, pop-spiritual claims about Lilith and the like, so I assume they have an ulterior religious agenda of some sort, which they seem to actively encourage judging from these ventures. I'm not sure if the Inanna article is a lost cause yet but I do think the weird addition of Persephone they made is a step into some hellish direction, and I am entirely certain I cannot win this conflict. Simply put, I think that if this is the sort of staff the site has, this is a lost cause. I am not sure if I will go back to editing.

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fy-2pm · 3 years ago

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[TRANS] 2PM's Junho 'ESQUIRE' Interview

Summer 2021, Drunk in Junho

The hot and gentle story Junho and I shared with "W by Windsor"

Q: The book "If Our Language is Whiskey" by Haruki Murakami is chosen for the shooting with "W by Windsor" (Hereinafter "W"). It's the perfect combination for a "Whiskey trip" to Scotland and Ireland with the 100% Scottish "W."

JH: This will be interesting. I like reading books. I've been reading a lot lately.

Q: What kind of book do you usually read?

JH: I don't have a favorite reading here. I try to read different kinds of genre and not just focus on a specific genre. Recently, I am into how to handle diseases and death. I read a variety of books. It feels good to know something. If I know about a certain topic, when we talk, we can share our opinions. Even while I was in the army, I don't want to miss the trend so I read more at that time.

Q: You read more during your army. Did anything change since you were discharged?

JH: It's been more than 100 days since my discharge and it's been really hectic. These were the busy days that I've missed, but I managed to adjust really quickly without any hard feelings. It feels like there is no empty space. I don't think I have changed a lot but I think my mindset has changed a bit. Comparing with the past, I want to treat everything more leisurely. I don't want to feel the rush, the struggle or under attack. I just want to do things step by step. That kind of feeling? I think the people around me can see this feeling too.

Q: That's right. 2PM members said "Junho has a hot temper"

JH: When I say I will do something, I will do it right away. I've achieved a lot because of this personality. However, as I look back to myself, there are times when I think if I should have thought about a little more.

Q: During the "Army hiatus" you received a nickname 'My House Junho'. When you find out, how did you react?

JH: It was at autumn 2019 when I just started serving. Because I really miss the stage, I've been looking up 2PM and my own videos. I could see that the number of views for "My House Junho" has increased gradually. I just thought, 'This will come to a stop soon'. It's like an event.

Q: It's a video but there are some interesting comments. It feels like a playground.

JH: It's becoming like a community. In there, it feels like you are competing with each other to see who can write something more interesting. It's amazing. One of the most memorable commend said, "I only realize what is spring after the flowers fell." It sounds sad but feels good. (Note: This is a common Korean phrase meaning I only realized something or someone is good after he/she it's gone)

Q: Spring has come again. You have come again.

JH: It means that we were like flowers. But ironically, I don't think we are gone yet.

Q: The more you think about it, the more touching this is.

JH: I think "My House" received a lot of love not because of algorithm or luch, but because fans have real interest in the song. Just by sharing the video, clicking to view and leaving comments, there are all hard work by fans. This is making it fun and we came across a situation where we can do this all over again. Thank you very much.

Q: It becomes a famous "Icon of Hard Work" and it's seeing the light.

JH: For whatever it is, my personality is to try to achieve it. At one point in time, I thought making an effort itself is difficult. After living like this for a long time, I got used to it and now, I don't think of it as making an effort anymore. I've been working hard on my exercise and die but this just become part of my daily life. But I do think about, 'How much long do I have to do this?' (Laugh).

Q: I think you're a person who will not give up. Junho played the role of Dong-Woo in the movie <Twenty>, where he gave up his dream and said, "Do you know how hard it i to give up?" Not giving up is hard but giving up is hard, too.

JH: I haven't really thought about give up. But if I do give up, I am going to give it up entirely so that I won't remember what happened. To the extreme where is either all or nothing. This is why I don't give up anymore. If you give up something, all that you have done is like nothing had happened.

Q: Even for giving up perfectionism.

JH: With this personality, it used to make me feel really tired. People around me must be tired, too. At one point in time, I feel this is just the way it is. There is nothing wrong with being perfect. But now, I think it's okay to be imperfect. I came to the realization that I cannot do everything by myself. There are also many people who are helping me.

Q: From "Best Idols" to everyone's "Adult Idols". When it comes to adult, you cannot skip the alcohol.

JH: I can't drink that often because I have to take care of my body with exercise and diet. But I do enjoy it. These days, I cannot just drink freely outside, so I will take a sip at home. Drink a little bit of Whiskey and it will make you fall asleep comfortably. I enjoy my alone time like that at home. I used to think coffee and alcohol are bitter. "Why would I drink that?" Now that I know the taste of coffee, I bought a coffee machine. I am also collecting vintage wine. I buy them and give them to people around me as gifts. Let's say you want to drink beer just as cold as coke. For Whiskey, you pour it out to enjoy the taste and aroma. I don't understand this taste before. I thought it was for just people who enjoy strong flavors.

Q: Knowing the taste of coffee and alcohol is like a symbol of adulthood. Especially for Whiskey, that's like the preservation of a mature adult. Actually, I go a little worried when I saw an article saying Junho is not good at drinking. I wonder if you will go well with "W."

JH: Right, I haven't talk much about alcohol. There were articles like "He could only take one glass of beer" or "He went home so early" for the after parties. I think the fans know that I am a weak drinker but it's not bad for them to think I am cute because of that. But I am not that crazily weak! (Laughs)

Q: There's this article where you said "I usually drink well but I refused to drink at an after party yesterday because of thinks interview". So I thought, "Being a weak drinker self-management is on another level"

JH: For sure, if you have a schedule, you have to have some self control. Even if you drink, just enough to feel good. But even if I drink and go to sleep, I feel refreshed the next day. I don't know if it's because my liver is still in good condition, but I don't usually suffer from hangovers.

Q: Many people say that you will suffer less hangovers drinking Whiskey than other alcohol. I think "W" is good for people like Junho who enjoys drinking comfortably.

JH: I think "W" is especially refreshing. It has a good aroma and it's smooth to swallow. Comparing with other alcohol, Whiskey seems to have a higher entry level but you can have "W" easily. Actually, it has a lower alcohol level than normal Whiskey. During today's filming, I can feel the aroma and I've been sipping little by little. Maybe that's why I feel good now (Laugh).

Q: What food will go well with "W"?

JH: They often have nuts and chocolate with Whiskey but i would like to recommend tteokbokki. It's not the spicy tteokbokki but the one with beef and sweet soy sauce. You may think "What do you mean by having tekkbokki with Whiskey?" Just do it. It goes well together.

Q: How do you usually drink Whiskey?

JH: It all depends on my mood or situation. I think you find your own way that suits you, so you can drink comfortably. If you want to go to sleep quickly, drink it in a small glass in one shot. If you want to watch a movie, drink it cold with ice. I've been drinking Whiskey with ice and that got me interested in big block of ice. I even looked up YouTube videos where bar mixologist carved some ice balls. I even thought about buying an ice ball maker.

Q: It's all about "equipment" (Laugh)

JH: Even for coffee, I started not knowing anything but I was curious. I bought coffee beans and did the grinding myself. But the grinding size is too big so I went to study how to make it smaller. It became more fun. The scope of Whiskey is even wider when you have experience the different between having Whiskey on its own or having it with it.

Q: In JTBC's <Knowing Bros> when talked about the reverse popularity with "My House Junho" Wooyoung said "It's all because of Junho's virtue. Junho is very careful in everything so that he won't hurt the members. He will sacrifice for the team" I wonder why he feels like this.

JH: I am working as 2PM and as an actor, so all my schedules need to go well together. There are times when drama comes, so I have to turn down 2PM activities. I think that can happen but it's normal. As an actor, it's difficult to do other things when you are involve in a drama. Even though, I can multi-task my schedules, it's still a problem I need to solve. So even when I don't have much sleep, I don't want to show I'm tired. I always want to make myself feel good.

Q: I think 2PM's charms are "bonds between members" and "consistency". Both sounds easy but it's difficult to do. How did you keep up?

JH: Consideration is the most important and you should never think selfishly. We have been together for 14 years, so one of us could have done that to another person. We weren't adults when we started, so we are always talking to each other and still is today. Our tastes, our personalities and what we want to do are all different. For sure, we compromise and we give in for others but we became more considerate. This is when you know this friend is so kind and considerate. I think this is similar to what Wooyoung said.

Q: Becoming a senior idol

JH: Over the years, we have accumulated lots of experienced and our fields were being broaden. I think we can be a good example with how we stayed together and continue to work as singers. "Bukae" is the trend these days (Note: Bukae means a second job)

Q: Do you any advice fro the juniors?

JH: Umm, let's do well? (Laugh). There's a big difference between good and bad examples. Always watch what you say. Always watch what you do. I hope we can promote happily with the juniors.

Q: There's this "daily energy". It's the energy that shape your daily life with small changes. What shapes Junho's daily life?

JH: Before the schedules start, I must get up. By doing so, it already shape my day.

Q: The process of being fully occupied and working hard is beautiful. Of course, the results are often great. "W" is also trying to maintain the brand's reputation by carefully selecting the undiluted Scotch Whiskey in Scotland. Junho, I wonder what effort you are making to keep o

JH: And I try not to sleep during my schedules unless I'm very tired. I want to do everything with a clear mind. When you wake up, you're dazing. There was a time when we had schedules at Seoul, Daejeon, Daegu and Busan in different broadcast programs. There was a time when I couldn't sleep on a bed for 2 weeks while we prepared for the end year ceremonies. I was sleeping in the moving car. It was all fun memory but at some point in time, we didn't know how it all went because it was so hectic. I really regret it because I don't want to forget as much as I can. That's why I became interested in photography and videography. I bought a camera and a camcorder to record.

Q: You've been busy since 17. I wonder if you have gone through adolescence.

JH: Of course, I did right? (Laughs). On the other hand, my parents worked in double jobs, so my realization of their importance came a little early. My dad worked as a sea navigator. I didn't see him for 6-12 months so I miss him even more. When I was in elementary school, I went to my mom's workplace and called out to her until she answered me and I cried "I miss you." Now that I think about it, I wonder how busy they were.

JH: I like things that are natural and light. I want to be a person who doesn't provoke or irritate, just like a piece of paper. Sometimes, it can be hard to keep it plain because I have my hot temper and fire but having this mindset keeps me neutralized. In <I Live Alone>, I used the moktak and this is one of my effort to do so. It's relaxing and makes me calmer.

Korean to English translation @JLML718 (Twitter)

#2pm #junho #p: photoshoot #e: interview #e: magazine #esquire #august 2021 issue #era: must

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spatort · 4 years ago

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I’m at my parents’ house and I have too much time on my hands apparently, so it’s time for a trip down memory lane! More specifically, a trip into the weird world of 1990s for-profit teen idol RPF, such as this beauty:

No, I did not find this at my parents’ house, I bought it second-hand specifically in order to make this post because I’m a person who enjoys studying fan culture in her free time. So, if you’re wondering what the hell the monstrosity pictured above is, and why it exists, don’t worry, I’m about to answer that question extensively.

LONG (AND HOPEFULLY FUN & INTERESTING) POST UNDER THE CUT

Let’s start with a bit of history: In the pre-internet era, fan culture differed from today in a few key regards. Although fanfiction existed, without the internet it was much harder for fans to share their stories with each other. Large fandoms such as Star Trek did have fanzines where fanfic could be printed, but all in all it was a much more niche thing than it is today with millions of fics accessible on AO3.

Fan culture in general, however, was a big thing in the 90s – particularly when it came to pop acts that appealed to teen (and tween) audiences, such as the Backstreet Boys, the Spice Girls, or (mostly in Europe) the Kelly Family. When I was in elementary school, you basically had to pick whether you were a BSB or an NSYNC fan – and god forbid you were a Kelly fan like me, then you were the lowest rung on the social ladder and the target of relentless mockery. Like many German kids in the 90s, me and my sister would religiously read teen magazine BRAVO, cut out every single bit of material about our faves and collect them in folders and self-made fanzines. We created fan art and fanfiction without having words for these things. Without the internet and social media, fans did not have a constant stream of content about their idols, and were left with no other choice but to cling to every bit of information they could find in magazines, on TV shows, or on the radio.

Enter a savvy businessperson who comes up with the perfect merchandise product to sell to these popstar-obsessed teens: fan novels! These books, featuring taglines such as ‘The novel for all Backstreet Boys fans’, typically revolved around a relatable female teenage protagonist who is a fan of the celebrity or music group in question, and usually ends up meeting their idol or, gasp, even becoming romantically involved with them. As far as themes go, they look pretty much exactly like your classic self-insert RPF. Except there is a big difference setting these books apart from ‘actual’ fanfiction: Rather than being written by real fans to express their ‘fannish’ feelings about the subject, fan novels were most likely commissioned works created by professional romance authors purely to profit off of actual fans. There is very little background information available about this ‘genre’, but I did stumble across an academic work on Google Books which featured a passage about these fan novels (translated into English by me):

There are several commissioned works by professional authors, which could be mistaken for fanfiction. Especially in the 1990s, when lots of boy bands were on the market, many books of this kind were published. […] These are fictional stories for fans [redacted].

Jennie Hermann: Backstreet Girl. Projektionsfläche Popstar - Wenn der Fan zum Schriftsteller wird (2009) [Popstar as Projection Surface – When fans become writers]

One of the things I find most intriguing about this type of commercially published fanfiction is the question of personal rights. Obviously, the celebs in question or their management must have consented to using their names in the story, their pictures on the cover and so on – because a profit could be made with this. Especially with the fan debate around RPF allegely being unethical, I wonder if the celebrities themselves were aware someone was writing these stories about them, putting words in their mouth, and if they had any clue what exactly happened in these novels. Now, I’ve read a couple of them in my own youth. Some of them deal mostly with the state of being a fan, e.g. I recall a novel about a girl who is so obsessed with Leonardo Di Caprio that she doesn’t pay attention to real life guys at all, only to learn that her actual dream boy has been in her life all along! This story did not feature Di Caprio himself as a character, it was more about the protagonist’s arc of realizing your idols are not all that matters in life. Others do describe fan encounters with teen idols, and some even feature (hints at) romance with a celebrity. When I decided to purchase a vintage copy of one of these books, I opted for one of the latter category, precisely because of the popular argument that writing romance stories featuring real people is somehow ‘wrong’. For only a couple of euros, I was able to get my hands on a weird and wonderful relic of fan culture: Mein Frühling mit Nick (My spring with Nick) by the likely pseudonymous Maxi Keller, heralded on the book cover as ‘the novel for all fans of the Backstreet Boys’.

The story revolves around 16-year-old musical prodigy and designated wallflower Katharina, who lives in a German small town and cares about nothing else than playing the organ – certainly not about boys, let alone ones that are super-famous American pop stars. This means she is not initially a fan of the Backstreet Boys, which I guess is something of a trope itself – the protagonist meeting a celebrity by chance without knowing who they are and the celeb being thrilled that someone doesn’t just like them for their fame. Anyway, the boys visit Katharina’s hometown while on tour in Germany because band member AJ is doing some research on his German ancestors who happened to live in this very town. Katharina runs into them, she and Nick (who was only 17 himself when this was published in 1997, so it’s legal) fall in love at first sight, she helps them dig up information on AJ’s ancestors and finds out the two of them are related, the boys invite Katharina and her friend Saskia backstage after their show and … nothing happens. The book is 200 pages long and Katharina doesn’t even get one kiss with her boy band sweetheart, even though they mutually crush on each other right away. Perhaps that’s as far as the band or their management agreed for the novel to go – a hint at romance, but no trace of any on-page action, no matter how innocent.

That said, the book is so hilariously poorly written that it was still very entertaining to read. Although I could not find out anything about the author Maxi Keller, and therefore assume this might be a pseudonym, their writing style very much suggests that their are a professional romance author who usually writes for an older audience (plus, the book was published by Bastei Lübbe, who also publish a range of cheap romance novels known as ‘Romanhefte’). The language is extremely flowery at times, and even teenage characters speak with an eloquence that is hardly age-appropriate, with some 90s teen slang peppered in at unfitting times (such as the overuse of the English word ‘girl’). Often the novel loses itself in pointless detail that does nothing to move the plot forward (such as an extensive description of a house party hosted by Saskia’s rich parents, with minute details of their luxurious lifestyle and assets, even though Saskia is only a supporting character in the overall plot). It appears as if the author is desperately trying to fill the pages with meaningless drivel so they don’t need to write too many scenes featuring the presumed main attraction, the boys themselves.

If Keller was indeed merely hired to write this, and is not a fan themselves, one must still admit that the author did their research when it comes to the band. Whereas fanfiction typically assumes that the audience is already familiar with the characters and often skips any introductory descriptions of their appearance or personality, Keller makes sure that even a reader who is completely unfamiliar with the Backstreet Boys can keep up. The author delivers extensive descriptions of the boys’ appearance and demeanor, even spelling out their full names repeatedly, and frequently peppers in ‘fun facts’ such as ‘Kevin was raised on a farm in Kentucky’. While an actual fan might do so to prove how knowledgeable they are, and earning their status as a ‘true fan’, in this case it only seems like Keller really wants to show off how much research they did – as if not a single piece of information they took in must go to waste by not being used in the novel.

When it comes to the question how realistically the non-fannish author replicates the way the boys act and speak, there are two barriers to delivering a well-founded answer: Firstly, I was personally very young when BSB were popular and I really don’t remember too well what each member was like. Secondly, the elephant in the room: the language barrier. All of the aforementioned fan novels were written in German, and the problems posed by writing about an English-speaking band interacting with German OCs (and teenage ones at that) are addressed poorly, if at all. Pretty much all dialogue is written in German, and the audience is left to assume that everyone is actually speaking English whenever the boys are involved – except the novel does nothing to explain why two 16-year-old German girls would be able to express themselves so effortlessly in a foreign language. (Remember, the internet was not a thing, so German kids were not exposed to the same amount of English in everyday life as they are these days.) It would have been easy to make one of them a language nerd who gets straight A’s in English class, and give the other a British parent and make them bilingual. Instead, Katharina initially even worries about the prospect of having to talk to boys at all, and in English on top of that! But when she actually does, the language barrier never comes up again. The suspension of disbelief expected from the reader is therefore immense. The language barrier also gives the author an easy way out when it comes to imitating the way the boys speak in real life – there is no need to take into account idiolects or regional differences (such as ‘you guys’ vs. ‘y’all’) if the boys’ speech is essentially translated into a foreign language. However, I wanted to give you guys (or y’all, if you will) a taste of how Keller attempts to write a scene where AJ and Nick discuss the latter’s crush on Katharina:

I would argue that this sounds realistic enough for what it’s worth, if a little cheesy, which is excusable in this genre. Perhaps a true 90s BSB fan would beg to differ, so if you happen to be one, feel free to drop me a message. But in my semi-professional opinion, this most likely holds up for readers.

So, to answer the initial question that drove me to purchase this book: Do fan novels like Mein Frühling mit Nick count as fanfiction?

If we assume that something is only a fanfic if the author themselves is a fan of the subject matter, then I would argue no, Maxi Keller is probably not a fan themselves and therefore this work of for-profit real-person fiction does not qualify as fanfic. However, fan novels definitely have a (however small) place in the history of fan culture and fan-adjacent works, and I personally found reading this relic both entertaining and insightful!

#fanfiction #fanfic #backstreet boys #nick carter #german stuff

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jaehyunspeachparty · 4 years ago

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1.6.

"KIWOO! GEON! We're going!" You call your twins when you suddenly feel Jaehyun hugging you from behind and kissing your neck gently. "I can't wait to make a baby with you all night." He groaned softly and pressed his hip against your bottom. "Mmm ... but first, we have to drop Kiwoo and Geon before we go to the hotel." Sunoh had his birthday the next day and you leave him alone with his friends for the night. You trust your boy because he only invited Chichi, Jaina and Sangjun. You knew all the children and you were sure that they would not do anything wild. Kiwoo and Geon came downstairs with Sunoh. The twins each had a backpack hanging over their shoulders and were grinning cheekily. "I hope you behave today", you sigh and look at the two young ones. "I'll check your backpacks." Jaehyun sighed and opened their bags. You are now hugging your older son. "Sunoh, I can't believe you are 15 tomorrow and you are the night alone." You hug him tightly and he had to laugh. "Mum, we only watch films and tomorrow we celebrate anyway." He sighed, but you still got sentimental. "I know, I know. Miga comes home in the evening and otherwise have a nice little party." You kiss your son's cheek and you let him go with a heavy heart. Jaehyun had confiscated everything from the twins that they could have pranked with and you go into the garage with them.

Minhyuk drove the three to the Jungs' house. Sangjun, Minhyuk's son and Sunoh's best friend, sat in the front and Jaina and Chichi in the back. "Is that your drawing?" Asked Jaina and she was smiling. Chichi nodded and looked at the book in her hand. "Yes, it's stories of me and Sunoh. I thought I would give it to him with my other present." Chichi held on to the book and was a little nervous. "Isn't it a little embarrassing?" Jaina then asked, raising her eyebrows. "Do you think so?" Chichi looked uncertainly at her best friend. "I don't know. I mean he will be 15 and not 12." Jaina shrugged and looked out of the window. Chichi was unsure. It was important to her what Sunoh thought of her. She had also the LP that Sunoh had wanted for so long and maybe it was enough for him. "So we're here. Don't be wild," said Minhyuk, looking admonishly at his son. "Dad, we're just watching films." Sangjun rolled his eyes and got out. Jaina jumped out of the car too and Chichi quickly took her bag. "Thank you Mr. Lee." She carefully bowed her head and Minhyuk smiled. "Take care Chichi," he said then and the girl got also out of the car. Meanwhile Sunoh let his friends into the house and when he saw Chichi, he smiled. He leaned down to her and hugged her tight. "Hey," he said softly as he pulled away from her. She looked up at him and smiled. "Thank you for the invitation," she said quietly, and Sunoh blushed.

You lie naked in bed with your hands up. Jaehyun held you tight by your waist and pushed his length firmly and quickly into you. It took less than 5 minutes when you arrived in the hotel room, that your clothes were on the floor and his dick was inside you. "Oh god, Jaehyun." You cling to his arms and you start to tremble when your climax came. Jaehyun groaned and continued to fuck you. He knew no mercy. "Jaehyun please." It was too much to handle. Your body trembled more and more, but he kept going. Fucked you harder until his body was no longer tense. He slumped on you and put his hand on your stomach. "Even after over 12 years, you haven't lost your motivation to get me pregnant." You laugh and Jaehyun kissed your belly. "I just love you to make you pregnant. And I love when you are pregnant ... hmmm if you are carrying our baby." His hand reached up to your breasts. "What if our child gets a disability because of my age?" You look seriously at your husband. "Everything will be fine and if it happens, it will be so. After all, it is our child." He smiled and stroked your stomach again. You put your hand on his and smiled gently. You lie next to each other and enjoy the time for two. "Do you think Sunoh has everything under control at home?" Jaehyun looked up at you and was a little worried. "Everything will be fine. Chichi is there and Sunoh would never do anything where she feels uncomfortable. That is the advantage that he is in love with her." The fact that Sunoh always wanted to protect Chichi made things a lot easier. "Yes, but Jaina is wild. Johnny has been worried about her lately." Jaehyun sighed, but you stroke his hair slowly. "Miga will come too and I trust her so far that she will take care of everything."

After everyone ate pizza, it was time for gifts. Sangjun started. He gave Jaehyun a sweater from Balenciaga that he wanted and he also had a few bottles of Soju with him. "My parents don't notice anyway that a few bottles are gone and this makes the evening much more exciting." Sangjung grinned as he put the alcohol on the table. "Really Sangjung. I sometimes forget that you are almost as old as Jasper, but still a lot more mature." Jaina grinned and pulled out her present. She handed it to Sunoh while she making him pretty eyes. "Happy Birthday," she said with a big smile, and Sunoh started unwrapping the gift. It was an LP by Ella Fitzgerald that he wanted, which Chichi actually bought him too. "Wow, how did you know that?" Sunoh could hardly believe it. Neither does Chichi. She had told Jaina that she had bought the LP for him. "I got it in America and look, it's even signed." Jaina grinned and pointed to the bottom of the plate. Sunoh looked at the autograph and his eyes widened. "Wow. That must have been so expensive." Sunoh smiled and Jaina shrugged. "I just thought it suits you." "Wow really. Thank you very much, Jaina." Sunoh smiled and hugged his friend. Chichi sat there and couldn't believe it. She had nothing. She only had the same LP and a ridiculous comic. She would like to bury herself or run away. "Oh Chichi, it's your turn. What have you got for Sunoh?" Jaina grinned and she couldn't believe how her friend stabbed her in the back. Why was she doing this? "So-so-sorry. I-I think I have fo-forgotten it at h-home," she stuttered, not daring to look her crush in the eye. "No problem. You shouldn't have given me anything anyway. I'm just glad that you are there." Sunoh smiled and tried to make eye contact with Chichi, who was sitting scared in the corner of the sofa. "I think that sounds like we should drink the Sujo now." Sangjung grinned and took a bottle. "Yeah wait. I'll get something to open it." Sunoh got up and straightened his clothes. "Wait, I have to piss, I'm coming with you." Sangjung got up and walked out of the room. Chichi waited until the two boys left the living room, then turned to her friend and looked at her with tears in her eyes. "Why did you do that?" "What do you mean?" Asked Jaina, shrugging her shoulders. "Why did you give him the LP? I told you I would give it to him." Chichi looked desperately at Jaina. "Oh, did you? I'm sorry, I forgot that. I found the LP and thought he would liked it." Chichi looked at her in shock. Of course, she believed her friend. But it was all kind of strange. But why should she lie? "So, bottle opener is here." Sunoh came back into the living room with Sangjun and he opens the Soju. "Not for me," said Chichi shyly, looking at Sunoh with concern. "Oh come on Chichi. It's fun," Sangjun said with a laugh. "Don't be shy and one time not well-behaved," said Jaina, and hushed up to lure her friend out of her shyness. Chichi was unsure, she really didn't want to, but she didn't want Sunoh to think of her as boring. "You don't have to do that. Maybe you just want to take a sip from me?" Sunoh then asked and sat next to her. Chichi nodded and looked up at him with wide eyes. Jaina rolled her eyes and sipped from her bottle.

"I think we've practiced enough. You don't have to worry Miga. You are already a great actress." Jaemin smiled and put the script aside. Miga nodded and also closed the notebook. "Thank you for helping me like that. It really means a lot to me." She smiled, was sweet as sugar because she knew how to get things. "Do you like a drink? Maybe a tea or do you have to go home?" Jaemin smiled and took a step into the kitchen. "A tea sounds really good. My brother celebrates his birthday at home with his friends. I don't have to go home so quickly." She smiled and put her hand on her upper arm. "Ah yes, it's Sunoh's birthday tomorrow. You have to tell him all the best from me." He fills the kettle with water and took two cups from the shelf. "Your apartment is really nice." Miga smiled as she sat down at the kitchen counter. "Hmm well .... everything has been set up by my ex-girlfriend. I'm considering moving." He sighed and put two tea bags in the cups. "Really? But it's so nice here." "I need something bigger maybe because I was thinking about adopting a child. It has never worked with a family or with women ..." He paused and Miga could see his pain. "I would also like to help. Like you ... Will you take me with you once in your voluntary work?" Miga asked when Jaemin pushed the tea to her. "Yes do you want? I would like to take you with me," he said then and he smiled with delight.

Jaemin and Miga got lost in conversations and ended up on the couch watching old vintage films. At some point Miga got so tired that her head grew heavy and she put it down on Jaemins shoulder. She felt so comfortable with him, so safe. She put all her trust in him. So she fell asleep without thinking about anything. Jaemin then picked her up and carried her to his bed. He covered her with his blanket and when Jaemin wanted to go, she held him. "Where are you sleeping?" Miga asked him sleepily. "I'm sleeping on the couch," he said with a smile. "Stay here," she replies. "I'll be right here on the couch." Jaemin stroked her head gently and Miga let him go and her eyes closed again.

Sunoh woke up and looked at the clock. It was middle in the night and most of them fell asleep on the couch because of the alcohol. But only one person was missing. He sat up and looked out of the window that led into the garden. The swimming biotope was always illuminated and he could see Chichi sitting next to it and looking into the water. Sunoh got up, put on a jacket, and sat next to her. She looked shyly at him and smiled gently. "I couldn't sleep," she said, playing with her fingers uncertainly. "I'm sorry if you don't feel comfortable." Sunoh had a guilty conscience. Chichi was quieter than usual and he was afraid that he would look too negative. "No ... I'm just weird." She sighed and looked back into the water. "Don't say that. I like how you be." Sunoh smiled but was afraid to show too many feelings at the same time. But Chichi looked at him and smiled. Then she took something that was next to her and handed it to Sunoh. "I lied. I have a gift for you, but everyone gave you such great things and mine is so childish. It wasn't expensive or anything." Sunoh took the gift and looked at it. It was a book and when he opened it there was a comic in it. "I drew it myself. You were always there for me, you always protected me. I wanted to say thank you." She quickly looked away again and she was afraid to embarrass herself. Sunoh looked through the comic and he couldn't believe it. There were hours of work in it and it was one of the most beautiful gifts he had ever received. But his speechlessness unsettled Chichi. "It's childish, I know ..." "No. I think it's really beautiful." Sunoh looked up at her and pressed the book to his heart. Chichi looked up at him in surprise and sheepishly stroked her hair behind her ear. She looked so perfect for Sunoh and he really felt the butterflies in his stomach. His heart started racing and he decides to gather all his courage. "Chichi, I wanted to tell you that I ..." "So here you two are!" Jaina suddenly stood there and smiled. Chichi and Sunoh looked up in surprise. "I think we should go to bed right?" Jaina said and Sunoh nodded. He looks briefly at Chichi, who is looking at him with her big eyes. Then he got up and went back inside.

Miga woke up in Jaemin's bed and was a little confused, but then she remembered the evening and that she fell asleep. But she no longer saw Jaemin, but heard how he was in the bathroom. Miga sat up and quickly straightened her hair and checked her appearance. She heard the shower and quickly decided to take her bag and quickly put on her make-up. She wanted to look good when Jaemin saw her. Then she got up and went to the kitchen. Since he lived in a kind of loft, the bathroom was also open. In the mirror, Miga could see Jaemin standing in the bathroom with the towel over his hips and blow-drying his hair. Miga couldn't look away, he was too well built for that. Everything vibrated in her. Her imagination went through with her. It was the first time that a man make her feel so much. She imagines how she is lying in his bed, he leans over her and for the first time she wants more. "Hey, you're already awake!" Jaemin was pulling his t-shirt over his body. Miga tried not to stare too much. She nodded and tried to smile. "I'm sorry I fell asleep. I didn't want you to have to sleep on the couch." She looked down at the floor uncertainly and was a bit nervous. "It's okay. It was kind of nice to have someone to be home with me and not stay another night alone." He smiled charesmatically and Miga's heart started pounding wildly. "Well, you share my love for old films. We could do that more often," she said with a wink. "Yes, this would be great." He got a little more serious and Miga looked at him. Then both cleared their throat and Miga took her bag. "I think I should go now. Sunoh is celebrating today." She smiled and he nodded. There was a little awkward silence between the two, but then she hugged him before leaving the apartment.

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daddy jaehyun masterlist

#jaehyun #jaehyun smut #jaehyun jung #jaehyun imagines #jaehyun scenarios #nct #nct 127 #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream

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slimkhezri · 3 years ago

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Hello! My name is Slim, and I have a problem. I am addicted to books. 📚📖 I spend lots of my time and money on books. My heart always skips a beat when I see books. A bookstore (used/ or new). A library. Even a trash bin with books (if they're clean and in mint condition). I collect mostly arts, history, philosophy, anything educational, biographies, politics, religion etc. I even got a soft spot for comics, especially vintage ones, which I also collect. Anytime I see a pace with books, it's a mandatory stop for me to check out. I also always bought far more books than I could ever read. As I have aged, my obsession has grown (besides collecting arts). I am drawn to bookstores of all kinds. I have a sizable 'home book library' at my house. Another book obsession has emerged over the last few years. I have started collecting rare books, first editions, and signed editions. This new hobby has resulted in some extraordinary finds and has led me to meet some neat people at book signings. I don’t think I will ever stop over-buying books. I am not sure I want to. When people around me ask why I don’t sell them or give them away after I read them, I look at them in horror. Those books are my babies (besides my arts/ vinyl/vhs/ cassette tapes). The one or two times I have sold or donated books, I have ended up buying the same book again later to re-read it. Instead, I intend to find a space for my expanding library. After all, there are worse things to be addicted to. I love my books. Happy reading! PS: Follow me @goodreads #bookcollector #books #reading #literature #library #slimkhezri (at Big Bear Lake Village) https://www.instagram.com/p/CTavPzvvtG_/?utm_medium=tumblr

#bookcollector #books #reading #literature #library #slimkhezri

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elianamarie-blog · 4 years ago

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Hey bestie! could i get a ship for that 70s show?

i’m a 5’6 nonbinary (she/they) with short hair and curtain bangs my hair colour is done to look like narcissa malfoys (dark brown with platinum blonde on the underside). I have blue/grey eyes.

i’m an INFP, Ravenclaw, and a Taurus. My hobbies are making music, and playing pranks on my sister lol. I love marvel, harry potter, and criminal minds.

ive been told i’m very cocky and my ego is through the roof. I’d consider myself a very kind person who’s easy to talk to. i like to joke around a lot with my friends and sarcasm is my first language,

My aesthetic conveniently is very 70s/vintage, and my music taste is also a lot of throwbacks.

what i want to do when i’m older is forensic psychology!

hope you get to mine but if not that’s fine! Love your writing!

-M

Thank you bestie! You sound like an amazing, interesting person! (And gorgeous too) I got you! And thank you SO much for reading my content. You, are amazing <3

Who’s Up For A Challenge?

Michael Kelso x reader

-Y/n L/n was new in town and found enjoyment in messing with the players of the town.

-She was known as “that chick”

-She was incredibly witty, sarcastic, cocky, but so kind and beautiful.

-She may have accidentally had a couple of good guys fall in love with her.

-She had to gently turn them down and that actually broke her heart.

-She loved a good challenge though.

-She was sitting in the Hub with her college lab partner, Donna, when the none other than himself, Michael Kelso, walked in.

-Y/n had heard about him.

-The infamous Michael Kelso. Playboy of Point Place.

-Donna called him over and as he sat down, he noticed her.

-Of course, he had to hit on her.

-When he asked her out, she, of course said yes.

- “Alright, I’ll be here to pick you up tonight.”

-Y/n smiled as he walked away.

-As Donna leaned in and started to warn Y/n about him, Y/n cut her off.

- “I know.”

- “You know?”

- “Yes. I’ve heard of this dillhole and I’ve got a plan.”

-Donna was intrigued as Y/n started unraveling her plan.

- “I’m going to make him fall in love with me. Then I’m going to break his heart and make him feel what he makes every girl here feel.”

-Donna wasn’t so into it, but knew she couldn’t stop her.

-So, Y/n went through with the plan and met up with Kelso that night.

-He got her a burger from Fatso Burger and took her to Mt. Hump.

-He started kissing her neck and making out with her.

-She knew she was good at sex and everything else.

-But she refused to give it to him on the first date.

-She was a classy person after all.

-Kelso had set up a challenge to get in the sack.

-She already knew that though, because well duh.

-She ended up befriending Donna and Jackie over it.

-Jackie was thrilled and squealing.

- “Finally, he’s going to feel the hell that he put me through,” Jackie said.

- “You scare me,” Donna said. “Besides, you’re with Hyde now. It shouldn’t matter.”

- “Oh, whatever. Revenge is dish best served cold.”

- Y/n laughed and threw an arm over Jackie’s shoulders. “Don’t worry, girl. I got you. I’m going to drag him through the mud and then hang him out to dry.”

- “Oh, I love you!” Jackie squeaked and hugged Y/n tightly.

- “Okay, now you both scare me,” Donna said.

-Donna tried to warn Kelso, but of course he didn’t listen to her.

-He just took it as her being jealous that he wasn’t going to nail her.

-Even though she was back with Eric.

-Kelso this time took Y/n to a drive in and bought her the classic: popcorn and a coke.

-Y/n was down to date 2 out of 10.

-He started kissing her again, softer, gentler, but started getting handsy again.

-Y/n smacked his hand away multiple times before he finally up.

- “Well, damn, Y/n!” he cried out, shaking his hand.

- “Keep your hands to yourself, lover boy,” she threatened.

- “Yeah, or what?” he challenged.

- “Trust me, you don’t want to challenge me.”

- “Maybe I do.”

- “Trust me, sweetie, you don’t. I can snap you in half.”

-His eyes lit up. “You must be hot in the sack!”

-Y/n couldn’t help but laugh. “Take me home, you jerk.”

- He chuckled. “Yes, dear.”

-When he dropped her off, she turned to him. “Pick me up Friday for dinner at 8pm.”

- Kelso nodded and smiled at her.

-Eric, Hyde, and Fez caught onto the challenge and decided to make it a bet.

-Hyde said Kelso would make a fool out of himself and end up being dumped.

-Eric said Kelso would actually score.

-Fez said he just wanted to be part of the action and said Y/n would win.

-Doesn’t mean Hyde didn’t try to sabotage the bet by giving Kelso wrong information.

-For example, he told him to pick up Y/n late instead of on time because it shows that he’s desperate and clingy.

-Which is what the idiot did.

-Y/n was NOT pleased.

-She made him buy her lobster and flowers.

-At the end of the night she ended up giving him a hot make out sesh, but left him to take care of himself.

-Date 3 out of 10 down.

-Now, Eric was trying to sabotage the bet by giving Kelso tips how to get laid.

-Which Kelso laughed at until Donna spoke up.

- “You got to invoke her mind, man,” Eric said. “People like her like to be intellectually challenged.”

- “Yeah right,” Michael scoffed.

- “No, Eric is actually right for once,” Donna said, bored. “Y/n isn’t like the other girls in this town. She actually has a brain.”

- “And some nice jugs,” Fez said earning a glare from the group.

- “Try talking to her about literature and psychology and music. She likes that kind of stuff. And leave out any kinds of ‘doing it.’ Intelligent people like her don’t like that.”

- “But I wanna do it.”

- “I know, but you got to make her think you want her mind, not her body.”

- “Yeah, that’s a good idea!” Kelso said and ran out the door to spontaneously surprised Y/n at her house with flowers and a...book.

- “Donna, what the hell are you doing?” Hyde asked.

- “I know, I’m such a bad friend to her,” Donna said. “I’m going to hell.”

- “No, not that. I’m trying to get her to dump him for being stupid. Don’t give the guy pointers!”

-Kelso showed up at Y/n’s door with a picnic basket, a blanket, flowers, and a gift.

-She was definitely surprised.

-He found the perfect spot under the tree and laid out the blanket.

- “I got you something” he said and gave her a gift sloppily wrapped in paper.

-She opened it up and it was a vintage psychology book from the late 1800′s.

-She was genuinely impressed. “Where did you find this?”

-Well, I heard you talking about your love of psychology and vintage things and found this at an antique store. Thought you’d might like it.”

-Her eyes actually filled with tears.

-Even thought it was their fourth date, she felt touched by the gift and allowed 2nd base.

-The next few dates ended going the same flow.

-He’d take her out, hoping for sex, she would tease him and then leave him to take care of himself.

-By their 7th date, he was beginning to grow frustrated.

-So, far Fez was winning the bet.

-On the eighth date, Y/n introduced Michael to her parents.

-They were spectacle, but polite to him nonetheless.

-Eighth date consisted of the carnival.

-As the lights shown down on y/n’s beautiful face, he realized he might actually feelings for her.

-Y/n knew she started developing feelings for him after the fourth date, but she refused to say anything. It was just a reaction to the sweet gift.

-Even though she knew he had a kid with another woman, it didn’t stop her from feeling the way she did.

-He won her a stuffed elephant, a goldfish, and bought her a hotdog.

-Back in the car, they were making out again. “I think I really like you.”

-She smiled into the kiss. “I like you too, but you’re still not getting any.”

- “That’s okay,” he whispered, shocking both of them.

-He ended up panicking to the guys later on that night.

- “So? Just go bang the next chick you see. You did that to Jackie a lot when she didn’t want to sleep with you,” Hyde said.

- “That’s the problem. I can’t,” Kelso said and ran a hand through his hair. “I tried but every time I went to, I just couldn’t find myself to do it. They’re not her, man.”

-The guys gave him crap and started taunting him.

- “You love her!” Fez said and tried to make kissy faces with Eric.

- “Yeah, we don’t do that,” Eric said, pushing Fez’s face away from his.

- “What’re you going to do?” Hyde asked seriously.

- “Just...try to make her mine at this point.”

-On the ninth date, Y/n was freaking out.

-How could she have fallen for him?

-She’s never felt this way after messing with a guy like this.

-Why?

-WHY?!

-Stupid, stupid, stupid--

-The doorbell rang.

-He stood there with a dozen red roses.

- “I got something special,” he said.

-He ended up taking her to the lake with a complete romantic dinner.

-Candles, wine, chocolates, and pasta that he had help from mom make.

-Y/n’s eyes pricked with tears.

-No one has ever done this for her before.

-Throughout the evening, he had actually engaged in intelligent conversation and opened up to her.

-He talked about his hopes and dreams, his fears, and his loves.

- “People don’t give you enough credit,” she said. “You have a lot going for you. You just don’t show this side to people. Why?”

- He shrugged. “It’s funnier this way. I don’t want them knowing this side of me, Then they’ll start...expecting stuff from me and I don’t want that pressure.”

- “Well, you’re secret is safe with me,” she said, taking a sip of wine.

- “Well, come on, you have a lot more going for you. You want to be a forensic psychologist. That’s awesome, whatever that is.”

-Y/n chuckled and explained it to him while he actually listened to her!

-She actually changed the playboy of the town!

-Y/n wasn’t sure if it was the wine, but she couldn’t take it anymore and brought him for a hasty kiss. “I want to go all the way with you tonight.”

-At this point, she didn’t care if he broke her heart, she just needed him before he could.

-The moment was actually beautiful.

-He was so gentle and and sweet, making sure she was actually okay with it.

-And it was the best sex either one of them ever had.

-As they laid down in the back of the car, they confessed they ended up confessing their feelings towards each other, including the plans they each had for each other.

- “I’ve never felt this way towards anyone before,” y/n said. “This really bit me in the ass this time.”

- “I’ve never felt this way before period,” he chuckled. “I guess it bit me in the ass too.”

- “Are we dumb for doing this?” she whispered.

- “Totally.”

-They laughed together and ended up doing it again the second time that night.

-On their tenth date, he took her to the carnival again, but he had something more special planned.

-He took her to the top of the Ferris wheel and when it got to the top, he grabbed her hand and nervously asked her if she’d officially be his.

-She grinned at him brightly and nodded yes.

- “Great, now I can give you this,” he said and took off his hoodie that he was wearing. “You’re my girl now and I want you to have it. It’s my favorite hoodie.”

-She kissed him deeply and put it on.

-She wore it everyday from then on.

-One day she was over at the Forman’s and while they were waiting for everyone to join them, they started making out on the couch.

-The door opened, revealing Hyde, Eric, and Fez.

- “DAMMIT!” Hyde shouted.

- Fez laughed. “Pay up!”

- “Wait,” Eric asked. “Did you guys do it yet?”

- Kelso smiled. “Totally.”

-Eric turned to Hyde with his palm turned upwards. “Pay up, bitch.”

- “What’s that not fair!” he bitched.

- “Oh, it totally is,” Fez laughed.

- “No, I’ll tell you what’s not fair. Michael didn’t get hurt like he was supposed to!” Jackie said.

- “No, he got something better,” Donna said. “True love! And someone to kick his ass into shape.”

- “A matchmade in Heaven,” Fez joked while Hyde handed him his cash. “Thank you Hyde.”

- “Yeah, shut up.”

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