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vodika-vibes · 3 months

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Absolutely forgot about your new event! Congrats on the five hundred follower count vod'ika! I may send in a few, but for this oneI'm going with my birth stone, clone husband, and fave season <3

May I have Garnet with Rex in summer, where maybe he spots reader (fem or gn!) looking extremely uncomfortable from unwanted attention (nothing inherentlyuncomfortble in terms of sexually harassing or being violent, but just highly intimidating) when it's dusk? And Rex shoos the person away?

Hero

Summary: Rex’s favorite part of the day is when he’s able to pull away from his work to spend time with his girl. He’s not so impressed, though, when he goes to find her and sees her getting threatened by someone nearly a foot taller than her.

Pairing: Captain Rex x F!Reader

Word Count: 658

Prompt: Garnet - Protective Love

Warnings: None

Tagging: @trixie2023 @n0vqni @imabeautifulbutterfly

A/N: Thank you! I hope you like this story. Protective Love is hard while having a word count limit, lol, but I hope you like it anyway~

This is his favorite part of the day.

His idiots, and he calls them that with all of the love in his heart, have been released to go and get drunk or whatever it is that they do with their free time. And he’s finally able to leave the barracks to go and meet up with his girl.

It’s hot and miserable outside, which means they’ll probably head back to her place to lounge by her pool.

For a moment, just a moment, Rex allows himself to fantasize about his stunning love clad in a blue bikini, while the setting sun paints her with golden highlights and makes her look like an actual goddess deserving of worship.

And then he shoves the thought to the back of his mind, and continues to their meeting spot.

His good mood remains, right up until he gets to the meeting spot and sees his cyare looking very uncomfortable with a man towering over her. She takes half a step back, and then man advances on her, to remain right in her personal space.

Rex scowls as he inserts himself into the situation. No one is allowed to make his cyare uncomfortable. “Sorry I’m late, cyare.” Rex says as he presses himself between his cyare and the stranger.

He feels her hand curl around his bicep, her touch light, “You’re not late, I showed up early.”

Rex lightly pats the hand wrapped around his arm, and he smiles slightly when she drops her hand. And then he focuses his attention on the stranger, who looks deeply, deeply annoyed that Rex interjected.

“Can we help you?” Rex’s voice is mild, but there’s a thread of durasteel and a hint of violence there as well. His cyare likely won’t pick up on it…but the stranger definitely does based on how he grimaces.

“Nah. I was just…” The stranger pauses, “It doesn’t matter.” He turns and stalks away. Rex doesn’t turn to his cyare, though, until he’s sure that no one is going to start anything.

And then he turns to his cyare, and all of the negative emotions he’d been feeling fade away as though they were never there.

“I’m sorry,” She says, as she steps into his space, sliding into his welcoming arms, “I didn’t mean for you to have to get involved.”

“Hey,” He rests his chin on her head, “It’s my genuine pleasure to be able to protect you, cyare.”

She hums softly, “You shouldn’t have to protect me. I should be safe here.”

“Well, until you are, you have me to be your sword and shield.”

A laugh falls from his cyare, “Oh, when did you become charming, Rex?” She asks as she pulls away to look up at him, fondness in her gaze.

Rex’s face heats, “Well…you know…Jesse-”

She laughs again, “You don’t have to change yourself for me, Rex. I love you just as you are. Awkwardness and all.” She takes his hand in hers, “Now, let’s go home. It’s hot.”

“We’re going swimming?” He asks, maybe more than a little hopeful.

She grins and nods, “I bought us matching swimsuits. They were on sale.”

“What kind of swimsuits?” Rex asks as he falls into step with her.

“For you?”

“For you.”

She giggles and and moves so she’s walking backwards in front of him, one finger coming out to lightly tap his nose, “It’s a secret~”

“That means it’s a bikini, right?” Rex asks, not even bothering to hide the direction his thoughts have gone.

“It means it’s a secret.” She leans in, “But I promise you’ll like it.”

“Cyar’ika. You could walk around in a burlap sack, and I’d still like it.” He pauses, “Or ribbons-”

“Really? Ribbons?”

He smiles innocently, “If you want.”

“I think you’ve been spending too much time with Fives and Jesse.”

“Yeah, but they give the best ideas.”

She shakes her head with a laugh, “Come on, Rex. Let’s go home.”

#star wars #tcw #vodika vibes 500 followers celebration #captain rex x reader #rex x reader #star wars fanfiction #x reader fanfiction #f!reader fic #answered asks

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hometoursandotherstuff · 11 months

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The Whale house is for sale again! Can you see the whale's head? The door is the mouth, there's an eye on the upper left, and what looks like a little sailor hat to me, too. It was built in 1978 in Santa Barbara, California, has 3bd, 3.5ba, & is listed for $3.250M. It's so unique- take a look at this

As soon as you step inside, you see how unique the entrance hall is. Notice the carved door and curving architectural features- even the walls.

Look at the natural stone fireplace, the big tree trunk columns & beams, the curving shingles like waves, and I especially love that white wavelike back on the built-in sectional.

This home is like an art sculpture- not the curving rock walls in the dining room.

Look at the little doors in th windows.

You just look and keep seeing different things. Curving kitchen cabinets, a triple sink, the whale painting on th fridge, the little stovetop set into the stone wall, the sculptured walls.

The kitchen is quite long. Look at the double oven set into stone.

Cool guest powder room

On the 2nd level, in an open balcony is the main bedroom with interesting things built into a stone wall The tub looks like a little grotto.

And, check out the sink and double shower in the main en-suite.

Guest room with stone fireplace and an artsy door. I wonder what's behind that door b/c it appears to have a lock.

The 3rd bedroom is cute and cheery.

Isn't this a nice bath, with vintage tub and sink.

Here's some towels for when people come in from the pool thru this hall.

The grounds around this home are just stunning.

Look at this grotto to swim thru.

This looks like a lovely guest suite or bedroom and family room.

Above the laundry room and bath is this cozy little lounging loft.

You can see how large the house is.

Beautiful big patio. And, above, you can see the pool entering the grotto.

#whale house #unique homes #houses #house tours #home tour #dream homes

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mangoshorthand · 10 months

Text

Thing of the Past- [Five Hargreeves x F Reader]. Ch9 (Hard Feelings Part 4)

SUMMARY: You can't avoid it any longer: Five has to meet your parents. It goes more wrong than you could possibly imagine, spiralling to bring up secrets he'd rather stay buried.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNINGS⚠️ Chapter One - Chapter Two - Chapter Three - Chapter Four - Chapter Five - Chapter Six - Chapter Seven - Chapter Eight - Chapter Nine - Chapter Ten - Chapter Eleven/Epilogue

Five's confidence continues to build...but something's been playing on your mind.

Heed that content warning or Momma Mango will be most seriously displeased

⚠️Please heed content warning⚠️

Chapter 9: Fucking Fudge Nutter

You swim lengths, trying to banish your fears through methodical strokes. The oil painting of Five hung in the living room at the Academy keeps playing on your mind: the arrogant but sweet child who Aoife grows more to resemble with each passing day. His rounded face and large but otherwise too-familiar eyes.

Meanwhile, he lies on the jet-lounger built into the side of the pool. He sips glass of iced water as he watches you, peacefully, unaware of your preoccupation. Sure, he won’t feel like this all the time but, for now it's almost blissful. He closes his eyes and leans back.

His low-down position makes him invisible to the men in front of him. They stand behind the bar, watching your breast stroke.

“Lei è inglese?”

“Americana, credo.”

Five’s ears prick up. Italian guys? He hadn’t paid them much attention until now. They give off an air of superiority; masters of all they survey. One has the sort of deliberately unkempt hair and beard that Five associates with posers, and the other wears a sun-visor as if with a heavy dose of irony. They share the same strong accent and he has to strain to make it out. He thinks they’re debating your nationality.

“C'è un uomo qui con lei?” (Is there a man here with her?)- that’s Poser Beard

"Con quel culo enorme? Immagino di no" (With that huge ass? I’d guess not), answers Visor

“Lei è americana” (she is American).

That was unmistakable. Five stands up suddenly as the two men laugh. The splashing draws your attention as well as that of the two men.

“Ehi, stronzi!” (Hey, assholes!)

He steps out of the pool and strides over to them, ready to grab one or both of them and smash their teeth into the bar, but he hesitates when he hears your voice.

“Five?”

He knows how much it took for you to wear that two-piece bathing suit. It’s the first time since you had Aoife. You had been anxious about your changed body and the stretch-marks his baby made. He'd gently persuaded you into it, reassuring you that you looked good, but he knew you were still self conscious.

At all costs, you can’t know what was just said.

He deepens his shallow breathing, concentrating on the tension in his balled fists rather than the anger coursing through him. In a voice of forced brightness that he hopes will convince you, he turns, smiles and calls back to you.

“Just practicing Italian, dear.”

He strolls over to the men, raises two fingers and orders a cognac from the barman. The two men watch him approach in dumb horror, seemingly frozen in place. So far, his smile hasn’t faltered. He keeps his body language carefully casual, slipping into Italian as well as he can, no doubt butchering the language in anger:

“Hello fellas. What a great opportunity to practice my Italian.”

He takes the glass from the barman gratefully, pays with a twenty euro note and indicates for him to keep the change.

“We meant no offence, friend,” says Poser Beard.

“Well, you caused a lot. She’s not here to be looked at. She’s a person, she’s just existing like you and I, not on sale in a store or something”

Visor, apparently having recovered enough to be a bastard, looks mockingly down his nose at Five, while Poser Beard holds up placatory hands,

“We were just making a joke- like I said, no offence meant.”

Five takes a sip of his drink and gestures to the glass in his hand. "Mm. This isn't bad.”

He lets out a deep breath.

“Unfortunately, I don’t find your jokes very funny. In fact, here’s the situation, guys: right now, you’re lucky to still have all your teeth. I don’t want to upset her. It’s our honeymoon, you see.”

His smile becomes too toothy.

Visor speaks to Five for the first time: “So you think you’re a badass?”

Five nods, as if pleased that Visor has caught on so quickly, “That’s one way of describing me. But there are others.”

He holds the second man’s gaze, letting his cold eyes supply the place of language.

“Now here’s what’s going to happen…”

You watch him with suspicion as he talks to the men behind the bar. Their faces don’t look friendly. Eventually, he turns to you, raising his voice and switching back to English. He’s holding a bar menu.

“Hey! These guys want to buy us both a drink! They say money’s no object- what do you want?”

“Oh, there’s no need!” you call back, smiling at the two men near him. They clearly don’t understand what’s passing between you but you want to communicate friendliness.

“They insist,” he grins back, “they’re just impressed an Irish-American can speak Italian!”

“That’s kind…can I just have a small glass of white wine? You pick."

You watch Five as he turns back to the two men. He flicks through the bar menu and gestures firmly to items on the menu. The two men look at each other, both reaching for their wallets.

You swim for a short while longer and he returns with your drink and a bottle of wine in an ice-bucket.

“They bought us a bottle of the best champagne on the menu. Wasn’t that kind? Shall we get dinner, angelo mio?

You catch his eye and look at him doubtfully. You’re not entirely sure you believe his version of events, but he looks so much like himself that you’re happy not to second guess him. As you walk up the pool steps, he puts down the drinks and moves towards you. He lifts you up the final step and kisses you sweetly, placing you down with your back to the bar. You feel his hand move briefly from your back, but you can’t see him giving Poser Beard and Visor the finger. When his hand returns, it's on your ass instead, momentarily cupping one cheek in his hand.

Over dinner, you had drunk the champagne together. You perhaps drinking it faster than you should, trying to chase away memories of his low voice saying those things and the disturbing suppositions they've conjured.

The champagne had been exquisite, but you regret it. It churns in your stomach along with the rich food. Now you lie on his knee. Nominally, he’s reading a book, but it has long since been put down on the arm of the couch. Instead, he contemplates the wall art, seeming a little troubled. You look up at him.

“How are you feeling?” you ask him.

He huffs, folding his arms, “Stop acting like I’m going to explode at any second. I’m coping. I’ve already coped with it.”

He doesn’t mean to sound as harsh as he does, but his tone makes your eyes prick with tears. He notices.

“I’m sorry.” He wipes your eyes, “I know it’s all hard for you to hear.”

“I’m fine. I just…” you push one thumb and forefinger into the bridge of your nose, trying to stop the tears. He can tell now that there's something eating away at you.

“Tell me.” it’s a compassionate command.

“No.”

“I’m a big boy, I can take it.”

His expression is hard, his hair shades one of his eyes as he looks down at you.

“I keep thinking about it.”

“Which part?”

You don’t know if you can say it. If you should. You shake your head.

“Which part?” he repeats, voice authoritative.

“Can I…can I ask you about it?”

He nods, “I don’t promise to answer you, but I won’t lie.”

You take a breath and try to keep your eyes on his.

“I know you had dealings with her when you got back to 2019.”

His nostrils flare.

“Go on.” His voice still has that measured, imperious quality.

“When you messed up the jump and-“

“Ended up as a kid. Yeah.”

He’d known it was coming from the start. He wishes he had an outright negative to give you.

You hope he’ll fill in the gaps and tell you what you want to hear, but he seems to be waiting for you to form the question.

“Did anything happen…then?”

His head tilts.

“You don’t have to tell me.” you grab his hand and squeeze it.

“Truth?” He pours himself another glass of champagne and takes a tiny sip. His lips purse, lover-like, around the glass.

You nod your head, though now not really sure if you want to hear.

“Right from the start, she never made me do stuff to her, she just did stuff to me. It was about power. About…marking her territory, trying to break me down.”

He sounds conversational, sipping his champagne. It’s the way he sounds if he needs to reference any of his victims. It always spooks you. It’s a form of wilful detachment built up over decades that only occasionally cracks.

“When I was back in the thirteen-year-old body, it was just another thing to leverage.” He makes a small ‘hah’ sound; perhaps in pleasure at the taste of champagne…or perhaps not.

Your stomach lurches. You sit up suddenly, the headrush combines with the ill-advised champagne to make you grab the ice bucket and vomit into it.

Five, surprised, puts down his glass and quickly holds your hair back. One of his hands rubs your lower back.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t-”

“No-no. It’s not that.”

You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and wait a few moments, ensuring the nausea has definitely subsided.

When your breathing returns to normal, Five takes the champagne bucket into the bathroom. You follow him, not wanting to leave him to clean it up.

He works silently, running hot water through the bucket, melting the ice cubes and pouring the resultant foul-smelling mixture down the toilet. When you try to take it from him, he shakes his head.

“Don’t worry about it. Clean yourself up.”

You wash your hands and face, rinsing your mouth as you watch him out of the corner of your eye. He leaves the bucket upside down in the tub to drain and then strolls from the bathroom, hands in pockets. You clean your teeth quickly, resisting the urge to follow him. As you’re starting to feel clean again, he returns in his robe and hands you your own

“Thanks,” you murmur through a mouthful of foam. You take it off him and place it on the hook behind the bathroom door.

He falls into a comfortable lean against the bathroom wall, watching you with folded arms as you finish up. As you strip and put on the robe, you turn to him, unsure what to say.

He brings it up for you.

“Are you okay after talking about that?”

“Never mind me, what about you?”

He shrugs. “I think I’m at point where I find it a little funny, as crazy as that sounds.” He looks cynical again, “no doubt tomorrow I’ll be crying into my croissants but for tonight…I think I’m ok.”

“Good…I think?”

He shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

The absence of heavy, sleeping breath wakes you. You roll over to find Five awake and staring at the ceiling. You guide his head onto your chest.

“Talk to me.”

Then, after a few moments,

“I was so small.”

You stroke his hair.

This time, he knew for sure she was inside. No creeping feeling that she might be, just the certainty that she was.

It was for the briefcase. For Vanya, Luther, Allison and the rest of them. He cleared his throat and knocked at the double doors of room 217. Clearly expecting him, she opened them both wide, framing herself perfectly between them. As always, she was exquisitely dressed; the sequins on her boned bodice caught the room’s orange-toned light attractively. At his diminutive height he had to look up at her all the time now. Before, that had been a ‘pleasure’ reserved only for special occasions.

Her smile was the eye-wrinkled indulgent one; the one that made his flesh crawl. She looked genuinely happy to see him.

“Ah! Just in time for a night cap.”

The Handler sauntered off into the room, swaying her hips exaggeratedly. He hesitated for just a second before he crossed the threshold to the sound and sight of her shaking a cocktail. He cast an experienced eye around the room, ensuring they were alone; that her equally manipulative daughter wasn’t there. When he was satisfied, he closed both doors behind him. It was better by far that no passer-by see or hear this.

She lit herself a cigarette in a long holder. This, she held between her teeth as she passed him a drink. He didn’t take it. The last thing he needed was to be drugged. It was better to get down to business and get it over with.

“To be clear: I take out the board, you get me and my family home?” She placed his drink down on the table and sashayed over to the bed, picking up a folded piece of paper. “No more doomsday, no more apocalypse. Is that correct?”

As she sat and then lay down, propped on one elbow, he felt his stomach give a weak flop…And he felt something lower too, though he didn’t want to think about that.

“That’s the deal.” She said, cigarette waggling in the corner of her mouth and legs crossing seductively.

He nodded, knowing he had no choice. He mentally screwed up his courage for what he knew came next. He knew what it would entail: first, she’ll break him down and then she’ll send him off to do his job like a good little boy.

“Then I’m in.”

She smirked as his throat clicked in a dry, reflexive swallow. Raising both her eyebrows, she held out the piece of paper between two perfectly manicured fingers. She twiddled it invitingly, beckoning him. He took a tiny step forward, stretching as far as he could to take it rather than place the hairless, maddeningly vulnerable body any closer to her. Trying to ignore the crawling sensation beneath his waistband, he waited for her to pull him on top of her, to flip him bodily and make him take off the little shorts she had repeatedly commented on.

He took the paper and read the location of the board of directors’ top secret meeting place. Then, he refolded and pocketed it. He looked at her and nodded silently. A broader smile curled her lips.

“Now come here.”

His jaw twitched. With obedience that horrified him, he took another step towards the bed, his legs feeling like lead. Her cloying smell of lavender was strong in his nostrils. His hand went up reflexively to straighten the tie of his Academy uniform.

“Closer.” She beckoned him with another perfectly sharp nail.

He tried to keep his face calm: insolent and unfazed...but her smile let him know that she saw through him.

"Why?" he managed, with disdain that would convince anyone but her of his confidence.

"Come and find out."

As if in a dream, a passenger in the pubescent body, he came to stand before her.

“Bend over, Number Five."

In that moment, he felt two contradictory feelings: a dread mundane in its familiarity and also a rush of something like relief. Sure, he knew it would be even darker than usual given his current appearance…but he’d coped with worse over the years. He can stare into space, let her do her thing and it will be over; the price paid. Five found himself becoming eager in a way that disgusted him. Eager to strip and to have done with it.

As he bent towards her, he felt the weight of his sordid, shameful erection as his shorts tightened over it, the fabric pulled taught by the movement of his body.

She reached up. His heart hammered in anticipation. Please just let her leave his ass alone. But if that was the price, he’d pay it. He'd cope with it if he had to. It couldn't be that much worse being smaller, right? He didn’t let himself wince, close his eyes or flinch as she stretched out one finger. Her head tilted and a nurturing, simpering smile crept along her face.

“So...pure like this.”

He watched the finger approach, heart-in-mouth and now knowing what was coming: she'd run her finger over the thin line of his lips. Then, looking up at him, she'd raise one harshly-shaped eyebrow...and then he'd obey the unspoken command, like he always did. He'd part his lips ever so slightly. Two fingers would worm their way in between his teeth, nails deliberately scratching his tongue as they delve deeper...yet he won't bite, no matter how much his conscious mind wants to.

She'd hold her fingers against throat and make him retch. Eventually, when he was about to snap from the anticipation, she'd flip him onto his back, tear open his shorts and ride him. The nails of one hand would squeeze and scratch, fingers of the other in his throat keeping him on the cusp of vomiting throughout. He’d try to go somewhere else, (gazing at Orion with Dolores by his side), but her probing finger won’t let him. She'll know the gag reflex keeps him inescapably present.

A rising tide of shame threatened to overwhelm him as he stared at her, already salivating in anticipation of the invading finger. This fucking body.

Instead, she just pinched the puppy fat of his cheek between her thumb and finger.

“Adorable. Run along now, Number Five.”

“She didn’t fuck me. She didn’t have to.” he laughs darkly at this, almost reminiscently. “She’d touch my face and once she rubbed herself up against me but that was it. It was about humiliation, not sex. And, because I was going through puberty, she knew how easy it was to…I think she found it funny.”

He sits cross legged with your head in his lap.

“She was staging a coup. That’s why she wanted me to kill the Commission’s board."

He breathes out hard.

“That night made me go…just a tad crazy. I could have got a gun, but I didn’t. When I arrived at the job location there was this vending machine…I tried to get myself a Fudge Nutter but it didn’t dispense properly and I just...lost my shit. I went ham; just beat the shit out of it. Smashed it up. I saw red.

I grabbed a fire axe off the wall. I could have done it cleaner, but instead I went in there and...butchered twelve people. I don’t enjoy killing but for once…I rode the adrenaline...the thrill."

One hand clenches the bedsheets. His breathing begins to sound disturbingly similar to that of his arousal.

“It felt amazing. I think I went into some kinda fugue state: swinging and hacking at them: the bastards who made me what I am; made me a killer. They got a real taste of it, didn't they?"

He smiles now, terrifyingly, mouth seeming to curl a full 180 degrees at either end.

"Blood all over me; in my hair, in my mouth.”

He breaks off here, regaining control of his recollections. When he begins again, his breathing has softened, awful smile faded and humanity back in his eyes.

“Later, I told myself it was just for my family. That I had to…but I know that’s not true. It's the only time I've felt genuine bloodlust. I scrubbed and scrubbed my fingernails but I couldn’t get it out. It was maybe a month before all the blood was gone.”

You’d be a liar if you said this doesn’t disturb you. The return of nausea clearly shows on your face.

“You know what I am,” he says, watching you.

You do know what he is. And you know why too.

Tag list: (please comment to be added or removed.) @dilfjohhny , @sunsunhe, @w4stedtr4sh, @nevbrooke-555, @theredvelvetbitch, @td-miley01, @five-hxrgreeves, @rorygi1more, @jamiebower88

Masterpost

Alternatively, join me on A03. Here is a link to the whole series

Not going to beg for reblogs and comments because I am so late posting this that I don't deserve them. 😂

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raccoonhearteyes · 2 years

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September 25th, 2018

In August, Clarke painted the best piece she’s ever done. She remembers painting it, but doesn’t remember the model, and it’s driving her insane. Everytime she looks at it she is filled with pride, but her stomach also swoops and she can’t figure out why. It has been over a month, and she’s still not sure what she’s missing. How can she not remember the muse for her best piece?

After a month of stewing on the piece, torn between keeping it forever and bringing it to the FBI to track down the girl, she settles for something in between. She wraps it safely with five layers of palette wrap and brings it to the gallery where she works.

After sending a picture to her boss, Indra, she agreed there may be a spot in the gallery for Clarke to hang it and make a sale.

Interest started off slow, and Clarke worried that it wasn’t as good as she thought it was. But then Indra suggested they offer an exclusive one month auction for it. A list was placed next to the piece along with a starting bid that alone would cover Clarke’s expenses for a month. She was ecstatic. But as the month crept by, Clarke has painstakingly watched the buyer interest list grow.

It sold on September 20th. For $10,000 dollars. That pays nearly six months of Clarke's rent. One painting. Six months rent. This painting is single handedly taking care of her for the foreseeable future. And she doesn’t even know who this painting is. No matter how desperately her mind tries to search for a face, a name, the session, she draws a blank. But it is so much money that the troubling nature of a forgotten model is overshadowed.

She briefly considers getting it all in singles and buying a kiddie pool so she can swim around in it, but instead decides to commemorate it differently. She asks Indra if she could keep the auction list. Of course she can’t keep the piece itself-- that defeats the purpose of selling it-- but she thinks framing the auction list is a close second. There are 37 bids on it. 37 people walked into the gallery, saw her piece on the wall, and thought it was worth buying.

She flips through the list, seeing how much each bid increased by, who these potential clients could be. She sees the name Lindsey Waldorf written in big swooping cursive as the second bid. And then again as the eighth. The same swooping handwriting LW is written again as the eighteenth and the twenty-fourth bid. Clarke was pretty sure she spoke to almost everyone who came in and looked at that piece. Why can’t she remember that name? Why can’t she put a face to it? She was in the gallery four times to look at it. Surely Clarke couldn’t have missed her every time. Could she? It’s a name she tries to remember. If she bid for the painting four times, she must have liked it enough that maybe she’d buy a different piece of hers. Prove that this isn’t just a fluke of a sale, that this is a career, and she can do it.

----------

Clarke’s friends decide they have to celebrate her big sale. They insist on going to a club, getting absolutely wasted, and making Clarke pay for all the drinks. She did just make ten thousand dollars so Clarke is hard pressed to say no to blowing off a little steam.

It’s almost midnight when she sees her. She’s nursing a drink at the bar, but Clarke keeps catching her eyes. Her eyes. Her eyes. Her eyes. They’re taunting, absolutely mesmerizing in the way that a forest hides a plethora of treasures. They are taunting Clarke, dancing in the light of strobe light, twinkling with laughter watching her dance with Raven and Octavia.

Even though Clarke is dancing with Raven and Octavia, her eyes stay trained on the stranger at the bar.

“Clarke!” “Earth to Clarke!” Her friends yell at her.

“Huh?” Clarke responds dumbly.

“You have been eye fucking that girl for nearly an hour. Go talk to her.”

Clarke musters up the courage to go over, buying a round of shots first. Emboldened with a shot for each of them, Clarke slides onto the stool next to the girl and pushes a shot over to her.

“What are we celebrating?”

“My first big sale of a painting.”

“You’re an artist?”

“I dabble.”

“To your artistic success, then,” the girl says, raising her shot to clink with Clarke’s before downing it with a hiss and a shake of her head.

“Shouldn’t you get back to your friends?” The girl nods over to where Octavia and Raven are now drunkenly grinding on each other on the dancefloor.

“Who, them? Let’s just say they’re encouraging me to make new friends tonight.”

“Get it, Clarke!” Raven yells from the dance floor, and Clarke buries her face in her hands in embarrassment.

“Ah,” the girl chuckles into her glass.

“Could I convince you to spend a song with me?”

She smiles, and Clarke’s heart flutters in her chest. Clarke leads her to the dancefloor and spins to face her. The dance floor is a blur of bodies and sweat. The music thunders the base so loudly, Clarke can feel it in her chest, and she watches the girl’s hips move so fluidly she’s not entirely convinced the music isn’t made by her movements and not the other way around.

She said her name was Val. It doesn’t seem to fit her in Clarke’s opinion, but she’s too caught up in the sway of hips and the tight T-shirt to really argue. The girl pulls her closer, trying to talk over loud speakers. It’s too deafeningly loud to make anything she says out. Instead, Clarke just focuses on the feeling of a soft hand coming up to her face, tucking her hair behind her ear.

Clarke pulls her in by the loops of her belt, matching the girl’s rhythm. Clarke feels the sensual power of hips as they glide with the beat. The girl is completely driven by the music, and Clarke gives herself over to it too.

The song switches, and Clarke is dreading letting her go, but instead of ducking out after a dance, the girl pulls Clarke's hand up and around her neck. They catch each other's eyes while Clarke bites her lip and smiles. The girl presses their heads together and it grows intense again. They’re both breathing hard, practically sharing the same breath with how close they’re pressed together, but Clarke doesn't want to be anywhere other than in this intoxicating stranger’s arms. This stranger who feels like she knows everything about Clarke's body while moving together. Clarke has a vague inkling that her friends might be waiting for her to come back. Fuck it. She’s content right here, right now, focused on this girl.

It gets a little intense, Clarke can feel the moment building but wants to stretch it out. Wants to stretch this anticipation even longer. That’s always been the best part of a first kiss. So when Val dips her chin to kiss her, she spins. Presses her back against Val’s chest, feels her groan as her ass settles against her hips. It all feels new and exciting but strangely comforting. Familiar. Hands on hips guide her, trace her thighs and belly, move to grab her own hands and link their fiingers together as they sway. It feels... intimate. More than it should. But Clarke welcomes it. Then Val noses her hair aside, maybe drops a kiss to her neck and nuzzles closer. Then whispers in her ear, "Do you want to get out of here?"

“God, yes.” Clarke’s almost ashamed at how needy her voice comes out, how quickly she signals to her friends that she’s leaving. But she looks into forest green eyes that are so dark they’re almost black and realizes, maybe she’s not the only one as affected by their connection.

“I only live a few blocks away,” Clarke admits, making it very clear where she wants this night to go.

The walk back to Clarke’s apartment is full of heated looks. They don’t stop touching the entire way, whether it’s entwined fingers, an arm slung around shoulders, or tucked into a back pocket. By the time Clarke opens her front door, she’s aching with need. She barely has time to enter the apartment before she finds herself pressed against her own front door. One of them lets out a low groan. Clarke’s not entirely sure it wasn’t her, but things escalate from there. Her jacket is tossed to the floor along with Val’s t-shirt.

Clarke feels a tongue glide against her bottom lip and opens to meet it against full pouty lips, when she’s suddenly kissing at air.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have ambushed you like that.”

“I was very into it. No need to apologize,” Clarke responds, suddenly cold without her jacket and the weight and warmth of another person against her.

“I just…We’re both pretty drunk. I want to make sure you want this.” She looks nervous, and Clarke steps forward to reassure, “I am more shots than I can count in, but I can assure you, this is exactly what I want.”

Clarke cups a strong jawline and leans back in to kiss. It’s chaste and sweet, “But if it makes you feel better, we can have some water, sober up a little bit, and then return to this.”

She nods, and Clarke brings her into her tiny kitchen to get them each a glass of water.

“So, you mentioned you made a big sale?”

“My first official painting sale,” Clarke responds in triumph.

“What was it of?”

“Want to see a picture?” Clarke pulls out her phone to get a photo of it. Clarke watches the girl’s eyes roam over the screen, asking if she can hold the phone to zoom in on different areas. She looks enthralled and Clarke’s chest puffs with pride. She smiles at the small birthmark painted on the right hip, and Clarke’s starts to talk about how she likes to add small details like that to make it more personal. While the piece doesn’t give away who the model is by face, the imperfect splotch is a fingerprint in and of itself.

Val takes a deep breath before returning Clarke’s phone, “It’s beautiful. Was it hard to let go of the painting?”

“I know that’s the whole point-- selling your art to avoid the whole starving artist thing, but still. It’s hard. Letting go of the painting. I miss it every day.”

“She must have been someone special.”

“It’s interesting, actually. Every portrait I’ve done, my best work, is always someone real. Friends. Family. A stranger who sat for me. I remember all of them. But I cannot for the life of me remember who she was.”

“Maybe you dreamed of her.”

“Maybe. I’ve never been one who remembers my dreams though. You remind me of the painting, actually.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I think so. You just have the same energy as that painting. I’d look at it and I'd get this warm, soft feeling. I don’t remember who she was, but I remember that feeling. Maybe I should have included her face…”

A deep blush rises on sharp cheekbones, and Clarke smiles then continues, “She was also naked and insanely hot, as evidenced by this,” she says gesturing to the erotic pose of the model, “and if I’ve proven my sobriety to you at this point, I’d really like to get to the point where you remind me of the painting for that reason too.”

There were no more words. No need for such things. Not when Clarke was pulled so easily into this girl's orbit. Not when she had a long neck on display and she could be distracted by the way this girl moaned and writhed when it was kissed. Not when she slid shorts down to find a familiar shape on her right hip. Not when she had a pretty girl between her own legs drawing patterns with her tongue. Not when she felt the bed dip late at night and a quiet re-collection of clothing. That was how Clarke ignored the gnawing feeling of forgetting her muse, and that was a better way to spend her time.

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

Clarke wakes up in tangled sheets and a pounding headache. Her muscles are sore in strange places and she swears if that bird doesn’t shut up, she’s going to shoot it. Nothing should be that chipper in the morning.

Clarke manages to squint open a single eye and grope the top of the bedside table for her phone. She has 63 unread messages from Octavia and Raven.

Raven: Did you get some?

Octavia: You told us you were leaving with, and I quote “a goddess”

Raven: Was she a good lay?

Raven: Was she hot?

Raven: Was she everything you wanted?

Raven: Did you fuck her in the bathroom?

Raven: I am soooooooo drunk. I don’t even remember what she looked like.

Raven: Send nudes.

Raven: Of her. We’ve both seen your stuff.

Octavia: Ray, they’re probably still busy 😏

What are they talking about? Clarke’s pretty sure she would remember going home with a goddess. Although… her sheets are pretty twisted… she is naked… and there’s a glass of water and some ibuprofen on her nightstand that she certainly didn’t have the wherewithal to set out last night. Did she go home with someone?

She types out a response.

Clarke: I honestly don’t remember anything about last night.

Someone looking for a quick fuck, who sneaks out before the other person wakes up doesn’t leave water and ibuprofen out for them. Confused, Clarke shrugs on a shirt from the floor and surveys the apartment. No one in her bathroom. No forgotten clothing. She checks a mirror. No hickeys. Then why does she have a delicious soreness in her thighs? Why is her left forearm a bit achey? There are two water glasses sitting on her kitchen counter. What happened last night?

#clexa #lexa #clarke griffin #the invisible life of addie larue #clexa au

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poolpaintsydney · 5 months

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andrecoatings · 1 year

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poolpaintmelbourne · 2 years

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it-begins-with-rain · 9 months

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House Flipper currently on sale on Steam for 90% off main game, most DLC around 40% off, or you can get the entire game and DLC bundled for 60% off!

You can search the tag 'house flipper' to see screen shots of the game.

House Flipper is an ultra-casual (literally no time limit, no difficulty) home renovation game. You are given junk homes that you renovate however you wish (you can just clean up the dirt or do a full makeover including furnishing), sell for a profit, and move on to the next home!

Things you can do:

Renovate 76-77++ homes, including 3 empty lots you can build on.

Around holidays they usually add a themed house (Dracula's castle for Halloween, Scrooges home for Christmas, the Dragon Ball Z house with dragon balls hidden around, the apartments from FRIENDS, etc.)

The homes you buy, in their 'need flipping' state, may include cockroaches, HOWEVER there is an option on the menu to turn those into shards of glass instead.

Add/Remove all internal walls.

Add External walls to increase the size of a house or build from scratch.

Change ceiling design

Change interior and exterior flooring, with hundreds of combinations of patterns and colors.

Change interior wall designs by laying tiles, paint, wallpaper, pannels, or bricks.

Lighting, plumbing, air conditioning, heating- build whatever you want, exactly where you want it.

Some houses have survivalist bunkers you get to design and stock

Full gardening capabilities-- plant hundreds of varieties and colors of plants, trees, shrubs, decorative grass, farming crops, home garden crops, and more.

Landscaping- including swimming pools, water features, hundreds of options/colors of outdoor furniture design. Lawnmowing and weed whacking as well.

Thousands of home items in many colors to design any room of the house you could possibly want, and tens of thousands of more items available for download from the community page on the Steam Store.

#house flipper

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dbgdbw · 2 years

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216화

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(Stay) There, Just As You Are

‘It’s still ‘Partner,’ at least.’

Let us reevaluate our relationship, owing to a lack of qualification, was what I’d assumed he’d say. No, the reason he’d called me out like this, might be for that reason still. I hadn’t heard anything else after that, and it’d been radio silence all day today as well.

Though my thoughts were becoming complicated, I forced myself to try not to think too deeply about it, and sent a reply asking where I should go.

The only thing I could do was paint on a facade. When I could only barely manage that, what did you expect me to do.

---

“I have to go meet with the Seseung Guild Leader for a moment.”

At my words, Yoohyunie made a sour expression. Approaching me, my dongsaeng carefully searched my face.

“There’s no need to push yourself. Even if we were to have a falling out with Seseung Guild, it’s not to the point where we’d be powerless to fight back. If it’s now, we could definitely take them on.”

“Falling out, why would that be a concern. The Seseung Guild Leader has no reason to bother doing something that might put both the mount trainer and forge owner out of reach. It’s no big deal.”

Yeah, it probably wouldn’t be anything. I just wasn’t very confident, that was all. But honestly, wasn’t it inevitable that most people would feel inadequate in front of Sung Hyunjae, that person. It wasn’t that I was lacking, but that I was just normal.

---

Together with Yoohyunie, I set off from the guest room. The place Sung Hyunjae had called me to was a bar on the very top floor of the hotel. Perhaps the whole floor had been evacuated, as we didn’t encounter anyone after getting off of the elevator. The wall at the end of the wide hallway was fashioned of glass. Beyond the glass panel, the surface of the rooftop pool was glittering a bluish hue under the lights.

“I’ll be waiting outside.”

“No need. If the Seseung Guild Leader has any conscience, he’ll at least see me back, most likely.”

Instead of answering, my dongsaeng sat down on one of the chairs placed at intervals along the hallway. Though I’d anticipated he’d do as much.

“Call for me if anything happens, hyung.”

“Will do.”

It did reassure me, too. I opened the door that was inlaid with antique patterns. The bar was a bit dim, with a glass pane comprising the side of the wall that faced the swimming pool. The overall interior design was done in a western fashion, but the flowerbeds outside were populated by bamboo plants, and there was a picture of a woman in Japanese clothes and Japanese-style ornaments on the wall. Pick one thing at a time, just one. It was too discordant.

“This way.”

Sung Hyunjae was standing behind the long bar counter. Lights shining from behind him, and with the sparkling of the glasses. As long as the alcohol didn’t taste like poison, he could probably turn a tidy enough profit with just his face. …just going by how I’d seen the Japanese reacting, it seemed like they’d line up as long as drinking it wouldn’t kill them.

Thinking back to the fawning broadcasts, my heart calmed to a degree. The lightning god’s cocktail, with an electrifying taste(1). Ah, wait, I’d end up laughing at this rate. …for Yoohyunie, maybe something that was an ice-cold blue, that would be lit on fire? Would something like that work. Yerimie’s… Wait, I needed to stop thinking about useless things. I couldn’t let those Japanese broadcasts keep brainwashing me.

“It seems like Seseung Guild must be lacking in funds nowadays, with its Guild Leader-nim having to work a second job.”(2)

I realized my error mid-sentence, but ended up finishing it anyway. At least I hadn’t gone and called him ‘thunder god.’ I’ll increase your sales, so why don’t you craft up a voltaic one and send it over, oh-thunder-god. Please provide some self-BGM, too.

“Your mood certainly seems much improved.”

Sung Hyunjae said, indicating that I should sit down. I sat down on the stool that had been placed in front of the bar. Like this, it seemed like I really would have to order something, but to do that, I’d have to know the selection. Did they only serve cocktails here? Would peanuts be provided, or not.

“The broadcasts shown here have been entertaining. And Amaterasu Guild has been delightful as well.”

Mister Lion King and Japanese samurai-ssi were both amusing. Thinking about how Yerimie would crush them underfoot, it became even more entertaining. I should’ve made a placard too.

Sung Hyunjae set an empty glass down in front of me. With the ease of someone who had been working here for a long time, he added this and that to the shaker. The tempo of the silver container in motion unintentionally caught my eye. A brightly colored lime green drink was smoothly poured into the glass with nary a sound, and a decorative straw dropped in afterwards.

Its appearance made you think that it might just be juice, and it actually was sweet, too. Pretty tasty.

“You wouldn’t have called me here simply to drink this, sir, so what business is it that you wish to discuss.”

Because the inside of my mouth tasted sweet, it became even more bitter. Wasn’t this a case of carrot-and-stick.

“I thought to make an offer to you.”

A card was placed next to the cocktail glass. It was a black credit card.

“You wouldn’t have been able to continue using the old one.”

“Are you suggesting throwing out the partnership, and returning to how things were before?”

Because I’d anticipated it to a certain point, it wasn’t surprising.

“I will agree to annul the partnership, but will not accept the card(3).”

Just a guild leader and the director of the rearing facilities. That sort of outcome was fine. In actuality, going to the hassle of being partners or whatever wasn’t something necessary anyway. And it didn’t seem like he would turn on us after coming this far, now, either. At the very least, wouldn’t he still agree to cooperate.

“Let’s leave it at drawing up a simple contract, for both of our benefits. Since Sung Hyunjae-ssi wouldn’t wish to see Seseung decline, either.”

I suddenly remembered the first time we’d met. He’d treated me like an object to be won, since back then. I’d treated it like it was a joke, and other people had dismissed it as a gag as well, but. Then the following three months. It hadn’t been that long a period of time.

I’d thought that I would stand to benefit, if we were able to get closer. More than anything else, if he became part of our side, it would be immensely reassuring. Sung Hyunjae had been the number one Hunter in the rankings, just as a baseline, and I still thought I’d be remiss to let the ability to use the Teacher Skill to share his battle foresight slip from our grasp. Not to mention the wide influence he exerted overseas.

And, in addition. Well, other things, et cetera, outside of that too.

Reviewing everything again made me start to feel a bit depressed. Though it was because I was lacking, so what could I do about it.

“...your tenacity is immensely frailer than I had imagined, sir.”

Eventually, the curt words ended up coming out, and Sung Hyunjae opened his mouth.

“The opposite, rather. I’ve been continuing to hold myself back.”

“‘Continuing’? I do apologize for being such a nuisance of an F-rank, that tries your patience so.”

I’d no idea you were holding back so much. For having vexed him, I’d have to kowtow for forgiveness, it seemed like.

“I could always question you by force. Regarding the demeanor I cannot understand. About everything that Han Yoojin-goon is hiding.”

Saying that he didn’t make a habit of leaving his curiosity unanswered, he gave an easy smile.

“However, I do cherish Han Yoojin-goon.”

“So what is it that you’re suggesting, sir.”

“A guardianship, you could call it. My offer.”

Sung Hyunjae turned, starting down the length of the bar.

“When your interior shows through, you crumble as you cannot withstand the exposure. In which case, what must be developed is a foundation, and not a facade. Investing the time for meticulous construction, so it will stand firm. So that you may endure, even if the things that you hold in your heart are all hollowed out.”

Turning the corner, he came out from behind the bar and approached me. I briefly contemplated just getting up, before turning only my chair to face him. The silent footsteps came to a stop in front of me.

“So, what you’re proposing—is that you would become that support, for me.”

Though why would it be you(4), of all people. I had my dongsaeng and others, friends, who were tantamount to family, already.

“Reliance on others is not necessarily detrimental. As we hardly live alone in the world, it may even be a sound course of action. However, one must possess a sound foundation before doing so. Because in the center of everything is the ‘self.’ If one is unable to regulate oneself, then everything else will likewise fall apart.”

“...are you suggesting, perhaps, that I should take up the ilk of cultivation(5)?”

“Han Yoojin-goon already ascribes plenty of blame and reproach towards himself as things stand, do you not. Rather than being further self-reflection, it should be rest that you require.”

“I’m afraid my schedule isn't quite so leisurely, sir.”

“I can create an environment for you that will be conducive to rest. Flawlessly, meticulously.”

Sung Hyunjae said kindly, coaxingly.

“If only you were to accept my offer.”

He crouched down. Setting one knee against the floor, he brought himself below my eye level. The same way an adult would lower their body to meet a young child eye-to-eye, so as to refrain from being perceived as threatening.

Even though I’d leaned on him a bit during that while, did he really have to take it that far.

“To remind you in case you’ve forgotten, sir, I am twenty five. I may not have very many years, but I am an adult, and I started working from a young age as well. Owing to that, I do have much more life experience than might have been otherwise indicated.”

Since I was thirty, in actuality. I definitely wasn’t young.

“There is no need to approach me as though I were a kid without a guardian.”

“Adult or child, they’re both only human. Sorrow, happiness, and all the others—they feel those emotions the same. It’s merely that the process of growing up adds more and more tasks and responsibilities, one by one. Unable to weep when you desire, and unable to laugh when you feel the urge without checking your surroundings first.”

“Because that’s what being an adult entails.”

If you lived doing just whatever you wanted, how could that count as a proper adult. Without the unconditional protection afforded to a young child, you had to be prepared to endure this and that in order to live. Forcing your eyes open, even if you don’t want to get up early in the morning; going to work, even when you wanted to rest; learning how to laugh things off, even if you loathed even just the sight of your boss’s face; and knowing how to resist buying whatever you want to eat, because you have to match it with the status of your bank account.

Even though I’d started a bit earlier than the average. Though I’d had to take responsibility and hold back, just a little earlier.

“There’s no need for you to take responsibility, or to repress yourself.”

The saccharine words felt cloying enough to rot teeth.

“With no need to care about anything, wherever your fancy may take you. You’ll be able to do anything, to your heart’s desire. No one will interfere. Without having to worry about the gazes of others, without having to take responsibility. It’ll be alright to see only what you want to see, and only hear what you want to hear.”

“Eh… So what you’re proposing, sir, is for me to simply become something you own(6).”

“‘Guardian’ and ‘ward.’ A relationship where you can break away for independence at any time, once you’ve grown strong enough to stand on your own.”

It was difficult to understand. Why he was behaving like this towards me, more than anything else.

“Really, what a disconcertingly gracious offer you��re making, sir. What price are you thinking of. And don’t say something like ‘there isn’t one.’”

“Once Han Yoojin-goon is capable of doing so. I would like to hear everything, then.”

“...is that all? Let’s say that you really are holding back, despite possessing the means to make me talk. But to play at being my guardian, and then saying that you’ll wait for me? Really, sir, why are you doing this?”

“Because I wish to do so.”

At the simple response, I lost any words of rebuttal I had. Not even for my sake, but because he just felt like it. It really was very much like him(7). To think that it turned out to be something that I didn’t even need to worry about.

“...to be honest, it does appeal to me somewhat.”

If Sung Hyunjae were to commit himself entirely to using everything at his disposal to act as my guardian, there probably wouldn’t be a more perfect form of protection. It was to the point where I couldn’t even quite envision it, myself.

It would have been an extremely satisfying, happiness-filled life.

If only I hadn’t regressed.

“But Sung Hyunjae-ssi. It’s too late.”

The me now, couldn’t accept something like that. At the same time, that was also why Sung Hyunjae would even bother to hold back and offer me his help like this. If I’d been one to give up and accept the offer of rest, then I probably wouldn’t have even received his attention in the first place. The irony was somewhat laughable.

“Ten years—no, twenty years ago, you should’ve contacted me then, sir. When I was about six or seven. I probably would’ve agreed to follow you, back then. With my dongsaeng in tow, too.”

“Apologies. I was yet callow then, myself.”

“Even so, thank you.”

Rising from my seat, I held my hand out towards him. Sung Hyunjae took my hand and, even though he didn’t rely on me at all, still held on as he stood back up.

“Since your restraint supposedly knows no bounds, please continue to take care of me in the future, Partner-ssi.”

My heart became a step lighter. Sung Hyunjae looked down at me. Looking down at him hadn’t been bad, either, but this eye level was more familiar, after all. He displayed an exaggeratedly disappointed expression.

“Even when I resolve myself to take the prerogative to offer, it seems to merely push them further away.”

“What do you mean, by ‘them.’ Aside from myself, you’ve made this sort of offer to others as well, sir?”

“Not to such a scope, but I’d previously proposed to Chief Song Taewon that I would unobtrusively look after him.”

“You were kicked to the curb(8), I assume.”

“Since then, I’ve simply been overt about my protection over him.”

Wouldn’t that kind of conduct just draw ire regarding fraternization between politics and business. Though Section Chief Song would probably prefer that. It was difficult to discern, but it really did seem like he was doing well by Section Chief Song, in actuality. It was just a very ambiguous, dubious kind of ‘treating well.’

“Considering it a token of Seseung’s Guild Leader-nim’s sincerity, I’ll keep this with me, for in case of emergencies.”

I picked up the card that had been placed next to the glass. I didn’t have any intentions of using it willy-nilly as I’d done before. It was just a souvenir of sorts now, should I say.

Saying that there was no need to see me off because my dongsaeng was waiting for me, I started to head out—but, before leaving the bar completely. I turned back to look at Sung Hyunjae.

“Since you’ve magnanimously showcased your generosity already, I’d like to ask something of you, sir.”

“Go on.”

“Please stay, as you are. Without changing, or disappearing. Just like that.”

Until I can climb up to that spot, the words caught before they could leave my mouth. I still didn’t have the confidence to declare something like that so brazenly. Even back on the cruise ship, it would’ve been difficult to behave so boldly, had I been alone.

“And if you can, refrain from dying, as well.”

“Certainly.”

As though we were only making a dinner promise, it was an exceedingly easy answer.

---

When I came outside, Yoohyunie was standing there waiting for me.

“You weren’t even sitting.”

“I stood up, after hearing footsteps.”

It wouldn’t be that he’d happened to overhear what we’d said inside, right. Though there was no chance that Sung Hyunjae wouldn’t have checked on it beforehand.

“It really wasn’t anything much. Should we go to the guest room and order some room service? I’m feeling kind of hungry.”

I’d eaten well at dinner, but because I’d spent so long in the baths, my stomach was empty again.

“Your mood, seems to be good.”

Yoohyunie mumbled faintly. Ho, look at this punk.

“Are you being jealous of the Seseung Guild Leader again? I told you, there’s no need for that. To me, you’ll always come first.”

Even everything now, was only made possible through my dongsaeng.

“No matter what anyone says, no matter what might happen, Yoohyunie, you’re my most important.”

So don’t be upset, and let’s have a midnight snack together instead. Nodding, my dongsaeng smiled. The room service menu… probably wouldn’t be in Korean, right? Would I have to call for a guide.

---

As soon as I woke up in the morning, I let out a long yawn with a sleepy face. As it was a nice hotel, the bedding was comfortable, but I still wasn’t able to catch much sleep. It seemed that I’d fallen asleep late, since it was after I’d asked a guide for a translated table of channel listings.

My intent had been to study up on the Japanese Hunter world, but.

‘To claim that there’s a pink-tinged atmosphere between Yoohyunie and Yerimie.’

It would’ve been a bruise-black killing intent, most likely. No, killing intent was a bit much. At any rate, ‘pink-tinged’ was definitely some bullshit. An invigorating green light of friendship, was still out of reach, so to say it was pink……(9) And on top of that, Yerimie was still a minor. Plus, at five years, that was still a significant age gap. If you really had to pair them up, then Noah would’ve been the better choice.

‘But at least those two options were reasonable in comparison.’

What had really horrified me most was none other than Sung Hyunjae and Kang Soyoung. These lunatics, how could they put a kid and an ahjussi together? The shit they said about the ‘young golden-haired girl from England and the guild leader’ and how they might be involved in a deeper relationship, it was enough to make me want to report the broadcasting station. And why did they keep calling her ‘English.’ Soyoung-ssi was a dual citizen, and her place of residence was Korea, alright?

‘Even if love is supposed to transcend age, nationality, race, and gender, if you weren’t an animal, the younger side should still be late twenties at minimum!’

And even that was stretching it a fair bit, and it really should be thirty at the very least. It was only when you had a certain amount of life experience and the resolve to take charge of your own life, that something like age is just a number! could possibly be argued. Didn’t you have a conscience, acting this way with a kid.

Either way, I was opposed to this matchup! It was already iffy, even if he were to be paired with Moon Hyuna-ssi. Or there was Evelyn-ssi, still. Well, though Sung Hyunjae did seem to see Kang Soyoung as just a kid. Kang Soyoung definitely wouldn’t have been a candidate, but he probably had dated around at some point. I felt curious despite myself.

---

I thought about just ordering room service, but eventually decided that it would be better to eat with everyone else, and headed downstairs for breakfast. Yerimie, Noah, and Moon Hyuna, who had gone shopping during the night, had brought a large assortment of items with them. Among them were knockoff plushies of Peace and Chirpie. I decided to pack the Chirpie doll in order to pass it off to Haeyeon’s legal team at a later date.

“There’s a Hunter-use shopping mall too!”

“A Hunter market? We already discussed that yesterday.”

“Nope, it’s Hunter good that are marketed to regular people. They were selling things like pictures and bromides(9). A bunch of lion plushies were stacked up, too.”

…like celebrity promides, or something? I suddenly remembered the homemade dolls of Yoohyunie and Yerimie I’d seen yesterday. They’d been really cute. If there was time, maybe I would go take a look.

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(1) ‘찌릿찌릿한 맛’ → ‘찌릿찌릿’ is onomatopoeic word for a ‘shocking’ feeling that affects the body, so it’s more tagline-y like ‘zip-zappy taste’ in kr

(2) from this point onwards, you’ll want to take a look at this handy document for context on how to read the rest of the scene; reminder that shj speaks in ‘하게체’ and yj uses ‘합쇼체/해요체’ with him (generally)

(3) if ur up-to-date on daytime k-drama cliches, u’ll get that what yj is referencing are those scenarios where one party gets ‘paid off’ to leave the other one alone etc. (like so (parody example, has cc) and so), except in this case the ‘go back to before’ that precedes it means that yj takes it as accepting the card = accepting continued dependency (aka taking a step back to move back to the same level (below) as ‘Item,’ rather than ‘Partner’). so when he rejects it at first, it’s basically the same as saying ‘i’ll annul the partnership without taking your damn pay-off money/demotion back to ‘below’ you’, like in 193, when he asserted to shj that ‘a situation where things return to before will not occur.’

(4) ‘댁’

(5) ‘자기수행’ → ‘self-discipline’ like the (repetitive) ritual practices monks do for cultivating purpose

(6) ‘어... 그냥 댁 소유물 되라는 소리 아닙니까.’

‘uh... so, essentially, you’re just telling me that i should become your property.’

the word used when mentioning being sung hyunjae’s ‘property’ or ‘belonging’ (re: ‘My Item’) is ‘소유물’, which is the word for ‘property/belonging’ but for inanimate object use; if you use it at all to refer to people, you use this to refer to slaves/chattel, i.e. ‘property’. in other words, the emphasis isn’t on the ‘my’ part of ‘my Item’, but the ‘Item(objectifying)’ aspect, implying he doesn’t see him as an autonomous entity/person.

(7) yj refers to shj as ‘저 인간’ aka ‘that human (being)’ often (internally, bc it’s implying that jackass), but i typically have to translate it a different way (e.g. ‘he/him,’ ‘that person/guy’), so i’m marking it here as part of the ‘othering’ language yj uses at him that gets ‘lost’ in translation

(8) ‘차이셨겠네요’ → 차였다 → word used for being broken up with/rejected (relationship)

(9) 브로마이드 → bromide/promide

(10) abt kr words for color, and what they express…

+ (Q&A) https://twitter.com/Chayunnn1020/status/1540676362943401985?s=20

Q) in the many lives that he’s lived, has sung hyunjae ever dated or gotten married?

A) perhaps in his first life, or at the very early stages when he was just starting to be planted; but after a while, he came to nearly lack that kind of desire altogether. part of it is also because he’s unconsciously aware of his own circumstances (i.e. being bound to crescent moon).

#216화 #the s classes that i raised #tsctir #sctir

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