#Undescribed Images

[thenixkat]

[ID: the meme image of a very large book with a high page count next to a small book with a very small page count.

The large book is captioned "Shit I remember about the character" and the small book is captioned "shit the writers remember about the character." End ID]

[equidae-canidae]

Choctaw horse

[verdantmeadows]

....PEOPLE THINK OTAYURI ISN'T CANON? THEY THINK IT'S AN ENTIRELY FANON SHIP? WHAT? DID WE WATCH THE SAME ANIME? DID WE WATCH THE SAME WELCOME TO THE MADNESS?

DID WE NOT WATCH THE SAME WELCOME TO THE MADNESS??? PEOPLE THINK THAT IT'S JUST FANON? WHAT?? WHAT? I'M SO SHOCKED

DID WE ALL NOT SEE THE SAME SERIES???

[novella-november]

Okay, gardening stuff is done (plus it is way too hot outside for late October, thanks climate change), so, here's a quick tutorial on how to use the Navigator function in Libreoffice to organize your writing :)

Don't have Libreoffice yet?

Download the free, open-source writing processor here! :)

Once you've got Libre opened up, you'll probably be greeted with a generic New Document, like this:

To get the most of out taking notes and references, as well as just generally organizing your story (especially if you have it all in one master document), you'll want to use the Outline / Navigator function!

To get started, go up to the "View" drop down menu from the very top of the document (third option from the left) and in the drop-down menu, go all the way down and select "Navigator" (fourth from the bottom).

.Click it, and ta-dah! You now have your Navigator menu open.

You can re-size it by dragging the right-hand side to show more or less of it at any time, and I think you can move it to elsewhere in the document, but I use it where the default view is, so that's what I'll show here.

At first, it'll be empty:

But that is easy enough to fix!

To learn the ropes, type in a few example sentences in your document on seperate lines labeled 1 through 5.

As you type the first line labeled 1, highlight the sentence, and go to the Styles menu (shown below) and select "Heading 1"

Go head and type the other 4 sentences labeled 2, 3,4, & 5, changing each one's Style to the equivalent Heading (Heading 2, Heading 3, Heading 4, and Heading 5, accordingly)

(To do it more quickly with keyboard shortcuts, you can do CTRL + [Heading Number] to quickly change to a Heading, by doing CTRL+1, CTRL+2, etc)

until your document looks like this:

Notice how your Navigator now has different tiered categories, which you can collapse to hide the lower headings, which will nest together on the Navigator underneath higher level headings.

So, how is this useful?

If you have a document dedicated to Outlining your novel, you can now easily organize and find your information by sorting them by categories and subcategories, like below:

Here's what it looks like when most of the categories are collapsed:

And, of course, when you're writing your story all in one Master Document, being able to easily navigate to different chapters is essential!

Here's an example:

If you need to make notes for editing later, such as:

[Add a description of location here]

[Come up with a fantasy animal here]

[rewrite this scene so its more clear]

[Skipped this scene from writers block, come back and redo]

etc

You can simply add these notes in as Heading 3 (or one-tier lower according to how you're organizing your document) to make it show up as a sub-heading inside the chapter to easily find it again :D

Obviously, 99% of works are going to have Tables of Contents much less chaotic than this example lol:

[theharrowing]

White Lies 3: There you are

Yoongi is everything you could ask for. He is attractive, confident, and smart. And his partner Taehyung is as possessive as he is beautiful. Too bad a relationship would be a major conflict of interest.

You need to have them, at all costs.

🤍 Yoongi x Female Reader x Taehyung

🤍 word count: 9k + screencaps of conversations

🤍 college au, cop au, partial social media au with a lot of written story, strangers to lovers & established relationship, yandere, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, angst, slash, poly, minor character injury & death, graphic violence, nsfw, 21+.

🤍 warnings: the morning after being drugged (forensics test is done, see more info in note below). kissing, phone sex (sort of), masturbation (sort of), semi-explicit thoughts. mc is a bit of a mess but she's our mess. 😤

🤍 note: wow hi sorry for the 16 months in between updates 😅 to say life has been hectic is an understatement. reminder: mc's fake name is Sandra. she won't be called this throughout the entire fic but we are still establishing relationships. also Taehyung & Yoongi have all kinds of aliases for now - that will also change soon. hang in there!!! i had to redo all the screencaps for the earlier chapters and while doing so i reworded some messages & provided a little more context, so if you feel like you want a refresher, go check those chapters out! Josie's character calls mc "bella" which is pronounced like "beya".

🤍 also note: mc has a forensics examination done to test for sexual assault. in the biz/true crime media it's called a rape kit. this is done off screen and there are not a lot of details provided but if you still feel the need to skip those bits, please do so. 💜 your safety comes first. i can happily tell you any details you might miss in those bits if you want, you can even dm me on anon and ask. this goes for any possible triggers in anything i write.

🤍 this is a sequel to Boy Blue! i highly recommend that you start at the beginning!!!

🤍 beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🤍 posted april 2025 | read on ao3

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

*

Waking up with a splitting headache is cause enough for concern, but sitting up in your bed and realizing you have no idea how you got here or what time it is, is worse. Instantly, your body goes into panic mode, tensing up and taking inventory of any aches and pains, trying to determine what it went through. 

As you sit up some pretty stark hints begin to reveal themselves. For one, you are fully clothed. Both of your phones are with you – one on your pillow and the other in your pocket – and your purse is on your bedside table along with a full glass of water. 

You remember sharing a drink with Cody and then the details become fuzzy. There is a split moment in your memory where you think you can picture yourself standing in front of a soda dispenser holding onto tiny paper cups filled with ketchup, but when did you go to a place with ketchup? And were you alone?

You reach for the phone that is on your pillow to see what it can offer in terms of hints. Two calls were received from an unknown number at 10:49 and at 11:24. The first of the two calls was not answered but the other one was, and you were on the call for just under three minutes. 

Could that have been Cody? But why was he calling you?

You sit up and fish your actual phone from your pocket. Seokjin has already sent a text this morning and you bypass it for now; it is still early enough that you can feign being asleep while you continue to sort this mess out. In fact, your 8:00 alarm still has ten minutes before it goes off, giving you plenty of time to go into detective mode before your 10:20 class this morning.

You open up the app that monitors both your doorbell camera and the camera that is tucked away in your living room bookshelf, and you select the last capture that was made from your hallway at 11:25. The video that pops up makes your heart sink. 

Closing your apartment door, with his head down enough that his black baseball hat obstructs his face, is Cody. The camera captures him saying, "I have left your humble abode," before he turns and walks to the stairs. 

What was Cody doing at your apartment? You only had two drinks and a shot; how could you have gotten so drunk that you forgot about this?

You select the second to last clip and sure enough, there you are stepping up to the door with your head tipped forward, muttering, "Thank you. Small gold key." Cody unlocks your apartment door and then you both enter. 

This feels wrong. Your hands tremble as you back out of this camera and select the one in the living room. It is a little more sensitive to motion and sound, and you are unsurprised when you click on the last video and it is eight minutes long. 

In the footage the two of you enter the apartment – you stumbling over your steps and him as calm and collected as can be. You kick out of your boots, flinging them to the side while propping yourself against the wall, and he has a hand on your arm to keep you steady, then he toes from his sneakers, saying, “Just want to get you a glass of water, okay?”

You are the first to hobble away, in the direction of your bedroom. Cody pulls his phone from his pocket, thumbs around like he is sending a message, and then his phone's flashlight comes on, shining directly into the camera but not bright enough to obstruct the image of him. He looks up as if surprised by the mistake, muttering, "Shit," as he pans his phone left to right rather quickly, and then he shuts it off and walks deeper into the apartment. Your heart pounds as he disappears from the frame and you listen intently for whatever comes next.

It is a relief when you hear the kitchen sink running, then you hear the sound of a cabinet door closing. The water shuts off and you hear the faint sounds of footsteps, followed by seconds of silence and then distant voices. Although you are unable to make out what the two of you say from the end of the hallway – presumably from your bedroom – you are able to pick up on the tone of your voice, which is even and calm. His voice is too soft and deep to hear clearly.

Minutes pass and then footsteps can be heard coming back down the hallway. You think that you can hear him say, "It was nice meeting you, Sandra," and then he comes into frame speaking into his phone. This must be the second phone call. 

"Sorry the night ended this way," he says as he continues to the front door. “If you ever want drinks and a burger again let me know. I’m just a short cab ride away.” 

He steps into his shoes as he speaks, wiggling his heel into place. Then he reaches for the front door, opens it, and hovers. You watch as he stands perfectly still for a couple of seconds and then turn back around. His gaze appears to be scanning the room, but for what, you are unable to say. And although you know that the camera is hidden well within your bookshelf, you could swear he looks into it and stares for just another second. Then he turns back around, reaches into his pocket, and pulls out your keys. He hangs them onto a hook and then walks out, quietly shutting the door behind him. 

"What the fuck?" you mutter under your breath. 

Something about this night is not right and you immediately thumb through your phone and dial Josie. She should be on her way to the lab right now and you hope that she is alone. 

Josie picks up on the third ring. "Good morning, sunshine!"

"Josie," you mutter, squeezing your eyes closed. "Can you…fuck. Do you think you can do a blood test for me?"

Through a chuckle, Josie asks, "A blood test?"

"And maybe a urine test? I think I was drugged last night."

"Whoa whoa, slow down," Josie says, voice laced with concern. "What happened? Did you meet what's-his-face on a date?"

"Vante, no. I didn't meet him. I mean, I went to meet him but I think he stood me up." You sound frantic, and as you speak, sweat pools on your forehead and palms. "I ended up chatting with some other guy instead and we shared a drink and a shot, but I blacked out."

"I mean, you are a lightweight," she chides, making you chuckle nervously. This is Josie's way: to tease you until you feel less frantic. And it works. Your shoulders drop and you shake your head, letting out a deep breath. 

"I know,” you laugh somewhat forcefully, allowing the faintest of smiles. "But this is different. I swear I didn't drink very much. I wasn't out for more than a few hours but I know I nursed my drinks. And we only had one shot."

"Have you told Seokjin?" 

You grimace, feeling awkward as you admit, "No."

Josie hums, then says, "I'm actually not at the lab right now. Special Victims needed me to process something for one of their cases, but they have me over in Queens for the day."

"Shit," you mutter, feeling hopeless.

"Oh, I know! I'll call the nurse at your school and speak with them. I'll tell them that you have already met with a case worker about getting a forensics kit done and let them know that you will be coming in. They should be able to get you situated. I will swing by on my way back to the office in a few hours and take care of it for you."

Although you are certain you were not assaulted, you agree with Josie's offer to have a full forensics kit done, which includes a rather thorough examination. You just hope that you will be able to keep it all under wraps and that nothing will be reported to any of the higher-ups. You are not one hundred percent clear about who on campus knows that you are an agent and who thinks you are a student. As far as you have been able to glean, only the dean has spoken in a way that suggests he is in on it. But part of keeping your persona in check is not actively seeking confirmation that someone is unaware; you operate as if everyone is.

Still, it is too good of an offer to pass up. "Thanks, lovely," you say with a smile. 

"Anything for you, bella," Josie sing-songs, making you smile even harder. 

You say your goodbyes and get ready for the day. In case something happened last night, you keep the same clothing and underwear on but swap your flannel for a warm oversized blue sweater. You also pack a pair of underwear to change into once the examination is complete. 

Then you think of something to tell your boss.

For a Wednesday morning campus is packed. There is some sort of event in the quad with live music and various tables that appear covered in informative brochures and colorful freebies, but you are disinterested in what is happening. Likely, it is something to get students excited for exams, with snacks and plastic trinkets to brighten their moods. You swerve through groups of students and head straight toward the nurse's office in the centermost building on campus. In the somewhat horseshoe-shaped area, it is the building that all paths lead to. Anxiety simmers as your heavy footfalls carry you up a short incline and through automatic sliding doors. 

Ahead and to the left is a lady sitting at a computer and you slow your steps as you make your way toward her, eyes adjusting to the dimmer indoor lights. The woman is older with curly greyish-blonde hair and she types for a while before lifting her gaze to notice you. 

"I should have an appointment with the nurse," you say, sliding your backpack from your shoulders with the intent to pull your student ID card from the smallest front pocket. 

The woman nods her head to the door behind you and says, "You can go on in."

Nervously, you nod, mutter a thanks under your breath, and bounce the fairly heavy backpack to adjust it in place on your back. As you turn to make your way into the nurse's office the edges of your vision blur and you feel your head get foggy. Now is certainly not the time for a panic attack but it is hard not to fear for the worst as you reach for a metal handle and turn, then pull the heavy wooden door open. There is a small waiting room with some black leather chairs and you glance around, wondering if you should have a seat. You are relieved to find nobody else is waiting. 

With a deep, fortifying breath, you shuffle over to a stiff armchair by a window and wait. You decide that if the tests come back with a positive result you will spill the beans to your boss and get the police involved. Either way, you are back at square one.

* * *

You were a wreck during your first two classes, barely able to focus during set design and missing so many keys in piano that you begin to worry that maybe you are not cut out for this whole undercover college student thing. And now that Josie has your samples in hand, you feel nauseated and lament going to your next class. Sure, you have experienced the stress of college before but you have never done all of this with test results looming over you. Not this kind of test, anyway.

The moment piano class is over you check your email, wondering whether Min's pupil has gotten back to you. At this point, you are less worried about the undercover job than you are about acing your piano exam. You may not actually be gunning for a degree but that does not mean you want a poor grade for all your efforts. 

There is a part of you that finds your anxiety funny. Why you are worried about grades for a fake degree is beyond you, and you chalk it up to needing something to keep your mind busy. 

Deciding you have no stomach for costume design, you shoot your professor a message letting her know that you are feeling under the weather and then quickly make your way through campus, shivering as a gust of afternoon breeze hits you. You keep your eyes on the sidewalk, clenching your phone in one hand and your black backpack strap in the other, just beside your armpit, as you walk quickly toward the bus stop. 

A short bus ride to the train station, and you pop underground for three stops before surfacing a block and a half from your apartment. Your phone buzzes to life once you come about halfway up the steps from the underground station and you check to find Josie has sent you a text. 

Josie's news has assuaged most of your concerns but you still cannot shake the fact that you blacked out, lost time, and allowed a strange man into your home. You are thankful that nothing went wrong but the fact that so many things could have gone terribly wrong weighs on you. One thing is for certain, you are not going to leave a drink unattended with a stranger ever again. And no more accepting drinks that you do not watch the bartender make and hand over, preferably directly into your own hands. These are survival tips you have always been aware of, especially in your line of work, but never have you considered that you could fall victim. 

As you dangle gold earrings in front of your pierced lobes your phone vibrates. Ordinarily, you do not hear from Josie until she is on her way to the club and you are confused by who could be contacting you this early. 

You hope beyond hope that it is not Cody. The possibility even causes your hand to stall beside your hip before you finally reach into the pocket of your tight blue jeans and pull the device out. 

The text is not from Cody, but you are just as surprised by what you find. Steeling yourself, you take in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Although you know that accepting any invitation from Vante is best for the sake of your mission, you are not eager to bend to his will whenever he commands you to.

From the way he texts, it seems clear that this man is definitely Vante. Or, at least, the man with whom you were texting when the two of you first matched on tinder. It does not assuage your indignance, but it does make you wonder whether there could be something here for you to work with. 

You think it over, weighing whether a night with this man would be worth missing a ladies night with Josie. He is your target, after all. If he is who he says he is...

You should go for it.

Your heart is a caged animal behind your ribs and you almost feel ridiculous for allowing a man to get to you the way he seems to have a knack for doing. You almost lament the thought that the deep, rough voice who spoke to you on the phone two nights ago might not be attached to this eager texter. But if it is both Vante and Min who you are communicating with then your chances of being in the company of both men seems high. You cannot even begin to wrap your head around the thought that you get butterflies like this from two separate men.

With a deep exhale you fan yourself with your hands and continue to get ready. Feeling flustered over a man who you have been instructed not to become attached to is not going to get you anywhere. 

Your phone buzzes as you apply lip gloss, this time with a text from Josie to say that she is on her way. You take in your simple outfit of a tight black tank top tucked into a white high-waisted tennis skirt, and do a little twirl, admiring the flash of thighs and the way your curves are highlighted. You grab a black silk bomber jacket with floral watercolor print and slide your feet into some loosely laced black boots, then you tuck your lipgloss, phone, and wallet into the pockets of the jacket and slide your hands inside. The walk through your building, down the steps, and out the lobby is short, and you quickly make your way to the curb with your hand out, delighted when it only takes a moment for a cab to pull over. 

The ride to the club is quick and you stare out the window, watching brick and cement buildings pass by. The streets are still busy for a Tuesday but scarce compared to the weekends, with far fewer food stalls and people milling about. Even the club is much slower and as the cab pulls to the curb you do not see anyone, including Josie, waiting outside. You suppose she has probably gone inside, so you pay for the ride with your phone, thank the driver, and get out into the cool night air. 

The music coming from the club is much tamer than it is on the weekend and you wish you had dressed a little more casually. But, of course, Josie put thoughts of Daniel in your head, and if you are being honest, it really has been far too long since you have let loose and had a little fun. 

A security guard sits on a stool just inside the door, and you pull out the ID with your fake identity to show him. Once inside, you glance around the space and find Josie leaning against the bar, holding a tall mixed drink while an identical one sits waiting for you. Although you wave to Josie, your eyes scan the bartenders. There are two women on staff and you are instantly disappointed to see that Daniel is not working. You do your best not to show your disappointment, however, approaching Josie with a pep in your step and a wide smile.

Josie holds her arms out and wiggles into a hug, swaying in a way that matches the tempo of the music playing – some indie pop song with delicate female vocals that feels out of place in a nightclub, but that fits the more relaxed vibe. 

"Damn, bella, you look cute tonight!" Josie says as she lets you go and takes a step back, eyeing your outfit. 

You roll your eyes and shake your head, attempting to be modest, while taking in her gorgeous low-cut black velvet dress with long sleeves and a short a-line skirt. The dress has shimmery stars covering its surface and you rub your hands over the shoulders, feeling as the velvet goes soft and rough beneath your palms.

"You look cute tonight," you say, squeezing Josie's shoulders before leaning against the bar and reaching for your drink. "I love this dress."

"It low-key gives Miss Frizzle," Josie says as she grabs her drink and pulls the straw to her lips. 

You laugh, nodding in appreciation of such a timeless reference. "Fitting, since you are our little science wiz."

Why Josie finds it wise to drink Long Island iced tea on Tuesday night is beyond you, and you pick up the tall thin glass and take a sip through the straw, instantly recoiling from the strength and sweetness. 

"These girls don't fuck around!" Josie says, clearly laughing at your reaction. "They don't make it as strong as Daniel but they make it sweeter."

At the mention of Daniel you must pull a minuscule enough expression for Josie to notice because she mock-pouts and says, "Aweee, are you sad the hot bartender isn't here to flirt with you and give us free drinks?"

Affronted, you scoff, hold your hand to your heart, and ask, "Excuse me?"

Josie laughs. She says, "Don't worry, I saw him around here somewhere," and you instantly look over your shoulder and begin to scan the place, trying your hardest to get a peek. 

When Josie bursts out laughing even more you sigh and realize she is just picking on you. Although you have the urge to smack your lovely friend, you pout instead and say, "Not funny."

Josie's entire face is scrunched up in delight, but she widens her eyes as if pleading with you to say, "I'm serious, though." Nodding her chin, she says, "He's right there."

At this point you are unwilling to turn and look. You are determined that Josie is making fun of you some more, and you have already worn your eagerness on your sleeve. 

So when a deep voice says, "Well, hello, there," in your ear, you gasp and flinch, causing Josie to laugh even harder. 

Daniel walks around until he is standing beside the gap between you and Josie, and you catch his gaze dropping down to your boots before he blinks and looks you in the eye. 

"Ladies," he says, smiling wide at Josie and back at you. "What brings the two of you here on a Tuesday night?"

"Great question," you mutter as you lift your strong mixed drink and take a hearty sip from the straw, filling your mouth with sugar and booze, and feeling the cold of the drink all the way down your throat. 

"I had a breakthrough at work and decided to have a drink to celebrate," Josie supplies, nice and vague. "But we probably won't be out long. I, for one, am exhausted."

This part is news to you and you widen your eyes as if to ask Josie what she is talking about. She simply ignores you, flashing her winning smile at Daniel. 

"Well I have some things to finish up here," Daniel says, cocking his head to the side, to where you assume he was before this moment. "But if you're still here in, say, twenty minutes, I would love to share a drink with you two."

You open your mouth to say that you may still be here, but Josie is louder, saying, "She will definitely be here."

"Sounds good," Daniel says through a chuckle. He turns to walk away, then twists back and mutters, "See you soon," with a wink, causing your entire face to burn bright hot.

The moment he is out of earshot you give your friend a light smack on the arm, whisper-yelling, "What are you doing?" 

Josie is a giddy, giggly mess, and she drinks back the remainder of her Long Island in one sip then sets the empty glass on the bar. "I'm giving you space to have a little fun," she says, causing you to feel a range of emotions all at once. 

All of this has been her idea – from coming out to the club to abandoning you so you can have a drink with a handsome man who you hardly know – so you do not feel guilty about her choices. But you do feel a tinge of something akin to regret at the thought of her choosing to leave so soon. 

"I'll have another drink and we can dance while you wait for him," she insists, turning to the bar to flag down one of the tenders. You accept this proposal but choose to nurse your drink for the time being. After all, you need to attempt to be more present in class tomorrow. 

With the dancefloor less crowded and the DJ playing hits from the 90s and 00s the two of you spread out and goof around, pulling out all the stops with dance moves from your yesteryears, taking turns fishing for one another and rolling your legs in tootsie rolls. Winded from a very eager attempt at the running man, you bend with your hands on your knees and laugh, catching your breath. Josie is all but collapsed into a tall table laughing and wiping tears from her eyes. 

This is nice, being out with a friend and letting go of your inhibitions the way you used to. Typically the club is so crowded that all you can manage is a wiggle here and there on the dancefloor. Time has flown and you are surprised to glance toward the bar and find Daniel standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his attention on you.

"I think we have an audience," you say, too happy to feel embarrassed.

Josie pulls out her phone and checks the time, then yawns dramatically and says, "Damn, I sure am tired!"

With a roll of your eyes, you shake your head. Once Josie gets something in her mind there is no going back, so rather than try to convince her that you would like to spend more time together, you follow her off the dancefloor and prepare to say your goodbyes. Josie wraps you in a nice tight hug as Daniel kicks off the bar and approaches.

"Take good care of this one," she says to him, making you roll your eyes again.

Daniel says, "Of course," in Korean, then he clears his throat and says, "You have my word," in English while slightly bowing his head. 

As Josie walks away you approach the bar eager for water, watching from the corner of your eye as Daniel follows.

"Josie doesn't speak Korean," you tease, half turning your attention to him while waiting for one of the bartenders. 

"I wouldn't think so," he says with a chuckle. "After a long day it sometimes feels a little muddy on the tongue to be bilingual."

You hum and nod. "I know what you mean."

"I spent the evening meeting with a couple who are scouting the club for an event and they switched a lot between both, so now my wires are all crossed."

"Tongue twisted," you say with a smile, catching a glint in Daniel's eye before one of the bartenders approaches. You turn to her and say, "Just water for me," while Daniel holds up a pint of golden beer to silently let her know that he is already taken care of.

Suddenly the noise of the club feels overwhelming rather than welcoming. Perhaps it is the shift from dancing like a fool with Josie to standing still and struggling with what to say to this man who has only ever served you drinks. Yes, he is beautiful and he smells like a masculine athletic body spray, but his presence isn't quite as titillating as you always imagined it might be.

A glass of cold water is set before you and you mouth, thank you, as you take it and drink back half of its contents. The chill works a shiver up your spine and you close your eyes for a beat and take a deep breath. As you open your eyes and turn to Daniel his gaze is fixed on you and smoldering hot.

"Wanna go someplace a little more quiet?" he asks.

You nod, unsure where this someplace could possibly be, and he turns away from the bar and leads you to a door along the nearby wall marked Employees Only. Although it is a reprieve from the club as the door is shut and all the noise is drowned out, you feel extra awkward standing in this much smaller space. 

There is a desk, a leather chair, and several grey metal filing cabinets. Strewn about are stacks of paperwork and other stationery, and along the walls are cardboard boxes spilling over with branded shirts, cardboard coasters, and other bar paraphernalia. Daniel walks over to the desk and lean-sits with his legs outstretched. Rather than take the chair, you step close to him and lean against the wall.

"Tell me about yourself," Daniel says as he lifts his beer to his lips and has a sip, never taking his eyes off you. 

His attentive stare makes you squirm and you rack your brain for information. "Currently I am studying theater arts and music."

Daniel's eyes widen and he cracks a smile. "That's…interesting."

You roll your eyes and mutter, "Shut up," feeling an odd sense of defensiveness despite smiling. 

"I thought you were older," he says, straightening up. 

You hum and nod. "I am. Took some time off to help with my father's veterinarian office and did a little traveling before finally settling on a major. So, compared to my classmates I am definitely several years older."

"Man, everyone's talking about traveling today, it's giving me the itch," Daniel says as he lifts his beer to his lips. He takes a drink and says, "That couple I was telling you about were talking about living in Japan. One of them is a model and just spent time in Italy."

You straighten up, feeling your blood go cold. What are the odds? "This couple…did you say they were Korean?"

"Yeah!" Daniel beams. "They were very eccentric but clearly have a knack for throwing parties. It should be fun."

Daniel gulps back the rest of his beer, slowly draining the glass of its golden contents. Your mind races with questions to ask about this pair but they all seem too strange to ask unprompted and you cannot imagine Daniel would give their names or physical descriptions outright. 

Think, you berate yourself. Put your detective skills to the test and think. You suppose it is not outside the realm of possibility for you to pretend to know an eccentric globetrotting Korean pair. After all, if these are your targets then one of them works at the same university that you attend, giving you reason to be acquainted with him. 

You lick your lips, steady your breathing, and decide that the best course of action is to pretend to recognize the pair based on his description. But you are surprised when Daniel stands up straight and delicately takes the glass of water from your fingers, setting it on the desk and interrupting your plan.

"Enough of this talk," he says, stepping so close the heat radiates from his body. "I didn't bring you in here to chat about clients."

Fingertips graze over your chin and you instinctively tilt your head toward him, letting out a shaky breath as you ask, "Oh?"

"I see the way you look at me," Daniel utters softly, lips mere inches from yours. All thought screeches to a halt and you stare at his lips in shock. Is he really about to do this? "I like you, Sandra. From the moment you first sauntered up to my bar I have fantasized about bringing you back here and pressing you against this wall."

You say nothing, merely lick your lips once more. You have thought of it too – of course you have. Daniel touching you just as he is now. Daniel slotting his lips to yours and stealing away your breath. But now it feels so abrupt and strange. And honestly, you hate the thought of being romanced by someone who doesn’t know your name. 

"May I?" he asks, leaning closer and gently wafting warm breath over your mouth. 

Like a fool, you nod, eager for his touch despite not feeling wholly present and receptive. After the last few days your life has been a whirlwind and rather than feeling like an exciting reprieve, Daniel's presence only seems to add to your anxiety. Still, you close your eyes and tilt your chin forward. When Daniel's lips meet yours, you suck in a gasp and allow him to press and lick and tease. 

It feels good the way he very delicately urges your mouth to move for him. Tiny sparks ignite causing you to tense and then relax into the touch. But it is not Daniel's sharp features and deep voice you picture as his tongue dances over the length of yours and sends a shiver through you. It is Vante's sultry photos and alluring flirtation that cause your body to react. As Daniel's fingertips graze down the lengths of your arms you imagine Min's skilled musician hands playing you like one of his well-loved instruments. Daniel groans and deepens the kiss and you remember the way the mysterious deep voice on the phone hummed and chuckled in your ear before asking what you were wearing.

Your hands lift as Daniel's fingers dance from your fingertips to your waist. As you bring your arms up to drape over his shoulders Daniel's palms press into your hips, thumbs digging in circles over your hips and catching on the fabric of your skirt. You struggle to hold your balance, gasping and whimpering as Daniel's kiss becomes sloppy and somewhat frantic. You know he is picturing you bent over this desk or sitting at the edge with your skirt hiked up and inviting him to have a taste. The thought is enticing but it also feels wrong. All of this feels wrong. 

With a gasp, you tilt your head back and turn it to the side just enough to evade another eager press of lips against your mouth. Daniel's nose grazes over your jaw and his lips mark your throat and neck with spit, causing you to shiver and smile. You are at war with your senses and you wish that you could easily let go and allow him to have you any way he pleases. But you cannot, for the life of you, stop thinking about them.

"Sorry," you all but whisper, sliding your arms from Daniel's shoulders and attempting to gain your composure. "This feels great, really," his fingers graze over your hips and move closer to your heat, "but it's moving a little too fast."

This slows Daniel's movements to a stop but he remains pressed against you. He nods as his lips trail slow warm kisses just below your ear. You wish you could fully lose yourself to the feeling. 

"Alright," he mutters, finally standing up tall and giving you a measly amount of space. "I get it."

Daniel looks positively wrecked and you question your decision, absolutely swooning over how his lips are pinkened from use and his hair is slightly disheveled. There is a light sheen of sweat over his neck and you imagine marking the skin and tasting its salty tang. But alas, he is not the one you imagine with your eyes closed and if you are going to remain professional and not get attached to those phantoms who linger in the depths of your innermost desires, then allowing another man to distract you and fill you with wild fantasies is probably not the best course of action. 

"Thank you," he says, leaning forward to press one last kiss against your forehead. The move feels a bit odd and somewhat patronizing, and you smile, fighting back the urge to chuckle. 

"Thank you," you say, doing your best to sound sweet. 

You are sweaty and aroused and confused and you need to remove yourself from this situation and go home. When Daniel finally takes a step back and gives you space, you reach for the water and drink half of its remaining contents then pull your phone from your jacket pocket and begin to order a cab. 

"I can give you a ride," Daniel offers, and you consider it for a moment before deciding that you would like to keep the number of men who know where you live to a minimum for the time being. 

"It's alright," you insist, confirming your address and watching as a car icon appears on a map and begins making its way toward your location marker. "I have an early morning so I should run. Lost track of time. But this was really fun and I hope to see you soon."

Daniel seems taken slightly aback by how quickly your mood has shifted and he watches as you shove your phone into your pocket and rub your hands down your front to straighten yourself out. Feeling a bit guilty for how eager you are to jet, you stand on your toes and press a kiss against Daniel's jaw, then quickly turn for the door. 

In a rush, you are out into the loud club, and your heart riots in your chest. Everything feels off balance and you make your way quickly past the bar to the open door, sparing a glance at nothing and nobody as you keep your head down and speed toward the exit. 

As you step outside your phone buzzes and you are delighted to see that your cab is close. You close your eyes, take a deep breath, and weigh the idea of making a really, really bad choice. What if you did reach out to Vante and tell him all about how pent-up you feel? What if you allowed the deep, rough voice you heard the night before to lull you into pleasure as your hands pinch and squeeze and caress your body.

The car pulls to the curb and you hop in quickly, wasting no time to strap into the seatbelt and rest your head back. You absolutely should not reach out to Vante. But god, you want to. As the city lights pass and you quickly arrive to your apartment, you weigh the pros and cons. Realistically you could be forward on the phone and more reserved in person. Is it really a big deal allowing a disembodied voice to get you off, even if that voice belongs to a target with whom you should absolutely not form any sort of relationship?

You pay for the cab ride on your phone as it pulls in front of your brownstone, thanking the driver as you hurriedly and haphazardly slide out onto the sidewalk and scurry to the front door. Your fingers fumble with your keys as one hand grips tightly to your phone. An evil little voice in your head echos text him, text him, text him, taunting you with a world of possibility.

What could one innocent message hurt?

As you make your way to the second story and ready your key, you make your decision. You are full of frenetic energy that just your hands and toys alone will not satiate. You need to hear that voice again, regardless of which of those men it may belong to. In a rush of fabric you drop your jacket in the middle of the living room, kicking your boots off in different directions as you shuffle to your bedroom. You must be a sight to behold and you laugh softly at the thought of replaying the footage of this entrance on the camera app.

In your room, you climb onto your bed, sitting against the wall with a pillow wedged behind your back. There is a tremble in your hands as you lift your phone and type and delete multiple messages before settling on a simple emoji. It takes your breath away to see how fast Vante responds and you close your eyes to take a deep breath before reading his reply.

It takes under a minute for your phone to ring and you take in a fortifying breath. You still have time to back out. You can decline or ignore this call and continue not crossing this threshold. He may understand if you are shy and apologize…but you do not want to back out.

You accept the call and slowly lift the phone to your ear, eager to hear the man on the other side. Silence hangs briefly and you will yourself to lick your lips and softly say, "Hello, V."

The deep, rough voice you remember says, "There you are," and your arms instantly break out in goosebumps.

"Sorry," you utter, squeezing your eyes closed, "I feel shy."

"So you said," he responds with a soft chuckle. "But you have me now, and you are hearing my voice. Are you satisfied?"

What a loaded question. You grin and bite down on your lip, doing your best not to loudly swoon as reality settles over you and you formulate just how far you can safely take this interaction without losing your wits entirely.

"I suppose…" you tease. Perhaps he will eagerly play along and supply you with what you need without you having to ask for it. You absentmindedly dance the fingertips of your free hand up your thigh, teasing just below the hem of your skirt. You feel electric but far from satisfied and you add, "It's a start, anyway."

The man hums, filling you with warmth. It is dangerous the way he sounds in your ear and your lips fall open on the sound. "A start? So, tell me, what can I do to fully satisfy you, pretty?"

Why must he force you to ask for it? You take another deep breath and feel the way it fills you. Your head absolutely spins as you formulate your request.

"I need…" You lick your lips.

"You need…" he taunts back, drawing out the words.

"I feel pent-up, V…" you admit, eyes still squeezed shut.

A pleased hum fills your ear and works a shiver along your spine. Is this how he sounds when he moans? Or is it even more pretty? "And my voice excites you?"

Your lips flounder slightly before you swallow your pride and whisper, "Yes."

His voice sharpens ever so slightly as he says, "Ask nicely for me."

Your eyes flutter open and you take in the dark room, grounding yourself in your familiar surroundings. You can still back out. You can change your mind. But you won't. Not now that you have already come so far.

"Please," you ask sweetly, a bit desperately.

"Are you home?"

Your voice is barely above a whisper. "Yes."

"So early."

You feel inexplicably sheepish. "Yeah...wasn't feeling it tonight."

"Fair enough. Are you alone?"

"Yes."

A brief pause, then, "Are you touching yourself?"

You shake your head and say, "No," as your eyelids flutter closed and you continue to dance your fingers over your thigh. 

"Do you want to be touching yourself?"

Your breath hitches. He is so forward and yet it is precisely what you need. "Yes."

"What are you wearing for me, baby?"

Baby. That's new. You like the way it sounds on his tongue. 

"A tank top and skirt," you say, dragging your fingertips higher up your thigh. 

"Bra and panties?"

"Yes. Thin. Cotton. Matching set." Suddenly you are incapable of stringing a full sentence together and you are relieved that he does not seem to mind.

"Color?"

You smile to yourself. "White."

"White," he says in a gruff voice, as if the image affects him the way his voice affects you. You hum in agreement and he says, "So if you happened to be wet for me I would be able to see it through the thin fabric."

"Yes," you say on reflex because you imagine that what he says is likely true.

"Are you?" he asks, and you hesitate, unsure precisely what he is asking before he clarifies and adds, "Wet for me."

"I am," you admit as warmth floods your neck and cheeks.

"Touch your panties," he softly commands, "for me."

You drag your fingers higher over the crest of your thighs until finally, they graze over your slit, causing you to sigh happily to the touch. 

"Such a good girl," he praises and you swell with pride, touching yourself more firmly. "I can hear the way you breathe with pleasure. Don't hold back, baby. Tell me how it feels to touch yourself to my voice."

"Feels good," you groan, swirling your fingers over your clothed clit. 

"Do you enjoy being told what to do?" he asks, taking you by surprise. 

Your fingers hesitate then continue as you mull over how risky of a question this could be. "Yes," you finally admit.

"There is nothing that turns me on more than a beautiful, eager, submissive toy in my bed. Is that what you desire, baby? To be praised and used like a fuck doll?"

You should not give this information to a man who is potentially dangerous. You should absolutely not admit to the way this question fills you with a hot, deep arousal that courses through you like lava. 

As you open your mouth but fumble around syllables, unsure whether to confess to just how much his words affect you, there is a sound from the other end of the line like a door closing and a voice calling out.

"Shit," the man says, ripping you from your thoughts. "My roommate is home already." 

"Oh," you say, trying not to sound too disappointed. This so-called roommate must be his husband.

"I, uh…I gotta go, baby. So sorry."

"No worries," you say, swallowing thickly and taking a deep breath. It is probably for the best that this conversation was interrupted where it was.

"Finish what you started and tell me all about it on our date?" he asks teasingly.

"Oh my god," you say, embarrassed. There is no way you would be able to talk about this to his face. Not on a first date, anyway.

"Sleep sweet, pretty," he says, giving you goosebumps. This phrase sounds familiar, but from where? "We'll chat soon. Text me if you're feeling lonely."

"Alright," you say and you hang up before any more words can be exchanged. Everything about this interaction – about this entire night – feels fucking weird. You have the distinct feeling that there is something you are forgetting but nothing comes to mind and it fills you with anxiety.

You opt to shower off this day and climb into bed with your favorite bullet vibrator. You remember only the intriguing things the deep voice belonging to Vante or Min has said to you and selectively forget everything else. There is plenty of time to unpack this mess tomorrow. For now, you must sleep.

* * *

Your classes are a blur. All you can focus on is getting through the day and arriving to the practice rooms at 5 p.m. The events of last night replay in your mind and you do your best to shut them out but it is hard not to think about Daniel's lips and V's (Min's?) voice and your fingers… You fidget with the hem of your sweater sleeves and dig your fingernails into your palms in an attempt to stay present. For the most part your efforts fail. 

By the time you make it to the practice rooms your nerves are so alite that you have to shake out your hands and silently pep talk yourself. You're okay, you're okay, you are going to be okay. It is not as if you are going to see Min today. Relax.

A tall man with dark skin and a wide, welcoming smile greets you. "You must be Sandra," he says while lifting a hand for you to shake.

"Yes," you say, taking his hand. His shake is firm and brief.

"Mateo. Follow me."

Mateo wears a mustard yellow beanie, a blue sweater, and blue jeans. He leads you into a wide-open practice space that contains a brown upright piano on one side of the room and a desk on the other. You approach the piano instinctively and sit on the bench while Mateo grabs a wooden chair and pulls it close. 

"Tell me what you want to focus on and then we will assess where you're at," he prompts, and you take a deep breath.

"Speed, mostly," you say, imagining what might be easy to fake being bad at. "And fluidity. I am getting the notes but it still feels clunky."

"Common issues," Mateo assures with a smile, making you smile in return. "Can you play the song that I have provided?"

You turn to the piano and observe the book sitting open on the rack, finding Mozart's Turkish March. You smile, holding back a grin because yes, you absolutely can play this song. 

Feigning sheepishness, you nod once and settle on the piano bench facing the keys. You start slow at first, taking care to make mistakes with your thumbs and middle fingers. Although your attempt sounds better than you would like considering you are in a tutoring session, you are proud of your performance as you huff out sigh after sigh of frustration. At the end of the second page, you squeeze your eyes shut, shake out your hands and take a deep breath.

"Sorry," you mutter. "Nervous."

"No sweat at all," Mateo says kindly. "You're not as bad as you might think you are."

Great, you think, perhaps I should be worse.

You open your eyes and begin again from the top. This time you allow yourself to be a little better, taking it slower and hitting more correct notes. 

Mateo says, "Very good," filling you with confidence as you continue on to the second page. 

You get close to the bottom of the page when you notice a figure entering the room, and when you lift your eyes for a brief moment the world screeches to a halt and your hands clumsily strike discordant keys before stopping entirely. Silence hangs as a familiar man gives a wry smile and nods his head to Mateo, muttering something you are unable to hear.

"Mister Theodore," Mateo says as he stands and approaches Min, who walks over to the desk on the far side of the room. Is that…his desk?

The two of them quietly exchange words before Min takes his leave, holding onto a folder and quickly exiting the room. You feel warm all over, hands prickling with sweat as you watch his retreating form and recall everything you know about this man from his file. 

He is beautiful and slender in a dark button-up shirt and slacks, commanding the room without having to audibly speak a word. You hold your breath in anticipation to hear his voice but he is in and out with hardly a sound, gone just as fast as he arrived. 

“Apologies,” Mateo says as he takes his seat, pointing with an open palm toward the piano. “Please continue.”

On the plus side, Min’s sudden appearance has caused a tremble in your hands that is strong enough that you genuinely make mistakes while playing. At least your need for a tutor sounds believable. What are the odds that his desk is right there?

*

lie down in the fire with me i burn everything frequently if it don't feel good when you first get in wait 'til it gets under your skin

🎵 visit the playlist

hello, hello!!! how are we feeling???

some housekeeping: you may notice that the mc had a realization at the end of the last chapter that she forgot about in this chapter. that was the drugs. you also have notice that the blood test came back negative. that was not an error on my part. more will be explained in the future.

i might do a short TaeGi POV chapter to show where their heads are at and why the call was cut short at the end of the chapter 😈😈😈

QUESTIONS??? CONCERNS??? REBLOGS AND COMMENTS ARE THE LIFEBLOOD OF THIS SITE, BUT LIKES ARE ALSO SUPER APPRECIATED!!! 🤍🤍🤍 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING! I LOVE YOU! DRINK SOME WATER AND STRETCH YOUR NECK!!!

tags will be on a separate reblog! 🤍 visit the master post to read the warnings & request to be tagged!

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White Lies is copyright 2023-2025 theharrowing, all rights reserved. No translations or reposts allowed!

[monsterblogging]

A thing about Jaegers compared to a lot of anime mechs, is that Jaegers have more rounded and curving lines, more bulk in their arms, and their legs aren't typically as long. Also, they're overall just much less human-looking. Take a look at Romeo Blue, Horizon Brave, Cherno Alpha, Tacit Ronin, and Crimson Typhoon.

If you pay attention here, you can see that Jaegers look very distinct from anime mechs, which makes sense because Guillermo del Toro very much wanted Pacific Rim to be its own thing.

All of this art is extremely easy to find, by the way. It's all over places like Pinterest, for example. So if someone's trying to make a Pacific Rim thing but it's obvious that they haven't actually looked into this stuff and factored it into their designs, then they don't really care about what Pacific Rim actually is, and just see it as another Generic Property. And when someone sees Pacific Rim as a Generic Property, nothing they create will have the magic of the original, or even any magic at all. It'll just be more Bland Product.

[sometimes-you-laugh]

Don't mind me, just thinking about how unfair it is that Waspinator got bigger after becoming techno-organic but Blackarachnia didn't.

Like what is this??

TFA writers, either be fair and keep Waspinator small or don't be cowards and make Blackarachnia bigger.

[fluffyblue-multifandommess]

[that-is-tat-o]

WIP I love farcille so much

[kingmakerpod]

Kingmaker fans, where do you stand on the Roxana Mandel discourse- is she real or not real?

[equidae-canidae]

Suffolk punch

[crippled-peeper]

is Hank mushroom colored or is mushroom Hank colored?

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

A Website/meme shared on Dreamwidth:

Your Name (or any word, really) Spelled out in Landsat Images from NASA

Type your name, or any phrase you want (in Latin Alphabet Letters), and you'll get a string of images of those letters as seen from space.

You can download the image in .png format, or, like I did, screen cap and crop. Here's "CapricornOmnikorn:

And here's "love you":

On the website, if you hover over each letter, it will tell you where on Earth it is.

[adamsobek]

watchful eye

guess who forgot he had an art blog again lol

[dressesofsunmoonandstars]

I'm finally getting around to some mending! Ancient jeans are on the docket at the moment due to threads that keep catching on my phone.

I had already trimmed the threads away. So here I am showing what needs reinforced as a quick fix for wearability.

I inserted a sleeve roll in order to keep the pocket and the body of the jeans separated.

I did a blanket stitch (I think?) all the way across with some polyester thread I got at the beginning of my sewing interests (before I cared about fiber content... but it's not going into the landfill for a long long time!

I then did the same for my phone hole.

At some point I also plan to add patches to these spots but they are once again usable!

These are the Amanda style jeans from Gloria Vanderbilt. I have had them since 2016 (?).

[symeona]

Omg my uncle's podcast is doing really good✨😭 I did the artwork for the cover,

if y'all wanna hear some Greek mythology and how it relates to today!! 🫶🫶🫶🫶