#the first and second photo are interchangeable

[sleazyjanet]

this was supposed to be that sexy stock photo but it turned silly, i'm sorry

[inkyquillstories]

Interstate Interchange (A Body Swap Story)

Note: This story has an nsfw version found on my discord server. If you’d like to see my other stories in its raw (NSFW) form with more photos/videos, you can join here: https://discord.gg/mMY9wSu4rS 

Interstate Interchange

The sun had long dipped behind the treeline when the interstate stretched out into a ribbon of pure twilight. The highway shimmered under the weight of a thousand forgotten stories, and two cars miles apart, yet destined, kept pace in the same lane, bound for the same nameless destination.

One was a black Chevy, polished clean, with smooth tires and leather seats that clung to the driver’s trim waist like a second skin. Inside sat Joey, a handsome college senior with an athletic frame, weekend stubble lining his sharp jaw, and a look of effortless superiority. He drove one-handed, his fingers tapping the wheel to an EDM playlist, confident in every motion.

The other, an aging silver Corolla, sagged under the weight of its driver. Eric, large and soft in all the wrong ways, hunched over the wheel, his belly brushing the dashboard, his fingers leaving grease on the touch screen. A neckbeard crept like ivy around his jawline, and his glasses constantly slid down his sweaty nose.

They saw each other on the road. Not right away. That came later.

At first, it was nothing. Just two drivers passing on the highway, glimpses caught in side mirrors and reflected in gas station glass. But hours passed. Towns vanished in the rearview. Rest stops came and went. And somehow, neither car left the other's orbit.

Joey noticed first. He glanced to his left while cruising at 73 and saw that overweight guy again. Same university parking tag on the dash. Same direction. Same tired stare. Joey scoffed to himself but couldn’t look away. The guy looked soggy, like melted clay crammed into clothes two sizes too small.

But something about the man stuck with him.

He wondered, uncomfortably at first, what does it feel like to carry that much weight? How does it feel to live with a body that sags, sweats, presses against itself constantly? What does he see when he looks at someone like me?

Joey adjusted his seat, suddenly aware of his toned thighs in basketball shorts, the cool air drying sweat along his firm chest. His armpit hair tickled lightly with the breeze of the AC. He caught his own reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked strong, clean, and desirable. He exhaled, and a strange guilt bloomed in his chest. Or was it curiosity?

Eric felt it too.  Even through his blurry vision, he’d clocked the black Chevy early on. The guy was like a Greek statue in motion. He had angular arms draped across the wheel, tight shirt clinging to his chest, that stubble framing a face that belonged on a billboard.

Eric should’ve ignored him. Should’ve looked away. But something about that smoothness, that effortlessness. How would it feel to walk into a room and not disappear? To smell like cologne and sun-warmed skin instead of sweat and shame?

He looked down at his stained t-shirt, clinging damply to his chest. His belly peeked out when he shifted in his seat. He could smell himself and it was sour and earthy. What would it be like… to be that fit driver?

As the evening thickened into night, something unspoken passed between the two cars. Like a magnetic pull. They both signaled at the same exit, pulled into the same gravel pit rest area, and parked just one spot apart. The air outside was heavy with humidity, and for a moment, neither man moved.

Joey stepped out of his car first, his muscles tight from the long drive. He arched his back, stretching until his shirt lifted enough to expose the pale ridge of his obliques, a faint line of sweat clinging to his skin. The light of the rest stop flickered above him, buzzing like an insect on its last legs.

Eric watched from the pump, barely breathing.

Joey turned and for the first time, they locked eyes. Really locked eyes. The world seemed to shift, as if the axis of the Earth had realigned to run through this gas station outside of nowhere.

Joey gave a crooked half-smile. “Hey. You go to Minton U too?”

Eric swallowed. “Yeah. I, uh… recognized the tag on your bumper. Been behind you for a while.”

Joey tilted his head, frowning like he was working through a dream. “Yeah… I noticed that. Thought it was weird, y’know? But not bad weird. More like… meant-to-be weird.”

Eric’s pulse beat against his throat. “What do you mean?”

Joey scratched the back of his neck, eyes narrowing slightly. “I don’t know, man. It’s like… I kept catching glimpses of you in the rearview, and I couldn’t look away. Like I was supposed to see you. Like… I was supposed to be you.”

Eric’s breath caught in his throat. He stepped closer, every nerve raw. “I kept thinking the same thing.”

Joey blinked. “Wait, seriously?”

Eric’s voice cracked. “All day. I kept imagining myself in your skin. Your face. Your body. Your life.”

Joey’s lips parted, but he didn’t laugh. Neither of them did. The night thickened, the hum of cicadas rising like static in a dream.

“I was ashamed to admit it, even to myself,” Eric confessed. “But there was this… itch. In my brain. In my body. Like the only way to make it stop was to know what it’s like to live inside you.”

Joey looked away, chest rising and falling. “I was ashamed too. But it also… turned me on. Like, I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Wearing your shirt. Smelling your sweat. Saying your name and making it mine.”

Eric whispered, “Me too.”

They stood in silence, everything unspoken stretching between them like a rubber band pulled to its limit.

Then Eric spoke again, low and deliberate. “I have a proposal. But it’s a little crazy”

Joey didn’t hesitate. “Say it.”

Eric gestured toward the restroom. “Let’s swap. Clothes. Cars. Everything. Just for tonight. Let’s see how it goes.”

Joey’s eyes gleamed with something hungry. He nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

The bathroom door clicked shut behind them, the fluorescent light buzzing overhead. Eric shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his oversized shirt swallowing him whole. He could feel the seams of the fabric straining against his body, the heat of the small space making his skin prickle. Joey leaned casually against the sink, his fitted shirt stretching across the firm contours of his chest.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, the silence thick with something unspoken.

“So…” Joey started, his voice low and smooth. He tilted his head, his eyes scanning Eric’s frame with an intensity that made Eric’s stomach flip.

“So,” Eric echoed, his voice shaky. He pulled at his shirt, trying to ease the tightness around his midsection. “You really want to do this?”

Joey didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pushed off the sink and took a step closer, his presence filling the room. His eyes lingered on Eric’s face, then dropped to his body, taking in every curve, every fold. There was something in his gaze, a curiosity, maybe, or something deeper. Something Eric couldn’t quite place.

“Yeah,” Joey said finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “I want to do this. Don’t you?”

Eric swallowed hard. Did he? He’d fantasized about it all day. What it would be like to step into Joey’s body, to feel the confidence that radiated from him, to know what it was like to be wanted. But now that the moment was here, his heart was racing, his palms slick with sweat.

“I… yeah,” Eric stammered. “I do.”

Joey’s lips curved into a small smile, and he reached for the hem of his shirt. Eric’s breath hitched as Joey slowly pulled it up, revealing the taut muscles of his abdomen, the sharp lines of his chest. The fabric slipped over his head, and Joey tossed it aside, his bare skin gleaming under the harsh light.

Eric couldn’t look away. His eyes traced every inch of Joey’s body, from the broad shoulders to the defined arms, the firm chest, the narrow waist. It was everything he’d ever wanted, everything he’d ever dreamed of. And it was right there, just within reach.

Joey gave a nervous laugh, breaking the charge in the air. “This is fucking insane.”

Eric nodded, eyes glued to the curve of Joey’s torso. “Insane, yeah. But…”

He didn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t have to.

They reached for each other’s shirts. Eric gripped Joey’s shirt, still warm from his skin, and pulled it over his head, shuddering as the musk hit his nose. It smelled of salt and sun and something distinctly male. Joey slid into Eric’s huge tee, the fabric foreign and thrilling against his skin.

Then came the pants.

Joey dropped his gym shorts to the tile floor, revealing strong thighs, sinewy and tan, with a bulge that made Eric momentarily forget to breathe. He wasn’t trying to show off. It just was.

Eric fumbled with his belt, then pushed his jeans down slowly, revealing boxer briefs stretched over a soft, pale belly, his legs thicker. The air buzzed between them, and for a long, silent beat, they stood like that, half-dressed, gazing openly.

Joey’s lips curled into a sly smile, and without another word, he hooked his thumbs under the waistband of his boxers, sliding them down slowly, deliberately.

The fabric caught on his hips for a moment before finally giving way, revealing the hard length of his cock, already half-hard and twitching against his thigh. Eric’s eyes widened, his breath hitching as he took in the sight. It was huge, thicker than he’d imagined, the vein running along the underside making it look even more imposing.

Joey let out a low chuckle, his voice teasing. “What? Not what you expected?”

Eric couldn’t find the words. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Instead, his hands moved on their own, trembling as he reached out, his fingers brushing against the warm, smooth skin. Joey groaned softly at the touch, his hips bucking forward slightly, seeking more contact. Eric’s fingers wrapped around the base, his grip tentative, unsure. He couldn’t believe he was touching Joey like this, that he was allowed to touch him like this. His heart raced, and he felt a rush of heat spread through his body.

Joey’s hands were already moving, sliding Eric’s boxers down his hips, his touch firm but gentle. Eric froze, his cheeks flushing as the cool air hit his exposed skin. Joey’s eyes roamed over his body, his gaze hungry, taking in every detail. Eric’s cock was small, almost shy, nestled in a thatch of dark hair. Joey’s lips parted, a soft exhale escaping him as he reached out, his fingers brushing against the soft skin.

Eric’s breath caught as he took in the sight of Joey’s body, his eyes tracing every line, every muscle. Joey’s skin was smooth, his body toned and firm. It was everything Eric had ever wanted, and it was right there, just within reach.

Joey’s eyes roamed over Eric’s body, his expression filled with something Eric couldn’t quite place. “You’re beautiful,” Joey said again, his voice filled with awe.

They swapped boxers. Eric brought Joey’s to his face and inhaled, eyes fluttering shut. The scent was intoxicating with sweat, soap, and something raw. Joey did the same with Eric’s, lips parting slightly.

Then pants. Then socks. Then shoes. Every item peeled off or slipped on with attention, with longing. They watched how the fabrics clung differently, how they sat on unfamiliar hips.

Joey slid Eric’s glasses over his face, blinking. “Shit,” he whispered. “I feel like I’m becoming you.”

Eric was holding Joey’s ID, thumbing over the name. “This is so hot,” he murmured, slipping it into his wallet. “I want to be you. Not just wear you.”

They passed phones, wallets, keys. With every exchange, they whispered their new names aloud, again and again. Joey, now calling himself Eric, stared down at the cracked phone he’d inherited. Eric, now calling himself Joey, held Joey’s sleek one like a holy relic.

“This is real,” Joey as Eric said, voice trembling with awe. “We’re actually doing this.”

Eric as Joey grinned, boyish and unashamed. “And it feels amazing.”

Joey as Eric ran his hand slowly down the front of his new shirt, Eric’s shirt, feeling the tightness across a softer body. “Guess I should start answering to ‘Eric.’”

Eric as Joey adjusted the waistband of Joey’s shorts on his rounder hips and looked in the mirror, breath catching. “And I should start answering to Joey now. Holy shit. God, this feels right.”

Outside, the air was cooler. Fresher. The night wind carried their new scents, their new identities.

Joey raised a hand. “Later, Joey.”

Eric grinned. “See you around, Eric.”

They got into each other’s cars and drove back to the highway, their old selves left behind under the hum of that flickering light.

As the highway swallowed them again, the lines on the road seemed to bend. Joey drove the wheezing Corolla, sweat pooling in new places like beneath his gut, between his thighs. He breathed heavier. Felt every jolt in his spine. The air smelled different. He caught himself muttering, “I’m Eric,” over and over, his fingers sticky on the wheel. Meanwhile, Eric drove the Chevy like it was a chariot. His fingers flexed over the leather. He took off his shirt imagining he has abs and muscles even though in reality he was overtly obese.

After another two hours of night driving, the highway began to blur. Street signs smeared like watercolor in their headlights, and exhaustion hummed behind their eyes. The Blue Swallow Motel buzzed under a dying neon sign, flickering like a broken pulse against the night sky. Gravel crunched under tires as both cars rolled in at the same time, headlights dimming, engines silencing. The silence between the two men was charged, thick, and electric. They exited simultaneously, each carrying a duffel bag that didn’t belong to them.

The motel lobby was stale and yellow-lit, walls lined with faded pamphlets and a dusty ficus. Behind the desk, a clerk in a tan vest nursed lukewarm coffee, eyes narrowing as the two men stepped in.

Joey, presenting as Eric, approached first and slid an ID and credit card onto the counter. “One room. Name’s Eric Lard.”

The clerk picked up the ID: an overweight man with thick glasses. He looked at Joey. What he saw was a lean, sharp-jawed, handsome man. The resemblance was... off. He glanced at the man waiting behind him, who looked more like the guy on the card.

“This you?” the clerk asked.

Joey nodded. “Yep.”

“You’re... Eric Lard? You drop 200 pounds overnight?”

Joey smiled thinly. “Something like that.”

The second man stepped up. “I’ll take a room too. Joey Stoll.”

The clerk looked at the next ID. He saw a young, fit, confident man. He stared at the man before him: rounder face, tight shirt, greasy hair.

“You’re this guy?” the clerk asked.

Eric nodded. “Stress eating. Finals.”

The clerk looked between them, frowning. “You sure you didn’t just swap IDs?”

Joey leaned on the counter. “Nope. I’m Eric. He’s Joey.”

“Right,” the clerk muttered. “And pigs fly.”

Eric gave a low chuckle. “Why would I want to be a fatass like Eric Lard?” He lifted his shirt slightly, belly peeking out, pretending it was flat and tight.

Joey smirked. “What do you think this is? Freaky Friday?”

“Body swapping isn’t real,” Eric added.

The clerk narrowed his eyes, but finally relented. “Sure. Let’s go with that.”

“Alright then. Mr. Lard, Room 12. Mr. Stoll, Room 14,” he said, eyeing them both one more time. “Whatever game this is, you win. Enjoy your stay.”

And as they walked the hallway in opposite directions, bags in hand, bags that didn’t match their bodies, but matched their names, neither could stop thinking about the exchange. About being called Eric Lard. About being called Joey Stoll. About being seen and spoken to as the other man. It was intoxicating.

In their separate motel rooms, they stripped naked, slowly, deliberately like shedding old skin. The clothes they’d worn didn’t quite fit the bodies they had literally… but somehow, they fit them figuratively. Clothes that whispered of who they wanted to be.

They stepped into their showers. Two rooms apart, but moving like mirrors. Steam billowed. Water ran hot, cascading over skin that felt like it wasn't their own.

Joey stood under the stream, hands gliding over his chest, his abs. He let his eyes close. He imagined thicker arms. A rounder chest. Softer belly. A fuller face. Hair slicked down on a broader scalp. He imagined his body becoming Eric’s. And in that moment, he didn’t just picture it, he almost felt it.

Meanwhile, Eric dragged soap along his huge belly, jaw clenching as he stared at the fogged mirror. He imagined a flat stomach. Cut hips. Narrow waist. Hair that stayed in place without effort. A cock that matched a tighter, fitter frame. He imagined being Joey. And he could almost feel it. The difference. The shift. The desire. It made him stroke himself slowly, reverently, like he was Joey already.

After the water cooled and their skin prickled with heat, they pulled on each other’s clothes. Joey buttoned Eric’s shirt over his own chest with something like reverence. Eric tugged on Joey’s tighter jeans, savoring how they hugged differently now.

After the shower, they slept. And in their dreams, they found each other.

Joey appeared as a glowing blue figure. He still looked muscular.

Eric shimmered in soft purplish pink, round and heavy. They stood in a hazy, neon-lit void with no floor, no walls. Just them, suspended in color and longing.

Joey’s voice trembled. “I wish I could really be you.” Eric reached out, fingertips brushing Joey’s glowing jaw. “I want your life. Your face. Your body.”

The space between them rippled. Light twisted.

Joey’s blue form warped, softened, and swelled until he stood wide and round like Eric, but still tinted blue.

Across from him, Eric’s pink shape pulled tighter, straighter, and more muscular. Then his hands pressed against a firmer chest and stomach, eyes gleaming with awe.

They looked at each other. They were transformed yet glowing in their original colors and smiled.

And then, everything went dark.

They woke in the same bed and the same motel room they slept in that night.

Joey was heavy now. Belly rising and falling with his breath. The waistband of Eric’s old sweatpants fit perfectly. And Eric, he sat up fast, heart pounding, chest tight. He looked down at the flat plane of his stomach, the firm tension in his thighs beneath Joey’s jeans. He pressed his palm against his own abs, wide-eyed.

They ran outside their rooms and looked at each other.

And they knew. They had swapped. Really. Fully. Irrevocably.

Joey, now Eric, let out a stunned laugh. “Holy shit.”

Eric, now Joey, grinned, running a hand through his hair. “It worked.”

They dressed quickly. Every article of clothing fit perfectly. Shoes, socks, even the tension of a belt against the waist. It was seamless. Fated.

By midmorning, they were already on the road, driving to each other’s homes.

Joey, in Eric’s heavier body, gripped the steering wheel with confident hands, windows down, wind blowing through borrowed hair.

Eric, in Joey’s fit body, couldn’t stop smiling in the rearview mirror, his reflection showing him a future he’d only dared dream about.

Two men. Two cars. Two swapped souls. One interstate interchange.

The End.

[garbinge]

Welcome Home

Tyler Owens x F!Reader

Summary: After not being home for years, you come back and find yourself feeling everything that kept you from coming home to begin with. But that doesn’t stop you from calling an old friend and taking a trip down memory lane with him.  Created a playlist that inspired a lot of these scenes, some even mention the songs briefly. Welcome Home Playlist. // Word Count: 5k 

Warnings: All my fics are 18+ regardless of content. Angst. Grief. Trauma. Dead Sibling. Talks of a break up, of drunk driving. No use of y/n. Mentions of having a sibling who has a name in this fic. Happy Ending. A/N: I… this was something that just poured out of me. I couldn’t stop until it was done. I can’t just simply write a one shot without giving reader so much background and backstory it becomes over 4k apparently LOL. Twisters Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989 (let me know if you'd like to be added!)

Being back home brought back up a lot for you. It’s why you hadn’t made any where home yet. The weight of the word was just as heavy as being back here. Your parents had gone out, taken the family to some line dancing event. It took plenty of convincing for them to leave without you, but eventually you and your sister gave them enough flack that they did. Now you sat alone on the large farmland on the back deck watching the sky turn pastel as the sun just began to set while your sister went inside to her room. After a couple minutes, you brought yourself inside, taking in all the things that never changed about home. The blankets, most of them were the same ones that you spent hiding under with your best friends when you watched scary movies. The furniture, the living room still had the same sets you’d make forts out of with your siblings. The pantry and fridge, your family was still an ingredient one so if you opened the fridge for a snack, you had to take the time to put something together instead of just grabbing and going. The pictures, there were new ones, ones that you and your sister both sent back home from your new lives away from here, but the old ones were in the same spots. Memories of building the back deck, going on vacations to Eureka Springs, high school graduations. This part of home was warm, it was welcoming, it was safe. As you entered your room, that’s where things got heavy. It hadn’t changed. There was no changing things into sewing rooms or storage. Everything was left untouched. 

It felt the same as downstairs. Only difference was your sister had been blasting Leon Bridges loud enough that you could hear it on the entire second floor. But besides that, pretty much interchangeable with the first level feeling wise. The blankets, most of them were the same ones you spent tangled in with him. The furniture, the loveseat facing the large bay window was where you spent most nights looking out of your telescope with him, not looking at the stars but looking at the clouds in the sky. The drawer in your nightstand, one that you jokingly called the pantry that held tons of quick non perishable snacks you’d find yourself sharing with him and even your sister when she would knock on your connected door asking for something. The pictures, those memories of who was with you helping build the back deck, who drove you down to Eureka Springs that one summer, who graduated alongside you. Then there were the ones that only the young group of you had memory of. Sneaking out to the swimming holes late at night, cow tipping because you had to see if it was a real thing or not. It wasn’t, instead you ended up drunk in a field with him and your sister. The party where you got violently ill all over your shirt and he gave you his. That was the photo you were staring at now. You, with the widest grin on your face in the backseat of his red dodge RAM, his green button shirt, only done up halfway, your white bra peeking out from it, your right hand with your thumbs up right next to your face, your hair drenched because he and your sister thought the hose from whoever’s house would wash the smell and stain of vomit from it. Your sister was next to you, her hands covering her face as she laughed and in the right corner was a blown out blob from the flash. The only visible markings you could make out was the top of dirty blonde hair and the slight of a blue green eye, but the same thumbs up as yours just closer and blown out similar to his face. As you picked the frame up, another photo fell out from behind. You bent down to pick it up and you realized it was from the same night, it was you and him, someone had taken this picture from behind you both, probably your sister. His arm was around your shoulder, the green shirt still on your back and him just in a white t-shirt. He was pointing at something and you were mesmerized by it.  While there was no way of telling what your face actually looked like from the photo, you knew you were because Tyler Owens always mesmerized you. Opening your dresser drawer to put the photo in was when you saw the same green shirt from that night folded under a couple old tank tops of yours. 

You swore it still smelt like him, which was impossible, you most definitely washed it after your drunken night but again, home had a weird way of holding feelings captive in objects. 

Without thinking, you draped the shirt on, leaving it unbuttoned, making your way over to the oval shaped full body mirror that was tucked in the corner of your room. One you had covered the frame with stickers and the stand with cardigans. As you stared at yourself in his shirt, you lifted your t-shirt to see not the same but the same color bra you had in the picture from all those years ago and you let out a chuckle and a head shake. As your body moved, so did the shirt, falling off your shoulder and without a second of hesitation, you plopped down on your bed, crisscrossed and searched your phone for his contact. 

Two rings. You’d thought it’d be disconnected, voicemail at best. You thought you’d hear a more matured tone of his voice than you could remember, telling you to leave a message after the tone, but instead you heard him answer and he sounded exactly the same. 

“Hey, storm girl.” 

There it was. Suddenly you were 16 again, and if you didn’t have recollection of every terrible thing that had happened in the last handful of years it would’ve been easy to fall back to that. Sitting in the room you grew up in, in your high school love’s shirt, your sister blasting Leon Bridges throughout the house, and Tyler answering the phone speaking a nickname you hadn’t heard in forever. 

“Didn’t think you’d pick up.” Bringing your knees to your chest, you rested your chin on them, again swearing that scent of him was still stained all over the shirt you still had casually draped over you. 

You could tell he was smiling through the phone. In spite of it having been years, there were just some things that you’d always be able to tell about someone you knew so well, so intimately. 

“Didn’t think you’d call.” His southern accent was so strong and it made you wonder if being away for all these years made you lose yours in a way that only he would notice.

“Just because I called you, doesn’t mean I miss you.” 

“Oh, well of course not.” 

And just like that, you were back in the teasing rhythm you always had with Tyler Owens. 

“You were just on my mind.” You replied. 

“Funny, I think I found you somewhere in mind recently too.” 

You smiled, and you knew he could tell you were smiling. “I found that shirt you gave me after I puked at that house party our graduation night in my bedroom.” 

“Asher Levi.” A laugh filled the speaker of the phone. “It was Asher Levi’s house party. I remember because a few of us took his jeans and created a zip line type of thing into his pool. I think that might’ve been what made you puke, that mixed with the drinking.” 

“Levi’s levis.” You remembered it so clearly, it was definitely less of a zip line and more just a single monkey bar if you recalled correctly, but it was definitely possible you didn’t with how much you drank. 

“Did you say in your bedroom?” Curiosity was littered all over his tone as he spoke. 

“I did.” Your eyebrows raised like you were shocked by the statement too. 

He was nodding, a nod that held so much emotion but he decided to answer with something a little more light hearted because he knew how hard it probably was for you to be where you were. “I thought I heard Leon Bridges in the background.” 

You laughed at that, it was your sister’s thing, and he would’ve known that better than anyone else. 

“Where are you right now?” You weren’t exactly sure what response you were expecting, but the one he gave definitely wasn’t it. 

“A motel on the coast of Oklahoma.” He sounded so amused, like he knew his sentence was going to leave you wondering how to answer.

“Oh.” Was all you could come up with, your mind was jumping through all the reasons why Tyler Owens was at a motel right now, some good, some bad, some you wished you didn’t think of, some that led you even more intrigued than the statement itself did. 

“How many scenarios just flashed through that pretty little head of yours?” He knew you too damn well. 

“Wasn’t counting but probably at least 17.” 

“Tell me one.” You couldn’t see it but he was kicking his feet up on a cooler as he sat back in a lawn chair. 

“I’ll tell you three. First one, hooker.” 

If he had a drink in his mouth, he would have spit it out, but instead just brought his feet down and sat up so he could let out a belly laugh. “A hooker?!” 

“I don’t know, maybe your game went down over the years, Owens. I don’t judge. Sex work is work.” 

“While I don’t judge either, I am not and was not with a prostitute.” 

“I know.” You agreed with him. “My second one was a little more upsetting. I was worried you got uprooted.” You were referencing a tornado, something so common where you grew up. 

“No, I’m not uprooted.” All joking tones were gone now as he reassured you. “What’s the third one you wanna share.” 

“I think it’s the right one.” 

“Well this I gotta hear.” There was that intrigue again. 

“You’re chasin’ storms.” You knew him too damn well, too. 

He opened his mouth in a smile, his tongue playing with the inside of his mouth knowing you were right on the money. “Ever since you left, I’ve been searchin’ for ‘em.” 

“Took a break to ride a few bulls, though.” You showed your cards with that one. 

“You’re cheating, you’ve looked me up.” 

“To be fair, you showed up on my instagram news feed a while back, something like ‘all the motivational phrases from hot cowboy Tyler Owens as he preps for his bull riding competitions’.” 

“Sounds about ri–wait so you don’t even follow me?” There was fake hurt coming through the phone towards you now. Realizing you were talking about a post from some news account, not even his own page.

“You don’t follow me! How can you be mad that I don’t follow you.” 

“I follow you. I liked your last post. Surfing in Sayulita.” He had you there. 

“You’re just looking at it right now.” There was actual defensiveness in your tone now. There was no way you didn’t realize Tyler Owens followed and liked your posts. 

“I feel kind of offended. I feel like I’ve been in contact with you this whole time you know, like I’ve been a part of your life from a far while you’ve just cut me out cold.” His cowboy drawl was strong in that sentence and you felt embarrassed almost. It was a reminder of the guilt you felt but it wasn’t something you’d discuss on the phone, this was meant to be reconnecting, fun, that Tyler Owens banter everyone knew and loved. And he knew it because he was following it up with more fluff. “If it makes you feel better, my instagram is all PR, Youtube stuff. I got a finsta for my cool stuff.” 

“Why do I picture you imitating the sunglasses emoji while you said that?” Your nostrils flared as you grinned.

“Because I did.” 

Now it was your turn to let out a belly laugh. 

“That’s probably why you didn’t realize it was me that was liking your posts.” He pulled his phone away from his ear and pulled up instagram to shoot you a DM. “There I just sent you a message so you can follow me back.” 

You saw the sunglasses emoji pop up on your phone alongside CloudTy. A play on Cloud nine,  the nickname you gave him. “Nice finsta name.” 

“Yeaaaa, someone cool gave it to me a bunch of years ago and it just stuck.” He was leaning back in the lawn chair now and he realized he hadn’t lost the smile on his face since he picked up the phone. 

“You want to pick me up?” You shocked yourself with the question and your boldness, but with how Tyler answered, that feeling of being 16 and in love again filled your heart. 

“I’ll be there in 20 minutes.” 

And just like that, your favorite Leon Bridges song came on. Appropriately titled, Coming Home. Falling back on your bed, you wished this feeling was one you could have drowned in forever. There were only a few people in this world where you could pick up where you last left off, and the list was short. Your family was a handful of them, but the difference is you always picked up at the same memory. The one each one of you were stuck reliving when you all came together. The reason you were back home to begin with. Tyler on the other hand, you picked up where it felt safe, familiar and just freeing. 

The door that led to your connected bathroom where your sister's room was to be found on the other side was opening and your head lifted up to see her one hand grasping the doorframe and the other still on the doorknob. “Uh, I think Tyler Owens just pulled into our driveway.” Her smile was hesitant and muddled as she waited for a reaction from you. 

“Okay, thanks.” You were jumping up, not eagerly because you weren’t stupid enough to act that way in front of your sister and open up the 20 questions. 

“Okay, sorry, I shouldn’t have worded it that way, why is Tyler Owens in our driveway?” She repeated her question in a different manner. It seemed like the 20 questions can opened up anyways. 

“He’s picking me up.” Again, said so nonchalant to throw off any more questions you weren’t sure you really had the answers too. You began gathering your stuff and ignored the full out beaming look your sister had on her face as she followed you downstairs. 

Opening the front door, your eyes fell on the same red dodge RAM he had in highschool, except now the truck was completely storm proofed. But you didn’t bother paying attention to the truck, your attention was on Tyler. His white cowboy hat matched his white t-shirt, his hand moved up to tip the hat down in a greeting and his smile was contagious.

“Okay, actually, I think my real question is, why is Tyler Owens in our driveway in a truck that looks like it belongs at a Monster Truck Rally?” You realized your sister was next to you and it broke your concentration. 

“You coming with us?” You were adjusting your stuff as you asked, breaking eye contact with him as you tucked your phone into your pocket. 

“No.” She answered quickly. “I’ll let you have your moment. Am I lying to mom and dad?” 

Wow, you really were 16 again. “No.” Your face twisted up, why would you need to lie to your parents, you were an adult. That’s when you heard the muffle sounds of the Luke Combs song, the guitar strums, although muffled, were enough to get your attention back on Tyler who was nodding his head to the beat. Suddenly, every bad thing you ever did with Tyler was running through your brain on loop. “On second thought, yes.” 

“God, for once I wish my life would present opportunities like this.” She mumbled under her breath as she wrapped her sweatshirt around her torso and ran up to the passenger window of Tyler’s truck. Shortly behind her you followed, hearing Tyler greet your sister and their quick conversation as she hung on the door through the open window, her feet on their tiptoes to reach. 

“Nora.” He greeted her. “How goes it.” 

“It goes.” She was looking around in his truck at all the modded technology. 

“You comin’ with us?” Tyler wasn’t asking in annoyance, he was asking because you knew he genuinely wouldn’t care if she tagged along, the invite was always there. 

“Nah, I’m running interference.” 

That earned you a look now from Tyler, he greeted you first before anything though, your name falling off his tongue with that extra drawl that managed to send chills down your spine. “Interference, huh?” 

“Every morally gray thing we’ve ever done flashed through my head and while I’m an adult, I think it’s better to fill my parents in on my whereabouts when I’m back.” 

Tyler chuckled with a nod. “What you plannin’ on tellin’ ‘em Nor?” His head fell back and his wrist rested on the steering wheel as he asked the question. 

“Could just say one of her girl friends took her to a party, maybe she went out to a last minute dinner with friends?” Your sister shrugged, it had been a while since she came up with a lie for you. 

“Dinner with friends. I think that’s a good one, not too far from the truth.” Tyler was teasing now and as much as you enjoyed the banter, you weren’t going to stand there all night. Squeezing past your sister so you could grab the door handle, she backed up and let you climb in, not stepping back too far though. “Tell you what, Nor, why don’t you just tell your parents, I took your sister storm chasin’.” He shrugged with his tongue playfully sticking out as he joked. 

“Be safe.” Your sister tapped the truck and started to head back inside. Suddenly, you didn’t feel 16 again, the butterflies of getting in your boyfriend's truck and the nerves of what was going to happen weren’t anywhere to be found. It was replaced with comfort and well, like the old feeling of being home. 

“Windows down?” Tyler asked as you hit the country roads after a few turns to get off your parent’s property. 

“Yea, windows down.” With your head out the window, the wind blew against your face. It was breezy but humid, you could see the clouds moving against the now pink sky as the sun continued to set. Even though home didn’t feel like home, this was as close to the feeling you had gotten in a while. Those Arkansas sunsets against the endless plains of land just brought you a feeling that felt like no other. 

“How are things?” His eyes were on the road as he asked. No teasing, no show, no banter. Just a genuine question. 

“I don’t know.” A genuine answer. 

He let the silence comfortably move in, the sounds of the road filling the space instead. 

“How about you?” It was a few minutes later when you asked him. 

“They’re alright.”

The road noise continued the conversation again. The wind howling became your voice and the thunder in the distance was Tyler’s as he continued to drive through the roads you both traveled on so much as kids. Music was still playing in the background, Tyler always had a knack for choosing the perfect driving playlists for each car ride you’d ever taken together, all based on the adventure and this was no different. 

“Why’d you come?” Your head was back in the car now, leaned against the headrest as you looked over at him. 

“Why wouldn’t I have?” Still one hand on the wheel, while the other was hanging out his door catching the wind. 

This conversation was going to be different from the one on the phone. The one on the phone was easy going, one that if you didn’t have the opportunity to see eachother it could’ve ended amicably and open to more down the road. This one was going to be facing all the things that couldn’t be said on the phone, only when you were sharing the same space. “We didn’t exactly leave things on the best terms.” Your head tilted slightly, like it was obvious why you were asking the original inquiry and he was still questioning it. 

“You didn’t exactly leave on the best terms.” He was correcting you but it was done so gently, giving you grace in some of your worst moments. 

“So you’re telling me you never held it against me? This entire time?” It was like you were begging to be punished for how you left things. 

“Never.” There wasn’t any doubt in his voice, and Tyler wasn’t the type of person to say anything he didn’t mean. 

“I don’t know how you do it.” WIth a deep breath you looked away from him and straight ahead on the road. 

“What’s that?” He asked, again the witty responses were long gone, this was the Tyler you fell in love with, not that the wild jokester wasn’t lovable either. That’s what pulled you in, but this, the real tender moments where sharing things without really actually saying them straight out was understood by him and when you did have it in you to really explain how you felt, things felt sacred. That’s what made you wonder if you ever truly fell out of love with the man driving. 

“Pretend like it never happened. I said awful things, Tyler. Awful things. And this whole time you’ve never held it against me? You’ve just–I don’t know what or how you do it.” 

Now he got what your question was. How could he be happy to pick up the phone to your call, how could he fall right back into rhythm with you, offer to pick you up, how could he not remember that last night you saw him. 

“We have so many great memories, one bad one isn’t going to just erase them all from my mind.” It was half an answer to your thoughts. “You were–” he stopped at that word, it felt weird referring to it in the past because if he was being honest, he still felt that way. “You are an important part of my life. We grew up together, you know.” There was another part answered. But you were waiting for that last bit. “I don’t pretend like it never happened. I could tell you exactly what you said, exactly what I felt when you said it, but it doesn’t change everything you said before, everything I felt before.” 

That should’ve been enough for you. That should have melted you, and if you were in a romance movie, maybe it would’ve. But you weren’t, and as much as you wished you could accept that and drop it you couldn’t. 

“I told you I couldn’t love you anymore.” You said it not to repeat the words, but to prove your point, and it broke you to even utter it out loud again. 

“You told me you couldn’t love anything anymore.” He corrected you again, his knuckles white as his grip tightened on the wheel and the loosened as the memory replayed in his head. “And when I asked you, ‘even me?’, you said ‘even you’.” 

The scene practically flashed in front of you like a slide projector. The rain, pouring down in your driveway, something that used to bring you so much joy, just added to the list of things ruined that day. Your tears mixed in with the drops of rain. Your black dress drenched, Tyler’s suit just as soaked. You were yelling, something you never did towards each other unless it was in a cheer of excitement. Granted, the rainfall was loud and your voices had to carry to be heard over it. As your eyes shut to get rid of the memory, you almost saw it clearer. The look on Tyler’s face when you said it. Like you had just gone inside his chest and ripped his heart out with your bare hands. 

“I–” You didn’t even know what to say, the guilt of it all eating at you at this moment. “I said awful things.” You repeated the same sentence as earlier, hoping that was enough to get across your sorrow, even though he didn’t need any of it, he knew even before you called. 

And so, he said what both of you were tiptoeing around. Not because he had to, you both knew why, you both knew the reason. But maybe talking about it or saying it outloud would do something about how you felt.

“You had just lost your brother.” 

And there it was. Grief had a funny way of popping up. Especially the first stages of it. And when your older brother died, from driving drunk on the freeway, two nights after your graduation, everything felt tainted with his memory. It was too much for you to deal with on top of dealing with mourning. You decided to leave home the night before the funeral. And to really add to the shittiness of the funeral day, you decided to solidify it as the worst day possible by also making it the day you broke up with the guy you were in love with, alongside of the day you buried your brother and the day you left home. 

“I lost everything.” Now it was your turn to correct him. Tyler wasn’t an asshole, he wasn’t going to say what you were thinking. How losing everything was on you, it could’ve just been one thing, one really awful thing but you had to go and make it worse. But that was just the thing. Tyler would never say that because he didn’t think it at all, you did. 

“I like this song.” You leaned forward to turn the speaker up. “What’s it called?” “Aimless.” 

You let out a snort. In your attempt to change the conversation, avoid the awkward and painful topic of this all, you managed to just end right back in the middle of it. “Kind of perfect.” 

“I figured you hadn’t found home yet, noticed you were kind of all over the map.” The kindness of this man. Despite knowing exactly what you meant, he still was giving you the grace to talk about travel, and while it still was dancing around the point of what you meant, it was giving you an out if you didn’t want to take the bait. And while you wanted to take it, to avoid this uncomfortable feeling, you didn’t. 

“Home has been hard to find since that day.” 

Tyler nodded in agreement, understanding why it would be. “S’why I don’t hold any of that against you.” 

And that’s when it really sunk in, Tyler got it. He had lost things too, knew how unpredictable the unravel of it all was. It didn’t make it right, it didn’t make it okay, but it made him see you. This entire time he saw you through the fog, while you were dead in the center of it, blind to it all. 

“Where we headed?” The lightness in your tone was more a product of feeling less heavy than when you arrived home versus wanting to change the topic.

“You’ll see, Storm girl.” His smile grew back on his face, the same lightness you felt was traveling over to his side of the truck, too, it seemed. He was shifting too, his left hand moved to the wheel while his right leaned on the center console. Your eyes fell down on it, staring at it as he mindlessly tapped to the beat of the next song playing, one he clearly listened to a lot to know the bass beats. That’s when you really took in where you were, back in Tyler’s life, and him back in yours. Without thinking you brought your hand to his and intertwined your fingers in his. He didn’t even flinch, or take a look down, he just opened his palm and welcomed you back in. No judgment, no pushback, no hesitation. And then, he squeezed it. Four times. Like a beating heart. The gesture you’d do when you were 16 and weren’t able to say anything. At parties, in the midst of the crowd, when you’d jump off those swimming hole cliffs, at dinner with your parents, and now, when the conversation felt itself hard to be had or maybe even just finished. 

It was then that you realized, he was driving up a mountain, the plains were fading in the rearview as he trekked up the trails. You knew exactly where he was taking you. Within minutes you were parking on an overlook ledge. The sky in its last stages of a sunset, the last chance to take a look at the cloud silhouettes, you could see the sunset on one side and the storm that was thundering on your way over on the other. It was your favorite spot to come and watch the storms brew years ago, sometimes the clouds would be low and dense enough to be gathered around the overlook. In fact some of them were currently, and you jumped out of the truck, looking up as the moisture was just an arms length away, moving towards the overlook where the view was a little clearer. Leaning forward against the rocks, you smiled and turned around to see you were alone in the dense cloud. In an instant your smile dropped until you heard Tyler’s voice. 

“I see you, I’m comin’.” 

He did see you. All along. When you were in the fog, he was always there. 

When he pushed through the moisture, he grabbed your hand, then brought it with his own over your head and then rested it across your torso, his body coming up behind you and intertwined in a hug as you looked at the storms. His head ducked down and pressed a kiss to your temple before standing straight up and pushing you back against him so you could feel his chest vibrate as he spoke the two words that allowed you to realize maybe it was time. 

“Welcome home.”

[motheroffeline]

Infatuation (pt. 1)

18+ minors dni, extremely dark, Aaron Pierre x OC! psychopath! Photographer! black reader Ari, smut, lots of stalking, explicit language, blackmail, dubious consent, omniscient POV, french kissing, oral (f receiving), and masturbation.

Summary: Ari works as a professional photographer for Aaron Pierre and is responsible for most pictures of him that have gone viral. But she finds herself completely fascinated with him to the point of obsession. She began to debate on how to have him completely to herself and then the light bulb came on: fool him with innocence and strike. On the road to darkness with the path already drawn out, Ari knew that the vanta blackness of the night belonged to her own soul.

Taglist: @kaylalb

Why was the world so full of things that were essentially unobtainable? The very essence of what one wanted could lie at their feet but stooping down to get it is where the problem arose. Just as an image said so many words there was really nothing to be said and, in that moment, the world felt silent any who. Malevolence lurked so openly in corners that people walked by and talked to it. Just as one could talk to it, the invisible but present malice could walk into bathrooms and bedrooms to violate privacy. Just as eyes would close and clothes would fall down it would wait with a grin, lopsided eyes trying to instill the image into its brain. Malice and malevolence went hand and hand but interchangeably they destroyed the soul contracts of the forgiving without mercy.

...

"One! Two! Three! Four!" Ari could barely push through the fourth set of crunches before she was completely winded. But, today, was special: this would mark her third year of working for Aaron and Ari wanted to be in tip top shape. She knew that the universe had to put them together because both of their names started with an A. I mean what else could it be? Her muse had walked into her life like a wandering elk in lone woods.

Through Aaron, she had purchased her first home which was considerably modern and had more than what she needed to live on. It was in a less populous part of town as well which gave all the privacy a young woman could need. A phone ringed distantly in the background, distracting Ari away from her thoughts.

Thinking it was Aaron himself; Ari made a mad dash to the phone only to find out that it was Alyssa, a longtime friendship that formed when she was going to school in long island.

"Wake yo ass up, Ari!" Said Alyssa who always spoke as though she was deaf. One of those types of people were always there for their friends through thick and thin; Ari loved the loud woman like a sister and could say that she was the second person in the world in which she truly adored.

"Alyssa, you so fucking loud it's not funny. And, yes, I am going to an event and guess who gonna be there?" Ari liked to mention Aaron at every interval because it meant she had a chance to improve her fantasies of him. At a moment's notice he could worm himself into her mind and even the slightest suggestion of intimacy from him would send her into a fit of lust.

"You mean that sexy, lightskin motherfucka? Shitttt, you lucky to even be that close to him. From all of the videos and stuff I see him of him he looks really shy which is kinda unfortunate because he's fine shyt. I high-key think you'd fuck him even if he was mute, Ari." Alyssa giggled at Ari's defensive words on the other line because she knew of her friend's obsession more than anyone else. Not the extent of her passions but from the root in which they grew -- Alyssa knew only that.

Arousal spread through Ari as she began to visually imagine the cute smile of Aaron and the juxtaposition his eyes provided in the photos she took of him. There was an awareness during the third year of working for him that came about: the utter fascination that turned into grotesque wanting. Hearing his laugh and being an audience to his visage is what turned Kari into a monster: Alyssa nor anyone else could know of her true nature.

Ari had possession of pictures where Aaron was fully naked, she had taken pictures of his social security number and had typed countless emails out just in case he denied her proposal in the coming two or so hours. The way of attainment was so disgusting and muddled with faux innocence that it would stain even the purest image formed of an individual: Ari swiftly hung the phone up on Alyssa. After 8 years of friendship, she had never purposely slammed the phone down in her friend's face, but Ari knew after that in a lot of ways she was not the same person anymore.

Bright colors disturbed her, so she decorated her house in mild and sometimes even dull colors. Additionally, regular masturbation did not do it for her anymore. If she didn't have a vibrator buzzing on her clot, a dildo in her pussy, pictures of Aaron laid out on the bed and porn playing in the background then she would not orgasm.

Ari's phone buzzed on the counter to let her know that the time for the event was closely approaching, and it sent a ravishing feeling through her: he would hate her forever or he would hate her forever and accept the offer. It was his fault to trust a random strange woman that he had met off of a website, it was his fault to conceptualize her as the young apprentice so eager to learn.

A cup of black coffee sat next to Ari as she gulped it down. The shower was running in the bathroom as she let the caffeine dull out the most extreme of her emotions. As she settled, Ari stripped herself naked, letting the soap wash her but never truly washing away anything at all. No matter how clean the skin or flawless the body she had there was an apparent discord lying beneath the clean interior. Deciding that her hair would look better out of her face, Ari braided her curls into five braids. She opted for a bodycon dress that left nothing to the imagination because it would inspire any men's eyes to look even ones like Aaron's....

1 Hour Later....

Ari was standing awkwardly amongst her fellow photographers as though she had walked into the wrong building. Aaron was so busy greeting people that he had not even noticed her arrival which, admittedly, made her a bit angry. But soon after he made his way over to Ari and her eyes wandered to his dick which always seemed to be swinging so heavy in his slacks and in his joggers. Did he even wear underwear?

"Ari, it's so good to see you! I was just telling Brianne, you know her, right? She does some really good editing and I was just thinking that you know how outside and indoor lighting works so you two could be a pretty good team." The adorable look on his face only further pushed the dark agenda in Ari's heart, aboding the beast but with an innocent look Ari spoke to her muse and said, "I think that I'll go solo for a while because I want to try out this new project and I find it rather stimulating. Honestly, I'm scared that people will take my idea and run with it because I don't think no one has done this before."

Aaron's eyebrows scrunched in curiosity and Ari had half the mind to fuck him through the marble floor of the venue right then and there.

"Oh, an upcoming project you say. What exactly does it entail?"

"I know it sounds a bit weird, but I think I should tell you in private because of how innovative it is. Would you mind joining me in the right-wing room for a second?" Ari could only pray that he would bite the bate that she waved in front of his face because if he didn't, she didn't know what she'd do to herself. She had brought the computer that held all of the blackmail pictures, and she was waiting for the currency that he would pay to her: his body.

"No, that actually sounds pretty smart, Ari. I'm pretty busy right now with all of the other guests and the guy that owns the venue keeps calling me about what time we need to get out. Hopefully, his phone has lost battery from calling me, but I doubt it with that dude." The way his British accent would reveal itself had Ari flushed with Arousal.

"See you then?"

"I'll see you then, Ari."

To the dark...

The lights in the right-wing room were cut off leaving an impassive pitch-black room which only had a couch in it. Ari's laptop illuminated the room but never fully lit it giving off a wicked vibe. Perfume wafted off of her neck giving the room a smell of pine, cherry and palo santo which was the absolute balance of masculine and feminine. Aaron walked into the room and Ari instantly lifted her head up with a lecherous smile.

"Hello, Mr. Pierre."

"Huh, what's with the formalities? I wanna hear about that new idea you got... shit sounds pretty interesting. By the way, were the lights off when you came in here? Ugh, I told that asshole to pay the light bill because-" A loud laugh burst from Ari's mouth which interrupted Aaron in the midst of his speech about the possibly dodgy venue owner.

"Aaron, can I be honest?"

"Well, yeah, my momma always told me that honesty was the best policy. So, what is it, Ari? If the plan is a bust, then that's fine because we all make mistakes sooner or later. But, I'll be happy to hear it-"

"Fucking listen." Ari could almost smell the fear and suspicion coming off of Aaron like an expensive cologne, but she had to let the words that she had held in for years come forward through her red stained mouth.

"Ari, what's going on for real? You've never just cussed like that... You one of the calmest people I know." Aaron's voice had a slight tremble to which was indicative of how he'd react when she revealed what she could ruin him with.

"Aaron, I'm going to be very descriptive in how I phrase this: I have pictures of you, so many pictures that they never could be erased without finding more. There are some of you where you are naked, some with you masturbating because I've snuck into your house to get those. I also have your financial information, that I've also got backed up on multiple sources. Your family -- I have some information of theirs as well and did you know what I can do? Besides creating perfect picturesque visuals I can also forge stories like a playwright, I can fuck you over really, really well..." Ari's voice deepened as she elongated the syllables in each word, she spewed to Aaron who was mortified by the passing second. Then, for added effect, she turned the laptop around to show him all of the different photos in which she owned.

"This has to be some type of sick fucking joke, Ari. You that fucking desperate you gotta go ruin my life on some shit?" His voice was trembling with the magnitude of the situation because he had trusted Ari and saw her as a relative because of how reliable and trustworthy she was.

"Aaron, I've wanted your ass for a long time, and you never even knew. That's why I gotta do drastic shit to you. But I'll give you an out to such a horrible end... If you have sex with me, I'll get rid of the information and then you can forget you ever saw me again. But, if I see my name on the news I'll have you dead in about three days because I'm constantly connected to fucked up people like me. So, is it a yes or a no? I need to know an answer right this second so I can notify my people to start digging your grave."

Aaron looked at Ari with a mix of disgust and disappointment with a glare so sour it looked like he could kill her with his bare hands. "Your people? You mean the voices inside your head you crazy bitch! I can't even fucking believe it. I gotta fuck with you because you lonely? So damn bold to sneak into somebody's house and take pictures of them but you can't even ask for sex without threatening somebody." Aaron's voice growled with pure hatred but was low enough to not alert anyone.

"Fuck me or see your life in shambles... Your choice. I know so many women that'll buy your pictures in a heartbeat and then you'll be on Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr-."

"Okay, I get it! What do you want me to do first, Ari? I still can't believe I hired such a crazy slut..." His voice held such contempt that in some way it made Ari feel a little guilty but she swept it under the rug. On the other hand, Aaron grimaced at the arousal that was quickly building in the pit of his stomach.

"Eat my pussy." Ari said with a blunt voice and a blank expression on her face which was a 360 from her passionate threats prior.

"Crazy, you just crazy Ari. What the fuck...." Aaron got on his knees as Ari started to pull off her bodycon dress and panties.

His tongue immediately darted forward and licked her from clit to hole and she let out a low mewl.

"For such an evil bitch you sure do taste like honey." He buries his tongue in her hole, in and out, in and out stroking her g spot.

"Mmmmmm Aaron t-thank you.... F-fuck... I'm sorry..." Ari begins jumping his face as his eyes peer into her trying to decipher who he thought was an angel in human form. His tongue swirls around Ari's soaked clit like a curious tentacle, pushing back the hood and sucking it between his teeth like a hard candy.

"I was even thinking of asking you out one day Ari. I always thought you was cute and shit... Never thought we'd get together like this.... Never thought you'd be a bitch either but here we are..." He speaks against her folds and she moans as the vibrations from his baritone voice rattle her dripping core.

"Goddamn... What about everybody else up in there? You don't think nobody gonna hear us? Oh God, yes, right there..." Ari's voice goes hoarse from pleasure as he grinds his nose against her clit.

"Mmmmmm, when did you ever care about shame? This room is so far down the hall that nobody could hear us. Music playing in the background too so I don't think they'll be too worried. I told them I had some matters to attend to so they won't look for me either. Is that all you need to know Ms. Blackmailer? Your pussy squeezing my tongue...." Ari practically drools at the sound of his voice as he devours her like a Michelin star dessert.

Aaron notices the visual pleasure evident on Ari's face and blows raspberries into her pussy, flicks the hard nub of her clit and gently nibbles on it just to get her to fall apart. In truth, he never expected Ari to be so bold... She was certainly a different person when it came to what she wanted. But, putting his family into it made him feel some type of way about the whole ordeal... Made it seem more dangerous to even be dealing with her but he got on his knees anyways. Who knows what she'll do next?

Ari's hips gyrate as she reaches the peak of her pleasure. "I'm gonna cummmm, ohhhh I'm gonna cum on your long ass tongue... Yes, yes eat me like that.... Mmmm like that- ahhhhh!" Ari let out a scream as she squirted all over Aaron's face, soaking him in her essence.

She quickly drops on her knees and begins kissing him in a sloppy manner completely catching him off guard. There was flight, fight and freeze and he found out which one he was right there in that dark room with Ari. Her tongue hugged his and she stuck most of her tongue down his throat loving the sounds of his gags.

Ari pulls back completely and stares at him for what appears to be minutes on end before finally saying in an utterly dark voice that read a dismal future for Aaron: "Trust me when I say this won't be the last time between the two of us. You're handsome and you're in the palm of my hand. In other words, I can't wait to discover every inch of you."

[rosy-crow]

I really need to see Sephiroth and Hojo speak to each other one fucking time. Their dynamic is never shown via verbal interchanges.

But they’re father and son. The anticipation is making me crazy.

Now, I say this…and yet, I think their indirect relationship is so fascinating…the way they speak to and through each other.

We have “Sephiroth, you’ve grown stronger” from Hojo in Before Crisis and “On to the next test Sephiroth. I want to see how you work in a team,” most recently in First Soldier and “Sephiroth, you’ve really done it this time,” from Hojo in The Last Order.

Only two of these lines are spoken to Sephiroth in person. He is silent both times.

The rest is Hojo talking ABOUT Sephiroth.

Talking about following him, observing him, copying him, breeding him, recreating him, exploiting him.

The rest is Hojo obsessing, which culminates in the wild question he throws out before his death:

“What will Sephiroth think when he finds out I’m his father?!!”

Meanwhile, the closest we get to Sephiroth addressing Hojo directly is “I see now Hojo….but doing this will never put you on the same level as Professor Gast,” in the OG, and “Hojo, you’re really something,” in Rebirth.

The rest is Sephiroth QUOTING Hojo. He can quote him perfectly.

“It’s an affront to science!”

“We don’t use unscientific terms like “mysterious power! It shouldn’t even be called magic!!”

“No matter how logically you explain something, there will always be people who don’t understand because they have a different view of the world.”

Seph mimics Hojo’s body language. He shares his laugh. He is the only SOLDIER allowed to speak to the Professor. He says that Hojo has always told him the opposite of “Relax, don’t push yourself. Rest.” He references Hojo’s terminology, explaining why SOLDIERs that are led by emotion are “second-rate.”

Sephiroth grows up….and he speaks disdainfully of the old scientist. He lashes out in disgust over his experiments. He hates Hojo and looks down on him. He doesn’t quote him with any level of respect anymore. Hojo is a bad memory. He would be fine to let the man die in Crisis Core.

Still no direct conversations between them on-screen.

And YET—

Sephiroth had visions of Hojo in Nibelheim. He saw him laughing. He had memories of Hojo causing him pain in an AU trip to Nibelheim.

Hojo had countless samples of Sephiroth’s DNA in tanks in the Shinra Manor labs.

Even after losing his mind, Sephiroth knew Hojo well enough to comment on how the scientist would be mortified if he knew about Cloud being a successful experiment after being labelled a failure.

Hojo tried to blast his son with mako energy to “help” him further ascend into godhood.

Sephiroth killed everyone in Shinra’s labs and didn’t stop until he reached the executive floor just above, where he killed the president. He didn’t kill Hojo.

Hojo felt inferior to Gast. Sephiroth put Gast on a pedestal in comparison to Hojo. Hojo murdered Gast. Sephiroth wonders many years later why Gast died.

Hojo erased Lucrecia, but Sephiroth looked for her all his life. Hojo won in the end by leading him to Jenova instead.

Sephiroth didn’t talk about his father. He laughed the question off.

Hojo knew exactly what Sephiroth used to wash his hair. He knew how and where he would sneak to goof off with his friends. He sold this private information to strangers.

Sephiroth wore a photo-necklace that Hojo gave him. The photo was of Sephiroth’s real mother. Hojo’s wife. Lucrecia. Hojo told his son she was Jenova.

Hojo declared that as long as he lived, so would Sephiroth.

Sephiroth has saved Hojo under orders.

Hojo risked his entire life to make Sephiroth stronger in the end.

[idk-thisistoomuchpressure]

Title: If I Could Give You the Moon

Idol: Anton (RIIZE)

⸻

You weren’t supposed to talk to the idols.

That was one of the first rules you were told on the job—right after “wear black” and “don’t look lost.” You worked backstage, helping reset dressing rooms and guide stage crew in and out with their equipment. It wasn’t exciting, not really. But the music made the walls hum, and sometimes you’d catch the singers standing still just before the lights went up—wide-eyed, young, and suddenly so human.

You only spoke to Anton because he got lost.

“Sorry,” he said, turning around in a hallway that only led to a loading dock. His voice was low, unhurried. He didn’t look rushed like the others. Just a little lost. He looked at your badge and said, “Do you know how to get back to the dressing rooms?”

You showed him. You didn’t mean to walk the whole way, but he kept asking questions—about the venue, about your job, about what you do when there’s no one famous on stage.

“Not much,” you shrugged. “Clean. Fix broken things. Try not to feel invisible.”

He looked at you for a long second and said, “I see you.”

And you hated that it meant anything. But it did.

⸻

The group was only there for three days. Three whirlwind nights of rehearsals and cameras and interviews and fans screaming their names. You only saw him in fragments: sitting on the edge of the stage, sipping from his water bottle and nodding at the techs, slipping you a quiet smile as he passed by.

You didn’t fall in love.

You just fell into something warm. Something golden and small and already fading.

On the second night, you were eating an ice cream outside during your break, sitting on the low concrete ledge behind the building. The sun was setting in a wash of orange and lavender. It felt like a dream you were going to wake up from.

He found you there.

He didn’t say anything—just sat next to you and offered half his melted popsicle. You took it. Ate in silence. A light breeze stirred between you, and for a second, you felt like the world had stopped spinning just long enough to let you breathe.

“I like places like this,” he said eventually. “Where it’s quiet. Where people forget about you.”

You looked at him. “Don’t people always remember you?”

He didn’t smile. Just stared straight ahead. “They remember what they see. Not who you are.”

You wanted to ask who he was, then. But the question felt too heavy. And maybe you didn’t want to know. Maybe it was better this way—him being half-real, half-sunset.

⸻

On the third day, the buses rolled in before sunrise. You knew they’d be gone before your shift ended. You told yourself you wouldn’t wait around, but you found yourself in that same spot out back, sun rising now instead of setting, your legs dangling over the ledge.

You didn’t expect anything.

But hours later, your phone buzzed.

A photo.

The moon, high over a foreign city. Blurry and soft. And beneath it: this reminded me of you.

You stared at it for a long time, in your bedroom that still looked like a childhood you never outgrew. The walls were too close. The air was too quiet. Downstairs, your parents argued about groceries and your future in the same breath, like they were interchangeable.

And you thought: What do you give a boy who has everything?

Money. Fame. The world at his fingertips. Hotels that clean up after him. Planes that wait.

You have nothing.

Not really.

Just the ache in your chest, the memory of a shared popsicle on a hot summer night, and the feeling of him beside you when you felt like no one else noticed you existed.

“If I could give you the moon,” you whispered to the empty room, “I would give you the moon.”

And it’s stupid. You know it’s stupid. But it’s the only thing you have left to offer someone who will forget your name the second the tour moves on.

⸻

A week later, he sends another photo.

A rainy window. A blurry train station. A little caption: wish you were here.

And this time, you feel it rise—resentment, sharp and sour. You look at the photo with cracked hands and a sore back from another double shift. You look at it with your dad’s disappointment echoing in the hallway and a stack of bills you can’t even look at.

And you hate him.

Not in the way that means anything. Not really.

You just hate that he got out. That he gets to see the world. That he gets to remember you when you’re still stuck here, trying not to forget yourself.

But you don’t block him.

You don’t ask him to stop.

You just sit on the same curb during your break, legs swinging, sun setting again. And you let it hurt.

[babsvibes]

A soup recipe that’s relatively cheap and easy because I cook like a single mother of four

In one pot: brown a pound of beef, strain the grease, then add two taco seasoning packets, a diced yellow onion, a can of corn, a can of pinto beans, a can of rotel or diced tomatoes (don’t strain the cans, dump them entirely into the pot). Cook until flavors combine. Serve with shredded cheese, sour cream, and tortilla chips.

For fool-proof instructions:

Get a pot. You will only need one pot. Should be big enough that a soccer ball could sit in it (but doesn’t have to be a submerged soccer ball).

Throw a package of ground beef in it (usually around one pound) and cook until the pink is gone.

Can be the cheap tube of ground beef or a different meat, who cares. If you don’t have a fancy way of straining grease so it doesn’t go in your drain, get a wad of paper towels and c a r e f u l l y let it soak up that puddle of grease then throw the paper towels away.

Take two taco seasoning packets and sprinkle that over the beef. Stir.

Yes it’s mostly dry seasoning on beef don’t worry there will be liquid in a second. You can use only one packet if you prefer less seasoning. Add a little extra water if you need to tone it down.

Throw in a diced onion. Stir.

I wouldn’t go for a sweet onion, but it would probably fine if you used whatever kind of onion you have. If you want to use a shallot, go ahead. Maybe try dicing while the meat is cooking. If you didn’t, just take the meat off heat and finish the onion. Put it back on heat once you’ve thrown the onion in. You can skip the onion if you want.

Dump a can of corn, a can of pinto beans, and a can of diced tomatoes into the pot. Stir.

Do not drain them first. Just dump. I try to grab the cans that are like duel ingredients so fiesta corn, beans with jalapeños, and tomatoes with green chilies. Literally all of this is interchangeable. If you have a different kind of bean, sure use those. If you have stewed tomatoes, go ahead. It comes down to texture and slight variations on flavor but because of the seasoning packets it will mostly taste the same regardless.

Bring it to a boil then lower the heat, cover with a lid, and let it simmer. Cook until you can see through the onions. If you skipped the onion, taste periodically for the flavors to come together. You can give it a stir every once in a while.

The flavors “coming together” looks like when color saturations all match to form one soup instead of five separate ingredients. Like when you put a filter over a photo and now it looks more balanced? This could be like fifteen or twenty minutes but I don’t know your stove.

If you’re like “this isn’t enough juice to be a soup” give it a few minutes as the ingredients release their moisture. If after like ten minutes there’s still not enough liquid to your liking, pour some extra water in there by rinsing out one of your previously used cans (like if there’s still beans stuck in the bean can, fill it halfway with water, swish it around, and add that).

Serve with shredded cheese, sour cream, and tortilla chips. Hot sauce optional.

If you want to add more stuff, do it. Peppers? Sure. Shallot instead of or alongside an onion? Go for it. More beans? I’m down if you are. If you want to get rid of stuff, sure thing boss. It does not matter. This is simply the easiest recipe.

[noxiatoxia]

Ok, so with all my SDR2 translation talk, I thought about a line of dialogue that's always struck me as odd in the English game. Hinata doesn't feel comfortable showering.

(Sorry for the photo quality, this is taken from my phone on my Vita)

It just sounds odd. I'm a fan of the Hinata being a trans man headcanon - I think it fits with many themes of his character - but headcanons aside, from an actual canonical standpoint, it just seems out of place.

I never checked the shower in the JP version for some reason, so I did so now. (Same bad quality, sorry).

The problem is, I can see where the confusion comes up in the Japanese version, and I'm going to ramble a bit here.

この向こうはシャワールームだ。結構広くて使いやすいけど…気持ちよく汗を流せた試しはない。この状況だもんな…

If you handed me this, I would give one of two translations:

On the other side is the shower room. They're pretty spacious and easy to use, but...there's literally never been a point where I've felt comfortable showering. Ugh, this is so annoying...

Or:

On the other side is the shower room. They're pretty spacious and easy to use, but...there's no way I could feel comfortable showering in this situation...

I'm gonna do my best to explain why both are plausible. I'll pitch it to the room and see what you guys think.

First line can be ignored. It's very simple. On the other side is the shower room.

Second line is where things start getting tricky. Firstly, Hinata in the official translation says it's pretty large and it looks easy to use but "looks easy to use" is not in the sentence at all. It says it is easy to use. But seeing how Hinata has never used this shower before, I have to conclude he is speaking of shower rooms in general, not just this shower room.

Because of context carrying over, that makes the next line - if we go with option 1 - sound like he is speaking on this same broad topic: of shower rooms in general.

He specifically uses 試しはない which is extremely emphatic. Well, the extreme emphatic version is 試しがない, but for the purpose of this they're interchangeable. It means that something has never, ever happened. There is no precedent for it. This makes Hinata's claim that he has "literally never, ever felt comfortable showering" sound...extreme. It's part of what throws me off. That is, I'm unsure why the writers would put that in there. There's also the last part - この状況だもんな. If going with version 1, この (this) here would be used derogatorily, as in "this bastard" or "this guy!" and such. 状況 means state of affairs, and もんな would be used to express annoyance. Basically going, "Ugh, this situation...what a pain..."

Now in option 2...it is predicated on if the last sentence is meant to re-contextualize the first. It's very much an odd way grammatically to write it at least in my opinion, but people do that in real life all the time. "I lost it. My keys, that is." - for example. In this case, Hinata's words about never feeling comfortable showering would be completely dependent on the last sentence. "I can't ever imagine feeling comfortable showering. In this situation, that is."

もんな can be used also to give an explanation. Think of it like "because". Hence the janky official translation - they're trying to word "because it's this situation." and obviously, Hinata would be using この neutrally here and not as a derogatory prefix.

The reason I'm flipping back and forth is because of the following reasons:

Objectively, it makes more sense of Hinata to say he would not be comfortable showering in this situation than to say he's not comfortable showering at all. Like, ever.

The sudden break of context - that being all shower rooms - can be explained by the last sentence: him rewriting perspective retroactively by saying "in this situation, I mean."

However, in my limited experience with 試しがない, I don't think I've ever heard it about hypotheticals, only actual things. That is to say, Hinata saying he wouldn't feel comfortable is a hypothetical. My brain automatically wants to assume he's talking about an actual event. It's along the same lines of "My son never drinks responsibly" or "she never gets along with new people" - these are statements that imply past events that prove the rule. That's the only way I've seen 試しがない used. This is in part because, again with the would usage, I don't see it being used for future events. Hinata has not bathed in this shower yet. Using 試しがない makes way more sense if he's talking about his past experiences about showering, "I have never (before)..." but again, since he's not used this shower, he cannot be referring to a past experience.

I hope you can see my confusion...I'll be honest, my contact with 試しがない as a phrase has been limited. I feel like if I can find evidence for it being used for hypothetical future events, then I will confidently conclude it's number 2. Until then, it literally goes either way for me.

If you have insight I'd be more than willing to hear it out.

Edit: I want to add a more clear TL;DR.

I feel option 2 makes the most sense from the perspective of being stuck in a killing games. However, the past tense and literal usage of 試しはない makes it impossible for Hinata to be talking about a future hypothetical. Gramatically, with 試しがない meaning that something has never once occured - placing it in the past by default - I find it hard to then fit that with something that Hinata has no past frame of reference to.

[upn-the-sky]

General Kratos (no-ashes OOAK, part 1)

The headline is a spoiler itself, but whatever, because today is the day, when i finally can share the part of my latest work!

This is going to be my second custom of the action figure and long story short. When I had a first thought about having a tan-skinned human Kratos, I was blessed with rare enthusiasm, because we don't have any official figures of Kratos in his "golden ages" as a human and general of the Spartan army (WHY).

It would be easy just to repaint figure from mass production, but those figures are all post-vow-to-Ares. And we need to be canon. If we make Kratos from the timeline when his soul was still his, we make him fully-General!!

Why not to go under the cut to see how is it going?

Everything starts with the head as usual. I bought it last fall, I guess? You have no idea how hard it is to find a bald head with a beautiful scull. With the right proportions of the face to match the body and to match Ares. (They are going to stand together). All "action heads" are different and rarely interchangeable and I guess I used all my luck at this step, because things became so problematic after, that I nearly lost my mind. In a time I also bought a head of a nordic Kratos in a hope to make my life easier, and oh god it is giant even for a giand body I have.. This head now in my scrap.

Anyway. Let's look at our donor. Don't know who is this...

You probably think 'meh he doesn't look like Kratos' and you are right! But what do I have here? A KNIFE!

The plan was simple, I just needed to cut off his neck and face and re-sculpt this head entirely.

Step. By step. I cut and build again his eyes, eyebrows, nose, lips, chin, cheekbones, jawline, forehead, nape... until I started to see him. Hi~

Actually, you never can say, how the sculpt will show itself after painting. It is the most cruel and frustrating thing, you can like the result, but the face easily can play uno reverse card with you in the end. With those thoughts I made a new neck for him. Because default neck of the body I chose was too long and wide and has an absolutely useless point of artuculation. First try, second try, and after curing it still seemed a bit too long, so after passing some time I cut the bottom of the head a bit to set it deeper.

After finishing the sculpting I sended all and prepared everything for toning head and neck with the airbrush. Aaaand here my airbrush died. When I bought a new one with a normal compressor, I proceed. Somehow I repaint it 5 or 6 times in a row. God bless my "red stone" primer, really. Quick color match test! Nice?

Nice! Now we can finally paint his face and body. Really I have no idea how doll customizers uses pencils for such a small faces. How! Brushes and a liquid paint is the only option for me. And I am happy about improving my technique since I painted Ares! ❤

By the way, his scar is carved, you can feel it, it is just hard to see it at photo.

Oh gosh here I had a big exhalation, because sculpt didn't do a sucker punch to me, while it could. I didn't give him a too angry face for a yet-secret reasons, but wow.. he is.. so young. ?? and.. human-like It is easy to forget that there were time, when Kratos wasn't 200% done. It is so mind-wrecking. I.. it is hard to show at the pictures how much life and personality he actually has irl. I will gave you a better pictures next time, when I get used to him, I just see now how easily electric and natural lights and shadows change the perception of his face. But.. still wow.. He needed the last thing. His beard. Here could be a lot of curses, because it ate 3 days and 4 tries to glue and form it, but it won't be here! Let's just have a small laugh, because I used actual goat wool for his goatee. And we finally can assemble him!

What's next you ask?

I kinda have nothing to say except 'I am making his Dominus armor now 👺'.

Thank you for watching and commenting in tags if you did it when I made Ares doll, I love you guys

Stay tuned! Skeletor will return very soon!

[sirfrogsworth]

Hi Froggy,

I hope you've been well! I wanted to reach out and first say that you inspired me many years ago to rescue a corgi! She was a grump, I think she may have taken her name (Elphaba) too literally. She recently crossed the rainbow bridge, but she was such fun and a joy. I hope our pups are playing together, somewhere peaceful.

I have a question unrelated to stumpy Corgis. I'm a veteran birth doula and an aspiring birth photographer! I've been trying to research cameras, lenses, and all sorts of technical stuff. I'm leaving towards purchasing the new Nikon ZF, because of the purported low-light capabilities.

Lenses are throwing me completely.

Do you have any guidance or resources to help a newbie like myself? Not really looking for an in-depth answer (I know how complicated things can get), but maybe a general push in the right direction?

If you don't want or can't answer, no hard feelings! I enjoy just seeing your posts on my dash and I hope the rest of your year is amazing and calm!-Steph

(continued...)

My budget is pretty flexible, since I am an independent contractor the expense would be tallied towards my taxes. But that being said, maybe $1-3k? I know it's important to invest more into lenses!

Usually, I am in a hospital, and lighting is extremely variable. I would be shooting mostly in low-light before baby is born. During delivery and after there is usually a spotlight or fluorescent lighting. The low lighting is exactly why I was looking at the new ZF, but if you have suggestions on that too I'm happy to hear them!

It's very cramped when the baby is born, most medical and support staff are clustered around the laboring person.

Warning! A lot of birth photos will have baby crowning or blood. It's a messy business, so I don't want to trigger you if you're sensitive to those sorts of images.

I will not be able to be directly next to the laboring parent, more than likely I'll be a few feet away, possibly behind the parents or standing on a stool.

After the baby is born, I'll be able to get closer to both parents and baby!

Here's a portfolio that is close to what I would like to provide (once again TW for blood and crowning):

https://www.sarahginderphotography.com/birth-photography-north-new-jersey

I cannot thank you enough for any help or advice, this whole endeavor is like learning a new language!

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

Note from Future Froggie...

I went way overboard on this response, as usual. I have decided I'm going to break it up into 3 parts.

First, an encyclopedia of lens terminology.

Second, a camera and lens buying guide.

Third, practical advice for shooting in cramped rooms with tricky lighting conditions.

While this will be geared towards the original ask, I think this could be helpful to a lot of people. So, let's learn about lenses!

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

Lenses throw everybody, just because there are so many options. It can be overwhelming to look at a picture like this and wonder what will suit you best.

It's a lot of pressure too, because lenses are more important than the camera in a lot of ways. Interchangeable lenses are probably the biggest advantage big cameras have over smartphones these days.

But I think I can help get you up to speed.

The following terms are photospeak you might hear in camera and lens reviews and if you aren't familiar with them, it can make it difficult to figure out what camera and lens to purchase.

I tried to put these in an order that makes sense, but some terms relate to other terms and you may have to read the list twice to make sure you understand how everything mushes together.

Froggie's Encyclopedia of Lens Terms

Lens Mount

Every camera has a specific lens mount. Sony calls theirs the E Mount. Nikon has the F Mount (older) and the Z Mount (mirrorless). So you need to make sure the lens you are looking at is compatible with the mount on your camera.

Mirrorless cameras all upgraded to a mount with a "short flange distance." Going without a mirror allows the lenses to be closer to the sensor.

Long story short... Short flange distance = easier lens design = sharper/lighter lenses.

However, if you want to use older DSLR lenses, there are adapters for Nikon and Canon that allow you to do that.

Aperture

"Aperture" is an opening at the front of the lens. It gets bigger to let in more light or smaller to restrict light.

Wider apertures have a shallower depth of field, causing blurry foregrounds and backgrounds outside the plane of focus. Smaller apertures expand the focus area to keep more stuff from being blurry, but they let in much less light and are difficult to use in dark environments.

Aperture can be a creative decision or it can be a technical decision or it can be a mix of both. If you need a blurry background, use a wider aperture. If you need everything in focus, use a smaller aperture. If you need more light in a dark scene, open it up.

F-stop

"F-stop" is a number representing how big the aperture is. A lower number is a bigger hole. Higher number is a smaller hole. It is helpful to memorize f-stops as they are not easily divisible. Cameras generally allow third stops, half stops, and full stops.

These are all a "full stop" apart.

Stop Down/Open Up

When someone says to "stop down" a lens, they are telling you to make the aperture smaller or use a higher f-stop number.

If they say to "open up" they are saying to make the hole bigger or lower the f-stop number.

Depth of Field (DoF)

Depth of field refers to how much of the photo is in focus. Things in front of the plane of focus will get blurrier and blurrier and things behind the plane of focus will get blurrier and blurrier. A shallow depth of field means only a tiny sliver of your image will be in focus. A deep depth of field means almost everything will be in focus.

The wider the aperture, the shallower the depth of field.

The smaller the aperture, the deeper the depth of field.

Focal Plane or Plane of Focus

The focal plane is the sharpest point within the depth of field. You can imagine an imaginary section of 3D space where things within the depth of field are sharp and things outside are blurry. The farther away from the focal plane, the blurrier they will get. But the focal plane is not always dead center of the depth of field.

Typically, at close distances, things will be sharp half in front of where you focused and half behind where you focused. As things get farther away, that changes to more 1/3 in front and 2/3 behind. The ratio changes even more at greater distances, but the 50-50 and 1/3-2/3 ratios are typically what photographers try to remember.

Shallow Depth of Field

The focal plane is something you need to be very aware of at close distances with a wide aperture—as the depth of field can end up as a tiny sliver.

Let's say you are only a few feet away from a baby and you have the aperture set at f/1.2. You focus on the nearest baby eye, and then you notice its ears and nose are out of focus.

The plane of focus and shallow depth of field are causing this issue. This might be a worthy compromise if you are in a dark room and your ISO is very high and you are worried about too much noise.

However, if you can use a flash or some kind of lighting, you can stop down your lens and increase that depth of field around the focal plane.

Bokeh

Bokeh is the quality of the blurriness. Some people are more obsessed with how good the blurry parts of the photo are more so than the in focus parts. Bokeh is typically judged by "bokeh balls" which are just out-of-focus lights in the background. While I like attractive bokeh balls as much as the next photographer, I will admit this is one of the sillier aspects of photography.

Field of View (FoV)/Angle of View

This is how much stuff you can fit in frame at a given distance. Wide angle lenses can fit more stuff in at a shorter distance and telephoto lenses can fill the frame with stuff that is farther away. The focal length of the lens determines the field of view. The focal length is designated by millimeters and the field of view by degrees.

Focal Length

Technically, this is "the distance between the lens's optical center and the camera's sensor."

In simpler terms, this is how you determine the field of view of a given lens.

A short focal length, like 10mm, will have a wider field of view. You have to be very close to your subject to fill the frame with them.

And a longer focal length, like 500mm, will allow you to fill the frame with your subject from farther distances.

Typically all lenses are designated by their focal length. If someone says, "Hand me the 50" they mean a 50mm lens.

35mm Equivalent

Not every camera has the same sized sensor. So when we talk about lenses, we need a reference to help us understand how a given lens will behave. A 50mm f/2.8 lens does not have the same field of view or depth of field when placed on different sensors. So, we need a standard for comparison.

The standard that is used is the "full frame" sensor which is roughly the same size as a 35mm piece of film.

Anything smaller is considered a "cropped sensor."

Those cropped sensor cameras have a "crop factor"—a simple multiplier that helps you understand how lenses compare. And when you use this multiplier it tells you the "35mm equivalent."

Confused yet? Yeah, sorry, it would be easier if camera manufacturers chose metrics that didn't change depending on the sensor, but this allows them to make their cameras and lenses seem more impressive in the marketing.

There are two main cropped sensors for ILCs. (Interchangeable lens cameras.) APS-C and Micro Four Thirds. They have a "crop factor" of 1.5x and 2x respectively. The Micro 4/3 sensor is half the size of Full Frame, therefore it has a 2x crop factor. And when you apply this crop factor to the aperture and focal length you can determine how a lens will behave.

For example, a 50mm f/2.8 lens on a micro 4/3 sensor would behave the same as a 100mm f/5.6 lens on a full frame—as 100mm is 2x 50mm and f/5.6 is 2 stops above f/2.8.

As you can see, the Micro 4/3 lens is not going to do as well in low light. The iPhone boasts an aperture of f/1.8 on its main lens, but when you figure out the 35mm equivalent, it's more like an f/8 lens.

I went to all the effort to explain this because it demonstrates that larger sensors allow you to work in cramped spaces with less light. If you want to use a 50mm in a hospital room, you probably can on a full frame. But on a Micro 4/3 you might need to be out in the hall because your lens is acting like it is 100mm. So the Zf would be a good choice in this regard.

Camera Shake

This is the bad kind of blurry. Humans are not tripods, so when you are handholding a lens, you need to make sure your shutter speed is fast enough to freeze the action of your image. Camera shake is very easy to control on wide angle lenses and very difficult to manage with telephoto lenses.

Reciprocal Rule

The reciprocal rule states that in order to get sharp photos without blurry camera shake, you must set your shutter speed to 1 over twice the focal length of your lens. So if you have a 100mm lens, you need to set your shutter speed at 1/200 to be safe.

This rule breaks down at a shutter speed of 1/50 if there is anything moving in your image. So if a dog is running or a car is driving by, it will have a motion trail, but at least it won't be due to your shaky hands.

Image Stabilization

This is a feature some lenses have that helps reduce camera shake. Image stabilization can counteract shaky hands and let you get sharp photos with a much slower shutter speed. Newer cameras have sensor stabilization which does the same thing. And if you pair up a stabilized sensor with a stabilized lens, it is almost as effective as using a tripod.

Stabilization is measured in stops. You might hear a lens has 4 stops of stabilization. That means you can handhold the lens and not get camera shake with a shutter speed 4 stops below the reciprocal rule. So for that 100mm lens, that 1/200 becomes roughly 1/12. And if your sensor has 4 stops, you could handhold a shot for nearly a second without any shake.

However, at shutter speeds that slow, if anything in the frame is moving, they will probably have motion blur. But for still life scenes, or maybe a sleeping baby, this can be very handy if you don't have a tripod with you.

If being able to handhold at lower shutter speeds seems important, then you might want to seek out a lens with stabilization and pair it to a camera with sensor stabilization for maximum stable-osity.

Lens Compression

Lens compression is kind of a myth, but I think we still call it compression because it is easier to explain to beginners than optical physics. The lens doesn't really compress anything, it's actually a matter of distance and the aforementioned physics. But I'm going to go with the easy explanation for now.

Lens compression is a phenomenon seen with different focal lengths. If you take a photo with a 500mm lens, the background will seem to compress with the foreground. Thus objects in the background will seem much larger in size.

This also happens with faces.

Wider lenses exaggerate distance. At 10mm, the lens would only be a few inches away from someone's face.

From the lens's point of view, the ears are several times farther away from the lens than the tip of the nose. So the lens is like, "Your ears are really far away! And far away things are really small, right?" So the lens gives us a big nose and small ears and makes us look a bit alien.

But at 100mm, the lens will be several yards away.

From this perspective, the lens feels like your ears and your nose are nearly the same distance away. And the lens is now like, "Things that are the same distance away do not get bigger or smaller." The lens seems to compress or flatten the face, causing a more flattering appearance in the image.

Minimum focus distance

This is sometimes called the working distance. This is how close you can get to your subject while maintaining focus. If you get too close, your camera will just hunt and freak out perpetually until you back up and it can lock on again. This isn't always advertised prominently for lenses, so you need to make sure the lens will be able to focus in the space you plan to use it.

Extension Tubes

Sometimes called "macro extension tubes." These are spacers you put between your camera and lens to decrease the minimum focus distance. In some cases you can even turn a normal lens into a macro lens. These tubes are able to stack and the more you put on, the more into the macro realm you can go. They come in smart and dumb versions. The dumb ones require you to manual focus whereas the smart ones can still use the autofocus system. I highly recommend the smart ones, as they are not too much more expensive.

Lens Imperfections

There are a few imperfections that can plague all lenses and their quality is sometimes judged by how well they mitigate those imperfections. Here are some of those attributes.

Lens Distortion

As lenses get wider, they allow a larger field of view by accepting light rays that are coming from the side of your lens. Let's look at this image again.

Your lens then has to correct those rays and send them to a square, flat sensor. If you look at the 180 degree fisheye, that entire arc has to be flattened and made square. And as good as optical engineering has become, the wider the lens, the harder it is to keep the image from distorting.

This is typically called "barrel distortion." Minor distortion can actually be corrected in editing software. Every lens has correction algorithms. Though sometimes it is best to embrace the distortion, like on a fisheye lens. Make the distortion a feature and not a bug.

Chromatic Aberration

This is the fancy name for color fringing. This is a defect in the lens that cause false colors to contaminate certain objects in a photo. Typically this happens around dark skinny things against a bright background, such as tree branches.

Modern lenses have nearly eliminated this, except for the super cheap models, but if you do end up with fringing, this can be easily corrected in Lightroom or Photoshop. And many lenses even have that correction built in and all you have to do is check a box.

Sharpness

You might not think of sharpness as an optical flaw, but no lens is perfectly sharp. And the quest to make a perfectly sharp lens involves engineering those optical flaws to a minimum.

A "sharp lens" is one with incredible fidelity. Even zoomed in beyond 100%, sharp lenses will show great detail. If you can't get close to the subject and need to crop your photo later, having a sharp lens can make up for the loss in resolution—as you can upscale without much loss in quality. If you plan to make large high quality prints, a sharp lens will help more than tons of megapixels.

That said, if you truly want to get the most out of a high megapixel camera, a sharp lens comes in handy here too. A smartphone may boast in the marketing as having 200 megapixels, but it has a tiny plastic lens. So even though it technically has 200 megapixels on the sensor, the lens will give it the equivalent of maybe 8-10 megapixels worth of detail. People forget, the lens has a resolution as well, and if the lens cannot resolve 200 megapixels, you aren't going to get a 200 megapixel image.

A sharp lens will allow for more detail than higher megapixels. In some cases you need to double or triple the number of pixels to see an increase in detail. Whereas you can put a super sharp lens on a 12 megapixel camera and blow any smartphone out of the water.

And if you put a sharp lens on a 50 megapixel camera, you can almost see into skin pores.

So... sharp = more detail. And more detail gives you greater cropping power for when you can't get close to babies.

Now, I am obligated to say that some photo nerds chase sharpness as if it is some holy grail. They need the sharpest lens so all of their pixels are perfect at 100% zoom even though no one ever looks at an image that close. There are amazing photos that have been blurry. There are amazing photos taken with 50 year old vintage glass. Sharpness is just another tool. If you need to crop. If you need to upscale. If you need to print large... it is a great help. But nearly every lens made for a modern mirrorless camera is "sharp" to some degree.

So, if you need extra sharpness for certain situations, do your research and find a lens that is sharp as can be. But sharpness should be like 8th on the list of priorities.

Soft Lens

A "soft" lens is how a non-sharp lens is referred to. Most modern optics for mirrorless cameras have some degree of sharposity.

Sharpitude.

Sharp...ness.

So you don't need to worry too much about getting a detrimentally soft lens unless you go super duper budget. This is why I usually recommend people skip the "kit lens" unless they absolutely can't afford anything better.

Though sometimes people purposely get vintage lenses because they don't like sharpness and prefer the "character" of older lenses. The imperfections can achieve a different artistic goal. Though this can also be achieved through lens filters... or Vaseline.

I'm looking at you, Barbara Walters.

Sharpness at the Corners

When I read that in my head just now I said it the same way I do "Panic! at the Disco."

Engineers will prioritize sharpness at the center of the lens since that is where most of the interesting stuff tends to be. But also, the light rays at the center tend to be the most parallel as they head to the sensor, so they don't need as much correction. The rays coming from the sides have to be bent and manipulated to correct for distortion, so keeping things sharp at the corners can be a challenge.

Now, knowing that, and knowing how the aperture works, you can infer that when you stop down your lens and make the hole smaller, all of the light rays are constricted to a smaller area. This makes them easier for your lens to deal with, so if a lens has problems with corner sharpness, you can usually stop down to improve this. So if a lens is soft at the corners at f/1.8, you might be able to go to f/2 or f/4 to get better results.

Vignetting

Vignetting is a circular area of darkness at the perimeter of your photo. This is another side effect caused by the same things as soft corners. When correcting those non-parallel light rays, it causes them to travel an ever so slightly farther distance getting to your sensor. And the inverse square law tells us that light becomes dimmer as it travels longer distances.

This is very easy to correct. Usually your camera has a setting to correct vignetting if you are outputting JPEG files. And if you are shooting RAW photos, your editing software should have a check box to fix the vignetting—usually the same one that fixes chromatic aberration. This is usually called "lens correction" in most menus.

Also, same as with corner sharpness, stopping down your lens will usually fix this optically rather than with software algorithms.

Contrast

Contrast is probably the most important attribute to determine lens quality. Good contrast can make a soft lens look good. But lens contrast is not always consistent. It can get better or worse depending on the lighting in your scene.

The best way to test the contrast of a lens is to take a picture of something that is backlit. A person with the sun behind them is a great indicator. If they have no light on them, the person should fall into inky darkness. But if a lens has poor contrast, they will seem like a faded gray.

Focus Breathing

Focus breathing is a phenomenon where your focal length changes depending on how far away your subject is. It's usually not a big deal and most people don't even notice it, but if you ever do video, it can cause a few headaches. Some people can get annoyed because they feel they aren't getting the advertised focal length on the lens they bought. Like, if you get a 300mm lens and it only goes to 250mm for things super far away, that can be annoying.

This video explains it in detail.

Lens Types

Prime Lens

A "prime lens" has a fixed focal length and cannot be zoomed. Typically prime lenses are "faster" (wider max aperture) and sharper. Weirdly they can be very inexpensive or the most expensive. They can be extremely lightweight or weigh a ton. And if you want the sharpest lens possible or the fastest lens possible or both, it will be expensive and heavy.

Having at least one fast prime is usually recommended for any professional photographer.

Zoom Lens

A "zoom lens" allows you to zoom. Obviously. But there are few that go below an aperture of f/2.8, so less light gathering and you sacrifice a bit of sharpness. However, if you don't know how much space you will have to work with, the flexibility of a zoom can be invaluable.

Be warned, while a cheap prime lens can still take fairly good photos, cheap zooms are usually pretty terrible. There are plenty of reasonably priced zoom lenses to choose from, but if the price seems too good to be true, I would trust that intinct.

Wide Angle Lens

A "wide angle lens" is any focal length below 35mm. Wider focal lengths allow you to get more stuff in the photo at shorter distances. A theme you might notice with photography is that every benefit has a compromise or consequence to go with it. Wide angle lenses are wonderful if you are in a cramped space. They also make it easy to keep everything in focus. But as you go wider, distances become exaggerated and barrel distortion becomes more pronounced and harder to correct.

Things that are close to the lens seem huge and things farther away seem tiny. One trick to remember is things in the center of the frame will be less affected by distortion. Something to take into account when taking those smartphone selfies.

If you look, the ball looks huge in frame because it was only a few inches from the lens. Otis was literally smaller in frame than the ball despite only being about 2 feet away. However, he doesn't look all stretchy like the ball because he is centered.

Standard Lens

A "standard" or "normal lens" represents about the same field of view as the human eye. Generally around 40mm to 55mm on a full frame camera (there is some debate on this, but close enough). This is right about where you can take pictures of faces without the unflattering side effects of wide angle.

Telephoto Lens

A "telephoto lens" allows you to stand farther away and still fill the frame with your subject. Usually lenses 200mm and above are considered telephoto. These are often heavy and expensive.

Specialty Lenses

Ultrawide

This is just an extremely wide angle lens. At this point, you just except the massive amounts of distortion and embrace it. These lenses are extremely fun.

Medium Telephoto

These are sometimes called "portrait" lenses as well. They are a little more tele than standard and not quite tele enough for long distance photography. Usually in the 70-200mm range. This is the focal range that allows you to still be close to your subject but you are far enough away to get extra flattering lens compression on faces.

Superzoom Lens

A "superzoom" has an extremely large focal range. It can go from very wide to very telephoto. These are usually not wonderful lenses, although they have improved on mirrorless cameras in recent years. There are a few that could even be used professionally now. But most are just a huge mediocre compromise for vacation pix.

The cheap ones aren't fast, they aren't sharp, and every time you zoom people think your camera is having an erection.

If you are traveling and you have no idea what you might be photographing and carrying around a bunch of lenses is impractical, these have utility. But the larger the focal range, the more mediocre they get. Typically if the zoom range exceeds ~150mm you will start noticing that mediocrity. So a 70-200mm can be fantastic. But an 18-300mm will be very mid.

Macro

A macro lens is any lens that has 1x or more magnification. 1x magnification is a designation that relates the sensor size to how much of the subject fills the frame of your image. For 1x, that ratio should be 1:1.

So if you imagine a quarter lying on top of an image sensor, that's how big the quarter should be in your photo. 2x magnification would be like if a quarter doubled in size and you laid it on top of the image sensor. And so on.

Beware of lenses claiming to be macro and really only having a short working distance. 0.5x is not macro, but is sometimes advertised as so.

Tilt Shift Lens

This is a very niche lens. Most people know of it from the photos that make everyone look like they are in a miniature land.

For every other lens, the focal plane is perpendicular. If you move the camera at an angle, the focal plane will match that movement. So what the tilt shift lens allows you to do is angle the focal plane so your depth of field goes in bonkers directions.

Product photographers love this because you can take a photo of an array of products from a 45 degree angle and keep everything in focus.

This image would be impossible to maintain complete focus of all the objects without a tilt shift lens.

In this example, without tilting the lens, the tip of the multitool is out of focus.

And now you can see the camera hasn't moved, but the lens is at a steeper angle. And you'll also notice the entire tool is in focus.

But wait, there's more! Did you forget about the shifting? Architectual photographers can use the shift function of the lens to correct perspective distortion and keep buildings looking straight.

Will this lens help in the photographing of infants?

Probably not.

But I bet you thought it was cool and are glad I included it.

Recommended Essential Lenses

I didn't know what to call this section. These are just the collection of lenses most photographers will try to acquire as they build out their kit.

Nifty Fifty

This is probably the first lens everyone should buy. Almost every brand has their own version. It is an inexpensive 50mm lens with a sub f/2 aperture. Canon's Nifty Fifty or "Plastic Fantastic" is probably the most famous example. It is only $125 and has an f/1.8 aperture.

This lens may not be the sharpest and it might have a lot of plastic-y, cheap feeling parts, but it is a wonderful way to get started with photography. You can use the wide aperture to experiment with bokeh and shallow depth of field. And the 50mm focal length is probably one of the most versatile. Not too wide, so people look normal, and not too tele, so you aren't a mile away from your subjects.

The Holy Trinity

The "Holy Trinity" is meant to describe the 3 lenses that can handle nearly every photographic task while maintaining professional quality results. Typically these lenses are all f/2.8 and are high quality zoom lenses. The 16-35mm, the 24-70mm, and the 70-200mm.

Most photographers can accomplish just about any task with these lenses in their bag.

Froggie's Holy Hexagon

That said, if I had an unlimited budget I would actually have 6 lenses to cover everything. Beyond the Holy Trinity, I would get a fast prime, an ultrawide, and a macro lens.

A fast prime can see in the dark and has more background blur. The nifty fifty would work great for this.

An ultrawide is one of the most fun lenses you will ever use, even if it distorts everything to a crazy degree and isn't useful very often. It is great for breaking you out of photographic ruts and can really get the creative juices flowing.

And a macro lens is not just useful for making tiny things big. It also allows you to focus at any distance. Sometimes you just need to get a tad bit closer than your other lenses will allow. Macro lenses are also pretty great portrait lenses and can serve multiple functions.

And if anyone is interested in sports or wildlife photos, a nice telephoto lens might be a seventh lens to consider.

I think that is the end of part 1.

I hope this was helpful. And I look forward to posting part 2 soon.

[buckevantommy]

Arranged marriage and online friends au! 😊

Buck realises after two months of emailing back and forth that he doesn't actually know what Tommy looks like. And it's bugging him.

It's not like he wasn't aware of it before; Tommy has been a faceless presence across the digital void, features interchangeable with B-role actors and strangers on the street until Buck had given up trying to put someone else's likeness to someone unlike anyone he's ever met. Still technically hasn't.

After this long, he considers Tommy a friend. Buck just wishes he could put a face to the words.

There have been context clues helping piece together an image of what he might look like - brown hair (at least no one noticed the mud in my hair. I'll have to make sure to schedule time for a shower next time I want to take Annie for a jog in the park before a work event), defined muscles (not that lugging around spare car parts isn't its own workout, but I do have a standing appointment with my trainer to get to. I'm sorry I have to cut this short), tall (Granted, it's easier to get a good look at an engine when you have the height to bend over and not lose your footing) - but no descriptions and definitely no photos (unless you count the pics of his rescue dog Annie and a cameo appearance of his sneakers, which Buck wants to but they don't exactly fill in the blanks).

It probably doesn't matter. It's not like they're ever going to meet in person - Buck is on the west coast and Tommy's on eastern time. They can't just casually meet up for coffee when there's a dozen states between them.

He's not sure Tommy would even want to. Because while Tommy has tossed a few crumbs of his appearance Buck's way over the past eight and a half weeks, Tommy doesn't have to wonder about Buck in return. Because Buck had linked his insta account in his second email. It was the quickest way to show Tommy the state of his beloved Wrangler Renegade given he was at work and it was currently taking up space in Eddie's yard. Tommy sure knows his engines, even from photos that likely didn't show the whole story. With Bobby and Eddie's help (and with Chris being more help than Eddie) they managed to pinpoint the problem thanks to Tommy - something multiple mechanics couldn't nail down let alone fix, instead giving Buck the same excuse of how an old engine with that many miles was bound to give up the ghost sooner or later.

Buck took the jeep up the coast for the first time on his recent 48 off - the first time since his cross-country tour led him to the 118 and a few weeks in she'd stalled out and hadn't been the same since. But there was no sputtering, no chugging fits, no weird noises. Just miles of highway being eaten up under her wheels.

And he couldn't even picture the face of the person he wanted to thank. Maybe it was silly, or petty, but Buck couldn't shake his annoyance at Tommy having never sent him a photo of himself. He totally gets the anonymity of the internet, especially with forums, but he really thought they were becoming friends. Thought they'd keep emailing even if they managed to fix the Renegade.

He also hadn't heard from Tommy in over a week, so maybe that was adding to his irritation. And worry. As soon as they got her running smoothly, Buck posted a video of the jeep to insta and sent Tommy the link. He posted a few more pics of her on the road north and thanked him in the caption:

couldn't have done it without your help T 🌅🚙💻🛠️

Tommy knows how much this jeep means to him, and the more Buck thinks about it the more certain he is that the radio silence isn't like Tommy. He was looking forward to an update! It was the last thing he wrote: Keep me updated!, exclamation mark and all. Maybe he had to go away suddenly for work. Or his computer died. Or his email got hacked. Maybe something happened to him - he could be hurt, or sick, or worse. Maybe he read your emails and saw your posts and knows he fixed the problem so now he's done with you.

Buck stews in that thought longer than he should. It's not impossible, it just. Hurts. He likes Tommy. And screw distance - he wants to keep emailing and getting to know each other. Maybe Buck will get called out east for a nautral disaster (okay, not a great reason) or some kind of specialty training program. Or Tommy will travel out west for work.

Work which he's been pretty vague about, come to think of it. Buck doesn't actually know what he does - some kind of office-type job, going by the mentions of suits and gladhanding. Tommy knows Buck is a firefighter in L.A., but the nature of Tommy's work has been left mostly up to Buck's imagination. Maybe he's a special agent. Or a criminal. Or in witness protection. Or maybe the thought of a secretive existence helps soothe the ache of his abandonment issues; Tommy would reach out if he could but extenuating cirumstances are stopping him.

It happens to be a q-word shift which means no calls to distract him. Pocketing his phone, Buck sinks into the couch and turns on the tv desperate for something to take his mind off Tommy. Taylor Kelly is reporting from the studio these days, no longer chasing stories with a cameraman in a shady white van.

"..And now to political news. Vice President Kinard today announced the long-awaited engagement of his son to the eldest daughter of prominent Senator Olivia Ortiz. Thomas Kinard is the Vice President's only child, and the union is expected to strengthen ties.."

As Taylor talks, photos overlay on-screen: a professional family portrait complete with closed-mouth smiles; a young man - Thomas Kinard - in a khaki flightsuit standing in front of a military chopper; a college graduation gown.

"..Thomas Kinard minored in Mechanical Engineering.."

Another image: tall and broad and now with a mop of brown curls competing in a marathon and helping someone cross the finish line with their arm slung over his shoulders.

It's a minor detail. He doesn't even know why he notices. But Buck's eyes are drawn to his sneakers: Thomas is wearing a black pair with white half-trim and a reflective trapezoid on the heel. Not anything unusual, except that the guy he's helping is wearing a neon yellow pair that somehow didn't catch Buck's attention.

The next image shows an animal shelter and a small crowd of volunteers in candid and posed photos. In one of the candid shots, Thomas can be seen crouching to pet a familiar looking dog.. Annie.

No fucking way.

"..Tommy?"

doing this thing

[atlurbanist]

A freeway interchange as "urban renewal" in Atlanta

by Darin GIvens | Dec 9, 2024

This area, immediately south of Downtown Atlanta, is bounded on the north by Memorial Drive, on the east by Fraser Street, on the south by Fulton Street, and on the west by Central Avenue.

First photo: 1949 (GSU Digital Collections)

Second photo, showing the same area: 2024 (Google Maps)

This is part of the area dubbed Washington-Rawson during the post-WW2 Urban Renewal period. It wasn't the name of a distinct, existing neighborhood -- it was a name for a project that defined the blocks to be demolished for new development. The original plan appears to have been to displace the current population and build a place for wealthier (and whiter) residents. probably to compete with suburban flight.

It was, of course, a horrible plan that erased neighborhood fabric and uprooted thousands of residents, hitting immigrant and Black communities the hardest. The fact that it didn't actually turn out as hoped is small comfort. What did get built instead was a giant I-75/85/20 interchange, cutting off communities from each other and from walkable access to many destinations.

The following are passages from Daniel Judt's “Limitations of the Past: Atlanta’s Stadium and Atlanta’s Image, 1960-2015.” Yale Historical Review (Spring 2015)

"While the press and the Hartsfield administration maintained that clearing Washington-Rawson would get rid of one of the city’s worst slums, some saw the area as merely lower-middle class. Washington-Rawson was not a single neighborhood, but an intersection of two streets within the parameters of the urban renewal project. (Renewal projects were often named after streets.) The project pulled from parts of three neighborhoods: Summerhill, Mechanicsville, and Peoplestown" "[Mayor Ivan] Allen thought there would certainly be interest in developing an upper-middle class residential community that could link to a modernized downtown. By 1959, much of the Washington-Rawson site had been leveled...Residents of Mechanicsville and Peoplestown, the two neighborhoods directly affected by the program, saw 3,261 living units dismantled; over 3,000 individuals and families were removed." "...His plan for an area flush with businesses had, by 1963, ground to a halt. Vast amounts of land had been cleared, but the city could not find private developers interested in buying up the area. The project had lost space due to the construction of the messy intersection of Interstates 20, 75, and 85. The intersection was supposed to give the greater Atlanta region easy access to the CBD, but instead awkwardly cut off the remaining urban renewal land from the shopping district. Citizens in their cars would likely head straight home rather than traipse into downtown."

We can't entirely undo the bad plans of the past, but we can use better intentions to mitigate their impact and create good urbanism in every possible space. The few pedestrian passages that do exist near this interchange should be excellent environments for walking, and cycling (they currently are not).

Each neighborhood affected by this gulf of asphalt should be given every bit of public help available to be a complete urban space with its own shopping districts, parks, and affordable housing. Looking at the Mechanicsville neighborhood for instance (it lies immediately south of the area pictured above), one still sees a lot of empty land where buildings used to be. Looking at the neighborhood on the city’s GIS mapping tool, you can see the parcel divisions that used to be homes and more:

And Downtown, which became cut off from other parts of the city by the interstates, needs thousands of new residents to help it become a more self-sufficient place that relies less heavily on weekday commuters and events goers in order to achieve the level of vibrancy a downtown should have; and to take advantage of the high level of transit service and walkable streets here.

Making mistakes is something that all cities do at some point (though this kind of mistake is particularly egregious and worthy of scorn). Another thing cities do is make corrections -- we can do it by adding life to dead spaces and by redesigning the public realm of our streets, with an eye on equitable outcomes. It’s past time that we address the mistakes of Atlanta's Urban Renewal period in a comprehensive way that lifts up our neighborhoods above the detritus of car-centric, racist, and classist actions.

[marinerainbow]

I'm getting back into Mario... And it reminded me of two OC's I made when I was younger... I'll put the second OC on the back burner in case I don't go anywhere with her, but the other OC I know I'm definitely keeping.

The Princess of the Boos, daughter of King Boo

Now, I am still trying to figure out her design and backstory. Her backstory I think I want to keep it a mystery similar to Bowser Jr's origins (the idea I have though is that King Boo had fallen for a human women and used her soul when she died to create the first born Boo; his princess. But I haven't played Luigi's Mansion, so I have no idea if that'd even be in character for him). The only thing that is for certain, however, is that she is King Boo's child and heir.

I keep interchanging between a humanized look for her and her looking like a Boo, however. If she's a royal boo, then she'd be a bit smaller than a regular boo (which is tiny compared to King Boo 🥺), but she has the black sclera like him (or are those dark circles/shadows under his eyes? It's kind of hard to tell), with glowing, opera mauve pupils. She has a jewelry crown like him. However, it's smaller compared to his, and it'd look like a garnet rather than an amethyst like King Boo's crown. Her human form- which I'm not sure if she'd naturally have, could transform into, or would need the Peachette Crown to turn into, I'm still debating on... Though I kind of imagine her having a similar style as Muffet from Undertale 🤔

I couldn't find who the artist of Muffet's illustration was, but this was the best photo I could find. If you guys know, please let me know so I can properly credit them ^^

Yeah, she is still a bit of a mystery 😅 but I still wanted to post about her. Here are some tidbits for her ^^

Personality wise, she is a bubbly goth XD she's the kind of princess who would take you to the cemetery to meet her family, but she's way too happy and excited that you're here so you can't get too weirded out. To her, creepier things are normal; the killer piano is just a lovable puppy to her, the spinning eyeball is a nice decoration, her dad trapping people in his paintings is just 'dad and his collection' to her, etc. She feels curious about the rest of the kingdom, but would also feel out of place in Peach's castle or something.

Even so, when she gets upset, she'll resort to pranks and causing trouble. Like how children will sometimes do if they seek attention. She is a playful soul in general, but her jokes will turn more troubling when she's sad or angry.

King Boo, similar to Bowser with Junior, loves her to peices ^^ even if he is 'working' all the time. He does have a lot of haunted manors to look after and only really gets a vacation when Bowser temporarily takes over, and his time is taken up even more now that he's declared Luigi his enemy. So, unfortunately, they don't see each other too often. King Boo has yet to figure out how to balance his royal duties and family like Bowser (we do see Bowser invading the kingdoms alot, but it's obvious with how much Junior and/or the Koopalings admire and love him that he is a good and devoted father).

Princess Boo keeps a diary, like Luigi in Paper Mario. She writes down everything in it. Little writing blurbs, what she did that day, her thoughts and feelings, etc. Including all the times her dad left her behind.

This does leave Princess Boo feeling pretty lonely and prompts her to show up unannounced. But really, she just wants to hang out with the only parent she has. Sure, her citizen boos will play with her if she asks, but it's not the same... If she was in the games, this could even be a game mechanic; Princess Boo will pop up out of nowhere in the haunted house and pretty much stop everything the player was doing to 'play a game'. Whatever game she chooses, you can only pass the level when you win, but regardles, she looks so happy you're complying with her. On the surface, she looks like a brat interrupting the game, but all she wants is a friend if she can't have her dad.

Which leads me to one of my main tidbits about her; since I hc King Boo and Bowser have some kind of treaty or alliance, especially after the events of Luigi's Mansion, King Boo requested Bowser at some point to make sure his child doesn't interfere with his latest scheme. Bowser agreed, allowing the Boo Princess into his castle. She was pretty hurt by the implications behind this, and she did cause some trouble in the castle. But that led to her running into her best friend, Lemmy Koopa.

Lemmy, as we know, is pretty fun-loving and playful himself. I think he was immediately drawn to Princess Boo, just excited to have another playmate! But also because of how sad she looked. Being part of a mischievous pack of lizard children, he (and all his siblings) can tell the difference between genuine play and attention seeking mischief. Princess Boo at first wanted him to just leave her alone, but it didn't take long of him showing off his ball and magic for her to cheer up and start giggling again. And ever since then, they've been inseparable ^^ in fact, when the koopalings started taking over kingdoms alongside Bowser, she begged her dad to let her set up a haunted house in Lemmy's kingdom so they could team up.

Princess Boo does have varied relations with the other Koopalings too. She and Bowser Jr. And Larry are all similar ages, so they can get along the best (I'm not sure if I want Princess Boo to be younger or as old as Junior. She would definitely be one of the younger kids, though). She was first introduced to makeup and dress up with Wendy- who also taught her the tactic of referring to her dad as 'daddy' to get what she wants, so shes kind of like a big sister to her. Ludwig is a bit stuffy, but he can be cool. Iggy is on a similar level as Lemmy, and Princess Boo adores his pet Chomp Chomp. Roy is also cool, but in a 'the big kids on the block' sort of way to the princess. And she likes playing with Mortan and listening to him blab on about whatever is on his mind. But of course, Lemmy is her bestest friend.

She is envious, though, of their great relationship with their father. She is a bit sensitive about her dad and their relationship and would prefer it to not be brought up whenever she comes over.

Although she doesn't know it, her father is definitely getting dad advice from Bowser when word gets back to him on how sad she really is. He genuinely loves her and wants to do the best for her.

When Princess Boo is really sad to the point of tears, she'll fly away and possess something just so she can be alone and unseen. She has a bed in her room just for the purpose of her diving into it, but she has been known to hide away in paintings, vases, and other furniture and decor.

After hanging out with Bowser Jr., she wanted to try her hand at painting, too ^^ her art is more gothic abstract/psychedelic, and she likes to hang them up in her dad's haunted manors. He refuses to take any of them down, not even to make room for his own collection.

Now, that's all I got for her, but there is one more thing; I have referred to her as Princess Boo throughout this post, but... I don't really like it 😅 I know it'd fit in with King Boo, but I prefer something like Boolina or Booella. I can't decide which one, though. So, even though I doubt this'll reach to a lot of people, I wanted to add a poll ^^ I'd love to see what you guys think.

Edit: I forget that the character Goombella existed. And thinking about it, with Toadette and Gommbella, Boolina would complete the set of 'characters with feminized names of their species' names' xD (but also, Boolina sounds close to Rosalina, and as far as I know, all of the female characters in Mario have unique names special to them 🤔 and I also like the sound of Booella-). So I am leaning a bit more towards Boolina, but we'll see how the poll goes ^^

Also, I meant to add this as an option in the poll, but if you guys have other suggestions for her name, I'd love to hear them! No doubt, you guys are way more creative than me XD

[yunoteru4ever]

Everyone else is posting their photos of the Yuno Nenderoid finally coming in, so it seems it's my turn!

IT'S YUNO TIME!

Second Mirai Nikki/Yuno Gasai figure EVER and the first one to be released in 11 years LET'S GOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

At first I was looking in the box like "Where's the Cathedral of Causality background??" It took me a little bit to realize that they taped it to the BACK of the box's interior design. Crafty.

Yuno is only my second-ever Nenderoid purchase. For both of the ones I have, I am amazed by how fragile their various interchangable parts are. A stiff wind blows a Nenderoid to pieces, absolutely shattering them. Lightly poking one causes it to drop all its accessories and then lose its hair. I think they could stand to make these interchangable parts plug in a little more firmly, y'know?

Oh well; now that Yuno's safely in her place on a shelf, though, she's helpfully shielded on five sides. And she looks wonderful, obviously! So, GoodSmile...... where are we at on that Pop-Up Parade fig? Hmm.... ? :)

[prototypesteve]

Next: “I love Paris in the springtime summer!”

Short version:

Split up your time off, so that you have one “starter holiday” to break free from winter, and a second trip to look forward to all through spring and summer. My trip to England ended too soon. Time to plan my trip to France!

Long Version:

Coming back from a fun vacation can be really, really depressing. You’ll be tempted to feel like that’s the end of all your fun for another year, and maybe you should have done more, or stayed up later, or spent more, or or or. The trip home is rough because you pass by people who are beginning their holiday. The arrival home is rough, because you’re instantly dropped back into a world full of people in “normal mode” who act curious about your travels, but honestly don’t care, and just want you to get back to work.

So… that sucks. What’s the workaround?

Split your allotted time off into two trips. Spring and summer.

If you get one week of holiday (or if you can only budget for one week of activity regardless of how much time you’ve been allocated), break it up into multiple long weekend getaways. Book a few Fridays in your region’s springtime, and a few in your region’s later summer or very early fall. This was me in my 20s and early 30s.

If you get two weeks off, take one in the spring, and one in the late summer or early fall.

If you get three weeks of vacation, take one in the spring, and two weeks in the late summer or early fall.

If you get four or more weeks off, take two weeks in the spring, two in the late summer or early fall, and scatter the remainder as you like.

Your first getaway will feel like a thrilling escape from winter, and a grand start to a well-lived spring, summer and fall. It will end too soon, and you’ll feel like there wasn’t enough, and you want more.

That’s where Holiday Two comes in. The second trip is the Big One. In the time between your first and second holiday, you’ll have had some time in late spring and early summer to properly knock the winter rust off, and feel as though your upcoming trip isn’t an escape from winter so much as a midsummer adventure. It will hover over your spring and summer, like magic from one of Seanan McGuire’s happier nonsense worlds.

My “Holiday Two” is a trip some friends and I are planning on taking to Paris via the Eurostar. We’ll likely meet up in London, then catch the train to Paris for a few days (or more) of new sights, language immersion, carefree car-free living, and our shared preference for side-streets and authentic charm over the big touristy bucket-list pit-traps.

French version:

Les vacances sont mortes. Vive les vacances ! Mes amis anglais prévoient de voyager à Paris avec moi en août. C’est génial ! 2,5 mois de « zoomies de voyage ! »

(I barely speak French so this is like, a lot of my French, right now, and for all I know, a native French speaker might be aghast at the phrasing and take it to mean something very different than it what I thought I wrote, as someone who’s asexual and been studying French for just over 150 days.)

Shakespearian Version:

“Therefore, my lords, omit no happy hour that may give furth’rance to our expedition; For we have now no thought in us but France, Save those to God [and/or your employer], that run before our business. Therefore let our proportions for these wars holidays be soon collected, and all things thought upon that may with reasonable swiftness add more feathers to our wings.”

Henry V, Act 1, Scene 2.

Footnotes:

Terminology and ability:

I’m probably going to use the words vacation, and holiday interchangeably from here on. Long story for a future post.

I’m using season names rather than months because we live on a sphere where spring arrives in one of six different months.

I’m disabled too, and I know how hard getting out is, but I also know how important it is to your mental wellbeing. If the best you can manage is a couple of day-trips to a museum or a park, then that’s epic, and we want to see photos. Travel isn’t about distance, it’s about difference. 🦼✈️🚴‍♀️🚕

What about disappointment?

What happens when your second trip is ruined by wildfires, a pandemic, war, an injury, a diagnosis, a layoff, a loss, or any of a million other things? Is it a crushing loss? Nah. It just goes in the shelf for next year. Book through a grown-up travel site: They’re great about refunds, because they know that you’ll trust them, and be a customer for life.

I’ve had to cancel lots of travel plans over the years. Wildfires or floods destroyed highways, COVID closed the world, I lost a parent, a job became toxic, or I got stuck in an a bad relationship. Shit gets in the way. When it does, you put your plans away in a box and that box gives off a warm glow that gets you through the shit. And then, one day soon, the bright day comes when you get the all-clear, and you go!

[bonyfish]

Here's a camera from Soviet Russia

I got really into reading about the history of Soviet cameras recently. They started out in the 30s with copies of the renowned German Leica A camera, and then evolved into a distinct branch of the camera family tree all their own. Some people like them because they're a much cheaper entry into the world of interchangeable-lens compact rangefinders than purchasing a vintage or modern Leica (which can easily go for 4 figures even used). I like them for that reason and also because I find their history interesting. Mike Eckman has a fascinating breakdown of the history on his blog.

My camera is a Zorki 6 from 1960, the first in its line to have a film advance lever instead of a knob. I picked it up on eBay from a guy in Ukraine who was raising money to purchase supplies to fight the Russian invasion. Here's some pictures from my first roll of film with it:

It works pretty well, all things considered! It needed a good clean and I had to calibrate the rangefinder, but I really like the photos. My favorite feature of the Zorki 6 is there's an adjustable diopter in the viewfinder window, meaning that I can adjust the magnification so the image is super crisp, even without my glasses. I have a very light prescription, but the difference is still noticeable. My second favorite feature is the sturdy clunk that the shutter release makes.

Currently my only issue is that the shot counter dial fell off in my bag and the little highly-specific spring washer that was underneath vanished. This is only inconvenient and not disastrous, as all it means is that the counter dial spins freely and doesn't stay in place to count my frames. I just use a counter app on my watch.

Anyway that's my Soviet camera!

Camera: KMZ Zorki 6 Lens: Industar 50/3.5 Film: Wolfen NP100 Semi-stand developed in Flic Film Black/White & Green at room temperature for 1hr.