#and half of those are too small and pixelated to consider using

[drakothedragon55]

You remember the devlogs from Kaycee’s Mod? Well, here’s my spin on them for the Apocalyption AU. If they were real, they’d be accessible without Kaycee’s Mod (though still needing to be unlocked.)

— Devlogs and DATA (Part 1/2) —

LOG 1

Today I finally get to do something meaningful with this company. From the day they hired me, all I got to do was bug hunt and playtest weird games from franchises that no one has even heard of.

I know that I’m not the most experienced coder out there, but come on! I can do so much more than what they’re letting me.

Anyways, they’re letting me work on this new project. Inscription, I believe it’s called? I know virtually nothing about it. But hey. I’m sure It’l be more fun than reporting glitches all day.

LOG 2

It’s been a day or two since I started working on Inscryption, and I have to admit: it seems promising. I mean, how many virtual card games are out there? At least it’s not an UNO clone.

I’ve only done small things so far like making sure that certain animations display properly. It’s another 2D game, just like GameFuna’s previous works, but it looks like some 3D stuff will be implemented later on, which is cool.

I’m considering poking around the files when I get the chance. Wonder what other neat stuff I can find in here before it’s inevitably left on the cutting room floor.

LOG 3

So, I was looking through some folders when I found this file that looked out of place. It was labelled as ‘OL_CARD.zip’, so I decided to unzip it. What I got was a single exe file that did nothing when opened. Must’ve been a card placeholder or something?

Anyways, I left it alone because the last thing I want is some higher-up getting mad at me for ‘tampering with the game.’ Besides. I kinda want to look into it some more.

Now all I gotta do is find it. Call me crazy, but it’s not in the folder I last saw it in. I swear, I’m gonna be seriously angry if this is some virus.

LOG 4

ITS FUCKING ALIVE HOLY SHIT

LOG 5

Note to self: redo log 4.

I still don’t know what’s going on, but when I booted up Inscryption, there was this red mass of pixels right outside Leshy’s cabin. I tried interacting with it, and a text box full of gibberish showed up.

I decided to ignore it and check up on the scrybe, and I found that Leshy seemed…off. His personality still isn’t very fleshed out, but he seemed to be on edge. The other NPCs in the area were, too. That’s when I shut off the game.

But that damn red thing was on my desktop now. It couldn’t open a text box with Inscryption closed, so it opened Notepad instead. Let me copy and paste what it said.

H̷e̶l̴l̷o̶ ̴t̴h̴e̸r̸e̵!̸ ̵:̸)̶

I wish I was making this up. Is this some kind of advanced AI? If so, why are they keeping it hidden in this random-freaking file tucked away in the back of a card game?

I have so many questions. And a part of me wants to ask this thing for answers.

LOG 6

Out of every single employee, I’m the one who gets the haunted game. Seems about right considering my luck.

Well, I’m not sure if this thing is a ghost or not. I’ve been talking to ‘Olcard’ by adding text into the code, and it’s been responding with those bugged text boxes. At least it’s getting better at using them.

Whatever it is, it’s really curious about the game and its development. I’ve asked my fellow coders if anything similar is happening to them, and they all give me weird looks. I’m half expecting to wake up any minute now.

I’ve finished up Leshy’s area and I’m working on Grimora’s next. Olcard gave me some good tips when I got stuck, so I think keeping him around a little while longer wouldn’t hurt anyone.

[teardownit]

Color space basics for HDMI video

There are two general measures of video perception: resolution and color. Those notions are intentionally vague for the purpose of explaining their relation to HDMI transmission.

I've covered the resolution part in previous posts, as this metric is simpler to quantify. Every screen has a limited number of pixel dots; the more, the better. The same logic works for refresh rate; the faster we change the image on the screen, the smoother the motion picture. Screens are rectangular matrixes of pixels with a small number of aspect ratios (roughly, from long 21:9 to square-ish 3:2) and resolutions of 1, 2, 4, 5, or 8K. Higher HDMI standards support more Ks. Thanks to Steve Jobs' legacy, we have the upper limit for the density and, consequently, the number of usable pixels, known as 'Retina'.

The second part, color, is more a matter of taste and perception. Much like audio, there's always a place for debate on compressed vs. lossless and the number and range of color or audio frequency levels. So, let's review color-related terms one by one.

Color space

Color space is basically a color wheel from any color picker window in the software of one's choice. Just arranged in a more scientific, yet two-axis planar pattern. This half-parabolic rainbow-colored thing, called the 'cromaticity diagram', was introduced in 1931 and is still referenced today as a space for all the colors, not counting their luminocity.

Then there's 'color models', a system with a multi-letter name for representing a set of colors (color gamut). The ultimate goal for color models is to cover the color space, but in reality, all the RGBs and CMYKs try to cover the most of the color gamut (or technically possible with the technology they are made for).

RGB

One of the most known color models is RGB. I intentionally don't make any distinction between all the variations of RGB (sRGB, AdobeRGB, and xRGB), as this makes no difference for today's topic. RGB, as the name suggests, is copying the human eye's cone cells that make any color a mixture of red, green, and blue.

RGB is the go-to format for PCs, monitors, and most image processing activities. Specifically, sRGB is the standard for web images.

The channels, R, G, and B, are represented as three 8-bit numbers, 0 to 255. Some models can use more raw data to get more chrominance levels—16 bits per channel or 48 bits per pixel. So should we aim to use as many bits per pixel as we can? Well, no, it's not practical. A 24-bit Full HD RGB image takes 1920 × 1080 × 24 = 5.93 MiB of space (or 11.87 MiB for a 48-bit one). It seems manageable, but if we consider a minute of FullHD 30 fps 24-bit video, it will occupy 10.43 GiB of storage, which is obviously too much even for modern networks (that's 938 GiB for a 90-minute movie).

There are two ways to mitigate this: either to use compression algorithms like Youtube's H.264/H.265 or to use a better color space to use less data for better results. In terms of RGB, one could use a limited set known as R'G'B' with values of 16 to 235.

CMYK

Worth a quick mention. It has no use in HDMI video transmission as it is made for printed physical products.

YUV, YPbPr, and YCbCr

Those are used interchangeably, although they differ slightly. But all we care about here is the general idea. YUV works best for photo and video content. Human eyes perceive images as a combination of luminance and color. The luminance is the most important part; black-and-white images are enough for us to have a pretty good idea of what's shown in the image. In the dark, we see just black and white, as there's no light to reflect from colored objects, and it's fine.

So the idea is to devote one color channel to luminance alone and the other two to color: red (or red-difference) and blue (or blue-difference). YCbCr can be converted to and from RGB with a matrix. But the levels of the components Y, Cb, and Cr are gamma-corrected, meaning they are non-linear. When RGB has the same steps for color channels, luminance and, subsequently, red and blue-difference channels don't work like that. Levels of luminance are perceived in a more complex pattern; the white part of the spectrum should have fewer steps, and the dark part needs more.

This attention to luminance levels brings us to HDR.

HDR

HDR stands for high dynamic range, as opposed to SDR, which stands for standard dynamic range. Wider range means more bits for the channels (usually 10 or 12), higher maximum luminance levels, and more metadata for the display.

That means that the number of luminance steps (the same goes for both chromatic channels) increases; the maximum luminance level is an order of magnitude greater than in SDR. In addition to raw data, there's metadata for monitor settings. All the screens are built differently in terms of color calibration and maximum peak brightness. The source communicates luminosity and contrast values to the display for it to adjust. HDR was introduced in HDMI 2.0 as 'static HDR', meaning it sends one set of metadata for the whole video stream. HDMI 2.1 can use 'dynamic HDR', sending different metadata for every scene. HDR is a well-known, widely marketed feature that really elevates the user experience. Dynamic HDR is usually titled 'HDR10+' on the box (compared to static 'HDR10').

Here lies the answer to the question some people ask, "Is 10-bit color ('deep color') HDR?" No, it is not. 10-bit color in RGB means more steps for chromatic channels, not an extra-wide range of luminance. Should YCbCr HDR always take upwards of 10 bits per channel? Yes, 10-bit color could be HDR or SDR, but an HDR signal is 10-bit or more.

Chroma subsampling

The last part is subsampling. It is a third middle option between using compression or implementing a limited color model. Chroma subsampling is used for YCbCr to keep luminance data, as it is the most precious for us, and compress individually colored pixels into bigger blocks.

A standard sample is a two-row block of pixels, usually 4×2. Subsampling is represented as numbers J:a:r.

The first digit 'J' of 4:4:4 or 4:2:0 represents the number of pixels in a row. Basically, it's always 4.

'a' represents the number of different colors (chromatic samples) in the first row. Can be treated as a horizontal resolution; do we reduce the 4 pixel colors of the first row to '1', '2', or do we keep all '4'?

'r' is the number of color changes between the first and second rows. This is a vertical resolution and can be either '0' (no difference; the second row has the same chrominance as the first one) or 'a' (there is a difference in color between two rows).

So, 4:4:4 means no subsampling; 4:2:2 or 4:4:0 reduces 8 different colors to just 4; 4:1:1 or 4:2:0 reduces the number of colors to 2 (vertically or horizontally). Practically useful numbers are 4:4:4 and 4:2:0, as they are the most common.

In conclusion, different color spaces are made for different applications. A PC monitor with SDR works best with RGB for displaying pixel-perfect text on flat surfaces. YCbCr is meant for non-productivity applications like photos, movies, or videogames. YCbCr with no subsampling is great for everything; 4:2:0 is visually indistinguishable from perfect when watching movies and sports.

HDR should always be 10-bit; there's no 8-bit HDR and never was.

All this makes sense for units with HDMI version 2.0 and higher, and there's no point in talking about color spaces in previous versions.

‍====== Eugenio S

[sneha640]

How to Design a Landing Page for Mobile Users

A mobile landing page is a website designed to open when a Smartphone user clicks on a search result or an advertisement. The web design, goal, and call to action on this page should all be the same. It requires a user to perform a desirable action and has a standard objective.

Why is creating a mobile landing page important?

Not only is creating a mobile-friendly version of your landing page beneficial, but it is also essential. In 2020, there will be 3.5 billion Smartphone users worldwide, and this number is still rising, according to Statista. Smartphones are used by 51% of internet users to make online purchases. In the meantime, desktop users are steadily declining. However, mobile device conversions remain lower than desktop conversions.

We've all had bad experiences using our mobile devices to browse the internet: pages that are hard to get around, take a long time to load, and have too much text that makes it hard to understand what you're looking at. Because only half of the landing pages are optimized for mobile devices, this occurs. It is best to design a landing page with easy-to-follow copy, a simple web design, a quick load time, and navigation that is simple to use on a Smartphone to prevent customers from having this kind of experience with your products and services.

Let's take a look at some of the things you need to know when creating a Smartphone landing page with high conversion rates.

How to design mobile landing pages

Even if your desktop landing pages are viewable on a mobile device, you should still create specialized mobile-only pages. Serving desktop versions of your landing pages on mobile devices is a huge mistake because mobile users interact with websites in a very different way than desktop or laptop users do. Consider the following mobile landing page best practices.

Headlines for mobile landing pages

Headlines ought to be extremely brief (forget about the irresistible clickbait headlines of the Unworthy variety). The ideal number of words is four. Go back and make any necessary edits after you believe you have completed writing the copy for your landing page. Then do it once more. Remove any unnecessary words, including those sultry new product descriptions. You could take this one step further by asking if your mobile landing page even requires a copy. Landing pages primarily driven by images are working for some businesses.)

Remember Mobile-First Web Design

You can be sure that your customers will have a good experience on any device if you design your website so that they can access it from smartphones. There are a few things to think about. First, make sure that even on a small Smartphone screen; your visitors can see everything. Second, give your customers every piece of information they might be looking for. Thirdly, check to see that your website is simple to use on a mobile device. Last but not least, do not overburden your visitors with unnecessary elements like ads or intrusive pop-up windows.

Mobile landing page organization

Make sure that your customers can quickly see everything they need to do on the page. Consider your mobile landing pages from the perspective of your customers. Would you scroll or pinch a screen for several minutes to learn more about a product? Customers won't either.

When creating a landing page, you shouldn't try to fill every pixel of blank space with text, images, or other distractions. Take, for instance, the mobile landing page examples above. Even though the calls to action are immediately visible, there is so much going on with the rest of the page that it could turn off potential customers. Additionally, these examples are excessively heavy on images, which will likely cause the page to take longer to load. Keep this in mind if you decide to use mobile landing page templates to assist you during the web design phase. Think minimally when creating mobile landing pages. Keep in mind that white space is your friend.

Add a CTA Button

When deciding whether or not to take a specific action, a button with a call to action is an essential component. For a mobile device, this button must be 44 x 44 pixels in size. The Gutenberg Principle states that users begin to scan the page at the top left and end at the bottom right. As a result, the ideal location for a CTA button is near the end of the visitor's reading path as they become familiar with your content. For this button to be visible and large enough for a user to click, it needs to contrast with the background. Here is an illustration of a Wix CTA button that follows the copy and is simple to click.

Clickable phone numbers

Include a phone icon or make your business's phone number clickable if you want customers to call you. Add a link to a Google Map of your business so that visitors can use their phone's GPS to get directions if you want them to come to your store—a crucial part of local search.

You are aware of how frustrating this can be if you have ever misclicked on a button and then had to wait ten seconds for the wrong page to load. Make sure that your mobile landing page's clickable elements have sufficient padding around them to avoid missing out on potential conversions.

https://www.procreations.in

[teethonanimecharacters]

it’s... surprisingly difficult to find good teeth for these edits. especially the molars. either there are lips in the way, or the teeth have been photographed by severely unhappy dentists, and there are very few pictures that fall into that comfortable middle ground.

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

.-

FROM THIS LIST  |  Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

.-

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage  at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face. 

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk. 

It’s a decade and a half later—  as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least,  to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly,  searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand. 

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of  the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice. 

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

.-

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors. 

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even. 

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

.-

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

.-

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital. 

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin. 

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?” 

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped. 

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

.-

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

~Buy Me A Coffee 

[skellebonez]

How #67 with Mei and her parents? don't see much content with them. - Pixel Anon

Considering we haven't seen Mei's parents since episode 3 and we have no idea what their relationship is actually like now, I decided to do some canon-divergence and have them take initiative to be more involved in Mei's life. And since it’s fathers day... eh, why not do a little something with her dad in particular since I never really write her parents? (I got another anon for a fill involving Mei and her dad, but unfortunately Tumblr seems to have ghosted it into the ether, and i fused it into this one.)

My father may look like the scary one, but it’s my mother you need to be afraid of.

"Uh... hi mom?" Mei said in surprise, looking around when she heard the sound of someone clearing their throat from behind her and finding that it was indeed the two of them alone in the garage. "Where's dad?"

"He's a little tied up in business, but he’s home," Mrs. Long said with a sigh, moving to stand behind her daughter and look down at her project with a look of confusion and mild dismay. "What... are you working on, dear?"

Mei looked down at her current state, coated in engine oil and grease with scattered parts of one of the many many cars laying around her. Like a gutted fish but much shiner and louder.

“Oh, uh...” Mei started with an awkward chuckle. “After, you know, the whole break in and everything I’ve been fixing up some of the cars that were still mostly in one piece and, uh...” she gestured to the one in front of her, jazz hands waving slightly enthusiastically. “Ta da?”

“... Oh!” Mrs. Long said when she registered what Mei meant, a small smile finally forming on her face. “You didn’t need to do that on your own, Mei, but...” She moved forward, inspecting the car with a careful gaze. “This is quite impressive! You’d never know it was damaged at all. I thought...” She frowned again, looking back to her daughter. “Well, I thought you were only interested in motorcycles so I wasn’t expecting this.”

“Oh no!” Mei laughed, wiping her hands on her work overalls. “Motorcycles are my specialty, but I know enough about most vehicles to give them some good care!” There was an odd expression on her mother’s face that fell over her at these words, something far off and somewhat sad. “Mom? You ok?”

“Yes,” her mom replied, just a bit too fast before she smiled again. “Actually, I think your father was almost finished when I came in to check in on you. He wanted to talk to you himself, why don’t you see if he’s done? He should be in the tea room.”

“... sure...” Mei said slowly, bending down to start picking up parts before her mom placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, dear, just leave those there in case you want to come back later. Just... change into clean clothes and wash your hands for now.”

Now... that was odd. Mei’s parents had always been clear on keeping the house as tidy as possible once you needed to leave a room (barring her own bedroom). But ever since that one Bull Clone (General Ironclad she thought she heard Red Son call him once) broke into her house for the Dragon Blade her parents had been acting different. Not extremely different, but noticeably so.

But instead of bringing this up Mei nodded to her mother and headed to wash up.

~

“Dad?” Mei called out, cleaned up from her car repairs and in clean clothes once again. “Mom said you wanted to talk to me?”

He was right where her mother had said he would be, in the tea room. Strewn about in front of him were papers upon papers, some seeming to be insurance forms for the multitude of broken objects strewn about the house and others repair bills. She was certain some of them, all on one side of the table, were research papers of some kind. And sitting at a seat in the middle of the long table was her father, small space cleared before him as he drank a fresh hot cup of tea. There was another, equally fresh cup across from him.

“Ah, Mei!” Her father said brightly, but there was an odd tenseness to his tone. “Yes, come in, sit down! There are a few things that we need your input on.”

Well that was vague as hell. But Mei did as requested, taking the seat across from him and picking up the tea before her. “I wouldn’t think this is something you’d be doing here in the... tea room.”

“Yes, well,” her father shrugged, glowering down at the paperwork with a sigh. “Sometimes you put aside convention to be comfortable. And with my office out of commission this is a much more relaxing place to work on papers than the dining room. If I don’t replace those chairs as soon as possible remind me how uncomfortable they are!” He shuddered dramatically, the action making Mei relax just a tad bit. The chairs had always been uncomfortable, she and her mother had told him as much before, but the three of them had never sat in them long enough for them to become bothersome. “But that’s something to worry about later! First, the main reason I wanted to talk to you...”

He put down his cup, reaching over to grab some paperwork on the right side of the table and slide it to her.

“As you know most of our cars in our collection were not salvageable after the break in.” Mei tensed a bit at that, frowning down at the paperwork in front of her. And her eyes widened. “And, well, we never really had reason to drive them anyway. Refilling the garage with new cars just seems silly at this point, so your mother and I were talking about possibly restructuring it and making the empty 3/4 of the garage into a sort of...” He paused for a moment, humming before snapping his fingers. “A workshop, I suppose is the correct term! For someone who liked to collect a lot of cars at one point I don’t know much about them, that was always more your mother’s interest even if she always insisted we only needed two. But you’re always working on your motorcycle and I thought giving you that space would be a much more reasonable use for it!”

Mei set her teacup down, picking up the papers as he talked and looking over them with wide eyes.

They were blueprints. For a garage workshop. For her motorcycle. For her.

“I-I!” She sputtered, gesturing to the papers with a shake of her head. “You... but this is-! I don’t-!”

“Mei,” her father said firmly, but gently, holding up one of his hands. “I know that we paid for you to live on your own in your own pent house and that you have a workshop outside as well, but this house is still your home as well! You have a room here, after all. But you don’t have to agree to having a workshop here if you don’t want one, they’re just blueprints at this point, and we can always find other uses for the empty space in the future.”

“... ok, what happened?” Mei asked, deadpan and looking at her father with suspicion. “I mean, I love the idea! I’d love to have a place for my vehicle work here! But ever since the break in you and mom have been acting really weird, dad!”

Mr. Long tensed, looking away from his daughter for a moment before bowing his head to look down into his tea.

“We... had a conversation with Mr. Tang,” Mr. Long said after a moment of silence, making Mei look at him with surprise. “... actually, no, it was more like we were given a lecture by Mr. Tang.” He chuckled, ruffling his hair and looking back up to Mei. “We may have many years on him, but he made us feel like teenagers being yelled at by the principal again. Your mother and I... we realized after your reaction of surprise that we haven’t been the most open and communicative parents. We’ve treated our house like more of a museum than as a home ever since you were a child, and when you moved out and we helped you get everything you had no access to while growing up here... we didn’t realize that it would feel even more so like we were trying to uphold that image.”

“Mr. Tang talked to you about that?” Mei winced, remembering the multiple times she would rant at her family friend who had been there for her since she was just a little girl. Multiple... multiple times. He’d been sworn to secrecy, naturally, but it seemed that this was the last straw for him.

“Yes,” her father confirmed with a nod, twisting his fingers. “We never meant for you to feel unwelcome in your own home, but with how busy we always were and how proud we were of our family history we lost sight of the fact we were. Even if you only stay here when we’re gone to watch the house we want you to feel comfortable, Mei. I can understand if you’re still apprehensive of this, however.”

Whatever Tang has said to the Long family heads must have been something to behold. And Mei couldn’t help but grab the paperwork and move to the side of the table her father sat at, sitting beside him instead of across from him.

“Well for starters, lets make this less ‘business meeting’ and more ‘dad talking to kid’, ok?” She said lightly, laying the papers in front of both of them. “And... car upkeep is more mom’s thing? Since when?” Mei raised a brow with a smirk,

Her father looked at her with surprise before chuckling, moving to half face her and the table with a far more comfortable smile. “She hasn’t really had the time to work on them since well before you were born, but...” he leaned in closer, whispering conspiratorially. “She used to be a street racer too!”

“WHAT!?” Mei exclaimed, covering her mouth when her father raised a finger to his lips in a shushing motion. “Mom was a street racer?”

“One of the best, right around when she was your age too!” Mr. Long laughed, a far off look in his eyes. “You and her have a lot more in common than one would think at first glance. You’re smart, good with vehicles, not to mention our dragon powers are from her side of the family- I only earned my own through being close to her over a long period. Why, sometimes I think the only things you got from me were your skills in video games and amazing sense of hair style!”

“Dad!” Mei laughed, gently shoving her dad’s shoulder tentatively. When he only laughed more at that she softened, relaxing against the table. “Guess I have a lot to learn about you both, huh?

“As long as you want to,” her father offered, spreading the blueprints between the two of them.

"I do,” she agreed, looking over the papers again. They could definitely use some... fine tuning. But they were a good start. “But I guess I was right about one thing!”

“What’s that?”

“Every time someone saw you guys they thought you were the one to be worried about,” she admitted with another chuckle, shaking her head. “I’d always correct them saying ‘my father may look like the scary one, but it’s my mother you need to be afraid of’ and now... well, if mom used to race the way I do on my bike I was way more right than I thought I was.”

“Oh, Mei, your mother was far more reckless than you ever were. You should have seen some of the catastrophes she used to cause.”

“... are they on the internet?”

Her father frowned for a moment before watching the door... and a conspiratorial smirk overtook his face.

“Want to find out together?”

[sjw-publishings]

Retrospective Division

Josh and Henry walked hand in hand down the hallway, directly to the office in which they resided. The young men were in charge of small LGBTQ business in the building...only to be kicked out due to being too ‘liberal’, making room for tenants who were closer to his ‘Retrospective Vision’.

So much so, that the taller one had to voice it out.

“I’m...I’m going to send an email to the higher ups!” Josh spoke.

Josh Ming was the older of the two, only slightly older though at the age of 23. Fresh out of college and directly ready to start business with his newlywed husband.

Dressed in a pair of of white loafers with matching pair of beige khaki shorts, he wore a light blue buttoned polo underneath his pink checkered sweater vest with rainbow flag pin over his right breast...

Was that the final straw for the clearly conservative owner to kick them out after just a few months? If it was...

He scratched the back of his head, left palm messing with his wavy raven locks before briefly adjusting his rectangular half-frame specs. Something was real off...and he really wanted to get to the bottom of it.

This sudden rising passion of energy within him was also different, tightening his grip on his boyfriend, he would usually remain quiet and reserved, ignoring the such attitude towards them...but being kicked out? That really ticked him off.

“Honey, I like that attitude!”

Meanwhile, Henry was quite astonished by drive his husband was showing. Sure they both took turns in the bed and was Jeffery incredible when he was top, but he had never seen this side of him until today...

The 22 year old caucasian smiled, loving every bit of the drive from the other male, considering he was usually the one taking charge vocally.

Placing his right hand on his waist, swishing his hips in those pink bermudas while strutting in his own pair of slip-on, navy blue formal shoes that he recently got.

They had the right to dress liberally and freely, he would never sass directly-he and his boyfriend’s clothing says it all! With a matching light blue buttoned down-minus the sweater and throw in a white cardigan for variety.

Swooshing his blond curly locks, his sky blue eyes narrowed in admiration towards his partner, freckles rising with his cheekbones.

“Heh...must’ve gotten it from you~”

“Awww.”

In a matter of seconds, they reached the entrance to their office. They were told to pack up and go in the middle of the night, and with the full moon shining directly at them from a open window behind.

They immediately released the grip from the other as they walked in without question.

Not even realising that they won’t be holding the other this way when they come out.

————————————————————

As they entered, the room stayed mostly the same for now, with the only major difference, is that their desks are apart, parallel to one another.

Just like their formerly interlocked hands.

“Of course! the owner doesn’t support us working side by side directly!”

Josh noted, rolling his eyes as his tone got snappy. Folding his arms, not realising his lisp fading slightly with the remark.

“No worries hun, that just means I’d get a better look at you~”

He turned to his boyfriend, who looked lovingly at him at the side. At Eye level, re-assuring the other that everything will be alright. He blinked, did Henry just get taller all of a sudden? He definitely did not notice it earlier...must be the new shoes he was wearing.

“Right back at ya love~”

“Ooooh now there’s that attitude I love!”

PINCH!

“Oof!”

With that, Henry gave a tight pinch to his behind, smirking as he walked to his desk. Of course, it was far harder than usual, that tease. His husband liked to do that especially when he was happy, which was great when he was happy despite those remarks from the owner!

But something about the pinch...really set him off.

Playing it off, not noticing his larger steps as he strode to his side of the room. Legs stretching wide apart, feet grounded to the floor as he stood like a 1930s cartoon, except with more realistic proportions.

PLONK!

Landing butt first on his chair, he winced once again, he sat with more force than intended. Probably due to the aggression towards the owner, but wasn’t there supposed to be a cushion he and his husband brought from home on his-

Sleek Office chair, the modern kind without the comfort. Just pure professionalism like the way the owner demanded. Did that arse remove his-

Meanwhile Henry from across looked comfortable in his...’Chairman’s chair’. Like he was a higher up overseeing him, with a smug grin, but it was just cause he found him cute right?

“Sit up straight hun...wouldn’t want the owner to think otherwise.”

“Got it...! Thanks for reminding me!”

“No problem love...”

He responded quickly...though kind of irritated, he knew it was the owner’s policy too, about a ‘straight back leads a straight life’. He often made visits to everyone of his tenants or so he claims...especially them.

How ridiculous of a ‘motivational message’, though Jeff did like to keep his back straight for proper posture and presentation, not cause he was...

Anyways...what is with the fact that his fiancé is on a grand chair while he was stuck lookin’ like a subordinate. Sure Henry was slightly older...and taller than him, but the difference between them was huge.

He shouldn’t let that get to him...but its kind of pissing him off, specially with that smug grin on the older male’s face.

Mustering up all his professionalism, he spoke to the other male about their situation, holding in as much anger as he could.

“Say...how else do you think the owner expects us to behave?”

“Don’t know, probably...like him...”

Older days...yeah that sounds about right. Blinking, Josh watched as numerous LGBTQ posters and photos he framed up on his side taken down in an instant, replaced with framed photographs, mainly black and white of men and women in retro-esque attire.

But the main thing were the fact was there were only happy heterosexual couples in the wedding pictures that he took...where wuz’ all the gay ones huh?

Meanwhile, Henry’s side had the pictures reshaped into various expensive degrees and award certificates apparently. Josh wasn’t sure when his senior was such a stick in the arse and show off his life, but apparently its the reality they live in now.

Mixed with the wood panelling, their office walls split into two. With his fiancé’s side having a more polished grey shine to it...and his having wallpaper of grey rocks right behind him.

He was pissed, all his hard work gone to waste when the boss removed all his...stuff, doing renovations...Sure he kinda liked the new decor, always felt sturdy where he wuz at. But still it was his stuff!

Though then again, he also did help take some of those conference photos for the boss when he had met with several of his big league associates, a proof of skill he could use when advertising his talent to the boomers...

Whatevah! He was still goin’ to be typin’!

As he had started up his trendy PearPC, he blinked as the load in bar showed up. Tapping his fingers impatiently, not realising the shiny light weight frames becoming heavier and grounded as the quality of the pixels dropped tremendously with every second.

“Something is not right! And I’m gettin’ to the bottom of dis!”

“Whatever you say, hun...”

Rolling his eyes at his lover’s statement, the older male was not as passionate as he was when it comes to delivering the truth. Not fighting as hard as he was, whateva’!

He was doin’ it HIMSELF!

Rubbing his palms, as his ‘doorframe’ retro PC lit up, being an older model did not hinder his goal as he opened up the word processor and began typing away!

He was always a fast typer, especially when his grandpapy trained him when he was younger. Though that did not sound right? They didn’t have computers back in the day and age!

As Josh blinked, the digital letters seemed almost printed out the more he starred into them. As he continued typing on his keyboard, he didn’t notice the swiftness of his fingers as he crunched on the keys effortlessly, neither did he mind the metallic clicking sound with every syllable.

Precisely, rubbing his eyes, the glossy flow shifted into simple paper. Grinning to himself, retro it is! Right in front of em’, a policy that the boss really stood firm in his heart.

“Not that I mind, Chief.”

Muttering to himself, Joshon was raised by a highly conservative grandfather who drilled him in the importance of staying true to their values.

Not noticing with that remark, his rainbow flag pin stretched like taffy around his neck, solidifying into a black monotone neck tie as the collar of his Polo tee stiffened.

And folded down.

Sweater vest splitting into two, the sleeves merging with the polo as the vest thinned out. A long row of buttons trailed down the merged too, colour bleaching white into a straight, iron-pressed dress shirt.

Even though he was sorta queer, there was no way he’ll be outrightly pissing his grand-papy off! Folding his arms determinedly, as the pinkness of the remaining vest fabric faded to black, looping into straps with a big criss-cross over on his back.

SNAP! Wearing his suspenders with grey pride.

It didn’t really matter to him in the face of a scoop. Especially when it comes to whatever the owner of the establishment is doing, he was determined to write it like the reporter he was.

You can say, it was going to be the scoop of the century!

“Did you say something?”

Gohen got up from his throne, dressed in a thick black suit, with faint white checkered patterns all over, with the typical office dress shirt and matching tie he always wore.

Sauntering over to the reporter’s side of the room, possessively. The hispanic-caucasian stared at the pan-asian male...though its less so love and more so-

“What are you doing?”

But oh man, does he piss Joshon off.

Yeah they’ve been engaged, but the way he breathes down his neck makes the reporter sick. Arms toughening with strong toned biceps, as a healthy dusting of hair lined his forearms.

The roughness the two exhibited even in bed was less out of love and more so...pent up frustration, especially lately. No matter how the conversation went, its just conflict after conflict.

“I’m just typing away the new article, lovah!”

His lover’s been clinging onto em’ again. Examinin him like a piece of meat, even though they just get engaged recently...though it was more so the lawyer’s idea rather than Joshon’s.

Tied down to another guy like that, even that was too gay for his liking.

“Why don’tcha just-TALK TO ME?”

“I AM TALKIN’ TO YA!”

He was so ANGRY with his lover, getting up, hands pressing against the other...and with a-

PUSH!

The impact left a huge blow to their relationship.

Flinging both men back to their side of the room, onto each of their seats. Rings morphing into simple tie pins as they stuck onto their new ties. Nothing special or out of the ordinary, and definitely nothing to personal with the other male.

They just anger each other.

First came the realisation of the older male, who tugged relentlessly below, surging through age and maturity as his weathered face took on a caramel tan.

Hair styling into natural curls, shortening into a dark brown, embracing his new identity of a conservative single man in his fifties. Letting loose any notion of being attracted to anyone but his future-

“Hermosa!”

The hispanic BOOM-ER’ed his manhood, letting loose all his reservations and kindness as a dark glare rested on the male. Deep eye bags alongside a faint beard.

Dusting himself, the middle aged man made sure he appeared presentable, despite still in a hazy afterglow.

Shaking himself out of his trance, the older man glared at the younger male.

“Get out my office.”

Walls fell down between the two, a complete division of interests as the attorney faded from his sight.

“Well who needs ya?”

Still thirsting for release, his face contorted at any thought of attraction to the older man. What wuz he? Queer? That kind of shit gets ya kicked outta office!

Which was why he liked it ere’!

“PANSY!”

A young handsome guy free to be chasing the ladies! Hair slicked to the side, as his skin embraced that peachy caucasian tan of his new ethnicity.

“QUEER!”

The tense fights he had with his competitor and rival next door. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. Grinning arrogantly at the triumphs he had over the man, especially when he told Gomez about the queer vibe he got from those chicks.

And both ladies turned about to be lesbians!

Imagine how much the owner of the establishment would be proud of him, how his grandpapy would be proud of him.

His arrogant sneer framed by his squared jaw, licking his lips as his signature five o clock shadow lined his masculinity. Narrowing his much larger eyes, blowing a large-

“GOT DA SCOOP RIGHT ERE!”

And so the incredibly heterosexual reporter proclaimed, kicking back as his hard member came and came like the single retro business owner he was.

Slumping back in the afterglow, immersing in his heterosexuality like he always did past midnight as he-

Knock!

Jolted up, zipped his trousers, and crossed his arms as his boomer rival barged in.

“Matt! Will ya keep it down?!”

“Shaddup Diego! As if you and your crusty balls didn’t jerk off for the third time this evenin’!”

Of course, they initiated their famous, tense, stare down at the other. The caucasian reporter remaining in his position as the hispanic lawyer made his way to the seat in front of him.

The two of them fought ever since they met. With Gomez being being really disapproving towards Johnson as a result.

The Chief’s colleague vouched for their grandson Johnson to be a part of the many businesses in the building, claiming he will be a value asset to his ‘conservative vision’.

Of course, Reporter Johnson was a prodigy. Being raised in the art of the press by his Grand-pappy, the ins and outs on the ‘black N white days’ without too much influence from the modern world.

It was no surprise that the chief, the owner of dis ere’ place, gave him an office of his own.

Even bypassing Attorney Gomez’s approval, who, besides being the prime defence lawyer against any allegations towards the property owner, was also the one who made the deciding vote on whether someone was able to rent an office in the Chief’s estate.

Of course, the idea of a man, over a decade younger, having this much influence in the building had ticked the hispanic boomer to his very core. And ever since then, it became a non-stop cycle of one upping the other.

“Listen Matty, you know how it goes as much as I do. We’re men and still single, we need women.”

Though despite their numerous arguments, over the years, they may never admit it...but when it comes to getting partners, they were both unfortunate enough to remain single this long.

In their late thirties and fifties respectively, flirting with ladies and getting rejected like some 50s comedy routine.

“Never understood how did some guys get married immediately after college...bunch of queers.”

“Agreed, especially for a hot rich lawyer such as myself, being single is definitely out of the equation.”

“Hey! Hey! You think the ladies care about an old man in a suit when a hot stud like me is around?”

“Not when you are far from tactical with your words! Besides, you should see how the women look at me when I walk down the hallway.”

“Oh yeah? Well Chicks can’t resist spankin’ my arse with every step!”

And so the argument continues, like almost every time they met. Like a married couple, except they were straight and talking about women women women.

And for some odd reason, because of this fact, despite their glaring differences in almost about everything. They knew they had each other’s back when it comes to this.

“Anyways...the owner said he’s found two ladies working in an office below us...and that they are not only interested in us...but-”

Taking out the photographs from the brown folder, in them were two gorgeous women that these straight men could not peel their eyes off. Like an alluring magnet of compatibility, that kind that they were unable to resist.

The left one definitely screamed the ‘mamacita’ that Diego desired. As he placed his matured palm over that photograph, red tints could be seen over his cheeks as he subconsciously licked his lips.

Of course, Matt’s hard on throbbed at the sight of the right chick. Like a lesbian who turned straight in front of his lens, the kind of Gal he would spend his life with, and for some reason he knew she would too.

“You in?”

Lawyer Diego Gomez folded his arms, but barely hid the incredible pheromones of attraction towards his lady. Sandwiching his manhood and rubbing it, desperately needing her immediately, closing his single case once and for all.

Reporter Matt Johnson mirrored the older male, and not wanting to admit it, is thirsting for that retro babe like the scoop of the century. He really desired for her...but he ain’t gonna show weakness in front of his rival! He was taking charge, hungry eyes blending in with a determined expression.

“You be my wingman this time Gomez, and you’ve got a deal.”

[pumpkinpot]

Hoshi

A/N: this is part of the Citrus Dome Sci-Fi collab. this is also pure fluff. no smut, no real angst. just spooky summer vibes and poly love. I hope you enjoy. (I’m sorry for grammatical errors in advance.)

synopsis: since beginning your relationship with Katsuki Bakugou and Ochako Uraraka you’ve developed a love for exploring abandon places with them whenever you three have time to explore. This time, so happens to land on a derelict observatory. (additional head canons for this story on my tik tok under pumpkinpots)

“It says here it was abandoned in the mid-nineteenth century due to the spike in light pollution with the growth of the city,” you say, pointing to the dome at the peak of the building. “All of the mobile telescopes were transferred to the university's observatory, while this placed rotted away.

Uraraka half listens, levitating sheetrock from the doorway and discarding them in the nearby field.

“Why just abandon it?” Katsuki asks, fiddling with varying lenses in his camera bag. “Couldn’t this have been a museum or something?”

“Yeah,” you agree, shifting a glance to make sure Uraraka doesn’t need help. “It looks like it was bought by a merchant in the eighties who wanted to turn it into a house, but he was indicted for tax evasion before the renovations ever finished. It hasn’t been touched since.” 

He scoffs with an exaggerated roll of his eyes. “Rich idiots.”

Uraraka brushes specks of dust off her palms across her cut-off shorts before urging us alone. “Shall we?” 

It takes two and a half pushes to nudge the door wide enough to squeeze through. The observatory opens to us with a groan of whining metal and the scratch of loose dirt on concrete. 

Centered in the main foyer, a gaping mural of blue and white cobblestone depicts a dusty map of astrology stars. 

Katsuki has to be coaxed with a promise to be flashed to pose under the Taurus constellation for a picture, meanwhile, Uraraka floats just above Pisces with a cute puffy cheeked expression. 

Names, small sayings, and symbols decorate the wall in vibrant graffiti, the place a cocktail of color and wild Ivy.

"It's a lot more lit than I thought I'd be," Uraraka says, stuffing her flashlight into her bag. 

Katuski keeps the light attached to his camera lit as he weaves in and out of rooms, zooming in on old books and broken equipment. 

We follow him through a puzzle of what seemed to be living quarters and small classrooms, ending in a half oval auditorium. 

At the center of the stage a white globe balances on a pillar of cement. 

“What’s this?” Uraraka asks. 

You touch where someone had attempted to derail the sphere like a baseball before trailing your eyes above the layered seating. “It's a projector ball. Technicians would likely project light from there into the ball to make it seem like the planet or star they were studying. That's why it's,” you knock on the sphere's cool solid surface. “Crystal.”

Uraraka shines her phone’s light into it, the shattered pieces reflecting shapes in a dim glow.

Katsuki points the camera into the orb, the bluish tint reminds you of the similar one in the abandoned lighthouse you’d explored with them two years ago. Though that one would have lit from the inside. 

Quickly you explore the base and second levels, eager to get to the actual observatory. It's evident where the renovations to make this a home had been started and never finished. Small cracks in the floor, sealed with caulk, loose wooden planks pillaring knocked in walls. 

It could have been a beautiful home, you think to yourself. 

Up the second flight of stairs gradually more and more light fills the space until you are bathed in the orange glow of early dusk. A large open scare slits the dome, edging with rust and ivy. The circular room holds nothing of true value, nothing left behind but broken tables and a ladder to the viewing balcony tailing the opening of the dome. 

“The big telescope that would have been here-” Uraraka says, fiddling with the screw holes in the floor, “- would have been a refracting telescope. It uses small bits of glass to magnify what you’re looking at, then is bent back through the telescope hitting the eyepiece. The other kind is a reflector,” she continues, “It's got a primary mirror at the bottom of the lens into a second mirror than a third eyepiece mirror. This one is mostly used to see the different parts of a star to see what it's made out of.”

Katsuki and you exchange looks of pure astonishment. "how do you know all this?" you ask.

She fishes a gum wrapper from one of the holes, tossing it to the side. “Before I was accepted into UA I was really considering going into astronomy. I thought it fit so well with my quirk, but the courses were too expensive.” 

"More expensive than UA?" Katuski asks, refocusing his camera. 

She nods, seeming just as dumbfounded as us. 

“Do you think it could work on my explosions?”

“If you were in space maybe,” you hypothesize, “but in that case, we probably wouldn’t see it for a long while.” 

He seems semi disappointed as if his evening plans had been somehow derailed.

You run your hands across the walls of the dome, dusk sun baking its metal frame like a soup pot. 

For a moment you just watch them. It’d been so long since the opportunity arose for the three of you to go exploring. With you still temporarily stationed in the American hero commission and those two workings in Japan it was rare to find time to skype let alone go on adventures. You were lost in the bliss of having your partners so near without having to scream about a lost wifi connection when your hand hit something protruding from the wall.

“What are these?” you ask, inspecting circular gears attached to a crank.

“It looks like the wheel to turn the dome,” Uraraka says.

Katsuki zooms in on the puzzle of rigid plates. “This bitch turns?” 

“Yeah, that slit doesn't move so the dome has to, to accommodate where in the sky they were looking.” 

Katsuki fingers the gears a moment, mapping its track all across the sphere. He traces along the parts not layered in rust until he’s back at the start. “Do you think it still works?” 

“Not without some serious lube and strong arms.”

“We’re one for two,” you suggest. 

Katsuki hands over his camera to Uraraka, positioning himself opposite you to push the lever, while you pull left.

At first, the dial stays put, its stance unforgiving, but after a bit more pull than push a deafening whine reverberating through the entire observatory. 

No visible move happens until the second crank roundabout when the shift of light against concrete becomes clear.

Katsuki’s eyes light with sheer amazement as the entire dome rotates around you. We are halfway through a full rotation before Uraraka shouts for you to stop. 

You push on the lever stilling its movements as quickly as you can.

She holds a finger head tilted to the side. “Do you hear that?” 

Your breath balloons in your chest as you lean in closer. The tiniest of whimpers echo around the dome from the viewing balcony. 

One after another you file up the ladder, hopping on the edge of the dome. Balancing on the concrete crease between the moving track and the rest of the building you search for the sound. 

“Here!” Uraraka yells from the other side.

 You sprint as much as you dare, teetering along the two-story edge. 

She squats over the body of a squirming animal, a tuft of fur caught in the track of the dome's rotation. She coddles its little frame, before reaching a hand out to you. “Y/n, your knife-”

Hesitantly you hand it over. She snips away the stuck pieces muttering thanks that none of the actual tail got caught. She folds the blade back into itself, pinching leaves and sticks from the animal's fur and tossing them over the side. 

She holds it up, floppy ears and a black nose making it a nearly recognizable creature. A puppy. 

He looks to be light brown, but that could be the soot. 

Katsuki checks around the dome for any signs of a litter or mamma, before joining us with a shake of his head. 

The pup squirms and with an open mouth, letting all sorts of noises tumble from his dirt-covered tongue. 

Uraraka floats the puppy to the floor of the dome, as we file down the ladder. You empty the contents of your water bottle into a cup for drinking and the rest onto its back for cooling.  

His fur peaks through white and brown spotted under layers of grime. 

“Well,” Uraraka says, “we’ve been talking about wanting to expand our family.” 

“I suppose there’s no better place to start,” you add, both of us looking to Katsuki for consensus.

He passes glances between the three of us. “Fine, but I get to name it.”

“Alright, but we get veto power.” 

“Explosion-”

“Veto,” you say in unison. 

He looks around puffy-lipped. “I didn't even get to finish.” 

“Explosion nothing,” Uraraka clarifies. 

He’s silent for a long moment looking around the space. “Hoshi?.” 

“Star?” you confirm.

“This observatory was used to study the stars, wasn’t it?” He bats.

You and Uraraka exchange a satisfied, yet surprised look. You hadn’t expected something so- normal. This is after all the same man that made you name your golden pothos “boom boom boi” in his honor. 

“I like it,” you say.

“Approved,” adds Uraraka. 

We better take our picture before it gets too dark,” he says, turning away so you can’t see the blush on his cheeks. He switches out his filming camera for a smaller polaroid, propping it up on the edge of a broken table. 

He runs back as the timer ticks down. He slides to your right side, Uraraka on your left. Their arms link behind you as you hold Hoshi up to your mid-chest. Clicking down from five you all give your cheesiest grins. A rectangular card spits from the bottom of the camera. 

Ochaco shakes it a few times, swapping you a picture, for a puppy. 

You wait for the picture to pixelate before opening the ninety-cent notebook of film slips and position it in the next available spot.

Urarka’s cut-off shorts and Katsuki's tanned shoulders are a stark contrast to the puffy blue coat and chunky knit beanie from the last abandoned mansion expedition last time. Before that, the three of us accidentally matched our windbreakers to Midoryia during a tour of The Ghost Candy Shop in Kyoto. We look like a group of tourists. 

The small book seemed to be filling quickly despite the rareness of time to get away. Memories pile up from when it was just Uraraka and Katsuki to when you became a staple to their adventures. They’d given you responsibility for the book to garner your importance to them in their relationship until the reasoning for the gift became nothing more than routine. You were theirs, and they were yours. 

Now a new member had sprouted in your little family, and if you squinted, you could imagine the rest of the pages being filled with the pup in aged years to maybe more as time goes on.

 Right now, you were happy with the three and a half of you.

[espejonight28738]

Family Reuinion

A.K.A: Eurovision 2021 in the Nordic's House

You can also read it in Ao3

Pairings: None really, just some squint and you miss it DenNor and SuFin but can be read as platonic.

Iceland arrived to Denmark's house two hours before the Eurovision final began. He had wanted to come earlier, but he had been very busy in previews days and there hadn't been any earlier flies that day.

He let himself into the house with his own keys, and the moment he opened the door he felt the hit of the sweet smell of danish pastries being made. 

"Hej, lillebror. Had a good fly?" He heard Norway asking him from the living room.

Iceland sighted at the question, remembering the disagreement he and Mr. Puffin had before Iceland left his house.

Iceland walked to the voice, to find Norway in the largest sofa in front of the television, already in his pajamas. He had been here all week, with Sweden and Finland arriving on Wednesday.

The house was big enough for the five of them, seven when Sealand and Ladonia came along, to be without getting on each other's space, which was the reason Denmark hosted most of their reunions.

"It was good. Were you banned from the kitchen again, Nore?" Teased Iceland, knowing his brother couldn't help but eat whatever ingredients were at his reach, which lead him to be banned half the times Denmark baked.

"Not this time, I was waiting to give you your uniform," was the response Iceland got. Before he could ask what Norway meant, however, the nation handed him a sweater.

A greenish, bluish sweater. With a simple pixel-art drawing of his face. Like the ones from his entry.

"When did you even get this?" Asked Iceland, not sure if he should be annoyed or impressed.

"I have my ways, now go change."

"I don't see you with angel wings..." he complained, but still went to his room to change. The only thing more ridiculous than his brother's dress up games, were his methods of persuasion to make him play along.

He changed to the sweater and changed to the rest of his pajamas he had in his room before going back downstairs.

Finland was now sitting on the two-person sofa, also in his pajamas, no sign of any “uniform” to cheer for his country.

"Finland, you left me to be Nore's dress up doll by myself?"

"Hey, Ice!" Greeted him Finland, not answering to the accusation. "We missed you on Thursday's semi-final. Tanska would've probably been happy enough for you not to cry so much about not qualifying himself."

"He always cries," teased Norway.

"Mr. Puffin didn't come with you?" Asked Finland.

Iceland shook his head, already used to the aggressive behavior of the bird. 

"Are you really not going to go with me? You're supposed to support me, and you like Danmark's house," tried to argue Iceland.

"Your stupid song is lame, I don't want be associated with it," growled the bird. Iceland had been hearing this for weeks, apparently Mr. Puffin had strong opinions on how much better the entry from two years ago was to this one. "Tell Finland his entry is my favorite."

"We have matching sweaters, Ice!" Exclaimed Denmark. Indeed, they had.

"Uh, no. He didn't like my entry. He liked yours, though," said Iceland, answering Finland's question.

Norway and Finland nodded, already used to Mr. Puffin moods, even if just by second-hand anecdotes, as he still refused to talk in front of the other nordics.

"Iceland! You're finally here!" Screamed Denmark, coming from the kitchen to the living room, Sweden behind him.

"Hi, Dan–" He interrupted himself when he finally looked at the danish nation. "What the hell–?"

But the moments he took to formulate his thoughts were enough for Denmark to put the small pastries, which smelt delicious, on the central table and throw his arms around Iceland.

Iceland corresponded the hug automatically, already used to the nation's antiques, but his brain was still processing what he saw.

Once they finally got Denmark to sit down, they spent the remaining time until the beginning of the contest discussing other countries' entries.

Denmark was wearing the same sweater Iceland had, the one from his entry, just that his had the pixel-art of his own face. Once again he wondered how did Norway get not only one, but two sweaters for the final.

But that was not all, Denmark also had some cheap angel wings in his back, in behalf on Norway's entry, he guessed, and a leather bracelet with spikes, for Finland's entry.

"Where did you even get all of that?" Was what Iceland finally settled on after Denmark stepped back.

"Don't recognize your own wings?" Asked Sweden. Iceland looked confused for a second, before finally remembering he had used an angel costume for Halloween a few years ago.

He had gotten rid of the wings early in the night, as those were very uncomfortable, and he had left them somewhere in Sweden's place.

"If you don't remember," added Norway, "Danmark has the photos in the Halloween album."

Denmark's eyes shined at the idea, but Iceland grabbed him by the sleeve before he could go for the album. He had no wishes of relieving the most embarrassing costumes Denmark and Norway had gotten him into.

"And the rest of the... outfit?" He asked to redirect the conversation.

"Norge got both of us the sweaters, and the bracelet is from the things he keeps from his black-metal phase from a few decades ago." Denmark smiled with amusement, probably remembering said phase.

Even Iceland had a few photos from that one. It was a bit unfair though that Norway looked too good for them to actually be considered embarrassing photos.

"Nothing for Sverige?"

"He tried," explained Sweden, taking a seat next to Finland, "but the clothes aren't very exciting."

"I brought my swedish mini-flags," added Denmark, pointing to the lamp table next to the sofa where there were two small swedish flags.

Iceland nodded, deciding that all in all it was a very Denmark thing to do.

Iceland sat in on of the extremes of the sofa Norway had claimed, leaving the other side for Denmark. The danish nation went back to running around the kitchen, although Iceland couldn't tell what more was he doing, but he took the chance to whisper to Norway,

"You got the sweaters to cheer him up, didn't you?" 

Norway gave a self-satisfied smile, clearly proud of how well it had worked.

"I also got one each for the rest of us, we are taking family pictures on those," at Iceland attempt to interrupt, Norway raised his hand in a gesture to stop him, "and no, it's not a suggestion. Everyone loved the sweaters; we are doing it. You can go back to being a moody teenager after."

"I'm not a teenager," argued Iceland, but he left the 'moody' part out, knowing that was probably a lost battle.

"Sure, lillebror."

"I can't believe you didn't vote for me, Su-san, I'm divorcing you and taking Sealand and Hanatamago."

"We don't get a say at the jury vote," tried to argue Sweden. 

Every year someone had some version of that same argument, and Iceland was glad it wasn't Norway who started to complain how he hadn't gotten votes from the icelandic jury.

Iceland was feeling kind of smug about having been the only one everyone voted for, even if he didn't win in the end. Only for that we would complain just the minimum for the photos with the matching sweaters.

"Does anyone understand the jokes about calling my guy... Castiel? And saying something about some turbo-hell?" Asked Norway, interrupting Finland and Sweden's bickering.

Norway was leaning on Denmark's shoulder, but still wide awake and checking, Iceland guessed, social media on his phone.

"You don't want to know"/"Long story" Denmark and Sweden answered simultaneously.

Iceland couldn't help a small laugh at that, but that ended in him yawning, which apparently was everyone's sign to go to sleep.

They all congratulated Iceland for being the highest-ranked nordic of the year, so only after his obligatory line of hugs he could go to his bedroom.

He kept yawning on his way upstairs, and collapsed on his bed as soon as he closed the door behind him. On Monday he would have to fly back to his home, but after all these months barely seeing each other, Iceland just enjoyed the feeling of being asleep under the same roof as his family.

[ddaenghoney]

my masterlist is in my blog description

Prompt: Kisses on the corner of the lips (thank you for requesting!)

Pairing: Veil!JiminxY/N (pre-Veil, my fic which you can find here xx)

Genre(s)/warning(s): Fluff, friends with benefits(though there’s nothing smutty in this lmao), mentions of alcohol/intoxication, y/n is a bit jealous and so is jimin lmao

wc: 3037

You recall what Jimin said at the beginning, “This way we don’t have to be obligated to each other.”

At that time you nodded immediately, completely accepting of his words because they gave sense to everything. You are both friends, but sometimes went beyond that in random, sultry rendezvous. After meeting at SoundWave, the two of you found yourselves getting along well, and with Jimin’s debut a project you were deeply involved with, it was only natural to grow closer. Though you never anticipated the connection to become physical, you didn’t want to change it.

Or rather, you do not want to stop, but something about your current predicament of watching him interact so closely with another coworker makes your throat uneasy. She smiles at whatever he says to her while Jimin talks casually to all of those around him at the table. He doesn’t go out of his way to give the girl particular attention, but the way that she bumped passed you as you all arrived in order to secure a guiding hand on his shoulder so that they would sit together told you enough about her intentions with him.

Jimin is not your boyfriend, and no one at the company recognizes either of you as anything more than close coworkers. He’s not allowed to date anyone, so of course everything is under wraps. There’s no reason to say anything about you and him to begin with-- there’s no reason for you to keep glancing from the table you sit at. No reason you should bite your tongue every time she puts a flirtatious hand on his arm.

“Y/N, I heard you’re going to help make our next title track.” A cheerful voice across from you breeches your ears, causing your shoulders to twitch you back to the conversation. You manage a smile easily enough, finding the male appearing quite happy with what he said, as the other member of his group who sits next to him, “You are, right? I want to learn from you about the writing process.”

“I don’t know if I’m good enough to be a teacher.” You take a sip of your soda, ignoring the nudge from Jihyo beside you whose eyes combat your dismissive attitude.

“As if. You could probably teach everyone at this table something.” She presses, earning a roll of your eyes. Grinning at your reaction, she turns back to the two across, “I’d even bet the song you make with her will end up charting for weeks.”

“I’ll do anything to help you then.” The male across you persists with a jovial curl of his lips. “You’re like the company’s golden songwriter.”  A loud affirmative from the member beside him causes a ripple with Jihyo and other people at the table to agree senselessly, even though some of them you’re sure are too intoxicated to know what the conversation is. “Cheers to our golden songwriter!”

You giggle at the dramatization of the whole thing, but reciprocate the energy by clinking your glass to his as those around do the same to each other and drink happily. You go ahead and down the rest of your mostly club soda beverage, setting it back down on the table with a small clunk and release a breath.

In the corner of your eyes, you catch Jimin’s head again and don’t stop yourself from angling your face to look. The return of his gaze startles you, making your hand squeeze your glass. The girl beside him remains, but she chats for the moment with someone else. Jimin’s focus forces the air in your chest to remain there as you sit somewhat transfixed and in wonder of what he wants. His lip quirks-- you think it does anyways; it’s difficult to discern from the distance. You wish he were across from you.

No; you shake your head at your thoughts, and return your eyes to your table. You take hold of some of the snacks on the table, tossing them into your mouth swiftly. It isn’t a good idea to dwell in those thoughts too long. In the first place, it should not matter to you where he is in the room, and you should be much less bothered by the lack of his attention on your person.

It’s not like either of you want to let even the smallest detail of your affairs into this place amongst all of your coworkers.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. When you go to glance back at Jimin, you see him back conversing with those around him. You scoff softly and pull out your phone, smiling a bit wider when you see how ridiculous you are acting for assuming a particular name to appear in the pixels.

Seokjin, 12:10AM: You’re going to regret skipping out on watching the latest episode with us-- the show is getting crazy.

Y/N, 12:11AM: You better not spoil anything.

“Hey, I’m going to head out.” You say to Jihyo, as you reach for your bag hanging from your seat.

“Aw, already?” She pouts, eyes following you as you stand. “You barely drank at all with us though.”

“I have to go to work in the morning.” You explain, laughing as she clings her arms on your waist.

“Want me to help you catch a cab, Y/N?” The guy across the table asks before sipping further at his beer. You shake your head, while you work to gently tug off Jihyo.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine-”

“You heading out too?” Jimin’s voice feels like it pops a bubble. You turn your head to him, as he walks with his jacket in hand, smiling casual as the inquiry remains in the air.

“You too, man?” The younger member across you asks him.

“Yeah, my manager would kill me if I couldn’t wake up on time tomorrow.” He answers with a smile lazily on his features, then he glances back to you. “I’ll give you a ride to your apartment.”

“You sure-”

“Yes, you need to! She uses too many taxi rides-- it makes me nervous.” Jihyo exclaims into the mix as she finally releases her hold on you. “You better make sure she gets home safe, though, Jimin.”

“Deal.” He’s still looking at you while he speaks, his eyes gentle. If you think about it, you’re sure you could misinterpret his expression, so you don’t. You just nod your head, and follow his lead outside of the restaurant.

—

“To think we’d leave at the same time.” You buckle your seatbelt with ease, as Jimin turns on the ignition. Relaxing your head on the seat, you barely arch your neck, eyeing him coyly. “Almost like we intended to.”

“Well, I did.” Jimin chuckles, wrapping a hand on the gear shift. Then he looks at you, and speaks just as easily, “I only went because you did.”

You try not to acknowledge the way your rib cage constricts for a moment at his words. Like it tries to lock them close to your heart. You half-smile at Jimin, helping the sentence to trickle away into nothing. “Smooth.”

“I think so.” He nods his head as he begins to drive away. The expression of his is nothing bashful or satisfied; nothing in particular at all. It’s just words. You relax back into the familiar seat and stare at the road as it comes, settled in your understanding of everything. You smother the confusion, putting it away before you are able to ponder it and get your flimsy feelings hurt. The last thing you would need is a relationship with an idol at SoundWave.

You can’t even imagine the complications that could entail.

“Are you very tired?”

You perk your eyebrows at the inquiry. Incidentally, his words brought you out of a stupor that was melded with the exhaustion from the day, but your curiosity wins over your response.

“Not very. Why?”

Jimin’s index finger taps the steering wheel as a red light forces a stop. His eyes fixate ahead as casual as ever, but the hesitation in his sentence reveals itself when his lips barely part without answering your question. More curiosity swirls in your expression, maybe too much, but Jimin is not looking at you so you let it slide, and merely hum to press for an answer.

“Do you care if I stay over tonight?” You should immediately throw away that nagging thought in your brain that tells you Jimin really did only go to the dinner because of you. You should cast it away, because this request is not dressed in sweetness. It’s implications are just a testament to the relationship between you: the friends and something more but nothing too much. Not ever to be more. It’s already settled, unlike him and that girl who could still take a relationship in any direction they want.

Your hand curls on your lap in recollection.

“To be honest, I’m not really feeling sex tonight.”

The car continues down the road, smoothly trailing closer to your apartment less than minutes away. The air conditioning’s breeze does more than it needs to as your legs garner goosebumps that you notice with the silence. Only a second passes then another, but it feels slow and you cannot stop your thumbs rubbing against each other.

“That’s fine. I’m not very interested in that either right now.” You glance towards Jimin, but it’s noticeable as your hair shifts and your eyes gleam from the passing street lights. Pondering the implications of his words should be at the forefront of your mind, but they are shoved aside by satisfaction. Satisfaction that he doesn’t just think of you for sex-- logically you never did consider that to be the case, but the words are reassuring. There’s still the friendship; a connection you care about more. “But I understand if you don’t want me to-”

“You can.”

You catch the corner of his lip curling upwards, but he stares ahead at the road. Resting his head against his knuckles as he eases the car around the last corner with a single hand, Jimin hums softly, and your hands close atop your lap with his reaction. You don’t bother smothering the small smile of your own, and can’t stop a tiny, playful scoff as he finally speaks up, “Slumber party it is then.”

---

“Hey,” You begin as the television streams a movie long forgotten about. Though opposite sides of the couch were occupied originally, Jimin mentioned simply through a soft mumble that his chest is comfier than the awkward positioning of your head on the stiff armrest, so the current arrangement of your body loosely entangled atop of his came to be. For a moment before being coaxed by his offer, you tried to play it off, giving a little hum and a small glance from him to the television then back again when he poked your thigh with his toe. His lips were a bit pursed, but he smiled like he knew you were trying to play it coy. Who were you to feign resisting further? “I thought you said earlier that you had to go home so your manager wouldn’t kill you in the morning?”

Jimin chuckles, fingertips easing in a slow trail along your back, before going up then back down like a leisurely gondola ride. You don’t believe you care about whatever reason he gives you for tagging along. You think you just wanted to talk and take your focus away from the embrace that you don’t know how to categorize.

“Like I said earlier too: I just went to begin with because you did.”

“You didn’t even sit with me.” The words come out in a mumble with a tone that sounds too whiny, and you wish they hadn’t slipped out so easily. Jimin shifts beneath you, adjusting your frame with his hands that find your waist and his neck cranes to look at you,

“What was that?” His grin teases you, clearly amused by your little admission. You huff, trying to avoid his gaze as a blush of embarrassment threatens to creep to the surface. “And this whole time I was wondering why you kept looking over at me, baby.”

“Jimin,” You bite your lip, now trying to count the amount of times you may have glanced over at him, and wondering how in the world he ever caught sight of a lot of them. You open your mouth to continue, but find nothing to say further in your flustered state. Jimin’s eyebrows raise as though he awaits for whatever you want to say as a rebuttal. You put your hand to his cheek and gently attempt pushing his stare back to the television.

“No-” He laughs, resisting your lackluster strength and simply takes hold of your forearm with one of his hands. “Go on, baby, tell me what you wanted to.”

You don’t know what you wanted to say, and really there’s nothing for you to complain about in the first place. How was he supposed to know, and given the way things were between them, who are you to ask for a specific seating arrangement out in public? Especially with all of the other employees, and especially when that girl went out of the way to monopolize him herself.

“Well, I wasn’t going to interrupt you and that other girl.” Your lips clamp shut. Thankful you’re not looking him in the eyes as yet another uncontrolled thought escaped, you merely breathe in through your nostrils, briefly considering that you stepped beyond a line you should not have.

“What girl?” He asks you like nothing else in the statement could concern him. Slowly, hesitantly, your eyes find him once more. Jimin’s focus is calm, yet something about his expression tells you that beyond confusion he wants to settle any worries. Whether obligated or not.

“The one who grabbed your arm on the way in,” You say, captured by his eyes that feel more intimate than you’re used to. “She’s clearly in to you.”

Jimin’s head tilts to the side, lips remain in a straight line and there’s nothing to say the idea interests him. “Didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, right.” You press without knowing why. If it bothers you, it would make sense for you to leave the subject untouched further, not to try and peek at his own interest in the subject. “It was clear to me.”

“Yeah?” One corner of his mouth rises. A strong beat in your chest ricochets within your ribcage, and your hand begins to curl a grip onto his shirt as he inches closer. “Couldn’t care less about her.”

The moment Jimin intends to press his lips to yours, you shift your head, causing a collision with his kiss landing on your cheek. Your hand remains tightened on the fabric of his shirt, certainly able to give it wrinkles as time passes. Jimin’s eyes blink as he pulls back, now appearing to be concerned he may have done something wrong, and he nearly verbalizes his worries, but you beat him to it.

“You’re not allowed to kiss my lips tonight.” The matter-of-fact tone stops Jimin’s mind in his tracks. His head tilts again, and a single breathy chuckle leaves his lips in a baffled confusion,

“Am I being punished?”

“Maybe.” Jimin’s head falls back against the couch with laughter at your words. A small fit, but nonetheless finding himself amused and from the appearance of his cheerful eyes when he looks at you again, you think he may even be endeared.

“Just your lips, baby?” He questions with a bright voice, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion at his question. Answering the curiosity towards his words, Jimin leans towards you, lips brushing along the bridge of your nose, testing. Your lips tighten into a line, not dissatisfied but instead trying not to show any of the flowers growing meadows in your hearts from his action. Like he graces you with sunlight, Jimin slowly moves his lips to the apples of your cheek, kissing softly.

“Can I confess something too?” He utters the molten words as another peck lands on your forehead, following along a path of his own to continue in tiny ministrations. You hum, feeling your hand relax its grip on his shirt, and your body nearly growing limp from his tender actions. “I didn’t have a great time watching that guy flirt with you all night, baby.”

Your eyes open as you tug your head away looking down at Jimin in surprise. He smiles at your stupor, reaching a hand to cup your cheek and guiding his thumb to ghost over the skin just beside your mouth. “Who was flirting with me?”

“You’re adorable-”

“The guy across from me? I don’t think so-- he’s just hoping I make a good song for their group’s next comeback.”

“It’s pretty common knowledge among the artists that he has a soft spot for you, actually.” Jimin elaborates simply, eyes gazing from yours to your lips. You watch his jaw tighten and can’t help your chest tighten from his reaction to the whole thing. You wonder if he’s ever said anything to the guy in regards to you, but you’re sure not. “Can’t say I blame him, though.”

“You’re pouting.” You smile then grin as Jimin groans softly and stretches his neck to avoid your assessment. “Adorable.”

Your copycat compliment makes Jimin chuckle with a roll of his eyes. His hand on your back tugs you back to him, and you do nothing but giggle as his lips find the space beside your own, kissing in a gentle frenzy. Mindlessly your fingers tangle in his hair, once again content as he follows your silly rule and leaves his lips kissing just next to your lips, warming the skin and making your heart flutter.

“Jimin,” You murmur, listening to his blissful hum as he breaks from your skin only to reposition a kiss on the tip of your nose so that his eyes can find yours when you speak again in a bashful voice, “Punishment’s over.”

Jimin smiles, not even sparing a second of teasing as he mumbles his words against your lips, “Say less.”

[readyplayerhobi]

Flower | 13

; Hoseok x Reader

; Genre: Fluff, angst, slight smut

; Word Count: 4.6k

; Warnings: Anxiety, low self-esteem, discussions of sex, mention of (f) oral sex, sexual anxiety

; Synopsis: You finally decide to take a dip into the world of online dating and find the Flower dating app. One of the top matches for you proves to be a guy who looks to be your complete opposite; tattooed, pierced, a metalhead and oh…incredibly handsome. What happens when you throw caution to the wind and reach out to him?

; A/N: I hope you all enjoy this! As usual, if you do...please reblog and leave me a comment! Or send me an ask letting me know your thoughts, I’m glad you’re all loving Flower!Hobi!

; Flower Masterpost

-

Staring at your computer screen, a deep sigh leaves you as yet another email notification pops up in the corner. Clicking on it with as much enthusiasm as you’d give towards picking up a slug, you watch as it directs you back to Outlook and brings up the email. It was from your boss, who was literally sat across the small room from you, asking you to call a client and check whether they were still available for a meeting tomorrow.

Pursing your lips, you bring up her previous email that includes the client’s contact details and input their number into your work phone. Holding the phone between your cheek and shoulder, you tap your pen against your mouse as the dial tone fills your ear.

You really hated your job. 26-years-old, with a degree and you were just stuck doing the work people better paid than you didn’t want to do. Chewing on your lip, you contemplated looking at the list of job sites you’d begun to frequent lately, wondering whether or not you should apply for a new job.

The prospect of a job you actually loved and enjoyed was so foreign to you that it felt almost like a mythical unicorn right now, but you knew they existed. Hoseok loved his job, despite how everyone berated IT departments in every company. So you knew that there was something out there for you. 

But what was it? And how could you get it when you had no relevant experience in...well anything except for the modern day equivalent of pen pushing? Some days you were rushed off your feet doing everything for your boss, acting like a secretary, personal assistant and administrative assistant all at once.

Getting tea and coffee for work meetings, sitting in and taking notes, writing up meeting notes and distributing them, arranging meetings and visits and so much more. It was all boring and dull. The very idea of doing this for the rest of your life was simply unimaginable but you just...couldn’t get the courage to put yourself out there and apply for something better.

You were afraid of rejection and you were even more afraid of getting accepted for a job and then finding out you couldn’t do it. 

Almost without even thinking, you talk through with the client and make sure that they’re still okay for the meeting that was prepared for tomorrow. As soon as the phone clicks back into the cradle, you’re opening a response to your boss and sending her a quick email to let her know that it’s still on and that you’ve checked the room is still booked for them.

And then you just sit there a moment, staring at the screen and wondering what to do next. You had some menial tasks that needed to be done; photocopying documents for their meeting, forwarding invoices and so forth. But you just didn’t want to do any of it. 

That was nothing new though, you never wanted to do anything at work.

A sudden flash of colour out of the corner of your eye catches your attention and look over to where your phone lay on the desk, just above your keyboard. One of the only good things about this place was that no one complained about phones being used as long as you were doing your work too.

And the green that lights up the screen can only mean that someone has sent you a message on WhatsApp. Licking your lips, you glance up at your boss before unlocking your phone quickly and clicking onto the app. 

Upon seeing Hoseok’s name your grin turns even broader, feeling a little better already. He didn’t often text during the work day, often being far too busy to waste time on texting. Unlike you, he was permanently busy.

Hoseok [13:38pm]: Guess who got promoted?

Hoseok [13:38pm]: It’s me! I got promoted :D

Smiling even wider, you quickly texted back as pride fills your chest. Amazing how you’ve only been dating for four months yet you feel so happy and proud of him already. You’d known that he had a meeting today with his managers and he’d been a little worried, unsure whether or not they were going to be laying people off or not.

Y/N [13:39pm]: Yaaaaaaaaay. Can you boss people around now?

Hoseok [13:40pm]: I already boss people around

Hoseok [13:40pm]: Now I just have another department to boss...and more money :D

Y/N [13:41pm]: I is jealouz

Y/N [13:41pm]: (;﹏;)

Hoseok [13:42pm]: I still can’t get over how you text sometimes, honestly

Hoseok [13:42pm]: ANYWAY, it’s more money to spend on youuu :D and Kasumi

Y/N [13:43pm]: Hush, more money for you to spend on gigs

Hoseok [13:43pm]: :O don’t tell me how to spend my money >:[

And then you get a photo sent. Your phone’s setting means that you need to accept it before it downloads, image pixelated at first before becoming high quality. Clicking on it again, you frown momentarily before your eyes widen and your throat goes strangely dry suddenly.

He’s in an all black suit; black jacket, a silk black shirt and a skinny black tie to compliment it all off. It makes the hint of tattoos you can see pop vividly with their colours over the top of his shirt collar and the bit of wrist you can see on the hand that’s pointing at the camera. And it all complements his dark hair wonderfully, today actually styled properly and pushed up elegantly to reveal his forehead and let the astonishing beauty of his face be seen properly.

His face though, isn’t the pure sex his body is emanating. Instead, he’s got a comical expression in which his face is scrunched together, lips pursed in faux anger to go with his last text. But you don’t care, you can’t care.

Hoseok in a suit is...oh god. It’s everything, and you feel things for him suddenly that you’ve never really felt for anyone before from just seeing a picture. You...want to do things to him, right now. 

The strength of your reaction actually makes you pause, looking up from your phone as you assess yourself to try and comprehend what you feel. And what you wanted was for Hoseok to send you a serious photo of him looking like that.

Y/N [13:49pm]: You’re in a suit?

Hoseok [13:50pm]: Yeah, manager meeting

Y/N [13:55pm]: Can you...send a serious picture?

Hoseok [13:56pm]: ...you want another selfie of me?

Y/N [14:00pm]: I mean...you don’t have to

And then you get another photo sent through, causing you to swallow thickly as you download it. You end up biting your lip harshly as you try to stop yourself from making any kind of noise out loud. No one had noticed that you hadn’t done a lot of work in the last fifteen minutes, but they would notice if you made the kind of noise that wanted to erupt from your throat.

Hoseok had evidently known where your thoughts had gone from your awkward text back to him, and he’d pulled out all the stops for you. Part of you wondered where on Earth he was that he could take pictures like this without getting strange looks from his colleagues but an overriding part of you didn’t care.

Because holy shit, your boyfriend was ridiculously fucking attractive and how in the hell had you pulled him?

This photo has him in almost the same angle, only two of his fingers frame the pink tongue that pokes out of his mouth, white teeth pressing against the back of his tongue ring while his eyes are dark with intent. There’s no playfulness in this picture, at least nothing that could be done in public. 

No indeed and you squirm slightly in your seat, contemplating the wild fact that you were horny at work. This has never happened before and you didn’t really know that to do! But how could you not be? The way Hoseok was looking at the camera was the exact way he’d looked at you all three times he’d gone down on you so far.

And he knew it, given his suggestive pose with his tongue. In fact, you’re suddenly sent back to last week when he’d gone down on you in bed. You still weren’t even remotely comfortable asking him to do anything like that yet, but apparently he’d been wanting to so you’d shyly agreed once more.

Not that you were opposed to it or anything.

But those eyes he was giving the camera are the exact same he gave you from between your legs. And that just was not fair, because what were you supposed to do about this in the middle of work? You had just under three hours left to work before you left and he wouldn’t even finish till six.

Y/N [14:07pm]: Handsome

Y/N [14:08pm]: Are you still staying over?

Hoseok [14:10pm]: That’s all you gotta say to that, you wound me. And yes, be around 7

Y/N [14:11pm]: <33

Putting your phone down, you stare at your computer screen that has gotten three new email notifications since you got distracted. You don’t click on them though...instead you just chew on your lip, tapping your fingertips against the desk slowly as you think.

Maybe tonight...maybe…

-

The quick rapping on the door lets you know that Hoseok is finally here, half an hour late. Opening the door to him, you don't even get a chance to say anything as he brushes past you, kicking his shoes off and apologising profusely.

"I'm sorry, they kept me an extra half an hour 'cos some idiot basically broke his laptop and then there was traffic so I haven't been able to go back and change." He's taking his coat off, hanging it up on the little rack on the wall before looking at you and letting out a deep sigh.

"Oh I'm so glad to be home. Today has been so fucking stressful, maybe I should have turned down that promotion and it’s not even been a full day." You don't even get time to consider the fact that he just called your place home because he's suddenly leaning forward, giving you a quick kiss before moving into the kitchen.

Watching after him, you simply stare in bewilderment. You're not entirely sure that you could speak right now, hit by the double whammy of his slip of the tongue and his clothes.

It was true that Hoseok had pretty much spent the last month near enough living at your place, only going home a day or two a week but you hadn't realised he'd felt that comfortable here. You felt a shy warm happiness bubble in your chest at the thought though, looking down at your hands as you bite your lip to stop smiling like a little girl.

But what really turns you into an excitable mess is his outfit. He's still wearing the suit from earlier, his hair tousled from where he'd obviously been running his hands through it in the stress of his work.

And if he'd looked hot in his photos, he looked damn near sinful in person.

Which is why you simply watch him with wide eyes, moving into the kitchen slowly and resting a hip against one of the counters as he peers into the slow cooker that you'd set up this morning before going to work. It was just a simple beef stew with a hint of red wine, the scent delicious but you found that wasn't what was making your mouth water.

Not tonight.

"So...I didn't...know you had a suit like that." The words are incredibly stilted, sounding unbelievably awkward in your mouth and you inwardly cringe. Particularly when you see Hoseok stiffen, ever so slightly beneath the delightful black fabric that outlines his lithe body beautifully.

You knew that Hoseok had been incredibly patient with you. Probably more patient than most men would have been, not even slightly pushing you and making sure that you are completely comfortable with every moment. He didn't ask for much and you often felt bad that he seemed to give up so much in exchange for the eternal patience he gave to you. 

But he didn't seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to thrive on what little advancement in your relationship he could get. You still got shy when he gave you oral obviously, but you were far more eager to say yes compared to the beginning.

And tonight...tonight you wanted to finally let him get the pleasure he’d willingly denied himself to keep you comfortable. Especially when he looked like that.

It wasn't just a 'giving him a good time' too because you like him, a lot, but also because quite simply...for the first time ever...you wanted to have sex with someone. You desperately wanted to find out what he felt like inside you. Feel him thrusting within you and in turn explore him to find out what made him jerk, made him twitch and made him moan.

Oh god yes, you wanted to hear him moan. The very idea of him making those kinds of noises because of you was intoxicating and you squeeze your thighs together, fully in the knowledge that you were probably wet already. 

You have no doubt that Hoseok can tell there’s something different, an unusual kind of tension in the air as he turns around slowly, brow raised. Glancing away, you find yourself playing with the label of a Coke bottle on the side, fingers picking until it came away.

Part of you wanted to be brash and forward, boldly tell him what you wanted but as soon as you consider doing it, it felt like an iron band wrapped around your lungs. Breathing was made a lot of harder suddenly and you couldn’t get any words out, your limbs feeling cold and tingly with nerves and anxiety.

Oh how you wished desperately that you could be a bolder person because you just knew that you weren’t at that level of confidence yet with him. Even if you felt no expectations from him. You just weren’t there, and that’s why you were hoping he’d understand and take the lead once more. 

And Jung Hoseok, your wonderful boyfriend who you still believe is far too good for you, does so. You have no idea how he knows that you want to do more than cuddle or talk, no idea how he can tell that you’re struggling to get across your desires but he does.

He smiles slowly, the corners of his lips turning up in a smirk at first before turning into that beautiful smile that makes your heart flutter. Moving slowly, he walked over to you and you press yourself into the counter, eyes widening as you took in the long and loping stride.

Without so much as a word, he stands firmly in front of you, leaning forward just enough to place his arms on the counter, trapping you between them. You can feel the heat of him, the way his leg’s brush against yours with how close he is and the way his jacket slides along your stomach slightly. Combined with the fresh scent that was so unique to Hoseok and the dark look in his eyes, you felt completely overwhelmed by him.

Overwhelmed, in the best way possible.

Leaning down, Hoseok moves close enough until you feel the tip of his nose brushing against yours, the movement deceptively soft given the sexual tension that’s so thick between you both. Biting your lip, you force yourself to remain quiet to see what he does.

“I have more suits than you might realise baby. Why? Do you like it?” His voice is annoyingly light, innocence laced into every syllable that matches his perfect, angelic face too well. Smiling, his eyes widen ever so slightly as he waits for an answer but before you can even say anything, his arms move a little and you feel them pressing against your waist.

“Y-yeah, it...it looks good.” You stutter out, body heating rapidly as you lick at your lips, mouth absurdly dry. And before even realising...you’re pressing your face against his black shirt, feeling the soft silky material rub at your cheek while all you can think of is what the firm chest beneath it looks like.

Hoseok seems to pause for a moment before his hands move to rest on your hips, hesitantly stroking along them. Almost instantly you cringe forward, the feel of his hands so foreign and a subtle panic rushes through you as your mind screams at where he’s touching. The place you dislike on yourself, the place society has taught you isn’t beautiful.

But he touches you with so much care, light and gentle. He doesn’t push further with you, simply let the moment hold despite how tense you both are. You know what he’s doing, instinctively understand because he’s done this your whole relationship so far. He’s letting you get used to him, decide whether or not you feel comfortable with what he’s doing...what he’s offering.

Pressing your ear to his chest, you close your eyes and inhale deeply, shakily as you fight the demons of insecurity over yourself and your previous sexual experiences. Originally, you’d considered perhaps returning the favour to him and giving him oral sex. But now, hearing the strong beat of his heart and the warmth that has comforted you for many nights now...now you want more.

So you let him know, in that quiet and shy method that he must have become so used to. Your own hands tremble slightly as you move your head back just enough before you press them to his chest, hesitantly just letting yourself feel him like this for the first time. And then your fingers move to his collar, the top two buttons already undone.

Finally, finally you glance up at him, feeling unbelievably frightened that he might push you away, decided he didn’t want it. Didn’t want you. 

It had been years since you’d done anything...you knew this and he knew this by now. But you knew that he was far more experienced, so experienced in fact that it scares you a little. You felt like you’d be judged against others and found wanting, even if you knew that Hoseok wouldn’t do that.

“Hoseok,” You start, words meek and quiet. “I...erm, I want...I mean...I don’t…” 

And Hoseok moves his hands to cup your cheeks, smiling at you sweetly, so sweetly. It’s so reminiscent of when he’d gone down on you the first time and you get the urge to suddenly cry at how caring he is. How lucky you are.

“It’s okay. I know...you’re not hugely experienced and you’re not confident. That’s fine, I don’t expect anything from you. We don’t need to do anything, I was just teasing. If you want, I can just go do-”

“No. No, not today. I don’t...I don’t want that. I want...I want you.” This time, the words are a tiny bit more confident but rushed out. “I just...sex...I’ve never really...understood why people like it. You know? It just...felt okay. Maybe it was me but like...yeah, I mean...you know. It was…rushed and you’ve done so much more than me and-” Now it’s Hoseok’s turn to interrupt you, thumbs stroking your cheeks as he lets out a shushing noise.

Suddenly, surprising you entirely, he backs away and gently takes your hand to lead you back to the couch. Without a word he gets you to sit down before doing so himself, taking both your hands between his own with a quiet sigh.

“Okay, I just...want us to talk for a moment, so that neither of us get confused or offended or anything. So...yes, I’ve had a lot of sex, I won’t deny that. It doesn’t mean I’m gonna judge you though. You’re my girlfriend, the vast majority of everyone else was not. I’m incredibly turned on by you and I wanna beat my chest like a neanderthal knowing you want me too. I know you’re shy and you’re not confident of yourself, which is just plain wrong by the way because you are unbelievably beautiful. I just...I don’t want to move too fast for you and have you regret it. So...talk to me. Please.” You’re sure this man really isn’t real, because surely no one really existed like him in real life. 

“Why are you so patient?” You blurt out, brow furrowed in confusion and he looks just as confused for a moment before smiling.

“Because being pushy doesn’t get me anything? Except upsetting you and making you close up. And then if you do anything for me, then it’s because I’ve pushed and pushed until you feel forced to do it. So I’m patient. I don’t really mind, I like your company and it’s strangely rewarding seeing you slowly open up to me. I’m not doing anything for an ulterior motive.” He’s so earnest that you can tell he’s being honest but it still confuses you. 

Not that you’re going to look a gift horse in the mouth or anything. 

So inhaling deeply, you squeeze his hands and gave him a tight smile before talking. Something about Hoseok has always been comforting and reassuring, like he won’t judge you and you know he’ll be the same this time.

“I haven’t...slept with anyone in years. You’ve probably realised or...maybe I told you. But...well. I mean,” Your hands feel so clammy in his. “It wasn’t really good? I never...you know, with anyone. It just...felt fine. Good enough that I’d do it again but not so good I actively wanted it. Thought something was wrong with me because of that. I’ve accepted there isn’t...maybe even wondered if I was asexual for a while or something. Maybe I still am? I don’t really know. I just...I like you...a lot...and I like doing...things with you. I’ve never...you know…”

“Orgasmed?”

It’s a simple word and he says it so casually but you find yourself squirming at it, feeling warm and embarrassed about it. Not only talking about orgasms but also admitting that you’d never had one during sex before. So you simply nod, unable to get the words out and frowning in frustration at yourself.

“Hey...hey look at me,” Hoseok says gently, squeezing your hands till you do as he says. “Don’t feel embarrassed about it. It’s not something to feel bad about. This probably isn’t what I should be saying right now...but I’ve had a lot of sex, with...a sizeable amount of women. Do you know how many times they orgasmed during sex?”

Frowning, you wonder momentarily whether you’re meant to feel better with the knowledge that he’d been with a lot of women. Or that some of them had even orgasmed with him. But you sensed he was trying to make a point, and Hoseok had never been cruel.

Slowly, you shake your head.

“Not that many of them to be honest. I wish I could boost my ego and say I have a 100% strike rate but...I don’t. Sometimes girl’s would cum, most of the time they didn’t. I had to go down on them or something. And I’ve never had a single woman orgasm from penetration alone, they all needed some help. What I’m trying to get across here to you, and very badly because there’s nothing less sexy than hearing about your partner’s...escapades but...please don’t think that you’re always meant to orgasm during sex. Sometimes you might, sometimes you might not. I know that for some women, they just enjoy the feeling because they can’t get there. Sometimes, I don’t even orgasm. I’m not in the mood or something or I get bored...or I’m too drunk.”

That makes your eyes widen in shock and surprise. You hadn’t even though guys could just...not orgasm during sex. It made you realise how little you really knew, and suddenly you felt a little embarrassed about your lack of knowledge about sex. But he wasn’t being condescending or demeaning, so you decided to take the plunge and ask him.

“R-really? You...I didn’t know guys...I thought you just always did.” Hoseok laughs at that, looking so attractive that you can’t help but bite your lip. Even though you’re having a serious conversation with him, you still can’t mask the desire you have for him. Damn him for looking so good in a suit.

“The vast majority of the time? Yeah, it’s no problem. But sometimes like...I’m too tired to bother anymore and I just don’t want to carry on. Sometimes I’m a bit stressed and can’t get there which then leads to anxiety that I’m not. I try not to take it to heart but...you don’t need to be embarrassed. If you wanna orgasm then we can definitely try, if you don’t feel like it, then we don’t need to. It’s entirely up to you, I swear.” 

Silence falls between you both and you stare at your hands, swallowing thickly. He’s offering you so much, and part of you feels bad. But at the same time...you want to just enjoy him without the stress or anxiety of not performing like you thought you were supposed to.

Clenching your jaw, you make the decision and nod your head to yourself. Yes, you were doing this.

So without a word, you grab onto this small flame of confidence he’s lit within you and let go of his hands, instead using them to grip the lapels of his jacket and pulling him forward. His eyes widen for a second and he lets out an ‘oomph’ before you’re kissing him.

It’s not pretty at first, almost painful from the force and you both take a few seconds to reacquaint yourselves with each other before it finally starts moving smoothly like usual. Only this time, the kiss is far more intense than anything you’d had before with him, almost as if you were trying to devour each other with the force and intensity.

Pulling away momentarily, you look at him and groan softly at the desire in his eyes. You’ve seen him in moments of pure lust before, but he’s bordering on unrestrained here. And you want that, so you pull him back in, moulding your lips to his own and feeling the tingle of excitement that runs through you.

“Not here, not here. Please, I really wanna fuck you on your bed.” Hoseok gasps out as he pulls away once more, trying to avoid your grasping hands with a breathy laugh. 

You don’t even question it, getting up quickly and practically tugging him into your bedroom in your eagerness. The sheer laugh of delight he gives you as you do so invigorates you, bolstering the confidence that’s spurring you on and you hope it lasts.

Wrapping your arms around his neck and tugging him into a kiss once you’re in the safe haven of your bedroom, you prepare to trust him with your insecurities once more.

[isis-astarte-diana]

But None, I Think, Do There Embrace (Part 2)

Part 1 ‖ Part 2

Summary:  “The sight of Missy, conscious and walking, shakes loose a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding.” The conflict isn’t over when the gun goes off.

Warnings: None? Unresolved tension, mostly!

Word Count: 1815

NB: The promised continuation of “The Grave’s A Fine And Private Place”!

“Please, please work!”

The TARDIS hums softly in an inarticulate but clear expression of disagreement. The screen you clutch at with shaking hands remains a blurry mess of jumping pixels, the sound a warbled static hiss. You have no insight into what’s happening on the bridge.

Before you’d even glimpsed the creatures in the lifts, the ship had slammed her doors so hard that you were knocked backwards and off your feet, landing painfully on the metal floor. When you’d scrambled back up and tried to open them again, they wouldn’t budge. You still know precious little about how she functions, but it’s apparent that she’s determined to keep her human cargo safe from whatever wants to take them away.

“Siege mode,” Nardole points out unhelpfully, still fiddling with the console. “Hostile life forms detected on the bridge. No communications in or out. Your life signs are shielded, at least.”

White-knuckled on the handrail, you glance around desperately for inspiration. “We can’t just wait here!”

“I know,” Bill groans, head bowed and cradled in her hands. She sits on the stairs, catching her breath, steadying her racing heart. “I know, but what can we do? The TARDIS won’t let us outside and even if she would I don’t think we could help, I mean - we’re human! Whatever these things are, we can’t fight them.”

“I don’t think we need to.”

You scowl at Nardole. “What do you mean?”

“If they really are only interested in you two, then presumably, once they realise you’re no longer on the ship, they’ll just... wander off, I suppose.”

“Yeah.” Bill sounds quite convinced. “I mean, that blue guy was there for, what? Days?”

At the mention of the armed alien, you wince. You’ve been trying to distract yourself from the image of Missy’s limp body, slumped in the navigator’s chair. “Days,” you agree flatly.

“Exactly. Just try and keep calm, and I’m sure they’ll be back very-”

The doors tear open, flooding the room with the colony ship’s bright fluorescent lights.

“-soon.”

“Chair! Now!”

Any relief you might have felt is drained immediately by the sound of the Doctor’s voice, sharp and furious and full of pain. He has one arm around Missy, supporting her weight, half-dragging her alongside him as he staggers through the doors. Even from across the console you can see the smouldering burn mark on her coat. It’s bigger than your hand and still smoking.

The sight of her, astonishingly still conscious and walking, shakes loose a deep breath you didn’t realise you were holding. You’ve grown to quite like Missy; her quick mind and deadpan black humour had endeared you to her when you visited the vault, and she’s proven herself a useful ally more than once with her effortless navigation of the TARDIS. In truth, despite Bill’s understandable trepidation, you’d been excited to see her at the helm of a new adventure.

Be careful what you wish for.

He drops her unceremoniously in the nearest seat and she lets out a heavy, pained noise at the impact. It makes you wince in sympathy. “Watch it! I’ve just been shot, or hadn’t you noticed?” She falls just short of her usual sardonic wit, too much strain seeping into the words.

“Shut up.” There’s no kindness in it. He works urgently at the buttons of her coat, pulling it open to expose her blouse and the wound left by the laser-barrelled weapon. He’s muttering angrily under his breath. “Missed all the vital organs.”

“Yes, well, if you want something done properly,” she mutters. Then, so sharply that you jump, “oi! What the hell are you doing, man?”

The Doctor has both hands poised over the injury on her side. At first you think it’s a trick of the light, an optical illusion triggered by stress and exhaustion, but as you watch they begin to glow in a vibrant, sickly shade of orange. Light pours from his palms and drenches her abdomen until the scene burns your eyes. It feels like staring into the sun.

“Be quiet,” he says calmly, ignoring her protests. “You’ll take weeks to heal on your own. You’re no use to anyone in this state. I’m just speeding things up a bit.”

You’ve heard of regeneration, of course, but this is the first time you’ve witnessed it. Despite the blinding intensity of it you can’t seem to look away. You move around the console as if in a trance, seeking out a better view. It is, at once, the most beautiful and most frightening thing you’ve ever seen, and you know with every fibre of your being that it is wrong, a violation of physical laws that you take for granted. What unfolds between the Time Lords in front of you spits in the face of everything you know about the universe.

Your normal Saturday has been resumed.

“Oh, for- get your hands off me!” She reaches down to knock him away but he’s already moving, stumbling slightly and bracing his hands on the back of the chair to steady himself. It’s clear that he’s expended some energy.

“Not quite good as new,” he observes. “You may actually have a scar.”

“I always fancied one of those.” She twists experimentally in her seat, testing the extent of her recovery. The only evidence of what should, by all rights, have been a mortal wound is a single low hiss through her teeth. “Consider it a touching memento of my full rehabilitation.”

“Rehabilitation?” He scoffs, cold and bitter. “Do you think this was a success?”

“I saved the humans, didn’t I? At tremendous personal cost, might I add.” She gestures to her side. “This is my favourite blouse, as well you know, and now it’s ruined.”

Provoked by her arch lack of repentance, he raises his voice. “You tried to kill a man! A frightened man, who asked us for help!”

“A stupid man, with a gun,” she bites back. Her hands are tight on the arms of the chair.

“I had the situation under control until you-”

“No you didn’t!”

You almost leap out of your skin when Bill interjects, her voice whip-thin and deafening even from across the room. All eyes turn to her. She’s a beacon of rage, practically vibrating, still fuelled by mortal peril and righteous fury.

“You had no idea what you were doing,” she seethes, pointing an accusatory finger at the Doctor. “You were just chatting away like an idiot, like you always do, thinking you’re so clever, and it nearly got us killed!”

He doesn’t take it well. “I was defusing the situation! It was a negotiation. I knew that-”

“Just shut up! You were negotiating for our lives!” At her side, one hand clenches into a tight fist. You can hear the angry tears making her voice waver as the adrenaline rush begins to fail. “D’you know what, Doctor? You made the wrong call. I never thought I’d say it but Missy was better than you today.”

She turns on her heels and heads deeper into the TARDIS, leaving her scathing words to hang heavily in the air. Shrinking in the face of conflict, you stand stock still, mouth agape, staring at the space she’s just vacated; Nardole makes an apologetic face and hurries after her. For a moment, you consider following, but think better of it. If it were you, you would want to be alone.

Face thunderous, the Doctor moves over to the console, manipulating switches and levers too forcefully until the ship dematerialises with a familiar mechanical screech.

“I think there was a compliment in there, somewhere.” 

Missy stretches out in the chair, apparently unfazed, folding her arms behind her head. You don’t miss the slight flinch as the change in position tugs at her newly-healed wound. He ignores her, working his jaw in silent fury. “Oh, do try and cheer up, Doctor. I’m sorry that your softly-softly approach wasn’t up to scratch today but if you’re waiting for me to apologise for saving-”

“Don’t.” His voice is low and dangerous. “Don’t pretend to care about my friends.” His eyes dart over to you for a moment and you look away, removing your earpiece and inspecting it as if it’s the most interesting thing you’ve ever seen. “You’ve never cared about anyone but yourself. You haven’t changed at all.”

Not waiting for a response, he stalks out of the console room, brushing past you on the way. One hand skims lightly over your shoulder as if to make sure that you’re really there. You allow it. After the day’s events you’re drained, eager for peace and reconciliation that seems far out of reach. Even this gentle touch is almost enough to bring tears to your eyes.

“Well?” Missy fixes you with her gaze and you blush, setting down the earpiece you’ve been fidgeting with. “Aren’t you going to run off, too?”

“I can if you want.” You’re aiming for jovial, but the words come out small and you wince. She raises an expectant eyebrow and doesn’t speak. “Actually, I wanted to say thank you. For saving us.”

“No need. It was all part of my devious plan.” She adjusts a stray lock of hair. Despite the flippancy in her voice it’s clear that his words have wounded her. You frown.

“He’s an idiot. Time Lord or not, I know a man with a bruised ego when I see one.” She chuckles wryly, looking down at the ruins of her blouse. Her hand uselessly attempts to smooth the fabric out. You move closer. Your pulse races when you reach out to touch her; she doesn’t pull away, watching from the corner of her eye as you rest your palm gently on her forearm.

Something changes in her posture. You think of the Doctor, of Bill’s hand crushing yours as you both waited to die, of how every living thing needs to be touched sometimes and your fingers wrap around her slender arm, the slightest pressure, your thumb sweeping back and forth over the thin cotton of her sleeve. She draws a sharp breath and turns to look at you again and you see a thin mist of tears glistening in her bright eyes. For the first time it occurs to you that she must feel as weary as you do.

“Thank you,” you say again, heavy with sincerity. “I’m pretty sure we would have died if you weren’t there. He’ll come around.”

Her face hardens almost imperceptibly and she clears her throat, blinking away the vulnerability with surprising ease. “The Doctor can do what he likes. I didn’t do it for him.”

“You didn’t?” Surprised, your fingers fall still. Her free hand leaves the armrest, coming to cover your own, and she looks up at you with something so akin to hope that your throat tightens.

“No,” she says softly. “I didn’t.”

[phoenotopia]

2020 December Update

I, sadly, have to announce we need to push the Steam release back ~one month. I'm expecting the latter half of January now.

There are enough translation groups that would barely finish in the nick of time. After which, we'd need a few days to check the text, and Steam would need another 3-5 business days to evaluate the completed title before it could be cleared for release. Add in the holiday shuffle and people needing time to relax with family (not me personally, but other people!) and it seems better for everyone's sanities if we push it back one month. The added time would let translators really review the script and make sure it's quality. Finally, we don't want to launch in a window where the gaming press is on break since that would guarantee we'd get no coverage.

So with all those factors considered, I decided it was best to delay. It's no substitute, but I will instead be releasing a PC demo of the first chapter. I'll aim to have that out by Dec 18th on the Steam Store page. If you're thinking about getting the game, please consider wish-listing it on steam. [STEAM LINK]

Good news?

Not too long ago, on Nov. 26th, the publisher I'm working with, Circle-Entertainment/FlyHigh works, released the game to Japan! The Japanese version is equivalent to US & EU's v.1.0.9, so I'm hoping it will be received more positively from the beginning.

I've also signed a second agreement with Circle-Entertainment where they'll bring the game to Xbox, Playstation, and maybe Mobile! It's a huge help for me since I didn't want to get bogged down, perpetually working on ports and maintenance. I'm hoping that soon after the release of the Steam version, I'll be full-on working on a new game project!

With the game slated to release on so many more platforms, the chances for the game to recoup expenses and maybe even be profitable has increased. I'm cautiously optimistic.

Flyhigh will also be providing a Simplified-Chinese translation of the game, so we can add that as an extra language to the Steam release as well - however, the Chinese translation of the game may be a few weeks later than the PC release since work on it started only recently.

Art Gallery Feature?

The next patch for Switch (and first release for Steam) will include languages and maybe a new Art Gallery!

I wasn't a fan of how miniscule the Badges/Achievements Menu felt. You do a thing and then you unlock a small trinket. So I've been toying with the idea of tying it to an art gallery for a long time. Here's a preview of how it could look:

Initially, I thought to fill the art gallery with fan art. This blog post was almost the announcement of an art contest!

However, after discussing it with team mates and the publisher, we decided it was better to fill the art gallery with official concept art and early pixel work instead since it could show a lot of interesting trivia and history behind the game's development. For example, Moonlight Ravine wasn't pink initially, there was almost snow in Mul Caves, and we considered having the bandit's leader be a man named Baine. There's a lot more stuff like that hidden in the concept art, so expect to have this exciting feature sometime in January.

Fan Art

While Fanart won't get to be in the game officially, it'll still be displayed prominently here on the Blog and the Facebook! Major thanks to the community and Pimez for making sure I see them!

(Art by Raphael Sampaio - also part of the Portuguese translation team)

(Art by beet4ppy)

(Art by beet4ppy)

(Art by beet4ppy)

(Art by UnrealWorld_32)

(Art by “A rat on discord”??)

(Art by horaceinkling)

(Art by horaceinkling)

(Art by ÆV)

(Art by Firanka)

(Art by Caseus)

(Art by Gamesing) 

(Art by R_Contagio)

(Art by R_Contagio)

(Art by R_Contagio)

(Art by R_Contagio and Pimez)

(Art by Pimez)

(Art by Pimez)

(Art by MilesCPW)

(Art by MilesCPW)

(Art by MilesCPW)

Mmmm... That's some good fanart :)

Next update will be a small one, about ~2 weeks from now, to announce the Steam Demo’s release. Till next time!

[baphomet-media]

Blaster Caster - An Ikenfell Review

Genre: Adventure Subgenre: Tactics RPG Developer: Happy Ray Games  Publisher: Humble Games Platform(s): PC, Switch, Xbox; Reviewed on Xbox Series X Release Date: October 8th, 2020

Ikenfell immediately caught my eye in a marketing email from Humble. The art style looked charming, and it stayed on my radar for a while until I gave it a try on a whim from Game Pass, needing something to sink my teeth into on Xbox. I was a little wary at first, as tactics games can sometimes be difficult to get into (I’m looking at you, Fire Emblem), but the art style and whispers of praise I kept hearing drew me in. Does it hold up, though? Let’s dig in!

Story

The story of Ikenfell follows Maritte, an “ordinary” (non-magical) girl who travels to the titular school of magic to find her missing sister, Safina. After suddenly gaining magical powers of her own, Maritte soon realizes that something that happened at the school is causing the world to destabilize and magic itself to distort in strange and unusual ways. Best of all, Safina seems to be right smack dab in the middle of everything.

Along the way, Maritte will meet a number of students of Ikenfell, friends and rivals alike of Safina, with whom she will partner in order to get to the bottom of the strange happenings at the school. One of the best things about the game is its diverse cast of characters, seemingly all of whom are queer to some extent. It felt really nice to have some representation that didn’t try to make a huge deal out of the characters’ identities. That being said, I found it somewhat difficult to keep up with characters’ genders, pronouns, and sexualities, since it’s rarely mentioned by the game. One idea that could alleviate this is if the game could remind you of the characters’ pronouns on their status pages. Additionally, while some characters, such as Maritte, Gilda, and Pertisia, felt fully realized and fleshed-out, the other half of the party seemed to languish in stagnation. While Rook and Petronella had a bit of development regarding their relationships to Safina, Ima had basically no backstory and felt forgotten.

The game has plenty of side characters as well that help to flesh out the cast, particularly the bumbling dandy Ibn Oxley and his surly protector Bax. These two were pretty adorable in their relationship, and I’m always a fan of the incompetent braggart archetype, however I feel like they didn’t do much except constantly get in the way throughout the entire story, and I felt like I was always cleaning up after them. The headmistress, Baudovinia Aeldra, has a very touching, and surprisingly dark, backstory, and she becomes something of a tragic antagonist throughout the course of the story.

Perhaps the thing that impressed me the most was the game’s scope of worldbuilding. In one chapter, you ascend a tower as the game drip feeds you bits of its mythology, and I was really into it. Additionally, I like that there are small hints about the world at large outside of the play area, which made me feel like the school was only one part of a larger world, even if it was effectively the center.

The story itself is fairly basic and somewhat on the short side. There were plenty of touching moments throughout, but I couldn’t help but feel like I was just chasing Safina’s coattails the whole time, as she’s all that anyone can talk about. What’s worse, outside of flashbacks, Safina doesn’t actually do anything the entire game, which was a disappointment. I was looking forward to having a sororal bonding moment that didn’t really come until the epilogue, and even that was a bit lackluster.

Gameplay

At its core, Ikenfell is an RPG. The battles take place on a 12x3 grid, and on each character’s turn, they can move and cast a spell from their repertoire. As opposed to other games that have MP or a fixed number of spells, Ikenfell’s spells are thankfully unlimited. Instead, some spells have a cooldown time, though this is rarely an issue, as most spells with cooldowns are powerful spells anyway. Additionally, each spell has its own effective range, so proper positioning is constantly important. Most spells can be categorized as one of the following:

Single-target damage dealing 

Area-of-effect damage dealing 

Ally buffing 

Enemy debuffing 

Placing a trap 

Other, or some combination of the above 

Despite this, most spells feel different from a combination of their ranges and other unique properties. For example, while Pertisia’s Retaliation spell hits multiple targets for damage, it has the unique range of hitting all allies that are orthogonal to her or her allies, incentivising close-quarters play. This pairs well with Gilda’s Teleportation ability, which lets her teleport to the other side of the battle grid and immediately take a second turn. In all honesty, I found the combination of Gilda and Perty so powerful that I spent most of the game using only those two and Maritte, who becomes so physically powerful by the end of the game that she’s a must-have. Unfortunately, I never found much use for Rook and Ima, as their spells never really stood out much to me, aside from being the only characters able to set traps. Traps become useless pretty quickly, since most enemies can fly or teleport to their destination square, meaning unless they land right on a trap, it’ll more likely hinder your own movement. Nel at least had unique abilities in being the only character able to cast healing spells, but the spells are so difficult to actually perform, and they’re so miserably weak otherwise that it doesn’t feel useful to include them, which is really sad considering their backstory!

Enemies also get the same mechanics as the player, which usually meshes well, however it seems like most enemies get way more turns than the player, especially certain enemies that can use actions that immediately give them an extra turn. It pretty much requires you to use Gilda to provide speed buffs and debuffs just to feel competitive. This is felt particularly strongly during boss battles when bosses can summon minions and then immediately take another turn. It can get overwhelming quickly, especially if one character gets knocked out. Fortunately, if you’re leveled up enough and you stay on top of healing and taking out minions, you should be fine in any battle, though this does put the player in an odd dichotomy where you either stay on top of everything for the entire battle, but you make one mistake and you basically lose outright.

The other mechanic to battles is the timing mechanics. Every spell has a specific timing for pressing the A button in order to deal max damage or buff. You also use the same timed button press to defend against enemy attacks, which gives the battles a slight Paper Mario feel. Unfortunately, I found that timing was often inconsistent. Some spells have helpful visual indicators for letting the player know when to hit A, but many are best used slightly before or slightly after the visual trigger, making it frustrating when you whiff a spell or take major damage despite looking like you were right on time. The game has some accessibility options that can bypass this, by making your attacks auto-hit or skipping battles altogether, but this feels more like cheats than balance, so I didn’t use them.

As far as the overworld goes, you travel between areas to reach various story objectives, giving strong Mother series vibes from your party following along behind you. The game allows you to save your progress by petting cats around the school, which is automatically an A+ from me. The cats also refill your HP, so you don’t have to worry too much about healing outside of battle.

I really enjoyed the equipment system in the game as well. Aside from weapons, each other item can be worn by any character, and usually offer both benefits and drawbacks, so it’s up to you to decide which stats you want to optimize on each character. Though it wasn’t a really tough decision, as there are only 5 stats (HP, Attack, Defense, Speed, Movement), and most equipment only modifies the middle three. I ended up speccing Maritte into Attack, Perty into Defense, and Gilda into Speed, since those seemed to match their play styles and base stats.

There isn’t much in the way of side content in the game, the main sidequest being collecting hidden gems throughout the world. These gems can be exchanged for special accessories that give unique effects. Unfortunately, these accessories don’t provide any stat bonuses, so I didn’t find any of them as useful as just buffing stats. Lastly, the game has a few optional bosses to defeat, which basically require you to hit the, admittedly low, level cap of 30. These bosses were interesting, but at that point I was getting sick of boss battles.

Presentation

Ikenfell is a gorgeous game. There’s plenty of great pixel art throughout, particularly in the environment. The character sprites are very expressive, both in battle and on the overworld. I wasn’t a huge fan of some of the portraits (Perty particularly has some oddly lumpy cheeks), but for the most part they’re perfectly fine.

The music in the game is wonderful, and is largely done by electronic musical group Aivi & Surasshu. Most of the background tracks were a wonderful blend of chiptunes and melancholy instrumental which is definitely my thing. Unfortunately I wasn’t all that fond of the vocals on some tracks, but that’s likely just a personal preference thing. My partner loved them, so your mileage may vary.

Conclusion

JK Rowling wishes she could tell a magic school story this good. At the end of the game, I loved the characters and felt good knowing that I had accomplished everything the game had to offer. I loved just exploring, seeing the different locations, petting cats, and listening to the music. Definitely give this game a try if you love RPGs, queer representation, good stories or music, and DEFINITELY if you have Game Pass.

Score: 8 / 10

[laetro]

David Edward Byrd: Inspiring “Wowie-Zowie” for Over 50 Years

With a career that spans over half a decade during the art, music and technological revolution, David Edward Byrd has developed iconic posters and illustrations associated with the best of the rock and theatre era.

David has been creating posters since his days at The Fillmore East in NYC where he created the famed 1968 Jimi Hendrix poster now in the collection of MOMA, NYC. As well, he created the poster for The Rolling Stones 1969 Tour, TOMMY by The Who, The Grateful Dead, & the legendary 1969 Woodstock Poster. He quickly moved on to Broadway, where he created images for Follies, Godspell, Jesus Christ Superstar, Hot L Baltimore, The Magic Show, & Little Shop of Horrors amongst many others. He was Sr. Illustrator at Warner Bros. Consumer Products for 12 years where he worked on everything from Bugs Bunny to Harry Potter. He has had Retrospective Shows in Los Angeles, New York & Seattle. He now lives in the Silver Lake area of Los Angeles with his husband of 39 years, Jolino Beserra, a renowned Mosaic Artist.

ORDER A CUSTOM ILLUSTRATION

Q. Any reason why you chose to illustrate for 60s rock bands in particular?

David Edward Byrd: I was the poster artist for the Fillmore East in NYC from its opening on 8 March 1968 to 27 June 1971 when it closed for good. At this same time, I was also creating posters for the Broadway Theatre (“Follies”, “Godspell”, etc.). As Rock Posters have a much higher profile than Theatre Cards, I chose that area to illustrate. Also, Theatre is about THIS play right NOW, while 60s Rock is about 60s Rock in general.

Q. What kind of changes do you see when you compare the posters that were created in the 60s to the ones that are created today?

David: The rock poster artist EMEK is a great example of the younger generation’s expertise in the art form (see “Coachella”). Whereas, David Singer is an example of the “Old Garde” moving on to create new imagery (see “Moon Alice”). I still create more East Coast imagery, I think . . .

Q. One of your Hendrix posters is ranked among Billboard’s Top 10 Rock Posters of all time. What was your thought process/ inspiration while you created the poster?

David: Before coming to Manhattan in 1967 I had worked as a freelance Architectural Draughtsman, so I was familiar with the tools of that trade, and thus I decided to apply this craft to the 1968 Jimi Hendrix Experience poster. I created Jimi’s & his band-mates hair using a hexagonal grid with small circles on the grid representing cosmogenic pixels that one might perceive after ingesting certain popular chemicals of the time (see “Acid”). Each small circle was drafted with a drop-bow compass on the center point of the hexagonal grid.

A laborious process, but worth the time . . .

Q. The poster you created for the Woodstock Festival was rejected because it was too risque in 1969. Do you think it would have received a different response if it was designed today?

David: Absolutely — an entire sexual revolution has occurred over the last 50+ years. Ironically, the nude female in the center of the poster was copied from the 1847 painting “La Source” by Jean Dominique Ingres, which seemed a perfect symbol for a poster representing “An Aquarian Exposition” (the “Water Bearer”). But the Wallkill City Council thought otherwise (exposed breasts & pudenda a no-no). I had a similar experience with the NY Times treatment of my “Tommy at the Metropolitan Opera” full-page ad in the Sunday Times, which featured a nude Tommy rising into Pinball Heaven — the Times editor chose to paint a crude Black Marker Jockstrap over his very modest genitalia, alas.

Q. What would you describe interacting with so many rock artists like? Any favorites whose company you enjoyed?

David: Manhattan & San Francisco are light-years apart both culturally & artistically. The West Coast artists created Psychedelia and Neo-Nouveau and are due to the many encomiums they have received for this. David Singer and I were friends and we traded posters. David created the most Fillmore West posters (60 total) of any artist on the planet. For me, his posters are the Apex of the West Coast work. Victor Moscoso influenced my design sense with his vibrant close-value posters (see “Sopwith Camel”) and continues to do so today.

Q. Can you describe your experience at Warner Bros. How were those 12 years different from working elsewhere?

In 1991, I took the position of Senior Illustrator at Warner Bros. Creative Services, which I held till 2002 • Besides creating illustrations, backgrounds and style guides for all the Looney Tunes & Hannah-Barbera characters, I got to create commemorative plates for The Franklin Mint, souvenir posters for the Batman series of films, style guides for feature films such as Space Jam, The Wizard of Oz, and television shows such as Friends, The Cartoon Network and Scooby-Doo • My department was responsible for the Bugs Bunny Postage Stamp, the first cartoon character on a U.S. Postage Stamp • I created special signed pieces for The WB Studio Stores Galleries based on The Masterpiece Series style guide art that I painted in 1999 • I also did a great deal of work on the style guides for two of the Harry Potter films: Harry Potter & The Chamber of Secrets and Harry Potter & the Prisoner of Azkaban.

One rarely sees the Graphic Collections of major museums on display, so being part of a museum collection as a poster artist does not put one on the creative map, so to speak. But it is a nice thing to tell one’s sweetheart.

Q. Your work is displayed in 23 museums at the moment, including the Louvre in Paris. Do you find it a rare accomplishment considering you are an illustrator and not a painter?

As I have often said if I had remained a painter I probably would not be in any Museum at all. But this is not for me to know. One rarely sees the Graphic Collections of major museums on display, so being part of a museum collection as a poster artist does not put one on the creative map, so to speak. But it is a nice thing to tell one’s sweetheart . . .

Q. From Fillmore East to Broadway to Warner Bros, how has your style evolved over the years?

My art-chops improved immensely in the last 20 years. I hope it is somewhat evident. My work was hit-or-miss in the beginning but things have gotten better of late.

Q. Can you name some of your favourite posters which you have worked on?

“FOLLIES” 1971

“HENDRIX EXPERIENCE” FE 1968

“BOWIE” Carnegie HALL 1972

“QUEEN” 1st Tour 1974

“PRINCE” DNA 2013

“TOM PETTY” 1980

“NY DECO EXPO” 1974

LED ZEPPELIN FE 1969

Q. What is your process like when coming up with an illustration or a poster?

1.) Collect Reference & inspiration in Folder. 2.) Create rough pencils for scanning. 3.) Collect possible Fonts. 4.) Build rough designs on Mac 5.) Choose 1 main color and build up from that 6.) Proof printing

Q. What software do you use to create your illustrations?

ADOBE SUITE (PhShop; Illustrator; InDesign) + Typestyler

Q. Lastly, what do you always aim to achieve through your illustrations?

Eye-Fun • Immediacy • Gotcha • Who-Is-This-Guy? • Wowie-Zowie

[legobiwan]

For prompts: Thrawn and Obi-Wan, did they or didn’t they. Do your worst and most subvert-y! 8D

Okay, so I think I managed to both vert and subvert in this one. I am not at all sure what I’ve just done here. This is partial!crack and partial....something else altogether???? I’ll let you all be the judge.

FYI, I am not 100% comfortable writing Thrawn but I’m giving it my best effort :D 

------

Anakin stared at the Chiss, disbelieving. 

“There’s no way you could have known all of those things...just by reading faces.” Or what was left of faces, at least. Oenti and the rest of his thugs were dead, by Anakin’s own hand.

The Jedi grimaced. No, he wasn’t going to feel bad about taking out those good-for-nothing kark’a’shuts. They got what they deserved. And besides, unlike Obi-wan, Thrawn didn’t seem to care one way or another about the collateral damage Anakin caused, as long as it was logical and didn’t interfere with Thrawn’s own mysterious plans. 

Thrawn regarded Anakin with those impenetrable red eyes. “On the contrary, General Skywalker,” his voice was cool and unbothered. “There is much to learn from the study of microexpressions, of gestures. Even subtle shifts in vocal timbre. Take Oenti here,” the Chiss gestured at the fallen man at, lightsaber wound still smoking through his gut. “The placement of his feet.”

His feet? Anakin rubbed at his forehead, taking in the scuffed, blaster-marked boots of the dead man. 

“What about them?” Anakin asked. 

“If one takes into account the angle of impalement,” Thrawn continued, either not noticing, or more likely, ignoring the very obvious way Anakin’s face creased at the word impalement. Not the Jedi way, Obi-wan’s cultured voice, somehow melding with Thrawn’s own soothing baritone, echoed in his mind. 

Vocal timbre, a bantha’s ass, Anakin scoffed to himself. 

“Then we can conclude that Oenti’s feet were directed towards his associate, perhaps in silent order or even expectation.” Thrawn quirked his head. “Most likely in anticipation of a round blaster fire that did not materialize. I do not believe these men had fully...anticipated the damage profile of your unique weapon.”

“And you sense all this?” Anakin asked. 

Thrawn furrowed his brows in confusion. “Sense? No, the Chiss do not sense - at least, not in the way your Jedi Knights might. We observe details, details which may be invisible to your...less capable humanoid senses.”

Anakin crossed his arms, stifling the urge to argue. Whatever, he huffed inwardly. He had the Force, he could sense - and observe - enough. And what he saw was that Thrawn was a condescending pain in the ass, a lot like -

A lot like someone else Anakin knew. Still, he needed Thrawn to find Padmé and until then, he’d just have to put up with the Chiss’s idiosyncrasies as best he could.

----

“Would you prefer a practical demonstration?” Thrawn flitted his eyes between Anakin and Padmé, expression still unreadable, but somehow laced with a certain bemused danger. Behind the Chiss, Padmé was narrowing her gaze in Anakin’s direction, giving a subtle shake of her head.

That look, Anakin swallowed over a lump in his throat, he knew to be dangerous.

“No!” Anakin protested, holding up both palms. “I mean...not - “ Oh kriff. It was one thing for the hyper-observant Chiss to use his skills against the enemy, but Anakin couldn’t have Thrawn turning that expertise on him. 

On him and Padmé. Not when they had worked so hard to keep their relationship a secret, even from the Jedi. 

Why had he brought this up again? Thrawn, despite everything, had been a solid ally, had helped Anakin get to Mokivj, had reunited him with Padmé. And now they were about to take down a massive Separatist plot, probably foil months, even years of planning by Count Dooku.

But at his heart, Anakin was a tinkerer, a mechanic. He wanted to know how things worked, wanted to know why Thrawn - who had no Force sensitivity whatsoever - could outclass him in almost every area of observation and deduction. 

Anakin fumbled in the pockets on his tunic, his left hand closing around a small holodisc. An idea bloomed in the back of his mind, a way of both getting the information he wanted from Thrawn and maybe a bit more...

“Here,” Anakin held out the disc, pressing the activation button. A holo of Obi-wan and Cody, deep in conversation, illuminated the dark anteroom.

“Anakin!” Padmé hissed. “You can’t show classified Republic communications to a stranger - “

“Relax, Padmé,” Anakin interrupted, waving a hand. “I cut the audio since Thrawn over here is so good at reading microexpressions.” Padmé had a point. The conversation between Cody and Obi-wan wasn’t meant for public consumption, wasn’t even meant for Anakin to hear. If the holojournalist who had snuck the recorder into the Senate building had forgotten to turn on the audio - well, that’s wasn’t Anakin’s fault. 

Anyway, he knew what the conversation was about, more or less. Some kind of secret mission on Utapau, all very hush-hush. All Anakin wanted to know was if they did or didn’t agree to the Council’s terms of said mission, which Anakin had no doubt would involve some kind of subterfuge considering Obi-wan hadn’t been kind enough to loop him in on the proceedings. 

Anakin grit his teeth, the Force momentarily surging around him. He would never let himself go through another Rako Hardeen incident, never let the Council abandon another Padawan - 

“And what, General Skywalker,” Thrawn cut into his thoughts, cocking an eyebrow. “Would you like me to do with this information?”

Right. “A practical observation,” Anakin forced some cheerfulness through his suddenly dour mood. “Like you said. Study these two and just tell me if they will or won’t.”

“Will or won’t,” Thrawn seemed to chew on the words. “In reference to what?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Anakin gave an impatient gesture, not wanting to reveal any more than he should. Truth was, he playing fast and loose with Republic intelligence, doing so in front of a Senator. That the Senator in question was his wife and would never actually turn him in for what he was doing didn’t completely settle the nagging hook of guilt deep in his gut.

Thrawn considered the two men in the holoimage for a moment. “I take it,” he began deliberately, “you already know the outcome of this conversation? Or is this to be considered...” Thrawn searched for the right word in Meese Caulf, “sen’depen?”

“No, no freelance work for the Republic,” Anakin partially lied. It wasn’t for the Republic, it was for him. For protection - his and Padmé’s. “So, are you up for it?”

A look of pure bewilderment crossed Thrawn’s features. Anakin let out a half-laugh, having forgotten how literal Thrawn tended to be. For all of his observation skills, for all of his tactical mastery, the Chiss sometimes seemed at a loss when confronted with more idiomatic phrases, even in a language he was supposedly fluent in. 

“Up for it?” he echoed, punctuating each word.

“Will you do it?” Anakin rephrased, avoiding his wife’s icy glare from across the room. 

Thrawn gave one of those irritating partial smiles. “There is no need to ask, General Skywalker,” he said cordially, “as it’s already been done. Take, if you will, the auburn-haired man’s slight flush, growing from the bottom of his neck. The slight pixelation over the dark-haired man’s carotid artery, indicating some sort of visual disruption - “ Thrawn turned to Anakin. “An elevated pulse.”

“In addition,” the Chiss pointed at both men’s feet, “as we saw with Oenti in the Black Spire, the placement and direction of feet give us another visual clue. In this case, both men’s feet are nearly linear, toes angled at the other’s, in direct conflict with their avoidant gazes. It is my conclusion, then, that this is not a matter of will or won’t, as you so worry, but an internal matter, best left to the regulations of the Republic army, of which I am unfamiliar.”

What? “Regulations?” Anakin chirped. Had he missed something? The supposed secret on Utapau was - as far as Anakin knew - being conducted with the approval of the Council. No, no way. No way Obi-wan would go behind the Council’s back like that, no way he would rope Cody of all people into doing so.

“Most militaries,” Thrawn explained evenly, “have certain restrictions on...fraternization between officers in times of war, as it can be both a distraction and leverage for the enemy.” 

Frat-er-niz...Anakin’s mind tripped over the word, his thoughts tangling in his bewilderment, toppling downhill straight into a duracrete wall. Was Thrawn actually saying that - that Obi-wan and - 

Anakin risked a glance over at Padmé, whose eyebrows had gone so high they practically disappeared into his hairline. 

“I take it you were unaware of this development?” Thrawn asked, unbothered, or more likely unaware of the bombshell he had just dropped on Anakin and Padmé.

Anakin rubbed at the back of his neck, which had suddenly gone desert-hot. “We - uh - that is - we knew, but - “

Bootsteps and low voices echoing in the long hallway saved Anakin from having to come up with a better answer, which he definitely didn’t have. All three beings in the room shifted to battle alertness, Thrawn and Anakin coming to either side of the automatic doors leading into their hideaway, weapons in hand as Padmé crouched behind a small step, blaster poised at the entrance point. 

Thank the Force, Anakin thought, grateful for the opportunity to escape Thrawn’s increasingly uncomfortable line of questioning, not to mention the millions of implications raised with the utterance of a single word. Fraternization. It was like one of those alarms for fancy speeders, the ones that blared some high-pitched, obnoxious announcement almost as irritating as their upper-crust, Coruscanti owners. It was too much to think about right now. He couldn’t deal with the mines, with Duke Solha, with whatever mysterious operation the Separatists had going on here and handle some Chiss mind-reader while considering Obi-wan’s...Anakin grimaced in embarrassment - recreational activities. 

The Force pinged in warning, Anakin’s precognition already guiding his steps, present and future overlapped on one another, like a broken holofilm. The doors open, blaster shots aimed at Padmé, above her head. He flicked his lightsaber on, already blocking the fire a second before it erupted in loud cacophony.

Thrawn was wrong, that was all.

Fraternization.

Impossible, Anakin shook his head, lightsaber raised in a high arc, enemy fire deflecting back to the intruders.

It’s Obi-wan, Anakin rationalized. When did he ever go against regulation?