#its too late . i already booked a slot .

[salsflore]

goodnight everywannn i am going to go out tomorrow because my mother is getting her nails done ... time 2 go browsing for cute clothes

[watatsumiis]

Being A Part of the Sumeru Squad!

I've been thinking a lot recently about being a part of the ‘in’ group in Sumeru - the ones shown to be good friends on screen already (Tighnari, Cyno, Al Haitham and Kaveh!) I feel like there's lots of ways one could slot themselves into the dynamic and it's just very pleasant and fun to think about. 

(Rambles below the cut. Platonic stuff, reader is referred to as ‘you’ and is entirely gender neutral) 

Though the squad is almost constantly making playful little jabs at one another, bickering back and forth and whatnot, they're overall a pretty supportive and kind group and accept you into their midst without too much fuss. 

You soon find yourself invited to a myriad of small, casual get-togethers where the group catches up with one another. It's kind of weirdly formal at first, with so many of them holding such high and important statuses. 

Luckily, Kaveh also ends up feeling pretty left out during these discussions, so you'll have someone to chat with or ask questions when you've lost track of the topic at hand. Plus, he's often got some very funny (and surprisingly astute) commentary to add on, even when the subject is painfully dull. 

Once all the politics are out of the way, the conversation tends to ease right up for a little while. Regardless of whether you're at some restaurant or cafe, or just hanging out at someone's house, there's usually snacks available and things will remain super lighthearted for a bit, all jokes and talks of recently released books or occasional infodumps about hyperfixations and special interests. 

On that subject, whenever the stars align and two or more group members have the same special interest or hyperfixation, hoo boy, you can expect them to monopolise the conversation and somehow always drag it back to whatever niche fascinations that they may have accrued lately. 

If you have something you want to talk about, you can rest assured that at least one person in the room will be able to engage. Everybody has their own collection of equally specific and obscure knowledge - with the occasional kind of hilarious overlap. Kaveh and Cyno’s shared fascination with Fontanian machinery, or Tighnari and Al-Haitham’s in-depth discussions of insectoid languages and their potential overlap with human ones are some of the first to come to mind. 

Of course, disagreements do break out every now and then - but everyone is fairly civil for the most part, if a little bit overdramatic and occasionally loud. It's interesting to see how everyone the group tends to take sides almost as soon as a hint of a possible disagreement rears its head. Al-Haitham once questioned Cyno's sense of humour, querying whether it could really be considered comedy if nobody was laughing, and pretty soon, Tighnari and Kaveh were arguing along as passionately as if they'd been personally insulted. 

You tend to be the tiebreaker more often than not - with such an evenly split group, there often tends to be an even balance between whatever arguments. It doesn't help that Al-Haitham likes to break it all down and give pros and cons for both sides (while still keeping his own stance firm), which may make it impossible for you to decide. 

Luckily, it's easy enough for you to guide the group's attention elsewhere. Just offer to make them some hot drinks or ask if someone wants to play a round of Genius Invocation, and it's like the argument never happened at all. 

It's easy to wind up feeling a little out of place in a group of such highly ranking people, but it's like your friends develop a sixth sense for when you're starting to get a little confused or feeling out of your depth. Instead of poking fun at you (like they do for Kaveh), they'll find a way to rope you into the conversation that doesn't put too much pressure on you. Cyno and Tighnari, especially, seem to have a way of relating things to subjects that are in your area of expertise to help you parse them better so you can find your footing and be debating back and forth with the rest of them. 

Game nights tend to get really intense. It's not a case of if someone will flip their lid, it's simply a case of when. Alliances and subsequent betrayals are all too common, and you'll often find yourself being bribed to help someone one-up another person. 

They even have a ‘trophy’ for winning each week's game night. It's a tiny crown, carved out of wood and painted gold. Collei made it and donated it to the group. Whoever possesses the crown also possesses the ultimate bragging rights until the next gaming night (or until they accidentally sit on it and squash it with their big clumsy butt. Kaveh ). 

Though the group is chaotic, noisy, and constantly teasing one another, they're all so supportive of one another and will stick together through thick and thin. As the conversations slow down, sometimes some pretty serious subjects get brought up, heavy venting and other such similar things. 

Though, they're all very understanding if someone isn't in the correct headspace for that sort of talk, and will happily postpone it or talk about it elsewhere if needed. They're also very used to multiple conversations happening at once, so it's easy enough for someone to dodge around the heavy topics if they need to. 

The squad can be almost violently supportive at times. Sometimes you worry that Cyno may be one hundred percent genuine about abusing his status as the General Mahamatra to threaten somebody who mildly inconvenienced you one time in the market last week. 

Overall, the vibes of the friend group are super fun (if a little intense at times). They may not say it directly, but everyone is super glad to have you around, hanging out with them and getting in on all the goofs they make and shaking up their dynamic a little bit.

Please don't repost, steal, copy or otherwise plagiarise my writing! I do not consent for my works to be translated and posted elsewhere, or copy - pasted into bot or AI technology.

[leonw4nter]

The Cotton Candy Haze Mirrors The Warmth Of Your Gaze

RE2R!Leon x F!Reader

Coming back home from working 4 shifts in a single day for the fifth time this week, you went home looking and feeling like a hot mess– ponytail looking like you got into a fight and lost, eyes sunken in with dark bags underneath them, and pimples breaking out in several spots in your face and back. Despite how much your body craved a deep and restful sleep, you couldn’t give yourself that because grad school, especially medical school, won’t pay its own tuition along with living expenses. Juggling 4 odd jobs, along with working overtime for the sake of getting extra pay is really taking a toll on you: you’ve been cranky lately and you haven’t found proper time to be studying for the upcoming board exams, resorting to bringing all your books and notes in your bags so you’ll have time to read in case you’re free while still at work. Hell, you haven’t even found time to take Leon on dates due to how hectic and overwhelming everything is; you’re certain that the last time you and Leon spent some quality time cuddling together was three months ago. An icky guilt seeps into your weary bones, especially since Leon’s also taking up some jobs on the side to help with your expenses and along with his police academy’s costs but he still manages to make you meals, remind you to drink water, and drive you to wherever you need to be. With a frustrated groan, you fumble through your bag to look for your keys but unfortunately you couldn’t find it and deduced it to your forgetfulness, having left it at the bowl by the door back inside.

“Fucking hell,” you bitterly hiss. You were just about to knock at a neighbor’s door for the spare key you handed them but then you suddenly remembered that you haven’t had the chance to give them an emergency spare key yet since you were procrastinating on it, much to your disadvantage now. Exasperation causes tears to flood your waterline, your vision going blurry as you reach to contact Leon to tell him that you’ve been locked out but you forgo it, thinking that he’s probably had a long day as well and that he doesn't need another thing to be bugging him. You sink down by the door, wiping your tears with the sleeve of your sweatshirt before taking your notes out to start reviewing again since you’re free and waiting for him to come home. A few minutes pass and you hear the pad of footsteps nearing you. Swiftly, you place your notebook back in your bag and sling it over your shoulder, getting up and dusting your legs before seeing Leon’s kind smile beaming down on you like the first few rays of the sunlight on a new day.

“Hey, baby.” you softly mumble as you place a kiss on his cheek.

“Hi,” he says as he pulls you in for a quick hug. “What are you doing here?”

“Got locked out. Forgot to bring the keys. I also didn’t ask the neighbors for the keys since I didn’t give them spares yet,” you quietly admit. You look down at your feet, shame creeping in. “Leon’s had a long day and here you are, worrying him even more. Great job, Y/N. Real girlfriend of the year,” you glumly think to yourself.

“Oh– I forgot to tell you this too but I already gave the spares to the neighbors. You’ve been really busy lately so I decided to do it instead,” he says. “Sorry about that. It just slipped from my mind.”

“No. It’s fine, it really is.” you say with a tired yet genuine smile.

Leon fishes out his key from his backpack before slotting it into the keyhole and unlocking the door, opening it and letting you head in first. You slip out of your work shoes, placing your bag on the couch and collapsing right beside your things with a loud sigh.

“I’m so tired with everything,” you loudly groan as you cover your face with both hands and proceed to groan a little more. Leon walks over to the back of the couch, wrapping his arms from behind you and placing comforting kisses to your hair.

“Tell me what’s going on. I’m just going to sit here and listen,” he softly whispers as he lightly pats your shoulder.

With a deep sigh, you ramble on about everything that’s bothering you. Tears prick your eyes again and there’s more than one occasion to your voice breaking. He stays quiet, arms still wrapped around as he nods to whatever you say, occasionally pressing his lips into your head as you vent about whatever.

“I can’t afford a review center and I don’t have time to study before the board. I’m going to fail, Leon. I won’t end up somewhere,” you finish. You recline back into his touch, feeling like a ton of bricks has been lifted from your shoulders. Leon unwraps his arms around you for a bit, walking over to your place on the couch before pulling you in for a more proper hug as he delicately sways you from side to side.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s fine,” he softly mumbles. “You’ve been working and studying so hard. I can see all the effort you’re putting into making sure you reach your dreams and trust me, you will pass the board. You make time to study each day and I can see that you’ve got the drive to succeed, you can do this. Believe in yourself as much as I believe in you and your capabilities, okay?”

You sniffle, hugging back and staying silent for a bit before your shaky and slightly squeaky voice speaks up, the sound slightly muffled since you buried your face into the comforting scent of your boyfriend’s sweatshirt.

“But Leon, there’s more people who're smarter than me and they’re going to pass and I’m not going to. What if I’m not enough?” you say, which causes Leon to pull away from the hug and cup your cheeks in between his big and calloused hands.

“You’re going to pass. You’re smart, you’re my smart girl. There’s no way you’re not going to pass, okay? You will be a licensed nurse and you will reach your dreams. You’re more than enough for this and for me. Don’t let anyone and anything tell you that you’re not enough because you are. More than you’ll ever know.” He finishes with a small kiss to the tip of your nose before moving to your lips. Your own hand climbs up to lightly wrap around his wrists, maintaining comfortable eye contact.

“I’m sorry,” you softly tell him, your words coming out like a whisper.

“For what?” Leon says with a surprised smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong, love.”

“Yes I did, Leon.” you bashfully respond. “I haven’t been giving you much attention lately. You also do many things for me like driving me to school and doing my laundry but I don’t find the time to repay you. Just earlier, I got you worried because I was sitting just right outside the door when you already have a lot on your own plate. I’m just adding to that list of things that keeps you up at night and–”

Leon cuts you off by placing his index finger against your lips to shush you before gently moving you to be laying on his lap as he plays with your hair and scratches your scalp in the way he knows you love.

“Nope. I understand that you’ve gotta give a hundred percent of your attention to your studies, especially that your future job concerns human lives. I’m just doing my job by being here for you as your number one fan and making sure you still take care of yourself. I’m busy too but you’re not bothering me or causing me more stress, just the opposite actually. Now just lay on my lap and let me make you feel a lot better, yeah?” he softly says as he continues massaging your head, prompting your eyelids to drape over your eyes as you sigh in satisfaction.

“Unless you wanna have dinner first–”

“No. Let’s just stay like this for a bit.”

He continues to rake his fingers through strands of your hair, his fingers gently scratching your scalp and applying a good amount of pressure to your temples in order to effectively massage them. Most of the time, it’s you who’s giving Leon scratches and massages but it feels great to be at the receiving end of some pampering and loving from your boyfriend. He stops for a little bit, your eyes flying open to see Leon reach over to get a blanket to wrap you in it. Snuggling into the blanket, he continues his soothing ministrations to your head. You swear that if you were a cat and Leon was petting you in this way, you would purr so loud.

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

You finally finished taking your board exams about a month ago and ever since then, you would eagerly open up your laptop or phone just to look at whether or not you passed. Each time, your fingers would wobble and your palms would sweat to the point you frequently wipe them on your pants so your phone wouldn’t slip out of your grip. Your thoughts would shift between the confidence that you passed since you reviewed and studied and practiced so much and the fear of failure, the icky feeling of being a failure with no direction in life eroding at the happiness you built for yourself but luckily Leon was always there to keep those crusty, self-deprecating tendencies at bay.

“You passed!” Leon practically screeches. With quivering hands he shoves his phone back into his pocket and lunges at you, almost toppling over the tables as he wraps you around in one of the best hugs he’s ever given you.

“Huh? What?” is all you could muster in this state of shock and surprise.

He pulls away and opens up your laptop, going straight to your email and the school portal where they released the list of passers. Sure enough, your last name is listed.

“My girl is going to become a licensed nurse!” he shouts with the proudest, most vibrant smile you’ve ever seen him smile. 

Tears of pure, unadulterated joy spilled from your waterline and flowed down your cheeks, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins whilst also feeling relief at the fact that you passed. Now it’s your turn to lunge at Leon, springing at him and tackling him with your arms tightly enveloped on his larger frame as you jump up and down, toppling over into the couch and hugging him even tighter due to the renewed sizzle of joy running through your person. After a few moments of laying on top of each other and smiling and pressing kisses into each other’s face, you get up and phone friends and family to tell them that you managed to pass the boards. Leon called up his own friends Ethan and Chris to tell them of your results, sending pictures. You hear Leon and his friends giggling on the other side of the room, squealing and giggling like school girls. His face, the tips of his ears, and neck are flushed a vibrant pink the more he talks about how proud he is of his girl. Many times he showed the email and your name on the passers list to his friends, cheers and congratulations being the reception whenever he did, much to his massive delight. Finally, you finish up phoning friends and family and go to Leon, pressing a passionate kiss to his soft baby lips upon his soft baby face. He could feel you grinning against him with each gentle smack; Leon quite never figured out if the beauty of your lips was more of their softness or their association with whatever words you spoke, which always pulled him under a spell he didn’t wish to surface from. You pull away, gazing deeply into eyes painted a soothing blue watercolor hue and not wanting to break this moment of peace, the sensations feeling intimate in a way more than the physical contact of bodies.

“I’m so proud of my girl. My smart, amazing, lovely, sweet girl who will be a nurse soon,” he softly whispers.

“I’m proud of myself too, Leon. Thank you for supporting me, helping me out, and being there for me when I needed you most. I couldn’t have done this without you,” you sincerely thank him.

“You’re a strong independent woman, Y/N. You don’t need anyone to get you somewhere because you carry yourself with an air of confidence and independence but I’m very thankful and lucky you let me in your life.”

“Gosh, Leon. You’re going to make me cry but thank you. I mean it so much. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“So… should we eat out? I’ve got some change to spare.”

“It’s on me. I’ve been saving up, I have a surprise for you but it won’t hurt to celebrate my Y/N’s passing.”

You smack his chest playfully, the blond laughing at his little joke.

“You made it sound like I died!”

“Oops. Looks like it might result in a grave misunderstanding.”

“God, let’s just get ready for dinner.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Leon's POV

I took her out to dinner that night, picking out a nice Korean grill for us to dine in since she enjoys Korean grills so much. Nothing felt more satisfying than seeing all her efforts pay off; all those readings and memorizations giving her the success she rightfully deserves. Right now, I’m seeing her devour her entire plate and in the blink of an eye she’ll get up to get seconds but I don’t mind; seeing her eat good food and indulge makes me feel happy. I feel satisfied, as if I don’t need to eat because her happiness is enough to keep me going for days on end. We’ve both decided to keep working some more jobs to be able to have more savings to add in our accounts so we could afford to move into a better place, probably nearer to Raccoon City since I’m going to be stationed there by next month. She doesn’t know this but I managed to prepare a little surprise for her, which is a 2 day camping get-away; deep in the forest, surrounded by trees, the stars shining above us, and the cold weather. She deserves a little break, we both do, so I planned this. I’m free for the next few days too so this is going to be perfect, I’m grinning just at the thought of it.

“What’re you smiling about?” she asks, but it comes out sounding a little difference since she’s got some food in her mouth.

“Nothing. You look beautiful tonight,” I respond, which isn’t exactly a lie. The buzz of glee just gives her this glow that makes me want to get on my knees and worship her like the goddess she is.

She gets back to eating, doing a little happy dance every now and then. She’s also insisted on feeding me, making sure I finish at least 3 plates because “one can never be too full”, which I appreciate since she just wants me to eat well and I want to have the energy to walk her around town tonight.

After dinner, we took a walk around town. I stopped by at a flower shop, getting her flowers as one of my many little gifts. It feels tempting to tell her about our little camping getaway coming up in a few hours but I want to build up an element of surprise and blissfully catch her off guard. The evening gets cold and a little quiet so I shrug off my jacket, draping it over her shoulders and making sure she’s all warm and toasty.

“You good?” I ask her.

“Yeah. Thanks,” she shyly says as she huddles into my jacket even more. I advised her to bring along a coat since the night could get a little chilly but she refused. As long as the cold won’t bother her and make her feel ill, I don’t really mind because I like seeing her in my clothes and having the smell of her perfume on my things. We take a few more strides, a comfortable settling between us as we walk hand in hand and go wherever our hearts desire. I turn my head and steal a lengthy glance from her; the delicate breeze sends her hair flowing smoothly like a poet’s ink and quill, the fine strands woven from spacetime and starlight as the streetlight’s luminescence bounces off; her body is absolutely perfect, worthy of all praises and respectful admiration with curves that mold in my hands just right but her genuine beauty is from within her heart; God, she’s captivating. She looks at me and I promptly look away, keeping my gaze trained on something else as heat is concentrated on the apples of my cheeks. I can hear a twinkling giggle from her, followed by her fingers pinching a cheek as she giggles even louder.

“You’re too cute, Leon. Gosh, you’re so adorable! You’re like– the most puppy-looking person I’ve ever met and I love that!” she squeals.

“Baby, my cheeks are hurting.” I say in a small voice.

She pulls her fingers away, gently running a hand over where she pinched and gave the spot a peck.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine. I know you can’t get enough of me.” I quip, followed by a wink.

“You’re not wrong but you’re one cocky person,” she says but a smile tugs at the corner of her lips.

“I’m your cocky person.”

─────────────────────────────────────────────────────

A day later.

Hours ago, I woke her up at 4:45 AM so we could get ready. Of course, she was a bit disoriented because I didn’t say anything to her but after I told her about my little surprise, she practically launched from the bed and got ready immediately. She slept early last night– slept very soundly too, not a single noise rousing her from sleep. While she slept, I carefully slipped out of bed and packed everything we needed, her things included. It was kind of difficult, having to pack things quietly and move them to the car without causing much thudding but I managed to get it done in 3 hours. After several rounds of double checking everything and making sure there was nothing I left out, I finally made my way back up to our apartment and locked the doors to retire for the night. I could barely sleep due to the rush of giddiness coursing through my person but I forced myself to; after all, I’ll be the driver and it’s going to be irresponsible if I don’t.

Now, she’s sitting in the passenger seat with a blanket draped over her lap as she quietly drinks in the view that speeds right past the window. Everytime I see her and she innocently looks right at me, I feel a little antsy and nervous, having to feel around in my pockets and try to calm myself down. In an hour or two, we’ll get to the spot and then finally set our camp up before we start preparing the ingredients we’ll be using for cooking. The campsite we chose is a little more secluded, right by a lake that’s unfortunately too cold to safely swim in but that doesn’t take away the charm of the entire spot. The release of the board passers coincidentally going before the day of the trip I planned is a perfect coincidence, making this whole thing a celebratory trip for her but I want to add another thing to celebrate later so for now, it’ll stay as another secret.

Finally, I pull up at our spot and park the car. We carry our supplies and set up grills, our tents, and a spot to keep all of our food and drinks and utensils. We finish early so we set up the inside of our tent, placing a comfortable blanket on the floor so the bumpy and rigid ground doesn’t cause any of us back pains the following morning. All afternoon speeds past us as we spend the hours cuddling, Y/N saying something like how the weather is “perfect cuddle weather”. Soon, it’s nighttime and we finish up with everything: dinner, a quick towel bath (since the showering in this weather would get us both sick), so now we’re just sitting by the bonfire and huddling close.

“Thanks, Leon. Thank you for all this. A celebratory dinner was enough but I guess you decided to outdo yourself,” she says as she leans her head on my shoulder.

“This is nothing. Besides, you deserve this,” I say.

We sit in silence for a little bit before she speaks up again.

“We should celebrate some more wins in life, y’know. Even the little things, we should celebrate it one way or another. It doesn’t have to be this grand,” she tells me.

“Yeah. You’re right, we should celebrate wins in life,” I agree. This is it. “You’re a big win in my life, Y/N, and I want to celebrate you everyday.”

My hand slips into my pocket, my fingers feeling the velvet of a tiny box holding my promise of the world and forever to Y/N.

I can’t imagine ever growing old without you, nor do I desire to.

If all goes well, we’ve just given ourselves another reason to be celebrating.

NOTE - Woke up today to see that in a month, I've managed to hit a hundred followers!!!!!!! LET'S GOOOOO!!!!!!!!! Srsly so thankful for everyone who decided to follow me and read my fics, I love you and wish you well. I didn't expect to reach a hundred this early into my writing journey so this is so cool. I also told my mom that I write now and she seems supportive so I'm really happy with that. I guess this fic functions as a hundred-followers-special now :)) That's it and I hope you really enjoyed this fic. Again, thank you for the hundred followers!!!!! I couldn't have done it without you <3!!!

The chain dividers are made by @cafekitsune , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).

[levilxvr]

good morning its 2:30 am and im thinking about levi fingering you while you’re out for dinner with the other cadets🤗

cw: nsfw 18+

you’re at a hotel having dinner with levi and the rest, seated around a long table catching up over the exquisite food prepared by colt and his team of chefs. You’re chatting with mikasa, laughing at connie and jean as they bicker and throw food at each other. Jean dumps a blob of cake icing onto connie’s steak and seconds later the peas on his plate go straight into jean’s wine.

While hange is getting them to shut up because everyone is staring at them, you feel a cold hand slip under the hem of your black dress, knuckles stroking the soft, sensitive skin of your thigh. You whip your head around and see levi staring at you with a lustful gaze and a knowing smirk. The chaos around you drowns out as he leans in and presses a light kiss to your earlobe. “shh, don’t say a word.”

You’re squirming in your seat as his hand travels higher, slender fingers feeling around as they push the delicate lace of your panties aside and brush against your folds. You’re trying to ignore him and answer when sasha offers you another baked potato. Under the table, you try and fail to cross your legs, levi’s strong hand pushing your thighs apart as he continues teasing you. His fingers are on your clit now, rubbing circles over the small bud as you feel your core begin to heat up.

“So, how are things going with levi lately? I heard next week is your one year anniversary, Congrats!” Mikasa swirls her wine and gives you a small smile.

“We should have another celebration for that,” hange adds.

“It- yeah it’s been alright,” you start, breath hitching when he applies more pressure, roughly toying with your already swollen clit as his other hand stabs a roasted carrot with his fork. You shot him a glare and he simply smiles. Idiot.

“Do you guys have any plans for next week?” eren asks.

“go on, tell him about our little getaway.” levi gives them a pleasant, innocent little smile, taking another bite of carrot. The little shit was good at acting- who’s to know his other hand was buried in your underwear, drenched in your slick?

You begin filling them in on the details of your 3 day vacation next week in one of marley’s most popular cities, but it gets harder to ignore the burning pleasure accumulating between your legs when he slips not one but two fingers into your tight cunt at once. He’s curling them against your sweet spot, feeling your walls clench and unclench around him.

“we’re uh- we booked a slot at the hotel infinity pool too,” Your legs were trembling under the table and you could feel the heat rising up your cheeks.

“you ok? you look kinda flustered.” armin’s voice is laced with concern and he has a frown on his face. You force a smile and fiddle with the edge of the silken tablecloth.

“no, no its fine I think it’s just the wine, you know,” holy shit. You’re so close you can barely focus anymore. Fortunately connie knocks his glass over and makes everyone divert their attention to him, so you can let out the small, shaky moan that’s been at the tip of your tongue since he started with this little game. You bite down hard on your bottom lip as you finally cum, riding his fingers as discreetly as possible as your legs shake from the orgasm. You could feel the warm, slippery liquid begin to drip out of your hole, pooling between your thighs. You’re praying that it’s not too much and you can get away with it when you stand up later.

levi kisses your cheek and you can feel him smile against your skin. “good girl, I’ll let you do whatever you want to me when we get back to our room later. Promise.”

[suddencolds]

The Worst Timing | [2/?]

happy (late) new year :') after a month (and a lot of editing and dissatisfaction), i am back with part 2 of the 'yves has had too easy of a time' series (6.4k words). you can read [part 1] here!

this is an OC fic - here is a list of everything I've written w these two!

Summary: Yves invites Vincent to a wedding, in France, where the rest of his family will be in attendance. It's a very important wedding, so he's definitely not going to let anything—much less the flu—ruin it. (ft. fake dating, an international trip, downplaying illness, sharing a hotel room)

—

When they get to the hotel Aimee’s booked for them, it’s already late enough to be dark out. Yves helps unload their suitcases from the back, while Leon loads them up onto a luggage cart. 

It’s an exceptionally nice hotel—picturesque brick walls, glossy windows all in a row, slanted red rooftops rising up into the sky. He’d looked at it briefly when Aimee consulted him about the bookings, but it looks even more like a castle in person, like something straight out of a storybook. Yves will have to remember to thank Aimee and Genevieve again for picking such a nice place for them to stay at.

They check in at the lobby. Yves makes sure the suitcases make their way up to Leon and Victoire’s room, which is on his and Vincent’s floor, but at the other end of the hallway. (“Don’t be late to breakfast tomorrow,” he tells them, sternly, and Leon—who has slept through his alarms for as long as Yves has lived with him—laughs. “I’m especially talking to you,” Yves adds, looking straight at him).

Then he wheels the luggage cart down the hallway. “I’m so ready to crash,” he says, to Vincent. “It’s been a long day. Are you tired?”

“I’ll be tired once I lay down,” Vincent says. He carefully extricates one of the key cards and holds it out to the door card reader.

The interior of the hotel room is a little colder than the hallway is. Vincent flicks on the light, slips the key card back into its designated slot, and leaves his shoes in a neat line at the door. Yves follows him in.

Their room is a standard suite—there’s a small sitting area just next to the entrance, a bathroom off to the side, and a door frame—though not a proper door—which leads to the bedroom. On the far end, translucent white curtains give way to a sliding door which opens up to the balcony. It’s a nice room, Yves thinks, with a nice view of the rest of the hotel, its pool and gardens, the circular sun umbrellas stretching out floors below them. It’s only when Vincent hesitates, standing in the bedroom, that Yves realizes what’s wrong.

The bedroom has a singular queen-sized bed, and nothing else.

Of course. It makes sense for this to be the living arrangement, if they’re really dating.

“I can take the couch,” Yves says, clearing his throat, which doesn’t feel any better than it did earlier. 

Vincent turns to look at him.

“I mean, this whole pretend-relationship thing doesn’t have to extend to us sharing a bed.”

Mentally, he kicks himself for not having the foresight to predict this. Just because Vincent is fine with putting on a show in front of his friends—and in this case, family—doesn’t mean that Vincent will be fine sharing a bed with him when they’re in private.

“You can have the bed,” Vincent says. “The bed will probably be warmer.”

Whether that’s a comment about how Yves has been too cold all day, or whether it’s just an offhanded appraisal which has nothing to do with him, Yves doesn’t know. 

“It’s fine,” Yves says. “I don’t mind the sofa. Besides, hotels usually have extra blankets. I’m sure they’re just hidden in some drawer somewhere.”

He rummages through a few of the cabinets and looks through the closet until he finds what he’s looking for—a feather comforter, folded neatly on the top shelf. He takes it down, keeping it folded under his arm.

“See,” he says, flashing Vincent a smile. “I’ll be perfectly warm, like this.” Vincent still looks a little unconvinced. “You should wake me if you’re not,” he says. “I don’t mind switching.”

“Duly noted,” Yves says, even though he has no intention of waking Vincent for any reason. 

“The couch probably extends into a pull-out bed,” Vincent says, already heading back into the living room. “It should be more comfortable. I can help you set it up.”

“I can do it,” Yves says. All this talking is not helping with his throat. Worse, somewhere over the course of the past couple hours, there’s a faint tickle that’s managed to settle into his sinuses.

“It’s the least I can do, if I’m taking the bed,” Vincent says.

Yves is about to say more, but he finds that he really needs to sneeze. He lifts his arm to his face, his eyes watering, his breath hitching—

“Hh-! hHehh’IIZSCHh-IIEW!”

“Bless you,” Vincent calls, from the next room over.

“Thanks,” Yves says, turning into his shoulder with a small cough. His breath hitches again, irritatingly. “hHeh-! HEHH’IiITSHHiEW! snf-!” 

When he heads into the living room, Vincent is already almost done setting up the pull-out bed. Yves helps him lock down the legs of the frame.

“Thanks,” Yves says, fluffing out the blanket he’s holding so that he can lay it out over the mattress. “All set up.”

He looks the bed over. It looks inviting enough—a little smaller than the bed in the bedroom, the mattress thinner, but fluffy and clean regardless. Vincent steps past him to duck into the bedroom and emerges a moment later, carrying two pillows.

“Are these your pillows?” Yves says.

“They’re yours now.”

“I can sleep without pillows.”

“They gave me two sets, anyways,” Vincent says. “I wouldn’t have made use of these ones.”

“Okay.” Tentatively, Yves takes a seat at the edge of the mattress. From the doorway, he gets a limited view of the bedroom—he can see the curtains at the far end, the desk pushed up against the wall, and the very foot of the bed. “Do you think this is what couples do when they’re traveling and they get in a fight?”

“Is that what we’re doing?” Vincent asks.

“It might as well be,” Yves says.

“If your family walks in and sees that I’ve banished you to the sofa, I don’t think I’ll ever be forgiven,” Vincent says, so seriously that it almost doesn’t register as a joke. Yves laughs.

“You can just say I snore,” he says. “Or, worse. Maybe I kick you in my sleep.”

“Do you?”

Yves doesn’t—at least, he’s been told he doesn’t—but it’s of no consequence. They’re not going to be sharing a bed. “Luckily for you, you won’t have to find out.” 

He gets settled—sets his suitcase out on one of the side tables, sets out all his toiletries in the bathroom, puts the clothes he’s planning to wear for tomorrow in a neat stack, and hangs up the suit he’s going to wear for the wedding in the closet. He’d been careful folding it, but he’ll probably have to give it another good iron before the wedding date. By the time he has everything accounted for, the bathroom door is closed, and the shower’s running.

The hotel has left them a couple bottles of water on the nightstand but he heads downstairs to buy a couple more from the on-site convenience store on the first floor. Victoire had them exchange dollars for euros at the airport, which Yves thinks he might have forgotten to do in their haste. Even though she’s the youngest of the three of them, sometimes he thinks she is the one with the most common sense.

He strikes up a brief conversation with the cashier, in French that he thinks is fairly fluent but probably accented—it’s been awhile since he’s gotten any practice with it. His speaking is good, but there are some colloquialisms and some idioms that he’s not familiar with and ends up having to ask about.

By the time he gets back up to the bedroom, bottled waters in hand, Vincent is done showering, his hair still a little damp.

“I got us extra waters,” Yves says. “There’s a convenience store down on the first floor.”

“Oh,” Vincent says. “Thanks. You didn’t have to.” He looks nice, even with his hair damp, even though he’s wearing just a t-shirt and shorts to sleep, Yves thinks, and then immediately tables that thought.

“It was nice to stretch my legs,” Yves says. “And nice to have a chance to practice my French. My relatives are going to be disappointed in me if I sound worse than I did last year.”

“Are you fluent?”

“Fluent enough to hold a proper conversation. Not fluent enough to not sound like a foreigner. I grew up speaking French and English, but obviously in the states, there aren’t as many opportunities to practice French.”

“I don’t think you would have lost much of it,” Vincent says, as if from experience. 

Yves laughs. “For my own sake, let’s hope not.”

When he steps into the bathroom, the mirror is still fogged up from the steam. He swipes a hand over the glass to clear enough of it so that he can see.

He looks fine, still, at least outwardly—a little tired, maybe, if the dark circles under his eyes are anything to go by. There’s a faint flush to his complexion, too, which is strange, because he doesn’t feel like he has a fever. He’s just a little colder than usual, is all.

All in all, he still looks passable. At first glance, it doesn’t seem very evident that anything is wrong at all.

He takes a shower, cranks the water up until it’s almost scalding, and stands under the hot water, shutting his eyes. The warmth is a welcome change. It’s the first time today that he’s been really, properly warm—if only because he’s turned the water up a couple degrees higher than he usually has it at.

The water splashes over his shoulders. He leans his head back, taking in a deep breath of the steam.

It’s fine. It will be fine. He’ll drink tons of water, take all the vitamin C he can find, and sleep this off tonight. He’ll be good as new tomorrow. 

—

When Yves blinks awake, it’s still dark out.

The first thing that registers to him is that he’s cold.

What started off as a slight headache has turned into something much worse—his head is throbbing, and even with the blanket, he’s freezing. The air conditioning in the room is on—he can hear the low hum of it through the vents—and everything feels unbearably frigid. Even the bedsheets, which are at the very least warm from his body heat, seem to always be losing heat, unpleasantly, when he shifts.

When he checks his phone, the time onscreen is 3:45 am. Too late to call the front desk and ask them to send up more blankets, probably—even if they are technically in operation, he doesn’t want to be that one asshole to ask for a favor at this time of day.

He’ll ask tomorrow, he thinks, at a more reasonable hour. It’s almost morning, anyways. Maybe if he manages to get back to sleep, he won’t feel the cold as much.

There’s a dull pressure to his sinuses, a slight tickle that seems only to sharpen as he rubs his nose. His breath catches, too quickly for him to do anything to attend to the subsequent—

“Hheh—! hHEHH’iISHHhi-iEw!”

Fuck. The sneeze is loud enough to echo a little within the confines of the living room. Vincent is in the next room over. Vincent is asleep, presumably, like Yves should be. 

And Yves’s nose is starting to tickle again.

He raises the blankets to his face, presses his nose to them to muffle the next—

“hhEH— hehh’IZschhH-IIEW! snf-!” 

The sound is marginally quieter this time, muffled into the cotton, but it’s far from silent. He hopes, desperately, that it’s quiet enough, or that Vincent is a heavy enough sleeper for it not to matter. There isn’t even a proper door between them. 

He reaches up to swipe a hand over his eyes. How did this get so bad so quickly? His head feels heavy, and every sneeze that tears through him is harsh enough to scrape at his already-raw throat—whatever hope he’d had for sleeping it off seems to be diminishing with every passing minute.

He listens, for a moment, for anything: any shifting from the room over, any motion, any footsteps. But to his relief, there’s nothing.

His head is swimming. Worse, he still has to sneeze. The tissue box is on the nightstand in the bedroom Vincent is in, but Yves thinks that it would be too unwise to make a trip right now and risk waking Vincent up a good three hours before sunrise.

“hHh-! hhH-!...”

Fuck. He stays frozen like that, for a moment, one hand hovering over his nose and mouth. His nose tickles, badly, kept just narrowly on edge. It feels like one wrong breath would be enough to set off a sneeze, but sometimes it seems to evade him at the last second—he can’t seem to get his body to settle on something decisive. “hhHEh-!”

The sneeze is unexpected, when it comes, at last—loud and forceful and vicious.

“hehH’NGKT’shhH’EEW!”

A short burst of pain shoots through his temples. Yves can’t claim he’s ever been good at stifling, and this attempt is no exception. It’s not much quieter than the others, even muffled into his pillow, and the attempt to stifle has only made the pressure in his head feel worse.

“Hheh… hh-!” He sniffles. His eyes are watering so much he thinks they might spill over. “hHeh… hh-hHih-HEHh’DJJSHh’iEEW!”

This one he muffles into his hands, ducking forward into his chest. The relief he feels from letting out the sneeze is unfortunately short-lived. He’s nowhere close to done. He can feel it, in the tickle in his nose which refuses to let up, in the pressure to his sinuses which only seems to worsen with each sneeze.

For a moment, Yves contemplates spending the rest of the night just outside their room, out in the hallway. It will almost certainly be colder, he would be quieter there, at the very least—there would be a proper door and a wall between him and Vincent, and that’s something, isn’t it?

Before he can seriously consider it, he’s snapping forward at the waist, muffling another loud sneeze into the covers.

“hhHeh-iIDDSHHhh’YyiiEW!”

He finds himself coughing, after, muffling the coughs tightly into the feather blanket in an attempt to cough more quietly. He shivers, huddling deeper into the covers. His head is pounding. Every time he swallows, sharp, hot pain lances his throat. 

He hears nothing from the room over, even when he listens carefully. This much is a relief—truthfully, he would feel awful if he were keeping Vincent up because of this. Yves has survived on less sleep—back in university, 6am crew practice meant waking up early even when he’d been up late to finish projects or coursework, or otherwise out late with friends—but the thought of keeping Vincent up makes something uncomfortable settle in his stomach. Vincent hadn’t slept at all during the flight. He must be tired, now. The last thing he needs—after the stress of being surrounded by strangers in a foreign country, after traveling for almost 10 hours straight, after being assigned to room with his coworker, of all people—is to be woken up at an ungodly hour just because Yves can’t keep this damn cold under wraps.

Yves thinks he should try to sleep too, if only because it means he won’t be awake to succumb to the next sneeze that threatens to tear through him.

But if he’s entirely honest with himself, he’s not sure if sleep is going to come to him anytime soon. 

—

Yves doesn’t remember falling asleep, but he wakes up to his 7:30am alarm so tired that he feels like he hasn’t slept at all

“Morning,” Vincent says, emerging in the doorway. He’s fully dressed already, his shirt crisply ironed, the collar upright, his hair neatly styled.  

“You’re fast,” Yves says. His voice sounds a little hoarse—all the sneezing last night probably hasn’t done it any favors. But if Vincent can tell that it sounds off, he doesn’t say. “Have you been waiting long?”

“Not really,” Vincent says. “We have time.”

“Give me a few minutes to get ready,” Yves says, hauling himself out of bed. “I’ll be out in five.”

He changes in record speed, washes his face, brushes his teeth, and stuffs everything he can see himself needing into a backpack to take down to breakfast.

When he emerges, Vincent is waiting for him in the hallway.

“How did you sleep?” Yves asks.

“Fine,” Vincent says. “You?”

“I slept well enough,” Yves says, before muffling a yawn into his hand. At Vincent’s pointed glance at him, he adds, “I’m just a little tired. It’s probably jetlag. It’s what, like, 2am over in New York?”

“1:42,” Vincent says, checking his watch. “Is your whole family going to be at breakfast?”

“I’m not sure if everyone’s up,” Yves says. “But Leon and Victoire will be. I told them to be downstairs by 8, so obviously they’ll kill me if I’m not there first.”

The breakfast lounge is on the first floor, a few hallways down from the reception desk. Yves saves a table for them. 

He isn’t very hungry, for some reason. Still, he fills his plate with breakfast pastries and scrambled eggs and grabs a cup of hot tea while he’s at it. He really doesn’t want to lose his voice entirely before the ceremony. Even with his jacket on—which is probably even excessive, considering the temperature of the lobby—he isn’t as warm as he’d like to be.

Victoire joins them next. She waves to Vincent as she passes. “Hope you guys got some sleep,” she says innocently.

Yves says, “We got perfectly good sleep, thank you.”

“Morning,” Leon says, appearing in the doorway at 7:59. 

“You’re really cutting it close,” Yves says, sniffling.

“It’s 7:59,” Leon says. “Whether I’m on time is a binary, not a sliding scale. I’m entirely on time.”

The table Yves picked can fit more than four, so they spread themselves out through the seats. “Mom and dad said they’re having breakfast at one of the cafes nearby,” Victoire says, shrugging her sweater off and leaving it perched on the back of her seat. “They said they’d report back if it’s anything life changing.”

“There’s a welcome party tonight,” Yves says to Vincent, “For everyone who’s flown in. You’ll get to meet them then.”

“Is there anything your parents hate in a partner?” Vincent asks.

“Don’t worry too much. I don’t think— hEHh…” Yves scoots back from the table turning away as he reaches blindly for one of the cocktail napkins he’d taken. “HEHh’DDJJSHh-iiEW! Ugh, sorry.” His nose has been running all morning—he’d made sure to take a generous stack, and stuff some of them into his pockets for later, but it’s been all of fifteen minutes and he’s already nervous that he might run out. “I don’t you could get them to hate you even if you tried.” 

“Mom and dad met in college, at a bar,” Leon says. Yves, who has heard this story many times before, busies himself with eating, and tries hard not to visibly shiver. In a way, he’s grateful to the two of them for filling in the space for him—the less he strains his voice today, the better. “Mom was super drunk, and for some reason when she started talking to dad the conversation topic turned to, like, something super specific and not at all romantic.”

“It was whether or not it’s ethical to clone extinct species,” Victoire says, idly folding her napkin into a pinwheel. “Though this was before it had ever been done.”

“Apparently she was drunk enough to ask his hand in marriage mid argument, and he was drunk enough to say yes, because he thought it was a joke,” Leon says. “And it was a joke. But he proposed to her seriously a year later, and all she said was ‘at least you kept your promise.’”

“But now they’re happily married,” Vincent says.

Leon nods. “They’ve been happily married for almost thirty years now. Anyways, my point is that whatever relationship you have with Yves, you don’t have to try and impress them. There’s no need to overthink it.”

“I understand,” Vincent says. “My parents got married because my dad did well in a business competition at the time, and my mom thought he was going to make a lot of money.”

“And how did that turn out?” Victoire says, interested, propping her head up on one hand.

Yves watches Vincent cut a pastry into four even pieces. “Better than you might expect,” Vincent says.

—-

The welcome dinner is held at a local restaurant—Aimee and Genevieve have rented out the outdoor space for seating. The table—a long table that seats thirty, or so—is set with tall, elegant white candles, all in a row; wine glasses with delicate stems; vases spilling over with flowers—lilacs, pink and white roses, orchids. 

Above them, string lights are strung up in neat lines. When Yves sees Aimee, he doesn’t drop all of his things to run over and hug her, but it’s a close thing.

“Yves! You made it,” she says.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he tells her, in French. “God. Did you plan out all of this? It looks gorgeous.” “Genevieve did a lot of it,” she says. “She has a good eye for decorations.”

Genevieve is off to the side, talking to someone who Yves recognizes as her sister—Yves follows Aimee’s gaze over to where she’s standing. When he looks back, Aimee is smiling in a way Yves has never seen her smile before—the sort of fond, private smile that he feels like he isn’t sure he’s supposed to be seeing. 

Yves is stricken, for a moment. It’s so clear that she’s in love. It shows all over her face, plainly, the kind of love that’s uncontestable; the kind of love that makes love, of all things, look simple. Has he ever looked like that, to someone else?

“How have you been?” he asks. “I imagine preparations have been hectic.”

“Never better,” she says, turning back to face him at last. “You’re right—it’s been exhausting. But I feel like the adrenaline is carrying me through, you know? Like I’m so happy this is happening.”

“You two deserve a perfect wedding,” Yves says, and means it. He clears his throat, sniffling. It’s a little cold out, even though the sun hasn’t gone down yet; he really hopes his nose doesn’t start to run visibly. “If you ever need any help—with last minute preparations, or if anything comes up, or if you need someone on transportation or moving things—let me know. Even if it’s like, 3am or something. My hands are completely free.”

She laughs. “Thank you, that’s so kind of you to offer! It has been hectic, but I haven’t been up at 3am this week, thank God.”

“I hope to keep it that way.” Yves turns away from her, raising an arm to muffle a fit of coughs into his sleeve.

Aimee takes a step forward, her eyebrows furrowing. “Are you okay? You sound a little off. And you’re coughing.”

And Yves thinks: she can’t know. He has his toasts to give at her wedding. He has the wedding rehearsal tomorrow and the wedding ceremony on Saturday to attend. If Aimee finds out he’s coming down with something, she’ll probably tell him to sit things out—to get some proper rest, to disregard virtually everything she has planned, and to not leave the hotel room until he’s feeling a hundred percent better—even if it’s at her own expense.

Worse, she’ll be worried for the entirety of his illness, he’s sure. As if she doesn’t have enough on her plate already, between the setup and all the accommodations and the last minute changes.

Aimee deserves a perfect wedding. 

That’s the bottom line in all of this. This is a once in a lifetime thing for someone he cares and cares deeply about. Yves is not going to ruin it. He’ll get through the next few days, even if it means pushing himself a little past his limits. He can crash afterwards, on the plane ride home, after all the festivities are over and everyone bids farewell.

“I’m fine,” Yves says, clearing his throat. “I’m—” This is really the worst possible timing. He takes a few steps back, craning his neck over his shoulder. “hH-! hHhh’kKTSSH-IEEW! snf-! Ugh. I’mb just getting over a slight cold.” Getting over might be a bit of a stretch, and a slight cold might be even more of one, but other than that, it’s not entirely dishonest.

Aimee frowns at him. “Bless you. Does your throat hurt? There are cocktails on the side table, if you want anything to drink. Wine, too. I can get something for you if you’d like.”

“Nice try, but there’s no way I’m letting the bride go and get things for me,” Yves says, grinning. “Do you want any cocktails?”

“I need to be sober until I’ve officially said hi to everyone,” she says. “Can’t make a fool of myself just yet. Speaking of which, where’s your boyfriend?”

Yves waves Vincent over. “Come say hi!” he says, in English. 

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Vincent says, in slightly accented French, which is a surprise. He seems to hesitate, thinking hard. “Congratulations on your wedding.”

“Oh my gosh!” Aimee says in English, pulling him close for a hug. Vincent hugs her back. “It’s good to meet you too, Vincent. Thanks for always looking after Yves. I’m glad to have someone keeping him out of trouble overseas.”

“Thank you for having me here,” Vincent says, hugging her back. “I know it was really last minute with the flight and everything. I hope it wasn’t too stressful for you.”

“It was no trouble at all!” Aimee says. “Yves is like a younger brother to me. Last summer was pretty rough for him, I think.” she doesn’t mention Erika, but Yves is sure Vincent knows what she’s referring to, regardless. Aimee smiles, a little wistfully. “I’m just so grateful that he met you. I’m glad to see him happy again.”

“I don’t think I can take credit for that,” Vincent says, blinking.

Aimee smiles warmly at him. “He’s the happiest he’s been in months,” she says. “I think you are selling yourself short.”

After Aimee asks Vincent how his stay has been (good, Vincent says, it’s actually my first time in France, to which Aimee excitedly lists off places he absolutely has to see while he’s here) and Vincent asks Aimee how the wedding preparations are going (nothing’s gone terribly wrong yet, Aimee laughs, which I suppose is all I can ask for), they find their way to their seats at the table. Someone has set out little name cards with all of their names written in calligraphy. Yves realizes, faintly, that the handwriting isn’t Aimee’s. Maybe it’s Genevieve’s, then. 

“I didn’t know you knew any French,” Yves tells Vincent, in English.

Vincent looks away, a little sheepish. “I took a crash course into it when you mentioned the wedding would be in France,” he says, which Yves finds somehow disproportionately endearing. “I know maybe five sentences total, plus a few common terms.”

“Five sentences is impressive given that you had, what, just a few weeks to learn them?”

“I’m not sure if they are very coherent,” Vincent says. “The vowels are different from English. I’m still trying to get the hang of saying them.” 

Yves is about to respond, but he’s cut off with a sharp, unexpected gasp. He pitches forward, raising his elbow up to his face just in time to muffle a—

“Hh… HhEHH-!’IihH’DZSCHh-IIEW!”

He’s glad, for once, that he’s not wearing the suit he’s planning on wearing for the wedding. His nose is running again, which is embarrassing, especially because he can still feel Vincent’s eyes on him.

“À tes souhaits,” Vincent says.

Yves laughs, rummaging through his jacket pockets for one of the napkins he’d taken at breakfast to blow his nose into. “Merci. Is that one of the common terms you learned?”

“No,” Vincent says. “I looked it up last night.”

“Last night?” Yves asks.

For a moment, he’s afraid that Vincent might reveal to him that Yves had kept him up last night, after all, despite all of his efforts to keep quiet. 

“On the car,” Vincent clarifies. “During the trip to the hotel. I was just curious.”

“Oh,” Yves says, relieved. He blows his nose into the napkin he’s holding, which he’s sure he has reused at least a couple times already—but with his nose running so much, he doesn’t exactly have the luxury to be picky. “Well, you’ll be an expert at saying that phrase by the end of this trip, at the very least.”

It’s easy to lose himself in the throes of conversation, after that. Aimee and Genevieve have arranged it so that he and Vincent are sitting directly across from his parents. Leon is right—his parents have never really been the type to subject the partners he’s brought home, over the years, to any sort of interrogation. It’s a fun night, especially after everyone’s a couple drinks in.

“I think it’s a good thing that you guys are in the same line of work,” Yves’s dad says, conversationally. “Yves won’t have to explain why he’s always working overtime.”

Yves’s mom says, “Isn’t that a bad thing? We shouldn’t be encouraging their workaholic tendencies.”

Yves neglects to mention that he’s pretty sure Vincent (who worked the entire flight here)’s workaholic tendencies will persist, even without any encouragement.

Vincent tells them how they’d met—it’s the same story as he’d told the first time they’d done this, during Margot’s new year party a few months back, but Yves’s parents seem to find it extremely entertaining.

Yves’s mom says, “I told you Yves was the one who asked him out.”

Yves’s dad says, “I didn’t know if he had it in him.”

Yves’s mom says, “I remember hearing him say something about having an attractive coworker. It wasn’t that much of a logical stretch to assume he’d make a move at some point.”

(Yves thinks he sees them exchange a twenty dollar bill under the table, but he can’t be sure.)

Vincent practices his French with Yves’s parents—Yves fills in for him when he stumbles on a word, or when he hesitates, wracking his memory for a term he can’t quite translate. 

“A fantastic attempt,” his dad says, when Vincent is done talking. “I can’t believe you learned so much in just a few weeks. I can only hope you’ll keep learning..” 

“I will,” Vincent says. “Maybe next time we can have this conversation entirely in French.” There’s no uncertainty to the way he says it. Yves doesn’t mention that there’s a real chance Vincent won’t see them again, after this. It’s not a thought he particularly wants to confront.

At some point, Leon rises to his feet and shouts, in French, “Let’s toast to Aimee and Genevieve, everyone’s favorite couple!”

They all stand and raise their glasses. Yves finds he feels a little unsteady on his feet—maybe he’s had too much to drink. He feels warm, through the flush of alcohol in his cheeks, despite the evening chill. 

He’s marginally worse at covering when he’s tipsy—and worse, too, at anticipating that he’s going to sneeze in the first place. At some point during the night, someone—maybe Vincent, or maybe one of Aimee’s friends from work that are seated nearby—sets down a stack of cocktail napkins in front of him.

Yves just hopes whoever’s put it there knows how grateful he is. The night is getting colder, even though he can’t quite feel it, and his nose is running so much that he finds himself grabbing a new napkin every couple minutes to blow his nose. It’s strange, he thinks, how such a small thing can be so comforting.

At some point, too, Vincent takes the glass of wine out of his hands and switches it out with a different glass. Yves thinks it might be a cocktail, at first, but when he takes a sip, he finds it’s just orange juice.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” Vincent says.

“I haved’t had that much,” Yves says. But come to think of it, his head feels hazy in a way that suggests he’s just a little drunk. “Just a couple— glasses— hh-! hHhEH’IIZSCHh’iIEw! snf-!” He barely manages to cover that sneeze in time.

“Bless you,” Vincent says.

“Ugh.” Yves reaches for another napkin from the stack. He feels a little dizzy, now that he’s paying attention. “I swear, my toleradce - snf-! - used to be a lot better before I graduated.”

Vincent hides a laugh behind one hand. Yves is too tipsy to pretend he doesn’t find that a little endearing.

“What?” he asks, faux-affronted. 

“Nothing,” Vincent says. “I should’ve known that you went to parties and drank irresponsibly.”

Yves laughs. “Along with every other college student in the world.” He turns aside to muffle a cough into his sleeve. Perhaps he hasn’t been especially conscientious about saving his voice this evening—with all the talking he’s been doing, it will probably sound even worse tomorrow. “What, don’t tell me you’ve ndever gotten irresponsibly drunk!”

“Once or twice,” Vincent says, which is a bit of a surprise—he can’t imagine Vincent being drunk enough to lose the air of… well, composure isn’t the right word, perhaps. Professionalism? Self-assuredness? But maybe even drunk Vincent is professional and self-assured, all the same. Yves wonders, faintly, if he’ll ever have the chance to find out. 

—

Dinner winds down slowly. Yves helps Genevieve collect all the name cards, gathers everyone’s plates to set them in a couple neat stacks at the end of the table, says hello to the relatives he’s closer to, and strikes up a conversation with some of Genevieve’s friends, who look to be just a few years older than he is. They talk first about the planning she’d kept them in the loop about, and then about the planning that she’d pulled off behind the scenes. Yves tells them about the many aesthetic and managerial decisions Aimee had consulted him for early on over text. The common consensus seems to be that Aimee and Genevieve are vastly overqualified when it comes to making sure that everything is logistically sound.

“Do you want to head out soon?” Vincent says, after some time, when Yves returns to his seat and some of the other guests have begun to filter out. 

“That might be a good idea,” Yves says.

He says his goodbyes—to his parents, to Leon and Victoire, to Aimee and Genevieve, whom he’ll see tomorrow. Then he follows Vincent out. The hotel is a fifteen minute walk from where they are—some of their relatives have cars, but they’d walked here, and Yves thinks it’d be more work to try to coordinate a ride with someone.

Everything feels bright, Yves thinks, blinking. 

“You’re cold,” Vincent says. It isn’t a question.

Yves realizes, faintly, that he’s shivering. He crosses his arms over his chest. “I don’t feel it that much.”

“That’s because you’re drunk.”

“I’m ndot drunk.”

“Tipsy, then.”

Yves can’t argue with that. “Just a bit. I’ll probably— hhEh-!” He turns aside to direct the sneeze over his shoulder, away from Vincent. HH-! hHEHh’iIITSHh-IIEw! Snf-! —sober up soon.” The end of the sentence catches wrong on his throat and suddenly he’s coughing, a little harshly, into his wrist. The coughing fit is harsh enough to leave him faintly lightheaded, which is a surprise to him.

He thinks it shouldn’t be visible, but Vincent reaches out and grabs his shoulder to steady him. For a moment, Yves contemplates how nice it would be to lean into his touch.

Then he catches himself. He’s tired, but not so tired that he can’t sustain a short walk from the dinner venue to the hotel. It’s dark, but they don’t have any early obligations tomorrow, and it’s not late enough that he won’t have time to shower, get changed, and get a good night’s sleep, with time to spare.

Yves shifts out of Vincent’s touch. “Sorry about that,” he says, with the most convincing smile he can muster. He’s sure Vincent would be understanding if he brought it up, but truthfully, it feels like a waste of time to say anything at all.

Vincent doesn’t reach for him again, but his eyebrows furrow. “Are you okay?” 

“What?”

“You almost fell,” Vincent says.

“I just tripped. The roads aren’t very even, and it’s dark.” They’re standing in the middle of a small, winding cobblestone street. None of the roads around here are very flat for very long.

“Are you saying that because you believe it?” Vincent says. “Or are you saying that so that I stop worrying about this?”

Yves stares at him for a moment too long. He’s sobering up a little.

For a moment, he contemplates telling Vincent everything—about how tired he’s been, all day. About how much it’s taken out of him to keep up this front, the whole day; about how he feels worse than he did waking up this morning—tired and cold and congested, a little unsteady on his feet. If he’s not mistaken, he thinks he might be running a slight fever; it’s hard to tell through the jacket, through the brisk evening air.

Maybe Vincent would understand. Maybe Vincent would insist that he get some rest, tomorrow, before the wedding. Maybe Vincent would tell him that this is all going to be fine—that this wedding that Yves’s been looking forward to for months, that he desperately doesn’t want to mess up, is going to be perfect, just as Aimee and Genevieve has planned it, even if he isn’t feeling his best.

But this is not Vincent’s problem to solve. Yves’s bad timing and his unfortunate circumstances are not Vincent’s responsibility, and Yves extended the invitation because he wanted Vincent to have fun on this trip, and no part of that entails having to look after Yves. Vincent has always been reliable, but Yves can’t start to expect things out of him—to take his kindness as a given, to take more than Vincent is willing to give.

He already asks more than enough of Vincent, as it stands.

“I’m fine,” Yves says, a lie, as easily as any other lie he’s ever told. The smile that follows comes easily, too, though he’s not sure if Vincent can see it in the dark, can’t tell if it’s more to fool Vincent or more to fool himself. “I’d tell you if I wasn’t.”

[ Part 3 ]

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 1/30/2024

a good 60% of my brain is screaming in unemployment terror at all times so these will be somewhat abbreviated until that situation resolves itself

listening

sleeping on the ceiling by friday pilots club. this is a song by a five-piece alt-rock band from chicago that could EASILY open for mid-aughts fall out boy. i would like to think it is from the point of view of a freshly-turned vampire. listen this slot isn't about the best song i heard this week it's about the one that got stuck in my head the most

Hey, I swear I'm okay Honey, I been sleepin' on the ceiling all day Yes way, like hey I swear I feel great Looky, looky, love the feeling of being okay Yes way

spotify.

reading

Lara Croft: Tomb Raider and the Amulet of Power by Mike Resnick. it was in a dollar book bin and i got it as a joke gift for a friend. mike resnick is a remarkably prolific writer who's done a lot of tie-ins. i don't have anything particularly notable to say about his star wars books but they are a sort of minimum viable product? they feel star warsy and don't annoy me on every page.

this book was published in 2003 and treats the people of the Nile delta and their beliefs with all the delicacy you might expect from a 2003 video game tie in novel. i do think the twist is being telegraphed way too hard. perhaps i should say instead of sending a telegram mr resnick has simply set the telegraph office ablaze as a signal fire. the titular triangle-pointed woman herself ms croft is VERY insistent she's just as good as the boys. this is pretty on par for my experience of 2003 empowering womens' feminism AND my experience in a male-dominated field so i can't really ding it too hard? aside from the racism, in the notably racism-free fields of archaeology and video games and archaeology video games, this book is aging a little strangely overall. i do not know if i will finish it before i mail it out to my friend, but despite its sins it is a very fast read.

watching

watched the four dungeon meshi episodes. it's cute! ProzD was an unexpected delight! it made me want to make something fancy for dinner but alas i still have to go food shopping!

some posts on my dash were talking about how the episode with the mollusks inside the living armor really got them hooked and i have to agree. i also saw the full potential of the show's speculative biology unspooling before me. i don't know if i currently have the brainwidth for the manga but it is going on my reading list for after i finish berserk. which is kind of like saying i'm going to watch chopped after i finish up hannibal

playing

forgot i had an original gen switch, given to me through a complex series in a complex series of friend barters back in uhhhh late '21? early '22? i got through 3/4 of the divine beasts the first time around and then could not crack the camel. it was well past time to create a new switch profile so i could start a new game without losing the old one.

omg twinnsssssssss

i did forget how goddamn big the map is. i have just now unlocked the camera and the memory quests, i have not really. done much more than basic tutorial and beginning of game stuff.

making

anxiously junebugging between a whole bunch of shit. finally figured out the correct charger/extension cord setup for my bedroom. replaced all the fluorescent lightbulbs and took them to be recycled. fixed the hall door enough so it latches closed and an irritated cat can't claw it open. tidied up the balcony and patio and repotted the surviving houseplants.

in textile news, started this cross stitch. this is a Bless This Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy Star Wars themed sampler, i have made two as gifts and had to throw out a mostly-completed one i made for me bc of the moths. but i now know exactly where this will go in this apartment and i already have the frame and i bought all the floss pre-being fired, so might as well? the real bitch of the situation here is backstitching the buildings. it's so start and stop. it's so much tan. i talked about this on the weekly siblingchat facetime and now my brother has requested one lmao. that's his christmas gift settled. i suppose.

i had somehow forgotten how loadbearing textile crimes are for me. i haven't done much of anything since the moth debacle, and that was almost two years ago. last night i found some suspicious holes in a camisole and i'm really really hoping it's just cat claws and not moths or carpet beetles or any other fun things that eat clothes.

[beautifulbuckys]

The Fire and the Flame [1/8]- George Weasley x Reader

“Impossible is in, I don’t know if you know that.”

“You’re impossible, did you know that?” George laughed, standing up and pushing himself out of the ancient wooden chair. As he stood, the chair creaked, even louder when he relieved the back of the wood from his heavy book bag. 

Summary: As Quidditch season starts, your schedule gets flooded with Quidditch players who are too busy with their schoolwork. What happens when your newest pupil isn’t what you thought he was?

A/N: Hi! This is my small dabble back into writing, I really missed it <3

Quidditch season was fun, sure.

The thrill of typically innocent house-to-house competition was thrilling. Everyone rooted for their team, sports lover or not. Some muggleborns compared it to muggle ‘futball’.  The constant woosh that Quidditch players made from feet above you, balancing beautifully on their thin broomsticks. 

What wasn’t fun? The influx of students needing to be tutored. Sure, you loved tutoring those in need. Though typically, the students you tutored were having genuine struggles. It was a different kind of magic to watch a subject click for someone struggling. During Quidditch season, it was a different story. Nobody was struggling because they didn’t understand why you needed a frog eye for the midnight projection potion. They weren’t struggling because they couldn’t grasp the certain hand flicks needed for more advanced charms. People were now struggling simply because they were falling behind. This especially happened to the Quidditch players themselves. You honestly can’t blame them. They’re amazing at a celebrated sport and they’re committed to something grand! However, it’s frustrating when you’re mandated to tutor them and they act like you’re a burden for being required to. Every single time you’ve tried to tutor the star chaser, they’ve given you a sour attitude and made you feel small. 

Amd now? You’re stuck in the library waiting for your newest Quidditch star pupil to arrive.

It was almost curfew, but tutors get an excuse as we’re hand selected by the heads of our houses. Pupils gain that advantage too, if they select the late time slot. Although it’s judging a book by its cover, many Quidditch players suspiciously chose this time slot. 

Quietly, you assemble your Wizardry Poetry textbooks that you’ve been studying for the year. Wizardry Poetry is a small, less popular elective. Many people that take the class take it to get out of Snape’s detentions, as he seems to have a small space in his miniscule heart for her. Nobody calls him out for it, they just quietly take advantage of the crush. Although it’s not the most popular, it’s exciting. In your opinion, poetry is a light shone into a dark corner nobody wants to explore. Poetry is raw emotion, something people typically cower away from at the opportunity. That’s what makes wizard poetry so exciting. Many pieces written by the famous wizard poets highlight the balance between dark magic and light. It’s a weapon used by those already wielding a powerful tool. 

“Erm,” A deep voice suddenly broke the calming silence of the Hogwarts library. “Are you my poetry tutor?”

You picked your head up from your bookbag, noticing the tall Gryffindor beater standing sadly behind the seat across from you. “Oh yes! Hi. Feel free to take a seat,” You cringed at the formalities. The pupils you’re used to aren’t shy about loudly announcing their presence and obnoxiously filling the small table space. This was new. “George, right?”

He nodded, “How’d you know?”

You chuckled quietly. “You’re the quieter of the two.” The boy said nothing in response to this, seemingly validating your point. Although you’re not particularly friends with the 2 boys, you knew them. You were in the same year and had a few classes with the twins. This is how you knew the difference. Both George and Fred were in your potions class. They sat next to each other, to nobody’s surprise. Fred, who always sat on the left, had a knack for clanging glasses together and making unnecessary comments. Although they were together in that class, you could just tell George was more reserved than his brother. They both laughed together and made jokes, but it was obvious. George was in your Wizardry Poetry class. When it’s just him, his reserved nature becomes a lot more apparent. “So, if you don’t mind me asking, what exactly are you struggling with?”

You knew him in class. He definitely wasn’t struggling. He grasped the subject pretty strongly whenever he was called upon to read or make a comment. To an outsider, he might’ve been a poet already. 

“Well, honestly, I’m just more busy than anything else. Quidditch is just getting to the exciting part of the season and I have sunrise practices every morning. The team’s practice schedule is no joke,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “And honestly? I think poetry is kind of stupid,”

Stupid?

“Poetry isn’t stupid.”

“Sure it is,” George said. “It’s boring and tries to be all deep and stuff. Maybe if it took itself a little less seriously I’d feel the opposite,”

You shouldn’t be as offended as you are. You strongly disagreed with him. Poetry was a gorgeous example of literary art. Sure, it can be difficult to scan for meaning and purpose. However, you feel that the payoff of understanding the raw emotion written by an artist. “Whatever you say George, I’m not here to change your mind, just change your grade. Have you started the assignment she gave us on Tuesday?”

Our poetry teacher assigned us an arguably simple project due at the end of the semester. We were expected to craft a page long piece of poetry about our experiences with magic. She said we had full creative capabilities with our projects, and she wasn’t going to judge or grade our topic chosen. She was mostly looking for our understanding of poetry and is expecting us to pull ideas from previous wizard poets. 

George gently shook his head, the shoulder-length red hair he grew out dancing on his shoulders. “Nope,” He popped the ‘P’ in nope, flashing a cheeky smile.

This was going to be a long few weeks. 

As George and I reviewed his work and created an academic plan to ensure he doesn’t fall behind, it became painfully obvious why George was failing. He grasped the subject with the grip of a giant. It’s not that he didn’t understand stanzas and line numbers. George just didn’t have a reason to care. He had no aspiration of ever becoming a poet, and it became noticeable that George only joined the class to get out of Snape’s detentions. It didn’t make sense though. How could he understand so much and just not care? Did he not have a personal connection to the class?

Maybe all he needed was a lifeline. 

“I think this session was really helpful to you George. Please remember, we’re meeting Thursday at the same time,”

George raised his eyebrows at you, awkwardly grinning. “I might have a surprise Quidditch practice,”

“Why would you know about it if it was a secret, George?” Was he seriously trying to skip out on our session? You found that the session was something that could strengthen George’s academic record. It also helps that he was someone actually enjoyable to talk to. Who knows, maybe you could even teach him the real magic of poetry while you were at it.

“You’re impossible, did you know that?” George laughed, standing up and pushing himself out of the ancient wooden chair. As he stood, the chair creaked, even louder when he relieved the back of the wood from his heavy book bag. 

[chokedraven]

The shadow of the past

Pt. 2 - Step into the light | Previous part

I had so much pain drawing this one illustration at the end. Anyway, this is already the second part, and the main characters still don't know each other's names, huh. I think I'll need to make a masterlist soon. Also I'm not a native speaker and don't have a beta reader, sorry for any mistakes here!

• • •

He wasn't late.

The working day went the same way as before, so there is no need to describe anything here. Soon Nervill was already standing at the threshold of his apartment, looking for the keys.

All day long his thoughts didn't leave this shadow creature - doubts and hope were connected in his head, and he didn't know what to grab onto, there were too many contradictions, and he could find out everything only when he returned (which is what he, in fact, was trying to do now, just need to find the damn keys)

His thoughts repeatedly boiled down to one, most realistic outcome - he is actually out of his mind and is hallucinating. But why exactly like this? Some strange shadow that appeared out of nowhere? On the other hand, wouldn’t Nervill know what the human mind is good for, so just a shadow against the background of his perverted mind couldn't look so surprising.

Meanwhile, the key finally appeared in his hand, jingling, and soon in the lock slot. With every turn, his impatience grew more and more to find out if he was imagining all this, if he had gone crazy from loneliness - or gone so crazy that he got himself an eternal roommate, and more and more he reproached himself for leaving without even trying to touch the shadow, just to somehow check...

The door swung open.

He hurriedly walked inside, looking around, as if expecting at any moment that the shadow would come out with a cheerful greeting, like a small dog.

But everything remained quiet.

He patiently closed the door behind him and took off his shoes - but there was no movement or rustle indicating the approach of the shadow boy.

Could all this really be his sick fantasy? Just hallucinations of his sleepy mind, so eager to fill the emptiness of his apartment, and for this purpose inventing an imaginary friend for him?

Determination flowed down from Nervill as his quiet steps walked into the bedroom, where his unmade bed, left in this state in the morning, and the book on the table, filled the room with their presence.

No shadows and no whispers.

Nervill frowned, and his face twisted in something similar to sadness. He didn’t know why he could feel this way at all - his acquaintance with the shadow-guy was hardly long, much less fruitful. However... he developed some kind of attachment to this creature, this feeling of safety that he felt next to it... it was just cold without it.

He stood there for a few more seconds until the last drops of hope melted into silence, and again there was emptiness.

With a tired sigh, he threw his backpack on the bed and sat down on it himself. It will soon be evening, in a good way, he should make dinner... but he just can’t. This single grain of hope led him along the path of the crossroads, and now that it was gone, he felt that he was left without a buoy, without a safe boat. Alone.

It could have been so, but, as if hearing his dark thoughts, a chill touched Nervill’s neck, and the room no longer seemed so empty.

The guy raised his head, and his gaze darted around in search of a dark figure with eyes like two moons.

The rustling caught his attention again, and he quickly turned around. A smile spread across his face as a shadow floated towards him, creeping along the wall.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" — it asked confusedly when it appeared on the wall in front of Nervill, blind to how happy he really was... without knowing why. Although no, he knew for sure.

Without further ado, Nervill stood up and walked over to the wall, already holding out his hand. The shadow didn’t even have time to blink when the guy’s hand was already on its chest - touching and stroking the wall in the place where the shadow was, trying to just understand, to feel.

There was a coldness emanating from the wall where the shadow was, as if there was an open fridge there. He experimentally placed his other hand nearby on the bare wall. There was no cold.

This means that the cold came precisely from the shadow, which means it could have been real, he couldn’t have gone so crazy, no, it wasn’t his imagination. The shadow was real.

Meanwhile, it was still looking in confusion at him and at the hand with which he was trying to touch it. This probably looked strange to those who didn't know Nervill's intentions.

He pulled away with a sigh, unable to stop the smile on his lips. It was real. There was a living shadow in his apartment. He probably shouldn't be so happy about it, but... he just couldn't hold himself.

Nervill cleared his throat and spoke after a while.

"Oh, yeah, sorry, I just... wanted to check on something," — he took a deep breath. "I checked... And you are, um, really real. Which means you have something to explain to me." — Nervill crossed his arms over his chest, now looking demandingly at the shadow.

The shadow blinked in confusion, although it was clear from the resignation in its eyes that it understood exactly what he required. It sighed and spread its hands.

"Okay. But this... will take time."

Nervill nodded, softening his gaze slightly, and sat down on the floor in front of the shadow in order to be closer to it, ready to catch its every word. He was silent. Shadow too. It was like waiting for a magician to come on - sitting in front of a stage with red curtains before they finally parted. Except he thought it wouldn't be that much fun.

The shadow sighed and raised its white eyes to meet his. It had no pupils, but for some reason Nervill knew for sure that it was looking at him.

"Well... I guess we should start over. I see they didn't tell you about me, right?" — it chuckled quietly. “There were many people here before you, but... they didn’t hear. Didn’t notice. Or just ignored.”

It looked to the side.

"I lived here. Well, I mean..."

It sighed, its gaze tracing the furniture of Nervill's bedroom as he waited patiently for the shadow to speak again, gathering its thoughts.

"I was once a human. I lived here alone, studied, met with friends and everything that people do, and then... I just opened my eyes, and found myself glued to the wall as if i was part of it. I don't know... how, I don’t remember much, just one time I fell asleep in my bed, and the next time I couldn’t even walk around my apartment, just look from the side.”

It ran its hand over its face and again looked with a sad smile at Nervill, who was trying to make his face as friendly and open as possible. He didn't want to scare away the shadow, especially now, never.

"I saw people coming, there were police, there were my friends. They reported me missing, and I just... I just looked at it, unable to do anything. I tried, tried to somehow get their attention, to say I was here, but I couldn’t, they didn’t hear.”

Nervill hummed sympathetically. He wanted to provide some comfort to the shadow, to show how sorry he was... but the story wasn't over. And he didn't know if the shadow would be able to sense him at all if he provided some kind of physical contact. So he just kept listening.

"Then they started renting out this apartment. When there were no people here, I was just alone. I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat, I couldn't do anything. I just existed, I couldn't even... I couldn't even disappear." — He frowned. “Well, I couldn’t before. Over time, I learned to just... merge with surroundings, you know? With other shadows. Then it was good, I didn’t feel anything, I didn’t see, it was like I was sleeping.”

At least something good, thought Nervill. He didn't know how he would behave if he found himself in this situation.

"Then people started coming to the apartment. I woke up every time someone was in the house. I tried to attract their attention so that someone would notice me... and I succeeded! You see, people notice something... something minor - if I just show up to people, they won't see me, they need preparation and they have to get used to the energy that always surrounds me in order to see me."

The shadow seemed more animated now, no matter how absurd it may sound. In general, the whole situation did not even remotely resemble normal, but Nervill had already come to terms with it. And it was true - those times when he thought his mind was playing tricks on him, it could have been a shadow that was watching him, seeking his attention. This may be creepy to some extent, but to Nervill, on the contrary, it even seemed comforting.

This meant that he wasn't alone, despite his thoughts.

"So you're saying that people need to get used to you before you can show yourself to them, right?" — Nervill clarified. Shadow nodded with a smile. Nerville bit his lip. "How long have you been here?"

Nervill didn't know if they already had limits on what questions they could ask and what they couldn't. He didn’t even fully know the attitude of the shadow itself towards its position - it looked resigned, I mean, as much as possible. He didn't want to cross the line or anything like that, though thinking about it now, the shadow could hardly be offended by him and disappear altogether - they were stuck here together. But even with this, Nervill didn't want to offend it, he wasn't raised that way.

The shadow's eyes softened and dropped to the floor as it pondered something.

“I... I don’t remember. At the moment when I became like this-” it vaguely pointed to its shadow form. "-It was 2018."

"2018?" — Nervill could not contain the drop of disbelief on his face. It’s not that he doesn’t believe the shadow, but... “It’s 2023 now. You’ve been in this state... for five years..?”

"It looks like this." — The shadow lowered its gaze timidly.

Nervill snorted, now looking at the shadow with confusion.

Five years? Five years of wandering around an empty apartment, five years when you can’t do anything, you can’t even tell anyone about your presence... but...

"Couldn't you just leave?" — Nerville suspected the answer. The shadow couldn’t have lived in this apartment all this time - five years - without once trying to leave.

Even Nerville would go crazy here.

Shadow sighed and shrugged slightly.

“No, but I tried. I just... couldn’t get out, it was like I was glued to this apartment, I was being pushed away from going out,” — the shadow shook its head, and perhaps it was Nervill’s imagination, but it faded a little - which was not very good. Nerville didn’t want it to just up and disappear.

It was instinctive, he wanted to comfort the shadow, he wanted to hold it, keep it with him - and his hand itself reached out to lie on the shadow’s shoulder, but instead of cold, instead of a smooth wall, he felt... woolen fabric. He felt the clothes. He didn't even have time to realize it when his fingers tightened on the fabric and pulled...

More brown fabric appeared from the wall, somewhere with patterned seams, Nervill pulled further - he belatedly realized that it was a shoulder, shadow's shoulder, he just pulled further until a head appeared from the wall, black hair, brown sweater...

His heart was pounding, his eyes were wide open, he had no control over himself, but somehow knew what he was doing, what exactly was going on - he grabbed the man from the wall by the shoulders and pulled until his whole body was outside - and the shadow was no longer there.

He rushed back, leaning against the bed, which was just nearby to provide him with support.

Nervill stared with wide eyes at where the shadow had just been, and now only the bare wall, which seemed too empty without the shadow presence, looked back at him.

The body in his arms was motionless. Only quiet wheezing announced that the shadow... who was now a man, alive.

[yanderu-deredere]

the m in may stands for marriage

a/n: didn't know what to do with this one exactly cus i kind of wanted to hit all the ocs before i repeated any but this one fit gawain so well so have another gawain one and i hope yall dont mind too much

also hope ya'll like this one LOL cus i wrote a whole shitty yandere sonnet for this one and its kinda embarrassing to post lmaooo

warning: gender neutral reader prompt: day six ★ reading to them late into the night

gawain byrne ★ profile

"What are you doing?" You asked your husband blearily as you stepped into the living room, your hand rubbing at your eye as you watched him flip the page of the book he was reading.

"I have to read and annotate this by tomorrow." He muttered to you, not even taking his eye away from the page but, as a way to at least acknowledge you, he opened his arm as if to make space for you on the large couch.

You fit comfortably, slotted against his side, your cheek pressed against his collar and your hands drawn into your chest "Is it your manuscript or whatever?"

"Or whatever." He pressed a kiss against the top of your head.

"Can you read it to me?" You peered up at him and, when he looked down at you, he couldn't help but melt under your gaze.

"Of course." He shifted a little and cleared his throat, readying himself though he knew you wouldn't pay much attention. Your eyes were already fluttering closed.

It wasn't his fault, his voice was just so soothing and soft, after all, and Shakespearean language like that always made you so sleepy. Still, you caught the beginning of a character's monologue as you drifted off:

"My love for thee consumes me like a flame, an all-consuming blue fire that will not cease, a raging storm that no one can restrain, a burning passion that will never decrease.

I cannot think of anything but thee, my mind is filled with thoughts of thee alone, obsession grips me tightly, I cannot be free, my heart is yours and yours alone to own."

[absolutebl]

Hi ABL, it's me again.

I've been thinking about the impact of BL on countries lately and how the landscape has changed.

We all know by now that Thai bl has become something of a soft power for Thailand, and due to several worldwide successes that have caused an increase in output and production value. Like, we are seeing more bl side couples popping up in Het shows and we even had a BL lakorn in to sir, with love.not to mention all the other stuff.

So my question is, while BL is doing great things for Thailand let's look at their neighbor Korea. While korean bl is better than before how do you think bl will affect Korean entertainment scene? Korea is not like Thailand, It has Kpop and Kdrama that is already working to export Korean culture due to Hallyu. Not to mention apart from Semantic error we haven't seen any big successes and nothing on the level of Thailand.

So, what does BL bring to the table for Korea ent, that will inspire investors to bring out more money that will improve production.

Also, do you think Kbl short length and low heat works against them in an industry where Thailand is dominating with heavy high heat.

Also where do you see Kbl going in the future based on their progress now and judging by thailand's development.

I hope my questions are not too much, have a great day (or night, wherever you're).

HI! 

Ooo, so much to noodle on here. Thanks for the questions!

KBL Waffling and Theory

So, what does BL bring to the table for Korea ent, that will inspire investors to bring out more money that will improve production.

I don't think Korea needs to improve production values. They already are one of the highest.

If you mean production length, like matching KBL up to Kdrama length (12-16 45min eps) I was hoping that would happen this year but instead they stuck HARD to their 2 hour timing. So now I think BL is just going to remain marginalized until they get their culture in order. Frankly Korea is just too conservative for full length BL at the mo. And they are intimately tied to JBL in this arena, and JBL also tends to stick to the 2 hour or so total run time. 

If you mean number of BLs per year production, they actually have been experiencing steady growth both in number and length (believe it or not they have moved many BLs we might have expected to be micro into 2 hour time slots). They are growing steadily, just not exponentially like Thailand. 

Also, do you think Kbl short length and low heat works against them in an industry where Thailand is dominating with heavy high heat.

No actually. The short length, maybe a little in terms of fan enthusiasm and interest (they are so short by the time the fans get excited about it, it’s over, so it doens’t get much word of mouth traction), but not the heat level. 

Never underestimate the general public's appetite for clean/sweet romance. There is a reason romance Kdramas are so globally successful.

Just because BL fandom and Tumblr gets excited about KP, and makes a fuss about LITA etc... doesn't mean that extends to general viewer numbers on a global scale.

Look at the popularity of Semantic Error or Cherry Magic. What about all of GMMTV's stuff?

Take the romance book industry, sweet contemporary romance (used to be called clean) outsells all other romance genres. Hallmark channel exists for a reason. Regency and historicals (also very low on the sex scenes) also do very well. I blame Jane Austen (couple friends and I have this theory that romance Kdramas do well because they are so mannered and reserved and gentlemanly, it appeals to the same repressed + courtship side of viewer needs as something like Pride & Prejudice or Downton Abby). Not everyone is a horny as Tumblr. Yes, errotica ALSO sells well, but it's harder to track and def nothing sells like the sweet stuff.

Where was I?

Oh yeah, I think KBL knows what it is doing in carving out a specific niche for itself.

Hallyu is super thoughtful and intentional in its preproduction marketing, by which I mean they do their market research before producing any assets. Kpop has taught them a lot.

Also where do you see Kbl going in the future based on their progress now and judging by thailand's development.

I think they will hold their lane. We will continue to get high production, small cast, contemporary set, sweet, and comparatively short. There will be a few historicals and a few high concept. I wouldn't be shocked to see a horror or a crime set KBL (Convenience Store, anyone?). They'll continue to use idols from lesser known or defunked Kpop groups. And we will see more and more not in school settings.

I still hope they give us longer stuff but I'm not expecting it.

I would like them to realize they can repackage soem of their het IP as gay, and this is something they really could and should do. Many older kdramas could transition to BL easily. 

I expect next year to look much the same as this one. With a few more produced. But I'll do my numbers speculation after I look at the 2022 stats.

More from earlier this year:

How far and how will the Korean BL industry evolve over the years? A lot of argument & discussion of Korea vs Thailand in the BL sphere 

Top 10 BLs Out of Korea 

Kpop Idols in BL Shows 

Top 10 Favorite Korean BL Moments 

[the-fiction-witch]

Cards

Media Phantom Halo / My Left Hand Man / Sleep No More

Character Samuel Emmerson

Couple Samuel X Reader

Rating Adorable

Concept Trading Cards

I hurried myself down the street knowing I was running a little late stupid Boss making me clean the bar down that's not even my job but it's over now for another four days. I headed down the still rainy streets until I spotted the boy I was looking for and I jumped into his arms 

"AHH! Hi y/n!"

"Hi Sammy" 

"Particular reason for almost throwing me across the street?"

"Cause I miss you"

"Awww I miss you too. Work okay?"

"I don't wanna talk about it"

"No problem. Did you get paid?"

"I did"

"Okay, me to let's go sort stuff out" he smiled we went to the bank and made sure the money for rent and bills was in the correct account putting our normal budget aside for groceries and counting up our spending money for this week "do we have enough?' he asked excitedly

"Just." I smiled

"Yes!" 

He quickly grabbed my hand and we headed down the streets until we reached out usual little comic book store he of course went straight for his phantom halo comics, I looked around the comics, graphic novels and manga for a while but nothing I liked would be out till next month, so I looked around the plushies, the bags, badges and other such nerdy merch that filled the comic books stores Isles I grabbed a little bowl set designed after some movies we liked mostly because it was reduced and took it to the till Samuel arriving with his comics and I grabbed myself some trading card packs as always we paid and Samuel took the bag excitedly so we headed home to our little apartment it wasn't much but for a first apartment for the two of us it was home. I let him run off with his comics and I started on dinner using up the little of what was left in the cupboards and i brought it to the table "comics down its dinner time"

"Ohh thank you sweetheart" he smiled giving my cheek a kiss as he put stuff away and we had dinner and of course he went straight back to his comics so I got my binder and opened a pack of cards sorting the new into their slots and the doubles onto my trading pile "can I open one?" He asks as he finished a comic 

"Why?'

"You always get so much joy out of it, it's okay if not"

"You can, just be careful"

"I will I'll be gentle"

"Good but not what I meant" I smiled handing him a pack 

"How so?"

"Cards can be addictive Samuel. Their cheap and it's a quick adrenaline rush. And we both know you have a bit of an additive personality flaw in your family'

"True. Maybe I shouldn't then" he says handing it back

"One pack won't hurt. Well do it together" I smiled so we opened it up and flipped through them 

"Ooohh I got a shiny!"

"I already have that one"

"Oh."

"Oooh but I don't have these" I smiled taking the four from the pack I didn't already have and he helped me find their place and add them to my binder 

"I like it. It's nice I imagine satisfying to watch it fill it'

"It is" I smiled 

"One more?" 

"No."

[cilldaracailin]

I Was Born To Love You

Hello my Tumblr Lovely's,

I hope you are all well. Thanks so much for the love on this story :) Here is next part for you.

Suze xx

6

“Your hand touching mine. This is how galaxies collide.”

They walked to the hotel entrance and Taron held open the white panelled door for her and took Robyn’s hand again once he was inside, both looking around the lobby.

Bright, white and spotless, the marble floor and open space was elegant and every bit of luxury that the hotel advertised. Seating areas were stationed to the right and the quiet lobby had soft music playing. Some blue couches were neatly organised around brown tables in a line from left to right in front of large windows which looked out to the pool. There were also single white chairs dotted around, tall flower pots with brightly coloured flowers against the walls and more delicate flowers on the tables and beautiful colourful mats on the ground. The lobby was quiet with not many guests around and those that were, looked fully at ease as the strolled to wherever they were headed.

The reception itself was wooden with a large piece of artwork behind it and a staff member in a white uniform waiting to greet them.

“Welcome to the Sandpearl resort, Mr Egerton, Miss Quinn. Will has brought your luggage to your room but let me check you in before I direct you to your suite.”

“Thank you.” Taron felt the little nip on his hand from Robyn and while he wanted to see the look on her face, turned his attention to their checking in process.

“Did you have a nice journey here?” The receptionist asked.

“It was good, thank you.”

“Great. Can I get you something to drink? Champagne, prosecco, or a juice?”

“A juice would be great, please, thank you.” Robyn replied, watching as the receptionist immediately handed her a cold glass of juice.

“Mr Egerton?”

“Juice is fine too, thank you.”

A second crystal clean glass was placed on the counter for Taron and he took a side look to Robyn and he knew she was doing her best to keeping her buzzing excitement inside. The hotel was one of the nicest on the strip and the five-star luxury was already living up to its name. He had picked it because of its privacy and attention to their guests, wanting to really treat Robyn to something so special, himself too, both having a hard time lately and both needing the time to recharge.

“Ok so let’s get you two all checked in.” The receptionist typed on her keyboard. “So, you are both with us for ten nights and booked into one of our king suites with a gulf view. Fantastic.” She typed a little bit more. “There was a side note here to see if it was possible to have one of the corner rooms with the larger balcony and we have been able to fulfil the request with one of our most favourable rooms on the top floor and believe me it has the best views in the hotel of not only the gulf but of the pool too.”

“That is great. Thanks so much.” Taron placed his empty glass on the desk beside Robyn’s.

“Of course. You also have the optimum side of the building for the sunset.” Robyn was nearly skipping on her feet and couldn’t keep the grin from her face as the receptionist continued to explain what else they could look forward too for their stay. “The all-inclusive package includes all drinks and meals, just use your key card at the bars around the hotel. We don’t have a wristband or anything so your card is literally the key to your stay.”

Robyn did a little happy jiggle which Taron chuckled at. He knew well why she was so happy to hear there were no wristbands. Robyn had a thing about tan lines and a wrist band would hinder her oncoming bronzing and he was very curious about other tan lines she may have an issue with.

“You both have full access to the spa and you can make use of any of the facilities including the couple’s suite and thermal pools, jacuzzi and sauna. If you would like to use the spa, please just call three on the phone in your room to book a time slot.”

Robyn looked to Taron and saw the growing smile on his face. She knew he loved a spa and while it may not be her favourite thing, the idea of a couple’s spa intrigued her.

“So for your meals, breakfast is from seven until ten-thirty am, lunch is one-thirty until three pm and dinner from six-thirty until nine-thirty pm. Along with our buffet restaurant we also have three other restaurants on site. Tate Island Grill is our pool bar and open until midnight. Caretta on the Gulf has indoor and outdoor dining and open until eleven while the Marketplace is a smaller snack bar open until seven. We also provide in-room dining from breakfast till late at night and the information on room service is in your room. Again, all of the above are included within your booking.” She placed a pamphlet on the desk and opened it up. “You can see the restaurants marked here on this map.” She placed an X on each one. “Our zero-entry pool is open from seven am until ten pm which you can access from the lobby just behind you. Towels are available around the pool for guests and of course the beautiful clearwater beach is right at your fingertips. The sun loungers and umbrellas are there for our guests use and on the way to the beach, you can take one of the pool towels with you and then please just place them in the boxes provided once you leave the beach or pool. The beach chairs open at eight am and close at eight-thirty pm.”

“Sounds perfect.” Robyn grinned.

“We also have several excursions which you can avail of if you are interested and our team who look after the excursions are in the lobby area every morning from nine until midday, so if you want to have a chat with them, they can let you know what the different experiences are that you can enjoy. There is some more information in your room about the activities on offer.” She tapped on her computer and then handed over two white room keys. “And last, your keys. They are the key to everything here at the hotel, if you excuse my pun. Use them for all your drinks, access to the lifts, to show when at the beach, for the spa, everything. Don’t worry if you lose one. Just come back to us and we can replace it for you.” She pushed the keys over the desk to Taron. “Your room is six four two on the sixth floor and the lifts are to your left. To activate the lift, just press your key against the black keypad. Your luggage will be there waiting for you. The buffet restaurant is open until nine-thirty this evening so you have lots of time to get something to eat and if you need anything at all, please just press one on your phone for reception.”

“Thank you so much.” Robyn smiled.

“Sure, just come and ask. We hope you have a wonderful stay with us.”

“I am sure we will.” Taron answered, pocketing the two keys. “Thank you.”

“No problem at all.”

With a hand on Robyn’s lower back, he guided her towards the lifts and at the gold doors, pressed the call button. He was about to say something to her but the doors opened with other guests coming out towards them so he kept quiet until they were in the lift and once he pressed the key card against the black keypad as instructed by the receptionist, pressed for floor six. Before the doors closed, others joined them and he moved to the back corner with Robyn, slipping his hand into hers. He hadn’t put his hat or glasses back on and turned into Robyn a little, looking down at her face that was just smiling back at him. He returned her smile, holding in a laugh when he felt her free hand slip under his t-shirt to tickle his side. He had no idea how he managed to keep still as she tickled him again but when she took a step closer and her fingers slowly stroked his waist, he settled into her touch. It had been so long since that wonderful Saturday night in her bed, since she had touched him and he was ready to melt into it, closing his eyes as the tips of her fingers danced along his skin. The dinging of the lift arriving at the fifth floor woke him up a little, some of the guests leaving the lift while others got in.

“Going down?” The new guests asked.

“Up I am afraid.” Robyn replied.

“Well, it is only one floor. We may as well stay.”

The doors closed and within seconds, they opened again and Taron led Robyn out of the lift. He gripped her hand and they walked down the carpeted floor, not speaking but Taron could feel Robyn walking a litter faster and he had to increase his steps to keep up with her.

“Eager cariad?” He chuckled.

“Yes.”

At the end of the corridor, they reached their room and Taron pulled the key from his pocket handing it to Robyn. “Do the honours.”

“Gladly.” Taking the key, Robyn held it against the lock and once she heard the click, pushed down the handle and opened the door.

They walked into a very spacious living area with a kitchen, the bedroom in its own separate room to the left. The kitchenette was a complete kitchen with an American fridge, microwave, oven and breakfast bar, two chairs placed along the marble counter top. Past the kitchen was a wooden table and four chairs, and further into the room a couch, coffee table and TV mounted to the wall. The open curtains led to a balcony but Robyn dropped her bag on the table along with the card key and wandered into the bedroom. A large king-sized bed was littered with white pillows, a wooden locker either side of the bed. A desk was opposite the bed and another set of glass doors led to a second balcony. It was bright, spacious, clean, beautiful and theirs for the next ten days.

Robyn couldn’t hold it in anymore and started to jump up and down with her excitement and turning around ran into Taron her arms open wide to hug him, literally jumping into his arms, feeling him stumble a little bit but quickly catching her and hugging her to him.

Taron was caught off caught guard at first by Robyn running at him but he found his feet and laughing into her neck, cuddled her hard. The hug on the plane had been so quick and he had been so rushed, it was absolutely wonderful to be able to embrace her properly and not worry about anyone looking at them or watching them. He lifted her from her feet, his arms tightening around her waist and while he loved finding one his favourite spots in her neck, he was desperate for a proper kiss and lifted his head to press his lips to hers, not holding back on the kiss he had been waiting for. His hands left her waist to cradle her face and breathing through his nose, he pressed himself into her body, smiling into her mouth as Robyn’s hands moved teasingly down his back and to his pockets, his grin widening as they slipped right in.

“Hmm missed that.” He said against her lips. “But you don’t have pockets.” His hands threaded through her hair and down her back, slipping under her top, trailing lightly over warm soft skin. “Gosh I have missed you so much cariad”

Robyn replied to his words with a kiss, followed by two more, grinning as he chased more from her, Robyn obliging him quickly, stepping tight into him. She just wanted to be closer to him and didn’t mean to overbalance them or for him to fall over, but thankfully he fell towards the bed, the two laughing loudly as they bounced.

“Sorry!” Robyn apologised as she landed on top of him but her apology was not needed as Taron took their unexpected fall to the bed as a reason to wrap his right leg around her waist, drawing her right into him, his hands following his leg to her waist, fingers slipping under the elastic of her skirt. “Or maybe not.” She stretched alongside him, her left-hand hooking around his leg which was curved around her, moulding him to her. Her sigh was soft and after she kissed his lips, placed her head onto his chest. “Can we stay like this forever?”

Taron nodded, breathing in deeply. “Yes.”

His simple word was easy and truthful and closing his eyes, savoured being with Robyn again. Long distance was so hard. Not having that person to come home to every evening after set or work was lonely. Of course, he spoke with Robyn every day but the video calls sometimes were not enough when what he wanted was someone to just do something as simple as eat dinner with but being in it together and experiencing the same emotions, at least they knew how the other felt and being reunited was indescribable, even more so now that Robyn’s hand has snuck under his t-shirt and she was running her fingers over his ribs. “Feels nice.”

“Yes it does.” Robyn agreed, feeling the gorgeous strokes Taron was making on her back. It was incredible to be back in his arms and while she thought she had remembered how it felt to be wrapped up in him, no memory topped actually physically being with him. Hearing his heart, feeling his warm skin, the smell of his faint aftershave and how he held her so tight against him.

She lifted her head and loved the look of peace she saw on his face. Lately his face had been hard, stressed and deeply crinkled, his eyes tired and his voice longing for a break. She crawled up his body and taking advantage of how his neck was stretched back as his head rested on the bed without a pillow, placed lazy little kisses on visible skin. She felt his throat move as he took a little swallow and how his leg slipped from around her body. Nipping at his skin, she moved her lips in one motion to his left jaw, kissing along his jaw line to the right side, giving the soft heated skin under his ear more attention because she knew he was particularly sensitive there. She made sure to follow each little nibble with a brush of her tongue and then her lips and loved hearing the heavy breathes he exhaled. She followed the curve of his jaw, up his cheek and down to his lips, just giving him soft gentle kisses, which he returned.

Taron absolutely loved it when Robyn was so delicate and loving with him, her gorgeously sweet kisses ones he could lay back and enjoy every minute of the day. He had definitely missed their intimacy, barely having any time together to explore and be together and he turned his body over a little so they lay on their sides now, still sharing kiss after kiss. Their new position gave him the perfect advantage to overcome the fact that she had no pockets and a long slit in her skirt and he slid his right hand through the open material and straight to the back of her left thigh, his hand flat on her skin. He felt her smile into his lips and spurred on by her right hand which now was stroking his cheek, slid his hand down to the back of her knee and giving her leg a pull, hooked her leg around his waist, shuffling his body a little under her, his hand then moving further up her leg, fingers running circles around and around soft skin.

“Cosy?” Robyn asked him through a kiss, lifting her head to look into his eyes, the green that deepened colour she loved to see.

“Getting there.” He answered. “Have I told you that I love this skirt yet?”

Robyn nodded. “Might have mentioned it.” She took her hand from his cheek and placed it over his heart. “My favourite sound.” She dragged her hand down his torso and at the hem of his t-shirt, slipped her hand under so she could have more skin-on-skin contact. She found his lips again, kisses deepening, bodies starting to grind a little against each other and Taron broke the kiss, dipping his head trailing quick wanting pecks towards the V material of her top, his nose moving it out of the way so his lips could leave lingering grazes across the material of her bra, smiling as he heard the deep breath Robyn took as his tongue followed his lips, loving the cute little noises she made.

“My favourite sound.” He repeated her words from earlier and went back to her lips, catching her sigh. “Fuck, I missed you.” He spoke.

“I missed you more.” Robyn answered him back. She ran her hand across his chest under his t-shirt, mimicking the movements he was making on her leg and they kissed more, just sharing kisses and cute little moans as they lay together on the bed.

It was all they did, kiss and hold each other, Taron cradling Robyn right into him. They didn’t speak, just breathing each other in, Robyn’s hand still on his bare chest, Taron’s on her leg. It was soft and gentle and there was no rush in either of them. They just wanted to lay together, share lazy kisses, delicate touches, knowing they had so many days for much more. Now it was just about being back together.

Robyn had no idea how long they lay together and she just enjoyed the feel of his body against hers. It was a cuddle she knew she had longed for back on the plane as he slept on her legs, and even more so when she lay alone at night and she snuggled her head into his shoulder with her eyes closed, Taron’s hands or fingers always running over her leg, her back or arm. A number of long yawns filtered through him and he moved each time with a little stretch before he nuzzled back into her. Even though he travelled a lot with his job, he had no secret weapon for curing jet lag but laying on the bed, tangled with Robyn, he could feel a haze of sleep coming on, Robyn’s fingers running over his stomach relaxing him so much. If this was all they did for the next ten days, he would be a very happy man.

The room was so quiet, only their soft breathing heard along with the faint sound of the ocean outside. Robyn lifted her head a little and realised that she had never finished exploring the room completely distracted with properly reuniting with Taron and on hearing the waves from the beach, she sat up and turned the clear glass door of their room. “I didn’t check the balcony!” She exclaimed, jumping up and hopping off the bed.

“Robyn!” Taron called after her sitting up on his elbows. “Cariad! Cuddling!”

At the glass doors, Robyn heard him but she stayed at the door, unlocking it, and sliding it across, the air conditioning in the room stopping as the glass door opened to the side. She stepped outside and breathed in the heat of the evening, taking the steps to the railing. “Wow…” She would never ever tire of the view of Clearwater beach and the beautiful gulf which was right in front of their room. To her left, they had the most perfect view of the pool and the balcony stretched the whole way around to the living room and she walked down so now she was looking directly at the ocean waves gently lapping at the shore. The heat from the sun was glorious on her skin and she just smiled.

“I can’t believe you just left me laying on the bed all by my… Oh wow.” Taron waited for Robyn to come back to her but he grew impatient quickly and rolled off the bed, following her to the balcony. He was ready to complain because he never wanted her to leave his arms but as he came to stand beside her, knew why she was taken back by the view from their room. “Ok. I get it. Why you love this place.” The ocean could be seen for miles left and right with the promised white sandy beaches running alongside it.

She didn’t answer him but happily sighed, her smile growing more when she felt Taron come to stand behind her and wrap his arms around her waist. She had dreamed of this moment since they had booked their trip and all she wanted was to be with him and they had made it. Clearwater was the place where she found herself again, it was where she had found Taron and she desperately wanted to make it a place of happy memories for him. Turning around, she gave him a kiss so glad to see a smile on his face. “Love you.”

“Love you back.”

They turned towards the beach again, Taron looking to his left, seeing the pool and umbrellas, and a brown veranda most likely a bar beside the pool. Being back with Robyn and getting time to just be alone was perfect and their cuddle had been wonderful but he could feel the sun beating on his skin and his body heating up and the bar looked very inviting and he was really trying to keep his depleting energy up. “Not that I don’t love the cuddling on the bed and all that but didn’t you mention something about a cold ice beer on the plane?”

“Hmm yes, I do remember saying something about that before we got in the car.” She answered him.

“Yeah, a nice cool beer at the bar. That was it.” He walked to the other side of the balcony and looked down and then back to Robyn. “Wanna go? We can explore the hotel.”

“You sure?” She asked, walking to him. “It was quite nice to catch up a few minutes ago.”

He gave her a grin. “It really was but then you up and left me to look at the view and I have just seen the bar and think we should really make use of this all-inclusive.” He brushed some hair from her face. “Let’s go get a drink, have a look around, maybe some food and then we can come back here. We have the rest of evening to catch up.” His cheeks turned a beautiful shade of pink and he covered his yawn with his hands. “I don’t think it will be too late a night for us. It has been a long day of traveling.”

“It has.” She agreed.

“So let go have a drink, an explore…” He stopped as he yawned again. “And some food.” He gave his head a shake. “Jet lag kicking in.”

Robyn smiled at him. “Not me. I am buzzing.”

Taron chuckled at her. “I know cariad but you feel it later.”

“Nope.”

“So just me then.”

“Yup.”

He laughed again at her one worded answers. “So, we have a plan made?”

“We do.”

“Robyn!” He tickled her sides and pulled her close for a tight hug. “I know we will have a brilliant two weeks.”

“Definitely.”

“Let’s go get you your drink with the colourful umbrella.”

They made their way back into the room, closing the balcony door after them.

“Do you want to unpack?” Taron asked seeing their cases beside the wardrobe.

“Nah. That can wait. Let’s go explore.”

Taron’s face lit up and he stepped over to her. “Do you know how much I love you?” He asked.

“A bit?” Robyn chuckled, taking his stretched-out hands into hers.

“Yeah a teeny bit.” He agreed, thinking maybe she wanted to unpack first but hearing her say she was happy just to go and see the hotel, leaving their cases as they were, it was that low maintenance part he adored about her.

“Give me five in the bathroom and we are all set.”

“Sure. I am going to see how comfy the bed is without you laying on it with me.” He chuckled. “Did you bring cwtch?”

Robyn shook her head. “Someone needed to watch over my place while I was gone plus, he doesn’t like flying remember?”

“He hasn’t gotten over that yet?”

“Not yet.” Robyn walked away from him to get her backpack from the table in the kitchen but turned her head when she heard the bed shake a little and she looked back to see Taron star fished out on his stomach on the duvet. “Don’t go asleep on me!”

“I won’t.” He promised. “I am just checking if it squeaks.”

“And does it?”

“Not a creak!”

She laughed at his deep chuckle and once she had her bag, headed for the bathroom which was located in the bedroom to the left. She pushed open the door and was met with a completely marble decorated room. Two sinks were set into marble counter tops and as well as a large shower with glass doors, there was a huge jacuzzi tub set into the corner.

“Taron!” Robyn dropped her bag and ran out of the bathroom, heading to the bed and hitting his shoe with her hand. “There is a jacuzzi in the bathroom!” She exclaimed. “With bubble jets!” She watched him slightly turn his head to her and frowned at him. “All right ok, Mr Movie Star who is used to five-star luxury. Don’t get excited.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And oh yeah ‘my girlfriend has her own jacuzzi tub’.”

Taron giggled at her frown and rolled onto his knees and climbed off the bed. “Show me.” He reached for her hand. “Come on, show me.” He guided her into the bathroom and while it was a typical bathroom, the space was vast, giving room for an extra-large rainfall shower and as Robyn explained, a triangular shaped tub in the corner. “I think we can definitely make use of that.” He grinned. “And this is a great bathroom. Lots of space.” He bent down to pick up her bag and handed it to her. “I will take my turn when you are done.” He kissed her cheek. “I think we are going to have a wonderful time cariad and yes my girlfriend does have her own jacuzzi tub.”

He left her alone in the bathroom, pulling the door after him, walking back to the bed, laying down and shuffling up to the pillows. His face was in a permanent smile and closing his eyes, was ready for everything their time together was going to bring to them. He always thought she was cute when she reacted to some of the luxury he had experienced before and her reaction to the bathroom was another one to add to his ever-growing list. He knew there were going to be a lot more of these excited moments for Robyn over the coming days and he was more than ready to share them with her.

Robyn looked in the mirror and while she could see some tiredness on her face, after her very early start, two flights and long day of travelling, her hair was still straight and not affected by the humidity yet and her eyes were bright and her lips smiling. Being back with Taron left a fixed grin on her face and she couldn’t describe what it was like to be back with him. Running her hands through her hair, which did need a brush, she ran her index finger under her eyes and was thankful her waterproof mascara has stayed put, Stella sending her on one to use for her flight and holiday if she wanted to use it. She didn’t mind for the flight but now being at the hotel, she was ready to be make up free. It was her way on a sun holiday and she was not going to change her ways because her partner that she was holidays with happened to be a fabulous movie star who had clearly seen a beautiful marble bathroom with a jacuzzi tub before. She knew he got up from the bed to appease her and loved him for it. Chuckling to herself, she placed her backpack on the counter top and pulled out the Disney wash bag. She had packed small travel essentials meaning she didn’t need to go digging in her case and she was so not interested in unpacking anything yet. She wanted to go and explore, have that drink at the bar and then get some food. She wiped off the thin layer of makeup that she wore and washed her face, giving her teeth a brush too. Hair detangled and her body freshened up, she grabbed her bag and headed out of the bathroom.

“I think this double sink think will work in our favour.” She said walking to the desk opposite the bed to drop her bag onto. “I have already claimed the one on the left.” She turned to the bed, Taron still laying on it but, on his side rather than his stomach. “Bathroom is all yours. I am just gonna bring my phone when we leave. We won’t need anything else.” She took some steps to the bed. “Taron?” Walking around the side, Robyn rolled her eyes as she took in the sleeping man on the bed. “If I didn’t know how tired you were…” She spoke to Taron’s sleeping form. “I would be so mad at you.” Adorable as always when he slept, Robyn couldn’t be annoyed at him and instead leaned in to gently kiss his head.

“Now what…” She wondered out loud. She looked at Taron’s watch on his wrist and it was coming up to eight in the evening. She was completely torn. While she didn’t want to explore any of the hotel without him, she desperately wanted to leave the hotel room to see something but at the same time also wanted to lay down and cuddle into him as he slept but then she did also want to try and stay awake a little longer to fight the jetlag which would kick in soon. She remembered the receptionist telling her that the pool was open until ten and with the sun only starting to set, the thought of a swim was definitely calling her.

Figuring Taron was out for the count for a few hours, she made up her mind to go down to the pool for a swim and relax. Being as quiet as she could, she opened her suitcase and routed through it for one of the bikinis she had brought with her and once changed, popped on the cover up Stella had sent over to her. She packed up her beach bag with a book, her ear phones, sunglasses, hat and a bottle of water from the fridge in the kitchen, throwing her phone in too and zipping in the key card for the room to the inside pocket. She debated on bringing some suncream but with the sun setting, decided against it and once she slipped her feet into her sandals, looked back to Taron. Her heart was telling her to wake him up but her head knew he needed the rest. She wrote him a letter using the hotel stationary and left it on the pillow beside his head and after kissing his temple, made her way from the room.

She walked down the hallway to the lift and pressing the button for the lobby, she seemed to be underdressed for those who were making their way to go to dinner in their evening clothes but determined to use the hotels pool facilities that were open late, once out of the lift, she wandered through the lobby looking for the way to the pool. She saw one sign and followed it, walking out into the heat, sighing happily. It was very warm, humid and would take her even a day or two to acclimatise too but the heat soaked into her vitamin D deprived skin and it felt wonderful. She passed a water feature and made her way through pristine kept grounds towards the pool. There were many sun loungers placed along the grass, on the smooth tiles, some close to the water’s edge, some tucked in corners, others under palm trees for shade and others set under the cream and tan umbrellas. There were still a few guests out, taking in the last deep heat of the day, facing the beach, watching as the sun started to fall low in the sky. Robyn walked around for a bit looking for two chairs that were close to the water but out of the way of the busier part to the pool area and picked two that were facing the edge of the pool and the beach. There were no guests close to her and while she didn’t mind the other guests, if Taron came down to her, she wanted him to feel comfortable, but she also wished to be close enough to be able to get into the water without a long walk.

She placed her bag on the ground and then remembered that she didn’t bring a towel with her, or even know where to find one to cover the cushion on the chair. Standing with her hands on her hips, she looked around hoping to see where she could get one.

“Sorry excuse me.” She turned around to see a staff member of the hotel at her chair. “Would you like a towel?” He handed over a white towel. “You can take this one.”

“Yes, thanks so much.”

“Sure, of course. They are in the blue wooden boxes dotted around the pool and just when you are finished, if you could just put the towel in the green box.”

“Sure, no problem.” Robyn looked at the second sun lounger. “I will go and get another one.”

“I can get it for you. There is a blue box just behind us.” The staff member stepped away and was back within seconds handing over another towel. “Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

“Any time. Can I get you anything to drink?”

“Oh no, I am ok thank you.”

“If you like something, there are two pool bars. One the other side of the pool to your left, the other to your right. The one on your left is a little further away but if would like a drink, just bring your key card with you.”

“Great, thanks.”

With a nod the staff member walked away and Robyn spread the two towels out over the loungers, giddy on the inside with the service she was getting already at the hotel. She had a feeling it was going to be that kind of holiday where she didn’t even need to leave her sun chair to get a drink as it would be brought to her. The thoughts made her smile and while she was never one to expect anyone to wait on her, this holiday was special for her and Taron and she was going to make the most of what the hotel had to offer.

The pool was quiet enough and Robyn hoped it would be like this every evening. She knew they may not be as lucky during the day but right now it was so peaceful and quiet and Robyn was living for the holiday mood she was in. She moved her bag between the two loungers and stripping from her colourful cover up, she kicked off her sandals and knew the pool was calling her name.

Once she had folded the beautiful outer sun wear that Stella had given her, making sure it was tucked neatly in her bag, not wanting anyone to see the very expensive designer name on the label, she stood for a moment, immediately thinking about the last time she was in a pool or near a pool and she felt her heart speed up for a moment. It had not been the most pleasant of experiences. Taron was the one who had been most effected by the water in Belfast. Robyn had very few memories of the pool because of what happened to her after. Giving her head a shake, thinking back to the call she had with Penny and Taron as they all spoke together about what happened, she told herself to stop over thinking and made her way to the walk way into the water. It was no step walk into the pool and while the water did have a slight chill to it, it was so nice on her heated skin from the humidity in the air and once she was waist deep, dove right under, surfacing after a few meters. The water was really refreshing after a long day of travelling. She spent some time just swimming around, taking in all the of the pool from one side to the other, testing the depth and looking around to try and get her bearings of the outside of the hotel. She was sure she had already located where their room was, the suites with the larger full around balconies few and far between and knew she was so lucky to have been able to get such a stunning room for their stay. After swimming around for another little while, Robyn just leant against the wall of the pool facing the beach, watching the ocean and setting sun, the sky turning darker.

Once out of the pool a little while later, she lay down on the sun lounger and closing her eyes, just lay back. She had been dreaming of sitting by the pool since they booked their sun get away and finally able to do it, relished in the feeling of being in the heat and setting sun. Even though it was hitting twilight, the heat in the air would dry her off quickly and she said she would give herself half an hour or so before she made her way back to Taron. They had chatted about what they were going to do while away together and apart from their day at the aquarium and the one boat trip they had booked, they had discussed numerous ideas of going paddle boarding, snorkelling, into the city, finding excursions and things to do but they both made a face at each other and knew that was not what they wanted. Taron had been run off his feet in work and Robyn had been instructed by Doctor Kay to take it easy while away after she went for a check-up at the hospital before travelling, so they agreed that this was going to be a holiday of pure relaxation and as Robyn closed her eyes, hearing the sound of the waves in her ears, knew it was one they both needed and deserved.

[joemuggs]

Heavy footsteps in your attic means a spectre telepathic

Been thinking a lot about hauntological things lately, especially vis-a-vis 90s electronic music due to this compilation I reviewed. And I also did a little essay for State51's Greedmag, about the Ghost Box reissues and what it all means. The mag is sold out, so reposting the text here.

👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

When the Ghost Box label arrived it seemed, appropriately enough, like an apparition. Springing out of nowhere with its perfectly realised audio, visual and phrase making aesthetic, it was an uncanny (or unheimlich as its fans loved to say) weird and wobbly echo of the British past. It melted together drizzle on the downs with Pelican books, municipal library leaflets, Ceefax, public information films, folk horror, the Radiophonic Workshop, local news segments about mummers and morrismen, trippy bits of the avant garde that got slotted into odd cracks in TV programming: things which in the mid 00s seemed so very far away in a distant, misty past. These references came, after all, from a time before websites, before rave and jungle, before lads’ mags and EasyJet: from The Old Days. 

It's funny, then, listening to those first few Ghost Box releases, when they’re ticking towards two decades old themselves: steadily approaching being as old now as some of their references were when they were made. First up, very pleasingly, they still sound deeply weird. The gently disturbing folk melodies played on rudimentary retro synthesisers on Belbury Poly’s first EP and album, and the tiny disjointed collages of half-glimpsed children’s TV scenes, hippie films and rituals on The Focus Group’s Sketches and Spells retain all their power to open up little portals to parts of your mind you didn’t even know existed, to pasts you’re not sure whether you ever experienced or not. Second, and perhaps even stranger, they sound less archaic and perhaps less kitsch than when they first emerged.

There are reasons for this. First of all, it’s worth noting that, although the way it turned up fully formed with artwork, music and website all as one gesamtkunstwerk could make it seem so, Ghost Box didn’t materialise out of a vacuum. Aside from obvious contemporary allies like Broadcast and Trunk Records, the sense of a historically deep British folklore blurring into the eeriness of pre-digital-era pop culture was humming in the background already. Julian Cope’s The Modern Antiquarian had come out in 1998, its pages laid out and mock-faded to look like a 60s/70s guidebook, mysticism and mischief interwoven throughout it. Coil’s turn of the millennium output too – notably the Musick to Play in the Dark series – brought together English pastoralism, dark futurism, deep-dive psychedelia, old synthesisers and a commitment to being deeply disconcerting.

Musically you could hear precursors to Ghost Box in 90s electronica outliers like Plaid and Ultramarine, and in oddball retro ephemera collagists like Solex, Tipsy and People Like Us. And on the fringes of folktronica in the early 00s, acts like Tunng, Colleen and Neotropic were likewise using technology to open up cracks that let stranger parts of the past leak out. But looking back, now that all of this stuff is the past, maybe it’s a little bit less defined by its source material than we thought at the time. Maybe this wasn’t just about accosting the past in its weirdness and absurdity, but filtering, preserving and channelling it forwards, making sure that the chosen parts continued haunting the future?

Remember, this was a time of a very dramatic material shifting in relationship to the past. From 1999 Napster – quickly followed by AudioGalaxy, LimeWire and the rest – presented the opportunity to access a vast swather of recorded music, and what you couldn’t find there you could increasingly on specialist blogs. At the start of 2005, just before these first Ghost Box releases, the launch of YouTube marked the first creak in the opening of the floodgates for video too. Even though internet was still creaky by today’s standars, you could still discover an obscure artist and have their entire discography within hours. 

All of this led to bafflement, derangement, even anxiety. Received wisdom in mainstream – and even much alternative – culture media was that this glutting would lead to a homogenisation or levelling of culture. Everything being available all at once meant there was no longer a clear distinction between populist and underground, new niche aesthetics would not be able to develop before they were assimilated, it was, perhaps, a cultural End of History. And in a sense this was true. Certainly, to the horror of inky press commentators who’d earned well from the certainties of the post-1950s definitions of youth culture and subculture, there was no “new rock’n’roll”. There was no new punk, no new acid house, no single sound that rewrote the rulebook. 

Of course, change hadn’t come to a halt. The future was just increasingly, in William Gibson’s unforgettable phrase “unevenly distributed”. Cultural evolution was no longer defined by single radical paradigm shifts in a single, central pop culture, but rather moving forwards in syntagmatic shifts: the piecing together of what would become new traditions. This is the reason young people today talk in terms not of genres or scenes, but “aesthetics”. And this is where we come back to our folktronicists and hauntologists: in this everything-all-at-once deluge we needed people to coalesce aesthetics that we could cling on to. 

When Belbury Poly mapped harpsichords onto analogue bass, or made audio allusions to Delia Derbyshire and John Baker, they were reinforcing connections, between fey psyche pop, cartoons, dramas, leaflets, animated geometry from 5am Open University broadcasts, in the way that synapses are strengthened during dreaming. The same when The Focus Group created micro fragments that were Polish Jazz, Italian horror, Dr Who and J Dilla all at once: this was creating a grammar of weirdness, a very specific binding together of sound, image and idea that could withstand the surge of undifferentiated information swirling around it in the outside world. These records didn’t just create sounds that still sound good now, they didn’t just set a grammar of peculiarity in motion that echoes through today via all kinds of odd internet moments and disparate creations from Scarfolk to chillwave. They also gave us a toolkit: a post-postmodern set of methods for coherently blending together the our hyperspecific special interests into new essences and letting them leak forward into the future, unleashing brand new hauntings. 

[iloveabunchofgames]

Week In Review - 04/23/23

#JakeReviewsItch Week In Review Archives

This week's reviews:

🧡🧡🧡🧡🤍 Antecrypt⚡ 🧡🧡🤍🤍🤍 Antistatic 🧡🧡🤍🤍🤍 The Aquatic Adventure of the Last Human 🧡🧡🧡🤍🤍 Arachnopunk 🧡🧡🧡🤍🤍 Arcade Spirits 🧡🧡🧡🤍🤍 The Arcade Tower 🧡🤍🤍🤍🤍 The Archives of Evil Dr BA 🧡🧡🤍🤍🤍 ARGH-P-G 🧡🧡🧡🤍🤍 Arigatou, Ningen-san! 🧡🧡🤍🤍🤍 Arlo The Rabbit

Thanks to my unexpected hiatus, this is more like a Week-and-a-Half In Review. What does that mean for this column? It means there are 10 nominees for Game of the Week, but beyond that, it's going to be business as usual. Oh, actually there's one other difference today. Usually, I write both a Week In Review and a new review on Sundays. It's a lot of writing! I'm skipping the review today, just to see how that feels. Later in this post, I'll share my thoughts on former Nintendo of America President Reggie Fils-Aimé's business memoir. A few weeks ago, I came across a 2021 presentation by Meghna Jayanth that raises fascinating questions about the default structures and values in game design.

Game of the Week

This crop of games contains so many that were almost onto something, but there's no question which one was best.

Antecrypt⚡ is a twin-stick shooter where movement stick works exactly the way you'd expect and the aiming stick does not. It drifts here and there, totally at random, landing in the right place about as often as a stopped clock. It's a weird, maddening hook, made all the more frustrating by a weapon that burns through its batteries quickly when fired, which can only be recharged by standing in the range of the aiming reticle. It's a skill-based game with the compellingly random highs and lows of a slot machine, all wrapped in a cool, confident package. Great visual design, great enemy design, great level design, great progression system—if you haven't already read the review or given Antecrypt⚡ a try for yourself, get on that. Special mention also goes to clever metroidvania Arachnopunk, which is an admirable effort, even if it's not so hot in execution. Arigatou, Ningen-san! is nothing revolutionary, but parents of toddlers should check out this interactive picture book.

Disrupting the Game by Reggie Fils-Aimè

The local library finally got a copy of my old boss' book.

Reggie leveraged key differentials to push messaging in new markets. This disruptive way of thinking, and his decisive execution, drove sales in categories that were not previously thought of as receptive to high-margin product. Disrupting the Game is not a tell-all from a video game insider. It's a book by a business executive, aimed at those who wish to follow a similar path. Reggie (he often insists on being addressed by his first name) is a man with an incredible breadth of experience, from hocking Crisco to nearly making Shigeru Miyamoto cry by insisting that Wii Sports be included at no additional cost with every Wii in North America. He's heavy on business buzzwords, which I generally find off-putting, yet there's no denying that the man is an efficient communicator. The major events of his professional life make for a breezy read. That's my biggest complaint, actually. The book is a bit too general and optimistic. I'm still not sure Reggie understands what Nintendo had with Wii U or what went wrong. He spells out the lessons aspiring business leaders should take away from each of his anecdotes, but even in the stories where he admits fault, he seems to come out ahead. I want the lessons that come from abject mistakes. I want details. But Reggie is a slick businessman, and big business keeps details close to the chest. Reading this book won't teach you anything about a typical day in the office for NOA's president. Instead, he focuses on events that have already been covered extensively, like E3 presentations, and console launches. That, and his relationship with the late Satoru Iwata. This is the stuff that makes Disrupting the Game worth reading, whether you care about business or not. It feels like the reason the book was written. While Reggie obviously cares very much about passing on his professional wisdom to the next generation, he needs to preserve memories of his late friend and colleague. I'm glad he has. If you just know the Regginator as the funny "my body is ready" meme guy, I'm not sure you'll get much out of his book. If, like me, you were closely following Nintendo news throughout Reggie's reign (and occasionally seeing him in the hallways at work), you already have a good sense of how he reshaped the company. And if you're really like me, you'll enjoy taking another condensed trip from the days of Bigfoot Pizza to the launch of Nintendo Switch. If you've already read the outstanding Ask Iwata and still miss that lovely man, Disrupting the Game is a must. I just hope the next book approaches all its subjects with the specificity and range of emotions afforded Iwata-san. There's a brief story in the epilogue about teetotaler Shigeru Miyamoto joining Reggie at a New York bar before losing his mind over the establishment's collection of pipes. It so wonderfully captures the magic of the man's curiosity that I now want Reggie to drop whatever he's doing and write Miyamoto's biography. I've always thought he was too shy to allow anyone to write such a book, but if there's anyone who could wear him down, it's Reggie.

Meghna Jayanth: White Protagonism and Imperial Pleasures in Game Design

I'm going to skip the recap and just let Meghna Jayanth speak for herself, either through the above video or the written word. I am not opposed to "imperial pleasures" in games. I regularly commit atrocities in games, and I enjoy it. Conquering digital worlds and amassing absurd in-game wealth isn't hurting anyone, and it's not hard to understand why it feels rewarding. A good game designer, however, does not say, "Let's keep doing the same stuff we've liked in other games." A good game designer questions everything. What's been done before? Why was it done that way? What are the alternatives? Since listening to Jayanth's speech, I can't stop noticing imperialist measures of success in everything I play. It doesn't dampen my enjoyment. I'm just noticing. Noticing and questioning.

Beyond Blue is one of this week's free Epic Games Store games. It's an Endless Ocean-style scuba game, produced as a tie-in with nature documentary series Planet Earth: Blue Planet II. I went for a few dives this weekend and immediately found it weird that my goal was to head beneath the waves and get everything. In fairness, you're not actually removing anything from the ocean. You're vaguely "scanning" animals, but the way it's presented is so aggressively targeting the need to tick every box and earn every unlockable that the splendor of our world and the save-the-whales message of the narrative are quickly lost to find everything, mark everything, own everything, and master the one place on our planet not yet 100% mastered by man. Um, in the name of understanding and conservation, of course.

#JakeReviewsItch is a series of daily game reviews. You can learn more here. You can also browse past reviews…

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[butchysterics]

AI-generated backgrounds give me no more crisis over the actual value of my own art than, like, photographs. immensely reproducible! idk i’m primarily a digital artist, i grapple with this! but there’s something very uncanny about AI background art and it might fool a lot of folks’ eyes into enjoying the pleasing amalgamate of the /essence/ of Fantasy Spring Book Store, but there are so many giveaways that these images are GRATING as someone who lives for drawing made-up scenes. and it’s hard to explain bc i don’t want to essentialize what “is” real valid human art and what is ~clearly AI~, like the visual boundaries are increasing amorphous and i fear for actual artists being dismissed for their work “resembling” “AI art” (there are already anecdotal stories online of this happening). it’s not about the Imaginary Spaces or the perspective being “Wrong” or the details not being Natural—these are all features that human artists embed in their work, too. there’s a really common visual artifact of AI backgrounds where they can’t track straight lines so all the euclidean details are all over the place, but i feel like a lot of other “tells” are reflective of the popular art styles used to train the software. and i don’t think a critique of “sameness” there is useful or productive. i’m not sure if 100% rejection of the marriage of machine learning+art is even useful—there are really incredible applications of this technology in field other than visual art. there are so many ethical problems with the software that currently exists (training on artists’ work without consent) but now there are programs like adobe firefly which seek to legitimize and legalize the technology by using their own proprietary images. everything has its own issues but the tech is evolving and the ethical dilemmas are evolving too

i’ve just been thinking lately about how machine learning and AI image generation slot into the discourses of modern art like…. walter benjamin would have so much to say here.

[inatelescopelens]

london 20th december

Some ten days or so after we left London for the historic rues of Paris, and we’re here again, though the city is not exactly as it was before. The sun still rises late but the Christmas crowds in the centre of town have thickened, drawn in even more by the easing of the cold—no longer in the negatives, milder, even warm enough for us to walk around without our heavy coats. We set out this morning after a bit of unnecessary fussing about on my part, stopping at Monmouth Coffee Company up in the Seven Dials on our way for a hot drink. 

With the typical flair of well-meaning inner elites, this shop serves all coffees in ceramic rather than disposable takeaway cups, so customers who cannot fit its cramped interior must hover on the pavement outside with their mugs, forced to slow down for a minute and exist there. Inside the cashiers cry out orders in a chaotic call-and-response with baristas always in motion; somehow no request is ever lost, from flat whites to cups of the filter coffee that drips through bespoke and no doubt biodegradable slips of paper in an endless lab experiment.

Unlike the other places we’ve chosen to visit earlier in the morning so far, the British Museum was already massively attended from the moment it opened. The lines for both pre-booked slots and the as-yet unticketed seemed to stretch into the hundreds. They were mostly families, mostly English—the little boy nearest us in the queue was proudly reciting knowledge of the museum’s Egyptian collections to his next of kin, so we prepared ourselves for some passionate competition in accessing all the best views. I had not been to the British Museum since I was seven and had no memory of the place, even its columned façade was novel to me, much less the huge stark-white spiralling entrance hall with rooms in every direction. The one thing I half-recalled from more than a decade ago was a case containing a menagerie of mummified animals and we sought this out first.

The Egyptian section actually wasn’t so bad at this hour, all outside predictors aside, so we got to have quite a good look around at this notorious collection before the rooms filled up. Notorious is perhaps a personal bias—there’s something unsettling in my eyes about too much of this ancient hoard, sarcophagi and the objects of sacred burial rites ripped from their resting places to be kept by a colonial legacy power rather than a country of origin. Cats, snakes, other small creatures are one thing, but the display of people’s corpses, people who were probably not very sympathetic or benevolent in life yet still, wanted to be buried and left there so they could enter the next life—I felt disturbed by the mummies, and not just that they were dead. It disturbed me how people gawked at them, and it disturbed me to think that this display was a mere fraction of what the museum possesses that it maybe shouldn’t, that others are wanting back. 

After exhausting ourselves a bit wandering through the Greek, Roman, Assyrian, Islamic, Viking and ancient Anglo-Saxon rooms, we stopped off finally at the most awkward example of this archeological imperialism. The statues of the Parthenon, assembled headless and limbless in a cavernous exhibition hall, seemed to be begging at any given moment to be anywhere else. It was as if their display clung a point that most would consider to have been lost long ago when Truman and Stalin sat side by side as leaders of the world at Potsdam, and Attlee, so forgettable that I had to remind myself of his name, perched cheerily in the corner in the midst of British imperial decline. It’s a testament only to how far such a decline had to creep over and how far it must go still, that the statues were still there for us to see without mention of the controversy. 

They were beautiful, rather eerie in a way that to me at least exceeded even the mummies. I think they could be haunted. The detail of the cloth and human form they embodied was extraordinary, and since I was too weary to read the signs and plaques which sat at their feet, I just stood and looked up at them instead. The far right end of the hall first, then I turned and walked the seventy-five metres worth of frieze to the other side, where I looked into the frothing mouths of stone horses forbidden to break free. Like the Cast Courts in the Victoria and Albert Museum, it was the magnitude of this exhibit that cemented its place as my favourite, cat-themed articles of Ancient Egypt aside. But I would rather have seen it in Athens, with a warm Greek summer sun streaking in, able to step outside and see the crumbling columns of its home waiting atop the distant hill.

After the British Museum, we began on our way south back towards the Tate Modern we had promised to return to when we had the chance. We stopped in a sweet little laneway in Covent Garden for lunch from a cafe called Bibi’s Kitchen, where some serious-business young Turkish women served up bowls of the day’s offerings—a combination of grain salads, pickled cabbage, homemade hummus, so on. They were generous and delicious, popular with a local crowd on their lunch breaks. Refuelled we made it to the Tate Modern right on time for our two o’clock entrance to the exhibition of Cezanne. The collection traced his art from early studies to the last works of a man who felt death’s approach. Characteristically I liked these more morbid pictures most. There was a mourning expression to the skulls that stared the viewer down, and their bed of flowers was woven and artificial rather than living. 

But I loved the bathers too, painted neither as corruptors nor objectifiable coquettes but merely people, people sitting and lying and standing. Cezanne’s world was a peaceful blue-yellow and invited visitors to pause at length to see five pictures of the same apples and jug aligned and not be bored. I had left my copy of Rilke at home but found I didn’t need it because the exhibition itself included the poet’s quotes in response to the art in large print on the walls, so clearly I am not the only one who thinks that he put it best. 

There was a man visiting at the same time as us. He was tall in a black wool coat and brown pants, wearing glasses with a tortoiseshell frame. He was one of those people who carries a book around in his pocket wherever he goes—today it was something by Gabriel Marcia Marquez, though I couldn’t see the title. He had a little notebook in his hand and he was writing things down in it, copying quotes, and, I imagine, recording his thoughts. He would walk up to a painting, pause, and breathing heavily with his mouth open a crack, write in an aggressive burst, underscoring each last word with intense finality. I followed him around, obsessed and unnoticed. I was exterior to his trance and he never saw me. I loved Cezanne but somehow I will remember this stranger more.

Leaving the gallery we crossed at the Millenium Bridge and Mum took the lead, bringing us to the Inns of Court in the heart of Holborn, somewhere I had not known of before. It was almost silent in these little squares and streets—through the windows we saw a few clerks at work in the historic stone halls while one or two people hung around on the park benches outside. This was the most peace we’d encountered in all our time in London. The Christmas decorations were tamer and the cobblestones were littered with fallen leaves. Mum thought of visiting the Temple Church and so we went there, while there was still light in the day.

We were greeted inside this ancient house of Christ’s warriors by a very kindly old man, gentle and warm, who welcomed each individual group of visitors with the same passionate care. He offered us guiding maps of the church’s interior—the significant tombs, the bits of it lost in war and rebuilt. I felt it was almost the only church I’ve been in on this trip where some distant, perhaps violent but pure and earnest vein of Christianity has remained since long-lost times. It was not religious or ecclesiastic, it was holy, and honest enough to be the proud resting place of soldiers who killed in pursuit of their god. The old man showed us out the door and I wished him a Merry Christmas which is not so like me, but I was affected. We left this place behind in the hour of dusk and went home.

For dinner, we made our way over from our Covent Garden hotel to Chelsea a little earlier than usual, where we ate an incredible feast at Kutir. This was an Indian restaurant chosen under the circumstances of feeling, as delicious as all the food had been, that another night dining on the seasonally trendy squash, celeriac and beetroot at a modern European restaurant was an unbearable prospect. We needed something spiced and rich and hearty—we found it here. The interior of the small dining room, filling the ground floor of a corner Chelsea townhouse, was ornate and decorated in soothing warm tones. After some smaller dishes to start, Mum had brinjal salan—baby eggplants in a tasty peanut sauce—with a pot of dal on the side, while I opted for the classic chicken tikka masala. Its heat was offset by the lightness of a mango-chamomile cocktail and the delicate desserts that followed. The highlight, traditional Indian milk dumplings in a sticky, rose-flavoured syrup. 

Since it had been an early booking, we still had a bit of evening time to work our way through. We occupied it by walking back to the hotel past many of the sights, now obscured in darkness, that we saw at the beginning in daylight, from a crowd. Along the fenceline of Buckingham Palace, via the outskirts of Picadilly, we arrived back in Covent Garden where the fuss never quite seems to quieten down, even on a Tuesday. My anticipation of the next day was coloured in conflicting ways by the knowledge that it would be the last. I wanted it to be a perfect end—this is always too much to ask for as a traveller. I was once again so tired I quickly crawled my way onto my sofabed in the hotel suite sitting room and fell asleep.