#like 2 entirely different pieces of media

[glitterghost]

Been thinking about Blood and Chocolate lately.

(bonus soundtrack song under the cut [a cure cover])

Lunar Click- A Forrest

[after-witch]

Damn Your Eyes Chapter 2 [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Title: Cream and Sugar [Damn Your Eyes Chapter 2] [Yandere Ren Hana x Reader]

Synopsis: A fateful meeting at a bookstore between you and Ren Hana, years upon years after your escape from Strade, turns into a coffee shop date. You're not supposed to accept drinks from strangers, but Ren's not a stranger--so it's fine, right?

Word count: 5,322

notes: yandere, descriptions of violence/death/wounds, drugging

AO3 LINK

How did one get over something like Strade? Get over that house and that basement? How do you move on with your life when you’ve seen someone’s guts spill out of their body while they’re still alive, and you’ve been instructed to pick them up and play with them for the delight of sick fucks watching it all on a paid stream?

The pretty answer, the one everyone recites when asked, because that’s what you do: with therapy and time and forgiveness for yourself. You take it one day at a time. You treat yourself. 

The real answer: You didn’t. You don’t. You can’t. 

Not fully. Because “getting over” something like that means it will eventually no longer affect you, no longer being a part of you. 

And sure. You will, eventually, go about something that feels like an ordinary life. 

You will walk into a grocery store with a tidy little list, you will roll your eyes at the rising cost of laundry detergent, you will smile at a cashier who says they like your outfit. You will date and drink coffee and sway to your favorite song while making dinner. 

But inside, inside of you , you are still there--still hovering at the last step of the basement stairs, listening to someone’s guttural shrieks as their skin is blow-torch melted down. Still clinging to Ren in the middle of the night, flinching when his hands wander over a recent gouge, a hastily stitched cut--an accident, he whispers, and you’re never sure if you believe him.

And that is what happened to you. 

It took years, of course, to even get close to that semblance of normalcy. A few years were spent in feverish hiding, running from place to place with no paper trails that might lead some gorehound that subscribed to Strade’s torture porn sniffing at your door, hungry for more. 

But you settled down, in time. Slowly. Bit by bit, piece by piece, inch by inch. 

That took years, too--the settling. 

It started with staying in an apartment for more than three months at a time. It started with going to the grocery store wearing only sunglasses, instead of sunglasses, a wig, and the most nondescript clothing you could fish out of a bargain bin. It started with applying for real jobs, not just seedy work that paid cash, quick.

It ended here, in this quaint little home that you shared with your husband for the past five years, though you’d lived together for longer. It ended here, with a modest marketing career that you’d built up after going back to college. It ended here, with a life you built for yourself; frail and a bit unorthodox, but a life nonetheless. 

You wouldn’t have been able to survive, if you hadn’t adapted. There is only so much terror the human man can manage before breaking entirely, and so--adaptation. 

It was a gift that your husband didn’t mind your… differences. The heavy insistence on home security, the desire for privacy, the slow way you gave trust to strangers--if you gave it at all. 

Some things did bother him. He grumbled about your lack of social media presence, and you’d once had an awful fight when his sister put a photo of you on Facebook that you’d demanded, in furious tears, be taken down. 

But, deep down, it wasn’t like you could blame your husband for bucking against your near tantrum-like reaction. For the way he sometimes sighed as you locked the front door with triple locks, and an electric sensor. For the way his jaw sometimes set, when you did something that wasn’t normal to anyone who hadn’t been the extended torture victim of a serial killer that doubled as a snuff porn producer.

Because you knew--deeper down--that you were still haunted by the ghosts in that basement. Strade and the torture victims and Ren and yourself, shaking like a leaf, bleeding onto concrete. You knew, even if the man you slept beside in a bed every night had no inkling of it, that you could never step back across that threshold and be the way you were before.

But.

And there’s always a but, isn’t there?

But… that was okay. It was okay that you could never go back; it was okay that you were someone new; it was okay that you weren’t okay, and you’d never be okay in the fullest sense of the word.

Your life was a life you created out of shaking fingers, something clawed out with dirty fingernails. It wasn’t perfect, but it was yours.

What more could you ask for, after Strade?

What more could you ask for, after anything ?

--

Books are a vice. More than smoking, more than sex. You could give up sex, you could swear you’ll never buy another pack of smokes, but you could never give up books. 

Okay, okay. You’re being over dramatic and theatrical. But how can you think of books as anything other than a sinful pleasure when you’re surrounded by these shelves and stacks, imagining that one day you can afford an extension on your home and dedicate an entire room (or two--why not, in a daydream?) solely to books?

You’re not even supposed to be here today. It was your day off, and your calendar was packed to the brim with mundane errands. Today’s schedule certainly didn’t leave room for indulgently browsing at a bookstore, but sometimes you just have to live a little, don’t you? 

Although if you come home with yet another bag of books, your husband is bound to shove his face into the nearest couch cushion and scream. But c’mon. It wasn’t your fault that you’d long since run out of shelf space and were prone to stuffing the books into boxes that cluttered the closests. 

Your fingers wander over the spines of the books crammed onto the shelves, catching the uneven mismatched spaces between with every dip. The spines are often worn and weathered, some of them even peeling a little. 

This was why you preferred secondhand bookstores. No neat lines of fresh new books set up to catch the eye and make a sale here. No, instead there were countless books shoved together with no care for size or color or sometimes (depending on who was stocking that day) even genre. 

For instance, today you find a battered paperback copy of Carrie by Stephen King right next to a suspiciously pristine How to Keep Your House from Drowning that probably still has an uncracked spine. That poor soul, with a messy house. Maybe they should have read the book. 

You’re about to keep moving when, on second thought: Your partner might get a kick out of finding that book on his nightstand. Or he’ll chuck it at your head (lovingly) for bringing it into the house. It’s a 50/50 gamble that you’re willing to take.

And so you go to pull it out, a private little grin on your face, just as another hand reaches across for Carrie.

Fingers and elbows bump together and you feel that slight flush of awkward embarrassment rush to your cheeks as you sputter out, “Sorry!” Your voice even goes up an octave, an annoying habit that you’ve been trying to train out of yourself.

The stranger pulls away and mutters their own low apology. They sound just as awkward as you, which makes you feel a little better, at least, so you turn to look at them and offer an embarrassed smile and you think, briefly, maybe you’ll grab Carrie for them or cheekily ask if they were going for the cleaning book--

But when you turn to look at them, all thoughts and cheek are snuffed out.

Not because the man in front of you is wearing a nicely tailored business suit and matching fedora hat; a dark gray complimented by a muted burgundy tie. Like he’s off to a meeting or comes from a big city where such outfits are often found in shops and cafes during lunch hours.

Not because the man in front of you is attractive, with red hair with a bit of ever so slightly silver sticking out from underneath his hat; his cologne, soft but spicy, tickles your nose. 

But because the man in front of you is Ren. 

Older, yes. His hair and face peppered with signs of time, just like yours. There are scars on his face that you remember--some etched onto his flesh right in front of you, and some from that gray area of before, when Strade had yet to take you--and some you don’t. 

Your body is lead, your throat is closed up. Speech and movement are now foreign, unknowable things, because Ren is standing right in front of you.

It takes you a moment to shake it off; no, two moments. No, three. 

And then you can finally speak, although the word comes out hoarse and whispered, like every ounce of spit in your mouth vanished the instant you saw him. Perhaps it did. 

“ Ren ?” 

He blinks. His eyes narrow, eyebrows furrowing. For a terrible moment, you find yourself thrown back down the basement steps, when knowing the difference between Strade’s brows furrowing in annoyance or amusement could mean the difference between the degree of your upcoming burns.

And then his expression opens, widens, just enough for you to recognize that he knows who you are now and you’re here, in a bookshop, decades on; not there, not in the basement, where you left Strade’s corpse to rot.

Ren--for he is Ren, and you know it--lifts his hat, his lips turning up in a smile that makes your heart twist painfully, and shows just the bottom edges of his ears in greeting.

He says your name and your ears ring, high and tinny. Out of the corner of your eye, you see a cashier standing at the till rearranging trinkets while clearly spying on whatever bit of vaguely interesting gossip this might turn into during their lunch break. 

You had, in truth, imagined this moment before. Countless times. Usually at night, though you weren’t terribly picky; a long trip on a bus, head pressed against the window glass, was also a great time for such thoughts. 

You’d imagined finding Ren some day, in many different ways. 

In some fantasies, you look him up in the phonebook (a stupid idea fit only for a fantasy, because Ren would never put himself out there like that, just as you hadn’t) and give him a call and meet up at a park and you apologize until your lungs stop working. In another, you run into him somewhere else, a store or park; a coincidence just like this one. In still others, he finds you, offering to meet in a public space because he knows you’d be scared and he wants you to be comfortable and Ren would definitely think of things like that, considering your shared experiences. 

In your daydreams, you had a speech prepared. It was always moving, of course. It culminated in a soft, unbearably sweet hug where the two of you squeezed out the pain from the preceding decades and parted in mutual understanding. Maybe with each other’s phone numbers on slips of paper. 

But those were daydreams. This is real life.

In real life, your throat feels closed up; your eyes burn with hot tears that want to spill out, and everything from your chest to your cheeks feels hot and swollen. In real life, it is not the daydreams but your nightmares that worm their way into your brain: those nightmares you have (yes, have, still--even this far down the line) where he hates you, where he tells you that you left him there like he’s nothing, where he throws back all your whispered conversations in the dark back in your face.

In real life, you can only stammer out, expecting the nightmarish worst: “Ren. I’m s…sorry. I’m sorry . I shouldn’t--I shouldn’t have --”

Ren raises his hand; his brows furrow again. He says your name, once, twice. Softer. Gentler. 

“It’s okay,” he says, low. You don’t know if he means that it’s okay that you left him (it isn’t, is it?) or that it’s going to be okay or that he’s okay or--

Ren must sense your upcoming lack of steady breathing, because he places one steady hand on your shoulder. The way he used to do, when you started thinking about the fact that you were going to die in that house, and it would be an awful death, and the thought of it made you want to tear into your own skin. 

It brings you back down to the ground, which only makes you want to cry for a different reason.

Ren’s face has a touch of sticky pity on it when he smiles at you. 

“Why don’t we go somewhere we can sit down and talk?” 

--

You are sitting in a coffee shop across the way from a fox man who used to be tortured with you in the basement of a serial killer's home that doubled as a snuff film studio. There are people around you, but they might as well be invisible, be nothing at all. 

Because every nerve in your body is focused squarely on Ren, sitting in front of you with a muted awkward expression as the pair of you wait silently for the barista to call up your order. 

Neither of you have spoken since you sat down.

Sweat is beginning to stick to your neck, but you don’t want to move without warning--don’t want to startle Ren. If you do, maybe he’ll run off, and… no. He wouldn’t run off now. You can tell. He’s not like he used to be, and neither are you. 

There are decades between you, and yet--and yet that thread is still there, isn’t it? You could never fully cut it. Maybe it pulled, instead. Pulled and pulled and eventually lost all of its slack on this unassuming afternoon, when the two of you met again in a bookstore. Reaching for books with cracked and weathered spines, lines creasing over the paper like scars on the skin.

Your scars. His scars. 

How many times have you traced over the marks on your skin? How many times has he? Maybe he didn’t do it anymore. Maybe he was in a much better space than you, and that’s why he looks so awkward and you feel like your heart is about to pound right out of its chest. Because he’s moved on and you, stupid thing, just woke up in the basement in the middle of a sunny afternoon.

His shoulders straighten; you imagine, under his hat, that his ears have perked. For a moment,, a familiar sensation washes through you. Danger. He’s coming down the stairs and it’s going to hurt.

But Strade is dead. And you are alive, and Ren is alive, and his attention only raised because the barista set both of your coffees down on the counter. Nothing more than that.

Slowly, the world seems like it regains its normal gravity. The sweat clinging to your neck feels silly and not ominous. You can breathe, and the world of the coffee shop seems to settle around you like it would have on any other day.

“I’ll get them,” Ren says, quietly, eyeing you with wariness–like he’s the one worried about you bolting. Fuck. He’s probably right to think that; a moment ago, you might have been the one to run.

Ren pauses after he stands up, and there’s something soft and sad in his eyes when he looks at you. Part of you thinks he’s about to say that he’s going to leave, that this was a mistake. But instead, his lips curl and the softest of smiles, and he asks:

“You still like cream and sugar?”

Oh. 

“Yes,” you say, automatically. But you don’t. Not anymore. Tastebuds change and you drink it black with no cream, when you do bother to drink it. It’s not worth correcting, and you don’t. You just watch as he grabs both cups and heads over to the counter on the far side of the coffee shop, where there’s oodles of sugars (and sugar substitutes); creamers; and little tins of milk to add to your drink. 

Then your phone vibrates, and the “fuck!” that comes out of your mouth is involuntary. It was about the time that you should have been heading home, bookstore stop  notwithstanding. What were you going to say to him? That you’d run into someone from your past that used to get tortured with you? That you remember what Ren looks like when his flesh is sliced into and pulled apart? 

You heading home? Took ground beef out for dinner. Tacos?

Your thumb hovers over the phone screen. You’re going to lie. You already know that. Even if you were ready to tell him about your past, it would not be like this. Even you, not particularly attuned to mobile etiquette, knew it was better to confess something like this in person. Although the temptation to confess it all and  add silly emojis to punctuate the gritty details was very strong.

Ran into an old friend , you type, finally. They want to hang out a bit. Tacos are fine, don’t wait up! Xoxoxo.

It feels so normal. And that’s okay, isn’t it? That you’re being normal right now. It’s a sign that you’ve come so far, if anything. And you’ll take any of those signs that you can manage to get, so when the text comes in–

Can’t wait to hear about it!

I don’t guarantee there will be tacos left. 

Kidding.

… Maybe.

–you let that normalcy wash over you, and it helps you settle as Ren returns, coffee mugs in hand.

His expression is lighter, too. He probably notices the weight off your shoulders, the way you’re trying to look interested and perhaps even excited to see him, rather than looking like you’re about to throw up on a half-empty stomach.

He slides your mug across the table and you can tell at a glance that it’s going to be sweet. A hesitant sip, your tongue curling back from the warmth and inevitable sugar, confirms it. Milky and creamy, just like you used to take it.

“Do you live around here?” Ren asks, taking a sip from his own mug.

Such an average question. It’s almost enough to make you snort. Really, you should be asking him when he got out of that basement and whether or not he ever thought about cutting you open and if he still had dreams, like you did.

Instead, he’s asking something you might ask an old high school friend that you haven’t seen in twenty years. 

Fuck. What a world you live in. 

Maybe he senses your thoughts. Maybe the two of you really are in tune from what you went through together. Because he cracks a smile, the edge of a sharp tooth showing. And then the smile spreads and turns into a little chuckle. It’s not the giggling snort he would sometimes fall into at the house. It’s something older and more reserved, but that shouldn’t surprise you. You’re the same way.

You take another sip of the coffee. It really is too sweet. That’s how you took it at the house, though. It was better to drown your sorrows in creamer and packets of sugar–pilfered from diners that Strade went to, sometimes to scope for victims–than mope about them all the time.

“I really am curious,” he says, voice light. “If you’re okay with telling me.” Something different in his tone. Offense, maybe? God, it’s strange, being on the lookout for what someone’s tone really means again. 

But it’s just Ren. You shouldn’t be so worried about it.

“It’s fine,” you say, just as light. “Yeah, maybe about half an hour away? I have a little house…”

Ren’s eyebrows raise. Not in surprise, exactly. But in interest. It relieves you, just a little, that he didn’t let out some sarcastic remark about having your own place away from him.

“Do you have a garden?” He asks. “You always did talk about getting one.”

A twinge in your heart. Bittersweet and old. Sometimes at night, when the two of you were allowed to curl up together, you would talk about a fantasy world. A world where you never came here; where you’d be and what you’d do. Sometimes, you’d be in a pretty little cottage with a pretty little garden in a pretty little town.

Well. Your garden is pretty, even if your house isn’t an adorable cottage and you live at the edge of sprawling suburbs where you have to drive 20 minutes to get to anything useful. Close enough?

You tell him about it. The house and the garden. You even tell him about your partner, and maybe his smile does quirk down a little, then. But you could be imagining it. 

“Do you have kids?” Ren asks, next. If he were anyone else, it would be a mundane question--the kind you ask every couple who's been together a while. In Ren, it feels different. Serious. Sincere. He tilts his head a little, taking another sip of his coffee, which prompts you to do the same.

Kids. Hah. It wasn’t like the thought had never crossed your mind. But it didn’t happen. For a lot of reasons, it didn’t happen. Mind and body and the basement worked against you, and maybe there was a part of you that was afraid to bring anything into the world, because you knew it could be taken away. Taken to someone’s basement and hurt and hurt and hurt –

Ren says your name.

Ren’s hand is on yours. 

You glance down at his hand–see a familiar scar, see that your hand underneath his is curled up and tense–and then look  up at his face. 

Oh, the passing of time. 

“Me neither,” he says, softly. Like he knows why you didn’t and couldn’t, and maybe he was the same way. 

It hurts too much to think about. So you clear your throat and slowly pull your hand away, letting it rest on the now cooling mug of coffee. You take another swig, despite it not being to your taste anymore. Ren really did put in a lot of creamer.

“What about you?”

His head tilts, almost slow, almost curious.

“Me?”

He blinks.

You blink back. 

“Do you live around here?” 

A smile–an Ahhh sort of smile. 

“No,” he says, simply. He shakes his head. “I travel a lot.” He nods his head. “For business.”

“Oh,” you say. “What sort of business?”

A flicker in his gaze. Something sharp and familiar. It’s gone too soon to matter. 

“This and that,” is all he says.

And there’s a strange sort of realization in your head. A fuzziness that seems to spread right to your scalp. This is all too casual, too normal. It’s not at all what it was supposed to be, when you met. Asking about homes and gardens and kids and what you do for work; fuck, you two had been tortured together. Had watched people die. Had helped other people die. 

This should have been about more than banal pleasantries. This should have been about reconnecting. About that thread between the two of you that couldn’t be cut, even now.

Maybe it’s that fuzziness in your scalp and maybe it’s the lurching of your heart, but you reach out your hand again towards Ren; your hand and your heart reaching and aching –

“Why did you run that day?” Soft and to the point. All the years have led to this question. 

The question drops your hand straight to the table. The thud feels harder than it sounds. What ease your heart had mellowed to earlier melts away entirely, and you can feel adrenaline beginning to pump, your heart pounding and racing. Your ears hurt.

Why did you run? It’s the question you wanted him to ask, isn’t it? The question that would lead to your big sappy explanation and apology and the sentimental hug before you two parted ways, perhaps with phone numbers in your pockets? 

But now that Ren is real again; now that he’s here, lines around his eyes and a touch of silver in his hair, you don’t know how to answer.

You ran because you were scared. Scared of people from Strade’s fucked up streams finding you in that house. Scared of Strade’s corpse rotting in the basement. Scared, too, of Ren. Of being chained to him, or by him, and you could never be sure which was more likely. 

You ran because you weren’t strong enough to face whatever was left behind for you in that fucking house. 

Thickness lodges in your throat but you swallow against it. This is not a daydream. This is real life. And you have to own up to what you did now. 

“Ren, I–” 

The words don’t come, because the world suddenly spins. The fuzziness prickling on your scalp, your ears ringing, your heart going too fast–this has all been too much for you, you should have known that. There are brief thoughts–heart attack, stroke, fuck, fuck, FUCK–and then Ren’s hand is gripping your upper arm so you don’t fall out of the chair. 

“Are you okay?” Your vision is clear enough to see the concern in his face. His brows furrow together and he looks around, telling someone– ”Yes, I'm going to get her home” --and you’re about to tell him not to take you to the hospital because your insurance has a high deductible for the emergency room when another dizzy spell hits you, and you’d rather be in debt than dead.

“Should I call an ambulance?” He asks, voice low, calming. Your mind latches onto it. You’re not alone, it’s going to be okay. Someone is here to take care of you, and if you have to go to the emergency room, well, it couldn't have happened at a better time.

Ambulances cost too much money, though, and Ren 

“Could you drive me?” Even as you talk, you know something’s wrong. The words come out too slow, a little slurry. Almost like you’re drunk. 

Ren starts to shake his head and your dizzy self makes a pitiful sound. 

You swear you can see Ren’s ears twitching underneath his hat. You don’t have the presence of mind to think about why–where and when he’s heard that pitiful whimper before–so you just cling to him as he gently pulls you out of your chair.

He grabs your purse and carefully leads you out of the shop. Someone holds the door open, and he tells them that you’re going to the emergency room, thank you for the concern. Your head swims and you might mumble thank you to them, too, but you’re not entirely sure. Are you dying? Is it a stroke? Will the last thing you texted the love of your life be about dinner? It’s funny in that awful, delirious sort of way.

“Ren?” You ask, helpless. You’re holding onto him as tightly as you can, but your fingers feel fuzzy. Your whole body feels fuzzy, actually. Heavy and strange. Drunk and leaden.

“It’s all right,” he murmurs. “Let’s get you into my car, all right?”

You don’t have the presence of mind to wonder why his car is already out on the curb, running, with a driver in the front seat. You aren’t coherent enough to think about things like that; but then, even before you drank the coffee cup laced with a sedative, you didn’t notice the black car following the pair of you down the road to the coffee shop. 

You didn’t notice it follow you to the bookstore, either, nor did you give it a second glance when it pulled out of the lot after you stopped in at the grocery store to pick up a few miscellaneous items.

You really had lost your touch after all these years.

Ren grips you carefully while he opens the back door to the car. It’s roomy, expensive. Clean black leather seats that probably don’t show stains. Up front, a driver sits, wearing a hat and sunglasses and a uniform.

There’s a brief thought–Jesus, what does Ren do for a living to afford this?--before Ren is helping you crawl into the backseat.

The movement only makes you dizzier, and you’re telling the person in the front seat, whoever they are, that you need to get to the nearest hospital please.

They don’t even turn to look at you. It’s strange. But then Ren is there in the backseat with you, and you’re mumbling the same thing to him. Rattling off your symptoms–dizzy, fuzzy, confused, tingling hands. You try to remember the test for a stroke but can’t.

Ren smiles at you.

Why is he smiling? That thought comes through loud and clear, but it doesn’t stick for very long.

“Ren,” you say, slurring. “The hospital, the nearest one is… I think it’s… you have to…”

And those words, difficult as they are to get out, slowly drop away. Because while your mind is not capable of many things right now, it is capable of registering something unusual.

Ren. 

He doesn’t look worried anymore. No more concern furrowing his brow, no more softness. 

Instead, he looks pleased. There’s a smug smile on his face, and you’ve seen it before, but it’s older now. Wiser. Less impulsive and more assured. 

A cat–a fox–that caught the canary. And you, what little remains of your logical mind tells you, are one dumb bird. 

And he knows that you know. Because he jerks his chin at the driver in the front, who must press some kind of button; the doors lock. Loud. Hard. Your numb hands fumble for the door handle but no matter how much you try to shove the door open, it doesn’t budge.

 You're locked in.

“Back to the hotel for now,” Ren says. Not to you. To the driver. Who–to your horror–begins to pull away from the curb.

“Oh, no–” You try to scream. It’s not quite loud enough. Not quite sharp enough. but maybe someone can see you, even through the tinted windows. Or they’ll hear you and tell someone, who will maybe tell someone else, who might call the cops. If you’re lucky.

Ren’s hand cups your mouth firmly. 

“Don’t waste your energy, you’ll need it soon.” The hand moves from your lips to your cheek, resting there. The look in Ren’s eyes is blurry–whatever he drugged you with is making it hard to focus–but you recognize bits of it, because you felt the same damn thing.

The awful mixture of nostalgia, regret and ache.

Maybe if you explain everything. Tell him why you ran. Apologize like hell. You won’t be hugging after this, but you won't be drugged up (what did he give you?) in the back of his car, either. 

“Ren– the hous e–I ran–I–let me explain, it–”

Ren’s hand trails back to your mouth. The sharp edges of his nails graze against your nose.

“Hush. We’ll talk about all that later.” 

Later?

Oh, fuck –

There’s an awful, stabbing pain in your thigh–you look down and see Ren pulling away a syringe with a bright silver needle.

Ren–you try to say his name, but when you open your mouth, nothing comes out. Your lips gape and close and words no longer form.

Your head is swimming now, all highs and lows, dipping and rising over waves that never seem to end. It’s like you're falling asleep in the worst way, hard and rocky.

Like you’re falling backwards down the basement stairs. 

Ren’s voice is the last thing you hear before you black out.

“Sweet dreams.” 

[ayeforscotland]

What is Dataflow? Part 2: Diagrams

This is the second part of a couple of posts about Dataflow, particularly why it's important for the world going forward and relating to the Crowd Strike IT disaster.

Read the first part here.

Before I get into this one today, I wanted to address a couple of things.

Firstly, Dataflow is something that nearly every single person can understand. You do NOT:

Need to have a degree in Computing Science

Need to work in IT

Need to be a data analyst / Spreadsheet master

If any of you see the word 'Data' and feel your eyes glazing over, try and snap out of it because, if you're anything like me, Dataflow is much more approachable as a concept.

Secondly, what do I mean by IT?

Traditionally in most of our media the all-encompassing 'IT department' handles everything to do with technology. But every business works differently and there are many job titles with lots of crossover.

For example, you can be an infrastructure engineer where your focus is on building and maintaining the IT infrastructure that connects your organisation internally and externally. This is a completely different role from an Application Portfolio Manager who is tasked with looking after the Applications used in business processes.

Both are technical people and come under the banner of 'IT' - but their roles are focused in different areas. So just bear that in mind!

Now that's out of the way, let's begin! This one will be a little bit deeper, and questions welcome!

An Intro to Diagrams

You probably do not need a history of why pictures are important to the human race but to cover our bases, ever since we put traced our hands on a cave wall we have been using pictures to communicate.

Jump forward in time and you have engineers like Leonardo Da Vinci drafting engineering schematics.

You get the idea, humans have been creating diagrams (Pictures) for thousands of years. Centuries of refinement and we have much more modern variations.

And there's one main reason why diagrams are important: They are a Common Language.

In this context, a Common Language helps bridge a language gap between disciplines as well as a linguistic gap. A Spanish electrician and a German electrician should be able to refer to the same diagram and understand each other, even if they don't know each other's language.

The reason they can do this is because they're are international standards which govern how electrical diagrams are created.

A Common Language for Digital?

Here's an image I've shown to clients from governments and institutions to global organisations.

Everything around us, from the products we use to the bridges we drive over and the buildings we live, work, enjoy and shop in had diagrams backing them.

You would not build a skyscraper without a structural engineering diagram, you would not build an extension on your house if an architect couldn't produce a blueprint.

Why is there not an equivalent for the Digital World and for Dataflow?

Where is the Digital Common Language?

This is the bit where the lightbulb goes on in a lot of people's heads. Because, as I mentioned in Part 1, the flow of data is the flow of information and knowledge. And the common mistake is that people think of dataflow, and only ever think about the technology.

Dataflow is the flow of information between People, Business Processes *and* Technology Assets.

It is not reserved to Technology specialists. When you look at the flow of data, you need to understand the People (Stakeholders) at the top, the processes that they perform (and the processes which use the data) and the technology assets that support that data.

The reason why this is important is because it puts the entire organisation in context.

It is something that modern businesses fail to do. They might have flow charts and network diagrams, and these are 'alright' in specific contexts, but they fall to pieces when they lack the context of the full organisation.

For example, here is a Network Diagram. It is probably of *some* value to technical personnel who work in infrastructure. Worth bearing in mind, some organisations don't even have something like this.

To be absolutely clear, this diagram will hold some value for some people within the organisation. I'm not saying it's completely useless. But for almost everyone else, it is entirely out of context, especially for any non-technical people.

So it doesn't help non-technical people understand why all of these assets are important, and it doesn't help infrastructure teams articulate the importance of any of these assets.

What happens if one of those switches or routers fails? What's the impact on the organisation? Who is affected? The diagram above does not answer those questions.

On the other side of the business we have process diagrams (aka workflow diagrams) which look like this.

Again we run into the same problem - This is maybe useful for some people working up at the process layer, but even then it doesn't provide context for the stakeholders involved (Are there multiple people/departments involved throughout) and it doesn't provide any context for technical personnel who are responsible for maintaining the technology that supports this process.

In short, nobody has the big picture because there is not a common language between Business & IT.

Conclusion

So what do we do? Well we need to have a Common Language between Business & IT. While we need people with cross-functional knowledge, we also need a common language (or common framework) for both sides of the organisation to actually understand each other.

Otherwise you get massively siloed departments completely winging their disaster recovery strategies when things like Crowd Strike goes down.

Senior Management will be asked questions about what needs to be prioritised and they won't have answers because they aren't thinking in terms of Dataflow.

It's not just 'We need to turn on everything again' - It's a question of priorities.

Thing is, there's a relatively simple way to do it, in a way that looking at any engineering diagram feels simple but actually has had decades/centuries of thought behind it. It almost feels like complete common sense.

I'll save it for Part 3 if you're interested in me continuing and I'll make a diagram of my blog.

The important thing is mapping out all the connections and dependencies, and there's not some magic button you press that does it all.

But rigorous engineering work is exactly that, you can't fudge it with a half-arsed attempt. You need to be proactive, instead of reacting whenever disaster strikes.

[girlgenius1111]

when i break, it’s in a million pieces

alexia x putellas!reader

the pressure on r is intense, from her sister more than anyone. an injury pushes her to her breaking point. desperate not to let her sister down, r struggles under the weight of her injury.

-----

Something that was always said about your sister was that she pushed everyone around her to be better. This was something that you knew to be true on a whole other level. The pressure of being Alexia Putellas' sister was immense; not just from the media, and the coaches, and the team, but from your sister herself. She expected a lot from you, she always had.

Alexia knew better than anyone what it took to be a great footballer, and when you expressed to her that you wanted it too, she promised herself that she would help you get there. The raw talent was there, and with your sister by your side, it seemed to the world that you would be unstoppable.

It was your first real season with Barça, having spent the last 2 seasons on loan at Sevilla. It had been good for you, helped develop your skills and allow you to be independent. Now, at 20, you were back in Barcelona, playing with the first team, and with your sister, for the first time.

Your sister always toed the line between pushing you just hard enough, and pushing you too hard. Your mother often had to step in, and get Alexia to back off, just a bit. Not that you were on the team with her though, where she was the captain, training with her everyday, you couldn't really go to your mother for help when Alexia pushed you too hard. You just... took it.

It was a lot, several stressful months at the beginning of the season where you tried to carve out your place in the team. It felt like Alexia was breathing down your neck, always asking for more. It was an environment that you had thrived in, before. And then you'd gone on loan, and you'd learned to push yourself.

Alexia's pushing, compounded with your pushing was, if you were honest, too much for you. You could never tell your sister, though, not when she was just trying to get you to be the best version of yourself.

It didn't help that the media had wild expectations for you; they were expecting you to perform how Alexia had when she was 28, and you were only 20. Every mistake, every missed shot had media outlets questioning if you would ever be as good as your older sister. You knew Alexia didn't pay attention to the things said about her online, and you tried to do the same. You weren't as successful.

Things only got worse when Alexia hurt her knee. Your heart ached for her, knowing exactly the toll not being able to play took on your sister. Still, you were suffocating in her absence from the pitch.

You needed to be better, stronger, faster, play harder, pass more precisely, shoot right on target every time. You needed to be passionate, but not hot headed. Confident, but not cocky. You felt like you were being pulled in a thousand different directions; every move you made seemed to be the wrong choice. Your solution? Work harder. Train extra. Push yourself to the absolute brink.

Everyone seemed to realize that you were pushing yourself too hard. Everyone, that is, except your sister. She only saw the results, how well you were playing. It was like she was blind to how exhausted you looked. Your teammates tried bringing it up with you, and with Alexia, but you both insisted that there was no problem. Alexia, because she genuinely didn't think there was one. And you, because you would rather drop dead than disappoint your sister.

Somewhere deep inside, you had convinced yourself that if you weren't perfect, completely and entirely perfect, Alexia wouldn't love you the same. Your sister's praise and approval was something you'd always sought; only recently did it reach the point that you were willing to do anything to make her proud of you; fuck your body and it's limits- Alexia was counting on you, expecting things of you, and you were going to do them. No matter what it took.

-----

It made sense, then, that your body would reach it's breaking point. The load on you was immense; playing almost every minute of every game. You were overworked, but you wouldn't admit it. You'd gone back out for the second half of the game against Eintracht Frankfurt, dismissing Jona [and Irene, and Patri, and Marta]'s questions about coming off to rest. You had more to give, you assured them. And give it your all, you would.

You were on the left side of the pitch, attempting to dribble past one of the opposing midfielders. The tackle wasn't really very clean; she came sliding in towards your ankles after the ball was already sailing towards Mario. Still, if you weren't so exhausted and overworked, you would have seen her coming, and moved out of the way. Or, at least, you would have managed to move just enough that the tackle wasn't catastrophic.

Instead, she caught you just right, crashing into you so hard that your ankle rolled in a way it wasn't supposed to. You felt the crack as well as heard it, the excruciating pain that followed forcing you to the ground.

Your head was left completely untouched, and the ref let play continue, apparently feeling that the tackle didn't deserve a yellow. You felt like you could feel every nerve ending in your ankle being lit on fire, at the same time as a deep ache permeated out from the bones in your lower leg. It was unlike anything you'd ever felt before, truly. You were on your stomach, face hidden away in the crook of your elbow, as you raised your other hand in the air, gesturing wildly for help.

Your heart was racing, ankle throbbing, as you felt everything come crashing down around you. This couldn't be happening. How could this be happening?

"Y/n?" Ingrid asked quietly, resting a hand on your back. Mario had kicked the ball out, and the medics were sprinting across the pitch towards you. Ingrid was closest, and while the rest of the team stood frozen, praying to anyone they could think of that this wasn't as bad as it seemed, the Norwegian crouched down by you, able to hear the small, pained whimpers escaping your lips.

"Ingrid, help," you choked out, reaching blindly for her. She grabbed your hand, holding tight.

"The medics are almost here, just hang on."

-----

Up in the stands, Alexia sat, watching on in absolute horror, at the way your body laid on the pitch. She'd been much too far away to hear the crack, but she knew what a broken ankle looked like. Your reaction only confirmed it. She was gripping the arms of her seat like her life depended on it, barely able to tear her eyes off you when Mapi called her name for the third time.

"Go, Ale. Get down there. She'll need you." Mapi nudged, looking to Jana when Alexia made no move. Mapi was still on crutches, unable to grab Alexia and go like she needed to. Jana got the message, standing and grabbing Alexia's hand in hers.

"Alexia," she called, waiting until her captain's eyes looked up at her. "Come on. She needs you." With another tug on the blonde's hand, Jana got Alexia to stand, before she pulled her out of the row of seats, and towards the stairs.

-----

The medics had maneuvered you onto your back, before they asked you what hurt. They already knew, even as the question left their mouths.

"What hurts?"

"Ankle. It's bad, it's really bad," you cried, before yanking your jersey up to cover your face. It was bad enough that this was happening, and the entire stadium, everyone watching being able to see you cry only making it worse.

You stayed in your little hiding place, shirt covering your face, until the crowd of medics around you, combined with the medical cart that had been driven onto the field, provided enough of a shelter. When you removed your kit from your face, you were met with the sight of most of the team standing over you, pained expressions across their faces. You were handed the dreaded green whistle, which you tried to push away. The medic insisted, and Irene leaned over you, as if daring you to reject it again.

You accepted it, then, taking deep inhales of the medication. Your brain felt hazy, suddenly, and it didn't really register when they put the puffy orange cast over your leg.

The team hovered, silent support, as you were moved onto a stretcher, and then the cart. You were left with pats on the shoulder and kisses on the forehead before the cart began moving, driving off the pitch. The crowd clapped as you went, and all you could think was that you had no idea how long it would be before you could get back on the pitch.

-----

"Where is she?" Alexia questioned, grabbing the arm of the physio attempting to pass by her. She'd been waiting for you by the medical rooms for a few minutes, only growing more nervous as time passed.

"Ambulance. They're taking her right to the hospital." The physio replied, looking sympathetically at the blonde.

Alexia swore, taking off down the hall and towards the doors. Thank god she was cleared to run again. The blonde just barely caught the ambulance before the back was slamming shut, hopping up and in. She slid in right next to the stretcher, instantly leaning over you.

"I'm here, pequeña." She murmured, taking in the absolutely devastated expression on your face.

"It broke, I heard it break." You whispered. Alexia felt like her heart was being squeezed at the sound of your shaky voice.

"It's all going to be okay, I promise."

You shook your head. "I'm sorry, Ale." You barely got the words out, a loud sobbing ripping it's way out of you.

Your sister looked confused, reaching a hand down to cradle your cheek. "You don't have anything you need to be sorry for, hermanita. Nothing."

The conversation was only agitating you, and the paramedic gave your sister a look, one telling her to change the topic.

"Does it hurt?" She asked, glancing down at your heavily wrapped ankle.

You bit your lip. "No."

Just then, the vehicle hit a bump, jostling the stretcher slightly. Your ankle was jolted, and you let out a high pitched squeak, gripping on tight to the sides of the stretcher.

"Sure, it doesn't hurt." Alexia sighed. "We're almost at the hospital, okay? They'll fix you right up."

Alexia was speaking to you like she had when you were much younger; when the injury to be fixed was a scraped knee, not a broken bone. It was comforting, though, a glimpse of soft and sweet Alexia that you hadn't really seen much of recently.

"Can you call mom?" You asked quietly. Your sister swallowed back tears of her own at how young you seemed suddenly. You were only 20, and though normally you acted much more mature than that, she was reminded of your age by the look of complete fear in your eyes.

Your mother, however, was out of the country on a girls trip with her friends She had been texting Alexia pretty much nonstop since the injury, and Alexia had only managed to reply to one of the texts. She told your sister, though, that she didn't have good enough cell reception to call. Alexia was going to have to be enough for you.

"Her internet isn't good enough to call, remember? I'm right here with you, though. I'm not going anywhere." Alexia vowed, peeling your hand of the side of the stretcher, and wrapping her hand around it.

Your sister didn't miss the unsure glint in your eyes, and although your hand tightened around hers, she could tell that you were holding back from her, at least a little bit. The trouble was, she didn't understand why. You used to go to Alexia with all your problems; she was one of the only people you would let see you cry. Now, though, you chewed aggressively on your bottom lip, blinking away your tears.

Alexia wondered when you'd stopped trusting her the way you used to, and why.

-----

Thank god that Barça had connections at the hospital; you were in and out of x-ray fast, seen by the doctor, put on crutches within the hour. Your foot was encased in a moon boot, all the way up your shin, and you were... miserable. There was a permanent scowl set on your face, and you were answering your sister's questions with simple yes's and no's, refusing to make eye contact.

Alexia's chest ached seeing you in this much pain. She felt like she used to feel when you were little, and you'd cry; like she'd do anything, anything at all, to make you smile again.

Your other sister arrived in a flurry of chaos, and Alexia watched on as you practically melted into the hug Alba offered. She didn't understand; you went to Alba when you were in trouble, or if you wanted to goof around. You went to Alexia if you were upset. That was how it had always been, but suddenly, you couldn't look her in the eye.

"Olga went to go get you some stuff from your apartment. You can stay with Ale until you're better, alright?" Alba said.

Alexia didn't know when Alba had contacted her girlfriend, or how the decision for you to stay with her had been reached, but she was glad for it. You shouldn't be on your own, physically, and if your current attitude was any indication, also mentally.

"Did the doctor say how long you'd be out?"

You grew visibly pale at the question. "At least 4 months."

Alba opened her mouth, clearly about to comment on how that was... a long time for a broken ankle. Alexia elbowed her in the side, sending her a look to not bring it up. Alba promptly shut her mouth, figuring Alexia would explain later anyway.

What she didn't know was that you'd broken both your fibula and your tibia. The bones would take time to heal, time to rehab, as well as the partially torn muscles in your ankle. You'd asked about surgery, but the process wouldn't be sped up at all if you were operated on. You had no choice, but to wait it out. 4 months away from the pitch. 4 months.

"Hey, y/n?" Alexia said, waving a hand in front of your face.

"What?" You asked.

"I said your name like 5 times." Alexia told you, taking in the bewildered expression on your face. You'd completely tuned out, lost in your thoughts.

"Oh."

"Ready to go?" Alexia asked finally, when you didn't offer an explanation.

"Yeah."

You stood, slightly shaky on the crutches from the pain medicine, and began to make your way to the doors of the hospital. Your sisters followed close behind you. They didn't know it, but anyone looking at the two of them would have instantly known they were sisters; sporting matching worried frowns as they watching you move down the hall. Neither of them was really sure what to say to you, to make you feel better, and they hated standing by and watching you be upset. Nothing seemed to be working though, and you offered them nothing as you made it to your sister's car, sliding into the backseat without a word. The car ride back to Alexia's was completely silent, both of your sister's were lost in their thoughts, as you were.

-----

Alexia lay awake in her bed, unable to shake the feeling that she needed to check on you. Staring at the ceiling, her mind was racing, through every interaction she'd had with you recently. She couldn't figure out when you'd started acting so... strange. In retrospect, it had definitely gotten worse recently, and she hadn't noticed. The blonde had been busy, dealing with her knee and her contract renewal. Now that she'd taken the time to really look at you, for the first time in weeks, she saw someone who was hurting. All she wanted was to fix it.

"Go check on her, Ale." Olga spoke up from next to her girlfriend. "I can hear you thinking from here, just go so you can see she's fine, come back, and go to sleep.

Alexia considered for a minute, before leaning over to kiss her girlfriends cheek, and sliding out of bed. She was wearing socks, and her footsteps were quiet as she padded down the hall and to the door of the guest bedroom. She was just going to peek in, but when she rested her hand on the knob, she heard quiet snuffling whimpers coming from behind the closed door.

Twisting the knob and stepping into the room, the sounds cut off with a sharp breath. Alexia didn't say anything, not yet. Instead she walked closer to the bed, towards where you were facing away from the doorway, pretending to be asleep in the middle of the bed. Your body was trembling under the covers, so much so that she could see it even in the dark. She took a careful seat on the edge of the bed, reaching out to rest a hand on your arm. As soon as she did so, you broke, curling up into yourself as a heart wrenching sob fought it's way out of you.

Before your sister could say a word, you were twisting to face her and gasping out an apology. "Sorry, Ale, I'm sorry."

Alexia didn't know why you kept apologizing to her, but she desperately wanted you to stop. "Shh, just let it out. It's all okay, nena."

"It's not okay, Alexia, it's not. I can't play. I can't play, not for months. I can't do it, I don't want to do it." Nothing you were saying was really making any sense to your sister, but she was sure she wasn't getting any more out of you while you were still so worked up.

"Just come here, nena," she murmured, opening her arms up for you. For a second, you looked so unsure, so apprehensive, and Alexia felt like crying herself. Then, something inside of you must have given up, and you were launching yourself, as best you could, across the bed and into your sister's arms. Alexia held you close, humming a soft tune as she held you tight against her, like she used to do when you were very small.

For once, you didn't worry about disappointing her, or seeming weak in front of her. You let yourself fall apart completely, your sister's arms wrapped around you feeling like the only thing stopping you from breaking into a million pieces.

"You are strong, pequeña, so strong. You can do this, I know you can. My strong hermanita. You can do anything. I bet you'll be back on the pitch before 4 months is up." Alexia's words only seemed to make you cry harder, so she stopped talking, focusing on rocking minutely back and forth.

What if you weren't strong? You knew you weren't as strong as your sister. What if you were weak? What if you couldn't do it? Alexia said you should be able to come back before 4 months, but what if you didn't? You'd be disappointing everyone, Alexia most of all. The fear of that, of letting her down, felt like it was squeezing all the air out of your lungs, until all you could do was cling to your sister, and wait for it to pass.

It wouldn't pass. The thoughts wouldn't stop ricocheting around your head, your deepest fears and anxieties. Everything you'd been pushing down for weeks was bubbling to the surface until you were a trembling mess in your sister's arms.

"You have to calm down, nena, breathe." Alexia tried to remind you. You could only shake your head frantically, and your sister sighed, her worry increasing. "Okay, let's go call Alba."

Without another word, she held tight to you and stood up off the bed, walking towards her room. You were past caring, at this point, where you had your breakdown. Calling Alba might be a good distraction, you thought. So, you wrapped your arms around your sister's neck, trying to steady yourself.

-----

Olga had just been considering getting up, and going to check on the pair of you, when she heard her girlfriend's steps returning down the hall. They were slower than normal, and her lips tugged into a smile, knowing exactly what was about to walk through the door.

Her smile fell when Alexia walked in with you in her arms, the miserable sounds you were making filling the silent room. She made eye contact with her girlfriend, feeling her heart sink at how helpless she looked.

Alexia placed you in the middle of the bed, pulling away just slightly so she grab her phone and call your other sister. She hit Alba's contact, absentmindedly rubbing your back as you cried into her. Olga scooted closer, resting her head on Alexia's shoulder, hoping to provide some comfort to her girlfriend, who looked completely distraught at the state you were in.

"Hello?" Alba answered, grumpy at being woken in the middle of the night.

"She's really upset, can you talk to her?" Alexia asked, forgoing a greeting and holding the phone to your ear. Alba sat straight up in bed, her soft voice a stark contrast to the tension and stress flooding her. She began talking, about her day, about her week, about the silly thing she'd seen at the dog park the other day.

Your sister's soothing voice, your other sister's calming patterns rubbed into your back, Olga's nails scratching lightly at your scalp, all probably combined as you began to calm down.

Alba's voice had vanished, and Alexia smiled despite herself, knowing the other girl had probably fallen asleep talking. When your sobs quieted to small whimpers, and your sharp gasps for air turned to the occasional hiccup, Alexia spoke again. You were half asleep, and you felt safe, so safe, so tired. You let Alexia's words wash over you, the final push before you shut your eyes, drifting off on top of her.

"I love you, so much. Always. I'll be with you the whole way, nena. I promise you."

Groggily, you wondered if she meant it. If she really would be with you through this, if she really would still love you when you inevitably failed. Because you were sure you weren't strong enough for this. Despite your certainty, you also knew that you would do everything you could to meet your sister's expectations. The doctors had said 4 months, you'd do it in 3. No matter what it took, no matter how hard it was. If you failed, you'd deal with that later.

-----

[a-sock-in-a-sandal]

What is happening in Czechia right now - heavy rains and floods

So as a Czech citizen I felt like saying something about it here so here you go, it's mostly my experiences and some official data.

For context, the first week of September 2024 (2nd to 8th) in Czechia was a burning hell - the temperatures were around 30°C or even above for the entire week. Some schools even ended their classes earlier because of the hot weather - they usually ended before afternoon when the weather was worst. So when we found out that everything will stop the next week, we got happy. We were told the temperatures are gonna get under 20°C, sometimes above, but usually under, it's gonna rain and it's gonna get windy.

All of it happened. The first few days of this week (plus maybe the weekend of the previous one) were chilly, windy, and cloudy - it did sometimes rain, but usually only for a few hours a day. Sooner it started to rain more, for more hours a day, somewhere even for the entire day.

But then the Czech government scheduled an emergency meeting because they were worried about the rains - and they had a reason to. Such rains could cause major floods that already happened in Czechia twice. So they didn't want to waste any time on preparing.

The weather progressively got worse - in my region, it rained the whole day for like three days and it is still raining now. The wind is strong and cold and the temperatures are very chilly. I live right next to a stream at the lowest part of my village in lowlands and the water has risen a few meters (like 2 or so).

The worst situation is in Moravia, which is where I live, but where I am it is still good, only heavy rains and the water levels rising but not as much as to cause a trouble - however there is a few places in my village where it is completely underwater, but not anyone's house or cellar. But Northern Moravia/Silesia is flooded, especially parts like Jeseníky and Opava. The more it gets on west the better it is, mostly a few regions on the north-west are the safest ones. It is usually the Karlovarský/Ústecký and maybe a piece of Plzeňský kraj that is safe.

Most events got cancelled and/or delayed due to bad weather and flood warnings. However the schools are still opened, and it's kind of a meme between students that "we're gonna kayak into our schools on Monday!" Electricity stopped working at many places, including my village. When I woke up today there were firefighters in my street but nobody knows why but I heard that someone's cellar might be flooded.

Our Czech subreddit r/Czech is "flooded" (I couldn't help myself) with maps of flood situation and tips on what to do in case you have e.g. an animal in floodplains. If you switch on the news channel ČT24, you get 24/7 segments and reports from different parts of Czechia, interviews with meteorologists, politicians talking about it and such. Most channels stream as normal but there are some emergency broadcasts. Social media is filled with it.

However, there is a group of mostly older people who are those old conspirators and are strongly against our government because their favourite politician isn't the prime minister (the situation is more complicated but that's enough for this), and they claim that all this is fake and "it's actually to keep people at home before elections (there are ones to happen soon) so they can't meet and talk about the politics", or that "it's a punishment for sending help to Ukraine" (Czechia has sent a lot of help there and these people are mad for some reason) and such. It makes me sick because some people already died and many are injured and many homes can be destroyed.

Czechia has already had two major floods in the near past - in 1997 there were ones in Prague and in 2002 over the entire Czechia. They were catastrophic, people died and were injured and lost homes. So that's why everyone is scared and the government tries very hard to keep us safe.

I already shared my experience, but I just talked on a group chat with my friends from different villages in my region so here goes what I found:

Electricity is out on most places because it is flooded near some important place for electricity

Plenty of places are flooded with like 10-20 cm water, people can still walk in it and some cars drive in it

A football pitch right next to a stream in my village is completely flooded, only the nets are visible

Plenty of bridges are closed and plenty of them are also underwater

We're debating whether or not our school is gonna be closed since most of us take bus to school and we don't know if it would be able to arrive, plus electricity isn't working in the town where we have school, but we'll still see, we didn't receive any news about the school closing

It's starting to get clear (less cloudy) as I'm typing this but I hope it'll get better, the rain is not as heavy as it was

I just hope it's gonna get better ❤️ I'll update you tomorrow or even today if anything major happens

[dirtytomatoedwrites]

Preludes and Nocturnes - Part 2

Paring: Rafe Cameron x InnocentPogue!reader

Summary: Rafe discovers your hidden talent and now he has seen it, you have his full attention.

PART 1 is here if you haven't read it

Warnings:  18+ Smut. Darkish!Rafe. Virgin!Reader. Romance, Angst, Dub-Con, Fingering. Not Proof-Read so mistakes are my own.

Word Count: 8.3k words (Rafe has released the writing beast in me)

Author Note: Hello lovelies! So happy you enjoyed the first part.  Here's the second. I thought it would just be just a second part but the more I wrote the story just kept unfolding and I really want to do it justice. (I think part 1 and 2 together is the longest I've written for any fic character) So in order to really get into the angst and it not be too long its going to have to be 3 perhaps 4 parts (not sure yet) Anyway I'm currently writing part 3 so it won't be too long before posting. One thing - there's only one piece of music with this part and I would suggest playing it and leaving it running while you read the rest of the chapter.

Thank you for reading and sticking with the story and if you enjoyed it please reblog. It helps to spread the love.  Much love and take care. ❤️

Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Please don’t steal or copy bits of my writing or any writing from other writers cause karma will get ya.

The soft glow of your phone, quietly vibrating beside you, nudged you out of your peaceful slumber. Still shrouded in a groggy haze, you instinctively turned away from it. Without even a glance, you knew who the messenger was, and the mere thought that he had sent another text caused a weary sigh to escape your lips.

Rafe's persistent attempts to connect since that unforgettable night had been unrelenting. Ignoring his calls was relatively easy (you had silenced his number), but his text messages proved more difficult to dismiss. Simple words like "Hey," "Hi," and "Talk to me" consistently lit up your phone at all hours, serving as a gentle yet persistent plea for your response—a response you couldn't bring yourself to give, yet somehow couldn't bring yourself to block him outright either. Ultimately, you opted for what seemed the only rational strategy, although in hindsight, it may not have been the wisest: complete avoidance.

But, in truth, none of that mattered. Not when your waking thoughts and dreams were dominated by memories of Rafe, endlessly replaying the night you shared. The feeling of being completely overwhelmed that night, your pleading words that it was all too much, that you needed to stop, were still fresh in your mind. How Rafe merely smiled in response and declared it was only the beginning, sealing his promise with a kiss.

And as he kissed you slow and deep, Rafe was true to his word. His middle finger wormed its way back between your legs. He found your sensitive clit already swollen and slippery with your slick and rubbed the nub in gentle circles in sync with his languid kiss. Slow and steady, minutes ticked by as Rafe dragged out your pleasure, watching you patiently, drawing back his finger whenever he felt you were close, his tongue lazily circling yours, as you both breathed as one. Until finally, finally, he allowed you to cum.

Your body exploded for him, blinding white pleasure saturated your senses leaving you crying and shaking while Rafe whispered soothingly against the shell of your ear "That's a good girl. That's a good girl."

Your unforgettable night with Rafe was unparalleled, surpassing all previous experiences, including those with your first and only boyfriend, Jake. Granted, you had not given Jake the same liberties, but even with the awkward kisses and over-the-clothes groping that marked your brief relationship, Jake had never elicited emotions remotely comparable to what Rafe managed in just one evening. What Rafe stirred effortlessly within you was a different beast entirely — something desperate, needy, and vulnerable. The sensation was so powerful that even three weeks later, it remained, smoldering like a steadfast ember, ready to reignite under the right conditions.

This realization filled you with absolute dread. The sudden understanding that it was Rafe- Rafe Cameron that held the power to shape your desires, ignite unknown cravings, and provoke illicit responses from your body that you couldn't control, was utterly terrifying.

You had often heard tales of girls falling for the proverbial 'bad boy,' forsaking their better judgment for some reckless charmer, and had always scoffed at such narratives. The thought of you succumbing to such feelings or desires was, until recently, beyond the realm of your wildest dreams. It seemed, however, that you were not as immune as you had once believed. All it took was the right—or perhaps, in this case, the wrong—person to stir those latent desires to the surface.

The sheets felt like an unwelcome weighted blanket on your body, pressing you down as you twisted and turned, desperately trying for sleep to come. But it remained stubbornly out of reach. Instead, you found yourself overwhelmed by a flood of polarising emotions.

Chief among them was a sharp sting of shame from that night with Rafe—a shame born from the startling responsiveness of your own body to his, and a gnawing guilt that it was Rafe, of all people, who had elicited such a reaction.

Yet, beneath the layers of guilt and shame, another emotion stirred, one you fervently sought to squash: a thrill of excitement at how utterly alive you felt being dominated by him and the confusing, even more, inescapable undeniable truth—you had loved every single intoxicating minute of it.

In a small town of no more than 7000 souls, you had turned avoiding Rafe into something of an art form. It wasn't difficult, really. Your comfort zones were galaxies away from the crowded, noisy spots that seemed to magnetize him. Bars, clubs, and bonfires weren't your scene anyway.  Your day-to-day orbit included exam prep and college applications, mostly done at the library for a change of scenery, relentless babysitting shifts, and quiet trips to the edges of the out sticks with your cousin to catch crawfish —far from the exclusive circles of Figure 8. 

Life was, if not exactly smooth sailing, at least predictably turbulent. Everything seemed under control, except for one tiny, nagging detail: Rafe. And your near-pathological commitment to avoid him.

On an average day that seemed to blend seamlessly with the rest, you were navigating your way through a series of errands for your dad. The North Carolina sun was blazing overhead casting sharp shadows. As you rounded a corner bathed in this bright, unforgiving light, a figure suddenly materialized. At first, it seemed like a trick of the heat, an illusion stirred up by the sweltering atmosphere. But as your eyes adjusted, recognition dawned. It was Rafe, but he looked... different.

Your gaze drank in the details, lingering over the notable changes—the buzzcut that gave him an even more dangerous edge, the way he stood taller, seeming to tower over the world, the newfound confidence that rolled off him in waves, a palpable energy that dared anyone to challenge him.  But the transformation wasn't just physical. An undercurrent of danger clung to him like a second skin.  He looked like he had seen things. Done bad things.

Reality came rushing back, slamming into you like a tidal wave, you tried to reverse course, turning on your heels to disappear from his line of sight. Yet, your reaction came a second too late. Rafe had spotted you, and maybe if you hadn't just blown most of your cash on groceries, you would've dropped them and run.

Rafe's speed was unrivaled. With just a few long strides, he effortlessly caught up to you. Firmly grasping your arm, he swiftly spun you around to face him, and there, you saw your own reflection in his Ray-Bans. He slid the sunglasses onto his head, revealing his piercing blue eyes. He made no attempt to hide the whirlpool of emotions swirling within them.

"That's not very neighborly of you," he said. His words were clipped and tinged with anger, yet something in his expression softened slightly as he gazed at you. Was it relief? Disappointment? It was difficult to determine, but one thing was clear—his emotions were just as tumultuous as yours.

"I forgot something—"

"Oh, you forgot something?" His grip tightened, decreasing the space between you.

"Yes, from the supermarket—"

"What, the one over there?" he asked, casually gesturing over his shoulder in the opposite direction.

"A different store."

"Right, right. Well, I'll walk you there."

"No! I've changed my mind," you protested, shaking your head. Your feet instinctively shuffled backward as you attempted to free yourself from his grip. His laughter was low and dry, his hold on you tightening.

"I need to go, Rafe. Let me go. I have to get home," you pleaded, desperation edging your voice.

"You heard her, country club. She said 'Let go'." The forceful tug-of-war between you and Rafe abruptly seized as both of you turned to see Barry approaching. You'd never directly interacted with Barry, but tales of his local thuggery and drug dealing were well-known to you. He greeted Rafe with a familiarity that, given Rafe's reputation, was not surprising.

"This doesn't concern you, man. Keep moving," Rafe commanded, his gaze fixed on Barry.

"Well, I did hear her say 'let her go'," Barry remarked, positioning himself beside you.

"Yeah well, she doesn’t know what she wants," Rafe retorted, his tongue darting out to moisten his lips as he pulled you closer, positioning himself between you and Barry.

"Just let her go, man—"

"Fuck off," Rafe spat.

Unfazed, Barry squinted and leaned in closer. "You realize how this looks, right? Out here in broad daylight?" he warned.

“Keep walking,” Rafe's jaw clenched as he squared off against Barry.

"Do you not realize what you are doing, bro?"

"I said keep walking," Rafe said icily, maintaining eye contact.

An unspoken exchange passed between the two men, concluding with Barry retreating, hands lifted in a gesture of surrender. “Alright then,” he conceded. “You do you, country club. You do you. But don't come crying to me when this shit backfires. I warned your J.Crew lookin' ass.”

After Barry's departure, Rafe scanned the surroundings before returning his focus to you.

"Where's your car?" His question hung heavily in the air as you looked up at him, fear evident in your eyes.

“Hey, I asked you a question,” Rafe's voice softened, his hand gently shaking your arm. “Where's your car?”

"It's...it's not working,” you whispered.

“You walked here?”

You nodded, swallowing hard.

A smirk crept across his lips. "Well, aren't you in luck? I'll give you a ride."

"No, that's... I can walk. I planned to walk—"

"Don't. Don't do that. Don’t act dumb, alright? It's nearly a hundred degrees out. What- you planning on collapsing on the side of the road?" His tone was surprisingly gentle, even as he grabbed the grocery bag from your hands. "Let's not make a mountain out of a molehill, yeah? Barry's already acting like a fool. We don't need a full circus," he stated, heading towards his truck and leaving you with no choice but to trail after him.

Rafe held the door open for you, assisting you as you climbed onto the plush leather seat. After handing you the grocery bag, he closed the door and walked around to the driver's side. In a subtle move to put some distance between the two of you, you placed the grocery bag in the middle.

Rafe started the truck, rolled up the windows, and activated the air conditioning. The truck pulled out of the parking lot, beginning a mostly silent ride.

Apart from the occasional glances Rafe threw your way, the journey remained relatively quiet. He made no attempt to hide his attention, his thumb rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel. The intensity of his gaze was unnerving, and you felt like you were suffocating despite the AC. You couldn't bring yourself to meet his gaze.

"You look good..." Rafe stated, punctuating his words with an approving nod. The compliment stirred a flurry of emotions within you, leaving you feeling disoriented. As your heart pounded like a war drum, the silence seemed to morph, becoming dense and strangling.

"Thank you," you muttered trying to fill it. Your gaze firmly on the road ahead.

"How's your dad?" He asked, initiating a light conversation about your dad's well-being. You answered his questions with measured caution, unsure of his intentions. You informed him that your dad was coming home tonight and you intended to cook him a meal since he practically survived on sandwiches during the week in Burnsville. Rafe's thoughtful nods suggested he was listening, but there was an undercurrent of ambiguity that left you uneasy.

"What are you planning on making for him?" he asked with a semblance of innocence.

Your voice wavered as you listed the dishes, each word revealing your growing vulnerability. Anticipating his next move or comment, your heart raced and you braced yourself for what felt like an inevitable confrontation. You kept thinking he'd ask about the unanswered calls, about his ignored messages.

"Wow, you’re a real cook, not just a 'barely-can-boil-water' cook."

“I manage,” you replied.

Rafe hummed in agreement, his thumb still tapping the steering wheel albeit slower; more measured. “You know, Wheeze misses you.”

“I miss her too. How is she?”

“Good. She’s got exams coming up, so she’s been focusing on that. She's also got herself a little girlfriend."

"You seem to approve. Let me guess, Kook?" you asked absentmindedly.

"Nah, Pogue," he corrected, emphasizing the 'P'. "I guess we like what we like, huh?" he said, eyes raking over you.

Silence followed as Rafe steered away from the main road, venturing down an isolated street lined with beech trees. Decaying houses dotted the landscape, separated by wild stretches of tall bluestems and switchgrass.

"You should, you know… come by the house. See her sometime. I know she’d like that."

“Oh- I.. I would but I can't," you stammered, shaking your head "I have college applications to finish. Maybe sometime after."

“Right, right… college... applications... where are you applying?”

"Um… Kildare Community, Piedmont, Sun Valley, Crystal Coast Community--"

"What about Juilliard or Berklee? You applying to any of those?”

His question caught you off guard, and you turned your gaze towards him. Under the sunlight, his handsome profile seemed almost otherworldly.

"I hadn't really given it much thought," you confessed, your voice tinged with uncertainty.

His eyes fixed on yours, curiosity flickering in them. "Why not?"

Your answer was simple, albeit hard to articulate. "I can't afford it," you said with a shrug. Your eyes back on the unfolding road ahead when his gaze became too much.

"Don't they offer scholarships?"

"Yeah, they do. But the competition among applicants would be intense-"

"So? You're talented. Apply." he said matter of factly. "There are folks on the cut dreaming of an escape, with squat to show for it. You? You have options..." His voice trailed off, and he shook his head, seemingly lost in thought for a moment. "Don't squander it. Not here and definitely not at some shitty community college."

Taken aback, you struggled to find a response, and it didn't help that you could feel his eyes on you, evaluating your reaction. The remaining ride passed in silence, and by the time he pulled up outside your house, you were more than relieved.

"Thank you, Rafe," you said, quickly reaching for your grocery bag, but Rafe stopped you.

"So, that's it? Just 'thank you, Rafe?'" he asked, his jaw shifting restlessly from side to side, as though words were on the edge of his tongue, fighting to break free.

"Oh— I'm sorry, I should've offered to cover the gas. I don't have much on me, but I can--" Your words were cut short by Rafe shaking his head.

"I don't want your money."

Fear prickled your skin, "Then what—what do you want?" Swallowing nervously, you awaited his response.

Rafe's gaze flitted to your lips then back to your eyes "A kiss." he said.

Your head jerked back, unsure you'd heard him correctly.

"A kiss?" you echoed, attempting to digest his sudden proposal.

"Yeah, just a kiss," he replied. His voice was so steady, so devoid of emotion, it was as if he was merely commenting on the weather or asking if you had the time.

Your query rang out once more, uncertainty creeping into your voice, "A kiss?"

"Just one. One kiss and we call it even." Rafe's lean-in was deliberate, his index finger lightly grazing your jaw, igniting a trail of warmth along your skin and unsubconsciously you leaned into it.

"A kiss," you whispered back, your eyes locked onto his. Perhaps you didn't want things to escalate into a fight, but maybe, just maybe, a part of you wanted to kiss him. Taking a breath to steel yourself, you leaned in, brushing a swift kiss against his cheek. Almost instinctively, his lips followed, seeking yours.

"That's, that's not a kiss," Rafe breathed, his eyes growing progressively darker with each word he spoke.

Gently, Rafe curled his fingers around the back of your neck, drawing you closer. His attention was solely focused on your lips. As if under a spell, you relented, delivering a brief, innocent kiss onto his lips. But just as you began to pull away, Rafe halted you, his fingers remaining intertwined at the nape of your neck.

"Nah, that doesn't count."

"I kissed you, Rafe—" you began, your voice trembling.

"No, no. You owe me a real kiss for all the unanswered texts and the missed calls..." His words triggered a surge of panic within you and you tried to pull away, but Rafe held you firm, his gaze burning into your own. "I was worried about you. Did you know that?" he asked, his eyebrows creasing in confusion.

"We had fun. I made you feel good and then you just...." He paused, collecting his thoughts, his eyes darting between your lips and your startled expression. "I thought something had happened to you. But then, I woke the fuck up and realised you were safe - you just ghosted me. You know, I even contemplated driving over to your house? But I knew your dad wouldn't appreciate that. I thought I might never see you again, and then...there you were."

Rafe's words gushed forth like a sudden revelation. "There you were, shopping for groceries to cook for your dad, playing the dutiful daughter, blissfully content in your little world, while mine was hell." He spat out the words with venom, his fingers tensing at the nape of your neck, pulling you so close that his lips were mere millimeters from yours. His eyes, swirling with turmoil, locked intensely onto your eyes, which were now brimming with unshed tears.

"So, while I'm relieved you're okay," he started, his lips curving into a slight pout as he painstakingly enunciated each word, "You owe me. You owe me for thinking about you. You owe me for worrying about you. Now, open your mouth."

"Rafe," you whispered, tears beginning to cascade down your cheeks.

"I said, open. Your. Mouth." His voice hardened, his command leaving no room for doubt.

Your broken sob was all it took for Rafe to swoop in, kissing you passionately. His tongue probed the depths of your mouth, and you willingly complied, feeling the unmistakable force in his movements - raw, desperate, determined.

With each passing moment, Rafe deepened the kiss, leaning into you even further. He poured in his passion, demanding that you returned it with equal intensity, leaving your head spinning and your heart aching. The sheer intensity of the moment left you gasping for breath, and as Rafe's lips left yours to press desperate, kisses against your cheek and down the column of your throat you felt like you couldn't breathe at all.

"Please, I have to go, I have to," you managed to muster, pulling his fingers away and pushing him back. With a surge of determination, you grabbed your grocery bag and yanked on the passenger door, only for Rafe to swiftly reach over and slam it shut.

You turned to face him, struggling to catch your breath and see him through your teary haze. Rafe's face portrayed a picture of calm, cold calculation, with only the harsh puffs of air escaping his lips marring that composure. "You're making this difficult," he uttered, his voice echoing the icy chill of his demeanor. "It doesn't have to be."

Rafe relinquished his hold on the door, and you seized the opportunity, yanking it open. You nearly lost your balance in the process but managed to catch yourself just in time. Without daring to look back, you bolted towards your porch. Only when you heard the grating sound of his truck pulling away and tires screeching against the gravel did you risk a glance back.

The rhythmic splash of water against the wooden planks of the dinghy was the only sound as you and your cousin worked in tandem, freeing the crawfish from their nets and emptying them into plastic buckets filled with fresh water.

The usual serene ambiance of your shared task was disrupted by the thickening tension in the air, both from the approaching storm and from the heavy silence your cousin seemed eager to shatter.

"You know," she began, her voice deliberately casual, "Konnie's been running her mouth again."

You looked up from the net you were shaking above the bucket of cold water, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, yeah? What crazy story has she cooked up this time?"

She hesitated, then said with faux nonchalance, "Something about seeing Rafe with a girl yesterday. Says she looked a lot like you."

"What?" You froze mid-shake, a flicker of surprise crossing your face.

"Wild, right?”

Forcing a laugh, you attempted to balance surprise with casual dismissal. "Konnie's always been good at making stuff up."

She glanced sharply at you, her gaze assessing. "It's not ‘making stuff up’ if Barry was there to corroborate it."

The weight of the revelation pulled at your focus.

“This sounds like something out of a K-drama," you whispered, your focus back on your trap.

"Isn't it just? Our Kook King looking down on half the town like we're nothing but shit beneath his shoes, is with a Pogue. An actual born and bred Pogue. I don’t know if that’s rich in irony or if it makes him a hypocrite?" She laughed bitterly.

"Both, probably, if it were true. But it’s not.”

She nodded slowly. "Right well, Konnie said Barry tried to stop Rafe from making a scene. Why would Rafe be making a scene?” she asked, her eyes locked onto you.

Your fingers tightened around the net, your heart beating in your throat. "I don't know. It's the outer banks. People talk. They get things wrong and--"

She sighed, leaning closer. "Is there something going on between you and Rafe?”

“No, there isn't—"

“Because if there is, I need to know. Like, are you sleeping with him-“

“No!”

“Then are you dating him?”

“No- it’s not like that." You said shaking your head profusely.

"Then what's it like?"

"I babysit his sister you know that—" you faltered under your cousin's intense gaze. "He just happened to be in town when I was grocery shopping and he gave me a ride home. Nothing happened.”

Your cousin gave out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "A minute ago you were acting like it was some baseless rumour—”

"Because you were freaking me out! What else was I supposed to say? You just came at me with a bunch of questions like I did something wrong" You said, your face hot.

You couldn’t help but notice your cousin’s frustrated sigh.

“Look, I’ve got your back, regardless of whatever is going on here. And I can’t tell you how to live your life, that's for you to decide. But, Rafe-- Rafe is not the type of guy you want to be involved with in any capacity. I thought you knew that.” The distant growl of thunder underscored the urgency of her words.

“I do, and I’m not,” you said, licking your lips.

“Good. Because Rafe would never risk being seen in public with a Pogue, let alone put his reputation on the line for one. If you get involved with him, you'll be the one who ends up getting hurt."

"I know," you murmured in agreement.

She nodded and looked up at the darkening sky. "Good. Just making sure we're on the same page is all."

"We are," You nodded, barely able to meet her eyes. "We should hurry," you said quietly. "A storm's coming."

During the subsequent week, Rafe had surfaced in your life more times than in the previous three weeks of no contact. Initially, you brushed it off as mere coincidence. You saw him at the market, then again at the docks, immersed in intense conversation with his friends, and once again at the wreck when you went to pick up food. Each encounter was brief, like an encounter with a spectre and each time you slipped away, thankfully, unseen.

With your heart hammering in your chest, you assured yourself that he wasn't intentionally seeking you out. You dismissed these run-ins as sheer coincidence. That's what you convinced yourself, at least.

Until the Library.

Your heart stuttered as you spotted him through the double doors just as you were about to exit. There he was, nonchalantly leaning against his truck, eyes concealed behind Ray-Bans and his arms folded.

Despite the casual stance, his presence radiated terrifying, intimidating energy. His posture, his unwavering gaze, his patient vigil - it all pointed towards one intention. It felt like you had been doused with cold water when realization struck-

Rafe was waiting.

For you.

Two choices lay before you. Either you could escape through the back door or find a window to climb out of. But deep down, you knew these would only delay the inevitable. It was time to confront the situation. Harnessing every ounce of courage, you resolved to put an end to this.

Usually, you'd carry only a handful of books, but today you had filled your tote. The thought of smacking Rafe in the head with it seemed like a good option. Adjusting the strap on your shoulder and gripping the bag firmly, you pulled the brass handle, flung open the door, and strode down the library’s stone steps, your chin lifted high.

A grin worthy of the Cheshire Cat split Rafe's face, his teeth flashing with amusement as he watched you. But you didn't give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his presence. You breezed past him, leaving him behind in your determined stride.

Not long after, Rafe slipped into his truck and drove alongside you, his arm hanging out of the window, eyes flicking between you and the road.

"It's gonna rain, you know." he said. His voice, smooth as silk, echoed around you. You kept walking, acting as if his words had fallen on deaf ears, yet they hung ominously in the air.

"It's gonna rain, you know," Rafe repeated, amusement tingeing his tone.

"I heard you the first time," you snapped, your voice sharper than you had intended.

Rafe whistled in surprise. His grin only widened, “Come on, don't be like that. Get in. I'll give you a ride."

You faltered for a moment at his offer, but quickly regained your stride. "I don't need anything from you, Rafe."

"Sure about that?" He drawled, his truck moving at the same steady pace as you.

The thrum of your heartbeat in your ears underscored your steely resolve, refusing to meet his gaze. The truck's engine growled ominously at your side.

"You know, a ride with me wouldn't be so bad. In fact, you might enjoy it”

"I'd rather get hit by lightning," you fired back, keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead.

Rafe removed his sunglasses and lightly tossed them on the dash. His silence was heavy, bearing witness to your defiance before his voice returned, a touch of impatience coating his words. "So how much longer are you planning to keep this up?"

“What do you mean? Keeping what up?”

“Running...pretending like you don’t give a shit—”

"Who said anything about running? I'm walking away. There's a difference."

"Oh, is that what this is? Right. Right." He drawled, the truck maintaining its constant presence by your side. "Well, it looks more like running to me."

"You can think whatever you want, Rafe. I really don’t care" Your words were as icy as a protective shield, distancing you from his unnerving scrutiny.

"You know," he spoke after another pause, his voice melting into a softer, intimate cadence, "You'd think I'd be bored by now but nah, I like these little interactions of ours. I look forward to them, actually…”

"Don't," you managed to whisper.

"Don't what?" He questioned, feigned innocence in his tone. You could hear the smirk in his voice, a symbol of triumph despite your rebuffs.

"Just leave me alone, Rafe."

"You know I can't do that," he declared with unshakeable certainty.

"Why not?" You shot back, halting to confront him and Rafe hit the brakes. As you turned to face him, the first drops of rain began to fall, soaking your skin and hair. You surrendered to the sensation, letting the rain blur your surroundings into an indistinct haze. "Why can't you just leave me alone?"

A fleeting wave of vulnerability crossed Rafe's face, causing his confident smile to momentarily falter. "You know why..." He began, licking his lips, as if the weight of his next words were a challenge to articulate.

"No, I don’t. Aren't there plenty of Kooks you should be chasing after? Isn't that supposed to be your speed, anyway?" Your voice was laced with a mix of frustration and genuine curiosity.

He exhaled slowly, his eyes unwavering, locked onto yours. "Okay, you want me to spell it out? Fine." Leaning in just slightly, ensuring every word landed with intent, he said, "I like you, yeah? Not some Kook or a Touron. You." And then, softer, almost a whisper against the backdrop of the rain, "You know I do." The quiet intensity of his affirmation sent shivers down your spine. It was a truth both of you had danced around, a truth as terrifying as it was undeniable. Time seemed to stretch in that moment, punctuated only by the drumming rain and the frantic pace of your heart.

You swallowed hard, battling the storm of emotions threatening to spill out. "Well, you have a peculiar way of showing it," you managed to say, your voice quivering with a mix of vulnerability and defiance. His unexpected honesty had pulled the rug out from under your feet, leaving you reeling. "You've been stalking me, trying to intimidate me, forcing me to do things I don't want to--"

"Forcing you?" Rafe’s gaze hardened as he studied your face. "Forcing you? I’m forcing you?”

“Yes, Rafe. Forcing me,” you protested, the words tinged with desperation, a last-ditch attempt to create distance between you two.

Rafe chuckled under his breath as he shook his head. “I'm forcing you, but you came harder than you've ever done in your entire life just from my fingers. I'm forcing you, but you came so many times you could barely remember your own name--"

"I never wanted any of that! I didn't ask for any of that—" You tried to reason only for Rafe to silence you with a frustrated roar, his hand banging on the steering wheel.

"Get in the fucking truck!!"

"No!" you laughed shakily “No. in fact, I'm perfectly fine. Right. Here." you declared defiantly, tilting your head back to let the rain wash over you. A temporary respite came with your eyes squeezed shut. When you dared to open them again, Rafe was still there, an unwavering, persistent figure.

With another heavy sigh, Rafe surrendered. "Alright." he nodded bitterly "Alright, You're really gonna make me do this, huh?"

"Do what?" you retorted, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Before you could decipher his next move, Rafe abruptly killed the engine, flung open the door and stepped out into the torrential downpour. The heavens seemed intent on soaking him through. Droplets of rain lashed down, darkening his shirt until it clung to his chiseled torso, revealing the muscular contours beneath.

"What the fuck," you whispered under your breath, your heart racing from his unexpected action. There he stood, defiant against the torrential rain, every drop sliding down his chiseled features, his piercing eyes never wavering from yours.

Time seemed to stand still until, driven by some invisible force, Rafe lunged forward pulling you into his embrace, his lips fiercely meeting yours.

His lips was soft. Not demanding and you found yourself responding instinctively. Your heart pounded wildly in your chest as your hands moved to grip the wet fabric of his shirt, pulling him closer. You could taste the rain on his lips, mingled with the hint of sweetness from the soda he had been drinking earlier. The world disappeared.

There was only him.

The kiss deepened, Rafe's hand moved to cradle the back of your head, fingers tangling in your rain-soaked hair, while his other arm snaked around your waist, pulling your body flush against his. His touch sent a shiver of anticipation running down your spine, setting your nerves alight. The rain beating down on you both seemed to fade into the background, drowned out by the thunderous pounding of your heart.

His lips moved with a fervor that left you breathless, each stroke of his tongue against yours an echo of the underlying passion and yearning that had been simmering beneath the surface. Every sensation, every emotion was amplified tenfold in the shared intimacy of the kiss. You surrendered completely to the moment, losing yourself in the touch of his skin, the strength of his hold, and the intoxicating taste of his lips.

Eventually, the kiss slowed, the initial fervor simmering into something softer, sweeter. Rafe broke away, his breath shaky. His eyes held yours captive, and a flush crept onto his face. His fingers traced a path down your cheek, before he finally stepped back.

"We can do this two ways," Rafe murmured over the steady patter of rain on the truck's roof. Pure mischief danced in his eyes as he stated, "I can drag you kicking and screaming and trust me, I’ll enjoy every minute of it, or you can walk and get in on your own. But either way - you're getting in the truck. Your call."

Wordlessly, you pivoted and moved towards the truck, your boots crunching against the rain-dampened gravel.

"That's what I thought," Rafe replied, a victorious grin splitting his rain-speckled face as he caught your fleeting glare. Unruffled, he stretched out his hand, popping open the weather-beaten door with a familiar creak lost in the drumming rain. His hand was warm and steady as he helped you up into the seat, the fabric of your clothes already beginning to stick to the leather.

In one fluid movement, Rafe navigated around the truck, momentarily swallowed by the spray of the falling rain before reappearing on the driver's side. With a clunk, the door closed behind him, sealing out the chill and sound of the heavy rain. His wrist flicked, the ignition turning over and the engine’s steady rumble intertwining with the rhythmic tapping of raindrops on the roof.

Leaning over the seat, Rafe's momentarily searched around the back. When he reappeared, he held a well-used, grey fleece jacket, its fabric softened by countless washes.

"Here," he offered, his voice barely louder than the muted patter of the rain against the windows. He extended it towards you, his fingers brushing against yours in exchange.

"Thank you," you replied, accepting the jacket. The fleece was surprisingly warm, a welcome contrast to the chill spreading through your rain-soaked clothes.

Rafe maneuvered the truck through the storm your house barely discernible in the relentless deluge. He parked close to your porch, an unspoken gesture to spare you from the worst of the rain. When he switched off the engine, the absence of its rumble made the cab feel suddenly small. The silence that enveloped you both was thick, charged with unsaid words and emotions neither of you didn't know how to share.

Rafe turned to face you, the dim glow from the dashboard lights casting a soft luminescence on his features. Rain droplets traced shimmering paths down his face, catching on his eyelashes and hanging at the tips. His gaze held yours, searching, longing, a question lingering in his eyes.

Swallowing hard, you broke the silence. "Want to come in?" The words hung in the air, tender and tentative. "Maybe dry off a little before hitting the road?"

"Make yourself at home" you said.

With a click, you turned on the side lamp, illuminating the cozy sitting room in a warm glow. You excused yourself, leaving Rafe momentarily to fetch some things for him. From the hallway closet, you grabbed a clean towel, and after a brief rummage through your dad's wardrobe, you found a red plaid shirt that might fit him. Deciding to change yourself, you quickly slipped into a comfortable, loose faded shirt and denim shorts.

Upon your return, you found Rafe intently examining the family photos that adorned your walls. The captured moments were a mix of joyful events and everyday life: you proudly holding up your first caught fish, a close-up with you and a school friend age seven with your front teeth missing, an affectionate snapshot of your parents in a tender embrace, and a cherished image of baby you, seated on your dad's lap at the piano. Each photo was a silent testament to days that were simpler, happier.

Rafe, towering in your small living room, shifted his gaze to the old piano settled in one corner. The instrument, though aged, held a simple grace.

“It’s not as grand as the one at your place,” you remarked gently, catching his attention. As his gaze shifted to you, there was a perceptible pause as his eyes traveled down to your legs and then resettled on your face.

"But it still has its charm, right?"

“I guess,” you shrugged, closing the distance between you two and handing him the towel and shirt.

Your fingers brushed with the exchange, sending a thrill through you. With a grateful nod, Rafe dried his head and face. He began to unbutton his shirt, pulling the wet fabric from his slacks, peeling it off his body. As he revealed inch after inch of lean muscle and beautifully tanned, unmarked skin, you couldn't help but admire the flawless appearance—a testament to his privileged Kook life.

“Can't take your eyes off, can you? Want a guided tour?” He teased.

“Dream on, Cameron,” you shot back, attempting to sound casual, but the playful glint in his eyes suggested he knew exactly the effect he was having on you. The sound of his confident chuckle filled the room with warmth.

“How long have you had it?” he inquired, head tilting towards the piano.

“You mean Betsy?”

Rafe smiled “It has a name?”

“Of course. We've had her as long as I can remember. My dad got her before I was born. She’s older than I am,” you confessed with a fond smile.

"Go on, play for me," Rafe murmured, the timbre of his voice making it feel less like a request and more like an intimate invite.

The memory of the last time you played for him, and what had ensued, made you take a deep breath. But you shook off the feeling, reminding yourself that your bench was, luckily, a one-seater. "I'll play," you said with a small smile, "but you've got to promise to behave."

Rafe chuckled, leaning back on the couch, wearing your dad's shirt but leaving it unbuttoned. His smirk was wicked and teasing, the very embodiment of temptation itself. "No promises."

Rolling your eyes. You took a seat on the bench and began to play, allowing the music to flow through your fingers. Each note resonated with the room, reflecting the myriad emotions swirling within you. The gentle glow of the room's lighting seemed to dance in tune with the melody, casting warm and shifting shadows. The scent of the rain outside mingled with the familiar smells of your home, creating an atmosphere of nostalgia and present moments intertwining. As the final note lingered in the air, caressing the silence that followed, you turned to find Rafe's gaze fixed intently on you. His eyes, laden with intensity and yearning.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice filled with something deeper, something unspoken. He leaned back against the sofa, extending his hand to you.

With a deep breath, and a flutter in your chest, you walked towards him, finally straddling him, feeling the warmth and strength of him beneath you, knowing that this moment was a milestone, a turning point in whatever it was that was unfolding between you two.

Rafe's fingers delicately trailed along your thighs, taking in every curve and contour. He lingered for a moment on a mole on your left leg, brushing his thumb over its slightly elevated surface. Every touch ignited a fire on your skin, an intimate dance of warmth and desire. As his hands continued their exploration, they ascended up your sides and Rafe sat up.

Suddenly his hands wrapped around your neck, tipping your head back with a possessiveness that made you gasp. The raw strength in his grip was undeniable; he held the power to hurt you. But somewhere deep down, amidst the swirling mix of emotions, you felt an unwavering trust that he wouldn't.

With your head tilted back, you found yourself drowning in Rafe's gaze. He examined your features, delicately turning your face this way and that, softly illuminated by the nearby lamp. Every aspect of your countenance seemed to fascinate him, but it was his own features — the small scar above his right eyebrow, the striking high cheekbones, thick lashes, and those mesmerizing blue eyes — that captivated you in return. When those very eyes briefly lingered on your lips, and his thumb gently brushed against them a sharp inhale caught in your throat.

"So fuckin' pretty," Rafe breathed, the weight of his words heavy in the brief silence that followed. Then, with an urgency that stole your breath away, he captured your lips with his. His kiss was both tender and powerful, a dance of tongues and unspoken passion.

His hands moved from your neck, sliding beneath your shirt finally touching bare skin to wrap around you. The world seemed to tilt as he expertly turned, positioning you beneath him without breaking the kiss.

Rafe's fingers found the buttons of your shirt. Each one he undid was like unwrapping a gift, each sliver of exposed skin driving him further into a fervor kissing you deeper until he pulled away from your lips altogether to look down and savour your breasts.

“I knew it…” he whispered “You’re gorgeous...” and wasted no time in swirling his tongue around your pert nipple before sucking it into his mouth. His other hand kneading the tender flesh of your other breast oh so softly.

Rafe's touch sent waves of electricity coursing through your body, each sensation igniting the desire between your thighs. With every gentle tug, every teasing bite, you surrendered to your longing, your moans a symphony of need. While dampness formed at your core, evidence of your escalating arousal.

Leaving your nipple, his lips sought your cheek, his fingers deftly finding the button of your shorts, effortlessly undoing it. "I couldn't stop thinking about the way you squirted for me." he smiled, his voice a soft murmur in your ear.

"Ugh- Rafe, don't-" You couldn't help but groan, your hands instinctively covering your face in a mix of bashfulness and embarrassment.

"Come on, babe don't hide from me now," he urged, gently moving your hands away from your face. His unwavering gaze bore into you, with a magnetic intensity that held you captive. "It was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen," he continued, his words wrapping around you like a sensual embrace. You responded with a mix of eye-rolling and a self-conscious laugh, but Rafe's touch on your jaw stilled your reaction.

"I'm serious," he insisted, his eyes locked onto yours. "Watching you moan for me all desperate and sweet. Feeling your pretty little pussy swallow my fingers... and then knowing I made you feel so fucking good you couldn't help but squirt…” Rafe groaned, his eyes rolling back at the memory “Baby, I jerked off to the thought so many times I'm surprised my dick hasn't fallen off." he chuckled. "All I could think about these last few weeks was watching you cum. I wanna watch you cum." Rafe's words were a soft murmur, his unwavering gaze locked onto yours.

Adjusting his position slightly, he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your jeans shorts, a deliberate slowness in his movements as he eased them down your body. His breath quickened, his eyes devouring the sight of you in your white panties, damp with the evidence of your arousal.

Moistening his lips, he carefully tugged down your panties, guiding your legs free from their confines. He stared at your pussy taking his fill.

"Pretty as a picture," he whispered. Settling in beside you, he rested his head on his palm, his gaze fixed upon you. "I want to watch you cum, but this time..." Rafe tenderly parted your legs, cradling your knees and exposing you fully to the room's golden light. "This time, I want to see everything," he murmured.

His fingers traced the contours of your mound, the subtle hills and valleys of your skin. A light dusting of pubic hair added to the texture he was exploring. There, at your slit, a glistening collection of your arousal had formed. With a gentle touch, he collected a bead of it on his fingertip, his eyes locked onto your face. Bringing his finger to his lips, he sensually tasted you, an intense hunger gleaming in his gaze.

"I’ll need to eat this pussy too..." he murmured, nodding as if confirming an important task on his list of things to do. "But let's take it one step at a time, yeah? Don't want you running away from me anytime soon." His words held a trace of humor, a playful acknowledgment of the strained heated desires between you two. You were about to chastise him but his lips captured yours in a hungry kiss. While your mouths entwined, Rafe's finger moved back to your clit, his gentle movements coaxing a moan from your lips.

Just as you were sinking into his heavenly touch, Rafe broke the kiss and gently pulled his finger away from your clit. The absence of his touch almost prompted a whine from you, but Rafe quickly quieted you with a gentle shush. With a practiced finesse that revealed a glimpse of his dexterity, he employed his teeth to deftly remove the signet ring that encircled his finger. The ring glided off smoothly, lingering briefly within his mouth before finding its place in his pants pocket. His voice, laced with desire, broke the silence in a husky murmur, "Can’t go deep with a ring in the way, can we?” With deliberate intent, he returned his two fingers between your folds and wormed them inside you.

"Oh god, oh shit-" The fabric of Rafe's (or rather, your dad’s) shirt twisted beneath the force of your grip, your fingers curling and clenching as a flood of both pleasure and pain surged through your core. He was not lying when he said he was going to go deep.

Admitting comfort at this moment wouldn't be honest, not with the way his fingers were delving inside you, pushing against your tight channel. The fine line between discomfort and pleasure was being treaded, a line that teased just on the cusp of crossing into one or the other. Strangely, there was an undeniable allure in feeling so exquisitely full and it dawned on you that even with the mingling pain you liked being full.

With a mix of awe and submission, you embraced the realization that this was indeed what your body was designed for—an intricate dance of taking and being taken. The recognition of your body's innate capacity to accept him, to welcome him so completely, was a mesmerizing revelation that you couldn't help but marvel at.

As your gaze drifted downward, you couldn't help but raise an intrigued eyebrow at the sight that greeted you. His long, skillful fingers moved sinfully, withdrawing and reentering, each motion leaving them glistening with the evidence of your arousal. The sight and sound was hypnotic, and as a drawn-out moan escaped your lips, you couldn't help but notice Rafe's gaze following suit, his own reaction mirrored in the form of a needy groan.

"God, look at you. Taking it all the way to my palm... making a pretty mess." he quipped, his voice trembling with desire as a shaky chuckle escaped him. "Does it hurt?"

You gasped in response, the honesty ringing true in your voice, "A little."

A low, almost guttural groan escaped Rafe's lips, his tongue darting out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. "Yeah, but you like it, don't you? That slight twinge of pain. Hurts good, doesn't it?"

A slow, almost reverent nod escaped you as your eyes rolled backward, caught in the riptide of sensation. Your hand joined Rafe's at his wrist, a desperate yearning to connect more deeply with the source of your pleasure and the exquisite ache that accompanied it. You craved the sensation of his every stroke, each movement a testament to his mastery over your desire. Your hips began to sway, an instinctual response, seeking more friction, a little extra pressure to tip the scale just a bit further into pleasure. When you started to pluck and gently pull on your nipple you had finally reached it.

"Shit. That's it. Take what you need, baby.” He whispered. His tongue made its way back to your other nipple sucking on the tender flesh while he stared up at you. His gentle tongue swirling and firm hard fingers relentlessly drilling and your own hand gently plucking had you seeing stars and then some. You could feel his cock, thick and stiff brushing against your side as he rutted slowly against you seeking friction and for the first time you began to whine in sheer desperation, wishing he had fucked you with his cock instead.

"Use your words, baby," Rafe's voice held an almost teasing quality. "I want to know how good it feels—for next time when you accuse me of forcing you..."

You should have been mad, outraged even, by his audacity. But there was a magnetic pull in his words, a spell that rendered your protests powerless against the tide of pleasure that had you firmly in its grasp. The chorus of moans that spilled from your lips was a testament to your surrender "Don't stop- feels so good. Oh god, ‘m close. So close. Please Rafe-- please.. please... please.." Your words quivered with a mixture of urgency and need, punctuated by the ragged rhythm of your breath as your body shook.

As if on cue, Rafe applied a cork-screw motion, his fingers expertly stroking your G-spot with fervor. Your orgasm surged forth, violent and all-consuming. Waves of ecstacy coursed through your body, compelling your abdomen to convulse, and your leg to kick, a response to Rafe speeding up his efforts, fingers plunging deep while his thumb orchestrated rapid blissful circles on your clit.

"OH, FUCK-- OH RAFE!!!" Your voice filled the room as you were swept away in the throes of your orgasm. You couldn’t help but soak his fingers, and like a breached dam, overflowing and cascading, so too did your juices overflow as it trickled down to the cleft of your ass.

"Fuck—" Rafe hissed, his voice strained. "Ah, shit!" he sneered through clenched teeth. Overwhelmed at the sight, feel and sound of you screaming his name, his hips involuntarily jerked as he came. An untouched release that left him gasping for breath. His moans blended with yours, a beautiful song of shared pleasure that only ended when he leaned in for a messy kiss.

His gaze never wavered; it feasted on every second of your reaction and revelled in the glorious aftermath. You were glowing, skin flushed and alive from the intensity of your climax. Your chest rose and fell rapidly, sweat glistening off of your exposed breasts. Legs still spread, revealing the slippery mess with his fingers buried deep in you.

If you weren't so strung out from your orgasm, the opportunity to catch a glimpse of something more in his expression might have presented itself. A fleeting flicker of his unwavering fixation taking root, a mere hint of the deeper obsession he harbored for you. But instead your eyes closed, your lips forming a satisfied, lopsided grin. You couldn’t think. In fact, you couldn't care about anything at all.

Feedback is always appreciated. Lots of love until next time and thanks for reading.

UPDATES - PART 3 / MASTERLIST

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

WIBTA For telling my partner I'd like to bring my ex into our relationship?

I'm copying this over from r/relationship_advice, because the responses are giving me the impression they don't really get what polyamory is & I'm hoping tumblr does. For reference: there's me (29M), my ex (28, Trans Man), and my partner (30M).

My ex and I were best friends in high school, went to the same college, & dated through the tail end of undergrad, for about a year and change. We ended things on very good terms, the only reason we broke up was a difference in life paths: I stayed in the city to get my Master's, he traveled constantly for his work (he's a sculptor who makes these huge custom multimedia pieces, they're genuinely some of the most beautiful things I've seen). We fell out of touch for the most part, but I'd see him popping up on social media occasionally, or he'd text me when he was in town and we'd hang out, along with some other school friends.

The last time I saw him before our present situation was about 3 1/2 years ago today. We went out for drinks, he came back to my place after, and we ended up hooking up. He stayed in town for about a week, and we hooked up a few more times, and then he left again. He sort of dropped off the face of the earth after that, but he'd always been pretty sporadic, especially when he had a big project, so I didn't think much about it.

Not long after that, I met my current partner. He's truly one of my favorite people in the whole world; he's incredibly thoughtful, and earnest, and passionate about his morals & principles (he's an environmental lawyer), and more than anything, he's someone I never feel like I have to pretend with. He asked for my number, we had our first date a few days later, and ended up staying awake the entire night just talking about anything and everything, so we went ahead and got 5am pancakes and called it our second date. We've been together for a little over 3 years now, we've been moved in together for about 2, and while we've had the occasional fight or rough patch I can definitely say I love this man, and I plan to spend the rest of my life with him.

So, the big change.

About a year ago (~2 years since seeing my ex, my partner and I have lived together for about a year at this point), my partner and I are having a night in, and there's a knock at the door. It's my ex, looking absolutely ragged, holding a 15 month old baby. As in, a baby who was conceived 24 months before then. Yep, it's pretty much what you're guessing. I let them both in, we had a sit down in the kitchen, and he told me everything he'd been doing in the past 2 years in between me cussing him out for keeping it all from me in the first place. I really do want to keep this as short as possible, so to give you the super condensed version:

She's my daughter, he's completely sure about that, there's no one else he's been with the math is even close to correct for

The second he found out he was pregnant, he more or less panicked. He's got a whole Thing about feeling like he's irresponsible/not a "real" adult, and this really set him off, so telling me felt like "admitting to fucking both our lives up" at the time. His OB/GYN said some pretty awful shit to him about not being more careful as a trans man too, which just made it all even worse

Because of all that, he'd genuinely planned to just never tell me I have a daughter & raise her completely on his own, but a few things compounded to force his hand:

The birth was really rough on him, and his recovery was slow enough he was having trouble going back to work, to the point where money was getting tight

On top of that, our daughter has celiac disease, and between paying out of pocket for blood tests & spending more on baby food she's safe to eat, things got desperate enough he went and took out a really dodgy loan from a scummy payday company

He was at our door because all of this had finally spiraled to a point where he'd lost his apartment, they'd been sleeping in his car for about a week, and he couldn't think of anything else to do

I think I was probably feeling every human emotion in existence at the same time through all of this, but the thing I remember most from the whole conversation was the way my partner kept drifting right back to the baby, and the soft way he looked at her. We put my ex & daughter up in a hotel room for the night and told him we needed to talk, and we'd discuss our options in the morning, but I think even then I kind of knew what our answer was going to be.

Sure enough, for the last year and a half we've been co-parenting our little girl, all three of us. We didn't want to juggle who's got her, or force my ex to find a place to stay, so we've turned my partner's home office into our daughter's room, and redid most of the downstairs layout so my ex could move into an actual bedroom, rather than just sleep on our pullout couch in perpetuity. We finally succeeded in convincing him that rest and recovery was more important than trying to contribute to the house finances right away, and it's been magical watching all that stress and terror slowly fall off him. It's like he's a little more alive again every time I look.

Which is where my question comes in.

I'd like to restate, I love my partner 100%. None of this changes that whatsoever. If I ask, and he says no, that will be the end of the discussion for me completely. But I have eyes. My ex is, objectively, a very attractive man. I know we work well together, and I have to admit I'm very curious to see where that same chemistry could lead now that he's not on the other side of the country half the time. I've also been noticing these little moments between him and my partner. Nothing I'd consider crossing a line, but I've caught my partner checking my ex out several times, as well as vice versa, and they get along remarkably well. Sometimes I'll go to enter a room, and see them both sitting there laughing and chatting and playing with our baby, and I'll just hang back to watch because it makes me so happy.

Add to all that, we're pretty deeply ingrained in each other's lives now. My partner and I don't often go out on dates alone anymore, but the last few times we did it felt as if my ex was missing from the table. We watched a movie together last night, and my ex sat in the middle of us with his feet in my partner's lap and his head on my chest, and it felt just as natural as my arm on my partner's shoulder. It's not about just having sex with him, and it's not that I'd want to invite any old person into our relationship. I know we already all love each other, and I think there's potential for that to become romantic between the two of us and my ex.

It just feels as though we're all holding our breath, waiting for someone else to say it first. My ex certainly isn't going to bring it up when he's living rent free in "our" home (it's his home too, but he doesn't seem to see it like that yet). My partner grew up sheltered enough that I'm not sure he's ever heard of polyamory at all, so he's not going to bring it up. That just leaves me.

My problem is, if I'm wrong about what I think I'm seeing, or if I bring it up the wrong way, I can't take it back. I don't want my partner to feel insecure or betrayed, I don't want my ex to feel pressured or put on the spot, and I definitely don't want my daughter to lose any of us, which I know could happen if we aren't all on the same page. Or worse, if we do all date and it goes badly.

Should I just keep this whole thing secret? Is that even worse? Would I be the asshole for opening this can of worms on everyone else?

Help!

[elihashadenough]

Pairing: max verstappen x male reader (could be read by masc presenting people)

Summary: sometimes things go right in the moment but will they always be right? can they survive through the hardships of love? can their love hold the test of a treacherous path of love?

a/n: part 4 is here, i just wanted to take a moment and just say thank you to everyone showing love to all of my fics and yeah i hope you enjoy it :)

-> do not repost, copy or translate my works nor post them anywhere else. Read at your own risk. Reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated.

[series masterlist]

www.formula1news/redbulldriversinaromanticrelationship

Prepare yourselves for a revelation that could rock the foundations of the racing world. Fresh off yesterday's adrenaline-pumping race, an anonymous source has spilled the beans with compelling evidence, painting a scandalous picture of Redbull's rivalry duo. Forget podium celebrations; the two Redbull drivers weren't just celebrating their victories to an entirely unexpected level, engaging in intimate moments, sharing more than just victories. Brace yourselves, folks, because it appears the track rivalry has taken an unexpected turn into the realm of romance.

The whispers of the newfound romance between the two Redbull drivers are rippling through the media. Forget the professional facade; it seems that the thrill of victory has ignited a different kind of spark between the two Redbull racers. The photos and evidence speak volumes, capturing elusive moments that beg the question: are they more than just teammates?

In the cutthroat world of Formula 1, where rivalries are forged on the track, this off-track revelation is bound to send shockwaves. 'Friends' don't usually blur the lines between celebration and intimacy, and this newfound closeness could spell trouble for the Redbull team. With both star drivers romantically entangled, the impact on their on-track performance and the team dynamic is poised to be nothing short of sensational this season.

As the smokescreen of camaraderie lifts, the real question arises: will the on-track rivalry morph into a personal one? The last race already provided a glimpse into the friction between the drivers, and it seems the drama is just getting started. Will the asphalt become the stage for not only racing prowess but also a battleground for love and tension?

And let's not forget the intrigue surrounding Y/n, whose rumoured involvement with the Redbull driver were put to rest by his manager a couple seasons ago. One cannot help but think could this 'relationship' be the catalyst behind Y/n's abrupt shift from Ferrari to Redbull? The pieces of this scandalous puzzle are falling into place, unveiling a narrative that transcends the not so typical drama of the racing world.

Examining their career trajectories adds fuel to the fire. Y/n's journey began with a bang, securing P2 in his final Formula 2 race before joining McLaren in the 2016 season. After a brief stint, he spent seven years with Ferrari before the unexpected transfer to Redbull. Max, on the other hand, made his Formula 1 debut with Scuderia Toro Rosso in 2015, solidifying his place with Redbull in 2016 and staying put ever since.

The burning question remains: will this on-and-off track relationship sizzle into an exhilarating love story, or will it flame out in spectacular fashion? The impact on team dynamics and on-track relationships is poised to be monumental. Fasten your seatbelts, F1 fans – the next race might just be the battleground for love, rivalry, and everything in between. What are your predictions for this unprecedented twist in the Redbull saga? Share your thoughts as we watch this high-speed drama unfold on and off the track.

i haven't proof read this so if there were any mistakes, i'm sorry. But i hope you all enjoyed this, it took alot of effort and i'm very excited to post this. I hope you all have a wonderful day/night ❤️

tag list: @leosxrealm, @miloformula123fan

(you can send in an ask to be added to the tagging list)

[exeggcute]

the leaked mrbeast production doc kills me because like, for better or worse, this guy clearly has his shit down to a science. he knows exactly what game he's playing and he knows how to play to win. the actual doc is structured well, communicates its ideas clearly, but also was thrown together by a youtube guy who paid no attention to visual formatting or proofreading. and yet as much as I hate to say it, stuff like this is actually great and widely applicable advice:

What you consume on social media, when you watch youtube, tv, the games you play, etc. are what I like to call your information diet. Chris Tyson (our first subscriber and the guy in the videos) is a wonderful example of an information diet being used to perfection. The dude is funny as fuck. I’ve never met anyone in my entire life that can make people laugh like he can and I never understood why he was so good at it until I lived with him for a few years. The dude watches an obscene amount of cartoons and stupid shit. His eyeballs exsist to inhail copious amounts of just goofy, dumb, and brain numbing content. And as a result he can quote almost any line from any episode of spongebob. He’s able to draw from so much stupid shit in his head as inspiration to make jokes and be quirky. As a result he is fucken hilarious. But let’s imagine a different Chris, let’s say instead of cartoons and stupid shit, his information diet was stocks and investing advice. And for 5 years that’s all he consumed. Do you think he’d be just as funny as he currently is? No. He in my opinion wouldn’t even be 20% as funny. If you’re a writer or director you really need to monitor and perfect your information diet. If your diet is not correct, you won’t have a good pulse on culture. I don’t want you to be a chris, in fact, I think that would probably do you harm. Talent needs to inhale cartoons so they can be funny, writers need to inhale inspiration. Let’s say there is a purple fruit in the middle of Australia that when eaten makes you 2 feet taller. If it truly did exist, you wouldn’t have known that until just right now. But now that you know of it, you can draw on it for inspiration for every piece of content you write going forward. That’s beautiful, it can now sit in the back of your mind waiting for that one video where it is needed. It might take 10 videos or even 100 but eventually you’ll be brainstorming a bit and think of the right one to use the fruit for. Apply this to everything on this fucken planet. You. Can’t. Get. Inspired. By. Things. You. Don’t. Know. Exist. So how do you learn more about what's out there in the world? How do you stay up to date on the latest memes? How do you know what’s going on with celebrities? What’s trending on youtube? What other creators are doing? What’s popping on tik tok? Your information diet. Consume things on a daily basis that help you write better content.

[daddywright]

daddywright fall fic writing challenge

Because the Organization that Shall Not Be Named has embraced AI (among other sins), I decided I wanted to create a little challenge of my own that isn't just for November and contains prompts that I'd actually want to do as a fic writer. I did this for myself, but if anyone wants to try out any of these prompts, you're welcome to! Because I'm lazy, I'll be trying to commit to this all fall, and give myself a goal of 30,000 words. We'll see how that goes!

Some of these are 18+ prompt ideas, because I like to write explicit material. Take or leave them as you like.

As a way to get myself excited, I'm going to commit and post something by 12AM tonight (!) that falls along one of these guidelines. Stay tuned!

Write from a character's POV you've never attempted before.

Write for a ship you've never written.

Resurrect a character from the grave.

KILL a character DEAD.

Back to the Future: time travel shenanigans!

Share and develop a WIP that's at least 2+ years old

Fic inspired by a song you love.

Write a fic in future tense.

"He asked for no pickles" - Character A defending Character B (any level of seriousness)

Publish something from a fandom you've never released anything for.

Ask an artist if you could write a fic based one of their pieces you love!

For Want of a Nail: change one little thing from canon, and see what happens.

Write a crossover - if not a whole fic, then an interaction between characters from two different pieces of media

This Town Ain't Big Enough for the Two of Us: write a scene between enemies.

Self-Care: write a character getting comfort you could use in your life

Career AU: write a character with an entirely different career than their canon job

Babysitter Required: write a scene with a character that's been de-aged (through ageswap or magical means!)

Kryptonite: a character of choice encounters the one thing they can't tolerate

Live Cringe, Die Free: write an original character self-insert and have them interact in a scene with your blorbos

Knife to a Gunfight: write a scene where a character loses a fight

Passport: have your character travel somewhere you've been before

Because You Should: write a scene where the overlooked female character of a popular piece of media is the main focus

The Godfather: have a minor character play mom or dad to a child character for a day (reluctantly if necessary)

5+1 things: a classic

(18+) Laios Touden-core: Write an explicit scene with monstrous elements.

(18+) That Could've Gone Better: Write a scene that features some elements of bad sex. (Not sex written poorly, but sex that is in fact not good. They can talk about it, even.)

(18+) Write a scene featuring a kink that you've not written yet.

Werewolves of London: Your character has been struck by a curse. What is their terrible affliction?

AO3 Trope Bingo: write for a popular ao3 trend that's been around awhile (i.e., Sentinel/Guide, Hanahaki, Soulmate Writing)

To Shreds, You Say?: write a scene where a character absolutely ruins somebody else (ruin can mean whatever you want it to)

Halloween Special: write something spooky!

[hms-no-fun]

What's your opinion on the new HS^2 update? I'm really excited it's back but I'm a little worried. Like, the fandom has had a real problem with pretending all the horrible shit that caused it to end in the first place never happened. Is this just gonna sweep that under the rug even more? Is James Roach heading the project because he's less "problematic"? I love James roach and I'm sure he'll do great but what about all the transphobia? I just hope they finally fulfill the Toblerone Prophesy and make June Egbert cannon.

short version is, i'm cautiously optimistic! but this is a loaded question you've given me on a lot of fronts, so i'm gonna try to take it piece by piece.

to start with, the sudden revival of Homestuck^2 (now minus the squared) took me by surprise because to my knowledge, it was entirely dead in the water. my involvement with anything Official ended at Pesterquest, and pretty much the entire post-canon crew i was friends with in 2019-20 has moved on to greener pastures. i share a similar sentiment with @pochapal in that i would have put money on hs2 staying dead forever. i have, quite frankly, dreaded the inevitable day when official Homestuck media would resume production, because the fandom at large seems quite eager to sweep the ceaseless harassment and transphobia that ended hs2 under the rug and pretend that it just, like you said... never happened. when that california cafe used older Pesterquest-like character designs that omitted short chubby Terezi and black-coded Roxy, however well-intentioned and ultimately harmless that was, it felt like a sign of things to come. that, as you fear, the sharper & more personal queerness that we tried to bring to this series would be erased, in favor of something meant to simultaneously appease both tenderqueers and redditors, two sects of the fandom most responsible for the aforementioned harassment.

luckily, that really doesn't seem to be the case!

to your worry that James Roach was made director because he's "less problematic," i'll just say that's entirely the wrong way to look at it. it's not like WP (such that it even still exists) were cruising to get HS2 back up and running. by all accounts, James is the only reason it's happening again in the first place. i can't stress enough just how small an operation this Homestuck business actually is (or, at least, was when i was involved). this is not a Huge Corporation making cynical cash grab decisions. this is someone who cares about the material pushing to get something made where otherwise there would be nothing. check the new About page, where the principles of the so-called Homestuck Independent Creative Union are laid out in plain terms. this is something the original hs2 team fought for, so for this new version to start from there as square one is huge and a good sign of the possible longevity of the project.

next, let's talk about the question of this new team erasing the legacy of the old one. Kate Mitchell is on the record that she was reached out to about this new hs2, approved it, and declined to be involved. i don't know if the other writers were reached out to, but i have no reason to believe they weren't. this is a tremendously important gesture of good faith and goes a long way towards easing some of these worries.

but let's look at the composition of the team itself. do you remember The Perfectly Generic Podcast? originally hosted by future hs2 writer Kate, pgen became a flashpoint for community discourse, often opening doors between official homestuck and homestuck fandom. what made that show special was that, rather than relying on the imo tired genre of the liveread, pgen focused on a different topic each episode and explored it with one or two qualified guests. Kate's goal with the show was to encourage a more adult and quasi-academic discussion of homestuck, of its successes and its failures. if you weren't there, the weight i'm putting on pgen might seem overblown (not least because you can't find it anywhere anymore except on the internet archive). but it's not! when they decisively criticized the wild contents of the Skaianet debacle in episode 19, Andrew listened and worked to bring a more diverse group of creators into the fold. in the months after the Epilogues were released, Andrew issued a statement through pgen on episode 52 about how the Epilogues are meant to create bridges and offramps for the post-canon fandom. it's an essential piece for understanding the epilogues and their relationship to fanworks! that it wasn't included as the author's introduction to the Epilogues in the book version remains to my mind an astonishing oversight, but whatever. point is, pgen mattered to the folks in charge.

so let's look again at the writing staff of this new crew. James Roach first guested on pgen in episode 7, and would go on to be a regular. Haven, who did the Vriska and Roxy sprites in Pesterquest (and probably more stuff i don't remember), guested in episodes 81 and 87. Miles guested on episode 87 as well (unless it's a different Miles, i'm not familiar with their work and ugh this damnable linkrot). Floral, creator of one of my favorite hs fanworks & huge godfeels influence Liminal Space, first guested on pgen in episode 47, and would go on to be a regular (including once during my tenure as host to talk about Jade). on the technical staff side, Kohi built the hs2 website and has remained a backend mainstay both on the WP side and on Vast Error.

all of which is to say, if you were looking for a crew to cynically erase the past and appease the haters, these probably aren't the folks that'd be at the top of your list. of course, if you *really* wanted to cynically erase the past and appease the haters, you wouldn't bother reviving hs2 in the first place!

and that's the crux of the matter here. what cash is there to grab? what clout could possibly be chased? i struggle to think of a decision less obviously profitable and popular than continuing hs2 with a new crew right where it left off. i have to believe this is happening because the people involved want to make it.

so, yeah, i'm cautiously optimistic. i like this crew, i like the contents of the first upd8, and i'm glad as hell it's not a reboot! i'm grateful that by reviving hs2, the hs:bc crew have instantly yanked the epilogues & the post-canon project back into relevance in the broader community. and i always liked hs2 a lot! i was excited to see where they were going! i'm really looking forward to seeing more YIFFY!!!!!

but the thing is, this won't be the hs2 i wanted. i know that, and i'm not expecting it. my greatest hope for hs:bc, for this crew, is that they get the chance to take up the reins and drive this thing in whatever direction they feel most passionate about. if that winds up looking like the hs2 that was originally planned, great-- but more than anything, i want everyone on this team to feel just as empowered to leave a profound and personal mark on this series as the original team did, as i did working on Pesterquest. i hope the outline changes! i hope they take some really wild swings! i want to be surprised!! i want to be challenged!!!

above all, i want them to have the chance to pick a course, sail it, and see it through to the end regardless of what the public thinks. they deserve the chance that the original crew didn't get.

i have plenty of bitterness and cynicism in my heart over the events and circumstances of 2019-20, but as far as i'm concerned it has no place here today. i would never, ever wish the trauma and stress of that era on anyone. let the fandom at large react in whatever way it will, but i want things to be different this time. this is a second chance-- not just for hs2/hs:bc, but for all of us. even people who hate homestuck post-canon! this is an opportunity for everyone to choose to be better this time, and to push back when others might squander that opportunity. this team is not a group of celebrities, not an abstract fiction on the other side of the world, they are human beings who took a job. they've earned the opportunity to do that job, and they deserve to be treated with the respect and dignity that was so often absent a few years ago.

as to your last point, about june egbert and the toblerone. i've been saying for years that andrew's confirmation of june was less "the granting of a wish" than it was "a spoiler shared without input from the creative team." that there is any doubt about june's providence in hs2 can only be attributed to willful, aggressive ignorance on the part of people who refuse to engage with the written word in any way other than plodding literalism. the original team didn't unveil june ~immediately~ because they didn't think of june as a wish, they thought of her as a character in an ongoing story who needed time to develop naturally. i have never not felt entirely crazy about how thick everyone has been about this!

but will the new team make june canon? obviously i have no way of knowing for sure, but i'm gonna go out on a limb and say that probably the answer is "yes, when they're good and goddamned ready." just, please, for the love of god, don't go after every upd8 like "where's june? where's june? why hasn't june yet????" this was one of the worst results of the toblerone spoiler and it put INSANE pressure on the hs2 team. so just... just let this story be what it is. let this new team make the homestuck continuation they want to make.

and in the meantime, if you're really hungry for june... there's always godfeels :)

[ouidamforeman]

R.e. discussions abt the new Good Omens season being polarizing on whether it’s good or bad writing, I think just saying it’s bad writing is weird and dismissive of what actual problems someone would have with it, and is just dismissing what it’s trying to do because it wasn’t to your taste. I think it more or less succeeded in doing what it wanted to do, which is an entirely different metric of judgment than whether or not you LIKED the effect of what it was doing. Regardless of what issues I personally have with it, I still think overall it effectively did what it set out to.

The thing is, it reads less like a traditional season of television and more like half of a novel. It’s weird. It’s directionless and meandering not because it’s poor storytelling but because I genuinely think it’s doing those things on purpose for other reasons. This is a single chunk of a larger story and I believe the overall purpose of season 2 isn’t to like, actually have a big plot or complete character arcs? If I look at it solely from where it is and what it’s presenting to me and let go of my preconceptions and expectations it appears that this season is just trying to put a few plot set pieces in place for the continuing story, and to nestle those plot pieces in a nonlinear narrative solely focused not on character Development but on character exploration and revelation. I feel like that’s why the actual moving plot this season was a very basic mystery, because it isn’t really the point? The actual story events are just backdrop for revelatory character vignettes, and I think that if this piece of storytelling was part of a novel that included whatever season 3/the actual story conclusion is going to be then people wouldn’t have nearly as many criticisms about the writing as they do when it’s presented as a season of tv. That’s also why it reads so fanfiction-y imo. My honest opinion is that s2’s biggest flaw that isn’t something incredibly subjective is that it’s let down by the fact that it got trapped in needing to present itself as a television season with all the baggage that medium has and not something more unconventional that would be kinder to its weird beginning-of-a-novel-ish meandering. Is this something a season of tv SHOULD do? I don’t know. Is this a fucking weird piece of television story wise? Yeah. Is it now officially a different story from the original novel? Absolutely. Does it have flaws, maybe even flaws that amplify the issues already present in season 1? Yeah. Does it accomplish what it sets out to do though? More or less yeah, I genuinely think so. Now if any of that translates into “badness” for you that’s fine. I think it was an immense risk to do this kind of thing for a tv season and it’s not going to click for everyone. But that’s fine. This is a bizarre and novel-y piece of tv media that’s just sort of doing its own thing, and whether you think that’s bad or not is secondary to how interesting that is I think. I just wish the criticism was more engaging with it instead of judging it, because I think what’s happening here is both much more simple and much more complex than most people are implying with their critiques. It’s much more interesting to meet it where it is imho, even though I do strongly wish it didn’t have to be released in this technically incomplete form.

TLDR I think ppl pointing at this season and calling it bad writing are partially not actually engaging with it on its level and partly confusing objective badness with personal taste. Regardless of whether you LIKED what it tried to do or not it was at least trying to do something, something that it mostly succeeded at, and that’s all i can really comfortably judge a piece of art on

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: Marcille Takes Charge!

You know what, this is actually a very fair answer to my earlier question of "why couldn't the ancients just kill the demon?" Points to you again, Ms. Kui.

Truly I can't wait to see, like, every single Mithrun fight scene in the anime. The whole First Floor Incident is presumably going to be Episode 1 of Season 2, and I'm sooo excited.

.

At first, I thought the Lion was being snarky here, but in retrospect, knowing its whole story and nature, I think it genuinely is just fond of all its former dungeon lords. What wonderful meals they gave it!

.

That said, the Lion DOES have enough personality to Judge Marcille for her aesthetic choices; and I think that's beautiful :) <3

.

MARCILLE, NO! You're showing how corrupted you've become/how you were never suited to this role in the first place by acting directly contrary to explicitly stated themes of the story!

There is, however, something very satisfyingly country-ruling foreshadowy about Laios (and Kabru!) looking down at all of this spread out, though.

.

It IS painful watching Kabru try desperately to play both sides, keeping Laios safe from the Canaries without letting him go side with Marcille. Bud, I'm sorry but you HAVE lost control of this situation. And Laios is smart enough to have put everything together about what happened while he was unconscious, even when you deliberately didn't tell him.

.

[whispering sternly to myself] It's not fealty. It's NOT fealty. It's the start of a beautiful best-friendship which just so happens to include 1 guy looking at another guy and deciding that yeah, he has good potential to fill the king-shaped hole that guy #1 has been searching to fill - but just, like, on principle; genuinely NOT for any personal emotional need. The best-friendship is a completely unrelated emotional need. The ONLY fealting in this story is, so far as I can tell, between Shuro and his ninja squad, because they're from a completely different culture and, tbh, genre of anime.

.

But Laios, conversation is his means and mode! His sword and shield! If he can't talk it out, how is he possibly going to convince you to do anything, including save the world and be his friend?!

.

God I love this. It's this perfect combination of "You are my polar opposite; you love the thing (monsters) that I'm terrified of, and I want to know how so I can do that, too, because I'm so tired of terror" and "You love a thing (monsters), understanding it to the point of being very good at killing it, the same way I love a different thing (people); we are the same and I just want you to recognize that like I do so we can happily vibrate on the same frequency forever."

It's very tragic-funny that Kabru genuinely try to introduce himself to Laios in a normal way, before resorting to taking his entire party to stalk him to dangerous levels of the dungeon and eating monsters. It's not his fault that Laios is completely immune to small talk.

I DO think that every pair (or throuple, etc) of narrative foils in every piece of media ever should at least try making out. At a certain point of narrative foiling, you might as well, you know?

.

Note: Pattadol says she's "reporting" to Flamela, indicating that she's subordinate within the greater Canary structure even though she's 2nd in command of the most superior hunting party.

Also, it seems that the Canaries we know, the senior-most party, are genuinely the badassest of the badass and meant primarily for advanced dungeons including confronting dungeon lords and the demon directly. Tier-3 groups have less experienced guards, maybe criminals as well, and go on more scouting-type missions with no serious combat expected.

.

She's not wrong, she's just a jerk about it!

.

I get where the elves are coming from, I do. It's impossible to tell people people that there's a demon underground who'll grant their every wish while also communicating the dangers of this sufficiently that nobody goes searching for it. Even we the reader, don't entirely understand how bad it can get, how fast, until we watch Marcille do All Of That under the demon's active influence.

HOWEVER, it IS human nature to respond to this sort of thing with "well I/my friend won't go insane." There's gotta be a compromise wherein at SOME POINT far down the 'everything is going wrong in this dungeon' line, they just fucking tell people. They at least TRY. Otherwise they're just rolling their eyes at the short-lived races dangerous ignorance while actively refusing to reduce that ignorance.

.

Again: Shuro is living in a slightly different, much cooler genre of manga than the rest of us. Also:

TEAM TOUDEN LET'S GOOO!!

The best part of this is that earlier, when our heroes were trying to figure out who might help them eat Falin's dragon half, I was like, 'hmm...they liked you, sure, but eating dragons is pretty weird...'

But now we are outright ALLYING AGAINST THE ELVES!

.

Lmao. Classic adventuring party members, baffling NPCs as a team.

.

oh this is cruel. this isn't fair.

.

boys, focus.

.

the comedic timing...

.

lookit, that 30 seconds of desperate verbal flailing actually did help! Kinda!

.

yeah, I DO really like that everyone looks to Chilchuck for his opinion on Marcille's 'make everyone live to 10,000' plan, as the guy with the shortest present lifespan and also the most age-wise of all of them.

.

I Do Not Like This Visual. I Do Not Like the disproportionately large lion with human arms and hands shoving himself out of this book.

.

Not to be pedantic, but I think if you're trying to entice a team of people into doing your will by calling out each of their individual strengths, I think you shouldn't make 2 of them as repetitive as "curiosity" and "inquisitive mind." That's not really what Senshi is bringing to the table anyway - I'd say "care" or maybe "sense of balance." Also, sorry Izutsumi but how tf is her "wildness" contributing to this mission?

.

oh, Marcille, no...

[xerith-42]

Why Blaze is MyStreet's Most Failed Character

Blame the big bang discord for this post, I wasn't gonna write it until those fucks encouraged me.

Anyways here's an entire essay about why Blaze is the most wasted character in the entirety of MyStreet and I will literally fight Jessica and Jason Bravura with my bare hands.

To get us started on our harrowing tale of wasted potential and the best improviser Jessica ever hired, we need to go back a little. Back to Phoenix Drop High Season 2. We won't stay here long, I promise, I hate it more than you can possibly know. But the single saving grace of this absolute mess of a season is ya boi, Blaze. Introduced in the 18th episode of the season, airing on April 12, 2017, with the airing of Phoenix Drop High Season 2 Episode 18, Blaze was a character who started his brief tenure series with a bang!

Literally dude showed up and the first thing he ever did on screen as a character in a piece of media we can engage with is throw someone out of a window. We do not know this mans name yet and he's already left a lasting impression. Sure throwing people out of a window is common in werewolf culture, which I don't care what you say that's objectively funny, but it is bold to start a characters entire introduction with that. Blaze comes out of the gate swinging before he's said a single line.

And then after introducing himself he throws a dead bird at Aphmau to show off his hunting skills?? Okay so he's just that fucking weird and overly enthusiastic about things I guess! That's amazing! MyStreet always shines when it just lets it's characters be fucking weird without making a big deal out of it or talking them down for it. Dottie even says that it's romantic which is again just a great showing of Blaze's enthusiasm and lack of what might appear to be common social decorum because of said enthusiasm.

This is all punctuated and brought to a hilarious breaking point when Blaze's final showing of why he should be the new top dog at his school is when the crazy mother fucker rips his shirt off to literally flex about how he's one of the hottest guys in the school. And I'm going to be real with you, given Blaze's later characterization as a himbo, I'm pretty sure he doesn't actually care about this. He just says it because he thinks it'll boost his chances. Blaze is later shown to be a character willing to throw away his reputation for the things he cares about, but he does get a rather sincere moment with Aphmau, even if she's blushing the entire time.

It shows that Blaze is not only physically affectionate, but also weirdly comfortable with his shirt off. Because this is purely objective character analysis I will not be shoving my Blaze is autistic and has sensory problems with things touching his chest propaganda down your throats, but now that I've mentioned it once you won't stop thinking about it when this comes up.

The show admittedly fumbles the bag a little by having Blaze say in his internal monologue that he thinks Aphmau is cute and acts kind of like a tsundere, but this is Jesson writing so there's always bound to be a bit of That Shit. But in spite of that, Blaze is a character who has an instant impression that leaves a lot of room for comedy potential, and just good ol' fashion silliness. And while the werewolf plot of Season 2 is... bad, Blaze and the Werewolf Pups are stand out characters in the sense that their characterization leaves a lot of potential if they're in a different, better written story.

And even if the arc is bad, Blaze still is a quality part of it. His shallow but hilarious initial characterization gets built on in some really solid ways. Namely in how he acts as a force for good in Aphmau's life even if she doesn't realize or give him permission to do it. This entire season is about how the different men in Aphmau's life handle helping her in a crisis, and funnily enough, in a season centered around Aaron literally overthrowing Aphmau's new love interest, Blaze is the one who was consistently doing what was best for Aphmau.

Aaron fumbles the ball more than a few times, Ein is shown to be actively malicious, and Kai gets hate crimed. But Blaze, who's barely even a contender in this ship war, is constantly working to actually make things better while everyone else is pulling Aphmau away from what actively matters about her position. While Ein is manipulating her and Aaron is trying to prove that, Blaze throws caution to the wind and just does what he thinks is best to restore order.

But more important than that end conclusion is his true goal of standing up for Daniel. A wolf it is established he barely knew before this year, that Blaze is willing to throw his reputation and standing in a bull shit hierarchy because he's seeing how this hierarchy is hurting someone who doesn't deserve it. Blaze is the one who is baring his fangs and willing to throw hands when Daniel cowers away from bullies. By the end of the season Blaze has been given adequate screen time to not only show off his fun and maybe a tad out of touch side, but he's been given a real level of sincerity that's tied into the things he's enthusiastic about. He loves being a werewolf, and he extends that love to all the werewolves around him, until they start being dicks to other werewolves who are literally just sitting there.

At the center of Blaze is that inherent goofiness though. He's always cracking jokes, or the joke when he's on screen, and in a series that was originally pitched as a light hearted slice of life comedy in contrast to MCD's general misery, that sort of character is needed to keep the tone. Such is show in episode 22 when Blaze is reading a book on the Scientific Method to just learn more about science, but realizes the book is upside down.

But he actually understood it enough to properly apply the scientific method to this situation?? Iconic. It's played off as a joke of Blaze exploiting a loophole to get out of class, but even that's pretty smart honestly. Blaze may be a dumb ass but he's always willing to cheat an unfair system.

Episode 22 is basically a Blaze centric episode, which I did not expect, but now that I'm rewatching it for this post it might be the reason I love this character so dearly. It's not only the episode where Blaze manages to learn the Scientific Method upside down, but also stands up for Daniel in a really substantial way. Blaze is loud, enthusiastic, and strong, all traits that are celebrated by werewolf culture, and whether he realizes it or not, him just being around Daniel can do a lot to get bullies to back off. Everyone has seen Blaze toss a mother fucker through a window, they do not want to be on the receiving end of that.

He spends the rest of the episode trying to figure out what Ein's deal is when he hears that Ein went behind Aphmau's back on werewolf matters, landing Daniel in this situation. He hears Ein actively plotting against Daniel, but that is normal werewolf behavior. He concludes that he'll keep an eye on Ein. And this through line of "normal werewolf behavior" informs a lot of Blaze's decisions once he comes to the conclusion that Ein sucks and deserves to be undermined. He resorts to letting his actions speak louder than words and goes to violence after realizing that the wolves aren't listening to reason, they're listening to instinct.

He fights fire with fire, and while Aphmau might not approve, it's more effective than her soft rhetoric has been in getting people to be less of jackasses. This eventually lands him in hot water where he steps in for Daniel after Ein tries to get his goons to beat him up, and even if Blaze is fighting in a five v one, he still goes down swinging. And I'll say it, I think it's sweet that he calls Aaron after this happens. While it's clearly meant to be a thing of Blaze calling the last alpha because he's probably the only person who anyone will listen to, there's an important detail I think is easily overlooked.

He has Aaron's number.

He says he got it from the werewolf pups, but that means that Blaze went out of his way to make sure he could contact Aaron. He's the reason that Aaron even realizes Ein is playing all of them. Blaze is the catalyst for his undoing because unlike Aaron who's nearly imprisoned, heartbroken, and been hesitant to act in the plot as a result, Blaze doesn't actually care that much if Aphmau currently likes him because he's more worried about her physical and mental well being than whether she wants to kiss him or someone else.

How many Aphmau love interests can say that?

Can any of them say that?

Blaze can.

Blaze actually consistently shows a level of selflessness that's unfitting of how I've seen some people characterize him. He gives up his real chance to be Alpha because Daniel is so compassionate and earnest and genuinely deserves it. Blaze wants to believe in a future lead by people like Daniel and Aphmau where he might not have to keep fighting people to keep things sane. Blaze constantly gives up his pride, his power, his safety just to make sure that his friends are taken care of, or to effect real change in a school he's about to leave.

It wouldn't be long after Phoenix Drop High Season 2 ended that Blaze would make his debut in the main series My Street in the second episode of Season 5, airing only a few days after the end of Phoenix Drop High Season 2. Just like before he really shows up with a bang, literally throwing himself through the air between Lucinda and Kim just to catch a frisbee because Blaze is the most extra mother fucker ever, and then immediately proceeds to flirt with them. Iconic as ever. Short but sweet.

It's in episode 3 that it's revealed that Blaze and the werewolf pups kept Aaron company during his rehabilitation year. But from the way it's worded it sounds like Blaze was called in before anyone else by Aaron's parents. Based on the way they talked and actively planned together before, I wouldn't be surprised if Blaze was the first person who came to his mind when Aaron thought of a werewolf friend.

I think Aaron reached out to Blaze when he needed it.

And even though I've previously stated that I don't think Aaron's parents initially liked Blaze because by this era he's old enough to fully take on his persona as the cool stoner friend who's also a little insane in the most charming way possible, he has a good impact on Aaron. Aaron likes being around him, and maybe they smoke weed to help Aaron relieve some of the lasting pain when no one's looking.

Regardless of his methods, Blaze does an ultimate good in Aaron's life as a result of being there for him when he needed it. So much so that he was invited out to Starlight and is shown to be one of Aaron's main pillars of support. We are given scarcely little of this actual friendship, which is where the problem lies. While before Blaze was a surprisingly engaging part of an other wise terrible story, at least in season 5 the story is a lot slower and character focused. And Blaze can work in these moments, we saw him have real moments of sincerity before.

He gets some of it, but the issue is that Blaze isn't allowed to be alone anymore. The cast of MyStreet is huge, and Blaze is a character who is making his second major appearance, while some characters in the cast have been present since literally episode one. It's hard to justify giving him solo screen time when he's been in the series for such little time and we barely have enough time for certain significant characters to really have arcs (Lucinda). Most of Blaze's scenes are scenes with at least four other characters on screen, he's never allowed screen time without at least two other werewolf characters attached to him.

I don't object to Blaze hanging out with his friends, or even making new ones though out the season but... Would it kill the writers to let him have a scene with Aaron? Like. A single scene. Where it's just Blaze and Aaron. I mean just Blaze and Aaron without Aphmau there. They've done this before. They did it in the season Blaze showed up in. Just one scene where the two of them get to talk about literally anything would do so much. Even if they talk about Aphmau, it's better than nothing. It would strengthen both of their characters so much to be able to get a scene where they talk to each other not as conspirators who kinda know each other, but as real friends supporting one another.

Show that even though Blaze said Daniel was more compassionate than he was, Blaze still is a compassionate and even empathetic person. Show why Aaron was grateful to have him during his recovery. They have those scenes of Aaron at physical therapy, right? Why not have Blaze take him one time and just show how they interact then? The possibilities with this unrealized idea are endless, and that's genuinely upsetting. Opportunities like this present themselves every time Blaze makes an appearance, they even tease me by giving me scenes where Aaron is alone with a character he has little to no connection with, Maria.

Maria was a foil for Aphmau. And Ein was a foil for Aaron. And Blaze was a foil for Ein. There is no reason for Maria to really have a rapor that matters with Aaron. He doesn't really know her that well, she's clearly a friend by association, and it seems like an odd thing to focus on when Blaze is LITERALLY RIGHT THERE IN THE BACKGROUND OF THIS SCENE.

Why won't they let Blaze talk to Aaron? It's so infuriating. The closest we get is in episode 7 when Blaze attempts to calm down Aaron, but he's shown to be ineffective and it comes down to, of course, Aphmau being the one to talk him down. I swear to Hatsune the writers are making fun of me at this point. They're going "Oooooh you want Blaze to be an actually helpful and supportive figure in Aaron's life soooo bad." AND I DO!

I'm serious when I say the show is teasing me. I've been skimming through Season 5 and only watching the episodes when Blaze is on screen, and so far he has never been in a scene with less than 4 people in it. Never. And even in scenes where he gets to be at least a focal point, he's always limited because he has to share that moment in the spotlight with FOUR OTHER CHARACTERS.

Episode 14 is a great example of this. When the werewolf gang gets told they aren't allowed to eat at a restaurant because they're werewolves, Blaze makes it abundantly obvious that he's put up with this before and really doesn't feel like being hate crimed on his vacation. And he knows that actions speak louder than words and therefore joins Maria in saying they should "teach this establishment a lesson." Personally I think Blaze would've just thrown the manager through a window only to realize it's an outdoor establishment and throw him into the ocean. Which would be objectively funny and deserved because that owner was being cringe and racist.

I love the conversation that happens because it shows the unique way that Aaron sees things from passing as a human for most of his life. This has never happened, but he knows that further acts of violence as a result will only make it happen again. This is a great scene for Aaron. Not really good for Blaze, and the next scene makes him worse. I love the detail that Blaze is an instinctual person more than a planner, but it feels wrong that he doesn't even let Aaron consider planning. I know he wants Aaron to be more spontaneous but he should have more awareness of his friend and his habits and be able to accommodate it, not talk over it.

But it's Jesson, so misunderstanding even their simplest character is par for the course. At least episode 15 gives me Garroth and Blaze talking in the background, and I'm starved for good Blaze content, so I was eating this shit up. The problem with watching MyStreet this way is that Blaze... Just doesn't get a lot of moments... At all. There are some episodes where he doesn't even speak at all, and when he does get to talk in episodes, he gets a few lines in one giant ensemble scene.

I don't object to a show having an ensemble cast, or even a lot of characters with a few central ones, but it really is a detriment to the show that Aaron never gets a scene alone with any werewolf he isn't related to. Nana gets to talk to Blaze when she's having a crisis of her relationship history and experience, but it's just so Blaze can tell her the opposite of what she wants to hear. It's not a scene that feels like it was written for Blaze, because it wasn't. It was written for Nana.

And before some jack ass says it "Blaze is a side character he's not supposed to get a lot of focus" and I'm not asking for a lot. I watched every scene he's in in PDH to prove that it works

BECAUSE IT DID.

Blaze showed up officially in episode 18 out of 30, and he wasn't in every episode after his introduction. But the writers gave him a solid introduction, one good episode that spent most of its run time with him, and really good moments throughout the rest of his time in the series. All I'm asking is that Season 5 at least give me one of those things. Either a good episode where he and his relationship with Aaron is brought into focus, even if it's used as a vector to study Aaron's character, or just more sincere moments for him.

It feels like Blaze is a joke character now when he previously made it very clear he's far more than that.

And then they just forget about him. During the first part of the 3 part finale Blaze is there. He's the one who got everyone to gather at the docks because an mf wants to eat some scrumptious food. But when Aaron sees Ein and starts freaking out, Blaze is literally just not in the scene. At all. Not even as like a throwaway of someone who could've helped but failed, he just is not in the scene at all. It legitimately feels like the writers forgot about him entirely.

Blaze the minute the plot shows up:

He's there after Garroth gets turned and was apparently at Garroth's bedside trying to calm him down which I will be thinking about. A lot. I'll be thinking about how we deserved to see or at least hear some of it, about how the writers continue to tease me with an interesting scene that involves my favorite little fucker, about how heartbreaking it would have been to see Blaze and Melissa try to calm Garroth only for him to scream in pain and try to push them away only to reveal that Zane and Nana are able to hear the entire ordeal downstairs and Zane is panicking when he hears his brother screaming in pain. Just thinking about what we could've had if the writers actually cared about any of these characters.

And then after that he dies.

I'm not watching any of When Angels Fall because I know what's good for my health. I know what happens in Season 6 Episode 9 and that's all I need to know. It doesn't matter if the writers may have finally given Blaze an emotional scene, it doesn't matter if they finally gave him even a hint of character development, it doesn't matter if he made a connection in a real way. Because no matter what he did the result is the same. No matter what quality the writers might've pulled out of their ass, it would ultimately be in service of one end. From the start of this season these writers knew what they wanted to do. They wanted to up the stakes and add more drama to the show, and they wanted to do it by killing Blaze.

And I think I know why.

This is 100% a limited view, but I was on Aphmau Instagram at the time that this season was airing. And I ran a Blaze fan account. I talked to a lot of MyStreet fans during this time and I was constantly upset and disappointed that people didn't understand Blaze's character, or just didn't appreciate it as much as I do. Most people liked Blaze on a very surface level, or because he was attached to another character they liked. I found very few people who genuinely cared about him as an individual, probably because Blaze stopped getting scenes alone by the end of PDH, and because the Aphmau fandom (at the time) had more of a focus on shipping than character work and quality. Blaze was easily shippable with a number of characters, canonically shipped with Dottie a little, and had enough characterization that people cared about him, but not enough to get a large dedicated fanbase.

He was the perfect one to kill.

Enough people liked him because he was hard to hate, he was stapled onto Aaron's character with little regard for a story of his own, and his death could be eventually inconsequential. And it was! Blaze's method of dying is so bad it makes me physically angry!

I know the whole story for the last few seasons has been all about Forever Potions and turning people against each other, but just mind controlling Blaze and having him die while under mind control is such such a missed opportunity. There's been a disappointing lack of proper Aaron and Blaze friendship content, but they could have made up for it in this scene with just a few tweaks. Just have Blaze not be mind controlled at the end. He can still go on that rant about Aaron being the cause of all the bad that's happened, but then the words start to become... disjointed. Jilted. As if Blaze is struggling to say them because he knows that they're wrong. Aaron's his friend, there's no way he'd say that about him.

Have it break.

Have him look at his friend in a worse state than he's ever been in, and instead of approaching him with intent to harm, it's intent to heal. A final attempt at getting through to Aaron. And like the times before, it doesn't work. Aaron's angrier than ever and he isn't seeing or thinking straight thanks to Ein's bull shit. All he can see is an enemy in his way. Maybe he sees Blaze's eyes but Blaze's green eye is still Emerald Green, even if the control broke for a moment. Whatever reason, Aaron still attacks.

He doesn't realize that Blaze wasn't trying to hurt him until it's too late. Aaron's anger already ruined a friend's life, it already pulled all of them into the hell they're in, and now it's killed one of his best friends.

ONE CHANGE. THAT'S ALL IT TOOK. ONE SINGLE CHANGE TO MAKE BLAZE'S DEATH ACTUALLY MEAN SOMETHING.

Ideally I'd like it Blaze just didn't die at all, least of all before the finale, but if you're going to kill him off unceremoniously at least make it have some emotional weight. You've been neglecting him for an entire season and now you just kill him off? Just like that? Oh he gets to show up in heaven? How nice. Is it a scene where he gets to express regrets, remorse, or even give any insight into his feelings?

Of course it fucking isn't! Are you kidding me, that's not even close to what happens. I said i wouldn't watch When Angels Fall but

I LIED!!

I watched Blaze's death scene and his scene in heaven to make sure I knew well and good how badly they failed to kill off my favorite character! And man, the scene in heaven is just the worst! Blaze does a genuinely kind thing for Aphmau and decides to stay with her when she's alone because he doesn't want her to hurt. He saw how much pain Aaron was in without her. He just wants to fucking help her.

But Aphmau's too self absorbed to realize that and instead goes on a whole rant about how she always needs other people to take care of or protect her and how everyone else would be better off yadda yadda. What she doesn't realize and what Blaze eventually gets to tell her is that people were around her and took care of her because they just wanted to. Because she was nice to be around. And they never expected anything else, and never saw her as a burden.

And that's actually a really nice moment. Sort of. There's two major problems. First, Blaze gets cut off from telling Aphmau this at first because Irene has to go on a whole rant about Aphmau being selfish. And she is right in everything that she says, but it feels weird for Irene, who literally doesn't know her, to be making this judgement. This scene should have been Irene observing a conversation between Blaze and Aphmau were Blaze just tries to make her feel better.

And that would hopefully solve problem number two. Which is that what Blaze says is very genuine and heartfelt, but severely handicapped by the fact that he and Aphmau were only friends for a short period of time in High School, and an equally short period of time within the last few months. What Blaze says about why he likes being around her is true, but it would have a lot more weight if there was a chance for Blaze to have been around her as a friend more.

Fuck it, if you need Blaze to be on screen with at least two other characters, why was there never a scene of Blaze, Aaron and Aphmau just talking? Would a single scene of that fucking killed you? Just one scene would have made their friendships a lot more solid and therefore heartbreaking to lose when it gets torn apart.

Third problem, the scene ends with a focus on Irene. Blaze's words echo in her ears, and remind her of her friends. And I like that idea because I'm an absolute sucker for MCD, but it takes the scene away from the focus. This should be a scene about one of Aphmau's friends encouraging her to not give up even if it all seems lost. At least don't let her death be in vain by saying such awful things about her friends while they may be grieving. But Irene is brought into focus again because the show isn't about Blaze, or Aphmau apparently, I guess her Aphmau Main Character Powers overrides Aphmau's. She has more experience with them.

Blaze and Aphmau's very heartfelt dialogue is brought down by the fact that these two characters lives didn't intersect very directly out of high school. Through the course of Season 5 I never got the idea that Blaze was Aphmau's friend. Not to say they weren't friendly, I think Blaze adored her just as much as he did in high school, but as a viewer I was never shown that they cared particularly for one another. I believe that Blaze sincerely cared about her even after all this time, but that's not because of anything the writers did with him in these seasons. It's just because that's the kind of person Blaze is.

But their friendship not being strong really weakens the scene. This is a scene that I know for a fact worked as intended when I watched it as it was coming out. I was an overemotional mess of a 15 year old who hated how this series was going but kept watching it because it was almost over and I might as well get it done with. It pulled on my heartstrings and they sang and I cried. I cried a lot. This scene made me incredibly emotional, and it still got to me as an adult, but the devil is in the details.

Blaze and his arc might work on the surface. They work if you don't pay that close of attention to it. They work if you care more about the characters he's constantly around more than Blaze. And when I first watched Seasons 5&6, I still had a very deep attachment to a lot of these characters, especially Melissa, who he shares a lot of scenes with. So I felt... satisfied? I would've liked more, but I probably wouldn't have complained about what I got (his death scene not withstanding I always thought that was bad).

My my, how the times have changed.

If it wasn't obvious from the four thousand or so words you just read, Blaze is a rather unique case of these writers failing as writers. A rather unique case where the perfect character to fix a lot of problems with their show practically jumped up in the air waving his arms around and they still brushed past him to focus on a predetermined story he was shoved into. I don't think the writers ever really had a plan for where Blaze would go or what he would do.

A lot of Blaze's best character moments are when he isn't being written by Jesson. The reason I love the minigames so much is because there, Blaze's incredibly talented voice actor Jason Lord is actually really funny and pretty good at improv. Obviously some bits of the mini games are scripted, but a lot of them are just seeing how much voice actors can get into their characters, which he's fantastic at. A lot of Blaze's funniest moments come from this too, which is great when the writers turn him into a comedy character but the characters voice actor is funnier than they both are and is only a funny character when they don't have direct control of him. Lord is able to bring life to a character who may have been lacking it due to the simultaneously focused and unfocused way the series was written.

Blaze is proof of what happens when writers don't bother to develop their characters beyond the outline. The draft notes for PDH Season 2 said "there's going to be a wolf character who tries to become Alpha and instead stands up for Daniel when he's bullied." and then Blaze was born. The writers gave him some characterization as a treat to make the story work better, and then were done with it then and there. We fleshed him out enough, good character, time to put him in season 5 so people stop criticizing us for not giving Aaron enough friends.

But the problem wasn't a lack of quantity in friends, it was a lack of quality. It was a lack of scenes that let Aaron interact with other characters without Aphmau present. It was a lack of characters to point to that were real emotional connections Aaron had that weren't his last minute family or his girlfriend. It was a lack of attention given to the few characters that could've filled that role. Dante almost filled it in season 2, and Aaron and Garroth could have arguably become closer after everything in season 4, but at that point Aaron's entire arc became centered around Aphmau.

It was the fact that Blaze was one of the few people who ever directly reached out to Aaron and then was never given a scene alone again. It was because the writers wrote too many characters, tried to give the series a more direct focus, and then failed to account for the characters that were dragged along even if they didn't necessarily know what to do with them.

So when Season 6 came around and they decided to make the show super serious no really stop laughing, they needed characters to kill off to up the stakes. It's not like Blaze's character was going anywhere. It's not like they had a plan for him. Nothing was really being lost.

It's not like Blaze was one of the most sincere and dedicated characters in the series. It's not like he had one of the biggest potentials in regards to his relationship with Aphmau or Aaron. It's not like there was time spent proving that he could be a solid pillar of support in both of their lives even under dire circumstances. It's not like he was set up that way through individual scenes where he got to talk to each of them on a personal level. That definitely didn't happen.

TLDR: MyStreet peaked at season 2 and they fumbled the bag with the best chance to make it peak even higher and I'm forever bitter about it. Now get out of my house.

[deoidesign]

do you have any tips on color harmony and the colors of the rainbow? I'm trying to draw a 10 color rainbow but I'm struggling to make the colors match and any color system like RYB, RGB, CMYK or Munsell doesn't work (Usually green doesn't go well with the transition to blue or purple and yellow get stronger shades than other nearby colors)

Color harmony is a really complicated subject, so definitely remember to be patient with yourself.

Colors are significantly affected by how they interact with each other. A red next to orange will look different than a red next to green, which will look different next to blue... etc.

This is really important when it comes to making a color palette, because the colors you use WILL play with eachother, so you have to be sure they're playing nice.

This piece, for example, is entirely red. It's all the exact same hue, but the value and saturation makes the colors still distinct from eachother.

When making a rainbow, especially with 10 distinct steps, you have a lot of potential with your colors.

Personally I use HSB/HSV sliders when I'm illustrating. Hue, Saturation, and Black/Value. This lets me be as precise as possible when I'm selecting my colors.

I'll be explaining everything with these terms! (Hue, Saturation, and Value)

1: These colors vary only on hue 2: These colors vary on hue and saturation 3: These colors vary on the hue and value

You can see how much each of these will affect the colors and how they look next to eachother. Manipulating these factors can give you a lot of control over your palette.

Now, I'm varying which color is the "focus" of the palette. I'm also modifying every aspect of HSB to make them play nice.

4: This palette has a lot more yellows and oranges than the rest, and barely any/no blues 5: This palette is an even spread, 5 colors are warm and 5 are cool. 6: This palette focuses mostly on green 7: this palette focuses more on the purple and blue side of the spectrum.

If you're finding you're struggling well with green transitioning to blue and purple, then you can just have some more greens to make it feel smoother.

When manipulating all three sliders, you can make rainbows that are entirely tinted to a certain hue. This can get you really cohesive palettes.

8: tinted yellow 9: tinted blue/green 10: tinted pink/purple

When your palette is like this, you'll find that putting in a contrasting color will pop significantly more.

(These contrasting colors are pulled from the original fully saturated rainbow that I put together, #1. Notice how different the colors look here than they did in their original palette!)

You can use this effect as you please or avoid it as much as you like!

As always with art more information is key to making your decisions.

Exercises I suggest to understand color theory better:

Making pieces without using specific colors (try to make something look "Green" without using green)

Make a cool toned rainbow and a warm toned rainbow (every color has a cool and a warm variant) and draw something with each of them (one drawing cool, the same drawing warm)

Use red for shadows and green for light, and then draw the same thing with green for shadows and red for light (or any 2 opposite colors

Copy art and photography that has colors you like, but DON'T color pick until you're done to see how close you were (don't post pieces where you copied someone else's work without explicitly saying you did so, it's for study)

Paint from life

Take some colored pieces of paper and shine lights on them and watch how the light reflects off of the paper onto different objects

Here's some studies I did for one of my classes in school. They're old, I can't paint traditionally anymore without pain. But what I learned was still important whether or not the art is old!

I also suggest keeping these timed, All of these were under 1 hour (traditional) or under a half hour (digital). The more practice you get, the better!

And, if you can practice in different media (I understand it can be expensive, take up a lot of space, or even be painful), I personally find that each media has different pros and cons and forcing yourself to work within the limitations of a particular medium will teach you a lot!

(digital still lifes)

(gouache studies)

(Acrylic studies)

(digital copies)

I hope something in here helps!

Good luck!

[mageknight14]

I think an interesting thing about both TWEWY games after replaying them is that, when you look back at them, Neku isn’t really punished for his flaws in comparison to Rindo and when he does suffer, it’s mainly through external factors that’s tied to his development as a person. On paper, it's pretty clear that Rindo is punished more heavily for his flaws (or at least more severely near the climax): his bouts of insecurity and fear of accountability made him the perfect candidate to be Kubo's puppet, and as such, he relies heavily on the Replay to the point where he basically assists in creating an all-powerful noise that is beyond their ability to erase, all but guaranteeing Shibuya's doom sans Haz's interference. Neku’s flaw of being tactiturn isn't something constantly producing conflict for him throughout the game; he overcomes a significant portion of his flaw by week 1; and the rest of the punishment he receives mostly comes from the reapers being unfair dicks to him. Neku does struggle emotionally during week 2 and 3, but it has less to do with his flaws and more to do with him having legitimate reason to doubt whether or not he can trust Joshua and Hanekoma. Throughout the game, his doubts are articulated very well through narrative action, but these doubts aren't a result of his own isolation and delusions, you know?

The closest it gets to that point is where Neku heavily blames himself for not trusting Joshua more when he chooses to "sacrifice" himself for Neku’s sake, but that whole instance actually makes Neku more retroactively justified when he finds out the truth about Joshua’s true nature. Not to mention Joshua was giving him plenty of reasons NOT to trust him so mistrust wasn't really a product of Neku's loner demeanor; Joshua was legitimately gaslighting him throughout the entire second week.

But I actually don’t think that’s a flaw within the narrative. Quite the opposite, in fact. The thing to keep in mind about Neku was that he was essentially having his character arc in both directions. He was both having to learn to be a better person and directly confront his propensity to shut people out and refuse to rely on external help, while also trying to piece together who he even was before the Reaper's Game. He’s not given enough of a foundation to lay out who he was and what his deal is to the same degree as Rindo because for both Neku and the player, things start in medias res. He literally has no idea about who he even is as a person besides his name at that point of the story.

I don’t think Neku’s flaws not really affecting him is a problem with the narrative itself considering how people do call him out on his behavior and he does change immensely throughout the game. One could argue Neku becomes nicer a little too quickly given his few days with Shiki, or that in week 2 onwards, his distrusting personality isn't as prevalent; but on the other hand, Neku's growth from week 1 is challenged and put to good narrative use, because now he has to be willing to exercise patience and understanding with other people, especially since he has something worth fighting for that isn't just himself. W2 with Joshua is meant to teach Neku that not everyone is going to be sweet like Shiki, but regardless, you should at least make an attempt to understand such people, even if you end up never really liking them. Expand your world to include people, even if they think or act differently from you. By W3, Neku is now put in a position where he has to learn that caring about people isn't just about being nice to them or trying to understand them; it's also about being dependable enough to support others in need, which he develops into with his time with Beat. From that sense, OG TWEWY doesn't present Neku's flaws as a constant force he has to battle throughout the game, but flips this concept on its head and instead presents his arc as having to learn how to practice being an empathetic human being; something he shut himself from trying to do after the trauma of his best friend’s death.

Neku doesn’t really hate people like he claims that he does at the beginning. He actually loves people. And he fucking hates that because it just leads to him getting emotionally hurt. He doesn't want to get hurt more than he already has and that’s the reason he pushes people away because he's scared he'll end up caring about them and getting hurt again and it’s why he’s heartbroken after Rhyme’s erasure and when he finds out the truth about Joshua.

I think that's really interesting in itself. By the rules that the Reaper's Game is supposed to usually operate by, Neku won with flying colours in week one, but because of circumstances being what they were, Kitaniji had to cheat and keep players from getting their resurrection wish. So Shiki is whisked into reaper-jail as a new entry fee, and Neku is forced into yet another game, even though he should have qualified for another chance at life as he was. The development of his character from amnesiac misanthrope into someone who actually trusts another person is so stark that it feels like you're playing as a completely different guy... but then week 2 rolls around and Neku's partnered with Joshua, who very intentionally pushes his buttons ceaselessly and tests him further.

Rindo on the other hand, has his flaw presented as a constant force throughout the narrative, and presents his growth through it more organically. Everytime he does Replay, he’s essentially forced to take charge of his life and grows more confident and assured in his capabilities as a leader while also becoming more and more heavily reliant on his time-travel abilities to carry him throughout the journey, acting as a double-edged sword in that sense.

He also begins to grow out of his paranoia in regards to other people, having a habit of riding others' coattails and seeing them for their performance value first, personality second (Minamimoto, Beat, Neku when he was seeking him), especially if it's something he's heard about them (Neku the 'Legendary Player', Nagi having a 'bunch of pins') AKA, again, others' opinions.

He slowly gets better with his willingness to take accountability for his choices, but even in the final week, you still see that while he's made strides, he hasn't quite nailed the confidence just yet, and he even still relapses from time-to-time. Some people seem to look at this as a flaw of the game but I actually quite like this and I think it makes Rindo an interesting contrast to Neku as a protag.

His arc shows that you even if you are changing, change isn't like a switch; you don't just all of a sudden stop making mistakes tied to your flaw and it shows when he starts to delegate towards Beat and Neku’s judgement when they come by to start taking a load off of his back. He basically falls into a cycle of:

>improves

>falls into old habits

>improves

>does bullshit again

>improves

Until it culminates into Neku officially joining the team and unofficially taking Rindo’s role as the leader, telling him not to time-travel since it might cause more Dissonance only for Rindo to actually break this cycle and go against what Neku says in order to not fall for Susukichi’s trap.

It’s why his convo with Haz and his final choice is so impactful for his growth; with no outside influences, he has to make one of the hardest decisions of his life and he works his ass off towards making the second chance he got count.

Rindo isn’t the easiest protag to like as a person even in spite of how seemingly more well-adjusted he looks to be compared to Neku. He constantly fucks up, acts really passive-aggressive when confronted on his flaws, and said flaws don’t immediately jump out like Neku’s did. The last part might seem confusing but people tend to attach themselves more to a character when they let you know what they’re about upfront, which is what Neku did quite bluntly at the beginning of the game ("all the world needs is me.") And if you’re not reading into Rindo’s actions and his head, a lot of his characterization can fly over your own head.

It even plays into the themes of both games. Even when Neku got screwed over by the machinations of the game, he was at least able to make some semblance of a difference throughout each week such as taking down the respective Game Master. But with Rindo and the gang, almost every victory they earn gets taken away from them due to another factor out of their control.

"Oh, you took down Susukichi? Too bad, Shiba says fuck you, start the Game over. Oh, and Sho is gone too."

"You took down Motoi? Congrats but he was actually a victim of the same system that you’re all a part of and is basically a desperate man on the brink of despair, which Rindo is forced to acknowledge, especially after Motoi himself passes away the next day."

"Speaking of the next day, you’re starting to form a counterattack and actually fight back against the system but oops, Shiba is here yet again to say, fuck you, do it again. Oh, and Susukichi was just playing pretend the entire time."

Not even taking down Shiba himself is enough to give them a reprieve because Kubo shows up to immediately undercut that sense of relief by revealing himself as the true villain and having Rindo’s very own powers kill his friends. Ain’t that a bitch?

But I think that in itself makes Rindo an interesting protag, at least to me. He’s the epitome of an NPC who got stuck with the protag role that he wants absolutely nothing to do with in spite of the world itself telling him to get his shit together. Hanekoma even initially writes off him at first due to only having average Imagination. But, after everything he’s been through and his character development, he’s finally able to find his own footing in the world and stand tall as the leader of the Wicked Twisters, ultimately saving both his friends and the city.

The main point I’m getting at here is how both games play with each protag’s arc in a way that neatly contrast one another and show off their respective writing styles quite well. TWEWY as a duology is fascinating to dig through and I really appreciate how multi-layered the games are.