#maybe only in the non-canvas section

[tj-crochets]

I know I said it might be poofy dress time again but I think instead it is time to make a bag!

My favorite uncle’s favorite color is BRIGHT orange (he’s been known to dress head to toe in orange) and he has a lifelong quest to visit every national park in the US, so when my dad saw this fabric he asked me to turn it into a bag for my uncle. Since neither my dad nor I knew what we were doing when it came to “how much fabric does a bag use”, it might be two or three bags? I’m not sure yet lol

[emmiesoverthemoon]

Hey so like i loooove what youve got going on so far!!! So good and soo underrated!!!! i have a little request for you >:)

could you please maybe write something about top??! something sweet and a little spicy hehe! anything is fine! thanks!

thank you so much! and of course i can, enjoy!

☆ feed your impulses

Pairing: t.o.p / choi seunghyun x reader

Word Count: 4,954

Summary: You are invited to your friend’s wedding, but you need a date. After befriending a nice-looking guy in an art museum, you let your impulses win, and that choice may have panned more in your favour than you think.

Tags: strangers to friends to lovers, flirting, tension, fake dating, not famous au, small spice

cross posted on ao3 here

You were not expecting to meet Choi Seunghyun that day. In fact, you had no intention to speak to anyone in the obnoxiously cold art gallery. But then again, impulsivity was a part of you your friends would laugh about while you shrank in your seat in embarrassment.

It was an early spring morning, and you were sat in the living room of your humble apartment, the warm breeze freshening up the place from the dewey air of nightfall, and the windows conveniently angled toward the sunrise so each morning you saw the rising sun pressing comforting kisses on your sleepy face to awaken you from your slumber. While scrolling on your phone, a message from your friend came through: “please please please come to a wedding this saturday, 2pm! bring a date. dont make me beggg! <3” followed by the location of the venue and dress code which all in all was to dress to impress. You liked attending weddings, it was a chance to wear dresses and look beautiful, meet up with your friends, drink, dance, and have a fun time. With life and busy schedules coming as a non-negotiable duo, you and your group’s schedules rarely aligned on days like this. Affirming your attendance in reply to the message, you continued your scrolling activities, picking up your handmade mug to sip on your tea.

It was the date section that caused the sigh to bubble from your lungs to your mouth. You were the only friend that was single currently, and you were absolutely content with that. For some unbeknownst reason, your friends were insistent on you bringing someone to each occasion, and you hated every single man you had invited with you. One was a complete snob, critiquing, scrutinising minute details of everything he could lay his lifeless eyes on. Another, a complete buzzkill, who every time you took a sip of your drink would pout in his seat and complain that women drink too much, how alcohol is a men’s activity, etc. You had no luck finding a person to bring, and that caused no stir in your chest, you did not feel that giving that energy the time of day aligned with your life goals.

You replied to the message affirmatively, a shitty date was a small sacrifice you were willing to make to have a good time. Getting up and brushing the idea off your shuddering shoulders, you decided to head to the art museum that was holding an exhibition for an artist you had forgotten the name of. The glowing sun that was gently caressing your face to natural warmth on your travels to the gallery suddenly dissipated to artificial cool shivers, forcing you to slide on your coat; the air conditioning systems in these vast rooms were always too strong.

You stopped several feet away from a painting that you were not exactly amazed by, but you know you would have felt bad for it if you had ignored it. The moment your eyes drifted from analysing the intricacies of the brush strokes on the old canvas to the man standing beside it, looking at the work alongside you, your heart skipped a step. He was not staring at the painting like you were, not fully. His eyes were just as fixed on details as yours, but his attention was more so focused on you. You had felt it on your skin like a tangible entity, a whisper against the growing goosebumps. You did not mean to stare back so strongly, but his tall frame, sharp jawline, alluring eyes under strong eyebrows, and the way his lips were quirking into a knowing smile—you were instantly magnetised.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” He broke the silence, his head gesturing to the painting on the wall, his tousled hair that fell so perfectly despite the messiness flowing with his movement. His voice was as deep and buttery as you had imagined it to be, it held an edge of something dangerous. And you loved it.

You tilted your head in the same direction, pretending to assess the painting, though you were entirely caught in the net of his gaze. “It’s certainly something… interesting,��� you replied, an accidental giggle leaving you as you met his eyes.

“You aren’t that into art are you?” He chuckled at your expression, a low sound that reverberated through the air like a challenge. Raising a brow, you huffed amusingly at his sudden presumption of you.

“I like to think I appreciate art in a unique way.” you try to justify, your lips curling into a teasing smile. “I’m just more of a.. people watcher.”

“Oh?” His interest was especially piqued now, his brow raised slightly, “And what do you perceive when you observe these people?”

You shrugged lightly, a hint of flirtation laced in your words, “People often give themselves away, you know. Without meaning to.” The implication lingers in the air before you continue, “Like you, I know you’re not here for this art.”

His expression gave no sign of faltering, instead his smirk grew, now matching yours. “And how would you know that?”

“Because I’m the same,” you start simply, “I’m only here because I thought it would be a way to kill some time.”

His laugh was richer, deeper this time, it echoed amusement through the hall. “Then I suppose it’s my pleasure to do something to make sure your time isn’t wasted.”

Your head subconsciously tilted, letting his declaration settle between you. He was a bold man, that much was clear, but there was something so undeniably captivating and enticing about him, he had a certain energy that made you want to lean your all into the uncertainty of the situation. The conversation shifted, easy and effortless, the both of you weaving in and out of flirtation and playful banter. You found yourself becoming more and more drawn in by the second, much more than a normal amount for you, especially in such a short period of time. It was as if the air was humming with tension, and it was difficult to ignore.

Eventually, a moment arrived where you needed to make a decision. Your memory flashed back to that very morning, the text message you received buzzing in your head acting as a reminder. The wedding. You couldn’t go alone—your friend had not given you the option to—but even if you were not accompanied, you simply know you would not have the energy to deal with the incessant comments originating from well-meaning pity from your peers questioning why you had come alone.

But who could you ask in such short notice? You glanced at the handsome man beside you, the connection formed between you was unmistakable. An idea struck your brain. You had no reason to believe that this would end well, but you also knew that if it did not go as planned, you could step out from that gallery and never hear from this man again. A wicked, impulsive thought crept into your brain, and without a second thought, you whipped out your phone and opened your friend’s contact.

“i found a +1! he is goooorrrgeoussss ;)” sliding your phone smoothly back to its place in your pocket with a casualness that belied the anxious flutter in your chest. “I have a question,” you began, feeling both bold and reckless simultaneously. He hummed in response, inviting you to hand to him any thought you were thinking.

“I have a wedding this Saturday that I need a date for,” you opened with, trying desperately to ensure your tone sounded nonchalant, watching his face closely, spying for a reaction. “You seem like you could be… convincing enough to pull it off. Are you interested in joining me?”

He did not hesitate, not even for a second, as he stepped closer to you, his voice dropping an octave to a low murmur. “I think that sounds like an intriguing proposition. But tell me, what exactly is in it for me?”

Your heart lurched, fighting any blush from creeping to your face as he closed the prior distance between you. You felt a teasing grin form on your face, “A good time,” you whisper, your eyes ever leaving his, returning the depth and strength that he held, “That’s all you really need to know.” Analysing his features, you spot that a very light blush has begun to dot his cheeks, and his eyes holding something deep and desirable that was unrecognisable and so so difficult to tear your focus away from.

“Well I suppose that’s an offer that I would be stupid to refuse. I’ll need a way to contact you then, hm?” He glanced down to your pocket which held your phone, he must have watched you slip it in there earlier. After trading numbers, part ways for the day, letting him know you will text him the important details he needs to know soon. Turning down the street away from the gallery, you suddenly stopped in realisation. You did not even know his name. After all that bold flirting you managed to pull, you did not ask what his name was, and he does not know yours? You were beside yourself.

Oh, wait. His contact information. Obviously.

You sighed, continuing to walk home shamefully, appalled at your own memory. Opening your phone, you see his contact added to the list and his name is there as he put it. Choi Seunghyun <3 was what he listed for himself. The name rolled around in your mouth nicely, making itself at home in your mind. You liked it, a handsome name for a handsome man—if you were going to daydream about this man constantly until you saw him next; you may as well like how his name matches his face.

The next few days rolled over uneventfully, your work was mundane, you were too tired in the evenings to go out after work. The only atypical thing about this week was Choi Seunghyun, you both had been texting back and forth like you had not met just a few days prior, every time you messaged him, you then were checking your phone every couple of minutes to find his answer. You had good luck meeting this guy, and you consistently thanked the lucky stars for blessing you with this, frequently asking that this would extend beyond an impulsive wedding date.

“What are you wearing on Saturday?” His message rolled in after another conversation topic had faded. “I want to match my outfit with yours. As were ‘dating,’ remember ;)”

The boldness of his message made blood rush to your cheeks, faint colour flushing you, he was such a contrast between the other.. characters.. you had brought to events like this. “a cutesy lil pink number. no more hints!!! it will be a grand reveal when u pick me up as my royal chariot ;)” You send your reply, chuckling at the fact that you had blatantly stated that he would be your chauffeur before a chance to discuss transportation had even arisen.

“Haha, well then, I can’t wait. Pink is my favourite colour, so will you become my favourite girl wearing it? I will arrive at your door to collect you by 1pm. See you then princess.” If it were even possible, you were quite a lot more warm and red reading that last message he had sent. His boldness had you stunned, and you loved being called a nickname by him. You imagined him calling you that with his ever so deep and intense voice, and you shifted in your spot on the lounge flusteredly, trying to shift your train of thought in another direction.

Saturday had rolled around and you were eagerly awaiting Seunghyn’s arrival. To be frank, you had not stopped thinking of him. Every second of each day since you both had met was spent swooning over him, even by just a little bit. You found it odd, you were not one to be attracted to someone to this degree so fast. When you’d go on a random online date, or with someone who a friend had recommended you to, there was never any instant connection like you had had with Seunghyun. This time it was jarringly different, the very thought of him was enough to bring you to girly giggles in embarrassment. A knocking on your door caught you mid thought, and you hurriedly rushed to your front door, your pink kitten heels clicking on the wooden floors as you strode.

“Who is it?” You sung out obnoxiously, your mischievous grin widening when you heard the deep laughter you had yearned to listen to all week.

“Your royal chauffeur has arrived for collection, milady.” Seunghyun responded, matching your energy well. “Will you open the door for a humble man like me?”

You grew nervous, what if he did not like how you had looked? Your mind was reeling at the idea, you felt beautiful, and you wanted nothing more than in that second for him to agree with you. Sucking a deep breath to your tightly closed jaw, you swung open the door, and froze, stunned. As it turned out, Seunghyun cleaned up amazingly–not that you had thought any different, the concept being made physical in front of you made you go crazy. He looked impossibly fresh in his suit, everything was tailored to perfection, and how the fabric fell on him, showing off his broad shoulders, made him look absolutely irresistible. He stood at your door as a dangerous cocktail of temptation smiling at you, pulling you in. To top everything off, his tie and pocket square were a light pink, matching the same colour as your dress and shoes. You were surprised that your jaw was not already on the floor in awe.

Seunghyn’s inner dialogue was no different than yours. His expression softened, he was absolutely starstruck seeing you in your doorway. Your pink dress looked absolutely stunning on you, the colour complimented you perfectly, the fabric hugged all the right places, yet also flowed to the floor elegantly, a waterfall of pink cascading down toward your small matching heels. Everything about you hypnotised him, like he was a pirate onboard a ship, and you, a siren, performing your song, luring him to you. And it was working. You looked gorgeous. In that moment, he knew he had made the right choice accepting your wild offer. Mark his words, he thought, by the end of the night, you will be his favourite girl in his favourite colour.

“It cannot be a coincidence how I continue to keep you captivated," Seunghyun's expression turned mischievous and held up his arm for you to hold onto, causing you to snap out of your trance. "Shall we get going? Your carriage awaits you in the parking area.”

“Why thank you, sir,” you begin, eagerly grasping his upper arm, pulling yourself close to him, subtly feeling his biceps, praying to whoever could possibly be watching over you that he wouldn’t end up noticing. You began to walk with him, looking ahead of you down the hall, you couldn’t see Seunghyun’s face, but if you could, you would notice that he had warm pinks tinting his complexion and a light smile on his face—he had definitely noticed you feeling him up but had no qualms about your curiosities.

"And don't be so sure, you haven’t earned any victories yet. I'm surprised I haven't run off,” you teased, earning a genuine laugh in response that caused a light stir in your stomach.

The wedding ceremony went without a hitch, the wedding party was dressed to the nines, the venue was incredible—a field with trees that swayed in the warm spring breeze. The altar was beneath a canopy of delicate wisteria vines, their purple blossoms cascaded down like a waterfall of petals. Ornate wooden chairs, adorned with ivory ribbons, were arranged on a lush lawn. A vintage wooden arch, draped in chiffon fabric, framed the couple as they exchanged vows, its legs wrapped in ivy and surrounded by flickering lanterns suspended in the trees.

Beyond the ceremony site, a rustic wooden pavilion stood, its open sides revealed panoramic views of the meadow, the vibrant forest beyond, and the distant mountains. The space was bathed in soft sunlight, which danced through the tree branches, casting playful shadows on the ground. Inside, long wooden tables were draped with lace tablecloths, adorned with crystal glassware, vintage candle holders, and lush garlands of greenery, roses, and peonies that cascaded across the surface. To say you were in absolute awe of the area was a complete understatement.

As evening fell, the soft glow of the sunset bathed everything in a warm, golden light. Candles flickered and fairy lights twinkled in the trees, casting a magical glow over the entire scene. The atmosphere was serene, yet full of life—romantic, whimsical, and completely enchanting—a true celebration of love in the heart of nature's beauty. After speeches and awkward meetings between you, Seunghyun, and your friends and their families, the crowd was encouraged to drink and have fun, the newlyweds replacing the playlist of soft, background classical music with another playlist, filled with higher energy, more dance-esque songs. 

“Do you care to dance with me, Date? Or are you scared I’ll outdance you,” your eyes held enthusiastic diamonds in them from the lights around you as you turned to Seunghyun. Not waiting for an answer, you quickly rose from your seat and grasped Seunghyun’s arms, pulling him out of his seat.  The alcohol in your system was the step of confidence you needed to become the life of the party—more playful and outgoing, with a flirtatious needy energy that’s hard to ignore. 

Allowing Seunghyun to take the reins in leading you to the dancefloor, it suddenly felt more than that–he was pulling you to a world where the line between what was pretend and what was undeniably reality blurred more and more with each step. His touch was deliberate, and every brush of his fingertips against your skin sent shivers up your spine. The crowd faded around you both, the hum of music, clinking glasses, and conversation becoming background noise to the hard hammering pulse of your heart. Seunghyun knew exactly what he was doing–hands lightly grazing your back to direct you, the heat almost burning through the fabric of your dress, his steady presence guiding you closer to him, anchoring you.

The moment you arrived at your destination, the room grew dim, it was just you and Seunghyun, the distant flicker from the chandelier above, and the subtle heat of his body pressed just a fraction too close for a fake wedding date. You were unsure if it were the alcohol charting its course through you or the undeniable attraction that had been building since the moment you had laid your eyes on him, but you were no longer thinking of the tear-jerking ceremony, the beautifully written vows, or the curated venue decor. Your entirety was focused on him, every inch of him. Your lips parted and your heartbeat rose in your ears; it was no longer light flirtatious teasing–it was a carnal desire, a raw, unadulterated need to feel him closer, to know how it felt to have his lips on yours. Seunghyun’s gaze locked with yours, teasing, provocative, and screaming confidence. His hand that had smoothly slid to your waist held you tighter, closer, the proximity making you lightheaded and dizzy with need. The tension was unbearable.

The evening turned to night, and the energy was winding down, the final notes of music floating through the air. Only a few guests were still lingering, engaged in their own soft conversations, or swaying under the low, romantic lighting. After saying your final goodbyes to the newlyweds, you felt Seunghyun’s hand return home to the small of back, fingertips curling around your waist, guiding you through the pavilion toward the exit.

Stepping outside and walking to his car, Seunghyun slid his sleek jacket off his back and hung over his free arm, leaving him in his white buttoned white shirt and tie. The thin fabric draped over his body in the perfect way, the tightness of it highlighting his shoulders, arms, and back. You thanked the lucky stars being drunk made blood rush to your face, because it made a good excuse as to why you looked so flustered; you definitely liked what you saw. You glanced at his face as he stood beside you, admiring the way the street lamps hit his glowing complexion, casting perfect shadows, further defining his sharp features. At that moment, you knew that it would be impossible for a man to appear any more handsome than Seunghyun was right now. You were absolutely magnetised to him; his mannerisms, every step he took was with grace and pride—it made your heart race like no other. You knew it was not the alcohol in your system making you want—need him in this way, you were completely, irrevocably hooked.

“I have to say,” you teased as Seunghyun opened the passenger car door for you. “I didn’t expect the night to turn out quite like this.”

Seunghyun flashed you that grin again, the one that made your pulse flutter. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, leaning against the car, giving you that slow, smoldering look.

You climbed into the passenger seat, buckling up, unable to hide the smile on your face. “Let’s just say, you’re not exactly what I expected. I thought I was just getting a little fake wedding date, not... all this.” You waved a hand vaguely, trying to mask the fact that you were definitely thinking about all the ways he made you feel things you weren’t quite ready to name.

He slid into the driver’s seat, and the engine purred to life. “You should’ve known better,” he said with a wink. “I told you I’d make sure your time wasn’t wasted.”

The car hummed softly along the road, the quiet hum of the tires matching the soft undercurrent of tension crackling between you two. Still tipsy, you were hazily looking all around you from each window, amused at some inexplicable foolish detail. Then, turning your head, you began to stare at Seunghyun. You scratched your thought earlier about how a man could not get any more handsome under the streetlamp, because in this moment, he was absolutely divine, and you were hungry.  

You were too busy staring at Seunghyun to notice that he had placed his hand behind your headrest, slyly looking behind him out of the rearview window to park the car in reverse in your apartment’s carpark. Your mood dampened, you did not want this night to end here. You thought about inviting him inside your home, wondering if that would be too much so soon. Fuck it, you thought, your impulsiveness had successfully lead you this far; what is the harm in taking it further? Seunghyun opened your door, once again snapping you away from your thoughtful daze. You turned to him as he held his hand out to you to assist your exit. You leaned forward, tilting your head downward slightly so that you were looking up at him through your eyelashes, a playful smile tugging at your lips.

“So,” you began, your voice soft and seductive, “Do you want to come up for a drink? I have wine. Or anything else you’d like.”

Seunghyun’s dark eyes sparkled in the light, as if they were a vast night’s sky coated in twinkling stars, uninterrupted by light pollution. “I think wine sounds perfect,” he said with no hesitation. The cool night air brushed against your body, awakening goosebumps which littered across your exposed skin as you walked to the door, you could feel the heat of his gaze on your back. Suddenly, you felt thick, warm fabric drape across your shoulders. Standing in front of you, Seunghyun grips the wide lapels and adjusts the coat over your body to ensure maximum comfort. Electricity sparked across your skin as he not-so subtly ran his hands over your soft skin “while adjusting”. Warmth spread through you, his cologne and natural smell flooding you, sending your mind into a higher level of overdrive than it already was in. You felt the familiar, dangerous pull in your chest again. Hook, line, and sinker–you were absolutely caught by him. You mentally pinched yourself, this was really happening.

Seunghyun smiled at you, “You look cosy in there, are you enjoying yourself?” 

“Hush now, you know you enjoyed yourself too so now get out the way,” You teased, laughing, brushing against him to punch in the code to your building on the faded pin pad.

Inside your apartment, the gentle serenity that juxtaposed the hectic events of the day wrapped around you like a cocoon, your variety of lamps and candles that littered your home creating the perfect romantic aroma. You poured yourself and him a glass of red wine, hands steady despite the butterflies in your stomach. When you handed him his, he took it with a slow, deliberate motion, his fingers brushing against yours just enough to send a thrill down your spine.

Seunhyun raised his glass once you had sat beside him on the sofa, looking at you with that intensity that had you questioning everything you’d ever known about impulse and attraction. “To a night full of surprises,” he said, his voice low and smooth, the slightest hint of devilish deviousness dancing at the edges.

You clinked your glass against his, a quiet laugh escaping you. “I’ll drink to that.”

The wine was smooth, a welcome distraction from the heat building between you, but it didn’t take long before the space between you became impossibly small, the sides of your legs fully touching. Seunghyun’s gaze held yours, not a single word spoken, but the invitation was there, lingering like an unspoken promise.

And then, with that signature confidence of his, he closed the gap. His lips brushed against yours gently, teasingly, just enough to make you inhale sharply. It was the kind of kiss that made your head spin, like the first sip of something intoxicating—you knew you wanted more, and greedily, you knew you’d never get enough. You didn’t pull away. Instead, your fingers found their way to his collar, the fabric of his shirt soft, yet crisp simultaneously beneath your touch. Seunghyun deepened the kiss, moving closer, his hand curling around the back of your neck, gripping your hair at the base to create an oh so pleasurable sensation on your scalp, as he tilted his head just so, deepening the connection. It was like he was claiming you as his very in the most delicious, slow way possible, and you were entirely helpless to resist, you would be stupid not to give in to him.

When you pulled back, breathless and tingling, your heart hammered in your chest. You could see the dark, lustful desire in his eyes, and you knew, just as clearly, that he yearned for you as much as you needed him.

“You’re trouble,” you murmured, barely an inch away from his face, a smile radiating lust spreading across your lips.

Seunghyun grinned, his eyes dark with amusement. He leaned in more, your foreheads now touching. “But you like trouble, don’t you?”

You moved to take another sip of wine, eyes never leaving his, letting the warmth of the alcohol settle in your chest as you leaned to return to your original closeness. “Maybe. But I think I like you even more.”

The kiss that followed was urgent, fierce, and entirely too short, leaving both of you breathless and laughing quietly into each other’s lips. Boldly, you stood up and held a tight grip onto the tip of his pink tie, dragging it behind you, leading him along as you strode to your bedroom. As the night drew on, neither of you made any move to part ways, the electric charge between you more than enough to keep you both in each other’s orbit a little longer.

The more Seunghyun touched you, the more your body responded–flushed, eager, alive with the pull of desire. If there was one thing you knew with absolute certainty, this was no longer about pretending to be a couple for a wedding, this was about the intimacy between the both of you, this was about need. The carnal ache for him–the way his touch made you forget everything except your craving for him. The look of lust in his face was intoxicating, every word of praise that slipped from his gentle lips in his buttery, deep voice put your mind and body into haywire and you never hesitated in drinking all he had to give you up. 

The collision of wants and slow-yet-fast burning, undeniable heat between the two of you caused you to lose a little bit more control of yourself as each second came and went. Your movements were synchronised and sensual, painting a picture of passion that required no words to be understood. Each caress was a brush stroke on a weaved canvas of intimacy, only occasionally broken by rhythms of his and your breaths and sounds, deep and harmonious, or light, and fleeting, dripping of desire that knew no bounds.

When the first light of dawn peeked through the light, flowy curtains of your bedroom, it found you both tangled in the sheets, no longer needing mere words to fill the space between you. It wasn’t just a kiss anymore, or a fleeting night at a wedding. It was something more—a connection that had started with a simple impulsive decision and, somehow, had turned into something unforgettable.

thank you for reading! let me know if,, you liiiike..? ;)

i actually really like how this turned out !

thank u again for that request anon i had so much fun with this!

[genericpuff]

Webtoon Canvas is pay-to-win now, I guess.

DISCLAIMER: All of the series I show here is for the sake of comparing statistics and criticizing Webtoons' Super Likes system. I have nothing personal against these series or their creators and I do not want anyone to get the impression that I am encouraging any sort of action against these creators. The following rant is merely my own observations and opinions concerning Webtoons itself as a platform.

I found out today that Webtoon has implemented a Super Likes ranking board.

This does exactly what it sounds like - it ranks Canvas series based on how many Super Likes they have. Whether or not this ranking board is on a weekly rotation (like the Originals rankings) or just overall, I don't know, but something immediately felt off with this system and it took very little time at all to realize what was really going on here.

When you actually click on the series listed here, it'll tell you how many Super Likes they've accrued overall. The first thing that made me raise an eyebrow was the fact that the Super Likes listed in the ranking boards isn't the same as what's listed in the comics' landing pages, but I chalked that up to a simple delay on WT's end as I can assume the ranking board doesn't refresh at pace with whatever Super Likes are coming in.

But the real red flag was this:

Limitless : Untold is a series with 1,657 followers and seems to get an average of 35-45 likes per episode.

But it somehow has 1,715 Super Likes?

Anyone who's run a Patreon, Ko-Fi, Ad Revenue, or any other sort of revenue-based system with their content will probably realize how that doesn't add up. The reality is that regardless of how many readers / followers you have, only a small fraction of them will actually spend money on your work or to support you. Not every person reading an Originals series is FastPassing. Not every person reading a webcomic is supporting the creator on Patreon. This ratio is even apparent outside of income-based statistics - for example, not every person who follows will read new updates each week and hit the like button (which is why you can have a comic with 1700 followers that only gets a few hundred views and a handful of likes per update). This ratio can be influenced by all sorts of different things, but one thing that doesn't typically happen is for the ratio to flip itself in this fashion.

To put it bluntly: how can a comic with a high of 45 likes in the past 3 months possibly accrue 1,715 Super Likes since it was launched just last week? You've probably already come to the conclusion on your own, but for those who haven't: there's very strong evidence to suggest that creators are buying their own Super Likes to get on this ranking board.

That's assuming the worst of this, though - after all, maybe some of these creators just have super supportive friends who are tossing them a ton of Super Likes? It costs $1 for 5 of them, in this example the amount of Super Likes comes out to approximately $343 (assuming my math is right lmao) which isn't massive amounts of money but it's, again, still really impressive for a comic with only 40 likes on average.

Bu Limitless : Untold isn't the only one in the rankings board that's like this. In fact, the top three spots are occupied by webtoons with the same tilted ratio.

But then, suddenly, after those top three positions, the following webtoons Super Likes totals that make a LOT more sense and reflect the usual ratio more accurately:

The Little Trashmaid, one of the most popular Canvas webtoons of all time and the first one to hit the 1 million subscriber mark in the Canvas section has only accrued 355 Super Likes so far... and you seriously want me to believe a comic like Limitless : Untold with only 0.08% of its readership is somehow genuinely earning five times the amount of Super Likes?

I want to make it clear yet again that I have nothing against the series that have managed to break the system in their own favor. None of this is meant to "slam" them or judge their work or anything of the sort, I'm simply comparing the numbers here and coming to a very reasonable conclusion as someone who's well aware of how ratios like this tend to work in webcomics and content creation. It's just not feasible for the top three comics in the Super Likes ranking boards to organically earn that many Super Likes relative to the sizes of their audiences, especially when compared to the bigger comics that are only pulling in a fraction of that amount. The ratios of Super Likes : actual likes for those bigger comics actually looks reasonable and expected, the ratios for the smaller comics that are sitting at the top are not.

If anything, Webtoons has created a broken system and these creators are simply using that system to their advantage. And I'm not necessarily going to fault them for that because I can get wanting to do whatever it takes to get eyes on your work.

But it does raise the question of what kind of system Webtoons has cultivated here - a system where creators are resorting to Super Liking their own episodes to bump themselves up in the leaderboards.

And before anyone asks me how I can be so sure that these creators are Super Liking their own works - I literally opted into the Super Likes system myself and proceeded to Super Like one of my own episodes.

(this is like the one helpful thing with my work still being on WT even though I'm not updating there anymore, it lets me test shit like this LOL)

So yes, this is a thing that creators can do and it would certainly explain the massive discrepancy in the ratio of Super Likes : regular likes for these smaller series.

This is literally pay-to-win. And who do we have to blame for this? Webtoons, full stop. Not only for implementing a ranking board for an optional monetization service while still allowing creators to use that monetization system to support themselves as a way to climb up that ranking board, but for creating this gross psychological dependency on the platform as the "only way" to build an audience, to the point that people are now paying Webtoons out of their own pocket just to have their thumbnail visible in a ranking board and maybe get some extra views (and 49% of their money back if they hit that $100 threshold). And on top of all that, further putting on the pressure of competition and 'exclusivity' among many budding creators who are doing what they do for free and for fun. Why are creators now being forced to compete in a metric that's solely determined by how much expendable income their own audience has?

Sure, at least this means creators can get themselves into a ranking board by their own power unlike the other categories that are hand-picked by Webtoons and / or determined by daily stats, but at what cost? The literal financial hit of paying for advertising with extra steps, and the ethical dilemma of essentially paying for potential views with microtransactions. This is no better than paying bots on Instagram to follow your profile and inflate your worth to those who aren't following you. None of it is real, it will not legitimize your work to throw money at Webtoons just to have your thumbnail visible in a ranking board. These are microtransactions meant to benefit Webtoons, not you, the creator.

[iwtvfanevents]

Rewind the Tape

Unidentified art roundup

After the seven #art of the episode posts we put together during our first season rewatch, we rounded up all the unidentified pieces, in case you want to take a look and see if anything feels familiar! Roughly in order of appareance, they're listed below.

Episode 1

We think we have found all pieces in this one!

Episode 2

Unidentified paintings in Dubai

In the background of the dining room scenes, on the other side of the arch over Daniel's shoulder, we can see a big, square-ish canvas with an abstract painting. We get another good look at it in episode six.

Next unidentified piece, to the right of the dining room, looks like it could be some sort of biblical hellscape. The backstage picture to the right is from art director Nealy Orillion's socials.

Unidentified painting in the Azalea

This painting or illustration could show a woman bathing.

Episode 3

Unidentified painting in Dubai

Seen in the sitting room: a profile portrait of a man.

Unidentified paintings in the Azalea

Briefly glimpsed in the Azalea: the blue dress from the first piece looks like Regency era, while the piece in the next room looks like it could be a still life.

Unidentified photographs in the Azalea

Also piece spotted in the Azalea, these photos could very well be random thrift finds. But there are several pin-ups around the place, so there's a non-zero chance they're all by the same photographer.

Unidentified painting in Rue Royale

Spotted in the parlor, on the top left corner of the frame. Looks like a woman in a white headdress.

Unidentified painting in Fenwick's office

What looks like a landscape, possibly of thin trees?

Episode 4

Unidentified paintings in Claudia's room

To the left of the door we can see an illustration or painting of a woman with flowers over a bright pink background.

Above The Kitten's art Lesson we can see a painting that seems to be an expressionist work, perhaps, with a banner of five dolls or children holding hands over the block of solid color in the bottom 3rd of the piece, while the superior section depicts four women sitting on chairs. And to the left of the door we can see, on top, a floral bouquet over a dark background.

Unidentified painting in the staircase landing

We got a look at a painting next to the Munch and below the Renoir, which we could only see the top corner of in episode three. It looks like a still life, maybe of some fruit, or some oysters.

Episode 5

Unidentified paintings in Claudia's room

On the opposite wall to the four paintings around the door, we can also see another floral bouquet.

Unidentified painting in the parlor

Also seen in previous episodes, this painting in the ground floor looks like it might be a landscape, but it could also be some sort of creature or a mass of bodies.

Unidentified painting in the hallway

Based on the style and the other works in Rue Royale, we think this might be a Degas from his After the Bath studies, but we haven't placed it yet.

Episode 6

Unidentified pieces in Dubai

From a different angle, we can see what looks like it could be a Nigerian leather shield, and a photograph of a hand which may be another Vivian Maier picture.

Episode 7

Unidentified painting in Rue Royale

Unidentified painting in Rue Royale

Unidentified painting in Rue Royale

Unidentified painting in Rue Royale

We first saw this piece after Lestat moved back in, in episode 6.

Unidentified paintings in Anderson's office

If you put a name to any of these references, or spot any new ones, let us know if you'd like us to add them with credit to the corresponding #art of the episode post!

We're super close to the second season, and we can't wait! Of course, we'll keep watching with an eye out for interesting references, and it's always easier to find them if we're working together. So, if you spot any interesting art pieces and other references in the second season, make sure to share with the class in the tag #vampterview, and @ us or use the tag #art of the episode if you'd like us to reblog your post into our dedicated tag for these references.

And don't forget to get your very own bingo card for the upcoming predictions bingo, here!

[writeastormsblog]

Show Me My Silver Lining (TFTBL Rhys/Fiona Fanfiction) - Chapter 6

SUMMARY: A fan-written continuation of the lives of the Atlas CEO and Pandoran Vault Hunter. Canon-aligned with TFTBL, but not with game 3. What happened after the vault? How does the beloved duo continue growing together? Rhyiona ship including slow burn, fluff, and banter. Enjoy!

(art made by using Canva)

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

CHAPTER SIX: Non-Date Night

Throughout the week, things were relatively easier for Rhys and Fiona when it came to his nightmares. He still had some outbursts here and there, but as Rhys ended up rambling more to Fiona about it, it helped him process some of it. Though trauma isn’t something that can be remedied within a week, even if spent hanging out with Fiona while trying to cram in work, it was definitely less painful for Rhys than it would’ve been to face it alone.

Luckily, Fiona managed to avoid any more bruises by the end of the week. The one she had was healed and fully cleared up. Rhys unfortunately bruised his legs here and there when he’d kick furniture in his sleep, but for the most part, he was fine, too.

It was late evening on Fiona’s last day on Promethea when the two were heading somewhere. They were done staying up to help him cram in work, as all that was needed was done, and they even got Rhys further than he needed to be. Given he could afford to clock out a lot earlier than usual, Rhys figured they should spend their free time somewhere in Promethea before Fiona had to take off the next morning. Somewhere that was actually outside of his office, somewhere that was a real hangout spot. So, Rhys took a black company car and drove them into the city. Late sunset tinted the big city buildings a rosy pink as the two sat in comfortable silence, watching the urban scenery rolled by. 

The two were dressed nice and casual. Rhys wore a dark blue button-up with gold buttons, the ones at the collar stylistically undone to expose his collarbone. He had a professionally tailored cut where a full sleeve should’ve been over his robotic arm, and the other sleeve cuffed neatly at the elbow. Black khaki pants, oxford shoes, a gold watch on his human wrist, tying together the look as it matched the shirt buttons, the thin gold pinstripes on one leg, and his ECHO eye. Fiona wore a maroon deep-v neck top, tight fitted, short sleeved, and layered under a lightweight leather jacket. Dark tight fitted jeans, lace-up ankle boots. And of course her signature accessory sat atop her head, the hat black with maroon trim.

After finally finding a parking spot in the area bustling with people, the two were seated in a nice restaurant. Seated near wide windows, they had a great view of the city lights speckled across many buildings. The two snacked on chips and salsa, more focused on the menu than the actual sights outside, as they figured out what to order.

“Of course you chose a place for tacos.” Fiona grinned at him over the lengthy list of tacos, burritos, and enchiladas. “Hah, I remember how gassy you got when you went on a breakfast binge from that one taco truck.”

“I only burped once.” Rhys scoffed, and Fiona eyed him. “Okay, like, maybe twice.”

“You belched a handful of times, mind you. I’m glad we kicked you out of the caravan because you almost burnt my lashes off in there. And I think we saved your life, too– August looked like he was gonna strangle you.”

“Embellishments, embellishments,” Rhys waved off her jabbing comments, rolling his eyes, but smiled. “Anyways, the tacos here are a lot better. Not that I don’t appreciate a good food truck’s worth, but this is a nice sit-down experience with chips and dip and everything. I know you’ll like this place. Notice the menu’s drink section.”

“Mhm, I’m looking at it,” Fiona said. “I see a nice frozen margarita on the table tonight. Just gotta figure out which flavor.” 

Rhys chuckled. “Take your time. Also, there’s no escaping on letting me finally cover you.”

“Aw noo, so tragic. Hey, isn’t that quite a pricey cheesy-steak burrito?”

“You think I don’t already know the price range here?”

“It’s seventy dollars.”

“Wait– what?” Rhys looked taken aback. “I mean, I can definitely afford it, but what kind of burrito is priced at seventy dollars?”

“I’m getting it.”

“Where are you even looking on the menu? What are they putting in that? Gold?”

“Beats me. All I know is I’m feeling medium rare and with a hefty side of beans and rice. Let’s see if there’s pieces of gold when I cut open the burrito.” Fiona grinned deviously. Rhys put a hand to his forehead, playing faint, and it made her snort-laugh. 

He smiled, eying her, and when Fiona noticed, she coyly redirected her eyes to the window. She suddenly felt a little awkward. On the way into the city, Fiona reminded herself that they were just hanging out. It’s what friends did, but she wasn’t used to going out somewhere to eat one-on-one with Rhys specifically. The last time they were eating at a restaurant without their friends was when they were selling off the vault pendant, so it felt more like business than them being there because they were close in some way. They would usually eat out with their friend group, so maybe that's what made it feel really strange not to. Well, not strange as in it being a strange concept. Friends can hangout without being in a group setting. Unusual was a better way to put it, but surely there was nothing weird about Fiona going out to eat dinner with Rhys. It’s not like it was a date. Maybe it looked like a date night, but it wasn’t a date night. It was a very non-date night, so it should feel completely casual and be no cause for shyness at all. So why did Fiona feel nervous all of a sudden?

Then, the waitress came to take their order and paused before turning away. “I’m sorry, but I just wanted to say real quick– You two are such a beautiful couple. You both look great together.”

Rhys and Fiona froze. Their eyes wide, mouths slightly agape. So much for “completely casual.”

“Oh, we’re not–”

“We aren’t togeth–”

“Anyways, drinks will be right out for ya.” The waitress gave them a warm smile. Not as warm as their faces got, though. Neither of them made eye contact with one another.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Anyways, ah… heh, so that was, uh, interesting…”

Fiona was staring at the silverware as if it was the most interesting thing in the room. More interesting to focus on than her own heart rate. Which was not speeding up and felt loud in her chest. She did not suddenly feel her nervousness amplified. Nervousness– what nervousness?

“Promethea to Fiona?” Rhys awkwardly waved a hand in front of her. “Are you still here with us?”

“Y-yeah…” Fiona got up from the table. She mustered a quick, reassuring smile. “I just gotta go to the bathroom real quick. Be right back.” She walked off in one direction, hoping the bathroom would be on that side so she wouldn’t have to turn around and walk all the way back across the room. Graciously, her spontaneous sense of direction paid off.

Fiona stood over the sink, glaring at the mirror. C’mon Fiona, stop being weird! Well, you’re being weird because you’re feeling weird! If you can’t help it, just, act like you’re not feeling weird. Y’know how– Years of conning should make acting come easily. Act natural because everything is natural. You have no reason to be feeling nervous or weird right now. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Just because Rhys staring at her made her feel self conscious and them being out one on one was slightly disorientating didn’t mean she’d forget how to act. Fiona strolled back into the scene, falling back into her calm-resting-face from years of practicing on the fly. Easy. She had this.

“You alright?” Rhys asked, now being the one fidgety and a little nervous as if he did something wrong.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Fiona shrugged. “Sorry about that. Just got hit with the monthly thing.”

“Oh, r-right.” Rhys’s shoulders relaxed with relief. “Glad you’re good. Uh, so,” he paused, thinking. “What are you gonna do once you get back home? Got any plans?”

Fiona smiled, appreciative that Rhys was trying to move the conversation along. “Rest from spaceship-jet lag for sure, then probably check in with the vault hunters. See where our next lead is, or if someone has even suggested another lead yet.”

“That sounds fun. I never asked, but how does contacting them go exactly? Do you guys have some clubhouse where you meet up and stuff?”

Fiona raised a brow. “A clubhouse?”

“I don’t know how vault hunters hold meetings.” Rhys shrugged. “What it looks like, I mean. I wouldn’t picture them getting together in a business conference setting, at least.”

“Yeah, you live in a very different world than I do. But no Rhys, we’re not five. We don’t have a clubhouse or some lunch table reserved as ‘the cool kids’ table.’ We just keep each other posted in a group chat, and maybe meet up for drinks later to discuss further detail.”

“‘A vault hunter group chat.’ See, that’s all you had to say.” Rhys rolled his eyes. “Though, the image of there being a ‘cool kids’ table’ for vault hunters sounds pretty fun.”

“Too bad you wouldn’t be invited,” Fiona teased.

Rhys crossed his arms with a smirk. “Um, I would be waaay too cool to sit at a ‘cool kids’ table.’”

“Was telling yourself that through high school actually effective, or?”

“Ha-ha. Believe it or not, I might’ve blended in with the popular crowd.”

Fiona scoffed. “No way.”

Rhys raised his hands in the air. “Ask Vaughn. Seriously. I didn’t deem myself cool. I just was, and people noticed.”

“Sure, Rhys,” Fiona chuckled. “Sure.”

“Throughout high school and college, girls wanted me. Honest!”

“I’m going to need multiple witnesses to back that statement.” Fiona laughed as Rhys pouted. “There’s no way you weren’t super nerdy back then. And on top of that, the way you used to dress was horrendous.”

“Actually, I started experimenting with my style once I graduated.”

“Oh okay, then I guess that gives your tale a very slight increase in plausibility. Very slight.”

“Well, regardless of what you think, I would be too cool to sit at your vault hunter ‘cool kids’ table.’ Factual, not opinionated.”

“Still no actual ‘cool kids’ table,’ but duly noted. I’ll be sure to inform Zer0 of this fun fact.”

“W-wait! You get to hangout with Zer0??”

“Uhm, yeah. He’s a vault hunter. And apparently one you’re too cool to be around, but don’t worry, I’ll make sure he knows.”

“I take it back! I take back what I said! Fiona, please–!”

“What was that? I’m sorry, I can’t hear you over the conceit-polluted atmosphere.”

“Fiona, he’s so cool! Please let me hangout with you guys!”

Fiona inspected her chipped teal nail polish, smirking as she pretended to not hear him. “Mmm… maybe I can focus on listening after I get an eighty dollar molten chocolate cake for dessert.”

Rhys sunk in his seat, dramatically tilting his head to the ceiling, and Fiona laughed.

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

writer’s note: It was me. I was the waitress.

[iantimony]

2024 year in review - roundup style, plus bonus graphs!

we're so back! doing things in a slightly different order than last year: first, reviewing the 2024 resolutions.

--> get back on a regular workout schedule: swimming 1x a week, weights once or twice a week. would like to try and work towards my One Pullup goal again. would also be cool to try and work towards a hand/headstand. Ha Ha. yeah. no. did not do great with this one. definitely did a non-zero amount of exercise but I probably averaged about 1 gym visit a week, if that. I think I am going to add a "working out" section to next year's weekly roundup, right now I've been posting that on dreamwidth under my 'gains' tag but I think slapping it in the weekly roundup will help a lot. I've been doing a lot more yoga than normal in December so I would like to keep that going in the new year - I paid for down dog last summer and have actually used it which is good, and I'm doing their 'every day January' challenge thingy so that should be a good place to start. realistically after January I will not do yoga Every Day but I bet I can make it happen 2x a week. more on that in the 2025 resolutions section.

--> try and be more mindful. i'm going to continue the grief therapy but also think about meditating more, doing more yoga, and so on. I got ghosted by my grief therapist at the end of January lol <3 and was quite bad about meditating and journaling especially this year - in 2023 I was really good about regularly journaling and I think it was really good for me but that fell off almost entirely this year.

--> there's a gallery on main street that solicits work from local artists for bimonthy themed exhibitions and i really want to submit at least one thing to it this year! the one due by end of january is themed 'florals', and the one two months after that is 'layers', so i'd really like to submit something to one of those. weeps cries throws up. I didn't even submit to the artists' choice show for December. I should have though - I peeked in the gallery and based on the caliber of work. I absolutely would have made it in. Oh well.

--> more weird art! use that big canvas i bought in literally 2022! paint!!! did essentially Zero painting this year besides some watercolor in a travel journal, Ha Ha. did not do anything particularly weird or fun.

--> finally put together that travel journal from korea & japan (and also scrapbook-ify the papers i have leftover in a pile from that) also did not do this :'D I DID work on my travel journal for England somewhat though.

--> also, maybe do current scrapbook a little different? might need a new binder at the very least. kind of! I did portion off the current binder into just 2021-2022, I have separate 2023 and 24 events in chronological binder sleeves but now that those years are done I think it would be cool to do them in a more traditional book format.

--> hang up that expensive quilt i bought in august IT IS STILL IN A PLASTIC BAG IN MY CLOSET …. however, I DID move into my own place this summer, and my boyfriend is going to help me hang it up in January when he's visiting after the holidays, so. it wasn't done but it's imminent.

--> speaking of quilt: do some hand quilting, english paper piercing! i have so much fucking fabric! did do some of this! have not finished that exact project but I did do some of it! I also have done a lot of Thinking about fabric projects which I know doesn't count but it has been marinating is all I'm saying.

--> find a new apartment to move into that hopefully won't suck! completed! only sucked a little bit to do, and the actual apartment itself is good, if a little dire in terms of insulation!

--> try to secure some sort of summer internship or project that will let me develop some new skillsets that i might not be getting with my current research this failed for last summer but I learned a lot from the process and am very optimistic about this coming summer.

--> finish the masters degree did do this!

--> write…a paper? for the work i just presented??? did not do this! it's complicated! big pain in the ass!

--> keep tweaking neocities and make some more pages basically didn't touch neocities at all this year.

--> keep track of recipes this year as well in my making section this was a success!

i might start a little spreadsheet this year to keep better track of all my stuff because i really did Not want to go through all my separate listening and reading sections and extract what i liked the most, etc. this post required me to first back up a few extra early tuesdayposts from this year to dreamwidth, and then skim all of them to accumulate the above, and that was kinda a pain. and i love an excuse to start a new spreadsheet. I did not actually MAKE the spreadsheet til December but fucking whatever I did do it. and it was great.

of those roughly 15 notes, if I am very generous in what I count as a success, I accomplished about 7 of them! about a 50% success rate implies to me that I was a little too ambitious. this was a 2023 not 2024 resolution but I did partake in bandcamp Friday this year also so that's fun!

now. THE DATA. there is a part of me that really, really wants to whip out some old bokeh macros to sexy-ify this data. that could be fun to host on neocities and/or my real-name website as an example of my data viz prowess. but for now, google sheets plots will suffice. they are not very accessible (color blindness, etc) unfortunately.

behold! a bar chart! this data isn't necessarily 100% correct or perfect, some of these numbers are deffo estimates.

listening: saw more live music this year for sure - saw Haken, St. Vincent, ELO, and Sammy Rae live and they all slapped. lots of podcasts, even more music. April doing some heavy lifting there due to the spotify algorithm playlists, especially the release radar but also other miscellaneous generated playlists.

my bigass 2024 playlist!

reading: I THINK I read significantly less AO3 this year but I read a lot of other articles and a few books! notables were Bunny (bad) and The Left Hand Of Darkness (good) (which I think mirrors last year, which was also [modern lit book] bad [ursula le guin] good if I recall right)

watching: more youtube in the second half of the year than the first. something about background noise maybe.

playing: largely dnd with a smattering of video games and magic the gathering.

making: mostly pottery with some fiber art in there.

eating: yay recipes :-) adding this section was a roaring success. considering compiling a 'favs of 2024' pdf to distribute. should be pretty easy to do so stay tuned for that.

misc: finished masters degree! saw the eclipse in April! became a member of my local temple this year! england/scotland trip!

the 2025 goals!

once again: workout routine! setting this at 1 day of cardio, 1 day of yoga/adjacent, and 1 day of weights per week. this feels sustainable. would like to make it through the yoga every day down dog challenge for January.

reintegrate journaling into my day-to-day.

clean up some digital clutter; organize photos and files, empty..my tumblr likes …… [80k posts]

generally move away from perfectionist tendencies (in writing/journaling (feeling compelled to record Everything), painting, etc)

submit to the gallery on main street for real this time

finish the travel journals

learn some quilting

get back into neocities! maybe start crossposting these on there?

read like...10 books this year

pass my prelim exams ;_;

onwards and upwards. good night and good luck. here's to 2025 :-)

[cigiwaters]

Status Update - March 2024, First Month

Background

Quick background and context for anyone stumbling onto this.  On the twelfth, March 12, I decided to try to turn this into a draw/sketch a day thing.  I was already trying to draw at least three times a week and my streak was at 43.  While not 100% accurate, it seemed a good enough number to start at to avoid fighting with my streak keeping app.

The reason I sometimes include “53/53” and the like is because I am not fully abandoning the original three times a week thing.  The first number is the number done.  The second is the current “days since the project started”.

Reflections

The Format

Since this wasn’t planned, I’ve encountered a few things that could be adjusted going forward. 

The collage above?  Yeah, I decided to try for it early on but I didn’t think about making it non-sanity damaging to put together.  Maybe this works with gaps and the like? 

Maybe it is just my fear of having it too big and wasting people’s time and bandwidth.  Maybe it gives the vibes of collaging in books and physical sketchpads.

… I’m not undecided on whether to go for a strictly organized system or just giving each day more breathing room.

In any case, I started using the iOS Clip Studio’s default 4:3 canvas that is 1600 x 1200px.  When I started posting these online more frequently I switched to the square (1640 x 1640 px) because “Instagram”.  Before switching to “Sticker Size” (370 x 320 px) thinking the smaller canvas would be easier to work with.  Before switching between a few of the others once I realized how small the sticker canvas was to other days when compared.

I am, was, until I began writing this section at least, planning to go back to square for consistency’s sake.  Only, I don’t think that will work.  Welcome to real time self reflection folks!  The train has left the script.  It’s 10:19, I need to be at my Easter “Dinner” location at noon.  Only future me knows if I pushed this out beforehand or waited until I got home to clean this up, and practical time travel isn’t invented yet. 

I’m now doubting the square decision for two reasons.  In exploring the different canvas sizes and shapes I’ve started to get a feel for the canvas affects what is created. 

I don’t know if I would have gone for the torso of 61 in a square as I went into it wanting to attempt something with the head.  I like how the torso came out and really disliked the head.

I believe with 55 I cropped it down from a square despite being drawn in a square. 

I’ve caught myself starting to use drawn color swatches for consistency and more room on the canvas leaves more room for them.

Skill Improvement

I guess I can say I improved some.  After 45, Toga, I realized I needed more practice with facial directions.  This lead to more focused practice on that with days 46 through 51 with the last one just focuses on eyes and iris direction.

Then I needed to do something I felt was funner and I felt more passion for, 52 Sukuna.  I didn’t succeed in all my goals for that day.  The lips specifically. 

There are also blow-off days.  59 – Godzilla is the only example I clearly remember.  By time I was “done” I realized I was in so need of breather day that I didn’t even mark that this was, in fact, drawn with a reference.  56 – Snowman was probably a similar low point but I went with a simpler subject to concentrate what bandwidth I had more constructively.

Day 60 – Needlewise?  No, that was trying.  It was me trying to snap out of the duldrums.  The focused practice for that day was this technique I’ve heard and seen about using thicker outlines for the shape and thinner lines inside the “model”.  See on the arms?  This combined with wanting some darn color.  I missed color by this point, which I’ve avoided near all month because I wanted to focus on the basic… is it line art?  I’m also mildly annoyed that the minimalist details in the dessert got covered up by the cactaur once I unhid it.  I could have avoided this if I just greatly reduced the cactaur’s transparency instead of hiding the layer entirely.

Final Thoughts

One thing I think I need to do more of is watch more guides.  Needlewise shows me that knowing something is a thing doesn’t mean I can do it anywhere close to reasonable on my own. 

Me realizing I’m not 100% what I was focusing on, in general, this month is lineart or something else tells me I’m missing some fundamentals in terminology.  If I don’t know the terms then finding guides will be harder.

One thing I like about the Takodachi, 61, Rule 63 v-tuber, and the gnome is that I knew when to stop for the day.  Some advice I’m seeing a lot in videos on the daily drawing topic and general improvement is not drawing for hours and hours just to draw.  Unless you are doing it for fun.  With each I hit some sort of wall, reached a satisfactory minimum amount of goal achieving, and moved on. 

Looking at all the different things I’ve tried, I do wonder if I shouldn’t focus on one specific thing more next month.  Then I look at Sukuna and 55-B the landscape.  I know myself.  If I spent a month working on only lips or only eyes, unless it just groked with me in a fun way, I would begin to resent this project.  I still wish I had a style I knew I wanted to shoot for so that I could at least do variations of topics around that style.

[whennnow]

Late 1890s Corset Part 1 - Research

January 28, 2021

[Image ID: a flat-lay photo of two loose leaf pages of notes and four mini paper mockups of corset patterns on a wooden background.]

As I mentioned in my 2021 goals post, my big, year-long project is a late 1890s corset! Given that my last (and so far only) foray into structural garments was my Regency short stays - which I started about 5 years ago and are of questionable quality and are technically stays, not a corset - I figured I'd better do some serious research before I jumped in.

Hence this post! I wanted to compile my research into one place to serve as both a reference to myself and to help anyone else who is starting their corset making journey. You can come chat with me on Instagram @whennnow about it if you'd like. (There are a lot of links in this post, but I'm not promoting or selling anything or being sponsored or affiliated.)

Inspiration

Let's take a moment to get inspired and remind ourselves of the end goal here. On Pinterest I have a sub-board for 1890s corsets, and here are two more boards (Late Victorian Corsets and 1890s Underwear) for your viewing pleasure.

The Symington Corset collection has an official Tumblr blog where they post photos of Victorian and Edwardian corsets. (And we'll be back to them in just a moment...)

Patterns

There is no shortage of available 1890s/late Victorian corset patterns! There's Ladies' Victorian Underwear from Laughing Moon Merchantile, Hour Glass Silhouette from Past Patterns, Corset for Stout Figure and more from Ageless Patterns, several from Atelier Sylphe Corsetry on Etsy, and the list goes on (especially if you extend your search to all late Victorian corsets).

The Symington Corset Collection offers one of their patterns for sale along with a replica corset box and offers FREE instructions for constructing this particular corset on the Tumblr blog I mentioned earlier, which is very cool of them.

If you, like me, are filled with confidence (or is that hubris?) about your ability to construct a corset without specific instructions, then I'd turn your attention toward the rest of the Symington Collection. The collection includes high-resolution images of 109 patterns (!!!) from the original Symington Corset Company, all of which can be viewed online for free or ordered as a digital file or a print (at least when there's not a pandemic on).

And all of this doesn't even touch on the patterns found in books! We are spoiled for choice or 1890s corset patterns, especially if you're willing to do a bit of extra work to adjust a pattern to your size.

If you're using a pattern diagram like the Symington patterns, I'd suggest using this tutorial on how to make initial size adjustments to your pattern from Wicked Rain Studio.

Materials

Corset fabric can be divided into three sub-sections - the base structural layer which provides strength and durability, an optional fashion fabric which provides extra prettiness, and an optional lining layer.

Cotton coutil is a very strong non-stretch material which makes it a go-to base fabric choice for corset makers. Suppliers include Corset Making Supplies, Sew Curvy, Richard the Thread, and Vogue Fabrics. Unfortunately for those of us on a budget, coutil is also very expensive.

Less expensive options for the base layer include cotton drill, cotton canvas, duck canvas, and maybe also cotton twill. The point is to find a sturdy, non-stretch fabric that will hold up to the strain corsets are often under.

There's a lot more freedom with fashion fabrics! Silk is a popular choice, especially silk satins, taffeta, and brocades. Silk-like polyesters are a more budget-friendly alternative, or you can use a second layer of your base fabric. Depending on your construction method (and whether or not your pattern includes cording) you may not need a fashion layer, but you can use one anyway!

Linings aren't really seen in Victorian corsets and aren't necessary, but if you'd like a lining, a plain cotton or even linen will do nicely.

Other Supplies

Corsets require many different supplies. Aside from fabric, you need a busk (straight busk or spoon busk), bones (synthetic whalebone, flat steel, or spiral steel), grommets, lacing cord, a waist stay/waist tape, tape for boning channels, binding for the upper and lower edges, thread for construction, thread for flossing (cotton embroidery floss or silk if you're fancy), and whatever lace or ribbon you want for decorating.

Corset Making Supplies and Sew Curvy are good places to look for just about everything on that list, as they are both dedicated corset making websites. Burnley & Trowbridge has some boning, plus cotton tapes perfect for waist stays and boning channels, silk thread for flossing, and silk ribbon for decorating.

Lace and ribbon for decorating can also be found in most fabric and craft stores and in many Etsy shops.

Construction

Once you've got everything you need and you've settled on a design, it's time to put it all together. Books on corset making - Victorian or otherwise - are great resources. Foundations Revealed hosts a wealth of knowledge on the subject - a free membership grants you access to some materials, but you need the paid membership to access all of it. Sidney Eileen has several articles on corset making, covering construction for multiple kinds of corsets and individual skills and details. Sew Curvy, one of the suppliers mentioned above, has curated a great list of tutorials and tricks.

YouTube is a great resource too! Prior Attire has a video on lapped seam construction, and Morgan Donner has a video with three more corset construction methods. Not tutorials, but educational nonetheless are Enchanted Rose Costumes' Symington corset construction video, and Cat's Costumery's late Victorian corset video. Starkers Corsets has a corset sew-along playlist which goes in-depth in each step of the process, from making and fitting mockups to setting grommets (but right now it is missing videos on binding and flossing). AraneaBlack also has a 12-part playlist that covers her entire corset making process (though unfortunately the video titles don't say what is being covered in each video - you have to look in the description), plus other playlists full of great corset making info!

Steam Ingenious has a tutorial for the folded seam method, which similar to Prior Attire's lapped seam method except that here the seams become bone casings and the edges of those seams aren't finished, resulting in the need for a lining. The Sempstress has a tutorial for a single layer corset where the seam allowances are covered with bias tape and become boning channels (her casings end up on the outside, but this method could easily be adapted to put the bone casings on the inside). I'd also direct you back to the free instructions provided for the Symington pattern.

As long as this post already is, it's not exhaustive in the slightest. Because of that, I intend to update this post with more resources as I work on this project!

There will be at least two more posts in this corset making series - one on mockups and pattern adjustments, and one on actually constructing the corset. Those are at least a few months down the road, though, as I have a lot to do and so much of it is new to me! There will also be other posts between these, as I have plans for less intense projects and a new book to review.

Stay warm. Stay safe. Stay healthy.

[apompkwrites]

reader impact || first meeting

series masterlist characters: xiao, albedo genre: fluff summary: a game has been released entitled genshin impact, consisting of otherworldly abilities relying on the basic elements of nature. the game follows the story of an interdimensional traveling twin in search of their other half. along this journey, they meet different characters that live in this world. including you. notes: have i read a few genshin impact x game character reader stories and impulsively decided to make one too? maybe. you can't prove anything. i don't know if this will be a series but we'll see :D

xiao's playthrough -

xiao, named as alatus on his streaming platform, has made himself known as a gaming streamer with an awkward personality and blunt words.

he's the type of streamer who wouldn't have a set type of game and would, instead, play whatever his viewers recommended.

valorant? sure, he'll try it out.

hitman? why not?

animal crossing? it's a complete 180 from the other games, but sure.

when one of his viewers recommended genshin impact, he was quick to say yes and search for the game.

once the game finishes downloading, he quickly begins the game.

once the opening cutscene passes, he compliments the overall aesthetic of the game, pointing out the smaller details such as the footprints made by his character and the sound their clothes make when they move.

as always, his expressions are quite monotone to a point where it seems nothing draws his attention towards the game.

one of his mods, however, knows xiao well enough to where he knows which character he would like.

they convince xiao that the game is worth sticking with towards the second half of chapter 1, act 1.

he doesn't understand but he trusts his mods so he promises to continue.

it takes a few hours, especially because of the grinding, but a few streams later he's finally made it.

after fighting a one-sided argument with cloud retainer, he immediately begins his trek to the wangshu inn. and yes, trek, he enjoys walking/gliding through the world of teyvat rather than fast traveling everywhere.

he walks up the stairs to the top floor of the inn, resting his hands in his lap as the cutscene begins.

"to the blind, everything may not be as it appears..."

xiao is normally stoic during games, even ones with scenes made to fluster the player and catch them off guard.

but not this time.

once xiao's character is faced with yours, he just stops. his chat is spamming messages, asking if he's okay and if he's actually emoting for once.

he just stares at your character for a good five minutes.

and trust me, at least half of his viewers clipped that.

"... who are they?"

that was his only question after those minutes of silence. never before had he been attached to a character within the first few minutes of meeting them. his mind is racing and all he can think about is how amazing your character design is and how nice your voice is and how cool your character is and--

oh right, he's streaming right now...

anyway, the more your conversation goes on, the more he loves your character.

you're just so sassy and snappy but he loves you either way.

once you turn away with your back towards the camera, he just stares.

he stares at the intricate tattoo on your exposed arm and the mask hanging off of your belt.

and then you're gone.

his face drops so quickly and his viewers are very quick to point it out. he grimaces once paimon starts talking and he's very tempted to just speed through her dialogue.

he just wants to see you again.

once he hears from verr goldet that you've never smiled (at least around her), he immediately turns to the camera and says, "we better make them smile in this game."

once he finds out about your favorite food, he's already asking his viewers if he's able to get the recipe for it.

the next time he gets to talk to you, his face just lights up once he sees your character standing on the balcony.

however, once his characters tell you about rex lapis's death, his heart sinks when he hears how sad your voice becomes, even if your tone is still as harsh as before.

he gets all sad again when the quest ends and he has to wait to unlock the next archon quest.

he ends the game there and decides to spend the last few minutes talking to his viewers.

"i'll stream genshin again soon."

his viewers all know it's only because he met you.

albedo's playthrough -

albedo often does art streams and the occasional science-y stream.

if he does games, he mainly uses them to admire the art/mechanics of the gameplay.

genshin impact was one of those games he decided to play on his own solely because of the beautiful scenary.

(and the opportunity to draw more characters).

he's definitely the player that cares about elemental reactions above all else. pretty much every character he uses is built for elemental damage instead of physical.

most of his genshin streams are him walking around teyvat and pointing out the scenary.

he was definitely excited for the dragonspine event because that meant a better view of teyvat!

what he wasn't prepared for, however, was the reveal of a new character: you.

he isn't too into looking at the updates for genshin on his own, so he didn't find out about who you were until his stream asked about it.

he decided to react to the newest updates live since his chat seemed excited to hear his input.

once he pulled up the latest update details, he spent a few minutes talking about the new subzero mechanic.

but once he scrolled down to the characters... OH BOY

he's able to keep his composure but he definitely spends longer talking about you.

he almost gasped when he saw you were the chief alchemist of mondstadt.

combine that with the fact that you rely on elemental damage instead of physical...

your honor, he's fallen hard.

he'll put a countdown on stream to when your character and event drops, even on his non-genshin streams.

speaking of those streams, on the week just before your event, his streams will all be based around you and the information he's seen on you.

his art streams will consist of you and how he thinks your attacks will work just based on the description (he purposely avoided all pictures of your attacks for this stream).

his science-y streams would probably be based on your element.

once your event drops, that's the only thing he'll stream until it's over.

your assistant used to be his favorite character to play as but they just never clicked. it's not like he hates your assistant, it's just he didn't immediately fall in love with them.

his party definitely has your assistant in it, though.

he would have normally taken his time to look around dragonspine and admire the new scenery, but he couldn't help but speed through it until he finally gets to see you onscreen.

once the cutscene officially introduces you in front of a canvas, he's internally panicking.

you like art too?! and science?! how perfect can you be?!?!?!

he will genuinely feel bad when he scares the hilichurls because he knows that that's what you were sketching.

"who are you? why did you alarm them?"

NOW HE FEELS EVEN WORSE

even when you tell him you've finished sketching, he wants to make it up to you :((

if he were able to, he would've lured more hilichurls to let you sketch more.

some people in his chat would probably spam him to skip your dialogue because it's so wordy, but that's the exact reason why he listens to it all.

he likes listening to your character ramble on, especially because you have a soothing voice.

anytime your character does their idle animation where you give life to something, he will always let it play. even if your dialogue is finished before the animation, he would not progress until it's completed.

once your character asks for help, he would immediately agree before you finished your sentence.

man just wants to spend more time with you.

he likes staring at the tattoo on your neck whenever the camera is close to you. he just thinks it's really pretty on you.

once your other nonplayable assistant begins talking, he'll skip through the dialogue. he doesn't care if it goes more in depth into this world's alchemy, he just wants to hear it from you.

"hmm, looks like the potion's ready. i'll try a little first."

"please don't..."

he doesn't want you to try it just in case it hurts you :(

anytime he is allowed to walk freely with you around, he'd definitely put his traveler character next to you for a few minutes and just let you two stare at each other.

someone asks him why he spends a few minutes doodling on his desk when you talk.

he shows them the notebook that he had been writing notes in. it's filled with little doodles of you and some more information you give on the world of alchemy.

for future streams the involve you, he'd set up another camera to show the notes and doodles he's making about you.

sometimes he'll spend a few minutes on a single section where the camera is focused on you just to recreate the picture in the notebook.

he absolutely loves whoever planned out the camera angles because of how cute you look in every one of them.

he definitely gets a bad vibe from rosaria when she hints at the fact that you may be using alchemy against him.

he will defend you and alchemy to his grave!

that one scene where you create a flower in front of you is one he will always treasure.

he makes sure someone clipped that moment just so he can draw that, make it a print, and put it on his wall.

since most of his viewers most likely consist of artists, he will encourage them to draw you and send him fanart. he will put them all on a wall and dedicate every picture that goes there to you.

"if i one day lose control... destroy mondstadt... as well as everything around it..."

"huh?"

"will you be there to stop me?"

"wait... no."

if people were only listening to that portion, they would still be able to hear the pout on his face.

he'll end the game there but change his stream into an impromptu art stream.

he will only be drawing you in nice situations to distract himself from the fact that there is something going on with you.

"hm? what do you mean something's wrong with (name)? i have no idea what you're talking about."

poor boy's in denial...

[davidcarlton]

This is both a really interesting history of graphics APIs and a nice discussion of WebGPU that makes it sound a lot more interesting than I would have expected.

[meat--grindr]

I can request a story of Yandere Brahms with his reader, where Brahms kidnaps the reader by taking her inside the walls of the Mansion to be loved and protected. How did you come to this situation, maybe you can have a little NFSW?

Ahh, Brahms. How I love him so. I just wanted to let you know before we get into anything too serious, that this might be a little different than you were expecting, and for that I’m going to apologize right off the bat. I’ll admit I’m a massive weeb, but I never really saw the appeal of yanderes. Cringe, I know. So, I’m going to do my best here and take yandere more as ‘possessive’ if that’s alright? Also, I took some liberties with ‘kidnapping’ as you’ll see, just because I don’t want to walk too far into non-consensual territory when there’s NSFW involved. I don’t want to write anything explicitly non-consensual here, so it was a fine line to walk, but I think I found an okay solution. If this isn’t at all what you’re looking for, maybe drop me a PM and we can try to work something out? Anyway have like 5000-ish words of Brahms smut :)

Possessive (Yandere [?] Brahms (Female Reader) – NSFW

·       Standing at the foot of the stairs, you are struck, though certainly not for the first time, by the beauty of the house in which you find yourself. The golden hue of the wood which panels the walls reflect and amplify the soft glow emanating from beneath frosted glass lampshades. The diffused amber glow is cast about the room, throwing elongated shadows against the walls and into the far corners. From your place at the very bottom of the stairwell, the ceiling, now several floors above you, is lost to the early darkness of a winter evening.

·       Through the window, you can see the first soft flakes of snow drifting through the air. But here, inside, with your back braced against the newel post, you are warm. Tipping your head back, you gaze up into the yawning void above and cast your mind into it, losing yourself in daydreams of the beautiful rooms it conceals; your bedroom with its fourposter bed, all draped in velvet and silk—the dark, lacquered wood of the study, which still smells of cigar smoke, though as far as you can tell one hasn’t been lit in there for years—and, of course, the library.

·       Dark shelves line the walls, so tall they stretch from the wooden floor to the moulded ceiling. They stand, filled nearly past capacity with volumes of every shape and size, from encyclopedias so large you can lift only one at a time, to pocket novellas no bigger than your palm. Pages and spines alike, embossed with gold and silver shimmer from both the shelves and the tables set beside each of the overstuffed armchairs. The plush rug which lies beneath those tables and chairs makes even the floor a comfortable place to stretch out and lose oneself in a book. And the smell. Old leather and paper, printing ink and glue, dust and the very passage of time itself. It’s like every crooked old bookstore you’ve ever entered tucked away in a cozy corner of your own home. Whether or not you remember having dreamt of owning a private library, you were quite sure you could never go back to life without one and find yourself contented.

·       Even now, you long to curl up in one of those plush chairs and sink into another world until bedtime. You knew a soft blanket and a half-finished novel waited for you there, begging you to come back and see to them. And why shouldn’t you? What else was there to do on a chilly night such as this? The day’s chores were completed—the rat traps were checked (empty as always), the laundry was done, wood for the fire was stacked in the shed, and the supper dishes had been washed and put away. There is very little else that requires your attention. So why not?

·       Your socked feet sink into the plush, green carpeting as you mount the stairs. The banister is pleasantly cool and smooth beneath your fingertips. As you ascend, the light from below begins to dim, unable to reach any further into the darkness above. The difference made by the two flights of stairs between the lighted foyer and the dark second floor leaves you light-blinded and blinking in the shadows.

·       When again you regain your sight enough to behold it, even in partial darkness, the hallway that stretches before you is beautiful—the wooden paneling on the lower half of the walls takes on a sleek shine, while the deep green wallpaper above it fades into a stately and sober black. The paintings and portraits that line the walls are somber; muted without the proper lighting to show their colours, but they are no less impressive or imposing. A ship, barely visible, save for the canvas sails, is tossed on a rapidly darkening sea, lighting flashing far in the distance—a bright brushstroke of pure white, clear even in deep shadow. An old woman, her name rendered illegible in the gloom, stares down her nose at you in deep disapproval. Her eyes, like the rest of her, are severe and grey, and they seem, through either a trick of the light or the mastery of the painter, to follow you down the hall.

·       It is very dark. A thin, watery light filters through a small window at the end of the hall, but it does little to help guide you. You suppose you could turn on one of the many lamps that line the long and ponderous hall, but you know you can find your way just find without one. You’d spent several adventurous afternoons and many restless nights exploring the house and grounds. Though in the beginning you could barely follow the straight hall from the front door to the kitchen without getting lost, these days, you rarely, if ever, found yourself wandering the halls with no idea where you were.

·       You reach out, brushing the wallpaper with the tips of your fingers as you walk, grounding yourself in the darkness. It’s almost rough to the touch, stiff with age, though it’s clearly been well taken care of. In the daylight, there is little sign of aging at all - no scuffs or faded sections. You knew the house itself was well over a hundred years old, but it showed its age in astonishingly few places. Sure, the phones were ancient and the lack of wi-fi was irritating but—

·       Thump.

·       You freeze in place. You’re sure the sound had come from within the wall, just to the left of where you stood. There is something in there. The blood roars in your ear as you press it up against the wallpaper, straining to hear even a hint of movement, be it the shifting of the wood as the house settles, or the pitter-patter of something living. The seconds stretch on into minutes, but no further sounds come. You scrunch up your nose, feeling rather silly. It’s probably just a mouse…or maybe a rat. It sounded big. Perhaps those traps were good for something after all.

·       Your gaze lingers on the spot for a moment longer, but still, there is nothing but silence. Maybe it had been the house creaking in the wind. Old houses were prone to groaning after all. Either way, it couldn’t hurt to move some of the traps further up into the house for a little bit, just to be on the safe side.

·       You turn and continue down the hall, mind once again turning to the blanket, the book, and the comfy glow of the library. You press your palm flat against the wall as you walk, the whisper of your skin sliding over the wallpaper barely audible, even in the quiet that envelops the house at night.

·       Then your fingers catch against something—an indentation in the wallpaper. It’s subtle, but definitely there. You stop to inspect it closer, worried that perhaps your assessment about the house not showing its age may have come a little hastily. Your fingers explore the seam with care, and you decide it’s not a crack—it’s too regular, too straight. It feels intentional in its design. And it’s practically invisible in the darkness—likely just as difficult to spot in daylight considering how frequently you find yourself in this hall and your failure to take notice of it before now.

·       You crouch down, following the seam with your fingers. It stretches all the way down to the floor. Why…it’s almost like…a little door…

·       Almost at the same moment this thought trickles into your mind, the little section of wall gives way beneath your touch, swinging inward on silent hinges.

·       From within the inky darkness beyond, a pair of long, thin arms surge forth, snaking around your waist. The grip in which they envelop you is bruising as you are pulled back into the darkness beyond the secret door.

·       It slams behind you hard enough to rattle the picture frames in the hall. You scream, long and hard, struggling against the arms that cage you. You flail your limbs, lashing out blindly with fists and feet and nails, hoping desperately to strike your attacker, or at least wriggle enough to squirm from their crushing grasp. But the grip around your midsection only tightens, squeezing the very air from your lungs.

·       You lurch into motion, the figure in the darkness half-carrying, half-dragging you along a narrow passageway. You try to scream again but find you can’t get enough air to do so. Instead, you lash out, legs kicking against the walls, knees and shins colliding painfully with rough, wooden support beams and sharp corners.

·       While rounding a particularly tight corner, you manage to kick the opposite wall hard enough to throw your attacker off balance. A hissing shower of dust and plaster rains down on the pair of you. The figure stumbles, grip relaxing for only a moment, but it’s enough. You wriggle from their crushing grasp and dart back the way you came.

·       The figure recovers quickly, and you can hear them bolting after you in the darkness. It doesn’t take long before they’re on you again, one large hand fisted deep in your hair, wrenching your head back. You cry out in pain, stumbling back against the intruder. The hand in your hair doesn’t relinquish it’s hold as their other arm wraps around your chest, locking in place like an iron bar. You struggle uselessly, hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes as you’re dragged back the way you’d come, seemingly with even less regard for your physical well-being.

·       Not far beyond the corner where you’d made your escape, you’re shoved to the ground unceremoniously. As you make to crawl away, the figure circles around you, blocking your path of escape. Even as your eyes adjust to the darkness, you can’t see much more than an outline. Even so, you can tell they’re much bigger than you. You feel a large hand sliding beneath your knees, and another on the small of your back and suddenly, the floor beneath you drops away. Instinctively, your arms shoot out, fumbling in the darkness for something solid to grab hold of. Your grasping hands find a fist-full of the intruder’s shirt. It’s soft and well-worn in your hands, and you clutch so tightly to it that you can feel your fingers beginning to cramp almost immediately. A soft rumble rolls through the figure, and after a moment, you realize they’re laughing at you. You want to let go, but the fear of tumbling backward into the darkness stills your hands.

·       With the way you’re being jostled about, you get the distinct impression that you’re ascending a flight of stairs. Secret tunnels and staircases in the walls? Under any other circumstance, you would be ecstatic, ready to drop everything and explore them. But caught as you were, in the arms of a stranger, there is nothing but panic within you. Taking advantage of your new position, you take a deep breath, filling your lungs with the intention to scream, though you’re sure there’s no one around to hear you.

·       “Don’t.” So, it’s a man? His voice is soft, a half-whisper that thrums through your body where it’s pressed up against his chest. There is a distinctly British tilt to his voice, and it’s oddly muffled, as though something was covering his mouth. You’re reminded of those old cartoon bandits who wore bandanas across their mouths. He doesn’t want to be identified. The though sends a cold chill through you. This isn’t good. “Scream and I’ll drop you.”

·       The scream dies in your throat. While you certainly don’t like being caught in a strange man’s grip, the thought of lying broken at the bottom of a secret staircase no one else seems to know about hammers a worse kind of fear into your gut. You could die…or not and that might be the worse option: injured and completely at a stranger’s mercy. No. As it stands, if you follow his instructions, you remain unharmed, and the longer you remain unharmed, the better your chances of finding a way out.

·       At the top of the steps, you find yourself in front of a rough wooden door. Here he readjusts his grip on you, bracing your weight against his hips as he taps the door open with a gentle kick.

·       Suddenly, you’re bathed in a soft, golden light cast by the dozens of candles that lay scattered about the room. After so much time spent in the dark, the burst of light dazzles your eyes. In spite of your fear, you curl up against the strange man’s chest, turning away from the light that blinds and burns your eyes. It’s too much too soon.

·       The man laughs again, bouncing you gently in his arms, like one would a small child, “No hiding.”

·       His tone is light, but it is still a command. Sensing scant room for disobedience, you turn your face up towards his, cracking one eye open, then the other. You had been told not to, but in the flickering light, as you blink up at the face of your kidnapper, you can do nothing to stop the scream that builds in your throat.

·       His face is hidden, not behind a bandana, but a porcelain mask. The pale white surface is littered with a spider’s web of thin cracks and what looks to be dried blood. Your eyes sweep over the soft curve of the mouth, the delicate nose which turns up at the end, and the empty spaces behind which dark, human eyes burn into your own.

·       The moment the scream leaves you, ringing loud in the enclosed space, the man snarls, striding into the room with purpose. As he weaves through the maze of dusty old furniture, you beat your fists against his chest, squirming in his grip, trying with renewed desperation to escape his clutches. “Let me go! Let me go!!”

·       Ignoring your pleas, he stalks to the far corner of the room, where a low-slung cot waits, tucked close against a rough brick wall. He dumps you none too gently onto it, and you scrabble backward, knocking your head against the wall behind you. Your ears ring with the force of the blow, but your eyes remain trained on the masked man as he clambers onto the cot with you.

·       You jam yourself back into the corner, as far from the menacing figure as possible. He comes toward you slowly, laughing, as though this were all some silly game the pair of you were enjoying. You kick at him, and he swats your leg away, his shoulders shaking with laughter. His eyes, however, aren’t laughing. Where they peak out from beneath the mask, they blaze with only one thing: hunger.

·       You kick out at him again, catching him, this time, on the jaw, just beneath the edge of his mask. And just like that he’s not laughing anymore. He goes frighteningly still, and there’s a change in the air. You know he’s done playing.

·       He lunges for you, and you shriek, cowering back against the wall, the rough bricks digging into the flesh of your arms. His hands close around your ankles and he pulls you down toward him.

·       He slots himself between your legs, pinning your thighs down with boney knees. You squirm beneath him, but he’s too heavy for you to shake off. He looms above you in the candlelight, breathing hard, his eyes flashing behind the mask. With a jolt, you realize he’s going to hurt you. You’re so sure, you flinch, cringing away from him as much as is possible, bracing for the pain that’s sure to come.

·       But, when his knuckles brush against your cheek, it’s not in anger. It’s a gentle caress that jolts through you like an electric current. You turn to look at him, as he brushes the damp hair back from your forehead. He stares at you for a long moment, drinking in your shock, before leaning down to press cool porcelain lips against yours.

·       The kindness of his gestures surprises you almost more than any blow he could have delivered. When he promised to play rough, he usually meant it. With shaking hands, you reach up to touch his face. Your fingers slip beneath the mask, brushing the hair and skin beneath with feather-light touches. You want to see his face, want kisses from his real lips, want—

·       But the man’s fingers curl around your wrists, wrenching your hands from his face. “No.” There is force behind the word equal to the force with which he pins your wrists against the sheets, indenting the mattress beneath them. His voice, in that same soft whisper from before, rasps in your ear, “Not even when we’re playing, Love.”

·       You swallow hard, all the pretenses of your little experiment dropping away in an instant. You realize you came dangerously close to crossing a line. “Okay. Brahms. I-I’m sorry.”

·       You expect that he’ll want to stop now, and you wouldn’t blame him if he did, but he surprises you by nuzzling against your neck, “Not ‘Brahms.’”

·       So, he still wants to play. You smile up at him. “Oh, right! Sorry.”

·       He bends over your neck again, pressing porcelain kisses against your neck. You crane your head back, eager to make up for your misstep with the mask. There’s something about these kisses that makes your heart flutter—perhaps it’s simply the rush of a new sensation against sensitive flesh, or maybe it’s the knowledge that his real lips lay just beneath that hard surface, so close and yet completely out of reach.

·       When he lets go of your left wrist, you’re so caught up in these kisses, that you barely register it. That is until you feel the mask slide in an unnatural direction against your skin, and you feel Brahms’ real lips against your neck for the first time. Your whole body jerks forward, pressing against him with a soft sigh on your lips. His mouth is softer and warmer than you ever could have imagined. Even his beard feels good where it scratches against you.

·       His teeth scrape over your pulse, drawing another sound from you. You throw your arms around his neck and pull him down on top of you. His laugh rasps out against your throat, as he stamps warm kisses all across your collarbone.

·       You roll your hips against his and he groans, the sound rumbling deep within his chest. He surges upward fixing his teeth into the meat of your neck as he grinds down against you, letting you feel just how badly he wants you. His name slips between your teeth as a hiss and you feel him smile against your neck. His tongue flickers over the mark he’s left, though it’s more to lay further claim than to soothe the ache his teeth pushed into your flesh.

·       When he pulls back, he’s already pushing the mask back into place, though you catch a quick flash of the smirk that pulls at the corner of his mouth.

·       He looks down at you, eyes sliding slow down your body, head cocked to the side like he’s thinking. He has that hungry look about him again and it lights a white-hot bolt of desire in your gut. You lift your hips, rolling them against his, relishing both the spark of pleasure that shoots through your stomach, and the shiver that rolls down his spine. A little whine escapes his lips, and you feel your heart leap. God, you’d do anything to hear that sound again. He meets the roll of your body with a stuttering jolt of his own.

·       You can’t help but beam up at him. “What are you thinking about Brah—Mister?”

·       He sighs deeply, running his hands down your chest, his fingers tracing along your ribs. “About all the things I could do to you…”

·       A breathless puff of laughter escapes you, “Oh, yeah?” You guide his hands down to your hips, hoping he’ll take the hint. “Like what?”

·       “Hm…let’s see. I could, hold you down,” His hands, still resting beneath yours tighten against your hips, pushing you down against the mattress. You try to buck up against him, but he holds you fast, “I don’t think so, Love.” He grips you hard, dipping his head to whisper into your ear, “I could just hold you here, and you’d have to take whatever I decide to give you.” His thumbs trace the seams of your hips. Even through your jeans it makes you shudder.

·       “Or, I could give you very little at all,” He lets go of your hips in favour of ghosting a hand down your thigh. His other hand presses gently against your zipper. His fingers trail down the seam, until you feel the pressure against your clit and jerk against his hand. He pulls away, “Just enough to keep you interested, but not enough to satisfy you.”

·       You whine, feeling a damp patch growing in your underwear. You know he’d get such a charge from dragging this out, teasing you until your arousal had soaked through the denim of your jeans. You could hear him now, ‘A few kisses and some dirty words…it’s that easy?' While you’d usually be willing to indulge him, you weren’t willing to give him that satisfaction today. He was already so uppity as it was. “Or you could just toss my legs over your shoulders and take what you want.” You toss an arm over your forehead in an attempt at playing toward his flair for the dramatic, “Look at me, baby. I’m defenseless.” You roll your hips against him again, nice and slow. You can tell by the hitch in his breathing that you’ve almost got him convinced. You can barely keep the smirk from your face as you arch your back, and whimper for him, “Please?”

·       That one word is all it takes to break him. In a flash he’s slipped out of his cardigan and tossed it off into the darkness of the attic. His suspenders follow suit with a metallic clinking. It isn’t until he’s unbuttoning his trousers that you realize you have mere seconds to undo your own before Brahms falls upon you and tears them off himself. You’ve lost more than one good pair of jeans this way and you don’t intend to lose another if you can help it.

·       Your shaking hands fumble with the button, managing to pop it only after a few tries. Taking them off from your position underneath Brahms is no small feat, especially considering his reluctance to move, now that his trousers rest about his knees and he’s rolling his hips against your still clothed thigh, his cock already leaking against the denim.

·       “Want you now.” His voice is rough, breaking in time with the thrusting of his hips.

·       “I know, baby. But you’ve gotta wait.”

·       Brahms huffs in irritation. ‘Wait’ is not a word he likes to hear at the best of times, let alone when his dick is this hard.

·       You tap his hip gently. “C’mon, up.”

·       He drops his head against your shoulder with a petulant whimper, his hips stuttering against your thigh.

·       “Brahms…” You sigh, half-frustrated, half-amused. You would be lying if you said you didn’t find it incredibly sexy when Brahms acted like a brat, but your pleasure was at stake here as well. “You can’t fuck me properly with my jeans on.”

·       His hips slow for a moment, and he whines again.

·       “C’mon, be a good boy for me.” You feel his cock pulse against your thigh, and he relents. He scoots back just enough for you to push your jeans and underwear down your thighs. Brahms takes care of the rest, tearing the offending fabric from your legs and tossing it from the bed to join his cardigan on the floor.

·       His hands are on your shoulders in an instant, shoving you back against the mattress, all patience spent. You feel the head of his cock pressing against your entrance, and barely have a time to take a breath before he’s pushing inside with a single, smooth stroke.

·       “F-Fuuuck…”

·       “Yeah, that’s the idea, baby.” Your hands are fisted tightly in the sheets, your voice tight as your body grows accustomed to the stretch once again. You’ve taken Brahms with little preparation before. You know you can handle it, but somehow the girth of him almost always comes as a surprise.

·       To his credit, he does his best to keep still until you give him the ‘okay,’ though you can feel his hips shaking with the effort. He’s mouthy while he waits though, any trace of the gentleman within him his gone, replaced by a cursing, dirty-talking stranger, “Gonna pound you into this mattress, gonna fuck you like—fuck you’re so wet—like your my whore…mine, mine, ah fuck! Mine.”

·       You roll your hips, testing the water, and he bites back a string of curses. His hips stutter forward unbidden, and you moan low in your throat.

·       Behind the mask, you see his eyes roll back. He starts to beg then, changing his tune entirely, “Please, Love, let me fuck you, please, please, please. I promise I’ll be good. I will, just please!”

·       You reach up, carding your fingers through his hair, “Show me what a good boy you are, make us feel good, baby.”

·       Without missing a beat, Brahms’ hips take up a frantic rhythm, tearing a litany of pretty sounds from your throat. Your hands tangle themselves in his hair as he drops his head to press doll’s mouth kisses against your throat.

·       Your hand slips between your bodies, spreading your lips to circle your clit. You buck against him, gasping his name as the pleasure courses through you two-fold.

·       A strong hand grasps your wrist again pulling it away from your clit. “We mustn’t touch what isn’t ours.” You nearly whine in frustration, but your displeasure is quickly forgotten when you feel the soft pads of Brahms’ fingers against your sensitive flesh.

·       “You,” he groans in pleasure, angling his hips to push deeper inside of you, “You belong to me.” He punctuates the sentiment with a sharp snap of his hips. “That means I am the only one who can make you feel good.” He presses his fingers hard against your clit, and your thighs begin to shake. “Tell me who you belong to.”

·       It takes you a second to find your voice. “Y-You, Brahms.”

·       “Yesss,” the rhythm of his thrusts is beginning to fall by the wayside as his hips buck and stutter. “Say it again.” His fingers circle your clit faster, and you can feel yourself teetering on the edge of orgasm.

·       “Fuck, Brahms! I’m yours! A-All yours! You’re gonna make me cum.”

·       “Mine.” You feel the mask slide to the side again and his lips are on your neck. You feel his teeth graze the bite mark he’d left. His teeth are in your throat, his fingers on your clit, his cock in your cunt, and you’re cumming. His name tumbles from your lips, the only coherent thought in your mind.

·       He groans against your neck, trying to fuck you through it, but you’re too tight around him, forcing him into an agitated stillness. His fingers work your clit feverishly until you push his hand away, too oversensitive to stand another second of it.

·       You’re still almost painfully tight around him when the rhythmic pulsing of your own orgasm begins to push him over the edge. He thrusts into you once, twice, thrice more, before pulling out and shaking apart, his cum painting your thighs and stomach. He whimpers and trembles, fisting his cock through the aftershocks of his orgasm, desperate to chase every last ounce of pleasure.

·       Only when he’s well and truly spent, nearly sobbing from the agony of the overstimulation does he flop down on the cot beside you, panting heavily, cock still twitching against his thighs.

·       He kicks off his trousers, and curls up by your side, throwing an arm around you. For the longest time, the only sound in the room is that of your breathing slowing in tandem as you each come down from your high.

·       Brahms’ voice is small when he speaks up at last, “Did I do okay?”

·       You turn to face him, laying on your side. You reach out a hand and readjust his mask, before pressing a soft kiss against the delicate bow of his lips. “You were perfect. Thank you, Brahms.”

·       He nods once, but he doesn’t look convinced. There’s tension in his shoulders, and he won’t look you in the eyes.

·       “What’s wrong, honey?”

·       He shakes his head, burrowing against your side. “Nothing…”

·       “It doesn’t look like nothing to me. It’s okay to talk to me about things like this, you know.”

·       He’s silent for a little while longer, and you wonder if he needs a little more prodding to use his words. But then, he speaks, “I wasn’t…too rough? In the passages?”

·       “No, baby. No. It was exactly like we talked about.”

·       “Okay.” There’s a little touch of a frown in his voice, like he’s trying to puzzle something through in his mind. “I didn’t expect you to fight me so hard. It felt…real.”

·       “I wanted to make it seem real. Did I upset you?”

·       There’s a long pause, but when he speaks, he sounds genuine. “I don’t think so. It was a little…thrilling.”

·       You can’t help the giggle that bubbles in your throat, “It was, wasn’t it? Where did you get an idea like that? Pretending to kidnap me and all that?”

·       He’s quiet for a moment, as he remembers a time not so long ago, when the idea was meant to be more reality than fantasy. He was supposed to have that girl. He should have done better, should have fought for her harder, should have killed her and buried her in the yard with the others. He should have done a lot of things. The scar on his stomach burns with the memory of all the things he should have done. But they don’t matter now. She doesn’t matter now. He has you.

·       He presses another kiss against your neck and lies, “Recreation of a scene from 'Jane Eyre.' You know how I adore that novel. And you being such a pretty lady, simply had to fill the role of the damsel in distress.”

·       “If you say so.” You snuggle closer against his chest. He really was a very strange man. A yawn blossoms in the base of your jaw, but you do your best to fight it off. You know you’ll be sore later, but for now you’re happy and sated and perfectly content to doze in the arms of the man you love.

·       Then a thought hits you, “Hold on, Jane Eyre doesn’t get kidnapped, Brahms.”

·       He chuckles softly against your shoulder, “So you have been reading my books after all.”

[just-here-for-the-moment]

Paloma, Part I

Series Masterlist - Part I - Part II

Word count: 4100+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Statesman!Frankie "Catfish" Morales, Agent Jack “Whiskey” Daniels, and "You" (OC cis/het female reader, Statesman research analyst, code name “Paloma”; age 26; reader is “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: fully legal age gap; curse words; references to M/F sex; lots of yearning; a little sprinkling of angst; American readers, please be warned that this piece features the absolutely filthy fantasy of Statesman paying off your student loans in full

You left Kentucky on a sunny June morning with a rolling suitcase, six cardboard boxes, and a heart full of golden light. You were ready for the new challenges of your promotion and the move to New York, but it was still hard to quell the little butterflies that insisted on dancing and twirling in your gut. Statesman HQ was like a beacon that had been calling to you for the last three years, and you were half-convinced that the promotion and the move were a daydream; something that would be snatched out of your hands if you thought about it too much.

It was strange to leave Kentucky, your home since you were four years old. You had been raised in a small town about an hour south of Louisville, and you hadn't had the opportunity to leave until college. Even then you didn't travel very far, just to a dorm room at the University of Louisville, going back to your hometown for every vacation instead of flying off to California or Europe like some of your more glamorous friends.

You had put your time to good use, though. You busted your ass and completed an accelerated program in Criminal Justice that earned you both a Bachelor's and a Master's in one go, with a minor in statistics and data science. The result was a deep and abiding love of research and analysis, with the burning desire to do good in the world.

---

The Friday morning of your graduation ceremony, you emerged from your apartment fresh-faced and giddy, ready to walk the stage and start the next phase: adult life in the "real world." You knew that your life was about to change, but as you juggled the garment bag with your cap and gown and tried to lock your door, you had no idea just how much. You heard a soft voice say your name behind you, and it made you jump and drop your purse, spilling the contents across your doorstep. You turned to see a woman of about 40, with flawless terra-cotta skin and an adorable mop of chestnut hair. Black horn-rimmed glasses framed bright, inquisitive eyes. She immediately bent to help you retrieve your belongings, stammering gentle apologies.

"I'm so sorry! Let me help you get your things. I didn't mean to scare you." She smiled sweetly at you and handed you back your sunglasses and lip gloss.

"No! It's fine, I'm sorry I'm so preoccupied." You lifted the garment bag by way of explanation. "Graduation day! Um, how can I help you?"

"You don't know me, but my name is Ginger. I work for an organization that recruits bright young minds like yours. It's a lot to explain, but if you're interested in a job interview next week, we'd love to talk with you." She handed you a creamy white business card with a Louisville address.

You frowned. "Statesman Distillery? I don't have any experience with alcohol production or marketing. I do data analysis and my degrees are in criminal justice."

"We know. We've been following your research and your schooling for a while." She gave you a mischievous smile, and it looked for all the world like she was hiding something fun behind it, something secretive and intriguing that made you want to know more.

"Please, just give me an hour of your time next week? When you have some time to pay us a visit, just call that number and ask for me. I'm really looking forward to chatting with you."

You thanked her and promised you would call, and then you tucked the card into your bag and forgot all about it for nearly a week. Graduation day was hectic, with lots of relatives visiting and interrogating you about your career plans, and the days afterward were spent attending parties and saying goodbye to friends who were scattering to far-flung places. After you had finished the last of your university-related errands like returning a few library books and picking up your official transcript, there wasn't much left to do except putter around your apartment and take a few days off before beginning a job search. Those student loans weren't going to pay themselves off.

You found Ginger's card in your purse on Wednesday morning and put it on the fridge with a magnet. On Thursday you were so hungover you didn't want to make any calls. On Friday you found yourself at loose ends with nothing planned, so you picked up the phone and dialed. When you reached the switchboard you gave your name and asked for Ginger, and they put you right through. She picked up after one ring, as if she had been waiting for your call.

"Hi! I'm so glad you called me! Can you come by today?" Ginger sounded genuinely excited to talk to you, not smarmy or fake like other corporate recruiters you had spoken with.

"Oh, uh, yeah. I mean, yes, thank you. Are you sure today's okay? I can come next week if that's better."

"No! Please come whenever you're ready. I'm really hoping you'll like what you see."

"Okay, will I need to dress up? Will I be meeting with anyone for an interview? Should I bring copies of my resume?" You wanted to make a good impression, but you weren't sure if this was just something the distillery did casually, like a winery tour, or if you would need to be ready for a formal interview.

"Nope! Just bring yourself! We already know everything we need to know about your qualifications."

"Ah... okay. I'm all yours. I'll see you in about an hour?"

"Perfect! I'll leave your name at the front gate with the guard. Just show them your ID and they'll wave you through."

You said your goodbyes and put the phone down. What kind of data analysis job was even available at a distillery? Market trends? Did they need a criminal justice major for tracking down rip-offs, like people counterfeiting their product? But wait, didn't the government do that kind of thing? The ATF? You shook your head clear of questions and hopped in the shower. You could ask Ginger all of your questions, since she seemed to be so happy to talk with you.

When you arrived at the Statesman Distillery an hour later, you were impressed at the size of the facility. Distilleries were pretty common in the state of Kentucky, with lots of little family companies sprinkled around. But Statesman rivaled the big names for sheer square footage.

Ginger met you in a conference room and offered you coffee, and then asked you to sign a non-disclosure agreement. You didn't think twice about it. NDAs were common in lots of industries, and you guessed that it had something to do with trade secrets, Statesman not wanting to leak information about their whiskey production details. When Ginger began the tour and you walked down a long hallway with multiple sparkling white laboratories behind thick glass, you found it unusual, but not alarming. Cleanrooms, maybe? Something to do with alcohol distillation formulas, probably.

When she ushered you into a large wood-paneled office and introduced you to Champ, the head of Statesman, you thought it was odd. Companies didn't normally introduce new college graduates to executives during tours. Based on the size of the organization, you thought you might meet the CEO or President once or twice a year, maybe at a holiday party or a company retreat. But he was friendly, and he seemed to have already heard of you; his eyebrows raised an inch at Ginger when she gave him your name. He also seemed far more interested in criminal justice and data analysis than you expected for a distillery executive, but you shook hands and answered all of his questions politely.

When Ginger asked you to step into an elevator and it dropped 10 floors, you started to wonder a little. When the doors opened and she walked you to a room with a huge bank of monitors, with screens showing all kinds of maps and security video feeds, you were downright confused. But when she revealed the cherry on top, the fact that Statesman was not in the business you thought they were? That was too shocking. You were sure she was joking. You turned behind you to look for hidden cameras, expecting a prank show host to come jumping out at you.

"This is a joke, right?"

Ginger smiled that sweet, warm smile at you. "No joke. We want you to join the Research Unit, working in the Data Analysis section. You would be keeping our agents safe, helping them make the best decisions possible. And in turn your work could save lives, hundreds of them. Maybe even thousands. What do you say?"

"I... uh... I still think you’re joking. I’ve never heard of anything like this. I… are you sure you want me?"

"Yes, if you're interested. We could use you on the team." She pushed a little slip of paper into your hand, and when you saw the annual salary that was listed, you almost fainted.

"Ginger, this is way too much. I just graduated and this is, like... this is a senior analyst's salary. I'd be able to pay off my student loans in like three years!"

"Actually, we would be paying your student loans off before you start work. If you have financial burdens hanging over your head you could be vulnerable to bribes or extortion attempts from foreign governments or bad actors. We want you clear before you start with us. Think of it as a signing bonus."

"Holy shit! Sorry, I mean... I... Jesus." You looked at her in confusion. "Y'all really want me?"

She smiled and nodded. "Yes, we really do."

"Okay, when do I start?"

And that had been it, your first "big girl" job out of college. You were welcomed warmly to the Statesman team, and you loved the fact that you did interesting work that had a real impact. The hardest part had been telling your friends and family the required cover story, saying you were doing market analysis until you could find a job in criminal justice somewhere. But since you were happy with your new job and it paid well, none of them pressured you to move on.

During your first two years with Statesman you climbed the ranks, earning promotions and new responsibilities that eventually put you in the seat of Assistant Director of Data Analysis. You had risen high enough in Statesman that your work required a code name, and you chose “Paloma,” a nod to your favorite grapefruit cocktail. You answered directly to the head of the Research Unit, and every report that your team produced was vital. You weren't wasting your talent in some corporate hole, enriching the CEO's salary at the expense of your sanity. You were saving lives, making a difference. Your reports had even been sent to the New York headquarters, where they used them as a model for operations.

And the job had brought you romance, too. One day not long after your promotion to Assistant Director, you were walking out of the conference room, so focused on your phone that you didn't see where you were going. You bumped into something large and solid in a denim shirt, and a pair of warm, calloused hands held your shoulders to steady you. You cursed softly to yourself and then looked up into the most gorgeous pair of brown eyes that you had ever seen. A man with patchy stubble and a well-worn baseball cap smiled at you, eyes crinkling with warmth.

"Whoa! Are you okay?" His eyes looked concerned as they searched your face. You looked at him with wonder. He was so, so beautiful. The smile dropped, and then his brows knitted together into a slight frown. "I said, are you okay?"

You realized you were staring with your mouth half open like some lovestruck teenager, and that an embarrassing amount of time had passed since you first met his eyes.

"Yes!" Your voice was louder than you intended. "Yes, I'm sorry. Sorry I bumped into you. I should have watched where I was going. I'm sorry."

"That's okay. Did I hurt you?"

"Ah, no. No, I'm fine. Sorry. Just distracted today."

"That's okay. Sorry I startled you." He smiled again and squeezed your upper arm.

You could have stayed there forever, leaning into his touch. He let go, much to your chagrin, and then went into the conference room. You made a note to ask someone who he was, to see if you could find out more about him. He wasn't being escorted by a staff member, so he was obviously part of the Statesman organization somehow. Someone would know who he was.

You went into the ladies room, running into Ginger at the sinks. "Oh, Paloma! I'm so glad I saw you. I need to steal your boss for an urgent matter. Can you run his 11:00 meeting in the conference room? I know it's last minute, but I'll buy you lunch later."

Your brain flickered out for a nanosecond. The 11:00 meeting? The conference room? The handsome man? You recovered your composure and smiled at Ginger. "Yeah, no problem at all. Tell him to drop his notes off in the conference room and I'll be there in just a moment."

Ginger smiled and punched your shoulder softly. "Thanks, Pal. I owe you one."

You washed your hands in a trance. Oh lord, this was going to be interesting. You squared your shoulders and met your own eyes in the mirror. You looked exactly like you had this morning, just your normal self. Most of the time that was fine, but right now you wanted to be more glamorous, more devastating. You wanted to absolutely bewitch the handsome mystery man in the meeting. In the absence of some kind of last-minute emergency Hollywood makeup team, you would have to settle for a fresh application of lip balm and a quick scrub of your teeth with a damp paper towel. You flicked a stray eyebrow hair into place, sighed, and headed back to the conference room. Looks weren't important anyway, right? Statesman had hired you for your brain, not your face. And really, you were more interested in showing your boss that you could do well in your new role. So you banished your insecurities from your mind and breezed into the meeting.

"Good morning everyone." You studiously chose not to look at the handsome man you had run into, keeping your eyes on your notes for the time being. You were afraid that if you looked at him you wouldn't be able to tear your gaze away. "The Director has been called away for an urgent matter, so I'll be leading today’s operational planning meeting. For those of you who don't know me, I'm Paloma."

You risked a glance at the handsome stranger, relieved to see that his eyes were on his notepad and not on you. You let out a breath and found your stride, walking the group through the team's findings, the data, the implications, and the desired outcome for the mission. Agent Tequila asked a few cocky, half-assed questions, probing you for weaknesses. Normally that would have irritated you, but today it was a welcome focus that took your mind off the butterflies. You knocked Tequila back in place with a few well-chosen words, and then opened up the floor for questions.

The handsome man raised his hand, and your eyes fixed on how large and thick his fingers were. Oh God, this was torture. "Yes, Mr...?"

"Catfish. Um, can you tell me more about the extraction plan?"

"Yes, absolutely." You went over that phase of the mission, giving all the details your team had gathered about the terrain and the timing. When you were done, Catfish smiled at you, and your knees went weak at the sight of the dimple that appeared. No one else had questions, so you closed the meeting and stood to leave.

Suddenly there was a warm wall of denim at your elbow. "Hey, that was really detailed information. Thank you so much for walking me through everything."

You turned and smiled. "You're welcome. Glad I could help." You fumbled for something to say, trying to extend the conversation and keep him in your orbit for however long you could while everyone else filed out of the room.

"So, um, you go by 'Catfish.' Can I ask why? That's your code name, right? There's not some kind of hidden tragedy where that's the name your parents actually wrote on your birth certificate?"

He chuckled, throwing his head back. The expanse of his thick neck and bobbing Adam's apple did nothing to improve the butterflies. They only fluttered harder, rising higher in your chest.

"It's an old Army nickname, I was Special Forces about a million years ago. Now I'm here on the transport team. I'm a helicopter pilot. When we're not working you can just call me Frankie."

"Ah." You bit your lip and nodded. Why couldn't you think of something else to say? Fortunately, Frankie continued the conversation.

"And you're Paloma around here? I love that drink. Am I allowed to know your real name, or is that classified?"

You grinned and shook his hand, giving him your name. When it rolled off his lips in that deep voice it sounded like heaven to you. You didn't want anyone else to say your name ever again. Just him.

He leaned closer, like he was sharing a secret. “Can I ask you a question? Top secret.” He winked, and you nodded.

“Can I take you to lunch?”

Your heart dropped into your pelvis, and you gulped, hard. “Y-yes. Yes, that would be great. I’d love to.”

---

When Ginger found you in your office at 2:00 p.m. you were staring off into space, smiling blissfully.

“Hey, Paloma. Why did you blow me off for lunch? I came by at 12:30, I was going to take you out.”

“Oh! Oh my god, Ginger, I’m so sorry! I had a date.”

She raised her eyebrows at you, settling down in one of your visitors chairs. “A date?”

“No! Not a date. A, um…” You burst into husky giggles, and then confessed everything to her: the handsome man, the crinkles around his eyes, his dimples and his silly code name, the easy conversation over lunch, and the fact that he had scribbled his phone number down on a sticky note that was now burning a hole in your pocket. You felt like you were 12 again, confiding in your girlfriend about crushes and cute boys.

Ginger laughed and gave your hand a squeeze. “No wonder you forgot about me. I can’t compete with a handsome helicopter pilot!”

“Oh, I’m so sorry, Ginger. I really didn’t mean to forget.”

“No, it’s okay. But definitely call him this weekend and make a real date. I’ll want details when you take me out for an apology lunch on Monday.” She winked and left your office.

You sat back in your chair and tilted back to look at the ceiling while you considered it. Was it too soon to call him and make a date? Ugh, this was agony. You decided that going by conventional rules hadn’t really mattered to you at any point in your life until now, so why the hell not?

You took a deep breath, trying to puff up your confidence. When he answered the phone on the second ring, you dove right in. “Hi, Catfish? It’s Paloma. Listen, I had a really good time at lunch, and I’d like to see you this weekend if you’re free.”

---

On Monday, you had a whole lot to report to Ginger.

Frankie took you up for a sightseeing flight on your date, and you loved the way he controlled everything; making sure he warned you before any sudden movements, and checking that you weren’t getting airsick or anxious. When the rotors were stilled and you were back on the ground, Frankie reached over to help you unbuckle your harness. Something got stuck, and the agonizing extra seconds of feeling him jostle the strap near your hip made you bold. When it was finally free and he was about to pull his hand away, you grabbed his wrist. He looked at you, alarmed that something was wrong, and you crashed your lips against his, all teeth and tongue and wanting. Frankie was as good a kisser as he was a pilot, and you spent the rest of the date making out in his truck.

The next weekend, you found out that his warm, work-worn hands were also magic in the bedroom. Frankie was adept at tweaking your sensitive spots as gently as the little buttons and switches of the flight panel, bringing you to thrumming heights the same way he did his helicopter.

The rest of the summer passed in heady, humid days and nights like a dream. You loved Frankie’s easy sense of humor and his confidence in the cockpit. But Frankie was less confident about your relationship, voicing concerns about the decade-plus that separated your ages, and whether he was keeping you from dating men your own age. He made self-deprecating comments about being an “old man,” and you reassured him that there was no one you’d rather be with, no one who could sway your attention. You loved using your hands and arms and lips and tongue to reassure him, finding that he had his own sensitive spots that you could manipulate. You loved sending him to sleep with a smile on his face.

But as much as you and Frankie enjoyed the relationship, the nature of his work with the transportation team meant that he was never in town for very long. At the same time, your job was getting more complex, requiring late nights at the office that interfered with your time together. You refused to dwell too much on the fact that you were torn, that you loved your work as equally as you wanted to spend those nights with Frankie.

By the end of the summer, you both came to the realization that it was nobody’s fault, simply a case of poor circumstances, and you decided to end things and remain friends. In October Frankie left Statesman to take a job that relocated him to Florida. You were wistful, and you missed him, but at least it had been an amicable split. At least friends was something. And as sometimes happens even with the best of intentions, the time in between each phone call grew longer, and you eventually lost touch. Last you heard he was spending weekends with his old Army buddies who all lived nearby, and he had a new girlfriend. By February the ache was starting to subside, and by April you were nearly ready to date again.

In May, almost three years to the day after Ginger’s visit to your apartment had changed your life, you were offered the position to lead the Data Analysis team in New York. You jumped at the chance. Statesman located an apartment for you, and from the pictures you were already in love with it. Huge windows looked out over the city, and it was within walking distance of Statesman HQ. Your farewell party was bittersweet. Ginger offered to come visit you, and promised that New York would be everything you hoped it would be. Your team gave you such high praises that you joked that if that’s what it took to hear accolades, you would have left ages ago.

---

Your first few days in New York were spent acclimating to the Statesman HQ, and getting to know your neighborhood. It was strange to find that you could walk or take the subway for whatever you needed, compared to the Midwest where a car was required for everything. Your new team was welcoming, and you enjoyed your new duties immensely. Your first two weeks on the job passed in no time, and you went home every night feeling like you could fly.

And then you hit a wall, in the form of Jack Daniels, a.k.a. “Senior Agent Whiskey.” You knew him by reputation, of course. Ginger had filled you in on his exploits, his overbearing charm, his smarmy flirtations. You had seen him once or twice in passing when he had visited Champ’s office, but you hadn’t actually met him in person.

When you finally did, you almost asked for an immediate transfer back to Louisville. --- "Paloma" Series Masterlist Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

Tag list: @honeymandos @driedgreentomatoes @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @honestly-shite @anaaaispunk @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @nicolethered @dihra-vesa @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul @anxiousandboujee

[lovejustforaday]

Album Review - Citrus by Asobi Seksu

Citrus - Asobi Seksu

Main Genres: Shoegaze, Dream Pop, Indie Pop

A decent sampling of: Twee Pop, Neo-Psychedelia, Noise Pop

In the conversation of greatest shoegaze and dream pop bands of all time, you usually hear a lot of the same names: My Bloody Valentine, Cocteau Twins, Ride, Slowdive, Beach House, or maybe even Mazzy Star. But one name that doesn’t get mentioned nearly as often as it should is Asobi Seksu.

Asobi Seksu were an American indie rock band consisting of songwriting duo Yuki Chikudate on vocals and keyboards, and James Hanna as lead guitarist, with a rotating rhythm section that changed from LP to LP. Critics never really gave them a fair chance, but to me they are the finest band to lead the wave of “nu-gaze” that took place over the mid-to-late 2000s.

While a lot of new shoegaze bands today are made up of younger millennials and zoomers who are very traditionalist in recreating the sounds of the original scene, the 2000s “nu-gaze” “““revival””” saw a lot of bands who wanted to expand the genre’s scope. “Nu-Gaze” bands usually fell into one of two cluster groups:

Cluster A was made up of bands incorporating prominent electronic elements to expand on the soundscapes of the original scene. Cluster B bands were making riff-heavy alternative rock that blended shoegaze guitar tones and walls of sound with clearer vocals and more distinct melodic structures, building more on the foundations of bands like Ride or Lush than the likes of MBV.

Asobi Seksu’s self-titled debut falls into the latter category, with a college-radio-esque record of mostly no-nonsense shoegaze and indie pop. It’s a pretty great record itself, but it wasn’t exactly career defining, and if it had ended there, I would say they were another above-average shoegaze band that I listen to mostly just cause they happen to make my favourite subgenre of music.

Something truly brilliant came after though. The band decided to embrace the more immersive dream pop + heavy shoegaze hybrid sound that defined most of the greatest bands of the original movement. But beyond that, the band retained their indie pop melodies and developed a vivacious, sanguine, high-energy formula that set them apart from a scene that had always mostly been defined by subtlety, introspection, and bittersweetness. The resulting album was Citrus.

True to its name, Citrus is a viscous smoothie concoction of saccharine and tangy flavours, expressed in the form of Yuki Chikudate’s frolicking vocal melodies and bright keyboard notes mixed with James Hanna’s roaring walls of sound. True to its cover art, the sonic colours of this record consist of vibrant shades of vermilion, tangerine, and daffodil. This LP is the sonic equivalent of the feeling you get from that first refreshing taste of ice cream on a hot summer’s day. A magnificently vivid experience all around.

A lot of shoegaze bands stick to very strict conventional rock instrumentation - drumkit, bass, and lots of guitars. Maybe an added string section on a song here or there for dramatic effect. But on Citrus, I hear not only the addition of Yuki’s keyboard leads, but also organs, xylophones, sleigh bells, and even toy pianos.

Citrus fades into view with “Everything Is On”, a 17 second ambient intro that sounds something like an arcade submerged in a swimming pool. Normally, I’m not particularly drawn to the trend of albums opening with these odd micro-tracks. This one instance really works however, because it contrasts ever so nicely with the bright, jangly opening guitars of “Strawberries“, the album’s proper introduction.

Speaking of, “Strawberries” is the sound of summer in full bloom, with a splendid pseudo-call-and-response riff that bounces like a yo-yo in between several intermissions of crushed shoegaze drone that feel not unlike dunking your head in a bucket of ice water. I love hearing what sounds like a rotary organ buried deep into the mix of those intermissions. The track ends brilliantly with a major tempo and rhythm shift into a rampant breakdown of manic rock instruments and festive celebration.

“Thursday” is the single greatest song of the 2000s “nu-gaze” revival, and indeed one of the very greatest indie rock songs of all time. A brief ghostly prelude foreshadows a blurry four minute burst of love and ecstasy, with one of the most pleasing choruses I’ve ever heard where Yuki offers the kindest words of concern “it seems you’ve lost your way, you’ve let it all fall apart”. This is the feeling of waking up at the end of a depressive episode and crying tears of joy as you gaze up at the sunny sky and realize that you're happy just to be alive. By the end of "Thursday”, I am completely smitten with the very notion of life itself.

The gentle strums of “Strings” open up into a sun-soaked daydream. Like on several other tracks here, Yuki uses English and Japanese interchangeably, allowing the sounds of her syllables to convey the necessary emotional imagery to non-bilingual listeners as she practically skips and hops her way through the song in an impressive display of vocal gymnastics. The wall of sound orchestrated at the end of this track is one of my all time favourites in the history of shoegaze and noise pop, like an enormous heatwave that hits you all at once.

The glorious midpoint and climax of Citrus is the seven and a half minute wonder “Red Sea”, a vision of a world that lies beyond the horizon while surfing the waves of a vast and foamy ocean. This track reaches monumental heights that I find particularly hard to put into words. What I will say is that this is second place to “Thursday” only by a small fraction, and it contains around the three minute mark one of the most captivatingly nostalgic melodies I’ve ever heard.

“Goodbye” is the sole occasion of a mostly straightforward indie pop song on this record, and its one of the sweetest breakup songs you’ll probably ever hear. “Lions and Tigers” is a distant meadow of dream pop that makes me feel like I’m a kid and I’m hugging my friend one last time before they move to another city. “Nefi + Girly” is like a follow-up to “Strawberries”, with another playful lead guitar riff and a dreamy keyboard lead that sounds like its splattering an empty canvas of indie rock with lively paint colours.

“Exotic Animal Parade” slows the record down for a brief melancholy ballad before exploding in a dream like it never even existed. “Mizu Asobi” emerges from the aftermath to finish off the record with one last beam of radiant joy before the festivities end with a bang.

As a footnote, I would like to add that, although they never count towards my final rating of a record, the bonus tracks/b-sides/etc. from the Citrus era are some of the best deep cuts ever released. Likewise, here’s some quick thoughts on those:

The band recorded two covers of two mid-20th century classics during this album cycle, including a twinkling, wistful haze rendition of Frank Sinatra’s “All Through The Day” as well as a giddy, fleeting noise pop cover of The Crystal’s “Then He Kissed Me”. Both are excellent examples of how to expand on their respective originals, reviving vintage pop classics with gorgeous soundscapes. There’s also the stand alone single “Stay Awake”, a sweeping end-of-chapter moment with some of the most excellent indie rock dynamics I’ve ever heard.

Like most people these days, Loveless was my first shoegaze record and my formal introduction to one of indie rock’s most elusive subgenres. It was good enough at the time to make me listen to a few more shoegaze bands, but Citrus was the record that made me fall in love with the genre medium. It was Citrus that allowed me to go back and fully appreciate Loveless as the masterpiece that it is, and later fall in love with other brilliant shoegaze records like Souvlaki and Ceres & Calypso In The Deep Time.

This album was also the unofficial soundtrack to most of my time as an undergrad. It played on my bus rides into the city and during walks around campus downtown on those last few days of exams before the summer. It helped me more than any other record to get through the worst year of mental health in my life. I am endlessly fond of this beautiful work of art, and I am truly grateful for how Asobi Seksu managed to expand my horizons. This will forever be one of my favourite records. Happy 15th anniversary Citrus.

10/10

highlights: “Thursday”, “Red Sea”, “Strawberries”, “Lions and Tigers”, “Strings”, “Goodbye”, “Nefi + Girly”, “Mizu Asobi”, “New Years”, “Everything Is On”, “Exotic Animal Parade”

[helahades]

The Goddess and the Grocer

(Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader)

Summary: Sappy and hopelessly romantic, the part time art student, part time grocery bagger, and full time fantasy creator Steve Rogers lives in his head, with you as his muse. Making puzzles out of your groceries, and portraits of your every curve and edge, he fears and craves every interaction, while living with you as a lover in his mind.

A/N: Well. I have struggled with motivation for the longest. Something hit me though, and by something I mean other supportive writers and great friends. Hugest shoutout to @threeminutesoflife for being a darling and @imanuglywombat for making TWO beautiful mood boards I stare at more than Steve stares at the Peggy compass.

Warnings: creepy, obsessive Steve. ideation of creepy thoughts. food focused talk. mention of overeating. dub-con concepts. two mentions of alcohol consumption.

New blog, new me! I’ll take this moment to say I’m taking requests, and I love feedback even more than Steve loves you! hope you enjoy

Word Count: about 3k

-

Now rain slicked, the sheen of oil and water twists the reflections of the tonights red, red, green—-“can I make the turn, no too late” on yellow—now red traffic lights into a twisted rainbow on the city streets.

Down those streets, and across a barren parking lot, parents, lovers, businesspeople and more squeak and clack and slap their rainy shoes on the old speckled tile at the entrance (that Steve had just mopped) as they do every week.

At the Potts Grocery Store, nothing ever changes. And never in the night.

It isn’t just night though, it’s dead night. The odd time after things have slowed for sleep, after the rush in between when people bumble in (promising themselves promises they won’t keep about doing the shopping sooner next month), after the ten minute period within which Dr. Banner wordlessly picks up the same array of bland teas.

The night has crawled beyond all the events that happen as they do, and entered the dead night.

Maybe Steve is too poetic—like his dad says he is—too tied up in fate, and hope in life’s mystique, but he holds hope for what happens where the night is dead.

When the night dies, and most are asleep, with it, facades die too. The only people to come in the dead of night, are drunks, doctors, various night shifters, and… you.

He hasn’t yet questioned your reason for showing up so late. Hasn’t really, technically, spoken to you at all, really.

Some part of Steve thinks, maybe if he startles you, says something that clangs too loud or awkward, all your pieces will blow away, like some agitated dandelion, and he will never know you again, if he ever even knew you at all.

No, Steve’s job isn’t to startle you, or to take up your space. It’s to try and meet your eyes as you hand him the reusable bags. It’s to try and figure out what meal you’re planning from what he’s bagging, and what he already knows lies unused in your kitchen. It’s to put the bags in your cart if you’ll let him.

He hasn’t seen you yet. It’s getting late, where are you?

Somewhere between cold fluorescent and neutral warm desk lamps, the lights of the grocery store seem to exist both to chase shadows on tired shoppers' faces, and to mock him, like a candle finally blown out by a stood up date.

Had he done something wrong the last time? If he had, that couldn’t be helped. You were wearing those shorts and looked like you had just gotten ready for bed and you had your hair pulled back, but just a little fell into your face anyway.

And your scent. It always wraps around him like the saccharine spice of pastries when he swings open the bakery door for his morning shift.

The moment you breezed by him after checkout was almost too much to bear. He caught the fresh damp scent of your tied up and deep conditioned hair. You smelled like fresh linens and a life he can only imagine having when he’s chasing orgasms alone and twisting up his sheets.

He could have devoured you.

But he didn’t.

Not even when your shoulder accidentally grazed him while you were rushing out in a frenzy.

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” came your frantic whisper.

He dreams of making you that delicate again. He thinks he could shape your unsure apologies in his hands like clay, or spread you thin on a canvas when you whisper so soft. But he didn’t do those things at all.

Steve being Steve, he tried to make his large frame slouch, your aura wrapping him up into a double life Clark Kent shyness, despite your gentleness.

He didn’t say a word.

A wordless, mirthless stretch of his lips. An “It’s okay, walk all over me” grin. You regarded him with a flicker of an odd glance, and then you were out the door.

As he finishes up with the last shopper in his lane, his worn Converse squeak as he leans his frame against the bagging station at checkout.

-

Last class, last week, his art teacher dropped a big assignment. Stuffy and sadistic, the man seemed to only eat the pain of lovers kept from expression, so of course, he relished in the moment he told the class to try a new medium, with a subject they hadn’t previously captured.

He seemed to look directly at Steve as he delivered the blow.

Steve's problem certainly isn’t creativity. It isn’t talent or lack of effort. He surely is adaptable, he rarely tells on his love!

For the still life project, he captured the tree that blocks your kitchen window. Heavy strokes in his sketchbook.

He even painted the park in blooms on a paper towel—yes a paper towel—when you justified to a cashier one day that all the crackers and deli meats were for a picnic.

So he has a muse. But he’s not a fool. Sometimes he spends so much time trying not to look like a fool, and paints so much around you instead of you, that it’s a self portrait of his own obsession.

Your face. Your curves. The many separated sections where he tried to master the texture of your hair. All those traces of you live in his sketchbook. Only twice has he turned in a portrait of you.

Being told he can’t have you makes Steve feel like he’s been too obvious. You’re his little secret. And he is no fool. He’ll have to be more careful. So here he is.

The canvas is as bare as the walls of his studio apartment.

Three jobs and a potted plant from his mom just aren’t enough to decorate life. He wishes he could capture sleep in a picture frame and hang it on the wall. When he got too tired and caffeine stopped working, he thinks he’d pick up those frames and absorb the sleep in the way he can absorb nostalgia when looking at a real picture.

Then, he thinks, that’s the sort of thing art majors say when they haven’t slept in three weeks.

The canvas is still bare. It isn’t like Steve. He always knows where to go, what he feels, what he wants.

His teacher told him to try something different. Had the nerve to clap Steve on the back after class and say something about stretching creative wings and finding a new muse.

He thinks the guy should have punched him in the face instead.

There’s nothing stuck about Steve. He knows what he wants and how to get there.

He also knows that schooling ruins the intent of art, he knows how to put love into colors, that art teachers know the least about expression out of everyone on earth, and that he works two night jobs a week to barely afford to be taught by that man anyway.

Life is full of oddities.

-

Some of life’s oddities are right there in your cart as you approach. Steve notices the rain has frizzed your hair, the lovely heart shaped curve of your lips as they stretch into a smile, and the way you yawn before you say hello to the cashier.

He makes a mental note that your hair might have a warmer tinge when illuminated by the sun. You’re already his sun. His stars too. Maybe even his whole universe.

You’re always warm in his paintings. Anything to separate you from the dreadful scheme of this commercial death trap.

What’s for dinner this week?

Your groceries thump onto the counter in practiced succession. Perishables together at the front, and non perishables as neatly as possible following behind.

So thoughtful, my sweet darling.

Your produce today mostly consists of fruit. It reminds Steve of how practiced he is with a knife. How he’d slice up your apples just right for you. He has the practiced skills of an artist. He’d take care of you.

Bucky likes to tell him that cooking is the art and baking is the science. That’s meant to mean that it’s no surprise that Buckys got a perfect little life with a perfect little baker who smiles like the sun and only trusts Bucky in her kitchen.

...And it’s no surprise that Steve’s artsy streak has led him here. Thinking about folding mandarin slices between your perfect lips and letting the flavor explode across your tongue.

He thinks about kissing you. How you would taste tangy and sweet as you try not so hard to push him off so he gets back to cooking and doesn’t burn the house down.

The house. A house with you. A home.

He sees you’re wearing a sundress, and tries not to pity you for the irony. In the closet of some cookie cutter three bedroom, you might ask him how you look in it. He would beg you to wear it just for him a little longer, but ultimately, he would have been able to warn you about the rain.

You wouldn’t have listened though, my stubborn angel.

He thinks about your thighs beneath your dress, and the heat between them.

Sometimes, his dreams betray him, and he steps through the threshold to your shared home, not an artist, but a “Honey, I'm home” suit wearing prisoner.

He fears the simple life, but with you, he believes simplicity could be enough. Maybe he would be rich enough to buy you a million sundresses.

But without his art, he’d be powerless to show you how rich you look, bathed in color, divine from his perspective.

Without his art, he has no outlet for imagination. The only thing that gets him off these days is imagining what you look like under your clothes, and how it might sound if you spoke his name.

When you buy lotion, or a candle, he makes a mental note of the scent, and uses it to color his experience later. You like warm sugary scents, or natural outdoorsy ones, with no in between.

As you small talk with the cashier, your card slips from between your fingers and clatters onto the unswept floor. Finishing a thought, you delay in retrieving it, but by the time you’re leaning down, Steve’s already handing it back.

Eyes flitting up to meet the baggage boy standing up at full height, you melt into an easier smile.

You notice first that his eyes are incredibly blue behind the dark window frames, and second that his hands are incredibly warm as he hands your card back.

Frazzled, and just a bit smitten, you smile kindly.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly, regarding him fully, perhaps for the first time, and pausing only to let your eyes drift to the knitted cotton polo stretched across his broad chest—no, to the name tag resting on it…

“Steve,” you finish with a smile that makes it ring like an exclamation point. To hear you finally pronounce his name… it’s like church bells. But they’re muted because now he can only consider your eyes locked on his.

He’s never wanted to escape somewhere and go home with someone so badly. And would it be so wrong?

He could slice up fruit for you. He could bring sausages and deli meats and blocks of cheeses whole from the market where they slipped him things free. He’d slice them up nice and wrap them in cloth and surprise you with an old fashioned wicker basket picnic in the mountains.

He’d let you eat yourself round. And after you were full, he’d still offer to feed you grapes, to pour you more wine.

Steve never understood why the rich ate bread with olive oil, but God he wanted to be rich enough to give you that. All the things that sound ridiculous to people who work to live. He wanted to work so hard you’d never work again.

He wanted to kiss you dizzy, bunch up the fabric of your dress on your hip and tell you he loves you while you’re wine drunk. He’d carry you back to the car and surprise you with wildflowers in a bunch.

Later, he’d paint you nude with them in your hair, and he’d feed you more grapes.

He would tuck you in and wrap you up for later when you woke up missing him. Maybe he wouldn’t leave at all. Maybe you would want to spend the whole day with him too.

He’s got a twinkle of charm in his eye and just a bit of sadness that looks every bit like the starving artist people believe him to be. Bucky hasn’t stopped bringing him the leftover rolls at closing since he found out Steve spends more money on paint than meals.

And is it so wrong? As Steve looks into your eyes, he musters all that charm his mom said he was born with. He blinks brighter the twinkle in his eye.

“You’re welcome,” comes Steve’s gentle, but sure reply.

You pause at that, because really it’s nothing... But people always seem to say “Don’t worry about it!”, “It’s nothing”, or maybe nothing at all.

You pause at how the reaction seemed genuine, in a world of practiced replies, and on a day that you’re feeling shitty because the rain ruined your hair and happiness.

You smile at him again, grateful for a pocket of truthful kindness, and turn back to the cashier, effectively ending the interaction.

Steve’s mind is spinning in ways he just can’t bring himself to understand. So he bags your groceries. You forgot the reusable bags, he doesn’t pause to wonder why.

Click. Click. Click. Beep!

Tomatoes. He bags them with the apples. Double bags for good measure.

Beep.

Spaghetti. The good kind that most people overlook in favor of a more common brand. New bag.

Beep.

Frozen garlic bread. He adores you. You’ve got garlic and basil and more herbs than you’ll ever need at home. You’d probably make the spaghetti noodles and parmesan yourself if you could. But you love five minutes at 400 garlic bread.

He imagines your pretty little kitchen, with all its various knick knacks, smelling like garlic and tomato sauce. He can’t help thinking you’d be impressed with his chopping skills too. Just how his mom taught him.

He imagines cooking with you in the dead of night, instead of being here. He imagines you bending over with your legs straight and your back curved and the oven mitts on to get garlic bread out of the oven. You put the tray on the cold burners Steve’s not using.

Maybe he would ask you to try the sauce, he’d hold the spoon to your lips after blowing off for you. Your eyes always flutter closed to process the taste of things, and sometimes he swears he could read your mind.

Then they would open. Wide. The same way they did when you tasted the new product double chocolate brownie sample last Tuesday. You would tell him how perfect it is and praise how he finally isn’t shy about using garlic anymore. Turning off the burners, he’d pull you into his arms, he’d kiss you til you saw stars…

-

Walking you backwards, still entangled in the breathless kiss, he wouldn’t stop until you bumped the padded kitchen bench. Then he’d fall to his knees.

“Steve, honey”—

You’d cut yourself off with a breathy moan because he’d already be under your skirt.

Kissing up your thighs, flattening his tongue against you, kissing you gently, before sucking your clit, while working it with the tip of his tongue, he’d show you again, like always, how passionate of a lover he is.

You’d moan like heaven, because you are.

You’d lean back, propping yourself up on an arm and pushing the other hand through his golden hair. You just can’t stop your hips from rolling against his tongue that’s still worshipping you.

He won’t use his fingers. It wouldn’t be proper, he’s just been cooking. So instead, he uses those hands to pull your thighs up onto his shoulders.

Still swirling his tongue around your clit, Steve is drawing you closer, your body seeming to know it’s own ways to pull him to you too.

It’s electric. You can’t stop and you’d never want to. He’d make love to you every single—

-

That’s not where he is though. He grabs the paper bags he’s bagged up with your ingredients and some other oddities, and he places them in the cart you’ve pushed forward.

He tries not to think about the fact that you’re going home alone. He tries not to think about how he’ll be sleeping alone, and in cold colors. Tries to skip forward to later when he has all the time in the world to imagine the way things should be.

A quiet goodnight and you’re on your way. You’re careful not to graze him as you walk away, and he’s careful not to be obvious watching.

The cashier leaves the station, and Steve puts his head down as he passes, before looking up in your direction as he always does.

Except… when he looks up to see your sundress swishing, it isn’t. And you’re turned back looking at him with this funny little look.

You smile. A twinkle of embarrassment, nervous to have been caught looking. He tries not to chuckle for all the irony.

He watches you as you watch him just a bit longer, before your sundress swishes out the door, and the light of your halo fades into the distance, consumed by the rain.

-

By the time his shift is up, the rain has stopped and the sky is colored like a bruise. The sun knocks at a threshold unseen, just slightly feathering light through the sky.

Steve is dead tired, but he won’t sleep a wink. Once he arrives at his apartment, he begins the project.

A mixed medium piece. Acrylic paint, charcoal shadowed details. It’s a wicker basket, full of apples, grapes, and wildflowers.

-

Later, as the sun rises, and the painting is half done, he flops into bed, finishing up a stale roll from the bakery, and dreams about waking up to you.

He pretends there’s no job to be at in three and a half hours, but instead, that it’s a quiet Sunday, and he’s waking up to you in his arms...

Soft and ethereal.

-

Thank you for reading!

Whether or not this is your type of writing, or you liked it at all, I just want to tag some authors who generally inspire me and helped in some way to motivate me posting my first piece: @threeminutesoflife @imanuglywombat @sherrybaby14 @jtargaryen18 @heavenbarnes @tropicalcap @allaboardthereadingrailroad @thotty-tatertot @sapphirescrolls

[slashingdisneypasta]

How do you think the gotham guys would smell like?

This hard *Sweat drop* I don't know smells... my nose has always been a bit broken, ha.

Butch: Just some simple, basic male cologne. Unless he wants to impress someone special (Tabby), then he would pick something outta the fancier section of the chemist XD

Headhunter: He uses women's deodorant cuz it doesn't have any obnoxious 'male' scent.

Jerome: He's a teenage boy XD So either axe body spray (When he's dressed up or he's going to see Bruce XD ) or BO (At Arkham).

Also blood.

Hatter: He went through a loootta trouble to find a very uncommon cologne/perfume that makes him smell like this very particular day that he and Alice spent together when they were little and she actually liked him. If not that though then its just any basic deodorant. He also just smells naturally like baking ingredients from baking so much ^^

Mr Freeze: ... does ice have a smell?...

Penguin: And the award for most pleasantly smelling Male Gotham rogue goes to... Oz! These days, anyway *cough* Its not over powering (In fact you can only smell it if you're really close to him, like hugging) or non existent (He definitely makes an effort to smell okay). As for what the smell is... well, its some fancy cologne he thought his mother would like ^^ In fact he got it from his father later on.

He doesn't really care what he smells like though. He just makes the effort when he an for other peoples benefit.

Pyg: Flowers and blood.

Riddler: Oh god, I r e a l l y don't know. I can see Ed being a it pongy before becoming the Riddler but I can also see him smelling very clean (So I don't know; You pick XD). Then I just have nothing for Riddler. Maybe axe? Haha. Some cool-guy cologne that's supposed to attract the ladies and instil fear into all the beta dudes. (Because obviously, he's a alpha? Haha)

Scarecrow: Eu... well canvas, and dirt, but that's where the nice things end. He does not shower.

Zsasz: Same as Wendell.

[texxasserialroundup]

Incoming college students.. listen up!

I have been asked about some tips or advice for incoming college students, both traditional and non-traditional, so here it is.. enjoy!

So I am what you call a non-traditional student I did not go to college right out of high school it took a couple years for me to realize that it was important for me to pursue a higher education beyond my high school diploma. My very first freshman semester I took two classes, one of these was a developmental math course ( I ABSOLUTELY LOATH MATH!) and of course I dropped out of college soon after, honestly I don't even think I did like a full month of classes I just stopped showing up. I wasn’t motivated and all I really wanted to do was hang out with my friends and do hood rat shit (LOL)  Fast forward 4 years after that, when I AGAIN decide to get my act together, it took that mixed with having some personal experiences to kind of get my head straight in regards to my future endeavors and what I want to do with myself. When I say that it's hard to do college by yourself, y’all... it is so hard, it doesn’t help that I'm an introvert who doesn’t like to ask for help from tutors because I feel like I am burdening them and I’m worried that I will embarrass myself with dumb questions.  Neither of my parents graduated high school so that was no help with homework or studying and at the time I was going to a Community College and so the atmosphere is not quite like a four-year University. Everybody just kind of stays to themselves so it is not like it is easy to mingle make new friends, there is not a lot of on campus activities and stuff like that so that also made it difficult. But also I did not know how to study, honestly I'm not going to lie to you guys, I'm currently working on my third college degree and I still don't know how to study and sometimes that really kind of like puts things into perspective about our educational system in regards to the way that they teach towards a specific curriculum. I think that teaching students how to study is extremely important. The way that I get through my college classes is a lot of crying, and I am not being sarcastic, that is exactly what happens. I do a lot of crying, there is a lot of frustration, there is a lot of screaming at myself, there is a lot of self-bullying and personal demons that I battle with. I do not feel like I learn like everybody else, I cannot just read something or watch a video and retain information. Everything must be repetitive; I must read it over and over and over, I must highlight things and make up little phrases in order to remember topics like the Krebs cycle. So, it is repetitive, and it slows me down, it is frustrating, and the experience overall is overwhelming. Especially recently with covid a lot of my classes have been online which essentially translates to teach yourself a brand-new topic, good luck, and may the force be with you kind of thing. For people like me who deal with what my boyfriend calls “impostor syndrome” it really rattles any self confidence that I built throughout my college career and it makes me feel like the achievements that I've done so far aren't valid and that I don't deserve the degrees that I have and that maybe it was a mistake . With these things being said I just want to spread some positivity and some good vibes in regards to anybody who is a freshman going into college, a current college student, or a non-traditional student such as myself who feels like they might be too old to go back to school. Everybody is dealing with their own struggles and college is not easy, if it were everybody would have a college degree. Some tips from myself would be not to be afraid to ask questions, if you're like me, I have really bad anxiety and I don't feel like I can bring myself to ask a question during lecture in front of the class so I'll either email the professor afterwards or I will speak to the professor one-on-one during office hours or I'll try to grab her as soon as class is over before she leaves an ask her a question. The reason why I say this is because college moves very fast and the professors honestly it seems like they're not going to put any extra effort into helping you understand a topic if you don't express your confusion or if you don't understand the topic. At the end of the day you're paying for your college education and you need to create self-confidence and remind yourself that you're worthy and that your questions do deserve to be answered no matter how ridiculous they sound in your head no matter if you think that it will sound dumb. I cannot stress enough the importance of getting your questions answered. My second piece of advice is to utilize any type of group study offered, like I said before, I have really bad anxiety and it's hard for me to just walk up to a stranger and ask to be a study buddy. What I've noticed though is that a few students will get together or it will just be one student and they will start a group chat through either GroupMe or through text message or you know through canvas which is the educational platform that my University uses, and it really helps because you still have access to study guides, notes, or if you miss a day you can reach out and ask what you missed. As well as review and go over important topics and information posted. A lot of the times you don't even have to be face to face with these people, all of it is through text messaging or email. Another really good piece of advice is learn how to use OneNote and Google Docs and learn how to use it in a group format so that multiple people can work on one document together in real time so you can watch somebody else edit a midterm review while you're also adding to a midterm review it.will.save.your.life! Just spend a couple minutes, get on YouTube watch a quick tutorial nothing crazy just a quick rundown, y’all, I am telling you it will do wonders. Next piece of advice will have to be not to compare yourself to other students. My first semester of college at a four-year University I went all out on the school supplies, I bought so many journals, I bought so many sticky notes and planners and different colored pens and sharpies and highlighters. I had index cards, I had binders, I had sectional post-its, basically if office depot sold it I had it in my backpack.  I quickly learned that I did not need half of that crap, but when you're excited about going to your first year of college you want to be prepared and if you're like me I watched other people’s YouTube videos about their experiences and things that worked for them and so I tried to pick and choose what I thought would work for me. Long story short it did not  help and I think that really played a big part in my self-loathing in a sense because I would see all these other students super organized with beautiful handwriting, multi colored notes and just over the top every day, never faltering, just like the perfect student it seemed. It's okay not to be super organized, it's okay not to have the perfect notes, it's okay if all of your notes from all of your classes are in one notebook, if it works for you, it works for you.  No matter what that may be, just keep in mind that this is your college journey no one else’s. Finally, I will emphasize to invest money in a good backpack. Like do not take the backpack from high school with you, I did that, and it was a disaster honestly. It is like my dad used to say growing up, “you get what you pay for.” You are going to be carrying a lot of stuff, probably a tablet, a laptop, textbooks, journals, binders, you name it and you need support for your shoulders, for you back and for your neck. I say this from experience, my college campus is one of the largest public universities in the state of Texas, it takes me 20 minutes to get from my car to the campus, once on campus, I have another eight minute walk to get to my first class. So, it is detrimental to me and my physical health to have a good backpack with support that holds everything and equally distributes the weight correctly. I know this sounds crazy but that is probably the one thing besides getting a good laptop that I would invest a lot of money in. Lastly, I will leave you with this, college is a scary experience for many people and right now we're in very uncertain times which only adds to the stress, but I want you to know that there are resources out there for you and other students and faculty who are more than willing to work with you and accommodate accordingly. Please do not be afraid to reach out to anybody for any type of assistance whether it be academic, mental or physical help, we are all in this together. Be kind to one another and stay curious. -SLR