#photoshop was dying towards the end

[jackfuckingtwist]

FALLOUT Season One

@pscentral event 27: scenery @lgbtqcreators creator bingo: color (insp)

[bratz-kitten]

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS [part 5]

— people with jupiter in the 8th may experience an “abundance” of traumatic experiences throughout life, often relating to death; these are the people who truly feel like everyone they love ends up dying. at their worst, they can become desensitized to death— jupiter is ruled by sagittarius, a sign known for being in denial when in difficult situations in favor of optimism. these natives can pretend like nothing actually happened, or minimize the situation in their head so that they don’t have to face it.

— okay this might be a weird one... like, you know in asoiaf when arya was walking through the streets and was always like “i’m as quiet as a shadow”? that’s literally the energy of someone with planets in the 12th house/chart ruler in the 12th house. these people are so stealthy. they’re able to move so quietly and without anyone noticing, both literally and figuratively. on one hand, they’re very quiet about their plans and ambitions to the point where other people only find out when they’re achieving success over it; on the other hand, they just. don’t like making noise while walking idk bitch you’ll only see me coming when i’m right beside you, i even get paranoid that i’m breathing too loud and that other people will hear 

— people with moon aspecting mars can be incredibly impulsive when they feel hurt or triggered. yall need to be careful with doing things in the heat of the moment that you know you’ll regret later... but in the moment, you feel so hurt that it clouds your rational side. please be more self-aware about this because you may make decisions that will directly affect you for the worse in the future 

— people with leo mars ft. constantly asking you for pictures... about anything. they just wanna SEE LMFAO THEY DON’T CARE WHAT IT IS THEY’RE SEEING. you just got ready to go out? “send pics of your makeup and your full outfit”. you’re waiting in a long boring line to get the covid vaccine? “send pics of the line”. your mom baked cake? “send pics of the cake”. plus they send so many random pictures while texting, it’s their special love language

— having moon conjunct moon/venus in synastry feels insane. you tell them something you’ve been through, and they’re immediately like “that happened with me as well.” it doesn’t even have to be something grand, sometimes just very specific things you thought were particular about you. the amount of understanding that comes with this aspect in synastry can feel very new and intense especially if you’re used to seeing yourself as the “odd one out”, used to feeling isolated in your experiences 

— people with pluto in the 1st house often feel the need to erase “traces” of their existence, for example deleting messages that they sent people, deleting all of their social media posts. they can feel anxious and paranoid about other people having access to their past self, even if the past self in question is from, like. a week ago 

— people with chiron in the water houses (4th/8th/12th) might’ve suffered bullying to the point where they repress their memories. a lot of their memories of their school years may feel foggy if they were bullied in those years

— also. people with chiron in the 8th house may feel as though they’ve been punished for wanting to experience intimacy. it’s like, the people who were supposed to be the closest to them – for example, their sibling or something – were the ones who hurt them the most. 

— people with mercury-neptune aspects and strong pisces/neptune energy in their birth chart might struggle with only remembering things when they’re right in front of them. you should keep things in your peripheral vision to remind you of reality, especially when it comes to feelings— so that you won’t start getting lost inside your own head. like... keep the letters your friends wrote you by your bedside table so you can read them every time your brain starts convincing you that you’re not loved. keep the gifts you’ve been sent on display in your bedroom wall, or sentimental material things that remind you of past happy experiences.

— earth placements and their thing for asmr... omfg. it’s like they’re always looking for things to up their sensory experience/sensitivity. like, earth signs are the ones most connected to worldly experiences so they feel so soothed with the whole asmr experience: just hearing someone gently whispering or tapping on/scratching things calms them down and helps them fall asleep. they love the tingles it’s heaven for them

— moon-saturn aspects might hold and caress themselves while they sleep because their parents never did. yes i woke up and chose violence <3 your secret is NOT safe with me 💋

— while we’re on the topic of sleeping, a majority of the pisces moons i know need to sleep while hugging something, at least a pillow. they can’t just not hug something while they sleep, it’s very instinctive for them. anyways if any pisces moon needs a pillow to hold, i volunteer as tribute 💋

— virgo placements feel sososo soothed by hearing their cats purr. thinking about how my virgo placement friends are always the ones who send me videos of them petting their cats... and then i get soothed by how soothed they feel. it’s a win win situation, if you have virgo placements it’s hereby your duty to send me a video of you petting your cat while they purr. right now. GO

— people with gemini in the 3rd house might have shaky movements of the hands when other people look at them doing things. very specific i know but the third house rules hands and gemini is a sign that has somewhat of an anxious, twitchy quality to it. on the other hand, people with capricorn in the 3rd house (scorpio risings, using whole signs) have the steadiest hands i’ve ever seen lol their movements ooze confidence, these bitches know how to make you feel as thought they know exactly what they’re doing

— people with venus in the 1st house ft. altering their pics with photoshop and hating posting selfies without filters because they never feel like their appearance is good enough. stop it. you don’t need to always look your best and especially not if your ‘best’ isn’t even what you actually look like. also... don’t even think about making self-deprecative jokes about your appearance. next time i find one of yall saying “ahaha im not bad for a 5 without talent” i’m squishing your head between 2 pieces of toast and calling you an idiot sandwich. you’re BEAUTIFUL 

— having venus in the 3rd house in composite with someone? do you mean calling each other the absolute ugliest nicknames in the most endearing way? 

— leo deals with themes of the ego, and it seems that leo placements often struggle with attracting narcissistic people into their life... leo suns/mercuries can be raised by loud, overbearing, narcissistic parents who see their kid as an extension of themselves and who teach the kid to always be very supportive and caring towards them or else they’ll deny them of words of affirmation-- either by insulting them to shatter their self-esteem or simply never complimenting the kid back. leo moons/mars/venus tend to attract narcissistic partners who only care about serving their own emotional needs and ignore the ones of their partner, and who feed off of their supportive and giving nature. which is why leo placements really need to watch out for being gullible, naïve and dismissing the red flags because my god, you be falling for some shady people. 

— people with personal planets in the 12th house/chart ruler in the 12th house might feel like they can’t let go of their past life— they may dream of memories, people or places from another life. it’s like they can’t detach from it, and even if they can’t directly remember their past life, it’s like they feel it in their bones. also, they might’ve felt... estranged from their family ever since childhood; there may have been feelings of being unable to emotionally connect to their (often, distant) parents, and they might’ve even wondered if they were adopted because of how different they felt to the rest of the family. 

— okay so, a thing that people with saturn in the 3rd house need to look out for is mentally checking out of conversations while they’re still happening. these people can detect when they’re being manipulated really fast and their way of dealing with it can be to immediately shut down, to grow cold and silent and not even bother answering when you’re expected to respond. and, like, that’s great when someone starts screaming at you or being insulting/trying to coerce you into shit, but take notice if you find yourself shutting your loved ones out as soon as they say anything that triggers you. don’t simply detach from them, communicate what’s wrong

— aries placements, ESPECIALLY aries suns and moons, value generosity so much and they get so turned off by stingy ppl who don’t share with others, especially when others need it. like.. if you’re hanging out in a group with them and someone asks for a bite of your food because they have no money and you say no... espect them to never respect you. ever. 

— people with libra placements use soooo many adjectives to describe things. something can’t just be beautiful, it has to be DIVINE and CELESTIAL and INTOXICATING. they can be so expressive god it’s so fcking funny 

— capricorn placements HATE asking others for advice because they think no one knows better than them (and they’re not wrong, lol). when they truly care for someone, they might ask the person for advice simply as a sign that they respect, trust and value their judgement. even if they don’t plan on taking it LMFAO 

— people with mars in a water sign can have this terrible habit of expecting other people to guess what they want. and then they get passive agressive when you don’t instinctively feel what it is they want... and when you ask them “do you want this?”, they go like “FINALLY. i thought you’d never get there”. stop it. i know that you want people to understand you in a way that transcends words, but you can’t expect people to read your mind and then get disappointed when they don’t, thinking “oh if they loved me that much then they would’ve known that i really want chipotle for dinner :(” GIRL WHAT. COMMUNICATE YOUR NEEDS  

[theflyingfeeling]

Hi, I really enjoy you doing promts 💞

How about "us getting into an argument is not gonna stop me from kissing you goodbye before i leave for work..." for J/J?

Hi there! I enjoy doing prompts, although I must admit this one turned out to be a little challenging for some reason 😅 I hope you like it though 🖤

(1819 words)

~

“PORKO!”

Joonas, who was already awake but too comfortable under his duvet to get up and properly start his day, almost dropped his phone on his face when Joel’s ear-splitting shriek broke the calm silence.

“What?” Joonas shouted back, once the initial shock at the sudden noise had passed.

“Where’s my mug?”

Joonas clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes; they were both grown men, and yet, living with Joel, Joonas sometimes felt like he was the mother to a teenage son.

“Your what?”

“MY MUG!”

Finally Joonas threw aside his duvet, put on his bunny slippers, and stomped to the kitchen to see what Joel’s current crisis was about.

“Where have you put it?!” Joel demanded to know the second Joonas saw him, all but pulling his hair off his scalp.

“Put your what?!”

“My Trent Reznor mug! The one I was gifted by a fan on the US tour! The taxi will be here in five and I haven’t even had coffee yet!”

As a matter of fact, it was the only Trent Reznor mug Joel owned, and although it had been hilarious at the time, Joonas was getting rather annoyed about seeing the intentionally poorly photoshopped fan edit of the NIИ singer’s face staring at him from the other side of the table at every breakfast. Tragically, it was also the only mug Joel ever wanted to drink from since the day the bouncer of a concert venue gave it to him with a heartfelt-letter from a young fan.

“The dishwasher?” Joonas suggested, but when Joel yanked the door open, Joonas considered grabbing the nearest saucepan lid to shield himself from the upcoming walloping.

“You didn’t turn it on last night?! IT WAS YOUR TURN, PORKO!” Joel screamed with fire-daggers shooting out of his eyes at Joonas once he realised the plates, cups and glasses hidden inside the home appliance were as dirty as they had been the night before when they had finished their dinner.

“In my defence,” Joonas shook his finger at Joel while backing off towards the the kitchen door frame, “if I may remind you, I was too busy turning you on last night to–”

“Fucking hell, Joonas, you can’t do even the most simple tasks I ask of you! This is about the MILLIONTH you’ve forgotten–”

“Not even simple tasks? Which one of us spent the whole night assembling that bitch of an Ikea shelf while you–”

“–and how many times have I told you to UN-FUCKING-PLUG THE TOASTER after you have used it?! If we end up dying in a house fire–”

“Well, at least I don’t leave my wet towel on the floor after I’m finished taking mirror selfies–”

“You are so unreliable, Joonas!”

The thing with Joel Hokka was that he was a right drama queen – Joonas had known this for as long as he had known Joel, and over time he had learned how to handle it, perhaps even find it a little endearing. At times, however, Joel’s exaggerations went a step too far and, although Joonas could be quite thick-skinned, ended up actually hurting his feelings a little.

“I’m fucking sorry, okay? Just use another mug!”

Just when Joonas was about to offer his own vintage Star Wars mug he had found from a thrift store and snatched from the shelf right before Olli’s star-struck eyes, the horn of the taxicab waiting outside their house called for Joel insistently.

“If I have a meltdown on live national television, it’s your fault,” Joel grumbled and was almost walking past Joonas to hurry outside, but when their shoulders bumped, Joel grabbed the back of Joonas’ head and crashed their lips together. 

“Fuck you,” Joonas snarled when Joel let go of him and stomped away.

“Fuck you too,” Joel mumbled before banging the door after him.

~

Joel tried to even his breathing while walking to the car, but his eyes were already blurred when he slumped on the back seat of the taxi next to Niko.

“What’s wrong?” Niko immediately asked with a cautious tone.

Frustrated with his sensitivity, Joel hid his tears behind his palms.

“We had a fight.”

“Over what?”

Joel needed to take a moment to inhale and exhale to keep his voice from breaking down.

“A stupid mug.”

Niko was silent, and Joel wasn’t planning on glancing at his friend through his fingers to see him holding back laughter.

“Chin up, Jori,” Niko said instead, tugging a still shower-wet strand of hair behind Joel’s ear. “You know Porko doesn’t hold grudges for too long.”

“Yeah,” Joel said quietly as he finally dared to reveal his face. He proceeded to stare out the window, avoiding Niko’s gaze. “I was a bit of a dick though.”

“And he loves you regardless.”

And I don’t deserve it.

Joel closed his eyes as he felt tears burning them again. He must have been silent for too long, for Niko reached his hand to give a brief tickle to Joel’s shoulder.

“You hear me, Joel? He ain’t going nowhere.”

Joel knew this; yet, he couldn’t help but think that Joonas was worthy of so much more, worthy of someone who didn’t lose his shit over one forgotten housework and call him unreliable of all things when, most of the time, Joonas was the only person in the world Joel knew he could rely on unconditionally and always, in every fucked up doomsday scenario he could think of.

Joonas, if anyone, was worthy of someone less of a wreck than Joel.

“I know,” Joel forced himself to say, blinking rapidly as hot tears rolled down his cheeks.

“So are you still up for doing the interview? Just say the word and we’ll drop you back home instead.”

Hastily Joel dried his cheeks on his sleeves and cleared his throat.

“Yeah, yeah, let’s do this, it’s cool.”

“Are you sure? I mean, no offence but I’d rather do it alone than have you bawl your eyes out over a lovers' squabble on live TV.”

“I won’t!” Joel protested. “I’m fine, we’re doing this, I’ll talk with Joonas after, we’re already late.”

A quick glance at Niko revealed he was about to say something more, but Joel guessed his deathly glare shut him up and the man turned to look out the window instead, eyebrows raised and a hand tapping a rhythm on his thigh.

 ~

The interview went fine, against all odds; the second they walked in the studio, Joel switched on his Professional Musician Mode™ and talked about their new single and the upcoming shows with no pause or hesitation whatsoever, and even managed to crack a few corny jokes to make the presenter of the morning show burst into giggles off camera. However, once it was time for a commercial break and they could return backstage, Joel breathed out the tension in his body and slumped his shoulders again as the thought of Joonas and the unresolved quarrel came back to his mind like a boomerang.

“You did well, buddy,” Niko rubbed Joel’s lower back, “but next time, you can just say no, alright? The interviews and shit are just one part of the job, you know?”

Joel wanted to argue that nothing to do with the band was just one part of the job for him, as Blind Channel was way more than just a job. Niko would have agreed, Joel was sure of it, but Joel wasn’t down for listening to any more of his singer colleague's life wisdom over how there are “more important things to worry about than promoting their new music”, because despite his constant complaining and the numerous breakdowns he had had over the years, in some twisted way he liked worrying about the band and all things related. Blind Channel was his life, his first and only love. 

Then again, so was Joonas.

Niko rubbed Joel’s back again when he was in the middle of wiping his face with a make-up removal swab. 

“Heard there’s a ride waiting for you outside.”

“Huh?”

“That’s all I know,” Niko raised his hands as if to prove his innocence, but the smirk Joel saw via the mirror in front of him was sly, to say the least.

Still, Joel began to look for a car he might recognize when he stepped out of the back door of the studio. He couldn’t find one, but then his eyes caught a black Mercedes with a yellow taxi sign on the roof blinking its headlights when Joel looked its way.

Joel doubted Niko would have gotten involved in a desperate fan’s schemes, but he was still wary when he approached the car.

Two metres away from the vehicle the back door window was rolled open, revealing a familiar mop of blond curls.

“Oh my god, just get in, you’re not about to be murdered!”

“Better safe than sorry!” Joel exclaimed, breathing out a chuckle of relief. 

Seating himself next to Joonas, he barely had time to take a good look at his (now fully dressed) boyfriend before he felt something warm being put on his hand.

“To make up for this morning,” Joonas said softly and smiled (shyly, Joel would have estimated, if ‘shy’ was the kind of adjective one could use to describe Joonas Porko). 

Joel inhaled the cosy smell of coffee, but when he lifted the cup to his lips to take a sip, he noticed something scribbled with a black marker on the side of the hot drink container.

Soon Joel understood he was looking at a drawing of a stick figure, with a few strands of hair falling from the top of its head and what Joel assumed was a beard of some sort decorating the bottom half of the face. It could have been representing practically anyone, really, but the wonky capital letters next to it reading TRENT REZNOR left little for interpretation. To make sure there would be no confusion over who the portrait was supposed to resemble, there was even an arrow pointing from the text to the drawing.

Near the bottom of the cup, almost completely hidden under Joel’s thumb, Joel discovered another, smaller writing:

(I’m sorry)

Joonas wouldn’t have even needed to use his puppy eyes to win Joel back to his side, but that was what Joel was faced with when he finally looked up from the coffee cup, his cheeks hurting from smiling giddily.

Careful not to spill its contents on the seat, Joel set the cup between his thighs. Then he turned to his boyfriend, who had already scooted to sit right by his side, and rested his forehead on Joonas’. 

“I’m sorry too,” he whispered, eyes closed as to not let himself be completely carried away by the blue of Joonas’ own in the presence of a random taxi driver.

Joonas, being Joonas, was not quite so modest and caught Joel’s lips in a tender, lingering kiss.

~

thank you so much @percervall for helping me out with plot details <3

[igotathingforvampires]

Anon Ask | Caius Volturi x F!Witch Reader: Punishments

Canon Divergent Dora is true mated to Renata because I <3 Renata Fight Me

Reader is a Witch.

You are a human. Who managed because of a latent heritage of being a Witch to wander past Heidi into the Throne Room thinking it’s a tour.

You’re not stupid, you walk right in and get near the dais and look around and realize that this is not just a tour.

Sighing, you glance around and face palm. “Ahhhhhh Fuck My Life.”

The Kings of Volterra are eyeing you with amusement.

You sigh, and glare UP at the throne of a very, very gorgeous almost elfin, platinum haired King who’s GLARING back at you with a raised brow and a scowl.

“So ah do I get to pick who offs me?”

All vampires just PAUSE.

“Because okay, if I’m gonna die.” You point at Caius. “That one. You. You’ve got dibs Sir.”

Caius is Shooketh.

This little human has got some guts.

He hates humans. HATES humans.

So why when he snatches you up and you just look at him with those big eyes, and a small smile “just make it quick hm?”

You wait, eyes closed.

Caius pauses, growling and suddenly NOPE you’re picked up and ZOOM.

Aro: The fuck just happened?

You’re tucked away in his inner sanctuary of his rooms, sat down on a chair. “Sit RIGHT here human. If you move I shall be displeased, you won’t like what happens if you make me angry.”

“Uhhhhhh kay.”

Caius goes and feeds and after he sits amongst his brothers. “I’m keeping it.” He growls

Turns out he can keep you because you’re not human! YAY!

“So am I like a bunny.”

“Less than a Rabbit you’re human.” Caius would growl at you.

“Mmmkay.”

How things Go:

You are the chillest bitch to ever chill. Life has not been great, in fact it’s been a horror show, Aro of course sees this and he scolds Caius for treating you like a piece of furniture rather than a person.

Aro knows you’re just feeling Caius out, watching because there are moments— the very few moments— when he is oh so gentle.

You shiver, a blanket is flung at your face. “My luck you’d catch pneumonia.”

Your tummy rumbles, the chef brings a five star meal. “I don’t need you dying.”

You’re bored, suddenly you’re in front of the TV and given access to ALL the shows. “You’re being a pest.”

Aro also knows your temper is starting to appear the more Caius pushes you away.

Caius isn’t sure what to even do with you— he is FEELING things, things he’s never even felt with Dora. And Dora is berating him alongside Marcus for being an utter nitwit.

“Cai for all your brilliance for strategy you’re an idiot in romance.” Dora says.

He knows it’s true. He’s an asshole.

And angry.

All the time. But when you’re around he’s not angry anymore.

But at one point you’re still fidgeting with your hands. “What is the problem now.”

“Ah…well…” you fidget some more, “c-can I have some water colors?”

Caius freezes. “You paint?” He seems curious.

You nod. “I do digital art but I like canvas art too!” You show him your phone of photoshop collages, watercolor, digital paintings and such.

“You do this on a computer?” He tilts his head. He hates technology. So seeing that one can create art this way is astounding to him.

“Yeah I had to sell my iPad a while ago so sadly I can’t do much right now but if I have some water colors that would be a good start!” You bounce on your feet.

You have the a massive iMac, a Wacom Cintiq 24”, an entire selection of Derwent colors and crazy amounts of canvases and anything else you might need that an artist can think of.

Caius is utterly stunned when you tackle him and kiss his cheek thanking him.

His heart explodes into confetti.

Art is how Caius communicates his gentler side. His art is beautiful, evoking deep emotions, and his hand is gentle and fluid enough in motion to capture even the most minute details.

You both grow exceptionally close, till Marcus one day pulls him aside to inform him of the Mate Bond that is between you two.

The Kiss:

You’re modeling for Caius, it’s a random request and you feel utterly embarrassed dressed in flowing robes and sprawled on a chaise lounge half hanging off, your hair spilling onto the marble floor.

You can’t quite help but notice how his gaze is pitch black and devouring you.

“M-Master Caius?”

“Caius.” He grumbles.

“Huh?”

“I think it’s about time you can call me Caius y/n.”

He can hear your heart thump an erratic beat as magic swirls in your eyes. It’s slowly been coming back to you, being cared for, like a plant long neglected, your magic has begun to grow under the tender albeit aloof care of the vampire King you’re so utterly in love with.

But you know it’s silly, there’s no way it’d work—

He’s suddenly next to you, hovering nose to nose, pulling you towards him, “you consume me.”

It’s the last thing he says for a long while as you both end up staying on that lounge for a— ahem lengthy amount of time.

Punishments:

Caius is a sadist.

But he’s a loving sadist.

He has so many kinks he doesn’t know what to do with them. And luckily for him— surprise surprise you’re kinky too.

But you tend to be mouthy. And Caius does not like when he is disobeyed. “Be a good pet and go sit.”

“But—“

“1.”

When Aro counts it’s for orgasms.

When Caius counts it’s for paddling or the crop.

Or it’s for forced orgasms and overstimulation.

The dynamic between you is quite lovely, boundaries are discussed whenever needed, although Caius can come across as gruff and uncaring, at one point during punishment play you had said your safe word rather quickly, and everything stopped. Oils, bath, rub down, talks, blankets, snuggles, and so many kisses to the forehead. “Bunny, oh my little bunny what happened?”

As someone who does not cry.

Ever.

Aro has attested to this.

It astounds Caius that you’d trust him enough to do so.

He realizes that he’s earned a trust that has not been earned by anyone in a long long time, knowing that feeling, he would never break it by overdoing things or going past your boundaries.

Punishments are talked out. Explained. Rules are fairly discussed and you ALWAYS have a say in vetoing or staying off for another day.

If it’s a topic that has yet to be discussed it is tabled, and discussed for what an appropriate response should be.

Punishments include:

Caning

Paddle

Crop (your favorite)

Being suspended and teased.

Leashed. Yes he will have you walk behind him with a leash and collar. And yes he will sit in the Library with you on a leash and your head in his lap. “Good Bunny.”

You are a very good bunny.

Caius has only had only lost his temper with you once. And never will again.

It was due to negligence on your part, you had disobeyed him when it was imperative for you to listen, not aware of the danger of a local coven’s very out of control member. “But Cai why—“

They had heard your blood sing to them.

Caius had torn the individual to pieces in a fit of utter rage before turning on you with a shout, “I told you NEVER to disobey me.” he roared at you, the energy coming off him practically feral as his eyes were murderous.

Seeing you shrink back; the fear in your gaze at him almost broke his heart when the dread kicked in as to what he had done. He had frightened you.

He was supposed to be your comfort and safety.

of course you wouldn't understand vampire's ways of doing things.

or what a singer was...you were a witch...

But before he could even think to reach for you...

You had fled.

Hidden away in Dora’s rooms you tucked yourself away in her bathroom in the tub with a blanket curled up and wept.

Dora and Sulpricia beat the shit out of Caius.

He had sat outside the door pleading with you for hours.

He knew he had utterly fucked up.

He had a horrid temper, he knew it, and the idea of you being drained dry right in front of him had been far too much for him to think of. “Y/n please talk to me. I'm so sorry please forgive me.”

You had unlocked the door with magic…. And he had merely crawled into the tub with you, curled around you underneath the blanket and held you while you cried into him and smacked at his chest. “Don’t do that ever again!!!”

“I know, I know bunny I know. Never again. I'm a bastard I know.”

You calmed down and glared at him.

“Would you like to delve out a punishment?”

You blinked, confused and then realized what he was offering.

“Yes.”

And that is how you ended up quite happy with your vampire begrudgingly, and amused sitting at your feet in your shared rooms with GOOD BOY on a thick leather collar.

Turns out Caius likes being punished too.

“Also a masochist hm?” You laugh at him and grip him by his hair.

“So it seems.” He muses kissing your knee and nudging your legs apart. “But the reward is worth it isn’t it bunny?”

[mcmansionhell]

Coronagrifting: A Design Phenomenon

We now interrupt our regularly scheduled content to bring you a critical essay on the design world. I promise you that this will also be funny. 

This morning, the design website Dezeen tweeted a link to one of its articles, depicting a plexiglass coronavirus shield that could be suspended above dining areas, with the caption “Reader comment: ‘Dezeen, please stop promoting this stupidity.’”

This, of course, filled many design people, including myself, with a kind of malicious glee. The tweet seemed to show that the website’s editorial (or at least social media) staff retained within themselves a scintilla of self-awareness regarding the spread a new kind of virus in its own right: cheap mockups of COVID-related design “solutions” filling the endlessly scrollable feeds of PR-beholden design websites such as Dezeen, ArchDaily, and designboom. I call this phenomenon: Coronagrifting. 

I’ll go into detail about what I mean by this, but first, I would like to presenet some (highly condensed) history. 

From Paper Architecture to PR-chitecture

Back in the headier days of architecture in the 1960s and 70s, a number of architectural avant gardes (such as Superstudio and Archizoom in Italy and Archigram in the UK) ceased producing, well, buildings, in favor of what critics came to regard as “paper architecture.” This “paper architecture” included everything from sprawling diagrams of megastructures, including cities that “walked” or “never stopped” - to playfully erotic collages involving Chicago’s Marina City. Occasionally, these theoretical and aesthetic explorations were accompanied by real-world productions of “anti-design” furniture that may or may not have involved foam fingers. 

Archigram’s Walking City (1964). Source.

Paper architecture, of course, still exists, but its original radical, critical, playful, (and, yes, even erotic) elements were shed when the last of the ultra-modernists were swallowed up by the emerging aesthetic hegemony of Postmodernism (which was much less invested in theoretical and aesthetic futurism) in the early 1980s. What remained were merely images, the production and consumption of which has only increased as the design world shifted away from print and towards the rapidly produced, easily digestible content of the internet and social media. 

Architect Bjarke Ingels’s “Oceanix” - a mockup of an ecomodernist, luxury city designed in response to rising sea levels from climate change. The city will never be built, and its critical interrogation amounts only to “city with solar panels that floats bc climate change is Serious”  - but it did get Ingels and his firm, BIG, a TED talk and circulation on all of the hottest blogs and websites. Meanwhile, Ingels has been in business talks with the right-wing climate change denialist president of Brazil, Jair Bolsonaro. (Image via designboom) 

Design websites are increasingly dominated by text and mockups from the desks of a firm’s public relations departments, facilitating a transition from the paper-architecture-imaginary to what I have begun calling “PR-chitecture.” In short, PR-chitecture is architecture and design content that has been dreamed up from scratch to look good on instagram feeds or, more simply, for clicks.  It is only within this substance-less, critically lapsed media landscape that Coronagrifting can prosper.

Coronagrifting: An Evolution

As of this writing, the two greatest offenders of Coronagrifting are Dezeen, which has devoted an entire section of its website to the virus (itself offering twelve pages of content since February alone) and designboom, whose coronavirus tag contains no fewer than 159 articles. 

Certainly, a small handful of these stories demonstrate useful solutions to COVID-related problems (such as this one from designboom about a student who created a mask prototype that would allow D/deaf and hard of hearing people to read lips) most of the prototypes and the articles about them are, for a lack of a better word, insipid. 

But where, you may ask, did it all start?

One of the easiest (and, therefore, one of the earliest) Coronagrifts involves “new innovative, health-centric designs tackling problems at the intersection of wearables and personal mobility,” which is PR-chitecture speak for “body shields and masks.” 

Wearables and Post-ables

The first example came from Chinese architect Sun Dayong, back at the end of February 2020, when the virus was still isolated in China. Dayong submitted to Dezeen a prototype of a full mask and body-shield that “would protect a wearer during a coronavirus outbreak by using UV light to sterilise itself.” The project was titled “Be a Bat Man.” No, I am not making this up. 

Screenshot of Dayong’s “Be a Batman” as seen on the Dezeen website. 

Soon after, every artist, architect, designer, and sharp-eyed PR rep at firms and companies only tangentially related to design realized that, with the small investment of a Photoshop mockup and some B-minus marketing text, they too could end up on the front page of these websites boasting a large social media following and an air of legitimacy in the field. 

By April, companies like Apple and Nike were promising the use of existing facilities for producing or supplying an arms race’s worth of slick-tech face coverings. Starchitecture’s perennial PR-churners like Foster + Partners and Bjarke Ingels were repping “3D-printed face shields”, while other, lesser firms promised wearable vaporware like “grapheme filters,” branded “skincare LED masks for encouraging self-development” and “solar powered bubble shields.” 

While the mask Coronagrift continues to this day, the Coronagrifting phenomenon had, by early March, moved to other domains of design. 

Consider the barrage of asinine PR fluff that is the “Public Service Announcement” and by Public Service Announcement, I mean “A Designer Has Done Something Cute to Capitalize on Information Meant to Save Lives.” 

Some of the earliest offenders include cutesy posters featuring flags in the shape of houses, ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home;” a designer building a pyramid out of pillows ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home”; and Banksy making “lockdown artwork” that involved covering his bathroom in images of rats ostensibly encouraging people to “stay home.” 

Lol. Screenshot from Dezeen. 

You may be asking, “What’s the harm in all this, really, if it projects a good message?” And the answer is that people are plenty well encouraged to stay home due to the rampant spread of a deadly virus at the urging of the world’s health authorities, and that these tone-deaf art world creeps are using such a crisis for shameless self promotion and the generation of clicks and income, while providing little to no material benefit to those at risk and on the frontlines.

Of course, like the mask coronagrift, the Public Service Announcement coronagrift continues to this very day. 

The final iteration of Post-able and Wearable Coronagrifting genres are what I call “Passive Aggressive Social Distancing Initiatives” or PASDIs. Many of the first PASDIs were themselves PSAs and art grifts, my favorite of which being the designboom post titled “social distancing applied to iconic album covers like the beatle’s abbey road.” As you can see, we’re dealing with extremely deep stuff here. 

However, an even earlier and, in many ways more prescient and lucrative grift involves “social distancing wearables.” This can easily be summarized by the first example of this phenomenon, published March 19th, 2020 on designboom: 

Never wasting a single moment to capitalize on collective despair, all manner of brands have seized on the social distancing wearable trend, which, again, can best be seen in the last example of the phenomenon, published May 22nd, 2020 on designboom:

We truly, truly live in Hell. 

Which brings us, of course, to living. 

“Architectural Interventions” for a “Post-COVID World”

As soon as it became clear around late March and early April that the coronavirus (and its implications) would be sticking around longer than a few months, the architectural solutions to the problem came pouring in. These, like the virus itself, started at the scale of the individual and have since grown to the scale of the city. (Whether or not they will soon encompass the entire world remains to be seen.) 

The architectural Coronagrift began with accessories (like the designboom article about 3D-printed door-openers that enable one to open a door with one’s elbow, and the Dezeen article about a different 3D-printed door-opener that enables one to open a door with one’s elbow) which, in turn, evolved into “work from home” furniture (”Stykka designs cardboard #StayTheF***Home Desk for people working from home during self-isolation”) which, in turn, evolved into pop-up vaporware architecture for first responders (”opposite office proposes to turn berlin's brandenburg airport into COVID-19 'superhospital'”), which, in turn evolved into proposals for entire buildings (”studio prototype designs prefabricated 'vital house' to combat COVID-19″); which, finally, in turn evolved into “urban solutions” aimed at changing the city itself (a great article summarizing and criticizing said urban solutions was recently written by Curbed’s Alissa Walker).

There is something truly chilling about an architecture firm, in order to profit from attention seized by a global pandemic, logging on to their computers, opening photoshop, and drafting up some lazy, ineffectual, unsanitary mockup featuring figures in hazmat suits carrying a dying patient (macabrely set in an unfinished airport construction site) as a real, tangible solution to the problem of overcrowded hospitals; submitting it to their PR desk for copy, and sending it out to blogs and websites for clicks, knowing full well that the sole purpose of doing so consists of the hope that maybe someone with lots of money looking to commission health-related interiors will remember that one time there was a glossy airport hospital rendering on designboom and hire them. 

Enough, already. 

Frankly, after an endless barrage of cyberpunk mask designs, social distancing burger king crowns, foot-triggered crosswalk beg buttons that completely ignore accessibility concerns such as those of wheelchair users, cutesy “stay home uwu” projects from well-to-do art celebrities (who are certainly not suffering too greatly from the economic ramifications of this pandemic), I, like the reader featured in the Dezeen Tweet at the beginning of this post, have simply had enough of this bullshit. 

What’s most astounding to me about all of this (but especially about #brand crap like the burger king crowns) is that it is taken completely seriously by design establishments that, despite being under the purview of PR firms, should frankly know better. I’m sure that Bjarke Ingels and Burger King aren’t nearly as affected by the pandemic as those who have lost money, jobs, stability, homes, and even their lives at the hands of COVID-19 and the criminally inept national and international response to it. On the other hand, I’m sure that architects and designers are hard up for cash at a time when nobody is building and buying anything, and, as a result, many see resulting to PR-chitecture as one of the only solutions to financial problems. 

However, I’m also extremely sure that there are interventions that can be made at the social, political, and organizational level, such as campaigning for paid sick leave, organizing against layoffs and for decent severance or an expansion of public assistance, or generally fighting the rapidly accelerating encroachment of work into all aspects of everyday life – that would bring much more good and, dare I say, progress into the world than a cardboard desk captioned with the hashtag #StaytheF***Home. 

Hence, I’ve spent most of my Saturday penning this article on my blog, McMansion Hell. I’ve chosen to run this here because I myself have lost work as a freelance writer, and the gutting of publications down to a handful of editors means that, were I to publish this story on another platform, it would have resulted in at least a few more weeks worth of inflatable, wearable, plexiglass-laden Coronagrifting, something my sanity simply can no longer withstand. 

So please, Dezeen, designboom, others – I love that you keep daily tabs on what architects and designers are up to, a resource myself and other critics and design writers find invaluable – however, I am begging, begging you to start having some discretion with regards to the proposals submitted to you as “news” or “solutions” by brands and firms, and the cynical, ulterior motives behind them. If you’re looking for a guide on how to screen such content, please scroll up to the beginning of this page. 

----

If you enjoyed this article, please consider subscribing to my Patreon, as I didn’t get paid to write it.  

[outofsstyles]

a/n: This is by far THE MOST requested fic I’ve ever had and (a year later) it’s finally here!! First of all, sorry that it took me so long but when I first wrote Wildest Dreams I never intended on it having a follow up, but the amount of love I got from it was so overwhelming that I decided to put this together for you all :) I’m not gonna lie, I’m a bit nervous about it, considering the amount of requests I’ve had the past year, I know there’s gonna be a lot of expectations and I wanted to do something a bit different so it’s not too predictable lol. So yeah, as always, feedback is very much welcomed!! If you enjoy please reblog it to support my writing, it would mean the world to me <3

word count: 13.7k

warnings: none!

concept: It’s Evan’s birthday and he decides to do something a bit different.

Wildest Dreams: read part 1 here :)

                                               ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

In the last two steps, you have to use your leg to support the box as it starts to slowly slip down your fingers. This serves as a reminder to start exercising again now that the midterm is over — meaning that you should finally give in to Nia’s pleas to join her in the free week of Pilates classes she got when signing in at the gym, “Exercising is one of the best ways to relieve stress!” She would argue, to which you’d simply reply with something along the lines of: “So does binging another trashy reality tv show!”

Thankfully, no one seems to notice your struggle, sparing you the embarrassment of listening to their teases due to your difficulty in carrying one of the smallest boxes of the bunch. Nate barely glances at you once you finally reach the car to hand him the box, only shooting the longest smile you’ve ever seen coming from him—which somehow still manages to be probably the quickest when compared to any other regular person. His girlfriend, who stands with hands on her hips, entirely held his attention. Nia’s purple strands of hair poke out of her half-bun in every direction and her bottom lip has found its permanent spot between her teeth as her eyes fixate on the vehicle in front of her, barely blinking.

“Everything alright, Ni?” You prompt, trying to even your breathing. “Forgot something? There’s still time to check.”

“It’s not that.” She mumbles, shaking her head to break out of her thoughts. “My keyboard doesn’t fit.” Nia nods at the instrument lying on top of the car’s ceiling.

“Oh,” You say, frowning your lips as you take in her stressed figure. Clearing your throat, you attempt to blurt out a joke, “Maybe it’s a sign you shouldn’t move it and stay right here in our little flat with creaky doors.”

She breathes out a sharp laugh, finally looking at you as she drops her arms. “Don’t start.” She warns, “You promised; no crying today.”

“Don’t worry, I’m good at holding back the tears.” You give her a soft smile, pulling her smaller frame into a hug. The sudden reality of your best friend and roommate leaving you hitting you at once. “Gonna miss you, Ni.”

You feel her sigh into your shoulder, arms circling around your middle. “I’ll be ten minutes away.”

“Not the same.”

“I know.”

The two of you sway in silence for a moment, and you watch from over her shoulder as Nate attempts to awkwardly pick up the keyboard, almost dropping it on the sidewalk in the process. He grunts, the instrument tilting in his arms, and you giggle as you hear Nia sigh once more. Tightening your arms around her, you release each other as she turns to check on her boyfriend who holds the instrument as you would a newborn — except this one is half his size and hard as a wood plank.

He glances between the both of you, helpless. “Uh, where does this go?”

“You can put it with the other big boxes upstairs, babe. We’ll take them Sunday.” Nia says, moving to close the trunk. She looks back at him, calling back in a sing-like voice before he disappears inside, “Thank you!”

You lean back against the car, a playful pout plumping your bottom lip. “Am I only seeing you again on Sunday, then?”

“Nope, I’ll pick you up for Evan’s birthday — did you forget about it already?”

You have. “Of course not. It’s on — tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow?” Nia gasps, eyes widening. “Holy shit, tomorrow’s Friday.”

You nod slowly, just as shocked as she is about how quickly the past couple of weeks have flown by. Between piles of book reports and stress-tear-stained essays during midterms week, you also had to find some time to help Nia with packing boxes while searching for a new roommate for yourself. If you managed a five-hour sleep on these past days, that would have been a well-rested night. So you can’t really blame yourself for forgetting about Evan’s birthday when Nia herself had it slipping through her mind.

“This is an emergency,” Nia says, eyes focusing on a point beyond you and, you feel like, if you listen close enough, you can hear the engines inside her head working. “I’ll have come here earlier so you can help me with my outfit.”

You chuckle. “What even is the theme this year?”

“He didn’t tell me,” Nia says in a huff. “But, on the bright side, I don’t think this year he’ll do anything too crazy — he was too busy these last couple months with that short film I told you about, remember?”

“Evan doing something low key? That’s a first.” You raise your eyebrows, skeptical.

“I mean, I don’t know. I’m just guessing.” Nia shrugs, picking at her nails. “I’m only saying because he mentioned once he was only inviting, like, twenty people.”

Now, this is a surprise. “I’m glad I made the cut, then.”

It’s not a secret to anyone who’s ever had any kind of interaction with Evan that he’s fond of the dramatics of life — his bright-colored outfits with mismatching patterns being the first example that comes to mind — and that reflects as well in his events. Especially when it comes to his birthday.

To be fair, you’ve only actually been to two birthday parties of his so far — considering the invitation usually finds you because he’s close to Nia and sees you as some sort of extension of her. Nevertheless, they were both impactful enough that left a clear impression of how much he enjoys celebrating himself. Last year in particular you remember quite well. It was what he called “Evaney” themed; being a mix of himself and his favorite artist: Britney Spears. And, while you and Nia showed up as one of at least fifteen different variations of the Baby One More Time schoolgirl outfit, Evan pulled a perfect match of the Oops! I Did It Again red bodysuit that he got one of his fashion student friends to tailor for him, as well as freshly dyed beach blonde hair to suit it. He even went as far as photoshopping pictures of himself on Britney’s body and had them printed on posters hung on every single room of the house. There were even custom-made cups and napkins with them — two of them that Nia stole at the end of the party still sit somewhere in your kitchen to this day.

Another particular thing you remember quite clearly was that there were enough people crowded in his living room to fill up your entire apartment, as you recall. And that’s about how a typical event at his home is like — even on his friendsmas dinner there were much more than just twenty people eating turkey out of disposable hot pink plates. So, Nia’s information leaves you wondering what he could have in mind for tomorrow with such a limited list of people.

Before you can voice your wonders to her, though, Nate pushes through the entrance door again. You can tell he, much like you minutes ago, is trying to cover his heavy breathing. “I left it on top of those big boxes with a bunch of books in ‘em.”

“Brilliant! Thank you, baby.” Nia grins, wrapping an arm around his middle. “By the way, we just remembered Evan’s birthday’s tomorrow.”

“Is it tomorrow already?” Nate asks, and you hold back a giggle at the way his face scrunches in discontent. He hates going to Evan’s to a point that’s nearly comical. “Fuck’s sake.”

“And I think I’ll come here early so we can get ready together.” Nia nods towards you.

Nate grunts. “Do I have to go this time?” 

“Of course, darling.” She rises to her tiptoes to pinch his cheek, to which he brushes it off.

Nate looks at you, and you only send him a tight smile in solidarity. The two of you share similar experiences with Evan, considering the only reason either of you even gets invited is that because you’re close to Nia, and she’s close to Evan. Although you like Evan, even if you’re not that close with him, you can still put on your social mask for a couple of hours and have fun at his parties. Nate, on the other hand, is likely the least sociable person you’ve ever met, and it’s obvious how uncomfortable he gets every time. 

Nia seems to sense how tense he gets as well, because she steps in front of her boyfriend, finding his eyes with her doe-like ones. “I mean, if you don’t want to, then you don’t have to.”

He sighs, “Of course I’ll go with you.” He looks up at you. “Maybe this time we can actually count how many faces of his we can see from the couch.”

This time you don’t hold back a giggle. “I have a feeling we’ll have an easier time this year.”

“Hope so.” Nate taps on Nia’s back. "Let's go, then? Is everything you need in the trunk?”

“Yup.” She answers, circling the car and opening the door to the passenger’s side. Before entering, she gives you one last look. “Do you want me to bring anything for you tomorrow?”

“I’m good.”

“‘kay!” She enters, closing the door behind her in a click and leaning over Nate to wave at you from his window. “See you tomorrow! Don’t cry too hard tonight!”

“I won’t!” You wave back.

Watching as the car pulls back, before driving away and disappearing around the corner, there’s a light breeze that raises goosebumps on the exposed skin of your arms. You cross them under your chest, leaning back into the wall of your building, not quite ready to go back to your empty home yet. The seconds blend into minutes and you stand there The promise you made to Nia not even a minute ago already pooling in your eye, knowing you wouldn’t be able to keep it anyway, you let it tickle its way down your cheek.

A rougher gust of wind hits you and, this time, you turn to go inside.

                                              ~*~ ~*~  ~*~

The days are still not long enough so that the sun can shine proudly at seven in the afternoon, but as spring just about rounds the corner there’s still a golden glow as the rays provide one last warmth before disappearing on the horizon. And that’s how the sky greets you once you step out of your building to make your way towards Evan’s house for his birthday.

As planned, Nia arrived at yours with plenty of time so the two of you could help each other get ready, a bag filled with clothes she’s just taken to Nate’s yesterday under her arm for you to help her choose. “I’m thinking something monochromatic tonight.” She said as she walked in, making you jump in your spot on the couch as you didn’t hear her using the spare key. “I’m just not sure what color.” 

She ended up choosing red. There was an old box of red hair dye you found lost inside the bathroom cabinet after Nia left — along with two different brands of shaving cream, although those belonging to Nate — and, after presenting it to her, she decided to go all for it, taking it as a sign. Nate showed up just about an hour after his girlfriend, still in his work attire and barely batting an eye at Nia’s new hair color as she blew dried it. The only comment leaving his mouth being, “You look like a tomato,” before kissing her forehead and excusing himself for a nap while the two of you finished getting ready.

What neither of you realized was that Nia’s last-minute decision took more time than you predicted, giving you barely enough time to get dressed. To her, that wasn’t exactly an inconvenience considering she had an outfit ready to match any color she wanted — in this case, was a red-dyed denim two-piece. and a matching jacket that ended up discarded after she noticed it covered her newest shoulder tattoo (though you tried to argue she could just have Nate carry it so she could wear it considering she eventually would get cold at some point). To you, however, was more of a stressful task, seeing you hadn’t taken in mind to think of an outfit beforehand. So you ended up just going with the safest option that didn’t give you a lot of room to overthink, choosing to finish your makeup on the way so Evan wouldn’t have any of your heads on a plate for being late.

You’ve found that applying mascara on a moving vehicle is not the easiest task, as Nia holds your elbow to help you keep steady while talking nonstop with the driver about a topic you stopped paying any mind to about ten minutes ago.

“I’m loving our black and red moment, by the way.” She turns to you, loosening her hold as you finish the last coat. “You look like one of those hot businesswomen with your teenage daughter who likes to dress like an animated character.”

You laugh at her comparison, only now noticing the discrepancy between both your outfits. Without even realizing it, you also ended up going for the monochromatic look. Except unlike Nia’s, yours completely lacks any color. “That’s actually the best comparison you could make.”

“I know — You can take a left right here — Here, I have lip gloss.” Nia fetches a small tube from her jacket (that she ended up taking, after all), presenting it to you.

“Do you not have lipstick?”

“Are you not planning on smudging it later?” Nia wiggles her eyebrows, teasing. The hint behind her words makes you roll your eyes, snatching the lip gloss from her hand without bothering to give her an answer. There was about a month or so, just before winter rolled around, that Nia felt as if she had a mission to get you with someone. You suspect, knowing too well how her mind works, that she must’ve felt some sort of guilt for what happened during her film project last year. It was clear that her attempts came from a place of good heart, but this doesn’t mean that it made them any less annoying. However, after her plans to move in with Nate became more concrete, her cupid persona seemed to have disappeared, or so you’d thought. But now that there’s nothing else filling her mind anymore, it looks like she’s back at it, and you can’t help but snort. “What? I’m just saying-”

“You say a lot of things, most of them are incorrect.” You say, “I’m not smudging anything tonight. Not on a party with twenty people, for fuck’s sake.”

“Don’t say that before — right there! The big house on the corner!” Nia leans over the console, signaling to the driver where to park. It’s so sudden that you notice how he jumps just slightly from his seat, chuckling to yourself at how Nate snaps his eyes at her. 

The front of Evan’s Victorian home is unusually quiet once you step out onto the sidewalk. So much so that, if it weren’t for the lined cars parked along the street and filling his driveway, you would’ve thought you’d typed in the wrong address. 

The discrepancy is clear to you when compared to other gatherings Evan hosts in his house, but especially for his birthday. Last year, you could hear Toxic blasting from his place from the moment you turned on his street, and a small crowd gathered on his front yard — most of which you recall being comprised of people plastered out of their minds, particularly one semi-naked man who was using one lamppost as a strip pole while swinging a stuffed snake

That’s more or less the standard one could expect when invited to a party at Evan’s. So, to find the street as silent as any regular day is, to an understanding, odd. 

“Are you sure it’s the right date?” You ask as the metal creak of the front gate mends with gushes of wind whistling through the air.

“Yup,” Nia says simply, walking in front of you. “You can hear the music inside, shush.”

You come quiet, listening in, and, surely, you can hear the faint keys of a piano coming from the other side of the stone walls, but it only brings up more questions to your head than answers. Evan seems like the last person on Earth who would listen to classical music. Deciding not to voice your question this time, you follow short behind Nia, kicking some loose stones on the gravel path leading to the front door.

There’s no need for more than a single knock for it to open almost immediately, revealing a lace-clad Evan downing the last bits of his wine. Without the barrier you can hear the music more clearly, the keys of the piano meshing in a peculiar way, not like anything you’ve ever heard in a classical song— at least not ten years ago when you tried to learn piano for a year before giving up.

“Look at my favorite people!” Evan says with his purple-stained lips, pulling Nia for a hug with the arm that’s not holding the door open while pointing at a spot behind her. “Did you greet Jonathan when you passed him? It’s his birthday as well.”

He points to a spot where a gnome statue sits in the dry grass, face painted in clown makeup. Nate’s voice comes from behind you, “Christ.” 

“Nate!” Evan chirps, going straight for the man standing with a sharp smile and throwing his arms around him. “You know you’re my favorite grumpy, right?”

Nate only taps on the shorter man’s back, quickly moving to Nia’s side as soon as he’s free from the embrace. With that, Evan turns to you, hands finding your elbows as he takes you in, “And what have you been up to, bug? It's been ages.”

“You know… Books and… Stuff.” You chuckle, brushing it off. “Happy birthday, E.”

“Thank you!” He claps his hands together. “Now, c’mon, let’s get all of you started.”

Following him inside, you’re met with a glittery box standing right next to the entrance; rolls of tape seal it shut, and a hand-sized hole has been cut on top of the lid. You try to peek at what could be inside, but strings of colorful crepe paper are stuck to the hole, making it harder to know its contents.

Evan picks up the box, holding it to his side. “So, I need each of you to grab a piece of paper inside the box. There will be a number in it but for now just hold on, drink, and chat while waiting for further instructions.” His voice lowers at the end to give his words more of a mystery behind them.

Nate tenses in front of you and you have to keep yourself from chuckling at his desperate gaze moving from the box to his girlfriend as he moves uncomfortably on his feet. Nia, however, only gives him a pat on his back, barely looking at her boyfriend as she does a little dance in excitement. “Oh, this feels fun.” She says, quickly reaching her hand inside the box and retrieving a piece of paper. “Mysterious, but fun. What do you have in mind, sir?”

“Nothing too crazy this year, darling, you can relax — We’re all too tired.” He moves the box towards Nate, who reluctantly reaches inside. “Just something to mesh people together that won’t give me too much of a headache to clean tomorrow.”

“Smart.” You say, peeking at the box as it’s presented to you before reaching for a paper inside, quickly reading the number eight written on it before folding the piece between your fingers.

“Nice! As always, drinks in the kitchen. We’re starting in ten minutes!” Evan claps, hushing the three of you further inside.

Surprisingly, this time around there are no posters of his face in sight as you follow Nia and Nate to the kitchen. There’s a mild mash of voices coming from the living room — where the sound of the piano is the loudest, and you wonder if he got an actual piano or if it’s just a Bluetooth speaker —, but it’s not nearly as loud as you’re used to from past times. The lighting has been lowered to a buttery yellow; you realize once you enter the kitchen that feels too bright to your eyes in contrast to the hallway.

“Is there any alcohol?” You wonder out loud, and Nia glances at you with her eyebrows shot towards her hairline. “What? I’m just asking ‘cause everyone is unusually quiet.”

“There’s wine and — what are these guys right here?” She picks up one out of four plastic jars sitting on the kitchen island, reading the label stuck to it out loud, “Strawberry Mary — ooh, this looks fun.”

You reach for the other three to check their contents, but all have names similar to the one Nia now fills her cup with — fruity, yet mysterious: Lana Banana, Jenny Berry Mix, and Pineapple Suzan. “Did he come up with these?” You chuckle, reaching for the berry mix.

“It was probably Adam,” Nia says, and you frown. “That bartender guy? The one with the pet snakes.”

“Oh, yeah. I know him.”

The room comes quiet as you serve yourself, and only after you glance up you realize a tension lingering in the air. Nate stands awkwardly in a corner, eyes fixed on Nia as he moves his head around subtly. Glancing between the two of them, you notice how their expressions change as they keep their eyes locked, not a single word being uttered out loud. To you, it almost feels as if they are reading each other’s minds, and the heat of their silent argument becoming clear once Nate huffs, shaking his head. 

Nia clears her throat, seemingly uncomfortable, shooting you a knowing look. It’s only when she gives you a toothless smile that you realize the silent question behind it. “Uhm, I’m going to check if there are any sweets outside.”

Beelining towards the doorway, you quickly make your way out of the room. The hallway is empty and, from where you stand awkwardly in the middle of it, you can tell Evan’s left his spot by the front door, meaning he’s likely gone to the living room where the rest of the guests are. You can hear them chatting, although like you previously pointed, the voices are much more controlled than what you’re used to, and that makes you oddly flustered by the thought of walking in alone. 

Considering the limited amount of invitations this year, the chances of you knowing anyone are slim and, to add to your sudden nervousness, most of the people from Evan’s closest circle of friends are — like himself — inexplicably intimidating. This is mostly because it feels like this unspoken competition that everyone has settled with each other, to subtly brag about your success whilst simultaneously pretending to be impressed about the other’s accomplishments. And for you specifically, considering you’re not part of this artist clique that they lock themselves into, it feels particularly tiresome to be part of those interactions. 

So, you opt to wait for Nia, pretending to admire one peculiar painting hanging on a wall opposite to where the doorway leading to the living room stands. Every so often, you catch yourself glancing over your shoulder one way or the other, either towards the kitchen to check if your friends are joining you, or to the doorway where the rest of the guests are in. At one point, the voices get louder, joining in a laugh before tangling together in a mess of noise you can’t make sense of. It’s after a minute that you hear footsteps coming from the living room, making you freeze on your spot, carefully turning your back to whoever’s about to catch you avoiding the party, and focusing on the piece you’ve been staring at for the past five minutes.

The painting you first thought was just random strokes of earth tones abstractly put together you now realize it’s a man and it doesn’t take you more than a second or two to recognize Evan’s side profile in a peach shade. Your hand claps on top of your mouth as you fight the urge to laugh. The sound comes out muffled, but it stops as you hear the footsteps falter as they turn into the hallway. Keeping you back to them, you listen as the wooden floor creaks as whoever was approaching makes their way back. You peek to catch sight of who it might be, but all you make out is the shadow of mustard corduroys turning the corner.

As if on cue, Nia and Nate finally appear from the kitchen, thankfully neither appearing to be sour after the talk in the kitchen. 

“Finally.” You say, still feeling giggly from your finding. “Nate, you have to check this-”

“Okay! Let’s start, then. Do we have everyone in the living room?” Evan’s voice interrupts you as he calls out. Nia guides you along with her to the living room. And, as soon as the three of you enter, Evan nods at you, before continuing, “Now that all the bunnies are trapped, we shall begin!” He laughs, clapping his hands together before motioning vaguely to everyone. “Before I explain what I have planned, I want to pair you all. So, I’ll call out the numbers that each of you picked when you arrived, so everyone can find their pair.”

You frown, confuse yet curious about what Evan’s up to as he calls out the numbers. Now that you stop to glance around the room, you note how there are more people than you’d expected. It’s still not nearly as many as previous parties of his, but it still feels like the room is nicely filled, maybe just a dozen people above twenty. And amongst them, there’s quite a few you recognize as they pair up together — like Georgia, the first one to be called, whom you spent a good half of the New Year’s party with, or Taylor, who gets paired with Nia (you remember him particularly from a film festival that Nia had been part of — he produced and directed a short film comparing the second wave of feminism to the wildlife in the Amazon Rainforest, and Nia couldn’t stop complaining about how bad it was for the entire week after). 

It’s when Evan jokes with someone on the other side of the room, however, that you see him.

He’s tucked in a corner, right next to the bookshelves, arms crossed under his chest in a way that makes his tattoos pop out of his biceps, something you notice even standing on the opposite end of the room. His smile is subtle as he watches the scene in front of him, but it’s still enough for a dimple to poke at one side of his face -- it’s barely there, but you’ve seen it up close enough times that you notice those details. His hand holds a drink, but you pay no mind to it because what calls your attention is the mustard corduroy hugging his hips, the same one you watched run from you not only five minutes ago.

He laughs, and you avert your eyes, mouth still hung open. You wonder if anyone will notice if you leave.

But, as though he could read your mind, Evan calls the number written on that sits crumbled inside the pocket of your jacket. “Where are my number eights?”

You step forward and, like a magnet, your eyes glue on Harry as he raises his hand. 

Shaking your head in disbelief, you have to fight against an urge to shut your eyes tightly as the regret of having left your room at all tonight becomes almost overwhelming. All you expected for the night was to forget about book reports and endless essays piled up on your computer, to relax, maybe drink a bit more than you should while watching Evan’s friends dancing with a taxidermy beaver or something of sorts (that was on his friendsmas party two years ago). Instead, here you are on what feels like the first day of class dynamic your teacher has imposed to make everyone interact with each other. And, suddenly, the long pages of (insert boring book) don’t seem that bad right now.

And to make matters worse (because the universe just likes to add a little more spice to your tragedies) of all people standing in this living room you just had to be paired with the one with whom you had a fling-like relationship six months ago.

It’s awkward before he even approaches you, the tension making you fidget in your spot anxiously, barely being able to shoot a tight smile his way. 

The last time you saw Harry was through the rearview mirror of a car, standing on the sidewalk like an abandoned puppy with his tail between his legs. Though you admit you let your dramatics take away when you turned away from him to leave, the feeling behind it was genuine. You were upset. He had led you on, after all, made you think he wanted to have something more just to ignore you for months and, later, appear with a redhead under his arms and call her his girlfriend. So, yes, it wasn’t the best note to leave on.

But despite how you left the last encounter, the spark of nervousness that shoots through your stomachs right now doesn’t come exactly because of his presence, but more so for the awkward nature of this encounter. At the time it happened, you avoided any activity that had the slight possibility of seeing him again like the plague. You were hurt, and you were mad — though the second part was more directed at yourself than at him. But that was six months ago. After all, as much as you felt enchanted by him and as much as those two weeks you spent together were nice, that’s all that it was: two weeks. Yes, you were sad and, yes, maybe you shed a tear or two while watching Love, Rosie with Nia afterward, but that passed as quickly as it came.

That is, until now.

“Your hair is shorter” This Is all you blurt out when he stands in front of you again.

“It is, yeah.” Harry runs his hand through his hair. The strands that last time you saw him, curled around his jawline, now peek just under his earlobe. “Did it myself, actually.”

“Really?” You take a big gulp from your drink, gaze going anywhere but meeting his own. “Found yourself another talent.”

“Another?” You can hear the smirk in his voice.

“I mean, besides acting.” You grin, holding the cup to your lips and sparing him a glance. “Suppose after your debut you’ve gotten yourself busy with casting calls”

“Of course” Harry laughs. Now that you’re closer you have a better look at his dimples as they pop out, as well as the constellation of freckles hugging his nose, and the mole right under his lips. You avert your eyes again. “I’m set to be the next Bond, in fact”

“Oh, wow.” You raise your brows, grinning at the brim of your cup. “I can see it.”

He turns to you, “Can you?” You peek at him. "Why is that?”

This is exactly what you were afraid of all those months ago after last seeing him. The entire reason you ran from any possibility of seeing him again afterward. You can still remember clearly how much of a flirt he is, even when he doesn’t mean to be. It’s not a secret that Harry’s a charming man. His words are like honey, and when he uses them just right, you know is enough to have you melting. And it doesn’t help how well you seem to click together. Even now, you still feel it by your impulse to flirt back, to look him in the eye, and get just close enough to feel the scent of his cologne. Do all that just to turn away in the last second. Tease him the same way he did you. But you don’t do any of that, of course, because you’re as petty as you are bitter. So, instead, you click your tongue. “Don’t get too comfortable, Harry, bet your girlfriend wouldn’t be happy about that.”

He chuckles. “What girlfriend?”

This time you turn fully at him, brows shooting up not in defiance, but surprise. “Yikes.” You say before you’re able to hold back.

“Yikes.” Harry still holds a smile when he repeats it, head falling as he lets out a — nervous? — laugh.

A question pops into your head. One that lingered in your mind for a good while now, but comes back a bit louder now that you have the information that his relationship was short-lasted after all. It’s a short one, but one that requires a long answer, you suppose. What happened? You think. But you don’t dare to voice it, you don’t want to have this conversation with him. Whatever the explanation is, it’s not going to change anything. So you just avert your gaze back to Evan, who now calls for everyone’s attention again.

“I know you’re all dying to know what this is all about. So, I’m going to explain it all.” And with that introduction, Evan dives into a monologue you only pay half mind to. It’s hard for you to focus on the words rapidly leaving his mouth as you can feel Harry glancing at you every so often from the corner of your eye. You listen in to Evan describing himself as a feisty kid and mention his love for drama, and then you feel the ghost of Harry’s arm bumping against yours as he sways on his feet. You try to pay attention to the story being told of the events leading up to this birthday party, and then you have to hold yourself back from meeting Harry’s eyes once you feel them at the side of your face once again. He makes a comment under his breath that you don’t quite catch, and you’re about to question him before Evan’s voice comes in an even higher pitch. “I wanted tonight to be exactly that: chaotic. I didn’t want anything to quite make sense, and I didn’t want to think much, if I’m honest, last year of film school is taking a big chunk of my functioning neurons and m’dad’s whiskey collection is taking the rest of them.”

There’s a collective laugh that takes place and, once again, Harry’s eyes peeking at you. “Everyone can relax, it’s not one of those murder mystery parties, as I’ve heard some people guess — for fuck’s sake as if I have the time and patience to plan something like that.” He says with a sip directly from a wine bottle you just now realize he’s been holding. “It’s a scavenger hunt, you have a partner and an envelope with clues. Each pair will find something related to moi and after it’s all done, we’ll eat burgers and talk about me for the rest of the night.” 

“Sounds easy enough.” Harry mumbles.

Evan claps his free hand on his wrist, hushing everyone. “So off you go, c’mon! I’ll be hungry in an hour.”

“This is gonna be…” You start. “Interesting.”

“Interesting is a great word to describe it.”

“Well, let’s try to do this as quickly as possible, then.” 

 The side of his lips quirks up. “On a rush?”

“This is not exactly a comfortable position to be. I think you get it.” You say, fidgeting on your feet. You wait for a second for him to say something so you can start the activity, but he doesn’t and you realize there’s a piece missing. “Do you have an envelope?”

Harry nods, reaching for his pocket where the envelope sits folded in half. He swiftly opens it, taking out a card.

 “Well?” You prompt, “Read us the first clue, Bond.”

There’s a smile that Harry fights against at the nickname and you’re not sure due to the dim light, but you think there’s a hint of a rosy tone on the apple of his cheeks. “An activity that grows lives and ruins manicures.” He reads out loud, pausing for a moment before laughing to himself. “I know this one.”

“Grows lives?” You frown. “As in, a pregnancy?”

Harry shakes his head, leading the way towards the corridor. “As in, gardening.”

“That’s a very weird way to put it.” You say, following him. “Does he garden?”

He walks into the kitchen, greeting two people you don’t recognize who are searching for something — their clue, you assume — inside the cabinets. “No, but his sister does. There’s a greenhouse in the back.”

You simply hum in response, muttering a quick thank you as he opens the door for you that leads to the back garden. The greenhouse is not unfamiliar to you from the outside, there have been a good amount of summer gatherings in his back garden for you to know of its existence. But you’ve thought nothing more about it. If you’re honest, you never really paid much attention to it. If anything, you assumed he used it as storage at most, never taking Evan as someone who enjoyed gardening. Though now you know you were right, you've also learned that his sister lives with him and you wonder why he’s never mentioned it before.

The curiosity inside of you wants to question Harry about it, to ask him what else he knows you don’t. When you think about it, there’s a lot you want to ask him about. Not just regarding Evan, but also regarding him. You wonder what he’s been up in the past six months if he ended up adopting the kitten he’d told you about back when you were still filming or if he read any of the book recommendations you wrote on his notes app one particular night the two of you chatted for longer than the moon could hold itself up in the sky. The part of you that begs for you to say something on the short walk is so strong you have to physically bite your tongue to be able to hold back.

You don’t have to hold for long, however, as Harry takes it upon himself to say, “So,” He starts, clearing his throat, “How- uh- how are you doing?”

Somehow, his words click something inside of your mind. They remind you of why you shouldn’t let that curious part of you win. The sole purpose of it not falling for his charm. You shake your head, “We’re not doing this.”

“Doing what?” He frowns, his steps faltering for a second.

“Small talk.” You answer, focused on your goal. “We’ll just solve this thing as quickly as possible so I can go back home and finish my Euphoria marathon.”

“Right.” Harry nods once, and you can’t help but notice the way his lips quirk down, the frown not leaving his face. You can’t lie and say it doesn’t make your stomach drop the slightest bit to see you’ve upset him, but you have to remind yourself how much he’s upset you, too. 

It’s protecting yourself, you think. After tonight, you don’t have to see him ever again.

Inside the greenhouse, you’re greeted with a mix of scents you’re not prepared for before stepping in. The space is compact, with a single corridor narrowed with garden beds on each side. Dozens of branches and leaves tickle you as you walk in, most of them belonging to different flowers that, despite the chilly weather that still lingers outside, are already blooming. It’s a blend of colors, bright reds, and ocean blues, soft purple petals kissing pink and yellow ones. 

“We should look for gloves.” Harry’s voice startles you, chuckling as you jump a bit.

“Huh?” 

“Gloves.” He says. “I think whatever we’re looking for has to do with the gloves, ‘cause he mentioned manicure.”

“That makes sense.” You look around. Many gardening tools are piling under the tables that hold the garden beds; watering cans and empty pots. You look between bags of fertilizer and drawers filled with shovels. There’s so much stuff to look through that, at one point, you sit back on your calves, glancing around, lost.

You hear Harry leafing through as you’re doing, feeling his legs brushing against your back as he passes by and you stop, watching him from your spot on the floor. He’s got a concentrated look on his face, bottom lip worried between his teeth as he scans through the walls before he opens another drawer. That’s when his gaze falls, catching yours. You quickly turn away, pretending to go through another pile of empty pots and blocking the sound of a chuckle coming from his spot.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the clicking of ceramics and the opening and closing of wooden drawers. That is until you hear from Harry, “A-ha!”

You look up again, seeing him move to the back where few pairs of gloves hang on the wall — so obvious yet still hidden between raincoats and summer hats. “Right under our noses.” You say, getting up.

Harry searches inside the gloves, tongue trapped between his teeth. “Bingo!” He says, pulling out two tiny bottles from inside one pair.

“What is it?”

“Liquor.” He grins, peeking at you from under his lashes before ripping a piece of paper attached to it. “It says ‘one for each, now get to clue number two.’” He holds up one bottle, offering it to you, to which you take it. “It’s chocolate flavored.”

“Of course it would be a drinking game.” You open it, feeling the artificial chocolate scent braid with the alcohol. “Christ.”

“Don’t smell it, or it’ll be worse,” Harry says, downing his with one quick tilt of his head. “‘S not that bad, actually.”

You mimic his action, letting the drink swiftly burn its way down your throat. Unlike Harry, you can’t help but scrunch your nose at the taste. “You’re a fucking liar.”

Harry only giggles in response, taking the empty bottle from you and placing it back inside the gloves, along with his own. 

And then again, silence. You turn to the flowers to find some comfort.

A family of tulips glances back at you, their petals in a full red, it’s the kind of beauty you’re scared to ruin if you touch, so you just rest your hand on the wood. “They’re beautiful.” You only notice you say it out loud when Harry hums back in agreement.

“They are.” He says quietly but somehow feels loud by how close he is. “Tulips are my favorites.”

You stop, brows raising incredulously at him. “No, they’re not.”

“What?”

Cursing the universe for playing with you like this, you can’t help but laugh at the situation. “It’s just- they’re my favorites, too.” You look at him. “My nan used to plant them when I was little.”

“That’s sweet.” He says, smiling and you nod. “The red ones represent true love.” He points. “And the purple ones represent royalty.”

You blink at him. “Do you just look up tulip facts in your free time?”

Harry laughs. “Yeah, basically.” He looks down at you, and you can’t help but notice how the greenery around brings out the shade of his eyes. “I worked at a flower shop for a tick.”

“Really?”

He nods. “For eight months. My favorite part was writing on the store board every morning.” His face lights up as he recalls his experience. “I used to write silly stuff like, ‘one day I’d like to meet tulips.’ The old ladies loved it.”

You shake your head, breathing out a laugh. “You’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous? Why’s that?”

Because you’re sweet, you want to answer, because when I think I won’t get charmed by you again, you hit me with tulip puns. Your lip finds its spot between your teeth, you’d be damned to give him the satisfaction of hearing you tell him that, so, instead, you shrug. “Because.” You can tell he wants to dig more by the way his lip twitch up, teasing a smile, but you just nod towards the door before turning away from him and heading out. 

There’s a distinct change of temperature when you step outside, and it’s only when you do that you notice the greenhouse was heated. Thankfully, the night is not too windy as it would get a week or two ago when winter was still insisting on making itself present, but it’s still chilly so that it makes you hug your jacket closer to your body. Harry also notices the difference, as you hear him wince as he steps out from behind you — unlike you, he’s not wearing anything to protect his arms from the cold, which only makes it harder for you to not ogle the tattoos hugging his skin.

“So, what’s next?” You prompt.

Harry reaches for the card again, taking it from its spot on his pocket before reading the second clue. “‘Not feeling too creative to write this one, it’s on the third tree on oak.’”

“I mean, at least we don’t have to think too much on this one.” You say, “Oak Street is the one to the left, right?”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs. “Can’t believe he’s making us go out on the streets.”

You start to make your way back towards the house. “Too tired for a stroll?”

“‘S cold,” Harry says, scrunching his nose. “Here, there’s a side gate.”

He guides you through a gravel path to where the black gate stands, hidden between bushes and branches. Strings of fern hug the bricked fence and the surrounding grass is high enough that it tickles your calves through your tights, making you believe this path has probably been left unused for at least a couple of months now. This information brings out an extra worry for you, as you take a better look at it, noticing how the gate is closed shut to the fence.“Is it open?” You wonder out loud.

“Shit, I don’t think it is.” Harry huffs under his breath. “But, I mean, we could easily jump it.”

You stop, turning to glance at him as the suggestion leaves his lips. He stands there, hands on his hips, examining the gate, tongue poking out as he frowns. After a second, he meets your eyes. “What? It’s not that tall.”

“I suppose.” You say, looking back at the fence that ends just below your shoulder length. It would be easy enough for you to climb it with a boost, however, “I’m wearing a dress.”

“Oh,” Harry scratches the back of his neck. “Let’s just go inside-” He turns back.

“Wait,” You stop him, not sure if it’s the slight amount of alcohol in your system already making you more adventurous, you train your gaze at the gate, analyzing it again, before looking back at him. Squinting your eyes, “You have to close your eyes.”

He laughs, “Are you sure?”

“It’s not that high.” You shrug. “But I need your help.”

“Of course.” He moves next to the brick wall, kneeling before it and nodding towards you. “C’mon, step up.”

Hesitantly, you glance at his thigh stretching his trousers, a sudden wave of insecurity hitting you. “Are you sure you can lift me?”

Harry simply puts his hand out in a silent request for you to hold. “Of course.”

“No peeking.”

He shuts his eyes tightly, chin meeting his chest as he looks down. And then you take his hand, feeling his fingers lock in a firm hold as he helps you use him for support. You hesitate again before using his thigh as a step, “Wait, I’m gonna ruin your trousers.” You worry, but Harry only shakes his head, still keeping it facing the ground, the strands of his hair falling above his eyes in a makeshift blindfold. When he doesn't feel you stepping in still, he encourages you with a squeeze in your hand. 

You attempt to do as quickly as possible with your dress clinging to your legs, tightening your hold to Harry’s hand to step on his thigh. Once you let it go, you can still feel it lingering behind your back as you use your arms to boost yourself up the wall, sitting on it for a moment before jumping to the other side with a huff.

“Can I open them?” You hear Harry’s voice calls from the other side, and you smile, nodding even though he can’t see it.

“Yes!”

And then his face appears as he stands up in a jump, grinning at you. “See? Easy Peasy.”

“I feel like a teen sneaking out.” You say, and you instantly give another meaning to your words as Harry boosts himself up. This time, you certainly don’t hold yourself back from staring at the way his muscles flex at the movement, the tattoos on his arms stretching, and his shirt rolling up. He makes it look so easy, so effortless, barely taking five seconds until he’s jumping in front of you.

“That was fun.” He puffs, patting his trousers lightly.

“So, how are we finding the tree?” You ask, taking a quick glance to where his hands brush on the fabric of his trousers. “Should we read the clue again?”

“I know which one he’s talking about,” Harry says, nodding to the left before beginning his stride in that direction. You follow him, trusting his words as the two of you turn the corner where Evan’s house is located. 

The street in question is much calmer than the one you were just in, with no cars coming or going from the residences — that stand much closer to one another, you notice, giving the whole street more of a narrow feeling to it --, which is not exactly odd, but certainly is a contrast with the main street that Evan’s home faces, that one being more lively with people either coming home or leaving it to enjoy their Friday night. The sudden lack of background noise makes the walk to your destination a tad awkward, as none of you make an effort to strike a conversation. Instead, you resort to silently observing the surrounding area as you walk alongside Harry, noticing how the trees here bend over the sidewalk, their naked branches slowly but surely growing back the leaves they lost months ago — it makes you wonder how beautiful this must look during the peak of springtime, their full branches blending together, making a ceiling of flowers.

“Here.” Harry stops abruptly, making you almost bump into his shoulder, as you were too busy with the scenery you’ve made in your own head. “‘S this one.”

“I thought it said the third one.” You frown, looking back and noticing the way you’ve passed way more than just three.

“This one is the third.” He says, motioning to a small birdhouse stuck to its trunk with a number ‘3’ painted to the front in blue. “It’s a bit of an inside joke,” Harry chuckles to himself. “Now I get why the bastard wanted me to have this card.”

You look closer at the tree, trying to see if there’s something attached to it besides the birdhouse, but there’s nothing. Before you can question it, Harry opens the front of the tiny house, retrieving two tiny bottles from inside of it, similar to the ones you found in the greenhouse.  “Oh, no.” You say, laughing. “Did he just put liquor inside a stranger’s birdhouse?”

Harry shakes his head, “This is not a stranger’s birdhouse.”

“Huh?” You frown, glancing back to the house where you stand in front of, its front completely dark, showing that no one must be at home. You point to it over your shoulder. “Do you know who lives here?”

“Yeah,” He starts, offering you one bottle. “I do.”

Your brows shoot up in surprise, glancing back and forth from the house to the man standing in front of you, an amusing grin growing on his face. “You live here?” You ask, “This is your birdhouse?”

“It is, yeah. In fact, I was the one who built it.” He gives the birdhouse a small pat.

You can’t help but let your mouth hang open for a second. “That’s-” You pause, not sure which word to use. Impressive? Amazing? Hot? “That’s nice.”

Harry smiles, and the two of you stand there for a moment, admiring his work in silence. You suck your bottom lip in, keeping yourself from inquiring further. 

Being presented with how little you know about Harry only peaks at your curiosity at what had happened last year in your brief experience with him. When you were with him it felt as if you’d known him for months rather than weeks, but looking back at it now, you wonder if your infatuation fooled you into thinking the two of you were close. Maybe that’s why you were so upset at the premiere after all because all that did was prove to you how much you didn’t know him at all. No matter how many sleepless nights you spent together sharing bits of your lives, it wasn’t enough for you to get to know him.

It’s only when a car turns into the street that you break away from your thoughts, looking up at him and clearing your throat. “We should take this back to Evan’s.” You say. “I’m not sure how it would look from an outsider’s point of view to see us downing these tiny bottles in the middle of the street.”

“You’re right,” Harry says. “Should we read the last clue while we’re at it?”

“Sure, yeah.”

He reaches for the card inside his pocket, presenting it to you. “You do the honors this time.”

You take the card, brushing your thumb over the words before stopping for a second to read them out loud, “You’ll find your prize behind the words of buried legends.” You snort. “That’s so corny.”

“Words of buried legends,” Harry repeats, letting out a hum. “Bet he was feeling quite poetic when he wrote this one.”

“Maybe because it has to do with poems.” You peek at him, a slight raise to your eyebrow. “‘Words of buried legends’? like dead poets and stuff?” Upon reading it again to make sure, you mumble, “He really made this card especially for you, huh?”

“Makes sense.” Harry agrees before nudging you playfully with his arm. “Look at you with your literary mind!”

“Could’ve used some better wording but I’ll let it pass.” You giggle, shrugging as you hand him back the card. As you do so, you notice there’s something written on the other side. “What’s in the back?”

Harry’s brows meet. “Huh?”

“In the back of the card, something’s written on it.” You nod towards his hand as he’s about to pocket the card again. 

Harry turns it around, reading it with a chuckle. “Ice breakers.”

“You gotta be fucking kidding me.” Your mouth drops open in amusement. “Well? Go on, then. Break the ice.”

Harry makes a show of clearing his throat before reading the question as an announcement, “What celebrity do you think you could pull on your best day?”

“Is this the actual question?” You squint your eyes at him and he turns the card to allow you to read it as well. Surely, the same question reads right on top of it and, as you take a glance at the ones below it, they’re not that much better. You shake your head, “God, I have no idea.”

“I know mine.”

“You didn’t give a single thought on that one.” You say. “This should be good.”

“Jennifer Aniston.”

“Jennifer Aniston?” You stop on your tracks, raising your brows at him. “You know she was married to Brad Pitt, right?”

“Ouch.” Harry makes the theatrics of putting a hand on his heart, head falling dramatically to the side. “Right where it hurts.”

“I’m not saying you’re bad-looking, but he’s Brad Pitt.” You emphasize with a laugh, pushing him playfully as you keep walking. “Like he is the male beauty standard. Personified.”

The front of Evan’s feels more vivid than it was when you first walked in hours ago, the lights inside seeming lighter and the curtains having been pulled back, showing people wandering around on the inside. You walk past another pair crouched in front of the bushes that line next to the front gate that creaks as you open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s hear yours, then, sweetheart.”

“Ew, don’t ever call me that again.” Your nose scrunches and your face grows hot, but you attempt to shake it off, stopping to think of the question. “Huh, on my best day? I think… I don’t know, maybe Drake?”

“Oh, no!” Harry’s hands cover his face as he shakes his head into them. “I feel like that’s the most basic answer anyone could ever give to this question.”

You gasp. “Did you just call me basic?”

Harry holds the front door open for you and, before he’s able to give you an answer, you bump right into Nia. She instantly blurts out your name, as if she’s been expecting you to appear. “I’ve been looking for you!” She says, sparing Harry a glance over your shoulder before pulling you slightly to the side. “Do you think we could talk for a second?”

“Sure.” You hold out the word, looking at Harry before focusing on your friend again. “Did something happen?”

“No, no, nothing happened. Just—” Nia starts, locking your arms as she guides you back outside, pulling you to a corner a few steps away from the front door. “How are you? How's it going?”

“I’m fine. Why?” Your brows knit together at her interference and you wonder if it has anything to do with her conversation with Nate.

“I’m talking about-” She looks over her shoulder, clearly checking if anyone is listening in. Even after making sure that there’s no one there, she still lowers her voice. “When I saw he was your pair, I wanted to rescue you right away, but fucking Taylor pulled me with him and I didn’t get the chance.”

Oh. “Oh.”

“Is it too awkward?” She keeps her inquiry, holding your hand close to her chest. “We could ask them to switch so we can do the rest together, I’m sure Evan’s too plastered to notice.”

“Nia, I-” You smile as you come to realize that she pulled you aside just to check if you’re uncomfortable, having witnessed first-hand your whines and cries over Harry last year. “It’s okay, really. It’s not that bad, surprisingly.”

“Really?” Nia blinks, taken aback. “I- What happened?”

“Nothing.” You reassure her with a squeeze on her hand. “We’re just chatting, it’s not that awkward.”

“Okay.” She nods and nods, before falling serious again. “But if anything happens you just have to scream for me and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“Okay.” You say, pulling her for a brief hug. “Thanks, Ni.”

The two of you return inside just as Taylor brings up his brother’s hair sculpture collection that’s being exhibited at a local gallery — a subject you already have been the victim of hearing for about an hour during New Year’s and, by Harry’s face, he seems as helpless as you did back then. Nia doesn’t waste a second before pulling her pair away, “Let’s go, pal, those clues won’t solve themselves,” she shoots you a look over her shoulder, pushing Taylor towards the living room and you chuckle.

“He really is one of a kind, that man,” Harry says with a sigh before meeting your gaze. “Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, just lady talk.” You brush aside. “Let’s find those poets, shall we?”

“We shall.” Harry smiles, looking around for a second before guiding you down the hallway, turning just before entering the kitchen where a staircase. This is a way that — like the greenhouse — you’ve never been to. Still, Harry navigates so casually as if it were his own home and, to some degree, you suppose it is. You follow him up the first flight of steps, stopping just before turning into the next one where a door you never really noticed before stands. Harry rests his hand on the handle, turning to you before saying, “There’s an office hidden right here.”

You watch as he opens it, motioning for you to walk in first. And, indeed, the inside of it is an office, just a bit smaller than the living room on the opposite side of the house. Two bookcases that go from the floor to the ceiling mostly covered the wall, only leaving a single space in the middle for a dark wooden cabinet. In front of it, an L-shaped desk takes up the middle of the room, most of it is filled with files and paper stacks, as well as two computers lying asleep. For a moment, you just stand by the doorway, admiring this room you’ve never known of its existence, your eyes quickly sweeping through the bookshelves completely packed with dark cover books of all sorts. “Do you think this is where it could be?”

“Probably, yeah.” Harry nods, turning on the lights. “I don’t know where else he could have any poetry hidden.”

You move towards one bookshelf, the one closest to the door, reaching to brush your finger through the spines perfectly lined. “But look at the size of these, we’ll take forever to find anything in here.”

“Those big ones are mostly law books, I think,” Harry says, opening cabinets at the other side of the room, right next to where a white couch stands. He turns to look at you, “His sister’s a lawyer, this is her office.” Harry says, “But Evan’s got a corner right here where he keeps some of his stuff— like books of sorts. It’s the only place I could think of.”

You hum, not knowing exactly what to respond to this information.

“You can go through the ones on that side, it could be there as well.” Harry nods towards a cabinet right next to the door where you came from, and you nod.

The first two cabinets are of no luck, both being mostly filled with boxes full of children’s books and old toys — some of them mixed with more stacks of paper, but those, instead of having long texts, have drawings of all kinds from what you could gather in a glance, from child-like scribbles to actual sketches. You can hear Harry going through drawers on the other side of the room and, upon closing another empty cabinet, you peek at him, watching his broad back flexing under his shirt as he moves around. Averting your eyes as swiftly as you looked, it’s still enough to bring warmth to your cheeks.

Finally, you open the cabinet at the very bottom of the shelf. On the top, there are piles of DVDs, most being different variations of Barbie movies, but, right at the bottom, you find books. You don’t stop to check their genre at first, simply moving them away until you stumble upon a small box, the top of it marked with the word ‘prize’. “Found it!” You call back, taking the box away from the pile before setting the books back in place again. “Under Rupi Kaur? Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure she’s very alive.”

“Don’t tell Evan that,” Harry says as he crouches next to you, taking the box from your hands. Inside, there are, as expected, two tiny bottles like the ones you found before but, what calls both your attention, is a small bag of sweets lying in the middle. Harry takes it, “Oh, those are nice.”

He hands it to you and you open it, quickly shoving a jelly candy into your mouth before nodding. “Yeah.”

“So…” Harry starts, peeking over his shoulder, “Do you want to go back there?”

You glance at him, his eyes hovering above yours, lips twitching up just barely. “Uh… Maybe not right now.” You answer, “Unless you feel like sharing our Jellies with other people.”

Harry only laughs, shaking his head as he sits back and you do so too, right next to him. He reaches for his pocket, presenting another tiny bottle, the one you found inside his birdhouse, “We still got these.” 

“Right!” You fetch your own out of the pocket of your jacket.

Harry opens his, holding it up towards you. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” You say, mimicking him.

Both of you down your drinks, the liquid tasting bitter, like medicine on your tongue, the only reminder of alcohol being the burn as it slides down your throat. You rest your head back on the cabinet behind you as the two of you fall into silence once more. A part of your mind is already beginning to swim around the space inside your head, and you decide to not take the last drink just yet, laying it next to your leg. Though you’ve only had the equivalent of two shots, you realize the long break you’ve had from drinking for the past couple of months -- which wasn’t exactly an intentional choice, but more like the result of your lack of free time -- is showing itself to have been enough to make you more of a lightweight. 

And even though the night so far has been strikingly surprising in terms of how comfortable you felt being around Harry again, it doesn’t mean the questions you’ve been carrying since last year have gotten any quieter. They’ve only gotten louder. More persistent, even. The curiosity you feel to know what happened is almost suffocating now. And you’d be damned if you let a drunken mind stop you from having this conversation.

You glance at him from the corner of your eyes, only watching the back of his head bobbing along with the music -- still the piano -- that comes faintly from behind the closed door. Your lips part, feeling the question form right at the tip of your tongue, but not knowing how to voice the words. Will it be awkward? You think so, but what if it ruins the night? Tonight, that’s been so oddly refreshing. A night that only served to remind you how you became so infatuated with him in the first place.

But you know you won’t be able to let go of this ich inside your head unless you bring it up. And you want to, you do, but as you take too long to think of the right way to do so, Harry decides to break the silence, murmuring next to you, “That’s a good one.”

Your brows knit together, trying to make out any trace of familiarity within the song that’s playing, but you don't find any, which only leaves you even more confused.  “Do you like classical?”

“Love,” Harry says simply, his eyes closed as he moves his head with the piano keys. “Especially this one. One of the greatest works from one of the greatest contemporary composers: Billie Eilish.”

Your lips fall open, “Shut up. Is she playing this?”

Harry laughs, a full one, that brings a grin to poke at your lips. “I mean, as far as I’m aware, no. It’s a version of her song — listen in.” He points to his ear, nodding with the melody as he sings along, “So you’re a tough guy, like it really rough guy.”

You shake your head incredulously, “Of course he’s playing classical versions of pop songs!” 

“Did you really think Evan had a taste for Chopin or Debussy?” Harry asks both dimples poking on his cheeks.

“I think at this point I’d believe anything you tell me about him.”

Both of you laugh, the air surrounding you light and warm, before falling quiet again. This time, however, you simply stare at each other for a beat. You watch his eyes, with their almost hypnotizing jade shade, glancing between your own. He rolls his lip between his teeth, nibbling at it. This is the closest you’ve been to him all night, and the details on his face only feel like a reminder of your doubts. Like the nostalgia you feel with a bittersweet memory.

“Should we-“ You stop, the words falling from your lips before you can think about them. “Should we talk about the elephant in the room?”

You half expect Harry to frown, to play dumb, and question you the meaning behind your words. For a second, you even expect him to shake his head, to get up and leave the room. And, for some reason, you kinda want him to do so. To finally break the mask of the nice, sweet guy he’s been putting on all night and allow himself to play the role of cold prick you put him on for the past months. 

But he doesn’t do it. He only gives you a short smile. “I was thinking about how to bring it up.” Harry’s gaze falls to his lap for a beat as he scratches his nose. “We should, yeah.”

You nod, more to yourself than to him. This is it. The moment to ask what you’ve been waiting for for six months now. You decide not to think much anymore, allowing the question to roll freely, “I don’t really know how to word this better but- pardon my French- what the fuck happened?”

Harry chuckles, but not an amused one. It’s more of a dry, nervous laugh. “How cliche is it if I tell you I was really fucking stupid?”

“Pretty cliche.” You say, “But also pretty true, I suppose.”

“I’m sorry for that.” He looks up, eyes meeting yours again, his own softening upon seeing you. “I really am.”

“Thank you for apologizing.” You smile a little, “But I think I deserve an explanation.”

“You do.” He speaks quietly before clearing his throat. For a second, he doesn’t say anything else, just takes a sharp breath, focusing on his fingers that play with the hem of his trousers. “I- Uhm- I know this might come as a surprise, but I’m not very good at letting people down.”

“A bit, I guess.” You try to humor, but your tone doesn’t show it. You sound quiet, hurt.

He peeks up at you, and continues, “Jess- the girl you met at the premiere- she’s lovely and all, but- how do I say this- we were never really supposed to be together.” Harry sighs, “I didn’t like her like that.”

You frown, “Then, why did you?”

“A couple of months before we met- before Evan even mentioned the film project to me, one of my mates kept insisting that I should meet his sister.” He pauses, “That was Jess.”

“I figured.”

Harry nods, “As I said, she’s a lovely girl, really nice, but we just- didn’t click like that, you know?” You hum in agreement, ignoring a small twist in your stomach when he repeats the endearment term. “But I guess she really wanted to try it, and, for months, I just kept pushing and pushing, cause I thought maybe with time I could bring myself to feel the same way.” And then again, another humorless laugh, “But- spoiler alert- I couldn’t and I should’ve just told her that.”

Your mouth hangs open for a beat before you decide against saying anything. It’s clear as you watch him explain that the entire situation for him felt more complicated than you’d ever considered. Not once did you think about the possibility of him being caught in a twist of his own decisions, and not once did you regard his feelings with the whole situation. In your bubble of gloominess, all you could think of was how he played you and used you for a bit before moving on to the next girl that fell for his sweet talk. 

Looking at him now, however, his head low and brows set on a permanent crease, lips frowning down, you can feel the internal conflict pooling out of his pores. You’re not sure if it’s exactly a look of remorse that he gives you, but it sure seems close to it.

Harry huffs in what feels like frustration as he keeps recalling the events, “But all my mates kept taking the piss, pushing me to ask her out and then, in the middle of it, I met you.” He finally smiles a bit, and you have to look down to hide the warmth that spreads on your cheeks, “And we-uh-” He shrugs, “I mean, we clicked, didn’t we?”

“I think so.” You say, just above a whisper.

“I think so, too,” Harry says, holding your gaze with his own. “And when I was with you I let myself forget about that, forget about the pressure to be with someone else, I guess.” His lips fall again, eyes meeting his lap, “But when we came back, there wasn’t much running away from it anymore. The night we got back I met that friend of mine and, I’m not sure if he said anything to Jess, but she asked me out.”

“And you said yes.”

“I said yes.” He repeats, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have, but I said yes.”

“So you just dated her? Even if you didn’t like her like that?” You say, trying to understand his thought process. Even if his words tug at your heartstrings -- which you try to not think about right now -- you still can’t help but feel a bit for the other girl.

“I thought I could- I don’t know, I thought with time maybe I could-” He stumbles around with his speech, before finally letting out a sigh, “I don’t know what was going through my head, to be honest. I was a prick.”

“At least you can admit to it.”

“I was a prick to both of you.” 

You fall quiet, hoping he takes your silence as an agreement. When he doesn’t offer anything else, you speak up again, “Did it work, though?” He frowns, and you clarify, “Letting time force feelings into you?”

“I found very quickly how hard it is to develop feelings for someone when there’s someone else on your mind.” He says, and you bite back a smile that wants to spread on your lips.

“It’s very easy to say that now.”

“I know.” He agrees, “And I wish I could’ve realized that earlier, before even bringing you into this mess.” Harry reaches for your wrist, which lies on top of your lap, giving it a gentle squeeze. “For that I really am sorry.”

“I know you are.” You reassure, turning your hand to find his, squeezing it back. “And what happened to Jess?”

“She was rightfully upset when I told her.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, moving the rings on your fingers around just slightly, and it’s almost enough to distract you from his voice. “We broke up a day after the premiere.”

“Ouch.”

“But it’s fine now, she’s got a boyfriend now who actually cares for her the way she deserves,” Harry says.

“That’s nice to hear, at least.”

“It is, yeah.”

You look down at your hands locked in your lap, squeezing his one more time before letting it go with a sigh.  “You really made a big mess, huh?”

He chuckles, a guilty smile poking on his face, “I did.”

You nod, finally reaching for the tiny bottle left forgotten next to you, opening it. This time you only take a sip, but it’s still enough to end half of the liquid inside. You click your tongue, “I’m glad we talked, though.” You look up at Harry again, who’s already watching you, giving a small tap on his thigh. “It’s nice to have closure, you know? To give it a conclusion and wrap with a nice little bow.”

Harry rolls his lip inside his mouth, “Is this a conclusion, then?”

You raise your brows, “Is it not?”

“I guess it could be.” He shrugs one shoulder, leaning closer to you just barely, eyes trained in yours. “But I’m hoping that, after today, maybe we could start over?”

You laugh, scrunching your nose at him as you shake your head. “Not a start over, no.” You poke his side, “You’re not getting away that easy.”

“You’re right.” He says, still not budging as he frowns his lips. “But I wish it didn’t have to be an ending as well.”

“Is that so?”

Harry nods, you can tell his eyes hold a shyness that wasn’t here a minute ago, but at the same time -- as paradoxically as it seems -- there’s a boldness as well, one you’re more familiar with. “Maybe we could chat again. This time with fewer ice breaker cards and more bags of sweets.”

You smile, rubbing your chin as you pretend to ponder about his suggestion. “That does sound very promising.”

“I really do think we clicked.” He drops his playful tone as if wanting to make sure you feel the sincerity behind his words. “Wasn’t just saying it.”

“I know.” You say, “And I think so, too.”

His smirk grows, and he doesn’t offer anything else to say, but you can tell he’s holding something back. With the silence, you suddenly become too aware of the way your arms brush together, and how his knee bumps against yours. You notice how his eyes fall a bit from yours, so quickly you could’ve imagined it, but you choose to not think so. If you lean forward, you know he will too, but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction. You’re not letting yourself make the first move.

Surely, you’re aware these thoughts are a direct result of the alcohol sweeping through your mind, testing how much of your pride you’re willing to ignore. There’s no questioning of the wall that you built all those months ago after walking out of this very house with this very man on your tail blurring out apologies. It still stands, tall and strong, and you're not letting sweet words mixed with a drink or two pull it down. Not that easily. But at this moment, looking at his stupidly beautiful face with his stupidly beautiful eyes so close to you, you feel like maybe you could peek through a window, or open up a door — just a creek, just to have a sample of what it would feel like if you were to pull it down.

“Do you want to go back?” Harry asks again, this time more quietly, this time his question has a different implication than it did before.

You're quick to shake your head, voice quiet, “Not yet.”

The corner of his lips quirk up and you raise your brows, silently daring him to ask what he’s been holding. You see his hand moving from the corner of your eyes, but you don’t break your gaze from his, not even when you feel his fingertips moving so gently against your cheekbone, brushing your hair away from your face. Harry leans closer, again just barely, and again, you stay still, only smiling softly in encouragement. Now, you’re stuck in your own silent conversation; both seeking the same thing but not making the move to achieve it -- either for pride or apprehension. 

“I’d really like to kiss you right now,” Harry whispers finally, eyes moving down again, this time slowly, making sure that his intentions are clear.

“Do it, then.” You tease.

Harry breathes out a laugh, his hand caressing its way down to your jaw. He rubs his thumb against your cheek, a feathery touch, taking another second to look at you before pulling you in. Your eyes fall closed, as you focus on your senses, and allow yourself to peek from that window, or creek that door open just a bit, to have just this moment to remember when you first got lost in his touch. 

First, it’s the warmth of his breath tickling your cupid bow, making your hold your own breath in anticipation. Then, the tip of his nose, gentle against your own, and you can’t help but lean in a bit more when you feel the ghost of his lips on yours. But he pulls back, just so slightly, hoping to have you reach for him again. Except you don’t, knowing what he’s trying to do.

“Uh-uh,” you shake your head, pulling back just a bit to look him in the eye. “You don’t get to tease me.”

Harry huffs out a laugh, “That’s fair.”

This time, there’s no teasing. Still, he goes in just as slowly as he did the first time around, curving his lips around your bottom one so softly it almost makes you lean in again. His kiss is cloud-like in a way that makes you a bit dizzy and when he presses his lips harder, you have to refrain from letting out a dreamy sigh -- still too stubborn to give him the satisfaction. It’s when you feel the tip of his tongue poking out to lick at your bottom lip in a silent request, that you pull away completely.

It’s your turn to smirk now, licking your lips before announcing, “I think we should go back now.”

[escapewithbts]

Secrets in a Foreign Language (Part Four) - Jungkook

<<previous _ next>>

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

A few weeks later you entered Jungkook’s apartment with your heart feeling full. You had felt so lonely these beginning months in this new country of South Korea but seeing Jungkook every week had become a sort of comfort, especially now that you knew the feeling was mutual. Once you had gotten the awkwardness of questioning why the place was already clean whenever you got there, you used the time to just hang out with each other. You got along so unbelievably well and frequently had to remind yourself he was literally one of the most famous people in the world right now. It often blew your mind. Maybe it was because his face was all over the city, the tv, the grocery store, maybe because wherever you went you heard his singing voice in songs, or speaking voice in interviews, but the concept of fame was just something you had never thought about; the media giving celebrities an almost unrealistic and ethereal standard to look up to. But that was just it. Idols were people, too. Regular human beings, just like yourself. Jungkook was your living proof. And you really liked that about him.

He wasn’t in the living room nor the kitchen when you got there this time.

 “Kook?” you called out, using the nickname you had begun to refer to him by.

You went further into the home, down the hallway towards the bedrooms. As you got closer to the master and peered inside, you saw the adjoining bathroom door open and could hear the sound of the shower running.

Ah. So that’s where Jungkook was.

You retreated back into the living area, helped yourself to a bottle of water from the fridge and decided to sit on the couch while you waited for him to return.

And he did just that.

You were browsing Instagram on your phone when his voice startled you.

“Hey, (y/n)!”

You took a swig from the water bottle right as you looked up to respond to him, immediately choking on the liquid as you did so, for Jungkook had appeared in the room in nothing but a pair of gray sweatpants, his glistening upper half on complete display.

You learned early on that one of Jungkook’s hobbies was working out, but damn you never thought you would be a witness to all the hard work he put in. The pictures of his abs on the internet were definitely not photoshopped, an eight pack clearly visible on his abdomen. Prominent pecs, and muscular upper arms, the right one covered by a whole sleeve of tattoos. Oh my god, the tattoos. Holy shit. You had seen some of them from the days where he wore short sleeves around you, but now they were all on display, and they were just as beautiful as you had imagined.

The pants he wore were sitting low, (dangerously low) on his narrow waist, deep chiseled v shaped muscles along his hips; you attempted not to think about where they ended.

Finally, you looked up at his face. His dark hair was still wet from the shower, it was pushed back from his forehead. He had a blush on his pale cheeks, but a smirk on his thin lips, clearly aware of how flustered you had become. You cleared your throat and looked away in embarrassment, suddenly feeling guilty for staring at your friend like he was a piece of meat. But he was just so damn attractive, and you were only human, and it had been so long since you had seen a man shirtless, let alone naked… oh god, no, you were not going to go there, not with Jungkook like this in the room with you. Focus, focus on anything else.

“How-how are you today?” you stuttered.

Smooth.

Jungkook strolled over to the kitchen island and grabbed an oversized black shirt that was laying on the back of the stool. Fortunately (or was it unfortunately?) for you, he pulled it up over his head and let it fall at his sides before shaking his damp and messy hair. Then he smiled at you and walked over to the large couch, taking a seat right next to you. The smell of a masculine body wash and fabric softener wafted into your nose, instantly making you want to curl into his side and rest against him. You swallowed hard, trying to shake those thoughts from your mind.

It was just because he smelled nice, right?

“I’m good. We shot an episode of Run! BTS this morning and we were running around a lot,” he chuckled to himself, “it was fun, but I felt gross after. Sorry for being in the shower when you were here.”

You shook your head.

“Don’t apologize. I’m glad you were. I wouldn’t want to hang out with you if you were stinky.”

You plugged you nose and made a grossed-out face at him and he laughed, running a hand through his hair.

“Well then hopefully I smell okay now.”

Ah if only he knew.

Jungkook grabbed the tv remote from the coffee table and handed it to you.

“You pick what we watch today.”

You shrugged and turned on the tv.

“Okay.”

You didn’t immediately go to a streaming app, you wanted to see what kind of things were on live tv at the moment. You secretly loved watching shows with commercials because while they were on it gave you and Jungkook a chance to talk more.

As you scrolled through the channels you weren’t hopeful for anything exciting as it was 2pm on a Tuesday afternoon after all.  

But suddenly, something caught your attention. The mention of Jungkook’s name. You paused your channel changing for a second to listen.

It looked like a trashy show, much like TMZ in the United States, where random people seemed to think they had the right to gossip about celebrities.

 “…Jungkook of BTS and idol soloist Kim Cho-hee are still going strong it seems.” One of the reporters commented.

“Yes, did you see that picture of them cuddling close at the restaurant they frequent in Gangnam? Sources say they were there for hours!”

A picture of the two of them popped up on the screen, sitting close in a corner of a dimly lit restaurant booth.  

“I even heard they shared a kiss when he dropped her off at her place!”

With that you felt your stomach flip and your face get hot.

Uh oh.

Oh no.

Did you perhaps feel... jealous?

Fuck.

“You think they’ll get married? Be together forever?”

They all laughed.

“(y/n) …” Jungkook mumbled from next to you.

“… way too young, but only time will tell!”

“(y/n),” Jungkook repeated while shaking your shoulder gently, startling you out of your thoughts and snapping your attention away from the screen, “do you mind… um, changing it?”

You fiddled with the remote in your now sweaty hands.

“Oh, sorry, no, um, I’m sorry.”

You complied with his request and moved to the next channel, something about wild animals native to the continent of Asia.

There was silence from Jungkook, and you didn’t dare look at him, your heart pounding inside your chest. It felt awkward now, like the elephant that had been in the room throughout your whole friendship, or whatever this was, was now making an unavoidable appearance. You were debating in your head whether you should finally ask him about it all when he spoke up first.

  “We’ve never kissed,” he started quietly.

You ran a hand through your hair, realizing you did not want to hear about it after all. You wanted to stay in this state of naïve bliss.

 “Jungkook…” you trailed off.

Plus, no matter how curious you were it still wasn’t your business.

He placed his hand on your arm surprisingly, making you look up into his worried looking eyes.

“Please, I really would like to talk to someone about it and since you-you already know it’s not real, and no one else really does- “

“Do your members?” you interrupted him.

He shook his head and looked down.

“No, they think it’s real.”

You took a deep breath, now even more shocked he had trusted you so easily with such seemingly confidential information those many weeks ago.

You closed your eyes tightly, the question you’ve been dying to ask on the tip of your tongue.

 “So can I ask... why? Why you’re in a fake relationship with her?”

He let out a sigh and looked down at the ground.

 “It’s complicated. Cho-hee has, um, she’s not known for being the kindest person, er, idol in the industry. She doesn’t have the best um, I’m not sure of the word in English…” he paused to pull out his phone’s translator app, “…repu-reputation is the word in English,” he sighed again, “So obviously as BTS, we’ve been very successful recently, and our managers are great at making sure our reputation stays good. So, her company contacted mine, her company has a lot more media influence in Asia, and asked if one of our members pretends to date her and help boost her reputation, they will help get BTS more attention in the Asia countries,” he paused and hesitantly peered up at you, “so… yeah, that’s basically the small explanation.”

You stared at him in both shock and confusion, so many follow up questions flooding your brain.

 “BTS doesn’t have enough media coverage in Asia?” was the first one to come out of your mouth.

“Well, not necessarily,” Jungkook replied, “but the K-pop competition is a lot bigger in countries like China and Japan because it has been around for so long here and there, unlike in areas like North America and Europe. You know, people in America or the UK or other non-Asian countries might instantly think of BTS when you say ‘K-pop’ these days, right? But here it can be different. Any other act could appear at any moment and take that spotlight, and Cho-hee’s company has more ties and relationships in Asia, more than our company HYBE, because they’ve been around a lot longer.”

You thought for a second before responding.

“So, you’re telling me… her company helps keep BTS relevant throughout Asia, in exchange for you pretending to date her in order to convince the media she’s a good person and keep her out of trouble?”

Your head was absolutely spinning at all this new information.

Jungkook nodded.

Your eyes went wide as you stared off into space in disbelief.

“Wow… I-I don’t know what to say…”

Jungkook buried his face in his hands and then ran them through his hair.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do it. She has that reputation for a reason. We get along fine, but she’s just so… controlling? Controlling is the word, yes? Sometimes I think she forgets we aren’t actually together.”

You frowned at him sympathetically.

“And what if,” he continued, biting his lip nervously, “what if I meet someone I do want to be with. What then? I can’t be with them?”

Your eyes met at that moment and you felt yourself catch your breath in your throat, you heart feeling like it did a somersault.

You looked away quickly.

“Yeah I don’t know. That certainly does makes things… complicated…”

Jungkook hummed in agreement.

There was a pause as you sighed.

“God I’m… really sorry, Kook, that you have to be a part of all this.”

There was a silence between you two. He just fiddled with his fingers in his lap.

Finally he said softly,

“Me, too. I’m sorry you have to be a part of it, too.”

You cocked your head in confusion.

 “What? Me? Because I know your relationship isn’t legitimate? You don’t have to worry about me, you know I won’t tell anyone about the two of you or- “

He cut you off.

 “Not just that,” he paused and closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

You allowed yourself to take in his handsome face from this up close: his smooth skin, the mole on the bridge of his nose, the deep scar on his left cheek. He was just so exquisite; and when he opened his big brown eyes to meet yours, he looked more nervous than ever.

And when he began to speak you suddenly understood why.

 “It’s also because I… I like you, (y/n). I’m really… starting to like you. As more than a friend or-or someone I just hang out with one day a week,” his face turning red as he went on, “And if you don’t feel the same way I under-”

But before he could finish you placed one hand on the side of his neck and the other on his cheek as you leaned into him and pressed your lips against his in a tender kiss. He relaxed into you and wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you close, practically sitting you on his lap. You finally let his comforting scent completely engulf you, running your hands through his soft hair and nibbling on his bottom lip.

 Oh, yes.

This certainly made things very complicated indeed.

*

next>>

Masterlist

[nina5319371]

Week 9 Prototyping

Pre-Class Activity: Andrew Simpson Cup Case Study

I found this video useful, as Simpson introduced a way how mature studios to do a case study. I have also looked up his website ’Vert Design’ for a comprehensive understanding. It was said that ‘the studio operates as a testing ground for new concepts and self-initiated experimentation, as well as offering design concepts, modeling, prototyping, and manufacturing to clients from niche boutique brands to multinational organizations'.Hence, with both videos and website resources, I concluded the comparison into two points. 

Firstly, the testing process is similar to my experience. We all use tools nearby, even sometimes did not plan to use, always to check changes regularly. Besides, objects are likely to start up with rough to smooth transition and end up in something organic by typical tools. In other words, in the digital application, the modifiers can be seen as the instrument for edit details. Secondly, there exists the crucial difference of ‘feeling’. Andrew Simpson has always held the cup in the process and introduced the parts by hand for pointing out. Therefore, digital software cannot achieve such an experience, or I named it the ‘perceived value’. Particularly, the weight and design could influence the gesture we hold cups and how we grab the handles. In his studio, the feel of glass, ceramic, and even the holes are tested. During such a process, a myriad of changes and risky ideas have been tested for interaction purposes. In comparison, I did not have investigate deep about materials and other attempts.

Week 9 Studio Tutorial – Mesh modelling your own concept

This time, I preserved files carefully to avoid computer crashes during the rendering. Works in week 9 look similar to week 8, which consists more detailed design towards our bottle. Hence, a mixed practice to utilize the skills we need.

😄I enjoyed the lecture the most when tutors analyzing the cost per piece and the quantity(image 1). This is a powerful reason that most designers now promote digital drafts. In the tutorial, I have conquered several following issues: reference maps, the use of light&materials, and how to render or output in a professional way to depict my products.

 I did not know the purpose of the map at first, which I lost my way here to confirm the size and specific lines for the bottle(image 2). Luckily, I fixed this by watching recordings. If I have the chance to do it again, I’d better ask tutors or jump over to do other steps. It is not valuable to stick in one procedure for a long time .

Coming to the playful stage: Materials can be easily achieved by the physical standard, which turned out to be my favorite. Glossy paint, transparency, aluminum have been displayed(image3&4). By adjusting the numbers in roughness and basis, the rendered products would perform in different smoothness(image5).

In the end, I was keen and dying to create a whole scene or atmosphere to express my product, aiming to express a natural feeling and joyful lifestyle, with light color. I failed in the 3d max process, then luckily, I put every single one into photoshop and successfully composed them together in unity(image 6).

All in all, standing from a designer perspective, I am used to displaying bitmaps, choose proper light and materials, and how to exhibit my products. Things I need to keep going: the matching function of every modifier (I always forget); how to position target light; and how to build a background in 3d max instead of in Photoshop.

[everythingshawnmendes]

famous!y/n plays who’d you rather on the Ellen show and doesn’t choose Shawn for jokes

Reader is bi, her and Shawn started secretly dating

+

“So, you are single.” Ellen jumped straight in, as the camera panned back to Y/N and the host.

“I dunno, am I?” Y/N raised her eyebrows.

“Oh! Well if you are not, then do tell, I was going to play Who’d You Rather.” Ellen’s eyes lit up.

“Noo, I love that game, let’s play.” Y/N raised her shoulder to her ear, smiling innocently. She thought of her boyfriend Shawn, who was probably watching this at home. It was all fun and games though, in the end they knew all the wanted was each other and this was all hypothetical.

Ellen eyed her, intrigued, but didn’t push the question any further.

Y/N pointed a finger at Ellen. “You better have put both boys n’ girls.”

“Who do you think I am?” Ellen winked, raising her palms. “Okay, let’s start. The Weeknd or Rihanna.”

“Oooooh, okay. Hmm.” Y/N pondered at the screen. “Well. I feel like The Weeknd is very good at the… you know.”

“No, I don’t know.” The crowd laughed.

“Oh, you know… like…” Y/N wiggled her shoulders slightly. Another round of laughter overcame the audience. “Like have you heard his lyrics.” She crossed her leg on top of her other and leaned more forward towards Ellen.

“You are saying a lot of nothing right now, Y/N.” Ellen sniggered at her.

Y/N huffed. “Well I’m trying-to-keep-it-appropriate-for-daytime-tv-“ She muttered through gritted teeth. “Y’all know what I’m talking about though, right?” She turned to the crowd, who replied with whistles and cheers.

“So, The Weeknd?” 

“Um, I love him, but you’re putting him up against Rihanna. Boy doesn’t have a chance, Rihanna!” Y/N finally chose.

Ellen laughed and turned back towards the screen. “Okay, Rihanna, Kehlani.”

“Fuuuuuck, Ellen!” Y/N groaned. “They’re both so fucking, oops I’m so sorry, effing hot, I mean.” She huffed and bit her nail, just looking at both pictures. “Like they both serve the same energy, you know, like step on me.”

“Step on you?” Ellen chuckled, eyes widening as the crowd laughed again.

“Yeah, like spit on me, slap me, I don’t care, whatever, I’ll stop exposing myself.” Y/N winked. “‘Lani.”

“We need to have you on the show every week.” Ellen said amongst giggles, changing the slideshow. “Kehlani, or Harry St-“

“Harry Styles.”

“That was fast.”

“I know.”

“He was on the show last week, you know-”

“Why didn’t you book me that day.” Y/N answered bluntly, face serious.

“I did not know you were so in love with him!”

“Ellen, do you not follow me on Twitter, you know what? It’s fine, I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. I’ll just admire my husband alone.” Y/N turned to the screen. Ellen’s laugh turned to a wheeze.

“Ooh, this is a good one. Harry Styles. Or Shawn Mendes.”

Y/N felt herself go red as a picture of her boyfriend, a fucking nice one of him if she may say so herself, appeared. The crowd noticed and oooh’ed. 

“Hmmm. White brunette boy or white brunette boy.” Y/N sat back and crossed her arms. Should she choose Shawn? She knew already of the raging fans who were dying for them to be together, and her and Shawn agreed to keep things lowkey right now because they were going so well. On the other hand, she didn’t want to upset him by playing along this Harry Styles celebrity crush trope for too long.

“The British one.” She said.

“Shawn is half-British…” Ellen wiggled her eyebrows. “And to let you know miss, I do follow you on Twitter. There seems to be entire accounts dedicated to piecing every interaction you have with Shawn Mendes together. And some, just begging you to get married.”

Y/N was red by now, but couldn’t quite force her muscles to stop smiling.

“If y’all think we don’t see the shit you post…” Y/N pointed a finger at the audience.

“We? So you and Shawn have talked about the whole world photoshopping pictures of you two together.”

Y/N gulped, she slipped a bit. “I said what I said, ok I choose Harry.” She was internally dying of laughter, knowing Shawn’s nostrils must be full-on flared now.

“Okay, final choice.” Ellen looked at the screen. “Ryan Gosling or Harry.”

“Oooh, I’m leaving Harry. But just because I want to sing La La Land with Ryan.”

“Interesting, you liked that film?”

“Love!”

“Oh wait, hold on, another slide has just been added.”

The monitor changed and the audience roared with laughter. A picture of Shawn reappeared.

“Shawn Mendes is making a comeback!”

“Jesus Christ.” Y/N mumbled. “He just can’t keep away, eh?”

“That eh was very Canadian of you.”

Y/N blushed and giggled. “Okay FINE, just because YOU ALL want me to. Shawn.”

“Alright! So here it is, Y/N will be set up with Shawn very shortly!” Ellen wrapped up the segment.

“Thanks for playing, you were a delight”. Ellen hugged Y/N as the cameras cut to commercial and the audience clapped.

“I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t fun.” Y/N winked at her.

+

Y/N dropped her keys on the counter.

“Baby?” She called out. She heard Shawn’s footsteps thud quickly down the stairs. Freaking giant, she thought.

“Hi.” She sighed softly as she wrapped her arms around him.

“So.” Shawn pulled back from her and quirked an eyebrow. “You spent an awful amount of time on Harry Styles before picking me.”

Y/N bit her lip cheekily before shrugging.

“S’just a game you know-“

“Yeah, I’ll show you who you’d really rather”. Shawn huffed as he picked her up and slumped her over his shoulder, earning a cute yelp from Y/N and a mass of giggles, and proceeded to take her up the stairs.

[221bsunsettowers]

TK/Carlos: Please Don’t Go Where I Can’t Follow

Fandom: 9-1-1 Lone Star

Pairing: TK/Carlos

Prompt: Dissociation

Carlos is missing, kidnapped by a criminal he brought down during an undercover operation, and TK is frantic. When they do find Carlos, they realize he's been shown a faked photograph of a murdered TK, and has completely disassociated.

I promise that everything does end up okay at the end! I always have to have my hurt/comfort angst with a happy ending. I can’t whump these boys permanently.

I did research on dissociation before and while writing this piece, but I can't promise my writing is medically accurate. Please know I tried, and I apologize for any inaccuracies.

CW: dissociation, some blood and bruising, faked photograph of a character having been murdered, one use of the f word

Can also be read on Ao3 here

It had taken three hours and fourteen minutes to find Carlos.

It had taken three hours and fourteen minutes after TK's phone rang, after he was told Carlos had answered what should have been a simple domestic dispute call, and never came back. That the house he had been called to was deserted and had been for years. That the only sign anyone had been there was blood soaked into the rug.

Three hours and fourteen minutes and the scent was fading off of Carlos' hoodie, the one TK had plucked from the closet just that morning, smirking at his boyfriend before Carlos had walked over with a laugh and kissed the smirk right off TK's lips.

Any members of the 126 that were off shift had immediately joined the search, paired up with any police officers that weren't already running down leads. TK had wanted to be everywhere at once, out there finding Carlos, at the police station listening to the tips and reports, at their home in case Carlos managed to make it there.

In the end, it was decided for him, his father and Carlos' captain finding a nearby hallway at the police station where TK could pace up and down its length, ringing Carlos' cell phone over and over, closing his eyes and soaking in the sound of his boyfriend through the words of his voicemail.

TK didn't eat, didn't rest, didn't stop moving, the absence of the love of his life like molten lava under his skin, burning and stinging and bringing tears to his eyes, wearing out his strength and hope with every minute it settled and hardened in his veins. The hood of Carlos' sweatshirt was pulled over TK's head, and when it all got to be too much he would turn his face and breathe in, trying to let the rememnants of his boyfriend's scent bring him any sort of comfort.

When the call finally came, it was an officer reporting that he and his partner had spotted Carlos through the window of an abandoned warehouse. From what they could tell, he was tied to a chair, three guys guarding him. And Carlos had looked limp, unmoving, head hanging low, and there was definitely blood.

Backup was already running out of the station and to their squad cars, but TK had collapsed to the floor, weeping into Owen's shirt, clutching at him with clenched fists. "We know where he is," Owen murmured soothingly into TK's ear, arms wrapped around his son. "And we're going to go to him, and we'll take it from there, okay?"

TK nodded, sniffled, rising from the floor and tucking his trembling hands into the sleeves of Carlos' hoodie. Owen kept an arm around his waist as he led him to the car.

When they reached the warehouse, TK leapt from the car as soon as it had slowed down enough. He had spent the ride running through every world-ending possible scenario in his mind, unable to turn off the terrifying thought that Carlos was dead or dying and their forever had already ended. Owen had had to pull off the road for a moment so TK could fall to his knees in the dirt and retch next to the car, his dad's hand rubbing circles on his back.

Now that he was this close to Carlos, TK couldn't stop himself, body magnetized to his boyfriend's orbit, and he was sprinting through the door and dropping to his knees next to the chair, hands fumbling to grab the wrists an officer had just released from the zip ties.

Feeling a pulse, too slow but still steady, TK gave himself one shaky exhale of relief before forcing his gaze up to sweep the rest of the scene before him. Carlos' face was bruised, his shirt slashed front and back with what were clearly shallow knife strokes, leaving narrow cuts still trickling blood.

But what was most heartstopping was the look in Carlos' eyes.

It was like there was no one there. Like Carlos' body was an empty shell. TK had seen so many expressions in those beautiful eyes, but never a complete lack of anything.

"Carlos, baby, it's me," TK murmured, gingerly cupping Carlos' face between his trembling hands. "Can you answer me, sweetheart? Let me know what's going on?"

Michelle had appeared, but Carlos did not react when she carefully cut off the remaining fabric of his shirt, his arms limp and dropping back to their previous place the minute her hold was released. TK knew Michelle was fighting back tears as she started cleaning and bandaging Carlos' wounds. TK had no power to resist his own sobs, tears streaming down his cheeks as he continued calling to Carlos.

"Please, Carlos, please, please come back to me, please," TK begged through his tears, and at the lack of response again, whipped his head around to the nearest police officer. "What the hell happened? Do you know what's going on?"

"We found him like this," the man responded, expressed pained as he took in the unresponsive form of his fellow officer. "I don't know, but this guy," he jerked his head at the wide-eyed, terrified, and handcuffed teenager next to him, "says he'll tell us what happened if we put in a good word for him at the station."

"Absolutely, anything, please, just tell me what happened, tell me what's going on." TK barely registered he was begging again, this time at a complete and utter stranger.

"My boss knew he'd been involved in an undercover op ," the teenager gestured towards Carlos, "and he wanted to know where exactly in the station his drugs had ended up. The cop wouldn't tell him, even after he beat him up some, got the knife." TK's body flinched involuntarily, tense with anger and heartbreak, and the teen spoke even faster. "Then he showed the cop that photo, and instead of spilling the details he just totally shut down. Then you guys came in."

Bending down, the officer picked up the indicated photo from the ground, and let out an involuntary "Fuck". Eyeing TK uneasily, he sighed, handing over the picture.

"Oh god," TK choked out, the picture shaking violently in his hands. He knew it was a photoshop, a damn good one but still fake, of course he did, he was here alive wasn't he, but Carlos couldn't have known. All Carlos would have seen was TK's dead body, bullet hole in his forehead, bullet hole to the heart, blood soaking through that yellow hoodie they both knew so well (and TK couldn't believe they had gone to that level of detail, didn't want to think about how they had found that out, but of course that was the kind of thing that would have immediately convinced Carlos).

"Ok, ok I know what's going on," Michelle's shaky voice came from over TK's shoulder."He's having a dissociative episode. He couldn't handle what he was seeing and he...he deconnected. Loss of feelings, depersonalisation, derealisation..." She trailed off, and TK turned his gaze on her, eyes pleading.

"How do I fix this, Michelle? How do I get him back?" TK wasn't even sure his words were understandable at this point, he was crying so hard, but Michelle squared her shoulders, biting her lip.

"Ok, you should try engaging his senses. Give him something familar to feel, really ground him with your touch, anything that smells like you, talk to him, but TK, I can't...I can't promise, I don't know..." She choked back a sob.

TK immediately pulled off the hoodie he was wearing, knowing it now smelled like a mixture of him and Carlos, and threaded Carlos' arms through the sleeves, zipping it up to the very top and pulling the hood up around his boyfriend's face.

"Carlos, baby, it's me, it's TK, I'm right here, I love you so much, so so much baby," TK kept up an unending stream of endearments, gaze glued on Carlos' face, and he thought for a second he saw a flash of familarity in his eyes. Grabbing Carlos' hand, TK slid it up under his shirt, pressing his boyfriend's palm skin against skin right over TK's frantically beating heart, then used his other hand to gently cup the back of Carlos' neck, brushing their lips against each other.

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then TK heard a soft "Ty?" breathed against his lips, and he dared to open his eyes. He gasped as he saw Carlos start to cry, eyes full and familiar, and TK caught him as he collapsed off the chair and onto the floor.

"It's me, baby, I promise, it's me, I'm okay, I'm fine, it's all going to be alright," TK chanted into the crook of Carlos' neck, pressing his promises into his boyfriend's sweat-soaked skin. He clutched Carlos to him as their bodies shook and they sobbed, not even registering the warehouse clearing around them, Michelle pressing a hand to her heart as she tearfully moved outside with her kit at the ready.

"That photo," Carlos choked out, and TK shook his head, pulling back just enough so Carlos' could see his face.

"They faked it, I'm not hurt, not a scratch, I've just been a wreck over you, sweetheart," TK assured him, and Carlos shot forward, pressing their lips together hard enough that their teeth clinked together, and TK poured every ounce of love inside him into the bruising kiss. With a oh so grateful gasp, Carlos softened, and the kiss did too, mouths meeting again and again, Carlos seeming to settle more and more into his body as TK gently kissed his way across the bruises scattered across Carlos' face.

"Hey there Tiger," Carlos finally said, voice stronger, and TK laughed in sheer relief, resting their foreheads together.

"Hey there love," TK answered, and he saw a smile begin to turn up the edges of Carlos' lips. "There you are."

@bikingthroughhawkins​ @officereyes​ @i-had-bucky​, @highqualitykhakis​ @meloingly​

If you want to be added to my Tarlos tag list just let me know!

@badthingshappenbingo​

[shianhygge-imagines]

Silver Rose [Vergil/Reader] {Devil May Cry} Umbral Angelo

AN: I managed to finish this one in record time, and am already working on the next chapter. I’m intending the next chapter to be a bit of a dive into V and Vergil’s mentality, so it’s going to be a bit tricky to write... and a bit long. (If you take a look into my masterlist, I’ve already titled the next chapter “Bury the Light” so I’m going to try extra hard to make the next chapter worthy of the song.)

On another note: I’m probably going to start using my handwritten banner for this series from now on. I’ve noticed that gifs are rather intense for loading on certain devices/internet speed... and I’m tired of looking for appropriate gifs to use. I may end up changing the banner once I get photoshop or something >.>

If you like the content I create, please consider donating to my Ko-fi! Please help me feed my tea addiction!

|Masterlist Link|    |First Chapter|    |Prev. Ch.| --- |Next Ch.|

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 06:03am

- V’s POV -

V watched as you raced to greet Nero with a flying tackle hug that nearly sent the one armed boy tumbling to the floor from the force of your excitement. The mortal half of Vergil couldn’t help but feel equal parts bitterness, sadness, envy, and longing as he watched you fuss over Nero with worry. As he was, V didn’t feel like he was capable of having a family. Not only was the mysterious man dying the longer he remained separated from his demonic half, but because he felt unworthy after everything that had transpired since the day his family home was burnt down. Although he longed for this, it was probably one of the biggest conflicts within him during the past few weeks with you… and one of the reasons why the days had passed with too much left unsaid.

“Nero! Light of my life! My reckless son!” You continued the embarrassing titles while straightening his jacket and hair, taking care to pat down the spots covered in rubble dust. “I’m so happy to see you! Nico did such a good job with your arm! Oh! But that last one broke-”

The demon hunter’s cheeks pinkened as his mother continued to fuss over him, “Mom,” he whined, embarrassed at the fact that a stranger like V had to bear witness to this. “It’s good to see you, too, but I’m fine. I got a spare arm here-” Nero gestures to the red colored mechanical limb attached to his hip, “-see? I’ll be fine. But enough about me, what are you doing here?”

Like mother, like son, I see. V mused with amusement when the pair of you completely ignored the dying Goliath. Shadow had stalked over to sit at your side with a content flicker of its tail while leaving his weakened master to slowly walk over. “Little wanderer…” V addressed the dying demon, raising his cane to deliver the killing blow, “hie thee home.”

Just as the massive demon faded into burning ashes, you and Nero stopped your fussing to address V’s arrival. “Well, it’s a bit of a long story, Nero.” Your grin is sheepish as you pointed at V with two hands, “Apparently, V’s been living like a hobo before he came to Devil May Cry for the job. Since he didn’t want to leave Red Grave City… and I have a house here, he kinda stayed with me the past few weeks.”

“Uh-huh.” Nero crossed his arms and leaned on one foot, his expression incredulous as blue-green eyes flickered between you and V. “You expect me to believe that your old house is still standing after over two weeks of this.” To V’s amusement, Nero nodded at the rubble and chaos that surrounded them as he finished his sentence.

Kid’s got a point. Griffon communicated telepathically as it circled the sky above their group.

You pouted and slumped over slightly, “… well, it’s not standing anymore.” You looked saddened and bitter at the loss of your home, something that V understood. It had been the home Vergil gifted you, and watching the structure of the building get torn in two had been a devastating loss to you both.

Nero grimaced and uncrossed his arms, pulling you into a comforting hug. “Shit, mom. I’m sorry.”

“It’s uh, one of the reasons why I’m here, actually.” You confessed, hugging your son back. “I’ve got business to settle with Urizen… and I’m sorry to intrude, but would it be okay to stay at the orphanage with you and Kyrie after this is all over?”

“Do you really gotta ask?” Nero smiled gently, pulling away. “Kyrie’s been begging me to ask you to come over. So, just take this as a permanent invitation, okay?” The boy’s attention diverged to V, who had settled to stand off to the side, “By the way, V… Thought I was gonna have to pick you out of his… uh… tummy teeth.”

V didn’t bother hiding the smirk that appeared on his face when you pulled away to look at the fading Goliath and promptly giggled when you realized that the dead demon did indeed have tummy teeth. “Pardon our delay.” The mysterious man holds up the collection of William Blake poems to show Nero, “I was… catching up on some reading.”

Nero’s eyes narrowed at the book, “Yeah… looks like a real page-turner.” The young man remarked dryly. In the background, V and Nero both noticed your renewed laughter at your son’s dry tone while a section of the Qliphoth Tree crumbled. “So uh… you think Dante’s still in there?” Nero asked V, the pair now watching as a path forward was cleared by the falling debris.

“If Urizen defeated him, then I expect he’s not much more than Qliphoth pollen by now.” The somber words from V’s mouth put a stop to your laughing, and while he hated when you were upset, he would rather stay honest when possible.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

- Y/N’s POV -

You knew what a Qliphoth tree was, so you didn’t bother paying attention to V’s explanation, preferring to explore the area for anything remotely useful or valuable. Shadow followed after you, its red eyes watching your surroundings in case a demon tried to get a drop on you while away from V and Nero. “V may very well be right about Dante.” You muttered to the demon panther as you nudged a slab of concrete to the side with a foot. “But we’re also talking about Dante, here.” You smirk down at Shadow with hope, “He’s always been the lucky one out of the Sparda twins. Whether it be a winning prize popsicle, or taking on a demon overlord… Dante’s always been able to pull through…”

When you hear the distinct sound of a car smacking against slabs of stone, you turn to walk back towards your son and V, watching with barely concealed amusement at Nico’s antics. “You know, Shadow… Some days I wonder what would have happened to us if Vergil had even half the luck Dante has.” Ignoring Shadow’s questioning gaze, you wave at the trio waiting for you by the van. “Oh well, forget I mentioned.”

Once you were close enough, you plastered a carefree grin on your face, “Hey, Nico! Thanks for looking after my reckless son!”

“Wha-Hey!”

You and the aspiring legendary smith ignored Nero’s indignant cry. “Ah! Don’t mention it, Mrs. S! It’s always mah pleasure!”

“Bullshi, then why do you compl-”

“How much does he owe you for a new arm?”

“Mom! I can pa-”

“Nuh-uh, Mrs. S. Don’t worry about it.”

“D-Don’t worry about it?! What a load of-”

“Aw! You’re sweet as always, Nico!” You grin, walking around to enter the van with V in tow. “I’m looking forward to working with you!”

“Ditto, Mrs. S!”

Poor Nero looks like he’s about to have a fit from his seat inside the van. You feel slightly guilty for teasing your son in such a way, but quite frankly, you and Nico were having too much fun. To rain on your parade, when V climbs up the stairs to stand just behind you, he leans over to whisper in your ear, “Perhaps you shouldn’t tease the boy so much.”

And of course his father would be against my need to tease. You roll your eyes and sigh theatrically, “Alright, fine. I’m sorry, Nero. Please forgive your mother?” You know he already did, but you bat your lashes at him anyways for the fun of it.

Nero just shakes his head and folds his arms, “Just sit down. I don’t wanna risk you two falling and breaking something because of Nico’s shitty driving.”

You and V take a seat to the soundtrack of Nico’s indignant yelling.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 06:26am

- Y/N’s POV -

“I think we should split into two groups.” V suggested as the group of you sat in the van while Nico worked in the back.

“… And cover more group. Good idea.” Nero finished, turning to leave the passenger seat.

“Three groups.” You amended, getting up to snatch the Totsuka from where you rested it. “We’re splitting into three groups to get rid of the Qliphoth roots, and I’m leaving no room for arguments.” You shot a challenging look at both Nero and V when they opened their mouths to protest.

“Wait, Mom. Are you sure about this? We could still get this done in two groups.” Nero stood up to stop you from leaving the van.

“Yes, I would rather we all play it safe as well.” V’s green eyes locked with yours, silently worried for your well-being.

Sighing, you lifted a hand to pat your son’s cheek fondly. “I’m touched that you’re both worried about me, but you both said it yourselves. We’re on a time limit if we want to stop Urizen. I have Nico’s number, okay? So if I run into any problems, I’ll make sure to call.” With that, you waved goodbye to Nico, Griffon, Nero, and V before departing from the group, jumping out of the van with a spring to your step.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

15th June 08:30am

“Maybe I should have stuck with V.” You muttered out loud, back hand-springing off the wreckage of an industrial building to land on a sturdier platform. A few moments prior, you’d been strolling rather peacefully along the city’s central boulevard… or what was left of it anyways. When you noticed a peculiar figure standing in a dead-end of the collapsed street.

Having just dealt with a few lingering red Empusa stalking the streets and destroyed a few bundles of Qliphoth roots, you were still on high alert. For a moment, you simply stared at the tall imposing figure before it clicked in your mind how familiar the shape was. The last that you had seen that figure was a dark stormy night. “Nelo Angelo?” You whispered in disbelief, yanking the Totsuka from a dying Empusa and taking a step towards the imposing figure.

Of course, the moment you stepped towards Nelo Angelo’s direction, it turned its back on you and jumped atop the rubble blocking the street, only turning to look at you briefly before walking away. You weren’t naive enough to rule out a trap considering how close you were to the main Qliphoth’s structure, but if that phantom was connected to a main root… you would have to deal with him anyways. Sheathing the Totsuka, you followed after the figure, eyes set with flames of determination ablaze.

Which led to your current predicament: scaling collapsed buildings and platforms as you followed the figure of Nelo Angelo. “Honestly, why does every incarnation of Vergil make it their life’s goal to be difficult?” You cursed when your feet made contact with another unstable platform.

The floor gave away just as Nelo Angelo stopped to turn around, your eyes connecting for a moment before you plunged into what seemed to be a tunnel made by the Qliphoth roots. When you failed to grasp ahold of something to stop the fall, you cursed and fixed your position midair. Ah shit. Stick the landing. Stick the landi- You tucked and rolled to absorb the impact from the fall, but instead bounced as you rolled, “Oof!” You grunted when your back collided with a fleshy wall.

“Oooo… ‘A’ for effort.” You huffed, out of breath as you clambered to your feet and strolled over to pick up your Totsuka.

It was… deceptively quiet in the tunnel while you regained your bearings. Red, fleshy, pulsating walls told you that you were definitely somewhere inside the Qliphoth, though probably not in its main structure… maybe you were within one of its main roots? When the walls pulsed rather violently, you grimaced and backed away from the wall, trying not to remember Dante’s comments about demons and vore. “Urgh. Too late.” You groaned, going the slightest bit green as you journeyed deeper into the tunnels.

The further down into the tunnels you went, the less light there was, until you were forced to use a smidge of demonic energy to see in the dark. You’d seen Dante and Vergil use this ability mostly for intimidation purposes, but you found that it was useful for seeing in the dark. With a simple blink, gone were your human eyes, and in their place stood slit pupils, dark sclera, and ethereal glowing light grey irises.

When light was at its minimal, a wail reached your ears from deep within, and suddenly you were sprinting down the tunnel. The closer you came to the wailing, you realized with shock that it was a baby’s cry. What’s a baby doing down here? You wondered, turning as the tunnel drifted left before skidding to a halt at the scene before you.

“That’s not…” your words stopped, caught in your throat as something tight and unpleasant clawed in your chest.

They stood before you, a family. They weren’t much more than shades… shadowy images and illusions… falsehoods… but you knew what you saw. A mother comforting the crying baby boy in her arms while the father stood by his wife’s side, helping her quiet the little one with comforting shushes and whispered words.

“Shhh, shhh, everything’s going to be okay, Nero.” The woman carefully rocked the baby boy in her arms. “Vergil, do you mind humming to him? He always did love it when you sing to him.”

The man nodded and gingerly accepted the baby from his wife’s arms. “Of course, Y/N. You should get some rest, it’s my turn to look after our son tonight.”

The woman yawned and rested her head upon her husband’s arm, watching as he began to hum a familiar lullaby to his baby son. “No, I think I’ll stay right here, Vergil.”

You watched, eyes transfixed with longing and melancholy over the scene. How you wanted this for your family. How you wished that Vergil would have stayed all those years ago. How you wished that Nero was your biological son. How you wished and wished, but your wishes never came true.

The shades before you vanished into wispy shadowy smoke before reforming into two figures and a bed. The tears that had gathered at the corners of your eyes fell as you stared in misery at the scene before you. “No. I don’t want to see this.” You sobbed even when you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the two figures involved in a passionate embrace. Your hands rose to cover your ears, not wanting to listen as a shade of your husband made love with a woman that wasn’t you.

“V-vergil! Ah! Harder!”

“Stop.” You begged, finally closing your eyes, but you could still see and hear the shades.

“Y-you said you had a wife waiting for you at home.”

“Please. Stop!” You cried, shaking your head, not wanting to hear or see any of this.

“Tell me you love me, Vergil. If you don’t care about your wife.”

“… I love you.”

“STOP!” You wailed, throwing a volatile pulse of demonic energy at the shades, banishing the scene completely until you were the only one stood in the middle of a large room filled with rubble. Huddling into a ball of misery, you wept, your hair now a dark silvery white to match the rest of your family.

“Why must you torture me?” you asked the figure stood behind you, though you didn’t rise to confront them face to face, still drowning in your woes. When the figure didn’t answer, you let out a bitter laugh, sniffling, “Figures. You never answer. I don’t even know what I didn’t file for a divorce all those stupid years ago.”

Still crying, you rose to your feet and turned to meet the eyes of Nelo Angelo, though its armor was much different than you realized. Though its eyes glowed red from within its helmet, and its body was solid, you noticed that wisps of shadow and smoke would occasionally fall off it like a fog. This entire time, I was chasing a shade… Umbral Angelo. Probably a pawn of Urizen given life by the Qliphoth. Your grief seemed so intense that it felt like you were choking, but somehow you found it in you to be angry. “Of course Urizen would find it amusing to dance all over my emotions.” You snarled, drawing your blade to point at Umbral Angelo. “So, what! Are you a puppet as well!?” You demanded, taking a menacing step forward. “Are you a puppet to Urizen like Vergil was to Mundus!?”

Umbral Angelo seemed to flinch back, as if struck, but still it didn’t answer you, opting to hold its massive blade at the ready. Gritting your teeth in frustration, you charged forward, swinging the Totsuka in an overhead strike that Umbral Angelo easily parried and countered with a backhand, sending you flying backwards even when you blocked.

“Tsk.” You clicked your tongue in annoyance as you skid backwards upon sticking the landing, “Katana versus broadsword. Really should have taken Dante up on those spars.” You couldn’t get cocky here, you decided, widening your stance and sheathing the katana once more. “I’ll let you come to me, big guy.”

The shade knight raised his broadsword with both hands in a preparation for a lunging motion, the blade glowing and ominous purple before it blinked forwards. You barely had time to switch your footwork and unsheathe the Totsuka to parry the blow to the side before Umbral Angelo was upon you again. Being much smaller than the shade knight, you dodged the incoming elbow thrust by getting in close and under his arm, thrusting the Totsuka into a crack of the armor before pulling away and creating distance.

A growl escaped the shade knight as he too jumped away to create distance. For a moment, the two of you stood at a standstill, simply observing one another from across the room. “I don’t understand you.” The statement falls out of your mouth, eyes narrowing as you run a hand through your silvery hair. “You won’t attack unless I provoke you. You won’t speak. You just stand there!” When Umbral Angelo remained silent, you threw up your arms in exasperation. “Is it the grey eyes? The silver hair? It’s probably a little darker than those of Sparda’s bloodline, but- I’m getting carried away. Answer me!”

The shade remained silent, only changing its position from one ready to attack, to one of rest, stabbing its broadsword into the ground in front of its feet.

“Fine!” The Silver Rose is drawn and its trigger pulled in the blink of an eye, the single bullet hitting the wall just next to the knight’s head.

“…s…r…gi…” Broken sounds echoed from within the confines of the shade knight’s helmet as it shifted its position once more, raising its blade to swing. “…fea…m… w…i…”

Surprised, you could only jump to avoid the wave of energy sent at you from the swing. “Wait. What did you say?”

It didn’t reply, sprinting forward in a violent horizontal swing as you bent backwards to back hand-spring away. The assault of strikes was overwhelming as you were put on the defensive, parrying and dodging while trying to get a few hits in with Totsuka and Silver Rose. There were chinks in its armor, but very little injury to his person. Now that you were closer, however, you could finally hear what Umbral Angelo was muttering.

“…use your gift… defeat me with it…” The shade knight muttered, its voice an echo of something that was once familiar, but long since a memory. “…you must… for your own sake.” It pulled back just enough to throw another downward slash at you. “…please…”

The force of the strike as you block it causes the ground under you to give away. The knight is unrelenting as you struggle to lift the blade or even parry it to the side. You didn’t want to rely on your demonic power so much, but at this rate, you were bound to be defeated by a mere phantom.

A flash of light blankets the room in searing white as you call to your demonic powers. You can feel your body absorb both the Totsuka and Silver Rose as it changes. Before the bright light can disappear, you’d practically teleported to dodge the still descending broadsword.

You grunt in annoyance when you feel your grey hair cascade down your back, having grown longer than it was in your mortal form. Like Dante, your Devil Trigger causes you to take on a draconic appearance, tough silver, grey, and black scales adorning your body in a mimic of a knight’s armor. There’s a ridge around your neck and shoulders that resembles a high collar, protecting your neck from potential damage should the need arise. Your head and face are pulled into what looks like a snout, though your mouth and eyes seem to be stuck in an eternal grin of mischief. Behind you are a set of white leathery wings and a long tail. You have little practice with your wings in tight spaces, so they are currently folded into your spine, keeping them out of the way while you make use of your tail, probably one of the only weapons you have in this form besides your fists and feet. Though describing the appendage as a simple tail would be an understatement, as it is probably more like a stinger, its point, a sharp dagger that can shoot energy beams.

“If you want me to win so badly,” your voice is a hollow echo when you activate your Devil Trigger, “Then, come at me now.”

Umbral Angelo flies at you with another lunge, but this time you dodge and summon white energy copies of the Totsuka to lay into the knight while you throw in a few jabs and kicks, mixing the barrage of attacks up by occasionally backing away so your stinger has enough room to fire a beam of energy or two.

The assault is too much for the shade knight, and it is forced to create as much distance from you as possible. It looks like it can barely lift its sword from the damage you caused. Umbral Angelo drops his broadsword and falls to its knees, weakened and defeated as you approach.

“Now, let me ask again. Why did you show me those things?” You demand, releasing your Devil Trigger to stand as mortal once more.

“To show you the truth. To show you his demons. A part of him regretted. But a part of him did not. Before you face him again, you needed to know.” Umbral Angelo forced himself to reply, though his voice was weak. “There is… one more thing. He-”

Umbral Angelo did not get the chance to finish when a sword cleaved through his chest, killing the shade instantly.

You stood, wide-eyed, your face slightly splattered with dark blood as another figure bearing Nelo Angelo’s semblance stood before you. When it didn’t attack you, you wondered briefly why it had killed its own ally. And then, you heard a distorted demonic cackle behind you.

“A pity it wasn’t even useful to defeat his old whore.”

You had no idea what the hell you were staring at. A three headed woman fused with a giant chicken fetus. Wait… whore?

“WHORE!?” You screeched, immediately activating your Devil Trigger once more to rush the cackling abomination. “I’LL SHOW YOU A WHORE YOU RAGGEDY EXHIBITIONIST!”

“Oooh! I touched a nerve!” The abomination sneered before disappearing into a portal. “Deal with her.”

Just as you’re about to close in on the backend of the retreating abomination, you’re tackled so hard that you get sent through the floor and into open air.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, Thank you for reading! :D

[swiftiephobe]

thoughts on edit discourse, aka “you all realise this is meant to be fun?”

okay so buckle up swifties because i have some THOUGHTS about the whole edit discourse, the idea of needing to support editors by reblogging their posts and where i think some of you are a bit... misguided in how you approach sharing content on tumblr.com. this is a long post (i have put it under a cut because it is that long) because i am incapable of saying things concisely and i cannot think of another way to get my points across without having them misrepresented. i know a lot of people might ignore this because it’s a long ass essay, and that is valid <3 i just wanna get these thoughts out there. i do appreciate anyone who chooses to read this and try and understand my point of view. i love editors and the content they create. i do not love the idea that people have to run their blogs and engage with content on this website in a very specific way in order to be acceptable to the community.

also this isn’t directed at any one person in particular. the attitudes i am talking about are pervasive in a large portion of the fandom, and i’ve seen them building for quite a while now. i’m happy to have a respectful discussion about many of the points i’ve made here, as i know a lot of you will disagree with them. the purpose of this post isn’t to “attack” people, it’s to provide a different perspective.

i wanna preface this by talking about when i first started posting edits. i don’t do it a lot now mostly because i’m busy and don’t often feel like it but back in 2017/2018 i really got into editing. i remember when i first taught myself how to make gifs in photoshop, and i made my first gifset, and i was so excited to post it because i was so proud of myself for having created something. so i posted it, and then i kept making and posting gifsets. most of them didn’t get many notes, and frankly a lot of them were not very good because i was still learning, but i still posted them because it was nice to have created something. 

one day i posted a gifset and tagged it with some appropriate tags, including tagging some big source blogs. well, one of those big source blogs actually reblogged my gifset! and i was so excited by that. i even went and sent that blog an ask profusely thanking them for reblogging my edit. it’s a bit embarrassing to think about having done that now, but the point is i was so excited to have a blog that i considered “important” reblog my stuff, and of course that led to more notes on the gifset which made me happy. that gifset ended up getting about 150 notes, which still isn’t a lot but it made me happy at the time.

why am i telling this story, you might ask? because i want to put it out there that I GET IT. getting that reblog on that gifset made me, a baby editor, very very happy. ecstatic, even. the fact that i can still remember it now shows how much it meant to me. i was already proud of myself for having created something that i thought was good, but getting that extra bit of external validation to tell me that what i had created was actually good felt special. so i understand why editors want people to reblog their work. it makes us feel good to see that others are enjoying what we’ve made enough to want to share it with others.

so i kept making edits, some of them got a lot of notes while others really didn’t. i continued to learn new things about editing, i played around in photoshop and got excited every time i realised a new thing i could do with one of the tools. some of the edits i made were a lot of work, and i was very proud of them, and i still am very proud of them. a lot of those edits that hold a special place in my heart did not get many notes. one edit that i made (which was a url graphic for another person) took hours and a lot of hard work trying to figure out how to make my idea happen, and i think now it has less than ten notes.

sometimes i look back through my edit tag and i see edits like that one, that i loved making and thought turned out very well, but have relatively very few notes. and honestly? when i look at them, i don’t feel sad about the number of notes they have. sure, i think “well, it would’ve been nice if more people had seen this”, but for the most part i still feel damn proud of myself for having made it. i feel happy looking at them because they remind me of when i was making them and how much i enjoyed the process. 

at the end of the day, editing isn’t something i do as a job, for the sake of meeting a quota or reaching a benchmark of external achievement. it’s a hobby, something i do because i enjoy the process of creating something. i post my edits here so that they can be hosted publicly on my blog, and yes while getting notes is very very nice, it’s not my primary motivation. this year i’ve mostly been making edits for albums that i have enjoyed, some of which have practically no audience on tumblr and so don’t get many notes. and that’s fine. i don’t make them for other people.

which i suppose brings me to a point that i feel like will upset some people, but... the way some of you talk about editing, sometimes it seems like you don’t even enjoy it? i know that’s ridiculous because you all do, and many of you are crazy talented, but when i read people posting about how getting less than 100 notes on an edit makes them want to give up and never post an edit ever again, i frankly have to wonder if you even enjoyed making the edit in the first place, and if not, why did you do it? it just seems like a lot of you have a warped idea that the end goal of making an edit is notes, when in my opinion it really should be for fun. we’re in the taylor swift tumblr fandom. this is meant to be fun, remember? it’s okay to be upset when something you thought was great doesn’t receive as enthusiastic a reception as you were hoping for, but it happens to everyone and it doesn’t mean you, or others, are doing something wrong. if you enjoyed creating something, and you are proud of it, that’s what really matters in the end.

something else i’ve noticed is the extreme policing of how people interact with edits, mostly the notion that you HAVE to reblog edits and anything else is offensive and unacceptable. and sorry, but no. everyone runs their blogs in a different way. some people use their likes as bookmarks for things they want to reblog or queue for later. some people have a specific aesthetic they want to keep for their blog so don’t reblog every single thing, but they still want to acknowledge that they saw your edit and liked it. people have a million reasons why they don’t want to reblog something, and since it is their blog and their space, all of them are valid. 

when you post something to a public social media website, you have to accept that people are going to interact with it in the way that suits them most (this is of course excluding hate or stealing, those are not acceptable). if you are seeing a like on your edit and somehow extrapolating it into some “this isn’t good enough” statement, you are reading way too much into it. if people are liking your edit, it’s because they like your edit. is it nice when people reblog your stuff? yes. but people aren’t obligated to do so.

this also applies to the idea of keeping comments in the tags. i agree that commenting in the tags on edits is proper etiquette, and it’s something i always do. but the absolutely vitriol i have seen directed towards people who comment on their reblogs is not okay. i’ve seen people talk about blocking people who comment on their edits. it’s not nice. if you see someone say “i love this!” about your edit and your first thought isn’t “that’s so nice!” but instead “this person said this in the wrong place so i hate it”, please get your priorities straight.

i think most of the discussion surrounding edits starts off in a good place. it’s good to remind people that reblogging edits is the best way to support them, and that it will make people happy. i think that message has been made clear time and time again, but now it’s turning into something more aggressive. you all say that the fandom is “dying” because people don’t interact with edits (as a side note, edits aren’t the only valid form of content in the fandom. funny text posts, theories, discussions and ask games all contribute to the feeling of the fandom being alive just as much as edits do), but all that these rules you’re trying to implement do is scare people away. people will become more and more afraid to interact with anything, for fear of not interacting enough, not interacting in the right way, or not interacting with the right people. and that, ultimately, will do a lot more harm to the fandom than people liking your edits.

[retronator]

The last 10 years of pixel art

Retronator the blog is exactly 10 years old right now (+ an hour or so more since I can’t seem to stop editing this post)!

I want to take this opportunity to look back at the teenage years of the 21st century and reflect on how the pixel art scene has grown over the years. I only promise a personal perspective, pieced together from my faulty memory and a bit more reliable archive of 1,700 posts on this blog.

2010

Social media sites emerged already in the late 2000s (Facebook launched in 2004, Twitter in 2006, Tumblr in 2007), but it took quite some time before they caught on, especially outside the US. I joined Tumblr in July 2010 and there were relatively few pixel artists active on the site. @jinndevil​ and @unomoralez​ go the farthest of those that I followed. The first post I reblogged was a Back to the Future piece from @megapont​ (via some blogpost share, since Megapont duo didn't join till 2013).

What was huge on the network however was sharing retro-gaming artworks by blogs like @it8bit​ and @gameandgraphics​. This included many pixel art pieces and it helped grow a community of fans that adored both old games and pixels.

2011

I'd put 2011 down as the start of the hi-bit era of pixel art games, championed by the release of the iconic adventure game Sword & Sworcery. Pixel purism of the initial pixel art movement was left behind by mixing pixels with high-res special effects like soft shadows and vignetting. Also, spaghetti legs started their fad period.

Artists such as @probertson​, @drewpixel​, and @merrigo​ started their days on Tumblr, gathering huge audiences over the years. Meanwhile, Retronator grew to a whooping 100 followers by the end of the year.

2012

Tumblr's fan spirits were going stronger and stronger, to which I threw my own logs on the fire by releasing Tribute, my biggest and most popular piece of fan art I created so far.

The highly anticipated FEZ got released (to critical acclaim and other more controversial consequences), further bringing pixel art in front of the mainstream gaming audience.

From newly-followed artists, @johanvinet​ was damn inspiring with his smooth animations. Anything GIF did immensely good on the Tumblr dashboard.

2013

This was THE year for Tumblr. So many new artists joined, it was hard to keep track. Anyone from established names like Mojang's art director @jnkboy​ and @konjakonjak​ of Noitu Love 2 fame (later Iconoclasts) to pixel art beginners such as @waneella​, now one of the most well-known illustrators in the scene.

The push for modern art direction with pixel art games wasn't stopping either. Not that amazing, more traditionally styled titles (with fresh color palettes) weren't present, as Chasm's debut on Kickstarter showed, but it was Hyper Light Drifter that really stole everyone's heart (machine) on the same crowdfunding platform. Gradients and smooth dynamic shading became unapologetically part of the pixel art (gaming) vocabulary from then on.

When Papers, Please got released at the end of the year to universal appraisal, a new example was set for showing that pixel visuals don't necessarily need to be the most polished, technically-impressive pieces of artistic expression, they can also be simple—the majority of detail-filling can be offloaded to the player's imagination.

2014

Pixel purist ideology was a highly debated topic. Dan Fessler, the background artist on Chasm, did a strong push against the tighter set of constraints which said you should only use 'clean' tools such as the pencil and color fill to complete your artworks. Dan instead only cared about clean results, pioneering in the process the technique of HD Index Painting that used the depths of Photoshop layer magic to get otherwise identical results. And there were plenty of others right around the corner that wouldn't even care about keeping the results married to traditional pixel art ideals.

Still, the majority of pixel art at this point was very orthodox. I started the Artist Feature series that showcased my favorite artists and none of them did anything controversial (nor they needed to). The biggest break from the old days was mainly highly increased color counts that allowed for subtle transitions without dithering, and free color picking without creating predefined color palettes. Octavi Navarro started his highly iconic @pixelshuh​ scenes, and the completely unknown @8pxl​ started her journey towards experimentation with pink sky gradients.

Even more importantly, Pixel Dailies were born on Twitter, following Ben Porter's 365 days of doing pixel art daily.

2015

I called 2015 The Year of Pixel Dailies in the end-of-the-year article in my newly started Retronator Magazine. The Twitter community really exploded this year, bringing in many new artists to the medium, with Pixel Dailies serving as a platform to raise visibility to everyone, old and new. I found out about @weilarddrake​ and @orange-magik​ this way, Slynyrd, @iceztiqarts​, @igorsandman​ … Other freshly-discovered people on tumblr were @kirokazepixel​ (one of the most prolific artists on the scene), @faxdoc​ (his learning journey was inspiring enough for its own article), and Talecrafter with @deathtrashgame​ (starting a whole new style of aliased, low-res painting without caring about individual pixels).

The discussion whether pixel art could survive past its nostalgic roots was still in the air, stirred by opinions such as A Pixel Artist Renounces Pixel Art. History is proving them wrong however, with pixel art stronger than ever in 2020. It's not a visual language people born after the 80s couldn't understand.

New-school voxel art pieces started trending with the advent of Magicavoxel, pioneering the development of pixel art's sibling in 3D. The first pixel art convention Pixel Art Park was held in Tokyo. And (important for me personally), I came up with Pixel Art Academy, an adventure game that would take my ambitions in pixel art education into the future.

2016

After 9 years in development, Owlboy released! Also Hyper Light Drifter! And Stardew Valley! And Kingdom! Pixel art games were not dying, they were on the rise.

Edge (the popular British video game magazine) published a special 200+ page issue called Art of the Pixel. It featured contemporary artists outside the gaming context, championing the aesthetic's transition from its video game roots into its own art form.

Pedro Medeiros of @studiominiboss​ started his famous series of GIF tutorials, subsequently encouraging many others to share their knowledge in the popular square format. Tumblr still saw new artists joining the platform, such as @motocross-arts​ and @apolism​ (two thirds of the Japanese trio The Ultimate Pixel Crew), while others like @6vcr​ started their first pixel explorations that year. @brunopixels​, an old-schooler on the platform like me, sparked the Octobit movement, a pixel art alternative to Inktober.

2017

Further new names on Tumblr included @guttykreum​ (outdoorsy perspective pieces) and @scrixels​ (one of the most consistent daily posters with over 1,000 artworks by now).

The annual Shibuya Pixel Art Contest joined Pixel Art Park at promoting the art form in Tokyo, Japan (and worldwide really). Lospec became the new go-to resource site for pixel art, picking up the mantle from PixelJoint and Pixelation that—while still active—stagnated technologically and feature-wise.

More than anything, pixel art games were everywhere. Maybe it only seemed to me this way since I was able to go to the Game Developer's Conference as press and had the chance to interview many many people in the scene, leading to over half a year of daily content on this blog. Indie games felt stronger than ever with so many of us full-on realizing our dreams of creating our own games professionally. The one that left the biggest splash on the scenes was no doubt The Last Night, announced front and center in-between AAA titles during Microsoft's E3 conference. The brothers Soret pushed the art direction even beyond the hi-bit era moniker, fusing 3D, shaders, and modern cinematography with pixels in an iconic combination that, like Sword & Sworcery's spaghetti legs, was so atmospheric that it couldn't be resisted by future imitators.

2018

Another game that pushed technological boundaries was Pathway, finally stepping into full light in 2018 and releasing one year later. I still think it has the most advanced pixel art graphics engine to date, using voxels and other tricks under the hood to deliver a completely dynamically lit environment while retaining the pixel-perfect 3/4 view aesthetic. Pixel art games were firmly part of mainstream gaming by now, with Celeste winning many awards alongisde pixelish Return of the Obra Dinn, further cementing the presence of pixels as an ever-evolving medium capable of expressing very different art styles.

I decided to focus solely on developing Pixel Art Academy in 2018, putting this blog on relative hiatus with very sporadic updates towards the end of the year. But I never let it die. I thoroughly enjoy writing about the scene and my interest in the art form only grows with time.

2019–2020

Ironically, the closer the years are to the present, the less I remember what things stood out most. Maybe it's because my brain hasn't had the chance to automatically prune my memories yet from the overload of information that is the interwebs these days. Pixel art seems so out there, so much of my everyday life, encompassing me on Twitter, Instagram, YouTube, Facebook, Reddit, DeviantArt … Even on TikTok you see kids zooming out of their freshly pixelized Minecraft photographs they call pixel art. The medium is alive, and more than ever.

As for the Retronator blog, from its zero followers exactly 10 years ago, it grew to 100 after a year and a half, 1000 the year after, 10k when it was 5 years old, and 30k just last month. Tumblr is still the platform where most of you follow my pixel art reports and I don't intend to stop anytime soon.

Here's to the next decade! Thank you all for reading. <3

[d-l-dare]

“Rinse and Repeat”

When it was claimed that Pandora's Box was opened, she was blamed for the destruction in the way the world is today. Why there's now war and hate and sickness and backstabbing in the name of love. There are so many things to blame the happenings of it on, but the question is never asked of who created the box, nor how the items inside the box were created.

It didn't take long for the job to get done out on our farm. We were previously tasked with building a small shelter for the chickens we had running around. It took a lot out of me to piece together, but eventually it all ended up becoming one of the best things I'd ever created. I knew what I was talking about too, I'm an artist. 

At least an artist is what I want to call myself. I enjoyed drawing and building, just creating things with my hands that turn out being far more beautiful than I could have imagined. More than anything, however, I loved to write. There's just something about world building and creating a reality out of the little things spawning from your imagination that creates a spark, motivating me to work as hard as I do to attempt to make it a reality.

No, I don't expect for some small fantasy like people suddenly having the ability to fly to suddenly come into existence. I, instead, work toward making things better for people so that they might present their best selves to me. I remember hearing that same quote from a famous actor of the past, but I follow that way of living nonetheless.

After I'd finished crafting the chicken coop, however, something took a turn for the worst. I knew I loved working out on the farm and writing about it from time to time, but I didn't expect for something I'd written last night to actually happen. Before me, a chicken had just laid an egg. The eggs out here are typically white or nearly pink. Rarely ever would the egg turn a different color, but before me stood a blue egg that I had just watched a chicken lay and run away from.

I had to do a double take. Did that really just happen? I know last night I wrote an Easter story about a chicken laying different colored eggs and handing them out to children, as they had chocolate inside. I picked up the egg and turned it over in my hands a few times to make sure it was real. It was. I then decided that if my story was, in fact, true, there would be chocolate inside.

The thought of breaking it open crossed my mind several times, but I ended up choosing not to. I wanted to protect it and show it to people later down the line. So I brought it to the kitchen, grabbed an empty egg carton, and stuffed it inside.

*** After I got home, I went to show my brother the egg I'd found. He laughed in complete disbelief that the egg was actually laid like that. I brought the carton over to the fridge and stuffed it inside. I knew this would be the perfect conversation piece next time I have people over. Of course, the egg spoiling and smelling bed was something I needed to take into consideration.

I went off to my room to write a story. I found myself inspired by what happened today so much so, that I decided to write about something I knew would never happen. After all, I needed some kind of proof that the stuff I was writing wasn't actually coming true.

I wrote about the fountain that sat in the middle of town. The water, once consumed, had the ability to make your deepest desire to come to life. The story turned into a man, knowing his mother was sick and dying, to take a drink of the water and wishing for nothing more than for her to live. He would return home and be saddened by the fact that no matter how hard he wished, she was still sick. When he woke up the next morning, however, he found that she was running around as healthy as could be.

I ended the story there and decided to call it a night.

*** I woke up the next morning to the smell of bacon and eggs. This was probably my favorite kind of breakfast. After all, what better way is there to start the morning than to consume such delicious protein?

After breakfast I took a look in the fridge to find that there was no egg carton inside. I turned to him, asking what had happened to it. He responded by pointing to his plate of half eaten eggs. Had he really cooked up my blue egg? I didn't even get the chance to take a picture of it. And without a doubt, if I had, I would be called a liar, claiming the egg had been photoshopped. I had experience with it but I would never attempt to convince someone of a lie like that.

I was furious at my brother, so I made my way into town and took a drink out of the water fountain. I wished nothing but suffering for him. It didn't take long to calm myself down. I didn't actually want anything like that to happen to my brother. He was all the family I had left.

I knew I didn't have anything to worry about. After all, in the story from the night before, the egg had chocolate inside. He'd just proven to me the egg was a normal one. So with that said, there was no doubt that the blue egg was nothing more than a coincidence. That was until I came home and saw him laying on the couch, dead.

[purplesurveys]

1220

The person you had the strongest feelings for dies, do you care?  I imagine so, yeah. I’d check up on her family and help in any way I can, if it’s still welcomed.

Is there something you’re happy about at the moment?  I share this all the time in surveys at this point but I’m just really giddy that it’s a Friday evening hehe. Also, I’m seeing Angela, Hans, and (finally!!!) Reena later! We’ll be going to UP to shoot some photos since Angela and Reena are graduating this year and we wanna take pictures with the sunflowers in the campus before they die out. I also never got to take sunflower photos when I graduated last year, so it will be my chance to do so as well.

Do you want someone dead?  Wow, no.

Do you ever wonder what your ex is up to?  It almost never crosses my mind, honestly.

Have you ever fed or taken care of a stray animal?  I’ve fed many of them before, yup.

What is something you tend to worry about?  Pending deliverables at work, especially ones that are out of my control.

What is something you do that is unhealthy?  Be in front of a screen as soon as I’m awake until the second I turn in.

What is something you do that is good for you?  I’m no longer afraid to prioritize myself when necessary.

What last caused you to force a smile?  Ooh I’m not sure. I haven’t had to do that in a while, which is a good thing. What was the last video game you played? Was it fun?  Probably Mario Kart on the Switch, but it’s been a WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIILE. Yeah it’s one of my favorite series for a reason.

What is something not many people know about you?  The fact that I’m obsessed with anything classic Hollywood and I’m a big Audrey Hepburn fan. The topic never gets brought up so I don’t really get the chance to say anything about that interest of mine.

What word describes your basic style?  Casual, laidback. I’m more than happy with just a simple t-shirt and denim jeans these days and I think I’m over my jumpsuit/romper phase haha.

Have you ever been told you were going to Hell?  It was referred to/threatened to me, but not directly with these words.

Have you ever wanted to kill yourself?  It was a regular occurrence before.

If yes, what convinced you not to go through with it?  I think overall I was just scared of fucking it up and fucking up my brain for life as a consequence. Also I knew no one was going to take care of Kimi as well as I do, and I would never leave him behind.

Have you ever rejected a guy, only to have him push the issue by asking “why?” and insisting that you just need to get to know him better?  Nope.

Is there something that you believe everyone should do and you can’t believe that some people don’t do it (e.g., recycle or go to the dentist regularly)?  It’s definitely an Asian thing but it will sometimes hurt my chest when I see people wear shoes in their homes.

Regarding the last good choice (healthy choice, kind choice, selfless choice, etc.) you made, what was your real motivation behind it?  I wanted to be kind to myself and finally let go of what had been keeping me from starting to be happy and pleased with where I am and have.

What is something that you have had to practice at to get the hang of it? If you can’t think of anything, that’s okay, what’s something you are currently practicing at and trying to master?  This is such a shallow answer lol but I’ve recently gotten into this rhythm game called Rhythm Hive that I found impossible to master at first, but after weeks of practicing I now breeze through all the songs at their hardest level.

Have you ever gone to the store to buy something, like a video game, when it came out at midnight?  I haven’t done that, but I’ve watched a movie premiere at midnight - for both times the Breaking Dawn movies came out.

Regarding the last novel you read, was there a romance included? If so, was it central to the plot?  Yes and yes.

Have you ever done relaxation meditations or listened to relaxation guides or positive-thinking/healing recordings?  Nope, they don’t really work on me. I have my own outlets that help me relax.

Do you have any interests that are also often shared by children?  Coloring is one. Also animated movies; I never grew out of those.

Is there something that could be a solitary activity but you really only like to do it with other people (e.g., watching movies, playing video games, etc.)? Definitely eating out. I’ve done it a couple of times before by myself and it does feel nice, but I also always can’t help but think it would be a lot more fun and that I would be much happier if I was sharing the experience with someone else.

Are you satisfied with the interior design or decoration in your home? Or do you think it needs a total home makeover?  Ugh god I need to rearrange and upgrade my room STAT. My K-Pop merch are starting to pile up but they’re all currently in just lazy heaps scattered around in my room since I don’t have any shelves or anything to properly display them on.

Is there something that you’d like to own but you can’t find it anywhere? If not, can you a remember a time when you wanted something? Did you ever end up finding it or did you eventually stop wanting it? This is always me with BTS merch...

Who makes you smile the most?  My friends.

What piercings do you want/have?  Just one on each earlobe. I’m not looking to have any more.

What's your favorite website?  Twitter.

Do you own a fish tank with fish?  We never had one, no.

Do you like the movie 300?  I’ve never seen it and will probably never have plans to. It’s not my cup of tea.

Do you pop your knuckles?  When I feel stressed or when my knuckles feel strained, yes.

Do you have Photoshop?  Nope, I have no use for it.

Do you use tinypic or photobucket?  Way back in the day. I’m not even sure if those websites still exist.

What’s your favourite song from the 1980s?  Heaven Is A Place On Earth.

How about the 1990s?  I’m not sure I have one.

Have you won anything recently?  Yeah we played this online game over Google Meets with my co-workers just this afternoon, before clocking out. My team won twice.

How often do you make Excel tables? What for?  Oh everyday. I work on a handful of sheets every single day at work, but I also like making spreadsheets for personal use haha. Right now the one I’m currently super invested in is my tracker for all the merch I’ve been buying so I can keep note of my pending payments and which ones I should already be asking for updates on.

What was the last baby animal you saw in the wild?  Not sure, I’m barely outdoors.

Are you always available or online?  Yup.

Do you have dietary restrictions? Or do you just eat what you like?  No allergies or restrictions.

Do you prefer gold, silver or steel jewelry? Or no jewelry at all? Silver.

Have you been binge-watching any shows lately? If so, what?  Not really. I’ve stopped watching Hwarang for now, but I do have plans to come back to it someday. I guess I just haven’t been in a K-drama binge-watching mood lately.

If you dye your hair, do you do it yourself or go to a salon?  I’ve never had my hair dyed.

If you have any, do you like your in-laws? I don’t have any. < Same.

Would it bother you, if your partner had cut contact with their parents?  It depends on the story behind it, but mostly no. How close they are with their family isn’t a priority matter for me.

Have you ever wondered whether you were adopted? All the time, especially as a teenager who wasn’t getting any emotional support at home.

What’s the best physical feeling in the entire universe?  When you work on something and expect mediocre results and feedback, but it ends up getting praised instead and you feel all the hard work pay off.

Have you ever grown a berry bush?  Nope.

Have you done something new to your hair recently?  It’s been untouched since the very start of the pandemic. My sister actually suggested that since I had it cut right when the pandemic started, I should wait out till the end of it and see how long it’ll reach. It sounded intriguing enough so now I’m indefinitely growing it out hahaha.

Do you have bad anxiety? If so, do you take any kind of medication for it? I’m sure I have it, I’ve just never been diagnosed before.

One thing you’ve experienced that you thought you never would have?  Managing to get over a rough breakup quicker than I ever expected to.

What was the last thing someone said to you that kept repeating over & over in your head?  It was when I was leaving Angela’s house yesterday and an “I love you” to her parents rolled out of my tongue so naturally I almost didn’t notice it; and when they said it back in a heartbeat. It’s when I realized that her parents are really like my second parents and that her house is a second home at this point. My heart was filled the entire drive home.

How often do you have late nights out?  Never because we still have a curfew.

If you could, would you work from home? Do you think that would make you more or less productive?  I don’t have a choice; it’s the set-up we’re required to live in. I’m pretty productive here at home but then again I don’t have a point of comparison considering I got my first job already in the midst of the pandemic.

If you had the ability to change the weather, what would you change it to right now?  I would like to bring snow to the Philippines.

Is there something that you really need to do, but can’t seem to get motivated to do it?  Upgrade my room and invest in shelves and other home decor/interior design stuff that would make the space more comfy and homey. Right now it just looks like a warehouse with my merch piled up in scattered places.

Most disturbing movie you have ever seen?  Eraserhead or I’m Thinking of Ending Things.

Has a life goal or dream ever come true for you yet? If yes, what is it? If no, do you think you’ll achieve it?  I have multiple life goals - some of them I’ve achieved, like getting into my dream university and simply getting employed, and some of them I’m still working my way towards, like getting a promotion. Yeah I feel like I’ll achieve my goals someday. I don’t like losing LOL so when I want something I usually put it above everything else.

Have you ever had food poisoning?  Yup.

What are you listening to?  Blue & Grey by BTS.

Do you think there will be a WWIII? I find it inevitable at some point down humanity's future. People are too hateful for it not to eventually. < Yeah, let’s go with this too.

Has anyone ever asked you if you were emo?  No.

Has someone ever liked you that you never thought would?  Yes. Tbh I never expect anyone to like me so I’ve always been surprised when I hear about someone who does.

In all honesty, can a person be too nice?  Yes, especially if they’re starting to be taken advantage of.

Has one of your friend’s boyfriends ever tried to cheat on them with you?  No.

Is mental abuse really as bad as physical abuse?  Any abuse is bad. :/

Do you shop at Sephora for make-up?  Nope.

Zelda: Twilight Princess or Ocarina of Time?  Twilight Princess only because I grew up with it and never got to play Ocarina of Time.

Do you own a rosary?  I did - I went to Catholic school. But I lost mine all the time because I didn’t really care for them lol I always had to buy new ones at the school bookstore.

If you were homeless, how would you cope? I don’t know.

[elderkale]

chapter six

tell me we’ll never get used to it - chapter six

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Theta missed the ball on the last bounce. She twisted around to watch as it went over her shoulder and into the corner. She stared at it for a moment then sighed and got to her feet.

She brushed the dust clinging to the rubber surface off and wrinkled her nose. It was something new to look at, at least.

She glanced over her shoulder. The empty whiteboard stared accusingly back at her.

Well. Almost empty.

She flung the ball at it again. It knocked off a magnet before bouncing off in the other direction. A photograph fluttered loose and slid across the floor, finally coming to a stop under the toe of Theta’s boot.

Annie Hopkins. That had been her name, the girl on the wall. Her mother had confirmed it.

She grimaced as she crouched to pick it up, and shuddered when her nails scraped against the plasticky surface of the photo paper.

She tossed the picture onto her desk and snatched up a scrap sheet of paper (at least, she hoped it was scrap). She wandered around the desk in a circle, tilting her head up to stare at the ceiling.

Had it taken her this long, before, to figure things out?

She threw herself into her seat. It jolted and she kicked the desk, sending herself spinning across the room. Her elbow slammed into the wall with a bang and she winced. The chair squeaked in protest.

No, it hadn’t. At least, she didn’t think so. It was hard to remember. Hard to put into perspective, at least. Time was fickle like that.

She balled up the paper in her hands and tossed it between her hands. Everyone has off days, she reasoned. Nothing to be ashamed of. She clenched the ball tighter in her hands and kicked off the wall, spinning back towards her desk.

She grabbed it with her free hand as she passed, dragging herself to a stop.

Off days. That’s what this was, then. An off day. Off month. Months, if you would (she wouldn’t).

Of course, most peoples’ off days didn’t involve giving funeral homes more business.

She tossed her rudimentary ball at the board. It more flopped than bounced off, crinkling as it drifted to the ground. She sighed and tossed her feet onto her desk.

It hadn’t taken her this long before. That, she was certain of.

So why the hell was it taking her this long now?

She could hardly be out of practice. That just wasn’t something that happened. Not like this, not with her. She scowled and snatched the marker pen off the table, twisting its cap on and snapping it back on again. Pop, click, pop, click, squeak, click, pop.

She bit down on the end of the cap and twirled the pen between her fingers. There was, she admitted to herself with a small grimace, always the possibility of the copycat being better than her. Small, though. Very small. Miniscule, even, if you liked the word, which she did. Not one that she was willing to entertain, though.

He wasn’t. Not the type.

It was stifling. She tugged her jacket off and tossed it to the side of the room.

Motive. There was always motive. Even when the motive was nothing, there was always a reason. She knew that better than anyone.

Chewing gum too loud. Unfortunate resemblance to an old enemy. Stupid hair.

Convenience.

Who, her? Projecting? Pshaw.

It could, suggested a small, traitorous voice at the corner of her mind sounding suspiciously like a certain bearded psychiatrist, be that, though, couldn’t it? Maybe, it suggested. Maybe. Just maybe. Maybe you’re sympathetic? Empathetic, even? Could that be possible? Maybe you don’t want to catch him. Maybe you’re on his side, just a bit, or maybe you’re worried about what comes next, or that—

She threw the marker at the board. It left a streak of black in its wake and rolled away to join the ball.

What had she done before?

The subconscious was a funny thing.

She slid off her seat and flopped to the ground. She quinted up at the ceiling, a frown tugging at her eyebrows.

She’d talked to people, she was fairly sure. Nothing door-to-door, but she had. Watched interrogations from behind the glass. Joined in, sometimes (very sometimes) (as in once).

She grimaced and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes until she felt like they were going to burst.

Not mainly, though. Nothing as inactive as that.

No.

It must have been her second year, or maybe late in her first. Before her third, for sure. Between August and November, maybe?

Disembowelment. That, she remembered. Disembowelment. Disembowelment and bone-robbing, which hadn’t been a term before that day, and for good reason, too.

A doctor, John had said. A surgeon, Mike had corrected. A fucking sicko, Owen had grumbled. That doesn’t help, Jack had snapped.

(And that’s the thing: how do you know? How do they—how does she—fit so perfectly into the mold, this archetype, this machine, and how do they make it work?

And here’s the other thing: it doesn’t always have to be that complicated.)

Anyone who’s ever cooked a chicken can figure out how to break out a spine. Anyone with half a brain can figure out how to use a knife. But who’s going to need that many bones?

Ah. There’s the question.

It wasn’t the sort of question to be answered in an office, or at home, or in front of a board. It wasn’t the sort of question to be answered, period.

(The term ‘liquid courage’ truly wasn’t any sort of exaggeration. It had burned going down, and had burned coming up again the next morning, but, in the moment, head spinning, blood rushing, heart beating like the drums of war, she’d felt weightless, and weightless she’d stayed.)

The femur, she’d remembered, somewhat hazily, hands buried in dying, withered heat. The tear of skin and a crack like splitting wood—

Wood.

There’s the answer.

(The chairs really hadn’t been too comfortable, though she supposed they fit a certain aesthetic. Theta had left it to Jack to suggest burying the furniture to the families.)

Her phone rang and she all but dove for it, sending papers flying. “She’s a bitch,” said Martha before it had even finished ringing.

“What?”

She heard a shuffling on the other end of the line. Her phone buzzed against her ear. “Messages,” said Martha bitterly.

Theta flicked the call to speaker and dropped the phone on the desk, leaning over it and squinting down at the screen.

Her stomach turned.

“Just a gossip column, but Jack’s losing it,” Martha informed her. Her voice sounded oddly thin over the speakers, like she was whispering into a tin can. Or was that just her?

Theta waited for her to say something else. “Did you read it?” she asked when she didn’t.

“No.” Lie. Theta pursed her lips and flicked her finger up the screen. The words whipped by in a blur of black on shocking pink, like ants smudged across a page. What she did catch made her nauseous. “Any luck, it’ll be down soon.”

“Won’t be,” Theta grumbled, grimacing and pinching the bridge of her nose. Her head was pounding. “Free press.”

Martha made a concerting noise over the line. “Ask Jake to hack it?” she suggested.

Theta shook her head, then remembered that Martha couldn’t see her. “Nah,” she said lightly. “Nah,” she repeated. Her tongue felt like sandpaper.

“Fine.” Martha didn’t sound upset, Theta didn’t think. And then she wondered why she thought she would be. “You alright?”

“Hm.” Her fingertips were tingling, buzzing with something that wasn’t quite warmth, but couldn’t reasonably be called anything else, either. “Yeah,” she forced herself to say, biting out a tight grin, despite the fact that Martha couldn’t see her. “Yep. Right.”

She hung up and threw her phone across the desk. Her hands shook when she flexed them, palms stinging with pins and needles.

Fuck.

*

Really, Theta didn’t know why she was so surprised. After all, it had only been a matter of time.

Cases dragged on. It happened. It wasn’t like there was much they could do about it. Asking nicely never seemed to help.

(Theta had been asked to give an interview, once. It had gone horribly, and she was fairly certain that, had the microphone not been mysteriously unplugged, it would have been a disaster.)

She drummed her fist against the table, staring at her screen. The computer had switched itself off ages ago, but she didn’t need to see the article to quote it.

Scandalous, the writer (Claire Rook, her name had been Claire Rook. Like a side character in a children’s adventure novel.) had said. Well, if you were looking for it, maybe.

She squeezed her eyes shut and dragged her hands down her face, elbows grinding against the desk.

It didn’t matter. It shouldn’t. They’d all been dragged by the press at some point or another (Some more than others; Martha had a Google Alert set up for Jack, and Mickey had taken out subscriptions to at least three tabloids. He didn’t seem to mind—rather, he seemed to thrive on the attention).

It was a gossip rag. A gossip rag that had clearly stolen pictures from The Guardian. They were running hentai ads alongside the front page, for God’s sake.

A gossip rag that had gotten ahold of her school records what the fuck.

She hit the space bar and the screen blinked back to life.

913 hits, because this was the kind of website that counted hits. One each for Jack, Martha, and Mickey, and another nine for her. 901, then.

She leaned back in her seat, squeezing her eyes shut.

Troubled past. She scoffed. The whole thing was one badly-Photoshopped cover from being a supermarket pulp novel.

I’m not angry.

What word would you prefer?

She opened her eyes a crack and peered at the screen.

915. Fuck her.

She could, she supposed, call Koschei, if only to let him know.

Koschei.

Koschei, who had been in the article too.

There is reason to call into question the ethics of the investigation, especially when considering the presence of famed psychiatrist Koschei Oakdown in the lives of the senior investigators—

Famed. She scoffed. She could almost see Koschei’s head swelling. Hardly the word she’d use. Inobscure, maybe.

—a hidden past shared with the notorious Theta Lungbarrow herself—

She gagged and slammed the laptop shut.

Her legs were itching. She leapt to her feet and began pacing.

Bullshit. Bullshit smeared across a server and tagged as news. She scoffed and dragged her fingers over her scalp. A strand of hair got caught beneath a nail and she shuddered as she tugged it free.

Abruptly, she threw herself to the ground, then got up again, then sat back down.

The infamous raid on Satellite and Fifth—

There was hair on the carpet, too, and eraser shavings, and a bit of a broken branch she’d tracked in on her boots. She twisted it beneath her fingers until it snapped, then did it again, and again.

—in the perfect true crime setup, with Lungbarrow set to lead; but as the villain, or the hero?

She snorted, brushing her hands clean on her knees. It was almost—no, it was—laughable.

Her keys were still in her pocket. She supposed she’d forgotten to take them out.

She dragged her fingers through her hair again. Her scalp was oily; she hadn’t showered.

She jiggled her leg, heel beating the ground.

It’s the moments in between, Rose used to believe, that are the most important. Nothing planned really happens, she used to tell her. It’s the stuff before and after that decides everything.

Failure drives success. Grief drives rage.

She vaulted to her feet and marched out the door.