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fakeloveaskblog · 3 years

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Okay Remy, I am going to resend that previous message I sent you, just so you have it so you can reread it if you perchance wanted to do that. Don't worry, you didn't accidentally delete it, someone else purposefully did. Also, no… you weren't left with the true things, that's just learned cognitive distortions speaking; I'm sure if you asked Jan or Rem if they thought those things about you, they would set you straight right away. I'll also put a silent alarm on your phone that'll go off the next time Remus is near you, though only if you let me. Would that help?

(Tw: Vague implications of past abuse)

Remy: "Set me straight? dfhjd who are you? my dad? Jk jk. I know what you mean. I don't know what cognition distractions or whatever mean 'cause I'm tots an idiot. Like girl the only reason I didn't fail all of highschool was 'cause Virge did just enough of my work for me. You don't gotta tell me what it means btw. I can like look it up. I may not have a brain but I do have google. and uh yeah that helps. thanks. I'm gonna go reread the message now"

A few days later, in the middle of the day, the Rems were sitting on the sidewalk behind a starbucks. There were so many people inside the cafe Remus had nearly gotten a sensory overload while ordering the 4 cupcakes and 2 sandwiches he was smashing down into his slippery gullet. Remy had just taken a black coffee.

The alarm had gone off a while ago but they didn't know how to ask him about it. He looked tense. He sat in an unnatural pose that made it easy to get up and run away. His shoulders were raised and brows just a bit furrowed. Maybe they could-

"Oh!!! Bean bitch do you wanna see what I've been drawing lately???" Remus suddenly exclaimed, crumbs of sandwich flew out of his mouth.

"Sure babe"

He had a big grin on his lips as he took out his sketchbook and flipped through it "Alright so you remember how I did some anatomy practice of you when we watched lesbian vampire movies yes? Well I kinda continued with those"

The first few drawings were realistic sketches of Remy's face from a few different angles but on the next page he'd used his cartoony style to make them into a supernatural being. One drawing showed them with 8 eyes. One with nothing but gorey eye sockets left. One with spiders crawling out of their eyes and mouth.

Remus rocked back and forth slightly "Sorry. Is it weird? I just thought it would be cool if there were some character who looked nromal but was hiding something under their sunglasses. I dunno. Maybe it's stu-"

"No. No. Babe I think it's like tots cool! You made me look like super chic. Blood is totally in right now!!"

He shone up into a bright smile "Thanks!" There was slight blushing on his cheeks.

"I think I would look cool with some teeth in my eyes just saying"

"OOOOh!! Maybe even fangs?!"

"You got it babe!"

He took out a pen and immediately started to sketch it out. Remy was just happy getting to watch him draw.

Until a notification sound came from Remus' phone. He flinched before quickly checking it and immediately setting it down again. He somehow tensed up more.

Remy took a deep breathe. They could do this. They could talk about emotional stuff.

"You good babe? I mean like at any time? 'Cause you look tense like a lot- I uh I'm not like asking why. You don't gotta tell me shit. just like wondering if you're like okay"

"You're one to talk. you walk around looking like you got a stick up your butt 24/7........Do you??....kinky"

"Not yet"

"Me neither"

They both went quiet. Remus fiddled with the ring he still had on his finger. Remy scratched at their neck.

"I...I just feel paranoid....all the time...My intrusive thoughts never shut up about how every interaction I have with other peple could end in the worst ways. Even right now" Remus muttered out after a while.

"I get that. I mean I" They forced a chuckle "Every single time my boyfriend raises his hand, just to like take a plate or something, my thoughts still scream at me that he's gonna hit me. He never does. I know he won't. But my body and thoughts still act like he will. It happens with every person. I've been sure Janus was going to slap me"

Remus looked up at them. His eyes suddenly looked so so desperate "I dosen't get better?" He asked, his voice sounded like it was close to breaking "The paranoia will Always be there?"

"What? No! No no no. of course not babe. I'm just completely fucked up y'know. Like all of my argument with my boyfriend ends with either me having like a panic attack or us fucking" They laughed "Like an overemotional crybaby y'know. But you're- You'll be fine- I'm sure- You're not- I'm just-"

Remus pulled his knees up to his chest and leaned his chin against his knees. "I think you can be fine too" He mumbled out.

"I don't- I- I dunno- It's like it's so clear I was like supposed to die at specific moments...and then I just....didn't....and now I'm just like still here even though I'm not supposed to...I'm just like a rotting corpse dragging everyone else down. I-I don't know how to be fine if my thoughts are still sure I'm going to die every single day"

Remus shrugged "I think rotting corpses are pretty cool"

It was so out of left field Remy let up into a laugh. "Jesus fuck you stupid necrophile" They hid their face in their hands "Babe I'm sorry. I'm tots rambling. I was asking if you were okay, not if you wanted to like hear me be a stupid bitch"

"It's okay. I think being able to be a stupid bitch is kinda cool too. I can't even try to vent without shutting down...I feel kind of like I'm rotting as well"

(It felt like he'd left his skin in his old apartement. To be honest it felt like his entire being had been scrapped out of him just to be left behind)

"Wow babe. Is there something you don't think is cool?"

He thought for a moment "Soap. It's icky and gets everywhere"

"Sound argument"

Remus slowly moved his head to lean it against their shoulder. He could feel their chest rise to take a shuddering breathe and lower again.

"Have you ever thought I would?" Remus quietly asked.

"Yeah" They admitted "I know you wouldn't"

"I know. I've been paranoid about you too"

"It's okay"

"I've willingly been to your apartment. That's a lot" Remus pointed out "I haven't been to Jan's apartement"

"We should break into his place in the middle of the night" Remy replied in a fake serious tone.

"Oh yeah. It's a must. How else do you know you're friends? We should bring matching friendship knives as well!"

Remy chuckled "You can design them. And my teeth eye design! That's like tots important! My true destiny is to be a monster milf y'know. The lesbians would love me"

"Ayyay captain! I'll get right on that! Remus: milf maker"

They let out an audible keysmash "Babe that's my porn name now. Milf maker! Cougar collector! Homewrecker hoobyist!!"

"Yay grammar!!"

Remy got up and held out their hand to help him up. "Aight babe, I better head home. And you better get yourself a hot bath. You sure are smelling like a rotten corpse"

"Oh don't worry. I have a demon who sends me gifts, including bathing gifts"

Remy blinked at him "Huh" They moved their arm around his shoulders and started to walk towards the busstop "Tell me all about it. Is it a hot demon?"

#this got longer than it was supposed to #its close to 4 am #thanks for the ask tho #ask #remy sanders #remus sanders #sanders sides #resleep #rem^2

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daaziscoolbesties · 3 years

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i yearn for one(1) thing only, and that is to have a nice, simplistic, cartoonish artstyle. an artstyle that doesnt rely on anatomy, but the "movement" of the drawing, if you get what i mean.

i dont want realistic proportions and traditional colors and basic poses and gradient shading, i want funky lil dudes in funky poses with funky styles littering my sketchbook :( but alas i havent figured out how to develop that kind of style yet, my brain wants anatomy to look nice but also i dont want to draw eyes. i dont want to take time out of my day to learn how to draw lips i want to draw a line that extends past the characters face. i dont want all my characters to have pointy chins with curved cheeks i want their heads to be round and friend-like or full of sharp edges depending on their personalities and styles. i want to give them all not-quite human ears, blob feet, simple faces, but at the same time i want enough detail to convey the story or emotion im trying to tell.

ive spent so much time recently agonizing over how to use 3d model websites, using real-life references and tracing over them for practice, color-picking from real images to try and do realism and failing miserably, but you know whats easier than that? funky little dudes. little dudes who do not care if their legs are too long or their hair is too bouncy. i dont want my characters to look human.

ive spent enough time on the artfight website to realize that most people who classify their characters as "human" have the most basic ass designs (no offense to people who like basic human designs its just not my thing) or its like dnd-medieval style outfits which i cant draw for the life of me (ive tried). again no offense to people who actively enjoy and draw characters like that. i just need my dudes to have that certain,,, off-ness to them. tails are cool. wings are swag (especially if they arent even like,, fully attached,, ), elf ears are so wonderful to me no matter how much theyre overused, horns are so much fun to draw, and colors!! i have no knowledge in the color theory department so this works great for me!! the only thing i really know is dont shade with black, other than that i just colorpick from references usually but i dont want to do that!! i want the colors to hurt people's eyes but in a satisfying way. like the character's design is so nice to look at that you dont mind your eyes hurting a bit. like how im enjoying writing this post even though its 2 am and the brightness on my computer wont go any lower.

and then another thing ive noticed from being on the artfight website is that a lot of people classify their characters that are anthro/have anthro features under humanoids/monsters. like i made a google form to find some people to attack and someone sent me in a character with some sort of animal (wolf? idk) arms and legs. like dude!! peak character design i love her. but me personally? i cant draw that shit, its so hard for me. i tried a while back and its just Not my thing. nothing against furries i just. cant. and i dont want to either.

and i got another submission that i accidentally deleted that was like full anthro/wolf-like like my comrade,,, i cannot draw animals what makes you think i can draw an animal who acts like a human lmao. i can do like. very basic tails, and also animal ears but i cant do the arms and legs and such i just dont know the anatomy, and i know i was talking about how i dont want to care about anatomy but i feel like for anthros you really do need to know at least basic animal anatomy so you know how the limbs look and shit and i dont have that knowledge and dont feel like gaining it.

and then there were some submissions that i absolutely adored. there was one that like, was vaguely human shaped but definitely was not a human. they had a dark-ish lavender colored skin and horns and tusks and like goat ears and a sorta fluffy tail with spikes on it and they had wings and such and they were such a pleasure to draw i love them. and they had a fairly simple outfit too, nothing too complicated. and then i also enjoy object head characters, theyre so neato to me. i got one of those and i really wish i had the motivation to work on it cause it looks so fun.

i want to make funky characters but id have nothing to do with them because the only book i ever tried writing (key word tried - never got past planning it out) had strictly human characters in it, and most of the books i read are humans/humans with powers in situations specific to them so id have no idea what lore to make with the dudes. assuming i have the motivation to make lore and backstory because honestly i just really enjoy character designing its super duper fun.

(side note a song about trucks doing the deed came on just now and its interrupted my flow, apologies).

i only have three actual characters right now. one is an original roleplay oc whos design is literally athletic shorts, an oversized long sleeved grey sweatshirt, long purple hair, and demon horns. the second one is my persona whos design some sorta medival knight outfit kinda thing? but not ugly it looks really cool (idk one of my friends designed it bc i won some contest from him but the drawing was on a super small scale so idrk the details,,,) with a plague doctor mask and crown, and shoulder length wavy brown hair, dyed bright pink at the end. and then my last one im not too comfortable using other places because theyre a character my friend is using in the story hes writing, and thats really the only place theyve been used. but theyre easily my favorite and im already writing a ton so ill talk about them too.

they're a sorta elf species thing from another planet, with pale green skin and pointed ears. they also have a tail, its like,, super thin, but with a feathery bit at the end. probably not the texture of a feather but i dont know how else to describe it. they have short, curly, almost-draco-malfoy-blonde hair that when it gets too long they can put in a man bun. their eyesight is kinda shitty so when they got to earth, they were exploring some supply closets around the airship. drop off area. thing. like airport but for rocketships and also fancier. yeah. they were exploring that area and found a nice big pair of round glasses with grey frames. and they also found a cowboy-style hat and a sharpie so they wrote their name on the underside of the brim of the hat and stole the hat and glasses (but left the sharpie in the supply closet).

yeah theyre my favorite, my absolute beloved, my child, so cool. i want more characters like them but with maybe a bit more snazzier designs. theyre super cool and all but they could have more pizzazz if they werent in a story where its too late to give them more pizzazz. i just want to be able to give my characters thigh-high boots with a bunch of buckles and fluffy hair with tons of accessories crammed in and abnormally large and long ears that can harbor many piercings and horns that can hold rings on them and special little details on their outfits like who knows what but i dont have any characters to do that too, so i have to make them from scratch, which is always hard especially when you have artblock.

and i also have like 17 characters i need to fully draw, line, and maybe color for artfight before august 1st. so i dont know. i have many things to do and plenty of time to do it but instead i spend my time halfway watching repetitive youtube videos that get boring or sleeping all damn day because i stay up too late doing things like this or i just do nothing at all and its tiring and frustrating but i also feel nothing about it like theres no consequence if i dont do it besides you know. not doing it, not gaining that experience, not making something i enjoy.

so i should do it but i dont for whatever reason, i think its called executive dysfunction but im not sure. this post started out very differently than it ended and i said somewhere up there that i was writing this at 2 am but now its almost 3. this is so many words why couldnt i have put this energy into something productive

#long post #sorry its so messy but like i said its almost 3 am and i dont want to go back and format all this #i might come back and make it look nicer in the morning #maybe not who knows #i just checked and this is 1.5k words what the hell

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strawberriestyles · 4 years

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Chapter 17

(Banner made by sweet sunshine @harry-nofookingway-styles)

Harry X OFC (AU)

Sequel to Brutality: In which Melody and Harry must relearn how to navigate one another among a flurry of changes.

Read previous parts here.

Author’s note: FINALLY HARRY SPEAKS A LIL. This chapter is a bit different but I hope y’all enjoy it anyway. Please, let me know! When you’re finished reading, please consider donating to the Black Covid Relief Fund!!! Black people are often disproportionately affected by medical emergencies. If you can’t donate, find some petitions to sign or another way to continue helping! Xx

Harry had barely slept. He watched the sun rise, painting the west wall of Melody’s room in rich pinks and golds, unwilling to leave the bed. He didn’t know how she’d feel if she woke and he wasn’t next to her. In fact, he didn’t know how she would feel when she woke and he was.

The answer came not long after he began to wonder.

Melody blinked her eyes open, facing the wall beside the bed. Her head felt weighted, like she’d had too much to drink. And she probably had, now that she thought about it. She usually rationed herself with wine.

The memory of wine triggered the memory of the events at dinner’s end. Melody had hoped, at first, that she’d had an incredibly vivid nightmare. But the wine was still sweet on her tongue, and the blood spattering the restaurant’s floor was not something that would come in dreams. She blinked again at the wall, dreading the day. But eventually she turned onto her back.

Harry was studying the marks in the ceiling when Melody shifted beside him. She watched his eyes begin to drift toward her face before snapping skyward again. He stiffened, wondering if she would speak to him. Wondering if she might climb right over him and pretend he didn’t exist.

“How could you do that?” she asked, the first words of the morning. Her voice was soft. Harry was suddenly grateful that this conversation had not taken place the night before.

“I...” Harry closed his eyes. It was ironic that now the pull of sleep threatened to keep them shut, when he needed to be alert. He fought to stretch them open and then looked down at the bruises dotting his knuckles. “I didn’ do it to upset you,” he finally answered. “Can yeh believe that?”

Melody sighed. “I believe that you don’t try to hurt me intentionally, yes.”

“‘M frustrated. I’ve already told yeh that, but ‘s like there’s this buzzing in my whole body and I can’ get rid of it unless I hit someone.”

“Sean is not some stranger you can knock around, Harry.” Melody sat up, bending her legs to hug her knees. “He doesn’t deserve that. I don’t deserve this. You accused me of sleeping with him. And I know that it was just a fucked up excuse to fight, but what if I hadn’t? What if I hadn’t known that? Do you understand how it feels to hear you say that?”

Harry’s heart leaped. Out of place, somehow, closer to his stomach than in his chest. He shook his head slowly. “I didn’ mean it,” he murmured.

“You keep saying things you don’t mean, Harry.” Melody released a short laugh, but it was the most humorless sound Harry had ever heard. “Do you think there aren’t consequences for that? You’re sorry for it after, so it’ll just go away? It doesn’t go away. I still remember you saying those things.

“And I keep forgiving you,” Melody continued, looking at the west wall, which was fading into a magnificent yellow as the sunrise ended. Her voice cracked and Harry worried that she was close to tears again. “And my heart fucking aches every time you do something like this without thinking about me, about how I might feel. Because I do think about you. I think about you in almost every single thing I do. And it’s not fair.”

Melody wiped the silent tears from her cheeks, relieved by her own honesty, apprehensive of Harry’s response.

Harry rubbed his eyes. Melody looked fully at him for the first time this morning and noticed how tired he appeared, the dark circles rimming his eyes, the drawn look of his face. She almost sympathized, remembering his gentle caresses when she had trouble sleeping.

“‘S not fair,” he agreed, swallowing thickly. “‘M so sorry, Mel. If I could take it back this time, I really would. And not just so yeh wouldn’ be angry. I fucked up.”

“I’m not angry, Harry,” Melody said, turning away when he looked back at her. “I’m not. I can’t be angry anymore.”

Harry struggled to pull himself up, leaning against the windowsill. His heart hammered within his chest as she avoided his eyes again. This felt like anger.

“Well, I am angry.” Melody’s gaze finally flickered to meet his. He found that he couldn’t hold it. “I’ve been angry for a long time and I don’ know how to let it out any other way. It shouldn’ have been Sean, but—Christ, at least he can hit back.”

Melody watched him lift a hand and prod at the edges of his nose. She pressed her lips into a thin line. “He shouldn’t have to hit back, Harry. You are out of control.”

“‘M not just—”

“You need a therapist,” Melody said, and Harry fell very quiet. He waited a few breaths to absorb what she’d said.

“I don’ need—”

“You do,” she insisted, sitting up straighter, as if it might lend her words more weight. “This is the most you’ve talked to me since I’ve known you, Harry, and it didn’t come until after you attacked Sean, after you said...what you said.” She drew in a deep breath. “You need to work out whatever’s going on in your head, and you won’t let me help. I’ve tried. So you need to talk to someone else.”

Melody watched Harry’s expression close off. She glanced at the greenery above his head and noticed the brown edges protruding from one of the pots. Her favorite plant was dying and she hadn’t noticed because she’d been so caught up in everything else that had been going on around her.

She waited for another minute, allowing Harry to form some type of response. But the silence persisted. And when she grew sick of waiting she unfolded her legs and lifted herself over him to leave the room.

***

“So Harry, what brings you here today?”

Harry still had his jacket on, zipped to his chest, prepared for a quick getaway. He scratched at the leather of the armchair he sat in with one fingernail, a nervous tick. Nervous was not an emotion familiar to him.

“My…my girlfriend,” he answered, low in his throat.

“What’s her name?”

“Melody.”

The therapist smiled, scribbling over the notepad she held in her lap. She glanced up when she’d finished, watching Harry scratch and tap at the arm of his chair, bounce the ball of his foot on the floor.

“Did Melody ask you to come?”

Harry nodded, now drawing his ankle up and over his other knee. He glanced out the window and watched the light at the next intersection shift from red to green, listened to impatient horns sound.

“Would you like to tell me about her?” the doctor prompted. Harry had already forgotten her name. Bidel or Beetle, something like that.

“What about her?”

“Well, how did you two meet?”

Harry breathed out a dry laugh. He pressed his lips together, but fought the part of him that wanted to keep silent and launched into a retelling of middle school, the bullies and his brother and Melody, and his first boxing class.

“You’ve been dating since sixth grade?” she asked. Beutel. Her name was Dr. Beutel.

“No, tha’s just when we met. I met her again a little over a year ago.”

Dr. Beutel scribbled feverishly. “It’s hard for me to believe you’ve lived in the States since you were that young. Your accent is rather distinct.”

“I moved back,” Harry informed her. “We moved back to Cheshire that year. I got kicked out of school.”

The therapist frowned, laying her pen down flat on her notepad. “For fighting,” she said, unquestioning.

Harry nodded.

“Do you fight professionally?”

Harry’s lips puckered. “Not anymore.”

“And how did...” she gestured to his face, scabbing cuts and yellowing bruises.

Harry sighed. “Uh, tha’s why she wanted me to come here. I kind of fought Sean. He’s my...my friend. Well, he was my trainer, really. And now he’s not. Now he’s her trainer.”

“Melody’s.”

“Yeah.”

Dr. Beutel shook her head almost imperceptibly. She stroked the pendant on her necklace once and then crossed her legs, pulled her notepad closer.

“Okay, how about we start from the beginning? Your family.”

Harry drew a hand over his face, carefully avoiding his nose. “Not my favorite subject.”

“So I’ve guessed.” She smiled wanly. “You’ve talked a little bit about your brother. Half-brother, right? What about your parents? Do you get along?”

“With my mum. Haven’ talked to my dad in almost six years.” Harry was surprised at his own bluntness.

“And why’s that?”

“Because he doesn’ give a fuck about me. Instead of protectin’ me he let Colton live in our house.”

“And do you think Colton would hurt you?”

Harry barked out a laugh. He’d forgotten that this woman didn’t know about the strangest parts of his life yet. She only had snippets.

“He shot me last year,” he deadpanned, “in the head.” He pulled back the hair brushing his left ear to reveal the pockmarked scars in his scalp. “And I was in a coma all summer. Sorry, I should’ve led with that.”

Dr. Beutel froze, staring at him, her fingers hovering over her pen.

“Oh, also my mum has brain cancer. She’s been in and out of hospitals since we moved back to Cheshire.”

Harry waited while his therapist began to reconcile this with what she already knew about him. The seconds ticked by. She wrote in her notepad without speaking another word to him and then she glanced at her watch and gasped.

“Oh, Harry, I’m so sorry. We’re over time for today. Can you come back next week?”

Harry sighed. He didn’t want to come back. Today had felt like a joke. It didn’t make him feel any better, it hadn’t even tapped into the restlessness sizzling just beneath the surface of his skin. But he nodded as he left.

“I look forward to seeing you,” Dr. Beutel said as he closed the door.

***

A week and a very meager amount of progress with Melody later, Harry sat in the same chair, somehow more relaxed. Melody had barely spoken to him since the morning after her birthday, not that he blamed her. But if he felt lonely before, now even Bea paid him the slightest mind. And Josie was still pissed that he’d put her leftovers at risk.

“How are you doing?” Dr. Beutel asked.

“Peachy.”

“You sure you didn’t mean cheeky?”

Harry grinned for the first time in what felt like an eternity. He tipped his shoulder up. “Not completely sure.”

Dr. Beutel smiled back. She slid her feet to one corner of her armchair, twirling the pen she held between her fingers.

“Just before our last session ended, you told me about your mother. She has recurring cancer?”

Harry nodded, his smile slipping faster than the changing traffic light outside the window.

“Are you close with your mother?”

“Well,” Harry began, stalling for a moment to ponder the question, “I guess yeh could say that. I haven’ seen her in almost two years but I talk to her a lot.”

“Has Melody spoken with her?”

Harry felt his own face contort. “Uh, no. I call my mum when she’s not around.”

“Why is that?”

He huffed out a thoughtful breath. “I dunno, really.”

Dr. Beutel began to write. Her pen twisted slowly across a clean page of her notepad. “Do you think,” she asked, without looking up, “that it might be because you separate your life into two categories?”

“What?”

“Your life in England, your family, I think that you might compartmentalize them. Separate from Melody, I mean. And even boxing. I think that Melody feels outside of that space for you, and that might be why it bothers you so much—her fighting and you not. It might seem like she’s bleeding across the borders that you’ve put in place.”

Harry didn’t know how to respond. He glanced down at the ugly scabs that spotted his knuckles, still pulling at his skin every time he stretched his hand.

“You live with Melody?”

Harry nodded, still not meeting the doctor’s eyes. He was worried what else she might see if he were to look fully at her.

“And did you live with her before? Before your injury, I mean.”

“No.”

From this angle, he could still see Dr. Beutel nodding to her notes.

“So, Harry,” she began, piecing together the information that she’d gathered, “did you have any girlfriends back in England?”

Harry shook his head, clearing his throat. “No, ‘m not really one for relationships.”

“Well, maybe you weren’t before, but I think you are now.”

“What?” He looked up at last and Dr. Beutel was smiling at him, her head tilted.

“Melody asked you to speak with a therapist. Would you ever have done that before? Would you talk about yourself this much with a stranger if it wasn’t for her?”

Harry was quiet again. This was something that had worried him for nearly a year. Half of the things he’d done since he began seeing Melody, he never would have dreamed of doing before her. This wasn’t the person he’d grown used to being.

“I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you,” the therapist said, when he didn’t return the conversation. “You’ve experienced a lot in your life. A lot more than most people could claim to have experienced in an entire lifetime, but I think you’re in a good place right now. It sounds to me like Melody cares very much for you. And even if it hasn’t been a conscious thought, you feel like you don’t deserve it.”

“I don’!” Harry nearly shouted. He paused and sat back in his chair, collecting his emotions and lining them up. He knitted his fingers together over his stomach. “I don’. It was her fuckin’ birthday and I hit her trainer—”

“Your friend,” Dr. Beutel corrected. She hadn’t even flinched at his outburst. “You hit Sean, your friend. These two areas of your life—fighting and Melody—they’re blending and he’s a large player in that mix. Do you think you don’t deserve Melody because you picked a fight with Sean, or do you think you picked a fight with Sean because you feel like you don’t deserve Melody?”

Harry’s mind spun. “What, you mean like ‘m tryin’ to fuck up on purpose?”

“Perhaps,” she answered with a nod. “Perhaps some part of you is trying to find a way out.”

Harry sighed and sifted a hand through his hair, fingertips brushing his scars. “What should I do?”

The therapist laughed gently and shook her head. “I mean, I’m not a fortune-teller, Harry. I don’t know what will help you patch up your relationship and I don’t know what will let you out of it. But I do think you need to put in some positive effort if Melody means something to you. Try to redirect your aggression. Maybe go to one of her matches?”

The suggestion was quiet, soft, a mere idea. And Harry’s heart ticked uncomfortably at the sensation of being seen. Would anyone else have been able to untangle the complex knots of his life with the information he’d given Dr. Beutel? Would Melody? Harry wasn’t sure, and he didn’t know if he wanted anyone else to examine him this meticulously. But he said his thanks before he left, anyway, and the entire way back to the apartment, he felt like he was studying his own thoughts from a new perspective.

Chapter 18

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles blurb #harry styles drabble #harry styles imagine #harry styles series #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles angst #harry styles x ofc #harry styles au #boxer!au #boxer!harry #harry styles ferocity

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4pondsinabox · 4 years

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Women of the Waverider: Zari Tarazi

You know how some things “fans” say just really don’t sit right with you and you just sit there letting things fester in your brain for weeks and weeks until it all tumbles out into one giant essay? So yeah.

A few weeks ago, I created an extensive post on the Legends of Tomorrow Amino analyzing who I have found to be the four most hated characters on this wonderfully wacky time-travel show. All, naturally, are women and two are evidently non-white. Very curious, wouldn’t you say? After pissing some people off by stating “inherent societal misogyny affects the way we perceive female characters, especially when they act similarly to beloved male characters,” I resolved to move my argument here and see what other damage I could do.

For length purposes, I’m only focusing on Zari for today, but will be happy to transfer the others over if this makes any number of notes. Now, down to business:

Why do I love Zari 2.0 and Why Should You?

“Annoying” and “Spoiled brat” are the words I most commonly see associated with Zari Tarazi. Because the first of these is completely unhelpful in arguments (tell me WHY you find her annoying, then we can talk), I will focus on the second and how much it completely ignores her family dynamic. In the very first episode she is introduced, Zari is shown to be constantly ignored by her parents in favor of her brother. By definition, she cannot be spoiled because she’s not even given the attention she craves, much less whatever she wants. It’s no wonder her relationship with Behrad was strained to start with, when the favorite child is so evident. This is where her social media followers come in.

Kids are always in need of attention, of someone to take pride in their efforts and tell them they are doing a good job. When they don’t receive this attention, they latch on to something or someone else. Clearly, a young Zari, who had launched to fame with her dragon taming and received no evident approval from her parents, turned to her fans for support. Zari Tarazi is no longer a child, but old habits die hard and posting photos and videos online is her way of feeling like SOMEONE cares about her. “I have millions of followers but no friends” is what tells Ava and the audience that Zari has tried for so long to get people to like her from afar but has made no personal connections in the process. This is why her relationships with other members of the Waverider, which gradually grow over the course of the series, are so so important.

Ava was her first true friend, the person who connected with the real Zari, not the facade she created for social media. For the first time, Zari belonged somewhere, with a team no less. That little smile when she is told she is finally part of one? It tells all. She connected with Mick through their shared experiences with fans and supported him when he didn’t know how to deal with a particularly difficult troll. She had every intention to try and befriend Astra, even after getting off on the wrong foot. Zari wants only to make connections with people, real people, in a way she’s never been able to before. It’s hardly a crime to want to look good in the process.

The phrase “Zari 2.0 doesn’t fit with the Waverider team because she lacks experience like the old Zari” is misogynistic at its core. Zari 1.0 was “experienced” because she saw her family killed and had to grow up fast to survive. “Experience” is not the word you are looking for here, it is trauma, and trauma is not what makes women interesting. Zari Tarazi IS different in personality from the rest of the Waverider team, but that’s what makes her such a critical addition. When Mona was booted off, the writers needed another character who could lighten up the team in Ray’s absence. Zari brings the Drama but also Humor and Fun to a group of people who often forget how to have it. Amidst an ex-assassin, a studious clone, a grumbling thief, stressed shapeshifter, and brooding magician, someone who knows how to throw a good party and host it with style turned out to be a welcome change for many of them. Prior to this, only the men were given the chance to goof off while the women were always in charge of missions and rules, so isn’t it refreshing to see these gender stereotypes reversed?

But that’s just scratching the surface. Something else Zari possesses that none of the others do? Social skills. Who else was going to teach Ava how to lure popular party woman Marie Antoinette out of her element? Who else could have come up with the crazy suggestion to start a sorority and successfully draw out the god of wine and parties? Zari 2.0 may not have visible superpowers or be a hacker, but she understands people, which is something none of the other legends can claim and is a kind of superpower in itself.

The most ironic argument frequently made against her character? How John Constantine should never be paired with someone so different from him. The woman who, despite evident self-hatred, acts superior to everyone else is somehow different from John “drown my sorrows in alcohol and distance myself from everyone to act too cool for them” Constantine. Zari may have a bigger wardrobe and John might wear the same outfit over and over again, but fundamentally they have much common ground in the way they see themselves and how they hide it by acting superior around other people. This relationship wasn’t hastily thrown together like Nate and Zari 1.0, who have absolutely nothing in common. “John would never choose to be with someone like her!” You mean someone who acts just as stubborn and full of themselves as he is? Their big egos were bound to clash at first, but these similarities won each other over in the end.

It’s so easy to reduce feminine characters to dumb airheads and this is exactly why posts “defending womanhood and femininity” have been trending so much the last few years. It’s exactly why Tala herself pleaded with the fans in an interview to “please give this new Zari a chance” BEFORE any episode had even aired. Women are told that to be “strong” and successful in life they should act more like men, which is far from the truth. Zari Tarazi IS feminine, but also a successful, adored businesswoman who knows how to get what she wants. Viewers might hate her for it, but she subverts the “dumb feminine woman” trope in a way that’s incredibly important for fashion and makeup loving women today.

Before wining that the writers transformed Zari into a bunch of stereotypes, actually watch the show and rethink why you might feel the way you do about a certain character. It’s safe to say not every character clicks with every fan, but boiling hatred towards a confident, influential, feminine woman just ... does not translate well.

#zari tarazi #zari 2.0 #legends of tomorrow #lot ladies #arrowverse #the waverider #character analysis #long post

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kikyozoldyck · 5 years

Text

lemon, jelly, sprinkles & jizz

PAIRING: klaus hargreeves x reader SUMMARY: a date with klaus is never that simple. WARNINGS: nsfw, oral

---

“I figured instead of letting one of those kitschy uptown salons charge me forty-five of my hard-earned dollars,” he pauses, turning for a moment to glare at the empty seat behind him, “for a sugar and lemon wax—“ He digs through his matted fur jacket, rustling out a lighter and before continuing to dig, “— I could do it myself. Be resourceful. And chocolate pudding has sugar…”

You give a vague nod as he starts to light a cigarette. Still mumbling about how it’s perfectly reasonable to assume that chocolate pudding would be a cheaper alternative to sugar wax, you wondering if anyone else has these kinds of conversations with their boyfriend (best friend? fuck buddy?) outside donut shops in the middle of the night or if this is just another wonderful perk of being romantically entangled with Klaus Hargreeves.

He takes a drag, and you perk up.

“Klaus!”

"What?” He starts coughing, surprised. Jerking his hand away from you as you try and snatch his wrist, “What—What did I do?"

"Do not smoke in my car." You tell him, for what must be the millionth time since you’ve known him, gesturing at the Marlboro burning between his thin fingers.

“What?” he coughs again, this time a little indignantly, “I smoke in your apartment all the t—“

“Well, thanks to you, my apartment already smells awful. I care about this vehicle.” You argue, lovingly patting your steering wheel, “I’d rather it not smell like an ashtray."

Klaus frowns at that, “I smell like an ashtray."

"No. You don't."

A small nod comes from that. “A classier ashtray, I suppose.” He gives a glance at the lit cigarette in his hand, then one at you. A contemplating glance that makes you sigh with your entire body. Because he doesn't put it out. Instead, he opens the car door, stepping out into the deserted parking lot.

You follow very hurriedly.

This time of night, Griddy’s is jam-packed with silence and empty booths, save for the owner (Angela? Agatha? …You can never remember her name) prancing around searching for trash, refilling coffee cups, searching for anything to make the graveyard shift less dull. A man sat in the corner, nods at you over his laptop. A woman at the counter gives the briefest of smiles. Both of them quickly turn back to whatever they’d been doing before.

You look away from them to see Klaus already leading you to a booth in the back of the diner. Hardly time to do anything while trying to catch up with legs that tall. But you make it as he slides easily into the noisy, vinyl booth.

“Can I get you kids anything?” The owner, Agnes, asks sweetly, as she approaches your table.

You’re about to ask for a moment to decide when Klaus says, “I’ll have one lemon creme, one jelly filled, one with sprinkles — rainbow not chocolate — and uh, oh! Do you have those uh, those ones with the jizz on them? Fuck, what are they called?” He asks, gesturing at you to supply the answer.

“Glazed.” You mutter, giving Agnes an apologetic wince as she fills both your cups up with coffee.

“Glazed!” Klaus repeats, giving himself a tap on the side of his head, “one lemon creme, one jelly filled, one with rainbow sprinkles, and one glazed! And while you’re at it could you bring a third cup of coffee?”

"Do you really need four donuts?” you ask, as Agnes ducks off to prepare your order. Can he even afford them? Is he going to play Dine and Dash today with you as his unwitting accessory? You hope not. You’re barely able to keep up with him when he’s walking, you’d definitely fall behind if he were sprinting.

“Of course not!” He laughs, a little buzzed and way too loud, “I ordered the jizz one for you. And the third cup of coffee is for — ” He glances at the seat next to you and shakes his head, “did I ever tell you I used to come here as a kid?”

“No.” You reply, although he definitely has, grabbing a mostly empty bottle of syrup and tapping it absently against the table. It’s the old glass kind. Much more satisfying than plastic.

Klaus stands abruptly, knocking against the table which in turn clacks against your bottle. He rounds the table in one giant stride before plopping down next to you, “so, my brother Five and I, this was before we got names so bare with me, would wake up numbers Two through Six.” He drapes his arm around you, “we had bedrooms in numerical order — it was adorable! Anyway, the five of us would tie our sheets together like we were escaping Alcatraz or something, and then we’d walk the town in our pajamas like some weird little prepubescent cult.” He laughs again, this time quieter like it’s only for you, “and come here to eat donuts and drink coffee.” He gestures grandly at the cooling coffee cups in front of you.

“What about numbers One and Seven?” You ask, putting the syrup bottle back where you’d found it. You don’t usually ask questions when Klaus’s trying to tell you something. You find it just makes things more confusing, considering that ostentatious statements followed by vague replies have always been his style. You suppose his storytelling is representative of his brain; weird mentalities, forgotten details, strange interjections, and absurd tangents.

He giggles, “we’d bring a donut back for Luther — Allison’s idea, not mine — and leave it on his bedside table. Anyway, the beefy little idiot started to think that it was the Donut Fairy who was dropping off sweet treats to reward him for being a good boy!” He laughs again, his body shakes the booth you’re sharing.

“And Vanya?” You’re about to ask when Agnes brings your order to your table, Klaus’ extra cup of coffee included. Instead, you say, “thank you” and rush to move the coffee cups around to accommodate her.

Agnes smiles politely and scurries off, back behind the counter. Klaus follows her with his gaze. His jade eyes fixed on her as he rips a piece off a piece of his lemon creme donut and stuffs it into his mouth. He makes this lovely, little delighted sound and sucks the remaining sugar off of his fingers.

You rub his neck, meaning to surprise him. (Maybe? Really, you just want him to pay attention to you.) Your thumb brushes against his skin and finds those marks. Fresh blotches of purple from incidents you're still very proud of shine. Shine and no doubt ache under your touch.

"That’s-“ Klaus's shoulders roll forward, “That's still sore."

"Oh,” you mumble, not moving your hand, “sorry."

"S'aight." He squeezes the donut, and you both watch as the off white filling oozes out. He scoops it up with his fingers and sticks them back into his mouth. Albeit with a different pace. Your hand is still on his neck, unmoving from the bruised spot it touches. His movements seem almost more forced now, stalled almost. You hope you're not reading too deeply into things because there's a small grin crawling on your face and it gives you fantastic ideas.

You push again.

“Ah—“

As your thumb presses, it slides. Sliding underneath the clumpy fur collar of Klaus's jacket and tugging at it. You try peering into it, still smiling.

"More down there, huh?"

"Feels like it." For a moment, he registers what you mean. Blinking. Then he pops up a smile of his own. “I got another on my hip.”

You nod.

Your hand starts slider lower from his face. The man watching curiously. The closer you get to his destined hip, however, the curiosity pulls into a far more smiling look again. He's getting what you're setting down.

"So is it..." A cold hand slides under his jacket and shirt, meeting bare skin and exploring. He doesn't stop you, just gives a bite to his lip as he waits for the moment when—

“…here?”

He lets out a strange and loud snort, and the donut falls from his hands back onto the plate. Your nail scratching the surface of a dark purpled bruise on his hip bone didn't startle you but that. That did. An intense heat hits your cheeks, you give a glance around the diner. You know there are at least two other patrons that would have heard that. You know there are people in China would have heard that.

Klaus seems as equally aware of how terrible a noise he just made it was.

“That,” he gives you a breathy giggle, “that feels quite nice dear.” Chuckles lining up with his speech. "You—Could you do that again?"

The woman at the counter is gone, the man in the corner is wearing headphones, and Agnes is hidden away in the kitchens somewhere. Your heart is still racing though. You should have known. He’s nothing but a blaring stereo in the bedroom. You actually had the idea to toss that into Griddy’s —

It makes your skin crawl. Your body heats up, and your mouth goes dry.

But...this seems like a lot of fun.

Your hand starting to slide a bit deeper, “you’re incorrigible.” You tell him, your mouth watering at the chance to latch on to old hickeys on his neck.

“Incorrigible.” He repeats, his voice and breath steady like you're not playing with his hand isn’t one millimeter away from being in his pants, “God, I love it when you flaunt that sexy little college degree at me.”

You’re struggling to come up with a witty reply when a curved mouth touches yours. Klaus doesn't give a chance for any more neck brands. The position seems to shift on its own. Already one you certainly shouldn't be in, it becomes more, well, terrible when the unpleasant sound of his leather pants moving against the vinyl seats reverberates through the diner. Your fingers flex hesitantly beneath his belly button.

But he still kisses you.

The smooth leather of his pants feels too boring on your palms. What doesn't is something that certainly draws your — and his — attention.

“What can I say,” he laughs against your lips, “I’m incorrigible.”

Looking down at your full palm, you nod. “A true menace to society.” Hardly meaning it. You give a squeeze.

“A vagabond, indeed.” A familiar sound that makes his voice sound like a gust of wind is in your ear. He's moved to it. Even with his face out of view, you are utterly positive Klaus's still got a smile on his face.

“A Hellion in high heels,” you respond, your fingers still rubbing. A giggle starts to fall from his lips, but at the last moment, it's replaced with a breathy sound.

“An agent provocateur,” Klaus adds and adjusts his position -- wrapping his wrist around your own. You barely realize he’s stood up before he’s pulling you towards the bathroom. The bathroom is single-stall. You know it, Klaus knows it, and the man sitting in the corner knows it, and your whole body feels hot when you pass him on your way –- but then again, he probably doesn't notice. You’re pretty sure he’s stoned.

Klaus locks the door behind you. You’re seconds away from a cold sweat because fuck, you’re actually doing this.

And it must show on your face because the sultry smirk on Klaus’s face fades, “you’re not into it are you?” He asks, stepping forward. It’s a tiny bathroom; just one of his broad steps is enough to crowd you against the sink. “Hey, I get it.” He gives a peck to your face. "You have very strict moral guide…rules or whatever. No bending. Like a nail in a wood wall or a really old person who thinks that yoga is the work of the devil.” You're a bit thrown off by what he's trying to say, but he says it with a gentle smile, so you assume it's positive.

“I’m into it.” You tell him, and for a second it’s like he doesn’t hear you, “really into it.” Hearing it signals more moving. You’re sitting on the sink. Well, not really. You’re sort of halfway sitting and halfway standing, but with the way you're being leaned back, your head is one push away from crashing into the mirror. It's a precarious arrangement. You could easily fall both forward or back, like sitting in the middle of a teeter-totter.

Klaus has got you though. You trust him enough to let him keep you in place here. It's his turn to grab at a waist, back to your lips again. The faucet digs into your back, hands going back to hold the handles shut instead of feeling the man up. He's got something more in mind anyways it seems.

You certainly can feel the idea brushing your inner thigh.

He's rocking against you. Gently and not too shockingly to make you freak out. You only grip the handles tighter. Grips on your backside keep you steady, Klaus's hands dipping into your back pockets.

Your lips are sealed tight, breathing harshly through your nose at each move forward. It's not a quickening force, really. Just continuous enough it makes your stomach tighten.

Almost whistles are on your skin, Klaus keeping himself calmed through the same bit lips of earlier. It's a bit unsettling. Tough on him because he probably wanted to be vocal. He was really vocal, wasn't he?

His thumb slides beneath your shirt and your back arches. It's a sudden feeling that makes it all sweeter. Thumb pad forming circles on the curve of your spine. Arch rolling your zipper closer to his far more bulged one.

Klaus's head tilts closer as well, mouth on your neck but not kissing. Just resting, so the stubble on his lip tickles your skin. Open mouthed, hot air-- You're just as suddenly on a sink with him grinding against you as you are about to be walking out of here it seems.

The motions feel more jagged at the very least. Jabbing comfortable into you, making you wish you weren't so close to banging your head into the mirror. This is so lovely otherwise. Lovely and you...you could have gotten more out of it, but it's still fantastic. Knowing you helped feels enough--

Klaus catches himself on the edge of the sink. You don't really realize your eyes have been closed until he's halting entirely. Done, you're sure.

He immediately stops. No, he just hesitates. Fingers twitching in place on your thighs, each waiting to continue but he still sputters out his usual lines. "Whoa--sorry, I just thought that it's not good sport to just stop, right? I mean--haha for you. Not for me." He puts on this goofy smile that you feel, in your heart, he truly means as sexy. "We are sure on that."

"Are you offering me something, Klaus?" you inquire, smirking down at him.

The man gives a fake shrug.

"Are you serious?"

“My mother may have been a robot, but she raised a gentleman.” He says, as your dizzy mind registers he's eye level with your fly, fingers going towards it--

You don't really have any words anyways. Just letting Klaus do what he seemed to be eager about getting done prior. It's like a kid playing with his favorite toy, working with little time at your zipper.

You aren't totally sure what he's planning until he's tugging your everything down, which makes your cheeks heat up again. Mouth is too dry suddenly to really say anything. But there's still no words, right? Just the view of Klaus on his knees in front of you, seemingly unfazed by you're sudden nudity.

You're not bothered by it either, namely because you wish you'd been told that would happen. In the bathroom of all places.

Either or, Klaus peers up. "This fine with you, right?"

He does have your interests in mind... "Yeah, dude."

"Yeah, dude," he repeats, not mockingly but to hear it. It makes him smile."Well, dude, you should probably bite into something or, uh, hope that Agnes likes to listen to heavy metal while she bakes."

"Bite into...what?"

Klaus doesn't give a response. You don't really have the chance to process one even if he had offered one. The man's cold hands grasp your hips, making your own fall back to grab the handles behind. Saliva catches in your throat. Body holding still.

He kisses your stomach. Drawing out a slight shudder down your body as it crawls lower, his lips. Experimentally perhaps, but maybe too much. You are working on a deadline here, and you hope he gets that thought in his mind soon enough.

You stare forward at the bathroom door. Like a look-out. Your own look-out. Scared someone's going to come waltzing towards the two of you, and then the whole thing's fucked, and that'd really ruin things for you, wouldn't it?

You'd be in the papers as the person caught getting head in a local donut shop from The Umbrella Academy's famed hero The Seance and probably arrested on multiple counts of public indecency.

A gasp leaves you, one you quickly cover with your hand. Klaus's done kissing and teasing, whatever teasing that had been. His lips pressed right against you. He doesn't seem shaken by your sound -- if he is, he doesn't let on. You for once are not focused on him and his reactions.

He's too far down to be noticed as anything other than moving lips, long thin fingers, something wet finding you. Hands still keeping you where he needs you. It just started, but it feels like forever, given the making out in the booth. His skilled mouth is making you feel so weak and getting your eyes to flutter.

He works like a true professional, that's for sure. Motions you almost wish you could feel out to their full extent instead of quickly to finish a quickie at Griddy's.

Klaus's tongue curls so perfectly, making you really wish you'd had something to bite into after all. This is torture having to resist the groans practically attacking your throat. Your body is shaking at the motions escaping your stomach, wanting to escape your throat.

Your toes curl in your ratty converse, feeling heavy and nonexistent as you want to fall forward, held up by the sink and Klaus's hands on your hips.

Even as it draws to a close with the final lift of heat from your body, making your eyes squeeze shut as any means to resist that same gasp that started it.

And he's pulling away, the cold embrace of his fingers sliding lower, to drag your lower garments back up and buckled so kindly.

The sink deserves to collapse. You deserve to collapse.

Klaus deserves to carry you home and tuck you into bed -- maybe a medal as well. You feel honestly disgusting, more physically than emotionally. Though you can't complain as badly as Klaus, you can only imagine the state his pants are in. He doesn't do anything until he has made sure you're all zipped and belted back up. Nice of him. You feel too dazed to do it yourself. He rubs his mouth on his grimy jacket sleeve, grinning like an idiot when his face emerges from behind it.

You feel strangely not alive like you really are in bed and not in the bathroom of Griddy's. It makes your register of Klaus' kiss slow.

He grabs you by the shoulders and kisses you hard. You can taste yourself mixed with synthetic lemon flavoring and sugar on his mouth. You're briefly surprised by it.

Long enough to stare at Klaus wide mouthed as he heads for the door. The chorus of “I don’t know about you, but I am starving! Ooh! You think I should order a sticky bun? Did I ever tell you about the time I fist fought a hobo over a sticky bun?” as he leaves makes you start to grin, in a mix of disbelief and pride.

#klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves x reader

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vapormaison · 4 years

Text

2019 Best Press 3/4: カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title by TANUKI

While for many vaporwave vinyl is doubtless equal parts collector’s item and audio source, I don’t want to lose sight of the goal of this blog here: developing a canon of the genre for high fidelity enjoyment. That said, when I come across something remarkable or noteworthy about a particular piece of wax, even if it is not a “purely audiophile” object, I want to make mention of it.

And TANUKI’s カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title wax release is not only noteworthy, but contends for hi-fi consideration despite it’s status as a picture disc.

But let’s back up slightly.

Going back to the previous thesis on why we buy records, sometimes you just want to own a vinyl just because. Just because you’re a collector trying to compile a discography on wax — or, better yet, just because you truly love the album art. For me, カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title (Double EP) was undoubtedly all of the three “just be-causes”.

A while back, I noticed that the LP was going into its 3rd press, and decided to snap up a copy because I like Tanuki, I like Lum, and because of those other just becauses. Unfortunately the only format available was not the pink vinyl, but the picture disc. As I’m sure is well-known (because audiophiles are very loud about things they dislike), picture-discs are a big no-no in the audiophile community. This is because while a beautiful objet d’art, a serious listening session of a picture disc release will usually produce greater amounts of surface noise than any other type of vinyl. You can, of course, with the right system, neutralize and mitigate this process slightly, but true-blue hi-fi heads pursuing that elusive muse of “pure sound” would never give a picture disc a second look.

I’m not one of those people.

Tangentially, I’ve heard whispers of ghosts of rumors from when I was living in Shenzen, China — that various record suppliers (small batch Makers) are working out manufacturing and material processes that minimize these issues on pic discs to create appealing records that cover all the bases: hi-fi suitability, collector oriented visual esoterica, and price. I should also admit I have no idea where those companies are in terms of R&D and/or producing these. I end up catching a lot of very fast talk from extremely motivated enthusiasts, but Chinese is still as elusive a language to me at times as “pure sound” can be. With that in mind, however, it’s logical to surmise that advances in technology will eventually render the differences between picture discs and traditional black wax undistinguishable. So long as the world isn’t destroyed in some cataclysmic climate disaster (very real possibility), or -- as we are watching evolve now: World War 3. My view is that it’d be pointless to dismiss the format out of hand when there are active attempts to innovate it as we speak.

That all said, I know what to expect when a contemporary, big-label picture disc plays. During my college days, I used to spin wax at the university radio station. One of the previous catalog managers had a fetish for this “collectible” format, and was convinced he was doing the station a favor by purchasing all these vinyls, noting a pre-supposed resale value later. I remember throwing these on the well-worn Technics SP-10 we had as our main turntable, and listening to the occasional scratch, frequent popping, and constant surface noise, that for the uninitiated (bless you), sounds like a sustained “cracking” in your Rice Krispies — or for those born in the analog age, CRTV static.

So when I sat down with the Tanuki picture disc, I had this laundry list of preconceptions and prejudices about the format. I thought that I could listen to a moderately scratchy record once or twice, keep it as more a visual boutique item and then eventually include in an article where I bemoan the poor quality of the genre’s releases.

But then, I actually listened.

And it sounded… well, I won’t get ahead of myself. Here’s the full review:

THE MUSIC

BABYBABYの夢 — is doubtless the reason why many of us have bought the EP from a sonic perspective —especially if the band-camp reviews are indicative of trends. I still maintain that this is the Mariya Takeuchi sample/remix work par excellence. Tanuki hits all the essential notes here, a genuine respect and love for the sound-staging of its original source, Yume No Tsuzuki. I still get echoes of the original arrangement in my system, (ever so slightly) with a bright and dance-infused collection of unique sounds — particularly in that delicious, wide mid-range — that flesh out the track into its own sort of masterpiece.

何がGoin' On — the curatorial and conspiratorial side of my brain tells me that Goin’ On will probably go down as one the under-appreciated vintage bangers of this era of future funk. I can envision hipsters two or three decades from now sussing out a neophyte with pretentious questions about this track’s pitch-shifted sample draws from. It has that sort of vibe that you know hits with a certain subset of electronica fans — rich & vibrant, making the tweeters on your system work out in all the best ways — it’s just great.

がんばれ — Tanuki is at his best when he gets playful with brass samples. I firmly believe that the titans in this genre each have their go-to piece in their best arrangement — like Dan Mason’s creative vocal array, or greyL’s manipulation of micro-samples. For Tanuki, it’s whenever her gets a horn — synthesized or otherwise, into his production workflow.

ファンクOFF — continues Tanuki’s magic act, taking another city pop track more iconic for its soulful electric guitar riff and turning it into the most slap-worthy single on this EP. I prefer it when Japanese pop samples are fundamentally re-imagined, although I can see how the perfectionist tweaking of someone like Yung Bae is more appealing for some. Tanuki is undoubtedly one of the innovators of this genre, and there’s no more solid evidence of that talent than this track.

腕の中でDancin’ — if I ended up hosting a sort of mythical vaporwave grammies or something like that, (I’m available, folks!) I would probably go off on a Ricky Gervais style rant on how artists aren’t in touch with “the people” (read: me) because all we really want are more remixes of Meiko Nakahara songs — who given her impact on City Pop should have way more play in this genre than she does. This one, like most of the Meiko mixes I’ve heard, is a banger with an absolute fire bass riff punctuated throughout.

Radiant Memories — this might be my first certified “hot take” in the publication (they’ll be many more, I imagine) — but as far as I’m concerned this is the superior Plastic Love edit. I’ll just leave my thoughts there, so they can soak in with a portion of the fanbase who split my reddit account on an open fire of downvotes for suggesting that other artists than Macross 82-99 (Praise be upon him!) are allowed to touch this song as well. While Macross’s mix is definitely the more up-temo of the two, and that for some is the very essence of the genre, this slightly down-mixed version is both the perfect conclusion for the EP and ideal antithesis.

THE LISTENING EXPERIENCE

Signal to Raise ratio on the following albums:

カタカナ・タイトル + Kanji Title: ~61.9db (1 db MoE)

Tron Legacy, Daft Punk: 58.4db

Love Trip, Takako Mamiya, Kitty Records Press: 65.8db

(ratings based on averages 5 minutes of sustained play on the testing unit, the machine actually complied this data on its preset, which is another fascinating part about this sort of vintage press-testing tech). The margin of error is because the machine, according to my mentor Dr. Juuso Ottala formerly of Harman International, informs me it was never meant to give accurate readings of picture discs, and to add about a dB of error margin.

One of the benefits of growing up in New England and, subsequently, New York, is that there are no shortage of heritage professional audio brand HQs in operation around a 200 mile radius from Manhattan to Boston. Off the top of my head, there’s Harman/Kardon, Boston Acoustics, Bose, NuMark, Marantz, and Rane headquarters within an hour’s drive from my two hometowns. Early on in my audiophile quest, I got my hands on some cool vintage gear — vinyl lathe testing equipment that has collected dust in both an old Harman technician’s storage unit, and now my parent’s basement. Over the holiday, I recently brought it out to do some surface noise testing on it to get a rough confirmation of what I was explaining in yesterday’s hi-fi guide. The innards of the machine looks eerily like a plinth-less linear tonearm and plate pair attached to a monitor. After making sure I’m not violating some kind of Harman International trade secret, I’ll post it on instagram.

Wanting to also get a firm idea on just how good my ear-test sounded, I grabbed another picture disc vinyl I had received as a gift a few years ago from my brother — the Tron Legacy OST. While I found the film passably enjoyable, my own preconceptions about pic discs, and a general exhaustion with french house — left me with no discernible desire to spin the thing. I hadn’t even broken the seal on the plastic wrap, so it seemed like as good as a blind test as any. I also grabbed what my ears tell me is a “good”, “heavy” press, a 1982 original dead-stock copy of Takako Mamiya’s Love Trip LP pressed by Kitty Records Japan. I’ve played it maybe a half dozen times since I bought it, so it’s as close to “new” 80s audiophile pop record as you can get. The Japanese are infamously anal about low SNR on their vinyl.

And, well, the results speak for themselves. The sweet spot for most black vinyl records is between 60-70db depending on age, weight, and a host of other frankly uncontrollable factors that aren’t worth getting into detail here, as I’d go on forever. The main takeaway here is that Neoncity’s and Tanuki’s record sat at the low end of the audiophile vinyl reference spectrum. Which in itself is a remarkable achievement for a pic disc. It’s worth taking a look at Tron Legacy, which just barely scratches 8db above a cassette tape, and 7db a Japanese vinyl from 1982.

This is all in an effort to say: damn, this is pretty good.

This also somewhat counters the usual “picture discs sound like shit” narrative that’s prevailed pretty consistently in the audiophile community. Tron Legacy? Yeah, that probably sounds like shit if I could bother to suffer through a listen. But whoever Hong-Kong based Neoncity is using actually makes “good” — if such a qualifier needs to be attached — image-pressed records. And that devotion to audio fidelity should be rewarded.

It might be time for me to re-asses picture discs on the whole, and that mind-expanding moment is something I owe to the fine folks at Neoncity.

#bestof2019 #bestpress

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passiontaee · 5 years

Text

I like you (a latte) | g

pairing: yoongi x jeongguk; yoonkook

genre: slice of life

ratings: g

warnings: none

word count: 1914

summary: “I think the barista might be hitting on me…they drew a heart in my latte foam and gave me a free brownie. Do you think I should give them my number?” AU

a/n: isn’t barista yoongi the best yoongi? breathe if you agree

also i’m working on rewriting this, so stay tuned for the update :)

↬ s.

Jeongguk feels that as a college student, coffee is high on his list of things that he can not live without. Coffee, banana milk, and his best friend Taehyung. In between not getting enough sleep, cramming for exams, and attempting to have a social life, he’s usually in need of caffeine on a daily basis. It’s not healthy, but it makes up for staying in the art studio for hours without taking a break, Taehyung having to bring him food.

“Guk, I’m bailing you out, come on,”

Jeongguk looks up from the piece he’s working on, eyes red and bleary. Barely even alive at this point. He turns his head over to where Taehyung is standing, bouncing a little in excitement. He wishes he had that energy. He's momentarily jealous but rethinks that when he remembers Taehyung is a Pre-Vet major, meaning that his major is far more intense and time-consuming than simply painting and drawing all day. Perhaps he should be grateful he doesn't have to take a shit ton of math and science classes. Taehyung handles it well though.

"Bailing me out?"

"Yeah, we're getting coffee come on," he moves to grab the younger’s arm, gently tugging. Causing him to grumble and whine softly, but he abandons his work reluctantly, beginning to straighten up his area and set his work somewhere safe for later. Making sure his name is at the bottom so no one tries to steal his work. It happened far too many times his freshman year and he was not about to start this entire painting all over again because some dip shit decided to be uncreative and steal his work again. Freshman Jeongguk was so naive. He can’t believe what a pussy he was two years ago. Taehyung’s familiar with the cleaning up process at this point so he helps clean up, even gathering Jeongguk’s bag for him. Taehyung is a true friend, he silently thinks to himself as they make their way out of the room. Side by side with Jeongguk rubbing his eyes sleepily.

“And so Seokjin-hyung and Namjoon-hyung said that I can get a puppy but at long as I actually take care of it,” he explains. Jeongguk’s following sort of, but has heard this conversation before. Taehyung’s older brother Seokjin and his husband Namjoon have practically raised Taehyung together since he was a little kid; Seokjin being ten years older than him and all. Jeongguk’s only known them since high school but in his mind Seokjin has always been Taehyung’s dad for as long as he himself can remember. He doesn’t even think Taehyung remembers his parents, considering they died when he was really young. It kind of makes him cherish his own parents and older brother, despite having literally been on his own since college. He barely keeps in contact with them anyways.

“They finally agreed to let you?” Jeongguk asks, shocked. Taehyung’s head bobs forward as he nods, stopping momentarily to grasp the younger’s shoulders and shake him. Jeongguk is barely bothered by this.

“Yes! You should come pick one with me! Friendly bonding and whatnot, plus you’ve become some type of zombie, Guk. It’s not healthy!” his face contorts in worry as he pouts, but Jeongguk sighs, knowing that Taehyung tells him this multiple times a day.

“I’m fine,” he insists. Is he really though? Taehyung lets him go and links their arms together, stopping in front of a door. Jeongguk looks up at the new place, allowing himself to be dragged inside by the blonde male. A bell rings as they walk inside, and Jeongguk takes a moment to look around the cozy, quaint interior. The soft sounds of indie music playing in the background. It smells like coffee beans and sweets and it’s throwing his nose in overdrive, but it’s a stark difference from smelling paint and turpentine all day. He could get used to this coffee shop’s vibes.

“Hyung’s friend works here. It’s closer to campus, so I don’t see why we’ve never bothered to come in here,” Taehyung continues, pulling Jeongguk with him to stand a little aways from the register, staring at the hand written menu on the chalkboard. Jeongguk swears he’s seen a similar style on Pinterest. (The only reason he’s on Pinterest is because Taehyung likes to harass him with artsy stuff on the regular more than he likes answering his texts. Nice to know he has his priorities together.) As he continues looking over the menu, Taehyung pulls him further, smiling at the barista. Squinting to see his name tag and gasping out loud with recognition. “Hey! Hey you’re my hyung’s friend!” he says a little too loudly. The small barista looks up at him, confused.

“What?”

“Seokjin! You’re the friend he told me about! I’m his little brother, Taehyung!” He grins, the noise prompting Jeongguk to look down to assess the situation. His eyes landing on the barista and suddenly he’s a bit more alert. Never in his life has he seen someone so pretty; so attractive and small. There’s Jimin, his roommate, but this guy is smaller than Jimin. Not as muscled from the looks of it and very, very soft looking. Jeongguk wants to kiss his little pout away and coo at him. But instead, he stands silently beside Taehyung who’s positively ruining their chances of a you-know-my-hyung discount. He’s tempted to elbow the elder in the ribs, because the tiny pouty man looks a little weirded out.

“He never told me his brother was this loud. There’s people studying, so keep your voice down,” he murmurs. This prompts Taehyung to close his mouth, literally he closes his fucking mouth, and pulls a sigh from Jeongguk. Feeling the need to apologize for his friend’s erratic behavior. The male glances in Jeongguks’s direction, and he notes how his sharp eyes seem to discreetly eyeball him from head to—well, head to waist.

“So what do you want?” He turns his attention back to Taehyung, hands resting calmly on the counter beside the POS system. Taehyung taps at his chin with his free hand, looking up at the menu for a second time.

“I’ll have a iced raspberry tea. Oh! Large please,” he says, attempting to peer over at what Yoongi, as his name tag says, is entering onto the touch screen. The barista pays him no mind.

“And for you?” Jeongguk barely registers the male is talking to him, staring at him for about two minutes before he asks him again.

“Oh! Uh, just a latte,” his cheeks warm as he ducks his head, missing the small smirk on the barista’s lips as he types in their orders.

“He was totally checking you out,” Taehyung grins as they slide over to grab counter seats, close to where he could see Yoongi carefully preparing their drinks. The barista pays them no mind as he does his job. Jeongguk stares at him briefly, then turns his attention back to Taehyung as he scratches at his cheek.

"He probably was wondering where I got my shirt from,"

"Ha ha, no he looked like he was enjoying the sight. Maybe zombie-art-student is his ideal type or something," Taehyung teases, grinning playfully. Jeongguk grabs a straw and throws it at him, causing the older to only laugh more, harder.

“Ask for his number! If you don’t I sure will. He’s so cute, I literally almost uwu’d out loud,”

“What the fuck, never say ‘uwu’ again,” he groans, grimacing at his friend’s word choice. Taehyung feigns offence, but shoves at his arm.

“Yah, be nice to me. I paid for your drink you meanie!”

“Right, sorry. I love you, you’re the best,” This strokes Taehyung’s ego, because he sits up straighter, puffing out his chest playfully. Jeongguk groans and rests his chin on his hand, elbow on the counter. Yoongi appears moments later, sliding their drinks in front of them, along with a brownie for Jeongguk. Taehyung looks over at this, sipping from his cup with a smug look on his face.

“W-wait I didn’t order—”

“Keep it, my treat,” Yoongi insists, smiling at him. Jeongguk looks at him stupidly, preening inside the little pastry bag and seeing that the brownie was warm, gooey, and fresh.

“Oh well, thanks,” he says, a little shy. Yoongi smiles, nodding and walking back over to tend to some other guests. Jeongguk watches, ignoring Taehyung snickers.

“Let me have a piece,” the older insists when Jeongguk’s brain starts functioning properly again, only to have the younger smack his hand away, frowning.

“Nooo, this is my brownie!” He had a cute guy literally give him a free brownie and was not about to share. Taehyung huffs, through his eyes dart down to Jeongguk’s cup. He grins.

“Is that a heart?” he questions. Jeongguk is quick to look down at it and sure enough, it’s a heart. He blushes, looking up and over at Yoongi boredly taking a group order from five girls, looking absolutely miserable. Jeongguk is afraid to ruin Yoongi’s craftsmanship but he needs his caffeine intake so he reluctantly takes a sip. Enjoying the warmth that flows down his throat. He’ll save the brownie for later.

He’s reluctant to leave, really, but Taehyung’s dragging him to the pet store. Insisting they go look for a puppy now rather than later. Jeongguk’s busy trying to shyly ask for a to go order and get the barista’s number.

“Need something?” he asks, though makes no indication that he’s excited Jeongguk is here other than giving him his undivided attention. Jeongguk writes it off as him being attentive to a customer and therefore doing his job.

Yoongi looks at him, blinking slowly as Jeongguk realizes that he’d just stupidly blurted out the wrong question, and figure Yoongi would laugh at his stupidity. He can smell the rejection.

“And a refill right? You look like you’re in a hurry,” Yoongi gently reaches out and grabs the mug, placing it on the counter and turns. Jeongguk just stares a his back as the smaller barista moves to grab a larger to go cup just for him, remaking his drink from memory with care. It’s almost endearing, but then Jeongguk writes this off again as a small fact that Yoongi probably makes a lot of lattes. His is no different. A pale hand grabs a black marker, and the barista scribbles something on the portable, paper cup. Capping it again and setting the pen down, walking over to Jeongguk and handing him the cup with a small smile.

“There. I expect a text later, yeah? And you to come visit again. I guess you can bring Seokjin’s brother with you,” he glances over at Taehyung, who waves, but then looks back at a flabbergasted, pink cheeked Jeongguk who nods, staring at the warm cup in awe.

“I’ll text you,” he says, feeling Taehyung tugging again. He gets pulled outside as Yoongi smiles and offers a small wave, and as he presses his hands into his cup, pulling the cup in to warm his chest, he smiles. Smiles softly as he reads the message on the cup;

I like you (a latte) and you seem pretty cute or whatever. Here’s my number: +xx xx-xxxx-xxxxx. -Yoongi

↬ x.

[ masterlist ] | [ next chapter ]

#bts fics #bts fic #yoonkook drabbles #yoonkook #coffee shop au #platonic taekook #barista yoongi #bts college au

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luminoustico · 5 years

Note

For End of the Year Writing Meme: All the questions sound super interesting so just use this as an opportunity to answer whatever questions interest you most

So funny story I put this in my drafts to complete in the quiet time of New Year’s Day, but then I forgot about it completely. BRACE YOURSELF.

A. If you could rec a piece of music to accompany one of your fics, what would you pick? Why?

Lies by Marina and the Diamonds, to accompany the latter half of Valse Melancolique. It’s a really good song to show Irene’s POV at that point, especially her reluctance to accept that the webs she’s spun are basically collapsing around her.

“I just want it to be perfect / To believe it’s all been worth the fight,” is the most relevant set of lyrics, IMO.

B. Who’s your favourite side-character from something you wrote?

I really enjoyed writing side characters like Rose and Finn, though Rose just edges it because I’ve been enjoying writing her in Don’t Complicate It. Finn runs a very close second.

C. Get any good comments on your stuff this year?

Sure! All comments are good comments, let’s be real. Unless they’re an obvious troll comment or those “update now!!!” kind of comments. Those aren’t so good.

D. Any drawings or pictures that had a big influence on your writing?

The artwork of the late 18th century and Roberto Ferri definitely influenced the tone of Valse Melancolique. Many scenes from certain stories were driven by a single image I had in my head as well.

E. Who’s your favourite main character you’ve written?

Though I do enjoy delving into Ben/Kylo’s psyche, I enjoy writing Rey more – she’s more enclosed, and I love chipping away at characters to get to their truths.

G. Where do you think you grew the most this year?

Towards the end of the year, I began to realise that writing can actually be fun like it used to be. I’ve been so aware of the way the world is currently that I’ve been convincing myself that my writing must have a message, or it’s not ‘worthy’. I need to understand that I started writing not to pass on any morals or messages, but as a release and a way to find enjoyment in the constant buzz.

H. How do you write? Paper, pen, computer? Music, no music?

All of those. I write on my phone, on my computer, on pen and paper. Music and no music, it depends. Most often I’m listening to a playlist/album which then stops and I cease writing an hour or so later realising I’ve been writing in silence.

I. What’s your favourite work you did this year? Why?

I’m always tempted to answer this kind of question with my most recent story. But I’m going to be really honest and say that star among the stars is a personal favourite. And it’s not just because of the pegging.

J. What are the best jokes you told this year? Any jokes you thought were funny that people didn’t catch? Vice-versa?

I’m completely blanking on this one.

K. Who have you killed this year? Why did they have to die?

Qui-Gon Jinn (to match with canon), Molly and Sherlock (hey it was a story based on Dangerous Liaisons, and I was reading classical Russian literature at the time of plotting) and Kylo Ren a bunch of times (metaphorically).

L. Which character did you most write about this year, and why do you like ‘em?

I wrote more about Rey. As mentioned before, it’s because I like chipping away at a character’s surface but also it’s because I really relate to her, especially in regards to her feelings of loneliness and her tendency to put on ‘a brave face’. Plus I really admire her compassion and her strength. I envy it.

M. Meta! Have any meta about a story you’re dying to throw out there?

Not particularly -- just headcanons and reasons behind why I write what I write. (I’ve never been very good with meta anyway.) I really like it when other people meta my fic, or pick up on something I didn’t! That is an AMAZING feeling.

O. Do you believe in outlines? Show us one!

I do indeed! I love my outlines. For some projects, I’ve got whole folders with docs labelled Initial Ideas, Plot Summary, Chapter Outline, etc. etc. I’ve got my notes app on my phone stuffed up to the gills with mini-outlines. I frequently use my story structure template, which is technically more for screenplays, but the breaking down into acts thing helps my brain figure things out.

P. What are your pet peeves in other people’s work?

When an author relies too much on UST and ruins the pacing. Like, an author drags out the first getting together because they believe that the anticipation is the only thing generating comments. If it’s right to have them bang, have them bang! The awkward morning after is a delicious opportunity for UST -- just a different kind. 9 times out of 10, your readers are there not for the smut because they’re invested in the story and like your writing.

Q. Quote three bits of writing you read this year. Can be your writing, or not.

Let’s mix it up.

“ “Why did you do that?” he demanded as they ducked into a side alley. “What part of ‘keep a low profile’ is difficult for you to understand?”

“I’m a good haggler,” Rey said through a full mouth. She didn’t have any idea what she was eating, and she didn’t care. It took so much effort to chew each bite instead of gulping it down whole. “He was trying to cheat us.”

“You didn’t haggle. You pushed.”

“I did not. Why would I knock him over in the middle of his stand?”

Kylo just stared. “You need a teacher,” he muttered. He watched her eat for a moment, his expression somewhere between thoughtful and disgusted, before taking a bite from one of his own skewers. Disgust won out. ” -- Symmetry and Black Tar by audreyii_fic. (Grumpy smuggler Kylo Ren, spunky scavenger Rey, canon divergence. Excellent.)

“ "Ben," Rey breathes once Kylo's mere inches away. It's the name Luke introduced him with, the only name she knows him by, and he's never bothered to correct her. Why hasn't he corrected her? The question flees from his mind as she closes her eyes and he leans down into the space between them, kissing her full on the lips. It's not gentle, he doesn't know how to be, but she opens for him the way the flowers she loves so much bloom in the sunlight. ” -- the surface of last scattering by diasterisms. (It’s the apocalypse, it’s exactly the right time to meet the love of your life, right? Read for utter devastation.)

“ Rey could spend hours in the Falcon’s inner workings. She’d spent so much time in the belly of hollowed-out Star Destroyers, which were horrific remnants of old worlds, cold and grey. The Falcon is alive, speaking a strange language she’s just about half-deciphered. Sometimes, on days where she misses the connection most and dreams of a boy reaching across the stars to find her, it feels like the Falcon doesn’t want to speak to her. It shuts down. Sparks spit at her, and mechanisms develop odd faults.Today, a jet of steam blows directly in her face, not harmful, but almost like a snarl of 'go away'.

Rey climbs out of the hatch, fetching tools. She works with that fault first.

“I’m not thinking about him,” she promises to no-one but the ship she’s looking after. ” -- If I was born as a blackthorn tree, by me!

R. If you had to rewrite one of your stories from scratch, which one would it be? What would you do to it?

Going to cheat here and head back to 2017. I’d rewrite Two Stars Aligned. What I’d probably do is make it a post-TLJ fic, where Rey and Ben decide to run away after getting involved in a secret relationship, but get shot down by the First Order -- after landing in Giaca, they become embroiled in Game of Thrones style politics and the ruling families, while the Resistance and the First Order conduct searches for them. I’d cut out the weird Force shit and make the redemption arc thing more organic by giving the whole story room to bloody breathe. Two Stars Aligned is actually the reason why I now try to stick to oneshots for exchanges and any anthologies I get involved in.

S. What’s the sexiest thing you wrote this year?

Sexiest thing written in 2018... It’ll have to be the pegging in star among the stars.

T. Themes, motherfucker, do you have them? What are they?

Feminism. Females being allowed to be as fucked-up and broody as the men they love, and perhaps, even broodier. Make women afraid of commitment, 2k19.

U. Any stories that took an abrupt U-turn from where you thought they were going?

If I were a blackthorn tree took a pleasing turn away from the initial outline. The initial idea was lots of secret trysts and stuff like that, but I much prefer the quiet romance with a note of hope at the end that it turned out to be.

V. Which story was the most viscerally pleasing to write? Tell us your narrative kinks.

Huh. Hm. Don’t Complicate It is turning out to be kind of fun to write; when I’m not allowing myself to be crippled by the brain goblins that is (they’re strong lately). It’s a combo of writing a trope/kink I’ve been wanting to write for ages -- A/B/O -- and remembering that it’s okay to have fun with it.

W. Who are your favourite writers?

@kylo-wouldnt-like-those-chips - @conchepcion (every time I think I’m out, she pulls me back in *shakes fist*) - @introspectivenavelgazer - @audreyii-fic - @kylorenvevo - ambiguously - @fettuccine-alfreylo and SO MANY MORE (this post is long enough already!!)

X. What’s your least favourite work of this year?

My least favourite has to be In Cars. It was an ambitious idea, which I didn’t really fulfil, I feel. Curse of being a perfectionist. I want something to be amazing. World-changing! Tear-jerking! I want Vestal virgins to weep golden tears over my words, already delicately transcribed onto ancient parchment by monks. Obviously, that’s an impossible standard, but I can’t help being cross when I don’t reach it.

Y. Why did you write? For fun, for a friend, for acclaim?

During 2018? Mostly for acclaim. It made 2018 a very difficult year for writing, and just a difficult year in general. I’m trying to make sure I have fun during 2019 with this stuff. Striving for perfection is a punishing task that no-one can ever accomplish because perfection doesn’t exist. Contentment does, though. As does happiness. And those should be more important.

Z. If you could choose one work and immediately finish it, what would it be? How would you end it?

I’d finish Sanctum, my priest Kylo fic. I’m split between continuing or rewriting anyway (the rewrite would include relocating the action to the medieval era, around the time Luther wrote that damned essay and pinned it to the church door). But I do know the exact image I want to finish on, which will remain whether I end up rewriting or not. It involves a name, a scrap of material and a rather fetching colour scheme.

Ooh. Cryptic.

#anonymous #answered #end of the year #did i just answer all these q's?#yes #i did #my ego is MASSIVE and i'm so sorry for that #long post for ts

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kitty35 · 6 years

Text

My Character

Bang Chan x Reader

Type - Almost fluff? Not sad, but not romantic. It’s kinda’ just life??

Summary - I sat watching the rain with my sketch book open, ready to be filled with designs and patterns that created something beautiful. Little did I know a guy who walked in liked the vide I gave off and wanted to turn me into a character for his newest story.

Follow up - Take It Slow

~~~

I had my sketchbook out in front of me while working on a new idea for my next project. After deciding I wanted to get away form the rush of life-where everything went fast and no one stopped-I had decided to visit my favorite little coffee shop. It was quiet and small with warm lighting and kind people. I chose to sit in the far corner at a booth that was pushed up against the widow. It had been raining since morning and didn’t look to be letting up any time soon. The rain brought colder weather, and I was glad I grabbed my over sized bomber jacket. It had a fabric hood that kept my hair dry when I first came in. A simple graphic t-shirt was underneath it and a pair of vintage, high-waisted, skinny jeans adorned my legs. My hair laid against my shoulders as I pushed it out of my eyes.

My focus was ever shifting from the people out side to my drawing to the people inside. One to the next to the last before starting the cycle over again only to repeat and repeat, not even realizing myself what I was doing.

“Here you go, one hot chocolate with marshmallows!” A girl who went to my college said, handing me a cute eggshell colored cup with my drink. “I made sure to put extra marshmallows in and toasted them for you.” She winked at me with a smile as I chuckled and smiled back.

“Thank you!” My voice was soft as I took the plate that the cup was on form her hands.

“If you want anything else, just gave me a wave.” She then left me to my drawing and drink. Turning back to my sketchbook, I began to half heartedly draw as I let my thoughts flow through my brain to my hand which I then transferred to the blank paper.

I’m not sure how long I had been there, my drink half full and now cold, my sketchbook two pages less empty then before I entered the restaurant. The thing that brought me out of my trance was a guy tapping my shoulder. Turning to look at him, he began to speak after knowing he had my attention.

“Can I sit there?” He asked, pointing to the seat across from me. His voice held an Australian accent that melted my heart. I nodded and smiled, thinking that he seemed like a nice boy. He took a seat and pulled out a notebook.

“Can I ask you something?” Our eyes meet.

“Sure.” I smiled, leaning in towards him as my arms crossed on the table.

“Can I make you into a character in my book?”

“Pardon?” My head tilted to the side as he chuckled.

“I saw you drawing and found you very aesthetically pleasing so I wanted to model you for one of my characters.”

“That’s fine with me.”

“Okay, can I ask you a few questions?”

“Of course.” He smiled at my already smiling face and began to pull out other papers from his bag. Deciding I could draw another time, I put my sketchbook away.

“Did you order anything to drink or eat?” I asked him as he set up. Briefly glancing up, he looked slightly taken aback by my question.

“No, I was going to but I didn’t know how long you’d stay here and I didn’t want to miss my chance to talk to you.” Nodding, I turned and called out to the girl who worked here. In a few seconds, she was at the table.

“Ooo~ Got a cute date I see?” She asked in a playful tone as I giggled. “What can I get you?”

“Oh, I’ll just have a black coffee please.” The boy ordered and she nodded before turning to me.

“I’m not getting anything, but I am paying for him.” I smiled and she nodded again and walked away.

“So…Can I know the name of the cute girl who is paying for my drink?” He asked, still looking for a few more papers.

“Depends, can I know the name of the cute boy who is interviewing me?”

“I’m Chan, or Chris. Which ever one you like.” His smile light up the room, making me reflect his expression.

“I’m (Y/n).”

“It’s nice to meet you (Y/n).” He said, looking up at me before his eyes went back down. “Ah~ Here it is!” The quiet happiness in his voice when he found the paper was cute and made me want to chuckle at his child like nature. “These are some pretty personal questions. Are you sure you’re okay with answering them to a stranger?” Scanning the paper, his eyes shifted up to look at me and gage my response fully.

“Of course I’m fine with it. If I wasn’t then I wouldn’t have said yes in the first place.”

“Okay, let’s get started. What are you scared of?”

“Manikins.” Was the first word to fall off my tongue.

“What?” He laughed out.

“No, no, no, hear me out. Those things are creepy! They are made to look human and they do! It’s a thing in the human brain, I forget what it’s called, but basically it signals if something is alive or not. This is why we find more mechanical robots cute and funny while almost realistic ones are weird. This kinda’ crosses over to manikins for me. They’re just weird.” Pausing, I realized what I just said. “You probably didn’t care about any of that.” I chuckled, sheepishly rubbing the back of my neck and looking down.

“No! That was perfect!” Noticing he was writing some of this stuff down, I stopped being so embarrassed about my explanation.

“Okay…” He said slowly as he finished scribbling down words only to look back up at me.

“What would you make a scene about in public?”

“I’m not sure…Probably if someone was abusing another thing or person.” For everything I said he wrote it down, shortening it so he could finish looking down and ask the next question.

“What would you give your life for?”

“Maybe my family…Yeah, family.”

“Here’s your coffee.” My friend said, placing the drink down as Chan smiled at her. She then left.

“Okay, and what are some major flaws you have?”

“I’d say I can be to nice and in my own world. I’m also oblivious to flirting. I work to hard or not at all. Things of that nature.”

“What are you reluctant to tell people?”

“What I’m actually feeling.”

“Are you in a relationship?”

“Currently, no.”

“Do you like guys or girls?”

“I like guys.” I laughed.

“You never know now, I had to ask.” He smiled back.

“Well, what about you? Do you like guys or girls?”

“I like girls.” He chuckled. “Okay, back to the questions. What is something you do that other people don’t?” I actually had to think for a second. Leaning back, I looked out at the window to see the people passing.

“I watch people. Let me explain this one too. I had a hard time growing up after I moved. It felt as if I should be able to be a kid, yet I was stuck in this depressing place. I lived like that for a few years.” Hearing his pencil scratching against the paper, I knew he was writing what I was saying. “I then began to go out side and just watch. I watched as people walked, as they ran or rushed to get to whatever or where ever they wanted to be. It wasn’t long after that where I really decided to pick up drawing. I drew everything I saw and for once, while in my own world, I felt happy. I’m not sure why I still do it. Maybe it’s because I know what it’s like to step back and see how rushed life is, how everyone wants the next thing before they even have the first. They want the relationship with out knowing the person. They want the raise with out even having the job. It’s just…I don’t even know what I’m saying at this point.” I laughed at my self, shaking my head at my stupid thoughts.

“No, keep going.” Chan said. Looking up at him, I saw his eyes sparkling with wonder and aw as he looked at me. So I did. We both talked about life and how we thought things should be different till the place closed.

“Hey, you two need to leave in a few minutes.” A random person told us. We looked around and realized no one was there anymore.

“Of course, we’ll leave as soon as we get everything packed.” I smiled as Chan packed up everything. The rain had stopped just a few minutes ago and the sky was dark. The air smelled of the water that had just fallen from the sky and it relaxed both of us.

“Do you mind if I ask for your number? I want to know you better.” Chan asked as we began to walk to my apartment.

“Yeah, you seem nice enough.” A smile spread across both of our faces as I put my number in his phone.

“It’s nice being able to talk to some one who thinks the same way as I do.” I quietly said once further down the path home.

“Yeah, normally people tell me to keep it in my writings or just to not talk about it.”

“Yeah.” I stopped in front of my building. “This is my stop.” I smiled and he raised an eyebrow.

“Same here.”

“Really? What floor?”

“3.”

“Oh, yeah, I live on 12.” I said as we walked in and went to the elevators.

“You must have an amazing view up there.”

“Yeah, it’s really calming to watch the cars go by at night.”

“I might need to join you some time.” He joked around as the elevator opened to his floor.

“You really should.” I smiled at him. He turned to me, holding the elevator while saying one last thing.

“You’ll make a great character.” We laughed.

“Thanks. I’ll see you around.” Smiling, he nodded then let the door close. Once the small room started to move up, I placed a hand over my heart. I knew he would turn out to be more than just an author who liked my style.

92 notes · View notes

taesbetch · 7 years

Text

To Own A Hybrid P.3

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Angst, Fluff (eventual smut) Hybrid!AU Cat!AU

Summary: The hybrid world was one y/n never really involved herself in; however, after certain events, she is tossed into a world of uncertainty in the company of a particularly rude hybrid.

Word Count: 5k +

WARNING: Mentions of abuse, emotional torment, and prostitution

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5

“I like this one”

You sighed as you shoved more red liquorice in your mouth. It had been three hours of you and Jungkook surfing the store sites to try and find clothing style.

“stop sighing! You said we had to do this” he said defensively as he crossed his arms with a pout.

“yer but I didn’t expect you to be so picky” you shot back as you passed him the bag of heavenly goods.

Jungkook hissed at you as he rolled his eyes and started angrily eating.

“how about we just go to the mall? That way we can see what size you are and get the clothes in person! It’ll also be way quicker” you suggested as you closed your laptop.

A small whine emitted from his throat as his ears flattened against his head.

“I hate the mall” he mumbled before silently agreeing to go.

—-

You sat in your car staring at the large crowd joyfully entering the mall.

“Let’ s just go back, I can wait” Jungkook stated quickly as he stared at them in disgusted.

You were really tempted to just agree and go back home. The bright colours and possibility of running into people you know was turning you off but you knew it would be better this way.

“I don’t even have a collar!” Jungkook chirped up excitedly “guess we have to go back, or I have to stay in here…aw what a shame” he said sarcastically.

You smiled devilishly before turning towards him.

“good thing there’s a collar stand here! We’ll get it first!” you said matching his previous tone.

His small smirk dropped as you jumped out of the car, staring at him through the window expectantly.

As the two of you shuffled through the crowds of people you continuously looked behind you to check that Jungkook hadn’t gotten lost or into a fight with anyone.

Your eyes scanned the big signs on top of the shops, finally landing on your much-needed destination.

“there!” You exclaimed as you pointed to the collar shop “I’m not really a fan of the whole collar thing so let’s just try to find one that’s subtle and comfortable”.

There was a range of collars in the shop. A shocking range to be honest.

“hi! Do you need any assistance!”

you turned around in shock as the perky female employee smiled widely at you.

“er…hi” you said backing up a little before tapping an intrigued and confused Jungkook on the shoulder.

“were just here to find a collar for him” you said pointing towards him as he turned to face the both of you.

“sure! What were you thinking! We have some fashionable leather ones is you like!” she said pulling a black leather collar from underneath a draw.

The collar had long black spikes sticking out of it and a tightening device on the back…if anything…it was a little…kinky.

You and Jungkook exchanged looks before the both of you shook your heads.

“that’s okay! What about a stylish silky one” she said pulling a long pink silk ribbon.

“pink isn’t really my colour” Jungkook said coldly as the lady swayed the material in front of his face.

“oh come on! Don’t you think it’ll be nice!” she squeaked before trying to tie the ribbon around his neck.

It was almost as if everything was happening in slow motion, you remembered what happened last time someone had tried to touch Jungkook without his approval…it didn’t go so well.

Before you knew it you had grabbed the ladies hands harshly causing both her and Jungkook to look at you in shock.

“err…he doesn’t really like to be touched” you said awkwardly as you retracted your hands from hers.

You felt Jungkook’s eyes watch you intensely as your eyes searched the shop. In one of their display windows you saw a black earring, something you had never seen in a collar shop before.

“what’s that?” you asked softly causing the excitement to refill the sales lady. Her dark brown hair swept of her shoulder as she jumped happily.

“it’s the newest design for collars. The black and simple earrings act as a collar and sends the hybrids information to any device that swipes past it. It’s great isn’t it! No suffocating material around the neck, no itchiness! It’s even waterproof!” she exclaimed.

You turned to Jungkook who seemed just as interested as you were.

“what do you think?” you asked him as he looked back at you.

“I’m down” he shrugged non-chalantly before scratching his head.

The employee yipped happily before motioning for the tow of you to follow her into a back room.

As she told Jungkook to take a seat and ran him through the protocols you looked at all the cool designs of tattoos and piercings on the wall.

“you guys do tattoos here?” you asked in amazement as you flipped through drawing books.

“yep, we do all kinds of things here, mainly for hybrids as they can’t get the same ink tats as human do” she said as she prepared jungkooks ear for the piercing.

“interesting” you whispered as a certain picture caught your eye.

The tattoo on the man’s arm was a singular circle with a line going straight through it, the ends sticking out slightly.

You don’t know where you’ve seen the tattoo but your brain started fogging up as it dug through folders of your memory.

‘shhh, it’s going to be alright. Your mothers going to take care of you now okay?’

“all done!”

You shook your head as the ladies chirpy voice broke your concentration.

“alright! Just put your hybrid number in here, pay here and your good to go!” she stated as she brought you back to the front desk.

You smiled at her warmly before filling out the details needed for his piercing to be activated and using pay pass to finish it off.

You waved goodbye as you and Jungkook made a hasty escape from the way to happy employee.

“I didn’t think I would last” Jungkook said with a sigh of relief.

Due to lunch being over the crowd had dwindled, but that still didn’t stop the uncomfortable pushing of people.

“to the clothes we go” you stated as Jungkook played with his new earrings. You had to admit it did add to his whole ‘I hate everything’ vibe but in a good attractive way.

“Revival!” he exclaimed excitedly, spotting the shop he had liked so much.

You rolled your eyes before following the excited kitten through the doors of what would be your hell.

—

“Jungkook I’m dying” you whined as you added another pair of pants to the over flowing basket on the floor.

“you’ve actually tried on everything in the shop” you added as he continued to move around in the changing room.

“help” he said opening the curtain to reveal another white shirt…

“oh wow, doesn’t look like any of the other 40 white shirts were buying” you said sarcastically as you shook your head in disbelief.

“you’re useless, I’m going to get a different colour” he stated before making a b-line for the racks.

You sighed tiredly as you decided to look through different hats he could get.

“Don’t touch me!”

You recognised that pissed off voice anywhere. You instantly dropped the hats before rushing to where Jungkook had gone, it had only been like a minute! What could possibly happen in a minute!

“filthy dog!” Jungkook spat at the equally angered dog in front of him. The two of them held onto the only black shirt that you could see on the rack, both determined to get it.

“pesty cat!” the dog growled back. The dog’s turquoise hair and pale skin were quite the contrast compared to Jungkook.

The dog was noticeably shorter than Jungkook but gave the same ‘I hate everything’ vibe with his ice-cold gaze and leather pants.

“oh god! Jungkook please stop!” you said as you hovered behind him not exactly sure how to intervene.

“I had it first!” he hissed, his eyes still connected with the other hybrids.

“Yoongi!”

You were too busy hissing at Jungkook to let go to notice the other hybrids owner join in.

“Yoongi! We’ve talked about th- y/n?”

Your head shot in his direction as you stopped your arguing with Jungkook to see who had called your name.

“namjoon?” you asked in shock as you took in the appearance of your co-worker, his hands trying to tear the hybrid away from the black shirt.

“your y/n?” yoongi asked as he dropped the shirt to take a better look at you. As yoongi’s eyes scanned over you Jungkook hissed loudly before stepping in front of you, shielding you with his body.

“jungkook, it’s okay. This is namjoon!” you said stepping away from his shield.

Namjoon smiled widely at Jungkook who just hissed as he proceeded to hide behind you.

“hey, I’m really sorry about my whole robot incident” he said nervously before scratching the back of his head in embarrassment.

“just almost killed us, but whatever” Jungkook sassed as you rolled your eyes.

“its fine, were alive” you stated causing namjoon to chuckle.

“so, this is the hybrid you were talking about? What was your name? Jungkook?” he asked sweetly as he tried to connect gazes with Jungkook who just continued to look away.

“mhm, and this is yoongi?” you asked as you smiled at the dog hybrid who gave you a smirk and a head nod in response.

“yep and…taehyung!?” namjoon called out as he turned beside him to find a missing hybrid.

You heard a small yelp of fear before arms were wrapped around you and you were being used as a human shield.

Little did either you or namjoon know, as you were conversating taehyung had approached Jungkook like a predator would his prey, only to get violently shoved away.

“miss y/n, your hybrids mean” he whispered softly in your ear before joyfully sniffing your face.

Jungkook looked lost and confused. He watched in panic as the dog hybrid continued to remember your scent.

“okay taehyung that enough” namjoon said pulling him away by the collar leading taehyung to whine in disapproval.

“are you on night shift?” he asked you as yoongi held the hyper boy tightly.

“yer! Will I see you there?” you asked as you fixed your hair that had been messed up. He nodded happily and picked up his shopping bags he had to drop earlier.

“great, see ya!” he said before vanishing off with the two hybrids.

As you sighed as turned to Jungkook you watched happily as he hugged his new black shirt.

“Alright, let’s go pay for these. Go put one on so you don’t have to wear these anymore” you said as you pointed to the shirt and sweatpants he was currently wearing.

He nodded his head before quickly making his way to the changing rooms as you made your way to the till.

—-

“fuck, fuck, fuck” you chanted as you waddled your way to the car, Jungkook lifted the boot and chucked his bags in with ease whereas you struggled to hold them.

Jungkook wore one of his new outfits, the white shirt, blue jeans and tim’s simple but stylish.

“that…was exhausting” he whispered more to himself but you hummed in agreement.

“Oh! Before I forget!” you said searching through the many bags residing in your boot.

“here, I got you a phone so we could communicate whenever I’m not there” you smiled as you passed him the box.

“my..own phone?” he asked as he stared at it in amazement.

“yep! Now come on, I don’t know about you but I’m starving” you groaned grabbing your stomach.

As you started the car Jungkook was strangely quiet.

“you’re leaving tonight…what time are you coming back?” he asked softly. You took a moment to glance at him. His eyes glued to the phone you had just given him.

“I’ll leave around 8 and be back at around midnight, it’s a short shift and don’t worry ill cook your dinner before I leave” you smiled cheekily at him.

He hummed as an answer but you could tell something else was worrying him. Not wanting to press him any further you rode in a comfortable silence.

“were here” you said drawing jungkook’s attention to the little café you had just parked in front of.

—

“question” you said as you handed the menus back to the waitress after the both of you had finished ordering your food.

“are you by chance allergic to anything? Or like do certain scents irritate your senses?” you asked seriously as you played with your hands.

“other than that wretched perfume you wear, nothing really” he sassed.

You gasped before scoffing and letting out a small chuckle at his snide remarks

“well, id rather smell like this than wet dog” you snapped back causing him to have the same reaction as you did.

“I am a cat! That was just rude” he hissed causing you to laugh at his angered yet cute state.

“sorry kitty” you teased with a pout, angering him even more.

“now I know why your single” he said shaking his head in disbelief.

You took a breath of refreshing air as your eyes traveled to outside of the glass window. You watched with joy as an older looking hybrid got on his knee and proposed to his owner, or so you thought.

“aw, Jungkook isn’t that sweet” you swooned as you watched on with gleaming eyes, Jungkook, however, did not share your enthusiasm.

“it’s not going to work out” he said bluntly, crushing all your hopes and dreams for the two lovebirds.

“what. Why not?!” you asked clearly upset at his sudden declaration.

“just watch” he said softly, his eyes never tearing from the scene.

Your heart broke into two as an angry female marched up to the two of them and broke them from their kiss. The girl proceeded to scowled the hybrid and gave him a harsh smack on the cheek before storming away.

The human girl was a sobbing mess as she watched the love of her life follow the angered female away. that’s when it clicked. He wasn’t prosing to his owner…

“owners are usually very possessive of their hybrids and don’t allow them to pursue relationships outside of the house. It’s fine when a hybrid and their owner fall in love but it’s a completely different story if that’s not the case” Jungkook shrugged before the waitress arrived with the drinks you had ordered.

As you thanked her Jungkook sighed and returned his attention back to you, but your eyes were still glued on the broken-hearted girl who remained in her spot.

“I’m going to go see if she’s okay” you said as you grabbed your drink and tried to figure out how you were going to approach her.

As you walked towards her, you noticed she still held the ring on her finger.

“hi” you said sweetly as you sat yourself next to her “look I’m not going to ask if you’re okay, cause clearly, you’re not…here drink this” you said passing her your cola.

“I’m sorry” the girl cried as she took your drink without hesitation.

“why are you apologizing? Dude that was rough” you said as you looked off in the direction they left in.

“I’m solar, by the way …that..that was my boyfriend jin…well, I guess ex-boyfriend” she explained as you nodded your head.

“I’m y/n and don’t you mean fiancé?” you asked happily trying to cheer her up.

She looked at you in shock before shaking her head “didn’t you see what happened?” she asked in confusion.

You smiled before giving her a friendly slap on the shoulder. “don’t let some bitchy owner get in between you and your lover!” you chirped enthusiastically, solar looked at you in utter shock as you ruffled her hair caringly.

“you love him, right?” you asked.

“of course…we’ve been together for 5 years actually. Always dodging and diving and avoiding his owner. I… I just want to be together…that’s all I want” she sighed as a couple more tears rolled down her face.

“I’m not really a believer in if the world wants it to happen it’ll happen. I’m more of a ‘you have to do it yourself if you want it done’ type of person. So, what I’m about to say to you really contradicts my beliefs but…don’t give up if it’s meant to work out, it will. Let’s look at your odds, she didn’t look that rich so she can’t just up and leave with him, she can make him not leave the house but surely she has a life and can’t watch him 24/7, she could always kill one of you but she doesn’t strike me as a murderer” you stated.

Solar wiped her tears as her eyes turned from sad to determined.

“your right! This relationship is five years of my life! I can’t imagine it with anybody else…” she exclaimed, her voice growing stronger than before.

“that’s the spirit, try your hardest…ya’ll know when its time to give up, but now isn’t that time girl, go get your man!” you whooped encouragingly.

She shot up from her seat with a sudden energy boost.

“I hope we met again y/n” she smiled at you as she started walking backward.

“me too, and you better have that guy on your arm when we do!” you shouted out to her. She laughed before nodding her head and running in the direction that they left.

You smiled happily as you rested your head backward at stared at the blue sky above you.

You closed your eyes as you enjoyed the warmth of the sun mixing with the cool breeze.

Oh, to be young and in love.

“filling people with false hope is a bad thing”

You opened your eyes to see Jungkook leaning over you, he’s ears standing upright and a plastic bag in his hand.

“oh, you pessimist” you said as you lifted your head forward and motioned for him to take a seat.

“I prefer the term realist” he replied as he took a seat next to you.

“you took too long so I got our food to go. So…lets go” he said plainly as he looked around.

“Jesus Christ Jungkook, not everything has to be so rushed. Take a minute to enjoy the scenery” you stated before resting your head back into its previous position.

You could literally hear jungkook’s protest but instead, he just copied you and took a long breath of relaxation.

Suddenly feeling jungkooks relaxed state beside you, you took the opportunity to peek an eye open and enjoy it while it’ll last.

You almost drooled at how beautiful he looked. His skin was glowing underneath the suns beams and his soft hair ruffled in the wind, his lips were parted slightly and were a welcoming shade of pink.

“I can feel you staring at me”

“it’s not my fault seeing you like this is as rare as seeing a shooting star”

—

“jungkook!! Dinners ready!” you shouted out as you tided your hair ready for work.

“I cooked four steaks just in case, I know how hungry you can get. Do you remember how to use your phone?” you asked as he sat himself down at the dinner table.

“where did you put the iron man 2 disk?” he asked as you grabbed your bag off the table.

“it’s under the first one in the lower drawer. Call me If you need anything! Bye be careful!” you shouted as you ran to the door. You heard a soft goodbye before you shut the door.

You were hesitant to leave Jungkook by himself but you knew he could handle himself, he’d been doing it for a long time before you met after all.

As you entered the building you wondered how long Jungkook had been alone before you stormed into his life…

“Y/n? you okay?”

You snapped out of your thoughts as you sheepishly locked eyes with jimin.

“Hey! yer sorry I’m okay I promise, just…a lot on my mind” you giggled nervously.

“mmm I can see that” he chuckled before passing you a folder “here, this will help you with that new assignment Mr. So gave you” he smiled.

“oh my god! I totally forgot about that! Jimin I don’t know what I would do without you! Thank you so freaking much” you thanked him before frantically typing away on your computer.

Jimin let out another hearty laugh before going back to his desk.

The assignment was a strange one. You were to organise a route through the cities center in order to keep the transaction private and away from the public eye. You had to take into consideration things like security cameras, closing times of shops and police activity.

You didn’t even know what was being transported and the whole ordeal was weird but Mr. So is high up the power chain so it must be important.

You continued your work but couldn’t shake the feeling of being stared at.

You turned next to you to see jimin staring at you with an extremely worrisome look but as soon as he saw you had caught him he smiled nervously and continued with what he was doing.

You decided to shake it off and continue your work.

“y/n! just the person I was looking for!” namjoon chirped as he rolled over on his chair from his desk.

“you say it like I’m not here behind you every time we have a shift together…which is literally all the time” you chuckled at his strange choice of words.

He ruffled his hair in confusion at his own sentence but shook it off when he remembered why he came over.

“I’m glad Jungkook is settling in nicely” he stated as you continued to type away.

“you think? He’s still a little hostile. Then again, I think that’s just his personality. Not sure yet” you said as you swapped eye connect between namjoon and your computer.

“he’s become more territorial, it means he’s becoming used to things being his” he answered causing you to scrunch your eyebrows in confusion.

“you didn’t notice? When tae and yoongi got a little too close for his liking he started getting protective and unsure of the situation. It means he’s starting to settle” he smiled at you.

You stared at namjoon in shock before punching the air enthusiastically. “yer boy!” you exclaimed but quietly due to your professional atmosphere.

“but be careful, I don’t think you should have come to work. Due to his sudden change of safety, he may be a little paranoid and get scared easier” namjoon stated worriedly.

Instantly your mood dropped to a sudden sense of sickening worry.

Before you could ask what, he meant by that your phone started ringing and the pop up of jungkooks name almost gave you a heart attack.

“hello? Jungkook what’s wrong?” you asked worriedly, your stomach dreading the answer.

“y-y/n, I think sh-hes here to get m-me” a panicked hybrid on the other side of the phone whispered. You could hear the silently sobbing he was trying to hide.

Your heart broke as you stood up immediately.

“where are you now I’m on my way” you said as namjoon started saving all your work. You grabbed your bag and ran as quickly as you could to the elevator.

“I-I’m in your room, i-i-n your closet” he stuttered pure fear seeping through his voice.

“okay, I’m in the car right now, whose there Jungkook? Are they knocking on the door? What’s happening?” you asked worriedly as you almost sped down the streets.

You tried to stay focused but the shaky breaths and sobs that you heard were not just terrifying but hurt your heart.

“they keep knocking, t-t-they won’t go away. it’s her, she found me!” he said sacredly.

“Jungkook I’m in the elevator, I’m going to hang up now okay, don’t worry I won’t let anyone hurt you” you reassured as the elevator moved painfully slow.

As the doors opened you were ready to fight a bitch but instead were met with a persistent Krystal banging at your door.

You sighed in relief before grabbing her hand, stopping her from traumatizing your poor hybrid anymore.

“Oh! There you are! Hey I was thinking we could all watch the new-“ she started but you stopped her kindly.

“Actually, I was going to suggest that we all go to the movies next Thursday! We can’t do tonight sorry” you said as quickly as possible.

Thankfully she noticed your rushed pace and moved out the way of the door nodding. “sounds like a plan” she said before turning to walk back to her apartment door.

You ran inside, turning on all the lights you possibly could.

“Jungkook!” you called as you ran into your room. The darkness leaving an eerie and sad feeling. You turned on the lights and followed the sounds of whimpering as you approached your closet.

“Jungkook? Sweetie its y/n” you said slowly opening the doors.

You gasped as the tortured hybrid pulled you in a massive hug. “what happened!? I thought s-s-she got to y-y-ou!” he cried as you shuffled to the bed.

“shhh it’s okay it was just Krystal, no one’s coming to get you” you soothed quietly as you managed to lay him on the bed.

You sat up as his body tucked closely too yours, his hands clutching the material of your work pants as he continued to cry.

You hesitantly brought your hand up and trialed a stroke of his hair. Before you could pull away he nuzzled his head into your hand letting you know it was okay.

With that, you soothingly stroked his hair earning soft hums as his crying softened to a few sniffles.

“would you like to sleep in here tonight? We can watch the new Spiderman movie?” you asked softly as you moved to play with his ears.

A soft meowl escaped his lips before he nodded his head and moved his head closer to your lap.

“yes please…don’t leave me” he whispered. His voice vulnerable and weak, a state you had never seen Jungkook in before.

You moved his hair out of his eyes before nodding your head. Even though he couldn’t really see it. The nod meant so much.

You vowed to protect the seemingly stubborn hybrid with anything you could. He deserved more than the world had given him and you were going to give him it.

“I won’t, I promise”

2K notes · View notes

oflovetruth · 3 years

Text

For some an epilogue, for others a prologue.

Sehun's eyes wandered to the skies. Oh, how the sheen it had resonated with him. Millions, billions, or maybe recently to soften the hard edges of reality. Climbing the high of excitement and festivities, yet the crash that seldom dissipated. His eyes well up with tears, his lungs suffocating him, and his hands - shakily - clutch on the soft material of his jumper. It was not a good day. He would think to himself, pulling the chair and folding it back into its' commercial position. He chuckled to himself. Despite the ticking clock behind him, he had found a way snap back into a jovial demeanour.

⋯

Slipping into a deep state of slumber was not hard, when jet lag was knocking on every door inside of his mind. Shuffling, flipping the pillow, and sighing till his body had given up to resist the delicious nectar of sleep. The heavenly arms of Morpheus had embraced Sehun, albeit it was not precedent of a fruitful, rewarding rest. Soon the backs of his eyes had vanished, and he was welcomed into a different realm of some sort. A dream. An albatross of mere alloy of stress and anxiety; when trauma and decline in emotions joined forces.

A field of daisies had emerged accompanied by rivers of honey and milk, the fluttering wings with a blinding light coming from within; a man dressed in passé fashion, unshaven beard, and an indelible scowl etched on his wrinkly face. Upon closer inspection, Sehun had recognised the face through young eyes. It was dad. His heart had risen its' beats beyond normal measurements. He was panicked. Afraid. The daises had wilted in sync with one another, the land began to turn destitute of vegetation, flowers, and the rivers had dried out so quickly. Leaving the ground to be remnants of what it once was.

Scarcity had formed. A wisp of air entering one's body is enough to cause them to cough and their throat to dry up; identically to sandpaper. Who knew such a feeling of recognition could bring forth to all that is around you? Decadence to the poor, living opportunities? Susceptible to anxiety, Sehun began to shuffle and jerk in his sleep. The man's body had walked to his direction. His hands jagged with pills and dripping some form of liquid. He felt paralysed. Glued to the ground he had stood on. Like a bolide had hit him, his father was standing in front of him.

Shivers ran throughout every nook and cranny inside of his body. Tribulation squeezing his stomach, and pushing the bile up. Repugnance was all that he could feel. On the very brink of regurgitating, his eyes were wet with tears and sweat. The face of his father had slowly blurred out of his vision. A humming, yet haunting sound had rang inside of his ears. Tormenting him of the harrowing realities that he had pushed so far inside of his mind. Deliberately, he had evaded all corollaries that assembled itself due to the consistent escape.

'For how long will you ignore your pain?'

Vividly, it was as if he was stuck in time. Stuck in the moment when pills of letters he could not understand formed in front of him. Aligning in formation of his name, and from a blue hue, it had turned into a purging green.

Perpetuating the pain lingering inside of the man. He had curled into himself. Trying to be as small as possible.

'You do not want to accept it.. after twenty years, you are still afraid to accept it.'

⋯

He rose with bleary vision. Eyes jolting down burning tears down his cheeks. His tremors came back in exponential manner. The image and audible memory of his father had stuck with him. He felt alive. He felt visited. It had happened too quickly for Sehun to register it, properly. Rubbing his face and wiping his tears with his sleeve. I am okay. He told himself as he forced himself out of bed. Walking his way towards his bathroom, and looking himself in the mirror. He resembled him. How could he ignore him, when DNA was stronger than a faux attempt in shoving it all to the back of his head all over again?

'I do.. I am afraid.. I am conflicted.. I do not.. understand.'

The professor had splashed water all over his face, and sighed with all the air that remained in his lungs. The hour had ticked four ante meridiem. Jet lag had a great style in ensuring that sleep is incessantly disturbed. He had a lecture to contend with in measly four hours. He had no time to gather any more hours, although he had a lot of time to wash up, eat, and exercise. Anything to keep his mind busy from the plethora of blacked out memories that he had to deal with much later on.

Coffee was slightly more bitter than usual. More coffee than water? Vice versa? He did not know, but he had drank it all. His face scrunched up from the unusual bitterness of the coffee, and he had washed it down with a glass of milk. Logically, he would have poured the milk into the small cup. He did not. He was a tad frustrated with how disoriented he was. Would he perform well for his students? He had looked at the clock, and then he had realised that his sluggish attempt of waking up had he irrevocably late. He had immediately changed into the first suite he had seen, and fled out of his flat.

⋯

Arriving at campus, and hurrying his way into the building. He was lucky enough that his first lecture’s location was close enough to his office. A sigh of relief, he had dropped his folders on his desk. Noticing a familiar face in his peripheral vision. He smiled as he looked the direction of his friend.

'Jonginnie! I am afraid that I am terribly late for my class, so please excuse me! I will bother you later with your Christmas gifts'

Sehun had quickly said that some of his words were not understandable. Jongin furrowed his brows in confusion, and stood up to look at Sehun's desk that looked uncharacteristically untidy and messy. Jongin slowly organised his desk, and looked back to see the man rushing his way towards the stairs, and rushing down them as well. Jongin's caring nature for Sehun had him wanting to dig into this strange behaviour that Sehun had displayed.

Sitting back in his chair, and looking at the screen of his monitor. Jongin's free hand had grabbed his - now cold - cup of coffee, and scrolled down the list of students for winter session classes. The week's date had cemented into his brain. 28th of December. Jongin's memory can be a bit foggy at times, although he was certain that something had related to this day. A day that had always closed Sehun off.

It clicked.

The day of when his parents had both passed, tragically.

Oh Jieun and Oh Yeongsoo.

Jongin sat up, and walked towards the staff's lounge. Looking for hot chocolate to buy for his friend, and he had placed it on his desk. Placing a small note with a smiley face that he had drawn himself.

Sehun would understand the gesture.

⋯

Work had always been something that Sehun both excelled at and enjoyed. Watching the few number of students in classes had brought forth more discussions and questions. It was the last one of the day that he had dismissed, and he could finally return back home to his dogs and one cat. Leaving the lecture hall and shoving his hands into his pocket. How could he forget to bring his gloves? The coldness of his fingers had felt as if they were icicles; cold and sore. The rush of thoughts had hit him like a brick, and the nightmare from earlier this morning repeated itself in detail.

'For how long will you ignore your pain?'

'You do not want to accept it.. after twenty years, you are still afraid to accept it.'

In Sehun's mind, he had moved on. Why does he feel the exact same way that he did in his father's funeral? Dressed in that colour blue, and sitting beside people he had not known. He felt as if he was in that moment all over again. Why does the death of his father haunt him every single year, yet he feels at ease with his mother's? Was it the very fact of intentions itself that follows him into every vapid, grim corner? He must have blacked out in ruminating that he did not notice that he had made it to his office. Surprisingly, it looked organised and neat as it had always been.

Was he losing memory? He could have sworn that he had not touched his desk all day, and quite frankly, he had not assembled his folders into alphabetical order. He wanted to know the culprit behind this awfully good deed. He reached forward to grab his folder to take home with him, and beside it was a small note with a smiley face drawn on it. Sehun's eyes softened at the note, and all of his curiosity had came to a halt. He knew who would draw a smiley face with a permanent marker. Especially, one that was with the slightly thick edge.

Shoving the small note into his pocket, and grabbing onto his folder. He had to thank his friend for his kindness through text. He desperately needed to get a drink. This day had been the mix of grief and blissfulness. A mix that he could not put into words; ineffable. Driving back home with music blaring through the speakers. He had missed London, but he had missed Seoul more. Looking at the flashing neon lights from the different stores, and the bystanders that walked into every single bar in this part of the city.

It was time for supper and rest.

⋯

Slipping into his bed, and closing his eyes. He would often think about his best friend; Jun. What he had always told him, what his hugs felt like, and what his voice of deep - red - colour would often emit into his vicinity. It was a soothing thought that allowed him to finally slip into sleep. It was not always easy to sleep after a night of unsettling dreams, but this day had proven differently. The small sticky note was placed on his bedside table, and the smiley face was directly placed in the direction of Sehun's pillow. He had not known what prompted him to do such thing, but somewhere deep inside of him had urged him to do so.

Pools of black waters surround his feet; his ankles drenched in this liquid, and his hands were so red and littered in scratches and bruises. Another dream had started, and he does not know how he had ended up in this position. His shaky limbs propel, and his eyes look around him in both bewilderment and trepidation. An itch that he cannot scratch, something was bound to happen. The wallpaper was loose and falling off the walls. Screeching wood as he inspects the house, and there was a potent, albeit revolting, smell that dominated the room.

Sehun did not want to open that room. He felt as if he had known what was behind that door, and he had not felt the courage to see what was inside. His bones felt heavy inside of his body, and his head had hit the door. Trying to keep his eyes focused on his soaked feet. It certainly was - not - a pretty sight to see once fair and unscathed skin to be so flooded with bruises, cuts, and scars that faded with time. The smell was so strong that he felt sick and dizzy.

'Focus, Sehun.'

A voice of golden-brown had entered his mind. It felt oddly both external and internal. It caused so much confusion in Sehun's head that he had fell to his knees, and touched the liquid with his hands. It had a different consistency, when it had touched his hands. Almost like jelly, yet not as dense. It was a different form of consistency that Sehun could not understand either. All of the confusion had the man perpetually trapped in this vortex of denial and acceptance.

'Sehun, follow my voice .. follow the light.'

All light that was once reflected on Sehun's eyes had disappeared, and he was blinded by the darkness he was staring into. Slowly losing himself into his own denial and fortress of a wall that separated him from the room in front of him. He was willing to submit, willing to be fully submerged under the liquid, and willing to completely forget what has happened. What was done is done, and nothing will change.

'Sehun, you know better than to run away.'

A small butterfly of cyan-like colour had landed on the tip of his nose. It almost had this glow around it that matched perfectly with the golden-brown that had spoken to him. Was this his conscience manifesting into audible and visual forms? He was far too weak to lift himself, although he felt weightless. He had grabbed onto the handle of the door, and tripped forward. Forcing the door open, and the scene in which he could never forget was in front of him.

His father's body laid on the floor, yet a spectre like - translucent - figure was standing beside it. It was his father. Seeing both was enough to shock Sehun all over again, and he was ready to flee. The door slammed shut, and the loud sound was enough to cause Sehun to fall backwards on the floor. His body was attacked with tremors from the top of his head to the tips of his toes.

'Sehun-ah.'

A different hue had appeared. One of teal, leaning on the green part. It felt more at peace, less harsh on the angered waves of blue.

Sehun said nothing.

'Would it not be fair to share what had happened?’

Sehun's head only nodded in response.

'You were far too young to understand what I was going through. I do not expect you to forgive me for ever leaving you alone, but..'

The spectre-like figure walked towards Sehun, and the young man only stared with his lips agape.

'I want you to continue your holidays and your days without a worry ever again. Look at you. An established young man with a family that loves you and friends alike,'

Sehun's head tilted downwards, although his father tipped his head upwards to look at him.

'Do not run away. I will admit that I was weak--'

'No!' Sehun yelled.

His father looked in disbelief and stepped back. It was highly unexpected to see his son ever react in such a way.

'You were not weak, Omma was not weak. None of us is weak.. I refuse to ever hear that word.. I am afraid. I do not want to see you in a light that paints you as a bad man.. I am afraid to remember the nights in which you favoured to drink yourself to death, or the nights in which you preferred to accompany yourself with women that you paid to stay..'

His father had smiled despite the harsh words.

'But I cannot ever.. let go.. I miss you both so much, and I am stupid to think that you had no flaws.. I.. I am stupid enough to block all the bad you did just to remember the good.. even when days passed and I had found nothing to eat.. I could never blame you.. I feel sad... so sad.. I miss you.. I wish I could have done something, but I was too late. I was always too late!'

The hand of his father lands on his shoulders. It shines of the same glow that the voice from before had emanated; golden-brown. His father's smile was almost chilling, yet was one that Sehun could never forget.

'You deserve to be mad at me. You deserve to hate me, but here you are. Like her. Never having a bone of hatred in your hearts. You are a great man, Sehun-ah. I am so proud of you, and you have taken great care of me that I am thankful for. Remember that. I never hated you. I was a man who did not know how to cope. A man who could never accept pain, and thus I acted in such a way..'

Sehun's tears rolled down his cheeks in fours. It was so surreal. The voice of his father, the journey to understand oneself, the journey into unravelling parts he had not understood.

'I am so sorry for being a terrible father to you, when you needed me the most.'

'You were nev--'

'I was. Sehun, accepting that I was horrible to you in the last years of my life is the way to move on. It is okay, it will be okay.. breathe. I was. I will not be mad.'

Sehun's eyes looked at the glow of golden-brown on his shoulders, then back to his father.

'I.. will work on it..'

'I know you can do it.'

⋯

With a drop in his heart into his stomach, Sehun had woken up from his sleep. Taking in sharp breaths of air, and looking around as if he was a deer caught in headlights. Unable to think or move. He stayed still as beads of sweat traversed from his forehead down his face. The alarm read 6 ante meridiem. He had fallen asleep for only six hours. It was not bad, but he could not believe what just had happened. So much so that he regained his senses, and moved his hands to looked at them.

Clean. Unscathed. Plain.

He sat up a bit too quickly that his vision lowered and all he saw was the fading of his vision into black. He must have not eaten well. He pulled his legs to his chest, and he had leant forward to look at his feet. Similarly to his hands, they were just as clean and unscathed. He had never experienced a dream so life-like that it left him contemplating what had happened for the next hours. Not daring to leave his bed, he was thinking back to the smile that was on his father's face.

'I will not be mad.'

The screams and yells he had to endure had meant nothing, now. It was as if he had the closure he had been searching for. An answer that displayed itself in verisimilitude dreams. He rubbed his cheek, and grabbed his mobile device. Looking at the message of a friend he cherished a lot; Yuko. He had a dream concerning her earlier in the week, and the same butterfly had shown itself in the dream all over again. A smile appeared on his face, and he scrolled up their conversations.

The very same words he had said to Yuko had echoed to him.

'Authentically you.'

He had learnt to only accept people as they are, but he had completely thrown that side of his father away. Looking at the message, and then staring at his wall. Maybe, it was him telling himself rather than telling his friend. But.. no. He smiled. He felt the weight on his chest disappear, and the day of 29th of December looked him in the eyes. He wore his daisy necklace, and he had pulled the pictures of him and his family.

'I forgive you.'

Sehun had said aloud to no one but himself.

'I forgive you--I forgive you... I ... I now understand.'

Sehun placed his fingers over the face of his father in the picture.

'I am sorry for being so stubborn.. I will try to be stronger this year and from now on..'

The cans of beer on his kitchen were left unattended to, and the professor did not think for a moment to follow his father's footsteps.

He had taught himself and his father to be stronger, he had taught them to accept reality - the gravity - of it, the sourness, the bitterness, the coldness... the sweetness, the happiness, and the unprecedented troubles that may come into his life.

He placed the picture down, and looked at himself in the mirror.

'Your epilogue was my prologue.. thank you for everything.'

Sehun turned to grab the sticky note, and he looked at it. Smiling wistfully at the smiley face.

'Thank you as well.'

An epoch of self discovery and perseverance, Sehun had come to terms with a trauma that he had refused to face.

#solo

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nemolian · 4 years

Text

AI ruined chess. Now it’s making the game beautiful again

Chess has a reputation for cold logic, but Vladimir Kramnik loves the game for its beauty.

“It’s a kind of creation,” he says. His passion for the artistry of minds clashing over the board, trading complex but elegant provocations and counters, helped him dethrone Garry Kasparov in 2000 and spend several years as world champion.

Yet Kramnik, who retired from competitive chess last year, also believes his beloved game has grown less creative. He partly blames computers, whose soulless calculations have produced a vast library of openings and defenses that top-flight players know by rote. “For quite a number of games on the highest level, half of the game—sometimes a full game—is played out of memory,” Kramnik says. “You don’t even play your own preparation; you play your computer’s preparation.”

Wednesday, Kramnik presented some ideas for how to restore some of the human art to chess, with help from a counterintuitive source—the world’s most powerful chess computer. He teamed up with Alphabet artificial intelligence lab DeepMind, whose researchers challenged their superhuman game-playing software AlphaZero to learn nine variants of chess chosen to jolt players into creative new patterns.

In 2017, AlphaZero showed it could teach itself to roundly beat the best computer players at either chess, Go, or the Japanese game shogi. Kramnik says its latest results reveal beguiling new vistas of chess to be explored, if people are willing to adopt some small changes to the established rules.

The project also showcased a more collaborative mode for the relationship between chess players and machines. “Chess engines were initially built to play against humans with the goal of defeating them,” says Nenad Tomašev, a DeepMind researcher who worked on the project. “Now we see a system like AlphaZero used for creative exploration in tandem with humans rather than opposed to them.”

People have played chess for around 1,500 years, and tweaks to the rules aren’t new. Neither are grumbles that computers have made the game boring.

New rules

Chess spread rapidly around 500 years ago after European players promoted a slow-moving piece into the powerful modern-day queen, giving the game more zip. In 1996, one year before IBM’s Deep Blue defeated Kasparov, chess wunderkind-turned-fugitive Bobby Fischer called a press conference in Buenos Aires and complained that chess needed a redesign to demote computer-enhanced memorization and encourage creativity. He unveiled Fischer Random Chess, which preserves the usual rules of play but randomizes the starting positions of the powerful pieces on the back rank of the board each game. Fischer Random, also known as Chess960, slowly earned a niche in the chess world and now has its own tournaments.

DeepMind and Kramnik tapped AlphaZero’s ability to learn a game from scratch to explore new variants more quickly than the decades or centuries of human play that would reveal their beauty and flaws. “You don't want to invest many months or years of your life trying to play something, only to realize that, ‘Oh, this just isn't a beautiful game,’” says Tomašev.

AlphaZero is a more flexible and powerful successor to AlphaGo, which laid down a marker in AI history when it defeated a champion at Go in 2016. It starts learning a game equipped with only the rules, a way to keep score, and a preprogrammed urge to experiment and win. “When it starts playing it’s so bad I want to hide under my table,” says Ulrich Paquet, another DeepMind researcher on the project. “But seeing it evolve from a void of nothingness is exciting and almost pure.”

In chess, AlphaZero initially doesn’t know it can take an opponent’s pieces. Over hours of high-speed play against successively more powerful incarnations of itself, it becomes more skilled and, to some eyes more natural than prior chess engines. In the process, it rediscovers ideas seen in centuries of human chess and adds flair of its own. English grandmaster Matthew Sadler described poring over AlphaZero’s games as like “discovering the secret notebooks of some great player from the past.”

Enlarge /

Former chess world champion Vladimir Kramnik, left, worked with Alphabet's DeepMind, founded by Demis Hassabis, right, to explore new forms of chess using artificial intelligence.

Deepmind

The nine alternative visions of chess that AlphaZero tested included no-castling chess, which Kramnik and others had already been thinking about and which had its first dedicated tournament in January. It eliminates a move called castling that allows a player to tuck their king behind a protective screen of other pieces—powerful fortification that can also be stifling. Five of the variants altered the movement of pawns, including torpedo chess, in which pawns can move up to two squares at a time throughout the game, instead of only on their first move.

One way of reading AlphaZero’s results is in cold numbers. Draws were less common under no-castling chess than under conventional rules. And learning different rules shifted the value AlphaZero placed on different pieces: under conventional rules, it valued a queen at 9.5 pawns; under torpedo rules, the queen was only worth 7.1 pawns.

But is it fun?

DeepMind’s researchers were ultimately more interested in the analysis of the other great chess brain on the project, Kramnik. “This is not about numbers, but whether it is qualitatively, aesthetically pleasing for humans to sit down and play,” says Tomašev. A technical paper released Wednesday includes more than 70 pages of commentary by Kramnik on AlphaZero’s explorations.

Kramnik saw flashes of beauty in how AlphaZero adapted to the new rules. No-castling chess provoked rich new patterns for keeping the king safe, he says. A more extreme change, self-capture chess, in which a player can take their own pieces, proved even more alluring. The rule effectively gives a player more opportunities to sacrifice a piece to get ahead, Kramnik says, a tactic considered a hallmark of elegant play for centuries. “All in all it just makes the game more beautiful,” he says.

Kramnik hopes AlphaZero’s adventures in alien forms of chess will convince players of all levels to try them. “It is our gift to the world of chess,” he says. Now could be an opportune moment.

Chess has been gaining popularity for years but experienced a pandemic boost as many people sought new intellectual stimulation, says Jennifer Shahade, a two-time women's US chess champion. Interest in Chess960 has grown too, suggesting an appetite for new types of play, including from some superstars. Later this week, Shahade will provide commentary for a Chess960 tournament including world No.1 Magnus Carlsen and Kasparov, the former champ.

“Mind-bending”

Like Kramnik, Shahade saw things to like in several variants AlphaZero tested, even if changes like allowing pawns to move sideways felt “mind-bending.” If any gain traction, some players will still want to lean on computers and deep research to get ahead, but resetting the cycle could be fascinating to watch. “The discoveries would feel fresh—it could be very exciting and benefit a different type of player,” says Shahade, who is also women’s program director at the US Chess Federation.

DeepMind and Kramnik’s project might also encourage computer chess to get more creative, now that machines are unbeatable. “Instead of making computer chess stronger and trashing humans, we can focus on chess as an art in the form of a game,” says Eli David, a researcher at Bar-Ilan University in Israel who has built machine-learning-powered chess engines of his own. One grad student in his lab is working on chess software that learns to mimic the style of a particular player, which could make it possible to ask a machine what a favorite grandmaster past or present would do in a particular situation.

Kramnik’s experience suggests that having humans work with, not against, machines can expand the emotional as well as technical experience of the game. AlphaZero took him to places outside even his vast understanding. “After three moves you simply don’t know what to do,” he says. “It's a nice feeling, like you're a child.”

This story originally appeared on wired.com.

via:Ars Technica, September 13, 2020 at 06:14AM

#IFTTT #Feedly #Ars Technica

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artdjgblog · 4 years

Photo

Innerview: ? / STEP Inside Design

December 2006

Poster: DJG Design

Note: Interview about winning the STEP 100 for a poster.

01) Do you personally like DeVotchKa’s music? In other words, were you personally attached to this design? Or to the band?

First of all, if I wasn’t personally attached to my work then I would quit design altogether. This is why I skipped the whole real job format and stuck to my own no-money-making, yet, wealth-of-design-freedom GUNS… (A Little History) I was attending a concert by the great M. Ward a couple years ago in Omah, NE and was blown away by his opening act. It’s rare to experience something truly pure and straight from the source in person. I felt an intense passion and power displayed by DeVotchKa that night. Something that really came from deep inside the heart/gut and I longed to be a part of that. Immediately I wanted to marry my design to this band (I know this all sounds pretty big cheese, but I really feel an attachment with things that possess an actual soul). After the show I chickened-out at the idea of approaching the band. So, I stuck to my quiet ways and waited for them to come to my town. Eventually, they came to Kansas City, MO as an opening act again. I didn’t have enough notice to make anything for the show so I waited some more. They came back half a year later, headlining just a few blocks away from my house (this was my design chance that you now see in this magazine). And ironically, DeVotchKa is getting ready to take stage just forty minutes away from my fledgling writer fingers. Originally I was scheduled to attend tonight. Sadly, a lack of funds, a sick wife, house guests, a mountain of work and a Monday night keep me locked in the basement. DeVotchKa is blasting on my speakers and I can’t think of a better alternate place to be this evening. Oh well, the last DeVotchKa show was absolutely perfect and I’d like to leave that impression for a while longer. Trust me, the show was way better than my poster that represented it. 02) What inspired you to make this design? The majority of the time a client can be linked to my posters. But, sometimes I just make them for the heck of it. Usually this is on occasion for bands/musicians that I really enjoy and wish to help spread the word about (and, I just like to make things). I found that some of my more memorable/enjoyable posters come this way. I DO work with a couple of venues/people first-hand, and carry a great relationship. However, for some shows it can be quite a shoestring to get to the bottom of making posters officially. I realize that some designers might think I’m working around the system a bit and possibly stepping on toes. But what’s the matter with just making something for the heart of it? There is no harm in that. It’s like when I was a ten and spent my hours penciling a life-sized, detailed drawing to commemorate Batman. It’s the exact same thing to me…me just really enjoying something and paying a tribute to it. The posters are also a self-promotion and more importantly help the venue and artists out. Everybody is a winner in my book. The Design Gods know I don’t make any money at the dang thing…all of those in declining favor can do ME a favor and find real world problems to moan over. Another thing is that I simply don’t have the time or resources to make the hundreds (or thousands) of posters that some promoters might request with a big show. I’ve had more praise than problem with making posters without permission…but, I bet some of the real hot-shot guys would hang me for it. Now, there’s a poster to get worked-up ugly over! Anyway, inspiration came from me liking DeVotchKa’s music along with my want to sit in the basement with a bad back…to pay them back in the only way I half-way know how to. 03) Was there anything or one that influenced you? People have an easy-hard time wrapping questions like this one around my work. Like I said previously, I just felt like making this. I sat down and interpreted what DeVotchKa meant to me at that moment. Any other moment it would have been different. For instance, I made a poster for their show tonight. It consists of hand-cut, ornate, spray painted type that is overlapping 47 crudely-drawn, prancing ponies on lime green paper. It’s not very much like this poster (the one STEP picked), other that it’s really nothing special and it captures what I felt to be a moment in DeVotchKa’s music…or at least when I was listening/creating. It’s just where I felt like going at the time of departure. This image came and I grinned…problem solved. If I have to really work at something, then it becomes work. And you can always spot the ones that didn’t work for me. On influences…I got bushes and buckets of them (that’s another interview). In general I can’t go anywhere or do anything without absorbing in everything…it can be good and bad. I can read peeled billboards and restroom scribbles with ease, but I have a hard time with restaurant menus. Graphic design and so-called art saved and ruined me. But, it’s the only thing I really like to do (other than watch movies and listen to music…and eat junk). It’s important to me to just try and soak-up lots of things…especially the little, ordinary elementary things. A crummy day job has to be worked to keep the basement lights on. Though, I keep the actual design lights on 24-7. With a limited leash on my actual time to work on design, I don’t have time to mess around. This is where outside daily absorption comes in handy. Let’s say I need a centaur (like in this poster)…well, I just grab one from the place I keep the centaurs in my head. Which, is basically my Dad’s arms spread-out to coax a big ol’ bull into a pen…right before the bull kicks Dad in the gut and then he busts a fence board over that bull’s head. Growing up on a farm taught me to pay attention…and never make my dad angry. And I keep stockpiles of all types of things at arm’s length to reach and grab and just make and do. I like to have a good time with it. I don’t really consider it work. 04) Does the conglomerative nature of DeVotchKa’s music influence the collage-like nature of the design, with all of its parts and motifs? Why did you choose this particular aesthetic? Very rarely do I make a premeditated aesthetic design choice. I’m very strict with not restricting myself. A lot of the time I’ll just have the idea in my head. I do-do sketches…but, they always ramble on and I tend to always go back to that initial idea in my head. So, then it’s all about putting clothes on it. Simply, I just go. It’s exciting to have an idea and then watch it grow. I’m sure that if America could design their children before pregnancy/birth (maybe even pick them off the shelf), we sure would. Personally, I like the purity of letting something develop. My designs are my babies. I like to hold hands with them and when they grow-up they are chosen to represent some design competition…and then I’m asked to bail them out by way of trying to answer questions. It can be pretty embarrassing. I like to just let them speak for themselves. But, people like answers. Yeah, I’ve been called a collage artist, an assembler. Mainly because the bulk of the designs are build with my hands. The computer is just a production tool for me (and a late night time saver/savior). I’m instantly encouraged to push things further if such “collage-like” labels arise. I have got to stay ahead of myself because I’m my only competition. But in the end, isn’t all design “collage-like” in some fashion? I guess the way I built this design ended up marrying to DeVotchKa’s music properly. Honestly, I never really thought about it. It just felt good and right to me. I suppose it did to you too? 05) What are you most satisfied with regarding the design? This is a funny question. It sounds like I’m dying or going away (which, is sorta true in the grand scheme). I guess I’m just happy with the silly idea of being able to find a bit of time in life to do something like this. To slow it all down to the speed of a little Exacto blade slice, pencil scratch or thumb-print. Sitting by my self is very important to me. It helps me. A lot of people get bored when they are alone. I’ve never understood that. Some of my more wholesome life moments have come by way of sitting on my rear, making things for the heck of it. But, I don’t want to get into all that artsy junkyard talk. It DOES mean a lot to me whenever the work reflects well to others. I don’t care what you/they get from it. Just the fact that it speaked a spark of something, of anything, means so much to me. It’s nice to hand out brain smiles. Something of me has got to have some personality because me in person is pretty boorish (and not good to look at). Overall, I don’t find this design to be special or original. It’s probably been done a billion times before…and better. Posters are the same as pop songs. But, this is my blood…my pop song with a twist…and a wink. 06) I noticed the messiness, the thumb-prints, the smudges. It gave it a nice kind of die-hard fan making a logo for their favorite band feeling. Was there a reason for this kind of aesthetic technique? Is this particular to or for the band and/or is this a DJG style? Is it to go along with the feel of DeVotchKa’s Music? As a child with many acres to roam in the country, I was dirty all the time. That’s carried over to now when I roam for answers at the design table. The difference is that thankfully my mom doesn’t hose me off at the back door anymore. (Fast Forward) In design school we didn’t jump to the computer right away. One day my friends were grumbling about how they couldn’t wait to start designing on computers. I told them that I was going to take the more hands-on approach…the route that didn’t need computers. I was dead serious. All of those previous years building things by hand and getting dirty, conditioned me to think this way. I even thought that typography was creating the layout of land by building map sculptures by hand (boy, was I disappointed). My friends thought I was a complete idiot and tried to set me straight. It’s really funny now because most of them aren’t even doing graphic design anymore and I sit and make most things with my hands and really love it. While learning computers I didn’t like how I couldn’t physically touch what I was working with. I couldn’t get around the screen barrier confidently. And the bulk of computer graphics and design firms felt so lifeless and seemed to lack passion and soul. I preferred something that felt like a human being was responsible for it. Computers are appreciated greatly, but they are just a tool. Smudges, marks, thumb-prints and so-ons are evidence of a human element. Hardly do I ever remove those elements. There is something pure, matter-of-fact, cave-like and very of-the-moment about them. They help narrate the story and reveal the process of life. Is this a DJG style? Well, I don’t know what that means. I’ll answer yes, I suppose. It’s nothing I strive to achieve or be known for branding sake. Each new day to me is a new style on my brain and soul. Whether its design, music or movies, I long for the attraction of immediacy (I suppose I’m using this word correctly?)…to me, its something that feels lived-in and instantly speaks in its own way. But, has a down-to-Earth familiarity to it that makes you want to really listen and come back for more. It’s something authentic and with a soul that shows it’s been spit-shined. I feel this way especially about the work of Saul Steinberg, Henryk Tomaszewski, Jean-Michel Basquiat, Wes Anderson, Michel Gondry, ElliottbSmith…and…child drawings, folk art, hand-drawn type/signs, cuts, scribbles and marks. (to name a few). …and I don’t trust a man with clean hands. Or a man that won’t let his kids dig up the yard. 07) What is the explanation behind the cows? The Wine bottle? Why is the poor wine-bottle-girl stepping on her own head? Those are centaurs, not cows. While most centaurs have the body of a horse, mine have a cow!…and with big horns on their heads (at least in this depiction). I also tend to make my animals pretty meaty. I keep them well-fed! For some reason I couldn’t get the centaurs out of my head with this poster. I draw it to the whole animal instinct in human nature. Even better is that the wine bottle woman is a centaur too. She wears a skirt made of her ex-lovers’ hides, trophies of the ones she’s conquered (except for the couple that are getting away with some dignity left). She definitely means business. To flip it around, the centaurs can also represent the idea of climbing a mountain of struggle…it could be relationships, bad luck, a loss of faith or addiction. It’s all subjective, really. I enjoy hearing what others interpret from the design(s). The lead singer for DeVotchKa drinks from a wine bottle in-between each song. This image in my head from their live sets must explain the wine reference. I get the sense that he’s been through some battlefields with the ladies. With the woman spilling the skull under her heels…well, the band has a song called “Death by Blonde” (or something like that). I always get a good giggle at that mangled face on a stick! I don’t know much more about how it came along. I just sat and spit it up. I cut the start and the finish ribbons and was happy with the run. 08) It seems as if you are referencing some mythology here. What is it? Did you create it? Or is it something the band references? I’m no scholar in mythology (or anything for that matter), so it’s definitely just a piece that I’ve pieced together in my own head and on paper…to make it part of my mythology. I just like a design that says something. Each design of mine tries to tell a story. It must be talking to you. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. (I’m sorry to answer this question so short) 09) What motivates you? What makes/how do you define good design? An aspect of motivation to me (like I’ve said before) is the ability to slow things down and sit alone…to simply make things. I’ve always been a big supporter of my own time. I get so much out of design by way of discovery. Not just for design-sake, rather it’s important for me to do it to help understand myself a bit more. If there is anybody to shovel and burn the coal in my world, well it’s definitely gotta be me. Though, all that time alone has caused me to acquire a major case of social inadequacies (among other things). But, I’ve always carried a heavy backpack ever since I can remember. I’ve also had to make many sacrifices in other areas of life. And I’ve also gained so much and am learning to manage things a bit better as I earn some years. Still, there are times when I’ve wanted to slice my design limb off, or maybe just do things for myself completely. Maybe I’m just too dramatic or need a vacation? I’m also my only competition/enemy. Even though my work ethic, excitement, goals, and bulky portfolio are over-exhaustive (to you and to me)…I still think I’m the laziest guy in my room. (I’ve touched base on the following too…) Good design to me is defined by something that moves me…something with heart and identifiable to the human spirit. True, it’s all subjective, but there is a fine line too. I’m just not a big fan of snobs and elitists. Most of the time I’d rather talk with an every-day person, struggling to work two jobs as a school lunch cook-office cleaner, than a group of fancy-pants designers with clean fingernails…it just feels more real to me. And I don’t mean to offend anybody here. Awkward as I may be…I will talk with anybody. I DO love talking about my work with interested people. But it’s good for me to get away from the work and talk about everyday things (I know I’m running circles right now, sorry). Good design has also got to have something to say, and the majority of the time it’s gotta have great humor! I like to get a giggle. It brightens my day to see something and say, “Look at that! It’s great!” And most of the time I’m referring to a crumpled shopping list, a great hand-made thrift store find, handwriting samples or a child’s drawing. I do have my art and graphic design heroes, but there is great everyday stuff that makes up the design of the real world. Whenever I go to most gallery shows, art and design ends up feeling lifeless to me for several days. A college professor once told me that there is no good and bad design, only smart and stupid. I tend to keep that in mind. I’m sure you are bored with this by now and are scratching at what I’m probably not really saying right now. Sorry to ramble on. But, I trust it helps understand a bit for you…it does for me. I thank you so much for your time, patience and interest. -djg

#innerviews

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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My loneliness is killing you (Vatya) /Part 8/ - Polly

Author’s note: Hey ho, it’s me after a semi absence. Thanks for people checking in. I know this isn’t as loved as A story about love but it is what you’re getting. (ASAL will be continued soon too though) I don’t know what to say about this chapter, it doesn’t feature much plot but much fluff and smut and this story is dear to my heart.

All Chapters on AO3 and AQ

Summary: ‘How to Get Away with Murder’ trophy wife style. (LESBIAN AU)

Before

”You know what bothers me though?“ Violet asked against Katya’s lips while her fingers were digging into her shoulder blades.

“What?“ Katya bit into Violet’s bottom lip, causing Violet to let out a low moan.

She tried to step out of the embrace but Katya just dug her finger into Violet’s ass and pushed her body onto her own. Violet dragged her hands from Katya’s back to her chest, letting them momentarily dance around her collarbones, before lightly digging her fingers into Katya’s breasts. The top of her dress was too tight for Violet to let her fingers slip into it, so tight that it was slightly cutting into her breasts, pushing them tighter together, making them spill a little over the top, making Violet dizzy with the image of her fingers digging into Katya’s boobs instead, with her nipple between her fingers. Katya was in fact wearing too much altogether but Violet also didn’t want her to take it off, the neckline so deep, the slit in the leg so high, the material perfectly tight around her waist.

“You wear shit like this,“ she dragged her hands over Katya’s chest, over her boobs down to her waist and back up and felt Katya shudder under her touch. “And I never get to see it.“ Katya’s fingertips were digging into Violet’s ass painfully hard, both of their breathings were lower. “It’s not fair.” Violet locked eyes with Katya again. “Fuck, you’re so hot,“ she breathed out with a glance to Katya’s lips.

“I’m sorry you got leggings and hoodies for a week straight instead, darling.” Katya rolled her eyes a little and couldn’t lock eyes with Violet again and Violet wondered when someone had told her that she was gorgeous, that she was beautiful rather than hot or sexy the last time. Because of course she was those things but there was something weirdly vulnerable in her words.

“I like you in leggings and hoodies just the same. Maybe more.”

“You love yourself some false sense of domesticity don’t you?” Katya said with a smirk.

“You’re an idiot.”

Katya smiled at Violet almost shyly while her hands moved up Violet’s back and Violet was sure that Katya would be the death of her.

“Well, I thought,“ Katya said before pressing a fast kiss onto Violet’s lips. “What if I run into Violet tonight,“ she smiled at Violet before grabbing one of her hands, pressing a kiss onto it. ”Wouldn’t it be fun to rile her up?“ She let out a small laugh and Violet kissed her. She could feel Katya smile into the kiss.

Katya broke the kiss this time, she glanced at Violet’s lips, no doubt a mixture of both their red lipsticks on them, before locking their eyes and moving her hand to hold onto Violet’s face gently. ”You’re so beautiful,“ she whispered.

”I know,“ Violet said, causing Katya to let out a surprised laugh. ”I wasn’t the one that was asked to model for a painting tonight though.“

Katya raised her eyebrows and smirked and fair enough, Violet brought that onto herself for bringing up Alaska’s flirting.

Katya’s thumb lightly stroked over Violet’s jaw. ”About that…“

”Please don’t.“

”She should’ve asked you to model for her. If I could draw I would want to draw only you. You should be painted to hang in museums for eternity,“ Katya said with a smirk.

Violet rolled her eyes. ”I hang in many rooms of New York’s high society, that’s enough for now.“

Katya’s hand stopped its movement against Violet’s skin. ”What?“

Violet let out a sigh. ”Raja used to paint me… a lot.“

Katya moved out of their embrace. ”But Raja… only paints nude.“

There was a pause and maybe this would’ve been a funny moment under different circumstances but Violet didn’t like the tone in Katya’s voice one bit. Apparently tonight was the night of jealousy. She hesitated for a moment but she couldn’t lie to Katya or tell her half truths, besides she wasn’t ashamed of her past. ”Yeah… she does.“

Katya raised her eyebrows in question.

Violet sighed again. “We met when I was 19 and then she painted me a couple of times and she was nice enough and then she gave me like a small room in her artist’s chambers. Like she used to have this place where she-”

“Where she supported people that she thought could be it. I know, I’ve been there.”

“Right.”

“So what? You were her muse and she painted you-” Katya paused for a moment. “nude?”

Violet raised her eyebrows at her. “Yeah. Like you said, Raja kind of always paints nude people.”

“Did you fuck her?” Katya sounded downright pissed off now and Violet had to suppress the urge to roll her eyes.

“Yeah?”

Violet watched on as Katya swallowed hard and let her hand run through her hair, only causing some lose strands to fall out of her updo. “And… that’s still happening?”

Violet blinked away her surprise. “What? No? In case you missed it, she’s kind of getting married to Manila?” She vaguely gestured towards the window.

“Do you want it though? Do you want her?” Katya’s voice sounded weak now and she didn’t meet Violet’s eyes and nervously pulled her dress up to cover more of her chest.

Violet send her a confused smile before walking closer, Katya lifted her head up slightly but fixated her gaze on Violet’s shoulder instead. Violet took Katya’s face into both of her hands and pressed her lips onto Katya’s, carefully, slowly, not opening her mouth. Katya kept her hands at her side, not kissing Violet back. Reluctantly Violet tore her lips off of Katya’s and looked at her.

She locked eyes with her and could see the doubts, fear and maybe even anger in Katya’s eyes. “That’s been over for a long time.”

Katya’s facial expression didn’t change, she let out a frustrated sigh and stepped away from Violet again, walking over to the window and looking. “Where did you even meet her? Isn’t she like 50 years older than you?”

Violet chuckled lightly. “It’s 18 years.”

Katya turned around swiftly, her eyebrows furrowed. “That was twice your age!”

“What the fuck is your deal? Your husband is what? Like 25 years older than you!”

Katya let out another frustrated sigh and turned to look out of the window again. “Maybe I should go.”

Violet panicked. She couldn’t have Katya leaving, not when they had so little time, so few chances, no idea when they would see each other again. Violet didn’t even know why she was acting so defensive. Maybe because she could say what she was thinking without risking bruises and scratches. Maybe because she felt protective over Raja who had saved her from poverty. Maybe because she had a hard time fully admitting to herself that she was in love with Katya.

She stepped next to Katya and put her hand on top of hers on the window still. “Please don’t. Don’t leave.” She let out a sigh and looked out of the window too.

They could see the ballroom they had been previously in from here. Violet could see Alaska, could see Raja laughing about something Alaska had said while her hand rested around Manila’s hip, Manila leaning onto Raja. She could tell that Katya was watching them too and wondered if it was really Raja Katya was jealous of or the fact that Raja and Manila had what Violet and Katya would never have.

Violet let out a sigh. “It’s been over for a long time. I don’t want her anymore.” ‘I only want you’, she thought. “We met in the burlesque bar I was working at when I was 19. She was 37. She painted me a lot. We had sex a few times after we met, not a lot. And it stopped quickly. She likes to separate work and pleasure and I’m pretty sure she was already into Manila back then and I was fine with that. It was over before it begun. She introduced me to one of Christian’s friends who collected her works at the time.”

Violet could tell that Katya was looking at her intently now. “You worked at a burlesque bar?”

Violet turned her head and looked at Katya amused. “Focusing on the important details I see.”

Katya let out a weird laugh before she squeezed Violet’s hand once and walked backwards to the bed, letting herself drop onto the end of it, sitting, crossing her legs, causing the slit in her dress to reveal her thigh. Violet could see the stockings, strings of a garter belt, black lacy underwear and swallowed hard before fully facing Katya again.

Katya smiled at her lightly while moving her arms behind herself to support her weight, Violet could see her chest rising and falling while some loose hair was cascading around her collarbones that seemed to be more prominent and her entire skin seemed to be even more golden than previously.

She looked Violet up and down once slowly, her eyes filled with desire. “Strip.”

“What?”

“Strip, Violet. Do the burlesque thing.”

They stared at each other for a moment and Violet’s brain needed a moment to deal with this mood swing. Katya looked a bit concerned now before her eyes looked down Violet’s body and she got back up again.

“You don’t have to do anything, baby, but I would like to see you all pretty and naked and all of this-” she let her hand run over the material of Violet’s tight overall “-on the ground.” Violet nodded slowly, Katya continued to talk. “And if you’re good I might have a little surprise for you.” A smack to Violet’s ass, a wicked smile before she slowly walked to the door, leaving a slightly perplexed Violet. “Pick a song, I’ll be right back.”

Violet didn’t really know what to make out of all this and she knew even less when Katya returned with a small bag, no doubt containing whatever she wore for sleeping, Violet wondered whether it would be a pretty lacy negligé or something satin, and her toiletries. What Violet had not been expecting however was the strap on Katya pulled out and presented to her with wiggling eyebrows.

“Why do you even have this? Who did you plan on fucking here?”

“You.”

“You didn’t even know I’d be here.”

“Well, Raja mentioned someone that would be here that sounded an awful lot like you when I met her but I couldn’t ask because I was with David. But I thought about you being here and then I thought about making you scream and then I went out and bought this and decided to bring it. Just in case,” Katya explained nonchalantly. “I come prepared.” Violet wanted to wipe that smug grin of her face.

“Huh.”

“Are you up for it?”

Violet looked at the strap on and imagined Katya wearing it, sliding it over her tanned, strong thighs and pounding into Violet. Katya looked at Violet carefully before a small, knowing smile broke out on her face. She walked to where Violet was standing and kissed her softly.

“I’ll fuck you with it so hard that you won’t even remember your own name. But you have to be good, baby,” Katya said now in a lower voice.

And Violet’s legs got weak, she felt herself getting wet just from the thought of Katya strapping it on, towering over her, beautiful and golden and strong, and fucking her into the mattress hard. A smirk broke out on her face. She made a detour towards her phone where she had picked out one of her old songs she used to perform to, Video Games by Lana del Rey. She tried not to cringe at the quality her phone speaker were offering and made her way towards Katya who was now standing in front of the bed again.

The song was all slow and sensual and sexual and Violet matched her walk to it. She stopped in front of Katya and turned around.

“You have to help me out of this first, I can’t climb out of this sensually.”

“Mhm, you’re already failing.” Katya smiled before spinning Violet around, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder and peeling Violet out of the tight garment. It shouldn’t have been sexy, it was all giggles and Violet shimmying out of the tight garment while hanging off of Katya. Maybe it wasn’t sexy but nice and warm and familiar.

“Okay, let’s start this over,” Violet laughed before skipping back to the start of the song and walking to Katya once again. They had time, they had time, they had time for the first time since meeting each other.

She slowly opened Katya’s zipper and let her dress fall to the ground before turning her around and pressing her front against Katya’s back, letting her hands slip under the bra, softly moving over Katya’s nipple, feeling Katya’s head drop against her own shoulder, mouth open just the littlest bit, eyes closed. Violet swayed against her with the beat for a moment, finger still on the soft skin of Katya’s breast before spinning her back around and pushing her onto the bed roughly.

Katya catched herself and got comfortable, pupils wide, not leaving Violet’s body and taking in every inch.

“So,” she said lowly with a grin spreading on her face and Violet wanted her so much. “Strip.”

Taking of clothes wasn’t considered as an art form by most but Violet considered it as the one art she had perfectly mastered. They way she swayed her hips, all soft, slow, rolled her stockings down teasingly, the way she let her hair cascade down her back, every move was perfect and Violet knew it. Could tell that she was perfect in the way Katya swallowed hard, the way she crossed her legs, the way Violet could see the change in her breathing. Bathed in the sharp inhale Katya took when Violet dropped her bra, saw her eyes zeroing in on the piercing going right through Violet’s left nipple. Katya hadn’t seen it yet because Violet never wore it around her husband but the way Katya was looking at her with lust made violet glad she had decided to put it in this morning before leaving. She thought that maybe she could get off just from Katya’s lustful gaze and doubted she had ever been this wet, felt it slightly on her thigh.

“That will be enough,” Katya choked out before getting up from the bed and attacking Violet’s lips, her body in fury. Katya never really was one to be soft but fingers digging in the naked skin of Violet’s ass, biting down on her lip, fingers sliding into her without a warning was new and thrilling. And Violet knew that she had to cover up the bruises and hickeys tomorrow but she could not bring herself to care, not when Katya’s fingers inside her were making her legs weak.

Katya seemed to finally find mercy in herself and pushed Violet onto the bed. Violet had somehow managed to tear Katya’s bra off of her in all the frenzy but even the minute Katya spend with taking of the remainder of her clothes and stepping into the strap on seemed to stretch on.

“Kat.” Violet’s voice was so weak and Katya didn’t seem to hurry up, instead just grinned at Violet. “Kat, need you now.” Violet heard how whiny, how desperate she sounded, could hear Katya let out a shaky breath and knew that Katya wanted her just as much, was going out of her mind just as much.

She finally finished putting the strap on on and crawled onto the bed, towering over Violet.

Her head moved down to lick over Violet’s pierced nipple once, Violet shuddered involuntarily.

“It’s so sensitive,” Katya breathed out and locked eyes with Violet before kissing her rough again. And Violet loved this, loved how Katya could be so soft but then so dominant, so hard and oh how much she needed her.

“Kat,” she whimpered again and Katya cursed under her breath before letting her forehead rest against Violet and Violet could feel the head of the strap on at her entrance.

“Say please.” Katya’s voice was low and raspy and Violet felt it to the core.

They just looked at each other for a moment and Katya pushed into Violet once, fully, hard, before pulling out completely. “Say please.” Her voice was thick with dominance now and and Violet wrapped her arms around her, dug her fingernails into her shoulder blades.

“Kat, please.”

“Good baby,” Katya whispered before placing a chaste kiss onto Violet’s lips.

“Katya, Kat. Please, please, please.”

And then she was fucking her without mercy and Violet’s brain seemed unable to form any words apart from Katya’s name and soft pleading’. Each word was met with a thrust, deep and hard and filling, until Katya couldn’t take it anymore and just let her head drop against Violet’s shoulder and sped up the rhythm.

“Violet, Vi, God, fuck, Vi.” And Violet thought that the world could never be that bad if she was lucky enough to hear the voice of the woman she loved moaning her name while she was fucking her, while she was loving Violet.

She could feel her orgasmn build up, could tell from the way Katya was moaning into Violet’s shoulder, from the way her fingers were digging into Violet’s hipbones that she was close.

“Vi,” Katya plead and Violet didn’t know what Katya was pleading for so she just kissed her. Kissed her hard, kissed her soft, kissed her through both their orgasms, kissed her until Katya pulled out and took the strap on off.

She kissed her again once she was lying next to Violet and felt Katya smile into the kiss while her hands were at the back of Violet’s neck and at her waist and Violet doubted she had ever been this happy.

“Thank you,” she whispered against Katya’s lips.

Katya leaned back slightly and stroked some hair out of Violet’s face. “We all need a good fuck from time to time.”

Violet placed a soft peck at the corner of Katya’s lips. “Not for that. Though…” she grinned at Katya who just grinned back. “I meant for everything, I-”

“I know. I know, baby. Me too,” Katya cut her off before kissing Violet again.

Violet tore her lips away this time. “What do you say about getting all cleaned up and getting all this-“ she gestured towards both their faces with messy make up “off before we get too cozy?”

Katya just grumbled and pulled Violet closer.

“I have a tub,” Violet said and Katya loosened her grip.

Bathing with someone was logistically challenging. The bathtub was a bit small and Violet could feel her make up melting with sweat and steam and her hair wass wet and flat against her forehead, her shoulders, against Katya. She was sitting in between Katya’s legs, her boobs pressed against Violet’s back, her arms around Violet. It wasn’t sexual but it was intimate and vulnerable in a way Violet wasn’t used to and usually wanted to run from.

It wasn’t until later, wrapped up around each other and the sheets, their naked bodies still warm from the bath pressed against each other, some bullshit movie on the TV that Violet realised that this was the sort of intimacy Katya wasn’t used to either.

“You have a lash,” Violet said while carefully taking the lash from Katya’s cheek.

“Wait.” Violet grabbed Katya’s face with one hand and picks the lash that previously rested against Katya’s skin up on her index finger.

Katya gently took Violet’s wrist and brought the finger with the lash close to her mouth. She closed her eyes, there were fine lines appearing at the edges of her eyes, and blew the lash off of Violets finger. Violet blinked at her slightly confused but with a small smile.

“Gotta make a wish,” Katya smiled before releasing Violet’s hand.

It threw Violet off that Katya who always seems to be a little at war with the world would make a wish on a lash, believe in superstition like that. But there was something about it that seemed natural and Violet realised that maybe believing in the good might be more Katya than being at war with everything and everyone, realised that the world had made her hard.

She marvelled at the realisation that Katya was being soft with her and that she liked falling asleep with her arms around her, with her soft hair against her skin, with her warm body against her own, with her low and deep breaths, with her talking quietly in her sleep, with upon waking up finding out how Katya looked all confused and sleepy and cute in the morning, with how she would kiss Violet good morning and good night, with just how much Violet loved her.

#vatya #lesbian au #cisgirl au #my loneliness is killing you #polly #au #fluff #smut #katya zamolodchikova #violet chachki #rpdr fanfiction

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