#:< being gone for a proportional time is likely accurate

[sisyphus-prime]

Angst for the trains guys remains verrrrry silly because they just look like

:> :<

And you're subjecting that to the horrors.

[my-thoughts-and-junk]

thinking about fallout 4 against my will

[xx-j4nu5-c4t5-xx]

"An ideal Sims game would have Sims 2's gameplay mechanics, Sims 3's open world, and Sims 4's graphics!"

I absolutely despise this take, and I want to explain why. This is a very long rant and it is full of piss and vinegar directed at everything in the Sims 4. I'm gonna try to keep everything kinda professional as much as I can but I can't guarantee an unbiased opinion.

If you'll let me talk your ears off for a moment, I'd like to explain, from my own experience as an artist and a casual player, my issues with the art style and direction of The Sims 4 compared to The Sims 2. (I'm not really going to comment on 3 because I've never played it.)

I want to start off by explaining the difference between better graphics and higher resolution. The Sims 4 absolutely blows Sims 2 out of the water when it comes to textures and polygon counts on sims, no contest. But I'd argue that the graphics themselves... aren't better. They're worse, even, so much fucking worse. The biggest problems come from the stylization and the animations, in my opinion, so I'll explain what I mean.

Have you ever felt like the Sims in 4 just look... weird? Not quirky, not kinda strange, but off. Distressing. Uncanny. Whatever the fuck the kids call it nowadays. When you strip away the packs and the CC and the shaders, the sims in the base game look bad. They're very close to being human; they walk like us, talk like us, have families like us, but they don't look like us, not exactly. There's always something off about them, no matter how close you try to get. Proportions will be a bit off, or your eyelashes will be like three polygons for some fucking reason, and the jig is up. The illusion is gone.

This is one of the instances where a higher resolution and more detailed models and meshes work against you. You aren't making believe. You are beyond the point of pretending that the pixelated shapes are real clothes and bodies and faces, because at this point, they're close enough that you don't need to. There's no gap to bridge. But that doesn't necessarily mean that they're lifelike, at least, not enough to be completely human. In some ways, they're still tethered to being cartoony and plasticky and fake. Just enough to frighten you. Enough to put you off. They're not using it to their advantage anymore, and instead, it's holding them back.

When the Sims 2 came out in 2004, the developers knew that they weren't going to make a perfectly accurate life simulator. They physically couldn't render every wrinkle in the face or fold in the clothing. In some animations, things clip strangely or the facial expressions are sort of janky or there's just some form of roughness around the edges. But that's okay; your brain doesn't need a perfectly accurate representation this time. That's not what you're here for, anyway.

The Sims 4 is basically Icarus-ing itself into disaster. The entire game sacrifices style for complete realism, a goal that was unachievable ten years ago, and is unachievable now.

The Sims 2 never thought of itself as a completely realistic life sim, though. It has cartoony, low poly meshes and exaggerated proportions and wild, raunchy storylines that would never occur in real life. BECAUSE IT ISN'T REAL LIFE. And it isn't like real life, not because it's failing to be, but because it doesn't want to be!

The Sims 4 is not ever going to completely replicate human looks or interactions or dynamics. And if it's trying to, it's doing a shit job of it. That shouldn't be the goal in the first place. If I wanted to watch a lonely college student talk to himself in the mirror to try and get better at interacting with people, I'd close the computer and go look at myself. It somehow highlights the most mundane parts of life without any of the whimsy and goofiness that the earlier installments had. It takes itself too fucking seriously for its own good, and it's killing both the gameplay and the art style.

The other point I'd like to bring up is the animation. The Sims 4 allows for much more customization of both sim and environments, but at the cost of dynamic animations. How many times is that grab animation reused? How many times is the same set of animations used for sims with wildly different personalities? Your sims barely feel alive with how little they express themselves.

Now, look, I'm a digital artist. I've dabbled in animation, but only briefly, and only in 2D. I've got no clue how 3D animation works, much less how it worked 20 years ago, but I can see the passion in every single animation in the Sims 2. The more niche interactions allowed for more expressive animations than in 4. They could afford to have a distinct animation for mean sims throwing the football extra hard to be assholes, rather than every sim using the same generic football-throwing animation to save time and money. I get where they're coming from. I get the idea. But in one move, you've both made the art style stiffer and less expressive, and you've made the personalities of the sims seem meaningless. Everyone acts the same, regardless of what their moodlets or their traits say. It's hollow. It's stifled. It's a waste of potential.

But for what Sims 2 lacks in polygons, it makes up for in smaller animated details. Quality over quantity. The sims have hair physics, they open the door before they get in the car, they take utensils out of the counters when they cook, they jump on the couch and the cushions smush under their weight. When they dance, the weight is realistic, and when they smile, it tugs at every one of the few dozen shapes that make up their faces. The sims are lively. They dance and sing and love and hate just like humans, and rather than being some strange attempt at mimicry, it's almost a tribute. They were made with love. You can tell that they were drawn up and rigged and animated by a bunch of people working together, studying each other and making faces in the mirror for reference and watching their kids and neighbors and dogs and hands for reference. The sims are not human, and not trying to be, but they're taking the most human parts of us and making them their own.

You could never have a game with the Sims 4's graphics and the Sims 2's gameplay. The gameplay and graphics are inexorably connected, and the Sims 2 just has so much glorious detail baked into it, that you could never really make it work underneath the limitations of the later games. The developers of 2 knew what their limits were, and they worked tirelessly to make the game as full and complex as they could within those limits. The developers for the Sims 4 just did not have those guidelines, and thus, the drive to bend the rules was no longer there. They didn't go wild in rebellion because they were never told they couldn't in the first place. They spent the entire time chasing a goal they couldn't meet, and lost sight of what made the series fun to begin with.

It wasn't the realism you came for; you had realism already surrounding you. It was the caricature of it that made it interesting.

[nohoperadio]

Imagine a far-future society, we don't know what's happened but the Earth is dead, I'm vaguely picturing them all living on space stations or something, there are only precious few species of plants and animals being kept alive, very few indeed, you couldn't quite count the remaining species on your fingertips but you could certainly check out all of their Wikipedia pages within the space of an hour. Future Wikipedia I guess, I mean whatever it is they have. No edible fruit or vegetables have survived at all, I'm not sure what they do for food, something futuristic presumably. Some kind of... future powder?

But there's this project that's been in the works for decades, they've figured out they can synthesize an apple. I don't know how that works, but the scientists have figured out a way. They're going to make an apple and this is like landing on the moon for them, everyone's insanely hyped about it, nobody's seen an apple for millennia... well see part of what's going on here is that the historiography of the time back when Earth still existed is irreparably bad now, it's super impressionistic because so little survived. And I guess partly because the Genesis story has been all blown out of proportion (there's more to it but that's a big part of it) these guys have a really exaggerated idea of the importance of apples to Earth humans, they basically imagine us eating apples all day long and worshiping apple gods and making apple art and all stuff like that. It's pretty silly but remember they have NO fruit or veg, they eat powder or whatever it was I said, they don't even have a rough concept of what "eating an apple" might be, like does it get you high for example? I bet they think it does, like a really spiritual special kind of high! They must have embellished it so much right? Gotten real carried away.

So like I say it's really hype, they're going to finally make an apple! A real one I mean, not like an approximation of what some scientists theorize an apple might be like, they've figured out how to definitely do it accurately (somehow, idk, just trust the omniscient narrator that they're doing it for real). But: they can only make one. Too much resources required or some shit, like I said this is their equivalent to the first moon landing except maybe more so, it's not a sustainable plan to reintroduce apple trees or something, they can only make one apple ever and that'll be it.

So as you can imagine, quite apart from all the scientific resource that's gone into this project, there's been a ton of resource invested into (not to mention endless public fascination and debate over) the question: who gets to eat the apple? It's a big deal! Everybody envies whoever's gonna eat it; most people also don't envy them. Since time immemorial, the essence of the apple has been defined by centuries and millennia of myth and speculation and storytelling holding together scattered fragments of a mysterious glorious past. Very soon, the essence of the apple will be defined by whatever this guy says it is, whatever the apple eater manages to communicate of the ineffable experience that will always be theirs alone. Humanity will demand a report, and the apple eater will have to be a poet of rarest genius at the very minimum to be trusted to deliver it, they hold the most privileged position maybe anyone will ever hold by being allowed to do this, and all that will remain of that briefest experience for all eternity will be their words. They're an instant prophet, no questions asked. I don't know about you, but if that was me I would definitely shit myself.

Well anyway forget about all that stuff. I was only thinking of this because it occurs to me, you're kind of like the apple eater of your own life, right? I mean nobody's making a big song and dance of it like those crazy apple space freaks, but it's true no?, you *pokes you in the face quite hard* with your highly specific soul positioned in your highly specific situation, that's only going to happen once, you're the only one who's ever going to know what that's like, assuming you aren't going to give some sort of big testimony, somehow. Only difference is like I say, no one really cares in your case, although actually I do sometimes, I hope that doesn't weird you out. I'm just saying imagine being asked the question! As if the answer really did matter! In theory anybody could just walk up to you and do that! I promise I won't ask you, if you promise you won't ask me.

[sergle]

People are failing to realize that clothing, and cameras for that matter, can be fairly deceptive. I don't wanna say deceptive because it carries a certain connotation, but I hope you'll know what I mean. I look fairly "thin/avg" with a shirt on, but without it it's rolls and folds lol

Furthermore, it's wild to assume someone who's pretty passionate about accurate plus-size rep would be stick thin. Maybe their metric of "average" is skewed or something, but it's still weird to just show up in a strangers Asks and assume things about them and their bodies.

sorry for answering an ask about this like 4 days later but I'M STILL THINKING ABOUT THIS... this person is talking about these asks btw.

FIRST OF ALL, thank you so much for the ask, it really is good to know that other ppl are aware of the Covering Of Fat With Clothing. Like. hi. my body is obscured. people are just noticing my torso for the first time bc there isn't 5lbs of breast tissue hanging off of it. SECOND OF ALL. This is still making me insane. I am still thinking about it so I'm gonna completely just do a brick of text to talk about it. Like, there's the first part of this, right? The fact that, all of these people who were sending asks like these, are the same people who came to my account because they liked the body positivity stuff or they related to the proportions of the girls I draw, right? And yet somehow managed to miss that ALL OF MY ART IS ME. So you're relating to MY body, AGREEING that this is plus sized art, then turning towards moi and saying, okay but you're skinny though. HUH? HMM??? I literally made a 12-part series of self portraits that have been like, my most seen, most stolen, reposted, enjoyed, stolen again, pieces. And I've been so crystal clear that these are literally me. Once again, I'm pointing at the aforementioned MATERIAL.

Pictured above: a thin, skinny woman who just happens to have large breasts, ig! And outside of those, which are *literal* self portraits, I've spoken lots of times before about how I make girls of a certain size and shape because I'm modeling them off myself. Or as close as I can get, depending on how good/bad I feel and if I took a photo to ref or not. It really couldn't be clearer that this is obviously me being self-serving, I do it when I feel like I need to see it. So the thing being implied here, or flat out accused in a handful of messages, is that I'm drawing fat girls forrr clout? AWESOME. I didn't want to dignify every message but that did seem to be the rough consensus. BUT I WANT TO TALK ABOUT THAT ONE TOO. WHEN would it become a bad thing for a skinny person to draw body positive art? In a positive light? Even if it was for clout? Am I going insane? That would be Good. It honestly might be even more meaningful than what I'm doing now. If I was actually 115 pounds soaking wet, if I looked like that one girl from ANTM with the like 14 inch waist, and I was out here making the exact same art, would that make the art LESS meaningful to other fat girls? That someone who doesn't have this body type or relate to it at all found it beautiful enough to draw it so many times, treating the subject with respect? Fat people being the subject of art again? The cycling of a trend that's been gone too long? That is, I thought, what we've literally been begging to see. I have been thinking about this. And finally, the last part of it that's been vexing and haunting me:

Is it supposed to be my responsibility that someone gets dysmorphic LOOKING AT ME. HUHHHH. On the art account where I draw a lot of Me. HUH. I was meant to anticipate this? Looking at pictures of me. And that makes you feel dysmorphic. and that is my fault. I'm just double checking. On the account where I draw bodies that I relate to, that you followed because you relate to. And then seeing me. Makes you dysmorphic. Whew. Got it.

I'm putting a bow on my insane winding ramble about this. Or at least trying to, now. It is wild to have my body commented on so much. This year, bc of the breast reduction, comments on my body have increased a hundredfold. Positive, negative, passive aggressive, predatory, all of the ways it can go. There was a really obvious way to rebuff these particular comments, which would be to post a picture of myself where my body ISN'T mostly obscured. But hey, those aren't free. The art will have to do for now. I wouldn't be that surprised if half the messages were jokes meant to see if I'd post pics "proving" that I look how I look. I also thought briefly about like, what if my body did change that drastically? Would some ppl's immediate reaction be betrayal, disgust, anger? I've been sick in my life before and lost weight at alarming speeds. But I've still been fat all my life. I've gotten sick and gained weight at alarming speeds. Does my presence as a "body positive artist" mean that my body gets to be put on trial anytime it changes? Does the switch flip from "your fat art means so much to me" to "you're not in the club anymore, since you got rid of your breasts, you look different"

Anyway I thought it would be funny to draw a thin girl "drawing" a scrap sketch I already have on hand. And imagining someone's response being fully negative, bc a thin person drawing fat ppl would be somehow dishonest lmao. Look how evil this bitch is. Her body doesn't match her art.

[oskidontle]

holy heifer I have so many questions about your hungry smilers au, I love it so much. Do some of the properties or effects last even after the hunt is over (like how Alan gets back/neck pains)? Do the others know of Pim’s mild resistance to The Hunger? When in the hunt are they aiming to eat or just kill the victim? What about the boss? Is he aware of what’s going on? Is it affecting him? Is he ever curious as to why the smiling friends are acting different or does he ignore it? You said Pim is fully aware of what goes down but what about the others? Is it more awareness for some of them and less for others? How do Pim’s claws work? Ohhhh there is just so much to ponder about with your au it’s soooo goooood

OG AU Post for those confused

I'm glad you're enjoying my lil AU so far! You got a lotta questions and I got a lot of answers let's go!

1:

The hunger is a stubborn and impulsive state. It tends to "leak" out when not on a hunt. Particularly if they've gone without eating for awhile. If hungry it can be difficult to keep from showing signs that something is amiss. Subtle stuff out first: twitchiness, trouble focusing, mood swings... But as time goes on it becomes harder to hide: Constant smiling, extreme impulsivity(lashing out), urges to eat being nearly impossible to resist. If they can't keep it together enough to do their job without being noticed they usually stay back at the office while one of the others takes their place for that hunt.

If they are fed though they remain in proper control of themselves but cannot control of they change forms or not. Little bits of their other forms are still a constant though.

Allan, as stated goes through a lot of neck and back pain, his proportions are never quite right. It's very subtle but his neck still stretches instinctively.

Charlie gets pounding headaches and his tounge is still two. If he coughs hard enough he could accidentally spit a couple drops of acid.

Glep still has small fangs when he opens his mouth.

Pim usually gets sore all throughout his chest and back. A physical giveaway is the permanent black splotches that line his back from below the neck to the base of the spine.

2:

Yes they are aware. It almost costs them hunts sometimes. The only reason he can even begin to fight it is because he starves himself of flesh often and it has trained him to resist The Hunger. Granted it's not much but that moment of resistance he can give could mean life or death for the victim.

3:

When on a hunt the overall goal is to feed. Depending on how ravenous The Hunger is that day, they'll eat till satisfied and that's when they regain control or they will be able to regain control long enough to bring the body back for the whole office to share.

4:

Ohohoho see I've thought long and hard about this since the beginning. Excuse me being a little cryptic up ahead here because I think leaving things up for others to theorize is fun.

What I WILL reveal is Mr.Boss knows more than he lets on. In fact he is the reason The Hunger is such a thing. He's not afflicted by it himself but he has his own motives for causing it. As I told one of my friends before metaphorically Mr.Boss is playing chess and the Smiling Friends are just his pawns in a bigger picture.

Now I'll add to the answer with more questions for you to think about. Why have they never been caught by authorities nor even questioned when the killings so clearly all link to the Smiling Friends company. Why does the media never seem to report on these killings? Why are there never any police records kept accurate? (Files mislabeled as perpetrator unknown or missing persons)

5:

Pim has a slightly higher level of awareness as the others. What makes him notable the fact he can use that awareness to, like previously stated, hesitate against The Hungers will somewhat. Either way to all of them it's like looking through foggy glass mentally. It can be a bit hard for them to tell what's going on and they have to make an active effort to clear the brain fog. Sometimes it's easier to let the mental fog do it's thing though, at least they won't have to think about the life they just took.

6:

Pims extra limbs form from a thick substance that oozes out of patches on his back. This substance shapes itself and rematerializes to match his true arms as much as possible. This is highly imperfect though. As you've probably noticed, the extra arms all bend in unusual ways. Too many joints, imperfect joints.

Because of the substance they were made out of they can stretch or rematerialize partially on the fingers. This is the premise for his claws. All that needs to happen is some reorganizing on a molecular level and suddenly those claws are harder than and sharper than a razor. The claws can rematerialize back into normal looking hands as well depending on the nessisary situation. It is of note though his true limbs cannot do any of that.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

David Jarman at The Downballot:

Just how many Haitian immigrants have moved to Springfield, Ohio, in recent years? It's a question at the center of the new national discussion about the city's resurgence and ensuing struggles to accommodate its new growth. There's no definitive answer, but we can say this: Almost every estimate you've seen is wrong—and too high. In particular, the oft-quoted figure that 20,000 new residents from Haiti have settled in Springfield is not accurate. The real number is likely around half that amount. Here's how we know. After shrinking dramatically over the last half-century, Springfield has worked hard to revitalize emptying neighborhoods by attracting new residents and workers. By all accounts, this civic revival is succeeding. Springfield's population peaked at more than 80,000 in 1960 but then began a continuous decline, falling to under 60,000 in 2020. But that decline appears to be leveling off as the city experiences what the local newspaper called in 2022 a "resurgence."

Newcomers from Haiti have played a critical role in this transformation, and their actual number is likely more in line with official estimates in the low five figures. But even these assessments may be too large: New data from the Census Bureau shows only a tiny increase in Springfield's Haitian population, though it, too, has sources of error, and comes to us already a year out of date. As Haitians in Springfield experience an outpouring of hatred fomented by the far right, it's reasonable to ask why we might be concerned with precise population counts. Accurate data, however, is at the heart of responsive democratic governance. Cities, counties, states, and the federal government all need detailed information about their inhabitants if they're to meet the needs of longtime residents and new arrivals alike. Conversely, repression of the facts is a key page in the authoritarian's playbook. The absence of trustworthy data creates an information vacuum easily filled by propaganda. That gap is already being exploited. The Downballot's goal is to close it.

The Media vs. City Officials

A critical problem is that some of the most frequently cited figures of the Haitian population in Springfield are thinly sourced and are at odds with official sources. For instance, many media reports, including an in-depth profile of the city in the New York Times, have said that as many as 20,000 Haitian immigrants have moved to the city in recent years. Fox News, meanwhile, went as high as 30,000, a claim attributed solely to a Springfield resident. The Times cited unnamed "city officials," but other officials who've gone on the record—including the city's Republican mayor—say the number, while still a substantial proportion of Springfield's total population, is considerably smaller. For instance, the local Springfield News-Sun reported this week that the actual number is "more around 12,000–15,000." That statistic was provided at a recent press conference by Mayor Rob Rue, who said it came from "the health department and other agencies." But the number may be smaller still. Rue was answering a reporter's question about the Haitian population in the "Springfield area," which extends beyond city limits. Data from the city indicates that Rue was indeed speaking of the wider region. On a page of "Immigration FAQs" on Springfield's official website, the city says that "the total immigrant population is estimated to be approximately 12,000–15,000 in Clark County," the county where Springfield is located. Since those numbers are identical to Rue's, it's likely he was referring to the same estimate provided on the city's website. Those figures, however, don't specify how many immigrants are Haitian. They also cover all of Clark County rather than just Springfield, which makes up about half the county. So even if most live in Springfield and most are Haitian, the number of Haitians in Springfield would be smaller than these overall figures.

David Jarman wrote in The Downballot (a site that recently became fully independent from Daily Kos and was previously known as Daily Kos Elections) the real numbers of Haitians who migrated to Springfield, Ohio, which are around 10,000-15,000.

See Also:

MMFA: False claims about Haitian migrants, pushed by the GOP ticket and right-wing media, have had real-world consequences

[gamesception]

Sception Reads Cass Cain #9

Robin #73 story by Chuck Dixon, pencils by Steven Harris

Right up front, I'm not a big fan how Cass is depicted in this one. Like, it's not the complete train wreck that I felt it was on initial read, and I've gone back to tone down some of the excessive negativity in my initial write up. I still don't like how Harris draws Cass/Batgirl here, and I still think this issue is just a completely missed opportunity by Chuck Dixon to start building a relationship - working, family or otherwise - between Tim Drake and this new member of the Bat Clan. But it's not like, uniquely bad. Just frustrating.

The basic set up here is that Tim's dad, who left with his family before No Mans Land, and who I don't think knows that Tim is Robin? Though I'm not sure of that? has realized that Tim has returned to Gotham somehow. Afraid for his son's safety, has made a big stink with the press.

The American news media, who were big supporters of the 'nobody enters nobody leaves' No Mans Land policy when the people trapped in Gotham were poors and minorities and criminals, are suddenly screaming about the inhumanity of the policy now that they have an upper class white father afraid for the safety of his upper class white child. Tim feels guilty about more public concern being expressed by the national media over just him than over literally every other human being trapped in Gotham put together, but Bruce sees an opportunity to leverage the media circus to move political landscape towards ending No Mans Land altogether.

Meanwhile the government wants the story over as quickly as possible, so a one time exception is made to the NML policy for Tim and federal marshals meet with his dad to contact Tim and arrange a rescue by helicopter. I'm left wondering how there's still working cell reception almost a full year into No Man's Land - that's not just a Cinema Sins ding, the difficulty of getting communications and accurate reporting out of Gotham is a fundamental part of the set up, but whatever.

There's not really any safe places to carry out a helicopter rescue, and Tim won't be able to fight off threats as Robin while being rescued as Tim Drake, so he'll need a chaperone. That's where our girl comes in, looking cool and spooky in the window.

Once again we have Cass as the silent shadow / batman's enforcer, creepy and unknowable even to her allies. Cass is supposed to be like 16 in No Mans Land? And in her own stories she's very much a kid - giddy at the high of being a superhero, overconfident in her abilities, insecure in her place in the Bat Clan, desperate to please Batman. I don't object to Tim not knowing what to think of Cass to start, but It should not be difficult for a writer to find some level on which Tim can begin to relate to Cass, some way for them to begin to empathize with each other and move on from that starting point as strangers to start building a rapport between them.

So the next day they head over to the agreed on site, and... what's going on with Cass's proportions here? Ok ok, there's clearly supposed to be some foreshortening going on in this panel, lets cut Harris some slack and move on...

... no, no I'm sorry, there's no foreshortening here. Cass is 16. She's a kid. Who is that giant lady in the background?

Like... this isn't great. Not great art happens, so I'm not going to harp on for an extended paragraph of pure complaints, and definitely didn't write and delete such a paragraph. It's not worth getting hung up over.

A convenient breeze picks up to move Batgirl's cape for one pane. Because you gotta get that butt shot in there somehow, full length cape or no.

So anyway Tim gets changed and the marshals show up in their helicopter, and as expected a nearby gang notices and attacks.

Cass shows up to fight off the gang, and Tim stops the marshals from shooting while they might hit her. I mean, they said they were using rubber bullets, but are you really going to take their word for it.

The helicopter lifts off from the park with Tim and Cass as more reinforcements for the gang arrive, but the Marshals say they're only authorized to take Tim out of Gotham. Not that Batgirl would have left anyway, but she drops back down into the city, and Tim gets to leave - and make rounds on the news talking about how the real heroes are the ones still in Gotham.

A fine enough wrap up to Tim's participation in No Mans Land, and it gets him out of Gotham so his book doesn't have to involve the darker Joker threatening babies / killing Gordon's wife note the crossover ends on.

As a Cass fan though, this is a super frustrating issue, because for all that Batgirl features in the story, it doesn't really feel like Cass is here at all. The giant lady in the Batgirl suit doesn't look like Cass, but it's not just the art, she's not there in the writing or either. This book was an opportunity to start building a connection between Cass, this all new member of the Bat Family, and Tim, one of the key existing members. There were pages enough that we could have had a nice quiet moment between them, maybe with her mask off so we could see her face, where they connect on some level, establish the beginnings of some sort of friendship or at least working relationship. Like, Cass could maybe use drawings or pantomime to ask if Tim were Bruce's son, or he could notice how hard she's working to impress Batman and feel some sympathy for how difficult that is. Something. Anything.

To the extent that what we all like most about the Bat Family is the found family aspect, we want to see these two starting to build some sort of sibling relationship. Instead there's just nothing at all. They don't even feel like acquaintances or co-workers here. And it's hard not to read that as an implicit statement from Dixon that as far as he's concerned Cass isn't a real member of the bat family at all.

[skylarstark4826]

Alice Kingsleigh pads down the many marble steps of the White Queen’s castle, wrapping her robe tighter around herself. The castle is large and maze-like but Alice knows where she is going; she has gone many times before when her insomnia has kept her up into the ungodly hours of the night and she has needed air and thinking space. She is quiet as a dormouse, lightfooted and quick, so set about her business that the nightstaff don’t even think to raise an eyebrow. They tip a (sometimes imaginary) hat and continue on their way; in Underland everyone has idiosyncrasies, including Alice, and they know hers as well as she knows theirs.

She reaches the large arches that open out to the patio gardens and slows her pace, partly out of relief that she has arrived at her destination, and partly because someone is already there.

Though he is facing away from her so that she can’t see his face, she knows from the tall, oddly-proportioned figure that it is Stayne, and from his slouched shoulders that he seems to moping. Alice pauses to watch him, silent and curious. He is meandering aimlessly, pausing to watch one of the several fountains for a moment before continuing on; he reaches the edge of the patio and leans against the balustrade that is too low for him, and there he stays, looking out into the dark gardens.

Alice takes a breath. Since being “pardoned” (Not a wholly accurate term considering he was basically drafted to low-level guard duty/glorified errand boy as punishment, but Mirana thought “pardoned” sounded more pleasant), moping around is something Stayne does a lot of, though Alice is unsure why; her current suspicion is that he simply dislikes not being at the Red Queen’s castle - perhaps he is annoyed by the very bright whiteness of Mirana’s decorating - more realistically, she thinks, he misses the familiarity of home. Alice sympathizes.

Taking another breath, she makes her way towards him, her feet bare against the cool concrete of the patio. It’s autumn, and nice outside, the moon so full and bright its illumination can’t be diffused even by the clouds that drift through the sky. She lets her feet deliberately drag against the ground so as not to take him by surprise - not for his sake, but because she is concerned that his defensive reflexes might kick in and she end up in the medical ward. She approaches on the side of his good eye, and he glances back at her, looking somewhat shaken at her appearance.

“Good evening,” she says, coming to a stop a respectable distance away from him. He is so very, very tall, she thinks, craning her neck to look up at him. A stray thought passes by: how large must his bed be, so that his feet don’t hang off the end?

Stayne bristles. His jaw is set, and he clasps his hands behind his back. For a moment, she wonders if she will get any greeting back, and then he mutters out, “Good evening.”

Satisfied, Alice nods. She looks away from him, out to the gardens. By the light of the moon she can identify poppies, tulips, daisies, carnations, irises, daffodils… Too many to count, blooming as if it were springtime, all arranged in low flowerbeds and framed by winding paths. She notices with a small pang that there are no roses to be seen. Closer, along the edge of the raised patio she and Stayne are on, are low-cut topiaries and the occasional lavender. Set in the balustrade and arching up over the patio, every thirty feet or so, are lattices upon which various flowering vines grow, providing shaded areas on sunny days.

Alice looks at Stayne, who is still staring resolutely into the distance.

“Can’t sleep?” she asks.

The muscles in his jaw shifts as he unclenches it and then clenches it again. Even after being drafted into Mirana’s guard he has kept his black hair long and free, and it contrasts sharply with the light colors of the guard uniform (and just about everything else in the castle; he is very easy to find in a crowd here). Alice blinks as she notices he is fully dressed as if on duty, but she knows his shift had ended earlier; she knows many of the guards’ shifts, given her affinity for sneaking off.

At his lack of reply, she looks back out into the gardens. “I can’t sleep,” she says, as if saying it first will help his own admittance. “And this is where I like to come when I can’t.”

“I know,” he says, and his sudden voice makes her wince, partly out of reflex; his voice is unique, and it bore a certain imprint into her mind when she’d pretended to be Um - even now in casual, albeit strained, conversation, her first instinct is discomfort. His actual words register a moment later, and she turns towards him with an eyebrow raised.

“You know?” she asks. Instead of disgust or alarm, she feels something akin to amusement. That he has apparently spied on her comes as no surprise; he is very predictable.

“I’ve watched you.” The words come out matter-of-fact, with no shame or embarrassment. He is still faced away, but his eye has become unfocused now that his attention has shifted to the painfully stilted half-conversation.

“I’m sure you have,” she says. She allows a beat of silence to pass before she adds, “Pervert.”

This makes him look at her with a slightly annoyed expression. Even with the brightness of the moon his black eyepatch looks more like a dark hole in his head. She grins up at him knowingly, and with a snort he turns back to the gardens.

She watches him, pushing her thick blonde braid over one shoulder, trying to read his thoughts. She had never really gotten to the point of hating Stayne, but then she does not hate many things or people; she even doubts she ever hated the Red Queen. She feels a certain draw to him that she’s unsure how to define. He is very hard to read, but she knows mourning when she sees it.

Venturing beyond casual banter and smalltalk, Alice swallows and takes a step towards him, just enough that she can brush her fingers over his arm. It feels somewhat forced, and she hopes it doesn’t show outwardly.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

Noticing her sudden proximity and her hand on his arm, Stayne steps away with an overacted wince. He only glances in her eyes, but she catches everything in that one little moment he drops his guard.

“Yes, of course I’m okay,” he says, mimicking her intonation. Alice pinches her lips together because her first instinct is to laugh, not only at his poor imitation of her, but also at his paper-thin excuse for a deflection.

“You are not,” she says.

He looks down at her, frowning. His hands, still behind his back, clench into fists.

“Will you please stop nosing around and mind your own business?” he says. “Bloody Red, it’s like your defining character trait.”

This time she does laugh. This only serves to further annoy Stayne, who rolls his eye and stalks off. Alice quite literally runs after him.

“Oh no, stay!” she says. “Please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh, you just look so serious all the time.”

“At least some of us around here are,” he grumbles, ignoring her. She stops, pushing her hair out of her face.

“I only meant to help,” she says, and this gets him to pause, his broad shoulders squared, hands clasped together.

“I don’t want your help,” he says, and then continues on his way.

“I’ve lost people too, you know. Family. And I know what it feels like to be… h-homesick.” Even saying the word makes her chest tighten. Stayne has finally stopped, though he hasn’t turned around.

“What?” His voice is quiet, but she catches it.

She doesn’t understand what he means, and she can only offer her own, “What?” in return.

He turns around and walks towards her again, slowly, his features a little softer now. He is not unattractive, something Alice had noticed even when she’d been Um, though his whole countenance and the air about him had scared her then. Now he holds himself differently, and she has defeated far scarier things than Ilosovic Stayne.

“That word,” he says, stopping close and towering over her. She instinctively backs up, but he doesn’t seem to notice. Trying to catch up, she replays what she’d said.

“Homesick?” she asks.

“Yes.” His brow furrows as he considers the word. “I’ve never heard it before.”

The word is self-explanatory, she thinks, so she doesn’t bother to define it, nor does he ask. His expression is unreadable except for the slight frown between his eyebrows, and even then she can’t divine what his actual individual thoughts might be. She knows he must be thinking of the Red Queen’s Castle, but what else? Was he treated better, did he have better quarters? His job? What specific part of that place is he thinking of?

“Do you miss her?” she asks, though as soon as she has she regrets it.

She expects him to be mad (a feeling she would justify), but his features soften and his shoulders slump. He looks at her, and then out to the gardens again, resuming his place at the balustrade. She stands beside him, closer this time, feeling very small. But he is warm, something that surprises her for some unfathomable reason. He has always come across as such a cold, manipulative person that his body warmth - the very reassurance of his being alive - seems strange and counterintuitive. More counterintuitive is the sudden desire to move closer to him; Alice promptly ignores that desire with some amount of confused embarrassment.

“Why?” he asks suddenly, bringing her out of her own thoughts. She is trying to figure out the exact nature of his question when he continues. “Why do I miss her?”

Alice’s heart skips a beat - so he can feel emotions! Imagine that. She would have imagined them as being close, maybe even lovers - he had panicked and begged not to be exiled with her, but she had seen it as an attempt to save his own cowardly hide. What if it had been more than that? The idea makes her squirm.

Thankfully before she can speak and make a fool of herself, he continues on. “Do you think it’s mad to miss someone you hate?” he asks.

This time she doesn’t miss a beat. “No.”

“Even though it’s paradoxical?”

“So what if it is?” she asks, shrugging. “Feeling two conflicting feelings isn’t what makes someone mad.” She grins as he looks at her, though his expression shifts and something in his eye makes her look away with a cough.

She can feel his gaze on her, but her eyes remain steadfastly fixed on the garden. She pushes her flyaway hair out of her face, surprised at how warm her cheeks are. She tries to be sneaky about hiding her face from him, but he seems to have picked up on it because when he speaks his voice has changed cadence.

“Have you ever felt two conflicting things at once, then?” he asks. Part of him sounds genuinely interested and part sounds insufferably smug. She tucks a stray lock of hair behind her ear and smiles despite herself.

“Of course I have. I think everyone has,” she says. He shifts closer to her, maybe without even noticing, and she suddenly feels too warm. Restlessly, she turns and hops up onto the balustrade, facing him. He watches her, his expression a hard mask again. Up here on the balustrade she is almost face-height to him, though he is still half-a-head taller and his general presence is enough to make her feel small. “Have you?” she asks.

He looks away from her, over her shoulder, but she keeps her eyes on him and catches his jaw shift again. His hands finally leave their place behind his back to settle on the balustrade, gripping it.

“Alice…”

The use of her name makes her feel strange, like she’d just heard something she wasn’t supposed to. She watches him, watches as he leans against the balustrade and takes a breath - the sort of self-calming, lung-filling breath she knows well. She doesn’t think to respond, mostly because she’s unsure how to, or where he is going next. A fleeting thought passes through her brain to grab his hand, and she wills it away.

“I hated her,” he says. “I hated that place. I hated the castle, the land, the people… I don’t understand why I…” He wrinkles his nose and scowls, letting his sentence trail off.

“Familiarity?” she offers. “Sometimes I think we just long for a familiar ritual. Even if that ritual wasn’t ideal or even liked, it was still… home.” She looks over her shoulder with another little pang in her heart. There is a moment of silence, broken by the sound of some kind nightbird cooing in the distance.

“Well well,” Stayne says, that familiar smugness in his voice again. “You’re smarter than you look.” She looks at him, finds him watching her with a thinly veiled intensity that makes the hair on the back of her neck stand up.

“You are an ass, Ilosovic Stayne.”

The use of his name has a peculiar effect on him. He suddenly stiffens, his fingers tightening on the balustrade and his weight shifting almost - almost - unnoticeably towards her. She catches the skin of his throat shift as he swallows, catches his eye glaze over before he closes it, flexes his neck and shoulders, and then looks back out at the garden as if nothing had happened.

Alice suppresses the urge to smile. She can sense he is eager to get away from the subject of Iracebeth, so she tucks the conversation away for a later date, instead taking a moment to examine whether or not she feels tired yet, or peaceful and clearheaded enough to return to her room. The answer is a resounding no - in fact, her head is even busier than when she’d come down to the patio in the first place.

She feels she has the upper hand now, now that she has this secret knowledge of how his name affects him - at least, coming from her. He has not moved, as if to move would be to admit that she had indeed affected him somehow. She takes the chance to watch him, carefully, examining his face. While most of his facial scarring is on his left side, there are a few faint lines on his right, long-healed but still visible under her close scrutiny. His good eye is alert and intense, blue-grey around a slightly dilated pupil. His nose is unique, all angles, and his mouth seems almost a little too luscious for the rest of his hard features.

He’s handsome, she decides. Strange, but handsome.

“You said you’ve watched me,” she says, feeling bold.

To Stayne’s credit, he doesn’t waver, though he still doesn’t look at her. “You’re interesting.”

“Interesting?” she echoes. A pause, and then, “Good interesting or bad interesting?”

He finally looks at her after he rolls his eye. “Interesting interesting.”

Many thoughts, not all of them strictly proper, pass through her head as their gazes settle on each other and lock into place. His eye does not deviate from hers. She licks her lips, pulling the bottom one between her teeth; he notices, his features changing, becoming somehow more intense and softer simultaneously, and then he notices that she has noticed and wrenches his attention away.

She is surprised at how warm she is.

Stayne looks up at the sky, and she takes the moment to try and shake the buzzing feeling out of her limbs. Then she leans back on her arms, hooking her ankles around one of the balustrade’s support columns. 

“You still fancy me.” It’s a declaration, something she might have been unsure of once if he wasn’t so obvious about it now. She does love teasing him, and he does so deserve it.

His head snaps back to her, something like skepticism on his face. “No.”

“I don’t believe you,” she says, tilting her head and allowing one sleeve of her robe to dip down off her shoulder. Underneath she is wearing one of the many gauzy shifts Mirana had gifted her when she’d decided to stay at the castle, and this one glimmers prettily in the moonlight.

His eye darts to her now-bare shoulder, and then he looks away from her a bit too hurriedly.

“You’re too small,” he says, with forced disgust. Alice hunches her shoulders.

“I am not, I’m exactly the size I’m supposed to be,” she says.

“Maybe you fancy me,” he says, a self-satisfied look on his face.

Maybe she does.

“You’re the one spying on me,” she says, and this wipes the satisfaction off his face immediately. Something new sparks in his eye, something like desperation? He knows he is losing this argument. Their gazes meet again, and she does not let him go. “Ilosovic Stayne.”

For a moment there is complete stillness. They stare at each other, and she sees his pupil dilate again, his shoulders stiffen, his lips part as he exhales a hard, ungraceful breath.

And then he is on her, a fist in her hair to tilt her head up so that he can smash his lips against hers. His other hand is on the balustrade beside her, fingers dug into the stone so hard the leather of his glove scrapes audibly over it. Alice squeezes her eyes shut, scrambling to catch up. She has had little experience with kissing and Stayne is forceful, full of energy, and so large he nearly pushes her off the balustrade just by getting in her space.

His mouth moves against hers erratically, angrily, teeth and tongue. His hand is so deep in her hair that it’s almost painful, but instead it makes her scalp and neck tingle pleasantly, trickling down into her spine unlike anything she’s felt before. She finally thinks to move, grabbing his face and pulling away.

“Stop, stop--” she gasps, “I can’t breathe--”

He does stop, dazed, panting. His eye is closed, lips parted. She does not know why, but she finds herself brushing his cheek with her thumb, tracing over the deep scars below his eyepatch. His brow furrows, and for a second he looks like he might break apart in her hands.

“Alice--” he whispers. “Please.”

His grip in her hair loosens, and he steps closer to her, trapping body heat between them. Despite this, Alice shivers as he digs his fingertips into her hair and scalp again, electricity racing down her back.

“Please?” she asks sweetly. He has not opened his eye, still looking pained or desperate or something that she can’t identify.

“I need to… to taste you,” he says, voice and breath coming out stilted. He finally looks at her, his eye dark and glossy.

“Need?” she asks. “You need to?”

“Please--”

He does like begging, doesn’t he? She grins, which seems to annoy him, and he attempts to push back into her space.

“Ah ah ah,” she says, though she gasps when he pulls her hair again. “You’re very impatient, Ilosovic Stayne.” She lets his name drip off her tongue like honey, sweet and sticky, and his whole body shivers in response. She pulls him closer, until their foreheads are pressed together and they share each other’s air. He is like a spring pulled taut, overly tense and eager to snap, but he holds back; she gets the sense they are both enjoying this drawn-out tease. “Slowly now,” she whispers, and pulls him in.

He is shaking, maybe just with the effort of holding back his own bodily urges, or maybe from something deeper; Alice doesn’t know or care. He slides his tongue into her mouth, which she finds unpleasant and strange, but then he bites her lip and that sends a shock through her system, making her fingers dig into his face. She feels him smile, feels her heartbeat speed up, feels her lungs ache for more air.

Stayne steps even closer, fully closing the distance between them. It’s fortunate that Alice is on the balustrade or else he would be far too tall for this, and even now his neck is craned at a slightly awkward angle - not that he seems to notice. He is very warm, solid and large, the leather of his guard outfit creaking as he presses against her. Breaking ever so slightly, he removes his hand from her hair (The sudden loss causes her to make a very embarrassing noise of protest, which makes him smirk) to pull his gloves off and drop them on the ground some distance behind him. When his now bare hand returns to her hair, he strokes it gently before fisting it and yanking her head back. She gasps, more electricity shooting down her spine and this time settling between her thighs.

He kisses her mouth, sucking on her lip, before moving down, leaving wet and sticky open-mouth kisses on her jaw, trailing down to her neck. He pauses, inhaling, sliding his free arm around her waist, trailing his fingertips through the layers of gauzy robe and shift. Her skin burns under his touch.

“So lovely,” he whispers, biting her gently. She grins up at the sky, laughing at the sensation, thinking suddenly of Dracula. His teeth make way for tongue, wet and hot, and then he sucks on her skin, and she laughs harder, gasping and wrapping an arm around his shoulders lest he think she’s not enjoying herself. He purrs in response, rocking her backwards so that he doesn’t have to bend so much. As the initial tickling and amusement subsides, she finds the sensation far more pleasant, and as he moves to a new spot, repeating himself, this time it sucks the air right out of her lungs in one gasping, shuddering moan.

This makes both of them pause. She has never moaned before. Stayne holds her close to him and lets his head drop to rest in the crook of her neck. She looks up at the stars, her own voice echoing in her ears. He is still pressed flush against her, his arm around her keeping her from falling off her perch.

Hesitantly, she lifts her hand and places it in his hair. It’s softer than she imagined, and her touch makes his muscles go taut, makes him squeeze her tighter. She sees how this could be nice, to just sit and stroke his hair for a while, but she is on a mission, and she pulls his hair over his far shoulder, exposing his neck to her.

She has had no experience with this, other than just being on the receiving end of one, so she mimics him, first pressing her mouth against the vein of his throat. His pulse jumps, races under her lips. Smirking, she opens her mouth and licks him, feeling somewhat foolish and unsure of what she’s actually doing, though his gentle gasp and his hands digging into her back make her feel that she’s on the right track.

“Alice…” he hisses. He removes his hand from her hair and snakes it under her arms, now holding her in a tight embrace and clutching fistfuls of sparkly gauze. She readjusts, pulling herself upwards to get at a better angle, sliding one arm further around his shoulders and using the other to keep his hair out of the way, digging into his scalp the way he had been doing to her. He pushes against her touch like a housecat, and she revels in this little power.

She licks him again, more confidently this time, tastes the salt on his skin. He twists to bite her shoulder. She can’t stop the airy giggle that escapes her as she bites him back, sucking gently. This time he groans, albeit quietly, and the sound reverberates through her, goes straight to her stomach. Emboldened, she sucks again, harder, and laves her tongue over the newly-bruised skin.

His teeth clamp around her shoulder so hard it sends pinpricks down her arm and makes her gasp, and then he groans again, rocking against her and shuddering so hard he has to support himself with one arm on the balustrade.

In this new position she can feel his arousal pressed against her, which takes her by surprise. She had fooled around with some boys back home, she is no ignorant schoolgirl, yet still her inexperience - and, that this arousal happens to belong to Ilosovic Stayne - makes her pause.

She pulls away slightly, unsure what to do. He is breathing heavily, hand gripped so tight on the balustrade his knuckles are white. It’s strange to see his hands bare, she thinks. Since he does not move, she looks up at him, finds his eye closed, cheeks flushed, hair disheveled, and something in her stomach flutters.

“You liar,” she says.

This makes him look at her with a sigh. A long, relenting, full-body sigh that ends with him shaking his head.

“Don’t patronize me,” he says, without any conviction.

She pulls him closer again, stroking her finger over the mark she’d just left on his neck. He seems to be regaining his footing, and so she decides to prod him further, to push him back down.

“Do you watch me other places?” she asks, her voice dropping down to nearly a whisper. “Do you watch me in my room?”

He blinks, obviously aware of what she’s trying to do.

“Does it frustrate you that even though I’m not Um from Umbridge you’re still madly obsessed with me?” she says. “Even though I’m the Champion of the White Queen, even though we were enemies?” She slides her hand down his chest and he smirks. Without replying, he grabs her hair again, tighter than before, sending thunder through her muscles and making her back arch. She gasps, trying not to lose focus, sliding her hand over his ribs and waist. “Do you think of me at night?” she asks through her teeth, looking sideways up at him, her heart racing. “Alone, in your bedchambers?”

She hesitates. Even with all her fooling around she has never touched another person sexually and even though now that she wants to, something - her nerves? - makes her stop. Seizing the moment, Stayne grabs her wrist and pulls it behind her back, grinning down at her with a glint in his eye. Her stomach twists, and for the first time tonight she can feel her own arousal slick between her thighs.

“So little Alice is new at this, isn’t she?” he says, dropping his head to continue his work on her throat. One hand is still tight in her hair, the other trapping her arm behind her back. She still has an arm free, but for now she keeps it wrapped around his back.

He kisses and laps at her neck, and she lets out a string of undignified noises as the myriad of sensations circuit through her body; thankfully, he returns them even as he works, before finally pulling away, yanking her hair to better press his lips against her ear.

“Alice...” He breathes her name, rocking his hips languidly against hers. Her whole body shudders as his arousal grinds against hers, hard and hot even through his trousers. He hisses and swears, some Underlandian word she doesn’t understand, and her stomach churns.

“I… Ilosovic...” she gasps out, because he is not the only one who gets to play at this game.

His hips stutter and she feels every bit of it, and they both gasp in unison. He pauses, and then lets her arm go, before kissing her with renewed vigor.

This time she knows what to do, and even though she doesn’t like his tongue in her mouth she likes every other part enough to ignore it. She slides both arms around his shoulders now, and his newly freed hand comes to rest on her hip, keeping her pelvis pressed firmly against his as he rocks into her.

Even though her own voice embarrasses her, that is not the primary reason she tries (and fails) to stay quiet - rather, she likes hearing Stayne. She wouldn’t have predicted it, but he is shameless and unrestrained about voicing his pleasure, in stark contrast to the boys at home. She hasn’t heard anything like it, and even someone like Stayne sounds lovely while in the throes of pleasure.

The space between her thighs burns as he grinds against it, as the friction of her shift and his thick canvas trousers sets her nerves on fire. His kissing gets sloppy as he loses focus, trailing down her jaw and neck again. The hand on her hip slides up to her waist, squeezing, and then continues up to her breast, long fingers splaying over her skin. She moans, her stomach twisting hard, one hand digging into his hair. He moans back, squeezing her breast before hooking his fingers over the low, lacy neckline of the shift and pulling it down to reveal her bare skin.

“Beautiful.” The word is more breathed than spoken. He grinds against her hard and she whines, spreading her legs to allow him more room to maneuver. He leans her back, so much so that without him she would fall into the garden, but he holds her steady as he dips his head to her newly naked chest and trails more wet kisses over her skin.

She looks down at him and laughs, partly out of nerves and partly because of the overwhelming amount of new sensations she is trying to process. Privately, too, she finds it endearing that his face is flushed like anyone else’s, and the lines between his brows betray his mask of smug bravado.

He reaches her nipple and licks it without warning, and the moan that comes out of her would’ve had her disowned back home. Her hips rock seemingly of their own accord, and Stayne’s cheeks flush a deeper shade of pink at the movement.

It all hits her at once, hard, like a kick from a horse. She falls into rhythm with him, her hands in his hair, his mouth on her breast and his tongue lapping at her. Still supporting her with one arm, he brings the other to her free breast, tweaking the nipple between his fingers and making her nearly melt. She wraps her legs around his waist to bring him even closer, to position herself so that the hot, solid hardness of his arousal grinds against her sweet spot. She tries to say something but nothing comes out except broken, gasping moans that escalate in pitch until she climaxes, writhing and shaking and laughing. He pulls her up, slowing to a stop, holding her close to him until she comes down, giddy and dazed.

When enough awareness has returned to her, she finds herself pressed against his chest with her arms wrapped around his back. She takes a moment to collect herself, and then she pushes away, looking up at him. He looks down at her, his eye dark and hooded, his face ruddy. He seems to be only half-focusing on her, no doubt also half-focusing on his own bodily desires.

“Are you okay?” she asks. He swallows, half nods, leans his head down towards her. Slowly, he lets her go, his hands going to work undoing the leather ties of his trousers. Her heart picks up again, this time partly in uncertainty. “S-Stayne… Ilosovic--”

He shakes his head, laughing breathlessly, pressing into her space to kiss her like he is claiming her.

“Alice. Please...”

He pulls the ties loose, pulls his trousers down, freeing himself. Alice stares, wishing she didn’t have to, wishing she’d had some kind of sexual experience with someone other than Ilosovic Stayne. He is large, or at least she thinks so, but proportionately so to the rest of him. While she is partly fascinated, another, more prominent part of her twinges with fear at the idea that he wants to put that inside of her.

“I-I ca… I haven’t.” Whatever she is trying to say won’t come out, so she hopes he understands and has enough decency to respect her wishes.

“Just... “ He grabs her hand and guides it to his cock, melting into her touch. “Please.”

He kisses her again, long and slow, setting his hand over hers and coaxing her into a rhythm. She relaxes, relieved that this is apparently all he wants from her. He is hard and hot to the touch, something she hadn’t expected, and he rocks into her hand as she becomes more comfortable.

“Up--up higher,” he gasps, showing her, settling her hand just under the head of his cock and squeezing gently. This gets her a rumbly moan deep in his chest and another swear, this time in English. He ruts into her hand, quicker now, smashing his mouth against hers again, forceful and erratic like the first time. Alice tries to concentrate on what her hand is doing but it proves to be difficult when his hands wander over her body, particularly her breasts which he seems to like, moaning with her and gasping between kisses.

Finally he pulls away from her and lets his head rest on her shoulder, jerking his hips into her hand forcefully, just focusing on the feeling of her hand on him. He is panting, shaking, one hand joining hers.

“Ah--Alice--” he hisses, something breaking in his voice. He shifts out of her grasp and takes over solo, hard and fast. He tilts his hips so that he can aim his cock downwards, continuing his work as he pulls Alice flush against him, panting into her hair; she feels his muscles twitch, his hips jerking back and forth into his hand, and seconds later he climaxes with a long moan into the gardens below.

He slumps against her, shaking, and she slides her arms around his back. Maybe because of the post-orgasm hormones, Alice finds that she does not want to move, and this sentiment is evidently shared because after tucking himself back into his trousers, Stayne slides his arms around her as well.

They are silent for a long time, and the silence is not particularly intimate or soft, but there is some amount of companionship. She nestles her head under his chin and feels him twitch, his hand in her hair much gentler than before. Feeling gradually returns to her body, her mind clearing and making way for actual sensible thoughts and complete sentences again. She can feel the sticky wetness on her skin where his mouth had been, now half-dry and a strange mix of unpleasant and wonderful.

A breeze blows through, and Alice shivers, and Stayne pulls her closer, sighing.

“Thank you,” he mutters at length, sounding like he’d had to force the words out. She blinks; do people normally thank each other after making love?

“What for?” she asks. He swallows, shifting his weight.

“For… talking,” he says. She smiles, biting her tongue to keep from laughing. Stayne clears his throat and abruptly pulls away, straightening his uniform and not looking her in the eye. She wobbles, inwardly lamenting the loss of his body heat, watching as he picks up his gloves from the ground and pulls them on. Now he looks at her, watching her as she pulls her robe up and around herself. She hops off the balustrade, pulls her now-ruffled braid over her shoulder again.

He has straightened up to full height again, squaring his shoulders, letting his general aura slip back into quiet, hard-to-read neutrality. She crosses her arms around herself, listening as the breeze rustles through the gardens.

“Do you think anyone heard?” she asks lightheartedly. The corner of his mouth twitches.

“Do you care?”

It takes her a moment to think about it; certainly she would have cared at home, but here? “No,” she says.

“Then it doesn’t matter.” He half-shrugs. She is not entirely sure why, but as she thinks about it more, warmth crawls up her cheeks, and she laughs despite her effort not to. He quirks an eyebrow. “What?”

She shakes her head, patting her cheeks. “I’m… not sure,” she says. “I’m in a good mood. It’s amusing, is all.”

He looks slightly confused, but remains quiet, pushing his hair away from his face. Unwilling to let further awkwardness descend on them, and suddenly having a hundred different thoughts to process, Alice takes a step backwards.

“I should go,” she says, wringing her hands together, unsure of what proper decorum might dictate she actually do when excusing herself after a random sexual liaison with a former enemy. “Um… goodnight.”

Stayne grins, looking, to her relief, unoffended - in fact, he looks slightly amused. Her stomach flutters. “Goodnight,” he says. Alice nods and turns, walking quickly; when she looks over her shoulder he is still watching her with that same amused, smug grin on his face.

She makes it to the safety of the archway, where he can’t see her, before she breaks out running, thankful her treacherous thoughts are her own and eager to be back in the privacy of her room.

[heysawbones]

the dysphoria of being

—-

Wikipedia defines dysphoria as “a profound sense of unease or dissatisfaction”.

The internet talks about dysphoria a lot, gender dysphoria in particular. A raft of friends and acquaintances have cut their boobs off in response; a few have gone on estrogen. Because of my gender presentation - my hobbies, my interests, my tendency to write and essentially inhabit male characters - well-meaning friends have suggested on more than one occasion - why not try testosterone? Or even, you can just get rid of your boobs. It’s not bad advice, per se; it seems to be good advice for enough people, and frankly, if you have your boobs cut off and regret it later, you’ll live. Lesson learned: I guess the boobs weren’t the problem. I have never seriously contemplated this advice. I have contemplated whether I am gender dysphoric or not, however, especially in the wake of 2014-era tumblr and the relentless focus on whether one is, or is not, in the right body. The discourse made me deeply uncomfortable.

Sort of. I was already deeply uncomfortable, but, like many other things that seem insurmountable: those feelings were buried. Turned off. The discourse was rough on me. It was a reminder both that there were people who were one with their bodies, and that many people who weren’t, were a lot angrier about it than I was. In my life, the gender dysphoria discourse’s overwhelming role was to make me wonder: what, in addition to everything else, is wrong with me? Yet again, I am not reacting the way I’m supposed to, to this disconnect from the physical. Gender is such a focus for these people’s pain; is the source of my disconnection gender, too? My dysphoria started when I went through puberty, like it did for a lot of these people. Am I in the wrong body? Is that correct body, what we’ve decided to call male? I love military history. The Cold War. Building Gundams. Video games. Old cars. Lifting weights. Restoring old tools. Nice leather boots. I was active duty Army. I’m the grandpa of my friend group. If I’m supposed to be a guy - why isn’t that what I feel? Imagine, you are so aware of your own ineptitude at feeling, at processing things normally, that you aren’t sure if you’re supposed to be feeling gender dysphoria or not. That’s where I was, for long stretches. Yet, I did nothing. Simply, I have enough problems as it is, and adding testosterone and/or removing boobs seemed unwise. Plus, on some level, I knew: it’s not about gender for me. It never was. To call myself a “boy” or a “girl” is performative for me; I am nonbinary to my friends because it is the most accurate shorthand for both my experience and performance of gender. It is not a category of traits which I can appreciate or recognize in myself, not dissimilar to the disconnect from the body.

What I feel isn’t gender dysphoria. It is a dysphoria of being. Of having a body that looks back at me in the mirror; of always having to take a moment to reassess the features and confirm that it is, indeed, the collection of proportions and skin and two eyeballs I have learned are the ones that mean it is me. The intellectual aspects of having a body are not difficult - most of the time. Once, I made the mistake of attempting to articulate my feeling, or lack thereof, to a well-meaning partner and was forced to stand in front of a mirror until I stopped “feeling weird”, which I am fairly sure meant “acting weird”. It did not help. The intellectual knowledge that you are looking at yourself, and the visceral, gut-truth of is that me? What thefuckholyshit can easily exist at the same time. It’s not even a little difficult, and reinforcement of an existing conscious fact does not often alter the underlying emotional reality. Once, when I was 13, I got out of the shower and saw my mother’s face in the mirror. I don’t particularly look like my mother. I knew this was not the face I was supposed to see, looked away, and looked back. It was still there. I curled into bed and closed my eyes in hopes that it wouldn’t be there next time I checked. It was not.

My legs, my arms, my hands. My feet. Everything. Are they mine? Technically speaking. I do not doubt or question that they are, though I can barely remember a time where I could observe these and not take the fraction of a second required to run through the mental algorithm of outsider observation - ah, this leg in these pants is mine. I can tense the muscles, but am I tensing my muscles? Are the muscles, also me? I am in the body, but am I the body? Is there a right body? Is there a wrong body? The purest and least anxiety-inducing state of being for me is on IV ketamine, a powerful dissociative. The body is gone. It would seem there is no correct body, and so, every body is equally correct. Having a penis sounds nice, in ways - it seems more sexually convenient, maybe easier to clean depending on your particular configuration. If I had a penis, it would still not really be mine, just like my vagina isn’t. The damn thing is just *there*. Cutting my boobs off would just make me angry at myself because even if I don’t identify with the boobs, they are pretty good ones and having 0% boob solves jack shit in my case; it would amount to pointlessly disfiguring the perfectly ok equipment I was assigned. They take it out of your pay when you do that in the Army.

I’m still figuring this one out. Somehow this hadn’t come up with my current therapist until this week, and now I am assigned to gently stroke the hairs on my arm.

Life is fucking bizarre.

[whimsicalcotton]

yet more time-looper max brainrot

at some point she decides she shouldn't tell chloe about the rewinding to see if that helps keep her out of trouble (it doesn't) but there's a point in every cycle/timeline where she'll crack and tell chloe everything bc she finds it rly hard to keep things from her

she doesn't know how many cycles she's gone through, how many photojumps she's done, how long she's technically spent doing all of this, etc. but she Does have an unfortunately accurate count of how many times she's seen chloe kick the bucket

speaking of, there was one time where chloe offered her a cigarette after they found rachel's body (cause yknow. that's fucked and anybody would want a smoke/drink after that kinda shit) but as she kept looping it turned into max having a cigarette at the end of every cycle just before she resets (aka after chloe's died on her Yet Again. pour one out for your dead wife kinda deal)

sometimes she gets a little 'glitchy' and kind of fades in and out of various other timeline moments. from an outside perspective it's sort of like sleepwalking almost, and she'll be liable to just Wander The Fuck Off with a thousand yard stare or respond to conversations no one else is hearing

the more she keeps looping the less she cares about checking her appearance/taking care of herself, which leads to her being a Visible, Audible trainwreck to the point that in later cycles kate worries that max is the one who's gonna jump

she will only sleep when her body is utterly incapable of staying up another minute. she's always up late trying to iron out a million details and figuring out what to do next and/or having a breakdown of cosmic proportions

[purrincess-chat]

You know, as someone who fav side is adrinette i'm really happy that they're getting canon pre-reveal. However, some things just rub me in the wrong way, because the decreasing moments on other LS sides that saddened me a little. Like, adrinette is my fav side in the LS but i'm a love square stan, so i kinda wished all four of them that get mutual romantic feelings. This leads to a lot of people who started to think that Adrien's feelings for Ladybug isn't real or just a "celebrity crush" or he didn't love her "true selves" until he realize he has feelings for Marinette and I hate that statement so much. Just because he's with Marinette now that doesn't mean his feelings for Ladybug just automatically gone like that..

I forgot this ask was in here 😅

But I would argue that things haven't changed *that* much. Ladrien and MC always had very sparce representation since s1. They are the smaller sides of the LS. The most attention was always given to Adrinette and LN, so it was always going to be one of those sides. We've had numerous episodes about why romantic LN doesn't work pre reveal bc Gabriel is a skid mark of a human being who does not care about his son's happiness at all. We see that in s5 as well through Adrinette.

If I'm being perfectly honest, I think saying that the other sides are only getting reduced time this season only is dramatic. As I said, Ladrien and MC always got the short end of the stick. And you could argue MC has gotten its normal amount of content this season. They always get an episode a season. Ladrien hasn't had a designated episode since s3, so it not having much isn't new to this season, nor is it the fault of Adrinette being together. (The writers just know they're too powerful so they have to nerf them) LN has only slightly reduced screen time in comparison to previous seasons. Seriously, people are blowing it way out of proportion. Like if we were to graph the attention given to each side from s1-4 you'd probably end up with 55% LN, 40% Adrinette, then 5% split between MC and Ladrien. Obviously it's not an exact measurement, I'm not going to go count every second of screentime and make a number accurate graph, but in s5 it's more like 55% Adrinette, 40% LN, 4.5% MC and .5% Ladrien. LN hasn't lost that much screen time, in fact they pretty much just swapped with Adrinette. They still get a lot, seriously people forgot about the first half of this season that still focused on them quite a bit. They still have had some good moments together. People are just mad they've moved on with each other I might add. No one batted an eye for the last 4 seasons or claimed it wasn't fair to Adrinette to get less screen time than LN.

It's been like 10 episodes since Adrinette officially got together. Not to mention, it would be kinda weird if they didn't pay attention to it or give it more focus than the other sides right now seeing as they are together. 🤨 This is the season that finally progressed something with their relationship. Things weren't going to stay the same forever, and honestly, people were complaining the entire time they weren't together too bc everyone wanted something to happen. Damned if they do, damned if they don't. People weren't happy either way, and truthfully, I don't think they ever will be. 🤷‍♀️

As for shit people say about Ladrien, all of that is not new nor exclusive to what is happening this season. They've said that since s1, so it has nothing to do with Adrinette being canon. I recommend you just block people that are stupid and who say stupid things 😂

[jellyfish-confetti]

Hello! 

Wow! I did not expect this piece to get as popular as it did, but thank you all so much for liking, reblogging, and commenting on it! I know it can kinda sound insincere at times when artists thank the general people liking a piece, but please know I have read EVERY tag and comment on this piece <3!

One of my friends was interested in my thought process and creation of this piece so I decided why not do a break down of how I redrew this screenshot.

Now, to be clear I am not dissing anyone who likes the anime or who thinks the anime did this scene well. I'm actually really happy there are people who like this scene because the poor poor animators for MAPPA deserve all the love they can get. The anime moved beautifully and it was animated so well with a great focus on individuality and fluidity. This scene just didn't hold up to what I wanted.

tldr; You're totes fine to like this scene in the anime, I'm not dissing the animators (they deserve love and affection and a smooch on their head), I just expected something different. Please enjoy the process for this piece!

One of the first things I did before I even started sketching was break down the things I liked and didn't like from the anime and manga.

I decided to do a redraw of the anime rather than the manga, but used my favorite things from the manga art while keeping the formatting of the anime.

^This was my first initial sketch. Basically a thumbnail to get proportions set up and move to a tighter sketch.

^The tight sketch was done on a midtone gray canvas because I was going to be painting this piece, which means I needed a true neutral to gage the values. I tend to paint primarily in black and white, and usually I paint on 1-2 layers (with other layers being used to make certain spots darker before being merged onto the main painting layer). I usually lay down basic values for everything underneath the sketch layer, merge those two layer, then start painting from there.

^This is what the black and white painting looks prior to coloring. The whole painting is completely rendered through this method so that I can accurately gage the shading and make it as dramatic as I need to. This is the longest part of the process and took me forever because I kept goofin the eyes real bad (Imagine her...but cross eyed 😳)

^The entire grayscale painting is then colored with a gradient map (which is extremely useful and allowed me to experiment with lots of different color variations before settling on this one). If you're familiar with oil painting, this is actually really similar to how people did classical paintings (i.e. doing a detailed underpainting then adding in hue with translucent layers of colorful glazes). I really liked how this looked point blank without anything else, but I didn't like how the readability of some of the shadows were lost because of how dark the piece was. Also, It looks like a gradient map. There is no subtle hue shift, and Makima herself looks really flat compared to the grayscale version. The color on her cheeks is the same color as the train behind her...That's not great.

^This is what the final version looks like with me playing the curves tool (which allowed me to push the brights and the darks so the piece is more legible), adding hue variation to her hair, skin, eyes, and subtle background things, and final touches to the actual drawing itself (I had to go back in with the green hue in the shadows and add those back into her hair because they were completely gone when I made her hair pink).

^This is a really good comparison to show side-by-side the way a few adjustments can change a piece. Ngl I still really REALLY like the initially gradient map (the red eyes amid the green of her skin and the background is cool), but I'm glad I did the final touches, just to make it look less like a gradient mapped piece.

Hope that wasn't too confusing! Enjoy!! 

Redraw cause the scene was...disappointing...in the anime

[tallmantall]

Mounting evidence shows that veterans need targeted suicide prevention services Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.com - by Jordan Batchelor, Charles Max Katz and Taylor Cox America’s military veterans make up about 6% of the adult population but account for about 20% of all suicides. That means that each day, about 18 veterans will die by suicide. In the U.S., the overall rate of suicide has largely increased since the start of the millennium, but veterans are disproportionately represented among this tragic trend. Each of these losses affects not only the individual but also their families, friends and co-workers. Thus, working to prevent suicide and its underlying causes is important not only to protect our loved ones but also to foster happier, safer communities. We are a team of researchers at Arizona State University’s Center for Violence Prevention and Community Safety. We manage the Arizona Violent Death Reporting System, a surveillance system sponsored by the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention and part of the larger national surveillance system that operates in all U.S. states, Puerto Rico and Washington. We gather information on suicides through agreements with the Arizona Department of Health Services, medical examiners and law enforcement. #James Donaldson notes:Welcome to the “next chapter” of my life… being a voice and an advocate for #mentalhealthawarenessandsuicideprevention, especially pertaining to our younger generation of students and student-athletes.Getting men to speak up and reach out for help and assistance is one of my passions. Us men need to not suffer in silence or drown our sorrows in alcohol, hang out at bars and strip joints, or get involved with drug use.Having gone through a recent bout of #depression and #suicidalthoughts myself, I realize now, that I can make a huge difference in the lives of so many by sharing my story, and by sharing various resources I come across as I work in this space.  #http://bit.ly/JamesMentalHealthArticleFind out more about the work I do on my 501c3 non-profit foundationwebsite www.yourgiftoflife.org Order your copy of James Donaldson's latest book,#CelebratingYourGiftofLife: From The Verge of Suicide to a Life of Purpose and Joy www.celebratingyourgiftoflife.com Link for 40 Habits Signupbit.ly/40HabitsofMentalHealth If you'd like to follow and receive my daily blog in to your inbox, just click on it with Follow It. Here's the link https://follow.it/james-donaldson-s-standing-above-the-crowd-s-blog-a-view-from-above-on-things-that-make-the-world-go-round?action=followPub Assessing risk amid uncertainty Military veterans range from 18 years of age to more than 100, include both men and women, and represent diverse races and ethnicities. As of 2018, the largest veteran cohort were those who served during the Vietnam War, followed by those who served during peacetime only, the Gulf War and post-9/11 conflicts. Identifying the true risk of veteran suicide, especially relative to the general population, is a surprisingly difficult task. In past decades, researchers and stakeholders debated about which figures were most accurate, those showing veterans at increased risk or those showing the opposite. Such debates often stemmed from methodological factors. However, mounting evidence shows that veterans need targeted suicide prevention services, and our data backs this up. From 2015 to 2022, the age-adjusted suicide rates among male veterans in Arizona outpaced those of nonveterans by a factor of 1.49 to 1.88. Put another way, while veterans in Arizona made up only 8.4% of the population in 2022, they represented 20.3% of the state’s suicides, meaning veterans were 2.5 times more likely to die by suicide. While these numbers stem from Arizona, they also reflect the national trends showing greater and growing rates of suicide among veterans. Why are veterans at greater risk? One reason is that, compared to nonveterans, a greater proportion of veterans are white, male and older – demographic categories with elevated rates of suicide in the general population. For example, in Arizona, about 97% of veteran suicides between 2015 and 2022 were men, compared with 75% in the comparable nonveteran population. Other explanations relate to veteran-specific factors. Some argue that military training and combat exposure can reduce a person’s fear of pain or death, putting suicidal veterans at greater risk of completing suicide. Military training also familiarizes a person with the use of firearms, a particularly lethal means of suicide. Statistics show that veterans, including female veterans, die by suicide using firearms more so than the general population. This tendency to use firearms as the method of suicide leads to more fatal suicide attempts. At the Arizona Violent Death Reporting System, we collect data on circumstances that precede and may have contributed to suicide, which can help identify risk factors. While we’ve found that veterans often exhibit fewer such factors overall, certain demographic categories do display risk factors. For example, a higher proportion of veterans ages 18 to 54 had a diagnosed mental health problem – primarily post-traumatic stress disorder, or PTSD. In addition, more male veterans ages 65 and older had physical health problems that contributed to their suicide compared with similar nonveterans. This highlights the need to encourage veterans to share their mental or physical health struggles with others, which will prevent veterans from struggling alone. Large-scale initiatives are trying to tackle this issue, but we can also raise awareness and reduce stigma around suicide on a local level. Shining a light on the problem In 1999, then-Surgeon General Dr. David Satcher highlighted suicide as a serious public health crisis, paving the way for tackling the monumental issue on a national scale. Now, 25 years later, the U.S. government continues to emphasize the increasingly dire situation. Most recently, the Biden administration released a 2024 national strategy aimed at establishing strategic directions for improving mental health treatment and reducing suicide. Historically, health care facilities operated by the Veterans Health Administration have been a central resource for veterans experiencing mental or physical problems. This continues to be true: While the overall population of veterans is decreasing, the number of veterans who seek resources from the organization has increased. Encounters between veterans and the Veterans Health Administration offer opportunities to screen for suicide risk and offer resources for those in need. Crisis lines are a potentially effective means of prevention. For example, the Veterans Crisis Line has been shown to reduce a caller’s immediate distress and suicidality. Many callers have found the crisis line helpful, with responders providing both effective intervention and compassionate support. Education and policy provide another means of suicide prevention. As firearms are a particularly lethal means of suicide, a great deal of research funding has gone toward understanding their role in suicide. Studies generally find that reducing access to guns is associated with reduced suicide rates. As a result, both general and veteran-specific suicide prevention efforts highlight the importance of handling guns safely and storing them securely. If you know a military veteran, keep an eye out for warning signs of mental distress, which may display in a person’s words, feelings or behavior. For example, they may display intense anxiety, agitation or desperation, or express a sense of hopelessness. Veterans diagnosed with depressive syndrome, PTSD or both may be at greater risk. For a person who is considering suicide, even the slightest hope can mean the difference between life and death. If you or someone you know is experiencing signs of crisis, the free and confidential 988 Suicide and Crisis Lifeline is available to call, text or chat. If you are a veteran and would like to speak with responders trained to understand your unique circumstances, call 988 and then press 1. Photo by Craig Adderley on Pexels.com Read the full article

[itsagameongodonjesuschrist]

Art Styles

Realism:

For Honor:

For honor aims for a gritty close-to-life art-style and it mostly succeeds in that front especially considering the game came out in 2017, this is a great example of realism in games, due to the historical setting the game gets slack cut for realism, because, i didn't actually see what a knight looked like in detail. the aspect of ruined slightly when considering the games cartoonish cosmetics.

Dead By Daylight:

again this game succeeds with being 'realistic' because the game has fictional aspects and cosmetics that make it real-like instead of realistic.

Realism, doesn't appeal to me as by aiming for realism you will always fail, with technical restrictions now, you couldn't make something real so it will always not be real to me.

Cell Shaded:

Apex Legends:

I don't know if i would consider apex legends cell shaded compared to borderlands, though the art-style remains great nonetheless, i think the cinematics (lower image) are certainly more cell-shaded than the actual game (upper image).

Borderlands:

The borderlands series are an all-time favourite of mine and the art-style is so amazing and unique the textures make the characters really pop compared to other elements of the game

notice how in the screenshot above the character and important entrance to the building are highlighted compared to the lesser detailed and shaded ground and cover pieces.

This art-style gives the game an amazing cartoonish/ animated feel, the games use of lighting and particle effects are really cool considering their contrast with the cell shaded art-style.

Low Poly:

Tabs:

Totally accurate battle simulator is a great example of low-poly art, the goofy geometric design makes the game even funnier and ridiculous than it already is.

FInal Fantasy 7 (PS1):

(779) Final Fantasy VII (PS1) Playthrough [1 of 3] - NintendoComplete - YouTube

The art-style of final fantasy 7 gives it a nostalgic feel, because it is. and also makes it much less computationally demanding.

I enjoy the low-poly feel of these games and what i love even more is the lack of artistic ability, detail and effort that comes with low poly.

Hand Drawn:

CupHead:

Cup head has the aesthetic of a 1930s cartoon and this art-style is beautifully coloured and animated to give that vintage feel that has gone unused for a while,

Castle Crashers:

The art-style of castle crasher gives it a goofy feel due to the characters having the proportions of funkopops with their massive heads and disproportionate bodies.

Hand drawn is a cool art-style if it wasn't for the fact that you cant execute hand drawn art in a 3d environment

[bxllafanficc]

Matching YSL-bags

Pairing: Damiano David x reader

Summary: You’re a writer coming to your favorite coffee shop to write and have a coffee just like every morning for several months now. Expecting everything to go exactly as it always does, you enter and take a whiff of the lovely scent of coffee and pastries. But had you entered that shop at all today if you knew that nothing would be like every morning leading up to now? Even if you knew in advance that the gorgeous stranger with eyes like melting honey you’d been watching for months would bump into you? That you’d by mistake put the notebook with embarrassing drawings of him in his Yves Saint Laurent bag, the same model as yours?

The doorbell to your favorite coffee shop announced your arrival just as the smell hit you like a wall. You took a deep sniff of the air to make the fragrance last longer and made your way to the counter, following through your daily ritual of coming here to work on your latest novel for a few hours. Behind the counter was the barista, Casey who always took your order and had been doing so for months now. The rhythm of your stay here were so current that you didn’t even say hi to each other anymore, but you just made your way to your usual table at the window and waited for her to call out your order. This was a way for you to ditch the long line of people and get to work immediately.

“(Y/n)! The delivery of your favorite brand of coffee beans are a bit late today. They’re expected to be here in about 20 minutes. Want me to pick another brand?”

“Nah, I don’t mind waiting. I have nowhere to rush off to anyway.” Casey didn’t say what all the other workers thought. ‘As always’ some would snicker and you’d laugh with them. Casey wasn’t much for talking, or being near people overall, which came off as odd considering she worked as a barista at the town’s busiest brewery.

You turned on your laptop immediately and for awhile the sentences just seemed to take form by themselves without you needing to stop and think things through. The chatting from the people in the cafe worked wonders for your need of noise to be able to concentrate. But a particular sound always seemed to bring you out of your place and look up from your novel.

“Mornin’, I’ll have the usual, please.” The browneyed beauty which seemed to be as stuck in his day-to-day habits as you were. A stranger with the face of a god, probably created by them by hand. He always greeted the baristas with a blinding smile every morning to get breakfast. You’d seen him ever since he discovered this place and henceforth, he came here whenever he got the chance. His usual table stood empty, as usual and you’d sneak glances of him throughout the hour he used to stay. Part of the reason you always got to work so quickly was because you knew in advance how distracted you got by the handsome stranger so you might as well push every second of concentration in your favor. After all, you could get in trouble for not writing fast enough but couldn’t bring yourself to change your hours to avoid him. You even used to doodle some sketches of him the times where your creativity hit rock bottom. You weren’t a professional, since you needed a reference to know the proportions but whoever looked at the doodles would without hesitation be able to point out the person you drew. So in a way you were very accurate and took notice to details critical to make the face identical that mostly were gone unnoticed by the eye. You also made doodles of him because you were to scared to take a picture. Not that you were a stalker or anything. Just an admirer of his unreal features, yeah.

“That’d be 6€. Oh and (Y/n), your order is ready!” Casey didn’t return the kind smile of the stranger and you partly felt bad for him since well, Casey never smiled and he gave her the same warm greeting every morning.

You got up and felt your hands getting sweaty as the stranger turned his head to look at you. You’d never been so close to him before from where you stood beside him just mere centimeters apart. He smelled of something mild and sweet with a tint of cigarette. You mouthed a ‘sorry’ to him since you basically interrupted the line. He took no offense though and motioned for you to pay first. You picked up your bag and quickly grabbed at your purse, your notebook with your doodles getting stuck in your grip. You felt hot skin brushing your arm and it made you drop everything you just picked up. The man must’ve raised his hand to his face or something because he looked just as surprised as you when you yelped. You bent down to pick up all the coins and cards falling out of your purse.

“I’m so sorry, I scared you, didn’t I? I’ll help you.” He bent down beside you and put his own bag to the side to use both hands. The heat of his body didn’t have to even be in contact with your skin for you to feel it. In a haze you mumbled something about being alright and stuffed everything in your bag except for your credit card. You payed up quickly and thanked him even though he barely got the time to pick anything off the floor.

Your hands stopped sweating after a big sip of your coffee. You almost downed it completely to stop your hands from shaking too. If you would’ve been anything like your main character in the novel, this wouldn’t even have been an embarrassing encounter. Stuff like that happens. But not when it came to you. It didn’t take you long to realize that your concentration had completely perished after what happened. So you stuck your hand inside your bag reaching for your notebook but found nothing. ‘That’s weird. Did it fall out after I- Shit.’ You thought. Right. It slipped on the floor and you stuffed it in the bag without a second look. But didn’t that stranger have a similar bag to the one you’ve got? You glanced his way and saw indeed the exact same Yves Saint Laurent bagmodell you carried. ‘Good taste- but fuck this is a problem!’ The doodles in there would make you look like a stalker for sure if he found it, which he most definitely would.

You sat restless in your seat for the next 10 minutes trying to come up with a plan of how to not look like a fool while also getting your notebook back. Just asking for it back would be far too embarrassing since your bag wasn’t even close to his when you mistook it for yours. He’d think that you just wanted an excuse to talk to him. ‘So I might as well talk to him then.’ You thought as you stood up and went to his table with absolutely no idea of how you’d approach him.

“Can I sit down?” His striking brown eyes looked up from his phone and caught you off guard. He should be the surprised one, though you were the one getting flustered by how his eyes looked like melting honey because of the sun streaks getting in his face. How pathetic. ‘No, no focus. Step one, just greet him and don’t get embarrassed’.

“Well, hello to you too”, He chuckled and it didn’t take long to realize why. ‘Failed step one’. You’d just asked for the seat next to him without even saying hi. How embarrassing. Heat rose to your cheeks and he gently nodded for you to sit.

“I’m sorry, my body hasn’t digested enough caffeine to make me a function like a human being yet.” It was a miracle that you managed to keep your voice from stuttering and you were thankful when he seemed to appreciate the joke, that wasn’t really a joke though.

“I hear ya. So what did you come here for? You’re usually super busy at this time so it must be important.” His smile was sweet but you began to overheat. Had he been watching you? What for? Did he notice you had been doodling him sometime? But just then your train of thoughts were interrupted by another thought.

“I have seen you somewhere.”

“That’s... why you came here?” You were stunned by his reaction. He must’ve grown irritated by now, right?

“...yes?” It came out as a question and you internally cursed yourself for being so awkward.

“You don’t seem too sure about it?” His smile returned thankfully. He brought his own coffee to his lips and took a sip.

“No, I have definitely seen you somewhere. You look like that serial killer from the news.” That caused him to almost spit out his coffee. You were just about to apologize, pack your laptop and bounce as he turned serious.

“Really? I thought I looked nothing like my mugshot.” His lips pursed and it took a moment for the meaning to hit.

“You’re kidding.” You must’ve looked dumbfounded because he burst out laughing which caused the entire shop to turn their heads.

“Yes, I’m just joking. Was it believable?” It kind of reminded you of a young boy pulling a prank on his friend, the way the stranger looked at you with anticipation. You simply nodded, too embarrassed of every single word you’d spoken to this man so far. This... ridiculously handsome man. Before now you hadn’t really gotten a close look at him. His outfits were always on point but you’d never noticed the set of rings on his hands, for example.

“I’m sorry. My name is Damiano David. I’m the singer of the band Måneskin. That’s probably from where you’ve seen me, right?”

Damiano. What a pretty name. But what- Måneskin. Oh yeah.

“Ah, yeah...” Oh yeah... they won Eurovision, right?

...

“I see- wait oh my god, that’s terrible!” You blurted out without getting a chance to control your mind. You just wanted to sink off the chair and slip under under the table in shame. That’s it, you mistook Damiano David for a serial killer. ‘Might as well switch coffee shop, say goodbye to Casey while I’m at it.’

“Uh... what is?” Maybe you should offer to pay for his breakfast too to make him forget everything.

“I made a complete fool out of myself! I mistook you for a serial killer!”

“Don’t worry about it, Cara Mia. I’ve been through worse.” He seemed genuinely fine about it, though he really shouldn’t have.

“What could be worse than being mistaken for a killer out on the run?” He fell quiet trying to think back, you assumed.

“Well, I guess you’re right. It’s pretty bad. But like I said, it’s fine. It could’ve been worse.” He finished his last sip of coffee before gathering his trash. He’d probably be leaving soon and then you’d finally be alone to sulk.

“Really?”

“Yeah, at least you’re not some stalker who made up this meeting in your head before, just to put something in my coffee. You know, kidnapping me and stuff.” He just never seemed to stop laughing, did he? ‘Well, you’re only half wrong. Wait what am I thinking. I’m not a stalker! I didn’t even know who he was until now!” You nodded and fiddled with the sleeves of your shirt, in desperate need of something to clutch onto before you started laughing hysterically. We’re you losing your mind over a guy? Well he sure was a pretty guy, then.

“I’ve actually gotta go now but I had a really good time talking to you, as weird as it seems. Do you believe in fate? His expression took a readable turn and you tried really hard figuring out what that gaze meant.

“Fate? Yes, why?” He stood up and tossed his bag over his shoulder. Just then you realized what you really came here for and how close you were to failing miserably. You needed to tell him right away the real reason or else... His scent kept you from losing yourself to your thoughts again. Damiano stopped by your side and bent down, his hot breath fanning your ear. Lips brushed your earlobe and he whispered in a husky tone.

“I believe fate made us wear matching bags today; just for you to lose your notebook and force you to finally come over here and start a conversation with me. You know I’ve waited patently, right? Good thing you’re cute or else I might’ve stopped hoping.”

‘What?’

“Call me when you feel like it. I’ll see you tomorrow the same time, (Y/n).” And with that, he handed you the notebook with some numbers you hadn’t seen before; his phone number. He left immediately and the doorbell rang seconds later, alerting you of that you were indeed alone now.

‘What... What the hell just happened?’