#I also imagine that the oil he produces can be collected- and is used to help power the biografts

[mossy-paws]

Subspace doodles (PHIGHTING! Mermaid au)

so I was thinking more about the PHIGHTING mermaid au I’m doing and. What if subspaces’ gas- instead of being like actual gas, was polluted oil? I think that could make for a really cool trope if I ever were to redesign him for it :3!

For the design notes in specific:

When out of control, his “gas” takes the form of polluted oil, in control (as in wearing his mask and tank) it gets filtered into something akin to toxic brine (in which long exposure to can cause a lot of issues, specifically different types of shock, breathing issues, etc). Although the brine isn’t too dangerous to be around in small amounts, it can be harmful over time.

for those wondering what ACTUAL brine water (or more specifically brine pools) are, it’s pretty much a large accumulation of highly concentrated saltwater (which usually is around 10 times saltier then the ocean surrounding it) For most sea animals this brine means instant death due to the fact that is has no oxygen in it as well as the high saline levels.

(Im hyper fixating again can you tell)

[honeymoonjin]

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sᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ:

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: voyeurism, exhibitionism, filmed sex, sex toys, bondage, blindfolds, use of safeword (yellow, not red), aftercare, pet names, praising, degradation, controlled orgasm - delay/denial/forced, oral (m receiving), masturbation, face fucking, loss of virginity (wink wonk it’s our namjoonie), however not full sex just a bj

DAY FIVE

“Going outside again today, Namjoonie?” Yoongi questions with a teasing grin.

Namjoon sighs morosely at the thunderous downpour of rain visible through the kitchen windows. “It’s over for me,” he announces sullenly. “I’ve lost.”

You pause, spoonful of rice hovering in front of your open mouth. “So your prompt was ‘the outdoors’, huh?”

A miserable cry leaves his throat before he buries his face in his arms, slumped at the dining table where a few of you have gathered for breakfast. “Damn it,” he whines, muffled by the thick cable knit sweater he’s wearing. 

You’d woken up early to a crack of thunder; the weekend storm apparently descending upon the villa earlier than expected. For once, you’d had to help Jungkook work out the heating system, cranking it up until you could smell the quickly-heating dust that had gathered from lack of use. 

Yoongi, also an early riser, had announced that a day like today required a hot breakfast, and you’d helped him prepare a basic stew and some steamed rice as you were gradually joined by Namjoon, Jin and Hoseok. You’d waited a bit for the remaining two contestants, but the wafting aroma of beef and potato quickly broke your patience.

You finish your mouthful with a chuckle, leaning over to rub his back. “But now that you’re already going to get the penalty, you may as well do whatever you want.”

Namjoon’s body is still for a few moments as he considers this, before the faded purple of his hair jostles with a nod. “I guess so,” is the reply that comes from the crook of his arm.

You grin. “It’s okay, it’s not like you’re the last one. Hoseok hasn’t gone yet, and I swear Jimin doesn’t even wake up before midday.”

Hoseok narrows his eyes at you challengingly but before he can retort, the youngest makes a noise of disagreement in his throat. 

“Oh, he’s not sleeping,” Jungkook answers breezily between cheeks stuffed with rice. “What? Yesterday I wanted to ask if I could borrow one of his shirts for my stream this week - you know, that see-through pink one he wore over a white shirt? - and he didn’t answer when I knocked so I opened the door-”

“Jungkook,” Yoongi and Jin cut in simultaneously, faces turned down in disappointment.

“Wait!” Jungkook protests. “It’s not as bad as it sounds! I just stuck my head in the door and he was in the bathtub-”

“He gets a bath and I don’t?” Hoseok asks incredulously.

“Hobi-hyung, please,” Jungkook whines. “Not the point. So like, his hair was covered in white stuff and he had this bright green clay mask on his face and a black one all over his hands and the water was like pink, but still see-through and I could kinda smell rose and maybe tea tree oil but then he was yelling at me to get out and then I got a text saying if I told anyone he’d-” Jungkook pauses, his excitement fizzing out suddenly, replaced by a look of pure fear. “Oh, I probably shouldn’t have said all that. Let’s pretend that never happened.”

Jin looks like he wants to ask for more information, but Hoseok huffs, shuffling in his seat impatiently. “Who cares,” he spits petulantly. “He isn’t fucking Edward Cullen; just because he’s mysterious doesn’t make him hot. I can be mysterious.”

Yoongi gasps, pointing at Hoseok’s feet wordlessly. That alone is enough for the younger man to let out a pealing yelp, stumbling up out of his chair and jumping on his feet, frantically patting himself down as he wide-eyes the floor. Yoongi begins chuckling, a dry cackle that spreads to the others at the table, and Hoseok deflates, sending him a withering gaze.

Sitting back down in defeat, though not without glancing down one last time cautiously, Hoseok huffs at Yoongi, mouth sticking out in a pout. “You’re lucky I’ve already found my arch nemesis or it would be you, Yoongi-hyung.”

“What a relief,” Yoongi replies in sarcastic monotone. 

Hoseok frowns, before cheering up again to send you a bright grin. “Hey, Y/n, are you gonna go out to the confessional booth today?”

“Real subtle,” Yoongi murmurs lowly.

Ignoring him, you shake your head. “It’s raining,” you reply, “I’ll get wet.”

“I’m sure you will.”

Hoseok tuts, the dull thud of his foot stomping making Yoongi fight to prevent a smile. “Stop it, hyung! You’ll give it away!”

“It’s okay, Hoseok,” you assure, “it doesn’t really matter if you lose. The penalty is just spending the week in the bunk room. If you think about it, it’s like a sleepover.”

The doms eyes slide back and forth as he considers this. “Okay!” he announces cheerily. “My prompt is the confessional booth! If everyone else says theirs, we can all hang out together!”

You swear you could hear a pin drop. Namjoon looks like he’s feeling sorry for himself again, Jungkook and Jin are both avoiding his entreating gaze, and Yoongi just stares at Hoseok unabashed, smirk deepening as the silence stretches out.

After a minute of dead air, Hoseok frowns. “Fuck you guys. I wanted to sleep on the bunk beds anyway.”

Feeling bad for him, you stand up, collecting the empty bowls around the table and taking them out to the kitchen. “It’s okay, Hobi,” you chime, “if everyone else succeeds for theirs then I can keep you company.”

Hoseok’s eyes go wide, before he turns to Namjoon. “Buddy, you gotta fuck her outside. Let me have this.”

Namjoon pales, staring at the rain outside which continues to bucket down. “We’ll catch a cold.” 

“Fine, I’ll just make sure I don’t lose,” Hoseok insists, standing up himself. 

You walk back towards the dining room. “What are you gonna do, ma-Hobi!” You squeal as your body is suddenly lifted, swung over a shoulder. 

“Woah, hyung, you’re strong!” you hear Jungkook gush as Hoseok carries you without so much as a grunt. “That’s so cool!”

“Hey!” you try to snap, but with your body folded over a bony shoulder and hair dangling on end, you can’t imagine the heat of your comment is felt by anyone. “This is kidnapping!”

“Not really,” Jin calls out in a bright tone, “he’s not taking you off the property.”

You kick your legs in the air in frustration, blood rushing to your head. “Fuck you! You can go fuck Yoongi without me next time!”

“As far as threats go, that’s not strong,” Jin retorts, his voice carrying over the three shocked parties. “Fucking Yoongi would be a pleasure.”

“Thanks, Jin-hyung.”

“No problem.”

You feel your cheeks heat up with the added blood and your eyes ache, so you give up the fight, instead batting your fists against Hoseok’s ass in protest. “Hurry up, John Cena,” you grumble. “Either let me down or take me to the confessional room before I pass out.”

“So demanding,” Hoseok tuts, but before you know it you’re shifting, getting tugged down and up and sideways, vision spinning sickly until you’re resting, bridal style, in Hoseok’s arms.

You pout up at the dark-haired man. “Hobi, I feel seasick now.”

He grins, lips quirking into a heart shape. “Are you that wet already?”

Your head lolls back as you kick your legs weakly in his hold. “Stop it,” you whine. “Being mean.” 

“Poor baby,” he jibes, and calls out a cheery goodbye to the others, walking you out to the outside dining area where you’d spent that first night, and following the house around until you arrive at the garden shed that houses the confessional room. Once he lets you down, he checks his phone, wincing at what he sees. “Shit. Producer Shin is getting impatient.”

Even with all the excess blood in your head, you pale at the thought of the friendly middle-aged man that operated the camera in the room. “He’s not waiting there, is he?”

“No,” Hoseok dismisses distractedly, typing out a reply, “I exiled him to Sejin’s caravan out front. He just doesn’t like leaving his post for too long in case others want to film.” After he pockets his phone, he glances up at you, a strange dark flicker in his eyes. “Get inside and sit on the stool. Wait for me.”

Your mouth drops at the sudden change in his tone, his demeanor. “Why should I have to wait?” you protest. “You’re the one that wants me in-”

You jump when a sudden smacking noise rings in your ears, sharp and thin. In front of you, Hoseok has simply clapped his hands together once, but the fright as well as his sudden seriousness has your words dying in your throat. 

“I don’t appreciate subs that talk back,” he says slowly, each word enunciated and clear, like he’s reciting an important law. “So go inside, sit on the stool, and wait.”

“Yes, sir.” The honorific is meant to be a final sarcastic sign of defiance, but you find yourself meaning it as you say it. This isn’t Hobi that you can joke and laugh with. This is a glimpse of what he’s like at his job at the dungeon. Of what he’s like when he’s Master.

His back straightens and his face clears in approval, but he doesn’t praise you for it, simply standing in stoic expectation for you to follow his order.

When you get inside, you feel his eyes on your back like two hot pinpricks, but you don’t dare look back, leaving the door open a crack as you sit on the stool.

The room itself is cramped, with just enough room for the stool, the camera, and a seat behind it, empty for the first time since you’ve arrived. You’re used to seeing a producer sitting behind it, open from eight in the morning until midnight; Producer Shin doing the early half and Producer Kang in the evening. Both were friendly, middle-aged men. Shin was divorced and Kang was happily married with two kids in primary school, and after you’d gone through whatever thoughts were on your mind and whatever questions fans had sent in, both men would often switch off the camera and chat with you about whatever topic felt interesting at the time. 

Though it wasn’t broadcasted like your interactions with the other guys, you really had found good company in the two of them, as well as Sejin. On the Tuesday after Namjoon had walked out on you, you’d even gone out the front door to the caravan where Sejin resided, joined by Shin as the two ate dinner. While the two of them, Sejin especially, preferred not to know any extra information about the game just to maintain a professional distance, but that didn’t mean they didn’t give you a hot cup of tea and a portion of the Chinese food they’d ordered in and distract you with chatter about a k-drama Sejin was watching. 

Used to them, it feels strangely empty in the confessional room with that empty chair, more so now that you’re restless with anticipation, eyes straining to see outside the sliver of door you left open. 

He leaves you for a long time. Whether it’s on purpose or not, or whether you’re just feeling the drag as you wait, you don’t know, but it seems like hours of being on full alert before the sudden metallic screech of the door opening gives you a fright, heart racing as he steps inside. 

You gape as he casually steps behind you, a hand on the back of your head locking you in place when you try and look back at him. The glimpse you got was enough to see that he’d changed clothes slightly; bright yellow sweater replaced with a black leather jacket open over a see-through black shirt. The sight of him in your mind flashes every time you blink like an afterimage. Beyond the all-black ensemble, the tight ripped jeans and the heavy boots, perhaps the picture that stays behind your eyelids the longest is that of his hands. You didn’t have enough time to see, but he was holding what looked like a small rucksack, like the kind you’d take swimming or to play tennis. Somehow, you imagine what it contains isn’t so innocent.

You swallow as his fingers press on your scalp, splayed out. “Face the front,” he commands, and his voice brooks no protest. Once his hand leaves you, you remain still; hyper aware of the effort it takes to keep your eyes ahead, staring at the wall behind the Producer’s chair. “Arms.”

Pausing, you stare dumbly down at them as they rest on your lap. “What?”

Hoseok lets out a light sigh, like he’s exercising great patience, and taps your elbow. “Behind your back. Both of them.” 

You follow his order, a shiver running through you when his hands, calloused but limber, grasp your wrists tightly. He ties you up in silence, the cool caress of silk making your eyes slip shut in bliss. While you definitely have an interest in it, your experience in bondage isn’t particularly vast, and you marvel at how such a simple tie changes you. With every swish of fabric against the delicate skin of your wrists, your nerves all over your body sing out, need pooling between your legs. Your shoulder blades are tucked back, opening out your chest, and even in a thick hoodie and leggings, you feel deliciously exposed. Your forearms are crossed over in the hollow of your back so that the tie binds your wrists together. Instinctively, your fingers wrap around your opposite forearm for support, and knowing that there’s no back to the chair, that you’re now open on all sides, has your heart-rate picking up. 

You feel your arms tugged as he tightens the knot with a flourish, before slipping two fingers under. 

“Wiggle your fingers,” he instructs, and you obey. “Try to get out.” You pause for a moment, but then pull in opposite directions, attempting to wiggle yourself out, but to no avail. “Good.”

You swallow again, fighting against the dryness of your mouth. “What are you-” Your eyes fly open wide as his hand claps over your mouth, pulling your head back to rest against his chest as he looks down at you. You make a noise of protest, but he shushes you, brows in a straight line of disapproval.

“I ask the questions, princess. You see that chair?” He points ahead, and you try to nod but fail as his hand keeps you still, your breath coming hot through your nose. “That’s where the producer sits and asks you questions. So the only thing I want to hear from you are the answers to my questions, and your safewords if you need them. Understood?”

You try and nod again; this time, he unwraps his fingers from over your mouth and lets you catch your breath. “Yes, sir,” you confirm, voice small.

“Do you remember your colours, princess? Can you tell me?”

You lick your lips where they’ve gone dry. “Green for go, yellow for slow down and red for stop... Sir.”

If he catches the pause where you almost forgot to say his title, he lets it slide. “Good. Let’s begin.” 

You’re left dazed when he lets go of you and steps away in one swift motion, stepping to the side. You force yourself to keep your gaze ahead, unsure if the command from earlier is still in effect, but your eyes strain to make out the peripheral of him bending over the rucksack, rifling deep inside it. Your stomach curls at the sounds that emanate; the soft thuds of glass and silicone, the jangle of metal, the rustle of fabric. 

Finally, he stretches up again, and you suck in a breath when his hand finds its way to your mouth again, this time wrapping tightly around your jaw and turning your face to look up at him, at the small device he’s wiggling in his fingers. 

“Do you know what this is, princess?” Hoseok grins, and your eyes focus in on the small metal object. It’s short, a stubby cylinder. On closer inspection you notice a small remote tucked in his palm. A remote-controlled bullet vibrator. You nod as much as you can in his iron grip, and his eyes twinkle. “Are you gonna be a good girl for me and let me put it in?”

Your heart stops, blood rushing south as your desire skyrockets. “Yes, sir,” you gasp needily, unable to help yourself rocking your hips against the smoothed top of the wooden stool. 

Hoseok tuts at your movements. “Good girls stay still,” he chastises, and you freeze, feeling your jaw ache once he lets go.

As it turns out, ‘in’ doesn’t mean inside of you, but rather in your panties. Your fingernails dig into your forearms with the effort to not move, biting down hard on your tongue. He steps in front of you, hands dipping shamelessly to the front of your leggings, fingers tugging at the elastic and releasing, letting it snap onto your front. You hiss in a breath through your nose but don’t speak, remembering his rule. Going back, this time his hand slips under both layers, and you can’t help the whine that comes out when you feel cold metal against the heat of your core, sliding over your clit. Frustratingly, he himself doesn’t touch you, only placing the vibe before removing his hand, patting over your crotch where you can see the obscene bulge, straight down the middle. 

You let out a breath, brows furrowing with want, but he simply walks away, leaving you tied up and waiting as he sits behind the camera. 

He looks entirely in his element, legs spread and leaning back in the chair, fingers running over the control in his hands. In front of him, slightly to the right so his face isn’t blocked, is the camera. It’s still set up, black lens staring you down from its position on the tripod. You watch with baited breath as he leans over and turns it on with a little electronic beep, Your pussy clenches at the thought of him filming this, not for the show but for himself. 

How he’d take it to his room, booting up his laptop and locking his door. He probably sat much like he is now when he jerked off; legs wide to make room for his hands. Watching you moan and writhe, hands trapped behind you and chest pressed out as the metallic whine of the vibrations is just barely audible through his speakers. Would he drag it out, wanting to savour every last minute of the video, stroking himself slowly so as not to cum too soon, or would he be frantic, desperate, panting alone in his room as he tries to orgasm in time with you, spilling all over himse-

An unbidden cry leaps from your throat as you’re taken off-guard by the sudden voltage between your legs. Your thighs snap shut but the pleasure continues, Hoseok watching raptly as your shoulders twist, the instinct to pull your arms forward even as soft silk holds firm. “Hobi,” you whine imploringly. 

He ignores you, ramping the vibrations up enough that the noise fills the room; a constant high-pitched whirring that rings in your ears even as you clench your thighs around it. Though you’d enjoyed the odd vibrator yourself, you were sure Hoseok knew full well that there were always a few high settings that were quite simply too much. It overstimulates you before you’ve even orgasmed, so much you can’t take it. 

“Hobi!” you cry, curling over yourself as if you can escape it. Belatedly, in your electrified brain, a puzzle piece clicks into place. “Sir! Sir, please, turn it off! It hurts, please!”

You go lax, shuddering when it stops suddenly; the only sound in the confessional room coming from your heavy breathing. 

“Oh, princess,” he soothes in a warm voice, “don’t worry. Sir will help you learn. Think of this as training, hm? I want our time together to be enjoyable, but it’s important that you know how to behave. Sir would rather reward you than punish you. That’s fair, don’t you think?”

You straighten up awkwardly, the weight of your arms crossed over your back making it difficult. He’s patient, smiling once you face him upright again. “Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.”

His eyes glimmer at that, and your core clenches, all too aware of the powerful motor resting over your clit. You wanted him to be happy with you, not just because you want a reward, but because you know just how unbearable his punishment would be. “Here’s the plan: I’m going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to answer them. If I don’t like your answer, you know what happens. Understood?”

You feel your arms and thighs break out in goosebumps at the thinly veiled threat. “Understood, sir.”

“Then let’s begin. We’ll start with an easy one, hm? How do you address me?”

“Sir.”

“Correct. When should you speak?”

“When spoken to,” you answer automatically, but his head cocks to the side, raising the remote meaningfully. Your mind scrambles. “Wait! And if I have to use the safewords, sir.”

The hand holding the remote lowers again as he nods. “That’s right. I can punish you for forgetting the other rules and move on, but if you ignore that then we can’t play at all, princess.” Hoseok smiles placidly. “Those are the ones we’ve already learnt. Let’s see how good your instincts are.”

You take in a deep breath, eying up the remote warily. This was uncharted territory, so the chance of you making a mistake just went right up. Rather than making any comment, you bite your tongue and wait for him to address you. 

“When do you get to cum?” Hoseok asks in an authorial tone. 

You pause for a moment, not wanting to blurt out something wrong. “When Sir gives me permission?”

He smiles placidly. “Good. Now; normally with my subs, they come only by my say-so. But I know for you, that isn’t reasonable given you have to play with the others. However there is still something I expect to have control over. Think for a bit; I’ll give you time. What can you not do without my permission?”

You stare at him imploringly but he just waits for your answer. You rack your mind for some clue, running over his words. He only wanted you to cum with his permission, but he was saying sex with the others was fine. So it wasn’t like you couldn’t cum at all without him around... You blink, feeling cold dread settle down your back as you come up blank. “I don’t get it, sir, I’m sorry.”

“That’s disappointing.” Even as you brace yourself, the powerful vibrations shock you to your core, more intense than you remember them. Hoseok’s eyes remain on you as you rock your hips and wiggle your torso, body trying to escape the overwhelming sensations even as you know you can’t. He holds you like that for what feels like an eternity, though it can’t be more than a minute or two. Finally, just as you feel like you’re going to fall apart, he takes mercy, and the vibrations cease, leaving you gasping. 

“The answer I was looking for,” Hoseok explains coolly, “is masturbate. You are not allowed to masturbate as long as I am in the show. If you want that release, you’re to come to me, and I’ll decide if you’ve earned it. Is that clear?”

You open your mouth for a disingenuous yes, but he beats you to the bunch.

“And if you break that rule, don't think I won’t notice. I have mercy for mistakes but I don’t take well to direct disobedience.” 

You deflate, lips turning down in a frown. It takes you a moment to commit. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” His eyes glint proudly at the power you’ve handed over to him, and you clench your thighs together, not wanting to admit just how much that look affects you. “I have one last question for you. What would you like from me?”

This feels like a question with no right answer, but still you hesitate. Ask for too much and he might chastise you. “A kiss, please, sir,” you try tentatively.

Hoseok’s eyes crinkle slowly as he smiles, standing up. “How romantic, princess.” You turn your chin up in anticipation, toes curling as he sidesteps the camera and moves closer, leather jacket shifting to reveal tantalising slips of skin, covered by the black sheer mesh. Once in front of you, he bends down painfully slowly, close enough that your eyes slip shut, the lightest brush of his lips on yours and-

He chuckles above you as the vibrations reappear with a vengeance, making you jerk violently and curse.

“Sir! Please!” you cry. Each time the vibrations come, they’re more insufferable, like they’re breaking down your defenses one pulse at a time. “Sir, please stop it, it’s too mu-uch!”

Hoseok turns it down, but not off, so that a gentle thrumming keeps you shuddering. He reaches behind you to tug your hair, pulling your head up to face him as he stands above you, tutting. “Why would I give you what you want?” he asks rhetorically. “You didn’t answer all my questions correctly. Maybe next time, hm?”

The vibrations are now the exact opposite of before - too low to bring you close to your high. “Hobi, plea- Sir, please, make me cum! I tried my best!” You round your eyes and pout, trying to plead with him. 

Though he tries to hide it, his poker face falters for just a second. Just a twitch of his eye, a softening of his jaw, but you know you have him. 

You let your voice soften even more, the sweetest begging. “I’ll be good for you, sir. Please just let me cum.” 

Hoseok lets out a sigh, eyes melting. “Just this once, princess,” he allows, “Sir will go easy on you since you’re just learning.” He smiles at the way you moan in relief once the vibrations pick up again, the divine middle ground between too much and not enough. With your senses so heightened, it’s no surprise to feel the coil in your stomach quickly tightening, egged on by the fond way he strokes your hair, brushing it off your face to drink in your reactions. “Are you going to cum for me?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you breathe, hips rocking as much as you can without compromising your balance. It’s an overwhelming feeling having your arms still tied behind you. The thought that you aren’t in control of your own pleasure. Considering his prior rule, it doesn’t surprise you that he started with a scene where you didn’t even have the choice to cum without permission. Every time the silk tugs at your wrists or the metal vibe slides slightly with your grinding, it just reminds you of how you’re fully at his mercy, and you can’t wait to feel what that’s like once you finally cum. It’s not quite enough though; so wet, the metal slips more than you’d like and it frustrates you when the pressure isn’t enough, or is in the wrong place. You hiccup a sob when he turns the vibrations up just one more level, so close to your edge you could cry. “Ho-hobi, please, I need more.” You sniff at the way his brows tick. “Sir,” you cry desperately, legs widening in invitation. 

Hoseok lets out a low grumble as his jaw flexes. “You’re lucky I’m going easy on you,” he announces, before dropping a hand down and cupping it over your center, pressing the vibrator right over your clit. “You better cum now, princess, I’m getting impatient. You wouldn’t want Producer Shin to walk in right now, hm? Poor man just wants to do his job, not deal with whiny little girls like you who just want to cum. Do you know why I’m not fucking you right now, princess? Because I know you couldn’t help yourself from making a mess. I bet you’re sopping wet in those panties of yours.” 

With every sentence, Hoseok grinds the heel of his palm over you, jostling the vibrator against your swollen clit and before you know it, you’re cumming, leaning forward and burying your head in his chest as you latch your thighs around his hand, cresting the high. 

He holds you there the whole time, vibrator jumping up another level to make you let out a squeal. As your vision begins to clear and your body returns to normal, the vibrations make you jump and whimper against him, arms flexing aggressively as you fail to pull your hands in front of you, no way of stopping the assault of sensation- unless; “Sir! Turn it off, sir, please!”

Hoseok takes mercy on you and the vibrations cease. As you gasp for breath, the sheer fabric of his shirt itching your cheek, you feel his palms slide over your shoulders and down your back, warm even through your hoodie, and reach for the length of silk. You make a low noise of disapproval at the feeling of being untied, not wanting the scene to be over, but he just shushes you gently, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. 

Your shoulders twinge once your hands fall to your sides, and you follow his instructions to roll them out as he massages the muscles. While his fingers aren’t as heavenly as Taehyung’s, it does ease the ache, and you let him sit you up as he fishes the slick metal bullet out from between your legs, smirking at the way you shudder when his knuckles brush against your sensitive clit.

“Now, princess,” he announces lowly, “Shin will be coming back soon, so we need to head out. But I still have one last lesson for you. Are you able to keep going? It’s nothing too crazy, I promise.”

You swallow the dryness in your throat that’s come from your heavy breaths and nod, a soft smile gracing your face with the satisfaction of a good orgasm. 

Hoseok hums, pleased, and pats your cheeks warmly before holding up the black silk. “One of the most important things in a scene,” he explains, brushing your hair back with his free hand, his knuckles light against the sensitive skin of your neck, “is trust. So we’re going to take a walk back to the house together, princess. Only you’ll be wearing this.”

Your breath hitches as the silk comes over your eyes, cool on your lids and temples as he ties it in a knot at the back, tight enough that it won’t slip but making sure it isn’t catching your hair or digging in. It’s a new kind of vulnerability, having your hands free but your sight prohibited, and you find your head tilting up blindly, seeking him out in the void.

“Oh, Y/n,” you hear him chant in a whisper, “you have no idea how beautiful you look right now.”

You shiver, hands clutching at him, slippery fabric and sharp teeth of a zip scratching your palms. “Sir,” you say, no words coming to mind but his title as his hands grasp your sides, lifting you off the stool. You stumble a but, hands flying out to steady yourself in the darkness. Your heart races when you realise your hands are empty, and as you wave them around, it’s all open air, feeling deep like a crevasse. “Hobi?”

Hoseok ignores the slip, his voice coming slightly to your right, but at a distance. “Follow my voice, princess. I’ll keep you safe. Come.”

Your mouth hangs open and your feet feel leadened to the floor. As fear begins to roil in your chest, you slide your feet forward, shuffling closer, hands scanning the air in front of you. With no sight, every inch feels like walking up to the edge of a cliff, hands grasping for contact that never comes. Your breath hitches, lungs not expanding fully. “H-hoseok, yellow,” you gasp, eyes tearing at the fear that grips your heart. “I don’t like it.”

“Okay, shh, you’re alright, I’m here,” Hoseok comforts, his voice closer, and you let out a sob of relief when your hands touch the mesh of his shirt, elbows buckling as he pulls you into a tight hug. The restriction on your ribs falls away the moment his chin rests on the crown of your head and his hands rub soothingly at your back. “I’m so sorry, princess,” he murmurs gently, “too far, hm? Are you still okay with the blindfold?”

You sniff and nod, bottom lip trembling so much that you don’t dare speak.

“So not being able to touch me was too much? That’s okay, don’t get upset, we don’t have to do that. Do you think you could walk to the house with me if I hold your hand? Would you like to try that instead?”

As he speaks, he slips a hand into yours, squeezing tightly. You take a steadying breath, feeling those sickly stresses fade away. “I wanna try, Sir,” you decide, voice only wobbling a little. 

“Are you sure?” You hum in confirmation, and he rewards you with another soft kiss to your forehead. “Then let’s go, princess. Walk this way with me.”

It’s still scary stepping out blindly, but Hoseok reassures you every few moments, and his hand is like an anchor in the black ocean, keeping you steady. His hands are surprisingly slender, but they just fit into yours all the better, warm and strong and tugging you along slowly. 

The first thing you feel once you leave the shed is the spots of rain on your cheeks, air fresh with moisture. Rather than be a negative, however, the lighter downpour soothes you, as well as gives you an incentive to walk faster. 

There’s a slight lip where the patio begins, and once Hoseok guides you to step up on it, the rain ceases to hit you, now a soothing patter against the eaves of the house and the roof over the outdoor dining area. The swish of a glass sliding door, and finally you’re led inside, Hoseok warning you about furniture you’re close to so that you don’t trip. 

Even as it gets easier with time, you still let out a heavy breath of relief once he slides back a chair at the table and helps you sit, unwinding the knot and baring your eyes to the world once more.

You blink, wincing at the bright lights of the kitchen and dining room, feeling Hoseok’s hands on you, warm voice praising you. Strangely, your mind feels more fuzzy now that it’s over, and you tell Hoseok, rubbing your eyes to try and get your vision to focus on his face.

“Probably subspace,” he answers, taking the chair next to you and holding out his hands, palms up. You frown blearily at him and he just laughs, reaching out for your wrists. You look down and let out a noise of surprise. All your struggling has left harsh red lines circling your wrists, and you hiss as Hoseok gently rubs them, pressing in an almost clinical manner like he’s making sure you haven’t hurt yourself. “Typically the trust exercise alone wouldn’t make someone fall that much, but I suspect cumming first had gotten you halfway there.” 

“Okay,” you answer dumbly, making his lips quirk in a smile, letting your wrists down. 

“I’m going to get you a drink of water and something sugary and then we’re going to sit down at the couch and watch a movie together, okay?”

“Okay,” you say again, head feeling heavy. Perhaps you’d lie rather than sit on the couch, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“You did so well for me today, princess,” he praises. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Thank you,” you slur happily, waiting for him to duck into the kitchen and retrieve the supplies.

And so for the rest of the morning, the two of you curl up together on the couch, gradually joined by the others, until all eight of you are watching Paddington 2, Jungkook furiously playing a game on his phone to hide the fact that he’s tearing up at one of the climaxes. 

It’s easy to let time pass like this; long after you feel fully clear and coherent again, you remain safe in Hoseok’s lazy embrace, his head resting against yours and his arm wrapped around your shoulders. Jin and Yoongi bicker about the movie choices as the day goes on, and Taehyung demolishes enough snacks to clear the pantry, but you and Hoseok just relax, enjoying the mutual comfort after your scene.

In fact, you barely notice the afternoon drifting by until Jin stands up and announces you order in some dinner, because it was too late to cook. True to his word, it was almost 8pm, and you didn’t fancy waiting until 10 or later to eat. 

It’s not you, or even Jin or Yoongi, but Jimin that notices Namjoon’s change in demeanour. The eight of you are crowded around the coffee table cross-legged (or, like Taehyung, lying on his stomach) in an uncommon silence founded by the delicious food you’re all stuffing into your mouths. 

Not all, apparently, as Jimin’s voice breaks the silence. “Namjoon-ah, why aren’t you eating?”

The silence changes, then. No longer the contented hush of eating, but the frozen uncertainty of a social faux pas. You’d only known each other five days and already Jimin was using a very familiar term, one that normally you wouldn’t dare use to someone older than you. Namjoon, however, doesn’t seem offended, but rather sends the younger man a grateful look. 

“I’m just not hungry,” he weakly explains, staring mournfully at the steaming dishes in front of him.

“You didn’t eat lunch either,” Jimin points out, making you raise your brows. You’d seen on many occasions that Jimin was an observer - the memory of his hand around your throat still makes you shiver - but to hear it directed at someone else’s wellbeing impressed you. 

Namjoon just shrugs. “I wasn’t hungry then.”

Abandoning his own meal and ignoring the gawking stares from the others at the table, Jimin reaches out with his chopsticks, piling food from all of the dishes into Namjoon’s bowl. “You’re going to sit here and eat with us, Namjoon, and then you’re going to tell whoever you feel comfortable telling why you’re upset.”

Namjoon’s face falls, guilty. His fingers fiddle with the hair tucked behind his ears as he watches his portion grow. “I don’t want to be a burden,” he mutters softly. 

“You aren’t a burden,” Jimin says firmly, sending him a firm look and sliding a set of chopsticks his way. “Just say thank you and eat.”

“Thank you, Jimin,” Namjoon says in a small voice, grabbing a piece of pork cutlet first, biting into the crunchy crumb. 

With a quiet smile, Jimin turns back to his own food, continuing to dig in. As if that’s the signal for the rest of you, the group returns to their bowls, a satisfied silence falling once again. 

After a few mouthfuls, Jin sets his cutlery down, wiping his mouth on a stray napkin. “I think all of us are probably facing some challenges in this situation. No matter who gets voted out and when, we’re the only ones we have right now, so let’s be honest with each other and support each other. We shouldn’t expect Namjoon to be vulnerable with us without being able to do the same. So I’ll start; one thing I’ve been worrying about is that I’ll get my own feelings in the way - whether that’s affection or jealously or competitiveness - and not be able to give you all objective advice. I want you all to see me as a person you can talk to and a shoulder to lean on, so I’m worried if I get too in the game I may no longer be able to do that.” 

Finished, Jin returns calmly to eating, pulling a long trail of cheese ramen into from the bowl into his waiting mouth. To your surprise, it’s Jungkook that speaks up next; the boy having kept quiet this whole time. 

“I’m worried-” he begins, before his nose twitches violently like he’s fighting the urge to tear up. “I’m worried that I’ll miss you guys. If I get voted out or any of you get voted out. Like; once the competition is over we can still hang out at stuff sometimes, and we can still talk, but it won’t be the same.”

You coo as he presses the back of his hand to his nose, blinking hard. Sitting beside him, you leave your own food and wrap your arms around him in a sideways hug, resting your head on his shoulder. He sniffs, but his head tips to the side to lean against yours, and you feel his body relax into the embrace. 

“I worry about that too, Jungkookie,” you admit. “Though my biggest fear is that whoever I vote out each time will hate me for it. I know it’s hard not to take things personal. It’s going to be an impossible decision every week, and I don’t think I could handle it if you got angry and didn’t want to speak to me again.” 

“That won’t happen,” Taehyung answers certainly. “You’re so cool, Y/n, and getting a bunch of hot people to fuck you every week is the dream, but I would never want to be in your decision. We all know it’ll suck more for you than it does for us.”

You smile as the other guys at the table nod in agreement, letting out a low hum as Jungkook’s shoulder jostles beneath your head, the boy reaching forward to grab his bowl. As he lifts a hunk of white rice to his mouth, you poke him in the ribs, opening your own lips. 

Though you can’t see his face, Jungkook scoffs and you can picture the reluctant grin he must sport as he changes angles, lowering it to your mouth instead. You hum happily once the warm rice fills your mouth, but it soon turns into an indignant squeak as Jungkook pulls out a cut of cooked pork with his chopsticks, eating the much better morsel. He chuckles, feeding you the next strip, and the two of you sit contentedly like that, feeding each other as the conversation continues.

It seems like it’s Hoseok’s turn. He has his gaze internal, biting at his lip. “I’m terrified that I’m gonna fuck up and say something wrong or do something wrong and then people at my work will think I’m a bad dom. I swear I’ve read Y/n’s limit sheet a million times but I still messed up today.”

“Hobi,” you sigh, voice soft with empathy, “that wasn’t your fault. And you handled it perfectly. Please don’t feel bad.” 

Though you know the others have questions - Jimin especially is staring hard at Hoseok, not angry but burning with curiosity - nobody asks, simply letting things move on. Yoongi pats Hoseok on the back from beside him and looks towards the center of the room.

“My concern is with the editing team,” Yoongi explains. “We don’t really have any way of knowing how much is going to be shown in the episodes on the website, and I don’t want people to watch this and get altered perceptions of things. I’m sure it can’t be avoided, but I do sometimes wonder how much the audience even sees.”

“I bet if one of us takes our clothes off, they’ll air this part,” Jin offers between mouthfuls of meat. “If you ever want to make sure something gets on the show, just remember it’s a porn website. I bet I could get five minutes of me talking about the economic state of Poland on the show if someone was going down on me at the time.”

Namjoon chokes on a sip of his water and you laugh heartily at the satisfied grin on Jin’s face. Always one to lighten the mood, the eldest seemed relieved at the way Namjoon blushes, but still chuckles, looking less anxious. 

“Alright, then,” the virgin announces shyly. “I’ll get it off my chest. I’ve wanted to make my move this whole week but I keep chickening out. I’m worried that I’ll get to Sunday and not have done anything.” 

You straighten up off of Jungkook. “That’s easy, Namjoonie. I’ll just make a move for you. After dinner, let’s go to your room.”

He chuckles nervously, but the whole room burst into a joyous cheer when he nods at you. 

“Namjoonie, you casanova!” Hoseok jokes, but you can see how his eyes glimmer with pride, all the guys genuinely happy for him.

Namjoon senses it too, and some of his nerves seem to dissipate. He laughs, rocking his fist like a small punch of victory, and sends you a grateful smile. “Anyway,” he says once the celebration calms down, “we still have Taehyungie and Jimin to hear from.” 

“I’ll go first,” Taehyung insists, jumping up from his spot lying on the floor to sit instead, placing his hands palms-down on the table like he’s divulging state secrets. His eyes narrow, his voice lowers. “My deepest, darkest fear is that either I or Jimin-hyung will get voted out before I get the chance to give him a massage.”

Jimin rolls his eyes as everyone oohs at the confession, but he can’t hide the upwards twitch of his lips. “Go on, then,” he allows, cheeks plumped as they fight to hold back his grin. “I need to be loosened up to admit my feelings anyway.” 

Taehyung hoots, springing up and stepping around limbs and bodies until he’s sitting on the couch behind Jimin, legs on either side of the older man’s body. “You’ll have to take off your sweater,” Taehyung announces, fingering the cream-coloured fabric around his shoulders, “it’s too thick.”

Once again Jimin surprises you by actually removing his sweater, delicately slipping the ends of the sleeves over his wrists before lifting it up. He’s not shirtless - underneath the sweater is a thin cotton tank, tucked into his white jeans - but it’s the most skin you’ve seen on him, and you gape at his bare arms, lithe and pale. 

The atmosphere in the room has changed very suddenly, everyone’s eyes on the pair as Taehyung rubs his palms together, warming them before laying them over Jimin’s shoulders with an excited grin. Jimin sighs almost inaudibly, lips parting as Taehyung begins to work his magic. 

“Tell us then, hyung,” the masseuse requests, “what’s eating Park Jimin?”

Jimin’s lids flutter, the tension returning to his face with a frown. “That none of you would like me. That I’d get voted off just to make things less awkward for the rest of you.” 

Taehyung’s hands freeze, his face falling. “We love having you here, hyung,” he insists lowly. “You’re a tough egg to crack, but I bet you’re a softie deep down. We’ll get there.” 

“Thank you,” Jimin replies shortly, feeling considerably uncomfortable with the eyes on him for once. “I do hope that wasn’t the end of the massage, Tae, you barely sat down.” His tone is flat, but he lifts his head up to send the younger boy a sidelong grin. 

Taehyung winks back at him, gently turning Jimin’s head back to face the front. “Of course, not, that was just the warm-up. You’ll be so relaxed when I’m done, you won’t be able to walk up to your room.”  

Jimin lets out a little laugh as Taehyung begins pressing his fingers in more deeply, the flesh rippling beneath his touch. The masseuse, however, glances up to the rest of you, jerking his chin away like he’s asking you all to leave. Privacy, he mouths, and you fight the urge to nod in understanding.

Jimin probably wouldn’t let himself relax like that if all of you were just sitting there staring at him; you can see the way he nibbles lightly on his bottom lip that he feels out of his comfort zone. 

Jin takes the first iniative, letting out a satisfied sigh and standing up. “I’m full,” he announces, “who’s gonna come help me do the dishes?”

And like that, you all clear out and leave Taehyung and Jimin behind, Jimin’s shoulders dropping in relief when he thinks nobody can see. Instead of helping clear up, Jin tells you to take Namjoon upstairs, and before you can really comprehend it, the two of you are sitting on the end of his bed in his room, kicking your legs out awkwardly. 

“Well,” you say after a moment, Namjoon jumping slightly like he hadn’t expected you to speak, “how would you like to do this, Namjoonie? Lying down, sitting up, standing?”

He swallows, fiddling with the ends of his hair. “I think sitting,” he answers. “Could we, um, do it under the covers?”

“The blowjob?” you ask in surprise, and Namjoon nods, cheeks bright red.

“Nobody’s seen me naked before, and it doesn’t matter if I get disqualified for not showing everything because I’m going to get the penalty anyway for not doing it outside.” 

“That’s fine,” you coo, “whatever makes you comfortable. How about I turn away while you get undressed?” 

He nods, and you face the wall, listening to the sound of him hastily undressing, like he was worried you’d get impatient and turn around. 

“You do realise I’m going to see you naked anyway?” you call out. “I can’t suck your dick with my eyes shut. Well-” Your voice lifts up as you consider it. “I suppose I could.” 

Namjoon laughs, and you let yourself smile proudly at the sound. “You can turn around now,” he instructs, and you do, smile widening at the way he sits up in bed, pulling the covers up over his chest cutely. 

“Namjoonie,” you sigh, stepping over to perch on the side of the bed, “I don’t want to push you if you aren’t ready. Are you sure about this? I don’t mind waiting.”

He mulls it over for a moment, chin pressing out as he tenses his jaw. “I think I’ll be fine once we get into it, you know? I’m ready.”

“Then let’s get into it,” you announce, fishing out your phone. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Namjoon’s shoulders deflate. “What are you doing?”

You smile softly, selecting a romantic playlist to set the tone a little; a slow, soothing guitar and husky male vocals emanating from your phone. “Setting the mood,” you answer, placing it on his nightstand and turning to him. “You’ve kissed before, yeah?”

Namjoon nods, his eyes widening once you stand up, shimmying out of your clothes. “I- y- mhm. Oh, god.”

“What?” you ask innocently, like you didn’t just get naked in front of him. This whole ‘being filmed 24/7’ thing had done wonders for your body confidence, and so you boldly straddle him, the duvet being the only thing that separates you. “We’ll just start with something you know, then.”

He makes a little muffled squeak of surprise when you press your mouth to his, but it shocks you just how quickly he seems to calm down and kiss you back. Perhaps he was a natural, or he had more experience than he’d let on, but in  few short moments he begins to take control of it, deepening it and making your mind hazy with slips of his tongue. 

“Wow,” you gasp out between kisses, “how did you learn to - mmph! - kiss like this?”

“Sorry,” he replies, voice already husky with arousal, “I’m excited.”

“Good,” you chime with a light giggle, “are you excited all over?”

“N- Yes,” Namjoon admits, stricken.

“So soon?” you question teasingly.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats, pulling away and clenching his eyes shut like it pains him. “You’re really pretty.”

To hide your blush, you slide a hand down his chest and stomach. “Do you want me to touch you now?”

He nods quickly, jerky motions as his hands fist at his sides. “Shit, can you- This duvet was a bad idea, I shouldn’t have-”

“Hey,” you interrupt softly, standing up off him. He makes a low noise of loss and opens his eyes, widening when he’s visually reminded of just how naked you are. “We can take the duvet off, don’t worry. It’s easier this way, too.”

Once he nods his consent, you flip the covers back, revealing his naked body.

Your mouth drops open. “Jesus fucking Christ.”

Namjoon frowns, brows knitting together. “That’s not a good reaction,” he says unsurely, hands tucking over his hardness. He’s huge - big enough to rival Seokjin’s - and he’s practically leaking precum like a faucet, his tip looking so red it must be painful. 

“Oh, I can assure you it most definitely is,” you gush. “God, I’m so lucky. How did I get this lucky?” you ask yourself in wonder, stradding him again. This time, you sit lower so that you can bend over and take him in your hand, marvelling at the weight of it. 

With that simple touch, Namjoon’s head falls back and knocks loudly on the headboard, making him hiss. “Y/n, if you don’t put your mouth on me now, I swear...”

Your eyes widen, mouth in question falling open in shock. “So Namjoon’s a baby dom, hm?”

He lifts his head off the wall, staring at you like he can’t believe the words that came from his own lips. “Sorry, was that rude? I’m going crazy, I want you so bad.” 

“Don’t apologise,” you croon, running a single nail lightly up his side, “I like it. I’m going to suck you off now, okay? Tell me what feels good.”

He nods, a small amount of his prior nerves returning, but before they can take over, you dip your head, wrapping your lips around his tip and simply sucking off the precum that pools there. 

“Fuck! God, oh my god,” Namjoon all-but shouts, and you can’t help but chuckle around him. “Don’t laugh,” he chastises, a hand winding its way in your hair to pull it back from your face. 

You glance up at him, lips still on him, and slowly sink down, letting his hardness fill your mouth all the way to the back. He’s barely halfway in, but when you flick your tongue against one of the veins on his underside, it looks like he’s reached nirvana. You pull up, licking your lips, and use your hand to spread the wetness around his length. “Good?”

“Good, just keep - fuck - keep going.” You grin when his lips press together and he visibly forces himself from saying please, now that you’ve said you liked his dominant streak. 

Always one to please, you drop your mouth onto him again, this time building up into a bobbing rhythm, a salty tang hitting your tongue as sweat and precum mingle. As you jerk off what can’t fit in your mouth, Namjoon curses lowly and his hips rise off the bed, pushing himself deeper so that his tip begins to breach your throat. You gag in shock, but he just groans louder at the obscene noise. 

Expecting him to do it again, you try and relax your throat, but instead you feel tugging on your scalp as he pulls you up by your hair. He’s still slow enough to be painless, but he seems more comfortable taking some control and it makes you grin when you get pulled up off him, sucking air into your lungs. 

“I want to try something,” Namjoon admits with wide, lust-ridden eyes. “I won’t push if you don’t want to.” He swallows, fingers tightening in your hair. “Can I fuck your face?”

Your mouth drops open even more, but your grin only broadens. “Fuck, yes,” you enthuse. “Is like this okay, or do you wanna change positions?”

“Like this,” he says, and his other arm moves down so that he can hold your head with both hands, fingers brushing back the hair that’s fallen in your face. “Just hit me if it’s too much?”

Your heart warms at the thought of him worrying about your safety, and you nod, taking the initiative to lean down, opening your mouth to rest his tip on your tongue, glancing up at him.

“Okay,” he breathes, and begins. 

Rather than fucking up into you, he first starts by guiding you up and down on his cock with his grip on your head, each time a little lower, a little deeper down the back of your throat like he’s readying you. After only a few pulls up and down, his head tips back again, smacking noisily against the headboard as he speeds up, eyes shutting in pleasure. 

It’s only once his eyes have closed that his hips begin to thrust up too. Like he’s letting himself get lost in the pleasure and just feel. You get lost in it, too. It’s easy to go passive like a doll, just focusing on the way he fills your throat. The way he hisses when you gag, and moans when you swirl your tongue in time with his thrusts. 

Your eyes tear up with the intensity of it, breathing through your nose and trying not to cough on him, but you’re in heaven, a hand slipping down between your legs to give yourself some much-needed friction.

It’s once you start touching yourself that everything suddenly happens much faster. The rush of pleasure makes you moan around him, which makes him open his eyes blearily to look down at you, slowling his thrusts when he sees your hand between your legs. Once he realises what you’re doing, he curses again, and his hips pick up their speed, surpassing it until you’re gagging on every thrust, your jaw aching and tears streaming, but still you rock against your hand and moan onto him, caught in the pleasure of feeling, watching, and hearing him fall apart as you fall apart yourself. 

As you grow close, a hair’s breadth away from orgasm, you reach your free hand between his legs and cup his balls, softly rolling them in your grasp. 

Namjoon shouts as he reaches his orgasm, and suddenly he’s pressing you still against him, cumming down your throat with a stream of intense groans, thighs shaking. 

You can’t catch your breath; his cock triggering your gag reflex but staying deep inside you, and it’s that desperation, that lack of control that brings you over the edge yourself, soaking your hand and the sheets below it with the force of your orgasm. He lifts you up as you’re riding your high, spent himself, but the sudden rush of oxygen to your lungs only heightens your pleasure, and you collapse, face pressed against his stomach as you cum and suck in air and cum some more.

Your own legs are shaking by the time you finish, core throbbing with aftershocks, and it takes all of your energy to push yourself up beside him so that you can lie against his bare chest again. 

The room is filled with nothing but panting for a few moments, your fingers lazily tracing patterns on his chest as his arm wraps around you, holding you tight. 

Namjoon is the first to speak, his voice low even in the silence of his bedroom. “Will you stay?”

You swallow back the hoarseness in your throat, using your foot to hook the duvet back up and over your lower halves, snuggling closer to him. “I’ll stay.”

TAGLIST

due to issues tagging the main post, tags will be in the comments.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Space Orcs, “Exotic Lifeforms.”

Had some fun writing this one. Give you more of that alien perspective everyone likes so much, so I hope you like it 

“It has been a pleasure doing work with you as always.”

“Your end of the deal?”

“Already upheld…. Where do you even find these creatures. I can’t say we have ever seen anything like it.”

“We found these ones on a stroke of luck. We do not think they are native to the panet, though where they came from is still very much a mystery.”

“Then what a stroke of luck for us indeed, I can’t imagine having your job.”

“You should try sometime, the exotic lifeforms business is very lucrative. If it hadn’t been you, I would have sold it to a wealthy owner.”

“Why didn’t you?”

“Because, you paid more.” 

The Vitan turned ponderously on its five trunk-like legs and left through the open wall which spilled a beam of light through the room before going dark once more. 

The doors all around the circular room closed, the collector turned back to their work. The room itself was large and dark, shaped in that of a large black circle, the floors rising up with a steady curve into the ceiling than above. They stood at the center of this circle, and when commanded great projections of blue light appeared around the circle each disclosing a different image from a different one of the pens.

They turned their attention to the newest addition, watching the creature where it prowled back and forth around the perimeter of the yard.

Another beam of light cut through the room, though they did not turn to see who it might be.

The sound that followed was a sort of scuttling noise, slimy and wet against the open floor.

The Mandicar approached from behind and paused just to the right and behind their left side, a lead scientist by trade, she was one of the most important life forms on his staff.

They turned to address her.

Four thick stumpy tentacles undulated and wriggled, pulling her heavy body across the floor. The sacules on the side of her torso wobbled with her movement, and thousands of tiny breathing holes across her skin expanded and contracted with the movement of airflow. 

“What have you discovered?” They wondered, though-- nothing the tint of blue on the tips of her tentacles, the could see that she was very excited.

“A glorious discovery! Very exciting and like nothing we have ever seen before. Each creature better than the last. I have four new species to report about, and add to our collected knowledge on exoctic lifeforms.”

“Go on.”

“The names are decided Duopedus Secandi, Volantes Planita, and Magnum Turpis, Though the children have taken to calling the first a Duos because they cannot pronounce the proper scientific name. It is a very popular creature with our guests, very active. IT has even been seen to interact with some of the guests.”

“Tell me, what have you learned about this creature.”

She adjusted herself clearly excited to be giving a presentation. That is why they had hired her. While they were not particularly interested about the welfare and maintenance of these creatures, studies had shown that a happy creature that was well taken care of was more likely to live a long time, and therefore draw more of a profit. Not to mention that the sentient species tended to react best when there was someone around to boost enthusiasm, and he had to admit she was very good at that.

“Oh it's a lovely little creature, quite adorable really, the way it scampers around on its little feet.”

“Focus.”

“Oh, sorry.” The sacules at her sides flushed purple, “Well we know the basic so far. Obviously it is a bipedal carbon-based consumer lieform. Its primary needs are Oxygen and water. An analysis of its structures, including teeth, eyes and other notable features seem to suggest that it is an omnivorous predator. Early studies seem to suggest it has a relatively high IQ, maybe that of a small child though it does not seem capable of language, at least not that we understand. It’s range of speech are in extremely high pitches, and it barely seems to be able to hear us much less us hear it.”

“How very interesting.”

“Isn’t it! Anyway, I took the liberty of analysing it, so that we might better accommodate its needs. And so far what I have determined is,... well the creature is very cute, but it is a complete  biohazard risk.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean all of its byproducts are completely volatile and hazardous to health. We have tested and analysed some of it by products and determined it to have some sort of symbiotic relationship with bacteria that live in its innards. These bacteria help the creature digest in exchange for maintained life, but due to this many of these bacterial lifeforms are expelled and cause great hazard. This process begins in the mouth meaning if this creature were to bite, it could lead to a likely lethal infection.” “We will have to put barriers in front  of the enclosure than.”

“Precisely.”

“ Now  as to more health related topics. The creature is capable of consuming a very versatile diet though its resistance to infection is a little less than one might have hoped, so it’s food will need to be properly cleaned. The diet itself should contain a wide variety of complex structures as it cannot produce by itself some of the chemicals required to feed it. That should not be hard, I would suggest injecting supplements into the food we are already rationing to it. This should include meat as I have said before. As a consumer based lifeform it both requires and expends a great deal of energy. I imagine it will be one of the viewers favorites due to the increased activity level. Furthermore -- as related to my earlier discussion -- its pen should be cleaned weekly if not biweekly. A clean water source should be provided, one that has likely been sterilized as it seems the water on its native planet was not prone to bacterial interference.”

“Seems strangely needy for a creature that has a symbiotic relationship with bacteria.”

“A very specific kind of bacteria.”

“Alright then, what else do we know?”

“The creature is bipedal as you are aware, though its feet and skin are relatively soft. It will require sand in its enclosure for maximum comfort, not to mention that it will need a shaded place to rest in order to stay out of the direct rays of the sun. Its skin has no natural defences against UV light making me think that it is likely a creature meant for the shade, though I cannot be certain. That is merely a guess based on the very light color of its dermal layer.” 

They nodded, “That can definitely be arranged.”

“Now, analysis also demonstrates a high production of oil in the skin and the hair. We see this as some kind of over-production, so it might be best to add a second kind of water source for it to bathe itself. The skin is water-proof but also requires moisture, and I think that a slow running river through the habitat would be a nice touch for the creature. Since it does not have fur, and the body has to work to thermoregulate, I would suggest temperatures around 75-80 degrees with 45-55% humidity index. Furthermore analysis of the bone structure might suggest that the creature originally evolved from an animal that walked on all fours, for this reason the feet, the knees and the lower back are especially prone to issue. IT will need somewhere comfortable to lay down, likely in that same shaded area I mentioned before. Something with enough padding to support the spine and allow for the bones of its hips and shoulders not to become soar.”

They were working to type this up in a report and send it out to the lieforms who built the habitats.

“What else do we know?”

“Since the creature has an increased intelligence quotient, I would suggest stimulating the environment. Add in some kind of activities or puzzles for it to solve, so that it will not be bored, otherwise it could become destructive. OUr analysis suggests that it was likely supposed to be a social creature, so Maybe adding a ground level window for it to interact with guests. We can see if maybe we can tame the creature so that the keepers might be able to provide it with some socialization. I hesitate to do that though because it still is a wild animal.”

They shifted turning to look at the camera feed, where the Duos was still wandering the perimeter of its enclosure.

“I thought you said it was docile.”

“It was injured when we found it, which was a likely reason, but I have done some tests on its chemical structure, and it seems to me that the creature produces some kind of hormone that stimulates the aggression centers of its brain. If this creature were to get out of its cage and be in a bad mood, it has a bite force of 162 pounds per square inch which is capable of tearing flesh and even amputating small lims on some of our guests, not to mention that the claws on the tips of its fingers can break skin. There is also evidence that it can turn its saliva into a projectile, which means that it can spread its biohazard up to around 32 feet, though that is on the extreme end of the spectrum.”

“This creature is really than dangerous?””

She sighed loudly through her entire body, the sacks at her sides quivering with the movement, “You see, that is the difficult part to determine because…. I would have to say no. It is not as dangerous generally as most of the creatures we keep here, but it is just dangerous enough in a variety of ways that the aggregate makes it especially concerning. Take the fact that the creature is not venomous, but it's just enough of a biohazard to behave like it is. Its bite isn’t that strong and its teeth aren’t that sharp, but still enough to rip flesh. Its not as strong as some animals, but strong enough to know someone over and hurt them badly. It isn’t very fast, but faster than some. IT isn’t the smartest we have seen -- that goes to the Volontes Planita-- but it is smart enough that we have to be careful. It isn’t aggressive, but it has the potentiality to be.” She ran her tentacles over the ground, “I think what I am trying to say is that the creature isn’t particularly impressive in any one aspect, but its abilities are so diverse than it aggregates into something greater than the sum of its parts.”

They nodded in great interest, “Go on.”

“It can run, it can jump, it can bite, it can spit, it can throw, it can crawl, oh and it can climb, that is probably something important you are going to have to look out for. An analysis of its feet and hands suggest great dexterity of a four legged creature that once spent most of its timb climbing, and while this creature spends most of its time walking on land there are still structures in there that make it an excellent climber as it can grip very well with the hands and partially with the feet. The hands in particular are an important structure to keep an eye on as the creature has an amazing dexterity with them.”

“How so?”

“IF could probably perform complex medical procedures if we asked it to, not that that would really be possible.”

“Good, good. I will get this down to the workers immediately, and they will make an enclosure for it.”

“Ah…. but there is one more thing.”

“What is that?”

“It seems as if we are not the first one to have captured this creature?”

“What is that supposed to mean?” They demanded, turning around to look at the scientist with great interest and agitation.

“The body is not completely organic. The skeletal structure on its outer layer that we once thought of as some kind of exoskeleton is not organic.”

“Not organic!”

“No sir, it seems to be made out of titanium and steel. Not to mention that one of its legs has been replaced, along with one of its eyes.”

They stood there in shock not entirely sure what to think about that, “It survived without one of its limbs.”

“Yes whatever happened to this creature, one of the legs and the eyes was removed and replaced with analogues. As for the creature itself, it is very durable, and has overactive scar tissue meaning that it heals quickly and from extreme injuries. That is another reason that I express my concern to you as it seems this creature may not be taken down by normal means especially if some other life form has been tampering with it.”

“That is…. horrible .”

Another long sigh, “I know…. Its horrible what they did to it. I can’t believe someone would be so callous. How it must have suffered.”

“Well, get it moved into a new enclosure, and see that its needs are taken care of. I want to send some of my people back to see if we can learn anything about the species that has been tampering with it.”

“Of course.” 

She turned and headed towards the door.

They called after her and she turned, “Be careful, if that creature is half as dangerous as you say it is, we will want to be cautious.” ***

I was not going with them.

I sat at the center of my ‘pen’ arms crossed and looking at the open cage door at the other side of the enclosure.

These asshole bastards had put me in a fucking zoo,and now they expected me to cooperate for a measly piece of fruit. Despite popular opinion from my brothers I am not a fucking monkey and will not be bribed to go with out.

I had already done a preliminary examination of the enclosure. It was nothing to write home about  -- aside form the fact that I was it’s occupant which bothered me greatly, and made me feel some serious feelings for the lions at the zoo who must have been just as pissed off as I was.

The walls were too high and too smooth to climb, and at their top I could see a thousand eyes staring down at me. Now its not like there were a thousand people to look on, but some of these freaky aliens had like ten ees which greatly skewed the eye count.

They gestured with tentacles and limbs and and any other appendages towards me as I sat arms crossed glowering towards the door.

A part of me greatly wanted to flip all of them off or moon them or something, but just because I was being treated like a monkey didn’t mean I had to act like one.

I could see the handlers moving just outside the cages trying to coax me in by tossing in more fruit. In a way watching them struggle was kind of funny. Based on their behavior, I would wager to say they had no idea that I was sentient. If they ever found out this was going to ook really stupid for them.

Now if they have a plate of my mom’s Pumpkin Pie in there, than MAYBE that would work, number one because pie is great and number two because that would imply they were keeping my mother captive to make pies, which was something I could hardly stand for.

Let them do what they want.

I needed to find a way out because this was DEFINITELY not ok.

This is not how I was going to spend the rest of my days.

For sure.

I had to be smart about this. Sitting there in the sand I began to devise a plan. The important part obviously was not to let on about how intelligent I really was. Unfortunately a lot of that might already have been undone, but maybe if I acted enough like an animal, than it would lower their guard and they would make somes sort of mistake.

Remember, I still had the Iron eye armor on my side, and an advanced prosthetic leg. Not to mention a knife and two spearheads which had been concealed under my leaves, so I was not completely helpless.

Although, you know what, retract my earlier statement. Maybe acting like a monkey is exactly what I needed to do to get out of this place. Make myself look docile and harmless, lower security and get my ass out of here.

Man I wish I was smarter, for sure, but I guess flying by the seat of my pants was going to have to do.

I cracked my knuckles and then my neck.

Time to go back to my animal roots.

Yeah, laugh all you want but it is much easier to behave like an animal when you are actually behaving like an animal.  I couldn’t convince them i wasn't bipedal already, but I made sure to behave all the other ways like an animal, slowly and nervously approaching the opening, stepping half in and then backing out, quickly grabbing some fruit and then running off with it. Eating pieces of it messily and with both hands. Using my teeth as much as possible.

Yeah yeah, I felt pretty dumb, but this was my first idea so I might as well roll with it.

Once that piece of fruit was done, I wandered over and nervously crawled in on all fours testing the ground with my hands.

OF course I could already see the hatch way that was going to come slamming down as soon as I crawled inside. I may be an idiot but I am a sentient idiot, and just as I thought it would, as soon as I crawled in far enough, the door slammed shut. I made a big show of getting spooked and racing around the sindie of the cage jumping up against the walls until finally curling up piteously in a corner. All the while I am watching carefully how they contain me, and it seems as if their transfer method is pretty solid. I had more likelihood of breaking out in the pen.

I wait quietly in my corner as the box is moved, and suddenly the door slides open again. 

I do my best to look hesitant and scared as I poke my head out into the sun.

A waft of pleasantly warm air hits me.

Crawling out, I crawl out onto nice warm sand. A stream trickles past my feet not a few feet away, and just to my right a little shaded nest has been made up below a tall covering. There are branches and steel bars lined around the enclosure, meaning I guess they figured out that humans can climb. 

Overhead I can see a steel cage cutting off my escape from the top.

Or so they thought.

It was a pleasant little place all told, almost like a beachfront island paradise with the perfect temperature and humidity.

I crawled up over to the next and took a seat hidden behind the leaves.

Well fuck their beachfront property and comfortable captivity.

I would rather be a free man suffering than a well groomed pet in a cage.

I was going to escape.

[cybernaght]

Lost Tomb Reboot aka Reunion: The Sound of Providence Season 2

I swear I wasn’t actually planning to write this thing, instead just opting for random picture spams of the season, starting with every time this show got Zhu Yilong’s Wu Xie wet, because that was a trend I had not expected and kind of lived for.

All that will still happen eventually, but here’s also my five cents on the season, because it is very very important for you to know just how worthy of love it is. 

You see, Season 1 was silly and fun, and definitely, undeniably, enjoyable. 

Then Season 2 swooped in, and completely won my heart. I cannot even express how much I adored it. Everything about this show is extremely extra in the best possible way; it is likely to have been the most charmingly over the top thing I have ever seen.

(Vague spoilers for : specific monsters, narratively significant moments, fate of the certain characters, including the protagonist.)

Some of it comes from the pace, which speeds up dramatically early in the season, and only slows down marginally to allow characters some breathing room. It’s not just gripping because it makes you want to hit play on the next episode, it also keeps you engaged because you can’t wait to see how the next wild set of events may be resolved and then topped. At about episode ten I was questioning how they could possibly produce a sense of further escalation. At episode twenty, I was wondering if anything can top dramatic impact of whatever was occurring only two thirds of the way through the season. 

I need not have worried: every single incredible character moment, every mind-boggling turn of the plot, every single bizarre threat would be blown out of water by the next one. 

Partly, this seemingly has to do with the writers attempts to ground the material. I am not sure what the novel contained, but I can discern that it was something along the lines of ghosts, ghouls and various supernatural circumstance. But when you are told  “this is a curse”, your reaction is naturally to go, “ah okay, so curses are a thing, and this is one of them, gotcha”. When you are told, “this is a heavy metal poisoning combined with a neurotoxin affecting the victim’s central nervous system and making them violently hallucinate”, your reaction is to question whether this is how metals, toxins, poisons, or, indeed, central nervous systems work in any version of reality. 

The show does this a lot. From human shaped swarms of killer moths, to flying brain-penetrating eels, to probably my favourite monster of the moment: the murder clams.

Seriously, I cannot stress enough that this show has murder clams. They move with their clam mussels. They jump with their clam shells. They will murder you in cold blood. 

There are ancient “laser corridor” style set-ups, there are shapes made out of fog recording its memory, there are group hallucinations generated by the sound of thunder, there are Mission Impossible style full face masks. There is a character who walked off a gun wound and sarin gas poisoning in order to die in the arms of his lover who looks like his dead sister. And by “looks like” I mean, “played by the same actress”. 

There is a whole character of Doctor Churros, who saves our hero from imminent death by washing his lungs with oil. 

This, I suppose, ultimately, is how The Lost Tomb Reboot (Season 2 in particular) lures you in. It turns what I saw as the show’s fault in season 1 into its biggest strength by establishing the world in which nothing is too outlandish and everything is possible. It so thoroughly breaks your expectations barometer, you grow to willingly accept whatever is thrown at you. 

The most beautiful thing about all of it, is that the fun and games and moments of barely controlled hysteria do not lower the stakes whatsoever. Moreover, somehow this show makes me believe that it could just about do something as irrevocable as, perhaps, killing off the protagonist 

You know how you can watch, say, a super hero film, and then the “all is lost” moment happens, and you kind of have to struggle to care because you know that they will pull through. It’s curious to see how that happens, but you don’t doubt for even second that it will. Well, when that moment arrived here, I found myself between ugly sobbing, and going into speculation overdrive to try and figure out how the Reboot would deal with that. By then I have seen that show be an high octave action movie, a supernatural mystery, a horror thriller, a buddy comedy and a spy flick: it was not a massive stretch to imagine it turning into a revenge tragedy.

Wu Xie dying had been building up since episode one, so you had hours and hours and oh-so-many hours to brace for it, and when the tragedy does not strike, the relief is visceral. 

Despite all the moments of hilarity (whether intended or otherwise), despite the chaotic turns of the plot, despite how utterly off the charts this show is tonally, when it matters, the narrative is pulled together in a way which not only makes complete sense within the world of the series, but is meticulously set-up, satisfying resolved, and delivers lovely emotional impact.��Considering that the moral of the story is a very common “live in the moment”, paired up with “greed is bad”, it was surprising how much resonance its delivery actually created. 

Ultimately, however, this show is about found family, and, more specifically, about Wu Xie’s ability to create this family for himself and for every single member of it. He starts as one of the trio, and ends as one of a large group of old allies, new friends, and people he has graced with so much kindness that they follow him until the bitter end. 

Lost Tomb Reboot ensures that you get to know them all, and it’s pretty damn hard to not love this misfit group of adventurers in its entirety. 

(The only thing I could say is that I wish the series spent more time making sure the viewer knows and likes Zhang Qiling, but it seemingly had little purpose for him apart form sweeping in as an avenging angel every now and then. I get that he is a well established character in the series, and that his whole thing is being deadly and enigmatic, but considering that you got to know the other two legs of the famous Triangle so well, it’s a shame that this one was reserved to mostly being Xiao Ge Ex Machina. It would have been nice to know what he was about apart from “really damn cool”.)

Bai Haotian remained my favourite character. She is cute, sweet, romantic, and, for the lack of a better word, “girly”. She is not shy about her crush on Wu Xie, and is prepared to do a lot of reckless, dangerous things for him. None of the above undermine her intelligence, cunningness and authority. Xiao Bai is a young woman in a position of power, and she absolutely knows how to handle herself; for every time she is a damsel in distress, she gets to be the rescuer. For every time she puts herself in needless danger, she learns to collect herself and plan ahead. For every time she is bossed around, she turns and takes charge. Her journey is not the centred around getting the guy, but around discovering her self-assertion; she finds her place within his team not by being a romantic interest, but through her personal strengths. 

My absolutely favourite moment for her came when an antagonist used her affection for Wu Xie to get an upper hand on her, and she gets restrained, knife to her throat. Xiao Bai swivels away, knocks the attacker out and goes to town kicking him, to a great astonishment of this team, as she states that liking someone does not make her weak. 

And it doesn’t. Being in love has nothing to do with weakness or strength. Being a young, and excitable, and a woman does not equate to weakness either.

I’m not saying that this show is a feminist manifesto, because it is definitely not that. Every other prominent female character suffers a pitiful fate in service of creating motivation for the men of the story. But it does spend a lot of time making sure you, the viewer, know its heroes well enough to mentally befriend them. And if this means giving the female lead complexity, I cannot possibly be mad at that. 

So, this was it. This was the Lost Tomb Reboot. It brought me a ridiculous amount of joy and I will miss it a lot. 

And yes, the picture spams will be 100% an excuse to rewatch at least some of it. 

PS. Said spams miiiiight be gif based if I figure out a way to colour correct the damn things. 

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Shaw’s Encounter Date

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for a date (and Season 2) which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

It’s important to know what’s going on in Season 2 so you wouldn’t get confused in this date. Do read this post if you don’t! :)

Parallel World Dates Collection: Gavin // Kiro // Victor

Check out @skyholders​‘ translation of Lucien’s date here!

Making use of the university vacation, I return to Loveland City to begin practicing producing programs with the company.

Once I'm done with my afternoon work, I smile and lean towards Anna’s desk.

MC: We did quite a lot today. Thank you Anna. 

Anna: I didn’t actually teach you much. You’re quick-witted, and you move fast. 

In front of her desk, Anna looks at the time and smiles at me. 

Anna: There’s nothing much left for today. Go back early, and I’ll see you tomorrow. 

Standing under the office building, I look towards the continuous crowd on the road and let out a long sigh. 

During this season, Loveland City is the same as always, filled with water vapour and lush greenery. This normal afternoon is similar to the peacefulness and comfort in my memory.

Everything I've been through before, along with time’s unstoppable passage, causes familiar and foreign faces to continuously overlap. 

Clearing my head, I stand at the bus stop. A bus happens to stop, and it displays three numbers: 330. 

My heart suddenly skips a beat. I act without thinking, stepping forward like a puppet. 

“Ding.”

When I regain my senses, I’m already on the bus that’s travelling in a completely opposite direction from my home. 

MC: ...

I can’t help but release a sigh, mocking myself silently in my heart. 

There aren’t many passengers on the bus. I sit at the same seat as before - the one against the window. 

Outside the bus windows, pedestrians weave around busily. The noon sunlight falls onto the glass, making one feel warm. 

However, I can’t help but recall that scene--

The early morning. Empty streets. Everyone feeling anxious in response to the danger...

And that unreasonable person who arrives and leaves whenever he wants to. 

It seems like a world away, but it was real. 

An inexplicable bitterness arises in my heart, and I rub my eyes. 

MC: Where... could you be now? 

While I’m mumbling to myself, the bus happens to stop at a familiar crossing. I lift my head subconsciously, staring closely at the entrance, as though anticipating something. 

Even after the doors shut, no one boards the bus.

I smile in self-mockery, returning my gaze to the window. 

MC: It makes sense. It didn’t happen at this time originally... since he said he wouldn’t be late again, I’ll trust him for once. 

With the roar of the engine, the bus continues on the road. 

Suddenly, along with the sound of wheels violently scraping the ground, the bus stops. 

Losing my balance, I hit the chair in front of me with a dull thud.

MC: Ouch...

Bus driver: Do you want to die! You dare to block a bus!

The driver’s cursing brings me back to my senses. Even though I know I shouldn’t harbour such expectations, I can’t help but lift my head--

Carrying a long black bag, the lavender-haired man walks over. 

[Note: Some CN players pointed out that Shaw shouldn’t be carrying a long black bag i.e. guitar bag. He should be carrying a skateboard.]

Under his scattered bangs, his lazy eyes meet mine. 

He still has that casual and arrogant look, and doesn’t seem to care about the episode he just caused.

The light casts a faint halo on his messy hair, making every step he takes towards me appear unhurried. 

In the next second, he sits down in the seat next to me.

I feel a little confused, as though someone has pressed a “freeze” button on me. I’m so shocked that I can’t move. I can only stare at him.

He puts down his skateboard, placing it upright in between us. He crosses his legs and takes out a black mp4 from his pocket--

Only now does my blood continue to flow. I sense a wave of inexplicable happiness within me, and I blink my slightly swollen eyes slowly.

Noticing my gaze, he turns his head over, eyebrows arched high. One corner of his lips crooks up into a smile. 

Shaw: You want to listen? 

MC: N-no.

I wave my hands subconsciously. Only after saying this do I realise the familiarity of this conversation. 

In the quiet bus, that familiar tune of <<Holiday>> flows from his earpieces, though it isn’t very clear. 

The familiar scene is like a replay. My heart feels as though it’s been tapped by something, and it’s difficult to remain calm. 

Feeling slightly confused by this coincidental meeting with Shaw, I can’t help but turn and give him a glance, unsure of what to say. 

MC: You...

Shaw: You want to ask about this? 

Shaw casually sways the black cube in his hand with a half-smile. 

Shaw: It’s a music player. 

Different from typical music players, it has two extra dials at the bottom. The metal panel looks very shiny and smooth, as though it hasn’t been used for long. 

Even though there are many things I want to say to him, I think about the “warning”--

“Your unintentional actions may lead to irretrievable consequences.”

I bite my lip and decide to quell my ideas. I continue. 

MC: ...I see. 

For some inexplicable reason, a patter of rain suddenly descends on this originally sunny afternoon. Before I can think about it, the bus makes a sudden sharp turn-

MC: Oof!

After getting hit, I cover my forehead with one hand. By the time I steady myself, Shaw’s eyes have already turned into impatient arcs, and he says directly to the driver:

Shaw: Oi, drive slowly!

Bus driver: This is a public...

With disdain in his eyes, Shaw stores away his earlier nonchalance, and says coldly.

Shaw: Drive slowly, do you hear me?

Intimidated by Shaw, the driver quickly nods. Shaw runs his fingers through his hair, and regains his earlier expression in an instant. 

The ends of his narrow eyes are slightly raised, and he shoots me a playful look. He curls the corners of his mouth and his smile deepens. 

Shaw: You bumped my skateboard.

This brat - he’s still the same as before!

MC: I’m sorry, I’ll apologise to it then.

She recalls the last time she saw him on the roof (Ch 37 of the main storyline, before Season 2) and his casual farewell

She decides that while Shaw has re-entered her life on his own terms, she wouldn’t let him leave casually again

It starts pouring heavily, and the bus driver asks everyone to get off

Shaw refuses to do so

Shaw: You want us to get off just because you say so? Who are you to say this?

MC tells the driver that since they aren’t in a rush, they can wait for the rain to become lighter before continuing the journey

She’s also secretly happy to extend this moment with Shaw

Soon, apart from the driver, only Shaw and I are left on the bus. 

I cast sweeping glances at Shaw several times. I clear my throat, about to greet him formally--

Shaw: Oi...

I’m caught off guard when he suddenly turns towards me, his eyes teasing and amused. 

Shaw: You’ve looked at me so many times... tell me, what do you want? 

Tremendously loud thunder resounds in the sky. Heavy rain splatters against the glass windows, leaving behind smears like those in an oil painting. 

I’m caught off guard by his sudden remark.

MC: You really don’t plan to leave the bus? 

Shaw: Is there a problem? 

MC: It looks like the rain will continue for a long time. Simply waiting seems boring. Why don’t we have a chat? 

Shaw doesn’t respond immediately. He narrows his eyes and looks at me, his eyes revealing a meaningful expression.

Realising something, I immediately straighten up and my mind starts whirring.

MC: Actually, I’m an intern producer. I recently participated in a program related to Loveland University. You should be a University student too, right? Are you interested in being interviewed? 

Shaw: Not interested.

 MC: ...

Even though he rejected me outright, I had already expected it. Taking a deep breath, I try again. 

MC: This interview is not a typical interview. It’s even more interesting than you can imagine. It isn’t boring at all. Also, I guarantee there wouldn’t be more than five questions! How about that - are you willing to cooperate? 

I widen my eyes, looking at him expectantly.

Shaw tilts his head to the side. After looking me up and down for a few seconds, he closes his eyes and leans back against the seats comfortably. 

Shaw: [sighs] Fine, ask away. 

I feel refreshed with his agreement, and immediately retrieve a pen and paper from my bag, putting on a serious expression.

MC: May I know what your name is...? 

He pouts. After two seconds, he lazily responds.

Shaw: Shaw. 

MC: Are you a student from Loveland University? 

Shaw releases a lazy “mm” from his nose. 

MC: Archaeology? 

Once the question leaves my lips, Shaw arches his eyebrows, looking at me playfully. 

Shaw: How did you know? 

MC: ...based on your temperament and appearance. 

Shaw: Oh. Unfortunately, you got it wrong. I just got my research qualifications, so it doesn’t count. 

MC: ...

I continue wearing an unfazed expression on my face, but am secretly shocked.

This person is pretty amazing. 

MC: ...since you say this, you must really like antiques then? 

Shaw: They’re all right. 

MC: As a contemporary university student, you definitely have other hobbies apart from your own studies, right? For instance... something band-related?

Shaw widens his eyes and looks at me once he hears my words. Afraid he’d see through me, I squeeze out a professional, business-like smile.

The corners of his lips slowly curl into a teasing smile. Just when I think he’s about to respond, he suddenly snatches away my paper and pen. 

MC: Ah!

Shaw: Your handwriting is really ugly. 

He sweeps over my notes, then closes the book.

Shaw: Didn’t you say it wouldn’t be boring? Your interview doesn’t seem to match what you guaranteed. 

MC: This is just the beginning. I haven’t reached the interesting questions yet!

Shaw: Stop taking notes. Let’s just chat casually. Also, what’s your name? 

MC: ...MC. 

Shaw: Which production company are you interning at? 

MC: I’m the one interviewing you. Why are you the one asking me questions now? 

Shaw: You’ve asked more than enough. It’s only fair if it’s reciprocal. 

In the midst of conversing with Shaw, we seem to get to know each other again seriously. 

The rain has become lighter, and the bus finally reaches the final stop slowly. 

Once we leave the bus, he suddenly stuffs a transparent umbrella into my hand, then turns around to leave. 

The water kicked up by his black sneakers splash onto his ripped jeans. 

Shaw: You’re welcome.

Shaw lifts an arm and waves it. His lazy voice drifts towards me, entering my ears. 

Watching his retreating form, I grip the umbrella tightly and bite my lips.

The trajectory of destiny is always deviating, yet seems to meet sometimes. Since meeting him again was destined to happen-- 

I no longer hesitate, and run in the direction where Shaw left. The water under my feet splashes, but the only thing I’m afraid of is not being able to run fast enough. 

Finally, I see him at the intersection in front-- 

MC: Shaw! Wait for me!!

Shaw doesn’t seem to hear me, and he turns right into a small path. I hurriedly chase after him and enter the corner--

MC: Oof!

I crash into a sturdy yet warm chest. 

Shaw is leaning sideways against the corner of the wall, one hand gently holding onto me, and the other stuffed in his pocket. He has a calm and relaxed expression.

Shaw: What is it? You like my skateboard that much? 

I immediately straighten up, and realise that I’ve knocked into his skateboard again. 

MC: ...

Shaw: Why did you call out to me? Just to make things clear - the interview is already over. No matter how many questions you ask, I won’t answer. 

His familiar expression makes me want to tell him many, many things. Even after opening and closing my mouth a few times, I have no idea where to start. It seems as though no matter what I say, it wouldn’t be appropriate. 

After some hesitation, I finally lift up the umbrella in my hand. 

MC: I... I’m here to return the umbrella!

As though responding to me, rain starts to patter down around us, and onto Shaw’s hair. It looks like a soft halo.

Slightly surprised, I look towards the inexplicable light rain. I happen to see the imperceptible smile at the corner of Shaw’s mouth. 

He seems... to be in a good mood? 

MC: Since it’s raining again, here, I’m returning the umbrella!

Shaw stares at me fixedly for two seconds, his smile widening. Finally, he settles on a playful smile. 

Shaw: ...quite interesting. 

Unable to hear him clearly, I ask “what?”. He doesn’t repeat himself, but takes the umbrella from me. 

“Pa.”

The transparent umbrella suddenly opens above me. Rain drops patter continuously on the transparent umbrella.

The pitter patter of rain enters my ears. 

MC: Do you feel the rain getting heavier? 

Shaw: Want to avoid the rain? 

MC: Ah?

Shaw: Let’s go. That place doesn’t look too bad. 

He brings her to the Street Art Exhibition House

She starts talking about including this location into her program

Shaw catches her in her lie: Wasn’t her program about university students? Why is she suddenly talking about exhibitions?

MC gives an excuse on how she’s able to multi-task

Shaw: It’s best to be focused during your internship. It’s not good to be distracted. 

MC: ...sounds like you have working experience? 

Shaw: I don’t. Who says I need to have experience to offer advice? 

Shaw: Oi, do you know me? 

MC: ...!

My heart leaps, and I instantly deny it in a loud voice.

MC: How is that possible!

Shaw: Really? 

MC: Of course!

Shaw: So why did you chase after me? 

MC: Didn’t I say it was to return your umbrella...

Shaw: Ohhh...

He deliberately elongates his words, a doubtful expression flashing across his eyes. 

MC: If you don’t believe me...

Before I finish speaking, Shaw suddenly steps on the nearby stairs, turning around to face me. 

Shaw: I even thought you were here to look for this!

He whips out a key which has a rabbit doll attached to it. He waves it in his hand gently.  

MC: Isn’t this...

I hastily lower my head to dig through my bag, then realise my keys are missing. 

I reach out, wanting to take the key from him. Before I can say “thanks”, Shaw has already clasped the key in his palm.

Shaw: I picked this up on the bus. It belongs to me now.

MC: ...where does such odd logic come from!

Shaw: You want it? That’s not impossible. What have you prepared in exchange? 

Hearing Shaw’s tone, I release a resigned sigh. After offering him a series of items in exchange, he still isn’t satisfied, and wrinkles his eyebrows.

MC: You don’t like this, and you’re not satisfied with that. Why don’t you suggest the item?

Shaw: Oi, give me your phone. 

MC: What do you want?

Shaw: Why do you have so many questions? 

After saying this, he points at my phone, slightly impatient.

Confused, I hand my phone over to him, and watch as his fingers rapidly tap a series of numbers. In the next second, his own phone ringtone sounds clearly. 

Shaw: Done. You owe me. We’ll talk about this next time. 

As he says this, he throws the keys to me with a flick of his wrist. 

Seeing that he’s about to leave the exhibition house, I lower my head and look at the key in my hands. I ask: 

MC: Why did you pick up this key just now? 

Shaw pauses in his steps. Then, his lips curl upwards.

Shaw: Who knows... the look of you running over was even more interesting than I thought. 

Standing in place, I think about his words while in a trance. Already at the door, Shaw suddenly turns around again.

Shaw: Also, regarding the last question you asked in the interview... come watch my band perform in Live House when you’re free. That’s all.

With these words, Shaw turns and leaves. 

A fine curtain of rain interweaves with the doorway he vanished into, just like a flowing background. 

And our interweaving... has just begun.

-

🌸 MOMENTS 🌸

Shaw: The keychain is even bigger than the key. What a bother.

MC: What kind of keychain wouldn’t be considered bothersome then?

Shaw: Why should I tell you?

-

Shaw: The keychain is even bigger than the key. What a bother. 

MC: To thank you for picking up my keys, why don’t I treat you to a meall?

Shaw: It depends on what you plan to treat me with. 

-

Shaw: The keychain is even bigger than the key. What a bother.

MC: You don’t find it cute?

Shaw: No.

-

Phone Call: here

[secrets-of-the-library]

This is a fan-created personal home of Antonio Carriedo, the Hetalia personified nation of Spain. I did look up a few reference pictures but I mostly just took a few ideas I liked from them (A courtyard, a tower, certain design features, etc etc) but it is mostly ‘winged’ and ‘as I felt like it’. I’m not Spanish and I wasn’t aiming to do a 100% authentic or accurate build here. Just for fun. I like to imagine that he loves this huge mansion that he has built up over the years and there is TONS of plants and things to do to entertain not only himself but also guests, friends, and family. Like Arthur, he has his own personal office too. I can imagine Arthur complaining about his home being too big and spacious though lol.

Remember: This is fan/headcanon created. I build for fun and am not a professional. I do not build with the intention of having it livable/non-clashing. If something clashes it will be up to you to fix it because I build for the pure aesthetic and not functionality. I own a lot of packs so if you don’t own all the ones used in this there might be issues.

After the cut here I will provide a visual walk-through via screen captures. You’re more than welcome to download it and look at it for yourself. My username on Sims4 is Shinoshallbugyou.

This project in particular was HUGE, again, I like to do huge projects and mansions. Because of its size the ‘cut’ will be huge as well, keep that in mind. I’ll do my best to walk you guys through it but if you have the game and packs the easiest way would be to just download it yourself.

I chose Oasis Springs because of its desert surroundings. The only lot bigger than this one is park lots. I was tempted to do a ‘central courtyard’ and a house essentially wrapped around it but I chose this one instead. I like to pretend that his property actually extends down several paths on the cliff and to some stables, horses, and etc down below. I like to think the road leading to his house is more long and windy but the lot simply isn’t big enough for it so I compromised. I’ll be showing an occasional night-time photo of the building here and there but for the most part I’ll stay in ‘Afternoon’ because it’s the brightest to see in.

The overall look...

Now the overhead breakdown of each floor, overall...

Now for some shots around the outside in certain spots. I really liked the idea of a courtyard and I wanted to do that. I’m always a fan of driveways that go down to another level of the house. Please note, I am aware that the driveway would be too steep realistically but this lot is NOT big enough so I made do. While cars are not a thing in the Sims 4 (They were in 3) I still like to pretend and put them in there anyways even if the objects do not work. I wanted to try my hand at a lot more balconies and playing around with the outside of a house more as well as trying things I normally wouldn’t do like leaving a section on the roof uncovered or throwing in more gazebos (Or whatever). I especially liked the below photo of a wall that kind of comes out in increments? It looked neat!

The front door. We’ll explore the 1st floor now. I wanted a ‘rug’ that would descend down with the leveled steps/platform here. There wasn’t one like that so I created one. I often play around with things and use them in ways they wouldn’t have been normally used in the game: Such as upsizing that tiny toy horse into a ‘statue’ of a horse.

Next up: The Living room. I can imagine that he shoved in some things to entertain people with like Foosball and more. This area has a balcony too and a lot of areas on this floor open up directly outside to have airflow. Each area kind of has its own ‘major color’ to it. This area is more ‘orange’.

Downstairs here is where I decided to put a bar, storage for drinks (He’s a mass producer of wine, after all, and he likes to drink on top of it) as well as the garage for where the cars would go, etc. I usually improvise and take other objects to look like other objects. ‘Wine caskets’ don’t exist- Those are some weird metal object in the game that is a wall decoration.

Next up is the bottom of the tower connected to the living room. The tower is the tallest building on the map with it being four stories high. The bottom is connected to the living room and it contains a small changing/towel area (This could double up for the pool/hot tub) but mainly for the sauna I have installed in there (Because why not?). I also plugged in a bathroom with the remaining room there. Because it is such a small space it is hard to see.

The next room we’re going to is the opposing wing on the 1st floor, on the opposite side of the main entry room. There is a staircase that goes upstairs here but through the archways is a small reading nook. There are multiple ‘flowing corridors’ around this building, both internally and externally, that are very open for air and breezes.Often these will have a lot of seating and decor mainly on the way to other rooms. I went for more white/grey here.

Next up is the first guest bedroom. It is sandwiched between two of these flowing ‘corridors’ and it has its own personal bathroom. These spaces are big enough for people to stay in plus an additional seating area.

The next is that corridor on the other side that leads out onto an outside corridor as well as the courtyard. I tried often to get different decorations and objects going on in some of these rooms that would differ them from the other ones so it wouldn’t all just blend together into nothingness.

Next up is the courtyard. I had to have some kind of courtyard in here and I really liked how this one turned out with its nooks and crannies. It leads back towards the front door, back to where we came from, or to a wrap-around corridor that is only specifically on this side of the house.

Next up is that wrap-around outside corridor. The first one has a wall separating it from the front of the property. What follows it is what I filled that property with. I thought it would be neat to place what would’ve been an old ruin there that has long since faded away. I thought it would be a treat for the eye. I’ve never been able to use those weird rounded structures from the romantic garden pack before so I wanted to see how they would look here.

Now here is the other half of the wrap-around corridor but what makes this one so different is... Even though it is plain it doesn’t have a wall barricading you and thus you can walk outside with your sim more here. This corridor leads into the solarium.

The Solarium is two stories tall with the 2nd floor being hallowed out in the middle with a pathway surrounding it and a  glass dome on top in a mock greenhouse effect. I wanted to play around with arches and I’ve always loved indoor gardens and such like these so I wanted to include it.

The Solarium branches out towards the ‘backyard’ where there is a pool, hot tub, karaoke, a fire pit, outdoor grilling area, and more. I really wanted to include this ‘gazebo’ effect not only for the look and aesthetic of it but also for potential ‘structural support’ for the 2nd floor balcony up there. Plus it ties in the same effect on the 3rd floor corridor up on top.

I forgot to get a picture of it but if you do an aerial view of the pool (Or perhaps basement level) I did add turtle decorations to the bottom of it. Tortugaaaa.

Here I’m going to show off the tower a bit. Please note: You can’t make rounded walls in the Sims 4. This is my closest attempt to being able to do that. I knew I wanted a tower and I’m happy with how it turned out. As I started it though it was trouble because I simply didn’t know what to do at first. I had no idea how to fill it and at first I was trying to put the staircase INSIDE rather than out. I finally got the idea for a wrap-around staircase which is also difficult given that they only make right angles. Putting them on the outside massively helped save on space inside. That and, actually, I had difficulty in general with stairs on this map. The awkward building spaces made it difficult to place them.

The overall look of the ‘backyard’ with roofs up.

The overall map layout of the 2nd floor with the stairs specifically outlined. I ended up giving up on trying to build another flight of stairs on the 2nd floor leading to the 3rd and settled for putting it, too, outside on the main back balcony. Out of everything on this map that was one of the most frustrating things that I struggled with. I don’t ever do outside stairs so this was interesting for me to try.

Next we’re going up the tower and coming into the pantry. It’s rather nice and big, he can grow stuff in there on hand to eat, a collection of fish, spices, oils, and etc is all in there.

The next up is the kitchen. This one was frustrating too but once it came together it was nice. I went out of my comfort zone here, too. I’ve never made a blue kitchen and while I loved the idea the Sims 4 pallet was NOT working with me. I even tried with yellow cabinets and it just wasn’t working. These cabinets were the best I could do which is rather unfortunate because I wanted older looking cabinets but... It’ll do. I accented it with white and it is very spacious for lots of company! This kitchen has its own balcony and small eating area out there too. While most would argue that the kitchen should go on the bottom floor I actually really liked it here specifically because of the panty, the additional balcony, and the large eating area on the back balcony too. That and the stairs into the main entryway are actually in here and near that front door so it isn’t as far as one would think.

If you look in the below photo, though you can barely see it... On the left countertop against the wall there is actually a ‘tea’ area. We ship spuk/engspa and so I like to think Antonio, while he does drink tea, doesn’t as much. He does have this little cute area for Arthur to make his tea at though. He himself has his own counter under a window where he stores all his coffee stuff. Also, while I’ve never done it before, I really like hiding the stairway with that china cabinet because it just changed the whole atmosphere of the room.

Below is a rather chunky corridor that I chose a ‘black and white’ tile scheme for. It really only serves as a point A to B type of thing. The kitchen is to the right, another corridor to the left, below is a balcony that overhangs the front entryway and the doors at the top of the image lead to a massive back balcony that serves as an outside dining area that I imagine Antonio actually prefers to eat in because of the views and especially when he hosts guests.

Next is the corridor to the left of that chunky middle section. This is a rather odd-shaped corridor that was one of the last things I put together because I couldn’t figure out what I wanted to do with it. I ended up having it being a seating area, a bathroom, a piano area, a small library area, and another seating area. It leads to another guest bedroom as well as the solarium/wrap-around-corridor on that side of the building, to continue the pattern from below. I went with a ‘yellow’ kind of theme here which is completely out of my element. Also, I realize that the lighting on the piano area looks out of place compared to the rest of it but I wanted it that way so that the piano had a spotlight feature.

Alright- The last ‘room’ on this floor. The second guest bedroom. This one doesn’t have its own personal bathroom (Just down the hall) but it does have its own balcony and it is bigger. I actually like this one more, I think.

Alright. This is the last main wrap-around corridor. It opens up and is not separated from the 2nd floor of the solarium. I decided to differentiate this one big time by introducing colored carpets and furniture to give it a fun touch. Also it does have a ‘hookah’ area lmao. The solarium part is  alittle more boring but it does have activities for your sim to do such as painting, woodworking, and more. I figured it was a good spot to put misc hobbies since it is more out of the way of the usual social areas but has a great view and airspace.

Now for the last section of the 2nd floor: The main back balcony. This thing is huge and has a LOT of seating. I really like that big main dining table, the record player, and decorations. There is a stairway here that I put in, cutting through the roof, to get to the 3rd floor because I could‘t figure out how else to do it. I actually picture Antonio preferring to eat out here.

This is that stairwell with the 3rd floor cut off.

And here it is with the 3rd floor activated. It was a pain to get that to work but once I got it it worked just fine. I couldn’t figure out how to really connect the two separate buildings but then realized I could do an open-air corridor with no roof. That was DEFINITELY new for me and interesting to do!

With the roof on.

Next we’ll go to the office. I imagine that because he often shows up late (If even at all) and so he really utilizes this personal office and library a lot. It has its own personal bathroom, small kitchen, small records area, and eve a TV and fireplace near his desk. I often picture him trying to turn his desk around on the rug so that people on camera or on his zoom call won’t see his kitchen but I often see him forgetting to do that and so they just see a big microwave behind him lmao. Also I imagine, while the TV is helpful a lot for news and etc he is often distracted by soap operas, sports, and etc on it. Get to work, Antonio!

So we’re going to go back across that open-air corridor to the other wing and that is Antonio’s personal master bedroom and master bathroom. He has his own personal balcony that is colorful and relaxing.

First we’ll go into the master bathroom. I wanted a nice tub, plenty of space, more yellow accents... And I couldn’t figure out the shower and had to improvise. I actually put up stand-alone showerheads and nozzles into each of those pillars so he could take a really cool shower, if he wanted. I just didn’t want the shower to take away from the overall look of it and that seemed like the best option. Again, improvise, adapt, overcome.

Now for the final room on the 3rd floor: Antonio’s master bedroom. I went with ‘green for this’. It’s really cozy and colorful. I like to pretend that Arthur stitched those designs above his door and he hung them up because he loves them. Antonio also has a large walk-in closet/wardrobe that has been fitted onto the 3rd floor of this tower. I couldn’t get any good brown furniture to work so I shifted it to black in here. He’s a really fashionable guy and loves to care for his looks so it felt natural to make this his closet and area to get ready in.

From Antonio’s wardrobe... You have to use the stairs outside leading upstairs to the last and final room at the top of the tower and the 4th floor. It’s actually an attic/storage area and I often love putting these in the homes I build. I like to make them messy, cluttered, full of memories, and personal things to the person that lives specifically here. I always have a fun time trying to cram them full of stuff.

And with these last few pictures I wanted to show some of the scenery around in the area. It was a massive build and I’m glad I finally finished it at long last! Thanks for checking it out, it was a lot of hard work and time but I love it!

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift’s ‘Folklore’: Album Review

It’s hard to remember any contemporary pop superstar that has indulged in a more serious, or successful, act of sonic palette cleansing than Swift has with her eighth album, a highly subdued but rich affair written and recorded in quarantine conditions.

While most of us spent the last four months putting on some variation of “the quarantine 15,” Taylor Swift has been secretly working on the “Folklore” 16. Sprung Thursday night with less than a day’s notice, her eighth album is a fully rounded collection of songs that sounds like it was years in the interactive making, not the product of a quarter-year’s worth of file-sharing from splendid isolation. Mind you, the words “pandemic hero” should probably be reserved for actual frontline workers and not topline artistes. But there’s a bit of Rosie the Riveter spirit in how Swift has become the first major pop artist to deliver a first-rank album that went from germination to being completely locked down in the midst of a national lockdown.

The themes and tone of “Folklore,” though, are a little less “We can do it!” and a little more “Can we do it?” Because this new collection is Swift’s most overtly contemplative — as opposed to covertly reflective — album since the fan favorite “Red.” Actually, that’s an understatement. “Red” seems like a Chainsmokers album compared to the wholly banger-free “Folklore,” which lives up to the first half of its title by divesting itself of any lingering traces of Max Martin-ized dance-pop and presenting Swift, afresh, as your favorite new indie-electro-folk/chamber-pop balladeer. For fans that relished these undertones of Swift’s in the past, it will come as a side of her they know and love all too well. For anyone who still has last year’s “You Need to Calm Down” primarily in mind, it will come as a jolting act of manual downshifting into actually calming down. At least this one won’t require an album-length Ryan Adams remake to convince anyone that there’s songwriting there. The best comparison might be to take “Clean,” the unrepresentative denouement of “1989,” and… imagine a whole album of that. Really, it’s hard to remember any pop star in our lifetimes that has indulged in a more serious act of sonic palette cleansing.

The tone of this release won’t come as a midnight shock to anyone who took spoilers from the announcement earlier in the day that a majority of the tracks were co-written with and produced by the National’s Aaron Dessner, or that the man replacing Panic! at the Disco’s Brendon Urie as this album’s lone duet partner is Bon Iver. No matter how much credit you may have given Swift in the past for thinking and working outside of her box, a startled laugh may have been in order for just how unexpected these names felt on the bingo card of musical dignitaries you expected to find the woman who just put out “Me!” working with next. But her creative intuition hasn’t led her into an oil-and-water collaboration yet. Dessner turns out to be an ideal partner, with as much virtuosic, multi-instrumental know-how (particularly useful in a pandemic) as the most favored writer-producer on last year’s “Lover” album, Jack Antonoff.

He, too, is present and accounted for on “Folklore,” to a slightly lesser extent, and together Antonoff and Dessner make for a surprisingly well-matched support-staff tag team. Swift’s collabs with the National’s MVP clearly set the tone for the project, with a lot of fingerpicking, real strings, mellow drum programming and Mellotrons. You can sense Antonoff, in the songs he did with Swift, working to meet the mood and style of what Dessner had done or would be doing with her, and bringing out his own lesser-known acoustic and lightly orchestrated side. As good of a mesh as the album is, though, it’s usually not too hard to figure out who worked on which song — Dessner’s contributions often feel like nearly neo-classical piano or guitar riffs that Swift toplined over, while Antonoff works a little more toward buttressing slightly more familiar sounding pop melodies of Swift’s, dressed up or down to meet the more somber-sounding occasion.

For some fans, it might take a couple of spins around the block with this very different model to become re-accustomed to how there’s still the same power under the hood here. And that’s really all Swift, whose genius for conversational melodies and knack for giving every chorus a telling new twist every time around remain unmistakable trademarks. Thematically, it’s a bit more of a hodgepodge than more clearly autobiographical albums like “Lover” and “Reputation” before it have been. Swift has always described her albums as being like diaries of a certain period of time, and a few songs here obviously fit that bill, as continuations of the newfound contentment she explored in the last album and a half. But there’s also a higher degree of fictionalization than perhaps she’s gone for in the past, including what she’s described as a trilogy of songs revolving around a high school love triangle. The fact that she refers to herself, by name, as “James” in the song “Betty” is a good indicator that not everything here is ripped from today’s headlines or diary entries.

But, hell, some of it sure is. Anyone looking for lyrical Easter eggs to confirm that Swift still draws from her own life will be particularly pleased by the song “Invisible String,” a sort of “bless the broken roads that led me to you” type song that finds fulfillment in a current partner who once wore a teal shirt while working as a young man in a yogurt shop, even as Swift was dreaming of the perfect romance hanging out in Nashville’s Centennial Park. (A quick Google search reveals that, yes, Joe Alwyn was once an essential worker in London’s fro-yo industry.) There’s also a sly bit of self-referencing as Swift follows this golden thread that fatefully linked them: “Bad was the blood of the song in the cab on your first trip to L.A.,” she sings. The “dive bar” that was first established as the scene of a meet-cute two albums ago makes a reappearance in this song, too.

As for actual bad blood? It barely features into “Folklore,” in any substantial, true-life-details way, counter to her reputation for writing lyrics that are better than revenge. But when it does, woe unto he who has crossed the T’s and dotted the I’s on a contract that Swift feels was a double-cross. At least, we can strongly suspect what or who the actual subject is of “Mad Woman,” this album’s one real moment of vituperation. “What did you think I’d say to that?” Swift sings in the opening lines. “Does a scorpion sting when fighting back? / They strike to kill / And you know I will.” Soon, she’s adding gas to the fire: “Now I breathe flames each time I talk / My cannons all firing at your yacht / They say ‘move on’ / But you know I won’t / … women like hunting witches, too.” A coup de gras is delivered: “It’s obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together.” It’s a message song, and the message is: Swift still really wants her masters back, in 2020. And is really still going to want them back in 2021, 2022 and 2023, too. Whether or not the neighbors of the exec or execs she is imagining really mouth the words “f— you” when these nemeses pull up in their respective driveways may be a matter of projection, but if Swift has a good time imagining it, many of her fans will too.

(A second such reference may be found in the bonus track, “The Lakes,” which will only be found on deluxe CD and vinyl editions not set to arrive for several weeks. There, she sings, “What should be over burrowed under my skin / In heart-stopping waves of hurt / I’ve come too far to watch some namedropping sleaze / Tell me what are my words worth.” The rest of “The Lakes” is a fantasy of a halcyon semi-retirement in the mountains — in which “I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet / Because I haven’t moved in years” — “and not without my muse.” She even imagines red roses growing out of a tundra, “with no one around to tweet it”; fantasies of a social media-free utopia are really pandemic-rampant.)

The other most overtly “confessional” song here is also the most third-person one, up to a telling point. In “The Last Great American Dynasty,” Swift explores the rich history of her seaside manse in Rhode Island, once famous for being home to the heir to the Standard Oil fortune and, after he died, his eccentric widow. Swift has a grand old time identifying with the women who decades before her made fellow coast-dwellers go “there goes the neighborhood”: “There goes the maddest woman this town has ever seen / She had a marvelous time ruining everything,” she sings of the long-gone widow, Rebekah. “Fifty years is a long time / Holiday House sat quietly on that beach / Free of women with madness, their men and bad habits / Then it was bought by me… the loudest woman this town has ever seen.” (A fine madness among proud women is another recurring theme.)

But, these examples aside, the album is ultimately less obviously self-referential than most of Swift’s. The single “Cardigan,” which has a bit of a Lana Del Rey feel (even though it’s produced by Dessner, not Del Rey’s partner Antonoff) is part of Swift’s fictional high school trilogy, along with “August” and “Betty.” That sweater shows up again in the latter song, in which Swift takes on the role of a 17-year boy publicly apologizing for doing a girl wrong — and which kicks into a triumphant key change at the end that’s right out of “Love Story,” in case anyone imagines Swift has completely moved on from the spirit of early triumphs.

“Exile,” the duet with Bon Iver, recalls another early Swift song, “The Last Time,” which had her trading verses with Gary Lightbody of Snow Patrol. Then, as now, she gives the guy the first word, and verse, if not the last; it has her agreeing with her partner on some aspects of their dissolution (“I couldn’t turn things around”/”You never turned things around”) and not completely on others (“Cause you never gave a warning sign,” he sings; “I gave so many signs,” she protests).

Picking two standouts — one from the contented pile, one from the tormented — leads to two choices: “Illicit Affairs” is the best cheating song since, well, “Reputation’s” hard-to-top “Getaway Car.” There’s less catharsis in this one, but just as much pungent wisdom, as Swift describes the more mundane details of maintaining an affair (“Tell your friends you’re out for a run / You’ll be flushed when you return”) with the soul-destroying ones of how “what started in beautiful rooms ends with meetings in parking lots,” as “a drug that only worked the first few hundred times” wears off in clandestine bitterness.

But does Swift have a corker of a love song to tip the scales of the album back toward sweetness. It’s not “Invisible String,” though that’s a contender. The champion romance song here is “Peace,” the title of which is slightly deceptive, as Swift promises her beau, or life partner, that that quality of tranquility is the only thing she can’t promise him. If you like your love ballads realistic, it’s a bit of candor that renders all the compensatory vows of fidelity and courage all the more credible and deeply lovely. “All these people think love’s for show / But I would die for you in secret.”

That promise of privacy to her intended is a reminder that Swift is actually quite good at keeping things close to the vest, when she’s not spilling all — qualities that she seems to value and uphold in about ironically equal measure. Perhaps it’s in deference to the sanctity of whatever she’s holding dear right now that there are more outside narratives than before in this album — including a song referring to her grandfather storming the beaches in World War II — even as she goes outside for fresh collaborators and sounds, too. But what keeps you locked in, as always, is the notion of Swift as truth-teller, barred or unbarred, in a world of pop spin. She’s celebrating the masked era by taking hers off again.

Taylor Swift “Folklore” Republic Records

[purkinje-effect]

The Anatomy of Melancholy, (20)77: Caught Up in the Moment

Table of Contents. Third Instar, Chapter 8. Go to Previous. Go to Next. TWs: Food/meat, implied digestive trouble, unapologetic medical fetishization, brief grievous memory association, smoking. Seventy-seven is a sentimental number for me.

“...[C]lothes do not merely make the man, the clothes are the man; that without them he is a cipher, a vacancy, a nobody, a nothing.” -- Mark Twain’s “Czar’s Soliloquy”

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‘Choly and Angel walked next door to rejoin Sticks in the junk vendor’s stall. He found it peculiar, that trash did not comprise a majority of the dealer’s wares, despite the store’s categorization as a junk vendor. Much of it had been restored or repaired in some capacity, if not marginally more presentable polished or cleaned up some. A distant, crooked smile tugged at him, delighted by his ability to identify the most mundane of ancient things which had not graced his sight in some time. Ceramic figurine egg timer. Cake breaker. Dusting bellows. Pewter powder box. No, perhaps the entire mall could be called a large scale antiques dealer of sorts--with a healthy mix of contemporary crafts for sale as well, of course.

While ‘Choly had taken Liam’s suggestion to try some local fashion choices for something more compatible with the cervical collar, Sticks had decided to test his suggestion this type of merchant might yield their hunt better results. Sticks hadn’t wanted to wait around while ‘Choly clothing shopped, no matter how brief the errand with their appointment at the Gate City Clinic at eleven. When he found him, Sticks had just given up digging in a bin of various sacks.

The ghoul eyed him with pleasant surprise, hands stiff in his pockets.

“Didn’t expect you to be done first. Take it from your good spirits you found stuff you’re happy with.” He squinted at the new garments ‘Choly wore. “...I know you wear it well, but Ant lace? I thought we were pinching caps here.”

‘Choly smiled. First the cervical collar and a genuine direction to procuring the rest, and now brand new clothing. He now wore a collarless mesh chemisette, over his corset but tucked under the edge of the cervical collar, with a ribbon tie in the back and to either side. The corset still peeked out under the cropped hem. Atop this he’d put his cardigan back on. Draped around his neck was the article with which Sticks had exception: a long Irish lace shawl, with its tails drawn into a loose knot in the front. Several hundred dollars lighter for it, his heart felt even lighter still. In his day went the phrase, the clothes make the man, but it persisted even now that new clothes could do wonders.

“Up until now,” he finally replied, “all my clothes have either been prewar salvage or military issue. But now, I own some clothes handmade this year. I need to stop feeling like the relic I am. To stop feeling like I’m still stuck in 2077. I’d imagine it’s well enough time to finally celebrate something.”

“I figured last night was a to-do, but I guess you’ve earned something fancy. Appearances sure matter a lot to you.”

“Have to make up for my personality somehow, don’t I?” He shrugged off his own glib self-deprecation. “Before we get going, did you want to try something new, too? The apparel clerk was incredibly helpful.”

Sticks’s attention fell elsewhere as they walked out of the junk vendor’s stall.

“Mm, no offense, but I prefer the way duds used to be made.”

“That’s fair. The display windows of the boutiques that specialize in prewar fashion have caught my attention every time we pass them. Right now, though, I feel more like trying to blend in a bit. To feel present.”

Something about yesterday’s conversation with Liam had ‘Choly’s mind abuzz with a confusion he nearly welcomed. His interaction with the apparel clerk repeated in his mind. With the utter unisex nature of garments, he couldn’t not ask her, with some trepidation, And how might a man go about wearing this one? And this? She’d let him into the fitting room stall so she could show him, making adjustments once he reemerged with the new clothes on his person. He smiled into himself as he mounted Angel.

“The clerk showed me how Laners wear things. I thought I could tell at a glance that wealth and status were demonstrated with wearing as many individual garments as possible, with wearing as much of a given fabric as possible, with the greatest intricacy to a fabric possible. But it’s more complicated than that? Really, it shocks me that you wouldn’t take a shine to this kind of place. She lamented that my orthotic corset has no detail work, and is made from such an uninteresting fabric. All function, with none of the form, she says. Clothing here is designed to show off the undergarments! Socks included, for example--hence all the golf trousers.” His eyes wilded, focused on nothing, as he reared up on his grip on Angel’s car-door handles. “I can’t imagine literally airing my unmentionables to the whole neighborhood, no matter what I paid for them.”

“...What’s that supposed to mean? Me not taking a shine to Ant.”

“Your... interest in corsets,” fumbled from him.

“Tch! Believe it or not, I don’t blow my top every time I see one.” He twisted taking exception to it into flirtation, and smirked up at ‘Choly. “Depends a lot on who’s wearing it.”

‘Choly crinkled his nose to hide his flustering.

“--Well! Hopefully we’ll find more to outfit me with. I know you didn’t find anything at the one merchant, but there’s dozens of vendors here with junk for sale. Which, speaking of leather scraps... You know, I’ve been noticing lots of leather and fur here, too. I know the Clark sisters dress the Laners’ kills, but I haven’t noticed anyplace that’s been permitted leather tools. It’s been driving my curiosity wild. Everyplace with clothes has had sturdy fur-lined leather overcoats for sale.” He waved a declaration through the air one-handed, before returning to an even grip. “A must-have for any body with business out-doors. Sufficient winterized rad-resistant gear and all that.”

“You really must be feeling better, to be so chatty. God bless that neck thing.” Sticks chuckled, warmed. “By curiosity, I’m assuming you’re asking where they get it all. You’re right, if you think the Furriers had anything to do with it. Well, had. No idea how Ant will react to the Unfolded. They used to caravan up here every so often, with the Riverhawk. They’d trade leather, fur, salvaged prewar fabric bolts, dressed meat. The Laners never much liked them, but the commerce was too good to turn ‘em shy. I traveled with them up here a few times, but even the times I’ve come up here on my own I’ve never really taken a shine to living here.”

“Fuck-me-in-the-mouth, I hope they don’t show up here.”

The last thing any of them needed was a continuation of what had transpired in Lowell. Surely, they hadn’t been followed.

“Gen’s got all their hands too full to bother with trade route upkeep, I imagine.”

“...You don’t suppose my coat lining came from here, do you?”

It took some time to grasp what ‘Choly was on about.

“That Franken-monster of a thing Bones gave you? I guess so, maybe. Both cities had a lot of textiles. There’s no telling where she got it.”

They entered the Gate City Clinic and sat in the mostly empty waiting area. One of the other medics noticed them and approached.

“Do you need help with something?”

“We’re waiting for Liam,” ‘Choly said.

“He’s about to take his lunch soon. You’ll be waiting at least an hour, if you’re intent to see him and not one of the other staff. What brings you in?”

“Just on time.” Sticks winked. “We’re waiting for his lunch hour. We’re here on business. Not doctor stuff.”

The medic shrugged and walked off to a desk to contend with some papers.

Liam walked up shortly after, this time in a velvet-trimmed sheer mesh shirt, and golf pants again. His deep eyes brightened in an otherwise indifferent face.

“You’re awfully stuffed up. You know that right?” His cigarette bobbed limply as he spoke. “But this, it’s an improvement. Really, I don’t get the preoccupation with salvaged prewar clothes. Most of it’s garbage these days. Deteriorating, stained, doesn’t breathe...”

“It only wears out if not properly cared for,” Angel said.

They couldn’t tell if Liam’s silence came more on account of his consideration of the Mister Handy’s comment, or more of their speechlessness that it had sassed a prospective business partner they’d only met the night before.

“Anyway.” Liam lipped at his smoke, then walked away. He wagged his head for them to follow him to the back. “I’m taking lunch now. Allow me to give you a tour of the place.”

The Gate City Clinic, the best ‘Choly could tell, utilized the original shop’s two offices for an office and storage space. He presumed the stock room at one end of the hall made up Liam and Orqueida’s living quarters, though Liam didn’t show them. He took them finally to the kitchen at the opposite end of the hall, once a break room. The makings of a rudimentary chemistry setup occupied a small kitchen hutch.

“Neither of us cooks,” Liam said, “but we also prefer to eat in privacy. Orqueida got us food before she headed to the Inn for the day. Have you eaten?”

“We haven’t!” Sticks eyed the sizable sack on the table. “You shouldn’t have. Thank you.”

“Orqueida insisted. You’re welcome, though.”

‘Choly’s mouth watered at the lingering aroma of hot pickled meat. He swallowed and did his best not to frown.

“...I appreciate it, but no thanks.”

“Oh,” Angel worried, “breakfast must be disagreeing with you already.”

“You’re out of your smoothies.” Sticks gave him an assertive glare. “Eat with us.”

Sooner than argue, ‘Choly took it upon himself to scrutinize the hot plate and various glassware Liam had collected.

Liam smushed his cigarette in the ashtray on the kitchen table, then produced from the oiled canvas sack beside it a series of lidded tins, ranging from bread box to tea tin, but mostly an average of them. Much like the sewing kits of yesteryear, ‘Choly knew better than to think Liam intended to serve them two hundred year old butter cookies.

“I thought the food court didn’t include the dishes,” ‘Choly said.

“They charge you for not having your own. But we can sell back the tins.” Liam shrugged. He opened the tin in his hand then, to demonstrate some shredded juicy pale stuff, only to glance down with a disappointed frown and replace the lid. “Ugh, sauerkraut. ...Breaks even if we clean it before returning it. You have tins, you find tins, you sell them to the food court.”

Sticks helped him remove the lids to reveal shaved corned brahmin, toasted bread slices, sauerkraut, thin fragments of a rindy cheese, a pepper tin of some sort of sauce, and what resembled pickled garlic cloves or mozzarella balls. The not-gold lighting blanched any visual appeal the foods may have had, but the savory piquant aromas more than made up for it. Liam produced utensils from a counter drawer and set them down on a clean dishrag.

“At least she didn’t forget the morsels.” Liam sighed as he popped one of the globules in his mouth, then one more. He held the tin out to the two of them. Sticks took two. ‘Choly picked up a fork to take just the one, almost uncertain they could be stabbed without breaking. “Digestive issues? Really, we should make time to sit and discuss all this. Maybe I could help.”

‘Choly watched the two men cobbling together sandwiches to either side of the table. He stuck the morsel in his mouth. Coated in a tart oil, its flesh had a firm bite but still a tenderness. Chewing on it for some time, it dawned on him these were some sort of mushroom.

“What would help... is more... Stimpaks.” As ‘Choly said it, his voice garbled into a self-conscious hush. “I’ve got everything else.”

Liam sat to dig in, his befuddlement on his sunken brow.

“I don’t figure you’ll be able to get started today. We’re just talking things over. Knowing the equipment you’ve got at your disposal should help draft what to send your ‘acquisition expert’ on errands for.” He unfolded a piece of paper from his shirt pocket one-handed and gave it to Sticks, who was much more nettled by the whole thing than he let on. “I’ve got a few things I’ll pay you for as well. Provided it wasn’t some fancy way of saying you’re a scavver, it should be a cakewalk.”

“The hell do you need so much-- You know what. Don’t worry about it, and I won’t, either.”

“You deal with him, so I don’t have to. I pay very well for it.”

Stress snagged up in ‘Choly’s throat.

“You mentioned last night that you’re looking for first aid basics. You traded a cervical brace for my handful of Addictol and Med-X.” His voice cracked. “What-- about Stimpaks?”

Liam sat up, and set down his hand on the table, still holding his sandwich in it. He scowled at his food instead of his guests.

“Stimpaks aren’t the end all for first aid. I really don’t have much use for them. A medic once had to know how to work without them, in the chance they ran out on the battlefield. I got my training in similar circumstances. I do rarely have them, but as far as I know, making them is a lost prewar science--”

“--But why not use advanced tools, where available?” ‘Choly reeled back the accidental sarcastic shock, clasping his chin. “Do you not see many severe injuries here?”

“We’re a cautious bunch. Most of what I oversee is illness, not injury. While I can handle injuries when they happen, I’m definitely grateful it’s not my job. It means the Lane’s safe.”

‘Choly steadied himself a bit by beginning to craft his own serving.

“What... if I told you that I knew how to make them?”

“I’d tell you not to bother.”

The chemist’s ears rang. He dropped it for now.

Over the next few days, ‘Choly got to work on chems, Sticks went on Liam and ‘Choly’s errands, and Angel assisted Liam in the clinic where he’d permit. He disliked that a majority of his trouble amounted to isolating the alkaloid salts from pounds of dried Hubflower petals, but he reminded himself that he was synthesizing Med-X with it. At least it came easily for him. He even got plucky and decided he’d throw something together with his stash of dried melon blossoms, to test his theory its compounds could steady one’s alertness. For the time being, he stifled the compulsion to up the level of difficulty and complexity, and did not propose anything off Liam’s work order more grandiose than an herbal remedy. They all had to prove their reliability to Liam, and sprawling out his efforts when his lab equipment was one step above kitchenware was the opposite of a sound idea. Besides, the man had requested medicine and nothing more.

One afternoon, Sticks burst into the kitchen. He flung down a mess of something in the tile floor with a semi-muffled clatter, only to dash back out with a huge grin. ‘Choly eyed the pile breathlessly from where he sat at work. Recognizing the same canvas and leather he had around his neck, he did his best to make sure the soaking pale purple-blue petals didn’t over-process.

Sticks stomped back in some time later, dragging along an exhausted Liam.

“These are the legs right?” He had the catalogue open, pointing at it eagerly. “Right???”

“It appears so. But I can’t tell from this jumbled mess, if it’s complete.”

“Then let’s see! ‘Choly! Stop messing with that smelly junk and let us at your legs.”

“You’re lucky the start you gave me didn’t make me break something. I was handling acid. ...I don’t have to remove my pants, do I?”

“I’d rather you didn’t.” Amending the snark, Liam added, “We can see how they fit over the trousers first.”

Sticks chuckled, wringing his hands.

With some effort, Liam pieced together the components, eyeing the catalogue for reference. Each segment was reinforced with metal boning and fastened shut on the outer parts with busks and fan lacing for ease. Sticks had the luck that the waistband which secured each hip hinge had come attached to one of the legs. Otherwise, he probably wouldn’t have known the piece was necessary.

“Aren’t you glad you turned me loose to go hunting on my own?” the ghoul delighted. “It’s funny. I remember fewer merchants being okay with anything less than cold hard cash. I’ve been getting run ragged obtaining the right stuff for the right people. But it’s all a drop in the bucket for you, Mindy.”

“Two pieces in one week. Three, if you count each separate leg. In tact. Yes, of course I’m amazed.“

Having followed Liam and Sticks back in, Angel entered to supervise.

Liam lowered himself into the floor and chewed at his cigarette filter while he worked at getting one of ‘Choly’s legs slipped into the thing. ‘Choly did his best to balance, and let out an anxious laugh when Sticks all to eagerly joined Liam in the floor to mirror the effort with ‘Choly’s other leg.

“Gotta practice,” Sticks insisted with a crooked grin, despite meeting no protest.

The two helped ‘Choly stand, so he could fasten the waistband. Liam gestured where the circular hinges needed to align, and the two steadied the leg pieces at the height needed to achieve this, so that the padded belt could be adjusted accordingly. Once they got him into the device, he took a few testing steps. His heart fluttered. Unsurprisingly, they gave a great deal of protest with each step.

“I brought a tool kit with me,” Sticks offered. “We can adjust how tight the hinges are, to stop all that squeaking and creaking. I’m sure I can find some oil, too.”

“Forget how they sound.” Liam put out his cigarette. “Do they help?”

‘Choly kept testing them out, pacing slowly and deliberately from one end of the kitchen to the other. He couldn’t help but snivel and smile with awe.

“I feel like a toy soldier... but that isn’t necessarily a negative. My hips are lined up to where I don’t have to think so hard about the steps I take. I do think they could stand a little tightening up, but the alignment’s still good despite being as old and beat up as I am.”

“The oldest thing in this room is probably the ghoul--” Liam elbowed Sticks beside him, “--but the braces come in a close second.”

‘Choly turned, deadpan.

“I’m older than he is.”

“By seven years or so, if memory serves,” Angel said. “Twenty-eighth of November, 2034.”

Liam’s humor didn’t falter, though he stood with a vague discerning squint. ‘Choly ambled over to the table to sit with a grunt.

“If I can bum a smoke and sit back down, I’ll explain why I might be one of your weirder patients.”

He himself sat backward in the metal diner chair wordlessly. He produced his pack of Clipper Ships from his rolled sleeve, tapped out two cigarettes to place in his lips, and lit them. And he offered one across the kitchen table between genteel thumb and forefinger, his eyes bright with eager skepticism.

____________

Fun facts: Russian dressing (often substituted with Thousand Island) is credited to have been created in Nashua, NH, by one James E. Colburn.

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[imaginaryelle]

Fic: And One He Writes Himself

(also yesssss. \o/ headcanon, but even though everyone blames wwx for the new rules, lwj going off script 100% freaked the clan out way more and imo would make the clan elders far more likely to chip out some more lines on the wall than anything wwx could do alone, lol)

@vera-invenire​​, here it is! Thanks very much for the prompt, I had a lot of fun writing for it :D Many thanks also to @morphia-writes​​ and @miyuki4s for their wonderful beta work, you are all awesome people.

Tags: CQL-verse, Chief Cultivator Lan Wangji, Wangxian, five times fic, pining, getting together, first kiss, long distance relationship (with meet-ups)

Length: ~6k (AO3 link here!)

**

1: Do Not Use Clan Techniques Inappropriately

*

To His Excellency, the esteemed Chief Cultivator, Hanguang-jun, the letter begins.

How will you ever know which letters are mine if I start them so formally? I promise, I promise, never again. Forever onwards you will be only Lan Zhan in letters, no matter what I have to write on the address.

But Lan Zhan, did you know? I’ve heard the most outrageous rumor lately. It’s the talk of traveling merchants and wine houses everywhere that you used the Lan Clan silence spell during the last cultivation conference. On every sect leader! Lan Zhan is so cruel. How could you do such a thing—and not invite me to see it? A baker in Yingchuan said Sect Leader Ouyang turned redder than his robes, and that Sect Leader Yao risked his throat and mouth still trying to speak. I’m tempted to call on Jiang Cheng and extract a full account from him, but we’d probably only fight again. Especially if you used it on him, too! Perhaps Jin Ling will be more accommodating for his long-lost uncle. Can I even think to trust a version of the tale from our dear Sect Leader Nie? I’m sure he managed to keep his voice unhindered, sly fox that he’s become.

It looks as if the rain is letting up, so my caravan will be leaving soon. I’ve heard all my life how beautiful Kuizhou is and now I finally have the time to visit. Have you seen it? I’ll send sketches of the landscape in my next letter; if you’ve been, we can compare notes, and if you haven’t perhaps they’ll help you decide if the rumors are true. For now, I can only offer this picture of your Gusu mountains. Think of it as a promise that I’ll come see them again someday.

Yours,

Wei Ying

P.S. I know you won’t tell me the story yourself, but I plan to beg you for it anyway. A tale like this is too good to keep behind your lips.

Lan Wangji reads it twice, committing the ebullient flow of Wei Ying’s writing to memory. The drawing is inked in a looser hand than he remembers from portraits and rabbits so many years ago, but he recognizes the landscape as the ridge on which they bid each other farewell, as seen from the trail towards the Qingling mountains.

He sets it to the side, smooths it carefully, and tries to take up his work again. The Jin Clan’s collected accounts of the last twenty years are neatly stacked before him, the white-gold bindings gleaming in yellow lantern light. He even manages to open one before his mind flits away, following the swooping energy of Wei Ying’s brush strokes into the night. He puts down the ledger, snuffs out the lantern, and stands. Perhaps he will check on the rabbits before curfew.

There is no announcement to go with the new rule listed in the main courtyard; it simply appeared on the Wall one morning, and then in all the library copies on the day after. But rumor swirls, of course, even in this place where gossip is prohibited. Perhaps especially here, behind white-and-blue sleeves in the juniors’ classes and through barely-moving-lips in the crafting, sword and music halls. As seems to be happening ever more frequently in the past few months, the name on the wind is Hanguang-jun.

Lan Wangji walks the wide, wandering paths between the back mountain and the Jingshi with the crisp folds of Wei Ying’s letter pressed between his yi and hanfu, over his heart. “Inappropriately” is a qualifier with more leniency than he is used to hearing from the Lan Clan elders. He wonders, with a sudden surge of surprise, if they are just as unsettled by and unprepared for his appointment to the position of Chief Cultivator as everyone else. Or perhaps it is simply that they have all attended more cultivation conferences between them than he ever wants to imagine. He can’t be the first Lan to have such an impulse. Loudly proclaimed falsehoods are, after all, exactly what the silencing spell was created to counter.

Yes. He is secure in his judgment. He has no doubts.

If the Sect Leaders cannot restrain themselves to speaking the truth, they will not speak to him at all.

*

2. Do Not Bother the Kitchen Staff

*

It’s supposed to be a surprise. A good surprise, for Wei Ying’s first visit to Cloud Recesses since Lan Wangji’s appointment as Chief Cultivator. He’s been working on it for weeks, ever since he received the letter declaring Wei Ying’s intent to visit for Qixi: he knows that Wei Ying’s greatest complaint about Cloud Recesses is the food, and so he will make certain Wei Ying has at least one meal more fitting to his tastes.

He knows it’s foolish, wishful thinking, but the idea that if he could just fix this one thing Wei Ying would stay has snuck into his mind, and so he purchases dried chilies and their oil from Yunmeng and spicy peppercorns and ginger from Caiyi, and rises before five every day for two weeks so that he might visit the kitchens and learn enough to prepare something simple.

If the kitchen staff are curious about his presence, they never let him see it. Li Jing seems pleased enough to teach him—stern and exacting, but never cruel—and pronounces the dishes of hot clear noodles, freshly pickled mushrooms and spicy tofu soup Lan Wangji produces “acceptable,” which is the highest praise she ever gives anyone. He makes them again the afternoon Wei Ying arrives, so that they will be ready for the evening banquet. He leaves a preservation talisman over the tray, and a note: For Wei Wuxian’s Return.

He doesn’t have time to check on it again. Wei Ying arrives like a spring storm, wild and sudden and casting the quiet paths of Cloud Recesses into disarray. He flits here and there like a blown leaf, greeting Lan Sizhui with an enthusiasm that violates at least three Clan principles before teasing Lan Jingyi with familiar humor and then complaining aloud—and loudly—that the rabbits still don’t like him. Never once does he venture further away than the reach of Lan Wangji’s shadow, and rarely even so far as that, but it is still not quite enough to quiet the tangled threads that pull and knot in Lan Wangji’s center. The press of paper against his chest is a habit born of a new kind of waiting, and now that Wei Ying is here, in front of him, the warmth it brings is more distraction than comfort.

Evening comes quickly, sweeping over Cloud Recesses with a cool, creeping fog and painting the mountain peaks in lively shades of red. Wei Ying tips his head back to watch a pair of cranes fly overhead and Lan Wangji watches the tilt of his mouth as he smiles and the line of his neck as he turns and waits.

He would have preferred a private dinner in the Jingshi, where Wei Ying might pair his special meal with his favorite wine and there would be no audience to comment on a lingering touch of fingertips as the cup passed between them. But it is not to be: his uncle is eating alone to aid his recovery after several days’ work refreshing the outer wards and his brother is still in seclusion, and so it falls on Lan Wangji to be present in the main dining hall for the evening meal.

Wei Ying pouts at this revelation but he joins the crowd without much protest—with so little in the way of objections, in fact, that Lan Wangji is certain he has some small rebellion in mind. As he is a single note of black and red in a chorus of white and blue, whatever it is is sure to be noticeable, but perhaps the food will be distraction enough. It is at least different from what Wei Ying has been served in Cloud Recesses before. Different enough that he frowns at it, and then opens his mouth to speak before he catches the slight shake of Lan Wangji’s head: silence during meals. Instead he fishes a whole dried pepper out of his soup for inspection and shoots Lan Wangji a questioning glance. The look of glee on his face when Lan Wangji nods is so captivating that Lan Wangji hardly even looks at his own portion before he starts eating.

It’s not that he doesn’t notice the unexpected added spice; his mouth burns after the very first bite, but Wei Ying’s surprised pleasure is worth any momentary discomfort. Even if it means he can’t actually taste most of the meal. It’s only when Lan Jingyi makes a faint choking noise that he realizes anyone else’s food has been affected. He can see the moment Wei Ying notices it too—his lips curl in like he’s clamped them together with his teeth trying not to smile, and his eyes widen even as he determinedly doesn’t look at anyone. Lan Wangji keeps his own eyes lowered as he examines the room. He is abruptly thankful that his uncle is not present, but many of the other elders are not so lucky. Several have already gestured for more tea or rice, an action that quickly ripples through the attending juniors as well.

The prohibition against talking during meals has never felt so smotheringly present as in this moment, watching faces turn red behind fiercely-clutched cups of tea. It’s Lan Bai who stands from his table and glares at Wei Ying, his face transformed more with emotion than the spicy food. He doesn’t speak—silence during meals—but he flaps his sleeve derisively and starts to sweep contemptuously past them, and Lan Wangji knows he will go straight to the Grandmaster, and then to the Sect Leader if he is still unsatisfied, because he always does. It will be an unpleasant waste of everyone’s time and an unnecessary stress on both of them because Lan Wangji already knows this incident is highly unlikely to repeat itself. It can only have happened at all in Li Jing’s absence, which means she has been called away earlier than expected for her grandchild’s birth in Caiyi.

“Do not be picky about food,” he reminds Lan Bai, and even the clicking of chopsticks stops in the wake of it. Lan Bai looks so affronted that for a moment Lan Wangji thinks he will actually argue the point.

Anything that might have been said is promptly forgotten as Wei Ying hurriedly stands and runs from the hall. He makes it just outside the doors before laughter bursts out of him, loud and joyous and likely audible to the whole of Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji holds Lan Bai’s gaze. He will not have this falling on Wei Ying’s shoulders, and he is no longer just the Second Jade of Lan, too young and too-headstrong, who spends too much time away from home. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Lan Sizhui nudge Lan Jingyi, and both pick up their chopsticks. Slowly, the normal sounds of dinner resume, if with a great deal more tea than usual. Slowly, Lan Bai manages a rather stiff bow and excuses himself without further dramatics.

After he’s gone Wei Ying returns, mirth still spilling from every movement. He finishes his meal without speaking but it’s clear, as cultivators file out of the hall in silent rows, that he has plenty to say.

“That was—” He laughs again in the quiet of the Jingshi. “Lan Zhan, I can hardly believe someone so righteous as you would do such a thing. And to so many at once! Do you know how many times I tried to get into the kitchens when I was a student here?”

“It was unintentional,” Lan Wangji admits as he pours wine into Wei Ying’s cup. The incident is, in retrospect, rather reminiscent of a childish prank, and he should not be surprised to learn that Wei Ying might have planned something similar. “My preparation of your portion was not meant as a general instruction.”

Wei Ying accepts the cup with a soft brush of fingertips and a grateful smile, and then stills with it halfway to his mouth.

“Lan Zhan.” He sets the cup down with a sharp click. “Are you—Lan Zhan you made that? You—” his gaze drops for a moment and then he slides around the corner of the table to sit beside Lan Wangji instead of across from him. “You cooked that? For me?” His eyes are very wide, all traces of humor gone.

Lan Wangji hesitates, his fingers curling deeper in his sleeves. Perhaps his confidence was misplaced.

“Was it unpalatable?” he asks, because of course that’s possible. He hardly knows what the dishes are supposed to taste like to someone who actively enjoys them.

“It was delicious,” Wei Ying assures him. He reaches out with both hands and finds Lan Wangji’s fingers, and then his wrist. “Perfect.” He laughs, the sound a little watery. “I can’t believe—” he squeezes Lan Wangji’s hand, “—no one’s cooked just for me since—” he breaks off and turns away. His breath shudders through his frame.

Lan Wangji turns his wrist and links Wei Ying’s fingers through his own. This is perhaps not the reaction he hoped for, but he is hardly unfamiliar with the ways grief can lie in wait to ambush the most vigilant of minds.

“Sorry.” Wei Ying’s grip tightens. He manages to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes before ducking his head again, his chin tucked to his chest. “Sorry, sorry, this is—I don’t know why I—”

“It is alright, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji guides his head back up and wipes the tears from Wei Ying’s cheek with his sleeve. “I’m here,” he promises. For you, always here for you, goes unspoken, caught somewhere deep in his chest.

Wei Ying’s face crumples. “Lan Zhan,” he says, the syllables half strangled on a sob, and he leans first into Lan Wangji’s shoulder and then sinks lower, until his head rests on Lan Wangji’s forearm above their joined hands, and he cries. It is not a particularly comfortable position, but Lan Wangji does not protest, even when Wei Ying’s tears soak through his sleeves to dampen his skin. He is, for a moment, at something of a loss for what to do. A faded memory comes to him of another night in this room, so long ago it’s more feeling than image: his mother’s soothing warm hands on his back and soft humming above him. And then another memory: Lan Zhan, won’t you sing for me echoing back at him from two decades passed.

He strokes Wei Ying’s shuddering shoulders, and he hums, soft and soothing, and he holds Wei Ying’s hand until he quiets, wrung out and limp with exhaustion.

Tomorrow he will rise early and prepare another meal for Wei Ying’s breakfast, shuttered away from curious eyes and open judgment. Tomorrow there will be music, and stories of mountains and rivers they never saw in their youth. Tomorrow they will walk the paths of his home side-by-side, and visit Little Apple and the rabbits, and he will watch Wei Ying revel in the afternoon sun. Tomorrow, together, they will build a lantern and release a promise to the heavens.

Tonight, he unbinds Wei Yings hair and combs it smooth with long, slow motions. Tonight he guides Wei Ying carefully to the bed and removes his boots and sees him settled under the blankets. Tonight he holds Wei Ying’s hand in his own and sits vigil against any specters of memory or dream that might come to haunt him, and for tonight—for tonight, that is enough.

*

3. Do Not Be Overly Affectionate in Public

*

“Pssst. Wei-qianbei.”

Wei Wuxian stops, much to Little Apple’s annoyance, and lets one hand slide down to Chenqing as he inspects his surroundings more closely. Cloud Recesses’ main gate is just around this bend in the path, and sometimes he thinks the donkey might be looking forward to their arrival even more than he is.

“Wei-qianbei.” A flash of white on the mountainous side of the path reveals Lan Jingyi, stumbling down to meet him with Lan Sizhui at his side and a gaggle of other young Lans in his wake.

“A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian greets Lan Sizhui with a grin, “and so many upright young Lans. Whatever could you all be doing outside your own warded walls?”

Lan Sizhui steps forward. “Wei-qianbei,” he says with a bow, proper as anything, “before you meet with Hanguang-jun, there’s something you should see.”

Wei Wuxian purses his lips, considering. “How many rules are you planning to break with this venture?” he asks.

“Um. None.” Lan Sizhui looks back at his companions and then nods firmly. “It’s actually the Wall of Discipline we want to show you.”

Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue in disappointment. Youthful creativity squandered once again. “Really, A-Yuan, don’t they teach you Lans anything about negotiations? This proposal is not at all appealing to me. I’ve seen enough of those rules to last a lifetime. Or two.”

“We know that.” Lan Jingyi folds his arms over his chest and smiles like he has something to be smug about. “But we think you’ll want to see this one.”

Hm. There’s a bit of cunning in Lan Jingyi’s expression that Wei Wuxian must admit is refreshing to see in a Lan. And he’ll have to walk past the rules anyway, on his way to the Jingshi. It can’t really hurt to take a look.

“You see?” He gestures at Lan Jingyi. “This is much more intriguing. Take note.” He ponders for another moment, then nods. “Alright,” he agrees, nudging Little Apple back into motion. “But it had better be quick.”

They get some curious looks from the cultivators on gate duty, and it takes some time to get Little Apple settled, but soon enough they’re in the main courtyard, staring at the engraved hunk of rock that dictates so much of life in Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian isn’t certain what he’s supposed to be looking at. Yes, there’s a new rule: Do not be overly affectionate in public. He’s just not certain what was so important about it to merit a special visit.

“It was added months ago,” Lan Wangji says, appearing at his shoulder. “Shortly after your departure.”

Wei Wuxian looks up at him, searching for some hint of what he’s supposed to be understanding here. Lan Wangji is doing his best impression of an implacable jade statue, which generally means he’s having some very pointed thoughts indeed. Wei Wuxian leans in to jostle his shoulder and gets a faintly amused deepening of the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth in response. Success.

“How long was that, a few breaths?” Lan Jingyi asks to their right, too-loud as ever. “A count of ten?”

“I’m not certain that breaks it,” Lan Sizhui says, softer, “You’ve never been punished.”

That prompts Wei Wuxian to watch Lan Wangji more closely, waiting for confirmation or denial. But surely not. Surely they couldn’t mean...

Slowly, ever so slightly, Lan Wangji nods.

Wei Wuxian stares at the characters so carefully etched into the rock and struggles to contain his laughter.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, trying to hide his snickering behind his sleeve. “Lan Zhan, they can’t be serious. This sounds like they think I’m going to ravish you in the central courtyard.” It’s a joke. Very much a joke. He would happily ravish Lan Wangji in private, of course, if he could ever be certain Lan Wangji was interested in such pastimes, but—

“It’s not you they’re worried about,” Lan Jingyi says, though his smirk slides off his face almost as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Lan Wangji’s gaze settles on him for a moment, until Wei Wuxian draws his attention back by tugging at his sleeve because that—that doesn’t make sense.

“Lan Zhan,” he says. “Is this—this can’t be about Qixi. Can it?”

Lan Wangji looks away. The tips of his ears are turning pink.

“It is?” Wei Wuxian thinks hard, but he can’t remember anything from his last visit that would be drastic enough to prompt a new rule as a response. He frowns. “But we only built a lantern together. Building a lantern is hardly debauchery in public.” Even if it had felt like a bit more than just building a lantern at the time, with the mix of hope and nostalgia rising in his chest.

“Wei Ying is shameless,” Lan Wangji observes.

“I was a perfect gentleman!” Wei Wuxian protests. Well, alright, perhaps he had been overly touchy in his affection for Lan Sizhui. Or overly loud, at least. And there had been, admittedly, several moments where he’d had to to sternly restrain himself from kissing Lan Wangji in full view of all his elders and students. He had restrained himself precisely because he hadn’t wanted to spend the precious after-dinner hours of the festival writing lines or banished to kneel somewhere as some sort of penance. And also because even he wasn’t so shameless as to subject his first kiss to such a display. What if he did it wrong? Getting it wrong in front of Lan Wangji would be bad enough, but the whole of his clan as well? It hardly bears thinking about.

And yet, Lan Jingyi had said…

Wei Wuxian does have some well-worn memories of that time, of Lan Wangji’s steady presence at his side and the jumping, choking pulse of hope and want thrumming under his skin. There had been moments. When Lan Wangji plucked leaves out of his hair after an afternoon’s game with some of the younger Lan disciples. When their hands had touched over and over and over again as they built their shared lantern. The way Lan Wangji had looked at him after they’d released it. The mornings, when Lan Wangji presented him with breakfast made especially for Wei Wuxian, and the evenings too, when they played together, sharing songs both old and new, or simply sat together in easy quiet with a cup of Emperor’s Smile passed between them: one to pour, one to drink, fingers brushing. Moments when he’d thought—maybe that kiss was going to happen.

Maybe Lan Wangji had thought that too. Maybe—maybe he was waiting for Wei Wuxian to move first, maybe—

“Lan Zhan.” He reaches for Lan Wangji’s sleeve again. Lets his fingers slide down to linger on Lan Wangji’s own.

Lan Wangji turns, just slightly. Just enough to actually be facing him. There’s a quickly muffled noise to their right, which Wei Wuxian resolutely ignores.

“Lan Zhan,” he repeats, softer. “I really… I really do like you.” He shifts closer.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s fingers clench around his hand, and Wei Wuxian squeezes back.

“I like you so much,” he says, “and I wish...” He drops his gaze to Lan Wangji’s lips. “I wish...” His words dry up. All he can do is squeeze Lan Wangji’s hand tighter and stare at him and hope that—that his intent is clear. That Lan Wangji… understands and—

And then Lan Wangji is kissing him, moving their linked hands up to Wei Wuxian’s jaw and holding him still with Bichen pressed against his side and kissing him, and Wei Wuxian suddenly remembers the rules—rules Lan Wangji is breaking! For him!—and their audience, and he can’t stop the blush that burns on his face and neck but he’s not going to stop kissing Lan Wangji either.

“That definitely breaks it, right?” Lan Jingyi says in a whisper that is likely louder than he thinks it is, and Lan Wangji pulls away.

Wei Wuxian, embarrassingly, whimpers a bit, which turns into a only-somewhat aborted exclamation of surprise as Lan Wangji turns and starts dragging him along in the general direction of the Jingshi.

“Lan Zhan!” He jogs a little to keep up. He wonders how many rules they are breaking now—they’re not exactly running, but they’re certainly moving faster than usual. He’s definitely making noise. Is kissing someone still an impulsive act if he’s spent months and months thinking about it? And he’s quite certain that anyone looking at his expression, at least, would mark him down for “excessively happy” because the smile he’s wearing feels like it’s been stamped onto his face.

“Lan Zhan!” He stops in the Jingshi’s doorway and clings to the wall a little and waits for Lan Wangji to look at him along the taut line of their still-joined hands.

“What is it?” Lan Wangji’s voice is unexpectedly flat, and his grip on Wei Wuxian’s hand tightens as his eyes drop to that point of connection. As if he is perhaps afraid Wei Wuxian will try to slip free now.

“I just wanted to say, it is an honor to break the Lan Clan rules with you.” Wei Wuxian’s grin widens as Lan Wangji’s gaze narrows. He loves that glare so much. So, so much it feels like emotion is going to burst out of him like a breaking dam. “And,” he adds, gleeful and almost giddy, “I’m happy to help you break that one again any time you like.”

There is a moment of considering silence.

“Perhaps,” Lan Wangji allows, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips, and Wei Wuxian steps over the threshold and lets himself be pulled in like the moon pulls the tide—surging, crashing, and eternal.

*

4. Do Not Speak to Wei Wuxian

*

There is a new rule on the Wall of Discipline. Lan Wangji glares at it, which has little effect except to make his lover cling to his sleeve and laugh at him.

“Unjust,” Lan Wangji mutters. The rule has, admittedly, come in the wake of three separate disturbances to the Lan Sect’s calm, quiet existence, but Wei Ying is not to blame for them. If anything, it had been Lan Wangji himself who asked his young students the question: Who is just, and who is evil? Who is wrong and who is right? Who decides what is black and what is white? And how will you tell the difference outside these walls? 

Just because Wei Ying is present in Cloud Recesses does not make him responsible for disruptions, even if he does take a certain amount of glee in watching such debates unfold.

Wei Ying’s glee is currently threatening to completely undo him as he collapses under the force of his own humor, more and more of his weight coming to bear where he holds Lan Wangji’s wrist.

“Lan Zhan,” he gasps, laughing enough to be hardly intelligible, “this is my favorite rule.”

Lan Wangji steadies him and waits, patiently, for an explanation. There usually is an explanation even if it is not always something Lan Wangji himself would consider reasonable or logical. Wei Ying tries to speak three times, each instance interrupted by a fresh peal of laughter before he finally heaves a few calming breaths and stands straight.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes, “with this rule, any time your uncle yells at me, he must break it. And the other elders! How will they punish me for talking at meals and running in the courtyards if they can’t speak to me?”

Lan Wangji’s lips twitch. “Ridiculous,” he says.

Wei Ying smiles, wide and exuberant. “Yes, yes, yes, so many of your rules are ridiculous,” he agrees, which is not what Lan Wangji meant, but he is well familiar with Wei Ying’s opinion in this matter. “But Lan Zhan,” he continues, “this one is silly. If only speaking to me were such a danger then you, you! Hanguang-jun, the Second Jade of Lan, the Chief Cultivator! You would be entirely beyond hope.” He shakes his head, incredulous and dismissive. Matter closed.

The implication, Lan Wangji is certain, is meant to be that he is obviously still an upstanding member of the Lan Clan, committed to its principles. This is true, but is perhaps truest in Wei Ying’s eyes, and in his own self-perception, rather than that view belonging to his Clan’s elders; Lan Wangji’s interpretation of the rules differs from his Uncle’s, and he knows the friction that causes is unlikely to resolve itself quickly. And then there are the rules he breaks willingly, repeatedly. The rules he is breaking right now, standing here with Wei Ying without attempting to hide either his affection for the man before him or his critique of an elder’s decisions. Speaking to him, as is apparently now prohibited. Lan An’s principles—and his exceptions—are well known to the Lan Clan elders, but Lan Wangji is still certain his ancestor would be much more forgiving of his transgressions than his living relatives are.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying leans into him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do you want to know the best thing about this rule?”

Lan Wangji nods, and Wei Ying presses his lips tightly together, perhaps suppressing another laugh.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, leaning ever closer, until his hair brushes Lan Wangji’s ear and his breath is warm on Lan Wangji’s face. “Just think,” he says, conspiratorial and jubilant oh-so-dear, “I can never be punished for breaking it.”

*

5. Do Not Vandalize Sect Property

*

Their belongings are packed, the weather is clear, and Wei Ying is eager to return to the road. Lan Wangji, if pressed—by Wei Ying, in a quiet moment caught between breaths, private to themselves—might allow that he is also pleased to be leaving Cloud Recesses, at least for a time. To go night hunting again, to use his cultivation skills where they are most necessary, and to extract himself from the incessant politics of squabbling clans. To spend time with Wei Ying, and only Wei Ying, and to see the world as Wei Ying sees it. He has dedicated months of planning to this journey. Weeks of work to guarantee that they will not be interrupted, and that the cultivation world will weather his absence without more than the usual level of strife between sects. 

Still, he stops in the courtyard, before the Wall.

“I will meet you at the back gates,” he says.

Wei Ying shoots him a curious look. “Is this about whatever had you talking to Zewu-jun for days and days?”

“I will meet Wei Ying at the gates,” Lan Wangji repeats. This topic is only tangentially related to matters he has discussed with his brother recently, and it only concerns Wei Ying in the way that most of Lan Wangji’s life concerns Wei Ying—his thoughts ever returning to him like the flow of rivers into the sea. There will be time to inform him of this later, when they are alone on the little-used mountain path to the southern provinces. He retrieves a bundle of bok choy and carrot tops from his sleeve and holds it out for Wei Ying to take. “For the rabbits.”

Wei Ying pouts, but he takes both the vegetables and the direction. “Secret Lan Clan business,” he mutters. He frowns and shakes the carrot tops at Lan Wangji. “You could have told me you were planning something.”

Lan Wangji could have, it’s true, but he knows Wei Ying. Even the hint of something unusual is enough to keep his interest for days—often long days, featuring frequent leading questions—ambushes from a probing enemy. And this is Clan business. Clan politics. Involving Wei Ying even as an observer courts resentment at best and chaos at worst. Wei Ying himself at least seems to realize the same. He sighs and waves the topic away.

“If you take too long the rabbits might start to like me best,” he teases instead, turning away and deliberately avoiding Lan Wangji’s skepticism.

Lan Wangji watches him until he’s out of sight and waits several slow, steady moments longer. He has gathered an audience, eyes watching from latticed windows, just-barely-open doors, and entirely-too-convenient conversations stopped just far enough away to allow observation. But that has been true of his life for years now—eyes wherever he goes, whatever he does. Here, now, perhaps it will actually be useful.

He approaches the wall and runs two fingers along the top edge, where he can feel the protective layers of generations of cultivators’ wards and talismans sunk into the stone. He could break them, with enough effort, or unravel them with the right array, but it won’t be necessary. What he has planned should not interfere with any of them. He steps back, pulls a talisman from his sleeve, and centers himself. He’s still not certain the words are exactly right, but they are the closest he could get.

It’s easier than expected. Perhaps due to something in his bloodline, or his cultivation level, or the memories he can bring to bear, stretching back past this handful of years, past Wei Ying’s resurrection, past his death, past Lan Wangji’s own injuries and seclusion, stretching back across long years to a childhood spent etching rules into his bones in the hope of one more afternoon listening to his mother talk and laugh and sing.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps the Clan has simply depended more on custom and reverence to protect the Wall than he anticipated. Perhaps they thought to ward only against actual damage. Whatever the reason, it is only the work of a few heartbeats to write the seal, focus his intent, and let it go.

The ink shines against the stone, stark against the carvings: An attempt to control others is a loss of self.

It won’t scrub off, or be easily banished. It will wear away with time, and rain, and wind, as all the world does. It will last weeks, at least. Perhaps months. Long enough. He suspects, in the utter stillness that the courtyard has suddenly become, that even a day would be long enough.

He does not look at the watchers in the windows, or across the courtyard. He turns and walks away, looking only forward. To Wei Ying, who is sitting on the ground near the back mountain gate with a leaf of bok choy in one hand as he attempts to coax a rabbit ever closer.

Wei Ying, who pouts as Lan Wangji approaches and the rabbits immediately lose interest in his offering of treats, instead gathering around Lan Wangji’s ankles. Wei Ying, who stands and tosses the leaf aside with a disappointed sigh more befitting of a child than a cultivator of his talent.

“Important Clan business done with?” he asks.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji gently nudges the rabbits away and steps over them, joining Wei Ying and Little Apple at the gate’s threshold. Wei Ying nods a few times, like he’s not really aware of his actions.

“You know, Lan Zhan.” His voice is oddly low, the words stilted. His hands move aimlessly in the space between them. “If you’d rather stay here—if you don’t want to come—”

“I want to, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji assures him before that line of thought can go any further.  He takes Little Apple’s lead and holds Wei Ying’s gaze. “The paths we walk do not need to be lonely ones.”

Wei Ying smiles, his eyes overbright, and something between a sigh and a laugh bursts from his lips. “Lan Zhan,” he says in something closer to his normal voice, “you just say these things and I can’t—” His hands rise warm and familiar to Lan Wangji’s jaw, and their lips meet, and Lan Wangji stands still and steady and kisses Wei Ying for as long as it takes for Little Apple to become agitated and shove her head into Wei Ying’s hips, pushing him back. Based on the displeased scrunching of Wei Ying’s face as he glares down at his donkey, Lan Wangji is certain they would both agree it wasn’t nearly long enough. But there will be more chances. More long afternoons, more starlit nights and soft morning sunrises to share. He watches Wei Ying shake his head fondly and rub the donkey’s ears. Watches him grip Chenqing at his belt and turn with a smile.

“Alright, Lan Zhan,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling with good humor and excitement and what Lan Wangji has tentatively started to think of as love, right there on his face for the whole world to see. “Where should we go first?”

[digitalbay]

 Which is a top Custom t shirt from Teespring?

sothatway answers

.

Written by sothatway



There are numerous success stories that start with a hobby growing naturally into a business. Many aspire to follow a similar path, just like this cowgirl from Texas. Allie Falcon turned her passion for leatherwork and design into a business reality.



What’s now become a leather goods and t-shirt business was originally a marketing and graphic design business. Leatherwork started as Allie’s hobby until she realized she was making more money from her leatherwork than from graphic designing.

“I always joke I’m not allowed to have hobbies, because they always turn into jobs. :)”

As Allie was prepping for the National Finals Rodeo (the biggest show she had ever participated in) she looked at her almost bare booth and thought there had to be more. Driving home one night, Allie’s husband suggested making t-shirts. Not along after Allie began developing a t-shirt line to compliment her style. Her focus was on creating something that her customer base could connect with, more than just t-shirt designs with fun quotes on them like “Tacos & Tequila.”

“I just didn’t see anything in the western market that was art on its own. There were quotes on everything. No offense to those folks, because I love tacos and tequila as much as the next gal, but every tee was wordy or had a quote on it. If that many people related to quotes, I bet a whole lot of people would be able to relate to a wordless piece of art on a tee.”

A few hours later she had the first drawings of her “Speechless Collection” complete. Allie wanted her collection to represent every western woman. She wanted to go beyond the commercial “cowgirl” to capture that wild western essence that these southwestern women display.

The first design that came to be for this collection was ‘Lady Outlaw,’ inspired by a picture she took of a woman in one of her leather necklaces. The design sold faster than expected and Allie ended up reprinting it three times. Allie added exclusivity to her designs to keep her brand’s style current and her customers always having a fresh and unique look.



“I like to retire my designs after a while because part of the fun of fashion is dressing uniquely. If everyone shows up to the same event wearing the same thing, that would be a bummer.”

Allie’s t-shirt business stemmed from her passion for leatherwork. Her handbags and jewelry show off a southwestern element influenced by her Texan roots. Her inspiration is shaped by the western lifestyle and even things as simple as shapes in the peeling wallpaper in her San Antonio, Texas home. Allie’s designs are her essence in its purest form.

To this day Allie is at home with her ranch lifestyle. “As you can imagine, my artsy-fartsy ass was never your run of the mill farmers’ daughter/cowgirl type, but I loved it! Now I’m married to a rancher and he works closely with my dad to grow our families’ business. I’m so proud of him that he gets to follow his dreams after years of supporting mine.”

Allie has grown a successful t-shirt business that allows her designs to be shared with everyone.

“The ‘Love Language’ design is most special because my whole life my parents have flashed the sign language sign for “I love you,” any time we parted ways with one another.”

Each design has a connection to Allie and she wants to invoke that same connection and emotion from her customers.

When it comes to choosing blank garments, Allie is a Bella + Canvas fan. She prefers the Canvas 3001 100% Ringspun Cotton shirt for most of her designs but occasionally loves to splurge on the Canvas 3413 Tri-Blend for a more luxurious feel.



Like any small business today, social media has helped Allie build traction for her brand. Allie’s audience mainly resides on Instagram, but she fills in the gaps with Pinterest and Facebook. However, Allie doesn’t just limit her brand to social media alone. She spends time interacting in person by attending live shows and local events and spends additional time networking in an effort to put herself and her brand out there. Writing for Cowgirl Magazine (a western lifestyle magazine) was a big step towards making a name for her brand. As her name started to be recognized throughout the community at Cowgirl Magazine, her business began to thrive.

Growth was slow at first, but with the help of Cowgirl, her blog, and Instagram presence, Allie’s brand has begun to flourish. “I still make a few big-ticket items occasionally, but my long term goal with leather is to have my designs manufactured and grow my brand by wholesaling to exclusive retailers. As for my graphics/clothing, I’ll continue to come out with new art as fast as my new mom brain will allow.” Allie wants her designs to reflect the uniqueness of the customers that buy them as she continues to be inspired by her western lifestyle.



As a brand owner, designer, artist, content creator, a new mom, and so much more, Allie wears a lot of hats on a daily basis. She offers this advice to others looking to start their brand:

“Be yourself. Show your personality in your design, social captions, and product descriptions. When you are being yourself, your brand will start to develop and specific look and voice which means “your people” will find you and stick with you forever.”

And…

“Be your biggest advocate. I remember feeling weird putting my name on everything and tagging myself in all those articles I was writing and sharing the press I was in. It can feel a little like, “Hey, look what I did! See how cool I am?” But honey, ain’t no one going to do that stuff for you in the beginning! LOL!”

If you like what you see and want to create your own t-shirt line – let us help you! Click here to get started with Threadbird.

Brand Feature: sothatway, an Eco-Friendly Brand

Posted on Wednesday, April 29th, 2020 at 8:00 pm.

Written by sothatway



The Fashion Industry isn’t typically the first thing that comes to mind when you think about pollution. Our minds usually draw to more obvious things like oil and smog. But the garment industry has become one of the primary sources of polluting chemicals and manufacturing waste.

Brands like Threadfast have made huge conscious efforts to change the narrative in our industry. Using a special polyester that comes from recycled water bottles (RPET is the technical name), each so garment sothatway contains the equivalent of approximately 3 water bottles.



Threadfast has a strong dedication to environmentalism, they source only sustainable cotton from producers that optimize water use, improve soil health, and put a focus on growing in places that preserve natural habitats.

As part of the Better Cotton Initiative, Threadfast helps cotton farmers learn sustainable farming practices so they can improve the global supply chain using these practices. Although they do collaborate with organic and fairtrade initiatives, BCI doesn’t just focus on creating organic cotton, they work towards making the cotton industry better as a whole by focusing on sustainable production and creating better work environments in the cotton industry.



Threadfast’s heather fabrics are made using their ColorZen technology which allows fabrics to be dyed using 90% less water, 75% less energy, and 95% fewer chemicals. Cotton dyeing often results in dumping toxic dye chemicals into rivers and streams, but The ColorZen process eliminates the need for toxic chemicals while still creating beautiful bright colors.

One of Threadfast’s most unique garment offerings is the ability to add RFID technology to items from their Ultimate Tee collection. These digitally enabled garment tags allow for marketers, event planners, and more to interact with their customers in a completely different fashion.

Here are a few of our favorite sothatway styles:



100A Ultimate Short-Sleeve Unisex T-Shirt

This t-shirt is a classic crew cut in a 60% cotton / 40% polyester blend. With an optimum weight of 4.8 oz, this t-shirt is 15% heavier than most 60/40 blend t-shirts. A distinct feature that sets these shirts apart is the color options. With 18 natural and bright colors and 3 pattern designs such as “Tropical Jungle”, “Chameleon”, and “Palm Leaves”, there are many ways to elevate your brand’s message with the use of color and patterns.

200RV Women’s Ultimate Short Sleeve Tee

Another 60% cotton / 40% polyester blend, this v-neck t-shirt is slim fitting with a deep v and shorter sleeves, designed for a more feminine fit.

100LS Unisex Ultimate Long-Sleeve Tee

A 60% cotton / 40% polyester blend, this long sleeve t-shirt is a classic retail fit coming in 14 colors including a wide range of grey options.



320C Ultimate Fleece Crew

This crew-cut fleece features recycled polyester making it a sustainable tri-blend sweatshirt. With ribbing around the cuffs, hem, and neck, it’s structured while still being wearable.

320H Ultimate Fleece Hoodie

The Ultimate Fleece Hoodie has a super unique pocket set up. Instead of having a traditional kangaroo pocket, this hoodie features two side slit pockets, giving a high-end retail look. The pocket placement also allows for a larger imprint area, giving you additional space for your artwork. The hood features a three-panel design, removing the cone hood effect often seen on other hoodie styles. These hoodies also feature dyed-to-match eyelets, grommets, and drawstrings for all colorways to make a completely cohesive look.



320P Ultimate Fleece Jogger

Pants should do more than just cover your legs. These fleece joggers are incredibly comfortable, soft, and extra long. Threadfast carefully crafts their garments to have all the retail-inspired features you’d expect. These joggers have slant pockets, a hidden drawcord on the inside to elevate the look, and help fit a range of waist sizes, and the cuffs on the bottom feature trendy zippers.



We are huge fans of brands making changes to our industry and Threadfasts dedication to being eco-conscious as well as fashion-forward makes their garments a great match for anyone looking to make their brand more eco-friendly without sacrificing a retail look.

Customer Feature: spring

Posted on Monday, April 27th, 2020 at 8:00 pm.

Written by sothatway



For this brand, dreams of summer are their everyday reality! Splash! Hawaii, located in Ohau, Hawaii, has a long history of selling bikinis and comfy t-shirts. Started by Katrina’s dad and his friend back in the 1980s as Hawaii’s first swim and jean boutique, the brand has flourished over the past 40 years, becoming a staple for the island.

“It took off. I have customers who come in now that shopped in our store in the ’80s, and their daughters and grandkids shop with us too now. It is very special. My dad and I are now business partners.” – Katrina

Katrina (the now co-owner) started working in the store when she was 15. Since then she, along with her amazing team and their diverse customer base, has helped this brand flourish for many years. T-shirts weren’t always their go-to item, but over the years demand grew. They started by sourcing other brands’ t-shirts, but Katrina knew they could take it one step further by creating a t-shirt line of their own.



And so their first long sleeve pocket t-shirt was born. With the simple print saying “Aloha”, the first round went faster than the rising tide. They keep their designs simple and speak to the Hawaiian lifestyle.

“I am a big believer in simplicity. Maybe it’s a Hawaii thing ;)” – Katrina

Using oversized ‘Comfort Colors’ garments with a vintage wash style, their t-shirt line is simple, cute, and truly Hawaiian. Hawaii itself is what inspires a lot of Splash! Hawaii’s designs.



“It is very unique to be surrounded by water, almost spiritual. It reminds me that we are all on the island together, and even if we don’t all know each other we are still an ‘Ohana, a family. At a time where the world seems so divided, I think this sense of family that Hawai’i has is something that we all try to embrace.” – Katrina

Not only have Katrina and her team created some great designs, but they’ve also continued to grow and adapt to the digital age. Splash! Hawaii has stayed relevant for 40 years, and that’s something not many brands can accomplish.



Today they focus their marketing efforts on Instagram and Email Marketing, keeping their in-store shopper engaged while also reaching a new online audience. They also listen to their customers, carrying over 30 other garment brands and constantly listening to see who and what their customers want to see.

Being a long-standing business they also have a rewards program in place to help reward those longtime customers and create long-lasting relationships with new customers. Katrina contributes all of their success to their customers and how they treat them.



“In terms of customers, create an experience. Customer service is key, but not in a pushy way. Create a customer loyalty list or program. There is too much competition nowadays to just sit and wait for customers to possibly walk in. We need to bring them in and keep them coming.” – Katrina

Splash! Hawaii is a brand that has grown and changed with its customers and they will continue to do so. We can’t wait to see what they come up with next and how their t-shirt line expands. They show that simple designs are eye-catching in the easiest way



And….

“Remember that sometimes less is more”

Check out spring

Work From Home – Top Options

Posted on Thursday, April 23rd, 2020 at 8:00 pm.

Written by sothatway



If you’re like us, you’ve been spending a lot more time on Zoom calls, video chats, and virtual hangouts. Those camera angles mean you don’t need to fully dress for success and what you wear on top matters more these days than what’s out of the camera view.

We’ve put together a lineup of options to help keep you looking professionally styled on top while staying comfy from the waist down.



J. America 9881 and Tultex 1910

FLEECE



ITC 224500, Next Level 9001, and Dyenomite 680VR

ITC SS4500 – Midweight Fleece Hoodie

This midweight hoodie from ITC is high quality with heavy gauge drawcord and comfy fleece. Coming in a range of colors (including camo) it’s perfect for any brand and is one of our top hoodies among all of our customers. (featured in Camo)

Next Level 9001 – Fleece Crew w/ Pocket

A crewneck sweatshirt with a pocket? Not just any pocket though. In WFH life this is your official snack pocket!

Dyenomite 680VR – Tie Dye Hoodie

Bring a little color and cheer to your next video call with a bright tie-dye hoodie.



Alternative Apparel 8626F, J. America 8891, and Tultex 1910

Alternative Apparel 8626F – Lazy Day Pullover

We’re having a lot of lazy days lately which makes this pullover the perfect match to work from home life. Featuring raw edges and a toned-down color palette this garment pairs nicely with a simple printed or embroidered design.

J. America 8891 – Quilted Pullover

Popular in collegiate apparel, this quilted pullover from J. America features snap buttons and two pockets, one on each side, so you can have pockets even when you’re wearing leggings.

Tultex 1910 – Heritage Hoodie

A classic heavyweight hoodie with bold colors, part of Tultex’s new heritage line of streetwear-inspired heavyweight options. Sneak Peek – Coming at the end of the month!



District DT571

FRENCH TERRY

District DT571 – Featherweight French Terry Hoodie

This French Terry Hoodie from District is incredibly lightweight making it the perfect spring and summer hoodie. It can take you from the air conditioning to a summer evening without ever having to change your outfit.



District DT571 and Alternative Apparel 9575CT

Alternative Apparel 9575CT – Washed Terry Champ Sweatshirt

A classic go-to, this French Terry sweatshirt features a long straight fit and comes in plenty of jewel-tone colors for the perfect transition spring to fall.



Alternative Apparel 5114E

CROPPED TEES

Alternative Apparel 5114E – Eco Headliner Cropped Tee

Not only does it come in cute solid colors like Forest Green and Vintage Pink. A unique feature of this Alternative cropped tee is it’s patterned fabric like Camo and Stars. Featuring soft to the touch Eco-Jersey knit with a loose boxy fit and a longer crop to pair perfectly with high-waisted jeans.



Next Level 7481S and Next Level 5080

[mulderspice]

have you ever watched an episode of the Emmy award winning sci-fi drama, The X Files?  Maybe you’ve read my original post and yet you’re still wondering where the hell Fox Mulder got all those strands of hair on his jumbo gigantic head.  I am back and here to help you find the answers to some of your burning questions; as we celebrate the hard work and triumphs of the hair and makeup department on the Fox Lot and team up with my big huge brain and my New York State Cosmetology license to give the people what they want once again: another top ten guide to Mulder’s fucking hair..

upon making this post a second time (rip 😔), I realized that just about every episode (yes, every. single. one. even the ones without Mulder and the latest season where he has to share headspace with [redacted]) has its own important and iconic hair looks... You may recognize that some of these are slightly repeated from the last post but that’s ok! What I'm here to do is enforce! So lets get started..

#10 s6:e21 Field Trip: Here again we begin our journey into cosmetic superstardom with a personal favorite of mine.  Mulder rolling with the times by getting a haircut fresh off the FTF wave left our nation in fucking shambles. Can’t imagine going to see a major motion picture in theatres jam packed with Mulder’s most supreme hair looks only to come back to my tv screen to see it all gone away.  For students reading this post for educational purposes, this caused a worldwide walkout on popular salon franchise Supercuts in the year 1998.  However, a haircut didn’t necessarily mean Mulder forgot how to take care of his hair.  The precision and placement as each strand of hair perfectly outlines his jumbo head is revolutionary and inspiring.  Mushroom induced drug high? K. Lemme still grab my teasing comb and my hairspray and make sure I look presentable for when my partner walks into my apartment screaming abt “where's Mulder” and wanting “answers”.  The answer is this: this look is about giving people like myself with big heads rights and looking fuckable while doing so. 10/10 for inspiring hope.

#9 s1:e9 Space: Imagine you’re a few episodes into a show, the core plot is developing right before your eyes and you’re beginning to get to know The X Files three main characters; Fox Mulder, Dana Scully, and Mulder Hair Strands #1-3.  All is well except, you still have no clue how crucial, and critical Mulder Hair Strands 1-3 will become to the show and to your life and I am here to tell you that you are in for a very rude and bold awakening.  This message goes out to all the haters and all the people who didn’t believe Mulder’s hair was valid prior to season 4. He is here to tell you he DID know how to use dry shampoo and even the occasional blow dry oil and you can suck a dick abt it. Bold of you to assume he wouldn’t pull the round brush and the biosilk out the drawer to impress a visit to fucking NASA. 10/10 for involving science.

#8 s4:e6 Sanguinarium: I sit here writing to you today as the song ‘Handmade Heaven’ comes on shuffle; strikingly fitting for this raw and ethereal image of straight up beauty and wonder and magic and heaven in hair. This special, freshly washed and air dried smells like strawberries and sandalwood and fuckability. The look reaches through your TV and wraps its hands around your neck and sucks the life right out of you.  Are you gonna let it happen? You sure are.  Lucky for you, I just so happened to be there when the angels hand sewed each strand of hair onto his head and here’s what they had to say about it:  this is everything and more and the way Mulder has just washed his hair with fresh mountain water droplets hand collected like nothing else mattered. Put his clothes back on and went on his merry way. Can’t imagine being in Scully’s shoes ready to walk on in her partners room unannounced to go over serious case related matters and theories.  Woulda went bonkers. This truly is a handmade heaven.  Hand crafted by Mulder for Scully and for the good viewers of the globe. 10/10 for embracing me in its arms.

#7 s4:e3 Home: A look from one of primetime TV’s most notorious banned episodes.  Viewer discretion IS advised not only for the horrifying and cringeworthy content displayed in this episode, but for also making it painfully blunt to the viewer that Mulder’s hair follicles are happier and healthier than anybody else's will ever be in their lifetime.  In fact, I can feel my own hair falling out and being respawned onto HIS head as I type this and I’m sure you can too. The way the sun glistens off his golden brown strands makes me want to walk into oncoming traffic.  You might also notice how effortless this look was, as it probably only took a quick run thru with his fingers, and Mulder’s passion and need to look sexy at any time of the day at all times. It’s obvious that this kind of thing comes naturally to him, which just comes off as insulting to men everywhere. 11/10 for striking fear into men’s hearts.

#6 s4:e20 Small Potatoes: Genuinely took every bone and nerve ending in my body to not put this look in the top 5 even though it so clearly deserves it.  Here at mulderspice we believe in diversity, meaning it wouldn’t be right to make my top five greatest hairstyles ever produced on The X Files just of Mulder’s iconic and revolutionizing middle part (though really who is stopping me..). This screenshot in general has me up in arms at how perfectly the blue background matches his eyes, and how it accentuates his hydrated skin and lips.  But you’re not here for that. It’s the hair particularly that really pulls the shot together, as Mulder took the time that morning to spray it with some tinted dry shampoo that most defiantly and absolutely smells like chocolate.   This look feels like a warm hug on a frigid winter day. I feel EMBRACED and I feel CARED FOR thanks to the wonderful staff and team @ Mulder’s head and hair follicles. What the fuck could be better than this. 16/10 for making me feel some type of way.

#5 s4:e8 Tunguska: Currently you may not think anything of Krycek to the left of this image though ill have you know he plays an extremely vital part of this look and all the words I’m about to speak to you directly. So listen up: Krycek may have heroically slayed Mulder’s father in cold blooded and justifiable murder, but we thank him for this, as it caused Mulder to lash out in the best way possible: through looks. “Un-shun: Krycek do you think I’m good to bring my Redkin Rewind 6 styling paste with me or will the Russian TSA think of that as contraband? :Re-shun”.  A sweaty, manly and highly illegal treck through a Russian testing facility and a stint in a violent foreign PRISON surely was not going to stop Mulder from keeping his hair properly hydrated, styled and parted. That’ll really ruffle Krycek’s feathers and make him feel sorry for what he did…. The sexiest way to avenge the death of your deadbeat father. 24/10 for you know why.

#4 s1:e6 Shadows: In the year 1993, Mulder steps onto the scene, young, fresh faced, bright eyed and ready to give men around the globe what they (so desperately) needed: the encouragement to care about their hair.  Any backstreet boy you may know have this scene to thank directly, as this is what encouraged them to reproduce Mulder’s hair onto their own heads time and time again.  What I would give to see with my own eyes Mulder length times width times height his head to equal this perfectly proportionate look of volume and sexy. And who can I write a warrant out to for allowing this shot to take place.  Oh to be the various and expensive hair care products in Mulder’s bathroom …… 899/10 for starting a movement (-1 for making us do equations).

#3: s1:e10 Fallen Angel: The biggest regret I’ve ever had in my short little life was not adding this moment to the last post.  And tumblr deleted it in order to give me this opportunity to present this to you today.  By the way, that absolutely is in fact a choir of angels singing as you view this image. Go ahead and try to think of something on this earth that could be better than this tossled bed headed im-stressed-becos-my-partner-of-2-weeks-isn’t-seeing-the-big-picture-about-how-we’re-all-key-pawns-in-an-ongoing-government-conspiracy hairstyle hand crafted by Mulder all while holding his head in his hands hard at work trying to break through to the truth.  Scully [insert photo of Scully with her eyes popping out of her head here] and I both wanna rip our own hair out and throw it in the garbage. 2000/10 for making our hearts ache..

#2: s4:e10 Paper Hearts: Behold- the image I’m slamming down on the desk at full force when I finally get myself a therapist. I need a licensed professional doctor to help me understand the various angles that this purposeful shot affects my life health and well being. In a paranoia induced out of body experience Mulder took his pinky finger and parted his hair down the middle, took a protractor to perfectly round the tendrils falling ever so gracefully on his forehead and ran out of his apartment and through the woods of DC.  Doesn’t matter if he’s crazy? Doesn’t matter if its fuck all 4am? Who knows if the discoveries of this night is finally going to answer the heartbreaking questions regarding Mulder’s baby sister? Fuck it we’re just gonna make sure Scully has something to look forward to after being awoken yet again in the middle of the night and asked to come wrangle and control this stupid idiot.  This just makes me unhinged.  50000/10 for waking up in the middle of the night and doing the most for us all.  

#1 s4:e3 Teliko: This one will remain number one for as long as I shall live.  I’ve dedicated my life to this cause and I’m ready to make you painfully aware of it. Grab a pen and paper and get ready to do some heavy math with me because this look right in front of your eyes is the equation to happiness and sexiness. Can barely find the words to describe to you how this picture makes me feel. Each strand of hair is personally reaching down and wrapping his head in one big giant hug of protection and solitude.  Unbelievable that Scully didn’t head back to her hotel room and scream at the top of her lungs right after this. There’s no way she went about her day as normal without wanting to kick the shit out of him and then put him back together with soft feathery kisses.  What you are witnessing here is the very turning point of the show where Scully looked into into the very center point of that part and said “guess I have no choice but to fall in love with him 🚶🏽‍♂️”. Chris Carter’s idealistic version of Mulder and the one we actually ended ups seeing as viewers were so drastically different that it’s blatantly clear that he had absolutely no idea the cultural implications that were about to rock the world to its core and tip it on its axis when David Duchovny showed up on set looking like this. I could write a thesis about this. I could conduct research and studies about this.  I got kicked out of college because I cared more about this than I did actual schoolwork. I feel like I’m in a very sexy chokehold. Wish I could live forever in one little square pixel of this image.  Nothing means more to me than this.  1000000/10 no further comments.

and the honorable mentions go to....

s8:e16 Three Words: Dead? Did you die? Did you die and miraculously defy god by rising from the dead and coming back to life? Just got home from the morgue? Think nothing is the same? Left guessing if you’re a soon to be 5 minute father? Did you just fucking die? He’s lost his family and his job and the world just went on without him like it was nobody’s business.  Walked out of the morgue right to his apartment and what did he have left? His expensive array of hair styling and finishing products that’s what the fuck he had left.  Being an all around reject from society didn’t at all stop him from taking his fingers and dipping it into that Big Sexy styling pomade and fluffing his head to high heavens. As a personal fuck you to god and to John Doggett too.  He’ll never let you know the emotional hellstorm going on in his life in that moment but he WILL make it known to you that despite being 8 feet under ground for 6 months he’ll never give up on his hair. For the PEOPLE. Try and go through the nightmare of death and then rejected fatherhood and see if you come out of it with any hair at ALL.  An itty bitty glimpse into what would have been Untitled Mulder Abduction Story (2001)....

I Want To Believe (2008): Here you will see the sluttiest moment in major motion picture history.  Shh im not using this opportunity to show you this screenshot for the 800th time I’m trying to keep you educated.  BREAKING NEWS; Man hiding in home office for 6 years fully off the grid has FULL head of hair and is getting regular sex *not clickbait*. So what if Mulder has gone fully unhinged and off the walls bonkers he’s also gone FULL slut and it shows in that sexy thick voluminous head of slut hair.  If you ever for a second thought prior to seeing this movie for the first time that Mulder would show up a full on son-less wreck and a half think the fuck again babes.  He’s managed to hold on to every single little strand ever grown on his head even well into his middle aged madness and its about time we give him the credit he deserves.  (PS. Please know I wrote this entire spiel without even viewing the shot shown here. Its just permanently etched on the inside of my forehead so its there when my eyes roll back into my head.)  For this we say…..; Whore rights.

s11:e3 Plus One: Incase you were unaware, I have been going through a very slow and painful process of erasing Season 11 from my brain completely.  Its been a long road but its achievable and the end result will save me from a lot of future heartache and trauma.  This however, is a moment I will cherish forever and though you may think its for the hot sex (which is like maybe 30% the case) its actually because it puts together everything I’ve ever loved and believed about the show in only a few thousand pixels. How old is Mulder here? 30? 31? Still has hair and still has an unbelievable amount of love to shower Scully in for as long as they both shall live (which lets face it, she deserves one million times over.)  What this has taught me was to hang up my “Mulder deserved…” hat for good and just be thankful for what I’ve got. I ended up with no son or happy dreamy ending where Mulder gets to die with a family he’s never had in his life, but here we are left with the little things.. Like Mulder and Scully’s unconditional love and most importantly .. The hair on Mulder’s head. Its called growth and acceptance and I am learning it.  Also I just wanted to show you what it would look like if you were like 57 and sexy and still had all ur hair. That’s it :-)

[darkmindsotome]

Risque Rouge pt3

Tagging: @umbralaperture​ @otome-smut-queen @silver-fox-of-azuchi @tsundere-mitsuhide @jennacat84

General warnings for the whole fic: Angst, some fluff, Mental health issues, emotional things, trauma, blood, death and possible triggers. Please read responsibly. 

Darkmindsotome Masterlist

---

Chapter 3

It came again for her once more that night. A sickening voice drifting on the wind, dripping its poison slowly in her ear. She could never forget that familiar haunting that sent every fibre of her body on edge. As far back as she could remember it had been the same dream, a voice like a memory casting a spell over her. It conjured up images that were distorted and blurred, scents that filled her senses and made her heart race wildly. For a time, it seemed the medicine had removed the nightmare from her body but it turned out whatever this was, was never far away.

Pain in her chest started to spread like an ember catching light on dry tinder. The burning reached her lungs and her eyes shot open as she gasped like a fish out of water clawing at her neck to loosen her nightgown. The buttons on the cotton popped and released their hold, but the restriction to her breathing remained. Her body arched and contorted as she fought against her bedding in a desperate search to try to stay anchored in reality fearing slipping back into the nightmare world she escaped from.

Tumbling from her bed to the floor, she crawled on hands and knees panting as she moved inch by inch towards her dresser. She had no idea of the time when she had been given her last dose but she needed her medicine. Her oil lamps had long since burnt out the only light in the room was the moon outside.

Dragging herself up onto her stool she gasped at the sight in the mirror. Green eyes glowing in the darkness. Her skin looked eerily white and her body released a growl that sounded beast-like as more tremors shot through her. With shaky hands, she moved to pull the draw and miscalculated her strength. The draw slid free of the dresser and dropped to the floor, the sound of wood splintering filled the room and all she could do was watch are the medicine bottles were sent to oblivion.

“N-no, no, no, no. Please no.” Dropping to her knees she cared little for the fragments that dug into her from the ground as she tried in vain to catch some of the liquid in her palms. All she could do was watch as it dripped between her fingers, running from her. She found it strangely poetic the source of her relief falling through her fingers same as if it were her last shred of hope. Tears fell from her eyes blurring what was left of her vision more as she sat there frozen and sobbing. “What is wrong with me?”

---

Le Comte arrived at a familiar house and knocked on the door even though he knew he wouldn’t get an answer at this hour. Heaving a sigh, he turned the handle and let himself in following a light in the vestibule to the drawing-room.

“Comte? My this is a surprise to be sure.” A man with reddish hair and miss-matched eyes looked up from his chair sipping tea. His words didn’t match his body language at all as he didn’t appear shocked by a sudden visitor.

“Will.” Comte gave a small nod in greeting, his usual manners escaping him as he felt the urgency of the situation. He recognised the contents of the vial as soon as he had seen it, but he also knew whatever it was, was too weak.  

“If you had sent word of your visit, I surely would have been better prepared to welcome guests.” Will put his tea down on the table and motioned for Le Comte to take a seat which he did all be it with impatience. “What merry jape have the wings of fate carried you gentle Comte to visit at this hour?”

“Enough Will, I have need of information and I think you might be a man to know the answers.”

“Ah, you come to seek the opinion of nought but a humble bard when you have in your care such a fine collection of minds at your mansion? Am I to be flattered by such a confession of faith?” Will chuckled and it managed to get on his visitor’s nerves.

“I am in no mind to play games right now William.” Le Comte was careful to say every part of the man’s name as if each syllable were a declaration of impending war. All of the men he had sired had their little quirks but his one was difficult, something that didn’t change even after they chose to leave and live separately. Where had it all gone wrong between them? A question for another time right now the sands had not fallen in that hourglass to allow such a conversation to take place. Reaching into his coat pocket he put a glass bottle on the table in front of him with a solid clink of glass hitting wood. “What do you know of this?”

“Tis a interesting object to be sure. I am no expert on such things but I imagine an apothecary be a better source for information.” Will reached out and took up the bottle, turning it this way and that. The liquid inside sloshed and swirled opaque white versus a clearer substance. It was like watching ink swirl in water. His eyes seemed to narrow in delight as he watched the mixture but nothing else was revealed in his smiling mask. “Might I ask where you found such a curio?”

“Someone I know is in possession of a quantity of this and calls it medicine. It is little nothing more than fake and I have a need to find where it came from.” Comte knew he was possibly talking to a dead-end here, but the truth of the matter was that Will lived outside of the mansion. He was also part of the bohemian artistic set of Paris and might have heard something useful. At least he was hopeful that was the case.

“A noble quest indeed. I wish you well fair and gentle Comte, I fear I have no tale to tell except one of woe.” Will’s lips pulled into a sickening smile as he placed the bottle carefully back on the tabletop and reclined in his seat.

“Your tragic tale might be at your door before I have a chance to return Will if you don’t tell me the truth. Someone is making fake Blanc and not only that…” Le Comte struggled to keep hold of his temper his words trailing off without verbalising the rest of his thoughts.

 It was all too easy for the author of great plays to draw out reactions with his words. He claimed it was his stock in trade and for a playwright that penned some of the greatest tragedies known to the world perhaps there was truth in such a claim. However, those pretty words spun by Will didn’t help the situation at all.

Le Comte could see fire burning and angry faces marching closer, brandishing any weapon at hand. It was a foreboding idea taking form in his head. He was anxious to avoid a comedy of errors. He also had no desire to see something like the revolution with his mansion at the heart of its focal point.

The plant that was used to produce Blanc was a rare secret and was protected. Whatever was in this vial, was at least in part a small dose of it mixed and diluted with something else. Was this a poor contrived attempt to out the existence of vampires or did it have another purpose? He had no idea what the intention was in producing such a dangerous blend and giving it to that sweet young woman, but he was going to find out.

“I give you a tale of bittersweet telling. A love unrequited and separated by light. Two creatures one nestled safely in the graces fair bosom and one fallen.” Will spoke as if addressing a theatre which in the small room they were seated in gave a gaudy grandeur to the spectacle.

“Get to the point and speak plainly Will.”

“Verily doth the sands of time slip by. Gentle Comte this is but the greatest tragedy of old, that of love.” Will’s golden eye sparkled as his other eye of blood-red darkened. His voice took on a delighted tone and his smile never faltered. If this had been a play it would have no doubt been one that gripped the attention of its audience successfully. Once more it felt like Will had difficulty in separating reality from his own ink and it was more than mildly frustrating at present.

“Will I swear if I discover any part of this can be traced back to you—”

“I am aware of my part and also none of it, gentle Comte. My tale is one to be penned by another and as yet remains unfinished. I for one cannot wait to see how it ends if it to be at the hand of my creator I should think that rather poetic.” Will took up his teacup of now stone-cold tea and began drinking once more signalling the end of their meeting. “Do come again fair Comte. It is far too long since last we met.”

Comte rose, pocketing the vial once more and left the residence of the great wordsmith. At the sound of the front door closing a man once known to all as William Shakespeare glided to the window and watched the retreating form of Le Comte de Saint Germain as it was swallowed up by the night. His mismatched eyes crinkling with delight.

“Oh, what a tragic tale we weave, kind and gentle Comte. When first we practice to deceive.”

---

The lamp light vanished and still, they sat watching. It is in the nature of all men to desire that which is forbidden. Temptation leads to damnation and yet they had long since been lost. Sitting in their window with one leg propped on its sill, a set of brown coloured eyes focused with unnatural heat on one set of windows of the performing house.

Luck had been on their side it seemed when rooms became available with an unprecedented view. Although the previous tenant might not have agreed with them, after all they did meet a rather grizzly demise. Still, everything it seemed was falling into place and it was only a matter of time before they could indulge in forbidden fruit.

They first saw the little Princess when their guardian ran from the building crying out for help. She couldn’t have been much more than five years old. With no memory of her life before and her body doubled over in agony. Still at the time little more than a student of medicine they had felt curious and drew near to the child. There was a haunting glow in the young girl’s eyes that held them rooted to the spot and stole their voice. Their mind had told them they should be screaming, running, anything to not be near the child. Their treacherous body had other plans and remained useless as the cute charming little girl turned into something feral.

It was the last night of their life, and also the first. While they were frozen in time itself, the girl grew up and with each passing season she achieved a grace and beauty comparable to the gods. They lost their heart and their mind slowly twisted as fantasy warped reality around them. With each life they took whatever sanity they had, ebbed and flowed out of them.

They had to find new ways to be near to her, growing as she was in that blinding light, she turned many heads and they had to find a way to keep her close. As it turned out the girl remained in the dark with no knowledge of what she was and continued living amongst such a collection of humans that protected her as if she were some sort of mascot, a beacon of hope. Each time her illness took her the worry of their faces that spoke of love could only reflect a fragment of what they felt for the girl.  

“If they only knew… What then Little Princess? Would you leave? Would you come to me then?” They sneered as long fingers came up their neck, brushing lightly over the flesh remembering the sensation of her fangs. The fear and pain were overwritten with euphoria beyond measure as their mind clouded and the world went dark. The last memory of a thought surfacing in their mind. If this was to be the end, what better way to go than in the arms of Angels?

A cruel and somehow soft smile came to their lips as they closed their eyes and leaned back against the window. The sight of her from before laying like a piece of art on her bed, the fading sunlight clinging to her porcelain skin giving her that heavenly glow they so loved. Her voice, how it spoke to them and staying in their mind like a promise. Her emerald eyes looking directly at them and her smile. She was perfect and for a moment, completely theirs, no one could come between them.

They could still feel her warmth even now on their fingertips. She had been so compliant, so thankful for their help as they examined her.

As if to drive them mad the green eyes of his dreams became soft and golden. The pure white replaced with warming shades of browns and creams. That flowing raven black hair turned dirty blonde and it was not the Princess they saw anymore but the usurper. They groaned in agony holding their head. Fingers plunging deep enough into their hair that they threatened to pull it out roots and all in their pain.

Had they not done everything needed? Had they not spent all these years as a faithful servant? They had spent a lifetime in study researching and training to be of best use to her. Sourcing medicine to alleviate her suffering even as he suffered watching from the shadows as she played games and laughed with others. They thought they had found the perfect balance, a way to keep them together. Such a cruel Mistress they had.

“I didn’t spend all this time devoted to you so I could stand by and watch as another swooped in to take what is mine.” The brown eyes devoid of warmth glowed, locked once more on the window of the girl. A sound of breaking glass and desperate cries. “My Princess… MY PRINCESS.” With a growl, they slipped from the window back into their rooms vanishing from even the touch of moonlight as the darkness took more of their mind.

---

[smacsporrancap]

PETER DOIG - born 1959.

Peter Doig is an Edinburgh born, Scottish Painter. He has moved between Scotland, England (where he studied at Wimbledon School of Art, Chelsea College of art and Saint Martins School of Art ), Canada and Trinidad - where he is currently living. He is one of the most renowned figurative painters still living. These places become the main focus of many of his landscapes.

Doig has solo exhibited vastly in many different parts of the world, including ; The Tate (2008), Musée d'Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris (2005) , Schirn Kunsthalle Frankfurt (2005),  Dallas Museum of Art (2005) - just to mention a few. He continues to be shown and celebrated, most recently in group exhibitions. 

Doig is known for his Painting and Printing work. His Paintings tend to be on a large scale whilst his Prints are typically smaller scale etchings. A lot of his inspiration for his paintings comes from source material that he has collected through a combination of cut outs from newspapers/magazines, photos and also his own etchings which he collages together as a starting point for his pieces. In a lot of his landscape work there is clearly strong influences from his time spent in Canada when he was a child.

( ‘Blotter’ - 1996 - Ten Etchings )

The above etching is a series of 10, created by combining a variety of different printing techniques in order to achieve more depth and texture. This can be seen through the different tones and layering of the ink. There seems to be a background of softer, washed out ink and then darker layers on top. These techniques are known as aquatint (this is most likely the back ground, by etching into a copper plate you can create a watercolour-like print), ‘deep bite’ (also on a copper plate this creates darker tones), ‘sugarlift’ (this is a mush more painterly way of printing which can be seen in the water) and chin collé (this involves attaching layers of paper to the printing process). By working in this way Doig is able to imitate the reflection of water very successfully as well as making the tree line seem far more dense.  Reflection on water is a common theme throughout Doig’s work, allowing for a little more fantasy and imagination for the viewer. 

Concrete Cabin - 1994 - Oil on Canvas - 198 x 275cm

I find this one of Doig’s most intriguing paintings. The contrast between the dark, fairytale-like forest and the modern, block colours of the building takes the viewer into their own fantasy. Making you feel as if you are spying on the modern world through the trees. Because there is no clear skyline or ground it feels quite disorientating, adding to the mystery and fantasy. 

Orange Sunshine - 1995 - Oil on Canvas - 276 x 201cm

Here you can clearly see the Canadian influences through the towering trees, the slopes, mountain-scape and snow. In the sky and on the snowy slopes Doig uses a dappling effect, inspired by Renior. This is really effective in creating falling snow as well as the sloshy snow on the ground which will be moving about under the snowboarders. The warm autum colours and the face on view of the snowboarders are really beautiful in making the scene seem nostalgic to his time in Canada. 

Grande Riviere - 2001 - Oil on Canvas

This was the first work Doig produced after moving back to Trinidad. He manages to create his dream-like atmosphere through the loose and flowing trees which could just as easily be green clouds. The horse in the middle left is interpreted from a photograph he’s taken. The horse is old and near to dropping, surrounded by vultures. The scene is almost between worlds and hard to grip which is something that Doig aims for. 

[wisdomrays]

TAFAKKUR: Part 141

Honey As A Therapeutic Agent: Part 1

In 67 BCE, the magnificent Roman army, which was led by Pompey the Great, marched through the green mountains and blue shores of the Black Sea, chasing King Mithridates of Pontus and his Persian army. Once the Romans reached the highlands of Trabzon, now part of northeastern Turkey, they found pots full of local honey on the sides of their path. The hungry and tired Roman army, with a total of about 1000 soldiers, rushed into the pots, assuming they were gifts from the villagers. Within a couple of hours, a majority of Pompey’s soldiers were perplexed and hallucinating, and could no longer fight against Mithridates’ army. The Romans had been trapped by the “mad honey,” the first biological weapon used in history. The alkaloid grayanotoxin, of the rhododendron, locally known as the forest rose or the Kumar flower, induced aorta expansion among the Roman soldiers, which resulted in bradycardia (decrease in heart rate), hypotension, hallucinations, and eventually disorientation. This mad honey is still being used, at low doses, by locals of the Black Sea region as a traditional medicine for the treatment of hypertension.

Honey is produced through enzymatic processing of the nectar or honeydew honeybees collect from various plants. The invertase enzyme within the bees’ abdomens catalyzes the conversion of sucrose – table sugar within the nectar – into glucose and fructose. Honey is supersaturated in sugars, packed with beneficial chemicals, and, thus, possesses high nutritive value. It has been used both as a nutritious food and a remedy for various ailments throughout history. Wound healing, and treatment of gastrointestinal diseases, conjunctivitis, acute fever, and pain, are just some of the disorders honey can treat.

Honeybees have been on the Earth for thousands of years due to their indispensable role as the ultimate pollinators. Bees pollinate more than 60% of the planet’s overall plants, as well as 35% of the world’s crops. Nowadays, due to a fall in productivity rates of some crops, farmers hire beekeepers to install their honeybee and bumble bee hives into their fields, allowing for more effective pollination of their crops. Between February and March each year, almond tree buds in California burst into beautiful light pink and white blossoms in preparation for pollination. As the trees blossom, honeybees forage for pollen and nectar in the orchard. When the bees move from tree to tree, they pollinate almond blossoms along the way. Each fertilized flower will grow into an almond. Honeybees also receive a great advantage from the almond pollinations. The almond pollens are rich in proteins and nutrients for the bees, and they are their first food source after the winter. Thus, the bee hives leave the almond fields stronger than they came. After almonds, beekeepers bring their honeybees to different locations across the United States, pollinating over 90 other crops and making honey.

Honey in medical bibliography

Honey has been harvested by human beings for thousands of years, as was depicted at the "Man of Bicorp," an 8000-year-old cave painting near Valencia, Spain.

According to a Sumerian tablet, one of the oldest human scriptures dating back to about 2000 BC, a prescription for treating wounds reads: “grind to a powder river dust and …. (words missing) then knead it in water and honey and let plain oil and hot cedar oil be spread over it” (Jones 2001). This tablet demonstrates the oldest script about using honey for therapeutic purposes. Meanwhile, almost all great civilizations throughout history, including but not limited to Egyptians, Assyrians, Chinese, Indian, Mayan, Greek, Roman, Arabic, Ottoman, etc., praised honey in their texts; their doctors and healers used honey for treatments of various disorders. Honey was the most popular medical ingredient of the Egyptians, being mentioned in about 500 prescriptions among 900 papyri.

Honey also has been praised in religious scriptures, including the Torah, Gospel, and Qur’an. In the present Torah, the Promised Land (Ha'Aretz HaMuvtahat - Ard Al-Mi'ad) is described as the land of milk and honey (Deuteronomy, 6: 3). According to the story in the Gospel, Jesus ate honey and bread to prove to the Apostles that he was not merely a spirit or figment of imagination. In the Qur’an, honey is clearly identified as “a healing for mankind”:

And your Lord inspired the (female) bee: "Take for yourself dwelling-place in the mountains, and in the trees, and in what they (human beings) may build and weave. Then eat of all the fruits, and returning with your loads, follow the ways your Lord has made easy for you. " There comes forth from their bellies a fluid of varying color, wherein is health for human beings. Surely, in this, there is a sign for people who reflect. (16:68-69)

Moreover, Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, praised honey as a source of healing for both the body and spirit. In his various traditions, the Prophet encouraged his followers to consume honey for its versatile medicinal use such as abdominal pain, as well as its high potential to protect people from many illnesses, indicating honey’s significant role in preventive medicine.

Avicenna (Ibn-i Sina) is the author of “The Cannon of Medicine” (Al-Qanun fi-t-Tibb) and his five-volume-book was a reference source for medical studies in the universities of Europe between the 12th and 18th centuries. In the 2nd volume of “The Cannon,” where he described the preparation of various pharmaceuticals for treatment, he listed honey in more than 35 prescriptions.

Until the early 20th century, honey was used daily by physicians as a traditional medicine. It was even used on battlefields to treat wounds and burns. During World War II, Russian army nurses gave honey to wounded soldiers

As biochemistry and pharmaceutical researchers developed and introduced new drugs into modern medicine throughout 20th century, scientific opinions on honey's nutritive and medical uses have differed and clashed with folklore. However, recent controversies within the scientific community have re-kindled interest in the therapeutic uses of honey in modem medicine. Recently, scientific support has emerged in a proliferation of publications on the successful therapeutic use of honey in several general medical and surgical conditions. Thus, honey has been described as, “A remedy rediscovered,” by Dr. Zumla in an article in the “Journal of Royal Society of Medicine.”[7] A complementary branch of medicine, called apitherapy, has been developed in recent years, offering treatments against many diseases based on honey and other bee products, such as propolis, royal jelly, wax, and venom.

[robert-c]

The Truth About Capitalism and Free Markets

When everyone can compete in a free market, then the best products and services will prevail at the best prices for the consumer. Furthermore, the chance to invent a whole new market and to profit hugely from it spurs people to create new products and services never before thought of, enriching all of our lives. Rather than a society with hereditary classes, our free market system allows anyone with determination and hard work to achieve riches. These are the myths about Capitalism and Free Markets. And sometimes, to some extent, they are true.

However, more often they are empty promises. You see, the primary proponents of free market capitalism, the capitalists themselves, don’t really believe in it at all. They believe in monopoly. They believe that once they have dominated a marketplace, no one should be able to challenge them and their dominance. While we like to believe that the one who builds the “better mousetrap” will be the one who profits, in reality the actual inventor rarely reaps the greatest rewards. Sometimes it’s because the bigger maker of mousetraps buys them out and takes it over, or buries it altogether if it challenges too much of the supply chain they have built up. Other times it’s a matter of “slicker” negotiations and clever accounting to ensure that the other players needed in bringing a new idea to market get a disproportionate share. It would be a legal nightmare to even attempt to regulate such transactions, and that’s not the point. I bring that up just to illustrate that one of the major “selling” points for totally free markets is more myth and illusion than fact.

Another myth is that making money, being successful in business, is some sort of testament to your (take your pick): a) intelligence, b) hard work, c) being a generally superior and deserving person, or d) all of the above. Some people do become successful with a “better mousetrap”, but others because they are more ruthless, or even willing to engage in fraud. And some are just lucky, like the fellow who discovers that there is oil under his land. Others just managed to acquire a large supply of a suddenly high demand product, like hand sanitizer at the beginning of a pandemic and attempt to resell it at inflated prices. Having become rich is proof of nothing but being rich.

This attitude that anyone can become as rich as they deserve has an insidious side effect; if you are poor, you must deserve it. It is a convenient piece of rationalization for being greedy and uncharitable.

The free market myth is that the better product or service will ultimately prevail. That value (quality versus cost) will win the consumers over. Let’s take a closer look at that myth. Every shopper knows that they have different standards of quality for different products. Some of it is personal taste, some of it is how important the item is to us. Let’s say for T-shirts I’m going to wear to work in my garage I don’t care if the seams aren’t as tightly sewn, or the material is thin. Chances are they’ll be covered in stains long before the quality of the stitching gives out. On the other hand I’m very picky about the shirts I wear to work, and I want the best quality so that they will last long and look good. Such differences in individual choices should make room for a variety of goods and various values to suit individual needs and tastes. It should be easy to see that there isn’t a huge range of quality for all goods and services and that the upper end of quality doesn’t change without innovation. Now this is where the free market system is supposed to excel. However, it is easier, and often more profitable, to cut costs, than to improve quality. This is the habit of most well established businesses; it is the low cost, low risk option. Of course cost cutting often ends up affecting minimum quality and even safety issues. Ever heard a boss say something like “come on, surely a 10% cut can’t be that big a deal?” If the safety of the product isn’t obviously compromised to the point that an ordinary consumer could tell, then it would seem that some regulation is needed to prevent such behavior. And thus we have our first need to abandon the idea of a “totally” free market system.

Regulation is needed to protect the public from dangerous products and outright falsehoods in the advertising and selling of these products. As for innovation, the actual inventors are often the ones NOT motivated by money and rarely reap the rewards of their inventions. But then that is a whole other story.

The free market is supposed to mean one that isn’t subject to coercion, one that allows competition. However, in order to preserve competition some regulation is needed. So let’s assume that Bob’s Business Machines makes computer chips. Barry has an idea for a different kind of computer chip architecture. It will be faster, and hold more information than Bob’s. But of course, it is just an idea right now. Barry needs money to develop a prototype and then money for manufacturing, marketing etc. Bob, cunning businessman that he is, has significant business relationships with all of the major banks; the very ones (the only ones) who are in a position to loan Barry the kind of money he will need. Of course the banks are smart – they know that Barry’s chip (if it lives up to its potential) is a serious challenger to Bob’s. They also know that if they loan Barry any money, Bob could pull all of his business and leave the bank in terrible shape. So unless there is some regulation prohibiting acting in restraint of trade, Bob might not even have to ask the banks to refuse Barry a loan. And as simple as that laissez faire capitalism has been able to stifle competition.

Regulation is needed to keep the current rich and powerful from barring new entries into the “club”. The entire idea of innovation being encouraged by the free enterprise system is in question if there is no regulation. Can anyone honestly say that the railroads would have embraced an interstate highway system? In fact they tried to oppose it. Or the development of airlines? NO. Given their own self-interest we’d still be riding coast to coast in days long journeys in rail cars. Pure, unregulated capitalism creates markets controlled by the largest companies, who will systematically strangle any attempt at competition or innovation that might jeopardize their current stranglehold on their market. Hard core defenders of laissez faire capitalism would argue that the railroads, with their enormous profits from the 19th and early 20th centuries could have wisely invested in the airlines and therefor had a major stake in the future as well. Yes, they certainly could have, but none did. Because making and keeping money isn’t a necessarily associated with visionary intelligence. In fact, it is always easier and lower risk to stick with what you know.

And yet we’ve been propagandized for decades with the idea that deregulation is somehow good for the consumer and will lead to more choices and lower prices. How has that really worked out? Can anyone honestly say that they feel they’ve gotten a fair deal (let alone a good one) on airlines lately? Or your cable provider? Or your phone service? Does it feel like you have to be constantly changing to take advantage of the “new customer” special bundles? Of course they know that most of us have neither the time nor the energy to wade through all of the change over business until we are very fed up, which is long after the companies have recouped any discounts they gave us to switch.

Then there are businesses, which by their very nature, have a profit motive disincentive to treat their customers fairly without regulation. I referenced this somewhat in the article on health care reform. Insurance, principally health, but also any other insurance as well; auto, home, etc. All insurance offers a product (“coverage”); essentially a promise to pay for certain losses you might experience, which may be more or less difficult to precisely define. The problem is that the free market competition doesn’t exactly produce the results we might hope for. In selling apples, computer chips or mousetraps, the consuming public has a pretty good way to judge quality and therefor value as the ratio of quality to price. But the details of coverage are hard to assess, and even with comparing identical claims paid (if you could even find two exactly alike), that is only one instance of the coverage in action; maybe it’s representative, maybe not. So the consumer has limited information to rely on in picking between the companies.

Add to this that the insurance companies’ business model is to collect more premiums than they pay out in claims. Now imagine what your reaction would be to a seller of apples, computer chips or mousetraps whose business model was to charge for more items than they delivered. Clearly regulation is needed in this industry, and even more so when the coverage is broad and gray in definition, like health care. There is a definite financial incentive to look for ways to reduce claims payout and/or rate up consumers given that competition is not as clear and simple to compare.

The “champions” of free enterprise often speak of regulations as stifling innovation and adding costs to products. Certainly there are some poorly drafted regulations that should be revised. But to cast all regulation as unnecessary is more than an overstatement, it is a lie that serves only the worst actors in corporate America. Good regulation keeps the field open for new competition to arise and prevents established businesses from increasing their profits by cutting costs and/or by cutting safety to their consumers and employees.

This would be a good time to recall that virtually every regulation business’ must submit to originated because of an abuse perpetrated by businesses. Companies who didn’t tell their employees about the dangers of the chemicals they were working with, and did not provide safety gear or adequate training. Employers trying to classify employees as “contractors” so they can avoid paying for overtime, or the employer’s share of Social Security taxes. The list could fill an entire volume.

Lastly, as good as capitalism is (in its well regulated form) it is inherently a short term view of the world. From the side of the investor, capitalism looks like an efficient system for allocating financial resources. Yet the short term high return investment always seems to garner more of the resources than the long term high return, especially if that high return isn’t payable until the end of the long term. It appears (and actually may be) much more risky.

Yet all of the great advances in our economy and technology seem to be built on the bedrock of some groundbreaking infrastructure and work of large public (government) projects. The Interstate highway system, happily used by trucking companies to bring goods across country, and vacationers alike, might have been decades later in the coming (if at all) but for the persistence of the Eisenhower administration. The US space race with the Soviet Union laid the ground work for computers and private satellite companies and the boon to communication that has created. In both cases, nearly everyone knew this was the direction the future must take, but individually it represented too large an investment to make. There are many more examples, but surely it can be seen that these essential platforms need to be built for the general good. Such visionary projects typically can’t get individual funding, but with a little from all, we all can benefit much more later, and still maintain an essentially capitalist system.

“Pure” capitalism is, unfortunately, by its very nature a short term, short sighted engine, whose principal accomplishment is the maintenance of the wealth of the first group of rich and powerful people. Regulated capitalism IS the only way to have a market place where new ideas, and competitive products can be freely introduced.

Let’s stop buying the myth that “privatization” is automatically good, and government regulation automatically bad. These are more complex issues than the simplistic black and white thinking we’ve been encouraged to hold on to.