#I keep forgetting details from my designs or steps in my rendering

[galaxy-blackbird]

Bonus doodles lmao

[tsscat]

Okay my thoughts on jfo

Disclaimer that my analysis on game design is from a limited perspective as I really don’t play many open-world, role-playing, kind of games and this is really the first “Dark Souls-esque” game I’ve played. What I loved (other than most of it):

I know this has been said before but truly a spectacularly beautiful game. Like good graphics but also the art/design itself was gorgeous. The cinematography and lighting was incredible and it really added so much depth to the storyline and to the enjoyment in exploring. I hate the planet Zeffo for personal reasons (specifically those burrowing hog-things I’m forgetting what they’re called) but Zeffo to me was the most beautiful planet. Something so idyllic and serene about greenery in combination with the shiny blue-grey ice and stark rocky cliffs. Everyone who worked on the art and lighting and cinematography, and everyone who found ways to render and code this!!! In such detail without breaking the game or having any glitches!!! Truly everyone who worked on this deserve so much respect and admiration

My boy Cal! Love it when a jedi character is unequivocally kind and compassionate. Love it when they strive to be good and do good. Love it when their strength is in caring about other people and drawing people together because of that. Ezra and Cal my beloved <3.

Trilla and Cere and Merrin!!! Love the grief and complexity and heart in their stories! Trilla as the child betrayed and who grew up to become destroyer of everything she once loved. Cere who suffered a horror and failed her Padawan, growing with Cal to forgive herself and move forward. Merrin, the sole survivor of a massacre, stewing in her grief and rage for decades until an unlikely ally reached out and offered to be her friend and she chose that path to heal and grow instead of continuing to live in her past. God, the women in this game really did steal the show.

BD-1 <3 ofc. His mannerisms remind me of my kitten, difference being he is actually helps you, healing you and hacking into things for you while she bites. Love BD’s friendship with Cal too.

I like Greez too lol he’s nice he’s just. Tho feel like there’s not much to say compared to the others lol.

The themes of grief and of moving on. Star Wars at its worst struggles with how incredibly scarring the events of the prequels and Order 66 were. But when Star Wars gets it right god does it get it right. Love the hopeful theme of that, while you cannot ignore what you’ve lost, as it’ll always be a part of you, you must learn to stop living in the past. You must start moving forward, rebuild in any way you can. And also! To not fear failure, as it is essential part of life and is a necessary step in success.

Speaking of Order 66 I loved the Order 66 part in this game it was so heartbreaking!! I feel like in this day and age bringing up Order 66 in Star Wars media can sometimes feel like. Sadness bait if that makes sense. Like they know SW fans are gonna cry over order 66 scenes. But this did not feel like that at all. It was such a meaningful part (level???) and it was so scary playing as little underpowered Cal while the entire clone army was trying to kill you and your master. There was no health bar during this part but I feel like there should have been just to add to the feeling of vulnerability. Also love how it integrated all of the different skills you had learned through the game. When Jaro Tapal died and Anakin’s Betrayal played I cried. And THEN when you go back to the title screen after that and understand what it means aaaaah

LOVED how the gameplay played into these themes! Playing jfo was definitely frustrating to me, especially as I am not very familiar with this kind of game, but I came to realize that the struggle was *meant* to be part of the game experience. It’s okay to not get something on your first time! The point is to keep trying again and learn from your mistakes. I think many people had issues with the parkour in this game and how challenging it was at times but I think that was also a necessary part of the theme of struggle (tho I have one issue with it that I will get into later). Also love Cal’s power to read the past from objects and how you can essentially follow small stories from the past as you’re exploring with this power. It really does add into the weight of the past and also I think adds to the caring nature of Cal’s character.

I love the part when Cal breaks his lightsaber and he has to figure how to make do without it. First of all love when he has to run away from all the undead night sisters with basically no protection other than the force. I was stressed the whole way through but it was really so chaotic (affectionate). Ofc the storyline part of it was also amazing and made me cry again but also I think players up to this point have the tendency to rely too much on lightsaber mechanics and on Dathomir and Illum you were forced to use and get accommodated with other mechanics more especially using the force. Illum also was a nice moment of calm after the high stress Dathomir escape. And then ofc Cal’s moment of glory (really it’s *your* moment of glory) afterwards when he fixes his lightsaber and defeats all those storm troopers.

What I didn’t like/thought could be improved:

I don’t understand why the fighting tutorial in the train cart wasn’t…more tutorial-y? Like they kinda threw a bunch of stormtroopers at you and were like 'quick do all these things before the stormtroopers kill you' and you just had to figure it out. Like maybe I'm biased bc Ive never played combat of this style before but… Idk why they couldn't just remove the health bar for a bit until players figured out the mechanics. I think it would have been good also to have players fight one stormtrooper (maybe a more powerful one so it lasts longer) before they move onto multiple. What would have been helpful to me is if they had a one on one fight where you could try blocking a bunch of times, try parrying a bunch of times, trying evading a bunch of times until you figured it out, similar to the style of the later Jaro Tapal visions

I may be directionally challenged but I feel like navigating was often kind of frustrating and not in the good way. I would constantly take wrong turns and end up making 30 min detours. I sometimes navigating felt tedious and unnecessary and the map often felt difficult to read or make out.

The camera angle when you’re fighting is sometimes very weird. I’ve looked into this a bit and apparently it’s a bit of an issue with many Dark Souls-esque games but every once in a while if you were fighting someone in a more closed-space the camera would randomly veer off into some corner and you wouldn’t be able to see anything.

The puzzles are….ugh. In theory I would have loved the puzzles, as I would have loved something that was a break from the parkour and combat that was less about quick reaction times and more about taking a bit of time and thinking about a solution. However frankly the puzzle designs were awful. The degrees of freedom/what you could do or manipulate within a puzzle space were never clearly defined which makes puzzles more weird and confusing (in a bad way) than challenging and enjoyable. So many difficult puzzles were only difficult bc of how it required noticing some insignificant detail rather than intelligent design. And force pushing those damn spheres to their sockets was soooo tedious

While I liked the parkour, I do feel like the fact you couldn’t adjust the difficulty of the parkour made the game more inaccessible. The parkour relied on very very quick reaction times which could prove too difficult to someone with say, mobility issues.

Okay also I think the fixed save points were a necessary part of the gameplay but I hate how when you could stop playing were sooo dependent on them like. If I ever needed to stop the game suddenly my choices were to try to find another save point or lose all my progress. Felt like they could have had a word around for that.

Whyyyyy did they appropriate Amazigh attire for Merrin's clothing and then have her take off! the specifically Amazigh head piece!!! When she was no longer a villain!!! UGH orientalism is a stain on Star Wars and you can never seem to escape it

Anyways this is all of the big things I can remember for now but here are some details of the top of my head I thought were cool/ some other notes:

The fact that in the Dathomirian ruins when Cal was facing against force-vision Jaro Tapal, Cal turned off his lightsaber and Tapal’s saber stopped at the top of his head and how that mirrored Cere knighting Cal. Cere only knighted Cal later but that moment on Dathomir was when Cal became a knight in spirit. Dathomir was essentially his Jedi trials

When you were in that force vision to get the Holocron and you were in the dark so you had to illuminate the place with a lightsaber but when you did it was a red lightsaber and Cal had become an inquisitor. GOD that was good that was such a clever use of a pre-established mechanic for the purpose of story.

Cere using Trilla’s lightsaber in the final battle. It’s a metaphor for her accepting her past, it’s a metaphor for her regaining her confidence in herself as a Jedi (bc she trusts herself to stay in the light despite her use of a dark-side lightsaber). Cal earlier had felt Cere and Trilla’s overwhelming trauma surrounding this object and now here she is, bearing this same object as she fights for the future.

I like the fact that you gain the ability to force pull an enemy towards you and stab them that’s such a power trip

I like it. When Cal ride the dinosaur <3

The ninth sister is kinda hot even though she killed me a couple of times

Love how blunt Merrin is lol. She really is just figuring out how interact with people after she turns to your side like go queen explore the world around you

I could definitely see hints of kotor in this game which was interesting

I don’t think this would have improved the gameplay at all in fact it could have hindered it a bit but I think they should have given Cal a gun. I just think he should have one. Also some bombs. Give this man some explosives

Anyways my ranting is slowly turning incoherent and this is all I can remember. There’s definitely way more to talk about tho. All in all a lovely game that I really enjoyed despite being super stressed about combat (in storymode no less 😩).

[taendrils]

industrial (m.)

― ❝there are lines you shouldn’t cross, things you shouldn’t touch and skin you shouldn’t mark when your hands are missing your gloves.❞ 

• genre: fluff, smut • tags: piercer!reader, client!jungkook, smitten!jungkook, mentions of needles, inappropriate things you shouldn’t do with your piercer LMAO, koko is subby AND needy AND a sweetheart, also a bit of a brat, teasing, sexual tension, praise kink, dirty talk, messy handjob, grinding, aftercare • pairing: jungkook/female reader • wordcount: 8.1k words

PIERCER AU.

It’s human nature. Not having a care in the world for picture sceneries in favour of the mundane you’ve grown to adore—fixating on a sight, a scent, a story so much that is unnatural to go a day without it. Missing a sensation to the point it buries so deep behind your chest you can’t reach through your ribs anymore to prod at it. No, no, no. You have to be indulgent. Bad human nature. You have to relieve it.

Guilt about indulgence doesn’t pack the same punch when it comes to you. It’s easy to sink when you get to relieve it every day—ripping the seal to get your hands on the metal, taking your time presenting the needles, inhaling more of the isopropyl that lingers in the air when you pop open the disinfectant. Even from down low, the vapors float in tendril motions, enter deep only to sting right after. They are consistent—they move the same when you’re close to someone and you get to inhale again before piercing.

It’s pleasant, it makes you focus. It also should say something about you—whatever it might, you don’t blame yourself too much. Rubber feels good on your hand. It’s human nature.

People like things they shouldn’t. People like things that hurt.

The act itself reaches in a place that’s personal, and so does the background. It’s perfect, and it’s silent, and yet it keeps going. There’s music you don’t mind when the place fills out too much—you get restless when there’s a heavy break between people, like it is now. You love calming them down since the act mirrors the effect on you. It has been so long you assume it would create a crack in your persona if you voiced the restlessness out, if your tone reached any frequency other than that of relaxed. The tattoo place, along with your platinum piercer on the other side would eat you dare you break your composure—Yoongi would give the process the same attention he gives to his skin in ink. His tattoos speak for him more than the metal on his tongue dares, touching up to his neck and disappearing under his sleeves, and so does the dove under his ear.

You’re less marked, so people find fascination in other parts of you. Jungkook thinks he doesn’t have to dig deep, he sees their surface as soon as he walks into the parlour. He notices how each element of the hall is in harmony with another, the designs on the walls modern enough to light up innovation, the wood they’re framed by sculpted so they pay tribute to old school. The details hit him all at once, and a beat too late he realises he would have got lost in them, delayed his appointment in favour of marvelling, weren’t it for you waiting at the reception.

You’re leaning against the wall fit between two pictures in asymmetry, watching Yoongi who sits near the said desk with a girl. The piercer gestures towards the jewelry displayed, and Jungkook can make out a few bits of their conversation before his eyes drift towards you again. Soft classics play on the speakers, supported by the tap of your fingers on your thigh. A passive action, and then another.

The bell tingling doesn’t steal your attention from the focal point, instead walking up to join the pair at the desk, but Jungkook catches the black-haired man behind the counter turning in his direction and offering a warm smile.

“This yours?” you tilt your head towards the tattooed man.

Yoongi doesn’t take his eyes off the jewelry, just makes a noncommittal noise from the back of his throat.

“What’s she getting?”

“Two flats, opals.”

“Mm. Pretty stones for pretty girls,” you acknowledge with a smile the girl mirrors. “He has a lot of opinions, but don’t listen to him. If he’s one hair away from the place you suggest, tell me after and I’ll file a complaint, ok?”

The tension in her body eases, and you don’t miss the hints of the grin Yoongi suppresses as he shakes his head. “You need to stop before all my clients leave.”

“Rich from the guy who keeps telling them he’s a master of stabbing with pointy objects,” the same guy who noticed Jungkook tuts as he fixes Yoongi with an eyebrow.

“Jimin has a point. No one else at this hour for him to scare?”

“None for him. None for you either until one hour before closing–you have three then.” He fidgets a bit before the calm smile he’s been sporting turns devious. “Well, none except for him.”

Your eyes settle on him at last, and funny fact it is, how the brain gives so many commands to the muscles faster than the hundredth part of a millisecond, yet Jungkook’s body cannot form a single reaction.

“So you’re mine then, aren’t you?” You nod in appraisal before Jungkook can even stutter, bottom lip jutting out. He’s rendered speechless at the exchange since words weigh heavier on Jungkook’s tongue, and the process takes longer to finish. With strangers he’s careful, he pauses and drags out the sound long enough to avoid mistakes, similar to what you’re doing now when you are analysing him. He’s confident enough to guess how for you they seem easier–you speak as each sound floats on water, weightless before it drifts away.

The heaviness lies buried in how you watch, the same way an audience would as a play begins, attentive and searching for meaning in the deeper crevices of him. He regains access to his breath the moment you step away, hands working behind your back and words neutering some of the acid burning his loins.

“Unless you’re here for a tattoo. None of our artists can talk to you at the moment, they’re all caught up with appointments.”

You’re the only one to come closer to him, and that triggers Jungkook’s sense of self to search for an answer. He fights with it at the tip of his tongue, and he sees the way you’re waiting, staring. He pictures you hanging onto the silence, waiting for his words to continue the thread.

“Uh, no, I–I’m here for you. For the piercing.”

And his words, supposed to be picked with care, crumble under power that’s passive, getting Jungkook tangled in their meaning. 

You’re dressed casually, the clothes loose enough for the fit not to disturb you. He focuses on the smooth curve of your shoulder that has yet to be marked, the smallest trace of a collarbone hidden in the depths of your dark turtleneck. He’s gliding up without meaning to, so lost in details he doesn’t know where to look anymore.

“Alright. And you know what you want?” You don’t react until he nods and satisfaction seeps through the corners of the smile you’ve been fighting, his gaze the same level as the lifted corners that lead his gaze to your ears.

Maybe to the three hoops decorating your lobes, complemented by the little heart on the inside of your ear, or higher, where he sees the object of his desire in your right ear, a long silver bar that sits high on your ear, length pressed diagonally and ends adorned with metal spikes.

“Industrial,” he breathes out.

It’s hard to say what defines the pause taken. 

“Great. Please take your time and complete the form, okay?” Your hair is pulled up, revealing more hoops stacked on top of the other ear he gets to look better at as you turn around. “I’ll wait for you inside.”

Jungkook finds said form on Jimin’s desk. Less flustered, he listens to Jimin filling in the blanks. “We have a machine for sterilising jewelry. Takes around fifteen minutes, long enough for you to read through this and ask questions.”

Now that he has nothing to dote on, despite the sight Jimin is, Jungkook feels weirdly self-conscious as he waits, the reminder that you would have started by now if he made a move when he should have a constant in his mind. He fidgets, thighs squeezing together to distract his mind before the thought spills out, “Did I keep you guys for too long?”

“The appointment’s yours.” Jimin shrugs as he passes the papers. “First time at a studio?”

Jungkook thinks in retrospect at the lobes he did by himself when he was younger and still wearing his emo bangs–half rebellion, half need to appear cooler to his peers. He nods with his lips pursed tightly enough so they contain his embarrassment.

“There are lots to come by nowadays. You shouldn’t be worried, she’s very lithe and quick. Patient too.”

His heartbeat finds its steady rhythm and doesn’t suffocate him like it did before. It calms before it takes the leap into his stomach, when Jimin, whose gestures lack the innocence his face suggests, forgets to add:

“Talks like that to cute little things.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

Good, he swallows. You’re patient. He’ll keep that in mind.

A boy true to his word, a boy that keeps to his promises, Jungkook’s mind wraps up on the idea after signing the ink into the paper and as soon as he is near you.

“All done?” you ask with no hurry, and Jungkook hums as he sits on the piercing table, careful so he does not move the sheets of paper. “Good. Let me look at you?”

The coil in his stomach tightens so easily, he’s so easy to rile up and you’re not even doing anything. You’re not trying to. And that drives him a little crazy. Fantasies Jungkook has never dared to imagine with anyone he kept a professional relationship with stretch his mind open, and he’s open to them when more enter through the cracks he created.

“I need to see your ear, see if the fold’s right.”

He swallows as you come close, hands already gloved. Without missing a beat, he tilts his head to give you better access and doesn’t quite realise how long his hair got until you brush it away from his ear, fingers holding the strands in place. His lungs are still from the proximity, inhaling as much as they can take after you voice your approval. And the more he tries to detach from the situation, the more he dives headfirst into the fantasy. Jungkook feels you twist the ends and pin his hair aside.

The mind is a strange place.

“Don’t want you to get scared, alright?” you coo and this careful treading around him makes him dizzy, stirs in his loins, and the feeling presses deeper there, deeper and hotter than it should from the heat brought by Jimin’s words. “I’ll explain everything to you as we work, hmm?”

“Yeah, sure,” he speaks and is reminded this is his first attempt at conversation in a while. “I’d like that.”

It dawns upon him how to you he sounds willing, much too willing, and he blames it on eagerness. Besides willing, he’s much too aware of everything surrounding him, of every little sound in the quiet room. The tick of the clock is a nice diffused background noise as you check the form to the last detail. “Who did those then, Jungkook?”

Your prying is gentle, a puzzle piece taken from a waiting game that coaxes him out until his answer rises naturally. Of course you’d feel better if he talked. That much is obvious, and he is a fool, but that obvious matters less to him when he sees how pleased you are with your question. A look which he aspires to cause, which pulls his want deeper–a look he needs to see again.

“Uh, another studio. But I didn’t like it.” The explanation that follows comes out of his mouth at once.

“I had a friend, Namjoon,” he begins and takes note how your eyebrows raise and your gaze turns playful at his word choice. “I mean, have. He had his tongue pierced here, and I bugged him about it until he told me.”

The first truth.

“Was it recent?” you ask as you change the pair of gloves, tossing the used pair away.

“He got it done after his girlfriend, but he refused to tell me. I asked for a while.” His shame drifts away in tone with his ramble and he is bold enough to let his gaze fall down the curve of your waist.

“Namjoon, you said? Doesn’t ring a bell. Wish it did by your reaction though.” You turn back to him and his gaze snaps back up.

“Ah, he’s kinda hard to miss though.” His lips remain sealed, but the corners of his mouth rise as high as they can go. Jungkook doesn’t know how or why he’s still talking, but he can distinguish a tender amusement. “Tall, huge dimples and smiles like this.” He keeps the same smile until you acknowledge it, cheeks puffed up and lash lines surrounded by endearing creases.

You shake your head in endearment. “Stubborn, are you?”

“Texted him about it for weeks. Pestered him to tell me. Threatened to do them myself.” Half a truth. Sure, he did that too, but for the most part he whined about it, rattled him to Seokjin and sent messages with questionable emojis. Seeing his friends take the leap for an interest Jungkook spent days looking up, it flickered light back into Jungkook–a passion for something he thought he buried long ago. “I even unmuted the groupchat.”

He sees the effect of those texts in real time. All those ‘joonie hyungg 😊😊~’s were worth it because he earns a laugh from you.

“Glad you let me do my job. I will mark you now, okay?” There’s so much comfort in your conversation he almost forgets what he came here for. As the realisation comes, a sigh threatens to leave his lips. He’s not as worried about the pain as he is worried he’ll embarrass himself somehow. Jungkook is strong now, can handle pain better than the bunch of his hyungs combined, but it doesn’t make him any less self-conscious.

“You have to lie down for it.” You guide him through it, Jungkook lowering his body slowly after the lead of your palm. Maybe he did it wrong?

One dot, two dots. The time to obsess over it passes. On his left, the paper crumples under his fist and he hates the way it sounds, yet he grips the sheet like it is a lever holding him to reality.

“Everything okay?”

“Mhm,” he says, breathing out his bravery and focus. You mention something about titanium and how good it is for piercings in passing, or maybe you linger on it more. He retains nothing, just breathes in the alcohol. Your hands are delicate, and no matter how light your grip is, it seems assured.

Rubber feels good, so does your touch.

“Breathe in for me.” Eyes glossy and mind hazy, he tries his best to listen– “One, two, three, and out. You’re doing well.”

The sting is a lot more than he expected, and he feels the blood rushing to his ear, warm and muted. Everything is more. Its pain lingers, but so does the ghost of your touch, balancing the pleasure. Your voice is breathier, and it sounds closer than comfortable, so close that the warmth of your breath spreads across his skin and a tremor follows it along his spine. When his ear reddens, he hopes you assume it’s because of the piercing.

“There we go,” you whisper. “Halfway done. How’s that?”

“It’s good.” The lump in his throat doesn’t budge. If you notice how his voice trembles, you don’t mention it, and neither do you give him space to think. Your thumb and index massage circles over hard tissue, and he braces for what’s coming next. The fact that your movements do not change pushes against his wish to stay composed, and Jungkook barely suppresses the soft sighs tickling the roof of his mouth.

“Tell me when you’re ready.”

Jungkook sinks into it and nods in rhythm complimentary to your touch. “Read–oh.”

The sound he lets out you take in with a sharp inhale. Despite it, your next steps are smooth, bar settling in cozy in the tight space, but there’s a pause that extends past a few heartbeats where he grows more aware, more sensitive to the tips of your fingers. He feels them tremble as they screw in the ball–feels it tingle on his skin and past his gut.

“Don’t get up so fast,” Jungkook tries to listen, but he’s also impatient. It never dawns on him how close you might be until he’s half-up, propped on his elbows and overwhelmed by the clarity of your features. He is hung on the line that defines your cupid’s bow, and how foul his cravings are. He could run his finger across it–has a feeling you wouldn’t stop him. Driven by his boldness, he’s thinking of dropping his gaze lower. When he does, his heart pummels and a surge of anxiety has his eyes dart back to yours. The effect is cathartic, bits of his rationality falling down in chains.

His mouth drops open at what he finds, the pair of pupils dark and blown out. Less professional. More like you want to cross a line.

The reaction for when you break away is much slower, and your intention misses the mark as Jungkook teeth lightly scrape his lip. “Have you thought about more places?” you blurt out.

Jungkook’s mind goes to the place you’re staring. “My mouth.”

And he swears by anything he has you leave a shard of your composure right there and cut him open with it, reach into his flesh and tug. It’s bad, he shouldn’t let you, but he is good at observing. He has the experience, sees his own behaviours as patterns he’s picked from others. He is right about this. He is sure.

Yet he never expects you to confirm it, reaching out to drag your thumb across his bottom lip, moving in circles to trace the top as well before you come down again and press.

“It’s soft. Gentle.” you breathe out. “I like it.”

It’s gentle and it’s pliant cause his mouth opens more under the weight, and you’re reaching a tint deeper, nail getting dangerously close to his tongue.

“Makes–makes a good fit.”

Rubber feels good there too. He doesn’t mind the taste either.

“But your piercing–” you stutter and his eyebrows shoot up at how you get up all of a sudden only to return with a mirror, grip tight around its rim. Less relaxed. “Here. You should see it.”

You end up passing him the mirror and he gasps at the image, at the bar that’s sitting on his ear. Even with your previous position, excitement is impossible to contain. “I love it.” 

“Please tell your groupchat too,” you tease, part of the tension eased from your shoulders, obvious in the delight that surges through you at his words. He’s still peeking in the mirror, yet the reflection that steals his attention is the one of satisfaction in your smile. His satisfaction.

“I will. It’s amazing, really. I like it a lot,” he adds as if he hasn’t said enough.

“I’m glad. Can’t wait till Yoongi hears about this.” You’re busy with a Q-Tip he braces for a second too late, yet does nothing but obey when you ask him to stay still, then clean the piercing for the last time. The story continues. “He missed the angle last time. He’s gonna be so threatened.”

“Why did he miss?” Jungkook says, curiosity making him lean closer. His height was not something you cared for when he walked in, you note, but he’s hard to ignore now that he’s standing up. You give up trying to organise the items scattered on your table and wipe a hand across your forehead.

“Ah, well. He’s a bit... unorthodox, but gets the job done.”

“And what about you?”

You purse your lips as you muster the answer, unsure of the letters pouring out. “I... I like to play it safe.”

And safe you played, a bitter part of Jungkook would retort. But now that he’s opened the can, the curiosity about you reigns beyond his pettiness. His mind, an ocean on the road to regaining tranquility, has its waters disrupted when he poses questions about parts of you that interested him.

“Is it like that with the tattoos?”

“I do keep them safe.” By the speed of your reply, this is a frequent topic of conversation. Your words, however, match two puzzle pieces that share the same colour, but they don’t fit near the other. They’re jumbled together, corners forced and unnatural. His stomach burns regardless. So they’re hidden from display, bordering on personal.

Like him, you’re responding to questions reserved for people you have some sort of a relation with. The one with Jungkook is supposed to be inexistent. He’s a client, you’re a piercer, he remembers, as he fears to call you his piercer yet. Places where you might have ink pop up in his mind and replace the guidance of his conscience: neck, chest, stomach, thighs.

“Didn’t do the same for this one.” You point to the ear with the bar matching his. “Toughest to heal. Got it when I barely knew anything.”

The angle is not perfect like his, he can now see after the first glance.

“You like it a lot though.” He pouts, and it’s a statement he tests under his confusion.

“It’s one of my weaknesses. A fun memory.”

“So you didn’t do that always?”

Jungkook is a boy true to himself, but much too proud to admit things often. He has a goal, has found more means to the end he chases. Out of the possibilities, there are fairer choices, but all of those lead towards a path with chances and time he doesn’t have. Guilt eats at him about pressing, but his heart speaks over his brain.

“Didn’t do what?”

Jeon Jungkook doesn’t do things in halves–does his best and sweats hard for his aspiration. Thus, he’ll find time later to appeal to his conscience. The distance between you clears the fog out of his mind, his need clear. He cannot leave it like that, not with knowing you never attempted to shut him out.

“Play it safe?”

“No. But you… you shouldn’t.” You’re frowning, deep in thought, every second spent waiting pressing layers into both his hope and uncertainty–fighting a battle that your hesitation wins over whatever desire he thought you may have.“Here’s my number. Call me if you’re experiencing any troubles during the healing process and we’ll see what we can do.”

Distracted, you pass him a card he puts in his pocket. You continue on about the cleaning process and offer him options for where to buy them from as the part of him full of hope deflates, hates the reversion to nothing, hates it more than is considered normal. Whatever this was, he doesn’t want to lose it, but he respects you, sits and accepts. “Of course. Will I have to answer as many questions?”

“Ah–no, not really. I wanted you to be comfortable. I just saw...” There’s breath caught in your throat, lodged between the cracks in your calamity and assurance. You pant to let it out. “You’ve been looking at me.”

Hope is fragile yet devious. A parasitic entity that leads and bites off however much it likes from whoever it pleases. Even as he meant to give up, its last particle was left to grow.

“Yeah?” Jungkook is scared yet bold, the step he takes placing his boot on the line you’ve never dared to cross before. His eyes are big and there’s a glint that’s pleading to be noticed. “And if I call… you’ll take care of it?” He fears your answer, he fears how rushed he is, how much it means.

“I will. We’ll look at it once you come back to downsize the bar.” You try to soothe him, reaching to squeeze his shoulder. His shirt gets pulled a tint, and what you meant to do renders forgotten. The tips of your fingers are lured towards warm skin. Weak and indulgent, they dip under the cotton.

A brief contact and the intent changes. Your touch borders everywhere–a slow drag up the nape of his neck and down his front, fingers splaying out to cover more surface.

“Anything else?” he gulps, lost in the sight of your mouth.

“Don’t touch it. Don’t sleep on it.” Your hand rests over his throat, thumb brushing up and down his pulse point. “Promise you’ll listen?”

“Yeah, I’ll listen.” The admission is quiet, not risking to tear apart at the tension. With close he is to you, the words are breathy with his whisper. “I’ll listen to you.”

The mind is a very strange place. Curls around the impossible and tortures until you do something about it. It’s human nature.

Jungkook’s voice breaks with the last bit of bravery he has.

“I’ll do how you ask.”

“Fuck, Jungkook–” You leave your sentence unfinished because you’re way too busy with your lips on his, you’re kissing him, tongue licking into his mouth before you turn aggressive. There’s no second to wait, no moment to take for breath, his senses are overwhelmed from you gripping his jaw to bring him to your level. Jungkook can’t think, he just touches, makes it clear how much he likes it, nails digging into your sides. He brings you closer, tattooed hand fitting how you like it over your waist, needy and hurting your ribs from how tight you’re pressed against him, while the other slots over the nape of your neck, big enough to cover it whole.  

He clutches you as if you’re a silver lining in an open space, and there’s so much Jungkook all at once and everywhere around you. There’s electricity buzzing under your skin at the way he moans into the kiss when you bite his lip, pulling you back with him as leans against the drawer, thighs spreading for you to fit until you’re pressed flush against him. Your skin is so hot and you’re so drunk on need you’d peel the layers off and fit yourself into a piece of him, feel his moan reverberate through your being. You would, and you do.

When you break away, you don’t care, that’s what Jungkook registers. You’re nosing his neck, lips closing around a sweet spot under his ear. He winces from the sting, though it is short-lived. Another wave of arousal hits you exhale over the raw skin like the breath has been fucked out of you. He’s so sensitive there, and you don’t care to be gentle, don’t care to soothe the ache—you’re taking for yourself. It’s you being selfish.

His head spins so hard around the idea he has to hold onto you to stay on his feet.

Jungkook wants that, wants you to take. To ask. It thrills him how dangerous that notion is, what he would do.

There’s a soft sound you make right after you bite, a sigh that drips into his blood and travels straight to his dick. Faint cries of his name echo in an empty head, shake him to a blurry reality, paired with kisses under his jaw, on the mole that’s so close to his lip. “Jungkook, we can’t.”

With his inner voice gone, his head is empty and a beat too late he registers you’re speaking to him. He nods into your hair, chest rising and falling shallowly, again and again until he’s able to speak. He swears. Swears he understands but no part of him can do so, if you tell him to stop and yet coax him into giving in.

His neck is wet with traces of your lip balm. “Okay, okay, just—give me a second,”

“No, no—” Frantic, you cup his cheek and without thinking he leans into it, expression softening. Your thumb rubs circles onto the bone, caress it until you pry his eyes open, until he can look at you. “Not here.”

Before he can act, you lace his fingers with yours and lead him towards your bathroom, pull hard on the handle, and in your rush, you use the same force to press him into the door as it closes. Jungkook whines, shameless, hips bucking into you. In his high pitch you can capture the exact moment his last thread of sanity bids its goodbye, leaving him with putrid needs that shudder out of him like they do whenever he is close.

“God, look at you,” you whisper in wonder, latching to his mouth.

Cold runs up his arm and to his sides when you pin his wrist away, knuckles brushing against the tiles. The room’s dense, its width a fraction of the main hall. Its monochrome walls are closing in on the both of you, two specks of colour squeezed together in the tight space.

All at once, he’s hit with how good you smell, tinges of his cologne having rubbed off on you. A different aroma, one that’s sweet and masculine, pierces his senses with the same strength of an alcohol, but instead of focusing, it makes him hazy—hazy and restless. Even in his current state, he can more or less see the same effect on you.

Jungkook looks at you through strands of hair and dropped eyelids, head thrown against the door. “You like it?”

You grin, fingers hooking in the belt loops on his sides and use them to move his hips so his cock drags right into the space between your thighs. “Should I show you or let you guess?”

His hips work with more vigour, coil in his belly pulled too tight while you take your time reciprocating. The softest friction you give back is enough to have him gasping, dick hardening against you.

“You’re the one who seems to like this quite a lot,” You reach under his shirt to stress your point, molding your palms in the deep lines that define his abdomen. They explore, trailing higher until they brush against a nipple, the image of how a bar would fit there a dangerous addition in your head.

“Yeah,” He bites his lip, no point in not being honest now that you have him like this. “I do.”

Once you hear him, you grow more determined, hand closing high around his side and on his ribs. Next thing he knows you're back to his nipple, rolling your thumb over it, the stimulation too much too soon. Jungkook seeks to take your focus from it, but you don't relent.

“Are you sure this is okay?” he pouts before biting back a moan, “I wouldn't want to keep you.”

The moment you hear him, you laugh, fond and delirious—and press harder when you touch. “Yes, Jungkook, I do.”

If he had any walls left, he's sure you would have them crumble when you ask with your other hand hovering on the elastic of his boxers, “Do you?”

He nods, speaks from under his breath, “You have no idea.”

Mischief and anticipation dance in your irises, and when you smile, you do it with full teeth, every bit the bad wolf who's waiting to eat him up. You've chosen to prolong the said wait because instead of gripping, your finger branches out to trace the underside of his dick.

“You can’t do that to me,” he whines, soft voice murmuring pleas.

Jungkook’s torso, yet to be marked, is a pleasant path, one you’d cross again and again, warm and smooth and addicting—it takes most of your willpower to stop, staring him right in the eye with an eyebrow raised. “Can’t do what?”

“You shouldn’t touch me,” Meek and sincere, he lifts your chin and you freeze with your chest pressed against his. “Not if you want to tease.”

It’s a silent beg, because even if he missed being teased, he needs you. He’s so wound up he doesn’t think he can stand it, but he's still proud. Somewhat.

Your expression remains unreadable, but your actions speak loudest when you touch him skin on skin, hand sneaking under his boxers, and—oh.

He restrained himself the best he could when he had close to nothing, but now, with his head fallen back, he moans for you like he’s singing. The more you tighten your grip, the more his octave jumps over the classics you’d been so fond of.

“Careful, baby,” you tut as you spread the precum over his tip and use your body weight to still his shaking thighs. “You could hurt yourself.”

“S-sorry, ah—” he stutters, hand caught between the both of you, squeezing yours over the cotton of his sweatpants. “Feels good.”

He's not used to it, being the centre of attention, people putting lights too bright on him. Can't decide if he likes it or not, though it has him weak. His mind is on you, your time, your pleasure. On how he craves for you to feel him, needs you to feel good. On how he is going to make use of the semblance of control he hasn't given up yet to show you what you're doing to him.

So he does. He walks you back until your hips knock against the sink, pins you the side that is closest to him. Eagerness overcomes him at the impact, pulling at the hem of your shirt, and you cater to his wishes, letting him remove your top. With the layer peeled off, the scene is rougher and more intimate, secrets shared by the two of you tangled in this background, he sees them, lets them drive him crazy.

“How about this?”

It's such a delicate thing, how your bare shoulder connects with its reflection in the mirror. His gaze explores your body, landing on the upper parts covered in ink. Beginning at your sternum, a young lotus connects to a larger piece spread on the top of your torso, adorned with leaves and petals that bloom from its center. The thread between the flower and the full piece is so thin, his tongue would cover it whole.

It's the swell of your breasts that has him distracted and split between choices. But there’s something so primal about the object of his desire in front of him, and his made-up mind can't wait for encouragement, cupping them in wonder under your bra. Your gasp when he brushes against a nipple is so delicious he's the one who can't help himself, dipping his head to get a taste. He sucks like he's expecting praise, grinds more into you and he can't decide if the action is for you or himself.

“Jungkook, ah—” you groan, and the reaction stirs him up further. That mind of his which has been empty is quick to fill out with more than he can handle.

He'd drop down to his knees and crawl as long as you moaned and waited for him like that. He'd kiss and lick up the thigh that's pushing against his dick, hold it as he spread you open with his tongue. By nature, he's a pleaser, and thoughts like these are natural—as natural as those that keep coming, those about himself. They retell how easy it was for him to lose himself, far to the point of no return. A sweetheart in the face of sin.

It's almost laughable how gone he is and what it might say about him, about how down below he really belongs. Well, it's comfortable. He likes it down there.

Lower places are for those who lose, and Jungkook wouldn't mind losing to you, as long as he has a place down and a fighting chance.

He drops to his knees slowly, tongue dragging through the middle of your tattoo and down, kissing his way to the button of your jeans. In a snap, he pops them open, considers letting go, all doe eyes and messy waves that cover folded cartilage and stop right before a lobe marked by matching silver hoops, and now an industrial. Without thought, he catches the flimsy zipper in his mouth then drags it down where he said he belonged, holding onto the metal until the end. His arms flex under your thighs, gripping you tighter as he drops the zipper but not the eye contact. He has to be sure your eyes are on him when that playful glint takes over and his tongue flattens against the front of your jeans.

He's not bad for wanting it, is he?

Your fingers in his hair yank his head back, and oh, this one's different from the sting before—it spreads tingles across his scalp. “But I liked you this way…” He sulks, soft hair putty in your hand.

And he did, still does. Thighs on either side of his head, your face, breathless and grinning above, there's nothing wrong with this angle. “And here I was trying to take it slow.”

On his knees for you, it seems that now he finds the time to be a brat. “Your hands down my pants is slow now?”

You arch an eyebrow. “Lots of things you want to do, hm?”

Equal parts eager and shy, Jungkook nods, moving to lean on your thigh. You're fast to react, hand in his hair coming in between to protect his piercing. He nods with his head in your palm, noses along the inseam of your jeans.

“You just need to...let me.” His hand slithers under the soft flesh and splay on your ass to make his point. For the final dot, he feels for your back pockets, uses them as support to drag down the material until he can see your underwear.

“What about what I want?” you scoff when he's midway through pulling your pants down. “Aren't you being a little selfish?”

He's taken aback by your pout, your always-tender touch. “Uh—”

“You didn't sit to think about it, did you baby?” Wide eyes look up at you, a pang of strange guilt overcoming him. “Whether I want you like this?”

Jungkook wonders about the game you're playing. “I'm sorry—”

Habits force him to be polite, guide you to be patient.

“Poor little heart.” You caress his jaw, his mouth, and this time, his lips close around your finger. “Get up.”

He obeys but not without a fight inside him. Body to body, you soothe the frown off his face with kisses up his neck, paying attention to the noises he makes when you tug at his hair again.

“You looked so good before. Right here,” you whisper when he drops into the touch.

Praise relaxes him, opens up his every pore, pours heat straight to his gut. He knows. Yet part of him has yet to get over how you denied him, occurrence too rare for him to get used to it.

“It's less fun like that.” Jungkook's aware of how he sounds: like a little brat, petulant. As good as he is, it thrills him when he gets to act this way.

“Is it? Baby got a taste and now he can't get enough?” You're mocking but gentle, how he likes to be teased.

He did miss it: missed being teased, missed tearing up a bit.

“I didn't even have to ask to bring you to your knees.” You grip his hair tighter and he moves to the direction your reins are pulling. Ah, missed having his senses tortured. “So willing. So easy.”

“Yes—” he babbles, doesn't care for much when you handle him like that. Neither can he speak much, yet he is aware of everything, is sensitive to everything—shivers as your heel nudges his calf.

“I think it's more fun when you work for it, don't you agree,” You motion at his pants, and he scrambles to drop them to his knees for you stroke his cock, “there's thrill in the chase.”

How true that is. Jungkook aches for a chance to show to you how he is when there's chase involved.

“For you,” he says, tone flat and tired.

“Then it's not the case?”

He shakes his head, now bordering on a dangerous edge. Competition never hurt him. Neither did playing it safe, but he doesn't care to play it safe now that it's about you.

“For you, all for you—” he grabs your wrists and brings them down until you cup him with both hands, rocks his hips into the loose space. “Please let me do something.”

Or make me, is the sentence he leaves buried. More important for him is to hang tight onto your permission, yet hatred over not feeling needed threatens to swallow down his arousal and purge back anger. It's a twisted game he often plays, how long he can deny himself, how much he can hold before he snaps.

He's been close to snapping from the beginning, so out of his mind, he'd do anything you asked. Why weren't you asking? Jungkook would love for you to tell him how to make you a mess, say the word and he would be on his feet, down on his knees. He’s aware it paints a pretty picture when he does it.

Taking pity on him, you bring his hands down to your underwear and remove it together. It flies right past his ego—the immediate reaction is to reach for his own, but you stop him by shaking your head.

You peek down, shudder when you see how hard he is. “Leave them on. It's not safe.”

“Like this then?” Jungkook holds you spread for him as he drags his clothed cock over your clit. He's moving so slow he's shaking. There's so much desire which had to be buried down for him to keep to his word, to respect the promise that he'd listen. “Good?”

“Mm, good.” His chest swells with pride, and he gasps when he feels how wet you are, staining the material. Tentatively, he slides a finger in, then another, scissoring them inside. He goes deeper until he's sure they're coated, gathers the strings of arousal and brings them back to your clit. “That's it—”

The pressure is built with his thumb over your clit, careful and decisive the more you pick the volume. He'd muffle those noises with his mouth or make them louder with his tongue, yet he doesn't have the courage, thus he settles for your neck. It's a welcome distraction, a purpose that's holding him to earth when you're rocking back against him, the sight of you so desperate doing things to him.

“Fuck, you're leaving marks,” you whisper to yourself. It sounds holier, more like a revelation you have bare for him, with your hair messy and neck bit.

“I just. Need something to do, with—with my mouth.” He hurts through the seconds he takes to explain. Exists through his need. “Don't like it empty.”

A call of his name breaks the hold he had.

“If you want to be rough, you can.”

“What?” His head shoots up, confusion written across unfocused eyes. “W-Why?”

“I see you.” You swipe at hair matted over his forehead, mold your print in the drops of sweat laid over the veins in his neck. “And I want you to have it.”

Best case, Jungkook would need a few moments to process this, but you don't give him the pleasure. Every word is a shot fired on his self-control.

“I need you to feel good.” your voice is saccharine, its echo dripping in pleas through his bones. “That's what will make it better.”

“But then...” You're wrapping your thighs around his waist, letting him in. He has no idea what he's protesting.

That urge to suppress, that need, their noise is not yet muted—he hates how he's not done enough. Almost feels useless. But you need him for something else. Proof to his statement is the conviction attached to your request.

“You said you'll listen.” Although you don't mention his behaviour until now, implications hang heavy. “Why aren't you doing that when I tell you to do as you please?”

He's still lost, but now a new desire creeps up, whispering to him how nice it would be to obey. To stomp on his previous effort.

Too many sounds ring in his head, like radio static that shuts off when you press your forehead against his. “Be good, baby. Let go on me.”

Nice and sweet.

Jungkook listens and unravels before you. With rough drags of his cock against your pussy, you can't differentiate whether the mess on his boxers comes from you or him. He's messy yet mindful, angling up his thrusts, making the hit land right onto your clit, deep like he wants to fuck into you.

“Yes, yes—ngh—” This time it comes from him, but you're not far, with how you dig your nails into his muscles. Memories he'll feel for days, along with the strain it takes to keep the both of you upright. He speeds up as soon as you urge him to go faster, a toy on arches, flared up because of your request. Drifting away with the sensation, he almost loses footing when you whisper you're close.

Instead of hazy, the words are electric—he's more awake than he's ever been. Puts in so much work his bones rattle and lids screw shut when you cum, sounds so pretty and long they stretch out to rip his orgasm out of him.

Solemnly, his world quiets.

“You good, baby?” Serene, you massage the nape of his neck and let him cling to you until he can breathe again, “Gave me plenty to clean.”

Jungkook stares at the mess between your bodies before he's puffing out a laugh, “I could be better.”

You sit with him until he parts from you, then put your clothes back on. “Wait here, there's stuff in the cabinet that can help.”

“Hey...” you turn to him in question and he kisses you again. “Thank you.”

You return with the necessary supplies, handing him some wipes as you bend down to disinfect the sink. “It's not much, but it's not like I expected guys throwing themselves at me in my own shop.”

“I did not!” he puffs as he cleans himself up, winces from the sensitivity. “You just... well. Did that!”

“My job?” His eyes are wide and accusing, full of indignation. When you look back, he stares back as if challenged, ready to debate you. “I won't repeat the offense.”

Jungkook steps in front of you, confident and looming. “I'm not leaving until you admit.”

“I'll admit.” You nod, face brightening up as you tease him. “I was too good at my job and made you starstruck.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I'll be here all day.”

“There's security.”

“I'm strong.” His arms wrap around your waist for emphasis. You relax in his hold.

“I saw, big boy.” He's about to say something else but you're quick to cup his face and steal the words off his lips, tap at his pocket. “Hold onto this, okay? And call me if there's any trouble.”

Minutes after exiting, he has the gall to unmute his phone and sees the notifications pop; the top being a text from Namjoon in the groupchat sent over 20 minutes ago. 

that guy [4:16 p.m]: jsyk i respect your opinion but i'm putting this shit on mute if you mention anything about the PC version being better again

joonie hyung [4:50 p.m]: Jungkook?  joonie hyung [4:50 p.m]: Well? How did it go? 

Jungkook chuckles to himself, sitting on a nearby bench, mindful to the saline solution he bought from the front desk that’s now in his lap. Further contemplates the message as his fingers brush over the bobby pin still in his hair as a distraction from the piercing.

There is a bunch of nonsense that follows in the chat from Taehyung and Hoseok, but that's always easy to ignore–he blames it on the force of habit. The parlour's sign is a clear view diagonal from his position, background he sees fit for him at the moment. Jungkook angles his body so he's facing the opposite direction and snaps a picture of his reddened ear, careless to the rosy marks blooming right under. Your contact details are secure in his pocket, printed over the card you gave him, and despite how light they are, they bear the force to keep him grounded.  

Tapping the screen to quote Namjoon's reply, Jungkook keeps to his fashion: he's not the one for many words when it isn't needed.

He breaks into giggles. Thumbs up and peace sign emojis suffice.  

a/n: namjoon getting his tongue pierced is actually a reference to emma @.personawife’s fic piercings and piercer!yoongi is available over at @.yuengi in bad boys bring it to you which you should totally check out if u want more pierceverse! major thanks to lo for listening to me ramble about this cutie and helping me with the last bits of his character! • remember don’t get pierced with a gun OR a hoop and if you enjoyed please consider leaving a comment i’m starving and koko is not showing sleeve 

[hela-avenger]

To the Stars Who Listen- Prologue

Author: hela-avenger

Word Count: 1016

Summary: When Loki desires to never fall in love, he casts a spell to prevent such a thing from happening. Except, well, in the matters of love and magic, you never know the result it may have in the end. Loki x Reader

A/N: So here it is! I’ll be updating every Thursday. I’m really hoping to cap this at 15 parts but we shall see! Tags are open!

hela-avenger masterlist

As Loki walked through the tower, one of the few things he was allowed to do on his own, he noticed the heart-shaped balloons and the flower bouquets that littered many offices. Deliveries of them were still coming in by the looks of it. Arrays of cupid decorations, red roses, and heart insignias being placed in designated locations. 

Loki scowled at it all. 

How more pathetic could mortals be when they dedicate a day to love?

If he had his way, such a holiday would never exist, such a feeling would never be sought for.

Why did mortals insist on declaring their love so broadly? What purpose did it serve?  

If only he managed to succeed in his attack on this piece of rock many years ago. Things would surely run differently in Midgard had he been given a chance to rule over them. 

As it always does, reminiscing of his grand failure always soured his ever pessimistic mood leading Loki to steer himself away from the floor he found himself on. He decides he would be better off staying in his room to avoid watching this mindless love spectacle continue. 

It doesn’t take long for Loki to reach his safe haven and he lets out a sigh of relief to notice his brother is gone. Thor was most likely participating in this foolish holiday with his mortal lover which then left Loki on his own. 

A rarity itself. 

Thor had made it a habit of sticking by Loki’s side ever since they’ve come to stay in Midgard. Odin had thought it a fair punishment to place Loki on Earth to repent for his crimes and Thor promised his father to keep an eye on him. 

Loki hated it. Loki hated him. Loki hated a lot of things. 

Including love itself. 

He chuckles as the thought of the silly little emotion unable to stop the memory that came along with it. 

One of his mother’s maids had gone crying to the queen. She begged Frigga to cast a love spell to gain the attention of a guard. His mother refused to do it, warning the girl that such magic should not be trifled with which of course led Loki to attempt a spell on the matter. 

After witnessing the effect of love, the young prince did not wish to ever fall in love. It was a weakness he couldn’t afford especially as Thor seemed to gain their father’s favor more and more each day. 

Loki would clear his heart and mind for the throne. Something Thor would ever be able to do for the golden prince enjoyed his admirers. 

So Loki cast a spell. One of the first few that displayed his growing strength in his mastery of magic. 

“A yellow rose petal for friendship, a white one for youth, a red rose petal for love and a blue one for truth. My lover can hear my call from a mile away. She laughs when she cries. She knows how to bring a smile on my face and when I tell her a lie. Her power is as great as mine, even greater if she tries and she… she carries the sun and the moon in the palm of her hands in a way I don’t understand.”

The petals floated through the air and disappeared into the night sky. His mother had watched it all without saying a word but as Loki began to retreat did she finally speak up. 

“I was under suspicion you never wanted to fall in love.” 

To which Loki responded with the truth. 

“I don’t. I cast the spell to prevent myself from doing so.” 

Frigga scowled as she recalled the spell chanted. All the attributes he wished for were nearly impossible to meet. 

“Oh, my dear son, what have you done?” 

Loki simply shrugged his young little shoulders. 

“The girl I’ve dreamed of doesn’t exist and if she doesn’t exist, then I will never, ever fall in love.” 

He almost forgot about that little spell. It’s been so long since he cast it. He was but a child and yet the spell actually took. It worked so well seeing as in his thousand years of life he had yet to find such a girl to capture his heart.

Even if such a girl existed, she would most likely want no part of him per his history and if luck was against him and she did attempt to pursue him, well… he wouldn’t make it easy on her.  

Loki throws himself on the couch grimacing when the gold metal anklet pinches his skin. He kept forgetting the magical-disabling monitor that his brother had latched on to him the moment they arrived in Midgard. 

“For your protection, Loki,” Thor had insisted. 

Loki could only roll his eyes in response. 

He knew a lie when he heard it and his brother has always been such a terrible liar. 

The anklet was meant to keep his powers restrained and to put Thor’s little mortal friends at ease. Without his powers, Loki was basically rendered harmless. If only they knew that he could easily kill them with his bare hands. It would be easy but it would definitely be frowned upon.  

The anklet was not only for the protection of the Avengers but for the world itself. It also served as a security device that restrained Loki to Stark’s tower alone. Loki was not allowed to step a foot outside. If he tried to, the little band of heroes would rain upon him instantly. 

So in a sense, Loki had simply traded one prison for another. 

The fallen prince laid on the couch and tried to forget that little detail. 

There were no words or promises that could get him out of this ordeal, but Loki knew better than to believe fate was really done with him. He was a man of great power and because of this, he knew his journey was far from being over. 

An opportunity always tended to rise amid nothing. 

All Loki had to do was lay there and wait.

TTSWL Tag: @catsladen​ @is-it-madness​ @manyfandoms-marvel

Loki Tag: @unicorniorosacomefrutillas @thesilentbluesparrow​ @oddly-drawn-muse​ @josiehosiedaninja @hp-hogwartsexpress @sadwaywardkid @wolf-lover74 @sizzlingbarbarianglitter @sigyn-njorddottir @aoirohi​ @defunctcherrybomb​ @horsesandwolvesaremyanimals​

All Works Tag: @jmb959 @astudyoftimeywimeystuff @hellocookiecutter @steve-rogers-personal-hell @buckybarnesyard @not-zari-tak @strangersstranger @thefridgeismybestie​ @moonlightprime​ @badhollandfluff

[nina5319371]

Week 9 Prototyping

Pre-Class Activity: Andrew Simpson Cup Case Study

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

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

Week 9 Studio Tutorial – Mesh modelling your own concept

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

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

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

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

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

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

[henpendrips]

Top Ten #1 - Final Fantasy X (PS2)

Yup, it's this'n. So let's get right into it.

Boy, oh boy, Final Fantasy X. Is it the best entry in the series? No. Is it a better game than God of War 2? Definitely not. Yet as I struggle to write this summary, there is no other game that I can think of that would fit the #1 spot. And that's because, not only do I love the turn-based RPG genre, but... it was also the first Final Fantasy game that I really got into; from first coming into contact with it to finally buying and playing it for myself, a game that easily consumed five years of my life.

The story and world in FFX might be the most blatant in terms of points made, and as the last SquareSoft Final Fantasy, it also marked the end of an era, while being the start of another, more superficial and uninspired future for the series (with the MMOs and FF12 barely scootin' by, considering what was to come). However, that doesn't stop me being enamored with the two protagonists and the journey they go through: Tidus, the energetic blitzball superstar that functions as the audience surrogate; and Yuna, the reserved summoner carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

While most previous FF games start out small, and opened up as you progress, FFX presents you with big questions right from the start, and Tidus' clueless ass is the perfect vessel for players to take in this adventure one step at a time. His own confidence and playful nature also helps set the audience at ease, rather than feeling lost amidst the chaos. But it is through Yuna that the story of this game moves forward; she is the reason the party (and through Tidus, the player), continue this journey, her pilgrimage across the land of Spira, in the hopes of achieving a means to stop the cataclysmic monster Sin. And that's also why Yuna is my favorite character in the entire franchise (Zack Fair is a close second), as her determination and drive are apparent even through her shy and meek demeanor when you're introduced to her initially; and given how, unlike Tidus, she DOES understand what her journey might entail, she is aware of the consequences that might present themselves, and how her faith is challenged every step of the way, really showcases a strength not just in the character, but the writing as well.

In terms of exploration and level design, while FFX might have been a big step forward for the series, shedding the pre-rendered backgrounds of the PS1 era, Spira is left quite linear and restrained. It's no FF13, thankfully, as you're allowed to revisit almost every area you go to, and after a later point in the game, unlocking an airship gives you free range on where to go, including some optional dungeons and secret areas. It's no grand expanse, but you're given plenty of reasons to explore every nook and cranny for sidequests, extra gear, and additional skills. The equipment mechanics are interesting in concept, the ability to craft and graft specific abilities to your weapons and armor, but given the limited models for it, and the existence of Celestial Weapons, like a lot of aspects in the game, it comes off more like a means to extend gameplay needlessly, as several other games of that time did.

The combat system, meanwhile, is undoubtedly my favorite in the whole series, because it embraces the fact that it's a turn-based RPG. I've never been too keen on the ATB, and have definitely disliked the real time/turn-based hybrids that are leading the franchise further and further away from its roots, but FFX knows what it is, and fully embraces it. Based on specific stats, the Conditional Turn-Based Battle (CTB) system places every participant in the fight on a specific order, and every action taken by a character will affect how subsequent turns play out. Spells such as Haste will accelerate and give a character more turns, crippling abilities will push enemies further away from taking their own turn, and with the ability to switch party members on the fly, you have an approach dedicated to the player controlling the flow of combat, by taking advantage of enemy weaknesses and impeding them from attacking at all, something that, as the game progresses, especially with optional superbosses, develops into quite the challenge that is still all in control of the player.

Probably the most distinct aspect to FFX combat, however, is how summons, called Aeons, act as their own characters, all with stats and abilities of their own. All of them are informed by Yuna's development, and spamming them will definitely leave your other party members lacking, but it's always thrilling to drop yor giant monsters on the field and let them lay waste to your enemies. This also provides you with the Summoner fights, where Aeons can't be summoned by both parties at the same time, and how several bosses can easily destroy your summon, leaving you to plan out when it is most appropriate to use them. A very nice touch that is in line with the story of the game.

The progression system in FFX also deserves a highlight. The Sphere Grid replaces the usage of EXP with AP, and each character is placed upon a giant grid with slots to fill up, so as to increase their stats and learn new skills. Special key slots keep your characters on set paths at first, but you'll eventually be able to cross characters onto others' sections, allowing you to increase each party member's usage beyond their initial limitations, while minimizing their weaknesses and shortcomings as character-locked roles. It's definitely another aspect of the game done to extend gameplay, especially given how you can customize the entire Sphere Grid for all seven characters, but after playing FF12, I'm much more content with a system that provides unique roles to characters, letting you familiarize yourself with them, and then expanding their arsenal and abilities later on. Seriously, if you want to play FF12, which I recommend as my fourth favorite FF game, play it on PC with a merged License Board mod, it'll be so much more satisfying.

And to close it off, given how most of the positives above also provide some detail on the negatives, the art direction in FFX is just the right amount of overly-detailed before going down Belt Buckle Avenue. There's an overall ocean theme to the designs, with a lot of spirals and natural patterns to the architecture, character design, and even the monsters, that I enjoy massively (and the PS2 limitations probably kept it from going balls-to-the-wall insane). There's an obvious jank when it comes to facial animations and how a lot of voice lines are delivered, but the emotional peaks are all there, a prime example of both the good and bad being one of the speeches later in the game, how the animation and delivery contrast immensely with all the other characters in the scene. And of course, how can you forget the ridonkulously catchy tunes such as 'Hymn of the Fayth', 'Challenge', and 'Otherworld' (the song that until recently, I still believed had been composed by Ramnstein).

With that, it's done. Years ago, when I first thought of which game was my all-time favorite, I definitely had a big thunk on whether it was God of War 2 or Final Fantasy X. But in spite of all that has happened since, the state of the games industry as a whole, and how I changed in terms of standards, taste, and preferences, putting FFX on the #1 spot of this list is not a regret. It defined me as a person, as an enthusiast, I'm very happy that it opened so many doors and how it motivated me to push forward as an artist for several years now. Also, Rikku with X-2 costume was top tier first waifu, fite me.

[claude-frollo-archives]

Imposed Fate

Imposed Fate A Count Duckula Story

Chapter 1. Prelude of a Nightmare

       One fateful date, Tuesday 7 April 1870, Richter Von Gosling, a student of the arts of healing, decided to visit Transylvania in order to shed light upon a mysterious and disquieting subject, which was a case of vampirism. Legends and stories about the undead had the young scholar read before, yet he remained  sceptical, until his colleague and confidant Reinfelt witnessed an attack by one of those creatures, and not an ordinary one but Count Duckula himself, a feudal Lord supposed to be dead centuries ago. Despite of the absurdity of the notion, Richter was not to doubt his friend; therefore, he had to investigate in more detail about this terrible menace and put it to rest.

   The evening of Gosling's arrival, a thunderstorm loomed above the village, the weather cold and windy but rain was not to fall yet. Not a soul could be found wandering on the streets, there was a sense of quietude, a preface of the storm that soon would be unleashed over the town. Despite the feeling of impeding peril, inside the public house 'Ye Tooth and the Jugular' the mood appeared to be festive, with the regular crowd assembled for a pint or two, regardless the tragedies of life. In this place, the scholar found refuge as well as some more information concerning the malevolent aristocrat provided by the innkeeper and the parishioners. Gosling thought the recently gained knowledge would be enough to prepare a scheme to destroy the vampire.

    During the following days, the scientist worked in the development of a mechanism designed to shoot a wooden stake but cleverly set inside a camera. When the contraption was completed, the gander headed towards Castle Duckula, an ominous fortress that oversaw the village from atop a hill. Presenting himself as a photographer from a newspaper, Gosling attempted to gain access to the castle and destroy the Count; these actions would end the suffering of the villagers and bring peace to Transylvania. No time was wasted once he entered the Castle. Introductions were quick, the battle between Count Duckula and Von Gosling finished as quickly as it started and not even Igor -faithful manservant of the undead Count- was able to interfere. However, due the thrilling sensation of triumph, the scientist returned to the town without realizing that the stake managed to harm Duckula, but it failed to stab through the Count's heart.

    "Got him, the vampire is destroyed! ..." Exclaimed the deluded scholar as he rushed his way back to the village bellow, eager to tell what he assumed to be good news. "... The beast is no more!"

     Meanwhile, the Count lied motionless on the stone ground. Igor knelt beside his defeated master, lifting the wounded vampire on both his arms. "... Master, Master! ..." The old vulture sobbed in anguish, fearing this to be the last hour.

   "... Is all right, Igor! …" Duckula replied as he rose to his feet, dusting and straightening his suit jacket. Praised the Abyss, his Lordship was not slaughter, much to Igor's relief. "It was just a mere scratch …" The Count added with anger on his raspy voice. "... But he shall pay for this ... he shall pay!" He growled and proceeded to concentrate his energy in order to cast a spell. "... Come here, to my aid, oh winds of north, I summon your powers---…"

   "Milord... if I may be so bold to provide advice... I must remind his Lordship that the appropriate way to conjure for the assistance of this element, Sire, would be quite simpler: ‘come gust of wind and be wild’… Brief but no less effective, of course" Igor admonished his Master on the proper casting of dark incantations.

   "Thank you Igor, I had almost failed to remember that part … Anyway, you had already cast the spell, so you have heard it wind, obey our demand and be wild!" With that, the Count cackled with cruel glee, an aura appeared to surround his frame and a red spark was ignited on both his eyes, like flames of fire as he began to transform, while outside the fortress, gust of heavy wind gathered to form a dreadful tempest.

   Oblivious of the dangers ahead, Gosling stormed into the tavern. "… Is done!--- The vampire--- destroyed! ..." The gander addressed the landlord, though he was out of breath and could barely articulate a word.

    "What do you mean, young man?" The perplexed innkeeper questioned, while three peasants seated on a corner enjoying their last drink of the night, just had to listen and stare with curiosity.

    "… ... What I am trying to say is that the vampire fiend is no more!---..." Gosling recomposed before resuming his speech in a serious tone. "... The Count now rests in peace, finally there would be no more suffering ... is over." He softly stated, honestly believing that evil was successfully vanquished.

   A tense silence filled the inn until one of the peasants reacted. "... That is impossible!" He muttered in disbelief. "… Count Duckula defeated, requiring no effort?!" Added the landlord in dismay. "Yes, on the times past, I know the tale, the vampire was destroyed... but he was cornered by a group of vampire slayers! When we talked about the Count, I never thought you would attempt something so stupid, what have you done, lad?!"

   Gosling was completely appalled, realising something must have gone wrong and to learn that the Count was previously overcame, then who was this Duckula he had just met?! However, before the scholar was able to find his voice, the farmer seated near the window screamed in fear. "He is leaving the Castle! ..." Every fowl residing at the hostelry turned to the window. They saw the rainstorm and a giant bat flying from the castle in direction of the village. In matter of few minutes, chaos settled on the town: the wind destroyed some of the houses, demolishing the roofs of the buildings. Duckula on his bat form attacked people running outside in a futile attempt to seek shelter from the storm; others tried to escape the wooden debris carried by the whirlwind, people cried in panic, the peaceful slumber of the village residents turned into a nightmare.

   "Where are you, my dear Gosling?! Not so brave to defeat me?! ..." The evil laugh from the Count could be heard amid the commotion. "... Come, come out to play, do not make me wait!"

    "I am afraid he is calling for you!" Exclaimed the innkeeper’s wife who stood on top of the staircase, from there she threw Gosling’s luggage; the two suitcases landed loudly at his feet. "If you have any respect for anything sacred, get out of my house! ..." She ordered furiously, pointing to the main door of the hostel. "... Away with you!"

   "Wait, please!--- I don't understand! …" Gosling stammered. "My intentions were honourable; I was only trying to be of aid!”

    "Yeah, thank you for your help, you just made everything worse for our village!" Retorted an angry peasant. "Why did you have to mess with the Count?! Now his wrath is unstoppable, he would go on rampage until sunrise and is all your fault!"

   "I did try to do something, while you appear to accept this fate without resistance, why you don't fight back? For what reason you would even stay in a place like this?!" Although the scientist's response came out with a hint of defiance, in truth there was guilt within his heart.

   "Because this is our home, foolish lad! …" Replied the proprietress without hesitation. "We shall not abandon our land! If someone has to leave, that would be you!”

   "Very well said, Madam! Now you, go away!" A peasant urged Gosling to walk out the inn. "Hope he eats you, better you than us!"

   "Came on folks…" The landlord interceded. "… Don’t be cruel with the outsider, he couldn't know any better, after all he is only a boy."

   "… Oh nein, I am not! I will show you, I … I shall stop that fiend at once!"

    "No, if you go out he will kill you!---..." The innkeeper warned but he was unheard. Von Gosling stepped out the tavern and the sight of destruction and the monstrous vampire bat, rendered him to freeze in fright. However, the landlord had followed him and he placed the travel cases on Gosling's hands. "Come on, son … I wish I never told you about the Count." He said with regret and grabbing the young doctor by the arm, he led him to the back door of the tavern despite protest of the parishioners but some of them were to agree on the fact that at the present it would be for the best to escape.

    "I don't care if this is the land where I was born!--- The stranger was right--- I don't want to die!" Despaired one of the farmers as he hurried out to prepare a cart and soon enough, several of the town's people had joined him. Before Gosling was able to object, the innkeeper pushed him inside the stagecoach. From above, Duckula witnessed these actions and he was utterly amused. The giant bat could deliver an attack directly towards the doctor, given how easy was to detect him due his antiquated attire and the camera he was carrying; still, he interfered not for he had mused a greater plan since the instant he laid his eyes on Von Gosling. "That mortal had come to face me--- he failed no doubt, but he arrived on his own choice ... or maybe was it a design of fate? ..." The creature growled quietly. "... Nevertheless, I detected on him no greed for a reward or a desire of fame, not even a wish for vengeance ... What a disgusting attitude! However ... Could it be?---.... ... I wonder... ..."

   In the meantime, the doctor was still unable to fathom the burden he would be carrying now that the threads of fate had been tampered with. ".... Sir., oh please I---... I thank you ..." Gosling at last found his voice to express gratitude to the innkeeper. "... I will be praying Gott for your souls until I am able to come back---..."

   "Prayers?! ... Don't trouble yourself, it would be of no use" Said one of the villagers, quietly and embittered. "... God have forgotten about us."

   "That cannot be true! I shall pray for you all, our Lord will never forget His children!" Gosling stated firmly as the cart began to move.

   "Well, then I pray God I will never see your face again … may He bless and keep you!" Von Gosling frowned in sadness, lowering his head upon hearing those last words from the proprietor of 'Ye Tooth and the Jugular', the man who had just saved his life.

   As the stagecoach departed from the village, Gosling silently stared at the silver cross pendant he had on his hands, a gift from his mother that now held a much more profound significance. "… So, they believe our Lord has forgotten, ja? ..." He lamented in shame and remorse; no matter his efforts or his courageous discourse, in the end he was left trembling with fear in times help was most needed, it was an absolute disgrace. "… … I am to return, this is not over yet--- this awful mistake must be corrected … I will be back; that fiend shall be destroyed, I am going to save all those souls ... is a promise!"

           Later, at the break of dawn, the Count had enough leisure time and his thirst was quenched, so he returned to his fortress. As expected, Igor was patiently waiting for his master's arrival. "Did you find that miserable mortal, Master?" Greeted the sinister butler.

    "Ah, I let him go …" Duckula replied calmly, tonelessly even, like if the latest episode were of no relevance.

   The vulture raised a brow with suspicion at the Count’s answer; after such an eventful evening, this behaviour from the master was something unforeseen. "… I am not sure, Sire … you should have taken the life of that wretched miscreant ... or perhaps brought him here to me, I could have offered that Gosling a most proper … … care."

   "Worry not, dear Igor." The Count spoke, a grin crept onto his beak. "... Amongst all the pleasant visitors we have received through these the years, this one had proven to be the most interesting opponent".

    "Oh indeed, Milord, Indeed! There is no use on finishing the fun so early …" Igor rubbed his hands in pleased anticipation of the delightfully wicked punishments he would be able to inflict over that insolent gander.

    "That is right; you got the idea, my Igor!" The Count chuckled darkly. "… He is coming back, I assure you, and I will be waiting …" Then, the vampire grabbed Igor by the necktie, pulling his head down to meet his gaze. "After all … ..." Duckula continued, lowering his voice into a threatening though gleeful snarl. "… We have plenty of time ... … … don’t we, Igor?!"

________________

This is the first chapter from an old fanfiction of mine I am re-writing (began in 2009, is 2020 not completed yet, only three chapters are ready), is an attempt to set a prequel for the Count Duckula series, based on the Dear Diary and The Rest is History episodes, a particular scene that appears on the show's intro, the Castlevania games and last but certainly not least, Dracula the novel. Posting it here now as an experiment given I have no idea how it would look like on Tumblr, and so happy to see fans of the series!

Count Duckula and the characters on this chapter belong to Cosgrove Hall.

[seokjxnnie]

20 with Namjoon pls 🥺🥺🥺

my entire existence honestly is to please u 🤤 also SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG I GOT PULLED AWAY FROM MY LAPTOP FOR A BIT LMAO

20. things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear

oop this got a liiiittle long and angsty so gonna put it under a break heh

send me a ship and one of these and i’ll write a mini fic!

“ah,” namjoon caves, breaking his gaze from her and offering it to the screen of his phone that lights up on the corner of the table instead. “sorry, i have to take this, it’s… work.”

normally, she would deflate with disappointment, but now she’s well acquainted with coming second to the commitments of his job. if anything, she just finds it funny that he hasn’t even remotely strayed from the habit after everything that’s happened.

“go ‘head,” her words squeeze out of tight lips.

he departs with a silent nod in place of an apology before heading for the front doors of the coffee shop. he disappears when he rounds the street corner.

she sucks on her teeth while her bored eyes only have the empty cup in front of her to fix on. is there anything left to talk about anyway? the quick glance at her watch is made pointless when her mind has already decided on her leave. she climbs from her seat and gathers her things.

she maps her exit to be opposite from the path he took, but her resolute strides lag just outside the store when she overhears his phone conversation.

“i know, mom, y/n is disappointed too.”

mom? he’s not in a call with work, but with mrs. kim?

“yes, of course she misses you too,” he feigns a reassuring laugh, “don’t worry, she promises to make it next year.”

she inches past the corner to gain a peek of him, finding that dread starts to drain his face of colour when he peers into the store’s window, only to find that their table is very much lacking her presence.

he thinks that she’s left, and his voice picks up with creeping panic as he rushes to end the phone call. “okay, mom i have to go, y/n’s waiting for me. yeah, i love you—yes, y/n loves you too. alright mom, take care.”

once the phone is pulled from his face, he curses under his breath and his strides adopt an urgency to find her. but she saves him the distress when she steps out from the corner and startles him to a stop.

“you haven’t told her yet?”

colour is still held at a great distance from returning to his face when her question reveals that she had heard the whole thing. a regretful sigh empties from his chest as his head wilts on her shoulders.

a grief aches her limbs at the thought of his mom being kept in the dark — someone who she loves so dearly and loves her back just as much deserves to know the truth. “joon, we broke up over a month ago and you still haven’t told mom?”

she regrets it as soon as the words leave her lips. calling him by an intimate nickname that her tongue had worked so hard to forget only reminds her of how well it fits in her mouth, how she has craves to call him that again. and she can tell she’s not the only victim to the torment, finding the hurt in namjoon’s furrowed brows and tautened jaw at the sound of the term that used to be endearing.

“it’s her birthday this weekend, and she’s been planning the birthday for so long—around the same time we…” he swallows, unprepared to say the words that will unfailingly leave a bitter taste on his tongue that stays, that keeps him up at night, that stops him from sleeping on her side of the bed. “…she was just so excited for you to come and meet the rest of the family that i just couldn’t break it to her just yet. i waited, and then lied, saying you can’t make it because your interview with that big design company, GreenLabs, had been moved up from the end of the month to this weekend.”

she blinks. even after the breakup, he had retained such a tedious detail that was of no use to him now.

“and she knows that job is something you’ve been working towards your entire career, so i knew she would understand. and then after, i’d make something up like the position had now moved to japan, and that we’d break up because of the distance.”

mrs. kim knows of an aspiration of hers that she herself has never personally shared, meaning that it was something that namjoon had excitedly rambled about when she wasn’t around.

“this weekend,” she repeats, “but you work weekends.” 

“ah,” something between a sigh and a nervous laugh falls from his lips, “no, not anymore. i’ve officially cut my hours. i told them either i work less or i leave, because that job…” his tenor dwindles while he works relentlessly to stifle the pain from surfacing in his expressions, but holes poke through his hard work. “i don’t like that job much anymore after what happened.”

she fell in love with namjoon for his loyalty, dedication, passion, but broke up with him when the qualities she had admired so much began to redistribute towards his job more than her. the reminder of the separation hurts, but what he demonstrates in front of her now reminds her of how good it felt to be his one and only, and that pain is of an unparalleled degree.

“fuck, namjoon,” a sob erupts on her, fragmenting her voice as she swivels away to keep him from watching the dews rim her eyes.

he strains to find a volume, “i know, you’re right. i’m sorry, i’ll call her back and tell her the truth—”

“no,” she nearly gasps as the heavying tears arrest her breath. “no, i mean,” her gaze lags with reluctance in their climb back to his eyes, where she finds the irises of her other half that every element of her existence yearns to know again. “i just fucking miss you, joon. i haven’t stopped missing you.”

and now, it is her sharing with him something that he was never supposed to know.

a man of exemplary structure and articulation now struggles with a stuttering jaw. but his misty eyes alone speak of the overwhelming emotions that overlap with hers.

maybe repair is a great distance away, maybe it’s only a hair’s breadth of a reach, and maybe it’s entirely impossible. but an overpowering instinct within urges her to at least find out which one it is.

“i’ll go,” she sniffles.

he clears his throat of the cry that renders his tone hoarse. “go?”

“mom’s birthday. she was so excited. and we don’t have to let her down anymore, my interview’s been moved back to the end of the month.”

her warm suggestion retires the quiver in his lips, so that they could stretch into a tender smile instead.

[jamkookies]

Okay

Description : A trip to Malta for the shooting of Bon Voyage seems peaceful enough until the moment things take an unexpected turn...

Word count : 3.3k

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

"Please, sir! I'm begging you! Open up, please!"

It was surprising how the both of you hadn't even moved an inch despite the cries that had begun to turn downright hopeless but as Jungkook's arm shields your body defensively, you decide that you just can't take it anymore.

"Jungkook, we should take a look." you say hesitantly, turning your head in his direction.

"No way. It's a trap." he claims. "I'm sure of it."

Your eyes keep boring holes into the door as if your vision could penetrate it.

It's quiet for a while.

Maybe he left.

Maybe he-

A thunderous boom to the door.

"We have to at least take a look, dammit!" you exclaim and push his arm away, now decisively heading towards it.

"Wait!" Jungkook yells after you but instead of stopping you, he joins your side. Before you can make any further attempts, he mushes his face onto the platform and looks into the tiny peephole. Curiosity can hardly keep you still.

At last, Jungkook retreats and motions for you to take a look as well but you don't know whether to expect a garnison of soldiers or a horde of wild bisons behind the door because the expression on his face is unreadable.

The cold surface of the platform touching your forehead only makes you grow even more uncomfortable. Then, your eyes are able to discern an obscure figure behind the magnifying glass. "You've got to be kidding me, " you whisper as your eyes naturally widen.

This could not be.

Him, out of all people....

Both you and Jungkook exchange a look of silent agreement and he pushes the open button with no words needed. The door swings open to reveal a slightly dishevelled-looking man with multiple cuts and bruises marking his face. Those eyes you'd seen gleaming with vigilance are now tired, drowsy yet still scarred with horrors you could only imagine. You'd never forget those eyes because they had been the ones that had given you a chance to escape, a chance to save yourselves.

"What are you doing here?" Jungkook wonders, not bluntly but rather in a puzzled demeanor.

"Let me in, please. I'll explain everything, " the old bodyguard says and throws a look behind his back and down the stairs.

You and Jungkook exchange another look and then the latter opens the door wider, giving him space to enter. The bodyguard's face almost melts in relief upon the gesture. He crosses the doorstep in two huge strides, putting the farthest distance from it.

From the moment the lock clicks back in place, a deafening silence hangs into the air, adding even more to the suspense.

You decide to break the ice first. "What do you mean they're gonna kill your family?"

The bodyguard takes notice of where your eyes are fixed and he unconsciously touches a bruise on his chin. "Actually, I lied about that. I had to convince you to open the door."

Your anger flares like wild fire but before the flames can grow higher he quickly compensates for his mistake. "I'm really sorry. I had to.They...they did some things to me...I'll explain everything but I don't have much time."

"Why?" you demand. "Are they following yo-"

"What are you doing here in the first place?" Jungkook interrupts.

The man appears to be going through an internal conflict as his eyes shut tight, hands clench and unclench and the line of his eyebrows angles into a wide V. His distressed condition explained so much and yet so little. His eyes that up till now had been staring at the ground, lift to level up with yours and then flick to Jungkook's. "I went through hell itself to get here unnoticed. I'll have to go soon. But before I do, there's something you should know."

* * *

As much as Jungkook refused to drop the disgruntled attitude, he still made the man sit on the couch and then proceeded to offer him a much needed glass of water. The man drank and drank and drank like he'd forgotten its taste and freshness and after his thirst was sedated, he started chirping like a bird.

"First of all, I want to apologize about trying to take you by force back in Malta, even though in reality it was not my choice."

"We'd figured that out, " you confirm. "But why did you help us escape?"

You'd been racking your brains out for a long time now, trying to come up with a logical explanation but no answer fit in the frame. You just couldn't understand why he would put himself in danger so you could run away.

It didn't make any sense.

"I couldn't just let them take you like prisoners, " he says. "I had to at least give you a chance because I myself wasn't given one."

Jungkook's brows wrinkle in confusion. "What do you mean?"

A look of something like shame casts upon the man's face and he stares at his clasped hands. "When I first got this job, I didn't know what I was getting myself into. Being a bodyguard, I had taken everything into account, including the fact that I would probably have to give up my life at some point but I never thought I'd be involved in criminal affairs."

Criminal affairs? What was he talking about?

"I thought it was normal at first. I thought this was how things normally went but when you decided to go to that trip in Malta I realized that I couldn't get out of this sucking hole no matter how much I tried. And the worst thing about it is that you've had to suffer along all this time without even knowing it."

Jungkook raises a hand to stop him. "Whoa whoa whoa, hold on there a second. Are you talking about Sejin making Y/N leave? And the the thing at the plane? I know he went a little too far but-"

"You think that's a coincidence?" the man shoots back. "He set everything up. From the tickets to the hotel to everything. Every single piece of it was planned out."

Your teeth grind against each other with a mixed state of anger and shock putting them into action. When you throw a glance at Jungkook's traumatised form, tears start to form at the corners of your eyes. The man's statement seemed to had jarred him to the bone and rendered him speechless, incapable of forming a coherent thought.

"I apologize for that, " the man continues. "I didn't want to say it straight away because I knew it would come as a shock to you but Mr.Sejin is not who you think he is. I've had to live with this knowledge for years now."

For a moment, Jungkook's eyes clear up and he blinks a number of times till his attention is completely aimed at the man's face. "Is this a joke or something? Did he send you here to play with us?"

The man's expression remains stoic, forever expressionless but even through his mask you could make out the scars of horrendous truths.

He wasn't lying.

You both knew that but you just couldn't accept it, even though deep down you had always sensed that the origin of your ordeals had been somehow designated.

The said bodyguard points a finger at his face. "You see these bruises, sir? They gave them to me as a punishment for not being able to bring you back. Beat me up till I fainted. When I woke up they made it clear that this time the job had to be done properly. That's why I'm here. To bring you back. But I won't be doing that. I'm here to make sure that you know who you're dealing with. I don't have the authority to talk with his superiors. Trust me, I've even tried to but he's always one step ahead of me." He smiles sadly. "I've gotten countless warnings because of that."

Jungkook puts his head in his hands and agressively ruffles his hair. "How long has this been going?"

The man doesn't hesitate. "6 years. Since the moment Ms.Y/N set foot on that company. He was obsessed with the idea of a boy-group only and didn't want any other intruders. I can witness the number of times he complained to his superiors about not letting her join. He kept pestering them, kept telling them all sorts of things but PD-nim was the one who insisted on taking her. After that he was absolutely furious. You should've seen the way he flung things around in his office. It made me scared for a moment."

He releases a long-kept sigh and shakes his head dreadfully.

"This went on for as much as I can remember. He never changed, always kept making attempts into kicking her out and covered it with a fake smile. But this time he had it all planned out to the smallest detail and couldn't afford to just brush it off as usual. That's probably his biggest mistake so far. He just couldn't stand hiding in a bush anymore so he went 'go hard or go home' I guess."

All this new information was making your head spin. Your mind wasn't helping either, continuously attaching images to the words, helping build up the portrayal of the man who had detested you for so many years, piece by piece. To say that you'd been dismayed was an understatement. You just couldn't believe your ears, couldn't wrap your head around the idea.

"What exactly had he planned?" asks Jungkook with a tint of hesitation in his voice. Understandable enough, taking into consideration the fact that he was fed up with the truths he'd heard. The bodyguard takes a sip from his glass and gulps audibly. He keeps throwing nervous looks at the door, as if waiting for someone to burst in.

"If you can remember....the accident with the saesang girl...."

No

Not that

Anything but that

"It was not an accident, " he confirms. "Your manager planned it."

No

No no no no no no-

"He hired that girl knowing she was a saesang and told her what she had to do. He promised her Jungkook would be hers if she managed to get the job done. That night, when you sneaked out into the forest, it's like you offered yourselves to her in a silver platter. And that's how it went. She took care of everything; the car, the tools, even her assistant."

He shakes his head and you see a melancholic smile cast upon his lips as he looks directly at you. "Stupid girl. She hated you so much to the point where she even ignored Sejin's orders for a moment. He'd never intended to kill you. Obviously, he wasn't that stupid. But she didn't care at all. Thought about getting rid if you since she had the chance and went all-psycho. Unfortunately for her, you managed to escape and that's when Mr.Sejin got angry. Really, really angry. His face got all red and puffy and when Namjoon-ssi tried to talk to him, worried about you gone missing, he yelled in his face."

Joon.

You can almost feel the nostalgic taste of the word in your tongue. It was like smelling that familiar aroma of fresh flowers that grew in your back yard and being swept into a wave of old memories. Sick of you, to not think enough about him all this time, when all he'd ever did was worry about you.

You missed them. All of them. So much to the point where it hurt.

Were they okay?

Now that you were certain about your manager's intentions, you couldn't help feeling concerned about the rest of the boys.

Unaware of your thoughts, the man continues with his story. "And things got even worse when she shot you and you jumped into the stream. I guess she panicked. Her voice was literally shaking from the other side of the phone during the call with manager-nim. I don't know what she said exactly but it still didn't make him give up. After all, he had to prepare for the grand finale."

Jungkook's sharp intake of breath switches your attention to him. You examine his face carefully, looking for any signs of panic but nothing makes it to the surface.

At least not yet.

"-called the ambulance to make sure you wouldn't die."

The momentary distraction had made you zone out and you're only able to catch the last part of the phrase.

"Then what?" Jungkook asks softly.

It's like the man's physiognomy is put into action; eyelids blinking furiously, lips opening and closing, hands fumbling with each-other. He seems nervous to keep talking and that only puts Jungkook on edge even more.

"Then what? " the latter insists. Bolder this time.

The man chokes the words out. "Th-then you wrestled with that girl's assistant. And-"

"And I killed him." Jungkook finishes for him. You notice the way his eyes turn glassy and distant, as if they'd travelled back in time, recalling the events.

"No, sir. He's alive."

Both yours and Jungkook's head snap in his direction with lightning speed.

Had you just imagined him saying that?

"What?" you voice.

"He didn't kill him, " the man confirms and this time you can clearly see his lips matching the words. "It was all a trick."

Clash

"No!"

Tiny little glass shards scatter across the floor, but you don't even have time to react as another loud noise joins it.

"No!" Jungkook yells again after taking out the anger on the second vase. " I don't believe you! You're lying!" He's fully risen to his feet, his chest puffed from breathing too hard. You've never seen him like this, so angry and panicked and scared.

"He's alive, sir. I'm not lying. They enacted the death-"

"Shut up!" Jungkook screams.

"-to make Y/N-ssi feel guilty and leave. Please, sir. You have to listen to me. You did not kill anyone."

A storm of emotions drowns you whole and it's impossible to pinpoint a particular feeling in the midst of all the chaos. Pain, sadness, relief, anger. They all come as a flooding mess, an absolute wreck.

But none of that matters now.

Not as you notice Jungkook from the corner of your eye, slowly sink to the floor and curl into a ball. It's just like that night at the hotel. He rocks back and forth with no awareness of his surroundings, completely lost in his despair.

The storyteller gives him a perplexed look. He must be wondering why Jungkook was reacting this way, why he didn't sigh in relief upon the news of his innocence.

That's because the man didn't know what the idea of killing someone had done to him and how hard it was to just rip that thought out of his mind. He'd convinced himself over and over that he was guilty, that he was a murderer. You'd witnessed it yourself during all those restless nights filled with nightmares driven by his own conscience. You'd both tried to speak as little as you could about it by trying to avoid that fact but now that he's given up and let himself fall apart, you're able to see how it had ruined him beyond repair.

You glare at the bodyguard to stop him from going further and rush to Jungkook's side on the floor.

And your heart shatters into a million pieces.

He's sobbing like a little child.

A grown-up man turned into a little kid just like that, with his arms wrapped around his knees, head buried low within.

You carefully approach him and crouch on the floor, putting a hesitant hand on his shoulder. "Kook..."

He doesn't even acknowledge your presence and his sobs only seem to increase but that doesn't discourage you from throwing your arms around him in a wide hug.

"It's okay, Kook. You're okay."

Suddenly, his hands wrap around your waist and he hugs you so tightly, you almost fall back. You thread your fingers through his dark silky hair and pat his head.

Another choked sob escapes his throat.

Oh how you wished you were the one suffering, not him. If only you could take all his pain from him, you'd gladly do it. You'd do anything for him.

His fists scrunch the fabric on the back of your shirt as hit tears spill on your collarbones.

"You're okay, you're okay, shhhhhhh." you whisper in his ear.

All is forgotten by now. The only thing you can focus on is to let him know that you were here, that you understood, and that it was okay to feel like this.

It was okay not to be okay.

* * *

You'd lost all sense of time with Jungkook in your arms that you'd failed to even throw a look at the man in the corner, silently waiting for the situation to cool down.

"I'm sorry." you hear Jungkook's worn voice at the side of your neck.

"Don't be." you answer. "It's not your fault."

He finally unties his hands from your waist and takes a deep breath. A dark veil still hangs in his eyes but he tries to cover it up with a weak smile. However, the smile turns a tad bit more genuine when you cup his cheek with one hand and gently caress it.

"I'll get you some water," you say and make to get up but he grips your hand and looks up at you with pleading eyes.

"Don't go."

If you could choose to have an image branded at the back of your mind, this particular one would be it. Those big round eyes and the messy curls that fell over them carelessly, that scar on his cheekbone, the one you'd always loved, and the pouty lips under the frame of which a tiny mole showed.

You feel like crying and laughing at the same time.

Yet you still understand.

He needed the physical support as much as the he needed the emotional one in order to have something to hang onto. A safe harbor to keep him from straying off into the dark corners of his traumas.

"Okay." You sit back down and Jungkook clings onto your arm almost immediately.

"Sir, " the man finally decides to speak. "I'm really sorry about everything."

Jungkook nods in affirmation.

You're just about to add something when the man's inner pocket of his coat starts to vibrate.

He gulps.

Looks at the door.

With shaking hands, he reaches inside his coat and retrieves his phone.

"It's him." he says upon taking a look at the screen.

Your senses tingle with a mind of their own. What you'd been talking about all this time takes the form of a man. The source of all your fears and sufferings.

The floor suddenly grows uncomfortable.

Bzzzzzzzz

It's like the vibrations are digging into your brain, each buzz more unbearable than the other.

The man can't seem to take it anymore. He taps on the phone and pushes it to his ear.

A gruff voice joins the line.

You're not able to catch any of the words but the man's face says it all.

Something happened.

"Don't hurt them, " he croaks.

More yelling on the other side of the phone call.

Then, silence.

At this point you don't know what to expect. You tightly squeeze Jungkook's leg in reassurance.

The man's begging eyes turn to plead with yours, desperate, hopeless. "I'm sorry, " he says and runs off to the door.

But instead of leaving, he pushes the open button.

And waits.

Your heart leaps in your throat when a dozen other bodyguards rush inside.

[sunmisgirl]

Reader Catches EXO Member Checking Them Out (OT12)

For anon: Hi! If you're still doing reactions can I have exo's to the reader catching them checking them out? Thanks!

Nina’s Note: None of the members are idols and I’m keeping it gender neutral! :)

Xiumin:

A few knocks on the door draw your attention from the email on your computer screen. “Don’t forget there’s a staff meeting in five minutes,” Minseok says appearing at the doorway of your office. “Thanks for the heads up!” you shoot back and resume typing a response to the client. Consumed by the context of the email, you don’t acknowledge him still lingering by the door. 

He silently admires your professionalism, but can’t deny his growing crush on you, contemplating whether to ask you out now or later that day. Being the diligent employee you are, you click send and hastily clear up the desk before standing up and spotting Minseok. 

Casting him an inquisitive look, you ask, “Were you standing there the whole time?” His eyes slightly widen in fear of being caught staring at you, but he manages to think of a lie. “I figured I should wait for you since we’re going in the same direction,” he responds nonchalantly, hoping you don’t see past his bluff. “How kind of you,” you reply while smiling and walk out the office with him.

Luhan:

Today is your first day starting a new job at the daycare center. Naturally, you never thought about working with kids, but they always gravitate to you and everyone compliments your caring personality, so this was the perfect opportunity. About twenty minutes pass after drop-off time and a parent comes storming in the hallway carrying their child in their arms. 

Luhan sets down his daughter and kisses her forehead before apologizing for the lateness. “I’m so sorry; the traffic was hectic and the passing rainstorm didn’t help either.” Greeting his daughter and holding her hand, you look up and shrug casually, “It’s okay. Life is unpredictable.” 

He instantly calms down and realizes he hasn’t seen you in the daycare before. “Are you a new teacher?” “Yes, it’s my first day here,” you confirm and stand up from your crouching position. “How wonderful,” Luhan nods and hums in approval, totally zoning out on what you’re saying while staring at you. You clear your throat attempting to snap him out of his daze. 

“You can return in a few hours, sir,” you mention and let his daughter roam the classroom freely, the crayons on a nearby table catching her attention. “Oh, of course!” he replies before walking backwards into a tower of small blocks on the floor. You stifle a laugh and wave him off before walking over to clean the small mess.

Kris:

It’s your first time as a model for the Burberry fashion show. The agency selected you along with a few others to display Kris Wu’s debut collection, an artist quickly rising in stardom. The bustle backstage prevents you from meeting the young artist and you’re whisked away to the makeup chair. Kris sits closely to the runway, his watchful gaze studying every detail on the models’ clothing. 

It’s your turn to walk and you maintain composure, staring straight ahead and moving at a steady pace. The clothing adorning your body is one of Kris’s favorite pieces and his eyes stay glued to your form as you approach the end of the runway. You feel him observing you from the sidelines, but ignore the butterflies in your stomach and perfectly execute the walk to backstage.

The interviewer for Vogue stops Kris for a few minutes after the show asking about his collaboration with the fashion line. He passionately describes the process and his input in designing the clothing. However, he spots you in his peripheral vision and watches you walk through a small gathering of people.

Feeling someone’s burning stare, you turn and lock eyes with him, flashing a bright smile before disappearing into the crowd. His words start faltering as he stares at you walking further away. Instead of focusing on his response to the interview, he thinks about ways to bump into you tonight. “What was the question again?” Kris stumbles out and shifts his eyes back to the interviewer.

Suho:

*this gif doesn’t pertain to the reaction; I’m just thirsty (sorry not sorry)

Junmyeon is on another trip exploring as many parts of the world as possible. His tour guide leads the group through a picturesque town, explaining the architecture and history of the area. The group eventually breaks for lunch and he strolls to a cafe nearby reading over the menu before deciding to dine outside.

Coincidentally, you’re also seated with a friend outside sipping on a cold drink to relieve your thirst from the warm weather. Thankfully, the cafe provides some shade to the outside seating area so you can enjoy the scenery while staying cool. Your friend shows you a funny video on their phone causing you to laugh loudly. 

This catches Junmyeon’s attention and he glances at you without realizing he’s starting to stare in your direction. He can’t help feeling drawn to your boisterous laugh and bright smile. Your eyes drift around the outdoor seating area before meeting his gaze across the way. He sheepishly smiles and raises his glass towards you, resulting in you raising your own as well with a smile on your lips.

Lay:

Yixing is one of the best dancers in class, quickly becoming the instructor’s favorite and even taking their place sometimes teaching everyone the chosen choreography for the week. Your moves aren’t terrible but you could use some extra help. He notices your struggle one day and decides to stay behind after class going over the choreography with you. 

It’s slightly intimidating at first feeling Yixing’s sharp gaze watching every turn and step you make. After a few more tries, you improve and confidently perform the choreography in front of him. However, you miss a step once you see him start checking you out during the routine. 

You try to hide the mistake and continue the routine without saying anything, but Yixing already knows you caught him. Finishing the routine with a perfect ending pose, you patiently await his feedback and drink a bottle of water. He’s rendered speechless at this point after witnessing your grand improvement (and the fact you saw him checking you out so openly). “You have great...balance,” he stumbles out, not completely impressed with his own response. 

Baekhyun:

Baekhyun and you have been neighbors for a while, always bumping into each other at random times during the week. Lately he carries around a camera telling you he plans to start a vlogging channel. Sometimes you spot him in the neighborhood walking with his camera in hand, talking animatedly about who knows what.     

You decide to go for a jog one day before grabbing lunch with friends. Suddenly, you turn the corner and see Baekhyun crossing the street and strolling down the sidewalk towards you. He ruffles his hair and peers into the camera in hand making sure his appearance is presentable. 

Once you approach him, his eyes slowly scan over your figure before meeting your eyes. “Looking good today,” he flirts and continues walking past, not flustered one bit at being caught staring at you. 

Chen:

After aligning your busy schedules, Jongdae and you find time to grab dinner and catch up. “I finally get to see my best friend!” you yell once he enters the apartment with his own spare key. He beams at you and makes himself comfortable on the couch while you tread back into the bedroom and finish getting ready for the night. 

A few minutes pass before you beckon him in your room needing a second opinion on a pair of shoes. Once you tie up the laces, you stand in front of the floor length mirror and adjust your shirt, catching Jongdae checking you out.

With a gasp of surprise, you teasingly ask through the reflection, “Jongdae, were you just giving me the look?” He quickly realizes he can’t lie his way out of this one. Fumbling out an incoherent answer, he nervously runs a hand through his hair. You turn around and walk up to him in the doorway. “It’s not a big deal. I know I’m a great catch,” you wink and playfully bump his shoulder before leading the way out the door.

Chanyeol:

Your university is hosting its monthly star gazing event. Unfortunately, your friends don’t take astronomy class or are booked with other plans so you’re stuck solo tonight. Greeting your professor upon arrival, you wander around the rooftop waiting for more classmates to show up. 

It’s a chilly night so you find yourself slightly shivering in a lightweight jacket and sipping on a hot chocolate you ended up buying on the way over. In the meantime, you admire the midnight blue expanse of the sky without noticing someone else admiring you as well. 

Your classmate Chanyeol arrived a few minutes before you dressed in a dark gray sweater and eager to search for constellations in the sky. Right now, however, you’re way more interesting to look at. Setting your hot chocolate down on the ledge, you walk up to a telescope and peer through the lens determined to spot a constellation on your own.

After a few minutes of no luck, you huff in frustration and turn to see Chanyeol still staring at you. He coughs awkwardly and looks away obviously flustered about being caught. He never expects to feel a light tap on his shoulder and hear your voice asking for assistance in finding the constellation Cygnus.

D.O.:

Parties are a common scene for Kyungsoo and you to cross paths. Being socialites, the two of you hardly have time to converse, far too busy meeting other important individuals. However, Kyungsoo is determined to speak to you tonight at the company party. 

A few hours into the party, neither of you acknowledge each other’s presence because everyone swarms around you two in your respective circles. The conversation shifts to another guest and he uses the opportunity to admire the outfit you chose for tonight’s event. 

Zoning out of the conversation in your circle, your eyes drift across the room and meet Kyungsoo’s. Shockingly, he doesn’t look away and sweeps his eyes over your figure. You blink a few times wondering if you’re seeing things correctly, watching him tilt his head towards the bar. Nodding in agreement, you step away from the stuffy environment and get to know each other more.

Tao:

Tao had no idea what was in store once you two decided to sign up as camp counselors for the summer. Your assigned group was a wild bunch that tired you out from relay races to arts and crafts to campfire songs. Everyone finally settles down for the night lounging around the campfire making s’mores. 

The group quickly runs out of chocolate and graham crackers so you race off to get extra. Tao watches you from a distance when the kids are all distracted toasting their marshmallows over the open fire (or so he thought). After cleaning up the site, a girl walks up to you with a scratch on her knee claiming a branch snagged at her skin. Kneeling down, you take out a smiley face band-aid and apply it to her knee gingerly while Tao looks on lovingly.

The other kids gather around and look between you and Tao before singing aloud, “Tao and Y/N sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” Their singing makes you turn around and look at Tao surprisingly. He flusters at their boisterous singing and signals them to cut it out. This only encourages them to sing louder and he ends up chasing after them, laughter and rapid footsteps filling the night air. 

Kai:

Your breakup was eight months ago, but it’s still okay to mope over it, right? Not to your best friends. They’re tired of seeing you hung up on your ex and plan a blind date. After constant bickering about them meddling in your love life, you finally dress for the date and sit in the restaurant.

Jongin enters the restaurant with a few friends and settles at a table nearby. He notices you sitting alone scrolling through your phone and assumes you’re waiting for someone. He ogles at you from afar and ignores his friends’ conversation. One of them sees Jongin checking you out and nudges the others to look at the scene unfolding before them. 

“Why don’t you go and say hello instead of staring at them?” his friend asks loudly, calling your attention and causing you to look at Jongin. He quickly picks up the menu and averts his eyes to the different meal selections, slightly elbowing his friend and scolding him in a low tone. Laughing to yourself, you continue scrolling on social media and fail to notice him sneak glances at you over the menu.

Sehun:

“Sehun’s crush is here,” snickers one of the employees once their eyes scan the line in the coffee shop and spot you. Sehun is completely unaware that you’re in line today, keeping himself occupied with fulfilling other customers’ orders. Once he finishes making two Americanos, he passes them onto a co-worker and walks up to the counter finding you in front of the line. 

“You’re dressed up today,” he says with a small smile after jotting down your order. “I’m going for a job interview pretty soon,” you reply while taking out cash to pay for the coffee. After you step aside to wait for the order and look down at your phone, Sehun gawks at your appearance as he pours coffee into a disposable cup. 

You abruptly look up to read the sign for any specials and meet eyes across the work station, resulting in Sehun pouring hot coffee over his hand. Utterly embarrassed yet hissing from the pain, he hurriedly finishes the order and passes it onto a co-worker. You accept it with a gracious smile and peek to wave goodbye at Sehun, but he has his back turned wiping up the spill. Walking out the door, you look at your cup and notice “good luck :)” written on the side.

[caffeine-catastrophe]

New Fic! Go the Distance

A/N: I have been working on this idea for over almost two years now. In my spare time, I alternate between writing this story and Don't You Stop Believing, and I've kept this a secret from all of my writing friends since I've gotten the idea. I was going to wait until I finished it before I started posting, but I can't wait any longer, and it's far enough along anyways. Updates will be sporadic and work around my schedule, but I hope you'll stick around for the ride.

Go the Distance

Three days, four million dollars, and a cross-country road trip that will change their lives for good. OR: The Dreyar Grant for Brighter Futures is a prestigious scholarship granted to only the most deserving of candidates, but even miracles don't come without a price.

I have often dreamed of a far-off place... ...And a voice keeps saying this is where I'm meant to be...

At first, Lucy thinks she might be drunk.

"Excuse me?" She stammers, pressing her cellphone closer to her ear and stepping regretfully over the shards of her favourite wine glass.

"Miss Heartfilia, we're pleased to inform you that you have been selected as a recipient of the Dreyar Grant for Brighter Futures," comes the sweet voice on the other side.

"We'd like you to come in for a brief meeting tomorrow afternoon to discuss the details of the grant. That is if you're interested in accepting the offer," the woman on the phone sounds like she's trying not to laugh.

"Y-Yes! Of course! I'm honoured, thank you so much! I'll be there," Lucy manages to choke out.

"Wonderful! I'll have the details of the meeting sent to you via email. I look forward to meeting you, Miss Heartfilia. Bye now," the phone call ends with a click, and Lucy forgoes the mess on the floor to wander shakily over to her bed. She perches at the foot in dazed silence, nearly startling herself out of her skin when her phone beeps a few moments later.

Dear Miss Lucy Heartfilia,

Congratulations! We have reviewed your outstanding application regarding the Dreyar Grant for Brighter Futures, and we are pleased to announce that you have been selected as one of four lucky recipients. You are eligible for this grant of up to one million dollars, provided you are in the possession of a piece of government-issued ID confirming your status as a citizen of Fiore.

Please bring a legal piece of picture ID, as well as proof of your successful completion of secondary school to your scheduled appointment.

The meeting will be held in the company's Magnolia branch in Conference Room 1407 at 2 PM sharp on Thursday, July 28. Please do not be late.

We look forward to meeting you!

Sincerely,

Mirajane Strauss Secretary Dreyar Industries

She looks over the details once, twice, three times, trying to convince herself that this isn't just another alcohol-induced hallucination. She is not going to find herself sprawled out on the bathroom floor of a sketchy club somewhere tonight. She lies there, staring up at the blank ceiling of her cramped apartment until she finally accepts that the springs of the mattress digging into her spine are entirely too uncomfortable to be a dream.

"Holy shit."

---

"Alright, deep breaths. You can do this," Lucy mutters herself the next day, straightening her pencil skirt and clutching at the envelope in her lap. Balanced on a bench outside of Room 1407, she is a good half hour early and exudes the air of a chicken in a nugget factory. The girl perched gingerly beside her seems equally on edge, smoothing down her pretty red hair now and then and tapping the toe of her crisp heels on the pristine carpet. She looks about as green as Lucy feels.

"Are you here to meet Ms. Strauss as well?" Lucy asks hesitantly, trying to relieve some of the unbearably awkward tension. The girl lets out a startled squeak, tensing as if she is unused to being spoken to. She turns uncertainly towards Lucy, brushing aside the scarlet curtain to reveal delicate features and a pair of wide brown eyes.

"Yes, I am," the girl answers in a low voice, glancing around the hallway as if she might be disturbing those in the rooms nearby.

"You applied for the scholarship?" Lucy tries again gently. The girl simply nods. "That's really cool. Honestly, I was so shocked when they called me. I applied for the grant, but I didn't actually think I'd get it, y'know?" She continues casually. "My name's Lucy, by the way," she introduces herself with an encouraging smile. The other girl finally responds, rewarding Lucy for her efforts with a slow smile that seems to light up the whole hallway. Her gracefully lifted hand shakes Lucy's with a grip so strong she's pretty certain she can hear her own bones cracking.

"I'm Erza," the girl tells her, and Lucy mumbles a vague response. She's too busy being stunned that someone so demure in appearance could probably snap her like a toothpick. Erza, oblivious to Lucy's internal monologue, seems like she might continue the conversation when she spots something over Lucy's shoulder. Her brown eyes widen in panic, and she clamps her mouth shut, dropping her gaze back to her hands. Confused, Lucy turns to see a man approaching from the direction of the elevators. Average height, athletic build — probably the brooding type, she assesses; dark hair and cold blue eyes. He's good looking, but not enough to render someone speechless. Besides, Lucy is pretty sure that there's more to Erza than what meets the eye — she doesn't seem the type to lose her mind over a guy.

The man meets Lucy's gaze with an equally calculating stare, sizing her up as he comes to a halt just in front of their designated meeting place. He glances towards Erza, and Lucy is surprised to see his eyebrows shoot up and his gaze soften minutely in recognition. At his reaction, Erza shrinks back, practically cowering behind Lucy in the most inconspicuously conspicuous way possible. She isn't exactly sure how the two know each other, but Erza is clearly too sweet to be mixed up with someone so standoffish. She clears her throat abruptly to gain his attention, rolling her eyes when he simply raises an eyebrow and levels her with an unimpressed stare.

"Dreyar Grant recipient?" she settles on raising her own eyebrows and matching his expression. He looks to be a man of few words, and while Lucy can respect that she can't say she's too impressed with his attitude. That is, until the newcomer rubs the back of his neck with a boyish grin and his demeanor shifts from cold businessman to sheepish teenager in a split second.

"Yeah, I guess you are too, huh? I'm Gray," He introduces himself brightly.

"Lucy," she responds with an incredulous shake of the head.

"Sorry I walked over here and didn't say anything like a creep," he chuckles ruefully, leaning against a nearby wall. He leans in conspiratorially, "If I'm being honest, I'm kind of hungover. I told my friends about the grant last night and they insisted on taking me out to celebrate. We got a little carried away."

Lucy chuckles sympathetically, amazed at this guy's natural charm when he isn't being all silent and moody. Even Erza's mouth quirked up into an amused smile. Gray seems about to continue when a flurry of pink and white comes barreling out of nowhere, crashing into him with a muffled curse.

"Shit, I am so sorry man, I got really lost on the way here and I thought I was going to be late," the stranger pants, regaining his balance. Lucy tries not to stare at what must be the final member of their scheduled meeting. The boy's hair is dyed a shocking pink, sticking up in all directions and flopping carelessly into his green eyes. Sharp, angular features, muscular build, shorter than Gray by a couple of inches. Familiar, too. I've definitely seen this guy before, Lucy thinks, resisting the urge to smack herself when her dad-joke addled-brain responds, yeah, in your dreams.

"I'm Natsu," he tells them cheerfully, blissfully unaware of the way Lucy is still trying to remember how she knows him while he shakes her hand. "Sorry about scaring you guys like that," he apologizes, "I thought I was going to be late, so I drove here and almost got pulled over for a speeding ticket, and then I thought I was getting followed by a cop so I had to drive the rest of the way like ten miles under." The newcomer rambles on for another few minutes, filling the stale air with his chatter. It's like he's got a built-in oxygen tank, Lucy thinks, marvelling at his sheer ability to go five sentences without a breath. She gets so caught up in his animated conversation that she forgets to be nervous.

And then the door to Room 1407 swings open, and Lucy realizes she might've accidentally swallowed a golf ball with her cereal this morning. The woman standing in the doorway is gorgeous, with big blue eyes and long silver hair that curls down her shoulders. Lucy is usually comfortable in her own skin, but a curling iron has never been her friend and something about this woman makes her adjust the sleeves of her freshly-ironed blouse self-consciously. She sneaks a glance at the other three. Erza is deathly pale, subtly tugging at her crimson locks with shaking fingers. Gray's icy, uncaring facade has returned, his shoulders rigid as he shoves his hands in his pockets. Only Natsu seems unfazed — his posture is as relaxed as ever and the easy grin still tugs at his lips. He catches her eye, winking, and Lucy can almost hear his voice in her head.

Don't worry, we've got this.

The woman finally speaks. "I'm Mirajane Strauss," she introduces herself with a sweet smile. "Won't you come in?"

---

Thanks for reading! Please leave me a comment; your thoughts, a moment you found particularly interesting! There's nothing better than posting something you're truly excited about and getting to see all the reactions!

Part 2

[wistfulcynic]

Their Way By Moonlight: Emma (Chapter 4)

Notes: Thank you as always for your comments and feedback, though I confess I've been a bit taken aback by the vehement reaction to Emma and Walsh's cursed marriage. It seems that people hate Walsh in a much more visceral way than I anticipated.  

I do truly appreciate all of you who are reading this, and especially those who have made supportive and encouraging comments. I’m really putting a lot into this one in terms of style, plot, and detail, and it’s hard not to get discouraged when I pour blood and sweat into something only to have everyone focus on one tiny thing. So to ease your minds, here is our first chapter from Emma’s POV. I think it will go a long way towards assuaging your fears about her circumstances under the curse. If you are considering bailing on this fic because of the Emma/Walsh situation, I would ask you please to read this chapter before you make a final decision.  

As before, there are allusions to cursed relationships, and a potentially distressing scene of aggression within a cursed marriage. 

Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)

Rating: A hard M

Tagging: @teamhook @wellhellotragic @rouhn @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615@tiganasummertree @let-it-raines @bonbonpirate @thejollyroger-writer @lfh1962

Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please let me know!

Read it on AO3

Emma: 

Emma hesitated outside the door of the old cannery. She wasn’t quite certain of why she was there, or the reason behind the irresistible compulsion she felt to see its disconcertingly attractive new owner again. He had invited her to come by, though of course he’d meant later— the bookstore wasn’t even open yet. But Emma hadn’t been able to wait. Two days had passed since they’d met, since that brief but oddly intense conversation in Granny’s, and she had been unable to get Killian Jones and his son out of her head. Something about them, about him, pulled at her, and it wasn’t just his striking looks, not even the beautiful blue eyes with their expression of profound, compelling sadness. It was something deeper. She felt somehow as though she knew him, and more astoundingly that he knew her, better than anyone, better even than her own husband. Although, she thought with a small start, as though the idea had only just occurred to her, Walsh barely even took the trouble to speak to her these days, much less keep up with what was going on in her life. She’d been meaning to talk to him about that, she remembered suddenly. Yes. She’d been meaning to talk to him about a lot of things, but when the time came to do so she always seemed to forget. Tonight, she promised herself, making a mental note. Tonight they would finally talk. She wouldn’t forget this time.

Gathering her courage, Emma reached for the doorknob with her right hand, the palm of which still tingled from her brief handshake with Killian two days ago, and as she opened the door she remembered how the night before last her sleep had been troubled by disturbing dreams. She could recall only wisps of them, but she was certain he had been in them, he and his eyes, doing things to her that she couldn’t bear to think about in the light of day. Things she couldn’t bear to admit she had loved. 

She really should stay far away from him. And yet here she was, in his shop. 

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, gasping at the sight before her. The room was simply lovely, bright and airy, with sunlight pouring in through the wide windows, dancing across the exposed brick walls and the antique looking dark-wood shelves that stood tall in four distinct sections around the room.  A heavy mahogany desk sat opposite the door, elegantly carved with nautical designs: ships and storms, mermaids and other sea creatures she couldn’t put a name to, all rendered in exquisite detail. Atop it was an antique metal cash register, as elegantly decorated as the desk, sitting alongside, Emma was amused to note, a decidedly modern portable card reader attached to an iPad. Someone had a taste for the ancient but enough sense to appreciate the modern, she thought.

She was so caught up in admiration of her surroundings that she didn’t notice Killian’s arrival until he spoke. 

“Swan?” The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around her, as deep and sonorous as she remembered, almost caressing her name. She turned to see him standing at the foot of the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Um,” she said, feeling abruptly hot and itchy. How was it possible that he could be even better looking than she remembered? Admittedly she hadn’t really had a good look at Granny’s, though she had definitely noticed his face, but now as he stood by the black wrought-iron staircase that wound in a perfect helix up to a hole in the ceiling, his expression briefly unguarded and searingly intense, she had an opportunity to ogle. 

He wore dark grey trousers in a soft woolen twill and an equally soft looking v-neck sweater in a shade of blue that made his eyes stand out even more. A tuft of dark hair peeked out just above the vee, and the itch in Emma’s palm flared to life again with the desire to touch it, to touch him. Everything about him seemed so eminently touchable. The sweater clung to his lean frame just tightly enough to show how fit he was, and his hair was tousled in a way that looked both deliberate and as though it could have been caused by fingers being run through it in the heat of passion. 

What? Emma shook herself. Where the hell did that come from? Remember you’re married. And it’s not like you know anything about the heat of passion, anyway. At least, that’s what Walsh always told her, what he always gave as an excuse for why he didn’t want to touch her. She was cold, he said. Too hard. Not enough. She forced back those thoughts, promising herself once again that she would sit down with Walsh that evening and discuss the problems in their marriage. She dreaded it, but she had to try. They couldn’t go on much longer like this. 

“Uh,” she tried again to respond to Killian’s question. “You said I should come by.” 

“So I did, though I didn’t expect you quite so soon. I’m afraid we’re not open yet.” 

“Yeah, sorry, it was stupid,” she said, turning away. “I was just passing and I thought— never mind, I’ll go—”

“No!” She looked back at him, startled at the vehemence in his voice. He flushed faintly pink and reached up to rub at a spot behind his right ear. “No, you don’t have to go. Please don’t, in fact. I’d be happy to, um, give you a tour? If you’d like.” 

He looked hesitant but also eager, like he really, really wanted her to stay. She smiled. It felt like a long time since anyone had actually desired her company. 

“Okay,” she said, a bit shyly. “I’d like that.” 

A bright smile broke across his face, warm and soft and with just a hint of something wicked beneath it. For a moment Emma forgot to breathe. God, he’s gorgeous.

“Well, why don’t we start here?” he said, coming to stand beside her and indicating the near corner of the room with his left arm. His sleeve was pushed up slightly and she could see the seam where his prosthetic hand joined his arm. She realised with surprise that she hadn’t noticed the other day that he was missing his left hand. He’s missing his left hand. Why did that fact seem so significant to her? It tickled at the back of her mind, like something she needed to remember but couldn’t quite pull from her subconscious. 

“So we’re still waiting on some inventory, but you can see the general layout of the shop,” he was saying. “Reference material is here at the front, with theory guides just here behind it. The practical manuals we have to be a bit more careful with, so they’re back in this corner, some of them will be locked in a special glass cupboard, available on request only. Then here in this corner we have the historical context.” 

Emma frowned, looking more closely at the titles of the books that already graced the shelves. Rare volumes, he’d said the other day, but these were all—

“These are books of magic!” she cried. 

“Oh, aye, did I not mention? That’s our specialty. Books of and about magic.”

She started to laugh, then trailed off when she noticed he didn’t join her. “But you’re not serious?”

“Very serious.”

“Books of magic.” 

“And about magic, aye.” 

“But— magic isn’t real.” 

“There are quite a number of people who would disagree with that assessment, Sheriff.”

“And you’re one of them?” Her voice was rife with disbelief.

“Aye,” he replied, and the sincerity in his face and tone were unmistakable. “I am.” 

She shook her head. “I would never have pegged you as someone with an interest in the occult. You seem so, I dont know, practical.” 

“Oh, I’m very practical, love, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in magic.” 

She wanted to deny his words, really it was so absurd, but she realised with another start of surprise that she was genuinely interested, almost despite herself, curious to the point of fascination. “Will you tell me about them?”

He exhaled deeply, almost as if he had been holding his breath waiting for her reaction, and gave her another dazzling smile. “It would be my pleasure.” 

Nearly two hours later they were sitting on the floor surrounded by books, and Emma’s head was buzzing with stories of witches and wizards, covens and cults, fascinating details concerning the history and practice of magical arts.  She felt like she had learned more in that short time than she had before in the whole of her life. Of course, her earlier education had been… it had been… what? She couldn’t recall. Frowning, she tried to remember where she had gone to school, the names of her teachers, fellow classmates, anything, but it was all a blank. 

“Emma?” She turned to see Killian looking at her inquiringly. “Are you all right, love?”

She should really object to that ‘love’, she knew, but couldn’t bring herself to. She liked it. It made her feel warm inside. 

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit distracted.” 

He nodded, and reached out to close one of the books. “We’ve been talking for a long time,” he said. “Perhaps we could take a break?”

She watched carefully as he used the prosthetic hand to close the book. The hand moved, she noticed, clearly it had some sort of mechanism operating it, but he seemed to mange it awkwardly, as though not quite used to it. She wondered how long he’d had— “When did you lose your hand?” she blurted, then flushed. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.” 

He looked startled, then smiled. “No, it’s fine. It’s been so long, I don’t mind speaking of it anymore.”

“How long?”

“Oh, years and years.” 

“What happened? Er, if you don’t mind me asking.” 

“Not at all. It was stupid, really. I was young, I got in a fight. Over a woman. Woke up the next day with no hand.”

“I’m so sorry.” 

He shrugged. “Like I said it was years ago.” 

“Mmmmm.” 

“What is it, Swan?” He looked almost expectant, like he knew the gears were turning in her head and was excited to see what they would spit out. She felt again the odd, unfamiliar sensation of being the focus of genuine interest. He truly seemed to care about what she had to say, for no reason other than that she was saying it. 

“It’s just— well, you don’t seem very comfortable with the artificial one. If it’s been so long, I guess I would have thought you’d be more used to it by now.” 

“Ah, well that’s explained easily enough. I lost my hand so long ago that the prosthetics that were available to me at the time were, um, let’s say primitive. This one however is quite new. State of the art, they tell me. It works by interacting with the electrical impulses in my muscle fibres, apparently. So you see, until quite recently I had a much simpler one, and this one, while far better in many ways, is taking a bit of time to adjust to.”

Every word he spoke was the truth, she could detect no dishonesty in his face or manner, yet she sensed it wasn’t the whole story either. He was leaving out important details. And she wondered why. 

As he spoke he adjusted the prosthetic with his right hand, drawing her attention to the thick, engraved silver band he wore on its ring finger. A wedding ring? she wondered. It must be. A man with no left hand would naturally wear his wedding band on his right, wouldn’t he? Especially if until recently he’d worn a simpler prosthesis, one with no fingers. 

She wondered, and not for the first time, about Henry’s mother. Killian’s face when he’d spoken of her in Granny’s had worn for a brief moment such a devastated expression, her loss must still be fresh and painful for him. In a weird way that made her feel better about having sought him out and spent so long talking with him. She was married, he a grieving widower, what harm could there be in a friendship between them? She certainly wouldn’t have to worry about anything coming of the fierce attraction she felt for him. Even if he felt it too, he would never act on it. He was very obviously still in love with his wife, and Emma somehow knew beyond any doubt that he was not a man to betray those he loved. 

“So, um, it’s ah, lunchtime,” he said, scratching behind his ear again. “And it seems we both could use a break. Would you care to join me? For some lunch?”

“Sure, I guess. Where were you going to go?”

“I—, uh, we live upstairs,” he gestured towards the staircase. “The third floor is a loft apartment, I was just going to go up and make a sandwich.” 

Alone with him in his apartment. Emma’s heart thundered. “A sandwich sounds great,” she managed to say. “Can you do grilled cheese?”

His face twisted for a moment into the strangest expression, half blissful happiness, half like he wanted to cry. “I can,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s my son’s favourite.” 

“In that case, I’d love to join you.” 

The grilled cheese was perfect, exactly the way she liked it. She told him as much, and was rewarded with another half-delighted, half-sad expression. “I’m glad I haven’t lost my touch,” he said, almost to himself. 

“What do you mean?” 

“Grilled cheese is— Henry’s mother’s favourite as well,” he said quietly. “Since we lost her we don’t make it as often as we used to.”

Emma didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she crunched her sandwich in slightly awkward silence as he busied himself at the stove, avoiding looking at him until he slid a cup in front of her. “What’s this?” she asked in surprise. 

“Traditional Jones family accompaniment to grilled cheese,” he replied. 

She picked up the mug and inhaled over it. “Hot chocolate with— is that cinnamon?”

“Aye. It’s a bit odd I’ll grant you, and if I’m honest I prefer it plain, but that’s how Henry likes it.”

“Seriously? You’re telling me your son likes cinnamon on his hot chocolate.” 

“Aye.” He seemed to be watching her carefully. 

“Grilled cheese and hot chocolate with cinnamon is my favourite lunch,” she said. “You’re basically telling me that I have the same tastes as your thirteen year old kid.” 

“Would it help if I confessed to an affinity for it as well?” he asked, his face deadpan but with amusement twinkling in his eyes. 

“It might.” 

“Very well, I confess it, but you mustn’t ever tell Henry. I’d never get him to eat a vegetable again if he thought he could wheedle grilled cheese out of me every night.” 

“It’s a deal.” 

The earlier awkwardness was dispelled, and as Killian sat down to eat his sandwich Emma sipped her chocolate —it too was perfect— making it last as long as possible. There was no way she could justify staying any longer once lunch was over, and she didn’t want to go. She felt comfortable with Killian, and happy, things she couldn’t remember feeling in a long, long time. Later she knew she would need to analyse these feelings, but for now she simply wished to feel them. 

When the last drop was finally drained she set the cup down on the counter, then realised it might be nice if she took it to the sink instead and went to pick it up again, at the same time as Killian reached for it himself. Her hand closed around it first followed a second later by his, his fingers linking with hers in a way that felt so natural that it didn’t even occur to her to question it, simply laughing lightly as they released the cup but not each other’s hands. His thumb caressed her bare ring finger. “You don’t wear a wedding ring,” he said softly. 

She could barely breathe her heart was pounding so hard, the gentle movements of his thumb sending sparks coursing up her arm, reverberating through her whole body. “Um,” she said, trying to think. “No, I — I have one of course, but I don’t wear it.” 

“Why not?” 

“Er.” She tried to remember. There was a reason, surely? “I can’t with— with my job. It gets in the way.” Yes, that must be it. 

“Ah.” Something in his tone suggested he didn’t quite believe her, but before she could reply he had released her hand and turned away, picking up the mug and putting it in the sink. 

“I like yours though,” she said abruptly. Where did that come from? 

“What?” He turned, giving her an odd look. 

“Your wedding ring.” She reached out and took his hand again, this time caressing the silver band upon the third finger with her own thumb. “It is a wedding ring, isn’t it?”

He cleared his throat. “Aye.” 

“Henry’s mother.” It wasn’t a question and so required no answer, but he gave one anyway. “Aye.” The sadness was back in his voice, this time untempered by any joy.

Emma smiled, feeling suddenly swamped by sadness herself. She felt such a connection to this man, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, and she hated to think of him hurting. 

Briefly she allowed herself a rare, uncharacteristic moment of self-indulgence to wonder what it would be like to be loved as devotedly as Killian loved his wife. To be loved even after she was gone. To have such an emotion, from such a man. Swallowing back tears, she looked up at him. “She had good taste. This is exactly the sort of ring I would have chosen.” 

“She’s an extraordinary woman,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion, his eyes blazing with it. 

Emma nodded, wishing she knew why that remark left such a clutching, squeezing sensation around her heart. 

“Well I should go,” she said, releasing his hand.

He swallowed hard then gave her a small smile, a tight, guarded thing that squeezed her heart again. He looked so sad. She wanted to see the bright, wicked grin from earlier. 

“May I see you out?” he asked politely, his emotions under control again. 

She shook her head, already moving towards the door. “No, it’s fine. But thanks.”

“Any time, love.”

Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again. “Emma.” 

She looked back at him, gripped by the wild, irrational hope that he might ask her to stay. “What about your husband?” he asked. 

“Who?” She frowned in confusion, then remembered. “Oh, Walsh.” Why had she forgotten him? “What about him?” 

“Does he not wear a ring?”

“Of course he does.” Didn’t he? “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that you said ‘would have chosen.’” Killian’s face was calm, but that intensity was back in his eyes. 

“What?”

“Just now, when you looked at my ring you said it’s exactly what you would have chosen. Not what you did choose.” 

There was that confusion again, swirling through her brain and blocking her thoughts. Why couldn’t she think? “I— I must have misspoken.” She rubbed her forehead, which had started to ache. 

He was silent for a long moment before replying. “Of course, I’m sure that’s it. Goodbye, Sheriff.” 

Emma smiled tightly and left. 

When she arrived home that evening, Emma sought out Walsh in his study. He didn’t like her bothering him there but she was confused, her head spinning with questions that needed answers. She’d spent the afternoon in her office with the lights dimmed, nursing her headache and making a list of all the questions she needed to ask him, everything that was odd in their relationship and in her life. It was a long list. Why hadn’t she ever talked to him before? She’d been unhappy for so long…

“What is it, Emma?” Walsh’s voice was cold.

“I just— wanted to talk to you. About some things.” 

He turned and fixed her with the icy, probing stare that never failed to make her tongue-tied and anxious. She wanted to flee, back to the relative safety of the living room, where Walsh rarely went. No! You need answers! Stay strong! 

“Some things,” Walsh repeated. 

“Y-yes.” 

“Well go on,” he waved his hand at her and adopted an expression of exaggerated patience. “We haven’t got all night. What are these ‘things’ that are suddenly so important?”

Emma had spent an hour memorising her list of questions, but now she could only remember one. 

“Why don’t you wear a wedding ring?” she burst out. “Why don’t I?”

“Of— of course I wear one!” Walsh looked genuinely surprised, his composure slipping enough to rejuvenate her resolve. 

“Walsh I am looking at your hand right now and it is bare,” she said. “Neither of us wear rings. I’m certain I have one, I remember it, but where is it? Why did I stop wearing it?” He gaped at her and she seized her opportunity, letting months worth of questions flood out. “And why don’t we do anything together any more? What happened to our friends? I remember— I think I remember that we used to go out, do things as a couple, with other couples. But we have no friends now, and I stay in alone every night. I feel like I never see you these days, you’re hardly ever home, you never want to have sex—” she broke off as a look of revulsion crossed Walsh’s face, crushing her, stopping the words in her throat. Your own husband finds you repulsive, she thought bitterly, and a small voice at the very back of her consciousness piped up with a single word. “Why?” 

What? thought Emma, and the voice elaborated. “Dont you want to know why?”

A memory flashed through her mind, although no, not a memory, it couldn’t be, but it felt like a memory. The blue, blue eyes of Killian Jones, warm with adoration, his deep voice, his hand in her hair. “You’re so beautiful, Emma,” he whispered. “So utterly, heartbreakingly beautiful.” 

“Walsh, what’s going on?” she asked, suddenly angry, furious, incandescent with rage. “There’s something very wrong here, and I think you’re behind it. Tell me what it is. Tell me what you’ve done to me!”

Walsh’s face twisted into a terrifying snarl and he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him until they were nose-to-nose, drowning her anger in fear. “Why are you asking these questions all of a sudden?” he hissed, “Does it by any chance have something to do with our new neighbourhood bookseller?” 

“Wh— what?” Emma scrambled to lie, to protect Killian. “No! Of course not.” 

“You’re a terrible liar, Emma.” Walsh sighed, his face falling back into its usual supercilious, condescending expression. Still holding her arm he turned and picked something up from his desk, a small box in silver filigree, beautiful in a cold and terrible way. “Fortunately it won’t matter. Come morning you’ll be yourself again. Or one of your selves, anyway.” He opened the box with a flick of his thumb and blew a harsh puff of air into it, sending a shower of glittering grey particles flying into Emma’s eyes. She gasped, then collapsed. Walsh held her up with his grip on her arm, then gave her a shove back into the sofa behind her. “That should take care of you for now,” he muttered, looking down at her unconscious form. “It appears that the pirate works faster than I had anticipated. Of course very little that we anticipated about him has turned out to be true. How he even managed to get here in the first place is something I would very much like to know. He is supposed to be stuck in Neverland.” He paused, smirking. “The power of true love, I suppose,” he said, sneering the words. “But he’ll soon be dealt with, him and your son. And now, ‘wife’, off to bed with you.” He waved his hand and Emma disappeared in a puff of green smoke. 

When she awoke the next morning, alone in her bed as always, all her doubts and worries about her marriage along with all recollection of her confrontation with Walsh were gone. 

Her memories of the time she’d spent with Killian Jones, however, were not. 

Notes: I hope this makes you feel a bit better (but still interested enough to want more!). 

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Expansion packs should be approached with extreme caution. With a few notable exceptions, they're hastily cobbled together while the full game is still in the charts and offer nothing but a few more pounds in the publisher's pockets. Desert Siege is not just a notable exception, it's downright exceptional. Despite being shorter (eight missions instead of the original 15), it is a richer, more rewarding experience than Ghost Recon ever was. And, unless you've forgotten, Ghost Recon was absolutely brilliant.You might not think that transplanting the action from the drizzly forests of Russia to the desert borders of Ethiopia would be that much of an improvement, but the arid, camel-coloured environment is actually much better suited to both GR's graphics engine and its gameplay.

Lifting The Fog

Two of my main criticisms of Ghost Recon were the levels of fogging and the fact that you spent too much time shooting at dots in the landscape. Both flaws have been dealt with. The fogging in Desert Siege is almost unnoticeable, presumably because there are far fewer trees to render, and you often get to see the face of your enemy before it's replaced by a fistful of bullets. The graphics are crisper and more detailed, and the varied topography means that the miles of desert never get boring. All apps free download.

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But what really sets it apart from Ghost Recon is the extraordinary level design, balanced to perfection to provide a massive challenge that keeps you engrossed every step of the way and lets you approach each objective using different tactics. While GR's levels looked and felt like arranged polygons in a computer game, Desert Siege's suck you in so deep you forget you're playing a game at all.

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Who Cares About The Politics?

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This feeling is reinforced by the massively improved enemy Al, (although your own team is still prone to getting shot if left alone) which has been fine-tuned to make them slightly more fallible when shooting but much more intelligent in their movements. They're also much more likely to throw grenades at you when you take cover. And when you see a pineapple land under your feet you know for sure you're six feet under. The lack of trees and fogging also means you don't get shot from out of nowhere like you did in Ghost Recon every few minutes. It makes for a slightly less tense experience, but it's every bit as atmospheric and much more fun.

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Because of this, all the great things that were already there (the excellent command interface, the RPG elements, the unlocking of specialist soldiers, the detailed character models) seem even greater. It's not very often that we recommend an add-on pack as an essential purchase, but it's not every day we get one like Desert Siege.

[therealstoodmuffin]

Dead Red Sky, and a Life line. by Stoodmuffin

Now, whatever your personal opinions are of this picture is, I have to say that this one is important to me. Not because it's better or worse than the other's, but it is basically one of the most important pieces in the Experimenting process I have done as of late. Context. I through out 99% of my art from Art 10/20/30 (High school art classes). I wanted to try and recreate one of those pieces. From memory. From over a decade ago. No references/no direct related references. Now, context for THAT context, for those interested: My art teacher loved me as much as she wanted to smack me over the head. She saw me as this brilliant expressionist painter. She saw me and my art in her's and her own. She'd talk about how we were both messy, and approach things from the inside out rather what most folks do. Especially in Art. Or how she would put it "Teaching people to let go and be messy is harder than teaching people to refine." Or rather, teaching someone to colour in the lines is harder than teaching someone to colour in the lines. Basically, people climb up a latter to get from the bottom to top, I was trying to figure out how to climb down the ladder. Enough metaphors for you? Well, okay. So, if it wasn't obvious enough I wanted to do art for cartoons and comics, even back then. Or even before. Though I can't say that I wanted that consistently through out my childhood, I CAN say I wanted to draw what ever I thought was cool at the time. So a lot of my inspiration from art was and is IPs verses VIP classical painters and movements. I drew more from things like Power Rangers and Pokemon than I did Picasso or Leonardo. And that frustrated her. She didn't get why I would want to do hyper-labour repetitive drawing than big, expressive, emotional pieces. And to further our frustration with each other, I didn't necessary understand her teaching methods? Like, Disney life draws loins for YEARS before they do a cartoon Lion. But, I, we, were different, right? If I was a bigger, messier, looser drawer... wouldn't it make sense for me to draw Scar (which would have less detail) and work my way UP to a real lion? If I was learning backwards, wouldn't it make sense for me to practice, say, rubber hose styles to get approximation of figure and THEN start life drawing? That is it's own topic of discussion, and I think the answer is more complex than I, her, or other Art teachers/Students want to accept. But needless to say, there was tension, even though we had a mostly good relationship. That's why My expressionist piece and my Cubist piece we so important. I could really show her that I figured out how to take those refinements and make my big expressive things more precise. I could finally flex my art muscles AND give her what she wanted. This was an easy A. Except, it wasn't. I started out super strong in both concept and design. Expressionist, dark, emotional, not two surreal but surreal enough. Off putting, but compositionally strong. Problem. The green Sky and read worked really well, probably better in the original. The Mermaid was off center, so it wasn't a "center focus" composition. Something I had been dinged for on other's pieces that year. I can't remember what specific colour choices killed the tension of the piece, but as soon as I put that Mermaid up... I accidentally lost all of the energy that came from the red and green sky. That was a common theme in that art class. I was close. Some ways, closer than I had ever been to make something that stood out. That met both my teacher's and my creativity needs. That wasn't me blowing off instructions and demonstrating I actually LEARNED stuff. But I would either mess up one thing or not stop adding stuff to the point... that it wasn't like, not good. It was just. Good. Not great or excellent. But, more than alright. In fact I think she still liked it. But I could tell she was disappointed. It got so frustrating that she was keep pressuring me to show my portfolio to the local art school, and I just couldn't. I couldn't handle being so close and yet still missing one key ingredient. I couldn't handle that it was my own vision or love of what I did that was holding me back. It made me mad. So frustrated. Policy was that if we didn't pick up our art, it was tossed. Pretty sure I never did, or tossed it even if I had. Never bothered to apply to art school because I just thought I couldn't make it. And Knowing I probably wasn't going to be an anime/manga creator (I wasn't as big of weeb as I was in middle school, but I still was in highschool) I had set my sites on teaching in Japan. That's what my degree was going to be for (that didn't turn out as planned, either). But, even if I am still working out the kinks or learning, or that I created it through infrequent doodles, my current style has technically be been formed after many years. Ever since that day I still doodled, learned, re-learned, forgot, and re made again. That Even though I still don't full understand the basics she tried to teach me, or that I often start and stopped, I never REALLY gave up on Art. You can see in things like the Landscape photo, or other things that I have drawn, that I have tried to re tap into the skill sets I had when I was younger. I NEED to play with them if I want my cartooning skills to improve. For example, things like this make me focus on the basics in ways I often forget to do when I am just doodling - Line - Shape - Colour - rendering (Shading) - composition Like I will actually remember to thing in terms of fore/middle/and back ground, actually fitting stuff on a page rather than just drawing 180 medium shots.   It makes me blatantly more aware of my flaws: like missing details/ over adding, not being aware of where the light is hitting an object/ 2D vs 3D, shaky lines and yadda yadda. And just like how certain studies with marker in real life helped me try to draw things right the first time to not over correct, this study makes me try and force me to think in the terms of art. Not just doodling or shit posting, but actual art. TL;DR: This pick being "good" or "bad" means less to me. Not completely irrelevant, but second to that I m recreating old works from almost a decade ago straight from my brain. In access to re access and channel the things I was good at before, with my cartooning style, and trying to capture and master the basics that I struggle with. It ain't perfect. But it's an important step and I'm PROUD OF IT DARN IT. lol So, here you go. An updated piece that you can't compare to the original. Hope you like?

[larasati98-blog]

KNB217 Digital Creatures Assignment 1

By Yosephine Vania Devi Larasati | n10129251

For this assignment, I decided to choose Jack from the folktale of a magic beanstalk. Since this is a well-known story for decades, I find it easier to identify the character and setting played in the story.

Jack and the Magic Beanstalk

Jack and the Magic Beanstalk is an English fairy tale. According to Joseph Jacob’s version (1890), this story revolves around the adventure of Jack, a boy living on a farm with his poor widowed mother. One day, his mother asked Jack to go to the market and sell their only cow there, since they run out of money to buy some food. In the market, thoughtless Jack met an old butcher that offered him a magic seed in exchange for his cow. Instead of selling it for some coins, Jack tempted to trade his cow for the seed. Knowing that Jack brought home a seed instead of money, his mother was angry and threw the seed outside. However, the bean grew overnight into a giant beanstalk where there is a castle upon it. Excited, Jack climbed the stalk to find the castle on the top and it was filled with magical animals and instrument which belong to a giant living in it. Realising that he needs goods to sell, he stole a magical hen that lays golden eggs and magical harp that can talk. Unfortunately, the harp began to scream for help and surprised the giant. The giant chased down Jack until he almost reached the ground, but Jack started chopping down the stalk that also crushed and killed the giant. The overall story takes place during the renaissance. The setting happened in the farm, market and a gigantic castle built for giants.

Jack

Jack is often described as a young man that is always taking advantage of any opportunities provided to him. The folktale also shows that he lives in desperation since he and his mother lived in constant poverty. From my personal view, I would describe Jack as a naive and reckless young man, yet caring about his family’s needs. Jack is very spontaneous, innocent, and easily tricked by an old man into trading his cow with what the man called it a magical seed. Not forgetting the fact that he is a farmer, he has a diligent personality.

Jack is physically skinny, due to living in poverty for a long time. He is a tall boy and his body barely shows any muscle, like a twig, I would describe. He weights very light that allows him to sneak into a castle without waking up the giant. His clothes are very simple and comfortable to wear for farming but seem quite dirty from going to the field often. Also, the clothes seem old since those are old clothes from his late father.

In summary, the characteristic of Jack is divided into two:

Personality traits:

Innocent and naive

Spontaneous

Somewhat stubborn

Taking for granted

Soft-hearted and devoted to his family

Physical characteristic:

Tall and skinny

Pale skin with noticeable sunburns

Extremely light

Round face (as he is still young)

Wearing old farming clothes that are lightly covered by dirt

Mood board

First thing, I gathered references based on style and body type that is relevant to the story. I love the idea of loose clothes with a belt that exaggerates his thin figure. However, since it is a low poly character, the clothes might be harder to animate the flow.

Experiment Drawing

After that, I began to draw the character concept based on the mood board. The first picture shows the characters line up consist of Jack, his mother, and the Giant. I love making a character comparison at first, so I know what will differentiate Jack among all of the characters.

Here is I draw rough sketches of Jack. From first glance, he looks like a scarecrow, which I found very interesting. I continued to explore his look by combining shapes.

I tried to combine shapes of circle, square, and triangle. I decided to use many circles for his head to show youth. Later on, I prefer a round shape for the eyes and the nose that emphasise his innocence, friendliness, and soft, while I was still playing around with the shape of the body.

Rough Silhouette

I narrowed down to 5 silhouettes that I find appealing and easier to create in low-poly.

Final decision, I found this very simple yet appealing. Just from the silhouette, this character seems clumsy and soft. I will develop this rough silhouette into a more unique character.

During the renaissance era, men were mostly wearing linen tunic that is belted at the waist and tight legging (Central Coast Renaissance Festival, 2019). The tunic was worn as an undergarment beneath outer clothes, such as cloak by upper class (Encyclopaedia Britannica, 1998).

I tried to modify the clothing a little, such as cutting short the bottom part of the tunic. This makes Jack looks slender and gives clarity to his body shape. Creating a character turnaround sheet is not something new to me, yet still challenging no matter how many times I have done it. Especially, in a three-quarter view. Also, I am giving Jack a slightly crooked back.

Medieval and renaissance tunic (Larp Inn, 2019).

As for the colour palette reference, I am using a colour wheel and chose to use complementary colours with earth tones. Here, I combined blue and orange as well as adjusted the saturation to bring the two colours together.

Colour wheel sample (Lynton, 2018).

Coloured character turnaround

The image below here is used for reference in the modelling process. The character is drawn from the front, right, and topside view.

Modelling Process

The video below here shows the quick video of modelling the character from a cube.

Due to insufficient storage, I screen captured some stages after the recording. These are where I learned my mistakes.

1. Arm Twisting

I did not pay attention to the anatomy of the muscle. So I had to remake the arm and make a twist.

2. Face Topology

Modelling mouth and nose with the right loop pattern is complicated for me. I followed several other tutorial videos on the internet and other people’s work as a reference. Other challenges include modelling the face to look appealing while maintaining the polygons count to keep it under 1000, for example, changing the hairstyle to be much simpler than the original design.

Overall, I did not find any problems with the UV map process, everything went smoothly. Until I painted the model using Substance Painter. Painting hair surprisingly became the most difficult thing. I mostly do realistic style rather than stylised, so it took a while for me to get accustomed to the painting process. I mostly used polygon fill feature in Substance Painter at first, then added more details(dirt, and collar) using brush.

Rigging Process

First time using Advanced Skeleton 5, many things happened in the process. There are a few steps that I have to repeat until the model can move properly. One of them is the eyeballs that are stuck with the head model and won’t rotate by themselves. Resolved it by fixing the connection between the joint and the geometry. Another problem I had was the knees bend backwards. Turned out that my model’s legs were slightly bending backwards and Advanced Skeleton automatically generated inverted knees.

Animation Test

Final Render

Jack by yosephine98 on Sketchfab

In summary, I am satisfied with the design of the character. Even though the execution of building the 3D model does not meet my expectation. There are many things I have to fix in my model. In the future, I am excited to build another model with better design and 3D model.

References

Central Coast Renaissance Festival. (2019, May 24). How did people dress in renaissance England. Central Coast Renaissance Festival. https://ccrenfaire.com/how-did-people-dress-in-renaissance-england/

Jacobs, J. (2003). Jack and the beanstalk. English Fairy Tales. http://www.authorama.com/english-fairy-tales-15.html

Larp Inn (2019). Guy Tunic. Larp Inn. https://www.larpinn.co.uk/guy-tunic-brown-p-6496.html

Lynton, J. (2018, 29 May). Close to my heart color wheel [Image]. Make it from your heart. https://blog.closetomyheart.com/2018/05/29/color-theory-double-complementary-color-schemes/

The Editors of Encyclopaedia Britannica. (1998). Tunic. Encyclopaedia Britannica. https://www.britannica.com/topic/tunic-clothing

[illusteresa]

The Pre-Render Age

Review on the 3-Dimensional Illustration Awards Annual from 1995

The dusty book came to my attention after researching how to use clay for illustration purposes and bumping into the handcrafted 3D illustration’s world.

For some reason which I have yet to understand, this big book was in the top shelf all covered in dust, signs that either made me believe it was not used much or maybe he was labelled incorrectly (which would make more sense since all sculping and handcraft books are in the sculpture and fine arts area, not on the illustration area) showing how 3D illustration is very limited if handmade.

I immediately fell in love with him once I saw the semi ripped dust jacket. For a book with my age he displayed an illustration of modern taste with simple ephemeral typography, something I was not expecting at all. If I was not aware of the book’s age I’d assume he was at least from 2005. Unknowingly I was yet to be surprised even more by its content.

Once I opened, the book was like new, like no one had ever foiled him before me. The black glossy pages and the swiss grid design showed that the designer knew what he was doing by creating a timeless editorial piece.

Even though the book was poor in text, the images that entered the annual were judged by field experts such as Joan Hall and Tom McManus. It’s amazing how the photographs were brilliantly done. This book made me realize the importance of a skilled photographer and great light for the message to get through as pretended. 

How God Lost His Hand

I remember vividly how the gold winning piece made me feel. So modern for its time till the tiniest detail, “The hand of God” took my breath away. I obviously interpreted the work in my own way, according to my cultural background and my research on the subject, as every other pieces that were published in the book.

First and foremost, the reader must know the intent of such illustration but, truth is, it was never published so we only know the title for interpretation purposes. This piece was done by Christo Holloway, founder of Clockwork Apple in New York City and ingenious model maker now joining forces with 475 Kent Avenue (Niedan, 2015). I strongly believe his intention with this piece was critical since to understand it we have to fully be acquainted with the notion of The Hand of God and know Michael Angelo’s fresco of the Sistine Chapel where God is portrayed pointing at the human.

As a historical, religious and anthropological concept, The Hand of God is a widely covered subject. Back when there was no rational explanation for drastic natural events, populations had the need to attribute it to something else, something powerful such as a God. Not only to the bad events but also the good ones like a great harvest season for instance. No science to explain it so it must have been god! The fact is that the all mighty Gods were believed to not only be rewarding but also punishing so people would try to do the right thing in fear of their god’s wrath (Johnson, 2016).

Nowadays we have science and technologies that can explain floods and tornados and spread information to keep people up to date for example. There is no need blaming a God over tragedies nor to praise Him for making the sun come back up again. But still people believe He is the reason for most existing things. And if people didn’t believe there was a God somewhere out there, they would probably feel lost in this vast universe. So you can imagine what Holloway pocked at when he made the Renaissance’s painting of God’s hand as a fake amputated limb. It’s like he was saying it is just an act, that there is no god’s hand to hold us through our journey: we are all alone in this and all we have is each other (Johnson, 2016).Truth is, the most recent catastrophic events were due to human acts leading to environmental loss. So, it is time to take responsibility, stop waiting for divine intervention to give us a happy ending after what we did to the earth we live in. It is all on us and only we can save our world. If God does exist and is as just as it is believed to be, we would all be dying with the planet we ruined within 50 years or so.

The Bronzes that Stood Out

“Doggy bag” is an illustration by Nancy Fouts and Malcom Fowler for an advertising campaign about the new lounge of the British Airways. The vertical poster piece portrays a man’s legs and his red bag in front of him which has the shape of a dog sleeping all cuddled up in the floor. This one caught my eye because of the colour red. Red is eye catching, and being on the centre of the image, it stands out even more. If it was black it would not bring the same feeling to the target audience that it proudly does, a great campaign choice since this bright red is also the British Airways color. It fits the purpose of the campaign like a glove since in brings feelings of comfort, trust, cosiness and it was a great pun for the time it was made. It brings to my mind an insurance company we have in Portugal called Fidelidade (fidelity in Portuguese) which uses a red dog as its symbol since dogs are commonly associated with trust, loyalty, friendship, care and, at last, fidelity (Szabolcs, 2018). An astonishing marketing strategy.

For a South African banking company named ABSA, Douglas Watson was commissioned a landscape poster for their literature awards. It is not an incredibly creative piece but its clay texture is visible in the gigantic head, dry as the African desert, with carvings on it like it was an ancient statue. It looks made of stone, inspiring, mysterious, like a book cover of a novel. Stone reminds me of god’s statues and war heroes, which makes sense with the size of the portrayed head, leading to a belief in greatness when achieving such award (Ma, 2015).

Back in the days when house telephones were a must, Toshiba commissioned Gavin Lindsay a challenging idea since they were in a merger and somehow “Telephones” was born. The illustrator conceived a beautiful piece for them where two distorted house phones would be in a sensual scene, one was black portraying the male and the other was white as the female, tangled around each other. The photograph brought the impact of the humanization of the objects to another level with the contrast between light and shadow turning it into a sensual yet classy portrait. I look at it and I see the bride and groom’s nuptial encounter, a romance in their beginning. I believe that the marriage association was a clever and bold approach that would have definitely captured the audience at that time by the mental association to the controversial theme of sexual intercourse and romantic feelings.

Detailed simplicity

The execution of such pieces was done to the tiniest of details. Yes, their ideas were simple objects however they shout their intention clearly and have a heavy process behind each one. The best ideas sometimes take the simplest of forms. These gain from their materials a greater dimension, a bigger impact.

Nowadays we can easily achieve such results with programs such as Blender and Ryno and we forget how long the process was back then just to capture that one perfect shot, that one perfect target reaction. We take for granted the production and the objects we have but we should take a step back and look closer. This just means one thing: we should appreciate the process, not only of illustrating and producing, but of life itself.

All in all, a worthy visual ride in time.

References

3-Dimensional Illustration Awards Annual: the best in 3-D advertising and publishing world wide (1995) Beverly, Massachusetts: Rockport Publishers.

Johnson, D. (2016) God Is Watching You: How the Fear of God Makes Us Human. New York: Oxford University Press.

Ma, J. (2015) Statues as Images. In: Statues and cities: honorific portraits and civic identity in the Hellenistic world. New York: Oxford University Press.

Niedan, C. (2015) Kent Avenue Interview Series: Christo Holloway. [Online] Available from: https://www.nomadicpress.org/interviews/christoholloway [Accessed 2nd November 2019].

Szabolcs, E. (2018) “Dogs in the paintings of Greuze: accessories, symbols or family members?” Ostium. [Online] 14 (2). pp.1-9. Available from: http://web.b.ebscohost.com/ehost/detail/detail?vid=0&sid=4f1c6269-c570-47ca-a535-c90912fd2bfb%40pdc-v-sessmgr05&bdata=JnNpdGU9ZWhvc3QtbGl2ZQ%3d%3d#AN=130368920&db=hlh [Accessed 6th November 2019].