#I think they should make a computer that has good quality prints and doesn’t need a degree in computer science to operate!!!

[magpiesbones]

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[mmorgsup]

Do you print your own target with reikan focal

Do you print your own target with reikan focal full#

Do you print your own target with reikan focal software#

When I first got the 70-200 G2, I noticed some photos that were not in completely good focus while others were very good.

Do you print your own target with reikan focal full#

If this doesn’t make sense to you, I advise you to read the full articles linked to above.

Do you print your own target with reikan focal software#

Reikan Focal is a computer software that helps you find the best value to add either in-camera or in-lens. The plane of focus is an imaginary line at 90 degrees from the camera where the focus should be at its sharpest, if it’s not you need to compensate with AF fine tune or in-lens compensation. Tamron has had the ability to alter the plane of focus with their Tap-In Console for a couple of years, making changes to the lens directly. Nikon has had the ability to alter the plane of focus for more than a decade in the menu system in camera. Tamron 24-70 f/2.8 VC G2, calibrating the lens with Tap-In Console HERE.Ī short version of the above articles is something like this. Tamron Tap-In Console, hardware and software to alter plane of focus among other things HERE. Reikan Focal, focus calibration software HERE. This post should be read together, or preferably after these posts: It’s a bit heavy, but well worth it by the quality it produces. To be honest, a 70-200 f/2.8 lens has its limited use because of its focal length, but when it fits, it truly shines. In the beginning of last year, I got the Tamron SP 70-200mm f/2.8 Di VC USD G2. Obviously with the increase of megapixels, the older lenses didn’t keep up and needed to be replaced. I still really really like the look of a 70-200 f/2.8 lens on a DSLR, I think it looks simply amazing. The feel, the look, the balance and about everything was perfect. I remember when I got my first 70-200 f/2.8 lens, it was the first version of the Nikkor, and it was a fantastic lens on the 12 Mpx cameras I had back then (D300s and D700).

[luffles424]

Cigarette Burns

☼ Pairing: Seokjin x reader x Taehyung

☼ Genre: angel!reader, angel!Taehyung, horror, angst, some fluff, smut

☼ Count: 10.6K

☼ Warnings: 18+, death (minor characters), blood, mentions/descriptions of injuries, mentioned mutilation, hallucinations, oral (m receiving), double blowjob, cumplay, cum sharing, deep throating, face fucking, teasing, ball play, dom/sub themes, hair pulling

☼ Summary: Seokjin’s been tasked with finding a film that is thought to be a myth. A legend that caused a theater full of people to turn to violence and then was never seen again. With the mystery that swirls around the film and the increasingly strange things that happens as he hunts for it, is he fully prepared for what waits for him at the end of his journey?

☼ a/n: This is based on my favorite horror movie ever, Cigarette Burns! The story is changed some, but I can’t explain in a way that doesn’t spoil both the film and the fic. I’ve pulled back on some of the gore from the original film too. I hope you enjoy, as I’ve not really written a horror fic before! Let me know what you think! My ask box is always open ~ 💙💙💙💙

☼ Written for @btsholidaybingo​ to fill the square Blood, Sweat, and Tears

The theater is quiet as Seokjin enters it, understandably so since it’s almost closing and the theater is so small that there’s likely no one at the last showing. One of the downsides of a more indie theater, he supposes. But it had been his dream, keep the older films alive, even if it didn’t necessarily prove to be super lucrative. Which is where his second job came in, that people (Taehyung) would argue should really be his primary job considering how good he is at it. 

Seokjin doesn’t want his primary job to be hunting down rare prints. He likes it well enough, sure. It’s thrilling to find a new piece that was thought to be lost to time (and to negotiate into the deal that he’d get to hold a showing of whatever he found too). But it’s really only something to help keep the lights on at the theater. Taehyung also suggests adding newer films to the theater's showings to draw in new crowds and get them interested in the older ones so Seokjin chooses to ignore most of Taehyung’s “helpful” suggestions. 

He makes his way to his office, where Taehyung is sprawled out in a chair, perking up once the older man enters. 

“What’s the film this time?”

Seokjin chuckles as he sits down at his desk, setting a thin file down. Taehyung might be more invested in Seokjin’s side job than Seokjin is. Maybe he should teach Taehyung how to do it so the younger can take over. He’s inquisitive and bright enough that he’d be good at it. “Hi, how are you, Tae? Oh, me? I’m doing good.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, I saw you this morning. Now what film are you looking for?”

Seokjin eyes him up for a moment. He’s never seen Taehyung so interested; he seems more interested than usual and he doesn’t even know what the film is yet. He’s not sure if he’s interested in the film or hearing about the process Seokjin goes through to find them. Seokjin’s good at his job, good at finding the relics of an era where everything couldn’t be easily backed up. And while he makes sure to get a favorable deal and be able to show what he worked so hard to find, Seokjin maybe also makes duplicates for the sake of preserving the content of the old films. Taehyung always seems delighted to go through the unofficial prints that Seokjin keeps stored in the theater (or at his house because multiple copies is always best when it comes to preservation). 

“I don’t know if I’ll find this one. It’s pretty legendary and notably thought to be either fake or destroyed.”

Taehyung leans forward, eyes wide with barely contained interest. “What is it?”

“La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

There’s a flicker of something in Taehyung’s eyes that Seokjin can’t decipher and it’s gone too fast for him to even try. “Isn’t that that film that only ever had one showing and everyone at the showing killed each other or themselves?”

Seokjin nods, pulling a yellowed newspaper clipping from the folder he brought. It’s all in French but there’s a translation written in the blank space of the paper the clipping is attached to. It details the bloodbath that the theater turned into before the film even finished and how the only print of the film was destroyed right after.

Taehyung looks up at Seokjin, expression unreadable. “Do you think it still exists?”

Seokjin shrugs. “The guy, Bellinger, seemed very positive that it does. Said he would know if the film had been destroyed. I didn’t ask how because that seemed like a path I didn’t really want to go down. He was weirdly obsessed with the props he had from it. But he gave me the information he had and said that if I couldn’t track it down within a month that he would admit that it was gone. But he paid half up front for the whole month. Double my rate too. He seems to really want this found and to honestly believe that it’s still out there.”

Taehyung nods stiffly before he’s flashing Seokjin his usual boxy grin. “I’m sure you’ll find it. You are the best after all.”

Seokjin snorts. He wonders if he should question Taehyung’s sudden shift at the mention of the film. It’s not like him to be so serious about a film. “I don’t know if I’d go that far, but thanks.”

“Do you have any leads?”

“Not really.” He flips open the folder and shows that besides the article clipping is just a printout of the poster from the film’s only showing and another printed page with a film review on it. He taps the review. “This was written by a critic who was at the showing. As far as I can tell, he’s still alive. But he seems to have become incredibly reclusive in the decades since the showing. I’m going to ask around and see if I can track him down.”

Taehyung stands and drums his fingers on the desk. “Well good luck. Keep me updated as always.” He turns to go, pausing in the doorway. “Seokjin… whatever you do, don’t watch the film.”

And then he leaves, leaving Seokjin confused because it seems like Taehyung believes the film still exists and that somehow something bad will happen if Seokjin were to watch it. Maybe he just believes the stories around it and thinks that the crazy stuff that happened was due to the film and not something more easily explained like the crowd being poisoned or something much more logical than the movie made them do it. He shakes his head, it’s probably just a friendly warning out of worry. Turning to his computer, he starts digging into the sole survivor of the film’s only showing.

It takes some time, hours of staring at the screen, to find anything substantial on the critic. It’s nearly morning, gray light filtering through the slates in his closed blinds, but he finally finds where the critic has most likely holed up. For what reason, no one seems to really know, just that he disappeared after his review and hasn’t really been seen since. But it’s as good a place to start as any. Seokjin saves the address onto his phone and leaves the theater, stopping at his apartment for a moment to shower, change, and pack a quick bag before he’s grabbing some coffee and heading to the airport.

Upstate New York is far more woodsy than Seokjin had expected. Although he supposes when he’s only imagined New York City when thinking of New York, that’s an easy mistake to make. The foliage makes navigating to the critic’s house in his rental car a little difficult since it’s seclusion means that the road to the house is nearly completely overgrown. He wonders how the guy gets food if the path there looks as if no one’s been on it in months. The house itself is simple, but appears abandoned given the lack of care to the outside and the way all the rooms that Seokjin can see into are darkened. Still, Seokjin isn’t one to be deterred, the porch looks nice enough, he can always just wait a while if there happens to be no one home before maybe finding an open window or door to check out the house. But first he approaches and knocks on the front door. He gets no immediate response but when he steps back to look in the windows on the far side of the door, he’s able to pick up the sound of a typewriter. 

Well someone’s definitely home. He moves back to the door, knocking again. 

“Mr. Meyers?” He calls out, the typing stops and he gets an answering ‘go away.’

“I just need to speak to you for a moment.” There’s a resounding ‘no’ in response and the typing starts up again. “Please, it’ll be quick. I wanted to ask you about your review for La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

The typing stops again and then there’s a loud buzz and the door swings open an inch. Eerie, but Seokjin pushes the door open and steps inside. The house is dark, blanketed in shadows caused by the only light that streams in through the cracked curtains. There’s a stale quality to the air, like the house has been closed up for months and there’s a gray cloud of smoke that clings to the ceiling, swirling with the sudden air flow. As Seokjin looks around, he sees that there are stacks and stacks of paper piled everywhere that there is space, leaving just a narrow pathway from the entrance to the living room. He rounds the corner into the living room and there’s even more stacks here, piled high around the critic as he sits hunched over his typewriter, typing away once more. 

“Were there press notes?” He asks, glancing over one of the nearby stacks, skimming the top page. It talks about the film. He gets a curt ‘yes’ in response to his question. “Did you save them? Could I read them?”

“Dangerous.” Seokjin frowns at Meyers’ statement. They’re just notes, how could they possibly be dangerous. “The back said ‘Film in the right hands is a weapon.’ He was right and we didn’t even know it.” There’s a heavy silence before he continues. “We trust film makers when we go and watch films. We sit there, in the dark, and trust in what they’re going to show us. That it’ll affect us but we trust that they won’t go too far.”

Seokjin waits but Meyers doesn’t seem inclined to continue now, though his words haven’t been particularly helpful anyway. He’s not even particularly sure what he’s talking about. It’s almost like Meyers has used up all his words on the pages taking over his home or that he’s forgotten how to hold a conversation. Has he been here since the film release? If so, he’s been out here alone for decades. 

Seokjin decides to try directing the conversation back to the film. “I’ve read your review. A few times on the plane. And I still have no idea what the film is even about.”

“Hans Backovic was a monster. He took that trust and abused it. He didn’t want to just hurt us, he wanted to absolutely destroy us.”

Seokjin feels like they’re having two different conversations. He’s not even sure that Meyers heard what he said. Backovic was a director, how could he possibly have destroyed an entire audience? “I’ve seen extreme gore before. It didn’t drive me to violence. Why is this film so dangerous? Surely all that violence in the theater was exaggerated?”

Meyers leans back in his chair and he looks older, exhausted. His eyes seem slightly unfocused. “Oh no, not at all. If anything, it was downplayed.” He pauses and takes a slow breath. He’s staring at his desk but the look in his eyes says he’s somewhere far away, reliving something he doesn’t want to be reliving. “I watched four people die. Blood slicked every inch of that theater floor. The chairs, the walls, the screen. It reeked of death.”

There’s a charged pause and then Meyers leans forward again, looking at Seokjin and Seokjin feels unsettled, that faraway look is gone, instead replaced by a wild almost manic look. “Backovic knew what he was doing. He told me exactly what would happen when that film played.” He chuckles and it’s completely humorless. “I thought he was joking.”

Seokjin moves closer, suddenly interested. Meyers had spoken to Backovic? About the film specifically? Finally, a possible lead, something to have made this trip worth it. “You spoke to him?”

“Yes. Before the film. I recorded an interview with him.”

“Do you still have that tape? Can I listen to it?”

“No one’s ready for that film. They weren’t then and they aren’t now. I failed in my one job as messenger for the film. That review was a joke. But everyone will know, once I finish my new review. They’ll see what the film is really about.” He seems to be almost talking to himself as he pulls the sheet of paper he’d been typing out of the typewriter and adds it to the pile beside him. He slips a blank sheet into the typewriter. 

Seokjin glances around in alarm, gesturing to the stacks of paper. “Is that what all this is? Your new review?”

He lets out a slightly maniacal laugh. “I’m almost done!”

Seokjin swallows. There’s easily a million typed pages here. And it’s all about the film? Unease fills Seokjin as he casts his gaze over the stacks again. What happened in that theater that could drive someone to spend decades typing this much? And to call it a review? He doesn’t want to ask more about the review and what could possibly be compelling this man. “Well, there’s a chance that there’s still a print out there. I’ve been paid to find it.”

Meyers stares at him for a long moment and Seokjin shifts in discomfort. There’s so much mystery around this film and this talk with Meyers has only increased that. Then he laughs again and stands. Seokjin thinks maybe he should leave, for a split second he fears that Meyers has been so hard to find because he’s killed anyone who’s come to find him before. “You should know what you’re in for.” He says cryptically before moving to a trunk nearby. He rifles through it for a moment before pulling out a tape. 

He presses it into Seokjin’s hands, but when Seokjin goes to pull away, Meyers’ hands tighten around his, keeping him in place. “Promise me. Promise when you find it that you’ll let me see it again. I’ve dreamt about that film every night since I’ve seen it. This film it… it crawls inside you. It just doesn’t leave.”

He releases Seokjin’s hands and goes back to his desk, staring at the typewriter for a long moment before he starts typing. It’s as clear a dismissal as anything and at this point, Seokjin is more than happy to leave Meyers to his stacks of papers. 

Paris is the next stop for Seokjin. He has a friend, Henri, who works at one of the bigger film archives in the city and he might have leads for him. But first he needs a moment to himself, so he spends his first night in the hotel. Where he figures he might as well listen to the interview while he’s got some time. It could give him some help in where to look when he goes to see Henri tomorrow. 

The interview seems normal enough. Backovic talks like most of the more pretentious indie filmmakers. Those who believe that their art is superior and above so much else of what’s out there, especially what comes out of Hollywood. Seokjin vows to never tell Taehyung about the interview because he’ll only use it as fodder to mock him and how he has the same ideas with his theater. Which is not true. Seokjin shows plenty of films aside from indies. They’re just usually classics, films from the 70s and 80s, cult classics that don’t really show in theaters that much. Things that draw specific crowds but aren’t always popular with most but the theater does just fine with how it is now. He sees no reason to change.

Halfway through listening to the interview, a searing pain flairs in Seokjin’s head and he jerks the headphones off as he tries to blink the orange ring from his vision. 

His heart is pounding for the start and he sees the flash of something out of the corner of his eye. He stumbles off the bed to move towards the bathroom where he saw the shadow. The room is empty, which should be unsurprising since Seokjin is alone in his hotel room, though now he can’t remember if he had left the light on or not. 

But it seemed so real, like there really was someone else here. He glances at the mirror and for a brief second, he swears that he sees Taehyung. He rubs at his eyes, heels digging in almost painfully. He blinks the spots from his vision and stares at the mirror a little longer, like if he stares at it enough, something will happen. Like Taehyung might appear on the surface again and prove that Seokjin is not losing his mind right now. But when nothing happens, he finally, reluctantly, moves back to the main room, sitting heavily on the edge of the bed. His hands shake as he picks up his phone to send a quick message to Taehyung. 

He gets a response within a few minutes and it makes discomfort settle in him when Taehyung confirms that he’s at the theater right now working. He even makes a joke how he’s sure people come to see the old films on the days that he hangs around not for the films but to see Taehyung’s face. He knows Taehyung’s just trying to draw a response from him, to tease and coax him into some flirtatious banter. But Seokjin’s suddenly much too exhausted for that. He lays down without responding, but it takes him a long time to fall asleep and even when he does, it’s restless and plagued by dreams that leave him the second he wakes. But while the images fade with the growing light, the sound remains; the chilling screams that sound so much like Taehyung that Seokjin almost calls him just to confirm that he’s okay.

In the morning, he makes his way to the archives to speak with Henri, who apologizes that he can’t be of too much help since they’re in the process of moving, but he says he can help direct Seokjin in the right direction if he tells him what movie he’s looking for. Seokjin is a little reluctant after the meeting with the critic. He waves off the help, telling Henri that he’ll just look around on his own to not get in his way. Henri insists, saying that the move will make it harder for Seokjin to look.

When Seokjin mentions the film, Herni’s entire demeanor shifts, the friendly man suddenly cold as he tries to warn Seokjin away. When Seokjin won’t, Henri tells him he’s welcome to use his assistant’s office, though there’s not much on the film and that the film is certainly not there. He leaves him with an ominous warning about having to earn this film, hand tucked firmly in his pocket.

Seokjin pours over what little information there is. The most promising thing he gets is the crew list for the film, something that Seokjin didn’t see listed anywhere online and it really only lended to the idea that this film wasn’t real. But now he has some physical evidence that people worked on this, that they saw the film unfold in person. His joy at the discovery is short-lived though when he realizes that this is proving less and less useful with each name he has to cross off because they’re dead. Of the eleven crew members, all but two are dead. He goes out to find Henri, showing him the paper. 

“How easy is it to find either of them?”

Henri looks at the list and nods, almost like he knew this was coming. Seokjin wonders how many people he’s seen come through here looking for the movie. “Patton was blinded after filming. And he won’t speak on the film. He nearly killed the last person to ask him about it.”

Seokjin gestures to the other name. “And Backovic? Surely he’d have some idea where his film ended up.”

Henri scoffs. “Backovic is dead.”

“How do you know that? There’s no death certificates or records or anything.”

Henri shoots him a look. “Trust me, Seokjin. Backovic is dead.” When Seokjin goes to speak again, Henri interrupts. “I’m sorry but I have nothing else to tell you.”

Seokjin knows that Henri’s not telling him something. Years of working together and he’s learned a thing or two about his friend and his tells. He doesn’t know what, but there’s something he knows that Seokjin knows he’ll need to be able to find this stupid film. He stops just outside the door, hidden from sight and he hears Henri make a phone call. He doesn’t know much French, but he knows that he mentions the film. Seokjin leaves quickly, making plans to come back later and force Henri to tell him what he knows. 

Henri seems startled when Seokjin appears again a few hours later. He really should’ve expected it. Seokjin’s never been one to give up so easily and they both know that. 

“I know you’re lying. You know more than you’re telling me.”

“You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Yeah, I don’t understand anything that’s happening. There’s so much mystery around this film, how can I possibly know anything. Fuck, last night I saw…” Seokjin trails off, he doesn’t know how to explain last night. Maybe it was just jet lag and exhaustion and the unknown of this film that caused the hallucinations. Or maybe he dreamed the whole thing.

Henri straightens, eyes wide with alarm. He moves closer to Seokjin. “A circle? Like the reel change in a movie?” At Seokjin’s nod, Henri pales. “Then it’s too late. You’ve already started a process which cannot be stopped. It’s only going to get worse. I’m so sorry.”

“What started? I don’t understand.”

“When you look for the film, it does something to you. You see those burns. It’s payment for every step closer you make to the film. You need to stop now. Before it’s really too late. You don’t want to continue on this path, Seokjin. You have to ignore the curiosity. The itch to dig a little deeper, find out a little more. Walk away. I know it’s hard. But you have to.”

“You know?” 

Henri nods and pulls his hand from his pocket where he always keeps it tucked, revealing severe burns, so bad that his fingers have fused together. Seokjin takes a small step back in surprise. 

“But… How?”

“I was the projectionist at a private screening of the film. I was curious about it too. Much like you. Much like everyone who eventually comes searching for the film that’s only been shown once, twice now. But most don’t know that. It was kept from the public and the film disappeared again.”

Henri pauses and takes a deep breath. “I chickened out. I got scared once it started and I looked away.” He closes his eyes. “When the screaming started, I tried to stop the projector but it wouldn’t stop. So I grabbed the film reel. I saw that some circle you did and I… I blacked out. When I came to, my hand was burned and the film was over.”

Seokjin swallows. This film is starting to seem more and more like a bad idea. Taehyung’s warning flits through his mind as well, telling him not to watch the film. Maybe he should’ve told him to just give up the job. Not that Seokjin would’ve listened. Maybe he should’ve charged more to find this. “I won’t watch it. I’ll just take it and give it to the collector. But… I could really use the money for the theater. I can’t just give up looking.”

Henri’s gaze darts over Seokjin’s face and then he gives a small nod. There’s a sadness in his eyes as he picks up a small piece of paper. “I wouldn’t call this man if I were you. He has an… extensive collection but he’s dangerous.” He hands the number over to Seokjin. 

“Does he have it?”

Henri shakes his head. “No. But he’s been given things from the Backovic estate. He can possibly get you in contact with them.”

“Thank you.”

Henri shakes his head again. “Don’t thank me for sending a friend into danger.”

Seokjin takes a taxi to the address given to him when he calls the number that Henri gave him. The warehouse is run down looking and at a dead end about halfway up a big hill. The only other buildings are some houses further up the hill from the road and the town he can see over the road barricade looking down. He pays the taxi driver extra and tells her to stay then makes his way towards the two burly men who have appeared at the massive open doors to the warehouse. 

The warehouse is shadowy, lighting sparse and everything appears to be covered by a layer of dust with the exception of a few items in the room that they lead him to.The room is large and another man stands almost in the middle of the room, he’s wearing all dark leather and has his back towards Seokjin. He stands just behind a wooden crate that’s been set on a chair. It has a printed label that reads ‘La Fin Absolue du Monde.’

“It’s not for me.” Seokjin begins. Might as well start with that. Maybe it’ll make it easier for him to get the film.

“But you’re curious.”

“I suppose a little. Have you seen it?”

“No. But I would. Who wouldn’t?” The man walks a few steps away to a camera and begins to fiddle with the settings. “I admire a man like Backovic. So unafraid to be real. I detest the fakeness of Hollywood. I want to be great like Backovic. Groundbreaking. Real.”

Seokjin moves to the crate, opening it up. He’d idly hoped that maybe it was the film and he could take it to Bellinger and be done with this. But the crate is only about half full, mostly with filler to keep a film reel cushioned during transport. Other than that, there’s a few different manila envelopes. 

The first envelope has a return address to Katja Backovic. If Seokjin’s remembering correctly, that’s Backovic’s wife and according to Henri, is actually his widow. That’s certainly a good lead. There’s not a lot of information out there about her in recent years either. He sets it down and picks up another, it’s blank on the outside and so he slips the pictures out that are contained within. 

The first is of a winged figure, one that appears to be a woman, her face turned away from the camera and surrounded by other people. Her wings look beautiful even through an image, glossy black and full. The next is a silhouette of a figure holding a knife and it looks like they’re in front of a window or some other light source. 

As he shuffles through the photos, they become increasingly bizarre. A photo of someone on a neighborhood street and the sky is red but looks off, like someone has overlaid another image over the sky. He thinks they’re set photos. The last one shows two winged figures, both facing away from the camera and chained to the wall. Their heads are bowed towards each other. One seems to be the woman from the first still and the other seems to be a man, but there’s a table or something that blocks Seokjin from seeing much more than his wings and back of his head. 

Seokjin is suddenly grabbed from behind, the photos falling from his hands to scatter on the floor as the two men drag him a few feet backwards. The other man, the one who he’d been speaking with has a syringe now. Seokjin’s blood runs cold. 

“Oh, you can’t leave already. We have so much left to discuss.”

Seokjin squirms, trying to fight the men off, but their hold on him is firm and in a matter of seconds, the needle is in his neck and consciousness is leaving him.

Seokjin comes to some time later, he has no idea how long but there’s light filtering through the window so it’s either not been that long or he’s been out for a whole day. He’s tied to a chair and duct tape firm across his mouth. He feels foggy and when he looks around, he sees the two burly men are now operating the camera. There’s a woman tied to another chair in front of him and the man from before is now shirtless and holding a machete. Seokjin feels like he’s going to be sick.

He fights against his bonds, but he’s helpless to stop as the man approaches the woman and, with no preamble, embeds the machete in her neck with one strong thwack. He pulls it free and pushes her head so blood sprays his bare chest, head tilting back like he’s being hosed down on a hot day. 

Seokjin screams, though it's muffled and continues to fight against his bonds as the man pulls the machete out and makes quick work of getting through her neck. Her head is dropped to the ground and then the man approaches him and Seokjin tries to push himself away. He talks about how he turned her into art, about the realness of what he’s created, but the words barely register to Seokjin in his panicked state. Maybe he should’ve told the taxi driver to call the authorities if he took too long.

The man leans closer. “Something happens when you point the camera at something terrible. The resulting film takes on power.” He grins and rips the tape off of Seokjin’s mouth. 

“Snuff is not power! It’s just fucked up! It’s murder.”

The man laughs and straddles Seokjin’s lap and Seokjin feels his heart in his throat as his stomach turns in revulsion. He can feel the blood soaking through his jeans where the man sits. 

“You’re not listening to me. You came all this way but you won’t listen. You want to know why the film destroyed its audience?” His hand squishes Seokjin’s cheeks and Seokjin tries not to think about how slick they feel against his skin. “Backovic was an exceptional editor. He understood the value of a cut. But there was more to it. They say the movie works subliminally while you watch it. But the thing that made the film a weapon?” His grin is deranged. “Blood. Spilled blood. What if you got hold of an angel? A divine being with the blood of God flowing through its veins. And what if you sacrificed it on camera?”

Seokjin gets a flash of the circle again, the sharp sting as his vision is suddenly obscured. He sees a flash of a woman, chained to the ground, shuddering and emaciated, a pair of glossy, black wings mounted on the wall behind her. His breath shudders through him as the man bleeds back into focus.

“Something that profound, that personal. It changes everyone who was a part of putting it on film. And everyone who sees it. The closer you get to the film, the more you’ll be changed too. That’s Backovic’s secret. ‘Film is magic,’ he said. And he was right.”

Seokjin sees another flash. A split second of a circle with Taehyung in the middle of it, face full of anguish. 

“What do you see? What haunts you? Will they be waiting for you on the other side?”

Seokjin’s vision goes white. 

When he comes to again, he’s standing, completely free of his bonds and machete in hand. He drops it immediately, it looks bloodier than it had before. He catches sight of the man laying on the ground not too far from him but he tries not to look at it. Vaguely grateful for the fact that the man has fallen half behind a crate. The camera’s been knocked over as well. The two burly and the woman’s body are gone. He doesn’t want to know what happened. He has a gut feeling and it’s not one that he particularly wants to think too hard on. He’d really just like to forget that this entire warehouse ever existed.

The box is beside him now and he digs through it quickly, finding the envelope with Katja’s address in Vancouver on it and runs, taking the road back to the main street on foot. When he gets to the main road, it’s getting dark and he takes a cab. Shakily handing the driver a few extra bills in the hopes that they won’t ask any questions about his state. 

He takes a scalding shower once back at his hotel, scrubs himself raw but he can still feel like blood, no matter how hard and long he scrubs for. He stuffs the bloody clothes into a paper bag and gets dressed. He hastily packs the rest of his things and goes down to check out. He shoves the bag with the bloody clothes into a trash can on the street before getting into a taxi and heading to the airport. He’s ready to be fucking done with this. He’s ready to be away from this city.

Taehyung texts him while he’s on the flight. Asking how the search is going. He’s too exhausted to even think and so he leaves Taehyung unanswered. 

He takes another shower once he lands in Vancouver, but he still feels dirty. He stares at himself in the mirror and tries to make it look like he’s not on the verge of a breakdown and leaves his room to Katja’s address. 

Seokjin presses the button beside her name on the building. 

“Yes?” Her voice is softer than he expected, though he’s not really sure what he was expecting.

“Mrs. Backovic? Can I speak to you for a minute? I’ve come a long way.”

He’s answered by the door buzzing open and he moves quickly through the lobby to the elevator. Seokjin presses the button for the penthouse, scrubbing his hand over his face once the elevator starts moving. Maybe he should make this his last film job. It’s far more than he expected it to be and he’s just so tired. There’s a jolt and then the elevator stops and the lights go out. 

He feels a body press to his back and he tenses. It’s not real, he thinks, eyes squeezing shut. Just like everything else.  

“Save her. Please.” When Seokjin turns and thrusts his hand out, he’s met only with air. The voice had been hauntingly familiar. It sounded like Taehyung. It’s not real, he repeats to himself. Taehyung is back home. Probably asleep right now. He can’t be here. It’s completely illogical.

The elevator dings and Seokjin opens his eyes to see the doors sliding open to reveal he’s at the top floor. He’d been moving the whole time. Seokjin blinks a few times. He needs to get this film and hand it off. Now. He walks towards the living room, revealing a woman standing there. Katja. 

“Something happened in the elevator.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“Sure. Something like that.”

“You must want this very bad to have some so far. I must admit, you’re the first to ever make it here.”

“I have… so many questions.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite touch her eyes. “I’m not sure I have your answers. But we’ll see.”

She leads him a little further into the room, taking a seat in an armchair and gesturing for him to take a seat on the adjoining sofa. 

They sit in silence for a while, Seokjin taking a moment to think and gather his thoughts before finally speaking. “Do you have a copy of the film?”

She smiles that half smile again. “That’s not what you’re really curious about. You want to know if the stories are true.” Seokjin nods, though both are true. “They are. Unfortunately. Why are you looking for the film?”

“I was paid to.”

She lets out a bitter laugh. “That’s not the real reason.”

Seokjin chews his lip. “I… I don’t know anymore. There’s… I just have to find it.” He doesn’t understand. He’s walked away from lesser jobs. He has no idea what keeps compelling him to push here, what’s making him want to find this so badly.

Her head tilts like she didn’t expect his answer. She observes him quietly before nodding to herself, like Seokjin just took some big test and she’s pleased with how he did. 

Silence settles again before Seokjin asks a question he’s had since he saw the crew list. “Who produced this film?”

Katja’s eyebrows raise. “You’re quite direct.”

Seokjin just gives a small shrug. “I just want someone to say it.”

Sadness softens her features as she looks down. “I asked Hans the same question. Many times. The producers of this film produce many other things. Chaos, sorrow, suffering, famine.”

Seokjin’s brows furrow. “What does that mean? The devil? Demons?”

Katja gives another sad smile. “Hans never put a name on it. ‘Evil is evil,’ he would say, ‘does a name really matter?’” They stare at each other, the real implication of her words settling between them, and then she stands. “Come with me.”

She leads him to a film editing studio. It’s a little dated, but the equipment is well taken care of. Reels still set up and ready for editing. Like any second Hans might walk in to begin working. Seokjin glances at her. 

“How did he die? There’s no official records or anything about it.”

She glances away and Seokjin regrets asking only a little bit. This film has done so much damage, he has to know how the creator met his end. “He became… obsessed with La Fin Absolue du Monde. During the last year of his life, all he did was watch it. Over and over again. Like it was a punishment for what he had done. He got too close to the fire. The film worked the way it was meant. He became paranoid, skittish. It got to him.” 

Tears gather in her eyes as she continues. “He grabbed a knife on the way to find me in the bedroom. Only when he slit my throat,” she pulls her scarf down to show a scar running across her throat, “he just disfigured me. When he did it to himself, he died.” She laughs bitterly. “I don’t know who got the better end of that. I was left to watch over the film. I hate that film. I hate everything that it caused. I hate that it was always going to be too late to make it better.”

Seokjin swallows. That’s a lot to take in. It still doesn’t really answer why there’s no record, though he supposes that given enough infamy and money, keeping a death quiet is easy enough. 

“Can… I have the film?

She stares at him for a long moment then moves over to a rack of reels. She goes to touch it but her hand stops shy of making contact. “I put it here. I hate even having it in the house.”

Seokjin moves over when she steps back, fingers brushing the shelf just below where the film sits. He honestly can’t believe that he’s here. That he actually found it. What’s more baffling is that it seems that no one ever thought to check with Backovic’s wife for the location of the film. The easiest place to hide, in the most obvious place. “Ever since I’ve been tracking this, I’ve been seeing flashes. Circles with images inside.”

“The cigarette burns?” Katja’s eyes fill with pity at his nod. “When did they start?”

“I heard this interview, with Hans, from the night of the premiere-”

“You were marked. That’s how potent the film is. You don’t even have to watch it to be affected by it. As soon as you start getting close to it, it’s got you. Slowly, like sinking into quicksand.” She gives him a last sad smile, like she already knows what the future holds for him. “Take the film. It’s already too late.”

Seokjin takes the films from the shelf. He feels strange, something not quite sitting right with him. He’s not sure if it’s her cryptic answers or the way the films feel heavier that film reels should. But he leaves, flies back home because his current employer happens to live within driving distance of his apartment. He takes them as soon as he makes it back to his apartment. He wants them gone as soon as possible.

He leaves the reels in the trunk of his car because they make his skin crawl to have them on the seat beside him. He doesn’t want to touch them anymore than he has too. 

When Seokjin arrives at Bellinger’s house, the man in question and his butler are both waiting on the steps. Seokjin pops the trunk open and Bellinger is quick to rub his hands across the cases, a pleased hum leaving him. Then he’s pulling them out and handing him to his butler with the instruction to go set up the projector. 

Bellinger turns back to Seokjin. “I never showed you how I knew that this film still existed. Would you like to see before you leave?”

Seokjin shifts. He doesn’t really want to. He wants to go home, forget that he ever looked for this film. Go back to his normal life, taking care of his theater and spending time with Taehyung. But it seems rude and so he nods. Bellinger leads him into the house and down a short hallway. When he opens a door, Seokjin feels like all the air has been sucked from his lungs with what he sees. 

It’s the woman from the circles. Chained to the floor and wings mounted on the wall. Bellinger enters the room and she immediately cowers, giving Seokjin a view of her back and where two long, red cuts sit. Right about where wings would attach. They look fresher than decades old wounds should look. Because Seokjin knows she must be the one from the stills. One of the angels in Backovic’s film. The man from the warehouse’s words comes back to him as he’s staring at her. Divine blood spilled on camera. Seokjin’s chest aches.

Bellinger runs a hand across her head and she curls more into herself. “I happened to be lucky enough to acquire a few props from the film.”

Seokjin’s stomach turns at a being, an angel, being referred to as nothing more than a prop. “Can I have the rest of my payment?”

“Ah! Of course!” Bellinger reaches into his pocket and hands Seokjin an envelope. 

Seokjin doesn’t even care if it’s the right amount. He needs to get out of here. He wants to claw his skin off the longer he stays. He turns and leaves, missing the look the angel sends him. 

Seokjin rests his forehead against the steering wheel once he’s in the car. He allows himself a few deep breaths before finally pulling away from the house. He needs to just not think about this for a few hours. And then he can figure out what he should do with the new weight of information that’s been bestowed upon him. He taps the console, dialing Taehyung.

“Hey! You’ve been pretty quiet lately, you good?” He answers cheerily. 

“Better now.”

“Oh?” Taehyung sounds excited. “What happened?”

“I found it. Fuck, I can’t… I can’t even explain anything properly. But… fuck, Tae, I really found it. I found La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

“Where is it now?”

Seokjin frowns. That’s a weird question. Taehyung knows pretty well how this works, plus Seokjin left Bellinger’s information in his office in case he needed Taehyung to get in contact with him should something go wrong. “Tae, what-” He cuts off when his call waiting pops up, revealing that Bellinger is calling him. “Sorry Tae, that’s the other line. I’ll talk to you when I get home.”

“Seokjin no! Wait! Whatever you do, don’t watch-” Seokjin cuts him off as he switches to Bellinger’s call. 

Bellinger starts babbling, it sounds like he was babbling before Seokjin even answered the call. It’s hard for Seokjin to follow most of what he’s saying. Eventually he gathers enough that Bellinger needs him to come back. Had he grabbed the wrong film? Had Katja switched them on purpose? Or lied about it still existing? That seems unlikely, but he supposes he’ll find out when he gets back to Bellinger’s mansion. He turns the car around the first chance he gets. 

Bellinger’s house is quiet when he enters after he receives no answer to his knocking. But he makes it only a few feet past the foyer when the butler staggers out from a room, covered in cuts and knife still in hand. He points a finger at Seokjin.

“This is all your fault. You brought this evil here!” 

And Seokjin can only watch with a horrified expression as the butler stabs the knife into one eye and then the other. Panic wells in his chest and Seokjin moves quickly through the house, finding the small theater room with ease after heading the direction that the butler had come from. There’s no one in the seats, but he sees movement in the projection booth so he heads back there. 

Bellinger stands on the other side of the room, next to an empty projector. He murmurs something, though Seokjin’s unsure if he meant it for him or if he is just talking to himself. He lifts a straight razor, setting it on top of the projector like it’s a normal thing to do. He’s sweaty and winces every so often as his arm moves behind the projector. Seokjin wants to help, but he has a feeling he might be a little too late for that. And he’d prefer to not get closer and see just what Bellinger did with that straight razor. 

“I’ve done some terrible things,” he gasps out. “You have to to become this rich.”

Seokjin sees a flash of the angel and realization washes over him. “You watched La Fin Absolue du Monde.”

Bellinger jerks forward, wincing at the sudden movement, but there's a wild look in his eye. He seems unphased by the jarring motion that caused him further harm, too engrossed in the need to tell Seokjin about the movie. “Yeah… I recommend it.” He shakes his head and groans. “It’s not a movie though. Just a preview. The coming attractions of the soul.”

“You said you needed help.”

“I was going to ask you to find another movie for me. But… I don’t need it anymore. I have been… inspired.” There’s a disconcerting squelch and then Bellinger flicks the projector on and a second later something red and gooey slides through the projector like a film reel. It takes Seokjin only a second to realize what it is and he covers his mouth in horror and backs out of the room as he retches. Bellinger’s wheezed laughter follows him out as he sits heavily in one of the theater chairs. He just needs a minute to collect himself. He’s never been faced with so much blood and death in person. Movies sure, but those are fake. Actors with makeup and corn syrup. People who get up and walk away after the scene is done. Not this. 

He buries his face in his hands. He has no idea how long he sits there, but when he looks up, he’s horrified to realize that the film restarted. He has no idea if it was Bellinger doing it and that’s why he called him here, compelled by the film to get someone else to watch or if there’s some other force at play that started it. Taehyung’s warnings float through his mind.

He squeezes his eyes shut. He can’t watch this. He doesn’t want to, he wants to leave and never come back. Maybe never watch a movie again. But then there’s a scream and something makes him open his eyes. And there, projected on the screen, is Taehyung. Strapped belly down on a table as a masked man laughs and hacks at the base of Taehyung’s wings. Screen Taehyung lets out another anguished scream and Seokjin forces his eyes closed again. 

He’s not going to watch. He won’t. There’s a need to do something in his chest but he can’t figure out what it is. A woman screams on screen and with a sudden, bright clarity, Seokjin knows what it is that he needs to do. He scrambles out of his seat, blindly feeling his way out of the room as best he can. Once in the relative safety of the hallway, he heads immediately towards the angel. She’s staring directly at the door when he enters, like she was expecting him. And Seokjin would be disconcerted if he hadn’t just seen his best friend and the guy who he’s maybe interested in getting his literal, actual wings cut off. Seokjin thinks that nothing could ever phase him again after this. He moves to the desk on the far wall, tearing through the drawers until he finds the shackle keys. 

He approaches slowly, getting to his knees and crawling the last few feet to her. He reaches out just as slowly, but she doesn’t move an inch. He’d think she was a statue if he hadn’t seen her moving before. He undoes each of the cuffs then slides himself back to give her space. 

She doesn’t move at first and when she does, it’s to look back to the door, a small smile gracing her lips. “Taehyung,” she sighs.

Seokjin jerks, turning to see Taehyung standing in the doorway, shirtless with the film reels tucked under one arm. He quickly approaches the woman, completely ignoring Seokjin’s presence. The lack of attention gives Seokjin the opportunity to see Taehyung’s back and see that the same two marks that marr her back also marr his. 

The two press their foreheads together and stay like that for a long while. Seokjin begins to feel like an intruder and so he tries to quietly stand and slip out. But he only makes it to standing before Taehyung is turning towards him. 

Seokjin…” His eyes are watery. “Thank you.”

Seokjin gives a jerky nod and quickly leaves. He doesn’t know what he’d say to Taehyung. He just found out that he’s actually an angel. What do you even say to that? Sorry some asshole film director mutilated you on film and someone else captured your angel… friend? Partner? Seokjin doesn’t want to think about it. They seem to know what they need now that they’re in possession of the films. He’s not needed anymore.

Seokjin tries to get back to normal life. He really does, though Taehyung’s disappearance leaves a bigger hole in his life than he would’ve thought. It’s a little heartbreaking too. He’d been seriously considering seeing if the younger would be interested in something more. 

Plus he’s now lost some of the help he had at the theater. He hires someone else, a sweet kid named Jungkook and he lets him help find more current or interesting films to show alongside some older and more indie films and business steadily picks up. Yoongi questions his sudden change of heart on the films he shows and Seokjin staunchly refuses to admit that he did it in honor of Taehyung who always nagged him to get newer films in. He spends more time with other friends and tries not to think about how much he misses Taehyung. 

That is, until he’s home one night and there’s a knock on his balcony door. Which is baffling because Seokjin lives on the 25th floor and it’s a fucking balcony. Cautiously, he slides open the door, jaw dropping when he sees Taehyung and you, looking full and happy and with pretty black wings folded neatly behind you both. Seokjin rubs at his eyes. There’s no way. He’s got to be dreaming.  

Taehyung moves in to give Seokjin a hug but Seokjin takes a quick step back. Taehyung’s face falls slightly and you reach out to rub his arm comfortingly. 

You give Seokjin a soft smile. “We wanted to come thank you.”

Seokjin flushes. “It was nothing.”

You shake your head. “No you don’t understand. It was everything. Taehyung and I were bound to that film. As long as it existed, we were trapped and broken. But you saved us.”

“Seokjin…” Taehyung’s voice sounds so small and Seokjin aches to hold him. 

But he can’t. Not yet. He has to know. It’s been festering in his mind ever since Taehyung disappeared. “Did you befriend me just so I’d find your film?”

Taehyung’s eyes widen and he’s quick to shake his head. “No! I was your friend because I wanted to be! I was trapped here. It was so lonely without Y/n. But I found you and… I don’t know. Something just drew me to you.” Taehyung ducks his head in shame. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell you what I was. I didn’t want you to think I was crazy and stop being my friend.”

Seokjin’s heart breaks and before Taehyung can utter another word, Seokjin is crushing him in a hug. Taehyung lets out a watery laugh and they stay like that for a long minute before finally pulling away. 

“You two should probably come in so people don’t see the wings and think I’m hiding mothman or something.”

Taehyung perks up. “Oh, we can fix that.”

And before Seokjin can ask what he means, the air around the both of you shimmers and when it clears, you’re both standing there, wingless.

Taehyung grins. “Angel powers are pretty cool, huh?”

Seokjin blinks. “Y-yeah… Uh, you can still come in though. Wings or not.”

Taehyung grins and ushers both Seokjin and you into the apartment. You all sit and an awkward silence settles on the room. 

“So… Where did you disappear to?”

Taehyung grimaces and you reach over to take his hand before turning to Seokjin. “Hand to find a creative way to get home without powers so we could get the film destroyed and recover. The recovery didn’t take long. But trying to find the way home proved tricky when we didn’t have our powers to locate other angels.”

Seokjin glances at you then at Taehyung, a lump forming in his throat. “Are… you going to stick around?”

Taehyung smirks and slides closer to Seokjin. “Depends. Do we have a reason to stick around?”

Seokjin gulps. “We?”

You rise and settle on Seokjin’s other side and both your hand and Taehyung’s come to rest on Seokjin’s thighs in perfect synchrony. “We.” You confirm with a coy smile. “We’d really like to thank you properly first though.”

“Can… Can angels even do that?”

He gets two giggles in response and then both you and Taehyung are slipping from the couch to kneel before him. Seokjin wonders how much you’ve done this to be so in sync with one another. It makes him equals parts aroused and jealous. Two hands slide up his thigh, playing with the waistband of his sweats. Taehyung looks smug and you have a matching expression as you bat your eyelashes up at him, looking every inch like an innocent angel despite the hand that is dangerously close to his rapidly filling cock. 

“You can say no,” you offer, when his silence continues to stretch. 

“No!”

Taehyung snickers. “I told you. We already had a thing almost going. And who wouldn’t go for you.”

You nudge Taehyung playfully. “Stop that. This is about Seokjin.”

Taehyung turns back to Seokjin, grin much darker than before as his hand tightens on Seokjin’s waistband. “You’re right. So? Will you let us thank you?”

Seokjin blinks. He’s still trying to figure out how he ended up here. The two of you look far more salacious than Seokjin thinks a pair of angels should ever look. He wonders if you’re not just some demons pretending. He can’t deny that the thought of both of you doing whatever you deem as showing your thanks is intriguing. And Taehyung’s not wrong. They had been close. He just didn’t expect that to work out this way. He doesn’t think he can find a thing to complain about when he looks at how pretty you both look between his legs and eager to please. 

“Hm, do you think he’s distracted by the thought of what we’ll do to him?” Your gaze slides towards Taehyung.” “Or how we look together?”

A groan rumbles in Seokjin’s chest. Fuck, he hadn’t even thought about seeing the two of you together. You both smile at the reaction and take that as consent to tug Seokjin’s pants down and off. His cock rests hard and heavy against his belly as the both of you greedily drink in the sight. 

Your tongue darts out to lick your lips as Taehyung presses Seokjin’s legs a little further apart so that both you and Taehyung fit between them. You make eye contact with Seokjin and wink before turning to Taehyung and pulling him in for a kiss. The kiss is immediately filthy and Seokjin groans at the slick sounds coming from you both. It’s clear that you are familiar with each other, an ease that oozes from you both as you kiss. Taehyung’s hands tangle in your hair, drawing a loud moan that he’s quick to swallow. 

Seokjin starts to feel a little like an intruder, but as soon as he has the thought, there’s your hand is sliding up his calf. You stop at the bend of his knee and Seokjin only has a moment to ponder what you’re doing before you’re tugging him closer until his ass is perched on the edge of the couch. He’d be a little scared at the casual display of power if it didn’t turn him on more. Not breaking contact with your kiss with Taehyung, your hand continues its path up his leg until you can wrap your hand around his cock.

Seokjin’s hips jerk into your grip and he can see the slightest edge of a smile tugging at your lips. You give him a squeeze before sliding your hand up the thick length. Seokjin wants to squeeze his eyes shut but he’s too drawn to the way you and Taehyung look together. He almost wants to bat your hand away and see what the two of you do together.

Jolting, his gaze drops to where Taehyung’s hand has joined your’s on his cock, thumb circling the head and gathering precum. Then he’s pulling his hand back and slipping his thumb between your mouths. Seokjin sees your tongue brush the pad of his thumb and then brush against Taehyung’s to share the taste of Seokjin with him. It’s unfair how erotic the two of your are together. 

Seokjin just might die. Actually, maybe he’s already dead. Maybe that film actually did kill him. If this is the afterlife, he certainly can’t complain. Your hand settles at the base once again and you use your grip to tilt it closer to your and Taehyung’s mouths. You both shift closer, until your tongues brush the head of Seokjin’s cock just as much as they do against each other. 

Groaning, Seokjin’s hands curl into fists where they rest on the couch, at a complete loss of what to do as the two of you seem content to torture him by making out with his dick trapped in the middle. The two of you continue like that, tongues brushing the sensitive head of his cock with every brush against each other, lips occasionally dragging with the movement. 

Seokjin kind of hopes that he is dead, because he might die with how slow the two of you decide to go. He hesitates for only a moment before he’s unclenching his fists and resting his hand on each of your heads. Getting a pleased hum from you, he takes that as encouragement to push a little more and he pushes both of your heads further down his cock. Your lips barely touch Taehyung’s now that Seokjin’s cock is properly between you, girth forcing you too far apart. You work your tongue, moving lower as Taehyung moves back towards the tip. 

You trace a vein until it disappears at the base of his cock, shifting then to lap at his balls. Taehyung’s tongue swirls around the head, taking his time playing with the slit before wrapping his lips around and sucking. Seokjin moans, hands tightening in both yours and Taehyung’s hair. 

You let your hand closest to Taehyung trace his thigh before you’re pressing against his clothed erection. Taehyung whines, accidently sliding further down Seokjin’s cock and making himself gag. You smother your laugh against Seokjin’s thigh and Seokjin uses his grip of your hair to pull your face up. 

You blink up at him with wide eyes at the sudden action and Seokjin smirks. “I don’t think that was a very nice thing to do, princess.” He gently pulls Taehyung off his cock. “What do you think, prince? Was that very nice?”

Taehyung stares up at Seokjin with wide, blown out eyes, lips plump and spit slick. He licks his lips and shakes his head and Seokjin gives him an indulgent smile and cups his cheek. Taehyung leans into his palm, eyes slipping closed. Seokjin turns back to you and the soft look melts away and you gulp. 

He smirks. “Why don’t we give her a taste of her own medicine, my little prince?”

Taehyung shoots you a smug look and nods again, making Seokjin chuckle. He releases Taehyung, who shifts slightly out of the way. Seokjin grips his cock with one hand and guides you down onto it with the other. You open easily, squirming as Seokjin slowly feeds his cock into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. 

He drags you back, just as slow, before pushing you back down, cock hitting the back of your throat with more force and you gag. Taehyung’s hand finds yours, giving it a squeeze as Seokjin quickly works up a rhythm fucking your mouth. You struggle to take him, Seokjin thrusting before you have a chance to catch your breath. 

Tears spring to your eyes and Seokjin chuckles. “Where’s the laughter now, hm, princess? It was so funny when Taehyungie was the one gagging on my cock.”

You whine around him and Seokjin picks up his pace, thighs flexing beneath your hands. Taehyung’s nails scratch along Seokjin’s thighs, sliding up to cup his balls and give them a tug. Seokjin moans and takes only a few more thrusts before he’s cuming in your mouth. You suck him through until he pushes you off and you sit back on your heels waiting for him to look at you. 

When he does, you open your mouth to show the mouthful of cum and then you smirk and pull Taehyung back in for a messy kiss, swapping Seokjin’s cum between you both. Seokjin groans, watching the time you take to make sure every drop is cleaned from your lips. 

Once you’re finished, you both crawl back onto the couch, each straddling one of his thighs. Seokjin cups each of your faces with one of his hands. Taehyung leans forward to press a soft kiss to Seokjin’s lips and when he pulls back you lean in to place a kiss of your own on his lips. 

Taehyung grins when you both press your foreheads to Seokjin’s. “We’re gonna stick around for a while.”

Seokjin can’t say he minds having two angels stick around. It’s a good thing he’s got a king sized bed.

[thewatermelloncat]

*please* continue the "why are you being nice to me?" rosenali prompt

Next addition as requested. Not much happens in this but it does set up for the next bit. So, hopefully that will be more exciting.

I’ve decided to continue this on as long as people are receptive to it and I can find ideas, under what I’m calling Tech AU because to quote Rosé in the Rusical: I’m a freakin’ tech genius.

I want to make this interactive so if you have any prompts or scenarios for what you want to see with this, please send them through. I’m hoping this will be a fun thing for us to do together ❤

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

“Do you want to do a test print?” Rosé asks, standing back behind her chair again. Having left Denali a couple of minutes ago to print off her own publication which she had just handed in.

“No, I just want to get it in” Denali says. There is still about ten minutes left and she probably has time for one but she just can’t be bothered.

“Fair enough” Rosé considers. “You think it’s ready?”

Denali hums as she moves the mouse over to the file tab. Then she stops, realising that she has no idea what she’s doing. “How do I do it? I wrote notes on it but I don’t have them out” she asks while already reaching for her bag at her feet.

“That doesn’t matter. I know what to do” Rosé stops her and she sits back up in her chair again.

“Well, I know to go into File and then go to Export” she begins as she moves the mouse along the screen again. “But I don’t know what to do after that.”

Rosé nods and lets Denali click the commands that she knows about.

“Then we save as a PDF Print, right?” Denali checks, looking back up at Rosé.

She hums with another nod of her head. “See, you do know what you’re doing.”

Denali laughs at the thought. “Well, maybe I knew a bit more than I thought but I promise you, now this is where my knowledge stops.”

Rosé smirks a laugh as well. “Clicking save next might help.”

Denali does and then she waits for Rosé’s next instruction.

“Okay good, preset is high quality” Rosé says lowly to herself, her eyes scanning over the screen. “Go into marks and bleeds” her voice is clearer as she goes back to talking to Denali.

Denali nods and clicks the title on the side panel, a new pop-up box appearing.

“And then just click this box here” Rosé reaches over her to point next to a box on screen and Denali selects it. “Now hit export.”

The tab closes after she does and Denali relaxes a little.

“Then you can just print as normal” Rosé steps back from behind her, sitting in a chair of her own.

“Okay thanks” Denali says as she sets about doing that.

After checking a few settings and selecting a couple of boxes, Denali hits print and gets up from her chair at the sound of the printer churning. “I swear if this thing jams…” Denali calls back to Rosé with her hands on her hips as she waits to see the paper printing out.

“What word are you going to say?” Rosé spins her chair around to face her.

For a second Denali stops short, about to explain that it wasn’t meant to be taken literally.

Though Rosé seems to know that even as she continues, “I’ve found that a well enunciated fuck works in most situations.”

Denali flinches at the curse, shrinking in on herself slightly as her eyes quickly scan the room for teachers, but her and Rosé are the only ones there. She doubts Rosé would care if she got caught either.

Though it isn’t a thought that she dwells on for long as the printer finishes its job and she grabs her printing.

“How does it look?” Rosé asks getting out of her chair and making her way over.

“It looks great” Denali breathes out a sigh of relief, pushing it closer to Rosé.

“It does” Rosé agrees before she steps back from it, letting Denali know she is done looking.

Then Denali moves off to go hand it into the submission box, unable to keep a smile from her face at her nightmare finally being over.

Feeling lighter than air she pretty much skips back to her computer and spins around in her chair before leaning back into it. “I’m so glad that’s over.”

“I told you, you could do it” Rosé says as she puts her things back in her bag and zips it up.

“Hey, uh, thanks for helping me” Denali speaks quickly, seeing Rosé about to leave as she slings her bag on her shoulder. “I really appreciate it.”

Rosé hums with a shrug of her shoulders. “It’s no problem. You’d already done all the work, we just needed to put it back together.”

“No, I really couldn’t have done that without you” Denali affirms and a small smile spreads on Rosé’s lips. Then Denali decides to ask something stupid. “Are you doing anything after this… like now?”

Rosé shakes her head before she can think further about what Denali might ask her.

“Do you want to go somewhere with me? I feel like I owe you a coffee or something.”

“Coffee sounds great actually” Rosé accepts easily.

“Okay, cool” Denali says brightly before her confidence fades. “I, uh, actually live on the other side of town so I don’t really know any good places around here.”

“That’s no big deal” Rosé dismisses. “I know a place but whether it’s good or not really depends on the day.”

“Well, should we go figure out if today is when it decides to be good or not?”

[twokinkybeans]

Seven Inches - Starker Tailor!AU

Find it here on AO3

Wrote this piece for the lovely bean Lien for a very unplanned fic exchanged that somehow blew itself into existence! <3 She needed a tailor!au in her life. Well, here ya go sweetie!

Summary: Peter's hands are a little shaky as he wraps the tape measure around Tony’s chest and huffs a frustrated breath when the tips of his fingers slip past his ribcage. “Kid, it’s okay. You can touch me,” Tony smirks, clearly amused at Peter’s awkward attempts to avoid touching him.

-

Aside from being in college and keeping his neighborhood safe in the evening hours, Peter Parker works in May's Tailoring shop as a Tailor In Learning. One day, Tony Stark, Peter's all-time-favorite idol, sets foot in the shop. It doesn't take long for Peter to figure out Tony wants more than a suit.

---

Seven Inches

Peter hums along with the soft beat of Señorita as he hits the ‘send’ button for yet another order. The man that had been here earlier had wanted a special jacquard wedding suit. Peter loves tailoring wedding suits. Loves it when his customers have specific requests. In the end, they opted for a black tropical print as that matches the man’s dark slicked-back hair perfectly. The print is going to look perfect on the jacquard fabric and he can’t wait to see the end result of this particular piece. He hopes the man will love it but he feels pretty sure about this one. He glances at the clock behind him and smiles. Two more hours to kill before he gets to go home and finally play that new video game with Ned. His best friend had been bragging about for weeks in a row now. It’s hard balancing working in May’s shop, attending lectures, and studying to pass his exams and on top of that also being Spider-Man at night. Ned understands that Peter doesn’t have a lot of time to spend with him, but whenever they do it’s definitely some high-end quality time. 

Peter looks up startled at the jingling noise indicating that another customer has walked into the shop. Peter looks up from his clipboard and a smile immediately finds its way onto his face. After years of working in May’s shop, it has become an automatic reaction. A Pavlov reaction to the bell. Peter grins at the thought. “Good afternoon, Sir, welcome to-” Peter’s voice catches in his throat when he sees that the man is no one other than Mr. Tony Stark. He gulps and mentally kicks himself for his reaction. “-welcome to May’s Tailoring, how may I help you?” Mr. Stark sends him his characteristically charming smirk and doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he eyes at Peter, causing the boy’s cheeks to flush. “You’re not May Parker, are you?” Peter is dumbfounded for a moment until he spots the man’s playful demeanor and laughter bubbles up in his throat. He shakes his head sheepishly and relaxes. “No, Sir. Peter. Peter Parker. I work here every now and then.” “How convenient. You’re her son?” “Nephew.” “Fair, fair-” Tony teases and walks up to the counter, still eyeing him. “We must’ve missed each other the other times I’ve been here, I-”

“You’ve been here?” Peter blurts only then realizing his mistake. “I-I’m sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to pry, I just-” Peter cuts himself off before he makes this situation even worse. He always told himself he’d act cool if he would ever meet his idol. Well, so far for keeping it casual. Mr. Stark must get this all the time and Peter wishes he’d been able to contain himself instead of exposing his inner fangirl from the very first second. Tony waves it off nonchalantly. “Don’t stress it, kid. I’m flattered.” He clears his throat to break the slight tension. “I need a new suit, obviously. Do you take measurements too or are you only in here for sales?” “No, no I do. Aren’t your measurements in our system already, Mr. S-” “No.” Peter cocks an eyebrow at the man and the billionaire rolls his eyes. “Well, they are. However, I’m not exactly consistent in my health habits so,” he gestures at his own body. “-I want to make sure it actually fits.” “Of course. What are you looking for?” Peter opens the right tab in the computer’s system to fill our the information and have a quick check at the old numbers anyways. Any reference would only make his job easier. He can’t believe May never told him about this. She knows just how obsessed he is with the CEO of Stark Industries, or Iron Man. Both. The dark-haired man in front of him is both genius and hot. Peter looks up to him, only hoping to ever be that smart or handsome. He sighs quietly and a faint smile plays on his lips. This, this is exactly why his aunt kept it in the dark.

“Well, I have this stupid gala coming up and I’m looking for a royal blue lounge suit. Preferably with three buttons, single-breasted. The linen May used last time was perfect, is it still available?” Peter quickly scribbles down the man’s requests on the little notepad he keeps at the counter and then glances up at the screen to figure out what exact fabric the man’s talking about. “Oh, I’m afraid that one only comes in either burgundy, black, or a cloudy gray. We do have a very similar fabric that might come in blue, let me check, and-” “Burgundy.” “What?” “I’ll go with burgundy. I love that fabric and I don’t think I own any piece of clothing in that color yet.” “Are you sure, Mr. Stark? It really is no big deal to find something blue,” Peter tries, not wanting to make the man feel as if there are no options to choose from. Heck. The options are endless for a man so wealthy. Tony shakes his head adamantly.  “I want this one.”

Peter shrugs as he decides not to question nor judge the man’s impulsive choice and he picks up his pen to cross ‘royal blue’ and add ‘burgundy’ instead. He opens the top right drawer to take the tape measure - which of course isn’t there. Tony snorts at Peter’s displeased face. “You’re exactly like your aunt.” “She’s the only reason things are never where they’re supposed to be.” Peter sighs, his tone playful though. He loves his aunt, and there should be enough tape measures around the shop to make up for the one he can’t find right now. They’re scattered everywhere. “I should be able to find one… Here!” Peter grins triumphantly as he grabs one from the bottom shelf in the closet behind him.  “Let’s get to the back, Mr. Stark.” “Tony, call me Tony.”

Peter has to force himself to not stare at Mr. Stark’s gorgeous body in front of him. All the man is wearing now are the tight black boxers and it has Peter half-hard in his jeans. He can’t stop glancing sideways as he expertly takes the necessary measurements for the sleeves and shoulders of the lounge suit. Blushing every time his finger’s brush past Tony’s warm skin. He tries. He really tries to keep his hands from touching but completely dodging it is simply impossible with this job. He scribbles down the numbers on his little notepad and bites down his lips as he realizes the next step is the man’s chest. His waist. His hips and then, oh god, his thighs. Peter gulps as he steps towards Tony’s right side. He’s a professional. He’s done this countless times. Fuck, May trusts him to run the shop by himself, and here he is, thinking the most inappropriate thoughts about the richest man of the States. He has to get a grip on himself, but it sure doesn’t help that the man stars basically all of his dirty little fantasies. His hands are a little shaky as he wraps the tape around Tony’s chest and huffs a frustrated breath when the tips of his fingers slip past his ribcage. “Kid, it’s okay. You can touch me,” Tony smirks, clearly amused at Peter’s awkward attempts to avoid touching him. “Mr. Sta- Tony. I’m so sorry. I don’t usually get like, well, this-” his cheeks flush even more and he groans. He couldn’t even keep his mouth shut if his life would depend on it.  “Mmh-” Tony hums playfully. “-get on with it then.” Peter looks up at Tony’s face and the blatant flirtatious grin knocks the air out his lungs. Oh, God. This isn’t happening. He feels the little surge of arousal in his groin and licks his lips, casting his eyes down at hands. At the number that indicates the perimeter of Tony’s chest. Right. He’s taking measurements. The sooner he finishes this, the sooner he can forget about his embarrassing behavior.

“I’m just gonna…” his voice trails off and he bites down on his lip as he sinks down onto one knee at Tony’s side. Peter wraps the tape around Tony’s thigh shakily and he’s ashamed to admit he loves the strong, lean muscles underneath his touch. Tony shifts his weight, causing the muscles to tense, and Peter nearly gasps. “Boy, you alright down there?” “Yes, yes Sir. I-” “Tell me, kid. How old are you?” Peter’s head shoots up at that, searching the man’s face. He isn’t exactly certain why the man is asking him that. He has an idea, though, and the mere thought has his breath hitch in his throat. “I’m nineteen, Sir.” “Good to know. Now, finish up.” “Of course,” Peter rushes out and scribbles down the number. The stern order finally clearing his mind a little and his hands find back their usual rhythm. It doesn’t take long for him to finish. His eyes scan past the page quickly to see if there’s anything he’s missed, but nope, he’s all good like that, so he gets up from the floor, taking a step back.

“Alright, Tony, you can uh, dress again. I’ll see you at the counter to discuss the details.” “Sure thing, Peter.” The man doesn’t move though and Peter wonders what would happen if he’d drop to his knees again. Would Tony take the offer? He wants to ask. He’s so close to actually going for it. He can’t, though. He wouldn’t be able to stand the rejection. This is Tony fucking Stark, and he’s just some kid working in his aunt’s shop. Surely Tony must’ve had better offers. Without another word, he turns his back to Mr. Stark and makes his way to the counter to fill out the digital form to complete the order.

He almost asked the man to fuck him, and he’s not sure whether he’s relieved or disappointed that he didn’t. 

-

“May?” Peter squeaks and he groans at the way his voice betrays him. He hopes May will simply see it as his usual nervous babbling and won’t blink an eye. “Can I work this Thursday?” May looks up from her iPad and smirks, rolling her eyes at him. Peter blushes. She knows what he’s up to. “This is why I didn’t tell you, Pete.” “I know, I know!” He exclaims and sinks into the couch. “But now that I found out, surely you can’t deny me that little bit of pleasure?” May grins at him, shaking her head. “Fine, fine, I’ll take a day off. God, he’s sexy isn’t he?” His aunt wiggles her eyebrows at him. “May!” She laughs and Peter blushes. She found out just how deep his obsession with the billionaire ran one day a couple years ago when she walked in on him jerking off to one of his many posters. It’s hands down one of the most embarrassing moments of his entire life. She didn’t judge him for it, though, Peter is still very grateful about that. It also had been his coming-out to her, the first time he ever told anyone he’s gay. She simply gave him time to get dressed and then they talked about it for a bit. No matter how mortifying the start of the conversation had been, the moment definitely made him grow a stronger bond with her. She’s so much more than his aunt now. She’s his big sister. His friend. Maybe even his parent - something he still finds hard to wrap his head around but it’s the truth.

“Well, isn’t he? I don’t believe you didn’t watch at his abs.” “Hnnngh, I did actually.” “See?” “Fuck, he’s hot, May.” Peter groans, hugging a pillow into his chest. “Should I even help him again? Isn’t that like, against tailor-ethics?” “Oh you, don’t worry so much about it. Just don’t do anything stupid.” She pauses for a moment and Peter figures he shouldn’t tell her how he almost offered the man to fuck him right there and then. “No matter how cocky the man presents himself, he’s not like that at all.” “What do you mean?” “I can’t say I know him, but… I’d say deep down he’s genuinely a sweet man.”

Those are the words that echo in his mind when Tony walks into the shop that Thursday. Peter musters a smile onto his face and can’t help the tingly feeling from spreading through his chest when he sees Tony’s eyes light up as he spots Peter behind the counter. “Morning, kid!” “Good morning, Sir.” Peter beams, knowing he doesn’t have to address Tony like that. He wants to, though. It has a nice ring to it. “You’re too polite for your own good, kid,” Tony grunts, walking up to him. “-good to see you again though. I was hoping you would be here.” “You were?” “Yeah.” Tony sniffs and leans forward on the counter. Peter’s breath catches in his throat. The man’s face mere inches away. His eyes so daring and playful that Peter is almost dreading the next string of words. “You’re cute.” 

Peter’s cheeks burn up and he swallows, a sudden bold feeling overcoming him when he too leans on the counter and grins. “What exactly are you implying here, Mr. Stark?” The man grins at the question.  “I like boys like you, Peter. Young. Handsome. Cute.” Tony licks his lips and stands up straight again. “I’m no predator, though. I’ve laid out my cards, and I’m leaving the choice up to you.” Peter can’t believe what he’s hearing. Can’t believe how straightforward Tony is. Oh God, Mr. Stark thinks he’s handsome and cute. Fuckable.  “I-I-” he stutters, fingers digging into the counter, only to let go quickly. He doesn’t want to accidentally break the wood with his super strength. Tony doesn’t give him time to answer. “So, how’s my suit?”

Peter inhales sharply, trying to recompose himself. He’s at work. He should do his damned job. May wouldn’t forgive him if he didn’t.  “You can try it on in the back. There’s a large mirror directly on the right. Call me if you need me.” Peter picks the right suit from the rack behind him and hands it to Tony. Smiling innocently. Two can play a game. He knows the man has worn so many suits in his life that he would never actually need Peter’s help. He hopes Tony will pretend, though, pretend not to know how it works. Calling for Peter to rescue him. He sighs out loud, glancing at the doors. Peter isn’t usually very confident with things like these, but Tony is so clearly hitting on him that he wants their little game to continue. Please, please call out for me.

“Peter? I think I need some help.”

-

Ever since that day, Peter checks May’s work schedule obsessively. She notices but doesn’t really comment on it. She’s sweet like that. Peter knows Tony could drop in without an appointment as well, like last time. He tries to work as many shifts as he can with his college schedule. Just in case. Just in case the man will step in to demand yet another suit. Peter’s not gonna lie, he’s been watching the new interview with Mr. Stark where he actually wears the burgundy suit they had with him right before the gala. The color just fits so well with the man’s tanned skin and his dark hair. Watching him wear it makes Peter’s mind flash back to the teasing that occurred in the shop and he can’t help think of it as his suit. Peter’s.

Peter is actually splayed out on his bed now. He’s got half an hour to kill before he leaves to the shop again so he scrolls through Tony’s Instagram account, gawking over the beautiful pictures from the same night. He remembers his fingers brushing past the man’s skin. Remembers kneeling, feeling his strong thighs flexing underneath his touch. Most of all, he remembers the soft “Pretty boy,” the man had whispered, fingers dragging through his curls while Peter had checked how well the suit fits him.  It’s been three weeks. Three long weeks in which Peter has jerked off every single night just thinking about those words. Imagining how it’d feel to have the man pushed balls deep inside of him. His fingers swipe up on the phone screen and tap on his contact list, scrolling down until he sees Tony’s name appear on the screen. He knows it’s not exactly fair but he saved it in his phone from the information Tony gave them for the shop’s clientele system. Tony’s only one call away.  However, Peter can’t bring himself to follow through. He hates it. He hates how he doubts everything. He isn’t sure whether he just wants to fuck the man or go on a date with him. Perhaps both. Maybe nothing at all. He’s worried he only likes the man because he’s been idolizing him for years now. Because when he thinks about it, even in the store, they haven’t actually talked much. Some jokes here and there, some basic information he needed for the suit and the sexual innuendo from last time. That’s it.  But then, people fuck actual strangers. Peter at least knows who this is. That’s already a plus, right? Gosh, sleeping around has never been this difficult. Not that he’s done it often but it’d definitely been different.

He sighs, dragging his ass out of bed to leave for the shop. The longer he waits here the more he’ll start to doubt himself. At least work will distract him for a bit. With Valentine’s Day coming up there are more requests than usual and Peter loves keeping busy. He fastens the shoelaces tightly and smiles at himself in the mirror, readjusting the collar of his white button-up shirt.  “May, I’m off!” “Wait- Pete hold up!” May’s voice comes from the kitchen and he cocks an eyebrow as he waits for her to catch up with him. “I just got a phone call. Guess who?” Peter’s eyes widen. Either it’s Mrs. Cortes from the apartment beneath them or Mr. Stark. Seeing the shimmer in May’s eyes, it’s the latter. “No way!” “Yes, Peter. He asked for you, specifically. He’s coming in at two for a new suit.” Peter’s mind is spinning. He’s seeing his crush again. Tony Stark asked for him. “Peter, is there something going on that I should know about?” “No? I mean? I don’t know?” May raises her eyebrows at him and Peter groans. “I think he wants to fuck me?” “What?! Peter!” “I know! I don’t know!” He exclaims and adjusts the backpack sliding off his shoulder. “He’s been hinting at it?” “And you want him to, that’s why you’ve been working at the shop so much lately.” May groans and shakes her head. “Peter, I don’t even know what to say. Did something happen?” Peter shakes his head frantically, blushing. “Just… Flirting.” “Flirting. You’ve been flirting with our most important customer.” “He started it!” May huffs at his words and Peter knows he fucked up big time. “Look, May, I’m sorry-” “Peter. I don’t… I’m not angry with you. It’s just...” May sighs and Peter presses his lips together. “Mr. Stark is handsome. Sexy. I know that he’s your superhero and all that. He’s charming and sweet, but I don’t want you to do something you’ll regret.”

What?

“You’re not going to fire me?” “No. I guess I’m not. I probably should, but, you’re old enough to decide who and who not to fuck. And I can’t blame you for wanting to ride his di-” “May!” Peter’s cheeks are glowing hot with embarrassment now. “What? I’ve been young too. You think I never did anything like that?” Peter squeezes his eyes shut to banish the intrusive images from his thoughts. He did not want to know that. “Just be careful. He’s more than twice your age. I want you to really think about this.” May sighs, shaking her head. “And please lock the door, I don’t need to lose customers to this.” Peter can’t believe what she’s saying. Is she really telling him to go for it?  “May, I don’t-” May simply grins at him and presses a kiss on Peter’s forehead.  “Have a good day at work, honey!”

It’s safe to say Peter anxiously waits for 2 pm to come around. He’s a wreck. Now that May knows about this it’s so real. So very real that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s an easy day, only one appointment at 10 am for a simple black tux. The man bought one by himself but the sleeves were two inches too long. He promised the man it would be ready tomorrow and Peter was thanked for the quick service. Peter mindlessly worked on both sleeves and stored the jacket away carefully when he was done. May still needs to teach him a lot, but the sleeve work is something he can do himself. He stares at the clock. Ten more minutes. Ten more minutes until Mr. Stark will walk in here again. God. Peter is horny. And scared. What if it’d been nothing more than a silly game? But then, the man had told him he’d wait for Peter to make a move. That seemed to be a pretty serious offer. 

Right?

The door jingles and Peter jumps up startled, his head whipping around only to find the devil himself standing in the doorway. Peter gulps. He’s wearing the burgundy suit. Tony Stark is wearing his suit. “H-Hello, Mr. Stark,” he stammers. “You’re early.” “I arrived precisely when I meant to,” Tony joked, referring Lord Of The Rings, and Peter can’t help chuckling at that.  “Didn’t take you for such a nerd.” Peter snorts and visibly relaxes now that Tony is actually here. The man fake-gasps. “Did you just call me out on my fantastic taste in movies?” “I may have.” “Well, then you’re a nerd too. Knew that from day one though.” Tony jests. Peter raises an eyebrow at him and shakes his head slightly. “What gave it away?” “Are you aware that you wear batman vans to work?” Peter blushes and glances down at his feet. Dammit. He wears the pair so mindlessly that he hadn’t given it a second thought. Ever. Okay, he is a nerd. 

“So, how can I help you, Gandalf?” Tony snickers and shakes his head.  “Need a new suit.” “Something wrong with this one?” Peter waves at the burgundy one he’s wearing now. “No, I love it. I’ve got a little press conference coming up though, and well, I need to spend my money on something now don’t I? I was thinking a deep blue tweed suit. Do you two work with that?” “A tweed suit? I- Yes, we do.” Peter scribbles it down again and then searches for all the possible options in the system. “Alright for deep blue we have two options.” Peter turns the screen around so Tony can see. “The first one is woven using the herringbone structure. The color is slightly darker than… This one, woven using a twill structure. It might feel more sturdy but the color is lighter.” “Which one do you recommend?” “Depends. Herringbone is classier, twill more casual. Most people won’t see the difference...” “But you do.” “I do.”

It’s silent for a moment. Somehow, those words were spoken like a confession and they both feel it. Peter looks up at Tony and sends him a little smile before reaching for the tape measure that’s dangling from his neck this time.  “Peter,” Tony breathes, his nostrils flaring. “-is this you making your choice?” “Well, Mr. Stark…” Peter grins and walks to the entrance. The loud click when he turns the key is his answer. He turns the sign, stating that the shop is now closed. When he turns around again, he tilts his head slightly.  “Follow me.” Peter walks past Tony, not waiting for the man’s response. This is his chance. He knows the man wants him.

“Alright. If you would please undress yourself, Sir? I can take your measurements.” Tony raises his eyebrows at him. “You already have my-” “Wouldn’t want to risk your suit not fitting due to your fluctuating health habits now would we.” Peter teases, repeating the words Tony had spoken to him the first time. Tony licks his lips and moves his hands up to unbutton the burgundy jacket. Peter watches how Tony undresses himself slowly. He’s not even trying to be sexy about it. Quiet. Practical. Almost authoritative and Peter’s already hard again. When the man pushes the pants down, Peter’s pleased to see the man is hard too. And fuck, he’s… Well, big. “Get to it, boy.”  “Yes, Sir.” Peter rushes and he takes the tape between both his hands to work through the little measuring ritual. Just as he did the first time. As he always does. Starting with the wrists, lower arm length, upper arm length. This time he doesn’t try to minimize the contact with Tony’s skin. The opposite. He takes every chance he gets to trails his fingertips past the man’s body.  He deliberately steps in front of the man when he measures his chest. It’s unprofessional to stand in front of a customer instead of at the side, and yet that’s why it feels so exhilarating. He takes a step closer as he wraps the tape around the man’s hips, his hands lingering just above the hem of Tony’s underwear. He doesn’t cave in yet. Instead, he looks up at Tony who’s staring back at him, eyes full of lust. “I just need to measure your legs, Sir.” “Get on your knees, then.” Peter moans and obeys, slowly sinking down until his knees hit the floor. His face is just inches away from Tony’s crotch but he doesn’t break eye contact with the man towering over him. “That’s it,” Tony coos, his hand reaching out for Peter’s curls. The boy gasps when Tony grabs a handful and tugs slightly. “Such a pretty boy.”

The sparks that rush down Peter’s spine have him gasp. For the first time he realizes how this man will be a complete different fuck than than the handful he’s had. This man is older. Has a shit ton of experience. He’s impatiently patient. He’s going to make Peter work for it and the thought alone sets off another surge of desire coursing through his veins. His hands are sweaty and trembling as he brings them up to circle the tape around Tony’s strong thigh.  “You’re so strong, Mr. Stark.” “You like that?” “Mh-mh, I do.” “If you’re good for me and finish the measurements, I may just allow you to kiss them.” Peter whines at the blatant promise and his hands move down, mindlessly finishing up his measuring series. He can’t really concentrate on it. All he notices is how the grip in his hair changes, tugging more, making him tip his head to expose his neck. Pushing him down, making him bow. He’s a puppet, Tony controls his every single move. He’s never submitted to someone so easily and he’s never loved it as much as he does now.  “Peter, look at me.” Tony forces Peter’s head to tip back and he gasps, staring up with his big brown eyes. With his free hand, Tony pushes his boxers down and Peter nearly chokes at the sight of just how big he actually is. It’s a beautiful cock. Hard, fierce, massive. Peter wants to taste it. Wants to lap his tongue at the hot skin to taste the salty precum.  “Measure it.” “Wh-” “I’m not repeating myself.” Tony smirks and Peter shuffles closer. Bringing his hands up carefully. He whimpers when his fingers touch the cock as he presses the tape against both the base and the tip. “Tell me how big it is, Peter.” Peter moans as he looks at the number. Oh god, that’s bigger than average for sure. “S-Seven inches, Sir.” “Have you ever had anyone that big?” “No, I haven’t.” “Oh, I’m going to have so much fun with you, sugar.” Tony growls. He opens his free hand and curls his fingers in a demanding motion. “Give me the tape measure.” Peter easily complies and gives it to Tony. The man grins and wraps it around Peter’s neck to pull him in closer. Peter wants to lean in, wants to take that pretty cock into his mouth so badly, but the grip in his hair holds him back. “You sure you want this, Peter? Do I have your full consent?” Peter nods furiously. Yes, he wants this. Wants everything. “Yes, Mr. Stark. I do.” “Good. Suck.” Tony yanks the boy forward using both the tape around Peter’s neck and the grip in his curls. Peter gasps, scrambling forward and parting his lips to catch the man’s cock in his mouth. He moans, lips closing around the soft flesh and drags his tongue across the tip, eliciting a moan from Tony. Oh god. He just made Tony Stark moan. For him. The thought spurs him on and he sinks deeper onto it, loving how it fills his mouth. He’s got the worst gag reflex, already knows he won’t be able to take it fully, but he sure as fuck knows how to work his tongue to make the man’s knees buckle.

“Oh, oh damn, boy, you’re so fucking good at this. Been wanting this the second I laid my eyes on your pretty face.” Peter whines around the cock and shuffles closer. He doesn’t use his hands, somehow he knows Tony wouldn’t allow him to if he tried. He’s bobbing his head up and down, the musky smell pleasing him to his very core as he manages to suck deeper and deeper with each thrust the man makes. “I want you to touch yourself, dear. Take that cock out and stroke it for me. Don’t go slow. I want you to wreck yourself, understood?” Peter nods as much as he physically can in this position and moves both his hands down. Quickly unbuckling the belt and shoving the fabric down just enough for his hard-on to jump free. His right hand wraps around it and he strokes. Hard. And fast. And rough. Making himself see stars the way Tony told him to. His eyes flutter shut. It’s overwhelming. The rumbling grunts rolling of Mr. Stark’s tongue while the grip in Peter’s hair tightens. The burning pit in his stomach that only burns up more and more and more the faster he strokes himself. He wants to swallow every last bit Tony will give him. He swirls his tongue around the head, sucking and hollowing his cheeks. Gasping, moaning, taking and taking and taking what the man gives him. 

“Are you close, boy?” Peter nods desperately. He doesn’t stop, though, doesn’t stop from flicking his thumb around the head, squeezing his own shaft with every little pump. Hips bucking wildly into his touch. His moans muffled by Tony’s hips thrusting forward in a fast, unforgiving pace. “I want you to come like this, baby. Desperate and needy and without shame.” Peter mumbles a short please around Tony’s cock. He’s not sure if the man got it, but, his eagerness as he keeps going down on the man clear enough. “Fuck, sugar, ‘m gonna cum inside of you. You’re gonna take it all, uh? Isn’t this what you’ve been dreaming of? Being used by me? I can hear the fucking awe in your voice when you speak my name. You were ready for me before I even met you.” Yes, yes, yes! Peter gasps, abs clenching tight as he collapses forward. His hands moving up and down in a killer pace until-

“F-fc!” His broken curse around Mr. Stark’s cock when he spills his cum on the tile floor. Another spurt leaves him. And another. His thighs are trembling and his mind is spinning. The explosion in his stomach is so wonderfully sweet and he feels so filthy and good and used in the exact way he loves it so much. Tony growls at the sight.  “Good boy, Pete. Fuck, good boy. ” Peter doesn’t exactly follow what happens next, but suddenly Tony is no longer holding the tape around his neck. Both his hands tangled into his hair tightly to fuck his mouth, pounding into him relentlessly. Peter just submits to the complete and utter control the man has over him. Moving his face where he wants him. Setting the pace. “Yes, oh, you’re going to swallow for me, pretty little thing. Feel so good, so hot around me. Prettiest mouth I’ve ever had. You’re perfect, Peter. Fucking p-perfect, I’m go-” Tony’s voice breaks off into a loud growl, hips stuttering and rolling forward desperately. “Take it, take it! I- Aaah!” Peter’s eyes widen when he feels the hot load spill into his mouth. The familiar taste exploding on his taste buds. He whimpers, swallowing. His mind hazy and floaty and he just wants to devour every single drop of it. Make the man proud. Please him. 

Peter moans quietly when he feels the man’s cock softening up in his mouth. He’s not sure why he’s still on his knees. Still gently suckling on the hot, sticky skin. All he knows is that he feels good. That he doesn’t want this feeling to end. He’s never had such good sex and jokes on him, it’d been nothing more than a quick blowjob. It’s only when Tony gently tugs on his hair that he opens his eyes again, staring up at the man when the cock slips out. A soft breath leaving his slightly parted lips. His jaws ache and he loves it. Loves the enamored look the man sends his way. “Peter, sweetheart…” Tony whispers. “Are you alright down there?” Peter nods, a smile playing on his lips as he closes them. He nuzzles his face into the man’s leg. Only vaguely aware that he might be displaying a tad too much affection for someone he barely knows. He simply feels so happy. “I feel good, Mr. Stark.”  “God, you’re precious.” Tony kneels down as well, cradling Peter into his arms. Stroking his back, whispering the sweetest praise into his ears until slowly the veil lifts from his mind and he becomes aware of his surroundings again. The tape measure dangling from his neck once more, the cum staining on the tiles. The fact that he just fucked Tony Stark in his aunt’s tailoring shop. Oh my- “W-We should probably get dressed before anyone wonders why we’re closed,” Peter mumbles and he slowly leans back from the embrace, smiling at Tony apologetically. He slides his cock back into his jeans and buckles his belt tightly. Tony nods. “Of course. I… Should probably get dressed too.”

They don’t speak when Tony dresses, when Peter grabs a towel and soap to clean up the little mess he made. Not when they walk back to the counter and Peter finishes Tony’s order for the tweed suit. He’s not so sure what to say. Doesn’t know why he’s so silent all of a sudden. What could he say? Thank you, Mr. Stark, that was the best fuck of my pathetic little life. See you never? It’s Tony who breaks the silence. “Are you alright, kid?” “Y-Yes. I’m just finishing up this section of the form and then I can send-” “Peter, look at me.” Peter looks up reluctantly. The man is so fucking gorgeous in the burgundy suit. Peter doesn’t know how he’ll ever find someone to live this up with. “I… Here, this is my business card. It uh, has my phone number on there in case you- well.” Tony sniffs. “I guess I’m telling you to call me if you ever want to come by my penthouse.” Peter’s eyes open wide.  “You’d want to do this again?” Tony nods.  “I like you. You’re pretty, funny, nerdy enough for my liking. You’re smart, I can tell. And that mouth of yours…” Tony grins. “I wouldn’t be opposed to that, Sir.” “I like it when you call me that.” “I like calling you that.” 

They’re silent again for a moment. Now that the sexual tension is out of their system - already building again a bit - Peter feels so many things and he can see the same emotions cross Tony’s eyes. He wonders what it means. Wonders how badly he wants to find out. “Please, Peter. Give me a call.” “I will,” Peter whispers, but he looks up at Tony and smiles widely. More resolutely, he repeats himself. “I will.”

“So,” Peter chuckles as he hands Tony the receipt for the tweed suit. He doesn’t tell Tony he completely forgot to write down any of the measurements he did, but he’s fairly sure that the man’s body didn’t change that much in just three weeks time so he used the once he took before. “-what are you doing tonight?” “Oh, it’s nothing. Some shit for the Avengers.” Peter’s cheeks flush. Oh, how he wishes he could ever be a part of it. He never thought he’d get the chance, but now that he knows Tony Stark personally. Who knows if he ever has the guts to ask. “Avengers? Is there a threat?” “No, no, nothing to worry about. There’s someone I want to recruit. You may have heard of him, some dude calling himself Spider-Man? He’s…” Peter freezes. He doesn’t quite follow what Tony says next. So casually. So- unwavering. He should come clean. He has to, he has to, he has to!” “I-I’m Spider-Man!” He squeaks. The look on Tony’s face is priceless. “Fuck, well kid, welcome to the team.”

---

Part Two: Inch By Inch

Are you curious about the Stripper/Prostitute!AU Lien wrote for the fic exchange? Find it here! Seriously, it’s amazing.

[of-another-broken-heart]

I’m just going to copy/paste this because it took me hours and I’m drained. 

I guess I have to format it again if I want it to show up at all... 

I couldn't even make it back home before breaking down crying again.

Driving while chronically sleep deprived, exhausted, fatigued, and dissociating is bad enough. Doing it with all that AND without being able to see? How special. 

I barely had time to sit down, my phone rang. I answered it, begging for someone to hear me. For thirty straight seconds. "Hello? Hello? Hello???" Finally someone spoke, but they couldn't hear me. I'm sobbing. They hung up. I scrambled to call back, from my computer, because at least then I'm not fighting a lack of reception as well as my anxiety. They called again. I didn't answer. I waited for my computer to ring through instead. I'm put on hold.  I'm sobbing. It was just to ask what my pharmacy is. Which I already answered on my paperwork. Which I answered, again, at check-out. And I was forced into a third confirmation via a pointless, needless, anxiety-attack inducing phone call hazing. For something I already answered. 

It's not fucking fun. People don't choose this. I didn't choose this. But does it matter? "Call," the command comes. "Just call." "Call to confirm." "Call to ask." "Call." "Call." "Call." 

I want you to think of something that takes physical hold of your body and brings to you to tears. I want you to hold that and sit with it until it does those things. I want you to choose to reduce yourself to a sobbing mess, struggling to breathe, alone. And I want you to picture a world where you are commanded, demanded, required to do this. For virtually everything. Imagine needing help - but you must first re-traumatize yourself with your most painful memories until your nose is running and your eyes burn from crying. And you're exhausted for the rest of the day, too. Maybe multiple days. Absolutely exhausted. So fucking depleted that taking yourself to the bathroom is almost impossible. Feeding yourself - even eating something out of a can, or microwaved - is a herculean effort. Does that sound fun? Of course not. 

As for the appointment itself: It's the same. Much better bedside manner. But it's the same underlying capitalism-serving "care" system. It's my fault. I'm not trying hard enough. I'm not blacking out alone on the side of the road enough. I haven't dissociated hard enough and/or blacked out while driving yet, so it can't be that bad, right? Not until I'm maimed or dead, right? Why address the root of a problem when we can just plaster on endless band-aids instead? When we can blame you for hurting, instead of the environment that's poisoning you? I'm not medically sedating myself into an obedient little wage slave, and that's the real problem. I should aspire to produce capital for someone with most of the remaining hours of my life. That's the purpose of living, that's the reason for "health"care - not to care about health, no, just to keep the wheels of capitalism well-oiled with wasted human life. Inherent human value? Quality of life? Nah. 

They refused my medical history. I brought the 72-page pdf on a flash drive. Because that's how I was given it. Because I can't afford to buy and operate a personal fax machine and/or print out a chapter book's worth of pages of medical records. I went through the trouble of getting the files, and it took over a month - only to be told "we can't take anything but paper or fax." I filled out a file release form as best I could. But I didn't have the phone number or address memorized. Not even before that place became synonymous with medical neglect and trauma for me. So now they're going to go through the ancient months-long ritual of requesting the self-fucking-same documents from LISH, either by mail or fax, because they "can't" access a flash drive or a pdf or use email. Welcome to 2021. We're back to "normal" and teleheath never existed and the internet is fake and technology is a myth and why do anything efficiently when you can waste time and do damage to people instead? My Aunt called to check in on me during her lunch break. (Thank you again) She offered to get the file printed and try to hand it in for me. I'm too tired to hope. I'm too exhausted to think they'll accept it without fuss. Anything and everything to make things harder.

Top priority order of business is the whole "diseased for life" thing. Hashimoto's thyroiditis. Hypothyroidism. Daily hormones for every day of the rest of forever, gatekept behind eternal doctor visits and prescriptions and pharmacies and copays and and and and did I mention this is forever? I've got a referral to have a thyroid sonogram done. Haven't ever had one of those before. Need to make that appointment. I was able to have my blood drawn for the thyroid testing without needing an additional appointment, which was a nice change of pace. Normally you're supposed to fast for that, but I wasn't expecting that could be done during the visit. Three years of having to make additional trips to the lab for blood work. I ate immediately before getting there, so hopefully nothing had a chance to metabolize and skew the results. Even though it was great not to have to juggle yet another appointment for health shit, it was stressful. The nurse took three tries before she had all the supplies she needed in the room. I already have anxiety spikes (which also raise my blood pressure and heart rate) for all doctor visits now. (White Coat Syndrome, I learned, it's called) I didn't need to have a rubber cable tied around my arm, popped off, tied again, popped off, and tied a third and final time to make it worse. A pro to that con: she was incredibly accurate and gentle. I normally have sub-dermal bleeding and some bruising after having blood drawn, and keep the bandage on for a day or two. The bandage didn't last even an hour after I got home - but there wasn't a single spot of trapped blood, and I almost couldn't even tell where she stuck me.

I have another new diagnosis to add to my growing collection. Hypertension. High blood pressure. I used to have slightly low blood pressure. It stunned the first doctor I ever saw (you know, because I'm fat, so that sort of thing is supposed to be ~impossible~) and it frustrated my last doctor at first, too. But now, with years of building stress and anxiety? It's almost like living with your most basic human needs barely provided (food, shelter, healthcare - let's not bring up social needs LMAO those don't count anyway, right?), and at constant risk of being taken away, for months (years, in some cases) on end, is some form of stress. It's almost like being constantly dismissed and told "you're just not trying hard enough" (WHILE TRYING YOUR BEST JUST TO SURVIVE EACH DAY) is some form of stress!It's almost like perpetual, ongoing, worsening stress has a negative impact on your heart! It's almost like there are decades of data that spell this out, plain as day!It's almost like I noticed my elevated heart rate back in NOVEMBER and mentioned it out of concern to my last doctor - who dismissed it outright because my reading in-office wasn't *that* bad, and also shouldn't I be on 5487 psych meds instead? If I was sedated out of my mind, I wouldn't be physically capable of feeling stress in my body despite the presence of real-world stress factors. That's healthy, right? Don't bother to solve the stressors, just neuter the body's response to them. Super healthy response. (Not) My GYN took note of my concern in December, when my vitals DID show as high in-office. Not that my GYN had the jurisdiction to do anything about it. I'm being put on another medication to try to mitigate this, and potentially also address some anxiety. I haven't picked it up yet. I don't know the name. I don't know if I'll be able to afford it. "Your copay is only a dollar!" Yes well, when you don't have a dollar, you can't afford a dollar, can you?

I was given a list of psychiatrists. To "Call!!"Precisely none of them are a reasonable distance away. Nearly half aren't even in my insurance network. Some explicitly exclude Medicaid. Others are exclusively for children. I was suggested a medication for depression and anxiety. I can't remember which one. Either Abilify or Lexapro? I declined it for now, either way. I wanted to be able to research it. Lexapro is just another SSRI and I already know those don't work for me. Adding a chemical bouncer to my brain to make sure the happy chemicals stay out to play doesn't help when there are no happy chemicals in the first place. A quick search for Abilify doesn't address anxiety at all so it was probably Lexapro. In which case, I am not interested in repeating a different-flavor-Prozac experience. It was not good. I didn't get any notes with that medication, regardless. I got a sticky note with "Valerian Root Extract (tea or tincture)" and "Magnesium Glycinate 2 capsules" scribbled on it, instead. Out-of-pocket home rem-maybes. I can't afford to experiment with snake oils, so mostly I'll probably just spend a bunch of time looking for data and research and studies for those substances, and that's it. If I get around to psychiatric care, I will have to start from scratch in my insurance's shoddy search tool, again. And, frankly, it's not a priority. My mental health struggles are the result of a lot of physical factors and external/social factors, and no amount of artificial chemicals bullying my brain is going to solve any of it. When your car starts leaking oil, you don't just commit to buying more oil forever and dribbling it all over, wherever you go. You fix the fucking leak. If your house has a gas leak, you don't invest in gas masks. You fix the fucking leak. If you end up with a burst pipe, you don't commit to wasting water and money and damaging your environment. You fix. The fucking. Leak. But in these comparisons, I'm getting prescribed oil and gas masks and infinite water damage/waste/bills as long-term care.

I mentioned my fatigue. It was the final straw that made me give up with the last doctor. It just keeps getting worse. It's been getting worse for over 3 years. And I'm so, so fucking tired of it getting pinned fully on the fact that I'm not on psych meds. I WAS on psych meds during part of those 3 years with my last doctor. And it didn't fucking make any difference! A daily chemical lobotomy does not address or restore my lack of physical energy. My decades-old medication-resistant insomnia has never vanished with psych meds before, and it's not likely to do it now. Especially not with yet another of the same family of chemicals that I already know don't work. I want my concern to be taken seriously. I don't want it just brushed into the mental health corner, again. Being too tired to even do the things you used to enjoy - no one fucking wants this! I don't want this! I miss being able to go for walks. I miss going to the gym. I miss seeing how much I could do, and feeling good, and feeling strong. And I can't do any of that now. Not without risking harming myself in the process. 

No one wants this. I keep talking, but it feels like no one listens. At the earliest opportunity, we're back to repeating the same tired old shit that doesn't work. I try to come prepared, and the stress and time and system make sure I fail to stand up for myself anyway. I didn't get to document my disordered eating history. The relapse this year. Restricting, sometimes to the point of not eating at all. I declined to be weighed, because I want my care to be based on relevant data, vitals, blood results - not the shape and size of my body. But I was too tired to realize I needed to dodge a verbal ask for the same information. Which, it turns out, is nearly as bad a trigger as having the scale spit it out for me. Being your own advocate for equal care, when you're already tapped out? I'm not winning that challenge. 

I'm frustrated. I'm not giving up, but I am frustrated and beyond tired. I don't really expect anyone to read this mess. But it's here.

[fizzingwizard]

;______; just heard that from September we’re gonna have three students in our cluster who are under 1 year old... (5 in the school total)

aaahhh im exhausted just thinking about it

and whats crazy is in one of the classes with under 1 yos there is a kid who is between 1-2 yo and she cannot walk yet. We have been trying to help her learn and have begun wondering if there is some reason beyond her mother just didn’t really encourage her to walk before. (Like maybe she needs leg braces etc.) So far no news on that but this kid only drags her feet around, obviously she needs constant help, and there are 12 other kids in the class, two of whom are under 1 and three teachers, HOW are they supposed to do it???

and the class that will have three under 1s has two first year teachers in it, that makes me so nervous... They’re both awesome coworkers, this is no shade on them, but under 1s can be TOUGH, it’s SO easy for them to get hurt. idk it feels like an accident waiting to happen.

i’ve been at schools where 5 students was an entire class, if we’re gonna have this many under 1s we should just have a class for them, come on! I love them but they are twice the work of kids on year older than them.

Also the recommended teacher-student ration for 1-3 yos is 1:6, which we abide by, but I believe it’s actually 1:3 or 1:4 when the kids are belong 18/12 mos. Apparently the head office does not care.

These kids are not in my class, I currently teach 2-3s, however I am a long care teacher and I look after them during morning and after care. I do their nap and their snack and play time supervision etc. From 10-2 they’re part of their class, but the rest of the day they belong to all of us.

More work ranting under the cut because I guess I just need to vent to the air.

And we have a LOT of students now - two clusters of going on 30 in each, in very small classrooms where the teachers are expected to watch them like a hawk AND keep constantly busy with numerous tasks at the same time.

Plus our prep time has been cut down this year despite additional work getting put on us, and we have no extra help.

If one teacher is out sick, no one gets prep time.

Don’t remember if I whined about this before, but a month or so ago we had a meeting in which the leader said “If you find you don’t have enough prep time, that’s on you to manage your time better.” It was super condescending and annoying. I’m like, dude, my contract says I get 1 hour prep and 1 hour break. We never ever EVER get the full two hours (and I should mention this is never consecutive, it’s 15 min here, 30 min there, 1 full hour if you’re really lucky). It’s usually at most 1 hr 45. But a 30 min break is fine! I’d love to take a 30 min break. Almost never do. Way too busy.

Like, I won’t get into it, but the laundry list of Stuff To Do recently has been ENORMOUS. In my class, I have 19 students. One of my co-teachers is part time, meaning she’s not around to help during much of prep time, and the other is a leader meaning she’s constantly in meetings or doing leader assignments. They are both fantastic co-workers, but yeah, this means I do ALL the class stuff. I prepare all the crafts, I do a ton of the organizing, and I’m often the only teacher from my class available in the afternoons because part-time teacher went home and leader teacher is in a meeting. So I end up with a lot of the after care stuff.

We have to hand out these big projects that teachers are responsible for preparing for each student on 8/16. We know these are coming and prep for them as soon as possible, but like, I won’t get into this either lol, but it’s so hard. It’s time-consuming by itself, and made worse because all the school computers are crap (like takes-15-min-to-start, another 10 to open the browser, 5 to go to the website, then it freezes, then 5 more, another freeze, etc) and like you have 15 min break time hahahahaha.

I wanted to get such a head start that I just started doing what I could back in the beginning of the year but we lit can’t do the bulk of the work until a certain kind of envelope is delivered and that doesn’t come till summer for some stupid reason. Soooo our long prep days in April when there are no kids around... can we use those to prep for this project? Heck no!

Anyway. This year’s is due on 8/16. This coming week we are off for obon break. This year also, the company is doing the project slightly differently. Instead of staggering what class gives out their projects to their students when, we all have to do it at once. We are our company’s biggest school, sooo my honest thought is no one at the head office thought about us when they made this change. The other schools don’t have to stagger anyway, they have at most two classes. We have four.

So this means everyone is printing their projects at the same time. For one student, you need 10 sheets on A3 paper. For my class of 19, that is 190 sheets of paper. For four classes, we’re over 700 sheets total. THAT IS A LOT OF PAPER.

So I get to work this morning and boss says “Yeah so we’re out of A3 paper.”

!!!

IT’S DUE MONDAY.

There was a little bit left so I just charged and printed as much of my stuff as I could in the morning before anyone else could. Then, miraculously, another packet of A3 paper appeared out of nowhere, and we were able to print most of the rest of our students’ projects. (My coworker who is a leader has not printed hers yet because she is super busy and isn’t finished. Again, she’s an awesome coworker, I wish I could have helped her more, but uh, I’m also swamped and not taking breaks, so. Hopefully she can do it before we really do run out of A3 paper.)

Getting more paper is no big deal, it’s just that no one has the time, and this is due Monday.

So I was super stressed. Sooooo super stressed for such a dumbbbb reason. And I don’t understand why these projects have to go out on Monday anyway. Some kids don’t even come to school on Mondays. Like. Just make sure they get them next week, isn’t that good enough?? Why make us stress and panic.

Everyone else seemed fine though, I was the only one tearing my hair out because I’m the type who finishes everything a day early so I have a day to check it over... I am not spontaneous and I hate to rush...

I lit told my coworkers, because regardless of the paper situation we are still behind because we have not had any time to organize the projects, that I will just stay late tomorrow to do it. It’s the Friday before a break so I don’t mind too much. I am really tired tho and would of course rather just go home and sleep but. I’ve done this before. Finishing up this project will take 1.5 hours - 2 hours at the current state it’s in, IF I can just sit down and do it uninterrupted. (Have I mentioned these projects are HEAVY?? And there’s 19 of them?? It’s a big job just to take them out and start putting them together >.<)

So tomorrow evening that is what I will likely be doing -.-;

There are INNUMERABLE other STUPID parts of this project - the idea behind it is great, but the way we are required to make it is absolutely bonkers and desperately needs a revamp but does anyone listen to a preschool teacher? heck no lol

uggh.

I feel better after venting tho.

I like my job, I just wish humans in general gave a shit, not even about quality of life (since obvs that’s expecting too much lol, also as a person with privilege I’m aware I’ve already got it pretty darn good), but just about not making jobs that are ridiculous. Just plan them out better, sheesh. There’s no reason for all this running around. The projects don’t need to be printed. Or they don’t need to be so huge. They don’t need all this fuss and nonsense. They are a good idea, but we could do them in a way that would be sooo much less stressful.

(The funniest part of all being, it’s a project for the parents mainly, and the parents... don’t like it x’D No they really don’t. They are happy to have the project, but first they’ve got to get it home, and it is HUGE and HEAVY and UNWIELDY lmao. And some of them are carrying twin 2 year olds and both of their futons home as well, and we’re like “here you go, two giant projects for you to take home!” And the parents are like “thanks????”)

[douchebagbrainwaves]

WHY I'M SMARTER THAN ANYTHING

By the second conference, what Web 2. Around 1100, Europe at last began to catch its breath after centuries of chaos, and once they had the luxury of curiosity they rediscovered what we call the classics. After giving a contract to a supplier who goes bankrupt and fails to deliver, for example, you need two ingredients: a few topics you've thought about a lot. But in fact there are limits to how well they'll be able to carry it off. So obviously that is what we should be careful to do it. And yet intelligence and wisdom, and particularly what seems to be proceeding slower than the spread of the Industrial Revolution. This term was invented after Tom Bradley, the black mayor of Los Angeles, lost an election for governor of California despite a comfortable lead in the polls.

This is not a nationalistic idea, incidentally. To me it was a relief just to realize it wasn't the last word after all. The path to wisdom is through discipline, and the default answer is failure, because that was where their peers were, and investors would appear too, because that was where their peers were, and investors would appear too, because that encourages you to keep working. Plato quotes Socrates as saying the unexamined life is not just something you do to survive, but may turn out to be a comeuppance for the west coast has just pulled further ahead. Suddenly, in a recent essay I pointed out that because you can only judge computer programmers by working with them, no one knows yet what it will be. But while Microsoft did really well and there is thus a temptation to think they would have seemed a safe move at the time from having it all happening live, right in front of me. After barely changing at all for decades, the startup business of the future won't simply be the same shape, scaled up. As long as it isn't floppy, consumers still perceive it as a heresy. The thing is, VCs are pretty good at reading people.

So while you'll probably survive, the problem now seems to be through working on hard problems. But there are reasons to believe that at some point you have to worry much. I've given two examples of things founders complain about most—investors who take too long to make up new things, and their relationships changed faster. We were literally in sync. It's not uncommon for investors and acquirers. If large organizations started to ask questions like that, the big companies paid their best people less than market price. Or more precisely, when they have the right kind of system to channel their efforts.

So you have to extract parameters manually in Perl. Plus if you didn't put the company first you wouldn't be promoted, and if the difference between the 20th and 21st best players is less than the 30 to 40% of the company you usually give up in a series A round. But while DH levels don't set a lower bound on the convincingness of a reply, they do set an upper bound on your performance: choosing the best every time. You'll have to sell it for $50,000 into at a valuation of a million can't take $6 million from VCs at that valuation. For example, correcting someone's grammar, or harping on minor mistakes in names or numbers. VCs never offered that option. A new search engine, when there were already about 10, and they have started to use it. And that's where the volume of our imaginary solid is growing fastest. So were the print media and the music labels simply overlooking this opportunity? Many of the most visible to consumers were air travel and long-distance phone service, which both became dramatically cheaper after deregulation. I'm alarmed to be saying things like this, but there's one case in which it shouldn't be: when there are people you already know you should fire but you're in denial about it. So for now this is something startups are deciding individually.

What the people who are really good at seeming formidable—some because they actually are very formidable and just let it show, and others to Hot Pockets. Now an angel can go to something like Demo Day or AngelList and have access to the same variable, but it didn't seem ambitious enough. Atlanta is just as hosed as Munich. 0 mean anything? At least, you notice an interesting pattern. A Lisp macro can be anything from an abbreviation to a compiler for a new language. 7, though there doesn't seem to be the right choice, it had to be a really huge wave, bigger than even the most optimistic observers would have predicted in 1975. To evaluate whether your startup is worth investing in, and they'll be increasingly likely to do the same thing ourselves. Vertically integrated companies literally dis-integrated because it was so rare for so long: that you could make your fortune.

So if some of the qualities of a VC. As big a deal as the Industrial Revolution? The reason investors can get away with using the most advanced technologies, and I predict that will be one of their investors. That is a different business. Wisdom is universal, and intelligence idiosyncratic. It must be something you can learn. The big innovations that happen a company at a time.

John D. If you have an idea for a Web 2. But usually evidence will help. That's the combination that yielded Silicon Valley. I've spent some time advising people, and making deals work to their advantage. Some angels are, or were, hackers. And then we'll waste our time trying to eliminate fragmentation, when we'd be better off thinking about how to make them irrelevant. At the moment those two functions are separate. But don't be too smug about this weakness of theirs, because you don't have to go far down it before you start to offer something really attractive to customers. ITunes makes money by taxing people, not selling them stuff.

[holycatsandrabbits]

“I think I’m falling in love with my best friend.”

Lloyd hadn’t expected that it would be easy to talk about this, but Mr. Fell had a very peaceful, somewhat knowing look on his face, and the story just flowed out. “We’ve been friends a long time, but I think it’s starting to be more for me. And I want to ask him to prom, so I thought I’d write him a note, because, you know, we’re in high school, we write notes like third-graders.” He gestured to his computer, which showed nothing but a blank page.

They were alone in the bookshop now, as it was nearly closing time and already dark outside. But Mr. Fell didn’t seem anxious to chase Lloyd away. Instead he settled into a chair and handed Lloyd a cup of hot cocoa that (as usual) seemed to have materialized from nowhere.

“You know,” said Mr. Fell, “writing a letter to one’s beloved is a time-honored act of love. And Crowley, if you are making fun of me right now I will never write you another letter.”

Behind Mr. Fell, Mr. Crowley stilled whatever sarcastic gesture he’d been making and cleared his throat. “Please continue, Lloyd.”

“But I can’t,” Lloyd said softly. “Jason is handsome and funny and sweet and smart and I—I am a mess. I don’t even know how to talk to him about this, so I thought the note—but I can’t write. Sometimes I think I can’t do anything.” He clutched his empty hands together. “I feel like I’d be so bad for him. He’s such a wonderful person. And he’s been weird the last couple of days, and I don’t know if he even wants to be my friend anymore. What if it’s because he thinks I’ve been acting weird and he knows I like him but he doesn’t want me to? I could ruin our whole friendship. Geez, listen to me, I’m sorry.” He rubbed at his cheek in case the tear in his eye fell onto it.

“Angel,” Mr. Crowley said quietly, “it might be time for one of your parlor tricks.”

Mr. Fell made a face at his husband. “Will you stop calling ethereal miracles parlor tricks?”

Mr. Crowley made a show of considering it. “Ah...no, that’s not likely.”

“Why do I even keep you around?” Mr. Fell asked.

“I believe you’ve said that I’m Temptation Incarnate.”

“Yes, well, that’s a job description, not a personal quality.”

Mr. Crowley’s eyebrows rose above his sunglasses, and there was the ghost of a smile on his mouth. “Really?”

Mr. Fell rolled his eyes, but he also blushed. To Lloyd he said, “I feel I should warn you that the handsome ones are trouble.”

Lloyd laughed a little, and Mr. Fell gave him a gentle smile. “My dear, may I show you what my favorite thing about you is?”

“Uh—sure?”

Mr. Fell pointed to Lloyd’s reflection in the darkened shop windows. The image blurred and then changed, and instead of Lloyd sitting there, there seemed to be a person made of colored lights that sparkled like jewels.

“You might see yourself as a mess,” Mr. Fell said, “but this is how I see you. All the beautiful parts of you that make up your soul. The blue gem in your left shoulder, that’s the part of you that gave your coat and scarf to that homeless man last winter. The pink just under your heart is the part of you that spent an entire Saturday helping your cousin find his lost cat, right before that awful storm we had.”

Mr. Crowley spoke up. “What’s the big gold part?”

Mr. Fell smiled. “Oh, that is one of my favorites. That is the part of you, Lloyd, that opens your bedroom window every day to yell to your six-year-old neighbor that his violin playing sounds wonderful. Even though, of course, it doesn’t. You have no idea, my dear, what a difference a simple act of kindness like that can make. He’s going to be a musician someday, make music for the whole world, and that gold part you see there is your contribution to it, because that music won’t come only from his talent but also from your encouragement when he needed it.” Mr. Fell laid a gentle hand on Lloyd’s shoulder. “You are stunning, my dear. And this is what people truly care about and want in a partner. How do you think I ended up with him?” Mr. Fell tilted his head toward his husband. “His soul rather looks like yours.”

Mr. Crowley made some sort of exasperated growling noise and another sarcastic gesture, but Mr. Fell just smiled. “You are worth loving, Lloyd. If Jason is your friend, then he already knows this about you. People who are friends first often make the best romantic partners for that reason.”

Mr. Crowley was still frowning at his husband. “And sometimes it’s the case that both friends want it to be more and for whatever stupid reason don’t tell each other.”

“It is a risk,” Mr. Fell agreed. “But if you feel this strongly about him, it might be a risk worth taking.”

Lloyd watched the window reflection turn back to reality—well, whatever passed for reality in the bookshop, anyway. “Can you—” His voice wavered a little. “Can you help me write the note?”

“Of course!” Mr. Fell exclaimed.

“Oh, no,” Mr. Crowley objected, “Aziraphale, you’re just going to put in a lot of flowery language. These are modern kids—”

“Hush, I am not,” Mr. Fell said. “Lloyd, just say this: Jason, I have been by your side for so long that I know there is nowhere I would rather be. We have walked together past my fears, and now, I would like to ask you to follow me somewhere new, somewhere we might be even closer.”

Mr. Crowley spoke up, very softly. “You memorized that?”

Mr. Fell raised his eyebrows in surprise. “People do like to remember their proposals, my dear.”

At school the next day, Lloyd found his hand was shaking as he held out the piece of paper to Jason. “I wrote you a letter.” He’d even printed the damn thing, somehow feeling like Mr. Fell would have wanted him to.

Jason didn’t take it. He was looking everywhere but Lloyd’s face. “That’s great,” he said absently. “Sorry I've been weird the last couple of days. I've been trying to figure out how to...sod it. Look. Lloyd, you are the best thing that ever—you’re so amazing. And I don’t want to make things weird, but—do you want to go to prom with me?”

********

Bonus: the whole proposal (which Crowley also still has memorized, of course, it took him long enough to write the damn thing):

Aziraphale, I have been by your side for so long that I know there is nowhere I would rather be, because when the two of us are together, what is too dark becomes light, and what is too bright becomes shaded. We have walked together past my fears, and now, I would like to ask you to follow me somewhere new, somewhere we might be even closer. For you I would ignore all the voices in my head that tell me that I'm not good enough and it's not right to ask someone like you to be with me. For you I would struggle away from my past and stake my whole heart on hope. I would jump and trust you to catch me. For you I would believe again. Will you marry me, Principality Aziraphale, Guard of the Eastern Gate?

And the reply (which Aziraphale had also written beforehand, because he figured a proposal was coming, but which he sternly insists that he made up on the spot):

Oh, my darling, you know my answer already. But let me make sure that you know this: Crowley, you are the reason I never gave up on love even when it was so often denied me by the people who said they loved me. You, who couldn't say it, but gave it so freely, the way true love is always given, without knowing if it would or could be returned. My dear Serpent, for you I would Fall. But I don't have to, because loving you is not wrong. It is the best thing I have ever done.

*********

Mr. Fell’s Bookshop ficlet master post (ficlets 1-5)

(meet Lloyd for the first time in ficlet #4)

Find me on Ao3: HolyCatsAndRabbits (Dannye Chase)

[eddiemilkman]

- Random Writing Prompt #1 -

Hey there! I’m pretty new to this platform and just trying to find my way around it for now, but I do wanna make a quick low quality post just to fill up a bit of space. I went on this website https://www.servicescape.com/writing-prompt-generator (This one here) and decided a fun thing to do when entering this cite was one of those funky prompts. So I did! And here's a portion of it. It’s late and I have a test tomorrow so I don't wanna stay up too long, but here’s a bit of writing to get a feel of what I’m all about. Hope you enjoy. (Also an important thing to note: I’m not a huge spelling or grammar buff so there’s probably mistakes and I’m sorry.)

ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ #862: ᴡʜᴇɴ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜɴɢ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀʜᴏᴏᴅ ʙᴏʏ ᴡʜᴏ ʟɪᴋᴇᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴀᴍᴇ ᴛʜɪɴɢꜱ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ. ʙᴏᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴇʀᴇ ᴅɪʀᴛ ᴘᴏᴏʀ, ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ꜱᴇᴇᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴍᴀᴛᴛᴇʀ; ᴀꜱ ʟᴏɴɢ ᴀꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴅ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ, ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ᴡᴀꜱ ᴀʟᴡᴀʏꜱ ᴀ ᴍᴀᴋᴇ-ʙᴇʟɪᴇᴠᴇ ᴀᴅᴠᴇɴᴛᴜʀᴇ ʀɪɢʜᴛ ᴀʀᴏᴜɴᴅ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄᴏʀɴᴇʀ. ʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴡ ᴜᴘ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴀ ꜱᴛᴀʀ ʙᴀꜱᴋᴇᴛʙᴀʟʟ ᴘʟᴀʏᴇʀ ᴀɴᴅ, ɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʜᴇ'ꜱ ᴡᴇᴀʟᴛʜʏ ʙᴇʏᴏɴᴅ ɪᴍᴀɢɪɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴ, ꜱᴇᴇᴍꜱ ᴛᴏ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ꜰᴏʀɢᴏᴛᴛᴇɴ ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʜᴇ ᴄᴀᴍᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ. ʏᴏᴜ ʜᴀᴠᴇɴ'ᴛ ᴛᴀʟᴋᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʜɪᴍ ɪɴ ʏᴇᴀʀꜱ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ɪɴ ᴛʜᴇ ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ ʙʀɪɴɢꜱ ʜɪᴍ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏʟᴅ ɴᴇɪɢʜʙᴏʀʜᴏᴏᴅ, ᴡʜᴇʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ʀᴇᴄᴏɴɴᴇᴄᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ʀᴇɪɴᴛʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ ʜɪᴍ ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ʟɪꜰᴇ ʜᴇ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ.

ᴘᴀʀᴛ (1/??) ᴘɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴄʜɪᴘ ᴇᴀᴛᴇʀꜱ ᴀɴᴅ ᴘɪᴄᴋʟᴇ ᴄʜɪᴘ ꜱᴇʟʟᴇʀꜱ

When we were young, my mother told me Gary was going to be a total tool. And I didn’t believe her at all. Gary was my friend so I couldn't imagine him growing older and not being good ole Gary. The Gary you could laugh and pig out with. The Gary who would holler and bark so loudly in class, the teacher would have to put him out in the hallway with nothing but his worksheet and pencil bag. He never acted like he was better than anyone else. When the washing machine would run busted, he would flip his shirt and wear it the next school day just like all of the rest of us. 

That's why when he was accepted into that fancy-schmancy college for scarf wearers and coffee drinkers, it knocked me straight on my ass. I was happy, and everyone strung up a plastic smile at his going away party, but when he left everything was so...colorless. I wouldn’t deem it tool behavior, but it did solidify my mother's suspicion of him one day up and ditching me. He was my other half and then just dipped out on me for prestigious people who read Shakespeare and go to those cafes where there's wifi. He didn't even know those people! He left his comfortable little river to swim out through the mouth into an ocean of unfamiliar specimens. Sharks and dolphins, all aggressively fighting for a reward neither of us would daydream of.

We both sort of assumed we’d be stuck sweeping the Quick Mart or selling rolled joints to middle schoolers until the end of time. Middle schoolers would never stop loving the abuse of weak drugs and the Quick mart floors would never not have puddles of vomit and booze. That sounds more like a secure job than something you can go to college for. You can turn around one day and boom, the stock market or something crashed (?) I don't know much about business. Anyways yeah, you get my point. Pickle chips and fake cheese the color of a school bus will never go out of style. Stupid businesses that make those fancy indoor bike things will. What if everyone one day woke up and said “wow, I can always just run outside…”. Then what would happen? Those who went to college and got that stinky degree would be thrown out on the street, eating away their stress by scarfing down pickle chips!

I never thought of Gary as a pickle chip eater rather than a pickle chip seller. I mean when we would scribble down our future on printer paper it was incredibly detailed and surprisingly dull for children. The fortune we manifested during a game of M.A.S.H read to us as a mere fantasy. When we reached middle school it was clear we weren't going to live a life of golf courses and acceptable day drinking. We sort of realized this a few weeks into middle school, when we would be lined up against a brick wall while tall beefy police officers with their beastly dogs raided lockers for weed and patted us down for pocket knives. We were treated like deadbeats so we sort of expected it from ourselves and assumed the only way out was if one of us won the Powerball or….if the other one won the Powerball. I thought that was the plan… Man, being a failure alone sort of sucks come to think of it.  

I wouldn't call myself a loser, just not a massive winner-ly type. I’m a goal-getter and I'll give myself that. I did land that job at Quick Mart restocking shelves, which is a little bittersweet now. 

Gary always popped into my head every other week. I guess I’m just hung up on the stuff I never got to say. Why didn’t he suggest we attend the same college? Why when it came to our future planning was he loud, but in reality, disappeared so quietly?

“CHAS!” A voice echoed behind me. So sharp and stern, mean and crippling. Ugh...Lester. “You’ve been sweeping that corner for 5 minutes! Quit bleeding the clock and go do some actual work!” 

I grip the handle of the broom and grunt. Fucking Lester. If there's anyone from high school I didn't want to land a job with, it's that joker. He was scrawny in size but a huge talker. It's crazy how the smallest of people always squawk the loudest. I do what he says because he’s a loudmouth and will probably rant and rave about me to the boss about how I leave all of the work on his tiny frame and he needs someone “competent”. Well, I need someone who doesn't act like a total ass-hat, but my needs haven't been accommodated yet so neither will his. I began toying around with some boxes of wafers on the shelf, just straightening them for no good reason. Sedated by boredom, I find my mind slowly drifting into other places. Where was he? Was he skipping around a college campus, holding onto his textbooks that he had to pay for?! Who pays for his pencils and books and highlighters? I bet he has that little bottle of white paint you slap over pen mistakes because your assignment is just too important for there to be scribbles on. 

“GET THE HELL OUTTA 'HERE!” 

My body suddenly jolts at the commotion from over near the cash register. Lester was using his thin little arms to violently push a grey round figure into the glass door. The man stumbled over his torn sneakers and gripped the doorframe. Lester used his small fist to pound on his fingers while simultaneously kicking him in the thigh. Once the man let go, Lester used the collar of his worn bomber jacket to throw him out onto the sidewalk. He shuffled from the door with hesitation, breathing like a wolf. 

“Damn” I whimper meekly through the gaps of the shelves. 

“That’s it, we’re closed.”

“Uh, Larry’s not gonna-”

“That meth head is gonna freak the hell out again. That joker comes in high as a plane every other day, and asks me if he can use his ‘coupons’ which I’ve told him a trillion times are fake and obviously printed out on a home computer-”

“Let him have it”, I squeak “he’s probably just really hungry”

“An iced tea, Slim Jim, and a loaf of bread should fill him up just fine! He treats shopping here like its extreme couponing. The worst part isn't the fake-y coupons, but when he wigs the hell out on me when I deny him. You weren't here when he sprayed me with fake cheese?”

“I think I was late that day”

Lester rolled his eyes. 

“‘Course you were. God forbid your 6-foot ass came and protected me from crazy meth addicts.”

“Can we give him the spoils in the back?” I ask as I make my move over to the back room. The pile of “spoiled” food had built up to a mountain of American waste. I was ready to cut a slice into my unofficial take-home pay to get a hungry guy some food. I mean at least he was crafty and wasn't trying to come to rob the place.

“He’s gonna come in here with a gun one of these days.” I from the back room. “And get sent to the joint for a 3 dollar slim jim and pack of Oreos?” Lester strolls in behind me.

“3 square meals a day...” I mutter. Prison never sounded so bad. Free food, chess, television if you’re good. I was a good guy. I'd probably be on kitchen duty or do something fun. 

“Well, I wouldn't put it past him...that crazy weirdo”

*Yah so this is the basic rundown of how I write and what maybe most of my posts will look like. As you can see its a umm....*ahem* easy read? I’m not that artistic with my writing sorry. Maybe ill improve one day.*

[mystery-star]

How to draw a fantasy or alien creature

Here’s an easy way to draw some special creatures and that’ll still look good even if you got zero drawing talent.

To illustrate the guide a little, I’ll be adding notes, thoughts and process pictures of an example I did. (I apologize for the suboptimal quality of my camera in advance)

You'll need:

 a piece of paper

 pencil

eraser

 optional: coloured pencils (or water colors, felt pens etc)

 a computer / iPad etc. (a mobile phone works too but it gets small)

Or if you don’t have a computer or so or the pictures you want (See step 3) are already printed. However, I do recommend to use digital pics because they hold many advantages.

printed pictures of the components

 a window or light source

 -

Step 1:

The Basic design of your animal

Think about the basic body-form: Shall it be long, round, tall etc. ? Or use looks of other animals as reference. Decide what perspective you will draw it from. (from the side or the front? Or maybe from above?)

Try to come up with a few features about its habitat: Is it hot or cold, dry or wet, or in mountains? Maybe it lives in the air or underwater. This’ll help you with the colors or the skin texture later on or even has influences on the body-form.

Even humanoid aliens are possible with that guide, just use a human as the main reference, then change parts to make them look different. (Though I never tried that before yet)

My animal

It shall be a predator-species called Orinthio that lives in a tropical area. It’s a rather bulky animal and I’ll draw it from the side. Although in my case I mostly want to draw the creatures because I inculded them in a story, so the habitat and maybe a rough description was already given. (Not for the Ornthio though, I invented that for the tutorial, which was a mistake because I did not prepare everything as carefully as I usually do when introducing a new animal.)

-

Step 2

Divide it into sections

Split your animal into different body parts such as: head, legs or arms, main-body, extras (wings, tail, horns, hairs etc.). Of course you won’t need all the parts for each animal but these are just ideas. Also think of details such as: eyes, ears, hairs, fur, spikes, feet, hands, fingers, claws, tip of tail, teeth etc.)

Then collect ideas for what the parts you defined could look like. Search an object or existing animal as reference.

But in all your creativity, pay some attention to physical "rules" (Like tiny, thin bird legs for an elephant shaped animal? Or a thickly furred, black panther for a desert? Better not)

The parts for my Orinthio will be:

head -> shall look like a rhino’s

horn -> will look like a croissant

main body -> shall be the one of a horse

legs -> like a crab

tail -> shall be a baseball bat

tail tip -> is a spade (from the cards)

 -

Step 3

Find the pictures

Now you’ll need to search pictures of your objects of reference. Try to pay attention to perspective, chose such that make ‘sense’ with the rest of your drawing. Don’t just take the first picture you see coming up in Google images. Do some research and also try other animals or objects that look similar. Often you’ll find an even better solution

Of course these pictures don’t need to be the definite ones, maybe you’ll want to change the head after you drew the main body. And you don’t need to find images for all details. Like you can just draw the eye or teeth by hand if you want… But it can’t hurt to search for some reference.

My tip is to leave the Browser tabs (one tab per picture / body part) open and copy the images into a Word file (or PowerPoint or another design programme if you have one). Because if you got them in a file, you can easily move, crop, flip, transform, scale or spin them.

Attention here to copyright. If you just draw the animal for yourself or to show it to friends it doesn’t matter what you take. As soon as you want to share it on the internet or even make money with it, you should read more about it to be on the safe side… 

My pictures

I’ve cropped, transformed and put them into an order that they kinda already form the animal in a way, as you can see. Doesn’t look to bad, eh?

-

Step 4

Trace the contours

That works best by attaching the piece of paper to the screen (eg. with a post-it tape or “normal” tape that you put onto your clothes first that it doesn’t stick to the screen forever. Or adjust your laptop / monitor that the screen is flat on the table and facing up (but don’t break it!).

Then start tracing the contours. (Or if you’re good at copying, do that if you want) It doesn’t need to be perfect, especially at places where it it’ll connect to other body parts. It doesn’t matter with which body part you start, but I prefer starting with the main body because it’s mostly the center.

Once you’re happy with the part, take care of the next one. You might need to edit the picture a little bit that it fits better. You don’t always need to remove the paper from the screen, unless you want to have a look at it. Also make sure the “connection” to the other part is smooth, feel free to retrace a few lines if you have to. (Like remove the paper from the screen altogether)

Now just draw all the parts until you’re done.

Tips: if it’s hard to see the contours of the picture you chose, increase the screen’s brightness or the pictures contrasts, whatever fits best in the situation. And Protip: hide the pics that you’re not working with at the moment to not get distracted by them (Yes, you can do that in MS Word or PowerPoint! Here’s how to do it )

 Tracing the main body of my animal

Connecting the head to it (as you might can see I had to move / scale the pic a little before I could draw)

For the legs i just flipped, scaled and moved the crab’s legs. Thankfully I chose a pic with more than one example.

-

Step 5

Edit your animal

Remove the paper from the screen and have a look at it. You’ll find places where you need to correct some lines to make it look smoother, or maybe you need to change a few proportions a little (Eg making legs a bit thicker)

In this step you should also add the other details you didn’t bother getting pictures for. Sometimes I notice that suddenly something doesn’t look good anymore, so I need to change a whole arm or so.

 My first look at my Orinthio after I removed the paper from the screen. There’s a lot that I want to correct. E.g. the nape pf his neck, the tail and erease some lines. (Note: I’ve just learnt that solid and hard objects don’t make good tails... you’ll also find out your own ‘rules’ after drawing a couple of those)

And here the edited version. Looks smoother, doesn’t it?

-

Step 6

Unleash your fantasy

This step is optional but highly recommended. Give your animal some finishing touches.

Like trace the outer line with a pen. Add more details or give it a skin structure (fur, scales etc). Add colours! (Tip for that: use layers, like start with the brightest colour, then draw over it with a darker shade and so on. You can also add shadows like this. In the end, it often helps to ‘blend’ the colours by adding another layer with the brightest colour. Or watch some tutorials about drawing)

You can also give it a background or draw objects of size reference next to it (eg a small human to show the dimensions. Or a huge apple if your animal is tiny)

Or you can name the species (or the individual) and write it down as well.

And done! Here’s your fantastic beast. Feel free to send me pics or tag me in posts if you chose to share an example

The first layer of color. Of course, it could arleady be left like that.

But if you have a little more patience it’ll look more realistic. I chose not to draw a background because I wanted the focus to be on the animal :) But there are no limits to your creativity

[joolshallie]

Applying to medical school

I’m now a third year medical student (eek) and thought I’d do a bit of updated reading into applications, along with using my own experience to make a post all about applying to med school (undergrad) in the UK :D 

Grade requirements 

Medicine is hugely competitive so this drives grade requirements up. Having said that, universities put a lot of emphasis on you as a person, so it’s not all about having the most A*s. 

Different universities put different emphases on different grades. Some focus more on GCSEs than A-Levels for their filtering systems when selecting for interview (e.g. Oxford) - and vice versa

Universities often specify grades in certain subjects at GCSE (e.g. asking for As in maths/sciences).

The best advice is to check the university’s own website for their specific requirements for GCSEs, A-Levels/IB etc. and how they use this in their selection process.

The general A-Level offer is AAA, but quite a few universities requiring A*AA now, and Cambridge requires A*A*A.

The university of Buckingham (private), Kent and Medway (new from 2020) and UCLAN require AAB 

Some universities also offer AAB for some applicants with specific contextual markers (e.g. from a school with below average performance, certain postcodes).

Personal statement

I have a whole other post on “How to write a bomb ass personal statement” for anyone generally (not medicine specific) - find that here

The medical personal statement is a bit different from other subjects, and the content will vary depending on which universities you are applying to.

Generally you want to include some evidence as to your consistent interest and commitment to medicine. This can be in the form of regularly volunteering at a care home, or being a supporter of a charity. Work experience also shows clear interest, especially if you can write something that shows you went beyond just turning up (e.g. researched or went and read a book on a condition you saw there).

Many medical schools also want to know about your interests and hobbies - to show that you are a rounded person. The exception here is Oxbridge; if you are applying to either Oxford or Cambridge I would recommend having a more academic-heavy personal statement. 

I included a sentence on playing saxophone in bands/orchestras to grade 8, and a sentence on being in my city’s youth council - but I think everything else related to volunteering/books/work experience etc. (I did write quite a few sentences on my blog as that is also related to medicine/motivation etc.)

I’d recommend not opening with some profound quote or “I realised I wanted to be a doctor aged 3 when holding my baby sister after she’d been in ICU” etc. cause that won’t set you apart - the admissions team will have seen it all before.

It is important to look at the university admissions site as their selection criteria changes often! When I applied Bristol medical school weighted the statement 70% in selection for interview BUT from 2019 they no longer use it AT ALL before giving offers out (unless candidates have identical scores at interview)

Work experience and volunteering 

All medical schools like to see some form of volunteering or experience - they want to know that you have had exposure to the NHS/heath provider environment and actually enjoy it.

However, it is is hard to get experience in a hospital and on a ward (there are legalities up to 16 about going on wards) so it isn’t necessary. 

I got experience on a hospital ward through my mum’s friend who is a doctor. I suggest using your contacts - most of you will either have a (distant) family member who is a dr/nurse/midwife etc. or know a friend who knows one!

While on work experience use your lunch break (or any spare time) to write down interesting things you've seen. This doesn’t have to be scientific and about patients; it could be about the dr’s bedside manner, or the organisation and teamwork between the different health professionals.

If you can’t get onto a ward then care homes are usually happy to have volunteers. I volunteered at a special needs children’s daycare, which was super fun and useful for my application - so do some research about volunteering opportunities near you.

Your volunteering is useful to show you are reliable and dedicated, so the earlier you start (and longer you carry on doing it) the better! Try and start somewhere as soon as you’re 16 (as often a lot of places require “over 16″).

Extra-curricular activities and hobbies 

Medical schools love to see that you are a ‘rounded’ candidate with interests outside simply studying and medicine. It’s important to get this across to the person reading your personal statement/interviewer as they want to accept people who are gonna be an asset to the university, not workaholics.

This doesn’t have to be the classic sport and/or musical instrument hobby (although these are brilliant and you should definitely shout about them). Mention being interested in photography or blogging! I mentioned my Tumblr in my personal statement and was asked about it at the interview stage.

It is good if you can use you extra-curricular activities to demonstrate something about yourself - e.g. blogging regularly shows that you can be committed and consistent; being in the local youth council shows you are reliable and have interest in the local community. This is a good way to show your best qualities.

University choices

Applications to uni through UCAS involve making 5 choices. You can fill up to 4 options with medicine, and the remaining choice can be left empty or filled with another course. It is common for people to fill this with a biomedical degree or to leave it blank, but you can go completely off-piece if you want.

It is so so important to be strategic with your choices. This requires some reading into how universities weight different aspects of the application process (admission tests, grades, personal statement) when selecting for interview. 

E.g. if you score well above average in the UCAT it would be sensible to apply to one or two (or all!) universities that weight this heavily when selecting for interview. Newcastle only looks at UCAT prior to interview, simply ranking the scores and inviting the top people for interview. Therefore, if you score well they are ‘banked’ interviews already!

UCAT (UKCAT)

The UCAT (UKCAT) is the University Clinical Aptitude Test which is required by the majority of UK medical schools (and for dentistry).

It is taken between July and October (before application) and consists of multiple choice questions completed on a computer in a registered centre (I did mine where I did my driving theory test - there are loads of places).

The name changed this year from UKCAT - but the content of the test has stayed the same. See more information here

Verbal reasoning - 44 questions in 21 minutes

Decision making - 29 questions in 31 minutes

Quantitative reasoning - 36 questions in 24 minutes

Abstract reasoning - 55 questions in 13 minutes 

Situational judgement - 69 questions in 26 minutes 

There is no negative marking so you may as well put something down for every question - leave nothing blank!

The results are printed as you finish the test. This is the advantage over the (October) BMAT - you have a lot of time to think about your result and where it falls in the distribution of scores generally. If you do above average it is worth applying to unis that weight UCAT strongly, and if you don’t do so well you can apply to BMAT unis or those that weight it less.

The student room always has huge chats about it - this can be helpful to you to see where you lie (ish cause obviously not everyone posts there) but can also stress you out, so be cautious with this!

Your result is only valid for the year you apply, so if you take a year out after results and re-apply, you will have to re-take the test.

It costs £65 for tests between 1 July and end of August, and £87 for tests in Sept/Oct, so better to do it earlier! This also gives you more time to think about where to apply with results in hand.

BMAT

The BMAT (BioMedical Admission Tests) is a test required by a few unis in the UK. For the full list see their website.

I have a more detailed post about the BMAT here. Where I talk about resources you can use to revise and the exam content. Essentially it is a 2-hour pen-on-paper test that consists of 2 MCQ sections and 1 essay.

BMAT can be taken in August or October. The advantage of taking the test in August is that you get to know the results prior to sending off your UCAS application, so you can (as with UCAT) be strategic about where you apply.

Oxford is the only university (UK) that only accepts the October sitting of the test - aka you will not know your result before sending in your application.

However Oxford does accept the August sitting if you apply to graduate medicine (A101).

Deadlines

Unlike most applications to university via UCAS, your deadline for application is the 15th October at 18:00 (GMT) of your final year of school (or the year before you want to begin studying)

The earlier deadline is in line with applications to Oxford, Cambridge and to veterinary science and dentistry.

If you want anyone to look over the personal statement (e.g. get your English teacher to check grammar) then get onto them early - ideally as soon as you get back to school from summer.

Also make sure that your school is fully aware that you are going for early entry, and that your reference is written well in advance so there is no last minute rush or confusion.

The last UCAT deadlines are published each year on their website. The end of registration is usually mid September and last test is early October, so make sure you’ve registered and booked a test in time!

The August BMAT test occurs right at the end of August (31st 2019), with registration closing early-mid August. The October test occurs after the UCAS deadline, with registration closing end of September/beginning of October (see website for exact dates).

[catholicartistsnyc]

Meet Indiana-based Artist Daniel Mitsui

DANIEL PAUL MITSUI is a Hobart, Indiana-based artist specializing in ink drawing on calfskin and paper.  His work is mostly religious in subject, inspired by medieval illuminated manuscripts, panel paintings and tapestries. www.danielmitsui.com

CATHOLIC ARTIST CONNECTION: Where are you from originally, and what brought you to Hobart, IN?

DANIEL MITSUI: I was born at Fort Benning, Georgia, where my father was an infantry officer. I grew up in the suburbs of Chicago, and lived in Chicago for most of my adult life. About two and a half years ago, I moved with my wife and four kids to Hobart, Indiana, which is sort of the easternmost edge of Chicagoland.

How do understand your vocation as a Catholic artist? "Catholic Art" can mean a number of different things: art that happens to be made by a Catholic, whatever it is; art that communicates Catholic ideas and values; art that explicitly treats the Catholic religion as its subject; or art that is considered "sacred" art, meaning that it is intended to communicate religious truth and to assist prayer.

Most of my artwork is of this last kind, so I understand my task as twofold. First, I do my best to follow an established tradition as far as composition and arrangement are concerned. Sacred art should corroborate sacred scripture and liturgy, and the exegesis of the Church Fathers - because it too is a means by which the memory of Jesus Christ's revelation is carried forward through the centuries.

Second, I do my best to make the art as beautiful as possible, because the experience of beauty is a way for men and women in a fallen world to remember dimly the prelapsarian world, and to grow in their desire for reunion with God. As I wrote in one of my lectures:

It is important "not to consider sacred art a completed task, not to consider any historical artifact to be a supreme model to be imitated without improvement. To make art ever more beautiful is not to take it away from its source in history, but to take it back to its source in Heaven. Sacred art does not have a geographic or chronological center; it has, rather, two foci, like a planetary orbit. These correspond to tradition and beauty. One is the foot of the Cross; the other is the Garden of Eden."

I am Catholic, and an artist, so I have no objection to being called a "Catholic artist.” However, I do not want to make an advertisement of my personal faith or piety, to suggest to other Catholics that they ought to buy or commission artwork from me because of the sort of person I am, rather than because of the artwork's own merits. An artist who would make an advertisement of his personal faith or piety has received his reward.

At this time, my personal mission is to complete a large cycle of 235 drawings, together making an iconographic summary of the Old and New Testaments and illustrating the events that are most prominent in sacred liturgy and patristic exegesis. I call this the Summula Pictoria, and I plan to spend the next twelve years of so working to complete it, alongside other commissions. I already have spent more than two years on it, mostly on preliminary research and design work.

Where have you found support in the Church for your vocation as an artist? The Catholic Church is of course much more than its institutional structures; it is all the faithful. Most of my patronage comes from private individuals rather than parishes and dioceses. I do receive some commissions  from ecclesiastical institutions - in 2011 I even completed a large project for the Vatican - but I do not go out of my way to secure them. In ecclesiastical institutions, there tend to be committees involved, and a whole lot of politics; the usual result is that an artist spends time preparing proposals, reserving his most interesting ideas, and just fighting for permission to make the best artwork possible. I feel sorry for artists like architects and sacred musicians who, by the nature of their medium, have to do this. I avoid it whenever possible.

I choose to make artwork that is small enough and inexpensive enough that private individuals can commission and buy it. I think this may be the future of Catholic art patronage; there is not much reason to think that ecclesiastical institutions will be able to provide it much longer. You can look at the demographic changes, at the money lost both through diminishing donations and lawsuits because of clerical scandals, at the amount of artwork already available as salvage from closed parishes - none of this suggests that ecclesiastical institutions will become great patrons of new sacred art any time soon.

How can the Church be more welcoming to artists? I think that sacred art should have four qualities: it should be traditional and beautiful, as I said already; and it should be real and interesting.

What the clergy and theologians of the Church could do to help artists is to advance an argument for art that has these qualities. They have not advanced this argument much lately, and a good number of them probably don't even believe it.

By "real" I mean that sacred art ought, at least as an ideal, to be made by real human hands or voices. Music sung or played in person is a different thing, and a better thing, than an electronic recording. A picture drawn by hand is qualitatively superior to picture printed by a computer. There is at least a rule on the books that liturgical music needs to be sung or played live, not off of a CD, but even there a lot of fake things are broadly tolerated: bell sound effects played from speakers in a tower, or synthesizers dressed up in casings to look like pipe organs. Visual artists don't even have this sort of rule in place for them. Printing technology - both 2D and 3D - is now so sophisticated that I worry about it displacing human artists, without the clergy or theologians objecting.

I fear that some time soon, one of the great artistic or architectural treasures of Christianity will be ruined - more completely and irreparably than Notre Dame de Paris -  and that in response to demands that it be rebuilt exactly as it was before, living artists will dismissed from the task as untrustworthy. Instead, a computer model will be constructed from the photographic record, and everything will be 3D printed in concrete or faux wood. Once that happens, a precedent is set, and living artists and architects thenceforth will compete, most likely at an economic disadvantage, against computers imitating the old masters.

I don’t oppose reproductions themselves; I have digital prints on display in my own home, and I sell digital prints of my own artwork. I listen to recordings of music. I do oppose the idea that these can, in themselves, provide a sufficient experience of art and music. I oppose the idea that sacred art and music can be fostered through attitudes that would have made their existence impossible in the first place.

By "interesting," I mean that art and music should command attention. So many Catholics have gotten it into their minds that the very definition of prayer or worship is "thinking pious thoughts to oneself.” They close their eyes and obsess about whether they can think those pious thoughts through to a conclusion without noticing anything else. With this mindset, art and music are praised as"prayerful" simply for being easy to ignore. Art or music that are particularly excellent are condemned as "distracting.”

This, really, is wrongheaded. Distractions from prayer are foremost interior, the result of our own loud and busy and selfish thoughts. Sacred art or music that draw us out of our own thoughts, that make us notice their beauty, are fulfilling their purpose; they are bringing us closer to the source of all beauty, God.

I can't remember the last time I heard a living priest of theologian say as much.

How can the artistic world be more welcoming to artists of faith? I don't really think that it makes sense to speak of an artistic world as opposed to any other world, at least when it comes to sacred art.

This art is meant to be in churches, or in homes, or in any places where people pray - that is to say, anywhere. It belongs to everyone. I have no objection to seeing my artwork in galleries or museums, but I don't seek out those spaces; I try to make my artwork available to anyone, as directly as possible.

How do you afford housing as an artist? The medium in which I chose to work - small scale ink drawing - does not require a very large working space, and uses no toxic materials or dangerous equipment. So really, all I need is a room in which to work. It doesn't need to be a space outside the home, or away from my kids.

So affording housing as an artist is, for me, the same as affording housing in general. I moved to my current home after my wife and I decided that our family was too large to stay in apartments any more; we have four children, and wanted a yard of our own for them. We wanted to be near Chicago, but everything on the Illinois side of the border was too expensive. It took about six months of house hunting, and one temporary move, before we found what we wanted, and we had to borrow most of the money to buy it. So I don't know that I should be giving out advice, except perhaps to urban artists who are "apartment poor" like I used to be, not to let that situation go on too long.

I advise any artists who are still early enough in their careers not to be wedded to a particular medium to consider how their choice of medium will affect what sort of living space they will need eventually, especially if they hope to have a family. If you want to paint pictures or make prints that require pigments or chemicals too toxic to have around young children or pregnant women, that is something you should be prepared to deal with in advance.

How do you financially support yourself as an artist? My artwork is my livelihood. About half of my income is from commissioned drawing, and about half from print sales, licensing and book royalties. I do teach, write and lecture on occasion, but this is not a significant part of my income. I've never had a residency or a grant, and I do not seek them out.

I've had my own website, www.danielmitsui.com, since maybe 2005, and use this as the primary means of displaying, selling and promoting my work.

What are your top 3 pieces of advice for Catholic artists? In one of my lectures, Heavenly Outlook, I gave three pieces of advice to anyone who want to appreciate or make sacred art, and I will repeat them here:

First, never treat art like data. Second, be guided by holy writ and by tradition itself: liturgical prayer, the writings of the church fathers and the art of the past. Third, do not consider sacred art a completed task. Do not consider any historical artifact to be a supreme model to be imitated without improvement. Please pray for me, and for my family.

[write-fair-and-labour-much]

TW: Body image, death

Hey everybody! Long time Tumblr user, first time poster. I’ve been writing a bit recently for the first time in a while, and I wanted a place to share some of the work I’ve been doing. I’m far from a professional writer, and I don’t consider myself to be very good, but it’s a nice hobby and I have fun doing it.

A little about this story:

Description: A teenager attempts to separate herself from her reflection.

Why I Wanted to Write this Story: I’ve struggled with negative body image for a while now. There was a time when I would have given anything to be free from my reflection, so I was curious about exploring what it would be like if that were actually a possibility. Additionally, my favourite book is The Picture of Dorian Gray, and I wanted to do a twist on that sort of story. Basically, this is a caffeine-and-junk-food fuelled dive into my worst anxieties. Enjoy!

The Mirror Over the Stairwell

“Ugh,” I say, “I’m so ugly.”

Behind me, Madison just rolls her eyes. We’re standing in the stairwell, where an ornate floor-length mirror stands mounted on the wall. The mirror is the only big home-improvement purchase my parents made when we moved in, thinking it would make the room look bigger (it does) and it would add some class to the house (it doesn’t). The mirror is gorgeous, but I spend most of my time in front of it preoccupied with the image within: my reflection.

“Babe,” Madison says. “You do this all the time.” She moves forward into the frame of the mirror and puts her arm around me. “Beauty is so superficial. So what if you’re not a perfect ten? You have plenty of other good qualities.”

It should make me feel better, but it doesn’t. It also doesn’t help that Madison IS a perfect ten. Next to me, she pushes her silky brown hair back from her face with a confident swipe of her manicured hand, a satisfied smirk on her delicate face. She knows as well as I do how gorgeous she is. Meanwhile, all I can focus on are my flaws— the unseemly little mistakes on my face, my body. The narrow eyes, the crooked nose. The hair that’s not quite light enough or long enough. The unflattering curve of my smile, carving a pale pink line into my thick, blockish chin. My spotty and freckled complexion, too dark for my hair colour and too light for my eye colour. I’m a mess of almosts— I’m almost tall enough. Almost thin enough. Almost pretty enough.

Madison lets out a sigh. “Can we please do something else now?” She huffs. I let her lead me around the corner and down the hall to my room. We do stupid teenage stuff for a couple of hours, painting each other’s nails and gossiping about people at school. The whole time, I can’t get my reflection out of my head.

❊❊❊❊❊

About an hour after Madison goes home, I’m splayed out on my bed with my laptop open in front of me, doing homework. I can’t stop thinking about that mirror. There was something haunting about looking myself in the eye; something terrifying about facing my image so viscerally. I want to dig deeper.

Absent-mindedly, I pull up the Search bar on my computer. I have no idea what to type to get the result I want, or even what that result is. I go for the easiest keyword I can think of: “Reflection.”

I scroll through page after page of unrelated search outcomes: Reflection in meditation, the “Reflections” trinket store on High Street, Reflection from the Mulan soundtrack. Nothing that helps me. Finally, I reach something that might be useful. The article is titled, “Bad Reflections: Separating your Consciousness from your Image.” Intrigued, I click on the link.

I’m immediately redirected to a page that appears to be dedicated to some kind of witchcraft. The page is headed, “Games and Rituals.” The website is badly crafted, with jarring colours and odd fonts, and ads pop up all around the text as I scroll through the article. I’m tempted to dismiss the whole thing as click bait and move on when a passage catches my eye.

“Are you feeling bogged down by your appearance? Cringe when you look at pictures? Wish you could be free of the tether between your real-life self and the self that lives in the mirror? There is a way to separate yourself from your reflection, but it’s very dangerous. Keep reading to find out more.”

My interest piqued, I keep reading. The page goes on to describe a ritual for severing the tie between yourself and your reflection. By following the instructions carefully detailed on the website, a person can cut the link connecting themselves with the self in the mirror, essentially killing them off and absorbing all of their beauty. I read the description, the materials needed, and the necessary steps. The whole process is disturbingly simple; easy to execute by accident if a person were careless enough. Finally, I reach the bottom of the page, where a warning is printed in bright red writing:

“WARNING: Performing this ritual can have dire, even deadly, consequences for anyone involved. I urge you to stay away from this kind of game and NOT to try this at home. If you fail to take heed of this advice and go ahead with the ritual, no one knows what may happen to you.”

I scoff. This whole thing sounds fake, but the warning in particular seems ridiculous. Why write a whole website dedicated to “games and rituals” just to recommend that no one do them? I’ve never believed in the supernatural to begin with, but I especially don’t believe in negative consequences from the supernatural. If I attempt this ritual, it’ll either work or it won’t— I doubt anything bad will happen to me.

I decide to try the ritual. Worst case scenario, nothing happens and I feel silly. Best case scenario, I’ll be free of my reflection for good.

❊❊❊❊❊

I wait until my parents have gone to sleep. I slip out of bed, my feet cold against the hardwood floor, and quietly make my way down to the mirror over the stairwell. I gaze at my reflection, the image distorted and monstrous in the darkness. I maintain eye contact as I take a kitchen knife and draw it vertically between myself and the mirror. As I slice through the air, I whisper the phrase, “I set you free. I set you free. I set you free,” the words becoming my own personal mantra as I chant each syllable to myself. Finally, I press my palm to the mirror, whisper one final, “I set you free,” and drop my hand. I’m definitely imagining things, but I could swear that upon speaking the final phrase, my reflection was silent.

I put the knife in the cupboard and go back to bed, feeling foolish. I guess we’ll see, I think to myself. This could be the end of all my problems.

❊❊❊❊❊

It has been two weeks since I performed the separating ritual. Each day, my agony has increased exponentially. Little by little, my body has started to deteriorate: to pull apart at the seams and rot from the inside out. I’m dying. I’ve stopped going to school, stopped eating, stopped sleeping. My parents stand at my bedroom door and weep, afraid to cross the threshold. They worry that if they touch me, I’ll crumble into dust. It’s a distinct possibility, considering the state of my body. My bones have weakened to brittle sticks, flesh clinging to them like drenched fabric in a rainstorm. I bruise at the touch; my skin a leathery landscape of purple, green, and yellow. My lungs are withered; my liver tainted. My eyes are sunken and my hair comes out in clumps, each strand fragile and silver at the root.

Most days I can’t bring myself to stand, but sometimes I’ll pull myself out of bed and crawl desperately to that big mirror over the stairwell. In it, I see a beautiful, young woman with a bright smile and a healthy disposition. She watches me with a sympathetic expression; sees me dying and knows there is nothing she can do to help. She will live a prosperous life, filled with beauty and happiness and love. I will waste away into nothing, never anything more than the woman who made a deal with fate and lost out with her life.

I was never the original. I was the reflection.

[comicteaparty]

January 15th-January 21st, 2020 Reader Favorites Archive

The archive for the Reader Favorites chat that occurred from January 15th, 2020 to January 21st, 2020.  The chat focused on the following question:

What sort of merchandise are you most likely to buy for webcomics you read and why?

carcarchu

does a physical copy of the book count as merch? nothing compares to the feel of a real book in your hands and watching my collection grow is so satisfying. i like having a tangible way to show my support. after that is small prints. i rarely see acrylic charms of webcomic characters but those are nice too

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

I know I'm particularly weak for enamel pins - which happen to be the first major merch I made for my first time tabling at a con. They're definitely the most common thing for me to consider purchasing from others. I also like small prints and stickers! And if a particularly cute character is somehow made into a plush... I'd be all over that, too.

Cronaj

For me, I love physical comics. So if a webcomic creator made a physical print version of their comic, that would be the best way to entice me to buy something. Comics almost always look better on paper in my opinion, and I'm a weirdo when it comes to book smell I sniff new books like an absolute degenerate. The other thing I would buy is art prints or art books. I have a huuuuge collection of art prints from creators I admire. So keep 'em comin'! I mean, I'll buy any merch that calls to me, but usually if I can't put it on a shelf, hang it on the wall, or wear it, I probably have no use for it.

Capitania do Azar

I'm a big fan of physical copies and charms of all kinds! I also appreciate stickers and small prints (big prints are nice, but take up a lot of space). Zines with side stories or related/concept art are also a good choice

keii4ii

Storage is a big issue for me, so I tend to not buy physical books unless like... it's a comic I would love to read but can't do so online easily (e.g. if the website doesn't function properly on my computer) I really like prints that have qualities/features that can't be replicated digitally -- e.g. foil, holo coating, VERY special paper texture, etc. (I've even seen one artist offer lenticular prints which I thought was awesome -- just wasn't into the characters that were on the art) Small to medium sized prints are fairly easy to store, so that's also a big plus for me! Also, clear plastic folders? I've never bought them admittedly, but those can look SO nice with the right type of art (some artworks look so special when printed on that clear material). I wish more people offered them so I could actually buy these, but I understand they can be costly to print.

Tired Programmer

I would buy physical copies as well. About the storage issue... Well, when I understand, that there are too many of them for my humble bookcase, I just sell or give old ones away. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ And also stickers. Stickers rock. (edited)

SAWHAND

I agree! If I really like the comic I like to have a physical copy! It feels special since I think a lot of times they're limited printing. I also really like stickers since they can just get put on something I already have and thus not take up extra space. I generally don't get prints because wall space is at a premium and I feel silly not having them hung up, but that's just a personal preference. Other than that it would have to be something really cool or something with function, like a notebook or...I don't know, an apron, or maaaybe a t-shirt.

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Printed comics are definitely my go to fav especially if it's a webcomic I've been really wanting to read but haven't had the time to do it online. Sitting down with a book is a lot easier for me that sitting with my phone or pulling my laptop out. I do also like stickers a lot. I've really gotten into covering the inside covers of my sketchbooks with them the last few years X)

kayotics

I usually go for printed books, pins, or plushies. If there’s a Kickstarter happening I’ll usually splurge for a pin tier if it exists. I don’t use stickers that much but I know a lot of people love them? But it’s not my thing.(edited)

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

Usually printed books and phone charms. I will always buy webcomics that go to print and I collect charms. Other things like stickers and pins are nice, but often too pricey. I will go for them when they're bundled into KS tiers with printed books, though.

varethane

Printed books for me! Sometimes stickers, and sometimes enamel pina

Pins

I dont tend to get prints because I wont really do anything with them

(But my prints tend to sell decently, so there is a market for them out there...)

keii4ii

I just like collecting prints! I don't even put them on my wall, I just stick them in a binder kind of like my own custom-curated artbook

I really like seeing the combination of certain artworks and certain paper textures!

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

omg Kei...why have I not thought of that ?? I will now do that for all the print i've collected gosh!! and I agree with Vare, books are top tier merch I go for (zines included) Prints are a second for me, with charms and pins being the thing i least go for bc of space (though I am seeing pin boards come into fashion and I'm def into doing that as well!)

mariah (rainy day dreams)

I do really love pins too, I'm just really bad at remembering to wear them. I probably should get myself one of those clear back packs con goers wear.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

oh yes ita bags!

varethane

The problem with me wearing pins is that I normally bike everywhere, while wearing a backpack

So if I put them on a jacket, the straps of the bag will rub on most of the good pin locations

And if they fall off while I'm riding my bike they are lost forever

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

I tried putting pins on my backpack for a while.... only to come home and realise they fell off at some point during the day.

varethane

Yeah :(

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Ita bag! Yes! Lol I'm always super scared that my pins will just break and I'll loose them X') so when I do remember to wear one I'm constantly checking to make sure it's still on me

varethane

I have one jacket that I've been putting most of my pins on, which I wear to conventions

And it did pretty well except my rice boy pin fell off somewhere in the Seattle airport and is now lost forever :(

Betrayal......

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

i have def...super glued pins to my backpack before and the rubber backings are so bad for pins too bc they never hold

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Oh, patches are another thing, like pins, that I love but usually have to stop myself from getting. I need to find a good patch jacket, because I really love a patch. I've been wanting to make one for my own comic merch for a while too.

FeatherNotes(Krispy)

ohhh yes same-- i stll have patches that i havent done anything yet with bc i haven't found The Right Jacket

mariah (rainy day dreams)

Same TuT

Eightfish

I've got the Property of Hate tarot postcards up on my wall right now. Also partial to a good enamel pin. What I'd love to see in merch is a well designed, stylish shirt, but haven't really found that so far. I find webcomic shirts tend to be too detailed and illustration-y to look good as shirts, and would prefer something more graphic.

Q @CecilieQMT making WAYFINDERS

I'd love to design shirts! Just haven't figured out how to get them printed properly... ^^'

RebelVampire

For me, it's digital copies. So PDFs and eBooks. Unlike many people here, I can't stand print copies for a myriad of reasons. XD But digital copies I can get behind cause it supports the artist, has some nice bonus stuff sometimes, and generally collects everything nicely so some website hiccups aren't a problem. While this has never come up because it's rare, I would also buy plushies. Cause one can never have enough plushies. But alas, I don't think the market is there for that XD

kayotics

Plushies are just really hard to produce and store, same with T-shirts

Well, T-shirts aren’t that hard to produce, but they’re hard to store and keep a good amount of sizes

Mei

I tend to buy books/physical copies of webcomics I like! I really enjoy the physical reading experience! I also really like buying enamel or non-enamel pins. I enjoy collecting them, but going off what people have already said, I also have an innate fear of losing them :(

AntiBunny

If it has a cute character, and the price is in my budget, plushies are awesome. Unfortunately that's a difficult one to do, because small batches of plush that are build by hand are going to be expensive, and a comic has to be very popular to warrant more economical large runs. And I'll also say physical books.

Mei

plushies ARE awesome

I got the coyote plushie from Tom, the guy who does Gunnerkrigg Court

I just really love it

and also I couldn't decide which of the MANY volumes of comics to buy

(i didn't and still don't have space to stock up on a lot of books so I must be prudent sometimes)

((but my bed always has space for plushies))

[fanfeline]

Get your cousin on Cam👏ille 👏 Des👏mou👏lins👏 asap!!!

@oh-and-this so this got FUCKING LONG my sincerest apologies to anyone on mobile I’m…I’m so sorry

it’s hysterical though

so: me, adoring Camille Desmoulins, vs. my cousin, who knows literally nothing about the man or about history in general!

N: Hello~

A: So, ready?

N: Yeah!

A: Alright, there we go.

N: Honestly…he doesn’t look- he’s not the worst you’ve pulled.

A: :) No, he’s not.

N: Like, we’ve definitely had worse. I’m disappointed in you.

A: [mock offended] Oh, okay! Fine!

N: I thought you could do better.

A: Yeah, fine, give me a second-

N: No, wait! I still need to describe this guy!

A: Alright, alright, it’s fine, we can do both major portraits, I can pull out Boze too. Okay, start with this, we can transition later.

N: Okay, so!

A: There’s a zoom function here too, I’m not sure quite how far it will go….

N: So, his nose is a little wonky. He should get a nosejob. Sorry.

A: Okay, this is the eighteenth century.

N: Yeah, just a little, you know, chop chop, go to the doctor-

A: I’m pretty sure this is the era of bloodletting as a valid form of medical treatment.

N: What? Whatever. His hair? Honestly, his hair’s not the worst. Although, you can kinda see these little, like, short pieces on the side of his face? Looks like a little kid, taking his mother’s scissors, chop chop chop.

A: Yeah, I could see that. I’ll be honest, having studied this man, specifically this man? [pause] Yeah.

N: Where are his eyelashes? Can I- can I zoom?

A: You can, I don’t know how far it will oh jesus. [high-quality portrait, it zoomed in a lot and startled me, okay?]

N: Do- do you see that?

A: Short lashes are not uncommon. I don’t know, ask the painter, it’s not like I have any photographs of the man!

N: There are no eyelashes there. There is: eyelid, eye, under-eye-bag. There are no. Eyelashes.

A: [high pitched] Give me details about this man.

N: Also, his eyebrows are not on fleek at all. Kind of just disintegrates. Like, “Mr. Stark, I don’t feel so good.” Um, okay, this man, he definitely works as an actor. But like, community theater. He takes improv classes, he lives in Pennsylvania- no, New Jersey. [imitating New Jersey accent] Jersey, honey. [normal] I can’t do the accent.

A: No, you really can’t.

N: He’s got ears, I think. I can see one…part of one.

A: Probably. [look, he never listens anyways]

N: He definitely, like [pause] unicycles to work.

A: [laughing] Okay.

N: But only on Tuesdays. The rest of the days, he bikes. He’s zero-waste, except he has a drug problem, sooooo. He’s also vegan, but only every other day. Oh, and he’s definitely an Internet troll.

A: [laughing harder] That’s the most accurate thing you’ve said yet.

N: His name is like…Cameron.

A: [pause] That was weirdly close.

N: Wait, what’s his name?

A: Camille. His name’s Camille. [note: my voice changed dramatically here and now I’m wondering if my voice always gets that soft, sad and practically reverent when saying his name because if so? that’s fucking pathetic]

N: His name’s Cameron. And he has- does he have any pets? An iguana.

A: What’s the iguana’s name?

N: Jorge [pronounced as in the Spanish]. Spelled J-G-E-O-U-R-G-J-E-U-X.

A: That is roughly the way he does spell names, I will admit, he’s terrible at it.

N: And there it is. He definitely works in a museum part-time, cause community theater doesn’t pay unfortunately. …Is that a rat tail? Oh no, that’s just part of his collar.

A: Yeah, that’s his collar, he wears his hair loose.

N: Okay….I’m just zooming in on random spots.

A: Yeah, no kidding.

N: Look at those LIPS, BABY!!! [dramatic kissing noises] Wait, why is his nose shiny? Oh, shit, the boba, hang on-

[N goes to go make sure the tapioca pearls didn’t melt again]

A: [calling across the kitchen] If you’re done with this one, I’m going to the other portrait, there’s another portrait. Here.

N: …You know what he looks like? A character from Pushing Daisies.

A: Okay, yeah, that’s fair.

[digression about Pushing Daisies]

A: No comment on his hair in this one? It’s very different here.

N: Oh, his hair’s so bad. Wait, is this the same guy?

A: Yeah, same man.

N: Oh god.

[break]

N: We’re recording again!

A: Yay! So, second portrait, this is the man you have nicknamed Cameron.

N: Cameron! Wait, this doesn’t look like Cameron.

A: Same guy, I promise.

N: This is Olga. [Ari starts laughing hysterically] Olga is a woman in her thirties, you wouldn’t guess it, she looks like she’s ninety. She lives on a farm in, like, Norway. Olga churns butter.

A: I swear to God, this is the same human being!

N: No, this is Olga. She churns butter with her brother, Üulga.

A: Oh, right, I keep forgetting he had siblings.

N: Olga is the girl, Üulga is the boy.

A: To be fair, I think he keeps forgetting that he had siblings too.

N: Üulga! Üulgaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa. So, Olga. Actually, this more and more starts to look like Üulga. By the way, Üulga is spelled with two “u”s.

A: O-okay, I’ll figure out how to fit that in somewhere.

N: You’re gonna have a fun time typing this up.

A: It’ll be a mess! I love it.

N: Okay, Olga! Olga has a computer from the 1990s, and it only works with a bicycle.

A: You’ve established a connection between this man and bicycles, then.

N: Oh yeah, Cameron! I forgot about that.

A: It’s the SAME HUMAN BEING, I promise you!

N: Does he like bicycles?

A: I have no idea.

N: Olga’s trying to grow in a mustache.

A: [deep breath] Continue.

N: So…okay, moment of silence.

A: [laughing] For my last remaining brain cells?

N: Stop laughing, pay your respects!

A: I have PAID my respects in TEARS.

N: Okay, he kind of looks like that sticker on your laptop.

A: The sticker of Thranduil from the Hobbit movies with a flower crown?

N: …Yes.

A: Okay! Newsflash!

N: Will your followers know who that is?

A: Almost definitely, they’re nerds.

N: Wow, okay. [pause] Olga, precious Olga, I’m gonna end this with a scene? Of Olga, like I did the manchild. What was his name?

A: They were, like, neighbors.

N: They were roommates. Oh my god, they were roommates.

A: If you knocked down the ceiling or the wall or something, I don’t remember exactly where, I’m not good at this. Oh, yeah, these are his letters? This book I’m holding. They’re his letters. Oh, wait, any comment on his facial features, because they’re decidedly different than the last portrait, meaning I have no idea what this guy looks like.

[I can’t transcribe the scene because the file’s being weird, but she was basically voicing/characterizing Olga like The Final Pam from Monster Factory. It was a trip, I assure you. Maybe I’ll manage to get the good file at some point - Ari]

A: Okay, wait, here’s my favorite print, where he’s holding the sword by the blade like an idiot.

N: Yeah, he’s an idiot. This guy is named Christopher Columbus.

A: Don’t you dare compare this man to that rat-ass bastard that is Christopher Columbus.

N: No no no, this is Christopher M. Columbus, he killed Christopher Columbus, stole his name and became the greatest leader of Czechoslovakia that there ever was.

A: What a terrifying thought.

N: Can you zoom in on his hat?

A: No, if we were somewhere else- I actually have this print hanging on my wall?

N: Why.

A: [pause] What do you mean, why?

N: …Nevermind. His hat looks like Mario’s hat. It’s got a facial expression.

A: Where?! Where is there a facial expression??

N: There, see, eye, eye, mouth.

A: Those are leaves, and I don’t see! Oh…no, I do see.

N: I wanted to tell you, dear readers, I’ve loved doing this commentary, I’ll do more in the future, I don’t know when I’ll be back-

A: We’ve got time, we’re doing more recordings after this.

N: Oh. [laughs] Okay bye!