#Zoom in for details because rendering this was a pain

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

Waiting

(inspiration below)

Art by Dragan Bibin

[chadfallout76podcast]

Death Shroud Q&A (submitted by @completely-legit)

completely-legit submitted:

10h ago

Death Shroud Q&A!

Writing Questions

Q: 1. "You only ever took one of us." – Paladin Danse, Death Shroud Meta jokes aside, it's obvious you enjoyed playing some of the best of Fallout 4's cast off of each other in ways that we weren't able to get in the game due to the mechanical restrictions of the gameplay.  Which was your favorite dynamic between characters to write?

A: Honestly I loved writing all of it. By the time you're well into the story the Red Rocket is filled with the strangest assortment of people/not people in the entire Wasteland. The conflict, ball busting, unexpected friendships that would be blossom out of that is really fertile soil for writing. Moreover, on a shared journey 2 years later they have a comfortable familiarity with each other they just slip back into. I also love Jefferson/Silver Shroud's dynamic, because you have a superhero level character who starts off 2 dimensional ripped out of a comic book and is suddenly REAL in a way that doesn't fit with reality. As a result he's kind of bumbling and awkward. Jefferson is the embodiment of him "not fitting in" outside of the page where he's idolized as well as stylized. It's just great stuff.

2. I believe you mentioned you turned to Dick Tracy for inspiration while writing this picturesque slice of noir life – what's the most important thing you've learned about writing a radio drama?  What was the most difficult thing about resurrecting a much older style of media that you didn't appreciate until you were deep in it?

A: I looked at a lot of inspirations to get the feel right in the beginning acts. Relistened to old school Sam Spade radio dramas, rewatched The Maltese Falcon (Bogart's version of Spade inspired the character of Valentine in development), as well as "Who Framed Roger Rabbit?" and "Dick Tracy". Since I've been writing radio drama for almost 5 years now, I think the biggest thing I've learned over time is getting the rhythm right. I write in a way that I want to take people on an emotional rollercoaster of a journey in pretty much everything I do. Because that's life. We laugh, we get anxious and tense, we pine for people, cheer them out, mourn their losses and feel their pain. I always try to recreate that ride in any story we've done whether it's this or other productions we do. Lastly, always give people what they want: a satisfying ending. As far as resurrecting an older style of media...that was really easy as I've been listening to Old Time Radio since I was a teenager.

3. Did you do everything in one take or have any rehearsals/direction?  It seemed like all the VAs were in one call together, which is some incredible coordination and effort!

A: Nope! All recorded one night in one take with no rehearsal. Mostly because I was sweating over the script and didn't finish polishing it until 3 hours before recording. We did it all on Zoom and not 5 minutes in, a lightning bolt hit a transformer down the street, knocking out my power. Wes had to continue recording for me (it's why there's a big grid of people at the start as opposed to the single actor view later on. I was crushed I wasn't there live while they were recording.

4. The amount of voice (and writing) talent in this production is incredible for something so unofficial!  How long did it take you to bring this 3 hour noir tour of the Commonwealth to fruition?  How many times did you have to replay/reload Fallout 4 to fact check your details? :)

A: Thank you! We started asking people a few months ago. I had a brainstorming meeting with Wes and Emil from Bethesda who offered some helpful notes as I wrote on their characters. It took me 26 hours or so to edit and design the media elements, add effects and music scoring. It took 14 hours to render in 4k and only finished rendering at 10am the morning of airing. I was sweating over night that it would finish rendering in time. lol I didn't have to replay Fallout 4 as I have a really good memory of it, but looked to the Wiki on some key details and transcripts of how the characters talked in the main game.

5. Obviously, the plot had to wrap a bit around which VAs were available; were there any specific plot changes you had to make based on availability, or did you only seriously bend to writing after you already had a list of actors available for participation?  Anything extremely fun you had to cut?

A: At the last moment sadly Lynda Carter couldn't join us otherwise I wouldn't have written in Magnolia without her. Shari Elliker came in clutch and did a great job voicing her! I really and truly wanted MacCready a part of it, but Matt Mercer is INSANELY busy and was taking a much-needed vacation. Despite that he was kind enough to record for us. I wanted to try and bring EVERYONE back but between not being able to reach some people, others just able to wrangle their schedule...I think we did a good job getting as many people as we did. There was a bunch of stuff I had to cut for time (because this thing was already 3 hours). There was going to be an attack by the Mechanist on Diamond City, following the events at the Lombardo's with the Mechanist taking out the Detective Agency in retribution for meddling in their plans, but felt that was unnecessary and we'd already put listeners through enough torture. lol I was going to bring back Scribe Haylen as a link to investigate some of the Brotherhood's Black Market dealings in salvaged synth tech as part of the surprise return of Kellogg. But honestly the most fun scene would've been a trap in which they're lured to a train station thinking Harold is coming in by rail from the Capital Wasteland only to be chased by an Endritch "modded into the Universe" version of Thomas the Tank Engine. It would've resulted in a car chase with the Shroud realizing Jefferson has used all his James Bond-like car gadgets already so the most they can do is throw bottles at it that Hancock has emptied. lol

Plot questions:

1. "You started something two years ago you never finished."  - Boss Lombardo, Death Shroud

In my opinion, one of the biggest successes of Death Shroud was fans were of course hungry for the answers about what comes after a "happy ending".  In Death Shroud it's apparent that Nora chose to assist the Brotherhood of Steel along to a victory against the Institute - but it becomes clear that the ending wasn't perfect for everyone. There's been a lot of discussion over the years about how every faction ending to Fallout 4 has its own unique drawbacks.  In this case it seems like even beyond sacrificing the Railroad (and a lot of synths) the Brotherhood left a power vacuum in the Commonwealth which is allowing for raiders and the like to take back over in the absence of both the Institute and an effective Minute Men alliance. What was the most important part of this "ending" and its consequences for you to address?  What made it the best backdrop to set Death Shroud in?  The play mentions more than once that poor Nick is running out of spare parts with the source of synthetic limbs destroyed!

A: I picked that ending for our story because honestly it's one of the most dire from which to grow the story from. The rise of raiders and Triggermen (mafia control of parts of the city) is very Film Noir. I also needed Nora to have dipped out of the spotlight and honestly trying to just go live a quiet life and come to terms with what they did to the railroad was necessary plot wise. The Cabot storyline was also essential...she needed to have let him loose in order for the pieces of the story to come together. I also think it's important to remember that the Brotherhood REALLY aren't their for altruistic reasons. Once they take out the Institute they don't give a crap about rebuilding Boston. They salvage tech, hoard it and that's kind of it. By the time our story begins Nick and our former companions are doing their best just to keep things in some kind of order. Even Hancock needs to go back to run Goodneighbor to prevent it from falling apart.

 2. The biggest breakout original character was Charlie, Nick Valentine's protege turned traitor; wonderfully played by Aeric Azana.  I actually experienced several double takes during the first airing of the play and had to google to make sure I hadn’t completely forgotten the character somehow, he fit so well with the rest of the cast.  What was the inspiration for his character?  Care to give us some more loose backstory about how he wound up in the Valentine detective agency?

A: Aeric Azana is BRILLIANT and really completely lost himself in that character and brought it to life. I think the character fit in and felt so natural because it felt like a character that would be there. Following the events of Fallout 4, I think Nick would learn the importance of friends and family and in chasing down Nora's son, a set of continuity of beliefs and ideals. Seeing the Institute destroyed and most of the synths wiped out...there's no backup, no spare parts. Nick can be killed and destroyed and all that he was would be lost. Not only does Nick need help at the agency I think he wanted to have something he could never have: a sense of family. Taking in Charlie off the streets, raising him, teaching him would make sense for him. I have some thoughts on his background and how Nick found him...but that may end up being a story, so I'll keep quiet about that for now. Suffice to say, missing people is not all that Nick finds on cases.

3. No noir sleuth story is complete without organized crime!  Fallout players are intimately familiar with a lot of the gangs of the commonwealth, be it the Khans, the Forged, or even the Gourmands – but Ma Lombardo, played by the lovely Ellen McLain & her rabid dog son Carmen (the Boss) played by the equally talented Zack Ward - represent a newer type of evil in the Commonwealth.

In your opinion how does organized crime fit within the wasteland societal structure that already... lacks organization as it were?  Are they essentially just raiders who will monologue at you before gunning you down for your caps? Who is even standing up to them at this point?  Prosecuting them for their perceived crimes?  It’s funny to consider that these crime families are essentially more organized than most of the remaining political structures in place!

A: Say what you want about crime families, but they do hold up a semblance of order where there is needed one. If you take a look at the arc of the Godfather, in the beginning there is a balance of justice, deep seated respect of an order...a code of honor. Ma and Carmen Lombardo return because we've broken what little of that was left with the Triggermen by the time we were done in the Commonwealth. The hierarchy peaking order has been obliterated, so it leaves both a structural opportunity for them to return and also a true need to try and BE the stabilizing force after the power vacuum that was left by our choices. Nora and the gang basically fuck up the Commonwealth in one way or another and I honestly think it would be out of character for her to WANT to be a ruler. So who's left? The Triggermen under Lombardo aren't just raiders...they were forced inline in a way they hadn't been in a long time. Raiders wouldn't have stood a chance against them.

4. "If I’ve learned anything, people are what they believe" – Nick Valentine, Death Shroud

Nick Valentine is a character who has struggled with his identity in the past but came to some degree of closure about it by choosing to believe in/focus on the goodness of his deeds despite being a perceived copy of another man.  In Death Shroud we see him brush up against a much more literal (and meta) manifestation of the power of belief in ideas - it's a pretty poignant juxtaposition of the character's much-deliberated ideology vs a rather wild plot.  Is that the reason Nick was the only man left standing at the end?  The manufactured man who was both someone else's idea but how he defines himself, who he is, is his own choice as well?

A: Honestly the reason it was him still standing in the end is because this ultimately is HIS story, a Nick Valentine Mystery. What Nick misses completely is that like Nora, he is a keystone event. Unlike any other synth out there he is aware of who he is, who he wasn't, can't hide in plain sight like others can. Because of his journey, his actions, the people he helps, saves, draws to him, a tapestry of ripples of his existence, choices and actions forever ripple throughout the Commonwealth. Magnolia's comments in the end both speak to his position in their reality and also direct speak to us as players, "in the end we're not just stories".

5.  Follow up:  I also found it to be an incredibly fascinating character arc for Nick as well.  He was offered the keys to Diamond City, albeit by notorious criminal Ma Lombardo, but then later essentially by Charlie as well - but our synthetic hero turns both of them down since he's a “just a detective, not a politician”.

A: It's more than that also. Nick isn't motivated by power, has lived long enough to see how power corrupts and creates the illusion of choice. What Charlie misses is the EXPERIENCE Nick has as part of his journey. Could having that kind of power mean no more missing people? No more broken hearts? Yes...but it also means denying people the choices and lessons they've learned as a result of actions they take. He wasn't born. He was made. He was built to replace people. He was given memories, a life and story he didn't earn, didn't choose. He made the CHOICE to to throw all of that away and do the most human thing real humans often don't do: help people without reservation.

Over the course of the play it becomes clearer as characters reminisce over the events of Fallout 4, Nick's not entirely satisfied with some of the choices Nora made along the way and more notably some of the ramifications.  This is followed by the very end where Nick takes control to reset reality to a ‘previous save’ far in the past before the entirety of Nora’s adventure - rather than say, just before everything involving the events of Death Shroud went to hell in a handbasket.  Any particular reason that was Nick’s chosen reload point?  Do you think Nick has reached a point from his experiences where he would take a more active role in guiding Nora's decision making going forward?

A: Nick didn't have a choice there. There is only the current state or as teased in the commercial in the very beginning the only saved state available to you. "Safe equals saved" wasn't just a funny commercial, it was a promise that going back means returning to the start of the tapestry of choices, actions and impacts that began when Nora's keystone moment began. The day she was woken up and became something other than Nora. If you pay attention, throughout Fallout 4 Nick offers very specific guidance in some areas and specific wisdom. Knowing full well how important choice is to the causal nexus and maintaining the tapestry of reality he would walk that line very carefully in the choices made vs. influenced.

Last Question:

I’m very curious what the three sentence pitch was to get most of these VAs on board with this amazing project - and even Pete Hines and Emil Pagliarulo as well – if you can share that with us!

A: There really wasn't one. I've become really good friends with Wes these past few years and the other voice actors, Pete Hines, etc. are also people I've gotten to know through Fallout For Hope. So I think our track record as far as fundraising goes, trust in me/Fallout For Hope, etc. from working together on both unofficial Fallout community projects, causes and events and official NDA ones we've done the past few years created a unique situation this thing could even happen. This was our 3rd production this scale, but the one I'm most proud of.

[cherrypikkins]

@wild-moss-art Hi there! I'm more than happy to share art philosophy about lineart! You are correct, I am definitely spending less time than usual on my lineart to get these requests done, but I'm still glad with the final results. :3

Here are the three stages that I take to achieve clean and polished lineart.

1) The Rough Sketch is used to figure out what the final product may look like. No fine details yet, only guidelines and basic shapes. I make sure the proportions, alignment, and composition is correct. The completed Rough Sketch gives me a good idea of what the rendered lines may look like, but is a bit too messy to follow. While I do have the option of erasing all of the guidelines and cleaning up the lines, what I usually do is lower the opacity of the rough sketch and start on a new layer.

2) The Under Drawing is done in a non-black color on top of the rough sketch. Here is where I get into finer detail with expression and anatomy. However, because we are following the messy lines of the rough sketch, the Under Drawing will still look a little unpolished. It is still very suitable for coloring if you plan to render all of the details in the painting stage, or if you are going for a more sketchy style.

In order to get sharp, detailed, finely rendered lines however, an additional stage is required.So lets lower the opacity and start a new layer using black ink this time.

3) When Rendering Lines, I carefully follow all of the details provided by the Under Drawing, which shows exactly where each line should be placed. I take my time going over each line, using the zoom tool and rotating the canvas when needed to get the best angle.

Because the final product should have a sharp and clean look, it can be very time consuming and pain staking to go over all the details. That said, I have a few tips that will help this stage go along faster while adding visual appeal to the final product.

Let's use an example. Suppose you place down your lines and end up with something that looks like this.

It's not bad, but it could use a little work. The expression and level of detail that we want isn't there yet, but it's actually a good starting point. If you are new to line art or still practicing, you may wish to aim something like the drawing above so that we can take it a step further using the steps I will demonstrate in the tutorial below.

So how do we make clean lineart into something even greater?

Here is what I mean by line weight. Lines of lower weight are lighter and thinner. Lines of heavier weight are darker and thicker. Then there are modulated lines, which gradually increase or decrease in weight.

In the example drawing, all of the lines are of equal weight. We can make the line art less monotonous by increasing the weight of certain lines. For demonstration purposes, I will only make changes to the right side of the drawing so that you can see the difference.

To start, we will add another line to the upper eyelid and fill in the gap, creating a new, bolder line.

We will also build up the iris, pupil and highlight, adding details as we go. Already, it is looking more expressive.

Lets build up the nose and mouth lines while keeping the ends nice and thin.

Then, we can add weight to the face and ear lines. For the hair outline, we want to make the lines heavier closer to the roots while keeping the ends thin. Hair lines on the inside can be left alone.

Finally, we make the outside line of the character heavier. With these small changes, we have a much more expressive, detailed, and visually appealing product.

Here I've highlighted in red where the lines remained unchanged. You will definitely want to leave some lines alone while building up others. As a rule, outlines should be thicker while the detail lines on the inside should be thinner.

If you increase the weight of all lines with the same amount, it will remain flat.

So, you should aim to have a variety of light lines, heavy lines, and modulated lines. You may wish to use the eraser to lighten up heavy lines or create modulated ones.

If you can do all the steps above, then a lot of detail and expression will be preserved even when the image is shrunk down

Hope that helps :3 Let me know if there are any other questions I can answer.

[owlmylove]

Do you have any advice on writing creative nonfiction for the first time? Your works are so beautifully (and sometimes painfully) vivid. -shoe

((To clarify about my creative nonfiction ask, I mean "painfully" vivid in the sense, the emotions are very well crafted and instilled, even when the work is about something painful or very vulnerable)).

Hello shoe!! First and foremost, thank you so much for your kind words and for asking me about my literal favorite thing in the world. I don’t get to ramble abt cnf a lot on here, and it makes me !!!! that you’re interested in writing it for the first time. If you’re just starting to get interested in the genre it’s a very weird little hybrid, and I’d love to share some of the basics before giving specific advice

Creative nonfiction is about seeing the movements of the mind on the page. It takes us somewhere new by the end, even if we end up returning to a premise or scene from the beginning. CNF thrives at the intersections of research, experience, and artistry, and combines elements of poetry, memoir, journalism, etc. There’s different forms and genres within creative nonfiction, and the limits are almost entirely up to your imagination. 

CNF is the most playful sculptor of prose that I know of, second only to poetry, and some pieces end up looking like different creatures than essays entirely. Look at Lauren Trembath-Neuberger’s Drug Facts, or Dinty Moore’s Mr. Plimpton’s Revenge. It’s a species with remarkable biodiversity, so let’s talk taxonomy:

Lyric. Lyrical CNF is fueled by the beauty and imagery of the words. How they flow together, what the sentences sound like. Play with long and short sentences, with alliteration, with recurrent imagery. Highly descriptive, lyrical essays can be something akin to longform poetry. Anne Carson’s The Glass Essay may look like a poem, but it’s technically lyrical CNF.

Literary. Fact-based research is at the heart of literary CNF, and some pieces can appear to be regular journalistic articles at first glance. David Foster Wallace’s infamous Consider The Lobster is a fantastic example: it began as an assignment for Gourmet magazine, but Wallace combines research with experience, and moves from objective fact to abstraction. 

Form. CNF forms help authors sculpt stories around things they may not always be comfortable confronting head-on. Hermit crab essays are exactly that: a borrowed textual structure (a shopping list, a how-to guide, a Wikipedia page) that fits around the soft, vulnerable heart of your topic. Eula Biss’ The Pain Scale (I think it’s also a braided essay?) and (my absolute favorite hermit crab) Drug Facts by Lauren Trembath-Neuberger are both hermit crabs.

Other forms include braided, when you weave 2-4 (but usually 3) strands of topics together; flash essays, which are generally less than 500 or 1,000 words; memoir, which is as the name suggests, but less strictly regimented and more creative than traditional autobiographies; and hybrid forms, which can be a collage of just about any genre or form you like.

A good CNF piece will probably combine all three of these elements, but will likely be driven by just one. I try to include relevant notes of research (etymology, biology, history) in my lyrical personal essays, because you’d be surprised what kind of narrative vehicles you’ll find, metaphors and facts that can serve as little hermit crab shells around things that hurt. But my pieces are still mostly lyrical, and driven by sentences and images rather than research or form. It might seem counterintuitive to writing emotions, but consider researching topics you’re interested in for metaphors and imagery that can help you emphasize your point.

As for rendering emotions or experience in painfully vivid detail, I love focusing on the movement of CNF. You can base your piece’s movement on your body, moving through a space. On your memories moving through time. Or, as I tend to do on the pieces posted here, the movement of cognition, as your thoughts develop. My pieces feel like trains of thought. I let the topics flow from one to another, including stops at the more painful memories if they arrive, and then keep going. My favorite thing is to try and let the reader feel, or see, what I’m experiencing in real time. When I wrote about on taking a night-walk during a dustbowl, there are no transitional statements and very few “I”s: every sentence is an order. The reader is forced to do what I’m doing, consider what I’m considering, but I balance this intimacy with some of my own thoughts so it doesn’t get overwhelming.

Your sentences are like a camera in CNF: they control the piece’s perspective and how much, or how little, you want to confess. Like a droid zooming up from the ground into the sky, your sentences control the scale of the reader’s understanding, and you can play with that for greater impact. You can write long, lingering sentences to make the reader slow down and focus, or you can blur out bigger things in their peripherals with brief, glancing mentions before changing the topic. You can write pieces that feel like years on a calendar flipping by. You can also write rapid, run-on sentences that feel like you’re being rushed along a busy street (which is where I got the dustbowl idea). 

A good aim for CNF is to try moving from small, objective facts (physical objects, research, matter-of-fact memories recounted without any “I am” or emotional lens) to higher, abstracted wonderings (how do your facts connect to your memories? [i.e, I lived in a fireproof home but my heart feels like a pyromaniac] spin out some “perhaps” statements about your memories, or things you didn’t experience: “perhaps my mother knew what it felt like to burn” etc.). go from high concept to low and back again. play with form, and movement, and memory. with language. and consider strip-teasing your audience around what you may not wish to reveal. 

So, basically! Creative nonfiction is about balancing words, research, and experience. It’s about developing a topic or memory or concept into something beyond objective fact. And above all else, it’s a beautiful kind of play. There’s honestly no right or wrong way to write CNF, and new forms are being invented all the time. If you’re still finding your style in CNF, I highly recommend trying to create imitations of interesting form to see what feels right (like a hermit crab, trying on different shells for the perfect fit) and make your sentences work for you. Try to worry less about confronting a big scary topic, and more about how (via form, metaphor, perspective, etc.) you can comfortably approach it. 

Sorry this got so long, but I truly hope it helps!! And if you ever have further questions, or want a proofreader on your work, feel free to let me know<3

[wherevermyway]

step out! do what you want (chapter four)

pairings: reader/bang chan, reader/han jisung
 side pairings: established changbin/minho, reader/bang chan/han jisung rating: explicit | 18+ warnings: shit gets sour real quick in this chapter, so hold on to your butts. violence, graphic descriptions of said violence, use of firearms, gunshot wounds, injuries, blood, profanity, use of drugs (mild), mention of sex, drug dealer!au, organized crime!au. also, holy fuck, so much angst. word count: about 8,100 also posted to my AO3 here! chapter/series navigation

chapter four: laugh now, cry later

recommended tracks (it’s not all kpop/jpop this time): laugh now, cry later by drake, levanter by stray kids, the next best american record by lana del rey, burn it by agust d & max, sorry mama by dkb, 일곱 번째 감각 (the 7th sense) by nct u, 불면증 insomnia by stray kids, lost by desired, ta by stray kids, fake love by bts, shc by foster the people, yeah right by joji, don’t touch me by 3racha, spring day (bts piano cover) by smyang piano. playlist can be found here!

note: this chapter is fucking nuts. there’s a shift in my writing style for this one; it’s a lot more passive and descriptive for the first bit, so I hope it doesn’t bother you too much. thank you for tagging along with this wild ride so far, I hope you enjoy this chapter!  

disclaimer: any reference to persons in this work of fiction are purely coincidental. the characters referenced from Stray Kids are interpretations loosely based on their personalities in the group and do not represent the real people behind the personas. if this, or any of the content included in the warnings above make you uncomfortable, please stop reading now.

side note: for the love of minho’s cats, don’t mix party drugs or drugs with alcohol.

The elevator softly touches down with the first floor of the building. Felix and Jeongin step out first, cautiously looking around the building. Jeongin waves at the three of you in the elevator, motioning for you to keep moving. Christopher squeezes your hand so hard, you think it might pop off. He pulls you along as he methodically steps out of the elevator, Jisung following you both and he is resting his hand on the small of your back.

You make your way to the front door, the younger men holding the doors open for the three of you. A black SUV sits in the street right in front of the door, and you can faintly make out Changbin’s features through the dark.

“Let’s fucking go!” He shouts at all of you through the open passenger side window. Felix opens the middle side door, throwing the duffel bag into the back seat. He waves his hand for you to get in, helping you up with his hand. You head for the very back of the van, seating yourself in the middle of the row. Jisung is the next in behind you, crawling in and sitting down to your left.

Jeongin opens the front passenger door, climbing in and taking one of his pistols out of its holster, holding it in his lap as he scans the perimeter through the windshield.

For a moment, time feels like it’s a paradox: going so fast that you can’t anchor yourself down, but also going so slowly that you swore that you could see the individual particles of light travelling around you. Everything gets quiet for a second as Christopher turns to the car, his head craned over his left shoulder, eyes meeting yours, and time completely halts.

The space-time paradox you find yourself in renders itself inert. You study all of the details of his face, how each individual strand of hair lightly curls from the top of his scalp, how the ambient lighting reflects in his eyes and illuminates his face. His face was gorgeous, but his side profile captivated you.

That’s when it happens.

Everything gets blisteringly loud and bright, and you stay frozen. The way that Christopher’s face contorts to the noises and sounds isn’t right; he’s grimacing in pain and anger, slowly turning to where Jeongin and Felix are shooting.

Shooting? When did you register that they were shooting?

Jisung had leaped forward to the black duffel bag, ripping it open and pulling out a semi-automatic rifle, hanging himself out of the door, shooting in the same direction.

It’s grotesquely incredible, really, in a dark, disturbing poetic way. In this moment of time, everything freezes. Nothing truly exists; you are living in a still photo, but you can still move your eyes. Changbin is loading a pistol in the front seat, Jeongin in the seat next to him, leaning out of the window. Jisung is standing completely upright, half of his torso hanging out of the door, his left shoulder anchoring him to top of the car as he holds his rifle up to his right shoulder. Outside the window, you see the nearly-white hair of Felix, aiming his pistol out to something - or someone - in front of him.

However, you don’t see Christopher anywhere, which is peculiar, because he was right there just a second ago. Where did he go?

You manage to lift yourself off of the seat, feeling like all of your limbs are weighted down with cement. The men around you don’t notice, still moving in slow motion. As you get past the seats in front of you, you turn to your right, and that’s when you see Christopher. He’s on the ground, leaning on the car, gripping his right shoulder.

That’s odd. When you left the apartment earlier, you don’t remember seeing his shirt so… red? You could have sworn it was a soft grey.

Why was water dripping on your arms? How could it be raining inside the car? Why did Christopher look so uncomfortable? How come his face was scrunched up in pain?

Pain? Did he fall down?

No. No, of course he didn’t.

Suddenly, it was like a mute button was turned off, and it felt like you were a tape left on fast-forward, stuck in a VCR. Things were zooming past you, and you could have sworn that there were blurry lines taking over your vision. Things came back, all at once, and the first sound you could hear was the sound of your own voice, screaming out in primal despair. Everything was so blisteringly loud that you couldn’t focus on a single thing. Reality came crashing down on you, like a tidal wave colliding with the coast.

Christopher wasn’t wearing a red shirt.

He didn’t fall down. It wasn’t raining in the car.

He was shot in his right shoulder, bleeding profusely, and you were screaming and crying because you knew.

Christopher was shot. Christopher was going to die.

You were no longer living in a still photo; you had become the still photo, unable to move. Jisung tosses the rifle he was holding onto the sidewalk, yelling something at Felix, getting him to try to move Christopher. He turns to you, motioning for you to move, saying something to you in a foreign language.

Why was he yelling at you in a different language? Why couldn’t you understand Korean anymore? Jisung was suddenly in the car now, right in front of you, grabbing you up from under your underarms and pushing you on to one of the passenger seats behind you. He says something to you, directly in your face, but you still can’t understand him.

Jisung jumps back on to the sidewalk, helping Felix lift Christopher into the car. He’s yelling something over his shoulder to Changbin, and Jeongin is trying to get your attention. He’s talking to you too in this peculiar language, pushing his hands down repeatedly in a steadied motion, trying to calm you down.

As soon as both Felix and Jisung are completely in the car, Jisung reaches out for the rifle on the ground, pulling it in as he slams the door shut. You feel the vehicle shift as it speeds down the street. Jisung and Felix have moved Christopher to the very back of the vehicle. You turn to look at him, and his face is soft, his eyes open, glossy, and staring at you. He reaches his left arm out towards you, weakly and softly whispering your name.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he breathily says, a weak smile curving at the corner of his mouth. All of the words being thrown around the car suddenly making sense again, as if someone flicked a switch. “Just a scrape. I’ll be okay. I promise.” He punctuates his sentences with short, shallow breaths. You grab his hand, holding it to comfort him. There was no way you could bring yourself to look away from him.

“I need another shirt or something to pack this,” you hear Felix’s voice, realizing that he’s taken his sweatshirt off and is holding it up against Christopher’s wound.

“I’ve got it,” Jisung says, ripping his jacket off, bringing it down to Christopher’s chest to help Felix control the bleeding.

There’s just so much blood everywhere.

You remember a fact that someone told you once in university: the human blood has between four and six litres of blood in it. Losing 750 millilitres is enough to cause the human body to start to go into hemolytic shock. Two litres of loss, or 40% the body’s total volume, was almost always fatal.

The sight of seeing how much Christopher’s blood has been painted over the car nearly puts you into shock. It’s on the floor, on every seat in the vehicle, even on the ceiling, and on Jisung and Felix. His blood is on you, too, starting to dry on your exposed skin.

“How much longer, Changbin?” Jisung is yelling at the top of his lungs, looking past you to the front of the car.

“Five minutes,” Changbin says, trying to sound calm, but there’s a slight wavering in his voice. “How is Chan doing?”

“I can’t tell,” Felix says without looking up, “he’s conscious, but disoriented. I don’t like how much blood Bang-hyung has lost. I can’t find an exit wound, either. I’m not sure if it’s a cluster of veins or an artery, but this isn’t good.”

Christopher coughs, sputtering up some blood. The dark, viscous liquid spills from the corner of his mouth. His eyes are gazing past you, starting to cloud up. “I’m sorry,” he manages to groan out. His eyes roll back a bit, as his hand loses its grip on yours, suddenly turning his entire arm into dead weight.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Jisung shouts with urgency, digging underneath the seats in the vehicle, clearly looking for something - anything, really - to help him stabilize Christopher.

You feel paralyzed, holding on to Christopher’s hand as it grows clammy and lukewarm. This wasn’t happening, there’s no way. It had to have been a dream.

You were dreaming. Right?

After your shower the second night you were at Christopher’s, both of you were laying in bed in the dark, waiting to fall asleep. He had given you an oversized, worn t-shirt of his to sleep in, and it was comfortable. He had mentioned how much he loved sleeping in that shirt because it was so soft. It wasn’t long after you both got in bed that he reached out to you, snuggling right up to your back.

“Isn’t it the best shirt?” His voice was tired and calm. He rubbed his thumb back and forth on your shoulder, enjoying the feel of the fabric on his skin. You hummed in agreement, scooting yourself back into him to get closer. “I remember wearing this all the time when I was in high school. I would put it on right when I got home. It was always way more comfortable after wearing a stuffy, itchy uniform all day. It took a couple of years of wear to get it to be this soft. I’m glad I kept it, because you look really great in it, almost like it was meant to be.”

Your face felt like it was burning up as you became flustered. “What? Meant to be?”

Christopher sleepily hummed in response, nuzzling his face on your shoulder. “Yeah. Since we’re going to be stuck with each other for a while, we might as well at least enjoy our company. Make it feel as natural as we can, hmm?”

The prospect of getting closer to him didn’t bother you, not at all. After all, he did have a point. What would the point be in making yourselves miserable and trying to make the situation worse? Someone in university once told you that “fake it ’til you make it” mentality had actual positive results in psychology, so why not apply it here?

“Hey, Christopher?”

“What’s up?” His voice sounded even more tired and soft. In a way, it was endearing.

“Have you ever had a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or something?”

“Mmm,” he sleepily moaned, “yeah, I dated this girl back in high school, but it never worked out. Kinda had a few flings with people here and there, but nothing ever stuck. I’m too flighty because of my career, so I can’t really commit. The fewer people you get close to, the fewer things you have to bargain for if someone wants to hurt you.”

“Oh,” you whisper. It made sense, honestly, but it felt like there was a pit in your stomach.

“How come? What about you?” He says, shifting himself up so his chin is resting at the top of your shoulder.

“Ah, that story about the washroom in the nightclub? That was my last boyfriend. We were together for a few years, but we split. He got some big new job that was taking up too much time for him, and I was really busy with my modelling career. We didn’t make time for each other.”

“That sucks.” Christopher says, his breath tickled your cheek as he spoke. “Good for me, though.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah, I suppose you’re right.”

The bright lights of the hospital rip you from your daydream. Jisung and Felix carry Christopher from the back seat of the van out through the side door. Your hand falls from Christopher’s, leaving his arm out to hang limply to his side, lifeless and cold. Changbin’s voice rings in your head, distant, off in another world. It’s like he’s on the shore and you’re stranded in the ocean; you can hear him, but you can barely make out what he’s saying. You can’t even fully comprehend it, just barely able to tell that he’s telling you to stay back, not to follow Christopher into the hospital.

Your legs are moving by themselves, shaking as you drop from the vehicle, treading your way through to the emergency doors of the hospital as if you were trying to wade through a shallow pool. Jisung’s silver hair and Felix’s blond hair bounce beams of light around, as if each strand were a mirror, brightly guiding you along the way through the hallways of the hospital, until they stop.

Hands are grasping on to your arms, holding you back as you see Christopher wheeled away by emergency personnel through a pair of sterile-looking doors. “Baby,” you hear Jisung’s voice bring you back to focus. “You can’t go with him. None of us can.”

You try to fight against him, to scream, to plead and sell your soul to the devil in exchange to save Christopher, but nothing works. Your body is rebelling against your mind, not allowing you to push yourself any further, forcing you to your knees. The only thing your body will let you do is cry, collapsing within yourself to weep deep, body-racking sobs.

Jisung kneels down to you, lightly gripping your shoulders, pulling you to his chest. “It’s okay,” he whispers into your ear, rocking you back and forth, trying to shush you. His hands run through your hair, trying to help you calm down.

“Felix,” he calmly says, “I need you to get Changbin-hyung. We need to get her out of here.”

“Understood, Han,” the younger man says, footsteps quickly fading from earshot.

“I need you to calm down,” Jisung’s voice is right up next to your ear, arms wrapping you into a tight embrace. “Christopher can’t heal if you’re panicking, okay? Please calm down, baby. He’ll be okay, I promise.”

He’s lying. There’s no way that he promise that, you know that in the back of your head. Nobody could promise that.

Regardless of if it’s true or not, it does make you feel somewhat better. It’s not enough to get you to stop crying, but it’s enough to allow you to catch your breath.

“That’s it,” you hear Jisung whisper into your ear. “We’ll get through this together. I’ve got you.”

You feel as if you’re glued to Jisung’s chest for an eternity. The sound of footsteps and Changbin’s voice grasps your attention and causes Jisung to shift behind you. As he moves, your entire body feels weighted down with lead, heavy and rendering you incapable of moving. You’re not sure when exactly you stopped crying, allowing the sinking, numbing feeling to take over you.

“Here,” Changbin’s hushed voice is close to you, and it sounds so soft and calm. “Give this to her. Half a gram. Should be enough until you both get to the safehouse in Incheon. There’s more there; I’m sure you’ll both need it.”

“You sure about this?” Jisung whispers, barely audible enough for you to hear it.

“I can’t have a scene here, Han. Not now.” Changbin quietly says, sighing and sounding beyond exhausted, “I’ll send you the specific location over text, just take the SUV we brought. I’ll have Seungmin take care of the rest later. Eventually.” Another deep, heavy sigh comes from him. “Shit, this is bad. First Hyunjin, now Chan. Fuck.”

“Alright, hyung. Understood.” Jisung says, bringing a hand in front of your face. He slips his fingers to your lips, a small object touching them. “Baby, I need you to trust me and take this. It’ll calm you down. Just leave it on your tongue until it’s gone, okay?”

You don’t really want to take whatever it is he’s offering, but you don’t have the energy to protest. You part your lips, sticking your tongue out just a bit to the foreign object, taking it in and allowing it to rest on your tongue. It starts to dissolve, a bitter flavour enveloping all of your tastebuds. As you open your mouth to protest leaving again, everything starts to get two-dimensional: muted and really heavy.

Jisung scoops you into his arms, and you somehow wriggle the limp pasta noodles you have for arms around his neck. “I’m so sorry for all of this,” he says; his voice sounding as if it’s coming through a low-quality mono channel, muffled and one-note. It doesn’t even sound real. It almost feels like his voice drags and blends in with the blurry surroundings, as if sound and sight could be merged.

You open your mouth to speak, but it’s like there’s a cord from your brain to your mouth that’s severed, preventing you from operating your jaw muscles. You want to tell him to stop, turn back, that you both needed to be there for Christopher. You desperately want to tell him so many things, but your eyes grow heavy and you lose all motivation to even try as your head collides down to his shoulder with a thud and everything goes black.

When you were fifteen, celebrating your acceptance into senior high school, you remember your mother pulling you aside, telling you to never settle for a partner that viewed you as less than royalty and to always put yourself first. She would tell you how she appreciated how hard your father worked to provide for the three of you, but how she always wished she would have gone back to the workforce when you started to get older so she could make sure you had all of the financial support you’d ever need and so she had more purpose in life. You were their only child, and your parents loved you so much.

You couldn’t help but wonder what your mother would think of you being caught up in the chaos of an organized crime ring, with two men caring for you and protecting you, one of which literally taking a bullet in front of your eyes. She never approved of you leaving your stable corporate job in Japan to become a model in South Korea, but she knew that there was no way to stop you - you had her stubbornness, after all. There was absolutely no way she would ever approve of this, not with how violent everything was, even if both men were actually willing to take actual bullets for you.

“Baby,” a voice rings in your ears, but you can’t quite place who is calling for you. It’s like your brain hallucinates a strange combination of your mother’s, Jisung’s, and Christopher’s voices. “You need to wake up.” The voice illuminates a light in the distance, drawing you into it.  “Come on,” the voice is louder now, sounding more and more like Christopher. That couldn’t be right. Could it?

“Baby, you gotta get up. I need you to get up.” A warm hand is on your shoulder, shaking you gently, and you’re suddenly more conscious of your body. You flutter your eyes open, their dryness causing a stinging pain from corner to corner of your eyes. The scenery around you starts to come into focus from a blur. The sky is warm as dawn is breaking behind you, illuminating the cars flying past you on both sides of the vehicle. You’re on a highway, but your surroundings aren’t familiar.

“Hey,” the voice is clear, and you recognize it: it’s Jisung. “You’re back. I’m sorry, the Xanax knocked you out pretty hard after I gave it to you. You’re probably going to be out of it and feel like shit for a while.” He moves his hand from your shoulder to your thigh.

You groan, turning your head to look at Jisung. “The fuck?” Your voice sounds foreign: low and gravelly. “Where are we?” As much as you want to crane your head to the window, resting your head against the headrest in this position is too comfortable.

Jisung takes his hand off of your thigh, swiping the back of his hand up against his cheek, sniffling once. “Sorry, bunny,” he says, returning his hand to your thigh. “Changbin-hyung ordered us to head into Incheon. There’s a safehouse out here. Actually, we’re just about there.”

You blink a few times, trying to shake the haze out of your head, and failing to do so. Incheon? No, that couldn’t be right. Christopher was still in Gangnam, all the way in Seoul. “No,” you slur out, fumbling to sit upright. “No, we can’t be in Incheon. Christopher is still in the hospital, isn’t he?”

“Baby,” Jisung grips your thigh tighter, stroking his thumb back and forth. “He won’t heal if we’re hovering over him. Besides, it’s too dangerous for all of us to be there with him. We’re a bigger target if we’re in a large group. We’re only a half hour away, it’s okay.”

“But,” you open your mouth to protest, and Jisung brings his hand up to your face.

“I need you to trust me. Please.” He doesn’t look at you, his eyes still trained to the road. He bites his lip back, face wincing in pain. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m doing this.” You’re still fuzzy, frustrated that you’re so far away from Christopher in case something goes wrong, but seeing Jisung so upset doesn’t sit well with you either.

You sit there for a few minutes, watching Jisung in silence. He pulls the car into a residential parking garage. He stops in front of a gate at the bottom floor, fumbling around with storage unit in the centre console, pulling out a handful of cards. He shuffles through them with focus, until he pulls one out that has “Hagik-2” scribbled on it in permanent marker. He rolls the window down, flashing the card in front of the card reader, and the gate opens.

Jisung unceremoniously tosses the card on top of the others in the centre console, proceeding through the gate slowly and rolling up the window. He turns into a reserved parking spot, shifting the vehicle into park and turning it off. “We’re here. Are you going to be alright enough to stand?”

You unbuckle your seatbelt and rub your face tiredly, hoping it will wake you up. “I’m gonna need your help moving, but I think I can stand.”

“I can work with that,” Jisung says softly, unbuckling his seatbelt, lifting the armrest up, leaning over to you. He gently grabs either side of your face, tilting your head up to meet his for a soft kiss. “Let me be strong for you. Alright?”

You weakly nod your head, and Jisung pulls away. “Good,” he says, grabbing his phone off of the dashboard holder, opening the door. “Let me grab this bag and I’ll help you out of the car.” Everything feels so heavy, but your emotions are still dampened, which, honestly, is a good thing for now. You let your head rest on the seat, closing your eyes for just a moment.

What time was it, anyways? It was four when Changbin called, you remember Christopher grumbling about it very vividly. It was probably 40 minutes from where you were in Seoul to where you were in Incheon now, and the sun was already up over the horizon when you woke up. Maybe it was six now?

The door opens next to you, pulling you away from your thoughts as you open your eyes. “Trying to nap again?” Jisung says with a smirk, offering his hands to you, duffel bag slung over his shoulder. “Come on, once we get inside, you can sleep all you need to.”

Your brain blurs the time from exiting the vehicle to entering the safehouse. It’s almost as if you blinked, and you were on another foreign bed, staring up at the ceiling. Jisung’s voice trails in from the doorway, talking to someone on the phone. You don’t really focus on it, only paying attention for a brief moment when he says your name a couple of times.

You let your eyes close again, drifting off into the same headspace you were in before. It was insane to think that, just a few days ago, you were rolling around in bed with a stranger, having the time of your life. Now you were here, in some random apartment with your ex-boyfriend, who is maybe no longer your ex-boyfriend, with your maybe new boyfriend’s blood all over your hands and arms. Was boyfriend even a good word for either of them right now?

The situation was so absurd that, if you weren’t living through it now, you wouldn’t believe it; dismiss it as some stupid movie plot or some elaborate lie. Maybe you would laugh about it later, years down the line. You can hear yourself telling Jisung and Christopher, “Wow, remember that time we all slept together and then you got shot in the shoulder just a couple hours later? How crazy was that?” Minji would laugh about it too, once she got over the fact that you were knee-deep in crazy kkangpae shit. She’d laugh about it if you made it out alive. If you ever saw her again.

It doesn’t occur to you that you’re wildly cackling until Jisung is shaking you, yelling your name in your face. You snap your eyes open and look directly at him, feeling the smile on your face fade as you see Jisung looking at you with serious concern. “What is happening with you? How can you be laughing right now?” He says, tears welling up in eyes.

“Jisung,” you manage to coherently spit out, still feeling hazy from the Xanax Jisung gave you. “Isn’t all of this ridiculous? How was it that the three of us had such a good night last night, and now we’re being hunted down? Why is Christopher in the hospital with a bullet in his shoulder? Why is any of this shit happening?”

You don’t realize it until you stop babbling, but tears are falling from your eyes in a steady stream. Jisung jaw twitches as he furrows his brows in anguish. He tries to say something, strained noises leaving his throat, but the words never totally make it out. Something in him cracks, and his head sinks down, crying full-blown sobs. He collapses down on top of you, wrapping you tightly in his arms.

Both of you stay like that for a while, completely exhausting yourself from crying.

Jisung had always been a good person; he was kind-hearted and soft with the people he was close to, but would stop to help a stranger if they needed it. You started to notice it about a couple months after you officially started dating, a month after your initial drunken escapade. You were about to head back to Japan for two weeks for an important shoot for a big name company, excited that you had finally landed a gig with them.

He had surprised you the night before you left, coming to your apartment with some takeout, a bottle of cheap sparkling wine, and flowers. You remember he literally jumped on you when you opened your door, excitedly congratulating you. “I’m so proud of you, bunny!” He had shouted over and over again. He had helped you pack, both of you taking intermittent breaks to eat and sip on the really terrible wine he brought.

What would have taken you a half hour ended up taking you three hours because you couldn’t peel yourselves off of each other. You should have packed up your clothes and demo shots, but you just couldn’t stop yourself from pouncing on Jisung when he was sitting on the couch, looking positively delectable. Naturally, he couldn’t turn you down when you came on to him.

He had taken you right there on the couch, taking his sweet time to devote all of his attention on you, making sure you came a couple of times. When he was deep inside you, he grinned at you with a coy smile, something so innocent and cute, whispering to you that he loved you, he loved you so much. It had taken you aback, just how bluntly he had admitted it for the first time. His eyes were full of excitement, and he had the biggest grin on his face. You couldn’t help but tell him how much you loved him, too.

To see him here, now, so broken up and upset shattered your heart into pieces. The Jisung you knew would never have gotten involved in this, never would have hurt another living creature intentionally if he could avoid it. That’s likely why it looked like this entire situation took all of his energy out of him.

Jisung turns up to look at you with bloodshot, tired eyes. “Why is this happening?” He says, his eyes threatening to tear up again, then rolling onto his back. “I never wanted any of this, you know. I only joined the family to help get my music career going. If I knew any of this would happen, I never would have done this. I would go back and stop myself from getting involved with this, even if it cost me my entire career.”

He sighs heavily, bringing his hands up to cover his face. “I always thought that if I gave it time, I could become strong and tough like my hyungs. I regret doing all of this because I know I’m not tough enough for this. I didn’t do this because I wanted to, I did it to survive. Can you ever forgive me for all of this shit?”

Everything in your brain is frazzled and dull, but you somehow manage to turn all of your attention to the silver-haired man beside you. “Sungie,” you whisper, reaching out to touch his face, “I could never blame you for any of this. Nobody could have expected this would turn out the way it would. I promise, I forgive you.”

“I’m so sorry,” he says, wiping tears from under his eyes, “I said I would be strong for you, but I just can’t, not right now.”

You couldn’t really blame him, honestly. He wasn’t made out to be a part of the violent criminal life. As far as you knew, he was always good in the middle of chaos, but once things would calm down, it would hit him like a tonne of bricks. You reached out to Jisung, pulling him into your chest.

You wanted to reassure him that everything would be okay, but you knew better. There was no way you could even remotely promise something like that. So, you settled. “I’ll be strong for you now, okay? We can be strong for each other when we need to be.”

Jisung grips your arms tightly, snuggling his head up against your chest. “I’m so worried about Chan-hyung. I called Changbin-hyung after bringing you to bed and he told me he’s in surgery.” Your heart skips a beat for a moment, breath caught in your throat. “He lost a lot of blood. I think he said Chan-hyung went into shock. The bullet hit his, ah, what was it called? It was one of his arteries - I think he said axillary?”

“Did Changbin say if he was going to be okay?” You didn’t want to know the answer, fearing the worst possible outcome, but you needed to know anyway.

Jisung is quiet for a moment, loosening his grip on your arms. “He didn’t know. Changbin-hyung did say it wasn’t looking good, but we wouldn’t know for a while. He’s donating some of his blood, since they’re the same type, and he’d call me once he was done and knew more.”

You roll your head back and breathe out a slow, controlled sigh. This entire situation was an absolute mess. You needed to know, though, how this happened. Everything was going so blissfully well until it wasn’t. It all happened at the drop of a hat.

“Jisung,” you say, pulling back a bit from the man in your arms to look at him. “What happened out there? We were getting in the car, and all of a sudden, bullets were flying all over the place.”

Jisung looks up at you, a look of discomfort on his face. He lets go of your arms and sits up, folding his legs, resting his elbows on them so he could rest his head on his hands. “I don’t know how it happened. Before I grabbed the rifle from the duffel bag, I just saw these two guys coming at us from down the street. They were in all black, so when we saw them, it was too late. Their first few shots missed us, but Chan-hyung must have been an easy target. Maybe it was deliberate, like he was their target from the start.”

“Are the other guys, you know,” you pause, not really wanting to know the aftermath of the altercation, “are they dead?”

The silver-haired man reaches down to the comforter beneath him, inanely plucking a strand of string poking up from it. “Dunno. We shot quite a bit at them, and I saw one of the guys go down, but once I realized that Chan-hyung was hit, I just kind of stopped paying attention to them. I think Jeongin got the other guy; he’s always had good aim as long as he’s been with us. It was too dark to see much else.

“I hope they’re not dead. I’m already freaking the fuck out over knowing that we were in a gunfight and I shot at them. I don’t need anything else on my conscience.” Jisung quietly sighs, then turns to look at you, his face void of any strong emotions. “I never thought I’d ever have to shoot a living person. The guys taught me well, sure, but it’s so much more different than shooting in the range.”

You sit up and scoot  yourself up next to Jisung, resting your head on his shoulder. “I hope we’ll get through this alright.”

“We will." Jisung rests his head on yours, reaching his hand up to stroke your hair. “At least, I think we will.”

The two of you sit like that in silence for several minutes, staring off into the comforter as your eyes start to hallucinate patterns in the fabric.

The ringing of Jisung’s phone scares both of you, causing you to jump. You lift your head off of his shoulder as he pulls his phone out from his back pocket. You see the name on the screen and you subconsciously hold your breath. It was Changbin.

It takes a couple of rings before Jisung answers his phone. He pulls it up to his right ear so that you both can hear the conversation. “Hyung,” he says with a tremble in his voice.

“Han.” Changbin’s voice is calm, tinny from the small speaker. “Chan is going to be coming out of surgery within the next hour. Once he’s out, Seungmin will be covering for me. I need to come over and talk to you both about what Minho found out.”

“What happened?” Jisung says with a concerned tone to his voice.

“I can’t talk about it over the phone, it’s not safe. Felix is coming with me and will be staying with you for protection. Until this shit has been sorted out, nobody gets left alone.”

“But I’m here,” you interject.

Changbin sighs. “You’re not trained to handle this. Do you even know how to fire a gun?”

Your lips pull into a firm line. Changbin was right: there was nothing you could do to help, even if you wanted. You had no experience with weapons or combat in general; you would just be a hindrance if something happened.

“That’s what I thought. Anyway, as much as I don’t want him to be, Minho is back in. He’s with Hyunjin now, who is doing much better. He should be released tomorrow. They’ll be in another location once I can pin some things down.”

“What do you need me to do?” Jisung looks focused, sitting upright.

“I need you to stay there. Your ex-girlfriend is a liability right now and I can’t have her out of our hands, so I’m entrusting you to keep an eye on her. Tell her to turn her phone off, too.“

A liability?

Jisung must have had the same thought as you, because he looks at you in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Not now, Han. I need to go. I’ll keep you posted on any updates. If you need me, call me. Understood?” Changbin sounds annoyed and tired, even over the phone. All of this had to have been taking a toll on him, but he was the leader of the group, so it was just something he would have to deal with.

“Understood, Changbin-hyung.” Jisung says, and the line goes quiet. He pulls his phone away from his face and just stares at it. “Why are you a liability? Is it because you’re a civilian?”

In all honesty, you were just as confused as him. You flop onto your back and stare at the ceiling.

“Where’s your phone?” Jisung says, turning to you.

You reach into your back pocket and grab it. It was strange, you hadn’t been looking at it for the past day or so. Minji had texted you so many times, her messages flooded the screen when you expanded them.

Oh my god Hyunjin was shot

Eonni what the fuck do I do?

Oh my god he’s in the hospital. There’s a guy here that said I’m not allowed to see him.

Fuck this guy. He won’t leave me alone. Keeps telling me to get out.

I am so mad

Why the fuck did he get shot???

Eonni where are you? I don’t believe you at all

I know you’re not sick

You’re still with Bang Chan, arent you?

are you even alive anymore

I need you eonni please tell me youre ok

That was the last text you received from Minji. You open the text messages to respond and tell her you're alright, but Jisung snatches your phone from your hands, powering it off.

“Sorry,” he says, tossing your phone on the dresser next to him. “I gotta follow Changbin-hyung’s orders. There’s gotta be a reason he wanted your phone to be off.”

You frown in response, but understand. Minji will just have to wait for now, as much as you didn’t want to leave her alone. She had to be really scared and confused. Sure, she and Hyunjin weren’t together anymore (as far as you were aware, at least), but you knew from firsthand experience it was to watch someone you were starting to get close to get shot.

A deep sigh escapes your lips, and your bring your hands to your face, groaning in frustration. “This sucks,” is all you can manage to say. The Xanax was wearing off, and your emotions were starting to surface again, the crushing feeling of dread becoming more and more apparent, enveloping you in discomfort.

“Yeah,” Jisung flops down next to you. “I don’t know what to do or where to go from here.”

“Is this the first altercation you’ve been in since joining them?”

Jisung brings his hands behind his head and bites his lip. “Not really, but this is the first one that was actually serious. The first one was when I was taking care of a protection fee collection with Seungmin in Songpa-gu, back when I was still really new.

“Seungmin had gotten a call from Chan-hyung, so he had to step out for a minute. One guy that we were meeting with was feeling pretty testy, didn’t want to give up the entire payment that was due. I think he had a feeling I was new.” Jisung rolls his eyes and shakes his head. “Tried taking it out on me. He practically jumped over the table as soon as Seungmin stepped out, but I was faster than him.

“His fist just barely passed my face and I managed to step to the side just in time. The guy managed to grab me and throw me to the ground. He punched me once, right in the jaw, so I kneed him in the stomach. My knife was in my back pocket, so I couldn’t reach it. I just let my instincts take over and I beat the shit outta the guy.”

Jisung smirks, obviously proud of how he handled the situation. “Anyway, Seungmin heard what was happening and when he came back in, he gave the dude a swift kick to the ribs. We ended up getting double the protection fee we needed, plus a little extra as an apology.”

“Holy shit,” you feel your jaw drop as Jisung finishes his recollection. “When the fuck did you learn how to get into a fight? Who are you?”

You both sit and stare at each other for a moment, then both of you break out into giggles. It was nice to be able to laugh for once today, after how hectic the past twelve hours have been.

“You know what?” Jisung says, taking in a deep breath, then making a pointed effort to stare directly into your eyes. “I don’t want to go through this at all, but I’m glad it’s with you. If it was just me here, alone, in this situation? I don’t know how I’d handle it.” He reaches out to your face, cupping your cheek in his hand. “I really hope Chan-hyung makes it out of here. I hope that we all make it out of this mess alive.”

You didn’t really know what to say as you looked into Jisung’s deep brown eyes. The otherworldliness of your plight melted away, if only for a moment, as you both stared at each other. The familiar feeling of waking up next to him for so many mornings is strangely close to the front of your memories, but it also feels so distant and foreign.

The Jisung you knew back then was so soft and gentle. This Jisung has his soft and gentle moments, but there was a new air of mystery to him. The new persona of his wasn’t bad, it was just such a stark difference to what you were used to. Seeing him so stoic and serious when you all were getting shot at and with taking care of Christopher was strange.

“What?” Jisung’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. “Something on my face?”

“No, nothing like that.” You look down and frown. “It’s just weird that you’re the same Jisung I knew a year ago, but you’ve also changed so much.”

There’s a tense pause between you for a moment.

“Is that bad?” Jisung says so quietly, it’s almost like a whisper. He’s obviously pensive about how you’ll respond to him.

“No, it’s just different. It’ll take some time to adjust to, that’s all.” You look back up to Jisung, and his face relaxes into a soft smile with your words.

“That’s good.” He stretches his arms into the air and rolls on to his back. “Well, since it’ll be a while until Changbin-hyung and Felix come by, I think I’m gonna take a nap.” He tilts his head in your direction and opens his arms in offering. “Come here.”

A faint smile comes up on your face, and you bring yourself close to Jisung, resting your head and your arm on his chest. “I think that sounds good. We didn’t get much sleep, did we?”

Jisung scoffs, wrapping his arms around you. “Yeah, we really didn’t. Who knows how much sleep we’ll get in the upcoming days, so might as well get it when we can.” He mindlessly strokes your hair, breathing in a slow, even cadence.

You let your eyes fall heavy, enjoying the warm embrace of Jisung’s arms. There was nothing more that you wanted, however, than to have Christopher here with you both.

“Han?” A voice comes from outside the bedroom, startling Jisung awake. He panics for a moment, clearly not recognizing the voice, bolting up off of the bed. “You didn’t answer your texts, so I let myself in.”

“Changbin-hyung?” He tentatively says, readying his stance.

“Yeah,” Changbin answers, walking into the bedroom. “you’d know if you checked your phone.”

“Ah,” Jisung relaxes and sighs. “Sorry, we were taking a nap. Didn’t get much sleep.”

Changbin shoots his junior a disappointed glance, then rolls his eyes to you. “Where’s your phone?”

“Hi, Changbin, nice to see you’re alive,” you sarcastically grumble as you sit upright. Changbin isn’t amused by your quip, his expression falling flat. “Sorry, it’s on the dresser over here.” You scoot over to the dresser was on Jisung’s side of the bed, and grab your phone.

Changbin wastes no time snatching your phone from you as soon as you grab it. He sticks his thumbs in the middle of the screen, pulling both ends together and popping your phone in two with a crinkle and snaps.

“What the fuck?” You shout in frustration. That wasn’t a cheap phone, and there was no reason for him to break it in two.

“You’re being tracked.” Changbin tosses your phone to the floor, stepping on it with his heel for good measure. He folds his arms and looks at you with a glare. “Or you’re working with them. I haven’t figured it out yet, but I will. If you’re working with them, I will kill you right here.”

“Hyung, what the fuck?” Jisung snaps, getting in between both of you. “How dare you?”

Changbin rolls his eyes and scoffs. “What? You haven’t talked to her in a year, what do you know?” He shifts his weight on to his right foot, eyeing you down again before pulling the pistol out from the holster on his hip, pointing it directly at your head.

“You need to be honest with me. I don’t miss from this close.”

[star-birthmark]

Don’t Have Time: Mista x Fem Reader

To the anon that requested, “I hope this isn’t too complicated but would a red string of fate scenario with Mista be possible? Like one day there’s a sudden tug on the string and he follows it to find chubby fem reader at the end?”, we’re gonna chock this one up to me thinking I’m gonna make a small story, liking the request too much, and then making something that is longer than it should have been lol. This dumb and probably not what you asked for, but I think it’s funny so, hopefully you like it too. 

Anyway, Don’t Have Time: Mista x Fem Reader (2.2k words)

There is was. It was acting up again. Not now. Not in the middle of a mission. Holding the gun tighter, Guido Mista tried his damndest to ignore the tugging at his pinky finger, ready to pry his whole body away from his task.

Some people remain too skeptical to believe in the idea of soulmates. They marry someone for money, for status, or even for convenience. Matteo Mista, an older cousin of Guido, once stared down at Mista when he was just a little boy, his arm wrapped around his wife, a woman he’d known since elementary school, and proudly said that she wasn’t his soulmate. Guido remembered seeing the red string on both of their pinkies still intact.

When asked about it, Matteo muttered, “What do I care when she’s probably halfway across the world? I don’t have time for that, not when I’ve got Giuseppina by my side.”

The woman with him laughed at the loving words. The two of them divorced a month later. 

“I don’t have time for that.” Those words were what stuck with Mista about all else. He wondered how someone simply couldn’t have time to find the love of their life. Something so important. So intimate. 

That is until he felt the string begin to tug for himself. Then he understood not having enough time. 

The first time the red string at the tip of his finger tugged, Mista was in prison for his unjust murder charge. He remembered the day well. One moment he was sitting at his desk when all of a sudden, his body was jerked up by some mysterious force. Mista stood there, confused before his arm burst forward, and turned his whole body to face one of the walls. His erect finger traced a line from one end of the cell to another before flinging his entire body into the concrete wall, paining him. It was then he realized what was happening. 

You. You were nearby, near the prison, A nervous sweat washed over. Mista hadn’t expected you to live so near to him. He thought he’d be cursed to wander the Earth in search of you. But no. You were right there. And he couldn’t get out to see you. 

His heart crushed at the thought of being so close, yet so far, Mista sat back down once the pull of the string lessened. He closed his eyes, trying to picture what you looked like. 

On the other side, you got up from the sidewalk, groaning. The sudden tug of the string had caused you to trip and hit your head on the prison gate. You looked at your pinky, seeing the string taut and in the direction of the prison. Understanding the situation, you muttered to yourself a complaint. Just your luck, to end up with a criminal. 

One of the reasons Mista so eagerly followed Bruno Buccellati was because the man gave him his chance to find you. The man freed him from prison and gave him a new life as a sharpshooter. A new determination filled the now mafioso. You were close, and he just needed to wait for the string to tug again. 

But then he learned the true meaning of those words. He didn’t have enough time to look for you. 

The second time the string tugged, he was in the middle of a fierce stand battle. He and Abbacchio were out investigating, and an enemy gang member had intercepted one of their clues. Cornered in a busy street, Mista had to use all his focus not to hit any civilians. 

But then that damn string tugged. Mista was jerked to the side once more. Thinking quickly, he grabbed a nearby street lamp to steady himself. Looking around, he saw a sea of people, all walking their different paths, none towards him. 

Mista heard Abbacchio call out to him to help him take down the enemy, with Moody Blues struggling to keep his footing. The string tugged even harder; Mista had to make a choice. Gritting his teeth, he ran in the opposite direction as the universal pull. You were going to be safe, but he couldn’t let a friend die. The target was taken out, Mista noticing that the pulling of the string was gone as well. Damn, another chance lost. 

You had been pressed up against the wall of the taxi as you drove by that same street corner. Your soulmate was nearby, and you’d just missed him. 

We return to the present time. It was another mission, and Mista again felt that infernal tug. He stalked around the alleyway, alert for any sign of the enemy ahead. At the other end fo the string, you felt fate’s pull, waiting patiently in your seat at a cafe several streets over for your soulmate to approach. He hadn’t been ready to meet you the past two times, so you decided just to wait. In your mind, you had all the time in the world.  

Time kept passing. The enemy wasn’t showing, and Mista was getting antsy. He just wanted to end the mission and get to you. You, who were so slowly but surely getting impatient about all this. Where the hell was your soulmate?

A flash pasted Mista’s gaze, and he readied his pistol. However, the enemy managed to snake behind him, leaving Mista vulnerable. You kept tapping on the table, getting annoyed. 

The enemy stalked behind the unknowing mafioso, a dagger in his hand. A grin came to his face as he raised his arm, aimed at Mista’s head. 

“This is it. I’ll kill one of Buccellati‘s goons! Then he’ll know not to mess with my gang!” 

After another minute of waiting, with the damn string still pulling at your finger, you shot up from your chair, infuriated. 

“Alright, fuck this. Get your ass over here!” 

You grabbed the activated string, yanking Mista towards you, just as the man was about to kill him. The enemy missed, tumbling forward and losing his cover. “What the hell?!” 

His cover blown as well, Mista had to make a run for it before the man tried to kill him again. He’d regroup later, and there was no better direction he could have gone in than directly to his soulmate. Mista ran as fast as he could to get to you. He didn’t exactly know what to look for, but he had an angry mafioso twice his size on his heels, so he couldn’t stop for anything. He had called Narancia to come in for backup, but the idiot hadn’t shown up yet. 

The string was getting shorter and shorter, and you had started running towards your soulmate as well, excited to see what he looked like, who he was, what he was. The man still hot on his trails, Mista kept sprinting to you as his life depended on it. The guy was dodging all of Sex Pistols’ attacks, rendering his stand useless. The string was getting shorter and shorter. 

The two of you were pulled along, both of you running, in panic for one and jubilation for another. Neither of you was paying attention to where you were going. Mista swerved in and out of the streets, zooming past people, until finally, finally, he had come to you. Well, he had not exactly come to you, more fell into you. 

The moment he turned around to see if the man was following him, Mista collided into someone. He rushed to apologize, about to keep moving until he realized something. There was no tug anymore. He had just bumped into you, the one. Looking up from the ground, he saw your face for the first time, seeing you groan as you recovered from the collision. Guido Mista found himself speechless for a moment. You were beautiful. Everything he’s ever waited for. He saw your rounded face and couldn’t wait to see your smile. He eyed your soft, pillowy frame and couldn’t wait to hold you in his arms. Guido Mista’s heart beat fast in his chest, and not just because of the man chasing him. Oh right, the man chasing him. Mista was soon brought back down to Earth from cloud nine. 

You looked up at the man before you, immediately becoming lost in his void-like, black eyes. You felt your face heat up in a blush. 

“It’s you, isn’t it?” You asked, a small smile on your face.

Mista gulped nervously, standing up as straight as he could to make himself look tougher for you. “Yeah... I guess I am-W-wait a sec.”  

Mista turned around, seeing the man approaching at a fast pace. The mafioso turned back to you. Shit, you’ll be in danger if you’re spotted talking to him.

“Hey, listen, sweetheart, if you don’t mind. We gotta go.” 

“Go?” 

“Yeah. Like now!” With that, Mista grabbed your hand and began running, with you hurriedly running with him, confused. 

“What’s happening?!” 

“I’ll explain later!”

“B-but this isn’t how this is supposed to go! I don’t even know your name!”

“I’ll tell you later, babe! Come on!” 

The two of you kept running. Mista grunted, still looking around. Where the hell was Narancia?! Running out of options, Mista ducked into a small alley with you, you both now chest to chest in the tight space. Before you could ask any questions, Mista put a finger to his lips, telling you to keep quiet. You watched as he carefully pulled out a phone and called someone. 

“When the hell are you gonna get here?!” Mista whispered into the phone, spouting off a nearby street sign so Narancia would know where to go. The enemy was nearby. Easily detectable by Aerosmith, Mista was sure of that. The man was breathing heavily, perfect for the radar.

“Who are you?” 

Mista looked down at you, a cheeky grin on his face. Your heart fluttered, something innate in your body was attracting you to this man. Something in you knew he felt the same way about you at that moment. And you were right, Mista was, but he had to focus. 

Suddenly, a teen about your height showed up in your little hiding spot. Mista held you close, muttering to the teen details about the man, telling him to end the mission once and for all. The teen ran away, and in just a few minutes, he returned with a silver badge in his hand, proof the man was dead. 

Mista sighed in relief and stepped out from the alley, looking around; it seemed there were no other threats. Your heart was racing. Here he was. The universe had seen your boring, ordinary life, and had now handed you someone you could tell was neither boring nor ordinary. You quickly straightened yourself out, watching as Mista spoke with the other one. He then called up seemingly his boss to let him know the job was over. You bit your lip nervously, loving the authoritative tone in his voice.  The other teenager with him, Narancia, you supposed, turned to you. 

“Sorry, miss, about dragging you into all this. You can head home now.” He flashed a smile to you before Mista whacked him on the arm. “Hey! What the hell was that for dumbass?!” 

Mista’s face was bright red as he turned to you with a gentle smile. “No, Narancia, she’s not going anywhere. Not anymore.” 

With that, Mista approached you, taking off his cap. You saw his wild mass of dark curls, realizing fully just how handsome he was. 

“I’m sorry about that. I’d have hoped to meet you at a different time, but the string was a little impatient, I guess.” 

You nodded nervously, remembering you had pulled on it yourself. “Yeah. We couldn’t ignore it for the third time, I suppose.”

You both smiled, both too nervous to know what to do next. You cleared your throat, bringing a hand up to stroke the side of Mista’s neck. 

“I uh... I don’t even know your name. But it... it feels like I’ve known you for years. My whole life even.”

Mista felt his whole being lift in happiness as he kept his gaze on you. “You don’t seem very scared of me, considering what I just put you through.”

“Well, I figure if I’m meant for you, I should be able to deal with it. If it means I can have you as you are.”

Mista laughed, breathing a sigh of relief as he wrapped his arms around your waist, spinning you around. You, who had sometimes been self-conscious of your body, fell even more smitten knowing he could pick you up with ease. You could tell, he made you feel loved already, just as you were.  

Mista put you down. “Come on then. I’ll treat you to a meal, and you can meet my friends. All that running made me hungry.” You watched your soulmate walk out of the alley before you told him to wait. 

“Dummy, you forgot something. My name’s (y/n) (l/n). I still don’t know yours.” 

Mista chuckled a bit. “Sorry about that, baby. Guido Mista, at your service.” 

You smiled. “Guido, huh?”

“(y/n),huh? Now come on already, let’s eat. We can work all this soulmate stuff out later. We’ve got all the time in the world.” 

[orbitariums]

I have a request: Peter Parker finding out his gf (y/n) is an avenger? Maybe he doesn't realize until a certain fight? Thank you, and I hope you are having a great day! - first ask anon (I guess I'll just call myself that 🤣🤣)

hi !! yes welcome back first ask anon and thank you so much for this request i’ve had the loveliest time writing it (s/o to my friend emily for helping me w/ some details bc i’m still new to marvel). hope you enjoy!! heads up this is like super long for a tumblr one shot *at least i think so*, if you guys request me stuff be prepared for it to be longgg!

disclaimer: fighting scenes are not my strength, especially for a marvel character!!! hope the plot makes up for it. also i pretty much just made up a villain and a fight. + switches between she/you when peter is first seeing the reader. ++ inspired by teen titans and kill la kill! contains: slight language + violence of course. hope u love it!

                             violet blast and spiderman (pt. i)

     Spiderman was good. This guy was better.

     Terrified bystanders and entrapped citizens watched in the crowded street as Peter tried desperately to simultaneously protect the woman he’d saved and fight off the bad guy. But doing both at once was wearing him out and his mind couldn’t help but keep going back to the fact that he had made no progress with his math project back at home because he kept delaying it to adhere to the role of friendly neighborhood Spiderman.

Plus he had a date with you later that weekend that he was stressing about because he wanted everything to go perfectly. But he kept up, and kept up with his banter all the while, just barely dodging the bad guy’s grotesque metal fist as he rolled underneath him and tried to shoot a web at him from behind and flip him over.

     “You know, you really should invest all this energy into being less of an asshole!” Peter yelled out, rolling to his side to avoid being smashed again.

     This guy was like the Hulk, except he had the robotic, armored qualities of Iron Man, if Iron Man looked like a giant made out of concrete with glaring red eyes and a deformed metal hand that was not doing Peter any favors.

     “Concrete Man!” the beast roared, swiveling around to face Peter who looked like an ant from where he was standing.

     “Really, Concrete Man, that’s your name? Yeah, Iron Man called, he wants his trademark ba-” Peter’s voice got carried away as he found himself getting swooped up by “Concrete Man”, his body slowly getting crushed in his metallic grasp.

     Peter’s breath became shallow as he tried to escape, looking down at the people below him who were now crowding closer, screaming in terror. He tried to find the woman in the crowd, at least to tell her to run away to safety now that Concrete Man was distracted, but he only caught a glimpse of her, and she was staring up in transfixed terror as well.

     “Shit!” Peter exclaimed, growing panicky.

     He tried to outstretch his arms in the hopes to web this guy’s face and get it in his eyes so he’d at least let go of Peter, but to no avail. Peter let out a panicked gasp but calmed down when he realized he could still stretch out his feet against Concrete Man’s body, and so he pressed his feet against his bulky build and pushed off, extending his arms over Concrete Man’s hand so he could flip off.

     He knew that when he did he’d be awaiting a hard pummel to the ground, but he did so anyway, flying through the air momentarily before finding his landing midair and sticking it. He tried to maintain his heavy breaths as he continued to fight against Concrete Man, sticking out his hand in the attempts to catch his legs in a spiral and make him fall to the ground, and then go off from there. 

     But before the web could even shoot, he was shoved aside by another figure, a girl about the same height as him, a little taller even.

     “Move Peter,” you said hostilely, shoving him aside and standing your ground in front of him.

     Peter had to do a double take to make sure he was seeing correctly, and to make sure he had heard correctly as well. Whoever this was had said his name, so that meant she knew who he was somehow. But he had never seen her before in his life, so who could it be? His heart was racing with fear, and anxiety, and his head was pounding with fear, add in the way he was still practically hyperventilating from escaping Concrete-Man’s strong hold and the adrenaline rush.

     The girl had an interesting uniform (a mix of Starfire, Raven and Senketsu)- a navy blue crop top with mid-length sleeves, and a purple stem miniskirt held up by black suspenders, along with thigh high violet boots, and her whole uniform had all types of gadgets and buttons all over it. She also had on a dark blue cloak with a hood that masked her face so he couldn’t see her, but he was still in awe. In other words, she was kind of hot- if extremely powerful- and Peter couldn’t help but notice that.

     But he snapped out of it when he realized what was actually happening, and when he saw that you had propelled yourself up into the air to fight this guy off yourself. He wanted to complain that this was his fight, even though he was losing terribly, but couldn’t when he saw that you had blasted this villain guy in the face with blinding blasts of ultraviolet radiation. The concrete on his face crumbled slightly and he roared in anger, swooping his hand to try and grab you up, while you were floating in the air.

     He roared again when he missed as you dodged his clenching fist with ease, lurching forward and sending passerby into a panic as the ground shook beneath them.

     “Foolish girl! You dare to challenge me, your worst nightmare?”

     “Not much of a challenge,” you retorted, and Peter laughed, then shut himself up when he realized he should probably be doing something, but he didn’t know what.

     “You look like a schoolgirl in that redundant uniform!” yelled out Concrete Man out of spite. “Get back to class!”

You paused midair, just sort of bouncing in the air, but now your eyes were glowing green and you felt energy activating inside of you that you knew would be deadly for Concrete Man, and extremely riling for you.

     “Aw,” you crossed your arms, your voice eerily monotonous. “You made me angry. Good luck in advance.”

     Concrete Man started to laugh, but before he could even get out a good bellow, you darted forward, feet first, and rammed yourself into his face, nailing him so hard he practically stumbled, your superhuman strength and berserker state granting you immunity to the aftermath of the blow and even greater strength. 

     The people below gasped and stumbled back, and some people started to run. Meanwhile, you were launching great green blasts of energy from out of the palm of your hands and into the villain’s face, blinding him and making him even more vulnerable as he groaned in pain at the heat of the power surges you were sending out.

Peter just looked up, his voice shaky because he was intimidated by you now, and choked out,

     “U-um, d-do you need any help? Sh… should I be doing anything right now? I’m really confused, woah-”

     “No! Shut up and get that woman to safety!” you yelled, only because you were angry and he was distracting you.

     He did exactly that and ran over to the lady who Concrete Man had been attacking previously to get her to safety, and practically managing the crowds of people running by and trying to escape. You, on the other hand, were this much closer to defeating Concrete Man. 

     With blast after blast you had practically rendered him powerless, and he was staggering back, about to fall hard onto the ground. As Peter watched, he realized your maneuvers and techniques - the way you were hot headed and fast on your feet, just hitting him with move after move - reminded him an awful lot of someone… someone he was incredibly close to, but in his haze he couldn’t think of who.

     “EVERYBODY MOVE BACK!” you yelled out to the few people who were standing underneath where Concrete Man was going to fall.

     Everyone ran and when he finally fell, tumbling and crashing to the hard ground, you zoomed down, your eyes still gleaming a flashing green, and hovered above his disintegrating face, mocking him,

     “Who the fuck is a little schoolgirl now!”

     He bellowed and tried to get back up, but you were already harnessing your energy between your two hands, pressing the right wrist over the left wrist in a clamping maneuver and muttering,

     “Get back to class,” before blasting an explosion of radiation at him that made him cry out in agony as he melted into the ground, just a puddle of wet cement like he had been before.

     The people that remained cheered raucously and you came back down to the ground, a few feet ahead of Peter who had watched the whole thing go down in awe. You couldn’t help but smile, back to your normal state after releasing all of that energy, and bow just for even more effect.

     You swerved around to face Peter now, remembering the mistake you had made in calling him by his name. You had meant to tell him sooner or later, but in your anger at seeing him get so mishandled by this wannabe Ironman you had slipped up and soon the cat would be out of the bag. You knew your boyfriend could be a bit of a ditz sometimes, despite his pure genius, so you figured he hadn’t yet put two and two together.

     “Who are you?” Peter was first to talk, his face a mix of horror and confusion.

You breathed out loudly, catching your breath,

     “Follow me.”

     Reluctantly, he did, and you led him to a quiet alley where no one else was, and this just so happened to be the alley where he left his backpack and changed into his Spiderman uniform everyday. Something was definitely up.

     You looked around to make sure the coast was clear, and when you had decided it was safe, you got awfully quiet and looked him in the eyes, though he still couldn’t decipher the face because you were masked.

     “Peter, it’s me,” you said solemnly, your face and voice hopeful that you wouldn’t be angry.

     It was like a lightbulb, no, a fuse, lit up and exploded over his head. He almost took a step back, he was so shocked, and everything started to come together. He started getting eight by ten glossies of his life, but just the moments he shared it with you, and all the weird things about you he had brushed off. 

     Like for example, your insane flexibility despite you proving to him multiple times you hadn’t set foot in a gymnasium for gymnastics since you were a kid, your excuses for leaving suddenly out of nowhere, your off days where you seemed to be supernatural when angry. It all made sense now.

     “YN?” his already high voice cracked as he squeaked out your name, and you smiled apprehensively, hoping he wasn’t mad.

     “Um… hi?”

     “I don’t believe it. I do, but… wh- how does this even happen… you knew I was Spiderman all this time? And- and you, who… who even are you! If you’re a villain we have to break up… you’re not a villain are you? Please don’t be, I love you. I-I mean, that’s a strong word, could be scary, but you’re scary so I don’t want to get you upset by saying that if you’re not ready. Are you ready? Am I talking too fast, I feel like I’m talking really fast. Okay, woah, I’m a little light-headed, I’m gonna sit down.”

     He sat up against the wall and you chuckled, standing in front of him- the boots really added height and you practically towered over him- on top of that he was sitting down. You thought it was cute that he found you scary, hell, you thought he was cute - he on the other hand was intimidated by your even further enhanced beauty (because you were already beautiful to him but now even more so) and power. He was also trying very hard to look anywhere but at you, or at least at your face, because he had never noticed how absolutely ripped you were, more than him maybe.

     “Peter, calm down.” You removed your mask and cloak and he cleared his throat a bit too loudly, now that he could see your face. Then he started to choke and you made a disgruntled face as you glared down at him.

     “Sorry,” he held his hand out to excuse himself but continued coughing.

     “Look, I can’t tell you anything if you’re gonna be freaking out the entire time.”

          “Okay… okay, just… explain.”

     And you did- you explained how you were the most recent Avenger and how Natasha Romanoff had taken you under her wing for training, and how you had even visited other realms like Azarath and Tamaran to receive training from the former Teen Titans. You told him how this was really very recent and how you were going to tell him at some point, you just had to find the right time. He was planning on telling you too, at some point, since your relationship was getting quite serious.

     You explained that you hadn’t meant to call him Peter, but that you were just distracted and annoyed, and already angry, since Peter was getting hurt and you felt like you hadn’t gotten there soon enough to help out. And you explained how you wanted nothing more than for the two of you to remain the way you were relationship wise, and not to let this new knowledge about you or each other betray what you had. 

     But you emphasized that sometimes your job was more important than him and he totally understood that - you were the kind of headstrong girl who, even if hot-headed, had a good head on her shoulders and a strong belief in yourself. You wouldn’t let anyone, even Peter, your first love, come between that.

     “Wow…” Peter said, following your lengthy conversation. “So you’ve been an Avenger all this time?”

     “Like I said, I only gained Avenger status recently. Before that I was kind of like you… just more, y’know, lowkey I guess, since you didn’t know who I was… or who Violet Blast (your superhero name) was until now.”

     “Yeah… no kidding,” Peter panted. “You look really nice in your uniform by the way.”

You side-eyed him but winked playfully, 

     “You too if I were into the whole tights thing.”

     He made a face, irritated but satisfied- you were the same old smart mouthed you, even as an Avenger. You were sitting next to each other, still in the alley, and you hopped onto your feet again, pulling Peter up from the ground too. He winced at how hard you had grasped his hand- superhuman strength things- and couldn’t hide it before you noticed. You giggled,

     “Oops.”

     “Ha,” he laughed limply, because he was still a bit afraid of you.

     “Ok. I left my bag somewhere here…” you trailed off, starting to swivel around to try and find it.

Peter spotted it and dashed a web out towards it, pulling it towards you,

     “Got it!”

     You smiled and picked it up,

     “Aww. My boyfriend’s a little spiderbaby.”

     “Er- I’m a spiderman,” Peter corrected, folding his arms.

     “Yeah?” you teased him, rolling your eyes. You started to change back into your regular clothes, but Peter made a noise and asked,

     “Whaaat ya doin’?”

You made a face, bringing your brows together,

     “Changing…?”

He cleared his throat, feeling quite awkward now since it was very obvious, but his mind had gone somewhere it shouldn’t have, in his dazed mix,

     “We… yeah, I knew that. Just- you weren’t gonna give me a warning?”

You raised your brow even higher,

     “Peter, I’m your girlfriend.”

He squeaked out and started to complain,

     “Look, I’m really overwhelmed right now, with all this new information, so could you ju-”

     “Fine, turn around,” you griped, but you couldn’t help but laugh at him.

When you were done you waited for him to change too, but he just stared at you.

     “You want me to turn around,” you said, more of a statement than a question, and he nodded shyly.

When the two of you were finally in your regular clothes, though you were by no means regular at all, you carried on out of the alleyway as if you were. When you got out on the other side, you laced your hand through his, careful not to squeeze too hard,

     “And by the way, I do love you… too.”

Although this brought a boyish smile to his face and made him laugh joyously in that cute way of his, he was still a little confused,

     “What?”

You let go of his hand slightly, hoping he hadn’t just been rambling inattentively when he said that to you earlier, and already fearing losing him,

     “Just… you said, back there, when we… I don’t know, I thought you said you loved me. Back there.”

Your voice got low and your head hung and your insecurity was showing. But Peter’s face remained lit up, as he squeezed your hand to reassure you, bringing your hands back closer together,

     “Oh I know! I just wanted to make sure I was hearing you properly YN.”

You rolled your eyes and glanced over at him, basking in this moment- it didn’t seem real, but it was. The two of you, literal superheroes, together in what seemed to be life’s most fun and magical twist yet, not just the fact that you even had these abilities. And you were just two teenagers walking along the streets of Queens. And you shared your first I love yous. You couldn’t help but laugh and smile.

     “Sure, Spidey,” you smirked.

ahh ok i hope you and everyone else who read that liked it!! should i make a part two where they’re just figuring out how to act normally in school + when they’re around each other and stuff, and maybe more of them fighting together!! lmk <3 thanks so much for requesting first ask anon <3

[psrj]

do you have any advice for knowing when to stop with art? sketches I'm okay with, but recently I've been overpainting and adding too much, and ruining pieces

So I’ve been staring at this in my inbox for literal months now, because putting any kinda coherent thoughts together has proven to be a MAJOR pain in the ass. But I do have a lot of thoughts so I’m just gonna … spew some garbage under the cut.

So, how do you know when to stop with art?

I’m just gonna run down my own process when a piece just drives me completely insane, because to me, that’s what this boils down to. Because I personally just work on a piece until I’m content with the result. That’s all the wisdom I have to that. 

This means that the problem is continually adding stuff that isn’t making you any happier with the piece you’re working on.

So, try to spot what you aren’t liking. Why is the piece ‘ruined’? Why haven’t you declared it done already? Here’s what I look for when I realise that I’m pretty damn mad at whatever I’m working on:

1. Imbalance in stylisation and rendered details -

this depends A LOT on artstyle, but for me this means there’s too much detail somewhere. For example, a big dissonance between the face and the rest of the body in both realism and rendering.

For me, this means zooming out, and whipping out the Big Brush. All parts of the piece needs to work together stylistically. Continuous rendering is basically never gonna fix it, do not be scared of redoing something entirely.

2. Just real fucked up anatomy and/or lighting -

whip out the references. no way around it. probably the simplest one, just difficult to realise sometimes. buuuut if you’ve already noticed something is off, you’re halfway there already.

3. The composition is fundamentally not working - 

alright, personally, this is the real hard one to spot, but ruins a piece for me very easily. My instinct is to work on something until it feels right, but when the composition is unappealing, the whole concept works against me. 

For me this is only really fixed by properly planning a piece conceptually. Which can be hard if you didn’t intend for something to be a piece to begin with. But zooming out, squinting, gray scaling, it all helps when it comes to figuring out why something about a piece might be driving you slowly insane.

What ultimately helps me is keeping an analytical mind through out a piece. Work big to small, start out by blocking things in two or three values, ALWAYS SAVE PREVIOUS VERSIONS. Go back and compare constantly, it’s THE best thing about digital art. Don’t be afraid to completely redo parts, if only to figure out what’s bothering you about it.

So to summarise this heaping mess, if you think that your overpainting has ruined a piece, you’re already halfway there. Your mission then is to figure out WHY. Figure out why you keep working on the parts you are, if you’re actually fixing something or if you’re just adding disconnected amounts of detail. 

Know your goal, the aesthetic and/or style you’re going for, learn how to spot underlying technical mistakes throughout your process and ALWAYS be ready to completely redo parts of it. It’s the absolute best way to learn.

[speedprofessor]

Point by point summary of my Eobard / Handy Dandy Canon Divergence Sheet / Timeline Stuff

CHARACTER SUMMARY

EARLY LIFE:

-Eobard grows up as a single child. His parents are killed in an accident when he is around six years old and he spends the rest of his youth as a bookworm and never makes any real friends. -He had always been a dreamer, so he grows up idolizing the Golden Age of Heroes. He reads up all he can about the heroes of the 21st century and beyond, he especially focuses on the exploits of The Flash, Central City’s very own hero, and in time he comes to really idolize the Scarlet Speedster and wants to be just like him. ( headcanon about how he views heroes ) -He dedicates his studies to physics and in time comes to find definitive proof on the existence of the Speed Force, something that was only theorized upon in his time.  -He becomes the leading expert in Speed Force and starts sharing his studies as a professor, earning the nickname ‘Professor Zoom’. During this time he starts socializing, since being a professor and being a public figure will do that to you, and meets Rose [mumbles last name]. -The two become fast friends ( Eobard’s then somewhat shy and insecure-yet-stand offish nature contrasting well with Rose’s direct no-nonsense attitude ) and very soon become lovers and, later, husband and wife. -During this time, Eobard happens upon a time capsule from 21st Century, much to his absolute shock and delight, the capsule holds a genuine Flash suit worn by the Legend himself. -Eobard studies the costume religiously, and manages to find and extract Speed Force particles which he uses to recreate the Accident that gave Flash his powers. 

LIFE WITH POWERS

-Now a meta-human, Eobard explores his newfound powers. His knowledge of the Speed Force prior allowing him to master his powers with relative ease. -Soon realizing the constantly controlled and ‘perfect’ society of 25th Century does not allow for accidents which the Flash can help stop and be known as a hero, he ends up creating his own accidents which he, as the Flash, comes to stop. In his eyes, nobody is ever in danger as he crafts each part of the ‘accidents’ to the smallest detail.

THE INCIDENT

-Barry Allen of the 21st Century ends up in 25th Century due to Reasons(tm). This Barry Allen is one that already suffered losses at the hands of the Reverse-Flash. -Excited to discover that THE Flash is in HIS time, Eobard eagerly seeks him out. He never discovers the man under the cowl during this time. -Barry, learning about Eobard’s ‘accidents’, and already distrusting him due to their shared history, ends up fighting him in Eobard’s lab. -Rose, also discovering about Eobard’s actions as the Flash and seeking to confront him, also ends up at the lab just as the fight is happening. -As Speedsters, they both give off incredible amounts of lightning, and Rose gets struck by one of them, the owner of the lightning unknown to both. -She is heavily injured and is rendered comatose, living on life support.

BIRTH OF A VENDETTA

-Eobard does not serve any jail time for his actions, but he does undergo therapy and public service while rumors slowly eat away at his reputation. -Rose’s condition is a source of immense grief for Eobard, and he delves deeper into his studies to find a way to ‘fix’ her. -Eobard, feeling sorrow for how the things with the Flash went, wants to go back and clear up the air, make amends and hopefully work with the Scarlet Speedster to find a way to fix Rose’s condition, as Eobard believes it was The Flash’s lightning that struck her. -Making himself a new costume, he swaps the reds with yellow, as all Flash side-kicks are known for wearing yellow and Eobard wants to symbolize how he is willing to learn and work with the Flash. -Traveling back in time, he ends up at the Flash Museum and is confronted with the display for The Reverse Flash. -Reading through, he is shocked to discovered himself be labeled as The Flash’s Greatest Enemy, and, seemingly, see the Flash act completely unremorseful for the pain he had caused in his life.   -Running back to Rose, he swears on her hospital bed that he will make The Flash regret all the pain he had caused in his life, inadvertently making the Museum Display a reality. ( drabble here )

EARLY EXPLOITS:

-He makes his Reverse Flash ring out of his wedding band. ( headcanon here ) -He constantly runs back and forth between the past and the 25th century. He does not know the exact year and time The Flash That Ruined His Life came from, so finding that exact time is his key priority. -This is the times when he and The Flash start having their regular fights. -This is when the Season 2 Episode 11 happens. SMALL CHANGE: He does not try to kill Tina McGee. He doesn’t kill indiscriminately. He only kills in self defense ( like the guards, sorry guards ) and ONLY wants to truly hurt The Flash and those closest to him.  -During Crisis on Infinite Earths, he discovers The Flash’s true identity and figures that Hey, if I run back in time and kill him as a child, he won’t grow up to hurt Rose and myself in the future. (drabble tba) -Then the Night Nora Allen Died happens.

STRANDED IN THE PAST.

-Killing Nora ends up having the unforeseen consequence of Eobard losing his powers. As he had gained his powers by extracting the Speed Force particles from the Flash’s suit, his powers are tied to Barry’s connection to the Speed Force. Due to his anger, he has also tapped into the Negative charge of the Speed Force, but he is unaware of this fact and it is the reason for why his powers keep disconnecting during season one. -Ends up taking over Harrison Wells’ body out of desperation. Face changing ability is not a common technology, and he fashions the Body Stealing Device from the same device he had used to extract Speed Force back in the day. It’s like poetry it rhymes. The device has the side-affect of extracting Wells’ memories as well. -He legitimately does not expect to be stranded in the past for fifteen years. And during this time, living as Harrison Wells and having newfound memories of a life that is peaceful acts as sorts of therapy for Eobard. -He is legitimately paralyzed as a result of the Particle Accelerator explosion and would have remained that way were it not for his powers. ( headcanon here ) -Watching Barry and watching him grow up and watching his early exploits as the Flash reminds him of why he idolized him in the first place. His hatred starts to wane and he comes to care for him in a weird fatherly way, much to his surprise. -He legitimately wants Barry to save his mother and undo his actions. He foolishly thinks if he gives Barry that, maybe his own future will change, maybe he will finally return back to a time where Rose is still healthy. -And then he gets erased from existence thanks to Eddie. 

BEING ERASED FROM EXISTENCE AND RETURN

-He does get erased from existence. His essence remains in the Speed Force as his past is ‘out of sync’ with the natural flow of time, namely Barry’s. -It is this Essence Barry sets free during Flashpoint. -EOBARD DOES NOT FORM THE LEGION OF DOOM. HE DOES NOT TEAM UP WITH MERLYN AND DARHK.  -In my canon, the Eobard that forms the Legion is actually Hunter Zolomon, before the events of Flash Season 2 and likely before he discovers Jay Garrick and assumes his identity. Because personality of Eobard in LoT S2 fits more with Hunter’s than it does with Eobard’s. ( summary here ) -What Eobard ACTUALLY does is act as sort of a nomad, running away from the Black Flash and trying to find a way to cure his paradoxical existence. -Discovers the existence of the Spear of Destiny and hears about the exploits of another Reverse Flash. -Occasionally teams up with the Legends to stop them from being horribly murdered by Zolomon. -Ends up being killed by Zombie!Zolomon after stopping Past!Zolomon. Because time travel is funny that way.  -When his essence returns to the Speed Force, he ends up forming a PACT with the Speed Force to act as a proper engine for the Negative Speed Force, as he has figured out that nobody spends all that negative energy and that is the reason for all of the Speed Force’s instabilities. ( LONG drabble here )

SEASON FIVE SHENANIGANS

-Upon his resurrection, he finds that he is UNABLE TO DIE but also UNABLE TO RUN BACK HOME. Speed Force blocks his path back home as he needs a ‘reason to run’. He gets killed by Black Flash whenever he tries to run back to the 25th century. -Distraught and confused, CCPD of 2034 uses the opportunity to capture him with Cicada’s dagger and imprisoning him. -He has his Reasons(tm) for continuing to use Wells’ face. ( meta here ) -Season five shenanigans happen. -However Nora’s tutelage take place over a LONGER period of time, instead of during the last hours of his life. The way I view it is each season is a year, so Eobard has been training Nora for two years ( season 4 and throughout season 5) -He genuinely comes to care for Nora. He knows if he is to escape, she will get erased from existence, which is why he gives her that ‘out’ with Negative Speed Force. He knows that if she dies and comes back, the negative effects of the Negative Speed Force will be nullified. ( post about my take on the Negative Speed Force as a whole. ) -He re-purchases his old house he had as Wells and he tends to lay low there. He is quite literally under the Team Flash’s nose lmfao. ( post here )

CRISIS ON INFINITE EARTHS -Right after his escape in season 5 finale, The Monitor seeks him out and tells him Its Time, promising to open the path back to the future should they succeed.  -He acts as The Harbinger who collects all the heroes  -Works with Oliver Queen to recruit the other Paragons and such. - Over the course of Crisis, he decides its time to Let Go and buries the hatchet with Barry. -Helps counteract the (first) Anti Matter Canon in ep 3, but since he’s made out of negative energy, he doesn’t die but instead gets catapulted across time to finally get back to his own future. -This Drabble happens after the cannon is initially destroyed, but before the Multiverse gets wiped out.   -Multiverse is rebooted. -In the Earth-Prime timeline, Eobard never becomes the Reverse Flash and instead spends those 15 (plus change) years with Rose, who eventually dies peacefully due to natural causes. -The moment the Paragons ‘awake’ in the New Earth, Eobard gets struck by lightning and regains his memories, possessing memories of both timelines. -Makes himself a new suit out of the remnants of his old one, incorporating nanites and speed force particles in the making of it. ( here’s the details ) -Runs back to 2020 for Reasons That I Will Write Up Later. -Fights alongside the heroes in the Final Final Battle. -Eodemption bitches CW can fight me in the god damn PIT .New Earth New Eobard 2020. -Probably is going to end up bankrolling and curating the Flash Museum and / or helping out in the Hall of Justice I don’t make the rules.

CANON DIVERGENCE SUMMARY / TL:DR:

-Eobard doesn’t go evil JUST because he discovers he is destined to be The Flash’s arch foe instead of the Flash proper. It is a part of his hatred, but another big part of it is The Incident, the very first fight with the Flash from Eobard’s point of view that ends up severely injuring Rose, his wife. He initially wants to make peace with Barry and clear up the misunderstanding, but he ends up traveling back in time to the Flash museum and discovering that he is labeled as the villain and Barry, from his perspective, never once taking any responsibility for his actions. -AKA their feud has no starting point. It is a time travel tragedy. -LEGENDS OF TOMORROW SEASON TWO IS NOT CANON FOR MY PORTRAYAL. NEITHER IS EARTH X. (I’m considering a rework of Eobard crashing Barry’s wedding as a ‘last hurrah’ for Eobard’s hatred of Barry post S1. watch this space. ) -Negative Speed Force does not make you evil by default. It is also not a wholly separate entity from the Speed Force, but instead is a different charge of it never tapped by any other speedsters before him. As he had initially connected with it as an user of the Positive Speed Force, harnessing that negative charge adds fire to his rage fuel, and is the reason why his powers keep disconnecting during season one.  -After being erased from existence, he merges with the Speed Force completely and harnesses the pure Negative charge of the Speed Force. This action renders him immortal and as a Fact that needs to exist for as long as Speed Force wills it. 

[morethankradio]

Something Awesome: Data Thief or Gift Recipient

Okay, we’ve seen more than a few attacks that can be performed when someone clicks a link or navigates to a website.

Cryptojacking

Cross Site Request Forgery

Drive-By Attacks

Zoom 0day

But it’s time to pay homage to the attack that’s hidden in plain site. 

tldr; head over to https://fingerprintme.herokuapp.com/ for some fun.

Passive Data Theft

I hesitate to call it theft when in fact we are giving all of this data to every website we visit like a little gift. 

Please, accept this bundle of quasi-identifiers as a token of my appreciation.

Many internet users have no idea just how much data is available to websites they are visiting, so it’s worth exploring just what is in our present.

IP Address and Geolocation API

Like any good gift giver, we better write on the tag. 

To: <website server> From: <your IP address>

Your IP (Internet Protocol) address is a little 32-bit (now possibly 128-bit) number that uniquely identifies your device on the Internet. This is by design; people need to be able to address you to be able to send you any packets. A static 1:1 mapping of devices to IPs is definitely a massive exaggeration today as as we use technologies to let multiple devices share one IP, dynamically acquire an IP for each session, and our ISPs (Internet Service Providers) may also dynamically assign our IP address.

Nonetheless, IP addresses have (again by design) another function; location addressing. This is because when you’re internet traffic is propagating through the Internet (a global network of routers) it needs to know where it physically needs to go, and fast. Owing to this, the internet has taken on a hierarchical structure, with different ISPs servicing different geographical regions. These ISPs are tiered such that lower tier ISPs service specific subsets of the upper level tier’s region, providing more geographical specificity. It is this property of IP addresses that allows anyone with your IP address to get a rough idea where you are in the world. Moreover, IP addresses from specific subnets like AARNet (for Australian Universities) can be a giveaway for your location.

Try Googling “my ip” or “where am i”. There are many IP to Geolocation API services available. I have made use of https://ipgeolocation.io/, which has a generous free tier 🙏.

User Agent

Every request your browser makes to a server is wrapped up with a nice little UserAgent String bow, that looks a little like this,

User-Agent: Mozilla/<version> (<system-information>) <platform> (<platform-details>) <extensions>

Oh how sweet 😊 it’s our Operating System, our browser and what versions we of each we are running, and if the server is lucky, perhaps a few extra details.

Here are a few examples from MDN:

Mozilla/5.0 (Windows NT 6.1; Win64; x64; rv:47.0) Gecko/20100101 Firefox/47.0

Mozilla/5.0 (Macintosh; Intel Mac OS X x.y; rv:42.0) Gecko/20100101 Firefox/42.0

Mozilla/5.0 (X11; Linux x86_64) AppleWebKit/537.36 (KHTML, like Gecko) Chrome/51.0.2704.103 Safari/537.36

Why might this be a problem? Allow me to direct you towards my earlier post on Drive-By Attacks. Vulnerabilities are often present in specific versions of specific platforms. If an exploit server detects that your particular version of Chrome for Windows (for example) has a known vulnerability, well then prepare to be infected. 

Navigator

Okay, I think we’ve been polite enough, it’s time to rip this packaging open! Ooh what is this inside? It’s an invitation to our browser of course! 

When we send off a request to a web server complete with our IP and User Agent string, the web server will typically respond by sending us a web page to render. These days a web page can be anything from a single HTML file with a few verses from a dead poet, to a fully fledged JavaScript application. To support this development, browsers are exposing more and more functionality/system information through a special JavaScript interface called Navigator.

From MDN,

The Navigator interface represents the state and the identity of the user agent. It allows scripts to query it and to register themselves to carry on some activities.

...to carry on some activities... I wonder. The list of available properties and methods is pretty comprehensive so I’ll just point out a few interesting ones.

getBattery() (have only seen this on chrome)

connection (some details about your network connection)

hardwareConcurrency (for multithreading)

plugins (another important vector for Drive-Bys)

storage (persisted storage available to websites)

clipboard (requires permissions, goodness plz be careful)

doNotTrack (i wonder who checks this...)

vibrate() (because haptic is the only real feedback)

While I’ve got it in mind, here’s a wonderful browser localStorage vulnerability I stumbled across https://github.com/feross/filldisk.com. There’s a 10MB per site limit, but no browser is enforcing this quota across both a.something.com and b.something.com...

I have no idea why Chrome thinks it’s useful to expose your battery status to every website you visit... Personally, the clipboard API feels the most violating. It requires permissions, but once given you’re never asked again. Control/Command + V right now and see what’s on your clipboard. I doubt there’s many web pages that you’d actually want to be able to read your clipboard every time you visit.

Social Media Side Channel / CSRF

Okay, now we’re getting a little cheeky. It’s actually possible to determine if a browser has an authenticated session with a bunch of social media platforms and services.

It’s a well known vulnerability (have a laughcry at some of the socials responses), which abuses the redirect on login functionality we see on many of these platforms, as well as the Same-Origin Policy SOP being relaxed around HTML tags, as we saw was sometimes exploited by Cross Site Request Forgery attacks.

Consider this lovely image tag.

<img src="https://www.facebook.com/login.php?next=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.facebook.com%2Ffavicon.ico%3F_rdr%3Dp">

As you can see, the image source (at least originally) doesn’t point to an image at all, but rather the Facebook login page. Thanks to SOP, we wouldn’t and shouldn’t be able to send an AJAX request to this website and see the response. But this HTML image tag is going to fire off a GET request for it’s source no problem. 

Thanks to redirect on login, if a user rocks up to the login page with the correct session cookies then we won’t have them login again, but rather we redirect them to their newsfeed; or, as it turns out, whatever the URL parameter next points to. What if we point it to an actual image, say the website icon, such that the HTML image tag loads if we are redirected, and fails if not.

Simple but effective. You can try it for yourself here, by opening my codepen in your browser when you’re signed in to Facebook, and when you’re signed out (or just use Incognito).

Fingerprint Me v1.0

Okay, time for a demonstration. I took the liberty of writing my own web page that pulls all this data together, and rather than store it for a rainy day (like every other page on the web),  I present it to the user on a little web dashboard. It’s like a mirror for your browser. And who doesn’t like to check themselves out in the mirror from time to time 🙃

Random technical content: I had to fetch the geolocation data server-side to protect my API key from the client, then I sneak it back into the static HTML web page I’m serving to the user by setting it on the window variable in some inline script tags.

I bust out some React experience, and have something looking pretty (pretty scary I hope) in some nondescript amount of time (time knows no sink like frontend webdev). I rub my hands together grinning to myself, and send it off to some friends.

“Very scary”. I can see straight through the thin veil of their encouragement and instead read “Yeaaaah okay”. One of them admits that they actually missed the point when they first looked at it. But.. but... nevermind. It’s clearly not having the intended effect. These guys are pretty Internet savvy, but I feel like this should be disconcerting for even the most well seasoned web user... 

Like that moment you lock eyes with yourself in the mirror after forgetting to shave a few days in a row.

Fingerprint Me v2.0

An inspired moment follows. I trace it back to the week ?7 activity class on privacy:

It is very hard to make a case for privacy. What is the inherent value of privacy? Why shouldn’t the government have our data, we give it to a million services everyday anyway, and receive a wealth of benefits for it. Go on, have it. I wasn’t using it for anything anyway. 

It is very easy to make a case for privacy, if there is any sense that someone malicious is involved. As soon as there is someone who would wish us ill it becomes obvious that there are things that the less they know the better. 

<Enter great The Art of War quote here.>

~ Sun Tzu

Therein lies the solution. I need to make the user feel victimised. And what better to do it than a green on black terminal with someone that calls themselves a hacker rooting your machine.

DO CLICK THIS LINK (it’s very safe, I promise) https://fingerprintme.herokuapp.com

Some more random technical content: Programming this quite synchronous behaviour in the very async-centric JavaScript was quite a pain. It was particularly tricky to get around the fact that React renders it’s component hierarchy top down, so I needed the parent components to mount empty in order for them to be correctly populated with child components later. It was also a pain to access and render child components conditionally, especially if you want to have sets of child components in different files, as though they aren’t ultimately nested in the DOM, React will treat them as if they are.

Some User Reviews:

“It feels like I should shut the window”

“This is SO RUDE”

“Battery level. I mean. Literally. How.”

Excellent.

Recommendations

Know what’s in your present, and who you’re gifting it to 🎁

To protect your IP address/location consider using a VPN or ToR

Check out NoScript, a browser plugin that will block JavaScript by default, but allow you to enable it for trusted sites.

Check out and share https://fingerprintme.herokuapp.com 😉

[ominousdan]

Till Death Do Us Part

Summary: Dan has countless near death experiences throughout his life and Phil, or Grim Reaper D2417, is stuck with a client who can’t seem to die. After so many run ins with each other throughout the course of Dan’s dangerous life, they form a forbidden connection between human and AfterLife employee. 

warnings: death (not in great detail, guaranteed happy ending), smut 

word count: 9.7K

Phanart that @starsthatshine13 made! 

You could never hear him coming. He moved like a feather dancing in the wind, being swept off his feet with each breeze that blew his way. He never made a sound when he walked. The pitter-patter of toes along hard wood, the clacking of dress shoes along a stone hallway, the angry stomps that could shake a house -- it was never him. You could put him on a piano and he could stride along the keys without resonating a single note. That's how he snuck his way into everyone's lives, that's how he snuck his way into Dan Howell’s, unheard and unnoticed. His body frail, his hair black gossamer, his eyes as deep as the drowning sea. He was the poison in everyone’s veins, waiting to be enacted. To die in his hands was surely a heavenly way to die, but Dan refused to let him have his way. Even if he didn’t know he was fighting it in the first place.

It had all begun when Dan was a mere toddler. His mum had left him sitting on the living room floor with one of those little race car toys. The bright blue metal vehicle zoomed back and forth between his chubby legs. Curiosity swept over his tiny mind, like it does, and he crawled his way over to the diminutive holes in the wall with secret electricity brewing behind them. Dan’s infancy disabled him from seeing the consequences of his actions, so when that baby stuck a piece of his toy in the socket, he didn’t know a shock would pass through his entire body, rendering him unconscious. The poor boy could taste metal in his drooling mouth. He could hear his mum screaming his name repeatedly, as his eyes drifted to a close.

Dan awoke from his coma-like state while in the ambulance on the way to the local hospital. His mum was holding his right hand and to his left were three paramedics. Two of them were working diligently to keep track of Dan’s vital signs but the third one was acting...

. He stood the farthest away from Dan, seemingly minding his own business when he should be minding the high voltaging baby on the stretcher. His aura was dark and lingering. His expression showed that he was bored as if he’d been in the same situation a thousand times before. Dan’s beedy eyes met with his and he smiled at him. Those lips, that grin, the pure blackness that encompassed the mysterious being was Dan’s first memory of him. It was the first file in a very extensive folder of moments in his life where the same man would make an appearance.

He was supposed to die that day. The doctors claimed his body wouldn’t have been able to undergo a shock of that caliber. And yet, it did. His mum called him her

, and would always remind Dan that he had someone watching over him. And he knew that was true because he saw the same mysterious man many times after that first incident, though he never put two and two together until well into adulthood. Except this person was no guarding angel, in fact, he was far from it.

His second near death experience occurred a good couple years following the first. He was ten years old and didn’t have many friends. He didn’t know what it was about him that made everyone in primary school seem to have a shared seething hatred for Dan, though he didn't feel like finding out what it was because that meant interacting with them.  

Earlier in one of his dreaded classes -- biology, to be exact -- they were conducting an experiment that involved several mixtures of microscopic organisms. Dan was walking passed Steven’s desk and didn’t see the boy’s extended foot that Dan soon tripped over. He lurched forward, falling to the ground, and dropping the test tubes in the process. To Dan’s dismay, the organic substances found themselves a landing target on Dylan’s shirt. Dan looked up to meet the fiery eyes of the kid who had had it out for Dan since the beginning of the school year. Dylan was a foot taller than Dan and a year older too, due to the fact that he’d repeated 4th grade. His fists were clenched, and his scowling face had microorganisms spread across it. Dylan’s friend, Steven, was curling over with laughter, joyful tears brimming in his eyes. Technically, it was Steven’s fault, but Dan knew that wasn’t going to stop Dylan from taking it out on him.

Which is why he was in the position he was currently in.

It was like any other day. Dan was walking home from school, taking his usual route that allowed him to avoid the public. He trekked behind the school, through the borough of trees that encircled the train tracks, the path leading him right to his backyard. This way he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew because everyone he knew didn’t like him.

Except today, he knew someone was following him. With every crunch of a leaf, every snap of a twig he heard behind him, Dan’s ears felt like they would begin to bleed. He shivered at the thought of being pulverized in such a secluded area where no one could hear him scream for help.

he repeated in his head,

. He stared straight in front of him, determined to get home as fast as he could, when he noticed a rustling across the train tracks. Out from between the bushes emerged Steven. Dan quickly turned around, only to be met with two other boys; Dylan and someone he didn’t recognize, both scary nonetheless.  

“Where do you think you’re going,

?” Dylan exclaimed, making Steven giggle at the childish name. The hooded stranger didn’t even crack a smile, or a glance for that matter. He stared down at his foot kicking a rock from side to side as if he was bored. He was dressed in black from head to toe and his even blacker hair was poking out from under the hood of his sweatshirt.

Dylan and Steven approached Dan from either side of him, forcing Dan to stay in between the  two. He attempted to run up the tracks, away from the bullies, but then more kids from school who were apart of Dylan’s posse made themselves known. Dan was outnumbered, five to one. All of them, except the emo looking one, surrounded him. They each took a turn hitting Dan, causing him to fall toward another boy who just hit him again. Dan was flying from fist to fist, each blow in a different spot. Dylan, a punch to the face. Steven, a fistful in his gut. Tommy, a crack to his ribs. Jonathan, a heel to the groin. Dan’s vision blurred and his whole body ached, he didn't know which part of him to hold onto so he just fell to the ground. He laid there in a fetal position, trying to make himself as small as possible. But they continued to kick him and laugh even as he spit out blood and coiled within himself.

He was slowing drifting away, becoming so numb it didn’t even feel like he was being pulverized anymore. But then he became aware that he actually wasn’t. He glanced around, seeing the boys far away from him on either side of the tracks. Some of them were looking at him with wide, worried eyes while others were looking north of the tracks also worriedly. By reading their lips, he could tell they were calling his name but he couldn’t hear them. He couldn't hear anything. Not the birds in the trees, not the wind whistling through branches, not the rumbling of the ground, and definitely not the horn of the train that was headed right at him. When he finally noticed the bright light barreling towards him at a rate he could not comprehend, it was too late for him to even attempt to get up. His head lolled to the side in defeat. Dan took one last look before clenching his eyes to brace himself for Death. The last thing he saw was the hooded stranger, sitting cross legged by his side, right outside of the lines of track, staring down at him. Dan could finally see his face. It was pale, and all his lines were dark and abrupt, like a statue with chiseled edges. His eyes were the real amazement. They looked like someone crystallized the ocean and put the rocks inside this boy’s face. Dan was confused about a lot things, like why was he sitting next to him? And why wasn’t he helping him? But the most baffling question lingering in the back of Dan’s mind: Why was he feeling so calm about dying as he stared into the bluest eyes he’d ever seen?

The train ran over him. Literally ran right over his body but did not scathe him in the slightest. Because of the position Dan was in, there was enough space between the ground and the bottom of the train for Dan to lay perfectly still and not be harmed. Dan couldn’t even breathe while under the vehicle for if his lungs were to expand, they would have been taken off. Dan stared with bewildered eyes at the bottom of the train, watching it pass him so rapidly it looked like a gray cloud, all the pieces of metal blurring together in one fast motion. As the caboose finished passing over Dan, he shakily stood upright. He looked into his shaking palms in amazement, and started to laugh. Actual, full on, cackling. His body rolled with laughter, ignoring all the pain. He fell onto his back, panting and smiling and screaming into the air. He was alive.

. And that was all that mattered. Not the bullies who scrambled away in terror at the freak who thought this was the funniest things that’d ever happened to him. Not the mysterious stranger with eyes that captured the sky who became even more mysterious when he vanished. None of it mattered because he was a walking fucking miracle.

-----

Dan’s teen years were filled with no inhibitions. Ever since he was almost run over by a train he stopped caring about what other people thought about him. And you’d think that would have improved his life significantly, but things unfolded quite oppositely. Apparently not giving a fuck meant allowing your life to unfold while having no emotional reaction to whatever may come of it. He found himself without friends once again, because he never made an effort to keep anyone around. His grades were slipping because who cared what his teachers thought, or his parents for that matter? He didn’t even care what he looked like. He’d come to school in the pajamas he wore the night before because who was he trying to impress?

However, Dan

built himself a reputation. His stoic appearance and fuck-whoever-looks-at-me-wrong attitude made him somewhat popular among the student body. Being bullied throughout his childhood made Dan immune to it now. No reaction meant no entertainment and kids like Dylan and Steven gave up and sought out new targets. Dan was always invited to the big parties where high school students across five different neighborhoods would gather and drink their weight and get too high to come back down. And Dan was a sucker for substances that allowed him to leave his body and escape from the dreary life he had created for himself. But tonight was different. Tonight he didn’t simply want to drift away; he wanted to fly.

Tonight the air felt thicker, harder to take in and digest. Dan’s numbness was consuming him lately, to the point where if someone stabbed him with a knife, he would just keep walking with the handle protruding out of his body. “Don’t feel, don’t care” was no longer a command he repeated to himself, it was a way of being. But after so long, Dan felt bored. He wanted pain and hurt and happiness and wanting, but now it didn’t come naturally to him. So he had other means of bringing on such things.

Dan sauntered into Brandy Meldane’s luxurious house that took up half the block. Because Brandy’s parents were always on work excursions, this was the usual spot. She had enough space for a small village to live in it and enough money to repair any post-party damages and enough freedom to do whatever she pleased. The house lights were dim but strobe lights of an array of colors were flashing in every which way. Someone was going to have a seizure. The house was consumed in a cloud of smoke, reeking of pot, and if someone in the crowd didn’t have bloodshot eyes, they had a beer in their hand. It was a teenage wasteland and Dan loved getting lost in it.

Brandy, who had had a thing for Dan since primary school, skipped over to him in her red, velvet miniskirt and tanktop that couldn’t contain her breasts. “Here, Danny, drink up!” She handed him a red cup with a clear liquid that smelt like biodiesel, so Dan chugged it down without hesitation. It stung his tongue, burned his throat, then lit a fire inside his chest. And it was the best kind of pain he’d ever experienced. He craved more and Brandy was more than happy to provide for those needs. Drink after drink, they kept coming, and Dan consumed every last drop. Soon, he decided that red solo cups could no longer hold the amount of alcohol Dan wanted- needed. 

He decided to grab an untouched bottle from Brandy’s home bar. Zyr Russian Vodka, the label read. But the label could have read ‘POISON’ and he would have gulped it down regardless.  

Everybody in this house of fog seemed like a completely different species from Dan and he believed that’s why they kept him around: to observe him like a creature in a zoo. He had a black cloud around him, looming over his every move, metaphorically and literally. For ages now there has been this moribund aura surrounding Dan, one that everyone felt in the same way dogs could sense a hurricane approaching.

Dan couldn’t tell what it was, he just knew he was doomed. He was the type of person to get struck by lightning then come back to school the next day only to be hit by a meteor. Dan was always stuck in a state of almost dying -- the walking soon-to-be dead. The crowd that lingered around his ominous presence wanted to witness the damned miracle that was Daniel Howell in the same way people couldn’t help staring into a solar eclipse despite the risk of blindness. This calamitous cloud became stronger whenever Dan was in danger. Like how it was right now. Today it was massive, black, and consuming. It was dark matter.

Dan chugged his Russian vodka and it slid down his throat like molten lava with no viscosity. He was nearing the bottom of the bottle and started to feel naked, in a way where he couldn’t feel his clothes anymore, and then couldn’t feel his skin. He felt himself slipping in between realities. In one moment he was in his head, and then in the next he was in Brandy Meldane’s house. Desperately drunk and hopelessly lonely Brandy Meldane, but Dan was a hypocrite.

He was slumped on a hideous chair that was probably more expensive than his own life and Brandy was sitting on his lap. Her tits were practically morphing with Dan’s hands and if he kept groping her his fingers were going to get stuck. He kept his hands there anyway. Brandy’s mouth was plastered to Dan’s, the kiss messy and wet. Brandy seemed to be enjoying herself but Dan kept his eyes open. He couldn’t help but stare at the boy leaning against the wall across from them.

The boy was dressed in black (or possibly navy), a hood pulled over his low hanging head. He had one foot resting on the wall behind him as he stared at his fingernails absentmindedly like he was bored. He was balancing himself with one leg planted on the ground so he was clearly not as intoxicated like everyone else.

Of course he’d be bored, Dan thought. The mysteriously sober boy finally met Dan’s eyes and it was like he was punched in the face. Blue. His eyes were so blue Dan wouldn’t be surprised that, if he got close enough, he would be able see waves crashing in them. Dan wanted to be close enough.

He suddenly remember his hands were up someone’s shirt and his tongue haphazardly moving inside their mouth. He untangled himself from Brandy, lifting her to the side, and ignored her protests as he got up. Dan moved towards the stranger, the dark matter growing, and he leaned into him.

“Come,” Dan whispered, before moving towards the back of the house as the stranger complied. Dan slid open the door to the back patio where no one else seemed to be lurking. He waited for the hooded boy before closing the door shut behind them. Dan grabbed his hand, wincing at how cold it was, and pulled him to the side, pushing him into the siding of the house. Dan slid a hand in between the boy’s hood and his hair and pushed the article of clothing down to his neck. His hair was an inky black, the kind of black that shined blue in fluorescent lighting.

He was still staring down, his fringe blocking the eyes Dan so desperately wanted to see again. He lifted his head by grabbing his chin and raised it. Dan was right. There were tsunamis in his eyes ready to crash into Dan and drown him.

And then Dan was kissing him.

He was kissing him and it felt like it was the first time he’d ever kissed anyone.It stung his tongue, burned his throat, then lit a fire inside his chest. It felt better than any drug he’d ever had. Just kissing this boy felt better than all the kinds of sex he could ever have with Brandy. The boy’s hands were dancing on Dan’s naked back where his shirt had risen up. His hands were cold -- so cold it was hot enough to burn his skin, the same effect as dry ice. Dan’s arms were slung around his neck and he was pressing his entire body up against his, deepening the kiss as much as he could before he was swallowed whole. Dan realized he liked kissing boys better than girls because there were no boobs in the way, he could hold him closer. So much fucking closer.

The boy pushed Dan away and stared at him, wide-eyed, as if he was doing something he wasn’t supposed to do. Right when Dan’s lips parted from his, all his drunkenness ran him over like a freight train. “I rec..o..nize… you,”  Dan slurred, remembering flashes of blue from pasts too far away to pinpoint, but remembered nonetheless.

“No you don’t.” He said this factually, his voice stern but face still nervous. Dan ignored him, confident in his distant memory of this boy.

“Wutz..yer...naaame?” Dan attempted to ask, keeping one hand on the boy’s shoulder and another on his own stomach because it ached and he could feel it twisting around, something within his gut pushing itself up.

“Don’t have one.” He said nonchalantly, and maybe Dan was too drunk to understand or maybe he didn’t ask the question right. He couldn’t remember what he even said. “But some of my colleagues call me Phil.” So he did ask what he thought he did but he still couldn’t make any sense of his answer. Dan didn’t have the capacity to evaluate the conversation because he was too busy trying not to vomit.

His efforts were fruitless. He spewed the contents of his stomach onto the deck he was standing on, changing the stainless, white wood to chartreuse. Dan figured he just needed to get the alcohol out of system and then he’d be ready to pop a mint in his mouth and continue where he’d left off with the boy possibly named Phil, but he coiled over and vomited again. And again. And again. At some point he couldn't stand anymore and threw up while sitting down which resulted in vodka mixed with stomach acid getting all over him. His throat was so raw and his entire body was exhausted from the violent hurling. He couldn’t see properly anymore and could feel himself shutting down completely.   

Phil was just standing there, looking at him with a blank expression as Dan choked on his own vomit. “Help. Me,” Dan muttered with a scratchy whisper in between heaves.

“I’m not permitted to do that.” He spoke solemnly, sitting down on the railing. “My job comes after.”

“After-” Dan wiped some residue off his mouth with the back of his sleeve, “-what?”

“After you die.” And then everything went dark

------

Dan woke up in a white room, so white, he swore the walls were glowing. He was in an equally white bed, wearing an equally white gown, with an IV drip attached to the inside of his arm. He awoke to the sound of monotonous beeping from the machine beside him and water droplets falling within the pouch hanging above him. Dan pressed the red button on the side of his bed that called for an attendant and within the minute a middle aged woman in a doctor’s coat entered his room. “Hello Daniel, I’m Dr. Warren.” She greeted gingerly, shuffling over to his bed, clipboard in hand.

“Why am I here?” Dan inquired bluntly, confusion affecting his manners. The doctor smiled regardless.

“You had your stomach pumped, young man!” Dr. Warren's tone was still chipper despite the news she was delivering, “You suffered from an extreme case of alcohol poisoning. You could have died if someone hadn’t brought you in when they did.” She shook her head sadly at the thought.

“Who brought me in?” Dan desperately tried to remember what had happened the previous night but kept drawing a blank. His eyebrows were scrunched in bewilderment, the gap between them disappearing.  

“Ms. Meldane. She stayed here throughout the procedure and spent the night in the waiting room. Would you like me to send her in?” Dan continued to file through blurry memories but nodded, hoping Brandy could put the puzzle together for him.

The doctor left and didn’t come back, but in her place, Brandy stood. She was wearing a stained red skirt and the worn grey hoodie she kept in her car. Her cheeks were stained with streams of black from her mascara. Her lips were red, as was the area around her mouth, like she’d tried to wipe it off but instead just smeared it everywhere. She was trembling and her eyes were bloodshot. Dan looked up to meet her stare and the corners of his mouth quirked up. Brandy flew into his arms and he wrapped them around her, pulling her close and basking in the familiarity. “I thought I found you dead, Dan. I thought you died in my fucking backyard.” She cried into his chest, her balled up fists shakily hitting him. Flashbacks of Brandy’s house party began to come back in waves.

“I’m sorry, Dee. I’m sorry.” Dan leaned his forehead against hers and kissed the top of it. She was his best and only friend after all. And a good one at that seeing as she’d saved his life and all, silly crushes and drunken hookups aside. Suddenly Dan remembered something. Something blue. “When you, uh, found me outside, was there anyone else there?”

Brandy pushed herself up and sniffled. She thought for a moment but shook her head no. Dan brushed off the fleeting recollection.

-----------

Phil has lived a total of 57 lives, reincarnated into a different human over and over again (except that one time he was a dog in the 17th century). Once you’ve completed certain requirements throughout your lives, a soul is then eligible for a higher-up position. For instance, you need to have saved a life, made a beneficial long lasting difference, discovered something new, and many more things along those lines. Phil had completed enough of these to apply for ‘Afterlife Employment.’

There were a large variety of positions to register as. Sorters were people who placed souls into new lives after dying in a previous one. Determinators decided whether a soul was worthy enough to experience another life or whether they’d done something so heinous that it results in them being banished to “Hell,” if you will. There were the Creators who generated biological matter, making the bodies a soul could inhabit. And then there were Reapers, like Phil, who collected souls whose earthly figures had died and brought them to headquarters to be dealt with by the other employees.

Mr. G was the head of the entire AfterLife department. He hired them, fired them, and gave them orders to follow. On Earth, you were given names by your guardians, but the staff had only Mr. G to be named by. The G man had called Phil by this name on his first day and he had been referred to as such ever since.

The thing with reaper D2417, or “Phil”, according to his humanitarian boss, was that he had it tough. Tougher than anyone else in the office and everybody knew it. Poor, pitiful Phil, stuck with a client who can’t seem to die.

Daniel Howell was a fluke, a glitch. Phil had been assigned to take his life when he was supposed to die in ‘93, yet here he was 24 years later still waiting to collect his soul. The kid would be teetering on the edge of death when out of nowhere the universe would decide to save him, leaving Phil to report back to base empty handed.

There was a certain degree of power that came with each job here at Afterlife. For instance, Phil would get a list of names in the area he had jurisdiction over. Each name was put in order of time of death and glowed red when it was time to collect their soul. Phil simply had to touch the illuminated name and it teleported him to the exact location of the soon-to-be-deceased. Since Phil didn’t have a body, per se, he could shapeshift into someone that blended into the environment he got sent to, always with the same basic features that he could manipulate according to age and attire. He could also manipulate the memories of those around him, making it so they didn’t think of Phil as a stranger who’d just appeared out of thin air. Earthlings looked at Phil and were forced to recognize him as a friend, a coworker, a neighbor -- whatever the situation required.

But Daniel Howell, whose name was always glowing red at the top of the list, had a non manipulable mind. He always saw Phil as a stranger. Except, just recently he had recognized him, though not in the way Phil would’ve liked. The stubborn boy had started to remember moments where Phil had tried to take his soul but was inevitably unsuccessful. Daniel was getting closer and closer to putting the puzzle with together every day he was still breathing (which was a huge violation and could get Phil fired and who knew how many lives he’d have to live again before getting a chance at another job).

Still, no matter how irritating Daniel Howell was, it was undeniable how attracted Phil was to him during his most recent visitation. Throughout the years, Phil had seen Daniel as a work case, a file in a cabinet, a difficult task. He was always categorized as something that wasn’t worth feeling over.

Like most AfterLife employees, he didn’t pay humans much mind -- they were seen as potential future workers to contribute to this whole cog. No one cared about one another after they were aware of the system behind their meaningless lives on Earth. You fall in love and in hate and die and realize that none of it mattered because now you’re off to do it all over again. And again. And again. But there was something about that nuisance of a teenager at that party that’d switched something within Phil’s head, or lifted a veil of sorts that made him view Dan in a different way.

Maybe it’d been the alcohol or the cannabis in the air -- not that any of it could physically affect Phil -- but the energy was hypnotizing. Phil couldn’t help but keep a watchful eye on his target. And who was going to stop his target from returning that gaze? It wasn’t like Phil could have possibly halted said target from advancing towards him. And in Phil’s defense, who could’ve said no to those flushed, pink lips being pulled between teeth? And those rich, hazel eyes that had born into Phil like he wasn’t something to be kissed, but something to be devoured?

And Phil hadn’t thought that that blonde ditz could have had the capacity to come to Dan’s rescue! So yes, introducing himself had seemed harmless -- the kid was dying right in front of him, mere seconds away from choking on his own vomit! Although, Phil was an idiot for not seeing this coming. At this point he was convinced Dan was immortal.

The problem with the current circumstances between reaper and client relationship had left Phil in a sticky situation. The night sky was dark enough to convince a seeing man of being blind. The only semblance of light reigned from the street lamps looming above the handful of people reckless enough to be roaming the dangerous paths of London this late in the night. Of course of those people was Daniel Howell, once again making an appearance at the top of Reaper D2417’s list.

It had been a few years since their last encounter. Dan was now 24 years old and a lawyer at a reputable firm, resulting in long shifts of infinite paperwork that sometimes left Dan tiredly stumbling home to his flat a 12 AM on a Thursday night.

Phil crossed his fingers in the hopes that their last meeting had been forgotten. Still, only a fool would be able brush over something as traumatic as making out with someone who told you you were going to die as you commenced to nearly die.

Phil never got a cause of death summary, he just knew who was going to die and when. He followed closely behind Dan, curious as to what was going to happen. Maybe a meteor was going to fall from the sky and crush him. Or maybe a gang of cats would come out of nowhere and maul him to death.

Among these hypotheses in his head, Phil couldn’t help but appreciate the way Dan’s pants clung to his ass like they were painted on. Or the way his hips swayed back and forth like they were begging Phil’s hands to grab them and bury his nails into his bare skin. Or the way Dan admired the city like it was a dream, that glimmer in his eye and the slightest grin of wonderment pulling Phil in deeper. Phil’s heart began to race for two reasons, both not any better than the other. The first reason being that Dan was beautiful and Phil missed him. How was that even possible? They’d kissed once and barely had a conversation, and yet here Phil was, yearning pathetically. The second reason was that soon Dan was going to die and for the first time in his career, Phil didn’t want that to happen. Strange.

Out of the corner of his eye, Phil saw a figure -- tall, dark, and brooding. Upon closer inspection it appeared to be a man, possibly homeless. He was wearing worn, scuffed clothes and his facial hair was absurdly unkempt. The man wore a crooked smile that radiated hostile energy. Aside from the distant sound of sirens, slight patterned noises erupted in the night. Slice, click, slice, click. The reflection of the street lamp glimmered on the silver blade of this man’s pocket knife. He flicked it open and the sharp blade whipped through the air. Slice. With his middle finger he tucked the blade back into the handle. Click. He continued this as Dan walked closer to where he was standing. Why isn’t he crossing the street? Why THE FUCK is he not crossing the street?

Some people get murdered. That's just a fact. The greatest power a human has is the ability to create and destroy life itself and sometimes the urge to execute that power is too overwhelming to ignore. Phil knew this. He went through hours and hours of unemotional training. Seminar after seminar on how to resist feelings of empathy and mourning. Being a reaper required one to be void of emotional understanding. Phil had seen countless, brutal murders and felt absolutely nothing. But this wasn’t a field assignment about to be stabbed to death, it was Dan

A few more steps, a couple inches to go, and Dan would be right beside this maniac. The haggard man bounced off the building he was leaning on, pulled his hood further down his face, and left his blade out. Slice. Phil squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the piercing scream of tortuous pain, but all that followed was a gasp.

Phil opened his eyes and saw the blade pressed threateningly against Dan’s neck with the filthy hand of that man cupping his mouth. His lips were brushing against Dan’s ear, whispering something Phil could barely make out: “Follow me and maybe you won’t die tonight.”

The man dragged Dan by the jaw into the nearest alleyway and behind a dumpster, Phil trailing behind with trepidation. The man’s hands were traveling all over Dan’s trembling body as he emitted grunts and moans of pleasure. His knife traveled down to Dan’s groin, the point of the blade malevolently dancing along the imprint of his dick from under his slacks. “This is mine tonight,” he grunted behind grotesque chuckles, “and this,” his hands gripped Dan’s ass and pushed him against the side of the dumpster so that his back was facing the homeless guy’s front. Hushed whimpers poured from Dan as he felt the knife dig hard enough into his back to most likely draw blood. The reality of the situation didn’t sink in until the predator took his greasy cock out from his unzipped jeans.

“Nope nope nope nope.” Phil had had enough. He transformed into a form he knew would intimidate and terrify the rapist. He lifted himself onto the dumpster in the most demonic manifestation he could muster. His skin grew black feathers, long with rigid edges covering his face and body. Wings sprouted from his back. Not majestic, beautiful wings but broken, crooked appendages that flapped in the air menacingly. The whirlwind they created sparked the attention of the two men from below. Phil’s eyes were glowing bright yellow like the tips of fire and his pupils were the narrowest of black slits as they were bored into the soul of the criminal. Phil could see this man’s worst nightmares, his past life trauma, his dreams. Every secret he could possibly have was not a secret under Phil’s gaze.

“Harold,” Phil said warningly after learning the man’s name along with just about everything else about him.“I’m not happy with this behavior, Harold,” he said lowly, imitating the voice of Harold’s abusive father. His father was what he’d been running away from as a teenager, and now here he was, homeless with his dick in his hand and his knife on the ground.

Phil’s neck extended 10 feet longer, like a jack-in-the-box clown, so his ink blot lips were fluttering over the man’s cheek, “You know what happens when you upset me. Right, Harold?” The man’s face went completely pale. Dan could hear the man's heartbeat increase rapidly and his breathing go shallow. Shivers ran up Harold’s spine and his eyes glossed over in disbelief and unadulterated fear. Phil leaped off his perch and before he hit the ground, he transformed back to his natural state. There was only a millimeter of distance between Phil’s and this despicable man's nose. “Run.”

And he did.

-----------

Dan stared at this thing in disbelief. A giant bird-monster-demon ass thing came out of nowhere and yelled all this weird shit at this criminal who nearly raped and killed him. So maybe saving his life deemed this creature not a monster. But maybe he just made his competition go away so it could eat Dan while he was fresh.

“That was a close one, huh?” The misshapen, terrifying bird-man, was now a normal appearing human. Black pants and a matching hoodie cascading a shadow onto his face. He could barely compensate what his company even said because his mind had reverted back to the situation he needed to be saved by. He could still feel the touch of the rusted blade pressing against his groin; the taste of the dirt on the man’s hand gripping his jaw; the cold metal of the dumpster he was pressed against; the hot, humid breath of disgusting whispers forcing their way into his ear. Dan was shaking, hyperventilating, and reaching out for something to catch his balance on as his vision dissipated. The being of some kind caught him before he fell and gripped him securely. Dan realized that for the second time that night, a stranger was unexpectedly touching him. “Let go! Get the fuck off of me!” Dan punched at his chest vigorously and tears began to fall involuntarily, the shaking not only continued but hastened like volts of anxiety charging through his body. The man didn’t let go, he knelt down on the floor, pressing Dan closer to his chest.

“It’s okay, I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you. I’m not going to hurt you, I promise.” This person whispered into Dan’s ear but it didn’t feel like the whispers of the creep from before. His cold breath was as soothing as magic or really strong narcotics. Dan drastically relaxed, his breathing becoming less shallow. The two stayed like this until dusk’s fog veiled the Earth, twilight was approaching but not quite yet because the dark continued to showcase its persistence. Dan finally felt composed and with that, embarrassed. With rouge cheeks he looked up at his savior. His face was still covered with a peculiarly strong shadow created by his hood as if it was a black hole that swallowed light. He looked like the drawings that partnered with stories of the grim reaper. A faceless figure with long, pale fingers wearing a long black robe, all this guy was missing was a scythe. Dan lifted a hand and slithered it into the space between the hood and the top of his head. Dan combed his fingers through the silky hair that sat atop the man’s head and moved his hand all the way to the back of his neck, effectively pushing his hood off.

Dan was finally able to view this face he thought would be terrifying, demonic, unfamiliar. All adjectives that could not be applied in this situation. His face was very pale, like Dan figured, but his lines were not gentle, they were abrupt and sharp. His lips were naturally mauve, like he was always cold but his skin was bereft of goosebumps. He had small, brown freckles almost unnoticeable to the naked eye, they were so minuscule. But once seen you can never unsee them, they decorate his face like constellations in the sky above.

But the most vital aspect of his face, the feature that really tied it all together was his eyes. These fucking eyes affected Dan like when a deer faces headlights. They were so incredibly blue that it seemed as if this specific shade couldn’t possibly exist anywhere else. Except Dan has seen this color before, on this specific face, in these same hypnotic eyes. “Who are you?” Dan pressed and the other man just cracked a smile, chuckling breathlessly.

“C’mon, let me take you home,” He said smoothly then awkwardly added, “For, uh, protection.” Dan nodded, returning the smile from before but continued walking with the familiar stranger in apprehension. Dan tried so desperately to delve into his memories and rip one out that starred this guy. They walked side by side through the mucky, city air. The whistling of birds awaking from their nests rang from above them. The man made all the right turns sans Dan’s guidance as if he already knew where his flat was. The knocking of the rock the stranger was kicking along the path seemed booming, every noise enhanced in the awkward silence that consumed them.

They turned the corner, approaching the stairway leading to Dan’s apartment. “So are you going to tell me what your deal is? Because I know I’ve met you before and you just turned into a bird back there. I think I deserve some kind of explanation?” The guy sighed in return, seemingly conflicted. His eyes moved from side to side, he scratched the back of his neck, and groaned irritatingly before nodding.

“Okay, fine, but we have to go inside.” Dan stared blankly at him before reviewing what he just said and hurriedly dug in his coat pocket for his house keys. He fumbled with the cold piece of metal before inserting it into the door handle. It took an embarrassingly amount of turns of the knob before it eventually swung open. Dan stepped inside first, slipping off his loafers. The other guy followed by kicking off his black sneakers revealing black socks- consistent. Going from the frigged outdoors to the contradistinction of the thermal apartment caused Dan’s face to flushed red with warmth. But mystery-man’s face remained pallid. Dan made his way to his grey couch, gingerly placing himself in the sunken crease that perfectly outlined his body. His company stood in front of him, rubbing his temples with his hands, as if preparing what he was going to say.

“I’m D2417,” Dan’s eyebrows stitched together, not knowing what to do with that information, “but some of my colleagues call me Phil.” There’s the trigger word. Dan collapsed in a montage of flashbacks beginning with the party. He heard that exact same introduction before he almost died, in fact, this guy had told him he was going to die that night! Dan remembered how transfixed his drunken self was with this guy’s eyes but he now realized it was because he’s seen them several times before. When he was baby, when he was a boy, a teenager, and now in this very moment. The red string that attached all these pictures together was that each one of these memories involved a near death experience. Oh my God, this guy was trying to kill me all these years, Dan figured. But he hasn’t aged consistently, maybe this guy was Satan. Great, Satan is trying to kill me.

“Why do you want me to die so badly? Who th- WHAT the fuck are you?” Dan began to hyperventilate for the second time today. Each time this guy reappears, the previous worst day of Dan’s life gets triumphed by another.

“No, I don’t-” Phil began but Dan’s panicking cut him off.

“Ohmygodohmygod you didn’t let that guy kill me because you wanted to do it!”  Dan stood to his feet and paced back and forth, trapped inside his own worried thoughts.

“That’s not-”

“Just do it, just get it over with. I don’t want to deal with this again.” Dan stared up at his ceiling, opening his arms wide in defeat and hopeless acceptance. He clenched his eyes tightly, holding back tears, his heart attempting to beat out of his chest.

“Can you shut up?!” and he did, snapping his head in the direction’s Phil. “I’m not trying to kill you! I just want to collect your soul when you die… not that that seems to be happening any time soon.” Phil attempted to explain, but Dan wasn’t at ease.

“So this is like an Angel of Death type thing?”

“Yeah you could say that…”

“Then what ELSE could I say about it? I want more than the shittiest, vaguest explanation a demon can offer.”

“Okay, the d-word is offensive.” Dan rolled his eyes and gestured for Phil to continue with the most pressing matter at hand. He nodded, placing his hands on Dan’s shoulders, pushing him back down on the couch. Phil sat beside him and decided to tell Dan everything, each minute detail of his occupation. He told him about AfterLife, about Mr. G, the other professions. He told him about his powers. To prove himself, Phil morphed into a child, and then an old man, he grew gills, made his hair red, all of which made Dan nauseous. Phil explained the ability of his list and how Dan’s name is continuously glowing red at the top of it. He told him about the first time they met when Dan was an infant, and then second when he was in elementary school. He foreclosed all the information about past lives, about the requirements needed to apply for an AfterLife job.

Everything.

They sat in silence. Dan looked dazed as he endeavored to understand. Phil rapidly tapped his foot against the wooden floor, not making a sound. He clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth distractedly, “Can you say something?”

“You saved my life though. Doesn’t that defeat your purpose?” Dan turned toward the reaper in, once again, utter confusion. But Phil didn’t have a reasonable answer for that one.

“I suppose so…”

“Do you think it was the same reason why you kissed me at that party?” Phil choked on his spit in shock. It wasn’t brought up in the entirety of their extensive conversation, he assumed Dan forgot about it.

“I-I mean, maybe?”

“Okay,” Dan nodded sternly. “So what’s the plan?”

“Wait until the next time you’re supposed to die, and not interfere, I guess.” Dan nodded again, both of them unsure of how Dan felt about the situation. God, how could anyone be able to forget that kiss, Dan reminisced. He turned towards Phil, his knee pressing against his. They both looked at their grazing legs and then up at each other. The eye contact they shared was tense- a good kind of tense like they both knew what each other wanted, but who was going to be the first to break? Dan’s stare shifted down to Phil’s lips, and Phil’s eyes were traveling along Dan’s neck like he was trying to taste his skin with a glance. Dan noticed every subtle movement of Phil’s mouth; how he bit his bottom lip and dragged it between his teeth and when it bounced back into place, the pigmentation was bright red causing his cheeks to adapt the same color.

“Thanks for tonight. Hopefully, next time we see each other I’m old and about to die in my sleep.” Dan chuckled morbidly, still undressing a Grim Reaper with his eyes.

“Mmhm.” Phil said distractedly busying himself in the same fashion.

“Do you...have somewhere else to be?” Dan asked nervously, hoping the question would lead to the conclusion of Phil deciding to stay with him a little while longer (for closure of course, nothing more nothing less).

“Absolutely no where.” He may have had somewhere to be, but definitely didn’t want to be anywhere else.

“Do you maybe want to spend the night? Only because this is a lot to take in an-” Phil grabbed the sides of Daniel’s blubbering face and pressed it against his boarder line violently. He had wanted to do that so desperately for almost 5 years. And it was exactly all it was pent up to be.

Dan reciprocated immediately, moaning into the fast paced kiss. Phil bit Dan’s lip forcing a gasp to escape, which gave Phil the opportunity to slip his tongue inside Dan’s mouth. They explored each other’s mouths so deeply, each taste bud rubbed against an identical one on the other’s. Dan wrapped his arms around Phil’s neck and leaned back on the couch so that his company was on top of him. They separated for a quick second so Dan could unzip Phil’s hoodie and Phil could pull his shirt over his head and discard it on the ground. Dan followed suit, the pair of them now able to grip, scratch, and dig at each other’s bare skin. Phil bent his head down to that neck he craved to cause discoloration to. He peppered a trail of delicate pecks from his jaw to his collarbone. Dan sucked in a quick breath through clenched teeth when Phil hit a spot just below his ear, feeling the smirk being pressed against it. Phil began by sucking gently, Dan’s soft skin lifting into his mouth. It escalated to Phil pulling the derma between his teeth, nibbling and then biting. Dan was panting and arching his neck so high it looked straining.

Phil began grinding into Dan and he reciprocated by thrusting upwards, their pelvises adapting into a symbiotic rhythm. Phil moved further down Dan’s body doing what he did to his neck to each nipple until they were pink and puffy. “Phil, please,” Dan huffed, “I’m so hard it hurts.”

“I’ll take care of you, don’t worry,” Phil grinned smugly. He gripped the waistband of Dan’s undone pants and the hem of his underwear and with one swift motion he was now completely naked. His erection sprung free from his constricting clothes and pressed itself against his body. Dan yelped at the drastic motion. Phil didn’t give Dan enough time to think before he grabbed the back of Dan’s thighs and lifted his legs in the air. For a split second, Dan horrifyingly thought that Phil was about to go in raw and dry but was delightfully surprised when he felt a warm, wetness spreading over his tight opening. Phil’s tongue lapped diligently over the area, effectively lathering his spit and lubricating Dan. Phil pushed a dripping finger inside of him, waiting a moment before adding another. And soon Dan was three fingers full and pushing down on Phil’s hand as he curled and twisted his fingers in fluid motion, tickling the surface of Dan’s throbbing prostate.

“That’s enough! Oh my god, please Phil!”

“Please what?” Phil smiled, making eye contact with Dan as he kissed his shaft.

“Fuck,” a scream overcame him as Phil’s middle finger pressed even deeper, “Fuck me, fuck me until I break.” Ceasing any hesitation (because it was killing Phil just as badly), he lined himself up with Dan’s ass, Phil’s pants and boxers slipped down his legs, he shook them until they hit the ground. He pushed himself in slowly, both of them erupting into a chorus of groans and explicites. Phil pulled in and out, leisurely, and gradually picked up his pace. He was thrusting in and out every two seconds, pounding Dan further and further into the couch. Dan threw his arms over his head, holding the armrest behind him in a death grip. Both of them were glowing through their sheens of sweat and Dan broke out into laughter.

“What?” Phil asked breathlessly, looking down at the beautiful boy he had pinned below him.

“Can you manipulate every part of your body?” He inquired cheekily, the glimmer in his eye brighter than any stars gleaming through the windows. Phil couldn't wait to distort that complacent look on his face.

“AHHH! FUCK, PHIL,” Dan felt Phil’s dick grow several inches longer from inside him, ripping impossibly deeper like it was in his stomach. Dan’s entire body started to shake as he helplessly flailed his arms around in search of stability. His mouth was open as if he was screaming but he didn’t even have the strength to conjure a voice. Dan came instantly, getting cum on both himself and Phil. One more deep thrust later and Phil was doing the same.

Dan sat up and pushed Phil down, so their positions were switched. Phil laid on his back, and Dan sprawled himself on Phil’s stomach, Phil wrapping his arms around his precious boy. They laid there, panting, naked, and moist but neither of them made a move to separate. “That last part was just mean.”

Phil couldn’t help but laugh, “I know, I know, I’m sorry,” he pressed a final kiss on his forehead and waited for Dan to fall asleep before slithering out from underneath him. He wiped himself down with some tissues that were near by and dressed himself. He spread his black hoodie on top of Dan’s curled up body, and relished in one last view of this unkillable man before teleporting out of his favorite corner of the world.

----------

It had been several months since Dan woke up alone and naked on his couch. He hadn’t seen Phil since that hectic, terrifying, magical day. Dan shamelessly moped and ate ice cream in a dark, locked room for what seemed like weeks afterwards. He had no way of contacting Phil, all he could do was wait for the next instance he might die. But since he became self aware of his near death experiences, they stopped happening. Dan’s thoughts only consisted of Phil. The memories Dan had of Phil attempting to collect his soul, that he hadn’t even uncovered until recently, became the only memories he seemed to have. He had unfinished business with the reaper. It was devastating to have developed a connection with him only for him to disappear from his life directly afterwards.

But Dan developed a recklessly insane (but creative) idea that might drag Phil to him. He began putting himself in extremely dangerous situations that might lead to his death. Dan walked in the middle of busy streets, along the double yellow lines as oncoming traffic zoomed and honked passed him on either side. He would go to the tubes and stand on the very edge of the tracks, the trains coming close enough to skim his skin. But today he was on the edge of his apartment complex, 10 stories above the ground. He wore the black sweatshirt Phil left behind to protect him from the frigid wind of the heightened atmosphere. Balancing along the foot wide trim of the building, singing toward sky, “C’mon, asshole.”

Dan was about to get back on the roof floor in defeat before he noticed this blackish mist developing in the sky. It became an orb of darkness that germinated until it was large enough for a person to come out of. Phil materialized in the air, sporting his classic, black-feathered wings that kept him afloat. “Okay, Dan, what the actual fuck have you been thinking?” Dan beamed at him, a smile stretching from ear to ear plastered itself on his face. “Are you fucking crazy? Trying to kill yourself? For what? For me!?” Dan was so overwhelmed with joy and pride that his plan had worked out he couldn’t even tell what Phil was saying. “That’s bullshit!” He seemed angry. Cute. “I know that this is all my fault. I shouldn’t have sprung all that on you, had sex with you, and then left. I didn’t even leave a note! Did you want to see me to punch me in the face? I’ll give you a free hit.” Dan shook his head, finally responding to Phil’s spastic rant.

“I just missed you,” Dan offered, “And I don’t know how I feel about you, but I can’t get you out of my head. And I very much want to kiss you right now.” Phil’s face did a complete 180 as an expression of distress morphed to a flustered, happy one. Phil flew closer to the chocolate-eyed human and Dan attempted to take a step away from edge. But he had forgotten it rained the night before. And he had forgotten that he was standing on the slippery, narrow platform of a 100 feet drop. And Dan didn’t remember until he was falling through the air and Phil didn’t think to remind him until he saw his body splattered and broken on the pavement below. “Well, shit.”

---------

“Get up, son,” Dan awoke to a man’s deep, bellowing voice and a blinding white light. His vision focused on a muscular, businessman with luscious brown hair and a perfectly groomed beard.

“Am I dead?” Dan inquired as he sat up, noticing everything else in the room. There were several other professional looking people in a place where the walls seemed as if they were glowing, decorated with file cabinets, desks, and office doors.

“Yep!” The big guy said, “Congratulations you have completed all your Earthly life requirements and can now be promoted to an AfterLife job! I’m M-”

“You’re Mr. G! I’ve, uh, heard about you.” He erupted into a laugh that probably caused an earthquake in California. “Alright, boy, take my hand, I’ve pre-assigned you a position.” Dan shook his hand and a surge of power flooded his body and ran through his veins, like his blood was being replaced with liquid gold.

“What’s happening to me?!” He vibrated vigorously as Mr. G kept a firm grip on his hand.

“I’m giving you the powers of a Reaper. You are now reaper R38L2, or Dan, for short. I can tell you’re fond of that name.” He let go of Dan and magic settled itself within his new feeling body. He was handed a scroll tied prettily with a red bow which Dan assumed was the List. “Now I’ll introduce you to your partner, he’ll show the ropes.” Dan followed him down a winding hallway with beings of all shapes, sizes, and energies. He could feel each of their powers levitating off of them, he could see their auras.

“Danny, this is your reaping partner.” A black figure appeared from behind him with the rarest blue orbs for eyes.

“Hey, babe, wanna get to work?”

[iancsl]

Capstone Final Reflection

Capstone Reflection

For my Capstone project I wanted to look into the technical and creative process of defining an inner world in 3D animation software. Much like major studios such as Pixar, Disney, and Dreamworks, my world would be rendered and rigged to present a certain aesthetic. Unlike these studios however, the content being rendered would end up being more cerebral and abstract in nature; so abstract in fact, that I feel that my original concept of connecting diegetic sound to visuals no longer applies in the same way. Instead, this project became much more about me in my current time of life; no longer a university student but a student of a different kind - lost, excited, bewildered and encouraged to explore the misty unknown.

Throughout this project I learned a tremendous amount of technical knowledge such as culling unseen content, creating workflows between multiple softwares, thinking about physically based renders, and of course the unique mindset needed for rendering all of this. Some of these I had some previous knowledge of, but most I had to learn and utilize on the fly in order to produce results I was happy with, and to (mostly) make deadline.

Despite it being perhaps the most passive skill I learned, dealing with render times completely changed how I worked on this piece. The first couple drafts got me into the software and workspace, but I couldn’t know the scope of the waiting game until I was at least halfway through the project. Realizing that seconds of video correlates to hours if not days of render time was gut wrenching, especially for someone impatient like me. I had to take on a new way of thinking about time; to really slow down and plan as far ahead as I could before proceeding.

This kind of slow pacing is good for someone who really has a plan and knows what they want to accomplish, but not so much if the project is innately experimental. This is an area of my process that I’m admittedly disappointed in. The creative problem that I began to run into as I watched my render times shoot up, was that all of my ideas about what to do next had to halt as the workspace itself became available again. I came to realize that broad experimentation wasn’t a realistic quality of a project of this scope. One of my inspirations going into this was work of ‘everyday-ers’ like Beeple and Zolloc who use C4D to mind blowing effect in a very short amount of time. I thought that I would be able to emulate that timeliness in my own work, but I had to put that thought to rest as I moved on.

Something I now appreciate about this workflow, going along with slower pacing, was the ability to be as granular in detail as I wanted. When I wasn’t trying to make broad strokes in my world building, I was zoomed right up to individual polygons, making the smallest tweaks to fit my vision of a new space. If you have the knowledge behind the tools, there isn’t much holding you back from crafting really anything you want in C4D. It actually reminds me quite a bit of a Max forum post I came across awhile back in which the original poster had asked an admin why Max wasn’t doing something automatically for them. The admin responded with, ‘Max doesn’t do anything automatically, it does exactly what you tell to’. That ideology rings true in C4D, which demanded at times an uncharacteristically deep knowledge of physics and modeling to get what I had thought would have been simple results.

I don’t regret picking modeling/render software for this project, I do regret that the software had been what I decided to experiment in - a decision that forced audio into a place that made it harder to apply. I consider myself to be equal parts visual designer and audio enthusiast and I have a pretty good eye and ear for both, respectively. Saying this pains me a bit because the result of this project doesn’t necessarily reflect that. As stated above, I had originally planned for this piece to be heavily reliant on sound, and while I’m content with the audio I’ve chosen, I feel it doesn’t effuse the complexity I’d have liked. But I’ve rambled too much on the ‘should haves’ and not much on the accomplishments of the piece, which are there some, despite how I’ve colored it so far.

My audio inspirations have come from artists such as Martin Stig Andersen of Playdead Studios, Vangelis of Blade Runner fame, and the producer Loscil. Grandiose spaces, ambiguity and mystery, suggestion of something more. All of these are characteristics of the work done by these composers. This feeling comes across in my piece, delivering both melodic and atonal sound drenched in reverb to provide scale and space. Delay, reverb and echo are all audio effects that are calculated based on real spaces, making their presence invaluable in convincing the viewer that this world is believable.

While these audio effects push the idea of scale without needing to see anything, it certainly helps to have visuals push that idea even further. Simon Stålenhag, Carl Burton and the visual artists of Inside and Limbo at Playdead Studios are visionaries when it comes to blanketing the world in mystery. The visual equivalent of reverb to me is fog, mist and other dense atmospheres, all of which are used by the stated artists and myself, to simultaneously direct attention and suggest isolation. Isolation is an important part of my piece, represented by the subtle nods to a decaying humanity in the buildings scattered about the world.

Despite this feeling of isolation, walls of soft light in the distance also hint that there is more to see in this world. The fact that the viewer can rarely make out what’s ahead however, blurs whether or not one should feel intrigued or afraid. The shifting landscapes mesmerize with the use of subtle movement by both the camera and background.

The piece ended up as more than a depiction of my mental space, it’s really a visualization of thought process and while cliche, a coming of age narrative. This is quite revelatory mainly because that wasn’t the initial goal of the project. It only comes to me now, that never before have I created something so raw in its representation of my current state of being. The fact that I’m only now beginning to pull the meaning out of this piece is fascinating and disturbing - fascinating because there is a creative fire in me that burns even when I’m not thinking about it, disturbing because I’m far more overtly vulnerable than I thought. Perhaps this is a good this though.

[acoolguyscoollife]

Chapter 32: The Grid

The next two days were, to put it simply, busy as hell. Tabitha was closing in on Uchen’s location, and while we hoped we were wrong, it definitely seemed like we were going to fight, which meant training. I didn’t mind too much, finding that sinking my time into what I was doing helped keep my mind from other issues, but I could tell that people were getting as tired as I was, and had no reason to push themselves further like I did. I felt especially bad for Amy and Aki, who were the ones that were training with me constantly. 

Seth and Tabitha only came in when there were short periods of downtime between the computer doing… something I wasn’t aware of. Aki, however, was forcing herself to fight on the same level as I was, challenging me at every chance she got. I wasn’t stupid enough to go easy on her, because if she thought she was already on a similar experience level as I was, she would end up being reckless and it could get her hurt. I tried not to pull my punches too much, but there are only so many ways you can fight with a sword without actually severing any limbs or stabbing them. Amy posed more of a challenge, with the two of us pretty much hitting an even level of exhaustion when we duelled, only stopping because if we tried to fight harder, there would end up being more than just basic injuries. By the end of the second day, however, Aki had gotten a lot more improved, only having slight flaws in her fighting style that seemed more like flukes than anything else. When she challenged me to another duel, once again with no holds barred, I could tell that something was different. Sure enough, I hadn’t been as prepared as I should have been, and almost got my ass kicked for it. However, at crucial points, her attacks were slower than they could have been, so knocking her down was an opening quickly given to me. It was only when she used one of my signature moves against me that things began to click. Her foot connecting with my groin, knocking the wind out of me and causing me to cry out in pain, made the gears in my head turn. The slower movements, where she had been as agile as the cat that most of her appearance and mannerisms seemed to come from, were because of tiredness, more than usual. And while I didn’t have a patent on groin-kicks, the way she had let herself fall onto her back, and how she had been fighting leading up to that, made it clear that she had chosen to mimic me, presumably with the recording of us training. The sheer number of cameras in this place was insane. With her having taken me down, and with my own move no less, I had to concede her victory, and congratulate her, both while keeping my cool demeanour.

“Ow.” I said, one hand on the back of my head and the other on my unmentionables. Looking around the room, I could see that Amy was wincing, one eye covered very poorly by her hand, and that Aki was clearly considering whether she had gone too far. “Good round.” I reassured her, despite still not being able to feel my legs. “Here’s hoping that whatever we fight has balls though, otherwise that move won’t really work too well.”

“Well, it’s just one guy, right? No matter how smart someone is, they can be defeated by a kick in the nards.” Amy’s wisdom as to testicular torment got me thinking, mostly about how much pain I was in, but also in how little I actually knew about Uchen’s former protégé. Tabitha had told me that that the guy was smart and also insane, which, judging from her having roped us into this whole thing, wasn’t too uncommon. The more I thought, the more I wanted answers, and I knew I wasn’t going to get those answers by sitting around and fighting someone who was now able to fight back. I needed to go straight to her.

 The three of us marched back into the main room, where we were greeted by a bleary-eyed Seth, and a manic-haired Tabitha, neither of whom were a very good welcome wagon.

“Sup, man?” Seth asked, or it might have been Eddie. It was getting annoying that there wasn’t any way to distinctly figure out who was who, but what could I really do except bitch about it? I gave him a wave, not stopping my stride towards Tabitha.

“Oh hey guys, you’re just in time. We’ve pretty much locked on now, but obviously we need to brief each other and prepare for what’s coming.” Tabitha said, looking up at us with a smile that definitely suggested that we were test subjects.

“Yeeah, on that subject…” I began, drawing out my words ever so slightly because I had a feeling that she wouldn’t like putting her plans on hold for some boring exposition. “Me and the others were thinking that maybe we should know more about the guy we’re fighting. The last thing we need is to go in unprepared.” I finished, and before I had even been given a chance to close my moth, I was sold down the river.

“I never said that.” Amy said, to which she got murmurs of agreement from Seth and Aki. Tabitha raised an eyebrow.

“Why would you screw me like this, damn it?” I said, turning back around to face her. Seth giggled from where he was, and I quickly knew what he was going to say before he said it.

“That’s what she said!” He almost exploded, before bursting into peels of laughter. We let him take a second to finish, before turning our focus back to the main task at hand.

“So, you were saying something about how we should delay the important thing we need to do in order to make sure you know some life details about someone we’re probably gonna end up killing?” The room quickly fell silent as Tabitha finished her question, with my only response being to nod.

“Honestly, now that he brings it up, it makes sense.” Seth conceded, making me feel less like the only one who actually gave a shit about this stuff. Tabitha gave a sigh, before turning her attention to the computer again. Without looking at us, she began to speak.

“His name was Gerald Untermeyer, and he was… well, amazing.” She began, almost as if fangirling over him. “I told you about the stuff he’d been working on, but I barely even touched on everything he’d already made. Without his help, I doubt Uchen would have even been able to get as far as he did with the machine.” Though Tabitha didn’t say what the machine was, it didn’t take much effort to figure it out from context clues.

“He helped that much? Surely if he was that smart, he’d have made it by himself and the whole issue of what to do with it would never have come up.” I said, briefly forgetting that the guy in question had been insane and probably would have just not thought to do that. However, Tabitha had a more reasonable explanation.

“He lacked the money. While some of what he had worked on was astounding, it was a net loss overall. So he came to work under Uchen, and soon enough they were like partners.” Tabitha tapped a few buttons on the computer keyboard, and diagrams appeared on the screen. There was a lot of scribbling that I could barely decipher, but a 3D-rendered image of some of the machinery I could see in the room was also visible. “Uchen worked on the hardware, and Untermeyer worked on the software, including…” She trailed off as she hit more buttons, causing the screen to now display something entirely different. It almost looked like a room of sorts, with neon lighting covering the floor and walls. I watched as the colours pulsed, and changed, with every few moments. “The Grid.”

“Aptly named.” I replied, deadpan. “What is it?” The room didn’t changed as the view zoomed out, revealing more of what was inside the room. Or rather, revealing more of what wasn’t in the room, which was anything.

“The void we stay in sometimes is an offshoot of The Grid. The void holds our physical attributes, while The Grid digitizes whatever data it can, serving as a backup in case of any issues that might arise.” Tabitha pressed a button, and figures appeared in the grid. Though I’d never really seen it from an outside perspective before (aside from the clone in Despair), one of them was unmistakably me. The others were everyone else that was in the room and listening to her, which only prompted more confusion. “These are our data selves. They remember pretty much everything we do, but they’re not alive. If we end up losing memories, we can use them to restore our own.” Tabitha looked over at them. “I’m not going to lie, even I’m not completely sure what they can be utilised for.”

“Then what’s the point in telling us about The Grid? Surely we should be focusing on Untermeyer, right?” Seth asked, and I could tell from Tabitha’s expression that it wasn’t that simple.

“In theory, that would have been the situation, but the closer we lock on to Uchen, the more apparent it becomes as to where he is.” Tabitha bit the bottom of her lip as she paused, looking back at the screen. “They’re inside The Grid.” Of course they were.

“What does that mean for us?” Amy questioned, and Tabitha shrugged.

“How are we going to get in?” Aki chimed in, and Tabitha shrugged again.

“Will we even escape?” I asked, not sure I wanted to know the answer, and not sure that Tabitha even knew it. Sure enough, Tabitha shrugged in response.

“I can’t answer any of these questions because I don’t know The Grid like Untermeyer or Uchen do. Thankfully, when we get to him, Uchen should be able to help us get out of there.” The general situation didn’t bode well at all, but Tabitha at least had a plan for getting out. “My assumption is that Untermeyer ended up becoming purely digital, so the mirrors, while working, will only be splitting him into separated chunks of data. From there he should hopefully fade into nothingness with time.” Tabitha reassured us, or maybe it was herself.

“I swear to god, if we end up riding on motorbikes and throwing disks at each other, I’m going to kill myself.” I said, looking back at the rest of the group. “Actually, thinking about that, what are we going to be fighting with?” I asked, unsheathing the Cobatana and the magic dagger and looking at them. It would be the first fight I would have done with the dagger, which was definitely going to be interesting.

“Well, nothing really changes, we still have everything we had.” Tabitha said, doing a hand-wavey gesture to signify her magic. “Except Seth, who for some reason threw away a shotgun ages ago.” Tabitha raised a very valid point, and soon enough all eyes were on Seth.

“I like my pistols more.” Seth said, and I groaned aloud. He had forgotten what every game we’d ever played together had taught him, and had decided against hoarding everything he could weapon-wise. What a moron. “Besides, Eddie should be able to help me, and I’ll just get Amy to make me a second pistol.” Seth finished, and now it was Amy’s turn to be annoyed.

“What am I going to be making a second gun from? The air?” She asked exasperatedly, and from the look on Seth’s face, it was clear he didn’t know that wasn’t possible.

“I… uh…” Seth began, which was a glorious way to start a sentence, in the grand scheme of things. Amy rolled her eyes.

“I can probably tweak something we have, but you really need to tell me when we’re doing stuff like this.” Amy replied, and Seth moved to thank her. However, a chime rang out across the room before he had a chance, and I looked around in confusion.

“Was someone microwaving something?” I asked, unsure of where the noise had come from.

“We’ve locked in. Ready or not, we’re going.” Tabitha said, moving to the area where we would be in the sights of the machine. I was most certainly not ready, but I was also definitely not about to say that. We were in the endgame now.

[siliconwebx]

Revisiting prefers-reduced-motion, the reduced motion media query

Two years ago, I wrote about prefers-reduced-motion, a media query introduced into Safari 10.1 to help people with vestibular and seizure disorders use the web. The article provided some background about the media query, why it was needed, and how to work with it to avoid creating disability-triggering visual effects.

The article was informed by other people’s excellent work, namely Orde Saunders’ post about user queries, and Val Head’s article on web animation motion sensitivity.

We’re now four months into 2019, and it makes me happy to report that we have support for the feature in all major desktop browsers! Safari was first, with Firefox being a close second. Chrome was a little late to the party, but introduced it as of version 74.

This browser support data is from Caniuse, which has more detail. A number indicates that browser supports the feature at that version and up.

Desktop

ChromeOperaFirefoxIEEdgeSafari74No63NoNo10.1

Mobile / Tablet

iOS SafariOpera MobileOpera MiniAndroidAndroid ChromeAndroid Firefox10.3NoNoNoNoNo

While Microsoft Edge does not have support for prefers-reduced-motion, it will become Chrome under the hood soon. If there’s one good thing to come from this situation, it’s that Edge’s other excellent accessibility features will (hopefully) have a good chance of being back-ported into Chrome.

Awareness

While I’m happy to see some websites and web apps using the media query, I find that it’s rare to encounter it outside of places maintained by people who are active in CSS and accessibility spaces. In a way, this makes sense. While prefers-reduced-motion is relatively new, CSS features and functionality as a whole are often overlooked and undervalued. Accessibility even more so.

It’s tough to blame someone for not using a feature they don’t know exists, especially if it’s relatively new, and especially in an industry as fast-paced as ours. The deck is also stacked in terms of what the industry prioritizes as marketable, and therefore what developers pay attention to. And yet, prefers-reduced-motion is a library-agnostic feature that ties into Operating System-level functionality. I’m pretty sure that means it’ll have some significant staying power in terms of reward for time spent for skill acquisition.

Speaking of rewards, I think it’s also worth pointing out the true value prefers-reduced-motion represents: Not attracting buzzword-hungry recruiters on LinkedIn, but improving the quality of life for the people who benefit from the effect it creates. Using this media query could spare someone from having to unnecessarily endure a tremendous amount of pain for simply having the curiosity to click on a link or scroll down a page.

The people affected

When it comes to disability, many people just assume “blind people.” The reality is that disabilities are a complicated and nuanced topic, one that is surprisingly pervasive, deeply personal, and full of unfortunate misconceptions. It's also highly variable. Different people are affected by different disability conditions in different ways — extending to a wide gamut of permanent, temporary, environmental, and situational concerns. Multiple, compounding conditions can (and do) affect individuals, and sometimes what helps one person might hinder another. It’s a difficult, but very vital thing to keep in mind.

If you have a vestibular disorder or have certain kinds of migraine or seizure triggers, navigating the web can be a lot like walking through a minefield — you’re perpetually one click away from activating an unannounced animation. And that’s just for casual browsing.

If you use the web for work, you might have no choice but to endure a web app that contains triggering animations multiple times a week, or even per day or hour. In addition to not having the autonomy to modify your work device, you may also not have the option to quickly and easily change jobs — a privilege easily forgotten when you’re a specialized knowledge worker.

It’s a fallacy to assume that a person is aware of their vestibular disorder, or what triggers it. In fact, sometimes the initial triggering experience exacerbates your sensitivity and makes other parts of a design difficult to use. Facundo Corradini shares his experience with this phenomenon in his article, “Accessibility for Vestibular Disorders: How My Temporary Disability Changed My Perspective.”

Not all assistive technology users are power users, so it’s another fallacy to assume that a person with a vestibular disorder is aware of, or has the access rights to enable a motion-reducing Operating System setting or install a browser extension.

Think of someone working in a large corporation who has to use a provisioned computer with locked-down capabilities. Or someone who isn’t fully aware of what of their tablet is capable of doing past browsing social media, watching video, and messaging their family and friends. Or a cheap and/or unorthodox device that will never support prefers-reduced-motion feature — some people purchase discontinued devices such as the Windows Phone specifically because their deprecation makes them affordable.

Do these people deserve to be hurt because of their circumstances? Of course not.

Considering what’s harmful

You can tie harm into value, the same way you can with delight. Animation intended to nudge a person towards a signup could also drive them away. This kind of exit metric is more difficult to quantify, but it definitely happens. Sometimes the harm is even intentional, and therefore an easier datapoint to capture — what you do with that information is a whole other issue.

If enough harm happens to enough people, it affects that certain something we know as branding. This effect doesn’t even need to be tied to a disability condition. Too much animation, applied to the wrong things in the wrong way will drive people away, even if they can’t precisely articulate why.

You also don’t know who might be on the receiving end, or what circumstances they’re experiencing the moment they load your website or web app. We can’t — and shouldn’t — know this kind of information, either. It could be a prospective customer, the employee at a venture capitalist firm tasked with evaluating your startup, or maybe even your new boss.

We also don’t need to qualify their relationship to us to determine if their situation is worth considering — isn’t it enough to just be proactively kind?

Animation is progressive enhancement

We also need to acknowledge that not every device that can access the web can also render animation, or render animation smoothly. When animation is used on a low-power or low quality device that “technically” supports it, the overall user experience suffers. Some people even deliberately seek this experience out as a feature.

Devices may also be set to specialized browsing modes to allow people to access your content in alternate ways. This concept is known as being robust, and is one of the four high-level principles that govern the guidelines outlining how to craft accessible experiences.

Animation might not always look the way you intend it in these modes. One example would be when the viewport is zoomed and the animation isn’t built using relative units. There’s a non-trivial chance important parts might be pushed out of the viewport, leaving the animation appearing as a random collection of flickering bits. Another example of a specialized browsing mode might be Reader Mode, where the animation may not appear at all.

Taking it to code

Considering all this, I’m wondering if there are opportunities to help web professionals become more aware of, and therefore more considerate of the downsides of poorly conceived and implemented animation.

Maybe we proactively incorporate a media query high up in the cascade to disable all animation for those who desire it, and for those who have devices that can’t support it. This can be accomplished by targeting anything where someone has expressed a desire for a low-to-no-animation experience, or any device that has a slow screen refresh rate.

The first part of the query, targeting low-to-no-animation, is done via prefers-reduced-motion. The second, targeting a screen with a low refresh rate, uses update. update is a new media feature that allows us to “query the ability of the output device to modify the appearance of content once it has been rendered.”

@media screen and (prefers-reduced-motion: reduce), (update: slow) { * { animation-duration: 0.001ms !important; transition-duration: 0.001ms !important; } }

This code forces all animation that utilizes a declaration of animation-duration or transition-duration to conclude at a rate that is imperceptible to the human eye. It will work when a person has requested a reduced motion experience, or the device has a screen with a slow refresh rate, say e-ink or a cheap smartphone.

Retaining the animation and transition duration also ensures that any functionality that is tied to CSS-based animation will activate successfully (unlike using a declaration of animation: none), while still preventing a disability condition trigger or creating rendering lag.

This declaration is authored with the intent of introducing some intentional friction into our reset styles. Granted, it’s not a perfect solution, but it does drive at a few things:

Increasing the chances of developers becoming aware of the two media features, by way of making them present in the cascade of every inspected element.

Providing a moment to consider why and how animation will be introduced into a website or web app, and what the experience should be like for those who can’t or don’t want to experience it.

Encouraging developers who are less familiar with CSS to think of the cascade in terms of components and nudge them towards making more easily maintainable stylesheets.

Animation isn’t unnecessary

In addition to vestibular disorders and photosensitive conditions, there’s another important aspect of accessibility we must consider: cognitive disabilities.

Cognitive disabilities

As a concern, the category is wide and often difficult to quantify, but no less important than any other accessibility discipline. It is also far more prevalent. To expand on this some, the World Health Organization reports an estimated 300 million people worldwide are affected by depression, a temporary or permanent, environmental and/or biological condition that can significantly impair your ability to interact with your environment. This includes interfering with your ability to understand the world around you.

Animation can be a great tool to help combat some forms of cognitive disability by using it to break down complicated concepts, or communicate the relationship between seemingly disparate objects. Val Head’s article on A List Apart highlights some other very well-researched benefits, including helping to increase problem-solving ability, recall, and skill acquisition, as well as reducing cognitive load and your susceptibility to change blindness.

Reduce isn’t necessarily remove

We may not need to throw the baby out with the bathwater when it comes to using animation. Remember, it’s prefers-reduced-motion, not prefers-no-motion.

If we embrace the cascade, we can work with the animation reset code described earlier on a per-component basis. If the meaning of a component is diminished by removing its animation altogether, we could slow down and simplify the component’s animation to the point where the concept can be communicated without potentially being an accessibility trigger.

If you’re feeling clever, you might even be able to use CSS Custom Properties to help achieve this in an efficient way. If you’re feeling extra clever, you could also use these Custom Properties for a site-wide animation preferences widget.

In the following code sample, we’re defining default properties for our animation and transition durations, then modifying them based on the context they’re declared in:

/* Set default durations */ :root { --animation-duration: 250ms; --transition-duration: 250ms; } /* Contextually shorten duration length */ @media screen and (prefers-reduced-motion: reduce), (update: slow) { :root { --animation-duration: 0.001ms !important; --transition-duration: 0.001ms !important; } } @media screen and (prefers-reduced-motion: reduce), (update: slow) { /* Remove duration for all unknown animation when a user requests a reduced animation experience */ * { animation-duration: var(--animation-duration); transition-duration: var(--animation-duration); } } /* Update the duration when animation is critical to understanding and the device can support it */ @media screen and (prefers-reduced-motion: reduce), (update: fast) { .c-educational-concept { /* Set a new animation duration scoped to this component */ --animation-duration: 6000ms !important; ... animation-name: educational-concept; /* Use the scoped animation duration */ animation-duration: var(--animation-duration); } }

However, trying to test the effectiveness of this slowed-down animation puts us in a bit of a pickle: there’s no real magic number we can write a test against.

We need to have a wide representation of people who are susceptible to animation-based disability triggers to sign off on it being safe, which unfortunately involves subjecting them to something that may potentially not be. That’s a huge ask.

A better approach is to ask about what kinds of animation have been triggers for them in the past, then see if what they describe matches what we’ve made. This approach also puts the onus on yourself, and not the person with a disability, to do the work to provide accommodation.

If you’re having trouble finding people, ask your friends, family, and coworkers — I’m sure there’s more people out there than you think. And if you need a good starting point for creating safer animation, I once again urge you to read Val’s article on A List Apart.

Neurodivergence

There’s a lot to unpack here, and I’m not the most qualified person to talk about it. Here’s what my friend Shell Little, an Accessibility Specialist at Wells Fargo DS4B, has to say about it:

Web animation as it relates to Neurodivergence (ND) can be a fantastic tool to guide users to solidify meaning and push understanding. The big issue is the same animation that can assist one group of ND users can create a barrier for another. As mentioned by Eric, Neurodivergence is a massive group of people with a vast range of abilities and covers a wide variety of cognitive disabilities including but not limited to ADHD, autism, dyslexia, epilepsy, dyscalculia, obsessive-compulsive disorder, dyspraxia, and Tourette syndrome.

When speaking about motion on the web it’s important we think specifically about attention-related disabilities, autism, and sensory processing disorders that are also closely linked to both. These groups of people, who coincidentally includes me, are especially sensitive to motion as it relates to understanding information and interacting with the web as a whole. Animations can easily overwhelm, distract, and frustrate users who are sensitive to motion and from personal experience, it can even do all three at once.

Because so many people are affected by motion and animation on the web the W3C’s WCAG have a criterion named Pause, Stop, Hide that is specifically written to guide content creators on how to best create accessible animations. My main issues with this guideline are, it only applies to animations that last longer than 5 seconds and motion that is deemed essential is exempt from the standard. That means a ton of animations that can create barriers such as distraction, dizziness, and even harm are out there in the wild.

It makes sense, as Eric mentioned, that we can’t get rid of all animation. Techniques such as spinners let users know the page is still working on the task it was given, and micro-interactions help show progression. But depending on someone’s brain, the things that are helpful at lunch can be a barrier later that night. Someone’s preferences and needs shift throughout their day, and that’s the beauty of prefers-reduced-motion. It has the potential to be what fills the gaps left by Pause, Stop, Hide and allow users to decide when they do or do not want to have motion. That right there is priceless to someone like me.

As someone with an attention-related disability, an interaction I have found to be exceedingly frustrating is autoplay. Many media sharing sites have auto-playing content such as videos, gifs, and ads but because they can be paused, they pass the WCAG standard. That doesn’t mean they aren’t a huge barrier for me as I can’t read any text around them when they are playing. This causes me to have to pause every single moving item I run into. This not only significantly slows me down, and eats away at my limited spoons, but it also derails my task flow and train of thought. Now, it is true some sites — such as Twitter and LinkedIn — have settings to turn autoplay off, but this isn’t true for all sites. This would be a perfect place for prefers-reduced-motion.

In a world where I would be able to determine when and if I want videos to start playing at me, I would be able to get more done with less cognitive strain. prefers-reduced-motion is freedom for me and the millions of people whose brains work like mine. In sum, the absolute best thing we can do for our users who are sensitive to motion is to put a system in place that empowers them to decide when and where animation should be displayed to them. Let the user decide because they will always know their access needs better than we do.

Thanks, Shell!

I don’t hate fun, I just don’t want to hurt people

On my own time, I’m fortunate enough to be able to enjoy animation. I appreciate the large amounts of time and attention involved with making something come alive on the screen, and I’ve definitely put my fair share of time ooh-ing and aah-ing over other people’s amazing work in CodePen. I’ve also watched enough DC Animated Universe to be able to instantly recognize Kevin Conroy’s voice — if you’re looking for even deeper nerd cred, Masaaki Yuasa is a seriously underrated animator.

However, I try to not overly rely on animation as a web professional. There’s a number of factors as to why:

First is simply pushing on awareness of the concerns outlined earlier, as many are unaware they exist. Animation has such a crowd-pleasing gee-whiz factor to it that it’s often quickly accepted into a product without a second thought.

Second is mitigating risk. Not adhering to the Web Content Accessibility Guidelines (WCAG) — including provisions for animation — means your inaccessible website or web app becomes a legal liability. There is now legal precedent for the websites and web apps of private companies being sued, so it’s a powerful metric to weigh your choices against.

Third is user experience. With that gee-whiz factor, people tend to forget that being forced to repeatedly view that super-slick animation over and over again will eventually become a tedious chore. There’s a reason why we no longer make 90s-style loading screens (content warning: high-contrast strobing and flickering, Flash, mimes). If you need a more contemporary example, consider why Netflix lets us skip TV show intros.

Fourth is understanding the lay of the land. While prefers-reduced-motion is getting more support, the majority of it is on desktop browsers, and not mobile. We’re not exactly a desktop-first world anymore, especially if you’re in an underserved community or emerging market. A mobile form factor also may exacerbate vestibular issues. Moving around while using your device means you may lose a fixed reference point, unlike sitting at a desk and staring at a monitor — this kind of trigger is similar to why some of us can get seasick.

The fifth factor is a bit of a subset of the fourth. Animation eats device data and battery, and it’s important to remember that it’s the world wide web, not the wealthy Western web. The person using your service may not have consistent and reliable access to income or power, so you want to get to know your audience before spending their money for them.

The ask

Not everyone who could benefit from prefers-reduced-motion cares about accessibility-related content, so I’d love to see the media query start showing up in the code of more popular sites. The only real way to do this is to spread awareness. Not only of the media query, but more importantly, understanding the nuance involved with using animation responsibly.

CSS-Tricks is a popular website for the frontend industry, and I’m going to take advantage of that. If you feel comfortable sharing, what I would love is to describe what kinds of animation have been problematic for you, in either the comments or on Twitter.

The idea here is we can help build a reference of what kinds of things to be on the lookout for animation-wise. Hopefully, with time and a little luck, we can all help make the web better for everyone.

Thanks to Scott O’Hara, Zach Leatherman, Shell Little, and Geoff Graham for reviewing this article.

The post Revisiting prefers-reduced-motion, the reduced motion media query appeared first on CSS-Tricks.

😉SiliconWebX | 🌐CSS-Tricks

[thewordonmainstreet]

My Black Friday:  How Doug Ford’s Social Assistance Reform Will Ruin My Life

She was dressed like a devil and she really didn’t give many details. She delivered a speech that social assistance recipients like myself had waited 100 days to hear.  We tuned in from across the province all with our collective anxiety running high and fearing for immediate cuts.  Lisa MacLeod was all smiles as she delivered a plan to better the lives of social assistance recipients, her words not mine.  More like better the provincial deficit but putting a spin on it like it was all cuts dressed as compassion.  It was all pretty much ambiguous and I saw right through her questionable body language and redirection or outright rejection of reporter’s questions.  She’s known to be an angry, confrontational woman and I totally saw that yet she claims she’s a saviour to the poor.  Judging by comments that swiftly hit social media channels, she left all too many in a state of fear and uncertainty with her plan that was slim on details but weighty on positive rhetoric.  And as a person with anxiety knows all too well, anxiety breeds off of an environment of uncertainty and impending doom.  Nevermind those with anxiety conditions, those without anxiety get it when they don’t know what the hell is coming but know it’s not going to be good. 

What I was able to ascertain is that it’s going to get hella hard to get onto ODSP as the province adopts the federal definition of disability which is pretty much you cannot work, you just lie in bed all day, you cannot prepare meals, you need help to tie your shoes and you need to be supervised.  I just lost my Disability Tax Credit and will be losing the over $60,000 my Mom and the government have contributed as a result because my disability didn’t align with the federal government’s all in or none at all definition.  They pretty much want individuals who should be in an institution.  You can see the form here to see what I mean.  What the federal definition doesn’t take into account is that some disabilities are episodic and cyclical and this doesn’t allow for a grey area. This new provincial plan wants an all or nothing, you’re really bad and need a caregiver all the time or treatment 5 times a week or you can work and so you’re fine.  They’ll be no middle ground and that’s dangerous as heck.  Some people on ODSP can be fine one minute and on the ground in pain the next or fine one month and having a serious psychotic episode that lands them in the hospital the next month.  The proverbial sheep will be parted from the wolves so to speak all in a manner that isn’t thought out at all.  And some doctors who are pro-cost cutting will surely lie on the forms so to deny a patient benefits and I don’t even want to think about how evil this is.  But less is always more.  The less social assistance recipients get, the more they end up costing in shelters, policing, food banks and hospitals.  You can’t cut without seeing any bloodshed.  She said but in a questionable voice that those now on ODSP will be grandfathered.  Let’s hope that means we’ll keep our benefits.   It looks like I’m fine now and won’t lose my ODSP but what about those who will need the province’s support down the road?  They’ll be denied support and will possibly end up on the streets.  What’s clear is the MacLeod is trying to cull the ODSP rolls as we’re paid a higher rate than Ontario Works.  I know this will result in more frequent and rigid reviews on people like myself and cut people off down to Ontario Works. So for me, I’ll go from having my condo. to living in a room because Ontario Works only covers a room rental.  I’ll go from having it beyond hard already to lying in bed in the afternoon and just wanting to fucking kill myself.  All I ever want is to better my life, to work and to stop living on the fringes and have people look at me and think “oh, there’s a poor girl”.  Always so much interest in the poor huh?  We have so much interest that we never drop a dime in a panhandler’s hat.  Accident down the street?  No big deal.  Panhandler whose got tears in his eyes?  Oh, I’ve got to see this. I already don’t have a social life and am not connected to society other than sharing the same roads, telecommunication systems, prices, and services  The Ford government’s plan will keep me away from regular society even more.  $400.00 less in social benefits can really mess a person up.  Her plan about employment allows recipients to take one step ahead and end up two steps behind.  This new redesign allows recipients to earn $6,000 a year without deductions but above that, ODSP will take 75% of earnings.  Anything above that are you’re working for just over $3.00 an hour.  I did the math:  $6,000 a year divided by 12 months a year equals $500.00 a month.  So to keep the government’s hands off your money, you have to earn under $500.00 a month.  There’s no better time than to have a job but not a real job (i.e. a paper route or other meaningless part time job) than now.  Social assistance recipients live in the world but are not part of the world and this is another way the Conservatives want to keep us in poverty though they claim this new treatment of earnings will lift us out of poverty.  When the party you voted for starts to fuck with your money, it gets personal really fast.

I totally believe they’ll be zooming in on our lives and wanting to cut as many people off as soon as they can.  More and more will end up on the streets because the affordable housing supply and room rentals aren’t exactly an all you can eat buffet.  It can take 8 years on average to land a subsidized housing unit (that will be subject to bed bugs 4 times a year, drug deals going down outside your door, cooking odors that smell more like death, and repairs that never get done because the poor don’t deserve plumbing that works).  I can look forward to being more and more of a social reject and that one that people talk about because she’s on welfare.  Honest to God, being a welfare case makes you get attention.  People love a fuck up for a laugh.  And this is what the social assistance reform does to the poor.  It’s going to put many like me in far worse situations than we’re already in.  If I think I’m struggling now, holy hell, it’s nothing compared to what’s coming.  My mental health is bad enough already and not getting better.  Losing $400.00 a month and many of my possessions and comforts will take every gain I’ve ever made will render me far worse off than I’ve even been and where do I go from there?  Which supports will I even be able to access?  Is there a plan for that?  I don’t think so. There again, ambiguity.  Ford’s government is for the people: the people that don’t need a hand up.

[michaeljtraylor]

Inside the Mets construction of a museum without walls

On October 4, the Met’s photographers and editors digitized Luca della Robbi’s ‘Madonna and Child with Scroll.’

Image: kevin urgiles/mashable

The baby Jesus in Italian sculptor Luca della Robbia’s “Madonna and Child with Scroll” is surprisingly…sassy. Wrapped in his placid mother’s arms, he even seems to be serving a “girl, please” side-eye. His whole figure is full of personality and detail; his baby hands and ears, though porcelain, look chubby enough to bite. Up close — very up close — he even has baby teeth.

On October 4, Joe Coscia, Jr., the Metropolitan Museum of Art‘s quiet but devoted chief photographer, undertook the task of capturing the Madonna, and her child with their scroll, digitally. 

“How often do you get to photograph a della Robbia?” Coscia said while he worked. “Maybe once in a lifetime — twice if you’re lucky.”

This is what Coscia and the imaging team do day in and day out: carefully stage, light, photograph, edit, and render the digital files of the Met’s 1.5 million artifacts, and send them off to curators, publishers, and, frequently, the digital department, for publishing online.

SEE ALSO: Bring on museum companion apps — but only if they’re absolutely awesome

Since the creation of the digital division in 2009, the Met — like most cultural institutions — has been proactively wrestling with the question of what it means to be a museum in the digital age. How should the reach of a museum extend beyond its walls? 

Some museums choose to guard and curate their collections online just as they would in their buildings. Others fling open their digital doors, and let go of control over their collections in the name of reaching more people, and enabling further study and creation.

“Now that many people can access representations of museums and objects online, it’s forced museums to really think about what aspect of artwork they think is really special,” Dr. Miriam Posner, an assistant professor of Information Studies at UCLA, said. “Every museum has to decide what its priorities are.”

Zoomed in to the 100 million megapixel photo file, you can see that the “child” has teeth.

Image: KEVIN URGILES/MASHABLE

For the most part, the Met has staked its flag on the side of open access; in 2017, it released 375,000 images of its public domain art objects on its website under Creative Commons Zero (CC0) license. That means any person can download, use, and change these images however they see fit.

On Thursday, it went further. The Met has now released a public API connecting to over 200,000 open access pieces in its collection. 

An API, or Application Programming Interface, is a tool that allow computers to read and analyze a changing set of information. With the Met’s API, researchers, students, social media platforms, or anyone who can run code that interfaces with a digital database, will have access to information about — as the Met’s head of digital, Loic Tallon, is fond of saying— “5,000 years of human history.” 

“In many ways we’ve been working towards this for a while, building on the launch of Open Access,” the Met’s director, Max Hollein, told Mashable. “We hope people will be creative and hands-on with our collection, emboldened to engage with it in new ways, and—through the data that is now available for every object, painting, sculpture in the public domain—we hope there will be a deep exploration of and fresh appreciation for the historical context, beauty, and resources that exist within this unparalleled collection.”

“We hope people will be creative and hands-on with our collection, emboldened to engage with it in new ways.”

The museum is launching the API in partnership with Google, which is using the API to pull these objects into the Google Arts & Culture app and web archive. 

“Every month and every week with technologies advancing, I’m more convinced that technology can make art make a bigger impact in people’s lives,” Simon Delacroix, program manager for Google Arts & Culture in North America, said.

Although the Met’s collection has had an online presence for the last six years, Tallon and his department hope that the API will help the Met’s archive reach a farther and more diverse audience, whether through exposure on Google, Wikipedia, or even through social media platforms. They envision that it will enable the creation of creative research projects about the collection. Somewhat symbiotically, it could even serve as a resource that programmers can use to train A.I. in the development of image recognition programs.

“The museum is really trying to figure out what it means to open its doors in the digital age to make sure it can reach audiences around the world, to make sure it’s putting as few barriers as possible between people around the world and the objects that can inspire them,” Tallon said. “That really is the global aim here.”

Many cultural institutions are establishing their digital presences, whether through all-access APIs or highly curated digital exhibitions, and everything in between. A museum of the Met’s stature devoting its resources to digitization could provide a path forward for other institutions as they walk the tightrope between access and curation. And, together, define what it means to be a museum, online.

Above the Great Hall

Joe Coscia works in a matte black studio in the imaging department, a space directly above the Great Hall that has housed the department since its founding in 1906. Walking through requires navigating around 10-foot high white halves of spheres —  the backside of the museum’s famed domed ceiling. Photographers used to shoot using the natural light from the skylights of the domes, and develop the film on the rooftops of the Met above Fifth Avenue. 

Today, this is where imaging, working hand in hand with digital, help digitize the collection.

The process begins with curators who often request photographs of the objects. Every piece of physical art comes with its own metadata — the artist, the date, or any other descriptors. These are initially written by curators and put into the museum’s content management system, created and managed by Tallon’s digital team.

Then specialized art movers in the Met’s riggers department bring the piece into the studio, if it’s able to be moved. A photographer is assigned, based on their expertise (Joe Coscia loves shooting ceramics and bronze, and does a lot of porcelain). 

Photographers then stage the piece, making sure that the object stands out without getting lost in the shadows. Each surface, whether paint or bronze or marble, has its unique staging and lighting needs. Photographers then capture all the details requested by the curators, as well as whatever they notice on their own.

“Everything’s a challenge, because every single shot is different,” Coscia said.

Coscia works in his dark studio using a Hasselblad camera, shooting in 100 million megapixels that converts raw files into a 600 MB .TIF file. Coscia says the department has always had top of the line cameras, lights, and software, because “this collection absolutely needs the best equipment. The better the equipment, we can make more beautiful pictures of this incredible collection.” Only when zoomed in hundreds of percents on screen do people notice the baby Jesus’ teeth in the della Robbia.

“When you blow it up huge, sometimes you can see fingerprints, you can see all sorts of great things that the artists might have left,” Coscia said. “The curators love it.”

Joe Coscia shoots the della Robbia.

Image: KEVIN URGILES/MASHABLE

Once a photographer has secured the perfect shot, they send it to advanced post-production to get it ready for distribution. 

Heather Johnson is an imaging production assistant. She originally applied to be a museum security guard, but now she has a much different role: editing photographs of objects to make sure, as she says, that objects look in print or on screen just as they do in real life. In service to that mission, shadows are Heather’s nemesis.

“I think the thing that people would be surprised by is how hard it is to make something look like you would see it in real life,” Johnson said. “The first thing I learned here was how to make a shadow look real. Mostly because we’re so used to seeing shadows, that even if you have no sort of technical skills, you can look at an object and be like, something’s off there.”

Heather cleans up the enormous photo files pixel by pixel, which can be both meditative, or a pain. She also makes edits that photographers can’t in real life. The della Robbia came on what Coscia called an “unfortunate” wood pedestal that can’t be removed physically. But Heather can remove it digitally, so the creamy porcelain of Madonna and Child shines against the dramatic gray background, sans ugly wood.

The della Robbia sculpture sits on an ‘unfortunate’ wood pedestal. Advanced photo editors remove features like this in post.

Image: Kevin urgiles/mashable

Once employees like Heather and Joe finish their work, the head of imaging, Barbara Bridgers, hands the baton over to Loic Tallon’s digital team. Under Tallon, the division has 60 employees working on the website and building new digital tools and content. The team running point for the Met’s API is the collections squad, helmed by lead developer Spencer Kaiser. 

“We’re responsible for the collection online, the full stack all the way from the databases that the curators use to catalogue the objects,” Kaiser said. “What you see on the website is what we’ve produced.”

With work on building the API coming to a close, Kaiser’s team is now deep in a multitude of projects, including making the website “sexier,” and building an art timeline, to show what was happening in history during the production of various artworks. His team names their sprints based on constellations; at the time we spoke, they were currently finishing up Tucana.

“This collection absolutely needs the best equipment. The better the equipment, we can make more beautiful pictures of this incredible collection.”

With the API and the ongoing digitization process, Kaiser’s team receives digital files from the imaging team, as well as the metadata from curators. A big challenge for his team (and for digitization as a whole) has been making the format of the metadata consistent, since it comprises pieces that have been catalogued continuously over a century and a half. 

“Having talked to a lot of museum people about their data projects, we’re all super aware of how hard it is to get presentable data from this, and how much effort it takes to make this happen,” UCLA’s Dr. Posner said. 

Organizing databases and programming the API, Kaiser acknowledges that a lot of the technical work is not so different from what any developer making a content management system and API does. The difference is that his team does it at The Met — incidentally, in the same fifth floor space of the museum’s old slide library, where sepia-toned slides of greek statues or European oil paintings are still scattered around the office.

“This type of work, building APIs, can be a similar experience no matter where you are,” Kaiser said. “The real difference is that we get to work with such incredible artworks. The responsibility of getting that out into the world is what really makes a difference for us.”

The old slide library

Loic Tallon works from a standing desk in his office and when he speaks about his work, his words stream out while he simultaneously retrieves supporting documents, or looks up another burgeoning thought online. He recites the full mission statement of The Met at the drop of a hat, so quickly that it seems a talisman rather than a mere collection of words, because he says he is always thinking about the statement and how to best serve it. 

Tallon also works closely with institutions outside of the Met to make the collection easy to access wherever people already are online. The department has a “Wikipedian-in-residence,” who helps integrate the collection into Wikipedia articles. It also works closely with Google’s Arts & Culture platform, which serves as a digital portal to museum collections all over the world. And connecting with these platforms, in the case of the API, is really the next step in the process of digitization.

“It might not be sexy, but from a technical point of view, it’s a big step forward.”

“The Met is more than just a physical space—we share our content with the millions of people who follow us on social media and use our website, and digital platforms give us the ability to reach out even beyond these audiences,” museum director Max Hollein said. “This circles right back to the heart of the Museum’s mission—to connect people with art.”

Google’s own goal of organizing the world’s information works curiously well in tandem with the Met’s mission. That synchronicity is part of what’s made the Met partnership and the API a priority for Google Arts & Culture. “It ties back to the general mission statement of Google,” Delacroix said. “And that’s exactly what we’re doing, and doing it at a new scale, with the help of an API.”

Celebrate Raoul Dufy, born #OnThisDay in 1877. Did you know the French Fauvist painter was also a textile designer? Discover his enduring collaboration with couturier Paul Poiret w/ @metmuseum ➡️ https://t.co/kRR6Vwepyg #GoogleArts pic.twitter.com/OvaBjA0ZZ2

— Google Arts&Culture (@googlearts) June 3, 2018

Prior to the API launch, Google engineers manually uploaded the Met’s work onto its platform. But Delacroix says that that process is slow and painstaking. The API will enable the Google platform to ingest a huge amount of dynamic data at once. And while there were previously 2,000 Met works on Google Arts & Culture, the API swells that number to over 200,000.

“An API allows you to do that at scale in a painless way, because you have these two interfaces communicating, and doing the job for themselves,” Delacroix said. “It might not be sexy, but from a technical point of view, it’s a big step forward.”

“With the API coming out, we’re really assertively going down that route of trying to connect everyone in the world to the Met’s collection,” Tallon said. “Reducing the distance between people and the object that’s relevant to them — that’s the global goal.”

Museums log on

Disseminating art across the globe is not a mission the Met is undertaking alone — far from it. Many institutions, particularly internationally, have gone even further in efforts to digitize much larger collections. 

“It has been happening for some time, digitization,” Thomas Padilla, a digital research services librarian at the University of Nevada, Las Vegas, who studies how institutions can improve access for computational research, said. 

An API like the Met’s comes about when the museum decides that it wants to easily enable access and remix culture, or, the ability to create something new from something old. The Met is not the first to achieve this; The American Library of Congress and the European Union’s digital platform for cultural heritage, Europeana, are some of the institutions with an API. The Netherlands’ Rijksmuseum has been a notable leader in mass digitization, and has offered an API since 2011. 

“It’s a more recent development to enable access through APIs or bulk downloading,” Padilla said. “That’s a new chapter that extends and expands the various types of things that people can do with the product of all that digitization effort.”

An API is not the panacea of digitization for all institutions.

But an API is not the panacea of digitization for all institutions. The way that museums have gone about this challenge varies widely. Their approaches depend on the scope of the collection, the financial and personnel resources available, and the institution’s curatorial stance.

“I would never make a blanket statement like everybody has to digitize,” UCLA’s Dr. Posner said. “For some museums, it’s hard enough to keep the lights on.”

The Hammer Museum in Los Angeles has a specialized collection of European, American, and contemporary art. Its project manager for digital initiatives is Philip Leers, who says that the museum approaches digitization in a similar way that it would approach creating a dynamic, context-filled exhibition, rather than digitizing its whole collection en-masse.

“We create digital resources that highlight parts of our collection that we think are important, or hidden, or that we have something interesting to say about,” Leers said. “It presents us with the opportunity to present the works with fairly rigorous context. We think of this as educational resources, and want to provide more than just images.”

The Hammer creates online versions of its popular and notable exhibitions as well. Leers explained that its 2011-2012 exhibition spotlighting 20th century African-American artists in Los Angeles, Now Dig This!: Art and Black Los Angeles 1960–1980, was so popular that it preserved it and has expanded its digital archive in the years since. Popularity wasn’t the only factor that went into the online hub’s creation; the Hammer felt that it was important to elevate the visibility of art and a community that had been brushed over for too long.

See documentation from “Now Dig This!” related programs at the Hammer, @MoMAPS1 + @wcmaart → https://t.co/2LqLhcMRXz pic.twitter.com/cBZ2S4pjwI

— Hammer Museum (@hammer_museum) July 18, 2016

The Smithsonian has a different challenge and approach altogether. Compared with the Met’s 1.5 million object collection, the Smithsonian has 155 million objects. Digitization has provided the Smithsonian with the ability to actually make that gargantuan archive accessible, so it has made it a priority. 

“I think it’s a great opportunity, an amazing opportunity,” Diane Zorich, director of Smithsonian’s digitization program office, said. “We have 155 million objects. Less than 1 percent can be exhibited at any time. This gives us an opportunity to make our collections so much more available to people in so many different ways.”

Still, Zorich said that the opportunity is also an obstacle in its own right. “We have a scale challenge that other museums don’t have,” she said. That’s where mass digitization comes in.

For art, design, and scientific sample collections, the Smithsonian has set up systems that involve a huge amount of preparation, but allow for the museum to capture images and create a digital archive much more quickly. It was able to digitize the Smithsonian’s design collection, housed at New York’s Cooper Hewitt, by categorizing objects by size and shape (or, “envelopes”), and using the same production staging for all the items in a given envelope. It even digitized its huge collection of botany samples using an actual conveyer belt.

We’ve hit a huge milestone in digitizing our @NMNH‘s botany collection: 1 million specimens! That’s a lot of 🌿, @SIxDIGI. pic.twitter.com/IaufYuo1s4

— Smithsonian (@smithsonian) March 29, 2017

The Smithsonian and Hammer museums’ approaches to digitization sit on opposite ends of a spectrum, both suited to each institution’s collection and perspective. The Hammer puts out a smaller amount of digital material, but presents it with the same curatorial context that it would in a physical exhibition. The Smithsonian’s mass digitization gives unprecedented access to its collection, but provides the information more as data, and less as “content.”

“Museums are used to doing things slowly and carefully, while the internet is fast-paced and messy, or it can be,” the Hammer’s Leers said. “Some museums are very free and open with their digital presence, and some are more painstaking. I think we’ve kind of erred towards that end of the spectrum.”

“The context versus access debate is a long standing debate that will probably go by the wayside as we move forward,” the Smithsonian’s Zorich said. “It will have to if museums want to stay relevant to their audiences.”

It’s difficult to achieve the best of both worlds, but that’s what the Met is trying to do. Employees like Joe Coscia, Heather Johnson, and Spencer Kaiser ensure that each photograph is beautiful, accurate, and customized; that the metadata is clean, and consistent with the wishes of a curator. 

“The quality of the images should match and equal the quality of the art.”

Of course, they are only able to take this kind of slow care in their work because they have the financial resources and institutional support to do so. The Open Access Initiative is specifically funded by Bloomberg Philanthropies.

“Institutions need money in order to do this stuff, and in order to sustain it, and especially in order to staff the initiatives,” Padilla said. “There is a fair amount of disparity in terms of having the financial resources to staff up and sustain effort in this space.”

Even though the Met went through financial trouble in 2017, which resulted in a new CEO/President, and a new director, digital remained. While Tallon’s digital team employs more than 60 people, digital initiatives have continued to become even more deeply ingrained within multiple departments.

In balancing context and access, some of the Met’s objects online come with more curatorial and educational resources than others. The Met is not shooting for “mass digitization,” but it is going for a holistic digital presence that is reflective of the institution itself. 

“More than ever, we’re responsible for making sure that we’re sending the contents of this institution outward to the world,” the Met’s head of imaging Barbara Bridgers said. “We’ve just always felt that it was imperative that given the breadth and the depth of the collections in the Met, that the quality and the bar, the standard bar, that we use to capture works of art, should be at the very highest. The quality of the images should match and equal the quality of the art.” 

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The Met’s Objects Conservation (@metobjectsconservation) and Imaging Departments (@metimaging) recently collaborated with @Hasselblad and @DJIGlobal to conduct a condition survey of the exterior stone of the Fuentidueña Apse, a 12th-century structure originally part of the church of San Martín in Spain, now residing at @TheMetCloisters. The 3,300 blocks of limestone were documented utilizing a Hasselblad camera on a DJI drone. Photo: @joseph.coscia #TheMet #MetCloisters

A post shared by The Met (@metmuseum) on Oct 15, 2018 at 2:34pm PDT

Buried treasure

This August, the Met reunited all 16 of its famous Van Gogh paintings — irises, wheat fields, self-portraits and all — in one gallery. These paintings are usually on loan at exhibitions around the world. 

But even before they reached the Met, they criss-crossed the world throughout the centuries. Thanks to digitization, that journey has been uncovered and visualized for anyone to learn from while they take in the paintings in the gallery.

“There are a lot of stories to be found in this data that you might not see in any exhibition,” Parsons professor Richard The told Mashable.

An API is all well and good, but what can it actually do? The Met’s undertaking is yielding, especially with the API, new ways to both access and understand the cultural legacy it contains. 

“There are a lot of stories to be found in this data that you might not see in any exhibition.”

Richard The leads a graduate course in data visualization at Parsons. Last year, his students used the Met’s collection data as the bases for their projects. One student made a dynamic, interactive map of where the Van Gogh paintings traveled before they arrived in New York; another plotted how many objects of different metals like gold or silver reside in the Met.

Dr. Posner’s UCLA students work with data from cultural institutions to find stories about the art and objects, yes, but also to reflect on how we as a culture have chosen what to canonize and memorialize about ourselves.

“There’s this whole other side of art that’s really all about information, and can be investigated by looking at trends, artists, nationalities, or genders,” Posner said. “So when you look at those aspects of a collection that can be expressed as data, you can see trends that turn out to be important, but which can’t necessarily be deduced just by looking at individual artworks.”

“You can’t really anticipate all of the types of uses that someone might want to make of a collection,” Padilla said. “Rather than trying to anticipate all of that, you can create an API, and that gives users the ability to remix collections, or even create new forms of access.”

That is exactly how the Met hopes people will come to the collection, now that it’s more accessible and machine-readable than before: with a fresh perspective that they might not have thought of themselves. 

Channeled some internet-buzz energies into this @Wikipedia stub on signature quilts. This quilt has 350 signatures including those of eight US presidents. I can show it to you b/c @metmuseum put a CC0 @creativecommons license on it. Thank you! https://t.co/10jcD9NERX pic.twitter.com/B59wWRpVbU

— jessamyn west (@jessamyn) June 14, 2018

Tallon also hopes the API and digitization as a whole enables art to become more seamlessly integrated with everyday life.

“There’s no rule for how you have to engage in this content,” Tallon said. “The dream scenario is every time someone goes online, they see an object from the Met’s collection, and they don’t even realize it’s an object from the Met’s collection. It’s the inspiration point somewhere.”

Tallon envisions .gif keyboards populated with della Robias or Rodins, Pinterest boards filled with patterns from ancient ceramics and fabrics. 

“I’m not kidding when I say everyone’s life would be that much better if you woke up and saw a beautiful image of something from around the world, and be able to serve up the image that best serves someone’s mood or personality at the time,” Tallon said. “I think we can do that. And then if people want to dive deeper, and get some more interpretive content, then great. If they just want to be inspired and just think differently for a fraction of their day, god bless too.”

The walls of the Metropolitan Museum of Art are always changing.

Image: H. William Tetlow/Hulton Archive/Getty Images

A museum without walls

Barbara Bridgers’ office is warm in comparison to the concrete technical space of the rest of the imaging department. It has a wall covered in old motherboards, previously left on her desk by employees who figured she would know what to do with them (she did not); curiously, it comprises a sloping concrete ledge, which is really the remnants of a one-time museum wall. 

“This was a former external wall of the building,” Bridgers explained, gesturing. “When they were finishing up my office, they called me and said, well, you have a ledge.”

As technology has advanced, museums including the Met have had to decide what the scope of a museum should be. 

The choice is not absolute, but institutions like the Met, Hammer, and Smithsonian make judgments about and allocate precious resources toward whether to tear down an institution’s walls, or create a more dynamic space within. 

“Putting art on the walls is always going to be what museums do,” the Hammer’s Leers said. “But for a first time in a while, [digital] is putting a broad array of possibilities in front of us, and asking us to choose. Which can be uncomfortable, and scary, and exciting.”

“We’re more than a building now.” 

As with the original wall in Bridgers’ office, the Met has chosen to keep the foundation of the institution in tact, while expanding around the center, in order to ultimately transcend any physical space. The light-filled Greek and Roman sculpture gallery will always house figures from the West’s cultural roots. But the purposes of the former slide library and imaging department above will change and grow, and the people who dive deepest into the collection won’t necessarily work within the Met’s walls.

“I’m sure if you asked the people who founded the museum in the 1870s, their aim was to make the collection accessible by putting it on public display, quite literally,” Tallon said. “The technologies and opportunities, what it means to make something accessible, has changed so much. Even just the idea of what a museum is, what the Met is. We’re more than a building now.”

WATCH: You no longer have to go to Italy to study these 300 museum artifacts up close

Read more: https://mashable.com/article/the-met-museum-api/

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