#best photo editor for windows

[fictionalred]

got my linux sort of set up. much left to do though but basics is basically done

my brain still has a lot of catching up to do though I keep instinctively clicking the wrongs things

also I haven't got a spell checker here yet so I instinctively know that I probs misspelled that

[kpopfanfictrash]

Elemental (M) Pt. 1

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 17,287 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. Part I is here, and Part II will be uploaded shortly. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts. (also, if you haven't already realized based on the premise, Y/N does break up with Jungkook in the first part of this fic lol so, if that's something you don't want to read; fair warning!)

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

Magic, to you, has never been a boon.

Despite its romanticization in movies and stories, the reality of magic is messy and unpredictable. As dangerous as it can be fickle, your mom likes to say. Usually followed by a glance in your direction, swift enough for you not to notice, although you always do.

Either that, or an unconscious tilt her chin towards the photograph on the mantle. You aren’t sure she even realizes she does it, acting on instinct alone. The photo is of your dad, holding you on his shoulders with an ear-to-ear grin. He was the other Elemental in your family.

Even with only one magical parent, the Elemental gene tends to be passed on to children. Your dad’s magic was water, skilled in manipulating and calling forth the element. He was lauded for it, which was in itself unusual. More often, Elementals are run out of town by other humans. Although time has gone by since societal integration, there are still many who view your kind with suspicion.

You can’t say that you blame them – not really. Because again, the reality of magic is it can be dangerous. Based on experience, bad things tend to happen when you lose control.

Head tilted, you squint through the fog at your boyfriend’s apartment. For centuries, fog has been heralded as an ill omen and maybe there’s some degree of truth to it. Maybe the first speaker lived near a temperamental water Elemental, unable to keep their emotions from manipulating the weather.

Thoughts souring at how close to reality this feels, you shake your head once and some of the fog clears.

A pep talk, you think. That’s what you need to convince yourself to enter. Unseasonably chilly this late in the summer, your fingers curl into the ends of your sweater. Going inside would be preferrable to standing out in the cold, and yet you can’t manage a single step.

Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.

Again, you remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and again, this doesn’t help. If anything, it makes you clutch your sweater tighter. For once, you wish doing the right thing meant what’s right for you. Exhaling deeply, your eyes shut as a train passes and shakes the ground.

You began dating Jungkook three months ago and within a week, you knew it was different. You have a tendency to hide pieces of yourself, knowing most people won’t like what they find. Jungkook never allowed that to happen. The first time you ghosted, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop the next morning and asked what had gone wrong. Taken aback, you responded honestly and to your surprise, Jungkook listened.

He stayed. Stayed when others had run, cementing himself on a short list of people you can trust. Three months into dating, things have moved at once fast and slow. Fast because typically, you exit relationships long before feelings like these ones develop. Slow, because you haven’t given Jungkook every part of yourself.

Physical intimacy comes to mind. On several occasions, this has proved… difficult.

Eyes opening, you stare at the door. Memories of last night rise to the surface. For a long time, you’ve known this relationship has an end date. Knowing this doesn’t prepare you for the difficult conversation ahead.

The last time you saw Jungkook was after midnight. Fat raindrops chased your footsteps while you ran from his place, descending the subway at a record pace. The look on his face remains stuck in your mind and even now, you find the thought hard to revisit.

Imagining hurting Jungkook again is unfathomable. Stifling a gasp, you spin on your heel and march away. Halfway to the gate, you get a grip on yourself. Coming to a stop, you remind yourself this isn’t about you. Jungkook will hate you – there’s nothing to do about that now. Now, this is about Jungkook and ensuring he’s safe.

Slowly, you turn around and make your way forward. In the name of procrastination, you stop at a trash can to clean out your purse. Old receipts, gum wrappers and a crumpled-up napkin shake into the bin. You pause at the napkin, staring at the embossed name of the restaurant you work at. Or – more accurately – worked at.

Slamming the trash lid, you turn. You began work at Pierre’s Bistro two months ago as a temporary measure. Ideally, you paint but lately, inspiration has run dry. Waiting tables pays the bills, leaving time at the end of the day to stare at a blank canvas.

Pierre’s is an upscale French restaurant a few blocks down with semi-decent food and waiting tables would be fine if the owner – Pierre – weren’t a massive asshole. Now that you don’t work there, you can be honest about that. Pierre was the most sexist, elitist, capitalistic piece of shit you’ve ever had the displeasure of working for. While on his payroll, you tried to make the best of it but now, you have nothing to lose. Pierre was a dick.

A point he proved yet again last night, much to your mortification. You prefer working the lunch shift to dinner, and weekdays to weekends. Saturday nights are worst of all, and last night Pierre didn’t arrive until well after six. You were forced to cover the entire front section, picking up for a co-worker who called in sick.

Rushing from the bar, you nearly crashed into your boss removing his coat. Grabbing you by the elbow, Pierre steadied you, his hand lingering.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.

You forced a smile. Experience has taught you the best thing to do in those types of situations is to smile and laugh.

“No fire. Lots of customers! Excuse me,” you said and tried to move past.

Pierre didn’t release you. If anything, his grip on you tightened until you turned your head.

“Yes?” you said, impatient.

Pierre didn’t respond, looking you slowly up and down. Eventually, he released you to take a step backwards. “Nothing,” he said carefully. “Be careful out there tonight.”

Trying not to gag on his words, you moved on. Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Pierre’s notice once caught. From that point on, each of your flaws were held under a microscope. First, it was that you didn’t fold the napkins correctly. Next, you took a wandering path from kitchen to table. Each time you entered the dining room, scornful words were covered by simpering smiles.

By the time your shift end approached, you could barely keep going. A large group had entered and, seeing the host occupied, you took it upon yourself to seat them at your last table. Fixing your apron, you hurried through the restaurant and into the kitchen.

Grabbing another table’s dishes, you thanked the cook and pushed open the door. Immediately, arms shoved you back in. Startled, you barely had time to recognize the host, Vanessa, before the doors swung shut.

“Vanessa?” you said, adjusting your grip. “What’s going on?”

Harried, she glanced over one shoulder. “Sorry,” she sighed, curly hair slipping from her messy bun. “I wanted to warn you before you went back out. Pierre is pissed.”

Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”

She nodded, another dark curl escaping. “Something about saving the table up front for his friends? Bullshit, yes,” she said at your expression. “But you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. Deciding there was nothing to be done but keep moving, you hefted your plates higher. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I need to get these to table ten.”

“No problem,” she said and stepped out of your way.

You walked inside with slightly less spring in your step. Pierre lounged near the bar, surrounded by a group of people you could only assume to be friends. Although you felt his gaze on your face, you avoided him the best you could while you made your rounds. Taking the long way to the kitchen, you passed in front of the window.

Which was the moment you noticed Jungkook waiting for you on the curb. He stood beneath a streetlight, light pooling around the ends of his dark hair. When he saw you approach, his face lit up and he smiled.

Cursing beneath your breath, you smiled back. You were supposed to be done a half-hour ago, but there hadn’t been a good time yet to stop. Waving back, you mouthed, just a minute, and frantically pushed through the crowd to the back.

Merely seeing his face lifted a weight from your chest. It was easy to be around Jungkook because he liked every part of you. You never felt the urge to pretend, to curve yourself into something someone else would find pleasurable.

Well, he liked every part except one – and you were working on telling him that.

Hurrying into the staff room, you forgot your plan to avoid Pierre. You nearly jumped a mile when a hand grabbed your elbow, spinning you to face your fuming manager.

Pierre stared down his nose. “Follow me,” he snapped, releasing your arm to spin around.

He passed tables full of patrons, leading you to the bar before turning. “Y/N,” Pierre said, his voice dropping. “Are things okay tonight?”

“Yes,” you responded, deciding one-word answers were safest.

“Then why, exactly, are you fucking this up?”

Your jaw tensed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing so,” you said carefully.

“The napkins?” Pierre made a tsk-ing sound. “How many times should I say that presentation is important? Not to mention your laziness. One of your tables had to flag me down to ask for a refill. And now, you gave away the front table.” His expression darkened. “What makes you think you, a fucking waitress, can step in for a host? You sat someone at the table I personally reserved for my friends!”

You shouldn’t have responded. You should have stayed quiet and yet –

“There was no name in the book,” you muttered.

“What’s that?” Pierre waited and, when you stayed silent, shook his head. “I hadn’t had time to write their name down, but I told Vanessa, who assured me it’d happen. Of course, she wasn’t taking into consideration Y/N, the wonder waitress! Taking everyone’s jobs and making them harder.”

At your sides, your hands balled into fists. It took a greater amount of concentration than normal to keep your emotions from spilling over.

Of course, there were explanations for Pierre’s accusations. The napkins were correct before he jostled the table. You had been circulating your tables and if you were unavailable, it was because of his poor staffing. Oh, and – he didn’t make a reservation for his friends.

Slowly, you exhaled and stuffed down the responses. Deep down, with other emotions and magic. Beyond Pierre, a glass trembled but once you relaxed, the water went still.

“I apologize,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll do better next time.”

Pierre sniffed. “See that you do,” he said, brushing past. Grabbing a beer from the bar, you heard his friends burst into raucous laughter. Apparently, your humiliation was entertaining.

Heaving a small sigh, you turned – and froze where you stood.

Outside, Jungkook stared into the restaurant with murderous eyes. Too late, you realized Pierre had pulled you in front of the window. Away from anyone dining, but in full view of anyone on the sidewalk. Like your boyfriend, who witnessed the entire spectacle.

For a moment, your emotions overwhelmed, and you felt magic crack the walls you kept hidden. Embarrassment crept past your boundaries. Humiliation. Fury. Stuffing everything back, you quickly turned to rush through the tables.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped towards you, his brow furrowing. Reaching the staff room, you paced up and down. Jungkook saw you. He saw Pierre’s outburst, which meant you’d have to explain. You’d have to explain to Jungkook – the only person whose opinion you cared about – why you allowed other people to walk all over you.

He’d start to ask questions. Questions like, when was the last time you really got mad? You’d have no good response. Not because you don’t get mad, because you do. But because you don’t ever allow yourself to act on the feeling.

Faced with the prospect of brushing him off, you buried your face in both hands. Your usual excuses wore thin in your ears.

Pierre isn’t so bad. It was a one-time thing. You promise you’ll talk to Pierre tomorrow.

None of it would be true, and you didn’t want to lie to Jungkook. People never understood why you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but the answer was complicated.

Your last date said you lacked emotions, but you don’t think that’s it. Of course, you have feelings, but those feelings are buried beneath so many layers, they can be hard to see. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that you cannot.

When you feel, your magic reacts, and people get hurt.

That was the last part of yourself you kept hidden. Jungkook is normal and he doesn’t know you’re an Elemental.

You know that by now, you should have said something. Obviously, but the timing was never right. Twenty-five years old, and you still aren’t sure how to broach the conversation. Few people know what you are, so you haven’t had much experience with the explanation. Your magic isn’t something you use if you can help it.

Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.

Your dad, an Elemental, died when you were five. Before, you lived near the ocean on a flat strip of sand. Your memories from before then are faint, but whenever you try, you can hear his booming laugh. Can feel the salt sting your cheeks, your mom tossing you in the air while you spun around.

Everything afterwards faded. At five years old, a hurricane swept past the barrier islands and that, you remember. You recall your mom at the door, pleading with your dad not to go as he donned his jacket. You remember him holding her hand, kissing the top of your head, and saying he’d return soon. Not many Elementals lived in your area, and even fewer had water magic.

You recall the hours passing, stretching longer and longer until dawn approached. Flashing lights followed, a woman climbing from her car to speak to your mom. You recall the sound of your mom sobbing, the policewoman’s voice floating into the house.

The storm surge was stronger than expected, but your dad managed to divert the worst. He saved the town only to be hit by a bolt of lightning. Instant death, the policewoman said, her tone implying this might be a comfort. Chest tight, your fingertips dug into the railing. Comfort meant nothing when your dad was gone. The irony struck you even back then – your dad saved others, and no one came to save him.

For weeks following, your mom was a ghost. At first, neighbors stopped by to drop off casseroles and condolences. Soon though, their sympathy stopped, and the whispers began. You were young enough not to notice, too consumed by the enormity of your own loss.

Eventually though, you noticed something was off. Suspicious eyes followed you down the sidewalk. Mothers clutched at their children, hurrying them to the side of an empty street. One day, you traipsed downstairs and overheard your mom on the phone.

She sat at the kitchen table, facing away from the staircase. You paused on the landing, listening to your aunt’s voice blast on speakerphone.

“Nonsense,” she was saying. “Your husband was a hero, and anyone saying otherwise is cracked. He saved your town!”

“I know.” Your mom blew her nose. “But now, people are wondering if he caused the storm. They’re saying maybe he… made the hurricane. It’s this new mayor,” she said, frustrated. “He hates Elementals and keeps insisting our family orchestrated this to collect money. He says –”

“Oh, no.” Your aunt sounded furious. “Don’t you repeat a single word that hateful man says.”

“He has a point, though,” your mom said, her voice low. “Did you hear about Uniontown? A fire Elemental accidentally set their barn on fire. Nearly burned the whole town. Magic is dangerous. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now –���

“When was the last time your husband lost control, though? Are you saying you think he caused a hurricane?”

“God, no!” You watched your mom straighten. “But there are people saying… awful things.”

“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”

“I know.” Wearily, she exhaled. “They’re talking about Y/N, too, though. Apparently, she caused a tidal wave at the pool last weekend.”

Hearing your name said out loud, you shrank back in the shadows. You weren’t aware your mom knew about that, or that she cared. Bobby Clemmons teased Judith Bryce about her hair until finally, you snapped. Bobby was swept to the other end of the pool, much to Judith’s relief. She thanked you repeatedly.

Bobby was fine, except for some water up his nose. From the way he carried on though, you’d have thought he broke his arm.

Your mother lowered her voice, as though magic was something to be mentioned only in whispers. For the first time, a sense of shame crept over you. Your dad had always been open about magic, though stern. Stern in his belief magic should help people, not hurt. Never once did your dad insinuate magic itself was the problem.

Magic is dangerous.

Your mom’s words on the phone sank in as, your head pounding as you turned around to run up the steps. Even at six, you felt panic. If magic was dangerous and you were magical – that meant you were dangerous, too.

Slipping beneath your comforter, you stared at your shaking hands. Rain hit your windows, snowballing your worry to full-on fear. By the time your mom rushed upstairs, you were rocking under the covers as a storm raged.

She helped to calm you down, got your magic under control and a month after, you moved far away from the sea. A version of yourself vanished as you passed the pier. Despite this, you felt instant relief at the thought of control.

You remember your mom smiling when you joined the highway. “This will be good,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A fresh start, away from it all. You can be whoever you want to be, Y/N.”

Except for the person you actually were.

Her meaning was clear, even if she didn’t say it out loud. At the time, you found the thought soothing. If you didn’t want to use magic, you didn’t have to. You never had to become your dad, who all your friends said had caused the bad storm. Even the news had turned against you.

Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!

Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!

Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!

Always the exclamation point. Always the lurid fascination that blame could be pinned on a single person. New rules were implemented in the house. No magic, except in your mom’s presence. This soon became no magic at all, but you didn’t mind. Whenever you did use magic, it felt wild, chaotic – the opposite of how you wanted to feel.

Your early years were marked by the struggle to conceal your powers. Years passed without incident and then, something would happen, and you’d have to move. Your mom never begrudged you, simply packed the house to travel to the next city. Each time, you promised you’d do better but by the time you realized school wasn’t for you, you had moved no less than six times.

Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.

Creation meant tapping into emotion, but you found methods of coping. Painting was the only place you loosened the reins on your magic, and so it became an outlet of sorts. A release, preventing your emotions from spilling into unwanted places.

There were other strategies, as well. Deep breathing. Counting backwards from one hundred. Focusing on one point, then on another until the magic calmed in your veins. Until you forgot the dangerous and destructive water around you.

Some people proved more reactionary to you than others. With some people, your magic responded so strongly, you were forced to cut them out completely. The first person this happened with was your best friend, Katrina. You were fourteen when she confided in you her family was fire Elementals. In response, your magic surged.

For a glorious summer, you practiced magic in secret. Each morning, you and Katrina bounded through the woods towards the far creek. You summoned great waves of water for Katrina to singe into mist. Everything was fine until late one evening, your mom caught you. She witnessed the combined magic and lost her temper.

Dragging you from the woods, your mom slammed the front door in Katrina’s face. She sat you down at the kitchen table, delivering a scolding you’ve never forgotten.

Do you know how reckless you were? What if a tree had caught fire? What if you altered the town’s water supply? What if someone saw and the next time a disaster happened, they blamed it on you – or Katrina?

Stricken by these very real possibilities, you promised not to do it again. Although you begged not to move, your mom packed the next day – your fastest exit ever.

The second time you cut someone out was after high school. Elliot was an artist, a quiet guy who dabbled with oils. He saw you painting one day in the park and silently set up his easel beside yours. This happened for weeks until he asked you out. Your ensuing romance was brief and sweet, and your feelings grew within a short period of time.

When Elliot told you he loved you, you dissolved into panic. You could feel how your magic responded, reaching for water that surged through his tiny apartment. Tossing on clothes, you stammered apologies and fled into the night.

For weeks following, it rained. Enough for the reporters to forecast local flooding. The fact terrified you – imagining people trapped on top of cars, small businesses flooded, the Red Cross called in to ferry locals to safety. It took your mom flying out to put you at ease, clearing the skies and regaining control.

Since then, you haven’t let anyone else past your inner walls. Until Jungkook.

Swallowing hard, you stare at his apartment and wonder if you’ll survive. Breaking up with Elliot is one of your worst memories and you only felt a fraction of what you do for Jungkook. Maybe you’ll conjure a hurricane, bringing the events of your life full circle.

Shutting your eyes, you rub at them dully. There’s no point in wondering what-if. You need to end it now, before things get worse. All day, you’ve gone over the facts and arrived at the same conclusion.

As expected, Jungkook was livid about Pierre last night. He wanted to confront your boss himself, although quickly backed off when he realized this was your battle. This though, turned to confusion when you said your intent to do nothing.

Although you tried the usual excuses, none of them stuck. Even if it was just once, Jungkook argued, it shouldn’t go unnoticed. You snapped slightly at this, insisting you’d deal with things in your own time.

Getting angry near Jungkook was peculiar. Suddenly, you became aware of the water around you. Thick, leaden pipes lacing Jungkook’s walls. Moisture that hung in the air, in the clouds – within his very veins. The thought terrified you, wondering what you might do accidentally.

Your panic must have been visible, because Jungkook instantly softened. Crossing the room, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s just… I hate seeing you hurt. Of course, you know what’s best. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

His grip grounded you, enough that your magic dissipated, and that you realized a truth you’d hidden for some time.

You were in love with Jungkook.

No one in your life had ever been like him. Someone who was always in your corner, who protected you when they could and lifted up parts they couldn’t. Someone who liked everything about you – even the parts you weren’t brave enough to admit.

Studying his face, you tried to ignore the sudden ache in your chest. Even last night, you knew the inevitable. Memorizing his face, you tried hard to hold on. Jungkook’s slightly rounded nose, his full bottom lip accentuated by two piercings. Dark hair fell over his forehead; strong features contrasted by a soft gaze.

Jungkook watched you as well, and you wondered if he felt the same. Wondered why he’d commit you to memory, since you were the lucky one. He was the miracle, and you were biding your time.

Bending, he lightly brushed your mouth against his. Instantly, you melted. It wasn’t your first kiss and prayed it wouldn’t be the last, but something about last night felt different. Walking the two of you backwards, Jungkook pressed you against the wall and kissed you harder. His touch became desperate, one hand sliding beneath the lines of your blouse.

Your breath hitched at the brush of his fingers, delicious and warm against skin. His touch unknotted a hidden, tangled piece of your soul.

Ever since you met Jungkook, you’d held yourself separate. When you asked him to go slow in the beginning, he agreed. Touching was fine. Kissing was fine. Anything more, and you lost control.

About a month into dating, you met Jungkook at a bar and got tipsy. Three drinks in, you were frantically making out in an alley outside. Jungkook panted, “my place?” against your mouth, and you nodded. The journey back to his place was fast and slow, pausing in every dark place to drag his mouth to yours.

The second his door shut, you found yourself stumbling – into his bedroom, his bed, the confines of his heart. Shoes were discarded with every step, and Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. You returned his fervor in spades, nipping his lower lip to watch him smile.

When he fell back on the bed, you saw his pulse quicken. Staring up at you, Jungkook watched your clothing disappear with a gaze so dark, it bordered on onyx. Climbing onto him, you resumed kissing with a newfound reverence. Eyes falling shut, you did your best to stay present.

Each brush of his lips was combustive, each touch of his hands filling you with sharp, pulsing light. And then –

The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.

Startled, you pulled away and realized it had been you. Your magic had caused it, flooding his bathroom with water. Swearing under his breath, Jungkook scrambled out of bed to hastily turn off both faucets.

You sat there on his bed, heart pounding with fear. By the time he returned, you were already dressed and mortified. Jungkook was all apologies, certain he’d moved too fast, but you assured him he hadn’t. Anything that happened, you were an equal participant – too much maybe, although you didn’t say so out loud.

Lying in bed that night, you stared up at your ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though you were six and under the covers at your old house. Magic was dangerous. You would eventually hurt someone. Dread pooled in your stomach, recognizing the truth. If you couldn’t control your magic around Jungkook, you’d have to end things.

Heartache chased the thought, filling you with so much panic, you nearly drowned. Pushing this aside, you simply resolved to do better. To be better and keep both Jungkook and magic. This was simply another challenge; you owned your magic, not the other way around.

Thus, began the two best and worst months of your life. The best, since you’ve been dating Jungkook and the worst, because at every moment, you’re terrified of hurting him. Walking a line as thin as a razor, you’ve fallen in love while trying your best not to feel.

Until last night, you thought you’d been successful. Life was mostly under control, but then the Pierre debacle took place. Then Jungkook kissed you with such intensity, you forgot who you were and why you’d been holding back. Two long months of restraint and suddenly, you came undone at the seams.

Before long, you were again in his bedroom. Jungkook stripped off his clothes, bare skin pressing to yours with a searing intensity. Pulling you over him, a low hiss escaped while he kissed your throat. Even through his boxers, you could feel how hard Jungkook was. How badly he wanted this; a need you returned.

The thought of him inside you made you frantic. Pushing Jungkook onto his back, you straddled his waist and rocked forward.

Jungkook lay underneath you, his hair a dark halo. Suddenly, you could feel water everywhere. Magic, everywhere – it was in you, around you, in Jungkook’s walls and molecules. Everything felt so utterly fragile, and your magic responded.

Ferocious, it strained at your self-crafted bonds. Realizing how precarious your grasp on control was, your emotions slipped into panic.

You had to leave. Now.

Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurted, scrambling off him. Bending for your pants, you pushed one leg through and hastily zipped. “I need to go.”

Jungkook stared, frozen in place. “I…” Shaking his head, he pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Stomach dropping, you roughly shook your head. Part of you ached to correct him but your magic was barely leashed, and you weren’t certain how much longer it’d hold.

Your magic wasn’t something you wanted Jungkook to see.

Frantically throwing on your shirt, you rushed towards his front door. His dog, Bam, whined from the couch and lifted his head as you passed. Yanking open his door, you escaped to the hall and downstairs. You heard Jungkook call after, but he didn’t follow, for which you were grateful.

Remembering his face broke your heart as you entered the subway. You kept your magic at bay until reaching your building, at which point rain swept the city in waves. Soaked through, you got in the elevator and saw Jungkook had texted. Shaking, you responded you’d talk to him tomorrow and turned off your phone.

Rain poured all night and you barely slept. By the time you woke, your mood had gotten worse. Work was torture. Even the lunch shift couldn’t save you, the looming specter of Jungkook impossible to forget. When Pierre showed up around one, you knew you were doomed. His glower could be felt all the way across the restaurant and no matter what you did, you somehow stayed in his way.

With little to no sleep and haunted by last night, the grip on your magic was tentative at best. Your entire shift, it hovered at the edge of your fingers. When Pierre commented you looked tired, the rain outside worsened. When a table of middle-aged men called you ‘girlie,’ their water glasses shook.

It was miraculous nothing happened until the end of your shift. That was the moment Pierre’s friends arrived, seating themselves at the table you gave away last night. One of them laughed as you poured them water, and you managed to push down your snide remark.

Glasses full, you turned around to go and the same one grabbed your waist.

You went still.

For so long, you’ve hidden your magic to protect others. You’ve kept them from hurting and there you were, broken, and no one cared about you. Just like no one cared about your dad, in the end. Teeth gritted, you whirled – and the entire water pitcher dumped itself at him.

At him, not on him.

You didn’t trip. Didn’t throw the water, although either would have been preferrable. Instead, the water leapt from the pitcher to slap the man in the face.

Horrified, you stared as reality sunk in. You had just assaulted a guest – a friend of Pierre’s, at that.

Shocked, the man wiped water down his visage. The entire restaurant fell silent, every eye in the room locked on you. Panic-stricken, you stammered an apology, flung a napkin on the table and fled into the kitchen.

The moment you crashed through the doors, you were hailed a hero. Izumi, your line cook, wistfully recalled the one time she punched a guy who grabbed her ass. Georgina added that once, she spit in the drink of a man who called her a bitch.

Both tactfully avoided the fact that you were an Elemental, which you appreciated. You were starting to feel marginally better – maybe you wouldn’tbe fired, after all – when the door to the kitchen swung open and Pierre stormed through. Seeing his face, your heart sank.

“You!” Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed. “Y/N – pack your things! You’re done here. Fired. You think you can insult my friend, pull some magic bullshit on him, and continue to work here? Fuck that. Get out – now!”

A pin could have been heard in the silence. Coming to your senses, you did exactly as asked and got your things. Pierre hadn’t mentioned pressing charges, and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.

Outside, you stood on the sidewalk and stared at the bus stop. Storm clouds brewed above, a visualization of your inner turmoil. Eventually, you turned and trudged down the subway.

Things had reached a point you couldn’t ignore anymore. You were beyond out of control. Emotions surged and strained against your internal walls, threatening everyone you held dear. The city didn’t deserve to be punished, even if no one within it knew of your sacrifice. Pierre’s friends were awful, but you could’ve just as easily lost your temper with someone you loved.

Someone like Jungkook, whom you couldn’t seem to be around without incident.

That was the reason most people feared Elementals. It was selfish of you to put your desires ahead of another person’s safety. The only way to protect someone you loved was to stay away.

Starting with Jungkook. You just wished he didn’t have to get hurt in order for that to happen.

Standing outside his building, you take a deep breath and press the buzzer. You wait for several long moments, wondering if he’s home and then –

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Leaning in, you press 316. “Hey. It’s me. Y/N.”

A weighted pause, and then –

“Come in.”

The door unlocks, and you push it inside. Climbing the steps to his place, your heart starts to pound. The last time you saw Jungkook, you were running away. The last text he sent was, ‘ok,’ in response to your message. If you were Jungkook, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see you.

Coming to a stop outside 316, you lift your hand and knock. A howl responds, followed by the patter of gigantic dog footsteps. Unable to stop your smile, you shake your head at the chaos.

“It’s just me, Bam!” you say, and he stops.

Bam’s howl is replaced with a whine and the sharp thwack-thwack of his tail on the door.

“Bam, out of the way,” Jungkook calls, his voice coming closer. A few seconds later, the door flies open to reveal your boyfriend.

You only catch a glimpse before Bam barrels out, nearly knocking you over. Legs and tail akimbo, he slobbers all over until you bend to pet him. Once satisfied, Bam turns around and trots back inside.

Silence falls between you, and you look up to see Jungkook. He’s dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt bought at a concert you attended. He hasn’t moved aside, blocking you from entering.

Uncertain, you straighten. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, he nods and moves. You walk past him, trying not to focus on the heat of his shoulder. This might be the last time you see Jungkook, so you try to focus on that. Not the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Hearing the door shut, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I can’t stay too long,” you admit, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

Jungkook regards you warily. His expression makes your chest ache, unused to him with such a stern expression. After last night, you suppose it’s earned. You should probably get used to it.

“Y/N.” His jaw works. “What’s going on?”

Deciding honesty is the best policy – up to a point – you force out your next words. “I think we should break up,” you say in a rush.

With a low whine, Bam slinks in the direction of the bedroom. Jungkook glances at him, distracted, before facing forward.

“What do you mean?” His head tilts. “Like, you want to take a break?”

Steeling yourself, you shake your head. “No. As in, I want to break up. Permanently.”

A train passes by the building, rumbling the floorboards underneath. Most people would avoid living in this building for that reason, but Jungkook was overjoyed by the prospect of discounted rent.

He doesn’t seem overjoyed now, though. Instead, he looks stricken.

“Walk me through this,” Jungkook says, walking closer. The set of his mouth has turned stubborn. “I don’t follow. Why are we breaking up again?”

The knot in your chest tightens. You should have known Jungkook wouldn’t make this easy on you. “We’re not good together,” you say, only to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m not good for you. I’m not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

He comes to a stop. “I can wait, Y/N. I don’t mind.”

Reaching for you, Jungkook’s brows crease when you take a step backwards. His hand falls between you, and he stares at the empty space. The crack in your heart widens, made worse by his silence.

“I mind, though,” you force yourself to say. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Jungkook. That’s not fair to either of us. It’s too much pressure.”

The words make your heart splinter, reaching a point you aren’t sure can be reassembled. Maybe the pieces will simply lodge in your muscle, bruising your insides each time you draw breath.

“I won’t pressure you,” Jungkook says, automatic. His frown deepens. “Tell me what this is really about, Y/N. Is this about sex? It’s fine if we don’t have it.” Stepping closer, he takes your hand and you let him. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

Somewhat manic, you shake your head – and then nod.

Sex is a part of the problem, but it’s not the root cause. Sex with Jungkook is unthinkable. You can barely remain in control when you kiss, let alone allow more. With your past partners, this wasn’t an issue, but your past partners weren’t Jungkook.

Never have you met someone able to scramble your thoughts with a kiss. Whose gaze melted inhibitions and tore down every wall. You have little doubt that with Jungkook, you’d lose full control, and the thought is terrifying. Already, your makeshift barriers are weakened.

Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Jungkook says, returning your attention to him. “What’s this about? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

He takes your other hand, and you realize how close he stands. “Is it work?” Jungkook asks, a crease between brows. “Is there… some reason you can’t quit? You can tell me, Y/N.”

An odd zing of disappointment goes through you. For a moment, you thought Jungkook had guessed your secret, and this could all be avoided. If Jungkook knew what you were and that you lied to him – well, he’d end things for you. Hesitant, you consider revealing that truth but can’t seem to form words. It would devastate you, seeing fear replace love in his eyes.

“Work isn’t the problem,” you say at last. “It’s us, Jungkook. Or – it’s me. I don’t want to be together anymore.”

Disbelief flashes across his expression, and you idly wonder what will happen if Jungkook refuses. Even as you think this though, his expression shifts. Jungkook takes a careful step backwards, dropping your hands entirely.

He’s never been good at hiding emotion. Jungkook is your opposite in that way, revealing every shift of thought and desire. You watch confusion become anger, then bitterness a moment before he turns away. The set of his shoulders is still, staring out the window as yet another train passes.

Restless, he turns to drag a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe you,” he declares. “This is so out of nowhere, Y/N. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything,” you say, panic rising. “And this isn’t out of nowhere! I’ve been telling you for months I need to take things slow and this – well, this is the opposite of slow, Jungkook!”

Jungkook stares back at you, heated. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the tension thick in between you. Eventually, you look away first and pull your bag tighter.

“Right,” you exhale. “Well, I should go –”

Striding forward, Jungkook reaches you to cup your face with both palms. Gently, he lifts your face towards him, and all thoughts cease completely. Gaze searching, his breath fans across your parted lips.

Jungkook’s gaze intensifies. “I don’t believe you,” he murmurs.

Adrenaline zips under your skin, stirring your magic into a deadly storm. Entire body tense, you suppress the urge to fight or flee. So often, you’re the one running but right now, you feel more compelled to fight.

A knife in you twists, knowing you’re a coward. If you were stronger, you could keep Jungkook. No matter how understanding he is, the fact remains that if he stays with you, Jungkook remains in danger. Each passing day only worsens the pain.

His face blurs. With a start of surprise, you realize there are tears on your cheeks. The furrow between Jungkook’s brows deepens, noticing as well.

“You’re not listening,” you blurt. “I can’t see you any longer, Jungkook. It’s in your best interest, I promise – I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

Reaching up, you remove his hands from your face and head for the door.

Jungkook follows close behind. “Which is it, then?” he demands. “You want me to go slowly, or you feel too much?”

Pressure weighs every inch of your skin, demanding you answer. Anything that comes out now will only make things harder. Reaching the door, you feel Jungkook’s hand on your shoulder. Caving, you don’t fight when Jungkook turns you to face him.

He’s too close to you. Too much and too close, his one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, his thumb strokes the elongated line of your throat. You swallow, hard, and his gaze follows the motion.

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to yours. “You keep saying you’re no good for me,” he says, his voice low. “But what if I don’t care? Don’t I get a say in this decision?”

The force of holding in your magic worsens, becoming near impossible. Hastily built walls threaten to collapse, and reality blurs between one moment and the next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, your hand searching behind you. “I have to go.”

Finding the doorknob, you twist and stumble backwards. Jungkook watches you go, the look on his face physically painful as you turn around. Each second that follows is pure concentration, trying not to break before getting outside.

The ocean is only a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment.

Reaching the harbor, rain pelts your face in a way that feels punishing. Magic makes your limbs tremble, escaping your body in wisps of fog and rain. The moment you arrive at the harbor, you shatter, collapsing forward to grip your knees with both hands.

Eyes pressed tightly shut, you hear the storm howl. Waves churn the harbor, sloshing over the sidewalk in an attempt to get closer. No tidal waves, you plead in an attempt at reason. No whirlpools, no water spouts.

Your magic listens in this regard, at least. By the time your eyes open, a curtain of rain mingles with tears on your cheeks. Staring out at the ocean, each inch of your body is numb.

Jungkook will never forgive you for this.

The thought banishes all the rest. You can’t say that you blame him. Slowly, you exhale as you lift your gaze. The chasm in your chest widens, becoming something unbreachable. This is all your fault. You wish there was some satisfaction in knowing this, but there isn’t.

Eventually, the rain dulls, and you push yourself upright. Your sneakers squish with every step, the silence all-encompassing as you ride on the subway. Entering the building, you remove your shoes and collapse on your bed, fully clothed. Thankfully, your roommate isn’t home, so you aren’t forced to explain the events of tonight. Seokjin would have wanted to discuss, and you aren’t sure you can without breaking down.

Burrowing your face into the pillows, you manage to cry yourself asleep. Rain doesn’t let up the entire night.

“Tell me again.” Taking a seat at the table, Seokjin spoons yogurt and berries into his mouth. “Why did you have to end things with your boyfriend?”

Cracking open one eye, you glare from where you sit, slumped forward. “You know why, Seokjin,” you grumble. “Not all of us can be air Elementals in perfect control of their magic.”

“You could be, though,” he says, pointing with his spoon. “If you put in like, five seconds of training and embraced your water powers instead of running away whenever things got bad.”

“I am not running.”

“No.” Seokjin lifts a brow. “You’re cowering, which is far less attractive.”

“I’m not cowering, either.” Scowling, you bury your head deeper into your arms. “I’m wallowing. Big difference.”

Scoffing, his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl. Pushing his chair back to stand, Seokjin heads for the sink and turns on the tap. The water itches a spot deep in your chest, almost taunting.

“I can’t be too hard on you, though,” Seokjin says as he cleans. “You did get fired and dumped in one day – that’s pretty rough.”

“Does it count as being dumped if I did the dumping?”

“I’ll allow it.” He opens the dishwasher. “But only because really, you didn’t want to break up with Jungkook. You’ve just convinced yourself the world is better off without you – something I highly disagree with, by the way, but can’t fault you for feeling. It’s too sad.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, and close your eyes.

Two days have gone by since your decision to end your relationship with Jungkook. It hasn’t been great, to put things mildly. On Monday, you barely left your room and rain poured from the sky. When you did enter the kitchen, the weather person on Channel 9 predicted local flooding.

Seokjin arrived from his business trip that night, took one look at your face and helped stop the storm. You sagged with relief, falling into a fitful round of sleep that only lasted three hours.

Seokjin is one of the few Elementals you know who embraces their power. Both his parents are air Elementals, and he was raised to take over their magical consulting business. Said business does well, leading Seokjin to own a gorgeous, three-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. He got bored last winter, decided to post for a roommate and here you are. One of the few people in the city willing to room with an Elemental.

You don’t care what Seokjin does with his magic, although his laissez-faire attitude can occasionally be unnerving. You’ve lived your entire life with the assumption your existence is dangerous. All you need is a quick Google search to reinforce this fact. But then there’s Seokjin, living his life, seemingly none the worse for the wear.

He discovered your powers about a month into rooming together. Coming back from a trip, Seokjin opened the door to stare, slack-jawed, as plates washed themselves in the sink. Glancing up from your book at the table, you immediately sent two dishes crashing onto the floor.

Seokjin stared at this for a moment, then looked up. “You owe me new plates,” he declared and walked into his bedroom. After a moment, he popped his head out. “Hey – you think if we combined my wind and your water, we could create a waterspout but on land?”

“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”

“Right.” He slapped the doorframe once and disappeared. “Well, something to think about!”

Months later, Seokjin still doesn’t understand your avoidance of magic, but respects the decision enough to leave it alone. At least, until something like this happens and he’s again at a loss.

“Listen.”

Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”

Seokjin raises both hands. “Nothing, nothing. Far be it from me to comment on your mistakes. I’m sorry – did I say mistakes? I meant, ‘learned life experience.’ Through mistakes.”

“Was there a question in all that?”

“No question.” Loosely, he gestures. “Just wanted to say you can stay here, rent-free, until you figure this out. You know I’m only taking your money because you insist. I don’t need it. This place is already paid for.”

“Only because you frightened the seller so badly, they cut the price in half.”

“Listen.” Seokjin’s smile turns slightly sinister. “If they were willing to let their ingrained fear of Elementals influence their selling point, that’s on them. Not me.”

“Fair enough,” you sigh and sit back. “But seriously – thank you. This will give me some time to come up with a plan.”

Seokjin nods, tracing the rim of his coffee. Absently, he glances down the hall at the empty third bedroom. “You know…”

“No,” you say, automatic.

His right brow lifts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest I use this time off to work on my art.”

“Okay.” Seokjin shrugs. “Maybe you did know. But seriously, Y/N – why not?”

Weary, you exhale. “Because every time I try to paint, I get this… block. I can’t explain it. Watercolors used to be the one place I felt comfortable using my magic. Now… I don’t know. I can’t seem to use my magic anywhere. Even my art.”

Seokjin tilts his head, thoughtful. “How long has this been going on?”

“Don’t know – a few months?”

“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”

Staring at Seokjin, you realize he’s right. That’s exactly around when you began dating Jungkook. The block happened not long after. Thinking about the early days of dating are painful though, and so you choose not to.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you declare with a shake of your head. “Right now, what I need is a job. And to earn money. Preferably in that order.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “Let me know if the order changes. I know a guy.”

Before you can consider his offer too seriously, your phone rings on the table. Glancing down, your heart constricts at your mom’s name. It isn’t that you don’t want to talk. It’s that if you do, Jungkook’s name will come up, and you’ll be forced to explain why you two aren’t together. Right now, you’re managing to cope by avoiding the topic. You aren’t sure what will happen if you’re forced to confront it.

Not to mention the very real possibility your mom will be happy. She liked Jungkook, but she always worries whenever someone new enters your life.

Also glancing at your phone, Seokjin scowls. “Don’t answer it,” he says, walking past. “Whenever you talk to your mom, things get even worse.”

Seokjin’s not wrong. Your mom means well – really, she does – but talking to her tends to leave you exhausted. Still, you know from experience it’s better to answer now.

“I know,” you sigh and stand up. “But if I don’t pick up now, she’ll just keep calling. Hey,” you say, pressing answer. “One second, mom.”

Ignoring Seokjin’s sad shake of his head, you scoop up your coffee and head for your bedroom.

Closing the door to your room, you lean backwards. “Hi, mom,” you say, lifting your phone to your ear. “Sorry about that. I was eating breakfast. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” your mom says, and you can practically hear her smile. “Same old, same old. The better question is, how are you? I saw on the weather there’s some flooding by you. Hope you’re alright!”

Grimacing, you move the phone to speaker. You should have known your mom would check in. Reading between the lines of her question, you can hear what she’s really asking. Your mom wants to know if you caused the flooding – an answer which is undeniably yes, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Setting down your half-empty mug, you flop face-first on your bed. Less information tends to be more with your mom. You’re debating what to say when she solves the problem for you.

“I know you haven’t had a slip in years,” she continues. “But if there’s another water Elemental in town, you should try to steer clear of them! Being around them could set you off – that’s what happened to Becky’s nephew, she said.”

Fighting an eye roll, you roll on your back. Becky Mayweather is your mom’s best friend in the entire world and one of your least favorite people. She’s the type to bake cookies, offer a shoulder to cry on – and then promptly turn and gossip to the neighbors about it. She fancies herself an Elemental expert because a few of her friends married them. Funnily enough, neither you nor your mom have met these friends in person.

“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”

“It’s true! You know that I worry, Y/N. All alone in the city with another Elemental for a roommate…”

Annoyance spikes in your stomach. “His name is Seokjin, and I’m an Elemental too, mom. His mom could say the same thing about me.”

Seokjin’s mom could be saying that, but she wouldn’t because Seokjin’s mom and dad are both magic enthusiasts. The few times you met them, they were nothing but kind.

“Oh, Y/N.” Your mom sighs. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Watch your tone,” she says. “I’m only telling the truth. You work hard on controlling your magic. Your roommate, on the other hand, uses his magic willy-nilly. In broad daylight! You two couldn’t be more different.”

Your mom isn’t wrong about that, although not for the reason she thinks. Seokjin does use his magic freely, but you’re the one at risk of hurting others – not him.

“Seokjin is a good guy,” you say tightly. “He’s letting me stay here, rent-free, while I search for another job.”

“Another job?” Her voice pitches. “What happened to the job at that restaurant?”

Cursing yourself for your own stupidity, you close your eyes. “Um… I was let go. Difference of opinions with management.”

“Oh. Well. That’s too bad, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s probably for the best – you don’t want to be working for someone you don’t respect, right?”

Some of your anger lessens at her genuine sympathy. It’d be easy to paint your mom as the villain but truthfully, she comes from a good place. You know that she loves you; she just doesn’t want to lose you the same way she lost your dad.

Exhaling deeply, you reach to grab a pillow. “I’ve been trying to paint,” you say. “It hasn’t been going well.”

“No?”

You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admit.

“Well…” Your mom draws the word out. “We always knew art was a risky hobby, Y/N. Painting. With watercolors. Something could easily go wrong and put you in danger.”

“I know, mom.”

“Actually,” she adds, her excitement growing. “Maybe this is a sign. Y/N – what if this means your powers are weakening?”

Your entire body goes still. “What?”

“Yes!” she says, oblivious to the panic in your voice. “You always loved watercolors because they made sense to you, right? Because of your… well, magic. What if a block means your powers are growing weaker? I wonder if other Elementals ever lose touch with their magic. I’ll have to ask Becky.”

Irrational anger surges within, and you hear the faucet in your bathroom turn on. Hastily, you work to turn it back off.

“You don’t need to do that,” you blurt. “I’ll research it myself. Actually, I should get going – I wanted to apply for some jobs this morning.”

“Oh, yes – good call, honey. You go and apply. Let me know if you need help. Becky has connections with the local university. I’m sure someone could help you update your resume – or even apply, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Thanks,” you say, although it absolutely does not. “That’s a nice offer.”

“Have a good day, honey – I love you!”

“Love you, too,” you say before hanging up.

Dropping the phone onto your bed, you hug your pillow tightly. It takes several long minutes to relax, wading your way through an anxious sea of thought. Although your mom means well, conversations with her tend to leave you feeling drained. Since you were young, it’s felt like your mom has an idea of the perfect child, and they aren’t you.

Eventually, you stand to bring your mug to the kitchen. Seokjin is busy making another pot of coffee, the delicious scent wafting overhead.

Passing him by, you eye this warily. “Isn’t that your third pot this morning?”

“And?” Seokjin reaches for his mug. “You’ve had three cups yourself.”

“Touché,” you sigh, collapsing on the couch.

Minutes later, Seokjin enters the living room and hands you a mug.

Staring into the drink, you say, “Thanks.”

Settling onto the sofa, Seokjin examines you over the rim of his coffee. You ignore him, taking a long sip of your drink. A summer breeze wafts through the window, and with a flick of his wrist, Seokjin sends it back out.

A stab of envy goes through you, although you know it’s irrational. Seokjin always makes magic look easy, but you’ve never found it to be so. Maybe when you were younger, before the crippling fear and anxiety had a chance to set in. The only time magic ever felt normal was when you painted and now, you can’t even do that.

Thinking about painting makes you think about Jungkook though, causing the dull thud in your chest to become a sledgehammer. You miss him. Miss the easy way Jungkook made you laugh. How he insisted on constantly touching some part of your body.

Cupping your mug of coffee, you take another sip and sink into the sadness.

“Far be it from me to dole out advice.” Seokjin interrupts your tiny pity party. “But I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”

Too exhausted to argue, you merely exhale. “What’s the right way, then?”

His head tilts. “I don’t know. But I find it weird your block appeared around the same time you started dating Jungkook. You’ve…” Seokjin hesitates, and you recognize his how-do-I-put-this-delicately face. “You’ve given up a lot over the years, Y/N. Maybe this time, you gave up more of yourself than you realized.”

Silently, you wonder whether he’s right. For too long, you’ve gone through the motions of life without really living. Too scared of letting people in, scaring them off, of being yourself. Perhaps giving up Jungkook will be the final straw. The thought doesn’t comfort you, and you have no response.

After a moment, Seokjin turns on the TV. The morning slips by, though you can’t help but think about his earlier comments – could you control your magic if you tried harder? The moment you think this, you instantly banish the thought. You’ve been attempting for months, and nothing has worked.

With this cheery thought, you allow yourself to sink further into melancholy. Only this time, the water rushing overheard isn’t your friend. You aren’t sure it ever was.

Wednesday morning, you leave the apartment in a haze. You thought that by today, things would be better but if anything, the situation seems to be worse.

Missing Jungkook is painful.

It hurts more than you thought, which might sound stupid, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When you and Elliot broke up, it was sad, but you knew it was for the best and that lessened some of the pain. Now though, each beat of your heart prevents the wound from closing. A tentative scab in one second, only to be torn open the next.

Jungkook always sent you good morning texts. Not because he was up before you, but because he went to bed so late, it was only an hour or two before you awoke. His words were the first thing you read in the morning, smiling sleepily at his rambling. Sometimes, Jungkook would include a late-night snack recipe. Always, he’d end with something he liked about you.

His silence is deafening. Something not even your favorite coffee shop can fix, although you try. Standing in line, you aimlessly flip through songs on your phone. Today, you promised Seokjin you’d attend at least two interviews. The first one is in an hour at a sushi restaurant. Before then, you plan to load up on caffeine and organize your thoughts.

When the line moves forward, you flip to your messages. No new texts. Unsurprising, but it rends the scab in your heart anew.

Facing forward, you remove an earbud to order. “Hi,” you say, mustering a smile. “I’ll have an iced americano with rose syrup.”

“Got it.” The barista barely looks up. “That all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want a receipt?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.” She nods. “That’ll be ready soon at the end of the counter.”

Nodding your thanks, you replace the ear pod. Cranking your music louder, you wait for your coffee and lean against the counter. The coffee shop is tiny, empty for a weekday after the morning rush. Aimless, you glance over the clustered tables.

Your thoughts are on Jungkook before they can be stopped. You wonder what he's doing, what he’s wearing, whether he’s blocked your number yet from his phone.

A talented graphic designer, Jungkook works mostly on commission and on his own time. He does well for himself – enough to afford rent on his own place. Your mutual creative streak was something you had in common. Not your sleeping hours, that’s for sure.

Jungkook usually slept until nine or ten, then went to the gym before he made breakfast. You used to tease him about that, saying he couldn’t call it breakfast if –

Your heart falters. Jungkook must be on your mind since you seem to have hallucinated him here, at the coffee shop. You blink once, and then twice, but the mirage doesn’t fade, and you’re forced to conclude Jungkook is actually here.

Unfolding himself from a chair, he heads in your direction. Panicked, you glance at the counter, then back up. Your coffee hasn’t finished, which means that you’re trapped. Straightening, you do your best to seem natural and are certain you fail. Jungkook doesn’t just look natural, he is so as he approaches. At least, until you notice his hands in his pockets.

Jungkook does this when he’s nervous. Likely, he’s playing with the inside pocket lining. It hurts, knowing him so well, and not being his. When Jungkook comes to a stop, you stand mere inches apart.

“Jungkook,” you say, his name punched from your diaphragm.

He nods. “Hey.”

Uncertain, you glance down at the counter to check for your drink. Still nothing and, looking back, you tilt your head. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s hands go deeper, if possible. “Getting coffee. Is that allowed?”

Your lips press together. “Sure. Theoretically, you can get coffee. What I’m asking though, is why you chose this coffee shop, five blocks away from your place. Usually, you’re not awake before noon.”

His expression is inscrutable. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

The silence between you lengthens, and not in a good way. You know why you’re quiet but can’t tell what Jungkook is thinking. You suppose that it’s possible he woke up early, forgot this was your favorite shop and went on a long walk for coffee – it’s possible, but unlikely.

At last, Jungkook exhales. “Alright, fine. I wanted to see you.”

“Y/N?”

Both of you turn at the sound of your name. Glancing between the two of you, the barista seems to pick up a weird vibe, dropping the cup to hurry away. Grateful for the interruption, you reach for your coffee and attempt to reset.

It’s not fair of Jungkook, corning you like this. You were already forced to end this once – unfair, making you do so again. Breaking up with him once was barely possible; twice is unthinkable.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?”

His voice interrupts your train of thought and, gripping your drink tightly, you turn.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like, I don’t know.” His brow furrows, frustration obvious. “Anything, Y/N.”

Behind the counter, the barista fills a tea kettle to set this on the stove. You watch it instead of Jungkook, unsure how you’re going to do this again. The pressure of the water boiling is near tangible, mimicking the internal state of your mind.

Biting your tongue, you decide a safe exit is best. Jungkook will get the hint without you being forced to break his heart. Counting backwards from ten, you exhale and attempt to walk past.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” you say in a murmur.

You’re nearly past Jungkook when you hear a soft swear. Only one more step happens before his hand grips your elbow.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook breathes, turning you towards him.

Your gaze lifts and you start at his obvious pain. Staring back, Jungkook searches your face for something unspoken. Whatever he seeks, he must find it, since determination enters his.

You tear your gaze away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”

“I want to know if you were serious about breaking up.”

He’s still holding your elbow.

You must notice this at the same time, but neither of you move. Your gaze returns to his, drawn like a magnet and you realize your mistake when you can’t look away. Romeo’s line about Julie being the sun comes to mind, making sudden sense. You orbit around Jungkook, whether you like it or not.

In the background, a tea kettle whistles. “I meant what I said, Jungkook,” you say, forcing yourself to speak first. “I’m not good for you.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “But why,” he demands, frustration seeping through. You can hear in his voice the long nights of desperation, of little sleep in your absence. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Y/N. What did I do?”

A chasm in your chest opens, hating how easily he jumps to self-doubt. Before you can think better of it, you move closer.

“Nothing,” you say, one hand on his arm. “You did nothing wrong, Jungkook. I’m just not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

“But why not?” His gaze sharpens. “Everything was fine between us until Sunday.”

“Everything was not fine.”

Jungkook pauses, then barrels on. “When you say you can’t be in a relationship… what you’re really saying is you can’t be in a relationship with me.”

“With anyone,” you correct, although you aren’t sure that’s the truth.

Your magic has never been this temperamental. Possibly because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love. Dating someone not Jungkook would be safer, but the thought is abhorrent.

If you can’t have Jungkook, you don’t want anyone. That will be your punishment. Jungkook will move on, fall in love, and be happy with another person. Not you. No one else will compare, and if you can’t now, you doubt you’ll move past this crippling fear.

“You keep telling me that,” Jungkook says, growing heated. “But I’m the one you’re breaking up with, so it’s a little bit about me. You need to give me something, Y/N. Is this about your past? I know you don’t like to talk about your childhood, but I want to know.”

A loud buzzing fills your ears, gaze darting around. You haven’t told Jungkook much about your family, not wanting to invite questions about being an Elemental. The thought of him guessing sparks panic again, and the tea kettle on the stove whistles louder.

“People in my past hurt me,” you say in a rush. Magic itches beneath your skin, begging for escape. “That’s part of it, but not all.”

“What’s all, then?”

Frustration seeps past the wall, and several things happen. Your magic lashes out, a loud noise makes you jump, and the tea kettle shatters while hitting the floor. Water sloshes across the tile, steam hissing as the barista jumps back with a yelp.

Startled, you whirl around. One barista turns off the stove, another grabs a towel while a third finds a broom. Luckily, none of them seem injured – the tea kettle missed their skin. Taking a half-step towards them, you force yourself to stop. Although you want to help, that might make you seem guilty.

Already, the guilt within you is rising. You felt your magic overpowering you and chose to stay. If a barista had been hurt, it would’ve been your fault.

Turning back, you find Jungkook staring at the mess. He looks similarly shocked, twisting the knife in your gut. If he knew you caused this, he’d look at you that differently.

“You see?” you blurt, and he glances in your direction. “Everyone around me gets hurt. I can’t hurt you, too, Jungkook.”

Shoving open the door, you’re halfway outside when his words reach your ears.

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he says softly. “You already have.”

The door shuts behind you, and you almost make it home before starting to cry. The skies open again above the city.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” you mutter, staring through the window.

The slightly dilapidated Ramen-rama tables stare back at you until the owner walks past. Catching you standing there, he motions you on.

Somewhat chagrined, you trudge down the sidewalk. Reaching a playground two blocks away, you collapse on a bench and attempt to be rational. Four different interviews. Spread across two different days. Each one ending the exact same.

One crappy interview, even two, and you’d understand. But four crappy interviews in the same way? Something weird is happening. Each interview, you arrived, greeted the owner, answered a few questions, and were thus informed the position was filled.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t gotten a job. It was that your interviewers seemed nervous, staring hard at your resume and never your face. They seemed relieved when you left, as though you were liable to break something for fun.

“Hey. Did you interview this morning at Ramen-rama?”

Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.

You don’t recognize him; certainly you’d remember if you met before. Dressed in a Ramen-rama t-shirt, his dark hair is gathered in a bun on his head. His hair makes your chest ache, since Jungkook used to wear his like that.

“Um, yeah,” you say, yanking yourself from your daydreams.

He smiles and nods. “I thought that was you. Listen – I overheard the manager talking this morning on the phone while I was unloading the truck. I think he was talking about you, so I thought I should tell you what I overheard.”

Concerned, you straighten. “Uh, okay. What was he saying?”

“He was talking to your old boss – Pierre? Apparently, he’s calling around and warning people not to hire you. Said that you stole from him, or something. Not sure if it’s the same story for everyone, or if he’s making up shit up in the moment.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” The guy’s smile turns wry. “I’m assuming none of it’s true. You don’t look like the thieving type, but the boss is running a business, I guess. Can’t be too careful.”

“Right.” You pause, then shake your head. “I didn’t steal, just so you know. A guest was an ass to me, so I dumped water on him – on accident,” you add.

Laughing loudly, the guy clutches his bicycle. “Wow, I’d love to hear that story. Especially the part about it being an accident,” he adds with a wink, sticking out his hand. “I’m Wooyoung.”

“Y/N,” you say as you shake. “So. Pierre is calling people?”

Brow furrowed, Wooyoung pulls back. “Yeah. Sorry I had to tell you like this. Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to know, but figured I should.”

You push yourself to stand. “I do appreciate it. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.” Sheepish, he glances down the road. “I should actually get back if I don’t want to lose my job. Delivery,” he explains, nodding towards his bike. “Need the extra income.”

“Makes sense,” you say, forcing a smile. “Good luck.”

Wooyoung nods, then pauses in a way that feels familiar. He’s checking you out, you realize after a moment. Although flattering, it’s instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Wooyoung is cute and in another life, you’d say yes, but in every life, it’s hard not to want Jungkook.

Waving goodbye, Wooyoung climbs onto his bike and takes off. You head in the opposite direction, needing to put distance between you and Ramen-rama. If Pierre is shit-talking you across town, you’ll be hard-pressed to find another job at a restaurant. Owners are notoriously clicky and for how many restaurants there are, there are surprisingly few out of the loop.

Maybe you can ask the coffee shop if they’re hiring. Although you should probably avoid work with water for a bit. This drops your mood, your thoughts turning desperate. You’re so deep in an anxiety spiral, you nearly run into an open door on the sidewalk.

Jerking upright, you stare at faded, golden letters. Creative Courage is spelled in looping cursive over a frosted window. Art supplies fill a display case, while the other is clustered with art of all kinds. You spot sculpture, pottery, painting, and sketches before losing count.

Before you can chicken out, you push open the door.

Stepping in, tiny bells chime to announce your arrival. Soft, ambient light fills the space – a shop that’s two-fold, you realize now that you’re inside. The front sells art supplies while in the back stands a classroom. There’s a class in session now, several artists seated on stools before easels.

“Can I help you?” someone asks, stepping into your path.

Blinking, you focus. “Um, no – thank you! I was just looking.”

“Of course!” The woman beams, reaching up to arrange a clip in magenta hair. “That’s what we’re here for. If you do change your mind, let me know – we’ve got art supplies out front, and classes are held daily in back.”

“Classes?”

“Mhm.” Crossing her arms, the woman nods. “Mostly still life and figure drawing, but we’re hoping to add some more soon. Are you an artist?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

Immediately, you stiffen. “No. At least, not right now.”

Her lips twitch. “Not sure it works like that, unfortunately. Who you are can’t come on and off like a jacket. I like that, though,” she admits with a laugh. “Might borrow it the next time the muses aren’t singing.”

You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”

Her head tilts, surveying you with unnerving intensity. “My name is Taryn. I co-own this place with my partner, Micah. They’re the one teaching right now.”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat wistful. “That’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Her smile widens. “So, what was your preferred medium? You know, ‘back when’ you were an artist.”

You can’t help but laugh when Taryn lifts her hands to use air quotes. Some people have a way of making you feel included in their jokes, and Taryn is one of them. She teases you in a conspiratorial way, letting you know she understands. People often call art a labor of love, which can be true but more often, it’s a complicated tangle of love, pain and frustration.

“Watercolors,” you admit. “And my name is Y/N.”

Her eyes brighten. “We’ve been meaning to add a watercolor class for ages. Some of our regulars have asked, but Micah and I are both hopeless. Potter,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And Micah prefers charcoal. Sometimes sculpture.”

“Wow,” you say. “Those are very different.”

“You don’t say.” Taryn laughs. “Micah likes to keep things fresh. What about you? Have you ever taught be– hang on,” she blurts, her eyes going wide. “Did you say that your name is Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N?”

Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Whirling, Taryn hustles through the front room to duck behind a counter. Digging through several drawers, she pulls out a print to hurry back.

“Is this you?” she demands, thrusting this in your face.

Even cross-eyed and close, you recognize your most popular work. A watercolor series on the majesty and destruction of sea storms. Looking at this makes you feel raw, and so you look up.

“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”

Pulling back, Taryn looks at the print reverently. “You’re amazing. Micah was trying to do something similar but couldn’t capture the right feeling.”

Shuffling awkwardly, you shrug. You’ve never felt as though your work deserved acclaim, although it’s nice to know the series resonated with others. One of your favorite aspects of art is how it can be intensely personal but once shared, takes on a universal quality. You find it constantly surprising; how many people seem to share the same burdens.

“Seriously.” Taryn shakes her head wryly. “If you ever wanted to teach a class, let me know. We’d be lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing both hands in your pockets.

You hadn’t realized your desperation was obvious. Or possibly Taryn is just incredibly good at reading others. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you stepped foot in the art world. Even before dating Jungkook, you felt your passion lagging. It’s been a long time since you wanted to connect with your inner voice, although merely the act of being here calls the tide in your blood.

Dangerous.

Recognizing this, you reinforce an inner wall. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m not really looking for something right now.”

Taryn nods. “Sure. If things change though, just let me know – before next week,” she adds. “We try to publish our class schedule on the first of each month.”

“Will do. Thanks, again.”

“Anytime!” Beaming, Taryn spins to restock the next shelf.

Realizing your conversation is finished, you continue down the next aisle. The shop’s materials are superb, and your fingers are itching to reach out and touch. Reaching the front, you notice a quote painted over the register: Creativity takes courage – Henry Matisse.

You stare at this for a while, unsure why it hurts. Courage isn’t something you’ve thought about in a long time. When you were younger, you pushed people away because it was safe, but now you find yourself wondering who was that for – others? Or yourself?

Maybe the reason you keep yourself separate is because you are afraid people might leave you. Like Katrina. Or Elliot. Or even your dad.

Suppressing magic was hard at the start. Everything about it felt counter-intuitive but you reasoned doing the right thing often took effort. This is what you told yourself, anyways. It made said effort more bearable.

When you first began painting, the relief you felt was immense. After so long spent ignoring your emotions, you found a space to be free. Your series about the sea was oddly therapeutic, working through complicated emotions; your love for the ocean, coupled with fear of its wild beauty. Similar clashes within yourself about magic. And always, always, the desire for more.

For a few hours though, those feelings could be a part of you. Magic could be a part of you, so long as you remained in control – and with brush in hand, you were.

Only now does it occur to you that maybe, this wasn’t healthy. Maybe you shouldn’t feel the need to compartmentalize, as though certain pieces of yourself can only exist in certain spaces.

Tearing your gaze from the words, you exit the shop and gently shut the door. Pulling your jacket tighter, you head down the sidewalk and let your thoughts drift. Jungkook only saw you paint once, but the memory is hard to forget.

You had just started dating, barely past the stage of calling him ‘boyfriend.’ The constant influx of emotion was difficult to manage, and after a few weeks, you were exhausted. Most of your time spent without Jungkook was seated before your canvas. After one particularly frustrating session, you set down your paint to stubbornly stare at the canvas.

A throat cleared from behind.

Startled, you spun and found Jungkook standing there. His gaze moved quickly to yours, but you realized he’d been staring at your half-finished work. Normally, you felt panic at the thought of someone seeing a work in progress. That night though, the look on Jungkook’s face eased your concerns. Awe; pure and clear.

Yanking down giant, over-ear headphones, you hastily stood.

Jungkook lurched forward. “No!” he blurted, only to halt. “I mean – you don’t have to cover the painting. I liked it.”

He seemed flustered, which made you slightly flustered, but you took a slow step sideways. Eager, Jungkook’s gaze traversed the canvas.

Eventually, he looked back. “Sorry about that,” Jungkook said and walked closer. Warm hands found your waist. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How did you get in?” you laughed, burying your face in his chest.

“Seokjin.” He paused. “Did he not say I was here? I texted you a half hour ago, but you didn’t respond. I figured I’d stop by, and Seokjin said to come up.”

Softening, you made a mental note to chastise Seokjin later. Tightening your arms, you lifted your head and smiled.

“So.” Jungkook glanced over your shoulder. “This is you.”

This sent a thrill down your spine. He spoke as though he’d known you before, but only on a surface level and now, he understood. Jungkook knew your art was part of you, as much as your heart or your soul. You had often felt the same, but never said so out loud.

Magic swelled, and you pushed it back down, but it was difficult. When Jungkook bent his head, you forgot to be scared and let yourself feel. The brush of his lips. The tightening of his hands. The current within you, swelling against your highest walls.

Loudly, someone knocked on the door. Breathless, you jerked backwards and found Seokjin in the door.

“Hey.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Wanted to let you know our dishwasher broke. Flooded the kitchen.” Pointed, Seokjin looked at you. “Everything is all good, but I’m calling a plumber tomorrow. Carry on.”

In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly ended the evening and sent Jungkook home.

Remembering how the night ended, you stifle a groan and walk faster. Once more, you couldn’t control your magic and put Jungkook in danger. Hardly the creative courage Henry Matisse imagined.

You always assumed suppressing your magic was the best choice. But the best choice for who? Certainly not for you, who lives isolated, inert and in fear of yourself. Your dad used to call your magic a gift, but it’s been a long time since you felt that way.

This memory brings with it a sharp stab of pain. Since your dad passed, fear has replaced any joy your magic brought. Fear of falling victim to the same fate he did. Of others’ rejection. Of failing to live up to your father’s example.

You have little doubt that if your dad could see you now, he’d be confused by your actions.

You push others away in the name of saving them. Again, you think of Jungkook and for once you allow it. The entire way home, you wish that he’d call.

He doesn’t though and eventually, you stop hoping.

By Friday, the threads keeping your feelings at bay are nearly worn through. Intrusive thoughts push against fragile bonds, threatening the haven you’ve carefully crafted.

With more force than needed, you toss clothing into the washer. Your usual laundromat was closed, forcing you to walk five blocks to the next one. Sweaty from suddenly sweltering temperatures, your arms sore from the hamper, the situation does nothing to improve an already crappy mood.

Wiping your forehead with one arm, you slam the door and press start. The machine whirs to life, laundry tumbling in a way reminiscent of your inner turmoil. Up, you did the right thing by ending it with Jungkook. He’ll swiftly move on and find someone else. Down – but you don’t want him to find someone else. You want him to find you.

Teeth gritted, you turn and grab your hamper from the floor. Placing this on the washer, you wearily tug your cell phone from your pocket. By the time you walked home, you’d have to come back, leaving you with forty minutes to kill. You could read more of the book you just started. Or submit your resume to a couple of restaurants.

After yesterday’s disaster at Ramen-rama though, the interview process has stalled. Instead, you’ve found yourself thinking more about Creative Courage. For a brief moment, you even walked into the third bedroom to paint.

You immediately walked back out again, but merely the act was more than you’ve done in months. The thought of creation brought mostly panic, since it’d involve you being honest. Something you haven’t been with yourself in a while.

Because if you were honest, you know what you’d find. You would regret breaking up with Jungkook. Maybe even find that, deep down, you want to be selfish. You want to keep dating him, even if Jungkook gets hurt in the end.

After all, you saw what loving an Elemental did to your mom.

Putting down your phone, you scan the laundromat and find your gaze catching on the person in the next aisle.

No. No, no, no – absolutely not.

The universe – or whoever’s writing your story – must be cruel and unusual, since standing beside you is Jungkook. You’d recognize his head anywhere. Straightening from his hamper, Jungkook turns to face you and goes still.

Eyes wide, he seems stunned until someone slams shut their dryer. Both of you jump, breaking eye contact and time seems to reset. Pressing start on his machine, Jungkook grabs his gym bag and hoists it over one shoulder. He strides towards the exit, halfway there when you spring into action.

Dashing towards him, you cut him off at the dryers. Footsteps slowing, Jungkook meets your gaze with visible confusion.

“Sorry,” he says, tugging his gym bag behind him. The thick, grey strap of it cuts across his hoodie. “I was just leaving. I can come back later if you want to finish your load.”

Again, he tries to move past you, but something inside of you snaps. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but somehow, find your hand gripping his sleeve.

Startled, Jungkook stares.

Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”

Head spinning, all your words seem to fly out the window. Nothing about this was planned. You have no idea what to tell Jungkook besides I’m sorry, and even this would be woefully inadequate without explanation. Which you can’t give.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” you say at last.

A singular brow lifts. “No? You didn’t seem to think that way on Wednesday.”

You suppress a wince, although you try your best to hide it. “I know,” you admit. “It’s just… this is your usual laundromat. I don’t want you to leave because of me. I wouldn’t even be here, expect the one near me is broken and –”

“Got it,” he interrupts, the words tight. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.”

Swallowing hard, you stare down at your shoes. You know you deserve this, but it’s just so hard to see Jungkook hurting. He deserves to be happy, not wasting his energy on hating you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your eyes start to burn, and you squeeze them shut to prevent a reaction. You absolutely cannot cry in front of Jungkook. Not when you’re the one who started this; the very last thing you want him to feel for you is pity.

“Hey.” Something in his tone shifts, and you hear Jungkook step closer. When you open your eyes, he watches you intently. “What’s wrong?”

A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.

Anyone else could have asked those words, and you would have been able to answer. For Jungkook to do so is unthinkable. You’re the one who ruined this. The one who hurt him, who ended this and still, Jungkook is concerned about your well-being.

“I was fired on Sunday,” you say in a rush. “Before I came to see you.”

He blinks only once before his face hardens. “Before you broke up with me, you mean.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, Jungkook glances away. His expression is taut, and you feel a sharp pang of envy. It’s so easy to read Jungkook. You’ve spent so long hiding your emotions, it strikes you as luxurious how easily he feels.

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Y/N,” Jungkook says, turning back. “What are you doing?”

“What… do you mean?”

Fear spikes your heart, wondering if Jungkook has finally pieced the facts together. Maybe he saw more than you realized at the coffee shop. Maybe he finally knows what you are.

“Why are you… torturing me?” he clarifies, a slight rasp to his voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were fired? That sucks, but it doesn’t make this okay. It doesn’t make us okay,” he adds, gesturing to the air between you.

“I – I know,” you stammer, nearly blurting out something you’ll regret.

Like that you’re an Elemental teetering close to the edge. One who can feel every pipe, every spin cycle within the walls of this laundromat. All of them churning, pulsing, begging for your magic to release the water inside.

“You know?” Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. “Again, Y/N – what do you want from me?”

Since you started talking, you’ve moved several steps closer. Another breath, another reach and you’d be in his arms. Glancing down, you notice how quickly Jungkook’s chest rises and falls.

He’s afraid, you realize. Jungkook’s fear isn’t the same one as yours, though. He isn’t afraid that you’ll see him, but rather that you’ll destroy him.

Realizing this, a barrier within you crumbles. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, somewhat desperate.

“You keep saying that.” Determined, he steps closer and somehow, your hand entwines with his to press against his chest. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but you won’t tell me why. Won’t tell me anything, Y/N – you were fired, and this is the first time I’m hearing it.”

“I couldn’t tell you!” you blurt. “I can’t explain it, Jungkook, but I couldn’t tell you when it happened.”

His gaze sharpens. “Then, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off broken up.”

Releasing you, Jungkook brushes past you and heads for the exit. You stare blankly at the wall before you, your whole world caving in as your head starts to spin. Magic seeps beyond your fractured walls, flooding your veins in desperate search for an exit.

“That’s not true,” you protest, spinning around. “I’ve told you more than anyone else in my life, Jungkook. I’ve let you in in ways no one else has.”

Jungkook stiffens at the door, his entire body taut. For a single, long moment, it seems as though he might reconsider but the longer you stand there, the more you watch the fight drain from the lines of his shoulders.

“I don’t doubt that’s true,” he says, hand hovering above the doorknob. “But that’s not the same as letting me in.”

He starts to go.

Everything around you becomes white noise.

When you were ten, you passed a famous dam on one of your cross-country moves. Your mom took you to see it, swinging your hand while entering the viewing platform.

The moment you saw it, you went wholly still. Trillions of gallons of water, trapped behind concrete, constantly pushing but unable to break. It felt like your magic. Raw, untamed power contained by a solid wall. You stared for longer than any other visitor, until your mom pulled your arm and said you should leave.

The entire way to the car, your mom was silent and once you were buckled in, she twisted around to see you. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said, her voice serious. “That dam will only work if the wall holds. If the wall breaks, do you know what happens?”

Silent, you shook your head.

“The water will flood the whole valley. Everyone in its path, all the forest – they’d be gone. The wall can’t break, or bad things happen. Do you understand me?”

Solemn, you nodded because even then, you understood. Although your magical dam was intangible, it held equal importance. You had to hold in the magic, otherwise bad things would happen. So long as the wall was in place, you were safe.

Now though, you squeeze your eyes tightly as the wall starts to crumble.

Emotions break with the force of a tidal wave, racing ahead and drowning all in its path. Memories you thought were long buried continue to rise, crushing you further. Your walls are destroyed in a matter of seconds.

You remember your dad, kissing you on the head before leaving the house. Katrina’s stricken expression when the door shut in her face. Jungkook, asking you what he’d done wrong again.

Each memory drags you under, and you shudder against the onslaught. It takes everything you have to remain standing while your restraint dissolves.

Hands grip your arms.

Surprised, your eyes fly open to find Jungkook before you. His neck muscles strain, yelling to be heard over thundering water. You try your best to focus, to rein your magic back in – only to realize with horror, it might be too late.

The laundromat around you is in chaos. Several ceiling pipes have burst, water crashing down in torrents of water. Already, waves lap at your ankles. Noise filters back in, flickering before solidifying to something substantial.

People are screaming, abandoning their hampers in an attempt to get out. The door has stuck though, unable to open under the onslaught of water. Jungkook yells again, and this time you hear him.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, close to your face.

You stare upward, stupefied. Another pipe bursts, and you think that was you, but it’s hard to be sure. Hard to understand which parts are in control and which parts are not. What particular emotion is holding the reins at any moment.

Determination replaces fear in his face, and Jungkook bends before you have time to blink. In an instant, you’re tossed over his shoulder. A yelp escapes, upside-down but he’s already wading through the aisle of washers.

Jungkook shouts at people to move, but no one is listening. After a moment, you feel him exhale and surge forward. Although you can’t see, the people seem to be moving, so Jungkook must appear confident.

Grasping the door, he pulls on it, hard. Nothing happens. Exhaling, Jungkook grips your waist tighter and mutters, “Hold on.”

You don’t have time to ask why, since he yanks harder and the entire frame shudders. Jungkook does this again and another pipe bursts, drawing your gaze. By the time you look back, the door has budged an inch and water is pouring out. With a final wrench, Jungkook yanks open the door.

People shove past him, rushing into the street with the tide of water. Spinning around, Jungkook shields you with his frame from the wet crush of bodies. His grip never wavers, feet anchored to the ground as though they’ve rocks themselves.

With each breath, your pulse slows until finally, you locate the faint threads of magic. Before, you felt too much at once. The crush was overwhelming but now, you manage to breach the surface. For the first time, you see your panic influencing the tide.

Realizing this, you reach inward and try to – turn. With great effort, you identify the source of your power and disconnect. Water in the ceiling slows to a trickle, and then, nothing.

Exhaling against your neck, Jungkook’s hand moves lower.

You can’t help but shiver. “Jungkook?” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Could you… you know, set me down?”

“Oh.”

Somewhat sheepish, Jungkook lowers you to face him. He doesn’t step away, and neither do you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to be selfish and make it as long as possible.

He stares back at you, waterdrops caught between his lashes. In the background, water continues to drip from a pipe. The soft plink-plink echoes the thud of your heart.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Jungkook’s hands remain on your waist, his touch scrambling all semblance of sanity. You aren’t sure how to answer without being honest.

Truthfully, you’re not okay.

An okay person wouldn’t break up with their boyfriend and then, six days later throw themselves in their path. An okay person wouldn’t be hiding their magic, they wouldn’t be lying to the person they love and most of all, wouldn’t continue to place that same person in danger.

Silent, you survey the aftermath of your outburst. Deep down, your magic itches in response to your panic. Seeping outward, it seeks to mold to the fear, but you manage to stop it. Something about the wall being gone makes your power less alien. No longer an unknown variable, but a constant.

“No,” you exhale. Steeling yourself, you take a step backwards. “No, Jungkook, I’m not okay. I… this is exactly why you should stay away from me. Bad things happen, and I can’t control them. I’m so sorry.”

Again, you brace yourself for his anger, but it never comes. Jungkook is unusually quiet, head cocked to one side. He sees right through you, a sensation unnerving enough that you drop your gaze.

“I should go,” you repeat, stepping around him. Reaching your washer, you hastily unload your soggy clothing. “I have to go.”

Jungkook says nothing, although you feel his gaze on the back of your head. Hefting your hamper, you slam the door shut, and turn. The water level at your ankles has dropped, no more than a centimeter remaining in the room.

Sirens wail in the distance, likely on their way to investigate. Your stomach lurches, recognizing the cost of your magic. As soon as possible, you should reach out to Seokjin. His company might be able to cover the damage if the laundromat can’t.

Nearing the exit, you look anywhere but at Jungkook’s face. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, unsure what else to say. “Really, I am.”

Again, he lets you move past. Water rushes out when you open the door, seeking the street, then the gutter. Hurrying past, you can’t shake the feeling something has changed.

Not only with you and Jungkook, but with you and your magic. Silent, you prod the place deep within from which your magic stems. You’re used to a wall, feeling closed off but now, it seems your mom was right.

Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.

A weightlessness accompanies this that you didn’t anticipate. Despite the terror of your outburst, there was a moment near the end when you stopped it. When you felt what was wrong and controlled your outburst of magic. You haven’t done that before.

The thought is followed by regret, remembering Jungkook. When you broke up, it was supposed to save him. Instead, you’ve only put him – and yourself – in greater danger. Maybe because you’ve continued to see him. Everything would be fine if you moved or kept your distance.

But then, another part of you wonders if you were wrong from the start. Maybe instead of providing distance, you should have come closer. Should have allowed Jungkook to decide whether he wanted to stay. After all, today, he experienced the worst of your powers, and he didn’t run. If anything, he moved closer.

Suddenly exhausted, you hail a cab. The driver grumbles at your wet clothes but allows you inside, and you tip him extra upon reaching your place. What you should do is find another laundromat and finish your load, but there’s an itch in your fingers you haven’t felt in some time.

Dropping your hamper at the door, you shutter yourself within the third bedroom. Not allowing yourself to second-guess, you sit down at your easel and pick up a brush.

For the first time in a long time, you allow the magic to flow. You paint.

 © kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! Continued in Part II, here.

[kkanabel]

caffeine addiction - chapter 7 Bakugou Katsuki x Reader / Coffee Shop! AU

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter - next chapter ⇨

words: ~2.3k

The photo you took with Bakugou was admired, to say the least. 

After going home from the show and taking a long bath to wash the day off, you noticed that your aunt invited you to a group chat containing the two of you and the Bakugou family. 

You were in your bedroom, sitting in a fetal position on your bed with your hair wet. You were in your twelve-year-old t-shirt that was four sizes too big for you. It had so many holes in it that if you wore it outside, people would believe you were a rat that was scurrying about on the streets. But you loved it. And you were damn adamant about never getting rid of it.

Taking a piece of your hair, you brought it to your nose and breathed in the scent of your shampoo and conditioner before sighing in delight. This was the best part about washing your hair. Even though you may look like some version of a wet mop, you smelled so good. This is great. You loved the time after a show. Your entire body would be tired and aching afterward (especially your feet after wearing heels), but the afterglow of going to one was always the best. 

The slight soreness was somewhat satisfying, and you’d be able to go back through your photos and relive the entire show again through your photos as you listened to the barely-there noises of cars driving past your window and the occasional hoot of an owl.

The group chat was then flooded with the photos of you two. There was a particular photo they focused most on, though– the one with Bakugou glancing down at your lips as you beamed up at him. You couldn’t lie. It was a beautiful photo. The outfits you two wore were well-coordinated, but it was overshadowed by the sheer chemistry emanating from the two of you. 

Your hands were placed delicately on his chest whilst his hands rested on your lower back and underneath your chin, angling your face up to his. There was a ghost of a smile left on Bakugou’s face while he was glancing at your smile. 

You let out an audible “woah” and left a heart message next to that particular photo. You were proud! It truly looked like the two of you were a couple, and the clothes were definitely a highlight of the photo altogether. The photographer did a great job! You didn’t know how the photographer/editor was able to make it look so much like Katsuki was going to kiss you, but you weren’t complaining! It looked great!

The actual moment you were taking that photo didn’t feel anything like what the mood from the photo emanates. That amazed you. The photographer was truly talented.

And then the bribery started.

Before the afterparty ended, Mistuki and Masaru were holding a conversation with you and your aunt about the clothing. You mentioned how you really wanted some of the pieces from the runway, and you were probably going to desperately search the web for anything similar.

Usually, pieces straight from the runway aren’t the same ones sold at stores. When looking at luxury brands’ stores, they normally have a refined version of the things they sell at stores. The point of fashion shows are to market the brand and to make a statement (whether it be about society, politics, or whatever else). Of course, it depends on the brand, but Masaki is a brand that uses its fashion shows as more of an art exhibition than anything. You, however, have a tendency to actually want the pieces directly from the runway. 

After you wore them for the photos, you just wanted them more. So, this was a way for you to ask the original designers if you could purchase their pieces in a… sly way.

You didn’t expect it, but Masaru offered to give an outfit to you for free. You were especially surprised since you were willing to pay thousands for it! They said it was a gift for their old friend’s niece. You were ecstatic!

Mitsuki, however, being the opportunist she is, decided that they’d give an outfit to you for a favor or two. And you, being the clothing addict, agreed to “anything!” 

This is how she was able to coax you into getting your permission for posting this photo to their official Instagram. 

It’s unknown how she was able to convince her son for his permission, but it was likely something ten times more sneaky. To you, it was a small price to pay for these clothes you likely would have sold a kidney for. After all, it was Masaki! Straight from the runway! Masaru even personally tailored it to exactly your size! This was a chance that only a couple people in the world could receive. You were fine with it.

In fact, you were glad that you had to just show your face to a small fraction of the public. It’s fine! It’s a great deal, in fact! What you didn’t expect was for this photo to turn the viewing for a small fraction of the public into one of a big fraction.

Either way, this didn’t become an issue until a bit later.

Bakugou Katsuki was back to his daily routine. His attention was a little more split, however. The joint group chat between the owners of Masaki and Kindeki was blowing up at almost all times of the day. The designers of the brands had jumped straight into drafting up ideas as soon as possible, and it was headache-inducing. 

Bakugou was tired of his phone stuttering out notifications as if it were a bumbling high schooler trying to do a presentation. Thus, during his time at the café, his eyebrows were constantly furrowed into an expression of sheer irritation as he felt his phone vibrate against him in his pocket every couple of seconds. “Why can’t those damn geezers just talk about this in real life!?” he thought, opening his phone for the nth time to check up on what they’d been talking about.

His mom and your aunt were talking about the Ham and Swiss Croissants from Starbucks. This was the last straw. He turned off the notifications for the group chat altogether, finally getting a break from the incessant vibrating of his phone. From across the counter, Ashido looked at him with concern.

“Hey, you good? You’ve been staring at your phone all day like you did in high school whenever Midoriya got a better grade than you on a test.” 

Bakugou gritted his teeth and bared them at the girl for her remark, but answered nonetheless. “My mom and her friend from college keep bitching about croissants in a group chat we’re using to discuss details for a brand collaboration.” He rolled his eyes at the thought of it. He was going crazy. Why couldn’t they just use their own chat? Why the hell are they talking about croissants!?

He was leaning his hands against the back counter that held his expensive espresso machine. His “baby”, as his employees would call it. He leaned a little too far back and burned the back of his arm on one of the metal attachments to the machine which was still dripping with boiled water. As he hissed from the pain, he started whispering a scary amount of curses under his breath.

Then, the door rang. 

Instead of you coming back into the café, this one little dipshit is starting to come in instead. Some people were moving into the empty space next door to his café. They were setting up a boutique or some stupid shit, and this guy was one of their people. He kept ordering the same shit you’d always order. A peach lemonade and some version of an extremely caffeinated drink, and some other shit. This time, the guy came in with a Starbucks bag with something in there that smelled suspiciously like those stupid fucking croissant sandwiches. 

Bakugou forced a smile on his face as he was handing the man his order. He could feel his face twitching with poorly concealed anger, so it just made the man squeak and rush out of the place as soon as he could. Ashido chuckled at him from the cashier, watching as Bakugou quickly reverted his face back into one with a deep grimace. Yeah, he wasn’t going to be working as the cashier at all today. He’d scare them all off, and he’s already intimidating enough as he is.

As of this point, Ashido was getting concerned. She could see a vein popping up on his neck from clenching his teeth and fist so hard. He looked a little constipated, to be honest, but she kept these words to herself for fear that she may end up causing that vein on his neck to pop in sheer rage. 

She genuinely hadn’t seen him this angry in years, and she was wondering how high his blood pressure must have been. After knowing him for so many years, she was sure that the croissant conversation wasn’t the only thing that was getting on his nerves so much. It couldn’t have been. Normally, when the part-time workers at his café would start having personal conversations in the employee group chat, he’d just calmly ask them to bring the conversation to another place.

That was a similar scenario to what he described. Two people he knew quite well using a professional group chat for personal discussions– it was basically the same situation.

There had to be a certain trigger that was making him more irritated than usual. She saw how Bakugou reacted to the man that just left the café, and she couldn’t help but think that he was connected to all of this. Hmm, he was carrying a Starbucks bag, though. Maybe that’s why he was angry? Because he brought a bag with the logo of a massive coffee corporation into his café? But no, the man was clearly buying the drinks from his café, which basically cemented the fact that his drinks were better. Bakugou would normally be proud of that. 

Ashido kept thinking to deduce the reason behind his actions. Playing detective for the source of Bakugou’s emotions is one of her favorite hobbies. Especially when the café isn’t busy.

Maybe it’s because the bag smelled a little bit like croissant sandwiches? There has to be another reason other than the croissants. There’s no way he’d get that angry just because of a reminder of some pastries.

Ashido was hyper aware of his actions during her exchange with the customer, however. Partially because she was worried and mostly because she was curious. 

Before Bakugou could even take a glance at the bag in his hands, she noticed him clench up when he asked for “an americano and a peach lemonade– both large.” She could have sworn that Bakugou also let in a sharp breath when the customer said that.

What’s wrong with buying an americano and a peach lemonade? Tons of people ordered those. Maybe it’s the combination of the two? She thought. “But (Y/N)-san orders these and he’s never angry at-” her jaw dropped and she immediately clasped a hand over her mouth.

She had reached an epiphany. "It’s definitely because she hasn’t been visiting the café as often!"

Is that why he was so pissy?

Was it because he wanted to see you?

Ashido told Bakugou he should go on a break so that she could process this information while he went to calm down. She’ll tease him about it after his blood pressure goes down. He’s also been clenching his teeth so hard that his teeth will start falling out if he doesn't cool off somehow. 

As she washed her hands (because she touched her mouth earlier), she had a terrifying cheshire cat smile on her expression. From afar, a customer saw her and squeaked a little. 

It was his break, but he couldn’t fucking relax. Maybe he should just leave the café to Ashido for the rest of the day to cool off at the gym. But no, he couldn’t. He had to finish the day, or else it would damage his gold, coffee mug-shaped pride.

He has to, even if he’s starting to sweat from how much sheer anger he feels. His head and jaw ache from being clenched for so long, and he thinks his palms might bleed if he digs his fingernails into them any longer. He desperately needed this break. 

He was very a little irked at the fact that he hadn’t seen you stop by his café ever since the show. You were a regular at his café, so why hadn’t he seen you since?

Was it because he scared you off because of the way he looked at you in the photo?

It sent his mind spiraling. "Of course she wouldn’t show up again. It’d be fucking awkward. She probably thinks you’re a disgusting pervert because of the way you looked at her. Fuck, you barely know her. She definitely thinks you’re disgusting because of that.”

As of this point, he was standing in the employee bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror again. He looked at the wall desperately, wanting to punch it with all his might. But if he did that, he’d probably break his wrist again. Not a good idea to punch a concrete wall like that one time. “Calm down,”he thought, using breathing techniques that his old therapist taught him. 

He hasn’t felt this angry in years– ever since Midoriya got a higher grade than him on that government test in his senior year of high school.

So, he went back to the counter of his café, making himself one of those hot chocolates that you helped him develop a little while back.

Before he got back to work, he went to the back and did some push-ups in the pantry while thinking of you. He’s going insane. Again.

directory/m.list

⇦ previous chapter - next chapter ⇨

[probablyasocialecologist]

To bring about its hypothetical future, OpenAI must build a new digital ecosystem, pushing users toward the ChatGPT app or toward preëxisting products that integrate its technology such as Bing, the search engine run by OpenAI’s major investor, Microsoft. Google, by contrast, already controls the technology that undergirds many of our online experiences, from search and e-mail to Android smartphone-operating systems. At its conference, the company showed how it plans to make A.I. central to all of the above. Some Google searches now yield A.I.-generated “Overview” summaries, which appear in tinted boxes above any links to external Web sites. Liz Reid, Google’s head of search, described the generated results with the ominously tautological tagline “Google will do the Googling for you.” (The company envisions that you will rely on the same search mechanism to trawl your own digital archive, using its Gemini assistant to, say, pull up photos of your child swimming over the years or summarize e-mail threads in your in-box.) Nilay Patel, the editor-in-chief of the tech publication the Verge, has been using the phrase “Google Zero” to describe the point at which Google will stop driving any traffic to external Web sites and answer every query on its own with A.I. The recent presentations made clear that such a point is rapidly approaching. One of Google’s demonstrations showed a user asking the A.I. a question about a YouTube video on pickleball: “What is the two-bounce rule?” The A.I. then extracted the answer from the footage and displayed the answer in writing, thus allowing the user to avoid watching either the video or any advertising that would have provided revenue to its creator. When I Google “how to decorate a bathroom with no windows” (my personal litmus test for A.I. creativity), I am now presented with an Overview that looks a lot like an authoritative blog post, theoretically obviating my need to interact directly with any content authored by a human being. Google Search was once seen as the best path for getting to what’s on the Web. Now, ironically, its goal is to avoid sending us anywhere. The only way to use the search function without seeing A.I.-generated content is to click a small “More” tab and select “Web” search. Then Google will do what it was always supposed to do: crawl the Internet looking for URLs that are relevant to your queries, and then display them to you. The Internet is still out there, it’s just increasingly hard to find. If A.I. is to be our primary guide to the world’s information, if it is to be our 24/7 assistant-librarian-companion as the tech companies propose, then it must constantly be adding new information to its data sets. That information cannot be generated by A.I., because A.I. tools are not capable of even one iota of original thought or analysis, nor can they report live from the field. (An information model that is continuously updated, using human labor, to inform us about what’s going on right now—we might call it a newspaper.) For a decade or more, social media was a great way to motivate billions of human beings to constantly upload new information to the Internet. Users were driven by the possibilities of fame and profit and mundane connection. Many media companies were motivated by the possibility of selling digital ads, often with Google itself as a middle man. In the A.I. era, in which Google can simply digest a segment of your post or video and serve it up to a viewer, perhaps not even acknowledging you as the original author, those incentives for creating and sharing disappear. In other words, Google and OpenAI seem poised to cause the erosion of the very ecosystem their tools depend on.

[ubejamjar]

Ube's Gpose Edit Process

Disclaimer: I have no idea what I'm doing, this is just-- *gestures vaguely*

For @oneiroy!

Okay so, I'll be using the Candle Autumn - Gameplay preset. It's my usual preset, but I do toggle some effects for gposing. We'll get into it later. All my gpose settings are at default except for 'Depth of Field' and 'Character Lighting'. (Please ignore my sliders for Lighting 1, I'm not going to be playing with lighting here. It's a pretty neutral shot without any strong light source, so I dont feel like I need it. )

before vs. after of 'character lighting' being turned from 53 to 0

'Character Lighting' gives the effect of even lighting no matter where they are. I usually turn it down to 0. In this situation, it's because she's standing under the dock roof thing with even natural lighting. When I work with light, turning it to 0 helps me understand exactly how light is hitting the subject and where my shadows are.

Now I'll mosey on over to Reshade. I've turned off the 'DoF' here as well. I prefer to do my blurring in post :D

I'll enable 'MxaoFFXIV' and mess with the settings until I have shadows appropriate for the lighting situation. Again, there's no strong light source here, so I want soft shadows that hint at objects being close together.

Next I enable 'HDR'. Just in case we don't know-- HDR stands for 'high dynamic range'. Essentially it makes our shadows darker without turning them black and our highlights brighter without making them white. 'HDR' picks up more details and is great for making those HQ screenies.

Now I mosey on over to my Windows photo editor.

I like to start by blurring the background. The auto-detect isn't always great so I'll go in and make sure the mask (the blue stripes) doesn't overlap Ajisai too much. If I don't, there'll be a strange glow radiating from the blurred spots. I also want to add the mask to any pieces of the background auto-detect missed.

Here's some problem spots:

Hopefully you can see here that the background isn't completely blurred in image 1 & 2. In image 3, the problem is the feather is almost completely blurred when I don't want it to be.

Now I edit! I usually don't push the values too hard. Except for vignette, which I turn up to max because I like it. It's probably just a phase, mom.

Done! I'll put some process pictures below to show how we were looking: 1. Pre-Reshade + Character Light 53 2. Reshade + Character Light 0 3. The Final days Image

Hopefully this was helpful and I apologize if I explained something you already knew ^-^;;. Thanks for the opportunity to break down my process, this helped me understand what in the Fury's name I'm doing.

If anyone has any questions about why I did what I did, feel free to ask. I'll do my best to answer!

Bonne chance and happy gposing o/

[owlchimedes]

Hi there ! I absolutely love your photos (I only just realized that a bunch of studyblr photos I've recently fallen in love with were yours!)

I was curious if you had any tips for taking good photos/editing them? I find that my photos don't seem to quite have the same good lighting as others' and would truly appreciate any advice you might have on the matter.

Thank you and have a great day!!!!

Thank you!! 🤩 (have to say, I’m a big fan of your blog)

I actually don’t edit my photos that much! Sometimes I might blur or crop out identifying information, but I rarely mess with the colors or shadows of a pic, and if I do, it’s just with the limited tools in the Apple Photos editor. I mostly curate my posts really heavily — for every posted picture, there are 24+ blurry bad ones that didn’t make the cut. Besides that, I do have a couple of general tips:

Prioritize light colored notebooks, papers, pens, etc. since they reflect more light and make an image seem brighter. Select matte over shiny. Photographing shiny black objects is very hard!

Pay attention to shadow and contrast. Hard, flat light (like full sun at an acute angle) in the warm spectrum photographs really well. Most of my favorite pics have been taken between 7-10 am or 4-7 pm. It can be helpful to haunt a handful of study spaces so that you can predict how the light will behave.

It really is about what you’re photographing. I like the way that paper, ceramic, leather, and glass refract light so I tend to have more of those objects around. I have a hard time photographing cloth, so I don’t do bed-spreads or carpet/floor layouts.

Be careful with blue light! Snapping pics of computer screens sucks because it adds a hard, blue square to an image that can be really jarring. Put f.lux or some other color filter on your laptop and take the pic from an angle to limit the amount of blue. Likewise, I try to avoid taking pics in the very early morning or under fluorescents.

Be careful with dappled or fractionated light. It can look very cool but depends on what’s being photographed (ex: left is fun, right is disorganized even though they have the same lighting situation).

It can be helpful to have a tiny guide/reference photo for each batch, or even a HEX code that you aim for. Honestly, I use the avatar thumbnail for this blog. If I put a picture next to it and squint, do they seem consistent? If they do, post! It helps with getting that warm luminous quality that I particularly like.

And lastly, always give yourself permission NOT to take a pic! My worst pictures come when I force them and the best ones are when I’m busy studying only to look up and go “woah, pretty!” You can boost your chances by sitting alone near a window & using all your favorite supplies, but it really is somewhat up to the Fates!

[newyorkthegoldenage]

Cover of the Saturday Evening Post for March 27, 1947. Illustration by John Falter.

From the editors of that issue: It is more than a spring downpour that John Falter records in this New York City scene; it is a phenomenon the weather experts keep still about, probably because they can’t explain it, one of Nature’s little practical jokes. The day will be beautiful from the time thousands of men and women settle down for the day’s work until 4:55 in the afternoon; the sky smiling, not a cloud anywhere except a couple as innocent as cotton batting. But exactly at quitting time, at the moment best calculated to catch thousands between office and home, down comes the rain, like a sack of water thrown from a hotel window or a pan rigged over the door on April Fool’s Day. It quits just as punctually, when you reach home.

Photo: Saturday Evening Post

[blurredcolour]

If You'll Be My Bodyguard | Part Seven

If You'll Be My Bodyguard, I Can Be Your Long Lost Pal Masterlist

Summary: Circumstances beyond your control separate you from Austin and leave him vulnerable to attack. The outcome not only results in injury to him and Ari, but a realization of just what you and Austin mean to one another.

Pairing: Austin Butler x Female Bodyguard Reader

Warnings: Language, Mentions of Firearms, Austin Butler Does Not Win the Oscar - Just Like Real Life, Mentions of Reader’s Mother Being Attacked, Mentions of Reader’s Mother Being Injured, Discussion of Parental Mortality, Discussion of Automobile Accident, Discussion of Attempted Homicide With An Automobile, Austin Butler Injury, OC Male Character Injury, Austin Butler Hospitalization, Austin Butler Pain, Austin Butler Recovery, Reader Acting As Caregiver, Home Invasion, Attempted Shooting, Dog Bite to Intruder, Shots Fired, Minor Reader Injury, Allusions to Handcuff Kink, Mature/Explicit Themes [manual stimulation – m/f receiving, oral – m/f receiving, face sitting, sex while injured, multiple orgasms, condom, penetrative sex] – 18+ Only.

Credit: Mark Seliger

Author’s Note: And so we’ve reached the final chapter! Honestly, it is actually two chapters worth of material but I didn’t feel like adding another part of making y’all wait. So, strap in, there’s a lot to come!

Word Count: 8726

You were quite certain you had never seen someone lose more graciously. From desperately clinging to Angela Basset’s hands to surging to his feet to cheer on Brendan Fraser as he made his way to the stage, face wide with excitement for his fellow nominee and now Oscar winner. You were thankful to be standing beneath the shadow of the balcony box above as your heart fell through the floor and you were positive that you looked exactly as crestfallen as you felt.

Taking advantage of the time afforded by Brendan’s acceptance speech, and the Best Picture category, you managed to ruthlessly stomp down your disappointment and assemble your expression into a warm, kind, neutral mask before moving to join Austin once the broadcast came to an end. It took nearly an hour for him to make his way from the auditorium – there were simply that many people who wanted to snag a photo or offer their condolences. When you finally reached the doors, he looked to you and swallowed tightly.

“Let’s just go to Ysabel.” He murmured into your ear, and you nodded, sending Ari a message to meet you around the side, away from the press, to make a quick exit to the Warner Brother’s party.

While the Governor’s Ball would be lavish, with food and drink fit for royalty, it was undeniably biased towards celebrating the winners and you could hardly blame Austin for not wanting to go through that. Especially not when, waiting at the private party were people like Polly, Xavier, Kelvin, and Luke. As the car pulled up, you opened the door for him, looking up to his face as he held out a hand to help you in. You smiled softly and slid in carefully, moving across the backseat to the other side so he could climb in immediately after you. Though he did so chuckling and shaking his head.

“I coulda gone around, you know Betty.” He smirked softly and closed the door against the noise outside, leaning back against the seat as the silence of the car wrapped around the pair of you.

Ari carefully navigated his way to West Hollywood, and you politely watched the darkened streets flow past the window. The outcome of the evening was not sitting well with you. It felt like the wrong ending. Like the writer had made a terrible mistake and it just needed a brutal treatment by an editor. Unfortunately, real life did not work that way.

At the brush of his fingers against yours on the seat between you, you looked to him quickly, swallowing tightly as he took your hand and squeezed tightly.

“Thank you, Betty spaghetti, for helping me make it through the insanity of awards season. I’m sorry we’re not on the winning team tonight…” His voice waivered a bit and your fingers tightened around his. “But we’re on the living team and that’s in no small part to you…”

You shook your head, a touch violently, and took an unsteady breath as your heart clenched in sympathy.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Mr. Butler. What you have accomplished is truly extraordinary…d..did you hear them? Every time a presenter came on stage they referred to them as a nominee…you will forever be Academy Award Nominee Austin Butler. And not to mention Golden Globe Winner Austin Butler, and BAFTA winner Austin Butler, and Virtuoso Award Winner Austin Butler, and whatever Palm Springs gave you…” You trailed off and he gave you a laugh, with tear-filled eyes, as that definitely took some of the power out of your speech. “But regardless, this is just the start. Your opening act.” You nodded firmly and gasped as he pulled you into a crushing embrace, burying his face into the crook of your shoulder.

“Thank you, Betty…I really needed to hear that…” He whispered, voice fragile against your neck and you could feel the undeniable dampness of tears on your skin as you slid your arms around him tightly in return, holding him firmly for as long as he needed to be held.

“You’re welcome” You murmured softly into the expensive fabric of his tuxedo jacket, neither of you aware of the fact that Ari had parked around the corner from the restaurant a good five minutes ago until he politely cleared his throat.

“Sorry to interrupt but I believe a photographer may have spotted us.” He said quietly from the front seat and Austin quickly straightened, wiping at his face.

You pulled back with similar speed, tugging your dress into place before sliding out from the car to walk around the perimeter and open his door. Walking together, he entered the party to a hero’s welcome, which brought a small smile to his face.

Being swarmed by those who had seen firsthand what it had taken to achieve the artistry captured on film for eternity acted as a balm for Austin. You found the tension and concern leaving your own body a little as he relaxed and seemed to enjoy himself. And when Jerry Schilling showed up? Austin’s smile only grew. You had to chew on the inside of your cheek to keep from beaming as they huddled close on a bench in the courtyard, swapping stories and kind words. Austin’s instincts to come here had definitely been correct.

He ate a somewhat proper dinner and once buoyed by their love and support, made his way to you a little over an hour later.

“We should go meet the stylists at the house to get ready for the Vanity Fair party.”

You nodded quickly, having been eyeing the time and trying to wait as long as possible to allow him to soak in as much of their presence as he could.

“Ari is waiting exactly where we left him.”

While he went upstairs to change, you took advantage of the quiet moment to eat some dinner yourself, sitting at the island as you carefully enjoyed some leftovers with a tea towel draped over your chest. Biscuit was dozing at your feet, somewhat used to the odd hours of awards season, but still not entirely awake. The pair of you lifted your heads at the click of his heeled boots on the kitchen tile as he returned now dressed in a treacherously low-cut silk shirt and black suit. You were grateful that you remembered how to swallow the food in your mouth rather than letting it tumble out, slack-jawed. But only just.

“That still smells good, Betty, gimme a bite…” He leaned in and you carefully loaded a forkful before sliding it past his plush lips. You paid far too close attention to the way his perfectly straight, white teeth scraped the food from the metal fork tines before his lips seal shut as he began to chew.

He made the tiniest noise of pleasure and your eyes flicked up to watch his eyelids fall shut as he nodded with enthusiasm.

“We did a really good job on that one…” He smiled once he’d swallowed, squeezing your shoulder as he licked his lips. “I promise I won’t keep you out too late, you must be tired.”

You tugged the tea towel free of your body, not missing the way his eyes flit to the plunge of your dress. His height and your seated position surely giving him an eyeful before he yanked his gaze away forcefully. You slid from the stool to put your dishes in the dishwasher as goosebumps prickled in the wake of his stare.

“We are going to a party for you to have fun and celebrate the fact that this insanity is over. We will stay exactly as long as you would like.” You replied stubbornly and left Biscuit with dinner before leading him out to the car.

In the dark of the vehicle, you retrieved the tube of lipstick the makeup team had left you from your dress pocket and carefully reapplied some, trying to ignore the sensation that he was watching you.

In the ranking of afterparties, this was certainly the most press intense. There was also a rather breathless moment where Austin’s ex-girlfriend happened past him while he was in conversation with Sharon Stone. Mercifully, everyone did an excellent job of playing blind and after an assault of photography flash and shouted commands, you were inside the party.

There was mixing, mingling, drinking, and nibbling. Kate, Baz, Catherine and some of the Elvis cast also appeared. At one point Austin was pulled aside to have some photos taken by Mark Seliger. There was no shortage of toasts in his name, and when Brendan Fraser arrived he immediately sought Austin out to hug him close. Smiling fondly, you felt your phone begin to vibrate in your pocket and rolled your eyes playfully thinking Maddie was going on another tirade. Given the time, she really ought to be in bed.

You could barely contain your confusion when your father’s name displayed on the screen and felt a cold trickle of panic drip down your spine to settle in the pit of your stomach. Your father never called. Let alone in the middle of the night. You forcefully pushed the answer call button and lifted the phone to your ear, eyes casting about for somewhere quieter but also flicking back to Austin – torn between the urgency of this call and the importance of your duties.

“Hey dad, I…What’s up?” You found yourself half-shouting as you cupped the bottom of the phone to hopefully capture as much of your voice as possible.

Only select words were audible above the din of the crowd and the throb of the bass from the music.

“….mother….town….mugged….hospital….ok….”

Austin was making his way over to you excitedly talking about a private island in the Bahamas that someone had offered for him to relax upon as you felt all the blood drain from your face and extremities, the snippets of your father’s words making your hands clammy and shaky.

“Daddy, just wait I can’t…” You glanced around frantically now, vaguely registering the change in Austin’s countenance.

His arms wrapped around you, hands gripping your hips as he easily navigated through the crowd to lead you out onto the patio. He did not stop walking until he reached the very edge of the party and continued to shield your body from the curious glances of the other attendees you had passed, caging you against the fence as you could at last hear yourself think.

“I’m outside now, what happened?” You tried again, feeling yourself swaying a little on your feet as he relayed the full story of some local troubled youths who had decided to mug your mother and her friends on their monthly night at the theatre in town.

You clutched at the lapel of Austin’s jacket, desperate for some stability as the entire universe seemed to be off kilter.

“Your mother’s friend, Cynthia, well she fought back and it…didn’t end well. Everyone is…well they’re hurt but the hospital discharged them all same day, today…well tonight.” You could hear the exhaustion in his voice. “She’s just gone up to bed, told me not to call you but…”

You shook your head quickly and swallowed roughly, trying to find your voice.

“No, no thank you for calling me I…she’s really going to be ok?” You asked quietly, feeling all of six-years-old despite the fact that you were standing in a gown at the Vanity Fair Oscar’s After Party wrapped up in Austin Butler’s protective embrace. “I…tell her I love her ok, Dad? I’ll…I’ll talk to my boss…No I…Dad. Dad, I want to see you guys I…thank you for calling. Love you too. Bye.”

You let the phone drop from your ear but made no move to stand fully, rather preferring to hide against Austin’s chest and ignore the outside revelry for as long as possible. You leaned into him, the crown of your head settling against the hollow of his throat as his arms slid around you fully, supporting you more than you would care to admit as you tried to take steady breaths.

“Betty, I would like to give you time, I just need to know you’re not going to keel over on me here…” He murmured gently into your ear. You nodded quickly, rocking back on your heels and straightening so quickly he looked briefly startled before resuming a patient and supportive expression.

“Some little shits decided to jump my mom and her friends on their way home from a play tonight.” Your gaze was unfocused as you were picturing the faces of the known delinquents.

“Oh Betty…” His voice broke as he gripped your shoulders tightly to help steady you on your feet.

“My mom…she’s not like me, she’s a lady. She does lady things like get her nails done, and bake, and go to the spa and the theatre and…This is not how tonight was supposed to go. She was supposed to have fun with her friends watching some local people do a Tennessee Williams play and get a little tipsy and come home….and you were supposed to win because you deserve it so much. You put everything in that role, which was incredible by the way” you dropped the wall of professionalism for the first time, “and you’ve dragged your ass around in this dog and pony show, performing tricks for them for weeks only for them to give it to the other guy and now here you are putting on a brave face and watching me fall apart at an after party…” Your cheeks were wet and you’d started sniffling somewhere in the middle of your tirade against awards season, though you weren’t quite sure when.

“Oh, my darling Betty…sweet Betty spaghetti don’t waste your anger on this frivolity. We’ve spent months on this empty preening for golden statutes and here you are staring down the things that really matter and you’re spilling your priceless tears over me…” his hands cupped the sides of your head gently as his thumbs swiped at each traitorous tear that stole down your cheek. “Let’s get you home, ok?”

You gripped his wrists and looked up to him, brow furrowing.

“But I’m ruining your night…” You protested weakly as he shook his head.

“You’re reminding me of what really matters, come on.” He slid his arm around your shoulders protectively, guiding you back through the crowd of attendees.

You kept your head low, certain your makeup must be ruined, arranging for Ari to meet you at the side door. Austin helped you into the car and pulled out his own phone once you were settled.

“You find a way home, I’ll call Scott.”

You looked to him startled.

“Like…right now? I meant…I meant once you were on your vacation or something…”

“Now, Betty. You’re going home, home. Now.” He nodded firmly and dialed Scott before you could utter another word in protest.

Swallowing tightly, you pulled out your phone to make travel arrangements to get home as soon as possible. He went upstairs to change when you arrived back at his house, and you went into his office to pack but he found you fifteen minutes later, still standing in the doorway dressed in your gown, staring at your empty suitcase open on the bed.

“C’mere…” He said gently and pulled you close into the soft hoodie he now wore. “Facing the mortality of our parents is a truly foundation-shaking experience.” He murmured into your hair, and you nodded speechlessly.

He helped you fill your suitcase with some clothes and useful things, sending you to the washroom to change into something more practical for travel. You wiped the makeup from your face and blew your nose a few times before collecting your things.

“Are you sure about this, Austin? I could always delay…”

He cut you off with a shake of his head, gently pressing his lips to your cheek.

“I’ll be fine, you go take care of your family.”

In your fragile state, you had been easily seduced by his words of comfort. Fooled into believing that, despite all evidence to the contrary, he would be perfectly fine in your absence. That there wasn’t a psychologically unstable woman out there hellbent on killing him for the spiritual transgressions she so strongly believed he had committed.

It had been the right thing, for you personally, to go home. It felt good to be in the embrace of family, to gather with the people you loved and support one another after such a scare. It had admittedly been far too long since you had been home, regardless, and you made a vow to not let it be so long in the future. On Wednesday, Maddie and her mother came by with a casserole and you took is to the kitchen to allow them a chance to visit with your parents – to let them relax in the living room.

The shot of the coastal highway on the TV screen in the corner of the kitchen caught your eye as you began to assemble a salad to balance the richness of the casserole. It screamed for your attention, despite its anonymous, sundrenched beauty. Grasping the salad bowl tightly, you reached out to turn up the volume, your eyes skating over the variety of emergency vehicles assembled at the scene…the automotive debris scattered across the asphalt. That’s when his name splashed across the screen.

 Austin Butler in Critical Condition

“The award-winning actor was transported by rescue helicopter to Cedars-Sinai Medical Centre where he is listed in critical condition. His driver was taken by ambulance to a nearby hospital in stable condition. The female driver of the vehicle suspected of running him off the road was pronounced dead at the scene. The FBI is now confirming that she was their primary suspect in a string a threatening letters sent to the actor…”

You had not even noticed the heirloom crystal bowl slide from your fingers and shatter against the kitchen tile until Maddie called your name sharply from the doorway. You glanced down through rapidly blurring eyes and swore thickly, crouching down to quickly pick up the scattered shards. Shock had stolen all sensation from your fingertips, the countless nicks on your skin marked only by red blossoms of blood.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Maddie shouted and yanked you back at which point you collapsed against her sobbing. You had failed him. You had left for selfish personal reasons and now he was clinging to life alone in a hospital room.

Several Band-Aids and a cup of tea later, you were once again packing your suitcase. The gut-wrenching reaction to his accident had equalled that you’d felt for your own mother. And was hanging around like a bad penny, filling you to the brim with nervous energy. There was no possible way you could deny what Austin meant to you any longer. You would only be lying to yourself. To him. And he deserved better than that.

“You’re gonna make it to LA ok?” Maddie asked quietly as she zipped up your suitcase and you sighed heavily.

“I’ll do my best, Mads…thank you…” You hugged her tightly before saying proper farewells to your parents and heading out.

It was well past visiting hours when you arrived at the hospital, but you’d called Scott on the way and he was there waiting to lead you up to Austin’s hospital room.

“He’s been upgraded to stable condition, you’ll be relieved to know.” He informed you as the doors to the elevator closed.

“Scott I’m so sorry I…” You looked to him as you rose floor by floor.

He looked to you startled.

“What on earth…sorry you weren’t there to get hurt? There’s nothing you could have done to prevent this. Nothing you could have done in that car but increase the list of injured or worse. Thank hell you weren’t there…How’s your mom?” He asked quickly and you smiled just the hint of a smile.

“So much better…I…it was good to see her.”

“Good.” He nodded firmly and led you to the room where an armed police officer watched the door. He introduced you to the man as Austin’s bodyguard, all pretense now dropped in light of the story having gone public since the accident, and quietly led you into the room where Austin lay. “I’ll leave you to it…” He whispered and nodded before stepping out.

Because the unit was a higher level of care, the door remained open to the nursing station to allow them to keep an eye on him, but he otherwise had the spacious room to himself. The bed and monitoring equipment only served to make him look small. You pressed your fingers to your lips, trying to smother your shaking breaths as they seemed to thunder in the otherwise quiet room. The only other sound was the beeping of his heart rate monitor – reassuringly steady.

Your eyes scanned across his face and down his body, taking stock of marks that would bruise and numerous abrasions. The image of him beneath the stark white, antiseptic blankets began to blur and you sealed your hand over your mouth as you tried to focus on the expanse of the city lights out the window beside him, tried to regain your composure, when you heard him rasp your name.

You moved closer to the head of the bed, leaning in to see his eyes made glassy from pain medication trying to focus on your face.

“Austin, I’m here…” He reached out with his left hand and you took it carefully, trying to wipe your tears away quickly with your other.

“Oh Betty, there you go wastin’ those tears again…” He murmured and you couldn’t help but laugh.

He chuckled briefly before wincing with a groan and you frowned deeply.

“Jus’ some broken ribs, I’ll be all right…”

“Shit…I shoulda been there Austin…I’m so sorry…” You whispered, fresh tears spilling from your eyes.

He reached with his free hand, grunting in pain as he wiped at your face, only making your lip wobble, sobs building in your throat.

“I have to resign.” You choked out suddenly and his eyes flashed to your face.

“What jus’ because you weren’t here?!” He asked incredulously, words slightly slurred.

Shaking your head, you took a deep, fortifying breath.

“I’ve gone and done something I shouldn’t.” You whispered.

His brow furrowed as he looked at you quizzically.

“I’ve fallen in love with the client.” You confessed, holding your breath as you were only brave enough to risk glances at his face before looking back for your entwined hands.

“Oh, thank god” he exhaled after what felt like an eternity and released your hand, cupping the back of your neck to pull you close.

You braced your hands on other side of the hospital bed, not wanting to jostle him, to cause him any pain, as you brushed your lips against his gently.

“You’d better give me a better kiss than that…” He teased, mouth moving against yours as he held you stubbornly close.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Austin…” You protested, feeling the rough edges of the abraded side of lips against your own.

“I’ve been dyin’ to kiss ya since you threw Marwan into the floor in Palm Springs…please….” He whispered.

“How much medication have you had…” You hissed, half playful, half mortified, still hovering above his lips.

He whined your name, completely washing away the last of your resolve and you slotted your mouth against his firmly, shifting your weight onto one hand to slide the other into his hair on the uninjured side of his face. He hummed against your lips eagerly, fingers curling into the skin at the base of your neck as his lips moved against yours needily. You sighed deeply, warmth spreading through your entire body, until a politely rapping on the door frame had you quickly pulling back from his lips.

“So sorry to interrupt…” The nurse could barely contain her grin as she came in to check Austin over, noting his vitals in his electronic chart, before leaving you two alone.

“Guess I don’t get a vacation…” He pouted playfully and you shook your head, pulling up a chair to settle at the head of his bed.

“One day at a time, Austin…Let’s get you home first, ok? And for that to happen, you need to sleep…” You smoothed his brow with your thumb, fingertips stroking his curls.

“Just wanted to go to the beach while the groomers got Biscuit ready for our trip…the car came outta nowhere…They said Ari is ok, he’s really ok, right?” He rambled sleepily.

“Yes, at a hospital in Santa Barbara, stable just like you.” You reassured him gently.

“You’ll be here when I wake up…? You’ll stay?” He whispered with open fragility.

“Yes, I’ll be right here Austin…rest…”

“Love you, too…” He breathed.

You smiled softly as he closed his eyes, quickly falling asleep, clinging to your other hand.

Sleeping in a chair with your hand trapped in his grip was hardly comfortable, nor were the frequent interruptions by the nurses to check his vitals and administer frequent cognitive tests – you surmised the reason was a concussion he had neglected to share with you, restful. But there was honestly no other place in the entire world you would have rather been. Daylight brought the arrival of his father and you moved to step out, but Austin insisted you stay.

He held his hand out to you once he’d settled back into the bed following a nurse assisted bathroom trip. You shyly avoided the knowing smile of his father, sliding your fingers through his. The attending physician arrived not long after and delivered the full litany of Austin’s injuries. You clung to his hand silently as his father asked the follow-up questions, doing your utmost to fight back the urge to let the guilt overwhelm you once more.

“We anticipate that Mr. Butler will be able to head home tomorrow but he will absolutely require assistance in his home, including supportive devices, and physiotherapy as he recovers.”

You heard Austin’s father suck the air between his teeth, knowing he had a life and responsibilities of his own back in Arizona while you? Well, you were recently unemployed and more than willing to take the time off to care for the man you loved.

“I’ll be happy to take care of everything.” You swallowed and looked to Austin. “If you’re ok with that?”

He looked to you, face softening.

“I am more than ok with that, you beautiful woman…” He sighed lovingly and lifted your hand to kiss the back of it gently.

“Wonderful, I’ll send in Occupational Therapy to help you prepare for his homecoming.” The physician departed just as Kate appeared, looking fresh off the plane from somewhere tropical. She even smelled of coconut suntan lotion.

Though he was still quite medicated, Kate worked with Austin to determine the loose parameters of a press release before she set up in the corner of the room, calling her team to hammer it out. Austin’s father pulled you into a grateful hug before making a trip to cafeteria for coffee and food for the three of you and you remained at Austin’s side as he still refused to release your hand.

Once everyone was fed, the nurses insisted Austin needed his rest. Kate took Austin’s father home while you met with OT in a nearby conference room, arranging for the necessary items to be delivered. You gave Trey a call to make sure he could let the deliveries in, before creeping back into the room to doze some more in the chair. As visiting hours came to a close, you left a pouting Austin for the night, placating him with the knowledge that you were going to his house to set up for him to come home in the morning.

You were struck by the scent of flowers when you stepped into the house, every surface on the main floor covered in floral arrangements from friends, family, colleagues, and acquaintances. The second thing you noticed was a very enthusiastic Biscuit who was surely very confused and lonely but looked very good from her well-timed trip to the groomer’s.

Austin’s father already had a head start when you arrived, setting up the shower chair and the supportive pillows on the bed. The last thing that had to be done was taking the mattress from the murphy bed in the office to lay on the floor of Austin’s bedroom so that you could be close by to assist him in moving around. You made up the beds with fresh sheets before passing out for the night with Biscuit in your arms, alarm set for six the next morning.

You showered and ate the breakfast that Austin’s father generously prepared for the two of you before you got the discharge call from the nurse. The pair of you headed over in Austin’s car to pick him up, greeted by a beaming, lanky man in a wheelchair whose mood was utter elation at being released. In a group effort, the three of you got him to his feet and into the front seat of the car, buckling him in and closing the door before taking him home.

The next few weeks were entirely devoted to getting Austin well. His father was able to stay for a few days, cooking all the meals and filling the freezer with food. At first, Austin mainly rested, but you insisted he spend some time on the main floor and outside, keeping him moving to avoid any negative complications. His physiotherapy appointments began after a few days and they carefully taped up his ribs which went a long way to improving his comfort level. His bruises slowly transitioned through the rainbow as they healed, and his abrasions smoothed out. The many kisses he insisted upon helped you to confirm this.

Scott arranged for the FBI to present their findings on the case to Austin at home, and the entire team breathed a sigh of relief when it was confirmed that the deceased driver was indeed the woman responsible for the threats and letters. With the case now closed, the contract with Lane Protective Services was ended and you found yourself alone in the house with Austin. His sister, Ashley, made a weekend visit, but on the whole his home was one of peace and solitude. One in which your rather young relationship blossomed.

As his strength increased, you began to take him on short walks with Biscuit, choosing to still carry your firearm. It would take some time, it seemed, for you to shake that habit. On a particularly warm day at the beginning of April, at Austin’s request, you settled out on the pool deck in bathing suits to soak up some sun. You found yourself smiling as you looked over his torso.

“You can barely see your bruises.” You remarked softly, fingers brushing along his side gently, well aware that he still had healing ribs beneath.

“Must be thanks to you, sweet Betty, taking such good care of me…” He grinned, hand grasping your wrist to lift your fingertips to kiss each one.

Your tongue darted out to wet your lips before pulling your lower lip to sink your teeth into it as he pressed his mouth to your palm.

“If my body wasn’t still broken…” He groaned against your skin.

“S…s..sorry.” You apologized quickly, accidentally licking your lips again.

He growled a little and cupped to back of your head, pulling you down for a hungry kiss. His lips had barely pressed against yours before his tongue was licking into your mouth, seeking yours eagerly. Sinking onto your knees on the pool deck, you braced yourself on the arm of the lounger, trying desperately to keep your body weight off of him as he seemed to be sucking the strength from your body, turning your bones into molten metal.

He pulled back with a grunt, gasping for breath as he wasn’t able to hold deep breaths just yet, but immediately moved to trail his lips down your neck, punctuating his kisses with gentle nips of his teeth that had you trembling above him.

“Austin…” You panted. “You gotta be careful…” Your warning was choked off into a moan as he sealed his mouth over your pulse point and began to suck at your skin making your control waiver.

You pushed yourself back from him, chest heaving, terrified as you’d almost crashed into him.

“Come back…” He pouted huskily, licking his lips.

“Austin…fuck I almost fell on you this isn’t safe…” You rasped, voice obviously affected.

You watched as he pulled and chewed at his lips for a moment before carefully pushing himself to sitting and then to standing.

“Come on…” He held out his hand and you took it carefully, following after him suspiciously, but also unable to deny the heat of desire pulsing through your veins.

He made a brief detour to the kitchen, setting up Biscuit with a puzzle toy before taking you upstairs, closing the bedroom door behind you.

“Lay on the bed beside me? Then you can’t fall?”

“What if I move too much?”

“I’ll tell you if it hurts, sweet Betty, I just need to touch you so badly…” He whispered heatedly as he cupped your cheeks, stealing the breath from your lungs, before leaning in to press his lips to yours in a scorching kiss that easily erased any and all reason from your mind.

He carefully walked you over to the bed, sliding up onto the pile of pillows, looking back to you expectantly once he was settled. You gingerly crawled onto the bed next to him, laying on your side as you shifted closer until you were within his reach. He pulled you close, mouth latching onto your neck once more, pulling another ragged moan from your throat as one hand came to knead at your hip and butt cheek.

Moving slowly, you slid your leg over his, giving him ample time to protest in pain before your thigh pressed against the growing bulge between his thighs. When no outcry of pain reached our ears, only a shuddering sigh against your damp skin that sent goosebumps racing down your neck, you applied subtle pressure and friction, pleased when his lips crashed into yours once more. Burying one hand into his golden curls, you allowed the other to skim down the muscles of his chest and abdomen, tracing the hard planes beneath his smooth, soft skin.

You felt his hand shift to cup between your legs, your hips bucking into his touch involuntarily as he stroked at your folds through the thin fabric of your swimsuit with his long, elegant fingers, confirming your long-suspected hypothesis that he was indeed very good with his hands. You tore your lips from his to cry out eagerly as his skilled digits pushed aside the inconvenient fabric to touch your bare skin, immediately seeking your sensitive bundle of nerves. His head shifted lower to kiss and nip at your cleavage before huffing against your chest in frustration.

“Can you take off your suit for me?” He pleaded hoarsely, looking up to you with blown pupils, only a tiny ring of blue iris now surrounding them.

Licking your lips you nodded, carefully disentangling your limbs from his to shift back, sliding from the bed to work the suit from your body. You could feel the heat of his gaze as he watched you expose your body, the moisture evaporating from your mouth, making it impossible to swallow as you climbed back onto the bed with him.

“You are unspeakably gorgeous…” He breathed, reaching out to pull you close to him, lavishing kisses along every inch of exposed skin he could now access as his fingers resumed their torment of your clit, the pad of his thumb circling and pressing at your entrance.

“Ahn! Austin!” You whimpered, bending the knee of your top leg and planting your foot between his calves to give him more room to work, admittedly greedy for his touch.

“Sweet girl you’re positively drenched…” He breathed against your breast before sealing his lips around your nipple, sinking a finger into the heat of your cunt.

You wailed and arched against him at the dual assault, fingers tugging at his hair before holding him to your breast needily. Rocking the heel of his hand against your clit, he began to rhythmically work his finger in and out of your heat before adding a second, growling hungrily against your skin at the eager gush of arousal your body rewarded him with. He withdrew his hand from between your legs, making you whimper at the loss, eyes flashing open only to be treated to the sight of him devouring every drop of your nectar from his hand.

“Oh, please I need to taste you…” He pleaded, hooded eyes burning into yours. “Can you get above me?”

You did not need a second invitation. With legs like jelly, it was more challenging than first anticipated, but with the assistance of the frame around the top of the bed you were able to kneel on the pillows on either side of his head before sinking down onto his eagerly waiting mouth. He barely gave you a moment to breathe before his wicked tongue was working through your folds, his lips slurping up your arousal, filling the room with an obscene mixture of noise as you moaned helplessly. He suckled at your clit before burying the pointed length of his tongue deep into your cunt, hooking his good arm over your hip to pull you down and encourage you to grind your bundle of nerves against his nose as he rocked his head from side to side. You pressed your face into your bicep as your thighs began to shake, eyes clenching shut as you could feel yourself just on the precipice.

One hand moved to cup your breast, massaging and pinching at your nipple as you gave in and rocked dock against Austin’s face, earning a deep moan from the man below you. The vibrations ricocheted through your body and sent you surging forward, tumbling into your release with a harsh cry of his name. Slumping forward against the wall, wave after wave of shuddering pleasure flowed through your body as you felt him avidly lap up all your body had to offer until you had to pull back, climb off him, as it was just too much – you were too sensitive.

Settling onto the mattress beside him, you leaned in to kiss Austin warmly, giggling a little at his face was soaked. He just grinned at you proudly. Rolling over, you found some tissues on the nightstand and gently wiped at his cheeks and chin before tossing them into the bin on the floor beside him, the prominent outline of his hard cock beneath his swim trunks catching your eye.

“Would you like some assistance with this?” You asked, sitting at his hip and running your fingers along the waistband of his suit.

His teeth sunk into the plush pink of his lower lip as he nodded, and you worked together to slide the bathing suit off his hips and down his legs. It was not the first time you had seen him naked – you had been helping him shower, towel off, and change since his return from the hospital, but this was different. And not just because his sizable length lay hard and angry against his abdomen. The intention set the tone, this was about pleasure, and you allowed yourself to enjoy the full expanse of his sun-kissed, freckled skin.

“Unspeakably gorgeous, was it?” You breathed and reached up to cup the tip of his length, collecting the precum that pooled there before wrapping your fingers around him, stroking his cock and delighting in the way it made the muscles of his abdomen flutter.

“Oh fuck…” He hissed, writhing against the duvet.

Licking your lips, you slithered down onto your stomach, planting an elbow between his legs and laying your chest across his uninjured hip as you licked a broad stripe from base to tip, grinning as his hips jerked towards your mouth. His whimper reminded you to be merciful and you gently began to sink your mouth down onto him, taking as much of his cock as this angle would allow, leaving your lips parted to allow your saliva to flow freely over his rest of his length and further down between his thighs.

He moaned your name as you wrapped your hand around the base of him before you began to work up and down, hollowing your cheeks and tracing the prominent vein on the underside of his cock with your tongue. He whimpered and rambled, fingers gripping the back of your head. You hummed in sympathy, and he writhed beneath you, length twitching against your tongue.

“Please! Oh, please get back up here I wanna kiss you when I cum, wanna pretend I’m inside you…” He pleaded and you pulled back, releasing his cock from your mouth with a pop, before laying on your side.

His lips crashed against yours as you slid your leg over his, hand resuming the rhythm of your mouth. His hand gripped your ass and his hips rocked in time with the strokes of your fist. You found yourself grinding your still-damp core against his thigh, earning a ragged groan against your lips.

“Gonna…gonna…” He panted and you opened your eyes to take in as much of his face as he could, his breath panting into your open mouth before he gave a sharp cry and spilled his climax against his stomach as you continued to gently stroke his length to prolong his pleasure.

As the tension left his body, allowing him to sink into the mattress, you kissed the corner of his mouth softly and retrieved a warm washcloth to clean him up. You helped him into his pajamas, frowning as he gave tiny hisses of pain, but the lopsided grin never left his lips.

A pathetic awooo from the hallway alerted you to the fact that Biscuit was well finished with her puzzle toy and now aware of her locked-out status. You quickly slid on your own pajamas before scooping her up from the doorway to settle her at Austin’s good hip to allow the pair to settle in for an afternoon nap.

He only continued to get stronger as his bones and ligaments healed, yourself and Biscuit joining him in bed nightly by the end of April. And while creative solutions were keeping the pair of you satisfied enough, when Austin’s physician finally cleared him for more strenuous activity, both of you admittedly had the same thought.

The evening began innocently enough, with a nice dinner the two of you made together, with a delicious wine now that Austin was no longer on pain medication. You talked for hours, still in the beginning stages of your relationship where there was more to discover about one another, before cleaning up the kitchen. Yet it ended with you on your back, legs hanging off the side of the mattress, propped up on your elbows as you salaciously watched him indulgently stroke his cock a few times before carefully rolling the condom down his length.

Chest heaving, cunt throbbing from the orgasm he had just wrung from you and the promise of him inside you at last, you chewed your lip impatiently.

“Don’t you go damaging those plush pretty lips, sweet Betty, I like kissing them far too much.” He leaned down carefully to prove his point, the wet muscle of his tongue twining with yours until you were both humming with need.

He straightened, guiding your hips to the very edge of the bed before sliding his length through the slick of your folds, gathering as much as possible while teasing your clit before shifting to slowly begin sinking into your wet heat. Your eyes rolled back in your head as you dropped back onto the mattress, keening softly as you gripped his wrists while he stretched and filled you impossibly full.

“Oh my…fuck you feel so good…” He hissed above you, his fingers curling into the flesh of your hips.

“Oh yes…” You panted in return, rocking your hips against his experimentally, a chorus of moans falling from both of your lips.

It was all the motivation he needed to pull his hips back before immediately sinking back into your demanding warmth. And while you wished he were closer, wished you could be wrapped up in his arms, it was amazing to finally feel so connected to him, completed by him.

“Austin!” You exclaimed, too overwhelmed to put the emotions swirling in your chest into more words beyond his name.

“I know….I know…” He panted between thrusts. “I love…you too…” He moaned your name raggedly and rocked harder, thrust faster, pushing you ever closer to release.

“Love…you…” You whimpered in return, feeling your walls starting to clamp down around him.

“Oh, fuck yes…” He quickly reached for your clit, circling it in a way that he knew after weeks of practice would make you cum, and growled happily as you did just that, scratching at his forearms a little as you clenched around his length through wave after wave of climax. “Yes!” He barked out triumphantly before thrusting erratically once, twice more, joining you in release.

You could feel him sway on his feet, recognizing that though the position had kept pressure and impact from his body it had demanded tremendous physical effort of him. You quickly shifted back to slide his length from you before guiding him to sit on the bed. Peppering his face with kisses, you rid him of the condom and then helped him into his pajamas, noticing the winces.

“Would you like heat or cold for that?” You frowned, guiding him to lay down.

“Heat please…” He sighed a little. “So worth it though…” he smirked, and you rolled your eyes playfully before kissing him gently.

“Well, it’s a good thing I left the mattress on the floor. Biscuit and I will let you have the bed tonight.” You teased before getting him some over-the-counter pain killers and a heating pad.

Tucking away the stairs that helped Biscuit access the bed, you and the dog curled up on the mattress on the floor beside him, kissing the tips of his fingers as he dropped his hand down while wishing you a good night before his slow, steady breaths filled the room.

Biscuit’s low growl startled you awake some hours later and you lay perfectly still, trying to locate the source of her upset. The less-than-subtle sound of footsteps thundering up the stairs not seconds later provided you with a very clear answer and had you surging to your feet. Your firearm was locked in a small safe on the other side of the bed and based on the speed of the approaching intruder in the hallway, you did not have time. You shook Austin awake as you launched yourself over the foot of the bed just before the door flew open, the metal of a gun barrel flashing in the glow of the streetlights from the hallway.

You surged up, under the intruder’s arm to push the muzzle upwards as he pulled the trigger, sending the bullet into the ceiling in a shower of drywall and paint chips. Biscuit was barking at a ferocious pitch you had never before heard as you struggled with the shadowy figure’s bulk, trying to wrestle the gun free. Another shot was directed into the hardwood floor before you were able to claw the gun from his hand. His elbow snapped back, slamming into your nose with a sickening crunch. A gush of warmth down your face and the coppery tang of blood filled your mouth – an oddly nostalgic sensation that took you right back to a Judo match.

The intruder let out a sudden wail and jerked back, and you felt something fluffy dart past your legs. Biscuit had scored one for the home team. The gun now fully in your grasp, you threw it into the ensuite bathroom before taking down the freshly bitten man with a Judo throw while he was distracted by the pain. You knelt in the middle of his back, pinning his arms behind him.

“Austin, I need something to tie him!” You cried out, listening to his footfalls as he made his way from the ensuite, where he must have been hiding, to the nightstand, and then over to the foot of the bed where you were.

He procured a pair of silver handcuffs and you looked to him in slight disbelief, before gesturing with your head for him to secure the assailant’s hands.

“I’m going to put him in the chair, don’t want to compromise his airway any longer….he’s probably going to say terrible things…”

“I’m ready, Betty.” Austin said through gritted teeth and you hauled the incapacitated man to his feet before forcing him down onto the chair of the built-in makeup stand that Austin’s former girlfriend had designed. “Turn on the lights?”

Everyone blinked rapidly to adjust to the sudden brightness, and you swore under your breath as you recognized the dog-walking, brick-throwing, psychopath-loving man who was supposed to be in prison in Santa Barbara.

“Gabriel.” You muttered in shock.

“You fucking godless whore bitch!” He spit at you and you didn’t bother moving, not wanting to loosen your grip on him.

You had Austin call the police on speaker phone while you strapped the man to the chair with a series of belts, as he continued to spew hate and vitriol at both you and Austin.

“Betty you’re bleeding…” Austin whispered at one point, trying to wipe at your face.

“Later…” You whispered back, not wanting to take an eye off the man.

“The love of my life is dead because of the two of you! She was a righteous woman! How is she dead and the two of you are alive! You do not deserve to walk this earth!”

The police, thankfully, showed up rather quickly and took the man back into custody. They collected the man’s firearm from the ensuite, as well the bullets from the floor and ceiling, before taking your statements and assuring you that these charges would keep the man locked up for a much longer time than throwing bricks.

You allowed Austin to pull you into the bathroom once they’d left, sitting on the counter patiently as he gently cleaned the blood from your face before testing your nose.

“I don’t think it’s broken…”

You shook your head carefully.

“Just a solid whack. I’ll have a nice pair of black eyes tomorrow, most likely.”

He frowned deeply and kissed your forehead.

“Oh, Betty I’m so sorry…”

“I’m not. That bastard deserved worse than Biscuit gave him…We should get her some extra treats.” You smiled weakly as he snorted into your hair.

“I’m going to get the ice and then the three of us are booking that damn vacation to an island far away. Deal?”

You nodded your acquiescence and it was less that thirty-six hours from the time you confirmed the booking, snuggled up against him with an ice pack pressed against your face, to the time you were sitting on a private island in the Bahamas. Biscuit was darting back and forth between you on the sand, chasing a tiny crab, making the pair of you laugh.

“Terrifying little guard dog…” Austin smirked and shifted to sit next to you, sliding an arm around your waist.

“Invaluable asset, she is.” You nodded with a grin; your black eyes hidden beneath a pair of sunglasses.

“Betty spaghetti, I love you, you know that?” He kissed your temple, making you smile softly.

“Yes, I do, Mr. Butler.” You grinned. “Love you, too Austin.” You pulled him in for a kiss.

“I’ve been meaning to ask though…” You smirked when he eventually pulled back to allow you both a chance to catch your breath and he raised a curious eyebrow. “…about those handcuffs in your nightstand…”

If You'll Be My Bodyguard, I Can Be Your Long Lost Pal Masterlist

Tag List: @littlewhiterose, @austinsvlrslut, @emrysdreams, @slowsweetlove, @xstrengthxinxtragedyx, @shelbygeek, @kingdomforapony, @artlover8992, @eliseinmemphis, @haydensith, @breadsquash, @chimchimjiminie16, @qxiva, @lilsiz, @18lkpeters

[eve-be-sleep-deprived]

How do you get such nice shots in captura? I wanna get better at it could you share some tips? Been trying to figure it out but I admit I'm not the most knowledgeable in photography etc.

Well.... It's a bit of a complicated process and it relies very very much on personal preference. Much like with any type of art there are different styles that each individual artist will gravitate toward. I can only show you how I do things, so I'd recommend asking other Captura folks on here about their own styles to see where our processes and preferences differ.

I'll also include some extremely helpful videos at the bottom, they go extremely in depth as to best practices and technical exploits.

Alright, lets get started with the background stuff... the tools! ReShade: Shader injection, a MUST if you want to take dynamic and customized captura without using a program like Photoshop to do everything in post.

SRWE: Simple Runtime Window Editor.... the god among programs... It's an upscaler, allowing you to increase the resolution of the game beyond the bounds of your monitor. It's how I was able to get 15K panoramas at one point in time.

Any image editing software. Since I rely mainly on compositing to get the lighting I do, I need something to overlay and mesh the images with. I use GIMP cuz it's free, but even Microsoft Paint will work as soon as it add the ability to layer images.

Those are the tools... what about the tactics?

Well, I generally prefer moodier shots with the Warframe being the central focus (though, that's also the side effect of me cropping the image). Just a note! Moody doesn't mean dark, moody is the enigmatic space between dark and light where there is more dark than light... but there's still a good amount of light to be had. Occasionally you can have overexposure in a moody shot even.

Important to note, the overall exposure level of the environment, even is the scene lighting is low, will effect how brightly your Warframe can be lit. Both the Scene Light and Exposure sliders need to be fine-tuned otherwise you won't be able to light your Warframe at all.

Now, for shot composition I prefer low angles with either a cluttered but familiar/recognizable background, or a simple but abstract background. The Subject, be it a Warframe, an enemy, or an NPC, reside in the center with their feet out of shot.

Like so:

Each of these shots also demonstrate well the way I like to pose my subjects: Symmetry and.... not... not symmetry. The official term for this is Contrapposto, which is Italian for Counterpoise. Basically, even though the Wisp is sedentary, her body is still giving off the impression of movement based on how her waist is curving and hips are tilted, forming a loose 'S' shape. There's a handful of animation sets, Khora (Urushu) Noble, Mesa Noble, and Wisp Noble are excellent for this.

Some examples:

But... what about the lighting? This is where things get technical. So, the standard Captura's three-point lighting system is generally inadequate at properly lighting the entire Warframe. This is where compositing enters the picture, in a very literal sense. Each of these shots, shown above, are composites of between two and four separate images, each with different lighting angles. I actually have an example I made for an earlier explanation made already (thank goodness)

Getting the different lighting angles is really simple, just rotate the 3-way lighting without moving the camera. Then you overlay them in some photo editing software and just start going layer by layer, erasing bits of the topmost layer to reveal your desired highlights or shadows from the shot underneath.

Don't feel obligated to do this compositing process though! Sometimes the 3-way lighting works perfectly well for a shot or environment, don't feel obligated to complicate this process.

And this segues in nicely to the final part of the shot-making process, post-processing and fog layers.

Now, fog layers are important to the overall appearance and vibe of my Captura. They add texture the image that the game doesn't impart naturally, removing large swathes of solid color from the background and foreground. An added bonus is that the added texture makes the image look somewhat better (imo) when compressed, or when viewed at lower resolutions.

The same image with and without Fog

This shot contains two individual fog layers, one in the foreground, washing out the foliage, giving the general uniformity of it texture and implied depth, it also serves to cover up the manual blurring I did (poorly) around his legs. Then there's the background Fog, which is the deeper blue you see in the sky. It adds a more dynamic air to the generally dour set of greys. And, again, the fog is just something I personally like to add, even if it doesn't serve a practical purpose in a shot. No shade if someone feels the fog ruins the shot, I almost always keep a fog-free version about.

After the fog is added, blended, and blurred slightly, I will apply a few gentle blurring filters to remove any jarring or jagged pixelation from the shot, giving the Frame a somewhat smoother appearance and reducing the file-size dramatically.

That's just how I do it though, it's not a particularly popular style, but it's how I do it and how I love to do it! :3 Remember to ask around, I'm sure there's lotsa Captura Artists out there willing to explain their methods and processes.

Helpful vids! How to Captura by Vash Cowaii Hotsampling in Warframe for High Res Shots by PurpleFlurp

good luck, and happy snapping!

[leavemetoplaythesims]

shading and lighting tutorial!

this was requested by an anon. a little before we start! i use procreate on my ipad pro with an apple pencil. unfortunately procreate is the only program i know but i imagine similar features exist in other programs as well. i feel like i need to say that i am in no way an expert on shading and i know it's not always accurate. also if you end up using this tutorial in some of your edits please feel free to tag me, i would love to see it! if i've missed something or if i explained something badly don't be afraid to ask me about it. okay long post ahead!

so i'm going to just make a little simple edit of my girl. this is a screenshot taken from cas that has the sunscreen filter on it from the built in windows photo editor on 20% intensity.

now i've added my normal little touch ups that i usually do, eyelashes, catch lights and highlights as well as touching up her scars. everything is painted with the soft airbrush except for some highlights that are painted with the 2B compressed charcoal brush. before adding highlights however you should figure out where you want the light to come from. i've drawn a little ugly sun for you to see where i've placed my light.

now i use the soft airbrush and paint with black where the shadows would be. if i would have fixed up the hair (which i didn't for this one because it's my least favorite part and i didn't have the energy) i would have made sure to make the shadow layer behind the hair ones since i think it looks better if the hair isn't shaded the way the face is. then i blend all of the black out with the smudge tool with the soft airbrush so it looks a little softer.

then change the layer to soft light and change the opacity to 60% and voilà! you have soft shadows! if some shadows still look to harsh for your liking just go back in with the smudge tool a little more.

now do a layer on top of everything and kind of circle the part you want lit up the most with black again, smudge it and set the layer to soft light at 60% opacity.

this step is not a must, i don't do it very often anymore but if you want some extra color or light you can do this. choose a color you want your light source to be. i tend to feel like intense colors look the best. paint it where you want the light to come from, then use the gaussian blur tool until your satisfied.

now you can leave it in the normal layer setting or play around a bit with different ones until you find something that you feel fits. for this one i decided on using the difference layer setting on 70% opacity.

a step i always almost forget is shading the eyes! to do that you just repeat the normal shadow process. paint it black, smudge and put the layer to soft light on 60% opacity. it adds so much, i highly recommend this step! now you're done with the first part. now save it as an image and start a new canvas with that image.

if you want to use gaussian, motion or perspective blur now would be the time. i didn't for this one but i almost always do. this next step is also totally optional. we are going to use chromatic aberration in the displace setting on 90% opacity and slightly pull it to the side. then use the normal chromatic aberration between 5-10%. it just adds a lot of fun and weird color that i just love and makes the edit look so much more alive. then use sharpen, i usually do 10-15%. and after that use bloom. my edits are almost always dark so i use a lot of it. i think i did 35% for this one to give it a little glow. then use noise. my go to is 3% on max octaves. then go into hue, saturation, brightness and change the saturation to 55% (you can do however much you want but these are my go to's) and brightness to 49%.

now go into curves and play around. i always make the gamma brighter but the colors i play around with so much.

completely optional again but i've recently started to add a gradient map, especially instant or noir. for this one i used noir on 20%. and that's it, we are done!

before/after.

hopefully this is understandable and helpful. have fun!!

[lara635kookie]

In regards to your ship analysis, I have a few pieces of constructive criticism. I am glad you are open to taking feedback, as it is how you improve writing.

Your argument that Julia is not blue-coded does not hold up, mainly because of your use of the "Shades of Black" graphic. Using a graphic that is unrelated to the source material you are discussing does not support your point. In order to prove whether or not Julia is blue-coded, it would be best to take a screenshot from the show, take it to a photo editor, and color pick her outfit, taking directly from the source. This way, you can determine if her outfit is truly blue, or blue based (many blacks, including the blacks in the graphic you used, are based in blue tones).

Your claims that CarmIvy and RedCrackle have irrefutable romantic moments are not sufficiently backed up. You point out that they look at each other, and that they have coffee dates. Who's to say those looks and coffees were not platonic between friends? It's arguable if it is romantic or not, just like it is with Carulia. How is that irrefutably romantic, and Carmen and Julia's first meeting on the train is not?

Your interpretation of Julia as a "cutie cutie lil bean wholesome smol uwu pie" seems rather demeaning. She is strong and badass, just as Ivy and Crackle are, but it is shown through her intellect, rather than her strength. Claiming that you believe she would be awkward in a relationship is not backed up. How did you reach that conclusion?

My biggest criticism is that you called your post an analysis, when I believe it is more of an opinion piece. Many of your points are not sufficiently backed up due to a lack of explanation through source material. It seems as though you relied on unrelated graphics, personal opinions, and headcanons, rather than source material- often overlooking source material entirely.

Hello. Thanks for the feedback! I actually did took some screenshots of the show and analyzed them with picsarts and none of them seemed blue to me. And I thought black and white were the color base so there's no way black is based in blue but blue is based in black? I don't know, I'm not an artist but I got a friend who is and he told me that. So even if Julia is blue, Gray and Ivy seem more blue in a more clear way, and there are another parallels between their characters that I commented on part 7. Actually I pointed out more things than looks and coffee because my ship analysis has eight parts divided in eight posts. I just think it's curious there is these parallels between Red Crackle and Carmivy and not Carulia. Besides, Carmen Sandiego is a pretty good "show don't tell" series so some things will be written between the lines. The looks between Carmivy and Red Crackle seemed romantic to me(specially Red Crackle, Carmen bites her lip) and they never did with Carulia. Carmen and Julia first meet in the train we see clearly Carmen looks at Devineaux's suitcase after she asks "partner?" And she knows it was Devineaux's since she lets them there for Julia to find it since Devineaux was cuffed on the train seat. I analyzed like that because Carmen Sandiego is a show that is based on a fair number of things in real life(specially the places, the geography, etc) so if it was on real life, pretty much almost no one would say the looks between Red Crackle and Carmivy are platonic(I know because I asked some friends and they all thought it was romantic)(they haven't watched the show so they got no ship preference) and the ones between Carmen and Julia had less certain answers. When I was watching the show, I realized these things with Red Crackle and Carmivy during the show and I only found out Carulia was a thing after the show was over(yes I also played the interactive tsonts special, more than once). Besides, the eyes are the window of the soul. And it plays some importance in the shiping of the show since Carmen has greyish blue eyes that can indicate she only has eyes for Gray or Julia since Argent means silver, if I'm not mistaken. So I think It's valid to analyze looks. I never denied Carulia could have romantic implications they just don't seem consistent to me and Red Crackle and Carmivy are more noticeable and appealing to me. The things between these two seem more explicit to me than Carulia and they stand out to me the most. The way I described Julia was actually a joke. I like her character and I found her a very relatable breath of fresh air. On this one, we'll have to agree on disagree. I think Julia is intelectually and overall strong but I don't think she's badass. Not being badass is not a flaw. Not everyone can be badass(I'm not, for example). It's a trait that adds to the character but it's not mandatory for me. I have this theory because of the way she acts with Devineaux. They are so awkward together and I love them for that but it is my personal interpretation after all. I wrote on a post I made before the analysis that it was going to be an analysis of why I like Red Crackle and Carmivy and don't like Carulia so about this I warned everyone and made it clear from the start what it was all about. I named/called it an analysis because I described then analysed moments of the show and its characters and ships, stating my own interpretation and analysis of them. I did mention my personal opinion and headcanons but there isn't that much time since I finished the show and I tried to be the most loyal as possible to the original source material. Anyway, again, thanks for taking your time to write this feedback to me. I will take your considerations and keep them in mind to improve my content

[peerbear]

Saint Catherines THE SHOOT

The shoot for Saint Catherines was a very heartwarming experience.

We started out checking the equipment at Craglockhart Kit Stores where I colour-coded every character's lavalier microphone so that I could quickly and easily differentiate between transmitters and receivers on set and also know immediately whose was whose and thus where to connect it on my MixPre 10 on which I gave each character a channel each. The boom was 1, Phoebe 2, Harry 3, Jo 4 and Sara 5. The colour choices were Phoebe blue, Harry red, Jo yellow and Sara green. I also in a previous session where I had booked out the MixPre 10 to go over settings, learned how to use the WingMan App's reports (using a Youtube video), which is a log of the notes you make on each take on set, which is super helpful for post-production. This was the first time I used the MixPre 10 on set with so many channels and the first time I recorded a 4 people simultaneous setup.

We had also been introduced to the Tenacle Sync which syncs the timecode for camera and sound and saves time in the edit. I took it upon myself to set this up every day and coordinate with camera because they had so many other things to worry about. We had had a brief previous session going over how to use it and I messed up because I had put a cable in the wrong port of the MixPre I did not realise this until the last day, so the tentacles were synced but the MixPre was not receiving the timecode, but the camera was. So we only had the last day synced automatically, which took away time from our editor, Alyssa, but she had factored this into her edit window anyway. I still felt guilty and this was a massive learning curve for me. It will never happen again!

Here is a photo from the session of how it should have been and I forgot to double-check the photo, rookie mistake:

Back to Craiglockhart Campus, after checking all of the equipment, Katie, Eva and I helped Orla load up a van with the equipment and once we had done this she drove off to Saint Catherines. I then drove myself and some of our crew (Katie, Eva, Alex and Sophie, our continuity supervisor) to Saint Catherines.

From here I won't go entirely in chronological order because so many things happened, so I will just give some key highlights and summaries of what happened. Every day we would shoot from about 9 to 5 and in the evenings we would relax and play werewolf which became a proper daily ritual.

Before the shoot, I had been quite nervous about being in charge of sound mixing and recording because I usually find this very hard and run into many issues. After all, there are always issues when recording sound that in some instances are out of your control. But on the shoot, I fell in love with sound recording and found myself getting into the groove and getting more and more comfortable with it. Something I have to say is that when I listen back to my recordings and see photos of me on set I hear and see how serious I am! I think this will be my nerves coming out and me wanting to do my best, it must be the German in me or something because I am never so to the point and sharp. With the expressions, I am not as worried because I know I have a bit of a resting bitch face.

As we were recording both inside and outside I found the struggles for these were very different. Inside the mics were more sensitive in the smaller space and the lighting setups created lots of whirring sounds. Outside cars were extremely loud as we were situated right next to a main road, something I had been aware of on the location recce, but it had seemed like a much quieter road at the time. There was also a construction site where someone was building a house, but somehow this did not interfere with dialogue too much.

Something I learned about dialogue was to do with recording overlapping dialogue. When so many people are on set it is very hard to avoid having actors not interrupt each other during takes. Usually, they will and this will be what is used in the final picture edit because it is a natural performance and what is required of them but in sound, this means the different character's dialogue are not separable from each other which means it is less manipulatable and hard to get rid of. Usually, dialogue is separated into each character but when there are interruptions this is harder. However, overall my dialogue was mostly very clear and I had fewer problems with it than I expected. While on set I was most nervous about scenes 8 and 11, which are the confrontation scene and the support and reconciliation with a friend scene. These are arguably the two most important scenes of the film. Sadly when I got to the sound design I found these were the hardest to work on and contained the most affected dialogue due to loud wind, waves, and traffic.

On this project I learned a lot about micing up the cast, I looked into it and found that placing the mic between the dip in their chest proved to provide the best and smoothest audio. For women, this dip is in between their breasts and I found this was a very new situation for me to navigate. I was told by friends that on their sets women had to lav themselves up, but the actresses had no idea how to do this and I did not find it fair to ask this of them, nor did I want to risk having bad dialogue. But we were lucky, who knew being gay can pay off in the workplace. I would lav up the actresses while my boom op George would lav up the only actor. I would navigate this by ensuring actresses felt comfortable and most of this involved them moving the microphone through their clothes themselves and even holding it in place in the necessary dip. My main point of contact was applying the mic to their chest with medical tape that I had procured before the shoot. What I also had to take into consideration was costume. Different costumes required different lav positioning and these also required different housings made out of tape, something that I learned from Tom in the test shoot and then adapted to fit my own needs. These housings lessened contact between the lav and the costume. Laving up the actresses would get quicker each day and we quickly found our rhythm and a way to make this work for each of them. From the second day after having a noisy necklace on our lead I would speak to costume and as much as possible ask for changes if they were detrimental to sound. This of course did not always happen, but I found solutions along the way.

I was absolutely blessed with Orla, I feel we worked really well together and she always left space for sound. This was something we had spoken about previously and I had requested extra room for not only time for room tone but also wildtrack sound takes of actions and sometimes even dialogue, especially where there had been interruptions previously. This meant I had many options in the design for when things had gone wrong in the actual takes. As Orla is a sound person as well as a director this is something she pushed for so I got nearly every sound recorded in the space where we shot it. They would call wrap for camera and then me, George and the actors would record whatever was on my sound shopping list for that scene. Every afternoon after shooting George and I would go over what we were shooting the next day to make sure we had everything on the shopping list that was needed. Overall I was super happy with clear dialogue and production sound. I know the actors had also never taken part in wildtracks before and I am aware I was in a very lucky position and I am very thankful for it, I think it really paid off in the sound design edit.

I felt we worked incredibly well as a team and built some close working relationships and friendships. Everyone put in so much and without each and every person we would not have been able to make the film that we made. Katie and her camera department were incredible, I have described them as a well-oiled machine and they were just that. Also working with Katie has been a creative experience that I really enjoyed because I feel we connected really well and worked hard together. Having Eva on set was such a relief, she is so near and dear to my heart and it was nice to see her excel and be such a strong support for the camera team. She was also a big support for me as sets can be stressful and having her presence around meant I had something and someone from home and it was nice to also work on a grad film together. George as my boom op was my saviour coming on board very last minute and being an incredible boom op, he has his own separate post coming up. One day as a treat I let him sound record because I was going to do on set folley footsteps to the water's edge to replicate Phoebe's steps towards the water. He again excelled. Orla was an incredible director and made an incredible space for everyone on set, she looked after all of us so well and kept us on the right path. We all felt we were in safe hands and we definitely were. The cast was really well picked and as the days went on they fell deeper into their characters and we all very quickly believed who they were. The whole crew was great to work with and helped provide a positive atmosphere on set.

My one issue on set was the bathroom and shower issues that we had, but this was unavoidable as we were so many people and our lodgings were not used to this. As an IBS girlie, I had multiple evenings and mornings where I would run to the car drive from the lodge to the caravan carefully to then barge in and use the toilet. Cold showers were not an issue as this is something I do regularly. I was a bit cheeky and had these every day as I am unbearable to be around when I am unshowered so it was best for everyone that I broke this rule. Or at least that's what I am telling myself, but I know I get insufferably grumpy when I feel unclean.

I did find I had to manage my stress and my resting bitch face, but with time both eased and by the end I felt completely in my element as if this was something I had been doing for a long time.

So at the end of the shoot, I found myself as a happy sound girl, as we say, I fell in love with sound recording and felt comfortable and in my element. We all made it back to Edinburgh in one piece and so did our equipment, which myself Orla and the camera department helped unload.

Here are some shots and even a little video from all of our days on set, as you can see we had a blast:

[schrijverr]

A Behind the Scenes of: Corroded Coffin Pt. 2

This time with Eddie as special guest, Jonathan and Eddie give an insight into Corroded Coffin just after they made it big, with a cameo of Steve.

(You don't need to read part 1 to get this, but here is the link)

On AO3.

Ships: Steddie, Jargancy

Warnings: homophobia mention

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Hi, I’m Jonathan Byers, the main photographer and editor of A Collection of Queer Photography. And today Eddie is here with me to continue looking at Corroded Coffin photos from the book,” Jonathan starts the video.

“Hello everyone,” Eddie greets the camera with a big grin, used to being in the position. He waves excitedly, his bracelets jingling happily. He looks very much like a comfortable old rocker with chains around his necks, fingers filled with rings and an old band shirt, his hair cascading down his shoulders. Eddie takes the book and flips it open on the page with the first tab as he exclaims: “Let’s rock ‘n roll.”

“Yes, let’s,” Jonathan agrees, looking fondly amused.

“Should I read the title and year, has that been the vibe?” Eddie asks.

“We have been trying that, yeah,” Jonathan says.

“Alrighty, so the first one is A Promise To Return taken in ‘92,” Eddie says. “It’s when we first went on tour, which was very exciting and terrifying.”

On screen a photo appears of Eddie on the lowest step of the tour bus, leaning out and giving Steve a kiss. They’re clinging to each other, neither of them wanting to let go. The way they’re dressed contrasting each other.

“This is a sweet photo,” Eddie says. “I know it’s cliché and overdone, but it is. I fucking missed Stevie so much when I was away, despite the fact that I was living the dream.”

“I think you can also see this here,” Jonathan says. “I really like that you’re in the bus and Steve’s on the ground, it kind of creates this separation, like you’re stepping in a new world and Steve can’t come with you. He knows he should let you go and say goodbye, but he can’t help but cling to you and keep you close, even if it’s only for a second. Same goes for you.”

Eddie studies the photo again as he nods to himself. “Huh,” he comments. “You always have stories in your photos. We’ve worked together a lot, but I always manage to forget the thought you put into these. It’s amazing, man. Like you can see it and you’d know if it wasn’t there, but it’s subtle.”

“It’s not really that deep,” Jonathan blushes, waving away the compliment.

“Yeah it is,” Eddie says as Argyle adds: “Let the man compliment you, buttercup.”

“Alright, alright,” Jonathan grins as he rolls his eyes. Then he moves on: “Next to it we have Hope of a Wave Back, which doesn’t have the band in it really, but I feel like it fits.”

“It fits,” Eddie agrees.

Hope of a Wave Back appears on screen. It’s of Robin and Steve from the back, both waving at the back of the tour bus. The windows are tinted, so you can’t see what’s going on inside. Steve is looking a little dejected seen in the slope of his shoulders, Robin has a comforting arm around his waist.

“For the record, I was waving back like an idiot, while Gareth and Jeff tried to open the window,” Eddie says. “Those tour bus windows are difficult to open and we didn’t manage to figure it out until the third city.”

Jonathan snorts and you can hear Argyle giggles as well. Eddie pouts, but he does look upset as he defends himself: “Those windows are difficult on purpose, I swear.”

“Sure, dude,” Jonathan grins, before turning back to the photo and saying: “But it did work out to make a pretty sad photo to represent the not knowing that comes with long distance. So, you’re forgiven.”

“How gracious,” Eddie snorts. “But I do like this one. Robin is the absolute best, I can’t imagine her not being there. It’s weird sometimes how much she and Steve overlap. Remember when their appendixes burst on the same day? Like what the fuck.”

“That was a little creepy, yeah,” Jonathan agrees.

“It was weird shit, babe, you can say it,” Argyle adds from behind the camera.

“Really weird shit,” Eddie repeats as he flips the page to the next tab, at the page he lights up and exclaims: “Ahh, when Stevie and Rob and you flew out to come see us in Indy. That was one of the best nights of my life. The difference between Robs and Stevie here is hilarious.”

On screen appears 5:00 AM Flight, which is of an excited Steve coming out of the front door with a suitcase. He seems to be vibrating out of his skin. Next to the door is Robin leaning against the wall, her own bag at her feet. She looks like she is about ten seconds from passing out and wondering why the hell she is doing this to herself.

“Steve was a little bit more excited about the early hour,” Jonathan agrees with a fond amused look.

“Yeah, that’s because he’s insane and sometimes goes running that earlier,” Eddie says, the most sappy, in love look on his face.

“But we’re talking about the band, so let’s talk about this one,” Jonathan points at the next page.

“Stevie is basically part of the band,” Eddie pouts, but dutifully reads: “The Corroded Coffin Cheer Squad taken in ‘92.”

The photo that appears is taken at the concert from behind Lucas, Max, Robin and Steve. They’re in a set off area, a chair has been set down for Max, who can’t stand for that long. All of them are cheering. Behind their silhouettes is Corroded Coffin. Eddie is screaming at the crowd, looking alive. Chris and Jeff are sharing a microphone and Gareth is throwing water over himself, having lost his shirt.

“I love taking photos at concert from the audience’s perspective,” Jonathan comments. “It shows a band at their best in a sense and this one is special, because the audience are people that you know personally, which adds a layer. Bands performing often isn’t their private selves, but it’s more them than at an interview or some shoot.”

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees. “For me, my musics are filled with personal stuff, they mean a lot to me and the boys and I always made sure our shows were something we could be proud of. You lay a lot more bear at a show than people realize. It’s nice to get to share that.”

His voice gets a little bit softer and he adds: “I’m glad Steve got to come to a few of our big shows and see it. That I got to share it with him. My baby is so brave, you know. He’s been through so much, we always knew he couldn’t travel with us, but when he could come and see, those shows were the best.”

“I think you can see your delight in this one,” Jonathan points. “Spotted Steve in the Crowd, there honestly isn’t another way to describe your expression.”

Eddie cackles at that, head thrown back as a new image appears of Eddie on the center of the stage. He is wearing leather pants with chains hanging off it and his cuff belt. He doesn’t have a shirt on, but he is wearing a cut off army jacket. He has gotten more tattoos over the years, which cover some of his scars. His fingers are around his guitar as he plays, however he isn’t singing, instead grinning from ear to ear, his eyes sparkling from under his sweaty hair.

“What can I say, I missed him,” Eddie shrugs, twinkle in his eyes. “And I was going to make him my fiance. Let me be gay in peace.”

“I have been witness to you being gay for years,” Jonathan rolls his eyes. “I’ve let you be horny for your man in peace for many years. Know how I suffered.”

“You willingly photographed us being horny on multiple occasions,” Eddie shoots back.

Jonathan flushes and ducks into himself as he pouts and mumbles something about them being aesthetically pretty and photogenic.

“And he had a brief crush on you,” Argyle adds without shame from behind the camera.

“Argyle!” Jonathan exclaims, not that upset, but more surprised.

Eddie has a delighted grin on his face as he prods Jonathan and asks: “Really? Did you? When? How long? Oh my god, this is hilarious. Why didn’t you say?”

“Because it was fucking embarrassing and it only lasted about a month or two before it blew over,” Jonathan wails, a little embarrassed. “Just drop it.”

“Okay, okay, but I am going to tell Stevie when he gets here,” Eddie gives in.

“Of course you do,” Jonathan rolls his eyes, but doesn’t sound that upset as he snatches the book out of Eddie’s hands and flips to the next page.

On screen a photo series appears of behind stage at the concert, telling a story from left to right. First they’re all big to cover everything, but they’re shrunken down on screen so that you can still see Jonathan and Eddie.

The most left photograph is of Eddie, taken from behind Steve, so his polo wearing back is in it as well. Eddie is yelling, practically glowing with happiness, having just spotted Steve. He is already handing his guitar to a stage hand in favor of paying attention to Steve.

In the one next to it Eddie is running towards Steve, by the looks of it he is sprinting. Steve is doing much the same. It is very dramatic, but also cute.

The set continues with a photograph of Eddie flying through the air as if he is literally launching himself at Steve. Though it seems like Steve doesn’t mind, he has stopped running to widen his stance and brace himself.

It ends with an image of both of them sprawled on the ground, Eddie on top of Steve. Eddie has a hand on the back of Steve’s head to protect him from smacking is against the floor. His knees are on either side of Steve, who has wrapped both his arms around Eddie’s waist. They’re making out heavily. In the background you can see Jeff rolling his eyes.

“This is Reunion a photo series taken right after the show,” Jonathan says.

“I was so happy to see him,” Eddie coos, taking the book back from Jonathan to smile at the photos, then he suddenly asks: “Is this why people think we’re dramatic?”

“What?” Jonathan choke-laughs.

“People have been calling us dramatic online, which is pretty fair all things considered, but I feel like this is mild for us, but it has been cited to me many times in my replies,” Eddie explains.

“Eddie,” Jonathan says in a tone that screams, I love you, but… “You and Steve are two of the most dramatic people I know. You literally tackled him.”

“He knew I was coming,” Eddie defends himself.

“That makes it worse,” Jonathan informs him with a sympathetic look.

Eddie looks over to Argyle, who explains: “That means you did this often enough he saw it coming, making it doubly dramatic, bro.”

“But it’s not the most dramatic thing, we do worse,” Eddie says.

“Not helping yourself,” Jonathan says.

“Just accept it, man,” Argyle agrees.

“Fine, but if this is dramatic, I’m scared for every interview I’ve done where I told people I do worse,” Eddie tells them.

“Don’t be, it gives you character,” Jonathan assures him, before turning back to the photo series and saying: “What I really love is how excited you two look and your hand on the back of Steve’s head. It’s again a small detail, but even caught up in the moment, you remember to think about stuff like that. Those things really speak to me.”

Eddie puffs up proudly in a subconscious manner as he says: “Of course, I’m not going to let him get hurt in a way that he doesn’t want to.”

“We know, Eddie,” Jonathan tells him, patting his shoulder. “I also like Jeff being done with your shit, that says a lot about the band as a whole I think.”

“He looks fond,” Eddie argues.

“Sure he does,” Jonathan replies, obviously not agreeing with Eddie, but not saying it as he flips the page, telling the audience: “The series technically continues on the next page, but it deserved its own special place.”

“Totally agree,” Eddie grins, eyes lovingly trailing over the image.

In the photo, Eddie is still sweaty from the show and Steve’s hair is messed up from the make out session on the floor they just had. Steve has scrambled upright after the rather dramatic greeting, however Eddie is still on the floor, though now on one knee with a box in his hand. In the box a ring glitters. Nothing fancy, but very classy. Something you’d get for your high school sweetheart. Eddie is grinning softly and hopefully, while Steve has both hands clasped over his mouth, eyes watering, as if he can’t believe this is really happening.

“He Said Yes is the title,” Jonathan says, when it starts to look like Eddie isn’t going to say anything.

After a moment, Eddie speaks up in a chocked up voice: “I sometimes still can’t believe it you know. He’s just the best person on fucking earth and he agreed to spend the rest of his life together with me. We have a house. Kids. Family. We’re actually married. Like it’s so crazy and I love him so much.”

“You need a tissue, brocacho?” Argyle asks from behind the camera, Jonathan awkwardly patting Eddie on the back.

There is a cut to Eddie dabbing away tears with a tissue as he grins to the camera and says: “Sorry about that people, I just love my husband very much. Bagging him is my greatest accomplishment in life, honestly.”

“Of course it is,” Jonathan snorts, before saying: “You did propose in the most Eddie-like way possible.”

“Steve liked my proposal,” Eddie sniffs. “He says it was romantic.”

“Didn’t you plan on proposing under the stars after a shower?” Argyle asks.

“It was a heat of the moment thing,” Eddie shrugs. “He just looked to beautiful and I couldn’t resist, alright. Look at him here. In his stupid little polo and fluffy hair, I’m weak for him. Weak, I tell you.”

“It was pretty romantic,” Jonathan gives in. “I like how hopeful you look. Like despite the fact there was no way Steve was going to say no, you still were worried about it. The second Steve needed to get himself together nearly killed you, but you’re not so nervous that you’re unable to stop grinning.”

“God, I nearly shit myself,” Eddie laughs. “I was trailer trash and Steve seemed untouchable for so many years, but he’s also Stevie, my baby, the guy I cleaned the trailer with and who drove me to gigs when my van broke down, who braided my hair because he was bored and turns into a backpack whenever he can.”

“Yeah, you needn’t have worried for a second,” Jonathan says as he flips the page and asks: “You are probably dying to talk about this one, right?”

“Our wedding!” Eddie exclaims. “Let’s wait until Steve and Nancy come back from their shopping trip, Stevie loves talking about our wedding.”

“You sure he would want to?” Jonathan asks.

“Like 99% and if he doesn’t we can record it anyways and I’ll tell you all about it in as much detail as you’d like,” Eddie promises with a big grin.

“Alright,” Jonathan agrees easily and flips further. He says: “Page 152 and 153 are the last pages I want to talk about, since other Corroded Coffin photos aren’t taken by me. Maybe we’ll figure something else out if people are really curious. But these are when I took behind the scenes photos for one of their albums, but the ones that didn’t make the cut.”

“First one is Hard at Work taken in ‘93,” Eddie says.

On screen a photo appears of Gareth lounging on the studio couch, tapping his drumsticks together. Eddie is sitting on the back of the couch, pencil in his mouth and notebook in his lap. His hair is up in a bun and he is dressed in a tank top and ripped jeans, no shoes.

“I want to defend us and say that lounging around is a big part of our writing process,” Eddie says. “We wrote some good lyrics on that couch. But most of it was written late at night when I couldn’t sleep or when we’re hanging out outside the studio.”

“It was a little too casual for what the label wanted,” Jonathan agrees. “But admittedly a more accurate representation of the writing process. Page 152 is entirely the writing process.”

“Next one is Jotting Down Notes,” Eddie moves onto the next photo. It is of Jeff with his guitar in his lap. He is leaning over it to write down some notes. He’s dressed in a Corroded Coffin shirt. His hair is longer now and twisted into locks.

“You all were so excited about having merch,” Jonathan recalls fondly.

“Yeah, we were,” Eddie agrees, a little nostalgic. “Jeff once broke his guitar when writing down notes, because he’s a fucking idiot. I love him so much.”

“Didn’t he nearly break his guitar here too?” Jonathan asks.

“Probably,” Eddie laughs. “Jeff tries to be very professional and like he’s above all of our bullshit, but that’s his celebrity persona, don’t let him fool you. He’s as much a dork and an idiot as the rest of us. He just hides it better.”

Jonathan laughs a little at that, before Eddie moves on, reading: “Getting Inspiration.”

The photo is of Chris and Eddie smoking a joint in the alley behind the studio. They’re hunched over, as if trying to hide what they’re doing, but they’re not very successful at it.

Eddie looks into the camera. “To all the young fans and old fans, who have asked me what some of our lyrics mean. If we have avoided answering for this long, it’s probably because they don’t, we were just high when we wrote them. I have explained in detail when a song was a metaphor for me sucking my husband’s dick, I’m not going to shy away from any other topics. Please don’t do this me.”

Both Argyle and Jonathan have started cackling throughout Eddie’s little spiel. Argyle giggles: “I liked your nonsense songs, they speak to me.”

“Thank you, Argyle,” Eddie grins.

Jonathan now addresses the audience: “This one wasn’t allowed to be published for obvious reasons. Somehow despite all the hard drug scandals, they didn’t want this picture out there.”

“Very rude honestly,” Eddie laughs, before moving onto the next one: “This is on the next page the first one, named Booth Buddies.”

It is is of the entire band around a microphone, headphones on their heads. They’re doing the backup vocals. It’s a small booth and they all have their arms wrapped around each other, so they can’t fall over.

“That was fun,” Eddie recalls with a big grin. “We nearly fell like twenty times, but we got to screaming backing vocals. It turned out great.”

“Yeah, I really like this photo. You all look so happy and carefree,” Jonathan says with a smile, before that falls away. “The label didn’t want to use this one, because they thought it was too intimate and would fan unwanted rumors.”

“AKA, they thought it looked gay,” Eddie frowns. “Which it wasn’t. Me and Gar are, the photo isn’t. It’s practically a crime to like your friends, honestly. I appreciated the opportunities they gave us, but man was I glad to be rid of them.”

“We all were,” Jonathan says. “Like this one of Robs, they wanted to use it to create media buzz, but Robin didn’t want it.”

“That was the worst,” Eddie says.

On screen a photo appears taken from the other side of the glass from the recording booth. Eddie is leaning over all the buttons, grinning wildly. Through the glass you can see Robin, trumpet to her lips.

“I never figured out why they didn’t end up using it anyway,” Jonathan says.

“Uhm, me- me, Stevie and Chris might have broken in after you told us and destroyed the copy they had of it,” Eddie confesses.

Jonathan’s eyes go wide as he exclaims: “You what!” before the video cuts.

When they get back, it seems like nothing has happened at all. Jonathan just says: “This one we named Chirping Bird, because Robin is also a bird and she’s making music with a brass instrument, so using air.”

“A lot of fans thought she was my wife, because we credited Robin Munson on the CD,” Eddie laughs. “She extorted so many free shit out of me under the guise of me having to be a good husband, which is so rude, since she never does that with Steve and he was her husband.”

“Steve didn’t need to be extorted,” Jonathan points out.

“True,” Eddie snorts.

“I also like that you’re in the directing booth here. You look so thrilled and pleased with it all. I think it shows your friendship as well as your dedication to music,” Jonathan says.

“It does,” Eddie agrees. “I like it too. We didn’t really keep with the order of the page, which one do we do next.”

“Gareth on the Drums?” Jonathan suggest and Eddie nods.

The photo is of Gareth behind his drums, surrounded by microphones as he goes nuts on his drum set. It is clearly not the first take, because his gray shirt is soaked in sweat, but he’s grinning despite the exertion.

“Gar hated that drum solo,” Eddie says. “He wrote it himself, but doing it was harder than expected. It took him so long to get it right. He collapsed on the ground when he finally got it.”

“He did,” Jonathan says. “The one used instead was when he took his shirt off a little later. Fan service and all that, but I liked the one with the shirt too.”

“It’s a good photo, he looks very hot,” Eddie winks, very happy with his pun, before clapping his hands and excitedly saying: “Let’s talk about my baby now.”

“Yeah, yeah, the other one is Surprise Visit,” Jonathan says. “Steve came with Robin to record her stuff, which was very well received.”

“It was great,” Eddie grins happily.

Surprise Visit is of the same couch in the studio. The entire band is sitting around it, but the focus is on Steve, who is sitting on Eddie’s lap, Eddie’s tattooed arms around him. Both of them are grinning, as the others look fondly amused.

Before either one can say anything there is some noise in the background. Jonathan smiles at whatever is happening, while Eddie exclaims: “Sweetheart, baby, come here,” as he makes grabby hands. “We were just talking about you.”

Steve’s voice is muffled as he replies: “Oh you’re doing that YouTube thingy right. Only saying good things about me, I hope.”

“Of course,” Eddie promises, tugging Steve into frame and onto his lap so he can plant multiple kisses right on his face.

At the gesture Steve giggles, kisses back, before he peers into the book and smiles: “Ahw, I loved coming to see you work.”

“Yeah?” Eddie asks, a little breathless. It’s unclear if it’s awe or from the kisses.

“Yeah,” Steve smiles. “You’re very hot when you’re concentrated and passionate and you know I love it when you sing.”

“Flatter me more,” Eddie laughs. “Wanna join us?”

“I can?” Steve asks.

“Jup,” Eddie tells him, punctuating the sentence with a kiss on Steve’s nose. “We wanted to talk about our wedding day after, care for an opportunity to do so without Jonathan being able to tell you to shut up?”

“Hell yeah, you know I do,” Steve grins.

It cuts and now Steve is sitting next to Eddie, close enough so they can share his mic. Jonathan says: “What I like about this photo is how effortlessly Steve is taken into the crowd. More casually dressed, their styles still aren’t compatible, but not as glaringly obvious. And Steve is quite literally embraced as he is. I think that’s neat.”

“On his little throne,” Eddie grins, kissing Steve’s cheek.

“Your thighs are comfortable and that couch was gross,” Steve comments.

“It was a pretty gross couch,” Eddie says, pulling a face.

“Totally,” Jonathan agrees as well, before flipping ahead to the next tab. “This is Corroded Coffin at the Writing Table in 1994.”

The photo is of Corroded Coffin. They’re working on lyrics, sitting around the table at the Munson apartment. Gareth is chewing on his pen, while Eddie and Jeff both have a lollipop in their mouths. A nicotine patch is visible on Eddie’s arm and Gareth’s neck.

“Oef, when I quit smoking,” Eddie says, recognizing it. “That was a rough time. Jeff and Gareth tried too, but it’s just so hard. I don’t blame them for starting again. Though Jeff is trying to quit again, so that’s good.”

“You were all very grumpy,” Steve recalls fondly, pinching Eddie’s side. “But I am glad you quit.”

“I’m glad you were there with me to get me through,” Eddie replies looking sappily into Steve’s eyes, as next to them Jonathan looks to where Argyle must be, looking the every bit the part of third wheel.

Jonathan clears his throat and only Steve has the decency to look apologetic, while Eddie goes on as if nothing is wrong and says; “We were all quite miserable. The album we made was quite a drag, honestly. Weirdly very nice to listen to when you’re high, but like, bad mood high.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve giggles.

“But you love me?” Eddie asks.

“Of course,” Steve tells him.

“Love you too.”

Jonathan doesn’t even bother with a smooth transition, instead he clears his throat and says: “I like that it’s less forced. You guys have become good at making any place homey, but it’s more casual, everyone is less aware of the fact that there’s a camera.”

“It’s always nicer when we get to come together in our own home,” Eddie agrees. “I think we wrote better songs then too.”

“I also liked it when you stayed home to write,” Steve says, hooking his chin over Eddie’s shoulder as Eddie’s hand naturally drifts up to pet the top of his head.

Jonathan moves onto the last tab in the book, flipping the page as he says: “This is a bit of a long title, but it fits. It’s called Europe Tour (If They Manage to Drag the Front Man There).”

The photo that appears on screen is of Eddie being pulled away by Gareth, hand reaching for Steve, who is reaching back, while Robin holds his other hand and Dustin has a hand on Steve’s shoulder. It kind of looks like a dramatic Baroque painting. The ones not pulling Eddie or holding Steve are waving.

“One plus side of your dramatics is that it makes for great pictures,” Jonathan says.

“We’re not that dramatic,” Steve frowns.

“Council has decided otherwise. Sorry, baby,” Eddie informs him.

“Homophobia,” Steve pouts, before saying: “But I do like this photo. I was very excited for you, but fuck did I not want you to go.”

“I didn’t want to go either,” Eddie tells him, leaning his head against Steve. “Jonny boy here captured that very well.”

“It was kind of hard to miss,” Jonathan snorts. “But it is a very good visual. I love photos that tell a story and this one sure does tell a story.”

“It does, I had a bruise on my shoulder from where Gar pulled on me,” Eddie says.

“Robs left nail indents on my hand,” Steve laughs.

“God, why are you two like this,” Jonathan asks no one in particular as he face palms.

“Any more or was this all?” Eddie asks, checking the side of the book for more tabs.

“That was it for now, since there’s only the Europe tour from the Corroded Coffin career and I didn’t go there,” Jonathan explains. “I was planning on doing this solo and I can’t really talk about where I wasn’t at.”

“And this video is already pretty long,” Argyle tells them from behind the camera.

“Then we’re stopping this one and doing our wedding next,” Eddie grins excitedly as Steve lets out a small cheer, the two of them high fiving.

Next to them, Jonathan looks a little like he’s regretting his life choices as he signs off: “That is a behind the scene of the photos about Corroded Coffin. Thank you so much for being here Eddie and Steve.”

“Was a pleasure,” Eddie grins. Then waves at the camera, Steve following his example, as Eddie says: “Bye everybody! Don’t forget to give Jon here some love and shit, he’s great.”

“Thanks,” Jonathan says, before also saying goodbye.

~~

A/N:

I will be doing the steddie wedding after, but it might take some time, please be patient :D

[disneyvoguemagazine]

#RileyKeough #TheRunaways #DisneyVogue #February2024 #Cover #MarvelComics @runaways #MarvelRunAways

#RileyKeoughDisneyVogue #RileyKeoughVoguecover #MMCXXII

#DanielleRileyKeough is an American actress. She made her feature film debut in a supporting part in the musical biopic The Runaways, portraying Marie Currie. Keough subsequently starred in the independent thriller The Good Doctor, before being cast in a minor role in Steven Soderbergh's comedy film Magic Mike. 

enxantingxmen

When she inquired the vogue Disney editors how she could be 'IN' the graphic novel ‘#enXanting’

i.e[A doujinshi in the likeness of Marvel Comics popular genre X-MEN series, a star crossing of collaborations and ambitions in brand ambassadorships for the celebrities who get to star within the pages for being from the Treacherous horrowing bullying has proved the characters who’s stories are told within the pages of this graphic novel are rewarded with the prize of being a face for a luxury brand or musical aspirational figures getting to participate in the rare slots being featured in the ever popular festival a celebration ‘Tomorrowland’ stages! Those who are suffering at the hands of monsterious bullies and out of control nettizens can find themselves being rescued by the ‘black cat glitch;Chanel’ of the Matrix’s trilogies anthologies. Many find themselves reaching out to the artist and writers of the online publication in hopes that they too will be dawned the spotlight in order to be bolstered by the courage and confidence the new edition has made a name for itself among comic book fans and in the communities for what the cultures about the subject matter captivate.]

Of the first she wasn't taken seriously as the editor politely smiled at her and brushed off the question as if she was asking where the restroom was located in a different language , then in a separate photo shoot, She asked again this time being pointed in the directions of the infamous #Marvel DiscJockey #DjHotWheels [ An ambassador of @MATTEL for the toy car collections this DJ and Disney promoter has helped many celebrities and Disney Stars make a name for themselves using an artist or actors works remixed into their sounds you’ll find this artist music empowering yet fringe.]

During her time at the #TomorrowlandPresents stages at a Disneyland event promoting their #HiddenStages DiscJockeys Tours Riley K, a VIP backstage lshe would ask the music artist between their sets about how to get into the pages. From here the disc jockey pointed her in the direction of Disney and Mattel’s superstar legend #DjParisHilton the princess herself who she got to attend one of the mogul’s famous brunchs located at the top of Disneyland magic castle recently decorated in a ‘Frozen’ theme the very top of the castle is where Paris Hiltons private penthouse is located says a MouseQuteers insider who passed Riley onto the guest list of this most iconic event. Here is where the best view of Disneyland parks epic Fireworks show can be seen from the best view of her Disney castles penthouse windows balcony. This year ‘Jubilation Lee’ also known as ‘Jubilee’ [Of the Marvel Avengers Academy located at California Adventure park] with her dazzling ability to manifest sparkling fireworks and lights from her hands, the popular X-MEN will be hosting the parks fireworks events at both times for the Disneyland parks! Don’t miss this spectacular most Uncanny event as she will only be hosting her show until the last performance being on the 4th of July, after that holiday the fireworks show will continue in its original way #MMCXXII X

#20XX #2024

Disneyland Parks will be hosting this event! When asked, Paris promised that she would get the cover feature for next issue of their online editorial and claim the feature story.

Trusting the alumni #MouseClub/ #MouseQuteer [DJ/ParisHilton: #secretmouseclub circa #20XX #MarvelComicsMouseQuteers ] When skeptics asked insider columnist #DeeryLou @Sanrio the journalist took a moment to call a source and confirmed that she would be gracing next months cover [#DisneyVogue Online Magazines #February2024 ] of the fringed #DisneyVogue a #DisneyMagazine and publication effort still in process / patent. Stay tuned to find out what #NickiMinaj had to say about her #Marvel debut for the magazines cover and the cluster of fumbles that made her miss her cover debut for the magazine, a series of unfortunate events. Riley was photographed by PIBE Magazine Nathaniel

[everystephoftheway]

camp cloudtop: chapter twenty-three

This can be found on ao3 as well.      

It was late into the night–or early into the morning depending on your preference of wording–and once again Percy found himself unable to sleep. Those dark circles under his eyes were not by choice; ever since the accident, he found it nearly impossible to get a full night’s sleep without some kind of aid, and since he was now working with children five days out of the week he didn’t think drinking himself into unconsciousness was the way to go. Instead, he simply endured the long hours; this time, with no Vex around, he remained in bed with his laptop, the bright light making him squint behind his glasses. 

He had been scrolling through forum after forum for the last two hours, trying his best to scrounge up any more information about Whitestone and the Briarwoods. Most of what he saw he already knew: Whitestone residents discussed the quick ascent the Briarwoods took in their city-state, wondering what their intentions were, where they came from. Many lamented the loss of the majority of the de Rolo family, and while some expressed pity and understanding for Percy and his sister and their decision to stay in Emon for the rest of their schooling, many called for new leaders, ones that didn’t run from their claim of leadership.

Percy rolled his eyes at the banality of it all, those who didn’t know what they were talking about talking anyway. It happened his whole life, gossip and rumors and assumptions. He had every intention of claiming his role as sovereign once he finished school, but he had zero intentions of telling the whole world that. It was none of their business. Besides, if he changed his mind it would be much easier to explain if he hadn’t announced it in the first place.

After a few more threads theorizing about Professor Anders and the group currently watching over Whitestone, Percy stopped at something significantly more interesting. The title of the thread simply read, “Is Lady Briarwood crazy?”, and when Percy clicked on the link, a distant but decently clear picture loaded on the first post. It was a picture of Delilah just outside the castle walls, stepping out of her carriage. A second picture zoomed in closer to her arms; while normally the woman wore long sleeves and equally long gloves, this picture showed her putting her gloves on, the skin on her forearm visible. Percy leaned in to try and get a closer look, zooming in on his screen, and found several symbols scribbled into her skin. Not onto. Into.

“What the fuck–” 

He immediately saved the photo to his computer and opened a photo editor, doing his best to get a sharper image. Once he couldn’t get it any better, he ran the photo into a search engine. The first few results were nothing but gibberish, but toward the bottom of the page he found a website not updated in years talking about an old figure he had never heard of.

“The Whispered One?” 

Even if there had been a chance he’d fall asleep prior to this, Percy threw that out of the window as he sat up, reached for his notebook, and started delving into whatever–or whoever–this Whispered One was.

X.X.X

Melodies from Scanlan’s lute reverberated out from the stage where he sat in front of a swarm of young kids, singing songs about farm animals and–if Keyleth heard correctly–poop covered farm land. She and Vax sat on the floor toward the back of the room, both of them with their legs crossed, piles of decorations and flyers in front of them. Pike and Grog were with them, their kids with Scanlan too; Pike was busy organizing flyers by neighborhood for people to pass out after work, while Grog was doing his best to cut out some stars out of yellow construction paper, but with office scissors in his big hands the stars came out looking more like deformed blobs.

“How are things going with Kash?” Vax looked up from the little flowers he was busy gluing together, dark eyes landing on Keyleth’s wide-eyed look of surprise.

“What?” She glanced over at Pike and Grog who tried very hard to act like they were minding their own business. “Oh. Things are fine,” she shrugged. “Nice.”

“That’s good. I hadn’t seen you two around each other the last couple days. I wanted to make sure you were alright.” 

Keyleth smiled softly at his care, her shoulders raising a bit as if she were a turtle trying to hide in her shell. “Thank you. Yeah, I’m okay. We…he had asked me to become official the other night. After we met at the diner.” 

There was a brief lift of surprise in Vax’s expression, but he was quick to school himself, his hands busy with some brown construction paper he seemed to be folding into a ring. “Oh. And did that not…?”

“I told him I wasn’t ready. There’s a lot going on, and I wasn’t sure–”

“You don’t have to justify your reasoning, Kiki. If you’re not ready then he should respect that.”

“He did. He does. But I think I hurt his feelings a little bit anyway.” 

Vax nodded. With the ring now glued together, he started gluing the little flowers around it. “Male pride is a funny thing. I’m sure he’ll come around, though. I doubt he wants to lose you.” He looked like he was going to continue, but Vax simply cleared his throat, smiled at her with an ease she wasn’t quite sure how he managed, and leaned forward to place the now completed flower crown gently upon her head.

“Oh.” She reached up to touch it ever so slightly, her smile blooming. “Thanks, Vax. It’s beautiful.” 

“Like I said,” he sat back on his hands. “I doubt he wants to lose you.”

“Hey, Vax!” Grog turned to Vax like an excited puppy. “Can I have one of those?” 

The group chuckled, and Vax leaned forward again, tapping Grog’s shoulder. “Sure, big man.”

[project1939]

(Irene Dunne and Fred MacMurray stared in the radio show Bright Star. The photo of them above is probably from 1939.)

Day 69- TV and Radio: 

TV: 

Westinghouse Studio One, season 5, episode 4, “Little Man, Big World,” October 13th, 1952. 

What’s My Line?, season 3, “Eddie Fisher,” October 19th, 1952. 

The Adventures of Ozzie and Harriet, season 1, episode 4, “Fall Guy,” October 24th, 1952. 

Radio: 

Space Patrol, “Hole in Empty Space,” October 25th, 1952. 

Bright Star, “The Oil Swindle,” October 23rd, 1952. 

Meet Millie, “Attempts to Unite Mr. And Mrs. Boone,” October 30th, 1952. 

On What’s My Line? the guest was Eddie Fisher, and damn it, even though he apparently wasn’t the greatest human being, I can see why girls swooned over him. He was undeniably adorable and charming. The other occupations were a man who bought and sold garlic, a woman who demonstrated mattresses in a store window (!), and a lady who delivered ice. (They called her a "lady iceman!") The panelist Hal Block was especially gross today. His constant suggestive behavior with any female guest is really getting on my nerves. At first I thought it wasn’t so bad, because he seemed harmlessly desperate, but now he’s just creepy and inappropriate. Today he said to a woman, “Well, I hope she’s a ball player, because I’d like to get to first base with her!” The woman flashed an uncomfortable looking grin. Blech.

Bright Star was a new radio show for me to listen to today, and I really liked it. It stars Fred MacMurray and Irene Dunne. Dunne is the owner and editor of a newspaper, and MacMurray works for her as a reporter and provides a possible romantic interest. It’s not exactly a sit-com; it’s more like a workplace comedy with some intrigue? In any case, I’m looking forward to listening to more episodes. Dunne and MacMurray are both great. At one point Dunne sarcastically called MacMurray "Charles Boyer" when he was being less than suave. Boyer famously starred with Dunne in Love Story years earlier.

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