#best urban design practice

[spasm-design-architects]

Best Indian Architectural Practice Firm Based in Mumbai

The Best Indian Architectural Practice firm Spasm Design Architects develop Villas for AM in Alibag. These structures draw inspiration from their unique surroundings, forging a harmonious bond between architecture and the environment. Each villa is thoughtfully tailored to the site's distinctive characteristics, ensuring a timeless and symbiotic relationship with nature.

[transit-fag]

Just Finished reading Walkable City bu Jeff Speck.

I highly recommend it, it is an amazing primer on urban design and best practices with numerous examples from real life. It covers street design, housing, bikeability, trees and more!

[nimadjart]

Happy halloweeen. :)

This is the commentary track(?) to my digitober. It's just rambling, so don't expect anything too interesting.

This first picture came out on a whim, I originally didn't intend to do anything for this october. I had just arrived home from helping my mom out with something, and was in a good mood. I think this picture, as sketchy as it looks, reflects that feeling. I'm content with it - and it's halloween themed! All the better.

For the second, I tried to follow the "official inktober" list (something I'd drop quickly in the following days). I'm disastrous at making backgrounds, so I gave it a shot for practice sake. I think it's not a bad result, it almost kinda tells something of a story.

"Boots", hah. It's not terrible, but it's also missing a lot of polish. I think the idea behind it works well for a cute/sexy picture of Angewomon. Maybe some day I'll revisit it? I should put more practice into drawing the human form in the meanwhile lol.

I really dislike the fourth one. I think Lianpunmon deserves better art, so I'll definitely do it again some day. My skills are so undeveloped, it's very obvious seeing this poor hatching.

Speaking of hatching, I bit more than I can chew with this one. The composition isn't interesting enough either, and just like with Lianpunmon there's no story here. At least Angewomon seemed to be interacting with the viewer lol.

The sixth is something I liked better. It's kinda shody, but there's something of an urban fantasy thing going on.

The Vamdemon one I can see the faults: I need better line control, the shapes aren't locked in as well as they should be. Yet, I'm partial to it…

Rapidmon deserves better lol. I still really dig the idea behind this drawing, I just wish I'd have given myself the patience and time needed to render a kickass explosion.

SkullGreymon, I have little to comment. It has zero story, but it's carried by the vibes. It's the first (and arguably last lmao) time I think I was cooking with the halftones.

The tenth is arguably the peak of the entire month. It has some story, a neat composition, and acceptable execution. Strangely enough it was one of the quickest to make: I had an idea, and it came out in a few minutes (compared to some other drawings where I was fighting for my life), and it ultimately was one of the most interacted with drawings in my entire blog. Funny how that goes.

I like a lot the Piemon one, as bland as it is. It's like a design piece, more than a drawing. It helps that the perspective deformation hides my poor linework haha.

I went too hard on the Mephismon X one, to the detriment of the piece. Instead of adding texture, it just looks dirty. Damn.

The thirteenth one was my poor attempt at making a background. Originally, Bakemon was gonna have this devious, whimsical look, but as I finished drawing the stairs I thought "I'd be kinda tired after climbing a few floors", so I changed Bakemon's expression to reflect that. Just a little trivia.

The Jesmon is what I'd argue was my peak. Shapes are locked (as best as my skill lets them), values worked well, it told a story. It's my favourite of the month.

Fiftenth was made, mostly, trying to catch some Adventure buff to the ammount of interactions I'd get. I mean, I had fun drawing the characters, but the reality is that I had petty reasons. I don't dislike it though.

I know exactly what I wanted to do with the sixteenth, and I didn't achieve it. Looking back, I think I should've done it in BW, rather than grayscale, to make it pop more. Fix the composition too. It's too plain. Shame, I really like Lilithmon X's design.

Seventeenth was also one where I just phoned it in. I think the values are all over the place; though I do like the harsh light. Impmon is a lot of fun to draw, all things considered.

Greymon was fun, lots of fun to draw. But this was another piece where I went too crazy trying to use halftones, I ended up making something that lacked impact or presence. I do like, in a self deprecating way, how the background seems okay until you look at it directly and see that it's kinda bad lol.

I made Nefertimon's torso too long! I only realized when I was doing the finishing touches lol. Yet I like the whole thing a lot, I think the texture and lightning kinda sells it as a photo (the white border was an attempt at selling that further). Saw someone refer to it as "the last thing I see before I die", and that comment might stay with me forever lol.

The twentieth is another I had a clear picture in my head as to what I was actually hoping to make, but failed to. Instead of landing some sort of finish, it's on a weird gray (lol) area. Making clouds is hard y'all.

Twenty one is one where I managed to stick the landing to what I had in mind. I think the composition needed a few more minutes of baking, but overall I'm content with the result. Death-X-DORUgoramon is a complex design, so any degree of succesful translation is a win in my book.

I think I needed to draw some more background Kuramon for the twenty second. Y'know, to really sell the swarm thing. It's kinda too clean.

Before twenty three, I had never given myself the time to draw a tree shilouette. It was fun to turn off my brainfor a bit and just draw line, after line, after line, after line. I did the tree first, and then I tried to figure out how to make Shurimon. Originally, I wanted him to be hunched over more dramatically, almost as if he was climbing down the tree, but I was incapable of drawing it in a satisfactory manner. So this is what I got.

Twenty four is so bad! I think Monitamon came out fine, but the background elements are so poorly done! I'm so embarrassed! lol

Kabuterimon was really fun, very dramatic looking. I think it has some serious readability issues with the hands, but I don't dislike the idea I had at all.

Hackmon's drawing was done almost like a sibling piece to the fourteenth, Jesmon's. Like, Huckmon is somehow watching his exhausted future, yet he stands stoic. On it's own, I think it's plain. Like, it has some charm, but it's lacking in impact compared to the fourteenth. But maybe that's for the best of the story?

The Wizarmon sticker came through me realizing I wasn't practicing my lineart! So I did a sticker instead. This was actually version two, but number one was so bad I had to redo it. Despite it being a humble sticker chibi, it's overall the day I spent the most time drawing.

Twenty eight came from me realizing I hadn't done any Alphamon! So I did what I thought would look badass. As much as I like Alphamon, though, his shapes are difficult for me to grasp so it came out shoddy and weak lol.

Twenty nine, Ragna Lordmon vs Ragnamon, was hurt by me recording it. While an exciting thing to do, I felt like I wasn't allowed to do anything but move forward quickly, or to change things (I'd have moved both Ragnamon and the main Ragna Lordmon body closer to the center) that would've made the composition flow better. It's not an abject failure, and the video is fun to watch, but still…

Dorumon is a simple piece that I was a bit surprised to make. My birthday is not information I tell people, but I was just compelled to share a bit of myself. I dunno, it feels weird. I'm weird. It came out cute at least.

And at the last! Noble Pumpmon again. I'd love to tell you that I applied everything I learned throughout the month and it's my best piece and stuff, but that isn't the reality. It's a better show for a similar amount of effort compared to the October 1st drawing, but it's not some crazy good display of betterment. A bit, yes, but less than I had hoped.

If you made it this far into this silly wall of text I wrote, I thank you. I thank everyone who interacted with my drawings, it pleases me a lot to see that someone gave it a like, or a share, or a comment. I learned about myself, and my limits, through this experience. It was tiring, but setting myself the goal of "make a drawing a day" was, paradoxically, liberating. Like, now I had a reason to draw! (despite me having some comission work to do lmfao). It was nice. This was one of the most entertaining octobers in recent years. Thanks again to everyone who participated in some fashion.

[anim-ttrpgs]

The A.N.I.M. interveiw with @tinytablerpg is up! Listen to our best interview yet with, with the first-ever interview appearance of @theblackwarden, designer of the snoops!

This interview will contain major spoilers for the tiny table actual play of the Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy adventure module FORIVA: The Angel Game. We highly encourage you to listen to that before you listen to this. Here's the episodes, and here's the list of questions they're asking us in the interview!

Rules Episode

Episode 1

Episode 2

Episode 3

Episode 4

Post-game Discussion

Questions:

Eureka wears its inspirations on its sleeves with traits like Bumbling Detective and Elementary, allowing investigators to emulate famous fictional detectives. What were the big detective and mystery inspirations for Eureka, and how did they help inform the game’s core design? Are there any that you love, but weren’t a good fit for Eureka?

2. What advice do you have to players who are new to investigative games? Mystery solving and the lateral thinking needed for it are skills not often stressed by the games that dominate the current market. What are some game-agnostic practices players can rely on to be better mystery solvers in the investigative genre of TTRPGs? What is some advice for Eureka in particular?

3. What systems inspired Eureka’s design? Which systems are anathema to Eureka’s design? What kind of direction would you like Eureka to push the TTRPG industry?

4. We’d love to hear about the process of creating a mystery scenario. How long does it take, what kind of resources do you rely on, and what does the structure of creation and playtesting look like?

5. We’d love to recommend new options for our listeners who want to run Eureka themselves and want to run something other than FORIVA after listening to it. What are some other scenarios that will be ready by the game’s release?

[serve-271]

PART 1 - The SERVE interview.

Matt, a 25-year-old with a lean, athletic build, stood before the mirror, carefully combing his blonde hair into place. His green eyes, vibrant with a mix of excitement and nerves, studied his reflection as if searching for reassurance. This was a pivotal moment—the first interview of his new life in a bustling city far removed from the quiet monotony of his small hometown. The company he was about to face was no ordinary employer. SERVE, with its sleek chrome logo adorning countless billboards and skyscrapers, loomed large as a beacon of ambition and progress. It was a chance to escape the familiar and step into the extraordinary.

His crisp white shirt and impeccably tailored navy suit were more than just attire; they were armor for the day ahead. He took a deep breath, steadying his racing heart, and glanced out the window of his modest hotel room. The city was alive with sound and motion—car horns, distant chatter, and the hum of life weaving through the urban tapestry. It was a stark contrast to the subdued stillness he had left behind. SERVE’s motto echoed in his mind: "Where obedience is pleasure and pleasure is obedience." The phrase was enigmatic and provocative, hinting at something transformative. Matt had spent hours studying the company’s mission, culture, and reputation, preparing himself to make the best possible impression.

The clock on his phone read 8:45 AM. The interview was scheduled for 9:30. He had built in plenty of time to navigate the unfamiliar city, but the efficiency of its public transportation system had surprised him. With fifteen extra minutes to spare, he paced the small room, rehearsing answers to the inevitable questions. Why SERVE? Why you? What can you offer? His polished shoes clicked softly against the hardwood floor as he ran through his mental scripts, each question a step closer to his aspirations

The elevator ride to the hotel lobby was brief, its sleek, mirrored walls reflecting his composed exterior. When the doors opened, a rush of city sounds and movement greeted him. People streamed through the grand entrance, their purpose and pace reminding him of SERVE’s relentless drive. He paused outside, taking in the morning air—a blend of exhaust, coffee, and the faint aroma of freshly baked bread.

On the horizon, SERVE’s headquarters loomed like a monument to ambition, its chrome logo catching the early sunlight. The building radiated power, a constant reminder of the opportunity awaiting him.

Matt navigated the bustling sidewalks, his stride purposeful as the city’s energy coursed through him. The diversity of faces and stories around him was invigorating, a stark departure from the sleepy streets of his past. The SERVE building grew larger with each step, its sharp, gleaming edges embodying the cutting-edge innovation it represented. When the glass doors slid open, a wave of cool, sterile air swept over him, grounding him in the present. The lobby was a study in precision—minimalist design, sleek surfaces, and an undercurrent of quiet efficiency.

The receptionist, a composed man with a practiced smile, acknowledged Matt’s arrival with a nod. After confirming his appointment, he gestured toward a row of plush seats. Matt joined a small group of hopeful candidates, each lost in their own thoughts. The air buzzed with a mixture of determination and unease, their faces betraying traces of the same excitement Matt felt. He couldn’t help but overhear snippets of conversation—whispers about SERVE’s groundbreaking projects and the mysterious fate of employees who excelled.

The walls of the lobby were adorned with striking images of SERVE employees clad in sleek, branded latex suits, interacting seamlessly with drones. The scenes were captivating, equal parts aspirational and uncanny. Matt had read about the conversion process, the transformation of employees into drones—a melding of humanity and technology. Now, faced with the visual reality of it, the allure was undeniable. There was power in surrendering individuality to become part of something greater, something transcendent.

As he sat, Matt’s excitement grew. SERVE wasn’t just a job; it was a gateway to transformation, a chance to be part of a world where obedience wasn’t just expected—it was celebrated. He straightened his tie, his resolve solidifying as the minutes ticked by. This was his moment, and he was ready to embrace it.

At 9:25 AM, the doors to the inner sanctum of SERVE’s headquarters parted, and a middle-aged man with a gleaming bald head emerged. He was dressed impeccably in a form-fitting latex shirt and trousers that reflected the lobby’s artificial light, the material stretching tightly over his muscular frame. Despite the air-conditioned chill, beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and the back of his neck. His shoes, a mirror to his attire, clicked sharply against the marble floor as he approached. His tie, also made of the same shiny material, fluttered slightly with each step, the only indication that he was, indeed, human.

Matt's eyes followed the man as he approached, the clack of his shoes punctuating the silence like a metronome. The man’s gaze swept over the candidates before settling on him, his eyes narrowing slightly as if he had found what he was looking for. The man’s expression was unreadable. But something in his posture—the way his shoulders squared and his chest puffed—conveyed authority and confidence.

The latex-clad figure offered a firm handshake. "Good morning, Matthew," he said, his voice a low purr that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of the lobby. "I'm Alex, your interviewer for today. You must be quite the eager bee to arrive so early."

Matt felt a rush of heat to his cheeks at the compliment. He took Alex's hand, noticing the strength behind the man's grip. "Just eager to make a good impression," he replied, trying to keep his voice steady. Alex's attire was indeed striking—his latex ensemble fitting like a second skin, emphasizing his toned physique. The way the material shimmered in the light made him seem almost superhuman, a living embodiment of SERVE's ethos of power and efficiency.

They walked side by side down the corridor, the sound of their shoes a rhythmic echo. The latex against the marble was a symphony of squeaks and taps, a sensual soundtrack to the otherwise clinical environment. Alex's stride was fluid, his hips rolling with an allure that was difficult to ignore. His confidence was palpable, and it was clear that he reveled in the attention his outfit drew from both the interviewees and the staff that passed by. The other candidates couldn't help but glance up, their curiosity piqued by the interplay of sex appeal and authority.

The interview room was stark white, with chrome fixtures and a single round table in the center. Alex gestured for Matt to sit in the ergonomic chair across from him. The room felt smaller than it should have, the walls seeming to close in as the door slid shut with a hiss. The chair was cold, and the room was calming.

Alex leaned back, his latex outfit whispering against the chair, his arms folded over his chest. "So, Matthew," he began, his voice like gravel, "why do you want to work for SERVE?"

Matt took a deep breath, his heart racing. This was his chance to articulate his dreams and ambitions. "I've always been fascinated by the integration of human and machine," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. "The idea of becoming a drone, a cog in the wheel of something so much larger than myself, it's… intoxicating."

Alex's expression remained unchanged, his eyes piercing as he studied Matt intently. "You understand that the process of becoming a drone is not for the faint of heart," he said, his voice a low rumble. "It's a journey of dedication, discipline, and ultimately, transformation. The path to conversion is not one that can be rushed or taken lightly."

Matt nodded, his throat dry. "I'm aware of the commitment required," he managed to say, his voice a tad shakier than he'd have liked. "I've read about the training, the conditioning, and the final procedure. I'm ready for whatever it takes to serve the hive."

Alex leaned forward, his elbows on the table, his hands steepled in front of him. The latex of his shirt stretched, outlining the contours of his biceps. "What is it that draws you to this life?" he asked, his eyes searching. "What do you seek to leave behind?"

Matt swallowed, his palms slick with anticipation. "My hometown," he began, "was a place of stagnation, a pond where ideas and dreams went to die. I crave the rush of innovation, the thrill of being part of something that shapes the future." He paused, collecting his thoughts. "And…I want to be part of something so much larger than myself, to feel that unity of purpose."

Alex nodded thoughtfully. "Your desire to escape your past is commendable, Matthew," he said, his voice like a gentle caress. "But to truly serve the hive, you must be willing to shed the last vestiges of your old life. Your family, your friends, your past… they will become irrelevant. Tell me, have you ever felt truly alone?"

Matt's gaze drifted to the floor as he considered the question. "I was abandoned by my family when I was 18," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "They couldn't accept who I was." The words hung in the air, a silent confession of pain and rejection. "I've been on my own since then, supporting myself through university. I've learned to survive, but I crave more than mere existence."

Alex leaned in slightly, his expression a mix of empathy and curiosity. "Abandonment is a powerful motivator," he said, his eyes never leaving Matt's. "It can either break you or forge you into something stronger. Tell me, what did it do to you?"

Matt took a moment to gather his thoughts. The memory of his family's rejection was a raw wound, but it had also been the catalyst for his relentless drive. "It made me self-reliant," he said, his voice gaining strength. "It taught me that if I wanted to succeed, I had to do it on my own terms. I worked multiple jobs to put myself through university. I studied hard, graduated with honors. But most importantly, it made me crave belonging, to be part of something where I could truly make a difference."

Alex's smile grew, a knowing glint in his eye. "Ah, the sweet taste of potential," he murmured, his gaze lingering on Matt's face. "We do appreciate ambition here at SERVE." He leaned back in his chair, his latex shirt creaking as he folded his arms over his chest. "Very well, I can see that you're eager to prove yourself. We'll start you on a probationary period. You'll begin as a janitor, but if you show promise, the hive will embrace you and guide you toward your true calling."

Matt's stomach plummeted. A janitor? That wasn't what he had envisioned when he thought about joining SERVE. But he knew he couldn't let this setback deter him. He nodded, forcing a smile. "I'm ready for whatever it takes," he said, trying to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

Alex's smile grew broader, a gleam of amusement in his eyes. "Excellent," he said, his tone warm and approving. "Your dedication is commendable. Be here at 6 AM sharp on Monday. You'll be provided with your uniform then. And remember, Matthew, once you're in the uniform, you are a part of the hive. You will only wear it here, even during breaks. It is a symbol of your commitment to SERVE. Do you understand the gravity of this?"

Matt nodded, trying to suppress his apprehension. "I understand," he said firmly. "I'll be here."

[smallgodseries]

They are best-beloved of the young, when they must compete with a host of other divinities for attention, with small gods of plush toys and fashion dolls, of cartoons and new experiences, of fear and joy and novelty.  They are never powerful in the eyes of their youngest applicants, although they are sometimes leant additional strength by the allure of the forbidden.  They don’t make kids hyper.  That’s an urban legend, bolstered by the natural excitement born of getting something rare and nice, and the occasional child whose system is wired to respond to a burst of energy by burning it off immediately.  Still, they receive credit—or perhaps blame—for any number of hijinks, for broken windows and woken infants, for the natural exuberance of childhood, and they don’t deny it, because they are not a small god of childhood nutrition or the like.

They are small, and simple, and content to be what they are.  Bright, colorful, cartoonish, and implicitly extraterrestrial, even though there is more of Boise than Betelgeuse in their list of ingredients.  Their boxes are designed to be inviting, and they can make any kitchen their cathedral with a minimum of preparation and but a single invitation to arrive.  With cleverly clipped coupons, they will come virtually for free, and they like it that way.  It allows them better access to their adherents.

And of course, there are always those who will continue their worship into adulthood, those for whom marshmallow sweetness and color-changing milk are reminders of a childhood spent sweetly, or proof that they are finally secure, finally free from the ownership of parents who put their own preferences at the head of the line, finally able to live their own lives.  Those will not always be the people you assume.  The judge in her solemn black robes eats a bowl of Frostie-Os before she proceeds to the courthouse, the accountant in linen and wool enjoys Fruity Sugar Dreams every morning before he turns to his spreadsheets.  They turn none away.

They do not cause tooth decay when proper dental hygiene is practiced; they are not solely responsible for poor nutrition or any other ill.  They are only here to bring us light and joy and to serve as part of a balanced breakfast.

They are a neutral god, and we would do well to treat them as such.

[fatehbaz]

Recent Chicago peice reminded me of the way Chicago north suburbs use military bases to divide and segregate in a manner that similarly matches connects to colonial actions. You always compile interesting stuff thank you.

Thank you for the kindness and support. I'm gonna riff on this a little bit. I'm sorry, I don't mean to distract from what you specifically brought up here.

Yea, we can add federal military base sites to the list of significant "innovations" Chicago has made in race-based labor segregation in service of wealth extraction. (For anyone following along, the article/essay we're discussing explores racism and white anxiety in Chicago, the fear and "anticipation" of Black migration from the South during Reconstruction and the Great Migration, and how between 1880-ish and 1910-ish Chicago then became a center of surveillance and policing beliefs and practices in response to this racial anxiety, refined to such an extent that Chicago's police/surveillance practices were then "exported" and employed across the US and also in the colonial plantations of the Philippines under US military occupation. By Jolen Martinez, in 2024, "Plantation Anticipation: Apprehension in Chicago from Reconstruction America to the Plantocratic Philippines".)

So Chicago is a wealth funnel, right? The node. The center of transportation networks. Extracted wealth channeled by the Great Lakes/St. Lawrence River waterway, channeled by the Mississippi River corridor, channeled by the railroads acting as tendrils reaching out into westward into "the frontier". For the United States, Chicago was the gateway to "the West". Over the course of the past two centuries: Furs from trapped mammals in Canadian boreal forest shipped through the lakes to French benefactors, mined metals from the Iron Ranges shipped through the ports, timber from Minnesota shipped through the waterway, cattle from Texas rangeland shipped to massive Chicago meat processing facilities, corn products from the tallgrass prairie ecoregion shipped to Chicago. And people, too. People diminished. People seen as mere resources. People as labor. People shipped to Chicago to work the processing centers, the docks, the restauraunt dish-pits. And so Chicago becomes a hub of the Great Railroad Strike of 1877. And because Chicago was a hub of labor unions and Black migration, it also becomes a hub of policing.

Chicago achieves the pinnacle of its spectacular reputation with its image as a glistening modernist metropolis after the construction of the railroad networks. But even before the city itself was formally established, the wetlands where the Chicago River meets Lake Michigan were kinda located in this general region that acts as a sort of bridge for French wealth, being both near the inland terminus of the Great Lakes-St. Lawrence route while simultaneously also sitting near a sort of terminus of the Mississippi River route (uniting French Canadian fur trade and Ontario/Quebec settlement with French "Caribbean" plantations and settlement via New Orleans).

I think about how suburbanization, and its attendant racial segregation, is especially blatant in something I kinda think of as "the southern Great Lakes industrial corridor and its economically, ecologically, culturally similar satellites" (Cleveland, Columbus, Detroit, Grand Rapids, Indianapolis, Milwaukee, Minneapolis, St. Louis, Omaha, etc.). Some writing that I enjoy about this, which you might enjoy checking out if you haven't yet, is Phil Neel's work, particularly the book Hinterland (2018). Neel's book is largely about suburbs/suburbanization; the environmental construction of Midwestern cities as hubs of industrial extraction and racial segregation; and how these Chicago-esque traditions of designing physical space (whether it's residential, "rural", "urban", whatever) to best isolate/subdue people for extraction are now widespread and typical of US space in general. As another example, Neel discusses how the "revitalized urban core" of Seattle's utopian "infotech metropolis" of tech companies is actually dependent on the corridor extending southward towards and past Tacoma, "this logistics empire" of "warehouses, food processing facilities, container trucks, rail yards, and industrial parks" while "the poor have been priced out" and "can also be found staffing the airport and the rail yards [...], loading boxes in warehouses [...]." So that the power of such a major city does not end at the technical city limit boundary, but extends beyond into the "rural" hinterland. (You can see this when looking up an "urban megaregion map".) This is of course pretty obvious with the Great Lakes cities, if you consider all of the corn fields, the farms, the Rust Belt manufacturing sites, many of which use railroad and/or highway corridors to funnel that wealth ultimately to a place like Chicago. And Chicago, in many ways, was a sort of "pioneer" of these techniques of organizing space with racially-segregated labor compartmentalization.

So perhaps unsurprisingly, urban/neighborhood segregation is very ingrained/formalized in the Great Lakes cities. Chicago's Lake Michigan-based sibling Milwaukee is especially notorious (2018 research found Milwaukee had the most extreme Black-white segregation of any US city with a million or more people). Including banking, home-loan denial, insurance practices engineered specifically and efficiently to isolate/segregate/prey upon Black people (all kinds of academic research on on these practices). Redlining ("other side of the tracks"), especially 1930s-1940s, made use of the region's many railroad tracks as physical barriers and hostile environments.

And part of why I liked Martinez's take on it was that we can see more evidence that Chicago's techniques of organizing space/life did not just establish ways of being in the Midwest, but also established ways of being across the United States. And we can kinda see that this power is not just physical/material.

I think Chicago is interesting, especially in the time period of the research we're talking about (1880-1910), because this Gilded Age, Edwardian era, turn-of-the-century-opulence kinda moment is sort of singularly important for (European) empire-building. British imperial power being exercised in Southeast and South Asia. The Scramble for Africa. French Algeria. European power reaching outwards. But it also corresponds to United States empire-building both domestically and globally. 1889/1890: Wounded Knee and "the closing of the frontier", the West has been won, from sea to shining sea, now the US thinks it owns the continent or whatever. And the US didn't waste any time. Immediately, the US moves on to Cuba, to the Philippines, etc. And it's like, at first, to target Indigenous people and the Wild West, there are obvious physical/material reasons why Chicago (geographically, as a railroad and telegraph hub, as shipping hub, as the destination of Great Migration) is like a homebase or an epicenter for westward expansion and domestic empire-building. And with Martinez's writing, we can see Chicago is not geographically a convenient hub of colonization abroad in Central America or the Philippines (it's not close to those locations, the railroads of Chicago don't reach Manila, etc.). And yet in a very scary way Chicago still actually did function as a hub of empire-building across the globe due to Chicago's ideas, imaginaries, beliefs. Chicago's imagination itself. Chicago's racism, channeling the earlier racial hierarchy of the antebellum South, reached out across the planet. Chicago authority figures trained police and administrators from elsewhere. Chicago-style police data-collection and record-keeping inspired surveillance approaches across the United States. The ideologies, the "personality types", the filing cabinets, the "intelligence cards", were adopted elsewhere. What white Southerners believed and practiced in antebellum Louisiana, would carry over into Gilded Age Chicago, would influence twentieth century US domestic surveillance, and would then affect the rest of the planet. The beliefs, practices, the very emotions of white US residents could transform plantations in the Philippines. Disturbing.

[hirocimacruiser]

Honda Civic brochure pages.

CIVIC

The Super Civic was a new trend car with economy and dynamic performance suited to the 1980s.

1300 S

1500 SC

It perfectly combines the best fuel economy in the 1500cc class with powerful driving performance.

Resource and energy conservation are common themes around the world. The new CIVIC is available with a new engine system that takes advantage of the excellent combustion efficiency of the lean burn method, which is the greatest advantage of the CVCC engine. It offers not only excellent fuel economy, but also low maintenance costs and a low price.

10 mode driving, Ministry of Transport inspection value

1500CE model E-SR 18 km/l

60km/h constant speed test value

28km/l 1500CE, GF (5 door) Model E/SR, Model E-ST

And yet, it still has the powerful driving feel of a sports car. It's truly a Super Civic.

For example, the new cliff-cut panel in front of the passenger seat provides enough space that there is no need to push the seat back.

An aerodynamic body that provides a smooth ride.

The styling minimizes air resistance and is focused on practical aerodynamics. It is agile in urban areas and stable and smooth on the highway. The new suspension grips the road firmly.

The springs of the front and rear suspensions have been offset to provide a more comfortable ride. The rear also uses a new Honda-style strut system, a world first, to ensure sufficient compliance. The suspension is much tighter.

1300・5-door LX

A new instrument panel.

The functions necessary for driving are concentrated around the driver. The centralized target meter () that places the speedometer and tachometer in one view, as well as the newly designed rotary channel radio, are also standard equipment. The design is easy to see and use.

A large, international-sized interior designed for the world.

Compared to conventional 5-door vehicles, the interior length is 25 mm longer and the interior width is 35 mm wider. Furthermore, the clever use of each space has resulted in an amazingly efficient interior.

All models are fully open hatchbacks.

It is a big opening that opens to the full width of the body from a low position, that is, just above the bumper. Moreover, the interior floor is low and flat. Large and wide objects can be easily loaded. The three-stage variable rear seat is extremely practical. It is a design that prioritizes ease of use.

1500 3door CX

Wild ride. CX

1500 3door CE

CIVIC

1500 5door CF

1300・3-door SE Model E-SL Engine model EJ ●CVCC・1,335cm2・Water-cooled inline 4-cylinder horizontally mounted OHC-68 horsepower ●Fuel economy 22km/ℓ(60km/h・flat road test value)●Front-wheel drive●Overall length 3,760mmOverall width 1,580mm ●Strut-type four-wheel independent suspension●Front-wheel disc brakes ●4-speed

1500, 3-door CE, Model E-SR, Engine model EM CVCC-1.488cm2, water-cooled in-line 4-cylinder, horizontally mounted, OHC-80 horsepower, Fuel economy 28km/ℓ (60km/h, constant speed test value), 18km/ℓ (10 mode running, Ministry of Transport review value), Front-wheel drive, Overall length 3,760mm, Overall width 1,580mm, Strut-type four-wheel independent suspension, Front wheels, Disc brakes with servo, 5-row

*1500-3 door SE is made to order.

If you're looking for a Civic, visit your local Honda dealer.

CIVIC VAN

Gentle on luggage and gentle on people. The capable Civic Van is born.

The luggage compartment is 1,520mm long (with two occupants), 1,270mm wide at its widest point, and 805mm high, making it spacious and easy to handle. Highly refined quality. Powerful and robust dynamic performance. Extremely quiet and safe, this is the birth of a reliable business car that pursues a high level of harmony between passengers and business.

1300-5 door SV, LV model J-VC Engine model EN 1,335cm * Water-cooled inline 4-cylinder horizontal OHC, 70 horsepower ● Fuel economy 18.5km/(60km/h, constant speed test value) ● Front wheel drive ● Overall length 3,995mm, overall width 1,580m, overall height 1,385mm ● Front wheel servo disc brakes ● 4-speed

[eretzyisrael]

by Joel Margolis

Israel’s military operations in the Gaza Strip comply with international humanitarian law in part by guiding civilians away from the urban battlefields that arise ad hoc during the war. Yet astonishingly, some observers have mischaracterized these public safety protocols as violations of law.

Human Rights Watch has called Israel’s relocations of civilians in Gaza “displacements” that amount to the odious crime of “ethnic cleansing,” a displacement to make a community ethnically homogeneous.

Sens. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) and Chris Van Hollen (D-Md.) have echoed the false ethnic-cleansing charge, as have certain other self-described congressional progressives. But under international humanitarian law, the removals are valid “evacuations,” not displacements, a difference with enormous legal and moral significance.

The international humanitarian law’s rule of evacuation requires—to the extent feasible for civilian safety—that an army evacuate civilians temporarily from the vicinity of a military operation before attacking area combatants. For example, an evacuation order may relocate civilians from a neighborhood targeted for a bombing raid on an enemy rocket-firing position. By contrast, the rule of displacement prohibits the permanent removal of civilians from an entire occupied territory or country unless required for the security of the civilians involved or for imperative military reasons.

Evacuation orders issued by the Israeli Defense Forces in Gaza have consistently followed the rule of evacuation. Virtually every order has repositioned civilians from a military sector to a safer area before an IDF military mission; no order has moved civilians permanently or pushed them outside of Gaza. Moreover, the IDF has enhanced civilian safety by preparing evacuation routes, establishing humanitarian zones for the evacuees, communicating escape routes through multiple modes of communication and providing reasonable prior notice of the plans. These actions have mitigated the unfortunate, but inevitable difficulties faced by families that must temporarily leave their homes.

The success of IDF evacuations is especially impressive considering the machinations of Hamas to frustrate these protective measures. Hamas embeds military personnel and ordinance in homes, schools, hospitals and mosques, and then blocks the residents of those neighborhoods from obeying evacuation orders. The militants attack IDF soldiers who prepare humanitarian zones for temporary habitation. And the terrorists steal truckloads of humanitarian aid meant for evacuees. Those cruel acts are egregious abuses of the human shield rule as outlined under international humanitarian law.

Evacuations of Gazans from combat areas happen even when the practice hampers the IDF’s military progress by sacrificing the element of surprise. Hamas terrorists who flee the site of an imminent IDF strike can and do blend into the evacuating population and launch attacks from the designated humanitarian zone. That terror tactic illegally creates a new batch of human shields and often compels additional evacuations. It has forced many of Gaza’s residents to uproot themselves multiple times.

Top military experts have lauded Israel for the professionalism of its evacuations. One such assessment was delivered by the renowned authority, John Spencer, chair of Urban Warfare Studies at Modern Warfare Institute at the U.S. Military Academy a West Point. Similar praise was extended by other military experts as well.

Different military commanders may disagree about the best way to evacuate civilians during the chaos and peril of war. An evacuation can be extremely arduous, especially when the action must be repeated due to enemy interference. But even a burdensome or repeated evacuation is evidence of proper compliance with international humanitarian law, not a sign of displacement or any other wrongdoing.

[bluenpjm]

CLOUD9 AGENCY ☁ JJK X OC

Ⓒ bluenpjm — all rights reserved. do not repost, translate or claim as your own.

synopsis.  faced with decisions that can change the course of her career, the art director of the cloud9 agency decides it is time to act and reignite the flame she had once lost. and all because of an intern… genre.  non-idol au ; slice of life au ; intern!jungkook ◦ fluff ◦ angst ◦ smut  pairing.  JJK x OC rating.  M wordcount. 4.8K warnings.  foul words, violent thoughts, sad vibes and life not making sense, drinking, arguing, just a lot of different feelings!  a/n.  a really really late birthday gift to my #1 supporter of this story. happy late birthday lulu, you're the best! 🥺💛🌻 chapters. 3 — 4 — 5

It hadn’t been the first time someone had disappointed Carolina. It had been, however, the first time she had allowed someone to get too close too quickly. And that was a mistake she wouldn’t be committing again anytime soon. After all, you learn from your mistakes. At least you should.

She storms towards the elevator, her anger seething within her. 

Carolina doesn’t care to collect any of her belongings that stay laid in her office—and for the sake of everyone in that entire building, it would be best that her little purple troll with neon green hair would be in the box with her stuff the next day. Horace—the troll—had been her companion throughout the most challenging moments of trite; that, and her camera. Cassandra never bothered to replace the agency’s old one that, for the entire time Carolina had been with Cloud9, had been broken and merely acting as yet another item in her glass office to be left to collect dust. 

Already inside the elevator, she faces the crowd for the seconds it takes the doors to close—some people had already started whispering, others dispersed once faced with Cassandra, while the one intern that she cared about didn’t move; her eyes are on him and she doesn’t look away until the doors close. As she begins its descent, she’s met with her reflection in the steel doors. She wants to scream and punch someone. Wholeheartedly, she wouldn’t mind punching both Jungkook and Cassandra straight in the face. “Stupid Jungkook,” she mutters under her breath, hands falling to her hips. “Fuck you and your meaningless empty words.”

Her chest keeps rising and falling as she crouches on the floor, practicing her breathing exercises to calm her racing nerves, as the box keeps on dinging, signaling that she is closer and closer to the ground level. 

Stepping out of the tall building that had been her workplace for the last couple of years, Carolina stood on the bustling sidewalk, the busy street teeming with people despite the hour. She hated early meetings. In fact, she hated all sorts of meetings. There was no need to have an entire team stop their days so that they could waste 45 minutes of their busy schedules to speak about something that could easily be an email. 

Her work day was managed according to her own will. The team that worked closely with the creative director was used to her being offline in the morning and extremely active during night hours. Her brain became electric after midnight and they had all been able to coordinate a pretty balanced work schedule so they could communicate effectively. 

With its modern design, the towering building loomed above her. Car horns, the hurried footsteps, and the chatter of pedestrians created a symphony of urban chaos that served as background noise for the audio message she was recording for her best friends, trying her best to veil her frustration and disappointment as she recounted the situation. She knew she didn’t have to lie; in fact, it only worried her that her friends would jump Cassandra in the street or key her car. It wasn’t like her to openly discuss her feelings. Instead, she made some jokes.

“But yeah—” She pauses briefly, phone momentarily touching her lips. “I’ll be seeing you guys at 8 pm. As usual. Peace out!” 

She hits the green button, sending her audio through, before immediately typing a quick message so they don’t rush to listen to her recording. 15 entire minutes of her ranting about her day so early in the morning would definitely alarm them. 

Her ride finally arrives and she lets out a sigh of relief as she climbs into the backseat. The added feature of no conversation was a blessing as her mind throbbed with frustration. Leaning back against the comfortable leather seats, Carolina closes her eyes and lets the soothing melodies of the music playing on the radio wash over her. As the car began its journey, the towering buildings of the city gradually faded into the background, replaced by the familiar sights of her own neighborhood. The streets became lined with quaint houses and small local businesses. 

From time to time, she would open her eyes, checking that the normal-looking guy who was driving her home didn’t have a little bit of Joe Goldberg in him and took a detour to his secret layer where he would try to murder her. She had been devouring true crime podcasts and it had quickly taken over her mind—whichever situation she found herself in could be the perfect crime scene. Sometimes she even found herself looking for ways to leave clues behind so that the investigative team could find her body. 

But as her paranoid mind came to ease, she couldn’t help but appreciate the contrast between the hectic city and the peacefulness of her neighborhood. The cool breeze gently brushed against her face as she peered out of the window, and her home was just around the corner. She longed for a cold shower, a chance to wash away the stress and frustrations that had been weighing on her shoulders. 

Successfully arriving home without being kidnapped, Carolina takes the stairs up to the third floor. The elevator in her building had been making weird noises and after getting stuck there twice, she decided not to put her luck to the test any longer. The angels were probably worrying about someone else because she was having one hell of a day.

She feels exhausted and defeated. As she closes the door behind her, one of her shoes is already flying as she swiftly takes it off. The other follows suit. Tossing her keys on top of her bag that had also been thrown to the floor, she moved with automatic precision toward the bathroom. 

The soothing sound of running water fills the room as Carolina turns the faucet, letting it pour into the bathtub. The cold shower is replaced by a warm bath that would hopefully serve as a place to unwind and let go of the stress that had accumulated throughout her morning. The day had barely started and she was feeling drained. 

Stepping into the warm water, she lets out a sigh of relief as it caresses her skin, the tension in her muscles slowly melting away. But the feeling of betrayal kept lingering in her mind, as she could still vividly picture Jungkook’s doe eyes stuck to the floor, the question of why he hadn’t backed her up as he promised haunting her. Closing her eyes, Carolina submerges herself in the water, wanting nothing more than the world surrounding her to fade away. 

By the time Carolina left her bathroom, she was surprised to find her living room dimly lit, washed in tones of orange as the sun had already begun to set. She fetched her phone and wasn't surprised by the thousands of messages her friends had sent her, both on their group but also in the private chat. She was expecting them to explode by the news—that, and that they were going to kill her because of the lack of communication. 

Her wrinkly fingers wouldn't allow her to leave a fingerprint behind, making it impossible to unlock her phone. Her attention fell on the time displayed on the screen instead and she knew she had to hurry if she didn't want to be yet again late to their dinner date. 

Carolina’s encounter with her friends that evening was based on venting frustrations and only after she had some drinks and shared some laughs, they discussed her situation with Cassandra and Jungkook. As she had expected, the two girls immediately began a plan to make the lives of the two people who were tormenting her friend’s mind a living hell. 

As the evening drew to a close, Carolina managed to put her friends in their respective cars, calling one for herself while feeling grateful for them. She knew that with the two she would never be alone in her struggles and that they would always be there for her. But as she arrived home, she couldn’t help but check her phone for any missed messages. Despite still being upset with Jungkook, deep down she craved to have something from him—some sort of explanation for his reaction earlier. Scrolling through her social media, the feelings only grew inside her and she decided it was time to call it a day. Setting her phone down, the silence in her room is deafening and it feels like it’s spinning. She just wanted to close her eyes and forget this day ever happened. 

As days turned into weeks, Carolina’s rage faded down. 

After quitting her job, her days settled into a monotonous rhythm. Her once bustling schedule was now a simple sequence of actions that played out in the confined space of her house. The path she treaded between her bed, the fridge, and the bathroom would soon start to feel worn, like a well-trodden trail that could be found in the woods. 

During the initial days of her newfound routine, Carolina found a peculiar comfort in the limited space, as if the world beyond was too vast and too overwhelming to face. Deep down, she had been craving this alone time; this silence—a relief. The constant ringing of her phone, which had once been a constant reminder of work-related stress, was now replaced by a soothing quietness. For the first time in a while, she was able to breathe in the stillness of her surroundings. 

However, a sense of emptiness began to creep into her life. Despite the wanted freedom, an undeniable void had emerged. Her phone became a reminder and creator of chaos in her mind. Whenever it chimed, her heart would skip a beat, anticipation rising in her chest. Her thoughts darted between who could be the culprit behind the sensation of the mini heart attack she suffered with each buzz. Most times, it would be her friends. But those weren’t the calls or messages that she craved; her mind darted to the possibility of it being him. 

Jungkook crossed her mind endless times per day. The man who, somehow, had vanished from her life. His absence, although appreciated at first, started to gnaw at her, the frustration and anger that had been her initial response giving way to more complex emotions. She started feeling helpless. The more shows she binged, the more she started to realize that her life, in that moment, was stripped of sense. 

Carolina’s thoughts seemed to gravitate towards Jungkook with every passing day. She would catch herself wondering where he was, what he was doing, and whether he was thinking about her as much as she thought of him. And every time, she would end up feeling ridiculous by occupying her mind with someone whom she believed she didn’t mean half as much to. 

“So,” At the sound of her friend’s voice, Carolina’s gaze left the blurry images that were displayed on her screen to face the girl sitting on the other end of the couch. 

“Oh no…” She sighed, fighting the urge to massage her temples. “what is it this time?” 

“How’s that portfolio coming along?” Deo eyed Carolina through her eyebrows as she sipped on the noodles that were fuming from the cup in her hand. 

“It’s coming.” The short answer was an easy indicator of the lack of interest regarding the topic. “Ya’ know.” 

The friend hummed and Carolina pursed her lips together. Her friends had been bugging her for the past week so that she would get some work done. Deep down, she knew that this was their attempt at making her leave the somewhat depressing state she had allowed her body to grow into. She wasn’t like this—the type to back down; cross her arms while the world revolved and she remained still. She was a force of nature to be reckoned with. And so, it was odd to see her so defeated.

That night, however, after saying goodbye to her friend, she didn’t go to bed. She didn’t slouch on her couch either, as usual, Netflix playing on the screen of the TV with the most recent drama until she either finished it, the sun rose or she fell asleep. Instead, she managed to take all the clothes that laid on her desk’s chair and moved them to her bed, allowing her to sit in front of her laptop for the first time in weeks. 

The first couple of times she hit the power button, it wouldn’t turn on, completely drained of power. So, Carolina lost a couple more minutes looking for the charger. 

It took some minutes for the machine to reboot and for the screen to make her dark eyes glow. Opening the first drawer of her desk, she fetched an old dotted notebook and started to outline a strategy. In her mind, it wasn’t that clear yet, but Carolina had started to define, step by step, how she was going to get control of her life again and make it incredible.

The visual identity of her very own agency wasn’t done that night. The sun rose and she continued glued to her screen. And after a couple of days, she contacted previous clients, explained her new situation, and offered her services. She planned to start her very own agency, offering her creative mind to those in need. A modern-day superhero, if one could say.

The first couple of months were hard—harder than Carolina had anticipated. Regardless, she was in a good place. After a long day, her mind didn’t wander back to Jungkook; she didn’t think of him at all. He had become a wound that healed—a thought that she managed to wipe completely from her mind. 

Someone once said that the most beautiful parts of life were in the small things. Carolina’s small thing lately was the group of people who acted as her employees—some freelancers that she hired to help out on her projects. The group worked weirdly in sync together and they had been a constant in her life in the last weeks. 

Lu, a photographer with a keen eye for art and amazing drawing skills, had become a close friend. The other girl in the group was Sarah, a writer who would often pitch in Carolina’s social media strategies. The three girls were walking to the bar after hitting the dance floor of a club for the past thirty minutes. 

“Are you official, yet?” Sarah nudged Carolina on her side, head tilting to a table where 5 guys were sitting. The latter’s eyes followed and landed on the one who was trying to vent some air through his black shirt. Jae. Carolina laughed. “Exclusive, then?” 

“We’re playing a dangerous game already,” Carolina turned her back to the table, viewing the ludicrous wall of liquor. “Giving it a label will only make it more complicated.” 

“Those big round eyes—he looks just like a lost puppy,” Lu’s speech is slurred. 

“Getting strays off the streets is more your scene. How’s Lucious?” Carolina joked wittedly, remembering that just last week the girl had sent her a photo of a stray cat that she rescued from the streets. It would be kitty number four now and she was certain that the it’s just temporary—until I find someone to take him talk was a big fat lie.

As the conversation develops between the other two girls, Carolina’s eyes fall on the subject of their previous conversation. If anyone had asked her about him, she would most likely say he's nobody—better yet, a work colleague; someone that she hired now and then to help her out on her gigs. But when her friends asked, it had become quite evident that their little rendezvous after work, which usually resulted in her doing a walk of shame back to her apartment the next morning and ignoring his texts for the next couple of days until work brought them together had become more and more common and Carolina was trying her best so that people wouldn’t notice how he messed with her head and heart. Their eyes meet and Jae gives Carolina a giant smile, which she shyly reciprocates before turning around to face the bar yet again. 

People-watching was one of Carolina’s favorite hobbies. Her creative mind would go wild, creating stories according to the faces of the people in her sight, sometimes even roaming into the dialogues they were having. Lucky for her, the area is packed. 

A woman, not much older than her—or at least she guessed—playfully twirled her hair between her fingers, a radiant smile on her lips as she talked to a guy next to her. He had the puffiest lips Carolina had seen that night and it was evident by his body language that he hadn’t kissed or been kissed enough that night. 

Another man sat not so far away and, in contrast to the people next to him, he was gloomy. Head was swinging up and down as his focus was on catching the attention of the barman to ask him for another drink. That one certainly would have a hard time finding a taxi home. And that is of course if he wouldn’t end up sleeping on one of the benches outside of the club. 

The barman that the gloom wanted to attract was busy taking the orders of a young man over the loud noise of the music. The man was leaning his whole body on the counter in a kind of boyish manner, trying his best to speak clearly despite his eyes already appearing somewhat foggy. As he finally finishes, the barman gives him an assertive nod and the man smiles. And suddenly it clicks… that smile. It sends Carolina down a spiral and she has to control the pulsating need that rushes through her body. 

“Hey, you’re feeling ok?” Lu rapidly asks but gets no response. “Are you going to throw up?”

Carolina focuses on the man’s movements and sees how he licks his lips as his back hits the counter, attention dispersing to something—or someone—in the crowd. His silhouette was unmistakable amidst the sea of gyrating bodies now that she had found him. Her eyes dart from his profile to the back of his head and it’s like she has laser vision and it’s starting to burn a hole in his head as his hand comes to caress the area. It’s at that moment that their eyes meet for brief seconds.

“I’ll be right back,” Carolina speaks through gritted teeth, not noticing the man taking a double look at her. 

“Where are you going?” Sarah’s concern is palpable in her voice as she watches Carolina dart through the crowd. 

The pulsating bass of the music reverberated through the dimly lit club, creating a rhythmic throb that seemed to synchronize with Carolina’s racing heartbeat. The air had suddenly become dense with laughter, chatter, and the occasional clink of glasses. 

Carolina’s eyes finally meet the man’s surprised ones again. Determination fueled her steps as she pushed through the tightly packed room, navigating the ocean of people that ebbed and flowed around the bar. Each step felt heavy, like a battle against a roaring sea, the tide pushing her back in the shape of warm bodies that added to the suffocating atmosphere. The scent of perfume, sweat, and spilled drinks mingled in the air; it felt nauseating, the surge of emotions of seeing him after so long threatening to spill over. 

Her breaths came in shallow gasps as emotions threatened to consume her, and yet, the determination to confront the man she had managed to extinguish from her mind propelled her forward. Carolina stands before him, hands resting on her hips as her eyes lock into his. The world seemed to quiet for a moment, the surrounding chaos fading into the background as she prepared to unleash the torrent of emotions that had simmered within her. 

“Carolina, I—” And as her name rolls out of the man’s tongue, she almost crumbles, getting hit by sudden nostalgia. His shaky eyes scan her entirely and she restrains her body from moving. Jungkook is only steps away from her and where she thought hurt would lay, a sense of antipathy is born. 

"Cat got your tongue?" 

Yet again, they were face to face. Had she been completely honest, Carolina was terrified. Her life was decent—good, even. She was healthy, and happy, and enjoyed what she was doing. She was proud of her projects. She would even wake up some mornings and go for a jog. But encountering Jungkook at the club and being with him in the intoxicating setting such as his car, with all those memories and all those emotions, made her swing back and forth between maintaining her cool and ignoring the feelings that hadn’t been dealt with and, instead, shoved deep down into her core. 

“I am sorry.” He paced slightly from the end of the couch he was sitting on to the window. For a few seconds, he stared outside. And then he noticed she hadn’t even blinked. “I am.” 

A long sigh escaped Carolina’s puffy lips. She wondered if he was trying to make her believe his words or if he was trying to realize if he meant them. “So you’ve said.” 

“I mean it.” Jungkook sat back down on the couch. He stared intensely deep into her eyes, trying to reach the warmth of her soul, sincerity pouring through his, while she gazed at him back, void of emotion. “I really do.” 

“Can’t exactly say your word means much.” She reclined back into the armchair. While Jungkook was sitting on her couch, she had decided to take aid in the singleness of her armchair, far enough that he couldn’t reach her. “You say a lot of stuff, but it doesn’t seem to have much meaning.” 

Carolina knew that her harsh words and unfiltered sincerity were one of the things that bothered Jungkook. It was probably one of the things that always made him feel like he was walking on eggshells around her. He was the complete opposite. Politically correct, even. His expressions could fail him—although rarely—but he would always say the nice thing, or not say anything at all. Carolina would be truthful if regarding something she was passionate about, even if it meant saying something the other person wouldn’t enjoy.

“I know what I did to you—the way I acted,” Jungkook stopped mid-sentence, almost as if trying to collect his words, afraid that if he said the wrong thing, Carolina would throw him out of the window. She had already pictured that scenario only minutes after he had entered her apartment. “it was wrong, and you deserved better.” 

“And yet…” She gesticulates with her hands, emphasizing their position. “here we are.” 

He just wasn’t saying the right thing. And if Carolina could be honest, she wasn’t sure there was a right thing to say. Maybe there was nothing that he could say to make up for the heartache she felt. For the humiliation. And seeing him hide his face between his hands as his head hung heavy between his legs, just made her want him gone. And almost as if reading her mind, Jungkook asked “What do you want me to say? I am really really sorry and I haven’t stopped thinking about it and you ever since.” 

And that last sentence was like a punch to the gut. “Ya’ know what? I forgive you!” Almost as if Carolina had been suddenly hit with a wave of good spirits, she gets up from her armchair, her tone chipper. “You are forgiven for being an absolute asshole and a liar. I am completely over the fact that you betrayed my confidence.” Her hands fell to her hips and Jungkook’s eyebrows furrowed. “So, please, leave. We don’t have anything else to discuss.” 

Grabbing him by the arm, Carolina almost hauls Jungkook from his seat. “Wait,” his manifests are in vain though, because only when he enforces his stance she stops. “I think I loved you,” Jungkook’s eyes are glued to the floor. “and that freaked me out.” 

“Oh, give me a fucking break.” Arms in the air, Carolina turns to face her wall. She takes a deep breath. “You loved me so you played me and then never spoke to me again. Can’t imagine what kind of father you’d be!” 

He ignores her comeback, “I wanted to be with you every second of my day. I wanted to stay until late in the cloud room with you just noticing how the colors made you look more and more beautiful. You were messing with my mind and I was allowing myself to fall for you, even though it wasn’t appropriate.”

Carolina’s hand doesn’t move from the front door’s handle and she has to strain the laugh that threatens to leave her lips. Jungkook’s stance is incredulous as he doesn’t dare to look her in the eye as he professes what seems to be his undying love for the girl. 

“You’re different and you’re weird and you have a funky taste and it scares the living shit out of me. You made me feel. When you smiled at me. When you trusted me with assignments…” Completely ignoring the girl’s wishes for his departure, Jungkook sits back on the couch again, this time on the armrest, his body facing her. “And then I get to the office, late as fuck, already freaking out, and see that scene. I was shocked. And when I finally came to my senses, I felt too embarrassed to reach out to you.” He speaks fast and his lisp is noticeable. Carolina sees how truthful his words are, his tongue poking the inside of his mouth as he faces the empty wall. “I was ashamed that I let you go like that, let you go through that situation with everyone looking at you and I didn’t stand my ground immediately like I should have.” 

Jungkook stands up and Carolina’s grip on the handle falls. “So, you have every right to hate me. You can even punch me if you’d like if that would make you less hurt…” he walks closer to her, stopping only a couple of inches away, somewhat afraid that she would take on the offer. He gives her a small smile. “although I would prefer you wouldn’t. You look like you have a mean hook.” 

She finally lets out a dry laugh, focusing everywhere but on the man in front of her. She’s trying to remain defensive, fighting the urge from her body to give in to his speech, to believe that he’s saying the truth, that maybe—maybe—this time, things can take a different turn. “So… past tense, huh?” 

He ignores her sarcasm completely, as if switching roles and him being the serious one. Jungkook wants to take her hand that hangs mindlessly in the air but restrains himself from doing so. He fights the urge to run his hands through her fluffy hair like he had done so the previous night in his car. His brain can still recall how soft it felt on his fingers and how it smelled of lavender. “I’m sorry I hurt you. I know it’s my fault and I just want you to know that I feel like garbage for hurting someone who meant—means—so much to me.” 

Carolina purses her lips together, focusing on the dirt that stained the white of his Converse. 

“Can we start over? Friends?” Her eyes land on his extended hand and travel all the way up to his face. He’s hopeful and she can’t wait to touch his skin again, so she shakes it. He smiles radiantly as if a little kid who just won the biggest fluffiest teddy bear at a fair. “I’ll text you tomorrow.” Jungkook wants to sound certain but Carolina senses the shakiness in his voice. 

“Just don’t spam me.” Carolina rolls her eyes while they finally let go of each other’s hands. Jungkook gives her one last look, providing her with a silent chance to change her mind and as she doesn’t, he nods, pleased, before leaving. 

Carolina’s hands fly to her head, fingers massaging her temples as she is dazed by the event she has just lived. She closes her door, back hitting it for support and her focus relies on outside her window, how the sun had already set and the night had taken over instead, the sky painted dark navy blue while some stars shone in the distance. 

There’s a knock on her door and she rushes back to open it, reason completely out of her mind, “Jun—” She stops mid-word. “Jae! I was not expecting you.” 

“In my defense, I did text you. Not my fault you don’t look at the thing.” As he makes his way inside, chuckling, he gives her a small peck on the cheek. “Brought food.” 

“Great!” Before closing the door, Carolina glanced at the empty corridor, trying to shake the weird feeling that left her stomach turning. It doesn’t go away, not even after she ate the ramen Jae brought. And so she takes this sudden unwell state to send him off. The drawers inside her mind were all messy; she had some organizing to do.

[ chapter 5 ]

☁ want to be tagged in the next part? comment below or send me an ask!

[geminiwritten]

untouched ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: billy hasn’t touched you for months, and you’re frustrated, so you decide to invest in some skimpy lingerie in the hopes that he won’t be able to resist

notes: YES, this is (very loosely) based on the song ‘untouched’ by the veronicas and if you haven’t heard it, it’s a bop. also, i’m so sorry for the terrible british accent writing, and i’m sorry for the fade-to-black but i was too chicken to actually write all the smut. please let me know what you think!

side note: i would die for this man (billy butcher and karl urban)

warnings: a lot of swearing, beer, very light smut, and some google translated french

word count: 5848

You hadn’t originally planned for Frenchie to come along on your little shopping trip, it was supposed to be MM, but when he got a call from Janine, you couldn’t possibly have asked him to prioritise you over his own daughter. Hughie had offered to drive you, of course, but you decided that Frenchie was the lesser of two evils in this situation, and you refused to go alone. Lately, you weren’t the biggest fan of going anywhere alone.

“Ooh,” Frenchie coos, pulling a lacy baby doll from one of the racks and holding it up to his own body. “I think this would suit me, no?”

You roll your eyes playfully. “I think it would, why don’t you try it on?”

He giggles and throws the garment over his arm. “I think you, mon amour, would look ravishing in it.”

So here you were, in the middle of the lingerie section in one of New York City’s largest department stores, shopping for scandalous undergarments with Frenchie. You have to admit, he is a huge boost for your self-esteem, but you trusted him much less than MM to keep this little shopping trip a secret.

“What about this one?” he asks, holding up a bodysuit styled after Starlight’s costume that left even less to the imagination than her suit already did.

You scoff, “Absolutely not.”

He giggles again as he returns the bodysuit to its rack. You were doing your best to avoid anything that resembled the costume of a Supe, even if some of Queen Maeve’s designs did catch your eye. The purpose for which you were buying would definitely be negated by anything that looked like it had been produced by Vought.

“May I ask,” Frenchie says as he catches up to you at the next rack, “what exactly are you looking for, and why?”

“I just need some new underwear,” you lie. “The washing machine at that dingy apartment only works half of the time and I figured that buying more underwear was a more economical option than buying a whole new machine.”

The second part wasn’t a lie, but you still had to turn away to hide your pink cheeks.

“Ah,” he sighs, moving around the rack to follow you. “So silly of me to assume that this had something to do with Monsieur Charcutier, but I suppose you would not lie to me, hm?”

Your pulses races, pumping even more blood into your cheeks and making the huge store feel suddenly stifling. You ignore his inference and turn toward a shelf full of wrapped latex garments, ranging from underwear to bras, to suspenders and gloves. The items draped over your arm are mostly lace and straps, so you choose a pair of latex hot pants and hand them to Frenchie.

“Like this,” you say, “practical underwear, perfect for fighting. I won’t have to worry about them falling down.”

He smirks. “Of course, and perhaps you will need this to?”

He takes a riding crop off one of the hooks beside the latex display and offers it to you.

“Better than a gun, in my opinion,” you state, taking the crop and holding it under your arm that is already full of lingerie.

“What is it for if not to spank a naughty, naughty Supe,” he chuckles.

After an hour of browsing and dodging Frenchie’s attempts to get you to reveal your true agenda, you approach the check-out counter. A surly old woman serves you, grumbling between disapproving glares as she scans each item that is more scandalous than the last. You’re so busy trying not to burst out laughing that you don’t even notice the inclusion of the riding crop until she hands you the bag.

“Have a great day,” she mumbles insincerely.

“And you too, mon chéri,” Frenchie says with a wink.

You grab his wrist and drag him behind you as you b-line for the store’s main doors. By the time you reach the curb, you’re both giggling like idiots and wiping tears from the corners of your eyes while strangers watch you with wary expressions. It’s only a short walk to the car, but you manage to compose yourself by the time you’re both climbing into your respective seats. The engine sputters to life, and Frenchie swerves into the busy traffic in the direction of your current residence.

“Be honest with me, mon amour,” he says, and you look up from your phone, “what is all this about?”

The paper bag is nestled between your feet, and you can see a buckled strap peeking out of it. None of your purchases were at all for practical use.

You sigh, “I honestly don’t know, Frenchie.”

“Butcher has been distant lately, no?”

You nod, and he glances at you from the corner of his.

“It has been rough,” he says, “and I know he is not good with his emotions, even in the best of times, but I know he does care about you.”

“I know.”

He moves a hand from the wheel to hold one of yours. “You do not need all of this to make him lo-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, your pulse spiking with panic, “please, don’t say that word.”

“Mon amour,” he sighs, and somehow in French the word sounds a lot less intimidating. “You are beautiful, do not ever forget it.”

You smile at him and raise his hand to your lips to kiss his knuckles. “You’re beautiful too, Frenchie.”

He chuckles, “I know.”

It isn’t just that you’re afraid of that word when it came to Butcher, because there were so many more things to fear in this world, it was more to do with the fact that he hasn’t touched you in months. You knew, when it all started, that this situation wasn’t going to be easy and it definitely wasn’t going to be something that meant a whole lot to Butcher, but you went ahead and fell anyway. With the chaos of the cause you were all fighting for, and the uncertainty of whether or not any of you would live, you thought you’d be able to put your own desires on the back burner. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

It was good for a while, but then things got bad again and more skeletons crept out of the closet, and Butcher has all but forgotten about you. It isn’t that he no longer cares about you, because you know he does, but he’s been all work and no play for months now, and your heart is beginning to ache. And so is the place between your thighs that he is exceptionally good at satiating.

You might be stupid enough to fall for the man but you’re not stupid enough to assume that he might ever return those feelings, so you’ve decided to focus on the one element of intimacy you know he craves too.

“Looks like le Charcutier himself has returned,” Frenchie says, and only then do you realise the car has stopped.

Butcher’s car is parked at the curb in front of the decrepit apartment building that you currently call home, and you can swear there are new scrapes scratched along the passenger’s side doors. You tuck your purchases as deep into the paper bag as they’ll go before getting out of the car and following Frenchie into the building. You climb two sets of stairs and stop at the third door on the left, nervously chewing the inside of your lip while Frenchie fumbles with his keys.

“You know,” he whispers, pausing as he turns to you, “he might not-”

“Frenchie,” you hiss, “I don’t want to talk about the consequences, okay?”

He sighs, “I just don’t want you to be upset if he does not appreciate this the way you want him to.”

“I don’t give a damn.”

You snatch his keys and jam the big rusted one into the doorknob, twisting it angrily and pushing the door open before he can say another word. You knew your plan had holes, but you didn’t have the patience to try and talk any sense into yourself because Butcher was the only thing on your mind. He has been from the moment you met him.

The first person you see is MM, sitting on the couch watching old cartoon reruns with a content smile on his lips. Hughie is in the kitchen, on the phone to his dad and by the sound of it, attempting to talk him through the process of rebooting his Wi-Fi router. Your frustration dissipates at the sight of normalcy, or as normal as it got for people who live the way that you all do. It’s been quiet lately, more reconnaissance than murder, and more time to plan and recover for when things inevitably go wrong.

“Hey,” MM calls, “how did you go?”

He immediately glances at the bag and grin splits across his face.

Hughie bids his father goodbye before tucking his phone in his pocket and looking to you, his frown turning quizzical. “What is that?”

“It is a- uh,” Frenchie puts a finger to his lips, “how do you say flagellateur?”

“You bought a cane?” Hugh gasps, “What the hell for?”

MM chuckles, “I believe Frenchie called it a flogger.”

“For the naughty Supes,” Frenchie says, pulling it out of the bag before you can react.

Hughie bursts out laughing as Frenchie moves like lightning and smacks MM across the bottom with the crop, a sharp cracking sound echoing through the room. MM yelps, turning to Frenchie with a murderous glare.

“Touch me with that again and I’ll shove it so far up your ass, you’ll feel it in your throat,” he threatens.

Frenchie smirks, “Do not make promises you cannot keep, vilain garçon.”

MM moves to grab the crop, but Frenchie is faster. He steps back and holds it behind his back, giving himself a light tap on the thigh and moaning wickedly. Hughie’s laughter bubbles up again, and even MM can’t help from chuckling.

You roll your eyes despite your amusement, “Come on, Frenchie, that’s enough.”

“Au contraire, mon petit chat,” he coos, “we are just getting started.”

“Who’s gettin’ what started?”

All four of you turn toward the familiar voice – gruff and always a little sarcastic – to find Butcher standing in the door to the main bedroom. His hair is damp and tousled, and his signature trench coat absent.

“Nothing, Monsieur Charcutier,” Frenchie says, still holding the crop behind his back.

“What the bloody hell are you hidin’?”

Hughie is struggling to hold back his laughter, his eyes watering with the effort. The boy is definitely sleep deprived, though this time you blame Annie more than the vigilante lifestyle.

Butcher takes two heavy steps forward and his brows furrow. “Is that a fuckin’ riding crop?”

“Oh, this?” Frenchie shows him the flogger. “This is Mademoiselle Y/N’s.”

He steps toward you and slides the crop back into your bag.

“We went shopping,” you say, forcing yourself to meet Butcher’s eyes despite the overwhelming urge to run back out the door.

He cocks his head, “You went shoppin’ with Frenchie, ‘n’ bought a fuckin’ sex toy?”

You nod slowly, feeling the blood burn in your cheeks. The air is suddenly thick, and you struggle to draw anything more than a shallow breath as you wait in silence for someone to say something. You know it’s bad when even Frenchie shuts up.

“Right,” Butcher glances at the bag in your hand before turning to MM. “Well, since everyone’s ‘ere, we might as well go over what we know ‘bout the rally this weekend.”

Hughie rushes over to the small dining room table to retrieve his laptop, and MM turns the television’s volume down to zero. Butcher looks back at you, and then to Frenchie.

“Unless,” he says, “you two had somethin’ better to do?”

Frustration bubbles up in your chest, and your embarrassment turns into irritation.

“Just let me get changed.”

You don’t wait for a response before turning on your heel and marching into your room, slamming the door for effect. You tip the contents of your shopping bag on the bed and begin stripping out of your jeans. It is hot in this dingy little apartment, since no one had yet been successful in getting the thermostat to work, so your decision to change into shorts and a loose button-up wasn’t totally uncalled for. It just so happens that you decided to swap your bra and panties for a sheer black bodysuit with a built-in harness that wrapped around your chest and waist, and down around your bum into thigh garters. You button your shirt enough to only just show the straps over the curve of your breasts, and make sure the garters are tucked under your shorts before remerging into the living room.

The boys are gathered around the kitchen bench, Frenchie and Hughie looking at the laptop while Butcher and MM point at what you can guess is a map on the countertop. You assume Kimiko is still sleeping, and no one was game enough to try and wake her.

“We’re not sure if anyone from corporate is scheduled to attend,” Hughie says, “but it looks like every member of the seven have been ordered to appear.”

You step between Frenchie and MM, right across from Butcher. Frenchie glances at you, his eyes dropping for less than a second to your cleavage before he gives you a cheeky smirk. You press your lips together to keep from laughing, and when you look toward Butcher you find his eyes already on you, or rather, on Frenchie. If looks could kill, the poor French man would be a pile of dust on the floor.

“It would be suicide to try anything at this thing,” MM states, “with all of them there, the security is going to be tight.”

“I agree,” Hughie says, “so if we go, it has to be lowkey, and we can’t be recognised.”

“So that rules out you and Butcher,” you point out, leaning past Frenchie to see the laptop screen.

“You and I can go, then,” MM points at a spot on the map, “we recon from the outskirts, and Frenchie waits off side in case we need an emergency extraction.”

“No,” Butcher says, his eyes trained on you with an intensity that made your spine feel like a gummy worm, “she’s not goin’ anywhere near this shit show. Her and Hughie watch from this buildin’,” he points at a building two blocks from the main event, “me ‘n’ you go in for recon, ‘n’ Frenchie ‘n’ Kimiko will be waitin’ nearby.”

You frown, “Hughie can do the surveillance on his own, and you can’t go anywhere near Homelander. I’ll go in with MM.”

“No,” he says again, “you’re not gettin’ that close.”

“This isn’t close,” you point at the map where MM had, “and if you’re worried then you can wait with Frenchie but Butcher, you can’t be seen. It’s too risky.”

“You wan’a know what’s risky?” he snaps, his gaze dropping to your chest.

You cross your arms, fully aware that it accentuates your breasts.

“Fuckin’ arguin’ with me.”

You roll your eyes and take a step back. “Fine, get yourself killed for no fucking reason Butcher, see what I care.”

Tension rolls through the room like a dark storm cloud, rumbling with impending thunder as it settles right between you and the man you’re glaring at.

“No one is going to die,” Hughie speaks cautiously, “we’re not going there for a fight.”

“I know that.” you snap, though your eyes don’t dare leave Butcher’s. “Tell him that.”

“Butcher,” MM says, “I know you want to lead, but she has a point.”

Butcher scoffs, “I don’t give a damn about whether I’m on the front line or not, but she’s not goin’ anywhere near those fuckers. ‘Specially if I’m not at her fuckin’ side.”

Your heart stutters and your resolve cracks. Your shoulders slacken as every measure of intimidation you had built up dissolves and the stupid but familiar feeling of warmth and longing spreads through your body.

“We’re not getting close, Butcher,” Hughie says, “all we need is-”

“That,” Butcher spits, pointing at the same spot on the map, “is too fuckin’ close.”

MM looks at you, waiting for you to argue some more. Butcher rarely listens to anyone, but on the occasion that he does, it’s often you. But right now, you’re tired and you’re sick of arguing with this man when all you really want is for him to throw you up against a wall and tear your clothes off.

“Whatever,” you sigh, “you’ve got to live your life the way you want, right, Butcher?”

You circle around Hughie, around the kitchen bench, and behind Butcher where the barely functional fridge is. Silence hangs heavy in the air as you open it, bottles rattling in the door. You take a bottle of beer from the shelf and shut it again, turning to the drawer where you last saw the bottle opener, but it isn’t there. Sighing, you turn on your heel to stand beside Butcher and lift the hem of your shirt to wrap it around the bottle top, using it to buffer your hand as you struggle to get the cap off. With a soft pop, the cap comes free and so does another button on your shirt, revealing the little gold buckle connecting the straps between your boobs.

A small, triumphant smile quirks your lips as you look up, meeting Butcher’s gaze much closer than before. His eyes are dark, his pupils devouring almost all of his hazel irises.

Frenchie clears his throat, keeping his own gaze locked on the map. “Hughie says that most of the roads will be closed, but if we park the van here,” he points to a side alley, “we should be able to leave quickly, if we need.”

“What about the perimeter guard?” MM asks, “They’ll have more than usual, and I don’t doubt half of them will be Vought’s B-listers.”

Hughie nods, “Annie said they’ve been flying in all week, from almost every state.”

You can’t focus standing this close to Butcher, feeling the warmth rolling off his body and from the corner of your eye, seeing him turn to you every couple of seconds. He isn’t subtle about it at all, and with his height advantage, you know he can see right down your loose shirt. When you try to focus on the map, you can see his hands in fists at his side, knuckles white with strain.

“What do you think?” Hughie asks, at which you only respond with a slow blink. He frowns. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, sorry, just tired.”

You raise a hand to your neck and tilt your head to the side, rubbing at your hot skin and subtly letting the collar of your shirt slip off your shoulder. When you glance at Butcher, you know you’ve almost got him. His neck is red and jaw set as he watches you like you’re prey.

You bite your lip to hide your smile, surveying the map with a wicked idea when Frenchie, bless him, asks the perfect question. “Do we know where Homelander will be arriving?”

“There,” you reply, stretching onto your toes and reaching across the bench. “From there, he will walk through this audience before flying to the stage.” You arch your back as you trace your finger along with the directions, feeling your shorts ride up and the garters on your thighs dig into your flesh.

Another beat of silence pulses through the room before Butcher clears his throat. You look to him quickly, only to find him glaring at Hughie, and when you turn to the boy in question you realise that he too had noticed the black straps on the backs of your thighs.

“Sorry, uh, yeah,” he mutters, cheeks pink, “Homelander is the only one who won’t be escorted directly to the stage. They want to create hype, so he’ll be moving around to greet fans.”

“Well, we better make sure we’re not anywhere near wherever he’ll be,” MM says.

Hughie nods, “If he follows orders, he’ll stay within the barriers. Vought is wary and with all their assets in one place, they’ll be making sure even Homelander is on his best behaviour.”

Frenchie chuckles, “They do not want golden boy starting a civil war in the middle of the city, eh?”

“They know that there’s a huge chance of anti-Supe protest,” you say, “which raises another issue, access. No one in a two-mile radius will be allowed in without verification.”

Hughie turns his laptop to face the group, “I’ve been working on that, but I need to know who is going in so I can print ID badges.”

The four of you look at Butcher.

“It’s your call,” MM says.

He blinks as if suddenly returning to reality, and shifts awkwardly on his feet so his hips are pressed against the kitchen bench. “I don’t know,” he says, his voice thick, “I don’t wan’a think abou’ it right now, alrigh’?”

Hughie nods and closes his laptop, and MM sighs though his small smirk is betraying as his eyes meet yours.

“Well,” Frenchie says, “if we are done here, I am going to go get us something for dinner.”

MM tucks his phone into his pocket, “I’ll come with you.”

“Really?” Frenchie frowns.

MM glances at Butcher before turning back to Frenchie. “Really.”

“I’ll come too,” Hughie says quickly, “I-I mean, I was going to see Annie, anyway.”

Frenchie’s smirk is so wide you’re worried his cheeks are going to split. The three of them hurry out the door, muttering goodbyes and arguing over who is going to drive before leaving you and Butcher alone with the storm cloud of tension still rumbling in the air.

You down half your bottle of beer in one swig before sighing, “Well, as much as I would love to keep arguing, I’m going to-”

“Oh, you’re not goin’ anywhere, sweethear’.”

You only just have enough time to turn around before Butcher traps you with a hand on either side, gripping the bench with white knuckles.

“What the fuck are you playin’ at?”

You feign an innocent frown, “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

His breath comes and goes with a shudder, and you can feel it fan across your bare neck.

“I’m talkin’ ‘bout this,” he hooks a finger under the garter around your thigh and lets it go with a snap. “I’m talkin’ ‘bout you goin’ shoppin’ with Frenchie for fuckin’ sex toys.”

“Okay,” you smirk, “and what exactly is there to talk about?”

His head cocks, and you feel like prey staring down a predator.

“What is there-” his eyes narrow. “What is there to fuckin’ talk about? I don’t know, maybe when the fuck you started fuckin’ around!”

His rage, though intimidating, only turns you on. It shouldn’t, but it does.

“Am I not allowed to fuck around, Butcher?” you ask, watching the pulse in his neck race.

An emotion flickers behind his eyes, too fast for you to discern, but it’s strong enough to relieve his frown and he almost looks hurt.

“Do you want to fuck around?” he asks, his voice low.

You can’t figure out if he’s baiting you or not, or if it’s just the aching in your chest that’s trying to convince you that he might actually be feeling something.

You decide to guard yourself, keeping a smirk on your lips. “Are you offering?”

He releases his grip on the bench and rubs both hands through his hair, making it stand in jagged spikes.

“Look,” he sighs, “I know it ain’t any of my business, but if you and Frenchie are-”

“I’m not fucking Frenchie!” you exclaim, the past few months of frustration finally breaking out of the bottle.

“Oh,” he straightens, “good.”

“Good?” you echo, “For fuck’s sake Butcher, you are thick.”

His frown returns and before you can move, he traps you again. “What was that?”

“I said, you are thick,” you press your bum into the bench in a lame attempt to create distance. “If you think I’m sleeping with Frenchie- with anyone, you’re an idiot, but you know what? I already fucking knew that.”

“Yeah? And when did you figure that one out?” he asks, once again a predator who has cornered his prey.

“About three months ago, when I woke up and you weren’t there,” you say, fighting the lump in your throat. “You fucked off for three days, Butcher. No one knew where you were, you didn’t answer your fucking phone, and when you got back, you acted like nothing had fucking happened.”

You can hear your heart thumping in your ears as you wait for him to bite back, but he doesn’t.

You squeeze your eyes shut and sigh, “And now you won’t even fucking touch me.”

“Is that what you want?” he whispers.

You can only nod, too afraid that another word from your lips will turn into a cry. He breaks your stare and lets his eyes fall to your chest, slowly moving his body closer until it’s completely pressed against yours. You can feel him against your lower belly, not fully hard but definitely there and probably the reason he was hiding himself against the bench before.

Unlike the last time he touched you, this one is gentle. His fingers start at your jaw, just below your ear, tracing the sensitive skin right down to your collarbone and stopping at the swell of your breast. He groans, the deep sound rumbling from his chest and reverberating through your body. Your breath is shallow as you wait impatiently for him to kiss you, watching his lips like an addict yearning for a taste of the drug that only he can provide.

He denies you, though, instead dipping down to press his mouth against your bare shoulder and sending waves of electricity dancing across your skin. It isn’t exactly what you wanted, but its enough to make you sigh, and you roll your head back to allow him better access. His lips leave gentle kisses along your collarbone, the scratch of his beard raising goosebumps in its wake.

You feel like you can breathe for the first time in months, and your heart is beating so violently within your chest that you know he can feel it on his lips. A small voice at the back of your head is screaming, telling you to stop and push him away, because the further this went, the less control your head would have over your heart. Your heart that is threatening to crack a rib as it tries to surrender itself to the man in front of you.

When his lips leave your skin, you whine, but he doesn’t smirk like he usually does. He doesn’t make a sarcastic comment about how needy you are, or even look up to meet your eyes. His gaze is on your chest as his hands come up to the collar of your shirt, fingers curling into the soft material before yanking it apart. The buttons break, popping off the shirt entirely and scattering across the kitchen floor. He gasps, almost inaudibly, but you know you heard it.

This isn’t like before, he’s too quiet and too gentle, aside from the whole ruining your shirt thing. You feel exposed and vulnerable under his gaze, longing for approval as his dark eyes devour your scantily clad torso. His hands follow the curve of your body down to the waistband of your shorts, finding the button and popping it with much less force than they did the shirt. His fingers hook inside the denim and guide them down over your hips and past your thighs before letting them drop to the floor. Then he steps back.

You feel empty without his warmth, and you aren’t quite sure what to do with your arms while he observes you from the other side of the kitchen. Given, it is a small kitchen and he’s barely two steps away, but you suddenly feel like an exhibit on display.

You swallow thickly, “If it’s- uh, if you don’t like it I can-”

“I fuckin’ love it,” he says, his voice low and raspy as he closes the distance again.

Pressed against you, you can feel him hard behind his jeans, and you can’t help feeling a little proud.

He cups your jaw with both hands, his face only inches from yours. “I fuckin’ love you,” he mutters, before crushing his lips to yours.

The taste of his mouth sets your tongue ablaze, but instead of melting into a puddle like you know you should have, your spine goes rigid. The voice in the back of your head grows louder, clearer, as it rushes to the front and crashes against your skull, screaming.

He notices you tense up, and pulls back immediately, not offended but afraid. His frown is deep and his mouth slightly agape, realising what he’d said and knowing that it’s the reason for your reaction.

You stare at him, “What did you say?”

He takes a generous step back and runs a hand over his face, “Fuck.”

“Butcher,” you press, wrapping your arms around yourself to try and compensate for the loss of warmth.

“I’m sorry, love,” he sighs, “I didn’t-”

The lump in your throat rises, “You didn’t mean it?”

“No, no,” he says quickly, “I meant it, jus’ didn’t mean to say it.”

“You meant it?”

He nods slowly.

You blink quickly to try and repress the moisture filling your eyes. “You meant it as in… you love me?”

He nods again and you can feel your whole body beginning to shake.

“D-Do you love me like-like a vice?” you ask, your voice unsteady. “Like you love drinking and smoking or-”

“I love you like I fuckin’ love you, okay?” he snaps.

The irritation in his voice makes you flinch, and he regrets it immediately but refuses to move toward you again.

“Fuckin’ hell, Y/N,” he sighs, “isn’t it fuckin’ obvious? I haven’t fucked you in months.”

You frown, “Yeah, and why would that make me think you love me?”

“‘Cause I’m a fuckin’ twat who doesn’t know what’s good for him,” he says, “and sweethear’, you are too fuckin’ good for me.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You!” he exclaims, “You’re fuckin’ gorgeous and young, and you shouldn’t be in any of this shit, let alone in it with someone like me.”

It feels like your heart is swollen, pressing against your ribcage and squeezing all the air from your lungs. Your pulse races, blood rushing to your head and making you dizzy as you try to make sense of his words.

“Butcher,” you close the distance between your bodies, pressing him against the opposite bench, “I want you, and everything that you want.”

He keeps his arms rigid by his sides as he stares down at you, his pupils still blown with lust.

“If you want me to leave you alone, then I’ll stop,” you say. “If you want me to fuck off, then I’ll go, but no matter fucking what, I’m yours because I love you. I don’t have a choice about that, because I fucking need you."

He breaks your stare to look up at the ceiling, letting go of a long sigh before looking back down with the smallest quirk in his lips. “You’re gon’a fuckin’ kill me, aren’t you?”

You smirk, “I’ll certainly try.”

His hands find your bum, pressing you impossibly close as his lips crash into yours and it feels like your heart bursts, sending shockwaves through your body and turning your limbs into jelly. With a soft grunt, he lifts you up and pushes away from the bench, allowing you to wrap your legs around his hips. You can feel him completely now, rock hard and rubbing against you in the most delicious way as he carries you across the room toward your bedroom.

Your hands are tangled in his hair as you kiss him sloppily, pouring every bit of frustration and longing into his mouth until he pulls away and drops you onto the bed. He begins unbuttoning his shirt and your fingers find his belt, eye level with you as you clumsily unravel it.

“An’ what’s all this?” he asks, calling your attention to the pile of lingerie dumped on the bed.

You would have blushed if your face wasn’t already burning red. “Just some things I bought.”

“Jus’ some things, huh?”

He picks up one of the lacy red garments and holds it up, a devilish smirk stretched across his lips. “Who’re plannin’ on wearin’ all this for, love?”

“Well,” you giggle, “Frenchie was very approving of it all when I was trying them on, so…”

He throws the lacy thing aside and pushes you back on the bed with a hand around your throat. His legs straddle your hips, pressing against your throbbing core and sending jolts of excitement up your spine.

“If any other fucker ever sees you in this, I’ll cut his fuckin’ throat,” he whispers, his lips brushing your ear as his beard tickles your cheek. “You’re gon’a wear all of this for me, and I’m gon’a ruin all of it.”

You move your hips for some sort of friction as a soft whine escapes your lips, but his other hand grabs your side with bruising strength and holds you still.

“Do you understand me, sweethear’?”

“Yes,” you sigh, “yes, I understand, Butcher. Just fuck me already.”

His hand tightens around your throat and another wave of heat washes over you.

He tuts, “What have I said ‘bout manners?”

“Butcher,” you groan, clawing at the fastening of his jeans.

His hands leave their places on your body to grab your wrists, easily transferring both of them into one hand, restraining you as he sits up. He reaches behind himself on the bed, and you wriggle impatiently beneath his weight.

“Think I need to teach you a lesson,” he says with a grin, holding the riding crop in his other hand.

Thrill bursts in your stomach and you feel yourself clench, wetness pooling in the crotch of your bodysuit.

“You ready for me to show you how to use this thing, doll?” he asks, touching it to the valley between your breasts.

The leather loop is cool against your hot skin, even through the sheer material as he traces it down your sternum and all the way to your belly button. All you can do is nod, holding your bottom lip between your teeth to suppress the whimpers wanting to escape.

He pulls the crop back before softly smacking it against your right breast. The gossamer fabric leaves absolutely nothing to the imagination, and his eyes light up at the sight of your taut nipple.

“You, my love,” he murmurs, caressing your left breast with the crop, “are fuckin’ diabolical.”

END.

[spasm-design-architects]

Best Indian Architecture Firms Build a Gomati Home in Lonavala

Spasm Design Architects the Best Indian Architecture Firms based in Mumbai, India. We build a Gomati Home in Lonavala. The aim was to provide a vessel for the family to enjoy a life under the skies and enjoy the rain and wet breezes.

[angeliqueiguess]

Focus! (Character Endings) Pt.2

(must read after reading the fic)

Ten Lee

After the success and growth of NeoMagazine, Ten decided to return to his home country, Thailand. There, he spent some time sharing his knowledge and passion by offering professional makeup courses. During this period, an unexpected opportunity transformed his life: the creation of his own makeup line, "Chitta Cosmetics." The brand became a reflection of his artistic vision and deep connection to his roots. It didn’t take long for Chitta Cosmetics to gain recognition, and soon, Ten found himself competing and collaborating with industry giants like Maybelline, solidifying his place as a prominent figure in the beauty world.

On a personal level, Ten never lost touch with his best friend, Y/n, whom he cherished deeply. Despite their busy schedules and the changes in their lives, he always made time to celebrate her successes, proud to see her thriving, happy, and healthy. Though the dynamics had shifted since the days when they all worked together, Ten treasured every moment they spent together. He never forgot where he came from or the value of the friendships that shaped him. Humility and loyalty remained central to who he was, even as he achieved remarkable things.

Mark Lee

After the growth of NeoMagazine, Mark let his creativity run wild in the urban fashion scene, creating not just innovative outfits but also collaborating with designers and producing pieces so exceptional they could have been displayed in a museum. His brand, "127", quickly gained traction, and soon, big-name rappers and music artists became his clients, rocking his designs at major events and on stage.

On a personal note, Mark kept uploading his freestyles and original songs to his secret SoundCloud, where he shared his music without the pressure of fame. For a while, his music career felt more like a side project, but everything changed when one of his followers went viral with one of his early mixtapes. This boosted his visibility, and soon millions of people were asking for a full album. Mark eventually delivered on that demand, launching his debut album, which became a major success. Now, Mark was rubbing shoulders with top rappers and artists worldwide, forming important partnerships in both music and fashion. He not only solidified himself as a rising star in the music industry but also became one of the few rappers creating 100% custom designer pieces. By blending his love for fashion and rap, he carved out a unique and successful niche for himself.

Nakamoto Yuta

After NeoMagazine’s growth, Yuta focused his efforts on further expanding the magazine and other ventures in his native Japan. His expertise and vision led him to teach business and statistics, not only in Japan but across various countries in Asia. Through these classes, he inspired a new generation of entrepreneurs. His practical approach and ability to connect with people earned him a reputation as a trusted leader in the business world.

On a personal level, while Yuta had firmly established himself as a successful businessman, life had unexpected plans for him. His charisma and natural presence landed him a supporting role in a Japanese film—a project he initially saw as a fun new challenge. However, his performance caught the attention of a well-known director who stumbled upon the movie by chance. Impressed by Yuta’s talent, the director offered him a lead role in his next feature film. Balancing both worlds, Yuta discovered a newfound passion for acting without stepping away from his business pursuits. His debut as a leading actor was a hit, propelling him into the spotlight of the film industry. Now, Yuta is not only a respected businessman but also a rising actor, proving that embracing unexpected opportunities can lead to extraordinary paths.

—-

Focus Masterlist // Main Masterlist

prev // next

Taglist: @apolloxxivmin @aerivrs @chan-yeoldelling @livingdoll-hara @cryingforjae @heavenjae @milanco @sibwol @neocupidd @minkyuncutie @miniature-tragedy @kukkurookkoo @kodasity @injunnie-lemon @thegracerammy @hahaechans @illitzen @pandagirl753 @flamingi

[gattnk]

Only Dolce's saccharine nature could counter Kabalè's acrid attitude.

Probably one of my best pairs in terms of contrast, hands down! I'm really proud of how they came out :D Let's go over them design notes:

While Kabalè gave me a lot of room for exploration between her two canon designs, Dolce was pretty straightforward in terms of source material, since she's a series-exclusive character.

I wanted to keep Dolce as part of the main cast because I noticed some animosity from the fandom towards her back in the day, particularly over how "dumb" and stereotypically girly she was. There should be room for ultra-feminine characters in girl-focused media, because I know a lot of girls and women love them and look up to them, and who am I to deny them their fun?

My position regarding Dolce pretty much defined what I would do with Kabalè. If Dolce got to be unapologetically feminine in the traditional sense, why, Kabale HAD to be feminine in a transgressive sense! Those familiar with Ever After High know what I'm talking about: the "opposite" figure to the pink goodie-goodie princess is the purple rebellious evil witch.

My decision to make Kabalè more tanned than her canon counterparts stemmed from the same place as Mefisto and Gabi's changes: it matched her new design much better in terms of color contrast, and adding a bit more variety to the devils wouldn't hurt. I also wanted to pay homage to her hair in both iterations by making her blonde with a high ponytail and a streak.

I studied Dolce's key traits and focused on them for her new design: hearts, pink contrasted with blue and white, and puffy hair. I actually increased the amount of pink but used less saturated hues so they wouldn't clash or feel like too much, and used cyan and off-white accessories to visually segment her body by her joints, similar to an articulated doll.

For Kabalè I chose to mix her "spooky-chic" colors from the series with her comic design, and then I focused on modernizing said design! Not gonna lie, I had a lot of fun looking at current urban fashion and playing around with Kabalè's purple palette, it's not too common apparently (outside of Gengar apparel, lol).

Dolce's mascot, a blushing phantom butterfly, is right atop her hairband to represent how Dolce is the most emotionally mature of the group, since she's also naturally open-minded and focused on positive self-growth. Meanwhile, Kabalè's badger bat perches inside her jacket's inner pocket, symbolizing how Kabalè's polarizing nature often isolates her from the world around her.

Honestly I'm glad these two came out as well as they did, for the longest time I was stuck with them until some good friends of mine gave me a crucial helping hand. To put it bluntly, I wanted them to look grand but my sense of fashion is a bit too practical... all my pants are denim and I only wear grayscale t-shirts :V

I'll Fly With You (rewrite fic) Art masterpost

[adobe-outdesign]

now with [SPOILERS] a new evo announced, can you review duraludon and its upcoming Urban Expansion?

I'll be honest, I've never been the biggest Duraludon fan. I do think the idea of a kaiju-mon that's basically the building that kaiju normally knock over is extremely fun, and it being able to drop down to basically become a laser cannon is also pretty neat.

However, it's just always been way too stiff for my tastes. I feel like being able to imagine how a Pokemon lives in its environment and functions is important, but with this design it's straight-up impossible to picture how it even moves. It's mostly just the body being a singular unit, combined with the legs having no joints, that really does it for me.

(Pictured: Duraludon, in the middle of realizing there's no way it can actually eat that plate of food)

Visually, it's alright—the zig-zag down its side is neat, the dark blue accents are nice, and the head shape is interesting. However, I do feel like it's hard to figure out what it's going for at first, and the random bit of red above the head adds nothing.

Admittedly, the g-max form is pretty fun. Obviously the stiffness thing is still an issue, arguably even more so, but at least the building theme's a lot clearer now. Not only is it a skyscraper, it seems to be The Shard specially, the tallest building in the UK:

Which makes sense thematically for a g-max, given that the entire idea is that it's a "bigger" version of the original both conceptually and literally.

Visually, I like the addition of the light blue accents, and how the stomach gains kind of a glass window-like look instead of the entire body. It's also neat how the head becomes a helicopter pad. I do think the dark blue areas on the hands should've become lighter blue to match, but still, this is an effective albeit silly improvement over the original.

Duraludon was kind of a weird choice for an evo, given that it was already pretty strong as-is, but I guess they wanted to compensate for it looking it's g-max form. And, thankfully, we did get a pretty good design out of it.

Archaludon's still too stiff for my tastes, but I do like it more than Duraludon and its g-max. It feels like a good blend between the two, wherein it has more of the subtly present with Duraludon but a clearer theme more like the g-max form.

First, it can form a bridge when it drops down onto all fours. This is a neat practical element that's fairly clear even in the base design. It's also neat because The Shard is also known as, to quote Wikipedia, "the Shard London Bridge and formerly London Bridge Tower".

The additions of blue and red along the front really make the design pop more, and feel like a good continuation of Duraludon's more subdued palette. This color expansion, along with the forked tail, head spikes, and exaggerated limbs, do make it look stronger than it's pre-evo. Also, the little gold tips on the limbs compliment the eyes and are nice touches, while the strange arm shape now serves a clear purpose in the design. It's still not my favorite thing in the world, but Archaludon's definitely my favorite design out of the three, and the line as a whole feels a lot more complete now.

Anyway, overall: Duraludon has a fun concept, but is a bit too stiff and vague for its own good. The g-max is a bit over-the-top but is much clearer thematically, and Archaludon is the best out of the bunch.

[vote-democrat-president-congress]

UPI: "The reason in encouraging the changes to ensure election integrity, the Carter Center siad, is that recent U.S. politics have been "tinged with an aggressive anger and virulent rhetoric that threatens to unravel the fabric of our society."

The guidelines listed are:

Making elections a national priority. The center said the nation's election system is critical to American democracy, so it's critical that "election laws and regulations be guided by principles of fairness that preclude partisanship."

Election laws and should be transparent and simple for the public to understand. One way to ensure the health of the nation's election system, the report's authors say, is to be "fully transparent." Saying that states and localities already have made "great strides" in delivering basic election information to voters, the report's authors say, "this work should continue on all aspects of the process, from registration of voters through certification of election results."

Expand access to voter registration. The center and institute said voter registration rules "should be structured to maximize the likelihood that eligible voters can be added to the rolls without complicated rules or restrictions."

Allow ballot casting to be simple for urban and rural populations. The report's authors said policymakers and election officials "should commit to finding a way to treat voters equitably - eschewing both a 'one size fits all' approach ... in favor of one in which there is "attention to ensuring that voters are not disadvantaged in obtaining or casting a ballot relative to others just because of where they live."

Have technology serve as a boost to voters not an obstacle. Noting that voting machines have become increasingly easier to use, the report's authors urge a design approach that would cover all voting technology, "like electronic poll books and ballot-on-demand printers" so that every step of the election process is accessible and flexible for all voters.

Encourage states and local governments that allow early voting to prioritize counting votes before the election. Saying that offering voting options over several days or weeks makes voting more resilient against potential attacks, the center urged that "communities that allow such ballots should have policies ... that ensure that as many as possible of these ballots (if not all of them) will be returned to election officials in time to be processed and counted as soon as reasonably possible." The center said that, ideally, this should occur before ballots are cast in person.

Make sure oversees voters and military personnel are able to be counted quickly. The center and the institute said states and localities should try to avoid unnecessary restrictions on the use of documents, "like the Federal Postcard Application or the Federal Write-In Absentee Ballot."

Keep the process of vote counting transparent and orderly. "Policymakers and election officials must continue to prioritize accuracy even as they strive to complete counts sooner," the report's authors said.

Conduct regular audits of the election process on the municipal level. The center said election officials should use the most up-to-date and available "techniques and best practices" to validate elections' reliability.

Use recognized best practice standards for elections. The report's authors said states and localities also should be open to having "nonpartisan and independent" election observers.