#i have nothing to show you so i just chose the last pic in my camera roll to rant

[qqqqqqqqqqq0]

[sleepyjuice]

toxic!rafe will blow your phone up the second you post something on instagram that he’s ‘iffy’ about.

you posted a photo dump which consisted of some random photos of the beach, some of your friends, one of you and rafe of course, but the one that had rafe seeing red was the last slide, which was you in a bikini. he texted you several times at first, and while you were literally typing your response, he called you. your fingers were typing so fast to respond to him that you accidentally declined the call, and he did not like that. you immediately went to call him back, but another text from rafe rolled in, saying ‘fuck you don’t talk to me we’re done’ you sighed loudly, knowing damn well he was talking out of his ass right now, so you sat back and waited for the inevitable next string of texts to roll in. which they did, only seconds later.

rafe <3: do you get off on making me mad or something

rafe <3: like i’m racking my brain trying to understand why you do the things you do and that’s all i can come up with

rafe <3: and i see at least 4 guys have already liked your post like that’s crazy to me?? thought i told you to block all the guys that followed you?? of course you didn’t

rafe <3: also who even took that pic of you??? bc i know damn well it wasn’t me so who the fuck you posing for with your fucking ass and tits out? WHAT THE FUCK

rafe <3: DO NOT PUT YOUR SHIT ON DO NOT DISTURB answer me rn.

rafe <3: nah it’s cool actually i’m gonna go hit up my other gfs so you have a good night.

you rolled your eyes at that last text, deciding to fully turn your phone off. you knew he would likely try to text or call you again very soon but you didn’t want to deal with it right now. this wasn’t your first rodeo, you knew nothing you could say to him right now would calm him down, so letting him freak out on his own was the best method to his madness.

three hours had passed since you turned your phone off. you had caught up on some reading and turned on your current favorite show, but found yourself interrupted by a knock at your front door. you expected it to be rafe, but instead it was a large bouquet of your favorite flowers and a gift bag. you glanced around to see if rafe was lurking around, but saw nothing. when he freaked out over text and was able to reread his actions, he usually waited a bit longer to show his face as opposed to a verbal argument.

you brought the flowers inside and set them on the counter before grabbing the card attached to the side of the bouquet.

sorry we argued. you are so beautiful and i love you so much. got you a little gift and sent you some money for food and i set your appointment with your nail girl for tomorrow at 10. love you forever baby -rafe

you couldn’t help but smile just a little. the flowers were beautiful and the note was pretty sweet, so you chose to ignore the part where he said ‘we argued.’ you didn’t get a word in, but you let it slide. especially after you opened the gift bag to see the new dior bag you had been wanting.

you hurried to turn on your phone, immediately seeing a $500 apple payment from rafe as well as a new text from a few minutes ago.

rafe <3: hope you like the flowers and bag baby. love you! :)

you: i love them. thanks rafe, love you too

rafe <3: good to hear. lmk what you end up getting for dinner and i’ll pick you up tomorrow to take you to your nail apt. can’t wait to see you baby

you would order yourself dinner that was obviously way less than $500, but you would send rafe a picture and thank him again. you’d facetime him before bed and conversation flowed like nothing had even happened just hours before. he’d ask you what color nails you were getting, tell you funny stories about the old men at the country club and excitedly plan what you two were going to do the next day. the cycle seemed like it would never end, but you often forgot about the bad when he was talking so sweetly to you and all you could think about was how excited you were to see him tomorrow.

[sebdoeswords]

[Please click for better quality!]

I have finally... FINALLY finished this. This was meant to be a relatively quick thing, but of course because I have literally zero chill it took upwards of ten hours across three days.

Under the cut are some ramblings about symbolism and my process, as well as the original redraw "meme" this is based on:

Ramblings:

So this originally started as another ship, but then I realised that longing look at something you can never have is very Reki post episode 6. I deliberately chose a cool toned colour scheme for the whole picture except Reki, so he'd stands apart more and look out of place to visualise how he feels that second half of the series.

I also initially planned to make Langa's scarf blue (like i think it is in canon, in those baby pics? I didn't check because I scrapped that idea before I would have needed to) but then decided against it for two reasons:

1. it would've been too much blue, and a separation between the light tones of the head and torso areas divides up the picture nicely.

and 2. I wanted the very dark tone to be somewhat sinister and give the impression of a noose around his neck, symbolising Adam's hold on him :)

Partway through the lineart i made some very subtle changes to Langa's expression compared to the original billboard, which just looks radiantly joyful. To fit Langa's conflicted feelings (on one hand he's thrilled to be skating against talented skaters in the tournament, but on the other he's anxious and worried about having made a mistake and drifting apart from Reki). To show those things, I gave his eyebrow a little quirk that creates a little wrinkle, and the corner of his mouth a tiny line of tension.

I also really liked the "It's like burning" line from the billboard, and thought it fit really well with Reki's pain as well. Even among all the snow, what he feels is burning him up. And as @piiloh-case pointed out to me, strong temperatures always feel like burning, whether they're hot or cold.

This last thing has nothing to do with symbolism, but I tried out a new colouring/shading style and I'm really liking it :) I think I'm not made for the soft shaded look, so I might go with this in the future.

[thisismeracing]

King of my heart | MS47 | Part. 21

― Pairing: Mick Schumacher x Hamilton!reader (she/her) ― Warnings: curse words, Twitter environment, mention of food, not proofread, etc, etc. Minors DNI! ― Summary: After the Qata GP Yn and some friends decide to go on a mini vacation before the next racing weekend, but different from other times she keeps her phone close and makes sure she’s sharing how things are happening through her lenses. ―  A/n: none of the pictures used are mine, they are all from Pinterest and other apps. Everything else is made up by me, and I do not allow it to be published on a different platform. I would appreciate it if those things could be taken into consideration 💛

⁕ part 20 | series masterlist | part. 22 ⁕ my masterlist | my taglist here ⁕ Support my writing by reblogging, and leaving me a message 🤍

theofficialyn

liked by pierregasly, gina_schumacher, and others

theofficialyn qatar dumpppp 💙

view all comments

russellsaint yes, babe, but you're really gonna ignore the make-out pics?

⤷ schumini47 omg leave her alone!!!! 🙄🙄

lewishamilton I look good 😙

⤷ landonorris yeah and I look awful, what in the hec, yn??!

⤷ theofficialyn I am still learning, lan!!!!! 😔

swiftleclerc it's so weird seeing her and lando, like out of all the drivers she included lando on her dump?!

⤷ princessyn they're friends, she posted about him while in Miami too, there's nothing new. plus, he was on the podium

⤷ keepupwhamiltons lando is close with lewis too, I think they're friends way before we know 🤷🏼

tracklimitss IS THAT CORINNA ON THE LAST PIC??

mickyn in my head the second pic is mick, let me live in delusion, bye

sainzfrance those shoes are fireee 🔥

masoncity no signs of mase on the likes 👁️👁️

⤷ chelseablues this is so weird, get a life (I'm curious too, lmk if he shows up)

mickshoemaker I am so relieved to see she's posting, for a second I thought she would deactivate after those pap pics

franciscac.gomes linda! 💗

mickschumacher

liked by lewishamilton, jackdoohan, and others

mickschumacher been ridin' harleys in Hawaii lately

view all comments

gina_schumacher I look cute 🥰

⤷ theofficialyn you’re always cute 🩷

⤷ pierregasly franciscac.gomes where are you to comment I look cute too?

⤷ charles_leclerc pierre looks cute too!! ☝🏻

⤷ grandmonza they're so funny omg complete chaos LOL

pophamilton SOFT LAUNCHING YN FINALLY!!!!

mickandyn I prayed for moments like this

mercmick I love how it's really a dump, there's no color aesthetic behind, just the pictures ❤️

lewishamilton out of all the pictures?

⤷ theofficialyn shut up, I was the one who chose it 🥺

⤷ moonsainz OMG SHE CHOSE IT WDHSKJHKLSDFHJKJHF

ferrarihoax where are the girlies who were saying Yn was dating mason?? LOL

franciscac.gomes wait for meeee, I'll get there tomorrow 🫠

⤷ theofficialyn I'll include you on my dump, kika 💗

⤷ tsunodaalpine I love how she's interacting with every comment as if it was her own post

mercedesamgf1 see you guys on Thursday! 🫡

malibucyrus I understand the fuss with yn and mick, but can we also appreciate how yn and gina are close? mickyn is literally my fav ship because you can see how there's so much love their families can't help but fall too ❤️

mickschumacher

liked yb charles_leclerc, normani, and others

mickschumacher through my eyes 🤍

view all comments

estebanocon ❤️ really happy for you, mate!

mercedesamgf1 finally!!!! 😍

⤷ alpinepierre LMAO

theofficialyn thank you for loving me the way you do 🤍

⤷ mickschumacher thank YOU for letting me love you ❤️

minimacher47 the way she’s looking at him in the second pic, that’s what we’ve been talking about. It must have been so hard for them to hide it 😭

monzaart mick, share more pics with the class, I beg you

albonno he’s such a simp

mercciado it’s over for us bitches

marvelmercedes the hold he has on her jaw, I- oop 🫦

georgerussell63 I’m gonna pretend I’m surprised ❤️

⤷ rodeoricciardo he‘s such a little shit, I love him lol

danielricciardo mick.jpg when?

theofficialyn

liked by lilyhme, landonorris, and others

theofficialyn through my eyes 🤍

view all comments

lewishamilton luv u, guys ❤️

⤷ hammertimme if they have Lewis’ blessing who are we to be against?

franciscac.gomes I’m so happy for you!!! You deserve all the love 💕

mickschumacher ❤️ you and me, always

⤷ theofficialyn always ❤️

⤷ 1dferrari crying, shaking, giggling, throwing up, grinning like a devil

landonorris ��

mclatas him with angie, him holding flowers, him napping omg thank you for your service, Yn!!!!

norrissza he’s really boyfriend material, I have the proof, I have it printed! *toto’s voice*

gina_schumacher 😍😍😍 officially family yayy!!

⤷ zendaya44 wdym officially? Are they’re about to marry?

⤷ charleslepole idc, whatever gina says its the law. If she’s saying Yn’s oficially family she is!! 💋

lewissunshine I can’t wait for this Sunday!!!!!!

lilyhme so precious 🩷

charles_leclerc I was so scared I would spill it by accident, finally!!!

⤷ pierregasly SAME!

charles_leclerc I love you two btw

roscoelovescoco I’s approvess 🥰

⤷ braziliangp I wonder if this was Lewis or Yn who typed it LOL

taglist: @sachaa-ff @ferrariloverr @mickslover @fdl305 @mishaandthebrits @iloveyou3000morgan @crimeshowjunkie @saintslewis @carojasmin2204 @chaoticevilbakugo @wondergirl101ks @shhhchriss @smiithys @f1kota @lunnnix @leclercsluv @baby-is-crying @karmabyfernando @crashingwavesofeuphoria @v1naco @elliegrey2803 @he6rtshaker @therealcap @mehrmonga @thatgibbsygirl @the-depressed-fellow @cixrosie @darleneslane @buckybarnessweetheart @minkyungseokie @nichmeddar

⁕ my masterlist and my taglist

©thisismeracing do not copy, steal, or translate my work. do not repost on a different media platform.

Don’t forget to reblog and leave me a comment 🩷

[beauspot]

The Bear Season 2: And Why I’m Fucking Annoyed (Full Spoilers below)

*Long Post*

The Bear is something truly special. When it dropped in June of last year it wasn’t a major hit right away. It was a sleeper and it grew its fanbase over time. If you were here this time last year you remember how small the fandom was posts on every platform could barely reach 200 interactions, but with the Golden Globe wins and the word of mouth this fandom began to grow and expand, because season one of the show was just so good.

Season 2 however is an interesting piece of media. I am well aware that I have some bias in this department and I can’t view this season objectively, but neither can the rest of you so I’ll say what I want.

To start off I really enjoyed some of the episodes this season, the first two? Excellent. The Marcus Episode(with my husband Will Poulter at his side)? Fantastic. The Richie Episode? Perfection. And let’s not even talk about Fishes, which was beyond words. I genuinely went into this season wanting to like it and praise it the way I did the previous season because I thought it was good. The writing—which is spectacular in nearly every other place—takes a nosedive with this romance plot. I still do think it’s good, but I can’t act like this whole season hasn’t left a sour taste in my mouth, because it has. Because the show runners are lying racist misogynistic nasty assholes who bullshitted us for nothing.

Toward the end of last year/beginning of this year Chef’s Kiss fans words made their way to some journalist who then asked about the potential for it with the actors and the writer( in an article stupidly named “don’t worry the bear doesn’t want carmy and sydney to kiss, either” the writer of which goes on to ship carmy and marcus so clearly they have excellent taste 😒) who all shut it down. Fine. That’s fine. That’s their opinion and it doesn’t affect us. What bothers me is the words of the co-creator Chris Storer who said this 👇🏾

He went on to say the show was also just meant to be focused on these people doing their jobs. So fine. We said even if it won’t be canon there’s no way they would bring in a new love interest cause that’s not “the vision” they have for the show, right?(He also goes on in the pic above to act like we couldn’t separate our love of the plot of the show from the ship which is…infantilizing and annoying) continuing on though, he also said this

He thought it would be cool to see a show with no romantic plot. Mind you this statement was made in January and the show starting filming in February. So unless they want me to believe they added this romance plot as some last minute thing (which very well could be the case as Claire has quite literally no personality outside of being pushy and being Carmy’s girlfriend) they knew they were having a romance plot in the second season and chose to lie about it. So the actors, the creator, basically everyone who was apart of this project said that Syd and Carmy were a weird ship (a strange thing to say to your, at the time, small audience even if that’s how you felt) just for them to turn around and have Carmy with a new love interest from school and have Sydney and marcus develop feelings for one another in the second to last episode? can y’all be fucking forreal for one minute?

Suddenly all you “yesss let men and women be friends, not every show needs romance” ass bitches want to ship something. I can tell you know Syd and Carmy have chemistry otherwise you wouldn’t have been shaking in your boots hoping the writers wouldn’t get them together. There was some dumb post i saw rooting for Claire and Carm but then adding ‘no one was better than platonic Sydcarmy’…

I see you.

I spoke about this before, but this constant sidelining of black women in these types of shows irks me. Sydney is basically hunting Carmy down for 85% of the season because he can’t do his fucking job he’s so consumed with Claire. And I know people are gonna say i’m being overdramatic, but it’s so clear they just did not want their main white boy to be with a black girl. Something that happens over and over and over again so many fucking times you can just lose count. Carmy, who in season one was so in tune with Sydney’s emotions he quelled his own anger and anxiety to ask if she was ok now ditches her at their restaurant to go help some girl he hasn’t seen since high school. He ditches her to go to a party then has the nerve to bring up Claire’s helping to inspire him.

Like yeah no shit Sydney is sorry that she’s there, y’all are opening a restaurant together which could fuck both your lives if it fails and Carmy is off doing god knows what instead of his job!

WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED?!? And yeah, Carmy fucks it up at the end with Claire but that doesn’t negate the rest of the season. Chef’s Kiss shippers are strange and delusional and the show doesn’t need romance and then Claire is half naked in Carmy’s apartment? Look Carmy deserves happiness, his life has been basically nonstop stress and trauma since he was a kid and him ending the season thinking he doesn’t deserve fun or love is heartbreaking because it isn’t true, he deserves all the love in the world especially since he is actively trying to break the cycle (along with his sister). That doesn’t negate the fact that he agreed to being partners with Syd and then left her to make decisions on her own about a business they agreed to start together. Which is why he apologized and rightfully so.

And I know for a fact annoying Sydney and Marcus shippers are going to be like “well ackshully they are clearly setting up Sydcus this season so how can they hate black women.” I love Marcus as much as the next person and honestly after I saw where the writing was going I was like fuck it why not at this point, but if Sydney and Carmy’s shippers were living off crumbs Sydney and Marcus shippers were living off the memory of food. But sure that ship had development.

also no i don’t fuck with that syd and marcus ship because why the fuck are you snapping at sydney cause she rejected you and it wasn’t even really a rejection that was very incel core and it’s not about being upset half the kitchen is always screaming about something, it’s why he snapped at her.

I’m just angry so yeah fuck this show.

I’m genuinely contemplating if I want to watch the next season at all. I said if they wanted to go no romance, fine go no romance, but to not only lie about that but bring in some whole new girl we don’t know and throw the black girl to the closest guy despite the fact Sydney and Carmy are more alike than anyone else? You clearly need to do some introspection and think about why you can view Sydney and Carmen as friends but get sick at the thought of them being more.

There is a possibility (a slight possibility) that they are playing the long game we wanted, but i am wary because they lied and put a manic pixie indie girl in as a love interest this time and it sucked. But then I remember the scene with Syd and Carmy under the table and how open and honest they were with each other and even though their relationship wasn’t the best this season I can see it’s potential, because that one scene had more chemistry than all of that other ships other scenes combined. I don’t know.

This got me thinking though Will Poulter romcom when? I will be seated. Also the consensus on twitter is that people really didn’t like Claire and thought the show should have ditched their plot all together so that’s nice. A lot of people seem to think this is a setup for sydcarmy and idk, maybe i’ll rewatch when i’m more calm.

[petermorwood]

This popped up on my YouTube the other day and not to brag, but...

Oh, why the hell not? It's a small brag, but satisfying. :->

I posted about refilling the Pilot Vpen (IRL-UK) / Varsity (US) - and adding how-to links - about 4 years and then again a year ago.

Here are the how-to links; I'm glad to see they're still active.

This one, like the video, calls for pliers and suggests removing the nib:

This one doesn't use pliers or separate the nib from the feed.

*****

Bragging aside, I'm pleased to see Brian Goulet of Goulet Pens giving this hack a higher profile (and Kudos for it, too - as a retailer it's more in his interest to sell them than refill them!)

His reason is very sound: those cheap little pens (usually about 3-to-4 local currency units whether €, $ or £) are ideal for FP-curious newbies or as no-loss-worries when travelling or no-damage-worries loaners.

They also have much better nibs than the price would suggest. Indeed that seems common to all the inexpensive Pilot pens I've tried, which includes every nib size of MR / Metropolitan.

In addition, IMO the notion of "disposable" fountain pens goes completely against the principal FP virtue, where once you've bought the pen, all you USE is the ink.

So in the US at least * buy that ink from Goulet. They've got one or two to choose from and a selection of samples in vials or sets...

( * In Ireland, with Pen Corner in Dublin now gone, I get mine from CultPens or Penstore.)

*****

I should mention, for completeness, that some "starter" fountain pens have prices not much more than these disposables and, refilled by "proper" ink cartridges / bottle-refill converters, don't involve anything like this trouble.

Just saying...

*****

It just so happens that one of my two Vpens was about due for a refill, so here are some pics of the process.

I scrubbed the markings off the barrels a long time ago so I could see what was inside, since refills mean the ink in the pen often has nothing to do with its colour-indicator cap.

First, disassembled and washed in changes of warm water until the water stays clear.

Here's the nib and feed: they've always come out of both Vpens as a single unit, with no need for pliers. Since the nibs show no desire to come off I've no desire to force the issue and maybe break something; those little ink-guide fins are delicate.

The filler is a small syringe begged from our local vet. I also use it to refill cartridges with custom ink colours (yup, I sometimes roll my own...)

Its "needle" is plastic tubing (an empty Pilot gel-pen cartridge, appropriately enough) which fits the syringe perfectly, and a pointy end made by stretching the tube over a candle-flame then snipping to length. If it gets too stained - this is nearly there - just chuck it in the recycle bin and make a new one.

The ink could have been any of the 30-odd I have at the minute, or something mixed specially, but I chose this one - a nice dark green - for the same reason @dduane had me buy it.

It's a very cute bottle... :->

*****

And here's the "disposable" pen refilled, reassembled and re-writing.

It really does have a better nib than you'd expect from a supposedly single-use pen...

*****

It sometimes takes a while for the ink to work its way by capillary action down from barrel to nib, especially if everything has been left to dry after washing. Put the cap on the pen and be patient.

Or speed things up by taking the cap off and running a thin stream of hot water over the barrel for 30 seconds or so. This increases internal pressure, forcing the ink along the section fins.

NB, this step is only for a refilled Vpen / Varsity. Don't try it with anything else, and in case it's not obvious, do this at a washbasin or sink, because You Never Know.

Now use a bit of kitchen paper or loo roll to blot the water which has got on the nib. This has a mild "suction" effect, and when you see ink on the paper (you might need to wet the nib again) your refilled pen is ready for use.

This wet-and-blot nib step can be used to encourage any stubborn fountain pen to get back in action, but the hot water trick, once again, is Vpen only.

Anyway, done.

[blooming-violets]

Hi! This isn't a request but how do you think Peter would react to reader being a Funeral Director? Let's say it's like a blind date (set up by Auntie May ofc). Im asking because a good amount of your fics that you write with Peter revolve around death- weather it being Ben's, Gwen's, and/or what he see's around just being Spider-Man.

Lol this is coming from someone who's about to get their license to become a f.d if you couldn't tell :)

omg over a decade ago i used to roleplay with an oc who was my dark humored, lil goth queen and she was studying to become a funeral director and even though it was so long ago, once an oc, always an oc. she still lives up in my brain with the rest of every other character i've ever created in my life time. i'm going to channel her energy into my soul for this one

Ok, so! I love this.

(using gender neutral "they/them" for this character)

This might sound slightly gruesome but I'm going with it! May is getting a little older in age. Nothing crazy but she's a realist and she wants to be extra prepared when it's her time to go because she doesn't want to burden Peter with such things. She knows what it's like to go through the entire process of burying a dead loved one when you are in the middle of the worst grief of your life. She doesn't want Peter to have to make any of those choices like where to go and what casket to chose. She's a planner and is going to keep nurturing her boy even after death.

Soo she starts doing the rounds of looking into funeral homes, types of caskets, potential flower arrangements, details for the service, how she wants her body to be prepared...she's got it all figured out and in a binder with laminated pages. And she's having the time of her life doing all this because any chance to pull out some stationary is a good day in her book.

Peter freaks when he finds out because that's his girl and he refuses to let her die ever. But she calms him down by reminding him that death can happen to anyone, at any time, and she wants to be prepared for him. All he will have to do is hand over this binder to the director and they can do the heavy lifting so he can just take time to grieve. He's still not happy about it. Aunt May will never die. He doesn't even want to entertain the idea that it's a possibility even twenty years from now.

But then she throws in a lil twist.

"Oh, by the way, Peter...you have a date next Saturday night. I set you up with the director of the parlor. They were just lovely! So accommodating, so funny, absolutely gorgeous, not anything like I was expecting. I told them I had a nephew who was single. Showed them a picture of you. You know that picture I took last summer of you at the beach eating a Ninja Turtle popsicle next to the ice cream truck? I just love that picture...reminds me of when you were a boy...anyway, they agreed to meet up with you! Isn't that wonderful?"

And he's standing there speechless and mortified because only Aunt May would start prematurely planning for her death and then go around showing embarrassing, shirtless pics of him to his potential suitors...who are also helping her plan for her death. He tries to refuse to go but it's May and you can't say no to her. She will always win.

She picks out his best outfit for him and makes sure he's all dolled up (also to be sure he actually goes through with the date and doesn't bail).

He's shocked at how young and attractive they are when he meets them. Even though May insisted they would be a good match, he still was picturing some creepy old, sickly pale, skeletal man wear a dark suit. He's been dating a bit lately but nothing really sticks. This date feels different. He starts off by making a dark joke about dating the person who's going to bury his (still very much alive) aunt. Which gets a laugh from the both of them. They start in on how lovely it was to meet her and how she brightened up the house when she came for a meeting. And Peter talks about how baffled he was to find out she was even doing all that in the first place. He would have gone with her or been more than willing take care of everything. But they insist that May was adamant on doing it on her own. Peter asks a lot of questions on why they would ever want to go into this line of work but they just laugh it off. They're helping people, even after death. Helping their loved ones have the best final goodbye they can have.

The first date flows smoothly. They both try to avoid the death talk after the first few minutes and keep things light and happy. Peter is unknowingly smitten at the time but finds that once he goes home for the night, he can't stop thinking about them.

A second date is soon to follow. And a third. And fourth. And so on until they are officially dating.

I think as they get more comfortable with each other and open up to each other more, Peter will start to reveal how badly of a relationship he has with death. Reader has a healthy outlook on it. They don't mind taking care of the dead. They enjoy being able to provide that kind of service. Nothing really turns their stomach at this point. Peter can't remember much about his parents or their funerals, Uncle Ben's was a blur, and Gwen's is blackened out from his memory. It really upsets him to picture Reader doing any kind of body preparation. He keeps having intrusive thoughts about them working on Gwen's corpse and it kinda fucks him up. (They obviously weren't the one's who did that but his mind is putting the two people he cares about together without reason). Sometimes it makes it hard for him to look at them. It causes tension in the relationship. He starts to resent that they do that job. He think that they are "better than that" and they should leave that sort of job to someone else. He thinks it's gross and upsetting.

Reader would take massive offense to that. They love what they do. It's very important to them. Peter keeps not being able to hear what they're saying and is throwing his own uncomfortable attitude into the mix. They represent death to him and he hates death. Almost like they're a constant reminder of everyone he loved who has died. Cue the climaxy fight part where they separate for a bit in order for the growth to happen. Peter goes off to sulk and eventually ends up on May's doorsteps like a lost, sad puppy.

He'd need to go have a heart to heart talk with her about why he feels so uncomfortable dating someone who is so close to death. She'd talk about his past traumas, losing so many loved ones, and how he never allowed himself to put those people to rest. That's what Reader does. They helps other's put their loved one's to rest. And that frightens Peter because he's afraid of letting go. They represent someone who is at peace with themselves and Peter is living in a constant state of turmoil. In order to love properly again, he has to let go of the past. Reader can become a healthy path forward but only if Peter is able to cut off the baggage that is holding him back.

He'd let that talk sink in for a few days until he finally crawls his way back to their home with a box of their favorite chocolates (not flowers because they've seen enough flowers to last them their entire life time). He's met with nothing but a gentle smile and open arms. He'd open up to better explain himself to them so they can understand where he's coming from and see into his past. It's a healing moment for him to overcome.

Over time he'd warm up more and more to the idea of them working so closely to death. They both like to lighten any dark moods with some terrible jokes and dumb comments. A lot of silly ghost/ haunting talks. A lot him questing them about things. Like if guys can get an erection after death. Or what exactly is embalming fluid (bc he likes science-y things). And trying to find out the craziest things they ever experienced while working. They have endless stories to share so there's never a dull moment.

And when they finally find out about Mr. Parker and his big, giant Spider-Man secret, they threaten Peter that he better never end up on their table or else they'll mutilate his corpse by cutting off his dick and keeping it in a jar. (too dark? lmao not for them!)

Peter loves it. It makes him feel loved.

[ouroboros-hideout]

WIP WHENEVER, WHEREVER

(we are meant to be together shakira shakira)

@olath124 tagged me for this, thanks friend!

Still rather low on content or WIPs I can show but it's something

ART

Don't know if I would call it art actually but I am currently making myself some Discord emojis of Aon aka Knife Queen aka Blorbo Girl.

That's the first one I got done. Because smirking is very important 👆 will do 3 or 4 more I guess. Laughing, something sad, angery and what ever inspiration brings along the way.

VP

The Dogtown Noir pics where fun to do but I noticed real quick that I need a lot of focus to get some good shots. And I don't have that most of the time. I heard there is actually a city outside of Dogtown KEK maybe I will go there next and do some photos 💫

WRITING

Putting this last so no one is forced to read the wall of txt. I still have a lot of unfinished ramblings but nothing that would make sense to show. I started to write some small bits for my own amusement and positive vibes based upon a soft OTP promt list (or what ever it was called). It's only stupid conversations and I think it's nothing for AO3, so probably just throw it here whenever I finished one.

Write about your ship getting dressed up in fancy outfits together:

"Oh my god I hate this so much..."

Aon pulled on his black bolero jacket and looked at herself in the mirror next to the large closet in Kurt's apartment on the top floor of the Sapphire with an unimpressed expression.

"You don't like what I've chosen for you?" Kurt asked, still beeing busy in the bathroom.

"No... yes. I mean. No, I don't like all of this." She grimaced a little more and turned around to look at the elegant suit trousers and expensive shoes she would be wearing tonight.

"Fancy clothes, putting up with brainless snobs at glamorous parties. Pretending to care about what they do and who they are. I really don't know why you like that so much."

"You'll have fun, I'm sure of it." Kurt came back to the main room and took his leather harness, which was still lying on the bed, and put it around his shoulders. He chose a more elegant garment than usual for tonight aswell, as Alyona had demanded, but he wasn't going to abandon all of his military habits.

"I'll have fun at the bar. I know that for sure."

She was still tugging at the jacket, as if she was trying to minimize the revealing neckline of the top.

"And you had to pick something so provocative, didn't you? Well, at least it's not a glittery cocktail dress. You could have worn that yourself."

Kurt laughed heartily at the last comment, took a few steps over to her and fastened the last buttons on the collar of his black shirt.

"You look fantastic."

That didn't really convince her.

"Oh, shut the fuck up. I feel like I'm playing dress-up."

Kurt was now standing behind her, looking in the mirror with her, still smiling.

"Well, in a way, we do, don't we? If you want to get close to your prey, you have to wrap yourself in it´s fur."

Aon let out an amused snort. "You're such a poet Kurt, it's almost unbelievable," she replied sarcastically.

"Still, I'm glad you decided to come along. I don't think it will do you any harm to see something other than the workshop." He put his hands on her hips and leaned forward a little. At least he liked the sight of the two of them in the mirror.

"Hmmm, what I wouldn't give to spend all night fixing that Chimera-Junk gathering dust in your warehouse...", she replied with a playfully dreamy tone.

"You enjoyed the evening at the Totentanz. You can't deny that."

"You're seriously comparing your fancy-pants party to the thing at the Totentanz?"

"It was a party, you didn't want to go and you ended up enjoying it."

"Maybe because even the smallest circute in Maelstrom is a more interesting conversation partner than everyone you've invited today."

Kurt leaned a little closer to her.

"If you decide to stay here after all, I want you to come to every party. Not because I like to see you suffer, but because then I would finally have something to look forward to in the evening. Pleasant company and someone I can rely on."

"Don't get too excited. I might already have a plan to ruin everything."

"That doesn't matter. It would definitely still be a night to remember because you were with me."

Her face twisted into a grimace.

"Damn, you're such a suck-up. No wonder you've got all these snobs eating out of your hand."

"But the difference is that I mean my compliments to you seriously."

Kurt couldn't help but laugh again when he noticed Aon blushing and quickly turning away from the mirror so he wouldn't notice.

"Okay, let's get going. The sooner we get there, the sooner I can say I've tried long enough."

She hastily disengaged from his embrace and walked straight towards the door.

He followerd her right away.

"You stay until the end. I'll tell the bartender to keep you 'entertained'."

Think most of the ppl I would tag have already shown their awesome stuff lately so I will skip this time. See you next time!

[neutron-stars-collision]

Deadlines & Commitments

Neil x F!Reader

Chapter 3 - Canning Town Underground Station

Masterlist; Chapter 2 Summary: Flirting, Leicester Square station mixtape, flowers and breakdowns in the cantina. Or another chapter of an unlikely liaison. Warnings: Swearing, E-rated language and imagery and more outrageous flirting. Author's Notes: Chapter a month might just be the new deal here, apologies. And this one's long, by which I mean over 11k 💁🏻‍♀️ It also seems like now that I've started, I can't stay away from Neil's POV so... yeah. Look out for a cheeky cameo too 😉 Other than that, I can assure you this is just as chaotic and ridiculous as the last chapter. These two are in full control, I'm just a mere scribe, doing my best. Hopefully it works. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think? 💕 Taglist: @hollandorks, @kristevstewart, @stargirl25 (let me know if you want to be added)

Incorporating Neil into your daily (and weekly) life was easy. Almost terrifyingly so if you did as much as stop and think about it. Perhaps the self-preservation rooted deep within forbade you to reflect on it. Which, in hindsight, was a good thing.

After that first victory of obtaining Neil’s number, you did not hold back from texting and bombarding him with daily nonsensical memes that could have driven a different man to madness. Neil, however, took it in his stride. It was rare not to get a reply from him after longer than an hour. And that boosted your courage like nothing else.

Some days, the conversations went like this:

/ 🏹, 12:07 pm/ Show me what socks are you wearing.

/✝️, 12:13 pm/ Jesus, that’s forward.

/ 🏹, 12:14 pm/ That’s basically my second name. So?

/ 🏹, 12:14 pm/ I swear I won’t sell the pic on OF.

/✝️, 12:20 pm/ Well, if you do, then at least share the earnings with me.

Although you started the ridiculous conversation, when the next text came, consisting of a single image of a socked ankle bared by the familiar hand pulling up the pant leg, you nearly dropped the coffee cup in the middle of the Covent Garden. It was just an ordinary Tuesday lunchtime, with the square bustling with sound and movement. Using the rare sunny September day, you escaped the confines of the Royal Opera House to have your coffee break on the kerb. Thanks to the dwindling sense of coherence, you did not drop said coffee when you opened the photo. The socks you had asked for were black with a grey argyle pattern. But that was where the normalcy ended, for the rhombuses were filled with corgi heads. The brown-beige dogs stared at you through the screen with their beady eyes and were the reason for your hysterical laughter.

The overprotective mother tending to her children close by shot you a dirty look. Well, fuck her.

/ 🏹, 12:23 pm/ Neil, you’re too cute. Way too cute.

/✝️, 12:32 pm/ It’s what every guy wants to hear. Thanks, Cupid.

/ 🏹, 12:34 pm/ I never said you’re not hot, though. Which you very much are. So much that I thought of you when…

/✝️, 12:35 pm/ Yeah, don’t finish that sentence. Please.

/✝️, 12:35 pm/ I’d rather maintain my innocence.

/ 🏹, 12:36 pm/ As you wish 😘

That was not a lie. It was a result of yet another tiring day and an early night in bed when it was too early to sleep. So, you chose to fill the time like most women would, letting your thoughts drift to images and scenarios that always did the trick as your hand delved between your thighs. When you realised who you had been thinking of, the tension was so close to bursting that you did not try to shift the attention. When you came, the guilt was nowhere to be found.

After all, it was not a sin to think of pretty boys when taking the edge off. As soon as you realised that Neil did not take the flirty line seriously, that feeling of potentially having done something wrong became non-existent. It was fine. It was all fine.

Other times, especially during those Wednesday mornings on the Tube, your conversations looked more like this:

“I’ve got an invasive question…” changing the subject during your weekly chats was easy, for as soon as you set a weighty gaze on Neil, he sobered up too.

The endless questions did not seem to bother him either. Your boundless curiosity was particularly grateful for that.

“As long as you’re not going to ask me what underwear I’m wearing, I think we’re fine,” the poker face was only disturbed by Neil’s twitching lips, and the sparks danced in his eyes as he inclined his head in your direction, blessing you with the golden strands, “Shoot,”

Every time, you took a deep breath, silently gathering the courage to ask, and then let the question fall from your lips without a pause:

“When was the last time you’ve been in love?” the curiosity was all it was.

Yet still, Neil’s widening eyes made you consider that perhaps something else was underlining that desire to know. And that this question was different than others you had asked. Different from “Dogs or cats?” “Typical coffee order?” and “Any hidden talents?”. But it was too late to take it back.

“Oof, you weren’t joking” Neil seemed to shake it off quickly, only briefly offering you a glare before looking down to find the needed words, “Probably two-ish years ago…?” you were sure you had imagined the broken edge in his voice as Neil swallowed hard and continued “It was a disaster. She didn’t- Let’s just say I went in too hard and too fast, and she got scared. Pretty much ghosted me after a half-assed excuse” when he raised his head and meet your gaze, you could see the depths of hurt in his eyes.

Your heart felt pathetically hollow, but you smothered the feeling to nothing but an uncomfortable sting.

“Ouch,” a wince was easy enough to muster, and you followed it with an apology, “Sorry,” Neil’s crestfallen look was an inspiration for you to place your hand on his shoulder and give him a reassuring squeeze “I know that it doesn’t help, but it’s her, not you” you knew the light statement was the right way to go when Neil cracked a wry smile and gave your other wrist a tap.

“Thanks,” it was evident enough to realise that Neil was eager to drop the subject. It was clearer still that you were going to be the next target, “I won’t ask you the same since I know better, but… Do you really think no one could change your view on love?” yet when the question fell in the space between you, it was not what you had expected.

The surprise must have painted on your face, for Neil looked a second away from taking it back. You stopped him from doing that the only way you could think of – by extending your hand in what was universally thought of as a ‘hold up’ motion. It was not that you did not want to answer. And it was not the first time someone had asked either.

But it was not something you were keen on inspecting and tearing apart to offer an honest answer. It was a fact, pure and simple. A fact that you would believe in till the day you died. There was no place for love in your life, and there would never be. Full stop.

“Yeah, I do,” you met Neil’s waiting gaze and offered him a weak shrug. The strange disappointment in his gaze made no sense, so you chose to ignore it to shift your attention to the world outside the carriage as it arrived at the next station. The belief in your next words was as tangible as anything else you could conceive, “It would take a miracle”.

He did not ask that question again.

Those Wednesday morning conversations also became a source of information, which you had stowed securely in the compartment of your brain labelled ‘Neil’. After almost two months of acquittance, you knew that he was born and raised a Londoner (from Richmond, the posh fuck [affectionate]), was decidedly a dog person and had a chocolate Labrador growing up (a girl named Daisy), listened to alt-rock and 80s music and was what he described as a hopeless romantic. You still did not know what he did for work, only that he was decidedly not a tattooist, literary agent, paramedic, jockey, art critic, dressmaker, choreographer, or bus driver. Whether he was truly not just a priest undercover was still up for debate.

***

Only when you fled the confines of the ordinary tiny London flat kitchen and felt the night breeze of the city on your skin, left bare from the jacket you did not yet put on, had the question of the ages pop into your head. What the fuck? There was no answer. You shook your head against the memories of what had just conspired and stopped on the pavement to put on and fasten the jacket. Even annoyed, you could still feel the biting cold begin to settle in your bones.

You never expected to bump into Liam. Never in a million years would you have considered that those two friends you shared would extend the invitation to that man out of all people. And you certainly did not expect him to come.

Although, as he had unhelpfully explained himself, he only showed up because of the chance you would be there. The audacity made you shake your head vehemently, without a doubt attracting a glare or two from those who remained sober at this hour. In Soho on Saturday night, that was unlikely.

You walked through the cobbled streets with the neon lights lighting your path without an aim or a map. The only objective was to stomp the frustration into the cracked pavement and end up home. Somehow. Specifics were to be determined later.

Sure, rushing out of your mate’s flat like a lightning bolt could be seen as impulsive. But Liam offered you no choice. The pleasant buzz of alcohol did nothing to stop the embarrassment, which grew worse by the minute. The long walk in an unknown direction was a sad but acceptable consequence. Or so you aimed to maintain.

By the time you had seriously begun to consider using the dwindling phone battery to order an Uber and save you from the penance of someone else’s transgressions, the red circle with a navy blue bar appeared on the horizon. Salvation, at last. You picked up the pace, eager to get out of the cold and that one step closer to home. This close to Leicester Square and the theatres just having closed their doors on the last patrons, the bustle seemed quieter somehow, more subdued. It was a blessing for your budding headache and a threat to the thoughts eager to appear with nothing suppressing them.

You crossed the road and descended the staircase with a sigh. The heat of the station enveloped you like a hug as you passed the ticketing gates and spent an unnecessarily long time staring at the Tube map. When the logic kicked in, at last, you rushed over to the correct platform.

Only to regret it as soon as the timing screen came into view. Heathrow Airport 25 mins. The polite PSA text below informed you the line was experiencing delays. No biggie. They were sorry. The usual shit. A curse litany lodged in your throat as your eyes roamed over the platform.

All the noise in your head faded to nothing when your gaze settled on that familiar blonde head of hair. He was sitting in one of the few chairs with his head bowed over his knees in a position so exemplary for a Saturday night in the glorious London town. You skimmed over his body, taking note of the casual jeans and a t-shirt, peeking from beneath the unbuttoned jacket.

Before you knew it, your legs had started carrying you in his direction, a goofy smile present on your face. The improbability of it happening made everything easier. Because what were the odds?

Instead of counting them, you approached Neil, still so blissfully unaware of your presence and delivered an opening line:

“Hello, Father,” the joke did not yet get old, and you still got the kick out of it.

Especially when Neil raised his head fast enough to give himself a whiplash and gasped from shock.

“Jesus- Oh, what the fuck?” clutching at his heaving chest with all the drama he could muster, Neil offered you a look so full of surprise you knew he did not expect this to happen either.

The only weekend plans you had discussed over texts were that you had a party to go to, and he was likely to go out with his workmates at some point. But that was it. Zero specifics, no need to share them because there was no need for either of you to know the details. And yet.

“Is that how you should greet a lady?” playing on his theatrical reaction, you feign a shocked expression.

It was clear you would fail at any attempts of annoyance. Your cheeks were already aching with that kind of wide, manic grin only Neil seemed to cause. You could see his eyes skim over your figure, taking in your clothes with that sort of precision only he seemed capable of. Finally, satisfied with what he saw, Neil raised his head to meet your gaze again and got up to bow lowly at your feet:

“Apologies, m’lady,” before you knew what he was doing, he took hold of your hand and kissed your knuckles. A move so fast you almost thought you had imagined it if not for the fading sensation of his lips still ghosting your skin, “What are you doing here?” with his hand lightly touching your elbow, Neil steered you towards the seats.

Only now, with the surprises fading into the background, you took note of the empty platform. It was just the two of you sitting on the creaky plastic chairs. You shifted an inch closer to Neil, seeking the warmth radiating off his body and replied:

“As I’ve mentioned, I had an invitation to this flat party in Soho… And I went, but then, and you’ll never believe that happened-” recounting the improbable story felt good, and you took pleasure in the attention Neil gave your every word.

“Let me guess… Liam showed up?” his interjection followed your dramatic pause flawlessly.

Of course, he got it. Of course, he guessed. You shook your head at his eager smile, aware of the glee in your eyes:

“Damn, you’re good” your low approving whistle reverberated in the space. Most shockingly, there was a certain level of joy in sharing the story, even as your skin crawled with the embarrassment of what transpired, “Yeah, and it turns out that getting blocked did not make him smarter. It became a whole thing, along with him getting down on his knees in the middle of a kitchen and proclaiming his undying love to me,” you wondered if Liam was still there, kneeling on the tiled floor and waiting for your return.

Partially, you hoped that was the case.

Throwing you out of the strange ruminations, Neil shook his head and offered you a serious look:

“Blimey,” his tsk almost got lost in the PA announcement, crackling from the speakers. When it ended, Neil met your gaze with a sympathetic smile, “No wonder you ran away,” his knee nudged yours, triggering something you would not understand even in months.

Sitting upright, you nodded fervently:

“I had to” the emotions you did not know were present poured out from your lips as the next words fell in the space between you, “And like- He doesn’t even know me? He never saw me on the stage, and he thinks that making me cum a couple of times is enough?” a frustrated growl tore from your chest as you finished the tirade with a tired sigh and simple punchline, “Bullshit,��

There was no time or willingness to take apart where all that anger came from or why it was suddenly so important Neil understood your reasons. It just was. Later it was easily blamed on the alcohol still present in your veins. For now, you met his gaze and shrugged, answering the questions he seemed too shy to ask.

“With that, I must agree. It’s bullshit” nudging you with his shoulder, Neil smiled, brightening the clouds that still seemed to hang over your mind.

You shot him a brilliant grin, brushing away the concerns with terrifying ease. They had to wait, ideally forever.

“Thanks, babe” sugar coated your smile as you allowed yourself to gaze, taking note of the blush spreading on his cheeks. Although you would never admit it out loud, the blue of his eyes was slowly becoming your favourite shade of the colour. It was that thought that triggered your next confession, “Admittedly, meeting you here is a highlight of the night,” you watched as his eyes grew wider, evidently not expecting to hear something that honest. The moment stretched for what felt like ages until you found the strength to look away, focusing on the timing screen and the issues it posed, “Though, those delays are bullshit, too” your eye-roll elicited an instant laugh, which only added warmth to the kindling sparks in your chest.

“Mhmm,” Neil’s hum acted like an anchor, tying you to reality.

It was a better place to get lost in than the chaos raging in your head. You chose to stick by it, following the easy way out with a simple question:

“How come you’re here?” you turned towards Neil, hoping to block the platform and the world beyond from view.

Even if just figuratively and for a short while. If the answering bright smile was anything to go by, Neil was happy to humour you:

“I’ve been out for drinks at a pub, but then our crowd isn’t very… boisterous, so we all went our separate ways, and here I am,” he signed off the summary with an explanatory shrug, but you should have kept your guard up. Once his gaze settled on you with an intensity of intent, a pathetic instinct kickstarted your heart with all the subtlety of trainwreck, “Bored as fuck until you’ve shown up” the joy in that simple sentiment was enough to make your cheeks heat up.

Of its own volition, your brain provided the fresh memory of how Liam’s attention in that cursed kitchen had made you feel. How running away was the only option you saw then. It was different now; the quiet focus of the man sitting next to you was a welcomed change. A company you were happy to keep. For however long you were allowed.

“How long do you think till it’s-” ignoring the shyness that did not seem happy to be buried in Neil’s company, you changed the subject with all the grace of an elephant.

It was evident in how you stuttered, quickly abandoning the idea of finishing the sentence and letting it trail off into the quiet. It was too early to raise your head from the depths of shame it was drowning in. It was all a little too much.

“Could be twenty minutes, could be an hour… or never,” Neil’s voice gained a cheeky edge as if conscious of your minor crisis and happy to offer a distraction.

You risked a peek at his face, finding the signature smirk gracing his face. That expression never failed to feel like a sharpened knife piercing through the walls of your uncertainty. It complimented his face too well, dragging the attention to Neil’s sharp features and his remarkable eyes that always felt like they could see right through your bullshit and the pretending. It was terrifying.

It was then, in the light of his frightening beauty, that you decided what to do next. What was necessary to keep you (moderately) sane. One look at your tote bag lying on your lap offered inspiration:

“Fab,” your dry comment elicited Neil’s laugh and sealed the deal on what you wanted to do next. There was no backing out. You straightened your spine and swivelled on the seat to face him fully. When your knees touched him, Neil’s eyes widened almost comically. But that was only the beginning of the wild ride for him, you were sure of it, “Well, then… Dance with me,” the delivery of that line required a special nonchalance.

One that required you to hold Neil’s gaze long after you had finished speaking, and the words had only just dawned on him. Once they did, his eyes got comically large, and his lips parted on what could only be a mute expression of horror. A giggle got trapped in your throat, but you fought valiantly against it. For now.

“Pardon?” Neil’s choked-out question came after sequenced opening and closing his mouth with nothing coming up.

Your poker face was tearing at the seams. Foolishly.

“Dance with me, Neil,” repeating the request (order?), you extended your hand towards him, signing off the invitation for what it was.

The shock was still present on his face. Despite that, Neil slipped his palm, warm and fitting perfectly, into yours. You could tell that it was not entirely conscious on his part.

You sure did not mind it, though.

“I might have had a drink or two, but I didn’t think I was drunk enough to be hearing things,” Neil’s incredulity bled into his tone as he stared you down as if hoping the sheer disbelief would be enough to deter you.

Tough luck.

“Come on,” squeezing his hand, you switched the tactic with a question, “What’s the worst thing that can happen?” there was no judgment in your gaze, and you hoped Neil knew that.

If asked, you could not explain why that was something you wanted to do with him, there and then of all places. But it still felt important. Urgent, even.

The no-bullshit look you got in return almost made you burst into laughter.

“You’ll see me dance,” Neil deadpanned as if it was clear.

As if that was the peak horror that could befall him at your hands. Using the lifeline of your joined palms, you rubbed your thumb over the tender skin of his hand, hoping to let that act as a reassurance. That was a nonsensical fear to have.

Who gave you, a mediocre ballerina, the right to judge? Absolutely no one.

“And?” you offered Neil a brilliant grin, doing your best not to think about how right it felt to have his hand resting in yours.

That question seemed to catch his attention, pulling him back from the precipice of self-doubt. You watched as Neil pondered the answer, staring at you with that bright-eyed, anxious expression, complete with his teeth nibbling on his lower lip. He picked at the worried, fragile skin, and you did not think about soothing the damage with your tongue. Not at all.

“I don’t know… You’ll leave and block me?” when he finally found a plausible answer, it was the last thing you expected Neil to say.

Despite the seriousness on his face, you could not hold back the laugh that spilt from your lips. What an idiot [affectionate]. The adorable pout in his bottom lip was responsible for the recklessness you chose to implement.

Without thinking about it too much, you leaned in and used your free hand to cup his face, eradicating the remains of the gap between you. As your thumb brushed over his cheekbone, Neil gasped, barely disguising the sound with a cough. The grin spread over your face as you spoke:

“It takes a little more than that for me to block you,” that was true; you could barely fathom blocking Neil, least of all because of such a trivial reason. It was only after a beat that the second meaning of what he said sunk in. The meaning you expected Neil did not exactly consider slipping out like that. You grabbed it with both hands and a knowing smile, “Also… you enjoy talking to me that much?”

The jackpot shot came with a furious blush on his cheeks and an embarrassed scoff as Neil turned away from your watchful gaze. Your hands stayed linked. That, too, was an adorable reaction. It made that pleasant warmth in your chest burner brighter, though you refused to inspect it too closely.

Before you could consider pushing him for a reply further, Neil jumped up from the creaky seat and pulled you to standing using your tight handhold. The fake pep was visible from miles away, especially in that manic grin that almost seemed too wide on his face. But you did not have the time to question it.

“Okay, let’s just dance,” Neil tugged at your hand impatiently.

He did not seem capable of standing still, hopping from one leg to another. If that was a sign of what was coming, you knew you were not ready. Your eyes narrowed in what you hoped was a mildly threatening look:

“That’s a deflection tactic,” still, you took a step closer to him, finally putting that handhold to use.

“Yes, it is,” Neil nodded as his arms opened in a shrug.

That was your answer. You could only cement it with a smile as you allowed him to pull you closer, almost into his open arms, except-

“Wait, we need music,” remembering that crucial missing piece, you let go of his hand and darted back to the tote abandoned by the seats.

“No shit,” Neil’s dry comment was accompanied by the scuffling of his shoes over the cracked tiles.

You grinned, triumphantly holding out the speaker you had fished from the bag. That was the only pro you could think of that came from your earlier practice, and no time in between that and the disastrous party.

“Lucky for you, I came prepared,” you showcased it like a spoil of war and turned the speaker on, awaiting the sound confirming it had connected to your phone. When it came, you ceremoniously placed the device on the vacated seat and pressed play on your phone. Only once the music was playing, you turned back towards Neil with a flourish, “Voila,”

It took him an additional second to identify the song, the synthesizer filling the empty platform with a special kind of vibe. When the proper beat kicked in, you started shimmying your hips and shoulders to the rhythm, awaiting Neil’s reaction. You were not disappointed when he gaped at you with joy barely disguised underneath a frown:

“Really?” still, his foot started tapping with the singer’s voice.

Shrugging, you spun around him, feeling the music fill your body like it always did. You always felt the most alive when dancing. When your feet were following the choreography, and head was deliciously empty of everything but the musical notes and lyrics.

When you stopped to meet Neil’s gaze, you found him staring back in awe.

“What? It’s not me; it’s the holy spirit of the shuffle,” the song started heading towards the chorus, so you added the hand movements, orbiting around Neil and hoping to pull him along, “Can’t argue with it,”

‘Don't. Don't you want me?

You know I can't believe it when I hear that you won't see me

Don't. Don't you want me?

You know I don't believe you when you say that you don't need me’

It was an all-time favourite. A bop you did not have the heart to resist whenever it came on. Now was not any different. Your lips started whispering the words as your body moved through the space, overcome with the feeling of dancing. At that moment, you were grateful for the sensible footwear your past self had chosen that morning. Sure, dancing in high heels was possible, but the Converse made for a much better choice. They slid along the cracked tiles without resistance, allowing you to double the efforts.

It did not matter that you had an audience. Or that it was a particularly attentive one, for you never once felt Neil look away. He was still staring, standing almost stock-still, save for how his feet tapped out the beat. That had to change.

‘Don't you want me, baby?

Don't you want me? Oh!’

You stopped, chest heaving and limbs still too giddy with the effort. You met Neil’s unwavering gaze over the space and mouthed the chorus, aware of the interpretations he could easily reach. That was fine, nothing you were opposed to. In a way, him noticing half your actions did have a tentative hope behind them would have saved you time. And words. But that was a thought for another time.

Once you heard the female vocals come in, you reached out towards him, yet again presenting Neil with your open hand. Yet again, he did not hesitate, letting you pull him close. When the distance had been eradicated, Neil placed his hand on your waist with an experimental level of timidity. As if he was still fully expecting the move to backfire. Silly goose. Your hand ventured up his chest to his shoulder as you steeled your frame into what was expected of ballroom dancing. The habits were hard to shake off, after all.

Despite the booming synthesizers and grooving rhythm, you let him lead you into a slow dance. With each step, Neil’s confidence seemed to grow, for his grip became firmer as he splayed his hand over the small of your back and pulled you closer. It did not matter that his technique would bring your snobbish teachers from ballet study to tears. What mattered was that you felt safe within his embrace, never shying away from Neil’s gaze as it stayed trained on your face. What also mattered was that the genuine smile was fixed on your face. Especially when the song was slowly ending, and Neil was not letting go. What a novelty that was. You worried that once you tasted it, it would be impossible to let go. To forget this careless feeling, encapsulated within a simple, tender hold and open, beautiful eyes.

“That was hardly a song for slow dancing,” when Neil spoke, the remark came upon a hesitant smile, so at odds with how sure his hand was within yours.

“We made do, didn’t we?” you could only offer him a smile, aware of the wobbly edges of your voice and the yearning of your treacherous heart.

Even with years of practice, it sometimes wanted what it could not get. Affection, namely. Or the tenderness that meant something, rather than the mindless touch of a loveless fuck. You hoped one day those two would disappear, leaving you perfectly satisfied with what you had.

As if aware of your dangerous thoughts, the song switch came at a perfect moment. The last beats of The Human League died down, replaced with an equally cheesy rhythm. If not worse. Neil’s reaction was instant. He stopped dancing abruptly, making you nearly miss stepping on his foot. Your eyes darted to his face as curiosity soared in your chest. The barely masked joy you found there only made that warmth in your heart feel like tongues of fire. You disentangled from the embrace to place your hand on his chest and push him back lightly:

“Come on, pretty boy. Show me what you’ve got,” you completed the encouragement with a wink and stepped back to give him space.

The hesitation stage lasted much less this time. Neil stared at you, evidently weighing the pros and cons of giving in, but as soon as Falco opened the song with the lines in German, he had made up his mind. It was your turn to be dumbfounded as you watched Neil thrash to the music, almost keeping up with the beat. He slid across the tiles, barely managing not to slip as Falco went on about Mozart and his flair.

‘Er war ein Virtuose, war ein Rockidol

Und alles rief: Come on and rock me Amadeus’

It was easy to say Neil got lost in the music as his lean body twisted and turned, claiming the space he was allowed to occupy. There was grace in his movement, as well as carelessness, perfectly balancing the dance into an ideal mixture. A rare spark of envy kindled in your chest as you did your best to ignore the question of what it must feel like to be this free. During the poor attempt at moonwalking as he circled you, you could no longer hold back the laugh. Neil’s hands weaved through the air as he threw his head back to shout the hook along with the singer. With each call of Amadeus’ name, the affection in your chest grew, becoming increasingly lethal. A show of that kind displayed not only his trust but also what kind of a man Neil could be if he got rid of his shyness and inhibitions. It was something you doubt you could ever forget.

And that could be a problem.

When the song drew to a close, and Neil’s heaving breaths alerted you that he was probably worn out with exertion, he stopped. The reverberating beats sunk into the background as you met his gaze, aware of the silly softness you could not eradicate from your eyes. Neil looked manic, his pupils dilated and irises sparkling. He was breathing hard, the exhaustion making him shrug off the jean jacket with impatience, so far that Neil did not bat an eyelid when the article landed on the dirty floor. The reveal of an old, worn-out t-shirt underneath that hugged his broad shoulders and biceps just right made your jaw fall slack.

That, too, could be a problem.

Despite the common sense screaming at you to look away, you stared on, aware of Neil gazing right back. A wiser person would have shaken awake in time to switch off the music and call this quits before any further damage could be done. But you were never the wiser person.

You looked on as the song switched into a different era of music, and gentle, cheesy chords of piano and percussion filled the platform with a ballad almost everyone knew. Neil was not any different. You noticed the change in his eyes, switching from playfulness to mild seriousness. As if he, too, knew your fates were being decided at that exact moment.

However, the results of those decisions would not be noticeable until much later.

Using Elvis’ crooning as a backup to help drown your thoughts, you reached out your hand towards Neil, repeating the invitation. It was up to him whether he wanted to take it. Just like everything else in your friendship. The eager hope was hard to nip in the bud. It itched and ached until you could hardly stand still, awaiting the sentencing for what felt like hours. At last, Neil closed the gap and took your proffered hand with an impassive look.

The second time bore all the experience of the first, making it easier to fall in place without hesitation. Neil clasped your hand in his and let his other arm wind around your waist, pulling you close. Much closer than before. Your hand found its way to his shoulder, curious fingers stroking the expanse of his neck, revealed by the t-shirt collar. You did your best not to notice the goosebumps rising on his skin. It was impossible to tell which of you moved first, leading into the gentle sway. Only once you started waltzing around the empty platform, it was impossible to stop.

‘Would it be a sin

If I can't help falling in love with you?’

Halfway through the song, you tilted your head back from where your gaze had been trained on the expanse of his chest and met Neil’s waiting gaze. The shock passing through your system felt like a fatal blow. There was no denying the fact that this was a first. The first time you had ever danced like that with someone, motivated by nothing else but the desire to do it. There was also no denying the fact Neil’s watchful eyes and the soft strokes of his fingers, running along the expanse of your waist down to your hip, felt like nothing else you could have ever experienced before or after. It was well past your usual flirty chats and casual innuendos. Well past the daily playfulness of whatever it was blooming between you. It was well past the worn-out tracks and lived-in spaces.

Absolutely fucking terrifying.

‘Take my hand,

Take my whole life, too

For I can't help falling in love with you

For I can't help falling in love with you’

It was impossible to say what had tipped the scales right then. Whether it was the song lyrics, drawing attention to all those things you would rather ignore till the end of time or the unwavering eye contact you had maintained as you spun across the space with grace that had not been there previously. Or whether it was due to how Neil held you steadily, all the while allowing himself to stare, eyes roaming over your face in a meticulous study. But perhaps it was just a trick of fate, a sudden loss of reason and logic that made you tip forward and give in to the gravitational pull of his orbit. Perhaps Neil was guilty of the same thing.

Before you knew what had failed and why, you were close enough to feel the gasp of his breath fan across your face. The air ghosted your lips as your nose brushed against Neil’s, and the time slowed to a crawling speed. There was no denying the fact that you wanted it. The want hummed underneath your skin and made it hard to think clearly.

You only knew that Neil closed his eyes, and his sharp intake of breath hit your lips, making you tilt forward. Making it oh so easy to let go and-

“This is Piccadilly Line service towards the Heathrow Airport,” the PA system crackled to life, forcing you to separate as if burned.

You blinked awake, barely noticing the train slowing at the platform and the music still playing from your speaker. One glance at Neil told you all feelings were very much mutual. It was a close call. So close you could almost feel the kiss that never happened. An uncertain smile played upon your lips as you turned off the music and jumped aboard the train. You could only hope the King of the Rock’N’Roll himself was wrong about this one.

***

It was a well-known truth that a pretty boy could make you a little stupid. Stupid enough to do things that, under normal circumstances, would be off the table. But all it took was a flash of blue eyes and a charming smile, and boom, logic gone, reason decimated. Usually, there was a price to pay for that.

But the potential costs meant nothing in the face of the revelations the Saturday night brought. Namely, the kiss that never happened but you could easily dream of. Which you did, just to brighten up the restless sleep. Needless to say, that night unlocked some things. Things that perhaps were best left untouched. But hindsight was a gift you did not yet possess.

Instead, you battled with a single idea that was difficult to eradicate. Sure, that night, or how it had almost ended, was never mentioned again. As early as the next day Neil reached out to you and set the tone you were happy to follow. But the memory remained, nagging at your brain for a week and not once letting go. It was a seed that planted another thought. The thought that nothing was preventing you from reaching out for more. That there was no script to follow with Neil. That idea was like a brainworm making a home inside your skull.

Because, yes, you were known to be a little stupid for attractive boys. And Neil was potentially the most beautiful man you have ever met. That proved to be a problem.

Exactly a week after that Saturday, you caved in. The autumn breeze was hitting your face and tangling your hair as you stared at the Thames. There was no better place to start a catastrophic chain of events than the Blackfriars Bridge. Or so you told yourself. You took out the phone to stare at the messages and opened the text conversation with Neil. It took an additional fortifying breath to start typing out the proposition and start the exchange.

/ 🏹, 5:39 pm/ So, I figured, since we already broke the rules on our hangouts last Saturday

/ 🏹, 5:40 pm/ Would you like to grab coffee tomorrow?

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ That’s unexpected.

/✝️, 5:45 pm/ Why the sudden change of heart?

/ 🏹, 5:46 pm/ I liked your moves.

/✝️, 5:47 pm/ I’m pretty sure no one’s ever said that to me.

/ 🏹, 5:49 pm/ Maybe they just weren’t looking. I knew I was.

/✝️, 5:51 pm/ Okay, yeah. I’d like that.

/✝️, 5:52 pm/ Any labels I should be aware of?

/ 🏹, 5:52 pm/ Nah, fuck the labels.

/ 🏹, 5:53 pm/ Unless you want to bring me flowers. Then let’s call it a date.

/✝️, 5:55 pm/ Then it’s a date 😘

You stared at the phone long after the screen went dark. Along with the buzzing joy and anticipation of what tomorrow would bring, there was also an eternal question. The question you had avoided pretty damn well so far. What the fuck have you done?

***

By the time you were meeting Neil in a café (chosen because of its perfect location between St. John’s Wood and Swiss Cottage), those nerves of anticipation had transformed into anxiety. The worst was that you did not even know what you were so nervous about. A date (that was not really a date) was nothing new. You have done it many times before, usually to great results. But suddenly, when Neil was inserted into the equation, all that you got was uncertainty. And a strong fear of fucking it up. It did not make for a good mix.

Part of it dissipated once you turned the street corner and saw him waiting in front of the café, a bouquet in hand, despite your line being nothing more than a throwaway joke. An affectionate smile was impossible to get rid of no matter how hard you may have tried. It stayed as you closed the remaining distance and met Neil’s gaze. Then it got transformed into a stupid grin as your eyes scanned him head to toe (hair just as messy as always, leather and jeans completed with sneakers – in other words: fucking hot). Once that foolery was complete, you could shift your attention to the flowers, now held out in your direction like a sheepish offering.

It was a colourful bouquet of wildflowers, freshly bloomed and coming from a florist rather than Sainsbury’s. The thoughtfulness was enough to make you blush. Before you could delve into an embarrassing attempt at cover-up, Neil broke the silence:

“You haven’t specified what kind of flowers,” his shyness was easily seen from the fidgeting hands and eyes unwilling to stay on your face longer than necessary.

That was your cue to get yourself together and accept the bouquet with a courtesy. That, too, was just a trick to drag that shy smile onto his face. It worked.

“Those are perfect, thank you,” with another smile, you turned towards the entrance and went in as Neil held the door. It was a cosy café with only a few tables and a bar-service ordering. You motioned towards the smiling server behind the counter with a question, “Wanna go order coffee?”

You did not expect in response to your innocent ask for Neil to come to a strange stand-still in the middle of the entryway and measure you with a look that spoke volumes about him having something to say and no way of expressing it. You raised your eyebrow, urging the words to come out and save you from death by perplexation.

After a beat, Neil seemingly found the ability to speak again and stumbled through a sentence:

“I’ve got… uh… a thing,” the emphasis on the final word was accompanied by an awkward shift, his hand automatically reaching up to comb through his hair and messing it up even more.

That did not help. At all. You blinked, aware of the comedy role you had just been awarded without warning. You were vaguely conscious of the server’s gaze, undoubtedly staring at the spectacle presented with fascination.

“Jesus, what thing?” when Neil did not elaborate, you prodded with another question, gaining a slightly hysterical edge.

It was probably that tone which made the most impact. Neil seemed to wake up, his hands gesturing as he attempted to explain:

“A thing about figuring out people’s drink order,” he shrugged, almost as if already embarrassed by ever bringing it up; that would not do, “Like a-”

“A kink?” you interrupted his explanation with a devilish grin, knowing that it would do the job.

That and the teasing, of course.

The reaction was instantaneous. Where previously there had been mild shyness and uncertainty, the furious blush had bloomed. Neil looked horrified as he took a step in your direction as if considering sealing your mouth shut before finally admitting defeat. What you got instead was a glare and an affronted reply:

“What? No! More like talent, I guess,” Neil shrugged, visibly battling the dilemma you were not privy to. You decided to help him the best way you knew how – by reaching out and squeezing his hand. Once. Just once. It was enough to do the job and make your fingers itch with an inexplicable desire to prolong the contact. Luckily, it disappeared when Neil recovered from his internal crisis and gestured towards the counter, “May I?”

You could only nod, happy that whatever had just transpired was past you. Not that it was not fun, but because of the audience that did not deserve to see what had happened. Whatever it was.

“You’ve got me intrigued, so now you have to,” shrugging upon Neil’s hesitant smile, you ventured inside the café, scouting for a perfect table.

Soon enough, the ideal booth had been located and taken as you awaited Neil’s return. You did not have to wait long, for as soon as you settled and placed your coat on the backrest, he sat in the chair in front. That sheepish smile was still in place, so you tried to bring back his confidence with dumb chitchat until you were interrupted by the server approaching your table. It worked. As you both fell quiet, Neil was visibly fighting a grin threatening to transform his face. The pride surged in your veins without respect towards your sense of humility.

The woman shot you both a bright smile as she set neared the table and put a steaming porcelain cup in front of Neil:

“Flat White for you, sir, and for your girlfriend-” you never got to hear the end of that sentence as Neil’s horrified expression and a loud interruption stole your attention.

“Oh, we’re not-” your laughter was almost enough to drown out his protest.

Almost because the server still looked extremely apologetic as she placed a larger cup in front of you with a clink.

“-Caramel Macchiato,” you waved off the atonement she seemed ready to launch and smiled, the curiosity at his choice already occupying your mind.

“Thank you,” as soon as the woman was out of earshot, you turned your cheeky smile onto Neil and covered his hand resting on the table with your palm, “Are you ashamed of me, my darling?” your favourite blush spread upon his cheeks, widening your grin in the process.

A blunder like that was not something you would ever lose sleep over. Even less so, considering that you were there with Neil. Even with your deep-rooted dislike over anything that had to do with relationships and the complications they lead to, you could not possibly be angry over being perceived as belonging to Neil. If anything, it was flattering.

“Stop it,” he shook off your hand, way too gently, and shook his head as if desperate to clear it, “I just didn’t-” after a beat, he dropped your gaze, giving up the fight, “It doesn’t matter, sorry” although you would do anything to understand the thought processes unfolding behind those slightly vacant blue eyes, you were not given a chance. Instead, he took a fortifying sip of coffee and looked at your cup, (not so) swiftly changing the topic “So… how did I do?” the anticipation in that gaze offered no space for a bargain.

You glanced at the beverage in front of you and slowly raised it to get a tentative taste. The warm liquid slightly burned your tongue, but before you could mourn the damage, the caffeine and creamy caramel filled your mouth with pleasurable goodness. It was a top-notch choice, making you follow that first sip with another almost without a break. Burned tongue be damned.

“Very good, actually,” raising your head, you met Neil’s proud smile. It was a much better look than the embarrassed expression from earlier, motivating you to add, “Maybe you should try getting into BGT with that talent,” you winked at him, even if to prolong the blush, which had begun to fade.

But also because it was fun to compliment him, considering that you meant every word and because of your suspicions that Neil did not get them often. That alone was a travesty, in your opinion.

“Very funny,” rolling his eyes at you with a happy smile tucked in the corner of his lips, Neil looked even better.

It was easy enough a conclusion that lightness and happiness were a good look on him. Especially when you were the cause. You tried not to let that go into your head, but… Well.

“I know,” you matched his smile with a smirk of your own, “Hysterical,” with the perfect pause to take another sip of the glorious coffee, you shifted the topic, “How was the week at the clergy?”

Without Neil’s continuous amused reactions to the same old joke, you would have dropped it by now. But how could you if it still got a laugh out of him each time? You couldn’t let opportunities like that slip by. No chance.

This time, Neil hid the joyous huff of laughter in the coffee cup as he pondered the answer.

“It’s been good. Fine,” a noncommittal shrug offered no room for guessing what it was that he did, which was still a mystery, but you counted wins where you could find them, “A bit busy, but what can you do. I might have a work trip coming up soon, so…” it was only when the second part of his reply was processed by your brain, currently preoccupied with staring at Neil’s mouth (which was a very normal state of mind to have), that you perked up.

That was important information. For two contrasting reasons. One was that whatever Neil did for work involved work trips, and that narrowed down the field, albeit barely. Two was that it would mean he would not be around every Wednesday, ready to meet you. That second deduction took hold of your heart with the icy grasp of disappointment.

“So, no more Wednesday meetups?” it was impossible to keep the sadness out of your tone as you settled a wary gaze on Neil.

Sure, it was survivable. But where would be the fun in it?

It was not fun to see that same apprehension creep into Neil’s eyes.

“Yeah, but only like… for a few weeks,” from his sudden dislike of eye contact, you guessed that the estimation might have been an understatement. Though you did hope he was not lying. The pitiful look must have been still present on your face, for Neil followed the statement with reassurance, “I’m sure you’ll survive without me,” he hesitated for a millisecond before returning your previous gesture and giving your hand a comforting pat.

You did not move it away, the pleasant warmth and weight of his palm seeping through your skin and soothing the sudden spell of sadness. It was difficult not to let that inexplicable feeling lead you into the deep end as it was not something you understood. It settled in the darkest cavern of your heart and accompanied its beat with its foreboding presence. There was no choice but to push past it.

“I don’t know, I’m going to miss you,” the confession felt dangerously light on your tongue as you registered Neil’s reaction. His beautiful eyes widened almost imperceptibly, and he quickly dropped your gaze, choosing to stare at the table instead. The only sign that you were heard was how his thumb stroked your hand repeatedly, “I hope you’ll be back before the premiere,” using the only way you knew of lightening the conversation, you made sure to slip in a playful tone.

Ever since the day you had shared joyous news with Neil, he often asked about the preparations for the ballet. He seemed genuinely interested in the process, the rehearsals, and your impressions at every stage.

When you innocently hinted at a costume fitting in your texts Neil immediately asked for a picture. You complied, gleefully posing in the dressing room mirror wearing the whole get-up, complete with pointe shoes, tights, and a white ballet tutu with the accents of blue flower petals. All in all, you had the right to believe that Neil would be interested in coming to see the ballet when it premiered. You had that covered.

“I’ll do my best,” his hopeful smile was enough to distract you, for soon Neil followed it with a question, “Do I get an invite?”

The cheeky smile was back in full force, almost wiping you off the surface of the Earth. More of that, please. Feeling brave, you slowly tangled your fingers with his to raise your joined hands from the tabletop and squeezed his palm. It was a silly question to ask. You had to make sure Neil knew that.

“Well, duh,” you started with an eye roll, taking pleasure from the feel of his hand holding yours, “I’m going to need a personal cheerleader for when I fail big time,” it was a rare thing to hear you admit the fear and anxieties out loud.

Most of the time, they only existed in your mind, never expressed. And especially not in a conversation because that fear of someone else confirming all you feared was overwhelming. It was better to appear invincible to the world than to let them know your weaknesses. Somehow this logic did not want to apply itself to Neil. No, he has heard it all. And yet, he did not seem keen on confirming you were right to doubt yourself.

“That’s not going to happen. You’ll be the perfect Cupid,” punctuating the encouragement with a squeeze of the hand, Neil shot you a brilliant grin.

The nickname was growing on you. It was also the cause of a few silly smiles during the rehearsals when you were addressed with your character role. That was alright, too.

Now, with the force of his beautiful smile shining upon you like a rare beacon of hope, you tried your hardest not to let the praise consume you whole. Instead, you turned to the faithful vice of sarcasm as you let go of his hand and settled your chin on your folded palms. Eyelashes and doe eyes in full force. Naturally.

“Wow, my charms must be working if you’re this blindsided,” curling the corner of your mouth in a smirk, your eyes roamed over his face in familiar patterns.

It was refreshing to remember why you invited him out in the first place. Why you have decided to break the unwritten role and step on the line you both had been tiptoeing from day one. Why nothing was holding you back from reaching for what you wanted.

This time, Neil did not turn away from your taxing gaze and met it head-on. Almost as if permitting you to proceed with whatever you desired.

“You’ve no idea, sweetheart,” mirroring your tentative smirk, Neil offered you a wink and picked up the coffee cup.

You were certainly not going to eschew a chance like that.

***

As far as first dates (could he even call it that?) went, meeting up for coffee and letting the conversations run without a disaster somewhere in between was rare. Even rarer still considering that Neil did not know how he got to this point and whether it was not all a dream. The jury was out on that. Even though Sunday was now two days ago, the meeting was still fresh in his mind, posing a thousand questions.

Because he really did not know how he got that place. The only certainty was that sometime between the surprising Saturday night meeting at Leicester Square station and the day after, Cupid made up her mind and chose to strike. Alternatively, she decided to act considering the realisations he was not privy to. Sure, that night at the station almost ended with a kiss. He knew that. He was there. But it did not offer answers as towards why an almost kiss made her behave in contrast to what Neil thought he understood about her.

Because a date was definitely a step above flirting. And it was hard to understand what that meant. If anything at all.

Now, on a rainy Tuesday afternoon, Neil stared out the window of the HQ cafeteria and tried his hardest not to think about it (her) for a change. It was not going well, as one could expect. From the corner of his eye, he could tell Ives was staring. Those piercing blue eyes (bluer than his, which has once or twice been proved during a night out as those things usually are) have been glancing his way instead of focusing on the sandwich on his plate. What a prick (affectionate). After what felt like a fiftieth glance, Neil dropped the napkin onto his place with force and turned towards Ives with a glare. The patience has worn out.

“Oh, just spit it out,” Neil hissed the words with ire.

The grin spreading upon Ives’ lips did not help a bit. The soldier leaned forward, abandoning his food and setting the perceptive eyes upon his friend. Mercilessly. With years of friendship, Neil knew this was not ending well.

“I haven’t said a word,” the man shrugged; a picture-perfect nonchalance.

If only.

“But you’ve been staring,” Neil’s attempt at covering up the tension with a bored tone failed.

He knew that as soon as he saw Ives’ unimpressed smile. There were no doubts about where this conversation was heading. It was the interrogation Neil had feared from day one. It was only a matter of time. Damn it.

“Go ask Henrik. Maybe he can help you gauge my eyes,” in moments like this, Ives’ cockney accent came out in full force, tearing at the shreds of patience Neil seemed to have.

Despite himself, he cracked a smile at the comeback.

“Doubtful,” quickly hiding it in the sip of tea, Neil muttered a quip of his own.

While Henrik, the team’s medic, was a peculiar man, it was improbable he would be into that kind of thing. Unfortunately.

“Eh, I wouldn’t put it past him,” before he could hope this was the end of the conversation, Ives levelled him with another no-bullshit look and delivered the sentence in four simple words, “Mate, spit it out,”

If only it were that easy. For one, Neil did not even know what there was to tell. Sure, he has met a girl. He was probably thinking too much about said girl daily. But that was it. The end of the story. Pathetic, as per usual.

“I’d rather not,” as the last resort of keeping his dignity intact, Neil averted his gaze and fixed his stare on the dirty floor of the cantina.

A solitary potato chip was lying there, attracting attention. For one, maddening second, his brain tried to concoct an elaborate metaphor in which he was like that lonely, forgotten chip on the ground.

Thankfully, the idea was soon dispersed by his irreplicable companion and his booming voice, cutting through the idiotic thoughts:

“I beg to differ,” the hint of reassurance in Ives’ voice was responsible for luring Neil into listening, just as the soldier delivered the question, “What’s her name? His name? Their name?”

Admittedly, the inclusive way of asking was a nice touch from someone who frequently lacked decorum. Or, more accurately, did not bother with it. It was that addition that made Neil crack, with the final resolve crumbling as he tried to protest:

“There’s no- Cupid,” giving out a tired sigh, Neil finally raised his head and repeated the nickname with something ridiculously close to the softness of affection, “I call her Cupid,”

It made no sense. He knew that. But it did not help that whenever he thought of her, that stupid, embarrassing part of his heart was roused awake from periodical slumber. So much for being reasonable.

As soon as Ives whistled lowly and that familiar sardonic grin appeared on his face, Neil knew it was a mistake.

“Kinky,” his murderous glare got ignored in favour of another pressing question, “Who’s the lucky lady?”

Lucky was definitely an overstatement if you asked Neil. But he did not fancy getting into the specifics of the relationships yet. Instead, he happily let himself delve back into memories of that first meeting. He still could not find other apt ways to describe it than a strike of fate. Dramatic? Sure, that was his second name.

He did doubt that Ives would appreciate the insane poetic ruminations, however.

“I’ve met her at the Tube, and she’s a ballerina… Pretty fucking cool, at that” that was a non-negotiable fact. Period.

Yet from the way his friend stared at him, Neil could easily deduct that here, too, he sounded like the insane idiot that he was. An idiot that finds friends on the Tube and lets that develop into something else. Something he tried very hard not to define. It was going splendidly well. Of course.

“Uh oh,” as if reading his mind, Ives, the prick, pasted on a silly grin and bated his eyelashes down at him, continuing the interrogation, “Is that a crush I’m sensing?”

Fuck. That was, indeed, a mistake.

Not that there was a crush because there absolutely wasn’t anything of that sort. Idiot, he might have been, but not… No. No. Which is exactly why Neil had to pause to cover his face with his hands and let out a deep sigh. Conveniently ignoring Ives and his bullshit assumptions.

Only once he felt like the annoyance had simmered to an acceptable white noise, Neil dropped the hands covering his face and met his destiny in the form of an infuriating sardonic smile.

“No, she’s just… I’m fascinated, okay? I’ve never met anyone like her before, and we’ve got a good thing going with weekly chats and… stuff,” running out of steam, Neil let the last word trail off into silence.

He knew what it all sounded like. He did. Except that there was no better way of describing it (them) to the outside world. And he was certainly not keen on showing Ives the texts. Not after the last conversation this morning, which involved more innuendos and another rendition of What socks are you wearing? - his favourite game. Truly. What made the exchange more incriminating, however, was the fact that Cupid’s current socks brandished an image of an adorable pug with a caption: “Send dog pics”. Yeah, that. That was a theme he was so far happy to ignore. Kind of.

“Did you kiss her yet?” another ridiculous question acted like a wake-up call as Neil felt the loathed, crimson blush fill his cheeks.

“What is this? Middle school?” another outburst got met with a stoically blank face, not helping to ease the shame of being so goddamn transparent “No, I didn’t,” I wish, “We danced” offering the alternative lowkey felt like self-sacrifice.

Not because Neil was embarrassed of what had happened that Saturday night but because it stayed a secret to anyone who was not him or Cupid. At least, that is what she told him, much to inexplicable surprise, which he could not and would not try to understand.

“I never knew you dance,” the soldier’s remark, as always, missed the mark.

Annoyance at the whole world, at this rate, rose at a steady pace. Perhaps it would have been more accurate to say that Neil was frustrated at the circumstances of the relationship with the woman in question, but it was too soon for self-realisation to do its work.

“Of course, I do,” instead, it was the distant feel of pity that nagged at the edges of his soul as Neil allowed the dismissive reflection to be voiced without the veil of fake pep, “Anyway, none of it matters. She’s not into relationships, so…” he shrugged, aware of the pitiful picture.

In a way, it was easier to know that about her ahead of time. It was perfect information to push at his brain and heart whenever they got too comfortable with the situation. To remind them (and himself) that it was not going anywhere, and it never would.

But, for some infuriating reason, the heart tended to be a stubborn beast holding no regard for facts. Not that heart had anything to do with this just yet. Of course not. Neil just… liked her. As a human being likes another human being. Platonically.

“Surely, your roguish charm will convince her otherwise,” as expected, Ives looked as if he was trying very hard not to feel sorry for him and was failing.

The reassurance hardly worked if Neil was being honest. The existence of said roguish charm was highly debatable. But who was he to argue?

“Nah, it’s fine. I can be just friends with her” manifesting much, or whatever. It was a blessing to have a different topic to switch to, “Anyway, I’m not going to see her for the next couple of weeks since we’re leaving,” another attempt at a nonchalant shrug got lost in the heaviness Neil could not shake off if he tried.

Going off on a mission right now, in the middle of it all, was far from ideal. Neil liked his job, loved it even, but then, some operations felt like a drag from the moment they appeared on his desk. That was one of them.

“Yeah, Lisbon is on,” from the tiredness written all over Ives’ face, Neil could tell the lack of enthusiasm was shared, “Two weeks, but it might be longer,”

“Great,” sarcasm dripped from the word as Neil glanced at his friend and asked, “We’re going to bunk together?”

It was only half a joke. Because only the company made the perspective of that mission seem a little less daunting.

“You wish, love,” the answering grin on Ives’ face was the perfect punchline to the dramatic conversation. The soldier got up from the table with another quip, “You know I’m not into blondes,” he walked away without another glance, yet the laugh he elicited from Neil could be heard in the room above the cantina.

[alarrytale]

It's all so ridiculous. Also, a real father would schedule a break in his touring schedule for summer to see his son and spend some quality time with him. He could have skipped one or two festivals and had two/three weeks off to go to L.A. Maybe we'll get some lad and dad content after this festival run is over, but F should be back in school then. It just occured to me that the kid is what 8(?) and L has never taken him on vacation by himself, or a camping trip or to a football match... We all know why though. //

Yeah and the fact that the time he actually had over a week off between festivals he chose so have a vacation with Oli in Spain! Even if they try to say that he sees him in private (that would make sense, since L is quite private), then it’s just obvious that there go long periods of time where he doesn’t see him and that don’t match what Chris/Matt tried to tell us during AOTV.

And yes, why does he only see L’s family during Christmas? Those sisters says all the time how much they miss him, but they never take a trip to LA? It’s not like they never travels, they do that all the time, but never to see F. Again, that would make sense if they tried to show that L and B’s family didn’t get along, but B and her mother like L’s families post all the time and acts like they’re besties!

Nothing in this situation makes ANY sense! Sorry for the ramble! 🙈

Hi, again anon!

It does make sense when you know it's not real and he's not a dad, but the narrative they've put together to convince us he is a doting and present dad is full of plot holes. Louis is rich and could fly F to him when F is off school. F could have spent the entire summer on tour with L in Europe, the kid is old enough by now.

If you also look at the timelines, there are plenty of times he could have gone to L.A, but then he pops up or is spotted in Europe and clearly hasn't been in L.A to see him. So even the "he does it in private" theory isn't true at all. We all know that both sides of the family captures every second the two of them are together and post it on social media. There are no lad and dad pics of them at "first day of school", "lost my first tooth", no pics of L at any sports game of F's, or christmas plays or even his birthday (the last few years). People who think that L is present in F's life are full of shit. People who think L is a parent and not an absent father, probably have never experienced a real parental figure themselves.

I honestly can't wait until this shit show is over.

[burningchandelier]

There is a part of me that wants to be at wwwy, but I keep seeing pics of people who have been wretched to be and I’m so glad I sold my ticket.

The people who loudly told me in front of a crowds of people that I couldn’t stand with them or be in their pictures— even after we had been going to shows together for months?

Cool— you saved me a ton of money.

The people who were happy to accept food, candy, attention, kindness, someone to hold their stuff, help getting to the barrier, but never provided so much as a kind word back?

You made me appreciate my community.

The kids who physically threatened my friend and made cruel jokes about us online reminded me that I am the same kid I was in junior high when this music first came out.

I have been surviving bullies like you since longer than some of you were alive. This music is in my heart no matter where or when I see the bands.

You, who profess to care so much about Palestinians online, but did nothing to help a Palestinian refugee when she was harassed, even though you could have given her your set list?

You reminded me that the scene is for the underdog and racists can ALWAYS fuck off.

I’m so glad I’m not sharing a hotel room with you. The last time you acknowledged me in public, you said “I’m sorry, I just can’t go through it again,” referring to being bullied online. You know exactly how cruel people you associate with are, and you chose them over a genuine friend who cared about you.

Thank you for showing me who my friends are.

[miss--river]

💕 self-love time! talk about which ones of YOUR creations (edits, artworks, fanfics) you like the most then send to other creators to do the same 💕

thank you so much!❤️ sorry this took me so long to answer 😅

i'll start with jori since she's the first one i created! i know it may not seem like it lately but she's the main baby of the other 2 main babies i have! ive projected so much of myself and interests onto her that i became attached quickly lmao! she's also the one who i insert into every piece of media that im consuming and like enough. like, if im playing dead space i totally imagine her in the place of isaac. or if im playing a backrooms game she's the one running around and trying to escape from the monsters lmfao! her story has taken different shapes and changes since i actually brought her over from red dead online. her twin brother, mika, doesnt exist in red dead online and was solely create for cyberpunk purposes. i love the pic on the left because i just think she looks really badass lmao! and i like the one on the right because im not usually patient enough to set up sets and backgrounds but this time i stuck it out and i loved it! it's simple compared to what others can do but im still proud of it!

next is the love of her life, driss! back when i first started getting into modding my game i actually shipped her with river. i was trying to get a cute shot of her and river looking out at the sunset over the ocean, but sine i was so new to modding i didnt know bigger characters like river had a different locomotion type so i couldnt get any poses to work. as a test i replaced an NPC couple with jori and driss and that was when i fell into a hole lmfao! i thought they looked so much better together so i kept them going! their ship name is Broken and Beautiful because both of them have past traumas that still effect them but they found comfort and understanding in each other. i love how soft both of these pics are! especially the fire behind them in the one on the right!

lottie is my second of the main 3! she also started out as a red dead online OC! i usually try to make her come off as a flowery, cottage core, disney princess aesthetic type. she's the softest and shyest of my OCs but she can be fierce too! she smiles at strangers in the street and will lend a hand if they look like they need it but she does it with caution because... its night city lmao! i chose these pictures in particular because i just thought they were the coolest ones. i do have some pics that showcase her as soft and flowery but i just couldnt resist showing these ones instead! the one on the left was made to be a tarot card called The World. the pic on the right was me trying out a greaser AU on her! i really love how they both came out!

the last of the main 3 is phoenix! i made her fully expecting to just leave her to collect dust, just like certain other OCs, (and i feel so bad for them 😔) but i became attached to her very quickly too. i based a chunk of her personality off of vash the stampede from the 1998 anime trigun. after a short while of that i actually ended up shipping her with him lmfao! currently she doesnt have a backstory because nothing has really inspired me yet but at least i know some things about her current life! i think these pics are perfect for show casing her as she currently is. she lives in clutter but not, like, dirty clutter if that makes sense? she just likes having stuff and buying things that interest her. i mean doesnt everyone? haha! she doesnt really save her money for anything other than rent and bills, everything else is purely impulse. her favorite treat is donuts and when she's willing to share one with you thats how you know she likes you! her favorite thing is to make people smile!

onto stuff that i made for other people! i really loves these pics that i took of mishka and claire for @thelonestrider! mishka looks SO GOOD in purple! and claire is chef's kiss! i had a lot of fun taking pics of her! i got such freeing vibes from her so i had to have her enjoying the sun's rays!

i took these ones for @holofishes and i totally consider wren to be one of jori's besties! i think they'd have so much to talk about and i get such warm vibes when i see them together! jori is usually very sweet and kind but when it comes to her friends she'd kick anyone's ass 😉 the sunflowers and butterflies in the first pic took so long to place! but it was totally worth it! they're both rays of sunshine!

[temporarilyunstable]

Hi, I like your cover pic. Are you a fan of ShizuAka? Do you think the show is pushing them as a couple? Since they have a not so big age gap? Compare to Kogami?

Hello! Yes I am a HUGE fan... I shipped them since this scene when PPFI premiered:

I was alone for a bit and was a little afraid to talk about them and then a few months later some fans started to notice it too (@oatbrew answering a bunch of asks a few months after PPFI aired, one of which was anon sent by @shikkokans who is probably my closest sounding board when it comes to shizuaka these days whoops I went on a tangent). Anyway, Jay's answers and the awakened interest in it gave me a bit of courage to be embarrassingly annoying about them and began using the tag shizuaka (chose that over akashizu bec it sounded weird lol), then I began writing fics and shoving it down everyone's throats (this is mostly on twitter but i do occasionally do it here as well 🤪).

To be honest I think it's too early to say anything about shizuaka, but I'm not gonna lie, the possibilities are there— I can talk about them so much especially the supplementary materials (novels, deleted script, profiling 3) that I think were purposely removed from the show (OR intentionally added bec these were published after the show aired— could be either) but for now it's nothing. And, well I always like to say there's nothing there, but there's everything to jump off from, if that makes sense. Doesn't take a lot for me to ship but for me to ship this hard it's because there's solid potential and I can't unsee the connections... sorry for being vague! It's because shizuaka is such a small ship right now and I have so much fun with it, I have already seen some fans who mock it because it's a threat to koaka if it does happen. I never stopped shipping koaka, just been shipping them differently from before and with shizuaka I truly don't mind sharing with people who are genuinely interested and not here to yuck my yum, know what I mean?

I will say this. If last March 27, 2020 I called it a crack ship, I cannot, in all my capacity as an audience and a PP fan be able to say the same about them with the information I have now. I'm sorry for the long non-answer but you got me started and I just love them so much so sorry if this is annoying to read... if you're still interested please send me another ask and I'll be happy to elaborate 😊.

As for the "pushing", I think that anyone who walks into psycho pass expecting romance and specially those really seeking validation through "canon status" is setting themselves up for disappointment (not saying you are by the way, this is just a general observation). PP is really not that kind of show. The best any ship fan could hope for is screen time - and meaningful screen time at that. This is why koaka is the most popular ship (in non-JP speaking countries), because despite the fact that creators can say what their intentions were (eg koaka are platonic comrade buddies) and the audience absolutely refusing to see otherwise, the story has already established koaka's relationship to be the most important of the series so far. The audience can make of that what they will, the creators are not stopping fans from doing so buuuuut I also get this feeling they're the kind of team who do not want their intentions to be brushed over by fans hence the "course-correcting" that happened in the midst of promoting PPP (note: THIS IS JUST MY INTERPRETATION).

In any case, PP never explicitly depicts romance, and you can count with your fingers ON ONE HAND the actual romantic scenes—by this I mean literal canon— not romantic as interpreted by fans. So no, I don't think the show is pushing for any ship at all, regardless of any age gaps. What I can guarantee is that the marketing team will sure as hell use that sweet sweet shipping fuel to earn a bit more money from merchandise sales 😉.

[pinkandgreenarepurpleandyellow]

Presenting the project that made me heterophobic:

Yep! I am the dork that painted the masks of our current five boys over the course of three-four days (easier to space than six would be and lets face it, I do not care for kurlzz). I chose the Notes from the Underground masks because I've realized that it's the album that most of my favorite songs thus far come from. I quickly began regretting my decision at the point where I realized exactly how limited my paint options were and how many cool colors I would need. More details for each mask below (going bottom to top).

Danny's mask looks almost nothing like the actual one mostly because I painted the circles first and did not realize the mask was more angular than I initially thought. I also had no gold, so we've got a lovely yellow mixed with tan for the base color. The bullets are rough but also smaller than you'd think and a basic brush set from Michaels does not, as I have learned, have super tiny brushes, so I did the best I could on the casings. I am proud of the fact that I tried to make the rust work as best as I could, and if you look really closely, you can even see the mesh in the eyes (looks a little clearer on the left eye). The smirk is present on the right side and I do think it's decently recognizable.

This one made me cry. Any criticism of the fire around the eyes will be met with the response to suck dick because, to be quite frank, I challenge anyone to do better at 1 am and remain disturbingly proud of them. I'm kinda sad that my green (mixed from blue and yellow, because my budget is two pennies and all previous supplies) dried up early cause I was hoping to get more of the Louis Vuitton-style details, but still pretty damn good. I think the pyramid and the canisters turned out nice. Also, a little bit of a cat-eye shape for the eyeholes and the fire, but that was deliberate and I will not be ashamed of it in my moment of pride (I will undoubtedly feel the shame within five minutes of posting, but that is a problem for future me).

A fun an interesting fact is that this is the second time I've done this particular mask of J3T, and both times I have realized I love doing the butterfly. It's super fun because as long as we get the basic swirls in, it's alright if they don't match length perfectly. The cracks are slightly off because the very first ones were free-handed, but I did my best to get the rest of them proper, and they even work to form the nose. Apparently the orange looks more yellow than I thought.

This one was a welcome relief after crying over the detailing of J-Dog's mask. Again, no metallic colors, so our silver is grey. The little black lines are there to add texture to the edges (as it turns out, none of my brushes added it in a sufficiently noticeable way), and this one looks the cleanest imo.

Last but not least, Charlie's bandanna (sunglasses painted over because, as it turns out, I continue to suck at painting and drawing glasses). The buildings are likely not accurate to the actual picture, but my reference photo did not show the actual city on the bandana so I just did some buildings, a fancy lil' LA and we're calling it an artistic interpretation. Also, check out that S. Coolest S I will ever draw in my life, got it right on the first try.

Anyways sorry that I didn't post this sooner cause I technically finished all of this yesterday evening, I have a flight soon so I am typing this up at 4:30 am at the airport.

(Tagging @vampswillhurtyou and @cutelittlenightmarethings cause both of you said you were interested and I have no idea whether or not this will show up in the main tags.)

Final pic to show what it looks like at a slight distance and with other object to provide scale. Note the paint palette thingy having 3 shades of grey in it because, again, shoestring budget and persistence substitute everything for us.

[puppy-phum]

2022: a summary

Post your favourite or most popular edit from each month this year (it’s okay to skip months!)

tagged by krishna @i-got-the-feels ♥ thank you, thank you, thank you~

January

Popular - my tribute for the ending of bad buddy and my journey with patpran ♥ am happy ppl liked both the typography and the color scheme in this. 

Favorite - i started obsessing over lang leav’s poetry + patpran with this one. i love the blues and the middle images with the shattered yous all over. it was a pain to do but worth it.  

February

Popular - this one patpran edit that still makes rounds at times. it’s probably one of my most popular edits in general and i am very happy it is bc i adore it myself ♥

Favorite(s) - i am bad at choosing for this month so i have to mention both this bb edit bc i love the violet and the shots i chose, and this seanwhite edit bc the lang leav poem is Perfect and i think this one looks amazing. 

March

Popular - this very quickly made ptpran edit with the sun and moon quote from my country i had stuck in my head for ages. i never really thought that anyone would notice this but i guess we all were into the same symbolism?

Favorite - very very tough choice once again but i was very passionate about this danyok edit that i made while hoping praying begging that they would get a happy ending 

honorary mentions:  not me characters + problems x not me characters as seven deadly sins x

April

Popular - this seanwhite edit for the not me celebration was a pain to make bc i felt like nothing of it worked like i hoped it would but i did love the final result ♥

Favorite - watching dew the movie changed me somehow and making both the edit for that absolute piece of art of a movie was a true joy. i made those edits only for myself bc i had to get some of that feeling off my chest and the first one owns my heart. 

May

Popular - more lang leav with patpran. i adored this layout even if it, once again, was a huge pain to make 

Favorite - had a field day planning this whole edit bc i haven’t done anything with as much detail and meaning in a while. tried new things and was very satisfied with the outcome. also loved making something darker and more focused on symbolism. 

June

Popular - cheering at the fact that ppl felt as insane about the official vice versa trailer as i did! i have never felt that strongly about a starting show. vv really is just so special to me and this first edit feels so dear ♥

Favorite - of course it’s my pride month edit! i still return to this one at times, it was so much fun to make. 

July

Popular - we were all hoes for kinnporsche the series and especially vegaspete during the summer so am not at all surprised that my first (and for the longest time only) vegaspete set got a bit more popular heh

Favorite - this vv set for the trailer is my beloved bc the colors were good, the pics worked, th flowers looked good. i love the style of this one and it just makes me so emotional to even look at it. 

August

Popular - not blaming ppl for liking the fire yellow episode edit the most bc it is my favorite too (with soft blush and cloudy gray). also ep 6 is my favorite episode in vice versa so even more fitting. 

Favorite - i spent a huge amount of time researching the mbti types for this and had so much fun with it plus i loooove the pastel looks for all the pics. 

September

Popular - the cloudy gray episode edit is the one with most notes for this month which, once again, i do not blame anyone for! i personally love the b&w + pops of color look. 

Favorite - the fah + prince introduction edit i made for asianlgbtnet. i enjoyed making this one a lot even if i knew it wouldn’t get that much attention with sky in your heart never really... taking off... sadness ;;

October

Popular - the last vice versa episode edit! which always reminds me of the struggle with my laptop... noodle accident, you will forever be famous 

Favorite(s) - all of my bad buddy week entries! favorite character: pran parakul x favorite episode: episode 11 x favorite dynamic: pranwai x

November

Popular - the impromptu last twilight trailer edit i made bc that trailer really just stole my heart and soul. i still watch it occasonally just to feel something

Favorite - the lang leav + puentalay edit i finally managed to make. i planned this one for a long while and currently it’s one of my personal favorite edits of mine 

December

bc of traveling, the holidays, and me mostly just waiting for ppl to drop me prompts throughout this time, i only made two edits during december so mentioning both of them. 

vice versa x bad buddy parallels as flipped lives x 

puen babygirl x

i adore both and never expected either of them to be famous ♥

this was a cool look at all of the things i made last year. there have been quite many? i think october had the most with me finally surviving my laptop crisis and then just going wild :’D 

tagging: @oswlld @wanderlust-in-my-soul @ardentlytess @spicyvampire @liyazaki @dimpledpran @snimeat ♥ link me if you’ve already done this bc i think am kind of late...

[racingtoaredlight]

It's Hard to Talk About Classical Guitars

It's really hard to describe what these instruments sound like when you can't hear them in person.

Really, they all sound the same. They all look pretty much the same. When you record them, send them through an interface, digitally upload them and listen to them on a laptop or phone...how in the fuck can you get an idea of what these things sound like? Let alone feel like?

It's a box with strings. That's pretty much it. Luthiers over generations have eschewed moving outside this box, or really making any meaningful alterations to it...and what this has done has obscured the work of the greatest instrument makers in the guitar world.

Last month, I talked about my experience playing an Antionio Marin Montero guitar that cost $12,500. He's a 93 year old guy who's been making guitars for over SEVENTY YEARS. There was magic in this instrument that I can describe, but it does nothing to give you a sense of what it was like in person.

Lets break the EQ into 3 groups. The basses were fucking intense, robust, humongous...yet crystal clear without a hint of flubbiness. The mids were powerful, the projection akin to holding a 50 cal Desert Eagle after shooting a 9mm all morning. The trebles were silky smooth, buttery even, but they were never lost or lacked authority. The balance between each EQ class was perfection. Nothing overwhelmed another. I could go from whisper quiet to full-throated roar in an instant simply by thinking about it.

It was the Platonic ideal of what a guitar should be, made by a guy who apprenticed amongst luthier royalty over his septagenarian career. It was so Spanish, you could smell the paella.

I played a Matthias Damman double top. This is a double top.

As loud as the Montero was? This thing was preposterous to the point of being unnecessary (of course, I'm not a concert guitarist trying to fill a huge hall with no mic). You have mm-thin top, a honeycomb layer made out of this stuff called Nomex, and another mm-thin layer underneath.

Let me show you a picture of just how thin these luthiers can get this wood...keep in mind, this is not the most obvious impactful example I could've chosed...it was one that was kinda just normal.

These tops are carved so preposterously thin, that if you put a light behind it, you can see through both tops and the Nomex layer. And this isn't just "carving wood thin"...these tops are the lifeblood of the entire instrument. They're tuned to specific pitches to accentuate harmonics and overtones. Those thin tops need to be robust enough to handle the highest tension strings manfuacturers make without buckling or compromising it's integrity.

You can't see any of this.

If you were in person, you could hear it unamplified down the street.

You can't see the bracing...

At the top, you have an example of Robert Bouchet's bracing. Below is Daniel Friederich fan bracing (he experimented voluminously). The third pic is an Antonio Marin Montero. Below that is a Gregory Smallman lattice bracing. The last pic is an example of a variety of famous lutheirs' preferred styles.

Bouchet's two most prized pupils were Daniel Friederich and Antonio Marin Montero. You can see that, despite their mentorship, there's still differences in how these guys choose to brace their guitars.

What the brace does is impact how the top vibrates, and if the top is the guitar's lifeblood, then the bracing is it's DNA.

Lattice bracing allows luthiers to carve their tops even thinner (without going the double-top route), and project preposterously well. There are infinite ways to do this. Spainish style guitars typically have super-thin tops with heavier bracing. But that's not the only way...

Take the Germans.

I've talked a lot about how the Spanish-influenced guys carve tops super thin. The Germans, specifically Hermann Hauser I, took the opposite approach. Notice how thick the bracing is on the examples above...

It's the opposite on this Hauser top. Hausers (and Germans) typically favor tops about 1mm thicker than their typical spanish counterparts...and that width is typically in the middle of the soundboard. But the big difference is they typically use much, much lighter, thinner bracing.

The thin bracing allows the top to vibrate more like a thinner top, while altering the EQ. While Spanish guitars are known for their incredible bass and chime-like trebles with rich overtones, German guitars are known for being perfectly balanced and extremely responsive to technical adjustments.

The genius of all these differences is, at the end of the day whether you have a Spanish, French or German guitar, if it was made by one of these luthiers (or their apprentices), it'll get the job fucking DONE.

It's just really hard to tell the difference unless you're there in person.

I really like Spanish guitars. I really like German guitars. I really like French guitars. They're all aesthetically different, have their own characteristics, and sonically versatile...and all this comes down to preference.

When I played the Montero, it beat the living shit out of every other guitar I tested...German, French, English or otherwise. His nephew's guitar...a guy in his 70's who has 50+ years of experience next to his uncle...was phenomenal, but I put the $11,500 guitar in the discard pile anyways.

The German and French models I played felt cold. They didn't vibrate against my body like the Montero, they didn't raise the hair on my arms and neck. Maybe they needed more breaking in, but the Montero certainly didn't.

I played a $16,500 used model from one of the world's great luthiers who's based in Canada. This woman really tries to push the envelope into modernity, makes incredible instruments, and her guitar came with a $2,000 carbon fiber flight case. Discard pile compared to the 90-year old Spainard's.

At the end of the day, it really doesn't matter where your guitar was built, it matters who built it and where they learned from. Spanish guitar god Andres Segovia played a ton of Spanish music on a Hauser to the point that guitar is a permanent exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

But what does matter is that these guys have been making guitars with a lineage that traces back centuries, with skills honed by decades of apprenticeship, and an acute eye for what the purpose of these things is. You're in good hands no matter if you're playing a Montero, a Hauser, a Friederich...or the modern masters that learned from them personally, or by tearing their guitars apart.

The point is, these guys make some incredible shit. And it's a bummer that they all look pretty much the same, they all sound the same thru shitty digital vehicles, and unless you're in the room, you don't realize just how crazy their shit is.