#i would use it to make other colours go further but printing light colours on white paper isnt great either

[muirneach]

i have a bigass (250ml) bottle of white lino ink and to this day i have no idea what im supposed to do with that

[k00320108]

8th October, Filoconstruction workshop development.

I really enjoyed experimenting with this embroidery. I've embroidered before but never on net fabric, used different textured threads in the one piece, metallic threads or sequence.

This started off as a simple fingerprint. The light blue metallic thread follows and replicates the same print as my right index finger. I do think it got a little bit lost because of how light the colour is and amongst all the other theads. I was beginning to think that maybe I had gone overboard with everything that's going on in the embroidery until one of the lecturers asked if I thought it reflected my personality. As cringe as it sounds, I definitely think it does. The more I look at it the more I see myself in the madness of the different threads, the way that looking at it in a different light creates different colours and how the more you look the more you see. What started out as a litteral representation of identity with the fingerprint became something that represented my personality.

After this, I started to see the embroidery piece in a different light and it got me thinking about things that represent people without someone physically being there. Almost like portraits of a person without the physical body. Like the way that curly hair or a velvet scrunchie will always remind me of my mom, a MK 2 Escort will always make me think of my dad, a JCB and blue overalls of my two older brothers. You can capture a person's essence through a lot more than physical portraits. Colours, numbers, smells, objects can all symbolise people just as much as their actual body can. I found myself in the form of colour, line and shape today within the embroidery and I'd love to possibly explore this idea further.

In hindsight, this is by no means a brilliant embroidery piece. If I was to do it again I would be a lot more considerate about the design and draw out multiple versions before starting to embroider. But this embroidery piece was successful in the sense that it really helped me to develop my project and was a bit of a light bulb moment regarding my concept and looking at symbolism through objects.

[jayne-hecate-writer]

Imperial Data Pad

Well, it's winter and it's cold. As is often the case with me, I am fighting the winter blues because the cold and the damp make my bones ache and my connective tissues stiffen like old ironing boards. To counter this, I use the tried and tested method of swearing, sulking and acts of self destruction, such as learning new sports or going too hard with physio therapy to overcome a frozen shoulder, which leads to extra aches and pains.

This year, I have decided to give the complete self destruction a race pass until spring and instead focus my attention onto arts and crafts. To which I have dabbled quite a lot recently, having made the discovery that I am in fact an artist as well as a science graduate. You may be asking why I have talked about my disabilities and then my art? This is because on this occasion, I have combined them in more than one way and I shall explain further, so read on if you would like to know more.

Basically, I really love reading. I read every day and will devour a book in anything from hours, to days or to weeks, depending on the chosen book. However, heavy, thick paper books with fine print are no longer something I can spend my time with due to failing eye sight and painfully arthritic hands. So a few years ago I acquired a Kindle e-Reader and to be honest, it is the best piece of tech I have ever owned and my dear device must be close to ten years old now. I have read hundreds of e-books, some were great classics while some were pure trash. Some of the classics took some work to understand, in particular the philosophical and political works of Hyndeman or Kropotkin and then there was several weeks of my trying to read Marx for fun.

An adaption that the Kindle has, which makes reading so much easier as I approach middle age is that the font size can be made as small or as large as your can comfortably read. Recently, I had noticed that for night time reading, the font size was trending towards the sixteen or eighteen point size. I could wear my reading glasses, but even with font size changed, my biggest problem was light. The Kindle cover I use with my device is now so old and tatty that the flex points are as floppy as old curtains and the LED reading light has significantly dimmed over the years, even with new batteries fitted.

So what was a girl to do? I could go out and buy a new one, the Kindle itself is starting to show the signs of ageing too, being no longer able to fully charge any more and then losing charge in a matter of days rather than previous time gap of weeks. Or maybe I just read too much? However, both Kindle and cover were bought for me by my wife and as such, they have a great deal of sentimental value to me. Luckily, the wife knows that I border on being a crazy artist and despite her saying that I should treat myself to a new device with cover, I think that I can keep these two going for another few years yet. So into the workshop we must go, my dear beloved Kindle.

Step one was the planning and with a simple book cover design, with a built in flip over reading light, the original cover was a rather plain looking design in red PVC fake leather. The edges were fading to white and the spine was threadbare, so it needed some repairs as well as customising with some paint and other fun details. The original light was a single white LED, which I considered changing to a different colour, but I was not sure how that would effect my ability to read in the dark. My next option was to swap out the LED for a brighter white one and then when I took the light unit apart I found that the LED had been wired with a dirty great resistor, which lowered the light output significantly. So I set about fiddling with it to see what I could retrofit and that was when I discovered that the plastic construction of the light unit was somewhat thin and flimsy when it split, before falling apart in my hands. Not to worry, I simply made other plans, involving using a modern pair of LED's mounted on a custom board. Finding the board I wanted to use was easy, I just took a standard LED light and took a hacksaw to it, reattaching as many LEDs as I desired once I was finished cutting, which in this case was just two. I then cut and shaped a new light housing, reflector and set the angle of the LEDs to shine on the middle of the Kindle 'page'.

The rest of the cover needed some inspiration, so with my almost (yeah, right!) fanatical obsession with Star Wars, I set about making the device look like an Imperial Officer's data pad. As always, my choice of media was old bits of cardboard and plenty of cheap super glue. However, for this project I also used riveted snap studs, old knicker elastic and nylon webbing from an old back pack. The front cover still looked fairly plain, so I raided the bottom of the box of making junk and found a moulded plastic sheet that I have used in the past to make realistic looking street cobbles. I don't know what possible function it could have on the cover, but it really does look like is belongs there.

Once I had finished the construction and made it look bright and resplendent, after I sprayed it with my new air brush, with a flat metallic silver paint giving the cover it's smooth shiny gloss, It was time for some fun. This is the bit I enjoy the most, the fun with the filthiest of filth. Using a mix of brown, black, metallic copper and metallic brass paints and then attacking it with sandpaper, I got it looking like it had been through a firefight on the bridge of a Star Destroyer, maybe the Death Star itself. Once it was finished, I hit it with clear coat and left it to harden, while I fiddled with the other parts, such as the new clasp that holds it closed and finally attaching the new light. With it all done I was rather pleased with the outcome. Happily, it is far from perfect because it looks dreadfully dirty, maybe even a little scorched or corroded in places and the previously actual worn out parts have been reinforced nicely. Hopefully, I will get another ten years out of this little beauty.

[kvb227blog-rcchen]

Experimentation #1

My Drawing - Layered Glass Art

Research & Brainstorming:

Looking through Pinterest for quick inspiration, I found Shade by American painter and graphic artist Robert Rauschenberg. Shades is a layered glass artwork made up of numerous lithographed images taken from newspapers and magazines printed on each panel to create the shape of a cube. There is then a light that us directed onto the back of the work, shining through and giving the sense of colour despite the monochrome colour scheme. All these qualities combined provides a futuristic emotive as the layering creates negative and positive spacing, the density and spacing between the images evolving into a dream-like and unrealistic artwork. (reference).

I was initially intrigued by the medium of layered glass art and how images plastered onto glass panels can create moments of negative and positive space with the images overlapping each other. Brainstorming around the idea of using this medium for my experimentation, I thought of the idea of expanding and evolving an existing work of mine that was originally 2D into a 3D artwork. Further to this, with the overarching theme of this semester being 'Value', I began to investigate the idea of valuing simpler times in a person's childhood before realising the complex nature of adulthood. As a result, I wanted to capture a child-like atmosphere similar to what a child would draw. This is why I chose to use oil pastels as the main material aside from the glass panels from frames. I wanted to create an image that mimics a drawing made by the use of crayons that is messy and possibly unrecognisable to anything.

To further build on the idea of 'value' and 'simple vs complex', I tried to find a drawing that I made as a child that used crayons (or anything similar) but couldn't. As a result, I chose a drawing that I created when I was in prep using acrylic paints that depicts a sun with a face and two people placed in a grassy field. Not only would this piece be easier to divide into fore, middle, and background, it will be easy to recreate in a child-like sense due to the work already being created by myself as a child.

Creating:

Planned out what features of the old work can be placed into the fore, middle and background.

Background: sunset colours (yellow and orange) going horizontal on the glass panels. Grey and black circular streaks at the top to act like cloud. the clear and non-blended effect will allow for 'movement'

Middle Ground: this section will contain the sun on the left (with a smiley face) and the female stick figure on the right in red

Foreground: along the bottom has the different shades of green curving up along the sides as grass. Similarly to the background, the grass will be non-blended to give the impression that the grass is blowing in the wind or there is an element that gives the audience a story or narrative. Quick heavy pressure streaks to drive that crayon style.

Through the process of making this work, I wanted to make sure to reenact my previous child-self and her thought process when making it (I can surprisingly remember when I made it).

Reflecting:

Finishing this work, I was surprisingly disappointed with the results.

Despite the oil pastels being said to be able to be used on glass materials, it was actually extremely difficult to apply the pastels in a nice and even layer of colour. They also began to flake and go everywhere, somehow sticking back onto the glass and not come off.

Even though I aimed to have messy and non-blended streaks, due to how hard it was to apply the pastels to even show up, it would actually peal and remove the original strokes of pastel.

The end result was pretty good, however, I do not think I would be using this style or process again. I was getting frustrated and the process did not click with me. It began to feel like a chore rather than creating work. However, I am glad I tried and experimented with it.

I enjoyed recreating old works into a more nuanced and improved manner. As a result, I will continue to find my old drawing from childhood and recreating them in possible unconventional ways to show growth and how life gets more complex the more you grow up.

My Drawing, 2024 ​

10 x 15 cm​

Oil Pastels on Glass Panels​

Regina Chen​

​

[exhibit-of-the-century]

Article Critique of: The Role of Women in the Iconography of Art Nouveau, Jan Thompson, Art Journal, 1971-72

Masterlist

BUY ME A COFFEE

Thank you @nasalnozzle !! Without your guidance and help, I would not be where I am - you've truly helped me in so many ways and I'm eternally grateful.

The Role of Women in the Iconography of Art Nouveau, 1971-72, is an Art Journal by Jan Thompson. She presents a critical analysis of the Art Nouveau movement, the role, and the influence of women. Thompson puts forward that women were used as decoration and lacked agency. Her analyses of the role of women within the movement is flawed and here I will challenge some of her points.

The Art Nouveau movement, roughly through the years of 1890-1914, was a decorative art movement combining themes of the natural world with the man-made. Through mediums of fine art, graphic art, architecture and decorative arts, this movement was heavily influenced by Japanese art prints, which became accessible in Europe from 1850 onwards.

The overarching problem with Thompson’s analysis is a misuse of context: she ignores it and misinterprets it where she sees fit, leading to the misinterpretation of women’s roles in the artworks.

Thompson uses advertisements of Jules Cheret and Alphonse Mucha, to claim that there are “two distinct types” of women created by male artists. “This early pin-up girl was either bubbly, carefree and gay, as in Jules Cheret’s light-hearted, light-headed posters, or terribly seductive in the manner of Mucha’s cigarette-smoking ladies.”

Vin Mariani, Jules Cheret, 1896 – 1900, Colour Lithograph, Poster

Job, Alphonse Mucha, 1896, Colour Lithograph, Poster

She fails to acknowledge the main purpose of adverts. An advertisement exists to promote an item, and so the context surrounding the product in the advert needs to fulfil that role. Cheret’s poster displays a woman holding wine, a party item, hence the “light-hearted, light-headed” aspect of the poster. Thompson merely classifies the woman as “bubbly” but does not explore why an advert for wine might portray a “carefree and gay” character.

Thompson chooses a poor example to demonstrate the “terribly seductive” archetype in Mucha’s poster, once again ignoring the context of the cigarette. For many a cigarettes function is to provide relief and relaxation. Furthermore, the company JOB (a well-known brand of rolling paper for cigarettes) commissioned Mucha for several designs, so it is difficult to say that it was Mucha’s intention to present the woman’s character as “terribly seductive”.

There’s a more nuanced idea to these adverts. They feature women participating in these activities because women are the new target audience, independent thanks to their new self-made income. This isn’t a point Thompson ignores. She openly acknowledges it in her introduction: “for women in terms of employment outside the house.” Even going further back to her first main paragraph, on the topic of the artworks: “it is the woman who is featured, almost to the total exclusion of the male. Men are cast in roles subordinate to women”, reinforcing how women take centre stage. Despite this reaffirming, in some way, that it is women who are most important, Thompson sees it as a negative and uses this point to criticise the male artists for their inability to acknowledge women’s autonomy. She even claims that “It was an era in which women were kept as virtual pets, set up on marble pedestals and made to feel helpless and therefore desirable.” Thompson makes this observation on the lack of agency, specifically with her choice of calling the real-life women “virtual pets”, and her other classifications and generalisations.

Thompson proceeds to project these ideas onto every artwork within Art Nouveau, and unfortunately for her argument, she cites Alphonse Mucha and his work with “Sarah Bernhardt […] the woman most remembered today for her contribution to the arts at the turn of the century”. By acknowledging Bernhardt, and even citing that she “contracted Mucha to design costumes, props and future posters for her productions for the next six years”, Thompson can no longer generalise the portrayal of women’s lack of agency, as this is a clear example of a woman who has a job, an income, and even hires an artist to present her in the style of Art Nouveau. Although Bernhardt may not have had total control of how Mucha portrayed her in the artworks, it is fair to say that as the employer, she had some input. One may argue that it is through their partnership that she is remembered today.

Thompson’s choice to condemn all of Art Nouveau as objectifying women to be decorative is misplaced, as looking at the wider context challenges her interpretations. Thompson chooses to see seduction in Mucha’s Job, to see advertisements featuring women as decorative, not consider why they feature them, and opts to ignore and separate Bernhardt’s role in Mucha’s life from his works of her. Thompson even concludes that the movement “seems to have gone overboard in one last hedonistic fling at the same time that suffragettes were changing themselves to public buildings and an increasing number of women were awakening to the idea of their own individuality”. She’s inferring a causation; she gives her own inference of history that the Art Nouveau period was focused on portraying women “as decorative object […] as a last-ditch anxiety-ridden attempt to keep women in their traditional places”. While Thompson doesn’t ignore the wider context, she does not necessarily lend it enough weight when presenting her argument. It is precisely the wider historical context of some of these works that changes their interpretations and the role these women take within the artworks.

[processandenquiryrobertl]

processandenquiryrobertl

PROCESS & ENQUIRY SUBMISSION .

This is a series of photographs I have taken on my train journey to college .Photographs are in chronological order from top left to right .I used an image of a silver foil blanket ,created a digital layer, adjusted the opacity of both layers to show the reflective and textural qualities the image has. I built up a series of sound recordings of my journey looking at it as a process over time.

Tilting the pictures diagonally adds a feeling of movement in the video combined with zooming out effect. Simulating looking out of a train as the view recede away when rear facing . The ticking sound with revrb stretches the feel of time .The combination of the two layers gives a painterly feel to a digital image .i see this being viewed as a projection in an exhibition with the sound occupying the space

The Original clay impression had very surprising results .Lots of interesting line and textural marks have been left, with tiny detail of the strings .Some flattening of the image was caused by pressing too hard on the paper on top . I would avoid this future by using less pressure if making prints and use paint as a print media .

This paper print of the wet clay was something I hadn’t considered it was a byproduct of the processes .It has lost of potential as an idea to go forward with .

The very fine pattern left by using stretchy fishnet left subtle mark making although help would be good holding the material For more control in the process .The small pieces could be arranged compositionally to make one piece on a plinth.

These experiments in clay were all samples I made .I found adding paint in some cases takes away from the natural properties of the clay .I experimented with how to create form by shaping with my hands .

These samples look good on a white clay plinth with colour . Also making good marks on black paper when printed in paint .I could develop into other 2D and 3D work in the future .

Tin foil used as a membrane between the layers to stop them sticking together during the process has taken well to the form, adding both textural and light altering properties .I tried to further develop this with a foil blanket but it did not stick well to the clay with glue .

[moeshachare]

FAS3000 - Final Evaluation

For this project ‘The Story of You’, I came up with my narrative: Chaos vs. Nature. I define this topic as living in my hometown Birmingham where the city environment is busy, ongoing and is a constant reminder of negative memories and traumatic experiences I have endured as a child. This is the chaos that takes over my life. As for nature, I am thinking about my favourite scenery: sunrises and sunsets. For as long as I can remember I have always had a spiritual connection to the sky, it makes me believe there is a better life waiting on the other side and makes me feel closer to God. This is an internal escapism I use when I am feeling anxious or stressed. The ultimate message of my narrative is that I am escaping my stress and upset and settling into my place of peace, where I feel positive, empowered and more than enough. Chaos vs. Nature is an expression of how my environment affects my mental health. This is a part of me I have never discussed before so this is something personal where I can go in depth and get more in touch with myself.

My research started off by taking pictures of varied details within my local environment and daily commutes.

As the ideas for my narrative were constantly changing, it was difficult to find my focus. However, my research journey became easier to develop as I finalised this sunrise/ sunset topic of my narrative. I began to focus on taking photos of the sky at different times of the day and then the contrasting scenery of the city then stood out to me. Being in the city is a main part of what I see every day so combining these ideas made a lot of sense. This has helped my design journey as I continued to take photos throughout the project, in which I developed the colours for my palette and I identified and created similar textures inspired by the sky. My intentions were to learn existing and new skills and processes that would help me to visually communicate my narrative.

My primary research images have played a major part in my project so I have used them in all my samples. I have interpreted the colour, texture and dimensions from my photos by using materials such as light and translucent fabrics for my base and thin and thick yarns and threads to add texture in my samples. This links to my project as the materials and colours I am using are a reflection of my emotions, for example: I have practiced these techniques in a chaotic manner, which represents how my thinking is all over the place and I am just doing whatever I want without a plan. The darker colours reflects when my mind is a negative state and the lighter colours are making me calm and refreshed.

My successes in this project were my heat transfer disperse dye prints, digital sublimation prints and hand free machine embroidery because these were techniques that I have either learned in college or have tried once before. Because of this, I was able to think critically about my narrative and carefully select what materials I needed to produce strong samples at a quick pace and that would link back to my narrative. Another success of mine was my ability to further develop my samples by combining techniques I have learned over this module, for example: my first disperse dye print with reverse applique and hand free machine embroidery were a perfect combination of print and embroidery techniques used in one sample. Because I like to put things together spontaneously and seeing if it works, this shows my progress with experimentation through my sketchbook.

My weaknesses throughout this project were page layout for sketchbook and using secondary research. For my sketchbook page layout, I have started with strong pages that visually communicates my narrative and uses enough space. As I continued with my sketchbook, I began to struggle with laying out some samples as some were quite big or very busy and I wanted to make sure each page was still communicating my narrative. Regarding my secondary research, I have struggled to find artists who I can compare my work to. I have spent more focus on my primary research and developing my ideas that I couldn’t find a direct reference. Instead, I have looked at photographers such as Ross Jukes and Matt Peers because their photography work captured the essence of what am I portraying in my sketchbook. This has inspired my colour palette of sunrise and sunset and how to take photos of the sky and city aligning with each other which would strongly connect to my narrative.

If I could make any potential improvements with this project, I would work on refining samples, time management and having more self-belief and self-confidence. I tend to procrastinate and overthink a lot, which has affected me in not producing some samples to the best of my ability. To improve this, I would have reviewed all of my techniques to see how my weaker samples could have been developed, for example, using parts of an unsuccessful print in a collage or weaving sample.

Regarding my time management, I would organise my time more effectively in recording my progress for my samples as I have struggled to write and repeat what I am saying. I have sometimes struggled to produce as many samples as possible I wanted in the workshops, so planning my spare time has been important to make sure I am completing everything for my sketchbook.

Throughout this project, most of my experiments have been successful and have worked in my favour because when I looked at my sketchbook, I can visualize what my samples are communicating. However, there were a few samples that could have been refined by finishing the sample more neatly and adding or enhancing to a simpler sample such as adding texture on top of my weave sample to add more depth and meaning.

For my planning and production, I have used my timetable for this module to see where I would need to spend time in making more samples, e.g. I spent one week focusing on my weaving samples because it was very time consuming, and I felt that I didn’t have enough samples to showcase my skills. My initial idea was to follow the scheduled workshops and seeing what was available to do that moment, so that I am covering all the tasks given in this project and my work is coming out at a high quality.

When it comes to problem solving, I find that taking a step back for a few moments and reviewing what I have done was a very helpful tactic. It was very often that I would look at my work and get stuck on what to do next so having that time to refresh my ideas helped me to overcome this problem. Also, asking for feedback from my peers was very helpful because their ideas brought a new perspective that I didn’t know of and this helped me to continue with my own ideas but with a further outlook.

Overall, I am proud of my progress made on this project. I was able to revisit myself as a creative and learn new skills after having a long hiatus for my creative practice. I have always made sure I have kept to my ideas and developed them to communicate my message visually. I am very happy with my project came out and it has made me think about my transition to my degree in Textile Design and what I want to specialise in, which is print and/or embroidery. There are some improvements I would have made, but it is important that I could reflect on my strengths and weaknesses and use them to my advantage.

Lastly, above is my final outcome: an A2 presentation board with my strongest samples. I am very happy with how it came out because I have struggled slightly with the layout. Most of my samples were very busy and colourful so it was essential to have enough space for each sample to breathe and to make sure I had a lighter sample to create a balance. Looking at my presentation board I like how on the left side, my samples are laid out flat on the surface and on the right side, my samples are more textured and have a 3D effect. My only criticism for this board is use of colour; I feel that I have made my print samples repetitive, and the colours came out a lot brighter than I expected. If I did this again, I would use inks that would produce lighter colours. I believe that my presentation board would be able to visually communicate my story.

[fakeshibe]

i got one of the dishonored comics today, The Peeress and the Price (still waiting for the art book to ship), and it was a really cool short comic run!! i’ve got a couple of mixed feelings on certain parts of it though :/

So, spoilers mini-essay with absolutely no spell checking or proofreading to explain my thoughts and critiques :D

— Spoilers for Dishonored: the Peeress and the Price —

the art was incredible, loved it, such a sick style the really harsh lighting had such a sick effect. really cool use of colours too. For some reason on the version i got Emily’s headshot on the cover was like, super low resolution and visibly png compressed? there were a couple of page spreads of D2 location art on the inside too which were slightly compressed looking with a weird sharpness, no idea what’s going on there lol. it was an official print so, i guess maybe it didn’t get proofed properly before it went to print or there was a tight deadline? the actual comic art looks incredible, it’s just the cover and the art spreads, which makes sense cause they’re pieces i’ve seen other places being re-used for this. bit odd though.

It started out super great, diving straight into Emily being confronted with the demand for democracy from a group of Dunwall citizens, and I love that!! it’s a genuinely good question for Emily to be asked, if she’s always looking to do the best thing for Dunwall, would that include abolishing the monarchy? but then the rest of the comic just feels too short to properly explore that and it concludes in such an unsatisfying way. It feels like it was maybe meant to be a 3 issue thing treat had to be shortened to 2? or maybe it was always 2 issues, and really should’ve been 2. idk.

The action is really great, I really love it!! it’s so cool to see how Corvo and Emily fight side by side, and to get it clarified that Corvo’s mark doesn’t get returned post-Delilah in D2. And the antagonist, Price? the way she’s drawn and framed is so cool and I love it, she’s allowed to be so brutal and i love that. but does she really have a motivation? Unless i missed a panel i couldn’t really tell one other than she just wants to watch the world burn. She kinda fits the description of characters from Morely, so in my mind i’m assuming she’s for the fall of Dunwall and the empire because of how Morely has been constantly revolting against the empire in the background of the games, because that actually is a really cool motivation that brings the wider empire into the story and furthered the question of how much good Emily’s position as empress does when balanced against the damage inherent of it being an empire.

But yeah, the ‘im into chaos because, fuckin idk it’s fun to watch the world burn’ methodology of Price kinda doesn’t work for me. I know Price explains her motivation in more detail while she’s attempting to convince Wainwright to use his position to turn peaceful protest into a violent rebellion, but it still just doesn’t convince me without the mention of Morely or a wider motivation.

Also, the part about the ending being unsatisfying? Emily kills like 10 of the rat gang henchmen without a second though, not in self defence either, she usually starts it. So her sparing the leader of the gang and telling the public ‘it’s not my position to decide who lives or dies’… actual what the fuck are you on about 😭😭 since when?? unless that’s meant to be her separating Empress Emily and assassin Emily, and declaring that publicly she’ll limit her powers, but behind the scenes she’ll still control Dunwall??

Also the people were like having a revolution 10 mins ago, but now that Emily has spared one person from capital punishment they’re all royalists again? idk, i loved the art in the comic and the characters but i think some of the writing just wasn’t for me lol

I’ve still to read the actual books and ik they’re a lot longer than a 36 page comic, so i’m hoping they delve into things a bit deeper.

All in all, I think by nature a short run comic is gonna struggle to go very in depth on any topic, i think it did it pretty well for the format and i’d have loved to see the authors and artists given a longer run to explore the ideas they had further :) I think it’s a nice little follow up to show how things work in Dunwall post-D2, and how Emily and Corvo work together and everything. It’s nice to see that there’s been a thought for the continuation of the series and more spin-off media, even if i have critiques of it i’ll always be glad for more Dishonored related media lmao

[tyrell-kray]

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[niamhsperformancelab]

Week 3~ Performance Lab

(Tuesday)

The presentation on semiotics and character design had emphasis on symbolism and portraying narrative within character design. so much can be told about a character through their costume and is a great tool to portray ideas or points.

We decided to focus on costume and materialising our character designs throughout this session as we had decided we wanted the audience to wear birdlike masks to mimic a flock of starlings. This would be so that when the time comes in our performance for the audience to roll the dice to select the ending, it is obvious that they are acting under the villain's authority. Amie took the role of doing the main designing and creating of the masks as she had a keen interest in this, the key points we wanted her to include in the design was colours to match a starling/ my villain character and for them to be obvious with being a birdlike figure. After making a colourless prototype, she drew up a colour version on procreate which gave a stronger indication, combined with the physical prototype of what the final masks will look like. Upon reflection with this design we decided that the coloured lenses would not be suited to our performance as we are already making colour a major focus and this would take away and make distinguishing between each different character on the combined mannequin more difficult.

After researching our options for coloured lighting, we settled on using projection mapping for our combined mannequin. None of the group has experience with projection mapping so we agreed that Hemza should look further into its possibilities and how we can incorporate it in a way that suits our project. We didn't know if we were going to use AfterEffects, HeavyM, or another software to project onto our mannequin.

As we needed an alternative for the light projection for the Sluagh/ villain character, Sarah gave us some LED strip lights that are connected to an Arduino and can have different colours programmed into them. We tested these lights under our different white materials to see what effect they would give off and decided they would be a great fit for what we were trying to achieve. We also knew we needed to experiment with the wing prototypes and find the most effective/ sturdy way of creating wings for the villain as they are the focal point of the character and are on the larger scale, covering most of the torso so will need sufficient structure.

Lara had retrieved two mannequins for us to use so we could gain the measurements of each and start prototyping what we wanted to have each mannequin look like using white card. Our plan was to use different white/translucent materials in our final outcome to give different affects however we wanted to create a card base first so that it could be used to experiment with projection mapping too. Below is my final design of what the villain's costume, minus the wings will look like. we chose to go with a white colour with this mannequin as well as the other mannequin to create a likeness between the two and incase we decided to project some sort of colour, we didn't want the colour of the characters outfit to impact the desired effect. here is the design I drew in procreate:

All storyboards have been completed as of this day so we have a definite outline of what needs to be done and how our final performance will look.

(Wednesday)

While we had a workshop with Lee on white card models and projection, I also had a printing induction downstairs. Before I left for the print workshop, Lee gave a brief talk on the different methods, scale and ideas we could incorporate into our own projects. it was very insightful and inspiring to see what we can achieve on a smaller scale, bringing ideas to life without investing too much time or effort into the models. It also brought the realisation that shadows could be a great way to add to our set design and to add more discreet prompts/ layers to our story.

Doing the print workshop induction was very useful as there was a lot of health and safety to cover. While I don't think we will use any of the print workshop's resources for this performance lab, it will no doubt come into use within the course as printmaking is something I have some experience in and am interested in developing my skills.

After returning to the studio after this workshop, I had a hand off with Zoe as she had begun making the prototype skirt on the mannequin from white card and masking tape. I was then to experiment and learn how to use HeavyM to explore projection mapping as Hemza was originally meant to come in to experiment himself but didn't make it in. Within the 30 minutes spent going through the software's tutorial, and exploring, I had a very good base knowledge of the softwares capabilities and had a simple outcome that matched exactly what we were trying to achieve. One of the main things I was struggling with was translating what was on the computer onto the mannequin in the exact positioning required because the computer was off to the side and I couldn't see the whole of the mannequin. As a small fix to this issue, Lee had already set up a camera streaming whatever it was pointed at to a TV monitor and I pointed it at a straight on view of the mannequin so that I had a better point of view while working on the projection. As we still have the majority of physical making that needs doing for our performance, we decided as a group that using grad+ will be essential to get all of our work done In time for the performance.

(Friday)

We spent the morning making final adjustments to our presentation roundup as this would be delivered to the group at 2pm after Lara and Sarah were back from their meeting at 11:30am. Once this was completed, we made great developments with HeavyM and learnt how to use video instead of the classic settings available. This was exactly what we were looking for to create as similar projections as we could to our designs. We also finished the prototype of the combined mannequin, minus Hemza's keys, so that we could try differentiating the different characters. (images below).

Our 10 minute presentation on what we had completed/ what point we were at in our project went decently. Lara and Sarah gave us feedback and encouraged us to investigate audience further and what their role will be within the performance as well as how we want them to react. I think it would be good to visit this later on in the project's stages to ensure we get exactly what we want.

We then made a final to do list of what was to physically be created over grad+ week in order to complete our project and added all of our notes, images and resources to miro so that they could be accessed by the whole group.

[sassquish]

A Birthday Surprise

Part 2.

Summary: THIS IS PURE SMUT. Part 2 to: AU where Loki joins the Avengers after Ragnarök. You are also a member of the team (fem reader). The two of you are a couple living together at Avengers HQ. Loki wants to give you whatever and whoever you want in the bedroom on your birthday.

Warnings: Smut, size kink, ddlg (daddy/baby as endearments), threesome, voyeurism, degradation, mention of breeding, traffic light system (but only green lights).

***********************************************************************

I promised this part 2 about seven months ago 🤦‍♀️

Apologies, and thank you to those you commented! I tagged you in case you need some monster smut in your lives right now.

I have an idea for a fluffy part 3, hopefully it won’t take another 7 months.

************************************************************************

https://sassquish.tumblr.com/post/664134843299414016/a-birthday-surprise

Loki looked back at me. Realization finally dawned on his face. “Darling, this was your plan all along,” he said with awe.

I hummed and started rubbing my thighs together again. If my clit wasn’t given the attention it needed soon, I was going to pass out. I finally told him what my real birthday wish was.

“Please Loki, I’ve wanted you like this so badly since I saw you laid out on our bed. I couldn’t stop thinking of how much work I would need to do to suck you and fuck you and please you. You would never talk about it. Please stretch me everywhere, please,” I begged pathetically.

His face broke into a big, gorgeous smile. Staring into my eyes, Loki bought his face closer. He growled, “The role of the trickster is mine darling. I’ll have to punish you for this.”

I started to take a deep breath, but it was cut short when he flung me onto the bed and the force of the landing pushed it out again.

“Take up the position, slut.”

“Yes, daddy”, I squealed with an eager grin.

I went onto all fours, laid my head on my folded hands in front of me, arched my back, and stuck my ass up. I snuck a look at him to my right, where he was searching through our drawer of toys. My brain was still adjusting to his Jotun form standing in our room. I couldn’t make out what he was grabbing, his huge body shielded my view. He turned his head back to me in what was probably meant to be a stolen glance. With two steps, he came over to me, grabbed my face in his hand and forced me to look up into his red eyes.

“What is that look for slut, huh? Did I say you could watch me? You’ve added another 10.”

I groaned with pleasure and closed my eyes, preparing for the feel of our leather flogger on my ass. He used his thumb to caress my cheek,

“Look at me baby”.

I opened my eyes.

“I’m not used to my Frost Giant form sweetheart, so we’ll have to calibrate before we begin properly. Ok darling?”

I whined and wiggled my ass.

“Use your words baby girl, or you won’t be getting any of it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Before another moan from the praise could leave my mouth, he bought his hand down to my right ass cheek swiftly, and the sound came out a squeal. The sensation of the thud and the sound of the smack on my jiggling flesh sent a wave of warmth through me.

“How did that feel, baby?”

“5.”

“Good.”

Another thud came down just on the edge of the last one, and this smack resounded around the room.

“7.”

Moving the placement of his hand yet again, he gave me another.

I choked out, “9”.

With that, he lightly caressed where there was undoubtedly a red hand print.

"What's your colour?"

"Green."

“Good girl, we’re feeling like a little pain slut today, are we?”

He smacked my other cheek.

“Yes, sir. I’m such a slut for your punishment. Please?”

“You’re enjoying this far too much sweetheart”, he said as he glided the flogger softly from my lower back, down my ass, and further down my left thigh.

I breathed deeply, enjoying the feel of the soft leather on my skin.

As I was relaxing into the loving caresses,

SMACK.

A grunt left my mouth.

“Count, baby girl.”

“One, daddy.”

Loki continued to flog me, sometimes giving a few at a time in slightly varying spots as he moved from the top of my ass down to my thighs. From time to time he would give me a break, softly dragging the leather over my cheeks, until the final five. I was in that wonderful meditative state, the only focus of my brain were the sensations my Loki was gifting me with.

“Remind me, how many has Daddy given you, pet? Hmm?”

“15, Daddy.”

“I saved the best for last for you baby girl.”

He bent over me and placed his two big hands on the bed on either side of my head. His arms enclosed by body and growled he in my ear, “the rest are for your sloppy. Little. cunt.”

That sent a shiver down my spine.

I groaned and whined, ���Yes Daddy, please touch my sloppy cunt, it’s all for you, please.”

He chuckled and placed a kiss on the back of my head before straightening up.

Immediately, the leather hit my clit.

“Ohh Yes Daddy, 16.”

He was merciless when it came to my pussy and I got all of the smacks in quick succession.

“Such a good girl”, he cooed.

Finally, FINALLY, I felt one of his fingers glide along my pussy lips.

“Babygirl, you are such a depraved little slut. You’re always wet for me, but I don’t think you’ll need any lube even with me in this form”, he said with awe.

I moaned and grinded against him.

“Look at you, desperate for friction. Pathetic slut.”, he breathed.

“Yes, Daddy, I’m your slut please, please use me.”

“Hmmm, I don’t know sweetheart, it took you some time to get used to my human cock, let’s see just how much of a slut you are.”

With those filty words, he slowly began to slide his finger into my dripping hole.

“Ohhhh Loki” I gasped and wiggled onto him further.

He gasped in shock and I stopped, not sure what it meant. He flipped me onto my back and all my coherent thoughts disappeared. He towered over me, red-eyed, dangerous looking, but my beautiful blue Loki.

He bought a hand to my throat and asked me threateningly, “Whore, how are you taking my finger so well already? It’s almost as big as my human cock.”

He looked over to Bruce, who had been intently watching the entire show. The Hulk was looking desperate, clearly edging himself, trying not to cum before we were finished playing.

Loki looked back at me, raising an eyebrow, “Have you..?” he began.

“No Daddy, never!”

“Then, how”, he snarled as he squeezed a little and looked into my eyes.

I managed to squeak out the answer, “I practiced…look in our drawer.”

His expression was confused as he released me and stepped back to our toy collection.

“Under the bottom panel.”

He turned and looked at me with a smirk, “Another trick sweetheart, that means 10 more for you later.”

My pussy throbbed. He rummaged around and took out the false bottom, flinging it to one side. I purred low in my throat. Seeing Loki fling chunks of solid wood around like it was nothing was turning me on even more.

He chuckled deeply and turned around, holding what had been my little secret since the fantasies of him taking me in his Jotun form began.

"A blue monster sized dildo. What a depraved slut you are. I can't believe you've been sleeping beside me this whole time and I had no idea. It matches me perfectly."

He raised his eyebrows and I saw his genuine smile of pleasure before he replaced it with a smirk.

"It's not quite as big as our Green friend or I, but nonetheless, you're going to show us how seriously you've taken your training, darling."

He pulled me up onto my knees, took a fistful of my hair in his hand, and pulled my head back to look up at him.

"Open wide, slut."

I did as I was told and stuck out my tongue, the anticipation of finally having a hole filled completely adding to the stress on my painfully throbbing pussy.

Loki gently laid the dildo on my tongue and rubbed it up and down, teasing me. My mouth was watering for it. When I couldn't stand it any longer, I pushed my mouth onto it, and groaned with the stretch. He tisked and bought his hand up to cup my chin and throat, looking me in the eyes with my mouth full.

"Such a greedy little thing."

He removed the dildo from my mouth and I pouted.

"Did I tell you to put that tongue back in your whore mouth, hmm?"

I quickly stuck it back out again.

He used the dildo to give little slaps to my tongue while he squeezed my face a little. It felt like he was squeezing the wetness right out of me. When he eased up be spread the spit covered dildo all over my face.

"Such a pretty little pet", he said before giving me a peck on the lips.

"I can see you've been so studious that you can take this toy easily sweetheart. So how about we give you a challenge?

My eyes lit up.

"BUT your showing off is making me impatient darling, I want to start warming up your pussy. I'm so fucking excited to feel you around my Jotun cock. So why don't we ask our friend here to help us?"

He cocked an eyebrow and looked over to Bruce. Bruce's eyes widened in surprise and his hand froze on his cock.

Loki looked back to me and whispered, "would you like that, honey?"

"Oh yes please Daddy!", I squealed.

He chuckled low in his throat, "what an eager little slut you are, I love it."

He kissed me, then we both looked to Bruce.

He stuttered, reminding me of the old Bruce Banner, "Uhh guys, are you sure?"

I smiled and said, "Yes Bruce, I'd like to play with you. If you want?"

He smiled shyly, nodded, and rose out of the armchair.

Loki put me back on my hands and knees. I was facing Bruce standing on one side of the bed, and my Jotun was behind me on the other side.

My head was dizzy with need and disbelief. I was about to be spit roasted by my two favourite monsters.

Something flashed from the corner of my eye, and I turned my head to look towards the end of the bed. Loki had summoned a huge mirror, big enough to reflect the three of us. I had a huge grin on my face as I saw saw my two lovers staring back at me. I moaned and wiggled my ass. Loki pulled my hair from behind, so I was looking up at Bruce.

"What do you say to our guest, sweetheart?"

I gave Bruce my best doe eyes, " Please, put your cock in my mouth Bruce baby."

"Good girl".

Bruce smiled widely, "Don't have to ask me twice."

He stroked his cock a few more times, then repeated what Loki did to me with the dildo. He rubbed it on my tongue before pushing his hips forward until my mouth was full, then paused. It was the fullest my mouth has ever been. I was already drooling all over it, there was no space left to swallow back any spit. He started to press further, until I gagged. He eased out a little and whispered, "Good girl".

Feeling more spit drip down my chin made my pussy drip even more.

Bruce repeated this, slowly, a few more times. I used one of the breaks to look in the mirror.

God, I looked like a fucking whore, and I loved it.

What I loved even more was Loki starting at me in the mirror, and stroking his cock.

He smirked and said, "darling, I think you can take more than that. Take a little more, then I'll touch you. How about that, sweetie?"

I grinned and turned to Bruce. I let Loki's hand guide my head onto the green cock, I breathed, tilted my throat open and let Bruce slide in. I breathed through my nose and when I was sure I could manage, I pushed my head another inch and stayed there.

Both men growled and the vibrations shook the bed. I was startled and gagged all over the huge member. A stream of spit went all over the both of us. Bruce looked down at me and rubbed it into my hair, "God damn Y/N, no one has ever taken me that deep, that was amazing".

Loki started to drag his fingers across my sopping pussy lips, "look at me Y/N".

I turned to the mirror and watched him slowly push the tip of his middle finger into my pussy. I groaned and my eyes rolled into the back of my head. He was already hitting my two sweet spots, the one just inside my entrance, and the other much deeper. He took his cock in his other hand and manoeuvred it so it lay between his palm and my clit.

"What do you want sweetheart?"

"Please fuck me Daddy, please rub my clit so I can cum please."

With a grunt Loki started grinding into me, my slick making it so easy. All of the play had me so stimulated that it didn't take long for me to reach the edge of climax. Between the friction on my clit and Loki pressing those magic spots inside me, I was lost in my pleasure.

"Let go baby, cum for me."

I tumbled over the edge and writhed through the most intense orgasm I ever had. I don't know how long it took my mind to join the two men back in reality. Loki was looking at me in the mirror. It was the same look he had just moments ago, but the intensity of his hunger was startling now that I had some relief. I wanted to give him the same.

"Thank you Daddy, I feel so good. But I need more, please fuck me with that big blue cock, please".

He wasted no time in bringing his tip to my entrance. Looking in my eyes, he pushed his hips as far as my stretching cunt would allow. I moaned and panted with every inch. The fullness was overwhelming. Then he withdrew, and repeated. He felt perfect.

"Loki, you feel perfect my love."

He grinned and continued grinding into me like that, using not even the top half, and he placed a few fingers under my clit for me to get friction. It felt heavenly. I looked up at Bruce and stuck out my tongue. He had been stroking himself and wasted no time in filling my mouth again. I closed my eyes and relished feeling so full and watching myself be used by these two gorgeous men. I knew I wouldn't last very long, even if I did just have an orgasm. Loki started to pick up the pace of his strokes and took a fist of my hair in his hand.

"Look at you, look at my sweet little whore taking more dick than I've ever seen anyone take".

Then, he growled, "I'm so proud sweetheart."

I moaned at the praise.

He continued in a rough voice, "But you're not even a little whore, are you? At least whores get paid for letting monsters use their bodies. Not you, you're just a fucking slut who can't get enough dick. Are we even enough for you sweetheart?"

His words made me moan and I constricted around the cock in my throat.

Bruce made a surprised noise and pulled himself out before cumming and filling my mouth. I made a satisfied moan and swallowed what I could while still panting and grinding due to Loki's minstrations. Before I could see Bruce's eyes return to us, Loki flipped me over onto my back and continued to grind. He rubbed his hands all over me, before settling them on my waist, covering most of my torso.

He was moaning and groaning "Oh sweetheart, this is better than anything Valhalla could offer me, please let me see you cum around my cock, please".

"Yees Daddy Jotun, you feel so fucking good."

I watched his large frame tower over me and his big cock struggle to fit inside me. A few circles around my clit was all it took for an even more powerful orgasm than the first to wash over me,

"Loki" I screamed.

With the clenching of my pussy, Loki was also gone, "Y/N".

I felt him tense and I squealed at the odd sensation that followed. I could feel his cum shooting inside me, and it was cold. It took my pleasure addled brain a beat to realise why that was. When I did, I started to giggle.

I watched Lok's face as he came down from his pleasure. His eye lids were droopy and he leaned down to kiss me and to rub our noses together.

"Darling, we just had the hottest sex ever, what is so amusing hmm?"

"Sorry Lo, I just felt how cold your cum is. Are you going to impregnate me with little icicles?"

Loki started giggling too and he whispered contentedly, "Happy birthday, darling. Thank you for loving me".

Tags: @little-moonbeam-666 @cassiaodinsdottir @mellowfishcreatorshepherd @wannabemonsterfucker @lost-my-account25

[boom-bakugou]

‘Wedding Crashers’ - Katsuki Bakugou

A/N: Sorry for my inactivity but here’s a little sorry and thank you present for me hitting 1k! I love you all sm <3

Pairings: Pro Hero!Bakugou x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, ooc deku; but it’s more of a headcanon, semi-public sex

Summary: Your ex-boyfriend Izuku Midoriya inviting you to his wedding is a definite stab in yours and Katsuki Bakugou’s backs. But you’ll show him.

Word Count: 5k

masterlist

You had considered your morning to be relatively normal, breakfast not burnt, coffee just that right amount of bitter to stir you awake. But those happy moments of peaceful bliss were soon to be fleeting as your mail arrived. Sifting through the pile to what you assumed would be bank statements and bills; your fingers landed on a cream white envelope. Your name printed neatly in a cursive font that when you followed it with your eyes for too long it almost made you want to puke. Tearing it open haphazardly, you read the perfumed content inside.

‘Dear Y/N Y/LN,

We are very proud to invite you to the blah blah blah wedding of pro hero blah blah Izuku Midoriya and blah blah blah.

RSVP blah-‘

Wait what? The taste in your mouth was pitiful. Yes, you and Izuku had dated years prior and after being childhood friends, yet it didn’t end… swimmingly. But this didn’t feel like inviting a childhood friend to your happiest day, no, this felt like a backhanded swipe at your ex-girlfriend who was well known to the media to be single. Pro-Hero gossip magazines made sure of that.

Throwing the invitation onto your countertop, your eyebrows furrowed with spite. You felt weak almost, watching your ex-best friend grow up to be this bountiful hero with merch in every store that you went to. Though you had triumphed well in the hero charts yourself, nothing ever seemed to compare to him. The golden boy. You never really got over the fact that he ended things because being a single hero was more postable than one who was tied down. Until now. Mr. Big shot getting married. It really made you question your integrity,

Recuperating your thoughts, you realised your phone was buzzing on the couch next to you. Checking to see the influx of text messages, you saw Katsuki Bakugou’s name fill up your lockscreen with notifications.

Bakugou: tell me you got the stupid fuckin invite too

Bakugou: the nerve that nerd still fuckin has

Bakugou: inviting his childhood ‘friends’ after all this time

Bakugou: tch, one big publicity stunt if you ask me

You chuckle as you scroll through the messages, gladly knowing that you weren’t the only one feeling this way.

Y/N: so what’re we going to do about it?

Bakugou: what do you mean?

Y/N: well we can’t show him up at his own wedding but we can sure stir something of our own

Bakugou: well that idiot is marrying some nobody extra

Bakugou: probably to show how ‘great’ he is

Bakugou: so how about if two top pro heroes rsvp’d together?

Y/N: you mean us?

Bakugou: no, midnight and grape juice. of course us you idiot

The idea brewed in your head for a moment. Izuku had always been nice when he was younger, and Katsuki hadn’t exactly been the nicest towards him in return. You were always the mediator in those situations. However when Deku grew and grew in the hero charts he started to lose touch with reality. Not really remembering what being a hero was about besides having his face stuck on a lunch box and raking in the dough for it. It was sad. You didn’t know who he was anymore.

Y/N: fuck it, i’m in

-

“You know, don’t think I’ve ever seen you in a tux before.” You chuckle, arm linked around Bakugou’s as you stepped out of the chauffeured car together. You were here to make a scene. Paparazzi glistened everywhere like a moth to a candle flame. You couldn’t wait for the tabloids in all honesty.

“Shut up.” Bakugou grumbled, almost in embarrassment. But his smile didn’t show a hint of it. “Not looking too bad yourself.”

You had coordinated well. Your maroon dress flowed in the gentle summer breeze and matched perfectly to Bakugou’s equally coloured tux. You two were such a pair it was nigh impossible to not think that you two were together today. And the paparazzi made sure of that indefinitely.

You couldn’t lie about how the service was beautiful, because it was. However you didn’t need to hear the shutter clicks of a camera go off every few words they spoke. It was distracting, and you and Bakugou shared a glance each time it occurred. Stifling a giggle, you hoped no camera would pick that up. Even if they did, they’d probably pin it to ‘look at these other heroes wishing that they were the next to get married!’ they’d eat that shit uplike ambrosia.

“Can’t wait to see the reception.” You mumbled towards Bakugou, your plastic smiles never fading for the cameras. Izuku making a show of himself and his new bride.

Watching him was almost bittersweet. The happy memories of you three as children flashing behind your eyes. Now replaced with a fame hungry number one hero. Where had all the time gone?

“What’s got you so perplexed?” Katsuki asked, filtering your way through the crowd, making your way to the cars that would deliver you all to the reception.

“Just-“ You sigh, allowing the cover of other heroes to hide you from the all seeing eyes of the paparazzi. “I miss him, y’know? Miss how we used to be.”

“Tch.” Bakugou didn’t care about the scowl present on his face, your words ate him up like some sort of bacteria. “Thought you said that he was the most selfish guy you’d ever dated?”

“He was but like-” You watched Izuku’s back as he held his new partner’s hand. Waving to the cameras and not watching her, as lovely as she looked in her wedding gown. “As weird as it sounds, I sometimes miss high school.”

Bakugou’s eyes scanned your face, following your eyesight to Midoriya. Fucking extra. The thoughts swam around his head, polluting his mind. He knew Izuku’s break up with you had been a massive toll on your mental health and your ego. He made you think that you weren’t good enough for him, and Bakugou never got over that fact. How could he pass up on you for anything else?

Breaking apart from the conglomerative of wedding-goers, Bakugou lead you to one of the specially hired cars to take the guests to the reception. Despite Bakugou’s abrasive and rough nature, you couldn’t help but notice how delicately he held your hand. Not tugging you along or haphazardly grabbing you by your wrist, making you follow him. No, his fingers interlaced with yours and you felt the coarseness of his palms due to the explosive nature of his quirk.

“Katsu?”

“Hm?”

“You can let go of my hand now, we’re in the car.”

“Yeah- whatever.”

Catching up in the car, you both realise how little time you have to actually spend with each other. Though you and Bakugou communicate 1000 times more than you do with Midoriya, heroing keeps you both busy. No times like these to goof off and be with each other. You missed it, you missed your hot-headed idiot friend.

“Hope there’s less fuckin’ paparazzi here. Think I’m gonna go blind with those extras pointing them in my face.” Bakugou rolled down the tinted window a smidge to watch as the car drove into an old looking manor hall where guests had already begun to arrive.

Flowers decorated the ground and just as you two got your hopes up, you saw a line of paparazzi at each side of the staircase leading to the double-doored entrance.

“Well, it was worth a try.” You remark to him, patting his back as you chuckled to him.

Bakugou was the first to exit, standing beside the door so he could reach for your hand to help you out while you fixed your dress. Just as the two of you began to reach for each other's arms to walk into the reception together; there was a brusque tug to your dress. Upon further inspection, a member of the shutterbugs had stood on a long section of your dress. Allowing himself to get pictures of it stretched out and flowy.

“Hey!” Bakugou didn’t waste time on pushing him off the tail end of the dress. “Try anything funny like that again with my girl and say goodbye to that shitty camera of yours!”

The man nodded, slowly letting his camera hang loose on his neck. The rest of the cameramen easily caught the scene but you both couldn’t care less. What’s a wedding without a little drama?

“Thanks Katsuki.” You note with a soft smile.

Bakugou’s hand tenderly makes its way around the small of your back until his arm is holding you close to him as you walk inside. His hand sitting in a caring way at your hip to assure that nothing could come between you both. You could not wait for the media to plaster this fake-ness on every outlet that they could! However, you liked the thought of relishing in the attention right now.

Once the dining festivities had come and gone. It was time for their first dance. Watching as he held her under the blue lighting had your heart hurting slightly. The thought that that could’ve been you. But Bakugou was right. He’s probably marrying some quirkless nobody not only to make himself look better, but being with another hero is messy. You both had media eyes on you; but… you couldn’t help but wonder how different your life would be like if Midoriya was how he used to be.

You didn’t even notice Bakugou’s eyes on you the whole time. Not wanting to waste a second of his eyesight on the show Izuku was putting on. You were a sight of your own. How could you not see that you deserved someone better? Someone like him. You always spoke about how everyone was under a facade when supporting Deku, but you never correlated that to yourself.

After a short while, others began to join in on the large dance floor. Perfectly spacious for all the famous faces and their egos. Bakugou’s hand traced down your arm until his hand clasped with yours, gently leading you to the floor yourselves.

“What’re you doing?”

“Come on, who’s to say we can’t have some fun too huh?”

Smiling at him, you followed his lead. His hand occupying your waist before pulling you in closer to his chest. Flowing with the music, you couldn’t help the cheesy smile on your face; nor the one that spread to Bakugou’s.

“Why’s no one ever tied down Mr. Ground Zero then?” Your question takes Bakugou by surprise, showing a small blip in your combined graceful swaying to the music.

“No ones good enough.” Such a Bakugou answer.

“You’re sounding like Izuku, but he probably got that from the old you.” You jested, earning an eye roll from Bakugou. “I’m being serious! Come on you can tell me.”

It takes him a moment to figure out an answer, so much so that he doesn’t focus on dancing anymore. He just stands there holding you before locking eyes again.

“Just haven’t found the right person to deal with my bullshit I guess.”

There’s a beat of silence and your eyes search his face for answers. You didn’t even realise how close you were to him. His breath fanning your face, the smell of oak and fire and burning sweetness engulfed your senses. You also didn’t realise how the two of you sank closer and closer into one another.

“Hey Kacchan, mind if I steal her from you?”

Izuku’s voice almost sends you two flying away from each other like same sides of a magnet.

“Ask her yourself she’s not mine.” You turn from Bakugou to give a friendly smile to Midoriya, allowing your hand to rest in his. “I’ll be at the bar. Free drinks and all.”

His answers are short, curt. Yet before you can ask him if he’s alright Deku spins you and begins to dance with you in his arms at the tempo of the new music track that’s playing.

“Long time no see Y/N!” His manner has always been so chipper, despite the facade of it all. Though Bakugou and you went there to purposefully to cause discourse; you don’t think you have it in you to be mean to Izuku’s face.

“Yeah, look at you! Married man now, must be scary.” You chuckle, almost nervously. It was like speaking to a stranger.

“Well I guess I’ll find out! But come on that’s been the subject of the whole day! I wanna know about you and Kacchan.” You felt like Bakugou right now, the old nickname boiling your blood as it did his. There was no doubt Izuku took influence from Bakugou and his fiery personality; but he took it in all the wrong ways. Using confidence to become cold, uncaring.

“Oh- haha, Katsuki and I aren’t-“

“Y/N. Don’t lie to me! I can see the way he’s burning holes in my tux from over here.”

Turning you to the music so you could face where Katsuki was standing, you peaked behind Midoriya’s arm to see Bakugou with an all too familiar scowl on his face. Chasing down a beverage in a crystalline glass in one easy gulp.

“If you ask me Midoriya he’s always looked at you that way.” You laugh your statement off but you meant it with malice.

“Midoriya? Feeling formal today are we Y/N?” He had completely lost touch of who he used to be. “I used to look at you like that when I saw you with other guys, I know what that look is.”

His comment stops you dead in your tracks, not allowing for him to swing you to and fro to the music.

“Actually Midoriya I don’t even remember you looking me with jealous intent other than when I was higher than you on the hero charts.” Shaking yourself free from his towering position on you, you stormed off to the patio doors, letting yourself be eaten by the oncoming darkness of night.

Crying at your ex’s wedding. Not something you’d think you’d ever do in your lifetime but here you were. Thankfully you couldn’t see any reporters or such outside so for now, it was just you and your tears. Maybe you were too harsh on him? You used to be friends right? What happened to that kid who wanted to be a hero who you looked up to? What happened to the boyfriend you had who kissed you goodnight and ignored you when your face was on the TV more than him or snapped at you when he was announced lower than you and broke up with you because ‘heroes dating are messy!’ No. Bakugou was right. He was a self-righteous bastard now.

“Y/N?”

You half expected Midoriya to come out after you but he was probably entertaining other guests. Luckily, as you turned you saw Bakugou standing outside with you, signature hands in his pockets with a dumb, sympathetic smirk on his face.

“Hey.”

“I promise I didn’t punch that asshole at his own wedding but I can tell you he got a fuckin’ earful from me. Hope the paps got a good pic.” His tone was joking but it hadn’t cracked a smile from you yet.

“S’alright. Wouldn’t give two shits if you did.” You sniffled, collecting mascara tears on your fingers and wiping them on the decorative concrete bannisters of the balcony. “Shouldn’t’ve fucking come. This was stupid I have too much baggage for this shit.”

You turned away from him, allowing yourself to lean out on the barrier, looking into the distance on the warm night. You could hear Bakugou give a small sigh before his arms snuck around your waist, pulling your back into his chest before placing a chaste kiss on the top of your head.

“That fuckin’ idiot didn’t know what he lost and it’s my fault for influencin’ him.” The pain in his voice was evident. Did Bakugou blame himself for the hurt Midoriya caused you?

“Katsu-“

“No. That extra is so blinded by the shit everyone has to say that he’s forgotten what real life is. Doesn’t care about his stupid fans or his friends or the best most understanding girl in the whole fucking world. A girl I know does the best for everyone no matter what her own situation is.” You turn around to face him, not wanting to leave his embrace. “Y/N. No matter how much I’ve always wanted to fuckin’ win I’ve just wanted the best for you. And when that bastard did what he did to you- I- fuck. You look at him, like you’re waiting for him to just notice you; but every time I see you it’s like I’m seeing you set the stars in the sky every fuckin night. You just- you’re fuckin’ everything to me Y/N.”

It was completely silent on the balcony besides the low thump of the music from indoors, but it was deafening. But it all faded when his lips attached to yours. It was so clear. All that pining over Midoriya when he was just copying the one who actually saw you for who you were. He even copied Bakugou’s crush on you, most likely to make him jealous. But your mind had no time to think of that when all you could feel was Bakugou.

It was like you had never been kissed before, never felt the love and sensuality behind it. Soft and moist but breathy and warm. For once Bakugou didn’t wish to win a battle, he wanted unity and to be together with you. His hands danced over the delicate curves of you in your dress; taking in every inch of your perfect body. The gasp that fell from your mouth was perfect entrance for Bakugou’s tongue to mingle with yours. The sparks hot and electric between you both was like liquid lightning.

Just as your hands found home in his hair, you heard the all too familiar sound of today of a photo being taken. Bakugou is the first to break the kiss to find the intruder of your special moment. Your lips already feel blushed and bruised but your heart was nearly pounding out your chest.

“Fuckin’ print that in your gossip magazine you extra!” Bakugou couldn’t help but heartily laugh at the man as he shook with worry after catching the intimate moment. He wanted to show you off. He wasn’t ashamed that his lips had captured you to be his.

“Let’s go somewhere more private.” He whispers into your ear and you eagerly nod, grasping his one hand with your two as the both of you manouvered your way through the wedding guests until you finally found a small closet down a hallway where no one from the party had entered.

Slamming the door shut behind you, your eyes drank in Bakugou’s frame. How had you missed that small boy you once knew had now become this beefy, beautiful man? Who was looking at you with the same awe and intent? Bakugou cornered you against the door of the supply closet, latching his lips together with yours once again as if he was scared he’d never be able to taste you again.

“You’re fuckin’ perfect.” Katsuki’s lips mashed with yours as his hands slid up your dress, the coarseness of his fingers against your soft skin sending shivers down your spine.

All those years of being a hero really showed on Bakugou, he lifted you with ease as your fingers traced scars on the back of his neck; holding on for support. His hips pin you against the door and you feel his cock hardening between the fabric of your underwear and his suit pants, you can’t help the whimper escaping your lips at the friction of him.

Bakugou’s hands slip under the straps of your dress, letting them fall delicately to your sides as his lips ensnare yours. His grunts and your whimpers enough to make any passerby know what was going on in the confined space of the closet. His fingers glide beneath the dress which allowed it to fall further as Bakugou felt the weight of your breasts in his palms.

“God you’re fucking everything princess.” His fingers slide beneath the lacy fabric to thumb your nipples, perking and tugging it with his forefinger.

Breaking the kiss, his head lowers to encapsulate the bud in his mouth. Gently suckling it before rolling it feverishly between his teeth. Your hands snaking through his hair only spurring the assault on your supple flesh. Biting your lip to stop the obvious moans that were threatening to spill out of your mouth. You swore you could see stars as his tongue flicked against the pointed nub- sending your nerves wild.

“Bet that fucking extra never treated you like this baby.” He matched your height, his gaze never leaving your own as he took both of your tits out of your bra; kneading the flesh and buds of your nipples as he spoke. “Just wanted to get himself off, I know how to fuckin’ treat you right.”

“Then do it… Kacchan.” You spoke with such gusto in your breathy state, knowing that the old nickname would make him see red. And god did it send him feral.

His body pressed you further into the door, even if it felt like he couldn’t. The aching feel of his cock rubbing against your clothed core made you mewl in want of him. His fingers slid beneath the hem of your dress and made little pricking motions into your inner thighs until he traced a slit over your panties.

“Shit you’re fucking wet.” The pads of his fingers kneading against where you wanted him most, a chuckle falling his lips as your hips did their best to try and get any sort of relief.

“Katsuki please- please fuck oh my god-“ Your neck craned back as you felt your body take control. The low growl in Bakugou’s throat at the sight of you barely touched and already begging for him.

Tracing his fingers along your décolletage he stopped when he met your parted lips before roughly shoving his fingers in your mouth, pressing down the body of your tongue.

“Please please please-“ Katsuki mocked. “Please what princess? Better use your fuckin’ words or else.”

An insufferable smirk played upon his lips as he felt your cunt clench around nothing at his dirty words. Pulling his fingers from your mouth, he wiped the remnants of your spit across your tits; awaiting for your response.

“Fuck me Katsuki- please you’re all I want. God you’re all I need.” Although said in your aroused state. You meant it- and he knew that.

Not wasting any more of the precious time you two had before you were inevitably found out considering your blatant disregard for being quiet; Bakugou used his hand to tug off his belt. Nearly setting his suit pants on fire as his quirk crackled in anticipation for you.

Your body clung to Bakugou’s for support, his whole body easily keeping your pinned high between himself and the door. Once his lower half was sufficiently stripped, it was easy enough for him to rip the sides of your underwear off.

“Katsu-“

“Shut up.”

Not wanting to disagree; you did. Hips bucking against nothing as the cool air prickled at your hot cunt. Bakugou held his manhood in his hand, rubbing the head of it in your slick and providing stimulation to your clit. Your thighs tightening around his waist like a vice grip at the well needed attention.

“You’re fuckin’ soaking baby. So needy.” Bakugou mumbled against your neck, allowing himself and you to get off momentarily at the friction. You could only nod to his words which were making you more and more wet for him. He was such a tease.

“Come on princess. Tell me you want my cock. Tell me.” His voice growled as he repeated himself, leaving marks upon your nape that would surely bruise because of his harsh bites and sucklings.

“Katsuki I need you- only you. Only you.” Your repetition is barely a whisper but he heard it, and despite his rough nature Bakugou confines your lips in a kiss as he sheaths himself inside of you.

Taking a few slow thrusts to allow yourself to adapt to his size, it’s only a moment before Bakugou completely bottoms out inside of you. He watches your face shiver in pleasure which he mirrors. He clasps your hips so firmly his knuckles turn white; it didn’t even hurt as all you could focus on was him inside you. Your hands find their way to his biceps, gripping on for some tension relief and you could still feel his muscles flex even beneath his suede blazer and the shirt.

“What a good fuckin’ girl, taking my cock like this.” Bakugou’s voice is a low growl as he thrusts into you, the sounds of your clothes brushing against one another and the slaps of your skin interacting was like a sinful symphony.

The smell of caramel danced in your brain as Bakugou worked up a sweat absolutely pummeling himself into your sex. You grasped onto him as if your life depended on it, moaning into his neck as his cock slid in and out of you. You didn’t even know how much time was passing as he rutted himself into you relentlessly- yet as you both came to your highs, you could both barely move from the thrill of it all.

Steadying your breaths back to a regular pace; Bakugou slid you down from where he had pinned you against the door and let you fix yourself as he then did himself. You sorted your dress and pulled any tugs from your hair when he had pulled it before slapping Bakugou’s arm.

“You dick! You ripped my underwear!”

“Hot.” He chuckled, fixing his belt loops and stuffing the ripped panties into his pocket.

“Not funny! I’m not parading about with no underwear on!”

“We’re getting the fuck out of this extras stupid wedding. You can wear my clothes at my place.” Suitably sorted and not looking like you had just had the brains fucked out of you in a closet (despite the reddening bites and bruises that were now appearing on your neck), Bakugou held you close. Yet instead of taking the corridor to the exit, he was leading you back to the main dance hall.

“Where’re we going?” You hashly whispered to Bakugou, your thighs still wet from your slick and the cool air against your unclothed pussy making you heat up from embarrassment.

“Gots to do one thing before we go.” There’s a shit eating grin on his face, you couldn't help but wonder what on earth he was planning now.

Midoriya stood talking to other heroes all dressed in their formal attire and Bakugou (with no consideration of their conversation) roughly tapped his shoulder to get his immediate attention. His arm around your waist was so tight but being see with Bakugou like this made you feel almost proud.

“We’re just heading off.” Bakugou had replaced his smile for his usual scowl, something he had always looked at Izuku with.

“Going so soon? It’ll be a shame you guys!” Izuku’s voice was plastered in falsehood. He probably regretted trying to gloat over you two. Bakugou held out his hand for Midoriya to shake it, your brows furrowed on what was obviously a stepping stone to Bakugou’s plan.

“I know I might not be better at you right now in the hero charts.”

Uh oh.

“I’m glad you’ve finally come to recognise that Kaccha-“

“But I am better at you at something for sure.”

Bakugou used Midoriya’s hand in his to pull him closer, readying himself to whisper in his ear.

“Cause I just fucked the shit out of your ex-girlfriend and I know you never made her come as hard as I did.”

Your face burned with the heat of a million suns, but the glower on Izuku’s face was priceless. And you couldn’t help but see the flash of a camera capture the moment as Bakugou’s hand fell from his and slipped once again around your waist.

[nopefun]

Interview #495: Quince Pan

q: Give a short introduction of yourself: a: I am Quince Pan, a documentary photographer born in 2000, currently based in Singapore. I am now waiting to enter university to study Philosophy, Politics and Economics.

q: What is your series "JBM" about? What was the process of making the series? a: “JBM”, my family’s abbreviation of “Jalan Bukit Merah”, is a documentary photo project centred on my maternal grandmother, Lau Giok Niu, her cultural heritage and her HDB flat where I spent my childhood under her care. It is my first exhibited series and also my first serious long-term documentary project.

In 2015, I followed my grandmother to visit her hometown in Fengwei, Quangang District, Quanzhou City, Fujian, China. Bringing my camera along on the trip, I noticed that instead of shooting purely for fun or beauty, I would include certain objects (for example, a calendar on the wall) in my frames because they had historical significance. I submitted those Fengwei photos as my portfolio for the 2016 Noise Art Mentorship (Photography and Moving Images). I got selected, and my mentor, Jean Qingwen Loo, urged me to pursue a project which I could speak authentically about. Through her criticism, I learnt to further prioritise meaning over style. My grandmother and my childhood were topics close to my heart, especially as she cared for me during my childhood and gave me the gift of the 头北 Thâu-pak dialect, a unique variant of Hokkien from the Quangang District. Eventually, “JBM” was born as my mentorship capstone, and was exhibited at the “Between Home and Home” Noise Art Mentorship Showcase at Objectifs in 2017. I haven’t stopped shooting; that’s why it’s an ongoing long-term project!

“JBM” contains a range of visual styles, ranging from photojournalistic fly-on-the-wall documentations of heated family discussions and visits by distant relatives from China to more tender images of sunlight at the void deck where my late grandfather’s wake was held in 2006. Rituals and festivities are anthropologically significant, so I pay particular attention to Chinese New Year, the Qing Ming Festival and the Winter Solstice, which my family celebrates. I also look at how other photographers document their families: Bob Lee, Nicky Loh, Bernice Wong, Brian Teo and Nancy Borowick.

More broadly, “JBM'' extends beyond photography and is a family history project. Since 2013, I have been researching the Quangang district, 头北 Thâu-pak dialect and my grandmother’s clan. I discovered that other descendants from her clan established an ancestral temple in Singapore, which initially stood on Craig Road but is now housed in a flat in Telok Blangah. I already did some fieldwork, interviews and preliminary documentation, which led to an article I published in April 2021 in Daojia: Revista Eletrônica de Taoismo e Cultura Chinesa. Maybe I will explore this in greater depth in future photo projects!

q: How did you get into photography? a: When I was around seven years old, I loved to play with my father’s Fujifilm compact. As a young student, I hadn’t heard of terms such as “light painting”, “Dutch angle” and “rule of thirds”, but those were the techniques I subconsciously used in my photographs. 

I entered the Noise Art Mentorship, as previously mentioned. During the school holidays, I worked as a media intern at Logue and as an assistant at Objectifs for the “Passing Time” exhibition and book by Lui Hock Seng. Through these work experiences, I learnt so much from Jean Loo, Yang Huiwen, Ryan Chua, Lim Mingrui and Chris Yap: news angles, editorial writing, scanning and touching up negatives and slides, colour management for print, liaising with clients and issuing invoices, among other skills. As part of the Noise Art Mentorship, I was given a copy of “+50” by the PLATFORM collective, which opened my eyes to diverse approaches within the documentary genre. I started to regularly attend talks at Objectifs and DECK, where I got to know people in the local photography scene, particularly in the documentary tradition.

q: You also do videography. How do you see it in relation to your photography? a: Videography requires a different way of seeing and thinking compared to photography, because video has additional temporal and auditory dimensions. With photography, I don’t have to think about how long I want a scene to be, what foley and B-roll I want to overlay, or have a storyboard in my head before heading out to shoot. In that sense, photography is more reactive to and receptive of situational contingencies because it requires less pre-planning. 

Also, photography can be a solitary endeavour, but it is quite difficult to make films alone, and the schoolmates I used to make films with have since embarked on separate paths in life. However, photography and videography share the same basics as visual media: composition and sequencing.

Fundamentally, I see myself as a documentarian, and this applies to any medium I work in, be it photography or videography, or even writing. The end goal is to record and share history by telling stories from lesser-known perspectives. Thus, the topics of my video projects are similar to the topics of my photo projects; sometimes I do both side by side! The films I made were all documentary shorts of places which do not exist anymore, such as the Hup Lee coffee shop at 114 Jalan Besar and the old Sembawang Hot Spring before NParks took over the site from MINDEF and redeveloped it. 

Currently, I am working as a videographer for Sing Lit Station’s poetry.sg archive. Thankfully, this job can be done solo!

q: What or who is inspiring you right now? a: Bob Lee, for being an amazing father and spreading hope and joy to others through his images. Alex and Rebecca Webb, for pairing literature with photography. Tom Brenner, for approaching photojournalism like street photography. Sim Chi Yin, for her international achievements and being both an academic and a practitioner. Brian Teo, for being an eminent contemporary. Last but not least, Kevin WY Lee’s advice, “CPR: Craft, Point, Rigour”, which I try to benchmark my work against.

q: Upcoming projects or ideas? a: Nothing concrete on my mind so far. I am just going to see where life takes me and what topics life makes me want to explore or talk about.

q: Any music to recommend? a: First and foremost, my fight song: “倔强 Stubborn” by Mayday. A close second, Queen’s 1986 “Under Pressure” live performance at Wembley is a transformative experience. The catchy “他夏了夏天 He Summered Summer” by Sodagreen brings out the grandeur in the mundane. “Silhouette” by KANA-BOON and “Everybody’s Changing” by Keane remind me of the fragility of life and time. I also like The Fray, Kings of Leon, Last Dinosaurs, Stephanie Sun, Tanya Chua, and the Taiwanese indie band DSPS.

his website.

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[duskyskz]

50/50 - Chapter 1

Warnings - Toxic relationship, verbal/physical assault (NOT with main pairing), eventual smut but very very slow burn, boxer minho, trust issues reader, development on dom/sub dynamics, sex education to a degreedetailed tags to come with individual chapters.

After the final straw in your patience and self confidence leads you to moving in with your neighbour, you spend months unlearning bad habits and opening doors you shut yourself out from in your last relationship.

Word count: 5.5k

Minho watched as you picked up the corn cob, placing it gingerly in the basket on your arm, moving onto asparagus sprouts. How own hands are empty, not yet having decided on the groceries he craves that week. Instead he watches, from the irritated skin on your wrist to the focus of your eyes as you inspect potato bags in the next stall over. He’s just a neighbour from the same apartment complex, he’s seen you a handful of times at most before the current week yet since he started noticing your steps he can’t seem to stop.

You breathe out heavily, adjusting the basket on your forearm and he stills, frowning when you readjust the woven handle once more along your arm. There’s a coloured faintness there, and traces of fingerprints that make his stomach twist inside out uneasily. He knows your name, as of a few days ago. It looks like it aches. It’s still an urgent boundary to cross, what he’s about to suggest.

“You could stay the night with me, if you want. If that’d be easier.” He’s only a step behind you, having followed you quietly down most of the farmers’ market now. The sunhat he recognises you from by now bounces among the sea of hagglers on a wednesday morning. “I know fights in relationships can be rough, so if you need a place to crash for the night, my couch is free.”

You wish you could tell him how much you cannot possibly do that, but Minho’s offer is so innocent and well-intended you don’t have the heart to outright decline. “Thank you, Minho, but we’re fine. I’ll be alright.”

He doesn’t need to read into your smile to understand the rejection, trying not to let it phase him at the implication you’d be going home again that night. He knew better than to ask if you needed help carrying your bags after the first time he’d offered and your knuckles turned white.

“Alright. But you know my flat number if, right? If something happens.”

“If something happens.” You promise, and leave him with a nagging sense of discomfort as your dress fades into the morning crowds.

***

You don’t think of doing it as you enter the concrete building block and pass the elevator to the staircase. It would be too inappropriate, too out of the question to even consider. A night at another person’s house? At another man’s house, even more so! No way would you consider breaking a rule like that. You couldn’t step out of line like that. Yet as you passed the third floor, one you now knew held the possibility of the unexplored, you hesitated for a moment.

No, surely it wouldn’t be worth the scolding you’d get after. Would you even be able to sit still for an hour, without twitching? The handprint shaped bruise on your wrist still aches dully with the weight of the food basket as you open the door to your shared apartment two floors higher. You no longer notice the relief that sags your shoulders when you realise the house is empty apart from your own presence. You take in the respite of silence while unpacking the vegetables, trimming the corn cob for stir fry later in the evening. It's followed by bamboo shoots and chicken breast, which you’ve just about got simmering when the front door clicks open.

You hear him before you see him, taking as long as you can to plate the food before turning to face the man you shared a home with. He doesn’t return it, eyes glossing over you to inspect the dinner plate you slide before him.

“You know I prefer rice noodles.” He tuts out, frowning. His feet come up to rest on the other chair, but you weren’t going to sit at the table anyway, opting to linger by the counter. “And beef, your chicken sucks.”

He chews loudly, groaning as if to make sure you’re aware of your culinary inadequacy, but his face never lifts from the plate. He wasn’t wrong, really. Your cooking was barely edible enough to provide nutrition and you didn’t know how to make it better.

He keeps talking still, even as his pointer finger comes in contact with your forehead to accentuate his point with a harsh poke that makes you lean backwards against the counter top.

You don’t apologize. It’s better to not make any noise, you’ve come to learn, keeping your head toward the floor and body still and you’re almost impressed with yourself when the plate is thrown into the sink by you with a piercing clatter, not caring if the porcelain splits

The food is half eaten, but you don’t comment on the waste either. You’ll eat alone later, but the mess makes your exhaustion rear its head again when you think of cleaning it.

You know it’s no longer love that stops your words in your throat. The fluttering in your heart froze up into apprehension first, then fear and indifference. The physical alterations hurt, but they were only skin deep. They only lasted a few days, and once the ache faded you wondered if you felt the pain at all. The verbal attacks, that made your head hurt more. But you stopped talking back, because then they stopped faster.

The door slams again, rattling the walls loud enough to make a point of your boyfriend’s absence and shining light on all your failures as a partner. He wouldn’t be back tonight, or maybe even the night after that. You let your knees turn to cotton, slumping to cold kitchen tile. You don’t clean up the noodles in the sink. You’re not hungry enough to eat your own portion.

In a burst of conflicting emotion, you feel yourself stand and head to your bedroom. Maybe it’s the tiredness that made a home in your bones, maybe it’s the stress rattling them every time you’re in his presence, watching your step and calculating his every action before it happens. Maybe it’s the lack of all of that when you push your partner from your mind and let your heart betray you for a second to think of softer brown eyes instead, living in the flat two floors below you. It’s some twisted amalgamation of it all, probably, that makes you pluck your mascara from the bathroom, alongside a toothbrush and (on second thought, in case of emergencies) minimal changes of clothing into your backpack. You haven’t had use for it in a few months, not having gone further than the main streets of your own town in that time. It still fits enough for a weekend trip, and the weight of it hangs on you heavier than the clothing you packed would allow.

Would you really do it?

Minho could be mad at you for changing your mind, and maybe you couldn’t take that. You’ve developed a defence mechanism for one person, but could you for another so quickly? If his voice raised at you, you’re sure you’d cry on the spot like you used to the first few times in this house, too. But maybe you wouldn’t have to, maybe he wouldn’t even be home after you’d rejected his offer. He had no reason to be home, so you’re just going to check and confirm there really is no chance and no hope of you escaping this hellhole, that’s it. Your hopes would be rightfully crushed and you’d return with your tail between your legs, clean up after dinner, and head to bed like the fool you are.

Locking the door after you, as your housemate didn’t bother to, you trudge down two flights of stairs to the last door down the corridor, marked with a cat-paw print welcome mat and burgundy painted door. You knock twice with shaky fingers, and the sound is so light you wonder if he’d have heard you even if he was home at this late hour.

“Jisung, I said not tonight!” There came a shuffling from the other side of the door, and you were seized with fear of facing the other possibility - that Minho was no longer considering you’d come by, as you told him you wouldn’t, and he’s going to yell at you for ruining his night. The thoughts lurched forward at you as his footsteps grew louder, pounding in your head so loud your eyes blurred so instantly you couldn’t focus on the door opening and Minho’s silhouette against his low living room light.

“Y/n?” His response comes stalled too, letting a beat of silence pass between you as no words left you. He wasn’t shouting yet, so you took the chance to apologize as quickly as you could before the situation worsened. Your limits were thin tonight.

“I’m sorry, I know I said I wouldn’t come and that’s really stupid, I’m sorry.” Your thumb dug into the strap of your backpack at your feet. “It’s really late so I’m sorry if I woke you -”

“No, it’s okay.” Minho protests before you can word your final ‘sorry’, moving aside to reveal the rest of his hallway. “I wasn’t asleep yet. Come in.”

And that’s it. You expected more, to be honest. Some kind of questioning at least, scrutiny at your visual (and mental) state.

You don’t enter right away, thoughts wooshed out of your head. You don’t even think if he’d scold you for leaving the door open so long, but Minho just waits in the hallway, giving you space to cross the threshold of his home when you’re ready, watching as your expression blanks once the door closes behind you and he has to ask if you need help for you to take off your shoes and break out of the thought train. You hang your coat among his, after asking if he’s okay with that, and doing the same for your shoes. You hold your bag close, resting it on your lap as you sit down on your neighbors couch.

Minho looks the same as he did this morning, grey hoodie and equally nondescript jeans with a pale wash ending just below his ankles. He hangs around the hallway a few meters away from you, and you can tell he’s thinking about what to say before he voices his thoughts.

“Did something happen?” You hadn’t expected him to be so direct. You didn't consider this scenario beforehand, so you couldn’t answer instantly. “You said you’d come then. If something happened.”

“I’m not sure.” You decide to answer truthfully, though he may be unhappy with the vagueness of the statement. “Nothing out of the ordinary happened tonight, so…” You let the sentence trail off, but he knows the implication.

So I’m not sure why I came.

“That’s fine. Nothing has to happen for you to visit a friend.” Minho accepts your hesitance easily, and you’re instantly grateful for his keen senses. “It is late, so I’m not sure if you ate yet?” You shake your head. “I have some lunch leftovers I was going to heat up if that’s okay with you, though.”

Lee Minho was a glorious cook. Michelin level, you’d go so far to say, had you ever been to a Michelin star restaurant in your life, but you were convinced he’d qualify. Turns out his leftovers consisted of seared steak, grilled vegetables and an assortment of flavoured rice balls, which he served you with cucumber salad you saw him purchase at the market earlier that day. This was more elaborate than any meal you’d attempted to cook in your life, and you’d tell him so were you not so occupied devouring it. Minho didn’t think you noticed him glancing at you across the table, but the amazement in your eyes filled his heart entirely. He’s seen you look content, happy even on days he’d catch you by the vegetable stalls and spark conversation despite your brisk pace.

After he’d washed up, insisting you remain seated (which filled you with visible unease, to both his amusement and greater concern) you were forced to address the trickiest part of the night. You’ve had sleepovers before, but never with a boy. Never as an adult.

Stunning you for the second time that evening, Minho seemed to harbour no such fears.

“You can sleep in my room if you’d like, and I’ll move to the couch for tonight; but if you’re not comfortable with that, I’ll bring some blankets out for you into the living room.” The ease with which he approached the subject settled into your own head, and you nodded at his suggestions.

“I’d like to sleep here, please.” You pat the couch you’ve gravitated to after eating, quickly becoming the centerpoint of the apartment to you. Minho leaves for the few minutes it takes him to prepare a fresh duvet and pillow cover and you take the moment of isolation to break through the dam of thoughts clawing at your brain since arriving an hour ago. You weren’t sure if the time went by rapidly or dragged on. You only let yourself take in minimal information about the situation - taste of the food, the colour of his kitchen tile, the fabric of his clothing and softness of his living room rug. Small, manageable pieces of the greater dilemma you didn’t want to give attention to yet.

Midnight air mingles with your sigh as you lean back on your hands and tilt your head toward the window. Minho kept his curtains open for a glimmer of the nightlife. There wasn't much to see from the 3rd floor, but yellow light still flickers over rooftops and storefronts.Your musings are cut short when a mountain of bed covers drops beside you, delicately placed at the opposite end of the sofa. He must have switched off the other house lights on his way back, letting only the shy orange lamp illuminate his profile.

“The bathroom is on the left in the hallway, and my room is at the end of it, the last door to your right.” You note his directions in your head, nodding to show you’re listening. “Alright, I - I’ll let you sleep.”

“Goodnight, Minho. Thank you.”

He lingers by the doorway, balancing from one foot to another with an unfocused gaze. You don’t budge as he watches you, though he doesn’t seem to realise he’s staring at your feet, then your hands and face until your eyes meet halfway.

“I’m glad you came here. It’s good that you’re here.”

You don’t know how to reply to that statement, so you don’t say anything, and Minho leaves you with another soft goodnight and a flood of anxious thoughts.

***

Night fell rapidly, so much that when you switched off the remaining lights and laid to sleep. You were so stressed it made your head hurt, but the emotional toll made exhaustion greater, and you fell asleep within an instant. Minho’s duvets were plush, so big and fluffy you couldn’t see your own hand when you pressed down on the sheets. As you faded in and out of coherency throughout the night, a weight appeared by your feet. Too tired to be alarmed, you opened your eyes only when the warm pillow stood up, patting its way over to your stomach. It purrs against your cheek, whiskers tickling your nose as you blink back at it. It’s not surprising Minho has a cat - you’d picked up feline mannerisms in his behaviour before. It was endearing, now seeing the same slow blink in the eyes of the creature responsible for his habits.

It nudges its little head into your raised palm, rubbing against your hand. You give into the request happily scratching behind its ears, urging it to lay down next to you so you both could go back to sleep. The cat’s long body gives you something to focus on, easing the remnants of nerves from your brain.

***

You wake up more rested than you had been in weeks, despite pressure cramping your shoulder from the small couch you’d slept on. The living room is warmed by morning sunlight, though you’re not sure what time it is yet. You have no missed calls, and just one message from a student confirming the time of your session today. Creaks resound when you stretch, straightening out your bones from the night . The cat is nowhere in sight, but Minho must already be awake by the sounds coming from the adjacent room and you’re struck with embarrassment that he may have seen you sleeping. He would have walked right past the room, and since no door stood in the wide archway, he probably saw you drool right onto his pillowcase.

You consider sneaking out right then, grabbing your possessions and darting out the hallway, but you couldn’t leave without thanking him for letting you escape yesterday and for feeding you.

“Oh, hello.” The cause of your inner turmoil dips his head through the doorway, wiping his hands on a dishcloth. “How did you sleep?”

“Good, thank you.” Your knees bump against each other as you sit, patting down your hair. Minho looks well rested too, though his own hair isn’t combed yet and he’s not dressed to leave the house. Grey shorts this time with a plain white shirt hang off him, and he looks perfectly at home like that, humming a greeting at the floor when the cat you’d nestled into last night curls around his feet. White and ginger patches cover it’s fur, it’s belly a pure cotton shade as it rolls onto its back at your feet.

“You already met Soonie, right?” He laughs, pointing at your sweater, and belatedly you realise light-coloured cat hair clings to every inch of the fabric at your front.

“He came in to sleep here last night.” You pick at the frizzy hair to no avail. “I’m sorry if it got on your duvets, though…”

“It’s fine, my bedroom is covered in hair no matter how much I brush them out.” He joins you on the sofa next to the bundled bedsheets, placing the cat gently on his lap. Soonie makes himself content atop his legs, white paws dangling from the side. “I made breakfast for when you’re ready, and if you need to shower - I’ll grab you some towels.”

A shower did sound good, so you accepted his offer eager to strip from the clothes you slept in. Sweat was already making your sweater cling to your skin, and the cat hair combed through the fibers wasn’t doing the itching any favours. Not wanting to use up too much of his hot water, you rinsed yourself in record time. You packed your toothbrush, but not any shampoo, so you skipped out on washing your hair - taking Minho’s shower gel would be too much. You didn't want to go too far in his hospitality, and now he even cooked for you twice.

How could you repay that?

How were you supposed to make that worth his time?

You turned off the water then, not wanting to let your thoughts make you stall in the hot stream. You skipped out on wearing your sweater again, clothing yourself in the vest you had underneath and the pair of jeans you had last night. Feeling lighter now that the grime of sleep was washed from your skin, you looked around Minho’s bathroom before exiting. It was plain for sure, but accents of his personality lingered in the kitty paw-print of the shower mat, mint-scented shower gel and matching shampoo-conditioner set.

You’d never dwelled on whether Minho was a 3-in-1 shampoo user or not, but the knowledge he had dedicated creams and gels for each job reassured something inside you. It suited him. Yet the knowledge felt intimate, as if seeing the brand responsible for his mint and tea tree scent was encroaching on a level you weren’t supposed to know about as his neighbour.

You stood just beside the kitchen entrance, watching Minho set different dishes around the table top. Every flat inside your complex had similar layouts, so you were already familiar with the structure of his home. Still you watched, accidentally memorising the cupboard he stored his cups and cutlery.

“You can sit down, you don’t need to wait.” You faced his back, but he must have felt eyes burning on him. You sat down quickly, considering his words. Minho didn’t seem to mind a lot of things. It was unusual, being made aware of just how much instruction you relied on in unfamiliar settings.

And Minho smiles so much. It sets all your self preservation nerves on edge, analysing for underlying motive in his movement and sentences. You could clean his house if he asked, and replace the ingredients he used for your food. That would be the least you could do, and you’d settled on going about it as soon as he left for work - if he would leave. You had no idea what he did with his life apart from keeping you company on morning grocery hunts. But he was just so darn polite! He asked if you wanted any hot sauce, offered to butter your toast, even cleaned your dishes for you (again) that you had no idea what he could expect in return.

“Hey,” He calls over from the sink, “Give me a list of things you like so I can plan dinner later.”

“Why would you need that?” You still, glancing away from his mug collection.

“I only know you like courgette and hate leeks,” Wiping his hands on his jeans, he leans against the cupboards looking at you intensely. “And...you will be here for dinner, right?”

Would you be here that long? You weren’t expecting to. You’d go back two floors above and clean up the spilled noodles from last night, as your partner would have not, regardless of whether he’d returned home or was still out doing his mystery business. Minho frowns when you don’t answer, crossing his arms as you bow your head. You don’t want to anger him now, but how could you stay here any longer?

“Why would you want to go back there? It’s bad for you to be around that.” You know that, both at surface level and deeper - but how were you supposed to disappear? Sourness spread through your bones when you unearthed the feeling. You’re really scared - and you have been scared for years, but you never considered the feeling as such because opportunity never presented itself to escape. To admit you had to escape from something would be to admit you feared it, that you had been hurtt. You don’t know if you’re ready for that process.

“I don’t have anywhere else I can be, I still have things at that house, I can’t just leave.”

“You can.” Minho contradicts you immediately. His voice is level, gentle and coaxing, even though a strong resolve trembles in it. “You can stay with me as long as you want to. You don’t have to pay rent or anything, since I don't have a spare room but you can take my bed or stay on the couch if you like. Stay here for a few days, just - to feel better. It’ll make you feel better.”

He’s come to sit across from you, enough to give you space but enough for you to see worry lines around his eyes as he speaks. “I’ll give you space if you need it, just let me know if I can make things easier for you.”

“I’ll have to go grab a few of my things, I only got bare essentials yesterday.” Minho perks up right away, as if no tension hunched in his shoulders just seconds prior. It’s not as hard to agree as you thought it would be. You’re terrified, yes, of a step you know won’t end here. But you’re also more rested than you’ve been in so long, and the strain of all the stress become routine for the past years that you’re willing to grasp any straw at breaking the cycle. And Minho was nice. Everything you’d read between the lines of his actions was kind.

“Okay. Let me give you my number so we can talk while I’m not here, and you know - if anything happens, call me.”

You did go to fetch more of your things, after reassuring Minho it would be best if you went alone. If someone else was home, you could pass off your absence as work-related - it would be harder to explain why you weren’t alone.

His presence would just cause issues, and he eventually agreed to leave you on your own after you promised you had his number saved. You would also pay rent, but about ⅓ of it - on his insistence you got no proper room but a living room couch, and at your insistence you’d be using his utilities and house space. Your neighbour - housemate?- had to leave to do his own occupations, but assured you he’d be back within a few hours to help you.

You thanked him again for everything before he left saying you’d send him a list of your favourite food when you were done packing, and you set about your own tasks. He’d left the house keys with you, making the point of you more likely to be home before him.

They weighed heavy in your hand, the implications of the trust in his gesture more than the object itself.

You didn’t have a lot to move, but the transfer still takes you a few trips up and down concrete staircase. The majority of your haul is books, your own towels and toiletries. You’d have to perform an impromptu closet clearout, quickly deciding which old pieces to keep and which were better left in the past. Since Minho’s flat was similar, but inhabited one person only, his furniture would be cast to contain belongings of one. Working from home meant you were spared the task of office clothing or showy pieces, so all you had to part with was a few aged sweaters. You grab your laptop, a selection of favourite cups and plates so you don't have to borrow Minho’s all the time - though was it really borrowing if you would share the house?

You hurry as much as you can, but it still takes three trips up and down to completely transfer all traces of your life to the flat below. By the time you’re done, you decide to clean the small apartament to make organisation easier. It’s rapid work when you focus and separate Minho’s laundry without thinking about it. Darks, lights, and the sparse touch of coloured denims among his closet. Then you hoover, and by the time you finish hanging up the damp clothing on the balcony, it’s a while past lunchtime.

The turning of a lock swipes tension over your shoulders before you recognise Minho in the hallway, shuffling off his running shoes and hoodie. You meet him halfway, wiping your hands on your jeans to rid the laundry moisture.

“Hi,” His skin is flushed as if he’d been running, sweat sticking to the baby hair around his forehead when he smiles to greet you. Minho looks worn out, shoulders pulled high and taught. His breathing is laboured as he walks into the house, and only when he passes the threshold does he release the air in his lungs to slump in one of the barstools. “Did you get your things?”

“I don’t have a lot, so it only took a few trips.” You nod, following him to the kitchen. “I put most of them in the living room for now, though…”

“That's fine, we can go through the drawers and make space for you after we eat.” He reassured you, seeing you tug on your sleeves. “You didn’t send me a list of things you like to eat, so I got things I remember you buying instead.” His voice lilts into a pout as he looks at you, lips jutting into a pout before reaching into the bags he brought.

A strange feeling climbs higher and higher up your throat with every item he stacks on the counter and you wonder how much he actually spent on just foods you like. It grows stronger when you recognise your coffee brand, the cookies you got last week as he bumped into you that morning. A selection of fruits you used in a cake you gifted him last month, and sundries to fill the cupboards with.

“I can’t cook.”

Minho looks up at your confession, pausing from arranging the food.

“I mean, my cooking is edible at best.” You elaborate, looking away from his face to his hands as you lamely explain. “I could never, uh, make it taste good.”

“I’ll cook then.” Minho nods, shelving the sauce jars. Your eyebrows pull together and he must have noticed your hesitance, turning on his heel towards you. “Or I can teach you, slowly.”

“You can help me cook, and I’ll show you how to season different foods. We’ll start with things you like, so you already know how they’re supposed to taste. Then we can go from there.”

You want to ask if he’s sure, if it’s not a bother to have you around while he works to have someone hover around him needing assistance, but you do want to learn - If your food could taste half as heavenly as Minho’s cooking did, you’d be content. So you agree and he cheers at you, excitement contagious. And before you know it’s coming, there’s a surge in your heart at the sight of him again that makes grinning back at him a thoughtless action.

Cooking with Minho is more eventful than you expected.

When you watched him before, he navigated the kitchen with a practiced ease that made your awkward stumbles all the more prominent.

“Where do you keep knives?” He hands you a small knife, it’s green handle foreign in your palm.

“My hands keep slipping…” You fumble with the peeled onion as Minho tends the rice, tipping in a spoonful of white wine. The sting makes your eyes water, hazing your vision of the offending white bulb.

“You need to hold it with your other hand so it stays still, like a claw.” His hair was still damp, but now the moisture was from the shower he took before starting your lesson rather than sweat. You could recognise the mint scent in his shampoo and how it spilled over to his clothing, and no matter how reasonably awful it should have smelled mixed with raw onion you were cutting and the steam of boiling rice, you couldn’t get enough of the sensation. Minho acts open around you, treating you like a friend he’s known for years rather than an acquaintance from the farmer’s market. Only a day passed since you entered his home yet you felt so seen in his eyes. You must have been testing his patience not being able to cut a straight carrot slice without his help, but he never raised his voice above a patient hum. Sure, he did laugh a few times when your cucumber sticks came out triangles rather than evenly cut stips, but even his humour came without bite. His laughter was never at your expense, and it was kindling your heart alight at an alarming speed.

Minho (and his flat) became comfortable to you rapidly, and in the passing days your interactions all came more naturally than the last. Minho would leave around noon and come home just after 7pm, looking like he ran a marathon while you’d finish up your studies and the few zoom tutorials you teach for extra income. Despite his initial apprehension, he was grateful you took on cleaning duties so easily - he still insisted on doing the dusting and cleaning his bedroom himself, but it made you feel better to have some kind of input into house upkeep when you couldn’t contribute in many other ways. In the mornings he’d pass by the living room and you try your ebay to already be awake to spare yourself the embarrassment of Minho seeing you drool in your sleep, and in the evenings you cook together. Minho insists on increasingly difficult recipes, and you try to keep up despite recurring failures.

Five days into your coexistence, Minho is late.

Of course, you’ve only been part of his schedule for a week, but his arrival never differed by more than a few minutes - the gym he worked at was just a few blocks down the road. Tonight you wait with your phone in hand as 8pm rolls around, thumbs hovering over the call button. He did tell you to call him in case anything happens, but did that go both ways? If something happened to him, would he let you know too?

You knew he would not.

You weren’t nearly as reliable in that department, and it’s not like you could do much else than call emergency services - something he would surely do himself if he could call you in the first place. You can’t quite bring yourself to sit on the couch, leaning against the doorway to the living room with your eyes on the front door so intently you almost forget to blink by the time the handle starts to turn.

The unlocking click echoes in the silence you’ve sat in for the past hour and you shoot up, straightening your posture when the door finally gives way.

“Min?”

A/N: Sorry this is a day late, I was exhausted yesterday when I got home so had to delay it a little bit but now we're started! As you can tell this will be an incredibly slow burn, but I hope you enjoy the ride and see the development grow because I promise the deeper build up is worth the wait.

Tags: @healinghyunjin @lizsvcks @glitteryskzstraykidsdream (can't tag for some reason;;) @changbinscypher @spilledtee @linours

[justjuiceyboy]

new beginnings

in which Happy is the readers tattoo artist

word count: 1,637

warnings: swearing 

(a/n: I’m basically becoming a blog for Happy, will get back to writing Juice soon, just got this idea and knew I had to run with it. Hope you all enjoy and if you ever want to request my asks are open! Love you all, thanks for supporting!)

��——————————

7:45 p.m. The sun was setting, causing an array of colours over the buildings of Charming, lighting up the place like a movie. The air was fresh, warm as it was the middle of July. You strolled along the footpath and kicked a small rock as you walked, to calm your nerves. You had made the quick decision with your friend to get tattoos together on this day. But you were walking alone, friendless.

You were not ever going to get a tattoo alongside your ’friend’ who you had caught sleeping with your boyfriend of two years. Two years and he threw it down the drain. With your best friend nonetheless. You just packed your things as he tried to claim his innocence, even though you caught him in bed with her. You were lucky to find an apartment that day that someone was trying to get rid of. At least you had somewhere to stay, even if the entire situation wasn’t ideal.

You still decided to go through with the tattoo, wanting to use this as an opportunity for new beginnings. 

You were brought out of your daydream by the pinging of your phone, google maps telling you that you’ve reached your destination. You looked around, wide-eyed, not really knowing what to expect. But here you were, standing outside a small shop adorned with a sign stating “Mallen Tattoos”. This was the place you were looking for.

Pushing open the door, you were instantly met with the smell of cigarette smoke and disinfectant. At least they use disinfectant, you thought to yourself, trying not to show any emotion. 

You walked promptly up to the front counter and coughed to get the man's attention. He looked up at you from where he was sitting and gave you a warm smile, accompanied by “You alright Darling?” 

You were insanely put at ease by his kind demeanour and you smiled back at him, “Hi, I have an appointment for a tattoo at 8, booked it a few weeks ago?” He started flipping through a book that was on the desk and stopped, raising a brow, “says here that there’s gonna be two of you?” 

You sighed, having forgotten that obviously, your best friend was in on the booking too. You told that man that it was just you and handed over some ID, hoping he’d still allow you to be tattooed even though it was only one client. You handed over the money for the tattoo in hopes that that may persuade him further. But once again he smiled and got up from his seat, bringing you through a small hallway to a spacious room with four big leather chairs for tattooing. He gestured to one of them and you sat down.

He brought over a clipboard full of waivers for you to sign and then spoke once again. “Oh, I forgot to tell you Miss, but the artist you wanted, well, he’s sick today. Real bad infection! But anyways, we have a different guy here who gets tattooed all the time, very talented too, if you’ll take him instead?” You could tell he was nervous as to how you’d react. You’d spoken to the other artist on the phone and he’d done practice drawings of the tattoo and sent them to you so you were pretty nervous to let a new artist just take over but before you could weigh up the pros and cons you just nodded. New beginnings, right?

He let out a sigh of relief that he had been holding in and apologised for all this which made you laugh. But you stopped laughing as soon as you saw your new tattoo artist.

A tall figure entered the room, walking over to the man who had led you here. They seemed friendly with each other as they talked. Your nervousness was now back in full force as you surveyed the man who was about to ink your body. He was bald and you could see the tattoos going up his arms. He had an extensive collection which you assumed went much further than just his arms but your view was covered by the plain white T-Shirt he was wearing. He was quite scary, never creating a smile the entire time the other man was talking to him. Your tattoo artist was handed a few pages and he nodded after looking through them, finally making his way over to you who was sweating in the leather chair.

“This is Happy! He’ll take great care of you don’t worry! If you need anything you know where I am” the overly jolly man as he waved goodbye to you both and returned down the hall. Happy. The man in front of you was anything but Happy, with his scary look and overly built body. You knew he was a part of the Sons Of Anarchy biker gang.

You finally made eye contact with Happy and your nervousness increased once again. He was a good-looking man and you knew this tattoo could take some time. Being trapped in close contact with a man like this would terrify anyone. Also, he has some menacing eyes that you felt nearly bore holes into you when he looked.

“Do you know where you want it?” He questioned suddenly, you hearing his voice for the first time. Your mind instantly went to the wrong idea of what you want where and you choked out an exclamation of “what?!”

“The tattoo, where do you want it?” He stated not changing his expression. You mentally hit yourself in the face for going to the dirty side of things and once again was only barely able to speak when you said “ribs.”

He nodded and set up with the pre-made stencil as you lifted your shirt over one shoulder, half your body on display now. He focused on the task at hand and lay the stencil whilst you tried to look anywhere else but at him, knowing that he’d make your knees go weak and you’d say something stupid again. 

Once you agreed to the positioning, he began the process of the needlework. This was the first time you’d been tattooed and you didn’t know what to expect in regards to pain. The second he hit the skin, you jumped. He looked up at you and raised an eyebrow and you smile sheepishly so he continued on again. There was no small talk which you were thankful for. You were trying not to make a big deal of it but you could feel every touch, especially when he brushed off your boob whilst doing the linework.

He began filling the shape and shading and you let out a quiet ‘fuck’ and a breath. The man finally broke the silence as he stopped tattooing for a quick minute and rustled around in the pocket of his leather kutte. He pulled out a packet of cigarettes and held it one out to you. Talk about a hygienic practice, but you couldn’t judge right now, anything to take your mind off the pain.

“It helps, especially first time,” he concluded, lighting the cigarette and bringing it up to your lips. You took a drag and felt more relaxed now so he continued on again, placing the cigarette in between his own lips. But this time he kept talking, probably to distract you.

“Why the tattoo?” He asked, without looking at you of course, as he was busy staring at the skin beside your breast. You decided to give in to the small talk, mainly because you wanted to see what you could find out about the man who held a needle to your ribs and a cigarette hanging out of his mouth.

“I booked it with a friend but I found out she was sleeping with my boyfriend so I’m not really sure why I still came if I’m being honest,” you told him, not being wary that you were spilling the truth to a stranger.

“Sounds like a dick” he stated point-blank, making you laugh quietly. “Yeah, she was.”

“Meant the boyfriend. He was obviously stupid,” he mumbles, one eye flicking up to you as he pulled away again. He took the cigarette from his mouth and reached up to you again to let you have a puff. You weren’t sure if it was the air or the cigarette smoke clouding your judgment but the entire scene felt slightly erotic to you now. Hot man, feathery touched on your body and sharing a cigarette between both of your mouths. 

Happy seemed to have unwavering confidence as he watched you take a long drag as he spoke again, “You need a real man.” Now it was your turn to mumble, “beats me when I’ll find one of those.” It only took him another five or so minutes to finish on the tattoo and he then wrapped the area for you in silence.

He wrote a few things on a piece of printed paper and handed it to you, telling you it was just the care instructions and told you how to wash the area. You thanked him and he nodded again, signaling that you can go. You left the room and walked out the door of the shop, waving to the friendly man at the front desk.

The air was now brisk as you turned on your heel, ready to walk home. You were about to stuff the paper into your pocket as you noticed what he wrote at the bottom.

‘If you’re still looking for that real man, call me’

It was accompanied by his phone number and a small smiley face, which in turn made you smile. Looks like you’ll be seeing him again soon and not just for another tattoo. As you said, new beginnings, right?

[rotshop]

HELLO welcome to another thing i write on complete impulse with no planning other than Vibes

i refuse to proof read this sux to suck </3

2b likes to think he's a logical man. He likes to think that he's able to think his way through situations fairly well and that his judgement is trustworthy enough. He likes to think that he's educated enough to not have to worry about problems that're thrown at him too much.

You put that theory to the test.

It wasn't a surprise when he'd attacked you the moment he'd seen you, mistaking you for The Auditor. A part of his mind nagged that you were a touch too tall and it seemed like your licks and spines of shadows were much calmer, only a few sticking out from your figure. Yet the higher part of him threw that out, judgement deeming The Auditor had simply altered his form slightly. Yet, when you turned to him, unfazed by any of the bullets that simply went straight through you, holes being filled once more within milliseconds, he knew he was wrong.

He hated admitting he was wrong, some stubbornness mixed with a sensitive ego that he did his best to put on the back-burner preventing him from doing so. He didn't like when things didn't go to his way ; his vision. He liked to believe that he was smart enough to have control and some level of peace even though he knew he never would really have such things. Despite his stubbornness though, he knew he couldn't make an excuse to trick himself with this case.

While it was true that for the most part you resembled The Auditor in a near mirror image (with only a few notable differences), there was one big detail that you lacked. While Auditor's eyes served to be his one and only facial feature, you lacked any completely. You were one towering silhouette that light couldn't shed anything on, it made you impossible to not notice. It felt so wrong to look and just see nothing, it made something in his gut churn and twist together as a lifeline. He can't remember the last time he felt this much genuine fear.

There was a breath of silence, his own being held as he kept his gun trained on you while you stayed motionless. He could only imagine you were staring down at him, with what emotion or intonation was a complete mystery to him. It was driving him mad just how little wiggle room he had here and how little knowledge he could use here. He regretted walking into this building in search of supplies, he regretted turning the corner and causing as much noise as he did with the other bandits littering the structure.

Eventually, you cut through the tension that'd built up, taking one slow step and then another. It didn't take too long for him to notice the bulb above him flickering, him multitasking between glancing up at it in a mix of confusion and dry irritation while trying to keep you in his sights.

He felt his heart drop when he'd noticed what'd changed, what feature you'd suddenly gained. Teeth. They stood our against you with their blood red colour, impossible to not notice and for him to properly tear his eyes away from. They weren't some stereotypical shark's teeth, almost startlingly humanoid with the exception of how pointed your canines were.

He was so caught up in that detail that he failed to notice how you were circling around him, gaze never leaving ; like a starved wolf staring down a wounded deer. He'd attempted to take a step back, caught off guard when something caught him by the ankle, sending him to the ground. His pistol had fallen from his hand in the process with a clatter, him cursing quickly before reaching out to it.

He never got to make contact. It what felt like seconds you'd whipped it out of the way with a tendril, it hitting the wall with a harsh sound. You'd stopped your pacing, instead standing across from him wordlessly. He'd panicked further at that, making some sort of attempt to scramble up off the ground to no success. You ended up dragging him up off the ground, shadowy limb wrapped around his ankles tightly.

You seemed content enough with the irritation and fear clearly printed on his face as you sighed, leaning down till you were -presumably- at eye level.

"It's rude to attack someone you don't know anything about, you could end up getting yourself hurt."

That only provoked him further. He scoffed harshly, glaring at you as hard as he could manage with all the blood rushing to his head, "Getting myself hurt? That's a bold fucking comment from the one who's been toying with me for fuck knows how long now."

You tilted your head to the side and grinned (Or, at least, he assumed you did from how the molars at the ends of your mouth seemed to perk upwards a bit) , "It's not even been 10 minutes."

"That's not exactly helping your case."

You shrugged, straightening back out to your normal height, "I didn't come to make a case, sorry to disappoint. I was simply curious as to what was going on here."

He fixed you another look, curiosity creeping up despite the logic in his mind saying he should be furious. You only gave a quiet chuckle in response, beginning to pace around him once more as you continued.

"I guess that's not entirely helpful, is it? My apologies. I shouldn't be giving too much away on the first date," you grinned a bit again as he gave you another, weaker glare, "Buuut I'll say this. I've seen your little..group, for a while now. You're quite the bunch I must say."

"Can you cut to the part where you say you have to kill me or hold me hostage or whatever?"

You laughed, him blanking as something else twisted in him at the sound. He could see you shake your head a bit at that as you recollected yourself, "No, I'm afraid not. I don't have any intentions to hurt you or your friends. In fact, I'd rather prefer the opposite."

"You've all caused quite the ruckus around here, it's clear that there's a definite struggle of powers and balanced at play. Without a tragedy, nobody likes watching opera, without it it's just loud noise and shitty rich people who'll expire within weeks. So, I would like to make things more balanced, just so things are more 50/50," you continued.

"Right, and how exactly are gonna do that?"

You shrugged as you came back in front of him again, him having to crane his neck to look up at you properly, "Well, I was hoping you would be able to help me out with that. I can either just give a few little hints about things you would -no offense- take fucking ages to find or I could drop off supplies."

He'd paused for a few brief moments as he considered it. You were definitely something to keep a tab on in terms of you not selling them out or anything. While a part of him yelled to not trust you by any means or lengths, another insisted there wasn't any real maliciousness in your offer.

You tilted your head to the side once more, "So, do we have a deal?"

He stared for another few moments wordlessly, watching for any kind of tell or give that you were bluffing. Yet, as you simply looked back at him without much motion or any real sign of mal-intent, he realized it wouldn't work. So, after a hesitation he let out a small breath he didn't know he'd been holding onto.

"If you put me the hell down then yeah, sure."