#no more doom boxes 2022

[disguisedcheezed]

what made you like dirkjohn so much? like how did the ship pop into your head?

"how did the ship pop into your head?"

Okay. So, I just did some digging through my old abandoned accounts, and it turns out dirkjohn was my main reason why I read Homestuck in the first place. XD

They got me with their dumb looking faces and I thought I should just ship them because they're my favorites. And the fact that they were a blue orange color combo, which is the color combination I am very obsessed over, is just a mere coincidence that just made me like them more.

I don't even remember other shit from 2020-2022 because I was busy fighting for my life. 😭 I did knew that they had one interaction, so I just read the comic without expecting much of them as a ship but I loved them as their individual characters.

"what made you like dirkjohn so much?"

I don't just like dirkjohn. I LOVE dirkjohn. It's not even an exaggeration. I couldn't talk about dirkjohn(or just themindividually) without making poetry.

Anyway. The depressed weed boyfriends dirkjohn 2016-2019 shippers were right this. It was made sometime after the release of the snapchats where John is alone in his room for quite a while. And then there's other people who say like "of course they're being paired because they're the left overs of the kids ships", but what if it's like they were meant to be that way? What if they finally get to talk to each other and call out on each other's destructive behaviors? What is more romantic than being understood? Everyone else has figured out what to do with their lives.

Dirk helps John be grounded back into reality and tell him that there are friends that care for him. John tells Dirk to get out of his head, stop over thinking about the future and take care of himself. They inevitably take care of themselves by taking care of the other. They should take care of themselves for the other. And over time they get to share interest in watching animes, shitty movies and pranks.

The above is only showing "the good part" of dirkjohn.

"The worst part" ? Dirk and John were created in love of Everything, but they were doomed to be Nothing.

Similarities : They heavily mirror each other through almost all aspects of their lives.

Ex. (only a few. this isn't even the half of it.)

John: Rise up / Prince: Rise up

Liv Tyler / Lil Seb (puttin the bunny in the box)

Dirk sending gifts to his friends through a sendificator(red box) that helps/interacts with his friends physically(robots). John sends gifts to his friends through mail(blue box) that would give them their unique identity forever.

These conversations have the same vibe where they wanted to know what the other is really like apart from them knowing their adult counter parts:

In what aspect are they The Same? :

They hate themselves. Dirk dwells in it. John pushes it in the back of his head and doesn't want to think about any of it.

Dirkjohn Conclusion/Bare essentials: They effortlessly make the appeal themselves.

This is also why looking at HS^2 through a dirkjohn perspective just makes it a huge dirkjohn fanfiction. X

They ascend the need for a label in their relationship/any form of romance because of how intertwined they are to each other that they are a concept as a whole. (looks at the camera)

Dirk and John are the very threads of what makes Homestuck, Homestuck... Which means nothing.

End of ask mood moard;

My body is a vessel that collected every piece of Dirk and John's showed it back into the audience piece by piece and I will never stop doing it.

[raplinesmoon]

The House The Sea Built (KNJ x F!Reader)

Inspired by the Korean film Il Mare, and Namjoon’s album Indigo

pairing: rapper!namjoon x artist!reader

genres/aus/rating: strangers to lovers, angst, smut, magical realism au, time travel au, 18+

summary: It was meant to be a simple, yet practical request - leaving behind the seaside cottage meant you had to find a way for your mail to get back to you. But the response you receive from the previous resident, a man named Namjoon, dated two years in the past, is anything but simple. With extraordinary circumstances allowing you to write to each other, your tired souls find solace in your shared loneliness, and friendship blossoms. But what happens when that isn’t enough? When the ability to change life before and the future ahead becomes too tempting to resist? Will you and Namjoon find the fulfillment you crave, or will the aftermath leave you even lonelier than before?

warnings: lots of pov switches, heartbreak, references to mental health, drinking, swearing, lots of little coincidences, mentions of breakups, lots of Indigo references, Namjoon gets angry, minor accident and injury, Taehyung cameo, character d*ath, happy ending!, smut warnings: masturbation (m and f), erotic letters, squirting

word count: 13.8k

a/n: It’s finally here. This literally has to be one of the most intense labors of love I’ve undertaken, but I love Kim Namjoon, and Indigo, and this is the result of that love. I hope this fic can help you believe in the magic that exists in our mundane little world, and that it can help some of your loneliness go away, or just be understood, much like Indigo did for us when it came out. I hope you enjoy!

Present Day, 2022

What was it about saying goodbye that made it so hard? People always reminded you that you’d have the memories to hold onto, cherished moments engraved in the delicate fabric of your mind. Still, they seemed so fleeting, easily doomed to fade into oblivion as their delicate threads tore off and disappeared into the fabric of your mind.

Lost in your thoughts, you hardly notice the slip of your pen across the cardstock, leaving a garish ink stain amongst the neat print. Sighing, you decide it’s best to end your letter here, hoping the next recipient wouldn’t mind the evidence of your daydreaming staring them down on the page.

Shivering, you wrap your arms tighter around you, taking in the surrounding sea one last time. While there had been many clear blue days during your time at the seaside cottage over the past year, today was not one of them. Today, the fog was so dense the mist clouded the horizon as far as anyone could see, the only sign of the water being the gentle sound of the waves lapping against the shore. Your toes itched to take one last walk on the feather-light sand and to feel it squish between your toes, but you didn’t want to get your shoes dirty before making it to your new apartment.

A soft meow calls your attention, and you look over to see a pair of curious green eyes studying you from the shadows. Smiling, you slip the postcard into its envelope, reaching for the heavy box of art supplies - the last imprint of yourself remaining in the house, and rising to your feet.

“Alright Bokboki, it’s time to go,” you whisper softly, your boots thudding against the gangplank that kept the house elevated from the rising tide. Handing your box to the movers, you remember to pick up the card, holding it tightly to your chest with one hand, while scooping up Bokboki with the other. The wind whipped around your face, your hair flying in all different directions as you stepped back to take a look at your home. 

Slipping the postcard into the rust-covered mailbox, you hoped the next resident would appreciate the place as much as you did. More importantly, though, you hoped they honour your request in the note - the letter you were expecting was too important to miss. 

Climbing into the taxi with Bokboki, you wave a final goodbye to the cottage, turning your gaze away to await the promise of the new life that lay ahead.

. . . 

Groaning you turn against the scratchy sheets of your new bed, temples throbbing with pain as you’re greeted by the rays of sunlight upon rising. You missed the dense fog of the house by the sea, allowing you to sleep in as long as you wanted. Here, in this lonely box of an apartment, you were a slave to everyone else’s clock, awakened by the unforgiving light that signaled it was time to have another productive day. You cover your face with the blanket, burrowing back into the sheets.

Five more minutes wouldn’t hurt.

. . .

Those five minutes had unexpectedly turned into twenty, and now you were tripping over the boxes you had yet to unpack, slipping and sliding on the cool tile as you struggled to put your heels on and smooth down your hair. First impressions mattered when it came to finding work in your field, and you had to present the polished, sophisticated image that won the hearts (and the pockets) of most gallery owners.

Locking the door behind you, you see the woman from across the hall step into her own apartment as you’re leaving yours.

“How are you today?” you ask with a smile, only to feel the wind from the door slamming shut in your face. Dejected, you make your way down the staircase with your shoulders slumped.

Passing by the mailbox, you wonder if it’s worth taking a look for your letter, but decide against it. It had only been the first day after all. Who knew if Taehyung was even awake right now, halfway across the world?

Shaking your head, you ward off the intrusive thoughts in your mind, knowing that the letter would come, and all your worries would be eased. For now, you had an interview to go to. 

. . . 

The cold glint of the gallery manager’s eyes is all you remember, his booming laugh echoing in your ears, the sound seeming less like the jolly joke he intended it to be when he called your work unrefined, and more like a mockery that made your skin crawl. All you’d wanted to do was curl in on yourself in that moment, your feet itching to run to the corner and collapse. Instead, you’d politely wished him a good day, waiting until you were outside to let the first tears fall.

With your eyes trained on the ground as you walk through the brightly lit streets, you barely take a moment to notice the joyful spirit that permeated the air, couples and families all out for a stroll in the chilly weather, enjoying each others’ company. It only made you feel more alone as you ascended the stairs to your apartment, Bokboki’s soft meows greeting you upon opening the door.

Looking at your phone, you see a missed call from Hyung-seo, your best friend, asking if you wanted to hang out tonight. Slumping onto your couch, you try to figure out the best excuse, when your eyes came across the picture of you in Taehyung in the corner, cheeks red from the cold and arms wrapping each other in a warm embrace. Your fingers tremble over the phone buttons, hesitating but never daring to press call. 

What was it about feeling sad that only made you want to be even alone? Humans were strange in that way.

Giving Bokboki a few scratches between the ears, you change into your pyjamas and brush your teeth. Tomorrow you’d go back to the house and check if the letter from Taehyung had arrived. You needed some kind of sign that things would be better from now on.

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon looks at the tree with its vibrant leaves hued in red, orange and gold, and a twinge of sadness goes through him. As beautiful as they were, he knew he’d only get to enjoy them for a short while before the wind lifted them up and away, and winter settled in on the coast.

He hadn’t actually been inside yet. The company had dropped off all his things in the cottage, but Namjoon had been too scared to step over the threshold, because that meant accepting this new phase of his life. One where as the world had shut down and gone to sleep, he hoped that people wouldn’t notice how he faded into obscurity, never to be heard from again.

Quite frankly, Namjoon was tired of being heard from. As a performer and a rapper, he was used to thousands of eyes on him every second, whether it was at a concert or even through his pictures on the internet. The mask that he’d chosen to don as his alter ego, RM, had become heavy, the strings threatening to snap and reveal the tired, fragmented soul that lay underneath. He’d chosen to intervene before anyone could see him, the real him. He didn’t want to disappoint them.

Staring out at the sea, the wind ruffles the strands of his hair, and he knows he should get a haircut. But then again, who was gonna see him out here anyway? At most, maybe Yoongi or Hoseok would stop by, or his parents. They were the type of people who wouldn’t care if his hair was a little bedraggled, or if he gained or lost a couple of pounds. They’d love him anyway.

The garish ringtone of his cellphone jolts him awake from his thoughts, and he pulls it out of his pocket to see Hoseok’s name light up the screen, hitting the answer button.

“Namjoon-ah,” Hoseok’s voice rumbles through the screen. “You said you’d call when you got there.”

“Sorry, just unpacking,” Namjoon lied, hoping Hoseok wouldn’t catch on. “The house is nice. Do you know who designed it? It doesn’t seem like it was built by some generic construction company.”

He knows Hoseok is rolling his eyes on the other side of the phone, babbling that it was some architect, but Namjoon’s question had been sincere. He wondered who could have wanted to hide from the world bad enough that they’d design a house on this isolated beach, where the winds were wild and the sun shone rarely, and how someone who he’d never met could have understood his desire to not be found so deeply.

“Thanks for the Kaws figurine by the way,” Namjoon gives out at small smile when thinking of Hoseok’s parting gift. “I’ll find a nice place for it.”

Hoseok’s infectious laugh echoes through the speaker, and Namjoon feels his gut lurch, missing his friend.

“You better send me a picture of what you’ve done with the place, and don’t forget to call, huh? Me and Yoongi-hyung are gonna hold you to it.”

Namjoon remains silent on the other end, staring out at the vast horizon, nothing and no one around for miles.

Hoseok clears his throat on the other end, his voice becoming serious.

“Stay happy, Namjoon-ah, talk to you soon.”

“You too, Hob-ah,” Namjoon finally musters before the line cuts dead, leaving him alone once more. Staring at the open door, his new life waiting for him inside, he rises to his feet, walking towards the house that was now waiting for Namjoon to make it a home.

. . .

The first thing he had to tackle was his massive collection of books, the numerous volumes waiting to be homed on the weathered shelves. He knew they wouldn’t stay tidy for long, with his habit of taking one down every day to read and somehow never putting it back. Staring at the walls, he tries to assess the light filtering in through the window, wondering where he could hang his paintings. 

The entire house was blue, from the well-worn wood to the sunlight reflecting off the sea, casting a cerulean glow over the walls, matching the dark blue jeans he was wearing. Instead of being eerie, it reminded Namjoon of those dioramas of a ship in a bottle. This was now his space, his spot to look upon the world, instead of having the world look at him.

As he hung up the art on the wall, he stared at it, hoping it could look back at him, and offer him the inspiration to create he so desperately craved. Studying the strokes of the Lee Bae piece, the splotches and strokes only served to remind him of the dark abyss his mind had become. 

It seemed silly, the job Namjoon had. Who the fuck cared about him and his silly rhymes when the world outside was falling apart? When lives were changing like they never had before? At least for artists, their works could live on to be admired and reflected on without the pressures of the context it was created. For Namjoon, context was all that mattered - how he dressed, what he said, who he spoke to. Never how he felt.

Turning away from the lone painting hanging on the wall, he feels his temples throb with the beginning of a headache. Unpacking could wait. For now, he craved the fresh sea air, the whole reason he’d moved away from the city in the first place. 

The sand on the beach squished against his feet as he ran, feeling the wind blow through his hair, and Namjoon felt freeer than he had in months. Pausing by the oceanside, he panted, hands on his knees, and drew in his chest, screaming into the great beyond, his voice hoarse and tears streaming down his face.

. . .

Returning to the house, Namjoon paused outside the rust-covered mailbox. He probably should check if there had been any important communication from the label. After all, this break was not completely a break. At the end of it, Namjoon would still be pressured to show that the time off had been worth something. 

Reaching inside, he’s surprised to find an envelope within, feeling heavy cardstock in his hands. Curious, he opens it, finding a generic greeting card. Who could have sent him this? He flips the page open:

Hello there!

I’m the person that lived in this house before you did.

I have a favor to ask.

I’m waiting for a letter, actually.

So if you get anything addressed to me, could you please send it to this address?

Wishing you lots of luck in the new place.

Thank you again.

My best,

____

2022.

P.S. those pawprints by the door? They were there before I moved in. I tried my best to get rid of them, but I couldn’t. I hope you can forgive me.

Turning the letter in his hands, Namjoon is confused. The stamp was dated 2022, but it was only 2020. Whoever sent it had to be playing some kind of practical joke on him. As far as the realtor had explained to him, he was the first to live in the cottage, the architect’s lost labor of love away from the city appealing to his desire to get out of his hectic life. And there were no pawprints anywhere.

He pulls out his phone, ready to search your name on Google, but hesitates at the last minute. He knew what it was like to have his privacy invaded, to live a life under scrutiny in the age of the internet. Your letter seemed well-intentioned and even if you were a stranger, perhaps he could just do this one kind thing for you without expecting anything in return. 

Lost in thought, he almost misses the sound of a car crunching on the gravel outside, looking out the window to see a sleek black vehicle he knew all too well rolling up. Throwing his coat outside, he runs to it, a surprised expression on his face.

“Hyung!” he calls out to the two figures that exit, their expressions taking in the isolated area with nothing but the sea surrounding them. “What are you doing here?”

“So this is where you’re hiding from us,” Yoongi whistles, Hoseok nudging him in the stomach. 

“We brought some of your stuff from the studio,” Hoseok says cheerfully, his heart-shaped smile piercing through the fog.

“Do you want some tea?” Namjoon doesn’t want to invite them in, but feels like he has to.

Yoongi studies him, his dark eyes glimmering, and Namjoon senses something is up. They’d known each other for too long to keep secrets from one another. 

“This came for you,” he holds out a piece of paper. “It’s from Ji-hyeon.”

Namjoon flinches at the mention of his ex’s name, and instantly the walls he’d built up in his mind to keep them out of it crashing down, the bitter end of their relationship causing bile to burn in the back of his throat.

“Whatever it is, I don’t want to hear it,” he spits out, and he watches Yoongi glance at him. He knew his hyung blamed Ji-hyeon for everything going south, for Namjoon needing to get away, but it hadn’t been just that. There was more going, more Namjoon wasn’t sure he was ready to share with anyone.

“The house looks great,” Hoseok interrupts the tension. “You’ll have to invite us in some other time. Hopefully you can actually learn to cook and clean up after yourself.”

He puts a hand on Yoongi’s shoulder, beckoning them to go, and Namjoon watches them leave, alone and finally able to breathe again. He hadn’t realized how stifling the presence of other people had become, even those closest to him. He just wanted to be alone.

Namjoon hears a whine from his side, looking over in surprise to see a kitten staring up at him with huge eyes, like it wanted something from him.

“Hey little goyangi,” he chuckles. “Who are you – Hey!” 

The kitten stares up at him for a few moments longer, before running towards the house, knocking over the can of paint by the entrance, Namjoon chasing after it. 

He walks in to see little black pawprints all over the entry, and is immediately reminded of the letter from earlier. 

P.S. those pawprints by the door? They were there before I moved in.

Namjoon runs to his study, tripping over boxes on the way, desperately searching for where he kept his pen and paper. He had to know how you knew about the pawprints, and whether you really were from the future.

Sitting against the wall, he’s unsure how to start - responding to yes your request seemed so trivial, limiting the ability to ask all the questions he wanted answers to. Instead, he decided to take a simpler approach, speaking from his heart:

Dear ____,

I’m fucking lonely…

Present Day, 2022

Curling tighter into your coat, you take in the old cottage, still standing as proudly and as empty as the day you moved in, a lone display piece against the backdrop of the sea. You’d contemplated coming back for a little while now, not having heard from Taehyung or the new resident. Taking matters into your own hands, you’d been surprised to hear that no one new had moved in, lying to the realtor that you’d left something behind. 

Key in hand, you open the door, greeted with the vast space that seemed cold and sad without the warmth of a human being and their possessions to fill it. Things had been rough lately, a few more visits with gallery owners and exhibitions not going the way you’d expected them to, and it made you remember why you loved this place so much.

Here, no one could remind you that you weren’t enough, that you’d have to try again. You were just free to be as you were, the ocean your silent partner. Throwing the sleeping bag onto the floor, you scoop up Bokboki, cuddling him in your lap. The two of you remain silent, watching the sky change and the clouds shift, until night falls and you drift off to sleep.

. . . 

You open your eyes with a start, the hard wood that you’d fallen asleep on causing pain to explode across your back. Turning, you see Bokboki snoozing off right next to you, his tiny body moving up and down with each breath. The first rays of sunlight have begun to break through the window, and you know it’s a sign that the weekend is almost over, and you’ll have to leave soon. 

Stretching, you wrap your sweater tight around yourself, slipping on your shoes to go check on the mail outside. The air is crisp and the fog dense. Slipping your hand inside the mailbox, you’re surprised when you feel an envelope in there, one that hadn’t been present at the start of the weekend. 

Taking it out, you open the envelope to find a plain piece of paper, the messy scrawl of black ink all over the pages. Could someone have responded to the card you’d left? Your eyes scan over the page:

Dear ____,

I’m fucking lonely. Sorry for the abrupt introduction, but I just had to get that off my chest, and as you probably know, there’s no one around for miles. As much as I want to help you, since it seems like you’re waiting for something (or someone?) important, but I think you sent that letter to the wrong address. I’m the very first person who’s lived here. I apologize for not being able to help more, and wish you the best of luck with your search.

Sincerely,

Kim Namjoon

Glancing at the stamp on the right hand corner, you see that it’s dated from 2020, and your eyes widen. Was this some kind of sick prank? Whatever it was, you weren’t going to put up with it. You’d been pushed around and dismissed by too many people in your life to stand for it with some stranger.

Rifling through your bag, you find your small sketchbook and a pen, tearing off a sheet. As much as it pained you to rip what could house a potentially new piece of art, this warranted a response and warranted one now.

Listen,

I don’t know why this letter sent to you, but if you’re playing some kind of joke, can you please just leave it where you found it? Thanks.

___

P.S. you’re not seriously sending me letters from 2020, are you? That has to be a typo. Also, the weather is getting colder outside, please make sure to bundle up.

Stuffing the letter back into the mailbox, you feel tears prick at your eyelids. Why couldn’t anyone ever take you seriously? You weren’t just some doll or plaything to be tossed around and abused. You were a real person, with real feelings, and it seemed like no one ever got that about you. You didn’t know why you’d ended with another well-wish, now this Namjoon guy would just think he could use you again.

Suddenly, you feel a cold splish! on the tip of your nose, looking up to see a soft scatter of snowflakes descend from the sky. You feel Bokboki brush against your leg, and smile, your anger of a moment ago forgotten. The tension in your shoulders eases as you close your eyes and make a silent wish that despite the bumpy start, the incoming snow would treat you kindly, and perhaps all that you deserved would finally come your way.

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon shivers with his hands in his pockets, standing outside the mailbox once again. You’d sent another letter. He’d seen it on his way out to the nearby small village this morning, his empty fridge taunting him. While his fingers had itched to tear open the envelope, he needed time to sit and process whatever your response would be. 

Opening it, his eyes fall at your cold response, the only thing keeping his frozen tears at bay your request for him to stay warm. Maybe you did have a heart after all. Sighing, he shoves the letter into his pockets along with his hands, breaking into a run as he ventures to escape the frigid winter air.

Shaking the snow from his hair, he strips off his winter clothes, teeth chattering from the cold. He walks down the hallway to the bathroom, stripping the rest of his clothes and filling the tub up with warm water. At the sound of the dripping, his new cat friend comes pattering in. Namjoon had decided to keep the curious creature after much contemplation. Just because he felt lonely, didn’t mean he wanted to be completely alone.

He sighs as he steps into the tub, the water instantly filling him with warmth. Closing his eyes, he reaches for his phone on the bench nearby. His eyebrows furrow when he sees dozens of messages from Yoongi and Hoseok, asking about how he’d settled in. There was another text too - one from the company’s head, asking how the progress on his new album was going.

Namjoon wanted to bang his head against the wall. He’d barely had a break and already, people were demanding things of him again. He wondered when this all became so painful - when the fame began to feel like shackles, when everything began to seem forced. Namjoon swipes on the message, deleting it for good. He wouldn’t let the pressure get to him again. If he wanted to write music, he would. If he wanted to make poetry, he would. If he wanted to throw paint against a canvas, he would. But no one could tell him what to do.

His phone clatters against the bench, Namjoon dropping it in favor of the wineglass that rests by the tub. Taking a sip, he sighs, the hot water restoring life to his body and the alcohol numbing his brain. 

“I do wish me a lovely night,” he chuckles to himself.

Present Day, 2022

Dear ____

Like you predicted, the weather got colder. It even snowed! I’m afraid though, that with the wintertime cheer, I’ve gotten a cold. I don’t know what to make of this – I can’t tell whether you’re a prophet or a fortune teller or just someone who owns a lot of crystals. But somehow all of those are easier to believe than the fact that you’re from the year 2022. 

Best,

Namjoon

Clutching the letter to your chest, you sigh heavily, unsure why you’d decided to keep writing back to the strange man who seemed to live inside the mailbox at the cottage. He seemed less harmless than you thought he was, his words so sincere, you could almost imagine the smile that lit up his face as his messy scrawl danced across the page.

Reaching across your desk for a piece of paper, you dig through your collection of pens, finding your favorite one. You smile as you pen a quick response, refraining from telling him I told you so about the cold weather. It seemed extraordinary to be writing to him. Although you still couldn’t fully wrap your head around the fact that he was from the past, you hadn’t realized how lonely your life had become.

Ever since Taehyung had moved away, you’d only had Hyung-Seo. The life of an artist was lonelier than people realized. There were no glamorous gallery openings or art parties in dimly lit rooms. Many of the other artists you came across were cold and unwelcoming, preferring to stick to their already existing circles, and showing no interest in you or your pieces. Hyung-seo was the only friend you managed to hold on to, but even she had her own life to worry about.

Maybe that’s why it felt so right to be writing to this Namjoon guy. You’d been denying it, but there was a void in your life - you had no one to talk to, no one who would really listen to you. Even Bokboki couldn’t say anything back. But Namjoon listened to you - he wrote to you even when you’d been rude, searching for ways to prolong the conversation. And his words, despite how brief they were, made you feel just a little bit less lonely.

. . . 

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon guzzles the last of the beer, the rush hitting him while he waits for Hoseok to come out of the convenience store. Pulling his mask up and his hood over his head, he looks down at the ground, hoping no one recognizes him at this hour. He didn’t have the capacity to deal with a fan sighting right now. In fact, he’d been hesitant to agree to Hoseok’s offer of hanging out in the city at all, preferring the peace and solitude he’d come to associate with the beach house.

He had a love-hate relationship with the place, the tall buildings and masses of people in the street only serving to make him feel lonely. For a place full of people, the city was full of sorrow. In the days he’d lived here, Namjoon’s only solace had been bike rides on the river, the briny smell of the water being the impetus that had spurred him to move out to the oceanside in the first place. While he missed it, he didn’t miss the feeling of being a wanderer, not having a place to belong in this vast metropolis. 

Hoseok comes out with his haul of snacks, the two of them ready to head back to his apartment. In the car, Namjoon reaches into his pocket, fingers brushing against the last letter you’d sent, and he has a spark of realization. The address you’d been writing him from was near Hoseok’s place, maybe five or ten minutes away. Maybe he could finally meet you, the mysterious woman who occupied most of his thoughts and activities these days, the one who made him feel a little less alone in the world. 

“Can we take a detour?” Namjoon asks suddenly, prompting Hoseok to look at him with raised eyebrows. “I have somewhere I need to see.”

Hoseok nods silently, and Namjoon is thankful he doesn’t question him. He gives the directions, and Hoseok drives, coming to a stop a few minutes later. Namjoon can stop himself from bolting out of the car, running up to where he know you live—

Only to find a construction site and a half-finished apartment complex, and his face falls. Taking a look at the exposed beams and the planks of wood, it finally hits Namjoon that you’re a real person. A person who’s going to live here. He wonders what you look like, what you do for work. He wants to know more about you, know where you are in the world, and when your paths will cross. 

“Why are we at a construction site?” Hoseok comes up beside him, concern etched in his features for his best friend.

“No reason,” Namjoon sighs. “I just thought there’d be something else here. Let’s go.”

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon looks at the kitten, studying it with the utmost scrutiny. A tortoiseshell coat, and striking green eyes, and a little triangle patch of black hair in the middle of its head. 

He hadn’t known the little guy was supposed to have a name already, but now he’d just found out: Bokboki. Namjoon is unable to speak, sitting there stunned with his little companion after reading the letter you’d just sent, ranting about how you’d spent the entire day just lounging around with your cat, whom you’d found when you moved into the house. 

Namjoon hadn’t seen many other cats strolling around the beach, and since this one seemed to have a particular connection to the beach house, he realizes that in some strange twist of fate, the two of you owned the same pet, the fortuitous connection between you two only building and building. So, you really were from the future.

You’d sent him something else besides the letter, something that had shocked Namjoon even more than the revelation about little Bokboki. The piece itself is tiny, printed on a sheet even smaller than the one you’d written your letter on, but it’s nothing short of stunning. The simple flowers, not unlike the ones he’d seen growing by the beach, are shaded in different hues of blue. He can see where the acid caused the paint to stratify, feathery strokes running over the page, and the once vibrant flowers are now washed out to nothing but white, obliterated by the dark midnight of the background. In the very corner lies a small signature, and Namjoon realizes the neat scrawl is of your name. 

You were an artist. Just like him. 

Namjoon feels a pang within his chest, unable to reason why the tiny painting you’d shared affected him so. You hadn’t said anything about it, hadn’t bragged or even gone into detail about what it meant or why you’d chosen to paint it, or send it to him. And yet, Namjoon felt as if through this painting, he knew more about you than he had through the course of all your letters sent to each other. 

You understood him. You understood what the pressure to create was like, how hard it was to condense the vast world around you into a set of lyrics, or a single painting, and to still invoke a full-bodied spectrum of emotions. He wondered if you understood the burnout too - when art no longer felt like freedom, and more like a set of shackles. How when what once made your heart beat no longer touched it at all, it felt like dying your very first death. 

He doesn’t realize the tears have fallen down his face until he sees the paper he’d picked out to write back splotched with wet spots, and he sniffles.

Scrolling through his library of guide tracks until sleep makes his eyes heavy, Namjoon glances over occasionally at the painting, at a loss of words for how he could even begin to repay the beautiful gift you’d shared with him.

. . . 

Dear Namjoon,

Are you for real? A still life that does not stop, keep my flower blooming again. It’s like you wrote this about my painting!! But how could you, when I hadn’t even sent it to you yet? The song was amazing by the way, even though I had to go out and buy a CD player to listen to it. You’re very talented. You should release it! I’m sure it would go viral on Spotify.

I had an inkling you were an artist too. That’s why I sent you my piece. I’m glad you appreciate it, even when others don’t seem to. But enough about me, I want to talk about you! Your music is so addictive, I can’t stop listening to it. Do you like making songs? I know sometimes it can be hard to create things and not see them get the appreciation they deserve, but I have full faith that if you were to share your talent with the world, you’d find an audience for it (okay maybe the audience would just be me, but isn’t that reason enough?). It seems we’re living in a strange thread of time right? Our previously separate lives are intertwining, thread by thread, and I can’t help but think that there’s something bigger going on. But I’ll save you from my rambling. For now, I wish you good luck with your songwriting!

Sincerely, 

____

Namjoon stares at the letter, his eyes rimmed with red from tears and a lack of sleep. He wants to pull at the threads of his hair and yank them from his scalp. When he’d scrolled through his guides on a whim, choosing to send you a CD burned with Still Life, he’d never expected this reaction. He had never meant for you to hear it, or for anyone to hear it for that matter. It wasn’t the kind of music anyone expected from him, or the dark, sexy kind of song that made any money, and so he’d let it sit on his computer, abandoned.

Until now. 

Namjoon wants to tear up the letter into a million tiny pieces. How dare you say that to him? How dare you give him this fragile sense of hope, knowing any moment, this cruel world could snatch it away? You were wrong. In this day and age, no one was actually interested in music. Sure, they blasted songs through their headphones on the way to work, or while running outside, or in the clubs, but did anyone actually listen to what the artists were saying? No. The lyrics remained lost in the back of their brains, no one ever stopping to think about the conversation that he was trying to initiate. Everybody talked about him, but no one ever talked to him.

Finding another piece of paper, Namjoon nearly rips through it with the force of his pen scratching across the surface.

Dear ___,

You asked me if I like making music. I don’t know anymore. I just don’t know.

Present Day, 2022

Dear ___,

We’d like to thank you for your time spent applying to our gallery. Unfortunately, we regret to inform you…

You toss the letter in the trash before you can even read the rest, covering your mouth to stop the tears from spilling out while you were in the middle of the street. It hadn’t been a good week for you. Not only had Namjoon written you an abrupt response, leaving you to wonder whether he was angry, but you’d finally gotten the letter you were waiting for from Taehyung. Except, instead of the response you’d expected, you’d been greeted with nothing but a big red stamp - return to sender.

You shove your hands in your pockets, staring blankly ahead as you walk wherever your feet will take you, uncaring of people scolding you to get out of their way or to watch where you’re going. Eventually, you find a bench, plopping down on it with a sigh, only to be met with the rude stare of some old man who promptly gets up and leaves. You weren’t good enough for anyone it seemed.

From across the bench, you can see a rusty telephone booth, a relic you thought didn’t exist anymore, and an idea sparks in your brain. A very bad idea. But your mind is powerless to stop the way you rise, feet walking towards the phone booth. 

The door creaks when you open it, and you give the buttons of the phone a cursory tap, just to make sure they still work and you aren’t about to have your credit card eaten. Although it wouldn’t matter much if it was - it’s not like your name was worth much. Dialing the last number you knew to be Taehyung’s, you wait as the dial tone rings and rings.

“Hello?” a woman’s voice answers. “Hello?”

“Who is it?” a deep voice rumbles in the background, and you slam the phone back onto the receiver, your heart beating out of your chest. 

Running out of the booth, you don’t stop until your feet carry you all the way home.

. . . 

Shoving your coat and your shoes off, you strip off the rest of your clothes, throwing them against the wall with a thud. You want to scream. You want to break something. But you have nothing of value. Nothing that would equal the pain and the heartbreak you feel right now. All you have is yourself. And you’re completely alone.

You slam the door to your room shut, ignoring Bokboki’s soft meows, and collapse to the ground, sobs wracking your entire body. You lay there with your head against the door, wondering why the world had chosen to be so cruel to you, to leave you so lonely. 

That was the hard part about getting older. When you’d been in high school, everybody had told you your adult years would be the best of your life, with so many milestones to look forward to - getting a job, entering a relationship, getting married, buying a house, having kids. And that you’d have so many people by your side to witness it all. But the reality was, none of that was true. Instead, you felt more like you were wading through the wide open ocean, with no one around to see you struggle to keep your head above the surface. 

You muster enough strength to get up, stumbling over the desk, head in your hands as you stare at the piece of paper you’d chosen out to write your next letter to Namjoon. Tracing your hand over the edge, you pick up the pen, beginning to write.

I thought falling in love would make me so happy. But all it did was break me inside. It gave me fleeting happiness, only to snatch it away and laugh in my face, telling me that I’m not enough. That I will never be enough. Why though? Why does it have to be me who feels so lonely? Why do I have to go through this pain? Am I not worthy of being loved? Am I undesirable in some way? Once, just once, I wish I could love someone and have them love me back. And not in the transient, fleeting kind of way. No, I wish I could be loved, wholly and completely. I wish to know what it feels like to have someone who’ll sleep beside me every night, to wake up warm instead of freezing. To feel another pair of lips against my own, to have those lips both soothe me and undo me. To feel someone’s fingers inside me, bringing me to highs I can never reach alone. To know someone else’s body as well as I know mine, to lose myself in them completely while we make each other come.

As you write, an image flashes in your head, one of a faceless man. You have no idea what he looks like, but you can hear his voice. It’s the same voice that writes to you nearly every day, that hears your deepest thoughts, and you want him to know your darkest desires.

Your fingers slip underneath the waistband of your panties, warmth pooling in between your legs, and you resist the urge to rub your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure between them. You let out a staggered breath when you swipe through your folds, fingers sliding easily against the wetness that has begun to pool, and your hand rises to circle lightly around your clit.

You let out a moan you didn’t know you’d been holding in, closing your eyes and leaning back against the chair, your legs spreading on their own as the deep voice in your mind continues to talk to you, to repeat what you’d written in the letter, and you feel yourself clench involuntarily thinking about the faceless man in the back of your mind. 

Sinking a finger inside of you, you grind your hips, your throbbing clit catching the palm of your hands. You tremble at the wet noises you can hear, accompanied by the soft staccato of your whines, and your thumb circles back around your needy bud, increasing the pressure, the pleasure rapidly building as you slide in another finger, fucking yourself against your hand. 

It takes a split second for your walls to tighten around you and the taut knot in your stomach to snap, your body convulsing as your slick spilled all over your fingers, soaking your underwear and the chair below. 

You open your eyes, huffing breathlessly as you remove your sticky fingers from inside of you, your heart pounding in your eyes. Looking down at the piece of paper, you shove it to the side, shame flooding your entire body at the debauched fantasy of Namjoon you’d just gotten off to. He was your friend, not some cheap rebound attempt. Your fingers tremble as you grab the pen, trying to write another letter to him to quell your racing thoughts, hoping calm would find you again after the storm that had just ensued.

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon shouldn’t be reading this. This clearly wasn’t meant for him. But wasn’t it? You’d put the letter in the mailbox, knowing it’d go through to him, knowing he’d read the very words that had his face flushing red and his cock stirring underneath his grey sweats. He felt like a total perv, getting hard when you were clearly vulnerable and sharing something personal with him, but he’d be lying if he hadn’t thought about how you looked, how you felt, how you tasted.

It’d been too long since Namjoon had sex, and he’d forgotten how strong and persuasive desire could be, leading him to do the most fucked up things. Namjoon reads the letter again, and again, and again, wondering if you touched yourself while you wrote it. Wondering if that’s why the words sounded so rushed, so frantic, spilling out of you like he’d never heard you speak before. He wonders who could make you feel that way, and jealousy stirs in his chest when he realizes it’s most likely someone else. Not him. 

Still, it doesn’t stop him from tugging his sweats down, his hard cock springing out, and he wraps one hand around it, leaning back against the bed. His eyes close as he pumps himself, imagining you behind his eyelids - your lips, your breasts, your pussy. But also your smile, your eyes, your hands. And Namjoon aches to touch you, to touch anyone, to banish the deep-rooted loneliness within his heart.

A bead of precum escapes the tip of his dick, and Namjoon slides it around himself, stroking harder, and faster, thrusting into his hand imagining it was you instead, just like you’d wished for him to do. Underneath him, the bed begins to creak, and Namjoon lets out a low groan, throbbing as he bucks his hips in time with his hands. 

“Fuck,” Namjoon growls as he explodes, curses falling from his lips as he slumps into the bed, chest falling and rising with heavy breaths. Sparks tingle under his skin, Namjoon’s body coming alive like it hadn’t for months. 

At the same time, the guilt settles in, and he feels as though a lead weight is pressed against his chest, crushing his lungs until he can’t breathe. He feels sick inside for taking your moment of vulnerability and using it for his own selfish gains. The gross feeling remains even after he’s gotten up and cleaned himself off, his head buried in his hands when he sits at his desk. 

Grabbing a piece of paper, he begins to write, words of apology flying off the page, hoping it’s enough to excuse his depravity, that you’ll forgive him, that you’ll still want to write to him. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you didn’t.

Dear ___,

I’m sorry you’re feeling this way. I don’t know if you meant to send me those vulnerable words, but if you did, I want to thank you for thinking that I’m trustworthy enough to share them with. I know nothing I say can completely heal the sadness within your heart, but maybe I can offer some wisdom from my own up-and-down experiences with love.

The reason we’re so tormented in life is because love goes on, not because it goes away. But even after we lose that love, the life of a person who’s been in love is more beautiful and vibrant than that of someone who’s never experienced love at all. Cheer up. Everything will work out the way it’s meant to.

- Namjoon

Namjoon stares at the letter for a few moments, unable to believe the poetic words that had just left him in this moment of shame when he’d been struggling to write for months. His brain churns with an idea, and he opens his mixing software, grabbing the notebook he uses to pen his lyrics, and beginning to write. 

If love ain’t for us

I’ll be satisfied with this

I don’t need your touch

I just need your love

Come closer, come closer

Present Day, 2022

Perusing the piece of paper, you wonder if Namjoon’s been drinking the past couple of days. He’s never opened up this much to you, preferring to keep your interactions surface level and friendly. But his last letter hadn’t been just friendly, it’d been poetic, reassuring you that love was worth it. You wonder if he’d been thinking of someone specific when he penned the words. Now, with this next letter, you finally had your answer.

Dear ____,

It was Ji-hyeon. Ji-hyeon was their name. I thought we had it all - the perfect chemistry, thought we wanted the same things. But I was a fool to think that love was for me. I’ve been trying so hard to let the memory of the breakup go, but it haunts me every day. Every day, a little piece of me chips off and withers away when I realize that I’m losing myself. I’m losing my sanity. I’ve ceased to be a human and instead become a prisoner to this industry. To making music. And I just want to let it all go. To quit. That’s why I moved out here in the first place, to find some peace away from the hectic city. But no matter how hard I try, I can’t. I can’t let it go because music is who I am, art is who I am. And it breaks me because the pull of creative expression will always overtake anything, or anyone in my life. I can’t live normally, as much as I yearn to. I can’t love anyone.

- Namjoon

You clamp your hand over your mouth to stop the tears from falling, Namjoon laying himself bare on the page, and your heart hurts for him. Not only because of his sadness, but because his loneliness is the same loneliness you feel, both of you wandering souls in this unforgiving world. 

Watching your clothes spin in the washing machine, you think of Taehyung, and how he was your Ji-hyeon. Except, it was different. You’d known love, you’d known happiness unlike Namjoon had.

Grabbing your notebook, you scribble across the page, telling him that it doesn’t have to be that way, that real love is like the beauty of an amazing art piece. Something can be both beautiful and full of love, it doesn’t have to be full of ugliness and heartbreak for it to inspire you to create. Pausing, you think back on a story from a while back, deciding to divulge it to him. 

The watercolor I sent you? It’s from two years ago, I was painting a whole series on wildflowers in cyanotype. But I went through so many different renditions, so many different drafts, that I ran out of my favorite watercolors, the . I ran to my favorite store, hoping, praying that the creative streak I was on wouldn’t leave me, that if I just had those watercolors, I could keep going. I could make something of myself. But they weren’t there. Someone had bought them just moments before I entered the store, the last set. After that, I just gave up. I was strapped for money and couldn’t afford another set, let alone the time it would take to scour the city looking for them. I haven’t touched the paintings since. 

. . . 

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon throws his coat over his shoulders, stopping only to scratch Bokboki between the ears before he runs outside, stumbling into the taxi as he frantically tells the driver to take him into the city. The roads pass him by, the serene landscape becoming dotted with more and more buildings, more people as the minutes go on. He asks to be let off at a random intersection, tipping the driver generously before he’s off running again.

There were a million art stores here. Surely one of them had to have the watercolors you were looking for. Namjoon didn’t want you to become like him, paralyzed and unable to do what you enjoyed. No, he wanted better for you, and he’d make sure it happened, so your beautiful wildflowers could see the sun’s rays once again.

Finding one on the corner of a narrow street, he slips inside, greeting the store owner warmly before heading to the back wall full of paints. 

His eyes scan through the rainbow of tubes and pans, until he sees them, the Kuretake ones you’d talked about in his letter. And there was only one left. Grabbing it, he rushes over to the cashier, paying for it, and running back out into the cold air, excitement coursing through your veins when he thinks of how happy you’d be when you saw him.

On his way out, he brushes against a shoulder, apologizing to the woman he’d accidentally bumped into. She gives him a polite smile before continuing on her way inside, and Namjoon smiles back, continuing on his way until he can hail a cab.

When he reaches back home, he slips the colors in the mailbox, and waits. 

It’s a few days later when your response comes back, your joy evident in the way the ink bleeds across the page, telling him you’d sobbed happy tears when you saw the watercolors. You’d immediately gone to start another painting, and Namjoon feels joy bloom inside his chest at the kindness he’d done for you. 

Reaching inside the mailbox, he’s shocked when his fingers close around something soft and wollen, pulling it out to see a scarf, indigo in color. The deep blue and violet fabric warms him instantly, as well as the note attached.

They say indigo is the color of intuition and perception. This scarf helped me find wisdom when I was struggling. I hope it does the same for you.

Present Day, 2022

It was a stupid mistake.

Looking at the letter again, you roll your eyes. Men. They could be so emotional sometimes, and yet they’d blame women for not having control of themselves. A small smirk makes its way onto your face as you read Namjoon’s sheepish request, asking that you send him a new tape recorder, since he’d destroyed his in a fit of rage before moving to the cottage.

Part of you wanted to laugh at his impulsiveness, but the other part of you felt sorrow for all the work he’d probably lost, just because of one rash mistake. You didn’t want him to feel sad. You wanted him to feel empowered to create, to make music again. And so, you set out on your quest to find one. The winding city streets took you on quite a journey, passing by various cafes and bookshops and parks, but you didn’t let yourself get distracted. You were a woman on a mission. 

Your search finally took you to a little electronics store on the outskirts of your neighbourhood, and you look through the various tape recorders, wondering which color Namjoon would like. You wonder if he’s finally ready to start making music again, and smile when you think about being able to hear his songs again.

Paying for the tape recorder, you gather your things and walk out into the street, headphones in your ears. You’ve just stepped into the intersection when you hear a scream, feeling something slam into you from behind, sending you hurtling to the ground. Your ankle twists out of position as you topple over, and pain explodes across your entire leg as you hit the ground, scratching your hands.

Lying there, your mind chooses not to focus on how much pain you’re in, or the fact that you’re now bleeding. Instead you hyperfixate on the tape recorder that lies a few feet away, wondering how you were ever going to help Namjoon make his songs now. 

You don’t know how many moments pass like this.

Waking up, you hear the beeps of a blood pressure monitor, pain trickling from the back of your head down to your ankle. You’re not in your room. It’s a hospital bed, and across from you, you see Hyung-seo looking at you with concern, jolting up out of her seat when she sees your eyes are open.

“Here, drink some water,” she offers you a cup, and you accept, the liquid soothing your parched throat. “You sprained your ankle, please take it easy.”

“Hyung-seo,” you croak to her, still worrying about the tape recorder and Namjoon. “Can I ask you for a favor?”

. . . 

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon can’t stop running. He’s probably run further down the beach than he should have, the house disappearing until it’s ceased to be a speck in the distance, disappearing completely from his view. He stops himself, bracing his hands on his knees, and heaves in a few deep breaths, suddenly realizing he forgot to feed Bokboki before he went out. 

He hadn’t been able to think straight for the past few days, opening the mailbox every couple of hours anticipating a tape recorder and another letter from you, but instead, he found nothing. At first, he was worried that something had happened to you. But as the days went on, an ugly feeling settled inside Namjoon’s chest. One that convinced him that you were ignoring him, that you’d purposefully grown tired of your interactions, and now wanted nothing to do with him. Maybe you’d found someone new.

Namjoon stumbles towards the ocean, feeling the waves lap at his feet, soaking through his running shoes. Fury floods his mind when he thinks of how open, how honest he’d been with everyone in his life, sacrificing his own damn mind to make them happy. And now, he didn’t even get the same back.

He wades deeper into the water, his waterlogged feet meeting resistance, and screams, his hands pulling at the strands of his hair. And then he screams again, louder this time. But no one is there to hear him.

It’s at least an hour before he returns to the house, shoes soaked with mud. Before he goes inside, he decides to peer inside the mailbox, knowing it’ll probably be worthless. As he opens the rust-covered door, his heart sinks with guilt when he sees a letter from you, and the tape recorder he’d so anxiously been waiting.

He wants to punch himself for his impatience when he reads the note, explaining that you’d met with a small accident and had been in the hospital for a couple days. His heart aches with concern for you? Were you okay? Did his selfish request cause you to get hurt?

Closing the door behind him, Namjoon looks at the tape recorder, wondering if it had even been worth it to ask for it from you. Would it really get him to work on his album? Or would it just taunt him as another reminder of his failures in life.

Sighing, he clicks the play button, ready to make the most of it no matter the outcome. But then he pauses. The sound of the tape is faint, but he can hear a voice on it. Your voice. You’re singing. Your voice is raspy, sounding unpolished, yet also rings clear and sweet. You riff a little melody, adding words that sound like a lullaby and Namjoon feels a pang in his chest. You sound so beautiful.

You end the brief recording with a laugh, apologizing for wasting space on the recorder, and telling him he can delete it. But Namjoon doesn’t delete it.

Bent over his desk, he takes the sincere melody and crafts it into a beat of his own, his low voice joining yours in perfect harmony.

With numerous thorns

The morning that comes and goes

In my own way

I'm gonna anesthetize myself, yeah-yeh

Present Day, 2022

Ride the A1 bus all the way until the second last stop. 

When you get off you’ll find a tree-lined street on both sides. 

If you cut through the patch of trees on the southwest, and walk exactly 1,632 steps, you’ll stumble upon something extraordinary.

I hope you like walking.

Holding the piece of paper with directions to your chest, you fight off a sheepish smile, heart pumping loudly in your ears as you think about Namjoon’s directions for your little “date”.

It wasn’t a real date, you see. The two of you had decided to send each other on adventures in your own time, but Namjoon had called it a date. The thought made you absolutely giddy. You hadn’t been on a date since Taehyung. As strange as it felt to be going somewhere on your own and calling it a date, it felt like Namjoon was with you, his spirit trapped in the letters of the page, leading you to somewhere wonderful.

You count your steps carefully as you walk, the trees lining your path on both sides, just like Namjoon had said. You marvel at their height, the blue sky peeking out from the canopy of their lives. Continuing to count each precise step, you look down at the ground until you reach 1,632. When you look up, you suck in a breath.

It’s a field full of wildflowers, the vibrant colors peeking through the grass like the twinkling of stars in a midnight sky. Your smile widens as you run into the field, laughing at the smell of the beautiful blooms, tracing your fingers along their delicate petals.

Finding a spot to put your bag down, you pull out your notebook, and begin to sketch, the wind ruffling your hair and Namjoon’s field of flowers keeping you company.

. . . 

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon steps through the gallery, keeping his head down to avoid being recognized, sipping the coffe from the café you’d told him to go to before ending up here.

I think there’s an artist you’ll like, your letter had read, and Namjoon, like the smitten fool he was, was powerless against his own two feet as he immediately set off in search of the mysterious paintings. 

He hadn’t meant for the word date to come out. It just had. He knew you were lonely like this, and even though he couldn’t be there to erase your loneliness in person, he figured sending you to the wildflowers would be the next best thing. And it was. You’d excitedly written back, explaining that you’d come back with at least a dozen new sketches, ready to paint and turn into cyanotype. Namjoon had leaned back in his chair, his grin wider than the ocean, his heart pounding in his chest and his palms becoming sweaty when he thought about your smile, and remembered your beautiful laugh from the tape recording. 

The gallery isn’t busy this time of day, but he avoids talking to anyone, instead making a beeline for the corner you’d talked about. When he comes upon it, his jaw drops open in shock.

The strokes of the piece are ragged, burnt umber and ultramarine blue blending into a series of minimalist lines, the points where they blend creating a black deeper than any night sky Namjoon had seen.

Moving closer, he studies everything, from the worn canvas, to spots where the paint appears thicker in one area than another. The simplicity of the piece blows Namjoon away - the honesty portrayed within, showing him that he doesn’t need to be flamboyant or ostentatious to make an impact. Minimalism spoke words.

Glancing down at the artist’s title card, he sees the name. Yun Hyong-keun.

Namjoon comes home and fires up his computer, looking up interviews and more about Yun, mesmerized by the artist’s perspective on life, emphasizing his own humanity before his duties as an artist.

After his research, Namjoon pens a thank you to you for showing him the work. Coming up on the end of the letter, a bold thought crosses his mind, and he dares to write it down.

___, I’d like to meet you in person if that’s okay? Can we meet here, on this very beach? I’ll give you a day, closer to your time, so you don’t have to wait. How about December 13, 2022 at 3:00? Let me know if that works.

- Namjoon

Present Day, 2022

You slam the dress onto the countertop, the cashier looking at you in surprise.

“Aren’t you going to try it on?” she asks, one eyebrow raised. 

“Nope, just pack it up, please,” you implore her, blushing at the bold red fabric you’d picked out. Namjoon couldn’t miss you in this.

You were losing it. The date he’d given you was in three days! Not nearly enough time to prepare. How was it fair that he got a whole two years and you only got a couple of days. You wanted to meet him, but you also weren’t ready. You wondered what he’d be like. If he’d be the same as you imagined him to be, or different. Whether his voice would sound as deep and melodious as the strings of a cello, or if he had short hair or long hair. In any case, you were sure he’d be wonderful.

The next couple of days pass by in nervous anticipation, with you talking nonstop to Bokboki about your hopes and fears for the foretold meeting. You re-read all the letters you’ve shared with Namjoon before bed, wanting to impress him with how well you know him.

When the sun rises two days later, you rise bright and early with it, hopping in the shower, making sure your hair is styled to perfection, and not a smudge of makeup is out of place. You feel shy putting in so much effort, but you didn’t want Namjoon to think you were a slob. Finally, you slip on the red dress, amazed at how it fits like a glove. 

Studying yourself in the mirror, you can’t help but notice that your skin looks brighter, your cheeks rosier, your hair shinier. You look like life has found its way to you once more, imbuing you with an overall glow that hadn’t existed since before you broke up with Taehyung. Your cheeks flush when you realize Namjoon is the reason for the glow, and you shake your head, banishing all your intrusive thoughts from your mind before slipping on your coat and running out the door.

It feels like the cab ride to the beach is longer today, your leg bouncing up and down in anticipation. When you finally see the beach come into view, you ask the cab driver to stop then and there, not even waiting for them to take you all the way up, instead throwing a handful of bills you hope will cover the ride.

You leap and sprint down the beach, until you reach right behind, the house, where Namjoon said he’d be. Looking around, your face falls. No one is here. Not wanting to give up, you spend a few minutes combing up and down the beach, looking for another human in sight. But there’s no one.

Returning to the house, you let out a soft gasp when you see a man there, his messy black hair blowing in the wind. Dread fills you as you realize you don’t even know what Namjoon looks like. But maybe this was him? You decide to tread carefully.

“Excuse me?” you ask him, and he turns to study you, his eyes reminding you of Bokboki, looking right through you. “Are you here to meet someone by chance?”

His polite smile turns into a grimace, and he shakes his head.

“Whoever your Tinder date is, it’s not me, I’m afraid,” he says. 

“Why are you here then?” you question him, looking around at the abandoned beach. “No offense, but this isn’t exactly a tourist hotspot.”

“I had a friend who used to come here, said it inspired him to make art about the woman he loved,” the man says sadly, and you decide not to press on, giving him his privacy.

“Hey!” you hear from behind you, looking to see him waving at you. “Good luck with whoever you’re looking for. I hope you find them.”

. . . 

2 years ago, 2020

Namjoon wants to yank at the strands of his hair. He pushes his glasses back up onto the bridge, looking at your letter. He’s so fucking confused. He can imagine your small tears dripping onto the paper when you returned home from the beach, disappointed that he didn’t show. But Namjoon is bewildered. 

He wouldn’t have missed meeting you for the world. There was no single excuse, no event, that could have caused him to miss such an important day. Unless, of course, it wasn’t up to him.

Namjoon takes a walk outside the house, descending the stairs to the beach, the indigo scarf you’d given him wrapped tightly around his neck. He takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and sending a wish out in to the vast world, a wish for your paths to finally connect.

It hadn’t hit Namjoon until he procured the bouquet of wildflowers in excitement for your date, going to the very field he’d shown you. His excitement had been palpable, until he’d returned home to Bokboki staring him down, and he realized he still had two years to go, and the flowers were going to wilt.

His chest had ached with the realization that it would be a long time before he ever met you, and even then, your meeting wasn’t guaranteed. Running a hand through his newly cut hair, Namjoon was struck finally with the revelation that had been creeping up on him through all these months - he’d fallen in love with you. He couldn’t pin it down to a specific moment, but rather the momentous collection of all the times you’d talked to each other. He was in love with you, despite having never seen your face or talked to you in person. His heart was many things, but it wasn’t a liar.

Which is why it broke him to think that he may never have a chance to tell you how he felt in person. That you’d never realize the depth of his feelings, because maybe your paths weren’t meant to converge. But that didn’t stop him from wanting to show the world his love, in the chances that maybe one day, you’d see it and come looking for him.

Fingering the scarf, he looks at its mellow hue, so like the sea before him, and a single thought occupies his mind.

“Indigo,” he whispers. His new album would be called Indigo.

Present Day, 2022

Sipping on your coffee, your ears perk up when you hear a voice behind you, one you hadn’t heard in a long time.

“Seojin, I’ll make it home for the engagement party, you have nothing to worry about,” Taehyung’s deep voice fills your ears, the hairs on your arms coming to stand up as he talks to someone on the phone. Your coffee cup falls out of your hand, tipping over and spilling onto your shirt.

“Shit!” you curse as the hot liquid burns you.

“___? Is that you?” you hear Taehyung’s voice call out, and you turn away, gathering your things and hiding your face.

You hear footsteps come up beside you, Taehyung’s tall figure looming over you, and you inhale the scent of his cologne, closing your eyes.

“It is, isn’t it?” Taehyung looks over at your turnt figure, reaching out an arm to pull you to face him. You can’t even look him in the eyes, instead looking at the floor. You want to tell him to go away, to fuck off, but you feel powerless and weak.

“Can we talk?” he says softly, and you don’t know why you nod. Maybe it’s finally to get the answers you’ve been searching for ever since you decided to wait for his letter in the mail.

You follow him listlessly to a table, looking out the window while he orders another coffee. Looking at your disinterested figure, you hear him let out a heavy sigh, before beginning to speak. 

“It wasn’t easy being abroad, having to study there all alone,” he begins, slipping off his coat. “At first, your letters gave me something to look forward to. But then I got tired of feeling so alone. I grew close to one of my colleagues, who was by my side the entire time. We’re getting married soon. I’m so sorry ___.”

Looking up at him, you know he can see the bloodshot look in your eyes, tears threatening to spill over the edge. You don’t say anything, throwing your coat over your shoulders and running out of the cafe, your feet aching in your heels until you’re all the way home.

Slumping onto the floor, you lean your head against the window, watching the rain fall softly outside. Bokboki piles into your lap with a soft meow, and you stroke his head, continuing to watch outside. Opening the drawer to the coffee table, you reach inside, finding the framed photo of you and Taehyung, your smiles taunting you from the other side of the frame.

Things had been so simple back then. You’d loved each other, you’d wanted to spend the rest of your lives together. So why hadn’t it worked out?

Immediately, your thoughts drift to Namjoon, and how you hadn’t been able to connect with him. Were you just doomed to be alone for the rest of your life?

No. You get up, traveling to your desk to pull out another piece of paper. You could change this. You could fix things between you and Taehyung. You could cure this crippling loneliness you felt. And you knew just the person to ask.

. . .

2 years ago, 2020

I thought I could forget him. But, from the moment I heard his voice, it all came back to me. The fact that he loves someone else, and the fact that I’m aware of that, and I still love him, brings me more pain than I can ever admit. I’m sorry that I’m asking you this, but please help me. Please help me not to lose him. I’m sorry, Namjoon.

Namjoon stares blankly at the letter, unable to process the words on the page that you’d written. He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, and clears his mind of all the thoughts currently at war with one another. He couldn’t think about what you’d just asked of him. He didn’t want to think about it, knowing his heart would splinter even further at the fact that you loved someone else. Someone who wasn’t him.

Leaving the safety of the beach house, he decides the fresh air will help him clear his head, catching a cab to the city. When he bids the driver goodbye, he wanders aimlessly through the streets, people all around him, and yet Namjoon can’t stop thinking about you.

You, who was never meant to be in his life except as a fleeting presence, as transient and ephemeral as the trains that stopped at each station, before continuing on their journey. He knew now that your paths were never meant to cross, and that he had to make his own way in this world, as alone as he’d been before he met you.

The dreadful realization hits him that he needs to leave the beach house - he couldn’t stay there any longer. It was too full of memories, ones he’d made while writing to you, and as painful as it was to forget them, it was time to let go.

He decides to catch the bus on his way back, standing alone at the stop, until suddenly, he’s joined by another person. Turning around, he sees a woman next to him. Her eyes meet his, and widen at his indigo scarf, looking closely at it. Namjoon coughs, and she averts her eyes. Something about her seemed familiar, but she was probably just another stranger. Namjoon wants to talk to her, to be able to talk to someone else besides you. He opens his mouth to make a comment about his scarf, but is interrupted when a tall, well-dressed man swoops in, his arm wrapping around the woman. 

The bus chooses that moment to arrive, and he watches the two of them climb on, the women looking back at him with a frown on her face when he fails to join them, his feet glued to the ground.

Not wanting to wait for the next bus, Namjoon walks towards the nearest cab, falling asleep on the ride home.

When he’s finally in the safety of his room again, he decides to write you again, knowing this will be the last letter he ever sends you. Because he loved you, and he wanted you to be happy with who you loved, he knew it was time to let you go.

Present Day, 2022

Holding your portfolio in your hands, your fingers tremble with excitement as you get off the bus, stepping right onto the street where Cypher Labels was located. You’d had a creative breakthrough, and someone finally wanted to hire you!

You would write to Namjoon and tell him the good news, of course. You bite your lip, worrying about him. You hadn’t heard from him since he sent the later saying he’d help you reunite with Taehyung. You had nothing but immense gratitude and affection for him in your heart. He was truly a good person, and you hoped only the best would find him in life. 

Do you remember the very first letter? You wished me luck in the house the sea built. This time, I wish you luck. I hope I can help you find what you’re looking for.

You step into the offfice, and the only two people there are two hushed men whispering to each other. At the sound of your heels clacking against the floor, they look up. The shorter of the two studies you curiously, and you can’t help but feel like he’s familiar. Maybe it’s his eyes which pierce through you.

“___! It’s you, right?” the other one gives you a heart shaped smile, his bubbly demeanor immediately putting you at ease. He beckons you to take a seat at the third chair.

“I’m Hoseok, and this is my business partner Yoongi. We’re so glad you could make it. Your artwork has us very intrigued.”

You blush at the compliment, holding your portfolio to your chest.

“Do you mind telling me a little bit about the album and the project itself?”

Hoseok looks over at Yoongi, his face suddenly falling, and Yoongi gives him a tilt of his chin.

“This project is, uh, it’s special to us,” Hoseok says softly. “It’s for a friend that we lost. He used to work with us here at the label, and we were so excited when we got the drafts from him. He’d been struggling to make music, but he moved out to the beach and began talking to someone, and he finally told us he was ready to share the music inspired by his time out there with the world. The album is called Indigo, named after a scarf he was given by the woman he loved, who inspired most of the pieces on the album.”

Your face pales at Hoseok’s description. It couldn’t be. It couldn’t be true.

“We lost him in a car accident nearly a year and half ago. He was on his way to meet someone.”

“W-what was his name?” you manage to choke out in a whisper, and you see Yoongi’s nostrils flare at the tears that have collected in your eyes.

“His name was Namjoon.”

You’re up and running out of the studio before you can even process the news, sobs pouring from your body as you keep going, unable to keep the tears at bay.

Namjoon had loved you. He fell in love with you through the letters he wrote, and now he was gone. Gone after he was on his way to meet someone. You do the math in your head, and realize a year and a half ago was the day in Namjoon’s life after you’d written to him, asking him to help bring you and Taehyung together.

Your heart clutches in your chest, and you double over in pain. The album had been for you. It had all been for you, every little thing Namjoon had done. And now he was gone, and he’d never know the truth.

The truth that you’d realized after reading Namjoon’s response, after hearing his willingness to sacrifice his own happiness to ensure yours. That you’d fallen in love with him too.

Sniffling into your sleeve, you pull out your phone, calling a cab. When it arrives, the driver asks you for your destination, and you hesitate, not able to give the address to your apartment. That’s when it hits you. You could change things, just like you’d asked him to. You could write him a letter and deliver it to the mailbox, so hopefully, he wouldn’t go out that day to meet you and Taehyung. You could save him, so that he’d have a full and complete life like he deserved, even if it would never be by your side.

Giving the driver the address to the beach house, you pull your sketchbook out of your pocket, scribbling furiously on the paper.

Namjoon, please listen to me. Please don’t go to wherever me and Taehyung are, I’m begging you. Please listen, please stay home. 

The driver zooms towards the beach, sensing the urgency caused by your tears, and you nearly sob in relief when you see the house coming into view, not even waiting for the car to come to a full stop before you’re running towards the mailbox. Panting, you struggle to breathe against your tears, shoving the letter in the mailbox, hoping, praying that you’re not too late.

You collapse on the ground, whispering a silent prayer against the sand, hoping it wasn’t too late to show him your last act of love - saving his life.

Namjoon’s timeline, 1.5 years in the future

Namjoon never thought he’d return to the beach house, resolving to abandon it the moment he’d let go of you. But then he’d gotten the mysterious letter in the mailbox, telling him to stay home, and he figured he had to go investigate. Coming up upon the rickety house, it’s the exact same as he left it - the worn wood and creaky boards of the walkway. The sea around hasn’t changed either, the waves as calm as the day he’d moved in.

Except for the boxes. Namjoon’s eyes widen in surprise when there are a dozen or so boxes outside the door. Someone was finally moving in. Namjoon clutches the letter and waits by the mailbox, suddenly frozen. He didn’t know why he’d come here. As much as his feet wanted to turn back, he couldn’t.

He hears the door open, and a woman steps outside, wearing the same indigo scarf that he had around his neck, and in an instant, he knows it’s you. You’re even more beautiful than he could have imagined, and now he’s finally found you.

“___,” he calls out to you, and you look up to see where the deep voice is coming from,lips parting when you see Namjoon making his way towards the door.

You stare at him in silence for a few moments, and Namjoon is worried you don’t recognize him, that in this timeline, he means nothing to you, and his heart curls into itself, preparing for the inevitable heartbreak.

“Namjoon?” you whisper. “Is it really you?”

“I got your letter,” he shudders with a sob, holding out the piece of paper. He feels a raindrop splash on his head, and then another, before the heavens open and it begins to pour soaking you both.

Namjoon stays where he is, marveling at the fact that you’re finally here, right beside him. You step towards him, reaching for his scarf to pull him towards you, your lips pressing gently against his own. His arms come up to wrap around your waist, pulling you closer to him, his lips parting to engulf your own in a more passionate kiss, his cold fingers stroking your warm cheeks. Despite the raging storm around you, Namjoon finally feels at peace, the two of you finally finding your shared moment of forever, here in the house the sea built.

A/N pt. 2: Well now I’m fucking sad. But in all seriousness, I hope you enjoyed  reading this as much as I did writing it. And again, I hope it can provide some comfort. As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

taglist: @miscelunaaa @luaspersona @whoisbts @blumenfeld @rapmonie2047 @little-dark-empress @lovemepie67 @ggukkieland @joonsytip @namjooningelsewhere @chrisellaxxjung @jub-jub @outro-kook @kamilamb @coffeedepressionsoup @fujinogf @wecanpretendit @lovely-joon @rkivian​ @rebloginfics​ @firesighgirl​ 

[rpgsandbox]

The 10 Most Anticipated TTRPGs For 2024!

EN World's annual vote on the most anticipated titles of the coming year, and yes, some games have appeared on this list in previous years.

10 Tales of the Valiant (Kobold Press)

1st appearance Kobold Press joins the 'alternate 5E' club with this rewritten, non-OGL version of the game! A million dollar Kickstarter last year, and a new one for the GM's book going on right now, Kobold Press announced this as 'Project Black Flag' during the OGL crisis of 2023, but being unable to trademark that name opted for Tales of the Valiant instead. The system, however, is still called the Black Flag Roleplaying System.

9. Mothership 1E (Tuesday Night Games)

3rd appearance On this list three years running, the boxed Mothership 1E game should be coming out this year! This is sci-fi horror at its best -- you can play scientists, teamsters, androids, and marines using the d100 'Panic Engine'. Yep, it's Alien(s), pretty much.

8. Monty Python's Cocurricular Mediaeval Reenactment Program (Exalted Funeral)

2nd Appearance Exalted Funeral made quite a splash when they announced this game last year, which went on to make neary $2M on Kickstarter. And how could they not? It's Monty Python fergoodnessake! A rules-lite gaming system, spam, a minigame with catapults, spam, coconut dice rollers, spam, and an irrepressible Python-eque sense of humour. Did I mention the spam? It was at #10 on this list last year, but it's claimed to #8 this year.

7. Daggerheart (Darrington Press)

1st appearance From the Critical Role folks, Daggerheart is a new fantasy TTRPG with its own original system coming out this year with "A fresh take on fantasy RPGs, designed for long-term campaign play and rich character progression."

6. Cohors Cthulhu (Modiphius)

1st appearance It's Ancient Rome. It's Cthulhu. It uses Modiphius' in-house 2d20 System. You can be a gladiator, a centurion, or a Germanic hero. Did I mention Cthulhu?

5. Dolmenwood (Necrotic Gnome)

1st appearance The British Isles, a ton of folklore, and a giant Kickstarter--Dolmenwood is a dark, whimsical fantasy TTRPG drawing from fairy tales and lets you "journey through tangled woods and mossy bowers, forage for magical mushrooms and herbs, discover rune-carved standing stones and hidden fairy roads, venture into fungal grottoes and forsaken ruins, battle oozing monstrosities, haggle with goblin merchants, and drink tea with fairies."

4. Pendragon 6E (Chaosium)

4th appearance Last year's winner was on this list waaaaay back in 425 AD, and it's still here! Well, maybe not that far back, but it's shown up in 2021 at #4, 2022 at #3, 2023 at #1, and now 2024 at #4! What can we say? People are clearly anticipating it... still.

3. 13th Age 2nd Edition (Pelgrane Press)

2nd appearance 13th Age is over a decade old now, and was our most anticipated game way back in 2013. Now the new edition is coming! It's compatible with the original, but revised and with a ton more... stuff! 13th Age 2E was #3 in last year's list!

2. The Electric State Roleplaying Game (Free League)

1st appearance Free League is always on these lists, and for good reason. This gorgeous looking game is described as "A road trip on the verge of reality in visual artist and author Simon Stålenhag's vision of an apocalyptic alternate 1990s".

1. Shadow of the Weird Wizard (Schwalb Entertainment)

3rd appearance First announced by Rob Schwalb a couple of years ago, this is a more family-friendly version of his acclaimed RPG, Shadow of the Demon Lord. SHADOW OF THE WEIRD WIZARD is a fantasy roleplaying game in which you and your friends assume the roles of characters who explore the borderlands and make them safe for the refugees escaping the doom that has befallen the old country. Unsafe are these lands: the Weird Wizard released monsters to roam the countryside, cruel faeries haunt the shadows, undead drag themselves free from their tombs, and old, ancient evils stir once more. If the displaced people would rebuild their lives, they need heroes to protect them. Finally at the top of the list after being #7 in 2022, and #6 in 2023!

[miliamin1]

Stubborn, single minded and obsessive (15176 words) by miliamin Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Wednesday (TV 2022) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Wednesday Addams/Enid Sinclair Characters: Wednesday Addams, Enid Sinclair Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - High School, nevermore is not a boarding school alright, Autistic Wednesday Addams, Enid Sinclair Has ADHD, Panic Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Underage Drinking, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Fluff, Angst, Fluff and Angst Summary: After a full school year Enid can’t really call it a hyperfixation. Or a simple crush really. But falling for an anti-social girl means that the two months of summer break will be enough of a strength test on these feelings to either get rid of them or solidify it as ‘love’, dooming Enid for an unrequited high school cliche. If only Wednesday didn’t develop a sudden habit for window break-ins demanding favors.

First chapter excerpt:

The first time Enid fell in love was during AP Calculus class. Starting at a math quiz even. One of many that year. This teacher loved to give five minute quizzes out of nowhere with so little time being justified by the fact that it was multiple answer papers. Real chance of passing by just guessing. 

There was no chance of passing if just looking at the questions made you freeze and lose all semblance of thought. So little time. So many of those failed already. Enid was screwed. Mom found one with a big red F on them and yelled at her for hours. How she needs to pass all of her AP classes with better grades. How she’s always a disappointment. How she needs to stop being a failure. How she needs to get better. 

There was no getting better when her brain started to swim instead of thinking. Words and numbers jumbling together and not making sense, ticking of the clock speeding up impossibly. 

TICKTICKTICKTICKTICK. 

She could never do anything properly. 

Never.

Never.  

Never. 

Air was heavy and moving sluggishly out of her, requiring all energy spent on getting it in and out. Not enough oxygen. Even her lungs were failing to do their job. Her mouth completely dried up. Her heart beat so fast it hurt.  She felt as if she could fall down any moment. But she couldn’t move. Only clutch at her pen and be stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The test paper slid away from her. Of course the time was up and she failed already. Of course-

The paper moved only slightly to the left and a tan hand deftly picked up the pen from her hand. Quickly filling out boxes and then moving the quiz back in front of her. Cold fingers moving up from her wrist, pressing on the muscles to relax so a pen can be put back into the nearest hand of the owner.

Enid instead tried to hold onto them. With all her strength. They squeezed back, tightly and repositioned them under the desk.

Wednesday didn’t try to free herself the whole rest of class. Even after Enid's breath evened out. Or to be able to write with her usual right hand. Enid felt guilty because it wasn’t like her dominant being free meant she wrote anything. She was so exhausted all she could do was examine the blue veins, tiny scars and manicured black nails on the tether that kept her still in this world. The coldness of the skin made reality easier to latch onto. 

She was too exhausted to remember that Wednesday never needed to write down that many notes. Not until the ripping sound of paper got accompanied by being given instructions of extremely dumb downed new formulas and how to use them in a question. 

She only noticed she’s crying when she noticed wet marks discoloring the black ink. But  they were so far from being caused by pain. Blissful feeling in her chest, making breathing easy, fed on gradually disappearing coldness of skin. Like it needed it more than oxygen. Her neck tensed as she tried really hard to not look at the girl beside her and risk her crying to become noticeable beyond the stray tear or two. The feel of her firm touch was so sweetly overwhelming enough as it was. Eye contact would make her fall apart in the opposite direction.

By the end of the period their hands achieved thermal equilibrium and Enid’s heart learned a new beat.

[doomedandstoned]

10,000 YEARS Drop Massive 2nd Single en route to ‘All Quiet on the Final Frontier’

~Doomed & Stoned~

By Billy Goate

Artwork by Shane Horror

10,0000 YEARS are back with another big record. The sound is urgent, the rhythms unrelenting, the weight heroic. This is 'All Quiet on the Final Frontier' (2024) and it's the hard hitting third album from these sludgy high octane Swedish metallers. Today, Doomed & Stoned brings you a new cut from the record, ominously titled, "The Experiment."

Says 10,000 Years:

"The Experiment" was one the very first songs we worked on, and finished, after Alvin (Risberg, drums) joined our fearless crew. I think the song is very us, and very telling regarding where we’re at as a band and where we’re going in the future. It’s got the heavy stuff as well as some weird riffing and it just goes all out, all the time. Lyrically, the title came first and I thought "What’s the coolest, most legendary experiment?" and ended up at Dr. Frankenstein's lair for inspiration.

It's the latest single to emerge from the band's forthcoming opus, with a title that provokes thought. It has indeed become an age of experimentation where Pandora's box has been opened and man has a chance to play Creator, or as it were, mad scientist. The mischief making and miracle working of high technology is fast surpassing our ability to comprehend. If only Dr. Frankenstien had CRISPR when he went to work on his monster. Will our technology ultimately surpass and replace us as a species?

Now I know What it feels like To be God

Alex Risberg's vocals are formidable as usual, filling the skies with vivacious rage. His bass pummels, joined by furious drumming from new guy Alvin Risberg. Erik Palm's guitars are searing and unmerciful as usual.

Alluding to the famous novel All Quiet On The Western Front, perhaps even in these turbulent times this is but the calm before the real storm begins in our collective culture, civilization, health, and spirit. Wherever we go, heavy music will continue to provide a powerful undercurrent of resistance, reminding us of what it means to be human. Using electicity to rage against the great Metropolis powered by it.

Look for 10,000 Years' All Quiet on the Final Frontier, out November 22nd (pre-order here). Stick it on a playlist with High on Fire, Cathedral, Saint Karloff, DÖ, and Sons of Arrakis.

SOME BUZZ

Formed in The Year Of The Plague, 2020, 10,000 Years has since churned out their signature brand of skull crushing stoner metal at a relentless pace. Releasing records in 2020, 2021 and 2022, of which 'II' gave them a much deserved Manifest-nomination (swedish independent Grammys) for Best Metal, the world may not be ready for the insane massiveness that 10,000 Years have in store for it in 2024 and beyond.

As 10,000 Years now ready their return with their heavily awaited new album, they leave the complex concepts of the Albatross Trilogy behind to explore new frontiers both musically and thematically, focusing on standalone songs and compiling them into the absolute beast that is 'All Quiet On The Final Frontier.'

While still very much in the business of stoner metal, and The Riff still reigning supreme, 'All Quiet On The Final Frontier' boasts a more melodic approach. It is a natural evolution while staying true to the essence of the band and the sharply focused songwriting makes for 10,000 Years' strongest effort yet. Having joined the Ripple Family, sure to be a grand new step in their journey, this album sees 10,000 Years take a massive leap forward into new, hugely exciting territory.

All Quiet On The Final Frontier by 10,000 Years

'All Quiet On The Final Frontier' also introduces new drummer Alvin Risberg on wax, his powerhouse drumming providing a shot of adrenaline to the heart of the band and melding perfectly with the guitar wizardry of Erik Palm and Alex Risberg's thundering bass and howling vocals.

Recording, as usual, took place at the legendary Studio Sunlight with the equally legendary Tomas Skogsberg manning the controls. Mastering was handled by Magnus "Devo" Andersson at Endarker Studios.

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

[bearmgyu]

the devil said ha ha gimme, gimme more gimme, gimme more

Basic Information

Full Name: Choi Beom Gyu

Stage Name: Beomgyu (범규)

Nickname(s): Bamgyu, Cookie & Beomttomeok

Age: Twenty Three

Date of Birth: March 13th, 2001

Hometown: Daegu, South Korea

Current Location: Seoul, South Korea

Ethnicity: Korean

Nationality: Korean

Gender: Cis Male

Pronouns: He/Him/His

Orientation: Heteroromantic & Heterosexual (or is he idk maybe he's bi )

Occupation: Singer

Living Arrangements: Shares a dorm with Soobin

Language(s) Spoken: Korean, English, Japanese

Physical Appearance

Hair Colour: black

Eye Colour: dark brown

Height: 5'11

Weight: ~130

Tattoos: no

Piercings: no

Favorites'

Season: spring

Colour: pink & white

Movies: August Rush

Sport: -

Beverage: tea

Family, Relationships & More

Family: mother, father, two older brothers

Relationship Status: Single

Love Interest: tbd

Past Relationships:  tbd

Extra

Zodiac Sign: Pisces

Hogwarts House: Gryffindor

Discography

The Dream Chapter: STAR Mini Album March 4, 2019

Cat & Dog (English Ver.) English Digital Single May 3rd, 2019

Our Summer (Acoustic Mix) Digital Single May 21st, 2019

The Dream Chapter: MAGIC Full Album October 21, 2019

Magic Hour Japanese Single Album January 15, 2020

The Dream Chapter: ETERNITY Mini Album May 18, 2020

Drama Japanese Single Album August 19, 2020

Minisode 1: Blue Hour Mini Album October 26, 2020

Live On OST Part.1 OST Single November 24th, 2020

Still Dreaming Japanese Full Album January 20th, 2021

Doom At Your Service OST Part.2 OST Single May 24th, 2021

The Chaos Chapter: FREEZE Full Album May 31st, 2021

0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You) ft. pH1, Woodie Goodchild, Seori Digital Single July 4th, 2021

The Chaos Chapter: FIGHT OR ESCAPE Repackage Album August 17th, 2021

0X1=LOVESONG (I Know I Love You) ft. MOD SUN Digital Single September 10th, 2021

Chaotic Wonderland Japanese Mini Album November 10, 2021

Minisode 2: Thursday’s Child Mini Album May 9, 2022

Valley of Lies English Digital Single July 22, 2022

君じゃない誰かの愛し方 (Ring) Japanese Digital Single August 24, 2022

Good boy Gone Bad Japanese Single August 31, 2022

Free Falling The Star Seekers OST September 19, 2022

The Name Chapter: TEMPTATION Mini Album January 27, 2023

Goodbye Now (Love Revolution x TXT) OST February 22, 2023

Sugar Rush Ride (Japanese Ver.) Pre-Release Single June 28, 2023

紫陽花のような恋 (Hydrangea Love) Pre-Release Single June 30, 2023

SWEET Japanese Album July 5, 2023

Do It Like That with Jonas Brothers English Collaboration Digital Single July 7, 2023

Back for More with Anita English Collaboration Digital Single September 15, 2023

Back for More (More Edition) English Collaboration Digital Single September 18, 2023

The Name Chapter: FREEFALL 3rd Full Album October 13, 2023

minisode 3: TOMORROW Mini Album April 1, 2024

minisode 3: TOMORROW Remixes April 5, 2024

誓い (CHIKAI) Japanese Single July 3, 2024

Open Always Win Collaboration Single (Samsung) July 17, 2024

Fun Facts

was the school president, class president, class vice president, hall monitor and school vice president when he was in school (in elementary and high school)

hates the texture of octopuses and gets grossed out and showed this when they played the guess what’s in the box game

calls himself a Tiger because ‘Beom’ means ‘Tiger’

is shy and quiet to people at first but when he warms up, he can’t stop talking

he has a parrot named Toto

he learned guitar from YouTube

he is an early bird

[most-tragic-character-tournament]

It’s my time to shine, I have had my ib special interest since 2012 and had my entire life changed just for this

I will be talking about both the original ib and the 2022 remake. I will include the new game + area as well!

So to start off, We find him literally about to fucking die and it was fucking set up for him to die. Through context clues we can find that in the room where he got his rose, a lady in a painting was waiting and stole his rose, him being able to flee two rooms before falling onto the ground. For context, your rose is your life bar, if you lose all petals you genuinely die, a very painful death, when you (mind you, a 9 year old girl who relies on him to read things) retrieve his rose from the lady, there’s only one petal left.

As mentioned, he has a designated doom counter, but what isn’t mentioned is that MULTIPLE OF THE WAYS TO RAISE THE COUNTER APPEAR WHEN HE ISN’T ANYWHERE NEAR YOU, HE LITERALLY HAS NO CONTROL OVER HIS PAINFUL DEATH.

It’s heavily implied, especially in the original, that he at the very least used to be quite poor, as well as the fact that gotten from his lighter and the lemon candy he gives you that he’s likely a recovering smoker.

The canon and best ending where he survives can only happen when you talk to him enough, i’m not joking- not to mention it’s only one of the TWO endings where he survives and both are bittersweet as hell.

After meeting mary, you find yourself in a room full of what look like cute bunnies-

NOPE, CREEPY DOLLS. WHICH ONLY GARRY CAN SEE.

Then after leaving you two get split off from garry, who doesn’t know if you’re safe and so is very worried about you and mary.

The section has him be stalked by one of those dolls and from both perspectives you have to help each other, another area where he lives with only 1 petal happens. Then it’s time for the doll room…

He has to rip out the key from one of the many dolls to escape. If not, his mind breaks (unless you have enough points and can snap him out of it) which leads to the two worst endings in the game, with nobody leaving and the worst even having nobody survive, both have him getting killed!

He finds out mary is a painting and after breaking out of the doll room he doesn’t even have enough time to process the trauma before having to save ib from being murdered by mary.

I’m skipping a lot obviously please play the games, including for example the fucking eyes and that fucking room with sudden writing everywhere which has him literally say “this is not good for my mental health” but-

Mary pushes you into a toy box area and you need to relocate both garry and ib’s rose, which is where that doom counter comes into play.

If it hits 3 (btw letting the doll catch you increases it by two no matter what), your rose is nowhere to be seen and he trades his for yours to Mary, who then plays “loves me, loves me not” with it and he dies a horrible death.

Anyway, if he did not die, you are pursued by Mary (who kills you if you’re caught) in her room until you come to her painting and burn it, where most of the bittersweet comes from because he and Ib WATCH A CHILD GET SET ON FIRE AND BURN TO ASHES IN A TRAUMATIZING WAY-

to get the best ending you have to give Garry your handkerchief so you don’t lose your memory.

In new game plus, you get a new area which scars Garry even more! Also your false mom tries manipulating you into staying by her when you try leaving and Garry needs to convince this kid to escape with him

If that doesn’t show why he should advance idk what would

Anyway i can ramble on so much more about IB like Ib’s mom being abusive most likely but vote for Garry he changed my life

[Propaganda]

[dankusner]

The Dumbphone Boom Is Real

Will Stults spent too much time on his iPhone, doom-scrolling the site formerly known as Twitter and tweeting angrily at Elon Musk as if the billionaire would actually notice.

Stults’s partner, Daisy Krigbaum, was addicted to Pinterest and YouTube, bingeing videos on her iPhone before going to sleep.

Two years ago, they both tried Apple’s Screen Time restriction tool and found it too easy to disable, so the pair decided to trade out their iPhones for more low-tech devices.

They’d heard about so-called dumbphones, which lacked the kinds of bells and whistles—a high-resolution screen, an app store, a video camera—that made smartphones so addictive.

But they found the process of acquiring one hard to navigate.

“The information on it was kind of disparate and hard to get to. A lot of people who know the most about dumbphones spend the least time online,” Krigbaum said. A certain irony presented itself: figuring out a way to be less online required aggressive online digging.

The couple–Stults is twenty-nine, and Krigbaum is twenty-five—saw a business opportunity.

“If somebody could condense it and simplify it to the best options, maybe more people would make the switch,” Krigbaum said.

In late 2022, they launched an e-commerce company, Dumbwireless, to sell phones, data plans, and accessories for people who want to reduce time spent on their screens.

This wasn’t Stults’s first attempt at entrepreneurship; his past efforts included a made-in-America clothing brand in Colorado

(“That went under,” he said) and a coffee shop in the back of an ill-attended Hollywood comedy club (“A doomed enterprise,” Krigbaum said).

Dumbwireless, however, has been much more successful.

The couple’s home, in East Los Angeles, has turned into a kind of dumbphone emporium, with five hundred boxed devices stacked up in what was supposed to be a dining room.

Stults takes business calls on his personal cell, and on one recent morning the first call came at 5 A.M.

(As the lead on customer service, he has to use a smartphone—go figure.)

They pack each order by hand, sometimes with handwritten notes.

They have not yet quit their day jobs, which are in the service industry, but Dumbwireless sold more than seventy thousand dollars’ worth of products last month, ten times more than in March, 2023.

Krigbaum and Stults noticed an acceleration in sales last October, which they speculate may have had something to do with the onslaught of holiday-shopping season.

Some of their popular phone offerings include the Light Phone, an e-ink device with almost no apps; the Nokia 2780, a traditional flip phone; and the Punkt., a calculator-ish Swiss device that looks like something designed for Neo to carry in “The Matrix” (which, to be fair, is a movie of the dumbphone era).

The growing dumbphone fervor may be motivated, in part, by the discourse around child safety online.

Parents are increasingly confronted with evidence that sites like Instagram and TikTok intentionally try to hook their children.

Using those sites can increase teens’ anxiety and lower their self-esteem, according to some studies, and smartphones make it so that kids are logged on constantly.

Why should this situation be any healthier for adults?

After almost two decades with iPhones, the public seems to be experiencing a collective ennui with digital life.

So many hours of each day are lived through our portable, glowing screens, but the Internet isn’t even fun anymore.

We lack the self-control to wean ourselves off, so we crave devices that actively prevent us from getting sucked into them.

That means opting out of the prevailing technology and into what Cal Newport, a contributing writer for The New Yorker, has called a more considered “digital minimalism.”

The Light Phone débuted in 2017, before smartphone exhaustion became a mainstream ailment.

The company’s co-founders, Kaiwei Tang and Joe Hollier, have sold tens of thousands of phones.

The Light Phone II, released in 2019, features a monochrome touch screen that allows users to make calls, send text messages, and use a few custom apps: an alarm and timer, a calendar, directions, notes, music and podcast libraries.

There are no social-media apps or streaming apps.

“The point is to create useful utility that does not have the attention economy built in,” Tang said.

Like Dumbwireless, Light Phone has recently been experiencing a surge in demand.

From 2022 to 2023, its revenue doubled, and it is on track to double again in 2024, the founders told me.

Hollier pointed to Jonathan Haidt’s new book, “The Anxious Generation,” about the adverse effects of smartphones on adolescents.

Light Phone is receiving increased inquiries and bulk-order requests from churches, schools, and after-school programs.

In September, 2022, the company began a partnership with a private school in Williamstown, Massachusetts, to provide Light Phones to the institution’s staff members and students; smartphones are now prohibited on campus.

According to the school, the experiment has had a salutary effect both on student classroom productivity and on campus social life.

Tang told me, “We’re talking to twenty to twenty-five schools now.”

To Tang and Hollier’s surprise, some of the most willing Light Phone converts are Gen Z-ers.

Some of them are younger than the iPhone.

Digital technology has been an inevitable feature of their lives, yet they are also better equipped, or better motivated, than generations past to confront its negative impacts.

Apple recently allowed third-party developers to write software that accesses the iPhone’s Screen Time function, meaning that some new programs can now help users limit their screen time by blocking apps.

T. J. Driver and Zach Nasgowitz, two engineers in their early twenties, took advantage of this change to create an iPhone accessory called Brick, to fight their own excessive phone usage.

Brick, which launched in September of 2023, is a magnetized plastic cube with a corresponding app that allows you to select which features you want to block on your smartphone.

Tapping the brick activates or lifts the blockage.

Driver and Nasgowitz started with one 3-D printer to produce the accessories; now they have fifteen machines running around the clock and are shipping a few hundred products a day.

There is no one dumbphone solution for everyone.

Each digital addict is addicted in her own way.

Stults, of Dumbwireless, uses an app called Unpluq, which works similarly to Brick, blocking specific apps from his smartphone while allowing him to maintain the store’s customer-service channels, including e-mail and Shopify.

Krigbaum has been a committed Light Phone user for the past two years.

She said that she doesn’t miss her smartphone, but that her new device can cause some awkwardness when she meets other young people who ask how to keep in touch.

They mean on social media, of course; for the vast swath of Gen Z-ers who don’t use dumbphones, exchanging numbers to text message or, God forbid, call seems archaic. “I’ve been saying, ‘I guess I’ll see you if I see you,’ ” Krigbaum said.

When I want to escape from my iPhone, I pop the SIM card out (which, unfortunately, is not possible on some newer iPhones) and install it in a red Nokia 2780 flip phone—the closing snap of which brings me back instantly to my high-school days, when flip phones were cutting edge.

After the surprisingly easy switching process, I take the simple device with me on my daily walks with my dog.

If I had my smartphone in hand, I’d be refreshing Instagram or compulsively checking my e-mail while my hound does her business or sniffs tree trunks.

With the Nokia, I’ve cut myself off from such meaningless digital stimuli but preserved my ability to answer texts or phone calls if necessary. (I’m too much of a millennial to actually leave the house without any phone.)

I find myself looking more at my surroundings, which are particularly enjoyable in springtime, and I am more relaxed when I return from the excursions.

When I switch the SIM card back into my iPhone, the device seems momentarily absurd: an enormous screen filled with infinite entertainment and information that follows me wherever I go.

Then I open all my usual apps in quick succession—e-mail, Instagram, Slack—to see what I’ve missed.

The Dawn of the Dumb House

When the interior designer Ken Fulk begins working with new clients, he asks them to fill out a “Fulkfessional,” a form with questions to help him understand what matters most to them at home.

Among his favorite questions lately is “Dumb house or smart house?”

The answer is everything.

The philanthropist Christine Schantz knew exactly what she wanted for her historic 1925 home in Marin County.

She tasked Fulk (and architect Andrew Skurman) with creating a residence that could last 30 years without another renovation.

All those smart flourishes that are the rage these days—automated fixtures, complex lighting systems, remote-controlled appliances, charging stations, electronic security systems, and, everyone’s favorite, Alexa—went out the window.

Schantz didn’t want a SpaceX command station but a family retreat.

“Technology doesn’t go with that,” she says.

Homeowners like Schantz aren’t hardcore technophobes.

They would just like fewer remotes, gizmos, and wires in their personal space, and they’re turning to their decorators, architects, and contractors to make houses that are, if not dumb, then dumbish.

Perhaps not coincidentally, the trend is gaining favor with the most ­cutting-edge cohort of all; call them the Low-Key Luddites of Silicon Valley.

“Many of my clients who work in the technology world tend to forgo highly advanced homes often because they are acutely aware of change,” Fulk says.

What they want, he adds, are environments that age gracefully without frequent, irksome updates.

The Design Rules of the Modern Dumb House:

Keep traditional kitchen appliances out of sight and focus on bold color–such as this vivid share of robin’s egg blue.

All fixtures and cabinet hardware are by the Nanz Company.

Rule: Go old school with cookware–very old school.

The collection of enameled cast iron pots and pans is from Staub.

The pendant lights are by Studio Van den Akker.

To step inside an anti-smart house like Schantz’s, seen here, is to find a feast for the eyes steeped in handiwork that feels closer to the past than the future: artisanal millwork, detailed plaster, light switches that look like old fashioned brass toggles.

The doorbell is manual (“a Victorian hand-turn that I purchased myself,” Schantz says), the bookcases are filled with hardbacks, and family knickknacks and photographs are not relegated to the attic or uploaded to an iPad but thoughtfully displayed.

“We often hear clients say that they don’t want a home that’s smarter than they are,” says the design legend Holly Hunt. “The appeal of being able to control your home while on vacation is obvious, but what happens when things go wrong and you can’t get through to tech support while you’re on the other side of the world?”

Rule:

Take the low-tech look to the next level with bespoke wallpaper illustrated with favored real and imaginary titles, executed in the powder room by Ken Fulk, and a custom, marble, wood, and leather vanity by Merritt Woodwork, with faux-book detailing.

The idea of the smart home goes back decades. In pop culture it is depicted everywhere from Dr. Frankenstein’s lab to John Lautner’s 1960 Los Angeles house the Chemosphere (the inspiration for The Jetsons and a longtime movie backdrop) to, more recently, the 2014 film Ex Machina. In Woody Allen’s Sleeper (1973) a health food store owner is cryogenically frozen and defrosted 200 years later in a glass house designed by Charles Deaton full of robots. In the real world, the launch of the first general-purpose home automation network technology, dubbed X10, came in 1975.

a living room with a chandelier and a couch Douglas Friedman

In the living room, a Silvio Piatelli chandelier, a table lamp by Cym Warkov Ceramics, and Chesterfield sofas by Coup d’etat.

In 1999 Microsoft’s “Home of the Future” promotional video imagined a middle-class family house with seamless voice-activated and integrated lighting, heating, security, and entertainment systems. By 2012 the ad was becoming a reality: 1.5 million home automation systems had been installed in the United States, according to data firm ABI Research, and by 2020 the industry was valued at $44 billion.

ken fulk house renovation in marin county Douglas Friedman

Rule: No TV, Alexa, or electronics in the bedroom. And keep lighting simple. The chandelier is by Fabio LTD, and the reading pendants are by Allied Maker. Rule: Prioritize neutral elements: fresh flowers and forest wallpaper, here by Cole & Sons. The wicker nightstands are by Portuguese design studio Emotional Brands.

The shift away from overly digitized homes, at least for some, has been a long time coming, spurred first by a growing awareness of the health risks of too much screen time and later accelerated by the erosion of work-life balance during the pandemic. The rise of artificial intelligence is a more recent cause for alarm.

“People that I’ve worked with in the tech industry don’t want their kids to have technology,” says the designer Lonni Paul, who has removed computers and other digital devices from the bedrooms and personal spaces in her own home and those of her clients. Erin Lichy, a New York interior designer, has also winnowed the devices in her home in favor of elements that put a premium on calm, not notifications. No cameras, Alexa, or Google Assistant for her.

a bedroom with a bed and chairs Douglas Friedman

In the primary bedroom, the wallpaper is St. Laurent by de Gournay, the ceiling fixture is by Fortuny, the antique desk features a Josef Hoffman lamp by Woka Lamps, and the nightstand lamps are by Lorenza Bozzoli for Tato Italia.

“Similar to in-home cameras, we don’t love the idea of a device constantly listening in on us,” she says. It’s an urgent concern for homeowners at a time when big tech companies are testing ambient intelligence, a concept that futurologists have been talking about for years, in which smart devices make their own decisions based on anything from biometric sensors to predictive behavior modeling.

“Just because it works doesn’t mean it’s a good idea,” Fulk says. “When I come home, especially to a beach house or a ski house, the last thing I want is to have to wrangle with technology.” In the modern dumb home, the only bits of technology present are usually ­hidden—starting with the TV and including details as small as a light switch. “Whenever I’m redoing a house, I can tell when a house was made in the 2000s, because it was this in-between of trying to be forward-thinking but things still felt really clunky,” says the designer David Ko, who receives an increasing number of requests from his Los Angeles clients to keep entertainment consoles out of sight. His solution: OG projectors, built-in custom furniture, and products like Samsung’s the Frame, which makes television screens look like artworks.

“There’s nothing luxurious about technology anymore,” says the designer Stephanie Roy-Heckl, who largely works in Miami and the Hamptons. Or beautiful, for that matter. A Roomba may be practical, but chic is not the first word that comes to mind to describe one.

a room with a table and chairs Douglas Friedman

In the entry, art works by Jack Wright and Charles Bianchini, a 19th century gueridon with a marble top, millwork by Merritt Woodwork and doorway by Theodore Ellison Designs.

Even if so-called dumb houses aren’t defined by a single aesthetic, they all represent a broader recalibration of homeowners’ relationships with technology. There’s less interest in the latest gadgets and more demand for conscientious innovation, especially in the realms of sustainability, green architecture, and solar power. “In California we’re having a big conversation around gas appliances and their impact on the environment and on our health,” Fulk says. That was a priority for Schantz, too, but her domestic digital detox was brought about by a simpler personal conviction.

“I also think technology dumbs us down,” she says. “It makes us forget what’s meaningful and lasting. It gives us terribly short attention spans.” Instead, her home has something AI never will: soul.

Lead image: The sconces and library lights are from the Culver City dealer Obsolete. The astrological ceiling mural, inspired by the famous one at Munich’s Villa Stuck, is by artisan Willem Racké. First editions and rare books line bookshelves backed in wallpaper by Zak & Fox, with flourishes by Racké. The CH20 Elbow chairs are by Hans Wegner. Artisanal millwork is by Merritt Woodwork.

This story appears in the April 2024 issue of Town & Country, with the headline "Welcome to the Dumb House." SUBSCRIBE NOW

Headshot of Kristen Bateman

Kristen Bateman is a contributing editor at Harper’s Bazaar. Her first fashion article was published in Vogue Italia during her junior year of high school. Since then, she has interned and contributed to WWD, Glamour, Lucky, i-D, Marie Claire and more. She created and writes the #ChicEats column and covers fashion and culture for Bazaar. When not writing, she follows the latest runway collections, dyes her hair to match her mood, and practices her Italian in hopes of scoring 90% off Prada at the Tuscan outlets. She loves vintage shopping, dessert and cats.

[jjungkookislife]

Pain

pairing: hhh!jimin x f. reader

genre: established relationship

summary: While sleeping over at Jimin's place, you wake with a start and a bit of panic before running to the bathroom. It is that time of the month again.

wc: 875

warnings: mentions of period cramps, periods, period cravings, food

date: December 2, 2022

ho-ho-home ~ ho-ho-home series masterlist ~ original

Sometimes you were able to track your period, predicting it down to the hour every month, and other times you lost track, didn't check your calendar, deleted your app, and relied on your symptoms. Today, you woke with a sense of doom as you got out of Jimin's bed in a hurry, making him wake up with a start.

He sat up on an elbow, his hand rubbing his eyes as he caught you dashing into his bathroom.

"No! Fuck!" your curse gets him out of bed in a panic.

"Doll?" he calls out from the other side of the door, his hand wrapped around the doorknob, waiting for your consent before turning it.

"Fuck!" you huff and he knocks when the door is locked.

"Doll, what's wrong?" Jimin is near panic, chewing on his fingernails as he awaits your response.

"I got my period," you answer him with a sigh as you sit on the toilet with your face in your hands. "Fuck."

"Oh," Jimin responds, heart rate returning to normal. "Do you need anything?"

"I left my products at home," you answer him. Jimin made a mental note to ask what you use and stock it in his bathroom for next time. Hell, for this time. He was going shopping after dropping you off at work and Ana at school Monday morning.

"I'll go get it!" he offers, running to the front door after scrambling into his shoes. You don't even have time to protest, smiling and shaking your head as you decide to wait for him. You were grateful it had at least given you time to get to the bathroom before staining anything.

Jimin is out of breath as he lets himself into your family home.

"Mom!" he shouts, to announce his arrival.

"I'm right here, honey," your mom answers him with a smile as she walks into the kitchen from the hallway. "What's wrong?"

Ana sits at the kitchen table, reading the back of the cereal box while spooning chocolate cereal into her mouth. "Morning."

Jimin hesitates. Did Ana know about periods?

"Uh, Doll got an unexpected visitor? Is it unexpected or was I just unaware of when it would come? Hm?" Jimin asks himself.

Your mom raises a brow in confusion. "Who was it?"

Jimin turns red. "Uh..."

"Sissy got her period, mom," Ana answers. Jimin freezes but nods.

"Oh," your mom laughs. "Her stuff is in the bathroom cabinet under the sink. And of course, you know where her underwear is."

God, can this be any more mortifying? Jimin thinks to himself before shaking his head. Periods were normal, and you lived in an open environment where this was openly discussed and nobody was made to feel uncomfortable.

"Thank you," Jimin says as he speed walks past them and back into the hallway toward the bathroom. He opens the bathroom door, heading straight for the sink's cabinet. He sees all your products, unsure of what to get. Fuck it, he thinks as he grabs it all and stops in your room for some underwear, just in case.

"Bye mom!" he calls as he runs out of the house toward his in a hurry.

"Baby, I'm back!" he calls when he reaches his bathroom door, turning the knob and grateful when it turns.

"Just set it on the counter," you instruct him. He does as he's told, setting it down before leaving you to give you privacy.

Not even a minute later, you're stepping out to join him in the bedroom, curling up to him.

"Thank you," you say, planting a kiss on his lips.

"No need," he says with a smile. "I wasn't sure what to grab. So I got it all."

You giggle. "It varies sometimes."

Jimin nods as you cuddle him, wincing when you feel the first wave of cramps hit you. You breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth, clenching the sheets in a fist until it passes.

"Cramps?" Jimin asks.

"Yeah," you breathe. "Sometimes they're random, sometimes food I eat sets them off. I can't have citrus for the week."

Jimin nods, taking mental notes.

"Is there anything I can get you? Chocolate? Ice Cream? Pizza?"

"It's 10am," you giggle.

"What do you crave? Do you crave stuff on your period?

"Sometimes," you shrug. "It varies. This one time, I craved nothing but bacon burgers from the local joint down the road. Other times it's tuna salad. Sometimes it's the XL chocolate bars with almonds. Fuck, I love those."

"I'll get you some," Jimin immediately offers.

"How do you feel about period sex?" you ask with a sly smile. Jimin chuckles, noting your expression.

"I've never actually done it."

"It's a sticky mess sometimes," you laugh, shaking your head. "I'm not much of a fan. Plus, my boobs hurt so badly right now. Fuck.

Jimin pouts, pressing a kiss to your lips. He's gentle with the way he cups your face, his tongue pushing past the seam of your lips, tongue meeting yours with a dreamy sigh.

You don't go past kissing, just enjoying the moment in his arms until your stomach is growling, and he's giggling at the sound, tugging you out of bed to satisfy whatever craving you've got.

thank you for reading! ♡ if you liked it, please let me know! 💌

[tomorrowusa]

The heart of Trumpism involves being anti-majoritarian. Republicans are intent on keeping power in the hands of a shrinking reactionary minority for as long as they can get away with it.

Through gerrymandering, voter suppression, and court packing the GOP has attempted to gain a monopoly on power at the state and federal level for the past dozen years. Eventually they will all die off, but they have the ability to derail American democracy and make our lives miserable for the next decade or two.

But becoming more active in the democratic process and concentrating on long term goals can weaken and shorten the MAGA threat to America.

Greg Sargent at the Washington Post (archived) describes how MAGA overreach and increased moderate to liberal activism have been damaging GOP extremists.

Even as voters are mobilizing to protect democracy at the ballot box, Republicans are redoubling their commitment to the former president’s anti-majoritarian mode of politics. And this, in turn, is motivating voters even more. Call it the “MAGA doom loop.” It’s playing out in state after state. Let’s start with Michigan, where Trump’s decisive loss in 2020 led MAGA loyalists to reshape the state Republican Party around devotion to the “big lie.” Then Democrats resoundingly captured full control of the state’s government in the 2022 midterms, in which election-deniers across the country lost races up and down the ticket. Now, the Michigan GOP is in shambles. Just this month, the chairman again called for scrutiny of supposed 2020 fraud, prompting infighting over debunked conspiracy theories. And as the New York Times reports, the party’s descent into MAGA mania is alienating donors, draining volunteer enthusiasm and driving away swing voters. All of that will further dim Trump’s 2024 chances in this crucial battleground state.

The battle over Michigan isn't over yet, but the state is looking increasingly bad for Republicans.

Or take Wisconsin. The GOP-controlled state legislature is threatening to impeach state Supreme Court Justice Janet Protasiewicz, who won her seat earlier this year by 11 points, handing liberals a majority. Democrats ran ads about protecting democracy to boost Protasiewicz, arguing that her ascent would thwart attempts to overrule the state’s 2024 outcome.

It's true that the pro-totalitarian GOP majority in the Wisconsin legislature may try to impeach Justice Protasiewicz on the most flimsy grounds. But that could spark a constitutional crisis which could damage Republicans even more.

All of this syncs up with what political science tells us: Issues become salient for voters when elites talk about them a lot. That has certainly been the case with democracy and that will surely continue next year. Big events — such as Trump’s prosecution for Jan. 6, 2021-related offenses and the GOP’s continued devotion despite those criminal charges — will only reinforce what’s at stake. “As long as the MAGA-Trump faction remains a threat to free and fair elections, a consequential slice of the electorate will continue to vote on this issue,” political scientist Lee Drutman told me. If there’s a silver lining, it’s that the MAGA doom loop might keep on working its magic — all the way through 2024.

Keep talking about the need to protect democracy. Let wavering centrists know that this is an issue which affects them.

And of course, PAY MUCH MORE ATTENTION TO STATE GOVERNMENT. Letting the MAGA crowd run your state is no more palatable than letting them run the federal government.

By devoting less attention to Florida state government, Democrats there have allowed Ron DeSantis and his rubber stamp legislature to construct a 21st century dystopia in what was once a swing state.

Look up who represents you in your legislature. If they are Republicans then get to work now on electing pro-democracy replacements.

Find Your Legislators Look your legislators up by address or use your current location.

[heavenboy09]

Happy Birthday 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 To You

1 Of The Most Humorous & Loveable Canadian - American 🇨🇦🇺🇸 Action Packed 🎬 Stars Of The Early 90's & 2000's Before Going Into a Long Hiatus

Then Made A Major Comeback In Acting & Now Is A Oscar 🏆 Winning Actor In The Academy

Fraser was born on December 3, 1968, in Indianapolis, Indiana, to Canadian parents Carol Mary (née Généreux) and Peter Fraser. He is the youngest of their four sons.

He is a Canadian-American🇨🇦🇺🇸 actor. Fraser had his breakthrough in 1992 with the comedy Encino Man and the drama School Ties. He gained further prominence for his starring roles in the comedies With Honors (1994) and George of the Jungle (1997) and emerged as a star playing Rick O'Connell in The Mummy trilogy (1999–2008). He took on dramatic roles in Gods and Monsters (1998), The Quiet American (2002), and Crash (2004), and further fantasy roles in Bedazzled (2000) and Journey to the Center of the Earth (2008).

Fraser's film work slowed from the late 2000s to mid-2010s due to the poor box office performances of many of his films, and various health and personal problems, including the fallout from a sexual assault committed against him in 2003 by Philip Berk, the then-president of the Hollywood Foreign Press Association. Fraser branched into television with roles in the Showtime drama The Affair (2016–2017), the FX series Trust (2018), and the Max series Doom Patrol (2019–2023). His film career was revitalized by roles in Steven Soderbergh's No Sudden Move (2021) and Darren Aronofsky's The Whale (2022). Fraser's starring role as a morbidly obese gay man in the latter earned him critical acclaim and numerous accolades, including the Academy Award for Best Actor, becoming the first Canadian to win this category.

Please Wish This Iconic & Loveable Canadian-American 🇨🇦🇺🇸 Actor That We All Know & Love & Care For.

He Has Been In Our Lifes On The Big Screen Since 1992

The 1 & Only

MR. BRENDAN JAMES FRASER🇨🇦🇺🇸 AKA ENCINO MAN 👨,  GEORGE OF THE JUNGLE 🌴, & RICK O' CONNELL OF THE MUMMY TRILOGY 🇪🇬👹

HAPPY 55TH BIRTHDAY 🎂 🥳 🎉 🎈 🎁 🎊 TO YOU MR. FRASER & HERE'S TO MANY MORE YEARS TO COME

#BrendanFraser #EncinoMan #GeorgeOfTheJungle #TheMummy #RickOConnell

[mehoymalloy]

Fic author self-rec!

When you get this, share your favorite five fics that you've written, then tag at least five other writers. spread the self-love ❤

Thanks for the tag, @foibles-fables! (Also sorry to everyone who tagged me in fun stuff over the last few days, I saw too many at once and therefore decided to do none of them xD; but if you were curious about a particular question, please feel free to shoot me an ask anytime!)

Here's a list of five of my most favorite fics:

1. Prometheus Bound (Horizon; Aloy/Tilda)

My first long fic that kind of just kept growing. It was originally supposed to be three chapters, but then I fell in love with writing Tilda’s interactions with the GAIA Gang, which lead to Alva, Erend, Kotallo, and Zo all getting their own chapters. Then, to top it off, the final chapter had to be split in two!

2. Let Me Lay Waste to Thee (Critical Role; Imogen/Otohan)

My first (well really thee first) Imogen/Otohan fic. After thinking ‘is no one else seeing the hint of enemies to lovers potential here?’ for a couple months, I had my first "fine I’ll do it myself" moment. And boy am I glad I did, because now I would die for these two. I had to get creative with the Reilora as a concept and create a inexplicable psychic connection to facilitate the development of the ship over like 20k words, but imho, it fucking works, so, I’m really proud of this one!

3. The Stark Reminder (Critical Role; Imogen/Otohan)

This is the second smut piece I’ve written for the ship, but I think it’s my favorite so far. I got to dig into the softer bits of themselves they carefully keep hidden, and that was very fun to explore for two characters who hold a lot of animosity towards each other while simultaneously being drawn to each other through funky telepathic fuckery.

4. Aches and Pains of Various Sorts (Critical Role; Liliana/Otohan, and Imogen)

If you’ll allow me to pull a complete 180 now, MOON MOMS (ahem, i’m fine, i’m cool). This is the first of a huge series I’ve got planned, and from the first fic, I’ve fallen hard for this entire idea. Otohan and Liliana connecting over this mysterious power they share, and eventually reuniting and deciding to enter a dedicated partnership where they raise Imogen together is just, ugh my heart. First of all, it’s an outlet for all my Otohan headcanons pre-Apex War, which I’m very excited to dive into in the future. And on a more mushy note, I’m giving Imogen the loving parents and happy childhood she deserved.

5. When the Darkness Comes (Horizon; Silga & Untalla)

My 2022 Horizon Big Bang fic! Silga and Untalla are two NPCs in Forbidden West that never meet, but taking them and weaving a little (’little’ being a lie, it’s 35k) roadtrip adventure of them hunting down all the black box collectibles in game was super fun. As a bonus, writing the black box shorts---those final moments and small conversations of doomed soldiers---was a fun challenge that I’m really proud of!

Now for no-pressure tags! @wvearp, @bluntblade, @the-everqueen, @souls-that-have-senses, and @xxcookiecrumbsxx :)

[bradenthompson]

Bionicle: The Dream

So ik adult Bionicle fans talk a lot about "The Dream" and while I can say I too have had The Dream a couple of times, last night was my first attempt at controlling it. Which is when something fishy happened.

In case anyone doesn't know, The Dream is a sort of shared memory amongst the Bionicle fans of yore and the Bionicle diehards. Tell me, have you ever had a dream that went something like this:

You are in a Toys R Us, Target, Walmart, Lego store, etc. There is a wall of Bionicle toys, all original packaging, exactly how you remember it being all those years ago. This is the backbone of The Dream, with some variance from person to person. Here's how mine went, last night.

So, it's me and my brother. We walk inside the Toys R Us that used to exist where we grew up but no longer does (goes without saying). Right when you entered this store, there was a rotating display of popular toys, which would change periodically. This time it was Bionicle. My brain did not make up any Bionicle packaging. I've done some google image searches, everything was dead on. Here I will mention that The Dream is an extremely vivid one, bordering on lucid.

I pick up this set, Vezon & Fenrakk:

For a lot of people, this is where the dream ends. But mine keeps going. We pick up more sets, but this one is the focus. I can feel the hard corners of the box under my arm. I look to my brother and tell him this:

"I'm not going to open this box. I am going to stick this box in my closet. We will move houses between now and then. Wherever I go, this will go with me. On November 30th, 2022, I will open the box. By then, it will be in my dresser at my college dorm room."

And it's set. I buy it, bring it to my childhood home, place it in my closet. At this point, I started feeling heavy. Like Frodo bringing the ring up Mount Doom. The air felt dense, like some force was trying to prevent me from doing this. I get to my closet and fall backwards, stand up, try again, fall down again. Nevertheless, I get the box in the closet.

My life flashes forward. I see myself moving houses, the box coming with me. Closet to closet, it moves. The end of this montage is me moving into my aforementioned college dorm room and, yes, putting the box in the bottom drawer of my dresser. Here, the dream ends, and I'm in my bed, staring at the ceiling.

Here I will mention that I am not a superstitious person. I'm not entirely convinced by ghosts or spirituality, I don't believe dreams are indictive of anything serious. It was a combination of things. The verisimilitude of the dream, how tactile it was, how accurate its details were, how much I wanted this set as a kid. As I get out of bed, my eyes go to my dresser, and I wonder: did this work?

And if it did work, what does that mean? Have I stumbled upon powers not meant for mortal man, motivated by Bionicle toys? If I can do this, what else can I do? Can my dreams very impactfully transport me to the past? Can I fix mistakes? And what force was trying to stop me? Something greater than I, fully aware of what I was trying to do, trying to unplug me before I unlock abilities no man was meant to possess? Hands trembling, I open my dresser.

aaaaaaaaaaaand it wasn't there. Fuck you, simulation. Anyway, what did y'all dream about last night

[desertrosegoddess]

(possible TW: Natural disaster mention; Hurricane Ian.)

Em hotep~!

Long time, no see. Bear with me, it may be a long one.

The past few years have been what the kids call ✨ w i l d✨ for me. I started my Kemetic journey in 2016, and since then I have moved cross country three times. I was active on tumblr when the first one happened. However, tumblr took a huge back seat in my life as I started walking down my polytheistic path soon after.

I eventually moved to TikTok where I finally got the courage to teach about Kemeticism and make videos right before cross country move two. I had moved to Florida to help my parents run a restaurant on Sanibel Island. Those two years allowed me to flourish into my Kemetic path, teaching and making videos. It is a lot of fun for me!

It also gave me space to open an Etsy shop where I made Kemetic devotional bracelets. It was a dream of mine for the longest time, and I was super thrilled to be able to make subtle things like that for fellow Kemetics.

September 28th 2022, Hurricane Ian took the restaurant from us--and my Etsy shop as I don't have the source for a PO Box anymore. Our personal apartment was safe, but the restaurant suffered massive flooding damage and we aren't able to financially build again. So, cross country move number three took place when my husband got a job back where we were before Florida.

It's been a super wild six years.

However, I was able to find my passion teaching Kemeticism and about The Neteru though TikTok. It eventually led me to start a podcast called The Magic of Egypt that I host with my best friend. I am editing Episode Nine as I write this.

That's where this post comes in. I didn't utilize tumblr for a multitude of reasons; one of them being that it was just too much to add to TikTok, twitter, and instagram. I still won't be utilizing tumblr to be frank with y'all. I might doom scroll sometimes and post what I usually post here but that's about it.

I'll be using TikTok, going LIVE there once a month, and now my Patreon. My Patreon has a few tiers that include Neteru of the Month posts, Deity Tips, a discord server, and more exclusive content. If you're looking for a safe space for Kemetics, I'd love to see you.

I still do offer readings, too! Patreon has access to exclusive monthly Pick a Card readings and LIVES where I'll offer free Oracle card draws there. My path has definitely evolved from where it was and now I'm walking the Priestess Path with Set.

... just yanno, it came with a ton of ✨c h a o s✨, no biggie...

Anyway, thank you so much for reading this far. I wish you the best on your paths. Much love.

Y'all can find me through my other social media: https://linktr.ee/desertrosegoddess

[gvilla1-blog]

MUN 2-2 LEE: A Vertical Slice of Life Under ten Hag

…Low to De Gea's near post and it flies straight through his hands and intothe bottom corner. 1-0 Brentford.

A pout, an exasperated crossing of the arms. A wincing usually characteristic of a poor, beaten canine who beared witness to a raised fist.

It was at this point, a mere 100 or so minutes into the 2022-23 Premier League Season, that I was ready for the towel to be thrown. I‘d take my ball and go home, numb after the frustrations a ten year epoch of darkness following the retirement of Sir Alex Ferguson had brought on. I had heard this bothersome tune before under Moyes, Van Gaal, Mourinho, and finally Ole. As sterile City and Lilliputian Liverpool claimed trophies like Larry King claimed spouses, we languished in mediocrity. Last season felt like the the last bout of a once-mighty fighter‘s career; the fight that’d driven them to flee the arena they once dominated out of sheer embarrassment, not to mention a touch of brain damage.

What followed felt like football’s answer to the Shinkansen: in what felt like moments, the scenery changed at blinding pace. In the blink of an eye, we were so far from where we had boarded. And the bullet train conductor was none other than the Vibing Dutchman, Erik ten Hag.

MUN 2-1 LIV. Casemiro. MNU 3-1 ARS. Casemiro. MUN 2-0 TOT. Casemiro’s header to equalize at Stamford Bridge. Garnacho accelerating past Fulham’s defense to deliver the killing blow at Craven Cottage. Rashford unlocking the Ultra Instinct. Casemiro. Ripping out the mean blue hearts of our noisy neighbors, 2-1. Casemiro. Old Trafford a fortress once more. Casemiro. CASEMIRO. CASEMIRO!

The highs remind us of what the sun felt like on our pale, downtrodden faces. They reminded us that football is about passion, bringing out the best in oneself, and most essentially: it’s fun.

But could it be possible that, instead of watching this hero‘s journey through until its natural end, when the ring is thrown into the fires of Mount Doom, when the young Jedi resists the dark side and defeats the evil emperor, we might have wanted the protagonist to become the Legend before it was earned? Was winning the league ever really supposed to happen this year?

Ten Hag has done so much in so little time because he’s instilled a very tangible sense of standards among this squad. They press cohesively, like a white blood cell surrounding and obliterating a harmful foreign substance. The center-halves, Licha and Varane, have the same rabid intensity and methodical coolness (respectively) that we saw during the halcyon days of Vidic and Ferdinand and sadly took for granted. The midfield takes bold steps toward the penalty box and creates chances instead of a constant rotation of metronomic sideways passes. And our attackers finish those chances! Imagine that.

But Wednesday night versus Leeds showed us that there is much left in the hourglass of our hero’s journey. We lack quality and depth in midfield, our attackers aside from Rashford are inconsistent, and our goalkeeper, once the lone bright spot of a floundering club, has reached obsolescence in the modern game.

The shortcomings ring a louder bell, but there are positives to be found. Our spirit was bruised and battered at 2-0, but we showed grit and determination as we scored two in quick succession to equal their total. And that second goal, the one that sent the Stretford End into an animalistic fury, was from our star boy, Jadon Sancho, returning from a long hiatus masterminded by ten Hag. Of the many pieces of evidence to be used in the Court of Man Management, such as the handling of the Ronaldo Debacle, Garnacho’s habitual tardiness, and Luke Shaw’s wavering motivation on the pitch and in the kitchen, there is perhaps no greater show of ten Hag’s skill in dealing with these volatile personalities than his rehabilitation of Sancho. He seems a man made new, with a confidence that can highlight the natural flair and calm lethality in his game that we hope can continue for many years.

Wednesday night was a microcosm of the season so far. Many shortcomings that hopefully only take a summer to resolve. But many positives that ought to have Reds from all four corners of the world delighted for the daylight shining through the thick canopy of Liverpool and City success.

We are impressive. Most impressive. But we are not Jedi yet.

[doomedandstoned]

Ruff Majik Reveal “Cement Brain” from Upcoming Smasher ‘Electrik Ram’

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

By Billy Goate

If you're craving a deep-seated, authentically felt vibe, look no further than RUFF MAJIK. Not only are they gritty and soulful, the band's sound seems rooted in the earth itself. Their bluesy, sludgy musical contortions flow from album-to-album with great inventiveness, and 'Electrik Ram' (2023) is no exception. Here the band is continually surprising us with a clever turn of phrase here, an experimental choice of instrumentation there, a heart-stirring chorus elsewhere.

The latest single to emerge is a cosmic blues stomper, "Cement Brain." Says the band:

As with previous single "Elektrik Ram" (and album title track), "Cement Brain" was once again inspired by and written in a mental health facility. Vocalist Johni Holiday had gone in for treatment of severe agoraphobia and a crippling panic disorder, which he self-medicated with alcohol and many other substances. In the window of time that he became well and had a clear head, he penned this number as a plea to his friends and family to never let him slip back into his old ways again.

"On the surface, it's about escaping an abusive relationship," explains Johni on the message behind the track. "But deep down, the relationship in question is my relationship with substances such as alcohol The song pleads with the listener to not let me go back."

You can get the single on multiple platforms, with the full album release of Electrik Ram coming on April 28th to Mongrel Records (pre-order here).

Give ear...

LISTEN: Ruff Majik - "Cement Brain"

SOME BUZZ

Elektrik Ram was written and recorded between 2020 and 2022 after Johni Holiday found himself in and out of mental health and recovery facilities, struggling with severe agoraphobia and substance dependence brought on by PTSD.

In the lyrics and structures of the songs, Johni painted character sketches of the many faces he saw inside the white walls of the hospital - and this became the framework for the entire album. The recordings happened as the band found time to go into the studio and contribute, and the process aided Johni in his recovery and rejoining of society.

It sees the return of Ruff Majik's experimental nature, moving between fuzz filled wonderlands and somber acoustic territories.

Elektrik Ram by Ruff Majik

The horned infant known as Ruff Majik emerged from the primordial ooze when the band moved from the historical town of Lydenburg in 2012 to the capital city of Pretoria, where they honed their craft for a few years before finally entering the studio to record for the first time. Now, with a number of EP’s and two lauded albums under their belt, not to mention a megaton of local and international touring, they return with what might be their defining work in the shape of ‘Elektrik Ram’.

All the requisite ‘Majik trope boxes are ticked in thick, bold permanent marker - sludgy, distorted riffs, vast landscapes of sonic abandon, dark imagery that perfectly complements the delicious cacophony, and tasty sound bites that add infinite swathes of colour. This is what is expected from the band, their signature sound and one that never fails. But there’s a lot more going on here that shows an evolution of a band maturing and embracing their future with an eye firmly planted on the past.

The B-grade drive-in double-feature aesthetic is still where they are most comfortable, with a Cramps-like wallow in songs like the single, ‘She’s Still A Goth’. The song may start out with a White Zombie kick up the ass, but it lands up in a darker Ennio Morricone-meets-Type O Negative epic that comes straight out of left field. It’s both refreshing and brave, retro, and modern, badass and kickass.

Elsewhere, there are true nods to goth royalty in the likes of ‘Mourning Wood’, blues-worthy jams such as ‘Queen Of The Gorgons’, quirky dirges, and low-slung boogie with ‘Cement Brain’, and the hauntingly acoustic ‘Chemically Humanized’ that swings from Nick Drake to all-out rock ‘n roll stadium rock in scant minutes, and that’s all just the tip of the proverbial distorted iceberg. ‘Elektrik Ram’ is a thought-out, meticulously crafted piece of work that, like the legendary classics from the golden era, works as a collected grouping of songs. Each brings a different shade and hue to the portrait, a necessary lift and drop that takes the listener on a goosebump journey through a psychedelic wonderland, and it just flat-out GROOVES.

Ruff Majik is Johni Holiday (vocals & guitar), Cowboy Bez (guitar & vocals), Jimmy Glass (bass), and Steven Bosman (drums), four horsemen of the feedback apocalypse who know what they want to say and do it without apology.

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