Tumgik
#private instagram viewer that works
anticipatecrime · 8 months
Note
Hello! I was wondering if you wrote for Johnnie Guilbert? If so, I was gonna request Dating Headcannons for him :D !! ( Only if you’re comfortable, ofc! )
𝙙𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨 | johnnie guilbert
Tumblr media
a/n: yes i love him <3 take some little dating headcanons, (sorry its short)
•you either meet johnnie from my digital escape, which was a collabrative youtube channel with alternative people
•or he first sees you on omegle while streaming for the first time, shocked to see a punk person
•he gives you his instagram that day after talking with you for sometime and you start dming
•he was quite awkward and shy when you first started talking and calling on the phone, not used to this
•it took a long time of being friends with johnnie for him to ask you out, but you were okay with that because it was worth it
•after my digital escape you didn’t continue with having a social media presence other than instagram
•he never made it a thing to announce it to his viewers, he just kind of included you in videos, and people understood you were together
•at the start of your relationship, he never wanted to be touchy in public or do pda but the more he fell in love with you he didnt care about other peoples opinions
•he would definitely hold your hand, and kiss your cheek, but the rest was private
•would never admit it, but he was a hopeless romantic which means he would always be trying his best for you, and wanting to be near you
•when filming for his youtube or his friends, he would always invite you along, and it was beneficial for both of you, it helped his anxiety and it made you feel included
•he would deal with constant looks and sometimes laughter when he would go outside or go on omegle, but he would never let it get to him, just turning it into a joke
•but when people would comment on your looks, he’d be more harsher and protective
•after a long day of filming, he would collapse into your arms, and cuddle with you, saying he wishes he could just stay there forever
•you would totally go on late night walks or adventures with him to seven eleven
•date wise, he would always get creative and find stuff to do with you
•you both liked going to a different cafe every week or so, ordering something new and just enjoying your time together since you were both busy working most days
•but he still loved just watching netflix on the couch with you, having a night in
•eventually you found a show you both loved, and now you wait to watch it together every friday evening
•he wasn’t one for outside activities, but you encouraged him to go hiking and rock climbing with you and he began to like it.. other than being sweaty and the mosquitoes
•you guys would totally share music, make playlists for eachother and johnnie would eventually encourage you to start singing because your voice was one of his favourite sounds
•he would take you to his favourite bands concerts and gigs, and you would do the same, him loving all of the music you listen to
•as a tattoo artist, you would totally design tattoos for him, and find ideas for his merch line
•he was never one to take things super seriously, but when it came to your relationship, and thinking about the future, it was always thought through
•when you got a cat, he was googling everything to do with the breed, the best food it should eat, healthcare information, which may seem normal, but tell that to the 11 pages of cat research on your living room coffee table
•when you got your first apartment together, no longer having to be in the same space as his roommates, it was such a relief
•he would wait by the door, with your cat, longing for you to come home from the tattoo parlour, and when you did he would be all over you
•i dont care what anyone says, he would be so clingy, just loving your presence
•his love languages are definitely quality time and physical touch. acts of service is up there though
•he loved feeling appreciated
•he would be the sweetest and just the perfect person to be in a relationship with.
2K notes · View notes
laelawrites · 2 months
Text
MONA LISA SMILE → PG10
Tumblr media
» summary : they say art transcends languages, and formula one driver pierre gasly begins understand that saying. social media & real person au
» pairing : pierre gasly x artist!reader
» faceclaim : rola
» disclaimer : the exhibit and artworks in this fic are created by jesse mockrin. i do not own any of these works; and parts of the captions used in this fic are directly from the press release of “The Venus Exhibit.”
» a/n : warning, badly translated Japanese ahead. dabbling into mixing real and social media so let me know what you think! I may continue this and make it a two-parter but I’m content with leaving it an open ending, who knows.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
8:04am sent to yuki 🏎️
yuki 🏎️
プラスワンの同伴は可能ですか?
can I bring a plus one with me?
you
もちろんだ!
of course !
yuki 🏎️
それじゃ、また! ☺️
see you then !!
Tumblr media
There was something about being invited to an art exhibit as your friend’s plus one, that’s taking place in a foreign county where you can’t even understand the language.
Granted, Pierre had nothing better to do as this year’s season hasn’t started and most of his winter plans were over by this time, but still; he couldn’t claim to understand the workings of his friend’s brain—Yuki Tsunoda was a complicated person to begin with.
Not to mention that the apparent artist was a close friend of Yuki’s and it being a personal invite on her behalf made him reluctant to go, feeling as if he was intruding. But a handful assurances from his close friend was how he found himself on a private jet off to Tokyo.
And it was because of those assurances that he found himself in a particular predicament.
That being: wandering the space and smiling emptily at anyone who had the unfortunate luck to make eye contact with him, and taking awkward sips of the champagne that was handed to him when he first walked in.
Now, that’s not to say he was complaining because there wasn’t much to complain about in the first place. The free servings of alcohol and the small dinner that was going to be held after the exhibition were all the reasons he needed to initially attend. The art—a form of media that he never truly understood—was simply an excuse.
However, as he stopped in front of another work on the wall to view the painting, he almost came to regret his decision. Yuki was nowhere to be found—Pierre lost him some fifteen minutes ago when a group of people came up to him before being dragged away. And he would have followed if it weren't for the rapid Japanese that spouted from their lips and the clear excitement written all over their faces.
But alas, some things were just not meant to be.
He made another glance at the painting before taking a slow sip of his champagne and turned to scan the crowd before him hoping to spot his small friend. And it was at that moment that he made eye contact with one of the most beautiful women he had the pleasure of laying his eyes on.
Tumblr media
INSTAGRAM
yourinstagram
Tumblr media
liked by yukitsunoda and 883,292 others
yourinstagram ヴィーナス・エフェクト』では、トワレのシーンから聖書や神話に登場する映り込みの物語まで、鏡と女性の歴史的表象を探求している。ヴィーナス効果とは、ヴィーナスが鏡を見つめる姿を描いた美術史上の伝統にちなんで名付けられたもので、ヴィーナスが自分の姿を見ているかのように錯覚する知覚現象である。実際には、鏡に映った彼女の視線は、絵画の鑑賞者やそれを描いた画家とつながっている。L/Nはこれを、女性の自己陶酔を描くと公言しながら、その代わりに彼女を描いた男性画家を憧れの眼差しで見つめる女性の主題を描いた、これらの歴史的絵画そのものの適切な比喩だと考えている。
私の個展にお越しいただき、応援と温かい言葉をありがとうございました!
In "The Venus Effect," L/N explores historical representations of women with mirrors, ranging from scenes of the toilette to biblical and mythological narratives of reflection. The Venus effect, named for the art historical tradition of images that depict Venus gazing into a mirror, is a perceptual phenomenon wherein the viewer is fooled into believing that Venus is looking at her own reflection. In reality, her line of sight in the mirror connects with the viewer of the painting or the painter who created it. L/N sees this as an apt metaphor for these historical paintings themselves, which profess to portray women's self-obsession, but instead depict a female subject gazing adoringly at the male painter who fashioned her.
Thank you very much for coming to my exhibition and for your support and warm words!
view all comments
user すごい !
user 美しい
yukitsunoda 招待してくれてありがとう。
Thanks for inviting me.
↳ yourinstagram もちろん!今度お友達を紹介して
ね。ケケケケ
Of course! Introduce me to your friend next time hahaha
↳ yukitsunoda 彼のハンドルネームは pierregasly
His handle is pierregasly
↳ yourinstagram 🙈🙈 あなたは彼をタグ付けする
ことになっていなかった!
You weren’t supposed to tag him!
↳ yukitsunoda ケケケケケケ
hahahaha
Tumblr media
Y/N rolled her shoulders, titling her head back to stare upon the ceiling of her studio that was once painted by, reminiscent to the Sistine Chapel—though she couldn’t even begin to compare her work to the likes of Michelangelo. Talent like his– No. Not even talent. It was a gift he curated with hard work that she couldn’t come close to by any measure.
But staring up at her ceiling, she couldn’t help but fondly shook her head at the audacity of her friend, even if his actions weren’t any surprising as he had the tendency to pull mischievous moves like this. Almost like a fox, if she had to admit.
Placing her phone down, she sighed as she stared at the half-assed canvas before her. Her sketching pad was opened to the page where the drawing she planned on painting laid, and she was supposed to move the sketch to the canvas but her low motivation left a corrigible mess she couldn’t bother to fix at the moment. Her lates exhibit, “The Venus Effect” was successful and she had been in talks for past day about another possible exhibit within the next year, but that all depended on her. And more specifically, her talent to paint which she found lacking with her motivation.
The stress of the past month weighed heavily on her shoulders even if the exhibit was open, and she couldn’t find it in herself to even think about starting a new collection—when normally, she had no problems with jumping straight into a new one.
Unbeknownst to her, her luck would quickly change in the upcoming days as her phone vibrated with another notification.
pierregasly has followed you!
pierregasly has sent you a dm!
Tumblr media Tumblr media
pierre gasly
Hello! I just wanted to say that I thought your work was wonderful, and wanted to thank you for the invite.
Or well, thank you for allowing Yuki to bring me along.
you
Of course!! I thank you for your nice words, and I am glad you enjoyed it.
pierre gasly
Do you have any more exhibits in Tokyo open? I’ll be in Japan for three more days and I’m curious to see more of your work in person.
you
I do not. It's less stressful so I'll open them one by one.
Sorry if my English is no good. I use a translation app to help.
pierregasly
That’s okay! You’re English is very good, I couldn’t tell you use a translator.
You’re doing better than me because I can’t speak Japanese at all!
you
Haha thank you. Not all the time I use translator. Only when I struggle with some words.
But if you want to see more work, I can invite you to my studio because you are in Japan for more days.
pierregasly
I would like that. I’m free tomorrow if you’re able?
you
Of course!! I will send you the address. I will be there all day, so you can visit at any time that you are able to.
pierregasly
okay thanks! I’ll see you tomorrow then.
you
😊😊
Tumblr media
you
角田裕毅、死んじゃったね!!
You’re so dead Yuki Tsunoda!!
yuki 🏎️
えーーー?!?!?
Ehhhh?!
俺が何をした????
What did I do???
184 notes · View notes
freckliedan · 9 hours
Note
wait can you talk more about christmas 2018?
Anonymous asked: Just what you said in your post! "the first christmas where they publicly spent that much time together" did they usually keep quiet about where they were?
i can't speak to the 2014-16 era because i fell out of touch with the fandom at that time, but i was absolutely around during 2017 & 18. both of those years marked HUGE shifts, and both of those huge shifts came at the tail end of gamingmas/dilmas. you can check out my original frog theory post and my frog theory tag for elaboration on the function of gamingmas irt all of this. as just like. prerequisite framework reading.
ANYWAYS. the thing that was such a big deal was that dan was openly visiting the lesters with phil. yes, you can visit friends' families during the holidays. but it's much more frequently something you do with a significant other. so the ruckus was because dan and phil knew the conclusions people would jump to if we knew dan visited the lesters at christmas, and they still let us know that it happened.
(this got disgustingly long, so i'm putting the rest of this post under the cut.)
part of what made that such a big deal was having that happen after the no homo/closet era, the "we're not together we're not even that close of friends we're just roommates" era. the significance of their trust & openness was MUCH more tangibly felt. a way larger percent of the fandom at that time had been present when the vday video leaked/had joined shortly afterwards when that was one of the biggest things impacting both phandom culture and our relationship with dnp.
so in 2017 when we got a glimpse of dan up north at the lesters' in a couple of cornelia's instagram stories? we lost our fucking minds about it. it was only 2 (i think) background cameos, but it was quite literally unprecedented. it's not something that qualifies as openly spending time together at the holidays because of the method throug which we found out about it, but like. there's no way they didn't know that cornelia was posting those, and no way that they didn't know we'd know about it.
when i say we, i mean dedicated phannies. people who could possibly be reading this post, not casual subscribers to the gaming channel. because when it comes to casual viewers, or even people who aren't a part of dan and phil's usual audience at all? there's a lot of methods of communication that they just plain aren't paying attention to and won't be aware of.
the most direct, permanent methods dan and phil have for communicating are videos on either of their individual channels or on dan and phil games, and after that is instagram grid posts or tweets, as well as videos on their side channels. twitter replies, insta stories, livestreams, and their public likes on any social media platform? those are for a more private audience. their appearances in other people's posts reaches a similarly small audience.
knowing that they were starting to be more and more open through the communication channels only open between them and dedicated fans, and that it was a trend - december 2017 is also when phil, in a liveshow, read out someone's "you and dan are so married" comment and just.. laughingly said "it-it's a useful thing". (link to gifs of that). it wasn't a one-off. it was a trend.
and compared to 2018, it was dust. they spent the whole year becoming increasingly open with us, through increasingly direct methods. it was a whirlwind. even for people who've watched all the videos and liveshows, you don't have the whole picture. the onslaught was coming at us from every angle at all moments. you'd have to also explore the full archives of social media posts, insta stories, meet and greets , social media likes, and like.. the archived recordings of every interactive introverts tour date. it was batshit.
it was genuinely one of the most insane years of my life. i was having physical symptoms. we all knew what was coming, we all could tell they were working up towards coming out, but nobody wanted to trust that we were right about that. my dashboard was regularly at a fever pitch.
and december 2018 was the culmination of everything. and then they were talking directly to us in a liveshow and being. insanely open. they told us that dan was going with phil to visit the lesters. and they told us that pinof was ending. and then dilmas started dropping, aggressively cementing the fact that dab and evan were sim-universe proxies for dnp, while dan and phil posted instagram grid and story updates about visiting the lesters. and then dab and evan came home to the howlter house for the holidays. and got engaged.
and then they went on hiatus, and we pretty much did not hear from dan until he came out.
the point is. we knew there was a fucking insane energy. we KNEW something big was coming. we fucking knew. it was a two year build up to dan and phil being the most publicly gay they'd ever been on the gaming channel and every single other platform - and part of that insanity was them being open about dan visiting the lesters, which coincided with them having their proxy sims get gay engaged while visiting family.
"did they usually keep quiet about where they were?" anon, the last time before all this that they had openly acknowledged dan visiting the lesters during the holidays was 2009.
the way they were acting over christmas of 2018 had me experiencing shrimp emotions to such an intense degree i was having verifiable psychic visions.
90 notes · View notes
hansensgirl · 3 months
Text
Tumblr media
summary. | Pete Brenner can’t let his number one fan go.
prompts. | Pete Brenner + Camboy + “You ask too many questions. Just relax.” + Drugging, requested by Anonymous.
pairing. | dark!camboy!Pete Brenner x fem!reader.
warnings. | NON/DUBCON, breaking and entering, drugging (needle), kidnapping, camboy, mild age difference/gap, pet names, delusion, stalking, and more. 18+ MINORS DNI!
author’s note. | this is a part of my Dark Concepts (2023) request form. thank you for taking part in this event! please enjoy and don’t forget to reblog. MINORS DNI, 18+ ONLY! taglist: @hansensfics.
Tumblr media Tumblr media
You’re not sure what compelled you to join the site, but you found it less excruciating than you first thought. Sure, it was overwhelming—all the images of people offering your wildest fantasies—but you were bored and lonely. 
Now, you’re not.
You could tell that Pete was older than most streamers, and he certainly wasn’t as kind as the others, either. But there was some kind of magnetism that lured you in, and the attention he showered you with—despite the presence of other viewers—wrapped you around his finger. 
But you can’t keep up with him anymore. He asks for private sessions almost daily, especially at night, when you’re completely wiped from work and not in the mood to rub one out. 
At least Pete doesn’t raise his prices, but that doesn’t make you feel better. The numerous notifications give you anxiety, making you regret creating an account. They get increasingly personal and rude, him using the little things you said to him in confidence and lust to make you feel disgusting.
You power your phone off and flop onto your bed, not even bothering to change out of your work attire. When you close your eyes, all you see is your computer screen and the meeting notes you took. You groan, exhausted both mentally and physically. You just want to get by—is that so hard?
Oddly, though, the streaming app has been silent for the last few days. You contemplated deleting your account, but you’ve been procrastinating making the final decision. Pete has finally left you alone, it seems.
Or so you think.
You remain in limbo—stuck between falling asleep and being wide awake. Odd images, things that aren’t dreams or your thoughts, flash in your mind. You hate this part. But you’re snapped out of it when you hear the sound of footsteps from your living room, startling you.
You scramble, still groggy and exhausted. It’s as though you’ve been waiting for a moment like this, as terrible as it sounds. You have no weapons in your room, but you listen closely while considering hiding spots. You could fit in the closet, but the intruder would find you in no time, especially with your coat and boots strewn across the floor at the front entrance.
Tears fill your eyes as the reality of the situation comes crashing down on you. You have nothing to offer, nothing worthy of committing a crime. Why you? 
You move slowly and quietly, searching around for something to protect yourself. You keep your ears peeled but don’t hear your belongings being ransacked. The numerous possibilities run through your mind—what if they’re a murderer? You bite back a sob.
It’s like your body freezes as your mind screams at it, watching as the doorknob to your bedroom moves. The intruder opens the door, and you brace yourself for whatever response you’ll have—or whatever this person decides to do first.
To your horror, you recognize the man standing before you, wearing gloves and dressed too casually to be a common criminal. 
It’s Pete—smug as ever with his goatee. Your chest heaves as you struggle to breathe, nerves alight with fear. “What the fuck?” you shout, but he shushes you.
“Oh, baby, you’re so much prettier in person. All those photos on your Instagram don’t do you justice,” he coos, his words making you nauseous. “How did you find me? Why are you here?” you question, voice loud. Your neighbours aren’t home, though; it is a cruel twist of fate. 
“You ask too many questions. Just relax,” Pete says, raising his hands as though you’re some feral animal. You spy a needle in his fist and your heart lurches. You grab the pillows on your bed and throw them at him, but he’s too quick.
In no time, Pete twists your arms and stands behind you, holding you tightly. You try to fight him, but when the needle pricks your skin, you realize you’re helpless. 
“Shh… It’s okay. I just want to give my biggest fan what she deserves—me.”
99 notes · View notes
supersonicart · 1 year
Text
Martine Johanna's "How to Eliminate Stress and Anxiety through Good Housekeeping."
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Currently on view at MasseyKlein Gallery in New York City is artist Martine Johanna's must see solo exhibition, "How to Eliminate Stress and Anxiety through Good Housekeeping."
This fascinating exhibition from Johanna delves into the relationship between public perception and private self-image, incorporating irony and light humor. Central to Johanna's work is the multifaceted role of women in Western society, with a focus on the female figure. Her semi-autobiographical paintings, straddling surrealist abstraction and intricate narratives, examine perceptions of gender, competition, beauty, personality, and attraction in both personal and art historical contexts. The vivid scenes highlight the stark contrast between reality and dreamlike escapism, prompting discussions about identity crises stemming from societal expectations and social media pressures.
Johanna's inspiration originates from her childhood, where she experienced a strict upbringing within traditional gender divides. Escapism was found in dime novels, TV programs, and fashion magazines, much like today's screens and social media channels. Her female protagonists playfully depict the struggle between youthful naivety and adulthood while trying to establish their identities. The artist draws inspiration from Titian's Venus with a Mirror, using modern and prismatic techniques to create visually stimulating compositions that leave the viewer to ponder and interpret the scenes. Adopting 1970s color schemes, technicolor television, and Fauvism, Johanna first paints a dark ground on linen or panel and layers the narrative with rich colors, brighter hues, and neon, resulting in elaborate, detailed, suggestive, and mesmerizing paintings.
Tumblr media
THE SUPERSONIC ART SHOP | FOLLOW ON INSTAGRAM
53 notes · View notes
the-resurrection-3d · 2 months
Text
@glitteronin activated my autism trap card so I decided to expand on my "the poison song in Hazbin ep 4 feels like rape porn" hot take.
I'm kidding. My actual hot take is that the episode is pretty alright anyway.
So this originally was going to be a reblog of someone else’s posts about how Angel’s characterization "makes it obvious [Viv] doesn’t think abuse is bad,” but I decided to just leave that person alone. I’ve also revised this quite a bit, because I want to present ways of thinking about representation of trauma that aren’t just “graphic = bad” and “metaphor/off-screen=good,” and preserve my own attempts to think through this conflict. So don’t expect a definitive thesis or anything too prescriptive—I welcome other perspectives here!
It is also worth noting that someone with a rape kink DID help storyboard the Poison montage. Last I heard, they are not a survivor and just grew up very repressed. I didn’t bring this up before because the Instagram post I saw from them only said they helped “choregraph” the dance, so I wasn’t sure if they has only storyboarded the dance sequences or if they’d done the entire thing.
Anyway.
Based on the latter part of episode 4 and what Viv has said in the past about being a survivor (IIRC) and Angel Dust being her comfort character, I feel like she does care about abuse, but there are a ton of little different points of friction that are all coming together to undermine Angel Dust's arc as a part of a larger anti-abuse project for many people.
I want to say I’m coming at this from the perspective of someone who largely appreciated what the episode was going for, and was not triggered by the montage. Not to say that people who were triggered are wrong in their criticisms – just that I’m not coming from a place of immediate emotional distress, and I’m not judging Angel’s reactions to his trauma against my own.
I’ve said elsewhere that the Poison montage has the same energy as a lot of rape porn—meaning it has the same focus on the heightened emotional states but none on the real physical toll of these events. Specifically, the scene made me think of this quote from Angela Carter’s The Sadeian Woman, which is a book-length academic work on the rape porn of the Marquis de Sade:
It follows that prostitutes are favourite heroines of the pornographic writer, though the economic aspects of a prostitute's activity, which is her own main concern in the real world, will be dealt with only lightly. Her labour is her own private business. Work, in this context, is really dirty work; it is unmentionable. Even unspeakable. And we may not talk about it because it reintroduces the question of the world. In this privatised universe pleasure is the only work; work itself is unmentionable. To concentrate on the prostitute's trade as trade would introduce too much reality into a scheme that is first and foremost one of libidinous fantasy, and pornographic writers, in general, are not concerned with extending the genre in which they work to include a wider view of the world.
Of course, this does not perfectly map onto Hazbin Hotel: indeed, the project of episode 4 (however successful the individual viewer found it to be) is to introduce a lot of reality into Angel’s facade of a Being A Walking Hole.
Still, to me, a lot of the episode still works on a similar wavelength as the porn author’s “libidinous fantasy,” as even the parts of his story we are supposed to find upsetting and painful are still the parts that are sexualized in conventional rape/non-con porn, and follow the same fantastical logic. By which I mean, Angel can be shown briefly in pain or tired from being attacked for hours, but never for too long, and he certainly doesn't get too tired or high he stumbles in his high heels, or so tired or sore he messes up a take and they have to stop and redo shots (something that is very common in the production of even regular ass porn, btw). Hell, his bruised eye from Val slapping him is gone by the time the montage is over.
Indeed, the montage revels in forcing us to become not merely witnesses, but spectators to Angel’s victimization: the song is energic, the cuts frenetic, with tons of small shots that can easily be clipped out and used as regular pornography—the shots of Angel and Val fucking being probably the most obvious example, as without context, there’s nothing to suggest that Angel is being coerced, even as he is bitten. Part of this is intentional, since Angel Dust is supposed to be "addicted" to the lifestyle—the song itself is clearly supposed to have the energy of something like "Toxic" by Britney Spears, which Viv said in a Q&A was Angel's audition song.
And despite our culture’s increased awareness of and (lip service) empathy to survivors, it is truly daring to be portraying this kind of reaction to abuse. I saw multiple people on my timeline say this made them feel seen, and I am happy for them.  
 But then we have Husk calling Angel a loser over being abused a few scenes later, and them singing a fun, jazzy song about it. Sure, we now have a good grasp of Angel's character motivations—and I wouldn't be surprised if this pacing decision was in response to Angel getting blasted for years as an offensive caricature of gay men—but would someone who just got gangraped for hours really be receptive to THIS message from someone they were just fiercely arguing with? Furthermore, on a purely character level, why is Husk doing this and not Charlie, who is the one Angel was having actual conflict with earlier in the episode? The scene itself is fine, and it's completely understandable why they would want to end the episode on a lighter note, but the way the story is being paced makes it feel like Viv wants to just rush through to get to the HuskDust stuff.
Revising this essay, I revisited an old essay by Will Harris that I frequently cite when discussing ethics of representation, wherein he points out that the “I”/eye of the [there poet, here viewer] is not ethically neutral:
Witness carries no moral imperative in itself; the act of seeing is not inherently virtuous. Or you could say, its moral charge lies less in the “evidence” it provides than in how it’s rendered in language. The viewing “I”/eye is a fiction, inasmuch as it cleanly separates the subject from the object. So the job of the writer is not just to choose what to look at, but to work out how to represent the complex relationships embedded in the act of looking.
The paragraph before this has Harris cite Scenes of Subjection: Terror, Slavery, and Self-Making in Nineteenth-Century America, wherein scholarSaidiya Hartman refuses to reprint Aunt Hester’s beating from the first chapter of Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass. “It’s too easy to put such horror into words and so think that you’ve faced up to it,” as Harris writes. “Accounts of extreme hurt may prompt indignation, but Hartman argues that they eventually “immure us to pain by virtue of their familiarity.” That in some sense, to demand “suffering be materialized and evidenced” is more “obscene” than the original torture.”
Of course, placing this quote here in this essay about a show that is currently being lambasted for portraying graphic rape at all, in an online culture that often conflates representation with endorsement or some secret moral deviancy on the author’s part, would be to suggest that portraying rape on-screen is itself an issue, when representations are always bound by their historical and social contexts. Sometimes you do have to be that graphic, but like Harris says, it’s easy to think just showing the horror in itself is meaningful — and I think we all are a little too blackpilled here on Tumblr to think that just Showing The Horrors is enough to produce meaningful change within the average person.
However, I think the more useful idea of Harris’s is “withness.” Harris writes that in these more ideal poems,
Subject and object are no longer distinct from one another. In such a state, the self is implicated—emotionally and ethically—in the other. It’s impossible to conceive of “being” without “being-with.” Hopkins writes: “With witness I speak this.” In my head that line always reads: “With withness I speak this.”
I think this is what the episode was attempting to do—to force us into the uneasy position of a spectator before moving us into witness (as Husk is asking the same kinds of questions we would be asking about Angel’s behavior, reacting with concern as we would even as we see through Angel’s facade) and then withness. Literally, two characters dueting about finding comfort in their core similarity. This is why it had to be him and not Charlie: Husk is in a much better position to produce withness than Charlie, given how the episode clearly parallels his deal with Alastor to Angel’s contract with Val.
Still, this kind of emotional-logic-driven storytelling leaves out any viewers who don’t resonate and does not offer them anything else to latch onto. It also does nothing to satisfy the structural questions raised earlier (couldn’t Charlie have sent Husk to deal with Val for some reason? It probably would be a dumb reason but at least the episode would have symmetry).
I still hold the big problem with the episode is that we are directed to think—indeed, are told directly—that Angel is “addicted” to this lifestyle, but we aren’t given a real origin point for this behavior: the trauma and addiction to said trauma are a closed loop. Val is such an obvious piece of shit, to the point of even sexually harassing the literal Princess of Hell the very second he meets her, that we get no sense of what drew Angel in. Sure, we can make inferences that he likes sex, likes drugs, liked fame, but if Val has always acted like an obvious psycho, Angel blaming himself for his abuse is, in a very cruel way, completely justified.
But in real life, even people who get with obvious shitbags often have reasons for this laid in their past: it’s rarely the case that a normal, well-adjusted person is just so fucking stupid they end up marrying Mister Rape.
This disconnect between what I’m being told to think and what I’m actually being shown is where this attempt at withness failed for me, and the lack of attention to reality and general indulgence of the montage is probably what people are picking up on when they say it gave them kink vibes.
But still! Looking at the montage in context, I can appreciate what Viv was trying to do. The real sickening thing, to me, is that the internet is so unwilling and unready to engage with Viv’s work and with this type of representation in any type of good faith, so even if it were a 10/10 absolute masterpiece, it wouldn’t have mattered. Can’t wait for the next Angel episode so we can have this discourse all over again!
8 notes · View notes
bloatedandalone04 · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
Warnings: swearing, mentions of smut, kinks, this is looong (like 1.3k long)
PSA: I made this filter ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) this man is too fine.
Fun Fact: this is my 69th post 👀
☽︎First things first, you met during his Rise era.
☽︎He was 20-21 years old and you were 18.
☽︎You were close friends for about two years before you mutually decided to kiss, just to see what it was like.
☽︎It was when you two had a bit too much to drink.
☽︎A couple times a month, you, Ted and a few other friends would have a night dedicated to drinking, catching up and letting loose.
☽︎The morning after, once you both slept off the drinks you consumed, you were expecting things to be beyond awkward.
☽︎ Surprisingly enough, he laughed it off and asked if you wanted to go out on a proper date.
☽︎Since then, you two had been official.
☽︎The Good Ones by Gabby Barrett is your song, tbh.
☽︎If you’re driving together (which was very often), his hand is on your thigh the entire time.
☽︎You pretty much share the same music taste, so you always put on a good playlist.
☽︎We all know he has the softest singing voice, so of course you sing together (though, you tend to sing a bit quieter because you just love to hear his voice).
☽︎PDA consists of hand holding, cheek kisses and, if he’s feeling risky, neck kisses.
☽︎So, yeah, he doesn’t care much for excessive PDA, but he also doesn’t mind it at all.
☽︎He wont usually go out of his way to be affectionate with you in public, but has no problem when you cling onto him while you’re out.
☽︎He’s up for going into any store you want to browse in, even if it’s the most girly store ever known.
☽︎If you have long or medium length hair, he often puts it up in a messy high ponytail.
☽︎That, or he messily tries to braid it.
☽︎Either way, his hands are constantly playing with your hair (and making it look so messy all the time).
☽︎You wear his clothes pretty much everyday.
☽︎Usually it’s just one of his t-shirts that you wear to bed (because it smells like him and you’re borderline addicted to it).
☽︎Sometimes you wear his t-shirts or hoodies while running errands as they were a lot more comfortable than your clothing.
☽︎And Ted loves it.
☽︎It’s a way of showing that you were taken and off limits.
☽︎Whenever you go live on Instagram, he’s one of the first viewers and when you post something, he’s one of the first to like it.
☽︎Laughing fits on the regular. 
☽︎You absolutely LOVE when he decides to grow out his facial hair as he pulls it off so well.
☽︎You spend damn near everyday together.
☽︎When he leaves to go film a new movie or show, you’re his number one supporter.
☽︎Posting news about whatever project he’s working on to your twitter/stories.
☽︎Constantly reposting his photos on your story with a random text like ‘look how hot my bf is’.
☽︎He’d never admit it, but he loves how obsessed you are with him.
☽︎Because he was also obsessed with you, but he had more control over it.
☽︎While you’re very open to posting him, he’s very private.
☽︎Will only really post you when it’s your birthday, your anniversary, a time when he’s so proud of you or when you’re his date to a premiere (and even then, it’s usually a post with many slides and you’re usually the second or third slide with the first being a random photo of him).
☽︎BUT he does post many random pictures of you on his stories pretty often.
☽︎One time when he was going over a script with you, he realised that you were actually a pretty good actress.
☽︎Hence, him telling you to audition for a role on Fear Street with him.
☽︎He auditioned for young Nick Goode and you auditioned for Ziggy.
☽︎The day he was told he got the role was the day you were asked to audition for a different one.
☽︎You ended up getting the role of Sam, and Sadie got the role of Ziggy, resulting in a friendship forming between you two (despite your character only being in the beginning of Fear Street 1978).
☽︎This would be your first acting gig and the fact that it was in a trilogy with your boyfriend made it that much more special.
☽︎Neither of you would say it out loud, but you both were jealous that you’d be kissing other people for your roles.
☽︎Attending all the premieres together <3
☽︎You move in together after just under a year of dating.
☽︎It’s a small apartment, but you really didn’t need much.
☽︎Make out sessions all the damn time.
☽︎Seriously, you two could just be sitting on the couch together and the next second you’re either straddling him or pinned under him.
☽︎Speaking of sitting on the couch; your legs are always laying on top of his and his hand is on your thigh. Always.
☽︎You could be watching TV together, on your phones or just sitting and talking to one another - his hand is always on your thigh.
☽︎Touching is his love language, what can I say?
☽︎He’s not big on receiving hickey’s, but boy does he love giving them.
☽︎Your neck, shoulders, chest, thighs, wherever, really. 
☽︎Of course, you can’t help but give him a few - mainly in spots that people can’t see (his shoulders, chest or stomach).
☽︎You guys spend more time outside than inside, tbh.
☽︎Either at the mall, out at restaurants, vacationing with friends or just by yourselves, driving anywhere, exploring, going to various sports games.
☽︎Moving onto your bedroom life...
☽︎Y’all are young, you have needs.
☽︎He’s not one for giving or receiving oral, but it does happen every now and then. 
☽︎Usually, after kissing, you just skip straight to fucking.
☽︎It goes one of two ways, quick and hard, or slow and extremely passionate. 
☽︎Man has the biggest praise kink ever.
☽︎Borderline breeding kink? He hasn’t worn a condom since the third or fourth time you had sex, and neither of you were complaining. 
☽︎Hand holding pretty much the entire time.
☽︎He’s a top, for sure.
☽︎But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t fucking love the view he gets when you decide you want to ride him.
☽︎He’s pretty vocal, too.
☽︎Not necessarily loud, but he’s not quiet either.
☽︎Mostly groans and curses.
☽︎Absolute music to your ears, by the way.
☽︎Aftercare; he’s the sweetest ever.
☽︎He’s cracking jokes left and right while you lay in his arms, occasionally giving you compliments that leave your heart fluttering.
☽︎He’s the big spoon, for sure. 
☽︎He just loves wrapping his arms around you.
☽︎And you love it, too, as you feel so protected. 
☽︎Him coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist and putting his chin on your shoulder is basically an everyday occurrence.
☽︎He’d do it while you’re cooking, on your phone or even if you’re just standing there.
☽︎You guys are chaotic, let’s be honest.
☽︎Like absolutely wild behind closed doors. 
☽︎Raising your voices when having a causal conversation about the most random things ever.
☽︎“What do you want to order for dinner?” -Ted
☽︎“I don’t know, you pick.” -You
☽︎ “I picked last TIME.”
☽︎ “Okay, so pick this TIME, too.”
☽︎ “Just PICK SOMETHING.”
☽︎ “I DON’T CARE WHAT WE EAT.”
☽︎ “You SAY THAT, but always judge whatever I PICK.”
☽︎And he ends up picking anyway. 
☽︎Then there are times when you’re like “Do you want breakfast? I can make you a mean bowl of zucaritas.”
☽︎To which he promptly asks, “what the fuck is that?”
☽︎“Spanish frosted flakes.”
☽︎You often scold him on his smoking habits (but he makes it look so hot, somehow).
☽︎You are one of the FEW people he lets call him Teddy.
☽︎He’s big on pet names; babe, baby, y/n/n, even honey sometimes.
☽︎Fights are super rare, as you’re usually always happy when you’re around one another.
☽︎When they do happen, they’re small and easy to get over.
☽︎The bigger ones have only happened a handful of times, and all times ended with a mutual apology.
☽︎Falling asleep on the couch together a thing that happens damn near every week.
☽︎He will randomly buy you flowers with little to no conversation exchanged.
☽︎He’ll walk into whatever room you’re in, hand you a bouquet of flowers then leave before you can even comprehend what happened. 
☽︎Tells you he loves you EVERYDAY, whether it’s verbally or over text.
☽︎Oh, by the way, your contact name is ‘Lover’ and his is ‘the bae’.
☽︎Overall, the man is obsessed with you. 
86 notes · View notes
dawnsbreaking · 1 year
Text
Tumblr media
not as smooth as we planned - chapter one
Harry and Rose get a second chance after the villa. pairing: Harry/CMC Rose chapter 1 of 4 chapter word count: 9,145 (i know) read on ao3
Despite winning a reality tv show and finding herself in a committed relationship with up-and-coming star Rafi Sayed, Rose Prichard was all too excited to go back to living a regular life after Love Island.
Rose loved her job as an event coordinator for a non-profit, despite the long hours and meager salary. After winning the prize money and moving in with Rafi, however, she no longer had to choose between a job that she loved and paying bills on time.
It had been Rafi’s idea for Rose to move in with him. He’d suggested it the night they won Love Island—before they were even technically a couple—and Rose resisted for as long as she could manage. It was far too soon, she knew that, but they’d been so close in the villa that resistance seemed futile in the end. She broke her lease and moved in with Rafi two months after the series finale.
Soon after the move, Rafi booked a breakout role and the job called him away for months at a time. In the year and a half that they’d lived together, Rafi had only been home with her for six collective months sprinkled throughout. Rose enjoyed spending her time alone or with friends in his lush flat— their lush flat—while he was away filming. It was idyllic, cooking meals in the fancy kitchen, entertaining guests in the well-decorated living room, and bringing her work home to a cozy spare bedroom turned home office. She hardly missed her boyfriend at all. That should have been the first sign that something wasn’t right.
On paper, Rose and Rafi made no sense. She was a private person, maintaining just enough social media presence to assure her distant relatives that she was still alive and, occasionally, using her fame after Love Island to promote charity events. Rafi, even before his stint on reality tv, had been a frequent purveyor of tasteful Instagram thirst traps and lifestyle vlog content. He thrived in the public eye and it was part of his career. It had been an uphill battle for him to get Rose to trust that the two of them could be compatible. 
Rafi had joined Love Island late, infatuated with the girl he’d seen on the show. Rose had been there since day one but had yet to be swept off her feet. Harry, the boy she’d been most interested in before Rafi, was indecisive and immature. Rose gave up on him before the third recoupling, ending up in a friendship match with Camilo until Rafi’s arrival.
Rafi was already committed to Rose before the two had even spoken. His beach hut interviews were convincing love letters to a woman he’d never met that charmed the audience and caused viewers to root for the couple even before their first date.
Though Rose was slightly overwhelmed by Rafi’s initial feelings for her, he was able to prove himself as a partner and deepen his feelings beyond a crush on a girl on the telly. The optics were good. Of Rafi’s crush working out so well, of Rose learning to appreciate and understand and then return his feelings. Of someone coming in so late and so quickly becoming part of a strong couple. When they won, everyone but Rose seemed to have seen it coming.
After the show, their relationship remained somewhat public, despite Rose’s protests. When Rafi got invited to red carpet movie premieres, Rose’s name was listed on the invitation. Rafi’s publicist also encouraged him to post pictures of him and Rose together. He talked about her in interviews, included short clips of her reading or working in his vlogs, and even once took a brand deal promoting an app for couples, using her name in the copy of the ad.
There weren’t fights, really. Rose expressed her need for boundaries, continued to share the bare minimum on her own socials, and declined every brand deal and interview she was offered. She’d ask Rafi for discretion and be disappointed when he could only provide so much.
Rafi was back home for a short stint between filming outside the country and a small press tour for his show when Rose hit a wall with him. He made dinner and opened a bottle of wine, she filled him in on gossip from work and her friends.
“Oh,” he said, sounding startled at his own abrupt change of subject. “I forgot to tell you. There’s a premiere for my friend’s movie in a couple of weeks. I’m gonna fly you there for the night so you can come.”
The verbiage bothered Rose the most. He wasn’t asking, he was telling. She took a sip of wine and gathered her thoughts before asking, “What are the dates?”
The charity that Rose worked for had its annual fundraising event coming up, an event that she had been working to organize for the better part of the past year. She wouldn’t be able to travel so close to that event, she’d be too busy. Rafi should know that.
“I don’t know, it’s a Friday. About a month from today.” Rafi smiled, reached to lay a hand over hers on the table. “It’s an artsy film festival thing, I think you’ll like it.”
Rose knitted her brows at him. If he was right about the day, he’d planned on attending an event outside of the country the night of her fundraising event. She gave him a moment of silence, hoping he’d remember and correct himself without her having to break the bad news.
“What’s wrong? Do you not want to go?”
“Rafi, are you messing with me?” She’d been talking about this event for months, complaining about vendors and guests and tablecloths almost every time she spoke to him about work.
“Why would I be messing with you? We’re going to a film festival. Four weeks from today. What’s wrong with that?”
“Friday, four weeks from today, is the day of my fundraising event.”
What Rose expected from this revelation was just a few meters short of overreaction. She expected a rush from Rafi to apologize, a hurried explanation. She expected him to get his manager on the phone and cancel with the film festival. Have his assistant send a fruit basket and flowers to everyone involved.
Instead, he shrugged, squeezed her hand on the table. “I’ll tell them you won’t be able to make it.” 
Rose withdrew her hand from his grasp, cradled it awkwardly in her lap as if nursing a physical injury. She frowned, giving Rafi yet another chance to self-correct. He raised a brow but kept his movie-star smile in place. Nothing. Rose hated conflict, even when it was unavoidable.
“What about my event?”
Rafi offered no solution, shrugged again. “You know I hate those things, anyway. Networking events.”
“Networking events?” Rose closed her mouth tight before she could say anything that might put her relationship in jeopardy. She was hosting a fundraising gala with a silent auction. Attendees certainly could network, but that was far from the focus of the event. Besides, his film festival certainly was a networking event. She didn’t argue, didn’t say any of this out loud. She stood, cleared her plate and his.
“Thank you for making dinner.”
Rose took the plates to the sink and started doing the washing up, her back turned to Rafi so that she didn’t have to keep her facial expressions in check. Rose was a terrible liar.
She could feel his eyes on her, though, watching her work to produce even breaths. 
“I forgot to tell you,” she said, keeping her back to him. “I have to run to the office tonight and get some last minute work done. We added a couple of new organizations to the guest list so I need to get some paperwork ready for them.” 
“Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
Rose turned, facing him again. She decided that she didn’t care if he knew she was lying or not. “I’ve got meetings tomorrow.”
“Can’t be helped then.” Rafi shrugged. He was playing it cool, but Rose could see his shoulders tense as he took another sip of his wine.
“Thank you for dinner, again.” She kissed his cheek on her way to the door. 
-
Harry had never expected Rose to pick him in the first place, so he wasn’t surprised when she’d ended up with someone else in the end. He wasn’t surprised when she won, either. Rose Prichard probably could have won no matter who stood next to her.
If it had been anyone else, his first instinct would have been toward anger. He’d never understood the phrase, ‘if you love someone, let them go’ before. But he adored Rose. He was happy for her, despite everything.
After the show, when life swept them up in separate directions, he wasn’t surprised that they stopped talking. If her social media was any indication, she was happy and busy. Harry didn’t resent their lack of communication or push too hard to keep her in his life, he accepted her shrinking away. Eventually, he unfollowed her on Instagram.
It was hard enough seeing Rafi on movie posters, he had to draw a line in the sand and move on.
Some things were easier said than done.
Harry wasn't sure if his eyes were working properly when he saw her again. The last time he'd seen Rose Prichard had been at the taping of the 'Islander's Tell All' part of the Love Island finale. She'd been with Rafi all night, then, and had barely spoken to Harry.
But there she was, more than a year later, in the flesh. And she was walking into his office building.
Since letting Love Island and all its trappings fade into his past, Harry had continued his original life plan with some slight alterations. He’d landed a job at a tech startup, after learning that he was better suited for back end stuff, programming alone in an office rather than trying to hold the world on his shoulders.
It was rewarding, doing something he was genuinely good at. Even if his life was less glamorous than he’d once hoped, he was happier for the stability and self-assuredness that he’d earned in the pivot.
Rose scanned a key card at his building’s entrance and Harry watched in horror and confusion as his past collided with his present.
The large office building was home to multiple companies that paid to rent spaces or entire floors. It was entirely possible that Rose worked somewhere in the building.
Without thinking, Harry jogged to the door. He’d been enjoying a leisurely stroll before, early enough to work that he could enjoy walking the long way from the parking garage across the street. Seeing Rose had jump-started him like the espresso he’d planned on buying from the café next door. He scanned his badge and slowed to appear nonchalant as he walked in, he held his breath as he brushed past Rose and they stepped into the same elevator.
She looked up, eyes widening when she registered his presence and then his identity. He remembered nights by the pool, making her compete in staring contests just so he could swim in her eyes. 
“Harry?”
“Oh my god!” He tried to play it off like he hadn’t seen her, but he suspected that Rose might be able to see right through him. He found he didn’t care. Something in him wanted her to know that he cared for her, even at risk to his pride. “What are you doing here?”
“I work here,” she said. “Do you work here?”
He beamed. “I’m a programmer on the sixth floor.”
Rose’s eyes lit up and she laughed, shaking her head. Her hair had grown since Harry had last seen her and she was even prettier than he remembered.
“That’s so weird. My new office is on the sixth floor.”
She had to be joking.
“You have to be joking.”
Rose laughed again. “Nope.” She pressed the button for the sixth floor as if to prove her point.
“Huh.”
“Why haven’t I seen you before?” Rose asked, stepping out of the elevator with some hesitation.
“Ah, I’ve been working from home…” Harry adjusted his backpack strap on his shoulder. Though he’d grown more confident, Rose’s clear gaze still had a way of making him self-conscious. He waved the question away. “Do you usually come in this early?”
It was just past five in the morning and they were among the only people in the building.
Rose frowned, seeming to take a moment to think about her answer. “I’m just trying to catch up on some things.”
Harry recognized the crease in her brow and wished she wouldn’t lie to him. He nodded, though, didn’t push the issue.
Harry had thought about seeing Rose again a terribly vast, innumerable amount of times. His imaginings ranged from the dark, where she laughed at him for thinking he might have ever had a chance, to the sweet, where she told him that she’d left Rafi and wanted to be with him instead. Now, in real life, none of those fantasies served him. He had no idea how to speak to her after all this time.
“What, um, company do you work for?”
The sixth floor was home to multiple companies besides Harry’s, since half of it was dedicated to a row of self-contained offices that served as overflow for higher-ups from other floors.
“The same charity as before,” she said, hesitating to say before Love Island. Harry nodded to communicate that he understood the impulse and she continued, letting their shared history remain unspoken, “I was promoted recently, though.”
“Oh, congrats!” The elevator doors opened again, depositing them on the sixth floor. It seemed that one had been round to turn on the lights, though. It was still completely dark.
“Thank you,” Rose said. Then, “Christ, it’s dark, still.”
Harry laughed and flicked on the torch on his phone, lighting Rose’s footpath. “I’m not sure where the switches are,” he said.
She walked forward confidently, finding a switch on the wall directly opposite the elevator.
Harry turned the torch back off. “Do you come in early a lot?”
Rose shrugged. “The new job is busy.” She looked off toward the hallway and Harry got the impression that she might be trying to shut the conversation down. He missed where he was a few seconds ago, trapped in an elevator where she couldn’t leave him.
In a desperate effort to preserve the conversation, Harry asked, “What is it you do, now? For the organization.”
“I’m still in event planning, but I’m pretty much in charge of the whole gala now. They made a position just for me, hence the office down here. They didn’t have room to give me an office where everyone else is.”
“It’s cool that you’re still doing the same stuff. Like, everyone else from the villa is basically an influencer, now.”
Rose laughed, shaking off the compliment. “Not you, though.”
Harry ruffled his hair, blushing. He occasionally helped with Nicky and Seb’s podcast, but Rose was right, he preferred the path his life had been on before Love Island—computer screens and tech startups. He could do with a bit more money, but he didn’t really enjoy all the attention of reality TV long term. “You couldn’t pay me enough.”
“We have that in common, then.” Rose’s smile was as genuine as ever, radiating warmth. She was gorgeous, inside and out.
Harry almost didn’t want to ask. “How’s Rafi, by the way?”
“Oh. Things with Rafi are good,” Rose said. Harry watched her hand toying with a loose thread that sprouted from the handle of her cloth tote bag. “He just got back yesterday from a shoot in Canada.”
“That’s good, then?” Harry couldn’t help but wonder why Rose would be at work so early instead of sleeping in with her boyfriend if he’d just returned home from a long trip. He didn’t voice the question, but it hung in the air regardless.
“Yeah!” Rose dropped the loose thread, clasping her hands in front of her to keep them still. “It’s a shame I’m so busy.” She laughed again, still a little stilted, and gestured lamely down the hall. “My office is number six, by the way—has a nameplate—if you ever need anything.”
Harry took a step back, taking the hint. “Of course, it was good seeing you, Rose.” He hurried to his desk, but her name lingered sweetly on his lips.
-
Rose didn’t know what to make of seeing Harry again. It was strange enough seeing people from the show on Instagram—Harry was right, most of them were influencers, now—or occasionally hearing about them from Rafi, who was better at keeping in touch with everyone. Seeing Harry at work was beyond strange.
For almost one entire hour, she did her best to throw herself into her emails. It greatly impeded her, though, that she hadn’t yet slept. Because of the disagreement with Rafi the night before and her subsequent all-nighter, she was both incredibly tired and almost three days ahead of her normal work schedule. 
When Harry had asked her why she was in the office so early, she hadn’t had the heart nor pride to tell him that she’d been there all night, only having left the office briefly to stretch her legs and grab a spare phone charger from her car.
Sighing, she stood from her desk. It was a large rectangular glass desktop on a stained wooden frame, identical to the desk in her office at home. Both had been gifts from Rafi to celebrate her promotion since he’d been abroad when the promotion was finalized. She remembered the bittersweet feeling of receiving the gifts but wishing Rafi was there to celebrate with. 
Harry wasn’t hard to find. The majority of the sixth floor was dedicated to large tables of open-concept desks where robust computers could be given sufficient room to breathe.
Rose smiled when she saw him. He was completely absorbed in his work, wearing a pair of large blue light glasses and over-ear headphones, staring dead into his monitor.
“Hey,” Rose said, waving her hand to get his attention. He removed his headphones and grinned up at her.
“What’s up?”
“Just needed a break,” she said. “And, I mean, what are the odds of us both working here and coming in early today? I felt rude for running off earlier.”
Harry gestured toward a rolling chair opposite him and scooted his monitor to the side so that he’d be able to see her past it. “Have a seat, then.”
“I mean, if you’re not too busy.”
He laughed, shook his head. “Nah, sit down.”
Rose sat, feeling at ease already in his presence. She’d liked Harry in the villa because he wasn’t intimidating. She had been instantly comfortable around him then too.
“What are you working on?” She asked. Harry kept typing, looking back and forth from her to the screen without losing pace.
He said, “I have a coding test coming up, I’m going for a better position on the programming team here.”
“Oh yeah?”
Harry nodded, a blush spreading on his cheeks. “I’m the only person up for the position internally, so it’s pretty much a done deal.”
“I hope you get it, then.”
Harry stilled his typing and studied Rose. His face lowered into a slight frown as he asked, “Is there a reason you're here and not at home with Rafi?" He paused, catching himself, and quickly added, "I mean, not like it's really my business but if something is wrong, you can talk to me.”
Rose wasn't sure what compelled her to be honest with Harry. She hadn't spoken to him nearly since the villa. It wasn't as if she’d consider him a particularly close friend, or even a contender for becoming one, but that lack of closeness also created a lack of permanence to the conversation. If she really wanted, she could spill her guts and then avoid Harry for the rest of her life. It hadn't been so hard not to see him before now.
"I kind of ran out of the house to avoid an argument," she said, slumping in her chair. "I do actually have work to do, but..."
Harry folded his arms and leaned back, giving her his full attention. “So, you’ve been here all night.”
Rose nodded in the affirmative, caught.
“Don't you have work to do?" She asked, unsure whether she did so to dissuade him from pushing further or out of guilt at having interrupted him.
He shrugged. "I've pretty much got this in the bag."
"The confidence!" Rose giggled, feeling lighter at his easy reply. She liked that about him, too, even if it had been a little infuriating in the villa, the confidence suited him now that he'd grown up a bit.
He had grown up a bit, Rose noticed. He seemed more self-assured and quietly confident than he had before. If the villa confidence had been an act, this new attitude was completely genuine.
"So, the charity gala I've been planning, right?" Rose said, still not completely sure of her desire to vent to Harry but not unsure enough to fight the words from falling from her mouth.
"Right," Harry affirmed. He’d heard about the galas when they’d been a couple on Love Island, she’d been involved in their planning then, too. 
"It's literally all I do all year. I plan this event, it goes great, then I start over and plan the one for next year. Like, literally once a year all of my work gets to pay off."
Harry pushed his keyboard away and folded his hands in front of him, making a show of closely listening.
"So Rafi and I were having dinner and all of the sudden, he's talking about this movie premiere he wants me to go to..." Rose huffed, speaking faster as the irritation came back to her. "Which, like, fine. But it's the same weekend as my gala.”
Harry made a shocked face, covering his mouth with a dramatic flair. "No! Really?”
"Yeah!" It felt good to have someone validate her feelings, even if that someone wasn't her boyfriend. "Right? He didn't even apologize or anything. He just said that I didn't have to go and laughed it off."
"Wait," Harry said. "So, he's not even going to go with you?”
"Yes!" Rose felt more justified in her anger by the second, realizing she wasn't completely crazy for how mad she was. "At this point, I'm not even sure I want him to come."
As she said that, Rose realized that it sunk to the heart of the issue. She didn’t want Rafi at the gala if he didn’t want to be there. A small part of her, though, panged at the thought as a slideshow of her time with Rafi passed her by. The brand deals she didn't want to take part in and the press events she loathed. Rafi’s career at the cost of her privacy.
The first opportunity had come to return the favor and Rafi had fallen completely flat.
-
When Rose had coupled with Harry on their first day in the villa, Harry had felt like he'd won the lottery. He was stunned at first that she was interested in him at all, but he'd have felt that way about any of the girls. She was way out of his league, and he'd made a joke to her to that effect on the first day. But as time passed and they were able to get to know each other more, he realized just how lucky he was.
Rose was radiant and kind. She was able to keep the peace with people around her. She rose above the drama in the villa easily and always managed to come out on top of things. She was funny, too, and smart. Conversations with her were fortifying to Harry in a way that seemed rare and precious.
After just the few days they had together as a couple, he could see himself really falling for her. 
Then he'd messed it all up. He got intimidated, worried that she wasn't really as into him as she let on. He'd started to get the sense that she was further out of his league than he'd originally suspected, that she was starting to get tired of him.
When his insecurities got the better of him, Harry started entertaining other options. He flirted with girls he cared less about because they would hurt his feelings less when they moved on. It felt cliché beyond cliché, so he'd never admitted it to a soul, but he broke things off with Rose because he liked her too much.
She didn't know this, though, she thought that the breakup was mutual, that they both wanted to explore other options. If she was upset, she didn't show it, didn't even give him the satisfaction of knowing he'd made the wrong choice. He knew that she was being charitable and kind and thinking of others like always. She didn't want a disagreement, so a disagreement was avoided.
She had liked him, though, he’d realized all too late, and he'd blown it.
To add insult to injury, Rafi had stolen the show completely when he’d arrived.
Rafi made a spectacle of how much he liked Rose, throwing Harry under the bus while he was at it. Rafi was a real man, Rafi wouldn't take a diamond like Rose for granted, Rafi could show her just how made up his mind was.
It had made Harry want to leave the show early. But he’d stayed, made his bed, got nice and cozy in it.
He was happy that Rose was happy, but he’d never been Rafi’s biggest fan.
Now, hearing Rose complain about him so charitably after he'd done something so careless and needlessly mean, he had to hold back all of the harsh things he wished he could say. He’d always thought that Rose was too nice for her own good.
"Maybe he'll realize his mistake after you ran away in the middle of the night. Like, he has to, right?"
Rose shrugged, looking completely at a loss. "He doesn't pay all that much attention to my silly moods. He knows that if I really have a problem, I'll let him know."
Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Really? You will?"
"Okay..." Rose blushed. "Point taken."
Harry wished that she'd be more assertive. So many mean people that didn't deserve to assert themselves so much did so all the time. People like Rose deserved to get their way more often.
“Look, maybe this isn’t my place but Rafi should already know he's fucked up. Like, you shouldn't have to tell him that the thing you've spent a whole year on means something to you." He leaned forward, speaking faster, hoping to keep Rose from interjecting before he’d convinced her of his point. He liked the feeling of having nothing to lose with Rose, being able to tell her exactly what he thought. “Like, what if he spent a year working on a movie and you wouldn't even go to see it because you had plans with a friend the night of the premiere?"
Rose blanched, seeming all at once to realize the extent of her own hurt feelings. She said nothing, let her shoulders sink with the weight of what she felt.
"Maybe someone should send him anonymous hatemail..." Harry spoke without thinking, blushing when he realized he was thinking out loud. Lucky for him, though, Rose found it funny. She shook her head at him but giggled despite incredulity.
"Please don't," she said. "Christ, though, maybe I’m more angry than I thought because I am tempted.”
"You should be! That was a dick move."
"God," she said after a moment. "You're right."
“Of course I am.” Harry chuckled, downplaying the moment to keep her from sinking again.
"You know, actually…” Rose smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. It was a good look on her, sweet Rosie almost never looked mischievous. "If he does decide to ditch me, I could use a date."
“Surely he won't completely ditch you," Harry said, brushing the insinuation off. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. "Come on."
"He might." Rose sighed, resting her chin in her hands, despondent. "He didn't even think twice before telling me that I could just go alone."
"God, what an ass." Harry paused, covering his mouth. "I didn't just say that."
A laugh slipped past Rose's lips at his serious reaction. Harry was relieved to see her laugh.
“It's totally okay, he is being an ass." She rubbed her face, collecting herself again, and added, "I'm sorry, by the way, if that would be weird... I just, I don't know."
"If what would be weird?"
"You coming to the gala with me. I didn't mean... You know."
Villa history hardly seemed like history, but Harry got her meaning. "No, not at all. I'd be honored to come.”
She smiled, radiant. Harry never realized before this that he could miss someone so much when they were right in front of him.
-
For the first time since she'd been hired at her organization, Rose left work early. She went straight home after lunch, practicing what she was going to say to Rafi the entire drive from the office. Harry was right, Rafi shouldn't have to be told how much the gala meant to Rose, it wasn't too much to ask for her to want him to be there. Or at the very least to expect some kind of remorse for not being there.
She knew he’d be home. During the weeks Rafi was off of work, he spent most of his time at the flat doing small press things over the phone and watching movies in his pajamas. Rose would almost envy all of his free time if she didn't love her job so much.
"Rose?" Rafi was standing in the kitchen, he called her name when she came in the door, surprised to hear her. "Put out all the fires?"
Rose resented the sardonic tone that crept at the edges of his voice. He had a bad habit of not taking her work seriously, of treating her just a bit like she was silly for working so hard when she didn’t need to be working at all.
She set her tote bag in a dining chair, keeping quiet. Rose didn't want to engage in an argument right away, even if she felt she had grounds to win it.
"I got a lot done," she said. "I want to talk, though.”
Rafi made a low noise in the back of his throat, a dismissive hum. “Aren’t you tired? You were out all night.”
He was right, she was exhausted. But as much as she wanted sleep, she didn’t want to do so before she’d at least attempted a resolution of the conflict. Part of her wished she'd taken a nap on the couch in her office. It wouldn't have been comfortable, but she might feel a touch more coherent if she had.
"You need your sleep, my love," Rafi said, his voice softening. He took a step toward her around the kitchen island and reached out to brush a strand of hair out of her face.
“Why don’t we talk after you get some rest? I promise it’ll go better if you’re not running on empty.”
Rose sighed, relenting almost immediately. As much as she didn’t want to have this conversation, she especially didn’t want to have it go poorly. She had a better chance of expressing herself properly if she was better rested.
“You’re right,” she said, letting him take her to bed.
-
The morning of Harry's interview, he was surprised to learn that he wasn't nervous. He was confident in the fact that he’d done good work. He deserved the job.
In his school years, working as an intern on the business side of things, Harry had always felt a little out of his depth. He’d never felt able to measure up to his coworkers or mentors, nor could he pinpoint what was missing. It was refreshing to be in a completely different position now, knowing he was the best man for his job. 
As a celebration of his newfound confidence and an indulgence in a guilty fantasy, Harry bought an extra donut and cup of coffee from his favorite café on his way to the office. He took them straight up to the sixth floor and to Rose Prichard’s office.
When he reached her door, he realized that his hands were too full to properly knock. He laughed, gently knocking his head against the glass door to get her attention.
Rose’s smile when she saw him could have launched a thousand ships.
"What's this for?" She asked, letting him in and accepting the coffee and pastry bag as he offered them to her.
"It's a good luck breakfast!"
“That’s right, your interview is today, isn’t it?”
Harry loved that she’d remembered.
"Yes! And I'm, like, not nervous at all." He'd done a lot of practicing. A lot of late night hours in the office hoping to see Rose. When she didn't show, he’d at least been able to focus his energy on acing the coding test.
"You're gonna crush it." Rose took the lid off of her coffee, blowing it gently before taking a careful sip. “I don’t know why you brought me coffee as a good luck charm, but thank you.”
"Of course." Harry blushed. He liked doing things for her. 
Harry took a seat on the small sofa opposite Rose's desk. In the time since he'd started working on her floor, he'd seen her reading or lounging on this couch just after the end of her work day. He'd wondered at first what she needed with a couch in her office, but it seemed that she got good use out of it. Her office was like a second home to her.
He wondered once or twice if she enjoyed being work more than she enjoyed being home.
"I meant to ask," Harry said, pulling Rose's attention back up from her computer monitor. She'd immediately returned to her email mid-conversation. She'd been a bit of a space case in the last couple of days, but her gala was approaching quickly and Harry knew she was constantly worrying about minor details. Harry knew she must be thinking about it all hours of the day. "How did the conversation with Rafi go?"
She gave Harry a guilty look and his heart sank. He knew what she was going to say before she said it.
“We didn’t really talk.”
“You didn’t…” Harry sounded more surprised than he felt. In the time that he’d known Rose, he’d never known her to be confrontational. She enjoyed keeping the peace, even if it meant swallowing her guts.
“I tried, but I was too tired that day to be coherent and then we only just brushed past it.” She resumed typing, keeping a level tone of voice as a show of nonchalance. “It just kept getting further and further away until it felt silly bringing it up again.”
“Are you still upset?”
She considered for a moment too long for the answer to be no, regardless of what she wanted to tell him.
“Rose.” Harry did his best impression of a stern parent. It didn’t suit him, but he persisted. “You’ve got to talk to him soon, doesn’t he leave for his trip this week?”
“Right.”
“Well there you are. He’s not going to fly back last minute if he doesn’t think this is important to you.” Harry kept what he wanted to say back. He wanted to remind her that Rafi should know better without being told. But he didn’t want Rose to think he was outright bashing her boyfriend by remaining so firmly against him. Even if Rafi objectively deserved the bashing.
“I’ll try to talk to him again,” Rose said. Harry wasn’t convinced.
“Promise?” He stood halfway to reach out to her, offering a pinky in a silly—but hopefully sincere—gesture of solidarity.
She rolled her eyes but locked her pinky with his. Her touch sparked electricity that traveled all the way to his bones. “I promise.”
-
Rose stormed into the apartment, dropping her keys and bag on the entry table with a clatter. She didn't want to lose any of the momentum she'd worked up in the car this time.
“We need to talk,” she said. Telling, not asking.
“What’s wrong, Rosie?” Rafi looked shocked, but he maintained a level voice. He was wearing nothing but a nice pair of silk pajama bottoms and had been relaxing in front of the TV when Rose barged in, flustered. All things considered, he was taking the intrusion in stride.
All in one breath, before she could even take a seat next to him on the couch,  Rose said, “I’m upset about you not coming to my gala. Like, I know you have other things going on—which is fine. But you don’t even seem sad about it or sorry you’ll miss it.”
Rose stopped speaking just long enough to sit next to him on the couch, pulling one leg up next to her so that she could face him in her seat. She continued, “It’s really hurt my feelings, Raf. I didn’t want to make a big deal of it before, but…”
She trailed off, trying desperately to blink away tears. It had been made into a joke on Love Island that Rose cried easily and often, which made her all the more self-conscious now.
“Rosie…” Rafi reached for her, pulling her to scoot closer and lean into his bare chest. He closed his strong arms around her when she complied. Rose hated how her easy tears always toppled the balance of these types of conversations. How quickly the other party stopped taking her seriously when she started crying.
She didn’t want to be coddled, she wanted to be heard.
“Rosie, come here.” Rafi smoothed her hair down as she tried to collect herself, but her efforts were very nearly in vain. She felt hysterical.
“How long have you been holding onto this?” He asked.
The tears came faster. It had been almost two weeks since he’d told her about the film festival.
“I didn’t want to make it a thing,” she whimpered, feeling pathetic.
“It’s okay.” Rafi smoothed her hair again, pressed a kiss to her forehead. “It’s alright, baby.”
The angry, frustrated part of her wondered if he was ever going to actually apologize or if he’d just continue to comfort her meaninglessly. He acted like she was upset at someone or something completely separated from him. Like he was saving her from her own sadness, detached from all meaning.
“Do you know what I mean, though?” Her rising anger kept the tears at bay long enough for her to speak again. “I feel dismissed.”
Rafi shook his head. “I know, but you’re not going to like what I have to tell you.”
Frowning, Rose said nothing. She pulled back, daring him to say what she knew was coming.
“Well, if I’d known sooner how much it meant to you I would have been able to change things but…” He trailed off. She got the gist. This wasn’t his fault anymore. He’d surely have been more considerate if she’d given him proper notice.
Rose cut him off. “So that’s it, then?” Her voice was soft, not malicious even if she deserved to be.
“I’m sorry,” Rafi said. He tried to reach for her arms again but she shook him off. “It’s out of my hands!”
Rose recoiled, sinking into herself once more. Speaking her mind hadn’t fixed anything, but at least she knew that she had a right to be angry. She stood, took quick steps towards the door. “I’m going back to work.”
“You’re not.” Rafi gave an incredulous laugh.
“I am.” She punctuated the sentence with the rattle of her keys being retrieved from the entry table. “This was my lunch break.”
“Rose, please.”
“If you can’t change anything, fine.” She opened the door, took a step outside. “Forget I said anything.”
Rose shut the door gently behind her, wishing she had the strength of conviction to slam it.
-
When Harry's interview ended and he was told that he'd be moved to the better postion, he was first thrilled, then struck by an odd desire to run directly to Rose's office to deliver the good news. He hadn’t even called his mother yet but, there he was, taking the elevator back up to the sixth floor.
He arrived to find that the lights had been turned off and Rose was no longer there. It was odd for her, to be gone this early in the day.
Harry knew that he should hope that she was talking to Rafi, finally getting the apology she deserved, but he wished despite this that she was just taking her lunch or in a meeting, that she’d be back before the end of the day.
Without Rose to share his news with, Harry went back to the first floor. He’d taken the rest of the day off for the interview, since it was scheduled after his lunch. His second instinct was to step outside and call his mom.
In front of the office building, Harry dialed his mom’s cell and took a seat on one of the large, concrete blocks that replaced actual benches in favor of a brutalist, corporate aesthetic.
“You have good news?” Harry’s mom had texted him a sweet good luck message that morning. She would be happy with him even if he hadn’t been given the job, but he was filled with pride to tell her that he had. 
“I got the job,” he said. He smiled down at the cracks in the sidewalk, warmth rising to his cheeks at getting to say the thing out loud. “I’m really excited.”
“I’m proud of you,” his mom told him. He was overjoyed. “Really, good job, son.”
“Thank’s mom.” Harry kicked his legs, feeling unusually boyish despite his grown-up accomplishment. He looked up at the sky, trying to take in the moment. So much of him had changed in the last few years. It was like he could feel his frontal lobe developing in real time.
He’d grown into a man his mother was unequivocally proud of.
Harry’s mom told him about what she was cooking for dinner and about some home-town gossip and Harry listened patiently, happy for the distraction from wondering where Rose was.
When he finally hung up the phone, he almost didn’t believe his eyes when he looked up and saw her. It was as if Rose had been conjured from his mind and placed in the street in front of him.
“Rosie!” He hopped up from the bench, waving to get her attention before she entered the office building. He wasn't sure why the nickname had come to him, but it felt comfortable, like he’d said it a hundred times before.
She turned and the corner of her mouth budged into a hint of a smile. “What are you doing out here?”
He held up his phone, shook it for emphasis. “Calling my mom.”
The realization struck her and she gasped, dropping all casual pretense for sincere excitement. “Ah! Did you get the job?”
Harry flushed, head to toe, warm with pride like he’d taken a shot of liquor. He was sure his cheeks were tinged with pink, but he didn’t entirely mind.
“I did.”
“Oh my god!” Rose beamed at him. “Harry, that’s amazing!”
He didn’t remember the last time he’d heard her say his name, but the sound of it made him dizzy. He looked down, kicked at the air in front of his foot. “Thank you,” he said. “I’m really glad.”
“I’m glad for you! Are you coming back inside?” She asked. “Or did you take time off for the interview?”
“They told me I could take the day.” Emboldened by his recent luck, he asked, “Have you eaten lunch already?”
-
Since she’d taken her lunch break to try to talk to Rafi, Rose knew that the responsible thing would be to grab something from a vending machine, go back to her office, and resume work. She found that she didn’t want that, though. In direct contrast to the last few weeks, where she had felt safest while locked away in her office, Rose didn’t want to go back to work.
She wanted to go to the Pho place Harry suggested for lunch. To stay with him for the rest of the day. She felt uncharacteristically carefree when she had his positive attitude to bask in, and a woefully neglected piece of her wanted to hold onto the feeling for as long as she could.
As a compromise—because Rose couldn’t abandon the gala as much as she wanted to—she invited Harry up to her office and they ordered Pho to be delivered.
While they waited for their food, Rose answered emails and called vendors. She had no extra time to spare away from gala preparations. Harry was patient, chatted to her about her work when she could spare the focus and played a game on his phone when she couldn’t.
Rose enjoyed Harry’s company, even if they weren’t speaking.
When the food came, they cleared space on Rose’s desk to eat. It was cramped, since she didn’t want to get hot broth too near her computer. They had to sit on the same side of the desk, elbows bumping for the fact that Harry was left-handed.
“We could switch sides,” Harry said, giggling at yet another accidental bump.
Rose shook her head, giggling as she scooted a tiny bit away. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry my desk is only really built for one.”
“I don’t mind being cozy.” As if to prove his point, Harry bumped her elbow with his again, a playful jab. “But we wouldn’t have this problem if you traded me seats.”
“I didn’t know you were left handed.” She bumped him back. “Isn’t it weird how little we actually learned about each other? You know, on the show?”
In the nearly two weeks since they’d been reacquainted, neither of them had really mentioned the reality television shaped elephant in the room. It had been easy not to address their shared history, to let any past heartaches fade into the background. Rose wasn’t sure what made her bring it up, then.
Maybe it was getting harder to spend time with Harry without thinking about what it had been like to kiss him.
“What do you mean?” Harry asked. 
“I didn’t really know you were left-handed, to start.”
On Love Island, they hadn’t been allowed to talk about certain things early on. Their conversations were kept infuriatingly shallow until the end, manufacturing an artificial sense of closeness between the finalists and keeping drama front and center. Rose knew the basics; Harry was from York, he’d still been a student then. They’d swapped descriptions of their family dynamics and anecdotes about their studies. Harry had once bragged about how early he woke up every morning to recite positive affirmations.
Plastic kiddie pool shallow.
“To be fair, I was too busy trying to impress you to open up much,” Harry admitted. Rose stared down into her bowl, too startled by his honesty to meet his eyes. “I mean, that’s how everyone was, though.”
“Right, we didn’t get into a lot of deep conversations until the end.”
“No,” Harry chuckled. “I mean, everyone was trying to impress you.”
Rose turned, knitting her brows at him. She’d never understood this impression people had of her time on the show—that she’d been particularly well liked or desired. On some level, something like that had to be true for her to have won in the end, but she’d assumed that the popular vote had been won in large part by Rafi’s charisma, not her’s.
“Everyone was trying to impress everyone,” she told him. “But things were weird there, we had to be these silly, exaggerated versions of ourselves in order to stand out. I don’t feel like I really got to know anyone until after.”
“Does that include Rafi?”
“I think so,” Rose admitted. “Not entirely a bad thing, but... I don’t know, there’s a reason reality TV relationships don’t usually work out.”
Harry paused, a crease forming between his brows as he seemed to see through to the heart of Rose’s sudden nostalgic turn. “Did you talk to him?”
Rose sighed, nodded. She’d suspected that her feelings about the argument with Rafi would catch up to her eventually, but she’d hoped to at least finish lunch first.
“Here’s the thing,” Harry said. “If you don’t want to talk about it again, we don’t have to. But if you need to vent, I really do care for you, Rose.”
She could only bear to let the sincerity of his statement linger for a moment before it was too much. 
“It didn’t go well,” Rose said. She could start there, understated. “I mean, basically exactly what you predicted happened.”
“Meaning?”
Tears welled in her eyes already. Rose wished for the second time that day that her heart were just a touch further from her sleeve.
“He said that if he’d known sooner then he could have changed his plans, but…” Her voice cracked and she trailed off, looking away from him in an attempt to preserve her pride.
When she looked back, Harry’s face was twisted into a deep frown, barely holding back anger. Then, seeing her eyes again, his gaze softened into a look of deep concern.
“Can I offer some unsolicited advice?” He asked.
-
Harry hated to see Rose cry.
Only once in the villa had she cried in front of him, but her easy tears had been made into a running joke by the producers and the narrator on the show. Harry remembered hearing the narrator joke about it for the first time, how furious it had made him. That had been one of the first things that made him want to distance himself from the franchise entirely.
“If I grant permission I don’t think it’s unsolicited advice anymore,” Rose joked, a sad attempt at a laugh bubbling from her chest. “But go ahead.”
“I think you should consider what this means for the rest of the relationship.” He wasted no time getting to the point. In the time since Rose’s first argument with Rafi, Harry had been consumed with desire to fix things for her. But he had his reasons to hesitate to get involved. He didn’t want to seem like he was rooting for a breakup or judging Rafi too harshly, even if he suspected that Rose didn’t know he still harbored feelings for her. Here he was, though, past the point of no return.
He continued, “Like, if you think you can accept that your feelings were hurt and that he’s probably not going to fix this, then you can move on. But if you can’t…” The insinuation hung between them without Harry having to say the words. He didn’t want to tell her to break up with him outright. Even if that was objectively what he thought she should do.
He expected Rose to reel back or offer some kind of rebuttal or defense of Rafi. She didn’t, though. Instead, she twisted her hands together in silence for a moment. Then, “God, Harry, when did you get so wise?”
Harry blushed, surprised at the comment. He’d never once been accused of being wise. “Oh, you know…”
Rose took a moment, silently collecting herself, brushing her eyes with the backs of her hands. She must wear very waterproof mascara, Harry imagined, the corner of his lip twitching up at the thought.
“What are you smiling at?” She narrowed her eyes, but cracked a smile at the same time, only selling her attempt at annoyance halfway. 
“Is your mascara waterproof?” He asked.
She rolled her eyes. “Very funny. Yes it is.”
Without thinking, he reached for her arm, giving it a gentle squeeze.
“You know, I hated how they made that a thing for you. On the show.” He pulled his hand back, cradling it in his lap as if to keep himself from reaching for her again. “It made me so mad seeing them trivialize your feelings the way they did.”
Rose gave him a doe-eyed look, like she didn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth.
“Oh, um…” She wiped her eyes again then looked around the room to avoid eye contact. He remembered how she fled from moments of sincerity in the villa. How much Rafi had been required to push her to make her realize his feelings were genuine. “I appreciate that.”
-
Rose had feared conviction like this when she’d first moved in with Rafi. The conviction that she should break up with him without knowledge of where she would go if she did.
She resented the fact that the name on the lease was his. Since he paid most of the bills, it meant that she would be the one who would have to leave. Even if she’d been the one that spent the most time in the flat, making it a home.
After her lunch with Harry, Rose told him that she needed time to think and to focus on work. Even though a tiny part of her wanted him to push back and not leave her to herself, Harry absconded without protest.
Rose thought about texting Rafi and preparing him for a conversation when she got home, but she couldn’t work up the nerve. She finished her work for the day, tried not to think about the conversation ahead, drove home without a plan.
As she walked up the stairs to the front door, her phone dinged. A text from Harry wishing her luck. She walked into the flat smiling, grateful for Harry’s support.
The living room was dark, though, and Rafi was gone. Because he wasn’t in town much, he didn’t drive, so there was no way to judge whether or not he was home by a car outside the building.
Rose went to the bedroom and her office, just in case, but he was nowhere to be found. She was halfway through typing a text asking where he was when she saw the note on the kitchen counter.
Rose,
I had to catch a flight, they need me on set early. I’ll call you when I get in tonight.
Rafi
-
so sorry this was way more self indulgent and much longer than it needed to be. cheers.
tags: @starsarestars @lasswithumor
42 notes · View notes
skippyv20 · 1 year
Text
JANICE TURNER
Vibes beat facts for Meghan the influencer
The duchess knows that American viewers will fall for the faux-spontaneity and curated candour at which she excels
Janice Turner
Friday December 09 2022, 9.00pm
In a downpour outside the Hilton Midtown on 54th Street, I argue with a Meghan superfan. The duchess is “courageous”, she tells me, a “humanitarian” who brought vaccines to poorer nations, balm to Uvalde in Texas after its high school massacre. While I, part of the racist British media which drove her out, should be ashamed.
Waiting for the Sussexes to arrive at the Ripple of Hope dinner, to accept a prize for “moral courage”, I try to convince this African-American lady that the British people — reflected in the press — overwhelmingly welcomed Meghan as a refreshing, modern addition to public life. “I read your newspapers,” she says. But I live in my country, I protest, to no avail.
Finally, the blacked-out SUV pulls up and the small, damp crowd surges forward, phones raised, to catch a grim-faced prince and his tiny, beatific, white-clad wife. Amid American cries of, “We love you Meghan!”, from nowhere a British man booms: “Harry, how does it feel to destroy the royal family?”
After the Netflix series, this is a voice in the wilderness, at least beyond Britain. The Palace, and indeed journalists, can pinpoint inaccuracies: it was untrue that Netflix asked the royals for comment, that footage “proving” Meghan’s press harassment came from Katie Price’s trial and a Harry Potter premiere. Or that UK media racism boils down to three exhibits, repeatedly flashed up on screen: Rachel Johnson’s crass use of “exotic DNA” in a largely pro-Meghan piece, an ugly “straight outta Compton” headline and the phrase “niggling doubts” which Americans think originates in the N-word, but whose etymology is Viking Danish.
But facts, as I found in New York, are like taking a knife to a gunfight. Modern media battles are won with “vibes”, and in this theatre of war Meghan is a five-star general. An “influencer” long before she was royal, she parlayed, via her blog The Tig, a meh acting talent on a second-rate series, Suits, into a business, a platform to speak for fashionable causes and endless free stuff. Now her mastery of that cutesy, Instagram faux-spontaneity and curated candour fills her Netflix series: her vibe-bombs strafe the royal family as they load their muskets with facts.
Watching Harry & Meghan I reflected that there are two types of celebrities who detest the press. The first wish only to do their work while remaining utterly private: they pull on baseball caps, build security walls, resent publicity obligations, are livid when scandal pulls them into the news. Among them are Hugh Grant and noted recluses like JD Salinger.
Then there are celebrities who hate the press because it does not say exactly what they want: it snaps them rolling drunk, points out shortfalls between lofty views and personal deeds; it takes the piss. Mistaking journalists for PRs, they crave maximum exposure with minimum scrutiny. This camp includes Steve Coogan and much of Hollywood.
The trouble is that Harry belongs to the former but Meghan the latter. No one has greater reason to hate photographers than a prince raised in the gaze of a gazillion lenses, who as a bereaved child — as Netflix poignantly shows — had to greet weeping strangers on TV. His natural instinct was always to flee: he sought anonymity in the open vistas of Botswana and later in the ranks of the military.
Meghan played on his visceral loathing of the press to lure him to California: he speaks of “M” relinquishing her world to enter his, then “pretty soon after that” giving up his world for hers. But for Harry this was no escape. More even than she hated the press, Meghan fumed at Palace protocols which fed the media photographs of her children.
She has a point: watching wriggling Prince Louis at the diamond jubilee rendered the notion of “royal child” archaic and cruel. But Meghan’s instinct was not to safeguard her kids’ privacy but monetise it herself. On Netflix we see their faces and intimate moments, like baby Lilibet beside a photograph of “Granny Diana”.
But then Meghan is always performative: constantly triangulating how a party, an African bush sunset, a post-coital pillow pic will play in the world beyond. An influencer can’t stop influencing. Even when Harry in the next room is arranging candles and preparing to propose, she’s filming it on her phone for a friend: “Oh my God, he’s really doing it!”
Meanwhile Harry never looks at ease. “Yes, I’m nervous,” he snaps before a red carpet gala, while a gowned Meghan bathes in attention. His video diaries are awkward, cursory. Hers are pitch-perfect: the scrubbed face, the artful tear. When a laughing Meghan performs the lavish curtsy with which she supposedly first greeted the Queen, his face clouds with distaste. He chose her — Wendy to his Lost Boy — but not her version of public life.
Most egregious and distasteful is the deployment of slavery, Windrush, colonialism, even the murder of Stephen Lawrence, to justify their lifestyle decisions, to purge a prince of privilege, to render them saintly, beyond all reproach. Historic injustices are emptied of horror and meaning, to become swatches on their mood board.
Meghan can’t even get her story straight: she says race was never a factor in her life until she came to Britain, yet also that her character in Suits, which her agent believed her too white to play — “I thought she was a freckled, sun-kissed Californian girl” — was a biracial groundbreaker.
But what’s truth? It’s enough that a cycle of allegations and rebuttals have become a self-perpetuating publicity machine, pitching Brit against American, widening racial divisions which Meghan was once so perfectly placed to bridge. For now at least, the Sussexes burn hard and bright, on that high-octane fuel of vibe.
Related
Thank you!❤️
27 notes · View notes
sleepy-wyvern · 1 year
Text
Welcome to the Wyvern Den!
Little horny goblin Tumblr writer ✍🏼 💙
Hi there! My name is Wyvern, a pen name just for privacy reasons. You can call me Wyvern, Wy, Wyv (she/her) 💙 I'm demisexual & biromantic, and am in my mid 20s. I intend to use this blog as a den for my obsessions and hyper fixations! Feel free to say hello I’d love to chat! :) messages and requests open but please only interact if 18+
Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington, Ghostface (I can fix him), Daemon Targ (I can’t fix him), The Red Viper (he’s perfect already)
SCREAM/HORROR WRITING BLOG HERE (ghost-Wyvern)
My fics are only of characters 18+! please only interact if 18+, minors DNI!
REQUESTS: Open for both blurbs and sketches ♡ more info in FAQ
My Fan Fic master list/post directory
Tag Pages: My Fan Fiction || My Fan Art
Read more for PERMISSIONS & FAQ
💙💙💙💙
Tags I Use- Feel free to block the content you don’t want to see from me if you use a tumblr extension! #wyv rambles #wyv fan art #wyv fan fics #stranger things spoilers #hotd spoilers #scream 6 spoilers
Permissions
You can repost any of my fan art linking back to me for credit. When used as profile pictures and icons you do not need to link back but it’s appreciated. Tracing and editing is allowed so long as you link back to me in the post stating it was a trace/edit of my work. You can use my artwork as a reference to make your own, and so long as many aspects are changed and aren't traced/copied you do not need to provide credit but it is appreciated. My only other no-no is using my artwork for monetary gain!
Requests
Art requests: Stranger things, ghostface and house of the dragon (and generic features viewer). If you would like you or your oc drawn please message me about commissions <3 The only things that I refuse to draw are illegal sexual themes, gore/violence (love choking is fine), bodily fluids other than spit and fe/male love juices. Note I am not very interested in drawing: guns (knives are ok for my ghosty fans , just as a prop!), cars, mech, intricate architecture/background. I’m not an experienced 🌽 artist but I draw a lot of romance
Writing requests: I will respond to whatever prompts I can, I enjoy doing them for inspo! These will generally be blurbs. I currently only write for the scream franchise, ST Eddie, Steve, Billy, Robin (fem!reader only for her) and only fem or gender neutral reader (please specify! <3). I do not write anything that’s illegal in a sexual nature except (soft) public stuff. CNC is fine. No gore/vomit, I'm a bit squeamish- spit, period, and love juices are fine!
FAQ
Can I message you?
to prevent spam my inbox is mutuals only, feel free to send an ask if you would like to get in contact 💙💙💙
Drawing tools?
2.0/0.7mm 2b lead pencil, gum/rubber eraser, moleskine journal, iPad pro 2020, apple pencil, procreate
Why do you draw with a grey canvas?
White backgrounds while drawing give me migraines!
Other Socials?
Just my AO3 for fanfictions here! I have a main tumblr/instagram account that's kept completely private and separate not fandom related and under a different name. I kindly ask to keep these accounts separate (if you happen upon it!) but feel free to message me here if you want to be friends!! This is just for privacy reasons if we become friends I’ll share other socials (I don’t want my family to find this tumblr 😅)
What does your sexuality mean?
I identify as demisexual biromantic as I feel this is the label that fits me best! I do not form a sexual attraction to someone until I have made a connection with them (yep, including fictional characters!) and this can happen with males or females 💕 and this doesn’t happen all the time I make a connection with someone
Other fandoms?
House of the dragon ♡ a song of ice and fire, ghost face, hazbin hotel/helluva boss, corpse party
What games do you play?
Animal crossing, story of seasons, dead by daylight, huniepop, valorant, ffxiv 💙
———
Have a great day my lovely reader
💙💙💙💙
-Wyv
12 notes · View notes
wroteonedad · 1 year
Text
The e-World of Molly Soda
2023. The further in time we get, the more I realise how chronically online we've all become. Low key Instagram photo dumps are king, we're being sucked into the world of producing short videos for various different platforms and A.I is becoming bigger by the day. I still remember when DALL-E Mini first launched (I say this like it was a long time ago, but it wasn't) and I was typing things in like Wembley lasagne and some other unhinged subjects that could never happen in the real world. This little machine would then make me this cute little pixilated image combining the keywords into something weird. It's been a few months and already there are apps stealing thousands of artists work and combining it for a small fraction of their price to allow you to have about 50 forms of A.I generated selfies. Personally, I don't see the hype with those but it's whatever makes you happy. Who am I to judge? I think that Covid has really pushed the way that we as a society have become so reliant on being online, all the time. I think there are a lot of artists out there who also use being reliant on the Internet to push their forms of work out there.
Take Molly Soda for example, a performance artist based in Brooklyn, New York. Soda works from every form of digital medium that could possibly exist. Much of her work is selfie based. She makes GIFs, zines, videos and then produces them for both online gallery spaces and physical real life gallery spaces. A breakdown to show examples of this is to talk through a variation of works that she has created during the span of her career so far, all being different but fairly similar. You'll see what I mean as I speak.
Exhibit A) Comfort Zone for Annka Kutlys Gallery (14 October - 12 November 2016)
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Installation view images of Comfort Zone by Molly Soda. (2016).
The full installation features a multi-media selection including photos and moving images made viewable on the laptop on top of the plinth. The works themselves are to challenge the notion of what art is to the viewer. How would you feel to walk into a space that is full of digitalised images and videos, as if you were to step into someone's iPhone gallery and have to view every piece. It explores how we engage with electronic devices which are always with us, the way our phones buzz with notifications from various social medias as the day goes on. An endless cycle. The video from the laptop on top of the plinth is titled All by myself, this features 18 hours of footage taken directly from Soda's MacBook camera roll and is then published into a video format for the audience to see. A selection of images that were never intended to reach a public audience the way that it did. Perhaps it is there to make you feel a little bit uncomfortable, immersed with all of these images of a person you don't know, images of theirs that are supposed to be private to them. But through their private images, they are stepping into their comfort zone because they have no secrets to hide from anybody.
The floor of the gallery space featured two pink TV screens, something that is nostalgic, as if you've entered someone's room from the early 2000's, featuring All I have is my phone and Phone Zone, both of these being images of Molly Soda on her phone. Instant messaging, social media, being able to speak to anyone in the world at the tip of our fingers is taking over our lives, and this is what the collection of works has been made to portray. It's powerful in a sense of how uncomfortable the works would make specific audiences in the gallery space. I on the other hand feel as though there should be more work in galleries that challenge the notion of art and instead discuss the concept of social media and digital work. Sometimes I feel as though digital works should leave the digital world and be displayed in a real life space.
Tumblr media
Screenshot taken from Molly Soda's website.
As Soda puts it, 'a screen recording of what someone does on their computer or on their phone in the day is like a diary entry at this point.' and perhaps I'm starting to see it too. In this day and age, you truly don't know someone until you've seen their Internet history and their saved tabs which sit on the top of their Chrome. Much of the time, Soda bases her work more on classic Internet, the early 2000s. This could be purely down to how desensitised the Internet used to be, the things that I saw on the Internet when I was a child that I shouldn't have seen astound me and it's insane to me to see how much of the Internet now seems to be under lock and key. As Molly Soda puts it, classic Internet is something that was important for her personal development, but also for Internet development as a whole. Looking at her website specifically, I feel as though I am on a MySpace page, something that is oversharing so much that it doesn't look like it's sharing anything at all with anybody. Soda has spoken openly about how the general aesthetic of the Internet has changed over time, a world that was so femme and female orientated is suddenly something that is so dull. 'I think the aesthetics really got smashed. There are no more glitter graphics. (Does anyone remember Blingee??). 'It's really streamlined and white and blue, with no music. It's a little strange.'
Tumblr media
Screenshot taken from Molly Soda's website.
It's nostalgia. It's bright pink moving blinged out images. It's when people would insert music players onto their Tumblr's and pirate music in order to play their favourite music loudly on their blog as you click it core. It's something that just doesn't happen anymore. It's make your YouTube channel entirely pink and filled with colourful comments core. But it isn't all about the aesthetics and the cute pink colours filling your screen. It's about being filled with shame as a teenager. It's about deleting your old Tweets because you said something so embarrassing that you don't want anybody to ever see that, a modern day version of making your social media private so your future boss can't find out anything about you. Soda's works are curated to be vulnerable, as in she is displaying herself in that way to the public. Perhaps as a comfort thing, to remind girls that it is okay to be embarrassed by past images or things you've said that is deep on the online archives forever.
Tumblr media
All I have is my phone (2016)
Comfort Zone is such an important exhibition in coming to terms with the online world. One of its key reasons is also to do with not only how we are addicted to our phones and being chronically online, but also how we perceive ourselves online in this day and age. How we have these fake identities that we use to make our ordinary lives seem so much more interesting than they actually are. But also how even when we post ourselves in these public spaces and then perceive ourselves in these spaces, that they then follow us into our private spaces. How we wake up first thing in the morning, looking rough and we immediately look at the notifications on our phone, or we look at who's been watching our Instagram stories while we've been sleeping. We can never escape the world of the persona we are on the Internet, and it is brave of Soda to mix both the public and the private to create these artworks. 'The moment I post something and make it public, it becomes less of a big deal. All of a sudden, I'm in control.' Long story short, none of us should be afraid to be a little unhinged on the Internet.
From Soda being chronically online as she has grown up, it only makes sense that she has also managed to pretty much rinse out YouTube and every type of video that has trended on there over the years too. 'People think, 'oh if I just post a bunch of videos about my life, eventually I'll be able to quit my day job and become a lifestyle blogger.' I'm always thinking about how the successful YouTuber is a new version of the American dream-'if I just work enough at curating my life, eventually I'll be paid to just exist.' And while it's been true for people to make this aspect of their life to work, for many others it hasn't worked out the way they wanted. Soda has also been very plain in the way in which YouTubers design their space for when they talk in their videos, and how it is very similar to how the layouts of social media work. Very plain. She notices their interior and how they choose not to show many items in their space purely on the grounds of how they don't want their audience to notice it. 'Everything has to be really clean and look a certain way.' She speaks of how platforms such as YouTube have overtime become too advertisement friendly and how everyone is becoming the same through that. How can you as creator be different to everybody else if you look the same and act the same as everybody else? It's as if the Internet has become a very bland space where everybody wants minimal and everybody wants to talk about the same things at the same time, so when you finally find someone online who has a little bit of a personality, it's whelming.
Finally, another one of Molly Soda's exhibitions, You Got This, a show that took place just before Covid hit in 2020. The show is mixed with Internet culture with the use of American suburbia. Essentially, these two concepts are two very different things, but also interlink within each other perfectly. It is the way in which the Internet and the suburbs are heavily controlled places where status is defined by wealth you can project and what others think of you.
It is interesting because Soda's project heavily relies on video content, and because of Covid, most of the exhibition is now online forever on her YouTube account.
youtube
Decorating the desktop is an interesting concept for the way in which we view spaces and also art. It is not something that is typically art, especially when you consider it in the world of digital format. Do we even think about the design of our desktops? The only time I ever thought about my desktop was when I was back in uni and I had to show my lecturer my work and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole when I connected my laptop to the big screen and everyone could see the HD image of Antonio Garza crying and holding a knife that was my desktop image at the time. Soda likes to view the desktop space as a form of interior design because our homely spaces have become like sets because we are always broadcasting them. The way in which Soda decorates her desktop space is very much like how the space of a room a YouTuber sits in looks like. White space, big open spaces, plants and *that* inspirational quote that you can always find somewhere. Not only that, but the music. Name one YouTuber who doesn't use music like this when creating the outro to their videos, which then leads you to hyperlinks of other videos just like the one you've watched.
youtube
House Tour is another empty of example of this. The lofi beat that plays as the intro to the video starts, this video feels as though it is a punch in the face to all online influencers who post home tours, what's in my bag videos, you know the ones I mean. The house is literally the suburban mansion, the modern day American dream, but the homes always look exactly the same. It's unnerving at best.
Molly Soda's work has to be one of my favourites at the moment. It is so cool to me seeing someone who has such an Internet presence and makes it work so well with the response to art at the same time. The works are statement pieces, all so different but so alike. I would love to see a collective of these works myself in a gallery space and I really love how she keeps it real, or does she. Looking at this work has made me want to be even more unhinged on the Internet, as if I'm not bad enough for spam posting absolute garbage on my story for my boss to see.
Molly Soda's website for more.
Further reading:
Molly Soda's Comfort Zone gallery synopsis.
Molly Soda on making art from your Internet history.
Molly Soda challenges the the notion of private areas as safe-havens.
What Molly Soda has learned from watching YouTube all day.
Molly Soda wants you to know You Got This.
6 notes · View notes
thebobby1432world · 1 year
Text
Bebahan Wiki, Biography, Age, Height, Weight, Family, Net Worth
Tumblr media
Bebahan Wiki: Meet Bebahan, the British social media influencer who has taken the online world by storm. Known by her online handle Hannah, she is a TikToker, YouTuber, Instagrammer, streamer, and content creator. Bebahan Wiki Early Life and Education Career Net Worth Conclusion
Bebahan Wiki
With her engaging content, extravagant persona, and massive following, it's no surprise that Bebahan's net worth as of 2023 is $3 million. This article will dive into her life, career, and success.
Tumblr media
Bebahan Wiki, Biography InformationDetailsNameBebahanReal NameHannahNet Worth$3 MillionDate of Birth2 September 1994Age28 Years OldBirth PlaceBirmingham, EnglandLive InBirmingham, EnglandProfessionTikToker, YouTuber, Instagrammer, Social Media Personality Streamer, and Content CreatorYears Active2018-PresentNationalityBritishReligionChristianEthnicityEnglish-Polish DescentHometownBirmingham, EnglandZodiac SignVirgoSchool/High SchoolLocal High School in Birmingham, EnglandEducation QualificationHigh SchoolFather NameMr. BebahanMother NameMrs. BebahanBrother Name–Sister Name2Boyfriend–Marital StatusUnmarried
Early Life and Education
Bebahan was born on September 2, 1994, in Birmingham, England, where she was raised. She is presently 28 years old and still resides in Birmingham. As a Virgo, she is known for her practicality, hardworking nature, and attention to detail. She is a Christian and holds British nationality. Regarding her academic background, Bebahan completed her foundational coursework at a nearby primary school. After that, she went on to attend a nearby middle school before moving to a private high school in England.
Career
Bebahan began her social media journey by sharing videos on TikTok. Her funny and relatable content quickly caught viewers' attention, and her following proliferated. Today, she has millions of followers on TikTok, and her videos have garnered millions of views. Her success on TikTok led her to venture into other social media platforms, such as Instagram and YouTube, where she shares her life experiences, interests, and opinions. Her content ranges from makeup tutorials to daily vlogs, travel vlogs, and much more. Apart from her social media presence, Bebahan also makes a significant income through brand endorsements and promotions on social media. Her collaborations with brands have allowed her to expand her reach and influence and generate a substantial income.
Net Worth
As of 2023, Bebahan's net worth is $3 million. Her massive following and engagement on social media platforms have undoubtedly contributed to her wealth. Her ability to monetize her content and collaborate with brands has also significantly impacted her financial success.
Conclusion
Bebahan, or Hannah, is a British social media influencer who has made a name for herself online. With her engaging personality, relatable content, and massive following, she has built a successful content creator and influencer career. Her net worth of $3 million is a testament to her hard work and dedication to her craft. We can't wait to see what the future holds for this rising star in the social media world. Read the full article
5 notes · View notes
beardedmrbean · 2 years
Note
What's a mirror for instagram?
I didn't see this one come in, sorry about that.
Most every social media site has a 'mirror'
Here's RDJ's IG on one
Tumblr media
For instagram and all the others really, it lets you browse profiles without an account, also does away with most of the pesky steps involved with ripping content too, right click works for the IG mirrors so you don't have to go into the page info and find the url for the image you want. Not 100% on if it will get you into private/friend only accounts or not, don't think they do.
not sure if there's any for twitter but there's probably several, tiktok has a few too, there's a couple good ones for tumblr too but they can be defeated by setting your blog to only be viewable on the dashboard.
If you want to find them you search 'whichever social media site' and either 'mirror' or 'viewer' and some will pop up.
sometimes the code changes on the different sites and the mirrors need a few days to catch up so they're not the most reliable way to do things but if you want to be able to just go on someone's IG but don't want to increase Zucc's user numbers it's a good way to go.
10 notes · View notes
not-xpr-art · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Progress shots of my ‘Portrait of a lady on fire’ piece!
I finally managed to remember to record my full process for this piece lol! Because of this, I’m gonna make this post a sort of follow on from this post about my creative process!
My inspiration and reference for this piece was a screenshot from the film, along with Caspar David Friedrich’s ‘Wanderer above the sea of fog’ (both can be seen below)
Tumblr media
I tried to keep this piece as close to how I would do a traditional painting as possible to match the style of Friedrich’s piece (so, keeping all my painting on one layer, trying to work a section at a time, etc). 
I mostly used a fluffy textured brush for the painting (aside from the initial laying down of colours in the 2nd image, which I used a flat ‘watercolour’ brush). As I’ve talked about before, textured brushes are great for blending and for keeping things from being too harsh, which is perfect when you’re trying to go for a sort of oil painting-esque look!
I really liked the stark contrast of Friedrich’s figure and the sea in the background, so I tried to sort of emulate that in my own by painting the figures in slightly darker and more saturated tones than in the reference. (I think I also inadvertently made them slightly more ‘static’ looking, which I don’t hate since it fits quite well with the meaning behind the piece, which I’ll get into in a bit lol!) 
A lot about using references is deciding what elements you want to keep the same, and what you want to change in your own piece. In this work, since a part of my intention of it was doing a screencap study (since this pride month project is about celebrating my favourite queer films), the composition and colours are pretty similar to the reference. 
I hoped that my piece would have a similar feeling to it as the scene in the film, and I especially liked that shot because of the kind of voyeuristic vibes it gives. Another artist on instagram also commented that she thought it felt as if the viewer was standing with the two figures, looking across at the scenery with them, which was a concept I didn’t really consider when I was painting it, but absolutely love what it represents! The film had a feel of the viewer constantly imposing on a private and extremely intimate moment between the two women, almost like something so beautiful that we were never meant to see. 
I also think of the connection the film makes to the Orpheus and Eurydice myth, and how neither figure in my painting will never look back at the onlooker, forever caught in a moment where they’re so close, yet so distant. Makes you wonder whether it’s better to exist in a perpetual state of calm, or to look back and risk the pain and humiliation that might cause... Maybe I’m reading too much into it though lol
If you read this far then thank you lol!! 
Feel free to check out some of my other art advice posts and let me know if there’s anything in particular you want me to talk about in my next one! <3
16 notes · View notes
supersonicart · 1 year
Text
Michael McGregor's "Private Party."
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Opening on January 21st, 2023 at Hashimoto Contemporary in Los Angeles, California is artist Michael McGregor's solo exhibition, "Private Party."
Each effervescent work of McGregor's, based in Los Angeles, is a snapshot examining celebration, excess and glamour.
Energetic and blithe marks in vivid oil stick and pastel render scenes of the aftermath of hedonistic parties, consumed feasts and decadent interiors. Drawing from the frenetic gestures and saturated color palette of Fauvism, McGregor’s scenes are simultaneously contemporary and timeless. Strewn amongst the dripping candlesticks, ashtrays and empty wineglasses, the viewer will find a stereo, mixtapes and fast food containers.
McGregor describes his approach to still life painting as “al dente” favoring loosely rendered and wild depictions in stark contrast with more traditional European still life painting. The mystery of suggestion in both subject matter and mark-making blend harmoniously in riotous tablescapes hinting at a rowdy dinner, a hotel bedside table with the remnants of the evening prior or a room service tray left in the hall laden with the morning after’s breakfast in bed. With each work and stroke the artist invites you in to his Private Party.
Tumblr media
THE SUPERSONIC ART SHOP | FOLLOW ON INSTAGRAM
29 notes · View notes
thedarkoneswithin · 1 year
Text
Don’t let miss Faulkner sleep! ( Part 1 )
Tumblr media
Word COUNT: 2.8k words
If you ain’t 13 or older this story may creep you out.
Your free to leave!
:)
This is the first text i wrote in a long time.
I hope you enjoy!!
Also; sorry if you find spelling mistakes, i tried to edit it out.
My pencil makes led scratches against the canvas. Etching the cascading sunrays that shimmered from the calm current off the harbor here in Collingwood. The old grain elevator still stood tall after all these years, stalwart against the strains of time which had won some battles against the chipped-away surface of this local historical site. Our town has seen an injection of tourist botox that has turned a naturally beautiful landscape into a silicone shell of its former self. Natural parks no longer brimming with pine trees and plantations that grow side by side, but instead a surgeon’s knife that had cut through the natural order, ripping out the roots and keeping what Instagram and TikTok viewers deem acceptable in a world of filters and falseness.
I sat in my favorite spot on the road leading up to those historical terminals, working on my sketch when my work phone began to buzz relentlessly in my pocket. I put down my shading pencil, flipping open my phone. And yes, ‘flipping’ it open. I can hear your judgment behind these typed words.
To give you an idea of what I do. I work as an independent personal support worker, meaning I own my own PSW company. I have my clients, but things have slowed down over the past couple of years due to a recession, along with inflation making my prices increase, and in turn, my clients heading to more affordable homes, rather than one-on-one care.
“Hello. This is Kris Scott of Compassionate Care.” I said, trying to sound professional, covering up my deep desperation for more work.
“Hello. My name is Dr. Khaleed. I work as a neurologist who specializes in Alzheimer's. I was wondering if we could have you take care of one of our early symptomatic patients near London Ontario. When can I book you for an interview?”
“I-I am free. Free whenever!” My overly giddy, the stammering voice may as well have screamed ‘Please god, pay me!’
“Excellent. Today is Monday, so perhaps tomorrow at three in the afternoon?”
“Yes, of course. Thank you so much!”
As soon as my thumb grazed the red phone icon to end the call, I was in my Hyundai and speeding off on the 401. Making my three-hour drive in two and a half and booking my room at the first hotel I set my sights on, which unfortunately was a Ramada.
I scarfed down chicken wings that tasted like oven-baked fisher price plastic, then went right to bed. I wanted to feel as fresh and well-rested as I could for my newest client since my next client visit wasn’t for another week anyways.
I had expected us to meet up in an office or at a hospital in the mid-sized city, but instead, we met on an old dirt road just a little way outside the city, near a farmhouse. I will not give much description of the house, as all addresses are private.
“So, are we doing the interview out here?” I tried to make light of this peculiar situation.
“I apologize. Do you prefer Kris or…?” he asked politely, a kind smile had formed as he spoke.
“Kris is fine. And you?”
“You may call me Ameer. I have been the neurologist for this client for, well, let’s just say it has been a good portion of my professional career.” He let out a hearty laugh, his belly reverberating with each inhale.
“She must be important to you.”
Ameer nodded, motioning for me to follow him. As we moved closer to this impressive-sized, three-story farmhouse, Ameer stopped, looking up at the sun bursting through a breach in the cloud coverage. As I looked around to marinade in this area, I could see a hawk with its wide-reaching wingspan swoop down and land swiftly onto a stump nearby the house, just up the hill.
Ameer handed me a closed dossier. “These are your new clients’ paperwork. Should you choose to take on this job, of course.” His voice was emphatic with gratitude and a small pang of excitement hidden somewhere between his spoken words.
“Yes. Yes of course!” I shook his hands and took the documents from him. My heart pounding with a mix of ecstasy and a touch of dread, given the new commute I had just inherited.
He walked me to the porch of this old farmhouse, and it was the doors themselves that threw me through a loop. The doors were not your traditional wood doors with that initial screen door that never closes and always slams open and closed at the mere feel of the wind.
A metal double door with no handle whatsoever. Life itself punched me in the snout with a red flag.
“Why?” was all I could ask when looking at this completely out-of-place contraption.
“The first owner wanted his home turned into a facility for your new client. A facility to keep her safe. Out in this area, the trucks rip down the highway at stupid speeds. Doesn’t want his last living relative to go out like that. Especially with her beginning to sundown.”
To those that do not know sundowning is a state of confusion that can happen in the late afternoon or night and can have all types of behaviors associated with it, all depending on the person and their situational triggers.
I’ve had war veterans as clients who after eight at night would build a barricade or dig holes and lay in them for hours. Some would wander from one town to the next. Every person’s dementia and Alzheimer’s are different. The same is for sundowning.
When we entered, my red flag and that uncomfortable feeling in my stomach almost completely alleviated. If this was a facility. It was state-of-the-art, all while feeling comfortable.
Every shelf and cupboard had locks. This lucky lady had her dietary aide who would come in and make all her meals. Central air is every form of streaming service you could ask for. A wifi connection so powerful I could watch a live sports streaming service on internet explorer on my flip phone. Okay, maybe not explorer, but chrome most certainly.
I know many of you assume that something crazy or weird would just happen that night I took the job, maybe that week? No. Nothing happened for nearly a year.
I became so unbelievably happy with this client. I dropped all my others, and because the pay was substantial. I mean. Substantial.
The rules of this client, Mrs. Faulkner, were simple:
-Do not let Mrs. Faulkner sleep until just before sundown. Otherwise, she will wake up in hysteria and begin to wander.
-Mrs. Faulkner always has her medicine after dinner, always before sundown as it will stabilize her serotonin, along with inducing sleep.
-Should Mrs. Faulkner wake up in the night, be wary of her disposition. Treat her as if she is sleepwalking and monitor her behavior. Do not intervene unless the need arises.
Most of these rules you will find are standard amongst retirement homes. They were more than easy to follow. They had been passed down by the owner of the home now turned facility, who as I would learn later down the line, was the power of attorney for Mrs. Faulkner. He had been her uncle and caretaker till his death a week before I was hired on. A multi-millionaire who had found great success as a dairy farmer and had several stakes in businesses all over the surrounding counties, so needless to say; Mrs. Faulkner's inherited estate could afford all of this.
I scanned my key card at the door, and when it buzzed, I opened the double doors, walking into a nice refreshing blast of cool air. I saw the dietary aide, Tracy, chopping her onions, boiling the rice, and making a pot of tea for our shared client.
“Hey Trace!”
She looked back up at me with a smile, her eyes watery from the fresh onion, “Her girl!” she called out, tossing the pieces onto the frying pan. That satisfying sizzle immediately followed.
“How’s Mrs. Faulkner today?” I asked, putting my bags into the closet, and then locking it.
“She is doing better since her fall in the shower last night. Poor thing. They had her up all night last night, and she has been awake all day today.”
“Where is she now?” I asked.
Tracy pointed to the living room, where Mrs. Faulkner sat in her lazy boy recliner, sitting in the dark, scribbling away at her notepad.
Mrs. Faulkner was likely a tall woman, she had a hunch and needed a walker as she moved, so it was hard to fully gauge her height. Even as a hunched-over person, she was nearly six feet tall.
She was African American, curled dark hair, and would always tell us about her stories growing up in South Africa. Then moving here with her family when she was in her mid-twenties to attend school.
For a woman in her late seventies, she still tried to take care of herself. Vegetarian diet. Practicing yoga, even despite her physical limitations. She also deeply loved reading and drawing and writing too. She was a woman of many hobbies and talents.
I sat with her, trying to get a peek at her drawing, but as usual, she playfully hid her work from me. A new habit she had been forming these past three or four days.
“It’s not ready, Kris,” she said with that familiar and kind smile forming on her face.
“Just a glance!” I said playfully.
She held her notebook to her chest, “I think not!” she laughed, waving me off in a joking manner.
“Alright, you two. The meals are cooked. All the cabinets are locked back up. Don’t make a mess of it while I am gone.” Tracy waved goodbye and made her way out the door and into her car.
Our day was a mostly routine one. I bathed Mrs. Faulkner. Gave her dinner, she took her medications, and then she was off to bed. Her bedroom is the last room, the end of the hall on the second floor. She refused to take the guest room on the first floor. Always insisting that the stairs ‘kept her young.’
“Alright Mrs. Faulkner. Time to get some sleep.”
Right after I had said those words, I can still remember vividly the crashing of wind against the house and the way it creaked, the foundation groaning against the gale force.
“Hard to do with all that racket!” Mrs. Faulkner complained.
“Lucky enough for you, you’ve got strong meds,” I said with a wink. Making sure my favorite client was tucked in and comfy before leaving.
“Maybe if the oncoming storm wakes me up, we can play a hard loop of stuff” her smile extended on her face.
“Oh, and how do we play…that?” I asked, a little baffled by her unusual request.
“It’s a game I used to play a lot back home. I’ll teach it to you. You only need to play once.” She closed her eyes, that smile still plastered on her face.
As I left the room, I quickly glanced behind me to make sure she was still tucked in bed. She was still lying in bed, but her grin was wide-daggered teeth. Her eyes imprinted on my spine.
That was the first time that I saw her like that. Like she scared me. And she wasn’t even trying.
At least, not that time.
I closed the door and in truth, sped off downstairs to grab my cell phone which was still charging on an end table in the living room. Just as I reached for it, the ringtone blared its tune so loud it made me jump. I shook off my stupidity and answered it.
“Hello?” I asked. My voice quaking.
“Kris, it’s Ameer. Is Mrs. Faulkner in bed?”
I was a little taken aback by the question. For almost a year I had done this job without missing a beat.
“Yes?” my voice likely sounded a little defensive.
“Did she take her medication?”
“Yes,” I reassured him.
“Okay. Good, good. That’s good.” His sighs of relief only made me feel more bothered.
“What is the matter?” In truth, I wanted to ask him what his problem was. I knew how to do my job.
“When she was at the hospital there was a situation.” My wounded pride turned to concern in seconds.
“Situation? What happened Ameer?”
“From what I hear she didn’t get her medication due to the concussion she suffered. I don’t know if something happened, but they’ve requested me at the hospital A.S.A.P. Listen. I’ll call you as soon as I know what’s going on. Just hang tight and be careful, okay?”
The line ended immediately.
“Be careful?” I said the words out loud, then swallowed the fear that emanated from the most unlikely of statements.
I made my way to the guest room that was now fashioned into a work office of sorts, closing the door behind me. I began to step towards the computer desk in the center of the room when that all too familiar feeling of paranoia and overreaction hit me like an anxiety-tidal wave and rushed back to the door, locking it.
I perched myself on that god-awful gaming chair that we inherited from Tracy’s son for our workspace. Booting up the PC and began to type away at an overview of the night so far. Essentially working through the nightly expectation checklist.
Our computer also had a live feed of cameras throughout the house. A necessary breach of privacy to keep Mrs. Faulkner alive and in good condition.
I scanned through the live feed. All was well. Mrs. Faulkner still practically swaddled in her bed.
It was clacking away at the keyboard when I noticed a note from the previous worker, Abigail. She had been taking care of the previous owners’ estate when there was one item still unaccounted for.
An access code to the locker directly behind me.
Thunder began to bellow low warning groans that whiffed by my ignorant ears.
I left the office to do my hourly check around the house and on my client. Leaving the office, I made my way up the stairs and toward Mrs. Faulkner’s room when a blinding stream of light came crashing near the house, followed by the crackling boom of thunder.
I dashed into her room, causing poor Mrs. Faulkner to shoot up out of bed. The way she clutched her chest I thought I had put the old bat in cardiac arrest.
“Oh, my lord Kris. You should be a little more careful considering you have to clean and change me!” she yelled.
Something about that statement made me feel at ease, in truth. Something in her voice that felt docile. That lack of that smile, that natural fear. Palpable, real jitter that felt…human.
I wish she had stayed like that.
I apologized to her, checked on her vital signs, and even did a memory test to ensure that she was not in a sundown or delusional state.
After cooing her back into her bed, I began to tuck her in.
“If you sleep through the night, maybe we can play that game you wanted to play?” I suggested to her, to which she just gave me a rather odd stare, handing me the glass she had finished drinking.
I wanted to pursue it further but she had got so worked up, she was crashing hard and needed sleep. So instead, I kept it to myself.
The power flickered throughout the halls until finally the main power failed, and the backup generator did not start up. Managing to fumble my way down the stairs I made my way back to the office, collected my phone, and noticed a missed call from the good Doctor Ameer himself.
I dialed him back. He picked up the phone in less than a ring. He was breathing. Breathing hard.
“I’m on my way to you, Kris. Is Mrs. Faulkner still asleep?” his voice was rushed, panicked.
“I just put her back to bed. She woke up during the storm, but I did the tests and…”
“Screw the tests, Kris! Do not let Mr. Faulkner sleep!” My heart sank so deep in me that I could have crapped it out right then and there.
“She is sleeping. I’m…I’m sorry. Wait. What happened? What did you find out?”
“She is fixating on Kris. Fixating dangerously. Her routine is messed up. There was never any concussion. She injured herself getting into the hospital and mess up her routine intentionally. Her drawings Kris. They are violent. They depict violence against all of us. These images. The words. This is some criminal, sycophant, planned, pervasive behavior.”
I said nothing. I melted into that chair. Staring endlessly at the locked door in front of me. My cameras were dead, and with the entire facility was key card and internet and power controlled. I was locked inside this place.
Locked in with her.
“Keep your distance, Kris. Stay safe. I will be there with emergency services. Hang tight.”
The call ended. I felt the phone slip from my face, surprised that at that moment it did not drop to the floor, instead falling harmlessly into my lap.
Something in that moment. In that feeling of despair and fear, a flicker of something hit. An epiphany.
I turned to the locker behind me. When the power went out it would run on battery, so I had time enough to enter a passcode into the pin pad.
Hard-loop of the stern. Nothing. I sighed. Then decided on another hail-mary idea of sorts.
Good old google translate.
I entered Mrs. Faulkner's words into the translator. Afrikaans to English. Expecting it to say some sort of classic kids’ game or some rendition of the sort. No. It was not that. It was not that at all.
It translated to ‘Hide or Die. 
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
I like to write horror/Creepy/Hospital stuff on my free time to! 
I could maybe do fluff and other stuff if i get more likes.
3 notes · View notes