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casskeeps · 4 months

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the wedding of peleus and thetis - dinos by sophilos

basic facts

date - c580-570 bce

style - early black figure

original location - ever so sorry but i have no clue we just know it was made in attica

function - dinos - mixing water and wine

size - 28.8cm tall, 42cm wide/deep

context

similar to perseus and the gorgons ! we're in attica, moving away from the corinthian tradition of decorating using rows of animal processions and floral patterns, and starting to prioritise the attic preferences of narratives - this pot shows the wedding of peleus and thetis! if these guys seem familiar, they should - thetis was a goddess of the sea and the mother of achilles ! it's also good to remember that this wedding is where eris brought the golden apple to start some divine infighting (and also the trojan war).

we know that this pot was painted by sophilos, because he signed the pot - this is the earliest attic potter that we can actually name! he signed "sophilos painted me" between the columns of peleus' house (not in english though !! ancient greeks did not speak modern english).

content

friezes of processing animals - again, we have some corinthian influence with the filling of space done by repeating figures of processing animals. these are less carefully done - the shapes are not quite as regular

floral pattern and animals - he's just not serving as much cunt as the gorgon painter - his floral pattern is less intricate than the one on the perseus+gorgons dinos

narrative frieze - LONG ASS PROCESSION - this shit is SO LONG it goes on forever and ever and ages. lots of gods and godly figures, some chariots.

then we have a cute lil repeating band at the top ! just to finish off the pot - this is also done a little bit haphazardly and there are a few inconsistencies with the incision

list of names to try to remember (as per the british museum):

peleus

dionysos, hebe, cheiron

zeus + hera

poseidon + amphitrite

hermes + apollo

ares + aphrodite

fates + graces + muses

athene + artemis

oceanus + tethys

eileithyia

hephaistos

stylistic features

the procession of gods

there are so many labels - this guy could write and wanted EVERYONE to know

as well as the labels, there is some use of item symbolism to demonstrate which person is which - peleus has a kantharos in his hand, dionysos is carrying a vine rod, etc. however, i'm going to go out on a limb and suggest that the easiest to recognise is cheiron because he has four whole legs (i HATE THEM why does he have two human legs and two horse legs)

hebe is SERVING. she's got the cutest dress ever which is a microcosm of the whole pot with its bands

we do have a little bit of attempt to show 3d concepts - some of the figures overlap, whereas others are in isolation. this adds a bit of variation to the very long line created by the procession

black-figure technique/era - specific points

incision has been used to create patterns and details, like the items that various characters are holding. but, as per early black figure, the lines are jerky and it makes telling what people are holding very difficult.

we have some painting ! there is purple paint on the robes of cheiron and dionysos, white paint on the flesh of hebe (it is important to note that white paint flakes off due to a chemical reaction with the clay !)

again, these guys have no clue what people look like under their clothes - hebe's stripy dress looks like it's still on the hanger because there is absolutely no indication that she is not flat as a board underneath it. similarly, cheiron's robe also looks very very flat. archaic artists just don't really understand how people look under their clothes (see: the sounion kouros - if i had three ribs per side and shoulderblades that were just concave lines i think i would be dead)

it's black-figure, we're going to be complaining about the anatomy. we still have the profile head with the full frontal eye, but we also have very long digits - those fingers and toes are LONG and i don't want them anywhere near me.

composition

decorative friezes

there is some symmetry here - if we take the floral design in the middle as our centre point, there is symmetry in that band, but again, we have a weird disjointed feeling looking down the pot. two rows below this design, the animals have a similar line of symmetry, but the frieze between breaks this vertical line

lots of emphasis on the horizontals - there are a few straight horizonal lines painted, maybe as a guide for the designs, maybe as a conscious decision - the one below the narrative frieze does act as a floor, so that one gets a pass from me

narrative frieze

the use of a procession is so good for a dinos bc it's a long ass space to fill, so what better to fill it in with than a long ass line ?

another time to remind you of hebe's dress - a mini version of the whole pot

lots of repeating shapes due to the monotony of the procession - you might be able to argue that the inverted "v" shape of the legs acts as a jagged-tooth pattern to draw the eye to the labels and heads.

scholarly references

"for the first time we see a long multifigure frieze ... devoted to a single major theme" - boardman

sophilos "liked the written word and made abundant use of it" - woodford

"conventionally and rather carelessly" - woodford

"ambitious, lively, but rarely precise" - boardman

final thoughts !!

i do not love this pot - i think it's clear that his intention was to portray the scene instead of decorating the pot for the sake of aesthetics. i would make a snarky comment about how he had to label the gods because he wasn't good enough at depicting them to make them identifiable but that is not the point of this - instead i will place more emphasis on the fact that it's cool we have written words on this pot.

#classical civilisation #classics #a level classical civilisation #a level classics #ocr classical civilisation #the wedding of peleus and thetis #sophilos

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egg-on-the-run · 3 years

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I got my first proper request and I literally accidentally deleted it. Am I stupid? Yes. Did I immediately panic? Yes. Do I remember what was on it?........ mostly.

Haha anon I hope you see this I'm so sorry but ily.

The turtles s/o who's usually very calm but just bursts into anger.

Notes: swearing :) I think it's funny

Leonardo:

He's used to a very calm s/o, you like to meditate together, he's always been good with helping you with breathing exercises.

You both like to keep arguments to a minimum, and even when fights do take place there isn't a lot of yelling

But when your mother came to visit :) that was just :) a lot of pressure :)

And she stayed in your apartment :) for a week :) everything was fine :)

Leonardo hadn't seen you for an entire week, not an overly long time, but certainly not pleasant. And he knew that you got stressed when you couldn't see him often. So as soon as you texted saying you had dropped your mother off at the airport, he immediately came round.

You were already screaming the moment you walked in the door.

"Oh she has some nerve! Some nerve! Speaking to me like that!"

"I'm guessing you're car ride went smoothly."

"She's been bugging me all week! When are you getting married? When are you have kids? I want some grand babies before I die! Ugh! She's obsessed with maintaining this perfect image all because her friend's kids are married and making babies like rabbits!"

He stayed quiet, not exactly sure how to comfort you. It wasn't like he could provide you with these things, and by the sounds of it, your mother would never approve of your huge turtle boyfriend.

"She just can't get that I'm happy! I have my own life and it's perfect the way I want it to be! I have a perfect boyfriend! You're a fucking delight! She–she's just so obsessed with her image that she'd never get that!"

"You... You think so?"

"I know so! She's too stubborn and she'll never get how fucking great you are and it just— UGH! It fries my brain."

"Even though I... I can't give you all those things... I can't legally marry you, we can't have kids."

"Even if you could give me a mansion and a diamond ring, or if all you could give me was a-a fucking walnut! I love you Leonardo, not that prim and proper white satin wedding she's made a thousand Pinterest boards for. I love you, I just wish she would get it."

Leonardo leaned down and kissed your cheek

"I love you too."

He believed in dealing with anger appropriately, but seeing you defend him with such passion made him feel so much more secure.

Raphael:

He's seen you angry before, he encouraged it. He's all about helping you with your confidence, teaching you to not be afraid to take up space and stand up for yourself.

But holy cow. You were mad that night.

He'd warned you not to take the trash out at night, wait to the morning — or better yet, he'll take it out for you when he came to visit after patrol.

But you are Raphael's girl. You are stubborn.

So you take the trash out, and some absolute creep decides that "flirting" in a dark alleyway in the key to a girl's heart.

Raphael swooped in, told the man to scram. But bold and drunk, the man spits back with a "Oh yeah? And would she want anything to do with a freak like you? What are you gonna do? Hit me? Aw, big angry turtle, you're gonna scare your girlfriend away."

It was two of his biggest insecurities. His appearance and his rage, especially in regards to scaring you away. It was a low blow, Raphael should have known to just walk away.

But he clammed up, he'd never admit when his anxiety got the best of him and you don't blame him.

"Oh go fuck yourself. If a vile man like you doesn't scare me, why the hell do you think a good man like him would?"

"A good man? He's not a fucking man! He's some freaky turtle thing, a pretty little thing like you deserves a real man."

"And are you a real man?"

"More real than your little pet."

The next thing you knew, the man was on the ground. You assumed Raphael knocked him out, but Raph's standing behind you and you're the one with your hand in a fist.

"Oh my god. Oh–Oh Raphie I knocked him out! O-Oh my god!"

"Holy shit Y/N! You probably broke his nose!" Raphael is grinning, shaking your shoulders.

"I didn't mean to hurt him."

"He deserves a broken nose at the least for messing with you! He was an asshole and he needed someone like you to set him straight!"

"I, um, well, I suppose he did! Saying such horrible things about you, I-I guess he did need someone to put him in his place."

Raphael ruffled your hair, "Thank you, my knight in shining armour."

"That make you my Prince?"

"Your Prince who was right about not taking the trash out at night."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

He appreciated you standing up for him more than you could imagine. And he found it mighty hot how hard you hit that guy. Seriously! He must be a good self defence teacher.

Donatello:

Donatello loves you so much, loves holding you and hugging you whenever he can. He adores it when you sit on his lap while he works.

But do you like to cuddle when you sleep? Tough luck. Getting him to bed is like trying to lick your own elbow: near impossible.

Regardless, you try. Because every once in a while Donatello is too tired to fight and he will go to bed.

Tonight is not one of those nights.

"Baby, please, just come to bed. Everyone's already asleep."

"I'll be there in a minute, just go on without me."

You sigh, not really seeing the point in fighting. Instead you return to his bed, trying to keep yourself awake playing games on your phone. When half an hour passes, you go back and try again.

"Donnie come on, aren't you tired? I just want to cuddle."

"I just need to put some stuff on a hard drive, April's writing a new article, she needs it for tomorrow."

You sigh once more, "Promise you'll come to bed right after?"

"I promise."

Donatello's bed is comfortable, but it's more comfortable with him in. You force yourself to stay awake; despite your exhaustion you're determined to cuddle tonight. It's all you want.

But it did not take an hour to put some documents onto a hard drive. And he's being awfully loud for just typing away on a computer.

"Are you fucking joking right now?!"

He jumps, almost dropping the box of beakers in his arms, "Hey love... Can't sleep?"

"You're rearranging your lab?! Why are you—since when do you rearrange things, huh? What the hell?!"

"I just y'know, thought things needed a change..?"

"Oh, and now is the time to change things, really? Of all the times to move your fucking beakers you decide to do it in the middle of the night after I specifically asked you to come to bed? Seriously?"

He gives a nervous grin, the kind that usually made you smile in return. But it was late — rather it was early at this point — and you were cranky.

"You can sleep without me, you're a big girl." He teased.

"I want to sleep with my boyfriend! I want to cuddle! Is that so much to ask for?!"

Donatello blinked, "You're right, I'm sorry, but I swear, I promise, I'll be ten minutes, honest."

"You can finish this tomorrow. If you're not in bed in the next ten seconds, I am going to scream and wake everyone else up."

"Don't be ridiculous—"

"Ten."

Donatello jumped, quickly moving to shove supplies in cupboards a little recklessly. You continued to count down from ten, storming off back to his bed for hopefully the finally time this night.

By the time you got to the very firm "Three... Two... One..." Donatello was racing to bed, dived in beside you, crashing and knocking your heads together.

He'd never tell you, for fear you'd let it get to your head, but he kind of liked it when you got bossy.

Michelangelo:

Anger and Michelangelo just don't mix. They just don't. He's the king of communication, he's tries his hardest to avoid fights at any and all costs. You've always appreciated his determination to talk things out with you.

But with his brothers? He shuts down, he goes quiet and just accepts whatever blame they put on him: he knows they don't mean it, they only say mean things when they're angry.

But it hurts, hearing his big brothers tell him he's stupid, that he's childish, that he's lackadaisical.

"What kind of word even is that?! I swear Donnie must read a thesaurus as a bedtime story.."

So he's allowed to complain, and you let him ramble when he comes to visit. He sits on your bed and the words just tumble out of his mouth, lets you move around the room tidying up while he rants.

"I just—Raph keeps calling me stupid. And I just—I-I just—You know, sometimes I believe it."

You freeze, sweater only half folded and turn to him, "But you're not stupid. Just because you're not some brainiac like Donatello doesn't make you stupid. If that was the case, then I'm stupid, Raph's stupid, April, Leo, Splinter is stupid. Do you think we're all stupid?"

"Well—no, but—"

"But what?"

"But I... I am a little stupid."

"No you're not! Mikey, how many times has you out of the box thinking saved the day? Y-You were the one who suggested playing friggen buck-buck to take down Shredder! Y-Your skateboarding—hoverboarding skills saved the world. You think your brothers could do that?"

Mikey scrunched his nose up, "That's not smart though. They're right. My-my focus is all over the place, I-I could never come up with a plan like Leo, I could never have half the brains Donnie has, and Raph just—he gets things that I don't and I-I am stupid!"

"I need to have a word with your brothers—"

"And that's another thing! Everyone still treats me like I'm some kid! I don't need you to have a word with them! You're not my mom."

"Then you have a word with them! But sitting here and complaining about things that just aren't true isn't going to change anything!"

He's taken aback. Much like himself, you hardly ever yell, never ever raise your voice at him.

"I am not going to stand here and let them insult you day in and day out! Either you do something about it, or I will!"

He blinks at you, you're aggressively folding the sweater in your arms and grumbling about how you could definitely take Raphael in a fist fight if need be. You mumble something about how nobody gets to speak to your boyfriend like that, and it finally clicks with Mikey.

"Alright. I'm going to talk to them," He's mostly talking to himself, "I'm going to show them that I'm not some stupid, ditzy, lackadaisical kid anymore. I'm your boyfriend, and nobody gets to speak with me that way!"

You beam at him, anger disappearing within the second with his newfound confidence, "Hell yeah! Nobody insults my boyfriend!"

"Your boyfriend!"

"My boyfriend!"

"Your boyfriend!"

His brothers' version of a wake up call is to point out his weaknesses, tell him what needs to be corrected. But you much prefer to build him up, point out his strengths.

But jeez, he does not like your angry face.

#Upon seeing this request I forgot what anger felt like for three days #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #tmnt 2k14 #tmnt 2k16 #tmnt bayverse #tmnt leo #tmnt raph #tmnt donatello #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt x reader #tmnt x female reader #tmnt raphael #tmnt raph x reader #tmnt leo x reader #tmnt donnie x reader #tmnt mikey x reader #title: anger

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blanska · 3 years

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Did Sergey lie to Lera?

SPOILERS for the Plague Doctor comics up until issue #8

Disclaimer: I read most of the comics with the help of Google Translate, so it is highly likely that I don’t have the fully picture. I wrote this after reading #8 of the Plague Doctor.

In Plague Doctor #8 Sergey tells Lera in the car that the Bird has been destoryed, erased.

When I read that, I put down my phone and started pacing in my room, because this statement comepletely contradicted my interpretation of the story so far. It contradicted what I have seen.

My opinion: I think it wouldn’t be a great story if they truly killed off the bird forever. But here’s the thing. This is my taste in stories, which has no bearing on what happens in the comics. So instead, let’s talk about what my more objective side saw.

The Knife Scene

The most convincing part for me that the Bird is right there in the comics is the scene when Oleg takes out the knife. Next we see a close-up of Sergey’s eyes and the knife reflected in them. Immediately I thought of the Bird. The way this is presented makes this moment seem very important and ominous. The knife falls to the ground, and in the next moment Sergey pushes the blade to Lera’s side. He says, “Dead. Always watch your back.”

What makes this even more convincing and important is Oleg’s reaction. All of a sudden he acts almost like a prison guard, puts Sergey in his place, “Close the knife and hand it over to me. And step back!” I find it hard to interpret this in any other way than Oleg talking to the sociopath who just crossed a line. Sergey hands over the knife with a frown. Immediately after this things go back to normal.

If the Bird has been dead for years, why do we get this scene? Why would they show us specifically this scene in this way?

Two different people behind the wheel

In every scene when Sergey is present, for like 90% of the scene I saw one of two personalities. The one who seems to be less active (or just not as eccentric as the other one) I saw perhaps in #1 at the cafe, possibly in #2 when he gives Lera and Oleg their first job (he is dressed in white), in #3 when Lera tries on the suit, in #6 after the casino when he’s been up all night and they meet at the apartment and in #8 in the car with Lera.

Let’s call him “Sublte Sergey” bc I no better ideas.

The way he’s sitting, standing, the way he’s holding himself is different from the other personality. He doesn’t take up too much space, but he also doesn’t seem to lack confidence.

The way he phrases things is more matter of fact and he doesn’t talk down to others all the time.

Doesn’t joke about murdering the person he’s talking to and doesn’t do other things that seem very sociopathic.

The other personality is way more obvious. I saw him in #2 when they first gather in the apartment, then later during the first training session. In #3 during training when he attacks Lera and starts coplaining that Oleg didn’t do a good enough job. In #4 when they meet in the apartment before the casino. And the thing is, he acts just like during the Game when the Bird was in control and the other personality was essentially held hostage.

Let’s call him “Entitled Sergey” (bc I don’t wanna call him Bird for the sake of the discussion).

The way he’s holding himself. He looks like he’s always on a stage, he takes up a lot of space, he seems overly confident.

He frequently phrases things in a very condescending way, he seems to think he’s the smartest person in the room and he’s always surrounded by idiots. He very often complains about what the others are doing.

He jokes about hurting or murdering Lera on two occasions, he’s the one who picks up the knife, possibly the one who wants to suggest ideas that Oleg immediately shuts down (perhaps bc it would cross a certain line).

If the Bird is truly dead, then who am I seeing here? Why would there be a personality that acts just like the Bird during the Game? Did the Bird play the role of this personality back then? Is this the person who might know himself to be The Sergey and is that why the Bird would have played this role? If yes, who the hell is Subtle Sergey?

The Second One

In the car Sergey talks about the “second” personality, because idk he forgot to count himself, but sure let’s call him the Second One. “He doesn’t remember anything, shakes with horror, cannot fight.” It seems like this is the person who almost crashed the car twice driving to Lera’s home. The person who’s influence is slowly fading away during the conversation in the car. Nice to finally meet you, buddy.

I do not think that the Second One equals Subtle Sergey. Because as the scene goes on he starts to sound more and more like Subtle Sergey and not like Entitled Sergey. He says he is afraid of the Second One. The Second One wouldn’t say this, at least I do not think he would phrase it in this way. So these seem to be three distinct personalities.

Who is We?

In the car when Sergey is ranting about his, well.. their internal struggles, at some point he starts a sentence with “we” then pauses and corrects himself to “I”. I really like this, because of course he would say “we” occasionally as he seems to be co-conscious and living together with at least one other personality nowadays. At first I thought he corrected himself to try make his sentences more consistent and easier to understand, since most people refer to themselves as “I”.

But after it occured to me that he might have lied about the Bird being dead I thought pehaps that was not the case. He is talking about the Second One, “If I lose self control.” and then “The epitome of his greatest fear is absolute helplessness!“ He talks about the Second One in the third person and he clearly doesn’t want this person to be in control right now.

Immediately after this as he starts to explain what happened with the Bird during the game, he says “We...” then corrects himself to “I've never made excuses with an evil alter ego.” What if when he said “we” he was thinking “the Bird and I”? But since he later claims that the Bird is gone, he corrects himself.

Sure, he could have done this for many other reasons, such as realizing that the other part(s) of the “we” have made those excuses before. But it still makes me wonder if he indeed lied.

So what if he did lie?

If he did lie, then I think Subtle Sergey and the Bird has been living and working together on this project and we’ve seen a lot of both of them. There were some moments of instantaneous switches just like back in the Game, but now the Bird is not trying to take over, he’s on board with the plans. He’s part of a system, even.

Especially with the intense reaction of the Second One, stepping to the foreground and having panic attacks, being unsure of himself, I can see why they would claim that the Bird is dead. Even if they’re not that unsure of themselves, it makes sense to say that. Because the Bird did all those horrible things when he was fully in control and running amok. Now they’re doing things differently. Saying “oh yes, he’s right here, but I promise he’s not gonne empty a round of bullets into you like the last time” isn’t very reassuring or believable. I would definitely consider lying in this situation.

What if he didn’t lie?

Then we have the Subtle and the Entitled Sergey, one of whom seems to behave like the Bird during the Game. Which is weird writing. It’s confusing. In the Plague Doctor, we don’t get to see what is going on inside Sergey’s mind. We don’t see alters talking to each other, or be represented by different character designs. We can only guess. And putting an alter in the story who acts like the Bird, without an explanation or anything to make clear that this is not the Bird, is extremely confusing to me.

If he didn’t lie, I have no idea why we had the Knife scene. What was the point? During the Game there was a Sergey trying to resist and fight the Bird unsuccessfully. I associate this sociopathic side of him with the Bird.

If the Bird is truly gone, then a part of Sergey has been thrown out the window. They didn’t get the chance to learn to live together, to get better, to figure out their life. It is not a good lesson. You don’t ignore or kill parts of you, especially the parts of you that make it incredibly hard to live your life and thrive. You deal with it. You come up with solutions to make it work for you or at least make it stop being an obstacle. If Sergey gets to be the Anti-hero and gets to live a better life, a healthier life, it shouldn’t be because we threw out the part of him who was causing trouble.

So I hope he lied. I desperately hope that he lied. But please, Bubble at least let us find out what the truth is in the end! I am getting tired of guessing who this person is in the scene with Oleg and Lera :D Whatever the case is, I am intrigued, I want to know more, I want to know what is really going on. And as of now I am absolutely confused.

#plague doctor #bubble comics #sergey razumovsky #major grom #major grom: plague doctor #spoilers #plague doctor spoilers #thanks for coming to my Ted Talk #i've been thinking way too much about this guy #but I seek to know the truth!!

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not-majestic-bluenicorn · 3 years

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Cravity’s League of the Universe Theory UPDATE

Season 3 Hideout: Be Our Voice & The Awakening: Written in the Stars

Hello! My name’s Ori and I write k-pop theories and fanfics and today I’m revisiting my Cravity theory cause apparently I didn’t update for Hideout Season 3 even though I thought I had lol This is going to be a mini update since there isn’t much to add, but let’s get right into it.

Arc 1: Hideout Season 3 Main Plot Points

During the prologue of Season 3 we finally get to see more about Woobin, Seongmin and Minhee. At the beginning they hear their names being called by Wonjin, who’s probably using his power to convince them to meet the others. Then we get to see a little of their private lives.

First Woobin is studying in his room when he spots a dead butterfly and revives it. He then tries to take the elevator to leave his apartment building but he ends up getting too scared and gives up; the instagram account also confirms his fear of elevators. He then presumably leaves to spend some time at the arcade. From Minhee, we get to see how carefully he cleans and takes care of his room, making sure even the smallest object is in place, before his alarms sound and he has to get ready to leave.

[Gif: Woobin picks up a dead butterfly, the scene cuts and we see the butterfly flying again.]

Seongmin is at the bus stop at night, waiting for it. We know from the Instagram posts he doesn’t want to go home so ends up choosing to go to the arcade and he forgets his cellphone. Minhee finds the cellphone and upon touching it discovers Seongmin’s plans and goes to meet him there. At the arcade, Seongmin struggles to play with the dart, but when he closes and opens his eyes again, suddenly he’s nailing every single shot.

[Gif 1: Minhee picks up Seongmin’s cellphone at the bus stop and has a vision of Seonming playing with darts and failing all his shorts.

Gif 2: Seongmin is at the arcade playing darts, he closes his eyes and after he opens them he does a perfect shot.]

Minhee arrives during this and gives Seongmin his cellphone, which is when they notice they both have similar stones. Woobin also notices this and joins them. They notice Seongmin’s injured hands and Woobin heals him, revealing his power to them.

[Screenshot: Woobin standing with his back to the camera. His arm is up as he shows Seongmin and Minhee his stone.

Gif: Woobin grabs Seongmin’s injured hands in his and his hands start to shine as he heals Seongmin. The scene fades to white with the light coming from his hands.]

After a cutscene, we see the other six at their hideout. Wonjin is explaining that Seongmin and Minhee are a year younger than them and that Woobin is his and Hyeongjun’s classmate. He also mentions already calling them and Allen adds that he’s dreamt of them as well. Finally, the three of them arrive and introduce themselves.

[Instagram screenshot: A picture of a table with pictures of Minhee, Seongmin and Woobin sprawled on it. The caption reads “The friends from Allen’s dream that he talked about. Friens that Allen introduced to me. I’m sure they could hear my voice will they? Finally today! #photo taken by Hyeonjun

Screenshot from Epilogue: The nine members sitting around a table in their hideout.]

In the epilogue, they’re all spending time together at the hideout. Wonjin and Taeyoung are talking. Seongmin is repairing something for Hyeongjun. Serim, Jungmo and Minhee are with Revue when Jungmo tests Serim’s power by asking him what is the color of the third cloth in his wardrobe. Serim correctly guesses it’s a purple hoodie. We also confirm Jungmo’s ability to communicate with animals. Finally, Woobin is asking Allen if he can predict which team will win tomorrow’s game, to which Allen responds that’s not how his power works, before they’re interrupted by Seongmin asked to be healed by Woobin.

The scene cuts to them playing a board game. Taeyoung tries to cheat by freezing time but Hyeongjun discovers and stops him. Suddenly, Allen looks up and all the lights around them begin to turn off before they look at the camera and the final light goes out. Then, Allen wakes up to Woobin calling him. Finally, in the Hidden Film we see all but Seongmin and Minhee celebrating their graduation.

[Gif: The members look around as the lamps they were using for light start to turn off on their own.]

What is happening?

Before we update the character profiles let’s talk a little bit about what’s going on. First of all, they’ve finished reuniting and Hideout is over just as we had predicted. This means the stasis stage of the story is over and now we need a trigger. While I think that The Awakening: Written in the Stars is sort of a little break while they work on the next part of the story, because we didn’t get any films or updates on the Instagram account, I also think that the title has more meaning to it than that.

First of all, the simple phrase “the awakening” already feels like a trigger because the word itself alludes to the start of something. I also think it might be literally referencing Allen waking up from the vision he has in the Season 3 Epilogue. Yes, I’m pretty sure the whole last scene is a vision, and while it’s a little different, it does preserve that 4th-wall-breaking aspect we’ve seen in some of his visions before, so it’s not a stretch.

What does this mean for them? Well, simply put, danger is coming, and whether they like it or not, they might have to start learning real soon how to better use their abilities. To be honest, I’m still not sure Starship is gonna go full superhero on them, because most of their powers are very passive, but we’ll see!

Updating the profiles

Now that we know a bit more about our last three characters, let’s summarize what we know and then make a list with their powers.

Minhee

He is an extreme perfectionist, to the point that every single thing must have its place and it seems that he has a very detailed routine to keep order in his room. We can also see that he has quite a lot of alarms that establish the order of his day. He doesn’t seem to have an adverse reaction to disorder though, and simply seems to enjoy the act of keeping his space clean and perfect, because we don’t see him do that with the hideout.

[Instagram screenshot: A picture of a perfectly organized shelf with the caption “Neat and tidy. Finished cleaning up my room.”]

Seongmin

Seongmin hates being home, to the point we don’t even get to see his house in any of the videos. He doesn’t mention it in the videos but he’s pretty verbal about it in the Instagram posts. It is quite likely he has a bad relationship with his parents and he seems to wander around a lot. He is also extremely prone to getting injured apparently. Someone help the lost puppy.

[Instagram screenshot: A picture of Seongmin sitting on a bench at a bus stop with the caption “Not yet... don’t wanna go home like this, should I go there again?”]

Woobin

Woobin lives in an apartment complex and he seems to be a good student. The one thing that definitely stands out about him is his fear of using the elevator. It’s still unknown if it comes from any particular elevator-related trauma or if maybe he has major claustrophobia caused by something that isn’t specifically related to elevators. However, he’s pretty terrified of them and although he’s been trying to overcome it, it hasn’t worked for him at all.

[Instagram screenshot: A picture of Woobin’s hand as he presses the button to call the elevator with the caption “Please, just for today...”]

The powers

Finally, the list:

Serim - People-focused psychometry, he obtains information about others, seemingly by accessing their knowledge and memories. So far his ability has only been seen with the members.

Allen - Precognition through dreams, he has dreams in which he’s able to see the future. All dreams seem to be tied to the members so far.

Jungmo - Animal Telepathy, he’s able to understand and communicate with animals.

Woobin - Accelerated Healing, so far we’ve seen him heal small injuries and bring back to life small creatures.

Wonjin - Telepathy, he can communicate with others through the mind, even if they’re far away. So far his ability has only been seen with the members.

Minhee - Future-focused psychometry, this one is still in doubt since we’ve only seen him use it once, but he seems to be able to see the future of the person who last touched the object.

Hyeongjun - Legit, no idea, what is your deal, child?

Taeyoung - Time stopping, he’s able to completely stop time for everyone else except Hyeongjun. He can continue moving and doing things normally when he does it.

Seongmin - Enhanced accuracy and precision, again this one is still in doubt since we’ve only seen him use it once, but he seems to be able to perfectly nail every shot he makes.

Conclusions

Cravity might actually be in danger, depending on what Allen’s vision meant. One thing is for sure though, the story is starting to move forward. On the other hand, someone help me with Hyeongjun, I accept suggestions.

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wangisking · 3 years

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𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐕𝐄𝐘

BASICS. FULL NAME : Augustus Alexander Wang NICKNAME : August and Gus ( in general ), Auggie, Ice Prince, and Guggie ( by Aurora ). Aug and Lestat ( by Jack ), NAME MEANINGS : Augustus is Latin for the great / the magnificent. Alexander is also Latin and means defender of mankind. From what I know, Wang in Chinese means king. HISTORICAL CONNECTION ? : Though, his dad did think of the Roman Emperor Augustus when they named him, they liked the meaning. It seemed to fit him. They weren’t wrong, he was an emperor and he still has that energy. AGE : 22. Like Aurora, he can’t age past 22. He wouldn’t have minded either way. BIRTHDAY : 5th April ETHNIC GROUP : Augustus is half Korean and half Brazilian. NATIONALITY : British LANGUAGES : fluent in English and French. Conversational Latin. Broken Korean. Learning Urdu. SEXUAL ORIENTATION : demi-heterosexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION : demi-heterosexual RELATIONSHIP STATUS : Single and doesn’t want to mingle. He had only one serious relationship in the past with Aurora Shams from 2017-2019. CLASS : Upper class, Wealthy but not private-jet kind of wealthy. HOME TOWN / AREA : London till he was 10 and Vancouver till he was 17 CURRENT HOME : Los Angeles PROFESSION : Drummer, songwriter, model, and student. PHYSICAL. HAIR : long and wavy. Chestnut brown. Here is an example. It goes down his earlobes in length. EYES : piercing, almond-shaped eyes. Naturally brown, but he wears blue or green contact lenses. NOSE : a Greek nose, straight without bumps. FACE : Oblong shaped, sharp and chiseled cheekbones, strong jaw. Masculine features. Example. LIPS : not full nor thin, heart shaped. COMPLEXION : pretty pale. Example is same as the face section. SCARS : one on his chest. TATTOOS : a very small ‘10/17′ on his left rib. PIERCINGS: earlobes HEIGHT : 6′5″ or 195cm. BUILD : Inverted triangle. Broad, tapered shoulders. Muscular. Defined, sculpted abs. Long limbs. Broad chest. He was naturally towards the muscular side with broad shoulders and chest. He’s never been on the skinny side. Example one and two USUAL HAIR STYLE : he lets his hair do their thing, he styles them a little, but he prefers a messier vibe. USUAL FACE LOOK : He looks generally bored. His eyes have a piercing look that seem to be drilling into the person before him. Like he can see right through you. There is an insolent smirk tugging at his lips like he thinks you’re amusing. Almost proud, like he thinks he is above you. There is depth and intensity in his eyes that stare skywards in thought. There is also mischievous, radiant glimmer in his eyes. USUAL CLOTHING : prince charming meets rockstar. Lots of jackets, darker colors, boots, necklaces and rings. Here is his wardrobe. PSYCHOLOGY. FEARS : claustrophobia and the fear of ending up alone. He always had this creeping feeling that he’d be alone in the end and that he was always meant to be alone. ASPIRATIONS : he doesn’t have any set aspirations. They change every now and then. However, his goals are just to keep his found family happy. POSITIVE TRAITS : extremely charismatic, intelligent, academic and studious, alluring and attractive, quick-witted, charming and captivating, articulate and eloquent, adventurous, desirable, analytical, brilliant, friendly, enthusiastic, adaptable, observant, kind, mellow, competent, extremely caring and protective over those closest to him, clever, loyal, clear-headed, confident, humorous, courageous, imaginative and creative, a visionary, refined tastes and manners, daring, dignified, ebullient, deep, remarkable, surprisingly he’s very forgiving, forthright, gallant, logical, gentlemanly and sophisticated, perfectionist, popular, self-reliant, shrewd, witty, suave, curious, and resourceful. NEGATIVE TRAITS : egocentric, self-obsessed, idle, indifferent, selfish, defiant, arrogant, argumentative, rebellious, kinda lazy, stubborn, distracted, doesn’t really care for morals, blunt, can appear insensitive a lot, is insensitive at times, no filters, can be cold for those he doesn’t care for, emotionally immature, deflects emotions, suppresses his feelings, sorta detached, kinda pessimistic, and unknowingly self-sacrificing because he thinks it’s fair and he deserves it. MBTI : ENTP ( Ne dominant, Ti auxiliary, Fe tertiary, and Si inferior — this means she can’t use Ni, Se, Te, and especially can’t use Fi). He perceives the world by connecting dots, thinking of never-ending possibilities, looking for pieces of a puzzle, and finding meaning in abstract. He makes judgments on if what he perceives fits his internal logic. ZODIAC : Aries sun, Gemini rising, Sagittarius moon. TEMPERAMENT : sanguine choleric ANIMALS : parrots and cats because they’re both intelligent but little pieces of shit who enjoy making your life hell. VICE : it’s either his ego or how he ends up detaching himself FAITH : currently, he’s Mu.slim. He was born protestant, became an atheist when he was 13, agnostic at 14. Bud.dhist at 15. Taoist at 16. Confucianist at 17. Mu.slim at 19. Doesn't practice it though. GHOSTS ? : yep.. AFTERLIFE ? : yep REINCARNATION ? : he guesses so. Went through it, but doesn’t remember. ALIENS ? : hell yeah. POLITICAL ALIGNMENT : liberal. ECONOMIC PREFERENCE : upper class or upper middle class is good with him. EDUCATION LEVEL : MSci in Physics from the University of Cambridge. Is opting to specialize in astrophysics soon. FAMILY. FATHER : Edward Wang, owner of a chain of fine dining restaurants MOTHER : Elisa Violeta Wang, psychiatrist, deceased STEP MOTHER : Chaeyoung Wang, lawyer. SIBLINGS : Cassandra Wang, athlete EXTENDED FAMILY : he is not close with his external family and doesn’t know his birth mother’s family at all. They never wanted him. FAVOURITES. BOOK : Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky, Galactic Dynamics by James Binney, Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Mukarami, Slaughter house Five by Kurt Vonnegut, War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, and Lord of the Flies by William Golding. MOVIE : Scott Pilgrim vs The World 5 SONGS : All You Want - Dashboard Prophets, Tokyo Smoke - Cage the Elephant, Where is My Mind? - The Pixies, Sparks - Coldplay, Lithium - Nirvana, and Mr. Blue Sky - Electric Light Orchestra DEITY : none. Let him argue with one and ask for proof of their deity-ness. HOLIDAY : Halloween. It’s dramatic and fun. MONTH : October, because he met Aurora and Jack this month in 2017. SEASON : spring and summer. PLACE : he doesn’t have a specific place, but he prefers European architecture. WEATHER : cloudy and windy. Sunny if it isn’t too hot. SOUND : drums and percussions, the sound of aurora and jack’s laugh, guitars, violins, the sound of wind roaring, music boxes, and the clinking of bangles and jewelry. SCENTS : sage, rosemary, and damascus roses. TASTES : chocolate, strawberries, chilies, and fried food. FEELS : the feeling of hitting the drums, wind in his hair, the cold night air, warm morning sun, grass against his fingertips, silk, and touching long hair. ANIMALS : cats and dogs. NUMBER : 8 COLORS : white, cherry red, pink, maroon, wine red, black, and silver. EXTRA. TALENTS : he is an extremely talented drummer, good at guitar and the piano, he is talented at songwriting, composing music, he’s exceptionally good at mathematics and physics, analytical skills, storytelling, knows a lot of facts, near photographic memory because he remembers all important historical events with dates and details, academic writing, and brainstorming ideas. BAD AT : cooking, not very good at driving because he gets distracted, doing one task at a time, playing videogames, actually listening to what people say, being humble, and actually being a good leader. TURN ONS : this is a complicated question. He needs a very strong emotional connection to feel sexual attraction towards someone. And he only felt it for one person in his whole life. But, what sparked that attraction was a brilliant mind and the ability to connect with his mind on a very different level. It’s not going to repeat with anyone else. TURN OFFS : literally everyone else. He’s not sorry, but I am. HOBBIES : playing the drums, writing and composing songs, reading, solving problems, listening to music, watching shows, getting people to do weird shit, and annoying people. AESTHETIC : crowns, drums, broken drumming sticks, abstract art, the vast space, chess boards, album cases, thrones, the echoing sound of pianos, Greek sculptures, galaxies and nebulas, early morning sunrise through curtains, libraries, equations scribbled on napkins, empty museums, unmade white sheets, polaroid cameras, conspiracy theories, VHS tapes, antique books, cobblestone alleyways, night skies, cluttered books, calloused fingers, crumpled composition pages, guitar picks, vinyl, telescopes, and planets. Basically: abstract, chaotic academia, cryptid academia, dark academia, indie, kingcore, light academia, musical academia, science academia, spacecore, QUOTES : it’s weird but i can’t decide which one fits him. FC INFO. MAIN FC : victor han ALT FC : n/a. OLDER FC : he can’t age past 22, so he doesn’t need one. YOUNGER FC : none yet. VOICE CLAIM : both speaking and singing (his accent is posh British with a slight hint of Canadian) MUN QUESTIONS. Q1 : If you could write your character your way in their own movie , what would it be called , what style would it be filmed in, and what would it be about ? A1 : The same answer as Aurora, The Tale of Solis et Lunae that stars him alongside Aurora, Lunae, Jack, and Tate, plus more. A cosmic adventure / fantasy / coming of age / superhero / the reluctant hero / the chosen one. His role is of Aurora’s best friend and her greatest support in emotional and supernatural dangers. He is the time traveler who ascends time and space, so he often also gives her insight and information like the sage. It’ll expand across dimensions, worlds, and different states of existence. The scenes would be cinematic with a strong soundtrack. I imagine him to have some scenes like Quick Silver in the X-Men movies. Q2 : What would their soundtrack / score sound like ? A2 : He would have a 90s grunge or spacey dream rock sound. It ties in with the end of the last answer because i see him in one of those scenes with 90s grunge or maybe classical music ? Q3 : Why did you start writing this character ? A3 : I made Augustus just a bit before Aurora. They were a two part deal. I don’t know when it began, I just had this image of a tall, long haired boy with piercing, intelligent eyes who’s a smart-ass and likes being a know-it-all nuisance. This character has been the same since he began in 2019 and refused to change. He was always a drummer, he always had the same fashion sense, the look, Gus was always half-Korean, he always had long fingers he wore rings on, and he was always Aurora’s best friend/partner in crime. He remains unchanged and that's why I wanted to write him. This very vivid image of this boy was something I had to pen down. And just my luck, I found a fc who looks exactly how Gus looked in my head. Q4 : What first attracted you to this character ? A4 : Augustus is just extraordinary. It’s something I always felt about him and Aurora and I don’t see any of my other characters coming anywhere close to them regardless of how much I spent time on them. But with Augustus, his entire image and looks and personality — down to his wardrobe and jewelry was always so vivid in my head. Like I knew this very chaotically handsome boy who was going to turn the world upside down. His story is interesting, but what interests me more is his perspective on his story. The way he looks at his life and how he is quiet and doesn’t show his pain. How confused he always is. How much he aches but never seems so. The way he loves but doesn’t say even a quarter of the intensity he feels. And how sometimes he believes he deserves suffering because it makes sense to him. I also love the connections he makes and the way he loves so deeply and profoundly but underneath the surface. His connection, love, fears, and hopes with Aurora and Jack for their respective reasons are extremely beautiful. Q5 : Describe the biggest thing you dislike about your muse. ? A5 : Augustus is unknowingly self-sabotaging. He let go the only relationship / love in his life that made him feel like real love just because he thought he didn’t deserve it. And because when he was provoked, it made “sense” to him. He bottles his emotions and pain so much despite their intensity. He never shows how much he really cares and really hurts. And how sure he is that he’ll end up alone without friends and that it makes sense to him. Q6 : What do you have in common with your muse ? A6 : Here’s a fun answer, because I bottle my emotions like him. I also interact with the carefree way he does even if I don’t feel peachy. He’s smart and witty and really hot and I don’t even have that going on for me. So, yikes. Only of Gus’ bad things I share. Q7 : How does your muse feel about you ? A7 : Gus loves interacting with people so he’ll definitely show up to annoy me. Maybe, he might think I’m fun to annoy? Or maybe, we’ll have a similar sense of humor. I think he won’t dislike me. Not sure if he’ll like me. I think he’d think I’m funny in a strange sort of way. Q8 : What characters does your muse have interesting interactions with ? A8 : Aurora, first of all. They have this same brain wave-length thing going on where they’re partners in crime and bffs forever more. He knows how she is feeling and what she’s thinking even before she utters it. If she is about to sneeze, he’d get a tissue ready. He can tell if she is hungry or sleepy with one glance. She can do the same, so they sorta have this weird understanding of each other. Jack is this older brother figure Augustus loves. He won’t admit it, but he kinda wants to make Jack proud of him. He also wants to provide love and care to Jack that he thinks he deserves but never got. They’re his family now and he’ll never be alone or sad again. He annoys Jack a lot but behind it all, he just wants Jack to think he is needed and he belongs. That if he thinks Augustus is reliant on him, then he has this family he has to protect and care for. He can’t stand the thought of Jack feeling unloved, forgotten, alone. Tida is another one. There’s this great respect and adoration Gus has for him. Almost like he looks up to him in some ways He also has a lot of hopes and expectations attached. He feels Tida is everything that Gus himself lacks. He is the ideal boyfriend, kindest person, shows his emotions vividly, and is like a warm and cozy blanket personified. He is probably Tida and Aurora’s biggest supporter and first one to know. He can’t be happier than he is that Aurora found someone as good and perfect as Tida. Taewon is one really fun character. Their two-way frenemy jealousy spans over years and started in Cambridge when they were both in love with the same girl they claimed to be best friends with. Though, trying to be calm, Augustus was constantly provoked and hurt, made to feel inferior and constantly in fear of his relationship being broken by Taewon’s schemes that he couldn’t say out loud. This dark period ended with a fist fight and baggage of guilt they both carry to this day for hurting each other and the one they claimed to love. Today, they’re way past that and frenemies who have funny quips and arguments for each other. They say they dislike each other. But if the lighting is good, one would be the photographer of the other. Q9 : What gives you inspiration to write your muse ? A9 : Music helps me imagine scenes with perfect visual details. Any scenes from shows that remind me of my storylines. Q10 : How long did this take you to complete ? A10 : I don’t remember. It was many days and I didn’t count because it was in bits and pieces.

#╰ ♛ 𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐀 ━━ the king of gods #long post #i finally did this!

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wangxiangiftexchange · 3 years

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Winter Solstice Gift for moonanstars124

The request was for fluff, found family, annoying the extended family, and AU coffee shop vibes (which I took extremely literally). I had a lot of fun writing this (my first actual coffee shop AU!) and I hope you enjoy it @moonanstars124!

Read on AO3

*****

The Burial Grounds

“Is there even a point in telling you what I want?” Jin Zixuan asks. “As you’ve never once made what I ordered.”

Wei Wuxian beams at him. “Of course! It gives me direction. A genre, if you will.”

“You do have a specific listing for a surprise drink.” Jin Zixuan resettles a-Ling on his hip. “If I wanted that, don’t you think I’d have ordered it?”

“Well, no,” Wei Wuxian explains reasonably. He reaches across the counter and pats the baby’s cheek. “If you wanted to get what you ordered, you’d have asked Wen Ning to make it.” Wen Ning turns from where he is setting up the soup tureen to shrug in apologetic agreement.

Jin Zixuan sighs deeply. “Someday I’m going to stop tipping you.”

“You can do that on the day that you don’t like what I make you,” Wei Wuxian informs him. “I mean, you won’t, because ajie would never stay married to someone who didn’t tip. But I would understand if you considered it.”

Lan Wangji half-listens to the exchange from his corner table. It is a familiar one, enough so to be pleasant background noise without distracting too much from his book. When the proper disruption comes, it is neither unexpected nor unwelcome, as it happens every morning around this time. He has already closed his book and moved his empty cup to make room for the small chalkboard that appears in front of him.

“Spicy vegetable for the soup,” Wei Wuxian announces, flinging himself down in the other chair. It is not yet nine in the morning, and he already looks happily tired. Lan Wangji nods and wipes the board clean—perhaps not strictly necessary, but if he redoes the borders, Wei Wuxian will sit with him for longer and take a proper break. “White chocolate and cranberry scones, because ajie loves us very much. And...hm. I’ll do a blueberry mint lemonade today, I think. Do we have blueberries?”

This last is for Wen Ning, who sets down Wei Wuxian’s coffee, Lan Wangji’s refill, and a plate with two of the aforementioned scones. “We do,” Wen Ning confirms. “But they’ll go moldy soon, so you should use them up.”

“Perfect.” Wen Ning smiles at both of them and returns to the counter. Wei Wuxian leans back in his chair, stretches his legs full-length, and looks around the coffee shop with satisfaction. One of his ankles comes to rest against Lan Wangji’s. Without looking up from the chalkboard, Lan Wangji puts his free hand on the table. Wei Wuxian laces their fingers together and dips a scone in his drink.

This is how mornings have gone nearly every day for a few years now. Wen Ning arrives early to open; Wei Wuxian staggers down from the apartment upstairs after being prodded awake by Lan Wangji, who claims his table and reads as the coffee shop comes to life around him. Jin Zixuan arrives at some point, bearing the day’s soup and pastries from Lotus Pier Cafe and often as not a dinner invitation for all of them from Jiang Yanli. Lan Wangji earns his coffee by writing out the day’s specials; Wei Wuxian seizes the opportunity to sit down for as long as it takes him to complete the task. Then Lan Wangji gives his table over to the morning rush and goes to work himself. Cloud Recesses Books is close enough to walk to in good weather, and he gets there in time to open. When the coffeeshop closes at three, Wei Wuxian wanders over and spends the rest of the afternoon doing his own reading or debating with Lan Qiren. It is a pleasant routine, and Lan Wangji sometimes has to stop and wonder at how happy he is.

There has been a coffee shop here for decades, under one owner or another, but the Jiangs bought it only three years ago. Lan Wangji remembers perfectly the first time he visited it after that. It was Lan Xichen’s idea to see what the new management had done with the place, and they went for lunch the first month after it reopened. “‘The Burial Grounds?’” Lan Xichen reads, pausing outside the door. “Interesting name choice.”

“After the Burial Mounds, presumably,” Lan Wangji points out. “The nature preserve outside the city.”

“Ah,” his brother says. “Naturally.”

Despite the name, the inside is entirely pleasant: walls repainted to brighten the space, spider plants hanging in the windows, a detailed menu in plain neat lettering on the chalkboard above the counter, specials in the same writing on a smaller one by the pastry case. “They must outsource their food,” Lan Xichen observes, nodding at the familiar lotus image. “The Jiangs own Lotus Pier too, so it makes sense.”

“Mm,” Lan Wangji says. He is listening. He is.

Lan Xichen follows his gaze to the mug on the counter, which holds pens for signing receipts and also a small rainbow flag. “Ah,” he agrees. “That is a pleasing development.”

The line is long enough that they can take their time reading the menu. This is good, because it contains none of the conventional titles. The Med Student, Lan Wangji reads. Four espresso shots in a cup. Below that is The Jiejie: soooooup! (See Specials board for today’s variety). And on and on: The Peacock (a white chocolate mocha with nutmeg), The Angry Brother (chamomile and hibiscus tea), The Adorable Nephew (warm milk with honey), The Headshaker (“Decisions are hard, so let us surprise you!”). Some have less of a story, Lan Wangji thinks: The First Timer is just a latte, and The Adventurer promises undisclosed amounts of cayenne. The result is a place that feels well-loved without being unwelcoming.

“It certainly has character,” Lan Xichen observes as they near the counter. The young man who takes their orders has a quiet earnest smile; he carefully lists the non-dairy milk options for Lan Wangji.

Despite the line, they find a window table easily enough—it is towards the end of the lunch hour—and they watch the street while they wait. It is only a few minutes before a different employee appears with their orders, mugs and bowls balanced precariously enough that Lan Wangji watches the soup in some alarm. But the dishes and their contents reach the table safely, which means that he can look up when the server says brightly, “Can I get you anything else?”

Lan Wangji thinks, Oh. He only barely prevents himself from saying it aloud, and the effort keeps him from speaking at all.

“Oh, wow,” the beautiful man says, staring back at him. Then he shakes himself. “Uh. Sorry. Is this your first time here?”

“We thought we’d see what the new ownership had done with it,” Lan Xichen explains. There is laughter in his voice, subtle enough that Lan Wangji hopes nobody else can hear it. “Our family owns Cloud Recesses, the—”

“The bookshop down the street!” The server’s face lights up—lights up more—and Lan Wangji gives up any hope of forming words himself. “I’ve been in there a few times. I thought you looked familiar.” This is to Lan Xichen; to Lan Wangji, he says, “I haven’t seen you before, though.” He does not say, I would remember, but the sentiment comes through clearly enough that Lan Wangji feels his ears go pink.

“My brother just finished university,” Lan Xichen explains. The amusement has become noticeably less subtle. “He will be working with us.”

“Oh wonderful!” the beautiful man says. “We’ll hope to see you again, then. Both of you, of course.” He sticks his hands into his apron pockets. “I’m Wei Wuxian, the manager. Which is, you know, terrifying. I’m probably not supposed to tell customers that part, though.”

Lan Xichen laughs aloud now, kindly, and Lan Wangji loves his brother for the way the beautiful man—Wei Wuxian—relaxes. “We understand,” Lan Xichen says. “Starting a business is a rather stressful experience at the best of times. I am Lan Xichen; this is Lan Wangji.”

“Welcome to the Burial Grounds, Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji,” Wei Wuxian says gravely, eyes dancing. “Please do let me know if you need anything. Or Wen Ning, he’s honestly much more capable than I am.” He jerks his head towards the counter, where the young man who took their orders is wiping down the espresso machine. “Anyway, I have to get back to work, but I hope you’ll come back.”

“I am certain we will,” Lan Xichen assures him. Wei Wuxian’s eyes linger on Lan Wangji’s face for a moment. When he manages to nod agreement, the smile widens. Wei Wuxian ducks his head at both of them and disappears into what is presumably the back room.

“Well,” Lan Xichen says, after a moment. “This is a delightful discovery.”

“Brother,” Lan Wangji says, deeply pained. He suspects that his ears have gone full scarlet by now.

“I mean the coffee shop, of course.” Lan Xichen takes a sip of his latte and hums with pleasure. “And as a small business ourselves, it’s only right to support others in the neighborhood. We shall have to become regulars.”

Lan Wangji sighs.

He returns alone the next day, just for a coffee in the morning. The one after that, Wei Wuxian sets his drink on the table with a hesitation that already seems out of character. When Lan Wangji tilts his head in question, he says, “I, uh, made you something special. If you want the one you actually ordered, I’ll do that instead, I just...sometimes I get the idea for new things, and I thought you’d like this one.”

Lan Wangji looks at the mug in front of him. It looks like the perfectly dull mocha that he had ordered, unsure what else to get, except that there are flower buds of some kind on top of the foam. He doesn’t know what to say, so he just nods and takes a cautious sip. “Lavender,” he says. He closes his eyes, which helps keep his brain from panicking when Wei Wuxian sits down in the empty chair. “Salt. Something sweet, apart from the chocolate?”

When he opens his eyes, Wei Wuxian’s smile is brilliant. “Birch syrup,” he confirms. “Good, I wasn’t sure how much that would come through; I haven’t used it before. But do you like it? You’re the first person to try that one.”

“Mm.” Lan Wangji looks down at the cup again: something made just for him, not for anyone else. “I like it.” He lifts his head again.

“Oh, wow,” Wei Wuxian murmurs, as he had the first day. “Sorry, I know I’m being weird. I just hadn’t seen you smile before.”

“Not weird,” Lan Wangji says, when he finds his voice. “At least, I don’t mind.” He clears his throat. “Thank you. For the drink. You should put it on the menu.”

“Yeah?” Wei Wuxian grins. “I can do that.”

There is indeed a new listing on the large chalkboard the following day: Dark chocolate mocha with lavender, sea salt, and birch syrup. Lan Wangji looks at the name of it and swallows. The Beautiful Stranger, it says, printed neatly in white chalk below The Headshaker.

When he has been coming to the Burial Grounds several times a week for a month, Lan Wangji arrives one morning to find Wei Wuxian darting frantically back and forth behind the counter. “Wen Ning called out sick,” he explains, when Lan Wangji gets to the front of the line. “This is definitely my reminder to hire more staff. I meant to, since we’ve been doing pretty well, but I just hadn’t gotten around to it. Anyway, sorry, what can I get you?”

Lan Wangji looks at the smear of cocoa powder on his cheek and says, “Is there anything I can do? I do not know how to use the machines, but I could help with other things.”

“You know,” Wei Wuxian says, “that would actually be amazing. Uh, let’s see. I need to get the Specials board up but my handwriting is atrocious. Would you mind? We’ve got chicken dumpling soup and vegan ginger snaps. No drink specials because I have too much else to worry about today.”

When that task is done (“Oh my god,” Wei Wuxian says, staring. “Well, I know I’m never ever showing you my writing”), Lan Wangji clears tables and wipes down the counter and takes orders. All the while, Wei Wuxian darts around the shop like a cheerful whirlwind. “Don’t you have to go to work?” he asks at one point, managing to pour a perfect latte and read the next ticket at once. “I’ll manage. I mean, I don’t know how, but—”

“I have texted my brother,” Lan Wangji says calmly. “He and uncle will cover the bookshop today.”

“...Right,” Wei Wuxian says. “I feel like I should fight you on that, but also I don’t have time. Thank you.”

At three o’clock, Wei Wuxian sets the Closed sign, draws the curtains, and collapses facedown onto the couch where the college students like to study. Lan Wangji regards him for a moment, then puts down the rag he was using to wipe down the last table. He still cannot use the espresso machine, but the kettle is a more familiar creature.

Wei Wuxian lifts his head blearily at the clink of saucer on table. He sits up enough to drink his tea without spilling it, and he devours two of the ginger snaps that Lan Wangji brought over in rapid succession. Lan Wangji sits down in the armchair across from the couch and sips his own tea.

The cookies seem to revive Wei Wuxian a little. “Thank you,” he says. “Again. For the tea and for, you know, everything. How can I repay you? Not a rhetorical question.”

Lan Wangji cradles his tea, glad to have something to do with his hands. “Well,” he says, “when I came in this morning, I meant to ask if you would have dinner with me.”

“Oh!” Wei Wuxian looks at him, wide-eyed. “I—hang on, past tense? Did you change your mind? I guess you did just get the total immersion experience, which I’m told is a lot—”

“I enjoyed the experience,” Lan Wangji says. “But I do not wish you to feel obligated. I will not ask you in a conversation about compensation for my labor.”

“...Right,” Wei Wuxian says. “Because you think about things like that, because you’re a ridiculously good person as well as gorgeous and in possession of unbelievably nice handwriting. Hold on.” He sets down his mug and goes to the counter, does something out of sight involving paper and a pen, and returns. “Here.” Lan Wangji puts down his own tea and inspects the offering: a gift certificate (filled out in a scrawl that is admittedly dreadful) for enough to keep him supplied with coffee for a month, more if he cuts down on his visits. “And I’ll get you all the tips from today, once they’re counted.”

Lan Wangji does not imagine that he will be cutting down on his visits.

“This will do,” he decides, and tucks the paper away in his wallet. “And half the tips. You worked very hard.”

When he looks up again, Wei Wuxian is fidgeting beside his chair. “Sure,” he says. “Great. So is the compensation conversation finished? Can we have the other one now?”

Lan Wangji smiles; he cannot do anything else. Deliberately, he stands up so they are facing each other. Wei Wuxian swallows, but his eyes are bright and he is smiling helplessly as well. Lan Wangji says, “Would you like to have dinner with me?”

“Yes,” Wei Wuxian replies immediately. Then, “You mean like a real date, right? I mean, I’d still say yes either way, but just so we’re clear.”

“A real date,” Lan Wangji confirms.

“Oh wonderful,” Wei Wuxian says. “I really hoped that was what you meant. Yes. Did I already say that?”

He is still in his apron, which has great smears on it from when a cup of coffee spilled on the counter earlier. His hair is coming loose from its tie for at least the fourth time that day; there is raspberry syrup on his forehead and powdered sugar on his nose. He is very, very beautiful.

Lan Wangji reaches up and tucks one loose strand of hair behind his ear. It does very little to help anything, but it means that he gets to feel the slight intake of breath as Wei Wuxian goes still. Lan Wangji does not drop his hand back to his side. Instead, he cups Wei Wuxian’s cheek very gently. He whispers, “May I—”

“Yeah,” Wei Wuxian says, a little hoarsely. “Yeah, yes, please—”

Lan Wangji kisses him. Wei Wuxian makes a soft sweet sound and puts both arms around his neck; Lan Wangji cradles his face a little more firmly and drops his other hand to the small of Wei Wuxian’s back, drawing him in.

And so now it has been three years, or near enough. Lan Wangji dutifully writes out the Specials board every morning; the main menu also bears his script. He has met Wen Qing, who is now a surgeon and no longer the Med Student of the four expresso shots but who remains alarmingly intense. He has also met the Adorable Nephew and the Headshaker as well as the Peacock, Jiejie, and the Angry Brother, all three of whom received him with some combination of suspicion and amusement. “So you’re the Beautiful Stranger,” Jiang Cheng says, having shown up at the Burial Grounds to demand an introduction all of two days after that first date. “Hmph. He’s been yammering about you for a month; you better have been worth it.”

Lan Wangji is trying to be worth it. He plans to ask Wei Wuxian to marry him soon, and he thinks that Wei Wuxian will probably accept. This doesn’t really make the prospect of proposing any less daunting; what does is the way Wei Wuxian pulls him back to bed for sleepy kisses in the mornings, trusting and sure of affection reciprocated. Lan Wangji rather expects that he will slip and ask the question at one of these times, rather than at the dinner date he has scheduled for their anniversary. He doesn’t really mind the idea.

#moonanstars124 #wangxiansolstice20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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hongism · 4 years

Text

mists of celeste ➻ two

➻ pairing: ??? x fem reader ➻ genre: space au, pirate au, space pirate!ateez, angst, eventual smut ➻ Word Count: 3.6k (not @ me saying i would only write 2-3k words per chapter) ➻ Rating: M ➻ Warnings: language, violence, guns and weaponry, blood, future warnings tba ➻ summary: Sneaking aboard the ship of a renowned space pirate may not have been the best idea, but you’ll have to make do with what fate has handed to you

⇐ previous | next ⇒

mists of celeste act one ➻ part two

Spending four days trapped in a cramped box in a cargo bay with nothing except for spools of fabric to keep you company is certainly not your definition of a good time. No one would find this dreadful situation fun. To make matters worse, you aren't stuck in a box on just any spaceship. No, your luck would deem it to be the ship of the most notorious and dangerous pirate across the galaxy. Thrilling, no?

No, most certainly not thrilling.

During your time spent in the lovely little box, you have started to notice small bits and pieces of information about the ship you are hiding on. Notably, the crates packed full of food. You've been able to keep a full stomach off that alone, although water has been a bit elusive over the past two days. Now, on the fifth day, you are hoping to get a better source of liquid than you have currently, which is draining the juice from cans and jars of fruit. Attempting to hide the used canisters was only hard the first day you were aboard the Scourge's ship, but now you have a method of placing the used jars in the middle of each crate and covering them with full ones so that it doesn't look suspicious.

People come and go from the cargo bay, but no one stays long. You've noticed that it is the same three people who make rotations through the hold. You haven't been able to catch sight of them since you spend most your time curled in a crate, but the sound of footsteps sounds different each time. Three different patterns and you've had plenty of time to analyze the differences since you do nothing except stare into darkness all the time. It's only ever one person who comes by the cargo bay, those three making the same trek, and that's what helps you keep track of the time.

There are zero indicators of time down here. The lights only turn on when someone enters the bay. No windows in the room either, although that wouldn't serve any purpose because being in space already means having a bad sense of time, but you didn't bring a watch to keep track. Then again, things weren't supposed to go down the way they did. You can't complain too much because if the Scourge and his crew hadn't come through, you would've gotten a bullet in the skull rather than one in your arm.

Today is no different than the last four. You wake up to darkness, and the only reason you know your eyes are even open is because of the feel of your eyelids pressing together. And of course, the searing pain that radiates from your right arm the moment you wake up. You haven't been able to check up on the wound. All your time spent out of the crate is time spent rushing to get food or drink then hurrying back to your same hiding spot. The pain has certainly gotten much worse over the past few days, the bullet still lodged in your flesh, and the blood still oozing out whenever you so much as bump it on the wall of the crate. The weather in the cargo bay is rather hot, no doubt partially due to the stuffiness within your hiding place. Even without the crate though, you would know that the amount of sweat leaking from your forehead and body is unnatural.

Fever. That is the only explanation. Fever, however, means infection, and infection means that the bullet in your arm is only causing more issues as time goes on. If the wound is infected already, then you don't have enough time to remain stuffed in a crate for who knows how long. In other words, you are slowly dying, and it is not your life's goal to be found dead in a storage crate full of fabric.

Perhaps fate is smiling down on you at the moment because today is your lucky day. The door of the cargo bay clicks open, signaling the time for a routine check. It should only take five minutes or so but you are holding your breath out of fear of being caught.

"Hmm… nothing new," a voice calls out. It isn't a familiar one; at least it doesn't sound like the only two you know. No one makes a habit of speaking when they come into the cargo hold, so this is new. "Pretty good at hiding your tracks."

Despite your fever and sweat, you feel cold all of a sudden. Your blood runs cold at the insinuation behind the words. He knows… He knows I'm here. No, wait. He could be talking to someone else. Maybe someone came with him this time? You wait five, ten seconds in the hopes that someone will respond to him but no one does.

"Bloodstains. Drip bloodstains to be specific. I know someone is here. Frankly, you're just lucky that I haven't told Captain yet. If he found out that he had another stowaway, it would be quite awful for you."

There is a pause to his words, a sharp inhale along with a sniff, then footsteps follow. They get louder as the man walks, meaning that he must be walking closer to your crate.

"I can't promise you a quick death." His voice is quieter now but still manages to carry across the room. "But if you're injured… Healer might have mercy on you. At least a little. Captain won't for certain. Lieutenant? Maybe."

Lieutenant… I know that one. The one I fought outside the boarding station. Tall, dark long hair, pretty good at kicking. Seonghwa, was it?

"Captain listens to him a lot more than he should, but a lot less than is kind. Oh, by the way, I'm sure you are wondering who I am. I'm Spectre. When you decide to talk, it would be for the best." His voice rings in your ears. Perhaps it's because of the increasing fever, but the volume of his voice is bringing a sharp pain to your head and adding to the already present ache in your body. "I am a spy and assassin for a reason. Finding people isn't difficult at all for me. Especially considering that there is blood on six crates. Body heat coming from one. Tell me how that adds up for you."

You bite down hard on the tip of your tongue, refusing to give him the pleasure of being right even though you have no way of proving him wrong.

"Alright then, stay quiet. I'll be back later with some food. Maybe you'll want to talk then, if you're done stealing food from the crates down here. I won't bring the healer though, that can wait for when you're ready to cooperate." Again, the man pauses. More footsteps follow, but this time they grow quieter as he moves. "I know you've been in that crate for at least four days now, meaning that whatever injury you have is either already infected or about to be. You don't have the proper medical equipment down her to take care of it, so that's the only logical explanation."

You reach around your arm and dab at the wound with two fingers. It's hot to the touch, and more than a little sensitive. The pain surges through your arm despite only touching one small spot. He's right.

"In less than three days, the infection will spread to the rest of your body, and you won't live much longer. Unless you want to be found dead in a crate, which I'm sure you don't, you ought to just get out."

You laugh to yourself upon hearing his words. It's as though he can read my mind. Pressing your head back against the fabric under you, you dip one finger into the wound and dig around in attempts to find the bullet. The action hurts like hell but serves its purpose when your finger brushes over something slick and round. You pull your finger out, rubbing it across your shirt. He has a point though. I don't want to be found dead in a box because of a shitty shot from a scared old man. You grumble under your breath, eyes rolling back as you realize the predicament you're stuck in, then shove upwards with your left shoulder. The lid of the crate rattles and comes loose. You roll out of the box, suffering a rather harsh landing. Luckily, you land on your left shoulder rather than your right. Glancing up from the floor, you search for the man in the cargo bay. He stands near the edge of the room, close to the door, and faces you with arms crossed over his chest.

You recognize him but only barely. The fever is messing with your vision, he's a blurry form before you, but clear enough for you to see cat eyes and a captivating smile. Him… It’s the man who was staring you down on the bridge when they boarded. You hoist yourself to your feet, pulling yourself up to be more at eye level with the man. You glance over his form and features. He bears dark hair, practically black in the blurry light, aside from a single strip of blinding white hair at the front of his head. His eyes immediately move for your injured arm.

"So I was right." His voice lilts through the air. "You're bleeding quite a bit. It's soaked through your clothes. You must be weak from not eating or drinking well for the past four days at least. I don't need to be Healer to know that."

You refuse to speak; instead, you glare at the man.

"Listen, I actually don't want to see Captain kill another person after the last ship he massacred." He takes a few steps forward, hands falling down by his sides. "I can get you healed… I can get you healed and off the ship before Captain notices. Just – You just have to cooperate." You stumble forward with shaky steps but still manage to come within a couple feet of him. You spit on his feet. A small smile rises to your lips after the action, and you laugh to yourself. The man scowls down at you. "Well, I'm regretting niceties about now. Just follow me if you want help. If not, you can crawl back into your crate and die. How does that work for you?"

Again you neglect to respond. The man, Spectre as he called himself, doesn't wait for an answer though; he turns on his heel and walks out the cargo bay, leaving you to play catch up. You trail after him in silence. Walking in and of itself is a serious struggle, legs weak and shaky from the lack of use over the past few days, as well as from the fever controlling your body at the moment. Your right hand reaches for your gun holster out of pure instinct, despite the pain radiating from that arm. You hiss as a particularly sharp stab of pain shoots through the limb, and the man is quick to comment on it.

"Oh? So you aren't mute after all. At least you can make some amount of noise."

Gritting your teeth, you bite back the next hiss as you continue to reach for your weapon.

"Don't."

Your fingers hesitate at the grip.

"Don't strain yourself trying to shoot me. It wouldn't work even if you weren't injured so just leave it. You can't win like this. It's pointless really so, please. Please just save us both the trouble."

As much as you hate to admit it, he has another valid point. Even if you do shoot him, you still have nowhere to go. Stuck on the ship of a pirate in the middle of space with no idea where you are or where you’re going. Not doing anything happens to be the best option.

You stumble, tripping over your own feet yet somehow still managing to stay standing. Spectre looks back at you, no doubt hearing the clunk and thud of your feet. You attempt to glare at him, seem intimidating in some way, or even just block out the sight of his form before you. Instead, you heave and fall forward. Vomit leaves your lips before you can think twice or feel the action. Red decorates the pool of vomit beneath you, along with bile and the remnants of food you ate the night before. Spectre rushes for you, arms outstretched to try to catch you before you land in the pile, but he doesn't move quite fast enough. Your chin collides with the floor, directly atop the vomit.

"Oh, gross," he mutters more to himself than to you. "Your infection must be worse than I imagined. That's an unnatural amount of blood in your puke. Unless you have a tendency to throw up blood for fun, that is. Highly doubt that though."

"Ju-ust leave me," you stammer. Using your hands to push up off the ground, you sit up straight with the help of the man on your left. "Let me die."

"You talk after all." He earns a half-hearted and weak scowl from you for that remark. It's enough to shut his smartass remarks up and make him answer you though. "I won't leave you to die. Healer is just down the corridor. You'll be just fine." He loops an arm under yours and slides it across your back to support you as he gets you back to your feet.

"Wh… Why all this – this effort?" You inquire. The floor under your gaze is getting progressively more blurry, black invades the edges of your vision, and soon you will be falling unconscious. Still, you try your best to stay awake long enough to hear his response.

"Fuck. Fuck." Not quite the answer you were expecting or hoping for. "Captain—" That's the last word you hear before slipping into unconsciousness.

✦ ✦ ✦

Waking up is a painful effort. Voices boom around you, loud and intrusive on your rest, along with an invasion of bright white lights. You squeeze your eyes further shut as though it will help. The voices – one familiar and another new one – maintain their raucous volume. You crack an eye open, glancing around the new surroundings, and find yourself surrounded by white. The whole room is covered in it: the walls, floor, ceiling, beds, cabinets, everything. This must be the Healer's room as Spectre mentioned, which would mean you're in a med bay. Over at the right wall, Spectre stands with his arms over his chest and glaring forward at the source of all the yelling. You follow his line of sight.

There stands the Scourge of the Black Sea, Captain, Kim Hongjoong, whichever name is most fitting, it doesn't matter. Another man is with him. He's tall, almost ridiculously so next to Hongjoong, and he bears dark brown hair with gentle features despite his yelling. Soft, gentle, kind – he looks a typical doctor. You bring your gaze back to Spectre, who notices the movement of your head and makes eye contact with you.

"Healer and Captain," he mouths. You nod at his words, a mere confirmation of what you already suspected. The action feels strange and foreign, and there is a weird crackling sensation that dances across your face when you move your head. You bring a hand to your face only to find a film across it. It's the dried-up remains of your blood and vomit, no doubt. How nice that no one decided to clean it up. Spectre notices your movements. He drops his arms and moves for one of the sinks in the room, snatching up a rag and bringing it over to the bed you're on. You take it from him with a small smile of gratitude then get to work on rubbing your face down. The yelling around you continues.

"Captain, please. I'm asking for just a bit of time to heal her."

"No. Absolutely not. Especially not someone in that fucking uniform." You glance down at your clothes, trying to figure out what he means by that, but you are no longer wearing your previous clothes. You've been stripped down to your underwear – well not all the way down to that, but down to the plain white shirt you were wearing underneath your uniform along with the unadorned navy military pants that match the top. Military. Ah yes, the thing he hates the most.

"Spare her. It's one person, Captain."

"I don't have space for any more stowaways. I had one and that's all I'm going to have. I won't waste valuable supplies on her, especially if she's military."

"You just ransacked and massacred an entire ship's worth of people and stole the supplies!" The healer argues, hands coming up to accentuate his words. "She either dies by my hand because I fail to save her or you float her in space."

"I'll put a bullet between her eyes before she floats."

"Please Hongjoong. Please have mercy on one person."

"Mercy doesn't get anyone anywhere."

"I can save her. It's my job to heal people, and I'll be damned if I can't do it."

"How about I solve the problem and put another bullet in her right now?" Hongjoong snarls, hand going for the pistol holstered at his thigh. He pulls it out, and all of a sudden, you're staring down the barrel of his gun. You don’t have time to react, barely enough time to blink. Then, a wall of brown. The healer steps in front of you, blocking your line of sight with Hongjoong.

"Give her a chance. Give me a chance, or give yourself a chance, for fuck's sake. It might surprise you."

"48 hours," the captain states as he pulls his pistol back. "Fix her in that amount of time. If she's not better by then, you get to put the bullet in her yourself."

"No! Hongj—Captain, no, that's not nearly enough time to treat and gauge the recovery of an infection of her degree."

"And now you're down to 47 hours. Best work quickly, Yunho." Hongjoong holsters his weapon then leaves the room without another word. Silence overtakes the room for a few moments. The healer rushes into action once the door slides shut behind Hongjoong. He hurries over to the cabinets, yanking them open and rifling through them as though his life – well yours really – depends on it.

"San," he calls over his shoulder. You're confused for a second, then the man who gave you the rag moves.

"Yes?"

"Fetch a bottle of vodka and something to bite down on."

Spectre moves with the same amount of haste that the healer is. He heads out the door Hongjoong left through, leaving you alone with the tall healer.

"Tweezers, needles, antiseptic, gauze, lots of gauze," he mutters to himself. The healer walks from cabinet to cabinet, gathering more supplies as he moves, and once he has an armful of items, he makes his way to your bedside. "Hi."

He plops down on a stool you didn't even notice, scooting closer to you before dropping the items on the bed. He sorts them with quick and deft fingers. Each one finds a new home on a table nearby as the healer goes through them. Once they have all made their way to the table, the man looks up at you. Well, more like down since he's tall even while sitting down, but that's beside the point.

"My name is Yunho, I'm the healer here on The Horizon. I apologize for that shouting match you had to wake up to and witness." He reaches around you, picking up the cloth Spectre gave you earlier. He gently wipes at your face and scrubs at the spots you missed. "If I had more time, I would give you anesthesia. I'm worried that you may not be back to normal functioning if I give you the anesthesia now. Everyone's body reacts differently to it. We'll make do with it though. What's your dominant hand?"

You respond with your head, nodding towards your injured arm.

"Well, that complicates things quite a bit." Yunho sighs and leans back. One hand finds his hair, running through it and messing with the waves. "An infection like yours is going to take days if not weeks to fully heal. The muscle is damaged no doubt, as well as a potential fracture on the bone thanks to the pressure of the bullet. Since there's no exit wound, the bullet is obviously still in your arm, but I'm sure you knew that already. The infection is already causing fever in your body and weakening your system which means that until we get rid of it, your body will heal itself at a slower rate. Is this all making sense?"

"Y-Yea," you murmur back, nodding along with his words.

"Okay good. You can talk, that’s a good sign. Eh, actually maybe not. We’ll see. The issue with this whole situation is this: Hongjoong – Captain, I mean, will most likely have you shoot a gun to prove that you're alright. Unless you happen to be ambidextrous when it comes to shooting, that could be a problem, no?"

"Just… get me well enough to shoot then." Yunho raises a brow at your words. "If all I need to do is fire a gun, then we don't need to worry about anything else."

"So you're not ambidextrous then," Yunho laughs at his own comment. The door to the med bay slides open again, and Spectre steps back through with items in hand. A tall bottle of clear liquid and what looks to be a belt folded in half. "Ah, San, you're back!"

"Bottle of vodka—" he passes the bottle to Yunho, "—and a belt to bite down on. It's the best we have on hand.

"It'll do." Yunho pops the cap off the alcohol and gulps down a large amount before setting it on the table with his other supplies. He clears his throat, stands up, and grins down at you. "Alright, let's get started then."

✧ ✧ ✧

a/n: alright alright alright, here is chapter two!!! i hope you all enjoy!! i really am trying my best to stay on top of my schedule and stick to it for awhile so i hope that i’m able to and able to stay inspired so that i can stick to my schedule! let me know what you think of this chapter!! reblogs, comments, and asks mean the world to me, and i love seeing your feedback so so much!

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.

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novelconcepts · 3 years

Note

I’m so pumped to see the ficlets you decide to write!

Not to start OFF will Hill House right off the bat but...Nell says Shirley almost always picked up the phone for her in the past—would you consider writing one of those conversations where Shirley actually DID help Nell?

(We don’t get a lot of it in the show but Shirley’s relationship with Nell is kind of the one I relate the most to out of all of the siblings and so it’s always the one I wonder about the most)

The phone is ringing again.

The phone, it seems to Shirley Crain, never quite stops ringing these days. It’s Steven with excuses, or Theo to say she’ll be working late; it’s the rehab center with updates that make Shirley tired, or Dad trying to patch something too long broken to even find all the pieces. It’s people, mostly, strangers Shirley doesn’t know and can’t help letting in anyway--people who are aching with loss, adrift in their own shock, saying, “I don’t have much, but I want to do right by her--is this enough? Do you have packages that could...”

The phone is ringing, and Shirley is exhausted. A fifteen-hour shift, a headache that seems only to swell when she baits it with aspirin and cold water, a creeping guilt that never entirely fades when she catches sight her own reflection.

It’s ringing. Still. Always. She closes her eyes, taps her fingers against the back of the phone case. Flips it over.

Nell.

Of course.

Shirley has never much believed in sixth sense magic--in Theo’s furtive need for gloves, or Nell and Luke with their “twin thing”, or Dad’s peculiar brand of talking to shadows--but she always seems able to tell when the call is coming from her youngest sister. There’s an extra vibrato in the ringtone, somehow, when Nell is calling. An extra tremble in Shirley’s hand as she lets her finger hover over the accept button.

Oh, might as well. Nell will only call again in an hour, or two days, or next week. Might as well see what’s on her mind.

“Hello?”

“Sorry,” Nell says instantly. “Sorry, it’s late.”

Shirley’s eyes slide to the computer monitor, to the white numbers announcing an accusatory 9:07. Shit. It is. “Honestly, I hadn’t even noticed.”

“Oh.” A beat. Nell had clearly been prepared for sharp words, had clearly been ready to shield herself in endless apologies until Shirley came back to a level she could approach. Am I like that? Shirley wonders with a wince. Do they need armor to make this call?

“What’s up, Nellie?” Too casual. Too smooth. She sounds like she’s trying to play Theo’s role, all cool eyes and darting snark. “I’m--it’s good to hear your voice.”

It is. She misses Nell more than she truly knows what to do with--misses Nell’s easy smile, the way she leans forward into a conversation with hands clasped between her knees, the furtive little looks she sends across the room to whichever sibling is making the most sense that day. Nell’s choice to move across the country had been reasonable--at least to Nell--but to Shirley, it had felt like one more battle lost. One more sibling stepping over the line to Steve’s way of thinking.

“Nell?” She thinks for a minute the line has gone dead, that Nell has abandoned whatever worried twitch sent her hand skittering for Shirley’s name in her contact list. “Are you...”

“Sorry,” Nell repeats. “Sorry, I had--it was a weird day. Do you have those? The ones where you just...really need to hear someone’s voice?”

Someone stable, she doesn’t say. Someone who isn’t hiding out in a nightclub, or warding off the urge for a needle, or pinning all the family trauma to a butterfly board with the biggest, sharpest knives he can find.

“Bad dreams again?” Shirley asks, and Nell exhales. Laughs. It’s shaky, that laugh--it sounds like Mom did, near the end of that summer, when she’d been all dressing gowns and pounding headaches. Shirley closes her eyes.

“No. I mean, yes. Yes, I guess. Always. But no. I think I just...you remember movie nights? I miss movie nights.”

Nell, always going back. Nell, always finding little ways to dig up the past. Sometimes, it’s like this: mundane, sweet, nostalgic. Sometimes, it’s harder to stomach. Shirley is grateful she's having this sort of night, the kind steeped in monotony.

“What movie would you watch, if you could?” she asks. She leans back in her chair, lets her muscles slacken, lets Nell’s surprised giggle drag her over the line from exhausted mother, wife, businesswoman to sister.

“This is stupid--I can never remember the name of it--the one that used to scare the pants off Luke? You remember?”

“Going to need to be much more specific than that,” Shirley says, smiling. Luke hadn’t found a movie he couldn’t run screaming from until he was almost twelve years old, and even then, it had been a matter of stiff upper lip above actual courage.

“The one with the sea monster,” Nell says. “And the guy--the kid from those hockey movies--”

“Magic in the Water,” Shirley intones, remembering all at once a mock sleepover in Aunt Janet’s living room, sleeping bags spread across the floor. Theo, pretending she was too old to care about a baby movie; Luke, pretending he was too old to flip out whenever the screen got even remotely dark.

“And Luke hated it so much, she agreed to switch movies halfway through,” Nell goes on. “And she put on--”

“The fucking NeverEnding Story,” Shirley finishes, laughing despite herself.

“Luke just screaming when the luck-dragon shows up for the first time,” Nell says fondly. “And I’m trying to remind him that’s a good guy. That’s a good thing to have turning up. And Luke just goes--”

“Why,” Shirley recalls, “would you want a dragon in your house?” She waits for Nell’s giggles to die down, for Nell’s breath on the other end of the line to level out again. “So, which one would you put on right now?”

“Easy,” Nell says simply. “The Secret Garden.”

It’s so out of left field, so perfectly Nell that Shirley bursts into laughter again. She can hear Nell grinning, can picture her perfectly: dark hair curtaining a hopeful face, eyes bright as she leans across her table or into the comfort of her couch. Nell no-longer-Crain, with a ring on her finger and a house she’s made into a home miles and miles away from anything Shirley can touch.

“I miss you, Nellie,” she says, shutting her eyes against a surprising well of emotion. “I really do.”

“Come out,” Nell says. “Next time you get a break, fly out and stay with us. Arthur would love to see you.”

Next time you get a break. Nell, dreaming again. Nell, believing with her whole heart that life is simple enough to allow for breaks, for impulse flights, for sisterly bonding time just because it’s needed.

“You’re okay?” Shirley says, sidestepping the invitation for now. “You’re doing all right with all that sunshine?”

��Sure,” says Nell without missing a beat. Shirley imagines her smile dipping, the tension drawing back into her shoulders as she hunches smaller in her seat. “Sure. It’s great.”

It’s great, Shirley. I’m great, Shirley. I only call because my head is ringing with monsters too big to shut out even after twenty-odd years, Shirley.

She isn’t Mom, Shirley thinks. She isn’t Mom, muttering to empty rooms, or Dad, all vacancies and no space to rent. She’s just Nell: a heart laid open, beating too hard, waiting for someone to patch her up again. And if that never happens? If no one ever learns quite how to stitch her shut?

She has Arthur, Shirley thinks, and there’s relief in the idea. Arthur and Nell, a closed circuit. Two people with all they could need in one house. Maybe there will be kids someday, or maybe they’ll sweep in at Christmas with expensive gifts and wild laughter, and it’ll all be--it’ll all just be--

Great, Shirley. I’m great.

She hangs up gently on Nell’s soft goodbye, and wonders why it doesn’t quite feel like Nell was telling her the truth.

#fanfiction #ficlet #the haunting of hill house #nell crain #shirley crain #no idea how to tag sibling dynamics for this show but all the same

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oskarwing · 4 years

Text

How the Hargreeves decorate the house when they finally can

Luther has canonical a motivational poster with a somewhat weird message on it in his room. So now as an adult he collects tons of them but less motivational and more in the “Gentle Reminder: You don’t have to be perfect. It’s enough to just be you.” vein. They’re all over the house mostly with cute little animals on them. He puts the ones he thinks would help his siblings most closer to their rooms. They replace all the stupid educational posters on the walls. For furniture while his room looks like either a 70 year old from the 80s or a toddler from the 50s lives in there I think his personal taste is rather modern because space. He mostly goes along with what his siblings want and helps moving the furniture in (if he isn’t putting up posters)

Diego is mostly practical in how he decorates. That’s part in why he can live in a boiler room. He doesn’t need much as long as he has the essentials. However he really likes his sentimental stuff. The embroidery Mom did? Gets a place of honour obviously. All the childhood drawings they did as children and Pogo kept in his huge folder? They need to be hung on the fridge (and if the fridge is full they can always buy a new one). The drawings Claire send them? It’s about time we replace Five’s painting. He never liked it anyway. Even the one model airplane Luther once made for him gets a place in the house because despite what he told him as a kid he kept it and also kinda liked the gift. He likes practical furniture and also goes along with what the others do.

Allison’s room is so specifically teenage girl that I don’t think he kept that style. She probably has the most modern taste in furniture and is in charge when it comes to making the house more warm and light and less of a giant reminder of their childhood. What I want to say is that Allison gets shit done. Luther is like “I hung up ten motivational posters today and only five featured kittens and/or puppies. :)” and Allison is like: “Great. I replaced the carpet in the living room, ordered a new set of couches and armchairs and got all the paints so we can start painting the walls.” She likes to decorate with small but nice stuff like scented candles or some little plushies for when Claire visits.

I feel like Klaus is also surprisingly useful when it comes to furniture. Allison asks him what he thinks of the furniture she’s been looking at because Klaus does have taste. But you have to make sure there isn’t any stuff that’s too out there or he will undoubtly go for that option. He also goes to a lot of flea markets and second hand shops coming back with weird small little things like broken doll’ head doubling as a flowerpot or one time even a slot machine. Which he somehow gets to place around the house.

Five has never been able to develop a taste in furniture. If everything around you is destroyed why would you decorate? But with the time he starts to gain a respect for functional furniture. The book shelf that you can draw back so it doesn’t take up much space, the armchair with a place for your coffee cup, one time Klaus brings a globe that has a secret bar in it home from one of his shopping trips and Five takes it upstairs without another word. He doesn’t care for decorations though the only thing he contributes is a white board which he is the only one ever seen writing on and a ton of notebooks and pens scattered all over the house also for his use only.

Being dead doesn’t really help define your style in furniture and I don’t know Sparrow!Ben enough to make a judgement. I think Ben would mostly go for comfortable furniture and lots and lots of bookshelves. You can see him on the window seat with a thousand different pillows sipping hot chocolate and reading. Or curled up on the couch under a wonderfully fluffy blanket. He mostly just gets blankets and pillows and other stuff that’s nice to touch. Even a weighted blanket which Luther starts to use and a electric blanket for Vanya.

Vanya’s apartment looks great, I’m all with Allison there. I personally headcanon though that most of the furniture came with it because when she moved in she was still on her pills and just went along with everything. She’s the third member of the serious actually trying to refurnish the house squad and is a lot more practical when it comes to things like prices than Allison, who’s a rich movie star and Klaus, who wouldn’t care about wasting all of Dad’s money just on decoration.

In the end the house is still the place they spend their childhood in. Now it’s just also reclaimed. It’s warmer, more colorful and none of them see their father everytime they walk around the corner. It’s happier like this.

#The Umbrella Academy #luther hargreeves #diego hargreeves #allison hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #ben hargreeves #vanya hargreeves #tua s2 #tua s1

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turtletimewriting · 3 years

Text

Logan’s Adventure- To the doctor’s

Summary: What it says on the tin!

Note: Woop woop! I actually found some motivation to write so feeling good about these ones! I will say, there isn’t any tickling in this one so if you’re reading purely for the tickles then sorry!

This is based on the tickle forest idea by fluffomatic so check them out!

Beginning!--- Patton’s part!

_._._

“Well where do you think we should go?” Virgil asked. Logan took a pause to consider the options.

“Well all options are valid and useful so I guess-”

“Cool because if you don’t really have a strong opinion, then I say we’re going to the doctors,” Virgil stated and marched on the stoned road leading straight into the village. Logan huffed a laugh at him, “Just... I guess now that you’ve mentioned it, I don’t want to end up getting bitten or a rash or whatever.”

“Sounds good to me,” Logan smiled before shyly linking their hands together.

Now it was of course no surprise to see that the side that looked like a prince straight from a Disney film would create a medieval European village. The houses all stood tall with dramatic black wooden frames but still somehow made them feel at home immediately. Maybe it was because everyone they passed waved and nodded at them and the first house they passed had a mother placing a hot apple pie on the windowsill. There was colourful bunting strung up the old fashioned oil lamps and they could both almost hear the Disney-esque music playing in the background. It was a short walk until they came across the doctors.

Walking in, the receptionist smiled widely and waved them over. Luckily, the waiting room was pretty much empty with only one girl fidgeting and tapping her foot. “Hello lovelies! How can I help?” The receptionist spun on her office chair to face them. Despite how friendly everyone was, Virgil automatically kept looking around the office leaving Logan to do the talking.

“Hello, I’m afraid we don’t have an appointment nor are we actually ill. This is our first time... travelling through and we wou-”

“Oh!” The lady butted in and started typing furiously on the computer, “That’s no problem. So would you like a drop-in session to go over how to protect yourselves and basic aid for the wildlife here, right?”

“That’s sounds great, thank you.”

“No problem. I just need to ask some questions so the doctor knows what to ask you all about?”

“Go ahead.”

“Right, so firstly names?” The receptionist asked much to both of their surprise. Usually most of Roman’s creativity meant that any imagined space and people knew them. Typically every villager would rave about a certain red clad prince hero, they would bake for a certain lovely young man in bright blue, Logan made an effort to challenge the professors and every villager knew to leave the poor shy man in black to himself.

They both answered basic questions about themselves before the receptionist boredly asked one last question that froze them, “Okay last one, are you lees or lers or switches?”

“Uh... what?” Virgil whipped round to actually face her for once and Logan simply bluescreened.

“Do you prefer being tickled, the ticklee, or tickling someone, being a tickler? Or, of course, a little bit of both?” The receptionist asked as if she was simply asking them what they’re favourite colours were.

“Of course Remus would also create not only paperwork but... stupid questions,” Virgil grumbled but he already knew he was going to answer quickly. Yes this was an anxious nightmare but then he wasn’t about to cause a scene to someone innocently doing their job. He’d just have to get Remus later.

“I’d say both... switches?” Logan asked with a nervous look to Virgil.

“Yeah?” The lady asked clearly wanting a bit more.

“I’d agree with that but I do think it’s important to note that Logan here leans strongly to the lee side,” Virgil quickly butted in.

“What?” Logan demanded.

“Okay great! You’re all good to go. You won’t have to wait long. Probably no more than five minutes. The doctor will call you. You can take a seat while you wait but I will say that the girl also waiting was bitten by lersquitos so maybe keep you’re distance,” She smiled widely and submitted the form before Logan could fight against any of their answers.

“Thank you,” Virgil smiled before dragging his bumbling stuttering boyfriend by the shoulders and sitting them a couple of seats away from the girl.

“You. Are. A... nightmare,” Logan finally snarked once his mind finally loaded from the betrayal.

“Eh, the doctor’s need all the information they can grab. That means they need to know about your ‘stress relief’ mechanisms,” Virgil breathily whispered into his ears while trailing his fingers up his arms, leaving Logan flinching and childishly giggling. They stopped however when the girl groaned at their teasing.

“Uh, excuse me. I’m sorry if this is really rude, but we heard you got bitten by... a something. Do you mind telling us about that?” Logan asked

“Oh, uh a lersquito,” The girl answered with a judgemental look. She answered as if they had asked what colour the sky was.

“Yes. That... What is that?” He asked. The girl took a deep breath and releasing an obnoxiously long sigh.

“Yeah it’s just a bug. It bites you and you get into a ler mood. It’s like...” She awkwardly paused but continued while never once looking at them, “you can’t get the idea out of your head and it’s like your fingers can’t keep still, y’know. They mostly hang out around water, so yeah.”

“That has got to be a Remus creation,” Logan nodded to himself and the girl simply shrugged them off and continued staring at the wall while slowly flexing her fingers.

“Yeah wait!” Virgil suddenly perked up, “how on earth do we fight against that! A bug that bites you! I didn’t pay attention to any bugs. We may have already been bitten! And, and, the map goes through the forest. How on earth are we meant to-”

“That’s why we’re here. Surely the doctor can help us,” Logan answered and smoothed his bangs out of his eyes, much to his dismay.

It wasn’t much longer until they got called by the doctor. She was dressed like any other doctor with no indication that she specialised in any tickle related stuff. “Hello, c’mon in!” She waved them inside a room. It looked also completely normal. There was a typical notice board behind her desk filled with different flyers and information. This was the only indication that they were in a world created and based on tickling. Even Logan had to admit that it was distracting to see a massive poster of a a cartoon man getting absolutely destroyed by bugs with glowing pink mushrooms in the background.

He snapped back to attention when he noticed the silence. The doctor laughed at them both considered Virgil was still entranced by the poster. “Sorry! Uhm, can you repeat that?”

“I just asked if this was your first time through?” She asked with a polite smile.

“Oh yes! Right. Yes this is our first time travelling and we would like to be prepared for anything that may get us... in trouble.”

“Ah well there’s not much advice I can give,” She responded.

“Of course it wouldn’t be that easy,” Logan mumbled under his breath but the doctor kept talking without pause.

“Just apply basic common knowledge and you’ll be alright. Don’t mess around with any weird plants, leave the white flowers alone, be careful around animals. Remember if you do get into trouble then come see a doctor if you’re worried. Did you have any more specific questions?” She asked Logan who was still flicking back and forth between the blatant poster and her.

“What is the most common reason people visit?”

“Well usually it’s the ants. Not a lot of people remember to look where they’re standing and, to be honest, their colonies are not obvious. They sting you and can almost triple your sensitivity. Not a problem if it’s a kid but if you’re in the middle of work then it can be a nuisance. Also, if you do get stung and it lasts more than four hours without treatment then seek medical help immediately.”

“Is there any way to... cure the sting?”

“It’s a simple lotion. It won’t make it disappear, you’ll still be quite sensitive, but it really helps dampen the effects. The sting is enough so that your clothes tickle you so a lot of people will buy it in bulk,” She answered while handing them both the tiniest travel bottle of the lotion. It wasn’t much but then he guessed it made sense that they wouldn’t hand them loads of it.

They chatted but otherwise the doctor was reluctant to give them anymore considered her stance was thoroughly ‘just use common sense’. Virgil kept his gaze fixed on the notice board but the longer they talked, the more confused he looked. Even Logan ended up nudging him to try and get him to pay attention.

As they were leaving, Virgil finally spoke up. “Wait, can I look at something?” He asked but he was already leaning over her desk to pull off one of the notes. Unlike the other leaflets, it was just plain paper with a scrawled hard to read chicken scratch.

He showed it to Logan with a concentrated frown. It read:

The treasure is kinda smelly and gross but you’ll love it!!!!

“Is that a clue!” Logan gasped, intentionally snatching it from his hand.

“It just stuck out as weird,” He pretty much said to himself because now Logan’s mind had latched on. Any mind based puzzle and Logan was in his happy place. The wording all screamed that this was a treasure that Remus created or at the least Remus made the clue. Had they missed more clues? Were they supposed to have any idea what this means? This was so vague! It spoke about the treasure but not about what the password to unlock was. Maybe the password is what the treasure is!

Logan absolutely didn’t pay attention to Virgil saying thanks to the doctor and shoving them out the door. Virgil merely fondly rolled his eyes and pushed them out of the village and up to the path. Back to the adventure!

The path led straight into a heavy forest with vines and the constant chirping of birds. The bushes seemed like they were always moving with different animals scuttling about and Virgil could already feel himself start to sweat as the heavy trees trapped the heat in the forest. All this time, Virgil had to admit he did feel a little worried about getting unfairly sneak-attacked but also that was nothing compared to now. The thick heavy forest only showed that they were truly in the thick of it now. They weren’t sightseeing around a village. They were in an adventure.

They had barely stepped through the forest before stopping. Across the path was a weeping willow. It was just as gorgeous as terrifying. The soft pinks and white rustling together in a beautiful dance of a feathery bright petals. But also that was the most obvious trap he had ever seen in his life. Logan was still mumbling to himself staring at the clue so he carefully plapped the clue out of his hands and silently pointed at the tree.

“Ah,” Logan said.

“Yeah. Ah. What do we do?” Virgil sighed. Logan looked around with a wince. The path carved through extremely thick trees and bushes and dense foliage.

“There’s no good option here. We could keep to the path and just take whatever this tree does or we could go around it.”

“But god knows what’s in there!” Virgil gasped!

“So do we go forward knowing we will get tickled by these... feathery looking branches or get tickled by the unknown. There isn’t a good option here,” Logan sighed.

This adventure took 20 minutes!

Total time: 46 minutes.

OOH BOY THAT WAS SOO LONG, I’M SO SORRY!

The adventure continues, but what shall our boys do?!

1) Go forward

2) Go off the path

Now, Logan and Virgil know about lersquitos, tickle ants and discovered a clue! But now Logan is distracted with figuring out the clue!

#TicklyAdventure #Tickling #ts virgil #ts logan #turtle writing

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maddiewritesstucky · 4 years

Text

Call me maybe (but only during business hours)

A smutty gift for @raynakiasbel, for her endless patience with my infuriatingly slow writing and inability to focus on one thing at a time!

Pairing: Steve/Bucky

Rating: Explicit

Wordcount: 3308

Tags: CEO Steve, College Student Bucky, Poorly-Timed Phone Sex, Anal Fingering, Masturbation, Dirty Talk, Light Daddy Kink, Dom/Sub Undertones

Part 1 of the SugarVerse series on Ao3

Bucky is most definitely not watching the clock.

His eyes have absolutely not been glued to the LED display on the bedside table for what feels like a hundred goddamn years, watching the little white lines form number after number, blinking their way into the formation that will mean he can pick up his phone, and call Steve.

That would be all kinds of pathetic, and Bucky is not that kind of boyfriend.

He’s certainly not the kind of boyfriend who’s already fixing to climb out of his skin on day three (three!) of Steve’s out-of-town business trip. Bucky is one of those autonomous, self-sufficient boyfriends, who is entirely too busy with his own obscenely full schedule to care about the fact that he’s not getting dicked down at his every whim this week.

He has midterms to study for, and hours to log at StarkTech to go towards his internship, and Nat’s surprise birthday party to plan even though she’s literally impossible to surprise…he doesn’t have the mental real estate to spare on thirst right now. He might have become a whole other kind of hoe since being exposed to the many splendors of Steve Rogers’ cock, but twitching for it before they’ve even hit the seventy-two hour mark?

That would be highly problematic, if that was happening.

Which it isn’t.

Bucky is well accustomed to flying solo when Steve’s off in corporate alter-ego mode; he’s done this countless times over the past few months since he moved in with Steve, and he’d made his peace with it long before that. You don’t couple up with the CEO of an internationally renowned architecture firm and expect to see his face at the dinner table every night, and for the most part, Bucky has no complaints about having the stupidly plush bed all to his starfishing self a few nights a month.

It’s just...there’s a method to this, usually. And that method does not involve three entire days of near radio silence.

When Steve goes away, even on his busier trips, he always finds time to call Bucky at least once a day, even if it’s just five minutes as he’s crawling into bed to say goodnight. They’ll text, and Steve will send emails that are endearingly formal because his brain tends to stay in CEO-mode 24/7 when he’s on business trips, and they’ll generally tide one another over with tidbits of cyber-affection until they get back in the same physical space.

But this time? They’ve hardly been in contact at all. And it’s on Bucky, too, at least in part - he’s been swamped with his own workload the past few weeks, struggling to find quality time or head space even in the few days just before Steve left, and all they’ve managed so far is a few sporadic messages in their rare moments of down-time, which have so far been chaotically misaligned.

It’s been a drag, if Bucky’s honest, and he can occupy himself all he wants with his exam prep and his party-plotting, but at the end of the day…

Bucky’s just a boy, laying in front of a clock, asking his dick to hold out just a few more minutes.

Because right now, it’s 10:42pm.

It’s 10:42pm, which means that in exactly three minutes, Steve will be sliding into the crisp white sheets of whatever lavish hotel bed he’s being put up in; buck-ass naked because he’s as stringent on his no-pyjamas policy as he is on his bed time, and in exactly three minutes…

Bucky’s gonna call him, and phone-fuck the soul right out of his offensively perfect body.

He flips onto his back and nestles into the pillows, a dumb grin already fixing to his face in his hormone-fuelled stupor. The lights of the city outside the floor-to-ceiling penthouse windows bathe his naked skin in soft orange-gold, and his hand migrates of its own accord to the semi he’s been rocking ever since it occurred to him that he could just straight up call Steve and spring a jerk-sesh on him.

The whole thing feels deliciously sneaky-skanky. He’s never done this before, just cold-called Steve with an x-rated agenda. They’ve had phone sex before, a great many times in fact, but there’s always a lead-in; a text exchange turned sordid that spirals into a video call straight out of Bucky’s horny teenage fantasies.

But he’s never gone in jizz-first, ask-questions-later, and as certain as he is that Steve will be entirely on board, it feels just risky enough to have Bucky a little high off the adrenaline of it.

Here lies Bucky, Queen of the Sluts! Stretched out bare atop cream colored sheets, lit up by the New York skyline! Dick in hand and filth on the tip of his tongue!

He is power! He is scandal! He is ready for this!

He pulls the lube out from its hiding place under the pillow and slicks himself up, stroking slow as he tries to summon some small measure of nonchalance about the whole thing. He has a vision for how he wants this to go, and it does not involve him losing his cool the second he hears Steve’s voice on the other end of the line.

This is about seduction, about surprising Steve with some old-school nasty, no video or visuals involved - just Bucky’s filthy mouth and vivid imagination, and he’s determined to keep it together long enough to paint Steve a picture he can jack it to.

He pulls up Steve’s contact and waits out the final torturous minute with his heart in his throat, hitting the call button the second it ticks over to go-time. He hits the speakerphone button, dropping the phone onto the pillow next to him, and holds his breath through the four rings it takes for Steve to pick up.

“...James?”

And oh, but that bodes well...Steve uses his real name in two contexts, and two contexts only - when Bucky visits him at work and he’s in business mode, and when he’s got Bucky flat on his back underneath him, letting him have it.

If Steve’s already keyed up tonight? This just got a lot more interesting.

“Mm, there it is,” Bucky heaves a deep sigh, “that’s what I needed, that voice...”

His mind’s eye conjures up visions of Steve spread out across the bed, taut lines of muscle and bare flesh all laid out. He’s probably just had a shower, so his skin would be all warm and pink, smelling like soap and aftershave; his hair all fluffy from that irreverent way he has of rubbing it towel-dry...god, Bucky misses him.

“James? Are you alright?”

He can practically hear Steve’s brows drawing together in that way they do when he’s overworked; a tight-wound tension in his voice that Bucky has every confidence he can allay before the night’s through.

“Mm, be a lot better if it was your hand wrapped around my cock right now,” Bucky drawls, rolling his body for his audience of no one, “but I guess I’ll just have to settle for fucking my fist to the sound of your voice. Can you hear me touching myself, Daddy?”

He breathes a soft groan as he strokes himself slick and languid, and Steve is silent for a long moment that Bucky’s brain is all too happy to color in with pornographic images of how Steve might be listening; where his hands might be wandering, how his cock would be filling at the mental picture Bucky’s painting. Bucky thinks this might just be the best idea he’s ever had, and he doesn’t hold back on letting Steve hear exactly how good he’s feeling about his decision...

...Until Steve clears his throat, and unceremoniously hits him with an ice-cold dousing of you-done-fucked-up.

“I’m in a meeting right now, I have two clients with me.”

There is zero inflection in his tone, and if Bucky thought he had experienced true panic before, he was mistaken. He can physically feel himself paling; his mouth dropping open soundlessly, humiliation warring with plain confusion as to why the hell Steve is still working at this ridiculous hour.

And then it clicks.

Horribly, harrowingly clicks.

Steve isn’t working at stupid o’clock at night.

In the perpetual haze of Bucky’s overworked brain and Steve’s ever-changing schedule, Bucky had forgotten that this trip was taking Steve to Hawaii.

For Steve, it isn’t slutty phone-sex hours. It’s very sensible, 4:45pm strictly-business hours.

“Ohmygod,” Bucky gasps, bolting upright and looking desperately around the room like it might hold the solution to his colossal screw up, “Steve, I completely forgot--”

“Mr Barnes, I can give you exactly two minutes of my time right now because I realize it’s been difficult to touch base recently,” Steve interrupts, his tone cooling abruptly with the air of professional detachment and veiled authority Bucky’s heard him use on work calls a thousand times. “Can you tell me exactly what the issue is with the redesign?”

...Bucky blinks, breath caught in his throat as he scrambles to string together some sense from Steve’s response.

Steve hasn’t mentioned any specific projects lately, is Bucky supposed to know something about a redesign? Was there something he--

Oh.

His brain and his dick catch on at the same time in a borderline painful rush of blood. He hears Steve pull back from the phone to address his clients, placating them with an apology and the assurance that this won’t take long, and Jesus Christ...Steve is actually doing this.

Steve is actually going to let this happen, going to let Bucky have one-sided phone sex with him while he sits there in some boardroom, with actual clients sitting right in front of him.

What the fuck.

Bucky’s breath leaves him in a rush as he drops back against the pillows and wraps a frantic hand around himself. “The issue is you’ve been gone three fucking days and I wanna sit on your face.”

“Mm, I see why that’s problematic,” Steve muses, cool and unaffected, “what exactly do you need from me?”

God, Bucky can just picture it - Steve sitting there looking like a fucking wet dream in one of his distractingly well-fitting suits, with his hair swept perfectly over and his beard trimmed just close enough to show off the sharp cut of his jaw; radiating that air of quiet authority that makes Bucky want to bounce in his lap until he dies...

Bucky knows for a fact that Steve’s face will be betraying precisely none of what’s happening on the other end of the line, and why the hell is that such a turn on?

“Well I was gonna describe in graphic detail all the things I want you to do to me when you get back,” Bucky huffs, breaths coming faster already, “but if I’m on the clock now, guess I’ll have to settle for sayin’ I need you to bring that dick home ASAP...fuckin’ miss it.”

“I see,” Steve sighs, “well I’m not back in New York for a few days yet, how do you plan to manage this in the interim?”

Bucky curses under his breath, tightening his grip on himself. “Just have to fuck myself, imagine it’s you.” He sounds every bit as unconvinced of the efficacy of this plan as they both know he is, and Steve hums thoughtfully in response.

“I’m going to need more detail, paint me a picture here.”

Bucky knows he’s blushing, feels the heat of it all the way down his chest, and fuck this shouldn’t be as hot as it is. Dirty talking at Steve and getting nothing back but clipped responses, void of emotion and the usual undercurrent of affection he’s become accustomed to?

Work-Steve needs to come to the bedroom more often.

“I’ll touch myself, like I’m doing right now,” he twists his grip a little on the upstroke, hissing at the change in sensation, “get my fist all wet and tight around my cock...pretend it’s your mouth.”

How close are Steve’s clients sitting to him? Steve wouldn’t be letting this happen if there was any way they could hear...but what if one of them has some kind of medical condition that gives them enhanced hearing? What if one of them can read minds and is hearing this entire conversation play out in stereo quality in their head?

Why is there a part of Bucky that hopes one or both of those things are true?!

“...And?” Steve prompts, almost brusque, and Bucky gives himself a second to revel in the way his dick twitches for the hard edge in Steve’s voice.

“And I’ll, fuck- ” Bucky stutters, rocking his hips with the rhythm of his strokes, pushing himself up through his grip, “I’ll use my toys, fingerfuck myself.”

“Right, well why don��t you go ahead and start that for me now,” Steve says, off-hand; pulling back from the phone to place an honest-to-god coffee order with the oblivious intern who’s now seemingly in the room too, and Bucky’s never felt more of an affinity for the whole bored-and-ignored thing.

He slicks up the fingers of his free hand and shifts a little onto his side, hiking a knee up as he slips a finger inside himself.

“Can I take that as a yes, Mr Barnes?” Steve asks at the breathy moan Bucky lets out as he presses in first with one, and then with two fingers, and Bucky nods frantically even though Steve can’t see him.

“Yes, fuck...I'm doin' it...feels so fucking good, Steve.”

And it does. It’s a difficult angle, and he can't quite hit the spot he wants to inside himself, but the steady stroke-tug against his rim while his fist flies over his cock is working for him; winding him towards what would, in any other non time-constrained circumstance, be an embarrassingly fast orgasm.

He can hear Steve shuffling papers, making quiet sounds of agreement along with whatever conversation is going on in the background between his clients whilst they wait, unknowing, and Bucky can’t decide whether it’s a blessing or an immense disappointment that Steve has to bite his tongue right now; that he can’t unleash any of the filth he’d definitely be spitting if he didn’t have an audience.

Steve fucking loves to run his mouth, and Bucky loves to hear it; lives for the endlessly colorful obscenities Steve comes out with in the throws of it.

Just listen to you, he’d be laughing a little; his voice dripping with that indulgent, self-satisfied grin he gets, so goddamn easy for it, ain’t that right baby? Three fuckin’ days and you’re gagging for it...should be ashamed of yourself…

But Steve is in a very public forum right now, in the middle of a meeting no less, trying to give the impression that he’s very decidedly not having phone sex. Right now, he’s Steve Rogers - CEO, consummate professional.

But he is also an asshole, and when he asks Bucky “do you feel you have a firm grasp on the situation, or would a second set of hands be helpful on this one?” Bucky swears he can hear that faint hint of a smirk all the way across the fucking country.

“Might just have to go find myself a second set of hands if you stay away too long,” Bucky retorts, emboldened by the distance, and a little morbidly curious to see what sassing gets him when Steve can’t say shit about it.

Turns out, what it gets him is a full-body shiver and a throb between his thighs as Steve’s tone dips to somewhere in the realm of politely-veiled threat. “I would not advise that, Mr Barnes.”

It occurs to Bucky, then, that this won’t just be done and dusted once they hang up. At the end of the week, Steve will come back to New York, and he will absolutely have some Things To Say about this little interruption.

He can picture it now, the way Steve will stand there all calm, staring him down with his mouth upticked at the corner while Bucky fumbles his way through an explanation.

He’ll probably do that thing where he doesn’t say much but his eyes say everything, and Bucky will have to try really hard to seem remorseful even though they’ll both know he’s not actually all that sorry. And Steve won’t want him to be, not really, but it’ll be something he can use to their mutual benefit, nonetheless.

Fuck, Steve might spank him.

Bucky smothers a moan into the pillow next to him, twisting his fingers inside himself and brushing his thumb across the head of his cock as he turns that thought over, Steve bending him over his knee, or better yet, over his desk...

“Oh,” Bucky gasps, a sudden rush of heat twisting tight in his gut, “fuck, I’m gonna come.”

Steve huffs a vaguely incredulous laugh, and there’s a faint creaking sound like he’s settling further back in his chair. “Oh really? Who authorized that?”

Bucky lets out a deeply undignified whine, his whole body strung tight enough to snap; caught between the sensations of his hand moving frantically over his dick and his fingers scissoring inside himself.

“Come on,” he whimpers, teetering on the knife edge of losing it, “tell me I can finish, please.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t quite catch that.”

Oh, fuck him, fuck him...how is he still edging Bucky when he was the one who put the rush order on this?

“Please, Daddy,” Bucky doesn’t try to hide the desperation in his voice as he changes tact, “if you don’t authorize this orgasm I think I’m gonna go blind, just fucking let me come!”

Steve pauses a beat, humming a considering sound. “No, I’m not comfortable signing off on that. We’re tabling this until I get back to New York.”

Bucky freezes, both hands stilling; his face crumbling into a mask of abject disbelief. “You can’t be serious?” His stomach drops, even as something in the back of his mind says he really should have seen this coming...or, not coming, as is the case.

“I'm sure we can come to a far more satisfying resolution in person,” Steve says, maddeningly cavalier.

Bucky’s gearing up to plead his case, but Steve’s not done ruining his night yet.

“In fact, Mr Barnes,” he piles on, “I’d like to make you personally responsible for ensuring no further action is taken on the matter until I return. Can I trust you with this?”

Bucky gapes down at his poor, oblivious cock still standing at eager attention in his grasp, unaware of the disaster that’s just befallen them, and he takes his hands off himself with a pained groan.

“This is criminal,” he objects, flopping heavily onto his back and throwing his arms out to his sides, “if my dick falls off, it’s your fault!”

“Great! Glad to hear it,” Steve chirps, as if he's not the worst person alive, “I’ll be in touch.”

“Whatever,” Bucky scowls at the shadows stretching across the ceiling, willing his mind off the throbbing ache of injustice between his thighs, “I’m totally not answering any of your calls.”

Steve’s smile bleeds into his tone a little when he responds, the closest he’s come to fondness yet. “Okay, speak soon, Mr Barnes.”

Bucky tries, really tries, to inject some petulance into his tone as he signs off with a grumbled “love you, I guess,” but he can’t quite bring himself to sulk as much as he feels the situation warrants.

After all, in exactly four days, Steve will come back to New York.

He’ll come home, and they’ll laugh about this, and in exactly four days…

Steve will make him forget what he was even upset about in the first place.

(Part 2 of the series here!)

#steve/bucky #Steve Rogers #Bucky Barnes #steve x bucky #stucky fanfic #ao3 stucky #daddy steve rogers

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theexistentialeasel · 3 years

Text

Exegesis - Inside the White Cube: The Ideology of the Gallery Space

Week 3 | July 21st, 2021

In his three-part essay entitled Inside the White Cube: The Ideology of the Gallery Space, published in 1976 in Artforum Magazine, Brian O'Doherty takes us on an overview of the history of the gallery space. We start from the 18th and 19th-century salon-style hangings to the present-day white cube, where the author reserves a stark criticism. The term 'white cube' is used to reference the mode of display of white walls with artificial light sources that have long since been the established default in galleries and museums.

There are two arguments in O'Doherty's text. The first is that the white cube came about because of our changing notion about the edge. Previously the frame was used to contain an illusion into a 3D space, similar to a window frame. As art became flatter, such as in Monet's work which is the example given in the text, it eroded the edge. Thus, the frame became obsolete and was replaced by white walls to objectify the work and provide a type of palette cleanser between artworks to avoid the pictures becoming a single perceptual field. His second argument is that the white cube alienates everything that is 'other.' It not only alienates the presence of the body, but it exploits the art by making it expensive and excluding. It puts the art on a pedestal. O'Doherty writes: "In this context, a standing ashtray becomes almost like a sacred object […]" In this context, the fact that it is art cannot be questioned anymore.

Consequently, an even bigger problem arises; the art gallery becomes a secular system with a closed system of values conforming with the social order. Therefore, it has never truly been as neutral as its white walls might otherwise suggest. "This, of course," O'Doherty writes, "is one of modernism's fatal diseases." The essay was so popular that it was republished in a book and deeply discussed. It was a turning point in contemporary art theory as O'Doherty's criticism tapped into what many people were thinking but had not yet put into words.

While I agree with the essay's main arguments, there is no doubt a generalization in his second argument. Specifically, it comes from this last quote where he calls the white cube "one of modernism's fatal diseases." The fault is that this supposes that this problem caused by the white cube is uniquely a modernist one. As mentioned before, O'Doherty main issue with the white cube is that its neutrality is an illusion. Therefore, if the artist accepts the gallery space he is showing in, he conforms to the ideological state apparatus. But hasn't this always been the case?

The white cube indeed excludes everything that is 'other;' poor people, people of colour, uneducated people, queer people, etc. However, this was also the case for the gallery space even back in the 18th and 19th century salon-style hangings. During this time in Western society, not everybody was allowed to produce so-called "art." It had to be one of the 'classical' arts, and it had to be taught at an institution; this meant that it wasn't accessible to people who didn't have the means to pay for an education, people of colour, and women. There was no illusion that the art world and, therefore, the space in the gallery was an inclusive one. The system that controlled what was considered art and who could produce art back then is still very much the same today. In the case of the white cube, I would argue that it is actually more obvious that the gallery space and the apparatus behind it aren't 'neutral' or inclusive. Now, instead of simply knowing at the back of your mind that your body is an intrusion onto the space, you feel it instantly when you walk into the hermetically sealed white cube. Therefore, as the art world stands today, even if you strip today's art gallery of its white hermetic walls, the institution that transforms ashtrays into sacred objects is still there; it will still be biased, the art object will still be deified by its mere inclusion into a gallery space, and the 'other' will never feel as if they belong.

That being said, the art world isn't hopeless. There are ways to counter the problem of the white cube. Many artists have chosen to simply not exhibit in formal gallery spaces and instead utilize public space or other unconventional spaces to display their art. For example, David Hammons refused to exhibit any work in art galleries, museums, and very acclaimed art exhibitions but instead opted for Church basements and street corners. Additionally, some artists have found ways to critique the institution behind the white cube (also called institutional critiques, which falls under conceptual art) while operating within the system. Perhaps one of the best-known art stunts was Hans Haacke's MoMA Poll in 1970 (pictured above), where (without letting the Museum know what he was up to) asked visitors to vote on socio-political issues. For example, one poll asked: "Would the fact that Governor Rockefeller has not denounced President Nixon's Indochina Policy be a reason for your not voting for him in November?" By doing this, Haacke was directly commenting on the involvement of MoMa's major donors and board members. Haacke thought that the artist's job was to expose the institutional framework of the gallery as a kind of inside job to disillusion the general public as to the so-called neutrality of the white cube. Since then, many other artists have taken up the flame, such as Matthieu Laurette, Andrea Fraser and Fred Wilson.

In the end, like O'Doherty hints to in his writing, the form of the art gallery will change again once art itself goes through another metamorphosis. I cannot help but wonder what this new phase will look like.

Sources:

Filipovic, Elena. David Hammons : Bliz-aard Ball Sale. London, (England: Afterall Books) 2017.

"Moma Poll, Hans Haacke." WikiArt, October 5th, 2012. https://www.wikiart.org/en/hans-haacke/moma-poll-1970

O'Doherty, Brian. Inside the White Cube : the Ideology of the Gallery Space. Expanded ed. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1999.

Image 1: "Christine Ay Tjoe Spinning in the Desert." The White Cube. https://whitecube.com/exhibitions/exhibition/christine_ay_tjoe_hong_kong_2021

Image 2: Hans Haacke, MOMA Poll, New York, 1970. https://www.wikiart.org/en/hans-haacke/moma-poll-1970

#white cube #art criticism #art #review #institutionalcritique

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rowaning · 3 years

Conversation

The Complete Fiction of HP Lovecraft rated by me, someone who read them all* but has a terrible memory

The Beast in The Cave: uh a guy goes on a cave tour and finds a creature that was like a human that got lost and adapted to its surroundings. 0/10 just because im pretty sure there was another one with this exact premise and neither of them were memorable at all.

The Alchemist: dude achieves immortality and lives in the narrators basement and has pledged to murder his entire lineage or something. 4/10 the alchemy stuff was actually kind of interesting

The Tomb: im pretty sure this is the one where a guy starts hanging out in a tomb and like travels back in time/becomes one of his ancestors? 5/10 if its the one im thinking of i did enjoy reading it

Dagon: guy lands on a mysterious island with signs of a long dead civilization. 1/10 i do not remember what happened in it

A Reminiscence of Dr. Samuel Johnson: 0/10 i have no memory of this

Polaris: also 0/10 i forgot all about it

Beyond the Wall of Sleep: could be any of the dream focused ones. if its the one about the dude sailing into the void or whatever than 4/10 not too bad

Memory: ironically, i dont remember it. 0/10

Old Bugs: 1/10 for the title god i wish i remembered this one

The Transition of Juan Romero: i got nothing. 0/10

The White Ship: this might also be the one about the dude sailing into the void? i liked that one he lived in a lighthouse and boarded a dream ship and just fucking left it was fun. 4/10

The Street: uh i think really steep street that didnt actually exist. 3/10

The Doom that Came to Sarnath: i wanna say another one of the dream centered ones where a town discovers some old relics and blatantly disrespects them and gets exactly whats coming to it. 5/10 they deserved what they got

The Statement of Randolph Carter: ok this dude shows up several times. i think this one is about how he returns to his childhood home then travels back in time and creates a time loop paradox thing. 1/10 meh

The Terrible Old Man: uh some thieves harrass a weird old guy and get got. 5/10

The Cats of Ulthar: someone is mean to a cat in a dream city, all of the rest of the cats get revenge and are revered for the rest of time. 2/10 (-3 because lovecraft has a specific name he gives to apparently every fictional and real cat he encounters and wow i wish he hadn't)

The Tree: i feel like this is something to do with a person becoming a tree but i cant actually remember. 0/10

Celephais: yeah no i got nothing 0/10

The Picture in the House: also nothing 0/10

The Temple: nope 0/10

Facts Concerning the Late Arthur Jermyn and his Family: is this the one where the dude's great grandfather married an ape? i dont think so but im not sure. 0/10, -5/10 if it is that one cause that one was especially shitty

From Beyond: nope 0/10

Nyarlathotep: charismatic dude shows up and is like get in bitches we're going to the void. i love nyarlathotep cause hes the one who directly interacts with humanity and like wears a human suit or whatever so hes just some dude whos like hey im gonna feed you to azathoth 5/0

The Quest of Iranon: got nothing 0/10

The Music of Erich Zann: narrator makes friends with an old musician whos being hunted by supernatural forces. 2/10 because i remember it but it was just ok

Ex Oblivione: 1/10 for the title but i have no clue what it was about

Sweet Ermengarde: lovecraft's sole attempt at comedy. not to my taste like at all 0/10

The Nameless city: nope 0/10

The Outsider: also nope 0/10

The Moon-Bog: sounds cool, dont remember it. 0/10

The Other Gods: dude tries to find the gods of humanity where they live on a big mountain, actually finds them, is immediately smited by the Other Gods who protect the gods of humanity. 3/10 he deserved it

Azathoth: dont recall, 0/10

Herbert West- Reanimator: Arkham man Herbert West and his assistant ressurect the dead with little thought to the consequences, then get murdered by a band of said resurrected dead. 5/10

Hypnos: nope 0/10

What the Moon Brings: also nope 0/10

The Hound: still nope 0/10

The Lurking Fear: again, nope 0/10

The Rats in the Walls: dude returns to his ancestral home, hears rats, excavates the basement and finds out that his ancestors ate human flesh, eats his friend. 1/10 it was an interesting read but can lovecraft please stop calling cats that.

The Unnameable: no clue 0/10

The Festival: nope 0/10

*Under the Pyramids: ok im pretty sure this is the one with houdini which is the only one i could not read. i went into this mentally prepared for lovecraft's bigotry but i was not mentally prepared for him dropping harry houdini, avid skeptic who absolutely would have beat the shit out of him for this, into the middle of his super racist paranormal horror. -1000/10

The Shunned House: nope 0/10

The Horror at Red Hook: also nope 0/10

He: cool title, no memory of the story. 0/10

In the Vault: wow im bad at this. 0/10

Cool Air: still no 0/10

The Call of Cthulhu: kind of all over the place, there was a thing about artists and then a thing about a cop investigating a cult. 3/10 meh but ill give it a bonus for being a staple of horror fiction.

Pickman's Model: uh artist sees some wild shit and draws it and then it eats him. 2/10 i forget the details

The Strange High House in the Mist: if this is the one im thinking of, dude does a dangerous climb to find a mysterious house and meet the inhabitant who is kind of interdimensional and also being hunted by interdimensional things. also maybe the house eats people? 2/10

The Silver Key: another Randolph Carter one, and i think this is actually the one about him travelling back in time so idk what the other one was. 3/10

The Dream-Quest of Unknown Kadath: randolph carter goes on a quest in the dream world to find the gods of humanity and ask why they wont let him check out this cool city he can see from his window. lots of action and very wordy and went a lot of different places. 4/10 good read but extremely xenophobic

The Case of Charles Dexter Ward: guy investigates his ancestor who looks disturbingly like him, ancestor comes back to life and kills him and takes his place and a bunch of other stuff happens. mostly a dramatized genealogical study. 3/10 not bad, very suspenseful

The Colour Out Of Space: meteor lands on a farm, scientists get weirded out by it, everything in the area gets weird then dead, alien thing gets enough power from draining nearby life-forms to escape earth. fun twist ending. 4/10 bonus for being one of the better ones, detraction for writing out a 'rural accent'

The Descendant: nope, 0/10

The Very Old Folk: nope again, 0/10

History of the Necronomicon: very dry. fake history of lovecraft's fake book thats super important to a lot of the stories. 0/10

The Dunwich Horror: isolated witchy family has a kid who no one likes that grows up real fast. graphic descriptions of renovation. a horror gets unleashed on the area and the local folklore scholars have to deal with it. 1/10 nothing good enough to counter the xenophobia

Ibid: i remember this one. no idea what it's deal was. pseudo-bibliography? it was weird. 0/10

The Whisperer in Darkness: guy has a correspondance with another guy about local folk legends based on evil crab things. other guy gets straight up replaced by an evil crab thing and first guy doesnt even notice. imagine if you followed up on a scam email and didnt realize anything was up until you saw that the face of the dude you were talking to in person was a mask. 4/10 for the comedy this guy would not last in the internet age at all

At The Mountains of Madness: guy whines about penguins and how awful it would be if there were civilizations that predated humanity. also commits grave desecration. i get hit by the realization that if lovecraft was less of a racist coward he wouldve made a great speculative sci fi author. 3/10 i would love to watch that old asshole get absolutely torn to shreds by the monster fucker community

The Shadow over Innsmouth: Fish People! Leave Them Alone! Or Else! 5/10 the protagonist gets to live the dream by escaping human society and becoming an immortal fish person

The Dreams in the Witch House: dude rents an objectively haunted room, doesnt listen to people trying to help him, gets murdered by a weird rat. later they find a shit ton of bones in the attic. 2/10 meh

Through The Gates of the Silver Key: Randolph Carter transcends time and space, then de-transcends time and space and immediately gets stuck on another planet in the distant past, makes a long and difficult journey back to earth to find that his estate is being divided amongst his heirs. the comedy potential of a man stuck in an alien body dealing with a legal system that has declared him dead is not examined. 2/10

The Thing on the Doorstep: narrator's good friend marries a fish person witch who steals his body. thats basically it. 3/10. at this point im like wow these narrators really refuse to believe the heavily foreshadowed supernatural explanations that turn out to be correct huh.

The Evil Clergyman: dude is in a room. some ghosts (?) show up. dude has a UV light for some reason. Gets his face stolen i guess and just has to live with it. 5/10 for being absolutely buck wild and refusing to explain anything

The Book: nope 0/10

The Shadow Out Of Time: dude gets his body stolen by ancient scholar species. agonizes about it for a while. finds archaeological evidence of said species. finds a book he wrote while living with said species. almost gets eaten by something. 3/10 more cool speculative sci fi but lame protagonist

The Haunter of the Dark: you'd think id remember it bc this was the last one and i read it last night. oh wait, nvm i do remember it. dude finds an old box in a run down culty church and unleashes a horror that then comes and fucks him up. 1/10 meh.

#tw lovecraft #i have forgotten more than i can remember #which is on par for me

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monsterfuneral · 4 years

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Okay but why is the only thing I cant picture after reading The New Beginning is how excited Paul would be to teach the other boys (who are interested) or his s/o how to roller skate?? I feel like he would be so happy to show/teach someone one of his hobbies and how cute it would be especially if whoever he's teaching has awful balance and he has to sorta hold onto them to help them stop from falling. But another part of me thinks he would definitely find it amusing trying to watch them figure out how to roller skate lolol *also I loved the little series you had for him ❤ *

I didn’t mean to go off like this but anon you made me THINK.

Also thank you so so so much, I loved writing those headcanons so much and I’m glad you loved them too! If you have any other interesting thought about the boys/my headcanons I would absolutely love to hear them!

You’re 100% right anon. While I only really mentioned that the boys never joined that doesn’t mean Paul didn’t want them to. He definitely has bought stolen a pair of skates for all the boys and his s/o when he discovered how wonderful skate disco was.

Dwayne was the second best (the first being Paul) thanks to his skills with skateboarding, he actually kinda it more on it’s own since he didn’t enjoy dancing that much. So he usually would just join Paul in some nighttime skating at the skate park after the club closes early. He liked the mobility that wasn’t provided by skateboarding the most but didn’t really break the skates out much because he didn’t like going without Paul. His skates were leopard print, you can not change my mind, he keeps them on top of his board just in case he does feel like going out with Paul after he’s done at the club.

Marko was indifferent about it, his balance wasn’t great but it wasn’t horrible either. Marko isn’t a bad dancer either, he learned quite a lot from Daisy and his mom, he had moves, but that paired with some skates? He was falling on his ass 70% of the time. He’s quick to lose balance after getting a little too into the music. The main main reason why he determined disco wasn’t his thing was because Marko needed some space, like bad. If not he’s knocking people over by accident (or on purpose), hitting people in the face, kicking people. After the numerous complaints sent his way and the amount of times he nearly got both Paul and himself kicked out he decided he should probably keep his moves at concerts and in the cave, afterall he didn’t want to ruin Paul’s fun because he couldn’t contain himself. His skates are hot pink with a white stripe that goes up the side.

David was the least happy when Paul suggested he learn how to roller skate, the scowl on his face was permanently etched into his face the entire time he had them on. He was about as graceful as a newborn deer when it came to skating, therefore he hated it. Plus Paul had picked him out a sparkly pair of purple skates and he hated them, he specifically told Paul he wanted the green ones but nooo they didn’t have any! ridiculous. He did at least try to learn though, especially after all he’d done to Paul he kinda owed him. So he sucked it up and let Paul teach him how to balance in the painful ugly skates strapped to his feet. After countless faceplants and glares sent towards Paul who was doubled over on the floor laughing, David was finally able to balance. Paul had cheered and excitedly told the others that David finally did it, “my boy’s all grown up” he’d say before wiping away a fake tear. After that David tucked the skates deep into his old chest and never looked at them again.

Paul was the most gentle with his s/o though, I mean they’re a fragile human they could fall and break their ankle or something. So he was extra cautious, hold their hand and guiding them across the dance floor of the same club he went to every night in the 70s. He had actually become friends with the owner who was- conveniently enough- a vampire too. So Paul was allowed inside when the place closed. He would have a big goofy smile on his face the whole time, his yellow skates looking so out of place amongst his punk outfit, it was cute. He would give them actually helpful pointers on how to go faster, how to stop, how to slow down if you’re going too fast, all that jazz. And of course he showed off a little, his years of practice had 100% payed off in his favor, even going as far as doing a flip and sticking the landing perfectly. His s/o would watch in amazement as he leaned back so far his hair dragged on the ground but he was still gliding beautifully across the floor. His partner wasn’t spared of his teasing or laughing though don’t get me wrong, if they fell on their ass he was already laughing, asking if they were okay before laughing again. He felt lucky having someone who interested in his hobbies and wanted to try them out.

Speaking of hobbies, he 100% taught the other boys and his s/o (except for Marko bc he already knows) about astrology. I know I sadly didn’t touch much on it in the story, but he’s a sucker for the astrology and has even considered learning about witchcraft just out of curiosity, and because he knew Daisy practiced. He’s a naturally curious person, he loves learning new things and doing new things. So if his s/o does anything cool, collects things, practices anything, plays an instrument he is hooked. Oh this is your hobby? No, our hobby.

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys headcanons #the lost boys headcanon #tlb headcanon #paul #tlb #monster replies #monster writes #anon #the lost boys imagines #the lost boys imagine

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