#i definitely had to draw some lines between which instances I counted and which I didn't and it was harder than I thought it would be to do | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fcble · 8 days

Text

GREAT THINGS, PART II

"For God's gifts and his call are irrevocable." — Romans, 11:29.

In which Haksu's life falls apart. FEATURING: Kang Haksu, Lee Taein, Yoon Mingeun, Lim Byeonghwi, Fable ensemble WORD COUNT: 6.7k WARNINGS / NOTES: Discussions of stalking and blackmail, more heavy-handed religious themes. You can read the first part here! Not very proofread. Sorry in advance for the mistakes I definitely made. I wanted to finish this closer to the beginning of April than the end but it is what it is. I also fucked up the timeline a little bit compared to some other pieces. This is the more canon one.

DECEMBER 2017

You pass Taein's little tests with flying colors. You’re Hercules, and these are your trials. First, your one month trial period. In the beginning, it is hard. There are days when you think you can’t make it at all, when you think maybe it would be better if you gave up, that a mediocre life is not so bad. After all, most people live mediocre lives. You aren't most people.

Second, it becomes apparent by your third or fourth day that the other trainees—namely Mingeun and Jaeseop—have a vendetta against you. Mingeun leads the independent dance practices, because he has the most experience, despite being the second youngest in the room. It throws you for a loop at first—how one nineteen year old can have the same amount of idol training as everyone else combined. You don’t enjoy taking direction from him. He singles you out, though you don’t trip over your feet any more than Andrew or Intak, and asks you to repeat sections over and over again until he’s satisfied. He isn’t good at giving instructions. He’ll tell you that something is wrong, crossing his arms with his back to the mirror, but not what exactly is wrong. It doesn’t take long for you to realize he’s doing this on purpose. He doesn’t want you to succeed, and he’ll hold you back himself. You won’t let yourself be bullied by someone younger than you, so you force yourself to take his advice seriously and listen earnestly. It’s a battle of wills, and you’re going to win.

Jaeseop is a different story. He treats you differently because you’re an outsider. He’s been with Zenith Entertainment the longest because Taein is his uncle, a fact that you learn not from him, but from Kiyoung, and then do your best to take in stride. It becomes even more important for you to impress him. He holds you at an arm's distance anyway. You can't understand it. He seems so protective of everyone else, drawing a clear line between you and them. You try, again and again, to get to know him. He gives you the cold shoulder every time, answering your questions in short sentences or single words, like he’s mimicking Intak’s speech patterns. You have to be on his good side, because you know he’s reporting everything that relates to you back to Taein. You imagine what he says about you: you don’t fit in, you’re different, they would be better off without you. The thoughts keep you up at night, despite the bone-deep tiredness that you haven’t been able to shake since you joined the company.

Third, Taein extends your trial period weeks and months at a time. You make it through your first month, and he seems surprised to see you in his office again, come the new year. He changes it up on you, amending the parameters of your old deal.

“A month isn’t nearly long enough to learn how someone works,” he tells you. “Take a job, for instance. A new employee doesn’t immediately know everything about the position, or fit into the workplace culture. There’s always a training period.”

You haven't had the type of job he's describing, so you sit in his office and nod along. Your trial month becomes a two month trial, then a three month trial. You wear down Jaeseop and Mingeun one at a time, until they have no choice but to acknowledge you.

When your third month is over, Taein doesn't say anything. You assume you passed all his tests. You're officially a trainee now, a member of whatever Taein is planning.

Then it's summer, and everything changes.

You're going to debut. Of course, you knew this from the beginning. So did everyone else, because that's what you told them the day you joined.

Your debut announcement comes in the newly renovated meeting room. You were unaware there were still changes being made to the building, of construction going on on the floor above you. You chalk it up to being so intensely involved in your training.

Nevertheless, you sit in a spinning chair at the end of a long table, the lights dimmed to illustrate the presentation that Taein and his assistant, Yuxuan, are giving on your upcoming debut. Your group name is Fable. Your debut is slated for August 8, 2018, your twenty-first birthday. It must be fate. Your concept will be representative of Korea, and Intak is writing your debut song. More importantly, you’re going to be the main vocalist. You can feel Mingeun’s murderous gaze from across the table.

After the group announcement, Yuxuan pulls you aside and tells you Taein wishes to speak with you, individually. You don't know what that's about, but you agree. You assume he wants to speak to everyone individually.

When you’re in Taein’s office again a day later, you aren’t worried. Then he locks the door behind you, and you start to worry. You feel like you've spent more time in here than practicing with the rest of Fable, though you know that can't be right. It's the way time stretches and slows when you're sitting in front of Taein.

“You’re in a very unique position,” he says.

“That’s an interesting way of putting it,” you say. You can’t show weakness. “I want our deal to continue through my debut.”

“No.” Taein’s response is immediate.

“Then Eunyoung-ssi will learn of your infidelity,” you say, almost apologetic.

“And you’ll ruin any chance you have of debuting.”

That would be a problem for you, but you have to pretend it doesn’t matter. You shrug. “You’re so close to finally debuting a group. Isn’t this what you left SM to do? You’ve spent so much time and money on us. It’d be a shame to throw it all away now.”

You can feel him faltering. You’ve pressed all the right buttons. You push them further. “I’m going to be the face of Fable, and you’re going to make that happen.”

Taein leans back in his seat. “So that’s what all of this is about. You’re desperate for your five minutes of fame. I can’t make anyone famous. It won’t fall into your lap.”

You hold his gaze. “You can buy it. I want every opportunity that Fable gets. If there aren’t any, you’ll make some.” You assume he has deep pockets. He can’t produce an idol group without them.

“There are other, easier ways to become famous,” Taein says, sounding almost amused. “Being an idol is a fickle position.”

It's the position you chose. You won't back down now.

"You drive a hard bargain," he continues. "I seem to have been backed into a corner." It doesn't really seem like that to you, but you keep your mouth shut, in case he decides to change his mind.

“You’ll be the face of Fable, and in return, you’ll keep my secrets to yourself.”

You nod again, this time maybe too enthusiastically. “Deal.”

Taein holds his hand out and you shake it, suddenly feeling lighter. You’re going to debut. You’re going to do great things.

“Jaeseop spoke highly of you,” he says as he unlocks the door.

You pause. “He did?”

“He admires your tenacity and your ability to work with people who don’t want to work with you. He also said you might be more stubborn that Mingeun, which may not be a compliment.”

You beam at the praise. You choose to interpret that last part as a compliment.

You’re halfway out the door, a skip in your step, when Taein stops you again. “One last thing. What were you studying?”

"Business administration," you answer. "I dropped out at the end of the school year."

He nods. "It suits you. You should consider going back."

You aren't too sure what to make of that.

APRIL 2021

You build your house with paper cards, yet you’re surprised when it comes tumbling down. You think you should have seen it coming. There were signs: Taein started work earlier and left later. Sometimes he’d stay overnight, locked up in his office, doing God knows what. You try to ask Jaeseop about him. He brushes you off and tells you not to worry. You spend a few days in that limbo between caring and not caring, poking your nose where it doesn’t belong and minding your own business.

Then the news breaks. It comes from Mingeun in the group chat—nothing more than taein’s wife is divorcing him lol. Then he changes the subject and asks if anyone’s seen his headphones. Jaeseop confirms it a minute later, then asks if you can all not talk about it.

It slights you more than it should. You know Mingeun and Jaeseop are close. You know Mingeun never takes no for an answer. You still want to be part of that in-group that gets to know the full story as it develops.

When the news breaks in public a couple of days later, you keep track. That’s your responsibility, after ll, your finger on the pulse of any news, good or bad, about you and about Fable. You read through the reputable sources, then the less reputable ones. They talk about Taein’s past: his first divorce, his less than amicable departure from SM Entertainment, how a small company could finance a debut with as many promotions as Fable had—and all the opportunities you had. Then the next major news story breaks, and everyone forgets about Taein.

Not you. You can’t. You walk on eggshells around him, though to be honest, you don’t see him much. You know his schedule well enough to avoid him.

Until the day he asks to see you. He corners you—it seems like he knows your schedule just as well as you know his—as soon as you arrive back from a photoshoot. He stands outside the entrance to the parking garage, smoking a cigarette. Daewoong looks unfazed.

“We need to speak,” Taein says. You’ve barely had the chance to step outside.

You nod silently. You saw this coming. You watch him flick the ash off the butt of his cigarette and discard it to the ground.

You follow him into the building, and then up the elevator, still in silence. You’ll have to defend yourself soon, and you need the time to think. You can broker another deal with him. You’ll have to. You’ve grown too lax in your position, too self-assured and confident that nothing could go wrong, because nothing goes wrong until it does. You’re the face of Fable. You have more bargaining power now than you did four years ago when you were no one.

“Have a seat,” Taein says, unlocking the door to his office. You can’t remember when he started locking it.

You sit. He locks the door behind him, and that’s when you begin to think you might be in trouble.

You watch him sit in his much nicer seat and start up his computer. He’s looking at the screen when he asks, “Do you know what I wanted to talk to you about, Haksu?”

You weigh your options. You have a guess. It’s a very good guess. You don’t know what he wants to hear. It knocks you off balance.

“I can hear the gears in your head turning,” Taein says. He’s still not looking at you.

“I have a guess,” you say, perfectly neutral.

“I’d like to hear it.”

You take a deep breath. “You want to talk about our deal.”

“Precisely. You should have said it with more confidence.” Now he tears his gaze away from the screen to give you a once-over. You bear it.

You begin to lay your pieces in front of you. “The footage is irrelevant now. If I were to reveal it, it’d destroy both of us.”

You have more to say, but Taein interrupts you. “You, more than me. So you understand. It’s time we close that chapter of our lives, once and for all. We won’t need to speak of it again. It will be like it never happened.”

“Until you marry again and cheat once again.”

Taein laughs. “I’m old, Haksu-ah. I doubt I have a third marriage in me.”

He treats marriage and divorce like toys. You despise it. Marriage is a sacred covenant, not something to play with and discard. You want to weaponize it against him, but it’s difficult when he doesn’t share the same ideals as you.

“I want the other part of our bargain to stay the same,” you propose.

Taein's smile nearly vanishes. “No, I don't think so.”

Truth be told, you’re accustomed to all the good things that have come your way. The solo television appearances and jobs and endorsements and advertisements. You take it all in like a man starving. You can't give that up.

“I’m the public face of Fable,” you say. “You made me into it. Without me, who do you have?”

“It might be time for a change,” Taein muses. “Someone else can take the lead. I think Byeonghwi might be a good choice.”

He can’t be serious. Byeonghwi could never do what you do. None of them could.

“Wouldn’t it be strange?” you press. “To have someone else represent the group? The fans and the public are used to me.”

“You’re a member of a group,” Taein says in a tone that leaves little room for argument. “You’ll have to share the spotlight.”

That’s the last thing you want to do. You’ve worked hard for your place in the sun. You can’t just concede it. You grasp for straws, trying, desperately, to come up with a trump card. You find yourself lacking one. It’s no matter, you tell yourself. You found one before. You can find one again.

You swallow back any sort of lesser argument. “Fine.”

“I'm glad we're in agreement,” he says pleasantly. “You can keep the photos, if you'd like. Or you can post them online, if you'd like that more. It was never about them anyway.”

The world tilts dangerously around you. “What do you mean?” you ask, unsure if you want to hear the answer.

“All you got from them was a chance,” he says. “I will admit you forced my hand in accepting you as a trainee. Everything after that was your work.”

“Then I would have debuted anyway? I would have been the face of the group anyway? I could have shown your wife the pictures and you wouldn’t care?”

Taein nods. “It would have been unpleasant at the time. It was a surprise my marriage lasted until now.”

You understand, suddenly, the appeal of violence. Taein, sitting directly in front of you, is the root cause of every problem you've ever had as a member of Fable, and even before that. It would be so simple to reach across his desk and—. You stop yourself. You spend too much time with Mingeun.

"Blackmailing your boss really isn't a good look, Haksu-ssi," Taein says, clearly oblivious to the thoughts racing through your mind.

You shift in your seat so that you're sitting on your hands. He seems so smug and self-confident, wielding his superior intellect over you. You can’t stand it.

"You went along with it," you say. You try to stay calm. You can feel your control slipping away from you. "You said we had a deal."

"We did," he concedes. "I would have upheld my side of the bargain no matter what. You're the one who constantly thought about it. I ask to speak to you, and the first thing you always said was something related to your blackmail. Clearly, it was important to you. You brought this upon yourself."

That was good. You know that. You wouldn't be here, if not for your investigative skills. You earned your spot, in more ways than one. And yet, there’s something about the way Taein speaks, about his tone of voice and his choice of words that make you feel like a child being reprimanded by an adult well-versed in the ways of the world. You know nothing, and he knows everything.

"It was a pleasure working with you, sajang-nim," you say, voice tight. You're not going to cry, but you think you might scream.

Taein smiles at that. “I don’t think it was for you. I appreciate your sentiment nonetheless.”

You don't take Taein at his word. You can't. He's shown, now, that you can't trust him. You think you're playing checkers, and he's five steps ahead of you in chess. Two can play at that game. You made a bargain with him before, when you were younger and more naive. You have the experience now. And you know Taein's reputation is far from spotless.

This time around, you have a bit more money and a lot less free time. You refuse to let go of your bargain, and more importantly, you want to get Taein back. So you hire a private investigator, a middle-aged man who’s supposedly good at his job, near the high end of your budget. You do it all online, staring at your computer screen only at angles at which no one else can see it. You lay out the bare bones of your situation through emails: this is your boss, you’re a lowly employee, you’re dissatisfied with the current state of the company, you want to know if he has any sort of illegal dealings. It's a bit of a jump from the third point to the fourth, but the investigator doesn't ask.

He gets back to you a couple of days later. You open the email minutes after it arrives, curling up on one end of your apartment’s couch with a coffee. It’s straightforward and professional. You skip over the pleasantries and focus on the important part, where the investigator has written Lee Taein’s company, Zenith Entertainment, is partially owned by Ahn Jinguk, one of the sons of Danyoung Group chairman Ahn Changok. As far as the financial state of the company is concerned, all business is legitimate. However, unless you are the heir to Samsung or Hyundai and capable of outbidding the Ahns, I will no longer be investigating Lee Taein. I wish you luck in your future investigative endeavors, should you still be interested. As a next possible step, I have attached some information about a few other individuals of interest.

Underneath all of that is a series of names, occupations, and pictures of everyone else with a stake in Zenith Entertainment. You think you might have seen some of these people around the building before, though their names are unfamiliar.

You’re so focused on your phone screen that you don’t register Mingeun coming up behind you, until he says, “What’re you looking at?”

His breath ghosts over your ear as he leans on the edge of the couch and peers over your shoulder. You jump, clicking your phone screen off. “Nothing.”

“I wasn’t born yesterday,” Mingeun says. You can practically hear him scowling. He’s been more of a nuisance than normal over the past couple of months, ever since Jaeseop told him he wasn’t going to be part of their upcoming promotions because he’s technically still on hiatus. “So? Talking to a girl?”

You take a moment to respond. You could tell him the truth. Now that you and everyone else know what he’s been through—what Taein put him through—you think he’d understand your decisions, even if he’s a terrible Catholic and the one time you brought him to Mass was a disaster.

“It’s a long story.”

Mingeun drops into the seat next to you. “I have all day. I didn’t think you were the type to date as an idol.”

You flush. "I'm not dating anyone. Can we talk somewhere more private?"

You don't know where Eunsu and Byeonghwi are, but you don't want to risk them overhearing your conversation, should they interrupt.

Mingeun raises an eyebrow. "Sounds exactly like what someone who isn't dating would say. Your room or mine?"

You know Mingeun's room is akin to a pig sty. "Mine."

As it turns out, your bedroom isn’t much better. It’s not like you get visitors, because you don’t have a girlfriend. You sit on your bed. Mingeun sits on the floor. There isn’t much more space in the room. Your desk is entirely monopolized by your laptop and a stack of notebooks. Your desk chair is being used as a bar stool in the kitchen, though it’s a bit too short for that.

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” you begin, because Mingeun seems a bit too fixated on that. “This is related to how I joined the group.”

Mingeun’s expression turns hostile. You can practically see him remembering your first few trainee days.

You pick and choose your words. You’ve parleyed with Taein; you can have this conversation with Mingeun.

“I also made a deal with him,” you say, as if you two are one and the same, “though it was a bit different from yours. I discovered he was cheating on his wife. I exchanged keeping that information a secret for a debut.”

“You blackmailed him.” Mingeun’s voice is an icy monotone. “Then you came in here and took my spot.”

It sounds bad when he says it like that. You never took anyone’s spot. If you had, then Mingeun wouldn’t be here at all.

“I didn’t,” you say, but he barrels over you.

“You did. I was the best vocalist until Andrew-hyung joined, and then I was the second best vocalist until you came along. When you’re third best, you might as well be nothing. It means you’re not good enough. You’re not talented enough, you’re not skilled enough, you haven’t worked hard enough.” He’s standing now, beginning an erratic circuit around your room.

You let him cool down a little before you speak again. “I’m sorry,” you offer, as if that's going to fix anything.

He fixes you with a baleful glance, and you're suddenly thankful he hasn't punched any holes in your walls. It looks like he's inching closer and closer to it, hands balled into fists, jaw so tight he might pop a vein. You're surprised that he doesn't have permanent indents in his palms from his fingernails.

“Did you know,” he says slowly, “that a few months before we learned we were going to debut, Taein-nim cut me from the lineup? For you.”

“I didn’t know,” you say softly, staring at the ground. “It worked out for you.”

"It did not 'work out' for me," Mingeun says, air-quotting your words back at you. "If it 'worked out' for me, I would be in NCT right now. It 'worked out' because Jaeseop-hyung argued for me. He managed to convince Taein-nim to debut me as well."

All of this is news for you. You wonder how long Mingeun has kept all of this bottled up. The last three years, presumably. Almost the same length of time he spent lying about where he grew up and what his childhood was like. There's nothing you can say to reassure him. You know this, because you've tried before. Mingeun isn't a conversationalist. Once he gets worked up about something, the dialogue becomes one-sided and there's little to do but wait until he cools off.

You present him with a question of your own anyway. "If you had an opportunity to do what I did," you ask, "would you have done the same?"

You know that if you were in his position, left with no choice but to disguise your identity, to hide who you truly were in order to debut, you'd do it.

Mingeun only glares at you. "I don't want to know what you're up to anymore. I don't care."

He doesn't answer your question. You take that to mean he agrees. He storms out of your room, and you give him a few minutes on his own before you follow to retrieve your coffee.

You can’t make another deal with Taein. For once, you’re out of ideas. You have no cards left to play, no aces hidden up your sleeve. You’ve been the face of Fable for three years. That will have to be enough.

The change comes quickly—faster than you thought it would. Byeonghwi is the one with the extra schedules: the solo endorsements, the variety show appearances as a representative of the group, the music show MC position. Those were yours, once upon a time.

When the opportunities do start coming your way again, it's never you alone. It's you and Eunsu, or you and Byeonghwi, or you and Andrew. Once you stop to think about it, all those pairings make logical sense. You and Eunsu are basically inseparable in Fable's group shows, because you're always hanging onto him. You and Byeonghwi and the two faces of Fable. You and Andrew are the backbone of the group's music as the main vocalists. It's infuriating. You despise it.

Your current situation has you and Byeonghwi as guests on a radio show, promoting your soon-to-released album alongside a mostly rookie cast promoting their soon-to-be released film. It was supposed to be you and Eunsu, but Eunsu’s older brother passed away recently, and he left for home a few days ago.

You told Daewoong you’d be fine going by yourself. He gave you a rather disinterested look and said the program’s director requested two representatives.

When you're sitting in the radio program’s studio, comically oversized headphones on the table in front of you, it almost feels like normal. As long as you pretend Byeonghwi isn't sitting right next to you. Before you’re on air, you make polite conversation with the actors. There are three of them: two young men and one young woman. You try, as you sit there, to match their faces to the film poster on the wall behind them. It’s a bit difficult, because the film is some sort of gritty, post-apocalyptic one, and their faces are covered in fake blood and gore.

You do your best. You’re charming. You’re cordial. You’re kind. Byeonghwi tries to join the conversation twice, and you ice him out subtly both times. He takes the hint. No one else seems to notice.

Then the host begins the show, and you’re on air. It’s just as much of a performance as being on stage is, and you don’t disappoint. You introduce yourself: you’re Haksu from Fable, in charge of the group’s vocals. Then you introduce your sixth mini album, 환호작약, releasing in two weeks. The tracks were all written by your group members, and the title track, 멋, is an upbeat trap anthem driven by a taepyeongso. You’ve worked hard for this, and you hope everyone will listen to and enjoy the songs.

You’re comfortable, relaxing as the film cast introduce themselves and their characters. You learn the movie’s plot follows three high school students who become trapped in their school when the apocalypse begins. Cut off from the outside world, the students quickly turn on each other, forming and breaking alliances. In line with that—and not with your album—the radio program’s episode is themed around school. You’re prepared, like you always are, your mind full of anecdotes and advice, though you were never a good student. Byeonghwi wasn’t either. The two of you are here regardless.

The first question tackles favorite subjects. You’re seconds away from responding, leaning into your microphone to speak. Your favorite subject was, of course, art. You’ve been in choirs all your life. It’s what made you want to become a singer.

So when the host turns to Byeonghwi and asks, “Byeonghwi-ssi, since you’re the youngest, could you go first?”

You disguise the beginning of your sentence with a cough.

Byeonghwi seems a bit surprised, but he recovers quickly. “I liked PE a lot. When I was in high school, I was on my school’s soccer team. Growing up, I wanted to play professionally.”

The eyes of one of the actors—his name has slipped your mind already—light up, and he launches into his own similar story. This must have been planned, and you weren’t involved. You’ve never been athletic. You survive Mingeun’s dance practices and that’s enough for you. The two of them embark on a lengthy conversation about Son Heung-min that the host has to interrupt to steer the show back on track.

For some reason you weren’t consulted on, all the questions are directed towards Byeonghwi, not you. He talks about clubs—his soccer team again—and cliques—how he transferred to high school in Seoul and developed a poor reputation because he sat in the back of the classroom and was absent often, a story you and your fans have heard countless times before—and preparing for the suneung. He didn’t even go to university. You did, but no one asks you for advice. You sit in silence as he gets a faraway look in his eyes, recounting cram schools and private tutors and self-discipline.

Everyone seems oblivious to your plight. The film cast laughs along with Byeonghwi’s stories, the same way they joked around with you before the program started.

Then comes the program’s main event, posing the same question the film’s cast deals with: who would you choose to survive the apocalypse with? As per usual, Byeonghwi goes first.

“Haksu-hyung, of course,” he begins. That was a given, but it means you now need to choose him as well. When you and Eunsu planned your responses, you both agreed to name each other. You had no such agreement with Byeonghwi.

“He’s reliable and everyone likes him. People are drawn to him. He’d be a good leader,” Byeonghwi continues. “And Yejun-hyung. He’s smart and would definitely survive.”

You have to admit you like hearing speak so highly of you.

When it’s finally your turn to speak, you say, “I’d pick Byeonghwi.”

A reason isn’t in any of your plans, so you make one up on the spot. “His athleticism makes him a good asset, but he might leave me behind if we had to escape,” you joke, before quickly moving on. “I’d also want Jaeseop-hyung.”

Your first pick, had you been in a real apocalyptic situation, would also be Andrew, but you doubt the three of you are some sort of survival situation dream team.

“He’s reliable and we get along well,” you finish.

You don’t speak much for the rest of the program. You sulk quietly instead, because Byeonghwi and the actors are doing most of the talking, and no one bothers to include you in the conversations. It would have been better if Daewoong let you go alone.

The on-air light finally clicks off, and your torture ends. You pull your headphones off, happy to be free of the weight. Byeonghwi stretches in his seat, a bright grin on his face. “That was fun! Did you have fun, hyung?”

You grunt out a noise that could be positive or negative. Of course he had fun. He was the one who got to speak. All you did was introduce yourself and your new album. Your sole consolation is that the main focus was on the actors, not on the two of you. You’re the face of the group. It just feels wrong for anyone else to represent the eight of you.

You grit your teeth and bite your tongue and force a smile to your face for the usual round of polite goodbyes and closing remarks with the show's host.

Byeonghwi beams brightly. “I hope we can do it again.”

You echo his sentiment out loud. Inwardly, you know that once is more than enough for this experience.

After that, the promotions of your latest mini album come to a smooth close. The night of the recording of your farewell stage puts everyone in a good mood—until Mingeun ruins it all.

He’s in the dorm when you arrive, which is a surprise, because he spends most of his time with the band. You didn’t think he wanted to see the rest of the group during the promotional period he was excluded from.

You also didn’t think he was part of your little after party—a kickback, according to Andrew. The distinctions between types of American parties have never been of interest to you.

No one else minds. Mingeun slips in like he was just at your music show performance, though he’s drinking water, not alcohol. He’s standing in the kitchen, shoulder to shoulder with Eunsu, when he suddenly announces, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Haksu-hyung has something to share.”

You, leaning against the counter amidst your conversation with Andrew, do not, in fact, have anything to share. You play along anyway. “A toast,” you say, raising your soju bottle. “To our successful promotions.”

You didn’t win a single music show this time around, but there are another measurements. Your sales numbers are good. Your fansigns are successful. No one experienced a life-threatening scandal.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Mingeun says. He’s not raising his water bottle. You lower your drink.

You watch Jaeseop’s gaze ping-pong between the two of you, more curious than anything.

Mingeun takes a seat in your desk chair. “Haksu-hyung wants to tell us how he became an idol.”

You want to do nothing of the sort. You know it won’t end well. No one—not even Andrew—is drunk enough to hear it.

“He told me recently,” Mingeun continues. “I thought everyone else might want to know.”

“There’s something we don’t know?” Byeonghwi asks, ever innocent. You assume there are a lot of things he doesn’t know.

You try to downplay it. “There isn’t much to say. I wanted to be an idol, and I managed to find Taein-nim, who was willing to give me a chance.”

To your horror, Jaeseop speaks up. “To be honest, I’m curious about that too. Your story’s never added up, and Samchon doesn’t like talking about you.” He starts to count on his fingers. “I recruited Intak and Kiyoung-hyung. Mingeun and Eunsu knew Samchon from SM. Andrew and Byeonghwi passed the audition. You don’t fit into any of those categories. So?”

You know that. You wince at the reminder. You can feel the weight of everyone’s eyes on you, even Intak and Kiyoung, who might as well be a world away in the living room. You swallow roughly. Your throat is dry and your hands are sweating. You put your drink down before you drop it.

Mingeun spins around in your chair. It almost looks like he’s enjoying himself. “You were enthusiastic when it was the two of us. What happened?”

You trusted him. Out of everyone, you thought he’d understand you the most, and despite all his prickliness, you know that he’s trying and he means well. Usually. You also know Jaeseop and Byeonghwi and Andrew and probably Kiyoung would find your actions deplorable.

“I thought you’d understand,” you say, picking your words carefully. You discard “sympathize” and “relate.”

Mingeun nods slowly. “I guess you were right about that.”

That boosts your ego by only the most miniscule amount. It can’t compare to the dread swirling in your stomach.

“Will one of you explain?” Jaeseop bursts first, nosy as he is.

“Sorry, hyung,” Mingeun says. “We’re going to say some unpleasant things about your uncle.” Then he turns to you. “I’ll help.”

Jaeseop shrugs. “I’ll survive.”

The room is silent, except for the pop of Andrew opening another bottle of beer with his now empty one. Mingeun, clearly reveling in the attention, says, “Haksu-hyung could have predicted Taein’s divorce before he became a trainee.”

“I don't get it,” Byeonghwi announces almost immediately.

“You knew,” Andrew says, surprisingly calm.

You nod, suddenly feeling mute. Mingeun is telling your story, and for once, you don't mind.

“I still don't get it.” Byeonghwi again, of course.

“Blackmail,” Mingeun announces dramatically. “Haksu-hyung won’t admit it, but that’s what it is. He caught Taein-nim in some uncomfortable situations, and used it to become a trainee.”

It sounds much more dramatic—and much worse—when Mingeun puts it like that. His words are met mostly with silence. You stare at the kitchen counter, unwilling to make eye contact with anyone. Your secrets are revealed to the world, and strangely, you feel lighter. You didn’t Mingeun about all the time you spent staking out Zenith Entertainment and him, by extension. You don’t think you’ll ever tell anyone that, and your burden settles on your shoulders again.

“Is that accurate?” Jaeseop asks, oddly calm. Almost like Taein when he’s mad, you realize.

“Yes,” you answer without looking at him. You like the spotlight, but right now, this is the worst it’s ever felt. Defensively, you add, “It wasn’t hard.”

Eunsu shakes his head. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

You don’t think you have a bad side. It was just one of the choices you had. Desperate times and desperate measures.

“At least it wasn’t revealed through the tabloids,” Mingeun says, waving his water bottle through the air.

“This isn’t about you,” Andrew says. He’s a few paces farther from you than he was when you were talking earlier, and more than halfway through his second beer.

Mingeun ignores him. “It’s not that bad. I get it.”

“Not that bad?” Eunsu repeats. “I think it’s pretty fucking bad.”

You wince. You didn’t think he’d oppose you like this. It’s weird, because it seems like Mingeun is almost on your side, despite bringing up the topic in the first place, and you’ve never seen the two of them disagree on anything.

Then Jaeseop says, “It’s not surprising that he’d do that.”

You think he’s talking about you, but then he adds, “My uncle. His first marriage ended the same way.” He almost cracks a smile. “I didn’t think you’d catch him.”

Byeonghwi’s eyes are wide in annoying innocence. You assume he’s wondering what happened to respecting your elders and filial piety. You’re surprised too. You know there’s little love lost between Taein and Jaeseop. You didn’t think he’d understand your logic.

“So,” Mingeun says, spinning in your chair, “does anyone else have any deep, dark secrets they'd like to share?”

"No," Andrew says. "I know not to tell you secrets."

“Would you don't have told us?" Jaeseop asks.

“I don't know," you admit. You don't like that Mingeun was the one who shared it, but the reaction you received was better than you expected. Jaeseop isn't kicking you out of the group, and if Andrew and Eunsu look at you like you have some contagious disease, well, you'll live.

"How long did you do this for?" Kiyoung calls from the living room.

You freeze. You never told Mingeun that. He stormed out before you could get very far. You wonder if you should lie. After all, Taein said it didn't matter. You could have done this on your own. The reception is fine now, but if you tell them it helped you become the face of the group when maybe, it was supposed to be someone else, they might turn on you.

You make your decision, and pray for forgiveness.

“Not long. Like Mingen said, I used it to become a trainee."

"There were easier ways," Jaeseop says, another clear echo of Taein.

“What made you stop?" Kiyoung asks, staring intently at you.

"I didn't need it. I could do it on my own." Half lie, half truth. "I didn't want to ask for too much. It didn't feel right.”

Eunsu snorts, "Didn't realize you cared about morality."

You're trying to make it into Heaven, so you do care.

Kiyoung doesn't quite seem to believe you, but he drops the subject.

The mood never recovers, despite Byeonghwi's best attempts. You can't tell who's to blame: you, for your actions all those years ago, or Mingeun, for his insistence on the subject. You fade into the background of your own group's private party, hit with a sudden stab of fear that maybe this is your fate. Maybe you'll have nothing left. Maybe your group members are witty and charismatic and charming, and all they needed was the chance your fall from grace is now providing.

You won't let that happen. You can't let that happen. After all, you're destined for great things.

#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ writing. ]#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ haksu. ]#fictional idol community #kpop oc #fake kpop group #bts addition

7 notes · View notes

frankhightower · 10 days

Photo

Commission Prices 2023 (and FAQ)

It's that time: I'm open for commissions! Got questions on the general process? Please see last year's FAQ. Questions on the changes? Please see below:

Why the price increase? Mostly because of inflation, but some I raised because I had severely underestimated how long it took to make (for instance, shading now takes me about as long as coloring and the linework combined; the previous price sheet assumed it took as long as just coloring. This wasn’t because I was “bad” at coloring and “good” at shading, I just hadn’t done a lot of shaded pieces to get a good grasp on the time it took)

How can I know which were raised for inflation and which were raised for “difficulty”? As a rule of thumb, if I raised it by $5, it was because of inflation; if I raised it by more, it’s because I’d underestimated it

Why $5? In 2017 I set my prices as 5,10,15, etc. and it felt fair at the time, but there’s been quite a bit of inflation since 2017.

So why does black and white still cost $5? I am committed to keeping a $5 option for people that can’t afford more. As with the refsheets, I know that art is a gateway to wider participation in the fandom so I strongly believe in having an affordable option.

So why does lineless only cost marginally more than the lined equivalent? Most artists charge, like, double! Because I happen to like doing it.

It says prices are per “full body” character, that’s new. Yes. After the “dollar menu” experiment, I’m more willing to not draw the full character (which, as I’ve mentioned, requires me short-circuiting my own brain that “needs” to see “the rest of it”) and lower the price accordingly. This is also why I’ve set my comic pricing as “per panel”: you rarely have the whole character in-panel in a comic so that offsets the extra stuff that the panel needs.

Wait, that said “per prop” last year! Why the change? Same reasoning: I’ve decided not to charge for props. This means the total price people will pay won’t go up as much.

What counts as a complex marking? That’s also new. As with refsheets, a character with more than 3 spots or stripes per limb or more than 6 spots/stripes total (not counting tail for either).

Those numbers sound kind of arbitrary... They’re based on practice, and I arrived at them by studying several established character designs so I know they’re fair.

My character doesn’t have spots or stripes, he has markings shaped like [insert symbol here]! A marking in the shape of a “y” counts as two stripes. A marking in the shape of an “H” counts as three. Curves (up until a J-shape) are treated as stripes. C-shapes, circles and dots are counted as spots.

As a practical example, suppose you have a giant heart shape on your back—that counts as three spots (and your back as a limb) so you’re good. If that heart has a line through it, now you have 4 (3 spots and a stripe) so it counts as complex.

My character has those, but I can’t afford the complexity charge... I’m sure we can figure out a way to clothe them so that only a manageable amount of markings is showing.

I heard you charged someone complexity for clothes though? Yes, if your clothes are covered in spots/stripes/etc, it will take me longer to draw it!

You weren’t charging for this last year! Why the change? I noticed I was unable to predict the time it would take me to draw a character when this happened (kind of necessary to be able to do when you’re squeezing drawing time in between your job) and this is definitely a factor.

Just quit your job! No.

This is all ridiculous, just use a pattern fill! Although I respect newspaper comic tropes, that is not the kind of work I offer.

This is only valid for 2024, how much are prices going to rise next year?! They probably won’t: by my math, these prices should still work with the inflation expected for next year. However, I’m not quite convinced of the effort valuation for the more expensive options (lineless may prove either easier or harder than I’m anticipating, but I won’t know until I’ve done more of them!) so I want to leave the door open to adjust prices again in a year.

…How does the discount option work? Find a piece in my gallery and tell me you want “this but with _____.” If I can reuse part of the drawing, I won’t charge you for that part. I keep the raw files for all my drawings so I’m very likely to find something I can reuse.

Posted using PostyBirb

#sketch #color #shaded #commissions #5 #20 #25 #30 #35 #50 #60

0 notes

subspencer · 3 years

Text

the to-do list

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!Reader

Summary: Reader is worried that she’s not adventurous enough in bed. So, she makes a secret checklist of things to try with Spencer. Based on this request.

Category: Smut, 18+ ONLY, minors dni

Warnings/Includes: switch!Spencer, (sort of?) corruption kink, exhibitionism, mile high club, brief description of oral, unprotected sex, creampie, brief mentions of other stuff but no descriptions

Word Count: 3k

Spencer’s girlfriend has a secret checklist. It could be called a bucket list, of some sort, but really all of the items on it pertain to sexual acts to perform with Spencer, on Spencer, or in front of Spencer. So checklist is a more appropriate term.

The list came into existence after a girl’s night game of Never Have I Ever, in which she discovered there was an embarrassing number of things she’d never done. Some of them seemed nearly impossible to have gone twenty-something years without doing, especially when in a committed relationship. That was made abundantly clear to her when the girls pointed it out, teasing her — and by association, Spencer — for being more than vanilla.

There was no real reason she hadn’t tried those certain things — she wasn’t adverse to the idea of most of them at all. Really, it was just that she never bothered to dip her toes beyond what was familiar.

When Emily, Penelope, and Tara had nearly all ten of their fingers down after a couple rounds, she finally realized she might’ve been coming up short in the sex department. She figured it was about time to find out what she’s missing, so she made a list of everything she needed to try. And one by one, she and Spencer checked the items off.

One of the more simple things on the list, and perhaps her favorite, was giving her first blowjob. It wasn’t something she felt compelled to try with any of the guys she’s been with before, and Spencer, though he was very curious about it, was too much of a gentleman to ask for one.

So when she asked him to sit on the edge of his bed and dropped to her knees in front of him, he didn’t stop to ask questions. His mind went blank the second her fingers undid his zipper. It was Spencer’s first, too, and his fingers knotted in her hair as she took him in as deep as she could, hollowing her cheeks around his cock and swirling her tongue as her head bobbed up and down. Spencer always made pretty sounds in bed, but in this instance she envied his memory because she wished she could replay his moans and gasps from that first blowjob all over again in her mind.

Another favorite was allowing the favor to be reciprocated until completion. She figured she might just be someone who couldn’t get off from oral, because though she always welcomed Spencer to go down, she got impatient every time and pulled his head up by his hair, demanding him to fuck her already. Spencer was one to oblige every request, but he couldn’t pretend that he wasn’t overjoyed when one time she never stopped him short.

There were no interruptions, no hands shoving his face away from its rightful place against her, just increasing moans and shaking legs as Spencer was encouraged to give more. She can still remember the half-moon shapes his nails left on her thighs from where he had to grip them so tightly as she rode out her high. And she definitely remembers the almost feral look in his eyes after, because since that first time he insists on doing it again nearly every day.

There were more or less a dozen other items that slowly but surely got ticked off the list.

Handcuffs in the bedroom — fun, but perhaps better saved for special occasions. Or if Spencer was being extra good and deserved a treat.

Various new positions — a reminder to stretch more. And that sixty-nine is not as easy as it sounds on paper.

She let Spencer put a blindfold on her — it was decided they both prefer it more when the blindfold is on him. It keeps him guessing.

Spanking — both of them like this one, either giving or receiving. Surprisingly, she thinks she might like receiving it a little more, and Spencer is always excited to give.

Shower sex — a bit of a logistical nightmare, yet still a weekly staple. It’s slippery, yes, but it’s also relaxing and intimate. And Spencer just enjoys putting his hands on her wet, soapy body.

Sending dirty texts — great, but Spencer prefers taking nude polaroids of her instead. He keeps a few in his wallet for easy access. And because he knows Garcia can’t hack his wallet and find them.

And there were more items that went in the same tune until there was just one left. The one she was most nervous to attempt.

She wondered if joining the mile high club was better or worse if it was on the BAU jet. They’d have ample opportunities to do it, but they’d also be surrounded by their colleagues, and there is no coming back from getting caught.

But the main challenge was convincing Spencer to do it in the first place.

The initial plan of attack was to drop some “subtle” hints. She brought it up for the first time one night in their shared hotel room, right after Spencer fucked her against the bathroom counter, her legs wrapped around his waist.

“We could totally do that in the jet bathroom.”

“Yeah, I guess the basics are the same. Cramped space and a ledge to lean on.” Spencer was completely aloof as he picked up the scattered articles of clothing from the floor, rattling off about the size and dimensions of the airplane bathroom and missing the entire point of the comment.

She mentioned it again a little later, hoping the repetition may help him catch the drift.

“What’s the craziest place you’ve had sex?” she asked, completely catching him off guard as he ate a breakfast of frosted flakes in his kitchen.

“Um.. I don’t know? You tell me,” he shrugged, knowing that whatever the craziest place was, it was definitely with her.

“What about doing it on the jet?” It couldn’t get more obvious.

“We haven’t done that, silly. OH! I’m gonna say it was in my car,” he nodded with a wide grin, confident in his answer that unfortunately brushed past the proposition far too quickly.

It was time to change methods.

The new plan was to see if she could get him turned on enough on the jet to motivate him to do something about it right then and there. It seemed easy enough.

She sat next to him on the small couch, as she always did, and cuddled up to his side as he read his book.

Once everyone was distracted, she snaked a hand onto his thigh, allowing it to rest there long enough for Spencer to get over his initial shock and relax into her touch. As soon as he let his guard down, she moved her hand up another inch or two, watching him squirm again as he fought his mind from wandering. She repeated that cycle every five minutes until it drove him insane, his willpower diminishing in tandem with the proximity of her hand.

When everyone finally fell asleep, she craned her head to press small kisses on his neck, alternating between quick pecks and lingering ones, sucking warm and wet little flecks onto his skin that drew soft sighs without fail.

“What are you doing?” his breath was raspy and low as he muttered into her ear.

“Nothing.” She kept her tone innocent and sweet as she continued to sprinkle the teasing kisses across the column of his throat.

Her hand finally found its way directly on top of the bulge straining against his slacks and gave it a gentle squeeze. Spencer grinded himself into her palm, desperate to feel some friction, his jaw slacked and pupils wide. She dragged a thumb across his length, stopping to rub slow circles over the sensitive tip, drawing out a wet spot at the front of his trousers.

But even with his skin flushed red and his cock leaking and half-near orgasm, Spencer still found the restraint to stop her from jerking him off right on the jet and ripped her hand away, placing it in her lap as if the action could permanently force her to keep her hands to herself.

“I can’t go to the crime scene with cum in my pants,” he hissed, squeezing her wrist tighter.

She smirked at the opportunity, wrapping her warm lips around his ear lobe and tugging with her teeth before whispering with hot breath. “Then put it in me.”

For a second she saw him consider it. His eyes had a dark cast, gaze flickering between her eyes and lips as he swallowed the thick lump in his throat. But then Emily woke up and it was yet another failed attempt.

She resigned to the fact that it just wouldn’t happen, and that the item might remain unchecked on the secret list. So she cleared the idea from her mind, not wanting to keep pushing Spencer toward something he clearly didn’t have an interest in, or to keep embarrassing herself by trying.

And then a couple weeks later, as the team wrapped another case up, she came back to their hotel room to find Spencer sitting on the bed, facing away from the door.

“Hey, baby,” she greeted. When Spencer didn’t respond, she crawled onto the bed behind him, placing both hands on his shoulders and attacking the side of his face with kisses, giggling into his messy curls. “I said hey.”

Still nothing. Her eyes followed his line of sight down to his hands and went wide with realization.

“Spencer, where did you get that!?” She tried to snatch the crumpled piece of paper from him, but he was too quick to pull it away.

“I was looking for gum in your purse,” he explained, reading the sheet over again in complete amusement, “but I found something better.”

Spencer was much too excited about it, bordering on smug, and she rolled off the bed away from him in annoyance.

“Is this what I think it is?” She remained silent, suddenly feeling very insecure about the note. “Did you... did you make a list of things to do in bed?”

“You weren’t supposed to see that, it’s so stupid.”

“Hey, who said it’s stupid?” He tugged on her fingers, pulling her back onto the bed next to him. “I just wanna know where it came from.”

“Well... when I went out with the girls, we started talking about all the things we’ve done…” she paused to see if Spencer could guess where this was going, and of course he didn’t, “... in bed. And I hadn’t even done half of what they have, so I wrote some of them down. I — I wanted to try them with you.”

“So you… you’ve never done these with anyone else?” Spencer’s eyes widened as he pieced the puzzle together. He looked down again at the discarded sheet laying on pillows, his pride swelling at how long the list was. “I’m the first?”

She nodded in assent and no sooner was Spencer pushing her back flat against the mattress, settling his body on top of hers.

“God, that’s so hot,” he spoke into her neck as he sucked purple bruises into it, allowing his hands to roam freely under her shirt. His nimble fingers made quick work of her bra clasp, pulling the hem of the top up to attach his lips to her exposed nipple. He rolled the other in his fingers, tugging gently as she arched into his touch, rolling her hips up to grind against his. He groaned and pushed back, nestling himself perfectly between her legs.

Suddenly his motions halted and he popped his head up, looking at her with wide eyes and freshly ruffled hair. “We haven’t finished the list yet!”

“I — I didn’t think you were interested in the last one.”

“If my girlfriend makes a list of ways she wants to fuck me, I’m interested.”

A devilish grin took over her face. “Well, we fly home tomorrow.”

And true to the plan, they arrived on the jet the next day with at least a vague sense of strategy: wait until everyone is asleep then go at it in the bathroom. It wasn’t the most elaborate of plans, but there wasn’t much else to think of.

Except for the possibility that the others might not go to sleep.

The flight was already halfway through its journey and everyone was still wide awake, and Spencer was growing incredibly impatient. Perhaps even more than his girlfriend, now that he knew this would be part of a long list of things he got to be her first for.

That fact seemed to encourage him, the thrill of forever being her first at something. Never mind that she’d be his firsts, too.

Spencer’s not stupid, he knows that bending her over the bathroom counter while everyone is awake to hear it is a horrible idea. But his willpower doesn’t extend far enough to stop him from dropping his hand to her exposed knee, rubbing it softly just to be able to touch her. It seemed innocent enough in case anyone might see.

He kept his eyes on the open book he was pretending to read as his fingers traced the inside of her thigh, pushing up the hem of her skirt ever so slightly.

He inched his hand up and slowly spread his long fingers apart until they covered the length of her inner thigh. The tips stopping just below her cunt, delicately tracing lines back and forth parallel to the seam of her underwear.

And she quickly discovers there’s no taste worse than your own medicine. There was gentle brushes and concealed touches, all the things that she did to him. But where Spencer would’ve stopped her teasing before it got too far, she wouldn’t have done the same.

She covered up his hands by bringing her own down to her lap, silently encouraging him to continue unseen.

Spencer looked down at her through his thick lashes, bottom lip stuck between his teeth. Looking for more confirmation that she wanted this. The answer came in the form of her shifting subtly down the seat, pressing her clothed pussy firmly against his hand.

His cock twitched against the confines of his slacks when he felt the damp patch on the fabric. His knuckles brushed against her clit and her knees clamped shut, holding him in place as she brought her lips close to his ear to let him hear her soft whines.

He has to put his book over his lap to cover how hard he is, and it almost makes him regret starting this game. Almost.

Because just as she starts desperately grinding against his hand, squirming for more friction, he notices that everyone’s asleep. And then it’s a race to the bathroom, Spencer positioning her directly in front of him to cover his bulge as they stand up.

Their mouths are on each other before the door even closes, her hands wasting little time in going for his zipper. Both desperate to have each other after all the anticipation. She immediately perched herself on the countertop, spreading her legs wide so Spencer could fit in between them, just like in that hotel room. A confused whine fell from her mouth when he lifted her off from the ledge, interrupting her plan.

“No. Like this,” he growled, turning her around and pushing her hips against the edge of the counter, bending her over it. She muttered a “Fuck,” under her breath as he pressed his cock against her backside, knowing he preferred this angle because he could get deeper.

His lips trailed down her neck as he tugged the skirt up to her hips and pulled her panties to the side, running his cock along her folds to gather the wetness that had been pooling there.

“Shit, you’re so fucking wet.”

He quickly inserted his thumb into her mouth to stop any sounds from escaping before lining himself up. Her moans vibrated against the digit as he slowly pushed in, stretching her out and letting her adjust before starting to move. Slowly and deliberately, at first, then quickly gaining speed.

She pushed her hips back to meet his thrusts until he pinned them against the ledge with his own, holding them still so he could set his pace faster.

The hand that was resting on her waist came up to her chest, groping at the flesh over her blouse. Her spine arched into his palm, bending forward to give him more leverage to get deeper to that spot inside her repeatedly.

He alternated between a few quick thrusts followed by a deep one, holding himself there for a moment before repeating.

Her cunt tightened around him as he held still against her, applying firm pressure to her spot with the head of his cock.

“Fuck, do that again, please,” he grunted against her neck, pushing his hips into her ass with bruising force to get impossibly closer. A loud whine nearly escaped her lips as he did so, the motion sending her over the edge.

She sucked harder around his thumb, using it to keep her cries at bay as she reached her climax. Her walls fluttered around him as she did, giving him exactly what he needed.

“Remember what you said before, baby?” he hummed in her ear, “Do you still want me to cum inside you?”

“Please.”

Immediately his thrusts became erratic, hips snapping forward a handful of times before he spilled into her in hot spurts, biting down on her shoulder to stifle his moan as he came.

Still heaving from the comedown, he pulled her panties back on, using the fabric to keep his cum from spilling out.

She turned to feverishly attach her lips to his, panting into the open mouthed kiss. When they finally broke apart, both looked completely wrecked with swollen lips, flushed skin, bruised necks. Still, they tried their best to fix themselves, straightening out their rustled clothes and smoothing knotted hair.

Before Spencer turned the door handle, he pulled her side into him, pressing a kiss onto her forehead. “We should make another list.”

taglist: @suburban--gothic @ssa-sarahsunshine @mercy-burning @reidspurple @mediocre-writer @honeyboysteezy @ssa-m-187 @calm-and-doctor @drayshadow @s1utformgg @you-sunshine @altsvu @reidtheprettyboy @goose-eats-god @sonnydoesrandomshit @rigatonireid @muffin-cup @amoeebaa @reidingmelodies

#spencer reid #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x reader #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler smut #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid fic #spencer reid self insert #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds #spencer reid x reader smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds self insert

1K notes · View notes

therenlover · 3 years

Text

The Boy With The Easel (A Young Artist!Helmut Zemo x Reader Oneshot)

(Hey! If you end up enjoying this fic, it’s the first chronological part of a new fun expanded AU I’ve created with @creme-bruhlee! Their fic Bliss is part of the same timeline and takes place about a year after this one, so you should check it out!!!)

Synopsis: About a month into your first semester at Novi Grad’s top university, you finally meet the strange young man that you’ve taken to calling “easel boy” in the back of a bookshop. From a distance, he always seemed cold and aloof. As you get to know him, though, you realize things aren’t always what they seem.

Tags: Meet Cute, College AU, First Meetings, Coffee Date, Artist!Zemo, Embarrassment, Awkward College Kids Falling In Love

Rating: T

Warnings: Very Vague Mention of Sexual Content, Swearing, Zemo Says The Word Daddy In Reference To His Father and The Reader Thinks It’s Kinda Hot

Word Count: 7000~

This fic has been crossposted to my AO3!

------

The University of Novi Grad

Fall 1996

Mornings in Novi Grad could be beautiful if you knew what to look for.

Sokovia was… different from America in many ways. From the language to the scenery, you often found yourself adrift in the strangeness of it all. There had been nothing quite as old as the buildings in the historical district of Novi Grad back home, no towering grey behemoths serving as a reminder of a bygone fight against Soviet invasion in the memories of your childhood. Still, though, there was beauty in the strangeness nonetheless.

From your tiny room in the Helena Lyudmila International Scholar’s dorm, for instance, you had a perfect view of a large campus courtyard hosting a statue of the donor by the same name. She was some royal who had invested in education a few hundred years ago, and by the looks of her metal likeness, she had been quite pretty. The sight of her shining in the early morning sun was one of the things that made uprooting your whole life seem worth it in the end, no matter how silly that seemed.

There were other small comforts that you had found beauty in during your first month attending your prestigious university, too.

You found beauty in the way the sunlight streamed over the rooftops like the opening to an Oscar-winning film. In the sound of traffic below and the overcast skies above. Sandwiches from corner stores, wildflowers growing in the median of the road, cups of the worlds best black coffee served steaming by scowling attendants at the cafe; Everywhere there was something small and kind and just familiar enough to relish in, more than able to distract you from the stress of living hand-to-mouth in a country where you didn’t even know the language. It made it all worth it.

That being said there was something else too…

Someone else to be specific.

The campus tended to run like clockwork. The same groups of students would walk past your window to their classes, the same professors would get their coffee and lunch at the little cafe across the square, and every weekday morning at 8 am on the dot, easel boy would set up his palette and canvas and paint the same bustling street.

He was talented, that you couldn’t deny. Even from the 6th floor, which was a considerable distance away, it was possible to admire the detailing and consistency with which he painted. His talent wasn’t when kept you captive at your window in the morning, though. Though you were sure his art was beautiful, he himself was a thousand times more stunning.

All dark eyes and dark hair and dark clothes, he parted crowds with his piercing gaze alone. He was always dressed like the protagonist of some awful artsy film. Massive argyle sweaters, untucked button-ups, corduroy jackets, and flare bottomed pants that must have survived his father’s wardrobe from the ’70s… his style was as close you could get to atrocious while still being impeccable as possible, and that wasn’t even getting started on the smudged black liner always present under his persistent gaze. You had never had the pleasure (or embarrassment for that matter) of meeting him in person, but you were sure that you would have had the same awed and slightly frightened reaction if you ever did. He could have been plucked entirely from the pages of some awful romance novel.

You were well and truly smitten with the idea of him.

If you looked at your morning routine through the eyes of a stranger, you’d consider yourself odd for your strange obsession with him, but you didn’t look at it like that. It wasn’t an obsession. You never overstepped your bounds. He was simply pleasing to look at and so you did. That didn’t constitute as obsessive, right?

Even if it did, you weren’t causing any harm.

Easel boy, as you had come to refer to him, was simply a tool you used to ground yourself in your new and frightening environment. Nothing more. If you ever met him, you would surely hate him from the short interactions you’d seen him have with strangers. They never ended well. He would remain an unattainable, attractive ideal in your mind until he eventually faded away into a funny memory you’d share with your kids one day.

Until then, though, you would watch him from your window before your morning classes and refused to feel guilty about it. So, that was that, no ifs, ands, or buts about it.

On the morning in question, you had woken up a little late and in a foul mood. In preparation for a test in your foundations of algebra course you had spent the better part of the night pouring over formulas while your upstairs neighbor’s bed slammed repeatedly into the wall and floor. Though you were sure they were having an excellent time, you were most definitely not. It all culminated in you missing your original alarms and despite the fact that your first class started at 10, you were exhausted, furious, and not looking forward to missing breakfast to finish the assigned reading you had put off the night before. The only thing keeping you from throwing in the towel and just giving up was the promise of seeing the painter.

So, when he arrived for the day at 8 am sharp, you were positioned at the ledge by your window, textbook in hand with a mug of instant coffee at your right. It was like a breath of fresh air.

As usual, he retrieved a small pack of cigarettes from the back of his eternally paint-stained jeans only to bring one to his lips and light it quickly. He always smoked before he worked, and just like always, he took an extra cigarette from the pack to tuck behind his ear for later. Then, he got to work setting up his easel and the small stool where he set his palette.

Pulling tubes of acrylic, brushes, and pencils from his well-worn messenger bag, easel boy flipped out the kickstand without any problem and set his thick, pre-primed canvas on the worn metal. You watched in fascination. Art had always seemed so unattainable to you. Instead, you were drawn to the more academic. The man before you, though, created beauty with an ease that had evaded you all your life, and it had you both jealous and entirely intrigued. Slowly, you reached down to take a sip of your coffee as you let your eyes drift back to your reading.

Learning about ancient Babylon was far less interesting than watching him, though.

When you next looked out the window and away from your work the handsome artist had created his base sketch already. How did he do it so fast? You assumed it was practice. He had been drawing the same 3 buildings every weekday morning for at least a month, so after a while, it must have been second nature to measure out the lines and put things into perspective. You smiled. He tended to have that effect on you.

The process was repeated until a little before 9:30. You would read a few paragraphs then look up to watch the painting progress from a sketch to a full-fledged work of art. It was good today from what you could see. The colors were a bit more muted than usual, but that was only on account of the awful, dreary overcast sky that threatened to dump rain on the city at any time. Overall, you would have considered it a masterpiece. Easel boy didn’t seem to think the same.

He regarded the painting with a sort of begrudging satisfaction that bordered on disappointment before he pulled the second cigarette from behind his ear, lit it, and began the process of packing up his materials. You finished the last of your coffee watching him do so. Smoking, well, smoking tobacco at least, had always been a vice you had avoided and yet you often wondered what it would feel like to take a drag of one of his cigarettes after it had been between his lips. Then, the magic lifted.

He folded up the flimsy easel, tucked it away with his materials back into his messenger bag, hoisted the stool under one arm and the painting under the other before taking off at a brisk clip down the street away from your window. You watched him until he was out of sight.

You were snapped from your concentration by a knock at your door.

“Y/N,” a heavily accented voice called, sending you scrambling for your bag, “If you are not outside in the next 15 seconds I will break down your door,”

Shit.

“Coming, Sasha!” You wailed. It took about 10 of those seconds to grab your backpack and shove your textbook inside, an extra 2 to check your appearance in the mirror- you looked slightly disheveled, but it was the best you were gonna do after the night you’d had. Besides, it wasn’t like you were doing anything important. You didn’t need to be dressed for a date -and you were opening the door for a quick save at the 14th second. Your door was safe for another day.

Out in the hall waited Sasha Balandin, arms crossed and grey eyes piercing in the flickering light of the terrible overhead fluorescents. As a fellow international student, you had become fast friends with Sasha. He was a little rough around the edges, and definitely didn’t take your bullshit, but he was a rare friend. “I have been waiting for 10 minutes,” he griped. You tried your best to look apologetic. “Don’t do that,”

“Do what?” You asked, closing and locking your door behind you as you began walking down the hallway.

Sasha huffed. “Do not pretend you were not too busy ogling that painter in the courtyard to hear me knocking on your door,” His Russian bluntness was on full display now as you shook your head in mock disbelief.

“I can’t believe you’d accuse me of something like that!”

“It is not an accusation if it is true,”

“There’s no way you know for a fact that I was watching him again,”

“But you were. This happens every week,”

You sighed, pausing at the top of the stairs. “I was,”

Taking the stairs in twos, Sasha sighed. “You are too soft, Y/N. Besides, you have said so often that he seems like an asshole. Why do you continue to get all mushy at him out the window if this is the case?”

“Because… well, because…” for a moment, you floundered in search of an answer that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete freak, but you found that there really wasn’t one. It came down the one small factor. “He’s just really hot, okay?”

The look Sasha gave you could have killed. He kept his mouth shut, though, choosing to let his silence shame you more than anything else did. It worked. For the entire trip down the stairs and the mile-long walk to your lecture hall, you felt the weight of shame heavy on your shoulders. Or maybe it was just your backpack. You didn’t know which you’d prefer. He did start speaking again eventually, going on about some party you had missed in favor of studying, but the feeling never left. Even as you sat down for your lecture it was still at the forefront of your mind. In fact, you were so busy thinking about your crush on easel boy and the problems with it that you barely paid attention to the professor’s rehashing of the Epic of Gilgamesh.

Your error only hit when the professor flipped the PowerPoint to the final slide.

“Before you go, I want to remind you that you have a paper on the importance of Enkidu in the Epic is due at the beginning of class this Friday. The details and requirements should be listed in your syllabus. Class dismissed,”

Fuck.

Friday was only two days away.

You were so screwed.

The problem was, you didn’t have a spare copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh just lying around your dorm room. Usually that wouldn’t have been an issue, the professor for your current history course used English for her slide because her particular history course was specifically for first-year international students. Unfortunately for you, though, you hadn’t been taking notes. Instead, you had been daydreaming about how it would feel to have easel boy blow his cigarette smoke in your face and then subsequently scolding yourself for having thoughts like that about a total stranger. In a terrible twist of fate, the professor only held office hours after her last classes on Mondays and Fridays, so even getting the information from her then was off the table. Dread began to pool in your stomach.

Any other student would have been able to cut their losses, rent a copy from the library, slog through it in a night, and write the damn essay even without the help of the classroom slides for context. The only problem was all the books in the library were in Sokovian, and you still barely knew how to order a coffee correctly. Reading the language in a full Cyrillic alphabet would just be impossible, especially for a book as stupidly old as the Epic of Gilgamesh.

In short, unless you could get your hands on a copy in the next day or so, you were absolutely, well-and-truly fucked.

Sasha was quick to find you as the hall cleared out, waiting near your seat as you packed away your notes. “That was all bullshit, no?” He asked, but the second he took in your slightly panicked expression he stopped short, pinching the bridge of his nose and breathing deeply. You knew what he was going to say before he ever said it.

“Something is wrong. You were not paying attention. Were you thinking-”

“Yes. Okay? Yes, I was thinking about him,”

He shook his head slightly. “I am concerned for you,”

“Who isn’t?”

Despite his usually stoic demeanor, that made Sasha huff out a soft laugh. “You got yourself into this mess, Y/N, you will get yourself out somehow,”

Your jaw dropped as you slung your bag over your shoulder and started making your way towards the door. “You’re not gonna help me?”

“Though I would love to be helpful, you forget that my English is poor. It will do me better to read the book in Sokovian myself than to use the information from class,”

Oh, yeah. You winced. “Sorry, Sash’”

“Nothing to be sorry for,” he shrugged as you walked out onto the lawn, chilled to the bone by the wind that whipped in every direction.

A storm was brewing. It might not fully take hold of the city for a few hours yet, but it would make the walk to your evening class absolute hell if the rain fell as hard as it had several weeks prior. You could only hope that it wouldn’t start until after you had walked home. Your odds were looking slim, though, based on the way you could already hear thunder clapping in the distance. After a moment you hit the edge of the sidewalk where your paths would diverge.

“Good luck with the paper,” you offered weakly.

Sasha replied with a sharp, “Good luck with your crush,” and then he was off in the opposite direction without another word. Sasha was blunt like that, never overstaying his welcome or lingering when he didn’t need to. There was something enviable about it. What you wouldn’t give to be able to simply say things as they were without an unnecessary sugar coating to save face and spare feelings. It lingered on your mind for the whole half-mile walk to the campus bookstore. Speaking of which...

There was only one place where you might possibly find an English copy of the Epic of Gilgamesh. It wasn’t the big student bookstore, most of the textbooks there had been in Sokovian, Russian, or German and you hadn’t even tried to set foot in their actual book section. No, your only hope was the tiny hole-in-the-wall bookstore you had stumbled upon during move-in. It was only about half a mile away from your dorm from any of your lecture halls, so you often found yourself wandering inside when you had time to kill. They were one of the only stores you’d come across that sold anything in English, magazines included, so despite the fact that the young cashiers rarely spoke your language you often found that the back shelves of that tiny shop kept you from going mad.

Now, they might also be keeping you from ruining your GPA.

You could only hope. If anybody could save you, it was them.

Ducking in through the small doorway, you were greeted by the soft ring of the bell above your head. The attendant at the register simply regarded you with a polite nod. You had seen her there before and she knew you barely spoke a lick of Sokovian, so she didn’t attempt a pleasantry. Instead, she simply let you wander through the entrance and into the towering bookshelves, passing a few other faceless shoppers on your way towards the back. You were grateful for her nonchalance.

If there was anything worse than feeling foolish for not knowing Sokovian, it was being talked down to in perfect English by a Sokovian citizen. Most interactions left you wishing you’d actually taken anything away from your high school French class other than emotional trauma from your teacher and a caffeine addiction. Damn America and its terrible public-school language programs…

The path to the English classics section was one you’d walked many times since discovering the book store. It was right in the very back corner of the shop, tucked away where the city natives wouldn’t have to address or see it. You had snagged a copy of Pride and Prejudice a few weeks back, so you knew exactly where to search. The only problem was slogging through every single book on the shelf in search of the one you were looking for.

Your eyes scanned the wall.

Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh, Gilgamesh…

Gilgamesh!

On the 6th shelf up sat one small copy. Score! You were saved! As you reached up to grab it, though, you were met with yet another roadblock. The shelf it was on was juuuust a little too high for you to reach. Oh, come on…

You hopped a little, extending your hand up as far as it could go, but your fingers just barely brushed the spine. Somewhere behind you, you could hear footsteps. Then someone coughed to suppress laughter. The shame was plain on your face. As your flannel rode up and you stretched up in one last desperate attempt to grab the book when suddenly someone, you assumed the same person who had been laughing at your misfortune, spoke.

“They have stools, you know,” he said, accented voice thick with amusement. The English surprised you, but you assumed they used it for your benefit. You were in front of the English language books after all. Besides, the shame of it all kept your mind from questioning it too much. “For reaching the top shelf,”

Of course they had stools.

If your face hadn’t already been burning with embarrassment it definitely was now.

In a split-second decision, you decided playing dumb was the only way you could walk out of the situation with any dignity left at all, so you plastered on a confused smile and spun around to greet the stranger. “Really? I had no cl-”

You stopped short.

Oh.

Oh no.

You’d know those paint-stained jeans anywhere.

There, with his hands in his pockets and the most self-important, thin-lipped smirk you had ever seen, was easel boy in all of his cocky, intimidating, hot glory. Had you really noticed how hot he truly was before? It didn’t feel like it. Not now that you’d really seen him close up and reveled in the way his dark eyes hypnotized you with their smudged liner that felt borderline obscene. You could smell him too, all charcoal and turpentine and cigarette smoke. If you had it bad before when he was just a blurry ideal out your window, you were completely and utterly smitten now.

He regarded you with a sort of practiced annoyance, and yet there was a strange softness to it that you hadn’t found in many native Sokovians, especially ones that saw you as the stupid, bumbling American wandering blindly around their country.

“Would you like my help?”

“Huh?” You were so lost in his eyes that you couldn’t even focus on his question.

“To reach your book. Would you like my help?”

“Oh!” With a brisk nod, you stepped away from the shelf to make room for easel boy, “yeah, I’m just trying to grab that one there. The, uh, Epic of Gilgamesh,”

In one swift movement, he was stepping right beside you to easily reach up and grab the offending piece of literature. The closeness of it all nearly sent you into a tailspin. That wasn’t even mentioning the way your heart thudded just a little faster when he finally handed the book to you, his calloused fingers brushing against your own. You barely find a grip on your brain strong enough to thank him through the fog of embarrassment and attraction. Eventually, though, you managed to choke out a placation as your eyes explored the cover of the book.

“Thanks for that,”

“It was no problem,” he shrugged. He didn’t move though, still standing just inches away from you. When you looked up from the book you found his eyes were still on you, watching intently as if he expected something from you. The answer to what he actually expected was a mystery but you could tell he wanted something. When you didn’t speak, he spoke for you. “So, The Epic of Gilgamesh? That’s definitely a bold choice,”

You looked up at him sheepishly through heavily lidded eyes. “It’s not a choice at all, actually. I’m only buying it so I can write an essay,”

“Ah,” Something about his tone was almost disappointed as the conversation stalled.

You quickly changed the subject to the first thing you could think of.

“Your hair is really nice!”

“My hair?”

“Yeah… your hair,”

Smooth move, dumbass.

Easel boy’s expression seemed to soften once more as his signature grin crept back onto his face. “Thank you, I grew it myself,” Between his accent and the way he was looking at you like he was going to eat you alive, you weren’t exactly sure how you hadn’t had a heart attack yet. Still, the attention was nice, even if it was bourne out of you repeatedly embarrassing yourself in a never-ending cycle of fuckups. He ran a hand through his loose brown hair. “I like your shirt. Very American,”

Silently, you cursed yourself for not taking a few extra seconds to pick out a better outfit when you woke up. Standing next to him, even while he was dressed in his paint-stained jeans and undone button-up, you looked like a wreck in comparison. He didn’t seem to be speaking from a place of judgment, though.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think he was being nice, but that couldn’t be the case… could it?

“Maybe it’s just that I haven’t met very many Sokovians that are fond of America, but I’m not sure if that was meant to be a compliment or an insult,” You joked. It was a bit sarcastic, the lilt of your voice masking your deep insecurity, and to your surprise easel boy laughed. He really laughed. From your place beside him, you could almost feel the warmth radiating off of him as he shook his head.

“It was definitely a compliment,”

Oh.

Your heart skipped a beat.

That was a new revelation.

You steeled yourself with a deep breath. Fuck it. It was now or never.

“I, uh… I’m Y/N, and you are?”

He regarded you once again with that strange expression of expectation. “What?”

“I asked for your name,” you repeated, and yet he still stood, slightly dumbfounded, staring down at you with that same expectant expression from earlier. For a moment, you almost thought he expected you to know it already. That fact was quickly glossed over when he moved to rub the back of his neck with his hand, eyes drifting down to the floor.

“Sorry,” he chuckled, “I’m not very good with people. My father thought college might help me finally connect with my peers, but I don’t think he expected that I was the problem, nor do I think he expected me to pick a degree in the arts,” Suddenly, he paused and stuck out his hand to you. “I’m Hel. It’s very nice to meet you Y/N,”

With only a moment of hesitation- because wow, your name had never sounded more right on someone’s lips -you took his large calloused hand in your own and shook it gently. His palm was warm, his fingers lingering on your own for just a moment even as he pulled away. It wasn’t much, just a soft brush against your flesh, but it sent a flash of heat and liquid confidence through your chest.

“Is that short for something?” Your eyes met his in the soft yellow glow of the overhead lamps. Seeing him like this, so up close and personal, he looked a lot more human than he had from your window. Sure, he was imposing. Underneath the initial harsh facade, though, was something softer and almost poetic. You weren’t an artist by any means but if you had been, you had no doubt that he’d be your muse.

“It’s short for Helmut, but only my father calls me that, and only when he’s cross, which, unfortunately, is most of the time,” he chuckled, “Besides, it’s an old man’s name. It doesn’t suit me,”

The words left your mouth before you knew what you were saying.

“Well, it’s better than calling you easel boy,”

Shit.

Today really just wasn’t your day, huh?

In the split second where you were mourning your chances with the most stupidly handsome guy who had ever shown any interest in you, you almost missed the way Helmut’s eyes lit up at the admission.

“Easel boy?” His voice was teasing, but not demeaning. That didn’t do much to ease your mortification, though.

“Is there any chance that I can get you to forget I said anything?”

“If you already have a nickname for me when we’ve barely met, I think you already know the answer to that question,”

His knowing smirk was enough to get you pleading. “You can’t just let me off the hook this once?” you begged, scrubbing a hand across your forehead in a desperate attempt to get away from his piercing gaze. The things those brown eyes did to you could be classified as obscene… “I will genuinely do anything if you don’t make me explain myself right now Hel,”

Hel quirked up an eyebrow. “Anything?” The way your stomach turned at just one word from him was both terrifying and extremely exciting. It felt like a promise. Without hesitation, you nodded. That made him smile. “In that case, get coffee with me today?”

Once again, you were rendered speechless.

“My treat,” he added, “unless you’re not interested…”

“No!” Your answer left your lips embarrassingly fast, “Or- yes? No, no, I think I meant no. No; I am very interested. Yes; I would like to get coffee with you,” There was a hint of shame in your words, but only a hint. After the day you’d had already, there wasn’t very much there to be ashamed of. Still, that same pit of dread began to open up in your stomach as you mulled over your choices.

Thankfully, Helmut continued to take it all in stride. “Wonderful! Is there anything else you’d like to do here before we go? It’s best we leave soon if we want to beat the rain,” He offered up his arm as he spoke like some sort of Disney prince. It was, by far, the cutest gesture you had ever been lucky enough to receive.

You linked your arm with his without hesitation. “As soon as I pay we can get going,” He was warm. It radiated off him in waves just like the warm hints of tobacco and wintermint that seemed to seep from his skin and clothes. With that, you made your way to the front desk as Hel shot you a sly smile.

“Who said anything about letting you pay?”

True to his word, he didn’t let you pay for a single thing for the rest of the afternoon.

The two of you made your way up to the cashier together, and Helmut only separated from your side to grab his wallet before you could grab yours. He then spoke in rapid-fire Sokovian to the lady at the register and pulled what could only be described as a wad of Sokovian koronas while you set the book on the counter, and from the looks of it, she seemed more than pleased with the two of you. Who wouldn’t be, especially when Hel seemed to insist that she keep the excess? In the end, after the book had been wrapped nicely in a paper bag and deposited in your backpack, Helmut held the door open for you like some sort of gentleman and followed you out into the grey afternoon.

Then, you were off down the street on Hel’s arm, pushing through the wind and the biting chill that had settled in the air.

“So, you don’t sound like a big fan of your dad,” you asked, half laughing as you attempted to broach conversation once again.

Helmut groaned beside you. “My father is a menace who is unable to understand that some people want more in life than to sit behind a desk all day making phone calls. In fact, most of my family is the same way. The only reason I haven’t completely cut them off and changed my name is the money,”

“I assume you get a lot of it if it’s worth sticking around someone you hate so much,”

“Never ask a man about his net worth,” he chuckled, gently elbowing you in the ribs, “but yes, I’m very comfortable. I have my own apartment just far enough away to be considered off-campus with my own car and as much money as it takes to keep me happy and getting good grades; Daddy makes sure of that,” The word daddy was a deep sneer, barely there in the wind, but something about it sent butterflies through your stomach. Well, that was never something you thought you were into… “Little does he know, I’m not here to make money. I’m here to find inspiration worth my time while out from under his thumb,”

You snorted softly. “Artistic and rich? You’re just ticking all the boxes, Hel,”

“Good for me. Would offering help on that essay of yours endear you to me further?”

“Absolutely,”

The next 5 minutes you spend discussing the Epic of Gilgamesh. Surprisingly, in one of the first stokes of good luck you’d had all day, Helmut seemed to be one of the only people on earth who knew plenty about Enkidu off the top of his head. When he was the one lecturing you in his smooth, heavily accented timbre it was so much easier to pay attention to something so very tedious than when you heard it from your aging and often monotone professor. In fact, you were so enthralled by his retelling of the tale that you barely noticed you’d made it all the way to the cafe that sat across from the international dorm.

If you didn’t consider Hel to be smart as a whip and twice as clever as he was smart, you would have thought it was a coincidence. It couldn’t be though. No, there was no way anything was a coincidence with Helmut around. You shot him a smile when he opened the door for you and ushered you inside.

“You know Hel,” you muttered, “I’m starting to think you might know more about me than you initially let on,”

He shrugged. “You’re American, so it’s unlikely you live anywhere else and I wanted to make the walk home easy. It’s supposed to rain, you know? Besides, despite the… interesting waitstaff, they make the best pastries in town right here in this cafe,”

“Did you mean it when you said you were paying?”

“Absolutely,”

“Then I can’t wait to try one,”

The two of you were seated quickly (you assumed it had to do with the waitress finding Hel as hot as you did, because you caught her looking at him from behind the counter and whispering excitedly in Sokovian to her coworker at least twice over the course of the meal) and the conversation flowed easily as you waited on your coffees and the deserts Helmut insisted on splitting to let you try. Millefeuille, pear tart tatin, chocolate devil’s food cake, and a towering plate of apricot kołaczki awaited you, and they kept you sitting and talking and snacking for over an hour as you really got to know each other. The more you learned, the more you fell in love with the man across from you.

Over the course of the afternoon, you learned that Helmut was majoring in studio art while minoring in psychology just because it interested him, he hated the Beatles almost as much as he hated Freud’s theories on women, his favorite color was purple, and he spent most of his free time reading or getting high off his ass in his massive studio apartment in what you now knew was one of the most expensive areas in the city. He, in return, sat at rapt attention across the table as you gushed about your life in America, your reasons for going to university in Sokovia, your favorite books, and the ridiculousness that was trying to pass college-level classes in a country that seemed to avoid English at all costs.

Eventually, though, you did touch upon his nickname.

“I just thought it was really interesting that you did the same thing every single day, no matter what,” you explained, grabbing one of the last kołaczki from the plate and ignoring the powdered sugar that stuck to your fingers, “and by watching you… I don’t know, I guess it kind of felt like I had another friend who’d share breakfast with me in the morning if that makes sense,”

Hel nodded, swallowing his last bite of chocolate cake. “I understand completely. It can be lonely, coming to a new place without any friends or connections, but you were brave enough to take the leap. I admire that,” He brought his napkin to his lips before crumpling it and setting it one of the now empty plates before him, “But I can’t say I’m not a little disappointed that you didn’t watch me because I’m attractive,”

You nearly choked on your pastry. “Well, I wouldn’t say your pretty face didn’t help…”

The grin that spread across his face was heartstopping. He grabbed a napkin from the little holder next to the two of you and grabbed a pen from one of his pockets as he spoke. “In that case, you should join me tomorrow morning. Bring coffee if you can, I never have enough hands to bring a cup for myself, but even if you can’t bring some, if you want to come and watch me work I’d be more than happy to have a companion for the morning,” he paused for a moment, flustered, “or every morning, for that matter,”

“That sounds like a deal,” Your cheeks were hot, but not from embarrassment this time. No, it was anything but, because here you were across the table from a kind, attractive, intelligent Sokovian boy with money to spend and time to spare for you. You couldn’t help but feel a little bit proud too. He wanted you back, after all. You could see it in the way his eyes lingered on you just a little longer than he should, and even more plainly in the way he wrote his phone number in bold blue ink on the napkin and signed it with a doodle of a heart before passing it across the table to you.

“I’m going to go pay,” he said quietly while standing, “but I’ll be back in a second to walk you out. Alright?”

“Alright,”

There was something strangely similar to sorrow sitting in your chest when you watched him walk away. The sight of his ass as he went made up for it, though. Once he was obstructed by other patrons, you turned your attention to the napkin in your hands. Hel’s handwriting was neat as far as artists’ handwriting goes, but it still held a sort of looseness in its curves, a freedom in the way the numbers had flowed effortlessly from his pen. You popped the last kołaczki in your mouth as you admired the blue ink before devouring the final bites of pear tart and millefeuille. How had you gotten so lucky to have someone like him giving you his number and buying you pastries? You pondered the bizarre nature of it all until Helmut returned.

You stood quickly, folding the napkin and putting it away in your pocket. “Ready to go?”

“If you are,” he replied. In an instant, you were standing beside him again as he opened the door for you. The wind was even stronger now, strong enough that his loose hair whipped wildly around his forehead from the force of it. You couldn’t help but giggle at his appearance.

He caught you off guard as he walked you across the street. “You have such a pretty laugh,”

It was like you were seeing him again for the first time. You fiddled with the strap of your backpack as you got closer and closer to the door to your dorm. “Thanks. I’m pretty fond of your laugh too,”

Then, you were there, just two college kids standing awkwardly before your first departure.

“So,” you said before you could stop yourself, “when I tell my one friend all about this afternoon after my math class tonight, should I say it was a date?”

Hel’s cheeks flushed pink. “You can call it that, if that’s what you would like it to have been,”

“I think I would,”

“Good, good,” he let out a little chuckle, “I’m glad. Would you… would you consider going on another? I promise I have much more to offer than just small talk and tips on where to buy the best pastries,”

Looking into his brown eyes, so full of uncertainty and hope, you knew you couldn’t have denied him even if you wanted to. Still, you weren’t going to give in to his advances without a little bit of taunting. It made it fun, a game to be played where, hopefully, you both would win big in the end.

“That depends,” you teased, letting your lower lip catch between your teeth, “what do you have in mind?”

Helmut shoved his hands into his pockets as he rocked back and forth on his heels, pensive. “If you want to, we could go to my place and I could actually show you all of the paintings I’ve been working on while you watched me. The view from the rooftop is lovely too. We could have dinner up there while looking out over Novi Grad. I have to warn you, though, it’ll probably be takeout. I’m an atrocious chef,”

Slowly, a brilliant smile spread across your face. “Does Friday work?”

The smile Helmut shot back was as bright as every star in the night sky and even more enthralling. “Friday is perfect. Can I pick you up at 7?”

“As long as you come in that fancy car you were talking about,”

“Then it’s a deal,”

“Well,” you turned away, walking up the steps towards the door before turning back to him, “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, Hel, and I’ll bring coffee. Have a good night,”

“You too, Y/N. Parting is such sweet sorrow and all that,”

With that, he gave one last short wave before turning on his heel and pulling out a cigarette from the pack in his pocket. You watched him walk away until he turned the corner and disappeared from view. Only then did you enter the punch code and race up the stairs to your room.

Your back was pressed to the door of your dorm room the second you had shut it, your hands clutching at your chest in a desperate attempt to keep your heart from beating right out of your ribs. The second you were in the privacy of your own place, your cool facade had melted away to reveal just how much of a wreck you really were.

He had invited you over to his apartment.

He liked you.

Easel boy really, honestly liked you.

No, not easel boy. Helmut. Hel.

Hel liked you, and he invited you over to his apartment, and you had plans to meet him with coffee as he painted the next morning.

You smiled softly under the fluorescent lights and pulled the book that had brought you together from your backpack. It seemed so unassuming now, just a fresh paperback with an unbroken spine, but in reality, it was so much more than that.

Hel.

It was such a nice name. You liked it a lot.

Now you couldn’t wait to see what else you liked about him too.

------

a/n: I have been so excited to start sharing this AU with you guys, and it’s finally here!!! If you liked this fic, I once again will direct you to Bliss by @creme-bruhlee because that’s technically next in chronological order for this AU. I hope you enjoyed!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace, @multiyfandomgirl40 , @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy , @wh0re-4-techno , @forcebros , @sugarsweetkiss , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff , @killsandthrills , @novasstudy , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp , @inmate-marmalade, @alanathedeer , @your-pixels-are-showing , @shit-post-things , @bbarton , @sux-ubus , @halefirewarrior , @janelongxox , @rax-writes , @mossybank , @simsiddy , @xxspqcebunsxx , @be-cautious-around-bri , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car , @frothonthedaydreams

#zemo #helmut zemo #baron zemo #baron helmut zemo #zemo x reader #helmut zemo x reader #baron zemo x reader #baron helmut zemo x reader #fanfiction

216 notes · View notes

akajustmerry · 2 years

Note

Hey! Curious if you think there are instances where things walk the line between queerbait & subtext and/or use subtext as part of queerbaiting? There are some specific instances I'm thinking of and u can probably guess what they are but I'm interested to hear more of your thoughts in general :)

Hi!

You can't use subtext as part of queerbaiting. Subtext and queerbaiting can't really coexist like that. The definition of queerbaiting is advertising queer content that isn't there, period. Subtext, by definition, is an intentional implicit part of the story that the creator has intentionally put there. If there are intentional queer subtexts in a text then any advertising of queerness isn't queerbaiting.

I think what you're referring to when you say can queer subtext be part of queerbaiting is actually just when showrunners show they're aware of a popular queer reading. A queer reading is when someone interprets a piece of media through a queer lens, thus viewing it as queer despite the creator of that media having no intention of making it that way. There are loads of shows where a queer reading of the show is the dominant one. For example, most people who watched BBC Merlin/Sherlock interpreted those shows as queer despite ZERO and I do mean ZERO actual queerness subtext or otherwise in those shows.

I'm not an authority on the series itself but there is a whole section of acedemia dedicated to the queerbaiting campaign that occurred with Teen Wolf. I no longer have access to my uni library to share the article but basically the showrunners of teen wolf asked their stars (I think Dylan and Tyler) to be in all these promos where they were acting all flirty as if their characters were going to be that way. The showrunners themselves later said these promos were designed to appeal to the large queer audience the show gained, BUT they had no intention of actually delivering queer narratives in the show. That's what queerbaiting is. It's when queerness is advertised to draw in queer audiences, but there is no intention of delivering. when the showrunners of a show use the fandoms popular queer reading of characters as part of advertising, that's creating queerbaiting from a queer reading.

Of course when it comes to film and TV, things aren't always clear cut. Sometimes a piece of media won't be written with queerness, subtext or otherwise, but an actor may decide to play a character in a queer way. A recent example of this is z*e kravitz in interviews claiming she played catwoman as bi in the Batman. Some people think this counts as subtext. Me? I have a rule with this shit and it's very simple: if my oblivious homophobic uncle could watch it and plausibly argue it's not gay then it isn't. Media that prioritises placating homophobic audiences isn't actually making queer content.

Queer content is queer if there is an intentionally executed queer subtext/themes/plot. A piece of media having a large queer audience that interprets the show as gay, or uses queerness in advertising, still isn't gay unless the media is actually is queer. If the show isn't queer in any meaningful textual way, but you still feel it is then that's you accepting/creating a queer reading, which is valid, but it still doesn't make the media itself gay.

lmk if you have any questions ❤️ hope that answers what you asked. x

#anon #media representation #lgbt

15 notes · View notes

inkandpen22 · 3 years

Text

Otherworldly Kings and Queens (4/?)

Pairing: Peter Pevensie x Female!Reader / Prince Caspian x Female!Reader

Warnings: mentiones of violence, mentions of death

Word Count: 2.4k

Part Summary: As the group arrives at Aslan’s How, it’s evident that Caspian and Peter won’t exactly see eye-to-eye. When Peter

Masterlist

Arriving at Aslan’s How is truly like something out of a picture book. We stop just before the archway. I stand beside Peter, observing him as he watches the scene unfold before him. Centaurs line the path and draw their swords in honor of the Pevensies, their Kings and Queens of Narnia. Peter appears unfazed, as though this is normal life. Then I realize, this is normal to him. He starts to walk along with his siblings. When he comprehends that I’ve stayed put, he turns to me in confusion. I release his hand and urge him to go out with a nod of my head. I’m not a Queen of Narnia. An unfamiliar expression crosses his face before he snaps out of it and hurries to rejoin his siblings. I glance over Caspian and his head falls as the siblings walk ahead.

“Don’t worry, you’re needed here too,” I assure him quietly.

His eyes meet mine and I offer him a soft smile. After all, if it weren’t for him, the Pevensies would’ve never made it back here. I can tell he’s unsure of himself, worried about all of the pressure on him. Caspian and the Pevensies are supposed to lead a revolution. I can’t help but wonder if it’s truly feasible. We’re just a couple of kids.

I nod my head toward the How and the two of us start walking together with Trumpkin following along.

After a tour of the hideout and Caspian showing us the shrine to Aslan, there’s a war meeting. Peter and Caspian are butting heads, not much of a surprise there. The presence of a power struggle between the two leaders is evident as day. Caspian believes we should wait for the Telmarines to make the first move. Peter thinks it’s best if we attack first with the element of surprise.

I sit with my knees close to my chest against a pillar with Ed. I rest my head on his shoulder, growing tired of this back and forth tennis match between royals. Plus, I haven’t slept in two days.

“If we dig in, we can hold them off indefinitely,” Susan sides with Caspian.

“But if they’re smart, they could starve us out,” Edmund voices.

Centaurs give their unwavering support if Peter does decide to lead a raid. They guarantee that they will fight to the death. I shake my head, earning the attention of Edmund who feels the motion against his shoulder. He can likely predict what I’m thinking. Brotherly, he places his hand over mine, rubbing his thumb over my skin gently.

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Lucy interjects under her breath.

Peter turns to her, “I’m sorry?”

“Well, you’re all acting like there are only two options, dying here or dying there.”

Again, Lucy is the youngest, but still the wisest. I’m on team Lucy.

“I’m not sure you’ve been listening Lu,” Peter dismisses, much to my frustration.

“No, you’re not listening,” she fires back uncharacteristically. “Or have you forgotten who really defeated the White Witch?”

Lucy has a point there. I raise my brows, suppressing a smirk. Out of my peripheral vision I see Edmund checking for my reaction. I glance at the youngest boy.

“You should say something,” he advice.

I shake my head, denying the chance. There’s no way am I doing that.

“I believe we’ve waited for Aslan long enough,” Peter states to his sister.

What happened to the Peter who spoke so highly of the Guardian of Narnia? He praised Aslan and now he’s losing faith in him.

“Y/N, what do you think?”

I’m pulled from my train of thought upon hearing Peter saying my name. I scan the room and everyone’s eyes are on me, even the squirrels.

“Me?” I laugh nervously, rising to my feet. “I’m not sure I’m the best person to talk to.”

“But you are the fairest,” Susan compliments.

“Definitely the most patient,” Edmund adds by my feet.

Rubbing my hands together anxiously, I steadily approach Peter. I know what he wants me to say, he wants my support. I do support Peter as an individual, no matter what, but I can’t condone war. He likely knows what I’m going to say, he knew when he asked for my opinion. Yet, he asked for it anyway, perhaps out of hope that I’ve had a change of heart in the circumstance.

The room falls silent as Peter and I study each other’s face, silently pleading with the other to comply.

“You know I don’t believe violence is ever the answer,” I reason with him calmly.

“But we’re at war!” He fusses, pacing away from me in frustration.

I scoff, pausing to processes his words. He can’t be serious right now? After the last three years, he doesn’t think I’m well acquainted with what war means?

I lose my temper. “You don’t think I know that?!”

Peter whips his head around furiously and murmurs erupt amongst the Narnians. I’ve just yelled at their High King.

“We’ve been at war in our world for years now!” I shout at ‘King Peter,’ more like self-righteous Peter. “I know war! I understand war! What I don’t understand is creating more damage than necessary! Miraz is your problem? Target him! Attack him, not the entire palace where innocent lives could be taken!”

Peter pants, his red with anger as he restrains himself from yelling. Peter and I have only argued like this perhaps twice in our lives. Even in those instances, the reasons were never as imperative as this one. We argued about childish things, jealousy, and sharing. Now, we’re arguing about war and the priority of life. I’m only a teenager, these are conversations for adults.

I shake my head and my face falls in disappointment as I continue to look at my best friend. His eyes shift from expressing overpowering aggravation to guilt. Silently, I rush to the hall leading to the rest of the hideout. Peter reaches for me as I pass him, but I slip my wrist from his grip.

“Y/N!” Peter calls pleadingly to which I ignore.

I won’t participate in this discussion further. Peter and everyone else knows where I stand now, no need to stick around.

____________________________________________

The sunsets over Aslan’s How and soon the starry sky hangs overhead. I’ve been hiding on top of the How on the patches of grass since the meeting. At first, I was fuming. Peter isn’t being reasonable! He’s trying to prove himself to the Narnians and Caspian that he’s still this great king from before. I can tell he’s guilt-ridden because of his accidental return to our world, all of the Pevensies are.

“Why are you awake so late?”

A voice pulls me from my train of thought. Caspian strolls over to me and sits down on the grass next to me, resting against the rocks of the fortress.

“I can’t sleep,” I mumble as I play with a blade of grass. “I haven’t been able to.”

“I can assure you you’re safe here,” Caspian smiles faintly.

It’s not that I feel unsafe here per se. It’s my mind, it won’t stop wondering. Whenever I close my eyes, I’m afraid of what I’ll dream of.

“I don’t doubt it. I just...” I release a deep sigh, looking out over the field ahead. “It’s all just overwhelming.”

One minute, I’m on my way to school as I do each day, nothing exciting there. Then the next, I’m in some foreign land surrounded by mythical creatures who I was led to believe only existed in fantasy novels.

I turn my head to Caspian, admiring his side profile. “What keeps you up?” I ask him quietly.

He shifts, relaxing more into his position, and turns his head to meet my gaze. His jet black eyes that match his hair glisten under the stars. Little specks of white glimmer in them like stars.

“I uh... “ he swallows hard, his eyes flickering to the bit of ground between us. “Whenever I close my eyes I see my uncle’s face. When I try to sleep, I...”

I place my hand over him without a second thought. His sight returns to mine with a hint of surprise. Yet, he still appears troubled. I offer him a comforting smile, hoping it will grant him peace of mind.

“Nightmares are perfectly normal, Caspian.”

He nods, coming to terms with it. “Would you mind if I stay here with you for a little while?”

My smile grows and ease of relief across his features. “Not at all.”

______________________________________

Chatter, the sound of pounding metal, and birds chirping increase at a rapid rate. I shift a little, groaning at the sudden surge of disturbing sound. I can see light behind my closed eyes, so I hide my eyes in my hands. Utterly exhausted, I grant myself five more minutes. I moan, stretching out slightly to get comfortable again. I feel a weight on my waist and it tightens around me. Then, I feel something against my back and hear a deep sigh as warm breath brushes against my shoulder. I relax, a faint smile appearing across my lips.

Similar to a blast, I fly up from my laid position. My eyes adjust to the bright light of day slowly and I frantically search the area around me. Caspian awakes beside me in a panic due to my sudden surge of movement. Oh no, this is not good!

“Oh no, by all means, don’t scurry on my account” Trumpkin makes himself known a few feet away. “I was just about to throw up!”

i growl at the dwarf and rise from the ground. “Must you be so crude?”

Brushing down my dress, I march off to the path leading down to the How’s entrance. I hear Caspian chase after me.

“Y/N wait!” He calls.

Ignoring him, I continue my hurried pace down to the ground. Peter is likely having a fit wondering where I am. Falling asleep with Caspian on top of the How was not on my to-do list.

Right as I reach the stone path leading into the alcove, Caspian grabs my wrist. “Do you think we can train together today?”

I laugh, does he think me to be Joan of Arc? I’ve never fought a day in my life!

“Me? Train with you? I’m no soldier, I would ask Edmund or Peter. They’re far better than me,” I suggest as I start to walk away.

The Prince jogs ahead and blocks my path, placing his hand gently on my arm. “Well maybe so, but then we can learn together.”

Peter wouldn’t like it, that much I know for sure. He hardly let me borrow Edmund’s Katana. Since then, I’ve never actually used it. I drew it in the woods when Caspian and Peter were fighting, but I don’t know the first thing about defending myself.

“Alright,” I comply, much to Caspian’s pleasure. Perhaps it is to my benefit to training. After all, I suppose there will be a battle eventually, though I’ll do everything I can to stop it. “But I don’t think we should do it here,” I add.

He frowns, “why not?”

I raise my brows at the boy. “Have you met Peter?”

He snickers, understanding my point. “Okay, maybe you’re right. We could try by the river!”

“Alright,” I nod. “We should go now.”

I cautiously check around us to make sure no one overheard before heading inside. Other than a few Narnians transporting supplies and weaponry, we’re in the clear. As long as none of the Pevensies find out, especially Peter, Caspian and I should be okay.

__________________________________

Caspian and I have been training all afternoon by the river. I’m actually better than I thought I’d be. Once Caspian taught me some basic motions, I learned I could build off of them. At first, he was going easy on me, changing positions slower than he really would in a fight. As I started to get used to having a weapon in my hand, I could imagine it as an extension of my arm like Caspian instructed. Soon, I was putting up a real fight against Caspian. I spin and swing my sword to meet his blade at an angle.

Face to face, Caspian laughs breathlessly. “And you swear you’ve never used a sword!”

“No, we don’t exactly need them in Finchley,” I snicker.

“What is your world like?” He asks as he changes our position and nearly knocks my katana from my hands.

“It’s not necessarily exciting,” I grunt as I drop to a squat to sweep his legs.

He jumps to dodge the move, landing on his feet perfectly. “Tell me about it. What do you like to do there?”

I snicker, stepping to the side to swing my blade down onto his shoulder. “Are you wanting to know more about my world or more about me?”

Caspian takes advantage of my uneven stance and grabs my arm. Swiftly he spins me around and yanks me into his chest. I accidentally drop my sword and his hand wraps around my neck.

“You,” he whispers in my ear.

I swallow hard, glancing down at my katana laying in the plush grass just a few feet away. Keeping the status quo, I play along. “I like the ocean, but your’s here is far prettier,” I distract him. “When I was younger, my father used to take my family sailing on holiday... but that was years ago.”

His grasp around my neck eases up slightly and I take the chance to slip from his hold. I fall to my knees and reach for my Katana. I grip it’s handled right as Caspian rolls me over onto my back and climbs on top of me. He pins my wrists above my head.

“Why did you stop going?” He pants, referring to my story.

“The war,” I answer softly, my breathing uneven. “He died in a battle in France.”

His face falters sorrowly and his pressure on my wrists subsides. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright,” I mutter, not seeking his sympathy. “But now you understand why I don’t believe in war.”

“I lost my father many years ago too,” he confesses.

The despair in his eyes nearly breaks my strong facade. No one should have to lose a parent, especially at a young age. Losing a father leaves a greater hole in one’s heart than most can predict. There are far more long-lasting effects deeply rooted in the experience than meets the eye. I’ve put on a strong face for my family and friends for so long that I’ve grown used to it. None of them understand. Yet here, I’m faced with someone who does.

“Then you truly understand.”

My words release in a whisper, the relief evident in my voice. Caspian nods gently, then his eyes flicker down at my lips. I bite down on the lower, tempted. No, I can’t do it. Peter’s face flashes across my mind. Yet, I can’t deny the alluring feel I have in Caspian's presence. At this moment it’s never been stronger. Caspian leans down, hovering over my face closer than before. My eyes uncontrollably fall to his parted lips. If he kissed me, I wouldn’t deny him. In fact, I find myself wishing he would. My eyes fall shut and his lips brush against mine.

“Y/N!” Peter’s voice booms over the otherwise peaceful wood.

__________

Masterlist

Tags: @blackbirddaredevil23 @rangergranger11 @hyperactiveravenclaw

152 notes · View notes

superman86to99 · 3 years

Photo

Superman #85 (January 1994)

Cat Grant in... "DARK RETRIBUTION"! Which is like normal retribution, but somehow darker. On the receiving end of Cat's darktribution is Winslow Schott, the Toyman, who suddenly changed his MO from "pestering Superman with wacky robots" to "murdering children" back on Superman #84, with one of his victims being Cat's young son Adam. Now Cat has a gun and intends to sneak it into prison to use it on Toyman. She's also pretty pissed at Superman for taking so long to find Toyman after Adam’s death (to be fair, Superman did lose several days being frozen in time by an S&M demon, as seen in Man of Steel #29).

So how did Superman find Toyman anyway? Basically, by spying on like 25% of Metropolis. After finding out from Inspector Turpin that the kids were killed near the docks, Superman goes there and focuses all of his super-senses to get "a quick glimpse of every person" until he sees a bald, robed man sitting on a giant crib, and goes "hmmm, yeah, that looks like someone who murders children." At first, Superman doesn't understand why Toyman would do such a horrible thing, but then Schott starts talking to his mommy in his head and the answer becomes clear: he watched Psycho too many times (or Dan Jurgens did, anyway).

Immediately after wondering why no one buys his toys, Toyman makes some machine guns spring out of his giant crib. I don't know, man, maybe it's because they're all full of explosives and stuff? Anyway, Toyman throws a bunch of exploding toys at Superman, including a robot duplicate of himself, but of course they do nothing. Superman takes him to jail so he can get the help he needs -- which, according to Cat, is a bullet to the face. Or so it seems, until she gets in front of him, pulls the trigger, and...

PSYCHE! It was one of those classic joke guns I’ve only ever seen in comics! Cat says she DID plan to bring a real gun, but then she saw one of these at a toy store and just couldn't resist. Superman, who was watching the whole thing, tells Cat she could get in trouble for this stunt, but he won't tell anyone because she's already been through enough. Then he asks her if she needs help getting home and she says no, because she wants to be more self-sufficient.

I think that's supposed to be an inspiring ending, but I don't know... Adam's eerie face floating in the background there makes me think she's gonna shave her head and climb into a giant crib any day, too. THE END!

Character-Watch:

Cat did become more self-sufficient after this, though. Up to now, all of her storylines seemed to revolve around other people: her ex-husband, Morgan Edge, José Delgado, Vinnie Edge, and finally Toyman. After this, I feel like there was a clear effort to turn her into a character that works by herself. I actually like what they did with Cat in the coming years, though I still don’t think they had to kill her poor kid to do that -- they could have sent him off to boarding school, or maybe to live with his dad. Or with José Delgado, over at Power of Shazam! I bet Jerry Ordway would have taken good care of him.

Plotline-Watch:

Wait, so can Superman just find anyone in Metropolis any time he wants? Not really: this is part of the ongoing storyline about his powers getting boosted after he came back from the dead, which sounds pretty useful now but is about to get very inconvenient.

Don Sparrow points out: "It is interesting that as Superman tries to capture Schott, he at one point instead captures a robot decoy, particularly knowing what Geoff Johns will retroactively do to this storyline in years to come, in Action Comics #865, as we mentioned in our review of Superman #84." Johns also explained that the robot thought he was hearing his mother's voice due to the real Toyman trying to contact him via radio, which I prefer to the "psycho talks to his dead mom" cliche.

Superman says "I never thought he'd get to the point where he'd KILL anyone -- especially children!" Agreed about the children part but, uh, did Superman already forget that Toyman murdered a whole bunch people on his very first appearance, in Superman #13? Or does Superman not count greedy toy company owners as people? Understandable, I guess.

There's a sequence about Cat starting a fire in a paper basket at the prison to sneak past the metal detector, but why do that if she had a toy gun all long? Other than to prevent smartass readers like us from saying "How did she get the gun into the prison?!" before the plot twist, that is.

Patreon-Watch:

Shout out to our patient Patreon patrons, Aaron, Murray Qualie, Chris “Ace” Hendrix, britneyspearsatemyshorts, Patrick D. Ryall, Bheki Latha, Mark Syp, Ryan Bush, Raphael Fischer, Dave Shevlin, and Kit! The latest Patreon-only article was about another episode of the 1988 Superman cartoon written by Marv Wolfman, this one co-starring Wonder Woman (to Lois' frustration).

Another Patreon perk is getting to read Don Sparrow's section early, because he usually finishes his side of these posts long before I do (he ALREADY finished the next one, for instance). But now this one can be posted in public! Take it away, Don:

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We begin with the cover, and it’s a good one— an ultra tight close up for Cat Grant firing a .38 calibre gun, with the titular Superman soaring in, perhaps too late. An interesting thing to notice in this issue (and especially on the cover) is that the paper stock that DC used for their comics changed, so slightly more realistic shading was possible. While it’s nowhere near the sophistication or gloss of the Image Comics stock of the time, there is an attempt at more realistic, airbrushy type shading in the colour. It works well in places, like the muzzle flash, on on Cat Grant’s cheeks and knuckles, but less so in her hair, where the shadow looks a browny green on my copy.

The interior pages open with a pretty good bit of near-silent storytelling. We are deftly shown, and not told the story—there are condolence cards and headlines, and the looming presence of a liquor bottle, until we are shown on the next page splash the real heart of the story, a revolver held aloft by Catherine Grant, bereaved mother, with her targeting in her mind the grim visage of the Toyman.

While their first few issues together meshed pretty well, it’s around this issue that the pencil/inks team of Jurgens and Rubinstein starts to look a little rushed in places. A few inkers who worked with Jurgens that I’ve spoken to have hinted that his pencils can vary in their level of detail, from very finished to pretty loose, and in the latter case, it’s up to the inker to embellish where there’s a lack of detail. Some inkers, like Brett Breeding, really lay down a heavier hand, where there’s quite a bit of actual drawing work in addition to adding value and weight to the lines. I suspect some of the looseness in the figures, as well as empty backgrounds reveals that these pencils were less detailed than we often see from Jurgens.

There’s some weird body language in the tense exchange between Superman and Cat as she angrily confronts him about his lack of progress in capturing her son’s killer—Superman looks a little too dynamic and pleased with himself for someone ostensibly apologizing. Superman taking flight to hunt down Toyman is classic Jurgens, though.

Another example of art weirdness comes on page 7, where Superman gets filled in on the progress of the Adam Morgan investigation. Apparently Suicide Slum has some San Francisco-like hills, as that is one very steep sidewalk separating Superman and Turpin from some central-casting looking punks.

The sequence of Superman concentrating his sight and hearing on the waterfront area is well-drawn, and it’s always nice to see novel uses of his powers. Tyler Hoechlin’s Superman does a similar trick quite often on the excellent first season of Superman & Lois. The full-bleed splash of Superman breaking through the wall to capture Toyman is definitely panel-of-the-week material, as we really feel Superman’s rage and desperation to catch this child-killer.

Pretty much all the pages with Cat Grant confronting Winslow Schott are well-done and tensely paced. While sometimes I think the pupil-less flare of the eye-glasses is a cop-out, it does lend an opaqueness and mystery to what Toyman is thinking. Speaking of cop-outs, the gag gun twist ending really didn’t work for me. I was glad that Cat didn’t lower herself to Schott’s level and become a killer, even for revenge, but the prank gun just felt too silly of a tonal shift for a storyline with this much gravitas. The breakneck denouement that Cat is now depending only on herself didn’t get quite enough breathing room either.

While I appreciated that the ending of this issue avoided an overly simplistic, Death Wish style of justice, this issue extends this troubling but brief era of Superman comics. The casual chalk outlines of yet two more dead children continues the high body count of the previous handful of issues, and the tone remains jarring to me. The issue is also self-aware enough to point out, again, that Schott is generally an ally of children, and not someone who historically wishes them harm, but that doesn’t stop the story from going there, in the most violent of terms. In addition to being a radical change to the Toyman character, it’s handled in a fashion more glib than we’re used to seeing in these pages. The mental health cliché of a matriarchal obsession, a la Norman Bates doesn’t elevate it either. So, another rare misstep from Jurgens the writer, in my opinion. STRAY OBSERVATIONS:

I had thought for sure that Romanove Vodka was a sly reference to a certain Russian Spy turned Marvel superhero, but it turns out there actually is a Russian Vodka called that, minus the “E”, produced not in Russia, as one might think from the Czarist name, but rather, India.

While it made for an awkward exchange, I was glad that Cat pointed out how her tragedy more or less sat on the shelf while Superman dealt with the "Spilled Blood" storyline. A lesser book might not have acknowledged any time had passed. Though I did find it odd for Superman to opine that he wanted to find her son’s murderer even more than she wanted him to. Huh? How so?

I love the detail that Toyman hears the noise of Superman soaring to capture him, likening it to a train coming.

I quibble, but there’s so much I don’t understand about the “new” Toyman. If he’s truly regressing mentally, to an infant-like state, why does he wear this phantom of the opera style long cloak while he sits in his baby crib? Why not go all the way, and wear footie pajamas, like the lost souls on TLC specials about “adult babies”?

I get that Cat Grant is in steely determination mode, but it seemed a little out of place that she had almost no reaction to the taunting she faced from her child’s killer. She doesn’t shed a single tear in the entire issue, and no matter how focused she is on vengeance, that doesn’t seem realistic to me. [Max: That's because this is not just retribution, Don. It's dark retribution. We’ve been over this!]

#superman #dan jurgens #joe rubinstein #cat grant #adam morgan #toyman #dan turpin #joke guns that only exist in comics #cat grant the dark retributor #coming soon to image comics

20 notes · View notes

studiesinconnoisseurship · 3 years

Text

Sicily's Triumph of Death

Triumph of Death – Palazzo Abatellis, Palermo

Palazzo Sclafani, Palermo

The Triumph of Death – il Trionfo della Morte – is a huge fresco filling most of the end wall of a large and lofty hall in Palazzo Abbatellis, the National Gallery of Sicily in Palermo. It was not painted for that room, but for a wall of the courtyard of another palazzo in the city, Palazzo Sclafani, still standing and still to be seen, though not visited, close to a public garden east of the Cathedral. That palazzo was built in 1330, originally for a Count, Matteo Sclafani, but exactly a hundred years later, in 1440, the City Administration (the Senate), wishing to rationalise its hospital provision and have one big hospital rather than seven small ones, requisitioned the palazzo, by then in a poor state, and set about converting it into the main hospital for the city. This development evidently included commissions for artists, and one of those was given to the painter of the Triumph. It is unfortunate that the commission document has never been found, but we can be thankful that aerial bombardment of Palazzo Sclafani in 1943 did not destroy, only damaged, the fresco, which was soon after removed, restored and displayed where it now is.

Details from Triumph of Death (clockwise from top): Death rides of a skeletal horse; The Fountain of Life; Death’s Victims; Lute Player

The painter’s choice of subject was a natural one for the courtyard of a hospital in those days. Sclafani’s palazzo dated from the time of the Black Death, but in Sicily, as in mainland Italy and the rest of Europe, Death in the form of plague had galloped back into people’s lives unpredictably and most often fatally ever since. Skeletal Death rides his skeletal horse full tilt across the fresco; his victims lie in a heap at the bottom of the picture. There is, however, Life, a Fountain of Life, beside which a harpist plays his silent music. Elegant ladies converse with animated gestures of shared alarm; there are men to the left, young and old, but, one observes, no children. Above the men a menacing wolfhound and another dog strain at the leash. Death, in short, threatens Life, for the mitred as for the unmitred, but Life is there. Memento Mori, you who enter this place and may not leave it alive; but remember, too, that you have lived, and life, with all its music and conversation, will continue after you.

Such is the general message. I have chosen this work as the focus of my latest Studies in Connoisseurship partly because we are living through a global pandemic. The hospitals of Palermo, as of many other cities in Italy and beyond, have once more been filled with very ill people dying, or threatened with dying, as life outside them struggles to continue.

As a connoisseur my motive is different. The fresco, unsurprisingly, has captivated many visitors and inspired some writers, but the fact that without a surviving contract or other document from the early 1440s we still do not know who painted this work surely plays its part in our fascination: we see it as a unique phenomenon, sui generis. This of course is unreal: someone painted it. Sicilians wonder if he was Sicilian. The last owner of Palazzo Sclafani lived in Spain; could he have proposed a Spanish artist? Some, bizarrely, have suggested that the painter may have come from the Netherlands. If he was Sicilian, did he afterwards leave the island to seek his fortune, like Antonello da Messina, on the mainland? Or did he come from the mainland, invited by the hospital’s rector, Pietro Speciale, or someone else who was commissioning works of art for it? A work like the Triumph of Death does not appear from nowhere; what other works by its creator preceded it?

I cannot answer these questions, but privately I have shared the quest for answers over many years, and I think I can at least contribute to our understanding of this anonymous artist by adding other works that may reasonably be attributed to him. As with all exercises in connoisseurship, what is ‘reasonable’ is what can be argued visually through juxtaposition of images.

First, a general observation should be made about the work from an aesthetic point of view. Iconographically, the Triumph of Death is well known and quite a lot has been written about antecedent examples of the theme, at the Campo Santo at Pisa, in the work of Orcagna, and elsewhere. In this case, however, the horse and the rider are not enough to pull the composition together, because all around them are disparate groups of figures and animals and objects that relate awkwardly to each other and fail to bond into a coherent whole. Whatever else he was, this artist cannot be said to be a great composer. Seen from a distance – as the fresco can be – it reminds one of some large and similarly incoherent tapestries. This is a serious defect which no doubt excludes it, as a whole, from the very highest rank of artistic achievement.

Details from Triumph of Death (clockwise from top left) – Death’s Horse; The King; a Survivor of Death; Death’s Victims

The words ‘as a whole’ are to be emphasised, though, because as soon as we draw close and our eyes take in the details (as would those of anyone standing or walking under the arcade of that hospital courtyard in 1442), they are everywhere amazed by what they discover in the sphere of draughtsmanship. There the artist excels, both in ‘disegno’, his brilliant invention of representational forms, and in the extraordinary refinement and elegance of his line, whether in the tail of the hound, the head of the horse (like something out of Guernica), in the aristocratic ladies or, most originally of all, in the heads of the dead tumbled together at the bottom. It is the quality of this artist’s drawing, rather than his colour or composition, that makes it less important that all the colour reproductions offered here are of questionable fidelity.

Comparing drawings at the Louvre (top left and top centre) with details of the noble women from Triumph of Death

Comparing the similar hand gesture of the drawing of a Lady (left) and a Survivor of Death (right)

To pick out the draughtsmanship is, I believe, to pick up the key that can unlock the mystery of what else this artist did. Over many years of intermittent study I have kept a look-out for any drawings that might be associated with him by virtue of their extreme linear elegance combined with a certain oddity. Among the drawings in the Vallardi Album at the Louvre are a few that are not by Pisanello, and among these is a pair of profiles, one of a mature Lady, the other of an older Man. The one of the Lady is the more developed and the more remarkable, for the fine lines of the hair and the purity of contour in her profile. Compare this drawing with the depiction of the aristocratic ladies in the Trionfo, especially the one seen in profile who likewise wears an eardrop, and I think a definite similarity is observable. It is confirmed when we turn to the raised left hand of the Lady in the drawing. Artists describe hands and their gestures in such interestingly different ways: this one favours two fingers (first and second) straight, two fingers (third and fourth) bent. Anyone who tries to put their own fingers into the same position will soon realise that it is not natural and not sustainable; but there it is, not only in the drawing but in the Trionfo, exactly in one instance, and to varying degrees of bentness in many more. To anyone acquainted with the history of connoisseurship this could be a textbook illustration of Giovanni Morelli’s ‘method’.

Drawing of a Man with a Fur Collar (Staatliche Graphische Sammlung München)

Comparing the Louvre Drawing (left) and Munich drawing (right) with faces from Triumph

At the Print Room at Munich (Staatliche Graphische Sammlung) there is another drawing, this time of a Man with a Fur Collar seen close-up, his head turned to our left, his neck emerging from a fur collar encircling it. this is not finished, but those fine lines drawn in long parallel strokes that distinguished the tresses of the Lady in the Vallardi Album are also here, along with a very particular shape given to the eye (upper lid and corner nearest to the nose) and to the ear, philtrum> and lips. These features are most clearly matched in the face of the young man on the extreme left of the Trionfo, and that of his companion.

Portrait of a Lady – Johnson Collection, Philadelphia

Comparing the Drawings from the Louvre (Top Left and Bottom Right) and Munich (Bottom Left) with the Painting of the Lady at Washington

At this point in my quest for drawings by the Trionfo Master the trail goes cold. There is, however, a painting in the Johnson Collection at Philadelphia, attributed, unconvincingly in my view, to Ercole de Roberti, which exhibits exactly the eye-shape, ear-shape, lips and philtrum of the Munich drawing, as well as the sharp, rounded eyebrows of the Vallardi Lady and the ear of the Vallardi Man.The Johnson painting has morphological similarities with the Trionfo, but it seems to belong to a later period, and there is reason for thinking that it does. It may indeed be the link between the Trionfo and a whole body of much later work by this artist, not in Sicily but in Ferrara.

Comparing faces with fresco in Palazzo di Schifanoia of Virgo recumbant with her Decani (bottom panels)

In the Salone dei Mesi of the Palazzo di Schifanoia in Ferrara it is possible to distinguish fairly clearly the work of Francesco del Cossa, but there is another artist, credited with many of the Months whose identity has always puzzled art historians. He has been called the ‘Maestro di Ercole’ or the ‘Maestro degli Occhi Spalancati’, but these names have not led to much development of an oeuvre for an artist of such weird imagination and invention, a man capable, as Cossa was not, of creating extraordinary images like the figure of Virgo, for August, the giant lobster, for June, or the sign of Libra, for September.

Scenes from the Fresco at Palazzo Schifanoia: Virgo in the Allegory of August (top); The Lobster from the Allegory of June (centre); Libra from the Allegory of September (bottom)

From Palazzo Sclafani to Palazzo Schifanoia is not only a leap of geography; there must also be a gap of many years, perhaps a quarter of a century. It is frustrating and unsatisfactory that there is, as yet, so little to fill that gap. I do believe, nevertheless, that Palermo and Ferrara are connected in the career of this painter. The argument depends as always on a juxtaposition such as this one: the Munich drawing, the Johnson portrait, the heads of Virgo.

Detail of Virgo (top left) to compare with the Lady in Philadelphia (top centre) and the Man in Munich (top right), and comparisons of the horse from Triumph of Death (bottom left) and horses from the Allegory of March (bottom right)

From August we can move to other Months in the astrological zodiac, and discover that the eccentricity manifest at Palermo has not deserted this artist, but it has changed. In the many years that have elapsed he has developed, for example, a bizarre way of representing drapery – like sharply creased paper folded one way and then another – and rocks – like laminated tombstones. Despite the lapse of years there is a horse’s head whose structure can still remind us of the one at Palermo.

The Allegory of August, Triumph of Ceres and representation of Virgo – Palazzo Schifanoia

The Allegory of September (top) and detail of Mars in bed with a Nymph (bottom) – Palazzo Schifanoia

There is also a change of theme. The work at Palermo is dominated, very obviously, by Death, his work at Ferrara quite largely by Sex, especially so in August. The bare-breasted figure of Ceres brandishes the reaped corn and then, recumbent, sprawls luxuriously across three divisions while looking out seductively at the spectator. In September Mars is in bed with a nymph, Ylia, and the figure of Libra is set between two figures of a physique reminiscent of male ballet dancers, their calves developed like athletes on Greek pots. Sex, yes, but also, to complete the trinity, War. There is now a definite martial streak to the artist’s imagination, no doubt fuelled by the idea of ‘triumph’ and expressed in images of Mars, Vulcan’s Forge, armour.

Detail of Vulcan’s Forge from The Allegory of September

His contributions to the Triumph scenes are at least as ill-composed as the Triumph at Palermo, but under them, in the Months, he wisely sets his figures and creatures against plain dark backdrops. We remember them all the better for their standing out pale, even white, against the deep blues and browns. At Palermo this had only begun to happen in the upper left quadrant and behind the horse.

Clearly I and others must look diligently for other works by this artist that will allow us to see how he developed between the two periods of activity and what he was doing before the first one. The drawings that I have proposed as his must belong to the earlier, Palermitan phase of his career, but how did he draw in later years? His name is more likely to be discovered by historians and archivists. I would like him to be a Sicilian – the island has too few major artists besides Antonello da Messina – but I must declare a doubt that he was. We need the evidence in any case to tell us whether he was brought to Palermo from the mainland or was native to the island at the time of the Sclafani commission. Without the facts we are left in ignorance. If the thesis presented here, of a connection between Palermo and Ferrara, should find acceptance, I hope that it will have armed us with a little more understanding of his character as an artist. He has an abundance of character. As painter, as draughtsman, as inventor of images, he appears to be one of the great eccentrics of European art, and one that can speak to us, of life and death and love, in another dark time.

#triumph of death #sicily #italian art #palazzo schifanoia #palazzo sclafani #palermo #studies in connoisseurship #connoisseurship #art history #art secrets

56 notes · View notes

rbbalmung · 3 years

Text

Pokemon SwSh GPL AU: Get to know ______ P3

It’s time for THE BOYS. My biggest conclusion from putting this together is that while Raihan enjoys pushing everyone else’s buttons, Leon is the only person that can fluster the hell out of him. Please enjoy.

Get to Know: Leon x Raihan (TrueRivalShipping)

1: Who spends almost all their money on the other? Leon. He feels like the type of person whose love language is gift giving (ex. giving Hop Wooloo and Grookey, giving Gloria Scorbunny, Yamper, and Charmander, ect.). That being said, he’s terrible at getting gifts. He can tell exactly what type of Pokemon a person would want and catch it, but presents? He once got Raihan a charmander watch made for kids without even considering it wouldn’t fit him.

2: Who sleeps in the other’s lap? Leon. They’re both tall, but Lee’s the smaller of the two.

3: Who walks around the house half-naked and who yells at them to put on some clothes? Raihan would definitely strut around just to get a reaction out of Leon. Half the time his intentions are to get him into bed, but the other half? Embarrass Leon when he’s on Rotom calls with his mum (don’t worry, he wears pants for those instances).

4: Which one tells the other not to stay up all night and which one stays up all night anyway? They’re both night owls. They stay up either playing video games or watching Netflix (or whatever the pokemon equivalent to that is). They had to invest in a bigger couch due to how often they have passed out on it. (When I say bigger couch, I definitely mean a futon. They just straight up by the closest thing they can to another bed).

5: Which one tries to make food for the other but burns it all by accident and which one tells them that it’s okay and makes them both cookies? Hop inherited their mum’s cooking skills. Since Leon spent most of his young adult life as a champion who never really had time to stay at home and cook a real meal, it is up to Raihan to provide. Lee was permanently designated to cleanup duty after nearly burning the apartment down.

6: Which one reads OTP prompts and says “Oh that’s us!” and which one goes “Eh, not really”? Leon would say,” Oh, that’s us!” and Raihan would say,” Eh, not really?” just to spite him. There is a lot of teasing and playful banter in their relationship.

7: Which one constantly wears the other’s clothes? Raihan, but only because he would literally murder Leon if he borrowed one of his designer sweatshirts. There’s also the added benefit that Lee’s clothes are a lot comfier.

8: Which one spends all day running errands and which one says “You remembered [thing], right?” Leon isn’t allowed to run errands by himself because he’d get lost, so Raihan is usually the grocery-getter. Raihan will be in the checkout line and almost always get a last minute text from Leon asking for one more item. It drives Raihan bonkers.

9: Which one drives the car and which one gives them directions? Leon is the driver, and Raihan is the “direction giver” (let’s be real, he’s more focused on what song they play next than getting them to their destination). If it’s a group road trip, neither of them are allowed in the front because they’ll just end up getting everyone lost.

10: Which one does the posing while the other one draws? Ok, so I don’t really think one of them would draw the other. They’re much more of an “active, sporty couple” than an “artsy couple”. That doesn’t mean it hasn’t happened, though. During one of their dates, they decided to doodle each other on their napkins to help pass the time. They were both terrible and it got really heated when the waitress chose Leon’s drawing as “slightly less worse”.

11: If they were about to rob a museum, which one does backflips through lasers and which one is strolling behind with a bag of chips? Are you kidding? They’d both try to out-do each other. Both backflippers.

12: Which one of your OTP overdoes it on the alcohol and which one makes the other stop drinking? I feel like even though Leon has more body mass than Raihan, he’d be the lightweight of the two. Both have been in the League since they were in their late teens, but Leon’s public image had a lot more specifications than Raihan’s. That meant Raihan got to go to a lot more college parties on his nights off and build up his tolerance. Leon’s public relations manager didn’t let him even look at alcohol until he stepped down as champion. He had to “set a good example for his young fans”. (Sufficed to say, Gloria quickly got a new PR manager when she filled his role).

14: Which one keeps accidentally using the other’s last name instead of their own? Raihan learned that if he used Leon’s last name, he could get special treatment. It’s an abuse of power! Especially when they’re having dinner at the Hoffman house and Raihan casually slips in that he’s planning on taking Lee’s last name once they marry. Leon’s convinced his grandparents like Raihan better than they like him at this point.

15: Which one screams about the spider and which one brings the spider outside? Raihan, though he’ll go to an early grave before admitting that. He just doesn’t want them getting webbing on his new shoes! Yeah...that’s it.

16: Which one gives the other their jacket? Leon. It was mentioned above, but Raihan has to be in a really good mood in order to let Leon borrow his stuff. It isn’t that big of a deal, thankfully: The Hoffman boys are like personal heaters.

17: Who keeps getting threatened by the other’s overprotective older sibling? Ok, ok, ok: Raihan is slightly intimidated by Hop. He just wants the best for his big bro! If that means calling Raihan out of his shit from time to time to keep him in line, so be it. Raihan can’t fight back either, because that’s his boyfriend’s little brother! One of the only things Leon gets testy over is people bullying Hop, so Raihan has to do it when he isn’t around.

18: Who’s the first one to admit they have feelings for the other? Leon. It wasn’t one of those things where they’ve always liked each other, but after being friends for so long, their feelings blossomed into something new. Lee is a big flirt and never officially came out, so Raihan just figured he didn’t mean it whenever he complimented him. Leon literally confessed to Raihan at least five time before it sank in that he was serious.

19: How good would your OTP be at parenting? I think they’d actually be pretty good! Leon helped raise Hop and he definitely has the dad act down, so adopting children would be something he’d be super interested in. Raihan may struggle a little bit at first (especially with where the line of what he could and couldn’t post on social media was), but he has a big heart. They would always be there for their kids. If Gloria and Hop are the cool parents, Leon and Raihan are the embarrassing ones. Would tease their kid lovingly.

20: Which one types with perfect grammar and which one types using numbers as letters? Leon has sent a lot of professional texts because of his former position as champion, so he’d win by default. If they’re texting each other, it is all in numbers, emojis, and abbreviations. Sonia, Piers, and Nessa hate being in group chats with them.

21: Who gets attacked by a bully and who protects them? Lee is the more protective of the two, especially when it comes to people bullying Raihan online. Raihan tries to tell him that he doesn't have to do it, but he’s secretly very flattered.

22: Who makes the bad puns and who makes a pained smile every time the other makes a pun? Leon makes the worst dad jokes in the world. Sometimes he does it just to embarrass Raihan.

23: Who comes home from work to see that the other one bought a puppy? They take turns. Raihan will catch a Hakamo-o to beat Lee’s Aegislash, only for Lee to catch an Azumarill from the Isle of Armor a week later. It’s a never ending game of trying to one up the other.

24: Which one gives the other a piggyback ride when they’re tired? Leon. He’s pretty buff, so carrying Raihan around is nothing. He usually does it without asking if his boyfriend looks tired and flusters the heck out of him.

25: Which one competes in some sort of activity and which one does the overzealous cheering? Ever since Leon left he league, he makes it a priority to go to every one of Raihan’s matches. He often dons ridiculous disguises in order to not get recognised, but he always gets recognised. There is an online forum just made up of pictures of him in different, weird attire. He might’ve even been able to slip by public notice if not for the fact that he tries to make AS MUCH NOISE AS POSSIBLE to cheer his boyfriend on.

26: Who takes a selfie when the other one falls asleep on their shoulder? Is there even a possible different answer than Raihan? The man takes selfies as a living. You better believe he has 8 different folders of pictures of Leon.

27: Which one would give the other a makeover if they asked? Raihan. Leon is so close to having style, but then he’ll throw on his signature snapback and a cape and ruin everything. You know the cape isn’t even a requirement for the champion to wear? Yeah, Lee just chose to wear it. He counts it as a small victory whenever Leon decides to buy something at one of Rai’s favourite stores.

28: Which one owns a pet that the other is absolutely terrified of? Raihan tries not to get between Leon and Charizard. It’s a similar situation to the Hop one: Charizard is Lee’s baby, which means Raihan isn’t allowed to tease them.

29: Which one holds the umbrella over both of them when it rains? Raihan, but he purposely will move the umbrella out from above Leon to get him soaked. It’s payback for all the other stuff he does.

30: If your OTP went on vacation, where would they go and what would they do? Who would take the pictures? Like Gloria and Hop, I think they’d travel to all the regions. They’d have to do it on off seasons and couldn't stay long due to their duties in Galar, but they like seeing the new types of pokemon. Once again, Rai would take millions of pictures. He has a photo album per vacation, not just vacation in general.

#GPL AU #pokemon #pokemon sword and shield #pokemon au #pokemon swsh #swsh #swsh leon #pokemon leon #champion leon #swsh raihan #pokemon raihan #gym leader raihan #leon x raihan #truerivalshipping #The banter between these two would be unbeatable #half the time people aren't sure if they even like each other #best boyfriends ever

55 notes · View notes

poutyhannie · 4 years

Photo

word count: +4k

warnings: fluff, angst, smut, college!fem reader, college!felix, romantic fantasy

** **

You gaze down at the materializing letters stretching across your palm till your elbow. It was a mixture of Korean and English. The Korean characters were few and far in between but were delicate and even while the English letters were long, messy, and leaned to the right.

I’ll need to turn in Prof Behl’s assignment when I go to class and then explain why I can’t go to the museum research trip.

Did I use all my meal swipes? Chris said he wanted to workout at 3…

These notes would often appear on your right arm, sometimes remaining like a tattoo for weeks or fading before you could even read it fully. These were the thoughts of a person whose soul matched your own. He was a college student who is majoring in English with focus on things like creative writing and poetry and you’ve gathered that ‘Chris’ was his roommate.

For as flowery his major was, the boy’s thoughts were surprisingly plain and boring. However, you were thankful for it. Your friend often had dark circles under her eyes. Her connection with her soul partner was being awake at the same time and you were sure her soul’s partner lived on the other side of the world with the opposite time zone. To be honest, you gleaned almost nothing from the notes. The boy probably didn’t know that his thoughts were being recorded on your arm, which you always kept covered with a sleeve. Neither did you know what connection he had with you. Did he feel the emotions you did? Were his dreams your memories? You’ve laid to waste these meaningless thoughts to focus on your life more, not his. There was little reason to go searching him out; if you truly were tied together by souls, fate could do the heavy lifting for you two.

Leaning back at your desk, you shake out your cramping hands. The graphic design project requires that you draw out the story board by hand rather than digitally and you never wished more to curse for it. The reason was, according to your Professor, head of the project you and your classmates are fighting to be a part of use physical copies in the preliminary section. Because you had started in traditional art, relatively it was easy to get back in the swing of things. Didn’t mean that your hand didn’t hurt like a bitch, though. You had everything riding you getting to participate in this project, you’d planned everything out with your counselor and had little attractive options if you didn’t get it, so you return to your drawing.

Your roommate swings open the door, causing you to jump and tug your sleeve on quickly. She throws her bag on her bed with no regards to the loud thump it emits. Her blonde hair rests on your paper when she leans over to look at your drawing. As always, she gushes at your talents and as always, you remind her that her microbiology major is much more impressive.

The night is a lot hotter than comfortable, especially with the tight sleeve you always relegate yourself to, even while sleeping. Ever since you caught your dad reading the thoughts on your arm when you slept, you sometimes go so far as to sleep on your stomach, with your right arm tucked under you. It was uncomfortable reading his thoughts, much less having someone else read them. Yeah, they weren’t always too juicy or detailed, but it still felt wrong to share something like this with anyone else.

“Even family?” You remember your dad asking to your rage.

“Even family.” You hissed.

With a groan, you rise out of bed, your roommate looking up from her five inch thick textbook, illuminated by a soft, yellow dest lamp. Her watery eyes gaze up at you from behind her round glasses. “I’m going out. Can’t sleep.” You tell her.

The night breeze whispers through your hair as you sit on an empty bench in an empty courtyard near your dorms. It’s in time like these that you feel peace. When not a soul is around you and you can finally just sit with yourself. Slowly, you unwind the sleeve and are met with chaotic swirl of words. This happens when he dreams.

Worth, friends, others, internships, classes, empty, running, nothing, darkness.

Your heart pangs. He’s having nightmares again. Instinctively, you begin to wrap your arm up again, not wishing to invade him at his weakest point.

Though you don a mask of indifference towards the scrawl on your arm and effectively the boy around others, you can’t help but hurt for him. He seems swamped with so much to do and feels helpless. When you look down, the chilling sentence on your arm burns in your mind and heart.

I don’t think there’s anyone for me. All I see is black. Am I alone?

Two weeks later, they stay. No matter how many times you unwrap and rewrap your arm, those three sentences never leave. Others come and go, but from that night until now, they stay. And the guilt of not pursuing this boy is eating you alive.

You always assumed he had a connection that allowed him to know of your existence. When you realize that he doesn’t, your passivity almost seems like a sin. How lonely it must be to be alone in a world where everyone has someone. Since then, you’ve been paying close attention to the scrawl on your arm, careful to gather as much info on him as you can decipher. Right now though, in class, you can’t.

Your Professor is announcing the chosen students of the project and you can’t really think about him now.

“And the last student is Y/n.”

You heave out a sign of relief, making a note to thank you Professor. You’re sure she had a few good words to put in for you. “The students I just called will be working with other student in screenwriting. You guys need to pick five scripts you want to animate and the screenwriting students will choose their preferred artist.”

Walking into the classroom with another female peer by your side, you absentmindedly fidget with your sleeve. She walks boldly up to a male student, who’s dark blonde falls onto his freckled cheeks, sticking her hand out. “I’m Madeline,” you hear her say. His eyes snap up towards yours but he immediately looks back to Madeline as they exchange pleasantries.

Madeline is paired up with the freckled boy and you with a quiet, thoughtful boy named Seungmin. He tells you that he is friends with Felix, the freckled boy, so you combine tables and group up. Because this is a project done in your own time, you all choose to work together to bounce ideas off with each other though with how bubbly Madeline is, you wonder how much you guys will get done.

When the topic of soul partners comes up, you and Felix shift uncomfortably. Seungmin gets visions through the eyes of his partner and has seen her face, he tells you guys casually.

How wonderful it must be to know who your soul is tied to, you think bitterly, a twinge of jealousy coursing through you.

Madeline’s green eyes shine as she starts, “I don’t know who they are, but I see colors that has to be tied to them.” She’s a romantic, giddy with excitement at the prospect. It’s so easy to live with just seeing colors; it’s pretty and inconsequential, much a contrast to the invasive cryptics on your arm.

When all your eyes turn to Felix, he purses his lips softly, only able to look down at the table. “I actually don’t know what my connection is. Maybe its unconsciousness because I can never fall asleep at nights,” he jokes, attempting to push the attention off of that topic.

A glossy nail taps Madeline’s pink lips as her dark lashes flutter, “I don’t think so. Insomnia isn’t usually paired with unconsciousness connection.”

Feigning disinterest, Felix shrugs, focusing back to the sketches, “Maybe it has something to do with my color blindness, I’m not sure. Doesn’t really matter,” he mutters, his voice deep and throaty. Madeline gasps, lightly slapping Felix’s arm. He raises an eyebrow at her.

“Of course that has to be it!” She exclaims, “It’ll be a subcategory color connection, just like me! Maybe you’ll see colors when you see your partner or when some other unveiling instance occurs.”

She goes into depth about connections, her shoulders bouncing in excitement. Thankfully, this distracts them from asking you about your connection. As her movements and words quicken, the stale bitterness in your mouth consumes you. It’s immature, your distaste for anything about these connections. Just because you have a subjectively unfortunate connection definitely doesn’t mean you should shit on Madeline’s obvious interest in the subject. In fact, Felix and Seungmin seem to enjoy talking with her about it as she has extended knowledge about connections.

However, while Seungmin’s tone that he asks his with questions are amused, his interest piqued, Felix is leaned forward in his chair, his eyes barely concealing desperation. Your heart pangs for him; he’s probably so lost.

Seungmin and Madeline walk in front of you and Felix on the sidewalk, returning to the dorms. They’re in deep conversation about Seungmin’s connection and with Madeline’s knowledge and Seungmin’s intellect, they quickly and thankfully exclude you and Felix.

“I don’t wanna talk about connections,” you declare to him. A small smile spreads across Felix’s face and he nods knowingly. “What made you want to get into animation?” He asks, a pleasant and refreshing topic.

“I haven’t always been the best at art,” you admit with a shrug. “No way!” Felix exclaims, his eyebrows raised, “Your work is so cool, though.”

You laugh at the compliment, “Yeah, well it took me a while to get here and I didn’t want to throw away that work, so here I am. What about you? Why did you want to get into script writing?”

Felix’s eyes soften and he stares off past the line of buildings, into the horizon. “I feel like I can see different things with words. Does that make sense?” He pauses, gathering his thoughts, “They open up worlds and ideas that I can’t experience and it makes me feel closer to normal. It makes me feel alive.”

“Like, you can imagine how colors feel or look through words?”

He nods, looking back at you with a playful look, “That’s another reason why I like your work so much. The values are clear and I don’t feel like I’m missing out on anything by not seeing color.”

The genuine, heartfelt comment makes your heart warm and a smile spread across your face, “Yeah, I focus a lot on just greyscale because composition is the most important aspect to my art. Stuff like color theory, while important, it basically inconsequential if you can’t even tell what’s going on in the picture.”

Felix’s voice quiets as he shoots a look up at Madeline’s back, “Yeah, I didn’t want to choose Madeline’s for that reason, but she really thought that the color use in my script would work in perfect tandem with her style and I really couldn’t tell whether she’s right or not,” he shrugs, his lips pulling into a line.

“Oh, totally,” you say quickly, not wishing to have Felix question his choice, “It makes total sense and in some instances color can tell more of a story than composition and values can. It was wise to team with her.” Maybe your intentions of reassuring Felix was too obvious because his eyes crinkle deeply when he gives you a big, knowing smile.

A week into your work and the very basic shapes for the animation is finished. Working with Seungmin is wonderful as he has a clear direction and even pictures he’s taken to show you what he envisions. Concentration pinches Felix’s eyebrows together and he and Madeline converse as you watch them from the other end of the table.

An hour or two pass and you stand up to stretch, announcing that you’re gonna take a bathroom break to which they agree is a wonderful idea. Coming out of the bathroom, you wrap up your sleeve, peeking to see what the ink says this time. The three words that you’re familiar with; that have been etched into your sink for weeks don’t make your heart stop, but the ones under it.

Am I alone? She needs to add more clear composition so I can actually tell what’s going on.

Your eyes snap up to the blond haired boy. That’s exactly what Felix told you a day ago. Its him?

To your confusion, he now stares, awestruck at Madeline. There’s a sinking in your stomach but you can’t tell why. Gasping, his eyes widen as he takes her hands. “Madeline…I think,” he stumbles over his words, clearly flabbergasted. “I-I’m seeing color now, I think.”

She squeals, squeezing his hands tightly, “When? Just now? What happened?” His dark eyes look dazes and he steps back. His eyes wander from the ground her hers and he whispers, “When I saw you.” Turning your back on them, you leave quickly, not wishing to intrude on Felix’s revelation.

You resume your seat next to Seungmin, heaving a sigh. “What’s wrong?” His lips form a slight pout and his head tilts to the side. You shake your head, waving a hand, “Felix and Madeline are soul partners. He just found out.” From your peripheral, you see Seungmin smile widely. You laugh to yourself, an embarrassed blush rising on your cheeks at your previous hasty conclusion. You really are desperate for the person who matches your soul.

“That’s great,” he taps your arm with his hand, hidden by his sweater’s sleeve, “Why do you look so bummed, though?”

You purse your lips, “It just sucks to be a late bloomer. I don’t know who my partner is,” you tell him as the bitterness fills your mouth again. Seungmin nods firmly, his fingers tapping your arm again, “At least you know that you have one, though. Felix didn’t even know whether he was alone or not.”

“Yeah,” you shrug, trying to ignore the gnawing guilt of your selfishness, “it just sucks.”

“Of course but just give it time,” Seungmin advises, patting your shoulder softly.

You and Seungmin gaze blankly at Felix and Madeline as they both gush over each other. You can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy in your chest when Felix gingerly strokes her cheek.

Clapping, Seungmin returns to the story board, pointing at a slide, “I like the idea with this one, but if you’ll look here,” he pulls out a picture he took of a deep, dark green forest that just seems to dissolve into black, “I want the composition to be more dangerous. Like, the characters are being drawn into darkness and they won’t have any way to escape.” Nodding quickly, you add rough shading and lines to your preexisting work to cater to Seungmin’s request.

“Perfect,” he beams his toothy smile at you.

By the time the project is all but done, Felix and Madeline are attached at the hip or the hand or the face. You try not to watch them, jealousy foaming in your throat. Felix’s eyelashes flutter against his freckles and his lips are glossy as Madeline gently strokes his cheek, smiling softly. Such a romantic—it would make sense that her seeing colors would be paired with his past complete colorblindness. He gushes over her work and her use of color, his voice giddy with excitement at finally seeing color, finally being normal.

While your initial bitterness at their fortune has washed away into passivity, you can’t bring yourself to look at your arm like you used to. In a way, you’re foolishly upset at you partner for not giving you anymore clues that would lead you to him. It’s foolish because he doesn’t know you can read what’s on his mind.

You pick up your artist’s hand brace from your dorm bed and begin unwrapping your arm to put it on, barely sparing the black scrawl a glance.

Its not all black anymore. I can see it. I can see her.

Dread clenches your gut as your eyes travel down to the next single word.

Madeline.

There’s a buzzing white in your head as you fumble to get your shoes on, tripping out into the hallway, breaking into a sprint towards Madeline’s dorm, on the other side of the campus. Whirling confusing overcomes your mimd and you feel like you’re suffocating, the only goal is to find an answer. You don’t know when hints of this conclusion plagued your mind. Maybe it was that day, months ago at the bathroom. Maybe it was a deeper jealousy at seeing Felix kissing Madeline. It didn’t matter anymore, you frantically knocked at her door, out of breath and gasping.

Her green eyes are wide and her pink lips are swollen, she’s almost as out of breath as you are. She makes no move to hide Felix, who’s pulling on a shirt behind her shoulder. Nervousness pangs in your throat but you shove past her and shed your arm to Felix.

“Wh-what’s this, Y/n?” He asks, eyes bouncing off your arm to your face, uncomfortable with looking at something you’ve explained to him is so precious and private to you.

“Read it,” you beg, eyes flicking from his face to Madeline’s. She furrows her shapely eyebrows, gingerly taking your cold arm into her soft hands. At Madeline’s brazenness, Felix finds it in himself to look down at your arm.

Her grip is firm but you could rip away from it at any moment.

Madeline’s eyes are wild and horror fills them as she looks up at Felix. You try desperately to explain, “I-I don’t know what this means either, but that day that you first saw color, Felix, there were your exact words to me about your project on my arm.”

He laughs to deflect how uncomfortable he feels, it comes out too harsh and grates against your neck, raising heat into your face. “Y/n I know you really wanna find your partner, but this is crazy. Don’t try to suggest stuff like this. Madeline and I are partners, everything has been perfect since that day for us.”

He looks over to Madeline for reassurance, but she doesn’t meet his eyes. A soft, vulnerable look plagues her eyes as she looks up at you. Felix stutters, confused why she wouldn’t immediately agree with him. “Lix,” she inhales deeply, “for my connection, you know how I see colors? Those are actually s-supposed to go away when I meet my partner.” You realize the vulnerable look in her eyes was actually guilt.

“What?” His voice is a breath, like he’s been struck in the chest and is left gasping for air. “I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to meet them because I don’t want to loose my color—it’d be like dying for me and I’m really happy with you. Aren’t you happy with me too?” Felix’s lips hang open and his face is frowning in confusion, “So you’ve been using me when you knew I wasn’t yours?” Madeline’s eyes fill with guilty tears and she nods. As much as you can understand why she did what she did, anger and bitterness towards her, towards loosing so much time with Felix consumes you.

“Then you never deserved him,” you hiss, possessively retracting your arm into your body, hiding the words against your bosom.

You and Felix sit wordless on a bench in a park in a part of town you were unfamiliar with.

“So it was you this entire time?”

“I’m so sorry, Felix,” your voice cracks and you bite your lip to prevent it from trembling, “I really didn’t know for sure and I doubted what I knew because you just seemed so happy with her.”

He scoffs loudly, running a hand through his silver hair, “Yeah and look what that amounted to.”

Quietly, you respond, “It amounted to us realizing. That means something.”

Felix exhales slowly, turning to face you, his eyes tired and sad, “Yeah, at least we realized now—” he stops abruptly, pausing to collect himself, “God, I was so stupid, just because I started seeing color one random day because she was in front of me?” He scoffs again, slouching into the bench.

“It made sense though, you were both eager to get your partners and—”

“But to leave you alone?” His voice is raw and soft, “I left you alone when you were right there.” Slowly, as if he were a hologram or mirage you couldn’t quite reach, you extend your hand to rest your hand on his warm cheek, almost shocked that he’s there. Unintentionally, he leans into your hand, closing his eyes gently. “We can begin now. Rather a late start than never. We have the rest of our lives to get it right.”

Felix buries his face into the crook of your shoulder, pressing firm, confident kisses and hot, stinging hickies into your neck. You run your hands up the bare expanse of his back and up to his hair. Flush spreads across your cheeks as he lifts himself up to gaze down at your bare chest but you don’t cover yourself up. You have nothing to hide. “Have you ever done this before?” You whisper to him. He shakes his head softly, leaning down to trail kisses from the base of your neck through the valley between your breasts. Lower, his kisses get wetter as he gets closer to your aching hotness. As if you’re made of paper, Felix gingerly spreads your legs. The cold air hitting your core causes you to flinch, but Felix’s warm palm presses slowly against you, calming the sensation into pleasure.

“May I?”

You whine out a ‘yes’, groaning when his sinks a finger into your core. It sucks his finger in and Felix barely contains a moan at the sensation, imagining how you’d feel around him. Slowly, he begins to pump his single finger into you before adding another and scissoring deep. Curling his fingers, he brushes your sweet spot, causing you to gasp and arch your back.

Smiling to himself, he continues to work at that spot until you’re gasping and moaning incessantly. He pulls out and you whine immediately but he positions himself above you, gazing down at you with adoration even while his impossibly hard dick pokes against you. “Hurry, Lixie, please do it,” you whine and he hushes you with a kiss, slowly sliding in and caressing his tongue against yours when you gasp. Your face is scrunched up at the unfamiliar stretch but Felix can’t help but smile down at you, endeared. His eyes are dark at the sensation of him dragging against your walls. When you begin to relax around him, you start whining again and he giggles, slowly beginning to thrust up into you. There’s nothing desperate or wanton about his movements against you. He’s being gentle, letting you feel him as his drags along your walls though it takes all his self control to not increase the pace. It’s deep and rhythmic, his hips against yours. He fills you up and groans as you seem to suck him up, your juices mixing with his precum.

“Baby, you’re so warm and so—mhg—tight,” he gasps against you, “Can I go faster?”

“Yeah,” you’re breathless and rake your fingers across his back when he starts to do just that. He positions his hip in a way that has himself dragging across your sweet spot and you screaming with every thrust. He reaches down to rub your clit, stars and lights sparking across your vision as a burning coil begins wind in your gut. The groans and moans he lets out when you unintentionally clench around him paired with the way his movements quicken as he becomes desperate push you closer. “Y/n, I’m g-gonna cum,” he whispers, his eyelashes fluttering against your skin. “Me too, Lixie,” you gasp, running your hands over his body.

“I love you.” Your high crashes over you, white pleasure electrifying you through your body as you feel Felix shoot into you. The burning pleasure overcomes your senses as he collapses next to you, his hair sticking to his forehead as he pants into your neck, smiling deeply in pure bliss. Euphoric, you tug him closer, pressing a kiss to the freckle on the tip of his nose, onto both his cheeks, and finally onto his warm, glossy lips.

“I love you too, Lixie.” He is yours and you are his. That’s how it was predestined and you both have fulfilled destiny.

218 notes · View notes

flovey-dovey · 4 years

Text

I want to say something about Klaus

I’ve been waiting a very long time to see this movie, and when I finally could I loved it to pieces. But the ending broke my heart- in more ways than one.

There will be no “tldr” here because my feelings about this film are too strong to let me minimalize what I have to say about it (but I might have to make a part 2 since this is pretty big). If you don’t agree with me, that’s fine, it’s okay, I don’t blame you. I won’t tell you you’re wrong, because in your own life you’re as obligated as ever to have an opinion of your own, correct or not. One other thing I want to say before I start rambling is that this will be messy. Also I do not- nor have ever- claimed to be a critic, and this is not a review. This is just a single person on the internet expressing their opinion, and for the love of all that is holy let’s keep it at that.

Foreword over, on to my pure thoughts. Oh, and spoiler alert for those who haven’t seen the movie yet. No matter what I think about it it’s definitely worth a watch, and going into this without seeing it will probably confuse some folks. Maybe.

Okay, since my main qualm is with the characters, let’s start with Alva. I like her. She’s not the generic “tough girl who don’t need no man” I was fully prepared to have shoved down my throat. She has some genuinely good moments on her own as well as funny and pleasant interactions with both Jesper and the children of the town and is a fine character. She is jaded and determined, though not to the point of that being her entire personality, and I loved watching her find happiness as the teacher she wanted to be. She is a victim of circumstance that eventually has her environment changed and finds herself changed with it for the better. Her design and personality were very pleasing (to me) to see as well.

However...

Why did she have to be the love interest? Just- why? What warranted her eventually desiring a relationship of any description when she was shown to be more devoted to her position as a teacher- and as a single woman- throughout 90% of the film? This is especially frustrating since it turns almost every scene with her into one that involves Jesper in some way rather than build her as a character outside of this perspective. It takes away from Alva “the character” and instead focuses more on her as Alva “the love interest”. In media stuffed to the rafters in heteronormative relationships, and from those that I’ve seen, as afraid as I was to see it happen I was also prepared to have this aspect of the movie gracelessly thrown into my face. So, as might be expected, I actually groaned out loud when I saw it come to pass. I’m not mad, just... actually that’s a lie I am rather irritated by it, but also just... sad. Very, very sad. Disappointed, you might say. She and Jesper don’t have a lot of interactions showing that this was the obvious outcome. The best I can think that people would draw this conclusion would be a) she’s a woman and he’s a guy and they looked at each other that one time, and b) when he was trying to be charming to wriggle out of her wrath. Also, same scene, I don’t buy that it’s further implied by the boat-guy (I forget his name and can’t find it on IMDB) teasing Jesper over “young love” after she leaves in a huff. He’s not a reliable look into any feelings Jesper might feel towards her since all he’s done up to that point is tease him. It’s not enough, it just isn’t. Not to me.

In regards to her feelings for Jesper, the most I see from her is gratitude. The scene when she’s showing Jesper what he unintentionally did for the town is just that, and as she’s looking at the townsfolk Jesper looks... distressed. This is because he is conflicted about what to do at this point in the story, not necessarily because of any feelings for Alva, but it doesn’t even look like he’s thinking of her- romantically- at all. They don’t share any additional conversation, either; not a single flirtatious joke or anything that would lead me to believe they were bonding. I feel horribly conditioned to see her as the love interest and nothing more because that’s all I’ve ever seen done with a man and woman who only share a single line of dialogue before some narrator is telling me “of course” they got together in the end. Oftentimes, that line of dialogue is in an unpleasant or downright aggressive scenario, and that’s not romance. Seeing it happen over and over and over and over in almost every piece of media I subject myself to makes me want to take a blowtorch to my brain. I’m literally at my wit’s end. If it was more built-up and actually there, then fine, I take it back, but the thing is I hardly saw anything at all in terms of either Jesper or Alva or both of them thinking about each other, wanting to be together as more than just friends, throughout the entire hour and a half of the movie. The most scenes I can say they shared (not counting the ending because I’ll get to that in a bit) are four, with each one being little more than a minute long, two of them being more on the aggressive side, the third being when Alva shows Jesper the new Smeerenburg. Pleasant and humorous, yes, but not inherently romantic (neither of them share more than a glance and Jesper looks pretty preoccupied internally). The fourth is of Alva helping Margu translate what she wants from Klaus for Jesper. When Margu hugs Jesper and he and Alva exchange silent looks, the expression on Alva’s face, to me, says something like “you’re not half bad” and a note of good humor for how he handles children. Just so we’re clear I’m not against her finding happiness with Jesper. I just want it to be warranted. Not narrated.

Oh, but their love for each other is obvious and clearly meant to be from the start, is it? Okay then, show me when Alva says or does something and makes Jesper laugh, or vice-versa. Show me when she thought of him OUTSIDE of simply showing him what he did for everyone and how their hands touched, their gazes met and shy or flirtatious smiles spread across their faces as they drew slightly closer, and how she felt something more than gratitude and impressment for him. Show me when Jesper wanted to do something for her OUTSIDE being the means to a letter-related end. Show me the parts when they pined for each other and how happy seeing the other’s smile made them and how they were happy for each other’s progress and encouraged each other. Show me the parts of the movie where Jesper visited as often as he could manage to squeeze into his busy schedule just to chat. Show me kisses, hand-holding, lingering looks and happy little half-smiles cast from across a crowded courtyard. Maybe they do share something more than friendship, but no matter what I can’t get over how little there was between them to give me the impression it was going to lead to romance. It’s not even subtext, in my opinion.

Do you remember when Jesper’s father came back and it all came out in a part known as “the liar revealed” (a trope I quite hate for the oftentimes needless forced drama it creates, but whatever, for now I’ll let it slide) that he had ulterior motives which, at that point, he no longer had? Alva was the FIRST to turn her back on him in spite of their “lovey-dovey” merry-go-round painting MOMENTS earlier. She didn’t even want to hear out Jesper, who was clearly upset, and jumped straight to accusing him without showing that she was just as upset by the revelation that he could’ve been using her and playing with her feelings. How romantic. Meanwhile, the last one to return inside was Klaus, who was far more saddened and disappointed, leaving slower and leaving Jesper looking the worst, like he was heartbroken by his words- an echo of his own- most of all.

In fact...

Speaking of Klaus, I’d say Jesper is far more attracted to him than to Alva. This movie, while nearly devoid of interactions serving to build romantic chemistry between Jesper and Alva (which it absolutely should’ve if they had the ending be what it was), is littered with moments, wordless and otherwise, between Klaus and Jesper. So let’s go over them. I mean, if you’ve left by now then like I said at the start, I don’t mind. But if it’s alright I’d like to talk about them anyway, because holy holly I love them.

The scenes in question are clearly shown to develop their friendship and only get more romantic from there, and I could run out of breath trying to ramble them off all at once and what it meant to me to see them portrayed in such a beautiful way- artistically as well as in terms of the story.

Fairly early on, we learn that the wind is kind of its own “character”, guiding both Jesper and Klaus to ultimately meet each other as well as bringing them together more than once afterwards, and later on with what we learn about him it’s heavily implied to be the spirit of Klaus’ dearly departed wife. I’d like to think she was trying to tell Klaus to move on and find new love in Jesper and for Jesper to find purpose by Klaus’ side. The instances involving the wind are scattered throughout the film, so this is going to be a bit out of order.

To start, Jesper, while trying to get Klaus to donate his toys to the children of Smeerenburg, doesn’t notice the wind swirling around behind him like it was telling Klaus to follow him even if at the time Jesper’s intentions were selfish. Because he changes. They change each other, and their dynamic progresses so much more naturally, directly and clearly than Jesper and Alva’s.

There’s another scene when it leads Klaus to his workshop, where he opens the door to see a silhouette distinctly meant to parallel his wife- the one he loved- and revealed when he pulls back the cloth to be Jesper- his potential new love.

It’s one of the most explicit scenes enforcing my idea that Klaus’ wife was trying to get him to love again. Anyway, Jesper then excitedly starts going on about his gift and trying to get his mojo back before making an unintentionally big mistake by revealing a painful reminder of Klaus’ wife. A mistake he deeply regrets, mind. Not too long later, Jesper tries working on his own to make Margu’s wish for a boat/sleigh come true. While he works, the shot fades to see Klaus back at his workshop. He sees the picture Jesper drew of them and sighs, giving in and going to see him at the post office [also not to mention the drawing fades with the family shelf thing Klaus made so that’s pretty neat; took me a year to edit this in but hey better late than never]. My favorite scene is Klaus showing up to work on Margu’s present, giving Jesper a tool as well and interrupting Jesper to wordlessly point at the task at hand as if to say “If we work, we work together”. And that spoke to me. More than anything else in the movie and more than I’ve heard from any movie I’ve seen that I can remember. Also, Jesper’s soft, shy, willing smile put the biggest grin on my face. It was the last nail in the sled that made me convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were forming a romantic bond from this moment forward.

Part 2 because this is long:

https://flovey-dovey.tumblr.com/post/189133807093/part-2-of-my-thoughts-on-klaus

#Klaus #Jesper #Alva #part 1 #text post #Klausper #TALL AND SMALL

1K notes · View notes

illfoandillfie · 3 years

Note

ok sorry but how many people do yall think rog has ever slept with cos i’m guessing four figures no lie

okay, i don’t normally respond to messages like this because, frankly, i dont really feel like its my place to speculate on roger’s sex life. Theres a difference between writing a fiction story with a character named after and inspired by him and discussing his actual personal life which i have no real knowledge about. What he gets up to in his free time is between him and the women he does it with. but i didn’t really feel able to ignore this one. please don’t take this as me telling you off or shutting you down or anything like that. If you want to speculate about roger’s body count thats up to you, go nuts with it. and i love when you guys message me and I don’t want to discourage you from feeling like you can talk to me or just send me your random thoughts or whatever about any subject. But I feel like I need to address why I disagree with this sentiment. Also so I can ask ya’ll to please stop asking me questions like this.

So firstly, just to get this out of the way. 1000 is a lot. even 100 is a lot. I think if rog had slept with 1000+ people he’d have a least a few illegitimate kids and probably would have been checked into rehab for sex addiction (not to mention STIs and such because lbr people in the 70s specifically probs werent the most careful especially if drugs were involved). I mean even if we were going to say Rog got lucky with a different woman after every show we wouldn’t reach 1000. According to google, Queen played around 700 shows in their entire career. If we add shows played by The Cross thats only another 67 odd shows (according to wikipedia).

now, i think there are 3 things that contribute to this idea of roger as especially promiscuous. 1. His attitude/demeanour/general way he sells himself. 2. the generally held conceptions about rock stars and rock star behaviour. and 3. what i’m going to call fandom dumbassery (but i mean that with a lot of love)

So lets start with the man himself. Roger Taylor is loud and opinionated and not particularly humble. He knows he’s talented and attractive though for at least some time he was a little self-conscious about how feminine he looked. He’s always up for a laugh, likes to party and has admitted to enjoying his drink and his women. He’s had kids with two different women, who’s relationships “overlapped”, and is currently married to a third. At least that’s the perception we can gleam from his interviews, behind the scenes videos, and other public appearances.

It’s easy to see how that image leads to accusations of being a womaniser and a cheater and basically a bit of a slut lmao. But here’s the thing. I think Roger, in part, markets himself that way. The thing is, if you look at his solo songs and the relationships he currently has with his kids and their mothers, and things other people have said about him/his relationships over the years, I think it’s fair to say he also has a bit of a romantic streak maybe? idk if thats the best way of describing it...he’s self confessed to not being a fan of marriage and the like but he’s not opposed to writing and singing love songs and seems to believe in ~love~ as a concept/power. He certainly cares deeply for those closest to him. Whether or not that translates to an agreement with monogamy I can’t say for certain. It’s hard to draw conclusions here because a lot of what we know of his personal life was fed to us through magazines and news paper gossip column articles and they were never looking for the truth, they were looking for scandal and sensationalism.

For instance the whole thing with the overlapping relationships. I think most people who have read anything about roger and dom and debbie realise that it’s not as cut and dry as “he was cheating with debbie and left dom for her” even though that was the story being sold by the press at the time. The reality (or at least the version closer to reality since obviously no one outside of them and whoever they were closest with knows all the nitty gritty details) is that rog and dom had already split when they got married. it was a marriage of convenience to make sure her and the kids would be looked after financially etc even after he’d moved out. So while it looked to the public like he married one chick and 30 odd days later was spotted with another, there really wasn’t anything untoward happening. I’m not saying he never had casual hookups or one night stands and i’m not saying he never cheated, but I do think some of it’s been exaggerated, whether by him to encourage the rock star perception or by newspaper/magazine articles.

Now, obviously, we have stories of rog, particularly in the late 60s and into the 70s, being with multiple women. There’s that bit in the Interview with a Queen “Groupie” (which is a fantastic read and i defs recommend checking it out if you havent already) where she talks about roger being a chick magnet and says that, at the time, it was pretty common to sleep about. But, she also says she didnt notice him doing it more or less than anyone else and seemed to mostly be with Jo (his girlfriend at the time). This is the same Jo that got a mention in the Queen in 3D book (”i think we all had the feeling that these two were together for life, but it was not to be”). Conversely, we have that quote (which i cannot find rn but i’ll link it when i do) about roger sometimes having one girl upstairs while another waited in the garage for them to be finished. I think it was about Rog in the mid-late 60s in Truro but whatever. Obviously he wasn’t anywhere near celibate and it’s likely was sleeping with people outside of his relationship(s). But one has to assume that as he got older those kinds of antics stopped happening, at least as frequently.

There is one potential story that I remember reading somewhere along the way about Roger cheating on Debbie while she was pregnant. But, take that with a grain of salt because I can’t find the article again and also I think it was from like The Sun or something equally as rubbish. The press was notoriously always printing mean shit about the boys and that might have been another thing they published to create scandal. Even so, if we assume it’s legit that is still only 1 story. Not to throw him under the bus but Brian is the one with multiple confirmed affairs, who literally wrote songs about it all. So why is Roger the one with sleazy reputation?

This is where my second and third points come in. There is a pervasive idea about what it means to be a rock star. The whole trashing hotel rooms, sleeping with groupies, passing out drunk every night thing. And I’m sure that Queen was like that to an extent. I think it’s pretty common knowledge that all of them got up to shit on the road. Between innuendo laden interviews and songs, videos and accounts of their parties, stories CT has put online, and other stories like the one of Roger bringing out lines of coke as dessert when he was having dinner with motley crue. They definitely embraced the rock and roll lifestyle. And I think with Roger’s personality being what it is, it’s easy to link him to those traditional rock star tropes and say it was all true all the time. I also think Roger has done nothing to counter those beliefs. He’s been open about how he wanted to be a rock star since the minute he picked up a guitar, he’s labelled himself as a great lay in magazines, he’s joked about girls pulling their tits out over dinner in interviews (though he said he didnt take her home), he’s written songs like One Night Stand and Dirty Mind and Airheads which explicitly mention his preference for women and alcohol. I think it’s fair to say he’s kind of encouraged that view of himself. Whether it was just a side effect of being part of such a well known band and having such a boisterous demeanour/personality, or whether it was intentional as a version of promotion i don’t know. maybe a mix of them? I mean I’m sure it didn’t hurt sales and stuff. it’s the whole guys want to be him, girls want to be with him thing, right? Maybe that’s just me being cynical though lmao.

Anyway, the fandom brain has taken all of that and compressed it into memes and jokes about rog being the band slut. Which i’m not complaining about, lord knows i’ve made the same jokes and reblogged the same posts and used those tropes in my fics. They’re funny and lend themselves to interesting fic concepts. Plus, i think roger is the sort of person who would probably laugh about most of it. But it’s an idea that keeps feeding into itself through fandom, perpetuating what is probably a misguided view of his personal life.

Again, I am sure he’s had his fair share of fun and I’m not trying to make out that he was always perfect or whatever, but I don’t think he’s been with as many women as the popular discourse would imply and I certainly don’t think he’s in the 4 digit numbers.

#i7558vjvug #please god dont let this start anything #im just here to write smut and have a good time

14 notes · View notes

romeulusroy · 4 years

Text

Inheritance (Shelby!Reader × Peaky Blinders Oneshot)

Character/s: Arthur, Thomas, John, Ada, Finn

Word Count: 1,393

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @writerdream22 @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomrecs @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan @captivatedbycillianmurphy @creativemayhems @soleil-dor @thegirlwithoutaname87

A/N: I'm feeling insecure about writing and when I do, the only thing that helps is to write, even if it's god awful lol. I started with the first paragraph, just writing whatever, and it turned into this. I had plans for a completely different fandom/fic tonight, which I hope to post sometime this week. I'm sure this frustration will pass, it's just hard to get through. I feel like a mess with everything. I know its probably just the stress of school, and family, and August coming so soon. June lasted years, but July was gone in a second. Still trying to wind down from the panic I've gotten myself into. Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

Gif Credit: @eylins :)

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO. / PART THREE.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

You want to believe you're different from them. That your words, your writing, your work is anymore extraordinary, that somehow the thoughts in your head have not been repeated through history, stamped from one cracked skull to the next. You want to believe your eyes have seen something more, something hidden, that the trees deeply rooted, there long before your birth, and around after you're gone, have not witnessed the same blue birds or soft, summer storms. You think, for an instance, that there us a separation in what makes you you and them them. That the loneliness in your gut, the screams and cries gurgling in your throat, that this pain layered beneath every cell in your body somehow draws a line between you and them. Making you human where they are not. Giving you feeling where they lack. You hoped, and prayed, by some miracle, that whatever it was that created you wasn't in anyone else. Foolish and young, too naive for your own good. Where they bled you bruised. Where you collapsed they stood like stone. You could stare down the same Devil and see two fraternal beings, both wearing a wicked smile.

The funny thing is, you were more like them than you could ever tell.

Passed down from generation to generation, kept warm and safe cupped into two hands. The anger. Dangerous, bloody, boiling. Pricking beneath your skin like bees, tinging, numbing the sharp things that tore through it. It made your gums bleed, hateful words like knives sling your mouth up through and through. A sickening, twisted laughter bubbling, bursting out of you before you have half a mind to stop it. It made you cold, invincible, scowling at the earth beneath your feet and the sky above, somewhere in the middle this god everyone turns to in their time of need. He never showed up for you, though, instead hiding. From you, and from Arthur. The fire in your veins, swollen by gasoline blood and matches for breakfast. Your big brother caught fire with the slightest annoyance. Cagey, unyielding, a force that tore through him until he let it all out. A corrosive being stripping him of skin and bone, making man into monster. You too had been subjected to stares and glares, deemed more weapon than person. A hazard, too dangerous to be around. One more thing you had to watch out for, the bitterness in that Shelby blood.

That anger seething, turning in on itself. Imploding. Not wanting to hurt others, you hurt yourself. Bit the bad end of a barrel, a bullet sitting on your tongue, the broken bits of a bottle. You liked the way you felt when the only thing standing between you and that dark abyss of an end was yourself. That sense of control, of power, came too few times. A high you tried took chase as much as you could in this big messed up world. Hold these standards of yourself on your shoulders only took be crushed beneath them. Falling into a pit of all the things you bottled up and kissed goodbye, setting each jar on the shelf with its own special label. Grief. Guilt. Greed. Building up walls around you, a tomb to crumble in, afraid to let the rest of the world there were feelings beneath your cold complexion. Tommy always had a way of locking things up and never letting them see the light of day. Learning from the best, you guessed. Let them see your pain, your weakness, and it would be used against you. Weaponized. You couldn't survive another loss.

Boarded up, an abandoned home needing someone to crawl in and make it their own. Tidy up the place, see the potential you had beneath those rotten floors and broken bricks, chipped paint and peeling wood. A want, a need, an ache to be wanted, to be loved and accepted. John never could stand on his own, never wanting to face a bed half empty. Tripping over himself, falling too easy for the next set of wandering eyes and slim legs. He loved like no one else. And you did, too. Unrequited. Given the slightest bit of acceptance, lead into another persons word by free drinks and shameless flirting. You wanted to find the one, your other half, the same way he had, once believing the only way he could ever feel whole was with someone by his side. There was someone out there for everyone, there had to be. You weren't sure how much longer you could live so alone. Part of you wanted to think it was a lie, something you'd grow out of eventually, but John never seemed to, and you'd followed that path too far to turn back.

One day, you hoped, despite the anger, the walls, someone would find you, and love you regardless. You hoped for a lot of things. For the rain to stop and the clouds to clear. For the fog of your thoughts to disappear. For this life to be a little easier for everyone. Forgiving, motherly, nurturing, it's sharp edges dulled. To one day find your way out of all this, start fresh, start new, the potential of a freshly healed scar. Your sister had a way of whispering things in your ear, feeding into these delusions. She too wanted something more from what she saw everyday. Lost in a dream world she crested for herself. Often it was the only thing that kept you going, kept you upright. Eyes burning, sobs choking, too fragile for this world, you wanted to crawl inside the one you made from scratch and never leave. Ada told stories, too young to tell the difference between reality and imagination, her spirits high, embedding itself within your bones. The Shelby's were nothing without their dreams, their drive, their want for a perfect world just out of reach.

Without dreams, there was only dread. Fear of the future, the past, the footsteps you'd one day have to follow because that's what was expected of you. Stand tall, gun in hand, vertebrae stacked atop one another. There was no looking down, no flinching. If you weren't the best you weren't anyone. Turn a blind eye to the bad, to the meek, step on anyone who ever got in your way. Placed on a pedestal with broken knees. The baby, the one you helped raise, from cradle to grave. Never seen a second war, thrust into the one your brothers brought home. You both were. The lurch in your belly at the thought of so much red on your hands, of grief being associated with your name. You couldn't bear the thought of taking another soul from this world. Finn jumped at the pop of a gun, cringing at the cries of others. They could get used to it. Desensitized to it. But the both of you? This was new, and scary, and you were sure the softness they'd lost too long ago still lived inside you. The guilt they forgot chewed you alive, haunting your dreams. They could do as they pleased, but you couldn't. You refused to be as destructive as the rest of your siblings.

As much as you wanted to keep your distance, make some definition between you and them, there was too much of them inside you. Their faces staring back at you in the mirror. The sorrow, the hurt, the hate, the ups and downs of a life like yours, like theirs, there was no escaping it. You could run, but you could never hide. Like a shadow, it clung to your soles, dragged across the cobblestone. Escape however you wanted, however you pleased, there was only one thing all of you had in common: no matter how much you tried, no matter how hard you talked yourself into denial, that Shelby blood was a particular kind poison only the worst would become accustomed to. Try as you might, the thoughts, the feelings, all of it would follow you. Stepping on your heels. Breaking down you'd doors. It would bleed when you did, and dream with you, and hide deep within the cage of your ribs when you were too ashamed to admit it. You were of them. Always had been, always would be, no matter how much you prayed you were different.

#writing #peaky blinders #peaky blinders drabble #peaky blinders oneshot #peaky blinders fic #x reader #x shelby reader #shelby reader #drabble #oneshot #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #arthur shelby #john shelby #ada shelby #finn shelby #gender neutral reader #x gender neutral #x gender neutral reader

91 notes · View notes

mochifics · 4 years

Text

❝ something special ❞ | one.

• pairing: im jaebeom x reader. • genre: romance, really slow burn, fluff. • word count: 2.5k. • summary: it’s 2018, and got7′s hard carry 2 has begun filming. the company assigned you to tend to the two eldest members in the group all throughout the season, and you didn’t realize that being around them would be so... difficult.

author’s note: another chapter?? with a new look?? u bet!! this chapter kinda coincides with the first episode of hard carry 2, in case you feel like watching that first (or after) reading the chapter. (-: i have so much muse for this, so i plan on updating it pretty often so sorry if it’s a lil short. <3

It was raining.

Your eyes continued to admire the gloomy clouds scattered across the morning sky as the crimson cable car worked its way up a steep incline. The cameras were currently rolling as the members were on their way to their first photo mission stop in one of Hong Kong’s famous landmarks.

Heavy eyelids slowly fluttering shut, they abruptly open again upon hearing Yugyeom and BamBam belt out to what seemed like their own rendition of a song about roller coasters. The rest of the members were amazed by how high the cable car was going too, which caused you to laugh quietly to yourself in your seat.

Things were going okay so far. Aside from the sudden rain, everything was still right on schedule, and the members seemed to be having a good time despite the weather.

Letting the plastic hood of your rain poncho hover over your eyes, you allowed yourself to relax again. But before you know it, you felt a soft nudge on your knee, causing your eyes to open once more and shift to the source. It was Jaebeom, who you almost forgot was sitting by himself on the long seat right across from yours.

“Are you having fun?” he asked you warmly, which was more than enough to catch you off guard. What happened at the hotel was still engraved in your mind, and even the slightest remembrance of the mishap made your skin crawl in embarrassment.

Nodding your head, you reciprocated his smile, even if you were feeling something completely different. “I am. Are you?”

“You sure? You’ve been looking like you’d rather be somewhere else,” he quipped in return.

Hearing that had you rolling your eyes playfully, your hand hovered over your mouth to refrain from loud laughter. “Mr. Im, were you watching me?” But before he could say anything, the cable car came to a full stop. With the cameras off, the production crew announced for the members to step out, so Jaebeom only glanced at you and shrugged his shoulders as a response, a sly grin eminent across his lips.

And with that, he was out of your sight.

After a small trek through escalators in glass enclosures, you finally arrived at the top of Victoria’s Peak. The weather’s finally decided to clear up at this time—skies were still riddled with gray clouds, but at least the heavy downpour’s stopped. You take a deep breath to admire the fresh air, allowing for the cool breeze to trickle your skin.

“No, we can’t take the photo here—we have to do it down there,” you heard Jackson tell the members gathered up in a small area from afar. You quickened your pace to catch up to the platform that everyone was settled in, fixing the straps of the emergency backpack you were assigned to carry around.

Though before you could even stand still for one second, they were on the move again. “Isn’t it right here?” you heard Mark call out as his figure made its way down another pair of steps before the others followed suit. The camera crew quickly shuffled to catch up to where the members were standing.

They didn’t exactly need you while they were taking photos, so you decided to wander off on your own for the time being. There was a fairly empty section not too far away, so you walked over to the area and stay there for a bit. Your palms rest on the cool metallic raining as you take the time to admire the view of the city before you. It was gorgeous. Even with the air littered with a light fog, you were able to bask in the scenery’s beauty. You then reached into your bag to grab your Polaroid camera to take a souvenir photo of the view.

Aligning the camera perfectly to your eye, you pressed the button. The camera’s light flashed and the photo printed soon after, and you take it between your fingers and shake it.

“Need some help, intern?”

The words startled you for a moment, but you were able to regain your composure quickly. Turning around, your gaze met with Mark’s, who was standing right behind you, hands coolly tucked into the pockets of his coffee-colored slacks. Immediately you respond with a “no, I’m okay, thank you!” while waving your empty hand to emphasize your words. “Aren’t you supposed to be with everyone else?”

“We finished the mission, so everyone’s just taking pictures of each other,” he reassured with a half-grin. “But seriously, let me take a picture of you. Here,” both of his hands reached out to you, insinuating that he didn’t mind providing the extra help.

It was one of those weird situations where both outcomes could be very good, or very bad. You didn’t want to be a bother by having Mark go out of his way to do something, but at the same time, you were afraid to hurt his feelings by constantly declining. So, you bit the bullet and handed him the camera.

With a satisfied smile against his lips, he began to take a few steps back to find the perfect distance for the view. Bringing the camera up to his face, he gave you a thumbs up, signaling that he was ready to snap the photo whenever you were.

You didn’t want to showcase the flustered feeling taking over your entire body, so, you decided to try to act as relaxed as possible. You quickly remove the hood that was covering your head and quickly fix your hair before posing with a smile. Mark took it as a cue to slowly countdown, snapping the photo afterwards.

“I think you blinked,” Mark frowned as he took the newly printed photo, before giving it a shake. “Let’s take another one just in case.”

You wanted to protest, so badly, but didn’t have the heart to speak up and potentially cause unnecessary conflict. Then get fired for it. So, you murmured a quiet “okay” before leaning back against the glass barrier and posing again.

The camera flashed one more time, and Mark removed the second printed photo before shaking it. “Do they look okay?” you asked as you approached him. “Ha. I was right, you did blink in the first one,” he let out a laugh and showed you the final product.

You immediately groan at how bad you looked upon snatching both photos from his grip. The second one however, surprisingly was nice. It caught the view of the city perfectly, and you looked happy to be there. “Oh god, I’m just going to throw this one away—”

“Wait!” he interjected before you could even take one step forward, hovering over you from behind to quickly steal the photo again. “…I’ll keep it. It’s a waste.”

Failing to take it back, he was already being called by the other members to join them. The cameras were about to roll again as they prepare for their next stop, so Mark only looked back at you with a smile and waved goodbye, then running over to join the rest of his friends.

And you couldn’t help but wonder over and over, why?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The trip to the next few mission stops were a blur.

Shooting turned chaotic when the group reached the heart of the city for the second, third, and fourth stop. From the midlevel outdoor escalator to the infamous clock tower in In Harbor City, the crew wanted to film everything quickly to avoid drawing in a big crowd.

In some instances, it was too late. You spent most of the time out becoming this literal human shield—arms spread across as wide as you could while you kept up with the pace of both the crew and the members walking through the city.

You didn’t think you were going to have to play security for a bit and act as a blockage that allowed space for the members to safely film without being bombarded by the fans. At times you even had to give a friendly push for the ones who eagerly insisted to get closer pictures of the group, and despite earning malicious glares from them, you did what you had to do.

“Welcome to Disneyland!” Jackson’s cheery greeting was enough for you to snap out of your train of thought. Everyone finally arrived at the last mission spot for the day, which also happened to be your favorite. You’ve always loved visiting Disney parks. Despite you being there for work, you were still grateful for the opportunity.

“Where’s Iron Man?” BamBam added, glancing around his surroundings. You recalled that one of their tasks involved taking a photo with the famous Avenger, so everyone made their way to the area that held the Stark Expo. It was the area that held the Iron Man ride, as well as the meet and greet with Tony Stark himself. Apparently, the goal for the photo op was to have everyone pose like Iron Man, while BamBam posed like Black Panther.

After taking some time to navigate around the amusement park and Jackson asking many employees nearby for directions to their needed stop, everyone finally reached Stark Expo. An employee was there in the front to help accommodate GOT7 inside, giving them the perk to cut in line and instantly hop onto the ride.

“Do you want to come ride with us, intern? There’s room in there for you,” Jinyoung asked you as they waited for the camera crew to set up, arms folded across his chest. He always looked so chic, even in the most normal setting.

“Yeah, join us!” Youngjae chimed in before you could even answer. He slung an arm over Jinyoung’s shoulders and looked at you expectantly. “You’ve spent the entire day running around with us, we want you to have some fun too.”

“Ah... If I wasn’t working, I’d definitely tag along. But you can tell me all about it later,” you said nicely, as an attempt to lighten the mood. You were instructed by the crew to stay outside and wait with everyone else, but was touched by the invitation anyway.

Both Jinyoung and Youngjae frowned at the response. But as they were about to say something, they were being pulled inside the building.

“We’ll say hi to Iron Man for you!” you heard Yugyeom call out last minute with his head poking out before going in, and it made you smile.

And just like that, the afternoon flew by.

After spending the rest of the afternoon completing photo missions in the theme park (meeting Iron Man along with Mickey and Minnie Mouse), filming the first episode of Hard Carry was drawing to an end. To end the episode nicely, Jaebeom suggested for everyone to ride the most intense roller coaster in the park.

In the end, most of the members decided to go on.

“Man... just watching it makes me dizzy already,” Youngjae commented with a laugh. You, along with Youngjae and Jinyoung were resting right by the roller coaster the other members were riding, which gave the perfect view to see them when they pass by.

“I bet we’ll be able to hear Jackson’s scream the most,” Jinyoung snickered before taking a small sip of the water bottle you bought for him prior. He then proceeded to rest his elbows on the wooden fencing in front.

“Mr. Wang doesn’t like roller coasters?” You wondered aloud, though not expecting a response from either of them. Your eyes were busy being fixated on the view of the ride in its entirety in before you, watching the carts zoom through the rails—its speed enough to have air waft through your hair each time they pass by your area.

“You know what, I’m actually not so sure where he stands with rides,” Jinyoung answered back, which earned a laugh from both you and Youngjae. “He doesn’t mind going on them, but when it starts, he literally loses it. So, I don’t know… Maybe.”

As Youngjae opened his mouth to add another comment, all your heads turned upon hearing the screams of very familiar voices. At a distance, you could make out the rest of the members on the ride. Yugyeom holding for his life, Jaebeom and BamBam flailing their arms out, Jackson holding onto Jaebeom for his dear life, and Mark casually laughing in the back. Both Jinyoung and Youngjae were laughing hysterically at this point, and it was incredibly contagious. It was hard not to join them in on the laughter.

A few minutes have passed since the sighting of the members, and the rest of the group along with the crew were finally reunited where you and the others were previously waiting.

“Can we please go on another ride?” You heard Yugyeom endlessly plead to their management, even when filming has already wrapped up for the evening. “Just one more! Just one more and we’ll be done, we swear!”

“Yeah, I want to go on the scariest one in the park,” Jaebeom added in hopes to help the younger’s case, his frame leaning against the railing with his hands in his pockets.

One thing’s for sure, you could already tell it was hard to resist to their charm. Judging by the look of their manager’s face, he was already close to giving into what they wanted. Besides, they deserved the break. They’ve just finished their world tour, and needed to enjoy their time in Hong Kong before flying back to Korea tomorrow night.

You watched the group go back and forth between their manager afar for a good five minutes, awkwardly standing as you waited for someone to give you further instructions on where to be for the evening. Soon enough management agreed to their cries, and gave them two extra hours to do whatever they wanted in the park before meeting back on the bus. They all celebrated their victory with loud cheers all around.

“Intern!” you lost your train of thought as you heard someone from their management call for you. Quickly, you look up and gave them your undivided attention as they explained where you’d be going for the rest of the evening. “The members are splitting up because they all wanted to go someplace different... can you look after Mr. Im and Mr. Tuan? Just make sure that they don’t get lost and arrive at the bus safely on time. Bring them to a nearby gift shop and have them change into different clothes and wear a mask, okay? See you all in two hours.”

Even though filming has wrapped and you were technically done for the evening, declining their management would definitely make you look bad.

So, while you preferred heading back to the bus and taking that nap you desperately needed, you agreed.

#got7 #got7 imagine #got7 fanfic #im jaebeom fanfic #jaebeom fanfic #im jaebeom imagine #jaebeom x reader #something special.

45 notes · View notes

olliya · 4 years

Text

Readers‘ engagement on AO3

This time it will be less scientific, and more like me writing down my stream of consciousness. But the methodology was really straight-forward, so I think I can spare us the details, and I wanted to show you a detour I made trying to untangle the reasons behind certain fandom reactions. Join me for a trip?

AO3 is rather infamous for its lack of readers engagement (see all the initiatives supporting the commenting: @ao3commentoftheday, @longlivefeedback), at least among the fics and writers I am in contact with (and I do pay attention to the stats, you can believe me 😉 ). Nevertheless, some people feel very comfortable on this platform and for quite some time already I wondered what leads to such diametrically different writers’ experiences.

I started with analyzing Comments for Sakura’s ships. Since I did the same analysis for four Sakura’s ships: SasuSaku, NaruSaku, KakaSaku and MadaSaku on ff.net, we can have a direct comparison, especially as the time scope of existence Pairing Option and AO3 as a platform are very similar, and fic numbers are also comparable.

Very briefly: I sorted the fics into the following bins: >500 Comments, 201-500 Comments, 101-200 Comments, 51-100 Comments, 21-50 Comments, 11-20 Comments, 6-10 Comments, 2-5 Comments, 1 Comment, 0 Comments. All data are presented in percentage to allow for comparisons between the ships.

So let’s dive in:

On the first glance the graphs look peculiar: there is always sort of a double maximum for “0 Comments” and “2-5 Comments” divided by a minimum for “1 Comment”. But once we remember that the Comments on AO3 include also author’s responses the situation becomes clear: the majority of fics have 2 comments: namely 1 real Comment from a reader and one answer from the author.

To put this hypothesis into a test I checked how many fics have 2 Comments, and it is 316 out of 839 of SasuSaku fics in “2-5 Comments” bin, 84 out of 204 fics for NaruSaku and 104 out of 315 fic for KakaSaku – which gives always ca. one third of comments in the “2-5 Comments” bin.

At that point I deliberated for a while whether I should modify my bins to include “2 Comments” as a separate category, but I opted out of it for the sake of (future) comparisons with ff.net (and because I think by bins are very good, thank you).

As a side note: on the first 4 graphs we can also see that MadaSaku has a different distribution than all the other ships, but it is worth mentioning that it was also an outlier on ff.net. We will come to this later.

Peculiarity of distribution aside – the feedback on 3 main Sakura’s ships is consistently miserable. But, I reasoned, AO3 is famously M/M oriented so maybe the F/M audience is simply not there. Therefore, I set off to check all the Naruto ships in the order of their popularity, which btw is the following:

So, working down the list we get this:

And, WTF Naruto fandom? Most of the fics for hugely popular, established ships have no comments??!! Or one comment and an answer from the writer??!!

That was a really disappointing exercise…

Until I found that:

MadaTobi was the first ship that displayed a different pattern of readers interactions! It has a maximum in “21-50 Comments” per fic which is perfectly decent and corresponds well with the values for the ships I examined before on ff.net.

Encouraged by this discovery I dug further: (And tbh for a moment I thought I have here a “Madara-effect”, since both MadaTobi and MadaSaku displayed encouraging results 😉 )

But Madara-effect was not the case (HashiMada displays the same distribution as all the other ships) and further data were even more disappointing. (Let me repeat myself: WTF, Naruto fandom?!)

Until I found another instance of good readers’ participation:

KakaGai! So, at that point we had three ships that were behaving differently than the norm: MadaTobi, KakaGai and MadaSaku.

I looked further to see if I can find more examples of fandom positivity, but, spoiler alert – No. For the sake of appearances lets look at the data though. GaaLee is sort of a borderline case, so let’s flag it as “tentative” for now.

So, what could be the reason for such a drastically different behavior of distinctive pockets of the fandom? Over the course of last year, I was observing how MadaTobi was rapidly gaining popularity, so that hinted me to follow this line of reasoning.

For each ship, I broke down the fics numbers into years when they were published. I ignored all the fics published in 2020 (because the year has only started and including those data would skew the image). To be able to compare the ships (which vary widely in term of fic numbers) I calculated the percentages of fics published in each year. I.e if a ship had 100 fics published until December 2019 and 30 of them were published in 2019, then 2019 had 30% of all published fics. It was at that point irrelevant how many fics were published in 2020, they weren’t counted either the way. I included only data from 2011 on, because earlier ones are very fuzzy due to back-dating customs that were in fashion at that time (for explanations see here).

Let’s look at the data. Tadaaa!!!

Isn’t it absolutely beautiful?! (yes, I know!) Does it look like a tangle of knitting yarn? (yes, I know that as well!)

So, let me break it down for you:

See that, that general trend? This is the growth curve that most of the ships follow – pretty linear, with maybe a bit of acceleration in 2019.

Now let’s focus on outliers: (3 most popular ships: SasuNaru, KakaIru and SasuSaku are included for reference – they illustrate the general trend pretty well).

The ships that grew more than 30% in 2019 are: SasuHina, MadaTobi, GaaLee, KakaObi, HashiMada, KakaGai, MadaSaku and InoSaku. So, among those eight, 4 (3 obvious, and 1 tentative) are the ones which showed outstanding readers’ engagement!

So, are newer, more energetic parts of fandom also the ones with best readers’ engagement? That would be a very optimistic message… But what about four ships that grew tremendously, but still show very poor readers behavior?

SasuHina is an easy case. If there exist a ship that has a captain, then it is this one. And the captain is @365daysofsasuhina who contributed staggering 438 fics (out of total of 966) to SasuHina! (Seriously, a round of standing ovation, because this is amount of dedication, work and talent that we can all only dream about. Talking about being a change you want to see!). And 90% of that contribution was done exactly in 2019, which explains the growth spurt of the ship. Sadly though, the audience response didn't keep up with the supply of new fics, therefore great many of them remain with very few comments.

So what about the remaining ones: KakaObi, HashiMadara and InoSaku?

Scrolling through the fic lists I noticed that great many of KakaObi fics are written in Chinese, so I decided to look into it deeper.

I analyzed the percentages of Chinese fics for all the examined ships (and percentages of English ones, just in case there was a ship with overrepresentation of some other language):

And we can see that both KakaObi and HashiMada have a very strong presence of the Chinese fics!

At that point I thought I have it, and proceeded to look at the distribution of Comments for Chinese KakaObi and HashiMada fics. And indeed, the reader’s engagement is sadly, almost nonexistent (165 out of 182 HashiMada fics and 478 out of 630 KakaObi fics have no comments at all). The reasons for that may be multiple; one that come to my mind is that the Chinese readers are still to follow their writers to AO3, or that the fics published recently are in reality not new (which for sure they are not, given the sheer amount of them) and received already their share of feedback on other platforms.

But, even if one subtracts the Chinese fics from the overall fics, the distribution remains the same! ☹ KakaObi and HashiMada still display the standard Comment distribution, despite having grown 45% and 41% in the last year!

It looks a bit better, but still follows standard, not very flattering trend of most of other ships.

So, then I thought that maybe if I subtract the Chinese fics the sudden growth in 2019 will disappear?

The answer is unfortunately, no. The growth spurt is still there, language independent.

So, at this point I don’t know... I am convinced that there is some effect coming from the influx of Chinese fics, but I cannot put my finger on it. (It is also a beautiful example of how correlation does not equal causation.) I also have no explanation for InoSaku behavior…

Nevertheless, I think it is possible to draw some conclusions, and those conclusions are of vital importance for the health of fandom as it is currently on the move from ff.net to AO3. And I would hate to see the good habits that are in place among ff.net readers getting lost during this move!

It seems that the readers response is better in the pockets of fandom that experience rapid growth, which in itself is very positive news. But one would think that the entirety of Naruto fandom is experiencing such growth (as the fandom is moving to AO3, remember…?). Unfortunately, it isn’t the case.

There can be yet another factor in play: namely the question if the ship is well represented on ff.net, and most of the ships are. Let’s take a final look at our three outliers: MadaTobi, KakaGai and MadaSaku.

Quick look into ff.net (by quick look I mean: sum of two main Ship Names plus Pairing Option minus fics that were double-tagged) shows that there are 174 KakaGai fics, 132 MadaTobi fics and 230 MadaSaku fics (my carefully calculated MadaSaku fic number was 232 in December 2019, so now I believe this number will be slightly higher).

MadaTobi and KakaGai are definitely underrepresented on ff.net (though MadaSaku is not). Therefore, new fics are not being published on ff.net in parallel to AO3, but rather on AO3 exclusively. It is a speculation only, but maybe if readers are given a choice between commenting on ff.net and on AO3, they are choosing the older platform. That would imply that the authors who make a complete move can still count on feedback, as with absence of ff.net-uploaded fics the readers would have only one place to comment on. At least that’s my hope…

And finally, dear Naruto fandom – step it up. Those numbers are a shame, and I know that people can do better than this.

#fandom stats #naruto stats #ff.net vs ao3 #sasusaku #sasunaru #kakairu #madatobi #kakagai #kakaobi #madahashi #sasuhina #madasaku #shipping stats

110 notes · View notes