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alwerakoo · 3 years

Text

“For them”

-Part of the “arranged marriage au” -Dream/Fundy -a3o: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27573875

Fundy is six years old and has big plans for the future.

Wilbur laughs when he says he'll one day become president of the whole world and release all the animals from the zoos.

He laughs even louder when, after thinking for a moment, he corrects himself, stating that he'll leave the llamas there because they are mean and ugly.

Fundy doesn't understand what's so funny about his flawless plan and puffs out his chest as Wilbur ruffles his hair and says he would vote for him.

In a few years, Fundy will look back at those moments, these memories. How the whole world seemed so big, but that filled him with excitement rather then dread. How his dad would carry him on his shoulders, pointing at the horizon, teaching him the names of constellations. How safe he felt in his arms.

6-year-old Fundy draws pandas and cats and dreams about his future.

----

Fundy is twelve and wants to do something great.

He watches his dad stand on a pedestal, taller than all of them, taller than the rest of the world.

He listens as he talks. About a new beginnings, about a new great day that will be followed by another and another.

Wilbur sings about freedom and Fundy listens with eyes full of hope.

When Wilbur puts him in a uniform, he feels something new. Responsibility, as if there was an oath that came with the outfit, a promise to fulfill unspecified expectations.

Wilbur smiles as he buttons up his coat. He spills the weight that’s been pressing down on his heart onto his son. Fundy’s shoulders are beginning to buckle.

Fundy says she wants to be just like him when he grows up.

"I’ll make you proud" he says, and Wilbur laughs and ruffles his hair.

----

Fundy is sixteen and really wants to believe in a better tomorrow.

When Wilbur talks about freedom, his words flow like a melody, filling soul with hope and faith that they’re so close. That what they so desire is already at hand. They just have to reach a little further, a little more.

But Wilbur's words cannot drown out the sounds of war.

Tommy and Tubbo are fifteen, but when Fundy looks at them, at their dirty faces, scarred hands and messy bandages, they seem so much younger.

They play soccer and laugh at his stories, and then stand in the middle of the battlefield amidst all the smoke and explosions the next day. They stand proudly, facing the sun, without a trace of hesitation on their faces.

Fundy stares at them and digs his heels a bit further into the ground.

He sees his goal behind his eyes, somewhere in the distance. A picture painted with childhood dreams, words of his father and the desire to prove something (more to himself than to anyone else).

The uniform is heavy, but Fundy stands upright.

----

Fundy is seventeen and does not believe in a better future.

He stands beside Wilbur, between ruins and rubble, staring at the horizon. Behind the smoke, the sun casts a pale beam of light on the remains of what he once called home.

It was foolish to call your own something that never belonged to them.

Now knows it now.

He still remembers Eret's face.

Strangely, when he thinks about them, the first things that comes up in his mind are those little moments. How the faint glow of the brewed potions illuminated their face, how they laughed when Tommy said something very funny or very stupid, how they smiled while talking to Wilbur.

Pieces of memories, like fragments of dreams, somewhere behind his eyelids, clinging to that sleepy feeling, not ready to face the reality.

Fundy remembered them as a friend.

Somewhere behind him, he hears a muffled sob.

Wilbur hides his face in his hands.

His song about freedom is slowly dying out in Fundy’s heart.

----

Fundy is eighteen and tired.

"After every rain comes a rainbow" says Wilbur, laying out a new, fragile foundation.

Neither of them seem to believe it.

Fundy can still smell the smoke in the air, hear explosions, swords clanging, even in his dreams.

When you’re stretching out your hand towards the goal , farther and farther and farther, ignoring the fact that you are standing right on the edge of a ravine – you're bound to fall. Especially with a uniform that weights more than you can handle.

Fundy laughs when they’re eating breakfast, pretending that their food supplies aren’t clearly running out, that Tubbo's eyes aren’t puffy and red, that there isn’t someone out there, that should be sitting at this table.

He laughs at Tommy's jokes because Tommy is the only one who’s still trying. Fundy can appreciate that.

Maybe that's why when he accidentally overhears their conversation, he feels his throat tighten.

Tommy always praised his discs a little too much. Always keeping them close, turning them over in his hands every now and then, as if a reminder, a memory of a slightly better reality.

“They're just discs” he was saying now, his voice quiet.

Tubbo isn't sure Tommy's plan will work.

Fundy knows it will.

And that's exactly why he can't let it happen.

The night sky is clear. Fundy sneaks between the walls, touching the cold stone with his hands, looks up and remembers the names of the stars.

Dream let’s him speak, which is surprising. Maybe he didn't actually expect to be instantly killed, but crossbow in Sapnap’s hand was still a very real threat.

He tries to sound confident. Prays they don’t notice how much he’s shaking.

Dream shakes his hand. Agrees.

Fundy tries to think about Tommy. He’s doing this for him. For all of them.

----

Fundy is eighteen.

And tries his best not to cry at his own wedding.

Tubbo went above and beyond for him, lighting up the entire dance floor with colorful lights, decorating every possible space with flowers, including a piece of Niki's cake. It stands on the table, beautiful and covered with white icing and fancy decorations.

Fundy hates it all.

Someone hands him a glass of champagne. His hands are too shaky to hold it up.

Dream is pulling him towards the dance floor.

His friends are shouting something, laughing out loud.

Dream's hands are warm but rough, with a firm grip. In other circumstances, with someone else, it might have even felt nice. Giving him a sense of security, grounding in reality. But when Dream touches him, Fundy feels like he’s in a cage, with no way of escaping. Like animals in a zoo.

He looks at Wilbur. Their eyes meet and his father looks away.

Fundy remembers once promising him that he would make him proud.

He can pretend to be angry at him. For the fact that he doesn’t remember the times when he didn’t feel the weight of the word on his shoulders. For filling him with thoughts of freedom and a future where everything will be better. For giving him to an unreachable goal, falling straight into the ravine.

Deep down, all he wants is for him to look at him and smile like he used to, ruffling his hair.

Fundy is eighteen and feels like his future has slipped through his fingers.

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

@starriiq @tommyistheprotagofthesmp @blockchaoliepog @hollow-hypocrite

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btsslowburnfic · 3 years

Text

The Arrangement Ch 17

Story summary: Desperately in need of money, you answered the questionable ad. AKA-Arranged marriage AU featuring Y/N and Yoongi

Chapter Summary: Part one of the photoshoot

Previous Chapter here

The work week proceeded as normal. Well, what had become normal. Delivering coffee and reminding Yoongi to eat, answering emails, trying to figure out which meetings Yoongi actually needed to go to and which ones were a waste of time. Of course you always went to the meetings, and holy shit you couldn’t believe the topics couldn’t have been discussed via email. You were looking forward to this particular day because you got to go visit Hoseok in the style department and Jimin had decided he was tagging along “for funsies.”

Yoongi was supposed to go and get measured and try on clothes for his photoshoot. When you reminded him that morning he laughed at you, “Uh no. Hoseok knows what size I wear. He can figure it out. Go look at the clothes and I might try some of them on tonight.”

You and Jimin met up for lunch and then headed up to the styling department.

“I’m excited. I’ve never been to a photoshoot before.” You said bouncing up and down in the elevator.

“Yeah, they’re pretty boring actually. Like if it’s with some of the hotter models it’s a little fun for the eye candy, but then you feel bad for them because they have to sit for so long making awkward faces. They are constantly getting their make-up and hair touched up. Touch base with craft services to make sure there’s plenty of water. The lights are bright.”

You took out your phone, “Oh thanks. I wouldn’t have even thought about that. Any other tips?”

“It’s Yoongi. It won’t take as long as it does with the other people. He’ll show up, do it, and leave. JK and Tae, especially Tae, want to chat with everyone on set and if they are together it takes foreeeeevvvveeeeeerrrrr.”

“Huh, ok. Thanks.” The two of you arrived at JHOPE Fashion and walked through the rainbow vomit doors.

Hoseok was wearing glasses with yellow lenses today, which made his dramatic facial expressions stand out even more. He immediately rolled his eyes. He pointed to you. “You are not Yoongi.” He pointed to Jimin. “And you are not Yoongi.” He put his hands on his hips. “So why are the two of you here?”

“I’m sure you can guess why.” You responded dryly.

“Ugh. That ungrateful man. I had lovingly hand stitched these pieces. For him. These patches...” Hoseok pressed his fingers together as though he was praying. “Fine. Fine. You. Y/N. Come. You. Jimin. Wait right there.”

Jimin’s eyes went wide. “Me? Why do I have to wait here?”

Hoseok turned from where he had started to walk towards the back. “You will thank me in a minute. A certain someone is coming to get his fitting in a few minutes.” He raised an eyebrow and then turned around, his heels clacking against the red tile floor.

Jimin started to blush profusely and before you could ask, Hobi interrupted, “Come new girl. We have work to do especially if that boss of yours refuses to come here and experience these magnificent beauties for himself.”

You followed him through the large door, which led to lime green hallways and then to a quiet, more muted workspace. The walls were lined with fabric bolsters, the middle tables with ribbon, thread, patches, paint. Paint?

Hoseok sat down. “From what I understand, this album will have an acoustic feel to it versus his previous albums. For that reason I have chosen these natural materials such as cotton, linen, and denim.” He spread out several pieces onto the large table. “I have also opted for a more neutral pallet, as much as it hurts my soul. I have chosen colors found in nature. I have chosen brightly colored accessories such as these silks to stand in contrast with the stiff fabric and more neutral colors he will be wearing. Additionally, I avoided black. We’ll see if he notices.”

You watched as he draped the red and purple silks over the top of the clothes. For whatever reason, you found it mesmerizing watching the fabric juxtapositioned in such a way. “It’s so cool to hear you tell a story just using clothes.” You said, somewhat enchanted.

Hoseok flicked his eyes up to you, “Thank you. That is what I try to do with my collections. Everyone’s outfit tells a story, even if they don’t mean for it to. May I?” He asked, stepping back and gesturing at you.

“Oh man. You know I don’t dresses fancy--”

“Shhhh you don’t tell me.” He looked at your outfit. You had opted for an Aline skirt and blouse with a casual blazer. “You had meetings this morning, that’s obvious by the jacket. You usually dress cuter. Which means you are either sick or not feeling great. You look fine. So I’m guessing...you are on your period. Sorry, this just comes out, I can’t stop it,” he paused for a moment as your jaw dropped open slightly. He stepped closer, inspecting the shoulders of your jacket. “The blazer is at least ten years old but you shouldn’t have had a blazer ten years ago unless it was for your school uniform and that isn’t a school jacket. Which means it probably belonged to an older sister or aunt. You are very responsible and well organized otherwise you wouldn't be Yoongi’s assistant. Therefore you are most likely the oldest or only child so that is your aunt’s jacket. Your blouse is nice. You actually like it, you’ve worn it twice in the week you’ve been working here. You bought it at a thrift store. You don’t spend a lot of money on yourself, but you are very confident. Therefore, it’s not that you don’t think you deserve nice things, it’s just that you can’t afford them so you likely grew up poor and it has continued into your adulthood.”

“Holy shit. You should be a detective.” You said to him.

“The shoes, I gave you last week. They don’t have a story yet, other than a very good -looking man in a suit helped you out because Jimin said you were a nice girl. You wear zero accessories which shows a lack of both funds and sentimentality. Most people have at least one piece of jewelry that means something to them, but if you have one, you don’t wear it.” He smiled at you, his white teeth gleaming. “ Now, how much am I right about?” He crossed his hands in front of his chest.

You clapped your hands as though you were in an audience. “All of it. Although I am still weirded out that you know I’m on my period. Next time I’m going to wear something skin tight to throw you off.” You joked.

“Well,” he started, “At least now that you work here you don’t have to worry as much right?”

Given the shitshow you went through this weekend you weren’t sure about that, but you shrugged, “It definitely pays better. And money doesn’t buy happiness, but it sure helps make some things less hard.” You gestured to the pile of fabric on the table, “So...what do I do? Take these clothes with me for Yoongi to try on or will they be at the photoshoot tomorrow? Do I need to bring them to the photoshoot?”

Hoseok sighed dramatically, “I could dress Yoongi drunk, in my sleep. He can just show up tomorrow and I will dress him then. My staff will make sure the clothes and accessories are at the photoshoot. Here,” He walked over to one of the garment racks. “More clothes for you. I know you have a big closet. And if you run out of space, just take Yoongi’s, he only wears like three things despite my best efforts.”

You laughed, “Yeah, you’re not kidding. Ok thanks,” You took the clothing. “I appreciate it.”

“It’s no trouble. Feel free to see yourself out, I’ll see you tomorrow. Oh and please make sure the catering has strawberries.”

“Strawberries? Got it.” You were learning so much today.

You exited the backroom and saw Jimin over near one of the pedestals. He was chatting with JK who was getting fitted with a corset. What an itty bitty waist, you admired. The two of them seemed to be having a good time and you had a new list of things to do so you waved at Jimin and headed to 1802 to drop off your new clothes. You had forgotten Hoseok knew you lived with Yoongi. The week had flown by.

You sent a text message to Jiwoo asking if you could stop by her desk and ask her a few questions to make sure everything was set up for tomorrow and then stopped by the apartment.

You conferred with her and learned how to navigate catering requests via the company website; apparently it wasn’t available on the app, good to know. you felt much better about the shoot tomorrow but still nervous and excited.

You knocked on the door to Genius Lab. No answer. Never any answer. You typed the code in and saw Yoongi wearing his headphones, lost in his own world. He had told you to just wait on the sofa when this was the case and that he would eventually notice you. Normally the smell of coffee was what alerted him to your presence, but you had come empty handed today. You sat down on the couch and took out your phone.

YN: I don’t mean to alarm you. But there’s something behind you.

You saw his phone light up. He ignored it for a minute, presumably to finish listening to a song, and then picked it up. You heard him laugh and take off his headphones. “You are the worst.” He spun around.

“So mean. Hey. Tomorrow is my first photoshoot. I checked on the outfits for you. By the way, Hoseok is like Sherlock Holmes with clothing. I learned I’m supposed to contact catering, I have hair and make-up requests in. Do I need to do anything else?”

Yoongi thought for a minute. He never really participated in that side of the photoshoot, now that he reflected on it. He walked his way through a day on set. “No. The changing rooms and photography are handled by other departments. Check with Jiwoo or Jimin, they’ve both set up a shoot before.”

“I did. I’m getting ready to send in the last food request. Any requests?”

“Mandarins. I don’t like to eat a lot on set because I don’t want stuff getting stuck in my teeth.”

“That makes sense. Ok. I’ll let you get back to it then.” You got up and stretched.

“Tomorrow will go fine. If you forgot anything, it will be somewhere in this building.” He reassured you.

“That makes me feel a lot better.” You said honestly. “Alright, I’ll see you around.”

“Later.”

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

The next day arrived with Yoongi heading off to the hair and make-up department and you heading to the 11th floor to see what the photo set up looked like. You exited the elevator. Man your hands were sweaty, you followed the sounds of voices and made your way to the shooting location. The lighting crew was checking their overheads, a stand-in was posing on the various props they had set out. It looked as though there were three separate “areas” for shooting photos. One area had a large white couch, complete with coffee table, rubber plant, magazines. The whole set up designed to look like a living room. A second space was a blue sheet with a white background. The third space was a kitchen, complete with an island, stovetop, and refrigerator. Holy moly this space was huge. You marveled at it.

“Hello, can I help you?” An older man walked over.

“Oh hi, I’m YLN. Yoongi’s assistant. I was stopping by to check the set up. It looks incredible.”

“Thank you. Yes. Here, let me walk you through it.”

You received a tour of the set and also an overview of the order of shooting. You also found out that next week, weather permitting, there would be a second shooting at the park across the street. You got catering checked in, or at least pointed to the table and felt like you did a thing. The same happened when the clothing team showed up. You pointed to dressing rooms and the vanity where the accessories trunk should go. You were thankful no one had asked you any questions so far. This was a steep learning curve. You had hoped someone you knew might be here today to help ease your nerves, but so far, it was all new faces.

Finally, you saw one familiar face. Alice walked in, carrying a small case with her. You waved.

“Hey! It’s nice to see you again.” She said. “I had no idea you were Yoongi’s assistant until today.”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I didn’t mention that. I was so overwhelmed that first day,” you smiled.

“No worries. He was just telling me and Bongcha that he had an assistant now. He’s almost done. His make-up is setting. I’m on hair today which isn’t my strong suit, but it’s not like he’s needing a fancy up-do or anything and it’s good for me to practice.”

“Ok great. This is my first time at a photoshoot, so if there’s something I’m supposed to be doing but I’m not, can you let me know?” You confided in her.

“Absolutely. It looks like most of the stuff is set up how it usually is. Just remember,” she got closer to you and spoke quieter, “You are Yoongi’s assistant. Some of these people, especially these older guys will try to get you to do stuff like get their coffee, grab them snacks. That is not your job. It’s not by job. If they have an assistant, it’s their job.”

“I knew I liked you when we first met,” you smiled at her. “Thanks for the heads up.”

“Anytime Unnie.”

She walked over and took out her hair tools and placed them on the table reserved for hair and make-up. A few minutes later you saw Yoongi walk in wearing a black shirt and grey sweats. His face looked even more beautiful than normal. Next to him was a petite girl with long black hair pulled up into a ponytail, dragging a make-up train behind her. Yoongi looked around for a second, and then locked eyes with you. You saw the tiniest smile threaten to come out as he walked over.

“Hey. Everything here looks good.” He gestured to the room.

“Thanks. I didn’t do most of it, I just pointed and people seemed to know what to do already. Your face looks good.”

Yoongi chuckled, “You can thank Bongcha for that. Bongcha, this is YN.”

Bongcha stuck out her hand, “Hi. Nice to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Nice to meet you as well. You do good work. I give his face a 10/10. Highly recommend.”

“Well, it’s easy when you have such a great model to start with,” She smiled while looking up at Yoongi.

Yoongi had started to blush between the pair of compliments. “Is Hoseok here yet?”

“No not yet.” You took out your phone to see if you had any messages from Hoseok. Nope. You looked back up, “Bongcha, I’m sure you already know, but the make-up table is over there. Alice is setting up right now.”

“Great, thanks!” She headed over, her shiny hair swishing behind her.

Speak of the devil in blue himself, Hoseok strutted in at that exact moment wearing an electric blue suit. His crisp white shirt underneath popped beneath the jacket, and his pocket square had little sunshines on it.

“Wow. You look like the sky.” You said before you could help it.

“Thank you. Indeed. It was my inspiration today. It’s a crime to be indoors beneath these artificial lights on such a beautiful day. Oh well. It can’t be helped.” He laid eyes on Yoongi, like a predator gazing on its prey, “Yoongi. Baby. Come.”

Yoongi scrunched his face. “Don’t call me baby. If you miss the sunlight so much, leave. I know how to dress myself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you don't know which pieces go together.” Hoseok grabbed Yoongi by the shoulders and started leading him over to the clothing section, leaving you to laugh at the pair of them. You went over to the table you had set up for yourself between make-up and the food. You had printed off several lists that morning to help you stay focused. You checked off several action items. Satisfied, you sat your clipboard down and looked around. It was a well-oiled machine for sure. You walked over to the hair and make-up table. “Hey ladies.”

“Hey! Have you two met yet?” Alice asked, referring to Bongcha.

“Yep, we just did.” Bongcha confirmed, putting on her make-up apron and filling it with various powders and brushes.

“Ooooo we should do a make-up party sometime.” Alice squealed. “We try to do it with all the new girls. And since Yoongi is” she hushed her voice again “One of our favorites. We have to take care of his assistant.”

You smiled, “Sure. That sounds nice. Excuse me.” You decided to go see how the clothes were going.

“Yes. Yoongi’s assistant. So glad you’re here.” Hoseok turned to you.

“She has a name, it’s YN.” You heard Yoongi say from behind the curtain.

“Yes yes. I know. We talked yesterday, remember? At that meeting I scheduled for me and you that you did not come to. Anyways, here. The outfits are now coordinated. They have tags on them corresponding to their accessory in the accessory trunk. Some pieces have more than one option that the Director of Photography and Yoongi will decide on. Got it?”

You looked over the set up. It seemed simple enough since Hoseok had organized it so well .”Yep. You going out to enjoy the sunshine?”

“Honey, I am the sunshine. I’m off to get laid after having to deal with this cloudy baby.” He gestured to the changing room.

“Don’t call me baby.” Yoongi shouted from behind the curtain. You just laughed as Hoseok turned around and left. You waited for a few minutes.

“You ok in there? Need me to come help you put your pants on?” You teased.

“Not necessary.” Yoongi slid open the curtain. Why was everyone teasing him today? He pouted without thinking about it.

You walked over, straightening the collar of his shirt “Hey now, you can’t go around pouting like a baby and not expect people to call you one. Here,” you handed him a mandarin. He scowled at you as he took it. “Such a pretty face” You laughed.

“Yeah whatever. I can eat this while they set up the white meter. You should be fine to just hang around at this point.”

“Alright. Sounds good.” The two of you walked over to the main part of the set where the Director gave Yoongi instructions about where to sit as they practiced the blocking and softbox placement.

“Oh my god he looks so good eating that tangerine.” You overheard. Your eyes bugged out slightly and you turned around. A group of women from the photography team were looking at the images to check the saturation and focus, as well as apparently the model. Damn. NEXT CHAPTER

@lidda @anpanman-sonyeondan @firefairy1 @cuteipat @sugaslittlekookies @janeelizabeth1216 @deeepvibes @gxldenhunny @livelyjay @niniita-ah @bobbyboops @honeysunandsoil @deathkat657

#BTS suga #bts writing #bts fic #suga x you #suga x reader #yoongi scenarios #bts yoongi x reader #yoongi x reader #yoongi x you #yoongi x y/n #suga x y/n #bts suga x reader #bts suga x you

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skvaderarts · 3 years

Text

Hiraeth Chapter 62: Exploration

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Sixty-Two: Exploration

Note: I'm enjoying getting so many longer chapters in. Feels good!

(-~-)

The temple was comprised of a menagerie of different corridors and rooms, all of which possessing their own highly specific use case or purpose. Intricate engravings and pictographs adorned almost every visible wall, betraying the truly ancient history of such a grand structure. And although none of it was easily understandable to the average person, It was still more than enough to be able to admire and respect the historical contribution that works like these could pose to the people of this kingdom, and to the rest of the world by extension if they knew anything about it. But perhaps it was best that it stayed as it was, guarded and untouched by the people who it belonged to. In an unknown state. While it was true that some history belonged in a museum, was it truly history if the people who created it or took part in it its creation were still protecting it? Still dying for it?

In some places the walls were painted, but most laid bare, the markings adorning them being the only thing that made them stand out as opposed to a simple stone wall. And that was appropriate considering the fact that most of the walls were still bare, a few spots in the process of being worked on seemingly being abandoned part of the way through. Or maybe that was how they were supposed to look? It was hard to say. He was no anthropologist, and he'd never seen anything like this before.

But it's fascinating as all of them was, and is right as Lucia have been when she said that he might appreciate her people's culture more than his brother probably would, the eldest of the Dark Knight Sparda's twin sons have to admit that they were nothing more than a pleasant distraction in the midst of what would otherwise be a complicated and dangerous situation. Well, it would be if Lucia hadn't been there. She seemed to navigate the retrofitted temple with relative ease, whereas he found himself considering routes or options that were ostensibly the worst possible method to get to where they needed to go.

And that was the other issue: He had no idea where they were going.

He was so used to what he was looking for being straight ahead of him in one way or another that he hadn't even really considered it. And with nothing in the way of a challenge to do battle against within the walls of the building, he just found himself sort of quietly following along behind her, taking in the sights and attempting to not seem like the fidgety child that he felt like at the moment.

It had been a while since things had gone this… smoothly. It wasn't that things had been easy, it was that they had been relatively straightforward. They made sense. And while the cacophonous and winding always reminded him of the demonic tower that he had helped raise so long ago, this was clearly an entirely different set of people in an entirely different setting. Its craftsmanship easily rivaled that of the tower, but there was just something decidedly more exotic about this location. It was almost exciting. A part of him genuinely enjoyed it, at least for the time being. He was still quietly waiting for something to go horribly wrong. But at this point, was that anticipation, or a self-fulfilling prophecy? Were his very thoughts causing him to carry out actions that would lead to the negative outcome that he was imagining, or was he actually that unlucky most of the time? A question for the philosophers.

"Am I to assume that we are headed to an antechamber of sorts?" It was a good guess based on the structure's presumed layout.

Lucia looked back at him, her red hair blowing behind her as a small gust of wind tossed it about. Little shoots had been cut into the sides of the ceilings in some places, allowing air to pass into the chambers without having access to windows of any sort. It was a clever bit of ventilation considering when the building must have been constructed. And it was probably the only way that most demons could get in, which explained why a lot of them were so small and why they had encountered so few of them.

"Correct. Each of the Arcana is kept in a different portion of the temple behind its own unique protections. We're almost to the one that houses the Arcana Spada."

Placing the torch that she had lit when they had entered the structure in a notch in the wall, She fiddled with a slot in the wall nearest to her. Moments later, a sliding door of sorts opened, rolling out of the way and allowing a second door behind it to lift up out of the floor into the ceiling. It was an ingenious bit of engineering, and Vergil was admittedly curious as to how it functioned. Being alive during the period in which many of these sorts of structures had been built must have been interesting. What could they have learned from these long-forgotten civilizations? The technology used to build this structure seem to be leagues ahead of where it should have been at the time, and much could be said about the Temen Ni Gru. Had their dealings with demons allowed them some sort of knowledge in regards to these sorts of matters that he was unaware of? It seemed that technology had taken a massive step backward after the Hellgates had been closed. What an interesting if not unfortunate circumstance.

Following the young guardian into the antechamber that was hidden behind the doors, it occurred to Vergil that unlike seemingly every other structure he vented, this antechamber was actually located off to the side in an innocuous room instead of in a grand hall in the center of the building. It seemed that they had taken a few clues from some other ancient civilizations in that regard.

Nothing specific came to mind, but he could remember some civilizations doing things that were similar to this in a bid to keep grave robbers away. Some even went as far as booby-trapping what would otherwise be the central area of the tomb or temple just to punish those who attempted to actually break-in. A devious plan that he wholeheartedly approved of. At the very least, you should be allowed to have peace and rest undisturbed after death. There was a special place in hell for grave robbers. He should know. He'd probably seen them when he was down there.

"And what is the significance of this specific Arcana? Why would someone steal it? I assume that it is ritualistic in nature? But it has a secondary use, does it not? Something that causes it to stand out in comparison to the others?" He followed her up the steep, well-worn ramp, noting the abundance of colors and pictographs as he hurried along. Everything that he was now seeing was better preserved than the rest of the temple, which was saying something when how well the structure was kept up was taken into consideration.

Obviously taking a moment to consider what he had just asked her, she paused momentarily to looked around the room, torch in hand. She then stepped forward and began to light some of these sconces along the edge of the wall, eliminating a pillar in the center of the structure. What seemed to be a skylight bloomed over them, but it was currently closed by a large stone dome, so there would be no natural light tonight. The structure was interesting and seemed reminiscent of an altar of some sort.

"You are right. The Arcana is special. While the others were contributed by different groups of our people, the blade was contributed by your father. Its composition is different, and I would not be surprised to learn that he had crafted it himself. The materials seem to be demonic, and have properties to match. The same essence, in a way of speaking.” She gestured towards the room they were in. In the center was a pedestal with some sort of intricate holding apparatus. That must have been the blade’s housing apparatus. “My mother might know more about that, but it would be invaluable in a ritualistic setting. I believe that it is no accident that it found its way into your son's body."

Vergil nodded. That made sense to him, unfortunately. Demons were always after artifacts that his father had either helped create or had at one time owned. His wards and spells had a strong hold on much of the demotic world, and as such getting a hold of something that he had created were used to create something else was generally considered a fable use of time. He didn't need to know the precise secondary use case of the blade to know that if it had been created by his father then it should not fall into the hands of the devil prince.

Upon entering the room himself, a wave of what he could only describe as heavy familiarity hit him. If nostalgia had a sensation, it would be this place despite never having stepped within it before today. The feeling that had been outside in the courtyard was amplified by several dozen times in here to the point where it was almost suffocating, and yet he didn't feel threatened by it or even uncomfortable. Lucia seemed to be somewhat puzzled by its presents, wish she was otherwise undisturbed.

There was no mistaking it: this had his father's influence all over it.

(-~-)

The Ludwig family had acted swiftly upon receiving his phone call, coming to his location with clearly supernatural speed. They had taken the young adjudicator into their care immediately and had insisted upon doing the same with V in order to ascertain the status of his curse. He had taken little consideration as to his own well-being in the adrenaline field panic that he had been in, and both his admittedly minimal injuries and his slowly progressing curse had been put to the wayside for the time being.

It had been decided that they would hold him until the morning. Magnolia and Flora would be returning to his home anyway, so if this was to be the outcome, then he could easily return with them at that point in time. Perhaps they would get lucky and Sirrus would recover by then? It was probably wishful thinking on his part, but he desperately felt the need to do something, anything to help his companion recover. He had done the same for him. It was the least he could do given the circumstances. He didn't like seeing people who were kind to him suffer.

But upon arriving and being seen by a physician, there had been quite the commotion. He hadn't caught the specifics of the details, but it seemed that they were something extraordinary about Sirrus's blood loss that required an extra amount of care and attention to be shown to it. It was something nebulous from what he could tell like a shortage of a certain blood type, or something equally as strange. Whatever the case may be, it seemed that his blood was not compatible with anything that they currently had on hand and that his body's ability to regenerate its own supply had been hindered somewhat. Stabilizing him had been hellish and troublesome, but after something that he had not been able to see clearly had been administered orally in the form of a liquid powder, he had seemingly started to recover although he had not regained consciousness.

In a strange way, it was good to know that he was not the only one who had these sorts of issues. Though he had never experienced that specifically, his friend's extraordinary abnormality made him feel somewhat secure in the knowledge that he might actually not be quite as odd as he thought he'd been all this time. This was going to be quite the story to tell the rest of his family once they all met up. But for now, he would remain at Sirrus's bedside, awaiting the moment that he would awaken so that he could thank him for everything that he had done and to just see if he was alright in general.

For a brief moment in time, he had considered the possibility of asking some of the Ludwig girls with a significance of his gift had been. It was clearly enchanted to some degree, so finding out what the bracelet did specifically was fascinating to him. Still, it was not the time. As soon as Sirrus was doing better, then he could bother with that sort of thing. No, until he awoke he would just sit here and fiddle with it quietly, allowing Shadow and Griffon a much-needed rest. Maybe he would read his book while he himself was attended to by the wonderful young woman that worked in that wing.

He'd refused to have his injuries treated by what little staff that they had till Sirrus wounds had been brought under control. He wasn't that badly injured, and he couldn't in good conscience sit there and take up viable resources when someone else needed them more. His temporary discomfort was more than warranted as far as he was concerned. And that's how he found himself sitting there being treated in the room next to him, not nearly within range of cross-contamination, but still within the same general vicinity.

They had put up some sort of protective plastic barrier between them for that exact reason, but it was indeed helpful to help keep things sanitary. A few bandages and a little bit of disinfectant later and he was basically fine. A bit scuffed up and with several bruises that were sore, yes. But he was alive, and although the curse had indeed spread, he only felt slightly weak as a result. He was admittedly just happy to be unharmed for the most part. The fight could have gone much worse. It normally did.

Realizing that he desperately needed to talk to somebody about what had happened, he spared a glance at his resting companion before making the decision that he could temporarily step out of the room. He didn't want to leave long, but he did want to make a phone call, and it would be rude as far as he was concerned to make one inside of the room where he was. And even if he didn't have that issue, there wasn't a phone in here. He'd have to go and get one. Maybe he should buy one?

Quietly standing and hoping that the chair he was sitting on didn't creak as he did so, he made his way over to the door, opening it and stepping through before closing it quietly behind him in a manner so slow that he wasn't entirely sure that it was necessary. He then looked up and down the hall, wondering if there was one on a table in the breezeway or something. He didn't actually know if they really had a lot of phones in this house. It was lucky that they had picked up when he had called. Almost as lucky as he'd been when he realized that he'd remembered the number.

Making the executive decision to just go and ask someone about where he could make a phone call, he headed into the main hall, sure that someone would be still awake at this time of night. But as he headed through the doorway, he ran face to face with someone that he wasn't expecting to see still up at this hour. He'd assumed she'd gone to sleep after what had happened.

"Good evening, Willow."

She stopped, turning her attention to him for a moment as she seemed to be taken slightly by surprise. A somewhat perplexed look crossed her face as she obviously considered something. But a moment later, she nodded. "Likewise. I was actually just coming around there to see how things were going. Has he awoken yet?"

V couldn't help but notice that she seemed uncomfortable, her hands clenched together in front of her in a manner that betrayed what he believed to be actual, genuine worry. She had been walking in the opposite direction, so he had probably taken her by surprise. What a shift in behavior considering how displeased she had been to see the young adjudicator the last time they had visited, at least initially. Perhaps it was guilt for what she had said to him when he'd been here last? Either way, he shook his head to indicate that he hadn't woken up yet. She did a decent job of hiding her obvious dismay, but not good enough to go unnoticed.

"Oh... I see. Well, do you keep me in the loop if you can? I'll send someone to come and check on both of you soon." She shifted her stance slightly, turning more to face him than she had been before. She unclenched her coupled hands, putting them slightly behind her back on either side of her body before more than likely bunching them into uncomfortable loose fists. There was no anger, only discomfort." Did you need anything? I can't imagine you're just wandering the halls so late at night searching for a sense of clarity."

At the risk of seeming unpleasant or possibly even rude, V decided to make the executive decision to have a meaningful discussion with her for a moment. He had nothing to gain by lying. "I was wondering the very same thing about you, though it may not be my place to. You seem anxious… and you don't seem like the sort to wander anxiously through your own home. But to answer your question, I was looking for a phone. I wanted to call someone. I suppose I just need to get something off of my chest."

Willow stared at him quietly for a moment, seemingly thinking about what he'd said. For a moment, V was concerned that he had upset her before she nodded and something akin to a soft smile spread across her face. It seemed that she understood what he meant by that statement and wasn't upset by it. He was strangely relieved by that fact. He didn't know her enough to have a concrete reason to be worried about what she thought of him, but either way, he didn't like being an ungrateful guest.

"Are you sure you're your father's son? I don't believe he's ever worded anything in such a thoughtful manner in his entire life. He cared little for causing me upset, but I suppose I did cause quite a bit of grief myself." She seemed to drift off for a moment, thinking of a bygone time and her youth with what we're clearly nostalgia glasses. He got the impression that his father and this woman probably didn't view that memory the same way. Actually, knowing Vergil, he probably didn't remember what she was thinking about in the first place. He'd noticed that his father seemed to have a habit of not recalling things that were important to others because they had meant very little to him at the time. Fleeting moments in an otherwise negligible experience. But he couldn't really fold him for that. It wasn't really a character flaw so much as it just wasn't a lack of awareness of what other people were paying attention to. That was a common enough thing for people to do.

Something akin to a small smirk graced his lips for a moment. "Perhaps it's a product of not meeting him until later in my life." He couldn't be sure why he'd felt the need to divulge that, but it almost felt good to get that off of his chest. There was a strange sort of tension that came with the moments when people asked him about his childhood or his past, not realizing how drastically different it probably was from what they assumed it to be. But he wasn't ashamed of that so much as he just wasn't entirely ready to talk about it to other people. But even given that fact, there was something about this moment that allowed him the levity to speak his mind.

The look of genuine surprise that crossed her face was admittedly unexpected on his part, but she nodded in solemn agreement. He remembered Magnolia telling him that their mother and father had passed away when they had been teenagers. Perhaps he had brought up a memory or a feeling that she could relate to. After all, it had seemingly torn their family apart at the seams. "I suppose that makes sense... There's a phone over here. Feel free to borrow it. Though you can't walk off anywhere with it. It's a landline."

He nodded in agreement, appreciating her assistance. She then gave him a small smile and turned to go back to what she was doing, bowing as if to dismiss herself. It seemed that once again he had dismissed her original assumption as to the family structure of another person that she knew. He wondered where that came from with her, but he couldn't say that he was bothered by it. He didn't really care enough to be.

But with that in mind, perhaps it would be best to go and use that phone now. There was no telling when Sirrus would wake up, and he genuinely needed to talk to Nero. With the difficult time that he was having right now, he felt like perhaps his little brother was the only person that would truly understand. He just hoped he wasn't disturbing him. After all, it was late. The last thing that he wanted to do was wake the children or their long-suffering parents. Kyrie and Nero deserved more than that.

(-~-)

For a moment there I actually thought that today was Friday. Lol, nope! It's Tuesday! See you on Friday, and the new readers who have joined between now and the last few chapters! It's always wonderful to have new people around and to answer any questions that you all have! Hope to see you in the comment section, and I'll see you all again on Friday! And if you see any errors, let me know! I went over this twice, but I still feel like I might have missed a few little things.

#Hiraeth #V #Sirrus #Lucia #Vergil #Willow #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU #My Post Devil May Cry 5 AU OC's #My Post Devil May Cry V AU Fanfiction #My Post Devil May Cry 5 OC #DMC #DMC5 #DMCV #Vitale #Devil May Cry #Devil May Cry 5 #Devil May Cry V #Post DMC5 #Post DMC5 AU FanFiction

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viciousgracearc · 3 years

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sh.adow & b.one thoughts ( contains spoilers! ) tw: racism ( this is just a thought dump and to explain why i’m not adapting the show’s racist elements in my portrayals )

disclaimer: just because i will not adapt the racist element as it appears in the show doesn’t mean i won’t acknowledge the book canon, in-universe prejudice and discrimination against the poc characters in grishaverse.

so. the racism in shadow and bone. having watched all of the show, i now have some mixed thoughts about it. in the books, alina is assumed to be white for the most part. it is only at the end when we ( or at least i ) suspected that she is not entirely ravkan, and then the casting confirmed it. the kind of racism alina ( and mal ) faced in the show was never a factor in the books, despite rampant anti-shu and anti-fjerdan sentiment. the suli are painted as people who are displaced and mostly neglected by the ravkan government, and definitely treated with prejudice, but as far as i recall there is no specific slur directed at them either in book canon.

however, whereas alina’s ethnicity is vague in the books, it is crystal clear in the show that she is a biracial woman. i know that for biracial folk, experiences vary across the board, especially if you’re a biracial person and an immigrant or a refugee. alina is a war orphan. her mother’s country of origin is at war with her current country of residence. to an extent, i understand the level of animosity ravkans have against people who look like the threat / the enemy. people of color face racism and prejudice day in and day out, sometimes from white people, sometimes from fellow people of color. this is a grim reality with a long and studied history of racism and racial superiority creating divides between minorities and pitting them against each other.

was the racism necessary to the plot? it definitely adds layers to it. you have an orphaned girl of color in a mostly white people country. they discriminate against her and her best friend for most of her life, using slurs such as “rice-eater” and “half-breed”. but this country has a huge problem, and it turns out only this orphaned girl of color can save them from it, despite them alienating her consistently. now they need her help, now they call her a saint. this girl, who based on show-canon, feels so different and abnormal from the rest of her peers because her ethnicity is always pointed out and considered a bad thing. now she has to be a hero for a country that despises her... and not only that, now she has to do it under the tutelage of a white man. white man looks older than her; there is an obvious imbalance in their power dynamic, but he looks at her like his hope come at last and places her on a pedestal she doesn’t ask for. this same white man puts a collar around her neck and then effectively subjugates her by taking control of her power.

it... it kinda sounds bad, doesn’t it? it does. “but wait,” the volcra screeches. “via, are you fucking stupid?” it asks. “that’s not how the story ends! she overcomes!”

well, yes. but does it really make the rest of it any less insidious? alina is denied food, consistently picked on, and mocked, for being half-shu. it is prevalent in her show storyline and difficult to ignore. and thus it will be woven into everything that happens to her, and every decision that she makes will in turn, make us, the viewers, look back on it even if she herself doesn’t do so explicitly. i know the intent of including this racism element into her ( and mal’s ) story is to portray an accurate depiction of the POC experience as they maneuver white or mostly white spaces, or just spaces not catered to their specific ethnicity. but does it work? is it necessary? the irregulars, which is also a netflix show, did a great job at casting a young chinese woman in a lead role and a black man as dr. john watson without ever having to define their characters or their capabilities to move in the world by their race alone. as a half-chinese woman myself, it was empowering to watch a chinese girl able to take the lead and make bold statements and brave decisions without ever being bogged down by the limitations of her race.

at the end of the day, it is a fantasy world. do you think if the racism isn’t there, the story’s going to be worse off than it is? personally, if they left it out, i think the story will be just fine. there are a lot of things that tie these characters together outside of their racial struggles, like... i don’t know, personality? circumstances? the need to save their country from a powerful tyrant? the struggle for survival in a constantly at-war nation? there is also the fact that this racism element they’ve introduced is inconsistent. so much directed against alina and mal because they want the viewers to sympathize with these two characters. some of it directed towards inej, another protagonist, whose story has a lot to do with how she was exploited because she is suli. but where’s the racism directed at zoya? at botkin? if there’s racism against the shu and if they call them rice-eaters, where’s the anti-fjerdan racism and what do they call fjerdans? ice-shavers? cold-dwellers? aren’t fjerdans ravka’s enemies too? but oh wait... fjerdans are white. nevermind.

speaking of zoya: in the books, especially in RoW, it was implied that she is white-passing, which is why she was never treated differently for being suli. however, show!zoya is NOT white-passing at all. she is very obviously a woman of color, and while i acknowledge that yes, poc can be racist against poc, i don’t really see zoya -- bully, mean girl, attention-starved, ambitious, ruthless zoya -- resulting to such a low blow. sujaya dasgupta herself admitted that in show canon, zoya experiences racism ( though it was never explicitly shown to us ), and consciously turns it against alina in the hopes of hurting another woman of color. don’t get me wrong, zoya is definitely a terrible person at the start of the series. she was classist and mean and she had a superiority complex, and that superiority complex comes from being a powerful grisha, something she worked hard for. she thinks alina doesn’t belong in the little palace, not because alina is shu, but because alina appears out of nowhere, is untrained but is already considered powerful / the solution to everyone’s problem, and has nabbed her old place as the darkling’s favored. the “you stink of keramzin” jab is more than enough to drive her point home and i don’t think “half-breed” is necessary at all. besides, from what it looked like, alina isn’t the only mixed-race grisha. grisha comes from all over, taking refuge in ravka because they’re the only nation that treats their grisha under acceptable conditions. so one would expect some diversity there, which zoya, having been at the little palace since age 9, would have been used to by now. i don’t really think there’s a lot of incentive for her in using a racial slur, and she’s lethal enough with words that she doesn’t need them to injure somebody.

“via, stop barking and tell us what you’re going to adapt in your portrayal!”

okay, well. personally, i’m not interested in including the show’s racist element in any of my characters’ storyline ( alina, zoya, mal, ehri ). i acknowledge the anti-shu, anti-fjerdan, and anti-suli sentiments as they appear in book canon, but i will not use alina’s ethnicity as the basis of her “otherness” because i like the book canon explanation for that better. nor will i acknowledge that zoya called alina a half-breed, because my zoya is not white-passing zoya, and she knows infinitely better ways to inflict verbal harm than racism. zoya will also be grappling with being half-suli because she was exposed to anti-suli sentiments by her own mother as a young child.

all my characters are of asian-adjacent ethnicities, and as an asian person myself, do you really think i am interested in reliving my traumatic racism experiences through the characters that i write in a fantasy world? with alina especially, it’s like she couldn’t breathe without someone pointing out that she’s half-shu. i think as much as it is important to show authentic poc experiences in art and media, it is also equally important to show poc solidarity, and to stop defining people by their race alone and to just let them exist as people.

it doesn’t help that the show’s way of depicting racism is gratuitous, insulting, and feels like it’s catered more towards the white gaze than... you know, actual POC viewers? i understand people will disagree with me on this and that’s fine. this is just how i feel. given that shu-han as a nation didn’t even feature much in the books and we don’t know ANYTHING about them in a cultural context aside from the fact that their appearance is coded as east asian, the discrimination towards them really just hinges on shallow factors like how they look, what they eat ( ???? ), and how they are viewed as ravka’s enemy. it boils down to an east vs. west type of scenario ( and considering the barrage of anti-asian sentiment in our current political climate it’s... questionable at the very least ), and the racism element is not a profound expression of the poc experience but more like... a caricature version of it, once again, in my opinion.

“via, i can’t believe you used that many words trying to tell us you won’t include the racism in your portrayal.”

hey, i know. but a girl be having thoughts, a girl’s two brain cells be rubbing together, you know? this is me deep cleansing my brain by yoting my thoughts into the void. but yes, this is my take! i understand if you don’t feel the same way, but i just... i can’t feature the racist elements of the show in my blog, sorry (not really).

¯\_(ツ)_/¯

#* ic. / headcanons #headcanon: alina starkov #headcanon: zoya nazyalensky #headcanon: malyen oretsev #headcanon: ehri kir taban #racism tw #sab spoilers #asian ppl who disagree are valid #& pls remember not to tell POC what they can be iffy abt #also this seems like a lot of thoughts i just had to put them somewhere #shadow and bone spoilers

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bookcoversalt · 4 years

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Have you noticed the latest edition of Charlie Bowater can only draw one (1) face? She did The Princess Will Save You and Cast In Firelight both YA Fantasy set to be released this year. And they are how you say... the same fucking cover

Ah yes so you saw the same tweet I did

I know I literally just posted that we cannot outlaw book covers from looking like each other, but ! Oof!

The only thing that softens the blow here is that Charlie has improved at representing nonwhite features such that characters look like POC rather than tan white people, although,, that bar was low. Anybody remember the ACOTAR coloring book.

(Would you have guessed that 2/3 of these people are nonwhite? Or even that they’re supposed to be three different men? I guess all the men in Prythian have the same haircut?)

But that minor victory is mostly lost in the quagmires of the fact that Charlie’s style is to give everyone instagram face:

I wouldn’t even call this “Sameface” necessarily: that implies limitation, that an artist is only capable of drawing a single facial structure competently. Bowater is incredibly technically talented, she just chooses to give everyone catlike fae eyes and the cheekbones of a starving nymph. (My previous post on this here.)

But I don’t really blame her for that, or for these hilariously identical, nearly devoid of personality covers. Artists are allowed to do whatever they want. Artists who make art for covers are being art directed by designers and marketing teams who bear responsibility for how the finished pieces turn out.

No, this is our fault, as a community and an industry and..... society, kind of, for valuing character portraits that are “pretty” (“pretty” being an extremely loaded, culturally subjective concept) over art that actually Says Something About The Story. Bowater’s style happens to dovetail perfectly with what we currently collectively find pretty, and so we’ve put her art on a pedestal at the cost of everything else art can or should do for our stories.

And this is understandable: in contemporary western culture, pretty is a value unto itself. Seeing our characters portrayed as pretty denotes them as special, as smart, as powerful. It’s almost impossible to de-program ourselves from that reaction. There are approximately five kajillion studies on how beautiful people are at personal and professional advantages; how they’re perceived to be happier, healthier, more successful, and how those perceptions can translate into realities. (Nevermind how thinness and whiteness enter that equation, see above note about “pretty”.) I would love to see more “average” or weird- looking characters abound (and be accurately visually represented) in the YA/ Genre lit sphere, but for now... everyone is pretty.

Which sometimes means everyone is pretty boring.

But that’s just the specific, "What’s the deal with Bowater’s success in book circles and her style and all the sameiness” part of this equation. What if we backed up and asked: why character art at all? Beyond a question of “pretty”-ness (and general obvious Artistic Quality), why do we gravitate towards it, what's the purpose of it, how does it fall flat in a general sense, and how can it be utilized more effectively?

This is something I think about all the time. I follow writers on social media (because..... I am a writer on social media, regrettably), and we have an enormous collective boner for character art. “Getting fanart [of the characters]” is one of the achievement pinnacles constantly cited when people get or want to get published. Commissioning character art is something we reward ourselves with, or save up for (WHICH IS GOOD AND CORRECT. FREE ART IS GREAT BUT DO NOT SOLICIT IT. PAY YOUR ARTISTS). And like???? Same????? We love our stories because we’re invested in our characters. Most humans, even prose writers, are visual creatures to some extent, and no matter how happy we are with our text-based art, it’s exciting to see our creations exist in that form. So we turn that art into promo material and we advocate for it on our covers-- because it’s so meaningful to us! It goes with the story perfectly!! Look at my dumb beautiful children!!!!!

But on an emotional level, it’s hard to grasp that it only means something to us. Particularly when you take into account the aforementioned vast landscape of beautiful visual blandness of many characters (in the YA/ genre lit sphere, that’s pretty much all I’m ever talking about), character art can be like baby photos. If you know the baby, if that baby is your new niece or your friend’s kid, if you’ve held them and their parent texts you updates when they do cute shit, you’re probably excited to see that baby photo. But unless it’s exceptionally cute, a random stranger’s baby photo isn’t likely to invoke an emotional reaction other than “this is why I don’t get on facebook.”

Seeing art of characters they don’t know might intrigue a reader, but especially if the characters or art are unremarkable-looking, it’s doing a hell of a lot more for the people who already have an emotional attachment to that character than anybody else. And that’s fine. Art for a small, invested audience is incredibly rewarding. But like the parent who cannot see why you don’t think their baby is THE MOST BEAUTIFUL BABY IN THE WORLD???? I think we have trouble divesting our emotional reaction to character art from its actual marketing value, which.... is often pretty minimal. This is my hill to die on #143:

Character portraits, even beautiful ones, are meaningless as a marketing tool without additional context or imagery.

I love character art! I’m not saying it should not exist or that it’s worthless! Even art that appeals to only the one single person who made it has value and the right to exist. And part of this conversation is how important for POC to see themselves on covers, whether illustrations or stock imagery, particularly in YA/kidlit. I’m not saying character portrait covers are “bad”.

I am saying that I have seen dozens and dozens of sets of character art for characters who look interchangeable, and it has never driven me to preorder a book. (Also one character portrait for a high-profile 2019 debut that was clearly just a painting of Amanda Seyfriend. You know the one. There’s nothing wrong with faceclaims but lmfao, girl,,,,)

I’m sure that’s not true for everyone! I am incredibly picky about art. It’s my job. There’s nothing wrong with your card deck of cell-shaded boys of ambiguous age and ethnicity who all have the same button nose and smirk if it Sparks Joy for you.

But if your goal is not only to delight yourself, but to sell books, it’s in your best interest to remember that art, like writing, is a form of communication. The publishing industry runs on pitches: querys, blurbs, proposals, self-promo tweets. What if we applied that logic to our visuals? How can we utilize our character design and art to communicate as much about our stories as possible, in the most enticing way?

Social media has already driven the embrace of this concept in a very general sense. Authors are now supposed to have ~ aesthetics. “Picspams” or graphics, modular collages that function as mini moodboards, are commonplace. But the labor intensity and relative scarcity of character art visible in bookish circles, even on covers, means that application of marketing sensibility to it is less intuitive than throwing together a pinterest board.

Since we were talking about it earlier, WICKED SAINTS, as a case study of a recent “successful” fantasy YA debut, arguably owed a lot of its early social media momentum to fanart.

(Early fanart by @warickaart)

The most frequently drawn character, Malachiasz, has long hair, claws, and distinctive face tattoos. WS has a strong aesthetic in general, but those features clearly marked his fanart as him in a way even someone unfamiliar with the book could clearly track across different styles. Different interpretations of his tattoos from different artists even became a point of interest.

(Art by Jaria Rambaran, also super early days of WS Being A Thing)

Aside from distinctiveness, it's a clear visual representation of his history as a cult member, his monstrous powers, and the story’s dark, medieval tone. The above image is also a great example of character interaction, something missing from straightforward portraits, that communicates a dynamic. Character dynamics draw people into stories: enemies-to-lovers, friends-to-lovers, childhood rivals, platonic life partners, love triangles, devoted siblings, exes who still carry the flame-- there’s a reason we codify these into tropes, and integrate that language and shared knowledge into our marketing. For another example in that vein, I really love this art by @MabyMin, commissioned by Gina Chen:

The wrist grip! The fancy outfits! These are two nobles who hate each other and want to bone and I am sold.

In terms of true portraits, the best recent example I can think of is the set @NicoleDeal did for Roshani Chokshi’s GILDED WOLVES (I believe as a preorder incentive of some kind?):

They showcase settings, props, and poses that all communicate the characters’ interests, skills, and personality, as well as the glamorous, elaborate aesthetic of the overall story. Even elements in the gold borders change, alluding to other plot points and symbology.

For painterly accuracy in character portraits on covers, I love SPIN THE DAWN. The heroine looks like a beautiful badass, yes, but the thoughtful, detailed rendering of every element, soft textures, and dynamic, fluid composition form a really cohesive, stunning illustration that presents an intriguing collection of story elements.

The devil isn’t always in the details, though: stark, moody, highly stylized or graphic art with an emphasis on textural contrast and bold color and shape rather than representational accuracy can communicate a lot (emotionally and tonally) while pretty much foregoing realism.

The new Lunar Chronicles covers are actually the best examples I found of this (Trying to stay within the realm of existing bookish art rather than branch into All Art Of Human Figures Forever):

Taking cues from styles more typical of the comics and video game industries. (Games and comics, as visual mediums, are sources of incredible character art and I highly recommend following artists in those industries if you want to See More Cool Art On Your Timeline.)

TL;DR: Character art and design, as a marketing tool (even an incidental one) should be as unique to your story and your characters as possible, and tell us about the story in ways that make us want to read it. I tried to give examples because there are so many ways to do this, and so many different kinds of art, and I could give many more! But I’m bored now. So to circle all the way back:

These are not just bad because they look like each other, although that is embarrassing and illuminating. These are bad covers (although,,,,, PRINCESS is the far worse offender, at least FIRELIGHT suggests a thoughtful cultural analogue) because a desire for Pretty Character Art overrode the basic cover function to tell us about the story. We get no sense of who these people are, what their relationships are, what these books are about beyond the most general genre, or why we might care. The expressions are vague, the characters generic-looking, the compositions uninteresting and the colors failing to be indicative of anything in particular.

They’re somebody else’s baby pictures.

(And yes, that’s the CRUEL PRINCE font on PRINCESS. I better not have to do a roundup post but it’s on thin fucking ice.)

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kiara-carrera · 3 years

Note

[ COMFORT ] - noticing that the receiver has received terrible news, sender offers them a hug as a means of comforting them during this difficult time. + your choice!!!

took the prompt as a loose suggestion because it’s not necessarily bad news, but it’s a hug of comfort soooo

comfort: abby + kiara

The Kook Academy was a vicious jungle, but Kiara had learned too late that Sarah Cameron was an apex predator.

Top of the food chain, she was the untouchable, the princess of the Kooks. The Kook Academy lived and breathed as a hierarchy of power and Sarah was at the top. They weren’t even seniors yet and still, the will of the people around them always seemed to undoubtedly bend in her favor. It wasn’t hard to see why. Sarah was gorgeous, effortlessly beautiful even on her worst days. And she knew how to fake a smile, how to play the perfect student, the perfect daughter, the perfect friend.

The perfect best friend.

But it was all a lie and Kiara had found herself stuck in the middle of all of it, like a fly caught in a spider’s web.

Kie had been a fish out of water when freshman year had started. She didn’t fit in. She’d gone to the public elementary and middle schools, away from the elitism of the schools where Figure Eight residents sent their kids. But when it came down to it, she’d always been different than her friends, no matter how badly she wanted to just be a Pogue. She’d always be in the middle, a foot in both worlds, a rich kid who “slummed it” on the south side of the island. But that was how she liked it and in hindsight that was how she should have kept it.

But her parents had shipped her off to the private high school and she’d been off balance ever since. Sarah Cameron had been a life preserver when she had been drowning and next to Sarah, Kiara’s life had shifted. She’d isolated herself from her old friends, but she had Sarah.

She had the popularity, the friends, the parties, the never ending stream of feeling like she was on top of the world.

Until Sarah promptly kicked her off the very same pedestal she’d allowed her to perch on for all those months.

As she finished up in the bathroom, alone during her free period, she was reminded of just what kind of a fucking pathetic 2000′s teen movie nightmare she was living in.

Kiara Carrera's a rat! was scribbled on the stall door in bright pink sharpie, alongside multiple crude drawings, a few phone numbers whose owners probably had no idea they were there, and a mention of some guy in the grade above her having crabs.

TMI, Kiara thought, nose scrunched in disgust.

But mostly, her eyes kept straying back to that one word, that one name that had been tacked onto her name since Sarah’s birthday.

She figured there were worse things she could be called, but it was the principle of the situation. It had been months now. Kiara had figured that in a school like the Kook Academy, a party being broken up by the cops would have been old news by now. But when fingers had been pointed and she’d been labeled as the snitch, apparently the situation blowing over hadn’t been in the cards.

Like, okay, sure, she technically was the one who called the cops. But no one knew that and she’d just had the crime pinned on her anyways because Sarah fucking Cameron refused to do anything about it. And what was she supposed to do? It was bad enough that Sarah had already iced her out. Kiara had been ghosted for weeks before her birthday and then the rager unfolding at Tannyhill had been all over Instagram. It was just more salt in the wound and Kiara’s jealousy had won over.

And now, she supposed, she was paying the price.

Sophomore year was like a wound that refused to heal, aching over and over again. Her distance from her newfound friends was colossal and her “Kook year” was one for the books. It was still technically ongoing, but she was back to being a fish out of water in this callous fucking school, her only reprieve coming at night and on weekends when she could fall back into the fold of Pogue life now that she’d finally gotten her old friends, her real friends, to forgive her.

But the incessant name calling, the writing on the walls, the near total isolation for eight hours a day, five days a week? A couple hours with the Pogues wasn’t enough to combat that and Kiara felt bitter, hot, angry tears stinging the back of her eyes as she shouldered her way out of the stall.

“Stupid fucking Kooks,” she muttered under her breath as she reached the sinks. Annoyance flooding through her, she aggressively began washing her hands, glancing up to look in the mirror after a few moments.

She could finally recognize herself again, the way she hadn’t been able to all those months playing make believe with Sarah and her fake friends, but she wasn’t happy here. Nothing at this godforsaken, elitist, fascist school made her happy except —

In the mirror behind her, the bathroom door burst open. “Oh, Kie, hey!”

Abigail Mitchell practically floated into the room with ease, a smile on her lips. She was in the middle of pulling her dark hair back with a brightly colored scrunchie, the red color matching the strawberry earrings dangling from her ears. Her eyes, those impossibly blue eyes that always reminded Kie of the ocean, only seemed to brighten at the sight of her friend.

Friend.

Where Sarah had been a momentary life preserver, Abigail Mitchell had been a saving grace, waltzing into Kiara’s life at the Kook Academy in the eleventh hour, right when she’d gone from top of the heap to team reject. Kiara had been hesitant, resistant even, to making another friend on this side of the island but Abby was ... different, to say the least.

Like most of Figure Eight residents, she came from old money and she was on friendly-ish terms with some of the Kooks but the difference was all in the perspective. Despite the outward appearance and the obnoxiously large mansion she lived in, Abby had lived on the Cut for seven years before her mother died and she was shipped off to live with her grandparents. For seven years, she had known the world that Kiara had one foot in.

And although it had been years since her grandparents gained custody of her, most of Figure Eight still saw Abby as the outsider with the flighty mom. Good enough to converse with at school and at functions because of her status as a Mitchell, but not good enough for anything else, apparently. She learned how to play the part, to look the part, to make paper thin “friendships” with those around her, but Kie had been lucky enough to actually get to know the real Abby — the girl that Abby was and longed to be.

Even though they hadn’t been friends long, Kie just knew that Abby fully got what it was like to be on the outside, never truly fitting in, and not having a desire to fit in. From the picture Abby had painted for Kie, she’d never really had any real friends here, had never been able to see eye to eye with any of the facades the people around them liked to meticulously maintain.

And when Kiara had been kicked to the curb, Abby had been the only one show her actual, real kindness. Abby just ... got her, and after what Kiara had gone through, there was nothing more comforting than someone who just understood.

“Hey yourself,” Kiara mumbled, forcing a smile on her face as she finished washing hands, shaking them dry into the sink. She tried to make the expression look genuine as she turned to face Abby, although the effort was in vain.

Her lack of a good mood was apparently noticeable at the drop of a hat, a frown working its way onto Abby’s face. “Are you okay?”

Unconsciously, Kiara’s eyes flickered to the stall.

Abby caught Kiara’s glance at the stall, her brows knitting together in confusion. Her gaze shifted between the door and Kie for a moment, wheels turning in her mind, putting the pieces together.

“Oh, come on,” she mumbled under her breath, hitching her bag higher on her shoulder as she marched over.

“Abby —”

Before Kiara could even finish her sentence, Abby had the door open, eyes locked on the words defacing it.

“This shit’s still going on?” Abby cursed, turning around on her heel to look at Kie in question. But her annoyance wasn’t directed at her, Abby’s eyes flitting to the ceiling as she continued, “I swear to God, everyone at this school has the mentality of a badly written teen soap villain.”

Kiara shrugged, rolling her eyes. “I’m used to it, everyone here hates me, I’ve gotten the memo.”

She wasn’t fine, but there was no way she was about to sob in the bathroom like a three year old just because a bunch of assholes who flaunted daddy’s credit card everywhere wanted to have her name in their mouths constantly. And not in front of Abby, especially not in front of her.

Kiara wasn’t really sure what it was about Abby that made her so comfortable and on her toes all at once. Sarah had royally fucked with her view of friendship outside of John B, JJ, and Pope, and she spent most days waiting for the other shoe to drop, to become the punchline of another joke, for Abby to ghost her too.

But then Abby would give her that look, that soft little look like the one she wore right now and the world would seem slightly less bad. Abby took short, quick steps over to the sinks, holding out an almost hesitant hand to Kiara. She looked nervous almost, like Kiara was going to bat it away, but the tension in her shoulders dropped when Kiara accepted.

Two warm, soft palms met in the middle, a jingle of multiple bracelets on either wrist as soft expressions were on either face. Their eyes locked for a moment before Abby was gently tugging her in, wrapping her arms around Kiara in a comforting embrace. Kiara’s eyes squeezed shut as the sting of tears bit at the edges of her sight as the shorter girl tightened the hug just a little more.

“Hey, look,” Abby said after a moment. She slipped loose from the hug, hands drifting up to hold onto Kiara’s shoulders, giving her a stern look. “Fuck ‘em. No one at this school is worth your time, okay?”

You are, Kie thought absentmindedly. She didn’t say that, though, the words stationary on the tip of her tongue. It was a bold statement, a heavy statement, not one for a newly blossoming friendship. But it was the truth, whether she said it out loud or not.

A small, yet vibrant smile broke out on Kiara’s face as she repeated, “Fuck ‘em.”

“That’s my girl!”

#asks #hug prompts #marrera #witchofinterest

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mysterioh · 4 years

Text

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Ch. 8

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

Synopsis: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

The Language of the Arts

This is awkward.

“So,” you spoke up, eyes strictly focused on the painting in front of you, hating the silence standing in between. “Nice weather we’re having."

"Yeah,” Steve said, his voice was stiff with a hint of nervousness. “Really cold."

"You like winter?"

"No, not really.”

“I do,” you said, folding your hands behind your back and tiptoeing up and down. “It’s a great time to do cozy things, y'know? Like watching movies and drinking hot cocoa."

"I guess it’s nice if you think of it that way,” he shrugged with a small smile. “I usually just think of how cold and dark it is."

"I like that too, to be honest,” you replied. “I don’t know why, but I just do."

"All the more reason to do cozy things I suppose?” he chuckled in your direction.

You turn to him and smile. “Yeah, I guess so."

His gaze lingers for a while before he snaps his head back towards the painting like he forgot he wasn’t supposed to be staring. Your smile falters a bit and it’s kind of annoying how different he’s acting. You liked the obnoxious version of him more.

"So, uh,” he clears his throat, “how ya been?"

"Good,” you nodded. “You?"

He shrugged. Miserable "I’m fine,” he replied. “How’s your boyfriend?” He asked, straining to sound nice.

“Oh, he’s fine,” you said.

It’s awkward again and neither of you knows what to do. He just had to be there when you had to be there. In a city of over two million, the odds of meeting the same stranger more than once were less than likely and yet you’ve met this oaf far more times than you needed to. The universe was scheming something.

“Another art project?”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t."

"Your hatred for art is something I’ll never understand,” he shook his head.

“People like different things. I don’t like art, deal with it,” you jabbed.

Steve puts his hands up in defense. “I’m just saying. It’s just, I don’t know – when I see something like this there’s this bubbly feeling I get on the inside. And it just doesn’t make sense to me that someone can’t see it the way I do."

"I know how you feel,” you said. “But with science."

Steve’s shoulders drop. "But science is boring."

"It is not!” You retorted then sighed. “I guess someone as simple-minded as you wouldn’t get it,” you shake your head.

“Or maybe someone as close-minded as you wouldn’t understand where I’m coming from,” he snapped back playfully.

“I am not close-minded!"

"Yes, you are,” Steve said. “You don’t actually try to connect with the art. You’re just trying to get an A. Maybe if you open your mind a bit and really let the art speak to you, you’ll appreciate it more and even get a better grade."

"Are you trying to tell me I’m stupid?"

"Not in the least,” he said with a chuckle coloring his words. “You’re probably really smart, smarter than me. All I’m trying to say is that maybe you should try stepping out of your comfort zone? Try something you don’t like or want to do. You never know you might actually like it."

He gives you a charmingly crooked smile as he urges you to try it. You pry away from his gaze with a huff. He hit the mark when he said you needed to get out of your comfort zone, but he didn’t need to call you out on it.

"Fine,” you replied with a groan, returning to the painting. He smiled gently before speaking.

“Pygmalion and Galatea by Jean Leon Gerome,” he said. “I personally find this painting filled with passion for obvious reasons. The way he kisses her as she transforms into a human. His dreams come true at that moment. He’s never felt more alive in his life."

"Personally, I think he’s a jerk. I know the story of Pygmalion and Galatea. I used to be really into mythology a while back,” you told him. “Pygmalion was a self-imposed lonely sculptor. He didn’t like mortal women because he thought they were flawed so he made a statue of what a perfect woman should be like. Aphrodite noticed how much he loved the statue so she brought her to life."

Steve chuckled. "Then what do you think the painting’s about?"

"Male superiority.” You stated, looking into the picture. “Look at how pure and delicate Galatea looks, isn’t that every man’s dream girl?"

"I see where you’re coming from,” Steve chimed in. “Notice the sculptures in the back. One is of a woman with her child which could represent the role of a mother that’s pressed upon them. The other is of a woman looking into a mirror and I think that symbolizes vanity. How women only really need to worry about their appearance and how it should please men. It’s how society wants us to be or at least in a man’s eye.”

“Then there’s Pygmalion, muscular and thriving in his own creativity and imagination. The ideal for any man at the time,” you put your hands on your hips. You know the more we keep talking about this, the more I’m starting to hate it.“

"Nothing wrong with that,” Steve shrugged. “I thought that was rather impressive - coming from you that is."

You growl under your breath and push him off balance. He chuckles, only making you cross your arms annoyed.

"I actually see it differently,” Steve said.

You raise a brow and turn to him. “How so?"

"It’s like the roles have been switched. Pygmalion’s reaching up to Galatea since she’s up on a pedestal. While she has to crouch down for his affection. Although we can’t ignore the fact that she is his creation, we know she possesses all of his love because he’s invested every part of him into her. His heart, soul, and mind, it all belongs to her. She possesses his idolization and can make him do whatever she wants,” he said.

You bring a hand to your cheek. “That makes sense. I like that interpretation more."

"It makes you feel pity for Pygmalion almost. He’s blind and naive in his devotion to her. If that was the painter’s intent, I think he did a good job by adding the theatrical masks in the corner.” You pointed. “Cause it isn’t reality. The emotions when you’re on stage are only skin deep. Even if Galatea may show love and affection towards Pygmalion, it’s not real and it never will be. Whatever emotions she holds will always be artificial. But the way he kisses and holds her shows that he believes Galatea’s love is sincere, and it makes you pity the guy. Everyone has a weakness and his is the desire to love."

"I feel exposed,” Steve mumbled.

“What?"

"Nothing,” he said. “I’m honestly amazed by your analysis."

You snorted. "I’m smarter than you, remember?” You teased and he rolled his eyes. “And thanks to you I don’t have to bang my head against the wall for the next three hours. Thanks, I guess you were right. I ended up liking it,” you said with a sheepish smile.

“I’m glad I could help."

Your eyes lock with his and you really look at them. Like it’s the first time you’ve seen him. You noticed the way his eyebrows raised a centimeter or two, lined between confusion and wonderment, his eyes twinkled in amusement as if he knew something you didn’t. They were like the ocean, so full of life yet so uncertain. The blue-green hue residing within pulling you deeper into the currents.

Staring isn’t exactly the word Steve would use. Your eyes rest, not unblinking but slowed; the effect is soft and inviting instead of harsh. Perhaps it’s your lips that give away the intention, not quite smiling but tilting as if they do.

As if you’re telling him to stay a little longer. It’s unspoken, but sometimes words aren’t needed. And he’d stay if you wanted him to, let you pull him deeper into the vast expanse of your eyes, glazed like honey and warmer than a summer breeze.

He snapped out of his thoughts. There he goes again. Your lips part to say something, but Steve says something first.

"I should go,” he said.

“Oh,” you said in disappointment. “Thanks for helping,” you give him a smile. “See ya around then?"

"Yeah, just be careful next time?"

"I’ll make sure to,” you chuckled. “Have a nice day.”

He turned on his heel and waved goodbye. You smiled at him and waved back. The minute he turns away from you completely, the smiles on both of your faces fall instantly and it’s like you’ve lost something you never had.

“Sweetheart, I ain’t a bad guy. I’ll be nothing but good to you."

His smooth voice whistled in your ears. Another groan escaped your lips and you slammed your head against the cool metal surface of the kitchen table.

Usually, the kitchen at Urban Remedy was a chaotic mess. Complete with shouting chefs and frolicking waitresses, sizzling pans and the clatter of dishes. But as the day began to wind down, so did business allowing its workers to catch a break.

"I know this isn’t the best place to work, but-” your head shot up at the sound of your boss’ sassy voice.

“Oh no,” you replied sheepishly. “I was just-"

"I’m just joking,” May chuckled. She leaned over the table. “What’s wrong sister? Someone didn’t tip you well enough?"

"No, it’s not that,” you chuckled while sitting straight up. “Just life I guess."

"Lemme guess it’s a guy,” she laid it on the table. Your cheeks heated.

“Dost mine ears deceive me?” Wanda popped her head in through the door. “Our residential man-hater has a guy problem?"

"Where did you come from?"

"I have super hearing,” the girl said, taking a seat next to you. She shakes your arm in excitement. “Now spill."

"First off, it’s not a guy,” you lied. “I’m just in a bind is all."

"Sweetheart,” May said, “you’re not fooling anyone."

"It’s not!” You insisted.

They replied with doubtful looks and a roll of the eyes.

“It’s that cute guy that comes to visit sometimes, right?” Wanda asked. “The one with the old man name?"

You snorted. "No, Quentin is Quentin. He’s not a guy."

"So there is a guy, but he’s not your friend,” May conjectured.

You exhaled deeply, feeling annoyed by them and yourself.

“Okay, there’s a guy,” you grumbled.

Wanda bounced in her chair while clapping her hands. “I knew it! Is he cute?"

"I don’t know!” you retorted. Your eyes flit towards May and she’s smiling, pulling all the juicy details out of you. “Okay, maybe a little,” you mumbled and they giggled like children “But I don’t like him or anything!"

"He wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t,” May smirked, resting her chin in her hand.

“It’s not like that,” you look away with a sigh. “You ever just want to stay away from something but end up getting closer? Like you want nothing to do with them but they pull you in regardless?"

"Me with cats,” Wanda said. You turn to her puzzled. “What? I’m allergic to cats, but they’re so cute."

"Seems like you’re in quite the predicament,” May chuckled.

“You know a way out?"

"Nope,” she deadpanned, “but you better get yourself out there cause I just heard the door open.” She pointed behind her with a chuckle.

You stand with a groan and make your way to the front.

“Hey,” Wanda called you back, “I think you should just follow your heart.” You rolled your eyes. If that isn’t the stupidest thing -“I know what you’re thinking but try it out? I mean it might be uncomfy at first but it could be worth it?"

You shoot her a smile and a nod. "I’ll try,” you said pushing past the door and into the hall, to find a boy standing by the counter with his back to you.

“Welcome in, how can I help you?” you asked as you approached him.

The boy turned and you could’ve sworn you’ve seen him before. And by the way he looks at you, mouth agape and eyes wide, you probably did.

It’s like Peter’s memory has been swiped clean and he doesn’t even know what language is anymore as he stands in front of you.

“Uhm?” You asked, totally not judging him.

“Oh Peter,” May said from behind you. “You’re here!"

TAG LIST: @ashwarren32 @rootcrop @siriusement @savedbystark @great-goddess-of-sin @boxofteenageideas @little-dark-empress @imsonick @scuzmunkie @achishisha @chuckennuggets1213 @captainchrisstan

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mobster!steve rogers #mob!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve x reader #mafia au #mafia steve rogers x reader

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ificanthaveu · 3 years

Text

Dani Reviews Wonder

hello, I'm well aware no one asked for this but this is the only way I can order my thoughts on an album and when Romance came out, someone literally asked me to fully review it and I've never forgotten about that and I loved writing a full review so hello here I am

I hate that I have to do this but DISCLAIMER: these are my opinions. I get that you may not agree with them and that’s totally cool, but if you come into my inbox attacking my opinions on a song, I will not answer it and it will be deleted without a second thought. Let’s discuss the songs, not tear each other apart

and LET’S GO

1. INTRO

Ok so I typically do nothing with intros because I usually think they’re a waste of time. HOWEVER, I really like this one. Now that we’ve heard the whole album, it really encapsulates the entire feel of the rest of the album. It’s been on my playlist since it’s been released and I'm obsessed with it. The soft little piano in the beginning is just perfect and I really love the build up. (not many lyrics to chose from here ope)

You have a million different faces, but they'll never understand unless you let them in

2. WONDER

I never did a full analysis like I was going to for this song. However, I’m going to do like half of one here. I honestly feel like he can be talking about himself, his fans or a girl. You can see it in all 3 ways. I also just feel like there are some lyrics in this where I'm like YES. It reminds me a little bit of Mirrorball by Taylor Swift in the fact that we expect so much from celebrities and like.....why??? It’s just kind of fucked. I think this is honestly such a good single and I really really love it. I feel like it’s just really pure?? if that makes sense. Like he’s just being like “I wonder why it is like this.” and the BRIDGE ugh she's so beautiful.

I wonder why I’m so afraid of saying something wrong. I never said I was a saint.

3. HIGHER

A CERTIFIED BOP. It’s just so lively and upbeat and I wanna dance and I CANNOT WAIT to hear this live. It’s going to be absolutely insane. Blasted it on my way to get coffee this morning. And the lyrics are so lovey and cute but the beat is just too fkn good. I feel like it’s a very common theme in this album to be like “with you, nothing else matters” and like...can’t relate but ALAS I love the music about it anyway.

All eyes are lookin' at us but I can't stop fallin' in love

4. 24 HOURS

OH BOY time to FKN CRY. I absolutely love how old timey it feels. Especially the beginning, it makes me think of 50s music and I’ve been on a big 50s kick recently. Again he’s just so loud about being I don’t care what anyone thinks because I love you and I know it’s you and like YES PLEASE. and just being so in love that you’d throw it all away to come home to that person every day. I really love how the lyrics start with him being like I don’t know how to do this at all but I love you so lets go from there and then figure out the rest. And quoting “only fools rush in” made me so emotional. I love how simple the music is behind it because I think it really encapsulates the feeling of the song. It’s so hard to pick a favorite lyrics for this song my god.

(Besides the entire chorus) I paint the world that you deserve, every color you'd imagine

5. TEACH ME HOW TO LOVE

UMMMM OK???? Very Justin Timberlake vibes for me personally. Very 70s. Very vibey. “Draw a map for me laced with strawberries” ???? HOMIES I cannot I genuinely cannot. As sexual as this is, I also think it’s just so PURE. Like just teach me what’s best for you and I’ll do it. Also like...Shawn say “fuck” challenge like homie you could’ve just said it. Please. I also feel like if I was in love with someone, it’d hit different but for me it is just so FUN and I love the guitar parts a TOn. Like Idk how you can’t just get up and dance to this. Also this one live is going to be other worldly. And “babe I won’t stop til you feel the rush” I MEANNNN

F'ing me up, I'm what you dеserve

6. CALL MY FRIENDS

Ok, so idk what to really say about this one. I like the concept. I think the concept itself is really sweet and fuck it hits different when you’re away from all your friends especially during quarantine and college in general. Like I was (still am) on the phone with my friends constantly, because like Shawn said, they know me better than any one else ever will because they watched me go and grow through it. It’s also just sad because we grow up and grow apart and fuck it’s HARD. I’m not a huge fan of the chorus and I think that’s the main thing for me. The verses are sweet, but idk really about the chorus. I’m just indifferent about the chorus. But there are just lyrics in here that really hit me like “I miss how it was when we we wished we were older.” that one really gets me.

I know you gotta make some sacrifices, I don't wanna be alone for one more night

7. DREAM

Ok I LOVE THIS SONG but I have to first get something off my chest. The first time I listened to it, I could only think of the dream song from shark boy and lava girl. I don’t know why. But I’m done with that now. Moving on. This song is just so sweet and lovey and I’m obsessed with it. I really like the rhythm of it?? I think that’s the word I’m looking for idk. ALSO him talking about their little touch bracelets like wtf why is no one in love with me. I honestly don’t have much to say about this except that I’m thoroughly obsessed with it. I kinda feel like this song could be in a movie?? you feel me??? The echoey “dream”s are also just GORGEOUS, also how it gets so soft at the end fuck I love this song. And if I think too much about it I’ll cry, but the parallels between Dream and Dream of You

I don't wanna wake up without you laying next to me

8. SONG FOR NO ONE

This song makes me sad. Very sad. God, just the feeling of having a notification and wanting it to be that one person and it just never is but every time you’re like ok but what if. I was thinking about this last night and the way I see it is that he’s made it clear all of his songs are for/about Camila. So I feel like this one is very guard up, being like “no no this isn’t about you, I swear I’m not writing songs about you. it’s about no one. it’s just something I made up” which just makes it all so much harder. Also the use of “someone” instead of “her” or “you” is also very like “I’m not going to say it.” It’s just all very sad because you have to imagine everyone asking him all the time who his songs are about and he just had to keep saying “no one.” This is the first time where he’s actually been able to say “HEY THEY’RE ABOUT MY GIRLFRIEND.” And like fuck, finally. Also imagining Shawn drunk calling her and her having to say she doesn’t feel the same. AND when he's like it’s fine I’ll be fine anyway as his voice kind of trails off like GOD that feeling HURTS. I just have way too much to say about this song because I think you can go really deep into it on what the years before Camila and him started dating were really like for him.

Close my eyes, things are better in my dreams, 'cause I'm with someone, someone I adore

9. MONSTER

I won’t say too much about this bc this song has been out for a little bit, so I’ll make this a little more personal. my friend Han is a HUGE Justin fan and I am pretty obviously a HUGE Shawn fan. and we’d always be like “omg what if” but we thought it was never going to happen so when rumors started circulating about this, we were fucking freaking out. This song is literally our dream collab. I think Justin was the perfect person for this song because of his time in the public eye. And just the whole song being like “you put me up here, so I guess you’re the only one who can push me off.” And it is pretty fucked how we put celebrities on these pedestals and expect them to not make any mistakes at all when we are constantly making them. It’s just hypocritical. It’s also hard to pick a favorite lyric for this one because I think there are a lot that hit hard so I’m doing a fave Shawn and fave Justin

Raise me up into the sky until I'm short of breath // ‘Cause unforgiveness keeps them in control

10. 305

This one surprised me in the best way. I have no idea what I was expecting for this song but god I LOVE IT. I’m obsessed with it and want to jam forever. Just very boppy??? and so HAPPY. I get so smiley when I listen to it. “Waiting for the moment that you’ll let me down” just stuck out to me because I feel like that’s such a universal feeling. Like when everything’s going so good and you’re like....ok what’s about to go wrong. I’m literally dancing in my seat to this baby. The chorus is so catchy and I really wish I was in love pt 358933. I think this may be crowned as my favorite on the album. It’s just so fun and full of love.

Would take my heart with you if you walked away

11. ALWAYS BEEN YOU

I have been looking forward to this one and she did not disappoint!! Again, this man is screaming about how in love he is and yes, sir I’m listening. You’re the only one my heart keeps coming back to!!!!! And just the very loud instrumental with the soft “always been you”s is SO GOOD. The boy who’s really underneath all the scars and insecurities!!! God, I just feel like this one is especially raw about love. And for the thousandth time, really wish I was in love to fully feel this but STILL it has such a good beat but is still so so soft.

Full of words I don't know how to say

12. PIECE OF YOU

Heavily reminds me of Jealous by Nick Jonas and I am HERE FOR IT. I feel like we haven’t gotten a ton of this blatant jealousy from him and the HONESTY of this is very like yes I'm possessive. I’m so into you it hurts!!! The counting is also.....hot. Idk why but I love a song that’s very like “yes I'm protective and pathetic and reckless and what about it???” Again, love the beat. A little 80s in my opinion (here’s me remembering it’s MJ inspired lmao).

From the second you walked in the room, my night is ruined

13. LOOK UP AT THE STARS

*deep breath bc I love this song so much* ok so I read the lil things Spotify had underneath before each song and I cried immediately when I just READ that it was for the fans and then listening to it in that light just killed me. ALSO if you saw his insta live last night he was literally like “look up at the stars!! remember that one!!” and now I'm like OK THANKS. Anyways, It is so soft and fuck it’s so meaningful. This is one of my favorites for sure. It’s literally like he’s sending you away from the concert and this would be such a good closing song (I know it won’t be but I can dream). I’m crying again but “I'm not going to let you down”??? PLEASE I JUST. Calling us angels!! I’LL NEVER BE ALONE Y’ALL I HAVE BEEN THINKING ABOUT THIS TOO MUCH. Never Be Alone has very much turned into our song with Shawn as his way to be like hey I’m always here so YOU’LL never be alone, and now here he is saying because YOU ALL are here I am never going to be alone. AND FUCK IT HITS DIFFERENT. AND SPENDING THE NIGHT IN WONDERLAND WITH YOU!!!! God I’m just a puddle after this one

the streetlights are all saying your name, they always say your name

14. CAN’T IMAGINE

he wrote this on his own and yes I'm emotional about it. I don’t think he’s released a song he’s written on his own since handwritten revisited??? (correct me if I'm wrong) but even that alone is enough for me to know he’s getting way more confident in his music. I think it’s a really good closing because it’s so soft and acoustic and very true to him as he started. The raspiness and realness of it even with the lil thing he says at the end. AGAIN, why tf have I not felt a love like this yet??? Of course, I’m just going to not think of it romantically but just having those people where you can’t even begin to even think about what your life would be like without them. Like I think the lack of descriptors is actually really powerful because like...he can’t imagine it, he can’t explain it so let me just tell you that I genuinely don’t know what would happen if you weren’t here. It closes out the album perfectly (not many lyrics to pick from here lmao)

Without you, all things right would feel so wrong

OVERALL - I honestly really like it there are a bunch of songs I can see myself listening to for a WHILE but there are a few that I'm very eh on as well. I really like the sound of it and the production and just the ~feel~ of the whole album

TOP 3

1. 305

2. Look Up At The Stars

3. 24 Hours

Honorary mentions: Dream and Teach Me How To Love

#me #sm #dani listens to wonder #Shawn mendes #wonder #Shawn Mendes wonder

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wilwywaylan · 4 years

Text

The Artist above and the Revolutionnary below

Fandom : Les Misérables

Modern!AU, Enjolras x Grantaire,

Grantaire wants nothing more than enjoy the breeze and paint, but it seems that someone wants to practice the guitar. Very Badly.

Written for @shitpostingfromthebarricade‘s Same-Prompt Fic Challenge

Béta by the amazing @kujaku-myoo

Also on AO3 !

Working with the windows open had always been one of Grantaire's greatest life pleasures. Sadly for him, winter existed, and regularly put a damper on his plans by being cold, snowing, raining or wind-blowing, or a combination of those elements. But finally, finally, he was free of the clutches of a season that shouldn't have existed in the first place. Spring had taken its time, but it had finally arrived, bringing with it the delicious, warm weather that Grantaire adored. So as soon as he got up to sit at his easel (around 3 PM), he opened the windows and let the soft breeze caress his face. It was gentle, carrying with it the smell of the wisteria flowers on the balcony on the first floor and the chirping of the starlings starting to nest in the trees.

And something else that certainly wasn't the smell of wisteria or the starlings chirping. It sounded a bit like a guitar, if the strings had been plucked by someone with forks glued to their fingers. Maybe a bird was trying to get the strings to use them in its nest. Or that guitar knew a secret and someone was trying to get it to confess. Or something had fallen into the opening and the poor thing was desperately trying to get out of there by grabbing the strings. To say that Grantaire didn't really appreciate the thing that was resonating under his window and couldn't really be called music would have been the understatement of the year. And still... If someone closed his eyes, put his hands on his ears, and felt very, very generous, it could almost be mistaken as a melody, that, with a bit of concentration (and leniency), had a passing resemblance to... Wonderwall ?

Grantaire smiled. Talk about a cliché that someone sitting on their balcony during a warm day of spring would learn to play Wonderwall, if that was what they were doing. He went to his window, leaning out as much as he could to try and see the person playing. But the large windows of his flat, if they were perfect to give him some much-needed light, were a bit too set back to allow him to look at the player. By leaning on the ledge in a very dangerous fashion, he could barely see a pair of shoes, the cuffs of some jeans, and the headstock of the guitar, and nothing more. Not even a finger. Just a pair of old, battered, red Converse, pants rolled up at least twice, and a run-of-the-mill guitar.

To say that Grantaire's curiosity was piqued would be the understatement of the year. Okay, maybe it was due to his weird hours (that he decided on himself), but he wasn't very familiar with his neighbours. He knew the old Mrs. Magloire, he sometimes went grocery shopping for her, and she liked to pinch his cheek and call him a cute boy. Grantaire always refrained to ask her if she needed her glasses checked, and accepted the compliment with a smile. There was Mr Garrel, who put his awful music way too loud just when Grantaire wanted to sleep, and was always glaring at him like he was guilty of.. something. And of course, Eponine, who was living in the studio at the end of the hallway. Half of the time anyway. Other half, she was here, sprawled on his couch and criticizing everything he was doing. All in good fun, of course. He should ask her next time she'd drop by with a bottle of cheap wine and one of her awful DVD. She wasn't that better acquainted with the tenants of their building, but she held some sweet blackmail material. Maybe she'd know something about the mysterious guitar player.

Who was still butchering Wonderwall. Of course they had to choose a favorite of Grantaire’s for that. They couldn't decide on some Taylor Swift or something. Grantaire could have closed the windows of course, but it was such a pretty day.... And from his point of view, he had been patient enough. Now it was time to do what he knew best : give unsolicited comments. So he leaned on the windowsill as far as he could (he could still only see the shoes, bobbing with the non-existent rhythm) and yelled :

- I've played a lot of guitar in my youth, but I didn't know you could make that kind of noise. That's impressive, in a way.

The playing stopped. The feet moved, and for a second, Grantaire thought that the player would bend over the railing to look at him and insult him or something, but no. After a few seconds, probably spent weighing some options, the music resumed. Okay, no amelioration on this front. And he couldn't just let it go, he had work to do, and he couldn't concentrate with that noise. So he tried again :

- No, seriously. You should relax your fingers. And your shoulders too.

The music stopped again. And this time, he got an answer.

- How can you say that ?

Oh, so the person on the balcony sounded like a boy. Probably around Grantaire's age. Interesting. But they were probably waiting for an answer.

- Because I know. That's a basic mistake.

A small silence. The other (man ? boy ?) was probably mulling over his words. Or think about sending him packing, with his unsolicited advice. But no, after a few seconds, Grantaire got an answer.

- You play the guitar ?

- I did.

The man seemed to dwell on the past tense for a second, then the playing resumed. It was still disjointed, but sounded a little less like someone had stepped on a small creature. Still kinda disrupting, but way less. Grantaire sat back in front of his easel, and was pleased to see that his inspiration had come back. He went back to his painting, humming along the broken melody. From time to time, he threw an advice over the ledge, about fingers on the fret or to use the fifth cord more, but the mysterious man didn't answer anymore.

~*~

When Grantaire opened his window the next day, he was welcomed by the same clumsy playing. This modern troubadour wasn't very talented, but he sure was determined. That was a quality one could admire, even Grantaire who was careful not to be too engaged about anything. Sure, he could have chosen another song, because as much as one could like a song, there was a thing as too much Wonderwall. Two more days of this, and Grantaire could never hear that song again. And still, he didn't ask the mysterious man to stop, nicely or otherwise. He mixed his colors, spread them on his palette, and set himself to work. Soon, he was lost in his little world.

He was trying to stretch his neck a little without dropping his green on his lap, when a voice rang from downstairs.

- My fingers hurt, it whined.

It took Grantaire two seconds to realize that it was the mysterious man talking, and he was talking to him. He laid on the windowsill again and glanced down at the red Converse.

- It's normal.

- Normal ? came the scandalized answer.

- Yeah. You have to build some callus to play.

- But how ?

- By playing.

The man seemed to mull over it.

- Isn't there another way ?

- Sadly, no.

Another silence.

- Oh. Well. Thank you.

And the mysterious player went back to his guitar. Grantaire waited for another remark thrown his way, but as nothing else came, he went back to his painting. But he kept his windows open. One never knew…

~*~

It dawned on Grantaire the next day, as he was lugging his grocery shopping through the hall, that he didn't know the name of his mysterious neighbour. He didn't know the name of almost anyone in the building, but it had never bothered him until now. Taking advantage of a break before tackling the five stories with several pounds of fruits and a giant bottle of liquid soap, he took a look at the letterboxes. A helpful hand had written the flat numbers under the names, and it only took him three minutes of mental gymnastics to find the right one. If he had expected a first name, he was disappointed. Not even an initial, just a name, stern and direct. Enjolras. Grantaire let the name roll on his tongue like a fine wine. Enjolras. Ange.... Enjôler.... so many pretty words contained in that name. Surely, such a pretty name could only belong to a pretty face.

Grantaire tried to picture it as he started climbing the stairs. Maybe... maybe he would be dorky, at least a little. Someone who tried to learn guitar without any method could only be a dork. He'd probably wear glasses. And a nice buttoned-up shirt, with a pen in the pocket. He was trying to decide on a haircut (neatly parted in the center, or "hasn't seen a comb in three days" ?) when he was almost knocked back down the stairs, sending him on his ass, his oranges bouncing all around him, happily rolling down the stairs to their freedom. He started swearing, rubbing at his sore parts, but his voice caught in his throat when he looked up.

The person who had knocked him down had caught the railing to keep their balance and was standing above him, blocking part of the light. With his hair in wild curls surrounding his head like a golden halo, eyes as blue as the sky, and a face, a face... a face that Grantaire would have liked to paint, carve in marble or in fine china, with high cheekbones and a nose.... a piece of art, really. It lasted only a second before the man found his balance again, almost stepping on Grantaire's foot. He muttered an apology, gathered two oranges that he hastily deposited on Grantaire's legs, then jumped over him and skipped the rest of the stairs, scattering the other fruits in his haste to get out.

Grantaire simply sat on the floor, trying to process what had happened in the last thirty seconds. Did he really get knocked down by a vengeful angel stepped down from his pedestal in a flurry of righteous fury ? Did he suddenly get high in the fumes of his.... canvas bag in the five seconds it took him to go from the letterboxes to the stairs ? Did it really happen ? Granted, he just had to look at his groceries still lying all around him to know that, yes, it did happen, he didn't just imagine it. Besides, why would he imagine such a fine man living in a building like... well, like this ? He carefully side-stepped all the answers such a question could elect, gathered all his groceries and carried them to his flat, still carefully not thinking about what had just happened, nor his trembling hands, nor the look of beautiful blue eyes or the bounce of golden hair.

Once every orange had found its rightful place, Grantaire decided to go knock on Eponine's door. Maybe she could help. Or just listen to him as he sprawled on her couch and babbled about beautiful boys and boys playing guitars and whatnot. She would probably make fun of him, but that was how it went between them. He had done the same when she had come to him about Pontmercy, and she had been merciless during his last three crushes. And that's exactly what he needed, some kind of reality check.

He waited almost five minutes on the doormat before she deigned open the door.

- I hope you have a good reason to come here, she said.

- Are you busy, perchance ?

- Do you know what hour it is ?

Grantaire gave her his best impression of a goldfish.

- It's "Top Chef" time. You know what that means.

- It means that I'm very flattered that you interrupted your delicacy time for me ? Grantaire tried with his best smile.

- It's the commercial break. You have one minute left.

- But I come to you bearer of lamentations about boys and what could be the start of a crush. And a bottle of vodka, he added, brandishing his treasure.

She considered him, then the bottle. Finally, she moved aside to let him in. He grabbed two glasses in the kitchen and went to sit with her, almost falling over the shoes scattered here and there. He handed her a glass and kept his in his hand, swishing the liquid around as he waited for the episode to end, his thoughts still spiraling wildly in his mind.

When the credits rolled, Eponine turned to him.

- Better ? she asked?

Grantaire shook his head.

- Drink.

He obeyed. The alcohol burned down his throat, without easing his inner turmoil in the least.

- Better ? she asked again.

Shook again.

- Tell me anyway.

But what to tell ? That an angel was living in their building ? That there was a boy playing the guitar and Grantaire found it very cute, the way he was going at it ? That this boy seemed nice, but Grantaire could only cling to a nice voice and a pair of red converse ? All this and even more, it seems, because when he finally stopped rambling, the TV, now on mute, was halfway through a stupid game show.

Eponine poured him a second glass of vodka.

Eponine poured him a third glass of vodka.

- So, she mused, admiring her own glass. What you're telling me is that you just developed two crushes.

- I didn't develop any crushes on anyone, Grantaire defended himself, but he had to admit he hadn't really made a case for himself.

- If those are not crushes, then I'm the Pope. And do not try any of your "hello your Holiness" jokes. Thanks.

Grantaire made a face.

- I don't really have crushes. The one with the guitar, I don't even know what he looks like.

- So what ? Do you need it ?

- It helps. Not about what you think, get your mind out of the gutter, woman. (Eponine just raised one eyebrow). But for me, he's just an awful song, a nice voice and a pair of shoes. Not really husband material.

- But there's the other one. The angel, she reminded him.

- Oh... yes. He's... oh he's gorgeous. You should have seen him. It was like... getting a small glimpse of what Heaven could be. Do you understand ? An angel looked at me. I may never be the same again. I had the proof, after all these years, that there is a Heaven. And if there's a Heaven, there's a Hell too, and it's a terrifying idea, because it instills in me a fear of whatever is awaiting for me when I'll leave this sinful Earth. Whether I end up in Hell, where I'll be subjected to endless torments, or in Heaven, surrounded by creatures of such beauty. Whatever I'm doing, I'll be damned.

Eponine looked at him above the rim of her glass.

- All this in just a face ?

- Had you been there, you wouldn't talk about "just a face". "Just a face" is for the ones we meet in the street, the mere mortals like us. His is not "just a face", it's a masterpiece, it's a piece of marble molded by the hand of an artist, it's the Sun having taken a human form.

- The Sun ? really ?

- The Sun, and since I've dared lay my eyes upon his form, I am forever burned. Never again will I be able to see, I've been blinded by his radiance !

- Okay but what do you want me to do ? Buy you a pair of sunglasses ? Be your guiding dog ? And be careful of your answer.

- Do you know of a young, beautiful god living under our roof ?

Eponine mulled over it for a few seconds.

- I do not know of any blonde in the building, young and pretty or not.

- Alas ! My only option is to let myself waste away, forever separated from my love, sadly gazing at the sun in the hope of him stepping down one of its rays, straight to my atelier and heart !

This time, Eponine whacked him around the head with a cushion.

- Can you be even more dramatic ?

- I can, but you certainly wouldn't like it.

They watched the images move soundlessly on the screen for a few moments.

- I can try to find some information, Eponine finally offered. I'll see what I can gather.

- You're a true friend, and you know it.

- You owe me at least a pair of Louboutin for that.

- I'll buy you the most amazing bottle of champagne I can find.

- Deal.

~*~

Grantaire was starting to be very familiar with the way his brain worked. He had been directly exposed to a god among mortals, it was only a matter of time before it became too much for him and he started trying to alleviate the shivers running under his skin, the heart beating in an odd way, the agitation, in the only way he knew (beside screaming it on the rooftops). But this time, the disease seemed to progress really, really fast. Just the next day, he sat at his easel, grabbed a paintbrush, dipped it in paint... and nothing happened. His hand didn't move, not an inch, and the tip of the brush hovered above the painting without putting any paint on the canvas. No matter how hard he tried, no matter how he tried to set himself to work, he just couldn't move. That painting was due next week, or he would fail his exam, and he just couldn't do it.

After five minutes, he had to face the facts : he wasn't going to get any work done today, not until he got a bit of that obsession out first. He carefully put his painting aside, picked up his sketchbook, his pencil. He barely put the tip on the paper, that it started to, tracing ample lines on the white surface. Grantaire just let his hand move, seemingly on its own accord, let his mind wander as a lone figure slowly emerged. A man, standing alone, an arm raised, long hair cascading around him, a long sheet draped around his frame. Nothing fancy, it was the poster child for a study on how to draw folds. He would never show something so classical to his teachers, but for something he intended to hide somewhere he'd never look again (his sock drawer seemed like a very good place), it was pretty good. He couldn't yet exactly express the radiance, the warmth, the feeling he had gotten looking into those beautiful eyes, but that was only the first of a long series. He knew it. There was no hope in fighting it. He was done ; better enjoy the ride as he could until it finally faded away, and went with the other on a shelf far away in his mind.

~*~

But the ride lasted. Every day, when he got up and sat at his easel, the beautiful face appeared under his pencil. From the front, from the side, in close-ups or full-length, dressed in full XIXe century outfits, formal jackets or tight pants, studies of his eyes, his hair, .... The drawings were piling up in a drawer, or rather drawers since the first had been filled very, very fast. But he couldn't stop himself. He needed to. His hand itched to trace this beautiful face once again, form the delicate lashes, the curve of his eye or the bow of his mouth. And so he did, again and again.

But of course, it didn't help. No matter how many times he drew the man, his face didn't leave his mind. When he was cooking, when he was cleaning, sorting his socks, watching trash TV, ... Always, the scene replayed in a corner of his mind. Had he known these five seconds would play an endless loop for his sole benefit... he wouldn't have changed a thing, to enjoy that delicious torment once again, the delicious burn, the delicious feeling of yearning that kept him awake at night, tossing and turning for hours.

Okay, maybe he would have changed one thing ; in the hundreds of times he had replayed the scene in his mind, he hadn't once stood there to gape at the vision ; always, he caught the angel in a way or another, swept him off his feet, or fell down at his, or at least found something smart to do. A conversation would engage, he would get the perfect stranger's name, seduce him in a few well-chosen sentences, enthrall him with his wit, a conversation would follow....

But always too soon, he would be reminded that no, he didn't get the perfect stranger's name, or even his attention past the bare minimum you allowed to someone you bumped into in the stairs. He had gone his merry way, getting out of Grantaire's life at the same time, never to be heard of again. Each time the thought came to disturb his daydream, Grantaire did his best to push it out of his mind, but if he could ignore the truth, he couldn't as well push the sudden jolt of pain out of his chest, no matter how hard he tried. He buried it under work, drawing the stranger's face and, he was a bit ashamed, drinking a bit more than usual, but it was only a brief respite.

But still, through this ordeal, there was one thing that was able to pull his mind from that never-ending daydreaming state. Every day, rain or sun, as he opened his windows, he had been welcomed by the clumsy guitar playing from the mysterious boy. Enjolras, if that was his name, was very conscious with his practice, and to Grantaire's delight (and relief), he had started to get better. Still not very good, but at least it wasn't grating anymore.

They had exchanged a few words here and there, mainly Grantaire throwing advice out the window, and the boy answering, sometimes in jest. He had a clear voice, and some wit that wasn't unpleasant. He hadn't really struck a conversation with Grantaire yet, but he seemed to appreciate his presence none-the-less. At least that's what Grantaire wanted to think. Maybe the playing softening when they talked was just wishful thinking, but that wasn't forbidden, now, wasn't it ?

It was during one of these afternoons, when he finally managed to get back to work after adding yet another sketch to his growing collection, that he decided to try and get a more consistent conversation with Enjolras, or whatever his name was. He laid on the windowsill as usual ; the red shoes were still bobbing in something that could be a rhythm. Good.

- Hey, he called.

There was a horribly discordant note, and the playing stopped. Enjolras muttered something that probably wasn't very polite.

- What ? he answered.

- You've been working very hard at that song, and this is very impressive, but I was wondering... Is there a reason you want so much to learn it ? A favourite of yours, perhaps ?

No answer.

- Is it for an occasion, maybe ? he added.

- Yes.

- You want to serenade someone, maybe ? Because that may be an interesting choice for a serenade.

- No !

The voice was indignant, and Grantaire couldn't help but snicker, silently, of course.

- So ? Why the urge ?

- There'll be a protest soon, the boy answered after a few moments. We're protesting the closing of the community center downtown. THere's no real reason except that they don't want to waste money on poor people because they think they aren't cultured enough to understand, enjoy or benefit from arts programs. Those....

Grantaire rolled his eyes as hard as he could. Good, another bleeding-heart, well-meaning boy with stars in his eyes and a will to change the world. An idealist who hadn't yet seen that the world was full of assholes and injustice. But still, Grantaire couldn't think too badly of him. Without those programs, he'd never had discovered the fine arts, and he'd never chosen to study them. He couldn't really blame him to want to maintain them against all odds and assholes who didn't think about anything but their wallets and how to make them fatter. It was admirable, in a way. The world hadn't yet managed to bring him down. Maybe he hadn't yet met that many assholes. Or he was just too tough for them. Either way, good for him. But Grantaire couldn't really say so, not if he wanted to keep that fragile relationship going.

- That's really cool, he said instead.

- You think so ?

The giddiness in the boy's voice made Grantaire's smile.

- Yeah, it's good. Someone has to fight the good fight.

It was silly, and Grantaire was starting to fear that the boy would hear that he wasn't that convinced. But luckily, it wasn't enough to damper his spirits. Or maybe the distance played in his favor.

- So, Grantaire asked, you want to play at the protest ?

- We're all doing something... artistic, to show how important it is, and how uplifting and inspiring arts really are.

- And you picked the guitar.

- Yes.

- And you can't play.

- No. But I'm going to learn it anyway.

- I bet you will.

The playing resumed, and Grantaire went back to his painting, smiling, the guitar playing that started to sound like Wonderwall accompanying him in his work.

#les miserables #grantaire #enjolras #enjoltaire #same prompt fic challenge #fluff #just fluff #so much fluff #to be continued

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spacegirlinorbit · 4 years

Text

Fooling You? Series

Chapter 3: The three musketeers meet the fourth

Warnings: swearing

Fooling You Masterlist

(All rights to the characters belong to J.K. Rowling. I just own the story)

Song: woman by Andreya Triana

Chapter 3: The three musketeers meet the fourth

———————————————————————–

Feeling the warm embracement of the sun and newfound fresh air of this breathtaking view was unbelievable. I can’t believe I will be living here for the next couple of years. I feel utterly nervous as I look towards hogwarts in its massive size.

Then it hits me.

I am going to have to start over. It was easy back when I first arrived to Ilvermorny. Everyone was young and new so making them believe my cover story was simple. Now, I’m going to have to try and blend in with an older crowd and explain my self with a bit more confidence and detail I don’t know if I have. I feel like throwing up as the nerves turns to anxiety and stress. I can feel my heart in its harsh rhythm of ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-

“Miss. Y/l/n.” I hear and the sound my heart fades from ears and I turn slowly to the headmaster. I look up at him and do my best to not seem as anxious as I feel. “Welcome to Hogwarts. Let’s get you settled.”

He tells me and hearing his calm voice allows me to reign my feelings in.

“Thank you.” I say quietly and we make our way up the steps and inside Hogwarts.

We reach his office which is enormous in size, but I shouldn’t have expected less for the headmaster. There is bookshelves filled to the brim with every size and color of books and every now and then a knick-knack or two, paintings of scenery’s that move in memory and portraits of people that I assume are famous here. Then what surprises me the most is that there is a phoenix on its own pedestal that dies and comes back to life.

“Ah yes. You caught eye of Fawkes. He has a dramatic flair as he gets older for bursting into flames and then rebirths himself anew from his ashes.” He shares with me.

“Why does he do that?” I ask curious to know why the phoenix finds it necessary.

“Why? To keep up his immortality...or so he tells me.” He says in a matter of fact kind of way trying to humor me. “Please have a seat.” I walk up the steps and have a seat in an wooden leather cased chair before his desk.

“As we walked in, I’m sure you remember seeing our Head Boy and Head Girl greet us and take your bags to your room. We have accommodated you a room with three other bright students here at Hogwarts.” He says with a smile. “After reviewing your file, I thought it wasn’t necessary to have you go through the hat ceremony and decided you’d be fit for Gryffindor.”

“Gryffindor?” I ask unaware of the customs here.

“Ah yes. We have four houses like yours at Ilvermorny. Here we have Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Slytherin. Mostly distinct by their robe color and mascot.”

”Really? That’s cool.” I gleam. Hogwarts is not so different after all. Maybe I shouldn’t be too nervous.

“Once you have settled in your room. Your roommates can take you on a tour of the school and help you get settled. I have here a paper of your schedule. Just ask the students with anything you might have questions on regarding the class and please don’t hesitate to ask me anything.” He handed me a parchment of paper that has my classes and time printed on it for the week.

“I do have one question.” I say and I can feel the anxiety bubble up in my body. “Can you tell me when I can travel overseas? Being in Scotland is a lot closer to Austria where my mother is buried. I would like to visit her grave sometime.”

He didn’t seem too fazed by the question and instead showed me sympathy in his eyes. “I would gladly provide you with permission anytime you’d like but I believe traveling on the weekends is best and we do have annual holidays as well that you won’t need permission to go overseas.”

“Thank you.” I say and give a small smile back. It was never ideal travel for me when I was at Ilvermorny and permission and time was limited, but now that I’m a lot closer to home I don’t think it would be much a problem now and I was right.

“Right. Well I also have here a small pamphlet and some papers on how things work around here, like mealtimes and curfews. There should also be a list of activities that take place here at school, you know sports events and clubs. Then the school holidays and events.” He hands the papers and I glance over them. “I must say being a transfer student this late in the school year is not all that bad and you’re not the only one. Let’s get you to your room, shall we?” He questions chirpily and smiles brightly as he stands and I follow after him. We don’t have to walk too far to get to the tower of Gryffindor.

“This here is the portrait of the fat lady although it is a horrible term.” He gestures the last part to the portrait who gives him a shy smile back. “She opens the door to the tower with a password created specifically for this tower only.”

“So you’re saying all the towers have their own password?”

“Correct. It’s like magical security.”

“Hmm. So what’s the password to this tower?” I ask.

“The password is caput aquilae.”

“Caput aquilae. The head of the eagle.”

“Well someone knows their Latin!” Says the fat lady portrait impressed.

“It was a class I took at Ilvermorny for fun. I guess it’s come in handy now.”

“Why yes it has.” Says Headmaster Dumbledore.

The portrait opens to allows us through its door and I’m greeted in a cozy atmosphere with red décor and a fireplace that is lightly brewing. Some students are hanging about talking or reading in the lounge chairs around the room. I look over and see someone with red hair come down the stairs and greet Dumbledore with a bright smile.

“Headmaster Dumbledore! What a lovely surprise.”

“Ah, yes, Miss. Lily. I came by to introduce you to your new roommate, y/n y/l/n, has arrived.” He says and gestures towards me.

“Oh hi. I’m Lily Evans.”

“Hello, I’m y/n.”

“Well Dumbledore I do believe I can take it from it here.”

“Of course, Miss. Evans and y/n again welcome to hogwarts.” He says with a smile that never left his lips.

“Thank you, Headmaster.” I say and return the smile back. Now this is where I have to tread lightly.

“So, shall we see our room first? Your bags arrived not too long ago.” She says with a kind cherry smile.

“Sure.” I say and she leads me up the stairs. We enter what’s our room now and it’s more spacious than I expected. With four big poster beds adorned in red velvet and two big windows on left side wall and a fireplace across from the door where I stand with bean bag seats by it.

“I know this must be a lot to take in.”

“A little yeah. At Ilvermorny, we each had our own rooms and well the surprise move from finding out that I’m being transferred all in one day is still a bit of a shock.”

“No way. All in one day? Wow, that’s weird, but it is short notice since school starts next week.”

“Right. So which one is mine?” I ask her. She points to the second bed, furthest from the door on the left wall.

“That one. My bed is next to yours. Then across from me is our other roommate, Dorcas and next to her Marlene. The bathroom door is in between their beds and we each have our trunk and closet that’s split in two for us to share.” Lily explains.

“Thanks. When will I meet the others?”

“Probably soon. Dorcas just went out for a second and Marlene should be back soon from quidditch practice.”

“What’s quidditch?”

“Oh that’s-“ Lily is interrupted as a dark-skinned girl with short curls walks in happily with flowers in her hands.

“Oh hello.” She says. So this is either Dorcas or Marlene.

“I’m Dorcas Meadowes. Are you our new roommate?” She says and quickly puts down the flowers on her bed near her and walks over to me to shake my hand.

“Yes. I’m y/n. y/l/n. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to finally meet you. We’ve been excited all week when we heard we are going to get a new roommate.”

“Ah well here I am.” I say trying to lighten the mood at this situation. I’m never good with introductions.

“Has she met Marlene yet? Have you met Marlene?” Dorcas turns to Lily and then back to me asking if I’ve met Marlene very quickly.

“No, not yet.” Lily says.

”Well then we better pr-“ before Dorcas can finish what she was about to say, a girl caked in mud head to toe along with what I could tell were grass stains and not smelling the best either rushed in and was rambling loudly about “slimy cheating dirty fucking snakes”, on her way to the bathroom. Lily and Dorcas both turns towards me and say, “That’s Marlene.”

Lily Evans, Dorcas Meadowes, Marlene McKinnon

#fooling you? sirius black fanfic #sirius black #young sirius black x reader #sirius black fanfiction #marauders x reader #marauders au #hp marauders #hp fandom #regulus x reader #regulus black #gellert grindelwald #dumbledore x grindelwald

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verida31 · 5 years

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A Starry Starry Night: Ikemen Vampire

This fanfic contains the following trigger warning: Brief mention of suicide

OC (Anitis) x Vincent

Type: Fluffy, but slightly angst songfic

Special thanks to kilesplaysthings for letting me use their headcanon for this which you can find in the link below!

https://kilesplaysthings.tumblr.com/post/186017450680/headcanon-that-mc-sings-the-song-vincent-starry

(There may be inaccurate Dutch translations, but it’s the best I could do with Google Translate ^^;)

A Starry, Starry, Night

Anitis came down to the kitchen in the mansion as she waited for Sebastian to begin her duties in another day of serving vampires. The revelation of what Le Comte said was a little hard to fully comprehend even after 4 days living in the mansion: the fact that everyone (Except for Sebastian) were all vampires bounded by contracts by Comte de Saint Germain. However, after Sebastian and Comte explained to her how vampires work, she decided that it would be safest living in the mansion for the month until she could return home to her time. However, there have been two people that she has always admired since she was studying in her art school days: the Van Gogh brothers Vincent and Theodorus.

Their works have inspired her since she was a child, with most of her artwork reflecting more of the still lifes and portraits that she had read in the several art textbooks. She always looked up the Van Gogh brothers for inspiration and motivation and though Theodorus seem to not like her and she is occasionally on edge because of that, she still respected him now regardless.

As she waited for Sebastian to arrive, she sat down and looked at the kitchen, looking away from the stove with some uneasiness. “Anitis, calm down. If Sebastian says that you need to cook, just tell him that you’re still too uncomfortable,” she muttered as she left that mentality. Then, with a small breath, she started humming softly.

“Starry starry night... Paint your palette blue and grey...”

“Anitis, why are you humming like a worried goat?” Sebastian said as he looked to Anitis.

“Sebastian!” Anitis jumped at the sudden arrival. “Apologies, I was just… preparing myself for shadowing!” Slight sweat formed up as she profusely nodded, “Yep! Nothing wrong!”

Sebastian looked at her for a moment until he gave her a hard flick to her face. As Anitis rubbed her face from the sudden pain, Sebastian sighed. “Next time I suggest that you do not conceal any lies for both of our sakes,” Sebastian chided. He then took out a serving tray and pitcher. “Come, the food will not serve itself,” Sebastian said as he went on. Within the dining hall dwelled the van Gogh brothers for the day.

“Why are you here?” Theodorus scoffed at Anitis as she enters. “Unless you’re the appetizer, you can take your leave.”

“Actually no. I’m training to be the server and hopefully not become the served,” Anitis commented politely as she stays behind to shadow Sebastian.

“It seems you’re more of a Knabbeljte then I thought,” Theodorus said as Sebastian gently put down the pancakes beside him.

“Theo, it is rude to call her that,” Vincent said. He then turned over to Anitis. “I apologize for my younger brother’s behavior. He becomes shy around new people,” he said warmly with a smile.

Anitis gave a small smile. “Thank you, Vin-eh Master Vincent,” she said as she continued to quietly shadow Sebastian. Still, even with Theodorus’s words being harsh, it was true. She was nothing more than a visitor at best, and even though Comte and Sebastian tried to make her feel as comfortable as they could, she still felt small.

---

Vincent saw her smile as she passed by. A hollow smile that betrayed forced happiness. It was a smile that was familiar to him, but it was from the back of his mind. As she was almost about to leave with Sebastian, he gave a smile. “May you have a good day, Anitis,” Vincent said in an assuring way. Anitis gave back a small smile. “Thank you, Master Vincent,” she said softly. However, Vincent shook his head. “Just Vincent,” he said warmly. Nodding, she then left at Sebastian’s instruction.

It was another day of occasional banter, Anitis doing housework with Sebastian as the vampires were in the point of slightly opening up, but were still very cold to them. Vincent stayed inside most of the day in his room, painting a vase of white carnations.

The evening has arrived as Vincent picked up the vase to return the vase to Theodorus’s room. As he opened up his door and awaited for Theodorus, he heard a faint voice at the end on the corridor where Anitis’s room was located.

“Starry, starry night, paint your palette blue and grey. Look out on a summer's day with eyes that know the darkness in my soul.”

Her voice was as clear as the night sky that this evening brought forth as he waited on. Theodorus came up to his door as "I guess you’re hearing her Theo?” Vincent asked as Theodorus nodded. “I was getting worried. If you want her quiet, you don’t need to say it twice.” Vincent then walked towards the voice as Theodorus looked back, “Vincie, the location of the vase is on the other side,” Theodorus said to him.

”Now I understand what you tried to say to me.”

Vincent went more forward to the sound as if entranced when Theodorus grabbed his hand. “Come on, Vincent,” Theodorus said impatiently as he tried to pull him away. However, Vincent stayed put and though it didn’t seem he was pulling, his strength underlying it is definitely present. “No Theo, I want to hear this song,” he said with a serious face.

“...perhaps they’ll listen now.”

Theo, looking rather surprised, turned around in a slightly annoyed expression. “Fine, but I’m coming with you.”

“Of course,” Vincent said as he went on.

“Starry starry night… flaming flowers that brightly blaze. Swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue.”

Vincent stopped at his name after arriving dangerously close to Anitis’s room. He had blue eyes, his name was Vincent, but he couldn’t grasp on why she’d used the lyric “Starry starry night”. Unless she meant...

“Colors changing hue: Morning fields of amber grain; Weathered faces lined in pain are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand.” Anitis’s voice was much softer as she gently paused, almost as if she’s taking a break.

Theodorus looked at his brother and slightly shook him. There was a very rare expression of worry. “Broer? I think we should go,” he whispered softly. However, the expression of his beloved brother was a very serious one as he looked on. He gently shook his head, not making a sound as looked to Anitis’s door and placed down the vase. Theo then clenched his teeth and muttered under his breath, “Heb er geen spijt van...” He then stayed low with Vincent, ready to hide behind a curtain if need be.

Anitis’s voice came back to singing, but now it almost seemed hesitant to sing the next part of the song.

“Now I understand what you tried to say to me. And how you suffered for your sanity, and how you tried to set them free.”

Vincent looked up as she looked at the room again. Did she make this song? Or if she didn’t, how was she able to make it sound so... genuine? Like it was meant to be for him?

”They would not listen, they did not know how. Perhaps they'll listen now.”

Anitis’s voice slightly cracked at the last note as she continued on, but this time her voice wobbled so much that it can be interpreted that she might be crying.

”For they could not love you, but still your love was true...”

Her voice became softer as the brothers got closer to the door to try to hear the words. Both of them were especially cautious about walking. Not just because of being discovered, but the direction of the song that it was going. What they failed to account for was the location of the vase.

---

Anitis’s voice was small as she recalled the next two lines. The most touching and rawest lines in the song as she prepared for bed.

“And when no hope was left in sight on that starry, starry night, You took your life as lovers often do...”

She paused for a bit, but then as she looked up, she smiled and sang, “But I could have told you, Vincent: This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you.”

Crash! A broken vase was heard outside of her bedroom door. She then placed on a bed robe to cover her nightgown as she opened her door. There was no one outside from she could see with only the moonlight as a guide. “Is-is someone out there?” she asked nervously. “I’m sorry Anitis,” Vincent said as he came up to her with an embarrassed expression. “I was only relocating this vase to the proper pedestal, but it was broken by accident,” Vincent said as he motioned to the now broken vase of white carnations.

“Oh, good evening Vincent,” she said as she opened the door. “Do you need help? I can get a broom and clean it up,” she said as she was about to leave. "It’s fine,” Theodorus said as he stepped out of the curtain. “It’ll be worse off if you tried to clean it,” he snapped as he worked on cleaning it up.

“Wait, why was Theo hiding behind a curtain? Actually, why are you two here this late?” she asked skeptically. Vincent slightly blushed as he fiddled with his fingers. “Well, we were going to return the vase, truly. However, your song was so beautiful that we had to come and listen,” Vincent said with a smile. “Speak for yourself, I hated it,” Theo said as he cleaned up the dirt and flowers with the bags in a storage room nearby. He then walked away as one of the carnations fell to the floor.

Anitis’s face turned beet red and she couldn’t care less at this point about Theodorus. “Y-you were listening?” she stammered as she looked down, trying to hide her face. “How much of it?”

“The last line was, ‘This world was never meant for one as beautiful as you’ I believe,” he gently said. Anitis’s face turned even redder as she started to close the door to her room. “Do you have a sudden fever, Anitis? I could call Sebastian if you need to,” he said in concern.

“Please don’t! Anything but that!” Anitis said as she burst the door open once again. “I’m alright, truly!” she restated, though she was bowing her head to keep her blush hidden.

Vincent then frowned. “So... is what you said about the song true? About how I was too beautiful for this world?”

Anitis looked up shyly. “Well, in my time, you’re a famed artist, but there were other artists whos portraits hung in empty halls and they became frameless heads on nameless walls. Those artists became poor beggar strangers that I would meet, with their ragged clothes,” she said. “However, you were one of my idols as an artist... And now I’m here and now in a world where I’m unfamiliar with, I just sang this song. It was one of my favorites,” she said. Vincent nodded with a look of understanding. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to spoil the mood,” she said as she slightly laughed.

Vincent then walked to the fallen carnation as Anitis looked up in confusion. “Well, now I think I know what you tried to say to me at breakfast this morning,” he said to her as he returned with the flower with the utmost care. “On how you silently suffered to keep your sanity in line and how you tried to set yourself free from the chaos inside you.” He then looked at her in a kind, but sad sympathy as he placed the carnation in her hands. “If you ever need someone to talk with about anything, just let me know. I’ll help you out however I can,” he sincerely reiterated as he gave a smile. However, a few tears were starting to form within him as well. “Your song made me remember several things in my life that have been good and bad. However, to have expressed it so beautifully, I’m touched, honored, and humbled to even be considered an idol of yours,” he said as he gave a small gentleman curtsy.

Anitis then gave a smile as tears started forming in her own eyes. However, these did spill. “Yes, Vincent. Thank you so much,” she said as she bowed deeply and gave a true smile- one that outshone the moonlight and brought forth the day in Vincent’s eyes. Vincent then smiled as he wiped away some of her tears gently. “No. Thank you, Anitis,” he said as he bid her goodnight.

---

As for Theodorus, he had returned to his room far earlier than the intimate exchange they had. He laid on his bed in contemplation. This woman both infuriated and relieved him as she was able to have Vincent see a new perspective of himself, but also on how much of an idiot she was for wanting to leave this place, yet sang a song that could have basically been interpreted as a love letter to his brother if he wasn’t so dense. However, he sighed. “Maybe the Knabberjlte might have some use. However, the last thing I want is to have him harmed by her, let alone falling in love with her,” he said. “Maybe I can talk to someone about this later,” he said as he closed his eyes. “Perhaps no one would want to listen and they probably never will, but I’ll do it for mijn broer,” he thought as he drifted to sleep.

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp theo #headcanon #kilesplaysthings #fluff #slightly angst #fanfic #songfic #vincent starry starry night #good song btw #slight sorry but not really #first fic please don't kill me #ikevamp oc #oc x character #this is also really long

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rain-a-dragomir · 5 years

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🎀: Gift Given

@devrimsperch

“What a way to make a first impression. Do you introduce yourself like this to all your vanguardians?” Devrim teased, a playful tone to his upturned lips. “Thank you- again. It’s nice to meet you, Adrian.”

Devrim strode over to his hotplate, setting it up to heat some water for the both of them. “What brings you to my humble abode? Shouldn’t you be off in Crucible celebrating Crimson Days?” he asked, curious. Sure he had Guardians flit through here day in and day out, but it wasn’t often they had made the move to actually make nice with him. Many of them babied him, were parented by him, or just wanted to get their patrol duties done and get back to wherever or whatever they had been doing before.

He wondered what kind of tea Adrian would like, as he snuck a glance at the other to give him a quick once over. Squinting, he came to a decision- Ah, spiced chai. Obviously.

A soft warm chuckle escaped his lips as he smiled brightly, both at the thought that the older Rifleman had indeed seemed rather pleased with the introduction and gift; and the jest of getting to know the other Van-guardians much like their current manner. Another soft chuckle left his lips as he thought about trying to get to know someone like Asher Mir, while the man was unarguably brilliant, he had the social skills of a Thrall. “I’m fairly sure the likes of Asher Mir is far too busy in his research. Osiris is more than likely breaking something within the infinite forest, plus he has his. . . followers.” He deftly glossed over the word ‘Followers’ having met with them a few times before, it was usually best to quickly finish what business you had with them, then hightail it out. They were fairly fanatical about the man they put upon a pedestal, but once in a while they tend to give some decent insight.

Besides, there weren’t too many other’s he’d bother introducing himself to, even among the Vanguard faction. Many of the Guardian leaders that held posts upon planetary bodies were all busy fighting their own battles to even worry about lone guardians. Sloan was trying to keep the floating structures of Titan from sinking into the methane abyss, Ana was dealing with Rasputin. Much like them, the other’s were dealing with varying issues on their own planets. “Crimson days at the Crucible? Just not as much fun as racing a sparrow through dubious tracks.” He mused, his Ice colored hues seemingly sparkled at the mention of racing sparrows through the wilds, dodging an array of always changing obstacles and danger.

“Plusssss he got into trouble!” Came the melodic, singing filled the air around them, it’s tones continually shifting much like a wind chime in the breeze. Shifting out of the transmat zone, Jade lazily spun through the air, it’s Jadeite shell catching flecks of sun through the window. “Commander Baldy was super mad we were away, exploring for so long. Far far away! He can stay mad though, I got to see the Ocean!” The chiming notes changed as the little ghost giggled while spinning in place, leaving her Guardian with a look of amusement painting his face.

“We may have gone further than what the Vanguard trio allowed. Zavala is. . .Zavala and I don’t quite see eye to eye, so to speak. He seems off put by what I’ve been trying to do for a bit now. After talking with Ikora, he sort of overheard what Jadeite and I were trying to accomplish, then he sort of put us on leave.” The man gave a light shrug of his shoulders, head cocked to one direction as he nuzzled the ghost that floated into the crook of his neck. Every twirl of Jadeite's shell tinkled against the few piercings he had up the edge of his ear.

“We got grounded. Not allowed to take part in guardian duties for a whole week. No flying off to other planets, or halfway around the world.” The little ghosts melodic chimes had gone low, it’s verdant shell drooping slightly.

“But we’ll be able to catch Holiday’s race later, so there is that.” He crooned. The thought of watching a sparrow race seemed to have perked her up now that she was pin wheeling through the air. “So since I don’t have any prior engagements to worry about, might as well take it easy and get to know some of the people that have been a big help during missions. Are you going to participate in the Crimson Crucible? Bet you’d make a few great shots in there.”

#rainadragomir #Devrimsperch #Destiny

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kitten-and-crow · 6 years

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Black Butler Ciel and Sebastian Figurine Collection-Review

I honestly don’t know much about these figures. I’m pretty sure that mine are knockoffs, so I don’t know if I can use the box to figure things out, and I can’t find much online... Based on the box these figures are a product of XTRA by tsume. It’s all a little confusing though...I think the language on the box is French. It translates to: “Tsume invites you to discover the work of Yana Toboso through beautiful collectible Black Butler collectibles.” and “The Xtra by Tsume figurines from Ciel and Sebastian are complete! Their compatible pedestals are the most refined duo in the world of manga.”. What makes me think they are knockoffs other than the language (It is possible that it is just a collab that I’m unaware of-Someone please help me with this!) is how the figures look themselves. I’ll go over this below, but essentially my issue is that they do not look like the product images from ‘official’ sources.

Price: I paid $25 for both together.

Packaging: The two figures, even though they go together, do not come packaged together. Each has its own box. The boxes are quite simple (kind of flimsy) with no safety packaging within. I seem to remember that the figures were inside plastic bags, separate from the other accessories. However, they got knocked around a lot within the box itself. The outside of the box has the inside character on the front and back of the box, and then has pictures of the two characters combined on the sides. Each character box comes with accessories. Sebastian’s comes with a stand and his silverware. Ciel’s comes with his stand and a rose. One of them comes with a larger stand with the contract seal that they can both stand on. I don’t remember which box it was though.

Ciel: The ‘official’ image above shows Ciel’s paint job to be much more rich and vibrant. My figure’s colors are a bit more dull. Rather than a royal blue, Ciel’s clothes are a jean blue color. I don’t mind the differences in color too much. I actually think he looks more realistic with this color change. Anyway, The figure is quite cute. I like the Ciel figure best of the two. His eyes are surprisingly accurate. There is something about the face/head that I don’t like, but I’m not too sure what it is. I think it may be how flat his hair is...? He comes with a tiny top hat that is decorated with a white and blue ribbon and roses. The roses in the above picture are blue, mine has much darker roses (gray/black). Around his neck is a collar of white lace. The lace around his collar, neck-bow, and wrists each have the same embroidery. It’s a little hard to see the embroidery on the lace at his neck because it is on the side that faces towards his neck. He does have buttons on his vest, and a frog and chain on his jacket, as well as a painted pocket at his breast. However, those details are a little...messy. It really doesn’t look that much better in the image above, so that makes me somewhat relieved. I think it would have been better had they given the frog and chain a little more texture so it didn’t look like an afterthought. This figure does not come with the appropriate seams with very few exceptions. Honestly, I was shocked to find that there was a seam indicating his pants opening. He has white socks and brown shoes with black and silver buckles. He has one of his rings on, but is missing his thumb ring (not that you would be able to see it), and he does not have earrings. The rose is a cute accessory-it is done in much deeper red and green than pictured above.

Sebastian: He has a horse face. Sebastian’s face annoys me. I can already tell I’ll be having Ciel facing the outside of the display when I get my curio set up. Sebastian’s face is just really long and thin. I realize that this is how he is supposed to be, but this figure seems to have taken things a little far. Or, perhaps, it is the positioning of his head that gives off this sense of wrongness. Despite this, his facial expression is quite nice. His eyes are spot on. Some of his hair is a little chunky (probably looks that way due to the face shape), but it is also mostly accurate. Some of the hand painted (I assume) parts of his suit are a little messy. My Sebby also has what appears to be a crack down his hand. The hand that faces outwards is supposed to have more detail than mine does, but is missing much of that. I may end up fixing that myself later since it is very glaring. His suit is actually decent. He has all of his silver parts (pin, buttons, fob watch), and they looked quite detailed. His fob watch chain is even braided and ends in his pocket as it should. Sebastian doesn’t have all of his seams either, but he does have more than Ciel does. Also, some of his creases make it look like he has seams, so it’s not so bad. I’m not sure what to think about his crotch area...don’t ask. His shoes appear to be detailed enough, but it’s hard to tell with all of the shiny black being the same color and all. His other hand also looks poorly painted. Sigh. He comes with 6 pieces of silverware (3xknives, 3xforks). I haven’t tried putting them in his hands yet. I’m hoping it doesn’t go poorly. I’m worried about having to take him off the base to put in the knives that go behind his back. I’m not looking forward to that.

Overall: I actually do like these figures. They’ve never been on the top of my list of figures to buy. The only reason I bought them now is because I had money that needed to be spent immediately, and not enough to get a better quality item. The imperfections (most of them) are not overly apparent unless you get up close. The only major issue that I found is the crack in Sebastian’s glove. I think I can cover that with paint. We’ll see. They are not the best quality, but they are cute. I especially adore that they can share the same stand. I have zero intention of putting them on separate stands. This is just so perfect. The only problem is if I have to remove them from their stands. They were horribly difficult to put on their stands. Even now they are coming up off them. I may have to get some sticky stuff to tack them down. It doesn’t help that you have to kind of force apart their legs to get them onto the pegs. Sigh. Anyway, I do recommend these to any Kuro collector. However, I would get them towards the end of your collection, or when you just have a few dollars in your pocket. I certainly would not spend more than $20 or so for the set (unless the official version is better) though.

#black butler #merch review #merchandise #ciel #sebastian

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abassi-okoro · 5 years

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THE ANGRY WHITE WOMEN

by Abassi Okoro Eziokwu

Hate is too strong of an emotion to waste on people who don't deserve it. I hate Meghan McCain. Rather I hate what she represents, angry white femininity. It was an angry white woman who caused the savage annihilation of Emmet Till. It is the knee-jerk reactions of angry white women who call the police on black people for doing nothing more than blinking one too many times. White women are just always angry with something or someone. Have you noticed that? Despite the racial stigma that black women are often awarded, the “ANGRY BLACK FEMALE,” at least black anger is justifiably directed at a specific or definitive idea – RACISM!

Black anger carries a certain rationale, a certain sanity. It's understandable to sympathize with the anger of a people who are systematically and institutionally oppressed, abused, and persecuted – and that's only talking about black MEN! Now add to that persecution the reality of being a black WOMAN and your abuse has just gotten worse. But in 2019, you would think that it is "White Women" who are the benefactors of white male infliction or structured social abuse and oppression. It seems that every time we tune into FOX, CNN, or some feminist round table television talk show - there is no shortage of snarling, beady-eyed, 'trembling in anger' blonde-haired, white women all too eager to tell the whole of America how they're outraged over something or someone or how “women” (which is really code for WHITE women) are discriminated against more than black folk in this country.

These white women remind me of yappy little – big eyed Chihuahuas barking uncontrollably at the slightest insignificant sound or purely imagined discomfort. When white folks profess their anger over something, they call it "Outrage." Black folks call it, "White Tears." They're always stepping out of line, ridiculing and pointing fingers and especially when it comes to American Patriotism. Nothing gets these white women barking louder than the notion that American "Ideals" are being threatened by black people's audacity to call to attention racism or the fear that immigration of Hispanic people is going to colorize and lord forbid, "colonize" lily white neighborhoods like Boise Idaho or Cedar Rapids Iowa (because I'm sure that one of the whitest towns in America is worried to death over some Mexicans coming in and stealing their warehouse associate jobs at the Adam's Lumber Yard). Or the worse case scenario, Colin Kaepernick takes a knee. Tomi Lahren every week on her show damn near had a complete mental and emotional meltdown anytime Colin Kaepernick's name was mentioned. Despite my thoughts of her anger being nothing more than a cover-up for wanting to sleep with him, she didn't fail once at getting her "outrage" out to the American public. Meanwhile, white male executives who control the FOX network had no problem offering her the platform to exploit her little annoying blonde ass.

Megyn Kelly spends a great majority of her airtime interpreting innocent remarks or acts as "sexist." That's why she always has a frog up her ass, she thinks everything is sexual. Meghan McCain's shtick is that everyone and anyone who falls short of worshipping white Jewish people is, "Anti-Semitic." Then there's the rest of American white women in general who have a long history of voting against their own best interests. White women historically have always been proponents of white supremacy and the Feminist movement is an off-shoot of that white supremacy. Black women told you that years ago that white women were going into the black neighborhoods trying to recruit black women for white feminine agendas while suggesting to these black women that they would have to leave their families, give up their black men before they could be part of the “Women's Liberation Movement.”

And so many black women did exactly that. They stopped being mothers, wives, caretakers, they got jobs in corporate America, became “secretaries” in white owned companies, put on a business suit, told their kids, “I ain't cooking shit - I ain't got to take care of you,” traded in their natural hair for a perm, learned how to talk “white” on the phone and if the police came knocking at the door, they had no problem turning in their black boyfriend or black husband and especially if he was not treating her right. The white feminist snatched up many of these black women and said, “We're sisters now” and eventually sisters became partners and partners over time became "lovers." Meanwhile, white men were locking up black men over petty shit like 10 to 20 years for $10 of weed. That's called, “Engineered Racism” folks.

BUT WHY ARE WHITE WOMEN SO ANGRY?

I'm not suggesting that only certain people are allowed to be angry (the oppressed) but it sure does make more sense for oppressed to be angry and non-oppressed to NOT be so angry. Unless of course you're implying that white women are an oppressed marginalized group? I was told that white women are angry over gender inequality and especially in the political arena. Makes sense - if I was ignorant that is. When asked a little under two years ago how Donald Trump got elected, the answer that was told to us was because the people who voted for him were white and angry. They were suffering from financial anxiety and Trump's rhetoric of bringing jobs back to America sounded pretty darn good to Becky and Bob. Now here we are in 2019 and those Trump voters who were white and angry are STILL white and they’re STILL angry but only now they're angry because they STILL haven't landed those good ole' American jobs that they were promised back in 2016 and on top of that, Trump is more concerned with building a wall to keep Mexicans out than opening up a factory in your already dilapidated - one sheriff- rural town. I'm sure it feels awful to white people who just aren't accustomed to being bent over and screwed in the ass. But if you need a shoulder to cry on white people, give people of color a call. We're experienced at being lied to by white assholes. The grief counseling hotline after being lied to by white men is 1-800-YOU-DUMB. Negroes, Mexicans and Native Americans are waiting by the line to accept your calls.

FEMINIST RAGE 101

White women in particular are encouraging each other to let out their anger in the face of the current administration. Yet, white women have failed miserably in dismantling racism. It appears that white women's rage only became a thing when white men became indifferent to white female sexuality. In other words, white men simply are not that into you (just like the movie suggested). When white men were abusing women of color, sexually exploiting black women, committing sexual violence against black women with impunity, and we didn't hear a single outcry from white women. Instead, white women actually downplayed and silenced the anger of women of color - hoping that it would gain favor in the eyes of white men. You held out for nothing, he didn't care that you had his back. White men don't need your help with being a racist or a rapist. But in recent years, white women switched and played the role of “Social Activist” and despite all the protests and public outcries and unpaid emotional labor by women of color, what did these "socially aware" white women do? White women turned around and sold black women out. They threw black women under the bus and went out to the polls and voted for the party of toxic white supremacy. It's safe to say that white women are more likely to betray their gender for their race, a proverbial gut-punch to black women who have been victims of white masculinity for generations. White women should be more ashamed than angry.

Bu let me tell you how angry white women really are. White women are so angry that 53% of them put their white privilege above their 2nd class gender status to vote for Donald Trump. Despite their "anger," white women believe they benefit from white male patriarchy by trading on their whiteness to monopolize resources for mutual gain. In return, they’re placed on a pedestal to be “cherished and revered,” by white men who in reality will not only be quick to deny them their basic human rights but will, "Grab them by the pussy" while denying them. Look, let's cut through the bullshit and just go ahead and be brutally honest: White women, your white man will NEVER love you the way he should (to full capacity.) Maybe because he spends most of his time fantasizing over black, Latin and Asian women. He'll never tell you that, but I will! Hurts doesn't it? Maybe that's why you're angry because despite supporting the system of White Supremacy, you know deep down inside your soul that the whole premise of white supremacy is predicated on white male sexual inadequacy (white genetic survival, penis envy and trying to get back into the womb of the black woman in order to recreate himself without the genetic deficiencies). Isn't that why many of your fellow white women leave their white men to be with black men to begin with? Because even white women know who the real KINGS are (Royal blood). Now pick your jaw up off the floor.

Isn't this the real reason for white female fragility? The answer is yes! There exist a lot of truths about ourselves that most of us aren't willing to explore. For white people, some of those truths paint them in a very pathetic light. I'm sorry, but as a white woman in America - you're simply not a victim of anything structural. You may be a victim to some personal and isolated incident but there is no systemic or institutionalized "ism" in place to destroy you and NO, Sexism isn't your collective oppression. You can't claim that because sexism isn't exclusive to just the female gender and white men have always treated you like shit and so don't start acting like now all of a sudden you have a problem with being his bitch and especially after 53% of you voted in a "Pussy Grabber" as your President. GROW UP white women. Pull yourself together ladies. It's not a good look to be angry for no goddamn reason.

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nofomoartworld · 7 years

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Art F City: SLIDESHOW: Mexico City Galleries, Part 3

The diversity and sheer volume of art on view in Mexico City at any given point in time never ceases to amaze me. This week, I had an uncommonly un-cerebral experience of conceptual art critic Robert C. Morgan’s retrospective at Proyectos Monclova. At the opposite end of the aesthetic spectrum, I went down the rabbit hole of curator Iñaki Herranz’s pleasantly chaotic survey of young Mexican artists, El placer de la incertidumbre, at Casa de Cultura San Rafael. And at Museo Experimental el Eco, got to check out Folke Köbberling & Arturo Hernández having a demolition derby in the name of international relations and clean air.

Of course, I snapped plenty of pictures of all of the above.

Robert C. Morgan: Concept and Painting

Proyectos Monclova Colima 55, Col. Roma Norte, Mexico D.F. On view until April 29th

Robert C. Morgan has been an art critic, conceptual art theorist, and teacher for five decades. He’s somehow managed to keep up a studio practice—a feat at which I marvel. This exhibition includes documentation from his early experiments with Gutai-like performances, abstract paintings, and photo collages. Curiously (for a retrospective, his first in Latin America) it doesn’t include much in the way of wall text, so viewers are left a bit in the dark as to context or even dates. But that reveals something else: nearly all of Morgan’s work looks like it could’ve been made in 1970 or 2017. That realization is somehow rewarding and reassuring in and of itself.

There’s an unusual sense of luxuriousness to Morgan’s minimalist abstractions, which oddly make them feel less like “decor” (a common criticism of abstract painting) yet more like textile or ceramic motifs. I’m having a hard time resolving that contradiction in terms internally/logically. But the “presence” of certain paintings feel more like kimono fabric or flags for an esoteric ceremony than the brand of hard-edged painting one might encounter in a hotel lobby. That’s an association that might be based on the inclusion of Morgan’s ritualistic performance documentation or regal color palette. Whatever the reason, it’s a must-see-in-person kind of show, largely because that aura isn’t done justice by photography nor language.

Alcázar: Crushed Autogeddon

Museo Experimental el Eco Calle Sullivan 43 Col. San Rafael, México DF On view until 28th of May

Mexico and Germany are in the midst of a year-long cultural exchange known as the Año dual Alemania – México. Through this program, artists Folke Köbberling & Arturo Hernández Alcázar were united for a collaboration. They decided to comment on the (in)famous auto industries of both Mexico and Germany, in particular Volkswagen’s emissions-test-cheating scandal and the problem of air pollution in the Mexican capital. The two decided to strip old cars down for parts, recycling the usable components into bicycles (which were distributed in the park across from the museum) and the unusable components into an installation.

It’s a great idea, but a lot more could’ve been done with the “useless” remnants. As it stands, the installation is evocative of (but less interesting than) the junk markets of Iztapalapa. I’m more curious about those bicycles, which I’m assuming are out being used rather than put on a pedestal. The video documentation of the pair furiously dismantling cars alternates between monotonous and vicariously cathartic—what city dweller hasn’t dreamt of taking a sledgehammer to the hood of a particularly loud or smelly car?

The installation is at its best in the courtyard, which Alcázar transformed into a functional metal-smelting forge. There, the aluminum skeletons of cars were melted down and poured into a blindingly-reflective floor sculpture that looks a bit like a Jackson Pollock painting. It’s really what makes a visit to the museum worth it—but I don’t recommend staring directly into it at noon.

El placer de la incertidumbre

A burning truck-shack from Vlocke. Also pictured: a super creepy banner of someone in a latex Donald Trump mask beckoning visitors inside.

Curated by Iñaki Herranz Casa de Cultura San Rafael. Calle José Rosas Moreno 110. Colonia San Rafael, Delegación Cuauhtémoc, D.F. Artists: Emerson Balderas, Julia Carrillo Escalera, Andrea Garza Romero, Abraham González, Antonio Gritón, Henri & Nazka, Iñaki Herranz, Julia, Isauro Huizar, Carolina Magis, Tláhuac Mata, Enrique Minjares Padilla, Josué Morales, Francisco Muñoz, Miguel Ángel, Patricio Jose, Fernando Pizarro, Miguel Ángel Salazar, Marcia Santos, Ricardo Sierra, Taller El Ajolote/Noé Vázquez, Roberto Tostado, Javier Velázquez Cabrero, Allan Villavicencio, Vlocke Luther Blizer, Pamela Zeferino y Ediciones Gato Negro (León Muñoz SAntini, Juan López & Andrea García Flores). Invitado especial: el niño Pablo.

The majority of artwork I’ve seen in Mexico City has been in the context of immaculate modernist spaces that put most blue chip galleries’ Chelsea digs to shame. Walking into Casa de Cultura San Rafael, however, feels refreshingly like entering a ramshackle squat in the best way possible. In reality, it’s the neighborhood cultural center, and the exhibitions programing (comprising dozens of artists) overlaps with the center’s workshops, studio programs, and events. Even the small library has been reshuffled to arrange the books in a color gradient rather than by subject or author.

That vibe is reinforced by the anarchic curatorial style—the exhibition’s conceit is one of uncertainty and the nervous excitement that accompanies the creation and display of artwork. The atrium is dominated by what looks like years’ worth of graffiti (a piece by Jocelyn Nieto) and in at least one gallery Pamela Zeferino has peeled away chunks of the white ceiling paint to reveal a former layer—sky blue, which gives the impression of a disintegrating roof. Works are hung in odd locations (over doorways, nestled among potted plants, in windows separating artist studios from public spaces) and even overtly political pieces have a playful sensibility.

I’m thinking especially of Marcia Santos’s t-shirts, which are screen printed with common questions and answers exchanged between US border agents and Mexican nationals during crossings (“Where are you coming from? My house, I live in Juárez. Where are you going? Shopping.” etc…) . There’s a sense of absurdist dark humor to the shirt, one that’s cemented to the even more absurd reality of the militarized border by her documentary photos, which depict the artist handing the shirts out to travelers near the checkpoint.

Marcia Santos

Antonio Gritón with Carolina Magis. “In Nawatl (the Valley of Mexico’s indigenous language) the ‘ñ’ doesn’t exist. It was used on them in the conquest”.

Ediciones Gato Negro

A Barbie-inspired take on Angélica Rivera, Mexico’s first lady, who was at the center of a scandal involving her husband’s abuse of power in regards to a multi-million dollar real estate scheme involving her suburban mansion. Watch out Melania. The display case includes her notorious “Casa Blanca” and evidence of how much media attention the dolls attracted.

detail of a wall-full of schematic drawings by Ricardo Sierra

Tlahuac Mata

Tlahuac Mata’s delicate oil painting of an improvised lean-to propped up against a concrete wall was unexpectedly moving. Its position near the ornate plaster ceiling—two contrasting visions of “a roof over your head”—was especially effective.

Disaster landscape paintings by Tlahuac Mata (L) and Patrício José (R).

Julia Carrillo Escalera. A mirrored sculpture that focuses on a single pane of the window, flanked by geometric abstractions on paper.

Work by an artist known solely as “Pablo”.

Painting and strange, plant-eating sculpture by Allan Villavicencio.

More recent Mexico City coverage:

We Went to Gabriel Orozco’s OXXO

SLIDESHOW: Mexico City Galleries, Part 1

SLIDESHOW: Mexico City Galleries, Part 2

Museum Punk Show in Need of A Sound Guy

Material Light on Substance, Heavy With Dick Pics

Slideshow: Zona MACO, The Art Fair Where Commerce and Politics Make Strange Bedfellows

We Went to Mexico: General Idea at Museo Jumex Restored Our Faith in Art For Fuck’s Sake

We Went to Mexico: Barbara Kruger and Juan Pablo de la Vega Take the Subway

The Timelessness of Sex, Violence, and Portraiture: Otto Dix at MUNAL

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