#also v practice because despite my past in the artistic world

[umblrspectrum]

give a woman psychic robo powers and obviously shes gonna use it for petty shit

[aestheticseungmean]

Can you do a idol au for ATEEZ jongho where him and hongjoong have the opportunity to work with a western artist (their main language is English but are learning Korean) and them and jongho hit it off and become friends, until one of them forms a crush 💞 (gender neutral reader please)

I Like You Very Much-Choi Jongho

As an upcoming yet very popular artist, when you suggested to collaborate with Ateez, KQ jumped at the opportunity. It just so happens that the maknae harbours feelings for you.

Gender neutral reader

Warnings: minor cussing

3.4K words

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You were an up and coming artist, sparking interest all over the world with your music. Radio stations and TV shows clamoured to get you into their shows and those who were able to get you, shot up in rating. You talked about all your interests, plans for the future, and the inevitable dating scene. Interviewers often chuckled when you say you are single and not ready to mingle, agreeing with you even though they were all married. The one question that you get asked the most is: “Who would you like to collaborate with on an upcoming album?” The answer is always the same, Ateez. You appreciated the few interviewers who knew the group, but more often than not, you found yourself explaining who they were.

On the other hand, Ateez, despite debuting in 2018, were finding their way into other countries, capturing attention alongside you. They typically get all the same questions from the same interviewers with the same reactions. In one interview, the radio announcer had asked how Ateez felt about you wanting to collab. To which they cheered and wished the same. Apparently, most listened to your music daily, while stretching, working out, lounging around, or even just to create a dance to. An insane amount of pride went bursting through your chest as you listened to them praise you. Ateez, especially, Hongjoong and Jongho, talked excitedly about you, your music, your aesthetic, and overall how you were their favourite English artist.

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Your one year debut anniversary was coming up and you were planning a safe world tour featuring your first songs, as well as the most popular ones. After talking with your company, your plan was to hit a bunch of places, including: America, Canada, Australia, the UK, France, China, Germany, Japan, Brazil, and South Korea to name a few. Many fans sent videos of them showing their support for you. In the same time, Ateez also had a Korean tour as well, performing in some of the same places as you. Just the thought alone exited you. With your trusty manager, Sadie, your language tutor, Mina, and your best friend/personal hype-man, Jake, you were set to go.

Mina sat upon your bed, watching as you frantically pack clothes to practice and sleep in. “You know we have clothes we have to give you? Being famous means you have an image to maintain.” “An expensive one,” you rolled your eyes, knowing that the outfits designed for you were no less than a thousand dollars. “Alright, let’s brush up on your Korean. Sadie said you had the most interviews there so let’s not make a fool of ourselves.” Mina started listing off random words, leaving you to translate them. Between deciphering Korean and remembering what to pack, your brain fried worse than Kaminari after he overused his quirk. Of course you weren’t walking around with a dumb expression but on the inside you were.

Sometimes, you wondered why you released your song on YouTube and why you signed on the dotted line, but so far you’ve managed. Sure there have been haters, but the amount of support outweighs the haters. Besides, when you feel like quitting, you remember all the amazing artists who have encouraged you to pursue your dreams, and your career. With the likes of Lizzo, Ariana Grande, Meghan Thee Stallion, Lewis Capaldi, Billie Eilish, BTS, and Cardi B all supporting your music, you had no reason to listen to the haters. You only need to focus on a good world tour anyways.

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The tour finally made its way into Seoul. With an unfathomable amount of want for the tickets, your company decided to hold four shows, plus the ungodly amount of interviews. This week was sure to be a tiring week, and you might sleep 24 hours straight when you get home, but it’s worth it to see the fans cheering you as you sang your songs.

The first night, you performed your songs and interacted with the fans in your broken korean. The second night was the same, save for a few idols who came to your show. You were surprised to see a few members of NCT and BTS up in the stands, dancing and wearing your merch. The third night was the night your company decided to surprise you with a last-minute duet of your song “Weeping Willow” with Jimin. You two sailed smoothly through it despite the lack of knowledge of whether your voices would harmonize or collide in a train-wreck.

And last, but not least, the fourth night is where you went all out for your final concert. There were colourful explosions of confetti, pyrotechnics, backup dancers, a live band, etc. You were confused as to why the dancers were there, let alone wearing masks during your performance, but the show must go on, right? Through the night, different dancers came up and spun you around on the stage, baffling you at your skill of dancing while singing. Finally, the final chord of your last song ended allowing you to attempt to talk to the fans in your limited language.

“Thank you guys for coming out to see the show!” The crowd erupted in cheers making you smile. “This country has been very kind to me and I can’t wait to come back. I’ll be here for a few more days so make sure to keep an eye out for me on the streets!” You smiled, hoping you could meet a few fans in your last few days, maybe get some pictures with them. “This has been an amazing concert, although, I do have to say, the dancers surprised me,” you admitted, rubbing the fabric covering your legs nervously. All of a sudden, the crowd went crazy, chanting “turn around” at you. So you did.

Immediately, you dropped to your knees, hiding your face. Standing in front of you in the dancers’ outfits, holding masks, were the one and only, Ateez. You had been performing with them for the past few hours without realizing. “Your manager called us, asking if we’d come surprise you for your birthday. We couldn’t resist. I hope you don’t mind.”You recognized the voice as Hongjoong’s. Of course Sadie would do this. She knew how much you loved Ateez, but she went all out this time. You looked up, your eyes watering from crying tears of embarrassment, joy, and anger. A few boys rushed to make sure you were okay as soon as they spotted the tears. On the screen at the back of the stage, you caught a glimpse of your hunched figure, crying. “This is so amazing,” you managed to stutter out.

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After the show, you headed to the back with the boys to find the two managers talking with each other in hushed words. When they noticed you, they stopped their conversation and turned towards you. “So?” Sadie asked, waiting for your reaction. “I hate you…But I absolutely love you, Sadie.” “I thought so. Now, all of you, go get changed, we are going out to eat, company’s treat,” She said, holding up a card which you recognized as the company credit card. In an instant, you were rushing to your dressing room to change, stomach growling loudly.

The van waiting outside for you, was giant. Maybe a twelve seater. All eleven of you piled in, the managers sitting in the front seats while you and the boys filed into the other seats. “Would you mind doing a V-Live with us?” Seonghwa asked, pulling out a phone. “No, but I don’t know what to do.” “Just be you,” he replied, laughing. Throughout the whole ride, you were sandwiched in between San and Wooyoung who wouldn’t stop making you laugh while Seonghwa flirted to the camera. The others talked or closed their eyes for a little rest before you got to the restaurant. Not once did you feel out of place as well.

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It’s been a few months since you met Ateez on your world tour. You kept in touch through texting since San slipped his number into your phone without you noticing. Not that you were complaining anyways. When you mentioned you were working on a new album but struggling, some of the boys offered to call you, to talk of course, not figure out what the next song will be so they can get a headstart on learning it. Eventually, you took them up on that offer and Hongjoong called. You two talked for what seemed like an eternity, talking about concepts and themes.

The call seemed to help you majorly. You ended up finishing two songs and wrote the meanings behind them, a habit you had because you sucked at explaining things. Hongjoong, on the other hand, got some beats done for a few of Ateez’s future songs. You were still on the phone with him when you realized that you were writing the songs to the few beats you heard. “SHIT!” “When did you learn to cuss in Korean?” Your wooden pencil was slammed down on the desk, breaking. “That’s not the problem. The problem is, I’ve been writing my songs to your beats. I mean I know they can be for another beat but the producers are going to ask me how I want to sing it. I’ll just end up singing it to your beats,” You whined.

Hongjoong laughed. “Let’s hear it then.” “Hear what?” You heard shuffling on the phone before a few mouse clicks. “Let’s hear you sing along to the beats,” he said, hitting play on the computer, starting the music. You sighed and sang along with your lyrics, surprised at how well the music coincided. “You know what? I think I’ll send these beats to you. They sound better with your lyrics anyway,” Hongjoong complimented, hitting send. “You don’t have to,” You protested only to be met with the notification that Hongjoong had sent it to you anyways. “Too late. Can you imagine if we collabed on a song, or an album?”

“That would be amazing, but I know I wouldn’t be able to keep up with your dance skills. Even your least skilled dancer is freaking amazing. Oh wait...You don’t have one because who the hell is the least skilled dancer in Ateez?” you complained, yet complimented at the same time. “Please, you could keep up. You are a ball of energy.” “A ball of energy with two left feet, Joong.” You shut your notebook and put it away, cleaning up your desk. “I don’t believe you.” “You don’t have to, just know it’s true. Anyways, it’s 3am here. I need to go to bed.” He shifted in his seat and frowned. “Okay. I’ll talk to you later. Sweet dreams!” “Night, Joong,” you said before hanging up the phone and throwing yourself on your bed, falling into a deep sleep.

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The producers absolutely loved your songs with Hongjoong’s beats. So much so that the company immediately wanted a collaboration. For the next few weeks, before the release of your newest album, the executives buckled down on getting that ‘magic’ song that would take the world by storm. It wasn’t long before the people at KQ agreed, knowing that the collaboration between Ateez and you would bring media and attention to the latter. And soon, you found yourself on a plane, in business class (because first class was too empty and economy was too crowded) to Seoul.

A few people were eager to see you, but most went to sleep as it was five in the morning. Thankfully, you were granted a window seat so you could look out at the view. Most of the time though, you found yourself entranced in the movies they offered on flight, catching up on the new Tom and Jerry movie. And before you knew it, you found yourself landing in Seoul. Your manager, who enjoyed first class, got off the plane and waited for you. Many fans waited with Ateez signs as you walked by, confused.

On the other side of the crowd, Ateez waited patiently to surprise you with their presence. They begged and begged the company to go get you instead of sending one of their scary bodyguards to. Finally, they gave in, allowing the boys to go get you. Word got out though and that meant they had to keep undercover. Or at least try to, which was not Wooyoung’s strong suit. At one point, Hongjoong threatened Wooyoung to get him to shut up. It worked up until Wooyoung saw you, making your way out of the crowd. He and the others ran up to you, suffocating you in a hug. “Let’s get to the van before the crowd doesn’t let us leave,” Hongjoong commanded.

They rushed you to the van, ushering you in before clamouring in themselves. This time around, you were in between Yunho and Jongho. You greeted them politely, your korean better this time around due to talking with the boys constantly. “So, you’ll be staying at a hotel not far from us. We’ll be sure to always have someone to come get you,” Seonghwa said, relaying the information he had been given. “The whole someone coming to get me is extra.” “Nonsense,” Wooyoung exclaimed. “It’s rude to have a guest and not guarantee their safety. Besides some of our families would have our heads if they found out we weren’t doing the utmost for you,” he added playfully.

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The next day, you dressed in comfortable clothing, not caring about your fashion. The agenda for the day was to write a song with Hongjoong and Jongho. When you first found out you were only collabing with those two, you felt a little sad, but when Sadie told you it was a trial collab, to see how well it would do, it didn’t make it any better, in fact, you felt worse. You protested and argued for the whole group, but all the bosses said was, “If this goes well, you can have an entire album with them.” Sure, the excitement for an entire album with Ateez would be amazing, but what if it didn’t go well?

You thought about that the entire time it took you to get to the KQ building. Only then, it was Jongho who brought you out of your head. “Hey, ________! The studio is this way. It’s my first time watching Hongjoong hyung make the beats,” He said, smiling brightly. You couldn’t help but smile back. “Mkay, Jongho. Lead the way,” You mumbled, following the maknae to a secluded room. Inside, Hongjoong was already set up at the computer, messing with some beats.

You took in the room around you. The lights were dimmed, probably to help hongjoong focus. A sleek desk with a soundboard was pushed up against a wall with glass, allowing you to look into the other room. A few of the spinny chairs were worn down, a sign of heavy usage. In the other room, you could see a typical setup for a sound booth. A microphone stood in the middle, headphones hanging off of it. The sound-proof padding looked fairly new with a few different instruments lining the walls. It reminded you of home. Of the studio you usually work in.

Hongjoong greeted you as soon as he caught a glimpse of movement. “Hey guys! I was checking some different beats and tunes for the song.” “You’re good. Shall we get started?” You asked, pulling out your beat up notebook. “That thing has seen better days,” Jongho joked, looking at the binding peeling off. You giggled and nodded. “I’ve had it for many years. I need a new one, but I haven’t gotten around to it. Besides, this has all my songs. Even the unsung ones.” “So that’s your most prized possession then?”

“I guess you could say that,” you hummed. “But it’s not like I’m playing keep away with it. I don’t care if you guys read it because I trust you. It’s randomly leaving it in public and never seeing it again that I’m worried about.” “Understandable. My flash drive is always with me,” Hongjoong said, pointing to the drive that was sticking out from the computer. “ You smiled softly at Hongjoong and grabbed your pencil. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

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The next few days were tedious with the finishing of the song, the practicing of pronunciation for both parties, and making the beat. You found yourself growing closer to the two boys, even helping write a few of their future songs. In response, they taught you how to make beats and successfully break an apple, although that only happened once and you still haven’t been able to do it again. There was a different aura around them when you hung out. Hongjoong felt more calm and brotherly even, whilst Jongho had a more timid feeling. Like he was hiding something. You pushed it off, thinking it was him being a bit skeptical of you still.

When you finally thought all the hard work was done, Hongjoong dropped a choreography on you. The thing you dreaded the most. Thankfully, the duo were willing to take things step by step slowly with you, guiding you through the most miniscule things. A couple of the days, Hongjoong couldn’t make it, leaving you to practice with Jongho, who became more stand-offish.

Until you had enough of the ridiculous behaviour because it had come out of nowhere. “Are you okay, Jongho? Is there something I’m doing wrong?” You asked, taking a drink. “No, you’re dancing fine.” “I meant generally? You seemed fine in the beginning and now you look like you think I’m poisonous. Do you not like me?” Jongho looked taken aback, mouth opening and closing like a fish gaping for water as he tried to figure out the words he wanted to say. “It’s not that,” He managed. “Then what is it? I don’t want to feel like I have to walk on glass around you.” “Let’s just get this choreo learned okay?” You huffed and got back to practicing, angry that he ignored your question.

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“Okay, one more time,” the producer demanded, signalling you to start your verse over again. You did as he asked and cheered when he praised you. “Jongho, you’re up.” “You got this, Jongho,” you tried to encourage him. He gave you a nervous half-hearted smile and headed to do his part. He sang beautifully, even more than when you three were practicing by yourselves. You couldn’t help the cold chills that ran up your arms giving you goosebumps. “Woah,” you breathed out, in wonder.

You went to praise Jongho again, exclaiming how he was so amazing. An embarrassed smile graced his features making your heart swell. “So cute!” “Quiet, everyone,” the producer said, preparing for Hongjoong’s rap. You turned your attention towards the leader, preparing yourself for his rapping. Jongho took this chance to excuse himself from the room. As usual, Hongjoong owned his rap and you almost felt bad for Jongho missing it, but then you remembered that he could easily hear it again later.

It was a quick session after Hongjoong finished. Just a few harmonies here and there and you were done for the day. All of the boys wanted to go out for food to celebrate. Yeosang offered to go to the chicken place on the other side of town and Mingi agreed. Once again, you found yourself sitting by Jongho, except this time, you were sitting in the pair of seats in the second row, allowing it to be just you two. He pulled out a package and handed it to you, blushing. “I got you this.” You smiled and took the carefully wrapped package.

“Can I open this now or do I have to wait?” “Um, you can now,” Jongho said, his ears turning red. You opened the wrapping carefully to find a new journal. “Oh my god, Jongho!” You opened the cover to look at the pages to find a cute little note waiting. Jongho had written the words ‘I like you very much’ in english, with cute little doodles surrounding it. “Wait? Like-” “Like a crush,” he stuttered. “Well, I like you too Jongho,” you admitted, gaining a few wolf whistles from the surrounding boys that were watching the exchange.

[noocturnalchild]

SEALED IN MARBLE  Chapter V A little Devil and an Invitation

“Then the Lord God formed the man of dust from the ground and breathed into his nostrils the breath of life, -“

You recited the bible, blowing a slow breath on the white crevice you shaped on the curve of a marbled nostril, while looking at him, playful.

“…and the man became a living creature.” He completed, refined priest, always ready to reply with verses.

You had established a fragile familiarity throughout the last few sessions with “Vicente”. Slowly exploring each other’s character, both moths drawn to the flame of your attraction to each other but too cautious to burn your fragile wings if you let it consume you.

You gave him an admirative look, that faded slowly to suspicious as he averted his eyes again.

“You seem to know your bible, sir” you laughed.

“Pious man, I see” you added when your model didn’t reply, a frown gracing his beautiful brows, it was maddening. The sight in front of you was maddening, his muscular, graceful shape sitting on a rock, white linen cloth loosely thrown on his manhood, barely covering his thighs as light danced on his skin, seemed to kiss his flesh warmly.

“You seem equally  knowledgeable –“

You puffed a mocking laugh, that earned you a deeper frown.

“I have my special reasons…“ you simply said, careful not to give away too much too soon.

“Would you enlighten an ignorant man?” Francisco was outdoing himself, he who had never had a private conversation with a lady before, let alone with a young beautiful one, that seemed to not waste a chance of displaying a plump cleavage for his eyes, more and more emboldened, despite his miserable self.

You stilled, brought your pointed chisel to your lip, faking thought.

“Who was Adam to you, my dear Vicente? I’m always interested in knowing my models’ point of view” you lied.

Francisco blushed, trying to focus. He didn’t have to think too much, as his idea was already shaped, solid as stone.

“The first man, father of all men, and… the first sinner” He added, the weight of his faults hidden under his detached tone.

“hum” you smiled.

“Adam was a thinker, the first thinker.”  You resumed your work, carefully curling the point of your tool in the insides of the marble crevice.

Francisco was silent for a moment as he assessed your reply. He definitely knew that he was in the presence of an unconventional woman, but now he was starting to believe that that woman was also… a skeptical?

“Would you, please, …give me more insight…?” he narrowed his eyes, and shifted in his position, investigating, forgetting his purpose.

“Gladly” you smiled brightly, cleaning your hands on your work dress, making it slide higher up your legs, and Francisco’s eyes fell instantly on the newly exposed flesh, and he suppressed a gulp.

Now that you shared your secret with him, you went through your sessions lighthearted and unveiled.

You couldn’t wear all the silk and lace and satin you wanted him to see, but you made sure to be garbed in your work dress, the one you wore when alone in your atelier, a light one, leaving the first buttons of your corset open, revealing the fresh swell of your breasts. You did your hair so that it cascaded sensually on your shoulders, rebel strands caressing your face. You didn’t forget to wear perfume, a hint too much? Maybe, you shrugged when you saw your reflection in the mirror, a radiant smile gracing your lips this time.

“Do you think Adam ate the apple without doing a little bit of thinking? Just because Eve tempted him, used her charms on him?” –you rolled your eyes at the thought— “Or maybe he wanted company just because he woke up one day and felt lonely?” You spoke low, in a tone of confidence, and you noticed with delight how Francisco’s ears heated.

Francisco’s heart looped in his stomach. The woman was blasphemous. How dare she? How dare she question the bible’s telling? How dare she, above all, be so confident and poised about it? Anger heated in his blood for a moment, as his jaw worked a pointed answer, but he then softened. Was it sadness that invaded him suddenly? Or was it compassion? Francisco felt something warmer, maybe weaker than sadness and stronger than compassion, stronger than his anger with you, was it longing? A feeling between wanting and not wanting? He schooled his face, judged better not to dwell on it.

Silence lingered.

“Why did you let me?” He questioned at last, betraying his train of thoughts, nonetheless.

“Let you?” You didn’t expect this question. It took you aback, avoiding the former subject.

“Yes, you let me. I can’t believe it was an accident. What I mean… is that you succeeded to keep your secret away from the world for… years? How many people did you receive in here? During all this time?” His tone betrayed a hint of distrust that he corrected quickly “They… any one could have known, but I saw you, you are a real master of disguise.” he smiled. And then, when he noticed your unease, he pushed gently; “Clarissa? Tell me”. His voice deepened and softened as these last words left his lips, and something in you trembled and burned, very deep.

his voice.

“You are not like them.” You swallowed, faking composure.

“How could you know.. “

If only you knew.

“I wanted to take a risk… I guess. I was tired…” You started shyly. “No… I… I wanted you to be different.” you smiled a little and looked at him with confidence as you exhaled a deep breath. He couldn’t stop himself from smiling back, mirroring your expression, amazed by your sincerity.

Yes, you wanted him to be different. You wanted to give him a chance, and give a chance to yourself. You had been in love before, and you had been loved, or at least, that’s what you thought. You were so much younger and naive. You fell in the arms of a treacherous lover, older than you, Captain of the Guards, a beautiful but so arrogant a man, volatile and cunning. He fogged your head with deceitful words and promises just to toss you away like dirt once he took your innocence and all the love you could give. He left you broken and blank and even if your good-natured heart learned to live and laugh again, it could never feel the gentle tug of that sweet heady feeling, that special sensation deep in your heart and core with any other man. You took lovers after him, just played the game and never allowed any feeling to seep into your cracked soul again. They were all artists, they shared pleasurable time with you and entertained amicable relations with you even when it was over, and you were thankful for the easy and diverting life you were leading, well, until he knocked at your door…

To you, “Vicente” seemed unlike anyone. He looked noble, with a sober character, a stoicism in his manners that you missed in men of your company. Maybe too conventional, to your dismay, but smart and educated. You wanted to know everything about his life. You couldn’t imagine a man like him being a simple servant all his life.

Maybe he lied, you thought.

Why didn’t you think of it earlier? Some of your models presented themselves under false names to protect their privacy, it was common practice.  Some were noblemen and women, sons and daughters of rich notable people of the city, and even when they hid their identity, you ended up knowing. Miguel being the little nosy devil he was, he would go and bring you information you never asked for.  This time, though, Miguel didn’t seem interested in helping you at all. He just hummed, uninterested.  Vicente seemed just like any other servant to him, and he was indeed one, absolutely nothing worth digging for, boring. You found his lack of enthusiasm for the new comer unlike himself, but you just believed him, there was no reason he would lie to you, after all.

*

“Dear god! you look like a brothel madam!“ Miguel exclaimed earlier that morning, incapable of holding his laugh, while you were preparing yourself in front of your mirror.

“You devil! You spying?! Come here!” you laughed back, caught him by his collar, tussling his hair as both of you lost balance and rolled together on the floor.

“I’m so happy, Miguel” you sighed once you regained your breath.

“So am I, my Clarissa” he snuggled his skinny frame into yours and sighed, before looking you in the eyes, a worried shadow covering his eyes “But please… be careful”

You frowned.

“Look who’s giving me advice, my little spy” you pinched his chin. You brushed away the worried expression that didn’t leave his face at your pleasantry, deeming it to his knowledge of your past mistakes.

“Clarissa?” Miguel asked at your door gate as you resumed arranging your hair.

“Hum?” you beamed at him

“Nothing, er…maybe I should go and buy some butter? We are still receiving tomorrow evening?”

“Yes, yes, of course”

And like that, he left in a hurry and you heard his light footsteps running down the granite staircase.

Miguel’s heart was racing as he waited in front of your front door. Of course, he was going to buy butter for tomorrow’s dinner, but before that, he had one thing to do.

Francisco saw Miguel’s familiar silhouette waiting for something, or someone, in front of the atelier’s door. The boy had a habit to stroll around, busy chasing after birds and frogs; Francisco smiled, ready to greet him, but Miguel didn’t seem to return the courtesy. Instead, his eyes sparkled with something severe as he puffed his frail chest.

“Miguel!” Francisco started, stretching one big hand to pat the boy’s hair, but Miguel recoiled from his touch, frowning.

“Why are you still lying to her?” He shouted, voice barely that of a teen, but the words were enough to freeze the blood in Francisco’s veins.

Francisco’s heart leaped in his chest as his hands gripped the gate’s cool iron to ground him.

“Wha…”

“You know what I am talking about here, I know.” Miguel stood his ground.

“What do you know boy?” Francisco couldn’t let a boy intimidate him, so he straightened, full length facing the little being, but Miguel didn’t seem to flinch. Francisco couldn’t help but admire his courage.

“I see how you look at her! and I know you are lying to her! so if you can’t be with her, why are you still coming? Why are you here?”

“You don’t know anything, what are you even trying to tell me?”

“I know you secrets, priest!”

Garupe’s hands were sweating now, barely standing as he felt his whole life going down a black vortex. He must do something. Anything. He grabbed the boy’s sleeve and pulled him to a corner down the road.

Miguel started to yell but Garupe’s big hand blocked his mouth as the other hand kept him in an iron grip.

“Shhh! Miguel, listen to me, I will not hurt you, listen to me!” But the boy tried to bite the priest’s hand, that only tightened on his small face.

“Leehht mmm goh! Mmmmghh”

“Miguel! listen! I don’t want to harm you, and I don’t want to harm her, especially not her” Francisco desperately tried to explain, and Miguel seemed to see some truth in the priest’s eyes, because his taut muscles suddenly loosened up, pressure leaving them as calm regained him, ready to listen to whatever the priest wanted him to know.

He saw how you and Garupe were dancing around each other. He knew about your growing affection for him and he discerned the heated looks he was giving you when you didn’t pay attention… and the looks you were giving him, him paying attention or not. He was knowledgeable of your feelings, knowing you well. What he couldn’t know, were the intentions of “Vicente”, and he was resolved to clear out the matter with him, now.

Being his nosy self, he followed Francisco. The newcomer couldn’t escape Miguel’s tradition after all. As the priest regained his church, he was none the wiser of the small shadow following behind, feather light steps in the blemished darkness of the first hours of dawn.

Miguel lived with that knowledge for weeks, battling with himself over whether he should tell you or not. Smart as he was, he calculated the risks and implications of such discovery. He kept silent, relatively reassured by the fact that you would never take a step and unveil yourself for any of your models. Never, he was sure, even when he saw you visibly falling for that one, every day growing obsessed, not even trying to hide it from him. But now he was panicking. You might be falling into a big trap, you were unaware of it, but he knew, and he was more than determined to protect you, with all his small, punny self.

Miguel took in a deep breath, as Francisco let go of his mouth.

“What are your intentions? Priest?”

It didn’t go unnoticed, the manner he spoke the word “priest”, pejorative and disdainful. Garupe tried to ignore his frustration and anger, as he narrated the complete story to a round eyed Miguel.

They were both sitting on a nearby bench now, Miguel twisting a leaf between his skinny fingers.

“So… how do I know you are telling the truth? How can I be sure this is not a scheme of the church? To bring my master down? Because that’s what it seems to me!”

“No. No, no, no, no, a scheme?” Garupe panicked. From where Miguel fished such mature ideas, would never stop to amaze him. “The church has nothing to do in this matter! It’s me. It’s just me, and I’m a simple priest, no one else is involved. I swear to God…. to you, no one else knows your master’s identity besides me, and you. And no one ever will. Priest’s word”

To that Miguel laughed, a boyish toothy laugh.

“Priest’s word”

“What is that so funny now, boy” impatience was clear in his tone.

“For a priest, you seem fairly enamored” Miguel smirked, mischief sparkling in his beautiful green eyes.

Francisco blushed violently. He couldn’t believe the way he was being played by a child. He gulped, trying to school his expression into something… respectable.

“If helping you cousin is the reason of you being here, then why are you courting my master, treacherous priest?!” Miguel continued without letting Graupe place a word.

“ Cour… I am not! Watch your language b-“

“Yes! You are!” Miguel stared, and Francisco stared back. Several seconds passed and Garupe wondered if he was entering a staring contest with a boy.

“Do you love her?” Miguel asked, soft. Francisco had never seen deeper eyes on a boy’s face.

Did he? Francisco didn’t know yet. What he knew is how his body reacted in your presence, how warmth spread through him whenever he was with you. He wasn’t familiar with this kind of feelings, how was he supposed to answer? Was it love? Or attraction? Or just mere lust? He couldn’t know. He was ignorant of the heart’s matters.

“Would you tell her?” He asked back, as the tacit answer sank deep between them.

“Not if you will. Priests don’t take wives, I know that even if you want to, you can not. Don’t break her heart. Tell her.”

“ I will.” Garupe sighed.

“ Promise me” Miguel insisted

“ I will! when it’s appropriate, I will”

To that, Miguel stood up, stretched his arms, and in an unexpected movement, he stepped on the priest’s foot and run away.

“Fuu- Holy Graal!” Garupe shouted in pain.

“I will keep an eye on you! Priest!” Miguel shouted back, as his lean legs hurtled down the street.

Francisco replayed that encounter in his head while he was dressing after the session came to an end, lost in his thoughts as you approached him.

Your hopes were that he would accept your invitation for the dinner you were holding the next day, and you were determined to get a positive answer.

“Vicente” You spoke softly as your fingers traced lightly his still naked back, making him gasp. You were destroying the little restrain he tried to preserve lately with you. Those little touches, now and then, always coming when never expected, making blood rush to inappropriate places of his body. Were you a witch?

He remembered the promise he made to Miguel.

He stepped back, in an effort to impose some distance between your bodies, when every inch of him wanted just the opposite thing. To surrender, to give in, to let your touch linger and wait for you to take more. But he couldn’t and Miguel’s words weren’t the sole reason. How many times had he tried to remind himself that he was a man of God? He seemed to forget who he was every time he stepped into your little corner of heaven. It was something about the silence, the peace of the garden, the gentle splash of the fountain water and the quiet concentration in your beautiful face, while you worked your marble.

Your face fell a little at his obvious rebuff. You had been growing impatient. You had tried all your tricks to make the shy man open up to you, and even if you had been given positive indications in the way he looked at you, you couldn’t get him to act on it. You thought that it would be the matter of a session or two before you could make him yours, but the man was stubborn, for god knows which reasons! Piety? For he wasn’t married, as he told you… But now that you started to suspect he was lying to you, you couldn’t be sure anymore. But what pious man would pose naked, and for a woman?!

That tall mystery of a man was driving you crazy, making you none the less more determined to break the ice of his fortress.

“So I am giving a dinner tomorrow evening” You tried your softest tone “…and I thought, since you are in the confidence of my secret now, that you might be interested in sharing my little company”

He turned to face you, confusion visible on his gorgeous features, or was it fear?

“You will love them. They are a small group of artists, you can only be pleased by their company” You added, hope slowly fading to embarrassment as you saw his head shake in refusal.

“Clarissa, you know that I am not a free man. My master will not allow me more time than he already has” He tried to sound convincing, and for the most part, he wasn’t lying. He couldn’t honor your invitation, even if he really wanted to, if only just to spend some leisure time with you. But seeing your countenance now, God, he wanted to try, he couldn’t stand the look of disappointment and sadness you gave him.

He reached out, he didn’t think of anything but brushing off the sadness on your face as his hand cupped your cheek, thumb gently caressing the soft skin there, and you leaned into the touch. You missed his hands, the warmth they spread in you. It was different, the feeling of them on your face, and you wondered how they would feel in different places, more intimate places. You sighed as your eyes fluttered shut and he spoke.

“I am going to try, no promises, child”

You smiled at the nickname this time.

[architectnews]

Twenty-two women architects and designers you should know

To mark International Women's Day, we asked 22 of the world's most inspirational women architects and designers to nominate another woman who should be better known for their work.

Each of the prominent architects and designers was asked to select a woman who they think deserves greater recognition.

Several chose to shine a light on historic figures who did not receive full recognition in their lifetimes, with MVRDV co-founder Nathalie de Vries, Bangladeshi architect Marina Tabassum and Neri&Hu co-founder Rossana Hu nominating Jadwiga Grabowska-Hawrylak, Minnette de Silva and Lin Huiyin respectively.

Others took the opportunity to draw attention to a contemporary woman or women-led team that should be better known, with Camille Walala, Tatiana Bilbao, Dorte Mandrup and Eva Franch i Gilabert nominating Unscene Architecture, Taller Comunal, Marie-José Van Hee and V. Mitch McEwen respectively.

Read on for the 22 architects and designers that deserve greater recognition:

Marie-José Van He Nominated by Dorte Mandrup, Dorte Mandrup Arkitekter

"Marie-José Van Hee is a remarkably talented architect. Working primarily in her native country, Belgium, she is forging a significant mark on contemporary architecture with her attention to space, light and natural materials.

"Through her understated, authentic and poetic work, she continuously influences and inspires architects and designers alike. A timeless simplicity and weightlessness permeate throughout her designs, creating a stillness that seems almost tangible – blurring the line between art and architecture."

Iwona Buczkowska Nominated by Farshid Moussavi, Farshid Moussavi Architecture

"Polish-born French architect Iwona Buczkowska's brilliant career is distinguished by an architectural approach opposed to any form of standardisation, thus placing the diversity of users and their agency at the core of her work. Her tireless commitment has led to the creation of works of incredible richness and inventiveness, whether for housing projects or public facilities.

"At a time when we need to question our built environment, and in particular, the housing in which we live, her work on diversification, user empowerment and inclusion seems particularly worthy of attention. As her work is under-studied, and because some of her built projects are currently under threat of demolition, I feel it is particularly important to bring to light what her work has to teach us."

Charlotte Perriand Nominated by Es Devlin, Es Devlin Studio

"Last weekend I went to the South Downs to try to recreate this uplifting portrait of Charlotte Perriand (above) about which her daughter said: 'That photograph of a strong woman, triumphantly embracing nature, is the perfect image of my mother. She announces the contemporary woman, emancipated and free.

"Most of us have sat on the extraordinary and now iconic furniture she made in collaboration with Le Corbusier. Most of us are unaware of her fundamental role in its design. She was a genius in the art of collaboration, especially with powerful male artists. Her practice spanned an astounding range of genres, her work drew deeply on the forms she observed in nature throughout her rich life."

Kenyatta Mclean Nominated by Harriet Harriss, dean of the Pratt Institute School of Architecture

"I'd like to nominate Kenyatta Mclean, co-founder and co-managing director of Blackspace: the black, interdisciplinary, spatial collective comprised of architects, artists, designers and planners who have asserted both the necessity and the agency of 'Black Urbanism'.

"From my perspective, her ability to co-create spatial narratives that are centred in and driven by racial justice is essential and urgent work applicable both to the US where the practice is situated, and cities worldwide, where structural racism and other forms of discrimination are embedded in the materiality and form of the architectures that surround us.

"Moreover, spatial collectives – from Matrix to Assemble – offer a much-needed antidote to the vagaries of starchitecture and the hierarchies typically found in traditional design practices. Kenyatta Mclean's visionary work reminds us all of the need to use this period of Covid-imposed introspection to re-examine how much more inclusive, equitable and impactful our industry needs to become.

"Blackspace also offers a road map and a benchmark for graduates and young practitioners who are committed to leading the changes we need to make."

Unscene Architecture Nominated by Camille Walala, Studio Walala

"I would like to nominate Unscene Architecture. A pair of fantastic women that I met the year before the pandemic started. The architecture design duo – founders Manijeh Verghese and Madeleine Kessler – were the co-creators of the British Pavilion for the postponed 2020 Venice Architecture Biennale. Definitely, ones to watch."

Anupama Kundhoo Nominated by Seetal Solanki

"A rare kind within the world of architecture. Anupama Kundhoo brings people a voice, materials a voice and building a voice that is beyond her own – an egoless practice. Traits that shouldn't be so rare actually, but she's paving the way for so many and hopefully many more to come."

Ndebele women Nominated by Sumayya Vally, Counterspace

"In this tribe, we evoke women near and far – friends, ancestors and mythical figures – women who write, organise, imagine and build worlds into being. I chose to draw attention to the unrecognised architect genius of the Ndebele women – women who craft ritual objects and build and adorn their own homes. The calling of their names invokes the calling of millions of errant, unrecognised, other architects the world over – past, present and future.

"They are Maria Ntobela Mahlangu, Dinah Mahlangu, Johanna Mkwebani, Martina Maghlangu, Anna Msiza, Sara Mthimunye, Sara and Lisbeth, Pikinini and Sara Skosana, Anna Mahlangu, Letty Ngoma, Sarah Mguni, Martha Mtsweni Ndala, Rossinah and Esther Mahlangu."

Jadwiga Grabowska-Hawrylak Nominated by Nathalie de Vries, MVRDV

"When working on our Concordia Design project in Wroclaw, Poland, I met Jadwiga Grabowska-Hawrylak, the grande dame of modern Polish architecture. Born in 1920, she brought architecture to the next level in the second half of the 20th century. In 1974, she was the first woman to receive the prestigious Honorary Award from the Association of Polish Architects.

"In a time when female Polish architects were mostly known as 'the wife of…' Jadwiga had a highly successful career, she had a big part in rebuilding postwar Wroclaw, and was also known for her schools and housing. I am really impressed by her work and her amazing personality. When I met her, she was very energetic and still very much involved in architecture. With her passing in 2018, Poland lost a great architect."

Minnette de Silva Nominated by Marina Tabassum

"The first name that comes to mind is Minnette de Silva (pictured above with Pablo Picasso), an architect ahead of her time. Less celebrated than her contemporary male counterparts. You may have read this article below, but I'm sharing the link again. This tells her story better than I can write."

Marina Willer Nominated by Margaret Calvert

"I would propose Marina Willer, although she may not fit as she's already well known. Apart from being an exceptional graphic designer and filmmaker, Marina was the first woman to be appointed a Pentagram partner. Brazilian by birth, it was at the Royal College of Art, where I was teaching at the time, that I first became aware of her amazing drive, commitment and talent as a student."

Duygu and Begum Ozturk Nominated by Nelly Ben Hayoun, Nelly Ben Hayoun Studios

"I nominate Duygu and Begum Ozturk, the two sisters behind the fashion brand Harem London. Born in Istanbul, they started their all-organic fashion brand recently in Dalston, London; merging traditional techniques from Istanbul and London, bringing together their heritage and future.

"I love that they started a business together as sisters and that they are persevering in developing their beautiful collection despite the pandemic and Brexit and all the complexity this created for them. They need to be applauded for their great work."

Lin Huiyin Nominated by Rossana Hu, Neri&Hu

"Lin Huiyin was the first female architect in modern China. Lin and her partner Liang Sicheng were the pioneers in architectural heritage restoration and documentation in China during the 1930s.

"Although it was the two of them who brought China's ancient architectural treasures to light, Lin's recognition in documenting and restoring China's historic buildings has often been overshadowed by her partner, who is recognised as the 'father of modern Chinese architecture'. In addition to her architectural practice, Lin is also widely acclaimed for her literary creation."

Mary Corse Nominated by Azusa Murakami, Studio Swine

"I would like to pick Mary Corse. She has been gaining much-deserved recognition in recent years with a solo show at the Whitney but has been arguably one of the most innovative artists to come out of the light and space movement.

"We love her material research, her ability to take industrial elements like the glass microbeads used on motorway reflective road markings and using it to make really delicate and sublime optical paintings is really inspiring."

Yemi Awosile Nominated by Morag Myerscough

"I have loved Yemi Awosile's work for many years. She is a wonderful person and I have worked with her in the past on the Bernie Grant Centre where she made some textiles for the centre."

Franziska Porges Hosken Nominated by Jane Hall, Assemble 

"Austrian-born, and America-based, designer Franziska Porges Hosken was pioneering in multiple respects. In 1944 she became one of the first women to receive her master's of architecture degree from Harvard's Graduate School of Design and in 1947, together with her husband James Hosken, she founded their successful eponymous furniture business Hosken.

"Despite giving up her design practice to take care of her first child in the late 1950s, Hosken continued to create as a photographer and journalist, publishing numerous books on urbanism including The Language of Cities.

"She was also an activist for women's rights, founding the Women's International Network and publishing reports on Female Genital Mutilation (FGM), a term she is credited with coining, which affected the agenda of major health organisations including the WHO. Continuing to distribute a feminist newsletter well into her eighties, Hosken's legacy demonstrates an extraordinary commitment, undertaken over the course of a lifetime, to connect design with social activism."

Winka Dubbeldam Nominated by Sonali Rastogi, Morphogenesis

"Winka Dubbeldam is an architect whose contribution I would like to acknowledge. She is the founder of the WBE firm Archi-Tectonics. She had visited our studio about 15 years back whilst working on the redevelopment of the New Delhi railway station. I also enjoyed attending one of her juries in UPenn about ten years ago, and ever since, I have been following her.

"Being in academia myself, what resonates with me is her significant influence on the emerging generation through her involvement in architectural education and design juries worldwide. Her designs are evocative and transformative, and she creates architecture that matters.

"I read somewhere that she maintains a fluid balance between energy and calm, precision and informality, experiment and comfort in her designs, studio, and life, a mantra I have been following all my life."

Eva Albarran Nominated by Sofia Von Ellrichshausen, Pezo von Ellrichshausen

"I would like to propose Eva Albarran: a Spanish entrepreneur, living both in Paris and Madrid, who operates in the expanded, and diffuse, field of contemporary art and architecture.

"She is a solid character who has managed to solve complex productions for significant artists (such as Christian Boltaski, Felice Varini or Francis Alys). Together with her husband, they direct a refined gallery and the Solo houses program, a project that might well be read as a radical revision of the current human condition in relation to nature."

Dana Al Amiri Nominated by Pallavi Dean, Roar

"Dana Al Amiri, the co-founder of Watab Studio, is a rising star in the male-dominated Saudi construction industry. I love her minimal pared design philosophy – practicing in a region that is infamous for opulent and OTT statements. She truly represents the next generation of regional architects that are defining Saudi's design identity."

Taller Comunal Nominated by Tatiana Bilbao

"I would like to make Taller Comunal, which is led by Mariana Ordóñez Grajales and Jesica Amescua Carrera, my recommendation. Because for them, architecture is not a profession, it is a service to facilitate architecture to be produced by the people who inhabit it. That should be the future of our profession."

Anne Tyng Nominated by Huang Wenjing, Open Architecture

"Anne Tyng immediately came to mind as a female architect that deserves much more recognition. Born in China in 1920 to missionary parents; a classmate of Eileen Pei and IM Pei — these two little details seem to have brought her closer to me, my being Chinese and had worked in the office that IM founded.

"Tyng was one of the first women to study architecture at Harvard Graduate School of Design; the only woman to take the architectural license test in 1949.

"It is unfortunate and unfair that people often seem to be more interested in her anecdotal affair with the iconic master Louis Kahn than her great influence on his early works — the rigour of geometry and order was very much Anne Tyng's interest and contribution. She went on to be an independent architect, theorist and educator. A true pioneering woman in the field."

V. Mitch McEwen Nominated by Eva Franch i Gilabert

"Mitch is an architect, activist, dancer, rapper, entrepreneur, someone who has taken the lead on many occasions to make space for new ideas.

"We crossed paths several times throughout the last ten years; In 2011, during the Occupy Wall Street Movement, I organised an exhibition and a series of events at Storefront for Art and Architecture hosted by brilliant people; Mitch's workshop "How to Occupy a House in America" was one of them.

"In 2014, Mitch was one of the architects writing letters to the Mayor in the first edition in New York of the global project "Letters to the Mayor" asking Mayor Bill de Blasio: "How can New York City Housing Authority really become the Pride of Our City?" and provided some answers and ideas that still stand.

"Mitch is currently an assistant professor at Princeton University – where I am currently teaching a seminar. Her work is now on display at MoMA in New York as part of Reconstructions: Architecture and Blackness in America."

Mónica Bertolino Nominated by Sandra Barclay, Barclay & Crousse

"Mónica Bertolino is an architect from Córdoba, Argentina, where she lives and works as part of the Studio Bertolino-Barrado founded in 1981.

"Together with Carlos Barrado they have an excellent production of projects in different scales. In their work you understand immediately the search for good qualities in habitability, their sensibility when they intervene in the landscape, and their concern for research about materiality linked to the local traditions of construction.

"I admire and think she deserves recognition especially in her academic role where she transmits her passion and enthusiasm for architecture in an unconditional way. She is devoted to this mission!

"She participates in workshops and as invited professor in different universities in the world as well as a regular professor in the National University of Cordoba and in the Catholic University of Cordoba."

The post Twenty-two women architects and designers you should know appeared first on Dezeen.

[artificialqueens]

Mateo's Eight 1/8 (Branjie)--athena2

Summary: 

Con artist Vanessa Mateo has just been released from prison, and she’s planning one last heist to erase her debts and start a new life for herself.

But for this to succeed, she needs the help of the very person who ratted her out to the cops: her ex-girlfriend, Brooke Lynn Hytes.

(An Ocean’s Eight AU).

A/N: I’ve been planning this for a while, and I’m excited to start posting! You also don’t need to see the movie to read this. It follows the main points of the movie, but I did make some changes here and there. Thank you so, so much to Writ, for letting me throw this idea and all my plans for it at you, for always supporting this, and for beta-ing! I’ve never done a full-length movie adaptation like this before, so I would really appreciate any feedback you have!

—

The first thing Vanessa does when she gets out of prison is get a slice of pizza.

Standing on the sidewalk in the black shirt she’d been wearing six months ago, too thin now for the late-winter chill, Vanessa gratefully burns her mouth on the cheese and lets grease drip down her wrist. She never thought she’d miss grease so much. She gets another slice and eats it in a few bites, crunching on the crust as loud as she can, breathing in the oregano and oil like it’s oxygen as winter sun warms her shoulders.

She’s home. She’s free.

There’s enough money in the box of her just-returned things for a cab to her mother’s, where she’ll have to live now that going back to her old–their old–apartment isn’t an option. There’s a heart necklace in there too, but Vanessa doesn’t want to think about that. She shoves it in her pocket to sell later, because she might as well get some money out of the betrayal.

She knocks on the apartment door with still-greasy fingers, and the sight of her mother’s face, so much brighter without the Plexiglass barrier in between them, has her instantly sobbing in her mother’s arms. Vanessa hasn’t been able to touch her for six months, and finds her fingers moving down her mother’s skin, the same caramel color of her own, starting to wrinkle from stress more than age. Vanessa is hit with a surge of guilt that most of the stress is probably from her.

“I’ve missed you, Vanjie.” It’s her mother’s old nickname for her, and Vanessa breaks down further. It gives her some glimmer of hope that everything will be okay, despite the medical bills she knows are lying around somewhere. Those thin pieces of paper have been following them for a year now, weighing down on their shoulders like a ton of bricks.

“I’ve missed you too.”

It’s nice to just be Vanessa for a few minutes, to be her mother’s daughter, the girl who had Rihanna posters on her walls and acted out soap-opera storylines with her dolls and ran around the apartment dodging bedtime.

She lets her mother kiss her until her face is more sticky lip gloss than skin. A loud yipping sound rings out, and something furry launches itself at her legs. Vanessa steps back and scoops up her dog, Riley, his tongue slobbering all over her and tail wagging fast enough to take flight.

She’s home again. She’s normal again. Maybe she’s not returning home to anything exciting, but everything smells like the perfume her mom wears, and the couch cushions are broken in just right, and the walls are still a soothing cream color. It always felt like time stood still here when she was a kid, everything always the same, but now she appreciates the stability, the sense that nothing has changed even if she’s been missing from this world for six months.

Her mother heads to the store so they can have Vanessa’s favorite foods for dinner. Vanessa wants to go, wants to do something as normal as grocery shopping, but she walks outside and gasps, heart hammering.

She can’t do this. Everything seems too big after such a small cell. The massive gray-blue sky is large enough to swallow her up, the buildings like giants looming over her, the street as wide as the ocean. She resigns herself to the soft pink walls of her childhood bedroom. She resented this room as a child for being the size of a shoe-box, wanting the massive rooms kids always had on TV. She has never been more grateful for it than now, secure in its narrow walls. It’s like she can breathe again.

The room is incomplete, missing most of her clothes, her makeup stuff, the fluffy bathroom that usually hangs in her closet, the old silver jewelry box that was her mother’s. Those things were all in their apartment, the apartment Silky and A’keria were supposed to go to and get the stuff for her, because Vanessa knew as soon she was hauled into the cop car that she wasn’t going back to that apartment again.

She doesn’t want to do what she’s about to do, but she has to.

She plugs in her long-dead cell phone and calls Silky and A’keria, who barge through her apartment door 10 minutes later and sweep her into a suffocating group hug. Vanessa’s not surprised to see A’keria wiping her eyes after, and her body burns with love for her two best friends.

“You meet any hot lesbians like on Orange is the New Black?” Silky asks eagerly, and it’s just the thing to break the awkwardness of not knowing what to say, of the realization that Vanessa missed months of dinners and movies, that everyone’s lives moved on while hers was trapped in a cell.

“Not one,” Vanessa says around a laugh. “But this one guard was totally into me. I coulda won her over, I bet. Had a little reunion on the beach, Shawshank Redemption-style.”

“You got game even in prison,” A’keria says, smiling, and Vanessa is just grateful no one’s mentioning the person that landed her in prison.

“I miss anything good?” Vanessa asks.

“A’keria broke up with her bum-ass boyfriend,” Silky reports.

“Even threw his clothes out the window,” A’keria says.

“Damn.” Vanessa sighs.

“You didn’t miss much else, though. Oh, and I got your stuff at my place.” A’keria reassures her.

“Thanks.”

“It’s good to have you back, Vanj.” Her warm hand settles over Vanessa’s shoulder, and she’s not going to cry, she’s not–

“How’s it feel to be free again?” Silky asks.

“Good.” It’s all Vanessa can really manage, the fact that she can wake up and eat and even pee whenever she wants now something she’s still struggling to grasp. It only makes what she’s about to say even harder.

“I have something planned,” Vanessa begins, bracing herself for the reaction.

“Are you out your damn mind?” A’keria yells. “You’re on parole!”

“Say it louder, those people down the street missed it,” Vanessa bites out.

“Look, Van–” Silky says.

“No,” Vanessa cuts her off. “I need to do this. I spent six months on this. I know who the mark is gonna be, I know the people I need to scout and get involved, and I know this can work.” This plan is the only thing that got her through the past six months, working out the details and practicing the exact words needed to build her team while she choked down food that tasted like Styrofoam and wrecked her back on a sorry excuse for a bed. She needs to do this, because otherwise the past six months have really been a waste.

Vanessa plows on, laying down the words she knows will get them. “It’s even bigger than the last one. Money I need. Money you need. Enough to set us all for life.”

Silky crosses her arms and stays silent. It’s no secret Silky is constantly in danger of losing her teaching job with all the budget cuts the school faces. She’d taken up street scams and pickpocketing–skills she taught Vanessa–to pay off her student loans and buy supplies and snacks for her classroom, which have to come out of her own (or some unsuspecting person’s) pocket.

A’keria lowers the index finger she was about to wag in Vanessa’s face like some old schoolteacher, no doubt thinking of her home jewelry business that never took off, the dead-end jewelry store job that keeps her home with her overbearing mother and asshole stepfather. With the money Vanessa’s talking, A’keria can buy her own damn island.

“We’re listening,” Silky says finally.

Vanessa fights her grin as she runs through the basics, alive with the familiar buzz of laying down a plan, watching it come to life from her mind. She doesn’t mention the full price tag but tells them both all their financial problems will be solved in one night.

By the time she’s done, they’re both onboard, and the fun begins.

—

Vanessa has to take deep breaths, her nails digging into A’keria’s arm as they walk down the sidewalk to get her next member in.

“You good, V?” A’keria asks gently.

Vanessa just nods, because this breathless fear of being outside when it was all she dreamed of for six months isn’t something she expected, or knows how to deal with. All she can do is keep breathing, keep moving, keep focusing on her plan.

She’s chosen all the players carefully, people she knows herself or knows through others. They’re not all scammers, just people with enough to lose, who can be easily persuaded into her plan and can be trusted to carry out their end of the plan.

The storefront is outlined in red, flowy dresses in reds and pinks and golds filling the window, some brightness on this dreary street. A bell chimes as they open the door, welcoming them to Red Hot by Scarlet Envy.

Scarlet is perched behind the counter, twirling her bright red hair. Vanessa’s only met her once at a party, but she hasn’t changed, still happy with her up-and-coming celebrity design label despite the debt and shady loans she buried herself in to make it happen.

After a hug from Scarlet, Vanessa begins just as she planned. “How would you like to dress Plastique Tiara for the Met Ball?”

Scarlet’s eyes widen. “Are you kidding me? I’d love to! But she’s Plastique, and I’m, well…” she gestures to her small store with its water-damaged ceiling.

Vanessa smiles. “I can make it happen. I just need one small favor. One small favor for me, and you dress Plastique Tiara, you get a bigger store, and”–Vanessa lowers her voice– “all the money troubles you got yourself in are gone.”

Scarlet blinks, mouth falling open, not even bothering to deny Vanessa’s information.

“Okay,” she agrees.

Yvie takes mere seconds, despite being the only person Vanessa has no dirt on to coerce into it. She’s an old friend of Silky’s who does stuff with computers, so far beyond Vanessa’s basic social media stalking skills that she doesn’t even try to understand it. They meet at some internet cafe and Vanessa is only one sip into the overpriced coffee she missed so much when Yvie agrees, saying she’d love to stick it to the man and asking if there’ll be snacks at the meeting tomorrow. Vanessa makes a mental note to buy chips.

Nina is a little harder to convince. She has a nice house in the suburbs, working over-the-phone scams and hijacking deliveries from transport trucks–blenders, coffeemakers, designer suitcases, bikes, air hockey tables–that she keeps or sells for profit.

Aside from the scamming, she’s goodness personified, the last person you’d suspect of anything, perfect for what Vanessa needs from her.

“Well,” Nina says, “I could use a little excitement.”

Vanessa puts a check mark next to her name.

—

Vanessa scrapes her plate clean at dinner, her mother’s cooking the last thing that truly makes her at home, comforting and cozy like a warm blanket. The joy continues as she slides into bed, on a real mattress, ready to fall asleep with the hope of the freedom she’s getting herself, until she remembers the last name on her list. She doesn’t want to call this person. She can’t call this person, and instead she calls A’keria to see if there’s a way around it.

“Tell me the truth,” Vanessa begins. “Do I need to call her?”

“Who? You mean Br–”

“Don’t say her name to me,” Vanessa snaps.

“I know things didn’t end well with you two–”

“She ratted me out to the cops! I went to prison because of her!” The anger burns through her, fresh on the thought that she went to prison by not just anyone, but by someone she had slept with and kissed and even loved. Six months of itchy clothes and a freezing cell, of having to see her own mother through a screen, of feeling absolutely worthless, of missing family dinners and not seeing her friends, all because that bitch couldn’t keep her mouth shut.

“Hey,” A’keria says calmly. “I know that. I know. But you have to call her, Vanj. She’s your right-hand woman. We can’t pull this off without her. You know we can’t.”

A’keria is right, which only makes things worse. Vanessa needs to call her. No one can keep things organized like her, stick exactly to the schedule like a human clock. Vanessa can pretend all she wants that this plan will work as it stands, but she knows in her heart she needs to make that one last phone call.

—

Vanessa strides to the counter confidently, trying not to act like the coats in her arms are worth a whole month’s rent. Being calm is the key, like she buys coats with three zeros in the price tag all the time.

“Hello.” She keeps her voice soft and polite as she approaches the counter.

“Hi,” the cashier says. She’s around twenty and Vanessa has been watching for a few days to make sure she gets this specific cashier. One who’s new, but not new enough to need a manager.

“I’d like to return these.” Vanessa plunks the coats on the counter, rehearsing her answer for the next inevitable question.

“Do you have your receipt?”

“I don’t, but I never wore them. They still have the tags and everything.” She even grabs one and shows it to the cashier, who smiles sympathetically, having no idea Vanessa just grabbed it off the rack a few minutes ago.

“We really need a receipt to return them. Do you have an account with us? Or the credit card you bought them with?”

Now is the time. Vanessa has seen enough middle-aged white ladies with expired coupons in her own retail days to get this next part right. She purses her lips and straightens her posture. “I’ve been shopping here for years, this is ridiculous! I just bought these.” Just a touch of anger, not enough to attract attention.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. If you’d like to speak with customer service—“

Vanessa loosens her shoulders, putting a smile back on. “You know what, I’ll just keep them. Could I trouble you for a bag?”

Vanessa walks away from the counter with her coats neatly folded inside the bag, heart racing and giddy with joy. She did it. She can sell two and start working on her father’s medical bills, and maybe give the third to her mother; her worn coat can’t offer much warmth in this November chill. She’s so lost in her excitement that she doesn’t notice where she’s going and walks right into a wall.

“Shit.” She takes a step back. A very tall, very blonde, very green-eyed wall. “Oh, sorry, I…” she forgets every word in the English language, forgets even her own name, at the blonde’s shy smile.

“You were good. Really good,” the blonde says, and something in her reluctant tone suggests she doesn’t give compliments often, that this praise truly means something.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Vanessa tries to stay cool, even as the blonde’s flashing green eyes set her whole body on fire. She had only prepared for getting caught at the register, not by strange blonde women.

“A cashier who wouldn’t need a manager. Waiting towards the end of a shift, when no one gives a shit anymore,” the blonde continues. “Even the coats. Expensive, but not enough to have security tags on them.”

She’s caught. Caught on her first real con, aside from the street scams she’s done. Vanessa swallows hard, considering her chances of outrunning the blonde’s mile-long legs in their slim red pants. Damn, Vanessa really needs to stop staring at those legs if this lady is about to bust her…

“Hey, I’m not gonna rat you out,” the blonde says, like she’s reading her mind. “I’m just saying you’re good, and if you ever want a partner…” She pulls a piece of paper from her glittery silver blazer and scribbles something down.

Vanessa reads a phone number in tiny, neat handwriting.

“I’ll consider it,” Vanessa says, though she’ll probably have to sit on her hands to keep herself from calling the second she gets home.

The blonde smiles. “I’m Brooke.”

“Vanessa.”

—

Vanessa holds out as long as she can, until it’s nearing 1am, moonlight arcing through her window. It’s almost like she’s purposely sabotaging herself, waiting and waiting to lower the chance that someone will answer.

Her thumb hovers over the phone. The contact name is still in there as it was before prison, with a bright red heart emoji after it. Vanessa remembers deliberating over putting it there, finally deciding it was okay after their second date.

Aside from her mother’s cell and the really good Thai place down the street from her old apartment, it’s the only phone number she has memorized. She could probably dial it in her sleep. She used to double- and triple-text that number, sending pictures of dogs she saw on the street, selfies in bed with the comforter revealing just enough skin, rants about how slow everyone in front of her was walking, goofy pictures of herself trying on enormous sunglasses bigger than her head.

And the replies used to come just as fast, Vanessa’s heart leaping with each one, her fingers flying to the phone to see what texts she’d gotten back.

She presses the call button, breath caught in her throat, half hoping there won’t be an answer and half-hoping there will be.

All she gets is a robotic monotone telling her this number is no longer in service, and Vanessa releases her air, unsure if she’s relieved or not. She really doesn’t want to hear that voice, but she’s going to need to if she wants this to work. Should she try to Google her? Or maybe…

The burner phone.

They had both discussed business through those old Nokias. The odds that she still has hers, and still has the thing on, are slim to none. But Vanessa thinks of how hard it will be to find a job now, how hard it will be to start over after prison. She thinks of her mother working too hard in her hospital shifts, the medical bills still unpaid. She thinks of all the people she had promised this would be a success, all the debts that would be repaid, all the freedoms won. She has to try.

Her fingers move without thought over the phone, like just another day, and she almost drops the phone when it rings. The rings trill in her ear for what feels like hours, her heart racing. She’s about to hang up when the line clicks.

There’s a pause, a sharp intake of breath on the other line. Vanessa remembers those gasps of air, had pulled them out of soft lips as her hands tangled in that blonde hair…

“Who is this?”

The nerve. Vanessa’s fist clenches in anger. If it wasn’t a Nokia, she probably would’ve bent her phone in half. The nerve for that voice to be so soft and hesitant, when it had caused her half a year behind bars. The nerve of asking who it is when she knows damn well it can’t be anyone else.

“You know who this is, Brooke. We need to talk.”

[daleisgreat]

Scott Pilgrim vs. The World

A movie podcast I listen to, The Big Picture, did a recent episode on the 10th anniversary of 2010’s Scott Pilgrim vs. The World (trailer). Coincidentally enough, that film remains in my backlog box all these years later, so I made sure to re-watch it before giving that podcast a listen. For those unfamiliar with this film, it is based on a series of six graphic novels of the same name by Bryan Lee O’Malley released between 2004 and 2010. The basic gist is that Scott Pilgrim (Michael Cera) falls for newcomer to town, Ramona Flowers (Mary Elizabeth Winstead). In order to win her over Pilgrim has to defeat Ramona’s “Seven Evil Ex’s.” Scott spends the rest of the film exploring Ramona’s mysterious past and dueling her ex’s while practicing with his band, Sex Bo-Bomb, as they progress through a battle of the bands tournament. Sex Bo-Bomb is one slick act! Stephen Stills (Mark Webber) is the doom-and-gloom frontman of the band. Kim Pine (Alison Pill) is a 2010 take on Daria and effectively nails her vintage expressionless glares and blunt quips. Young Neil (Johnny Simmons) is the affable, DS-loving, always ready alternate for Sex Bo-Bomb. Their #1 fan and also other girlfriend of Scott Pilgrim is one Knives Chau (Ellen Wong). Knive’s arc is probably my favorite of this ensemble cast as her journey from adoring fan and girlfriend to her final destination is a fascinating quest to see develop and a faithful translation from the books.

I first heard of the books on the videogame podcast, Team Fremont Live where they reviewed the first book and their breakdown of it caught my attention when they dissected all the nonstop videogame references that are peppered regularly throughout it. The film captures that imagery to a T where it feels like Pilgrim is living in a real life videogame. In this world suspending disbelief is required because it is jam-packed with extraordinarily choreographed battle scenes, makes anyone capable of instantly pulling off bombastic martial arts moves in the blink of an eye without any training whatsoever, and quirky little animations of objects like Mario Bros.-esque coins and pixelated items inserted throughout that any videogame fan will pick up on. The fighting game fan in me popped a little each time a thunderous “KO” blared out each time Pilgrim emerged victorious after an evil ex duel. As a lifelong fan of videogames, it was fun picking up on all the references and Easter eggs in the background throughout. Scott Pilgrim vs. the World hit at an interesting time where Michael Cera was the only established star at this point in 2010 and was riding the last wave of critical success coming off of Arrested Development, Superbad and Juno. Brandon Routh is noteworthy appearing here as one of the evil ex’s after flaming out in his single appearance in a Superman film. However, a few other stars are here right before they exploded into bigger success like the aforementioned Mary Elizabeth Winstead. Chris Evan is here as another evil-ex shortly after his two Fantastic Four films, but a year before donning the Captain America costume for the first time. Anna Kendrick is here in a small role as Scott’s sister Stacey while in the midst of her initial Twighlight run. Finally, Brie Larson is here as Scott’s evil-ex, Envy Adams and she is the lead for her band, Clash at Demonhead in my personal favorite musical performance of the film as they belt out “Black Sheep.”

It is worth repeating that I highly recommend suspending all disbelief going into Scott Pilgrim vs. the World and simply roll with it. The battle scenes are a hoot to take in and feature a ton of CG that holds up well ten years later. It is also worth pointing out this film is part absurd videogame battles, part early 20s love triangle drama and to a lesser extent part musical with several performances from Sex Bo-Bomb and other bands throughout the film. Director Edgar Wright tracked down a few bands to play the tracks for some of the featured bands in the film such as Beck performing the handful of Sex Bo-Bomb songs in addition to a slew of other tracks from artists like The Rolling Stones and Blood Red Shoes that perfectly supplement the outlandish tone of the film. It is not too often on here I recommend hunting down the soundtracks for a film, but the soundtrack for Scott Pilgrim vs. the World I wholeheartedly recommend! I think the Scott Pilgrim vs. the World BluRay may have set the record for amount of extra features for a single film in the near seven years of movies I have covered on this blog. A rough tally on my notes gives an approximate sum of nearly five hours of bonuses, and then four feature length commentary tracks on top of that! I will not detail every bonus, but will give some highlights of the ones that stood out for me. There is just under a half hour of deleted scenes with or without commentary from Edgar Wright. Most of them are extended scenes from the first act to trim out excess background info, but an alternate ending is what stood out the most that Wright explained he changed because it did not go over that well in test screenings. I can always appreciate a good blooper reel, and an excellent 10 minute reel is compiled here that I would rate right up with the stellar ones in the Marvel films.

There are three features grouped together in the ‘Docs’ section of the extras tallying up to a little over an hour. If you only had time for one of the five hours of bonuses I would go there because that has the core making of documentary which breaks down collaborating with Bryan Lee ‘O Malley, nailing the casting, detailing the extensive stunt training and interviews several of the bands about being featured in the soundtrack. Speaking of the soundtrack, there are four music videos included. Definitely check out the four minute animated short, Scott Pilgrim vs. Animation that is essentially a prequel to the film that dives into Scott and Kim’s former relationship. There are 12 ‘Video Blogs’ totaling 45 minutes that are raw on set interviews with the cast and crew between takes that sees the crew up to all kinds of mischief to kill downtime. This BluRay easily has the largest photo gallery of any home video I have covered with several hundred photos. One gallery is labeled ‘storyboards’ but each storyboard panel is nearly identical to the excellent quality of the art in Bryan Lee O’Malley books so that is essentially a free comic book adaptation of the movie buried in the extras! I experienced all four of the commentary tracks in one re-watch of Scott Pilgrim vs. the World via jumping around to a different commentary about every five minutes. Edgar Wright is on two of them, one with Bryan Lee ‘O Malley and writer Michael Bocall and the other with photography director Bill Pope. The other two commentaries are split among nine cast members, with Michael Cera and the rest of the leading cast on one and the ancillary cast members on the other cast commentary track. Wright has tons of nonstop insight and production facts on his tracks, and the cast tracks are have a lot of fun anecdotes such as Cera failing at trying to get additional people on the commentary via phone call. On top of the commentary I had on during my re-watch was also a factoid subtitle track to really take in the extra features. Despite going on now for three paragraphs about the bonus features, I think I only touched on about half of what is available, and it is truly astonishing to see how much they crammed into one BluRay disc.

A part of me thought going into this that Scott Pilgrim vs. the World would not hold up after 10 years. I would chalk that up to thinking I may have got easily won over with all the hype from being vastly into the books back then and being too caught up into the build to the film’s initial release. I can put those reservations to rest thankfully as I immensely enjoyed this ode to videogame fandom as much as I first did in 2010. Throw in a plethora of extra features to last all year to make Scott Pilgrim vs. the World one of my highest recommendations yet! If you want even more commentary from me about this film than below I have embedded the podcast I originally recorded 10 years ago shortly after seeing the film on its opening weekend. I bring on a couple other special guest hosts that are also ardent Scott Pilgrim fans and we review the film, soundtrack, the books and the videogame. Enjoy!

I brought on a couple other Scott Pilgrim experts on as guest hosts on my podcast to review the film, books, videogame and soundtrack shortly after they all released 10 years ago. Check it out in the embed above for more Scott Pilgrim goodness or click or press here to queue it up for later. Other Random Backlog Movie Blogs 3 12 Angry Men (1957) 12 Rounds 3: Lockdown 21 Jump Street The Accountant Angry Video Game Nerd: The Movie Atari: Game Over The Avengers: Age of Ultron The Avengers: Infinity War Batman: The Dark Knight Rises Batman: The Killing Joke Batman: Mask of the Phantasm Batman V Superman: Dawn of Justice Bounty Hunters Cabin in the Woods Captain America: Civil War Captain America: The First Avenger Captain America: The Winter Soldier Christmas Eve Clash of the Titans (1981) Clint Eastwood 11-pack Special The Condemned 2 Countdown Creed I & II Deck the Halls Detroit Rock City Die Hard Dredd The Eliminators The Equalizer Dirty Work Faster Fast and Furious I-VIII Field of Dreams Fight Club The Fighter For Love of the Game Good Will Hunting Gravity Grunt: The Wrestling Movie Guardians of the Galaxy Guardians of the Galaxy Vol 2 Hell Comes to Frogtown Hercules: Reborn Hitman I Like to Hurt People Indiana Jones 1-4 Ink The Interrogation Interstellar Jay and Silent Bob Reboot Jobs Joy Ride 1-3 Last Action Hero Major League Man of Steel Man on the Moon Man vs Snake Marine 3-6 Merry Friggin Christmas Metallica: Some Kind of Monster Mortal Kombat Mortal Kombat Legends: Scorpions Revenge National Treasure National Treasure: Book of Secrets Not for Resale Pulp Fiction The Replacements Reservoir Dogs Rocky I-VIII Running Films Part 1 Running Films Part 2 San Andreas ScoobyDoo Wrestlemania Mystery The Secret Life of Walter Mitty Shoot em Up Slacker Skyscraper Small Town Santa Steve Jobs Source Code Star Trek I-XIII Sully Take Me Home Tonight TMNT The Tooth Fairy 1 & 2 UHF Veronica Mars Vision Quest The War Wild The Wizard Wonder Woman The Wrestler (2008) X-Men: Apocalypse X-Men: Days of Future Past

[freevoidman]

Okay I’m reading through Porg’s update so some of y’all can save your braincells and here are some great highlights (under a readmore bc i couldn’t help but tear into a few things she suggested):

Flat out ignoring that Vergil had changed by the end of the game as a result of V and Urizen’s separate experiences.

In trying to make V and Urizen their own character, she throws out the idea of Vergil being manipulated by the Qliphoth/Urizen (??? somehow??? even though the tree is implied to be non-sentient i believe???), with V being a Devil hunter looking through the remains of Mallet Island (which was completely blown up, turned to rubble, and then swallowed by the sea, so... that can’t happen), finding the cane which makes him youthful and not sick but... having the cane makes it so he can only kill demons through the cane??? for some reason??? And he needs the Qliphoth fruit to heal himself and free him from the curse???

How did she make V’s backstory even more confusing and complicated how the fuck did she do that

Almost immediately after bringing up the cane, she instead changes it to be one of the rings he’s wearing because she wants her “precious V” to use weapons other than the cane, which makes all the prior paragraphs about the cane’s curse and only using it pointless. She’s the one writing this fic, why can’t she edit her own work so it’s more cohesive?

Despite saying that V should be a Devil Hunter, she doesn’t explain why someone who is supposed to be killing demons would form a pact with at least three to fight demons. Her rewrite dismisses Visions of V, and she even states later that the manga is a waste of time as it won’t ever be translated into English (which 1) is not a limiting factor to reading it as many people have translated it already and 2) doesn’t dismiss it’s value at building up V’s character, who she supposedly likes the best).

Also, for someone who complains about DMC5 being a rehash of DMC3, she’s sure doing her best to change it to a rehash of DMC1 (Vergil being controlled by an outside force, bringing back Mallet Island, bringing back Mundus [the cane is supposed to be tied to Mundus]).

V apparently can’t be human because she wants to give him a devil trigger, despite having 3 familiars and his own strength. Okay I guess?

Also it’s really fucking sick how she describes V changing, because it’s apparently V fusing with Nightmare? Devil May Cry has never been one for body horror but she straight up says she was inspired by “The Thing (1982), The Fly (1986), Bloodborne, and Resident Evil 7″ for the transformation imagery and I wanted to nope the fuck out of there real quick.

Her segments of actual fiction writing and dialogue are really bad it’s almost like a parody Youtube skit.

She switches between prose and script writing randomly, it’s really odd. She does it primarily with Dante i’ve noticed? Here’s an example I wrote of what she does:

“Hey, don’t stress out about it will you?” Says John following a few steps behind VINCENT: Don’t get your panties in a twist

And that just happens... randomly? Like, there’s no indication why she’s doing that it just happens.

She straight up writes notes in her fic about the controls for character actions in-game what the hell--

She also shamelessly puts in a link to artwork that clearly isn’t her’s (and I highly doubt she got permission to post about) to try and show what V’s Devil Trigger would look like. I couldn’t find it because I don’t know how pixiv works, but that’s just a shitty move, especially with how she treats artists on tumblr when they draw art of Vergil.

EDIT: Porg has now straight up copy-pasted the art into her fic without the artist’s permission which is, we all know, fucking theft. While it is good artistry, is just a weird mashup of Vergil’s and Dante’s. It’s not all that unique and I don’t understand why she had to reference a bunch of body horror shit when all the Devil Triggers in game are essentially just a large flash of light and a seamless transition between forms??? It’s good art, I’m not trying to bash the artist, but... Porg, you could’ve been a little more original here rather than just ripping off another artist’s designs...

Everyone in her fic acts super casually to seeing Vergil alive in the Qliphoth and it’s like... honey, no.

Vergil acts WILDLY out of character holy fuck. Like, I know I should have expected that but this is NOT how Vergil would act in the slightest. She’s pretty much writing an OC.

Building off of this: EVERYONE acts OOC and... it’s not exactly cringey, but it is perfect proof that Porg doesn’t know what she’s doing and hasn’t properly analyzed the characters.

Dante acts weirdly... detached? There’s no sign of him acting like his normal goofball-y self, and he’s much more serious than normal. He actually acts more like cannon Vergil than himself, actually. (He also knows CPR apparently? Which... is a skill he would really never bother learning, so...)

Nero doesn’t act nearly as emotional, and acts calmly for some reason. You can’t feel any of his emotions behind his dialogue, only through the adverbs added to the tags)

V is too informative. He knows way too much about random shit that... no one should rightfully know. I’ll mention it more later, but... V doesn’t act like himself and I don’t really know how to explain it.

Vergil is essentially her OC. Seriously--he’s not as brooding or snarky, he’s far too open and apologetic, there’s practically no sense of rivalry between him and Dante. Weirdly, he acts more like canon V than fic!V does, despite the fact that Porg wants to establish V and Vergil and separate characters. His actions also make no sense when put alongside his canon personality. We aren’t reading anything about Vergil, we’re reading about Porg’s weirdly idealized version of him.

I’m going to make a break in the post here because I feel like this is the part that needs the most attention:

Porg goes OUT OF HER WAY to dedicate a GIANT portion of this chapter to her own OC: Nero’s mom. There are several long paragraphs of establishing the relationship between her OC and Vergil, talking about leaving Fortuna, how they were ‘happy’ and then saying that after a hurricane (inspired by hurricane hugo, you’ll see later) she got separated from Vergil, never reconnected with him, GAVE BIRTH, died from a demon attack with Nero staying near her corpse, and then Nero was found by humans and taken off the mainland to be taken to an orphanage on Fortuna. She wanted a massive amount of time to be taken out of the fun parts of playing Devil May Cry to establish a relationship that would never come back and essentially turn into a 15 minute soap opera inserted into a game about having fun killing demons.

Alright back to the noted highlights.

Porg confirms in her fic that the universe of Devil May Cry happens in the US, and that Fortuna is an island along the southeast coast and I want to fucking rip my eyeballs out at this point.

The ONLY REASON why she is doing this is because she lives in Florida. I know she does, and she just wants to imply that this is all happening near her home turf. How anyone who lives in Florida thinks an island like Fortuna can exist is beyond me though, because playing through 4, most of the buildings are inspired by Italian designs, and no one in the states would build an entire island with italian designs. I’ve been to Florida multiple times--there’s no buildings there even REMOTELY designed to match Fortuna.

EDIT: I have been informed that Porg actually lives in Pennsylvania, not Florida, which makes both more and less sense. Why Florida? Why not a hidden island up on the east coast? Why does this have to be taking place in the states at all Porg???

Yeah, let’s take Nero off the MAINLAND OF FLORIDA after a DEVASTATING HURRICANE and send him to an orphanage on an ISLAND which would’ve been hit the hardest by ANY hurricane. TOTAL SENSE. 

She tries to make her own timeline for the series using actual real world dates and events and it’s terrible (she references Hurricane Hugo in 1989, and confidently states that 3 took place in 1990, despite all evidence for the actual dates of events being fan theory established through circumstantial evidence).

There’s so much horror movie inspiration here--not cheap horror, but really twisted shit that... doesn’t fit with Devil May Cry’s tone at all? In the slightest? She references Jacob’s Ladder, plus all the other body horror media I wrote above.

Straight up just tears Vergil’s arm off which sure, I guess we gotta make THAT a parallel between Nero and Vergil. They can have a father son moment over being physically maimed.

In the scene immediately before this, Urizen picks up Vergil by the head and roots around Vergil’s memories (somehow???) to show him all the ‘bad moments’ in his life to traumatize him. She describes it as the audience getting flashes of him falling to hell, charging Mundus, being Nelo Angelo, etc. 

This causes Vergil to cry and beg for Urizen to stop. Then Urizen rips off his arm. So. Yeah. Another point for the OOC!Vergil/OC-taking-Vergil’s-place board.

Also this point ALONE made me realize that Porg does not know how much time, effort, and money needs to be put into making assets. Like, the entire fic she was stressing that everything be done in 5′s HD Graphics--including the ruins of Mallet Island, so I have to assume she’d want these little snippets in HD too, which would be a massive money hole creating these assets for one scene that lasts maybe ten seconds total.

I know I stated it in one of my earlier posts, but most of what she’s writing would fit better with a sequel for the reboot series, not DMC5. It would make her OOC writing of Vergil make sense, all the horror movie inspiration and body horror shit would fit better there, especially all the crappy dialogue too.

She somehow made Griffon even MORE annoying than in cannon.

BTW if I had to listen to poetry while fighting the final boss of a video game, I’d sooner turn my PS4 off. Not that poetry isn’t cool and all, but it cheapens the final fight and distracts you. It wouldn’t work.

EDIT: I realized this point made no sense without context, sorry. Porg made the Book of Urizen (the poetry book by William Blake referenced multiple times by V) either weirdly prophetic or made it out like Blake had inner knowledge of demon powers or... something along those lines, and V magically has the knowledge that reciting poetry from the book about Urizen will... harm him? Weaken him? Open a gate to hell (she mentions a portal appearing near him)? It’s very unclear, but she essentially rewrites Urizen as the final boss, and makes it three stages (V [Griffon recites some verses, which is what the first point was about], Vergil and Dante [this is where Vergil gets his arm ripped off btw], and then Nero) with all three of them reading poetry from the book to deal the “final blow” to Urizen. I’d much rather have Vergil be the final boss than have to go through a three-stage boss fight while every character I play as recites poetry to kill the boss.

She mentions Dante using Sin DT against Urizen but I’m pretty sure with her fuckery of the game’s events Dante can’t GET Sin DT? Because there’s no fight between Nero and Urizen where he’d intervene?

COMPLETELY IGNORES VERGIL’S DEVELOPMENT OF WANTING TO TRAVEL WITH HIS BROTHER THROUGH HELL TO ELIMINATE THE QLIPHOTH FUCK OFF.

Also she changed the lore of the Qliphoth so that it sprouts semi-naturally around every 500 or so years? So... shouldn’t leaving the Qliphoth roots be fine now? Since it’s natural?

Nico acts like growing back arms is totally normal

Wrote an INCREDIBLY shoe-horned in moment in the van with Dante filling Trish and Lady in about finding Vergil and everything that happened where, once again, Trish and Lady act almost completely nonplussed that Vergil is alive after 20+ years in hell, with about 9 of those ten years being trapped under Mundus’ control and corrupted by the Demon King

Seriously why is no one surprised in this fic that Vergil survived? Dante has a brief moment before finding him, but everyone finds out and accepts it like flipping a switch (once again--ESPECIALLY DANTE, which is NOT how the grieving process works)

Porg states that the ending is trash because the twins are fighting in hell, but completely ignores that most of Dante and Vergil’s lives have been built on conflict and they like fighting demons, especially Dante. Both of them were happy and doing what they love.

She also completely ignores through this entire thing that Dante was really fucking depressed in the novels leading up to 5 but hey I don’t even know if she can read.

I can vaguely agree that Trish and Lady were sidelined and they should’ve had a bigger role. However, I can’t fault the directors for not doing this, because they were already developing three playable characters with their own unique fighting styles. She writes all this shit about the story, writes notes about controls and mission layouts, but forgets that it takes a lot more than pressing a single button to code a game.

She just doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Seriously, none of these things are cohesive or edited properly, and despite her saying she wanted better for Vergil, or Nero, or Dante, or V, she writes all of them incredibly out of character and doing illogical actions. I just... I don’t get it.

The best part is--I can’t even tell her about these things, or give constructive criticism. She moderates the comments on her fic and isn’t afraid to delete anything she doesn’t agree with or can’t make a ‘passionate rant’ about.

[orangeeu]

A GUIDE TO TOO’S CHAN

Heya! Here’s my essay about why you should stAN TOO’S CHAN!

SO! I recently stanned TOO because of their legendary Rising Sun cover in Road to Kingdom and because of the man, the myth, the legend… CHO CHANHYUK! Yeah, if you watched the performance already you may know who I’m talking about, but in case you don’t or you just didn’t bother to instigate in some intense kpop boy stalking (but why wouldn’t you?), I’ve made a guide for y’all!!

//Ahem A GUIDE TO TOO’S CHAN / CHANHYUK!

(Oh, and btw, no, I didn’t just copy and paste this from kprofiles.com - I added some extra facts and actual, CONCRETE reasons as to why you should stan him!!!) 

‘KAY, ONTO THE GUIDE!!

[BASIC INFO aka boring (but important) stuff lol]

Stage name: Chan 

Birth Name: Cho Chan Hyuk

Position: Main Dancer, Rapper, Producer

Birthday: December 8th, 1999

Zodiac Sign: Sagittarius

Height: 180 cm (5’11”)

Blood Type: O

Nationality: Korean

Element: Fire

YAY! BORING STUFF OVER!! Now here’s some insight on some Chan only tingz~~ 

[FUN FACTS]

He ranked 2nd place on the survival show that TOO was formed from called, To Be World Klass (DESERVED)

He has an older sister

Introduces himself as being “all-rounded” WHICH IS TOTALLY TRUE! He can rap, dance AND produce!!! 

Motto: “Let’s move smartly”

He is a former SM Entertainment trainee

He dropped out of high school

HE HAS A TATTOO ON HIS LEFT FOREARM AND BACK!! It’s hard to see them but alas! I’ve found a Twitter thread exposing his rad tats!: https://twitter.com/CHANHYUCKlE/status/1264654817261125632 From what I can observe, the one on his forearm is of a whale and flowers, and the one on his back is of flowers?? (He even once said that he hopes to get another tattoo on his waist!! YES PLEASE SIR)

He is left-handed 

He and Chihoon are producers/rappers for the dance group CUROHAKO. They actually have a Youtube channel and Chan is in two of their videos!!: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7uhq2pJA6oQ  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EgTT4bBGI78 

His favorite colour is black 

His favorite emoji is the fox emoji 

His favorite food is sushi

His favorite movie is called ‘About Time’

He can freaking guess pizza by its scent!! This was so cute tho, please watch it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mZHi8aNDTuc 

He ripped his pants during a stage but said he was fine with it as long as it’ll get his group views LMAO 

His dancer name is K!ZAROO (but I don’t know if he still goes by it)

His Myers-Briggs personality type is ENTJ (extoverted, intuitive, thinking, judging); natural leaders brimming with confidence and charisma. They’re determined when faced with challenges and thinks strategically in order to achieve their goals. You can read more about his MBTI here!: https://www.16personalities.com/entj-personality 

Part of the self-proclaimed, “sexies” sub-unit consisting of him and Chihoon

He was chosen as the most fashionable member in the group 

He used to have a lip piercing (I don’t know if it’s closed up by now or not)

He hates fluorescent lighting

AYE-- I wish I had more, but that’s all the facts I’ve found about him so far! I’ll update this in the future once TOO ages like fine wine..!

Here are scientific reasons as to why you should stan him!!

[WHY YOU SHOULD STAN]

IDOL TRAITS (why you should stan him as an IDOL):

1. DANCE

His dancing! He’s not the main dancer for nothing! His movements are smooth and natural yet aggressive and passionate..! His strongest point is free styling!  Whenever he free styles, you can tell that he’s simply vibing and embracing his element. It’s obvious that he really loves dancing and that he practices a lot.

People say that he’s similar to NCT’s Taeyong or that he’s “the next Taeyong” but I couldn’t disagree more.. Chan is his own individual with a distinct and unique dancing style. He’s NOT “the next Taeyong”, he’s Cho Chanhyuk! 

Sorry, I just get a bit annoyed when people say things like that.. Anywho, here are some videos of Chan being a dancing legend.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLBYBAT1gGg 

https://youtu.be/TWiyBUBL3A0 

https://twitter.com/chanhyuckie/status/1265174013032034306

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZdxA2kewsg 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=l8Eg6AuiNxc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7TIR0W0YPLc

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4QrJ3cCBuzA

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5GFU0f5xKPs 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7CdHHqH51gg

https://twitter.com/i/status/1272322590854590465

WATCH THIS ONE ESPECIALLY!!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vnx8pmtUwWo                                     

2. RAP

Tough tone that’s got its own colour! Also really good at free styling his rap! 

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=o72hX8R28fo 

Chan’s free verse and him bopping with Lil Pump and the bois.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-elXeK0qYf8

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4lEetiEqvDI

3. PRODUCE

HE.PRODUCES.HIS.OWN.DAMN.SONGS!! It’s actually very difficult to produce music as it takes a lot of patience, knowledge and creativity! Pretty sick beats with more rad raps! Here’s his soundcloud!

https://soundcloud.com/canigetyourchan

Hope he releases the rest of his works!

4. CHARISMA

A born performer! He never fails to give me goosebumps!! Chan is just mesmerizing when performing, he’s like a magnet.. It’s hard to lose sight of him on stage because he stands out so much! He’s an expert with facial expressions and consistently makes sure to fully immerse himself into the performance; it’s his expression of self which makes him shine so brightly on stage. 

PERSONAL TRAITS (why you should stan him as a PERSON:

1. PERFECTIONIST

A visionary and true tireless idealist. For most people, being a perfectionist isn’t an ideal trait, yet I still find myself respecting Chan for being one. He’s critical when it comes to creating the perfect performance and works really hard to achieve results which reaches his (high) standards. I think that’s pretty admirable - the fact that he puts his blood, sweat and tears to put on not only a good show, but one that exceeds standards for our sake, his own sake and the rest of TOO’s sake. 

2. PASSION

I think that the thing that I adore about him the most is his passion. As I mentioned before, he absolutely loves dancing. It’s refreshing to visibly see an idol enjoy themselves on stage. Chan doesn’t just perform, he lives. When he’s performing, he loses himself in the thing that he loves doing the most and relishes the moment like there’s no tomorrow.

3. DETERMINATION

Even if Chan isn’t the official leader of TOO, his leadership qualities are quite prominent. He’s determined to reach his goals and get through challenges no matter what. Taking initiative, he leads the group in dance and assists others when they are struggling. This can be seen by observing World Klass clips of the boys practicing All You Need Is Love - when Chan noticed that Chihoon was having difficulty with the choreography he called him over and helped him with it. Another example is when they ranked last place in Road to Kingdom and Chan, motivated to do better and prove TOO’s capability of rising up the ranks, thoughtfully assisted in planning their performance and concept and rigorously practiced while leading the others. 

4. CREATIVITY

Idea bank! As an artist myself, I marvel at Chan’s creativity. The concepts and choreographies that he comes up with are astounding and prove to have super effective results! He actually came up with the Rising Sun concept in TOO’s Road to King performance. Because they watched the sun set from the rooftop, Chan was inspired to make their concept about them being rookies and rising in the music industry like the sun!! Say it with me: Chan swollen brain, Chan inflamed brain, chAN GINORMOUS BRAIN!!! 

Overall, Chan, despite his appearance of being intimidating, is actually a real sweet guy that smiles and laughs easily. He’s a soft boi (especially for Chihoon) and likes to initiate skin ship. Members actually stated that Chan likes to act cute and even refers to himself as ‘Chanhyukie’!! So please don’t be fooled by his cool guy demeanor, he’s a squish if you take a closer look..! 

Wow, that was a LOT of writing! That aside, here are some random Chan stuff!

[ MISCELLANEOUS] 

Predebut Chan pics: https://twitter.com/c12c8h__177o/status/1265420652011417601

PREDEBUT CHAN IN BOY STORY ASDFGK (if you squint you can find him in the crowd starting from around 2:48. He’s the one with the yellow hair and sunglasses): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=klg8niUUjRQ

Cute clip from World Klass of Chan being all cuddly and cute with Kyungho!: https://twitter.com/i/status/1265176511146934273

Absolutely no context: https://twitter.com/CHANPlCS/status/1264522391008481280

E-BOY CHAN: https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6824848435217304837 https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6819342086857313542  https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6817551314097016069  https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6788981280240454918  https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6784186996119145733          https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6769724996559310086              https://www.tiktok.com/@too_offcl/video/6767461954127744262              

Saranghae saranghae saranghae Chan dance tutorial uwu: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9F4kQoaMljI

Chan humoring some fans: https://twitter.com/i/status/1249025324689453056 (scroll down below the first Tweet)

Chan English king: https://twitter.com/i/status/1251600155578494976

A cutie: https://twitter.com/i/status/1248594397056217088

Chan recommended this song! It’s pretty good so give it a listen!: https://open.spotify.com/track/7iooxPmnLY6wZynSplHUah?si=fBa5ppR0Qd-klOLa9tvnbA 

O-kay! I think that’s all the Chan content I have for now! Once again, I’ll update  this occasionally while on my journey with TOO! Don’t forget to stan Chan and TOO! Hope this has convinced you!! If it did, then please reblog this to spread exposure for Chan and TOO!

Before you go, please go watch their debut song Magnolia, thank you! Have a great day! 

(P.S., IF YOU FEEL LIKE THERE’S SOMETHING I SHOULD ADD OR CHANGE THEN DON’T HESITATE TO NOTIFY ME, THANKS!) 💖💖💖

[iwillgiveyoumyhappiness]

이승협, Lee Seunghyub

anonymous asked:

hello sweetheart! can i request a prompt from prompt list#2, 22 and 13 with Seunghyub from N.Flying if that possible of course?

Group: N.Flying (엔플라잉)

Member: Seunghyub

Prompt: “Have you lost your damn mind?”, “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice”, “Kiss me”.

.

.

.

The small restaurant you worked at wasn’t the most popular place in the world, and that was true enough. But a person who had spent any amount of time there knew that it was a special place, filled with scented candles, enchanting wall-art, addictive appetizers and pretty fantastic fresh-brewed coffee.

It was a place where artists came and drew on the walls as they pleased, leaving pieces of their passion behind on the pale surfaces. It was a place where students came to study in peace and laugh over good food. 

It was a place where businessmen came to wind down after a tiring day, and it was a place where the staff was more like family than anything else. It was a place where you worked—not because it was necessary—but because you genuinely liked it.    

That’s why it was always such a shame when people disrupted that calming environment. 

There were twelve regulars at that restaurant that you worked at. 

The three trainees from JYP that always came for breakfast and lunch. You didn’t know what they usually did for dinner, but you hoped that they ate well. They were nice boys with positive attitudes and a butt-load of talent. 

They’d given you a mini-concert before, just for practice. 

The woman who’d been going through a messy divorce, but stayed unbelievably strong for her kids. She talked about them so fondly, so you knew she would make it through all right. 

The grandma and grandpa that had been coming there every Tuesday since they got engaged there over forty years ago. Although that’d been before your time, they told you the story in such detail, it felt like you had seen it for yourself.

The stock manager with a sharp tongue, but kind eyes. He knew how to complain about the serving portions, but he also knew how to tip very well and always ask how your day had been.

The childhood friends that had moved from Incheon to study in Seoul. You just knew that they would end up together one day. It was the way that they looked at each other, filled with tenderness, distant adoration and a certain shy hesitance.  

The brother and sister that were trying to reconnect after being separated for a long time. They were still a little awkward with each other, but they were getting better every day. They’d even found a common interest in musical theater. 

And finally, the aptly named: Question Mark Man. 

You didn’t know much about him, but he’d always been interesting to you. His schedule was somewhat erratic, but he made sure to come in at least once a week. He always kept a low profile, had never told you his name, never made a big fuss about anything and always sketched on the wall in the far-back corner.

He’d been coming for about three months now.

He was tall, handsome, charming and a complete mystery. You didn’t even know what he’d been working on so diligently for the past three months. It looked like a person, but it was hard to tell who it was. He added a new piece every time that he came. 

The first day he came, he’d drawn a very rough outline. 

The second day, he added more detail to the body. 

The third day, someone had drawn over part of the arm, so he had shyly asked you to reserve that spot for him and only him. You’d accepted. 

The days went on, and the drawing only got more and more detailed. All he did now was hesitate to finish the face. He had started multiple times, but he’d always end up erasing it and starting again, insisting it was never quite right. 

“It has to be perfect,” he’d said one day.

You had chuckled at him. “Must be a pretty special drawing then, sir.” 

You’d studied him for quite some time now. Everything down to his bright eyes, skilled, lovely hands and heart-stealing smile. 

“You’re obsessed,” your co-worker had once told you. 

You had politely told her to go screw herself. “He just makes me curious,” you argued. “If I got to know him, he probably wouldn’t be my type.”

But today, there he was again, sitting in the far corner, drinking a cup of hot coffee. As always, he slaved over that drawing. 

“It looks like he’s actually making progress today,” you mentioned to your co-worker. 

She playfully smacked your arm. “Stop staring! You look like a psychopath.” 

“Wow,” you scoffed, though a smile played on your lips. “Rude.” 

She shrugged. “You know me.”

“Unfortunately,” you joked. You both laughed before parting ways. You focused yourself on the mundane task of rearranging the menus, trying your hardest to keep your attention off of the Question Mark Man. You didn’t want your friend’s prediction to come true. 

‘Suspected stalker’ certainly wouldn’t look very good on any future resumes. 

Your ears perked up hearing the familiar jingle of the rusty old bell that hung over the door. You looked up at the man that’d just entered. After being at this for a while, you had gotten to be a pretty decent judge of character, just based off of first impressions.

This guys didn’t give off a very good one. 

He was well-built and he wore ripped jeans, a shirt with slightly too deep of a V-neck, one-too-many earrings in one ear and a worn, leather jacket. His hair was brushed cleanly (rather nerdy-looking, compared to the rest of him) and you could see a book-bag hanging loosely off his shoulder, almost like he was trying too hard to be cool. 

First impressions could be totally wrong, and he still had the eyes of a kid, but something felt off about him. Not usually the type to come into this place. 

A highschool student playing hooky, perhaps? 

You shook it off, giving him a polite bow. “Good afternoon! Feel free to sit anywhere you like and I’ll be with you in a minute.” You recited the spiel perfectly, a pleasant smile on your face. 

The man—or more so, boy—gave you a once-over. “Will do,” he replied a smirk playing on his lips. 

You groaned internally. “Oh, great,” you grumbled under your breath. “This is gonna be fun.” You grabbed a menu, setting aside your uneasy thoughts.

The customer’s comfort always comes first. It was basically a law in the business of serving. 

“Hi,” you said, trying to sound as naturally friendly as possible. “Anything I can get you?” 

The boy propped his chin up against his palm. “Yeah, there is actually,” he answered smoothly. He gestured behind him. “You see those guys outside, waiting by the door?”

You glanced to the front window. Sure enough, there were four of five boys, similarly dressed, peering in through the window, seemingly making playful jabs at each other. “Yeah,” you said. “And what about them?” 

“Well, those are my friends,” he said, “and they dared me to come in here and kiss you.” 

You almost laughed. “I’m sorry—what? Could you repeat that?” 

“They dared me to kiss you,” he chuckled, giving a charming smile. “Crazy, right?” 

You nodded exaggeratedly. “Yeah, actually, it’s pretty crazy. Borderline disgusting.” 

His smile dropped a little. “That’s a little harsh.” He shook his head, trying to ignore the discreet insult. “So! Do you think you’ll help me? I actually have a lot of money riding on this. Not to mention, pride.” 

You gave a nervous chuckle. “Sorry, I guess I’m just not in a very giving mood today. I don’t really feel like helping you save money. Or your pride, sir.”

He frowned. “What?”

You shrugged. “That’s just the way life goes, I guess. But! If you’d like, you can still order something and I’d be happy to get it for you—”

He stood up, grabbing your waist. “Oh, come on,” he said. “What do you have to lose?” The other boys could be seen hooting and hollering from outside. 

You pushed his hand away. You were done playing nice. “I’m sorry, sir, but you need to leave.”

He narrowed his gaze. “Listen here—” 

“She said it was time for you to go, I think.” 

You recognized that voice immediately. It was the same voice you’d been hearing once every week for the past three months, whenever he ordered his Americano and biscuit, or when you made pointless small-talk together.

You were so grateful for that voice. The voice of the Question Mark Man. 

You felt a warm hand wrap around your waist. You tried to jump away, but he held it firmly. Not in a threatening way, but protective. 

“You asked what she has to lose,” the familiar stranger began, “and I have an answer.” He flashed that signature smile. “Her boyfriend’s temper.” 

Your jaw dropped, as well as the boy’s. This was the kind of scenario you’d only seen in dramas, and now it was happening in real life. You weren’t quite sure if it was surreal, or insane. 

He leaned in close to your ear. “Kiss me,” he whispered.

Your eyes widened. “Are you out of your damn mind?” you hissed back in a hushed tone. “We don’t even know each other! Besides, he wouldn’t even buy that—”

He cut you off by placing a chaste kiss on your cheek, never once breaking eye-contact with the boy. 

Despite his brutish outward appearance, the boy flushed a bright red, slowly backing away towards the door. “I-I’m sorry,” he stuttered before running out. 

The mystery man chuckled, still so close to you that you could feel the vibrations. “I think he bought it okay,” he said, slipping his arms away from your waist. “Sorry I kinda had to man-handle you back there.” 

You were still dazed and confused, your eyebrows furrowed. “It’s... fine,” you finally settled on. “It’s fine. Why did you help me, though? You didn’t have to do that.” 

For a moment, he looked a little shy, shuffling his feet. “Well... I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” 

Now it was your turn to be embarrassed. Your cheeks lit up immediately. “Oh my gosh,” you stuttered. “I’m so sorry about that. I swear I’m not—”

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” he interrupted with a small grin, “but I guess you haven’t seen the way I look at you.” 

You were left confused again. “Excuse me?” He gestured to the far back corner. Your eyes followed where his finger pointed, eyes widening in wonder.

He’d finished it. The three-month-awaited art piece was finally done. 

And it was you. 

At first, you wouldn’t believe it. That was far too pretty to be you, wasn’t it? The hair was too nice, the smile was too princess-like, the eyes were too emotional. That couldn’t be you...

Yet it was. 

You slowly looked back at him, flattered and shocked all at once. “Well, okay then,” you laughed. “To whom do I thank for the amazing likeness?” 

He gave a giddy smile. “Seunghyub,” he said. “Lee Seunghyub.”

.

.

.

N.Flying is one of the most fun and extra groups I’ve ever had the pleasure of stanning, so writing our multi-talented leader in this type of setting was very different for me. Different, but fun. We all want a potato in shining armor, don’t we?

Hey, Anon! Thanks for the request! I had so much fun with it and I hope you love it a lot. Feel free to stop by anytime! 

[luciasaestetablog]

Reflection Entry 1

How do one’s surroundings and experiences help play a role in someone’s life?

In John Berger’s video, “The Way of Seeing, Episode 1 (1972),” he states that children often interpret images to experiences that they’ve had. This being said, I believe that others’ works and philosophies have influenced me in my life and work because I have resonated with them and applied them in my life, whether that be consciously or unconsciously. It is also possible that despite me not resonating with certain philosophies, I’d still apply them in my life because the people around me are applying them and have positive influences from the work/philosophy.

In the same way, those works and philosophies help me generate and evaluate new ideas by allowing me to take what resonates with me, put it together with my learnings from my experiences, and form a new idea. I can evaluate these ideas by comparing them to what I’ve done in the past and their outcomes. Based on that, the evaluation on whether or not the idea is effective for me and should be applied in my life.

My sense of aesthetics has changed in a similar way to how other’s philosophies and works have influenced me. I believe that my surroundings over the years have contributed to my sense of aesthetics and because my surroundings have changed, so has my sense of aesthetics. Mariagrazia Portera states in her paper Why do human perceptions of beauty change? The Construction of the Aesthetic Niche that “Aesthetic and artistic behaviors, preferences, and habits are neither completely given at birth nor encoded in our genome; rather, they are the hybrid result of a mutual interaction between humans and their multifaceted world.” In short, we tend to evolve through cultural niche construction behavior and biological evolution.”

My concepts of aesthetics would help me develop creative solutions in my field by allowing me to look at designs and interpret them in ways that are unique to me. John Berger stated in his video that “... as soon as the meaning of the painting becomes transmittable, this meaning is liable to be manipulated and transformed. It’s no longer a constant. It’s changed by the camera which moves, by words put over it, by music played over it.” I took this as him saying that everybody’s free to interpret the painting in their way. With this, I’d be able to make solutions that are different from everybody else’s while proving them to be effective. My practice would relate to other artistic fields and disciplines in the same manner stated above- a work of art gets interpreted differently by different people (i.e. a similar experience such as heartbreak can be interpreted differently by multiple artists) and the sense of aesthetics changes over time.

All artists, no matter how different the field, share similar experiences when creating their art and appreciating others' art. It may not be something that’s realized right away or may go unnoticed completely, but once the artist becomes aware of it, the concept that many different pieces of art may stem from a similar experience becomes hard to forget.

Sources:

Tw19751. (2012, October 08). John Berger / Ways of Seeing, Episode 1 (1972). Retrieved February 02, 2022, from https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0pDE4VX_9Kk 

Portera, M. (2017, October 18). Why do human perceptions of beauty change? The Construction of the Aesthetic Niche. Retrieved February 02, 2022, from https://www.environmentandsociety.org/perspectives/2016/5/article/why-do-human-perceptions-beauty-change-construction-aesthetic-niche 

[red-will]

This is how we can envision Black freedom

For the U.S. to untangle itself from its legacy of white supremacism, we must live like we understand what our true history teaches us, from Emmett Till to George Floyd.

PUBLISHED MAY 25, 2021• 20 MIN READ

I.

On June 27, 2015, Black artist and activist Bree Newsome Bass climbed the flagpole at the South Carolina statehouse and took down the Confederate flag that had flown above the people of that state for over 50 years. This act came 10 days after a white supremacist murdered eight Black parishioners and their pastor at Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church in Charleston. Grown from a congregation first organized by enslaved and free Blacks in the late 18th century, Emanuel is the oldest African Methodist Episcopal church in the American South. It is a church where Black freedom has been envisioned and practiced throughout the entirety of its existence, from the 19th-century congregant Denmark Vesey—who bought his own freedom and helped plan a revolt of his fellow human beings who were still enslaved—to the 20th-century civil rights marchers and leaders who regularly gathered within its sacred space.

As she expected, Newsome Bass was arrested as soon as she rappelled down the statehouse flagpole, Confederate flag in hand. Her act memorialized Emanuel’s pastor and parishioners. It also made an ephemeral but indelible monument to Black freedom.

When asked why she did what she did, Newsome Bass answered, “I did it because I am free.”

What does it mean to be Black and free in a country that rejects Black freedom?

II.

I am an educator who teaches students about submerged histories, revelatory art, and the critical thinking that sharpens questions that move us toward truth. I am a poet, and my poet’s tool is the word. The word is holy and bears the heft of human experience; the poet must wield it as precisely as possible. I have found that writing poems brings me closer to understanding my fellow human beings—individually and in community—in our many contradictions and complex histories. Poems give form to truths and understandings that might otherwise be lost.

As leader of the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation, I am privileged to help support artists, thinkers, researchers, and other kinds of builders who illuminate stories and experiences that have often been hidden, overwritten, or mistold.

In a year darkened by loss, their light shone with particular power through the work we are supporting with the largest initiative in our history, the Monuments Project.

We have found inspiration in monuments like artist Judith Baca’s “Great Wall of Los Angeles,” a vibrant mural more than half a mile long that has brought together dozens of community members over 40 years to paint a richer, more inclusive history of California.

We supported a new memorial to Emmett Till, the 14-year-old Black boy from Chicago who, when visiting family in Mississippi in the summer of 1955, was kidnapped, tortured, and murdered by two white men for allegedly whistling at a white woman. His mother brought his body back to Chicago for an open-casket funeral to “let the people see what they did to my boy,” and Jet magazine published photographs that would widely spread the word of a terrifying story that was not isolated.

Till became an emblem of the racist violence that Blacks were still subject to and helped to catalyze the civil rights movement. The site sign that marks where his body was pulled from the Tallahatchie River in Mississippi had to be replaced many times because it was riddled with bullet holes.

As an educator and fieldbuilder in African American studies, I believe that the knowledge from this field sits at the center of any genuine understanding of the United States, holding the legacy and ongoing existence of anti-Black enmity in its unflinching gaze alongside the knowledge, philosophy, and creativity that emerges from this American history of struggle and endurance.

The lynching of Emmett Till and the mass murder of the Emanuel parishioners—among countless other acts of anti-Black terrorism down through the generations—underscore this truth about our country: It was built in part, and is still being built, on anti-Black hatred and violence. How do we move forward with this contemptible knowledge and its antidotes as our guides?

III.

On January 6, 2021, domestic terrorists carried out a violent insurrection at the United States Capitol. Incited by the president and some in the U.S. Senate and House of Representatives, this armed and organized mob brutalized law enforcement; killed a police officer; terrorized democratically elected representatives, their staffs, and some of their family members; assaulted journalists; erected a gallows; looted offices; stole documents and laptops, including that of the speaker of the House, which the thief allegedly planned to sell to Russian agents; smeared human feces through the building; and extensively defaced commemorative displays and works of art, including a memorial placard to Congressman John Lewis, the recently deceased civil rights icon.

Also on that day: A Confederate flag, which had never before breached the heart of Congress, was waved in its halls by one of the terrorists. This flag memorializes white supremacy, commemorates the lost cause of those who fought a war to keep Black Americans enslaved, and instructs race-based hatred.

After hours spreading savagery and chaos through the halls, the terrorists were largely allowed to depart the Capitol unfettered. Photographs showed Black and brown custodial workers cleaning up the wreckage the mob left behind.

IV.

Years ago, I wrote a series of sonnets in the voices of young Black women who studied at Quaker educator Prudence Crandall’s school in Canterbury, Connecticut, in the 1830s. White parents pulled their daughters from the school because they did not want them educated alongside Black students, but Miss Crandall continued educating those young Black women and girls despite the violent opposition of Canterbury’s white residents. Those residents ultimately burned the school to the ground. Miss Crandall’s unwavering courage could not keep the schoolhouse safe. But in the sonnets’ vision, the rare quest for education for Black women was “the one perfect religion” that the townspeople could not destroy.

Without learning, without knowledge, without the voices and the experiences and the insights gained from a determined excavation of our country’s past, we will never eradicate racism and racial violence. If we are to stop weaving white supremacism into the fabric of our country, then we must learn our full histories. We must live like we understand what that history teaches us.

In a poem, I once portrayed the great poet Robert Hayden in the 1940s as he dedicated himself, “stoop-shouldered,” to sifting through the records of the slave ship Amistad, extracting history’s hidden insights and the story of resistance from that ship’s log. “Blood from a turnip,” I wrote of his daunting and exhausting process of deep research to tell the story of “this / protagonist-less / Middle Passage” from the perspective of the captives rather than solely that of the captors.

Ultimately the “slavers’ meticulous records” revealed the determination of the Africans on board to resist being dehumanized as property. That gave Hayden, in turn, the knowledge he needed to tell us the story too few had contemplated: that there were many Black people who challenged slavery as their fate and fought back for their freedom, as well as white people who were their allies.

To return to Miss Crandall: After her school was destroyed, in 1834, one of her students, a young Black woman named Julia Williams, moved to New Hampshire to study at an integrated school. There, as in Canterbury, the act of teaching Black and white children together drew a violent response from white people in the community. I researched the history and then described, in the conjured voice of Miss Williams, an unforgettable true scene:

From the town and neighbors came three hundred armed men, ninety oxen teams.

They dragged the school building utterly off its foundation. I have twice seen bloodlust and ignorance combust. I have seen it.

Bloodlust and ignorance combust. I continue to return to those words.

V.

New York City, where I was born, is a city that exists in the mind and in the matter-of-fact corporeality of day-to-day New Yorkers as one definition of freedom—freedom of expression, freedom of belief, and the power of a multicultural metropolis.

The identity emerges from complexity. More enslaved Black people lived in New York City in the 1700s than in any city other than Charleston, South Carolina. Many free Black people lived in New York as well, in places such as Seneca Village, where residents were forced out by eminent domain in 1857 before the community was razed to build Central Park. Those enslaved and free Black people’s stories still speak to us through material clues such as the coins, beads, coffins, and shrouds left behind in subterranean sites like the African Burial Ground in Lower Manhattan.

In Brooklyn, in 2001, five corncobs laid out in a distinct shape were found in a crawl space of a house. Those corncobs formed a star, scholars determined, that suggested a West African cosmogram, one that conveys two worlds of the living and the dead, both eternally connected in a West African vision of the cosmos in diaspora.

When I read about that archaeological discovery, I envisioned the moment when the rumor of freedom was made real, in a poem called “Emancipation”:

Corncob constellation, oyster shell, drawstring pouch, dry bones.

Gris gris in the rafters. Hoodoo in the sleeping nook. Mojo in Linda Brent’s crawlspace.

Nineteenth century corncob cosmogram set on the dirt floor, beneath the slant roof, left intact the afternoon that someone came and told those slaves,

‘We’re free.’

Imagine, the revelation of freedom—two words, “We’re free.” We are still enacting and imagining the aftermath.

VI.

In mid-century Los Angeles, in the Watts neighborhood, an Italian immigrant named Simon Rodia built an extraordinary structure by hand. The Watts Towers soar toward the sky in multiple forms, nearly a hundred feet tall at the highest. Rodia envisioned and built the towers day by day over three decades, from durable steel and delicate wire mesh, bottle glass, white seashells, pottery shards, mint chip and maraschino mosaic tiles, shades of lapis lazuli, cobalt, and the thick, bright yellow of a crayoned sun. Like the “corncob constellation” left behind in the crawl space of the house in Brooklyn, each seemingly mysterious object carries power and meaning.

“It shows that we are people too, that we have brains and we can make it too if we put our minds to it,” Carolyn Byers, a young woman from Watts, said of the towers. She was talking to a reporter in 1991, the year Rodia’s vision was designated a national landmark; six months before that, a Black man named Rodney King was brutally beaten by white police officers in the San Fernando Valley, and the officers’ subsequent acquittal sparked five days of riots across South Los Angeles. 

Rodia moved to Watts about a century and a half after the Spanish founded the pueblo that became Los Angeles. Many of the Gabrielino-Tongva peoples who were the first inhabitants of the Los Angeles Basin were forced into enslaved labor at the region’s Spanish missions. By 1848 the part of Tovaangar that would become Watts had passed from the Spanish Empire to the Republic of Mexico and then was taken, along with more than half of Mexico’s territory, by the aggressively expansionist United States at the conclusion of the Mexican-American War.

Rodia lived in the community as it changed from one populated mostly by whites and Mexican Americans to a home for African Americans who had left the South in the Great Migration. By the time he completed the towers in 1954, the Watts community was predominantly Black; today, one full century after he first put his hands to steel at East 107th Street, it is majority Latinx, including large communities of Mexicans and Salvadorans. Throughout this time—throughout Los Angeles—descendants of the Gabrielino-Tongva peoples have continued to live in and honor their ancestral homeland. None of these complexities contradict; we must understand them together.

I have always been so moved by the inspirational power and seeming impossibility of the towers that I described them in the poem “Stravinsky in L.A.”: “The Watts Towers aim to split / the sky into chroma, spires tiled with rubble / nothing less than aspiration.”

To aspire: from the root meaning, fundamentally, “to breathe.”

VII.

When my family moved to Washington, D.C., from Harlem in late 1963, many parts of the city were racially segregated. I grew up a few blocks from the U.S. Capitol. My family and I would regularly stroll its meticulously tended grounds and sometimes picnic. Most years on the Fourth of July, we’d lay out blankets in the humid evening and listen to the U.S. Marine Band as fireworks exploded overhead in the summer deep darkness.

The Library of Congress was my childhood library because the Library of Congress is a public library. In high school I would research and write my papers there. Sitting in the glorious rotunda, I would think with excitement how the very building in which I learned held almost every single book on Earth. Anyone who walked through the doors had access to them.

I knew that the Capitol was where the actual business of our country’s governance took place and that it stood gleaming as both a symbol and a site for working out the complexities of millions of different people, with all their beliefs and backgrounds and experiences, living alongside one another in an ever evolving democratic experiment. My parents taught me that the Capitol was built by enslaved Black people, and that reverence for a space that was ours did not erase understanding voter suppression and the three-fifths compromise. They showed me how to hold seeming contradiction with a comprehension of our full history.

At the Lincoln Memorial, the towering marble form of the 16th president might make a child feel dwarfed, just as it made me feel as a child. But I want the child of today to understand that this figure is not merely a shadowing stone statue. It is also a site of powerful community gathering and activation. As the central location of the 1963 March on Washington and Martin Luther King, Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech—and so many marches to follow—the Lincoln Memorial is one of the most significant sites of civic action in our history. When Marian Anderson sang “my country, ’tis of thee” on its steps in 1939, she rebuked the segregation that had barred her from singing in Constitution Hall before the Daughters of the American Revolution.

Monuments and memorials are places where people come together to remember, to collectively mark a moment, to be a “we,” to help identify a new direction, and to make a way forward. This is the case even when the way forward is shaped by grief and not by joyful determination. The Vietnam Veterans Memorial, designed by the artist and architect Maya Lin when she was just 21 years old, introduced into the D.C. of my young adulthood a memorial that had no precedent in the D.C. of my childhood. This slash into the earth bears no figuration. It holds instead the ephemeral reflections of those who walk down into the ground to mourn their dead, evoking the true cost of all wars. It does so even as it raises unarticulated questions about the millions of Southeast Asian people who also were killed in that particular war, and whose names are not recorded on the memorial’s black granite.

What would it mean for us to have monuments and memorials that do not teach us to memorialize war or to commemorate fighting against others? What would it mean to enact the enduring spiritual’s words, “I ain’t gonna study war no more,” in our monuments?

VIII.

Tell the whole damn truth, in our history, our art, our words, and our memorials.

Mighty civil rights and voting rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer’s words are the simple truth: “Nobody’s free until everybody’s free.” Fighting for Black freedom means, in the words of Robert Hayden, “visioning a world where none is lonely, none hunted, alien.” It means understanding 19th-century Black enslavement alongside 21st-century Black mass incarceration; comprehending why Emmett Till’s casket is the most sacred object in the National Museum of African American History and Culture; acknowledging the horror of George Floyd’s and Breonna Taylor’s murders standing in seemingly never ending seriality with so many other murders. Fighting for Black freedom means centering the crucial questions raised by decades and decades of African American studies; they are still the right questions. And recognizing that the bravery of Bree Newsome Bass in June 2015 is more powerful than the violent desecration of the U.S. Capitol in January 2021.

Most days I play or hear in my head Nina Simone’s 1967 version of the Billy Taylor song, “I Wish I Knew How It Would Feel to Be Free.” The song has light and delight; it is singable, and in one facet, joyful. But the “wish” is both a commanding action—wish it, make it happen—as well as a word that says we’re not there yet. The conditional tense, “would,” marks that freedom is not fully attained.

The song’s bright music moves us ever forward. But Simone’s voice, in all its coloration and nuance, the dark side it carries in its light, reminds us that freedom—the right of every one of us—is a process. Freedom is work. Freedom doesn’t come by wishing. We must vision it. And we have survived by enacting those visions.

Elizabeth Alexander—poet, educator, memoirist, scholar, and cultural advocate—is president of the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation. She is the author or editor of 14 books and twice was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize; her book The Trayvon Generation is to be published this fall. She wrote the poem “Praise Song for the Day” for Barack Obama’s presidential inauguration in 2009 and delivered it there.

This story appears in the June 2021 issue of National Geographic magazine.

[oakmd]

Congratulations ! You received 1,000+ followers !

Continue? ▶YES ▷NO

 Well, I can’t really express anything but amazement at such an accomplishment, and to be honest I’m pretty blown away that so many of you have stuck with me since the beginning of this blog, and that so many of you enjoy Professor Oak enough to stay. I’ll forever stand by the fact that this blog was the best 'joke’ I ever made, and probably one of the most fulfilling things I’ve actively kept at. 

As much as I hope this blog has helped you find comfort and laughter, RPing Professor Oak has definitely changed me for the better, as well. It has given me an outlet to heal parts of myself and provide help to others, and also pushed me to practice positivity even when I know I get so low sometimes that I don’t even want to try. Another bonus is that I have met wonderful people here, most of you just strictly friends on the dash, but I’ve also gained relationships with people that have extended into discord and I’m sure it has made all the difference this past year and a half. 

As usual, I’m not really a fan of long-winded gushes of emotion, so I’ll keep it short, but I would really like to have it be known that my love for Professor Oak has grown tremendously, in ways I would have never reached without taking the time to thoughtfully craft his backstory and work to develop him further. I know he’s a very nostalgic character that so many of us know and respect that I’m always very careful of how I choose to build on the image without ruining what’s already there.  Out of all my many muses here, this one has seemingly ( and surprisingly ) all at once snuck its way as my primary blog; the blog I always look forward to logging into the most, where I enjoy following your activity whether it be IC or OOC, and just generally enjoy being in the presence of people so passionate about a fandom associated with my childhood. I love this little corner of a community that has welcomed me and engaged with me and unknowingly kept me going, and to look back at my experience and see that I’ve had no trouble at all makes me feel really lucky.

There will never be a way to fully and accurately express my thanks, but I will say it anyway: thank you so much, and I hope that no matter where you go, and no matter what you do, you are trying to be your best, and that you’re happy. Professor Oak will always be there to congratulate you when you reach your dreams.

IN NO PARTICULAR ORDER ( because my mind is so scattered - ) special shout outs to special people: 

@timecapscle - wasn’t it you that said i’d one day get 1,000 followers? : ) you’ve literally supported me since the beginning and i just wanna say that i appreciate your enthusiasm for professor oak as much as i appreciate your enthusiasm for bill. its wonderful to see someone represent an otherwise under represented character and you do it well. i care for you so much, and wish nothing but good things for your future even if you want to do bad things in the name of science

@diligentseeker / @evolutionexpert  - someone i consider a cherished friend, despite how sporadic our interaction seems, i appreciate all our random long talks on discord, and i’ll never forget our very first conversation. it meant a lot to me, and i want to thank you. i dont meet a lot of ppl that i feel ‘get’ me on some unspoken level, so when it happens, its a nice surprise. anyway i won’t ramble because i take it you’re not one for praise, but im glad people like you exist. with that being said please stop making professor elm stress me out.

@undinaes - the moment you’ve been waiting for. SIKE! just kidding; its no surprise that you’re always filling my dash with testimonials from people that see you for what you are. you’re a beam of sunshine with all the qualities to match; warm, bright, and a natural source of energy that brings people together. your passion for writing is astounding and even when ppl dont deserve your kindness, you’re unbiased in giving it out. truly a mom through and through. but most importantly, ur my girlie and im glad we met :v

@ofpalletown - in my mind, you are practically ash, and ill be here to support you even during all your moments of Extra™ ... but aside from that you’re very loyal to your friends and full of something sunny that i can’t describe. ur gonna be okay, kid. so pls stop stressing out ur dear prof oak 

@03redd - i probably mentioned not long ago that your blog is really good, but ill say it again in case you weren’t listening. i love your blog? its very fun to follow, and i think you’re one of my favorite reds. even with me not being game verse, its so easy to just immerse myself in whatever nonsense you have red drag professor oak into. i dig your creative energy. 

@normaliium - and ofc i cant leave out my cousin. the one to be admired, the ever-successful, brilliant human being that loves me even when i take off ten years of your life each night. my life would lack such substance without you, and i will never forget all you’ve done to help me when i would otherwise be left to myself. you make me really proud to know you, you really do, and everyone i ever talk to you about can attest to that. #YOLO

@bossgiovanni - you haven’t been active in forever, but you remain one of my friends and that’s all that matters. from skype to discord, im glad we could stick together even with our blatant differences in opinion. you are always so nice to me and say the kindest things, and i just wanna say thanks. hope youve been doing well! you are capable of so much, and i believe in you, so don’t forget that. 

@agentmansley - can i jsut say thank you for staying true to your muse and throwing even the purest of characters into your mess? i have loved your blog long before i made professor oak, and you’re seriously one of the funnest people i’ve rp’d with here. everything i’ve written with you is refreshing and new, and never fails to make me laugh. thank you for your love for kent, and also for writing with me. i know you’ve been MIA for a while, but you’re definitely a memorable person. 

@tcssaiga - i dont have a lot of cross-fandom interactions so when they happen im usually pleased. you’ve got great characterization, and have perfect dialogue. i never watched a whole lot of inuyasha but i’ve atched enough to know that you’re pretty close to canon. thanks for the interactions even if you’re mean to prof oak on archer ; (

@askgarymfoak - MY LITTLE ACORN!!!! the dedication you have for gary honestly gives me so much life, and i love rping with you on discord and just yelling about sam / gary hcs. its always a highlight of my day and i can tell you’ve thought about gary and his life long and hard, and its so cool to see someone interested in all that makes him the Headache we all recognize and love. please never stop sharing with me the personal hcs you have for the boy, i always want to hear them. 

@futureheld - we don’t even rp with each other on this muse BUT youre one of my longest tumblr rp friends that i still talk to and you’re really important to me. we have history, we go back!!!! okay? #FRIENDSHIP n all that. but tbh id follow you on any muse because your writing is just great? id write any weird crossover with you because you have a talent for making it work seamlessly anyway. thanks 4 the memories, loser. 

@seviiserver - CELIO!!! we dont talk as much as we used to, or rather, we talk in bursts every now and then but i consider you one of my good friends! not only are u really talented in all things artistic, but i love your writing and it’s always enjoyable to read, even if its not one of our threads together. you made me have so much adoration for celio and like all the other ppl ive met who bring life to underrated / under-rp’d muses, i enjoy seeing everything you pour into him... AND ALSO I LOVE OUR OAK / ROWAN INTERACTIONS? i love them so much it hurts okay. even if its just silliness in discord it brightens my day. anyway perhaps one day we will cross paths in this sleepless city and i will finally teach u how to ride a bike.

@rottenrhythms - i know i dont have much to say or comment with whenever you message me on discord, but i admire how much detail you put into your characters and meta. im always impressed with all the work and thought you put into your world-building; i wish i had that much drive. also, you’ve made a lot of improvement with yourself from the time i first started talking to you on skype. be proud of your progress, and keep working at it, it’s worth it in the long run!

@lack--two NATE youre definitely a very sweet person, and perhaps a little more devious ooc than i’d imagined you would be ( at least to me, why must you poke me for reactions? ; ( u wound me ) but you’re a soothing presence to be around and im glad you were finally able to make discord work. bonus points for letting me yell about yugioh all the time. never stop being wonderful. im here for you whenever you might need a listening ear, okay? 

@loyalpika / @palletbloomer - #PRIKA!!! ever since i first followed you i remembered being blown away by your extensive headcanons on pikachu and i genuinely enjoy every blog you make! we dont talk OOC but from all your ooc posts you seem like a very caring older sister and thats nice to see; with you running around all the time, i hope you do get some rest every now and then! i hope our camaraderie never falters, take care friend! 

@thepkmnnurse - i cant forget all the love and support both you and your muse have for professor oak, and im happy you try to spread positivity on the dash whenever you can! we don’t talk much OOC but from what i can tell you’re just as kind and nurturing as nurse joy herself. i hope you’ve been taking it easy wherever you are, and i hope your days are bright!

@rebelracket - will there ever be a day that i dont enjoy seeing your delinquent muse causing havoc on the dash? your creativity is wonderful to witness and i enjoy clarissa so much, thank you for interacting with a pure ol’ muse like mine. i hope we can continue to keep writing together, im excited at where we might end up. p.s. your art is delightful.

@porttownprince - you’re a gentle presence on my dash but im glad that youre here and that you’ve stuck around despite all the bad things that followed you. i hope you can overcome all the trauma you’ve been through. thank you for being kind with me!

@nikkouki - i know i dont say much but i enjoy your random check ins with me on discord, and i think youre a sweet young girl. you’re gonna go far in life, just make sure you keep going! continue being a precious kiddo and don’t forget to study your japanese ; (

@viciousvainglory & @midoriyamight - i cant think of one without the other so accept this double-tag lol. you’ve both supported this blog since the beginning and i wont forget how welcome you made me feel! no matter what blogs you’re on im glad we can still be friends! you deserve the big toblerone! 

@fateandfury - my long time writing parter without knowing we were long time writing partners! the work you put into professor juniper is something to behold! we haven’t seemed to interact much despite rping professor muses, but that doesn’t mean i don’t appreciate your take on such a muse!

OTHER BLOGS TO BE ADMIRED ( also in no particular oder) : @sterlingsilverchampion @starmarkcd @pxgtails @satanstories @champofpallet @golden-oak @spriggaens @nurturen @florenselite @craniumaniac @ask-guzma @tenderpoison @gocatchem @faemoria @hikaup@writtenbykaichu @executiveariana @honoxtokage @simikami @bigcalavera @rotorotom @thehopcful @and-they-succeeded @metalprincess13 @keep-those-memories-away @hisvanity @attitxde @asmayflies @sesshcmaru @theagentlooker @ambcrly @kantocowboy @dauphindekalos @beareroftheblueorb @blastingxff @aquaelegance @bugeyesboutique @make-it-trouble  @thunderstonereject  @theagentlooker @soultattered @scvedbylove  @diluviumx @inevitabilis-sors @pokedouche @fightiniumz @firespun

I’M SO SORRY IF I MISSED PEOPLE, THIS IS REALLY HARD FOR SOMEONE SO SCATTER-BRAINED AND MEMORY-FOGGED AS ME. EVEN IF YOU’RE NOT INCLUDED AND EVEN IF WE’RE NOT MUTUALS, I REALLY APPRECIATE YOUR SUPPORT OF THIS BLOG. WITHOUT ANY OF YOU I WOULDN’T HAVE GOTTEN HERE.

BE ON THE LOOKOUT FOR A GIVEAWAY!!!

THANK YOU SO MUCH!

[abigailtamayo]

Women’s Fashion Over Time

In its vast timeline, the history of fashion in art reveals a complex socio-economic system influenced by a culture of valuing individual collectives in a world of dynamic change. It is a unique system in that which its influences are found in close quarters; a grapevine of cultural impact showing people influencing people. The ensembles worn by subjects in various paintings and sculptures present us with a glimpse into the socio-economic conditions under which fashion became a commodification of social status and a symbol of societal and cultural value. As cultural events and new political climates rise, causing shifts in values and general rules of fashionable appearance tastes in fashion appears to change. Yet the relatively stable constant in notions towards fashion is a prescribed label of class, and therefore, your worth and position in society, associated with the clothing you wore. In a series of six costumes inspired by the Early Renaissance, the High Renaissance, the High Renaissance in Europe, Baroque art, Rococo to Neoclassicism, and Romanticism, I will break down the fashion trends of each period, focusing on iconic features of each fashion period and briefly explaining the cultural context of each garment. 

The Early Renaissance

This costume is based on the ensemble worn by Giovanni Arnolfini’s wife in the painting Giovanni Arnolfini and His Wife by early Renaissance painter Jan Van Eyck. A popular staple piece in early Renaissance fashion was the houppelande which was carried over from the fashion of the middle ages. In The Concise History of Costume and Fashion by James Laver, he describes the general appearance of the houppelande as a garment that fitted the shoulders and was loose below, with a belt at the waist; the houppelande is what will later be known as ‘gown’.[2] This replication of a typical houppelande has a high collar and extremely long sleeves, fur trimming and fur lining, and hanging tippets from the edge of the sleeve to the back of the gown. The gown itself is extremely long, ballooning outward from the waist. The houppelande could be made in a selection of fabrics such as wool, silk, and velvet[3], and were could be dyed a rich, vibrant colour as seen in Jan Van Eyck’s painting. Since the middle ages, the use of fur in fashion had become symbolic of wealth and importance and was oft worn by nobility.[4] Since fur was difficult to come by, it was an elitist luxury used in excess by middle and higher class people, establishing a social distinction between them and the lower-class through their clothing. As for the headdress, at this point, not much has changed since the middle ages in terms of style. However, the custom of covering mature and married women’s hair was becoming less strict, and we see more women revealing their hairstyle beneath their headdress.[5] 

The High Renaissance

This High renaissance costume is based on the Mona Lisa by Leonardo da Vinci. The During the High renaissance, many cultural trends such as the rise and spread of books, the expansion of trade and exploration, and the increase in power and wealth of national monarchies in France, England, and Spain influenced tastes in fashion and the dynamic changes fashion underwent, as well as the idea of the modern ‘trendsetter’.[6] The essential garment for the High Renaissance woman was the gown. Its general features were the bodice, a skirt, and sleeves. The complex ensemble of the gown during this period can be seen in da Vinci’s Mona Lisa. The gown could be made from luxurious materials such as silk, velvet, and lace, worn with lavish jewelry, and decorated with intricate patterns of stitching and embroidery.[7] While the gown silhouette was common across social classes, the distinction lies within the materials used. Although the wealthy and powerful used expensive textiles for their gowns, the lower-class was still capable of emulating the gown with the materials they had access to such as wool and cotton.

The High Renaissance in Northern Europe

My iteration of Northern European High Renaissance fashion is based on Hans Holbein the Younger’s Portrait of Christina of Denmark. This portrait demonstrates the conservative side of fashion that was flourishing alongside a bold, vibrant movement that was challenging established trends. The model adorns a dark, velvet gown with a high collar; underneath we see a glimpse of the ruffs from her high collared undershirt. The ruffs were a common feature of the late fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, typically characterized as an upright, stiff collar that ruffles around the neck; ruffs were commonly adorned by noblemen and noblewomen.[8] Now, Holbein’s Portrait of Christina of Denmark does not show the typical extravagant ruffled collar, which could have been a stylistic choice by Holbein to allow the fur lining and trim of the subject’s outer gown to stand out, and remain the statement feature representing her wealth in the painting. The large size of the outer gown appears to further imply how much fur the gown is made of. 

Baroque Art

The Baroque artwork I’ve based this costume design on is Vermeer’s, Girl with a Pearl Earring. The Baroque period introduced innovations to the popular sixteenth-century gown. At the time Vermeer’s Girl with a Pearl Earring was composed, seventeenth-century fashion had already gone through several evolutions. Stomachers, which was either a v-shape or u-shape panel meant for decoration and structure, had become stiffer and flatter and elongated past the line of the waist.[9] Replacing the trend of using wired hoops, or farthingales, to give body to the skirt was the petticoat. The petticoat was a practical solution to the everyday issues of functionality women faced with farthingales. Petticoats made of cotton or wool were perfect for warmth, while more fashionable petticoats were made of taffeta, satin, linen, or a combination of starched fabrics.[10]

Rococo and Neoclassicism

This costume was inspired by Vigee Le Brun and her artistic style which can be described as being a mix of rococo colours with elements of the Neoclassic style. As a prolific French portrait painter, one of her prominent subjects for portraits was Marie Antoinette, the Queen of France who despite her tumultuous life in the public eye, was a fashion icon. The genius in Le Brun’s craft lies in her vast knowledge of current fashion and her awareness of the power of appearance. 

I based this costume on Vigee Le Brun’s, Self Portrait in a Straw Hat. In the painting, Le Brun is wearing a variation of the robe en chemise which emerged during the late eighteenth-century period as tastes in fashion moved away from the early period’s penchant for fuller-bodied skirts.[11] While its design echoes elements of early Rococo style, the robe en chemise was a gown made simple. These dresses were usually made of sheer, white cotton, with high waists and wrapped with a decorative satin sash; its slender silhouette was inspired by the fashion of ancient Greece and ancient Rome.[12] These dresses could also come in various colours, such as the rose-gold coloured dress Le Brun is wearing in her self-portrait. With its sheer material and low-cut neckline, the robe en chemise gained widespread attention because of its revealing nature; until this point, the gowns we’ve seen have been voluminous and covered much of the female body. Yet, this scandalous fashion found its way into the wardrobe of royalty, and most likely, the wardrobe of some upper-class women who wanted to be revered for wearing the latest fashion. This portrait of Marie Antoinette wearing a robe en chemise was painted by Le Brun.

Romanticism

Based on Delacroix’s, Liberty Leading the People, this costume is an iteration of the symbolic fashion of the woman in his painting. She is Liberty; she represents freedom, in an image that evokes a triumphant revolution as she leads people on the battlefield. The Romantic movement differed vastly from the current situation in early nineteenth-century France, which was characterized by social unrest and civil war between the bourgeoisie and the working class.[13] Romanticism was mostly a reaction to the modern realities brought on by the industrial revolution; the romantic movement in art reveals a desire to escape these modern realities, a theme which Delacroix’s painting emulates perfectly.

Liberty Leading the People encapsulates the transitional period between Neoclassicism and Romantic sensibilities.[14] There are neoclassical elements in Liberty’s appearance, but most prominent is her dress. The painting feels reminiscent of the time of unrest during the French Revolution, which Liberty embodies in her wearing a robe en chemise, referred to simply at this point as ‘a dress’. In general, dresses of any kind were lighter and much sheerer than garments from the eighteenth-century but the general features of the dress were kept the same: made from any selection of fabrics and usually white or light in colour, short sleeves, high waists and long, straight skirts.[15] 

From this brief overview of women’s fashion over time, it is evident that notions towards dress and appearance, and how we tend to associate certain styles of fashion to specific groups of people and/or cultures have not changed. Although fashion continues to evolve, the same old fashion trends appear and disappear, then reappear; reinvented or inspiring a consequent fashion movement. There is a romantic sensibility in the way we often tend to return to past fashion trends. It begs the question if there will ever be a completely fresh fashion movement, or will our futile attempts remain the shells of historic innovations in fashion from the past. Nevertheless, as one of few primary resources for contemporary fashion designers, these artworks reveal the true impact of fashion and art as they continue to influence fashion and social cultures in our modern world.      

––––––––––––

Footnotes

[1] Ibid. 600.

[2] Laver, "The Concise History of Costume and Fashion: Laver, James, 1899-1975: Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming." Internet Archive. January 01, 1969. Accessed July 17, 2020. https://archive.org/details/concisehistoryof00lave/mode/2up, 64.

[3] Pendergast, Sara, Tom Pendergast, and Sarah Hermsen. Fashion, Costume and Culture: Clothing, Headwear, Body Decorations, and Footwear through the Ages. Vol. 3. Detroit: U.X.L, 2004, 450.

[4] Ibid. 624.

[5] Ibid. 488.

[6] Ibid. 469.

[7] Ibid. 477.

[8] Ibid. 482-483.

[9] Ibid. 521; 525.

[10] Ibid. 523.

[11] Ibid. 570.

[12] Ibid. 570

[13] Hurley, Clare. "French Romantic Painter Eugène Delacroix at the Metropolitan Museum in New York." French Romantic Painter Eugène Delacroix at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. December 20, 2018. Accessed July 22, 2020. https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2018/12/20/dela-d20.html.

[14] Ibid.

[15] Pendergast, Sara, Tom Pendergast, and Sarah Hermsen. Fashion, Costume and Culture: Clothing, Headwear, Body Decorations, and Footwear through the Ages. Vol. 3. Detroit: U.X.L, 2004, 622.

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Bibliography

Hurley, Clare. "French Romantic Painter Eugène Delacroix at the Metropolitan Museum in New York." French Romantic Painter Eugène Delacroix at the Metropolitan Museum in New York. December 20, 2018. Accessed July 22, 2020. https://www.wsws.org/en/articles/2018/12/20/dela-d20.html.

Laver, James. "The Concise History of Costume and Fashion: Laver, James, 1899-1975: Free Download, Borrow, and Streaming." Internet Archive. January 01, 1969. Accessed July 22, 2020. https://archive.org/details/concisehistoryof00lave/mode/2up.

Pendergast, Sara, Tom Pendergast, and Sarah Hermsen. Fashion, Costume and Culture: Clothing, Headwear, Body Decorations, and Footwear through the Ages. Vol. 3. Detroit: U.X.L, 2004.

[xfanfics]

Destiel Fic Rec List Part 6

Last Updated in October 2014. Posted in May 2020 for posterity.  Listed in no particular order - the total rec list will have ~250 fics. Header graphic used with permission.

This part of the list contains: 38 fics.

Other Destiel Rec Lists: [1]. [2]. [3]. [4]. [5]. [6]. [7].

Hunting for Faith ❤ by riseofthefallenone E | 270k | AU, reverse!verse, priest cas, angel dean

It starts a few days earlier. Castiel first notices it in the middle of the night when the dreams of fire and screams have kept him awake. He’s kneeling before the altar, praying, when the glass in the windows start to shake, the very air vibrating around him. Castiel is on his feet and reaching for the gun tucked into the back of his pants as the shutters over the windows start to rattle.

Angel!dean will always have a special place in my heart, and as always, I love riseofthefallenone's characterization and writing. Complete with lovely art by pappcave.    

Sporty High School AU by triedunture E | 18k | Hot,  Fluff,  High School AU

Cas is on the high school swim team and Dean Winchester is the super-attractive, too-cool-for-him lacrosse player. They're both practicing late one cold autumn night, and Dean succumbs to exhaustion. It's up to Cas to help him.

Real Slick Dean by trilliath E | 28k | Hot,  AU, a/b/o, fuck or die

There's a new alpha enhancer drug "Rutter" on the streets that gets used at "exclusive parties" for the worst purposes. Detective Castiel Novak and his partner Balthazar work hard to put a stop to it and other sex crimes in their work as Special Victim's top detectives. Ellen Harvelle's Roadhouse is both a bar and a refuge for unmated Omegas. The Roadhouse gives Omegas the opportunity have their heats in peace and, if they so desire, even sell an 'exclusive supply of high-grade slick for the unmated Alpha on the go!'. Castiel is just such an Alpha, career oriented and having no time for casual sex or potential mates. He's a regular customer who only buys donor D347's slick. He's also a family friend and advocate who helps Omegas in need get connected with Ellen. It's all fine until one night after a difficult bust he brings Ellen a new Omega about to have her first heat. What Alpha Castiel doesn't realize is that he's been over-dosed with Rutter during the fight and is about to go into a rut so bad he may die. And if that weren't enough to kill him, the embarrassment he's about to feel will, because he's about to meet donor D347 face to face and neither of them are prepared for what's going to happen.

friendzone by kaiifayce M | 7k

“A date?! Like, with a real, breathing human being?” Dean sputters as wipes his mouth with his sleeve. Cas frowns, eyebrows knitting and his head cocking to the side slightly in his typical manner. “No, Dean, with one of the dissection frogs in the Biology lab,” he deadpans.

The Sentinel Crossover 'Verse by melonbutterfly E | 13k | Hot,  AU, Sentinel/Guide Bonding

Wherein Castiel is a Guide and Dean is a Sentinel.

Dean Doesn't Listen to Eurythmics by Scaramouche E | 2k | Canon!Verse, First Time

Dean and Castiel share a bed. It starts out platonic, and then becomes something else.

Stitches by askance T | 23k | post s7, h/c, Fluff,

Castiel survived Leviathan--but only barely. Vessel mauled and eyes destroyed, Cas is barely clinging to what's left of his grace when Dean finds him naked and alone on the reservoir's edge; in a panic, Dean brings him home to the cabin where he and Sam have been holed up off the grid. What follows is the slow process of the angel's recovery and the unexpected changes that come with his being blind, and in the three months this takes, their little family slowly begins to patch itself back together in forgiveness, love, and darkness.

The Feline Perspective of a Guilty Conscience by almaasi E | 51k | Fluff,  Canon!verse, post s8, cat dean

A few days ago, the angels were cast out of Heaven. Castiel believes it’s all his fault, and now he’s almost out of power, too. But that’s unimportant - Sam is dying, and Dean needs Cas to fix him before it’s too late. Cas’ selfless last efforts to save Sam backfire in the most unexpected way: Dean transforms into a cat. It seems like he’ll be stuck like that, and all Castiel can do is blame himself. The days pass without any clues on how to fix their predicament, and when Sam starts getting sick again, with Dean out for the count, Castiel realises that he’s the only one who can save Sam.

Foxfire Blossom ❤ by almaasi E | 283k | AU, infidelity,Hot,  Angst,  Fluff,

On a narrow lane, right at the edge of San Francisco city, there is a boutique flower shop with a single employee named Dean. The place is Dean’s world; it’s tiny, filled with bright colour and sensational beauty, and it’s the only sanctuary he ever finds amidst the commotion of his new life. Then, there’s Castiel. From the first time he steps into the shop, Castiel can’t help but become deeply enchanted by what’s inside. However, it’s not just the flowers that keep him coming back - with each visit he makes, he grows fonder of the bespectacled florist, learning Dean’s hands and his laughter as Dean shows him how to romance a woman. There is nothing either of them can do to keep from falling in love, despite Castiel’s path already being paved, cemented, and thoroughly set in stone: he is supposed to marry Daphne. It becomes clear that they all have their vices, addictions. Castiel has kept things from Dean... and maybe Dean has a few secrets, too. What with all the lying, cheating, and dauntless emotional vulnerability, they may as well be living in a soap opera.

First reaction: this fic is long. Make sure to space out your reading of it or you will die. I have a soft spot for cuddly/affectionate/softie!dean, and Almaasi delivers perfectly as usual. The infidelity gave me pause, as Cas is cheating on a significant other for a long period of time. I didn't like the ending very much because it seemed out of nowhere/random, but overall, I really liked it.    

This is All Life Really Means ❤  by gedry E | 90k | Fluff,  Angel/Demon AU, sam/gabriel, wing!kink, h/c

The highly arranged marriage between the angels and the demon providences requires some adjusting on the parts of their highly trained security details. Needless to say the members of said details are less than happy about their new arrangements.

Ugh how I love this fic. Gedry is my go to for long fluff, and this fic is perfect for it. Includes hate-to-love, schmoop, and *whispers* tail!kink.

Going Forward ❤ by gedry E | ? | Hot,  Fluff,  Angel AU, wing!kink, h/c

For cloudyjenn who wanted Dean with wings and Cas showing how to use them. Cas agrees to represent the angels as part of a social experiment to help them share a greater understand with the human population. He’s not prepared for who he has to live with for the next thirty days.

I LOVE gedry's AUs. This is filled with lovely wing!kink and pining. Mmmm yes.   

Play It All Night Long ❤ by janie_tangerine E | 43k  | AU

The rom-com-ish one where Dean hosts a late night radio show, Castiel is a regular listener of his who starts calling one day and ends up calling more often than not and Dean finds himself liking it. This, until one day Castiel calls for not exactly petty reasons (just before Dean’s brother Sam is visiting with his girlfriend for spring break) and things get very, very crowdy at his place. He also doesn’t know it’s just the beginning of it. Also features Gabriel, Chuck, Andy, the Roadhouse crew and a huge amount of music quoted. Especially Bob Dylan.

The one where Cas falls for Dean before they ever meet. Sweet.    

Lovingly Crafted and Tenderly Packaged ❤ by janie-tangerine E | 17k  | AU, artist!Cas

wherein Castiel owns a self-run t-shirts printing business for which he also makes custom orders, Dean orders Castiel's shirts online after Sam gets him a customized one and their romance is based on nonexistent boundaries. And where Balthazar owns the sex shop in front of Castiel's store and won't mind his own business.

Such an inventive AU. Meddling!Balthazar who runs a sex-shop and all.    

Inevitable Homoeroticism in Spanish Romantic Heroes by prosopopeya E | 41k | Teacher AU

Dean is a grad student studying for his MA in Spanish literature, and he’s pretty content with his sexuality as it is -- that is, fairly undefined and also secret. His attraction to Castiel, a professor to the undergrads, doesn't seem like a big deal until it becomes a very big deal, and Dean scrambles to keep his head above water.

Start Quoting Shakespere and We're Done by pyrebi T | 15k | Fluff,  AU, Sam/Gabriel

In which Dean has the hots for a librarian named Cas, Cas may or may not have the hots for a mechanic named Dean, and Gabriel joins Sam in the peanut gallery in the hopes that he might just get to do a horizontal tango of his own.

Summer Vacations Suck ❤ by ratherbehere E | 4k | Hot,  Highschool AU, underage, BDSM, sub!dean, pwp, kink

Summer vacations suck, and Cas seems bent on making it awkward for Dean.

This is one of my go to pwp reads. It's just hot okay.    

Have Love, Will Travel by squeemonster E | 94k | AU, writer cas, stripper dean, agoraphobia

Castiel Novak is a reclusive writer with a childhood so tragic it's left him terrified to leave his home—until his overbearing brother, Gabriel, drags him out for a night on the town full of booze and strip clubs, and he encounters Dean Winchester, a mesmerizing and mysterious stripper with secrets of his own. Both men find themselves inexplicably drawn to each other, and soon Dean's private dances for Castiel become much more, as both men confess their troubles and find solace in each other's company. But neither can seem to find the courage to take their relationship further than the intimacy of the club's VIP Room—and just when Dean's own brother gives him the excuse he needs to finally admit his feelings, Dean discovers something that brings it all crumbling down. Will they find a way past their demons and their trust issues, and back to each other?

The Story of You and Me by the_digglerv E | 51k | Fluff,  Post s8, Amnesia

Dean wakes up in bed next to a very human Castiel, and a journal in his own handwriting that tells him it’s two years in the future. The house looks a lot like Bobby’s, and Sam lives there too… He just can’t remember how they got from angels falling in the sky – to comfortable domesticity. While there is much in the journal Dean doesn’t remember, there is much of their story he’s always known. And as he settles into the routine of his new life and relationship with Castiel, it quickly becomes something he doesn’t know how to live without.

Dean Winchester, Straight Shooter ❤ by triedunture E | 15k | Hot,  Pornstar AU

Dean Winchester, star of StraightShooter.com, is a gay-for-pay porn star with a huge following. Cas Novak signs on to do a scene with him, even though he dislikes "straight" porn stars on principle. But Dean is more complicated than he first appears, and after inadvertently learning his secrets, Cas finds himself falling for him.

Ugh yes pornstar!AUs. This one is especially...good.    

Peanut Butter-Pumpkin Wedding Cake by sparseparsley E | 30k | Hot,  AU

Dean is a waiter in a strip club to put his kid brother through school. Castiel is dragged to the club as a part of his sister Anna's bachelorette party. Dean and Cas hit it off, but Dean thinks Cas is the one marrying Anna.

Easy Now, With My Heart ❤ by mcpadalackles E | 49k | Hot,  Teacher AU, Writer Cas

Dean Winchester is a kindergarten teacher. Castiel Milton is a writer slash works-in-a-coffee-shop. He also happens to be the extremely hot one-night stand that Dean never intended to see again other than in his own fantasies (he’s classy like that). But suddenly Cas is everywhere and Dean is convinced that Fate is out to get him. And maybe they do this thing backwards, but that doesn’t have to mean they can’t make it in the end, right?

I love how Dean and Cas decide to take it slow after they've already had sex. Lots of UST.    

Don't Walk On By by Virtualpersonal & Brimstonegoldv E | 60k | Pretty Woman AU, Wing!kink, escort dean,

Dean works several jobs in order to pay for medical care for Sam who has been severely injured. The day he meets Castiel, Dean's luck changes, though it is debatable whether it is for the better or for the worse. Castiel is an angel who has been cut-off from heaven to live with Man for a hundred years. Trying to right a wrong, he accidentally hires Dean as his rent-a-boy and learns a thing or two about being human.

What Falls For Love by bravest E | 51k | AU, reverse!verse

An angel of the lord going by the human name of Dean is told to make contact with his current charge, Castiel, on Heaven's list of prophets-to-be. Castiel is swept up in a war waged by angels and demons, and both the angel playing human and the human playing prophet learn things are never as simple as they seem.

the inexhaustible silence of houses by Askance T | 31k | Angst,  Horror

Almost two years after the world doesn't end, Castiel falls from grace—and loses his voice in the process. It is the impetus for confession and change; before long, he is settling into a loving relationship with Dean, the Winchesters are tired, and hunting for a place to land has taken precedence to hunting anything else. Dean and Castiel fall in love with the strange little house on the end of Swallowtail Drive, and for a little while life is as it should be—sweet, affectionate, and beginning afresh. But more and more Castiel sees and hears things in the house that beg the question of whether or not a place itself can be alive. The walls and rooms seem to shift and grow and breathe, and one night, Dean comes home from a hunt changed in a way that Castiel cannot explain. In the months that follow, their domestic bliss takes turns for the dark and sour, and the confusion of their circumstances will ultimately test everything Castiel knows about the man he loves, and everything he believes to be true.

Roots by AnythingToasted E | 38k | Angst,  Fluff,

After the apocalypse, Dean, Sam and Castiel settle into a gentler life, and Dean starts to make peace with the things that plagued him before 2009. Tentatively, carefully, he starts getting better. But something lives in the woods, in the house; something calls to him in his dreams that crosses the lines between waking and sleep. Whilst trying to reconcile himself with himself, Dean finds himself wondering if the things he’s managed to build are really slipping away, or if the whole thing is just in his head.

Get Inside My Soul by angelivenantium M | 84k | Angst,  Fluff,  Highschool AU, Hipster Cas

There’s something about Castiel that just makes Dean want him. Well, not even want; he needs to have him. He’s not sure if it’s the weird, often oversized sweaters or his thin wrists or that black, messy hair that make him tick, but he’s pretty sure the main thing is his eyes, that, unfortunately, never look at him twice. And Dean is freaking popular, everybody looks at him twice. Dean transferred to this school three years ago and is now a senior, and he’s been secretly ogling Castiel ever since. This distant yearning might have worked in the past years, but now it was just four months until he would graduate and leave this school forever, so he had woken up this morning and decided that fuck it, he wasn’t some 12-yearold girl; if he wanted something he would make sure he got it, even if that something was a rude hipster kid who didn't even notice his existence. End of story.

Let Your Grace Guide You by angel_kink E | 24k | post s5, wing!kink

After Castiel heals Dean at Stull, the hunter finds himself with unexpected abilities. He becomes determined to use his newfound powers, with Castiel’s guidance, to rescue Sam from the cage. In order to ensure that their venture to Hell is successful, they are forced to team up with Crowley, who has his own agenda regarding what’s locked up in the pits of Hell. During the course of their alliance, secrets come out, feelings bubble to the surface, and Dean finds himself once again facing an impossibly dangerous situation in an effort to save his brother.

Player 2 is Ready by AlreadyPainfullyGone E | 25k | Hot,  Highschool AU, Underage, BDSM

AU in which Dean and Cas meet in an online, multiplayer game. Both of them are hiding who they really are - Castiel, ashamed of being so small and yet still a dominant, and Dean, who always gets taken for a top, but who is actually submissive. Little do they know, they live in the same town, they're just at different schools.

Come Carpe Diem, Baby by a_carnal_mink E | 9k | canon!verse, wing!kink, Hot,  

"I am the only being in all Creation who has cradled your soul in my hands. I know you. I know you are complete. Because I know you completely.

300 Things ❤ by cautionzombies E | 76k | College AU

Dean's life at twenty-four makes him feel like he's forty—he works two jobs to help pay bills for his house and put his genius little brother through private school, and has spent six years (on and off, let's be honest) working on his mechanical engineering degree at KU. With so much of his life devoted to his family, Dean has little time in his schedule for class and no time for social interaction. Then, while getting his classes together for the fall, he finds himself in a do-or-die situation: He must take his last literature class now, his spring already filled with those left for his major...except that none of the English classes will fit his schedule. This is how Dean grovels and begs Dr. Castiel Milton to make a special arrangement for him, and Dr. Milton does.

YES. I love their relationship dynamic in this, and it's actually quite relatable and personal for me. Sam is fab.    

The Prank that Filled the Spank Bank ❤ by BookkBaby E | 41k | Hot,  AU, First Time

It starts with a prank war and a chance meeting at the auto shop Dean works at. (Based off of Almaasi's prompt: Castiel records audio pornography. Not professionally, or anything - he writes it and then reads it out, and uploads it free to the world. It’s not Dean’s usual type of porn - at all - but there’s something about Castiel’s gravelly, yet somehow smooth and beautiful voice that keeps him hooked.)

Another Classic. Dean masturbates to Cas's voice, and then when he actually runs into him...well.    

PWP: Pie Without Plot by MajorEnglishEsquire & orange_crushed E | 79k | Post s8, Fluff,

He is in the kitchen with flour on his hands and an apron and there is flour on his forehead and cas leans across the counter and wipes it off with his thumb and dean says "thank you" and cas says "you’re welcome" very seriously and later dean makes apple turnovers and he only ruins them a little and sam realizes it’s not a real hunt like four days into it and he lets dean stay undercover for like a week and a half or longer maybe way longer because he is such a good everything

White Winter Hymnal ❤ by newbluemoon E | 24k | Coffee Shop AU

Christmas AU fic. Writer!Dean walks into a café late at night on Christmas Eve, looking for inspiration for his next novel. Instead he finds librarian!Cas.

I love how evocative this fic is, especially Dean's inner dialogue.    

Waves by wormstaches M | 54k | Angst, College AU, h/c, Hipster Cas

Dean Winchester is the average guy: football, college, kid brother, nice car, girls and beer; his life is black and white, that is until he meets Castiel Collins: pretentious, slutty, sweater-wearing genius, who won't even take the time to look up at him from his obscure novel while he insults him. And then everything is shades of gray and Dean is drowning.

Till Human Voices Wake Us ❤ by saltandbyrne E | 20k | Hot,  AU, tentacles, bottom!dean

In a world of hippogriffs, hydras and flying pygmy elephants, intrepid explorer Dean Winchester was sure he had seen it all. When a monster destroys the only home he's ever known, Dean finds himself falling for his strange rescuer and struggling to face his past.

Tentacle!sex with feelings. My jam, basically.    

Grey ❤ by Valyria E | 65k | Angst,  Hot,  a/b/o

In a world where people don't see in color until they find their true mate, the first thing Dean sees when he pulls himself out of his grave is the blue sky. When Castiel raised him from the Pit, he inadvertently claimed Dean as his mate.

Note: cover art is my work :)

Punch Drunk Love ❤ by highermagic E | 16k | Hot, Highschool AU, Underage

Teenage Human AU. It's a classic boy-likes-straight-boy story. Or possibly boy-likes-not-so-straight-boy story. Castiel can't quite decide. It's a little confusing when your supposedly straight best friend offers to teach you how to kiss.

One of Rowan's more underrated fics. Unbelievably hot.  

[chevd-blog]

My Two Cents: Whitewashing and Politically Correct Casting in Film

I’m poking the hornets’ nest again. 

Recently, it was announced that the Twelfth Doctor, Peter Capaldi, would be leaving Doctor Who at the end of the 2017 season. Now, I’m a pretty big fan of Doctor Who, so of course, this was a big deal for me. I’m going to be sad to see him go. At first, I’ll admit, I was skeptical-- I absolutely adored David Tennant and Matt Smith in the role, and Capaldi’s version of the Doctor was very different. But in time, despite being older and initially quite a bit more abrasive, the last season truly made me a believer (particularly his performances in “The Zygon Inversion” and “Heaven Sent”).

But I digress.

Of course, with the news of Capaldi’s departure, there’s been the inevitable wave of conjecture-- who will play the Thirteenth Doctor? And of course, part of this conjecture has been the now-commonplace suggestion that the role in question need not go to another white male actor. This is something that has been seen with increasing frequency in recent years, and which has been directed at everything from Star Wars to Marvel to James Bond. As a fan of these franchises, I’m invested in this discussion. So, against my better judgment, I find myself compelled to broach the subject of how to approach race and gender in casting.

Before I begin-- I realize that identity politics can be a very thorny and divisive subject, even in the context of the film industry. I’d like to note, as a white male film fan, the opinions I express here are only my own, and should be taken with a grain of salt. I mean absolutely no disrespect to anybody else, and I appreciate other perspectives on the issue, including ones that diverge from my own, so long as they are respectful as well.

So what is whitewashing? Basically, it’s the practice of productions casting white actors for non-white roles. It’s a very old practice that Hollywood has undertaken ever since its inception. This 2016 segment from Last Week Tonight with John Oliver sums it up quite nicely (warning: NSFW language):

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XebG4TO_xss

(Just as an aside-- while the John Oliver segment succinctly sums up the issue pretty well, I don’t agree with the entirety of it. For example, Tom Cruise’s role in The Last Samurai was a fictional character, but one which was based largely on a real historical figure named Jules Brunet. Admittedly, the film did take some liberties with the character, portraying him as American, where Brunet was actually French. Also, while it is largely open to audience interpretation, my impression of the film was that the “Last Samurai” referenced by the title was actually Ken Watanabe’s character, and not Tom Cruise’s.)

As shown here, there’s been quite a lot of backlash against whitewashing in recent years, with demands of more political correctness in casting becoming much more frequent. On the whole, honestly, I have to say I find fault with both sides of this dichotomy. Yes, whitewashing a movie like Gods of Egypt is absolutely ridiculous. I acknowledge that. And I also acknowledge that Hollywood has a long history of white actors being given preferential treatment. On the other hand, blind political correctness of any kind irks me as well, because it feels like an incomplete, disingenuous, kneejerk reaction to a complex problem. It doesn’t actually fix anything, it just breeds resentment. I suppose, for me, the governing principle is actually as simple as plausibility and faithfulness to the source material. Let’s take this on a case-by-case basis, using some of the properties that are most important to me, and I’ll explain my stance on each.

Let’s start in the realm of sci-fi. As a general rule, I would say that diversity is a boon in sci-fi, because one of the inherent appeals of the genre in the first place is the removal of real-world racial barriers. There have been so many fantastic non-white characters in my favorite sci-fi canons: Sulu, Uhura, Worf, La Forge, Tuvok, Chakotay and Torres in the Star Trek universe, Lando Calrissian and Mace Windu in Star Wars, Morpheus in The Matrix. Likewise, for women, there’s Princess Leia, Ellen Ripley, Sarah Connor, and Trinity. All of these characters have had a profound impact on me, and serve as a way for sci-fi to do what it does better than any other genre: reflect on the human experience, which in no small part includes our diversity. So long as there’s no conflict with the continuity, I’m satisfied. So from my position, the uproar over Finn from The Force Awakens made no sense. In the context of the continuity, there was nothing that really seemed problematic to me about the character being non-white, and I’d love to see more good roles created for females and non-white actors in sci-fi. This is an instance where I oppose whitewashing and unequal treatment of women.

Fine, I hear you say. The characters you’ve mentioned here were all clean slates when they first appeared in their respective franchises. What about non-white or female characters who are already established, as with live-action adaptations of books or animated series? Here, again, I reassert my stance against whitewashing. The best example I can cite here is the upcoming Ghost in the Shell movie. I’ve been a big fan of GitS since the first season of Stand Alone Complex aired on [adult swim] over a decade ago, during my early college days. I desperately want this to be a good movie. And in fairness, until the movie comes out, I’m trying to withhold too much judgment, but... I have to admit, I’m not thrilled by the casting of Scarlett Johanssen as Motoko Kusanagi. I don’t like the concept of discarding an established character’s core identity for the sake of being more sympathetic to a certain demographic of viewers.

Conversely, though, this is the same problem I have with the other side of the coin: political correctness in casting for its own sake. To demonstrate, let’s talk now about a character who was originally created as a white male: James Bond. I’ve been a fan of the James Bond movies since I was a kid, so this is a franchise which is uncommonly close to my heart. I have every single Bond movie in my collection, and I’ve seen them all multiple times. Growing up, I respected Sean Connery’s classics, and the grace brought to the role by Roger Moore, but of course, my favorite was the current one at the time, Pierce Brosnan. For me, there was nobody else who could make the role his own like Brosnan did. And then Daniel Craig was cast. As I was with Capaldi’s Doctor, I was a bit skeptical of Craig’s Bond at first. It wasn’t because he was the so-called “Blond Bond”, as he was called by so many others. It was because he was so serious, so dry, so gritty. Whatever wry sense of humor Brosnan brought to the role, Craig seemed to remove. In retrospect, it was probably for the better, considering that Ian Fleming’s original books depict Bond as a lot less “fun” than the movies made him out to be through the years, and I recognize that Daniel Craig is a talented actor. In Skyfall, I was heartened to see him even starting to lighten up with the role ever so slightly. With recent rumors of Craig’s retirement from the 007 mantle, though, much has been made of creating a female “Jane Bond” role for an actress, or, as mentioned in the clip above, casting Idris Elba. Now, as I just mentioned, I realize the movies have not always been faithful to the plot elements in Fleming’s books, and for the most part... yeah, it’s not that consequential to me. However, I do feel that changing the role of James Bond himself purely for the sake of political correctness is a bridge too far. I don’t say this to cast aspersions on Idris Elba, who is a truly phenomenal actor. But it is a complete, wholesale abandonment of Fleming’s original intent with the character. As an artist and an occasional writer myself, that doesn’t sit right with me. Yes, the Cold War is over, and popular attitudes about Bond’s womanizing ways have changed-- but to alter the core identity of James Bond would, I feel, fundamentally shatter the franchise. For those of us who have invested decades in the franchise’s evolution, and in the character’s development, it’s essentially saying, “All that time and emotion you put into following this is now completely nullified, and you don’t matter.” And truthfully, what logical sense does it make, to alter a pre-existing character’s identity, when someone could just as soon come up with a completely original non-white or female spy character? You want a franchise? Go for it. Own it. Create a new character to rival James Bond and Jason Bourne at the box office. I’ll be standing in line at the theater for a ticket just like you. I’d welcome diversity in this genre too. I just don’t see the sense in throwing 50+ years of continuity out the window and antagonizing longtime fans of 007 to accomplish it.

So what about the Doctor, who, like James Bond, also has 50+ years of precedent to consider? Well... the Doctor is a Time Lord, from Gallifrey. Things are a bit different for Time Lords, as there actually is established precedent for drastic canonical identity changes during regeneration, including race and gender. During Capaldi’s tenure as Doctor, his longtime Time Lord arch-rival, the Master, resurfaced with a new female identity, Missy-- and it was a great plot twist. In the past week, once again, I’ve seen Idris Elba suggested for the new role. In this case, I say-- yeah, great, if he wanted the role, I’d totally support that, because it doesn’t contradict the character’s canon. There are only really two things I’d prefer to see in a new Doctor: 1) that it remains a British role, and 2) that it goes to someone who will be able to believably embody the Doctor. That’s it, no skin color or gender requirements.

In conclusion-- my biggest problem with the usual arguments about this issue (and to some extent, about identity politics in general) is that the discussion really isn’t so simple as to merit a black-or-white response. No single answer is correct for every instance. Whitewashing is a perpetuation of an exclusionary status quo, but baseless political correctness can damage a franchise’s credibility as well. When it comes to casting, my suggestion is to practice moderation, make decisions based on what is best for the craft of storytelling on an individual basis, and look to the source for a guide.

[likevxnes]

side by side (4/?)

read on ao3

part one | part two | part three

v. how they grew: partners, part one

After their wonderful visit to Kouyou’s, Dazai spends the next three days searching information on Chuuya. He finds things he already knows, like the boy’s past with the trafficking organization and the possibilities of the boy being taken from his home. He also finds that upon waking up in a Port Mafia bed, Chuuya didn’t remember a single thing about what happened to him. That his memory loss was written off as trauma. That despite the fact there’s a chance Chuuya had valuable information on the trafficking organization, Mori had decided to let the boy go.

It’s suspicious, and Dazai doesn’t really like it.

His new goal then becomes searching for ways to make Chuuya get his memories back. But all he finds is treatments that can help, but not cure, and that’s not what he wants. He wants Chuuya to remember. He wants Chuuya back.

Before he can find out more, Mori kills the Boss, and Dazai watches as blood splatters and stains the room. And then, the worst of the worst happens: Chuuya becomes assigned as Dazai’s partner.

Dazai thinks that the world really must hate him. He never seems to be able to get the things he wants, which in this case, was less Chuuya because the Chuuya he knew wasn’t alive anymore. Though he supposes that this was more of Mori’s fault, as the man seemed to be planning this for a while.

It’s a sudden change. Chuuya moves out of the brothel and into the dorms at base—much to Kouyou and Yasuhara’s despair—in the room just two doors to the left of Dazai and across the hall. They now trained together, learning the way the other moved. Kouyou still came by often to help train Chuuya alone while Dazai stuffed his mind with Schelling and Kissinger and sometimes books about the brain and memory loss when Mori wasn’t looking.

But being with Chuuya is strangely painful. It’s wrong, it’s different, it’s not what Dazai wants and he hates it. He hates Chuuya; he hates that the redhead has forgotten him, hates that the redhead doesn’t care for him, hates that he’s now Dazai and not Osamu, and he hates that he isn’t significant enough in Chuuya’s life to even be remembered, when he himself had devoted so much of his pathetic life to Chuuya. So he becomes mean—he teases Chuuya relentlessly, makes comments that he knows will sting, smiles and laughs at the boy’s struggles while his feelings contort into something sinister. Because the only thing that seems to be the same is the way Chuuya’s eyes flare with fire when Dazai sets him off.

In the back of his mind, Dazai knows he's just using twisted ways to cope, but he doesn't really care. He's angry, among a few other things, and what makes it worse is that Chuuya hasn't even asked about that night yet. He hasn't asked what happened the night Dazai burst into his room, hasn’t asked why Dazai thought they knew each other, hasn’t even mentioned it. Is he so unimportant to Chuuya that the redhead doesn't even bother to ask?

“Dazai, are you even listening to me?”

He turns his head to meet a sapphire gaze. The two of them are in the training room, Dazai lying on the ground staring up at the ceiling while Chuuya sits cross legged next to him. There’s a weariness that is obvious in both of their bodies; they’ve been roughly trained these past few weeks, as if in preparation for something. “Nope,” he chirps with a smile, and watches as Chuuya growls and grits his teeth.

“Ugh, I hate you so much,” he grumbles. 

Dazai laughs. Good. “As do I, Chuuya. In fact, I wouldn’t even do a double suicide with you.”

The redhead crosses his arms. “What even are you,” Chuuya mutters to himself. Dazai studies the boy’s face. The fatigue in his body seems to make him more mellow, makes his temper less likely to snap.

“Hey, Chuuya, why do you always wear that hat?” He asks.

The redhead gives him a suspicious look, but answers anyways. “Yasu-san gave it to me.”

Dazai immediately rescinds any previous thoughts of Chuuya looking cute in that hat. He feels a flash of something he’s not used to, something green and murky and too close to jealousy. “It’s ugly,” he states, and holds in a groan when Chuuya aims a hard punch right into his gut. “That wasn’t very nice, Chuuya…” he pants out as he curls onto his side.

“It’s not ugly!” Chuuya huffs, “Yasu-san got it for me in Europe, it’s  one of a kind.”

The murky green feeling in him grows. “Probably because it was so ugly—” he moves just in time to avoid another barrage of Chuuya’s hits, snickering as he sits up. “You only like it because you have a crush on Yasu-san~”

Chuuya turns as red as his hair. “Sh-Shut up! I don’t! Don’t say his name like that!”

“Ah, I get it, is it a special nickname for you to use only?”

“No!” Chuuya screeches, the flush on his cheeks spreading down his neck.

“Chuuya loves Yasu—”

The redhead roars with flustered anger, tackling Dazai and making him land on his back with a loud thud. It turns out to be an impromptu wrestling match, with Chuuya spouting off insults and Dazai goading the other on.

The result is Dazai being pinned onto his back, with even more bruises than before. He’ll admit that Chuuya’s probably a better martial artist than he is, but Dazai always worms out victories with his head. He grins at Chuuya’s still red face, at the fire in Chuuya’s glare, his smile widening when those eyes narrow even more in anger.

“I don’t have a crush on him!” the redhead denies hotly, breathing hard from exertion. He turns his head to the side angrily, seemingly trying to calm himself. “Yasu-san saved me,” Chuuya explains after a few moments, voice more sober, “he saved me from the people who stole me. Even though I don’t remember anything about my past, I’m forever indebted to him.”

Dazai stiffens. He feels something seize his heart in a vice grip. “Yasuhara saved you,” he deadpans, a thousand thoughts surging through his brain at once.

Of course.

Chuuya frowns. “Yeah, he did. That’s what Kouyou says.”

“I see,” he muses, and even he can tell the tone of his voice is frigid. Chuuya’s frown deepens.

“What’s your deal?” He snaps, obviously sensing something wrong.

Dazai feels himself distancing, feels apathy swallow him whole. “I just didn’t realize my partner was this stupid,” he states,  “do you really think Yasuhara saved you with goodwill? That he and Kouyou actually care for you? That Yasuhara didn’t just save you because of the benefits you’d give to the Port Mafia? Even with all the things they make us do? My my, Chuuya, how unbearably naive you are. It’s disgusting—”

He feels a sharp, stinging pain on his right cheek, and it takes him a few moments to realize Chuuya had slapped him.

Animosity is present in every angle of the boy’s body; his muscles are tensed, his eyes burning with hatred, and the expression the redhead wears is absolutely feral. Dazai feels his lips curl into a smile that drips with blood, with immorality, with all the things the Port Mafia is known for.

“Oh? Did I make little Chuuya angry?”

Chuuya’s gaze practically smolders his skin. The redhead grits his teeth, before abruptly getting off of Dazai, standing up. “I’m leaving,” he hisses out, “you can go fuck yourself.”

And Dazai should stop, he really should, but he’s always been keen at getting the last word. “What a big word for a naive little boy.”

Chuuya doesn’t answer, but he knows that the boy heard him due to the sound of the redhead’s footsteps stopping for just a moment, before continuing in a more brisk tempo.

Dazai stays where he is, staring up at the ceiling, laying down on the training room ground that’s covered with blood stains.

“Just let me die already,” he says with a laugh.

“I can have that arranged.”

He doesn’t even flinch. Just blankly turns his head towards the sound. “It was about time you came out of your hiding place, Ane-san.”

Kouyou steps out from the shadows, elegant as always, her expression cold. She doesn’t even seem bothered that Dazai knew she was there the entire time.  “So you realized.”

“That Yasuhara took Chuuya’s memories?” He prompts, sitting up and giving the older girl a grin. The revelation buzzes within him, a blend of too many feelings that he can’t exactly name. Because of course, of course Chuuya wouldn’t forget about him, they just took Chuuya away from him. He feels a malicious resentment stew underneath his skin towards Yasuhara, a feeling so intense he doesn’t know what to do with it. He relishes in the minuscule stiffening in Kouyou’s pose from his statement. “Hey, how about you two give Chuuya his memories back?” His voice is overly cheerful, but stains the air with black. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough fun manipulating him?”

She looks down at him with what some people may call haughtiness, but Dazai knows it is simply complete confidence in her worth, even with her immorality. “I’d say you’re the more manipulative one here,” she shoots back. “What you said—”

“Was not completely true,” he cuts in, smile deepening, “but it was true enough, wasn’t it? Erasing his memories only made it easier for him to devote everything to the Port Mafia…an easier puppet for the two of you to control.”

“That was not our intention,” Kouyou argues, but doesn’t deny anything else. She turns her head to the side, looking off to the distance.

He tilts her head at her. “But it happened anyway,” he chirps, “I really hate people like you and Yasuhara, you know? You feel bad, but you’re not going to stop.”

Kouyou raises an eyebrow in interest. “You’re saying a person like Mori is better?”

“Mori has never felt sorry for any of the things he’s done.”

“And neither have you?”

Dazai laughs. “Ane-san, you know the answer to that already.”

Kouyou doesn’t respond. The way she holds himself makes Dazai realize the small mannerisms Chuuya has adopted from this woman; the way his poise radiates confidence, the way he looks elegant even when slamming fists into his enemies, the way he addresses other people—he so obviously got it from her. He supposes the only thing the redhead didn’t adopt was Kouyou’s calm temper.

“Yasuhara sees the memories he takes,” the girl states, after a few moments of silence.  

There’s a pause. Dazai stops himself from tensing up and giving himself away, even with the feeling that all the air was just sucked out of his throat. “Oh? How interesting.”

“He saw you. With Chuuya. You two have met before.”

He knows what Kouyou’s implying; that he cares about Chuuya, that the two of them were close and dependent on one another, that he’s hurt that Chuuya was taken away from him. He laughs, the kind of laugh that makes people wince from how unhappy it sounds. “You should give him his memories back,” he says, a warning in his voice, “before I really get angry.”

He sees Kouyou straighten. “Perhaps you should tell Yasuhara that,” is all she says, and with that, she leaves, not bothering to say goodbye, not that Dazai was expecting it.

“Hey, ane-san,” he calls out, just as the older girl reaches the exit. She pauses her steps, but doesn’t turn around.

“Don’t tell Mori about this, yeah?” He says airily, but the threat in his voice rings out like metal clashing against metal.

“I was never planning to,” Kouyou responds, and surprisingly, her tone is awfully genuine. “Yasuhara wouldn’t, either.”

After his confrontation with Kouyou, Dazai  immediately goes to Hirotsu, because Yasuhara is off to who knows where and the old man has a habit of letting information slip to him. Though he supposes he's the real instigator of said habit. He likes Hirotsu; the man always speaks in polite tones, even when insulting someone, which Dazai will admit happens often enough during their exchanges. But the man also is a good listener, taking every word spoken to him into consideration before forming a response. Dazai knows that Hirotsu doesn’t really understand him, but respects him nonetheless.

So Dazai goes to him. But of course, Yasuhara’s abroad, out collecting information on organizations in the west, not expected to come back for a while. For years, maybe, according to Hirotsu.  

“A favor for the new Boss,” Hirotsu says, “that’s about all I know, I’m afraid.”

And so life continues.

Chuuya doesn’t speak to him for a good month. Dazai knows that the boy is probably somewhat over Dazai’s words by now. Though the redhead is quick to anger, he usually doesn’t stay angry for very long, depending on how angry he actually got, but Dazai is exceptionally good at pissing Chuuya off. In the end he attaches a tripwire to the doorway of Chuuya’s room after the boy falls asleep, attaching a note to the floor that said the words, “Even though you’re so close to the ground, you didn’t notice this? You must be really stupid.”

The next day he’s woken up by a loud thud and the sound of someone slamming his door open.  

“I’m going to kill you,” the redhead snarls, face red with anger.

Dazai yawns, making the other grit his teeth in annoyance. “Chuuya, it’s rude to enter people’s rooms without knocking you know?”

He gets a bruise the size of a baseball on his back. They begin talking again. And whenever he sees Chuuya talking to someone on the phone with a smile on his face, he pesters the other until Chuuya snaps at him and tells Yasuhara goodbye because a “worthless, suicidal idiot was existing.”

Life goes on.

They continue to train together, and soon, take missions together. Dazai had already been on missions, had accompanied Mori a few times. He's killed people, has ordered people to kill people, and found himself numbly unaffected. In their first mission, he’d expected Chuuya to hesitate to shoot the three bullets in their target’s back and break his jaw. Instead, the redhead pulled the trigger with a vacant expression, his hands steady, the look in his eyes strangely vibrant and focused.

“I know what the Port Mafia does. I know what they want me to do,” Chuuya explains later, when Dazai pushed and prodded, “I’ve already accepted that.”

But when they got back to base, the redhead still spent fifteen minutes washing off the blood he’d accidentally gotten on his hands, scrubbing until his skin was red and raw. The next day, he sees Chuuya wearing gloves. He doesn’t question it.

Life moves on, and Dazai finds that a rhythm has been established between them. One filled with bickering, with insults and malice, with syncing thoughts and movements, with knowing looks and smiles covered  in bloodlust. Dazai wants nothing more than to break it, to step away and watch everything crumble to dust. He doesn’t want this. He doesn’t want to go through this again. He hates this.

And yet, he still finds himself spending time with Chuuya, finds himself noticing things he’s already noticed before and things he’s never noticed until now.

He’s already noticed the habit the redhead has with tucking his hair behind his ear when he’s uncomfortable. He’s already noticed the little glance to the side the other always makes when he lies. He knows when the boy’s smile is genuine, has remembered how to tell.

But he never noticed the blaze in the other’s eyes as he takes down enemy after enemy, has never noticed the other’s cruel, wild smile in the middle of a fight that he finds oddly appealing. He’s never realized that Chuuya loves to fight, loves to smash his fists against faces and stand in front of piles of bodies while glowing with the pride of victory. He’s never noticed the respect Chuuya gives to his superiors, always acting grateful, always speaking politely.

It’s a weird combination, this past and present Chuuya, one that he’s not sure if he wants to deal with. But, like with all things concerning Chuuya, he finds that he has no choice in the matter, with Mori insistently pushing the two of them together. Not to mention the two of them have an irritating habit of bumping into each other—Dazai had once tried to hide from Chuuya, only to find the boy in the places he thought the redhead would never go to.

“What are you doing here?” The redhead had screeched at him. “Since when have you ever hung out in the lower levels?”

He’d scowled, and said, “well, I was trying to avoid you—”

“What? I was trying to avoid you!”

And then there are those moments in which Dazai feels this yearning, and it's those moments that scare him the most. They are always the little ones, like the flashes of Chuuya’s smile and laughter, like the way he’ll say Dazai’s name in soft, trusting tones, like the way he refuses Dazai’s company even if he wants Dazai to stay.

Somehow, they begin to develop a routine in which after missions, Dazai would walk into Chuuya’s room and the two of them would bicker like there’s no tomorrow, or laugh at jokes and references no one else would understand, or plan out excruciatingly detailed plans for future missions.

Today, Dazai’s sprawled on his stomach across Chuuya’s bed, head resting in his palms,  much to the redhead’s distaste. Chuuya’s sitting next to him, cross legged and hugging a pillow close to his chest.

“How about we call that one Shame and Toad?”

Chuuya frowns. “Where’d you even come up with that?”

“See? No one would expect anything if I suddenly shouted it out!”

Chuuya flicks the other on the forehead, rolling his eyes at Dazai’s exaggerated pout. “They’d expect that you were insane, maybe, but I guess people do that anyways.”

Dazai gasps. “Has Chuuya’s insults been improving?”

“Shut up,” he huffs. “I guess Shame and Toad could work.” He studies Dazai’s expression. “You really get a kick out of planning these things, don’t you?”

“Hmm?” Dazai hums, grinning, “it’s fun when it’s like this.”

Chuuya frowns at the statement but doesn’t push. He shifts his position so that he’s now lying down next to Dazai, on his back. “What did you mean, that one night?”

Dazai stiffens. He forces his expression to stay impassive. “That one night?”

Chuuya tucks a stray lock of hair behind his ear. “You know, that night where you burst into my room. You said you knew me, right?”

“Did I?” He replies airily, though he feels as if someone had gripped his heart in a steel vice. He’d been wanting Chuuya to mention something for weeks, but now that it’s finally happened he realizes that he’s now more scared than ever. How on earth could he explain this to Chuuya? That he’d traced the bruises on Chuuya’s wrists with what some people would dare say was affection, that he’d made promise upon promise to the redhead, that Chuuya was something that made him want to live again?

He can’t.

Things are too different now.

And if Mori were to ever find out about this, about Dazai’s weakness, surely nothing good would come out of it.

Chuuya scowls, turning onto his side so he can look Dazai in the face, and the realization of how close they are hits Dazai square in the face.

“Don’t play dumb,” the redhead hisses, before his face softens into a more calm expression. “I guess I just wanted to say that if we did know each other, I’m sorry I forgot.”

Being impassive isn’t working. He feels his heart start to pound, from the small distance between them, from Chuuya’s words, and he desperately pulls on a different mask. “Oh my, Chuuya’s actually a softie at heart—”

Chuuya nails him in the stomach, making him gasp out in pain.

“Shut up!” The redhead retorts, now turning his back towards Dazai. They begin to bicker again, moving back into more familiar territory, making it easier for Dazai to breathe.

Life presses on, and Dazai continues to fall into the rhythm he has no interest in playing.