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atla-recluse · 8 months

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About That One Moment in "Another Five More Short Graybles":

Content warning: A few references to abuse and abuser-victim dynamics, plus some images/artwork that some may find very disturbing or triggering.

Conclusion:

I truly believe that this moment, and maybe more-so what likely happens after it, are the moment that solidified Lemongrab 1's complete shift into tyranny and unlimited cruelty. When I say that, I'm not just talking about the toy and his anger over it. It's not and was never (just) about the toy (seriously, this dude could and would have snapped over anything).

It's about OG LG's increasingly intense need for control over everyone and everything and his ever-growing layer of extreme rage over...stuff from the past...that is always there. Taking is a bit further, it's actually about how LG viewed himself and his impulsive/compulsive behavior at that point.

Background:

So, a lot of people seemed to have thought/still think that LG is lacking in self-awareness, but I think this couldn't be further from the truth. LG is hyper-aware of himself and his actions. He knows there's something "wrong" with him. He (and those around him) just don't know what. So everyone in and out of universe find it easier to just be vague about the problem or not touch it at all.

I'll tell you what I think is wrong with him though: He's can't figure out how best to showcase empathy with others, or even fully decide if he truly wants to at all, so he typically just chooses not to.

(Also, he seems to be naturally more persnickity and "intense/passionate" than others, including LG2 even. At least when it comes to his beliefs and convictions. People irl who are like that can imagine, because of how we sometimes come across to others, even if we're trying to change.)

Wait, what? I'm actually arguing that LG1 is/was capable of empathy, you ask? YES I am. Because he was. The moments were small, but they were there and were very significant to those who care. OG LG had what I'd call "limited" empathy as well as "optional" empathy. He wasn't the best with others' emotions at initial meetings but he could understand concepts like that of insult, bonding (but couldn't do it himself at first) and not wanting to die or get hurt. (I might finish a post that explains some examples in the near future.)

He also chose who it was he would bestow his empathy upon for random and not-as-random reasons. In this sense, he's not that different from many of us. I also feel as though he could have had his sense of empathy increased and smoothed out with proper nurturing. But as we all know, that didn't happen.

Conclusion Expansion (1):

We see throughout his arc, that LG1 increasingly worsened over time. Not solely though. For a blip of a period, he seemed to be improving, happy even. That period was of course when he was still close with LG2. Then, the fight happened.

Slight (Noteworthy) Sidetrack:

It was so violent, even without showing us the gore. I'm actually a little shocked that there are people who think that scene is mainly or even only hilarious. It's terrifying to me whenever I see it, to the point where I often prefer to avoid it. That scene, to me, was yet another example of how much of an abuser LG1 has become, since his physical or emotional abandonment and/or since his creation. Is that obvious yet? LG1 was not just "lol random11!! hahaha craziiii!". He was insanely abusive. He was arguably abused himself, but that doesn't change the fact that he was an abuser, too.

He even showed all the classic signs of an abuser as far back as "You Made Me" but, really, it was truly first shown in "Too Young".

Conclusion Expansion (2):

His brother (Which I think was meant to be seen as being to LG1 whatever you wanted to see him as, homophobes!) along with Lemonhope, got the worst of it and perfectly illustrate two different types of lives and mentalities of many abuse victims.

One becomes, in a way, very self-centered and wants to escape no matter what, but stops thinking about what the rest of his family may be going through, also. The other wants to help others going through the same and won't leave them behind until the they have escaped on some level, even if it kills him (assuming he had the option to leave).

And tell we don't know plenty of irl examples where other families also went through an older sibling or partner taking advantage of and mistreating a younger sibling or partner. (Don't think too hard about the LG's being "brother-lovers", alright? It's all symbolic, anyway.)

Now a big question I and likely others have is this: Is he really "just like that?"

Frankly, I think he partially or fully either inherited it or learned it from his experiences. Or someone else... But I digress.

So yeah, I don't believe LG was just/solely born that way. Something about him changed sometime after he was born, I feel. But again, I can't quite say what because it was left ambiguous.

When he attacked his best friend for the first time and in such a gruesome manner... Well...ask yourself how that scene probably continued for the two of them? We actually saw the least scary part. Here's what I now headcanon as being the "right after":

LG has always had issues with his view of self and it causes him much pain. He doesn't know how to express the problem, so he basically just spazzes out. He seemed to have improved once his brother/partner came along, but in fact, this was only an illusion.

LG never properly healed from his trauma or bad habits, because no one—not himself and certainly not others—worked with him to treat and eventually heal that trauma and reverse those bad habits. (It doesn't mean they didn't want to, though.) It was only a matter of time before he lost it on his brother and people over something petty. Two beings can never be exactly the same anyway, "twin" or not.

(I'm not sure what the name of the artist who made this is. It's an amazing and very emotional piece, though.)

So with those awful images in mind, I think LG1 after devouring most of his own partner, may have paused for at least a moment, as LG2 managed to crawl away and look at him with such fear and hurt (perhaps looking like a reflection of himself) that LG1—if his self-awareness was on 100 that day—looked back at the mess he'd made of LG2's body and how their relationship would never be the same now, and decided "Haha wow...I AM a monsteerrrr!!!!".

And from there, he decided to just lean into the persona completely. After all, what did he have to lose? What important figure in his life up to this point didn't see him that way, anyway? Now even the partner he once loved and who once loved him, did too. Might as well accept it and just solely act like what everyone already knows him to be. Which to LG means just act like his usual self, btw. Control freaks like him can only relax for so long...

And that, everybody, is why that scene in AFMSG is so significant; and imo, devastating.

It should also be noted that despite what we see LG1 do to LG2, that he doesn't completely devour him (why, we don't know) and that he gave him (likely created for him) a tool that would allow him to still move around and didn't give him a shock collar. So LG2 is still a cut above the others in LG1's mind, it seems, but that doesn't mean that things hadn't reached rock bottom for them. They just had further to go, is all.

LG1 clearly no longer pedestalized LG2 anymore (and vice versa) and on some level likely blames LG2 for how he himself chose to react (pretty on-brand for both of them). Hence why, like some abusers, he seemed to now be withholding affection from LG2, wouldn't hear or accept LG2's own thoughts and opinions, (may have) starved him and why he pushed him down into and kept him in a subordinate position (something we once actually see him physically do to him at the dinner table).

Oh and here. Have another self-aware Lemongrab, far beyond post brother-attack:

This wild lemon man knew he was the monster/villain of the story at this point. 🍋 🥲

"Looking for something?

Well, you found me; Fat Lemongrab." - Original Lemongrab

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sixx-writes · 2 years

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Room 208 | The Approach: I

Kurotsuchi Mayuri x Reader

Word Count: 3,679

cw: slow burn, dark content, future nsfw, modern au, surgeon!Mayuri, thief!reader, doctor kink

AO3 Version | Masterlist

Summary: You and your partner decide to steal from a former surgeon who may not be all that he appears.

Pt. 1 | 2 | 3

"What's this guy's deal?" you said, taking another bite of your sandwich, "He really hasn't left his apartment in nine years? What the fuck's up with that."

Your friend and partner-in-crime, Shiki, opens up another article and starts to read out loud while you eyeball the picture accompanying it. A man with dark skin and gold eyes stares back into the camera dully from the moment the picture was taken. Beneath it reads ‘Kurotsuchi Mayuri’. The name rings a bell like maybe you'd heard it on the news at some point.

"Tragedy struck the famous surgeon on July 19th, 2014 when his adopted daughter, Kurotsuchi Nemu, was struck and killed by an oncoming car. But listen this is where it gets interesting," Shiki waggles his eyebrows before continuing, "In a bizarre twist the driver was later discovered to be none other than Pernida Parnkgjas wanted for questioning by police pertaining to a series of grisly murders in connection with the yakuza. He was later apprehended and freed only a few days later causing a public outrage."

There's another picture of Pernida, you assumed, with his arm raised in victory and a smug grin plastered across his face. He was getting into a car presumably after being released from prison. You notice how there's a very distinctive tattoo of an eye on his palm.

"Oh yeah," you said, "I remember now. There was a riot or something, right? Protests?"

"Yeah. Didn't do shit though. Pernida is pretty much untouchable since he's the right hand man of Reio himself. Everybody knows he has the cops on his payroll."

"So he became a recluse after that? Poor dude," you finished off the last bite of your sandwich with a depressed sigh imagining what it would be like knowing that your daughter's killer was alive and well like nothing had ever happened.

"Well I hope you're not feelin’ too bad for him ‘cause you're gonna be the one that gets us inside. The guy's fuckin’ apartment is shut up tighter than a bank vault. He never leaves. I had a guy watchin' his place for like a month and he has everything delivered to his door."

"Why me? Why don't you just smash and grab the shit; what's up with the extra steps?"

"Because we also know he has top of the line security installed and God knows what else. Ya don't spend that long in isolation after some trauma like that and not become a paranoid fuck. We need this to play out smooth as a virgin pussy. There's a vacancy in the apartment next to his and you're moving in tomorrow."

Your eyes bulged in shock, "What the fuck Shiki. I haven't even said yes. Am I just a whore now? I seduce him and suck his cock until he falls asleep then scope out the place?"

"Something like that," Shiki smirked, "I get the feeling he ain't gonna be that easy. This guy's social life is non-existent. No visitors. Aside from the delivery men but he don't even talk to them just has everything left outside."

"Besides that how do you know that he has anything valuable in the apartment? Wouldn't all his money be in the bank?" you complained.

"Nope. He withdrew all of his savings according to my boy that just so happened to work at his bank. Said it was two big briefcases full of cash. Like some shit out of a movie."

"Ohh," you drawled, "You have a boy that worked at his bank. Well I'm sold."

"Hey, stop busting my balls, the info is good. My sources always come through. Ya know that."

"Oh really," you said with heavy sarcasm, "what about that convenience store last month?"

Shiki stiffened in embarrassment, "That's not.. I didn't know the guy was cheating on his wife with a fucking dude ok. How was I supposed to know they'd be humped over behind the counter going at it when they were supposed to be out for lunch."

"I don't know, man. That's kinda homophobic," you said with a straight face.

He threw a bottle cap at your head and you dodged it with a laugh.

Shiki helped you move your things to the new building located in a much nicer neighborhood than your own. You were a little nervous when you found out that yours and Mayuri's apartments were the only ones on the floor. You guessed it made sense if the guy was a recluse that he wouldn't want alot of noisy people stomping around all the time.

On the last trip up in the elevator you glanced over at Mayuri's door and thought you saw it was open just the tiniest crack before quietly shutting as soon as you noticed. The hall light reflected across the number on the door, 208, assuring you that it wasn't imagined. You shook it off and continued to pack your things inside completely worn out by the time you were finished.

"I think he was watching," you muttered after setting down the last box.

"What?"

"It's nothing," you said, waving it off, "it just looked like he was watching us. Earlier."

"So what? The dude’s a freak ah course he's goin' to check us out. Don't worry about it. As far as he knows you're just a girl lookin' for a fresh start."

"I am?"

"Well, make something up, obviously. I don't fuckin' know. Find some common ground fast and get inside that apartment."

After that you were alone surrounded by a few boxes of your things. You had decided against packing everything leaving most of your stuff at your other apartment and you hoped that Shiki wouldn't try stealing any of your panties that you had left behind in the dirty laundry. The two of you were roommates and long time friends but that didn't stop him from occasionally perving out.

You were too tired to unpack so you flopped onto the bed and looked for something to watch scrolling mindlessly through your feed. Seeing nothing of interest you typed 'Kurotsuchi Mayuri' into the search just to see what came up. Before becoming a recluse he'd received all sorts of awards and was one of the leading surgeons in Japan. You blinked at an image of him shaking hands with the Prime Minister. The guy was practically Buddha or something.

And you were going to steal from him.

You hoped that you wouldn't lose too much karma for your transgressions..

The only problem was you had no idea how to go about the approach. You couldn't exactly knock on the door without a reason and unfortunately there was virtually nothing on Mayuri's personal life or clues to his interests. Up until the death of his daughter it was just article after article praising his achievements as a surgeon. For you it was just annoying surface level shit that wouldn't help at all.

You closed the browser and lay back with your hands crossed behind your head running over different possibilities until your eyelids started to feel heavy and you drifted off.

A few days later you decided to make the first move, your idea is cliche at best and you cringe just thinking about it, but your brain is as dry as a desert on how to approach someone you know nothing about. You weren’t exactly the most experienced when it came to this kind of shit. You’d never interacted with the people you stole from until now always breaking in when they weren’t home.

You prepared a simple dish of sukiyaki and filled a bowl before going next door and standing for several awkward seconds without knocking. You felt stupid like you had failed before trying but you force yourself to raise your arm. Before your hand connects with the wood you hear a soft sound from within making you pause.

"Yes?"

You can't hide your surprise at the sound of Mayuri's voice.

Was he watching you the whole time you were standing outside doing nothing through the peephole?

"Um, hi, I just moved in next door-"

"Yes, I know. What do you want?"

You were sweating now, made uncomfortable by his directness and getting caught, you hadn't planned on him responding at all if you were being honest with yourself.

Stop overthinking you fucking idiot. Say something!

"W-Well, it's just I made some sukiyaki and I thought I'd bring you a bowl. Kind of like saying hello to my new neighbor.. or something."

"Are you a reporter?"

"Report..? No, I just moved in.. I'm in 207," you repeated hesitantly mentally stomping your own foot for saying your apartment number when it was the only other room on the floor. More importantly it had been nine years since the incident. Why the hell would he think you were a reporter? Did he believe they were still looking for him?

A long silence then, "Leave it outside."

You gave an awkward little bow leaving the steaming bowl in the hall before retreating into your own apartment with your tail between your legs. You had no idea if that could be considered a success but it was a start. You listened intently and heard the door click softly, opening after the jangle of several locks being undone.

He was definitely a weird one that was for sure.

⛧

You had plans later that day to take care of some errands and you were on your way out when you noticed a large insect batting against the window at the end of the hall. You furrowed your brow in confusion at the sight of it moving in for a closer look and recognizing the skull marking on it's back right away. You hadn't seen one of these since your mother was alive and it sends a coil of nostalgic sadness through you. You're so distracted that you don't notice the door opening and closing behind you.

"Excuse me."

You gasp and turn in shock with your hand flying to cover your mouth in an overly dramatic way like you're some actress from the thirties. Mayuri is standing right next to you, his hooded eyes drifting from your face to the moth still trying to escape. He was much thinner than his photos and looked more tired, with dark circles beneath his eyes, his hair disheveled as if he'd just gotten out of bed.

He moved past you, not waiting for you to get out of the way, the fabric of his robe brushing against your skin as he captures the moth carefully with a small net.

"It's yours?" you blurt.

"Obviously," he twists the fabric so it can't fly back out making a pocket in the netting.

"Do you raise them or something? It's just I know that moth. It's a Death's Head, right? It's the European species if I remember right because it has more yellow on the wings."

Mayuri slows on the way by humming thoughtfully, "Interesting. It's unusual for someone to notice the difference. Do you have an interest in entomology?"

"Oh, well, not exactly. It was my mom, actually; she used to show me her books on moths and butterflies when I was little. The Death's Head was my favorite. I thought the skull was cool. I had a poster of it on the wall of my old bedroom for years with the different types. So, it's kinda burned into my mind I guess.. haha."

You were painfully aware that you were rambling now but Mayuri didn’t seem bothered. Just gazed at you intently, listening until you were finished, making you blush self consciously.

“Um, I have to..” you trailed off implying that you had to go when he didn’t say anything else.

“Yes, excuse me.”

After showering that night, you noticed that Shiki had texted you and you unlocked your phone to see what he wanted.

S: Well? Have you made first contact?

You rolled your eyes at his wording.

R: He's not an alien Shiki. And yeah I just spoke to him not too long ago, actually.

S: Annnd what's he like? Is he fuckable?

R: If you mean in the sense of tricking him into letting us steal his shit then I have no idea. It was kind of creepy tbh.

S: Whoaa for any agents reading this conversation that's a joke ;)

R: ...

R: Anyway it's late I'll text you more tmrw asshat

S: Love u too cuutie<3

Shiki was pissing you off with his entirely flippant attitude towards the situation while you had an uneasy feeling ever since first meeting the doctor. Your gut was telling you that something was off about this guy. You didn’t like the way Mayuri looked at you. It was more like he was looking through you.

He unsettled you more than most of the seedy people you had dealings with when it came to your ‘work’.

You made an oath to yourself the next time you and Shiki went after a high profile target Shiki would be the whore.

Things continued like that, little exchanges here and there, you made it a routine to cook for Mayuri on the weekends and occasionally during the week. You hoped that the way to a man's trust was through his stomach or however that stupid saying went. After being cooped up for almost a month you met with Shiki at the usual restaurant ordering your favorite dish while the lanky thief slid into the seat across from you.

He was wearing a tank top that showed off his tattoo sleeve, something you'd always told him was a dumb idea, yet he insisted it made him look more intimidating. It just made him look more like a criminal and easier to identify.

"Put that out, you moron," you hissed when he slid a cigarette from the pack and dangled it between his lips about to light it.

"Chill, babe. I know the owner. Didn't I ever tell ya about that?"

"No."

With perfect timing the waiter returned to the table his eyes nervously darting between the tattoos on Shiki's arm and the cigarette, "Sir, you can't smoke in here."

"Eh? Listen, I'm friends with the owner just ask him."

"I'm not saying that you're a liar, sir, but I'm afraid the owner isn't here today and the other guests are complaining."

Shiki let out a deep sigh, gusting smoke in the waiter's face, before dropping the cigarette in the pitcher he was holding, "What is this? Shit on Shiki Day? Whatever. Fuck both of ya."

You roll your eyes in irritation from the obnoxious display, "Can you not."

"I'll not when ya stop being a bitch about everything I do."

You give him the finger and hear a disgusted noise from the table next to yours choosing not to acknowledge who made it.

"How's it going with Doctor Frankenstein anyway. Has he fingered ya yet," Shiki said taking a large bite of his food.

"It's going nowhere like I said before in the texts. The guy obviously doesn't trust anyone and I can't say that I blame him."

"Oh, that reminds me," Shiki spoke with a mouthful of unchewed noodles, "I have a guy that knows a guy in the yakuza. So this guy says that a week after the trial Pernida up and disappears. Reio was fuckin' pissed. Search and destroy type ah shit ya know, thinkin' it was a rival family. But it was like Pernida just vanished without a trace and no one ever came forward to claim the hit."

You blinked, "They never found him? I didn't see anything about it anywhere."

"Well obviously not. There's not exactly a yakuza newsletter. One of your top generals goes missing, presumably murdered, and on top ah that ya can't find the one responsible to take retribution so it makes ya look weak. Incompetent. So the info was kept to the inner circle. Only the highest ranking members know what actually happened."

"So, what exactly are you getting at here?" you pinched the bridge of your nose.

"What I'm getting at is that this doctor withdraws all of his money around the same time Pernida is," Shiki makes a swipe across his throat to finish the sentence.

"You think that he put a hit on Pernida? I don't really follow."

"I think I don't know what I think."

"You didn't think to ask a friend of a guy of a friend about this until now?"

"Well, maybe it's nothing. Jesus Christ, woman. Just thought I'd tell ya. The guy may not be as perfect as he seems from the outside. I do care about ya even though you're a bitch to me. Just be careful."

Yeah, no shit, you thought. You hadn’t told Shiki how you really felt about Mayuri. Not when you weren’t entirely sure yourself.

You scoffed, standing from the table having finished your meal, "Let me know if you find out anything else."

You gave an ironic salute on the way out and Shiki rolled his eyes.

You were just about to go into your apartment when the sound of someone’s throat being cleared stopped you. You glanced in the direction of Mayuri's door and found it open with the surgeon waiting for you.

"This may seem sudden but would you like a cup of tea? I've just prepared a fresh pot. I knocked earlier but you were out," Mayuri said.

Uneasiness washed over you and you forced a smile, "I would love to. Let me put my bag inside."

You were a whirlwind inside the apartment, throwing off your jacket and bag. You adjusted your hair in the mirror and checked for any food stuck in your teeth before calming yourself down and heading next door.

Mayuri's apartment was modern and very clean; almost horrifyingly so for someone as untidy as you. Every surface looked like it was wiped down daily. Identical to your apartment he also had a balcony on the opposite side of the building so plenty of sunlight came in through the glass doors. A kotatsu sat not far from it with it's blanket removed for the warmer weather and on top was two ceramic tea cups and a teapot.

You and Mayuri sat opposite of each other and you poured yourself a glass of green tea enjoying the floral hints mingling with the steam not familiar with the blend he had used.

"How is it?" he asked.

"It's really good. Thank you for inviting me."

"Not at all. You have been so kind to me after all. I thought it was time I returned the favor," Mayuri smiled revealing perfectly straight white teeth before taking a small sip from his own glass. You noticed that his right ear was pierced with twin gold hoops that glittered in the light catching your eye.

You inconspicuously take in little details of your surroundings when you think he isn't looking, searching for anything odd. Mayuri had several paintings that could hide a safe behind them although the paintings themselves looked like they were worth quite a bit on their own. There were a variety of other potentially valuable things neatly displayed on shelves and tables proving that Mayuri still liked to indulge in the finer things.

"See something that interests you?"

You tried not to look guilty before answering, "I was wondering where you keep your moths?"

"Ah, that's right. I keep them in there," he gestures to the room adjacent to the one you're in. It's too dark for you to see anything and you squint trying to make your eyes adjust.

"Would you like to see?"

"If you wouldn't mind."

If it let you see more of the apartment then by all means..

You followed Mayuri inside where he flipped on the light and revealed a room filled with various enclosures, each with a different species of butterfly or moth. Your near childish excitement was real as you wandered around taking a closer look at each. The diurnal species each had a light on their enclosure where they fluttered around in various states of activity.

"Holy shit, aren't these Blue Morphos? And this is a White Witch?"

"Indeed. You do know your species," Mayuri affirmed.

There were several rare species that you recognized, some still in their larval states, munching contentedly at the leaves given to them. It would have been your wet dream at one point in your life to have this setup.

"This one is my favorite," Mayuri called out and you went to his side, curiously.

On a table all by itself was a tall specimen jar and inside was-

"Oh," your knees felt wobbly and you stumbled against the wall clutching at your head. You felt overwhelming dizziness wash over you and your limbs grew heavy.

"Are you alright?"

The concern in Mayuri's voice would have been believable under any other circumstances were it not for the arm floating in the jar next to him with a very recognizable eye tattoo on it's palm.

"What did you put in my fucking tea?"

The muscles in your legs gave out and you collapsed to the floor against the wall. Mayuri lowers himself into a crouching position to join you his arms rested on top of his knees.

He tilts his head assessing your condition before his slender fingers grip your chin forcing you to look into his eyes, "Who do you work for?"

"I don't work for anyone," you mumbled. Your tongue wasn't working properly and the words came out slurred.

You felt like you were having the worst trip of your life and Mayuri's grin was scaring the shit out of you. He was perfectly at ease with what was happening. That's how you knew just how fucked you were.

The severed arm that he keeps in the butterfly room might have been the first red flag..

"What is your true purpose here?"

"Let me go," you begged, "I won't tell anyone."

Mayuri chuckled sending shivers up your spine, "I'm certain that you won't."

#mayuri kurotsuchi x reader #kurotsuchi mayuri x reader #mayuri kurotsuchi #kurotsuchi mayuri #bleach #I just spent like an hour and a half editing this to fix problems between the first and second chapters :)))#writing while half asleep life

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deripmaver · 3 years

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laurent is a good person - book 1 meta

one of the most amazing things about captive prince is how the reveals in book 3 recontextualize all of the scenes leading up to them, including about laurent himself. in book one, all we see is damen pov as he’s being abused and humiliated by this supposedly spoiled, vile ice prince. when the regent comes to damen and subtly (and not so subtly) insults laurent, calling him unfit to rule - well, why would he think anything different? laurent has insulted him, had him whipped within an inch of his life, and even attempted to (and later successfully lmfao) have him raped while drugged out of his mind.

after book 3 we can reread most if not all of book 1 as a very traumatized boy who has finally been confronted with the man who killed his brother, leaving him alone with his abusive uncle, and who he clearly has made into a complete monster in his own mind. damen of course sees him as a complete bitch, but there’s textual/subtextual evidence that laurent is well liked, and that his behavior during book 1 was actually pretty out of character for him. i’d like to provide some examples of that now!!!!

“Laurent had stopped dead the moment he had seen Damen, his face turning white as though in reaction to a slap, or an insult. Damen’s view, half-truncated by the short chain at this neck, had been enough to see that. But Laurent’s expression had shuttered quickly.” Captive Prince, Chapter One

i couldn’t resist adding this one in hehe. laurent recognizes damen!! he’s come down, knowing his uncle has devised another truly horrendous and triggering “gift” and that he’ll lose support if he calls it our for what it truly is, only to find out that it’s fucking damianos of akielos sent to him as a sex slave. a jab at laurent’s trauma about auguste and also a jab at laurent’s frigid sexuality - which ofc is completely the regent’s fault. fuck that guy so much lmfao

“‘It’s so rare to see you at these entertainments, Your Highness,’ said Vannes.” Captive Prince, Chapter Two.

this is right before the fight between govart and damen in the ring, of course. damen sees laurent as depraved and vile as the sexual sadism on display by the veretian court, and considers him to be a willing purveyor of it. this is wrong, of course, as said by vannes here. laurent has only shown up because he wants to humiliate damen lmfao.

“He did remember being supported by two of the guards, here, in this room, while Radel stared athis back in horror. ‘The Prince really . . . did this.’ ‘Who else?’ Damen said. Radel had stepped forward, and slapped Damen across the face; it was a hard slap, and the man wore three rings on each finger. ‘What did you do to him?’ Radel demanded.” Captive Prince, Chapter Four

this scene, to me, was the most telling lmfao. it’s right after damen is whipped. you could argue that radel is just a servant in the employ of the royal household, so is of course going to be loyal to the prince, but he seems genuinely surprised of the prince’s cruelty towards damen. not only that, but he slaps him and immediately assumes damen must have done something. which - i mean, technically he did lmao. not necessarily enough to deserve having the skin flayed from his back, but you know. if laurent was in the habit of torturing pets and slaves, why would the overseer react this way?

“The men guarding him were the Prince’s Guard, and had no affiliation with the Regent whatsoever. It surprised Damen how loyal they were to their Prince, and how diligent in his service, airing none of the grudges and complaints that he might have expected, considering Laurent’s noxious personality. Laurent’s feud with his uncle they took up wholeheartedly; there were deep schisms and rivalries between the Prince’s Guard and the Regent’s Guard, apparently.” Captive Prince, Chapter Four

laurents relationships with his guards are also some of the biggest indicators that he isn’t just a spoiled brat, but can insire a deep loyalty in his men. even if they do all want to fuck him. ah, sexual harassment. it’s also hilarious that damen immediately assumes they’re loyal to him because they want to fuck him - nice projection there, dude. we know a bit more about laurent and his guards thanks to green but for a season, but this little bit here is interesting.

“Laurent was indeed good at talking. He accepted sympathy gracefully. He put his position rationally. He stopped the flow of talk when it became dangerously critical of his uncle. He said nothing that could be taken as an open slight on the Regency. Yet no one who talked to him could have any doubt that his uncle was behaving at best misguidedly and at worst treasonously.” Captive Prince, Chapter Five

idek what to say here. laurent my beloved <3333

“‘When someone doesn’t like you very much, it isn’t a good idea to let them know that you care about something,’ said Laurent. Damen felt himself turn ashen, as the threat sank in. ‘Would it hurt worse than a lashing for me to cut down someone you care for?’ said Laurent.” Captive Prince, Chapter Seven

this isn’t really relevant to my thesis lmfao i just love this exchange bc it gives SO MUCH information about laurent and his uncle in just three lines of dialogue. what has the regent done, who did he cut down just to hurt laurent? when and how did laurent learn that? p a i n

“Laurent’s fussy horse began acting out again, and he leaned forward in the saddle, murmuring something as he stroked her neck in an uncharacteristically gentle gesture to quiet her.” Captive Prince, Chapter Nine.

HORSEY NO- lmfao this scene just hurts so badly on the reread. especially later on, in book 3 i think, where laurent says something like “i provoked my uncle.” he’s really blaming himself for his uncle KILLING HIS HORSE, his horse that his murdered brother trained, one of the only living connections to auguste... all because his uncle could not let a single miniscule plan laurent had set go through without some kind of repercussion. literally all laurent did was do something to stop an innocent group of people from being abused, nothing to undermine his uncle’s rule, but because the regent is VILE he could not let laurent have even this. he’s so good with her, too. he must have known by this point and also known that there was no way to stop this. P A I N

“‘I know that you have somehow arranged this,’ said Erasmus. He was incapable of hiding what he felt, and just seemed to radiate embarrassed happiness. ‘You kept your promise. You and your master. I told you he was kind,’ Erasmus said. ‘You did,’ said Damen. He was pleased to see Erasmus happy. Whatever Erasmus believed about Laurent, Damen wasn’t going to dissuade him. ‘He’s even nicer in person. Did you know he came and talked to me?’ said Erasmus. ‘—He did?’ said Damen. It was something he couldn’t imagine. ‘He asked about . . . what happened in the gardens. Then he warned me. About last night.’ ‘He warned you,’ said Damen. ‘He said that Nicaise would make me perform before the court and it would be awful, but that if I was brave, something good might come at the end of it.’ Erasmus looked up at Damen curiously. ‘Why do you look surprised?’ ‘I don’t know. I shouldn’t be. He likes to plan things in advance,’ said Damen.” Captive Prince, Chapter 9.

this is the first in-text confirmation we have that laurent has a good heart beneath his layers and layers of trauma-induced lashing out. book one often skeeves people out because of its graphic and, honestly, yes, kind of sexualized depiction of rape, slavery, and depravity, but beneath it all you meet these two protagonists who are going to have all of their most deeply held views about each other challenged. laurent from very early on is shaken to his core when damen refuses to rape nicaise in the ring - it cracks the very foundations of the person he’d built up in his head as this horrible monster who killed his brother in cold blood. and damen keeps defying laurents expectations by being a good person through and through. on the other hand, laurent spends the first part of the book taking out years of anger on damen, but here for the first time we see him do something just because its the kind thing to do. yes, torveld is an ally against his uncle, but laurent has clearly been scheming with him for a while now, and he’s now overlooking his hatred of damen and working with him just because none of the slaves deserve whats happened to them. it’s such a sweet moment.

“One of the other men, eyeing them, approached a moment later. ‘Don’t mind Jean. He’s in a foul mood. He was the one had to stick a sword through the mare’s throat and put her down. The Prince tore strips off him for not doing it fast enough.’” Captive Prince, Chapter Nine.

HORSEY NO- pt 2. this is just another really sweet and sad detail - laurent being so upset that the horse’s death could have been more painless. it must have hurt so much to see her in pain, and to know that the only way for that pain to end was being put down as quickly as possible. i wuv him. im sad

that’s it, though there are still a few more chapters left in the book. this isn’t providing any new information, of course, the path of the three books is to show that laurent isnt the man we meet in book one, that he’s actually sweet, and earnest, and he’s been fighting his own battle practically alone against his abuser since he was fifteen years old. also, the reveal that laurent knew who damianos was from the start makes it clear imo that all of his violence in book 1 was supposed vengence, not... him being evil. he apologizes explicitly in-text, and also, all of the acts of violence he commits cause serious problems for him in terms of his future alliance which he then needs to fix. i just love how layered these books are, how there’s so much information in them that makes rereading almost more fun than reading them for the very first time!

#Captive Prince #captive prince meta #damen x laurent #Laurent of Vere #Damianos of Akielos

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psychewithwings · 3 years

Text

Pt. 1 A Visitor... Once Again Kirishima x Goddess!reader

hello hello, this is my contribution to this months bnharem collab! The theme was ‘mythology and lore’ and hit very close to my ancient greek loving soul. We have so many wonderful writers and artists that have worked hard so pls check out the rest of the collab here!!!

I’ve been rather ill and so I’ll be breaking it up into parts, part 2 will be out as soon as I am feeling more myself (which will hopefully be next week). Please enjoy a story about 2 of my favourite characters. Kirishima Eijirou, as his hero self (tho with a demi-god twist) and reader! as Kalypso, the goddess, daughter of Atlas, the titan who holds up the sky. Her curse is that she is forced to live alone on an island and fall in love with any visitor who falls to her shores. Once she falls for them, she is forced to ask if they would like to stay and she may grant them immortality if they say yes, and if not? They may leave. They have no way of leaving the island until she falls in love. She is a kind and wonderful character and I have a lot of love for her, (perhaps I relate to her a bit too much) so it is an honor to tell a new version of her story.

This is set in present day even tho Kalypso is an ancient greek figure, Kirishima is about 25-28 here? Pro hero Kiri!

TW: a small sex scene in the beginning, little bit of dirty talk, penetration

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“Fuck, thats it baby, feel it going all the way inside? Feels good right?” You moan into his neck, “s-so good.” He starts to thrust in and out slowly. Your nails dig into the muscles of his back… his… names and faces are unimportant blurs as he continues to thrust inside. Each drag of his cock hits each sweet spot and taps against your cervix. “Fuck~ you feel so fucking good darling, so-fucking-good, perfect, fucking perfect… yeah that's it clamp down on my cock, massage it with that perfect pussy.” His hand slips between your sweat soaked bodies and rubs quick circles over your clit. “Gonna cum for me baby? I can feel it, you’re about to gush~” You cry into his neck, soft tears of ecstasy hitting his skin. You’re close, so very close-

“Hello? Hey!!! Is anyone home?? Hello?”

You open your eyes and the man above you, the cock inside you, all falls away. It had all been a dream… a delicious, wonderful dream. A dream that had been ruined by an incurable racket. You stare groggily at the ceiling. The ache in your core of having been so close to cumming now boils into a rage. “Hello?!?! Is someone here? Hello??” Your brow crinkled in confusion as to who the rasping voice belonged to. You check to see if you had somehow managed to flip the tv on but the screen was dark. “Does anyone live here?” It dawned on you then… It’s a visitor.

You check the clock that blinks 5:37AM. You groan into a pillow and kick your legs in an attempt to relieve the ache. Your bare thighs are covered in your arousal, which has turned into your frustration. You stay lying still in hopes that he will go away, leave you alone, never return. “HELLO????!?!” But he had to stop screaming and it didn’t seem like he was going to until he came into contact with someone… You knew the nature of the curse well enough at this point but you would try to rebel as long as you could…

You flip the covers off of your body and slowly walk to grab a robe to cover yourself with. You stare at your reflection in the full length mirror while you finish tying the robe. “We got this,” you point to yourself, “no falling in love this time, no falling in love no matter what, ever again, you hear me?” You nod back to yourself. “Pinkie swear.” You touch pinkies with the mirror and laugh coldly. “No more foolish love,” you sarcastically remark before opening the french doors and stepping onto the balcony.

You stare down at the man who had been shouting for so long and your heart drops. He’s beautiful, red hair hanging in his face, still wet with the sea. His body must have been designed by the muses and chiseled by delicate hands. It’s clear even through his clothes. Son of Ares? Or even Zeus perhaps? He is interesting, never had you seen a demigod with such clear physical strength and kind eyes. The combination was rare. He gives you a grin which then fades to surprise. “Oh- I am so sorry, my manners,” he laughs nervously before slowly kneeling on the ground. “Great Goddess, I humble myself now in front of your grace and all encapsulating beauty…” You roll your eyes hoping he will take the hint and shut up. It wasn’t any different from the men before him… It was the same shit as always, though you were disappointed, this one seemed different upon first glance. “...your magnificence is profound, you are both elegant and ethereal in your just standing there-” you cut him off before he can continue the asinine speech. “Ya done?” you ask bluntly.

His eyes grow wide and he softly utters a “what?” You roll your eyes and lean on the gold railing. “Dude, it’s 5am, you’re yelling and ranting, can ya just get to the point?” He remains on his knees in a bow. His pitch varies with confusion as he speaks. “My ship, uhh I crashed it on your shore, and I was hoping that you could umm, maybe assist me in getting home? I-” he hangs his head for a moment, perhaps in exhaustion before continuing. “I have no GPS, no compass, not even a map… if I could do it without bothering you, I would, nothing you for help isn’t very manly... but please Goddess, please help me get home.” You sigh, century after century of the same request has really weakened your patience, though he had asked nicer than most. “You’re stuck here for the foreseeable future,” you smile slightly. You wait for the look of annoyance, frustration, fear… but it never comes. In fact he gives a slight half smile as he stands. “Well, nothing we can do?” he asks. “‘Fraid not,” you sigh. He starts to say something else but he winces. “Are you okay?” you ask, genuine concern bleeding through the nonchalant tone you had been practicing the past milenia. He nods and grabs hold of his side. “I got a little beat up, but don’t worry goddess, ‘tis but a flesh wound,” he tips his head down. As he raises his head he looks deathly pale. “Hey sit down okay?” you call down to him, but it’s too late. His eyes roll back and he collapses. “Shit-” you mutter to yourself as you run down to him.

He lays there in a crumpled heap, his breathing shallow. “Wish you’d said you were hurt first dummy,” you grumble before assessing the situation. You need to get him to the herbs and the back porch. This wouldn't be easy, he’s big, huge really. But he collapsed on his side which makes things easier. You hook an arm around one of his and the other around a leg. It takes a lot and it's a staring but you manage to lift him on your shoulders. If your father can hold up the sky, you can surely carry this brick house of a man back to the bed on the porch.

You step into the house while fireman carrying him to the screened-in porch to lay him down on the daybed. You place him carefully in the soft, green covers and he whines softly. “You’re gonna be just fine,” you reassure gently. Your back porch was reserved for growing herbs, arts and crafts, summer sleep, and it occasionally became a makeshift infirmary when visitors came to you injured and in need of patching up. It happened once every few centuries…

You grabbed some fabric scissors and cut away his shirt to reveal what had been ailing him. You hoped for a broken rib, those were easy to heal with a careful dose of leaf from the widows bone flower and some angel root. But what lay beneath was worse than imagined. A deep gash in his side had tried to close over and heal but it’s irritated, angry. The wound is oozing a sickly yellow pus and iridescent ichor. The skin around it is red with infection. This is one of the worst you’d been brought with. You touch his head, it’s hot and sticky with sweat. This wasn’t good. “Wait here, okay?” You grab a clump of angel root and take it back inside to the kitchen, setting it in a pot of water to boil. You grab a cloth and wet it under the sink in cold water.

You place it on his forehead and sit on the bed beside him. His face was relaxed and he was even more beautiful now. You brush the hair from his eyes and smile down at him, there was something familiar about him… like you’d met before. Though no one could return to Ogygia.

You lean down to where you can speak over his heart in a language that cannot be written or replicated... But the meaning of the words would go something like:

You are healing

You are youthful and strong

Your heart knows how to heal because it is made of love

Pure love can heal anything

You are healing now

You repeat this chant until you hear his breath deepen and watch the cut sooth. It’s a small enchantment but it has done its job. Sure, you’re no Circe, or her brethren, but you’re an enchantress all the same.

You rush back inside and grab the angel root, that's now wet and flexible from being submerged in water. You lay it across his wound before wrapping it carefully. “There now, wait here and I’m going to get you some nectar to drink,” He doesn't respond but his face is relaxed, less anguished, less in pain. You sigh in relief, hopefully that will be enough to close the wound in a day or so, else he will need to be stitched up.

You return with a small bottle of nectar and a dropper to feed him with. You coax his jaw to relax with your hand before dropping the nectar slowly onto his tongue. “You heroes are an awful lot of trouble… you know that?” You continue to feed him slowly so he won’t choke. You sigh in relief as the colour returns back to his face. He’s so beautiful he’s almost glowing, you start to reach for him, to brush the hair from his eyes but you stop yourself and turn away. “No, no love this time, remember?” you say to your reflection in the glass of the windows.

His eyes flutter open with long slow blinks. You watch as they focus on you. He blinks again. “Elyssium,” he breathes and you can’t help but chuckle. “No, Ogygia,” you correct gently. “I’m Eijirou,” he smiles. You laugh again. “No no, this island, where you are is called Ogygia, you aren’t dead,” you assure. He blinks up at you still and you curse the gods for creating him to be so breathtaking. “And what are you called?” he asks. He attempts to sit up but finds it difficult. You place your hand on his head, it’s warm and you can feel his brow relax against your palm. “You’re much better now, but just take your time…” His hands touch his torso and then move to his head. “You healed me?” You nod, “I’ll have to sew this one the rest of the way, it was quite deep.” He circles his hand around your arm, his thumb stroking soft circles. “Thank you, goddess,” he murmurs. You pull away, his touch sending lightning down into your fingertips. You don't remember the last time you had a visitor on this island of yours… but none of the previous visitors seemed to matter anymore, even though each one had stolen your heart some way or another. But no- no love, not this time, not now, not again… It hurt, but you suppressed the feelings of desire and brushed your hands down the front of your robe. “It’s nothing, but for the love of the lethe, stop calling me goddess. Kalypso is fine, just Kalypso.”

He grabs your hand as you turn to leave, “thank you... Kalypso, thank you for saving my life.” In all the years you had been saddled with this curse, it was rare for the visitor to say your name... and none of them, had said your name quite like that.

You pull your hand from his grasp and make sure not to look back, even though you want to. “You’re welcome,” you answer simply, “I’ll uhh- get you some water.”

to be added to the taglist

#kirishima #bnha #kirishima eijirou #kirishima x reader #kirishima x y/n #kirishima x you #kiri #eijiro x reader #kirishima eijiro x reader #bnharem #bnharem collab #august collab

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that-terrible-writer · 3 years

Text

Not Like This

I’m over trying to add this through Safari.

Part 3

Part 1 2

“You call yourself terrible but this, this is beautifully written and I need more.”

“This has got me on the edge!!!! I dont usually like reading series or even multiple parts but dude I wanna read more of it!!!!!!! Are you planning on writing more??? This is so fucking AMAZING”

Warning: Over 3.3k to make up for me sucking.

You felt you had an out-of-body experience. You could see everyone in the control room at STAR Labs, but you were only watching their lips move. No noise was coming out. It was pure silence. You were utterly dazed; you couldn't get the image of Iris crying out of your head. She seemed so helpless, not getting the answers that she wanted. What were you supposed to do? Confess to her that you were the other woman?

A yell snapped you out of your thoughts. Turning your head slightly, you saw Ralph getting closer to you, "Y/N!" Ralph yelled. You covered your ear, wincing at the volume of his voice. You swatted Ralph away from your space, taking a few steps back.

"What is your problem, Dibny?" You mumbled, taking another sip of your coffee. It missed your lips, spilling the hot liquid onto your sweater. You let out a groan, patting the stain in, slamming your coffee cup down on the desk. The group looked at you, not wanting to say the wrong thing; though, Ralph took one for the team.

"I didn't mean to annoy you, Y/N," He explained. Ralph cautioned himself, taking a step towards you, "It's just, now's not the time to be spacing out. You know, with Cicada still out there." You lightly nodded your head, understanding Ralph's point. You rubbed your eyes, letting out a deep sigh.

"I'm sorry, Ralph. I didn't mean to take it out on you," You clarified. You glanced over at Barry, reading his worried look at you. Your heart ached when you locked eyes with him. A flash of Iris appeared, causing you to look away from him quickly. "Iris was over at my apartment last night, talking to me until 4 in the morning, so I didn't get much sleep last night."

You quickly saw Ralph's mood turned from concerned to being unsettled. You waved Ralph away from you, walking towards the doorway. You lifted your hand before letting anyone interject on what Iris was doing at your place. You looked over at them, "She's upset about the whole Nora thing. If you don't mind, I'm going to draft some weapon ideas and run them through Cisco." Cisco gave you a thumbs up, bringing the attention back to the Team, discussing ways to stop the biggest threat to Central City.

You walked by the weapon's room, heading straight to the lounge. You observed the room, seeing some things that Nora had left behind. You slowly made your way to the couch, plopping your heavy body onto it. You leaned your head back, letting out another frustrated sigh. You rethought your night with Iris when you knew you could no longer call yourself a friend anymore.

You brought over a cup of tea, sitting across from Iris. You thought that Iris would be out of tears, crying for an hour, and she still could go on for longer. You bit your thumb, trying to find the right words to say. Not to show concern for her, but to make sure you didn't let anything slip. Iris leaned over, cupping her drink close to her. She looked up at you, her face stained, her eyes puffy.

You grabbed a nearby box of tissues, handing them over to her. You watched as she blew her nose, sniffling the last bit. She collected herself, taking in a deep breath, "I'm sorry you had to watch that," She softly said.

You waved your hand, relaxing your shoulder, "Iris, it's okay. I would do the same if I were in your position." You waited until Iris took some time to drink her tea. You paused at first, not wanting to press on a sensitive matter. The curiosity was eating you alive, taking over, "Iris, why do you think Barry is cheating on you? Have you seen each other? You're the definition of couple goals." You clasped your hand over your mouth, not believing that you just asked her something so personal. Even if it did have to deal with you: you had to act like you didn't know.

Iris lightly laughed. You noticed the cup you gave Iris. It was the exact cup you were going to hand Barry when he interrupted you that night. You grew uneasy, rubbing your mouth and constantly moving your legs. You had to keep reminding yourself to calm down. You couldn't give away any tells.

"He's been more distant lately. He hasn't been relying on me as much. He used to come to me for emotional support; it's what a husband and wife do for each other, but when it came to Nora, he didn't want to discuss her." Iris explained. Her voice cracked, on the verge of crying again. Iris inhaled, calming herself down, trying to force a smile, "He came home this morning, and I don't know how to put it; he just seemed happy."

"Happy?'' You repeated. You furrowed your eyebrows together, shifting yourself on the chair. "How could he be happy? He sent Nora back; I would imagine happy is the last thing he would be feeling."

Iris shook her head, "I thought the same. Granted, I didn't know about Nora until he told me. He came home, all happy, then he informed me that he took her back to the future. I just can't figure him out anymore, Y/N." Iris placed her cup on the table to be able to put her head into her hands.

"I don't know what's going on, Iris. I'm in no place to tell you how to feel, but we need to remember Barry is going through a lot. Not only do we all have Cicada on our hands, but Barry also has to try and figure out Crisis. Then he learned that his daughter is working with the man that killed his mother. It's a lot to take in. We can't predict how someone could handle this type of thing." You tried your best to find a way to excuse Barry's behavior. You cursed under your breath, annoyed at how careless Barry was. You knew you had to speak with him, but you didn't need to grow any more suspicion.

"You're right; we don't know how Barry is handling all of this. Maybe I'm reading too much into this. It's just caught me thinking of so many things because he didn't come home last night. I've been just letting the worst come to mind." Iris confessed. You went over, sitting next to Iris, wrapping your arm around her. You took in a deep breath, having been heartbroken when you heard Iris let out her cries again.

Your stomach turned, remembering last night. Rubbing your face, you couldn't shake the feeling away. You noticed something at the table. A fresh cup of mocha had appeared, from Jitters, with Barry Allen staring down at you. His eyes lit up when they instantly locked with yours, a smile tugging on his lips; you could feel the spark that you both shared.

"Barry, we shouldn't be seen together." You mumbled, reaching over for the drink. You saw Barry shift his weight, but you stop before he could speak, "Iris came over: worried about you. I don't particularly appreciate lying to her, Bear. It would help if you fixed this with her. That's final."

In a blink of an eye, Barry had used his powers on you again. The room reminded you of an insane asylum. White covered every inch of the space. "It's Thawne's hideout," Barry explained.

"That makes sense," You joked, "Only a psycho would have a place like this." You looked around, seeing a stand against the wall, "Is it safe to talk in here?'

"It is," Barry confirmed. He walked over to the stand, hovering his hand over to reveal an artificial face. Barry saw you stiffen up, reaching out a hand towards you, "It's alright. This is Gideon. I created her in the future, and Thawne was using her while he was stuck here."

"Hello, Mr. Allen," The AI spoke, "Hello, Ms. Y/L/N." Your face didn't move. It was still showing the same puzzle expression.

"Gideon, can you pull up the article?" Barry requestion. Gideon pulled up the article that had you all worried.

THE FLASH VANISHES

"Barry, why do I need to see this?" You complained, "We are doing our best to find a way to avoid the crisis." Barry walked over to you, standing behind you. He placed his hands on your shoulder, turning you to face the article. He lowers his head to be close to your ear, trying to have you focus. Focusing: that was the last thing on your mind.

"Look who wrote the article," Barry whispered. You looked up at the name. Gideon zoomed in for you to make no mistake.

"Iris West?" You barely got out. You shook your head, pulling yourself from Barry. You turned to face him, crossing your arms, still in disbelief. "So, what does this mean?"

"That article used to say Iris West-Allen," Barry pointed out. He took steps closer to you while you did nothing to step away. Barry cups your face, rubbing his thumbs along your cheek, "It's now just West. Don't you see Y/N? We get to be together.

"The timeline is changing, just like Thawne explained. We can't stop the way that we feel. We can have a life together." Barry smiled.

"I don't know, Bear. I don't want to start a relationship based on what we did. Based on a lie." You confessed.

"Let me handle it then," Barry assured, "I will tell Iris everything. I will make sure that everything falls on me and that you can still have a friendship in the end." Barry kissed you. A soft and gentle kiss, telling you that everything was going to be okay. You stared at Barry, about to interject. Yet, a familiar flash came into view.

You gripped onto Barry's arm, seeing Nora at the other end of the room. Her eyes flashed red; she was panting, having red lighting come out of every part of her body. You should see the anger flowing through her. You turned Barry around, having him stare at his daughter. Barry reached out behind him, grabbing onto you.

"Nora, I need you to calm down," Barry instructed, stretching a hand out toward his daughter, motioning her to stop in her steps. Barry knew what was happening with Nora. She returned to the present using the negative speed force, rejecting everything he instructed her not to do.

"She's ruining our family," Nora yelled, causing you to wince. Nora looked at her father; disappointment came across her face. "Are we not enough? Was I not what you wanted?" Nora's voice cracked, causing you to have tears form.

"Nora, I didn't mean for it to happen," You plead. Your voice also cracked, feeling the heavy amount of guilt you had with Iris, just growing when Nora had to be the one to find out. You didn't mean for this to happen. You never meant for any of this to happen.

"She has to go, Dad," Nora ordered. She took a step closer, balling her fists, ready to take flight.

"Nora, we can talk about this." Barry tried to calm her. You felt the wind go through your hair. You thought it was Barry thinking quick on his feet, but he could only run for so long until Nora caught up. When you stopped, the figure placed you to your feet, helping you stand.

You quickly spun around, making sure Nora wasn't anywhere near you. "Don't worry. You're safe." The voice answered. You turned to see a young man in front of you, wearing a purple and white suit. "I'll always make sure you're safe." He had appeared to be in his 20s, wearing his hair like a certain Speedster.

"Barry?" You let out softly, confused at what you were seeing.

The young man laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. He showed certain traits on how nervous he was before you: his hands were restless, flicking his fingers at the tip, rubbing his mouth, and biting at the end of his thumb. "You always tell me how much I look like him," He told you. You didn't know what to say; no words were coming out of your mouth. You looked around you, seeing that nothing looked familiar, "You don't know where we are?" He asked you. You slowly look over at him, shaking your head softly.

The young man rubbed his chin, muttering to himself, "Maybe it will happen later." That is what you were able to catch.

"I'm sorry, what?" You rebutted, "Who are you? Where am I?"

"Don't worry! You're still in Central City!" He assured you. You waved your hands as a disagreement.

"That's the last thing I am worried about, as I have an absolute stranger pick me up and take me away from my friends!" You yelled.

The boy placed his hands on his hip, and that instant: you knew where the dots connected.

Your phone rang; seeing it was Barry on the other line, you picked it up, "Y/N! Thank God you're okay!" Barry's voice sent a wave of safety through you. "Where did you go? Who took you?" You closed your eyes, focusing on Barry's voice, taking in deep breaths.

You looked over at the boy, seeing his ears perk. He stared at you, waving his finger at you, "Is that—is that really—" The kid couldn't finish a sentence. His excitement had taken over him.

"We got Nora into the Pipeline. We were able to knock her out with some anesthesia." Barry informed you, "You can come back if the speedster lets you."

You glanced over at the boy, "I don't think he's bad, Bear." You assured him, "I think—I think we know him from the future." You hung up the phone, walking your way over to the eager boy. "Do you think you could take me back to STAR Labs?" You questioned him.

"You serious?" He said. His voice showed the excitement he held, in a flash, taking you back to your previous location.

Your hair was a mess, standing in front of your friends: back in the control room of STAR Labs. Barry didn't think; he went over to you, pulling you into a loving embrace. You lightly tapped Barry's back, whispering to him so that only he could hear, "I'm okay."

Barry pulled himself away, turning to the boy. His face mimicked yours. He scrunched his brows, confused at the sight before him, "Why does he look so much like—"

"You." Cisco finished. Cisco walked over, taking a good look at the boy. He walked around him, examining his outfit and facial features. Cisco placed a hand under his chin, "The resemblance is uncanny."

"A little bit too uncanny," Ralph grumbled, looking over to your direction. You felt your stomach drop as you knew Ralph would quickly catch on to what you figured out.

"Are you here because of your sister?" Caitlyn mentioned, grabbing the boy's attention from you and Barry. He looked a bit confused and shook his head.

"No, Dawn doesn't know that I'm here. If she did, she would have my head," He joked. His smile grew wide, showing more of the Allen gene running through him.

"Dawn?" Caitlyn caught, tilting her head at the thought. "Don't you mean Nora?"

The boy shook his head again, "I think I would know the name of my sister."

You saw Ralph make his way over to you, pulling you to the side, "You need to take that kid away." He ordered you. You continued to stare at Ralph, your sight going over to the kid once and a while, "They may not see it, but it's only a matter of time until they catch on."

The boy wipes his hands on his pants, trying to straighten himself out. The smile he wore was the same smile Barry had. "Where are my manners. My parents did teach them to me," He chuckled, flashing his eyes over to Barry. "I'm Don Allen. I come from the future."

You and Ralph let out an annoyed sigh, quickly covering it up when the rest of the team looked at you. You make your way to Barry, tugging on his arm. Barry looks down at you, raising his eyebrows.

"Bear, we need to get this kid out of here. We need to speak to him alone." You informed him. It took Barry a while, realizing what was happening.

"Hey, Don," Barry spoke up, "How about we don't say anything about the future. We already have Nora in the Vault; we don't need any more future business involved." Don grew confused by Barry's remarks. He was able to read Barry's expression, understanding that nothing else needed to be said.

"Are you here to help us with Cicada? Like Nora was?" Cisco asked. Don looked over at the two of you, reading your worried expressions.

"Yes," Don said slowly; he turned to Cisco, pointing at him with a bit of a chuckle, "That is why I'm here. To help out with your bug problem. Me. Cicada. Yes." He was as awkward as Barry was; it wasn't helping.

Cisco let out a sigh of relief, having a smile on his face, "Great. The more help, the better. I'm close to the cure; we learned that Cicada's powers don't affect Killer Frost. I hope that enough recap for you because we can't waste any more time with this. We are a woman down, so we need all hands on deck!" Cisco clapped, getting everyone's attention. It was a signal to look busy.

Cisco left the room with Caitlyn to continue their efforts in completing the cure. Ralph followed behind. When Ralph was almost out of the room, you could see him mouth you some words: "Fix this!"

Barry waited a few moments, placing his hand along your lower back to guide you out of the control room. Don caught up, but the moment he tried to say anything, Barry placed an index finger to his lips to silence the kid. Barry put his hand on the wall, opening up a door to go back into Thawne's room.

"What are you doing here, Don?" Barry demanded the moment the wall sealed up. Don rubbed his hands, looking at his angry father. His mouth twitched, from going into a frown to just a thin line. "Don, you can tell me."

Don was pacing the room, "I don't understand," Don muttered, looking over his shoulder where the door was. He pointed towards the door, "They don't know?" Don asked both of you. You looked up at Barry, who had the same action, looking back at you. Don went over to you, grabbing your left hand to examine it.

"You're not married?" Don questioned you. You shook your head. Don ran his hands through his hair, getting more and more restless. "This can't be happening," He grunted. He turned to Barry, pointing his finger at the Red Speedster, "Why aren't you married to her?"

"Because he's married to Iris," You informed Don. Don looked over at you, the look of disappointment he had shown. "They've been married for a few years now. We're just friends." You felt Barry's hand resting on your side, his grip tightening. You took a moment, knowing what Don was going to say.

"Mom, you can't be serious," Don finally told you. The moment you knew the truth, you felt your breath leave your body. You felt faint, but with Barry holding onto you, you were able to stand. "You and dad need to be together! My being, Dawn's being, everything is disappearing in the future. You two not being together is destroying the future!"

You turned to look up at Barry. Barry looked at you, still calm over the revelation. Barry had to decide which future he wanted to have and had to choose which one had to go; the very thought made you sick to your stomach.

Tagged: @randomfanders-blog @ibe-anne @my-soul-is-the-moon

Permanent Tagged: @sxturn-stars

Some of the tags aren’t working and I’m sorry 😢

#Barry Allen #barry allen imagine #barry allen x reader #DC imagines #dc imagine #arrowverse imagine #The Flash #the flash imagines #the flash imagine #the flash x reader #grant gustin #grant gustin imagine #grant gustin x reader #the cw flash

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not-xpr-art · 3 years

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Art Advice #3 - Drawing tips!

Hi everyone!

As you may know, every week or so I’m writing blog posts with art advice hints and tips for artists of any skill level in the hopes of helping some people out a bit! The tag is here so feel free to check out some of my other posts!

This week’s post is going to be some drawing tips I’ve picked up over the years that could hopefully be useful for beginner artists!

(this is about 1800 words altogether btw)

Drawings tips!

I’m going to split this post up into little sections which will hopefully make it easier for you to scroll to find certain advice you’re particularly interested in!

Part 1 - How to get started?

I’m a firm believer that anyone can be an artist, regardless of what materials or equipment they have. So when it comes to my advice on what kind of materials I recommend for beginner artists, I’d mainly say ‘whatever you have’.

But if that’s a bit vague, I’d essentially recommend you have a set of pencils which you can usually get relatively inexpensive online or in craft/art shops which range from 6B all the way to 6H (’B’ being for softer, darker pencils, often good for shading, and ‘H’ for the harder pencil leads which are best for much lighter shading or if you want a really faint sketch. Something important to note about ‘H’ pencils is not to press too hard with them since they’re a lot more likely to leave indents in the paper than ‘B’ pencils! For general sketching I personally use 2B or 3B pencils since they have the perfect balance of soft & hardness in my opinion!)

Of course, you can just draw with whatever pens or pencils you already have, so definitely don’t feel you have to go out of your way to buy something new or expensive just because your favourite artists use a particular brand of pencil or pen... Of course, often higher quality pens or pencils (especially colouring pencils) will have better pigment payoff than the cheaper alternatives, but as someone who’s been using the same WHSmith pencils they got when they were a child, I definitely think that as long as you have something to draw with, you’re all set to produce masterpieces of your own!

A lot of my art education got us using charcoal for a lot of our drawing practise. It’s not a medium I’m particularly fond of personally, but it is a great way to practise being a lot quicker and expressive with drawing, so definitely if you’re up for the challenge you can try some charcoal stuff! Only piece of advice is that I wouldn’t really recommend those ‘charcoal pencils’ you can buy in some shops, since they mostly just break apart every time you try and sharpen them... Regular charcoal is messy, though, and smudges very easily, so if you are interested in using it I’d say to do a little bit of research before hand!

(Or feel free to send me an ask if you want any further advice on using it!)

If you’re wanting to get into digital art, I’m planning on making a post discussing my tips for beginners to digital so... keep an eye out for that in the near future lol!

Part 2 - Getting over ‘Drawing Anxiety’

Drawing can be a daunting thing, particularly when artists who are already pretty good at it can seemingly produce a perfectly proportioned face out of thin air. But these artists weren’t magically born with this skill, of course, so with practise and some perseverance, I can assure you that you’ll be at that stage one day!

So my first piece of advice here is to be patient with yourself. Don’t expect yourself to be perfect straight away.

Second piece of advice is to sketch constantly!! I notice a lot of people who haven’t been drawing long are really careful about how they draw, almost like they’re afraid to be rough with the pencil. So I’d really recommend just starting to sketch a lot: be rough, be messy, draw things you can see and things from your imagination!

Observational drawing is another thing I think is crucial in improving your drawing skills (and I’ll go into more detail with this in a bit), but honestly just sketching things you like is such a great way to help you grow as an artist! And yes this includes drawing anime fanart or drawings of your original characters!

Below is some comparisons of my attempts at drawing Freema Agyeman from 2013 to 2019... Is the latest version of this perfect? Of course not. But I just want to show what constant practise can achieve!

Part 3 - Observational drawing

I honestly think that observational drawing was one of the most important things I learnt in my years of art education.

Observational drawing can take on many meanings. Perhaps it’s drawing a still life of a fruit bowl, or a life drawing class with a naked dude in front of you, or even drawing from a photo. The point of observational drawing is to improve how you translate the world around you onto a 2D surface, essentially.

And you don’t need anything fancy to do observational drawing either! Just placing an array of things in front of you and trying to sketch them (try and focus on a mix of textures and surfaces for the objects. So, for example, including a cup along side a woolly hat will help you get a handle on how to create texture with your drawing, and drawing anything with a reflective surface like cutlery is both challenging and interesting to do! Basically just use what you have around you!)

If you’re lucky (or unlucky, depending on how fond you are of seeing naked people lol) enough to have the chance to do life drawing, I would honestly recommend it! Often the final results aren’t great, but it’s a really good way of practising your observational skills! And even if you don’t have the opportunity, just trying to sketch a friend or family member from across a room, for example, is something that can really help you improve!

Top tip: a teacher once told me that when you’re drawing something like a face, for example, a way to improve how you draw is to see the face not as a ‘face’, but instead as a collections of shapes. Because our brains have a preconceived idea of what a face looks like that we end up drawing what we think we can see rather than what we can actually see!

There’s a lot of art snobs who believe that drawing from reference images is ‘cheating’ in comparison to life drawing, Of course, this is bs, and I’d say I’ve learnt just as much from using reference photos for the basis of my art as I have from drawing from ‘real life’. For more information about my thoughts on references and how to use them, see This post!

Part 4 - Drawing from references: Tracing, Grids and Freehand (which is best?)

Tracing in the world of art is a ... Contentious subject to say the least. And I’m not really interested in getting into the ‘moral’ implications of whether it is ‘cheating’ or not.

Instead I want to focus on the pros of using something like tracing when you’re starting out. I think particularly if you’re trying to improve how you shade things, colour things or how to get better at blending, then I do think that tracing can be a useful tool! Even I used tracing in the very start of my delve into digital art, but soon found that tracing wasn’t really something that was helping me in the long run so moved onto freehand stuff.

Overall, I think tracing is good as a starting point when you’re still learning about art, and also if you’re not too comfortable with your freehand drawing skills yet. I’d also recommend you mention if you have traced a piece if you share art to social media. Of course, no one is obligated to do this though!

This is an example of an artwork that I traced (it’s from 2013, hence why it looks... like That lol)

But if you’re someone who perhaps has used tracing in the past and found it doesn’t really work for you, or if you don’t want to start with tracing at all, then a good ‘next step’ I’ve seen other artists get into is using grids.

Now I have to admit, I’m not the best person to talk about grids since I’ve actually never used them lol... But I know a lot of artists who do, particularly people who do a lot of traditional work, since it makes it a lot easier to translate the reference image to your piece of paper or canvas.

And in a way I would recommend grids more for people starting out in drawing than tracing, and this is mainly due to the fact grids force you to use a lot more observational drawing skills than tracing! If you’re interested in getting into using grids I’d recommend doing a bit of research yourself!

The final technique of drawing from references I want to talk about is freehand! Now this is the one I’ve been doing for the majority of my art ‘career’ and honestly is probably the most ‘difficult’ to do of the three techniques.

But I find freehand drawing particularly rewarding with the ways it can make you reimagine an artwork in ways you never intended! Like what I mentioned in my Reference advice post, I have found that making ‘mistakes’ in freehand drawing can actually lead to more interesting and unique works of art than tracing or grid work could ever do!

I also think that freehand allows you to create your own characters or concepts in a much more free way. For example, my Spirit of Somerset piece was something I created from a variety of references (I seem to remember I used Isak from SKAM’s mouth as a basis for the girls’ mouth?) and the dragon was based on a real mishmash of references, which is something that I I feel I couldn’t have done if I’d have been using grids or tracing!

With this I’m not trying to say that freehand is the ‘best’ way of drawing, it is just the one that I personally have found to fit me the best, which is the entire point of this post! All of my advice is just pointers I think could be useful for new artists, it is up to you to find which ‘path’ in art suits you best!

And of course, I’ve phrased these techniques as separate purely for the sake of explaining them easier, but the fact of the matter is that you can use a combination of these in your art if you wish!

If you struggle with drawing the outlines of hands, perhaps use tracing as a way to get a handle of the shape and then maybe use freehand to fill in the colour of them! Use a grid to draw a tree but freehand the leaves and bench below it!

Remember that your art is your art, and no one can tell you how to draw things!

I think I’ll leave this here for now! But I may do a part two at some point in the future! & my ask box is always open for anyone who wants any specific advice!

I really hope you found this at least moderately helpful, and a massive thank you to everyone for the constant support of these posts and my art!

#art advice #drawing #drawing tips #art advice for beginners #drawing advice #artists on tumblr #art #i SWEAR i am trying not to ramble in these i just... have a lot to say lol

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httphopewrld · 4 years

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hot summer (sneak peek pt.2)!!!

He was a boy across the street—no—an attractive boy across the street who happened to be a tattoo artist. You didn’t want to do anything about it, but your friends encouraged you to either stop sulking or make a move. And you chose the latter.

Pairing: tattoo artist/neighbourjungkook! x female reader

Genre: fluff and smuuuuuut

Rating: 18+ because there’s some smuuuuuutttt (it’s the most detailed I’ve ever written, soooo proceed with caution) and swearing

Warnings: smut, soft sex, dom!/sub!jungkook, dom!/sub!femreader, penetrative sex without protection (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!), bullet vibrator, oral fem receiving, creampie, fingering, making out, and swearing. There are mentions of domestic violence, but it is not detailed. It is in the perspective of the reader, who is witnessing this from a distance.

Word Count: 9,000-10,000 (each because there will be 2 parts)

A/N: Uni has been a lot, so I will be post the full part 1 on Monday. Thank you so much for waiting, and for all the support and love I’ve gotten from the previous sneak peek! Here’s a little more to keep you on your toes ;)

Also, if you’d like to be on this fic’s (and future ones) taglist, comment your username, and I’ll update this fic and have your username in future fics too!

⊱ ────── {⋅. ✯ .⋅} ────── ⊰

You looked across the traffic, into the apartment building across from yours. A boy sat back into his chair, holding a book in his hands. He began to read, of course, in a simple manner. His eyes scanned the pages, imagining the words written in his mind.

He was man, most likely, in his early twenties, but referring to him as a “man” felt odd.

You were fascinated by him. He was good looking, even from kilometres away. If you leaned against your balcony’s rails, you could see his dark wavy brown hair, his slightly sun-kissed skin, and his all-black clothing ensemble. He wore no shirt, probably from the heat or being in the comfort of his own home.

You stepped away from the railing and back into your apartment, drawing back the curtain and turning your back to the balcony.

How long have you been gawking at this stranger? Had he glanced up from his book and saw you standing there?

You drew all your curtains closed, paranoid, and embarrassed.

People crowded the city’s streets.

The sun was out, which meant everyone became runners, joggers, and walkers. People, families, and friends came out from their hideaways and into the sunshine. You, on the other hand, sat safely on your balcony.

Crowds made you nervous. You liked meeting people, but the thought of pushing through a dense mass of strangers made you shudder.

So, you watched people push and brush pass each other from ten floors up, sipping at your iced tea.

You gazed at the apartment from the other night.

It was empty.

You could see simplistic black and white art and photographs decorating the walls and modern furniture. His bedroom is to the left, with a gaping window that allowed anyone to look in. The same applied to the rest of the apartment: big windows and no curtains.

You sipped your iced tea.

You could imagine this man’s wardrobe. Minimalistic shades, and maybe some pops of colour. Chunky black sneakers and dark accessories. He must’ve been an artist of some sort.

Your phone rang.

“Hello?”

“Y/N!” Your friend, and roommate, Ashly, chimed on the other end. “Are you busy at the moment?”

“Not at all,” you replied, setting down your drink, “what’s up?”

“I was thinking of having a get-together. There’d be wine, snacks, and music. It’d be small, maybe five people, including ourselves?”

“You want me at your party?”

“Well, it isn’t a party—just a few girls and gossip.”

You pondered for a moment. “Where is it?”

“The get-together?”

“Yes,”

“It’d be at our place in two weeks.” Ashly sighed. “Is that enough time, mom?”

You chuckled. “Yes, my child.”

“Awesome! We can plan when I come back from work.”

“Okay, see you soon.”

“See ya!”

“Bye.” You hung up and looked back at the apartment.

The boy had come back. He wore a back cap, which he quickly took off and ruffled his hair, and, like a few days ago, adorned a full black ensemble. Despite the warm weather, he had worn a black leather jacket, jeans, and sneakers.

You watched him shuck off his jacket and toss it on the couch, and head to his bedroom.

He, with a lack of better words, flopped onto his bed and appeared to take a nap.

You chuckled to yourself—definitely a boy.

It had been a week since you looked back at the apartment.

You had just come back from work, and Ashly usually arrives back home an hour later.

The apartment you shared with Ashly was a carbon-copy of an IKEA display. You joked about it before, saying, “if someone were to flip through a 2019 IKEA catalogue, randomly choose a page, you’d probably think our place looked the same—or you’d find one of our pieces of furniture.”

It wasn’t a bad thing. IKEA was a popular place to shop at, and it was excellent quality.

Your furniture was various shades of white, navy blue, grey, silver, and light brown. The colour palette continued to your cutlery, kitchen items, and your bedrooms.

The place was cozy and didn’t leave room (pun intended) for a frivolous lifestyle.

The boy’s apartment was similar yet different. There was a sense of minimalism, like yours, but the furniture was dark—almost raven black.

As remarked before, there were black and white photographs and inky modern furniture. There were no colours in his home, just assorted shades.

His front door opened, and two bodies tumbled inside—his and a female.

Their bodies entangled with one and other and gripping each other’s clothes. The female’s clothes were the first to come off, exposing her bra and lack of underwear. The boy seemed pleased because he smirked before attaching his lips to her vagina.

You were shocked, scared, and worried all at once. You wanted to look away but found a curiosity within.

This man—boy—didn’t appear to have any desire to shut the world out.

You watched as this boy perform oral sex to this female—in the right way because the girl appeared to be moaning a lot—and you couldn’t look away.

It was like watching live porn, in a weird and public sense. It was, slightly, pleasurable too.

They took off their clothes shortly after the girl seemed to orgasm and engaged in penetrative sex. He took her from behind, against his couch. You, and whoever else stumbled upon this erotic scene, had a perfect view of their naked sides.

“Oh, my lord,” you gasped.

You felt the familiar tingle in your lower region.

Realizing this, you cursed under your breath and closed your curtains.

“What the fuck,” you exhaled, leaning forward on the dining table.

“I just watched my neighbour have sex,” you muttered, “and enjoyed it.”

You paced the room as if giving a lecture to a child.

“You were turned on by your neighbour having sex!” You shouted at yourself. “What the hell?! Were you fantasying? Him?! What the fuck, Y/N? Might as well be Joe Goldberg, and whip out your—”

“Y/N?”

You stopped in your tracks and turned to your front door. Ashly stood in shock.

“Are you alright?” Her Australian accent was thick with concern.

You smiled, “Never better.”

She let out a pulse of nervous laughter before tossing her keys in the small dish on the kitchen counter.

“What were you saying about Joe Goldberg? The guy from You? And why are the curtains closed?” Ashly leaned her hand against the counter, and her other on her hip. She resembled a mother about to lecture their kid about a text from a stranger.

You chuckled. “Nothing of importance—anyways, how was your day, Ash?”

“Oh, no, no, no, no, Y/N. You’re not escaping this one.” She walked up to you and firmly placed both her hands on her hips. “What is all this that about?”

“Look who’s the mother now,” you muttered, making Ashly raise her eyebrow.

You inhaled a lungful of air. “The boy in the apartment across from us is having sex right now, and they’re bare-ass naked in front of their big-ass windows. I had to close the curtains because I felt like I was intruding on their sexual activity, and it was just weird that they didn’t close their own—but I feel like that boy doesn’t own any curtains—so I just closed our curtains.” You said in one breath.

Ashly’s eyes widened with shock, “What?” She walked past you and threw open the curtains.

“Ash, don’t just rip them wide open!” You rushed over and closed the curtains.

She glared at you before cracking the drapes a bit to take a look. “Oh, my God.” She gasped. “They are having sex.”

“Still?” You crouched down and peered through the break.

“Oh yeah,” she nodded, “and harder than ever.”

You both watched, only for a few seconds before closing the curtains again, the boy drill into the girl. The boy faced the windows, leaving everyone to see his face and the top of the girl’s head as she tilted it back with pleasure.

“Well, he seems very good at what he’s doing,” Ashly commented, walking away as you closed the drapes.

“Ash!” You said in a loud whisper as if the boy across the street could hear.

“I’m just saying, the girl seems like she’s having the best time of her life, being pounded by that dude!” She defended.

“Jesus Christ, Ash, shut up!”

“I’m not wrong,” she shrugged.

You looked at her sheepishly, and you both burst with laugher.

Both of you spent dinner recapping your days: Ashly was currently dealing with an HR (Human Resources) problem in her company—she couldn’t go into details because of confidentiality, but it had to do with a problematic employee who was spouting racist nonsense online, which could affect the company’s image; and was immorally wrong because racism and any discrimination based on sexuality, race, religion, and so on, cannot be tolerated.

Your day and work-life were conversely dull.

You managed finances and taxes for your corporation, and the only exciting event to date was the incorrect money evaluation from a co-worker, which lead the company to believe there was wiggle-room for spending; when in reality, they were spending too much.

You pushed the pasta around in your plate while looking at the covered windows. You watched the curtains sway in the wind. Ashly had opened the windows a few minutes ago to let the hot air out of the apartment.

It was the hottest summer since you moved to the city five years ago, including the weather and the recently noticed neighbour across the street.

You continued to think about him and the way he had sex with that girl. It was romantic, yet aggressive and needy.

Fuck. You cursed.

“Hello?” Ashly waved a hand in front of your face. “I know that HR can be boring to listen to, but please try to look interested.”

You chuckled, “Sorry, Ash. I just zoned out a bit.”

“Oh, I know,” she replied, “but thank you for the apology.”

She sighed. “Well, I’m ready to watch some Netflix.” She looked at her watch, “And as it is almost eight o’clock, I think I’ll only be able to last for a ripe two hours until my old body starts to shut down.”

You laughed, taking both of your empty plates and cutlery to the kitchen. Ashly joined you, bringing the drained wine glasses.

“Care to join me?” She asked while you loaded the dishes.

“It’d be the highest honour, m’lady.”

⋅. ✯ .⋅

Reminder:

if you would like to be on my taglist for “Hot Summer” and my future fics, please comment something like:

(ex.)

Hello! I would like to be in your taglist. My username is _____. Thank you!

Thank you!

- Mae (httphopewrld)

#jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fuff #ficswithluv

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strutitout · 3 years

Text

LARRY FIC REC - recently read

1. I don't want a taste (I want it all) [3K] by thedaggerrose (blessedfetish)

What Louis really needed was a fat fucking nap.

What Louis got instead was some hipster-looking wannabe arguing with him over the validity of avocado toast.

Or the AU where Harry tells Louis to go fuck himself, Louis tells Harry to fuck him himself, and Harry follows through.

✨ Cute and hot + they bantering over avocado tost.

2. Right Side of the Wrong Bed [10K] by eyesofshinigami

There, standing in a pair of ridiculously tiny briefs and wielding a frying pan in one hand, is quite possibly the prettiest boy he's ever seen. Louis scrubs a hand across his face. "I'm in the wrong goddamn flat, aren't I?"

Or, the one where Louis wakes up on the wrong couch only to meet his future husband (even if Harry doesn't know it yet).

✨ This was not the first and won’t be the last time I read this fic. It’s super fun, hot, and even though it’s “just” 10K, their connection is really well-built.

3. When Least Expected [22K] by Rearviewdreamer

Drowning in a sea of emails and Zoom meetings in the living room, his lonely son falling more and more behind in his kitchen classroom, and crushing weight of the world being on house arrest for the foreseeable future, one fateful online interaction suddenly has everything looking up.

✨Louis’ kid is having a hard time trying to adjust to the new reality brought by COVID, until he starts having music classes with music teacher Harry, and things start looking up for both father and son. Very sweet fic and really interesting to see them falling on love over this hard times.

4. Naked Attraction #2 [29K] by reader_chic_2

“By the way, I checked you out quite a lot before your tube was raised.”

Harry smiled lustrously, “Yeah? More than Leonard? He might have been crazy, but he was sort of cute.”

Louis raised an eyebrow. “Maybe to you, Styles, but I don’t enjoy dominating in the bedroom.”

“Is that so?” Harry licked his lips. “Funnily enough, I do.”

Louis felt like his heart was going to explode out of his chest. “I’m not sure if someone as adorable as you could dish out commands.”

Harry laughed brightly, and in a second flat his hand reached out and gripped his hip so hard it made Louis gasp. His eyes darkened, boring into Louis’ with a burning intensity. “And I’m not sure someone as mouthy as you could take my commands. Want to test it out?”

. . .

Louis Tomlinson is the first openly gay football player in the Premier football League. He was outed by the paps, but he’s had to embrace it since then. To show he doesn’t have shame in it, he goes onto Naked Attraction, and all the money will go to LGBTQ+ support, but he has made some changes to the show. Incidentally, he meets a certain Harry Styles there, and that is when things get interesting...

✨ This was really really fun, loved their dynamic and found it a very original story. Fluff, fun and smut.

✨ Additional tags: Spanking. Subspace.

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Louis Tomlinson is one of the most promising dancers of the English National Ballet, on track to become the youngest principal dancer in the company's history. That is, until forces conspire to significantly complicate his life, including: a surprise ballet, an unfairly attractive guest choreographer, and being pushed into a rivalry with his best mate. Featuring lots of wine, dancing, pining, and a happy ending.

✨ I’m not an expert but from the comments it seems the writter nailed the “dancing world” characterization (even though you don’t have to know anything about it to enjoy it). There’s some good banter and friendship; hot smut; lots of pining and not that much angst.

6. Whisper The Wind [36K] by jacaranda_bloom

Louis’ father has political ambitions and decides it’s time for Louis to step up as the company’s Chief Financial Officer. Louis thinks this is a monumentally stupid idea. After storming off in a rage he has a chance meeting with a tall, dark, curly haired stranger. A technical glitch with their shared elevator finds Louis spending twenty minutes with the most intriguing man he’s ever met. Unfortunately the man is leaving London the very next day and moving to Australia to work at his mates surf school. Timing, as they say, can fuck right off.

Fast forward three years and Louis is miserable, a shadow of the man he once was, working in his father’s company, and hating every moment. At his thirtieth birthday party, surrounded by people he doesn’t know or doesn’t like, he decides to throw it all in and follow the impossible dream. Happiness, a fulfilling life, and someone to love. The question is, will that dream be found ten thousand miles away on a sandy beach, with a curly headed surfer dude?

---

Or the one where Louis rides an elevator that may change his life forever, Harry loves the ocean but is a terrible surfer, Liam proves not all heroes wear capes, and Niall might actually have all the answers.

✨ No angst, this is 36K of pure fluff and hot smut (read tags). They fall in love almost immediately, so they are already together most of the story.

7. King of wishful thinking [38K] by Star_Henderson

“Don't umm don't get on the bus, come inside.” Louis blurted the words out, speaking quickly.

Harry looked startled.

“Just. Look I don't know if I want..” Louis scrubbed his face with his hand. “I'll pay for your time. Just come in.”

Harry stepped away from the bus stop and the bus sailed straight past.

“What's umm what do you guys make these days?”

Harry shuffled his feet. “Depends. Like two hundred an hour.”

Louis hummed. “Reasonable.” He gestured towards the hotel. “Come up for a drink or some room service or something.”

Harry scraped the toe of his already scuffed boots on the floor. “You don't have to do this, I feel like… like you're a nice person who feels bad but it's fine. I get it. You don't have to make it up to me.”

Louis stared at Harry. It'd been so long since he'd even spoken to a guy let alone hung out with one. He'd enjoyed the banter and the flirting.

“Come up.” Louis’ voice was soft.

Harry’s face bloomed into a smile. “Ok.”

✨This is another one that I’ve read more than once and still love. Sex worker Harry. Really sweet, very well-written and their love is really well constructed.

8. hush. [41K] by Wankerville

“I don't like you like that, Harry.”

“See,” Harry starts, Louis can hear the smile in his voice, “that's where I think you're lying.”

---

or an au where small towns suck, louis is losing it, and harry’s just too perfect.

✨ Read the tags! My notes on this one were: SO SO BEAUTIFULLLLL. Loved it, angst (but not a heartbreaking one), SO MUCH FLUFF, great dialogues, great banter and smut. Loved it!!! (lol)

9. Don't Look Down [91K] by zarah5

AU. In which Louis is a solicitor at one of London’s most prestigious law firms and Harry happens to apply for the position as his trainee. And everyone else is around, too.

✨I love everything they write and this one wasn’t different. Amazing characterization, great dialogues, great banter! Absolutely loved it! Not much smut. A bit angsty, wanted to punch Louis at times, but all ended well.

10. Let Me Be Your Star [252K] by lovelarry10

Harry Styles has always been a singer, but he’s never had much confidence in himself. When his idol is brought on as the new judge on The X-Factor, he figures, what the hell? He’d get to sing and meet his idol. What could go wrong?

Louis Tomlinson has always wanted to mentor young musicians. When he’s asked to be a judge on The X-Factor, it’s a dream come true, everything he ever wanted. What he didn’t expect was to meet a curly-headed stranger that would turn his life upside down

✨Hot smut, a lot of fluff and not that much angst. Harry seems a bit immature (which makes sense for his age) but their relatioship is really sweet. (I also enjoy that the writer included pictures of how they imagined H and L on each presentation)

#fic rec #april 2021 #larry fics

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nobodycallsmerae · 3 years

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For a multishipper like you: 12: Characters you can only Imagine in one ship!

12. Characters you can only Imagine in one ship

Can i just play safe and say Mulan? 😭

Gosh okay, umm, this is a hard one, but i think i'm gonna go with Musa and Riven from Winx Club.

ship ask ❤

okay that was my answer,, but i have some built up emotions regarding this ship so a fresh, VERY LONG rant coming up 😭—

Okay so as I had said before, Riven x Musa was actually first ship i ever actually "shipped". i hadn't really known anything about fandom or shipping back then, all i knew was that they looked good together and they should kiss (dudes i was a baby, spare me this one) **also remember that i only watched like the first two (2) seasons that too the episodes were not in order so then, when i'd answered the ask a few days back, i was like huh, i haven't watched winx club in ages maybe i should binge it?? but as a classic me move, ofc after the first four episodes i gave up and started reading a book (💀) but when i was aimlessly watching videos on youtube the other day, i came across the official Winx club yt channel aaaannd, they had done something really amazing. they'd made compilation vidoes of all the ships, like "Flora and Helia Love Story [Season 2 to S7]" that was so amazing!?! so obviously i watched Musa and Riven's story. I'd remembered that they had a lot, and i mean A LOT, of conflicts throughout the seasons, but yknow, i was still really happy to see them. Before, to have a relationship in shows, all i knew was that the people have to be pretty, and if they look good together, they're a good couple (1 like = 1 braincell for younger me 😭) But now that i know that that isn't the formula to a good relationship, i could see some many red flags in their relationship. like my mind was constantly like: 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🥰🥰🥰🥰🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🚩🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🚩🥰🚩🚩🚩🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰🚩🚩 you get the gist but you know what, even though, as it is a show literally about fairies and MaGic, i had hope for them. because even through all those bad moments and fights, they always came back to each other. BUT THEN. You know in a series finalé how everything comes together. worlds are conquered, wars are won, love is saved and all that shit. WELL GUESS WHAT. FOR MY FIRST EVER SHIP, INSTEAD OF HAVING A LOVELY—IT WAS ALWAYS YOU—YOU WERE ALWAYS THE ONE—I HOPE WE CAN START OVER—I FUCKING LOVE YOU—CONFESSION, THE MAIN SHOWSTOPPER OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP IN THE FINALÉ WAS A FREAKIN BREAK UP 😭😭😭😭😭 I just cannot believe how i ended up shipping the ONLY doomed ship in the whole show. 😭😭 But you know what, even tho the series is finished, this only gives me more hope for them. Riven, throughout the show was overly possessive and kinda controlling but cold at the same time, (for the 1st or 2nd season, he was also like the terra of the show 👀) but he went through some MAJOR character development, and in the end, HE was the one who called the break up. He knew he wasn't the best partner, and that Musa deserved someone so much better than him, and he let her go. and the break up wasn't nasty or anything. even though i was really sad, the break up was almost refreshing. both of them knew they weren't ready to be in a relationship with each other yet, so they let each other go. (the character development was truly *chef's kissss*) what I'm saying is, they're almost, imo, the perfect definition of "right person, wrong time." and i believe one day in the future, they will have a bright future. together. (on that note, any fic recs please? 😭) and if you've reached here, omg i can't believe you're still reading!! honestly this was basically a therapy session for me 😭 Here have a cookie for being so wonderful ( ꈍᴗꈍ)//🍪

#ask #skyland2703 #thank u for sending in the ask 😭#winx club #rivusa #is their ship name i think????#musa x riven #riven x musa #musa #also i think i read somewhere that they have chemistry in the winx fate saga whatever show?#where they whitewashed literally every non white character ://#honestly what was i even expecting from a LIvE ACtIOn :(#anyway thats why the animated show was the best #but sigh if only they got a different storyline 🤧👉👈

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twilightprince101 · 3 years

Text

Hey so for the past few months in the Bugsnax server I'm in I made like... Thirty OC questions for the dudes I hang out with. Some being Bugsnax related and others being absolutely not. And y'all seemed to like my one with the journalist OC questions, so, here ya go! Feel free to answer any amount of these in any order you'd like! (Might also update this in the future as more come out)

The Casual Set

1) What is your OC's favorite memory before Snaktooth? One that they cherish before stuff might've gone downhill?

2) If your OC was forced to fight against someone with about the same skill level as them, how would they fight? Would they win?

3) What's a guilty pleasure that your OC likes to do, but is too embarrassed to admit?

4) If your OC suddenly had no shame in doing what they loved, like all of their embarrassment was suddenly gone, what would be the first thing they do? (i.e., confess to a crush, sing karaoke at the top of their lungs, etc.)

The 1/4's heavy Set

5) What is something/someone that your OC actively hates (preferably outside Snaktooth). Not just “I don’t really like this thing, but something that they actively loathe with as much anger as they can muster.

6) Your OC gains the power to shapeshift into literally anything, real or fictional, what’s the first thing they do?

7) The Grumpus that your OC likes the most suddenly stops talking with them and gives them the cold shoulder. As much as they try to figure out what’s wrong, they won’t say. How do they react?

8) Your OC is on a mountaintop with a sick as hell echo. What do they yell for all below them to hear? (Don’t worry, they won’t know it was you)

The "insomniac mode" set

9) What does your OC do in the first week after Snaktooth? You probably already know where they’re gonna end up, but what do they do immediately after coming back to mainland? Do they hide out somewhere because of their Snakification, if so where? Do they help shelter other grumps?

10) What’s your OC’s favorite game to play? Could be a tabletop game, video game, anything. If you don’t have a good idea, focus on a general genre

11) Your OC suddenly comes across of a clone of themselves while walking through the woods, quick!! What’s their first instinct?! (And possibly what they do after)

12) What does your OC resort to in a time of crisis? Like something really bad is happening to/around them, does something resurface or is there a certain way they act only in this circumstance?

13) Tell is a joke that would get your OC to laugh as hard as they could (also how would they laugh?)

The "Proper Sleep Schedule" Set

14) If your OC had a theme song, what would be the general vibe of it? If you wanna be more specific, what would be the main instrument?

15) All of your OC’s biggest regrets are compiled into a list. What would be the 1st and 3rd biggest regrets?

16) Your OC has ghost powers! They can do anything a ghost can do, like Danny Phantom. How would they use these powers?

17) The person your OC hates the most is locked in a room with them for one hour. They’re told that anything that happens in this room will become null and void when they leave—any evidence erased, any memories wiped (save for their own). What do they do? [Also as tempting as it might be, try avoiding the whole “they hate themselves the most” response]

18) What is a “what if” that your OC thinks about a lot? Like, they imagine their life could've turned out better/worse if they did one thing different?

The Introspection Set

19) Your OC is given the chance to live the life that they truly want. They can immediately hop into the life they so desire, whether it be a world where they haven't made a certain mistake in their past or where the misfortune they had to experience never happened. The only caviat? They need to force the other version of them to trade places. What's the world they envision, and do they take that opportunity?

20) Your OC is suddenly approached by a man in an alleyway. After mumbling something about not asking questions, they dump a duffel bag full of money at their feet and run off, around tens of thousands of dollars. What do they do?

21) About a week later they find a news report detailing the person who stole that money, apparently taking it from some rich corporation. Does this complicate things? In what way?

22) Your OC has been having a reocurring nightmare, haunting them every night and making them wake up in a sweat. What do they dream of?

23) Where exactly does your OC stay in the general layout of Snaxburg? Whether it's their own hut, tent or staying with other peeps, where are they on this map?

The "Idle Thoughts" Set

24) What was a moment when your OC's got so excited and happy about something (before/during Snaktooth) that they could NOT contain themselves anymore? Like they just start squealing and waving their arms or something like that?

25) Your OC now has the power of lucid dreaming, they can conjure literally anything they want and do it while sleeping! What do they do?

26) The grumpus your OC has a crush on/likes the most suddenly walks up, kisses them on the cheek and books it. How do they react?

27) Your OC wakes up one day in their hometown and literally everyone is gone. No bodies, no traces of blood, just, vanished. What do they do? (after looking around of course)

28) Is there an idol/role model that your OC looks up to? (before/during Snaktooth). How do they try to take after them?

29) If your character was in an anime or something what sort of main weapon/power would they have?

#bugsnax #grumpus oc #bugsnax grumpus #bugsnax oc #snaxburg #snaktooth island #oc questions #writing prompt #oc prompts #of varying quality #more to come #possibly

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arrestjellyfish · 4 years

Text

Rainbow Blossoms

Chapter 1: Saturday

[Sanders Sides, romantic prinxiety / Virgil/Roman]

Summary:

Tattoo artist Roman Prince goes to the local florist to visit his elderly friend, Céleste Tempȇte, and pick some flowers to use as inspiration for a new design.

But instead of finding a soft old woman amongst the iridescent display of flora, he meets her anxious emo grandson. Virgil Tempȇte is everything you would not expect to find in a flower shop.

Cue intrigued simp noises.

Other chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

Chapter warnings: swearing, suggestive language, mention of mild illness, brief mention of artwork depicting mild blood

Chapter word count: 6,900

Read on AO3 or below!

[Also available as a podfic!]

oOo

It was unusually warm for a midsummer day in England. Crowds of people had flocked to the streets in excitement, hoping to soak up the best of the sunshine before the clouds were bound to return with a vengeance later that week.

Roman waltzed across the cobblestone road, inhaling rich scents of earthy vegetables and fresh, salty fish. Market vendors hailed from every direction, boasting low prices on sugar snap peas (freshly-picked that morning) and 2 kilos for the price of one on the juiciest peaches. Pedestrians of every age bustled around, energised by the atmosphere.

A burly man cut across Roman’s path, lugging a crate of dirt-caked carrots across the road. Roman had to sidestep to avoid crashing into him. He bumped into a metal pole on one of the many market stands in his haste, bruising his arm.

‘Are you quite all right, young man?’ the woman behind the stall asked in a kind voice.

A wide grin broke onto his face as he rubbed his aching arm. ‘I’m wonderful, thank you, madam!’

He adored market day.

His phone chimed in his pocket, and he knew it would be Remy demanding he get his arse back to work. Really, Roman knew he should have been hurrying back to the studio, but how could he possibly be expected to forego a gentle stroll through the town centre on such a wondrous day as this?

Besides, he had a perfectly valid excuse to be out of the stuffy tattoo parlour on this bright afternoon. The client he had had a consultation with earlier had requested quite an intricate design for their future tattoo, consisting of various flowers. Roman felt a duty to purchase a bouquet for reference, wanting even his initial sketches to live up to his reputation as an artist. He hadn’t been nominated tattooist of the month three months in a row for nothing, after all.

To aid in the completion of his quest, he knew the perfect, quaint little flower shop hidden away behind the sandstone buildings of the high street. There was an abundance of flower stalls dotted along the market, of course, though Roman was well-versed in selecting the finest of flora (having had plenty of opportunities to woo handsome young men in his 25 years) and knew a wider selection would be available at Beau Blossoms.

There was also a sense of loyalty that made him skip past the flower stalls and duck into the familiar crooked backstreet. He had become well acquainted with his favourite florist’s elderly owner, Céleste Tempȇte, who Roman had grown to see as one of his dearest friends, even if their 50-year age gap was unconventional.

He quickened his pace as he neared the modest shopfront, it’s pale blue paint chipping from years of wear. The windows were adorned with an iridescent display of the most gorgeous flower arrangements, as usual.

‘Good afternoon, mon fleur d’amour!’ Roman sang heartily as he pushed the glass door open, ducking his head with practised ease to avoid hitting it on the bell that jingled above him.

He breathed deeply at the onslaught of pungent floral scents. The intensity of the pollen had overwhelmed him at first all those months ago, though he had grown accustomed to it and now welcomed the attack on his senses as if greeting an old friend.

Crooked, aged floorboards creaked beneath him as he stepped around the corner of the entranceway. ‘How is the fairest woman in town fairing on this fair day?’

Roman looked up at the wooden desk where Céleste would always be slumped, doing a sudoku puzzle and smiling widely at Roman’s antics.

Then he froze.

Sitting in Céleste’s rickety stool was a complete stranger. They looked around Roman’s age, perhaps a tad younger, and were a decidedly different sight from what Roman had expected.

Céleste was a stout woman with silver hair who would often wear pastel floral dresses, with a mint-green shawl perpetually draped across her rounded shoulders. This new person looked similarly below-average in height, though otherwise was a polar opposite. They appeared scrawny and the pale skin on their hands and neck was practically swallowed by an oversized black and purple tartan jacket. Their ripped black skinny jeans (complete with chains and studded belt) were a far cry from Céleste’s nude pantyhose and where Céleste’s grey eyes would crinkle with delight at Roman’s entrance, this person’s dark eyes were wide with surprise and framed by the blackest eyeliner and smokey purple eyeshadow.

‘You’re not my Céleste,’ Roman said, feeling robbed.

The stranger’s eyes grew wider still and their eyebrows pulled down in anger. ‘Dude, what the fuck? You flirt with my grandma?’

Roman held his hands up in surrender, hoping to placate the sudden hostile atmosphere. ‘Relax, Count Drag-ula. I’m gay.’

‘Oh…’ the stranger breathed, seeming humbled and embarrassed by their outburst.

They slumped in their seat, having been sitting ramrod straight since Roman had entered. Then their arms folded around their torso and their shoulders hunched up as if protecting their neck. Bright purple hair fell over their eyes as they looked to the floor. The intimidating air that had been so pronounced in them seconds previously faded and was replaced by what Roman recognised as debilitating shyness.

It clicked pretty quickly after that.

‘You must be Virgil Tempȇte, right?’

Céleste had mentioned her grandson on many occasions during their friendly chats. Mostly she only mentioned him in passing, offhandedly saying that he had moved back home after a year in London, or boasting about what Virgil had gotten her for her 75th birthday (a vintage encyclopedia of 18th-century fashion trends which Roman had had the good fortune of borrowing). Though a few months previously, in an act of desperation, she had spoken much more candidly about her grandson. She had sought Roman’s advice on how she could help her beloved petite chauve-souris to become more confident in himself and overcome his severe anxiety.

Roman’s heart had warmed in hearing the old woman care so intensely about her grandson’s wellbeing. When Roman himself had been struggling with his confidence back in school, his parents had not exactly been forthcoming with support. It was refreshing to witness such unconditional love between family members.

His advice had mainly been that there was not much that Céleste could do to enforce a stronger sense of self-worth in Virgil, but that she should simply let him know that she loved and supported him and would be there for him as he grew.

Now, Roman presumed Virgil had come out of his shell, at least a little, given his rather eccentric makeup and clothing choices. Though he was still curled into himself protectively as he gave Roman a wary look through a wisp of his fringe.

‘How do you know my name?’

‘Céleste talks about you a lot,’ Roman said easily, offering one of his winning smiles.

It was, unfortunately, not met with the same enamoured responses he was accustomed to receiving. In fact, rather than dazzled by Roman’s charm, Virgil looked mortified.

Hearing that someone had been talking about you behind your back to a complete stranger was likely a little distressing to someone with an anxiety disorder, Roman realised. He moved the conversation on quickly.

‘I’m Roman Prince.’ He stepped forward to hold out his hand, which Virgil took tentatively. His fingertips were smooth. ‘I imagine your grandmother has mentioned me before.’

‘Um,’ Virgil stalled, pulling his hand back to himself and shaking his jacket sleeve so that it fell back over his fingers. ‘I’m not sure.’

Indignance overwhelmed Roman’s being.

‘Oh, come now.’ He leaned sideways against the desk, sticking out his chin just enough to profess confidence, not enough to intimidate. He had refined his poses down to a tee. ‘Your grandmother must have told you tales of the handsome young prince who brightens her days with a soft serenade,’ he finished the sentence in a lilting melody.

Virgil’s eyebrows shot up and his lips parted (they were a beautiful splash of rose against his fair skin, Roman thought). Pride swelled in Roman at the look of recognition on Virgil’s face. Céleste must have regaled her family with plenty of enthralling stories of Roman’s magnetism and penchant for chivalry.

‘Oh my God.’

‘Everything you’ve heard is true,’ Roman drawled with a confident smirk.

‘You’re the guy that grabbed the cactus like a microphone, aren’t you?’

Roman’s smile dropped instantly at the way Virgil’s lips tugged up in amusement.

‘Yes, well.’ He bridled a little, standing upright again. ‘T’was not my finest moment.’

‘Yeah, maybe not,’ Virgil mumbled. He bit his lip in what Roman assumed was an effort to contain laughter.

Heat flooded Roman’s cheeks and he promptly spun away from the table.

‘So she would tell you that story and nothing of my usual elegance,’ Roman grumbled, starting to delicately run his fingers over the blossoms displayed on the shelves. He had not taken Céleste for one to actively humiliate him.

‘No, she - I -’ Virgil stammered. ‘I’m sorry. Grandma - she has said plenty of nice things about you too, I just…’

Roman turned back to him, noting the stiffness in his posture and the pained look that pinched his features.

‘That’s just the one that sticks in the mind, y’know?’ Virgil’s long arm stretched upwards as he scratched at the back of his neck. Roman thought it might have been a way to dispel the awkwardness as Virgil’s elbow bent at such an odd angle that it partially hid his flushed cheek.

Not one to hold a grudge unnecessarily - especially not against such endearing young men - Roman smiled softly and nodded in acknowledgement.

Virgil fidgeted on his stool, seeming hesitant, then slid off of it to stand up. Though he didn’t seem much more at ease on his feet, shuffling nervously and shoving his hands in the pockets of his jeans. ‘You, um, you're the guy that brings her fruit tea in the mornings and texts her cute animal videos, right?’

‘C’est moi!’ Roman said with a bright grin, hoping his cheery disposition would comfort Virgil somewhat. He felt an inexplicable need to ensure the other man felt calm.

‘Well… thanks,’ Virgil mumbled, pulling his hands out of his pockets, picking at the frayed sleeves around his fingers, then burying them in his pockets again. ‘Dad and I kinda worry about her being here on her own every day, since we live a bit further out of town. It’s… nice to hear her talk about you.’

Not for the first time, and what he was sure certainly wouldn’t be the last, Roman’s chest filled with joy at hearing about the sheer love shared between the Tempȇtes.

‘But of course,’ he said, happy to see Virgil’s shoulders soften from their previous rigidity. ‘I make sure she does not go a day without seeing a friendly face, though I’m sure as wonderful as she is Céleste must have made plenty of friends in her years here.’

‘Yeah, but none like you,’ Virgil replied without pause. There was a small smile curling his lips and it was the first genuine show of happiness Roman had witnessed in him. It was quite captivating.

Then Virgil’s shoulders were suddenly raised to his neck again and he rocked backwards on his feet, putting some distance between them (at least as much as was possible in a 20-square-metre shop packed full with buckets and bundles of flowers). Roman tried to ignore the swell of disappointment in his chest.

He did not think himself skilled at much beyond his talent for tattooing and the great art of courtship, though he was confident in his ability to read the atmosphere of a room and knew to change the subject before the anxious man became any more uncomfortable.

‘So,’ Roman started, turning back to the various bunches of flowers that sat in the water troughs around the edges of the shop. He cradled the bright bloom of a sunflower in his palms and lifted it slightly from its water to better admire its beauty. ‘Where is the celestial woman? She must be on quite a grand adventure to have left behind her beloved blossoms!’

‘She’s sick.’

Roman’s stomach lurched and he felt the colour drain from his face in an instant. The sunflower dropped back into the bucket with a light splash and clang as the stem hit the metal base.

He snapped his gaze onto Virgil, who had opted to take his hands out of his pockets again and was twiddling a stem of white hyacinths between his fingers. He seemed completely undisturbed by the words that had just left his mouth.

‘My gosh, will she be all right?’ Roman asked, his voice shaking. ‘Is she in the hospital? When did this happen?’

‘Oh, shit.’ Virgil’s eyes blew wide and the white petals stopped their twirling in his hold. ‘I didn’t mean - she’s just got the flu.’

Roman was unconvinced of how reassuring that should have been, given Céleste’s ripe age.

Apparently his uncertainty was palpable as Virgil hurriedly continued, ‘My dad’s looking after her. It’s really mild, don’t worry.’

A massive sigh of relief escaped Roman and he felt the tension that he didn’t realise had seized his body begin to ebb away. Céleste had proudly proclaimed her son to be the most attentive medical nurse in the world, and given her compassionate nature Roman had not doubted for a second that that would be true of her own offspring. She was in safe hands.

‘Dear Zeus, don’t scare me like that!’ Roman cried with a steadying hand on his chest, though it was not a sincere reprimand and was followed by a breathy laugh.

‘Sorry,’ Virgil said, smiling apologetically.

Despite Roman’s brief upset, the misunderstanding seemed to have broken the last of the tension between them and Virgil did not flinch away when Roman took a step closer. He did it under the pretence of wiping his fingers dry on the tatty, damp hand towel that perpetually hung on a hook in the wall. They pulled away wetter than they had been before. ‘It’s no issue, Virgil.’

‘If it helps,’ Virgil offered, ‘I reacted just the same when Dad first told me.’

‘Oh?’ Roman prompted, feeling like he wasn’t ready for Virgil to stop talking yet.

The slighter man tended to squirm a little as he spoke, though not in an uncomfortable way; it seemed to be habitual more than anything. Habit or not, his lithe body twisted in such a subtle way that it was almost reminiscent of a pulse or a rhythmic dance. Roman found himself entranced by Virgil’s mannerisms as well as his character. And, undoubtedly, his beauty. ‘How so?’

Roman leaned his hip against the desk, locking his arms in a way that gently pushed his chest forward and stretched his t-shirt lightly. He knew it would be subtle enough to avoid arousing suspicion. Though, he thoroughly hoped that would be the only form of arousal he was avoiding.

Right on cue, Virgil’s eyes danced down to Roman’s chest, then flitted sideways to the window, back to Roman’s chest (where they lingered for a couple of seconds), and then down to the floor where they stayed. Roman smirked.

‘Yeah, I -’ Virgil cleared his throat ‘- I freaked out a bit. I actually told her I was gay the day before she caught it and I thought I’d, like, shocked her body or something.’

A surprised delight washed over Roman and his teeth bared in a disbelieving smile. Wasn’t this just perfect?

Virgil’s dark eyes - which on closer inspection Roman could now see were mismatched, one being a rich brown and the other green - rose to meet his gaze. Roman watched as he crumbled into himself with the realisation of what he had just said.

‘Oh my God, why did I tell you that?’ Virgil lamented under his breath, squinting his eyes shut and bringing his thumbnail up to his mouth.

‘I wonder,’ Roman murmured through a wide smile. It never failed to invigorate him when his charms effectively ensnared a cute boy. His cheekiness ran high on the excitement. ‘Now as much as I would truly love to stand here with you for as long as the hours in the day would allow, I do have a request of you.’

‘Uh… sure,’ Virgil mumbled around his thumbnail. He had recovered quickly from Roman’s flirting, though the colour was still high on his cheekbones, and Roman knew better than to think it was just from the warm weather. ‘What is it?’

‘I need your assistance in gathering the gayest selection of flowers possible.’

A sharp exhale blew from Virgil’s mouth, slightly muffled around the hand which still sat flush against his chin. It sounded partway between a sigh and a nervous laugh. ‘Care to elaborate?’

‘Anything for you, darling,’ Roman said in his smoothest baritone. His heart skipped at how Virgil’s fingers clenched tightly around the hem of his sleeve. ‘I’m a tattoo artist at Rainbow Skins Parlour - have you heard of it?’

Virgil’s eyes lit up beautifully and his hand dropped back to his side giving Roman a perfect view of those rose petal lips that enamoured him so. ‘Oh man, that’s so cool. My friend got her tat done with you. She said you guys were super accommodating of her dysphoria and stuff.’

‘That’s the aim,’ Roman beamed. He was immensely proud of the atmosphere he and his coworkers had created at the studio. Their mission was to create a safe space for those in the LGBT+ community who wanted to get inked and it seemed from all of the positive feedback they received that they had achieved that vision. ‘One of my clients wants a design full of flowers that symbolise gay love, so I came seeking a florist’s expertise.’

‘I dunno if Grandma is too hung up on the symbolism of the flowers, to be honest,’ Virgil said hesitantly, picking at his fingernails then folding his hands behind his back. ‘She’s more about the biology and aesthetics of it all.’

‘Well then lucky for me that Aphrodite blessed me with your glorious presence today.’ Roman settled to sit on the edge of the desk. It being quite low rise, his figure sunk slightly so that he was now directly eye-level with Virgil. The other man’s eyes did not leave Roman’s face. ‘You look like the poetic type.’

Green and brown eyes squinted suspiciously. ‘I bet my Grandma told you I studied creative writing.’

‘Even so,’ Roman shrugged and inched his foot along the wooden floor, letting the toes of his Vans bump against the heel of Virgil’s Doc Marten boot. Virgil did not move. ‘Am I correct in assuming you’ve done your fair bit of research into queer imagery?’

There was a pause wherein Virgil pouted and remained stubbornly silent. Then, after a few seconds: ‘You can’t go wrong with a green carnation.’

The tip of Roman’s tongue stuck out with a smile and he bit it lightly in amusement. Virgil’s cheeks went an endearing shade of dusty pink and he spun around, quite inelegantly bumping into the workbench that stood in the middle of the room. He grabbed a pair of faintly rusted shears with trembling fingers.

‘Uh, so we’ve got a few of those back here,’ Virgil blurted, rushing to the opposite corner of the shop floor.

Roman sauntered after him quietly. He peered over the other man’s shoulder as he pulled a large bushel from a bucket. The plant displayed a large, beautifully frilly bloom of lime green blossom.

A sharp, metallic snap from the shears resounded around the small room and the large bunch was lowered back to the water to leave a single flower held gently between Virgil’s slender fingers.

When Virgil turned back around, a quiet gasp escaped him as he bounced back, only just preventing himself from crashing right into Roman.

‘What, you couldn’t wait over there?’ If Virgil was trying to sound anything other than flustered and breathless, he had failed miserably.

Roman held his hand out wordlessly with a gentle smile.

The flower was pressed into his palm, and Roman made sure to capture it quickly enough to delicately brush his fingertips against Virgil’s.

In the dappled beam of sunlight that penetrated the packed floral displays in the window, the carnation was much the same shade as Virgil’s left eye. Roman hummed quietly as he inspected the flower, then looked up, delighted that Virgil was watching him.

‘Beautiful,’ Roman purred, unfaltering as he looked into Virgil’s eyes.

A loud snort of laughter cut the tension between them and Roman felt his brow furrow.

‘Okay, Romeo,’ Virgil huffed, shaking his head with a faint smirk. He avoided Roman’s eyes. ‘This is a fleuriste, not a fromagerie.’

Roman felt a thrill rush through him (which was only in part accredited to Virgil’s sudden fluent French accent). Apparently such simple flirting tactics would not suffice with this suitor. The promise of a slight challenge was electrifying to him. He did love to play this game.

He lifted the carnation and tucked it behind his ear like a pencil, smiling when Virgil giggled under his breath at what must have been a silly image. ‘What else may you suggest we add to our beau, gay bouquet?’

A few minutes passed by with Virgil selecting and snipping flowers, explaining the historical queer culture behind them as he went. Roman nodded along and dutifully made noises of interest, though did not dare to butt into Virgil’simpassioned monologue.

It was enchanting to hear Virgil ramble freely on a subject that so obviously enthralled him. He spoke in such a way that made even the most mundane facts feel visceral with descriptive language and Roman couldn’t bear to interrupt such eloquent poetic prose.

He only realised how little he himself had contributed to the conversation when Virgil trailed off with an apology.

A pile of evenly cut lavender, violets, gladioli, calla lilies and, of course, green carnations lay in front of Virgil on the workbench and his fingers fidgeted with some of the lilac petals gently.

‘Please, don’t apologise,’ Roman insisted. He stood opposite Virgil on the other side of the islanded workbench and leaned his elbows on the shabby surface, carefully staying clear of the gardening tools that were scattered around it. ‘You’re incredibly knowledgeable of this subject.’

‘Yeah, employing really subtle methods of representation kind of became my solace in university, you know?’ Virgil said faintly, his eyes fixed on where he weaved a long, detached flower stem between his fingers. ‘Being a paranoid, closeted creative writing student will do that to you.’

A cloud of dejection smothered the sunny atmosphere in the room.

‘Classic fairy tales were my own escape as a closeted teen,’ Roman offered, suspecting Virgil would not want such a heavy topic resting on his shoulders alone.

‘Oh, yeah?’ Virgil finally looked up with an eager intrigue dancing in his eyes.

Roman stretched his arm across the table so that Virgil could better see the tattoo that decorated his right arm upwards of his elbow. He rolled the short sleeve of his t-shirt up to his shoulder to reveal the whole of it. (If he flexed his arm slightly to better highlight his muscles, Virgil did not say anything about it.) He was immensely proud of the artwork on his arm, displaying a busy conglomeration of various fairy tale motifs all interwoven including a bitten red apple, a shattered glass slipper, and a frog wearing a crown. Though the focus of the design was a bird carrying a golden chain and a pair of red shoes, with a millstone around its neck.

‘Fuck yeah, The Juniper Tree,’ Virgil breathed.

‘You know it?’ Roman asked, surprised that Virgil had recognised the more nuanced imagery.

‘I love the Brothers Grimm.’ With a slight creak of the wood beneath him, Virgil sat sideways on the workbench and leaned to get a closer look at Roman’s arm. ‘I wouldn’t have taken you for a fan of more macabre stories.’

‘Well, I must admit in terms of imagery I appreciate the darker motifs,’ Roman indicated the depiction of a bloodied dagger hidden amongst a tangle of thorns on his bicep, ‘but when it comes to the stories I do prefer a good old-fashioned happy ending.’

Virgil sucked his teeth and leant his chin on his hand with a sigh, putting on an exaggerated air of disappointment. ‘Of course you do.’

‘Please, how could I not appreciate a handsome prince bursting into song and falling for a mysterious, beautiful stranger then doing everything in his power to woo them?’ Roman angled his body closer to Virgil. The edge of the workbench was pressed quite awkwardly into his thigh, but it was worth the slight numbness in his leg to watch Virgil’s eyelashes flutter and his chest rise and fall more quickly in response to how close they were. Roman purposefully allowed his eyes to linger over Virgil’s lips. ‘Doesn’t that remind you of someone?’

The lips pulled into a smirk and Roman’s gaze climbed up to see mirth sparkling in Virgil’s eyes.

‘What?’ Roman asked, only mildly offended.

It was proving to be something of a quest trying to ascertain which methods of flirting were working on Virgil. One minute the man was a blushing, stuttering mess, then the next he was openly laughing at Roman’s attempts to court him. Still, as the knights in his favourite stories never gave up in the face of extreme danger, he would not be deterred by Virgil’s stubbornness. It was obvious the man was interested in him but was perhaps a bit bratty. If anything that only made Roman all the more eager to win him over.

‘Nothing at all,’ Virgil shrugged. His tone was remarkably insincere. ‘So are you just thirsty for medieval knights or do you have some delusion of grandeur that I should steer clear of?’

It was cocky, and the man’s posture proclaimed it. He held his head high, baring his neck (and what a lovely, slender, pale, begging-to-be-decorated-with-splotches-of-purple neck it was). Though Roman saw through the bravado instantly.

He leaned in further, the edge of the bench completely cutting off the blood flow to his leg now, though he hardly cared. Virgil’s eyes darted between Roman’s gaze and the edges of the room hastily, as if the urge to look away and the urge to hold his ground were battling each other in his mind. His confident stance faltered slightly as Roman drew closer, their faces now mere inches apart.

Roman murmured lowly, ‘Why, Virgil? Are you struggling to find a reason to stay away from me?’

The once-pearly cheeks in front of him were now practically glowing pink.

The adrenaline that so often accompanied a successful courtship was running rampant in Roman’s veins and his heartbeat pounded in his ears. Matched with the fact that he was practically drunk off of the lidded quality to Virgil’s gorgeous eyes, Roman almost missed the melodic jingling of a bell.

It wasn’t until a loud, cheery voice called out that Roman realised they were not alone anymore.

‘Kiddo, you forgot your packed lunch!’

Virgil scrambled off of the workbench, and Roman followed his lead by standing back upright, albeit a lot more calmly.

‘Dad, I’m with a customer,’ Virgil grumbled, crossing his arms tightly across his chest.

Roman indulged in watching Virgil’s face go even pinker before turning to the entrance of the shop.

A stout man stepped out from the entranceway with a wide grin and a tupperware box cradled in his hands. His freckles were unmatched by either his mother or his son, though Roman could spy the slight similarities between their features. This was Patton Tempȇte. His face lit up with joy when his gaze fell on Roman.

‘And who’s this?’ Mr Tempȇte asked excitedly, his eyes sparkling at his son as he bounced on his toes.

‘Grandma’s friend, Roman Prince,’ Virgil mumbled. ‘The one who brings her tea and stuff.’

Mr Tempȇte made a delighted noise of surprise.

‘A pleasure to meet you, Mr Tempȇte.’ Roman smiled widely, offering his open hand. He winced slightly as he stepped forward and pins and needles exploded in his thigh. ‘I truly adore your mother, and your son is quickly beginning to grow on me too.’ He shot a quick wink to Virgil.

The look of utter betrayal on Virgil’s face made it difficult to contain a chuckle.

‘It’s wonderful to meet you too, Roman!’ Mr Tempȇte beamed, shuffling the tupperware into the crook of his elbow to shake Roman’s hand energetically. ‘And don’t bother calling me “Mr” or “Sir” or any of that silliness, Patton’s my name so feel free to wear it out! I would give you a big old hug, but I don’t wanna pass on Maman’s flu.’

‘How is she?’ Roman immediately asked, truly concerned for his friend.

‘She’s just fine,’ Patton nodded, seeming to approve of Roman’s concern. ‘She’s pretty much through it all now, I’m just forcing her to stay home for a couple more days as a precaution.’

‘I can’t imagine she’s too thrilled about being housebound,’ Roman sniggered knowingly.

Patton rolled his eyes dramatically with a smile. ‘Not at all. I tell you, she’s untameable, always raring to get out with her friends and go experiencing the world. Honestly, I always say she’s more of a 22-year-old than Virgil is! Isn’t that true, kiddo?’

A faint swell of dread built inside Roman’s stomach at the way Mr Tempȇte had phrased those words. He had probably meant no harm, but it didn’t sound like that kind of critical comparison would do much to heighten Virgil’s confidence.

Sure enough, when Roman’s gaze flickered over to him it was clear those words seemed to have struck the wrong chord. The younger man tugged his sleeves further over his fingers and shrugged, though the movement was so stiff and frantic that it was more resemblant of a reflexive jolt.

‘Whatever, Dad,’ Virgil muttered under his breath, scowling at his feet.

It was disheartening to witness Virgil’s fiery wit be snuffed out so swiftly. Roman felt out of place in the exchange and feigned interest in a sprig of leaves in the flower pile. He subtly massaged his thigh under the table to ease the remnants of tingling from his pins and needles.

‘Oh…’ The energy was drained from Patton’s voice, and Roman looked up to see hurt briefly flash in his eyes before he plastered on a bright smile once more. ‘Well, I’ll be out of you guys’ hair. I just wanted to bring you your food.’

‘I don’t need a packed lunch, I can pick something up on the way back.’

‘Either way, it’s here if you get peckish before closing time.’ Patton placed the tupperware beside the register and apparently couldn’t resist drumming the lid in a gentle rhythm. Virgil groaned and Patton giggled. ‘Listen, be thankful I’m your delivery man. I caught your grandma lacing up her running shoes wanting to bring this to you.’

Roman chuckled lightly to himself. That certainly sounded like Céleste.

For the first time since Patton had entered the shop, Virgil looked up from the floor and his eyes locked onto Roman. It was as if his laughter had reminded Virgil of his presence.

Virgil quickly shot his father a pointed look. ‘Okay thanks, dad. Bye.’ The words merged into each other in his haste.

To his credit, Patton didn’t seem to be upset by his son’s eagerness to get rid of him.

‘It was lovely meeting you, Roman!’ Patton waved with a wide smile, already making his way out of the shop. ‘See you later, ma petite chauve-souris!’

Virgil’s huff of annoyance was drowned out by the bell jingling again.

The awkward tension was thick.

‘So, can you make flower arrangements?’ Roman asked casually, choosing to entirely ignore the stunted exchange with Virgil’s father. It seemed like Virgil would not have wanted to acknowledge it, given his obvious embarrassment.

‘Um, not really,’ Virgil mumbled, still hugging himself tightly. He peered out from his fringe hesitantly and Roman did not miss how his body relaxed when their eyes met. ‘I mean - okay, yeah. Kind of,’ he corrected. ‘Grandma taught me a little bit when I was younger. Mainly I just do it for fun, though. I’ve never made one for a customer.’

It would have been responsible for Roman to simply take his flowers as they were, pay for them, and get back to work, leaving Virgil to do his job. He could even have left his number and hoped Virgil would have the confidence to text him later on. Though, looking at the slump of Virgil’s posture and the way his sleeves were clawed and pulled taut by his painted fingernails, Roman felt a desire, nay, a duty to ensure Virgil was smiling again before he left.

‘Fancy trying your hand at it?’ Roman suggested gently, not wanting to pressure the man who was clearly on edge.

Virgil’s gaze flitted between Roman’s face and the workbench. His fingertips danced on his sleeves as he considered the flowers and Roman realised he was itching to reach out and touch them. ‘I can try, I guess.’

Hesitant hands pulled away from purple sleeves and within seconds Virgil was rustling through the stems with intent. Roman leaned over the surface slightly, though with no sly objective in mind to fluster Virgil this time. He simply wished to watch him craft.

‘I’m not very good,’ Virgil said quite stunted, even as he started rearranging the flowers into colour-coordinated piles with a clear artistic goal in mind. ‘So, you know, don’t expect much.’

Roman knew the self-deprecating tactic well; how one hoped that by lowering everyone’s expectations, they could avoid harsh critique of their work. He had employed it plenty of times himself before he had grown more confident in his artistic abilities.

‘It doesn’t have to be perfect,’ Roman decided on saying. It would hopefully relieve the pressure Virgil had put on himself.

A small smile tugged at Virgil’s lips and he raised his eyes briefly from the flowers to send what seemed to be a look of thanks to Roman.

‘Besides, I trust that you have an artistic streak in you.’ Roman felt more comfortable in reigniting their previous flirtatiousness after having coaxed a smile out of Virgil. ‘I mean, with such a steady hand and aesthetic eye for that makeup, I’ll be lucky if the bouquet is half as beautiful.’

Virgil swiftly knelt down on the floor to reach under the bench - where Céleste kept the floral foam, Roman remembered - though Roman caught a glimpse of a wide smile and pink-dusted cheekbones before his face was hidden.

‘Basket or pot?’ Virgil called up from the floor.

Roman dropped to his knees and sent Virgil a bright smile underneath the table. ‘Whatever you want. I’m giving you full creative control.’

‘Risky move.’ Virgil raised his eyebrows with a cheeky smirk. ‘Our most expensive arrangements can rake up to one-hundred-and-fifty quid.’

‘All right, full creative control as long as it’s under forty pounds.’

Time went by fluidly from then on as they chatted over Virgil’s work. His flower placements were tentative at first, and his eyes kept darting up to check Roman’s face for a reaction, but Roman only ever smiled lightly and continued the conversation. (A couple of times his text tone rang out loudly, though their talking remained unfettered by the mild interruptions.)

Eventually, Virgil became more certain of his decisions and was tapping into skills Roman was wholly unprepared for. His slender hand pulled a leaf stripper swiftly down long stems with practised ease, he shuffled the flowers around between his fingers fluidly and his features smoothed as he lowered the blooms into their rightful places in the arrangement.

Roman had no idea how long he had been in the florist by the time Virgil finally deemed the display finished, but he could hardly bring himself to care. The bunch of flowers which were already such a beautiful collection before were now a piece of art, the lilac and emerald blossoms broken up by leafy ferns and surrounded by spindly branches of waxflower. The bouquet was truly stunning.

And as for the glow of pride on Virgil’s face? Absolutely breathtaking.

‘I think I’m happy with it,’ Virgil said nonchalantly, though the excitement hidden behind his tone rang loudly in Roman’s ears.

‘This is amazing, Virgil,’ he gushed, entirely sincere. ‘You’re a natural!’

Virgil bit his lip, stifling what Roman knew would have been a bright grin. He notably did not refuse the compliment.

‘Um, do you mind if I…’ Virgil brought his phone out from his pocket and opened the camera app, showing the screen to Roman with an eyebrow raised in question. ‘Kinda wanna show Grandma later,’ he admitted with a shy smile.

‘Of course,’ Roman held his hands out to the arrangement in invitation and stepped back so that he would not interrupt the photoshoot.

He watched from the sidelines as Virgil tiptoed around the workbench to find good angles, taking a few pictures of his work. Once the phone was placed back in his pocket, he turned back to Roman with a lopsided smile. ‘Thank you.’

Roman was fully and wholeheartedly smitten.

‘Don’t thank me before I’ve paid.’ Roman took his wallet out and waved it with a mock-frown of disapproval. For all of his years of acting classes, though, he could not wipe the smile off of his face. ‘That’s not a very sound business practice.’

Virgil shook his head lightly but moved back to the front desk carrying the arrangement with him. He rang up the numbers on the mechanical till quickly and Roman paid with a soft smile.

‘So,’ Roman said after Virgil had given him his hand-written receipt. He leaned toward Virgil slightly and delighted in the way Virgil mirrored him, bringing them even closer. ‘I don’t suppose a mysterious, beautiful stranger such as yourself would want to -’

Primadonna by MARINA suddenly blared from Roman’s pocket.

He sighed and closed his eyes, feeling a blush stain his cheeks. Though his smile still did not falter.

‘Very fitting ringtone,’ Virgil teased, his voice strained with concealed laughter.

Roman opened his eyes and sent a weak glare to Virgil even as his cheeks ached from smiling so much. He took his phone from his pocket to silence it, seeing that it was Remy’s contact flashing up on the screen - then his expression finally dropped as he saw the time.

‘Oh, fuck!’ His next client was due in five minutes.

‘You okay?’ Virgil asked shakily, clearly anxious by the sudden shift in mood.

‘Everything’s okay,’ Roman quickly assured, ‘but I really have to go, I’m running late.’ He shoved his phone, wallet and receipt into his pockets and pulled the flower arrangement to his chest protectively.

Virgil had stiffened. Evidently his defences were rising again due to the sudden change.

‘I really do have to go, I’m sorry. Seriously,’ Roman paused with a sigh as he gazed over Virgil’s beautiful face once more, ‘you have no idea how sorry.’

‘Yeah, of course,’ Virgil nodded in agreement, but his voice was as quiet as it had been when Roman first came in however long ago. His disappointment was painfully obvious.

‘I’ll be back later this week,’ Roman promised as he reluctantly made his way to the door. There was absolutely no reality where Roman would not come looking for this enigmatic emo again. ‘I look forward to seeing you soon, my chemical romance!’ The doorbell jingled overhead as he rushed out of the door and called behind him, ‘Give my best to Céleste!’

Roman darted through the streets with a sharp stab of regret piercing his chest, though he really could not have afforded to indulge his infatuation much longer. He was a professional artist, he had to be back in time for his client.

Being incredibly protective over his cherished flower arrangement, Roman made it back to the studio in record time. It was not the first instance in which his high stamina had saved him face.

Panting for breath, Roman peered into the front window of the parlour and winced at the look of rage on the receptionist’s face as he sent a choice hand gesture to Roman from the other side of the glass.

‘Get your arse in here, Prince!’ Remy’s muffled yell met his ears.

Accepting that he would have to make a Starbucks run later to make up for his tardiness, Roman shuffled over to the glass door. He cradled Virgil’s arrangement in one arm as he reached for the door handle, then paused.

In his reflection, he noticed the green carnation from earlier still sat behind his ear. It looked utterly ridiculous. He had apparently been running around town with a massive green flower protruding from the side of his head.

In any other circumstance, he would have felt embarrassed. But the memory of Virgil’s huffy giggles played in his head, and all Roman could feel was giddy.

He pushed into the parlour with a wide grin that quite probably made him look like even more of a fool.

He didn’t care.

oOo

Inspired by a prompt from @writersmonth

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#my writing #prinxiety #prinxiety au #prinxiety fanfic #ts roman #ts virgil #ts fic #ts fanfic #writersmonth2020

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edettethegreat · 4 years

Text

How to stage King Lear so that Edmund’s 100% more sympathetic and Gloucester’s 100% more of a jerk

( the prequel )

( the sequel )

(This is 100% about Edmund. If you wanna read stuff about other characters then this isn’t the post for you)

(Seriously this isn’t about anyone other than Edmund)

(This is your final warning- enjoy!)

(Or don’t I don’t care I’m really tired and I have midterms to study for)

General Staging

-every time Edmund and Gloucester are on stage together, they gravitate away from each other. Kinda like what happens when you try to push two magnets together. If one takes a step towards the other, the other moves away.

-Gloucester rarely ever looks at Edmund. He often walks in front of him when both are walking together. In scenes where a three way conversation is taking place between himself, Edmund, and someone else, he looks at the other person the whole time.

-Edmund faces away from people when he’s lying to them. Often by standing in front of them (but like, across the stage from them so the audience can see them both) (like this—->)

(I deleted the picture accidentally this is not ok now I have to draw it again)

Casting/ Costumes

-(I’m only gonna be talking about the characters that I actually care about how they’re cast)

-Edmund: someone of average height, yet shorter than Gloucester, Edgar, and Cornwall. Around the same height as Albany and Goneril. Taller than Regan. Is attractive (obviously. That’s one of the first things we’re told about him), but leaning more towards cute than hot (as per my analysis in a previous post). Wears shades of grey- all of his costumes make it clear that he’s upper class, but they’re not overly flashy.

-Gloucester: If I get even one Santa Claus vibe, I’m gonna punch a wall. He should have zero resemblance to Santa. I just saw a production of Lear where he may as well have been a mall Santa. I wanted to scream. Anyway. Onto what he should look like. I honestly don’t care, as long as i can’t mistake him for Santa. It’s the vibe that counts. ANYWAY. His costume is obnoxiously ostentatious, but it gets gradually more normal as the overall stress level increases.

-Edgar: taller than Edmund, and physically more muscular, but in like “Disney channel movie football player side character who’s no one’s primary love interest and is kinda dumb” sort of way. (Future Edette Editing: What I meant was “he’s a himbo”) He’s not ultra hot, but he’s not exactly ugly either. He’s pretty average looking. He wears shades of brown, because I feel like that suits him.

-Cornwall: tall but doesn’t give off Tall Person Vibes. Preferably with dark brown or black hair, but other colors can work as well. I cannot imagine him wearing anything other than suits that are mostly black with some shades of red somewhere- I don’t care how you incorporate the shades of red into his costume, as long as they’re there.

-Albany: has a dark shade of blond hair, or a medium shade of brown hair. Any other hair color just doesn’t work. (Future Edette Editing: any color hair other than black is fine for Albany). Dresses sensibly and wears really boring costumes.

-Goneril, Regan, and Cordelia have at least a little bit of a family resemblance. Please. Their costumes are similar as well- all wear standard types of clothes you’d expect the princesses of England to wear.

ACT 1 SCENE 1

- Gloucester and Kent enter the stage with Edmund trailing behind them. They’re entering the palace from outside. Idk how England’s weather works, but I decided that the whole play takes place in the fall. I’m not wrong. It does. It doesn’t feel like the sort of play to take place in any other season. You can all fight me on this in the comments, I have no evidence to back up this claim. Anyway, they’re all wear jackets. Because it’s fall.

-As Kent and Gloucester say their first lines, they take their jackets off. It’s hot inside the palace. Edmund leaves his jacket on. It’s not a heavy jacket. He’ll be fine.

-As Gloucester finishes up his first line “...can make choice of either’s moiety” he hands his jacket to Edmund. He does this in a very natural way- it’s clear this is something he does instinctively, without thinking about it. Edmund takes it. He takes it instinctively as well, without thinking about it.

-Kent, watching this says the line “Is not this your son, my lord?”. As in “hey dude. Isn’t he your kid? Why are you treating him like a servant or a coatrack?”

-at “His breeding, sir, hath been at my charge”, Gloucester puts a hand on Edmund’s shoulder in a “yes this is my son” sort of way. He does that a bit too roughly- not in any attempt to hurt Edmund, but definitely showing that he’s doing it for show and not in genuine fatherly affection.

-While Gloucester talks about Edmund, a waiter goes around with champagne glasses. Maybe they have actual liquid (ie water) in them, maybe not. I don’t care. Anyway, both Gloucester and Edmund take one.

-As Gloucester continues talking, he slowly sips whatever alcoholic beverage is in the champagne glass. (Probably champagne, but hey, I’m no expert on alcohol). NO, this isn’t to imply that he’s only speaking Like That (TM) because he’s drunk. He is not drunk.

-meanwhile Edmund downs the whole glass, in the standard theatre way of “I don’t wanna be here and I don’t wanna deal with this”

-Gloucester hands his empty glass to Edmund. He seems to suddenly remember that Edmund is, in fact, there. He says him line “Do you know this noble gentleman, Edmund?”

-At “my services to your lordship” he would bow or something (I don’t know English nobility etiquette, sorry), but he’s currently holding two glasses and a jacket, so he partially bows to the best of his ability.

ACT 1 SCENE 2

- A main set piece for this play would be a door or two on wheels that can be moved around. People really like entering and exiting buildings.

-ANYWAY. Edmund comes in through said door, currently located at the back of the stage. Gloucester house have a portrait of Gloucester family in huge on the wall. Gloucester’s in the middle, with Edgar on one said and Edmund on the other. At this point this should go without saying, but the gap between Gloucester and Edmund is much larger than the gap between Gloucester and Edgar. There’s also a desk and chair somewhere on stage.

-As he starts his first soliloquy, he takes off his jacket that he was wearing in scene 1 and drapes it over the back of the chair

-at “legitimate Edgar, I must have your land”, he turns towards the portrait and looks at Edgar. Then there’s a pause in the soliloquy as he goes over to the desk and writes The Letter (TM). Then he continues the soliloquy with “Our father’s love is to the bastard Edmund..”

-Gloucester enters. He doesn’t notice Edmund.

-As Gloucester asks Edmund for the letter, he and Edmund slowly circle around the stage, the way you’d see animals circling when they’re preparing to fight each other. They’re not going to fight. Not directly at least.

-Gloucester doesn’t make direct eye contact with Edmund for most of this scene

-Until he does, at the line “Give me the letter, sir.”. The line itself is said very forcefully. Both Gloucester and Edmund have stopped circling each other. They stand at opposite ends of the stage. There is a pause, and then Edmund takes the letter back out of his pocket and gives it as he continues saying his lines.

-Gloucester spends the remainder of the scene looking at the letter instead of at Edmund.

-“Edmund, seek him out..” is said very offhandedly, like he’s giving an order to a servant, rather than talking to his own son

-Gloucester leaves, Edmund sinks into the chair at the desk. He puts his head down on the desk and leaves it there for a solid second. He starts his soliloquy with his head still down. (Future Edette Editing: I still want something here to show that Edmund doesn’t get any enjoyment from this- he’s doing it out of anger, or as revenge, or to gain what should have been his, had things been slightly different, or possibly as a means of survival. Basically, he’s not doing this to have a fun time at deceiving anyone) He’s not enjoying what he’s doing- he’s not rejoicing at what is seemingly his success- he sees that it doesn’t make a difference. Gloucester would rather have no sons than only have him.

-Edgar enters. Edgar enters in a great mood. His optimism is turned up to a solid 100%.

-“How now, brother Edmund!” He speed-walks over to Edmund, who’s standing near the middle of the stage at this point. He does something brotherly- I don’t know what that would even mean, given that I am a girl with no brothers. He puts his arm around his shoulder or ruffles his hair or something. That’s the vibe I’m going for. The “haha yeah we’re siblings and we totally get along” vibe. Edmund is, however, not vibing.

(-if the second option is what we’re going with, Edmund takes a moment to fix his hair. A very short moment, but a moment none the less)

-Edgar notices that Edmund does not seem to be vibing, and that’s when he continues with his line “what serious contemplation are you in?”

- at “..go armed”, Edmund hands Edgar his own sword. This is the sword Edgar will later use to kill him.

ACT 2 SCENE 1

- On Edmund’s conversation with Curan: This is the first conversation Edmund’s having with someone without there being any uncomfortable tension between them. They talk in a casual way, and it’s clear that outside of the play they would be friends, regardless of status. Why would they be friends? Because I decided they should be.

-Edgar is doubly armed- with Edmund’s sword and with his own. He was planning on returning Edmund’s sword. When they “fight” Edgar uses Edmund’s sword and Edmund uses Edgar’s. They have different types of swords- Edmund’s- which is now Edgar’s- is slightly shorter and lighter. Edgar’s- which is now Edmund’s- is a two handed sword. These details are slightly irrelevant, but I feel like their weapon of choice (even though they’re using each other’s weapons (ie not their weapons of choice)) should match their personalities.

- Edgar just. Has NO idea what’s up with Edmund’s “hey we gotta sword fight now” thing. It should be clear to the audience that he’s ONLY going along with it because he trusts Edmund entirely.

-during the fight, Edmund slashes the family portrait with his sword, cutting a line between Edgar and Gloucester. Is this cliche? Yes. Must it happen anyway, because ✨symbolism✨? Yes.

-Edgar leaves through The Door I keep talking about

- Edmund stabs his non-dominant arm. This is relevant and important.

- “But where is he?” Gloucester hasn’t even noticed at this point that Edmund was injured in the “fight”. “Look, sir, I bleed!” Is Edmund’s attempt to get Gloucester’s attention. It’s his way of saying “I got injured for YOUR sake. THAT’S how good of a son I am!!”

- “where is the villain, Edmund?” The word “villain”, not the word “Edmund” is emphasized. While his seemingly innocent a son is standing there with his arm stabbed and bleeding, he’s more concerned with the son who supposedly plotted against him, but is currently running away now and is of no threat to him.

- (this is the point where I get really into @suits-of-woe’s Cornwall theory, because while I had never thought of it before, as soon as I read it I agreed with it completely. Please go read the theory if you haven’t already.)

- While Gloucester rarely looks at Edmund, Cornwall’s eyes go straight to Edmund as soon as he enters the room. Edmund doesn’t notice- he’s too busy trying to support his stabbed arm in a functional way without bleeding everywhere

-while Gloucester and Regan are talking, Cornwall calls a servant aside and whispers to him. The servant leaves. He asked the servant to get Edmund bandages because his arm has LITERALLY been STABBED and no one’s doing anything about it.

- Edmund’s focused on his arm until Cornwall’s line of “Edmund, I hear that you have shown your father a very child-like office”. Finally, someone appreciates him! At “It was my duty, sir”, it’s clear that there’s some sort of understanding between them. They somewhat get that they’re on the same side. There is a short pause.

- “...and received this hurt you see” Gloucester, being Gloucester, grabs Edmund’s injured arm to “show it off” to Regan and Cornwall. Edmund, master of hiding his emotions and such, winces for a millisecond but then goes back to “ah yes everything is ok and I am totally not condensed rage in human form”.

(Future Edette Editing: I am *so glad* I’m editing this because I really don’t like some of the stuff I shoved in here to try to cater this to a larger audience)

-after “..how in my strength you please”, that servant Cornwall called returns. As he says “For you, Edmund, whose virtue and obedience..” until the end of that paragraph Cornwall takes the bandage and bandages Edmund’s arm- I mean no one else is gonna do it. That, combined with the content of what Cornwall says in the paragraph, lead Edmund to be like “wait. Is this?? A father figure???” “a father figure? For ME???”

(-Hence the Cornwall theory I mentioned earlier)

- “I shall serve you, sir, truly, however else” this is the first line he’ll say in a way that it’s clear to everyone (mainly the audience) that he’s 100% sincere. He’s not trying to be deceptive. He’s not trying to trick anyone. He says it softly and truly means it.

-Edmund’s arm remains bandaged for the remainder of the play. (It’s not heavily bandaged or anything)

ACT 2 SCENE 2

- At “How now! What’s the matter?..” Edmund comes out holding Edgar’s- which is now his, I guess- sword. He’s holding it well enough, considering it’s a two handed sword and he just stabbed himself in the arm, but it’s pretty clear that he won’t be able to win a fight with it. Don’t worry, he’ll get a new sword before his final duel.

-at “no more, perchance, does mine, nor his, nor hers” “his” is referring to Gloucester, not Edmund. This isn’t because Cornwall is ignoring Edmund, it’s because that’s just the order they’re standing in. Edmund entered this scene first out of the four of them, so while Kent and Oswald are on one side of the stage, Edmund stands towards the middle, and Cornwall, Gloucester, and Regan stand at the other side.

ACT 3 SCENE 3

-Gloucester is angry in this scene. Why is he angry? Because I say so. He says all his lines in an angry and bitter way. Which may be counterproductive- having Gloucester be angry about how Lear is treated may make him more likable, which isn’t my goal. But I don’t care.

-Edmund says his paragraph at the end in a bitter and angry way too. Because ✨ parallels ✨

ACT 3 SCENE 5

-Cornwall is Gloucester’s opposite when it comes to how they react to/ treat Edmund. While Gloucester rarely looks at him and has an anti-magnetic effect, Cornwall stands near Edmund on the stage and looks at him both when he’s speaking to him and when Edmund’s replying. And not in a “good eye contact is important” sort of way, because Edmund faces away from people when he lies to them. Just for staging reasons, not because he can’t lie when facing people.

-Cornwall knows Edmund’s lying- he shows this by constantly moving so that he’s nearly always standing beside him instead of behind him (not actually directly behind him; scroll up for General Staging, where I explained this.)

-At “go with me to the duchess” Cornwall puts a hand on Edmund’s shoulder, directly paralleling Gloucester in Act 1 Scene 1. Because I really like ✨parallels✨. Except Cornwall, the same guy who said “thou shalt find a dearer father in my love”, does this in a much more- fatherly, I guess?- way than Gloucester did.

-At “if the matter of this paper be certain...” Edmund does what he does when he lies; ie tries to turn away and takes maybe half a step back. He pretty much trusts Cornwall enough to not walk halfway across the stage when he lies, but not enough for him to either lie directly to his face (or just tell the truth, I guess- but that’s because the whole point of this is to stick to the original script and use only stage directions to make Edmund more sympathetic).

-At “True or false, it has made thee earl of Gloucester...” Cornwall puts his other hand on Edmund’s other shoulder (wow I’m bad at describing things)

Here are some stock photos to help ya visualize this-

THIS is putting one hand on a shoulder. Note that the two people aren’t necessarily facing each other.

AND THIS is putting both hands on shoulders-

(So imagine that, but minus how aggressive that looks, and minus one of the people’s arms. Also a whole lot less tense/intense.) (Anyway. Moving on.)

-at “thou shalt find a dearer father in my love” (...cue me googling “how on earth do fathers show affection?” Because I really want to get the point across that edmund’s like “a father figure??? For me???” And Cornwall’s like “👍. A father figure. For you.”) HECK I GOT IT. Hear me out. Cornwall pats Edmund on the head (in like, a fatherly way), and with the other hand hold The Letter (TM) (even though this is a different “the letter”) and looks it over. This is the first time he looked away from Edmund since this conversation started. In a way that portrays “yes you are my son now I have claimed you as my own” but also “you are not necessarily my top priority- I can give you the fatherly love and affection you desire, but it’s not exactly unconditional. You did well today, good job! You keep up the good work and I’ll keep up my end of this; ie providing you with the fatherly love you never received in your childhood” ( @suits-of-woe I am trying here. I am struggling. I’m so sorry for ruining the Cornwall Theory like this- I’m trying my best to convey it via my amazing stage directions, but I can see pretty clearly that I’m epically failing at this).

ACT 3 SCENE 7

-Cornwall walks onto the stage first, followed by Goneril and Regan close behind them, and Edmund last.

-at “Farewell, sweet lord, and sister”, Cornwall nods at Goneril in response (this has nothing to do with Edmund, I always just thought it was weird that he doesn’t respond)

- at “Edmund,.. farewell” Goneril had already left the stage, Regan is standing next to Cornwall at the opposite end of the stage. Edmund’s about to exit when Cornwall says “Edmund”. He turns around- expecting Cornwall to say something more to him or something. There’s a pause. Cornwall doesn’t have anything else to say. He just says “Farewell”. Edmund nods and leaves the stage.

ACT 4 SCENE 2

-oh heck I gotta stage an Edmund and Goneril scene now

-I don’t wanna?

(Future Edette Editing: and so I won’t!! I don’t normally describe things as cringe, but that’s what this was. I only put this in because I felt obligated to talk about every scene. Oh well- I guess 4.2 isn’t getting stage directions from me)

ACT 5 SCENE 1

-Edmund enters first, dressed in some sort of military commander uniform. Because. Like. There’s a war going on. His sleeves are rolled up/cuffed up to elbow length, and his arm is still bandaged from when he stabbed it.

-there is a tent with a desk in it on stage. Hold on let me illustrate this:

(Future Edette Editing: yeah there was an illustration here, but I’m changing some stuff so I deleted it)

It’s all on wheels so it can be moved around the stage- whichever piece is the most important to the scene will be more up front.

-Edmund stands at the desk which has some military plans of some sort on it.

-Edmund is armed with a brand new sword (Cornwall’s sword? Maybe? Who knows?) (UPDATE: yeah hi future Edette here- I decided that it is, in fact, Cornwall’s sword)

-With Regan, Edmund also doesn’t get that she’s flirting with him right away.

-and then. Then he’s like “OH WAIT” “WAIT SHE’S FLIRTING” “WAIT SO I GOT 2 GIRLFRIENDS??” “OH WOW THIS IS FANTASTIC” “THIS IS LITERALLY THE BEST WEEK OF MY LIFE” (lol Edmund it’s also the last week of your life)

-he 100% realized at “No, by mine honor, madam”.

-Albany stands at the opposite end of the desk. He never moves any closer or further from Edmund than the opposite end of the desk. Goneril would have moved closer but Albany is blocking her.

-as Edmund leaves he puts on his military commander hat of some sort and adjusts it while looking in a mirror or some other reflective surface. Just to show he’s still the same Edmund from act one- he still cares about his appearance to an extent.

-at “the enemy’s in view, draw up your powers.” Edmund half-jogs in back onto the stage- showing that he wasn’t just commanding the soldiers ( if he was he’d have been walking at a moderate pace), but he was actually with them, to some extent, fighting along side them on the battlefield.

- (Future Edette Editing here: yeah so I deleted the notes on the soliloquy here. I didn’t like them. Oh well.)

ACT 5 SCENE 3

-wow it’s hard to make this Edmund guy redeemable/sympathetic when he kills off Cordelia. Like. He really didn’t need to do that

-why, Edmund. Why must you do this.

-you’re making my job here (ie to make you sympathetic) very difficult.

-ANYWAY. I’ll do what I can for this scene

-The captain here? Yeah, he’s Curan from earlier. Edmund made him a captain. There you have it, Edmund’s one semi-redeeming factor for this scene

-I really don’t know how to have this part play out in a way that makes the audience sympathize with Edmund. This is the best I can do.

(Future Edette Editing: yeah so honestly killing off Cordelia and Lear was a logical and strategic move to make, tbh. ((Not morally fantastic. But logical.)) Because yeah Albany would have left them alive and then what? They’d get the throne? Let’s be real here- the country’s already collapsing- the last thing you need is Lear or Cordelia on the throne. Even *Albany* would do a better job than either of them. And he wouldn’t do anything at all. So. Yeah.)

-I’m so burnt out right now I know this isn’t the quality content you came here for but I don’t know how to get this back on track either. ANYWAY I am dedicated to finishing this. Let’s go! There isn’t much left to the play! I’m almost done!

-at “Sir, by your patience, I hold you but a subject of war..” Albany speaks in a very harsh tone- talking to Edmund as if he were a child who interrupted class for like the eighth time that day. Albany’s just salty that his wife likes Edmund more than him.

(Future Edette Editing: Sorry if this doesn’t flow well here anymore- I deleted a bunch of stuff)

-as the argument continues, Regan and Goneril get more frantic because they see they’re not winning.

-Albany gets louder and angrier because he’s frustrated that his wife likes Edmund more than she likes him. Also because at this point, he pretty much hates Edmund.

-Edmund, however, is the quietest out of all the yelling people around him. He doesn’t like arguments- or rather, he doesn’t like when he’s the one the argument is directed towards. He tries to stay calm and talk in a level voice. As everyone around him argues he tries to step in between them and silently play the role of peacekeeper.

-at “Nor in thine, my lord” Edmund is still calm./ not yelling at him. He says it like he’s stating a fact, not contributing to the argument.

-at “half blooded fellow, yes!” My book’s translation to modern english say “Bastard, it is!”. And like. No one’s called him a bastard for like 4 whole acts now. All I have to say to this is Big Oof. (Is that a dead meme? Yeah. Probably.) Edmund is surprised at first- then glares at him- in a way saying “oh? You want to go there? We can go there. I’ll gladly fight you with my own two hands.”

-at “I will mainly my truth and honor” he draws his sword, which I have now decided definitely is Cornwall’s sword. Why does he have it? Idk, Regan probably gave it to him.

-As Edgar and Albany talk before the fight, Edmund swings his sword at nothing in particular- the way you’d see people warming up for a fight. This sword is not a two handed sword, so he’ll be fine even with his stabbed arm. As I mentioned earlier, he stabbed his non-dominant arm, so his sword arm is fine.

-at “In wisdom I should ask thy name..” he does something to indicate that he might know it’s Edgar. What does he do? I don’t know. Something with a whole lot of ✨symbolism✨. I’ll figure it out before posting this. Or maybe I won’t. (Future Edette Editing: Yeah so I figured out what to do here slightly after, and I have a whole post about it- but to sum it up, he looks at the *mysterious masked man*’s sword (which as you may recall was his). And he’s like “oh. Oh. Ok then.”)

-they fight. Edgar (as I previously mentioned) is using the sword Edmund gave him at the beginning. Edmund is using Cornwall’s sword.

-As they fight it’s clear that they’re pretty evenly matched. (I mean. Then again, Edmund was just helping in battle like two seconds ago while Edgar was just chilling with his half dead/dead father. So. Edmund’s trying to win a duel after just doing a bunch of exhausting physical activity while Edgar is not.) (Edmund would win if they were fighting when they were both at their strongest)

-(I’ve mentioned this in a previous post, but I’m gonna restate it so that you don’t mess up on how you imagine the fight going down. There’s only one valid interpretation of it, and it’s my own interpretation. That has literally never been used in any production. Yup. That’s the only valid way to imagine the duel.) ANYWAY. As they fight, Edmund seems to be about to win, when Edgar hits his already stabbed arm. Edmund loses focus in that one moment, because. Like. That’s painful. (I was gonna say he drops his sword, but does he? Does that work? I don’t know. If he does or doesn’t, it’s valid either way). Then Edgar stabs him. With is kinda even more painful, and somewhat fatal.

-After he’s stabbed, some random soldier brings him to the tent toward the back of the stage, where he stays until he’s brought off stage

Here’s an illustration to help you picture this:

-Edmund is more focused on his wound than the conversation. His tone and body language for the rest of the play conveys “You won! I lost! I’m sorry! Can I get medical attention now??”

-Headcanon that Edmund would have lived if he would have gotten some medical attention sooner

-at “yet Edmund was beloved” he does a little sarcastic laugh (not like a laugh laugh, more like a cynical nose exhale?)- he sees the irony of how all three of them trying to take their rightful power, and all dying at the same time as a result of it.

-while Edmund tells them they still have time to save Cordelia, he sinks down/lies down. He already accepted the fact that he’s going to die.

-while he’s delivering this news, Edgar and Albany look at him in shock and then at each other. From there to the rest of the scene, no one looks at Edmund again. Not because they don’t like him, just because they find him irrelevant now (which Albany outright states a few lines from here).

-When Albany tells the soldiers to take Edmund off the satge/away from there, he doesn’t look at Edmund, he just vaguely motions to him.

-At “Edmund is dead, my lord” “That’s but a trifle here”, Albany barely turns to look at the messenger. He doesn’t care that Edmund is dead. No one does. The wheel has come full circle. No one cared about Edmund at the start, and he’s just as irrelevant now. Edmund wanted to be something to people. He would have wanted them to react to his death. If they had celebrated it, he would have been happier than if they ignored it. He doesn’t even get that much.

-The Curtains Close. The Play Is Over-

#king lear #shakespeare #Do you know how many HOURS went into this??#...because I don’t #I genuinely have no idea how many hours went into this #I was studying for midterms at the same time as writing this #so the hours spent on this and this alone were probably around 5?#5 hours sounds legit

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aesudan-kholin · 3 years

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If Kaladin had actually given Elhokar hero lessons, how do you think those sessions would have gone?

so... i made a post recently about how i understand (i know lots of things, but not understand) literally nothing about them whatsoever. so answering this ask isnt going to keep in line with what i usually do of only saying something if im confident in it and reasonably sure it wont change later. AKA me from the future might not agree with what i think and say now. so just putting that out there.

so the thing about this is it probably never could have happened. elhokar was desperate, and in his desperation, whether this idea of kaladin teaching him was something that he had been stewing on for weeks to months, or something he thought of while drunk (i imagine it would be the former, though he probably didn't think about it in specific, accomplishable ways), he finally worked up the courage with the help of some alcohol to ask kaladin to do this completely un fleshed out plan of figuring out how to make elhokar not be a shit king. now, this was doomed to fail for a few reasons.

number one: elhokar had a very very good chance of legitimately being incapable of being a good king.

maybe he could have ended up (with some guidance) as a good leader at some smaller scale, like a small town, but even that is debatable. kaladin instinctively knows things, and while i definitely think he had a negative bias against elhokar and his King Skillz in that moment due their relationship being at a low point, his instinct saying 'yeah thats never gonna happen' was probably completely correct.

number two: kaladin probably would not agree to it.

2a. in that moment where he did ask, kaladin thought he was being weird as hell and was so fucking confused. he didn't know at all where this was coming from, because he is blind to how other people view him a lot of the time, and by extension how elhokar had been idolizing him. they probably hadn't seen much of each other ever since elhokar tried to execute him and throw him in jail. from kaladin's perspective, elhokar tried to kill him, then is coming to him like he has all the secrets to life, which is very baffling to him. unrelated sidenote i need to rewrite this stupid coppermind article on elhokar i did not write it but i want to fix some shit in here. so kaladin in that situation is like WTF????? in his head but out loud he's like 'um.. i dont know if thats possible for you' which is a rejection. i don't know if he would have said the same words if he was at a relative high point in his opinion of elhokar rather than potentially the lowest point that he got in wor that he was in that chapter (thinking about it the chapter where he was in prison might have been the lowest but this is a low point is what im saying), but thats probably an opinion he would have kept throughout the bumpy road of whatever tf their relationship is.

2b. kaladin has shit to do, man. dude was working double triple shifts in words of radiance, got into urithiru and was like the only windrunner, and was training overtime to train some windrunners to have some squires ready for the expedition to kholinar. after he got back he was made a highmarshall and we dont see too much in the ob-row timeskip but he wasnt getting much sleep either, and he probably had a lot of shit to do when he was awake, battles aside. when would he have had the time to even begin to think about lesson plans for this goal that in his head is sort of unachievable, let alone find time for actually talking to elhokar about shit.

so like even if elhokar did ask at a point where kaladin felt less like he was absolute crap and more like [??????? but more positive than the absolute crap thing], kaladin would still have been like dude what. and kaladin also would have been like dude i do not have the time. even in an elhokar lives au (because the first time kaladin would have potentially had any time whatsoever for that is post-kholinar), shallan would probably be the radiant he was interacting more due to lightweaver reasons. and elhokar has a great deal of respect for shallan as well, certainly not as much as he has for kaladin, but he does value shallan's skill and opinion, and shallan would not only be a lot more willing to give elhokar some support and advice, they would be working closer together anyway because of their shared order. he wouldn't be getting this nebulous "secret to life" stuff that he wanted to get from the guy who survived a highstorm, almost single handedly saved an army, beat shardbearers with nothing but a spear, and fell into the chasms only to crawl back out again even after a highstorm, but, and my future self might disagree on this, but he might have just been looking for advice on how to live his life.

but, all of that aside. lets say that kaladin for some reason decided that it was personally important to him to train elhokar to not be a shit leader, that he potentially thought it was not a lost cause, and if he did then he cared enough to try anyway. postponing kholinar (which he would have the power to do in this case, since elhokar would be listening to whatever he said*) might have given him more time for that after that request, or else he might have had to think about it and agree post-kholinar, which would involve an elhokar lives au, which i dont want to deal with all the implications so im going to say in this scenario he accepted after elhokar asked in wor 80, or maybe directly after urithiru was discovered (aka later that night) with a promise to start teaching him right after he got back from hearthstone. god i feel like alternate history hub. the later that night thing would have been more likely because that is after his whole 180 about elhokar. that way, the weird intense commitment to help elhokar be a better leader was baked in to all the other weird dramatic shifts about how he thought about elhokar.

what i think kaladin would do?

possibility 1: he would have elhokar start small. i think he would have elhokar teach a single person to do something. he would get a new recruit, and tell elhokar to teach him to be a soldier. maybe the new recruit is one of lopens cousins who saw elhokar blackout drunk and being pushed around by lopens mom to eat his food, so he's not intimidated by him. the new guy not being intimidated is key, because he can't just do what elhokar says because he's the king. after the day, kaladin talks to the new recruit then elhokar, seeing what went right and wrong, then tells elhokar what changes to make. if somehow everything went right with that, kaladin would next give him a group of 5 to lead in some way, and if that worked, a group of 50.

possibility 2: a job shadow. either kaladin job shadowing elhokar, watching all his fuck ups happen in real time, and constantly whispering advice which is offputting to the people elhokar is meeting with but its funny. the issue here comes with kaladin not knowing a lot of political theory. as good of a leader as kaladin is (which is insanely), elhokar is more well versed in political theory (as an example think of the time kaladin was like 'why is beating sadeas in a duel going to wreck him its literally just a duel' there would be a lot of situations in elhokar's work as a king that kaladin would probably be similarly confused on), even if he doesn't apply it well. either that, or elhokar job shadowing kaladin, watching kaladin train the windrunners, and breaking to explain some things to elhokar every once in a while, which elhokar would theoretically learn from. the issue here of course comes with how both of these guys both have sort of incredibly important jobs that they could probably only carve out a few hours at most for something like that. unless elhokar abdicated.

abdication.... no i shouldn't go into all of this this should be a separate 2000 word post. but abdication could come into play and is related to that *asterisk earlier.

i can not think of a third possibility, although there probably is one. i would think that possibility 1 would be more likely in my opinion.

some meme possibilities i came up with:

- kaladin lets elhokar borrow syl and elhokar wears a hat and syl is in the hat pulling bits of his hair like ratatouille and basically operating elhokar and she makes him be an ideal windrunner whenever she feels like he's fucking up

- kaladin presides over the document signing meetings and whenever elhokar is about to sign a document he thinks isn't good he slaps the pen out of his hand and has a disapproving glare. elhokar has to do the walk of shame across the room to get the pen everytime this happens

- training montage with "Gonna Fly Now" in the background where there is no dialogue and it just shows elhokar visibly failing and he tries to lift a rock with a piece of paper on it that says "kingly responsibility" and fails and kaladin shakes his head, then there's a training montage of idk him learning the spear or training other bridgemen or other kaladin-y things and wearing a bandana for no reason then by the end of the montage he successfully lifts the kingly responsibility rock

- they just completely switch jobs for a while while elhokar gets his shit together. all hail king kaladin

(+ my first thoughts)

#SORRY FOR THIS GETTING SO LONG LMFAOO i did not mean it to #also sorry for posting this so long after i got the ask i got caught up in some irl stuff #thank you genuinely for the ask #its almost 1am im not proofreading this if you see a typo or continuity error no you don't #ask #long post #the hero #room temp milk #unnamed syl tag #my posts #unnamed discord tag #stupid in chief

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kinogane · 3 years

Text

Essence of Combat, Part 2: Heat Action

(incidental Yakuza spoilers below)

(previously)

The second aspect of Yakuza action combat that stands out are Heat Actions. You build Heat, press the Heavy Attack button when you see the prompt, and

definitely commit not murder.

Yup.

They’ll be fine, folks.

Heat Actions are consistently the visual highlight of Yakuza action combat, with the cinematography and choreography focused in for a few seconds on your protagonist inflicting some unspeakable pain on some daft sap who thought that picking a fight was a good idea. The cartoonish hyperviolence of some Heat Actions are consistently cathartic, and watching an enormous chunk of enemy health vanish doesn’t hurt, either. And the series knows they’re highlights, as well. Not only do some games make performing Heat Actions a completion metric, there’s an entire Revelation mechanic in 3, 4, and 5 devoted to seeing wild situations and adapting them into new, creative Heat Actions you can use to definitely not permanently debilitate your foes.

In short, Heat Actions are a big deal. A big enough deal that it wouldn’t quite be a Yakuza game without them, and indeed, the first thing I was curious about when I learned that Like a Dragon would switch to turn-based combat was “How are they gonna do Heat Actions?”

The answer is Like a Dragon’s very own version of Heat Actions, Kiwami Actions.

And they're quite the successor.

A few hours into the game, Ichiban comes across a baseball bat stuck in the concrete, and upon pulling it out like a sword of legend, his overactive imagination takes center stage and starts coloring just about every conflict from that point on. Enemies transform into fanciful archetypes and caricatures, and the Kiwami Actions you start gradually getting access to are...

Well, just look at some of them.

Certainly, you can’t fault RGG Studio for seeing an opportunity to go unabashedly over the top and taking it. Like a Dragon is, after all, the game that took the aforementioned Yakuza eccentricities and pushed them to their furthest yet.

So really, this isn’t much more than the natural continuation of the trademark Yakuza bombast, applied toward Heat Actions with Ichiban’s particularly grandiose imagination. There really isn’t anything like them in Yakuza games past.

So why am I ultimately rather ambivalent toward Kiwami Actions?

Mechanically, Kiwami Actions take on a very different role in combat flow than Heat Actions, as a logical consequence of the combat system switch. For starters, Heat Actions tend to be spontaneous in nature. After building up Heat, you have a brief window to identify that a certain Heat Action is possible and then execute. Depending on the Heat Action, these windows can be quite short, so they can create on-the-fly decision making. I just knocked a whole group of idiots down with a throw and they’re going to get back up soon. Do I go for a Heat Action? Does their remaining health justify using that Heat? Or should I instead simply stomp for some quick damage and look for a weapon nearby?

Once you perform a Heat Action, your Heat will probably drain to the point where you can’t perform another one. Additionally, many Yakuza games offer benefits to retaining Heat while in combat and/or provide other ways to expend Heat for benefits like healing or better quickstepping, which means that there are situations where saving your Heat is a better call.

Another important wrinkle is that most games punish performing the same Heat Action by lowering the damage of subsequent repeats, which means that in longer fights against bosses, you have a strong incentive to look for and set up situations that let you hit a wide array of Heat Moves to drain the boss’s health quicker. So at the highest level, the core of Yakuza action combat is about alternating building and spending Heat in ways that will benefit you in a fight the most.

Kiwami Actions, meanwhile, are 1. uniformly almost always accessible when it’s your turn, 2. simply gated behind higher-than-average MP costs, and 3. do not have deteriorating repeated damage. Once you reach lategame, it does become feasible (and outright optimal) to spam Kiwami Actions (or one Kiwami Action) over and over again to deal as much damage per turn against enemies of higher caliber.

These are all trappings of turn-based combat and JRPGs especially, so they’re very much expected, but as replacements to Heat Actions, it’s a bit of a letdown? It’s just not possible in Like a Dragon to replicate the scramble of figuring out how to hit as many different Heat Actions as possible while trying to avoid getting hit. Instead, you just... pick it in a skill menu and it happens. Again, I recognize that’s just how it is with this kind of combat. I don’t think they should try to replicate that scramble, especially given how I feel about some of the positional battle mechanics in Like a Dragon, and I fully accept that I’m just not going to get that in future turn-based Yakuza games. But it’s an omission I felt during the entirety of my time with Like a Dragon.

Furthermore, on a more aesthetic level, Kiwami Actions weirdly lack the oomph of Heat Actions. Sure, they’re more bombastic and showy, but I find that the flair is often more detrimental than not.

For starters, every single Kiwami Action transports the attacker and the target to an alternate dimension where the attack plays out, then switches back onto the active battlefield. This is a practical necessity of not being able to guarantee that all battles take place in arenas where all Kiwami Actions can be depicted. In fact, if you pay close attention to Heat Actions in previous Yakuza games, they do the exact same thing, only instead of an entirely alternate dimension, the environment and actors are rearranged a bit as needed.

This pragmatic reality, alongside the simple fact that the increased flair and grandiosity means that the average Kiwami Action is considerably longer than the average Heat Action, means that Kiwami Actions are bigger interruptions of flow than Heat Actions. It’s a bit difficult for Kiwami Actions to have comparable impact when they’re very clearly situated away from battle and must have a longer build-up, climax, and follow-through, as opposed to Heat Actions which more easily appear to happen in the moment and are relatively quick peaks of action.

Also, if you look at the Kiwami Actions as a whole, they’re also sort of... all over the place and inconsistent in terms of showiness?

Like, take a look at Adachi’s moveset. The Kiwami Action he learns for reaching Detective Rank 28, Essence of Body Stacking, involves Adachi hitting two enemies on top of each other, then hitting them both down at once. It’s downright mundane. It could pass for a weapon Heat Action.

Meanwhile, the Kiwami Action he learns at Level 45, Essence of Hell’s Wheel, involves, uh,

You should really see it for yourself, if you haven’t.

If this was just one instance, it’d be a weird curiosity. Hell, you could even write this off as a higher level means a more outlandish Kiwami Action. That would be fine, but that’s just... not true? Contrast the above two with Han, whose Hitman Rank 28 Kiwami Action, Essence of Trick Shots, involves some Gun Kata-ass choreography,

while his Level 50 Kiwami Action, Essence of Assassin Dive, is...

a bunch of kicks.

What’s more, just about every Tag Team Kiwami Action is very low-key. In fact, besides Nanba’s and Zhao’s Tag Team Kiwami Actions, all of them could pass for Tag Team Heat Actions, which is completely fine and not a problem, were it not for these category of Kiwami Actions being a weird blind spot of mundanity in comparison to colossal pigeon swarms and spontaneous concerts. (They involve two people! Two people, both potentially able to do some wild shit! Am I to believe that Ichiban is just unable to come up with something suitably imaginitive?)

This isn’t to suggest that Heat Actions don’t have this spread, either. For every Heat Action where Kiryu or Saejima pick a dude up, jump five feet in the air, and drive the schmuck’s poor head straight into the concrete, there’s another where they just... kick a dude really hard. But I don’t have this problem with Heat Actions, so why the double standard?

Certainly, the mundane Heat Actions usually being faster helps a lot. It also helps when after you simply punch a dude on the ground he looks like, well,

yikes.

But two reasons in particularly really stand out to me. The first is that the gap between the most fantastic and most mundane Heat Actions isn’t all that large. Again, grabbing someone, leaping into the air, planting the top of their cranium right into the ground, and not killing them is very fantastical, but it’s just cartoonish and superhuman enough to be within the bounds of what you would expect of a Yakuza protagonist, so it’s not all that weird to see them do something as simple as slam someone against a wall headfirst. With Kiwami Actions, meanwhile, the gap between using your bat like nunchaku and spinning like an hypercharged Beyblade is considerably larger. The disparity becomes a lot stranger to think about.

The second is that even the more mundane Heat Actions can invoke a visceral reaction that the more mundane Kiwami Actions aren’t capable of. I’ve seen multiple people react to the Essence of Pliers Heat Actions, and the sheer discomfort they feel, every time, is extremely funny to me, every time.

Besides maybe Han’s Tag Team: Terrorizing Trample, none of the more simplistic Kiwami Actions come even remotely close to anything like Essence of Pliers.

And at the end of the day... I don’t think they even try to, or maybe even should.

I recognize that I’ve just spent a ludicrous number of words explaining in excruciating detail why I prefer Heat Actions over Kiwami Actions. And yes, absolutely, it’s ridiculous to compare seven games worth of Heat Actions to one game’s worth of Kiwami Actions. And yes, the tl;dr is that I prefer the moment-to-moment of the action combat over the moment-to-moment of the turn-based combat. It’s really that simple. Therefore, I prefer Heat Actions because they complement the action combat very well, more than I think the Kiwami Actions complement the turn-based combat. They’re just fundamentally different, and that’s... the point. It’s totally fine.

Believe it or not, I honestly didn’t spend almost any time wishing that Like a Dragon had action combat. Having achieved 100% completion for Like a Dragon, I’ve seen just about everything its turn-based combat has to offer, and I like it quite a bit. The stats are fun to raise, the weapons are fun to upgrade, and the skills are fun to use. Having to Perfect Guard attacks I’ve seen thrown my way for the whole game to have a chance at surviving in the True Final Millennium Tower is a satisfying postgame test of mastery. And for as much as I might seem down on them, yeah, the Kiwami Actions are fun to watch. You can pull out a human-sized grater and just go to town shredding some putz’s face, I’m not going to sit here and pretend that isn’t good stuff.

So why did I bother writing all of this, besides out of sheer boredom?

Well, I did say I didn’t spend almost any time wishing for action combat.

(continued)

#yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #rgg #yakuza like a dragon #yakuza 7 #ylad #y7 #rgg7 #shin ryu ga gotoku

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