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talesfromthesnogbox · 4 months

Text

I Want Your Video

Summary: Henry is roped into getting off on camera, the Hysterical Literature AU nobody asked for.

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 8,815

AO3 Link

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“Pez…”

“Hazza! Come on, you’d be doing me a huge favour.”

Henry rolled his eyes. He loved his best friend Percy, he really did, but he had a knack for getting Henry to do things he would normally never do. And this… this, was something he’d never thought about doing, ever.

“Pez, I’ve got an actual following now. Don’t you think this is a little…”

“No! This is perfect for you. And with your next book coming soon too, trust me Henry, this will be great, you’ll be great."

See, Henry was a writer, just… not a very successful one. Until recently. His debut novel How to Steal a Heart didn’t do as well as he’d hoped when he upended his life and moved from London to Brooklyn. Broke from trying to market his book, and determined to not accept defeat, he took a job with his publisher, where he’d then become friends with one of the lawyers on staff, one Alex Claremont-Diaz. Unfortunately for Henry, Alex was so so much like Gabriel, the love interest to James in Henry’s novel. It was like he’d shook the book and watched Alex step out as he got to know the other man, and in his opinion, his perfect man.

How to Steal a Heart wasn’t the Pride & Prejudice Henry had hoped to one day write, but it was his first novel, and absolutely his baby. Three years sitting on the shelves with hardly any sales had Henry close to throwing in the towel. Alex encouraged him to keep writing, even if only for himself, but it was hard for him to find motivation to continue. It was only weeks later that Alex would send him the TikTok that would change his life. The book blew up, Henry started getting recognized on the street, the interviews poured in, and suddenly, he was signing for books two and three with his publisher.

And Pez, his best friend, wanted him to do porn.

“I know what’s going through your head, young man. The video isn’t porn, it’s an artistic statement on human sexuality.”

“Pez. You want me to sit on camera and read a book while someone tugs me off, it’s porn.” Henry played with his signet ring, refusing to meet Pez’s eyes.

“No one will be touching you, dear. It’s all remote control based, and very safe and respectful. I would keep my spot on the team but you know I’ve got to go back to London to see my dear Granny. Please Hazza?”

Henry rolled his eyes. “How many people are in the room with me? And do I have to get Shaan to sign off on anything?”

Pez’s excitable gasp put a smile on Henry’s face. “Oh my god you’re a lifesaver! I’ll send the documents over for him to glance at. The shoot is on Saturday morning, wear what you like, you’re still gonna be clothed above the waist. Just one person of your choosing in the room to start and stop the camera, or none if you like! I’ll drop off the goods at your office on Friday before I leave.”

By the time Friday rolled around, Henry had almost forgotten what he’d agreed to. Almost. Pez flew through his office like a tornado, giving him advice on what to wear, how to style his hair, and finally, dropping off what he came for.

“Brand spanking new, and yours to keep after the shoot, you’re welcome. I’ve got one like that too and… you are very welcome.” Henry grimaced. “I’m sure you two will have a lot of fun.”

“Everything I’ve learned about your sex life has been against my will.” Henry inspected the box Pez gave him. The packaging was nice, sturdy, expensive feeling.

“Well I happen to know you’re more of a size queen than I am, so lube up friend, there’s some in the box.”

His face scrunched in disgust as he reminded himself to never tell Pez anything ever again.

“Right, thanks for that then I suppose. Anything else I should know about—”

A knock and a mass of dark, curly hair interrupted his train of thought. Alex.

“Shit sorry, didn’t know you had company.”

Henry scrambled to hide the box Pez had dropped off, eyebrows shooting into his hairline as Pez shot him a look. “Not to worry dear, Auntie Pezza has a flight to catch. See you later boys, oh and Henry, tell me how it goes?”

Henry nodded at his friend, waving him off. “Safe travels, all the rest. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Alex turned to Henry, a question gleaming in his eyes. “Hot date later?”

His eyebrows shot up into his hairline as Henry puffed out a breath. “No, no not quite.”

“Excellent. So you’ll be around tomorrow afternoon then?” Alex looked almost hopeful.

Henry winced. “Also not quite, no. Tomorrow night maybe?” He knew he’d probably be keyed up and feeling slightly self conscious after the shoot, drinks with his other best friend slash office crush would definitely keep his mind occupied.

Alex shrugged. “Sure, I can make that work. Want to try that new place in Greenwich?” He flashed his million dollar smile at Henry, the one that never failed to make him melt.

He’s straight, he’s straight, he’s straight!

“Sounds lovely. I’ll swing by yours around 7 and we can come up together?”

“Sure thing, sweetheart.” Alex gestured to the mound of papers on Henry’s desk, covering the unopened toy box. “So whatcha hiding in there?”

Henry’s breath hitched. “Oh—um well you see…” He stroked his chin, a faraway look taking over his features. “Well you know Pez fairly well I guess. He’s talked me into… helping out one of his friends while he’s gone with an… art… thing…”

Alex’s dark brow furrowed, he nodded along knowing he probably wouldn’t get anything more from the blond man. “Right. And I’m assuming the art… thing is tomorrow afternoon?”

He nodded, clicking his tongue. “Shouldn’t take long—well… ah—I um—” Henry stumbled on his words. “Yeah. I’ve gotta be ready for two.”

“Cool. Do I get to know what it is?”

Henry’s internal monologue had just become various screams. “Ah, um maybe I’ll tell you about it sometime once it’s done and I’ve consumed a lot of alcohol.”

Alex smirked. “Is that a challenge?”

He let out an incredulous laugh. “Git!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I want those dirty details, Fox.”

Henry blushed. “You have no idea what you’re asking for Alex.”

---

The time had come for Henry to be on camera, and in all fairness to Pez, everyone so far had been really lovely. Sophie, the eager intern, had him checked in with paperwork and release forms signed, and Theo, the director of the project, walked him through the afternoon’s timeline.

“So we’ll start with a short interview, just to get a sense of who you are, a bit of your background and what you do, then we’ll take a short break to get you prepped, and from there it’s go time. I’m assuming Pez dropped off the vibrator?” Henry nodded, taking in the information in stride as he remembered what he was there to actually do. “Great. I’ll be in the other room controlling the remote for you, so you don’t have to do anything but look pretty and read. Any questions?”

“Yeah, where… um—” Henry had taken some time earlier to stretch himself out a bit in preparation, but the toy was still firmly nestled in its box. Luckily the project was fairly portable, and the small crew had invaded his new apartment.

“Where can you get yourself ready?” His place was bigger than his last shoebox, but still small enough to feel self conscious about inserting the plug knowing there were people in the room over. It had been years since he’d had roommates, and he wasn’t used to having to monitor his noise levels. “We’re setting up in the office so it’s up to you, whether you’d prefer your bedroom or bathroom, we’ll keep crew away from there.” Henry nodded in acknowledgement. “I know this is intimidating, but say the word and we stop, you know that, right?”

He let out a sigh of relief, a smile crossing his face. “Thank you. I’m okay, just a little nervous is all. I’m not unaccustomed to strangers watching me finish,” he shot Theo a look, hoping he understood he was talking about random hookups, “but I’ve never done anything on camera before.”

“Totally fine, don’t even think of it that way, you’re just reading a book!”

He smiled and followed him into the office for the interview portion of the video.

Once he was mic’d up and properly lit, Theo started with the questions.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself a bit, tell us who you are and what you’ll be reading today.”

A warm smile crossed Henry’s face. “Hi, I’m Henry Fox, and I’m a writer. Originally hailing from London, I moved to New York with my best friend Pez to be closer to my publisher. My book How to Steal a Heart recently became popular on BookTok, and has been in the top five on the New York Times bestsellers list for twenty weeks in a row. It follows a young prince named James who goes undercover as a commoner weeks before his wedding to Lady Elizabeth. James meets Gabriel, a Spanish traveller, who’s been sent to England to steal a precious jewel from the royal family, but instead steals James’ heart.” He looks down at his desk, stroking the spine of the book. “I poured my heart and soul into this book, and it’s incredibly touching to hear how much everyone else has loved it too. But I won’t be reading this today.”

Henry picked up the other book on his desk, a well loved copy of a Regency era romance, two handsome men on the cover. “The Servant and the Gentleman by Annabelle Greene. These have kind of become my guilty pleasure read when I’m not in the headspace for something like Pride & Prejudice. There’s something romantic and sexy about the Regency era, when a simple brush of fingers can cause an audience to gasp. Of course this one is a lot, erm, smuttier than Austen’s work, but it’s a work I’ve returned to a few times.” He looks up at Theo, who’s leaning against the doorframe with a smile.

“Great! You’re a natural on camera, Henry.” Theo leads the excess crew out of the room in preparation for the next stage. He hands him a bath robe and walks him to his bedroom. “We’re going to fix up the desk a little bit, throw a sheet over it so your lower half is covered. We tested the remote already, so you just need to worry about you, okay?”

Henry nodded in understanding, taking the box from Sophie the intern, and closing his door. The nerves had begun to settle in as he unboxed the black, silicone plug. It felt nice, soft and lightweight, the small light indicating it was already on but the motor not started. He gave it a wash, letting it air dry on a clean towel as he stepped out of his trousers and briefs. His heart pounded as he poured a bit of lube on his fingers and got to work opening himself up.

A short few minutes later, he was able to slip the the toy in. Henry groaned, his cock finally warming up to the idea of what he was about to do. Taking a deep breath, he donned the robe Theo had given him, and walked out into the office.

Henry knew realistically this wasn’t the first video the crew had done. Pez mentioned they were filming twelve over the course of a few weeks, and his had been near the end, but he was fairly surprised by the professionalism of it all. He settled into his chair, a towel already laid down, and sheet covering his legs from the room, and dropped the robe. His breath hitched as the plug nudged his prostate; they hadn’t even started filming and he already knew he was fucked.

“Alright. If we’re ready to go, I’ll just give you a bit of a run down. We’ll hit record on the camera and get out of your way, I’ve got headphones so I can monitor what you’re saying. You’ll start by introducing yourself and the book you’re reading, once you’ve finished, state your name once more and the title of the book. We’ll wait outside until you’re ready for us to come back in. I’ll control the remote from this side of the door. If ever it gets too intense or you don’t want to continue, please just yell for one of the crew and we stop. You understand so far?”

Henry nodded.

“Verbal consent please hon, things can get pretty intense and I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Henry smiled. “Yes, thank you Theo, I understand.”

He gave a quick nod and continued. “Don’t worry about holding back, noises, faces, words are all good, but please don’t feel the need to put on a show. I want you to be authentic in yourself, show us what your pleasure looks like. It’s a beautiful thing, it’s poetic, it’s art. Last thing, don’t worry about how long or short you last here. We’ve had a few people last a couple paragraphs, and one last a couple chapters. Take what you need.”

“Got it. I—I think I’m ready.”

Theo smiled. “Good, we’re ready on our end as well. I’ll hit record, and as soon as I’m out the door, you can start.”

Henry nodded one last time, wriggling in his chair and turning to the chapter. Theo gave him a thumbs up, and closed the door, leaving him alone. He took a deep breath, and stared down the barrel of the lens. “Hi, I’m Henry Fox, and today I’ll be reading The Servant and The Gentleman by Annabelle Greene.”

He cleared his throat, eyes scanning the page before he started. “Chapter ten. One bed. A very large bed, a mahogany four-poster that took up most of the sloping attic room, but still a bed in the singular rather than plural. Josiah sat awkwardly on one corner of it, the feathers in the mattress astonishingly soft.”

Henry’s fingers twitched in anticipation, his pulse quickening; the wait for the vibrations to start was almost agonizing, and his cock thickened as the wait for pleasure stretched on. He could begin to understand why this was so erotic. He was alone so the pleasure felt like it was all his, but in reality, someone on the other side of that door held the key to his undoing.

He continued the chapter, getting accustomed to the way his voice sounded in the room alone, when he jolted as a low thrumming vibration started. “He’d noticed, then. He’d seen what Josiah had secretly h-hoped he would. Josiah took a step towards Hartley, seized with a sudden, overwhelming desire to k-kiss him.” Henry stumbled over the words, taking deep breaths as he tried to read in earnest. He shifted in his seat, hoping to take some pressure away, but the new angle had the bulbous head of the plug settle right up against his prostate. Almost like clockwork, the vibrations levelled up.

His words became breathy, and he gulped in air, trying to hold back the whines he desperately wanted to let go, but he kept reading. “He held his breath as Mr. Balfour moved closer. Close enough to press against him, chest to chest, thigh to thigh. Hartley sighed, a deep shiver running through him as he looked into the man’s warm brown eyes—Oh!” Henry dropped the book from his left hand, his palm coming flat to the table as he tilted his head down and closed his eyes in pleasure. He bit his lip, and scrunched his nose, resisting the urge to roll his hips. His cock was now fully interested in what was happening, he was half hard, and so badly wanted to wrap his hand around his length. But with a low chuckle, he returned both hands to the book and continued reading.

“He couldn’t even think of him as Mr. Balfour anymore.” Henry composed himself, getting accustomed to the new speed of the toy. “Not in this naked, vulnerable light. Master, servant, Mr. Hartley, Mr. Balfour; no rank, no polite form of address, quite held up to scrutiny. Not here. Not now.” He gasped, gripping the book with white knuckled fingers, and let the air out with a hum through closed lips. “Fuckin’ hell that’s… wow.” With a shake of his head, he read on.

“The man in front of him was Josiah. As for himself, he was no one, no one at all. Just a terrified creature in desperate need of relief, of fulfilment that only Josiah could provide.” His voice was shaky, and his knee bounced under the table. “Hartley stared, briefly shocked at the idea of it, before Josiah’s lips met his, and thoughts were suddenly, deliciously drowned in f—uuuuck.” Henry threw his head back, chest heaving as he finally gave into his instincts and let his hips roll. With every rock of his hips, the plug pushed against his prostate, sending jolts of pleasure through his body. His cock leaked a steady stream of precum, and his fingers itched to grasp himself, spread his wetness down his length, pump into his fist, with a name on his lips. And suddenly he remembered where he was again. “Deliciously drowned in feeling.”

“There was no room anymore. No door, no walls, no confinement whatsoever. With J-Josiah’s kiss came infinite sp—infinite space; a liberation so complete that H-Hartley couldn’t help but sigh with relief.” His fingers shook as he traced the words, and suddenly, that telltale tingle at the base of his spine started. “O—oh f—fuck.” He moaned in earnest, the dam breaking now as he writhed in his seat. “He—unnhh!” Henry slammed his palm down against the desk again, shoulders hunching forwards as his hand curled. He was close, but it wasn’t enough. If he could only get a hand around himself…

Henry panted lowly, not sure if it was deemed appropriate to ask to go up in speed, but as if his mind had been read, the vibrations kicked it up a notch. The book was long forgotten, his eyes were closed, and he was sure his face was a picture of pleasure. A second jolt of pleasure railed through him as the piece of the toy wedged against his perineum sparked to life. His cock leaked steadily now, he shook as he reached back to grip the edge of the chair, a strangled cry leaving his throat. His other hand slammed against the table, losing his page in the book entirely. His hips rocked against the chair and he whimpered. “Ffffuck, f—fuck, A—Ale…. christ.” He choked in a breath, back going taut as his hips stuttered, and with a shout, he came.

His ass clenched around the plug as he painted the towel draped across his lap. The shocks kept coming, he felt like it would never end, like he never wanted it to end, it was fucking good. An airy giggle left his lips as his head lolled back, the aftershocks of his orgasm wracking through him, milking the plug he had absolutely no control over. Henry kind of felt invincible, like he could do it again, and again, and again, until his body could give nothing else. He’d never came so hard, not even with the best fuck he’d had, and in that moment he knew, he’d put on a damn good show.

The camera crew must have heard him coming down, because the vibrations stopped shortly after he’d caught his breath. Henry chuckled and shook his head, breathing in once, twice, then looking right down the barrel of the lens again and saying, “My name is Henry Fox, and I’ve just read The Servant and The Gentleman by Annabelle Greene.”

He blinked once, twice, giving Theo enough room to cut the end of his shot, then he moved to clean himself up. Wiping himself down brought the sudden realization that this was going to be online… and then it dawned on him… what if Alex saw this?

---

Henry wrung his hands together as he met up with Alex for their dinner in Greenwich. He was still keyed up despite the satiated feeling that took over his body as soon as Theo and his crew left that afternoon; it was a different type of intensity, the anticipation of knowing Alex could find out at any point what he was doing that afternoon. And of course, the anxiety of knowing he’d pretty well shouted Alex’s name as he came.

“Henry… hey, are you… are you there man?”

Henry blinked at Alex, shaking his head slightly pulling himself out of his thoughts. “Yes, yes sorry. You were saying?”

Alex stopped, pulling Henry to the edge of the sidewalk when he’d earned a grumble under their breath from a passing pedestrian. “Are you okay? You seem off. Did something happen?”

“What? No, I’m fine! I’m fine.”

Alex cocked his head to the side and raised an eyebrow. “You sure about that? You’ve been quiet since you came to get me.”

A smile graced Henry’s face finally, hopefully levelling out some of Alex’s concern. “Yes, I’m sure, I’m fine. I think this afternoon was just a little more… intense than I was anticipating.”

“Oh yeah!” Alex lit up once more, guiding Henry back onto the sidewalk towards their destination. “How’d your art thing go?”

Henry held back the urge to laugh. What did he even say to that? It was incredible? The best orgasm he’d ever had? Oh, I came so hard my brain leaked out my ears, and you can watch it all in dazzling 4K, coming soon to a youtube channel near you. Don’t get freaked out if you maybe hear your name towards the end, I definitely wasn’t thinking of you railing me into next week.

“It was good, the people were nice.”

Alex shot him a look. “That’s it? You ever gonna tell me what it was about? Oh! Or will I maybe see it down the line?” A high pitched giggle left Henry’s mouth. “What’s that supposed to mean? My god, did you like pose nude or something?”

Henry tilted his head side to side, face scrunched. “Or something.”

“What!” Alex grabbed Henry’s forearm, shooting heat through him and making him blush. That beautiful smile graced his features, deviant and excitable, making him feel oddly supported. “Oh my god Henry, did you do a boudoir shoot? This whole time I thought you were a prude, have you been holding out on me?”

Henry scoffed. “You’ve read my book, you know I’m not a prude.”

“I thought we were friends, would you just tell me already? It’s killing me here man!”

“Maybe in time. And with a lot of alcohol, remember? Just… drop it for tonight, please?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Fine. I’ll drop it. But when you do finally tell me what it was, I wanna see it!”

Henry’s heart skipped a beat. “Absolutely not.”

---

irl chaos demon

[10:15 p.m.] Dude, have you seen this?

Alex swiped away Nora’s text, knowing it was probably some TikTok trend, and he was not willing to start on that rabbit hole tonight.

irl chaos demon

[10:18 p.m.] I just finished watching it and… I think you’ll want to see this 👀

He eyed the message carefully before finally clicking on the notification and seeing the youtube link she’d sent him. Intimate Words: Session Ten: Henry.

Oh?

The thumbnail was vague. Alex recognized the background to be Henry’s apartment office space, with the wall of books behind him. He was seated at his desk, a book open in front of him, as he smiled softly into the camera. His hair wasn’t messy, but it wasn’t slicked back into his usual perfect coif. Alex imagined this softer, more undone version of Henry was one reserved for the comforts of his own home when he shared it with someone more… well intimately. He clicked through to the video, a short logo stinger introducing it, and oh! This must have been the art thing he was doing those few weeks ago!

Alex paused the video, considering the idea of texting Henry to let him know he would be watching… but then remembered how skittish he’d been about it. He’d gotten the impression that Henry didn’t want Alex watching this. The description was about as vague as the thumbnail, it read ‘Author Henry Fox reads from The Servant and The Gentleman by Annabelle Greene. Directed by Theo Lawson’

It seemed straightforward enough, just Henry reading a book… so then why was he so embarrassed about it?

Alex did the only thing he could think to do at that moment. He called June.

“Hey Lil Bit, what’s up?”

“Did Nora show you a video of Henry?”

June scoffed. “Yeah, she did. I didn’t watch it all the way through cause he’s like my less annoying non-biological brother and that would be weird, but…”

“Why didn’t you finish the video? She said I’ll want to see it, but it didn’t sound like Henry wanted me to see it.”

June went silent.

“Bug, what’s up with this fucking video?”

“Alejandro!” Nora joined the call, sitting beside June. “To what do we owe the pleasure, we just got into bed.”

“Gross. Nora what’s with the link?”

“Ooooooh! Did you watch it? Hot, right?”

It was Alex’s turn to be silent.

“Oooohhhkay, I’m going to guess from your lack of response you either didn’t watch it, or are currently questioning your sexuality.”

“Nora, why the fuck would this video make me question my sexuality?”

Nora chuckled. “So you really didn’t watch it, huh. Have you actually not heard about this project?”

“Clearly I haven’t.” Alex went right to Google. The Intimate Words project. He clicked on the first link to the official site and read through the description, eyes going wide. “Nora… did Henry… sorry explain this to me like I’m five. What am I looking at?”

“Henry read a book on camera while getting some good vibrations, pun intended, as an artistic statement in favour of normalizing what pleasure looks like on different people.”

Alex took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. Soooo, should I watch it?”

“I dunno Alex, should you?”

“I mean do I want to watch it?”

Her voice went softer. “I can’t answer that Alejandro, do you want to watch it?”

Alex dropped his hand, looking at the video thumbnail again. Henry’s soft smile stared back, warm and inviting, and for a moment, a flutter erupted in his chest. He was straight. He was straight? At least he was pretty sure he was straight… Was he?

His head spun as he thought back to every interaction he’d had with Henry since meeting him. They riffed off each other perfectly, best buds, a good pal, but… but Alex was disappointed whenever Henry would cancel plans, and everything felt better, brighter, when Henry was around.

A few minutes of comfortable silence had passed. “Nora? I’m gonna go.”

“You okay Lil Bit?” This time it was June that chimed in.

“Yeah, I’m good, well, we’ll see how I’m feeling in a bit I guess.”

“Call me when you’re done!” Nora shouted over the phone.

“Ew, that’s my brother, asshole.”

Alex hung up before their fighting turned into something he wouldn’t be able to un-hear, and clicked on the video. His heart was thrumming in his chest as Henry’s smooth voice rang through his bedroom, and he began reading.

It was only a minute or so into the video, but nothing out of the ordinary had happened. It was just Henry, he was just reading, and maybe it wouldn’t be that bad. He was twitchier than usual, but Alex figured it had to do with the nature of the video he was performing in. Henry didn’t seem like the type of person to do anything like this. Admittedly, Alex didn’t know really much about Henry’s dating life, he tended to keep pretty quiet about it at work or otherwise, but apparently he was more adventurous than Alex thought him to be.

But then came the stuttering.

And Alex’s body finally caught up with what his brain knew he was watching.

From the first breathy gasp Henry let out, Alex knew the answer to the question he’d had in his mind since the phone call with Nora. It was a clear and resounding no.

He watched as Henry bit his full bottom lip, a stream of little noises spilling from between his teeth. Alex could see the way his fingers trembled against the desk, like Henry was unable to control the way they spasmed as he let what clearly was a magnificent feeling wash over him. He wasn’t entirely sure just what was being used on Henry, but his mind ran rampant with ideas, and it took less than a minute for his own cock to stir in his joggers.

Alright, guess we’re doing this.

Henry’s voice shook deliciously as he continued to read, and for a moment, Alex thought about having him read aloud while Henry rode his cock. He groaned at the idea, which apparently Henry from the video could tell. “Fuckin’ hell that’s… wow.”

The surprise from his lips was almost endearing, no, adorable, but only for another minute because shortly after Henry let out a downright filthy string of expletives.

“Fuck baby.” Alex groaned, watching Henry grind away on his desk chair. He wanted to mark up that perfect neck, suck bruises wherever he could, nip away at those sinful collarbones… he wanted to be the one making Henry feel like that.

Henry’s composure was waining, and so was Alex’s as his fingers twitched, itching to get a hand on himself. He could see the moment Henry gave up on the task at hand and focused purely on his pleasure, chasing what he needed, and good god, it was the hottest fucking thing Alex had seen in his thirty years of life. Better than anything he’d read, anything he’d seen, porn or otherwise, this video would ruin anyone else for him. Henry would ruin anyone else for him. His eyes were glued to the screen, he didn’t even want to blink in case he missed anything, and… was that his name?

Alex scrubbed backwards, hitting play and listening carefully and… “Ffffuck, f—fuck, A—Ale…. christ.”

He paused the video, the pleasure on Henry’s face frozen in time, the pleasure he’d gotten seconds after saying his name. Alex.

Alex opened his messages and texted Nora back.

TO: irl chaos demon

[10:58 p.m.] We’re talking about this tomorrow.

Tomorrow. Not tonight, tomorrow. Tonight Alex was preoccupied.

The sexuality crisis could wait. The imagery of Henry getting off with his name on his lips was past the point of sending Alex into a spiral, and right to him being horny about it. He pulled his half hard cock out of his joggers, not even bothering with pushing them down knowing this would be quick. A few tugs with his hand had him throbbing and leaking over his knuckles. He closed his eyes, the memory of Henry’s breathy whimpers racing through his mind. A bite of his lip and a throaty groan of his own, and quickly, Alex was spilling over his fingers, making a mess of his hand and the waistband of his joggers.

He only allowed himself a moment of contemplation before he was wiping his hand off on his bottoms, they’d have to be washed anyways, and going to brush his teeth.

As he stared at his reflection, hair tousled, cheeks flushed, Alex did what he did in every crisis. He made a list.

That video of Henry turned him on.

Nora thought he’d want to see the video, and he did.

If he was being honest, that wasn’t the first time he’d had some kind of… feeling like that for a man.

On some level, he knew that he had to be somewhat into Henry

That video of Henry really fucking turned him on.

With a sigh, Alex contemplated what this meant for him. There was no problem with him accepting the fact that he was low-key into guys. If anything, it opened up the dating pool for him… but he had a feeling he didn’t really want the dating pool to be opened past… well… Henry. He’d never really given a thought to his sexuality. Yeah, he liked women, he was confident in that for sure, but he’d never really thought about dating men until Henry.

By this point it was nearly midnight, and Alex’s head was spinning. He texted the group chat with Nora and June suggesting brunch in the morning and crawled into bed, hoping some clarity would come with sleep. That night he dreamt of Henry.

---

Brunch the next morning was… eventful to say the least. There was a lot of teasing on Nora’s part, and Alex spent the whole meal red (and not from the effects of bottomless mimosas). After much contemplation, and a chat with both Nora and June, Alex came to the conclusion that he was bisexual.

The more he said it, the more he felt like it really fit, and by the end of the weekend, Alex was feeling more confident about himself than he had felt in a while.

Monday morning at the office felt a little bit brighter, there was a spring in his step and for once he actually felt relaxed after a weekend off. That is until he opened his calendar and remembered that he agreed to lunch with Henry today.

“Alex, good morning.”

Speak of the devil.

“H-hey man, how was your weekend?” Alex picked up his coffee, blowing away the steam before taking a sip.

“It was nice, got a lot of writing done actually. I have another meeting this morning about my latest draft, but it’s all been pretty ‘good vibes’ so far with this book.”

Alex choked on his coffee, his nose burning from the hot liquid suddenly entering his airway.

“Oh god, are you alright?”

Alex nodded frantically, reaching for some tissues to wipe down the mess. “Fine, fine sorry, went down the wrong pipe there.”

Henry chuckled. “Just learning to swallow?”

“Something like that.”

Henry’s eyebrows rose, oh god, Alex thought, am I actually successfully flirting with Henry?

“So lunch. Spencer and Zarah can’t make it today, I think it’s just gonna be us two. I was hoping to maybe check out that new Thai place?”

Alex blinked slowly. Lunch alone with Henry sounded dangerous, but it would be suspicious if he also randomly bailed. “Yeah, sounds great. I’ll meet you at the elevator at 1?”

Henry smiled warmly and nodded. “See you then!” He looked back and waved once he’d walked away, and Instantly Alex knew he was screwed.

The morning stretched on as Alex waited for the clock to strike 1. Henry looked so good today in a soft sweater, the collar of his shirt peeking through, and his hair just a little bit undone. His heart fluttered anxiously as he watched the clock, not even knowing what the hell he even did that morning, and then finally, it was time. Alex grabbed his wallet and phone, forcing himself to walk, not run, to the elevators where Henry was waiting. Unfortunately for him, the sight of Henry made him lose every coherent thought he’d had until that point.

They rode the elevator down in complete silence, Alex worrying the entire time about what they’d talk about once they were seated. Henry luckily filled the silence with updates on his meeting, prattling on about the book and the notes he was getting from his editor.

The restaurant was a short walk away, and by the time they were seated, Henry had already recounted all the important bits of his meeting. They read through the menus, Henry glancing up to Alex every once in a while, and glancing back down with a blush when Alex caught his eye. Neither conversed with each other, even after the waiter took their orders and filled their water glasses.

Alex could feel the tension between them. He was making it weird, but all he could see right now was Henry seated across from him, writhing in pleasure instead of the put together slightly stuffy persona he kept up during working hours. From spending the weekend fantasizing about him, to sitting across from him at lunch was a very strange dichotomy, and suddenly Alex was having a hard time separating the two Henry’s in his mind. Was it getting hot in here?

“Alright, what’s bothering you? I’ve literally never seen you this quiet.”

Alex’s eyes went wide, his mouth gaped like a fish… he had absolutely no idea what to say. Does he just come clean? Tell Henry everything that had transpired over the weekend? Or does he lie and say he’s fine, just under the weather? Henry could usually read him like an open book, no matter what he says, he’d know Alex was lying. So all that he could come up with was, “I’m bisexual.”

Henry raised his eyebrows. He could tell that wasn’t what Alex had intended to say based on the slight wince that followed his short and succinct coming out.

“Sorry… that—I-I didn’t—”

“Alex.” Henry reached across the table and laid his hand on top of Alex’s lightly. Alex’s brain promptly shuts down. “Thank you for telling me.”

He nods, eyes focused on their hands. “Yeah, ‘course, you’re my best friend, Hen.”

Henry smiled bashfully and pulled his hand away, taking a sip of water. “I’m not the first person you told, am I?”

Alex laughed, feeling a lot more himself now that Henry was guiding their conversation. “No, Nora and June kinda walked me through a sexuality crisis over the weekend.” Shit!

Intrigued, Henry raised his eyebrow. “Oh?”

Again, Alex started feeling hot under the collar, his smile dropped.

“Someone catch your interest?”

“Ah… um…” Alex winced. “Something like that.”

Henry nodded, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “Do I know him?”

Alex froze. He felt himself coming to a crossroad; he could laugh off the whole thing and say it was some actor in some new movie, typical bullshit, or he could come clean. Coming clean would obviously be the harder road… but would it? It would mean he wouldn’t have to dance around Henry like he had all day, maybe he could stop picturing his face masked in pleasure whenever he threw his head back in a laugh, and maybe, just maybe, it could mean Henry felt that way about him too.

Decision made, Alex begun to nod. “Yeah, actually, you do.” He played with the beads of his bracelet, a nervous habit he’d picked up, and braced himself. “Henry, I-I saw your video.”

Video… my vid—oh dear lord. Henry felt a hundred different emotions wash through him, confusion, fear, and embarrassment being the main features. “Oh god.”

“I—I think it was—”

Henry put a hand up, effectively stopping Alex from saying anything further. “I’m sorry I just… I’d really like for you to not finish that sentence.” He remembered the end of that video A—Ale…. christ… and let out a deep sigh. “Oh god.”

“Hen—”

“I… sorry I’ve got a meeting to get to.”

---

“Fuck, Pez. Fuck.”

“Hazza, I’m failing to see how this is a bad thing.”

Henry let his head fall to his desk with a thunk. “I said his fucking name Percy.”

Pez laughed on the other end of the phone. “Oh I know darling, I was a little offended it wasn’t my name on your lips, but this was a long time coming to be honest.”

“Pez.” Henry pleaded. “Please.”

“Alright, alright, I’ll behave. But I stand by what I said, I’m failing to see how this is bad for you. The man basically said you were his bisexual awakening, why are you on the phone with me instead of getting railed by—”

“Because! I don’t think I’m strong enough to only be with him casually. With him, it has to be all or nothing.”

He can hear Pez snort on, the tinny effect of his phone speaker doing nothing to hide the snark. “Okay, so go all in then.”

“But what if—”

“Babes, all I’m hearing are excuses. Why don’t you just talk to him? He’s obviously into you in some way, or he wouldn’t have even said anything about the video.”

“But I don’t know if he even had positive thoughts about the video, I left before he could say anything about it. What if he’s totally disgusted?”

“You’re not considering the facts though love, he said someone caught his interest, and—shush! Let me finish! Someone caught his interest and then he mentioned seeing you in that video. Sorry Hen but it sounds like you’re incorrect here.”

Unfortunately it did sound like Pez had a point. There was nothing really left to say, Henry had to admit defeat.

“Hazza, just talk to him. Please. I can feel your gay panic all the way in bloody London. I think you’ll be surprised by what he has to say.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll text him. To meet up and talk tonight. Or something.”

“Yes! That’s the spirit! Let me know how it goes mate.”

Henry watched the call disappear from his screen to find he’d already received a text from Alex.

Alex

[2:15 p.m.] Hey man, I’m sorry I made you uncomfortable earlier, it really wasn’t my intention, I hope you know that.

He worried the skin of his lip, crafting a response that would have him on edge all day.

TO: Alex

[3:05 p.m.] Hi Alex, I understand that wasn’t your intention, you didn’t make me uncomfortable, I was just startled.

[3:06 p.m.] Can we talk later today? I’d like the opportunity to maybe clear the air a little bit between us.

Alex

[3:07 p.m.] Oh thank god you’re alive

[3:07 p.m.] Yeah, wanna come to mine after work?

TO: Alex

[3:08 p.m.] Yes I’ll swing by yours after I let David out for a walk.

---

He was stalling. Henry knew he was stalling, and he didn’t care, he did not want to face this head on, but he knew he had to.

After a moment outside, Henry knew he had to face Alex, and knocked on his door. As if he were standing right behind it, Alex appeared moments later.

“Alex.”

“Hi.”

They stood there looking at each other for a moment before Henry gestured at the door. “Do you mind if I—?”

Alex spurred to life. “Right, yeah, come in.” He stepped aside and let Henry in, leading him towards the living room. “Can I get you anything? A beer, glass of wine, hell I can whip up a margarita.”

Henry smiled. “I think perhaps we should have this conversation sober?”

“Yeah, good idea actually.” Alex moved to sit next to Henry on the couch, leaving more space between them than they usually kept. “If you don’t mind, can I start?” Henry motioned for Alex to go ahead. “I want to apologize. Before you shot the video it didn’t sound like you really wanted anyone to know what it was. I didn’t seek it out, I promise. Nora sent it to me, I think she knew I was bi before I did, but I really shouldn’t have opened it. I thought about ignoring it, but I didn’t, I violated your trust and your wishes, and I’m really, truly sorry for that.”

“Alex, it’s okay—”

“But it’s not Hen. You told me not to watch it and I did anyway.”

Henry chuckled to himself. “I don’t recall telling you not to watch it, I think a part of me hoped you would before I… well we’ll get to that, but I didn’t explicitly say do not seek this out. People I know were bound to see it at some point or another, I’m not mad you saw it Alex.”

“You’re not?”

“Gods no. I’m more than a little embarrassed to tell you the truth. It was quite empowering, I don’t think I’ve ever felt that hot in my life, but…” Henry’s heart slammed in his chest, it was now or never. “Alex, I said, fuck I practically moaned your name.”

“A-are you embarrassed that you did it, or that it was—”

“Don’t even think about saying it, you know I’d never be embarrassed of how I feel about you.”

Alex’s breath hitched. “And how do you feel about me Henry?”

Henry’s fierce expression turned a little sad, and Alex braced himself for rejection. “You have to understand Alex, I don’t—I don’t do casual, and you just came out.”

Alex frowned. “Okay, when did I say I wanted casual?”

“Well I just thought—”

“You thought wrong then. Yes, I’m attracted to you. Like mega, big time, holy shit attracted to you. But I also like you Henry. And yeah, I’m new to this whole bisexuality thing, your fucking performance sent me down a rabbit hole I’m honestly surprised I’d never been down before, but I’d also like to take you on dates, and hold your hand, and kiss you just because I want to.”

“You’re attracted to me?” A rosy blush graced his high cheekbones.

“Obviously. Have you not seen yourself? And in that video? Jesus Christ I thought I was going to combust.”

Henry shrugged. “I honestly haven’t watched the video. I’ve never felt so… free, or sexy, like I felt so good after filming that, but I’m worried I just look silly.”

Alex scooted closer on the couch, letting his fingers rest lightly on Henry’s to test the water. When Henry didn’t pull away, Alex moved to cover his whole hand, lacing their fingers together.

“Trust me, there’s no way you could look silly doing what you did. You looked so hot baby.”

A pleasant shiver rolls down Henry’s spine at the pet name, and a smile settles deeper into his features.

“For the record, I have feelings for you too, I have for a while, but you’ve just always been… straight.”

Alex looked down at their joined hands, a chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Well lucky for you I’m not straight then, right?”

“Hm, yeah.” Henry moved even closer to Alex, pressing their legs up against each other. “I have to ask, have you ever been with a man, in any way?”

Alex winced. “No… but also yes.”

“Oh?”

“A friend of mine, Liam, from high school. We used to, I dunno, get off together. We never actually like… touched each other, or kissed or anything, but there was nothing straight about it. And like… he came out to me as gay after college.”

Henry nods, a smile on his face. “Ah, I understand. And… you’d want to do things like kiss me, and touch me?”

With raised eyebrows, Alex gives Henry a once-over. “I said I wanted to, didn’t I baby? Maybe not… all at once, but I’d really like to kiss you if that’s okay.”

With a bashful smile, Henry nodded. “More than okay, love.” He leaned in, bumping his nose against Alex’s gently, before connecting their lips in a chaste kiss. “How’s that?” He whispered, lips brushing against Alex’s with every syllable.

“Fucking come here.”

Henry let out a squeak as Alex hoisted him into his lap, legs falling on either side of his hips, and hands going to his shoulders. They stared intently into each other’s eyes, reading their expressions for any signs it was going too far, before meeting in the middle in a heated kiss. Alex’s hands went immediately to Henry’s waist, running his fingers across the small of his back. Henry felt more confident to let his own hands wander into the hair he so desperately wanted to feel. It was soft and thick, and everything he’d dreamed of, and with a light tug, he was able to extract a deep groan from Alex’s throat.

Henry pulled away, gazing once again into Alex’s eyes with the silent question of everything okay? His question was answered moments later when Alex hooked his hands under Henry’s ass and dragged him closer. He was breathless; they were chest to chest, and he could feel the effects of their actions from the man beneath him as their dicks slotted together along with the rest of themselves. They rushed forward again, practically drunk on each other with this newfound friction between them, lips meeting in the middle in a frantic kiss. Alex’s tongue met Henry’s and suddenly a new layer of arousal joined the party.

Alex pulled his lips away from Henry’s, peppering pecks across his cheek and down the column of his neck. He nipped a patch of skin at the juncture of Henry’s neck and shoulder, causing a yelp from the man above him, before soothing it with the heat of his tongue. As he worshiped the soft skin of Henry’s neck with his lips, teeth, tongue, Alex’s clever hands held a commanding grip on Henry’s ass, guiding him in a rough grind.

A whimper from Henry made Alex perk up, and he met Henry’s eyes once again.

“Oh my god, is this okay?”

“Christ, is this okay, please don’t fucking stop.”

So much for taking it slow.

With a chuckle, Alex dutifully went back to work sucking love bites on Henry’s neck. Henry’s hips moved on their own, a string of soft groans and whimpers falling from his lips as he ground down on Alex’s erection. The friction between them was heavenly, and Alex was questioning why he hadn’t tried this sooner.

“Fuck sweetheart, that’s good.” Henry’s following groan was stifled by his teeth worrying his bottom lip, and suddenly, it was too much, and not enough for Alex.

His grip on Henry’s ass tightened, and he used all his strength to stand up from their spot on the couch, Henry in his arms. His legs wound around Alex’s torso to keep himself from falling; he instantly felt lightheaded from the force of his blood rushing from his head to his dick. He knew Alex was strong, and worked out to keep his body in immaculate shape, but nothing could have prepared him for what it would be like to be manhandled by him.

“Sorry, just… too much, I was like seconds away from cumming. Is this still okay?”

Henry looked down pointedly at his own hard-on standing proudly between them before bashfully looking up at Alex.

“I guess it is, huh.”

Giggles left their throats, the two men finally having a moment to breathe after being so caught up in the moment. They giggled at the absurdity of it all, the fact that they’d danced around each other for so long, the fact that all of this came about because of some dumb (hot) video that Pez just needed him to be in.

“Where do we go from here?”

Henry looked around Alex’s apartment. “Well where would you like to go from here? I mean we could continue on the couch, or maybe the countertop, or if you’re feeling naughty you could take me to bed.”

Alex chuckled again, resting his head on Henry’s shoulder. “I mean us, where do we go from here?”

A smile graced his lips as Henry responded. “We’ll continue on, our standing Monday lunch dates, occasional Friday movie nights, and everything else in between, but we add the kissing, and the affection, and we just… don’t hold back what we’re feeling from each other. And we go from there. Let you get accustomed to being with a man, let our feelings develop. I’d like for you to be my boyfriend someday when you’re ready, I’d like to share my feelings with you, and ask that you communicate yours back. Sorry, that was terribly unsexy.”

“On the contrary sweetheart, open and honest communication with a side of promise for the future? Almost as sexy as contract law, talk dirty to me.”

“Oh you cretin.” Henry swatted Alex’s chest, then leaned in for a chaste kiss. “We don’t have to go any further than you’re comfortable with tonight, but I really would like to continue what we were doing, love. Take me to bed?”

Alex’s smile was nowhere near shy. “Yeah baby, let’s go to bed.”

#firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb fic #rwrb #henry x alex #henry fox mountchristen windsor #alex claremont diaz #red white and royal blue #rwrb fanfic #my writing

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sweetcarrotsandroses97 · 1 year

Text

~ Blossom of Affection | JJK

Pairing: CEO!husband!Jungkook x writer!fem!wife!Reader

Warnings: this is mostly fluff guys, a sprinkle of angst if you squint, idiots in love, more progress!, food ingestion. (let me know if I missed anything!)

Summary: We take another glimpse into yours and Jungkook's marriage and how things seem to be improving between you both. It all was perfect, it all was meant to last forever. That is his intention: to keep you by his side as Jungkook realised a truth his heart had known for quite sometime now. Affection bloomed in the desolated desert of the arrangement, now you both have to keep it and treasure that affection that morphed into something else without neither of you knowing about it.

Word Count: 4.3k

A/N Hi guys! Welcome to the third chapter of "Sweet Marriage: A Handsome Husband Series" I hope you are as excited as I am for this part. I struggled a bit to write it as- well it's really fluffy and has the good stuff in it but I personally find it easier to write angst O.o

ALSO, thank you guys so much for 100 followers! You all make me so happy and I am over the moon there are people out there who enjoy my writing. I just finished writing this that I couldn't resist to publish it while also gifting you something for all the support I've received since I started this blog. Thank you so much, sweet ones! 💜💜💜

~ Let me know your thoughts in the comments please!

Drabbles are open for this series! 💜

Time seemed to fly when you were with Jungkook. It flew out of your hands, leaving you with sweet memories of shy smiles and delicate touches here and there.

Neither of you had brought the conversation with his parents at the restaurant. So it seemed that subject was clear, it would be explored in the future by the two of you. No-one else.

You were currently in the kitchen of the large apartment you shared with your handsome husband, you were looking down a list of ingredients and instructions as you were determined to cook Jungkook a nice meal for when he'd come home after work.

You wanted to surprise him, to thank him for all the soft attention he has had with you since the beginning of your married life alongside him. It was the least you could do and you sincerely hoped he'd like your little surprise and maybe allow you to do more things for him.

It was something you wanted, something your heart needed you to do. A soft smile was plastered on your face as you took out a knife from the drawer and prepared yourself to cut the vegetables.

The idea of making him something to eat came to you in the form of a YouTube video after having searched for tips for wives. And after reading the comments, you wanted to make something for Jungkook too. Hoping that he'd like what you'd cook for him.

"I already sent the report to Hoseok, he also confirmed the deal with Mr. Cha was closed. We expect the shipment to arrive on the 15th."

Jimin said, finishing his report to Jungkook. It was a normal day at the corporation, slightly busier than other days but nothing out of the ordinary.

"Thanks, Jimin-ah. If that was all, you may go."

The younger man began typing an email on his laptop for Mr. Cha thanking him for the deal they were able to pull together. Jungkook's eyes snapped forward, seeing as Jimin was still standing in front of his desk.

"Do you have anything else to tell me?"

The shorter man gave him a teasing smile that made Jungkook roll his eyes in an almost playful way as he shut down his laptop and paid his friend and colleague all his attention.

"Go on, spit it out."

Jimin was quick to take a seat in one of the two chairs in front of him. The eagerness radiated from his body like the heat from the sun.

"How are things going on? Between you and (y/n)?"

Jungkook sighed, his eyes locking momentarily on his silver wedding band around his finger.

"Fine, I guess."

Jimin clicked his tongue, shaking his head in disappointment.

"Things cannot be just fine, Kook. In married life, things are either bad or good. Fine is practically a synonym for bad in this field, aish you still have a lot to learn."

The younger one frowned at his friend. He better have Mrs. Baek’s signature on the property contract instead of gossiping with him about his married life.

"Well, things are fine, Jimin. They are not perfect but they are not bad either. It is a slow progression."

"You wish for things to change yet you are scared of moving too fast, isn't it? I've met some couples in your same situation, Kookie, trust me it will get better."

Jungkook stared at his friend, there was a gleam in Jimin's eyes, his voice sounded more cheerful than usual.

"How do you know so much about married life when you are the most single person on Earth?"

Jimin laughed, throwing his head back as the sound resonated across the walls of the office.

"Coaches don't play, though I must admit I have played the game of love from time to time."

Jungkook's eyes widened. Rarely had his shorter friend spoken about his love life.

"But that is not the subject at hand, Kook. We are talking about your marriage, your love life."

The doe-eyed man let out a deep sigh, his mind raising with thoughts of you, memories he cherished deeply.

"Tell me, what is it about her that has you so enamoured?"

Jungkook thought for a moment, all those times he had felt his heart pound in his chest, when butterflies had fluttered in his stomach, when all his mind could think of was you and you alone.

"Everything about her, Jimin, is simply... mesmerising. I love her voice, her personality, that gleam in her eyes, the way she chews her bottom lip when she's writing, how she welcomes me home every day and waits for me no matter the time. Her mere existence is enough to make me happy. It's just... her."

Jimin smiled knowingly. Even when he could be seen as a flirt and sometimes a tease, he knew more about life than people often gave him credit for.

"You love her, don't you?"

The blond haired man said, almost as if stating it. He had once guessed the crush his friend had on his own wife; it wasn't difficult for him to tell when Jungkook, one of his most expressive friends, was in love.

The latter took a second to think about the statement. Only a second. He didn't need any longer as he nodded.

"I do. I think I have for a while, I just didn't want to... I don't know, accept it then tell her and for her to not accept my feelings."

Jungkook was aware of the name his heart screamed. It was now pointless to deny it any longer as he had voiced his feelings out loud. He was in love. He loved you. Something as normal as love in a married man was as foreign as water on Mars for him.

Sometimes Jungkook wished his marriage hadn't been arranged. He, more times than often thought about different ways he could have met you, made you fall in love with him and then marry you. But his parents had complicated everything, he had started that cycle from the back and now it was tough to approach step two: make you love him.

But maybe, if his parents hadn't married him off, perhaps he'd have never met you. You both would have existed like parallel lines, living the same timeline but never meant to meet.

Jungkook's wish was for you to love him. He thought he had to make you fall in love with him without knowing that in your heart, his name was engraved in the golden letters of forever.

You had just finished cooking some Japchae for when your husband came home. You were really proud of the final result and now you only had to wait for Jungkook to come back.

Giving that he had been leaving the company earlier than before, you didn't doubt that he'd be home by dinner time. Now you just had to wait a bit, killing some time while giving your novel a final read.

The clock ticked by slowly, as if your life was in slow motion. But then you heard it, the electronic lock unlocked with its usual noise, the door opened and in came Jungkook. You smiled, a motion that you couldn't stop. As involuntary as the beating of your heart. As inevitable as the rising of the sun every morning and the moon rising at night.

It just happened. Existed in and on itself. Like your love for your husband that was kept in unsaid words and longing gazes.

"You're back early."

Was what you said as you stood up from the couch and walked towards the main entrance. He smiled at you. In a soft way. Delicate. Like a rose petal.

Jungkook didn't know what to say, he was so happy with seeing you that all the words he had previously rehearsed in his mind were erased. As if white paint had fallen over a canvas. Hiding every trace of his thoughts. His heart was beating wildly in his chest, a gleam in his eyes found your own (e/c) pools.

He didn't say anything. No words would have been enough to express what he was feeling. There was no way to describe such emotions. Jungkook extended his arm towards you and you gasped as you saw what he held in his left hand, the silver wedding band in his finger stole your attention for a moment before your focus was on the bouquet of sunflowers he presented to you.

"Kook."

That nickname again. It escaped your lips without you noticing it. Not that he minded, a soft blush dusted his cheeks and butterflies swarmed in his stomach when your fingers grazed his own as you took the bouquet from his hold.

"I was on my way home when I saw the flowers and thought of you."

You smiled, trying to hide the gesture behind the beautiful yellow flowers. Butterflies flew in your stomach at his words. The look in his doe-eyes made you flustered.

"I really like them, thank you."

Jungkook looked down as a smile grew on his face as well. The moment itself was perfect, innocent in its own way. Romantic in the name of love. Pure.

"I... I also have something for you."

You said before biting your lower lip. You felt a sudden nervousness creep up your spine at the thought of presenting your dinner to your husband whom you married as a stranger yet now owned your mind and heart like he couldn't imagine.

"You do?"

He asked, impressed. Lifting an eyebrow in curiosity, he gazed into your eyes with sincerity and happiness. A concept that made you nod, not being able to word out your raging thoughts.

Your hand took a hold of his own. You burned at his touch and your heart sped up, you walked toward the dining room taking Jungkook with you. He couldn't help the eagerness that cursed through his body. A smile on his lips as he followed you across the apartment.

"I made you some dinner. I hope you will like it."

He smiled. How could he not? He looked down at you and if you had looked at him that exact moment you'd have seen the absolute adoration his heart held for you. The woman who was able to call herself his wife.

"Why don't you put your flowers in a vase and join me for dinner?"

You nodded, suddenly remembering that your hand was still holding his. You retrieved it from his hold and walked back to the kitchen, trying to hide your very obvious blush over your cheeks.

Jungkook chuckled to himself at your reaction while his heart swelled with love at the surprise you had for him. He'd be lying if he said he hadn't wished for this precise moment to happen as he had often heard some of his colleagues and employees - married men at that- comment about their respective wives' cooking.

Leaving the misogyny aside, he loved the thought. A soft act of service. A gentle reminder of love, an existing pattern of compromise.

You returned to the dining room carrying a heavy looking vase where the sunflowers rested. You put it on the centre of the table and turned to look at your husband, a nervous smile on your face, one that he'd describe as cute, was painted over your lips.

"I hope you are in the mood for some japchae."

Jungkook sat in front of you on the dining table. There was a plate with japchae in front of him as well as a bowl of white rice and a bottle of soju to enjoy. It was silent between you both, the only thing that could be heard in the grand space was the sound of cutlery hitting the plates, of soju being poured and some sighs at the delicious taste of the food.

"You... This is so good, (y/n)."

Exclaimed your husband, you chuckled at his reaction as you watched him enjoy the prepared glass noodles with a frown of pleasure between his brows. A gesture you couldn’t help but find cute.

"I'm glad you liked it. You can thank @tradiKfood on YouTube for the recipe."

He snorted, cheeks puffy with food and you laughed at his reaction. Jungkook noticed how much he liked that sound. Your laughter. It was sweet and breathy; refreshing like an autumn breeze on the beach during the early hours of the day. It sounded so carefree and safe. Genuine.

If you had been able to read his mind you'd have noticed how he vowed to himself to always make sure to hear that laughter. So joyous. So you.

"By the way, I have an appointment with my editor tomorrow."

He raised an eyebrow at you, swallowing his mouthful of food before saying, placing his chopsticks next to his bowl of rice.

"Really? Did you already finish your next book?"

You nodded in happiness and Jungkook couldn't feel more proud of you. He had read your first novel before you became his wife and he thought it was written so beautifully. The plot was amazing and the characterization was made with expertise. That was what he had thought. And that idea was still settled in his mind up until today.

You were a talented writer and he was sure you were going to get far with your amazing stories but he knew he'd be damned if he didn't offer you every kind of support at his reach to make your dreams come true.

"I did. I actually like how it ended, you know? I hope Mrs. Ming will share that thought with me."

He offered you a soft smile. And you took a second to marvel at how handsome your husband truly was. He had taken off his jacket, leaving him in only his white shirt with the first buttons open as well as rolled sleeves that revealed his inked art on his right arm. His dark hair was a bit dishevelled as he had run his hands over it once or twice since he arrived home.

His back faced the large windows that gave away the mesmerising view of the city lights, the moon was high on the night sky and the stars were in his big eyes.

"I wish I could read it."

You looked down at your unfinished bowl of rice as you tried to suppress a smile, a gesture that eventually marked your beautiful features.

"You can, once it's out."

You looked up at the sound of him clicking his tongue only to laugh at his expression, brows furrowed and lips pouting. He looked cute. And that was saying something given how hot and handsome he looked at that moment.

"I know it will be amazing."

His words warmed your heart. The love for your work had come to you in many ways but to hear such praise from your husband who you were madly in love with meant the entire world to you. Maybe even more.

"Thanks, Kook."

He smiled. Absolutely loving how that nickname sounded on your lips. He wanted to hear it every day, every morning when he woke up and every night when he came back from work. It meant something because it was you who were saying it. You made it special, like a magic charm only you had over his life.

Enchanting his days, bewitching his soul, transfiguring his life as the owner of his heart.

The night was still young. You were curled over the couch, eyes trained on the large TV hanging from the wall as you watched a movie. But this time it was different all because of a certain someone sitting next to you. And that someone was Jungkook.

He had also changed into more comfortable clothes, wearing a pair of grey sweatpants and a white t-shirt on. You wore your soft and comfortable nightgown in a light shade of blue.

The two of you decided to watch a movie before going to sleep. He suggested it, you accepted. With the one and only purpose to be close to him for a bit longer, even if you two weren't talking, if you weren't directly seeing him, the quality time still counted and fuelled your heart.

Jungkook felt how his heart sped up when you sat next to him on the couch, your eyes were trained on the large screen but he was going to enjoy this time with you. This indirect coexistence. It was natural on its own, lovely so as to describe it somehow.

You tucked your knees up to your chest, completely invested in the plot of the movie unaware of the soft and longing gazes your husband sent your way from now and then.

Is this how it feels?

Jungkook asked himself as his dark eyes rested on your side profile, the movie plot could be damned as he had the most beautiful woman on earth sitting right next to him.

Is this how it is to fall in love?

You smiled at the screen, laughing softly at one of the dialogues he didn't hear. You turned to look at him, a smile on your face and he felt how his world stopped turning. It was magical. Like a spell you casted over him. Like a sweet candy after taking a sour medicine.

You bit your lip and directed your gaze back to the TV but your focus was on your husband. He occupied your mind, owned your thoughts, claimed your soul without knowing. Your heart soared at the fact of having him so close.

So close yet so far. There were so many things you wanted to say, so many things you needed him to know, things you wished to speak about. But he was unreachable in that level of intimacy. Something you wish to break and you thought that the crystal wall that existed between you both was already cracking. Cracking with the dagger of love. Of the blossom of affection that began to grow in between the marriage.

"Love is not something to be ashamed of, you should tell her."

Said one of the characters in the movie. That single sentence of dialogue felt like a punch to reality for Jungkook. Should he really tell you?

"But what if she doesn't love me back? I prefer to love her in silence, in silence there is no refusal on her part."

This movie was getting too personal for Jungkook. Those thoughts had also swarmed in his head for so long. Days in which his mind was plagued with the image of you, when your voice spoke his thoughts and your presence invaded his heart.

He looked at you softly, watching how you relaxed on the couch and covered your mouth with the back of your hand as you yawned.

"It's late, (y/n). Do you want to go to bed?"

But you shook your head, a sleepy expression on your face as you looked at your husband, loving the caring tone in his voice.

"No, I wanna see when he confesses."

He chuckled, running a hand through his already messy hair.

"You can always watch it later, it's on Netflix for a reason."

You shook your head again, a cute pout over your lips.

"But I want to watch it with you."

That left him speechless. His mind was blank, an empty canvas with no words for him to express freely. You did that to him, that and other many things he had only experimented with you by his side.

Jungkook lifted his arm and rested it on the back of the couch before his hand took a hold of your shoulder as he pushed you towards him. It was a bold move. You gasped. Thankful that the flat was swimming in darkness so that your husband couldn't see your pretty obvious blush painting your cheeks.

A second passed in silence, then another and another. Maybe a minute or it could have been an hour in which the both of you stayed there, too stunned to speak, too afraid to break the moment.

"Just relax, if you fall asleep you could fall off the couch and hurt yourself."

Lame, he thought to himself. Jungkook mentally slapped himself at the weak excuse he said, he thought it was stupid. His brain malfunctioned when you were this close yet it also pressured him to say something so as to break any crumbs of awkwardness between you both.

"Thanks."

You replied, feeling your skin burning where he touched you, tingles travelled up your spine and along your body. It was magical. Perfect. As if he had planned it all completely when it had only been a spur of the moment.

After some time leaning against Jungkook, you relaxed completely so as to rest your head on his shoulder. The motion made his breath hitch in his throat. He was the most fortunate man in that moment, in that fragment of time for he was able to hold you and keep you close.

You trusted him, you were safe being near him and that made his heart soar with happiness. The simple fact that you stayed by his side willingly made him feel happiness like never before. Fortunate. Lucky. Chosen.

The one and only man who was destined to love you, he was meant to worship you as his wife, to protect you from the world and to give you all the love he was physically capable of carrying in his heart.

The soft patter of rain against the large windows reached his ears and calmed his soul. It was perfect, that exact moment was absolute and pure perfection. The definition of that word was that moment, with light rain falling over Seoul, a nice movie as background noise with you cuddled by his side in cosy clothes.

Jungkook felt your body lean further into him as you grew lax in his embrace, the soft sound of your calming breathing made him smile, squeezing your shoulder a bit from where his hand rested against you. He knew you were tired but the mere thought of you wanting to stay a bit longer by his side warmed his heart.

He looked down at you, eyes trailing over your sleeping figure. He smiled in adoration, in contemplation, in admiration. In love.

As discreetly as possible he paused the movie and turned the TV off, leaving the apartment in an aerie silence. Only the sound of rain along with this racing heart were heard. His inked hand caressed your cheek in a delicate motion. Almost as if you were a glass doll and he was afraid of breaking you.

Because you were so precious to him, his perfect gem he ought to keep, love and protect. As a husband, as your lover but most importantly, as your man. For he was already yours even if, in the end, you’d change your mind and left him with his own memories of you. He was yours. In this life and the next one.

When Jungkook loved, he loved hard. Completely. Wholeheartedly. And now, you were the owner of that love.

Your skin was soft under his touch, slightly chilly from the coolness of the flat but soft nonetheless. As soft as he had ever touched in his life. Jungkook lifted you into his arms, cradling you against his chest with precise yet gentle movements as he began walking towards your shared bedroom.

Passing Bam’s house on the way, he smiled at his already sleeping Dobermann before resuming his destination while carrying you in his arms. If you had been awake at that moment, you’d have heard the loud thumping of his heart beneath his ribcage. It was such a strong motion Jungkook feared for a second his heart was going to leave its confinement.

He laid you down on the bed delicately, making sure you were comfortable enough before he climbed on his side of the bed and dropped the cover over you both, chasing the chill away and enveloping you in a warmth that dropped you further into the land of dreams.

His hand found your own underneath the blankets, long fingers trailed softly over your wedding band. The sign to the world that you belong with Jungkook. A promise of respect and love; of sincerity and happiness.

“I love you, (y/n).”

Those whispered words were meant for your ears only, but not yet for your mind to comprehend. However, Jungkook couldn’t live another minute on this Earth without him speaking such words of adoration.

The whisper was so soft that only he could hear it, afraid that if he spoke any louder the perfect moment would shatter like a glass colliding with the merciless reality. He wished to persevere in your affection, a blooming love that grew in between the cracks of a twisted marriage.

“I love you so much, my (y/n).”

You turned to him in your sleep and had it not been for the darkness of the bedroom, the blush in his cheeks would have been evident as you pressed yourself to his chest, your face nuzzled into him as you sighed in your unconscious state. Almost as if you had heard him declare his love for you, perhaps you had. But he couldn’t know that.

It was a simple assumption that pierced his thoughts over the blossom of affection between you two. Between husband and wife and the slits of unspoken love in the middle of the relationship.

Maybe it had been arranged, but that doesn’t mean the feelings were fake. It was a move of fate, a destined meeting. The blooming of care and its transformation to love. It all happened for a reason, and there was nothing Jungkook desired more than for you to stay by his side forever and claim that place next to him; the place of his wife. Loved by her husband in a world of lies and vanities but with affection still able to bloom and grow in the depths of his heart that only screamed your name.

~Masterpost

Sept/17/2023

~ Drabbles are open for this au! My inbox is open, darlings!

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

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peariandpine · 1 year

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Intro Post!

Hi everyone! Along with being active on Twitter, I'm going to try to keep up w Tumblr! I'm Emma/Pearlandpine, 22, she/her, and writer for FNaF + multifandom - COMMISSIONS -

My commissions are OPEN! I would love to work with you with writing for your favorite fandom or original work!

- MY FICS -

You probably know me from "His Empire of Dirt" on ao3! Read my FNaF Time Travel fix-it here (Heed Content/Trigger warnings in ao3 Description)

Michael Afton falls in a ball pit while trying to put his father down for good. When the hell did he wake up in the the 1950s and become William Afton's imaginary friend?

Michael Afton accidentally travels back in time and tries to stop his father from becoming the man behind the slaughter.

"The Depravity of What You Did" is my FNaF Role Swap Au! Though the main fic is complete, there is a series of one shots to serve as follow ups, as well as a sequel to be written late 2023/early 2024!

Henry Emily has lost what he loves most. William Afton never thought he would be the hero because of it.

Henry is the killer of FNAF and William must stop him (reluctantly, and really, more fueled by spite than anything).

And my current long project! "The Infinite Sky", a Security Breach fic following Vanessa and Gregory begrudgingly working with an accidentally resurrected William Afton to defeat Glitchtrap. This is ongoing and will take a long while to finish! (Heed CW/TW in ao3 description)

Vanessa and Gregory determine the only way to fight fire is with fire, damned who gets burned in the carnage.

Vanessa and Gregory accidentally revive William Afton in an attempt to stop Glitchtrap for good.

I am a part of other fandoms like Succession, GoT/HoTD, PJO/HoO, Doctor Who, MHA, and many others! I've posted for Succession and will be writing more soon :) I'll be posting snippets and links here of my fics!

Additionally! I have a YA Fantasy series, "The Gods' Descendants", which I am currently trying to get published! I'd love questions about it if you have them, and will likely be posting snippets from it along the way :)

Anyway...

I'm very active on Twitter and will be remaining on that site until they physically restrain me, so follow me there @pearIandpine esp if you're a moot! On Tumblr, I'll be posting writing, and hopefully one day, art (once I improve!)

If you make fanart/fanfics of my works 1) AGH tysm!! 2) Tag it under the title so I can see it, and tag me as well! I love love everything y'all make <3 Thank you for reading :) See ya!

art by the lovely @final-boy of my current fic "The Infinite Sky"

#meet the author #fnaf #five nights at freddys #ama #introduction #intro post #his empire of dirt #heod #the depravity of what you did #the infinite sky #pearlandpine #succession #hotd #got #pjo #doctor who

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butterflyhiptattoo · 3 months

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Emerging From the Magazines: Bob Mizer's Athletic Models Guild

When twenty-four-year-old Bob Mizer began marketing photographs of men in posing straps in 1946, he was already on a crusade.

He was tired of police harassment in Pershing Square – a well-known meeting spot for gay men in downtown Los Angeles where he socialized with friends nearly every day during high school. They gossiped about their fellow Pershing Square regulars – the effeminate belles, the butch trade, and some in between. But in 1940 he wrote in his diary of a crackdown: "vice clean up is tightening Lillie is really serious about cleaning up the city," using a slang term common in gay circles for the police.

He also made weekly visits to the nearby Los Angeles Central Library and was tired of reading psychology books on the danger posed by "sexual variants" such as himself and his friends. "Anything you could read anywhere showed how pernicious a thing this was... [how] you would deteriorate into a mass of trembling flesh if you did these things," he later complained.

He was also tired of arguing with his Mormon mother, who vociferously objected to his transgender friend Rodney-later known as Daisy -who was bullied at school for wearing pink girls' slacks and having plucked eyebrows. Delia Mizer called Rodney a "pansy" and labeled his sexual proclivities "against all the laws of nature." Her son responded angrily, using a very different vocabulary, one that drew on notions of legal equality and civil rights: "Most people are just obeying their impulses," he retorted. "Should they be denied the right to fulfill their instincts?"

As a young man, Mizer had already identified the many ways society looked down on "temperamental people" like him and his circle of Pershing Square friends. More important, he was also clearly determined to do something about it to confront the legal, medical, and religious prejudices that so viscerally affected his life.

One Sunday night in March 1940 he was on the telephone listening to Rodney describe his sexual exploits from the night before. Someone else on his party line was also listening in a common occurrence at a time when only the rich had private telephone lines. Using vulgar lan-guage, the eavesdropper expressed his contempt for such people. Mizer had had enough. He channeled his anger into his diary that night: "My aim in life will be to create tolerance among mankind and especially to vindicate the decent, spiritual Urning," using a nineteenth-century term for men attracted to other men. He was beginning to articulate the sense of defiance that had been building up inside him. Soon his rudimentary efforts to create tolerance made it into print. "This week I made my column risqué," he noted of his writing in the Polytechnic High School newspaper. "All of my gay friends are included." Even as an eighteen-year-old high school student, Mizer demonstrated a willingness to defy convention and assert his desires. He had also developed the ability to publicly affirm his gay friends if in a coded way that perhaps only they would understand.

Mizer's ambition was to be an author. He was not just a columnist but an editor of his high school's award-winning newspaper – considered one of the top ten in the country by the Columbia University School of Journalism. He had begun creative writing in grammar school and published several short stories. He was also a voracious reader, checking out popular psychology and sexology books like Out-witting Our Nerves and Sexual Power on his weekly runs to the Los Angeles Public Library. He so identified with Boris Barisol's biography of writer Oscar Wilde, subtitled The Man, the Artist, the Martyr, that he labeled his own 1940 diary "Bob Mizer: The Man, the Thinker, the ?" One of his teachers suggested that his skills at writing, shorthand, and typing would easily land him a steady job as a court reporter. But Mizer wanted to write his own book. He would call it "How You Can Help the Homosexualists" and would target younger gay men whose worldview had not yet formed.

Although he never published such a book, writing would occupy much of his life, as he penned hundreds of feisty editorials denouncing censorship, puritanism, and prejudice for his magazine Physique Pictorial, which he published for over twenty years. Not unlike the book he hoped to write, Physique Pictorial offered help and comfort to tens of thousands of gay men in Cold War America. As the editor of the first large-circulation American magazine targeting gay men, Mizer found a way to help the community he had found at Pershing Square. In the pages of his path-breaking magazine, Mizer honed the skills he first tried out in his high school newspaper-thumbing his nose at the authorities while speaking up for his friends.

In postwar America, a commercial network of gay physique photographers and magazine publishers emerged from the contests and magazines surrounding the physical culture movement. Bob Mizer was neither the first nor the only gay man to capitalize on his community's interest in physique photography. But he became the center of a network that served to connect, inspire, and politicize that subculture. He drew on an older tradition of gay photographers marketing their products through an underground market or in the back pages of mainstream fitness magazines. But with the founding of Physique Pictorial in 1951, he opened this tradition to public scrutiny and a new level of visual and discursive engagement. He was joined by Irv Johnson, the owner of a gym in Chicago, who began publishing Tomorrow's Man in 1952, and by Randolph Benson and John Bullock, a gay couple who met at the University of Virginia, who began publishing Grecian Guild Pictorial in 1955. Together they created a new genre of small magazines that would help serve and unite gay men throughout the country.

The social world Mizer constructed with his gay high school friends at Pershing Square was central to his budding role as a pioneering gay entrepreneur. "The number of faggots cruising around here is legion," remembered the writer Hart Crane. But the number of available sexual partners was only part of the appeal. "Here are little fairies who can quote Rimbaud before they are eighteen," he observed, suggesting how the space also offered an education in gay cultural codes. It was through connections made there that Mizer not only discovered a sense of community and a sense of oppression but also learned about a central feature of gay male culture: photography of the nude male.

While still in high school, Mizer went to a party at his friend Sydney Phillip's place, where three gay friends posed in the nude for "artistic studies" that the host photographed. "It was terribly cute to see them rush to hide in the bathroom whenever a knock was heard at the door," Mizer noted of the models' skittishness. Featured in one of the first entries in his 1940 diary, the night clearly made an impression. A few months later Mizer himself posed for another gay photographer and became "enthused about barbell exercising."3

Weightlifting led Mizer to another formative influence: Strength & Health, the preeminent physical culture magazine published by Bob Hoffman in York, Pennsylvania. Mizer began reading the magazine in high school when he started lifting weights – he purchased his barbells through its back pages. He enjoyed the bodybuilding photos and articles but was particularly intrigued by the monthly "S & H Leaguers' Page," a pen-pal service for those who wanted to exchange letters and photographs. Members often described their hobbies and interests, which included not only bodybuilding and physique photographs but often music, ballet, and theater. In April 1945 Mizer placed the following notice, hoping to connect with other leaguers; he included his home address, which would become the legendary home of his physique studio: "Bob Mizer, 1834 West 11th St., Los Angeles, Cal. is interested in photography and creative writing, and promises an immediate answer and exchange of photos to all who write. He uses a York barbell and other training appliances and hopes that we will allot more space to the league notes, as he enjoys reading this department and writing to other leaguers. "

The response was overwhelming – Mizer received over three hundred letters from fellow S & H Leaguers, some of whom remained life-long friends. Other leaguers reported similar responses from their no- tices. One received such a flood of mail-but to the wrong address – that the Post Office requested he issue a correction immediately. Mizer later praised this service for allowing "lonely bodybuilders and others" not only to correspond but also to form "long-lasting and fruitful" friendships. His positive experience with the S & H Leaguers' Page offered a pivotal lesson, demonstrating to Mizer the desire of men who enjoyed physique photography to connect with each other.

After high school graduation he worked as an office clerk and typist for the Texas & Fort Worth Railroad, but in his spare time he also began to help out at various Los Angeles photography studios, learning how to pose models, position lighting, and develop film. In the summer of 1945, during the final days of World War II, Mizer was full of excitement as he made plans over the establishment of what he was already calling "my business." He was honing his craft by apprenticing at Fred- erick Kovert's Hollywood studio. "I am helping him in my spare time in order to decide whether or not to come into the studio to work." Kovert was a former silent movie actor who had become one of the more daring and well-known photographers of nude men. Mizer was one of numerous young men working for Kovert, doing much of the photography that bore his name. Mizer often brought models there, used his darkroom, and even posed himself. He could do none of this at home, since his mother, who ran a rooming house, did not approve of his interest in photographing nearly naked men. Still, he found Kovert to be controlling and difficult to work with.

Soon he bought his own camera and started to frequent Muscle Beach and bodybuilding competitions to find models. Muscle Beach in Santa Monica-not far from the home he shared with his mother near downtown Los Angeles was the center of the postwar interest in bodybuilding and beefcake. It was the perfect place to meet bodybuilders who were anxious to be photographed. "I modeled for Bob Mizer in 1947, '48," Ben Sorensen remembered. "Bob came down to Muscle Beach and just talked to people, you know? He invites us up. Of course everybody's interested, when they're bodybuilding, in getting some free pictures." It was Bob McCune, another bodybuilding champion Mizer photographed, who convinced Mizer to submit his photos to Strength & Health. Editor John Grimek, himself a well-known bodybuilding champion, encouraged Mizer to submit more work. "Yours are as good as others," Grimek told the budding photographer when they met at one of the bodybuilding competitions in Los Angeles.

Mizer called his business the Athletic Model Guild (AMG) and offered his first advertisements in Strength & Health in 1946, where they competed for attention with similar advertisements from other gay photographers, such as Alfonso Hanagan, known as "Lon of New York." Hanagan had first become interested in physique photography when he became enthralled with images of bodybuilder Tony Sansone, who marketed his own photographs. After moving to New York in 1936 to pursue a career in music, he met Sansone and began to socialize with and photograph him and his friends. By the 1940s his physique photographs were being featured on the cover of Strength & Health and bodybuilders began seeking him out, hoping to appear on magazine cover. As payment, the magazine gave him free ad space in the back of the magazine. It was this mutually profitable world of photographers, bodybuilders, and magazine publishers that Mizer would enter, then help to transform.

When Mizer began marketing physique photography to a gay audience, he joined a field with deep roots in gay culture. The taking, sharing, and selling of such images had been central to gay culture for well over a half century by the time Mizer discovered it. Wilhelm von Gloeden began selling photographs of nude young men he posed in classical staging in Taormina, Sicily, in the 1890s. He developed a large following in cosmopolitan circles, especially among cultivated gay men. Some of his more restrained images appeared in European journals that were popular within the Aesthetic movement, while his nudes circulated through an underground market. Oscar Wilde and other gay notables made pilgrimages to his studio.

In addition to such high art, images of nearly nude men circulated in the context of the physical culture movement, starting with images of Eugene Sandow in the 1890s. By the 1920s nude photos were widely marketed in the back of both art and physical culture magazines. Physical culturist John Hernic offered nude photos in the back of Art Magazine in the 1920s and Strength & Health in the 1930s. "These photos will be a source of inspiration to you in your training for a well developed body," Hernic's ad promised, providing a small image of a muscled and oiled young man with a prominent posing strap a pouch hanging off a string that covered only the genitals, the most revealing item of clothing a model could wear.

Collector Robert Mainardi identifies Hernic as a "mail-order pioneer," but his Apollo Art Studios was soon joined by others. To earn a living during the Depression, brothers Fred and William Ritter photographed themselves and their fellow physical culturists who trained at a New York City YMCA. They developed their own photos and sold high-quality images for $1 apiece. Film historian Thomas Waugh labels them "the first gay generation of physique photographers. "10

Nude figure studies were only one of the many items available for sale in the back pages of these magazines. There were advertisements for barbells, food supplements, clothing, figure studies, and more. Indeed, most magazines were simply vehicles to sell products. Bob Hoffman founded the York Barbell Company a year before he founded his magazine Strength & Health and admitted the periodical was really a means to sell equipment. Both Hoffman and his main competitor Joe Weider distributed their fitness magazines at a loss, seeing them as a way to sell more barbells. Some of the first famous bodybuilders were similarly engaged in marketing products. Eugene Sandow – considered the world's most perfect man – performed on the vaudeville circuit, published books on physical culture techniques, and marketed postcards of his own image. As much a brand name as a bodybuilder, Sandow opened a chain of vegetarian restaurants, sanatoriums, and hotels that by the 1920s made him a millionaire. Bodybuilding promoter Bernarr Macfadden also constructed a commercial empire around the sport that included health retreats, restaurants, beauty contests, book sales, lectures, and mail-order fitness courses. Right from the start, bodybuilding was a lucrative business, the centerpiece of a network of consumer items.

A legend has developed that Mizer's first business plan was to serve as a referral service between models and the studios that required their services. According to this legend, the talent agency model failed, but Mizer díscovered, as if by accident, that the photographs were more lucrative than the modeling connections. This unsubstantiated story implies that his idea of marketing photos to gay men was sui generis. It cuts Mizer off from the long tradition of gay men taking, exchanging, and purchasing such photographs, beginning in the late nineteenth century. One of the sources of the legend was Wayne Stanley, a Mizer protégé who inherited Mizer's business and who self-servingly asserted that AMG was "the first photographic studio of the young male physique, ignoring Von Gloeden, Hernic, the Ritter Brothers, Lon of New York, Kovert, and many others. Mizer's diaries suggest that photography was key from the beginning and that he considered himself to be part of a field of physique photographers from at least 1946. While a pioneer in many ways, Mizer did not create the genre.

Although the selling of physique-type photographs was not new, in the post-World War II era such imagery was becoming a much more visible component of American culture. Men had only recently started appearing shirtless in public. While European men had begun going topless on beaches soon after World War I, one-piece men's bathing suits emerged in the United States only in the 1930s. Some called them "Depression suits," suggesting that the shirt disappeared owing to lack of funds. As more and more proud male bathers defied convention by exposing their chests, the media began to talk of a "no shirt movement." Some beach communities such as Atlantic City, New Jersey, pushed back and banned topless male bathing. Responding to the changing beach regulations, clothing manufacturers offered detachable tops for their swimsuits. Representing the shifting cultural sands, their advertisements often featured one shirtless male and another with trunks and a tank top. According to David Chapman, by 1937 the controversy was settled, as most of the nation's beaches allowed men to appear shirtless.

World War II brought images of shirtless sailors and soldiers into American homes and theaters. In covering the war, New York magazines and Hollywood films soon reflected the trend toward displays of the male chest. A cover of Look magazine in 1942 featured a shirtless image of Muscle Beach denizen John Kornoff, the U.S. Army's first physical trainer. Cannon Towel advertisements in Life featured soldiers bathing in the South Pacific wearing nothing but one of its products. Within a year of the war's end, as Mizer started marketing his photo albums, Sidney Skolsky, sitting across town in Swab's drugstore writing his nationally syndicated gossip column, coined "beefcake" to refer to Hollywood's liberal use of Guy Madison's physique. Madison had been discovered by gay Hollywood agent Henry Willson, who also named and popularized gay actors Tab Hunter and Rock Hudson. Skolsky dubbed the bevy of male actors posing in bathing suits a "beefcake brigade," and this new term for displays of young, pulchritudinous male flesh took hold. Willson was a frequent client of physique photographer Lon of New York but was now bringing that same look to Hollywood. So the popularization of "beefcake" imagery and terminology, from their very origins, had a gay inflection.

But if male torsos could increasingly be seen on American beaches and in popular periodicals after World War II, they were still considered taboo in town. Men would continue to be subject to arrest for appearing shirtless on many city streets and in parks into the early 1960s. They were particularly vulnerable to such arrest if they did so in a known gay cruising area, reflecting the tensions in American culture over male nudity and its homoerotic implications. A seventeen year-old Harvey Milk remembered being charged with indecent exposure in the summer of 1947 for baring his chest in a secluded gay cruising area of Central Park, even as men with families did exactly the same on the more public grassy lawns. Being grouped among "the men without their shirts" was one of Milk's first visceral experiences of antigay oppression.

As interest in the male physique increased during the postwar period, Mizer's Physique Pictorial would catch the beginnings of a cultural wave. Yet he would also feel the wrath of law enforcement that tried to shut his business down, even before it was formally on its feet. He and his magazine would be caught up in legal disputes over the sexual meaning of such displays of male flesh. For the next two decades, Mizer would place himself at the center of this battle.

POSTAL INSPECTOR VISIT

On July 23, 1945, Mizer had his first of many encounters with federal law enforcement authorities. After leaving work as usual at the Texas & Fort Worth Railroad and bicycling by the library on Pershing Square to exchange some books, Mizer arrived home to find postal inspectors waiting for him. They searched his room, found "dirty pictures," and took him to their offices for questioning. Mizer somehow escaped arrest, but a few months later Kovert's studio was also raided, resulting in headlines in the Los Angeles Examiner. Intimately involved in the resulting legal drama, Mizer attended court with Kovert, who pleaded guilty to possession of obscene materials, and drafted a letter for Kovert's customers seeking their support. Not even the intimidating tactics of the Post Office and the court system seem to have deterred the twenty-three-year-old Mizer. "Spent evening on [Athletic Model] Guild calls and letters," he wrote in his diary, just two days after being what he described as "probed" by postal inspectors. Rather than serve as a deterrent, Mizer's encounter with federal postal authorities seemed to increase his resolve and suggests how his struggle with the forces of censorship formed a central component of his business. Mizer would face arrest again in 1947 and 1954 in connection with his business, each encounter with the authorities sharpening his sense of outrage.

Mizer began his business in 1946 by producing and distributing mimeographed "albums" to sell his beefcake photographs, copying the standard operating procedure followed by Kovert of Hollywood, Lon of New York, and many other such photographers.17 He would send customers who responded to his advertisements in Strength & Health a one-page sample of photo albums, from which they could select the models and images they wanted to purchase. However, Mizer's early albums went beyond providing the necessary marketing information. Mizer peppered his albums with news and commentary on the physique world-biographies of models, bodybuilding contest results, and warnings about Post Office crackdowns. As with his earlier writings in high school and his later editorials in Physique Pictorial, Mizer constructed a narrative that drew customers and models into the same enlightened circle of upstanding physique enthusiasts and supporters of free speech, while casting public censors and moralists into the darkness.

Starting with Forrester Millard in 1946 -- the first featured model in his premier "Album A" – Mizer constructed a fantasy narrative about his models that encouraged a sense of identification between them and his target audience of middle-class gay men. At the same time, he cleaned up the description of his interactions to avoid any hint of illegality. Although Mizer would print on almost every mailing and magazine he produced that he neither took nor sold nude photographs, he took nudes of Millard and of most every subsequent model. A native of New Mexico, Millard was only sixteen at the time Mizer photographed him, though Mizer fudged his date of birth to make him seventeen.

Publicly, Mizer lauded Millard as the ideal model who had control of every muscle due to hours posing before a circle of mirrors. Privately, Mizer complained that Millard was narcissistic to the point of being "completely entranced with his own physical beauty." Vanity had led Millard to quit school and be supported by his mother and a girlfriend. "In the album bulletins I try to be truthful – but naturally I must show jurisprudence in what truth I tell," Mizer wrote a correspondent at the time. "I would doom a model's popularity if I announced he was married with two kids.... Most of my models over 23 are married or are permanently shacking up with their common-law wives."

So the biography Mizer constructed for Millard centered on discipline, Horatio Alger upward mobility, and a hint of homosexual camaraderie. "Laughed at because he was skinny, Forrester rapidly developed a magnificently defined body which became the envy of his former tormentors," Mizer wrote. Mizer replaced mention of his real-life girlfriend with "training companion" John Miller, who had won top honors at a recent AAU contest. They posed for Mizer's first duos, a homoerotic format that set Mizer and other gay physique photographers apart from their mainstream colleagues. Dark-featured Millard and blonde Miller looked like the perfect gay couple. They hoped to open a gym together, Mizer told his clients suggestively. The image of Millard and Miller on a settee with overlapping arms, hands touching, appeared in Strength & Health and became a signature AMG photo. Millard was later called "almost the touchtone for AMG's fame".

To counter the perception of both gay men and bodybuilders as degenerates, Mizer's biographical notes gave his models middle-class respectability, highlighting not only their physical attributes but also their alleged intellectual and professional ambitions. Not only was model Johnny Murphy tops in the "muscle game," but his business courses at Woodbury College were preparing him to become a business executive. "In anything he does, he will not content himself with being just average, he must be the best," Mizer gushed.

From the feedback he received to his many customer questionnaires, Mizer had a keen sense of what his audience liked and the "psychological effect" of his photos. As he told a colleague, "A picture is rarely unpopular if the model looks directly into the lens (and hence seems to be looking at the person observing the picture) as naturally they feel identification with him." Not only in his lighting and posing but also in his editorial content, Mizer made sure that his largely middle-class audience could identify with the models he was offering them, assuring them that they were "from upper-level homes." While seeking to bond models and customers in a circle of mutual camaraderie and respectability – what he called "the few... who demand freedom of expression" – Mizer also used his albums to make a detailed and careful analysis of censorship efforts by people he derided as "philistines," "moralists," and "unaesthetic law enforcement officers. " Mizer had gotten nowhere in his attempts to reason with censorship authorities. He and his fellow Los Angeles area physique photographers petitioned the Post Office to allow the use of the mail for nude photography. Postal authorities responded that they were forced to forbid such mail by local civic organizations and church groups that feared such products would fall into the hands of children. Mizer offered a clever countersuggestion: photographers could send nude photographs care of the local postmaster in every city, where they could then be claimed by the recipient with proper proof of age. His proposal went unheeded.

Mizer had been in business less than a year when he was first arrested, but it was not for sending nudes through the mail. Mindful of postal inspectors, he had sold nudes only to walk-in customers at his studio near downtown Los Angeles-what amounted to just 10 percent of his business. But when one of those customers, thirty six-year-old Mexican-born Texan Pasquel Barron, became embroiled in a Post Office obscenity investigation, he admitted to obtaining nudes from Mizer, and the Post Office quickly forwarded the information to the local district attorney. Mizer was arrested in 1947 for contributing to the delinquency of a minor, James Maynor, one of his first models, a seventeen-year-old. The district attorney uncovered a network of teenage bodybuilders centered on Muscle Beach, many of whom had been brought to Mizer's studio by William Petty, a physical education instructor employed by the city of Santa Monica to organize athletic activities and performances. Petty and another photographer were also arrested.

Unable to afford an attorney, Mizer was convinced by a public defender to plead guilty to the misdemeanor charge he admitted to photographing Maynor in the nude. But in his plea to avoid prison and receive probation, Mizer insisted that he operated a legitimate business. He stipulated that he had consulted with attorneys and obtained signed release statements from his models or their parents. To distinguish his from previous such enterprises that operated underground, Mizer granted the court access to his meticulous records concerning both customers and models. He freely admitted to being a homosexual and to "attend[ing] several meetings of other types of such individuals in Lafayette Park" a possible reference to gay social or fraternal organizations. Friends and neighbors testified to his good conduct and character – they described him as a photographer and artist who never smoked, drank, or got entangled in the law. The district attorney countered that Mizer's business was "pandering only to the tastes of lustful homosexuals." Several of his models, including John Miller, featured in AMG's early advertisements, confessed to engaging in oral sex with Mizer.

In denying his request, the probation officer emphasized that Mizer showed no remorse for his activities and was an admitted homosexual. He labeled his business of photographing teenage boys in the nude "a vicious and deliberate crime." Mizer was sentenced to six months at a work farm in Saugus, California. As with his interrogation by postal inspectors in 1945, the time he spent in Saugus seemed to steel his will. He felt abused by a legal system that was persecuting him for his lack of shame in being gay and operating a business that catered to his fellow homosexuals. He would later caution his readers to remain silent if arrested and never admit to any guilt, lest they find themselves "rail-roaded to prison" like he felt he was. As he wrote to his mother from Saugus, "I feel more strength now than ever before, but this strength, this driving energy, shall be carefully bridled and directed with wisdom.... ambition is everything." Mizer's tone and focus on the forces of censorship turned darker after his 1947 arrest. By 1950 he reported on a "witch hunt" at Muscle Beach, where one Sunday all the photographers were arrested and further photography forbidden. "Los Angeles and California is in a stage of sex hysteria," he warned, with the state legislature passing sex laws "which only stop short of outlawing the double bed." He chastised "those too stupid and prurient-minded" to understand and appreciate the need for nude art. "These same philistines are mischievously at work to undermine other basic rights of the individual," he wrote. He recommended that readers join the American Civil Liberties Union (ACLU) or the American Sunbathing and Health Association, a nudist organization. "The only successful way to fight these frustrated reactionaries is through national organization." Fighting the forces of censorship through collective action was clearly on Mizer's mind.

Mizer closely followed and reported on the legal struggles of other physique photographers, even though raising such issues threaten to scare away more timid customers. Whenever possible, he noted what he saw as rays of hope, such as a "progressive Federal Judge" in Chicago who ruled in 1947 that photographs of nude males by Al Urban were not obscene. He noted that most magazines and photographers "in the field" had almost always beaten their prosecutions, but "only at damaging expense." These small victories failed to establish a clear national legal precedent, nor did they silence the local churches, parent teacher organizations, and other "moralist groups" behind censorship efforts. Mizer quickly identified the pattern of obscenity prosecution that would continue for the next twenty years: censors won at the local or lower-level courts but then lost on appeal. Physique photographers would have to work together to establish a large war chest to fight the censors and establish a national precedent.

PHYSIQUE PICTORIAL

So when Mizer began publishing Physique Pictorial in 1951, he envisioned it as a collective effort – a catalog of merchandise from a variety of gay photographers and other vendors facing exclusion from mainstream fitness magazines. The first few issues were "advertising booklets," offered to subscribers for free – a "gift" underwritten by participating businesses. Like the mainstream fitness magazines, Mizer figured that photograph sales would more than pay for the magazine, as barbell sales financed mainstream fitness magazines. He wanted to bring gay physique photographers into closer alliance and thereby more effectively fight the forces of censorship. First called Physique Photo News, it would take advertisements from the back of Strength & Health and give them a new, safer, and more prominent home of their own.

Under pressure from postal authorities, mainstream fitness magazines were beginning to refuse ads for undraped nudes. Warning that "queers" had "obtained a particularly vicious hold on our bodybuilding game," Iron Man instituted a policy refusing ads with models wearing anything less than swim trunks and threatened even stricter rules in the future. Strength & Health had faced censorship efforts over a cover image that had been taken in the nude and later retouched with a posing strap. The managing editor of Strength & Health warned Mizer that his advertisement photos were becoming "less athletic and more risqué" and threatened to bar him from the magazine. While Mizer pledged to cooperate, he saw the writing on the wall. "We are anxious to get our own magazine strong enough that in a few years time we can thumb our noses at the physique magazines," he wrote to a trusted adviser.

The first issue represented the combined effort of six physique photography studios, but most of the others soon opted out. "Bruce [Bellas] was so frightened that he decided not to be represented in the next issue," Mizer recalled. To avoid postal inspectors, Bellas preferred to travel from city to city selling his images in person to select clients. Russ Warner also demurred, having already been summoned to Washington for an arduous hearing before postal inspectors over his nude photos with inked-in pouches. "The only people who would want photos of men were gay people," the postal inspectors confided to him, and their threat to "get every one of them" left him skittish. Even Mizer feared repercussions since "it will look dangerously like an organization which might effectively resist the postal distaste for physique work." Postal authorities may not have viewed it as a threat, but such organizational power was clearly at the forefront of Mizer's thinking.

Mizer's efforts at consolidation drew inspiration from the most prominent scholar and writer on the subject of sex in America. Like other early activists for gay rights, Mizer had read Alfred Kinsey's Sexual Behavior in the Human Male and considered it pivotal for his understanding of homosexuality as a naturally and frequently occurring variation of human activity. "Dr. Kinsey's first book was the most important one in my whole life," Mizer wrote to a colleague, "and for it I owe him a debt I could probably never repay. "

As an avid collector of materials to document American sexual culture, Kinsey became a regular Mizer customer, and the two quickly established an active correspondence that lasted nearly until Kinsey's death in 1956. On his many visits to Los Angeles, Kinsey met with Mizer and conducted sexual histories of his fellow physique photographers and models. Mizer even forwarded his frequent customer questionnaires to Kinsey for tabulation, thereby offering him indirect access to his customer base. In return, Kinsey offered strategic advice about how best to combat postal authorities.

Because of his own struggles with postal and customs authorities over shipments of erotic materials to his institute at Indiana University, Kinsey had developed relationships with prestigious law firms specializing in the First Amendment. It was he who suggested that physique publishers could win at the appellate level if they could find a way to sustain and finance their legal cases. "I have suggested before that all of you photographers should band together and employ the very best attorney that you can in the L.A. area to advise you and to handle individual cases," Kinsey wrote to Mizer in 1951, just as Mizer was establishing Physique Pictorial. Kinsey suggested that photographers of female nudes had tried to do this but never succeeded at forming a united group. While Mizer never formally organized his fellow physique photographers, he and his magazine served as a de facto central bureau of information, connecting customers, photographers, and publishers.

Tapping into an underserved gay market, Mizer's business flourished. As Mizer later remembered, "there was not such a thing at the time as a magazine that showed a variety of young, youthful models – not supermen – which is what most people wanted." Through his customer questionnaires, Mizer knew what his clients wanted: less information on weightlifting and exercise and more models. One twenty- two-year-old customer from Winchester, Massachusetts, remarked how Mizer's models were becoming "more youthful, slimmer and more suggestively posed" and encouraged him to be upfront about it – not to "hide all this under the general category of art photography," a common claim of photographers offering undraped nudes. As he wrote to Mizer, "It appears to me that by the constant polls you all seem to be taking so that you may satisfy your customers, you are catering more and more to the homosexual trade." Models, too, knew what Mizer was up to. "I think Bob was, um, interested more in the gay magazines than the bodybuilding ones," remembered model Ben Sorensen. "I'm straight, but that didn't bother me at all. Everybody at the gym knew what they were doing with the photos."

Within a year of establishing AMG, Mizer reported a gross monthly income of $700-annualized, this amounted to nearly three times the average family income of 1947. Mizer had hired his brother as a full-time employee and had nearly $2,000 in savings. His mailing list already contained customers from "practically every country in the world," according to the district attorney who prosecuted his case. "It grew like Topsy – a little bit each time," Mizer remembered.33 He soon began offering a "Nickle Plan," similar to a monthly book club, where customers would regularly receive photographs from each new AMG album. Wishing to respond to the particular desires of his customers, he allowed them to specify what types of models and photographs they preferred not to receive: "models over or under ages, races, slender or very heavy weights, poses with girls, models in clothing or part clothing such as Levis, models in trunks, portraits." Mizer was already engaging in specialization, acknowledging the particular sexual desires, fetishes, and prejudices of his customers.

Although Physique Pictorial could increasingly be found on select newsstands, Mizer's initial sense of it as a catalog of merchandise for subscribers endured. He recalled that although magazine wholesaler Lou Elson began to distribute it in New York after a year or two on the market, newsstand sales did not substantially increase total circulation. "Its circulation was horrible. It was very hard to get. Most newsstands didn't carry it," remembered Chuck Renslow, then a fellow physique photographer in Chicago. Mizer himself called his newsstand circulation "quiet select." Continually struggling to find a newsstand distribution network, he mostly sold Physique Pictorial by subscription. But he was proud of his independence – unwilling to bow and scrape to distributors or advertisers. In addition to working with a few wholesalers, Mizer sent copies himself to select newsstands. "Tell your dealer about this and give him our address," he suggested to readers, trying to get them actively involved in increasing circulation. When Physique Pictorial did manage to appear on newsstands, it sold out almost immediately.

In 1963 AMG tried to diversify and modernize by offering a large format, color magazine called Young Adonis to supplement the black-and-white Physique Pictorial. It was a sell-out wherever it was sold, but again Mizer had trouble getting it on newsstands. The distributor wrote Mizer a two-page letter describing the magazine's "sins." Although Mizer promised future issues would feature new offerings, including a fashion section handled by model Mark Nixon, it was the only issue Mizer offered.

FROM GUILD TO NETWORK

Mizer's choice of the term "guild" to refer to his business started a trend among physique photography studios. Don Whitman founded the Western Photography Guild in Colorado in 1947 and soon had advertisements next to AMG's in the back of Strength & Health. In Metairie, Louisiana, a group of physique photographers and artists launched the Southern Guild. And in Portsmouth, Virginia, George U. Lyon and Charles E. Smith started Underwood Photographic Guild. The word "guild" could refer to any association of people with a common goal but historically referred to a group of craftsmen or merchants who exerted some control over their trade. As an avid reader, Mizer was probably well aware that medieval guilds were famous for regulating entry into a profession and often exerted considerable power in city government. His choice of words suggests his aspirations to unite, protect, and empower those involved in the physique field. It was the same term Harry Hay would use as he began organizing the Mattachine Society as a gay political group across town a few years later.

In keeping with the spirit of a guild, Mizer cooperated with and promoted the work of other photographers. He would share or sell mailing lists to competitors and alert readers when new physique magazines were launched or studios opened. "Physique Pictorial is not a closed enterprise and any legitimate studio can be represented in it," he promised. By 1954 he regularly included a directory of photographers, artists, and models selling merchandise, a custom followed by many later physique magazines. He was happy to note when individual models offered their own photos directly to readers. When he had a disagreement with a physique artist, he let readers know that the artist's work could now be found in a competing magazine.

As the number of physique studios catering to gay men proliferated, Mizer's magazine functioned like a Better Business Bureau. Mizer barred advertisements from studios who were known to be unreliable, gave bad service, or sold illegal material (although he included photos with "inked" pouches, indicating the original photograph was in the nude.) He threatened to publicly denounce photographers who were territorial and unwelcoming to new talent in their area, and he was quick to publicly reprimand photographers who did not reciprocate his courtesies. Mizer also warned readers of offers from the "get-rich- quick boys" promising special pictures available only to a few "intimate friends." Given the Post Office's vigilance, he knew that studios selling nudes would not last long. "Every mailing list is peppered with postal inspectors and their collaborators," he cautioned. After sending in an exorbitant fee, the customer might receive nothing. He encouraged readers to confess their stories of being victimized by such schemes.40 Envisioning a constantly widening network of producers and consumers, Mizer sought to place himself at its fulcrum. Soon he was offering a host of consumer items – artwork, slides, viewers, and "garments for athletes" including jeans, T-shirts, bathing suits, and the ubiquitous posing straps. Physique Pictorial functioned as a nexus for finding, producing, selling, and admiring male photos. Other studios described AMG as a one-stop shopping experience: "one of the largest photo guilds in the country and supplies about everything a photo collector or bodybuilder wants: movies, garments, thousands of all sizes of photos, color slides, and many other works of art."

The network grew increasingly international as Mizer featured photographs by Arax of Paris and models wearing trunks from Vince of London. He soon had agents in Belgium, France, Denmark, the United Kingdom, and Japan. By 1962 Mizer sponsored European tours for physique enthusiasts, "to photograph local athletes, and to visit famous clubs of special interest."

Mizer encouraged not only other physique photographers but a new and growing group of physique artists in his magazine. AMG became a generative center that showcased the work of talented young painters and sketch artists who then developed their own followings that often eclipsed Mizer's own popularity. In 1957 he introduced an unknown artist who "depicts the healthy robust youth of the forests of Finland," who would later reach international renown as "Tom of Finland." But it was an artist from Virginia, George Quaintance, who created what Mizer called a "vogue" that was widely imitated.

Quaintance had begun taking photographs and drawing sketches of male nudes under the tutelage of Lon of New York. He had worked drawing bodybuilding champions for the cover of Joe Weider's Your Physique, but it was when he started painting for Bob Mizer's new magazine that his career took off. Set either at a dude ranch in Arizona, where he lived, or at a bath in ancient Greece, Quaintance's paintings created the kind of playful environment of easy male camaraderie that Mizer sought to foster through his magazine. And like Mizer, Quaintance considered his homoerotic artwork to be "a crusade for the rights of the feelings" of his customers. "I too feel that I crusade in my attempt to supply, or satisfy, a deep emotional hunger in the inner lives of my customers," he explained to a homophile leader. Soon his mailing list of ten thousand active buyers around the world surpassed that of Mizer. He offered not only physique paintings but prints, photographs, and sculptures, expanding his business to a four-man operation. "It grew too fast.... I'm trying to adjust myself to all the confusion," he wrote at the time. Those who met him as he toured the country selling his artwork describe a flamboyant artist who loved wearing western gear, turquoise jewelry, and showing off his young Mexican American lover and frequent model, Eduardo.

What distinguished Quaintance's artwork was not just the invitation to view nearly naked men but the excitement of seeing them looking at each other, as Michael Bronski has argued. One of Quaintance's first cover images for Physique Pictorial demonstrates how groundbreaking those gazes were. "Morning in the Desert" featured four ranch hands around an outdoor bath dressing and preparing for work. One naked bather is standing, his genitals covered only by soapsuds. Another naked man lies below him in a tub of water, looking directly up at the other's body. But for the cover of the magazine, to pass postal censors, Quaintance shifted the man's head to the left, so his gaze no longer fell longingly on his fellow naked male bather. Like his better-known successor, Tom of Finland, Quaintance constructed a "network of looks" that included and invited those of the viewer, furthering the sense of homoerotic identification.

Mizer's growing network of photographers, artists, and other physique-related businesses used a language of friendship and camaraderie that further encouraged a sense of community. Seattle physique artist William MacLean set up a studio and invited new and emerging physique artists to market their work through him. This offer featured a photograph of the very handsome artist hanging images in his exhibit space, noting suggestively that he was "a very eligible bachelor" and therefore "his studio is a gathering place for the young social set and many a party is hosted there." London model Clive Jones sold his images directly and promised to handle orders personally. "Clive would like to hear from his many friends in America" and promised to send a catalog of images of himself and his "buddies" in London.

Mizer offered slides of physique models intended to be projected on a wall or screen for group viewing. One of MacLean's more reproduced drawings showed a group of men admiring AMG slides and imitating the poses of the models. When Mizer began making physique film shorts, he called for readers to submit script ideas, giving members yet another way to participate. He offered suggestions on where to buy a good, inexpensive projector and soon began renting the films at a quarter of the price of purchasing one. In words and images, he encouraged readers to share the experience of watching physique films. "Imagine what a hit these films would be at your next party or gathering of friends who are physical culture enthusiasts!" Indeed, much of the allure of participating in this network, whether as a producer or as a consumer, was the sense of community it offered.

Mizer's own rhetoric helped to solidify that sense of community. Boasting that his magazine lacked "mass appeal," he explicitly signaled his targeting of a minority population, what he called "the limited aesthetic group" who appreciated the male body. Mizer was borrowing a gay discourse developed in the late nineteenth century, a period he knew well from his reading of Boris Brasol's biography of Oscar Wilde. As art historian Christopher Reed argues, "The Wilde trials seemed to reveal homosexuality as the secret behind the enigmatic passions of the Aesthetes, tainting the entire movement, all of its products, and even the idea of aesthetic sensitivity."

Indeed, the modern identities of "the homosexual" and "the artist" – both considered manifestations of innate predispositions – developed nearly simultaneously in the nineteenth century, as both creating art and committing sodomy moved from activities to ways of being. "Artistic" quickly became euphemistic slang for "queer." Painter Paul Cadmus remembered how the association had transferred to the American scene by the 1930s. "The word homosexual was never used," he remembered. "They just said, 'He's an artist." American psychiatrists, too, described men suspected of homosexuality as "aesthetic in temperament." Thus when Mizer adopted this language, praising Quaintance for his "neo-aestheticism" and imagining his audience as "the limited aesthetic group," he was signaling to and helping to construct a distinct gay identity among his readers.

"THE TV SHOW THAT MADE AMERICA GASP!"

Physique Pictorial's increasing circulation came with its own risks. Its presence on Los Angeles newsstands soon caught the attention of Paul Coates, a conservative columnist for the afternoon tabloid the Los Ange- les Mirror, known for exposing what he considered to be the seamier side of life in Southern California – prostitutes, repo men, drug addicts, and shoplifters. In 1954 Coates used his local television program Confidential File on KTTV to alert his audience to the "unpleasant fact" of homosexuality in Los Angeles. It was the first prime-time television program to broach the topic and helped propel Coates's show into national syndication. Coates featured footage of a Mattachine Society meeting with well-dressed men and women drinking coffee and eating cookies. He also gave his audience a glimpse inside a gay bar. But he ended the show by holding up a copy of Physique Pictorial as a shocking example on city newsstands of the publications catering to homosexuals. According to one tabloid, it was "the TV show that made America gasp!" Working closely with the local Parent Teacher Association (PTA), Coates couched his programming as a crusade to warn families of the dangers homosexuals posed to children. He followed up with three newspaper columns devoted exclusively to the presence of gay maga-zines on the city's newsstands. Although concerned about the homophile magazine ONE, which billed itself as "The Homosexual Magazine," he noted that its editors at least made an effort to avoid the lurid. Physique Pictorial, however, was "thinly veiled pornography" that appealed to sex criminals and sadists. Coates claimed that this "Esquire for men who wish they weren't" featured images of men in chains being beaten and stabbed – a sensational reading of Mizer's photographs with swords and chains as props. He highlighted the case of one of Mizer's teenage models from Muscle Beach-an active church member engaged to be married, he noted-who complained of unwanted homosexual solicitations after his photo appeared in Physique Pictorial. There were dozens of such dangerous photographers, Coates warned. "It's big business in our town."

Leveraging his connections to the powerful Chandler media family, Coates orchestrated an all-out assault on Mizer's business. After Coates's columns appeared, a phalanx of local government officials descended on Mizer's business. Police began to intimidate newsstands where his magazine appeared. City regulators inspected his home, and health officials tested his pet monkeys for diseases. The former model featured in Coates's column sued Mizer for invasion of privacy.

Most ominously, the story brought a plainclothes Los Angeles Police Department vice officer to his door asking to buy nudes. Mizer demurred, offering him only his usual catalogs of men in posing straps. Undeterred, Detective Philip Barnes asked who of the many other photographers featured in his magazine might offer nudes. Mizer again demurred, but Barnes had already visited the studio of Lyle Frisby, a young, up-and-coming Mizer protégé whose images Mizer often included in his magazine. More accommodating, Frisby sold him "inked" nude photos, where the posing straps could be easily rubbed off.

Coates proudly covered the sting operation in a subsequent column. To again sensationalize the threat posed to children, he noted ominously that Frisby's Los Angeles studio was located just 250 yards from an elementary school. Both Frisby and Mizer were promptly arrested for possessing and distributing lewd photographs – a violation of the Los Angeles municipal code allowing Coates's newspaper series to end on a note of civic triumph.

Frisby was easily convicted and spent time in prison. The prosecution of Mizer, however, was more complicated, since the focus of the charge was "aiding and abetting" the sale of lewd pictures. Detective Barnes testified that Mizer told him he could obtain nudes from any of his advertisers, but he failed to note this in his initial report. Mizer denied the claim, testifying that he told detective Barnes that nudes were illegal and unavailable in Los Angeles and that he personally advised all photographers not to deal in nudes. Either way, there was little evidence to link Mizer directly with Frisby's nude photos. Seeing the weakness of the "aiding and abetting" argument, the prosecutor argued that Mizer's own photos were obscene because they displayed both "scenes of brutality and torture" and "the uncovered rump." Mizer's lawyer, Herbert Selwyn from the ACLU, argued that Mizer's posing-strap images were no more lewd than those in classical statuary or in movies such as Garden of Eden, a film set in a nudist colony then screening in area theaters. He called it "the first uncovered rump case" in memory.

But as in almost all trials of physique photographers, the real issue was less the explicitness of the photos than the sexual orientation of their audience. Displaying his real concern, the judge told Selwyn, "These are nothing but pin-up pictures for homosexuals." To feed the judge's suspicions, the prosecutor displayed a copy of Confidential mag- azine at trial with the blaring headline "America on Guard! Homosexuals, Inc." Trying to further associate Mizer with the homosexual cause, he concluded his cross-examination by asking, "Do you also publish the magazine known as ONE?" The judge sustained Selwyn's objection but enjoyed a "hearty chuckle." He found Mizer guilty and sentenced him to ninety days in prison.

Mizer appealed his conviction, telling Kinsey he was willing to put a substantial dent in his bank account and solicit help from nudist and other groups. He convinced a British magazine to publicize the case. "It is odd that when I am one of the few physique photographers who does not deal in nudes that I should be picked out as the one who must fight for their legality," he complained to Kinsey, who thought he was singled out because of the size of his business. Mizer was the aggressive entrepreneur who took the physique business from the back pages of fitness magazines to the cover of his own magazine, openly challenging postal inspectors. Predictably, Mizer's conviction was overturned on appeal. "You have done very well to stand up for your legal rights," Kinsey congratulated him. But Mizer, concerned about the effect such news might have on the field of physique photography, did not gloat. "I am keeping news of our victory quiet because I think some of the photographers in our field need a bit of a deterrent to keep them in line."

Mizer and Barnes squared off again a year later, this time in a televised congressional hearing. Mizer and Frisby became fodder for Senator Estes Kefauver's traveling hearings on the alleged problem of juvenile delinquency in America, part of his bid to enhance his presidential aspirations. Kefauver got Benjamin Karpman, the chief psychotherapist at St. Elizabeths Hospital in Washington, D.C., to testify that exposure to pornography at an early age could turn someone gay. Barnes described how he had confiscated pornographic materials from major national distributors Edward Mishkin and Irving Klaw. Some of the material was on display in posters lining the walls of the hearing room.

"Have you had any occasion to investigate cases wherein the use of male models might be used?" Kefauver asked, a delicate way to invoke homosexual erotica. Barnes outlined the case of Frisby and Mizer, pointing out that Mizer happened to be in the audience. Exaggerating the success of his efforts, he claimed he had confiscated $10,000 worth of materials from Frisby, that both men had been convicted of obscenity, and that Mizer's sentence had been overturned only because of a technicality. He highlighted the danger they posed to the public by noting the proximity of the school and the youth of the models.

Kefauver commended Barnes's efforts and noted what a difficult job he had, given how the courts and the legislatures continually failed to provide the tools he needed. Barnes impressed on the committee the need for a national agency to coordinate the efforts of local law enforcement to stamp out pornography. At the conclusion of the hearing, Senator Kefauver offered anyone who had been named the opportunity to correct inaccuracies. Detective Barnes looked squarely at Mizer, egging him on. Mizer contemplated speaking up but, aware of the presence of journalists and television cameras, decided instead to offer a written statement, his preferred form of communication.

In the pages of Physique Pictorial, Mizer denounced the hearings as "the grossest obscenity of public trust" he had ever witnessed. He accused Barnes of perjuring himself in his claims about Mizer's case. Within a year, however, Mizer enjoyed some schadenfreude when he revealed that Barnes was sent to prison for molesting his stepdaughter. He was also delighted to tell readers that Kefauver's chief counsel, James Bobo, was forced to resign after admitting to hosting private screenings of stag films for a Memphis fraternity. It all reinforced Mizer's conviction that the legal system was corrupt and that those who were most obsessed with fighting prurience were hypocrites.

Like many self-appointed guardians of American morality, Coates viewed both the Mattachine Society and the Athletic Model Guild as threats. But the reactions of the two organizations differed markedly. In 1953 Coates gave the Mattachine Society its first negative press coverage by suggesting that it had ties to communism. Coates's accusation caused a crisis in the organization, which led to the resignation of the original founders, many of whom had been members of the Communist Party USA. The organization was restructured and membership fell off. Historian John D'Emilio called it a "retreat to respectability," a turn away from political activism toward internal self-help tactics.

Coates's assault on Mizer was even more aggressive – involving the Los Angeles Police Department, a powerful U.S. senator, and backstage efforts to influence his obscenity trial – yet Mizer changed his operating procedures only slightly. He decided to tone down the "brutality" aspect of his images, eliminating props such as whips or chains. But on the issue of the "uncovered rump," Mizer stood his ground. "Bob has defied them," Kinsey noted of Mizer's refusal to succumb to a Post Office ultimatum barring nudes seen from behind. He also continued his feisty editorials, despite Kinsey's suggestion that he tone them down. "Certain principles I will not back down on," Mizer defiantly told Kinsey.

Each of Mizer's encounters with law enforcement politicized him, and he, in turn, sought to politicize his readers. To supplement his personal experience, he read widely in popular and scholarly texts on censorship and sought to convey that knowledge to his readers. He noted that those who were opposed to physique magazines were organized into groups such as the National Organization for Decent Literature and had the ear of local and national politicians. He pointed out how local newspapers pressured newsstands and magazine distributors to discontinue all physique magazines. He urged readers to organize. When one reader suggested ignoring the censors, Mizer compared him to the Jews in Germany who "ignored the menace of Hitler."

Putting the issue in the context of human rights, Mizer called for a collective and activist opposition. "The censor is a bully and will back down if we all stand up to him." It was a theme he returned to frequently, asserting that putting one's head in the sand would not make the problem go away. He repeatedly implored customers to join the ACLU. "It's Your America," he reminded readers, and politicians and police were "your servants." He implored readers to write their representatives and local newspapers to defend freedom of expression. Otherwise, he warned, a state-controlled media will emerge that would be the envy of Hitler. According to his alarmist rhetoric, the ACLU was the only thing standing between the status quo and totalitarianism.

Mizer's editorials on censorship even seeped into model descriptions. He described Sonny Star, a lean model lounging by the pool, as being from Fargo, North Dakota, where a federal censorship trial was taking place. He railed against police corruption and governmental injustice so often that readers tired of his many editorials – one counted eight in a thirty-two-page issue and complained of all this "doomsday talk." Many just wanted information on where to purchase forbidden materials.

IRON MAN BETRAYAL

As Physique Pictorial and other physique magazines that emphasized the "aesthetic approach" flourished, they increasingly came into conflict with what Mizer called " 'hard-core' muscle magazines" or "old-school muscle books" that had fallen on hard times. He knew that their harsh critique of new magazines like his had alienated "the great bulk" of their readership. But he still encouraged readers to support these magazines and their veteran writers. "We cannot afford to lose them from the field," he generously noted.60 Mizer had gotten his start through the support of these editors and was not prone to burn bridges.

Mizer had an especially close relationship with Iron Man, founded by weightlifter Peary Rader in Nebraska in 1933. Mizer had contributed enough photographs to be listed as one of Iron Man's "staff photographers" in 1949. Some of Mizer's first catalog advertisements appeared in its back pages, and Rader had even printed the first issue of Physique Pictorial. But under pressure from the Post Office, Rader refused to print subsequent issues. Fearing the loss of his second-class mailing privileges, he then stopped running physique photography advertisements. And in 1956 he published a scathing editorial denouncing the "homosexual element" that had infiltrated bodybuilding and ruined its reputation. He called for a comprehensive "crusade" to clean up the sport, including a ban on nude or G-string photographs, fewer body-building contests, and more manly poses. He attributed the immorality that had seeped into bodybuilding to increasing "commercialism," emphasizing that his concerns were not only moral but also financial. Mizer felt sorry for Iron Man. "I doubt if many copies would be sold to those solely interested in the weightlifting results."

This attack from his former supporter and printer caused Mizer to pen his first editorial on "Homosexuality and Bodybuilding." Claiming to have less familiarity with the subject than the editors of Iron Man and others who seemed so preoccupied with it, Mizer first resorted to a version of the schoolyard taunt, "It takes one to know one." He did so by quoting one of the most famous closeted homosexuals in 1950s America. A London reporter had recently asked Liberace in the midst of a legal struggle with a tabloid that had outed him "Is your sex life normal?" Fully composed, Liberace hastily replied, "Yes, is yours?"

In many ways, Liberace and Mizer were in parallel situations. Both offered the public fairly open representations of gay life, but without the label. But because of their popularity, they had caught the attention of the media and were being tarred with the sin of homosexuality. But Mizer went beyond Liberace's taunt to frame the question in terms of civil rights. "We wonder if really good people show prejudice against any minority group," he wrote, comparing such prejudice to that against a particular religion, race, or political party. This effectively made Peary Rader the one guilty of immorality and repositioned the debate on homosexuality within the realm of minority rights. Most important, he referred readers to the homophile groups Mattachine Society and ONE for more factual information.

Mizer's mailbox must have been full after this unusually frank editorial. He noted that readers clamored for him to reprint letters, demonstrating their desire to connect to each other, to see who else was out there reading Physique Pictorial. Mizer printed only four responses. One called Mizer "naïve" for not realizing that all bodybuilders are in some way homosexual, since they are so obsessed with the male body. Another expressed the opposite view, that such "he-men" could not possibly be sissies. But the most unusual letter came from the mother of four male bodybuilders-three of them married with children, the youngest openly gay. She described his difficult coming-out process, psychiatric consultations, and much anguish. But she then painted the picture of a happy, healthy gay domesticity. "John lives with another young man who shares his interests, both are highly successful in films, are 'accepted' everywhere." She thanked Mizer for his sympathetic attitude.

Mizer could not print any letters from openly gay readers for fear of confirming the concerns of censors. But he gave readers clues that he received many such letters. He noted that many had written in anonymously to "unburden [their] frustrations" and "project [their] own motives to us." Although such personal, confessional letters could not be shared, Mizer assured readers that he would send them to a "psychological research group for study," a probable reference to the Kinsey Institute. While Mizer had to be cautious about the content of his magazine to appease censors, his readers were often more explicit. Mizer considered many of the letters he received to be so salacious or incriminating that he did not want to keep them in his home in the event of a "purge" by authorities.

Art historians have documented the lasting impact that Bob Mizer's physique photography had on Western visual culture, influencing the work of such artists as Francis Bacon, Robert Mapplethorpe, and Andy Warhol. British painter David Hockney famously said, "I came to Los Angeles for two reasons: The first was a photo by Julius Shulman of Case Study House #21, and the other was AMG's Physique Pictorial." Dozens of high-end coffee table books attest to the lasting appeal of the artistic vision of Bob Mizer and his fellow gay physique photographers. But Mizer's business model was as generative as his photography. His business acted as a key catalyst for a gay consumer culture network, encouraging and popularizing many other gay mail-order businesses.

Although often portrayed as something of a bumbling loner, Mizer was at the center of an increasingly sophisticated gay network and came to be a leader of an effort to unite and defend the rights of gay men. It was a dream shared with early gay activist Manuel boy Frank, who, through his involvement in an early underground gay pen-pal club, had seen the potential power in gay men's interest in physique photography. Mizer, too, had an early sense of the depth of a gay market, through his work with Kovert's studio and his classified advertising in Strength & Health. He also had a great sense of the dangers involved. Each time Mizer had come under attack, he had come back more determined and open about his intentions. Neither the Post Office, nor the local vice police, nor vigilante journalists, nor mainstream muscle magazines deterred him. Over the course of his career he tried various tactics: reasoning with authorities, cautioning his fellow photographers, fanning the flames of outrage, and encouraging collective action. He had been on a crusade since high school to stand up and make the world a better place for his fellow homosexualists, and Physique Pictorial was his vehicle.

Mizer saw Alfred Kinsey as a hero and collaborator in this crusade because he saw Kinsey's scientific work as a vehicle for increasing tolerance. "One of the greatest values of your present work will be to allow at least the ones who read it to realize they are not uniquely perverse because of either their overt or desired behavior," he wrote to Kinsey. "Many a man will be able to hold his head a little higher and square back his shoulders and know he is not disgustingly 'abnormal' merely because he is gifted with more healthy, vital sex powers than his sanctimonious moral condemner." But what Mizer wrote so admiringly of Kinsey also applied to his own life's work. Mizer took inspiration from his academic friend and advisor, offering the same message of healthy normality in a more visually accessible format, reaching a much wider audience. He provided images to substantiate Kinsey's scientific treatise.

Like his mentor, Mizer was something of a workaholic, shooting still or moving film nearly every day of his life. But his ambitions were not monetary. Although by the end of his life he had expanded his home-studio property in Los Angeles to include several adjoining homes and a pool, it was never lavish. It became a sort of dormitory or homeless shelter for wayward models. Friends remember him in later years wearing glasses held together with tape and string. After his death in 1992, friends found hundreds of thousands of dollars in cash stuffed in film cans-proceeds never invested, or given much thought. Mizer's ambitions had not changed from the time he was in high school. He took pride in knowing his readers considered the arrival of his magazine like "a visit from an old friend." And since that old friend "always brings new friends with him," he hoped it offered his readers the sense that they were part of a large, welcoming community similar to the one he had discovered in Pershing Square. As he told his readers, he hoped all who read his magazine carefully – who "take the trouble to study" it – would take away a message of "hope and inspiration."

Hope was the message that Noel Gillespie found in Physique Pictorial when he discovered it as a teenager. He remembered it as "a gay-oriented oasis" in a Cold War desert of prudery and macho conformity. He considered Mizer less a salesman than "an old friend and confidante" because of all his "chatty remarks" among the model images. Gillespie praised Mizer's editorials on the "anti-nudity, anti-gay, anti-free speech attitudes" of the period. He recalls how he eagerly antici- pated each new issue for both Mizer's "latest fresh-faced discoveries and his candid and for the period, courageous commentaries." Beyond this special bond with Mizer, he also felt linked to his fellow subscribers through their occasional letters to the editor, which he thought made Physique Pictorial "more a friendly resource than a mere sales catalogue."

Hope was exactly the message that a young David Hurles understood when he encountered Physique Pictorial on newsstands in Cincinnati in 1957. "I came face to face with the awesome and wonderful knowledge of a place somewhere different from any place I yet knew," Hurles later wrote. He remembered following Mizer's exploits closely, noticing when he put in a swimming pool in 1956. "His pictures, magazines and films turned us on. But more than that, they gave us hope," Hurles eulogized at the time of Mizer's death in 1992. Hurles later became a Mizer protégé and went on to produce his own magazine. "Bob revealed the evidence which made us certain that what we desired and needed did, in fact, exist."

-- from David K. Johnson's Buying Gay.

#bob mizer #long post

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polutrope · 11 months

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By the way, do you have the impression that Turgon and Thingoil are characters that I think Tolkien liked and admired much more than most people who write fanfics, that Tolkie really admired them and has better opinions of them than many people in the fandom in relation to fanfic about them.

Hi Anon!

I am probably not the most knowledgeable about fandom-wide opinions because most of the opinions I'm exposed to are from people on my dash that I've chosen to follow, and I read fic by and recommended by that community of people. That being said, I try to branch out and remain open to various interpretations. My experience participating in fandom this way has actually led me to a lot of people and writers with quite nuanced, generally favourable opinions on Turgon and Thingol! It's only from those people that I have heard that this is not necessarily the norm 😔.

Based on what I have heard and occasionally encountered, I do think Tolkien "liked and admired" Turgon and Thingol more than many readers in fandom, but, crucially, I don't think he was approaching them with the same mindset as most of those fans who take an unfavourable, even hostile, view of them.

I'm not an expert on Tolkien the Man, i.e. who he was as a person and how that was brought into his writing, but I do know that he was a scholar and enjoyer of literary traditions that did not follow the conventions of dominant contemporary storytelling. Many of the stories that inspired Tolkien were about legendary, epic heroes who were violent, fallible, selfish, etc... but still heroes -- basically because the genre said so. I didn't study Norse and Anglo-Saxon culture and traditions like Tolkien, but I did study Homeric literature a bit and the stories and heroes of the Silmarillion have always reminded me of those legends and characters (it's why I love it!).

I think it's impossible to reach a conclusive argument about the morality of or a verdict on the actions of e.g., Homer's Achilles or Odysseus. It can be diverting, an interesting mental exercise, creatively fulfilling, but I think the storytelling is ultimately incompatible with that kind of analysis. The characters just are what they are, and if the text says they are Great then they are. That's that.

I believe it's that way with Thingol and Turgon. We are told they are glorious and wise kings but a lot of what they actually do doesn't seem very glorious or wise. (Feanor is like this, too -- big time lol.) I think that's because the genre/traditions the Silm is inspired by do not necessitate that the story back up a character's "quality of excellence." We are just invited to accept it.

My sense is that that is not satisfying to many people (works for me though!). It is interesting to judge characters for their actions. It's what contemporary novels/TV/film/etc invite us to do, and many like doing it (again, not really me, but I'm strange).

(Tolkien's later writings, like LotR and some of the post-LotR writings, do invite this kind of reading, and I think that Tolkien at that stage was taking pains to show as well as tell us that X character was noble/wise/brave/etc. Which brings me to an issue that I think is at the root of so many interpretive disagreements about the published Silmarillion, namely that it's compiled from a selection of drafts written over decades and those drafts are not always compatible with one another in terms of genre and tone. Christopher did his darned best, and anyone who has read through HoMe will appreciate what an impressive job he did, but while he could iron out inconsistencies, without extensive rewriting -- which he was determined not to do -- I think incompatibilities like this were unavoidable. So we get Tinwelint from the 1917-19 Tale of the Nauglafring blended in a soup with Thingol of the 1950s Narn i Hin Hurin and the result makes for a bit of a strange aftertaste. There's even some full-on characterisation whiplash for those who are looking very very closely, as us fans like to do. Turgon is another character whose story is drawn from disparate strands of the Silmarillion's textual history, hmm... maybe something there.)

So, I have been theorising that all this is possibly why there seems to be a disconnect between Tolkien's presentation of characters like Thingol and Turgon and how much of the fandom receives and interprets them. Storyteller and reader are looking at things through incompatible lenses. Which is interesting! I think the problems (and vitriol) arise when people are not recognising that their opinions are filtered through a particular lens.

Probably far more than you were looking for with this Ask, but this issue has been circulating in my mind. I hope it makes some sense. I am trying to articulate half-formed thoughts through the fog of a head cold.

#asks #anon #turgon #thingol #meta

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anakinsafterlife · 1 year

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More thoughts on WOT (Season 2, ep 7 and 8)

The series continues to absolutely light the sky on fire, and yes I mean that literally, given the season finale. I know that there's been a lot of hate from certain quarters, expressed towards the television writers, but imo there have been so many smart changes made to compress the gargantuan source material that I honestly now see this as a completely different universe from the novels. In many ways, it's the universe that I imagined when I first read the books in the mid-90s, the potential that I glimpsed that still made me a fan when I was frequently frustrated by Robert Jordan's prose.

For example, the Forsaken were fascinating because they were different than other villains of the time. They weren't actually faceless archetypes. They were professional people who had been influential in their fields, as well as strong in the One Power, which made them useful tools for the Dark One. Over time, post-Breaking, people began to think of them as archetypal demons who had existed for as long as the Dark One had existed but when we were exposed to the Forsaken as individuals in the narrative, we saw that they were petty and venal and self-interested and nihilistic. The books do this well, but, dare I say, the television show expresses this more clearly. So far it has shown Ishamael as a man who is deeply depressed, who sees no point to living when the mistakes made in one live will simply be made in the next (and since he has empirical prove of reincarnation, there's no refuting this). He's tired of the cycle and wants out. Unlike what we know of the other Forsaken, at least from the books, his did not swear to the Dark One for material or artist or emotional benefit. He fully supports the Dark One's ultimate goal of breaking the Wheel for all time, and this is the reason why he is the devil's main man. (It's also the reason Lanfear did and must betray him, despite their closeness). Keep in mind also that his profession in the AOL was "philosopher." Presumably, this means that, like Lanfear and a couple of the others, he was an academic. He published or perished. His wrote nihilistic books that became very popular. Also like Lanfear, he personally knew Lews Therin. In the books, they knew each other well but weren't necessarily close friends. I think the writers have merged Demandred’s role with Ishamael's in the show, however, because they portray Lews Therin, Lanfear, and Ishamael as having been the best of friends, a golden trio. I adore the change and the tension and sorrow it brings to their interactions, but despite their closeness, these characters were still very different from each other. Unlike the philosopher Elan Morin, Lews Therin was a professional politician. His goals were practical, if not always tenable, his moral code (which is entirely of his own making) seemingly strict and unbending, by the commentary we've been privy to as well as the flashbacks (which are probably my favourite part of the whole show; the nuanced portray of Lews Therin is magnificent), and it was probably that endbending nature that drove his friends away from him.

Like Ishamael, Lews Therin also wrote books, but books of social theory and political commentary. He was less of an abstract thinker than both Ishamael (philospher/logician) and Lanfear (scientific researcher, probably a physicist). A scientist and a politician think very differently. While the former might painstakingly determine why a theory will or will not work, the latter is likely to simply insist that an idea is good and force it through--which is exactly what Lews Therin did. Despite evidence of a harrowingly poor outcome, he leads the attack with the "Hundred Companions," his closest supporters in the Hall of Servants, on Shayol Ghul.

Where am I going with this? Essentially, that there are no villains here in the mythic sense, just selfish people, and likewise there are no heroes, just people skilled enough to fight when required. Ishamael and Lanfear swore oaths for personal reasons. Lanfear supposedly joined the Dark One so that she could win Lews Therin back. I expect that's not entirely true, and she's probably harbouring a great deal of unexamined motive, but it is very human. And other Forsaken swore their loyalty to this extradimensional being that they actually know very little about for surprisingly silly and petty reasons. Sammael wants to be taller?? Asmodeon wants to write better music? Very genre blind. There is a great deal of artistic lore regarding selling one's soul to the devil for increased artistic ability, but we are talking about an eternity of damnation here, and the bill always comes due. So Asmodeon is not a demon or an archetypal villain. He's a man who made a stupid decision. And so are the they all, excepting perhaps Ishamael, who is the only one who seems to know what he got into (maybe he had a few ancient books of lore about deals at the crossroads in his library).

This humanization of "the bad guys" has been a theme throughout the show, and we have seen it again and again across political lines. In the finale, we see Lanfear and Ishamael sitting together, still friendly even in their antagonism. We see the antagonists making poor choices for very human reasons, like Liandrin wanting to save her son and then losing him anyway. Like Barthones becoming a Darkfriend to advance his position in the city and please his mother, only for his mother to retreat in horror and imprison him. These things render their choices absoltely moot, but their vows hold them in chains. With few exceptions (Lord Ingtar now and you know who later) no one ever tries to reject those vows, because these people continue to rationalize their choices as they go along, inventing new excuses for themselves, like Liandrin, who continues to serve even after Lanfear murders her son. It's brilliant and insightful, and it's the primary reason that I not only love the series but looked forward to examining it on a technical level every week.

The finale ending did not disappoint. Mat blows the Horn, and whatever anyone says, it makes so much sense that he was one of the Heroes already. My guess is he was Aemon the last time around, since Mat's always been closely tied to Manetheren. I love that Ishamael set him in to kill Rand too. That was wonderfully clever, since Ishamael does not wish to do it himself, and it displays his skill in manipulation to great effect and gives Mat a more active role.

Perrin is now fully a Wolfbrother (my personal headcanon about Wolfbrothers is that they were wolves in their previous lives). Elayne heals Rand's wound and sets their romance in motion, while Egwene is transformed utterly by her experiences. The girl from the Two Rivers is gone forever. In her place is a soldier with an iron heart. Moiraine (clothed in a costume that resembles that of an Asian warrior) does her part to proclaim Rand the Dragon Reborn (and there's a warning in Ishamael's statement that he is so very like Lews, when we just saw the extent of Lews Therin's ruthlessness in the flashbacks, so we can expect dire things to come as Rand undoubtedly will begin to unravel under the stress of war as well as the Taint). And Ishamael gets not only what most would say he deserves, but what what he desires: death. But he leaves a little surprise for Lanfear on his way out the door. Moghedien is so very creepy/scary and seems genuinely mentally ill. I love that they show her still in the clothes of the previous age, just awoken from her sleep and ready to do her absolute worst. It's a great starting point for the next season.

The only thing that I really missed from The Great Hunt, and hope will show up soon in some form, is the journey through the Portal Stones that reveal alternate pasts and futures for the characters. I do wonder if it might have been thematically replaced by the tea that reveals past lives. This is one of my favourite innovations in the show, and actually something that's been my headcanon since I was a teenager reading the series for the first time. There had to be some reason, I thought, that these people of the far future treat reincarnation not as a matter of religious faith but of concrete, undeniable reality. They know with absolute certainty that everyone dies and is born again, endlessly. They know that when the Dragon comes, the title will not be symbolic, but one that belongs to the man who was factually Lews Therin Telamon in a previous life. That is why they fear the Dragon. Because he will be the one who broke the world, come again. And so there must be a proof, a way of truly knowing that souls are reborn. My idea was always a ter'angreal, but perhaps the tea is a psychotropic substance which opens up the pathways to the soul and its migrations. And of course, the way of demonstrating that these aren't just hallucinations would be to access memories of a recent lifetime and track down physical proof of it. So I was delighted that someone saw the necessity of such a proof in the world of WOT, just as I always did.

I've already seen that Season 3 was confirmed and has begun production, and I am so excited to see it and all of the new exciting changes and directional choices!

#the wheel of time #season 2 #the wheel of time spoilers #rand al'thor #lanfear #ishamael #mat cauthon #egwene al'vere #perrin aybara #moghedien #the one power #the dragon reborn #lews therin telamon #meta #personal

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bubblespalace · 1 month

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may I have a matchup? I think it could be fun!

I am 5’10 in height with brown blondeish hair to my shoulders that has a bit of fluff, have hazel eyes, and on the slim side but a bit chunky in some areas (such as thighs) regarding body. My zodiac sign is a cusp between Libra and Scorpio, but often people associate me with Libra- I am fine with either! My MBTI type is INFP as of last I took it and my enneagram is very high in 2 The Helper and 9 The Peacemaker. I am bisexual, 23, and I use she/her pronouns! The best way I can describe my personality is that I’m somewhat quiet but once you get to know me I’m very energetic, kind, and always make people laugh (even if unintentionally.) I am a very hard worker and never falter in my beliefs, always open minded for other possibilities. I love exploring what is around me and have a sense of adventure. I am very loyal, compassionate, and determined. Although I can be stubborn and too into my emotions at times. My likes include literature, browsing the web for new things, anime/manga, true crime, and just learning new things such as politics, space, whatever!! I also like memes and my humor is broken as hell lol. My passion is writing. I love writing stories and one day want to publish my own. I dislike people who are incredibly rude or tone deaf to the people around them, people who are avoidant, and full of themselves. Hope that is enough information!!

After careful thinking- I have matched you with AYATO SAKAMAKI! (79% Match)

You both have such a love and passion for adventure, which will come into play in your relationship. You drew him to your kindness, and ability to make people laugh. He likes your quiet side too though because it allows him to tease you a bit! You'd share a sense of humor and will find yourselves laughing a lot with him! Although he might be a little put off by the fact that you are taller than him, eventually, he'll start to find it hot since he's eye level with your chest- Speaking of which, this man will absolutely love your thighs. Ayato will be one to claim you're the best writer in a room because he deserves the best. Expect him to always encourage any of your talents! It is not a complete match- only because Ayato can sometimes be annoying, probably to the point where you wouldn't like his insensitivity. You also probably wouldn't care for his 'I AM THE BEST' side of him a lot. But overall, you guys share a lot of interests! OTHER POSSIBILITIES: Laito Sakamaki (75% match) Subaru Sakamaki (58% match) Ruki Mukami (53% match) Thank you for the request!!

#match up #diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers fandom #diaboliklovers #diabolik lovers ask blog #ayato sakamaki #sakamaki ayato #diaboys #diahell #requests open

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redhoodinternaldialectical · 1 year

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Introducing my jaytim fanfiction series Chained!

This is the largest writing project I have ever attempted! Currently (March 29th, 2024) it sits at a length of 153,000 words published and some back of the napkin math puts the final product in the ballpark of War and Peace’s 500,000+ words. halp lmao! This post is designed to serve as an introduction to what the story is about, what my Tim and Jason are gonna be like, and what parts of canon I’m sticking to

"So, what’s the premise ya dorkus malorkus?”

Jason is set in front of a contract that will grant near omnipotence over every facet of reality. The catch is that it requires the person who actually gains the power to be permanently bound into the service of someone else. Afraid of what this could do in the wrong hands, Jason asks Tim to be his new Master.

(a picture of Jason with the halo and armor the contract grants him that I drew :3 also, have a link to the fics!)

After many hours of intense negotiations (the entire first fic in the series), they produce a subcontract designed to maintain Jason's basic rights as a person while still granting them enough power to overcome whatever whatever caused the contract to be written in the first place. Now all that's left is to destroy the evidence, win the fight, and start remaking the world in their image...

Expect to read about: extensive theological discussions complete with readings of the Bhagavad Gita, shape shifting, hijinks, Harley Quinn being a menace to society really good therapist, redonkulous amounts of time travel and time loops, murders most foul, webs of lies and deceit as Oracle works to uncover their secrets, angst, fluff, hurt, comfort, and I’m gonna stop there before I overpromise myself, turn into a puddle, and never manage to finish the damn thing, lol

The draw of the premise for me is exploring the constant renegotiation of boundaries between Jason and Tim as they navigate a truly terrible idea of a romance. This is slow burn in that it takes them a really long time to get together properly due to the aforementioned terrible idea part, but they know they’re in love very early on.

“Lay out the dynamics there hoss”

I reserve the right to fuss with these, but my intention is:

Jason/Tim = the genius fragile human made of pure spite and determination and their sentient bodyguard/servant monster who they like lowkey have a thing with. Think Integra Hellsing and Alucard.

Barbara Gorden versus Tim Drake = genius versus genius 5D chess headgames war. Think L and Light with Jason as Ryuuk. But like if Light was into Ryuuk.

Tim/Jason versus [MAIN VILLAIN SPOILERS] = warring Gods. The source of a new mythology.

Honestly, just mark down Hellsing Ultimate and Death Note animes as major influences.

“What’s a folk gotta do ta get some headcanons and characterization in this joint?”

For Tim I’m going mainly with him in his Red Robin run where he finds Bruce, blows up the League of assassins and shit like that. I love how absolutely arrogant this man is, and I find the way he struggles with the ethics of the job really neat. This version of Tim seems perfect to act as the commander: always tempted to do more, tempted to go further into the dark with power, but also having a lot of self control and dedication to doing right.

In terms of personal headcannons I am making him trans (cause I can), ADHD/Autistic (because it makes sense), and a dabbler in mild, lowkey amphetamine abuse (The coffee chugger who never sleeps of fanon intrigues me, but also caffeine kinda doesn’t do that, whereas adderall definitely does. He’ll use both stimulants as available and needed. I like a man who knows he badly overworks himself but who can’t realistically say he shouldn’t be overworking himself.)

Jason is a much harder cat to herd because writers have long been playing tug of war with his characterization, dragging him over the line to unhinged villain then back to just another bat over and over. I always like Jason, but I think he’s at his weakest at both extremes of the spectrum. He’s a good villain/antagonist in general, but a phenomenal one when he has real goals and morals. He’s a good anti-hero/tenuous ally in general, but a phenomenal one when he and the family have serious disagreements and Jason is still a killer.

I’m keeping this fic as canon compliant as possible, but there is a bare minimum amount of rearrangement necessary to make Jason consistently morally grey rather than an ethical checkers board that looks grey when you turn it sideways and squint.

Headcanons for Jason include chronic pain (I just think being blown up should screw with a guy’s nerves), trans (cause I can), and having schizophrenia (cause I see some possible canon evidence and he’s had a LOT of ableist stuff thrown his way and I don’t really like ‘well I’m not actually mentally ill’ as a resolution point to that. I am leaving it ambiguous if this has anything to do with the Lazarus Pit, but I intend it to be very unambiguous that it has nothing to do with why he has beef with the rest of the bats. His grievances are not delusions. His moral positions are not delusions. He will hallucinate and I may have him develop delusions, but he’ll also take medication for that and employ coping mechanisms like real life people with schizophrenia do. The mental illnesses are something he deals with, not something that controls him into being evil, no matter their source.)

Oh and it should go without saying that everyone has so much PTSD!

“Cut ta the chase already jabrony, give us da timeline”

Crisis on Infinite Earths, Final Crisis, Infinite Crisis, Flashpoint, Convergence, and the Rebirth changes happened in this fic's canon. We are dealing with multiple multiverses. If you’re familiar with the concept of ‘Hypertime’ used to facilitate the Elseworlds series and elaborated on during the Dark Knights: Metal stuff, I’m building off of that. If you’re not, don’t worry about it, there will be a far better explanation in the fic as the characters discover this shit for themselves.

This takes place during the "Rebirth" era of DC comics canon in a fanfic universe I made up within that canon multiverse called Earth 69. Earth 69 is my idea of what the pre-flashpoint timeline might have looked like if flashpoint never happened. Essentially I'm taking the post crisis stuff and extending it by acting as though that timeline just kept going, with plot points from New 52 and Rebirth canon welded onto the end of it. Keep in mind though, Earth 69 only coincidentally mirrors pre-flashpoint events; that canonical pre-flashpoint multiverse still exists!

Now lets go through just Earth 69′s timeline, focusing on Tim and Jason

Based on the letter Jason sends to Kid Devil, I put the year of his death as 1985. Ten years have passed since then at the start of this fic, making Tim 23 and Jason 25. The influence of alien tech and supergeniouses accelerated cultural and scientific growth such that while the fic takes place in 1995, every bit of tech and culture from 1980 to 2024 is fair game to show up. I find it fun to play around with laser turret drones and microfiche spy tactics all in the same story, so our heroes listened to My Chemical Romance on their smartphones while watching the fall of the Berlin Wall on live TV.

Batman (1940) issues #419 - #429 aka Jason’s post-crisis Robin years happen almost identically to the comics, except that Jason is a trans man and it was the Penguin that got Willis Todd locked up for life and then killed instead of Two Face. Bruce eventually finds out he’s trans and is supportive if understandably clueless. He raises Jason as his son. It’s important to me that Jason’s beef with Batman not leave either side objectively correct. Their relationship and hurts are a lot more compelling to me if Bruce isn’t transphobic.

A Place of Lonely Dying and the Robin (1993) series happen with very few deviations, with the understanding that I've read less of this than would be ideal and might get some things mixed up as I go along. Those deviations include Tim also being a trans man. Because he was looking into transition care for Jason, Bruce already knows about puberty blockers and HRT and supplies them to him. That becomes a big part of why Tim’s Dad is so freaked out by Tim being Robin. In this timeline, one of the major reasons Tim is so attached to the role of Robin is that it’s the first role in his life where he gets to be himself.

Lost Days happens as it did in comics except for two changes. Firstly when Talia sleeps with him, it's not sex, it's fully clothed cuddling and actual sleeping. I think this compromise preserves the important emotional conflict that I identified in this reading of her motivations, while sidestepping some of the problems the sex caused. The second change is that Jason won't have ended Lost Days by going to talk to Hush...

Because I HATE Thomas Elliot as a character. I hate how he was implemented. I hate that he kept showing up. I hate that they killed off Harold. I hate Hush. So it never happened on Earth 69! Instead I'll be emphasizing Tim and Jason's later fights, which have some similar emotional beats.

Now, whether or not Jason held a knife to Tim’s throat is kinda fucking important to how their relationship is interpreted! Most people, understandably, make this a serious event between the two. However, in all the comics I’ve been reading, I have seen zero characters ever acknowledge that Jason was involved. Tim hasn’t thought or said anything about it, even when it really seemed relevant. Jason technically tells Batman he did it in UtRH, but it's never brought up again and at this point it feels almost like Judd Winick tricked DC into publishing a headcanon that applies nowhere else lmao. Therefore I feel fine with just ditching this and putting more emphasis on their later fights which have similar emotional beats.

Under the Red Hood happens, with one modification. He knows about Stephanie's death and treats it with the gravity she deserves. He is targeting Black Mask because of Steph's death, and something very similar to the excellent fanfic 'hangman is coming down from the gallows' by nex_et_nox happens.

Young Justice (1998) happens, except for some of the mythological encounters. They did watch Santa get blown up, but I will be taking liberties with how the Greek Pantheon operates, and holy fucking shit, no they did not meet the goddess Kali like that, what the fuck, did no one even try to do a basic level of cultural sensitivity research?!? Anyways.

Jason does fight Batman, Green Arrow, and Mia as told in Green Arrow (2001) #69 - #72. Roy does hear about this, but he hears about it the way that Mia herself tells it when asked about it in the comic, i.e. “He didn’t hurt me. We just talked.” So he's not exactly all that freaked out about it.

Roy Harper and Jason first meet in Outsiders (2003) #44 - #46 where he helps Roy and Dick exonerate Black Lightning with no ulterior motives, as in the comics.

Teen Titans (2003) #29 (The Titans Tower fight) happens as it did in comics. i.e. It was a fair one on one fight in which both participants understood that the other was not trying to kill them and both combatants walked away with nothing more than superficial injuries. Tim came away from that with a black eye and a grudge; Jason came away from it thinking Tim was pretty alright in his book. The writing on the wall was either Jason’s own blood, or red paint, because there is simply no earthly way that was Tim’s blood.

Teen Titans (2003) in general happens to Tim, though there’s a lot that connects to Countdown to Final Crisis (which can only have happened in the canonical pre-flashpoint multiverse) that may or may not need to be edited and removed.

The combination of events from Countdown to Final Crisis and Teen Titans (2003) #47 also happens, in which Jason attempts to save Duela Dent from murder, fails, connects with Donna at her funeral, and then is interrogated by Tim and Dick who suspect Jason murdered her. Oh and also it's where Tim kicks him in the pants lol. Obviously the reason Duela died and who murdered her has to be different, but all that should be details that don't matter for the fic's purposes.

I've already mentioned that Robin (1993) was being considered canon to Earth 69′s timeline, but make special note here of issue #177, in which Tim sends Jason to jail (his first prison stint, yay :D). One modification here: Jason's plan is to manipulate the established mob families into fighting the cops, leaving the local communities to govern themselves, not to use "kid gangs" to soften up the cops and the mob like happens in the comic. Because like... the on panel plan makes no sense, either logistically or for his character, and idk why but the way the author uses the concept of “kid gangs” leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

Nightwing (1996) #118 - #122 aka Brothers in Blood aka the one where Jason becomes a tentacle vore monster happens exactly as depicted in comics. Exactly. As. Depicted. Well okay not exactly, I need him to not have threatened to bomb a building full of innocent people, that is a bridge too far, but everything else stays!

The Red Robin series happens as depicted, except for how Tim got the costume. The Red Robin costume that Tim wears in the pre-flashpoint multiverse was from that multiverse’s Earth 51. On Earth 69 the Red Robin costume was what Bruce made for Jason in anticipation of him wanting to outgrow the Robin mantel one day, like Nightwing did (tho uhhh great job reframing why the Nightwing mantel exists there Bruce lmao). When Dick gave the Robin role to Damian, Tim took the Red Robin outfit for himself from it’s pedestal next to The Memorial Case. There was a considerable amount of spite towards multiple people involved in that decision.

Battle for the Cowl is where it gets trickier. I am going to gut most of the plot of BftC and combine a few plot elements from it with the Batman and Robin (2009) series in order to create a much longer lasting conflict that preserves Jason as an anti-hero and his partnership with Scarlet/Sasha as a competing vigilante force to Dick and Damian.

After Bruce’s “death” Dick super does not ever want to be Batman. No one does really. Jason hears Bruce's post-death message and is understandably fucking devastated. He decides to say fuck that noise, Bruce is gone now, and I'm gonna be Batman since no one else seems willing to do it, and I'm gonna do it my way! Another Batman running around shooting people dead forces Dick’s hand and he takes up the Batman mantel to fight him. Batman and Robin (2009) #3 - #6 happen roughly as depicted, but with Jason still claiming to be Batman, and he doesn’t have red hair. (I’m so sorry white suit + pill helmet costume, but I must leave you behind for the sake of continuity). Jason's stint in Arkham and then Blackgate happens. Batman and Robin (2009) #23 - #25 happen as depicted, minus the part where Jason rigged the entire fucking civilian tram line to explode. After Jason and Scarlet fly off into the sunset together, they come back to Gotham and keep fighting.

Sometime after he's free again he does Roy a favor. I haven't decided what exactly, but it's big. I’ve toyed with the idea that he broke him out of prison because he doesn’t want to see Liam grow up without a dad in a move very similar to the Outsiders thing and roughly analogous to how he meets Roy in Red Hood and the Outlaws (2011), but that seems a lil repetitive and why would Roy even be in jail, so idk.

By this point the events of Red Robin are over and Tim has joined Dick and Damian in fighting Jason. Sometime before the climactic battle, Scarlet leaves for [FANFIC SPOILERS] reasons, so it becomes just Jason again. He goes through with something like the plan from Battle for the Cowl, luring Tim to his Batcave and offering him a place as his Robin. As in comics, Tim's answer is to pick up a crowbar and wack Jason across the face with it! Jason wins the fight and stabs Tim in the chest, knowing it's not gonna kill him, but fine with it leaving one hell of a scar! Dick's fight with Jason afterwards, and Jason jumping from the train into the harbor, happens as it did in BftC #3 with the exception of Dick wearing the Batsuit instead of Tim.

Starfire contacts Roy for help with a lengthy, off planet mission - one that absolutely needs a Bat on board. Every single Bat is up to their eyeballs in fires to put out and projects to run... except for Jason. Roy knows a lot of other Heroes with very good reasons to hate him, but in his personal experience, Jason’s always been a reliable if shady and asshole-ish guy working for the greater good. Ya’know. A Bat. It helps that they both think Bruce treats Dick like garbage sometimes and thus are inclined to be sympathetic towards Jason's beef with him. Roy vouches for him and brings him on board. They work well together, they save the days in outer space, and after a particularly dangerous mission they have a "thank fuck we're not dead" threesome together. This replaces the New 52 version of Red Hood and the Outlaws.

During the trip back to Earth, Jason confides in them about his woes and they encourage him to sort his shit out and get his life back together. Jason agrees and after considering it for a while he asks Roy and Starfire to help negotiate a truce between him and the rest of the Bats. They agree and thus begins two years of ceasefire and getting more friendly with the other Bats.

During those two years, the events of Dark Knights: Metal occur. The Source Wall is broken, and all the peoples of all the earths are plunged into a nightmare world. No one really remembers what happened, it’s all very vague and drifty, like remembering a dream, unsurprisingly. People have been referring to this event as The Nightmares.

This two year period also contains my version of Rebirth Red Hood and the Outlaws. Jason attempts to infiltrate Black Mask’s gang because the real Black Mask should be super dead and super unwilling to work with him. He’s a LOT more competent about it than in comics tho.

The biggest change is what goes down with Cobblepot. Jason’s original intention was to fake the penguin’s death and take all his power and assets from him, as he did in comics. However, he loses Artemis and Bizzaro before he goes through with that plan instead of after. At the last minute he switches the blanks out for lead. The Penguin is super dead.

He fights back when Bruce confronts him, but it's still a brutal fight and ultimately Roy has to separate them. Then Jason follows his father’s trail to the experimentation prison thing like in comics. Roy doesn’t die along the way, we don’t have the scene with Bruce at the diner, but in the end it turns out that his father is actually dead. No one survived that place. He only found boxes of dusty, decaying files, a grave out back, and Dr. Fate. Once he was convinced there was nothing more to find, Dr. Fate took him to John Constantine and The Contract, and that’s just about where our story begins!

Have another link, and I hope some of y’all enjoy what I’ve got so far!

#Damian's Tomfoolery #fanfic #jason todd #tim drake #jaytim #jason todd/tim drake

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