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yuyu1024 · 8 months

Text

Escape

Pairings: Yoongi × y/n

Genre/tags: Arranged marriage

Warning: 🔞🔞 smut/angst, mention of food/eating, cursing, sensual touching, making out, needy/clingy, Pet name, lies, kink, unprotected sex, Smoking, jealousy, insecurity, mention of weight&food/eating, oral (m/f receiving), mention of blood/violence

~~~~[lmk if i miss anything]

Words: 5.8k

Disclaimer:

- this story is just made up

- english is not my first language, please be nice 😊

Note: continuation of Prisoner.

I hope this is a good part 2. 🙏🏻 took me a while coz idk if i should or not. 😅 sorry guys.

(This may continue a bit more...? But please be patient 🙏🏻 as I do have work & usually I try to write before i sleep but lately i've beeen so tired and drained that I cant even function 😅)

***

Another day, another event to go to. You are wearing your best 'pretend' smile. The smile you have practiced for months, to be your default expression whenever you meet anyone in any formal event. It's not that your trying to be fake. You just want to represent your husband the best that you can. And being a shy person, this is what you can do to help yourself.

Although, you wish, that even just one time, Yoongi would show up to these events with you.

At the first month of your marriage, he did. He did that to introduce you to everybody. You could still remember how you two were holding hands and always together. Those were the days when you have spent so much time with him.

But... Now, it's just always you. Alone. Amongst everyone in the whole place, you are the only one who always arrives with no partner.

"Excuse me?"

You twirl around and find the prettiest girl you think you have ever seen in your life. She looks like a goddess.

"Ahm, yes?" Your voice sounded so weak. You haven't said a word in the last hour.

"You are the only one wearing a corsage with a hint of lilac flowers in it... I'm guessing... you are Yoongi's wife?" She asks

"Ah, yes. I am." You look down at the flower pinned on your chest

She's smiling at you. She looks sort of happy to see you. "Finally... I've met you."

You haven't said a word. You are not sure how to approach this. You have no idea who she is and why is she approaching you. Plus, You are sort of intimidated by her. She is a beautiful, a sophisticated woman. She have this energy from her that says she is different than anyone else. You could feel your difference with her. Though you are covered with all highend brands of clothing and accessories. You can still see it.

"Oh, sorry... if I'm invading your personal time..." she says, "I am a friend of Yoongi... well... an old friend... from University" she explains. "Sarang."

"Oh." You smile and bow. "Hello, nice to meet you. I'm Y/N... I'm sorry... I've not met any of his friends yet so...I didn't know..."

"It's fine. I understand."

She looks like she came from a regal family, the same level as Yoongi. Also, her beauty.... takes your breathe away. She remind you of how you reacted the first time you saw Yoongi. In awe.

"Thank you for coming here also..." she says as she walks you around the gallery. "I hope you find something to your liking here that... would be a part of your home or either a gift to anyone you love."

As you two talk more, you learned that she's the one that threw this charity event. She gathered all these arts from known artists, to auction. She says that 100% of the earnings from it will go to the children's hospital that she have been donating ever since.

You have just met her and you are already at amazed by her. Not by just her prominent looks but also the way she talks and speaks her mind is very inspiring and uplifting. Because of her words you find it easy buying two items in the collection. You know all of the money will go and be used for something good.

You chose the items, the two that caught your attention the moment you entered the gallery. Both are paintings of a beautiful flowerfield which reminds you of your past. The field where you would always go with your friends and have picnic during summer break.

Such beautiful memory that you wish you could've not taken for granted. You wish you could re-live those moments again. And the paintings, those paintings you chose might go well in your own study room.

"It's nice meeting you..." she says, cutting you from reminiscencing your past

"Thank you too for inviting us.. though... my husband couldn't come..."

She smiles, lips pressed together. "He hasn't changed at all. Not very social and just focused on just working..."

Hmm.. The way she talks, the way she describes your husband is very detailed. She seem to know him pretty well. 'They are friends' you say to yourself but then at the back of your mind, a thought, just a tiny thought about him and her, is peaking through.

'Is she an ex of his?'

'If not an ex... probably... someone who liked him?'

I know, this is no place nor time to think about these but you can't help it.

Look at her and then you look at yourself. You two are totally opposites. From status to looks. And probably from personaly to intelligence. She is more than you. She is perfect. You think that he and Yoongi might or will get along more than you and him.

"Ahm... I ahm..." you start to feel uncomfortable with all of your self pity thoughts. You need to get a hold of yourself. "Sorry... I'll... I'll just go to the bar and have some drink..." you say as you clutch on to your dress.

"Oh. Okay." Sarang says. "You want me to accompany you...?"

You shake your head, "No... thank you... don't mind me... please go ahead and tour the rest of the guest." You say pointing at the newly arrived guests.

You turn around immediately before she could response again.

This is weird. You're not sure why you suddenly have the urge to drink. Even though you don't drink. Also because, you can't. Literally, can't.

You only drink red wine when you are offered to drink, by Yoongi of course. It's only when he asks you to join him during nights when he needs company or if you two are to discuss things about the family.

You don't drink also because you are a lightweight. You get tipsy and red easily. One time when you had more than three glasses of red with your husband, you instantly changed personality. You have no idea how and what changed besides the stories that your maid said the day after which were embarassing.

You have no recollection of anything besides the fact that you were on the sofa, inside Yoongi's home office, butt naked and only have Yoongi's blazer on you.

"Mrs. Min, what can I get you?" The cute guy behind the bar asks as you reach your destination.

"How... do you know who I am?"

He smiles, "We had the lists of the guests coming tonight... with photos." He pours water into a glass

"With details...? who can and cannot drink... I suppose?"

He nods. "Your husband noted... to not serve any alcohol to you Miss."

"Even... I want to? Or... pay?"

"I'm sorry Miss..." he says, "If you like we can offer you our non-alcohol champagne?"

You sigh heavily. You badly want to drink. Even just one glass to calm yourself. But...you can't. Yoongi have rules and you cannot avoid and disobey them.

He does give you the freedom to do whatever you want but when it comes to what not to do or what he likes, he have a handful.

1. Don't cut your hair short

2. Don't drink when he's not present nor ordered by him

3. Don't leave the house without atleast one body guard

4. Don't wear perfume (he gets dizzy)

5. Use the safeword during sex

And etc.

The rules are quite simple. Nothing to weird nor to hard to follow. It's just you compromising. And also, you do have a hard time saying no to Him.

"Thanks." You mumble, sighing as you take the glass of water and walk away from the bar.

After figuring out you can't drink to calm yourself, you decide to just go somewhere outside, away from the crowd and peaceful to get fresh air. Lucky you, you found an exit that leads you to the garden.

As time have gone by, you're not sure how long have you been there, staring at the fountain, the flowers and even starring down at your feet every now and then. You thought being out here will leave your head empty. Not worrying about anything. But then you'd catch yourself pouting and comparing yourself to all the ladies you have seen in the event, especially the last person you have talked to.

Your self pity and low self-esteem is thriving today than usual. Is it the lack of sleep? Or because of the one guy from earlier giving you a judging look that made you regret wearing the dress you picked? What happened?

These thoughts are not very helpful. Especially lately, well probably more on daily basis, you do wonder why Yoongi chose you. To marry.

They've said, more particularly his parents said, that he didn't like the ones they suggested for him; so he decided to pick you. To marry you instead of those women who is on the same level as him or close to his family's wealth.

Odd isn't it? Why would someone like him, an elite bachelor, pick a girl from a lower class family to marry? What did he see in you? What made him randomly pick you? You are not special, inexperience about life and not alluring as the other girls in his world. What did he saw? How did he even saw you? You were sure you two never met before. So did he hire someone to find a daughter from a poor family or what?

Instead of clearing your mind, you suddenly had these outburst of questions.

"What are you doing here?"

Your eyes widens after hearing a familiar voice. You didn't dare to speak. You just slowly turn your upper body around to see him, walking slowly towards you.

He's wearing a tuxedo. His hair is slightly slicked back and his scar. His beautiful scar. It's him.

You can't believe what you are seeing. He's really here. Why? He's been away for a week because of work and when did he came back?

"Y-yoongi..." you mumble, standing up

"I asked you..." he says as he stands right in front of you. Then you see his eyes darts down at your glass of water, sitting beside you. "Your bodyguard said... you asked for a drink." He looks back at you, his expression is so serious.

"I ahm... sorry..." you lower your gaze.

"You know... you can't drink."

"I'm sorry..." you whisper softly

"Let her have fun." A woman's voice says. "She just wants to have a glass of wine. It won't hurt."

Slowly raising your eyes, you see her, Sarang, standing from afar from you and Yoongi.

Her stance at this moment is unidentical to her persona earlier. It feels like she is a completely different person, though her appearance is the same. Something shifted.

"She did an amazing job.. representing you earlier." She adds

Your eyes then goes to Yoongi. You want to see his reaction to the angelic woman speaking. You are curious. No one talks to him directly like that, blunt and straight forward, even you.

Sarang is brave to talk casually to him.

"Ready the car..." Yoongi finally speaks after a monent of silence. Ordering one of his men to move.

That was it?

"I'll return the items. Keep the money. I don't care." He says while he's looking at you, straight into your eyes. Though you know, even his eyes are on you, he's not actually speaking to you.

"Yoongi le---" she tries to speak again but he didn't allowed it.

Yoongi just slightly turned his head to give her a side eye. He is not pleased. "My wife and I are leaving..." and then takes your hand to hold onto. "Let's go home..." he says that only you can hear.

"Ahm...ahh... okay." You say, lost by the sudden fierceness from him

***

"Get in." He orders you

Carefully climbing in the car, you move to the other side making sure there is a space betweem you two.

"Home please." Yoongi says to his driver as he shuts the door.

"Sir." The man answers, nodding and then pushes a button that closes the opening between the driver to the passenger seat of the car.

We are now isolated.

He looks so tired. Looks like he just came back and went straight to event to pick you up.

"I have my driver with me... you could've rested at home." You say

He sighs and closes his eyes. "I'm fine."

Did he purposely pick you up because he wants to see you? Did he missed you while he was away for a week?

Your mind is filled with questions and curiosity but you cannot dream of these questions to be real. You have to remember, he just married you because he have no other choice. There is no love in between you two. You are married by paper only that is worth a lot of money. Everything you are doing for him is to repay all of his kindness to you and your family.

This is all just a fantasy. A beautiful fantasy.

"Come closer..." he softly says. His eyes are still shut but his arm is arching, gesturing for me to take place in then. "Y/n..." he opens his eyes, calling my name. You scoot over his side. He immediately puts his arm around you, making sure you are close. "You're shaking..." he utters as he goes back to closing his eyes, resting his head back. "You're almost naked with that dress of yours..."

"Sorry..." you say looking down at your knotted fingers. "I thought it will look good....that's why I wore it."

He sighs. "You do look good..." then he shifts in his position and makes sure you're looking back at him. Then he starts leans in, to kiss you.

"Wait..."

He pauses, confused by your reaction. You have never denied his kiss before.

"I'm sorry..."

"What for?" He asks

"Well..." you look to the front, where the driver is. "Do we just kiss or..." you whisper

Yoongi didn't expect your question which made him smile. "It depends." He is looking straight into your eyes, your face are just inches away.

"He might hear us..." you whisper

"I don't fucking care." He moves forward and finally catches your lips.

***

After travelling for almost half an hour, you finally reach home.

"Welcome home, Miss..." The maid greets the second you slide out of the car. she then sees Yoongi, coming out from the other side of the car. "Master!" She bows again. "Welcome..."

They are suprised to see him. They didn't expect him to arrive with you. Looks like none of them knew he went to pick you up.

"Do we have anything to eat?" You softly ask the maid, then you realized that it's already late and that they have to rest too. "Oh... Sorry... never mind... you may go and rest." You give her a faint smile.

Then slowly walking towards the elevator, you could see your husband's reflection through the glass doors. He is busy already with his phone.

"Y/n..."

You glance up, peaking through the reflection. He is walking towards you. So you wirl around and waited for him to stand in front of you.

"Ask your assistant to remove all charities or event under the Lee's tomorrow. Even parties." He says as he undo his bow tie. "And... to not accept any invitation from them...again"

"Why?"

He didn't answer. No answer means he's serious.

"Okay..." You just answer before turning your back at him again.

Thinking about what you are in his world is heart breaking in a way. You are nothing but someone he owns. You just go with the flow of his world.

Yes you do had an idea what you've signed up for but its still shocking nonetheless how everything is unfolding and is doing.

"Aren't you getting in?"

You look up and see that he is in the elevator already, waiting.

"S-sorry..." you say before entering. You try your best to not make eye contact with him.

After both of you settled in, the maid follows and taps on level 3. That is where both your rooms are.

Oddly, Yoongi taps on the Upper ground after her. "Can you please cook something light before you leave? My wife needs to eat." He orders

"Yes, Master." She answers just in time when the elevator stops on UG.

"We'll both be down after we shower and get rested a bit."

"Understood, Master." She exists the elevator, bows and immediately walks off.

'My wife'. It is the second time he said that today. He never says that.

"Don't skip meals." He mumbles as the door closes

You didn't answer. You didn't mean to skip a meal or two today. And maybe a few days before too. You were nervous. One main reason is the dress you're wearing right now is very revealing. A satin black backless maxi dress. You wanted be perfect in the dress thats why, even though you know it's not achievable.

*pings*

The elevator door opens on level 3. You step out and about to turn to your wing when you hear him call your name again.

"Where are you going?" He asks

"T-to my room..." you sound so weak, "To shower..."

"Shower here." He says, suggesting the shower in his wing. Meaning in his room. Meaning his bathroom.

"Hmm?" You are lost in translation. Why is he asking you to shower there all of a sudden.

"To my room." And then he undo the first two buttons of his shirt.

"W-what? Why?"

He didn't say another word. He just continued to walk off towards his room leaving you.

"W-wait..." You take two steps forward but then stops.

"Y/N...." you hear the heels of his shoes stop hitting the marbled floor. His back is facing you. "I said, shower here. I didn't ask you to decide." he then turns around and you see his white top basically open now. "Will you go and shower with me or do you want me to peel that dress off you and carry you to my room?"

Flusttered by his remark, you just released an unsolicited shaky breathing. "Ahm... yes... I'm... I'm coming..."

***

[Flashback to Yoongi's side]

(Earlier... as soon as Yoongi arrived at the charity event)

Some of the people in the event went silent for a few seconds the moment they saw you enter the building. They all didn't expect you to show up since your wife was already present. But of course, they still greeted you with a smile and tried to make small talks. They want to be on your good side. They know what you are capable off. What power you hold in this world.

However, you don't care about these fuckers. You dropped by because you received a call from your wife's bodyguard that Y/N is not looking okay.

"Where is she?" You ask the man standing behind you.

"She just left the bar, Sir. And went out to the garden." He reply.

"I see."

One step, you just took one step and somebody already stands in your way to your wife.

"Look who's here."

"Sarang." You say her name, bitterly. You are not expecting her to be here.

"You have been ignoring my invites for quite some time now... I thought, helping others is one of your goals in life that's why you work 24/7?"

"I thought this event was by the Lee's?" You hiss at your male assistant.

"It is, Sir. By--"

"Lee Do-Hyun..." she cuts off the assistant. "My husband..." she proudly says. "Aww.. That kind a... hurts my feelings...that... you have no idea I got married..."

"I don't keep tab on people who's not important to me."

She scoffs but she sounded a bit insulted and her ego got hurt. But she's good at pretending that it didn't bothered her. "You say that now...but a few years ago... I was your muse..." she tries to move closer to you but your body guards stands in between quickly.

"Was." You look away from her and try to search for your wife through the window not far away from where you stand. "My mistake for socializing to a liar, back stabbing... leech like you." You say, then giving her a side eye. "I wish your husband good fortune... or that he loves spoiling you... or esle... he'll found out his wife's true color..."

You're about to walk away, again, but this bitch still wants to talk to you.

"You think... she'll not get tired of you? Of you controlling her? Especially getting married with you... with no love at all?" She snorts a laugh again. "Or maybe... she will not..." she mumbles under her breathe, "Now... It figures... why you picked someone from a low class family... someone with no choice but to stay with you because her family needs your money. I see..." she laughs again, "poor girl... if I were her, I would milk you all of your money so it will be worth it... after all she married a controlling, dominant, and a freaky person like you."

You know Y/N is not like her. She is a nice person. She's not into money like this bitch is. However, you do think about how Y/N thinks about you and her marriage to you.

You admit that you are very controlling when it comes to her. It is one of your negative trait that you cannot put away. It comes natural with you because of the life you have been brought up and your business. You want things to happen in your way and you are also possessive. You do try to controll it when it comes to her but you are not sure if you are doing it right.

Well how could you know, you never talk about it. Even with your wife. You never asked about her feelings and opinions.

"Watch your mouth." You mumble. "You might think you know me from the years we've been together. But you haven't seen half of what I can and would do... if anyone picks a fight with me.." you glare at her. "Consider this a warning."

[End of flashback from Yoongi's side]

*************

"Miss..."

Slowly opening your eyes, your eyes carefully adjusted to the light. You could see the ray of sunshine peaking through your dark thick curtains.

"Miss..."

You turn your head to the side and see your maid bowing.

"It's noon Miss..."

"Oh."

It has been a quite a few days now, since you start waking up this late. You are usually up early. You are a morning person. You also do jogs or walks around the property and sometimes go to the home gym to move, always. But something shifted in your routines.

You are tired, less motivated and no will to get up your bed.

"I think we need to call the family doctor now, Miss." The maid suggested. "You've lost a bit of weight and you look pale."

"I'm fine." You say as you push your duvet off your body and slide down off your bed. "I'll take a quick bath..." you mumble

"Understood." She is ready to come along with you.

"No... I'm fine... I'll just go alone... just prepare food for me please."

"But... Miss..." she usually prepares your bath and always stays with you there. After the little accident you had a year ago when you first experience a hot bath on the tub. You fainted because you fell asleep. Too much enjoyment and you forgot it is not good to stay long in there.

"I'll be fine." You smile and requested for her to leave

"Okay Miss... but... I will be back after half an hour to check."

"Sure."

You slept last night, wearing your silk robe and your fancy cream nightgown, his favorite. You were expecting Yoongi to come home last night as per usual schedule. But he didn't. He didn't even informed the staff that he'll not be home for a longer period.

What happened? You don't know.

The last time you talked to him was the night he asked you to come to his room and shower with him.

Everything that night was magical. For you atleast. But then you ruined it.

When you both entered his dark room, he immediately clung onto you. He held you like everything depends on it. It was more intemate and hungry than the usual and you liked it for some reason. After all the self doubt and insecurity you felt in the party, the intemacy made you feel more than what you feel.

And when he peeled off your dress from your body, you didn't expected him to go down on his knees and lick your soul out of your body. His tongue did more than you know he could do. It brought you to another level of high. And you didn't know you could screech like an animal because of it. He really made sure you are on cloud nine or even beyond that.

"Fuck me... please..." you begged him after you knees weakened and fall down the floor where he is.

"No." He said. He was sturn. "No request for tonight." He said and then he positioned you underneath him where he could properly see you crumble because of him.

"Y-yoongi... please.... I need... I want to come..." you begged

He brought you to cloud nine but then hold onto your pearls when you were about to orgasm.

"I'm punishing you right now..." he said as he lowers down and starts to run his tongue from your chest up. "Next time... don't wear any sort of revealing clothes...when I'm not around.. do you understand that Y/N?"

"Y-yes..."

"Another rule to add... are you okay with that?" He hummed the last words on your ears before he let both his hands squeeze your breast. "Answer me..."

"I don't... mind..." you were squearming underneath him. He was playing your nipples then. "I... I don't mind... Yoongi..." you repeated, pleading.

His punishment continued for another few minutes. It was too much. You were struggling catching your bliss but he's playing you. However, you are patient. You know his kinks and you know what he wants and so you do whatever and accept whatever. Coz you know it is from him.

"Scream my name." He grunted as he pounds you with no mercy.

You were holding on to his massive bookshelf on the wall, your legs were lifted and hanging over his forearm whilst he was thrusting deep in you. You were getting hurt from your back hitting the shelves but it didn't matter. You don't know why but for some reason you can endure everything just for Yoongi. Even pain.

"Nnggghhaaa..." you threw your arms around his neck as he went faster. "Please!" You cry on his neck. "Aaaahhh!!" You screamed the orgasm you have been keeping for a while. You felt relieved and content.

And as you two were catching your breath. You uttered words that surprised the both of you. You said 'I love you' to Yoongi.

It should not be a surprise. You two are married right. However since yours are different from others, those words were never said or mentioned ever after the wedding. It is like a forebidden phrase though there are no rule about it. It's like an unspoken deal that no one says those words since THIS.. YOU TWO... is just a fantasy. You two got together with no love. It is not real. You are just one of his property.

And so, after that night. That magical night for you ended up into this cold, quiet and empty prison. Again. You are back to nothing.

You thought you are on a journey escaping that confinement. You thought that something is going to change. You thought... that you were wrong about him. But who are you kidding? You were just having sex like you used to. It is nothing special. It is the same crap. So you saying you love him is... worthless.

"Did I even mean it?" You ask yourself as you lay down in your hot bath. "I said it... after sex.." you are trying to understand how those words slipped out of your lips. If it all just happened because of such high from the sex.

You can clearly remember how you said it. You paused, looked into his eyes and carefully said it. You know you said it with the intent for him to hear it but when you saw his reaction. It made you realize what a big mistake it was.

"Am I having feelings for him?" You mumble as you lower yourself more into the water. "I should not right?"

You know the answer to your own quesion. Look at him even ignoring you for almost two weeks now. Who are you even kidding thinking it will have an effect on him?

After the 'I love you' incident, He eat dinners without you or he let you eat first before he comes out of his home office. And then when he leaves, he does not inform you now. You just get the news of him flying off somewhere from your maid. Even his men are being cautious with you. He must've ordered them to be distant but at the same time protect you.

How funny that these are his responses to you. You know you deserve it but you're a little bit hurt, your not going to lie.

"Who am I for him to love?" You sigh. "Maybe... I should just prepare myself for the ending of this fantasy..."

*********

"Master." The maids bows as they suddenly sees Yoongi enter the main entrance while they are all cleaning.

Yoongi have not been home for a while. He has been... busy.

"Give them all my clothes." He says to his right hand man. "Sorry if it's quite a lot today." He then says to the maids as he removes his black coat revealing his white button up shirt, stained with blood. A lot of it. No one reacted to the visual that is shown. All the staff are used to it. They know how his world is.

"Where is she?" He asks as he loosen up his tie

All the maids in the corredor suddenly turn heads to the youngest one at the end of the line. She is Y/N personal maid.

"Master." She steps forwards and bows again. "Miss is in her bath."

Yoongi frowns. "Alone?"

"Ahm..." she suddenly stutters. "Sorry, Master! She... Miss wanted to... alone... but I told her after half an hour I will go back."

"How long has she been there?" He then throws his tie on the ground.

"Twenty."

"Okay." He takes a deep breathe and tries to collect himself. "Just go and be on standby in her room. She can't stay any longer."

"Okay, Master." She bows again and briskfully walk back to Y/N wing.

"Are you not going to... visit her Sir?" His male right hand asks. "She have been messaging you since..." he pauses for a bit. "And calling too."

He didn't answer. "Ready my bath please." He orders and just continue walking his way to his room.

"Understood." The man replies

"She can't see me like this." Yoongi mumbles as he walks

"I see..." his right hand man smiles at his master's response.

"Why are you smiling?" Yoongi asks, one eyebrow up.

"Nothing, Sir."

"Just spit it out."

The right man, Mr. Kim have been Yoongi's right hand man ever since he was in his teens. Mr. Kim saw him grew up and be the man that he is now. And for sure, if something changed he would be the first one to notice

And now, the tiny changes in Yoongi's mood and decisions, He might not know or see it but it is obvious for Mr. Kim. He knows it is something about his wife.

"2nd week of your marriage, Sir. She saw you coming home with a bloody lip and injured knuckles. You said you don't give a damn if she sees you looking like a murderer."

"So? What's your point?"

"It's just lately...."

Yoongi pauses and turns around to see Mr. Kim, wearing a smile.

"What are you implying? Just... say it."

Mr. Kim bows and says, "Nothing Sir."

"Hmmm..." rolling his eyes, he continued to walk.

*****

"Miss..." your personal maid rushes in your room, "Master have return." She says.

To her suprise, she sees you standing in the middle of the room, wearing your bathrobe and a towel in your hair already.

You take a deep breathe, not letting your eyes look away from the view you are seeing from your window, a clear blue sky.

"Miss.. shall I prepare your clothes?"

You close your eyes and then removed the towel wrapped around your long hair. "Please..." you softly answer

"What do you prefer to wear today, Miss?" She asks she she begins to walk towards your walk in closet.

"A black dress..." you say as you follow along. "Maybe the one with the longer sleeves."

She nods and then continues to search for the dresses you have that matches your description while you on the other hand looks at yourself in the full length mirror while you undress from your robe.

You stare at your body and see how you thin you are. Not super thin but thinner than what you used to.

It's your own fault. You have been skipping meals when you are stressed and it's not good.

"Miss?" She then lays three dresses on the sofa in the middle, for your choices.

"The middle one." You says.

You then open the drawer for your undies to grab a black lace matching underwear.

"Ahm, Miss...?"

"Yes?"

"Are you going to eat with Master, in the dinning today?"

"Hmm... what did he say?"

"Nothing. He just asked me to stay with you when I told him you are in your bath."

"Did he say if he wants to see me?"

The maid didn't answer.

"I guess not." You scoff as you getting into the dress. "Just bring my food in my study room. I'll eat there while I do some reading."

"Understood." She bows and exists the room.

"I'm not gonna wait for him anymore." You say to yourself while looking onto the mirror. "If he's going to avoid me or ignore me... then... that's what I'll do as well..."

Starring once again at yourself on the mirror, you look at your face and then your eyes goes down to your belly.

"I have to learn to go on with my life... with or without him..." you mumble. "I should start to escape this fantasy... a dream that maybe the 'us' will be something."

Part 3 - Twilight

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ninzied · 7 months

Text

and that's how it works

a co-worker au. based on the prompt: kiss out of spite. ~2.4k.

Alex can’t stand him from the start.

He tries not to actively dislike any co-workers, as a general rule. It takes effort, and time, neither of which he wants to spend on this guy—unless said work has been affected, which, Alex has to admit that it hasn’t.

But there’s something about him that rubs Alex the wrong way the moment they get introduced.

He’s hard-working, Alex supposes, and the quality of the work isn’t lacking. He’s punctual, and to-the-point in his emails. None of those things are an issue. He does make a habit of helping himself to Alex’s office supplies, but a few missing staples and running out of printer paper don’t exactly justify a grudge.

The guy’s personality is, objectively, annoying. He has the worst taste in ties, which to Alex says a lot, and he can’t go more than five minutes without alluding to his pedigree in some way (Alex knows this because he and Nora have made a drinking game out of it at work functions).

Still, it doesn’t explain the weird surge of resentment he gets every time he looks at the guy. And not understanding it might be the most annoying part of all.

He just wishes he knew why.

Alex works in the legal department, but the coffee’s way better in HR down the hall, so most mornings he’s using their break room. Most mornings, and at lunchtime too, and in the afternoons more than once until Nora starts cutting him off, which. Fair.

Apparently he’s not the only one who’s discovered HR’s superior coffee, though, because he’s always there too, and always at the same time as Alex. Seriously, can he not? It’s bad enough that they share a cubicle. Now Alex has to suffer the insult of watching him fucking microwave his coffee like some kind of sociopath, too?

“Are you following me?” Alex demands to know one morning, a little ridiculously. He’s aware that HR is not the best place to be throwing accusations around, but he’s kind of had it with this guy. “Because—”

At that exact moment, the door is opening, and Henry Fox is walking into the room.

“Oh, hey,” says Alex.

Henry glances at him the way he always does, that is to say, a little bemused as to what Alex is doing here. But Henry had been his point person when he was hired six months ago, so he must know Alex works here, right? Besides, he’s been coming to drink their coffee every day of those past six months now, and he knows Henry knows this because their breaks usually overlap and the way Henry barely says two words to him half the time is starting to feel kind of personal.

“It’s Alex,” says Alex, because, well, just in case.

“Yes, I’m aware,” says Henry. After a beat that’s long enough to get awkward, he says, “Err. Right then.”

And then he smiles and waves at Hunter, who isn’t even supposed to be here either, and walks over to take the seat Hunter has saved him like they’re all in fucking high school.

Hunter says something smarmy about a new art gallery or what-the-fuck-ever he went to last night, using a slightly too-loud voice that’s clearly meant to be overheard. Alex grits his teeth.

“Oh, I’ve been meaning to go,” says Henry. “What did you think?”

Alex scowls. Fuck, he fucking hates Hunter.

“So how’s the transfer going?” asks Hunter one day.

Alex jerks involuntarily and splashes hot coffee all over his hand. “Motherfucker,” he says, and then, because his filter is fully shot now anyway, he glances over at Henry. “You’re transferring? Like, jobs?”

“Oh. Um. No. Departments,” says Henry. Alex supposes that’s all he’s getting—four whole words must be some kind of record—but then Henry continues. “To editing. Starting first thing next week.”

“Oh,” says Alex. “Cool. That’s…a big move.” Literally. That’s, like, whole floors away. He opens the freezer door with his good hand, and wonders what the coffee tastes like up there in editing, if it would be weird to find out sometime. He grabs a fistful of ice.

“Yes,” Henry is saying. “It will be quite the change, and I—wait. Sorry.” He stands abruptly, and Alex stares in surprise as Henry comes over and stops right in front of him. “Please put the ice down.”

“Um,” says Alex. “O…kay?”

“You should use lukewarm water,” says Henry. “Cool, at best. For your hand.”

“Oh,” says Alex. “Right. Thanks.” He turns to the sink, feeling weirdly aware of the fact that Henry is still standing there. “It’s too bad,” Alex says before Henry can decide to sit down next to Hunter again. “Kind of a big loss for HR.”

Henry’s brows knit back together. “Is it?”

Alex shrugs. “To my knowledge, no one else personally escorts new employees to their cubicles on the first day of work. Like you did with Hunter here, for example.” He levels Henry with a grin. “I was there when you showed him around, in case you don’t remember.”

Henry’s expression is inscrutable. “I do,” he says.

Alex makes a point to not look away. “Guess that wasn’t a thing back when I started.”

“Ah,” says Henry. He’s flushing for some reason now. “No, I suppose not.”

Alex considers him. He can’t decide if Henry’s playing dumb, or if he really doesn’t remember that he’d been the one to help hire Alex. Then he decides he doesn’t care, because both options make him feel like something on the bottom of Hunter’s shoe, which he hates.

“Think I’m gonna head back.” Alex looks expectantly at Hunter, who only lifts his mug like he’s still planning on being a while. Fucking fine.

He can still see the two of them through the glass pane in the door when Nora walks by with a stack of folders.

“You okay?” she asks, in a tone that says she’s guessed the answer.

“Fucking no,” says Alex anyway. “What are they even doing? Talking?”

Nora sneaks a peek through the window. “Appears so,” she deadpans. “Talking in the break room. Unbelievable.”

“I know, right?” Alex scowls, then realizes he’s left without his coffee, which makes him scowl even harder.

Nora sighs, then slips her free arm through his. “Let’s walk.”

“Do you think Hunter likes him?” asks Alex. Because—not that he’s spent a lot of time on this—Alex thinks that Hunter does, and nothing is worse than the thought of Henry liking him back because he doesn’t know any better.

Maybe Alex should say something.

Nora is looking sideways at him. Alex isn’t sure why. “I think what Hunter likes is people with a pedigree,” she says. “Anyway, what’s not to like? Henry’s a snack.”

“What?” says Alex. Objectively, Henry looks a bit like an Adonis, but, “That is so beside the point. And just because Hunter’s like Harvard royalty or whatever doesn’t give him the right to come in here and trick people into liking him when—”

“When you were here first?” Nora supplies.

“What?” Now Nora is really missing the point. “This has nothing to do with me, or with Henry. I just meant, like, you know. In general.”

“Right,” says Nora. “I must have misunderstood.”

Alex keeps going back to the break room, of course. The coffee’s still better, and he can keep bothering Nora even though she’s transferring soon too (to marketing two floors down, the traitor). None of those things have changed just because Henry is no longer there every day.

The one thing that does change, Alex notices with a dark kind of satisfaction, is that Hunter does not go back to the break room. In fact, he starts bringing his own coffee each morning (Starbucks, which seems very on-brand). If anything, Alex only has more reason now to escape to HR and not spend any more time around Hunter than necessary.

About a week after Henry’s transfer, Alex realizes he’s used the last of the break room’s cinnamon. Again. Goddamn it, he thinks. He’s just spent the morning in back-to-back meetings, he’s getting his coffee hours later than usual, and now this?

He rifles through the cupboards for a second and then a third time just in case there's a rogue bottle somewhere. “Fuck me,” he mutters.

“What’s the occasion?” comes a voice from the door, and Alex turns to find Henry leaning against it. His arms are crossed, and he’s doing that chin-tilty thing that apparently means Alex has zero control over what comes out of his mouth.

“What are you doing here?” Alex blurts.

Henry raises an eyebrow. “I could’ve been asking you the same thing for the past six months or so, but I haven’t.” He uncrosses his arms and comes over. “Would you believe me if I said I came here for the coffee?”

“No,” says Alex, with absolute certainty. “You don’t drink coffee.”

Henry blinks. “I could,” he argues after a moment, then straightens a little. “In fact, maybe I planned to start today.”

“Uh huh.” Alex gestures for him to have at the machine. “Do you even know how to use it?”

“Can’t be that difficult,” says Henry. He gives the machine a dubious look, and Alex doesn’t mean to but he starts to laugh.

“Here, I got it. Was about to make some for myself anyway.”

“Ah.” Henry looks abashed suddenly. Even the tips of his ears have turned pink. “Suppose you’ll be wanting this, then.” He pulls a ground cinnamon bottle from his pants pocket.

Alex shakes his head in disbelief. He could actually kiss Henry right now. “How did you—?”

“Well, you were running low last I was here,” says Henry, like that’s a totally normal thing to have noticed when Alex has never seen him touch the spice rack once. “Figured you'd be out by now, so I nicked some from the break room upstairs. No one’s been using it there anyway.”

The shock on Alex’s face makes him backtrack. “Sorry,” he says, flushing an even deeper pink now. “I—didn’t know you’d be here. You’re usually, um. Earlier. I can return it, if you’d like.” He says all this in a rush.

“No, it’s great,” Alex says emphatically. “Don’t you dare take it back.” He’s still staring a little, but that can’t be helped. Henry knows how he likes his coffee. And Henry had planned to restock the cinnamon without Alex ever knowing.

Henry clears his throat, looking around them. “You didn’t bring Hunter with you today,” he notes.

“No,” says Alex immediately. “God, no. And I don’t bring him anywhere, he just. Shows up. Honestly, I can’t stand the guy.” Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have said that.

“Oh, thank Christ,” Henry says, looking immensely relieved. “Now that I don’t work in HR anymore, can I just say how little I enjoy his company?”

This is way better news than when Henry had first reached out to Alex with his offer letter and starting salary. He grins. “You can. In fact, please say more.”

Henry looks rueful. “I really shouldn’t.”

“It’s just that—” Alex sobers a little. “He was the only person you seemed willing to talk to.”

“It was easier, for me.” Henry takes a breath. “I feel less shy around people whose opinion of me doesn’t matter as much.” He pauses, something meaningful in the way he looks sidelong at Alex now. “I do want to be better about it.”

Alex nods, considering this. He tries hard not to smile. Probably not hard enough. “I can work with that.”

“You do realize neither of you work in this department,” says Nora, pulling food from the fridge.

Henry sips the tea Alex has just made him. Coffee, turns out, had been a lost cause. They’re both leaning against the counter, elbows not-quite-touching but getting closer to it every day, by Alex’s estimation.

“Do any of us, at this point?” Henry muses.

Nora shrugs. “Fair.”

“Just don’t tell You Know Who,” says Alex.

“Who’s You Know Who?” Hunter asks from the doorway. He has a confused smile on his face as he looks from Henry to Alex back to Henry again. Normally the sight of Hunter fills Alex with the most profound irritation, but now he’s feeling kind of pleased.

That’s right, he thinks smugly at Hunter: Henry is mine.

Huh. Suddenly things make a lot more sense now.

“Hey, did you get my email about the museum opening this Friday?” Hunter asks Henry, and Alex bristles instantly. Did Hunter not get the look Alex just gave him?

“Ah,” says Henry awkwardly, and it would be endearing if he didn’t also look so deeply uncomfortable. His awkwardness now is so different from the bashful kind of awkward he used to be around Alex; honestly, Alex can’t believe he’d never been able to tell between the two until now. “Actually, I’m—”

“Going,” says Alex, “already. With me.”

Henry looks at him in happy surprise. “Really?”

“Really,” Alex says firmly. And then, because he likes how dumbstruck Hunter looks right now, and because Henry doesn’t pull away when Alex puts an arm around his shoulders and he really, really likes that too, he does the only thing left that makes sense to him, which is to lean in and kiss Henry. He kind of feels like he might die when Henry kisses him back.

Fuuuuuuck.

Henry’s eyes are still closed when Alex leans back. He’s dimly aware that Nora has shooed Hunter out and closed the door behind them. He’s more acutely aware of how Henry licks his lips, then opens his eyes with an oddly vulnerable expression and says, “Alex, please tell me you didn’t just kiss me for Hunter’s benefit.”

“What? No. I mean—not exactly.” Fuck. Why can’t he use only the words that he needs? “The answer’s still no, but I might’ve used it as an excuse if I’d kissed you like two weeks ago. But that’s not why I kissed you just now, and it’s not why I’m going to kiss you again.”

“Oh, you think you’re going to kiss me again, do you,” Henry says with a hint of a smile, lifting his chin in a kind of challenge that Alex does not intend to back away from.

“One-hundred-percent,” he says, then pauses. “Unless you plan on reporting me to HR.”

“Honestly,” says Henry, “I might have to report you if you don’t.”

“Well, we can’t have that,” Alex says, very seriously, and he pulls Henry back in.

#rwrb #red white and royal blue #rwrbedit #rwrbsource #rwrb fic #firstprince #firstprince fic #rwrb fanfic #firstprince fanfic #usernuria #iuserzoe #userveronika #usersteen #chrissiewatts

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thedevilssinner · 1 year

Text

Elven soulmates - Astarion x Elf!Tav - Headcanon

I listened to one song and for some reason it screamed Astarion x Tav at me. This man is really ruining my life 😅

Anyway… the song was ‘IDK you yet’ and I just thought about the two of them being soulmates or something like that and then I found a thread on https://www.enworld.org about elven relationships and someone mentioned soulmates which got me searching and I found this page https://www.realmshelps.net/charbuild/races/elf/leaf.shtml where is mentioned that elves can find someone they call their thiramin which should mean soulmate in elvish language.

Here’s the part from the https://www.realmshelps.net :

Upon reaching adulthood, elves continue their sexual explorations. Eventually, though, each discovers that his heart has developed a capacity for lasting and exclusive love. Like most other important things in their lives, elves describe this in mystical terms. They believe that a person's spiritual progress is unknowingly intertwined with that of another. This soulmate is called a thiramin. Upon meeting his thiramin, an elf's heart fills with passion and certainty. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, the other party is felled by the same feeling of immediate and eternal devotion. (Though rare, an unrequited feeling of thiramin is always disastrous, bringing centuries of wrenching heartbreak. Sufferers often commit suicide or succumb to the temptations of evil.) Elves almost always feel thiramin for people they meet for the first time: In other words, visitors from other communities. Intermarriage between communities strengthens the bonds of communication between settlements, allowing them to quickly band together against the armies of evil that march across the land.

Now… You can imagine what that did to me, when I thought about the idea of Elf Tav knowing Astarion before he was turned into a vampire so… here’s some headcanons. Suffer with me.

Tav and Astarion met in Baldur's gate. Tav being new to the city. Young elf exploring the world outside their home.

Maybe they met in an art gallery or a tavern or some other place… that’s up to you, but when their eyes met, they immediately knew the other one was their thiramin. Heart beating wildly as they smile at each other.

They start dating, of course. Trying to get to know each other and spend as much time together as possible.

I think that Tav would call Astarion their star… or maybe even ‘my starry night’

Astarion would call them ‘my moon’ (idk, I just love the idea of them using moon and stars as pet names)

Or… inspired by Game of Thrones - Astarion would call Tav ‘my sun and stars' while Tav would call him ‘the moon of my life’

Maybe they dated for a year or two, thinking about buying a house together.

But then Astarion was beaten ‘to death’ by the Gurs.

Tav could immediately tell that something was terribly wrong. The connection they felt with Astarion severing and sharp pain piercing through their heart. Panicked, they tried to find Astarion, going to his home but they already came too late.

Their blood turned into ice when they saw the mercenaries from the Flaming Fist already around his home. Seeing them carrying an awfully pale and beaten body of Astarion. (I don't remember if it was mentioned if Astarion lived in a Lower or Upper city before he was turned, so I chose a Lower city 🤷🏻‍♀️) (Also, not sure how and where exactly were he turned so I hope this is fine)

After a few days, Tav still couldn’t comprehend what truly happened. They felt just… empty. As if every color, every piece of happiness was ripped away from their soul. Not even able to visit Astarion’s grave because of that.

When Tav's family found out, they came to them, taking them to their homeland, because they knew how bad losing your soulmate could end for an elf. Tav fell into a deep grief and depression that lasted almost 100 years, doing some questionable things here and there until they started to function again.

On the other side - Astarion was beaten by Gurs but his final death came from Cazador, the change itself working just like if he truly died. His connection to Tav is severed and the shock of his change into a vampire erases all memory of them from his mind.

And then the 200 years of torture begin. Astarion doing anything he could and needed to do for survival. Flirting and luring victims to Cazador. He was good at it, great even, but something always felt wrong.

Well, everything he did for Cazador was wrong, but touching another person, sleeping with them, and whispering words of love to them seemed wrong for another reason he couldn't understand. It was as if his subconscious was always trying to tell him something, but he couldn't say what.

There was just always something wrong with the victims. Wrong eye color, wrong tone of voice or even their pet names they sometimes used for him.

Is he missing something? Someone? Longing for the embrace of a specific person that is unknown to him.

He always blamed his vampirism for this feeling. Thinking that’s just how it is. The feeling of wrongness and emptiness residing in him for the 200 years of his unlife.

Until the Mind Flayers and Nautiloid.

But back to Tav:

After a hundred years of grief, Tav finally started to get better. Diving into learning the profession/class they have chosen. Trying to enjoy life as much as they could, but the emptiness never fully disappeared. As if part of their soul was still gone.

They even tried to date, pressured by their family to at least try, but when their new partner tried to kiss them… they just couldn’t do it, dull pain spreading through their body and guilt flooding their mind. They immediately break up with the person and decide never to find a partner again.

But apart from that, they were relatively happy. Another 100 years slowly drifting away, the memories of Astarion remaining, if a little faded.

Until the Mind Flayers and Nautiloid.

Game plot:

Tav was walking with Shadowheart and Gale when they heard someone call for help.

Of course, they immediately headed for the voice, trying to help all the survivors of the crashed ship.

But when they finally came to the person they heard, the blood ran cold in their veins, the weapon they held falling from their grasp. It was like seeing him for the first time in their life but at the same time not… Astarion.

They notice that he looks different. His eyes are the wrong color and he’s so pale… but it’s him. They know it is because their soul sang when their eyes locked… but how?

“Hurry, I’ve got one of those bran things…” Astarion's voice trailed off as he fixed his eyes on Tav and gasped as an unfamiliar sensation filled his body. It was as if everything finally clicked and his mind was flooded with memories he didn't know he had.

That's how far I've come with this idea. I'm not sure how it would have gone on, but I imagine it would have taken a while for Tav and Astarion to become partners again. Both mourning the years they could have spent together if it weren't for Cazador. Tav learning to love the new Astarion he has become, because he was different from the elf they knew before and Astarion learning to love again overall.

#astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x elf!tav #astarion x reader #astarion x you #astarion ancunin #baldur's gate 3 #baldurs gate 3 #headcannons #astarion fanfic idea #fanfic idea #astarion headcanons #astarion x gn tav #astarion x gn reader #elf tav #Spotify

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manicpixiefelix · 7 months

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 15.

Summary: Oliver's first night and the next morning at Saltburn, and you learn that not only does he know more about you and Felix than you'd assumed, but he knows even less about the social rules of a place like this than you'd imagined.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, we finally get the basis of the consensual pervert/enabler dynamic between oliver/reader(/felix). its implications in this chapter but will probably get more explicit in future.

A/N: 4908 words. venetia catton is a menace to society and i am in lvoe with her. set up is being set up!! we're getting there, friends!!

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

You wish you hadn't looked out of the window. You wished you hadn't cracked open the door to step onto the balcony. You wished you hadn't waited up.

Dinner had ended hours ago, and Felix was well and truly asleep, but you'd left your smokes on his balcony and had taken a break from going over the guest lists for the upcoming events that Duncan had provided you with. It was something you did every year, it helped calm your anxiety around these formal events, to be well versed on all the patrons in attendance, making everyone feel as though their place at Saltburn mattered, if only for a night. There was most certainly some deep, psychological root of your crippling social anxiety and fear of faux par and failure, but that was almost certainly a problem to investigate in the future.

The lilac study had been functionally unused since before even Felix had been born, sitting idle and untouched but beautifully furnished directly across from his room, on the other side of the long gallery, with a beautiful view of the gardens. It became unofficially your study many years ago, though sometimes Felix would use it too if he had some kind of Summer project he had to attend to. But now it was yours, set up with a bulky computer for the occasional emails from your family business that you were becoming slowly more involved in. Mostly, however, you spent your time thoroughly poring over these dossiers of guest lists with attached relevant information, committing all of them to memory.

After spending most of the day high, you felt guilty enough to get a head start on the Summer that evening.

But just before midnight you'd needed a smoke.

Oliver and Venetia painted so pale in the moonlight, Oliver half dressed and clearly ready for bed, Venetia with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders that you knew she wouldn't have brought herself. It doesn't seem to be a particularly deep conversation, but you think you can see Venetia smiling, and a smile like that can never mean anything good. Surely she'd told Oliver some pretty lie about why she was out there, but her room was on the other side of the house.

Oliver is unconventionally wonderful, and she is, and forever will be, Venetia Catton.

He will fall for her tricks, and you're sure part of her, just like her brother, just like yourself, would fall for part of Oliver's unsuspecting charms.

Just like she said she had with Eddie.

No, this was deliberate, you were sure; Venetia was playing this dangerous game again.

Retiring back to your study, you make sure to keep the door ajar to hear of anyone coming through the gallery. Saltburn is a creature that groans when you tread in the wrong places; you, like Duncan, had long ago mastered the art of moving around the house in total silence. None of the Cattons had ever felt it a necessary skill to learn. Oliver hadn't even been here a day. His footsteps practically echoed like drum beats.

"Everything okay, Ollie?" You shoot for casual, voice loud enough that you know he'd hear it in the quiet ambiance of the night, but that it wouldn't disturb Felix. The footsteps stop. There's no tell-tale creak of his door. Then, he moves towards you.

"How'd you know it was me?" Oliver, at your door, is shirtless. Oh. Right. Of course he was. He had been in the garden only moments before.

"I saw you downstairs," you say, trying to regain your train of thought. It's the easiest for him to digest, and most of the truth. He hadn't seemed to like the thought of you knowing his prescription earlier, even though you were just embarrassed to admit you'd stolen his glasses for a few days back in the first few months of meeting him, throwing enough money at an optometrist that they'd figured out his prescription from his current glasses. Right now you didn't want to tell him that you had spent enough time here that you could distinguish the Cattons from their staff, and distinguish each of the Cattons by footstep alone, and that Oliver's was so blatantly different to everyone else's that it was easy to deduce it was him. No, you don't say any of that.

"Oh," Oliver says awkwardly, shivering a little. Despite the heat of the day, it had cooled off considerably, "I spotted Venetia down there, I thought she might have been sleepwalking."

"Was she?" You ask with an automatic little smile, not wanting to give away how much you knew this to be Venetia's game.

"Said she was looking at the moon."

A sight you knew was perfectly visible from her own room. But you bite your tongue on that.

"So no?" You let the smile ease to something less robotic, something knowing, and Oliver sheepishly shook his head. Settling back in your chair in the lamp light, you look him over. Had he always looked so... you remember how he'd looked in the moonlight of your room and you have to look away, lest you get yourself flustered.

"Are you alright?" Oliver speaks up, taking a step into the study, finally letting himself look around. "Thought you'd be in bed."

"I'm meant to be," you admitted, "but I was getting ahead of this year's Summer schedule," you gesture to the book, and Oliver finally comes and joins you. He leans down over your shoulder, squinting at the pages, your shoulder pressed to his hip. He squints a little longer. Ah, "you're welcome to have a good look at it tomorrow," you offered brightly, pointedly not saying when you're wearing contacts and actually able to see, but Oliver thankfully seems to take the hint, even if he's still clearly awkward about the reminder. His hand then comes to rest on your shoulder, looking down at you and the way you're glowing in the gold light.

A moment passes; there's something on his mind, but you'll never push. Eventually it always comes out. It doesn't take long this time at least.

"Felix brought someone else to Saltburn, didn't he? Before; not just you," Oliver says softly, eyebrows knitting together. Fucking Venetia, you thought ruefully. Some of it must show on your face, because Oliver's hand comes up from your shoulders, thumb against the faintest scowl that has wrinkled your brow.

"What did she tell you?"

"Nothing really," he says faintly; while his expression is no longer concerned, there's something about the way he's watching you, cataloguing every small moment and movement of your face, each looking in your eyes, everything about you and your reaction that makes you feel... studied. Catalogued. Seen. You don't flinch away, don't move, just let yourself react, and let Oliver watch all the while. Then, after a moment, his hand is moving again, holding your chin, thumb running so gently over the curve of your lips, "called me lucky is all," he mumbled, as if transfixed by your face, by the way you're allowing this moment to go on, "said you didn't even like the last one." His words dip with disdain as he recalls what Venetia had said; what a snitch she was, you found yourself thinking.

"You need to be careful, Ollie," you tell him faintly, warning on your lips as you found yourself biting your tongue on a past that you don't feel is yours to really speak on. It was true that you had never been best friends with Eddie, but you were still rather fond of him. Even if that fondness was born from Felix's. Even if you were glad to be rid of him. Even if he hadn't even made it down the driveway before you were sending emails and worming your way into the Oxford administration usernet.

"Careful of the cold-blooded Cattons?" He asks, voice surprisingly idle, as if bored by the warnings, unphased by them. Where had his earlier trepidation gotten to, you wonder, right as Oliver gently caresses your cheek, "or should I be careful of you?" There's something in his voice that you're sure you'd only heard when he was looking up from between your thighs.

When you open your eyes, you find yourself meeting his curious gaze. The lamp paints his cool skin gold. One conversation with Felix and his hesitancy is gone. It's like you picked up right where you'd left off with each other before Felix's jealousy had awoken. It's actually a little infuriating, bordering on embarrassing, how taken you are with Oliver's quiet confidence.

After a moment in which you struggle to find the right words, Oliver actually smiles at you. It's almost condescending, like he understands the effect he has on you in these moments.

"Don't be jealous, pet," he tells you. Immediate, flustered shock flashes across your face before you can even stop it. But he doesn't tease, doesn't draw out the moment, he simply lets you breathe in and adjust to the moment, to his use of the nickname.

Saltburn creaks, the tell-tale noise of the old house settling into its foundation; Oliver, unfamiliar with the way the Estate echoes it's own, predicable, discordant melody of a night, looks to the door with sudden nerves once more. Something about his momentary uncertainty of his surrounds reminds you to breathe, to settle yourself like the house you practically grew up in.

You give a tired smile like it's all merely a joke, closing the dossier on the table in front of you.

"You should go to bed, Ollie," you tell him, voice nothing but warm and gentle, "we both should." Oliver ducks his head obligingly, stepping back from your seat to give you space, but still waiting patiently for you.

Once the lamp clicks off and the two of you are drenched in darkness, Oliver's voice cuts through the darkness as the two of you make your way to the lighter, long gallery.

"It must be nice being away from Oxford, being somewhere you don't have to pretend."

"Pretend what?"

"You know, the thing that's going on with you and Felix, whatever you want to call it." He says it so casually that you respond without really thinking. After all, he had a point; it's one of the many reasons you loved Summers at Saltburn.

"I don't even know the right words for it," after a long moment to think, you admit sheepishly. Then, moving to the long gallery that's still dimly lit, you look to Oliver with mild confusion as you fully process his words, "you... know?" Oliver, shirtless and in his pyjama bottoms, leans casually against his doorframe with a coy little smile. "How much do you know?" His smile grows wider; even from here his eyes look like they're shining with amusement.

"I don't think that kind of talk's appropriate for polite company," he teases, and you can feel your heartbeat racing. Sure you weren't careful at university, but you thought you'd at least convinced everyone it was platonic. Somehow.

"What- Oliver what does that mean? What have you seen or heard or -?" You babbled, flustered beneath his knowing gaze that suddenly burned with desire.

"Don't you want to be wanted anymore?" Is all he offered, simply wishing you a good rest of your night, slipping into his room. You're left flustered and speechless and honestly getting a little hot and bothered trying to figure out exactly what he was implying, and what he had seen.

Back in your room, you flick on the lamp on your side of the bed, trying to remain as quiet as possible as to not disturb the already sleeping Felix as you undress yourself, searching for your pyjamas. You're so in your head thinking about the encounter you'd just had with Oliver, trying to understand all the implications he left unsaid, that you don't even hear Felix yawning and shifting in the bed, half woken by the light.

"Hot," he mumbles after a long, appreciative hum, wearing a wide smile that would have bordered on leering if you didn't know him better. Actually, it was leering, but if anyone was allowed to leer at you it would be half asleep Felix, "this is perfect," he muses, pulling back the blankets to make room for you on the bed next to him, "you can stay like this; come here, don't worry about the pyjamas, no-one cares about them -" and you're more than happy to tuck yourself up against him like this. Pyjamas were more a habit than anything else, and Felix draws shapes on your bare back as you're both falling asleep.

Yes, you think to yourself as you're drifting off, it is nice being away from Oxford, being somewhere you didn't have to pretend.

The next morning you decide to chalk Oliver's boldness and implications up to the late hour, and don't feel the need to mention it over breakfast. Or, well, not all of it.

"Is there something wrong with the toast, pet?" Pamela asks gently across the table, her big, doe eyes boring into you where you'd been glaring down at your plate for the past five minutes. Venetia and Farleigh have been talking quietly together on Felix's other side, clearly comparing notes on Oliver already. Looking up at her just as the other two go quiet, you try and reassure her that everything's fine, even if your face hasn't quite gotten the message.

"Come on, shouldn't you just be happy that -" Venetia starts, but you cut her off before she can say something demeaning about either yourself or Oliver, knowing her too well to trust her mouth at any time of day, even over breakfast with the whole family.

"I am happy Ollie's here, Ven," you told her flatly, leaning forward to level an unimpressed look at her around Felix, "less thrilled about you being weird and coquettish outside my window," even though your façade doesn't show it, you're pleased by the pleased little cackle Felix covers with a sip of his drink, "do they not have the moon on your side of the house?" You snipe, and Venetia immediately rolls her eyes.

"See, I told you," Farleigh clicked his tongue pointedly, refusing to look at you in this moment, "possessive."

"Existing in my own home doesn't make me weird," Venetia gives a mean, humourless smile back, "and talking to our houseguest after he approached me doesn't make me coquettish."

"It does when you're doing it in that little, damn teddy nightgown and talking shit about me!"

"Christ, Vee," Felix sighed with faint disappointment. While your ribbing could be construed as playful or even jealous, Venetia always took Felix's negativity to heart. Not that he'd ever been able to tell that; Venetia always did well to hide her hurt behind further, thorny barbs.

"I wasn't talking shit," she sighed, terribly exasperated all of a sudden, "I just told him you were like one of those angry, little purse dogs Paris Hilton carries around," Venetia said without a hint of apology or remorse, "which of course makes Felix Paris -" Felix tears his slice of toast in half and jams both halves into Venetia's cup of tea without warning, causing her to shriek with absolute indignation.

"Felix, please," Elspeth sighs from beside Pamela, who'd all but leapt from her seat with shock, watching as two of the staff suddenly swarmed the flustered young woman to start cleaning the spilled, soiled drink from the table.

"'Felix, please'?" You huff mockingly under your breath before your best mate even gets the chance to be indignant for himself, "Venetia, please," you correct haughtily, though you're quietly glad that Elspeth has chosen to pointedly ignore you. However Venetia herself casts her gaze to you and Felix, both of you wearing near identical, childish looks of irritation, to which she responds in kind. Venetia sticks her tongue out at you both.

Pamela just watches Venetia's poor teacup despairingly as it's whisked away. Elspeth sighs deeply, and asks if anyone had informed Oliver what time breakfast would be. It had slipped your mind, and judging by the look on Felix's face, it had slipped his as well.

By the time Oliver joins you all, the tense atmosphere had disappeared, easing to something light and bright as you and the Catton family looked forward to the day, and to helping Oliver get properly acquainted with the Estate. During the discussion, the planning, you make a mental note to find one of the many beautiful books on Saltburn and the intricacies of it's heritage for Oliver to have a look at if he wanted to. While the idea of researching one's holiday home may not sound like the greatest idea of fun to most people, getting familiar with the house your best friend always took for granted made you feel like you understood it better, made you feel like you knew what you were settling yourself amongst.

"Y/N, dear, is that copy of Percy Bysshe Shelley's poetry still amongst your collection?" Sir James brings up, his eyes bright and wide. The book in all it's aged glory is sitting on your shelf in Oliver's room at that moment.

Very suddenly you're hit with a rush of affection, and the memory of a sweet summer afternoon, of being captured by Love's Philosophy written so simply on those pages. Those summer afternoons turned into evenings and the maze became the kind of magical only you could seem to feel, but that Felix would always indulge you in. Oh. You had to bring Oliver along, see if he could feel it too.

"Yeah," you cleared your throat, giving Sir James a smile across the long dining table. He seems delighted, apparently having read Percy Shelley's biography not to long ago, and has since wanted to reacquaint himself with the poet's work. For a moment, Venetia lights up with genuine interest and intrigue; for as long as you'd known her, she'd shared her father's passion for history, both harbouring a peculiar fascination for the sordid private lives of prominent creative figures.

Several years ago, Venetia had gifted her father the biography of Howard Hughes for Christmas; the following year, Sir James had pulled enough strings to get them both in attendance as VIPs for The Aviator's world premiere, the film based on that very same book. Venetia says the best part was meeting and having drinks with Leo DiCaprio; the only photo that she got properly printed and framed from the premiere, the one of her and her father beaming, says she's lying. They still spend hours in the library together when James isn't working. Venetia almost seems to be relaxed in those moments, from what you'd observed.

Oliver is back to being his quiet, awkward self when he finally makes it to the table, all fidgeting and uncertain steps towards the only empty chair at the table. Venetia lights up a cigarette as a new teacup is placed in front of her, both she and Farleigh observing Oliver's every movement with anthropological curiosity. So, instead of looking at either of them, Oliver looks to you, giving an almost nervous smile as he sits gingerly.

The mood is almost cripplingly uncomfortable.

Oliver tries to order a full English breakfast; Duncan looks like he'd just called his mother a cunt to his face.

The second hand embarrassment at the failed formality makes you feel like you're seconds away from some kind of empathetic anxiety attack, so you jump to your feet as the rest of the family act like they really live in a reality where every other person knew every secret high society script they were born knowing. They recover, but not quick enough for Oliver to not be tense, nor for you to not have made your way to the breakfast table on the side.

"Breakfast is on the side, darling," Elspeth says with an almost forcibly bright air, but falters as you call out that you've got it.

"You don't need to do that -" Oliver mumbles awkwardly, but is cut off when Venetia starts actually barking at you with a wide, mean smile.

This time, Felix picked up one of the cooked tomato halves from his plate, squishing it in his hand over Venetia's new cup of tea, letting the pulpy remains splatter into her now second ruined drink that she couldn't cover fast enough.

"How would you like your eggs?" Duncan ignores the petty siblings as the poor service staff once more whisk away Venetia's teacup, much to her exasperation. Oliver looks to the butler nervously, wondering if this was a joke or a test, assuring him that he could get them himself, but it's Farleigh who cuts in, voice like ice.

"The eggs are made for you," he explains coldly, barely looking up from whatever he had been working from, but his gaze flicks from Oliver's nervous expression to you, over his shoulder, carrying a plate loaded with food and scowling at him and his tone. Finally, convinced that it wasn't a joke, Oliver awkwardly asks for fried eggs from Duncan, who complies, and simply seems glad that the interaction had ended. When you put the plate down in front of Oliver, he glances up at you, almost looking apologetic.

"You really didn't have to -"

"I know," you responded cheerfully, giving his shoulder a squeeze, "you can get yourself breakfast for the whole rest of Summer, but it's your first day."

"You're very kind, very good to me," Oliver looks up at you through his lashes, blue eyes shining, grateful, stumbling through his words, "you- you're very good." For just a moment there's a flash of something more deliberate in his eyes that the others don't seem to see, and he watches the way the praise hits you with intent.

"Oh my god," Venetia groans across the table, "it's like you want me to bark at you -"

"Venetia, I have more tomatoes," Felix warned without even looking at her, but pointing sharply to emphasise his words. You thanked him airily as you returned to your seat and he beamed at you while his sister called you both terribly childish. She did not appreciate being reminded that she was the one barking in the first place.

It's Felix who breaks the tension to tell Oliver about the earlier discussion about the Percy Shelley biography, but it's Venetia who brings up the story of the poet's doppelganger. As she regales them all with the story of the housekeeper seeing the image of Shelley waving at him out of the window before realising the poet was in Italy and he was on the third floor, she tells it as if it's simply some scandalous gossip. Felix Catton, in possession of something of a rabbit heart when it came to anything remotely spooky, begged his sister to stop, even going so far as to cover his ears, but she seemed to enjoy getting under his skin, blithely ending the story with the housekeeper drowning only hours after the event.

While Elspeth announces that the story gave her goosebumps, and you admit it did send a shiver down your spine, Farleigh blurts out, without looking up from his notebook -

"I heard he fucked his sister."

While Sir James clearly didn't appreciate the addition, it's surprisingly Oliver who finds his voice.

"I think that was Byron."

The certainty of the correction is enough to get Farleigh to actually look up from his work. That's not how this was meant to go, at least that's what you think is on Farleigh's mind. Very rarely was Farleigh corrected at Saltburn; either the Catton's weren't as well researched on whatever he was spouting nonsense about, or they simply didn't care, but the point is Farleigh wasn't corrected at Saltburn. Farleigh could get away with the little white lies he told for fun here. He certainly wasn't fact checked by a newcomer at breakfast with the whole family.

When Oliver looks away from Farleigh, across to you and Felix, he sees the near identical smug little smiles you're both giving him. Both of you look rather pleased, and you see him almost grow rather flustered across the table. At least until Duncan sets a plate of fried eggs down in front of him.

Oliver's face falls, fork prodding the warm, gooey yolks almost like he's cautious of them.

You're back to watching, to observing and cataloguing further information about your guest. Runny eggs make Oliver sick; he looks it too, or perhaps that's simply the discomfort that comes from knowing he'll have Duncan's intense presence looming over him to take away what he'd just so kindly brought. Skin prickling with discomfort and desire to help, despite knowing there was nothing you could do, you fidget and try to finish your own food.

"Think I might head down for a swim after this," you hadn't, but you needed to say something to break the silence. Venetia and Felix are both quick to jump on the idea with enthusiasm, and Farleigh reluctantly agrees, if only to not feel left out. Across from you all, Oliver's trying to make himself as small as possible as he works on the breakfast you'd brought him. Never assuming, always waiting for an invitation, even now - "you game, Ollie?" You grinned.

Of course he was.

All you could think about as you searched for your nice bathers was how different Oliver was from last night. Then, your mind wandered back to that conversation, to all he had said, all he had implied. Catching a glimpse of Felix, already ready in just his swim trunks, towel slung over his shoulder, leaning and looking so effortlessly gorgeous and tanned already in the doorframe, you think of Oliver's implications. Clearly he'd seen enough of the two of you in private to understand the extent of your actual relationship, and considering the shit you got away with in public, and how both you and Felix admittedly couldn't be too bothered with things like closing the blinds when you have other things on your mind, you've got something of an idea of what Oliver may have seen. No, it wasn't appropriate for polite company.

But he'd slept with you, had seen and possibly heard you with Felix, and clearly had a thing for Felix himself. Why was he holding back? Why was he continuing to tease you the way he had last night? What kind of game was he playing?

Fine, if Oliver wanted to be a tease, wanted to play games, you could more than match his energy.

One of the many skills you'd picked up from a life spent next to the effortlessly attractive Felix, was learning how to put in the effort to appear effortlessly attractive even in comparison, in any situation. Of course you were hot, that was a given, but there was an art to the way you moved and smiled and behaved and posed and focused attention on yourself like it was a science you'd absolutely perfected.

Which is how Oliver, the last to arrive to the little, wooden jetty by the lake, found you laying out, glittering and glistening with water as the droplets clung to you, had your flattering bathers clinging to you in just the right way. Feet hanging over the edge, you arch your back just enough to tilt your head back, to watch him approaching upside down. Hands appearing casual, but carefully placed, one rested on your hip and lower belly, while the other reached out to give him a wave, your smile wide and sharp.

The others greet him, and though his gaze momentarily flicks to them, it always returns to you. Your back arches higher as you laugh, almost lifting you up to sitting, but you lay flat when he's on the jetty, when he's standing over you with a curious look.

"Hello gorgeous Ollie," you say with a teasing grin, "was beginning to get worried we might have lost you in there," you tell him, at least trying to look like you were trying to keep your expression serious, "its a big house."

"Are you high again?" He asks, and your smile grows all wide and sharp and amused. You shake your head.

"Why?"

"No reason," he says after a beat. Again there's quiet, apart from Felix and Farleigh squabbling over something trivial back on the grass. Oliver examines you, unashamedly letting his gaze roam down your body, the way you've displayed yourself so almost casually.

"Everything alright, Ollie?" You ask after a moment, reaching out to gently touch the side of his knee, contact, reminding him all at once to get out of his head, that this was reality. But your voice drops low enough that the others wouldn't hear, hand coming away, breaking the contact as you level a Cheshire smile at him, "is there something you want?"

Already it's worth it, since you see the exact moment Oliver realises what you're playing at. There's a sharp intake of breath, but an appreciative look in his eyes that quickly flick down your body once more. Then, he turns away, face quickly turning red as you all but cackle with glee.

The game has begun.

If all Oliver Quick could bring himself to do was watch, you'd put on a fucking show.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x you #oliver quick x y/n #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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creatingnikki · 2 years

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things to remember in 2023

goodbye emo era, goodbye empath era, goodbye all you eras that have been putting others + emotions at the center of everything. hello self-serving era. self-serving, not selfish. see, more accurate vocabulary can make all the difference.

choose people who choose you. bare minimum is not impressive. it’s only an indicator that hmmm maybe I can explore what something with this person could lead to. it’s the basic eligibility criteria for opening up your time/schedule to someone, not heart. only time.

new people don’t need to know life stories and trauma from before 2018. if you want to talk about it just write about it, write it into your book.

do not listen to your parents. I mean this in the most respectful possible way. you are an adult now, you make your own decisions. because 20 years from now if you are sad and miserable and hating your life and you tell them hey it’s because you made me la la la chances are they are going to turn around and be like nobody forced you, you were an adult, you made your own decisions. so just make your own decisions. and they would be right. like just dodge the emotional manipulation and the drama and the guilt and lack of validation from them for a bit and go ahead and do things you want to in your life. and you already have daddy issues, right? pacify them in bed or something idk. just make your own bloody decisions independent of what your family/others expect of you.

explore more Hindi music.

channelize certain things you’ve seen in most men around you. channelize compartmentalization. channelize binary problem solving. channelize cutting your losses and exiting at the right time from romantic situations that do not have any future no matter how much you feel for them in the present.

do not force yourself to write fiction. maybe you don’t want to create stories. maybe you just want to write down what you already know. maybe you just want to write creative non-fiction. why is that a bad thing? don’t you think it’s time to let go of the ideas you have hyper-romanticized and see things for what they really are and then work with them?

dating apps are not where you will find love. hook-ups, maybe. but drama-free hook-ups? yeah, not quite sure about that either. let’s just go back to how we were before? let’s just focus on our life and believe that love will happen if and when it’s supposed to?

self-dates must make a return. you found that amazing second-hand bookseller next to your home and your favourite cafe from Bangalore is now in Mumbai and so many new art galleries are opening up around and when was the last time you went to Marine Drive and maybe it’s time to sneak into your college to go have your favourite food again from the canteen and maybe after work you can stay around and explore the popular bars and maybe you can find a post office next to your new apartment so you can start sending letters and packages to your best friend again. I know, I know 2022 was a year of such dramatic highs that gave you such adrenaline rush that coming back to things that were more grounded and brought you joy seems difficult but baby please. you cannot run towards psychosis so soon, okay? come back.

on that note, let’s find a yoga class around your apartment and also a gurudwara.

sign up for experiences and invest for the long term but do not invest in material things like furniture. at this point you are the typical mid-20s person who is free to up and leave whenever and wherever and you haven’t found a place you want to call home yet anyway. so keep your money liquid, don’t lock it up in stupid things, but invest for the long-term in equity assets to create wealth. also, go meet your accountant please. and get life insurance.

do not let family stuff get to you emotionally. deal with it in a logistic, functional, and objective way. as much as possible.

you really don’t have to respond to people within 24 hours, 48 hours, or even a week. I mean other than very few selected people (family, best friend, and your partner), nobody is owed your immediate attention. and even these inner circle people are owed your immediate attention only in a way where you keep them in the loop to let them know you are alive and doing okay.

you are a warm person and it’s easy for people to like you wherever you go. but you have such limited time, energy, and brain cells. you cannot scale yourself like a company. which means if you more people want to get to know you, talk to you, etc., you can’t supply them with that because you are not a scalable product. okay? okay.

earning more money will help only in a limited manner if you do not budget and control your spending. it’s not the person who earns more that is rich but the person who saves and invests and doesn’t take debt for consumption purposes. you can no longer be the ironic financial writer like in the confessions of a shopaholic. you are no longer a kid, you are an adult who has to take care of yourself and soon your dependents and so you cannot keep ranting on about capitalism while falling constant prey to it. instead you have to benefit from it.

figure out what is your choice of poison. for when you wanna just vibe, for when you want to get drunk drunk, for when you wanna be bhand. figure it out.

think of studying Korean as doing an undergrad degree. so you know you have to stick with this for the next three years. this way you don’t see it as a short-term fancy but as a longer term commitment and reach level 6 of fluency in the language. this way, by the time you are in your late 20s, you will actually be able to read Korean books in Hangul and not the English translation. that’s your goal, isn’t it? and writing poetry in Korean too.

your high school friend answered the question no doctor was. when you drink alcohol, make sure there is a 3-hour gap between that and your medication. but also keep the drinking in check. I mean honestly, iced coffee and fresh fruit juices for the win.

you go through people like you go through books. but people are not books. time to pick up actual books again and press pause on people.

do not commit anything to anybody because you have no sense of stability or certainty in your life right now. that doesn’t make you flighty. that doesn’t make you irresponsible. in fact, it makes you responsible because you aren’t making promises you aren’t sure you are capable of keeping even if you want to keep them. actions > intentions.

time to have a skincare routine. your sister has written you a whole blog on it - just follow that.

also oh my god. being twenty five/twenty six does not make you old. you don’t have to look at the younger people you interact with and feel uncool or outdated because then that’s how you’ll always feel. like when you were younger, you would look at the older people and think they are so cool, graceful, smart, and badass. divine, even. then that’s what you are becoming now. not knowing what certain emojis and slang means really has no bearing on how relevant you are.

this isn’t an exhaustive list, so come back. don’t just write this and forget all about it. come back, review, revise, add. but most importantly, remember. remember this is for you. so that you minimise pain and failure and shitty feelings and maximise peace and success and joy. and you do like optimum utilisation of resources, don’t you? so do that. apply yourself for yourself. that’s where the returns are the highest.

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jojo-oliver · 4 months

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Queer For Queer

Artist collective. Emerging queer artist market. Community.

[IDs for all images in Alt]

-I have become a board member at the Pearl Ellis Gallery in Comox, BC. -I am building a Queer Artist Collective. I have been mass printing and posting this poster all over my community. -We have been meeting and organizing already. This is happening. I've made so many friends and I'm extremely excited to work with them.

What's an artist collective mean, functionally?

I want to organize group art shows. I want to help other artists streamline the process from creation to profit. I want other artists to make money off of their artwork. And I want a shared studio space far in the future. I want a visible building in my immediate community that flies a pride flag out front, year long. I want an immediately accessible and local mutual aid network, because I need one, so I am building one.

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I have registered my own business, Queer For Queer

-I have reached out to a local funding organization to help with the initial stock and printing investment. Stock is printed only by small local businesses, or created by hand. Funding is already approved and being utilized. -I have registered booths at pride events over the summer. I will be selling my artwork and helping others sell their own artwork, in person, at festivals. I have already been selling online. -I am turning my small one-artist shop into a local queer artist market. Right now my shop is just me. Not for long.

QueerForQueer tumblr link: here . wanna follow along?

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This is all built off of the success of my boot series from last year. This is all possible because of you. on tumblr reblogging artwork. This is only possible because of those of you that have already supported me.

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Hey I know y'all are probably a little tired of seeing my boots by now, but if you have some spare cash to throw my way, I am investing everything I can into my local community. I am building something that will directly help other 2SLGBTQIA+ people.

1. My shop link: Queer For Queer Support me and help me continue paving my way through this.

2. Are you in or near Comox Valley? 🔥🔥🔥email me🔥🔥🔥

3. Please share. help me find more artists

#queer artist #queer art #trans artist #trans art #lgbt art #lgbt #queer #pride #lgbtq #queer shop #small shop #support queer artists #art shop #small biz #trans #queer community #lgbtq community #sticker shop #shop small

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stardust-swan · 2 years

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Lifestyle of the Refined, Cultured City Girl

She takes advantage of living somewhere with access to many cultural activities. She attends the symphony, the theatre, the ballet, and the orchestra. She visits art galleries and museums. She attends book readings, poetry readings, lectures by experts in various subjects, and writer's talks. She watches independent films in small cinemas. She goes to fashion shows. She unwinds by reading in a beautiful, old library. Many of these activities are free or cheap, so money is rarely a concern.

She has social hobbies, like playing an instrument in a local band, attending a book club or writer's group, participating in poetry readings, and taking evening classes and workshops on subjects like painting, fashion, learning a language, culinary classes, learning an instrument, etc.

She has private hobbies too, like writing a novel, creating art, studying, reading, and taking private music lessons.

On dates, she goes to painting classes where her and her date paint each other's portrait, pottery classes where they make each other something special, fine restaurants where she and her date try new cuisine, and upscale hotels for a fine afternoon tea.

She is always studying. Whether it's in University for a degree that will help her get her dream job, or a less formal education like learning about the world of art from her trips to the galleries, or learning about the history and culture of her city by exploring it, she's always taking advantage of the opportunities she has to expand her knowledge.

She participates in cultural festivities that may be held in her city, such as wine tastings, cheese tastings, art exhibits, film festivals, and book fairs.

She visits historical landmarks and sites to learn about her city's past and culture.

She visits rooftop bars and lounges, both to socialise and admire the view of the city.

She networks with people in high positions, and socialises at events and gatherings like cocktail parties, charity functions, and dinner parties.

She visits both high end boutiques and small, locally owned shops.

She spends time in nature by going to parks and botanical gardens.

She gives back to her community by support or volunteering with a charity or non-profit

She attends a yoga or meditation class at a wellness centre.

She discovers her local patisseries and bakeries and enjoys fresh baked goods.

She takes walking or cycling tours of the city's historic districts to learn about its culture and landmarks.

She visits a local farmers market for fresh produce and unique artisanal products.

She's always dressed impeccably. You will never see her in ratty old clothes, gym gear unless she's actually in the gym, or flip-flops unless she's at the beach. Her hair is always tidy, and her makeup never looks caked on. Her nails are always clean and neat. Her skincare routine is down to a T. She never says "I'm just going to the store" as an excuse to dress frumpily, as she knows there's always the risk of running into someone important and does not want to look like a slob. She does not hold onto clothes that are worn out, damaged, or unflattering, leaving only chic outfits available to dress in. She checks herself from all angles before leaving home to make sure there's no wardrobe malfunctions happening at the back of her outfit, e.g a hole in the back of her jeans. She honours herself, those around her, and her city by looking presentable and neat everyday.

Her home is never cluttered. It is decorated with art, including some paintings or pictures of the city, and she has photographs on the mantelpiece of the friends she's made there. She has a variety of books on a range of subjects that interest her. Her kitchen is well-equipped - no living on takeout for her. She has a set of high quality china and luxurious bedding and linen. She plays classical and jazz music instead of keeping the TV on for background noise. She treats herself to a bouquet of flowers to put in a vase occasionally, and may have a houseplant. She lights candles for a beautiful smell. She may have a collection of herbal teas to help her relax in the evenings. She may even have a well-stocked mini bar, space and funds permitting. Her wardrobe is carefully selected. Her home is stylish, yet comfortable, and always feels ready for guests. She practices the art of entertaining, and does it well.

She knows about hidden treasures in her city that one can't find out about just from doing an internet search. For example, in Paris, a string quartet of musicians meet up on a random day each week and play a free concert in the courtyard of the Louvre, but you wouldn't know this from looking up places to visit in Paris. It's something you must discover on your own or hear about by word of mouth. It could be a small unassuming café that makes the best dish you've ever tasted, or a beautiful building people rarely visit (like the medieval church/graveyard in my neighbourhood that's usually locked up and difficult to see into because of the high walls surrounding it, but if you pass by at the right time, the groundskeepers may be there and let you in to see the blooming flowers and trees beyond the graveyard gates if you ask nicely), an out-of-the-way boutique that sells gorgeous garments, a hidden park tucked away from the main streets, or a secret or exclusive bar or nightclub.

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secretdestinypainter · 6 months

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Traveling the most beautiful places this 2024:

“Visit to Europe (Vienna)"

In my opinion, traveling is the most interesting thing that is liked by almost half of the people on Earth. Traveling is an adventure that broadens horizons, opens minds and enriches lives. It makes the person happy and fresh of any age, whether it’s about exploring exotic destinations, immersing oneself in different countries and cultures, or simply seeking relaxation in nature and embrace.

Traveling to different countries in a very short time is very difficult to memorize, and making all the events perfectly fully organized or managed is a big task, but having something that makes us memorize about our events in advance is a big support, like tinyti.me website makes this problem easier in today's world by making their website available for us to create events which help in perfect management.

I think Vienna is one of the most beautiful cities in Europe. The historic core of the city is a massive UNESCO Heritage Site brimming with incredible museums, beautiful galleries, and sprawling Baroque palaces.

The city is a history buff’s dream. There’s an incredible café culture, a nearby wine region, tons of amazing eateries, awesome live music (including world-class opera), and much more.

I’ve been coming here for years and I never get tired of visiting. Technically speaking I love the city so much that I used to run tours here!

Naturally, I’ve stayed at countless hotels during my visits. Here’s my list of the best hotels in Vienna:

1. Hotel-Pension Wild

This two-star hotel is one of the few affordable lodgings in the city center. It has simple but bright rooms that feature comfortable beds, plenty of space, and large windows that let in a lot of natural light. The design is a bit dated (the carpeted rooms don’t look particularly stylish) but everything is clean and functional. Rooms include basic amenities like a flatscreen TV, desk, and free Wi-Fi. The bathrooms are pretty small, but they’re clean and the showers have good water pressure. The hotel offers a hearty continental breakfast and the owner is friendly and welcoming. If you’re on a tight budget, there are small, no-frills single rooms with a shared bathroom available as well.

2. Hotel Domizil

This boutique four-star hotel has small, clean rooms with décor that makes you feel like you’re back in Vienna’s imperial past. The rooms have plenty of light and lots of antique touches, such as wooden desks and tables, and upholstered armchairs. Rooms also have free Wi-Fi, a flatscreen TV, and a coffee/tea maker. The bathrooms, while not particularly fashionable (the tiles are kind of ugly), are very spacious and the showers have excellent water pressure. The breakfast, which can be included in the price, has tons of variety, including lots of different fresh breads and cheeses.

Located in the city center, I think this is one of the best value places to stay if you want to be in the center of it all.

3. Hotel Mozart

One of the few hotels in the Rossau neighborhood (just northwest of the city center), this budget-friendly three-star hotel boasts large rooms with lots of natural light. Rooms are spacious and decorated in light colors and feature hardwood or parquet floors. There are lots of other wooden touches too, such as desks/tables, and large wooden headboards. Free Wi-Fi is included, as is a flatscreen TV and AC (a must if you’re visiting in the summer). Some rooms include coffee machines. The hotel boasts a filling breakfast spread each morning with lots of fresh fruit and pastries. There’s also a bar on-site and the staff are always happy to share their tips and advice too.

4. Hotel Johann Strauss

Located in the Wieden neighborhood, this stylish four-star hotel is named after the eponymous 19th-century Austrian composer. The hotel is set in a historic Art Nouveau building that’s been entirely renovated, with rooms that have lots of natural light and a soft, welcoming color palette. Rooms include a flatscreen TV, minibar, coffee/tea maker, desk, and sofa. I really like that there’s a lot of art around the property, including in the rooms (naturally, much of the art is music centered). The tiled bathrooms are huge, with lots of light and great water pressure. I especially like that the breakfast buffet is enormous and features a lot of variety. The staff is exceptionally friendly too and happy to help you make the most of your stay.

5. Hotel Am Konzerthaus Vienna

Located in Landstrasse near the iconic Belvedere Palace, this luxe four-star hotel feels more like a five-star property. It has a chic lobby and large, bright rooms with super comfy beds. Everything is fashionable and trendy, with lots of rich colors from a darker palette. The large bathrooms are bedecked with dark tiles and are well lit, featuring plush bathrobes and relaxing rain showers. Rooms also include a flatscreen TV, desk, and coffee/tea maker. The breakfast buffet is huge and has a lot of options, but I especially love that the on-site restaurant has a Michelin star (it does amazing modern takes on traditional Austrian dishes).

The hotel is a perfect choice for travelers who want some luxury without breaking the bank.

6. The Ritz-Carlton Vienna

This is arguably the fanciest hotel in town. A five-star property right in the heart of the city, this hotel is spread across four historic palaces (yes, actual palaces). While the hotel feels palatial, it has understated décor with a chic minimalist design (think lots of white space with touches of color or artwork). The marble bathrooms are huge and the showers have perfect water pressure. The rooms are also massive and have big, comfy beds (as well as desks, AC, sofas, and electric kettles).

There’s also a gigantic breakfast buffet offered each morning and a free glass of champagne when you check in. The hotel also has a pool that plays music underwater, a fitness center, sauna, steam room, and three different spas on-site. In short, it’s the pinnacle of luxury in the city and the best choice for travelers looking to splurge on an elegant stay.

I hope this blog helps you a lot when traveling next time to Europe (Vienna), So, whether you're embarking on a solo adventure, a family vacation, or a romantic getaway, This spirit of travel guides you on a journey of exploration, discovery, and adventure.

#europe #travel to vienna #travel #travelling

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dailyrothko · 4 months

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Thoughts on Barnett Newman? Since his "Stations of the Cross" series is right next to a room of Rothko paintings in the national gallery I was curious about what you think of him, personally I prefer Rothko's work but Stations of the Cross is nice imo :)

I do like the Stations of the Cross, and it's really nice the way the NGA has them all together much more effective as a group I think. They are my favorites of his paintings.

Newman was a writer and become a painter later than Rothko or Gottlieb or Still. I think there was tension about him as he was seen to be getting on the bandwagon. They say Gottlieb was enraged called him "Bullshit Barney" (i think that's right, something like that). But depending on who you ask, Rothko was less wound up about it, I think he didn't feel as threatened. However, Clement Greenberg, the most influential critic of the time, embraced Newman and didn't like Rothko. To me it's all politics but I think it may have hurt Rothko's feelings, he was sensitive.

Newman appealed to Rothko's intellectual side but they were very different. Newman affected a pose, wore a monocle, posed in a suit with a cigarette holder. Everyone seems to say he was a very smart person but some of his peers I think were less impressed with his actual painting. One annoyance was that he apparently changed the dates on some paintings to make it appear as if he had done them earlier than he had.

I hesitate to say anything is 100% true, I only know what I read.

Jack Tworkov said, "I think that Rothko's struggle was an intense one. And now that I know his work much better, his earlier work that I've seen a great deal more of, I can now see what he started from, what he worked through in order to get where he did. Whereas Newman began painting I think in 1947 with that stripe and that was it."

Without being even more digressive, I do think as a society we place too much emphasis on the single artist and whole genius idea. People are parts of groups and their groups are part of a society that has different functions depending on when they exist (Tworkov has good things to say about that). Ginsberg had the Beat poets, for instance, it's part of a bigger tapestry, if you will. I think Americans love this genius myth, (everyone is a goddamn genius, apparently)and that obsession fuels the art world too. There are plenty of painters who do great paintings as good as anyone, but if they are not anointed, they don't sell the same, so i think it invites the idea that one artist is the best and the others must be lesser. If you're an Orson Welles type, you are great but also great at fueling your myth to get work, other people just don't have it in them. Newman could play the whole game a lot better than Rothko.

For me, I do like his paintings and especially Stations of the Cross, but I would say I find his painting less deep than Rothko's. He kind of stuck to a simpler thing than some of the artists of the period. It's not about these personalities really, it's about the art. But I thought I would give some Rothko context to your question.

#mark rothko #markrothko #rothko #daily rothko #dailyrothko #abstract expressionism #modern art #questions #barnett newman

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munsonfunken · 1 year

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A MAN WITHOUT LOVE . STEVEN GRANT

Pairing: Steven Grant x Gender neutral!Reader

Summary: Your path crosses Steven Grant's an unexpectedly amount of times.

Word count: 2.6k

Notes: This is a repost, since I deleted my old blog! So, I tried something different when it comes to the first interaction between the characters. I feel that everytime I write something that involves a first interaction between the characters, it follows the same script, so I tried to make it rather awkward and confusing for both of them. Keep in mind that English isn’t my first language. Sorry in advance for any mistakes. Enjoy!

If you prefer to read on AO3, here it is!

If you want to take a look at my other writings, here they are!

The first time you became aware of Steven Grant’s existence was on the morning bus to work. Reminiscences of the stormy night rested scattered throughout London. During the walk to the bus station, the damp sidewalks bore leaves, twigs, and puddles, and during the ride, the bus vast windows were slightly foggy. A breath of fresh air invaded the bus when its double door opened, and, along with it, three people hopped on. Steven Grant, hurriedly crossing the street, was the last one. Nearly missing the bus, he breathlessly climbed the steps and awkwardly thanked the driver before maneuvering himself inside the crowded bus. He firmly grasped a blue vacuum bottle in his right hand, and a Rubik’s cube in his left one. An intrigued expression rose to your features. A Rubik’s cube. When was the last time you had seen one?

Accompanying his movements amongst the standing people, your eyes wandered from the colorful object to his shabby grey jacket, to his left shoulder, to his brown bag, to his neck, to his jawline, to his rather disheveled jet-black hair, and to his features. Steven Grant looked exhausted. In fact, he looked distinctly careworn. And, of course, late to wherever he was heading. Well, he was particularly late on that dull, blustery, and cloudy morning. Donna Kraft would not be happy. But… When was she? The same callous speech tumbled from her lips ever since Steven set foot in the National Art Gallery.

Routine.

And, at the end of the day, Steven would run Staying Awake on his smartphone – “Hello, and welcome to Staying Awake!” –, dive in books, solve the Rubik’s cube, teach himself Hieroglyphs, enjoy French poems, and, when his organism collapsed in tiredness, he would tie his ankle to the bed, and close his eyes only to open them on the following morning feeling like he had been hit by a bus. Everyday. Dazzled by daylight and dogged by confusion, he would suspiciously scrutinize his surroundings for, yet again, his sleep had been disturbed by far-fetched experiences. Then, it would dawn on him that he hadn’t been woken up by any alarm, and he would desperately search for the digital clock, which registered that he was, well, late, and that the alarm had gone off earlier. On that dull, blustery, and cloudy morning, Steven Grant was later than ever, and out of luck.

His organism refused to function, and he kept drowsing on people’s shoulders, receiving nonplussed glares and obnoxious shoves. He was much too prim to get his own back on people, so he muttered “good morning” and, although useless, sipped the coffee inside the blue vacuum bottle in a desperate attempt to force his organism to function properly. The dewy-eyed innocence Steven Grant bore stirred a sensation of embarrassment towards him.

The second time you became aware of Steven Grant’s existence was on the walk home from The London Library. Three books were clutched against your right hipbone, and you fumbled with them as you hurriedly piled them up descending the stony steps to the sidewalk. The wind blew silently, digging its way through leaves, branches, and trunks. A crack of sky was visible between the thin leaves above. It was the navy-blue of the ocean, and the din of the traffic annoyingly ringed inside your skull. Nonetheless, the walk home was reinvigorating.

Turning into a relatively silent street, the soft buzz of conversation replaced the din of the traffic. The sidewalk ahead was tinted in the usual pink lightning coming from the pink lit restaurant that marked three quarters of the walk home. As usual, the tables placed outside the restaurant were occupied by couples, except for one of them. It was occupied by a hunched lone man. His features slid in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging trees broke the moonlight. The other tables were laden with food and wine bottles, but his was nearly empty. As you approached the restaurant, your eyesight registered missed details.

A pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers rested on the white tablecloth. Uh, cheesy. Your eyes wandered from the box to his black jacket, to his fidgety hands, to his pursed lips, to his frowned features, to his combed jet-black hair, to – Wait. Steven Grant sat alone, listlessly staring at a steak in his plate. A leaden sensation was settling in the pit of his stomach. He looked a forlorn figure sitting at a table originally destined for a couple. Wait. How… Hm, well, what were the odds?

He nervously gulped and unwillingly grasped the silver fork resting on the tablecloth. The table in front of him was occupied by two women who were deeply chatting while two boys played nearby, laughing mirthfully. They ran towards his table and the women calling after them pulled Steven out of his misery. He abashedly blinked, exchanging an apologetic look with them, which prompted him to hurriedly pull the heart-shaped box to his lap, underneath the tablecloth. He seemed not to register the bouquet of flowers, since he didn’t try to hide it.

Your feet were rooted to the sidewalk and your features bore a rapt expression observing the events unfolding before your eyes. The pink lightning created a pathetic aura around him. A sudden, almost desperate compassion for Steven Grant burnt inside your vessels. Your fingers dig into the books, painfully pressing them against your hipbone.

The third time you became aware of Steven Grant’s existence was on a visit to the National Art Gallery. The Egyptian exhibition had been inaugurated weeks prior, and, even though everything you knew about its culture had been absorbed from Rick Riordan’s The Kane Chronicles when you were, hm, 14 years old, the propaganda bearing Egyptian deities convinced you to pay a visit. The vast museum rooms were way too packed for a Saturday evening, but you managed to find your way amongst the crowd. The exhibition was impressive. Its details completely enthralled you, to the point where the robotic voice announcing the museum closure in an hour revealed that you spent way too much time appreciating the exhibition pieces for someone who had been educated solely by The Kane Chronicles.

“And this is the last room of the day. We’ll be done in a minute, I promise! I know my voice is quite annoying.” An excited voice echoed in the room, catching people’s attention, including yours. Oh…

There was Steven Grant. He wore a crumpled blue jacket, to which a silver tag had been attached. From where you stood, it was impossible to read it, but you presumed it identified him as a museum employee. So, he was a tour guide. That was, in fact, lovely. He accompanied five visitors, to whom he gesticulated expansively. His eyes gleamed in genuine joyousness, his hands carefully yet firmly pointed to artifacts, and his feet glided throughout the room in an adorable choreography.

He seemed completely fulfilled spilling his excitement regarding Ancient Egypt to those visitors. Other people’s ears prickled at Steven’s explanations, and so did yours. Well, you read the tags attached to each exhibition piece, but, honestly, it was endearing to observe him, to listen to him, to become aware of his existence. It was odd to observe him in such contrasting situations. You could hardly believe the man before your eyes was the same man that kept drowsing on people’s shoulders on the morning bus to work or the same man that sat alone with a pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers at a pink lit restaurant.

Steps echoed at the room entrance. A blonde woman in a blue suit appeared and glared at Steven. A pink chewing gum rolled inside her mouth.

“Oh, Donna, hello!” Steven waved at her, but she expressed no intention to answer him. “Meet Donna Kraft, my boss! Excuse me for a second, yeah? I hope none of the exhibition pieces has come to life!” He turned to the visitors gathered around him, who laughed at the Night at the Museum reference, and, with a polite gesture, excused himself.

Beaming with delight at his, uh, joke, your eyes followed his figure, which shamefacedly gesticulated with the blonde woman. She seemed determined to sustain her argument, and, for a millisecond, Steven was the same man that kept drowsing on people’s shoulders on the morning bus to work or the same man that sat alone with a pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers at a pink lit restaurant. His genuine joyousness seemed to have been nonchalantly crumpled and carelessly thrown into the nearest bin. Donna Kraft simpered and traipsed from the room.

“Right, where were we?” Steven muttered more to himself than to the people still gathered around ancient, tarnished garden tools.

Something seemed to tauten in his face, and it became stony, but he managed to give a wan smile towards the crowd. He had resumed speaking, and you registered his mouth moving, but not the words leaving it. For a brief second, his voice got mixed with the robotic voice announcing the museum closure in thirty minutes. There the almost desperate compassion for Steven Grant was. Again. It was too much mistreatment to witness. What was the Universe’s intention forcing your path to cross his not one, but three times? An urge to leave the room – and, well, to ignore Steven Grant’s existence – burnt inside your vessels, but your feet remained rooted to the marble floor.

“Steven”. The silver tag attached to the crumpled jacket read “Steven”. It shone under the spotlights strategically lightning the exhibition pieces. “Steven”. The name almost involuntarily rolled from your lips. Well, the man that kept drowsing on people’s shoulders on the morning bus to work, sat alone with a pink heart-shaped box and a bouquet of flowers at a pink lit restaurant and spilled his excitement regarding the Egyptian culture was not a stranger anymore.

He waved at the people gathered around them, and the movement caught your attention. “Uh, thank you so much for sticking around. It’s been wonderful to accompany you through the exhibition. I hope it was entertaining!” A timid smile accompanied the mirthful words. The robotic voice announced the museum closure in fifteen minutes. “Well, the museum closes shortly, but feel free to explore this room or other rooms for a bit longer. And if you have any questions, find me in the gift shop in the entrance hall.” Then, he left the room. The gift shop. In the entrance hall. Well, you had a question. Not about the exhibition. And, for the first time, you knew where to find Steven Grant to ask it.

You made a beeline for the museum entrance hall. Visitors, parents mostly, waited in line to buy stuffed animals for their children. When you approached the gift shop, two employees hurriedly talked to visitors in an attempt to extinguish the line, but Steven peaceably paced around. He leaned over the showcase counter with a stuffed hippopotamus in hand and talked to a girl through the toy in a goofy manner. She laughed, reached for it, and ran away. Then, Steven turned to, apparently, the girl’s mother, laughed at something she uttered and pushed a card machine towards her. The delightful sound accompanied by crinkles around his eyes brought a grin to your lips, and you could not help but stare at his adorable being. Oh, heaven.

Absentmindedly circling the model of the Great Pyramid of Giza and other exhibition pieces, you patiently waited for the people to leave, but, as the movement in the entrance hall diminished, you considered remaining anonymous. Why the urge to ask him how he was? And… How awkward would it be to approach a stranger and suddenly ask how he was? Where did the question come from? Well, you were certainly not revealing that you had kept an eye on him on the morning bus to work, on the walk home from the library, on a visit to the National Art Gallery. It would be even more awkward, right? You stared at your faint reflection in the protective glass surrounding a sarcophagus. Yeah, how awkward would it be? Your eyes wandered from the top of your head to the tip of your shoes. And it dawned on you.

Suddenly.

Unexpectedly.

Shamefully.

Oh…

You wanted him to know that you were aware of his existence. You wanted him to know that you felt sorry for him. You wanted him to know that you cared for him. Breathe. You stared at your own eyes. Because you were infatuated with him. With a stranger.

No, wait.

Not a stranger. With a man who was particularly late to wherever he was heading on that dull, blustery, and cloudy morning. With a man who was unexpectedly alone at a pink lit restaurant. With a man who was completely fulfilled spilling his excitement regarding Ancient Egypt. Not a stranger.

“Uh, excuse me.”

There was Steven Grant. Your eyes focused on the sarcophagus. Then, on his reflection. Beside yours.

“Steven,” Startled by the sudden appearance, the name slipped from your lips. An unknown warmth burnt inside his vessels. His name. What a luxury inside a place in which Steven Grant was invisible except to receive the same callous speech tumbling from Donna Kraft’s lips. “I read the silver tag during the tour. Sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah. Thank you,” Steven earnestly mumbled in an attempt to indirectly argue you were needlessly apologizing. “And I’m deeply sorry to interrupt, but we’re closing.”

You nodded. “By the way, thank you for the tour.”

“Yeah,” He awkwardly laughed. A puzzled expression rose to your features. “I, uh… I actually work on the gift shop.”

“Oh–”

“Yeah, Donna, my boss, the blonde woman, was not supposed to discover–”

“Scotty.”

Your attention was captured by the voice echoing around the nearly empty room. So was Steven’s. A security guard paced towards your direction, and you noticed he was, well, actually talking to the man beside you. The puzzled expression returned to your features, and your eyes wandered from the security guard to Steven.

“Steven, J.B., with a ‘V’.”

“Yeah,” He brazenly dismissed the correction to tap the digital clock attached to his wrist with the end of a black lantern.

“I believe that will be on me. I had a question about this piece.” You politely smiled to the security guard. “Sorry for the disturbance.”

J.B. suspiciously nodded, scrutinizing your figure from the top of your head to the tip of your shoes, and returned to the chair behind the large televisions playing innumerous live footages of diverse museum locations.

“Thank you,” Steven, again, awkwardly laughed. “I’m staying the night for escaping the gift shop. I certainly did not want to stay another one. I hope none of the exhibition pieces comes to life!”

“Yeah, no problem.” You faintly smiled at the repeated joke. Not because it wasn’t funny, but because it masked utter sadness. You were right. Steven seemed completely fulfilled spilling his excitement regarding Ancient Egypt to visitors, because he definitely wasn’t. Stay the night? For touring with visitors? He was strangely treated as a child who needed severe punishment for, uh, accidentally knocking crayons when drawing. Your eyes overflowed pity. “I’m sorry, Steven.”

And you were. You were sorry for him. You were sorry for the unfairness. You were sorry for the mistreatment. You were sorry for the sadness. You were sorry for the loneliness. You were sorry.

“Don’t, yeah? I don’t need your pity.”

And he was right. He was right. You looked at him in rueful regret and gave him a sheepish smile. “Sorry.”

“I-I-I did not mean to be rude, I–”

“I know, Steven.” You reassured him. He was not rude at all. He was right. He didn’t need your pity. Or anyone else’s. He needed a hand. He needed a friend. “I should leave, or else J.B. is arresting me for trespassing. Goodbye.”

For now.

PLEASE, CONSIDER REBLOGGING THIS AND/OR GIVING ME FEEDBACK, I WOULD APPRECIATE IT A LOT!

#steven grant #steven grant x reader #moon knight #marvel cinematic universe #thunder writes

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fanhackers · 11 months

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How To Be Gay, by David M. Halperin

While there are obvious fan studies classics, there are other books that don’t always fall into the “fan studies” canon that I have found incredibly useful for my own thinking. I cited one of them, Carol Dyhouse’s Heartthrobs: A History of Women and Desire (2017), a few posts ago; another is David Halperin’s How To Be Gay (2012)

How To Be Gay came out of a course Halperin taught at the University of Michigan, whose full title was “How to Be Gay: Male Homosexuality and Initiation.” The initiation in question was not sexual, but cultural: Halperin believes that there are not only gay texts, a gay canon of sorts, but also gay ways of reading that are taught and learned and that help constitute something we might call a gay subjectivity (that you don’t have to be gay actually to have): e.g. Hollywood movies, opera, Broadway musicals, camp, diva worship, drag, muscle culture, style, fashion, interior design. Halperin asked both why this set of things–why musicals? why this diva or that–and what do they tell us about gay experience? Halperin was trying to trace “gay men’s characteristic relation to mainstream culture,” which often involves collaborative and camp appropriation: a queering.

I find this book very useful, both because fandom also has its own shared languages and rites of initiation (consider the idea of watching something with fannish goggles or slash goggles or a fanfic lens, as was recently discussed in a previous post; think about all the languages and tropes and artistic structures we all learn from each other) but also because Halperin talks about modes of identification that aren’t representational or based obviously in identity politics. So, for example, he says that the gay male students in his class were more likely to express themselves vis a vis a shared text like The Golden Girls than vis a vis the traditions of what Halperin calls “good gay writing.” There is, Halperin argues, a queer pleasure in the Broadway musical that’s different than the pleasures of gay identity or even gay sex; similarly, queer female fans might find pleasures in identifying with, say, Sherlock, Crowley, or Blackbeard that are very different from the pleasures offered by a woman- or lesbian-centered text.

Here’s an excerpt that gives a good sense of the book, I think: fans might identify with this or recognize it as descriptive of their own fannish feels. (FWIW, the italics are all his!)

[H]omosexuality is not just a sexual orientation but a cultural orientation, a dedicated commitment to certain social or aesthetic values, an entire way of being. That distinctively gay way of being, moreover, appears to be rooted in a particular queer way of feeling. And that queer way of feeling—that queer subjectivity—expresses itself through a peculiar, dissident way of relating to cultural objects (movies, songs, clothes, books, works of art) and cultural forms in general (art and architecture, opera and musical theater, pop and disco, style and fashion, emotion and language). As a cultural practice, male homosexuality involves a characteristic way of receiving, reinterpreting, and reusing mainstream culture, of decoding and recoding the heterosexual or heteronormative meanings already encoded in that culture, so that they come to function as vehicles of gay or queer meaning. It consists, as the critic John Clum says, in “a shared alternative reading of mainstream culture.” As a result, certain figures who are already prominent in the mass media become gay icons: they get taken up by gay men with a peculiar intensity that differs from their wider reception in the straight world. (That practice is so marked, and so widely acknowledged, that the National Portrait Gallery in London could organize an entire exhibition around the theme of Gay Icons in 2009.) And certain cultural forms, such as Broadway musicals or Hollywood melodramas, are similarly invested with a particular power and significance, attracting a disproportionate number of gay male fans. What this implies is that it is not enough for a man to be homosexual in order to be gay. Same-sex desire alone does not equal gayness. In order to be gay, a man has to learn to relate to the world around him in a distinctive way. (p. 12 - 13)

–Francesca Coppa, Fanhackers volunteer

#author: francescacoppa #fanhacker #fan reading #queer reading #subjectivity vs identity

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delta-gambit-au · 4 months

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GONE BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

“Have you ever thought about a world where everything is exactly the same... Except you don't exist? Everything functions perfectly without you... Ha, ha... The thought terrifies me.” — Goner Monster Kid

Another abstract experimentation. I'll explain why.

Monday we got warned about being laid off by the end of this month.

That day I only wanted to lay down on bed, depressed, 19 days left to land something. I needed to sleep that depression off... When I woke up, my mind's eye was hyperfixated on a picture, and so after having some water, I started to sketch and work on it. It was so long since I made "mood" art, something that just comes as inspired by your current mood and the turmoil of emotions and other misgivings inside of you. As it's my current trend, the theme revolves around Spamton and his pitiful fate (or at least my DG!Spamton, the one with the missing pinkie finger and the blue bandage).

It's just an art I wanted to gouge out of my mind. I don't even know if it's good enough to show, but at least I took that weight out of my brain and the hyperfixation is gone.

Hope you forgive me for making this... (because it looks macabre or something idk). I wish I could return to the character sheets of the AU, but as things are going now, this June is going to be a hell, what with the interviews and ghosting they do to you after they smile at you and say that you are a good candidate, but then the phone nor the inbox received any confirmation for weeks...

I shall persevere... I don't want to lose this. I'll keep climbing forward, even if my mental state only pukes lousy art until I can get some peace and focus to work on my AU...

I might end adding these illustrations as unlockables for the gallery of the visual-novel, if everything goes well. If not, well, let's not say I didn't try.

#delta-gambit #spamton #[DG!Concept-Art]#[DG!Spamton]#deltarune au #artists on tumblr

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mortmere · 6 months

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One thing I haven’t seen much (or maybe at all?) in @ds30below is fanart recs! I get it, it's hard: I’ve tried compiling some themed art rec lists for the fest, but there are just too many wonderful things out there! So I thought I’d list some ways to find dS art at all, old and new, for the History week. Sadly, a lot of our fandom’s earlier art history is scattered all over barely functional old websites, if not lost completely. DeviantArt’s search has gone crazy - I can’t find the old dS stuff there anymore. A lot of the older (and even not that old) works on AO3 have broken image links, because image hosting has always been a big problem for fan artists (but not anymore: now there's https://images.squidge.org/).

That said, where to find due South fanart?

Those old personal sites - if you can find them AND if the images aren't broken. Here’s an archived one where at least the wallpaper section still works (Nicci's art is F/K and some are NSFW).

Please, if you know other old or archived sites like this where the images still work, post about them!

The media files for the dS zines on Fanlore are a treasure trove, because there's a gallery view - check especially the files for slash zines, that image gallery has two pages.

Of course, the “Art” tag on AO3 has plenty of treasures (direct link below). I confess I haven’t probably looked through all of them myself yet! I recommend starting from the last page so there’s more new-to-you stuff unless you’ve been in the fandom for ten years or more. Don’t be disheartened by the broken image links, there are so many that do actually work.

Check out my sideblog, Due South Fanart Appreciation - there's also some older stuff there if you browse further. If you use Tumblr on a browser, the Archive is a nifty way to get a kind of a gallery view of the blog, though it only shows the first image in each post and does a disservice to artists with multipart works. The browser version also allows you to use the Tag list - it takes a while to load, but if you have a favorite artist/character/ship, you can find the relevant posts easily).

I hope you enjoy the stuff you find in the above links - and if you find something you love, save the images, they might be gone tomorrow!

If you want to keep up with new dS fanart even from outside Tumblr, I also compile monthly art digests for the ds_noticeboard community on Dreamwidth:

I'll keep on trying to make those themed art rec lists! And more art, too. <3

#due south #due south fanart #fandom history #ds30below #fanart appreciation #art recs needed

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the-guilty-writer · 2 years

Text

How Do You Seal A Deal?

Agent Rossi-Reid

Anthology Masterlist

David Rossi x daughter!reader, Spencer Reid x reader, Criminal minds x BAU!reader

Summary: Spencer and RR go on their first date.

A/N: I have very little experience writing romance and this was my first time writing a first date fic. I'm excited to see what you all think of it!

CW: Spencer wears glasses, fluff

---

You had to admit that you were shocked when Spencer asked you on a date.

Not because you didn’t like him (you did), or because you thought he didn’t have the guts to do it (this one was questionable), but because you truly weren’t expecting him to ask you.

You’d honestly thought that if Spencer was going to ask anyone out it would have been JJ, because… well… JJ was everything you weren’t; great with everyone she met, gentle but firm, and she had a solid place on the team. All of you relied on JJ for case reports and communication with people outside of the bureau.

But the team could survive without you.

You pushed the thought to the back of your mind, slipping on a casual dress before grabbing your bag and heading out the door. You were meeting Spencer at a local park, in between where the both of you lived. This wouldn’t be your first time going out with Spencer, but it would be your first time going out with Spencer alone and outside of any work-related function.

There was usually a buffer between the two of you- Morgan or Hotch when you were out with the team, or the stacks and stacks of paper and files from cases. You wondered what it would be like without the buffer, with just the two of you and no safety net to catch you if you happened to fall.

You spotted Spencer, sitting on a bench under a tree. He had a pocket-sized book in his hands. He looked less tense than he usually did at work. Maybe it was the cardigan that fit him nicer than his oversized button downs and sweaters, or how he sat back against the bench instead of hunched like he did at his desk. But the thing that caught your eye was the glasses.

“I didn’t know you wore glasses,” you said as you approached him.

Spencer quickly looked up, putting his book away and standing, his posture becoming a bit taut. “Oh, yeah,” he said. “I don’t technically need them, but if I’m going to be reading a lot-”

“So we’re going to be reading a lot?” You couldn’t help but let the profiler in you come out.

“Is-is that okay?” Spencer sputtered, his eyes wide and puppy-like. “I have a back up plan if you-”

“Spencer,” you stopped him from rambling and smiled at him gently. “I’m sure whatever you have planned is great.”

Spencer seemed to relax a little at that, grinning rather sheepishly. “You wanna get going then?”

You smiled. “Absolutely.”

---

“We’re almost there,” Spencer said as the two of you turned the corner. Somewhere along the way, you began to guess where he was taking you out-loud. Having lived in the DC area your entire life, you’d been to every museum, art gallery, monument, and store that the nations capital had to offer, but even as you got closer and closer to the location, you couldn’t narrow it down.

“The Daily Coffee Archive?” you guessed. All you knew was that the place involved reading, so a cafe that used newspapers for their wallpaper should count… right?

“Nope.”

“I give up,” you admitted.

“You never give up,” Spencer said. The comment was casual, but your breath still caught in your throat when he said it. For years your extreme determination had been something people often looked down on you for, but when Spencer said it, it was as if he wanted you to continue to push forward. “I think we have time for one more guess.”

You shook your head. “I really don’t know.”

Spencer stopped before the next turn and looked down at you. There was an excitement behind his eyes, but it was covered by a slight concern. “Will you try?”

You couldn’t say no to him. You looked around at the location- you’d walked down the street here many times before, but not nearly as often as other parts of town. It wasn’t nearly as busy as the main ways, but busy enough that it felt safe. You looked up and down at the signs on the buildings, but none of them stuck out to you as somewhere Spencer would be attracted to.

“A bookstore?” you threw out a general answer.

Spencer grinned. “Yeah, a bookstore.”

You smiled back. He wanted you to succeed. He didn’t let up until you did.

“It’s this way,” he said.

You let him guide you down a side-street full of small shops- most of them had signs in languages you recognized, but couldn’t read- and you wondered how Spencer had ever found this place at all. It looked like a little slice of Europe in the middle of DC.

He stopped at the entrance to a store called INGRID’S LIBRARY and opened the door for you. Carefully, you stepped through the doorway, looking around. The store was cozy, all floor to ceiling shelves and heavy furniture. The bookshelves were heavily packed, each of them labeled with a different European language.

“Doctor Reid!” an older woman called from behind the counter as Spencer stepped into the shop behind you. “You’ve brought a friend.”

“Hello, Mrs. Holt,” Spencer greeted her. “This is my friend, (Y/N) Rossi. And (Y/N), this is Ms. Ingrid Holt.”

“Oh please,” the lady started. You couldn’t quite pinpoint her accent… was it Dutch or Swedish? “Just call me Ingrid.”

“Your shop is beautiful,” you told her, still looking around in slight awe. “Are these all in the original language?”

“They are,” she said proudly. A bell went off. “Oh! My delivery just came in. The Italian section is in the second room. Help yourself to some tea upstairs.” She winked and gestured to the open doorway which led to the second part of the store before disappearing into a back room.

You turned to Spencer. “Do you mind if I take a look?”

“Go ahead!” You could tell he was trying to contain his own excitement.

He followed you to the second room of the store where you quickly found the bookshelf designated for Italian works of literature. There were all sorts of titles- everything from Pinoccio to The Silent Duchess. You ran your hands carefully over the spines, entranced by the works of literature in your family’s language.

“This is incredible,” you nearly whispered the words, too amazed to say them louder. “How did you find this place?”

“When I first moved here I was trying to find a book. This was the only store in DC that had it.”

“Well, I’m glad they did.”

Spencer nodded a bit and looked down in response, his hands stuffed in his pockets. You looked at the shelves, eyes scanning the store, when Spencer cleared his throat. It was something you noticed he did often, particularly when he was nervous, but you still turned to look at him.

His tawny eyes were wide. “I- um,” he stuttered, then cleared his throat again. “Will you read to me?”

Your heart paused in your chest and heat rose in your cheeks. “Oh-of course.” You wished you could cover the shock in your words and on your face, but you couldn’t. Not when someone like Spencer Reid asked you for something like that. “But, haven’t you already read the translations?”

“I have, but there’s something different about listening to it... and it's even better in the original language,” he said shyly.

“Then… which one?” You wanted to look at the books, but you were too busy admiring the man in front of you. He looked like the muse for a piece of art, with the books in the background and the glasses that perched on his button nose. The shape of his features were too soft to be properly portrayed by carving them in marble, but too sharp to be captured by oil paint. Truly, you didn’t even think a photograph would do him justice.

“I want you to pick,” he said. “I think what book a person picks can tell you a lot about them.”

You nodded and pulled your gaze away to scan the shelves, looking for something suitable. When your eyes landed on Orlando innamorato, it was an easy choice. Not because you liked the epic, but because poetry was the only art form you thought could capture Spencer’s beauty.

“Are you trying to impress me?” he asked as you pulled the book from the shelf.

You shook your head. “No. Why?” It was only half a lie.

“My… my mom was a professor of 15th century literature,” he said it like a confession, causing you to tighten in a slight panic.

“I can pick something else-”

“No.” He shook his head. “I never bothered to pick that one up. I don’t know much about the story to be completely honest.”

You paused. He could have been lying, but none of his tells showed through. “I guess it doesn’t tell you much about me, then. To you at least.”

“I guess not,” Spencer chuckled.

“I don’t know anything about Russian,” your boldness was beginning to show through just a little, “so will you read me something that won’t tell me much about you?”

You’d noticed early on that asking Spencer to do things that only he could do brought out his confidence, but you were still a little surprised at how he didn’t stutter or sound hesitant as he said “Yes.”

---

“You know that you’re supposed to buy books at a bookstore, right?” you asked Spencer as he walked you towards your apartment building.

Ingrid had been so kind as to let the two of you stay far past the normal hours; by the time you left the angle of the sun was causing shadows to become longer and leaner with every passing second. You hadn’t even realized how long the two of you had spent in the cozy attic space of the store- with plush couches and chairs, herbal tea, and the sound of Spencer’s voice as he read The Master and Margarita out loud it was all too easy to lose track of time.

“I know,” Spencer said. “Since I read so much and my apartment can only hold so many books, Ingrid and I have a deal.”

“A deal?” You raised your eyebrows in suspicion as you got to the door of your building.

“A deal,” Spencer repeated.

“You know what they say about deals.”

“What do they say about deals?” he asked.

You turned to face him and quickly noticed how close the two of you were. Spencer was known to like his space. He didn’t shake hands, or share food, and he had a tendency to stand a bit farther away from people. Throughout your date, you and Spencer didn’t touch- not even the innocent brush of fingertips or shoulders. You sat in separate chairs in the attic. It was something you were prepared for and something you were okay with, so the sudden close proximity surprised you.

Spencer looked at you with a slight fear in his eyes, but the hope in them was stronger. Blood rushed to your face. Your lips parted slightly in surprise and you thought the sound of your heartbeat must have been audible to the entire DC area. The feeling rushed to your head, causing you to lose your train of thought almost entirely.

“You tell me.” The words came out as less than a whisper and more as a breath.

Spencer swallowed. “S-some people seal them with a handshake.”

“By the estimated number of pathogens passed between hand-to-hand contact,” you recited the words exactly as he had said them to you before, “it’s actually considered safer to kiss.”

The next few seconds happened in a blur of emotions. You weren’t sure who was the first to initiate contact- whether your hands found his sides first, or he gently cupped your face before that. You didn’t know if he pulled you against him, or if you had leaned closer. You had no idea if you were kissing Spencer, or if Spencer was kissing you.

But it didn't really matter, because on either end the favor was returned- and that you were sure of.

His lips were soft against yours, slightly unsure at first, but steady by the end. There was nothing about the physical action that was consuming, and yet you felt like you were being devoured by the moment. The kiss wasn't bruising, but it left a mark- a singular spot in your heart that longed to grow.

For only a moment, you let yourself be brave and it was rewarded. The taste of tea lingered on the tip of tongues, just enough to remind you of where you had been and intriguing you to want to know more… but that was the thing about Spencer, wasn’t it? Something about him always made you want to know more.

The kiss ended just as gently as it began, but this time you were determined to slow down the blur so you could remember every part of it- the serenity of sharing breath, if only for a few moments, and the glimpse of Spencer’s softly lidded eyes as you both studied one another. Goosebumps rose on your skin as he pulled his hands away from your face, cold air hitting the place where his palms had rested. The shock was just enough for you to loose focus for a milisecond and once you gained it back there was space between the two of you again- physically closer than normal, but feeling farther away than before.

“We never made a deal,” Spencer broke the silence between the two of you. You felt the gentle brush of his hand against yours- fingertips resting on fingertips.

You looked from where your hands were touching, up to his face. The hope and fear was gone- all of it replaced by a factual look, but not one you had seen before. Usually when Spencer looked factual it was about statistics or proven theories. Right then it looked like a sureness in the existence of God.

You smiled slowly- just letting the corners of your mouth come up at the corners, lips still parted in a slight wonder. “Well,” you said. “How do you feel about the deal to go on another date?”

Spencer smiled at this too. “It’s a deal,” he said. You followed his gaze down to where your hands were still touching. “We could take it a step further and seal it with a handshake.”

You let out a breathy giggle. “Or you could kiss me again.”

Spencer didn’t waste any time pressing his smiling lips to yours for only a second. The ease of it made it feel like the two of you had known one another- been with one another- for years. It was comforting.

“There,” he said. “The deal is sealed.”

---

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